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xiaonesis · 3 years

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Ghosts We See: Fireside Tales // A Legend of Scritches [Inarizaki House Vol.]

A/N: This is a commission by @decemberbellz who asked for a part 2 to the Atsumu headpat fic from Chapter 25 of Ghosts We See. It isn’t necessary to read GWS before this but recommended for larger context.

Pairing: Inarizaki VBC x Fem!Reader

Tags: Fluff. Pure fluff. Humor. Crack-ish. Maybe angst if you squint and combined braincells. Fox-folk!Inarizaki. GWS-Verse.

Summary

In which you discover the fox-folk's one true weakness.

Scritches.

There is a legend in the equally legendary hidden fox-village of Inarizaki House.

It speaks about an implicit act, a manoeuvre, an exploit, a trial of tenacity and discipline, a happening so rare - on account of it’s scarcity and the fact that those who experienced it are very much averse to speaking about it - that many in the village believe it is nothing more than that: a legend.

A tale of myth and fantasy.

Documentation of this circumstance - this phenomena - is as nonexistent as the fable itself. Current generations of fox-folk children are only afforded the opportunity to learn of it by way of mouth, the tales passed on to them by the village elders. And one day, they to their own children.

By way of oral history, the stories are preserved through generations and the ebbings of time.

There are only a handful of fox-folks that encountered this unspoken of phenomena, so scandalous to their race that hackles raise, tails flounce, and ears curl when one even attempts to broach the subject with their survivors. In several cases, they even disappeared in swift wisps of the illusion magic characteristic to the elusive fox-folks.

It is from the unwilling lips of these survivors - and the observations of them by third parties - that gave rise to the few historic accounts that exist today, veracity be damned.

What exactly is this unmentionable thing spoken of in the legend, you ask?

Well–

A Legend of Scritches [Inarizaki House Vol.]

Our story begins with one Ginjima Hitoshi.

At the time, of the retainers who have the Alpha-Leader Kita Shinsuke’s ear, Ginjima was neither the youngest nor the oldest of the group. He is, however, the oldest of the younger demographic- of which there are four of them in a total of seven - making up the supporting pillars that ensures Lord Kita is able to sleep with some semblance of peace at night.

That said, Ginjima possesses a level-head for his rank and age, especially when compared to a certain pair of destructive twins and the village loner.

Despite that though, the light-haired male has never shed the more...youthful - bashful, really - side of him, unlike his peers.

This innocent quality of his is really what caused something that should have been a mundane affair to blow entirely out of proportions.

It had been a normal day in the village as far as the fox-folks were concerned.

The sun rose when the morning mists fell, farmers rising in turn to tend to their fields. Fishers dove for their daily catches along the river and young foxlings went to their communal classes at the village center. Those who weren’t working in the village went beyond the illusory border that protected the village, patrolling the surrounding swamps and forests.

A normal day in the Inarizaki House - except for the human addition.

Since the battle that nearly wiped out their village, any contact with humans that did not involve metal and blood have been non-existent until this particular one arrived. The presence of the human girl in the secluded village rippled, disturbing the calm and disquieted peace that barricaded the fox-folks from the rest of Hyquile.

By the time this story occurs, the fox-folks have more or less adjusted to the occasional presence of a human among them. Adjusted, but not fully comfortable. Learning, but not yet fully understood.

The Alpha-Leader has consistently and gradually pushed for his people to re-acclimatize to the world. It is a slow process, one that cannot be forced, that included the rebuilding of Inarizaki House as a whole.

A building that had the fox village murmuring in excitement is the reconstruction of the local library, it’s predecessor burned in the flames of hate.

Kita had been inspired to have a respectable library for the fox-folks since laying eyes on the Blue Leaf National Library of Seijoh. Although it isn’t going to have even a quarter of the grandeur of the Aoban architectural marvel, the fox-folks are thrilled at the thought of having an actual library once more. Their village had nothing more than a bookshelf before this undertaking.

When she heard of this, the human girl had been as excited as the youngest of their foxlings and quickly offered her help. She was a hardworking one, more than happy to assist in any way she can.

There is another story that told of her endeavours to fight the Rot, a great calamity that ravaged Hyquile then.

But that is a tale for another day.

In a wave of support and excitement for this development, the fox-folks had unearthed and gathered together what books, scrolls, and parchment they could find in their dilapidated backrooms and attics, abandoned structures and even the ruins of what were once homes.

It was hard labour - emotionally taxing for everyone, going through the debris of their past. Yet, there was a quiet determination in all of the fox-folks as they struggled to face the past for the future.

Now, Ginjima generally does not mind the more dull tasks that come his way - fixing leaking attics, lugging rice sacks to the winter food stores, tiling roofs etcetera.

Daily patrol that involved covering land that stretched for miles was quite taxing on the body, and mundane work allowed him to take a break without actually resting on his laurels.

Today’s task came from a Lady Yamane, who is overseeing the reconstruction of the Inarizaki local library. She required assistance in unpacking piles of dusty books brought in by the villagers, on top of cleaning ashes off bookshelves that had not seen use for years

Ginjima groans as he stretches his arms out, hearing and feeling the joints of his shoulders pop after an hour of hunching over stacks of scrolls, sorting through them by category. He looks behind to where you are standing on a low chair, reaching up to wipe off the top of another bookshelf that Aran dropped off prior.

Watching the way your toes teeter in strain to reach your hands to the very top, his nose scrunches anxiously.

“Are ya’ sure we shouldn’t switch tasks…?” Ginjima asks in a soft voice as he approaches you. He nearly has a heart attack when you jolt in surprise at his sudden voice, stool dancing dangerously beneath your feet, and his hands raise instinctively to catch you. But you saved yourself, hands latching onto the shelf in reflex.

Ginjima breathes a large sigh of relief, shoulders slumping forward. Last thing he wants is to be known as the fox-folk who unwittingly cracked your skull. Kita will never forgive him.

“Oh geez- Ginjima! You scared me.”

“S-Sorry…” he mutters, kicking at a nearby stack of tied-books.

He knows you’re harmless, having more or less shed the prejudice against humans as a whole that he used to bear. After all that you did - are doing - for them, it wouldn’t be very honourable to discriminate against you for what humans that had nothing to do with you executed.

Doesn’t make him any less tense around you, at times. It creeps up on him unconsciously, slithering up his arms, hanging onto his neck and shoulders.

Ginjima cranes his neck, another audible crack resounding in the area and he lets out another satisfied groan under his breath.

You pause in your cleaning to look down at him. “Yikes, some stretches might do you good.”

Stretches.

Ginjima has seen your stretching sessions with his Alpha-Leader before. He has to admit it looks...fun, sometimes. Basking in the orange rays of a falling sun, whispering fields of green and gold the audience to your performance.

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. There’s still a lot left to go through.”

Ginjima gestures at the dirty cloth in your hand with his chin. “Switch with me. If ya’ split yer head, it’s my neck on the line.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not a child. Trust me, it’s better this way,” you protest with a roll of your eyes. You wave carelessly at the books and paper behind your figures. “I wouldn’t be able to sort any of those. I’m hardly familiar with the differences between ‘Guide to Soul Magic’ and ‘Introduction to Soul Trapping: The Greatest Trap Of Our Lives.’”

“Alright. Just…don’t fall, okay?” He mutters reluctantly, eyes avoiding yours.

With a giggle, you shoo him back to his spot, watching as he prepares to hunch over paper and dust for another hour...

Exactly one hour later, you are done wiping down the last of the shelves, fingers pruny and hair sticking to your skin like barnacles to an exposed hull, steaming in humid, musty air. It felt disgusting but you don’t think it is as bad as how Ginjima must be feeling.

You slap dirty fingers over your mouth, muffling the snickers that threaten to spill from your lips at the sight.

With exhaustion and cramps blunting his movements, Ginjima looks up at you tiredly, his neck the only thing he can move at this point.

His hair is covered in a thick layer of dust, speckled with soot, dyeing natural light roots into a dark shade of silver.

Stopping next to him, you finally let loose the laughter that has gathered in your chest in one long and mighty howl, hand slapping your thigh.

“Taking hair tips from Osamu?” You couldn’t help but tease him a little.

Ginjima grumbles and turns his head away from you, the tips of his ears turning red as embarrassment floods him. He drops the dust-free book in his hand to the floor between his knees.

Growling, he shakes his head furiously, sending a flurry of snow-dust scattering into the air. Sandy fox ears twitch in irritation from the soot and dust. Fur that was once clean and bright is now a chalky grey, small clouds puffing up with every twitch.

You can tell Ginjima is bothered by the grime coating him. He has always taken good care of his fox-traits whenever they are manifested - which is nearly the entire time - and the way his fox-tail is swishing back and forth told of the displeasure he did not voice.

You cough through the remnants of your amusement, pulling the collar of your clothes up to your nose as you squat next to him.

“Here, let me help you.”

Pulling a handkerchief from your sleeve pocket, you hand it to him and gesture for him to press it to his nose.

In his confusion, Ginjima did as instructed before he realized he was doing it. When you reach your hands up to his head however, he jerks back, falling onto his butt in his alarm.

“W-What do ya’ think yer’re doin’?!” he demands, swatting your hand away with the handkerchief like a chaste maiden straight out of scriptures.

You stare at him in exasperation, lightly slapping his swatting hand away. Briefly, you are reminded of the time when Osamu held down Atsumu with his illusion magic, enabling you to touch Atsumu’s fox ears.

“Helping you, you dummy. Don’t be such a drama queen. You’re like Atsumu, gosh-” you mutter to yourself as you stand to grab the chair and the bottle of clean water you have been using to wipe the shelves.

Ginjima gapes at you in shock and horror, taking offense at the comparison. Him, like Atsumu?!

Now he understands Osamu’s offense whenever anyone compares him to his brother. It feels terrible.

When you return, you drop the chair right next to him, narrowly missing his splayed fingers.

“Stay still!” Taking a seat, you uncap the bottle.

“N-No, it’s fine- aghh!”

Before he can say anymore and escape, you spray him with water, squeezing the bottle with a sly grin.

If anyone asks, you are going to deny enjoying this.

What protests Ginjima had disappears as soon as the first of your fingers begin to rub up his fox ears. His body locks up at the foreign sensation, hyper-aware that it is a pair of human hands touching him.

For most of his life, contact with humans has been that of violence.

This is new. Highly unfamiliar.

Refreshing water runs down his neck, cooling hot skin that hasn’t been less than warm the entire day.

You slowly pour water onto his fox ears first, before doing the same to his hair; enough to soak up the dust, not enough to drench. With an extra clean cloth, you pat along his ears, smiling to yourself when they twitch under each touch.

You can’t see his face but peering over his shoulder lets you see the tips of his toes, curling and uncurling in time to each soft squeeze of the cloth. His fingers drum nervously, wrapped around his ankles.

“My mum used to wash my hair like this when I was younger,” you tell him as you continue patting out the dust from his hair.

Ginjima peers at you shyly, curiously. He didn’t say anything in response, only a noncommittal noise of acknowledgement that he heard you. His fingers stop drumming.

“I don’t know about you but I always thought this feels nice, having someone wash my hair,” you continue absentmindedly, mind preoccupied with your task. “Though I’m really just trying to get the dirt out- wow, this patch here is stubborn- okay, got it.”

There is a short pause before Ginjima says anything.

“My father never did this for me so I never had anyone...w-wash my hair before,” he trails off awkwardly, mumbling.

“Oh...I see. Your mother is a human, then...” Your voice lowers alongside your hands.

Then, shaking your head of encroaching dampening thoughts and emotions, you continue massaging Ginjima’s head and ears with your bare hands, dirty cloth discarded.

You managed to clean most of the dust and Ginjima can wash out what remains later. For now, you just felt like giving him a simple massage. He sounds like he really needs one, if the pops from his joints earlier were anything to go by.

If Ginjima noticed that you were no longer kneading out the dust from his hair, he didn’t say anything.

Minutes passed and Ginjima still hadn't said anything or tried to run away from you. Growing suspicious, you lean down to check on him-

Only to find him asleep, peacefully dozing off, breaths slow and even.

With a small smile, you straighten back up and continue lightly rubbing along the nape of his neck, deciding to let him nap a little while longer.

...but not before you took a sneaky swipe at his ear, sliding your fingers up the length of rough fur.

It flicked but Ginjima did not wake, not until later.

Much later.

Akagi Michinari is curious by nurture.

As one of the fox-folk’s last line of defense against anything that threatens his village and kin, Akagi takes it upon himself to inspect anything and everything, learning their traits and characteristics, gleaning even the smallest of information. Sometimes, the most miniscule of details can turn momentum to their favor.

So when he passed by Ginjima in the bathhouse that evening, red-faced and muttering about “ear...scratches...” and something “-bad feelin’” alongside the utterance of your name, it certainly caught his attention.

Scratches? Did you attack Ginjima?

Casting a quick once over on Ginjima though, he couldn’t see any injury on him...yet, his junior froze, red as Atsumu’s clothes and shuffled off when Akagi tried to question him about it.

The strange incident with Ginjima - in a bathhouse of all places - is concerning enough to bring Akagi straight to you.

“What did ya’ do to Ginjima?” he demanded, accosting you on your way back to Suna’s home, which continues to be your guest quarters.

Squinting through silver darkness at Akagi, with his arms crossed and eyes scrutinizing, you blink at him with no small amount of confusion.

“Ginjima? I didn’t do anything to him...did something happen?” Did he pull a muscle from all his hunching earlier today?

“Ya’ tell me. He mentioned somethin’ about ya’ just now.” Akagi’s eyes further narrow on you, inspecting for any hint of a lie.

You throw your hands up defensively. “I really didn’t do anything! We didn’t always get along but you know me by now, Akagi.”

Hurt crosses your features, and Akagi takes a step back from you with a sigh, giving you a modicum of space. It’s not like he wants to do this either; there were times where he even had to question his own kin and brothers-in-arms. With his position, nothing can be overlooked. The fox-folks did so a decade ago, and they have suffered for it.

He runs a hand through his hair, catching the tips of his fox ears when he does so.

“I caught Ginjima mutterin’ strange things when I saw him earlier, yer name amongst them.” His eyes flick back toward you, steely yet apologetic. “It’s my duty to ensure Inarizaki’s safety- both within and without. Don’t take it personally.”

It hasn’t been all that long since you knew them; it will never measure to a decade of agony and hostility that has festered into prejudice. You got this far with them through patience that rivals Buddha’s. A patience that blurs with stubbornness, the same patience that saw you through many of your own challenges in life. The same patience you are willing into being at this moment.

You suck in a breath, biting down the complaints on your tongue, empathizing with his position and plight.

“Okay. Ask me anything. I have nothing to hide, you’ll see.” You give him a smile, showing Akagi your cooperation.

He nods, brow briefly softening in thanks. “As far as I’m aware, ya’ and Ginjima worked together on cleanin’ out the shelves and books. Let’s start from there.”

There wasn’t anything of note in your day but you recount your plain work with Ginjima nonetheless, trying to remember if Ginjima ever injured himself during the course of it.

“-and that was it, I swear.”

Akagi frowns when you finish, unable to detect any lie from you and yet, there isn’t anything outstanding during your time with Ginjima. Perhaps he was blowing this out of proportion…maybe Ginjima scratched himself on a piece of wood or possibly even a papercut?

“What did Ginjima say exactly?” you prod, as intent as Akagi on figuring out what is bothering the light-haired fox-folk. If something happened to Ginjima whilst you were there and unable to stop it-

“Head scratches.”

“Huh?”

“Something about head scratches. Or ear. I don’t know what he said. He left pretty quickly.”

“...”

You couldn’t stop yourself from snorting, devolving into light-hearted snickers.

Ohh, these fox-folks, they were going to be the death of you one of these days - if not by a physical confrontation, then with their charming naivety.

For as gifted many of the fox-folks are with their unique skill set, they are also adorably...un-worldly.

But you don’t blame them. Can’t.

They’ve disconnected themselves from the world, from others, for so long and the effects of that - beyond mistrust and antagonism - are beginning to show the more you interact with them.

You smile at Akagi knowingly, amusement tugging your cheeks.

“I think I figured out what might be perturbing Ginjima.”

“Really?” One of Akagi’s brow rises dubiously. “Tell me.”

Plopping onto a nearby bench, you pat the space next to you with a grin.

“It’s easier to show you.”

Akagi’s eyes narrow but he sits himself down nonetheless, albeit warily, turning his back to you when you spin a finger at him.

“Don’t try anythin' funny-”

His warning cuts off as he stiffens immediately, turning rigid as rocks when your fingers slide up the back of his head from the neck up, tips touching the base of his fox ears.

Is this-??

Is this what you-???

Isn’t this what you did to Atsumu that one ti-

You begin scratching at the base of his fox ears.

“!!!”

Akagi quickly figures out what Ginjima had been muttering about soon after:

“Those ear scratches...it’s not a bad feelin’.”

Having personally scratched and patted the fox ears of Atsumu, Ginjima, and now Akagi up close, you came to a realization.

As gruff and antagonistic some of the fox-folks might come off, especially in regards to humans - and you - in particular, they all possessed one absolute weakness:

A good scritch.

These are the Inarizaki House fox-folks! The elusive threat of the West! Masters of Disguises and Illusions!!

...And they are susceptible to a good scritch on the ears.

Astounding.

There is a type of power, addicting and sweet, that comes with such knowledge.

Very much like Ginjima, Akagi displayed a very positive - though unwilling - reaction when you began to scratch his fox ears yesterday night. And of course, you haven’t forgotten the power- ahem, effect - you had on Atsumu that day in the forest either.

Despite his rage and ear-shattering screams, Atsumu clearly liked having his ear scratched, a fact that you try not to rub into his face too much to spare him the last of his dignity.

You’ve seen videos of foxes chattering, eyes closed in crescents and all smiley fangs when receiving a good scratch. And now you suppose the fox-folks are indeed...well, foxes, in a sense.

Flexing your fingers, you stare at it in awe, processing the power these fingers of yours possess. Literal power, right at your fingertips!

...You want to test it.

You want to test your theory that the fox-folks of Inarizaki House are weak to scritches, of all things.

(No, not test this newfound power! ...well, maybe a little)

Looking around for a suitable test subject, your eyes land on Omimi Ren, speaking to Aran at the training field a little ways away from where you are. As you eye the dark fox ears sitting on Omimi’s head, a mischievous grin lifts your lips.

Omimi is nice, compared to his other more zealous fox-folks. He’s kind of scary at times but that’s due to the fact that he doesn’t speak so much, if at all.

Even Thoughtful Suna is downright terrifying, gaze and tongue turning sharp - scathing - when pushed to his limits. Not Omimi though. Other than Kita, he is the easiest and nicest test subject you can ask for.

Mind set, you make a beeline to the fox-folk and bear-folk.

Aran grunts at you with a frown when you near, arms crossing disapprovingly.

“What are ya’ doin’ here? This is the trainin’ field. If ya’ can’t defend yerself, move off.”

Aran is sensible and has a good head on his shoulders. But he's also very no-nonsense and less likely to acquiesce to your...request. Not to mention, he’s technically a bear-folk even if he’s spent the majority of his life with the foxes.

Also, you don’t know if scritches work on bears, and surely giving bears of any kind headpats is not advisable.

You ignore Aran and the way he bristles at your impudence, much too eager and focused on your self-assigned mission to worry about an angry bear.

“Omimi,” you begin sweetly, shuffling one foot in front of the other.

Omimi blinks at you, his staring the only indication that you have his attention.

This mission warrants the big guns and all the best in your meager arsenal. So you bite your bottom lips, chewing on it like a nervous child. Brows upturning and eyes widening, you give Omimi your best puppy dog eyes.

“Can I touch your ears?”

“No.”

Rejected.

“Please! It’s just for a little bit! I want to test something-” you continue to plead, hands clasping together.

You must touch his fox ears! If your theory proves correct, you have the ultimate defense against any of the fox-folks who try to bully you in the future (aka the Miya twins).

If this works on Omimi, it will definitely work on the others.

Omimi shakes his head, brows furrowing in confusion.

Why do you need to touch his fox ears? What do you need to test that requires touching his fox ears?

Aran shoos you off the training field, keen on returning back to practicing maneuvers with Omimi and the two thought that would be the end of that.

But spirits, you were nothing if not relentless and they had to give it to you. Perhaps your experiences in Hyquile has strengthened you - or simply made you stubborn - much more than they thought.

On and off through the morning, Omimi can feel your eyes boring into the back of his head. Or more specifically, the top of his head, where his precious fox ears are.

He had a mind to morph them away until you gave up. But he isn’t like Suna, who is used to not having any of his fox traits manifested. To Omimi, removing them is akin to removing his clothes.

At one point, you even tried to touch his ears when you thought he wasn’t looking! He easily evaded your hand, standing to his full height where you can’t reach them even on your tippy toes.

“She’s determined, I’ll give her that,” Aran had said after he witnessed your foiled attempt.

The bear-folk rarely involves himself in the affairs of others, especially those that do not have any direct effect on Kita or the village. Yet, even he could not help being curious as to why you want to touch Omimi’s fox ears, and what it is exactly you wish to test.

And why not his ears?

Subconsciously, Aran put a hand to his round bear ears.

(Surely there’s nothing wrong with bear ears?)

Come late noon, Omimi is relieved - and Aran surprised - to see you've stopped trying to touch his ears after hours of persistence. Instead, whilst on their way to the bathhouses, they find you at the lot where the library is being constructed.

Scratching a red-faced Ginjima on the back of his fox ears.

Ginjima’s face is twisted, nose scrunched and teeth biting forcefully into his lip with hands clenched into shaking fists. They would have thought he’s in pain if it wasn’t for his fox-tail swishing back and forth furiously behind him.

A sign of happiness and pleasure.

When Ginjima spots them, he all but rips himself away from you, stuttering an excuse before dashing off to lug more wood, leaving you to stare after him in confusion at his abrupt departure.

Omimi runs a hand through sweaty hair, inadvertently touching his own fox ears.

It’s not just because you are a human that he, and many of his kin, are opposed to having you touch any of their manifested fox-traits. Or any other human for that matter.

Their fox traits are important to the fox-folks. It is not only a hallmark of their abilities and characteristics, but also what sets them apart from humans, from who they are birthed.

For it is also humans that massacred their brethren. Burned, flooded, and pillaged their homes years ago.

So many years were spent isolating and detaching themselves from the parts of them that are human, keeping their fox ears and tails manifested at all times even if it is an inconvenience during rains and storms.

Not many could be like Suna, without the ears and tails that distinctly separates him from humans.

To have a human touch this part of them that has become a symbol of their dissociation is greatly personal. Even amongst their own kind, it is never done without a bond of trust.

That you do not understand that is no fault of yours.

Though Omimi has yet to grasp the reason why you are so intent on touching his fox ears, the sight of you touching a willing Ginjima’s fox ears made him realize something. Realize that you have been an ally to his kin since the moment you came to the village. He doesn’t know you as well as some of the others, but perhaps, it is time for him to open up his mind.

If young Ginjima can do it, then as his senior and superior, Omimi cannot fall behind.

You start when Omimi approaches you, Aran right behind him. Like you, the bear-folk is wondering what Omimi has in mind when the tall fox-folk stops right in front of you, a little too close for comfort, with an intense, almost constipated, and conflicted expression.

Like he’s struggling with something he wants to do but at the same time, doesn’t.

(It’s an expression you’ve seen the Kenma of your world do sometimes, when he is unable to decide whether to pull on a character banner or not.)

What you did not expect was for Omimi to wordlessly lean down, tipping his head enough that you can now easily reach his fox ears that you’ve been trying to touch all morning.

Your jaw slides open, and so does Aran’s.

Is he…?

“Oi, Omimi, what are ya’-”

Oh hell no, you’re not going to let Aran steal this chance from you!

Before Aran can snap his comrade out of whatever has befallen him, your hand darts out to the head literally served up in front of you, aiming right for his fox ears.

Aran watches in absolute comical horror at the way Omimi’s eyes widen and his entire body freezes, fingers snapping straight like a ruler and sweat pouring down his neck.

The pace at which you scratch Omimi’s fox ears accelerates alongside the stretch of your grin and Aran grips his head. He has more calm in the midst of battle compared to now, helplessly watching the assault of his friend by your hands!

“W-What are ya’ doin’ to him?! Stop it!”

What is this sorcery you’re doing to his friend?!

“What are you talking about Aran? Omimi likes it!”

“No he doesn’t!

“Look at him! He does! He’s smiling!”

Aran stomps close with the intention of saving his friend but he halts when he sees the true state of Omimi that he couldn’t before from the side.

True to your words, the corners of Omimi’s lips are indeed curved up. His eyes are closed, and one would think he is asleep if not for the light crease on his brow as Omimi fights the urge to express the pleasure of feeling your fingers scratching at his ears.

Omimi is….smiling? Omimi who hardly says anything, barely smiles on a good day, the Stone Fox Omimi - is smiling??

It’s a small one, super small, but on a folk as expressionless as Omimi, it is akin to a black dot on white canvas.

Aran can’t believe this. What is this dark magic? First Ginjima and now Omimi?

“I noticed it after doing the same to Ginjima and Akagi yesterday-”

Aran’s head whips to you, eyes wide in disbelief. Akagi too?!

“-but the fox-folks really love getting their ears scratched!” you beam, eyes alight and sparkling with glee.

“...”

“Remember that time with Atsumu?”

Of course he does. No one can ever forget that.

But now that you mention it- oh, spirits. If this revelation of yours proves to be true, then Inarizaki House has a tremendous weakness that needs to be plugged at once!

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what Aran is thinking. It is the exact same line of thought that propelled you to beg Omimi for the chance to give him a good scritch.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. It can be our secret~” you giggle, placing a finger to your lips.

“This’ll make an amazing punishment for the Miya twins from now on, won't it?”

(When Omimi finally returns from nirvana, he discovers the real reason that Ginjima let you scratch his ears is because it felt pleasurable - not the honorable bond of trust he imagined it to be. He vows to never overthink again)

Strange things have been happening in the village, Suna could not help but notice.

Abnormal things.

Suna is often quickly written off as the village loner and assumed by others to not bother with their affairs. And they are correct.

However, they are also quick to forget that he is sharp, meticulous to details, and changes in the environment and people. In fact, looking on from the outside allows Suna to take in the big picture, able to pick up on elements one would not when caught in the middle of events.

It is why he immediately picked up on the unusual change in several of his fellow retainers.

Ginjima, Akagi, Omimi...and even Aran.

The former three fox-folks seem to be...more - cordial? Would saying friendly be a stretch? - with you as of late. On the other hand, the bear-folk has been walking around the village as if the end of the world is approaching - deep frowns, hunching shoulders and arms, slanting brows, head and eyes looking down more often than not. Everything about Aran just feels down and honestly speaking, it bothers Suna to no end.

What’s the village going to do if their second-in-command is in such a state?

On top of that, Suna swears on the spirits of his ancestors that he saw you giving head pats and ear scratches to Omimi at one point in the past week. He clearly saw Omimi easily lean down to give you access when you reached up, jumping lightly on your toes, to touch his fox ears.

It’s...unheard of. It’s Omimi.

It’s Akagi and Ginjima.

What in blazes is going on with the lot of them?

Unable to withhold his curiosity any longer, he asked Aran if he knew of whatever was going on.

Suna was prepared for any sort of explanation but he did not expect the bear-folk to pat him on the back and lament his demise.

“To think ya’ had such a simple weakness...I’m sorry, Suna. Ya’ have my condolences.”

“...what?”

“Head pats! A good scratch on the ear! Scritches she says! It’s a collective weakness of the fox-folks!”

“...and what about bear-folks?”

“...untested. I do not wish to know.”

“I...see.”

So you discovered the weakness of the fox-folks as a whole? Interesting.

It’s definitely something that warrants further research.

Suna eyes the Miya twins sparring in the fields below, chin resting languidly on his lifted palm.

“Oi, Atsumu, Osamu. I have a challenge for you two.”

The plan is simple: bait the twins into a fight with each other and the loser has to have his ears scratched by you as a penalty. Preferably Osamu, as he has already seen what happens with Atsumu.

Who in the village has more pride and prejudice towards humans than these two? Sure, they no longer treat you as if you were dirt but they are still prideful to the point that they are the only ones stupid enough to take Suna’s bait. Yes, this half-baked plan will only work on the twins and no others.

“I rather starve than do that.”

“Will ya’, really, ‘Samu? Starve?”

“Well, are ya’ gonna let her touch yer ears? Again?” Osamu retorts with a smirk, knowing full well that Atsumu still hasn’t forgiven him, or you, for that day.

Atsumu bristles, fists rising to slug one at his brother at the wicked memory. “Ya’ speak as if I’m gonna lose!”

“Ya’ will.”

“No, ya’ will!”

“Bring it then!!”

Now all Suna has to do is kick back, relax, wait for them to duke it out, rig it so that Osamu loses, and send the loser to you.

Just another regular day in Inarizaki House.

“Hmmpfh!”

“In yer face, ‘Samu!”

When you were called over by a suspiciously eager Atsumu - him calling you for anything is suspicious in itself - you had imagined all the worst possible scenarios that would prompt the fiery fox-folk to do so.

Did something happen at their lake? With Kita?

Did someone contract the Rot and require your aid?

Did you accidentally do something to offend their ancestral spirits and are now being summoned for a lecture by Aran, or even Kita?

You were prepared for anything.

But you were not prepared to find Osamu forcibly seated on the ground and covered in Suna’s binding talismans.

One right on the center of his forehead, on either cheeks, two on his neck, and an entire train of yellow talismans lined the length of his arms and legs.

Osamu is completely bound in yellow, an iconic parallel to the time Atsumu was bound in his brother’s red ropes, and helpless against Suna’s magic that is surely coursing through his body, subjugating him.

“I…” you gape, speechless at Osamu struggling against the talismans, shouts muffled by one taped tightly across his mouth, silencing him. “What are you guys doing? Why did you kidnap Osamu?”

“We didn’t kidnap him. He lost a bet and tried to run from his penalty,” Suna explains, watching with a bored expression the way Atsumu hovers over his vulnerable brother, nudging at him with his foot.

“HMMPFH!!”

“This is payback ‘Samu!” Atsumu chortles with a mad fire burning in his eyes, arms spread out and flames bursting from his palms.

“Hrrrn-” The veins along Osamu’s neck and arms bulge as he strains against the talismans.

A bolt of fractal light manifests right behind Atsumu and clobbers him on the head.

“Huh.." Suna hums, a tiny frown creeping onto his lips. For Osamu to be able to manifest even a sliver of his magic with that many talismans on him, Suna has either lost his touch or Osamu has grown stronger. Either way, Suna doesn’t like it.

“Hrrrrnnn!!” Osamu writhes against the talisman, feeling the foreign force pulsing into his skin grow stronger until he can no longer even fight it.

“A bet is a bet, Osamu,” Suna kneels in front of the grey-haired male, slapping a talisman onto Atsumu’s leg when he doesn’t stop kicking his brother. “You lost the round with Atsumu so this is your penalty.”

Suna gestures at you.

You’re the penalty?

What can you possibly do as punishment-

“Touch his ears,” Suna instructs.

“Huh??”

“Touch his damn ears!!” Atsumu growls, fingers clenching in excitement. The anticipation and excitement blowing forth from him is so palpable it feels like something’s on fire-

“Atsumu, your tail is burning,” Suna informs, utterly unbothered by the grey smoke puffing from Atsumu.

Sure enough, the end of Atsumu’s tail is burning, a tiny flame eating at gold and turning it black.

Atsumu beats the fire out of his tail, muttering a string of curses as he examines the singed end.

You can’t help but think Atsumu will lose all of his tail one day. First it got clipped off by the portal to Aoba, and now self-immolation?

Suna sighs. “It happens sometimes when he gets too excited. He’s nothing but a fire hazard.”

“I’m a damn firework, not a fire hazard!”

“HMMPHRFH!”

“Just hurry up and touch his ears already won’t ya!” His burnt tail forgotten, Atsumu grabs Osamu by the shoulder and pushes him to you roughly. Unable to defend himself, Osamu face plants right into your lap.

The shock of having someone’s face pushed into your thighs out of nowhere is, to say the least, alarming and your hands latch onto Osamu’s head instinctively, fingers digging into his sensitive fox ears.

“HRRRMPHHHH!! HRMPHHH!!”

Unable to do anything due to the talismans, Osamu is left wailing and shaking in your lap, eyes screwed shut at the painful sensation of your fingers gripping tight onto him.

“Oh my god- I’m so sorry, Osamu!”

Guilt cripples your stomach. Even if you did not mean to do it, you had unwittingly hurt Osamu.

The moment his face twisted in discomfort, you saw ‘Samu. They aren’t the same people but you don’t want to see this expression on them again. Not by your hands.

Knowing how sensitive their fox ears are, you immediately move to soothe them without a second thought.

Gently, you begin to stroke Osamu’s fox ears from tip to end. With deliberate slowness, taking care to rub any discomfort that lingers in the tender appendage, you tend to him like you would a kitten in need of comfort.

It’s an easy thing for you to do, especially because it is Osamu.

It reminds you of your younger years with the Miya twins of your world, when you would inadvertently nap on each other during the day, childish energy depleted. Some days, you would have been sprawled across them, feet pushing into a chin or an elbow to a back. Other times, you would find either one of their heads in your lap, just like this, and stroke their dark hair.

It is because it is Osamu that this feels easy.

Suna watches with great intrigue as Osamu begins to relax under the touch of your hands. The effects of his talismans are still there but they should have waned enough for Osamu to fight back...yet he doesn’t.

Instead, his body stops its strained trembles, going slack against your thighs and the ground. Grey eyes slip close, breaths deepening, the fatigue from the duel with Atsumu prior quickly catching up to him in the comfort engulfing him.

Fascinating.

So it’s true. The fox-folks are susceptible to...how did Aran say you put it?

Scritches?

“OI ‘SAMU!! DON’T FALL ASLEEP!!”

Atsumu kicks his brother’s unguarded body, furious that Osamu isn’t suffering under your touch like he had. He wants his brother to despair, to suffer! Agonize as he did! But the ass is taking a nap instead!

To this day, Atsumu continues to deny that having his ears scratched by you felt good. He will die before he admits it to anyone, including himself!

(Even though it did feel good, he’s not admitting it! Nope!)

This is unbelievable!! How is this fair?!

“Just admit you want your ears scratched as well,” Suna tells Atsumu. The tiny knowing smirk on Suna’s face enrages Atsumu more than it should.

“Burn and die!!” The elder Miya twin curses and stalks off, but not before giving one last kick to Osamu for good measure. Osamu barely reacts to it, only curling further into you as you continue to stroke his ears.

“You knew about this, didn’t you?” You couldn’t help but look at Suna in amusement. “Did Aran tell you?”

“He did.” Suna shrugs. Then he looks away muttering to himself. “Can’t believe we have such a glaring weakness…”

You lift a hand up to Suna’s head in jest. “Do you want a scratch too?”

“Wipe that smug look off you.”

“What is goin’ on here?”

Your attentions swivel to the new voice and you couldn’t help but smile brightly at the sight of Kita Shinsuke, the Alpha-Leader of Inarizaki House himself, making his way to your figures.

“Kita!”

“Lord Kita.” Suna stands immediately, bowing lightly at the presence of his leader.

“I saw Atsumu’s fire and came here immediately…” Kita trails off, confused at the sight of a napping Osamu drooling onto your knees. He shuffles closer in worry. “Is Osamu okay? What happened?”

You stop stroking one of Osamu’s ear to rub your neck sheepishly, eliciting a sleepy grumble from Osamu.

“It’s a...weird story.”

When you finish telling your part of events, followed up by Suna who filled in the details of his ‘research’ and baiting of the Miya twins, Kita can only rub his temples as he tries to take in the information.

His people are weak to scritches?

And Osamu, Ginjima, Akagi, and even Omimi have proven that theory to be true?

He is both surprised and not surprised, confusingly enough. As a young foxling, he has always loved it when his grandmother ran her hands through his hair, stroking at his ears the same way you are doing for Osamu now.

But it’s been more than a decade since he felt such a tender touch, and the same can be said of the other survivors. What memories they had of affection - what time they had for loving moments - was all gone the second the first fire was lit, further buried under the following deluge of watery hate and fear.

“At least Osamu here seems to be enjoyin’ himself,” Kita sighs, his concern for Osamu easing now that he has the full story.

“Kita, if you’re worried I will tell anyone about this...uhh weakness the fox-folks have, I won’t. You can trust me,” you tell the Alpha-Leader. You peel the talismans off Osamu’s face.

Kita shakes his head, smiling in embarrassment for his brethren. “I know. Truth be told, I don’t even know what to do with this information. I doubt our enemies would apply it…”

“You never know, Lord Kita. Spies may very well use it against our people.”

“I suppose ya’re right, Suna. Let’s keep this information within those who already know.”

As Kita spoke with Suna, you stare at the silver fox ears with black tips morphed on his head.

Out of all the fox ears you’ve seen so far, Kita’s looks the most beautiful by far with its soft shine and silver glow.

(Must be something in the lake water)

Without a word and unable to stop yourself, you touch his ears with tentative fingers.

Kita stiffens, wide eyes snapping to you.

“They’re so soft,” you whisper in awe at the velvety sensation on your skin. “Like the most expensive silks.”

“I-...t-thank you,” Kita flushes under your compliment. His eyes narrow and relaxes, then narrows again, the cycle repeating several times rapidly.

Suna sighs for the umpteenth time as he stares at you with flat reprimand in his gaze, picking up on Kita’s struggle against the pleasurable touch. “You have to stop touching our ears without asking.”

“But they’re so cute!”

“They are not toys. This is harassment.”

You wince with a sheepish laugh, cheeks heating up at Suna’s call-out. “Y-You’re right. I apologize.”

You are about to retract your hand from Kita when he clears his throat nervously. “I-It’s okay. I don’t mind if ya’…” He gestures at his ears awkwardly, burning up from the bashfulness of saying his following words. “I...quite like the feelin’. So ya’ can touch them if ya’ want.”

!!!

If you were in an anime tv series, this is the moment you slap your hand over your face and combust at the cuteness. It doesn’t help that Kita probably did not realize how potentially filthy his words are.

With renewed courage from Kita’s undeniable permission, you continue scratching his silver ears, excitedly running your fingers between the soft furs.

Kita laughs quietly, youthful pink painting his skin from the enjoyable sensation. He can’t help but think this is nice. This is peaceful.

(This is what normal could have been for the fox-folks)

Suna squeezes his eyes shut tightly once, futilely clearing his gaze of non-existent haze as he looks on at you giving his Alpha-Leader ‘scritches’ with one hand, the other on Osamu who is now in deep sleep.

He probably won’t allow himself to be so vulnerable in front of the goons he calls his brethren any time soon but Suna smiles softly anyways at the peaceful sight.

A short distance away, Atsumu stares at the scene from his hiding spot between several bushes, fuming in an abnormal mix of anger and jealousy.

Even Kita is letting you touch him without qualms! And ‘Samu, damn his brother, he’s completely knocked out, happily snoozing away!

Grrr- it doesn’t even feel that good! It really doesn’t!

Laughter and giggles from your group reach him and Atsumu’s fox ears twitch, watching the way Kita tilts his head to allow you better access, his prior shyness gradually waning.

…

It doesn’t feel nice at all!

It...doesn’t.

Atsumu’s hand, against his own will, reaches up. Before he can stop himself, he begins scratching at his own fox ears in a sad attempt at replicating the feel of your hands tending to him.

But alas, unfortunately for Atsumu, it just isn’t the same.

Try they did, our ancestors, to keep the knowledge about these ‘scritches’ that elicit overwhelming pleasure from fox-folks between themselves.

But nature was against them from the beginning, for once a fox-folk has had a taste of the delightful tingles, they are unable to erase it from memory, forever haunting their waking thoughts. Especially when the source is so close at hand.

(Like cats to catnip. But you didn’t hear that from me, lest the cat-folks come for me)

There are also accounts that says even the mighty bear-folk Aran fell to the modest touch of this human that uncovered the fox-folks weakness soon after.

But what is the moral of the story, you ask, young foxling?

Well, unlike most stories, there isn’t one.

It is less a moral telling and more a simple tale.

A tale of how our people grew and changed - learning to hate and live, grow and love.

In the end, take the story as you wish, young one.

How did this old granny interpret it?

Well, this granny here saw as a young foxling herself how some of the greatest fox-folks - and a bear-folk - of our times melded under the simple, caring touch of a human.

Granny has lived for a long, long time. Seen many come and go through the generations.

All Granny can say is, we have a young human girl to thank for discovering our sole greatest weakness, and one greatest joy.

And that is Love-

“Granny, this is gettin’ sappy. Please stop.”

“Haah, young’uns nowadays. They don’t appreciate the love anymore-”

"GRANNY! CAN YA' TELL US ANOTHER-"

"Shhh, yer're in a library!"

If you enjoyed this, please do spare a reblog, check out the main series, Ghosts We See, or mayhaps spare a tip <3

#haikyuu x reader #inarizaki x reader #inarizaki vbc x reader #haikyuu imagines #miya atsumu x reader #miya osamu x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #suna rintarou x reader #miya twins x reader #akagi michinari #ginjima hitoshi #aran ojiro #omimi ren #hq x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! x reader #hq!! x reader #ghosts we see

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fallenhero-rebirth · 4 years

Text

Brain update

First, let me say that this isn't about what anybody has done. My reactions are not in proportion to anything that has happened, and might be considered odd, weird and sensitive to people involved.

So let me explain.

I'm an Aspie (what we call ourselves in Sweden), on the autism spectrum. Yeah, might have guessed that from the story I'm writing, Sidestep is not the only one trying to figure out how people work.

Over the years I have built up an arsenal of knowledge and analysis to be able to pretend to be neurotypical, something that I can manage alright most days, but which breaks down once you get to know me better. I'm open with this at my current job, and luckily both my bosses seem to be okay dealing with open communication and just telling me what I need to do.

It was not always like this, and that is one of the reasons why I had a breakdown and needed to get off discord/tumblr.

Back in the late nineties, I had finally got my dream job. I was a product developer in the food industry, part of a rather small department of middle-class academics. I was the new hire, everyone else had worked there for years, and things were going well. Or so I assumed. I got cool projects, got along well with one of the sales people, and well, my boss was weird but bosses always are.

Three years later. Our parent company wanted to sell us off, everyone was starting to get worried about their job. We tried to expand into things were weren't equipped to do (you don't bring spices into a fruit jam line, will be hell to clean) and while I did the projects, I also raised an (in retrospect) too big stink about the fact that we were wasting time developing things we couldn't produce without expanding. My boss (who I had learned was a devout christian) started to get really weird, I got called in and he wondered if I was a member of a cult (I was often wearing a headscarf at the time because pressure on my head is good for stress relief). I also got told off for wearing army boots to work (we had lab shoes in the lab), because (I kid you not) if we had danish visitors to the lab (we didn't have visitors) they could be offended since they had once been occupied by Nazis. Yes, at the time I was an Antifa metalhead/satanist, it was a very volatile time in sweden and nazis were everywhere. Now they're a political party, go figure.

It all came to a head when I was confronted with a folder one of the secretaries of the department had where she had written down every odd and strange thing that I did, and there were a lot of accusations of things I quite frankly blocked out. Around this time I was suffering from bad burnout, had memory loss, my hair was falling out and I lost two bikes because I forgot where I parked them. All because of workplace hostility.

So for the first time ever, I went to the company doctor, who immediately sent me on a one month sick leave, and gave a reference to a therapist. When I went and told my boss, his reaction was "It can't be anything at work," in a dismissive tone. I wrote my resignation right then and there, left the building, snuck back a Saturday to clean out my stuff so I didn't have to meet anyone. Luckily I was backed up by my union, so I got unemployment despite quitting, and the therapist helped me get back on my feet and hook me up with some antidepressants.

Still, I was a wreck for years.

At the time, I had NO idea I was an Aspie. It weren't talked about, the only thing I knew about Autism, was from the various portrayals in movies, and well, in the nineties you can guess. Rainman pretty much was it.

What destroyed me the most was not that people disliked me, I didn't like them either, we didn't have anything in common, and middle-class people always scared me. No, what broke me was the fact that my system failed.

See, I had built up myself over ten years into someone I wanted to be. Smart. Capable. Metalhead. Researcher. Activist. I thought I knew the rules. How to interact.

It turned out I knew nothing. People had been talking behind my back for years, and I didn't know. Getting annoyed by my ticks, and I had no idea. Nobody ever brought anything up to my face until it exploded one day out of the blue. This is why I have ranted about anons on this tumblr. This is why I have been so openly against passive aggressive posts and bullying, especially the anonymous kind, because it destroys people and I don't think the people who does it knows the impact they can have. I hope they don't.

I have never gone back to the lab. I can't. I'm having heart palpitations just thinking about it when I'm writing this. I retrained. Became a machinist. Back to the working class I came from. Eventually started writing.

And this is exactly what these last months have felt like.

I thought I understood things. I was pretty open with being old, an Aspie, not understanding memes, or humor, or tik tok, or certain aspects of people's behavior like jealousy, but the problem with joking about this is that it's so easy to take as just a joke. That I'm just making fun of myself (oh it's that too). I got advice from some of you, which I ignored, because I thought that I could be different. That there was no danger in getting close. That I could be just another voice in the crowd. An occasionally evil avocado. That this couldn't blow up in my face, that everything was cool.

And then it did. And I was wrong. And the talking started, and things were coming out that I had no idea that was going on. That I was being held responsible for. Opinions that were spoken in my name. Events I was supposed to have been aware of and supported. All of a sudden I was omniscient, aware of the true passive aggressive meaning of every reblog, aware of every post in every room in the discord I wasn't even running. Wasn't even a mod on. All of a sudden I had power, and I had used it to hurt people. The people I cared about. Everything I wrote was taken in the worst possible way, twisted into things I never meant, and the more I tried to talk to people, the worse it went.

Look. I know this was at heart a war between people that just doesn't like each other and the things they do/the ways they behave. I'm still not entirely sure who's been involved, and I'm not interested in finding out. I tried to build a supportive space, reblog everyone's art and fics, encourage people to make their own things, get a kofi, get some money, make some friends.

And herein lies my problem.

I thought I understood how to be, and now I don't. I have no idea who hates my guts and who doesn't (well, except some who has very vocally let me know). I can't trust anything. I can't trust anyone. And it sucks. Someone I trusted stabbed be in the back because they were convinced I stabbed them in the back and that sucks more than I can describe. Every time I make a comment on AO3 or twitter it's after psyching myself up for half an hour, and I'm usually a wreck afterwards, because my brain doesn't know if they hate me too, and if I am imposing on them and making their day bad.

So yeah. I need to figure out how to be. How not to have a nausea attack every time I accidentally click open tumblr from pure reflex, looking away from the screen just not to see how may messages I have.

I never wanted to be the aloof author, but maybe I have to be. The question is if I can. I have been told I can't comment on pics or fics, because then I have favorites. And that makes people jealous. And it makes people think I take sides. I have been told I can't be on the discord, because then I will be held responsible for what the mods do there, and everything that's said even when I'm not around. I should apparently have someone manage the tumblr, it's not something that I, an author should do.

I now understand the authors who just stay away and remain distant, because people give themselves the power to write the narrative for you.

Part of me wants to tell people what I've told my current bosses, don't assume, just talk to me. I don't pick up/do passive aggression, I don't understand hints, I have trouble with nuance, I don't listen to gossip, I don't interact enough to know anything that's going on. Just ask before assuming.

Except that right now I can't. I can't talk about any of this. It's too close. It sets me off. It's getting better, sure, I'm on medication again, but the smallest thing still can ruin my entire day. I have no idea how long it will take me to recover and come back to some semblance of normality. I'm not posting this myself (my partner does). Writing is going well, because it lets me not be myself. I need those walls again. The therapy of writing about pain.

I'll rebuild them. I'm not entirely sure who I'll be on the other end of it. We'll see.

I have consciously not spoken about any details because those could be misunderstood, this is not a passive aggressive callout to anybody. I have no hard feelings towards anyone, I am not angry or upset, just confused and sad. I am truly so very, very, very sorry that I've hurt people, both by action and inaction. It was never my intention. I will do my best to do better in the future.

Still working on how to do that.

#personal

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tartagliaxx · 3 years

Note

hi lei!! my break has officially started so i don't have to stress about school for a bit!! today i played through venti's and childe's story quest to help decide which one i wanna use my pity on and honestly i was more affected by childe's than i thought,,hes starting to form a place in my heart the whole thing made me kinda cringe and have second hand embarssment because of his lying but seeing how much he cared for his brother was so sweet,,,i have a complicated relationship with my family and seeing their dynamic made me feel a sense of yearning i guess,,i cried it about it earlier and childe provided me a sense of comfort but I wanna know more about him before i just let him be my comfort character there are requirements and rules he has to meet!! giving me comfort is a full time job!!/j i'm gonna read his wiki tonight and i'm respectfully asking you my favorite childe lover for your hcs on him- 🍰

hello bby!!! i just woke up from a nap so this may or may not have come late. anw, im glad you’re finally getting a break! venti and childe’s quests gave me different sets of feelings but those two are my favorite along w zhongli’s! childe does a lot of unjustifiable things and he’s overall, a pretty bad person but the thing about bad people is that they’re never 100% bad. there’s always some semblance of good in their hearts and that makes you connect to them in a sense. while i don’t exactly agree w his methods, childe loves his brother sm and it shows. i want someone to protect me the same way he does w his family smh.

random childe hcs under the cut!

— childe sleeps awkwardly w his useless long limbs sprawled out so there’s never enough space when sharing a bed w him.

— thats a win for him tho bc he’s the hugest cuddler teyvat has seen. without fail, whoever sleeping w him would wake up to his arm securely around their waist or their head, legs tangled loosely together.

— he sleeps the closest to the door and windows. its a safety habit of his. whoever wants to harm the people he’s closest to will have to go through him first and that’s a fact even under the blanket of slumber.

— he likes spending obnoxious amounts of money for gifts but he also makes handmade trinkets just as often. maybe woodwork? little toys or trinkets that he makes on his downtime. those trinkets always come with special little notes or letters, depending on how much free time he has.

— what i mean is it ranges from “thinking of you. love, ajax” to “the weather in liyue is cooler than normal but not nearly cold enough to compare to the weather over there. i just came back from work related duties and while camping, i made this little something for you.”

— if someone he cares about gets injured because of their clumsiness, he would tease them first before helping them. he’s a jerk but that doesn’t mean he isn’t concerned. actually, he’s the type to blow things out of proportion.

— you sprained your ankle? he’ll laugh and tease you for being so clumsy and when you start pouting and refusing his help? he’s the type to leave you behind and come back a few moments later with a wheelchair or smth as you sulk about his lack of concern. if you still refuse his help? he’ll ride the wheelchair himself and spin around acting as if he’s having the best time of his life (he is.)

— also, watch him carry you in his arms everywhere despite your embarrassment and insistence that you can walk hobble your way around.

— if someone hurt you? call an ambulance but not for him that’s a story for another time and it’s not gonna be sparkles and fairy tales.

— childe has a very high eq/emotional intelligence. partnered w his very observant nature, he knows exactly what everyone is feeling.

— expect your favorite comfort food, a bunch of comfy blankets, a mug of your favorite warm drink and all other stuff you like if you’re feeling even the slightest bit down. he’ll spoil you w everything if he’s unfortunately too busy to be there w you.

— but if he can force someone else to do his share of work and his work is not too important, then he would stay and cuddle you all day. one moment you’re laying against his chest as you read a book and the next, you’re the little spoon in bed as he peppers you w sweet words and kisses. he won’t force you to talk abt it but he will willingly lend an ear if you want to talk about it.

— if he sees that whatever troubles you is becoming bad-bad then he will gently pry it out of you for your own sake. he just wants to help as best as he could bc a frown would never belong to your pretty face.

— pls i want that. but you know what else i want?

— when childe is the one needing help, his first instinct is to hide behind a mask but if you successfully wormed your way into his heart, he’ll let you see how lonely and broken he truly is.

— cradle his head to your chest and he’ll nuzzle his head closer to you. he loves the rhythm of your heartbeat. it grounds him. run a hand through his hair and he’ll weakly whimper. don’t mention it tho or else he’ll pull away out of shame.

— after basking in your warmth and affection, childe will look up w a dopey smile and the most lovestricken eyes you could ever see. he loves too much and now, he loves you.

— he’s very open w his affection and if you reciprocate? he will protect you until the end of time and love you ever so unconditionally.

— to childe, love means one thing and that’s family. if he loves you, you’re now part of his dysfunctional family and he makes it his life’s purpose to do everything to make his family smile.

— congrats. you’re now part of tonia’s permanent guest list for tea parties and teucer’s favorite play buddy second only to childe. sure you may never have met them, but he speaks about you so much in his letters that they feel like they’ve known you forever.

— oh and you might as well pack up and live in snezhnaya bc after meeting them once at childe’s insistence, they, too, have fallen in love w you and they’re just as stubborn as our man, childe.

* * *

not sure what kind of hcs u wanted so i added a little of everything. this is my best sales talk so bby, come into my arms and join the ‘i love childe’ cult.

#lei.answers #withlove.🍰#childe #childe headcanons #genshin #childe hcs

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noblest-roman-of-all · 4 years

Text

silence

day 7! if theres any major errors, sorry i might have a minor concussion cause im a dumbass. heres some cute analogical for you!

parirings: virgil/logan

tw: anxiety attacks, poor self esteem and negative self talk

Virgil has a tendency to blow things out of proportion. He knows he does, his therapist has talked to him about cognitive distortions and all the ways that it can mess with his perception of the world and the things happening to him.

With that in mind, Virgil is still pretty sure this is the worst day of his life.

The worst part of it all is that there wasn’t any particular thing that happened, no great catastrophe. Just a series of small, kinda shitty things that snowballed into him curled up on the floor in a dusty corner of the library, shaking and gasping and entirely unable to move. He’d had panic attacks before, but they were almost never this bad, especially since he’d started going to Dr. Picani, and the thought that he’d somehow failed, that Picani would be disappointed, sends him spiralling even deeper.

He hears footsteps approaching, and his breath hitches again. Shit, he thought he was the only one in the section of the library, now there was somebody who might find him, who might see him like this. He hears whoever it was take a few steps forward, and then-

“Hello?” And of course, because this is the worst day of Virgil’s shitty life, it was Logan Baker, the unfairly brilliant, stupidly attractive sophomore who was in Virgil’s English 112 class, and who almost definitely hated him. Who was now standing in front of Virgil, having a complete breakdown, looking like an utter idiot, and if he didn’t dislike Virgil before he absolutely would now, seeing him in a state like this in public, why was he such a fucking mess that he couldn’t manage to get somewhere private so no one would have to see him like this-

Virgil’s spiralling thoughts come to a screeching halt when he notices that Logan has not turned and quickly walked in the other direction, or pulled out his phone to make fun of Virgil to his friends, but has instead sat down, leaning against the opposite bookshelf so he is facing Virgil, but still a few feet away. He looks Virgil over with a keen eye, but not critical. It doesn’t help Virgil, necessarily, but it… doesn’t add to his panic. Which is good.

“I assume asking if you are ‘okay’ is a bit redundant,” Logan says. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Virgil… really wasn’t expecting that. He opens his mouth to respond, but all he can manage is a quiet croak. He hides his head back in his knees, wanting the floor to just swallow him whole at this point. Logan doesn’t laugh though, just lets out a thoughtful hum.

“Can you speak? It’s alright if you can’t,” he says plainly. Virgil shakes his head slightly, glad he’s not being pushed to speak when apparently, his body is refusing to do so. Logan lets out that same hum again. Then, after a moment of quiet, he speaks up again.

“Would it help you if I spoke?” The question is quiet, almost timid in a way Virgil had never heard him sound. “I’ve been made aware I have a… soothing voice, although I wouldn’t think to call it that myself,” he says in a tone that if it came from anyone else, Virgil would call it sheepish. Virgil nods quickly.

“I assume that nod means it’s okay for me to speak,” Logan says, a huff of laughter in his tone. Virgil smiles into his arms and nods again.

“I’m aware that for some people, being left alone is preferable, but many people find comfort in hearing another person’s voice. It allows the mind something to focus on, I suppose, to prevent from spiralling.” There’s a pause, and then Logan continues, a bit quieter. “I know it helps me.”

Virgil looks up at that, making a small, curious sound. Logan smiles, soft and unsurprised.

“I know people don’t expect it of me, but I’m not neurotypical. I have ADHD, and oftentimes I get overwhelmed. I’ve found it’s helpful to hear someone else’s voice, to have something to latch on to,” Logan explains calmly. Virgil sits on the thought for a moment, and then nods. It makes sense to him. When Logan doesn’t say anything else, he makes a gesture with his hand, trying to indicate ‘keep going’. It seems to work, because Logan picks right up again easily.

“I’m not great with these-these emotional things.” The way he spits out the word emotional makes that clear enough. Virgil lets out a sound that isn’t quite a laugh, but is closer to happy than any other sound he’d made recently. Logan’s lip quirks up in a semblance of a smile.

“My roommate, Patton, he’s better at all of this than I am. I understand it from an intellectual perspective, but I admit that I struggle actually applying it.” Logan stays there, sitting on the hard ground of the library, talking to Virgil, for about an hour. He talks about his roommate Patton, who’s an early education major, and his friend Roman, a theater and performance major. He talks about the classes he’s taking for his major, astronomy. He talks about professors he loves, ones he hates. He talks about the little burger place near campus Patton drags him to every Friday so they can do karaoke, and how as much as he pretends to hate it, he secretly loves it. He talks, and for the first time Virgil gets to see someone other than Logan Baker, mildly intimidating straight A student. He gets to see Logan, who’s admittedly a bit of a dork and cares about his friends more than he would ever admit.

Eventually, Virgil manages to unfurl himself, his breathing relatively even and his mind no longer filled with swirling, hurtful words. Logan stutters to a stop when he realizes Virgil is now sitting up straight, actively listening now.

“I, um, see you’re feeling better. I apologize for revealing so much personal information, it’s just-” Logan stops when Virgil chuckles.

“It’s alright, dude. I, uh, actually enjoyed it,” Virgil admits with a flush. Logan looks equally flustered, and moves to stand up.

“Well, seeing that you’re in a better state now, I’ll be on my way. Have a good afternoon, Virgil.” With that, he makes to hurry off. Virgil lurches up and grabs his wrist before he can go.

“I… never told you my name. How did you…” Virgil trails off. Logan actually manages to look more flustered.

“I, well, we share an English course, and I… appreciate your input. It’s interesting, and it makes me think,” Logan mutters. Virgil breaks into a smile at that, and pushes himself up as quickly as he dares.

“Well, I’ve been down there for about 2 hours now. I really need to stretch my legs, and probably get something to eat,” Virgil says. Logan nods and starts to turn away.

“Of course, I don’t mean to interrupt your plans.” Virgil grabs Logan again, his shoulder this time, and Logan turns on his heel.

“Well, I was thinking. You said that burger place isn’t too far from campus, right?” Virgil asks. Logan gives him an odd look, and Virgil sighs. “I’m trying to ask you to get lunch with me, dork.” Logan lets out a shocked laugh.

“As much as I appreciated the silence from earlier, I think I much prefer you like this,” Logan admits. He gestures for Virgil to walk alongside him as they walk off.

Alright. Maybe this isn’t the worst day of Virgil’s life. Maybe, it’s actually the best.

#ts virgil #ts logan #analogical #college au #theyre two nerds and i adore them #also logan being a dork and loving his friends bc i say so

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loveislattes · 4 years

Text

Take You Away (DarkXGN/AFAB!Reader) Chapter 1

Commission prompt:

Dark/afab gn!reader: the reader is naturally submissive with a praise kink to end all praise kinks—dark likes to fluster & tease the reader with praise until all they can do is whine and whimper needily? Mixed with- DarkxReader- Dark is a mythical, eldritch, being who lures curious souls into his forest. Similar to InfelixXReader.

Alright, if you know my writing by now, you know I almost always gotta come up with a back story. So this first chapter is all world building and fluff.

Only warning for this first chapter is it talks about the death of a grandparent.

@underthedark13

@moriimae

@oi-fischfuck

@beck384

@book-of-roses

@therealcap

It was fitting, empathetic almost really. Grandma had cried herself practically empty and so the clouds above were drizzling their own tears for the family. A melancholic smile turned your lips up the slightest bit as you watched your grandma get up from her second home in the dirt of the small garden, wiping her hands clean on her old apron. It wasn’t until you realized she was going to attempt to carry the over-filled basket of vegetables that you finally sprung into action.

“Hey, why don’t you let me carry that?” you offered gently.

At first, you thought she was going to refuse your offer, that familiar stubborn look coming into her eyes until she relented with a sigh.

“I suppose,” she grumbled.

After handing off the basket, she took a few of the potatoes and carrots off the top.

You offered her a grand smile and said, “It’s the least I can do after lazing around and just watching you do all the actual hard work.”

“Yeah yeah.”

She waved you off and started toward the back door but not before you spotted the little grin she now had. It felt like a victory of epic proportions after how down everyone had been the past few days. The toll of your grandpa’s death had dealt a mighty blow, which is why you were staying an extra week at home with her. Not that you minded. You needed the break from work and it had been a long time since you’d seen her in person.

“You coming or not, child?” she chastised warmly from the doorway.

Chuckling and giving her a little shrug, you replied, “Yep, sorry! Got lost in my thoughts.”

It amused you to no end that, despite being over eighteen for however long, she still called you child just like when you stood at her knee height. Some things never changed. Just like how she stood at that same spot every night to cut up the ingredients for supper, and how she always kept her coffee mug just a little too close to the edge for your liking.

Setting the basket on the floor by the pantry, you slowly worked to get all the vegetables put away while listening to the steady chopping of the knife on the board and the gentle sound of her humming. The instant you were finished, you joined her at the counter.

“Uh-uh. You know I love you dearly, child, but you’ve been clucking around me like a mother hen all day. You and I both need a break. Leave me to do my work and go get some fresh air. Maybe go see if that Walmart boy you used to like so much remembers you.”

At the mention of your middle school crush, the Walmart greeter who was at least a generation older than you, you barely managed to hold in a cringe-laced groan.

“Uh, no thanks. I’m good on that front,” you muttered, rapping your knuckles on the counter rhythmically, “But I’ll find something to do.”

Before you had even finished the sentence, you knew exactly where you were going. You’d been dying to explore the woods outside the house since the day after the funeral but didn’t want to leave your grandma alone too soon. You’d spent most of your summers there as a kid until your parents stopped bringing you here.

“Go. Have fun. Act like the young adult you are and get into a little mischief. Not too much though!”

You slipped your jacket on and called out a reminder to your grandma that you were only a phone call away before running out the door. You noted, thankfully, that the slow drizzle from before had lightened up even more into a sparse sprinkle so you had the option of keeping your hood down. As your feet moved towards the familiar path through the back gate, your mind began to wander.

You knew it was a stupid hope. It had been over a decade since you’d last visited, so logically you knew that the little meadow you had claimed as your own so long ago might not even exist anymore, but you just had to see. Every summer when you’d come to stay with your grandparents, you’d spend hours upon hours in the woods exploring. The plentiful greenery served to be your escape from reality. You imagined colonies of fairies and hollows of trolls, eternal life springs, and animated Ents. At the center of it all had been the one and only imaginary friend in your childhood; a man named Dark.

As you got older you realized there had to be some psychological reason you had imagined a distinguished eldritch being in the forest named Dark as your friend for many years but you never did figure out the reasoning.

“To be fair, my childhood wasn’t that great,” you muttered to yourself.

While contemplating the psychological impact a rough childhood might have on one’s psyche and emotional growth, you continued on the long-familiar path, somehow traipsing carefully around every root and limb with precise muscle memory that shouldn’t even exist.

“Well, well, what do we have here? Little Mx. Red has come to see me again after all this time?”

The sudden deep voice nearly sent you careening to the side out of pure shock and terror. Your eyes swept from the forest floor to the clearing you hadn’t even yet noticed in front of you. And there he sat, the perfectly imperfect being of your dreams, in the same delicately grown throne of vines and limbs that you remembered from so long ago. Just as stunning as the first day you’d seen him.

“Dark?” you asked warily.

A sly smirk parted his lips as he tipped his head your way.

“Mx. Red.”

As your brain fought your tongue to find some semblance of words, your eyes danced over him and soaked in every visible inch. You didn’t quite remember him being so… attractive. Then again, you were a child the last time you had seen him. With his pristine white suit and contrasting black shirt, he painted a portrait of class, but his unshaven face and messy black locks gave off the exact opposite vibe. It would almost be funny how human he looked if it weren’t for the fact you were utterly transfixed. When he suddenly lifted a wine glass to his lips and took a sip, it broke whatever spell you had been under.

“Wait, you remember me?” you finally asked in return.

“I remember everyone that I promise to save.”

A little bout of excitement and embarrassment wriggled through your gut uncomfortably as you thought back on everything you ever told him. So many secrets. Blown way out of proportion thanks to a child’s view on life.

“Yeah, about that. I thought some stupid stuff as a kid. I wasn’t really being treated as badly as it seemed, at least not as bad-”

At an inhuman speed, the eldritch being leaped from his throne and came to stand mere inches from you, interrupting your train of thought and forcing silence to blossom in the slight space between your bodies.

“Don’t. Do not compare your plights to others. Their pain does not lessen yours,” he demanded roughly, “Alas, you seem to have forgotten that I was able to see into your head and verify your fears.”

With the touch of his fingers to your temple, suddenly you were transported back a decade: Tiny little you standing face to face with the kneeling man whose face was screwed up in concern. The strange little twirl of magic that danced along your skin and billowed your hair around you. The exhilarating excitement of being allowed tea parties with playful imps and fairies. The twisting feeling of defeat when you’d have to leave at the end of each summer.

Your legs went weak beneath you and your stomach felt like it was dropped miles below as you were suddenly back in your adult body. You braced for impact with eyes shut tight only to be yanked into the firm planes of another’s body. Through process of elimination, your mind brilliantly deduced that the only person who could be holding you was Dark and immediately your face began to burn hot. You jerked away quickly and he relinquished his hold with grace but kept a steadying hand on your shoulder.

“My apologies,” he spoke softly, “Are you okay now?”

A little nod was all you could manage in return but that seemed enough to soothe his worries.

“It seems that it’s been long enough since I’ve looked into your mind that your body has built up a resistance.”

“That’s… interesting?” you murmured uncertainly, “It might also be the shock of discovering that you’re actually real and not a figment of my imagination.”

He watched as you shoved your hands into your pockets nervously but didn’t say anything in return. The weight of his eyes was heavy and built the intensity brewing in your belly to a boil. So many conflicting emotions were assaulting your mind and body that you physically couldn’t handle much more than staring back at him just the same. And at the same time, everything was suddenly serene, down to the muffled humming of the forest creatures around you.

You weren’t sure how long it had been before the first chirping ring of your phone went off but suddenly you were alerted to the fact that you were standing much closer than you had been originally, a trembling hand halfway up to his face. Said hand instantly shot into your jacket pocket and brought your cell to your face.

“Uhm, h-hello?” you answered meekly.

“Dinner’s almost done. You coming back soon?” your grandma asked, the sound of a pot lid banging in the background.

“Sure thing. Be there in a few,” you replied.

When you looked back up at Dark after shoving your phone away, you were surprised to find him with a little smile on his face.

“Go. I will be here when you return. I’m always here,” he coaxed.

You licked your lips nervously before giving him and slight nod and saying, “I’ll be back in the morning. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

#darkiplier x reader #darkiplier fanfiction #gender neutral reader #afab reader #fluff #world building #good stuff in chapter two

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ultram0th · 1 year

Text

Brad Rowe blushed when he saw Gabe waiting for him on the pier, the latter looking cross for some reason. The bodybuilder gulped loudly as he approached the smaller man.

“H-hello, Gabe,” he barely whispered, already fearing the worst.

The smaller man looked the bodybuilder up and down, noting his red shorts and tank top. “You didn’t get permission to wear that, Brad,” Gabe tsked, even going so far as to wag his finger at the paling muscle man.

“W-well, I thought th-that…” the bodybuilder stumbled over his words, knowing that he’d fucked up and had made Gabe angry. He’d known that Gabe had wanted him to wear just the tiny thong that’d been left at his place, but he couldn’t bring himself to wear such a demeaning piece of clothing. He’d figured that he’d compromise with a modestly revealing outfit.

Gabe narrowed his eyes at him and Brad felt that fearfully familiar tingle wash over him.

“W-wait!” he tried to cry out when he felt his center of gravity shift. Slowly, Brad’s body began to shrink. However, the more he stared at his shortening stature, the hunk was horrified to realize that it wasn’t a proportional shrinking. Instead of maintaining his usual muscle physique, he appeared to be compressing down, all of his years’ worth of muscle piling up on each other. His long arms pulled inwards, his biceps puffing up until they forced his limbs out at an awkward angle. His legs followed suit, his quads and calves inflating as they shorted, making the man to adopt a wider stance. His clothes stretched to the limit as they struggled to contain his widening frame, giving the mortified hunk an outlined view of his cock which also pulled into his body, transforming into a little nub. With a whine of panic, Brad instantly reached for his puny member, only to bristle in shocked annoyance when his bulky, short arms were virtually inflexible due to their new mass, prohibiting him from reaching his new nub which probably wasn’t even two inches big. Even Brad’s torso compressed too. His flat six-pack pushed out slightly as his stomach scrunched down. His pecs inflated outwards as well, nearly blocking his view of the rest of his midgetized body. Had the funhouse mirror not been close by, Brad wouldn’t have noticed his bubble butt push outwards from his altered body, forming a near perfect shelf from his broadened back.

When the dizziness passed and his head began to clear, Brad’s jaw dropped… and his chin automatically brushed up against his protruding pecs. The hunk stared wide-eyed at his altered frame in the mirror. He had to only be about three and half feet tall now, having lost nearly half of his height, but none of his weight. His arms stuck out akimbo from his bulky torso. He even tried to take a step forward, blushing profusely at the way his new thighs rolled over each other as his walk was reduced to a waddle.

Gabe nodded to himself. “I think you’ll stay like this for the day,” he teased.

“Yes, Sir,” Brad mumbled, wincing at his higher octave voice. Ever since he’d ran afoul Gabe at the gym, the warlock had it out for him, taking pleasure in humiliating the bodybuilder every chance he could get.

Last week, Brad had walked around looking like a twink with barely any muscle mass on his tiny frame, the week before that his head was the size of a plum, and before that his ass looked like two yoga balls had been attached to his back. The bodybuilder was surprised that he could even feel any semblance of humiliation still after all that’s happened to him.

“Why don’t you go flex on the beach with the other muscle men?” Gabe suggested.

Brad felt the wind blow over him and he looked over in one of the fun mirrors to see his warped body wearing a bright red poser. The back of the poser was hidden between his puffed out ass cheeks and the front pouch was a little loose as it blocked his shortened cock from view.

“Yes, Sir,” Brad squeaked again, waddling off the pier towards the beach, trying to get the hang of maneuvering with his compressed musculature. He just hoped that one day Gabe would forgive him and set him free and let him stay in his normal body.

[I don't remember where I found this picture. If it's yours, please let me know so I can give proper credit!]

#Brad Rowe #Bodybuilder #Muscle #Musclegrowth #Shrinking #Smaller #Muscle Compression #Squishing #Compressed

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timextoxhajima · 4 years

Text

HOSTIS, Chapter XVII.5: Inevitabilis, Inevitable

HOSTIS PLAYLIST: WONHO - LOSING YOU

Previous Chapter (XVII: Et Universum Parallel)

Member: Lee Hyunjae (tbz)

Genre (by chapter): drama, angst

Category: Short Novel/Long Series

Dana’s A/N: this is a special piece written by @vxstarlightxv who has been feeding me ideas to fuel this story. i did not write this chapter, i only merely proof-read it/gave her tips etc, but otherwise the beauty of this chapter will never be able to be my own original work.

P.S: if you’re emotional, please keep a box of tissues with you

“there is no escape from you, not now, not ever. you are inevitable.”

The day the kids at school start calling you Ares is the day Hyunjae loses faith in humanity. You are a spineless, low-life coward, who hardly deserves to be bestowed with the same title as himself. Yet here you are, acting as though you were worth being on the same plane as him.

He hates you. Oh god, he truly does.

He remembers the way you fucked him over so well and thoroughly, and in front of the whole school that too. Granted, he may have screwed with your equipment, but maybe if you didn’t suck so bad you wouldn’t have failed.

Blaming him for your shortcomings. How typical.

But showing Minhee that picture of the accidental kiss (that meant nothing) for the sole purpose of destroying his relationship? That was a bitch move right there. So he has no regrets when he posts a cleverly edited picture of your lab teacher with his girlfriend. None at all. In fact, the sight of your tears when that himbo Younghoon dumps you is something that brings him delight.

His heart definitely did not twist when he saw you cry, because he definitely does not care. You hurt him, and it’s only fair that you’re hurting too.

Nonetheless, he is pleasantly surprised at how fast you bounce back. His breakup with Minhee was a huge watery mess, and he cannot help his grudging admiration for your strength when you power through your own with Younghoon.

It is only admiration, for he definitely still hates you.

When the time comes to choose a medical school, he chooses the one that seems the furthest away from you. But fate hates him, so after 4 years of respite, he is dumped back on your doorstep as your fellow intern in the neurology department.

Of all the fucky coincidences.

~~~

Ares is a brutal god. He is the fire of war, wild and relentless.

Hyunjae is furious when he finds out you’ve stolen his report, but he’s not surprised. Not when he would’ve done the same thing. Then again, he was kind of hoping you would leave him alone. Naturally, you’ve done the opposite. He wonders if his emotional response is a little… disproportionate, given the situation, but he’s not going to let you fuck him over like this and escape unscathed. He isn’t a fucking pussy, your thoughts on the matter be damned.

Silly little kitten. Put your paws in the fire, and watch the heat bubble your skin.

He is simmering as he bangs on your door. He hears you screaming some nonsense about your mother, but he’s too pissed to process anything. You open the door, face falling as you see him. He cannot help but reach out a hand and grab you by your pretty throat.

He shoves you into the house, fuelled by the magnitude of his anger. You’ve hurt his pride, made a fool out of him in front of Dr Kim. He wants to shred you to pieces, get you on your knees and rip the apologies from your mouth.

Tonight you will understand why the other gods fear the wrath of Ares.

~~~

Hyunjae replays the encounter in his head as he drives home. He has never once considered you as anything but an enemy. But today, something of seismic proportion has shifted in your dynamic.

The flutter of your lips against his, like butterfly wings on a flower. The warmth of your chest against his in a tight alcove, hiding from Dr Shin. The way you felt when you took him in, the way you cried when he hit every single spot that made your toes curl. The way you purred when he called you kitten and mewled as you fell apart on his cock.

In retrospect, he hopes that he didn’t hurt you. He usually likes to stick around for aftercare, but he didn’t want to ruin your pride even more. You’d already been dealt with a devastating blow, and he didn’t want to make it worse, regardless of how big of a dick you think he is.

(Ring, ring)

The sharp blare of his ringtone shatters the silence of his ride home. He glances at the screen, smiling when he sees the caller id.

“What’s up, Juyeonie? Are you finally back?” Hyunjae is thrilled to hear his best friend’s voice. Juyeon is very busy these days, being a commercial pilot and all, so these rare moments they have with each other are more precious than gold.

“Hey, hyung! Yes I am! On that note, are you free next Friday? Let’s get drinks and catch up!” Juyeon sounds so eager and hopeful that Hyunjae can’t help but say yes, no matter how packed his schedule might be. The rest of the conversation proceeds pleasantly, and he is happy to forget the day’s drama.

It is only when he reaches home that he realises that the thought of you has never quite left his head.

~~~

“So what happened? The last I heard, she left you high and dry in JFK.”

He watches as feline eyes crinkle with delight at his question. His friend launches into a happy tirade about his mystery girl, going on and on about fate and chance encounters and love lost and found. Hyunjae listens carefully, admiring the way Juyeon has changed. He wonders for a moment if he'll ever experience something as profound as Juyeon has, will ever wake up one day knowing that his heart sits in the palms of another person, and will not fear the idea.

The image of your eyes dancing with wicked laughter arises unbidden, and it punches the breath out of him.

He is jostled out of his thoughts when a hand lands on his thigh. It is so abrupt, so sudden that he all but jumps out of his skin.

“Long time no see, stranger.”

Choi Minhee is standing in front of him, batting her mascara-painted eyelashes at him seductively. She is as pretty as ever, with her delicate collarbones and anime-girl eyes.

But she is not you.

The thought is so dreadful and unsettling that he cannot help but flirt with her the whole night in order to get it out of his head.

When have you become anything but an annoyance, anything but a pest that’s been shoved down his throat?

It is pleasant, talking to someone who he hasn’t met in a long time. He remembers her fondly, despite how miserable their parting was. Minhee is soft and kind, a gentle cherry-blossom compared to your ever-burning inferno. She complements him well (not perfectly, because only oneperson does), and for a second he feels white-hot annoyance at you for fucking him over in this regard. Hyunjae cannot help but wonder if they would have been married by now had you not intervened with that photo. Would they be living the white-picket fence dream? What would their kids have looked like?

All he can see are children with your ash-brown hair and his almond eyes. The image causes his gut to clench so tightly that he wonders if something inside him might have cracked open.

“Have you and Y/N gotten together yet? I figured that after we broke up the two of you would end up going out. You were always kinda obsessed with each other.” The question jolts him out of his reverie. Juyeon, who has been listening politely so far, decides to insert himself into the conversation.

“Yeah, hyung. The two of you have always had something special, right? What was that stupid nickname we gave you? Paris and Helen?”

The irony is not lost to him. Enemies, being compared to the two greatest lovers of all time. A face that launched a thousand ships, a blaze of love that destroyed a nation. Only fools succumb to Aphrodite, the cruelest of the divine hosts.

“Ares and Ares. And for fuck’s sake, I will never be attracted to that hag. You won’t believe what she did at work last week-”

Hyunjae misses the knowing look Minhee and Juyeon exchange. He’s only seeing you.

~~~

If there is one thing that Hyunjae hates, it is surprises. So he really, really hates it when he sees you flirting with the intern as though he doesn’t exist.

The day had actually started off pretty well. He came into work feeling all pleased with himself. Not only did he break you down, but he also figured out a solid way to keep you in line. You were reacting beautifully to his taunts, and seeing you unable to walk made something vicious inside him preen.

And then, before he can breathe, you are making stupid cow-eyes at the snot-faced little intern as though he created entire galaxies in your honour.

How dare you, honestly? You’re wearing his hickeys on your neck, limping and sore because heripped you apart last night. How can you even thinkof flirting with another man? Are you doing this on purpose, to get some semblance of power back?

This is not jealousy. It definitely is NOT jealousy because that would mean he would have to be attracted to your hideous hag face. No, it was an issue of pride. And no, he definitely was not deluding himself right now.

Nonetheless, watching Eric help you into his car after work makes him want to vomit.

~~~

It is the party incident that truly knocks it into his head. He spends the entire night seething over your flirtations with Eric, with even Sangyeon. He glares at you, but you pretend to not see, and it shoves him off the edge.

Why won’t you look at him? A room full of people, but you are the only one he sees. So why aren’t you seeing him too?

He reminds you that night, who is the only one who knows how to pick you apart, snap you in half. He reminds you who is the only one who can make your body thrum and vibrate, who is the only one who can coax tears from your eyes and pleasured sobs from your throat. But he is also tender with you after, because under that diamond-hard exterior is a heart wrapped in silks and satin. Hurting you is the last thing he wants to do.

It is only when he wakes up alone in the morning that he realises that maybe, just maybe, he wishes he could see you in his bed again, hair spilled across the sheets as your breathing slowly evens out into slumber. He wants to coo over your keening wails, drink the moans from your mouth.

A thought, fleeting and profound, surfaces.

He wants you to be his.

~~~

He goes to work on Sunday with iron resolve. He has spent the entirety of Saturday thinking hard about you, and the relationship you shared with him. The line between obsession and infatuation is a thin one, one that the two of you have been dancing on for 10 whole years. When did his foot slip? When did the late nights plotting revenge mutate into candied dreams of your lips, of your body, singing for him?

But of course, who else could it be? You have always been, will always be, his forever other half.

Ares and Ares, locked in their death dance. But when did Ares become Aphrodite? War has become Love, and Love has become War.

Somewhere along the way, something has gone wrong. At some point or the other, he has forgotten the hatred that sizzled through him like blazing poison. He has forgotten that you are annoying, that you are competitive, and that you get revenge in the sleaziest ways possible. He has forgotten everything, because all that remains is the way your smile looks like a flashing ray of sunlight, like a tendril of shimmering starlight. All that remains is the sound of your wind chime laughter, the softness of your small hands on his heated skin. All that remains is the memory of how good you are for him, how addictive the juxtaposition between your submissive sweetness in bed and your fiery heat outside of it is.

So he decides that he is going to make you his. Granted, the order of things was completely wrong, but he would fix it. He would cook you dinner, press kisses onto your cherry mouth, and then love you till morning comes. And then he would repeat it every day, till the day the two of you are cradled in the eternal embrace of death.

Surely, surely you reciprocate his feelings? How can you not, when your body weeps for him the way it does?

He likes to think you do, when he admires the way your eyes flutter closed when he steals kisses in the pantry. He likes to think you do, when you stay four hours past your shift and order takeaway for him. He likes to think you do, when you dangle Eric in front of him in order to get him to fuck you hard,just the way you like it.

You are his, now.

~~~

Hyunjae’s love for you grows like tender flowers. It starts off small, but grows into something lovely and heartbreaking. You have carved your way into him, nestling against the walls of his heart and beseeching him to let you in with your stupid almond eyes.

He loves your stupid almond eyes.

He is on a cloud these days, brimming with affection that lights up his every step. He never considered himself to be one of those annoying, lovey-dovey honeymooners, but he can definitely see where they get their joy from.

Lovers alone wear sunlight.

You become his greatest delight. When you are around, even dust seems to sparkle like a thousand tiny diamonds. He loves waking up with you, your eyes half lidded and neck covered in his marks. He loves to see you in his clothes, smelling of his body wash, smelling of him.

(He has an extra special fondness for the days in which you are soft and pliant, allowing him to dress you like a doll. It makes his internal organs feel like they are tumbling over each other, and it makes him a little giddy. He loves taking care of you.)

But if he really had to pick a moment, he supposes he loves you most when you are with your patients, hands calm and steady and strong. It reminds him of everything beautiful there is about his profession, and he cannot get enough.

You are beautiful, in all the ways there are to be beautiful. You race through him like lightning, and he is sucked further into your orbit everyday. You carry his heart with you (inside yours), and you are never without it.

So he is overflowing with love when he picks you up and tastes your peach-covered mouth. He is overflowing with love when you smile at him with a sort of lightness that he's never quite seen directed at him before. He is overflowing with love as he goes to your favourite cafe one day to pick up the chowder you never stop talking about. Tonight, he will ask you to be his girlfriend, make this tentative little dance official.

Perhaps that is why the pain is so exquisite when he sees you with Younghoon, and hears you talking about Eric with such tenderness in your eyes.

“He’s super enthusiastic and there’s just something about him that’s so... comforting. I see him and I think about nothing but sunshine and warmth and laughter. He’s just... so cheerful, compared to whatever i’ve been used to.” Something inside him shatters into a million jagged pieces when he hears the words, and every breath becomes as a blood-drenched ordeal.

Sunshine and warmth and laughter. Sunshine and warmth and laughter. Sunshine and warmth and laughter. The words ring like alarm bells.

Fool. Naive, hopeless fool. You were never really his, were you? You might be the light by which his spirit is born, you might be his sun, moon and stars, but he? He is your nothing. He is the shadow that is birthed of your radiance, forever connected and forever forgotten.

Is this is why storms are named after people? You have destroyed him in the sweetest of ways. Is this taste of heartbreak? Rust coats his tastebuds. Is this how tears are born? The agony is magnificent and all-encompassing. There is nothing left for him here. He has never been enough, never will be.

He leaves quietly, chowder forgotten.

~~~

It is truly repulsive, the fact that he can see what you adore about Eric. The intern is strong and sweet, kind in all the ways Hyunjae is not. He is soft and mellow, and will cool your scalding tantrums with gentle words. He will not stir up the embers of your fury the way Hyunjae does, hoping for a reaction. He will be tender with you, gently laying you out and coaxing your body to sing. He will not be harsh and hard and possessive like Hyunjae, claiming you with bites and bruises and writing his possession into your blood.

He has been measured, and he has been found lacking. Eric is the perfect Hephaesthus, a sweet spring dandelion, and it is no surprise that Zeus will give you to him.

Aphrodite never belonged to Ares, after all.

“Hey, Eric! Do you have a moment?” By some miracle, his voice doesn’t crack.

“Hey, hyung! What can I do for you?” Eric is as mirthful as ever, and Hyunjae wishes they weren’t fighting over the same girl because he might actually like the intern otherwise.

“Have you gotten Y/N’s number yet?” He pauses to watch the bashful amusement dance across the intern’s face, and waits for the head shake he knows is coming. “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but she’s very into you. So here’s her number, and make sure you call her, alright?” The teasing lilt he’s going for comes off more as a hoarse croak, and he realises belatedly that he really needs to be less of a shit actor.

“Thank you so much, hyung! But hey, don’t you hate Y/N? Why are you helping her out?” The intern offers him a cheeky grin, and all Hyunjae wants to do is knock his teeth out. But he’s a professional,so he offers Eric a tight smile (read: grimace) and says “Well, maybe I’m hoping you’ll distract her from work so that I’ll get the promotion first.” He tosses a wink in for good measure, before reaching out to ruffle Eric’s hair with a certain sadistic pleasure.

That’s thirty minutes in the bathroom gone down the drain. But that’s what he gets for stealing Hyunjae’s girl.

Of course, because Eric is quite literally an angel who can apparently do no wrong, he gives Hyunjae a sweet smile and rolls away happily in his chair, high off his excitement at finally getting the girl he’s been after for ages.

And then Hyunjae is left alone to drown in self-loathing.

Hyunjae is clearly a masochist who likes to hurt himself, so that’s why he decides to tell you to meet him at the carpark after work. One last time, he’ll be the one to drive you home, the one who kisses you goodnight.

He promises he’ll let you go after this.

~~~

The car ride is as quiet as ever. You enjoy being left alone with your thoughts, and Hyunjae isn’t about to interrupt you when he’s being pummeled by his own.

The Japanese once made up a fictional disease to describe the horrors of unrequited love. They call it Hanahaki, in which flowers grow in the lungs of the victims, causing them to cough up petals when they suffer from one-sided love.

He supposes that it is the exact feeling that he feels now. His love for you coils in his chest, choking leaves and thorns that crush his internal organs. It is rooted so deep that it might never leave, killing him softly but surely. The petals tickle his throat in an insidious kiss as he chokes on his desire for you, their softness a poisonous taunt of your lips against his, a feeling he might never know again.

“Are you okay?” Your voice is a balm to his wounded heart.

Of course he’s not okay. He’s in love with you, but you’re not in love with him. He knows that he is nothing without you, and that knowledge is somehow everything.

All this time he wanted to make you his, but you have made him yours.

He cannot form words, so he looks at you, really, really looks at you. He memorises the contours of your face, the slender bone of your nose, the tilt of your eyes, the exact shade of red your lips are. He'll hold every little detail close, remember the last night you're his and his alone, because tomorrow Eric will ask you out and his Aphrodite will never be his again.

He wants to pretend like the sudden moisture in his eyes is surprising, but he can't lie to himself anymore.

Liar, liar. Ares is a liar.

Is this how Lucifer felt when he fell from heaven? You are life, you are life and light and everything bright. And he is cold, dark and alone. He has fallen from grace, and all that is left are the coiling tendrils of hubris keeping his spine straight and gluing the shattered pieces of his heart together. He is heartbroken, but he will clench his teeth and grit through it. Your joy is worth it. His ego won't let him fall apart. He's stronger than this. Isn't he?

Break my heart. Break it into a thousand pieces and then some. It was only ever yours to break anyways.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Anyways, we’re here now. Get out already.” Your scoff is musical. He is aching and he is broken, so he does not have the strength to resist the screaming in his head to steal one last kiss from you. He luxuriates in the feeling of your petal-soft lips against his, before pulling away reluctantly.

Everything is more beautiful because the two of you are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. You will never share this moment again.

“Goodbye, kitten.”

The words are far more permanent than he likes. You don’t hear them.

His tears run as he pulls out of your driveway. He allows himself one last look at you, confusion blossoming on the face he once swore was hideous but now haunts his every moment.

Love is fire. It burns as much as it warms, and he is the poor fool who allowed himself to get scarred.

~~~

Crossing the line from enemies to lovers was a wheeling drop of ecstasy and biting kisses. Crossing the line from lovers back to co-workers is a study in heartbreak, and Hyunjae doesn't know how much longer he can handle it.

How do I forget you? I've tasted your secrets on my lips and drank the whispers of your body. You are the weakness in my bones and the hollowness in my lungs. How do I cleave my soul from yours, when you are the drum that my heart beats to?

It is an awful sort of pain, feeling his chest cave in when he watches Eric roll over to you from his cubicle. You find him cute, it's obvious from the way your eyes crinkle like little stars when you regard him.

Look at me. Look only at me.

You look up, searching for his eyes like you’ve heard his prayer. You're expecting jealousy, disdain, fury. You're expecting him to drag you to the pantry, to call you kitten and kiss you till you bleed. But Hyunjae has no more poison to offer you. He is empty, and all he can do is give you a blank look. He hopes you will be happy, silently wishing you the best.

Hephaestus gets Aphrodite, and all Ares can do is watch. Bloody, brutal Ares is never the winner.

His lack of response throws you off. By now, you are used to his hissy fits, his seething rages. But who is he? What right does he have? You are not his to rage over, or his to claim. You might wear his marks on your neck, but you are definitely not his.

How he wishes you were. But wishes are like pixie dust, and this is no fairytale.

The rest of the day is agonising. His body is so keenly attuned to yours now, and he doesn’t know how to rewire himself. He keeps a cool distance from you, but every molecule in his being roars in fury at the forced detachment.

He misses you already.

You continue to press him, trying to push his buttons and rile him up. Hyunjae studiously ignores you, hoping his coldness will further fray the ropes holding up the fragile bridge of a relationship that the two of you have developed. You are looking at him with a strange mix of anger, disdain and annoyance. For a second, he thinks he might even see-

Is that? Could it be? Longing? Do you miss him like he misses you?

Wishful thinking. That’s what it is. But it hurts so bad that he decides that he’s just going to avoid you from now on, until he finds a more appropriate coping mechanism than simply crying like a toddler when he can’t get his way.

Maybe he should call Minhee, and try to rekindle-

He cuts the thought off before it dredges up more painful memories. All he can see when he thinks of Minhee are the one-thousand-and-one different ways you exceed her.

You’re fiercer, with more spine. You don’t give in as easily. You’re not afraid to fight with him. You have a kinder heart. You are so much smarter. Your lips are softer. Your hand fits into his so much more perfectly. You are lovely in all the ways she never was, never will be.

It is a numbing, novocaine relief when Dr Choi summons him for rounds. If Hyunjae is left for even a second longer with his thoughts, he might just spiral into a pit of depressed longing and self pity that he might never emerge from.

Mighty Ares, on his knees. Aphrodite’s laughter perfumes the air, irresistible and menacing.

~~~

He is on his final round when he meets Mrs Kang. The kind, old lady takes one look at him, eyes lighting up with knowledge that he wishes she wasn’t able to glean so easily.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Well he doesn’t, but the words explode out of his bleeding heart like ink spilling on ivory pages.

“I... I thought that it would be okay, that I could forget and let go and that it would all be fine and good but then… I saw her--” his voice cracks miserably as a lump etches itself into his throat. His heart is racing, and every inhale feels like swallowing glass shards.

“I saw her and something went terribly wrong because I couldn’t forget and my heart was remembering and I felt like I was dying but I couldn’t do anything because all I want is for her to be happy and I know that happiness isn’t with me and I hate it, I hate it, I HATE IT.”

Mrs Kang is silent, regarding him with a look he can’t quite decipher. He takes it as an invitation to continue.

“I wish I was him. I wish I was the one who could make her smile, make her laugh. But I’m angry, I’m jealous and I’m immature. I’m overly competitive, and I don’t know how to lose graciously. When I’m pissed, I do stupid, radical things.”

Silence. Inside, outside. It is deafening.

“Why would she want me? I don’t deserve her, and knowing that I’ll have to live my life watching her in another man’s arms is ripping me apart.”

He’s breathing hard, like he just ran a marathon. It’s a terrifying prospect, facing his feelings head on. Until now, they were swirling around his head in an ugly tangle of emotion. Verbalising them, hearing them out loud, is painful and cathartic at once. But he’s already feeling like a pathetic little sap. He wonders if you would sneer at him if you heard. Is this what it feels like to lose? Is this how you felt, lifetimes ago, on your sofa? The two of you have always been push and pull, a forever impasse. But today, you’ve finally shoved him off balance.

Who is the stronger Ares now? Your kisses are his kryptonite.

A hand comes to rest over his.

“Love always finds a way. I know you’re feeling hopeless now, but know that if you are meant for each other, you will always find your way back,” Mrs Kang finishes with a gentle smile. The pretty words do not reassure him.

If only love was as perfect as love seems to be, if only his flaws and broken edges could be hidden away. But this is a dream that will never come to life, a flower that will never grow to bloom.

She does not know who it is that he is fighting with, who it is that is slipping away from him with every passing second. She thinks that it will be okay, but she does not know that Ares has no mercy. He expects none from you. Nonetheless, he gives her a watery grin in return before standing up to complete his rounds. He may have lost, but he has enough composure to know better than to break in public.

It is a monumental effort, holding it together.

Hyunjae makes it to the lift in peace, stepping in through the shiny doors and slamming the button for the fifth floor. When they slide open, the sight before him makes his heart drop like a wineglass.

You and Eric are standing across him, hand in hand. Eric’s foot is tapping impatiently, eager to drag you off to wherever he was taking you for dinner.

For a second, he loses control over his emotions. Agony crumples his face, and you, because you’re just that smart and just that perceptive, register it. He doesn’t have the heart to pretend anymore.

Hyunjae brushes past the two of you, ignoring your questioning look, ignoring Eric’s cheerful greeting, and most importantly ignoring the writhing in his chest. He goes straight for his briefcase and shoves his belongings in, flicking the lights off and rushing to the carpark. He does not want to see anyone. He does not want to process anything.

He is empty. So, so empty, and hollow. The void inside him threatens to consume him whole.

The moment he reaches home, he goes straight to his spirits. There’s a bottle of whiskey sitting in the top most shelf of his kitchen, a birthday gift from his father. He pulls it down, slamming the glass decanter onto the kitchen counter, and the pressure nearly cracks it open.

He remembers the sight of you pressed up against this very counter, squirming under his ministrations. He remembers your lips fall open in a sigh, and then to beg. He remembers standing between your thighs, feeding you and then licking cream off your lips. Memories swirl through his head, cutting through his ribcage and slicing his heart open.

He doesn’t bother to grab a glass, pouring the scorching liquid down his throat. It claws at him, and he welcomes the pain.

Love is cruel, love is cold. When it kills, it does it slow.

He knows the tears are coming. The pressure has been building in his head for the last twenty-four hours. They fall as he walks over to the living room, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

The mirror you clutched when you moaned wretchedly, promising him that HE was the only one who could ever ruin you this way.

He lifts the bottle, forcing himself to look his reflection in the eye as he drinks a toast to Eric. Here’s to you, buddy.

His reflection sneers back, bloodshot and desolate. A half of a whole, incomplete. This is what he is without you.

Hyunjae sinks to the ground, bottle thumping down on the carpet. It rolls once, twice, and rivulets of alcohol splash across the floor. Another memory lunges up.

There is nothing more striking than red on white. Blood on snow. Wine on cream skin, tracing paths his eager tongue follows. A hiss of anger that softens into a sigh.

The sofa smells like you. The study smells like you. You are everywhere, and it breaks him, tearing a wail of grief out of his chest.

One day, the smell of you will fade. You will slip between his fingers like the wisp of a dream, and all he will be left with is the recollection of the fleeting seconds you were his and his alone.

Too much. This is too much. He cannot think, he cannot see, he cannot breathe,without being haunted by you. You are in every orifice, in every nook and cranny and cell. You are in the water of his blood and in the porous hollows of his bones. You are in the fibre between his atoms, you are in the electricity racing across his neurons.

There is no escape from you, not now, not ever.

You are inevitable.

(Knock, knock)

It takes him a moment to realise that the pounding is not from the blood rushing in his head, but from someone impatiently banging on his door. He picks himself off the floor, not bothering to fix his appearance.

By now, you must be in Eric’s arms. He would kiss you softly, like summer rain. You would sigh into his lips, and he would look at you like you hung the moon. He would take you home, and press more kisses into your silk skin as he whispers his love. One day, he would get on one knee and present you with a diamond. You would say yes, because Eric is sunshine and warmth and laughter. Sunshine. Warmth. Laughter.

This, this is what you deserve. Not him, not his twisted mess of anger and jealousy. He is a stinging scorpion, and you deserve more than his petty poisons. But his heart still lurches at the thought of you, nestled into Eric.

The gods have always feared Aphrodite more than Ares. He thinks he can finally understand why.

He swings the door open, and once again forgets how to breathe, forgets how to think, forgets that he kinda hates you but now kinda loves you because there you are, raindrops glistening in your eyelashes, and you eclipse every star in the sky. There is nothing but you and you alone, and his withered little heart is shooting to life because that’s just what you do to him. There’s so much he wants to say, so many thoughts tumbling through his head. But he’s a frightful, useless coward, so all that flies out of his mouth is:

“Why the fuck are you--”

And then your lips are cushioned against his, kissing the venom out of him. He cannot help the sigh he breathes into your mouth at the way your body slots so perfectly against his.

Home, home is in your arms. He has been running all his life, and you have always been his only destination.

Tears slip out, hot and fast, washing the festering wound inside him clean. The cracked pieces of his soul begin to lift up and fuse together.

The light of a thousand suns slices through the void in him, and the darkness melts like ice on a hot summer day.

He is shuddering, wrecked by the sheer force of the emotions in him. But you are holding him tight, so very tight. He hopes you will never let him go. Never ever, ever let him go.

He is yours, and you are his. Where he ends, you begin and where you end, he begins. There is nothing else, no one else, because there was never anyone for him but you. Love not at first sight, or even the second, but at last sight and at ever and ever sight.

When you finally pull away to murmur the words he would have never even dreamed of hearing from you, it’s like starlight is filling the dusty hollows of his chest, sewing the pieces that have fallen apart back into the tapestry that is you. He is surprised, he really is, but something inside him has always known, has always clung to the hope that you would choose him, despite everything.

All that matters, is that you’ve come back to him. You are the only truth he’s ever known.

~~~

Later in the evening, when the two of you are spent from your love-making and coiled so tightly that your breaths have become one, Hyunjae takes a moment to contemplate the situation. You have won this competition between the two of you. You have planted yourself as first in his life, and for once (and of course, the only time ever, because he is still going to get that damn promotion before you), he is happy to cede to you. This is what love is, to break and to be broken, to be full and to be empty, to win and to lose. He would have it no other way. All that he is, and all that he will be, center around the axis that is you.

Do you feel like this too? Like your heart is bursting from the seams?

You sigh in your sleep, seemingly agreeing. He loves you so much, it hurts. But there is one final thing to do.

He lifts his head to the stars, who have been waiting for this collision of souls for a long, long time.

Thank you, he whispers.

And for once, Zeus smiles down on his Ares.

ENDING THOUGHTS:

First of all, a very big thank you to everyone who made it to the end!! This piece has been a wild, emotional ride from start to finish and I understand that the sudden change in style can be jarring for some. As such, I am very grateful to everyone who took the time to read it :)

Hyunjae has always been a very complicated character. We’ve seen him through Y/N’s eyes for the last 17 or so chapters, and she is definitely not the most reliable of narrators. Many of her thoughts regarding his actions and motivations are shadowed by her own negative emotions, and he has come off as a rather poisonous character, except for the rare moments of tenderness he seems to show. Hopefully this will help you get a glimpse into Hyunjae’s psyche, in a way that is untainted by Y/N. I’ve seen many of your asks about Hyunjae and his behaviour, and perhaps you will see this as a sort of redemption for him, in the sense that he is so much deeper and complex than the seething neanderthal Y/N sees him as.

Writing this was a challenge nonetheless, and I think we should all be very grateful to Dana for powering through Y/N and Hyunjae’s story, given how much of a hot mess this couple is! It’s very hard to write an enemies-to-lovers fic without it coming off as corny and shallow, and she had the double struggle of writing that dynamic in a medical setting. The fact that we’re all whipped for these two is testament to her brilliant writing, so let’s all say a big thank you for that :))

Before I end, I’d like to pay homage to some of the writers that have inspired this fic. Reading through, you will see quotes inspired by the likes of Nabokov, Cummings and Homer. If I’m not wrong, there’s a little bit of Sarah J Maas and Caitlyn Siehl in there as well. And of course, who can forget the little bits of mythology peeking out here and there? If you happened to notice these references, feel free to scream in Dana’s ask box! It’ll be fun to read your thoughts :)

Once again, a very big thank you for following Hostis so devotedly, and showering Dana with your love. I hope you’ll continue to give her all your love and support the rest of her works.

(P.S Did anyone notice Pilot! Juyeon? If you didn’t, you should 1000% check out his story too, here.)

Love Always,

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

Chapter XVIII: Renuntiatio

#hyunjae #lee hyunjae #the boyz #the boyz hyunjae #the boyz lee hyunjae #timetohajima #timetohajima hostis

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pax-2735 · 4 years

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@jonsadungeonsanddrabbles

Jonsa Kink Week, day 6

Restraint | Wantonness

Dangerous

Jon Snow and Alayne Stone are strangers when they meet in a nightclub. Their chemistry is immediate, the pull between them undeniable, and they share a passionate night together.

That same week, at the behest of the Martells, the five most powerful crime families in Westeros meet in a council, to try and mend the feud between Starks and Targaryens that threatens to plunge the entire continent into a deadly war.

And in the midst of it, Jon Targaryen and Sansa Stark meet again.

***

Jon plucks a glass of champagne from a passing waiter as he carefully makes his way towards her. She stands to the sidelines of the room, her eyes trained forward to carefully watch over the crowd. Scanning for threats as he should be doing, if his mind wasn’t too consumed with thoughts of red hair and shinning blue eyes and legs that go on for miles.

She doesn’t move when he comes to stand to her left, nothing in her posture acknowledging his presence, but he knows she’s aware of him. He lets his eyes gaze forward as he takes a sip of his champagne.

“What a surprise, meeting you again.”

“You must be mistaken. I’m sure we’ve never met.” Her voice is cold and she still refuses to look at him, and Jon smirks. Her red lipstick leaves an imprint of her lips at the rim of the glass as she takes a sip and he feels his body grow tight, visions of those same lips wrapped around his cock as she fell to her knees inside a dimly lit bedroom, ready and aching to take him in her mouth swimming in his brain. He groans and he can almost swear he sees her trying to contain a smirk.

“Are you sure? I could swear I’ve seen you before.” He moves casually, his body invading her personal space as he tilts his head closer and lets his voice grow huskier. “I have this image of you pushing me against a wall, moaning so prettily when I licked your cunt.” He inhales deeply, her perfume invading his senses, and he almost, almost, lets his tongue dart out to lick against that spot behind her ear he has learned makes her shudder. “Are you sure it wasn’t you riding me, screaming my name when you came around my cock?”

He moves backward slightly to look at her. She’s still looking forward but her eyes are half lidded now, her breathing shallower. It’s dark in this corner of the room but Jon can still see her soft skin growing pink as his words wash over her, her blush spreading over her collarbone to disappear behind her dress.

He steps back reluctantly as a group of men walks by them on their way to the balconies, tries to put some semblance of distance between them. The pull is still there, the fire that ignited between them that night nowhere near extinct as he feels the desire coiling through his blood. No, one night was not enough.

But she’s a fucking Stark now and this has the potential to blow up in his face in a fuck up of epic proportions. This shit, this girl, is dangerous.

The small distance between them now seems to be all she needs to pull back her collected mask and she takes a long sip of champagne before she slowly turns to look at him with a cocked eyebrow.

“You are mistaken. It was Jon Snow and Alayne Stone that did those things. Jon Targaryen and Sansa Stark have never met before.”

He cocks his head to the side with a taunting look, his tongue poking out to lick his lips as he looks her over. “What if Jon Targaryen thinks differently?”

“Then he should remember that that kind of thinking is likely to get him killed.”

He smiles as he tilts his head forward, so close he can feel the sweetness of her breath as it passes through her lips. “You worried I’ll be killed baby?” he asks nonchalantly.

She smirks, something dangerous and predatorial, her eyes fliting between his eyes and his lips, and Jon feels his blood rush south.

“If it gets me killed as well in the process, then yes. I am.” She nods her head at him, a faint taunt making her eyes glimmer under the dim light of the chandeliers. “Enjoy your evening Mr. Targaryen.”

Jon watches as she moves away from him, hips swaying beneath the silk of her dress, which he’s certain still bear the imprint of his fingers.

“You really need to stop staring at her.”

He almost startles at her voice, his head tipping to the side to acknowledge her even as his eyes stay riveted on the mass of red curls making her way across the room. “Dany.” He takes a long pull of his drink before answering. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She hums, her hand tugging slightly at his jacket sleeve and Jon relents, finally letting his eyes rest on her. She looks stunning as she always does, but the warmth of her smile is belittled by the hardness in her violet eyes.

“She’s beautiful, I’ll give you that.” She looks in Sansa’s direction and nods her head approvingly before looking back at him, and the steel is back in her voice. “But I’d tone it down if I were you. You know what would happen if her father caught you looking at her like that. Or yours, for that matter.”

Jon looks around the room cautiously and, sure enough, Rhaegar is looking at him, a frown marring his features as he slowly shakes his head. Jon looks back at his aunt with his usual aloofness. “I was just enjoying the view.”

“Yes…” she answers, her eyes piercing him and he knows she’s not fooled. “Just make sure you don’t enjoy it too much. This whole situation is volatile enough as it is, we don’t need any more fuel added to the fire because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.”

She leaves him then, in a flurry of satin skirts and floral perfume, and Jon huffs irritably as he brings his glass up to his lips only to realize it’s empty. He looks around and nods brusquely at the waiter to bring him another before his eyes catch a flash of auburn hair in the stairs leading up to the restrooms. He hesitates only for a second, the strength of his father’s glare still piercing the back of his skull.

This shit, this girl, is dangerous.

But since when had Jon ever shied away from danger?

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jon snow x sansa stark #jon snow #Sansa Stark #jonsakinkweek2020 #works-by-pax

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years

Text

I’m gonna love you like I’ve never been hurt before.

summary: Could I request one where Richie plans an elaborate proposal for Eddie at their house with everyone invited and when he does, Eddie gets overwhelmed by the attention on him and runs upstairs to their bathroom with Richie apologizing before Eddie accepts the proposal?

A/N: I’m so sorry that this took so long I hope it’s worth it! I’m on a camping trip right now so to the two other request I have in my inbox I hope you don’t mind waiting a week, I’ll try work on it in the meanwhile! Let me know what you think.

tag-list: @richietoaster , @s-s-georgie , @mikeuris , @gazebobullshit , @that-weird-girls-blog , @tozierking , @s-onora , @bellarosewrites , @ambitiousskychild , @ghostnebula , @cupcakeefrosting

‘Fuck, I’m so fucking stupid.’ Eddie complained to his own mirror image, pacing around the small bathroom he had chosen to hide in. He splashed water in his face, hoping to bring down the heating of his inflamed cheeks. The party downstairs had gotten suspiciously quiet after his performance, but he couldn’t fault them for that.

Hopefully they all retreated back to their homes and leave Eddie and Richie to deal with the shambles of their relationship, if there even was one after this. Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if Richie decided to break things of with him. He could also start living in the bathroom, condemning himself to the life of a hermit so he never had to face the consequences of what he had done.

How does one relationship recuperate from something like this in the first place? Do any couples stay together after one of them rejects a marriage proposal? In all technicality Eddie didn’t reject Richie, but he did run off before giving any sort of response, and that’s as good an answer as any. If Eddie would have brought his phone with him, he would’ve looked up the statics of them surviving this ordeal on the internet, but his phone was abended on the kitchen counter. Fuck, Eddie didn’t want this to ruin everything he and Richie had worked so hard on to build, the one time he was happy and content and he had to go and fuck it up.

This is what he had dreamed of doing to Myra, not so the walking out clueless part, but the saying no. Eddie cursed himself at the alter for letting it get that far, but hadn’t had the galls to say anything about it in front of his mother and Myra’s family. So then why did he do this time?

‘Eddie are you in here?’ Richie asked from the other side of the door, voice uncharacteristically soft and sad, and Eddie mentally prepared for the; ‘it’s not you it’s me’, speech, except this one would go something like this; ‘it is, your fault, I asked you to marry me and you took off and that was an ego breaking and reputation imploding experience, so why don’t we do each other a favor and break it off now.’ The fact that he didn’t bother with Eds anymore installed a deep feeling of longing to hear the words from his boyfriends mouth.

‘Yeah Rich’, Eddie quietly admitted, digging the buts of his palms in his eyes to will the tears away.

‘Can I come in?’

‘Yeah.’

The bathroom tiles needed revamping, they were flaked with spots from Richie colored hair wash he dyed his hair with for a movie, but Eddie never inspected the place to ensure everything was spotless. He should have, because Richie lacks severely in the cleaning deportment. He compensates by being extra talented in cooking and taking Eddie’s mind of things, his workload or the manifestations of the abuse his mother made him endure. Eddie, is a perfectionist, and once he decided to rid himself from any and all influences of his mother, he loathed the little things he would subsequently enucleate, slipping in the way he surveyed Richie doing laundry for example, or the way he demanded a full list of ingredients from the waiter in full detail.

Richie knows precisely how to approach those moods and adjust him back on the right path, reminding him that it’s okay to sometimes mess up, recovery isn’t linear. Eddie didn’t know how to begin his life without Richie anymore.

“Eddie I’m so, so sorry, can you please forgive me?’

Eddie faltered, the words not exactly what he had lurked over and over again his head. ‘I – I’m… what?’

‘I don’t know what I was thinking, I assumed that because we’ve been dating for two years you wouldn’t object… but it was fucking wrong and I’m so extremely sorry. But hey, at least we now know the bachelor isn’t a roll for me huh?’ Richie tried, a smile so faint gracing his features. He was distraught and trying to make up for something that in no way was his fault, a pit in Eddie’s stomach settled and grew.

‘Rich, that’s not on you. It’s on me. I should never have walked away, I just – fuck I can’t think of what to say.’

He dropped to the side of bathtub, laying his head in his hands as he hunched over. Richie hesitated and then shuffled forward a step, slowly as if he was giving Eddie the chance to reject him and to tell him to go away. With a huff, Eddie circled his wrist and tugged him onwards, sliding over to make room at the edge of the bath. Richie took the invitation for what it was, and graced down next to him.

Eddie opened his mouth to say something, but his mind was empty, backtracking on the whole day and wishing he had a way of changing the past so he could say yes.

‘This is just like that one time in college where I spend the night at someone’s dorm, and his roommate took someone home too and the two of us hid in the bathroom the next morning waiting for them to leave so we could sneak out without being spotted.’

‘Really asshole? You’re talking about a previous fucking hookup after you proposed to me?’

That was the wrong thing to say, Richie dispirited away, head tucked in his shoulders, and legs crossing from the previous position they upheld being splayed out. He shrunk from 6.3 to the size of a middle school child getting scolded by the teacher, and Eddie shrunk right by him.

‘Richie I’m sorry.’

‘What do you have to be sorry Eds -Eddie. You have every right to say no.’

It’s not- I didn’t- I don’t say no,’ Richie raised his eyebrows in disbelief. ‘I’m serious, it was too much is all.’

The proportion of people present, the overuse of balloons in every open space in their house, heart shaped and gigantic, and Eddie kept impinging the damn one in the doorway to the kitchen. The only thing that stopped him from taking a knife and popping it was Richie’s manager, stationed by the it, a murderous look at everyone who tried to make small talk with him. The ring that must have costed thousands of dollars. Yes, Richie may be rich, but that didn’t mean Eddie only wanted extravagant and mind-blowing things, he was not that type of gall as Richie himself would word.

A twinge of panic martyrs Eddie, one of him being in the spotlight with Richie, fans yelling out their names and chasing them to take autographs, or paparazzi hiding in bushes to shoot the glamor shot and earn a quick buck of their backs. Too much attention, like today. Of his mother influencing him to ask Myra on a date and devoting her time and effort into tweaking adjust on Myra to make her a perfect bride for him, and Eddie finally stills whirlwind in his mind, deluding all the panic to a single point.

‘I hated the attention.’ Richie turns to face him. ‘I hate how people stare at me and judge me I can’t stand that from anyone besides our friends. All these people that were here tonight were so much more than just our friends, and I couldn’t stand that. I know it doesn’t make any sense and you’d never do that but I can’t stand the fact I’m basically fucking coerced into saying yes.’

The proposal could be boiled down to be a parody of the proposal Myra waylaid him. Her proposal, she was the one who bend down on one knees after a solid piece of advice from his mother, under scrutiny of all their gibberish speaking coworkers.

She showed up in a dress that Eddie claimed to absolutely have a penchant for, he really only said to like the dress because his mother told him he should, and broke down in weepy tears as she read off a love letter from some book she was reading at the time that didn’t apply to their relationship in the slightest bit. Eddie said yes, steered into it by the forceful stares and the face of his mother scolding him if he came home and told her he said no to Myra’s requested, and grew to hate the marriage because of it. But their relationship shouldn’t be a casualty because of a bad previous experience.

It’s not the same with Richie, but at some level it is. The whole setting was so unlike him he’s stunned Richie chose to do it in such a manor.

‘Shit Eds, that’s not at all what I was trying to do.’

Eddie cupped Richie’s cheek in his hands, stroking the skin underneath his eye, the same patch that always twitches right before Richie tipped over the edge in sleep, and smiles genuinely.

‘I know that Rich. Of fucking course I do, It just brought back bad memories is all. The balloons and the song were a bit much don’t you agree? Plus where the fuck did you find a ring so expensive this late in the game? I’ve been with you every second the last two weeks how did you find time to buy it?’

‘I wanted this to be special and exciting to you, a big romantic gesture to show to the whole world how much I love you, but I guess I failed. Just like I failed to go to the store and buy groceries, did I tell you that yet?’ Richie grimaced, the muscles in his lower face stretching back and a hissing at the same time. His face pulled in an ugly expression. The too bad was left unsaid.

‘Fuck you dude it was your turn to buy them, I texted you five times.’

‘Yeah, but I was busy planning everything, and I expected us to go out to dinner after in celebrations sooo,’ Richie drawled the oo out, ‘tough luck butternut.’

‘Okay and breakfast? Breakfast requires groceries too. I’m going to be hogging the toast we have left, finders keepers losers weepers.’ Eddie divines in the small semblance of normal between them, the push and pull they both live for.

‘Marry me’, Richie asks out of the blue, sliding of the bath and sinking on his knees in front of Eddie. The ring is tucked inside his back pocket, and he trails it out.

‘Are you serious? You still want to marry me after all that?’

‘Eds, I’ve wanted to marry you since I knew what the term marriage entailed, and I’ll want to marry you fifty years from now.’ Richie flushed, biting his lip to not let anything else stupid spill. ‘But don’t feel pressured, If you don’t choose to marry me now, or ever for that matter, that’s okay too. I just hope we can spend the rest of our lives together, as husbands or lovers.’

Richie scratched the top of his hair with the one hand he wasn’t using to hold the up the ring. ‘This the minimalistic proposal you’ve been dreaming off? Just the two of us, a semi normal evening, let erase everything that happened before this point today please, no expensive shit? Well, I guess the ring was expensive, but, it’s not about the money, it’s about the sentiment. It’s my dad’s wedding ring.’

‘Wait, are you for real?’

‘I’m trying to figure out what answer is more likely to get me laid tonight but you’re thinking face is making it hard to tell.’

‘Richie, that was the most coherent and sincere thing you’ve ever said to me, please keep going.’

‘Okay yes, it is. Back in Derry, after you and your mom took off with the sunset, I was missing you and my dad understood somehow. I didn’t explicitly say it, too busy making love jokes about your mom, but he deducted it. That day my aunt came to harass my mom into modifying her wedding dress, and she conducted a whole storyline about how her fiancé asked her hand in marriage with his mother’s wedding band and that my mother should take an example of that, and I blared off at her. Later, my dad came into my room and promised me that if I ever found you again, he would relinquish his instead of my mothers.’ Richie tapped away on the side of the object, Eddie recognizes the beat of the number they had their first ever dance too, wondering how long Richie contemplated popping the question before doing so.

‘Richie fuck, I love you so much. I need to profusely show my appreciation to your dad.’

‘Don’t talk about my dad when I’m on one knee Eds, a man’s, I’m the man in question, ego will be hurt. The question still needs answering by the way…’

‘If I say yes will you stop calling me Eds?’

‘… no, never.’

‘Well then yes.’

Eddie flew off the handle, crashing into Richie in a wild flurry of limbs and emotions, their lips dancing in a slow inducting dance, pirouetting him all the way to the bottom of his existent and then twirling him back up to become fully aware of his every part. Richie lead, decelerate and facilitating as he pleased. Eddie hunkered for this exhilaration, the burst of spine tingling pops either riling him up or drowsy with heavy eyes, depending on what he desired.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

Another peck and the two unstuck from the other, Eddie’s hand trailing the muscle of Richie arm to lead it to his hand. Richie beamed, tears glistening in the sunlight, as Richie slid on the ring with a steady hand.

‘I love you’, he whispered like it was supposed to be a secret, and Eddie parroted the sentiment twice as vigor.

‘So, just to make sure, this is not the story we’re telling our future kids when they ask how we got married right?’

‘Absolutely not, If they ever ask, you proposed in an intimate setting and I accepted on the first try.’

‘I abide to that.’

#reddie #hurt comfort #it chapter two imagine #reddie imagine #fluff a bit too #My writing #it 2019 #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrack

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finleyjayne · 4 years

Text

Break a Leg Chapter 2: Hope lost

Chapter Summary: The sickness is most definitely worse than the cure for you, and running away only makes life harder. Can you still be the knight in shining armor our are you going to be the one in need of rescuing?

A/N: This Chapter uses an altered prompt from @firefly-in-darkness ‘s Summer Challenge. My prompt was “Just ‘cause you fall on your ass doesn’t mean that you have to stay there” I kinda switched the phrasing but it is bolded.

If you haven’t read the first chapter and would like to here is a

Handy Dandy Link to Chapter 1

If you would like a tag, send me an ask! I’d love to add you so you don’t miss what happens next.

Warnings for this chapter include but are not limited to: Swearing, Angst, and lost hope...

LAST TIME ON BREAK A LEG

"No," Stark turns from the blond man and back to you. "No fucks given, Next, please."

"Wrong, ALL THE FUCKS GIVEN," Amanda snarled, her polished heel coming down directly into your foot, causing you to sing out the zinging agony up your leg from the bruised puncture.

What was supposed to be a double entendre excusing yourself from the situation while still insulting Stark, ended up as a pure, clear note. Not sung really, but not really spoken or screamed. The sound resonated through everyone in the room, grabbing their hearts and holding fast. Amanda shot you a glare. You broke, mind reaching into words long since memorized, performed, and forgotten, perfectly fitting the anger and betrayal you felt from your best friend. Before your brain could make it out of the emotions to tell you how to react, your mouth opened, and you were singing.

You have shown me the sky, But what good is the sky To a creature who'll never Do better than crawl?

You turn to Amanda, your voice piercing through the eerie silence that had followed your outburst. Her eyes grew wide in shock as You glower at her. Your all-consuming hurt blatantly affecting her. Her soft, beautiful lips popped open as she watched the scene play out.

Your anger only grew as you see hope still shining in her eyes. You were a jealous green monster, there was no sense in denying it anymore since your one last shot went out the window. Why did she still have hope? Why did she have to share it with you? You were happy with how things were, and she made you believe that this time would be different. That this time you had a chance. Now you were dying from the rejection. You knew after your accident it would be harder to continue, it definitely didn't help you had lost 70% of the feeling in your leg, and gained 50 pounds as your activity levels changed so drastically. It was an actress' worst nightmare. You almost choked on the fury as you continued.

Of all the cruel bastards Who've badgered and battered me, You are the cruelest of all! Can't you see what your gentle Insanities do to me? Rob me of anger and give me despair! Blows and abuse I can take and give back again, Tenderness I cannot bear! So please torture me now With your "Sweet Dulcineas," no more! I am no one! I'm nothing! I'm only Aldonza, the whore.

As the last line leaves your lips, you shoved past Amanda and run as fast as your heeled feet can take you. Fueled by the rage and adrenaline that heats your heart and head. Using every instinct in your body to keep from running into some unsuspecting passerby.

You didn't stop running until your lungs were burning, and you could no longer see through the tears gathering in on your outrageously curled lashes. Not paying any attention to which direction you went, you continued to run following the flow of pedestrians until you turned into a lesser-used street.

As you turned the corner swiftly, two things happened consecutively; one, you broke the heels Amanda had stuffed onto your feet that morning and two, you ran into a hard surface. The combination was lethal to your balance. It would have been ridiculous to witness as you bounced off of the wall you had run into and landed with a sharp smack onto the filthy brown cobblestones that paved the grocery storefront. The pain was the last straw of your long sleepless morning as you broke into sobs, curling up into a ball where you landed crying.

However, the wall wasn't a wall, wasn't that just your luck. "Bitch, Watch where you're going! Other people are walking here, ya know!" the grumpy young man growled at you as he kicked past you, not even really stopping in his powerful stride. All you could do was sob harder.

The traffic flowing around your huddled form seemed to thin as a few minutes passed. Just like typical New York, no one seemed to notice you. All of them were busy rushing to and from there business. The stream seemed to be almost nonexistent before someone finally took notice of you.

"Woah," A soothing tenor cut through the sounds of your sobs. "Hey, Hey, Hey, It's goin't' be okay, Are you hurt?" You shook your head, still hiding your face in your knees, barely catching a glimpse of his half-laced combat boots. "Okay, why don't we get you up outta the dirt. keep that pretty dress from gettin' all ruined."

"n-no," you hiccupped. Your fingers fisted themselves into your dress, trying desperately to force yourself back together.

"so you're just gonna sit there in the muck?"

Your subsequent nod was met with a delightful sounding chuckle.

"Ya can't really be expecting me to let ya do that, can ya?" The man squatted before you, his half-laced combat boots sending a spark of envy through your addled brain, shaking you back into more of a semblance of sanity.

"Yeah," You answered him lamely. Flinching away as the man crouched down in front of you.

"Hey now, just a'cause you end up on your ass, don't mean you have to stay there." He said, "Also, if you stay here, people are gunna step on you, and we don't want you getting' all hurt now do we?" Your shrug seems to pull a longsuffering sigh from the man. You could feel his eyes staring at your natural hair that sat pinned to your head in an intricate bun that lay somewhat skewed from all the action you had had before landing where you sat. His gaze moved, roving over the rest of your shaking, disheveled appearance.

You scowl at the scuffed toes as the man talked, not sure what to do anymore. This man seemed nice, but your parent's warnings about 'men these days' kept ringing in your ears, keeping your internal hackles raised even through your uncontrollable sorrow. You really didn't want any company, you just wanted to rewind the whole terrible day and refuse Amanda's damned puppy dog eyes.

At the thought of Amanda, your anger came roaring back. Why did she have to be so hopeful and unaccepting of your new reasonable life? Couldn't she grasp the fact that you weren't what people wanted anymore? You weren't skinny; you weren't pretty; you weren't perfectly proportioned. You were never going to make it through a cattle call, and never getting through cattle call meant you were never going to make it anywhere near a stage again unless you went back home. Which wasn't going to happen. You couldn't imagine going back to playing the game of church is state, and if you swear, you are looked at as if you were outside fully nude. You didn't know it when you were there, but now you KNEW that it was literally hell on earth.

The man's overdone Brooklyn accent fell slightly as he watched you for a few more minutes. "Fine, if you won't stand up, I'll just have to sit here in the dirt with you. My ma would strangle me if I left a pretty girl like you crying in the middle of the sidewalk by herself." Showing his conviction, the man took a seat on the ground in front of you. You snapped your head up in surprise, meeting his intense blue-grey eyes. You couldn't help but stare into them. His eyes were beautiful, so kind, they held all of the gentleness of the most delicate mist. Unintentionally, you found your worry fading away. As your mind relaxed to the man's presence, his words finally registered.

"I'm not pretty," your thoughts escape on your traitorous tongue, "And seeing me crying probably doesn't help anything. Nobody likes a crybaby."

"Au Contraire dollface, you are putting Julia Roberts to shame. And I know for a fact that it's healthy to cry. Though most people choose someplace less dangerous to cry than the middle of the sidewalk. It has gotta be something pretty bad if you couldn't even make it to the bench over there before you stopped. Why don't you tell me what happened? It will make you feel better."

"Oh really?" you snap, his words leaving a nasty taste in your mouth. He was pitying you. You don't need pity, your feelings were valid, and pity makes them feel cheap. He could take his pity and stuff it right up his ass. "And pray tell, how would telling a complete stranger the pitiful tale of how life has brought me to my knees, only to serve a final blow and cleave my head from my shoulders, would make me feel better? I don't need you to pity me, all I need is to get home, sleep for more than an hour, or have a cup of coffee and a nap. Then maybe stab my best friend in the foot with these stupid heels that she made me wear. That will make me feel better."

"I don't want to pity you, I want to listen to you. There is a difference, and I can make it worth your while. I don't know about the sleep or the stabbing thing, but I know a café right around the corner that has the best cup of coffee this side of the Brooklyn Bridge. At least let me buy you a cup, and sit with me until you stop shaking. It will make me feel better."

Asshole, you think, he has just as bad of puppy dog eyes as Amanda, except his were so clear that they were a deep bottomless pit of emotion, clear as the sky after a good rain. All he wants is coffee, worst-case scenario, I say something stupid hail a cab and leave, and never see this man again. Best case, I have coffee with a nice man, and never see him again. Either way, this will be fine. It's free coffee, in a public space, with someone who looks genuinely concerned. Honestly, all you wanted to do was to go home and sleep for the rest of the weekend, but how could you say no to those damned puppy eyes? Fuuuuuck.

"Fine, but if I feel like you are pitying me, I am going to leave," you grumble, unfolding yourself from your seat on the ground.

"Wouldn't expect anything less, doll." His smile, wow. His whole face lights up like taking you to coffee was the best thing to happen to him all day. Wasn't that just a confidence boost. He offered his hand after getting to his feet. You tentatively take it, but barely give him any weight as you rose to your feet. Smoothing your skirt down, you step on your broken heel and stumble slightly. A single warm leather-clad arm braces you, keeping you from being reacquainted with the pavement.

"Woah, I know I'm handsome and all, but I thought it would be a tad bit harder to get you to fall for me than that." He smirks. That added to the teasing tone and how easily he supported you, brought a blush to your cheeks.

"Ain't nobody falling for anybody," you growl, taking your eyes off of your rescuers face to look down at your shoes again, you notice just how built he is on top of having a handsome face. His plain white crew neck T-shirt, leather jacket and dark wash jeans hugged him just the right amount to accentuate his features without looking too small. His cologne made you dizzy but in that sweet intoxicated way. Or maybe that was your week and the crying session catching up to you. You caught yourself before you could yawn, looking back up at him, His hair was nicely cropped around his head, a dark chestnut brown that looked really soft to touch. His overly warm hand wrapped around you as he guided you to the bench.

Sighing, you look up to him again. "I'm sorry for being such a mess. I promise I'm usually the one rescuing the damsels in distress. But every knight has its day… And today has been an excruciatingly long day, and it's only-" You pat yourself down, looking for your phone to check the time but finding yourself without pockets, and therefore without any of your things. Since you hadn't thought of grabbing your purse when you had made your escape. "giornataccia!! Che Palle! People who don't put fucking pockets into their dress designs should be hunted." {Italian: really bad day!! $%>@!}

The man looks at you, a little shocked at your outburst. "Not that I don't agree, but…"

"I left my phone, wallet, purse, and extra pair of shoes back where I was..." You say, throwing yourself onto the bench and rubbing your eyes with your hands to hide the frustrated tears that were fighting to break loose.

"I see, what exactly could you have had happen to cause you to run away without anything? Should I be escorting you to a police station?"

"Ha!" The self-deprecating laugh popped out of your mouth, harsh, rough, and cracked. "No, I don't think the police are needed. Just had a drama queen moment, and now I can never show myself in a theater again. Talk about the worst audition of my life. That's saying something because I vomited on my BFA panel during my audition for them."

"It can't have been that bad." The man crouched in front of you, gently taking your hands away from your face, you avoided the trap of his gorgeous grey eyes by looking up into the sky.

"Oh, it was definitely that bad. I didn't even know about it until my best friend pushed me into the front doors. She then continued on her warpath, distracting Mr. Stark during cattle call, and then followed it up by an encore of stomping on my foot to get me to open my mouth. And in true MUSICAL THEATER FASHION. I just hAd To SiNg OuT mY FeElInGs. Talk about the most melodramatic thing that I could have done." You leaned lounged back on the bench, glaring at the sky.

"Okay, that does sound pretty bad. But how could you not know you were going to be auditioning? Especially if you were auditioning for Tony Stark. Those auditions are closed call."

"My best friend is the reincarnation of Puck. I'm pretty sure she worships gods of mischief. She has been secretly planning this for years. Ever since I stopped performing with her." At this point, you weren't sure your mind was awake enough to stop yourself from saying the first thing that came from your brain. "And why did you stop?"

"Accident. Left me lame for a while, and by the time I got myself back out there, I wasn't what people wanted to look at."

"Looks like you still have the function of both your legs. And even if you didn't, that doesn't mean shit, dollface, so what has really kept you away?"

"Fucking hell, it doesn't mean shit, and have you looked at me? I'm not what they want. I'm fat, and slow, and fucking ugly."

"Then do something about it."

"Yeah, whatever." You couldn't handle anymore of this man's bullshit. You had TRIED to do something about it. You had tried to do MULTIPLE somethings, and none of them worked. Your rekindled agitation put you back on edge. Sighing, you looked at him again. "I know you said you wanted coffee, but honestly I'm just tired, would you mind if I used your phone? I need to call someone to come get me since my wallet is wherever my friend is."

The man nodded, fishing his phone out of his pocket, handing it to you with a leather-covered hand. Nodding in appreciation as he walked a few paces from you to give you privacy, you quickly typed in Amanda's number hitting the call button.

The phone rings for way too many seconds for you to feel comfortable. When she answered, you didn't give her a chance to say anything. "I left my phone and purse there, I'm stranded on a bench at Cliff and Fulton. If you don't get here soon, I will have to retract your best friend privileges. You got me into this mess. You owe me big time. And you owe me a new pair of heels."

"I'm so so— "Before she can even finish her apology, you hang up. Turning to hand the man his phone back, surprised to find him conveniently absent. Looking around again, you see him across the street, walking towards you with two steaming McDonald's cups.

"I know you said you didn't want any, but I felt like you deserve a pick-me-up, It's not what I was planning on treating you to but, it will have to do." He gives you a smirk, handing you one of the cups.

"Thanks," you handed him the phone, introducing yourself casually, "my name is Y/N."

"My friends call me Bucky."

"Am I, your friend?" You ask, your eyebrow quirking upward.

"Who knows? I think we could be." He says, taking a seat on the bench beside you, splaying his legs so far apart you could probably sit pretty comfortably between his legs.

"Well, seeing as you are playing the role of knight in shining armor, why don't you tell me a story of your brave quest. You've heard my tale of woe, what's yours?"

His lights lit up at the request for a story. It wasn't until then that you realized how dark and sad his eyes really were.

|Next Chapter|

My own happy bubbles: @tossacoin2yourwitcher @buckys-broody-muffin

and people I hope will share my work because Even though I am fierce I really am small fries: @cavillanche & @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan.

Thank you four! You are each amazingly sweet and lovely humans that helped me push past my cognitive issues to get this out today! Thank you!

#bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #Break A Leg #I'm Trying #today I had to tell myself outloud that the word You was indeed spelled y o u and not e w e...#yeah it took me all week to write this and even then it was painful #cognitive migraines #firefly's summer challenge #fins reads #fins' fic recs #fins' recs #fins recs fics #fanfiction #fic reblog

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7-wonders · 5 years

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Michal as a father is so cute for the simple fact that he did not have a father figure, and I feel that he would be so careful and at the same time perhaps he was afraid of not being a good father. (1/2)

I imagine that he would absolutely be an owl parent where he was always certified that his children would know that he loved them and had everything they wanted (perhaps in an AU, I feel that the Antichrist Michael might be a bit more rigid with a son, teaching him, but never taking the childhood out of his son.) I think a girl alike the reader would certainly melt Michael’s heart, he would be a good father. (2/2)

I have SO MANY thoughts about this! Starting with wanting to make sure his kids know how loved they are and worrying about failing as a father, I think that the first time he gets into a fight with one of his kids (let’s just say it’s his son) as a teenager, he’s absolutely devastated.

“You don’t understand, it was just a little joke! Everybody thought it was funny, anyways.” Michael stands facing his son, an identical pair of blue eyes glaring right back at him.

“Using your powers to make a kid you don’t like go falling into a trash can may have been funny, but it was cruel.”

“This, coming from the literal Antichrist?” His son fires back, rolling his eyes.

“I have made many mistakes in my lifetime, that’s true. But when you and your siblings came along, I decided to change things. I didn’t want you to grow up like I did, recklessly using magic to hurt innocent people.”

“He deserved it!”

“That’s how I justified it, too. These people deserved to have their items go missing, or their emotions played with. It only escalates from there, and then you’re killing people because they made you mildly irritated.” Michael explains, painful memories flashing in his head.

“Oh my God Dad, I’m not gonna kill anyone! You’re blowing this way out of proportion.” He purposely uses the curse, smirking slightly when Michael visibly flinches from the pain it inflicts on him.

“I just don’t want you to be as reckless as I was growing up.” The two stare each other down, and Michael takes a moment to really look at his son. He’s grown taller in recent weeks, which is to be expected since he’s been clearing out the cupboards lately. Although he gets his eyes from Michael, he shares his hair with his mother. It still makes Michael’s heart twinge, even after all these years, that he and his beloved (Y/N) were able to create something so perfect, and then follow it up with even more perfection as each child came along.

“Y’know, sometimes I wish I had a normal father, and a normal life.” Michael can physically feel his heart splintering at the true meaning behind this. He wishes Michael wasn’t his father, that he was born to a different family. He knows he’s fucked up, but it’s too late to take the words back now. Michael clenches his jaw and closes his eyes, breathing deeply so as not to say the wrong thing.

“I suggest you go to your room, (Y/S/N).” You say, standing in front of the doorway that you just came through.

“Mom, I didn’t–”

“(Y/S/N).” You say sharply, pointing in the direction of the children’s bedrooms. “Room. Now.” He stomps off in all his teenage angst, only pausing to see if his father’s as upset as he is. After the bedroom door slams, Michael slips to the floor with his head in his hands.

“I’ve fucked up so many things in my life. I’ve even fucked up our kids’ lives.” He mumbles angrily. You slide down next to him, pulling your husband into your arms.

“No, you haven’t baby. He didn’t mean it, I promise. Teenagers are hard to deal with.”

“I didn’t grow up with any semblance of a family, you know that. Every parental figure I had either got rid of me or offed themselves to get away from me. I constantly worry that I’m not a good parent.”

“You are though. The kids are still alive, aren’t they?” You joke, Michael finally looking up at you to roll his eyes.

“Funny, really. Seriously though, it’s not like anybody gave me a fucking instruction manual.” He says dryly.

“This is a normal part of parenting, I swear. I told my mom the meanest things when I was a teenager.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They were nasty, horrible things that I regretted the second I said them. My mom and I made up though, and you and (Y/S/N) will, too.”

#yikes this got long #michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon imagines

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plane-lord · 5 years

Text

32 Days Since Titan

So, here’s the finished fic I was working on before I saw Endgame. I’ve done a little tweaking, but it’s canon compliant. Still working through my feelings, this helped a little...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18601774

Thirty Two Days...

It’s been thirty-two days since Titan. Nine since Tony Stark returned to Earth, and the Avengers compound, half dead, starving, and dangerously dehydrated. Three days since he was released from medical. He isn’t up to full strength yet, and tires easily; which is how he’s found himself waking up from yet another nightmare, this time on his sofa. Part of him wants to blame Pepper, for being so blunt and telling him he needs to face his feelings, honor Peter, not hide the memory of him away.

Leave it to Pepper, to hit him with the hard truth — Lord knows she’s the only one he will listen to, even though he won’t always admit it. Ever since he’s returned to some semblance of health, he’s been trying to “forget” the kid, well avoid really, he doesn’t think he can ever forget. He hasn’t returned to his lab, because he knows he’d see the last thing he and Peter were working on — the kid’s unfinished project spread across his designated table.

Tony is desperately trying to hold on to what he does have left — Pepper, Rhodey, the remaining Avengers — though he’s kept the latter at a safe distance, not interacting with them much after their brief reunion. He thinks maybe if he focuses on the things he does have, he’ll be able to have a life, make things better for the people who are left.

Tonight though... well, Pepper, aided by a couple glasses of wine, managed to get Tony to talk. He told her every horrid detail. Fessed up to his feelings of total inadequacy, how he was so desperate to hold on to what he did have left — her, Rhodey, Happy — that he didn’t dare think about how he might fix things, bring them all back. He didn’t think he had it in him to face another loss, another failure — because losing again might mean losing Pepper and he couldn’t do that. Ever.

Tony pushes himself into a seated position, elbows on his knees, head in hands, and tries to catch his breath. God he was getting sick of this — Peter (and Thanos) haunting his dreams. He must have fallen asleep soon after Pepper left him to stew in his thoughts.

It was a variation of the same nightmare that has been haunting him since he left that god forsaken, hell hole of a planet, with Nebula. This time they were at Peter’s graduation party. They were all having a good time, Pepper with their future baby. May, Happy, everyone there bursting with pride for Peter and celebrating the momentous occasion. And then like every nightmare since that day on Titan Tony hears a quiet, “Mr. Stark…” When he turns to find Peter, he watches helplessly as every single person disintegrates, turning to dust. The plates of food and drinks fall, the sounds of shattering porcelain and glass echoing as they hit the floor, mixing with the dust — leaving Tony alone and screaming in horror.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, “It’s just a dream. Just a dream.” He says it out loud to reassure himself, trying to get his breathing under control, trying to stave off a panic attack. He hates this. With a trembling hand, he wipes the sweat from his forehead and stands up. He needs a drink.

The wine glasses and bottle from earlier are on the counter, where Pepper left them. It’s not quite the potency he needs, but there’s still some Malbec left in the bottle. He pours himself half a glass and downs it quickly.

After a few minutes, when the tremors in his hands lessen — he decides to start cleaning up the kitchen, to give himself something else to think about. Tony’s focus on the mundane task slowly work to calm him. He takes his time washing the stemware and cheese plates. He is careful and precise as he dries each dish, before putting them away. He throws away the empty wine bottle and wipes down the counter, just like he'd seen Pepper do. Satisfied with the now spotless kitchen he notices the wine opener still sitting out. He opens several drawers, trying to remember where it’s supposed to go. He really wishes Pepper would stop rearranging the kitchen, he can never find anything.

Opening the third drawer, which he quickly realizes is a junk/mail drawer he spots a rectangular object. He pulls out a black 5x7 picture frame and flips it over. His grip tightens and his eyes get a little cloudy when he sees the photo of him and Peter, each throwing up bunny ears behind the other’s head.

Tony remembers the day clearly, nearly eight months ago...

———

Sometime in early August 2017

Tony’s phone dings several times in a row, notifying him of incoming text messages. He picks it up with a scowl, there is only one person that would blow up his phone this early in the morning. “I’m beginning to regret giving the kid my number.” He grumbles to Pepper, who's sitting in the stool next to him at their kitchen island. “I haven’t even finished my first cup of coffee.”

Pepper rolls her eyes, as she finishes her last bite of yogurt, “Oh please, you love the attention.”

“I do not,” He scoffs. Opening the phone he scrolls through the texts. “Pepper, this kid — he wants to know what I’m wearing!”

Pepper laughs and stands up, picking up her bowl. She pauses on the way to the sink to kiss him on the cheek, “So, tell him. He’s just excited, Tony. Today is a big deal for our interns. I thought you were all about encouraging young minds.”

“Uh, yeah, in the abstract, hands off, pat on the back, move along sense. Not this, teenage — tell me what you’re wearing to the dance — nonsense.”

“Oh stop being such a grump and just tell him. He adores you, Tony. Peter’s just nervous and wants to make a good impression.”

And God did that statement terrify him. Tony Stark was not meant to be a role-model or adored — especially by young, impressionable teenage minds. He was a fuck-up of monumental proportions and he was certainly not cut out for this. He was fumbling through this mentorship and terrified of messing up.

“Fine. I’ll tell him, but know that I am doing so under extreme duress.”

Pepper poured herself another cup off coffee, ignoring his dramatics, she says sweetly, “Yes, dear, whatever you say.”

Tony shoots her a disapproving glare, letting her know he does not appreciate her sass. He types out a quick text.

A black cotton t-shirt and gray sweat pants. You?

A few seconds pass, before Peter’s reply comes through. Hahaha… I MEAN for the luncheon today!

Tony taps out a reply, a mischievous smile on his face. God, he loves teasing this kid. Oooh…dress is formal. I’m wearing a tux.

Uhh, would you believe my tux is still at the cleaners? ? 😳😳😳

Oh well, guess you’ll have to skip it then. Very strict dress code. NO EXCEPTIONS.

The reply from Peter is immediate, Dang, guess I’ll let Aunt May know… she’s going to be so disappointed. 😿

Oh? Don’t want to disappoint Aunt Hottie. Guess we can make an exception, this once... Dress is business casual. I’m wearing jeans, T-shirt, blazer.

Haha, thanks Mr. Stark! I think I can pull something like that together. Happy is picking us up? 10:30?

Yup. See you soon. Tony replies.

Clicking the screen off he sets the phone on the counter and looks to Pepper, who is putting the dishes in the washer. “How long does this thing last, again?”

“I think a couple hours. I usually only stay to finish lunch, which is longer than your usual 30 minute drop-in, slash meet and greet.”

“Okay. Maybe I’ll stay for lunch, too. You know, inspire and encourage those bright young minds.”

“They’ll love that, Tony. Everyone is always so excited when you make an appearance. And it's a really good group of kids.”

Pepper walks around the counter and wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to his right temple, she says, “I’ll see you in a couple hours. Don’t be late.”

“Uhh, I’m never late!”

“Hmm, I literally have documented hundreds of missed appointments, engagements, and appearances over the last twenty years that say otherwise, but sure, Hon, you’re never late.” Pepper pats him fondly on the back and leans over to pick up her purse sitting on an empty barstool. As she makes her way to the door, she says, “FRIDAY, remind Mr. Stark to be out the door by eleven. Luncheon starts at noon.”

The AI responds with an obedient, “Yes, Miss Potts, I’ll make sure boss doesn’t forget.”

“That’s so not necessary — I can tell time!” Tony yells in protest, to her retreating back.

“See you in a few hours.” Pepper replies, as the doors to the penthouse elevator doors close.

“FRIDAY, remind me to get ready at 9:45.”

"Yes, boss."

The luncheon is held at Stark Industries offices in Mid-town Manhattan. For once, Tony is ten minutes early. When he saunters into Pepper's office, to escort her downstairs — he makes sure to point this fact out to her.

High School and College-age interns from every applicable department, and two of their guests, are treated to a catered lunch, presented with certificates of participation. The more outstanding interns of each department are recognized with their own official Stark Internship plaques. The afternoon also includes a quick meet and greet with CTO Tony Stark and CEO Pepper Potts, both of whom give a short speech to the attendees and present the awards.

Tony is just a little pleased to see Peter is given special recognition by the Science and Technologies Department. He had decided that Peter should officially join the high school summer internship program, get the kid some real world experience to add to his college applications. Somewhat to his surprise, the kid had jumped at the chance, offering little protest to the proposal, even though it might take away some time from his patrols. Maybe it was because Peter knew that Spider-man is never going to pay the bills, and perhaps, he really did take Tony’s advice to heart.

Tony tried his best not to show favoritism and mostly left Peter under the tutelage of the department’s internship program head. He would never admit to anyone, that he may have, discreetly, checked up on him multiple times a month. And he can’t say he didn’t, occasionally, pull him away for some ‘special assignments’ in his private lab — days spent working on their own projects and consuming copious amounts of pizza. And maybe, just maybe, he brags a little to Pepper when he reads a glowing review from Peter’s supervisor. Yeah, he’s man enough to admit — the kid is doing him proud.

The luncheon passes without a hitch. The awards are handed out, photos are snapped, and Tony gives his off the cuff speech, a mixture of humor and inspiration for the future. Pepper gives her brief introduction and a message about how important Stark Industries views the Internship programs and all their young bright minds. Most years Tony ducks out after the speech and certificate presentations, but this time he stays for lunch, while Pepper takes the opportunity to get back to her office.

Tony assembles a plate of food and makes his way to where he sees Peter sitting with his Aunt, and to his surprise, Happy, plus a couple interns and their parents. He tries to ignore the shocked faces of the other interns when he approaches the table, “This seat taken?”

Peter raises his eyebrows in surprise, “Uh, yeah. I mean, no, all yours, Mr. Stark. I mean, of course it is because you own them—”

Peter stops his nervous rambling at the pointed look Tony sends him. He wonders if the kid will ever not be nervous around him. He sets down his plate and sits in the empty chair next to Peter. He is mildly amused to see Peter wearing a corduroy sport coat, jeans, and a black t-shirt, nearly matching Tony’s own sartorial choices. He says a quick hello to everyone at the table and tries to give them his attention. He’ll never admit he relishes just sitting next to the kid and spending a little more time with him, sharing this day, celebrating his accomplishment.

The longer he sits the more relaxed Peter gets, even cracking a few jokes at Tony’s expense. Something he never would have done a few months ago. He doesn’t miss the way some of the parents, and teens, at the table look between the two of them, surprised by their easy banter and familiarity.

Lunch soon finished, Tony lingers for a little longer — taking more pictures with the interns and their familes. It’s well into mid-afternoon, when he tries to make his exit. He and Pepper have dinner reservations and he needs to get some work done before then.

Before he goes, May Parker pulls him aside. “Tony, would you mind me getting a picture of you and Peter, before you go?”

“Anything, for you Mrs. Parker.” Tony replies, giving her his most charming smile.

Handing his own phone to Happy, who for some reason, which he’ll have to investigate later, is still hanging around, he says, “Take a couple for me too, Hap.”

Tony throws an arm around Peter, who has his award in hand -- at May's insistence -- and pulls him in close. They smile and take multiple pictures with the award, both getting increasingly irreverent, much to May’s amused frustration. Peter even tries to sneak bunny ears — “Bunny ears? Wow, you are a nerd!” Tony teases, while throwing up two fingers behind Peter.

When Tony does finally leave, he is all smiles, with an extra swagger in his step. He’s not sure when spending time with the kid became so important to him and he’s a little frightened by the implications.

The sound of bare feet on the hardwood floor, pulls him out of his memories. He looks up to see Pepper wrapped in her robe, her hair askew from sleep — it’s nearly one in the morning, way past her usual bedtime.

“Tony? Are you coming to bed?“ Pepper asks worriedly from the threshold of the living room. She hesitates when she sees him and steps forward cautiously, into the kitchen. “Hey, you okay?”

He watches her walk toward him, feeling lost and overwhelmed with sadness. He thought he could move on, he told himself he could, but he knows now that he was lying to himself. This isn’t something he can just shove in a drawer, like the picture. He loved that kid and no amount of denial will lessen the pain he feels over his loss.

“Hey…” Pepper’s hand is on his cheek, wiping something wet from under his eye. She takes the picture from his hands and wraps one arm around his waist, holding it for both of them to see. “I forgot about this… It arrived the day you left. There was a card…”

She reaches into the drawer and pulls out a bright red envelope addressed to “Mr. Tony Stark”. She hands it to him, the envelope already open.

He opens the card and sees Peter’s sloppy scrawl:

Dear Mr. Stark, Thank you for everything you do for me. The Stark Internship made my summer and I cannot express how grateful I am for the opportunity. I know how "excited" you were to come to the luncheon and I thought you should have something to remember it by. Sincerely your biggest fan, Peter

The card blurs and Tony tries to blink away the threatening tears. He drops the card beside the photo and pulls Pepper into a tight hug, burying his face into her shoulder. “I miss him,” he whispers. “He was such a good kid... and I didn't, couldn't —“

Pepper runs a soothing hand down his back, feeling the outline of his ribs, he's still so skinny. “I know. You did everything you could, Tony. I know that, he knew it… and he knew how much you cared for him. Believe me, he did.”

And Tony does know it. He could see it in the way the kid looked at him, the glint of awe in his eyes, that always made him a little uncomfortable because he didn’t know what to do with that kind of admiration. It kills him a little more to know he may never see that look again. He lets the tears fall freely this time, wrapping both arms around Pepper, holding her closer, clinging to one person he still has left…

Epilogue

The next morning he wakes up to find Pepper already gone from their bed. After his momentary panic, he remembers she had several meetings planned for the first half of the day. He stumbles groggily into the kitchen, seeking espresso and a bite to eat — he’s still feeling as tired and worn as he did the night before.

He’s well into his first cup of espresso, and the breakfast smoothie Pepper left in the refrigerator, when he sees it. The picture of him and Peter is propped up on the counter, next to one of him and Pepper. He’s tempted to put back in the drawer, but he tries to recall what Pepper said, about remembering and honoring. Moving on, but not forgetting because Peter Parker is not to be forgotten. Peter Park is loved.

THE END

#tony stark #pepper potts #pepperony #spider son #fanfic #avengers: endgame #Endgame spoilers #avengers 4 spoilers #peter parker

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