#but the shift from mr shitty to uncle shits ?????

[joekeeryswife]

Outbreak Day - J.M

a/n: hello angels! reader is 26 and pregnant and Joel is 36. there is a little twist 😵 best way to describe this imagine is that it’s sad, long and has a shitty ending lmfao. okay anyways, enjoy reading 🫶 please send me in some fluffy requests and some dad! joel requests too!!

big trigger warning this imagine is very gory and descriptive!

“Sarah honey, is that you?” you turned to look at the front door and saw your step daughter Sarah coming home from school. “hey mum” she said as she set her backpack down on the floor. “how was school?” you walked toward her and gave her a small hug and a kiss on her forehead.

“was good. got dads watch fixed but everyone acting weird, cops everywhere, shops closing early. i don’t know just weird” she said making your heart pound a little, you didn’t know why but hearing her say that scared you but you tried not to dwell on it too much. “yeah well it’s probably just people being stupid. we shouldn’t worry too much okay?” she nodded but then groaned making you frown.

“dad told the Adlers i’d go over there to help them make cookies” she sighed, it wasn’t that she didn’t like the Adlers it was just she wanted to spend time with you and her dad as it was his birthday. “look, go there for thirty minutes then say i need you home, i don’t mind you blaming me.” she smiled and thanked you.

“i was going to make your dad a cake but we don’t have the ingredients and i was too tired to go food shopping so he should be brining one home, he’s going to be home earlier today as well” her eyes lit up as you spoke “is it a chocolate cake?” she asked watching you nod. “i didn’t tell him it was because you have been craving one i told him it was because i was” Joel hated chocolate cake but for his girls he’d do anything to please them.

“thank you mum, you’re the best. i owe you one” she said as she turned to go out the front door again to the Adlers house. “no worries honey, if Mrs Adler bakes chocolate chip cookies please bring me one, the baby is craving them like mad” you said as you rubbed your growing stomach. she nodded and said her goodbyes before leaving to spend the worst 30 minutes of her life with the Adlers.

-♡-

“hey baby girl. how was school?” Joel asked as he finally got home, four hours later than expected. “you’re late” she said, completely ignoring his question as her eyes shifted from the TV to him. you had both been waiting for him on the sofa watching Harry Potter and you had fallen asleep not even halfway through the movie. being pregnant had made you extremely tired so it wasn’t a shock to Sarah when she saw you put a blanket over yourself and curl up into a ball on the sofa within the first 10 minutes of the movie playing.

“i know, im sorry. work has been crazy, guys calling in sick, it was just me, uncle Tommy and Dave in today. i meant to phone mum but my phone died” he said as he made his way over to the two of you. his heart melted when he saw you sleeping next to Sarah, you’d never looked cuter. “its fine, we had fun without you anyways” he lifted up your feet so he could sit between you both, careful to not wake you up in the process.

“did you at least get the cake?” she said shyly as Joel got comfortable on the sofa. “oh shit” he put his head in his hands “im sorry honey i completely forgot” she nodded, understanding that he obviously came straight home as soon as he finished work. “mum is probably gonna kill you. she wanted cookies earlier from the Adlers but they were making raisin instead of chocolate chip so i didn’t even bother asking if i could bring one home for her” Sarah said and Joel wrapped his arm around her shoulders, his other resting on your legs.

“i’ll get you guys a cake tomorrow, i promise it just completely slipped my mind” she shook her head, indicating that it was fine and she understood he was stressed. Joel felt you stir and you woke up, your hair all over the place and your bones cracking as you stretched from a very good nap. “hi baby” Joel said softly as you looked at him.

he unwrapped his arms from Sarah’s shoulders for a moment so he could give you a hug and a kiss. “i miss you so much” you said as you sat up so you could rest on him instead of the arm of the sofa. “i missed you too. how are you? how’s the baby?” you nodded, still half asleep.

“fine, kicking like crazy” you were only six months pregnant and your unborn daughter was already giving you a hard time. you rested your head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around both you and Sarah, pulling you both into him. “did you bring home the cake?” you asked making him sigh “no, i’m sorry baby, i forgot” you shrugged, eyes closing again as you tried to fight sleep but it was no use.

“i love mum so much but she could have slept through world war 2 and not have been disturbed at all” she said making Joel laugh quietly, trying not to wake you up. to be fair, carrying this baby had knackered you out and he understood that you needed sleep but sometimes you would be halfway through a conversation with him when he got home from work and you’d be falling asleep whilst you were taking. “to be fair, you aren’t wrong there” he ran a hand through your hair gently as he admired you, you were stunning and he loved you so much.

“anyway, let’s try spend some time together tonight, let’s put on a good film, this is shit” Joel said making Sarah scoff and look at him “that is a lie. Harry Potter is the best” he shook his head. “take it back or you work get your present” she said making him gasp. “you wouldn’t dare do that” he said to her, making her give him the ‘try me’ face which made him quickly change his comment and apologise to her.

she grabbed the box off of the coffee table and handed it to him. he unwrapped his arm from her yet again to try open it with one hand without waking you up. he opened the box and saw his now fixed watched that had been broken for three months. “aww baby that’s so sweet, thank you” he kissed her forehead and tried to put the watch on but failed miserably making Sarah help him put it on. “okay now we can watch your stupid old film dad but don’t expect me to stay awake” she said as they both got comfortable again “i wouldn’t dream of it” he smiled at her.

-♡-

green and blue flashing light woke Sarah up from her sleep. she looked around the room confused, she had somehow ended up in her bedroom and didn’t hear any noise in the house. she sat up as she heard helicopters fly over the house and car alarms go off. she quickly got up calling out for Joel as she walked around the house but she only found you in bed asleep, no sign of Joel.

she felt awful waking you up but she had no other choice. she crept to the side of your bed and shook you awake. “mum, can you wake up please?” you jumped awake when you felt her hand on your shoulder. “what’s the matter sweetheart?” you asked but your question was answered when another helicopter flew over the house. “what the hell?” you said sitting up quickly.

you grabbed your phone which was on the bedside table but there was no service. “what’s happening?” Sarah asked as you quickly got dressed out of your pyjamas. you were going to go outside and you didn’t want your neighbours, if they were awake, to see you in your pyjamas so you put on a tracksuit before walking downstairs. “i don’t know baby”

you turned on the tv and heard the broadcast ‘stay home, do not let anyone into your house. we will post more instructions soon’ you frowned, what the fuck was happening? you checked your phone again, this time trying to phone anyone, your mum, your dad, your brother, Joel and nothing. no calls were going through.

the two of you jumped at the sound of Mercy, the Adlers dog barking at your front door. Sarah quickly put on her shoes and went outside to retrieve the dog and you quickly followed, slipping on your trainers. “Sarah i don’t think we should go outside yet. we should wait for your dad” but she ignored you. she walked outside, bringing Mercy with her to take him back home making you follow after her as quick as you could.

“Sarah please come back inside” you said but the curious girl went inside the Adlers house after she heard a glass breaking. “no Sarah don’t go in there” you sighed, you loved that girl but she did not listen. Sarah was quiet walking into that house, making sure to not make any sudden movements as she did. the noise was coming from the kitchen and she quickly made her way there and almost screamed at the sight infront of her.

you were right behind her, you felt sick to your stomach as you saw Mrs Adlers mum chewing on her daughter’s neck with some sort of fungus growing out of her mouth. your eyes widened and your heart dropped, what the fuck was going on? the once disabled old woman looked up at the two of you and quickly stood up screeching and running after you when you told Sarah to run.

you weren’t as quick as you used to be but you were luckily quick enough the run away from this infected woman, she had fallen over the crinkled carpet giving you enough time to escape. “Sarah we need to get back in the house right now��� you shouted as you grabbed her hand and tried to pull her into the house but as you did Joel’s truck pulled up.

“get in the truck right now” Joel shouted at you both, he sounded scared and he was never ever scared. this made you feel even more sick than before. he had a wrench in his hand and he quickly pulled the two of you behind him when the screeching sound approached you again. you all looked at the front door to see the elderly woman fall over the steps of her front porch.

Tommy got out of the car with a huge rifle in his hand making your eyes fill with tears, you were absolutely terrified but you didn’t want to show Sarah that you were scared, if she saw that she would feel even more frightened then she already was. you grabbed ahold of her hand and tried to pull her into the truck but she wouldn’t budge. it was like she was frozen in fear.

the old woman’s head shot up, her eyes were black and she started crawling towards you then she stood up and ran towards Joel and Tommy. “what are we doing Joel” without a second thought Joel cracked the wrench on her head making her fall to the floor. you and Sarah both gasped at what he had just done. Joel was never a violent person and this had shocked you.

he dropped the wrench and they both turned to look at you and Sarah. both of your faces were filled with fear and Joel quickly pulled Sarah into him “you killed her” she said, voice filled with fear “i know baby i’m sorry” he kissed her forehead and looked at you. you couldn’t believe what you just saw. you were confused and scared. “we gotta go” Tommy said making you all quickly get in the car.

you were sat in the back with Sarah who hugged you closely “it’s alright honey, it’ll all be over soon i promise” you whispered and you rubbed your hand up and down her arm, trying to comfort her but also trying to comfort yourself. you could feel the baby kicking vigorously “are you okay y/n? you aren’t hurt are you?” Joel asked as he looked back at the two of you. you just shook your head.

you didn’t know why but all this fear made you wish you were back to being a little kid, wishing that your mum was there to comfort you when you were scared yet now you were the adult comforting your child and you didn’t know if you would ever even see your mum again.

“dad-” Sarah said but Joel quickly cut her off “i don’t know” he said like he knew what she was going to ask him. “they’re saying it’s a virus, some kind of parasite” Tommy added making Joel look at him. “does it come from terrorists?” she asked making Joel repeat himself “we don’t know”

“are we sick?” she asked and this time you answered “no, none of us are sick” Joel nodded “of course not” he sounded mad but you didn’t know what at. “why were they blowing things up?” her eyes were filled with tears as she asked all these questions.

“no idea, there’s no phone, no radio” her eyes darted between Tommy and Joel “how do you know?” she asked, voice laced with concern “what?” Joel looked back at the two of you, cuddled up together with you trying to act your calmest but he knew you, you were freaking out.

“how do you know we aren’t sick?” she was practically crying now. “they’re saying it’s mostly people in the city, that’s why they have the highway blocked off” Tommy said but he was quickly silenced when he drove past a burning house of one of his friends.

“the Adlers would take nana to the city, so that’s why they were sick?” Joel nodded “your right, that’s probably why” his thick texan accent was filled with concern but he tried his best to stay calm. “we are going to be fine, trust me” Tommy said but he sounded unsure of what he had just said.

he drive around the corner and quickly slowed down when he saw a small family. “what are you doing?” Joel asked and Tommy just shook his head “they have a kid Joel” Joel quickly cut him off. “so do we, are you forgetting that my wife is pregnant?”

“Joel Tommy is right, they have a kid we should help them” he turned back to you “no, we don’t know them. keep driving Tommy” he’d never spoken this was before and this was definitely not the Joel you knew. you just prayed that whatever this is would go away and you could go back to your normal lives.

-♡-

you were driving through the town, planes flying low, catastrophe everywhere and you were just scared. “right keep going down this way” Joel said as Tommy drove down a side road leading to a whole group of people who were fighting and running away from the danger. “keep driving Tommy” Joel said even though there were people everywhere.

“are you kidding? Joel i can’t just drive through a whole group of people” Joel cut him off shouting “just keep going damn it” cars were crashing into each other, the sounds of people screaming made your eyes fill with tears. the next thing you knew the cinema doors cracked open with a lot more people coming out of it, all of them crying.

“shit” Tommy said as he quickly stoped the car “go go, fuck Tommy go get out of here” Joel said as he looked behind him out of the truck and slammed his hand on the dashboard “i’m going, i’m going” Tommy started reversing back, careful to not hit anyone in the process.

Sarah looked out the back window and so did you, seeing the huge airplane falling rapidly toward the floor. “Tommy, you need get out of here” you shouted as the plane darted toward you. “fuck Tommy go now” Joel shouted but it was too late, the huge plane crashed on the ground exploding into a million pieces.

the huge flame almost blinded you, you felt sickened at the thought of all those people on the plane that didn’t even stand a chance. “oh shit” you heard Sarah say as a huge chunk of the plane crashed into you car and then your whole world went black.

-♡-

“y/n” you felt someone’s hand on your shoulder as you awoke from the darkness “y/n honey we need to get you out, can you get out slowly for me angel?” Joel’s soft voice filled your mind as you sat up, a sharp shooting pain went right through your stomach making you groan. “my stomach is killing me” you said as you put a hand on your belly. you looked out the window and saw Sarah sitting on the floor and Joel crouching next to where you were sitting.

“don’t panic, it’s probably nothing okay?” Joel’s heart dropped when he heard you say that, a pain in your stomach was never a good sign especially when you are pregnant. “can you get out sweetheart? or do you need help?” you just nodded and started making your way out of the car.

once you had gotten out of the car you stood next to Sarah and saw Tommy was on the opposite side “we gotta get off of the street” he said as you stood up right, you right hand still back on your stomach hoping to feel any sign of movement. “Sarah can’t walk, i’ll have to carry her. do you think you can walk?” you nodded again. “shit” you heard Tommy shout as a police car crashed into Tommys now ruined truck.

the car set alight and you were lucky you even made it out of the car that quick before it crashed otherwise you would have been dead and you wouldn’t have wanted your family to see that. “Tommy” Joel shouted as he tried to see Tommys face through the flames. “i’m okay, head to the river and i’ll meet you there” with a simple nod Joel picked up Sarah and pushed you behind him.

“stay close okay?” he gave you a quick kiss before you both started making your way through the side roads trying to find a way to the river. the two of you stopped once you saw a group of bodies with people eating them. “what the fuck” you whispered as you saw this horrific sight in front of you. one of the people shot up, looking at you twitching weirdly.

“go” Joel pushed you in front of him and you both started running through a random cafe. the man chased you, snarling and screeching as he followed. you could hear the man tripping over different things but you didn’t dare look behind you. you could hear Joel comforting Sarah who was now crying as you finally made it outside but you didn’t stop running until a gunshot filled the silent field.

you and Joel both stopped, turning to look back and the now dead body in front of you. “don’t move” you heard someone say next to you as a bright light shone on the three of you. “my daughters hurt her ankle and my wife is pregnant” the man lowered his gun and started talking to his radio “i’ve got three civilians by the river, one of them injured, one pregnant”

you couldn’t make out what the other person was saying but your thoughts were cut short when Sarah spoke up “what about uncle Tommy?” she questioned Joel just shook his head “i’m gonna get you both safe first then i’ll go back for him okay?” she just nodded and you all looked back at the masked man. “yes sir….. yes sir”

he raised his gun “we are not sick” Joel said as the man approached the three of you. “sir, i said we are not sick” with that the masked man shot a round of bullets and Joel heard you and Sarah scream. you all rolled down a small ditch and Joel quickly turned to look at the man who was now approaching him with his gun raised. “i’m sorry” he said but before he could shoot Joel another shot was fired, killing him instantly.

he looked up to see Tommy with his gun raised, he had never been so happy to see his brother in his whole life. “are you okay?” Tommy asked Joel who was just grazed by a bullet and Joel just nodded but Tommys eyes shifted to you who was covered in blood and gasping for air. “oh god” he said making Joel turn around to look at you.

all you could do was feel a throbbing pain in you stomach. Joel quickly got up and ran to you and Tommy made sure Sarah was okay and turned her away from you. he knew Joel wouldn’t want her seeing you like this and it was bad enough he had to see you like this. “no no it’s okay” he could see the blood soaking through your jumper, the once grey colour was now a soaked dark red and it was growing by the second.

“you’re okay, move your hand honey” Joel said once you’d moved your hand, putting pressure on the wound. you cried in pain as you still gasped for air. “i know i know im so sorry sweetheart i am” he said and he pressed harder on the wound to stop it from bleeding out more. you managed to speak through your pain as you grabbed onto Joel’s arm “go” he shook his head.

“go Joel, take” you took a few more deep breaths as you tried to calm yourself down “take Sarah and go” he just shook his head again. “no, i’m not leaving you like this. i can get help and you’re gonna survive this” he said, his eyes filling with tears as he saw your tired but pained expression.

“you know how much i love you, i don’t” you closed your eyes as you breathed deeply again “i don’t want you seeing me like this” you stuttered out. you felt a tear roll down your cheek as you realised what was about to happen to you. “meeting you was the best thing to ever happen to me” you could hear Sarah sobbing next to Tommy and you hated that she was even watching you, laying there covered in blood.

“i’m sorry” he said as he sat down next to you, he took the pressure off of your wound and you were grateful he had given up, there was no way you were going to be able to survive this and you didn’t want to prolong it. you just shook your head at his comment. “don’t-”

you felt pain all over your body but you felt tired, so tired that you wanted to sleep desperately. “i love you, i love Sarah. just take her and run okay?” he had tears now rolling down his cheeks, his bloody hand now stroking your cheek softly. “im not leaving you here on your own” you just smiled at him. you knew he wouldn’t leave but you wanted to save him from the trauma of seeing you go.

“i know” you looked at him and he kissed you, one last for however long he has left on this earth. “i love you so much” you heard him say and with that your eyes closed. he sobbed quietly, you were gone and nothing was ever going to bring you back.

you were carrying his unborn child and he wished he could go back in time and taken the bullet instead of you. you were this ethereal soul who didn’t deserve to die this way and he hated it. he hated it so much. he tried his best to calm himself down as he took your wedding ring off of your finger and put it in his pocket hoping to keep it safe. it wasn’t like someone was going to steal it but he took it off so he could have something with him that was yours.

he kissed your forehead and carefully placed your body back on the floor and turned toward Sarah and Tommy, he had tear stains on his cheeks but his expression was neutral. “let’s go” he said, he was emotionless “dad, we can’t just leave her-” he cut Sarah off “i said let’s go” with that the three of them left and never looked back.

#fanfiction #imagines #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagines #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller #joel miller the last of us #the last of us #joel miller one shot #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller angst #joel miller au #joel miller age gap #joel miller fic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal joel miller

[luxeberries]

now on ao3

Steve yawns when he wakes up, jaw cracking painfully as it happens, and, immediately, his heart drops to his stomach. Because of course, of course, his stupid, three-time damaged brain would choose today of all days to lay down and scream about how damaged it is. Like a toddler hitting a stuffed toy with its little fists but the toy is the left side of Steve’s head and the toddler is the phantom remnants of Billy Hargrove and evil Russian interrogators beating him unconscious. 

Steve buries his face into the pillow as if suffocating is a better fate than a migraine. Sometimes, it feels like it is. And it’s definitely a better fate than making Eddie’s big, brown, twinkling eyes turn dull and disappointed with the ruining of their plans. Just the memory of them makes Steve’s heart break a little. 

Face shoved into the pillows, Steve thinks suffocating himself may be less painful than disappointing Eddie. 

-

He finds Eddie in the little kitchen, wearing mismatched socks, worn in boxers, and a tour t-shirt from 1973. From the hall, Steve watches Eddie flip a pancake without the spatula; practised and showy. The floor creaks under Steve’s foot when he shifts his weight, breaking Eddie out of his little bubble. He turns to Steve with a smile, dimples popped, eyes bright. There’s a smudge of batter on his chin. 

“Morning, Stevie,” he says, sweet and sugary in the mornings as always. "I tried making hearts. To be cute and all. But, uh” - he turns back to the stove - “shit's hard, so."

Steve tries to hide his yawn behind his hand. Jaw aching horribly, he mutters, "G’morning,” and moves to wrap his arms around Eddie's waist. Looking over his shoulder, Steve laughs softly at the misshapen blob in the pan.

"Oh, he's laughing,” Eddie says. “You hear that? He's laughing at you, in there. You gonna take that, Mr Pancake?" 

Amused, Steve tucks his nose into Eddie's hair. Yawns again. He feels Eddie’s shoulders stiffen up a little. Feeling caught, Steve just watches the pancake bubble up. 

"You tired?" Eddie asks carefully, head turned towards Steve. "You've been yawning a lot."

Steve burrows further into Eddie. He’s aware that it’s silly to feel ashamed, but he is. He hates this and he hates that it’s ruined their day.  

"Not tired,” he whispers. 

For a moment, Eddie's quiet. The pancake is probably black underneath at this point, but he’s not flipping it. “You having auras? Are you nauseous?"

"Not yet."

Steve can feel it when Eddie makes the decision to act nonchalant and unbothered. It’s there in the way he sets his shoulders and finally flips the pancake - with the spatula this time, so he doesn’t jostle Steve. 

"Well, at least you can eat breakfast before your day goes to shit,” Eddie jokes, deadpan.

Steve snorts, but he’s still upset. “I’m sorry. I could just…” He knows as he says it that it’s a lie. “I could ignore it. Stick it out, whatever.” 

Put on a brave face and act like the pain doesn’t sort of make him want to kill himself. Nothing he hasn’t done before. 

Eddie pours more batter into the pan, trying, again, to shape it into a heart. “We both know how that’s gonna end, Steve. Baby, it’s fine. I’m not- upset, or anything. I mean, I’m sad for you and all, but… It’s fine. We can stay in and watch shitty TV and binge chick flicks, or something. I’ll eat junk food while you try not to yak on my uncle’s couch.” 

Steve laughs, but also sort of groans at the same time. He lets himself go slack against Eddie. 

“I hate this,” he whispers. 

“I know, sweet thing,” Eddie comforts, putting the jokes aside. He kisses Steve’s temple. “I’m sorry.”  

It makes the job harder, but Steve doesn’t stop clinging to Eddie like a koala the whole time Eddie’s plating up. He pours the syrup for Steve even though Steve is more than capable of doing it himself, and he hands Steve the plate of heart-blobs along with a knife and fork. 

“I promise it tastes just as good coming up as it does going down,” Eddie says, taking up his own plate with just a fork and a lake of syrup. 

“That’s disgusting,” Steve says, grimacing. 

“Disgustingly sweet,” Eddie jokes. “Just like you.” 

Stupidly in love, Steve just smiles at him. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Eddie grins. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Stevie.”

#luxeberriesfics #stranger things #steddie #me an hour before valentines day ends: i want to write a valentines day fic. something i have never done before in my life- #because i hate valentines day #HELLO

[zimbittys]

the GROWTH ,,,,,

#check please #omgcp #tony tangredi #shitty knight #god........ #i love tango #my sweet little baby boy #i miss him #like #so much #bruh ....... #but the shift from mr shitty to uncle shits ????? #CHEFS KISS

[biggest-stupidhead]

Never Ready

Summary: “It’s not like I’m ready to take her in.”

“And I was ready for you? Kid, nobody is ever ready for things like this. That doesn’t mean they don’t happen.” Levi is faced with the difficult decision of taking in his newly orphaned cousin. But he can't do it alone.You're a newly graduated college student looking to make some extra cash, but get more than you originally bargained for...

Word Count: 2.3K 

--

The day had started just like any other day. He woke up early and worked out before making himself a small breakfast of tea and an English muffin with some jam. Then he got dressed for work in one of his perfectly tailored suits. His routine was flawless, perfected over many years to allow him to seamlessly slip from one task into the next. He arrived one full hour before work actually began so that he could organize his desk and get a jump on the day’s cleaning. He liked working in a clean environment, if this step was missed (or really any of them for that matter), his entire day was thrown off. 

And today was one of those days. About four minutes before the office officially opened, Levi got a phone call. He had the phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder as he finished wiping down his desk with a clorox wipe. 

“We regretfully inform you that your cousin and his wife were involved in an armed robbery.” 

He froze at this, his eyes narrowing as the woman waited for his response. 

“What was stolen?” He asked before continuing to wipe down the surface. 

“Sir…” The woman spoke slowly and Levi began to lose his patience. 

“Listen, I appreciate the phone call but quite honestly I don’t have time for this.” He said bitterly as he disposed of the wipe. 

“This is very important sir, your cousin, and his wife were both murdered in the process.” The woman informed him and his blood ran cold. Although he had never been close with his extended family, the news was still tragic. 

“I see,” Levi grumbled as a boulder seemed to settle in the pit of his stomach. 

“I’m calling regarding their daughter, Mikasa. Seeing that Mr. Ackerman was an only child, as was Mrs. Ackerman, and their parents have passed, you and your uncle are her next of kin.” The woman continued as Levi sank into his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What do we need to do?” Levi sighed as he closed his eyes, waiting patiently for her response. 

“You have a few options, either of you could gain full parental rights to her, or she will become a ward of the state.” Some shuffling could be heard on her end of the line and Levi felt his heart rate spike. For a time in his own life, he had been thrown into the system, that was until his own uncle had gained custody after sobering up. 

“I understand,” Levi grumbled, watching as his coworkers set about their daily business as he was dealing with this unforeseen issue. 

“The decision doesn’t need to be made immediately of course. I strongly encourage that the two of you discuss this at length. The funeral is this Thursday, Mikasa and myself will be there and we can talk in greater depth then.” The sound of a keyboard clacking filled the short silence as he considered what an appropriate response would be. 

“I’ll...get back to you.” He leaned forward in his seat and clicked on his calendar, crossing out the lengthy list of tasks and replacing it with, FUNERAL. 

“Thank you, and sorry for your loss.” He hung up the phone and reclined back into his seat. This was quite possibly the biggest disruption he would ever face in his life. He hated that his cousin and his shitty wife had left this burden to rest on his shoulders. But upon further thought, his own mother had done the same thing to his uncle. You know what they say: history repeats itself. 

It seemed that as soon as he had set the phone down, it rang. His uncle’s contact lit up his screen and he let it ring three times before picking it up. 

“Did ya hear?” Kenny’s deep voice crackled over his speaker and Levi grunted. 

“Yeah, just got off of the phone with the social worker,” Levi informed him and Kenny hummed deeply. 

“What do you think?” He pressed and Levi felt his annoyance increase by tenfold. 

“I think that it’s a load of shit. And you?” Levi asked as he crossed his legs under his desk. 

“Same here.” Kenny agreed. 

“It’s not ideal, but we can’t let her go into foster care,” Kenny grumbled and Levi hummed his agreement. Kenny was right, even if she was distantly related, Mikasa was still a part of their family. 

“So are you going to take custody then?” Levi scoffed, knowing damn well that Kenny was pushing fifty and had a chronic case of bad arthritis. 

“Hell no, I’ve done my part by raising you.” Kenny laughed bitterly and Levi’s expression soured. 

“It’s not like I’m ready to take her in.” Levi countered and Kenny let out another bark of laughter. 

“And I was ready for you? Kid, nobody is ever ready for things like this. That doesn’t mean they don’t happen.” Kenny chuckled mirthfully as Levi shifted in his seat. He knew that Kenny was right, and he knew from the moment that the social worker had said that Mikasa needed someone, that it would be him taking her. 

“I’ll need to get a bigger place then.” Levi sighed his fingers rubbing tight circles over his temple as he thought of his bachelor-sized apartment. 

“Damn straight.” Kenny chuckled as Levi shot a look at the clock, it was nearly twenty minutes into the workday already. 

“Look, I’m at work. I’ll talk to you on Thursday at the funeral.” 

“See you then.” Kenny hung up and Levi let out a long exhale. His week was off to a terrible start. 

--

In movies, funerals are usually held in dreary weather. But today was almost too beautiful for a funeral. It was late January and the ground was covered in a thick blanket of sparkling snow. As the coffins were lowered into the two holes the social worker held Mikasa on her hip. She was only four, and there was no way that she could fully grasp what had happened. Levi stood with his hands shoved deep inside of his pockets. 

Kenny stood off to his left, a large distance between the two of them. There couldn’t have been more than seven people here, Levi assumed that they were friends of the family. The other attendees came up to him before and gave their condolences to Levi and Kenny, who both said nothing in return. The service was quick, Levi and Kenny had opted out of paying more than what the state offered. In Kenny’s own words, “Dead is dead, no fancy funeral is going to help them now.” 

To some, it may seem heartless, but it was the way that the family coped with death. Once the funeral was over, Kenny and Levi joined the service worker to get a cup of coffee in a nearby cafe. She had passed Mikasa off to a brunette woman before leaving the cemetery. Levi assumed that she was the foster woman that they had placed her with, or possibly a family friend. 

“So, I understand that you wish to gain custody?” Michelle was a middle-aged woman with graying hair and prominent wrinkles on her forehead. As she flipped through files that were spread across the table Levi nodded as he sipped his tea. 

“That’s correct,” Levi affirmed and she nodded before spinning the paperwork so that he could read the form. 

“I’m sure that you understand that this is no small commitment.” She spoke as she passed him a pen. He scoffed and began initialing and signing where necessary. 

“Of course,” Levi grunted before flipping the page. 

“Before you can gain full custody, the state will need to see some changes in your lifestyle, for starters, you’ll need to move within her current school district and continue to hold a steady job.” 

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Levi mumbled, pausing to read the paper before signing. 

“Excellent, once these needs are met, she can be placed under your care,” Michelle informed as Levi skimmed over the page. 

“Anything else?” Levi asked as he signed the last form presented to him. 

“Not at this time, I’m sure that you’re well versed in most of our policies, seeing that the two of you went through a similar process.” Michelle continued as she neatly returned the papers to their folder. 

“Yes.” Levi agreed as he brought his cup back to his lips. Kenny had been silent for most of the exchange. If Levi was being honest, he was relieved to have him there, even if he wasn’t contributing. 

“Great, we’ll be in touch then.” Michelle smiled tensely before excusing herself, leaving Kenny and Levi alone at the table. Kenny finished his coffee and stood up, stretching with a loud groan. 

“Well, I’m off to the office,” Kenny said with a short wave behind his shoulder. Levi watched him go, feeling a strange sense of dread settle into his gut. It all felt so surreal, even if he was thirty and most of his peers were already parents themselves, he still felt unprepared. It was just like Kenny had said, nothing could prepare him to take on this role. That didn’t mean that it wasn’t his to take, and he would be damned if he let Mikasa get thrown into the foster care system. 

Levi set to work on finding a house in the district that the social worker had given him. He had never been a fan of suburbs, but at this time it was all that he could afford. So he found a decent house with four bedrooms, one for himself, one for Mikasa one for guests, and a final for a study. He was lucky enough to have a decent job, and a respectable grasp on his finances, it took him a week to finalize the buy, but in the end, he was glad that he did. 

He had been meaning to get out of his stuffy apartment anyway, (or so he reasoned with himself), he moved his belongings out of his downtown apartment in less than a week. Once the house was effectively moved into, he then began the tedious process of preparing Mikasa’s things. He started by doing research on what four-year-olds needed and then set about buying the necessities. He felt out of place as he shopped through Target in the little girl’s section, buying bedding and such. But he got the job done, he knew that she had to have some clothes, and decided that he’d cross that bridge when he got there. 

It was the night before Michelle was scheduled to visit, and Levi had invited Hange over for a drink. Hange had nosed around for about an hour, acquainting herself with Levi’s new space and gushing when she saw the modest room that he had prepared for Mikasa. 

“I can’t believe that you’re actually going through with this!” Hange cooed as she sat on the small bed. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked defensively as he propped himself on the doorframe. Honestly, he had been avoiding this room, it felt that if he acknowledged the space, the heavier the weight of the situation crushed his chest. 

“I just...never thought that you liked kids. But I’m really proud of you.” Hange beamed as she smoothed out the pink comforter as she stood. 

“What made you think that I didn’t like kids?” He scoffed as the pair left the room, he closed the door quietly behind them as they made their way into the kitchen. 

“Oh I don’t know, maybe I just made the assumption based on your obsession with cleanliness.” Hange waved her hand dismissively and Levi clicked his tongue as he poured two glasses of wine. 

“They are filthy.” Levi agreed as he brought the glass of red wine to his lips. 

“What’s she like?” Hange asked, wrapping her own fingers around her glass as she eagerly awaited his response. 

“....I haven’t met her.” Levi felt a wave of panic crash over his chest as Hange’s eyes widened. 

“Never?” Hange couldn’t hide her astonishment. 

“Never,” Levi said with a roll of his eyes. 

“You’re serious?” Hange pressed and Levi glared at her. 

“Do I ever joke about these things?” Levi snapped and she held her hands up in defeat. 

“I’m just surprised is all,” Hange mumbled before taking a long sip of her wine. 

“I wasn’t close with her parents,” Levi explained as he put the cork back on the bottle. 

“Well...maybe you should take some extra time off of work,” Hange suggested and Levi sighed deeply. 

“I can’t, I’ve already taken off more than I planned.” Levi sat on the barstool next to Hange and she swiveled to face him, their knees knocking against each other. 

“But this is not something that you take lightly Levi. She’s a four-year-old girl who lost both of her parents. She’s going to need a lot of attention.” Hange looked concerned and Levi’s expression soured. 

“I understand that, but my job is-” 

“Is not your priority anymore. Have you thought about what you’re going to do for childcare yet? She’s too young for school. Or at least not full days.” Hange interrupted. 

“So I’ll put her in daycare, or preschool.” Levi shrugged and Hange pursed her lips. 

“That could work, but don’t you usually stay late at the office?” Hange pressed and Levi chewed on the inside of his cheek guiltily. 

“Maybe you should consider getting a nanny. Plenty of my student’s nanny, I could give you some good recommendations.” She offered before lifting her glass to her lips. 

“Maybe…” Levi suddenly felt way in over his head, if all went well in the morning, then Mikasa would be sent his way in nearly a week. 

“I’ll ask around on Monday,” Hange said, reaching out to pat his shoulder. For once, he didn’t shy away. 

#Levi fanfiction #LEVI ACKERMAN #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman x you #levi is a dad #reader insert #levi x y/n #levi x reader insert #Levi x You #levi x reader #levi x nanny!reader #modern au #nanny au #aot fandom #aot x you #Mikasa Ackerman #Eren Mikasa Armin #eren jeager #armin arlert #Annie Leonhardt #reiner braun #connie springer #sasha braus #jean kirstein #Erwin Smith #hange zoe #hange zoe is a teacher #aot fanfiction #aot

[hale-13]

Into the Atmosphere

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 13 - Sacrificed

The Infinity Gauntlet, lying harmlessly but ominously in his hands, pulsed with a preternatural warmth and feeling of power that seeped through the Iron Spider and his regular Spidey suit under it. It felt more like a siren’s call than Peter felt comfortable with and he could understand the inclination to slip it on and wield that power.

Words: 2674, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Pet er Parker, Tony Stark, Stephen Strange, Thanos

TW: Major Character Injury

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

As a native New Yorker, Peter was used to weird shit as a kid. Watching a wormhole open over the new Stark Industries building? Watching hoards of aliens and space whales filter through to invade Manhattan? No one was prepared for that, least of all a kid.

May and Ben, an ER nurse and a police officer respectively had both been held up at work and had not been home with Peter, leaving him completely alone. His heart had pounded in his chest, triggering multiple asthma attacks that were barely mitigated with his inhaler, as he watched and wondered if he would ever see his remaining family ever again. Seeing Iron Man fly a nuke launched by his over government into the wormhole and nearly die had probably affected him more than he cared to admit.

But that was then. Now, Peter had no problem throwing himself head first into danger at smallest provocation. But, that being said, even this was a bit much for him.

The Infinity Gauntlet, lying harmlessly but ominously in his hands, pulsed with a preternatural warmth and feeling of power that seeped through the Iron Spider and his regular Spidey suit under it. It felt more like a siren’s call than Peter felt comfortable with and he could understand the inclination to slip it on and wield that power.

He didn’t stop though. He didn’t give in a slip on the glove or let anything close enough to take it from him, dodging another blast from one of the dog-alien-things and letting his suit’s nanotech appendages (Instant Kill activated and Karen in partial control) stab the creature through its chest and fling it into the distance. Finally reaching a mostly unoccupied area of the battlefield, Peter paused to catch his breath and made an aborted move to rub away the blood he could feeling pooling from his nose onto his upper lip.

A pointless move really. He was wearing a mask after all.

The blond woman who had descended from space (actual space what the hell) in a fiery halo had tried to reach him but was held up by a veritable flood of aliens all vying for her attention. From Peter’s perspective it didn’t look like any of them were really much of a challenge for her but they made up for weakness in sheer numbers; keeping her overwhelmed and unable to break free.

Peter stumbled on tired and weak legs (it had apparently been five years after all, he reserved the right to be tired), doing his best to continue to dodge and disarm as many enemies as he could while still protecting the gauntlet. The rest of the extended Avengers, the Wakandans, the Asgardians were too busy with their own adversaries to help him. In the distance, Iron Man was blasting through the opposition unreservedly, clearly headed in Peter’s direction but vastly too slow to make a difference.

“Hello child,” Thanos deep voice said from behind him, making Peter’s Spidey sense explode. The titan was calm and quiet compared to the battle raging around them. Peter turned and tripped as he tried to back away as quickly as possible. “You have something there that doesn’t belong to you.”

“You can’t have it,” Peter said, surprising himself at the strength and steadiness of his voice compared to the thrum of fear and anxiety sparking through his nerves like lightning.

Thanos tilted his head, inquisitive and regarding Peter with a small, indulgent almost fatherly grin on his face and Peter felt a shiver course down his spine in warning. “You are brave little one. Perhaps to the point of foolishness but brave nonetheless,” he reached out with a weathered hand to grab the gauntlet but the spider legs attached to Peter’s suit lashed out in offense, Peter’s own free hand shooting up to knock Thanos’ aside.

“No means no asshole,” Peter grunted, scuttling up a mound of rocks behind him so he wasn’t at such a height deficit. “Fuck off.”

Thanos just tsk’d and looked at Peter with disappointment like he was a misbehaving puppy or a child throwing a temper tantrum. “I would rather not have to kill you boy. Hand it over.”

Before Peter could open up his mouth to retort, planning on stalling, the glowing woman (Captain Marvel his brain corrected) smacked into the titan’s side and knocked him away from Peter, her glowing fists more than enough to take him on. His expression had changed from benevolent to murderous as he pulled himself to his feet and threw a return punch, eyes never straying from the Infinity Gauntlet in Peter’s hands. “Uh guys?” Peter squeaked into his comms, turning and running away as quickly as his tired body could take him – aiming for the shitty van Ant-Man had been working to repair. “We’ve got to get ride of this thing – anyone free to help?”

“I’m coming Queens,” Captain America panted. “Hang in there,” he said with a grunt, wading his way across the ruins using both his broken shield and Mjolnir to mow down everyone in his way with extreme prejudice. Watching from the corner of his eye Peter’s stomach dropped: there was no way Cap would reach him in time as tired and injured as he was. Mr. Stark was stuck in a similar position, his nanotech suit morphing around him like high tech water to compensate for all of the damage it had taken.

A cold spike of fear went through Peter: they were going to lose. They were going to lose to Thanos again and this time they had pissed him off enough that he would probably forgo the random chance aspect of his plan and kill all of them. He was going to kill all of the Avengers and May and Peter’s friends. He was going to kill everyone who had just been brought back after five years. They would all be gone again.

Peter guzzled air that never quite seemed to reach his lungs, panicking but not stopping in his mad rush to get the gauntlet as far away as possible (hopefully back to the past where the stones belonged), the sounds of the battle muffled and silent around him. As if by fate, he glanced up and locked eyes with Dr. Strange, stuck holding back a spout of water that would otherwise flood the field, but with his attention solely focused on Peter.

His face was sad and sympathetic as he grimaced and held up a single, shaking finger mouthing ‘there was no other way’ and Peter skidded to an abrupt stop.

Oh.

Peter looked down at the oversized gauntlet resting in his hands and let his mask slide off his face to merge with the neck of his suit. Taking a quick look around him, Peter gave one final sniff and looked back at Dr. Strange, giving a firm and sure nod of understanding.

He knew what he had to do.

The stones glittered across the knuckles of the modified Iron Man gauntlet prettier than any precious gem Peter had ever seen and it took considerably more effort than he cared to admit to not allow himself to just be mystified by them. Peter adjusted his grip to hold the glove more firmly and began to slip it on, the armor automatically shifting to mold to his smaller hand.

“NO!” Peter huffed and felt a single tear leak from the corner of his eye, tickling his nostril as he ignored the agonized scream of his mentor. The gauntlet was half on. “PETER STOP!”

“I’m so sorry Mr. Stark,” he whispered as his fingers slid into place, the glove fully conforming and tightening around his hand.

The immediate pain was stunning and all encompassing and Peter threw his head back, eyes closed, with a grunt. He knees and muscles, already tired and overworked, turned into jelly and he just let himself drop, breath coming in short pants, hearing ringing and vision blurring and darkening around the edges. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end, his Spidey sense screaming its final death rattle and giving up under the untenable onslaught. His very atoms felt like they were being ripped apart, blowing him apart and remaking him in the Stones image. He wanted to scream but he didn’t have the lung capacity to do much more than endure.

Finally – a second, a minute, a year, an eternity later, everything stabilized just enough for sound to filter back into him: repulsers rushing toward him, angry and desperate yelling from Thanos – barreling toward Peter in a last ditch effort to take the gauntlet for himself – gasps and moans from his own team and silence. Silence as the battle around him stopped and everyone turned to look at him with bated breath.

Using more strength and effort than he ever had before, Peter lifted his shaking right hand up to show the glowing gauntlet to everyone and forced his numb mouth into a lopsided smile – his eyes focused on Tony and only Tony’s terrified face as he said “I’m sorry,” and snapped his fingers.

“Where…?” Peter asked, looking around over the sunset covered lake and then down at his hands – whole and undamaged. He was dressed in his favorite science pun t-shirt, the one Uncle Ben had gotten him their last holiday together and he felt good. No aches and pain from the battle, his arms strong again. He made loose fists with both hands, clenching and relaxing his fingers in absolute wonder at just how good he felt – better than before he had ditched the bus to MOMA that morning (five years ago?) even.

“Hey Petey.”

At the sound of his voicePeter whipped around, already crying streams of silent tears, and wasted no time in rushing the short distance to fling himself into his Uncle’s open arms. “Ben,” he sobbed, embracing the man tightly, afraid he would disappear.

“I’m so proud of you buddy,” Ben whispered, his own tears mingling with Peter’s and returning the hug with equal force. “You’re the kindest, bravest person I’ve ever had the honor to know.”

“Am I dead?” Peter asked, resigned but not sad – he had accepted the possibility the second he put on the Gauntlet.

“Not really,” Ben answered, cryptic. “Somewhere in between would be the best way to describe it.” He stepped back, releasing his hold on Peter to hold him at arms length and grip his shoulders tightly the warm and comforting smile that Peter knew from his childhood on his face. “If you weren’t enhanced you definitely would be but you are so…” Peter just nodded in understanding, furiously wiping at the streams of tears still pouring down his face. “Regardless we don’t have much time.”

“I’m so sorry Ben,” Peter blurted, reaching up a hand to grip tightly onto Ben’s forearm. “I’m so sorry I didn’t stop it. I had my powers, I could have taken the bullet. I could have stopped it.”

Ben’s eyes were soft and his smile lines deepened as his lips twitched up into a sad smile, moving his hands from Peter’s shoulders to cup his face as gently as if he were made of glass. As if he were something precious. “Oh Pete its not your fault, it was never your fault. You were fourteen and staring down the barrel of a gun for the first time, I would have been more concerned if you didn’t freeze.” Ben told him, leaning forward to push their foreheads together, his hand cupping the back of Peter’s neck. “You’re my kid – it doesn’t matter about enhancements or powers – I’ll always put myself between you and danger. I don’t regret anything.”

Peter let out a hoarse sob that shook his frame and pulled Ben back in for another hug. “I love you,” he said fervently, trying to put as much force and emotion into it as he could. “I love you and I miss you and so does May.”

“I love you both so much,” Ben said, squeezing Peter one last time before releasing him and stepping away, water lapping at his ankles and rippling out to the horizon. “As nice as this visit as been Pete, I really hope I don’t see you again any time soon.”

Peter’s answering chuckle was watery will unshed tears, his vision already fading as Ben disappeared followed by the serene lake and sunset; the dusty battlefield snapping back into focus.

His body was numb in the way that promised pain if he could feel anything, his heartbeat stuttering and aching in his chest as Peter collapsed back against a pile of rocks and broken pieces of building. His body was limp and unable to support itself and his head lolled to rest on his undamaged left shoulder.

“Peter!” Tony’s devastated voice creeped in and Peter tried to smile but he couldn’t really tell if his muscles were responding, his eyesight was so dark. Gentle hands pulled him to rest against a warm body, lying his head in a more comfortable position and cupping to undamaged side of his face in a calloused palm. The grip was as careful as if he were made of glass and maybe he was. “Stay with me Pete, just stay with me okay?”

“Tony,” Peter rasped out, his voice broken and so so quiet, but it carried – the battlefield was a silent as a tomb beyond the heavy breathing of the surrounding Avengers. Peter had done it apparently.

His mentor let out a sob that he didn’t bother to disguise and ran his hands through Peter’s sweaty curls – it felt nice. “I’m so proud of you,” Tony said earnestly, echoing Ben and making Peter’s heart clench and skip a beat, his voice absolutely mangled with emotion. “You’re the absolute best of us and I’m so beyond proud of you buddy but I just need you to stay awake okay kiddo?”

“I’m tired,” Peter croaked, his eyes sinking closed against his will and only reopening due to Tony’s panicked jostling.

“I know kiddo, I know,” Tony choked out. “I’ll let you rest soon I promise but just humor me a little longer alright? A few more minutes for your old mentor huh?”

“Love you,” Peter said, forcing his voice to be as strong as possible even as his body sagged further and his heart rate slowed. “Tell May… Love her.” He was ready to rest. Peter’s left hand, barely gripping Tony’s with the very last of his strength, loosened and fell against his chest. His eyesight failed.

The last thing he heard was Tony, crying and begging him to stay.

————————————————

Part of Peter expected to be back in the lake or with Ben but instead he was met with only darkness.

It worked for him though to be honest. He could relax in the dark, let his mind wander and rest in equal measure, his worries gone and – for the first time in a long time – feeling no pain.

On occasion he thought he could hear voices whispering in the distance or see something bright far away but neither stayed long enough for him to investigate further. He still felt tired down to his bones and, as the time passed, his right side began to feel more and more like static and less numb, bright sparks of something like pain flaring through him like lightening and soon forgotten.

The light flickered – sometimes brighter sometimes nearly dimmed out – but seemed to get closer to more Peter looked at it and memories filtered in. Space, melting into dust, fighting with his childhood heroes, snapping, Ben… Tony… wanting to give up so bad but not doing it.

“Please wake up,” a broken voice whispered in the distance. “Please don’t die when I just got you back.”

Seconds, minutes, days, years later Peter opened eyelids that weighed a ton each to look around with blurry vision at the white room around him and the dark human-shaped spot next to him, his lips turning up just the smallest amount.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump13 #Prompt: Sacrificed #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump

[monaisme]

One Week Later - Chapter One

This is the sequel to my one-shot, “The Battle”

He had drifted in and out of the consciousness for the first five days-- which he guessed, after the fact, had been a blessing.

His transformation, which had taken three days the first time 'round, still hadn't quite finished seven days later.

He was trying to be patient but, well, it would’ve been nice to sleep all the way through to the end. It seemed he was destined to suffer fits and jags of pain and spontaneous naps to recover from them. It hurt... and it sucked.

Dr. Cho couldn't be 100% certain as she hadn't been around after the bite, but she'd felt safe in assuming that the prolonged change had to do with all of Peter's injuries from both Titan all those years ago and the battle in Upstate New York. The concussion had been pretty significant, according to the doctor. Multiple scans had been taken to keep track of that healing, seeing as he'd been so out of it from the worst of the fever. The broken ribs still had a ways to go towards knitting back together but he could inhale just a little deeper before it hurt so that was a win. And there was no need for stitches for the deeper stab wounds—Mr. Stark’s nanoparticles were taking care of that. The dislocated shoulder, however, still required surgery.

Correction. Another surgery. Peter looked up at the clock on the wall... in about thirty minutes.

Arthroscopic surgery had apparently been performed on the second day after the battle, once all of the other wounded had been tended to, not that Peter remembered much from those first five days. Tendons and cartilage had been damaged to the point that Dr. Cho was certain it needed intervention so she'd done her medical magic per Spider-Man protocols, being as non-invasive as possible, knowing that Peter's body could do the rest-- except that it hadn't.

It had been quite the gong show, in fact—his fever had spiked along with his blood pressure and all sorts of bad things had Dr. Cho plus Mr. Stark and all the rest worried out of their minds.

... but he was definitely on the mend now.

Really.

Peter fussed at his hospital gown nervously and  wondered, not for the first time, if maybe he still had some dust stuck somewhere in him-- gumming up the works like Uncle Ben used to say when their old '97 Pontiac Firefly would stall again and again and again-- or something like that. He couldn't be sure, but yeah, he was definitely curious about it.

"Knock, knock!" The rapping of knuckles against the door frame pulled Peter from his commiserating. "Guess what surprise the most super-amazing best mentor on the planet got for his currently boo-booed Spider-mentee?" Mr. Stark grinned big and slid into the med bay room.

Peter tried to think of something he’d wanted, then brightened immediately as hope flared. He looked to the man and then at the doorway Mr. Stark had just vacated. "Is May here?!" He asked eagerly. He repressed the flinch of pain as he struggled to sit up in the bed. "Did Dr. Strange finally get May here? May?!" He called out.

Peter was too busy trying to look around Mr. Stark to notice the look of regret flashing across his face before he could school it into something more sympathetic. “I’m sorry, kid.” He stepped up to the bed and moved to help Peter lay back down. “I should have been more thoughtful.“ He pulled the blankets back up to the boy’s neck and tucked him in tight. “One of the wizards was willing to make a pit stop and grabbed you a sandwich from Delmar’s before coming back to Wakanda. It came back hot so I’ve got it hiding away in one of the kitchen’s fancy stasis units and is ready for you as soon as you get the all clear from Dr. Cho to eat after they take care of...” Mr. Stark waved toward Peter’s shoulder, “that.”

Peter flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I just thought that...” He trailed off, and sighed. “It’s not that I’m not grateful, Mr. Stark, I promise! It’s just that everyone else has family being brought over and I’m sure that everyone is really busy, I only hoped that...” His eyes glistened with tears he was trying so hard to not let fall. He used his arm to brush the wetness away. “I’m just being a baby. Sorry.”

He had tried to tamp down the jealousy he’d felt when Mr. Barton had popped by to introduce himself properly and had gushed about how amazing it was to see his wife and kids after the last five years—not that he could wrap his brain around that bit of information yet, but still—

Where was May?

Mr. Stark interrupted his wandering thoughts with the brushing of his hand against Peter’s cheek. “You’re not being a baby, so stop talking that way. You’re allowed to miss her, and once this is all over and you get the all clear to leave the med bay, we’ll get you to our temporary quarters so you can have a good, long video call with her, okay?” Mr. Stark moved to run his fingers through Peter’s hair, then leaned forward, “Don’t tell anyone I said this,” He whispered conspiratorially, “But the tech here is incredible. When everything is settled, we may need to set up a play date between you and Shuri.” He gave a wink and straightened up as he noticed one of the nurses enter the room with a rolling cart full of medical supplies.

The nurse smiled kindly at the two heroes and then focused on Peter. “I’m glad that you’re awake. Dr. Cho has asked me to get final prep out of the way.” She snapped on a pair of gloves and starting pulling out supplies for an IV. “She’d prefer a new line so we can keep you on the IV nutrients during the procedure,” She assessed his still slinged arm, then moved down the bed to uncover his leg. “I think we’ll do a little reorganizing so we can just get this done quickly and be off. The surgical suite is ready for you, so if you’re good, we can get this show on the road and get you on the mend.”

Peter blanched and looked to Mr. Stark with sheer terror on his face. Being unconscious and having surgery was easy, this was a whole other kettle of fish. “Um...” He struggled to not panic. “Mr. Stark?” His breathing started to pick up.

Both the nurse and Mr. Stark picked up on the cues right away. Mr. Stark grabbed the boy’s good hand in support and gave the nurse a quick look. She backed out of the room without another word and closed the door behind her.

“Hey, hey, kiddo. You’re okay,” Mr. Stark soothed. “Why don’t you take a deep breath me, yeah?” He pulled in an exaggerated breath. “In...” and then blew it out with just as much effort. “... and out.”

Peter tried, then flinched, grunted, and then shifted to try and relieve the pain that flared in his ribs even as his anxiety ramped up and he struggled to catch his breath.

“Oh, shit! Sorry, sweetheart. Sorry!” His hands fluttered around Peter, trying to find something to fix. Mr. Stark looked to be on the edge of his own panic attack but Peter could do nothing. Then Mr. Stark lit up as he apparently came up with another idea. “Okay, kid, this is gonna seem weird, but let’s keep those breaths quick and short, okay?” And then the man was demonstrating, “He-he-he-he-hooo. He-he-he-he-hooo.” Mr. Stark squeezed Peter’s hand in assurance.

Peter tried to emulate him, and after a couple of minutes of lost rhythms and wiped away tears, Peter was calm enough that he felt safe speaking again, “Sorry, Mr. Stark, I...” He dried he cheeks again, “I don’t know where that came from. “It’s not like this is the first time I’ve had to have something fixed and all... I just...”

Mr. Stark smiled down fondly at the boy, “Maybe not, but you’re far from home and your hot aunt isn’t down the hall waiting to chew you out for doing something stupid enough to require surgery—and honestly, we’ve had a pretty shitty week, if you don’t mind my saying. I mean, I’ll be forever grateful that you’re back,” and Mr. Stark leaned over to plant a big ol’ kiss on Peter’s forehead as he said it, “but we fought a literal battle over my demolished compound, you were gone for five years, you were hurt, your powers are out of whack, you are currently situated on a different continent altogether, and the world doesn’t seem to remember that we deserve a little down time after battling for the fate of half a universe.” He ran his fingers through Peter’s hair. “We’re allowed to be stressed, and if it comes out in a pre-surgery freak-out, then so be it.”

Peter chuckled, being mindful of his ribs. “Yeah, I guess. And—um, thanks, by the way for the, uh... the breathing thing.” He was confused though, “Can I ask a dumb question? Was that a breathing exercise for women in labor?”

A blush tinged Mr. Stark’s cheeks and he rubbed at the back of his neck in apparent discomfort. “Yeah, Pete, it is, but it worked so no teasin’ the old man about it, got it?!” He pointed a finger at the boy in the bed. “You were hurting and I couldn’t think of anything to help with the broken ribs and all. Short breaths made sense and it just came to me.” He laughed low to himself, “I think it was pretty ingenious, if you ask me.”

Peter blushed, himself. “I guess it was. I’m curious to know how you’d know—“

A knock on the door interrupted his question. “Hello?” Dr. Cho opened the door and peeked her head into the room. “I’m sorry for intruding, but we’ve only got the surgical suite and staff for an allotted period of time and...“ She trailed off.

Mr. Stark looked at Peter, cocking an eyebrow in question.

Peter hesitated, then nodded ‘yes.’

Mr. Stark smiled at him then gave his still gripped hand another assuring squeeze. “He’s good to go, Helen.” He finally looked towards the doctor. “But you’ve got to hurry this up. The kid has a date with the #5—extra pickles and squished really flat, and we’d like to get that to him before someone in the kitchen realizes we’re hiding the best sandwich in Queens and absconds with it.” 

Peter snort-laughed then closed his eyes to the nurse as she re-entered the room to do her prep. He didn’t want to be rude, he just couldn’t...

Ah, shit! He knew it was coming before it hit, and then—

She waited patiently for him as the pain zinged up his spine, causing him to arch off the bed and whimper as he waited for the episode to pass. She simply stepped away from the bed so Mr. Stark could come close enough to whisper words of encouragement.

“You’ve got this, kid.”

“It’s gonna pass.”

“I’m so, so sorry...”

This episode lasted only a few minutes, but it left Peter exhausted, like always. After taking a second to pull himself together, he gave the nurse the go ahead with a nod and closed his eyes again—trying to ignore the sounds of movement and the poking and prodding at his foot.

“A little pinch.” The nurse whispered, and then there was more than a little pinch, but the second line was in. “Good job.” On what, he didn’t know, but it was done and Peter worked to keep himself from jumping off the table.

Dr. Cho came to his bedside again, “Well, Peter, I’m hoping that we can get everything sorted this last time and give your transformation a chance to finish the job without having to worry about all of this extra work.” She winked playfully at him. “And then I can start doing my regular job of putting you back together with all of the standard superhero stuff. Does that sound like a plan to you?”

He understood that she was trying to put him at ease, and it would have worked, but something was niggling at the back of his brain and he couldn’t understand what was going on. He ignored it. “Sure. Let’s do this,” he replied.

Giving a nod to the nurse on his opposite side, Dr. Cho released the break on his bed and they started moving him toward the door.

“Wait!” Peter shouted in renewed panic. “Mr. Stark?!”

He popped back into view, having kept out of the way as he was sorted. “I’m here, baby. You’re safe.” He bumped the nurse out of the way and took her place as they moved down the hallway.

He tried to look brave, but—“Could you...?”

Mr. Stark didn’t look to anyone for permission. He just answered. “I’ll go with you as far as I can, okay?”

Peter could have cried from relief, but remained strong as he nodded. “Okay. Yeah, okay.” He blinked away the moisture in his eyes and exhaled, “Uh, thanks.”

Mr. Stark ruffled his hair. “You never have to thank me, sweetheart. Do you understand?”

Peter smiled, tentative, “I guess?”

Mr. Stark huffed in frustration. “You guess? We’ll need to have a chat over that sandwich later, okay?”

By this point, they’d managed to find their way to the surgical suite. They parked the bed and Dr. Cho disappeared inside the room for a second.

Peter was about to ask if maybe she’d changed her mind about everything when she popped back out and tossed a surgical cap, mask, and gown at Mr. Stark. “Put that on, and then touch nothing, but Peter once we’re in. If you behave, you can stay with him until he’s asleep, okay?”

Mr. Stark nodded and immediately put on the gown while Dr. Cho entered the room again. He hesitated with the cap though. “No one appreciates the effort I make to look this good,” he complained. “Seriously.” He shook his head and looked down at Peter as he placed the mask on his face. “The things I do for you, kid.”  

Peter grinned at that, and for a moment he could imagine they were back in the lab at the compound and it was just the two of them being idiots while blowing crap up. “You do it because you love me,” he teased.

If they’d been back at the lab, Mr. Stark would have made a crack about doing this to keep Peter from turning to the dark side, or from working for the competition, or anything other than what he’d really said—“Yeah, kid. I really do.”

And THAT was the moment Peter realized that something had shifted in the five years. He’d heard the ‘sweetheart’ and maybe even the ‘baby’ but...

Another nurse came out of the room to address them. “Okay, we’re going in now. Once we enter the room, we’ll transfer you to a different gurney and tuck this bed away for you to use later. The room is sterile and will remain that way if everyone does what they’re supposed to do.” The nurse looked directly at Mr. Stark. “I am to remind you, sir, that you can ask Princess Shuri about the tech and sterilization methods later and that—and this is a quote from Dr. Cho—“you’d better be good, Tony, or you will be out on your ass faster than you can say ‘nanoparticle.’”

Mr. Stark barked a laugh at that and raised his right hand. “I promise I will be a good boy.”

The nurse seemed to believe him so they worked together to pull the bed through the doors and into the chill of the surgical suite. Peter would have been impressed if he wasn’t suddenly terrified.

Peter couldn’t suppress the shiver as he felt the cold press in on him and he thought again about running away—somewhere warm and vibrant and Mr. Stark could come and then—he was being transferred to a metal table, just as cold as the room.

Mr. Stark came into view again, and was again running fingers through his hair in comfort. His heart was in his throat and he couldn’t speak.

“You’ll feel a little chill here, Peter,” Dr. Cho was talking to him as someone off to the side started injecting an anaesthetic into the IV line.  

He felt it as it entered his system, the mix of standard and enhanced drugs because his body didn’t know what the heck it was doing anymore, and then whatever bits of Spider-Man that were fighting to come through did exactly that. Even as his thoughts tried to soften, he battled and ached to come back from the nothingness that was trying to catch hold of him again. His eyes flew open. He couldn’t go again! His drug weakened limbs felt weighted but still fought against gentle hands pressing him to the table, yet he tensed with anticipation of them flaking and floating off into the aether—“NO!” He couldn’t do it again, and his panic flared one last time as the anaesthetist gave one last push. “stop—“ he slurred. “don’—wanna go, ms’r star—“ Tears streamed down his temples and he finally gave up as he whispered, “’m—‘m sorry—“ 

Peter fell limp against the table—

And didn’t see Mr. Stark, as he stood over him, tried to comfort him—wept for him.

Peter also didn’t see the glare on Mr. Stark’s tear stained face as he looked at a paled Dr. Cho. “You get in. You fix it. You get out. Got it?”

Peter didn’t see her nod in agreement and start barking out orders to the medical staff in the room.

And Peter didn’t see Mr. Stark lean over to kiss his forehead and then step back into a quiet corner, deciding to not leave the boy’s side unless they dragged him forcibly from the room.

#fanfiction #IronDad and SpiderSon #Avengers: Endgame #Non-compliant #a03 fanfic #OBlossom

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

It’s the Colours You Have

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M)  Notes: This is my ballet au fill for @starkerfestivals summer bingo. I had a lot of fun doing some research and watching some ballet to get a feel for this one - here’s hoping you enjoy! (Title is from Colours by Grouplove) Warnings: Peter suffers a pretty not good injury and there’s some NSWF stuff.  Summary: 

Peter Parker grew up in the dance studio and thought his entire life would revolve around it. All of a sudden, an injury takes that dream out from under him. He finds a way to stay in the world of dance through photography, his knowledge giving his work a different edge. What happens when he meets Tony Stark, a new dancer for NYCB? (Love stuff happens, that's what.)

Read on AO3 here.

Peter always thought professional dance would be his life.

At a young age, he convinced Uncle Ben to let him try one of the local studio’s classes. It took a bit of convincing – Peter was 6 years old at the time and didn’t quite understand the man’s hesitance. In the months leading up to Peter’s plea, he danced around the sofa in their living room and obsessively watched Step Up – where most boys his age were rolling around in the dirt, Peter studied the lines of dancers’ bodies and pictured himself making those same exact moves.

After what felt like a lifetime for Peter, Ben finally gave in and signed him up for all of the classes available. In his excitement, Peter took everything seriously and excelled through the beginner’s classes before the year was over. Madame Romanoff pulled Ben and May aside when sign-ups and company auditions for the next year were about to take place – in the simplest of terms, she let them know how talented of a dancer Peter was; he needed to be taking more advanced classes.

So, he did – Ben and May didn’t hesitate to put him where he needed to be; they already knew his potential, he was steadily moving through grades at school, too. Their nephew had an innate sense of talent for just about everything. Peter put his entire being into the things he liked – it made putting the squeeze in worth it. For a while, he didn’t see what that meant for the two of them – he simply enjoyed the fact that he could dance and get better at it with every single day that passed.

Landing a place on Romanoff’s dance company gave him access to top notch ballet instructors. He was very small but made up for it in the strength that he possessed. With the intention of making him one of the male pas de deux dancers, Peter cut out the rest of his classes and focused solely on ballet and pointe. It made him feel powerful and in a lot of ways beautiful, too. Even if it was weird for boys his age to love dance and feel their best while doing it. He’d gladly take the teasing – Peter loved to dance and no one was going to stop him.

The dance world took him under and guided all of his decision making. Peter worked hard all of middle school to get into Midtown Fine Arts and Dance, a high school that catered to those that were seeking entry into art’s colleges like Juilliard and TISCH. Getting in was a validation he’d been searching for and everything about his life moved to revolve around his time there.

Between Romanoff’s and Midtown, Peter was working so hard that he didn’t even realize he’d put himself in a position where his body couldn’t handle the stress. He wanted to get into Juilliard so bad and knew the only way he’d be able to go was through a scholarship. In every class since his freshman year, Peter heard about senior showcases and how every second in the walls of Midtown were preparation for that.

Every dancing piece in productions, Peter took part in. Whenever they needed a volunteer teacher to run through the parts with the younger kids, Peter volunteered. The desire to succeed overwhelmed him and by the time he got around to preparing for his senior showcase, he was at a loss and so physically exhausted, there were times when he didn’t know how he was actually still standing.

That should’ve been a clue – the fact that every part of his day felt like a chore, and that when he sat down to rest, he was comatose within seconds. Other things were trying to warn him of the ultimate shut down coming his way. His toes never recovered from the extensive pointe exercises and his muscles were always aching. If he knew that pushing himself would have been the thing that brought the world he created down – well, he still probably would have done it.

Two weeks before senior showcases, Peter was warming up when he felt a sharp shift in his lower back during a turn. The wince it pulled from him almost doubled him over. He stopped suddenly and took a couple of limping steps towards the long bar across the back wall. Hiking his leg onto the bar, Peter let out a loud ‘fuck’ when he felt the shift again. The want to keep going couldn’t override the numbness he felt in his toes.

As elegantly as he could, Peter hit ground and laid down as flat as he could, his entire lower back on fire.

It took 3 people to get him up off the ground; any sort of shift in weight made the source of his pain explode with unmanageable stimulus. Peter didn’t remember much of the movement from the floor to a gurney and into the back of an ambulance – his brain turned off to counteract the significant shift in his life happening.

The next few hours were spent getting scans and assessments done – Peter floated along from one place to another in the haze of the drugs they gave him to relieve the world ending pain. He didn’t need to hear the doctor’s words after he saw the look in his eyes – any chance of getting to Juilliard on his feet was out the window. 2 fractured lumbar vertebrae that would need to be fused and 3 ruptured disks were the thing to finally take him out. He wondered briefly, if Flash would feel undercut by his injury – he’d been gunning after Peter for years.

Thankfully, Midtown was sympathetic to his situation and let him stay around to finish the end of the year and graduate. It took a lot out of him to gimp around and be within viewing distance of the classes he’d been leading only days prior.

Being stuck with a walker for the first couple of weeks after his back surgery pushed him to work hard and get his feet back under him. Though he’d never get to dance again, at least he could walk – walking was one of the things Peter wanted to be able to do for the rest of his life. The necessity to put his all into walking and just getting around took the brunt of the blow off losing dance – it served as a good distraction, at least.

By the time the second part of his senior year came around, Peter was able to walk and get around. He was looking forward to finishing up his school year and finding out what the rest his life would be like without dance. Yet, he also longed to be close to the one thing he loved so dearly. And thankfully, Madame Romanoff offered him a good solution right before the big company recital at the end of the year.

When he walked into the studio, his heart thumped painfully against his chest. It felt like such a long time since he walked through the doors and caught his reflection in the mirror upon first glance up. A part of him wanted to walk over to the bar at the back of the room and start his stretching process, that piece of him craved the elegance of his long lines and powerful turns. Yet, the rational part of him understood that walking was more important and pushed him to move further into the studio towards Natasha’s office.

“Ah, Mr. Parker – glad you could join me. Please, have a seat,” Natasha said the second he walked in the door, the dark red lipstick coating her lips making her smile look big and bright. She kept her hair in the traditional ballerina bun and walked around in high heels – but she was kind and knew talent when she saw it. Grimacing at the little bit of a twinge he still felt, Peter took a seat in the chair in front of her desk, his fingers knitting together in front of him.

“I’ll cut right to the point. Life has dealt you a shitty card and it’s ridiculously unfair. You should be involved in dance, Peter. It’s a part of you. So, I thought – why not see if you can capture it, instead.” She turned in the big chair she was sitting in and grabbed something off the filing cabinet behind her. The fancy camera with the biggest lens he’d ever seen coming into view was not what he expected.

Her smile grew when she saw the look on his face. The whiteness of her teeth was slightly intimidating, even now, after knowing her for more than 10 years. Peter tossed a smile back her way and looked tentatively at the camera now sitting on her desk.

“What’s that, Madame Romanoff?” Peter asked, unable to keep the curiosity from getting the best of him. He was always on the other side of pictures and hadn’t picked up a camera ever in his life. The big screen and fancy dial on the back looked intimidating from where he sat, and he hadn’t even picked it up yet.

“Go ahead, Peter – it’s my solution. Figure out how to use it and then apply what you know about the art of dance to the art of photography. You know what’s beautiful. Long lines, sharp movement patterns – the beauty of a picture is how you capture it. The technical shit can be learned, the inherent knowledge you have about dance can’t.” She grinned wider when he didn’t hesitate to take the heavy camera from her.

“I want you to come to classes. You have a home in this studio, Peter. Don’t think because you’re not using your feet doesn’t mean you can’t be a part of what we do here.”

With that, she shot him another smile, then shooed him out of her office with a swift flick of her wrist.

----

Taking to the task like he tried to do with everything else, Peter dug his nose into the Canon Mark IV 5D user manual that he found online and figured out how to change the settings on the camera. It blew his mind, how many things the camera could do and how in depth the pictures could be. That was the first step.

After another couple of weeks of figuring the camera out and taking it with him on the daily walks he started embarking upon during his recovery – Peter finally felt comfortable enough to return to Romanoff’s in an attempt to do exactly what she said; capture dance.

It took a while – a lot of trial and error and frustration that Peter hadn’t ever experienced before. Things usually came easy for him. Yet, the more he did it, the better he started to feel about it. Thoughts of graduation and the future were out the window for a while – Peter dedicated himself to figuring out how to keep a foot in the world that seemed so unfairly gone from him.

He shot the end of the year recital and felt proud of the results that he ended up with. Of course, it wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as actually being on the stage, but – it brought him a sense of happiness, nonetheless. When he handed over the files to Natasha, she pulled him in for a hug. The clench of her arms kept him close, the words she whispered to him abundantly clear – “There you are.”

For some reason, those words hit him hard. His injury at the beginning of the year took a lot from him. With his rehab and the changes that came with the debilitating loss of the use of his body to create an art he devoted his life to, Peter bounced around, slightly lost. The realization that he could still connect with dance drove him forward – finally, Peter felt like he had a direction again.

Trying to get into TISCH’s photography program was a nerve-wracking experience and forced him to have to really evaluate why he wanted to make still frame his focus. The life of movement stayed alive in the photographs and he grasped onto that through the application and interview processes. His portfolio and approach must’ve been enough – Peter got acceptance and scholarship money to start the next semester.

Natasha, upon learning that he’d be in town and pursuing photography, brought him on as the in-house photographer. It didn’t pay much, but he got to have unlimited access to subjects and people that were always looking to show off the skills they worked so diligently to achieve. Peter appreciated the opportunity that Natasha provided and worked hard to provide her with his increasing talents.

Little by little, Peter honed in on his skill and absorbed as much knowledge as he could in his classes and on the job. College passed by in a blur of attending company ballet and TISCH dance productions to shoot as much as he could. He put his work in every showcase available to him and learned from the critique that people threw his way. In the dance world, critique was fodder and fed into the challenge that photography constantly imposed upon him.

Upon graduating, Peter took a job with Juilliard in the arts department as a media director and took care of the photography and visuals for all of the productions the entirety of the department put on. And because Juilliard had a direct link with New York City Ballet, Peter did the media for them as well.

When he took a step back and looked at it, his life was still wrapped around dance – and now, he didn’t have to sweat it out and perform on the stage to be directly within it. He lived in a great apartment in Manhattan and got to see his Aunt May every Sunday for whatever concoction she decided to come up with for them. All and all – his set up wasn’t terrible. Now that he had his professional life worked out, Peter felt desperate to see where the other parts of his life could take him.

As luck would have it – Peter got a nudge in right direction a couple of weeks later when he found himself in the Lincoln Center waiting for the dress rehearsal for the Nutcracker. It was one of his favorite ballets and he enjoyed being able to shoot the multitude of versions he’d get to see throughout the holiday season. And if rumor was to be believed, there was a new prince dancing with the prima ballerina.

The music started up a little while later and Peter got lost in the movements. He didn’t need to take any snaps tonight, but wanted to make sure he knew what the lighting looked like and where every group would be coming in from. Since he was working both video and film, he needed to be able to shoot from all angles. For a while, he let his camera dangle from his side and just let the dance run away with him.

By the time it got to the Prince and Sugarplum Fairy’s dance, Peter had his camera poised over his eye, the entirety of the pass one of the most important things he needed to get during the show. Their initial andante maestoso brought the two of them on the stage and in a swift dance across it – the prince in fact a totally different one than the year before. His tight calves and well sculpted thighs and hips were packed into white tights that highlighted every one of his movements.

Peter’s finger stuttered a few times through the tarantella, his focus on the dancer’s beauty and strength as he leapt and landed across the stage. When he pulled the camera down to make sure he got at least a couple of shots to play around with, Peter sucked in a sharp breath – the man was even more gorgeous than he expected, the details of his well-kept facial hair and dark brown eyes standing out the most.

Satisfied that he knew enough about the show, Peter packed up his equipment and headed out before the final act with all of the dancers came on – he knew from experience that it would be a free for all and didn’t need to plan for that. He wanted to play around with some of the images and got lost in the thoughts of the prince as he was walking out – not noticing that he was walking right into someone until well after they collided.

“Holy shit,” Peter gasped out, his long-lost dancing skill coming into play when he managed to turn and barely hit the person, instead of barreling through them and bringing them both to the ground. “I’m so sorry!” Peter put a hand on the wall and let his heart rate calm down before looking over at the person he almost took out.

His stomach dropped when he noticed the dancer he’d been eyeing up from his spot at the edge of the stage – his eyes were even darker up close and his mouth pulled into the most charming of smiles. Sucking in a breath, Peter just barely stopped himself from slapping his hands over his face. A dark red blush moved across his cheeks instead, the heat of it warming up his skin alarmingly.

“You’re pretty quick on your feet,” the man said instead of the 20 other things that could have easily come out of his mouth. Peter quirked a brow and let the slightest trace of a smile slip across his lips.

“I used to dance,” Peter replied quickly, the openness he was feeling in that moment as fleeting as some of the grumpier moods he sometimes found himself in. “Glad I still have it.” That made him smile wider, Peter a little surprised when the man across from him also smiled. It led to the slightest wrinkles in his cheeks and made Peter’s heart race.

Before the man could say anything else, a wide stagehand came walking down the hall, his eyes intent on them. “Tony, it’s the final number – you’re up.”

They shared another looked before the man, Tony, turned and started walking back in the direction he came from. Peter felt himself smiling and was surprised to see Tony holding the dressing room door open, his arm and head peeking out from behind it. “What’s your name?” He looked at Peter hopefully, his eyes wide.

Peter tightened his grip on the case he’d been pulling behind himself and let a couple of heartbeats pass before he answered – it was important that he thought before he spoke. “I’m Peter Parker,” he finally remarked, his eyebrows knitting slightly.

With a wave, Tony shot him a wink and started to disappear behind the door. “See you later, Peter Parker.”

----

The next 5 days were busy and filled with too much looking down the scope of the camera and 3 showings of The Nutcracker daily. Despite that, Peter found some time to look up the beautiful dancer – the name Tony was enough to get him a full career rundown and multiple links to pictures and videos of his past performances. Though a little older, Tony Stark seemed to be hitting the peak of his career now, instead of at a young age like most dancers. The write up he looked through said something about engineering, but he didn’t delve any further. It felt a little weird to have looked as deeply as he did to begin with.

Every night, Peter found himself watching Tony a little closer – he was all long limbs and taut muscle, his form technical but not exactly perfect. His lifts were where he excelled, though – the bundles of muscles waiting to spring into action were stretched to the limit, making the intensity of his strength standout even more.

Unable to find the courage to actually approach him, Peter spent too much time editing the images of him, ever click of his mouse meticulous and precise to create the perfect balance of camera work and Photoshop manipulation. After too many nights of it, Peter forced himself to acknowledge that talking to Tony seemed pretty necessary. Making sure to put some of his favorite on his phone, Peter felt resolved to at least show some of his work off in guise of starting up a conversation.

The final show came around with excited energy – Peter always enjoyed the last curtain call the best; there was always a certain sense of satisfaction that only that round of applause could bring. He switched up his shooting position and did some clicking from the flanks to catch a little backstage action – the decision proving to be a good one when he heard a throat clear during the first act.

“Fancy seeing you here, Peter Parker,” Tony said, his eyes shining in the bright light streaming in from the stage. He looked at Peter without blinking, a slight tilt to his head.

Peter forced himself to take a couple of breaths, his head suddenly spinning from the flush of epinephrine that his sympathetic nervous system decided shoot through his veins. The excitement of bumping into Tony probably more than obvious. “Right – fancy seeing the photographer taking photos,” Peter replied as he moved the camera to his eye and took a couple of quick shots of Tony who’d started to stretch in the open space around them.

Tony’s beaming smile made Peter’s breath catch, his eyes going to the back of the camera out of habit – the image he found there already one of his favorites of the bunch. Looking up, he gestured down at the camera in his hand. “Want to see?” Peter asked, his hands already turning it, making it more inviting for the man.

It took everything in him not to watch Tony walk towards him in the sheer shirt that, in the light, made his tanned skin stand out through the white fabric. At this closeness, the tights on his legs were translucent, Peter privy to the thick vein that ran from Tony’s calf all the way across the front of his highly muscled thigh. All those details in just the span of 5 steps – Peter wondered what he would find with an unlimited amount of time to explore him.

Shaking his head, Peter forced himself to focus when he felt the inevitable warmth of another human body getting close to him. He used his thumb to scroll back through the last 4 images he shot, a grin slipping across his face. “You have a nice smile,” Peter mumbled softly, the muscle in his forearm twitching with every click from one picture to the next. He got to the end of the roll before daring to turn his head.

“I think you’re just a good photographer,” Tony retorted, a chuckle rushing from his chest. They were close enough that Peter could feel his arm lift and clench with the sound. It made him stiffen, his skin breaking out into prickly gooseflesh. If he didn’t move, maybe he wouldn’t have to lose the rise and fall of Tony’s rhythmic breathing against him.

“Must be both then.” Peter shifted, his brain all of the sudden realizing that he was missing key pieces of the show in favor of flirting with the very attractive and incredibly distracting male dancer. “Come find me after the show – I’ll show you some from the week.” He gave Tony an encouraging smile, then turned back to look out through the curtain.

Peter heard him laugh again then the softest “okay” before the closeness of his presence could no longer be felt. Forcing himself to not turn and look, Peter did his best to pay attention to the rest of the first act – his racing mind all of the sudden not completely dedicated to the art before him on the stage.

As usual, the second act went a lot faster than the first – there was a bit more action and the dancing was not as convoluted with plot. From this perspective, Peter could see a lot more of the sideline action and felt glad he decided to trust his gut and move around a little more. When Tony stepped onto the stage, Peter gripped his camera harder – his eyes peeled for the smallest of details.

The cheeky bastard managed to look his way a couple of times throughout his solo, Peter more than certain that he got some snaps where Tony was staring directly down the pipe of the lens. It took more focus than ever for Peter to actually finish without dropping the camera and watching the ending number – since it was the last one, they changed it up and gave more solo time to each of the leads; then finished with a long bow with a few teary words from NYCB’s director. While she spoke, Peter got his equipment together and disappeared to start downloading some of the shots.

A little while later, Peter was pulled from the culling process by a tap on his shoulder – he squinted behind his glasses to make sure he was at a stopping point and turned, his fingers pulling the frames from his face when he noticed it was Tony.

“Don’t take those off on my account,” Tony said with a smirk, his hair freshly wet and brushed back from his face – the natural look of his skin even better than the brightness the spotlight and well-placed makeup gave him. His lips settled into a light smile and he leaned against the table Peter found to spread out on. He must’ve been nose deep in his work for longer than he thought.

“I just need them for the light,” Peter mumbled, jamming them into the pocket of his shirt. Glancing down, he shifted the computer so Tony could see. “Your tarantella was great tonight.”

Tony leaned in a little to look at the picture more closely, the move bringing the sharpness of his cologne into Peter’s space. As if he was trying to measure his own arms on the screen, Tony reached out to trace the line of his hand down to the middle of his chest. “You said you danced, right? You can tell – the fact that you framed up that specific move says a lot. That’s so crisp, Pete,” Tony admitted, the man pulling back, his hands shoving the long sleeves that were trying to settle on his wrists up his lean forearms.

Taken aback, Peter adjusted himself in his chair. It’d been a long time since he talked to anyone about that part of his journey through dance. Sometimes May would look at him wistfully and relive some of the memories with him, but even that made his heart ache. Licking his bottom lip, Peter nodded his head. “I did about ten years at Romanoff’s, she got me started with the photography thing after my injury.”

They locked eyes for a second, Tony’s eyebrows up, almost completely buried in the hair that was now creeping down, trying to cover his forehead. “Natasha Romanoff? She’s still on 5th, then?”

Grinning, Peter nodded again. “5th and then a newer studio on 64th. She’s flourishing,” Peter said, his hands coming up to make air quotes with his fingers. “Do you know her?”

“She was a couple years ahead of me at Juilliard. I didn’t get into the dancing world until a little later in life, so we were the same age, despite not being the same year. We partnered for pas de deux once,” Tony remarked, his eyes glowing with the memory. “You must’ve been good.”

Peter put his hand on the touch pad of his computer and went about saving the photo on the screen to distract himself – his heart started to beat a little harder at the thought of how much talented he cultivated in his youth. “I wasn’t terrible. I did not treat my body very well, however – back gave out before I could really see how good I could have been.” Clenching his lips shut, Peter wondered where all the words came from – he hadn’t been this chatty… ever.

Tony crossed his arms and leaned more heavily against the table, his forearms now on display, the lines of muscles firm and wrapped in tanned skin, the veins there pulsing from the work the man did that night. “Ah – that’s the worst. I’ve been fighting off a bum toe for a couple of years – the pointe gets harder and harder as the time goes by,” Tony muttered wistfully, his foot shifting subconsciously. “How long have you been taking photos?”

Without much thought, Peter started the process of packing his computer and hard drive into their cases, his eyes never leaving Tony. “About 7 years now. I went to TISCH for a 5-year program and have been working for Juilliard and NYCB ever since.” Finally done with the menial tasks that kept him preoccupied, Peter stood up. “What about you? You here to stay or just doing a stint with the company this season?”

Despite not saying anything, Tony followed Peter when he started walking – the natural way they just sort of accommodated each other weird for having only met once before. Tony waited until they were in the foyer of the Lincoln Center before speaking again. “I’m here to stay. NYCB gave me a company spot and choreographer position. After being on the road so much the past couple of years, coming home felt right.”

Though they were right by the door, neither man made any move to go exit through any of them, the two men obviously more than willing to mill around and talk. Peter pulled his camera case close to him, the metal of it cool against the thin material of his khaki pants.

“There’s something about the city, right?” Peter asked, his head turning to look at the still busy street right outside the door. “I’ve been here my whole life.”

Smiling wide, Tony nodded – the gesture answer enough. Peter watched him shift and smile a little bigger. “Any chance you’re free for headshot type stuff? I could use an update.”

The question caught him off guard for a second, his hopes of maybe getting to know the guy slowly starting to become more of a reality as the moments passed. That thrust him into gear – Peter fumbled into his pocket and scrolled through a couple of his photo files before he found his infographic.

“Everyone is on break for the holidays, so I’ve got lots of time. Turn your AirDrop on, I’ll share my info with you,” Peter replied without hesitation, his cheeks warm from the events of the night and the distracting way Tony was making him feel. “The Juilliard studio has great lighting.”

After grabbing his info, Tony reached across the space between them and gripped his shoulder, the touch firm and friendly. “I’ll get ahold of you. Thanks for making me look good.” Throwing him a final smile, Tony hitched his bag up his shoulder and walked quickly out the door and into the cold December night.

----

A couple of days passed before Peter heard from Tony – they decided on a time and agreed to meet at the Juilliard studio that Friday. For 4 days, Peter immersed himself in the editing process to make the time go a little faster. It didn’t, but that was always how it worked when he was looking forward to something.

In his need to fill up all the spaces of time, Peter did a bit of online shopping and ordered a couple of different backgrounds to play around with. When the day came, Peter used his key to head in a little early – his lighting set up would take a while to get put together and if his hands were busy, he didn’t have any time to fret about the nerves coursing through him or the hopes he hadn’t been able to put to bed since meeting Tony. Getting ahead of himself seemed like a recipe for failure – but he wasn’t one to not step out on the limb just because of a little fear.

Two solid hours of preparation went by much faster than he figured it would – Tony walked in through the door while he was still fiddling with the long backdrop, the sturdiness of it important if Tony was going to jump and move on and around it. He didn’t notice until he looked up to see how straight it was and caught Tony’s reflection in the mirror behind him.

“Hey, Tony,” Peter started, his face breaking out into a familiar smile. “I’m just about ready. I got the door to the bathroom unlocked, so you’re free to change as much as you’d like.” He tugged at the backdrop one more time before finally feeling satisfied – he knew what he was doing, the nerves needed to go the hell away.

Tony looked at him for a moment, his whiskey-brown eyes roving over his face without any shame. It felt good – being looked at like that. Whatever it meant; Peter wasn’t going to be mad about the attractive man in front of him not being able to tear his eyes away. The only thing that ever made his heart race like it was in that moment was dance – that had to mean something.

“I’m ready to go. I just need to put my bag down and change into my flats,” Tony finally said, his eyebrows quirking as a soft grin lifted his cheeks.

“You should probably stretch, too,” Peter remarked offhandedly, his eyes returning Tony’s stare, inch of skin by lovely inch. He was happy to see that there were a couple different cuts of shirt in his hand – they’d have a lot to work with. With that in mind, Peter went about making sure his camera was connected to his computer while Tony got ready.

As expected, once they got started, things went seamlessly. Tony was used to be instructed and took Peter’s suggestions in stride. They did a bunch of different poses in each outfit, Peter making sure that Tony switched to pointe at least once during the process. By the end, Peter was laughing at the faces Tony made at him when he switched positions.

Almost satisfied, Peter put the camera down and stepped onto the backdrop. He swung his arms from side to side to get his blood flowing, then swopped up into a one footed stance without much trouble (the twinge would come later.) “I want you to leap and land like this – I’d demonstrate, but this is as far as that goes,” Peter joked, his body saturated with endorphins from the rush doing any sort of movement with his body always brought.

Tony didn’t move to get in position, so Peter straightened up and started to think about how else he could describe it. A hand on his arm stopped him, Tony’s fingers squeezing lightly. “You still have such good technique,” Tony mumbled, his hand moving to pull at Peter’s until he was a little further onto the backdrop. “No turns, right?”

Nodding, Peter relaxed his body and let himself be led into a resting position, Tony’s hands now on his hips. “Let’s see how well you remember your backwards steps,” Tony whispered, his lips just a few inches away from Peter’s ear. His fingers tapped on the right side of Peter’s hip and they were off in that direction – his arms widening when they got to the edge of the pass.

It felt weird for a second, being in the hold position; but he quickly got over it, the relief of any stress on him quickly taken by Tony’s hands and their tight grasp on his hips, Peter’s feet barely touching the ground. They went through a couple of moves before Peter was stopping their movement with a subtle touch to Tony’s hand.

“That’s enough for me.” Peter was grateful for the brief experience and threw an even more sincere look over his shoulder at Tony. “Thank you, though – I haven’t moved like that in years.” He lifted his hands over his head and stretched himself as long as he could go before walking back over to his camera set up, his fingers wrapping around the base with ease.

When they were all done and Tony was walking out of the bathroom in street clothes, Peter looked up and motioned to him. He let his eyes linger on the way Tony’s jeans sat on his hip, the cut of his shirt enhancing the slimness there. Tony moved with ease, the man more than familiar with his body and the things he could do with it. Shaking his head, Peter moved away from that thought – it could very easily get him in trouble.

With Tony by his side, Peter smiled at him, then started to go through the frames he took throughout the two hours they’d been working. Tony spent a lot of time critiquing himself and grinned when Peter went out of his way to say the exact opposite of whatever came out of his mouth. The stills were beautiful and after a little work, would be more than enough to circulate around in resumes and show leaflets.

“Those are great, Pete – I like how well you capture the action; I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it,” Tony commented, his eyes still wide from the cruise through the photo gallery. At some point, he let his hand drift to Peter’s shoulder and kept it there, his fingers now gripping on and off. “I’d love to see more – want to grab a coffee, or something?”

As it happened, coffee ended up being a quick walk to Peter’s apartment where he got as far as pulling his computer out before Tony was flung across his hips, muscular thighs clenching with every move he made. Peter was surprised for about two seconds before he grabbed a handful of Tony’s ass, and dragged him closer, their mouths meeting in a heated kiss without either of them hesitating.

Peter didn’t usually do stuff like this – kiss people he didn’t know much about, but at the same time, he didn’t like to miss out on good things, either. He watched Tony reached down and take his own shirt off, the muscles of his stomach and arms rippling as the cells fired and clenched. When he relaxed, Peter was pleased to see that Tony was very cut up and would ripple gloriously as he thrust into him in the near future.

The fact that Tony managed to get his shirt off of him and the button of his pants undone without him noticing blew Peter’s mind, the man had a way with his mouth and let his tongue do terribly dirty things. In 25 years, Peter had never been kissed like that before – Tony’s carnality was exactly like his dancing, thorough and highly skilled.

It seemed like Tony came prepared because Peter was suddenly naked and on his back with Tony between his thighs, a packet of lube and a condom dangling from his fingers. They made eye contact for a moment, the desire in Tony softening as an affectionate look rolled over his face. “This okay? You’ll tell me if you’re not comfortable?” Tony’s questions rolled off his tongue without him stopping the scandalous press of his hips.

“It’s a lot more than okay. As long as you don’t roll me up into too much of a ball, I’ll be just fine. Just don’t stop whatever it is you’re going to do,” Peter babbled, his lips totally loose now that most of his thoughts were clouded with lust and completely focused on the delicious press and pull of Tony’s fingers on his skin and cock against his own.

He was pleasantly surprised when Tony shifted and pushed at his hip until Peter took the hint and rolled over. Leaning on his forearms, Peter spread his legs as much as he could on the couch and thrust back a little, his ass entirely on display. Groaning when Tony used his hands to spread his cheeks, Peter looked over his shoulder to see dark eyes staring at him longingly.

Tony emptied the packet of lube on the flat of Peter’s back and swiped his fingers through it. His free hand ran along Peter’s flank and lulled him into a sense of comfort – the breach of Tony’s fingers around and then against his rim secondary to the sensation of first a knuckle and then an entire finger slipping into him. While he moved his hand, Tony peppered all the skin he could reach with kisses and licks – he was obviously in the business of taking Peter apart one piece at a time.

Progressively, Peter got lost in the rush of his lust for Tony and the scorching touch that made his skin prickle and the well of heat in his stomach start to trickle over the edge. Tony’s weight held his hips down just enough that with every thrust back against talented fingers that were now aggressively stretching him open, Peter got the slightest amount of friction against his cock. It was both too much and not enough in one agonizingly delicious movement.

Draped completely over him, Tony pressed his lips to Peter’s ear when he pushed in. The stroke to slide inside was firm and didn’t stop until Tony’s hips were pressed against the muscle of his round ass cheeks. Peter shifted until he could accommodate his weight on one hand – he reached back and gripped Tony’s hair hard with the other, the moan slipping from his lips forcing a flush down the length of his chest. “Oh, Tony – “

From that point on, Peter lost track of time and space – he was so completely wrapped up in the tactile sensations and the sensitivity of nerve fibers that were constantly being stroked and prodded. With Tony’s arm wrapped around his middle, Peter gave himself over to the sensations, the long, slow glide of a firm cock in and out of him driving him absolutely mad. Little by little, he melted into the rhythmic bump of Tony’s cock against that spot deep inside of him and got closer to a finish that felt like a long time coming.

A shout left his hips when Tony used the grip around his chest to pull him up until his back was firmly pressed against the skin of well-muscled pecs and abs that were clenching with every thrust Tony delivered. Peter felt him slow down and move the grip of his hand from his chest to his hips, long fingers digging in. “The way you move against me, Pete – it’s driving me insane. It’s like you know me. Like you’ve studied my body and know exactly what it needs.”

His cock throbbed at the trueness of Tony’s words. Though he didn’t have a chance to physically explore it, Peter knew a lot about the way Tony moved from the images he’d been editing non-stop – it seemed like he learned a lot more about Tony than he originally imagined. Bringing his hands until they were resting over Tony’s on his hips, Peter laced their fingers together and let out a long moan; the carnal noises the only thing he could conjure up in that moment.

Another few thrusts of Tony’s cock dead against Peter’s prostate had him coming without a single touch to his throbbing erection. It was a novel thing for him, so he watched with wide eyes as he shivered and clenched and finished with the most release he’d ever seen come out of himself hitting the bedspread underneath him. Tony rolled his hips and thrusted through it until he was moaning against Peter’s neck and collapsing them both on the bed – the man courteous enough to turn them on their sides and away from his own puddle of cum.

Peter couldn’t stop the helpless moan that slipped from his mouth when Tony pulled out and rolled away to get rid of the condom. He turned and watched him move around until Tony finally joined him on the bed again. It shouldn’t have surprised him, the fact that Tony wrapped a hand around his arm and pull him back until they were resting as close together as possible. A nose ran through the sweaty hair at the back of Peter’s head – Tony pulling in a long breath before settling in.

“You can still dance. That was the most flawless piece I’ve ever been a part of,” Tony said softly, his hand flattening against Peter’s stomach to pull him even further back, despite the fact that there wasn’t any space left between them. “Rest up for a bit – I’ll take you out for another spin in a little while.”

Laughing, Peter let his hand rest against Tony’s, their fingers lacing with ease. He snuggled in, Tony’s warmth lulling him into a sleep haze.

----

The fact that Tony didn’t leave the next morning spoke volumes – Peter didn’t do a lot of dating, but he understood wanting to spend time with someone. They made pancakes that were barely edible and talked about Tony’s travels through Paris the previous two years. He’d been traveling with an international company that did a long stint in France. When it came time for Tony to leave and get some practice in for the day, Peter went with him.

It took on a different sort of intimacy, shooting Tony after that. Because he knew so much about the freckles on Tony’s skin and the way the dancer moved in the throes of passion, Peter could appreciate the thrust of his hips and the powerful strides for a completely different reason. It brought a whole new meaning to a long, slow seduction. They didn’t make it out of the locker room before Peter was on his knees, worshipping the cock and hips attached that moved with such poise and grace.

Spending the rest of the day together felt like the right thing to do after that – Tony came down his throat and watched with wide eyes as Peter stayed on his knees and stroked himself with a tight fist in long, quick strokes. The soft pet of his hair lulled him into a daze for a while, his cheek laying against the bottom of Tony’s stomach until he felt the tingle leave his toes and lower limbs.

Tony pulled him into a deep kiss when he stood up, strong arms wrapped around him and his swift tongue chased the taste of his own spend in Peter’s mouth. Peter didn’t know who was moaning but it was almost enough to bring him back to full hardness, though, he knew he couldn’t handle any more time on the hard floor or any of the surfaces available to them there. Suggesting a late lunch made Tony smile and when he grabbed Peter’s hand on the way out of the building, Peter let the hope of things actually going somewhere wash over him.

So, maybe Peter couldn’t dance on his own 2 feet anymore – with Tony by his side, he quickly learned that dancing was just as much a feeling as it was a collection of movements and lifts. Lying in bed with Tony between his legs later that night, Peter figured out that the roll of his hips and the caress of his hands felt just as good as the carefully crafted choreography that he’d be so accustomed to. The same way his body used to take the crowd apart, Peter slowly tugged at Tony’s seams until the dancer was thrusting into him with abandon. His name on Tony’s lips at the end of their coupling the ultimate standing ovation.

And as the days past and Peter got to spend more time not only wrapped up in the fun of watching someone else succeed, but also in the beauty and grace that was Tony Stark. The spring brought Bourne’s version of Swan Lake, which consisted of an all-male cast. Peter, having decided that NYCB was where the most opportunities were available, applied and got the job as the full-time photographer. Which meant he got to spend all of his day shooting ballet and only ballet. An absolute dream come true.

Watching Tony dance the part of the prince was absolutely magical – between trying to catch all of the best shots and catching every single one of his pristine moves, Peter spent all 7 days of multiple shows trying to capture him in the best possible way. They hadn’t been dating all that long, but Peter was moved to make sure Tony understood how he truly saw him.

It took a few weeks to find the perfect picture and get it blown up and printed to perfection. After getting it in the mail, Peter measured and built a custom frame for the photo – the dark brown wood a beautiful contrast to the white costume Tony was wearing in the print. Finally finishing it a couple of weeks into May, Peter stepped back and looked at the physical manifestation of his heart with a critical eye. It was Tony – Peter had a hard time finding any sort of flaw.

His ears prickled when he heard Tony putting his key in the lock – a couple of months prior, Peter pulled out one of his old TISCH key chains and made a copy of his apartment key. He left it in Tony’s pointe shoes and got a screaming call when he didn’t notice – the tip of the key stabbed him; but, the sincerity of the gesture made the large cut he had to nurse for a couple of weeks totally worth it.

He waited until he heard the keys clatter against the bowl that Peter kept right by the door to pick up the frame and carry it out into the living room where Tony was standing, his feet and arms bare, his dance tights still framing his legs in the sinful way they always did. Peter stopped dead in his tracks when Tony noticed him, the man’s dark brown eyes caught between looking at Peter’s face and the big frame he had in his hands.

“What’s that?” Tony asked, his cheeks coloring at the bluntness of the question. The man might’ve been a few years older than Peter, but he never failed to project youth and reckless wonder. The words made Peter laugh, his face spreading wide with the smile overtaking him. Instead of answering right away, Peter closed the gap and jammed the frame into Tony’s arms.

Peter gave him a few minutes to get his bearings and process what was in front of him. In the many days’ worth of searching, Peter finally decided on a picture of Tony in the middle of a leap. His eyes and chin were up, his hips completely square – but the thing that really caught Peter’s eye was the look of pure happiness of Tony’s face. There were many dancers that could get their legs completely straight through a leaping straddle, but there weren’t many that looked to be in absolute rapture when they did it. Every time he passed by it, the look made his heart pound, so he figured that was sign enough.

Tony looked up at him, his eyes wide. “This is what I look like, huh?” Tony asked, his fingers doing the customary reaching out to touch thing they always did. Peter watched him trace the length of his body across the glass – the idea of fingerprints not even registering. The appreciation of his work never meant so much.

“Beautiful, right? I thought, for a really long time, that I’d never really have the same connection with dance that I did when I actually got to do it myself. Then, I met you and got to see talent and passion in a totally different light. I don’t need to be moving to feel what it’s like to be on the stage when I watch you. Maybe it’s because I love you so much and I’m biased, but I’m a fan – your biggest one, probably.” Peter let all of the words flow from him before stopping for a breath. He felt his lips slip into a beaming smile – it felt so damn good to let that off his chest.

Even the very first ‘I love you’ between them felt good coming from him – he didn’t need Tony to say it out loud to know that he loved him. It was apparent in the way he touched, his fingers were constantly seeking – whether it was knowledge or pleasure, Tony was always interested in finding out. It was glaringly obvious in the way bourbon hued eyes followed him around the room when they weren’t standing together and looked so deeply within his own when they were. His gentle words and the innate ability to know just what Peter needed said things that a singular phrase never could.

Yet, when it came from Tony’s lips, Peter couldn’t have imagined a better moment. “You’re a big softy, Petey,” Tony mumbled, his lips pressing together for a second before continuing. “I love you, too. By the way. I know you know, but I also know how good the words sound. I love you. I’ll say it however many times you want to hear it.” As elegant as always, Tony moved to lean the frame against the edge of the couch to free his hands up, then tugged Peter into them, their lips finding each other in a soft kiss.

“I don’t think there’s a limit, Tony,” Peter muttered, his voice scratchy from the rush of arousal and happiness and a billion other things.

Tony gripped his cheeks and pulled him in for another kiss, his next words said against his lips like a prayer – “sounds okay to me.”

----

Later that year, Peter and Tony stumbled through their apartment after opening night of The Nutcracker. As a veteran this year, Tony wowed the audience in a way that only someone seasoned and comfortable could. The performance was flawless, Peter a little disappointed that he couldn’t show his enjoyment as much as he would have wanted to. The second they got behind the door of his car, however, his hands were all over Tony. They almost didn’t make it into the house before Peter was straddling him and really letting his appreciation show.

They fumbled through the door and passed through the living room that was littered in Peter’s work – when they first hung the few framed photos of Tony, he complained about it being a little weird. Yet, the more Peter added to it, the more Tony seemed to be behind the idea. It just took a little prodding for him to play into the narcissism that all dancers were inherently in possession of. He really started to relax when Peter added a few of the two of them, the idea of looking up to see physical representation of their connection a nice one, one that they both wanted to get behind.

Peter let his eyes glance over them briefly before crowding against Tony’s back and herding him towards the bedroom. All of the walls on the walk there were covered in Peter’s work – his own narcissism showing in the diligent way he went about making sure all of the frames throughout the house matched and looked absolutely perfect.

When they moved in together, Tony wanted to go all in, so they got all new stuff and created something that was joint and completely Tony Stark and Peter Parker mixing all the aspects of their lives. From the bedding to the bowls they ate out of, everything was picked out together.

When he was finally able to settle between Tony’s legs with just his boxer briefs on, Peter sucked in a deep breath and gave himself a second to enjoy the man stretched out beneath him. The strain from the night’s performance had Tony’s muscles taut and his veins bulging from lack of water and electrolytes – he’d be ravenous for the next few days.

His eyes were wide and completely glazed over, the pupils taking over the bourbon Peter so eagerly drank in every time he looked in Tony’s eyes. The hands that were normally so sure of themselves were reaching to touch Peter searchingly, their next step still undetermined.

Allowing himself to share a heated look with Tony, Peter shook his head and forced himself to focus – there was plenty of time to get distracted in the beautiful view of his boyfriend later. He sat up a little and reached into his bedside table, the lube and condom hitting the comforter below them, the movement enough of a decoy for Peter to get the square box he’d been hiding there open and on the muscled expanse of Tony’s chest.

They weren’t traditional, so he bypassed the one knee thing – instead, he pressed his body weight into Tony, one of his hands holding the box so he could see it while the other ran through shower wet brown hair. It wasn’t the most romantic thing, but it felt right. Everything about Tony felt right. A forever of that was the only thing he’d ever want.

“If you’ll have me, I’d like to be your number one fan forever. Please, marry me,” Peter whispered, his nose caressing Tony’s as his lips pressed the words into any piece of stubbly skin he could reach. “Please,” he prompted again, the plea unneeded, but falling from his lips, anyway.

“How could I possibly say no to that?” Tony asked, his response coming with a quick lift of his head and warm lips pressed against Peter’s. His hands moved into the long hair at the base of Peter’s neck, fingers tugging lightly.

“Put that ring on me so I can find out how it looks against your skin while I’m holding you down.” Shooting him a wink, Tony dragged him in for a deep kiss, the box on his chest momentarily forgotten.

#starker #ironspider #it's the colours you have #starkerfestivalsevents #bobbie writes

[monst]

ya know... its almost new year... and theres no better way to spend the last moments of the decade than with the league of villains and our chaotic family! pretty please??

Well it is New year’s day so here ya go :P

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

A New kind of Madness:

Lov of villains that make an appearance – Shigaraki, Dabi, Toga, Spinner, Kurogiri, Twice, Compress, and you!

This probably won’t make sense if you haven’t read Thanksgiving with the LOV or Christmas with the LOV.

Warnings: More shenanigans, More crack, Suggestive comments? Cursing and crude/dark joke ^.^ dumbassery. I wonder will your family and league family start off right this year???

                 To say you felt more deeply connected with the league was an understatement. After they had spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with you and your family it seemed as thought you guys were bonded intimately. And, everyone seemed to be in a much better mood. You thought it was because they we’re finally eating better as you had kept your end of the promise and, started making them food.

               Mr. Compress had managed to find your uncle a job and your Aunt… Well your aunt now loved to hang out at the pub with you all…. It was awkward at first. You saw a lot more of Spinner that was for sure. Dabi… Well after what happened with your female cousins’ friend you thought that they would never be down to fuck again. Apparently not... It was amusing how your villain family was mixing with your blood family.

               Things were running so smoothly that you actually didn’t mind them coming over for New Year’s Eve. But you wished they would have shown at least some enthusiasm about it. “So, Guys your all invited to my Fam’s apartment for New Year’s!” The responses were a combination of “We know” and “Your aunt already invited us” “I was gonna go anyways.” Yup they were very comfy with your family….

               When you got home that day you received the usual commentary. “Did you bring the weed?” For the last time no. “I keep telling you to dress sexier how are you going to attract the heir if you don’t use your assets!” I’m not trying to seduce the leader of the league of villains. LEAGUE OF VILLAINS DAMMIT!! We run serious business it’s not a fucking social club! “Ew your trying to attract that rat? Just spread yourself open I bet he’ll come running. No class, and fucking nasty, he’s perfect for you (Name)!” Fuck you, cheap ass whore.

               Just as you were removing your jacket the door was being knocked upon. It surprised you as the members had always arrived a bit late. You opened the door to see Toga, Twice, Dabi and Sinner. You had told them that they had arrived a bit early but none of them seemed to mind easily making themselves at home. Spinner went to sneak up on your male cousin who was playing a game on his phone.  When the lizard like man had kissed his cheek, your cousin let out a high-pitched shriek the likes man kind had never heard before. Spinner was then met with hostility from your flustered cousin who punched the cosplayer’s arm.

               Toga and Twice had already claimed the remote and were shifting through channels on the television. “Oooo Let’s watch this one~” “No I want to watch this one. You picked a shitty show.” There bickering was quickly settled when they saw a horror comedy start. Dabi on the other hand…. You looked round the apartment for him. You could hear that he wasn’t with your other cousin but that also meant you didn’t know where he was.

               It was then that you put two and two together. Your uncle was also missing. With an annoyed groan you called out your uncle’s name. He replied with a choked up ‘What?’. You really hoped that they weren’t doing what you thought they were doing. The noise had emanated from the fire escape and Lord knows you were a bit hesitant to peek outside. You didn’t want to be scarred. “W-what are you two doing out there?”

               “Smoking a blunt what else would we be doing?” Your uncle replied. “Yeah, He’s not my type.” Dabi puffed leaning his head inside the window to blow out a ring into your face. You waved it away with a frown. “I swear if the neighbors call the cops on you one more time!” You heard your aunt yell as she stomped her way over. She held up a spatula to their faces threatingly “If both of you don’t put that shit out right now, we’re going to have a problem.”

               “Shut the fuck up sis you never had a problem with it before.” You uncle scowled. “Didn’t we smoke one together three days ago.” “That’s different you buffoon, today we’re welcoming the New Year right!! That and we can’t have the place smelling like this when our esteemed RICH friends come over.” You did a double take on the word friends. You wanted to comment on how wrong that was, but you held your tongue. It seemed as though It hit Dabi different and he didn’t comment either.

               It was then that the door was knocked upon once more. And, when you opened it, it was your ‘esteemed rich’ Boss, his ward and the ‘fancy’ Mr. Compress. Needless to say, your aunt was catering to them immediately. She shot you a look and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. You wondered when they were going to break the façade and finally tell her that they weren’t wealthy. But, seeing the way Kurogiri and Mr. Compress basked in the praise you didn’t think they’d spill any time soon. -.-

               “So, when are we eating.” You couldn’t help the smile that touched your lips. Shiragaki always came for the food. Not that you were complaining as it was good to see him fill out some. He looked much healthier and, not that you were looking but was he getting even more attractive? You liked his nasty rat appearance but, his clean cut gentleman look was messing with your pulse….. You didn’t like your boss…. You wouldn’t give your aunt the satisfaction.

               Now that all of you were gathered your aunt called everyone for dinner. And, as usual Shiragaki sat next to you. You heart felt strange. And, your face felt hot. ‘I must be getting sick. Or is my body warning me of what’s to come’ You thought in horror your body tensing. ‘That must be it!’ You narrowed your eyes at the biggest troublemakers, Dabi and your Uncle.  They were eating in unnatural silence. Not a single word or snide comment..

               “(Name) dear are you alright?” Your aunt asked. Various pairs of eyes landed on your form. “You look a bit sick.” Spinner mused. “Big sis are you alright?” Toga asked in concern. “Your look a bit dizzy.” Mr. Compress added. “(Name).” You looked to Shiragaki who had addressed you and you noticed there were two of him…. Two? You groaned groggily clutching your head. You glared at your snickering cousin. “Seriously.” You seethed. “You two were in on this right!” You hissed glaring at the two figures of Dabi and your Uncle.

               “I’m gonna fucking kill you!” You raged grabbing your butter knife and lunging at him. Your feet stomped into the green salad on the table and you tripped. Landing face first into Twice’s lap. “Oh, shit are you okay! What the fuck are you doing!” Dabi and you uncle shared a look of confusion. And your uncle spoke “It wasn’t us. I don’t fuck with that hard shit.” Your attention fell on your female cousin as Twice helped you to your feet patting your head reasurringly.

               “It was you!” You hissed. “(Name)! please” Your aunt chided “Control yourself. I am so sorry for her behavior I don’t know what’s gotten into her!” You raised your fist but before you could land a hit on your cousin’s face your male cousin caught your arm and sighed. Your female cousin was lost in a fit of hysterics “You know exactly what’s going on.” She snickered looking to you and your male cousin. Your eyes widened in realization. “What’s going on?” Kurogiri asked. “(Name) just realized she has a crush on someone.” She smirked.

               Dabi snorted incredulously “So she acts batshit crazy when she’s got the hots for someone.” “Who is it!!” Toga chirped. It was then that you heard many shouts asking you who was the lucky person who made you ruin the salad. You grumbled in embarrassment. “Shut up and, let’s just eat.” You sighed. With great reluctance they stopped. Well they stopped because “I’m trying to eat in peace.” Yeah.. No one wanted to see Shigaraki turn everything and everyone into ash…. As for your family your aunt told them through a gritty smile “Respect the important company.”

               ….You couldn’t believe that you were the cause of chaos this time. After dinner everyone split off and you had decided to mope on the couch. “GUYS!!” Your female cousin yelled. “Were five minutes away!!”  “Seriously?!?!” You sputtered. “Duh?!?! Hurry up let’s all head to the roof!!” You let everyone go up before you so that you could lock the door. You were feeling better and you were excited that both of your families were here to celebrate. Just as you opened the door to the roof you felt someone tug you off to the side.

               “I’ve never celebrated New Year’s what do you do.” Shiragaki asked. “Uh well you just cheer?” Now that you thought of it New Year’s was kind of hard to explain. “It’s a New Year a chance for new things and we just celebrate that we get to see it. If that makes sense.” He didn’t look very into it but he stood by your side when your cousin squealed three minutes. “we should kiss.”

               You made a noise incomprehensible to man. You looked to Shigaraki your jaw on the ground. “W-what??” You squeaked. “Spinner said it’s something people do.” He shrugged. “B-but do you even know w-what that means??” “No. Did he lie to me is it not something people do.” He shrugged. “No, I mean yes I- Well yes people kiss on New Year’s but it’s only with people they like or their significant other.” You explained your heart racing a mile a minute. “Who do you have a crush on. Shouldn’t you be by their side when the clock strikes twelve.”

               “You know don’t you…” You sighed bringing your hands to cover your face. He didn’t reply as a matter of fact he didn’t think it was him, you had just told him, and he wasn’t sure how to respond. “Thirty seconds left!!!” Someone yelled. You both stood in awkward silence. “Ten seconds!!” He brought his hand up to your chin to turn you to his direction. Your eyes widened as he leaned in. “Five seconds!!” His nose brushed against yours. “Three.” Closer “Two” His scarred lips brushed against yours “One”

               “HAPPY NEW YEARS!!!!!”

               “Oh, Shit!! there fucking kissing!!!!” Twice yelled. “I knew she liked that ratty ass guy!” Your female cousin laughed. “Yes!!!!” Your aunt yelled. “You’re not gonna fuck on the roof right!??” And the moment was ruined……

#bnha #bnha imagines #bnha crack #bnha headcanons #bnha new years #bnha league of villains #bnha lov #bnha insert #shigaraki tomura #Spinner #Mr. Compress #Dabi #Toga Himiko #Kurogiri #Twice #shiragaki x reader #Happy New Years ^.^ #mha crack #mha imagines #mha scenarios

[spidercakes]

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Tag List: @prettieststarker @readysetstarker @lover-starker@starkerprince @starker-flame @i-am-irondaddy @blush-reincarnated@c6h12o6-work @von–gelmini @caseysroses @darkobsidianquill​

*

This is the least favorite part of Peter’s days, visiting his uncle. Its not like he doesn’t love him, of course he does, but its not exactly easy to look at him lying in a hospital bed with a tube sticking out of his mouth because some asshole shot him. And Peter knows whoever did it, because despite the whole thing being caught on camera the cops aren’t competent enough to find the guy, has probably led a complicated life too but that doesn’t make it easier. Its just what he knows Ben would say, if he could respond to Peter’s thoughts. He doesn’t know how Ben managed to stay as positive as he had, no matter what shitty thing was happening. Its admirable, Peter thinks, that he was always able to maintain that regardless of what was going on.

He’s quietly contemplating that when May walks in looking a little uncomfortable and it has to be worse for her. Peter can’t even imagine what it must be like, watching someone you’ve been married to for so long like this. “Apparently we’re up to date on payments,” she says softly, walking over and standing beside him. “That’s not possible.”

Peter shakes his head, “its fine, I got a job,” he tells her.

May clearly doesn’t buy it and he can’t say he blames her. “Doing what? Because there’s not a whole hell of a lot that pays that much and Ned confirmed you didn’t drop out of school.”

The good news is that Ned clearly didn’t tell her what his job was. “Oh, um. Internship, it pays well because its really hard to get into,” he lies.

“Shit, for that kind of money they might as well hire someone to work there full time,” May says and to Peter’s surprise she leaves it alone, settling her hand on his shoulder instead and squeezing. “If you get yourself into trouble, let me know,” she adds after a few moments. His stomach squeezes a little because he’s not in trouble and he doesn’t want to worry her, but he’s not really willing to tell her the truth either.

*

When he gets to Tony’s he’s kind of grateful that he knows exactly what’s going to happen because its a bit of a relief. He’s kind of had enough of wild cards and Tony is nothing if not thorough in his expectations so Peter changes into Liz’s skirt, determine that she’s never going to get it back now because he couldn’t possibly look her in the eye while she wore it and makes his way to the couch in the living room. He’s got homework, mostly writing up a few reports for class and its tedious more than anything but at least it keeps him focused. 

Ned has already done his half in the google doc they’re sharing and Peter sends a silent thank you to him for not being a garbage lab partner. He got stuck with Flash once, which was weird because Flash apparently didn’t recognize him and then hit on him like he didn’t spend three quarters of high school calling him ‘penis parker’ and a bunch of other uncreative names when he thought of them. Turns out he’s as smart as he was in high school but he liked to wait until two hours before any given project was due to do the work and that just stressed him out. But Ned is reliable and not a total shithead so his half is done and Peter starts in on his. Might as well be productive before he’s essentially at work.

He’s managed to get a good chunk of it done by the time Tony walks in looking harassed. Peter looks at him over the back of the couch, “bad day?” he asks as Tony walks over.

Tony lets out an irritated sigh, “you could say that. You?” he asks, leaning against the back of the couch.

He could lie, but he doesn’t much see the point. Plus it works, feeling kind of the same way Tony does. “Not much better, but at least I don’t have shitty patterns for group projects so there’s that,” he says.

Tony laughs, “half the struggle in like, any collaborative situation. Which conveniently happens to be my problem. It irritates me when people don’t pull their weight,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, but you can like… fire them. I can’t fire shitty group project members, all I get is a strongly worded email to my professors saying that they’re lazy assbats in the most polite way I can manage.” Which always requires a group ‘is this too salty’ edit from his friends that takes an hour or so before he sends it. Life would be easier if he could just fire people.

“Yeah, but then you have to replace them and that’s a pain in the ass too,” Tony says, looking amused. “Assbats?”

Peter shrugs, “its the best I could come up with on short notice.”

Tony nods and looks him over, gaze stopping at his skirt for a moment. “You wore it,” he says like he hadn’t asked Peter to.

“Yeah, I um, you asked me to,” he points out.

“Doesn’t mean you’d listen. Can I kiss you?” he asks.

Yeah, its not like its a hardship to kiss Tony given that he’s not exactly bad looking so Peter nods. He’s anxious to get into this proper anyway, figure out what Tony is like when he’s actually doing the whole dom thing rather than just as a person. Peter already knows he likes him as a person. Tony looks him over slowly, eyes landing on his lips for a moment before he reaches forward and tilts Peter’s head up a little and leans in. The kiss is soft, sweet- tentative, like he isn’t sure of himself and that’s cute.

He goes to pull away but Peter pulls him back, shifting so he’s leaning up into Tony more. Tony cups his cheek, thumb brushing his cheek as he gently coaxes Peter into it, biting at his bottom lip a little and Peter lets out a soft moan. Tony pulls away but Peter grabs his hand before it can disappear too. “Don’t be cheap on me, Tony, I happen to know you have money,” Peter tells him surprised that he said that.

Tony takes it well though, smiling down at him with amusement. “I knew you were a good choice. Mind if I sit?” he asks, gesturing to the couch.

Peter frowns, “its your house,” he points out.

“Its your space I’d be sitting in,” Tony says.

He shrugs, “feel free,” he tells Tony, closing his laptop and curling his feet up, setting the laptop aside. Tony rounds the couch and reaches out, curling his hand around Peter’s crossed ankles and pulling them into his lap slowly, like he’s giving Peter time to pull away. He doesn’t, he just goes back to stretching his legs out as he settles in. Tony sets his arms down on Peter’s legs, one hand curling around his ankle as he strokes Peter’s ankle bone with his thumb.

“Here,” Tony says, shifting a little as he reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. He hands it to Peter and he frowns.

“A card?” he asks. Some kind of credit card, he assumes but that makes no sense.

“Yeah, a card. Get whatever you need with it. Or whatever you want,” Tony tells him.

“You’re like, aware I get paid, right?” Peter asks, squinting.

Tony snorts, “you’re aware I’m like a billionaire, right?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Peter can’t help the small snicker he lets out, “I mean yeah I know that but still. What’s the deal?”

“In my experience people have things to pay for in this line of work, usually something expensive. Take the wiggle room,” Tony tells him.

It occurs to him that Tony thinks he’s paying for school and Peter is happy to let him think that, actually. “Um, okay,” he says, setting the card on top of his computer.

“And buy something that isn’t pizza or hot pockets, I know how college students live,” Tony says and Peter laughs.

“Do you though?” he asks. Someone with as much money as Tony probably didn’t have like, a normal college experience by any stretch.

“Yeah, my lowest point was the time Rhodey and I ran out of food so we made Mr. Noodles with cranberry vodka. I don’t fucking recommend, we threw it up basically immediately,” he says, wrinkling his nose.

Oh god, ugh. “That’s disgusting and way worse than that time we all decided we wanted Frootloops so we went out to get some at three in the morning and came back only to find all the bowls were dirty so we made makeshift bowls out of tin foil.” Then they hate their food like trolls but it was great because they actually managed to find the damn Frootloops. Took a couple stores but they found them.

Tony laughs, shaking his head. “Tin foil bowls?” Peter nods and Tony grins, “that’s creative, I’ll give you that.”

“And disposable, so no extra dishes,” Peter says proudly.

“So you’ll use the card?” Tony states more than asks.

“I mean, if I need it maybe.” He doesn’t really need more money, just what he’s getting so he’s sure it’ll be fine.

“Use the card,” Tony tells him, tightening his grip on Peter’s ankle for a moment. “I gave it to you for a reason.”

“Three am Frootloops?” Peter says, grinning.

“There are better uses than that but sure, three am Frootloops,” he says, staring at him for a long moment before he smiles. “Come here,” he tells Peter, moving his arms off his legs.

Peter shifts, crawling over so he’s sitting in Tony’s lap. He looks a little surprised but recovers fast, wrapping an arm around him as his lips quirk up. “You’re perfect, you know that?” he tells Peter.

He blushes a little and looks away, “I don’t know about that,” he murmurs.

Tony tilts his head back up, “I do, baby. Now, do you want to get into this?” he asks.

Peter nods. “I kind of want to know what I’ve got in store for me,” he says.

Tony pets up his thigh with the hand that isn’t settled on his waist, “well, not too much tonight. Just some basic training,” Tony tells him. He pouts and Tony smiles at him again because apparently he likes that kind of thing. “Don’t look at me like that, you’ll be back soon anyway so its not like you have to wait all that long.”

“Training?” Peter prompts and Tony’s smile gets wider. 

“Yeah, baby. You ready?”

*

Peter is on his way home feeling kind of… good when he sees them. He stops for a moment and looks, debates on walking away but he feels giddy and happy and his afternoon with Tony was good and the shoes are pretty. They’re a soft pink, the same one he’d worn at Tony’s the first time he was there and they’d look cute with that skirt he stole from Liz and he doesn’t need shoes. He definitely doesn’t need shoes that he’d probably never wear because where would he wear heels? So he goes to walk away, making it maybe five paces before he turns around and goes back because he likes the shoes and he had a shitty morning, he thinks he’s earned some shoes.

#tony stark x peter parker #starker #alternate universe #fanfiction

[shatteringzimmermann]

part 8

SURPRISE.

Changes to what’s been written so far: Jack doesn’t call Bitty Bitty. It’s too familiar a name for two people who haven’t actually met, so he calls him Eric and will probably do so until/if Eric tells him to call him something else. So pretend Jack’s been calling Eric Eric this whole time. It’ll be corrected when i post the final version on AO3.

Parts One & Two  /  Part Three  /  Part Four  /  Part Five  /  Part Six   /  Part Seven

(fixed the links for the new username)

Jack sat in his car, tapping the side of his phone on the wheel. The message arrived sometime in the middle of the third period and now, hours after the game had ended, it still hadn’t been read. He should be in bed and probably even asleep but he was torn between opening the message now and possibly not being able to see straight to drive home or to just drive home and open it there where he could fall apart from the probable rejection in private. But every time he reached for where his keys were already inserted in the ignition his breathing became difficult and his hands shook too much for him to feel comfortable driving.

His phone buzzed again. This time it’s Shitty, wondering where he was.

 Stuck, he responded, careful to not check the other message. Too panicked to drive. Come get me?

  A tired Honda pulled up next to his car and Jack tried to smile as Lardo waved. Shitty was at Jack’s door a few moments later, pulling it open and wrapping an arm around Jack in the same motion.

 “Thanks,” Jack managed, hugging him back. He could see the light of the arena, smell Shitty’s shampoo which was unusually floral, hear the rumbling of Lardo’s engine as she idled, feel Shitty’s arm tighten around him before letting go.

 Lardo peeled off half a dozen blocks from Jack and Shitty’s street. Jack had been watching her in the side passenger mirror, hoping he’d be able to know a little more than he probably should. Jack held his phone screen-down against his leg.

 Shitty waited until they were changed into sweats and drinking a too-late beer at the kitchen counter.

 “So,” he prompted.

 Jack tried to bite back his sigh. “You are my therapist more often than my own therapist.” He shifted his weight back on his barstool to bring his bare feet onto the lowest rung.

 “Dude. Do you seriously think I mind when you talk to me about your shit?”

 Jack picked at the corner of the label of his IPA, stubbornly and stupidly refusing to look up.

 “Bro. Jack. My forever love. My perfect soulmate. The ass I’d go at least bi for if I had a shot.” Shitty grinned as Jack smiled at his beer. “There’s a whole fuckin’ lot of shit I don’t know about mental health cause I’m not qualified. There’s a whole fuckin’ lot of shit that I know about because it’s part of life, no matter your mental health status. And this?” Shitty said, nodding to Jack’s phone. The little notification light blinked blue again. “This is shit I know. Well, besides the whole we-had-dreams-about-each-other shit. That’s something that your therapist isn’t gonna know either.”

 “I didn’t even tell you what happened,” Jack pointed out.

 Shitty shrugged. “Lardo told me Bitty may or may not have sent a text as a heads up in case you needed me around for support.”

 Even though his beer was nearing lukewarm, Jack shivered. “Did she seem okay? Eh, like, if Eric were upset she would be upset, right?”

 Shitty drained his drink and crossed the kitchen to drop the empty bottle in the recycling bin. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But she didn’t seem upset when she told me, so hopefully that means good things.”

 Jack picked up his phone but didn’t press the home button. He flipped it over and over in his hands.

 “Do you want me to read it first? Give you a heads up?”

 “I’m not a teenage boy,” Jack replied, cheeks warming.

 Leaning against the counter with a shrug, Shitty continued. “Offer still stands.”

 Jack dropped his phone on the counter and buried his face in his hands. “If I can’t read a text from him I don’t deserve anything from him.”

 “Bullshit,” Shitty said firmly. “This is scary for me, and I’m not even the one being texted. I want him to feel better too. I want him to ask you on a damn date and possibly fall in love with you and maybe one day I’ll get to announce ‘and I now pronounce you husband and husband.’” Even with his palms pressed against his face Jack rolled his eyes. “But,” Shitty said, “you’re allowed to need help. You’re allowed to let me read texts from him because you’re stuck in Schrodinger’s quicksand and the more you fight yourself the worse you’re going to feel.”

 “Schrodinger’s quicksand?” Jack asked, picking his head up. “Nice one.”

 Shitty grinned. “I figured you’d like it, you nerd. Now give me your fuckin’ phone.”

 Jack handed it to him and wrapped his arms around his legs as he pressed his face against his knees.

 Shitty was the only person (besides his parents) who knew his phone passcode. He had it unlocked in seconds and pulled up the message. Jack didn’t see him smile even bigger but could hear the brightness in his voice when he nudged Jack with the phone.

 “Hey. Someone’s waiting up to talk to you.”

   They moved to the couch, pressed together under a thin blanket Shitty bought at the Harvard bookstore.

 Still up? Jack asked.

 The response was nearly immediate. Yes! Just editing a vlog. You aren’t too tired to talk?

 Inhale-two-three-four hold-two-three-four exhale-two-three-four. A nagging thought in his head finally cleared. “Shitty,” Jack said as his thumb hovered over the call button. “Either you got new shampoo or you showered at Lardo’s and used stuff that wasn’t hers.”

 “The fuck, dude?”

 Irritated, Jack glanced at his confused face. “I just realized it. You used Eric’s shampoo. You’ve been to his place. In his shower. And you didn’t tell me.” Ignoring Shitty’s gaping mouth Jack hit Call.

 There were two rings and then silence.

 “Jack?”

 He had to shut his eyes against the flood of emotions that wracked through him. “Hi, Eric.” God, even the way his name sounded off Eric’s tongue warmed him enough to smile.

 “Oh lord, nobody but my Uncle Larry calls me by my Christian name.” A pause, soft and warm. “I don’t mind it one bit though. I also …I don’t really know what to say right now. Not in a bad way, I mean,” he added, as if he could feel the way Jack’s chest hollowed out at the words. “I’m just….overwhelmed, I guess. Too much butter in the recipe.”

 “Is that even possible?”

 “Mr. Zimmermann, I’ll have you know that I can bake a pie that’s won awards all over the state of Georgia so don’t come at me with this ‘too much butter’ nonsense. If a recipe isn’t balanced it won’t come together.”

 Jack smiled as Eric harrumphed into the phone.

 “You’re awfully quiet,” Eric said.

 “Sorry. This is just….”

 “Surreal?”

 “Yeah. I still can’t believe you’re real.”

 A soft chuckle rolled from the earpiece into Jack’s heart. “Tell me about it. I was mopin’ around here heartsick on a figment of my imagination until Lardo calls me up and sets me on my rear!”

 “Eh, yeah, I wanted to apologize for that,” Jack said. “I didn’t help that situation.”

 “Oh honey, don’t you fret. I’m right as rain now! But you have to be exhausted!”

 Jack shrugged. “A little. Games usually keep me up pretty late. Adrenaline and all that.”

 Eric hummed. “Next time Lardo heads over to visit Shitty I’ll send her with some sleepy-time tea my momma had me drink growin’ up. It’ll put you right under.”

 “Do- do you think you’ll want to visit? One day?”

 This time the silence was cooler and longer. “One day,” Eric agreed. “I’m not sure if I can handle anything too soon. I’m still reelin’.” Nodding, Jack agreed. “No, no that makes sense. We don’t even actually know each other.” He hoped his bravado carried well over the phone because none of him actually felt it.

 “Don’t we though?” Eric said. “I mean, sure, I don’t know you from Adam in terms of personality, but…” He trailed off and Jack’s fingers tightened around his phone as he silently begged him to continue. “Oh lord, listen to me rambling. I don’t know how you deal with stayin’ up so late, but I’m near half-asleep right now.”

 Jack didn’t call him on the lie. “Okay. Well, can I call or text you or something?”

 “Textin’ can’t do no harm,” Eric agreed. “I’m usually too busy for phone calls though. You’re welcome to try but I might be filmin’.”

 “Okay,” Jack said.

 “Okay,” Eric said. “Sleep well Mr. Zimmermann.”

 “Bye, Eric.”

  Shitty had moved a few inches away during the phone call, face drawn. “Look man, Lardo gave you time to deal with all this shit by not telling Bitty so I was doing the same for him. Please don’t be mad at me for that.”

 Jack rubbed his eyes. “I’m not mad, Shits. Promise. I am, however, exhausted. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 He left Shitty on the couch and padded to his room. His bed was cold as ever but the embers of hope in his chest were still burning. He fell asleep with his phone cradled in one hand, the other outstretched into the empty space.

#omgcp #check please #omg check please #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #shitty #lardo #fanfiction #soulmate au #anna is lame #crossed the 14k mark so about halfway through?

[imagines-dreams]

Please Be My Fake Boyfriend - Connor Murphy Imagine

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: feelings of low self-esteem, mentions of alcohol, kissing i guess???

Summary: You love your grandparents, and they’re coming over for the holidays! You were paranoid though. You weren’t going to see them for a long time after that, and they desperately wanted to see your boyfriend. Problem is you don’t have a boyfriend. You do have a close friend by the name of Connor Murphy, though.

Word Count: 3843

“You want me to” -Connor shook his head and pulled on his bag’s strap- “what?”

You bit your lip. “I know. I know it sucks, but my grandparents really want to see me with a boyfriend and I won’t see them for another few years, and…” You trailed off. “Connor, I know it’s crazy and weird, and you probably won’t, but I’m…” You rubbed your hands together. “You’re the only one I trust, and my grandparents aren’t exactly healthy.” You smiled nervously. “Sorry. You don’t have to. It’s insane.” You pursed your lips. “You know what, I’m going to go. I’ll see you-”

“Fine.”

You blinked. You smiled sadly. “Connor, you don’t have-”

“No, it’s fine.” He shrugged. “Your family can’t be crazier than mine.”

Your eyes widened.

“They’re not crazy, right?”

You inhaled through your teeth. “Well, let’s just say, if you accept this challenge, we’re gonna have to, uh, set our story straight.”

“You mean…”

“How we met, first kiss, if we want to get married, how many kids, where we want to live.” You stared up at Connor, his eyebrows raised up to his hairline. “And etcetera.” You tried to laugh it off, but it came out as a few short huffs of air.

Connor blinked a few times. He tilted his head back and let out one long breath. “Apparently, I’m doing a lot of shit to get away from my parents this year.”

You beamed. “Thank you!” You leaped onto Connor and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You pulled away and held his shoulders. “You are the absolute best, Connor.”

He rolled his eyes. “Someone’s dramatic.”

“But, until after the reunion, you love me for it.” You smiled. “Um, are you ok with talking about our story after school?”

He nodded. “Yeah sure.”

You smiled. “You’re amazing, Connor!” You kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you after school!”

Your friend was glad you didn’t turn around.. You didn’t see him blush, blink so many times, or lift his hand to his cheek to touch where your lips brushed his cheek. He wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to get away from his family, but that definitely wasn’t his main reason for saying yes to you. That and he couldn’t say no to you. You were too beautiful, too caring, too genuine. All the things he didn’t think he deserved or needed, but there you were.

Connor licked his lips and went through the motions, all while thinking of you.

You pointed at another uncle in the picture. “Who’s this?”

“The cook who will make me eat more than I can.”

You smiled. “All of them will do that, but yes, the cook of the family.” You pointed at another family member. “This one?”

“(y/n),” he whined.

You huffed. “Fine. Ok ok, then tell me where we met.”

“Class?”

You glared at him.

“I first saw you in English class. You saw me reading a book you’ve read recently. Approached me and the rest is history.”

You opened your mouth, but Connor interrupted you. “You asked me out to dinner a few weeks after my birthday because you were going to ask on my birthday but you chickened out. We dated for three weeks, then kissed on our fourth date when I dropped you off. We are a year into the relationship, so marriage is a thought for after college. I want two kids. You want three. We argue about it. Am I done?”

You gasped. ‘Well, Connor, I honestly didn’t think you were listening, but you are great at surprising me.”

Connor shrugged. “Had nothing better to do.”

“No, really.” You held his hands. “This means a lot. I rarely see my grandparents, and you doing this just…” You met his eyes and felt your heart swell with admiration. “Thank you.” Connor didn’t look up from the table, but you didn’t miss the slight shift in his posture. His shoulders relaxed, and he hid his face behind his hair, a certain sign that he was smiling a bit too wide.

Your phone rang, and the silence splintered. You quickly picked it up. “Hello?” You gasped. “Grandpa, how are you?” You smiled at Connor. “Yeah, actually, I do. I know.” You nodded. “Yes, grandpa. You’ll meet him there. Ok, I’ll see you soon. I love you.” You hung up and took a deep breath. “That was your fake future grandpa-in-law, and he’s very excited to meet you.”

Connor licked his lips. A kid who was accused of being the school shooter meeting an old man and woman who wanted the best for their wonderful granddaughter. He tapped his fingers nervously against the table.“Maybe Evan would be better off for this.”

You blinked. “What? Evan?” You shook your head. “He’d probably end up telling the truth.” You tilted your head. “Look, if you want to back out, you can.”

He smirked. “Nah.” Connor smiled a bit too wide for a second or two, elated that you were still choosing him. Sure it wasn’t his idea of choosing him, but you were still choosing him nonetheless. “It’s fun watching you run around like a headless chicken.”

You smacked his arm. “You’re lucky you’re my friend, Murphy.”

The day arrived. It was a few hours before the reunion just when Connor called you. You smiled at your laptop. “Hey, Con. Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready?”

“I am.” He gestured to his outfit, a nice black tuxedo with a black ribbon for a tie. “I was just wondering if I needed to bring anything. My mom used to nag me to bring shit to other people’s-”

You laughed. “First off, even though you look amazing, it’s way too formal for this. Maybe some black jeans and shirt. Second, um, I was going to say not bring something, but maybe a bouquet?”

“So high maintenance,” he teased. Connor opened his closet as he searched for some clothes. “Bouquet for you?”

“Nah, for my mom. She’d love it.”

“Ok.” He groaned. “Uh, what about this?”

You looked at his outfit and woah. Connor in a tux was one thing. Attractive, yes, but a bit out of his personality and circumstance. But him in that black turtleneck and ironed black jeans. You’d never seen that before. Maybe you had but Connor always wore his favorite hoodie over everything.  It as so Connor, and it took your breath away. If only the school could see past the rumors and stereotypes, they’d be able to see what you’s see. A boy so unapologetically true to himself, so honest and blunt, and so passionate about everything he did.

A warm feeling blossomed in your stomach. You were one of the only ones to see Connor like this. What blessed you to be this special?

“You don’t like it,” Connor stated.

You cleared your throat. “No, not at all. Black was always your signature color, huh?”

His shoulders slumped. “I am not changing for my fake girlfriend’s fucking family, (Y/n).”

You laughed. “Oh, please, I wasn’t going to tell you to change. I was going to say at least put your hair up in a red or green ribbon at least.” You held your breath as an image of Connor with his hair tied up with a colorful ribbon popped into your mind. Unapologetically himself and so beautiful. You licked your lips. “Just to be festive. It’s the holidays after all!”

Connor looked around his room and shuffled through a few drawers. “I don’t think I’ll ever find a green or red ribbon.”

The words stumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them. “You can come to my house.” When Connor stared at you like you’d grown horns, you stuttered, “I-I mean I have some festive ribbons and things. I-I can lend one to you.” You bit your lip. “You can come here on time, many people won’t be here yet, and I can give you the ribbon?” You smiled a little, trying to convince both your friend and yourself that what you said was totally normal.

Connor blinked. He tried to smile a little. “Then I’ll see you at six.”

“Yeah. Bye, Connor.”

“See ya.”

You hung up. You took a deep breath and settled into your chair, letting your body rest against the chair. Your heart was racing. Your fingers trembled as you placed your hand over your heart. Ye, it was still racing. What was wrong with you? Connor was your closest friend. You didn’t know him for long, maybe a few months, but it felt like you knew each other forever. He was someone you looked up to and went to for everything. You couldn’t possibly…

You shook your head. You had to get through the family reunion first. Past drunk uncles, questioning grandparents, and Connor coming to your house.

Connor was coming to your house!

Shit, you had to get ready!

“You must be Connor!”

You gasped. You excused yourself from your cousins and rushed to your mom at the door. “Connor!” You smiled at the bouquet in your mom’s arms and pulled Connor inside by the hand. You tried to keep your mind off the fact that you were holding his hand while you told your mom, “Mom, this is Connor, my boyfriend.”

Your mom smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Connor, and thank you for the bouquet.”

Connor was still staring at you. You looked beautiful. Stunning.

You nudged him.

He cleared his throat. “Pleasure, Mrs. (Y/l/n).” Connor even bowed his head a little as an awkward sign of respect.

You giggled and once your mom left to put the bouquet in a vase, you turned to Connor and held up a festive clip and a green ribbon. “Which one?”

Connor stared at both of them. “Both are so… cheesy.”

You laughed. “Connor, you can curse It’s fine.”

“Ok, both are shitty. I said it!”

You beamed and motioned for Connor to turn around. You held both of the accessories up to your eyes. You bit your lip and went with the red and green clip. You gathered the top half of his hair and fastened it with the clip. Then, to make it more festive, you tied the ribbon to the clip. “There, perfectly festive.”

“You used both, didn’t you?”

“That’s what you get for putting me in charge.”

“Ey!” A cousin bumped into you and wrapped an arm around you. “(Y/n)! It’s been years.”

“You’re drunk,” you stated. “You’ve only been here thirty minutes?”

“Not drunk, tipsy.” Your cousin stood straighter and eyed Connor. Your fake boyfriend glanced at you before glaring at your tipsy cousin. Your relative sent a hard stare back. You looked between the two, feeling like you should probably do something. “Uh, this is my boyfriend, Connor.” Your statement turned into a question when neither acknowledged you.

You groaned. “Guys!”

They didn’t move. What was this? A masculinity contest?

“Please, Connor!” you whined.

Connor broke. He sighed and went to your side. He held out his hand politely. “I’m Connor.”

Your cousin stared at Connor’s hair. “That’s cheesy.”

Your fake boyfriend put his hand down. “Nevermind.”

“My sweet (Y/n)!” Your grandmother grabbed you by both cheeks and kissed your forehead. “I haven’t seen you in so long, (Y/n). You are so skinny. What happened to you? Has my child not fed you in the last year?”

You laughed. “Grandma, I’m fine.”

“Does grandma get all the love?”

You laughed and hugged your grandpa. “I’ve missed you so much, grandpa.”

“Not as much as I have you.”

Your grandma beamed when she saw Connor. “Is this who I think it is?”

You pulled away from your grandpa and pulled Connor to your side. “Grandpa, grandma, this is Connor. He’s my boyfriend.”

You could feel Connor shaking in your grasp. You rubbed his knuckles. His eyes met yours. They were questioning, worried, terrified maybe. You just smiled and squeezed his hand. You tilted your head towards your grandparents.

Connor took a deep breath and smiled at your relatives. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Your grandfather gasped. “Did you see that? That look they shared?”

“Oh, I saw it alright!” Your grandma squealed and held Connor’s hand. “You are a nice young man. Come, sit next to me and Grandpa.”

You gave Connor’s hand one last squeeze before letting him sit between your grandparents.

“Sweetheart, go talk with your cousin,” your grandpa told you.

You opened your mouth to protest, but your grandma interrupted. “We won’t torture him, I promise.”

You stood still for a moment. You smiled at Connor and gave him a thumbs up.

“(Y/n), please,” your grandma said.

You nodded and smiled at Connor one last time before leaving.

Once you were gone, your grandma turned to Connor. “You do know that (Y/n) is a horrible liar.”

His heart stopped. “W-What? I don’t-”

“Even if she was, she couldn’t lie to us,” your grandpa continued. “I knew she was going to pull something like this, like from one of her stories.”

“Can you blame her?” your grandma shot back. “We barely see her.” She took Connor’s hand in hers. “You do feel something for our (Y/n), don’t you, dear?”

Connor denied this truth immediately. “I am her boyfriend. Of course I-”

“I will repeat. You have feelings for (Y/n) and you’re not currently dating because she put you up to this.” She smiled. “Please, don’t lie to an old lady.”

Connor blinked a few times. Then, he sighed. “Fine, you…” He bit his tongue to prevent a curse. He could at least not curse in front of elderly. “Found out. We’re not dating.”

“You should be,” your grandpa teased. “Honestly, I saw those looks you two shared. How long have you known her?”

His eyes darted around the room. “A few months,” Connor admitted.

“And you look at each other like that?” your grandma scoffed. “I don’t understand how you’re not dating. Now, I’m going to give you life-changing advice. If you really feel something for her, tell her. If I know anything about (Y/n), she’d want to know.” She tilted her head. “You’re a handsome young man” -she gestured to his outfit- “with personality and caring enough to go along with this. You deserve someone like her.”

Connor looked at your grandparents. His stomach twisted into knots as he thought of saying something. They thought he was worthy of you? Clearly, they didn’t know him well enough. They didn’t know what people said. They didn’t know what he has done. They didn’t know his family and how he pushed everyone away.

He locked his jaw. “Thank you for the advice.” Then, he got up and left. Your cousin got that liquor from somewhere.

Ok, so you were trying to keep an eye on Connor, but you lost him in the crowd of relatives. You pushed through aunts and uncles and family friend. Then, you spotted your black-clad knight. “Connor!” You reached out and grabbed his hand.

He didn’t turn back to look at you.

You blinked a few times. You maneuvered your way through bodies to step in front of him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Connor still didn’t look at you. He was too busy staring at the ground.

You squeezed his hand and tried to catch his eye. You gently placed your hand on his cheek. “Connor, please” -his eyes met yours and he looked so hopeless and you were heartbroken- “what’ going on?”

Connor opened his mouth, but then your cousins shouted and yelled. “Mistletoe!”

“Now’s not the time!” You glared at all of your relatives. “Stop it!”

But the booze and festive spirit kept them going. It was one of you against all of them. “Guys, stop it, please!” They continued to chant and tease, and you growled. “Stop it!”

You gasped as Connor’s hand was ripped from yours. He kept his head down as he slipped past your relatives and right towards the door. A few of your cousins were surprised but went onto the next couple to tease them with mistletoe a few seconds later. You, you couldn’t get your mind off of Connor Murphy. What did your grandparents say? Were they too hard on him? Did they criticize him? What have you done?

This was all your fault. If you had just let Connor back out, none of this would’ve happened. You just had to be selfish. You just had to want to show your grandparents that you had a boyfriend. You wanted to go through that ritual of Grandpa telling your boyfriend embarrassing stories about himself or of you. You wanted your grandma to compliment you on your choice and to ask you a few too-private, too-early questions. You wanted to experience that.

Why did you have to drag Connor into it?

“Connor,” you whispered.

You didn’t even know where you were. You were somewhere outside your house. It took a while to track Connor. But you found him. That’s what mattered. “I’m sorry,” you let out. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I’m sorry about whatever grandpa and grandma said to you. I’m sorry about that mistletoe thing.” You gasped for air and stared at the ground. You couldn’t lose him. You couldn’t lose Connor.

“You’re crying.”

You looked up. Connor was in front of you, confused and unnervingly calm. You straightened yourself and wiped your tears haphazardly. “Sorry.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. Connor laughed a little, but it sounded more like a wounded cry than that of laughter. “You didn’t do anything. It’s all me like it always is.”

“What are you-”

He rolled his eyes and turned around. He walked away from you again.

“No!” You grabbed his wrist. “Connor-”

“Let go, (Y/n).”

“Please, I’m not losing you. You’re too important.”

Connor glared at you. His voice grew stern, dark, almost threatening. “(Y/n).”

For a semi-second, you were scared. Scared of Connor Murphy. Guilt immediately washed over you. You knew what this meant. You knew what Connor was going to do.

You let go of his hand. Just as he turned around, you said, “Connor, if you’re mad at me, take it out on me.”

“(Y/n)-”

“Please.”

Connor froze for a while. He threw his back as if he just wanted to stare at the stars above. Then, he said so softly, “I’m not mad at you.”

You blinked. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not fucking lying.” He stared at you over his shoulder. You could see a shine in his eyes, tears. You wanted to reach for him, to give him physical comfort of some sort, but you were worried about him and how he would interpret your actions. You dug your nails into your palm and rooted yourself to the spot. “Then, who are you mad at?”

Connor turned around fully. “Aren’t you mad at me, too?”

That was a punch to your gut. All the air escaped your lungs, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Connor was mad at himself? For what? Nothing bad happened because of him. Did your grandparents say something? Your cousins? You?

“You can’t be that fucking blind? Look at me!” Connor scoffed. He took the clip and ribbon from his hair. He held it in his hand for a second before looking away and letting it drop to the ground. “I fucking told you. I told you to get Evan. Anyone would be better at this shit than me.”

That was it. You grabbed Connor’s hands as gently as you could. “Connor, I chose you for a reason, ok?” You tried to smile as you wiped the tears from his cheeks. “You’re one of my closest friends. You’re important to me, and I trust you like no one else. Why do you think I let you see all of those embarrassing baby photos and stories from my family, huh?” You bit your lip as you racked your brain for more things to say, but then Connor’s eyes met yours.

Fuck, you couldn’t exactly concentrate on forming and saying coherent sentences when he was looking at you like that. He was looking at you like you were the light at the end of the tunnel. He wasn’t aware that on most days that’s what he was for you.

With all the confusion, feelings, and storm in your brain, one thought shone out. “I’m proud of you, Connor Murphy.” You rubbed his cheeks and sighed when his forehead touched yours. “I’m always proud of you.”

He laughed a little, a pure little melody against the scoffs bitterness from before.

“Are you still mad?” you asked.

He nodded. “I don’t think anything you can say will make me otherwise.”

You shuddered as you breathed. “Why are you mad?”

Connor gulped. His hands roamed from your shoulders to your hips. His touches were so light that if you weren’t concentrating hard enough you would be sure he wasn’t touching you at all. Then, his grip on your hips tightened.

You gasped and reveled in the rush that came along with his touch.

“I’m mad at myself because…” He trailed off to look you in the eye.

You opened your mouth to tell him that it was ok to continue, but his lips came crashing onto yours. Your eyes widened as you felt everything and nothing all at once. You could feel his fingers digging into your dress and putting pressure on your hips. You could feel his hair tickle your cheeks and neck ever so slightly. And his lips were pressed so firmly against yours, trying to force some sort of reaction from you, whatever it may be. It was a question.

You answered happily, kissing him back with everything you had. Your hands went from his cheeks to his hair. You were grateful he took the festive accessory off so that you could tangle your fingers in his hair. You pulled him closer and closer and god it felt so good. You wanted more of it. You didn’t want it to end.

Connor smiled against your lips, apparently more than satisfied with your reaction. He pressed himself against you, and his hands held you as close as he could.

The kiss itself was messy, a combination of pent-up feelings and passion and electricity. You were sure the air around you was crackling with whatever it was that the two of you felt for each other.

Too soon Connor ran out of air and pulled away from you.

Under his trance, you leaned forward to kiss him again. Connor laughed and happily obliged to kiss you sweetly once more.

You took a few deep breaths before finally gasping, “Still mad?”

“I don’t think so.”

You smiled. “Good.” Your lips were dangerously close to his. You hesitated. Your thoughts were still a confused tangle of Connor and feelings and holidays and-

“Kiss me again,” Connor whispered. “Please.”

You giggled. “Gladly.”

Guys its not a drill! I actually updated!!! And its for the holidays too? What the heck?

#connor murphy #Connor Murphy x Reader #connor murphy imagine #deh #dear evan hansen #dear evan hansen headcanons #dear evan hansen x reader #dear evan hansen imagine #dear evan hansen oneshot #deh imagine #deh oneshot #deh x reader

[thezeekrecord]

GAGEGN ch12

[index/summary]

REPORT: Regarding G.Freeman's recovery from the resonance cascade (pt.1)

“Daddy, I wanna play the Playtation!”

“That is the Playta—I mean, Playstation, bud.” Gordon insisted, watching Joshua focus heavily on the controller in his hands. “Which game do you wanna play? We got, uhhh...Katamari. You wanna play Katamari?”

“This one!” Joshua shouted, clumsily picking up the unopened box for Red Dead Revolver and showing it to Gordon upside down.

“Uhhh, I don’t think that’s a good one for you, Josh.” Gordon said, reaching out to take the box and look at the age rating. “Why don’t I put in Katamari and you can try it out?”

“I wanna play the fucking cowboys!”

Gordon couldn’t help but laugh a little as he set Red Dead Revolver aside to put in Katamari. Joshua threw a small fit about it at first, but Gordon picked up the controller to start playing a little. He wasn’t playing to do well—he was still testing out a new way to hold the controller that made literally any mildly difficult task possible, given his prosthetic hand wasn’t dexterous enough to hit the tiny buttons so close to each other. He had it set out in his lap upside down, diverting the button mashing to his left hand while he used his prosthetic index finger to move the joystick. It was a good idea in theory, he thought, but the controller was still upside down, so he had to think in reverse to get the Prince to move the way he wanted him to on top of relearning the button placement. Frustration at this hobby being made an insurmountable task aside, he only played to catch Joshua’s interest, and it worked within a matter of minutes. Joshua swiped the controller from Gordon, allowing him to finally ease back on the couch with a deep, exhausted sigh.

It was the morning after another sleepless night. He was quickly finding that as much as he wanted coffee to save him, it really didn’t do him much good—in fact, it only made him sleepier. He had to rely on willpower alone to keep him awake for his son. Usually he did okay, only falling asleep towards the end of the day when Joshua was already tuckered out—but today, the morning after a frustrating dinner with the Science Team and company, he was feeling like he was at his limit.

He pushed on, though. He stood up a couple times to do some half-hearted exercises to keep him awake, but after the third round of shitty jumping jacks, Gordon sat down on the couch and immediately fell asleep upon contact.

He woke to a hand shaking his shoulder, a distinctly adult voice saying his name. Gordon opened his eyes, looking up to find the kind, but anxious eyes of Darnold.

“Oh. Hey.” Gordon greeted, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and immediately looking to where he expected to find Joshua. He wasn’t there, though, the only sign of him being the Playstation controller he’d left behind. “Oh, shit. Where’s Josh?”

“You don’t need to worry about that, Dr. Freeman.” Darnold answered. “Actually, uhhh, Tommy and I are gonna watch over him for a week.”

“What?” Gordon questioned, standing uneasily. “Why? I didn’t—we didn’t make any plans like that.”

“Well, no.” Darnold replied, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Listen, Dr. Freeman...I realize this is kinda gonna suck to hear, but we talked this over after you left last night, and we don’t think you’re really in a good state to watch over him right now.”

Gordon stared at Darnold in disbelief. “What? You’re just gonna take my fucking son?”

“He’s gonna be right next door, it’s not like we’re taking him to fucking Alcatraz. You’re free to come and stay with us, too, or visit whenever you want, it’s just...y’know.” Darnold indicated at the living room. Gordon had let it become sort of a mess. “Kids pick up on these things, Gordon. I know it’s not easy, and I understand you being upset, but Joshua doesn’t need an environment like this.”

“I’m doing the best I can!” Gordon argued. “What do you expect me to do, here? Just magically forgive Benry and let everything that happened just—just not matter?”

“Of course not.” Darnold said calmly. “That’s the whole point, actually. Childcare is a lot of work, and I know it must be hard to take care of him and try to sort your shit out at the same time. Trust me, this is coming from personal childhood experience, I know what it’s like being the kid in this situation. We’re just giving you the space you need to figure everything out, is all.”

“What do I need to figure out?”

“Uhhh, you know. Therapy might be a start.”

“Therapy?” Gordon echoed. “I don’t need therapy, man. I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Darnold asked in a sudden sharp tone that took Gordon by surprise. After a brief, contemplative second, he returned to his casual voice. “Listen, this was...well, actually, it sort of was my idea, but the rest of the Science Team agrees this seems like it’s what needs to happen. We’ll watch over him for the week while you figure out what you need, and then obviously, you’re free to call us for additional help at any time. All you have to do is ask.”

Gordon let out an exhausted sigh, plopping down onto his couch and burying his face in his hands. He felt the couch shift a little as Darnold sat down beside him.

“Uhh, I know we’re not, like, all that close or anything.” Darnold said uneasily. “But y’know, you’ve got a lot of cool people who wanna look out for you. And I care, too. This whole, uhhh...I guess you could call it an intervention? It looks harsher than it might for any one of the rest of us just because you have a responsibility to your kid, y’know? It’s not an easy position. On one hand, you just went through something really fucked up. On the other hand, you owe it to Joshua to get back up on your feet so you can provide the best for him.”

“How am I supposed to just shape up in a few days, though?” Gordon asked totally honestly.

“Well, it’s not like we expect you to be in perfect shape in a week. That’s unfair.” Darnold answered. “It’s a starting point, though. It’s a little bit of time to, uhhh...take stock, you know? I know you said you wanna homeschool him, and I think that’s a cool idea, but maybe enrolling him in a preschool would give you some breathing space. Just things like that, figuring out what sort of help you need and where to get it.”

Gordon fell silent, running his fingers through his hair and sighing. He had to admit, Darnold’s cool, rational tone was hard to get too worked up against—particularly when he was so tired. And even if nothing else, he really needed a nap.

“I think you’ll be alright, Dr. Freeman.” Darnold said comfortingly. “We’re all here for you if you need. You don’t have to go through anything alone.”

“...Thank you.” Gordon murmured finally. “...Can I ask one thing, though?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Benry’s staying with you, right?”

“Uhhh, theoretically. We haven’t seen him since last night.”

Gordon slowly sat up. “Well, wherever he is, I don’t want him in the same house as Josh. I know you guys want me to trust him, it’s just—”

“That’s not how I feel. I totally get it.” Darnold interrupted. “Benry’s...well, I don’t wanna insult Tommy’s friend, but I sure wouldn’t trust him with my kid if I were in your shoes.”

Gordon couldn’t help but bark out a loud laugh. “Fuck. I’m so fucking glad at least one of you sees it that way.” After a pause, Gordon leaned back on the couch, giving Darnold a knowing look. “Wouldn’t wanna insult Tommy’s friend, though? His, specifically?”

Darnold tilted his head curiously at Gordon. “Umm, he’s not necessarily your friend, is he...?”

“No, no, it’s just...” Gordon snickered a little. “Y’know, that’s some special consideration for Tommy, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Dr. Freeman, but I’ve decided I have to go right now.” Darnold said seriously, face flushed a little. “Tommy must still be with Josh helping him pack up some of his stuff, if you wanna...”

“Uhh, yeah.” Gordon sighed, dragging himself up to his feet. Darnold waited by the front door as Gordon headed up the stairs to Joshua’s room, where he found Tommy struggling to help Joshua organize some of his things. “Hey, Josh.”

“Dad!” Josh greeted loudly, holding up his stuffed Pikachu.

Kneeling down, Gordon assessed what they already had laid out and packed away before he began helping Tommy fold Joshua’s tiny clothes to put into his little suitcase.

“You excited to stay with uncle Tommy and Darnold?” Gordon asked Joshua with a smile.

Joshua looked doubtfully at Tommy. “Are they uncles?”

“Yeah, I decided that just now.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Listen, Josh, I have the power to decide who is and isn’t your uncle. That’s the kinda freedom I get as your dad.” Gordon said, only half joking.

Tommy smiled brightly, neatly folding one of Joshua’s shirts.

“Are you coming, too?” Joshua asked.

“Uhh—I’ll swing by a couple times, I think, but I gotta get some work done.” Gordon answered as casually as he could manage, sharing a meaningful look with Tommy.

Eventually, Joshua’s things were packed up, and Gordon held Joshua’s hand in his own as they headed down the staircase. At the front door, Darnold smiled down at Joshua as they prepared to leave. Gordon knelt down to meet Joshua’s eye, pushing his hair out of his face and giving him a smile.

“Have fun, alright? Don’t give them too much trouble.” Gordon said gently. He pulled in Joshua for a long hug before letting him go and standing back up. “Umm—thanks, guys.”

“C’mon, Josh.” Darnold said, taking Joshua’s hand and leading him out the front door.

Tommy lingered, though, watching them go for a moment before turning to Gordon to wrap him up in a tight hug. “I’m sorry, Mr. Freeman.”

Gordon snorted a little, wrapping his arms around Tommy. “No, man, I should be the one apologizing.”

“No, I mean...” Tommy let out a small, frustrated breath. “I feel like—I’ve just sort of been, umm...ignoring our problems for a little bit. I should’ve tried to do something with Benry and all this before—before it reached that point.”

“No, dude, that’s not your fault.” Gordon insisted, patting Tommy’s back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make you feel like any of that is your responsibility. I should’ve kept a cooler head last night.”

“What happened last night?” Tommy asked, pulling away to hold Gordon by his shoulders at arm’s length. “I don’t mean you getting mad, I mean the—I mean the table.”

“...I don’t know.” Gordon murmured. “I just—I got angry, and everything felt...weird for a second. Did you feel it? Like...uhhh, like everything just...detached?”

Tommy frowned and shook his head.

“It’s like it just—everything...fuck, I don’t know to explain it.” Gordon went on, struggling to find the words. “Like, if everything in the world is locked, right? We can pick them up and move them, but only with certain rules. The table was locked into its place, and then when I got mad, for a second everything around us unlocked so I could...do that. I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

“Ummm...kind of.” Tommy nodded slowly.

“But—y’know what? As fucking insane as that is, I think I need to take one thing at a time.” Gordon sighed, dragging his palm down his face. “Thanks, Tommy. Sorry about...all of this.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Freeman. I get it.”

“If Josh ends up being too much, you can totally call me.”

Tommy got a fond smile on his face, glancing back towards the door. “I think—it’s probably gonna be fine. I think Darnold really likes kids.” After a brief, awkward pause, Tommy took a step back. “Well, I’m gonna go back home. I think Dr. Coomer and Bubby said they were gonna—uhhh, they were gonna visit you a little bit later today.”

Gordon nodded sheepishly. “Okay. Thanks again, Tommy. Sorry to cause you the trouble.”

“It’s not trouble. You’re my friend, Mr. Freeman, of course I—of course I wanna help you.”

Gordon smiled. “...Thanks, man. That’s cool of you.”

Tommy gave Gordon one last hug before turning to leave, closing the door gently behind him. Gordon let out a deep sigh, running his fingers through his hair and looking out at his living room. He had a lot of work to get to—cleaning his house would be a start, but the task seemed nearly impossible looking at all the clutter. Instead, Gordon shuffled back to his couch and flopped down. A nap would probably do him good, he thought, draping his arm over his eyes and gently drifting off.

****

Gordon opened his eyes, slowly dragging his aching arm off of his face to find a blanket draped over him. He yawned, pushing himself up to sit on the couch. It was still light out, he noted—so he hadn’t lost the whole day. It was time to get his life sorted out, he thought with slightly stronger determination as he stood.

“Yo.”

Gordon was getting really sick of that.

He turned, finding Benry curled up sideways in the armchair close to the couch. “Benry, I thought I fucking told you not to come into my house!” He snapped.

“Yeah, man, but Tommy ‘n Darnold said I couldn’t stay with them.” Benry complained. “You want me on the cold streets, Gordon?”

“You could go to Bubby and Dr. Coomer’s house! And I mean, where you stay isn’t my fucking responsibility!”

“But their house is like, across the street.” Benry groaned, leaning his head back into the arm of the chair. “Besides, they said uhhh, they said we gotta keep an eye on you. So here I am. Keeping an eye on you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they didn’t say you specifically should watch me.” Gordon argued.

“How would you know? You weren’t there.”

“I mean—no! But like, for all that talk about how much they think we should hear you out, I at least trust they wouldn’t do that to me.” Gordon huffed, plopping back down. “Besides, I don’t need anyone to ‘keep an eye’ on me. I’m a fucking grown man, I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

Benry shrugged. “I dunno, man. Sure seems like you’re doing pretty well for yourself to me.”

“What—really?”

Benry indicated to the house around them. “You got a house. That’s pretty good.”

It was pretty good. Having an entire house that belonged to him, rather than renting a tiny ass apartment, was a massive step up.

“Wanna play some games?” Benry asked, nodding down to the Playstation on the floor.

“No.” Gordon growled, standing up again. “I want you out of my house, Benry.”

Benry sighed, long-suffered and dramatic. “Look, dude. I...uhhhhh...I’ve been thinking.”

Gordon quirked an eyebrow at him, slowly sinking back down into the couch.

“Things’ve been making...a little more sense, outside the game.” Benry continued, pulling his hat down by the flaps over his ears. “Not total sense. But more sense than, like, it used to.”

“...Yeah?”

“I’ve been starting to think about shit. Like, for real.”

“That’s a surprise.”

Benry clutched his chest dramatically. “Ugh, Gordon, that hurts. You’re hurting me so much, man.”

His voice was still so deadpan, but there was something about it; Gordon couldn’t help but laugh a little, even if it was a really stupid moment. Maybe it was just the indulgence in his own shitty jokes that he was rarely rewarded, he thought briefly. A flash of a smile spread across Benry’s face before he turned deadpan again.

“But like, seriously, everything about the game, like...” Benry leaned his head back against the arm of the chair again, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment. “I don’t remember anything from before the game. At all.”

Gordon stared at Benry for a long moment. That familiar haze was settling over his mind at the mention of the game, just like always, and he was moving before he could even think about it. He headed up the stairs, rifling through his things still in boxes before returning to the living room, met by Benry’s curious eyes. Gordon clutched a photo tightly in his hands. One he’d stared at for a long time before moving.

“Uhhh...” Gordon sighed, holding out the photo.

Benry accepted it with surprisingly gentle hands, staring at it carefully. “Who’s this? You got some kinda girlfriend or whatever?” He asked.

Gordon snorted. “No, curb your jealousy, Benry.” He joked before he could think too hard about the consequences of it. “That’s me. Uhh, before T and top surgery and everything.”

Benry looked up at Gordon, comparing the photo to the real deal. Gordon had gotten a brief confused moment too, looking at it for the first time—but he knew the face of his son better than his own pre-T, so that had helped him put the pieces together. It must have been taken pretty soon after he’d given birth to Joshua; he was asleep in a hospital bed, cradling Joshua in his arms.

“I don’t remember this.” Gordon admitted, taking the photo back.

“Well, yeah, you were asleep.”

Gordon laughed, despite himself. “Shut up, man. I meant, like, I should remember that day in general. Everyone remembers the day their child was born, especially the one who gave birth, right? No matter how many painkillers I must’ve been on, I’m sure I would’ve remembered like, anything involving that whole process. Going into labor, going to the—”

“Bro, I don’t wanna hear all that mess.” Benry interrupted.

“Dude, grow up, you owe me this monologue.” Gordon huffed. “But like, I should remember something, right? Anything. But I...I just don’t. And it fucking—it really sucks, knowing I should have all these wonderful memories of my own fucking son, but I don't! And it’s like—it’s alienating! I love him, obviously, he’s my son, but it’s just...it feels like there’s some sort of level of disconnect. You know? Like...me and him aren’t really on the same wavelength that we should be. I don’t remember enough to...pick up wherever I must’ve left off.”

Gordon felt horrible finally voicing that thought, but at the same time, it felt pretty good to get it off his chest. He sighed a little, looking at Benry to gauge his reaction.

Benry frowned, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. “...Yeah. Tommy’s pretty convinced I know him.”

Gordon sat back down on the couch, watching Benry closely. “...He is?”

Benry nodded. “And I think he’s, like, upset that I don’t remember.”

“...Has he told you how you know each other, at least?”

“Yeah, something-something-science-project or whatever the fuck. I don’t really remember the story.”

“Dude, you should at least remember the story he told you, right?”

Benry got a dark, frustrated look on his face. “I know, dude.”

Gordon stayed silent. After a long moment, Benry’s eyes glossed over for a second, looking over Gordon’s shoulder before returning to his casual, relaxed expression.

“You don’t act like you forgot everything.” Benry pointed out calmly. “You like, remember society shit. What’s up with that?”

“Well—I mean, I know how things work. I remember...the vague idea of things.” Gordon explained. “But I don’t have any specific memories from before...you know. The game started.”

“You just woke up in there.”

“...Yeah.”

Benry nodded slowly. “Me too. Fucked up, right?”

Gordon nodded as well. “Yeah. Fucked up.”

After a long silence, Gordon got up, grabbing a couple bottles of beer from his fridge and returning to the living room. He held one out to Benry. Benry slowly accepted it, and Gordon sat back down, twisting his open.

“Are you ready to be fucking reasonable if I ask you about when we fought?” Gordon asked. “If you’re not, just tell me before I get all worked up again. I’m too tired to handle that right now.”

Benry shrugged, twisting his own beer open and taking a tentative sip. He made a face at it, holding the beer away from him like something old found in the back of the fridge. “Dude, this shit tastes like ass.”

Gordon laughed. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve never had alcohol before.”

“Of course I have, you think I’m a fucking noob?” Benry questioned. “No, beer just sucks.”

“It does not! It’s fine!”

“No, man, and it’s some—it’s some weak shit, too. There’s shit that tastes way better than this and gets the job done way faster.”

“Well, maybe I’m not looking to get shitfaced.” Gordon pointed out, pointedly taking a long sip of his beer. “You didn’t give me an answer though, dude. Are you gonna be normal if I ask you about the game?”

Benry let out a theatrical sigh. “Fiiiiine.”

“Why’d you do it?”

Benry took a sip of his own beer, making a disgusted sound at it before resting it against his stomach. “I keep trying to tell you guys, I don’t know shit. It happened. I kept trying to tell you to turn around, but you wouldn’t! And then we went to Xen, and you just freaked out.”

“You turned huge, dude, how was I supposed to react?” Gordon pointed out.

Benry shrugged.

Gordon sighed a little and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then what was all that shit about like, Gamestop and Heavenly Sword or whatever?”

“I made it up.”

Gordon gave Benry an unamused look. “Dude.”

“Listen, man, everyone expected me to have this whole thing, everyone had a backstory, I had to make shit up on the fly.” Benry huffed. “It’s about the player, right? Player likes video games. So I talked about video games. Also, I just like video games.”

Gordon looked down at his drink, inspecting the little beads of leftover beer from the last time he’d taken a sip and the condensation dripping down the sides.

“I didn’t make up the dick slip, though.” Benry said with a far too amused grin.

“What—there’s no fucking way my dick was out!” Gordon shouted. “It’s not like a video game model is gonna have a dick, dude!”

“How do you know that? Maybe there was a mod for it. Gordon Freeman cinematic dick mod. It’s equality, bro.”

Again, despite it all, Gordon couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe the insistence on something like this might have made him furious just days before, but he was quickly finding it harder and harder to be quite so angry with him. Maybe he was just that tired, he thought to himself.

“You’re so fucking stupid, man.” Gordon said, still laughing a little. Benry seemed very pleased with himself, grinning back at Gordon whole-heartedly. After a pleasantly quiet moment, Gordon sighed, remembering how they got to this topic in the first place. “So, it happened. You don’t know why, but it did. That’s what you’re saying?”

Benry nodded. “I told you, man. You shot me, so I had to shoot back. That’s like, NPC law, bro, all the guards always shot back, remember? You shot first.”

Gordon let out a long groan.

“Plus, like, y’know. There was no boss. Someone had to be the boss.”

Gordon looked up at Benry, squinting his eyes at him. “What? No boss?”

“Yeah, dude. Would’ve gotten kinda crowded in there, otherwise.” Benry shrugged, then took another long sip of his beer. “I was sorta the easy pick. Y’know? You already hated me. So the game made me the boss.”

Gordon set his beer aside so he could lay down on the couch, dragging a hand down his face. “Fuck, dude. I’m...” Gordon paused to sigh. “...I’m sorry.”

There was a long silence before Benry replied. “...Nah, man. I’m sorry.”

“...I’m still mad.”

Benry didn’t reply to that.

“I just—I’m...glad you apologized. I really am. And I’m sorry the game did that. I just...don’t know. I’m still traumatized from it.” Gordon said, barely thinking his words over. “Even if it’s, like, not entirely your fault, it’s still...you certainly didn’t make it easy up to that point, either. And you didn’t make it easy after. You gotta get better at communicating, man. Really.”

Benry mumbled something Gordon couldn’t hear.

“Huh?” Gordon asked.

“Sorry.” Benry repeated, a little louder this time. “If...uhh...if you want me to go...”

Gordon let out a deep sigh. “...Nah. It’s...fine, I guess.”

“...Why?”

Gordon looked up at Benry, half expecting that to be some attempt to be annoying, but he looked genuinely curious. Gordon laid back down, staring up at the ceiling as he thought for a moment.

“I’m not sure if that’s something I’m ever really gonna get over, but...I guess, like, you and everyone else are the only ones who are ever gonna get what I went through.” Gordon explained tentatively. “The game was fucked up. Everyone’s sorta different now than they were in the game. Everyone was limited to what they were programmed to be, y’know? So...if the game forced you into that role...I’m...willing to give you a second chance after that. But you have to show an effort from now on, and listen when we tell you you hurt us. Alright?”

Benry sang a few orbs of sweet voice.

“Uhh—what’s that mean?” Gordon asked.

“Means I’ll try.”

Gordon let that hang in the air for a minute. Here they were, just talking, apologizing to each other like real people. They were real people, weren’t they? Realer than they had been during the game, at least. It was getting a little easier to process that thought, but it brought up so many more questions.

“Is this real?” Gordon asked quietly.

Either Benry didn’t hear him, or he simply didn’t care to answer.

Neither of them spoke for a little while. Gordon had half a mind to turn on the TV, just for the background noise, but he didn’t quite have the motivation to move. Benry made the move instead, putting in Read Dead Revolver. Gordon turned his head to watch Benry play for a little while.

“Were you the one who gave me the blanket?” Gordon asked suddenly, smirking a little—he was pretty certain he must have, and was completely ready to get on his case about it.

“Huh? No. Dr. Coomer and Bubby came by first.” Benry answered casually.

“Really?”

“Yeah, dude. Left you a note and everything. Look.” Benry pointed vaguely towards the little table behind Gordon’s head as he rested on the arm of the couch.

Gordon turned over, finding a neatly folded note with Dr. Coomer’s beautiful, looped handwriting.

“What, do you wish it was me?” Benry asked with a sly grin.

“What? No.” Gordon huffed as he unfolded the paper. “I was just gonna say it didn’t seem like you.”

“Yeah, right. Gordon wishing his best friend tucked him in.”

“We’re not best friends. I’m gonna throttle you.” Gordon grumbled half-heartedly before he looked over the note carefully.

Gordon,

I hope you have a good nap! I’m sorry we didn’t wake you, I thought it best to let you get some rest. Bubby has an appointment later this afternoon, so we’ll most likely be out when you wake up, but you can call us at any time you need! :) We’ll come by again tomorrow to check on you.

With love, Dr. Coomer and Bubby and Bubby

Bubby’s name was, as Gordon would expect, scratched out with a harsher pen stroke before it was rewritten again, still in Dr. Coomer’s handwriting. Gordon set it aside with a deep sigh, turning back to the TV as Benry’s character clipped out of the map.

“Oh no.” Benry muttered, only a hint of concern in his tone.

Benry managed to get the game back on track, doing completely wild things Gordon would never think to try to do and getting bizarre glitches out of it. Maybe Gordon was just in a shitty mindset, but watching Benry play like that, he couldn’t help but fixate on his own perceived narrative of the player character, acting at the whims of Benry. Desperately trying to break the boundaries of the world and escape, unknowing of the fact that he was in a far more intricate prison than he could ever perceive.

Gordon had never thought about it like that—not in depth, at least. He had refused to think about it, in fact; but it didn’t change the fact that he knew it was the truth of his entire existence in the game. He was a player character. So that only begged the question: how much of his actions were his own, and how much was the player? Who was the player?

Gordon dragged himself up off the couch, flexing the fingers on his left hand into a fist, then out. He could do that, because he’d decided to. Right?

Or had the player only gotten bored of sitting around?

Gordon growled quietly to himself, heading off into the kitchen. He could hear the game go quiet behind him and the shuffling of Benry standing, but he ignored him, pausing once he was in his kitchen. Now what? He wondered. Was he just acting out of frustration, not totally sure of what he was thinking of doing, or was he simply not aware of what the player was controlling him into doing?

Gordon heard one of the chairs at the kitchen table scrape against the floor. Gordon looked behind him, watching Benry plop down and watch him closely.

“What’s your deal? Why’re you following me?” Gordon asked him.

Benry looked him over carefully and shrugged.

“Benry, do you...” Gordon paused to get his thoughts in order. “You can tell I’m the player character.”

Benry nodded.

“Do you know how much of that is like, still true? ” Gordon questioned. “Like, can you tell that I’m just a regular guy after the game, or if there’s still something that makes me...playable?”

Benry opened his mouth, a grin forming on his face, before he suddenly seemed to decide against what he was going to say. His smile fell, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Uhh, I dunno, man. I barely even know what I am, anymore.”

“What sort of sense does it make, that we went from a video game to the real world like that?” Gordon questioned, pacing restlessly in the kitchen. “There’s something wrong. I don’t think...I don’t think we are in the real world. How could that even be possible?”

Benry didn’t have a response to that.

“And—and last night, with the table. That’s proof.” Gordon said, his heart beginning to race as he spoke. “Here. I could do it again, probably.”

“Do you gotta?”

Gordon ignored him, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. He placed his hands on the back of another chair at his table, doing his best to get back into that mindset he’d been in last night. With as much force as he could muster, he lifted his hands and slammed them back down on the chair, crying out in pain when he was met with resistance. He opened his eyes again, finding the chair in exactly the same position it had been in before.

“You good?” Benry asked.

“I’m fine.” Gordon growled, rubbing his prosthetic fingers over the palm of his left hand. “But Tommy saw it, though. You all saw it. Right?”

“No.”

“I’m not making it up!” Gordon shouted defensively. “Here, I can still prove it!”

“You don’t have to prove it, dude.” Benry said as Gordon paced around in the kitchen.

“I do!” Gordon argued, rifling through the kitchen in a desperate attempt to find some way to prove his theory. What would he do in a video game that would usually break immersion? He wondered. Something that would absolutely work in the real world, but might provide some comical response in the game.

Gordon picked up a plate and dropped it on the floor.

“Bro!” Benry exclaimed, pressing his palms to his ears.

Gordon stared down at it. In many other games, it might have just bounced slightly, remaining totally intact otherwise. This plate most definitely shattered, though, laying on the floor in several sharp pieces. Gordon immediately pictured unseen seams on the plate, invisible lines where it had been predetermined to break apart. He reached for another plate, moving to the side a little to drop it with a loud crash. This one broke differently, separated into a couple more pieces than the first.

“What are you doing, dude?” Benry questioned.

“What if there’s a few different ways it could break?” Gordon wondered aloud, reaching for another plate.

“You wanna stop that, please?” Benry demanded.

Gordon ignored him, smashing another plate and inspecting the pieces carefully. It was pretty similar to the way the first one broke—but maybe not quite similar enough. He’d have to get a ruler to be totally sure, but for now, he was content to keep smashing more plates. He turned to grab another, and by the time he turned back around, he found Benry standing right in front of him, careful not to be stepping on any ceramic shards. Benry wrenched the plate away from Gordon, setting it hastily on the countertop.

“Please stop doing that, thanks? It’s too fucking loud.” Benry hissed.

“You don’t believe me, though!” Gordon said accusingly. “I have to show you what I’m talking about! I can—I can feel it, I just know it’s not real, but you—”

“I believe you, man!” Benry interrupted. “You literally don’t have to prove it, I already know it’s not real.”

Gordon breathed out in defeat, dropping his arms to his sides. “It’s not real.” He echoed quietly, carefully lowering himself to the floor between plate shards.

Benry sank to the floor as well, brushing pieces of plate away to clear a spot. They sat cross-legged across from each other, staring at the mess Gordon had made in silence.

“How do I know I’m...I’m me?” Gordon asked, leaning back to rest against the cabinets behind him.

“Does it matter?”

“Well, yeah, it matters.” Gordon said, furrowing his brow. “How would it feel to you, if, like—everything you did, you had no idea if it was someone else’s idea? Like nothing you do is actually motivated by your own...your own intent, but it’s all to achieve some goal that you don’t even know about?”

Benry paused for a long, contemplative moment before shrugging.

Gordon let out a bitter laugh. “What if, like—what if all this is just some sort of stupid achievement you can get? ‘Reality shatterer’ or something stupid like that.”

Benry didn’t reply.

Gordon pressed a hand to his face, heaving out an exhausted sigh. “...If none of this is real, then...does that mean Josh isn’t real?”

Benry stayed quiet. They sat there in silence for a long time before boredom began to eat at Gordon, and he slowly pulled himself to his feet, looking out at the sea of broken plate shards between him and Benry.

“I’d better clean this up.” Gordon murmured. Benry shuffled out of the way, allowing Gordon to sweep up the pieces in silence. Once the kitchen was safe again, Gordon sat down at the kitchen table, pinching the bridge of his nose. “...What do we even do about this?”

Benry sat back down as well, one seat away from Gordon. “Huh?”

“This.” Gordon repeated, indicating at the open air around them. “Reality. What do you do when you know nothing is real?”

Benry shrugged.

Gordon sighed in frustration, laying his head down on the table. “You’re not really the best person to talk to about this, are you?”

“Probably not.”

“...Wanna play some video games?”

“Fuck yeah, dude.”

[previous | next]

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Darkened Night

the series read as follows:

Superman … Monday … Cheezy Pouffs … Bacon … Stumbling … Trail Mix …  Punch … Friday … Preparation … Uncle Mudler … Normal … Backseat … Mudler-sense … The FBI … Unthinkable … Patience … Elephant Jokes … Cooking … Rickety Tables … Mr. Skimmer … Bert and Ernie … Midnight Confessions … The Moon … Bright Sunshine ... Graying Skies

@today-in-fic  @fictober

_____________________

Hell existed in that room. The devil resided there, lingering in corners, filling crevices, cracks, shadowing air with evil, thick, heavy, palpable.

Mulder wanted to set the entire place on fire and walk away laughing.

Banging his head against the wall became secondary relief to arsonary evidence destruction. He wasn’t alone in the two-bedroom, unassuming apartment but he might as well have been, his mind buried so far in wanton annihilation that everything else disappeared. Skinner crossed his path every so often, leaving Mulder to stare at papers, journals – why the fuck did they always keep records of their rambling, Schizophrenic, fragmented psyche to taunt him – and that damn religious icon.

Cross, image, vestment, book, candle, verse … he may not believe in any god, be it little ‘g’ god or big ‘G’ God but he was damn certain that you didn’t show your love for your god/God by killing somebody else.

He seriously could have been a mousy professor in some dusty college who followed supernatural blogs and crawled into bed with his Scully every night, life unassuming, heart full, soul intact, ignorance bliss.

With a final bang to the dirty white walls, his forehead throbbed while he returned to shitty reality.

What the fuck was wrong with humanity?

&&&&&&&&&&

Scully showed up, Scully disappeared, Skinner passed, Collins talked, Scully reappeared, Mulder felt sunlight, squinted, fell asleep in the car. Hand cramped from writing, eyes blurry from reading, sirens loud, then quiet in his ears, Kevlar heavy, wind warm, gunfire earsplitting, blood red, skin soft, skin smooth.

“What day is it?”

“Saturday night.” Scully slid her hand across his back.

Harsh moments flooded his mind and sitting up, he began pawing at her, “are you okay? I remember blood. Are you hurt?” Moving his hands across her, he felt his own chest, face, shifted back to her, hands wrapping tightly around shoulders when he realized she wasn’t screaming in agony as he groped, “when did we find him?”

Her cool hand went to his forehead, heat calming with her touch, her other palm to his cheek, “you and Barton worked out two possible scenarios. The second was correct and there was gunfire but you’re fine. Barton and Collins took hits to the leg, shoulder and right flank but they’re alive and home. I bought you here Friday morning and you fell asleep.”

She hated his mind at times for doing this to him, overloading and overwhelming until he lost days but his next sentence still made her smile, “no wonder I have to pee so badly.” Twisting out of bed, he groaned and hunched, waiting until his muscles had enough control of his bladder to get moving without catastrophic consequences. Scully followed, to keep him upright if necessary but once he was standing in the bathroom, he shooed her away, “I don’t need shy bladder happening right now … I can taste the pee in the back of my throat.”

With a small chuckle she kept to herself, she rolled around the doorframe, out of sight but not out of sound. Once again, he passed the minute-mark like a champ, only stopping after a minute, 28. Quiet returned and Scully leaned around the jamb, “you completely destroyed your old record.”

He was standing at the sink now, head hanging, tired again, “yay me. I need some sleep.”

She came up beside him, rumpled but still breath-taking in his eyes, “go back to bed. I’ll go make you a sandwich. You haven’t had much since Monday.”

Taking her hand, he pulled her back to the bedroom, nearly running into the wall, mid-course correction bringing him within half an inch of plasterboard, “horizontal. Sleep. Company. You.”

“English. Useless. Food. Necessary. Five minutes. Max.”

“Blar. No mayo.”

Because sandwich making skills peaked at 11:17pm, she also whispered to Maggie, who had just gone to bed, that Mulder was awake before returning upstairs, roast beef sandwich in hand. “Eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

First bite made him ravenous, second and third bite finished it off, Scully watching in concerned awe. If he didn’t choke, it would be amazing.

He did not.

She’d figured he’d go back to sleep but his eyes remained open, staring at the ceiling, hand making lazy circles, ovals, lopsided ellipses, some kind of absent-minded geometric shapes across her thigh until she broke the silence, “penny for your thoughts.”

His finger hesitated for a fraction, then continued its repetitive path, “I’m just listening to the quiet.”

“Enjoying?”

Now he wrapped the hand around her thigh, heat seeping into fingers, “I’m not sure. My head’s been so loud for a week that I think I like it but I don’t know.”

Making sure she didn’t twist his wrist too much, she turned on her side, trapping his hand, “would you like to talk or just listen to me trying to breathe through my slightly stuffy nose?”

Kissing her forehead, he wiggled his fingers just for fun, “how about you sing to me?”

“Elvis or Guns ‘n’ Roses?”

“You trying to kill me over here?”

“Just trying to make you happy.”

Removing his hand from her warmth, he turned to face her, fingers finding skin stretched over her spine, “you already do.”

“Do I still have to sing then?”

Now he laughed, chuckling into her forehead, “nope but maybe you can open the window so we can listen to the rain.”

“It’s raining?” Lifting her head, she could just make out the sounds, then slithering from his grasp to do as asked. Ten seconds later, she was back and both were lulled to half-asleep dreams by the steady rain on the kitchen window tin roof overhang.

He roused her awhile later, just as the first rumblings of thunder ambled across the sky, whispering into the pillow, sound asleep, “don’t make me go back.”

Fighting the urge to shake him awake, she twisted, sitting up quickly, hand on his shoulder blade, stroking the peak, “I won’t. You don’t have to go back at all.”

She noticed his hands fisted beneath the pillow and deciding her singular touch wasn’t enough, she swung her leg over his thighs, settling on his butt, massaging shoulders and coercing tense muscles with practiced digits, trying to make out his mumblings, “I don’t want to go back.”

“Mulder, you don’t have to go back.”

Suddenly he turned over, nearly tossing her off the bed. She held her ground, however, letting him finish his rotating while she held onto the mattress, sheets tangling into a nightmarish wad near her knees. Once he was facing her again, his eyes open this time, “what?”

Seeing he had absolutely no recollection of what he said, she leaned onto him, his arms automatic around her waist, “you don’t have to go back. Wherever ‘there’ is, you don’t have to go back.”

And he remembered.

Eyes closing instantly, “yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. You caught the men. They cleaned out the room. It’s finished.”

Never more honest in his life, he finally met her confusion, “I meant the Bureau.”

&&&&&&&&&&&

He’d dropped his statement on her at 3:18am, then disappeared out the front door, running in the rain, walking in the rain, eventually coming home to sit quietly in the rain on the damp front porch while ignoring the world around him.

Scully stared at the ceiling once she realized he’d left the house. He’d quietly tossed that bomb at her, then excused himself for a drink of water. When the front door shut, she didn’t move to go after him, scooting to his rapidly cooling side of the bed to wait it out, her mind running in the circles she imagined Mulder’s body was under the thundering sky.

He didn’t want to go back to the FBI.

But like the good Mulder he was, regardless of emotional turmoil or highly developed escapism techniques, he let her know when he got home, opening the front door of the house with its telltale squeak but not coming in. He knew she was awake. She would find him when she was ready.

Scully sensed he was home almost a minute before the door told her so and swinging her legs to the floor, she moved her bare feet across the rug, across the hardwood, down the stairs and out the door, quietly taking her place beside him.

He’d grabbed his bag of sunflower seeds from the cupholder of the Jeep and cracking one, he handed her another, “I ditched you but I came home. Does that count for something?”

Hugging her knees to her chest, she stared across the street, “that was not a ditch, Mulder. That was an intriguing tidbit followed by alone time to be continued with thunderstorms and nervous habits.”

Nearly feeling like smiling, an impressive feat given the amount of guilt he felt, “I’m not supposed to do that anymore, though. I’m supposed to stay with you and talk this shit out, not run around during a lightning storm and keep you awake because I’m an idiot.”

Her hand snaked under his arm and hand gripped knee, “do you really want to leave the FBI?”

What the hell, if he couldn’t tell Scully, then there really wasn’t any point breathing, “I want to stop losing hours and days in rooms like that.” Dropping his head forward, he spoke to her hand, which, with astonishing clarity, he realized did not yet have an engagement ring on it, “I don’t remember the last four days at all. The last truly clear thing I can think of is you making me drink a glass of milk and the rest is just a jumbled fucking mess of death and anger and destruction and,” standing up suddenly, he moved down the step to tower in the drizzle, looking at her in the hazy yellow shine of the porch light, “I don’t want that anymore. I may be good at it but I can’t handle it. It scares me how easily I forgot about you and Maggie and the kids and … and us … I lose myself in that room and what if one day I can’t find my way back out?”

Looking up at him, neck angled to full extension, eyes sympathetic, mouth tightened to the thin line of concern, “I love you and I will not let you get lost in that room. I promise.” His shifting, his restlessness, his skittering glance and unattainable eye contact made her heart ache, realizing once again just how much they coexisted in the universe, “Mulder, I won’t think any less of you if you stop profiling. I won’t think you gave up and I won’t judge you for it.” Finally shifting to stand, she watched him approach, eye level given the porch made her taller, “I am scared every second you’re lost in someone’s head. I watch you in there and you turn into someone else … someone I don’t recognize and to be blunt about it, I hate it. My stomach is in knots until you come back to me, plain and simple.” Reaching her arms out slightly, she wiggled her fingers in the universal ‘get over here’ gesture and once he was within reach, she ran her hands from his forehead, down his cheeks and stopped to cradle his chin, whispering as she begged his soul through dilated green eyes, “you need to do what you need to do and trust me when I say, I love you no matter what.”

Muscles relaxing into her, hugging her tight, “but I’m not supposed to trust anyone, Scully.”

“I have never been just anyone, Mulder.”

With a wet chuckle into her neck, “I will talk to Skinner tomorrow at dinner.”

“Would you like me to be there?”

“Yes, please.”

And they stood, immobile and immeasurable, one shadow, one couple, one perfect blip on an imperfect night.

#msr #the room #i don't want to go back #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #Life part 2 series #my writing

[fallen029]

Magic

Just more original work for those of you who are interested.

The static was cutting in and out on the television and it was making it hard to tell what was really a ball and what could be construed as a strike, but it didn’t stop my uncle grumbling, on the other half of the couch, every time someone got rung up. A beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he was most comfortable berating umpires he’d never have to see face to face with his belt undone and gorging on food that would only make it harder to get the belt buckled once more when my aunt got home.

It was such a normal summertime memory for me that I’m sure a lot of different instances are bleeding together right now, as I consider the final time I experienced this. I had lived with he and my aunt for three years at that point. Which, as the season consists of 162 games, was a lot of baseball to differentiate between. Not that the game on screen mattered, as it would be many years before sports interested me in any factions, nor were the words he was muttering significant, considering he was never truly angry at the game, just attempting to make himself believe he was.

That particular summer and that actual day, on my part, I can remember. It was the summer following the coolest teacher I’d ever had up to that point, and maybe ever did, when I think about it. From the way he had songs and stories to match every bit of grade school curriculum we were taught to the funny shirts with the popular cartoon characters he’d wear that certainly went against the teacher dress code, I’m sure, but somehow, he pulled it off.

Mostly though, the thing that intrigued me most by him, was his magic.

He knew card tricks. Every day we’d start with one and every day we’d end with one. Then, sprinkled throughout the rest of the eight hours that I don’t believe the state government realized was so hard for a single teacher to fill for a class of twenty or more, with only recesses and lunch to break it up, he’d dazzle us with coin tricks and other sleight of hand things.

To class of eight-year-olds, this was astounding. Of course, there were the kids that didn’t care much for it and then the kids that were so into it that they’d spend their recesses being taught card tricks by the man.

Then, there was me.

I thought the world of Mr. Latch’s abilities, but also was a bit...shy around authority figures. Everyone, really, other than the few other kids that befriended me. I really wanted to learn magic, just like the mostly boys that hung around during prime tag and swing time did, but at the same time, was too fearful to.

Not gonna lie, I was a pretty nervous kid.

My uncle though, we were pretty close. He didn’t have any kids and, like I said, that was the third year that I was living with him and my aunt, so they were practically raising me at that point. When I sorta explained my predicament to him, he went out and bought me a magic kit! Which was the coolest thing ever, when you were eight and didn’t really have that many friends. I spent a ton of time hitting things with my little wand, trying to shove the frogs I would find hopping in the backyard after a rain storm into the little black hat that came with the set, so that I could then attempt to make them disappear.

I didn’t great or anything, but was very interesting to me and kept me out of my aunt’s hair when she was busy and my uncle was working.

Not that I ever brought it up to Mr. Latch or anything. I kinda had this childish fantasy, where I’d, you know, become so great at magic that some grand wizard would discover me and one day, Mr. Latch would be watching the news and there I’d be, turning milk into flowers with the use of a newspaper and he’d think, ‘Wow. Look at her.’

When the school year ended and this didn’t occur, I wasn’t the least bit concerned. Clearly, I would master these skills over the summer, maybe make my uncle buy me some more complex kits, and the wham!

Front page news.

Kid from small town in Texas becomes the best magician to ever live, hands down, no questions asked.

A working title.

I convinced my uncle that, nine by then, the summer would require him to purchase some new magic equipment. I even did a big show for him, my aunt, and the woman across the street one day in the front yard, where I only screwed up once when the card I was hiding up my sleeve fell out.

But no matter. He got me an even more expensive one, once I promised not to be a pain during the summer, which I definitely wanted to believe I never was. This one came with this huge book with a bunch of words that a child my age struggled with, so I probably actually was a bit of a nuisance, constantly asking he and my aunt what each word meant, but it did come with an awesome cape that I think they were pretty pleased to see me wear around the house constantly.

At least I was pleased with it.

That what I was doing that day, when my uncle was cursing under his breath in Spanish at the television and I was pretending not to hear, for fear that he’d make me go to my room like my aunt would, when they were using what she would call ‘adult language’. My uncle was pretty cool when we were home alone; if I didn’t make a big deal about it, he didn’t make a big deal about it.

This line of thinking was how come I ended up a massive Scarface fan at a massively too young of age.

In case it’s not obvious, I really liked my uncle. I was bit afraid of him, the first tie we met. Coming out of the situation I was, I’d imagine most kids would be. But that first day my aunt brought me to their modest house, he took me out for ice cream and bought me this stuffed tiger that I had for years, even after what happened. I actually probably still have it, somewhere, lost in all my stuff.

We were cool from that point on. He was my mother’s sister’s second husband, but I felt closer to him than his wife for the duration of the three years I was there. IT wasn’t that she was a bad caretaker, not at all, and now, after what’s happened, I can’t say my memory’s not distorted by the events, but I just…

He was just the only person that didn’t treat me like a kid. At five, he’d let me stay up late and watch TV with him and didn’t make a big deal if I asked to tag along with him when he was going out to see a friend. His sidekick is what he always called me and he’d been pretty shunned by his family, so I was kinda the first kid he, as grown person, had that special ‘I’mma look out for you always’ bond with. As far as he was concerned, I was gonna be living with them until my parents got their shit worked out, which they never would, and that made us family.

My aunt, however, was just had a different type of personality is all. She wasn’t really a kid person, as she put it, that last time I saw my mother. I was at the house I’d lived in for as far back as I could remember, just a little five year old with my bag my mother had packed. I can’t even recall her face anymore, my mother’s, not truly, and what I do recall is tainted by the memories of the nasty purple bruises my father would, more than once, gladly leave on her face.

But my aunt had to be a kid person, my mother insisted, because I couldn’t stay anymore. I was crying a lot and she hadn’t even ever signed me up for school and I was just a burden.

I was a pretty bad one.

My father was gonna come back around, my mother assured my aunt, and it wouldn’t be pretty, if I was still there. She didn’t want me there. Not because of safety reasons, but mostly because my father wasn’t too fond of me.

Or of anyone, really.

But my aunt, she had a nice job and nice marriage and couldn’t she just take me back to Texas with her? Please? Wasn’t that what she came down there for?

I didn’t wanna go. I threw a fit and it about got me left, but somehow, she pushed through her revulsion at the idea and, at the very least, tried to care for me. My aunt and mother hadn’t had nice upbringings either, I’m sure, and neither were too equipped for me, and looking back, it kinda showed.

I think if my uncle hadn’t been there, my aunt would have never taken me.

But she did. And she’d buy me things. She liked to put me in dresses, despite the fact I hated them, and show me off when they’d have parties. She’d comb out my way too tangled hair (every morning, it was an impossibly matted; that’s why I cut it so short these days, as it still would be) before she jetted off to work, only swatting me with the brush if I really deserved it.

Not that I ever felt that I really deserved it and frequently dreamed of one day smacking her with it, but I think most kids feel that way.

She was kinda the boss, you know, in the house? And my uncle, my cool uncle that was of no blood to me, he was my playmate and I was his excuse to be in his early thirties and still addicted to Nintendo.

That specific day, as he was cursing and yelling at the shoddy cable we had, I was beside him, where I always was, looking over my magic book. I can’t recall the word I got stuck on in that moment, but I was just starting to try and sound it out before asking him for help when my aunt came in.

As bad as it sounds, for as important as it is, I can’t for the life of me recall what they were fighting about. If she came in mad or if it was his dirty feet on the coffee table. Maybe the fact I’d been fed a lunch of Cheeto puffs and soda or that the house was still completely destroyed from the massive fort we’d built that afternoon. It could have even been my uncle started it, working himself up over the game and in turn getting upset with her. Over the fact that she was late or that she hadn’t done the dishes and he’d had to. Could have just been stress on his part, about how he’d have to leave in two hours, to go work a graveyard security shift in a shitty part of town for the rundown department store, that was very taxing on him.

They’d fighting a lot, actually, about things either identical or very similar to those listed above. A mixture. Just in those past few months. When I was older, I pieced together a bit of my memories, recalling that other uncle I’d met, once or twice, when my real uncle wasn’t home and I’d gotten up late at night to find him there. Who I was never introduced to, but informed by my aunt the following mornings that he was, “Just another uncle, baby, don’t worry about it.”

So I didn’t.

I don’t think my uncle knew about it. I mean, duh, but I think he was getting suspicious. It was rifts, maybe, and the cracks were staring to show. I dunno. I didn’t get a chance to know. And really…

It wasn’t that bad. Their arguing. That’s what I kept trying to tell the officers, when nice lady that questioned me with that officer down at the station, when they were trying to get me to open up about what happened. What they did? My aunt and uncle? Their little back and forths? They were never that serious or bad or scary. I didn’t like them, of course, because they were raised voices, but compared to the stuff that I’d been through, it was just arguing.

Nothing serious.

Until that day.

Like I said, I can’t for the life of me remember what they were fighting over or what caused it to progress the way that it did. I recall my uncle getting to his feet and he was yelling and she was yelling, and I just tried really hard to focus on my book.

When I first came to live with my aunt and uncle, I thought that they were perfect. Really great people. They had me my own room and new clothes and even introduced me to the wonders of school. My uncle would play games with me, like board games or hide and seek, anything really, while my aunt, though she wasn’t so into that, was certainly always there if I had a question on my homework. Church sporadically and always plenty of food.

They weren’t evil. Especially not my uncle. I can’t…justify what he did, but I know that he wasn’t himself when he did it. And any other given night, he wouldn’t have done it.

But she stormed off, my aunt did, which was usually the end to most their fights, but it had been a rather bad day for baseball and my uncle had grumbled his way through three beers and he wasn’t going to let her get away that easily.

So he followed.

But I didn’t. I stayed on the couch, still muttering the complex word under my breath, using it more as crutch to keep out of the argument than anything else. They were still yelling and I could still hear them and I remember this, because the nice woman with the detective asked me it multiple times down at the station, so I can say with a lotta certainty that I heard my uncle rave something along the lines of, “The fuck did you hit me for?”

And it just spiraled from there.

She did that sometimes, my aunt did. Not in a...abusive way, but when my uncle was being a bit of an asshole around company, she’d tap his cheek gently with her hand and he’d grin and she’d grin and…

It wasn’t like that though, that night. I heard it, when she slapped him. It was hard. I think she was just as done and fed up with their relationship as she was their current. I’m not excusing. Just like I don’t wanna sound like I’m excusing what happened next, but…

I still love my uncle. And he was never a violent drunk before. Which is the crazy thing, looking back on it, to me. All the TV shows I watch and the movies and stuff, the guy is always super abusive before he...he… But my uncle wasn’t! He took care of my aunt. He loved her. He loved her so much.

I’ve read all the news stories I could find on it. Wasn’t too big of a case outside of our town. I’m sure that has influenced my recollection of the events as they happened, but I can’t help it. Reading them puts me in this weird ease where I feel like it’s just another story that I’ve heard, not one that I lived. Experienced. Just another one of those cases that flash by on the news in the evening and you think, ‘What a dam shame,’ with a shake of your head and flick of your remote to catch the start of Jeopardy.

It did happen to me, though, and when I press like I am now, I can remember more and more. After she slapped him the first time, I think she did it again, and fuck, I don’t know why he didn’t walk away, but I also kinda get it because we can say someone should as many times as we want, but we’ve also built it into people that that’s cowardice and my uncle was no coward.

I’m not excusing, again, I feel the need to make that clear, as domestic violence is never the answer, but…

They were only two people, one not even blood and the other wishing she wasn’t, that I only knew for a very early three years of my life, and have very little bearing on what’s happened since. But...I’d thought that I was gonna stay there. Forever. With them. Even when I became that grand wizard and was front page news, my aunt and uncle were right there with me.

Now they’ve both been gone from my life longer than they were in it, but they rarely aren’t in the back of my mind. That night frequently keeping me up during current ones, claiming its place in the forefront to keep me thoroughly restless.

He hit her back. That’s what the news stories say. I think I kinda knew this too, as she was yelling after that second slap and he was growling at her, not in the funny way he would when we were playing with our toys and he was the villainous action figure, but in a way that scared me, even as I was slipping off the couch and just standing there, staring down the hall, where they were behind their closed bedroom door.

They had a gun in there. I’d seen it before. My aunt kept it in her night stand and once, when I first came to live there and went to get some gum outta it, I found it. She was in the room with me and, when she saw me start to pull it out, she scolded me so heavily that I never touched it again. A few weeks later, I’d learn the Gun Safety Song that our elementary school shoved down our throats so many times that I was actually a bit disappointed when the new school I went to, after what happened, has their own safety song and new nothing of the one I spoke.

In the news stories, it says that it’s unclear who pulled the gun and I really don’t know either. I loved my uncle more, if I’m being honestly, than my mother’s sister, so I like to think she did and that he took it and then…

But…

I dunno. It’s not important.

What is important is that when he had it, it went off, and it struck her, in the stomach. Then he had to fire it again, purposely, as she was struck a second time in the chest and I can’t explain that one away.

Believe me, I’ve sat up at night trying.

I was frozen then, at the entrance to the long hall that led to my bedroom, the bathroom, the closet, and, at the end of it, their master bedroom. I could hear her in there, after the sound of those loud bangs, screaming for her help and he sounded like he was sobbing or something and I was so afraid. Especially when my uncle threw open the door at the end of the closet and was standing there, eyes crazy, face red, just...looking at me. But...almost through me. I hadn’t coward around hi after that first week at their house, but I was scared then, of everything around me, as I was so unsure of just what was happening. When he passed me, his mouth was open and he might have said something, but all I can remember is looking into his eyes and that the little hand gun was still dangling from his right hand.

Time seems frozen then, when I think on it, and I can still picture him. Can’t see my mother anymore, and my aunt is forever tainted by the imagine of her lying there on that bedroom floor, dying, but my uncle’s face, staring so deeply into mine, is burned into my memory. I feel like a minute passed, but it could only have been a second or so, as he was running then and I was rushing into the room to check on my aunt and she was…

I don’t like to think about. I can still see it, when I think hard. Her lying there with her eyes glassy and that nasty, sticky blood oozing, and….

They had a house phone that sat on his night stand with the alarm clock and I rushed to it, when it suddenly clicked in my mind that this was one of those moments. One of those 911, you better know your address moments that they’d prepped us for at school since the start.

My aunt was dead before they got there. The lady on the other end of the phone stayed on with me until they arrived and had told me to go hide, in case my uncle came back, but I just sat there on my knees, next to my aunt and I swear, one moment, she was breathing and then the next, all I did was blink or look away or something, and her eyes were just blankly staring up at me and I didn’t have a big concept of death, but I knew.

I knew.

They would give me a little badge, later, down at the station, where I was completely alone and they wouldn’t tell me anything about Uncle Ricky and the nice woman just kept smoothing back my hair and complimenting me on it and how much of a big girl I had been. It was there that I cried for the first time in that entire day.

I didn’t when they were fighting.

I didn’t went I saw her dying.

And I didn’t even when the officers ushered me out of the room and the woman from across the street who thought my magic show was pretty nifty broke through the slight crowd of neighbors to hold me, even though I was way too old for that.

But for some reason, I think, when they finished questioning me and gave me that little badge and this little stuffed animal that I think they give to kids like me, to get me to open up, I started bawling. I don’t think I knew just yet what had really happened or anything, butt I did have a pretty good inkling that I wasn’t going back home and the way that they were talking about my uncle made it pretty clear I wasn’t going anywhere with him and…

I wanted my magic book. That’s what I told them. That it was still on the couch, at home, and then I stood up from the chair I was sitting in and showed off my cape, which I was still wearing and they’d end up taking from me, as it had blood on the hem at the bottom and therefore was evidence. I was gonna be a magician, I said, and asked if they had a deck of cards so I could show them, but they didn’t and I sniffled up the rest of my tears for the time being, as they wanted to know then just what I’d seen.

He didn’t get a life sentence, my uncle didn’t, but he might as well have. He was in his thirties and serving the max on voluntary manslaughter, so he wouldn’t be out until he was in his late fifties. And that’s assuming he kept nose clean.

I like did. Or is. Or whatever.

I wouldn’t know. I went into this horrible thing called the system for two years as they tried to find me some family members and then, eventually, I was taken back to Florida, where my father’s mother was willing to take me.

And let me tell you, if I wasn’t a big fan of what I could recall of my mother, she was even less of one.

But that’s beside the point, other than to say, no, she wasn’t too broken up by my aunt, who she didn’t know, dying and certainly didn’t care anything about the uncle I still remembered so fondly being locked up, never to be heard from again.

I’ve thought a few times of writing him, now that I’m grown. He should be nearing the halfway mark of his sentence and maybe he’s been on his best behavior, so it’s even less. I’ve even thought about going to see him, if I could, and that we could talk and that...that…

Maybe it would help me, just to hear him explain it to me. Or hear him at all.

But…

Barring the fact that I’m still stuck in Florida, working a pretty menial job that would never grant me the chance to make it all the way back to Texas, I also come up with the same blank when I think about writing him.

What I would I say? Hey, it’s that kid you knew for three years, remember? The one that probably stressed you and the wife that you loved so dearly the fuck out and caused you to kill her? How’s going?

And...I remember him, in very vague ways, but what if he doesn’t me? Or he does me and the nostalgia I have over the entire thing has clouded my memory? What if we weren’t so happy, all the time? What if they hadn’t thought that I would be with them for the rest of forever?

Was I just as much a burden to them as I was to my mother?

I always put it off. That I’ll write him when I’m less busy. Maybe around Christmas time. Or something. And it’ll a nice surprise for him.

But...the the holidays roll around and all I can think of is my aunt’s glassy eyes as she stared up at me, as if questioning now if II was planning on betraying her by speaking to her murderer.

So I did nothing.

I’ll probably always do nothing.

I never became a very good magician, just in case you’re wondering. I was allowed to go back and get my magic kits and my book, but I lost them somewhere in the shuffle and that was fine, because looking at them made my stomach twist and the dream died, like most children’s do I guess, but mine in the most bitter way possible.

Which is why I’m thinking on this, as I’m sitting here, on my grandmother’s couch, having just stopped by after work only to inundated with the request to stay by one of my little cousins (because coming back down here wasn’t all bad; I had a whole family that I wouldn’t have met otherwise) to watch their stupid little magic show that he and his brother were gonna put on for Granny in, like, really just ten minutes, if I could just stay, please?

But I can’t. I don’t want to. And I’mma tell him, when he finishes his long explanation about how great he is at card tricks and he wants to show someone other than Granny, that I have somewhere to be, even though I don’t, and that maybe they can show me next time, even though I’m hoping they won’t.

There’s no magic. Everything’s a sham. And life’s a cruel reality that nothing ever really goes right.

If the worst thing that ever happens to him is that I don’t care enough to watch his dumb card tricks and stupid attempts to pull quarters from our ears, then he’s already better off than me.

#Short Story #Magic #Murder #Domestic violence #Guns

[unlikelyanthology-blog]

Excerpt four.

“Make a wish, any wish,” Jess says and shoves the dandelion in my face.

A wish, if I could make one wish what would it be? There are many things I could wish for a lot of money, a boyfriend, more money, good grades.

“Let me hold on to that, and then make a wish. I can’t decide what I want to wish for,” I say and take the ugly flower from her hand.

Jess has always been like this, she loved pointless myths and stuff like that. Every time she saw a dandelion, even when we were kids she would pick it up and make a wish. She never told me her wishes, other than one time when she said she wished Mr. Thomas would give her an in history because she was his third cousin. In the end, she got a fifty and boy did she rip him apart at the family reunion that summer. This all happened in middle school, we are in grade eleven now, going into grade twelve and she is still making me go along with her mumbo jumbo.

“Sara! You always do this, just make a wish, come on, I know you have something to wish for,” she says and tugs my arm, making me walk faster.

“I wish that you wouldn’t rip my arm off actually,” I smirk at her as she rolls her eyes.

These types of things come so easy to her since she believes in skeptics like this. I don’t, and my grandmother always told me that skeptics were called skeptics for a reason. You aren’t supposed to believe in them, the odd times though was okay. Jess was so excited when she heard my grandmother say that, she used it against me every time she tried to get me to do something.

We continued to walk around the large park, the sun was setting. This was our favorite time of night to visit the park, even though we were sixteen, we loved coming to swing on the swings. Coming later at night meant no annoying, booger nose filled little kids. There was one kid, maybe about twelve that we ran into a little while back, he said that we needed a real man like him. What a kid. We sat down and slowly pushed ourselves back and forth.

“Aren’t you excited, Sar? We are going into grade twelve, we are finally getting our shit together. We are going to be going off to university, think about it. This time next year we’ll be getting packed to move into our dorms. I’ll be going to Queen’s and you’ll be going to wherever you decide to go. We’ll finally be in charge of our lives, we can do what we want, not what our parents want. And then we’ll finish, and I’ll be a leading physio-therapist with my own business and you’ll be running the business,” Jess said as she kicked her legs out. She got higher and higher on the swing.

Jess had money, so much money. We lived right beside each other our whole lives, grew up together. But we lived very different lives. My dad was a single dad, my mom left when I was five to marry some rich guy. My dad struggled to keep me in a loving home with food on the table and involved in sports; like a normal kid. I wasn’t a normal kid at all. I tried to help my dad the best I could, I started a paper route at ten years old and worked all summer mowing lawns in our neighborhood and taking dogs out for walks for various people in the neighborhood. Jess knew my financial struggles yet that never stopped her from building this fantasy life for us when we were older. The truth was I could never afford to go to school, not matter how much I saved, there was no way I could go. My mom never gave my dad anything and hasn’t contacted me in years. My dad tried to save for me but over the eleven years and a bit he has only been able to save 6000 dollars. Which isn’t enough to pay for tuition. It’s not his fault by any means and I don’t blame him, it’s just shitty. People who have money don’t understand what it’s like to have money. Weird right? It is at their disposal, so they don’t think about it. But when you don’t have money you have money cause you’re always saving and spending as little as possible. You work with what you have and save as much as possible. It is a complicated theory and I can’t explain how it exactly works, it hasn’t completely formed in my mind.

Jess snaps her fingers in my face, yelling at me for zoning out again. I do that often, usually I can pull myself out of it, but it is hard sometimes.

“Sara, seriously? I was trying to tell you about how my uncle Bob tried to fight my dad, and you zoned out and now I can’t remember where I was at in the story and oh! I remember okay, so my dad was barbequing, right? And my uncle was a bit tipsy and he was like, ‘Tim! Let me hit the barbie, I’m a real man, you’re just half of one.’ And you KNOW how my dad is with his hypermasculinity and what not. So, he yelled at him and was like oh Tim shut up, and blah blah blah,” She talks in a deeper voice to really exaggerate the situation. I laugh because I can picture her uncle Bob and her dad yelling at each other and having to get held back from one another.

“Uncle Bob comes to visit every once and a while. Every time he visits he always starts problems, he’s honestly just like my dad,” Jess wraps up the story and jumps off the swing, dusting her hands off on her black shorts.

Her mom and uncle Bob were from Australia, her mom moved here after meeting Jess’ father at Queens during her exchange program. They got married right after university and then had Jess shortly after. She looked like an Australian beauty, right out of the womb. She has long blonde bleachy waves and blue eyes to match, she got her tan skin from her mom. Jess has her dad’s build though, tall and slender. Her mom is short and stubby. Jess is a beautiful girl none the less. I’ve always been jealous of her, she had everything I wished to have. Two parents, a great family, money, and good attention from people.

When we first got to high-school, people tried to take Jess away from me, to separate us from each other. She never let that happen, me neither. We would never leave each other no matter what. Don’t get me wrong even though I wished I had the things Jess had, I was happy with what I had. My dad was the best one around and I was beautiful and did well in school. I even had my first kiss before Jess, not that that matters but I like to remember it.

“We should probably go home, I have work tomorrow at 8 am,” I say as I check my phone. My dad texted me three times, I opened the messages.

‘Hey kiddo, working an extra shift tonight, lock the doors.’

‘All good? You never messaged my message earlier. Text me back when you get this. Love u.’

‘Hey, I figured you were out with Jess. Okay, I texted her mom, she said you guys went for a walk. I’ll be home before you leave for work. Love u, lock the doors kiddo.’

My dad was a natural born worrier. After my mom left he became worse, always texting me asking where I was, what I was doing and who I was with. He let me go out though, he wanted me to experience what is was like to be a normal teenager and do stupid things. But with that meant texting him when I got there, throughout the night and when I was going to be home or where I would be staying for the night. Honestly, I think my dad was worried I was going to run away on him or leave like my mom did. I loved him too much to do that though. I answered with a love you too dad. He knew that I’d reply like that no matter what.

I said my final goodbyes to Jess and walk into my house. I locked the door behind me and let out a big sigh. My room was at the end of the hall, I flicked the light and looked at the mess the was on the floor.

“I should clean this up now,” I say to myself.

I cleaned the clothes from my floor, keeping my uniform out for tomorrow morning so I wouldn’t be stressed when looking for it. Good ol’ Walmart, or Wally-World as my dad called it.

***

“Will that be all for today, do you have any coupons you would like to use?” I ask my man in front of me. His three kids were running around and chasing after each other. He seemed very frazzled and stressed.

“I-I’m actually not done, my wife she’s just picking up from the makeup section she should be back in a second. Sorry, we never come to this Walmart and I think she got confused, I hope it’s okay. There isn’t anyone behind me anyways,” he smiled apologetically.

“It’s okay, I’m done after this transaction any ways,” I give him a warm smile and he relaxes.

I turn my head to see what I presume is his wife speed walking towards my lane, she’s short, middle-aged looking, younger than him though. She blinks at me and then speaks.

“Sorry, I-I got lost, here just this please,” she says and puts down the makeup products, I cash them through.

I feel this woman’s eyes on me, watching my every move. Maybe she’s high up in Walmart and is observing her employee’s costumer service skills under-cover. No, maybe she was just a weirdo with a staring problem, who knows? It’s starting to make me uncomfortable, I give her a small smile and she immediately stops staring. Strange.

“Your total is 159.65, will it be debit, credit or cash?” I ask. The man holds up his credit card.

This is a huge pet peeve of mine, cards look the same. I don’t understand how you can’t form a simple sentence, like what is wrong with some people.

“Have a good weekend,” He says and grabs the bags. His wife carries a few and gives on to each kid.

I have never been so thankful to be leaving work. Working Saturday mornings were the worst, I’d rather work the day before Halloween, which is saying something because it is so busy. I make my way to my locker and grab my stuff from it.

“Hey, how was your shift?” Jack, the newish stock boy asks.

Jack just started working here about two weeks ago or so, he is your typical teenage boy. He has blonde shaggy hair, brown eyes, tall and buff. He plays hockey for the local team and is the captain. I was surprised he had time for a job. Jack is popular around school, mostly because he’s already been drafted for some of the feeder teams for OHL teams. We never talk at school, for some reason he always wants to talk at work.

“It was okay, some lady kept staring at me though. It was kind of weird, anyway have a good shift,” I say and close my locker. I smile at him before leaving, I can feel his eyes on me as I leave the employee area.

Jess was supposed to pick me up today, but she forgot she already had plans with her brother and sister, they wanted to go to some water park that was two hours away. I was supposed to go but I didn’t have time to book it off. As the consequence, I have to wait for my dad to come at four-thirty or walk home. Walking home sounds awful but waiting an extra thirty minutes seemed awful too. Plus, my boss has this really weird policy that after your shift you are no longer allowed to stay in the employee section. Our store doesn’t have a McDonald’s or Tim’s so if you have to wait for a ride you have to wait outside.

‘Hey dad, going to walk home. Could probably use the exercise. LOL’

‘Perfect, was asked to stay until 7 anyways. Love u.’

‘love u too.’

It was hard having my dad work so much, but I knew he had to. There wasn’t an option. His work was always asking him to stay over everyone else. My dad has worked at the car repair for so long and they have been there for us through everything. I appreciate how the have helped my dad provide for me and for himself, I just wish I could spend more time with him.

***

“Just admit it, you like Jack,” Jess says as she picks out an outfit.

“Oh my, no. I’m just saying he’s weird at work. We talked for two weeks in grade nine, and now he always stares at me at work and tries to come to my lane. Stay in stock, boy,” I say and laugh, playing with the pillow she has on her bed.

Jess gives me one of her ‘oh sure’ looks. Truth is I don’t like Jack at all, yeah, we talked for two weeks in grade nine, but it was grade nine. It doesn’t even count, not at all. But to try to prove me wrong, try to prove my own feelings wrong Jess is dragging me to Jack’s brother’s friend’s party, a mouth-full or what? Jess is sort of friends with Jack, but best friends with his brother if you know what I mean.

“So, this or this?” She holds up two different options, I point to the one she was going to go with regardless. Black jeans and her white bodysuit, her classic party outfit and one of Jeremy’s favorite outfit on her.

“Good choice,” Jess winks. I roll my eyes at her, she was always going to go with that outfit anyways.

Jess had a lot of good things about her no doubt, but her fashion sense was fairly basic, and she knew that. Myself on my other hand, I was into fashion and trends. I followed them to the best of my ability and my bank accounts ability. Jess always came to me for help with fashion yet would end up not being comfortable with what I had picked out for her, and I understood that.

“Why are we going so early anyways?” I question as we get into our uber.

 “Jer, said that we should come over earlier to help set up some of the party stuff, I don’t know,” Jess tells me.

The driver is telling us how her friends and her would always go to house parties and that she was happy to see that they were still on. I laughed along with Jess, this was more than a house party, it was two house parties. There were college boys beside Jeremy and Jack and they always came together to see how big of a party they could have. I think the highest number of guests they’ve had was eight hundred. Crazy.

“Jesus buddy stay in your line!” The driver yells at a car beside us, they were coming way to close to the line that separated us and them.

I feel the car tip on my side, we flip over into the side of the highway, the car spinning around and around. I feel like the driver is saying a prayer and Jess is screaming out for Jeremy. I am silent. Every atom in my body is still.

***

When I wake up in the hospital room, I get up quickly and look around. I yell out for a nurse or a doctor, I see one come in, but it is like they are ignoring me. I am screaming now. I look at what the doctor is doing.

I see my body laying on the hospital bed. I look dead, but the monitor tells me I am alive. Jess and my dad are sitting next to me. My dad looks broken, lifeless while Jess is talking to my body about something that happened with Jeremy. I want to wake up and tell them I love them, but I don’t know how.

“My wish is that I’d wake up.” I say.