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seravphs · 11 months

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — MIYA OSAMU x FEM READER

On a bad day, Onigiri Miya becomes your new comfort restaurant. Not only is the food good, but the man who takes your orders is always kind. You think the Miya you’ve been venting to on the phone is the same Miya who shows up at your door to deliver all of your orders.

It’s too bad you don’t know there’s two of them.

wc — 2k

tags — fluff, romcom, miscommunication, miserable corporate girl x small business owner who teaches her joy

The email doesn’t even do you the courtesy of being short. They make you read through two whole paragraphs before you get to the point of it all in the final sentence.

Your termination is effectively immediately.

You sit back in your chair to allow yourself a moment to take it in. It’s…not terrible, all things considered.

You get to leave this job that you hate. They’ll pay you severance. You have enough savings to be comfortable for the next few months.

It might even a blessing.

But it still doesn’t feel good. You worked hard to land this, and now you’ll have to start all over again. Change is always hard, especially when you haven’t asked for it.

You look at the clock. It’s currently 8:30 in the morning. You’re giving yourself exactly twenty four hours to wallow, and then it’s back to business.

First things first - a good meal. Food always make everything better, and you really deserve something special today. For a moment, you entertain the idea of calling your friends over to get breakfast somewhere fancy, but then you remember -

They’re all at work.

Where you would be, if you hadn’t just been let go.

That does sting a little, so maybe you’re not as okay as you thought you were. Hurriedly pushing those thoughts to the side in favor of scrolling through your options, a plain blue banner catches your eye.

Onigiri Miya, it reads.

Japanese comfort food. Family owned.

When you click on the link, it takes you to a page that’s as simple as it’s name. It’s just a menu and a series of pictures, but it’s what you need right now. Your head hurts. You don’t have the capacity to deal with anything more.

You want something straightforward and easy to digest. Onigiri Miya it is, then.

“‘Miya speakin’. What can I get ya?”

It’s a pleasantly accented voice. When you rattle off your order, you suddenly find it a little less pleasant after he says, “Er. Ya sure?”

This is some shoddy customer service.

“I’m placing the order, aren’t I?”

“Those two don’t normally go together,” he says. “I’d suggest number nine and number thirteen instead. Trust me.”

You don’t trust him, actually. This is probably just an upselling tactic he tries on every customer, but you’re not in the mood to argue. You had thought when you called a family owned restaurant, you’d be speaking to some kindly old grandma who might let you cry and vent into the receiver for just a little while, not whoever this is.

At least the delivery is quick.

A series of sharp raps on your door alerts you to the arrival. You pull it open to a man in a baseball cap and a uniform with onigiris on both. Their merch is cute. You’d wear it unironically.

Underneath the cap, yellow blonde hair peeks out. On his shirt, a name tag reads Miya.

Instantly, you feel a little worse for thinking poorly of him. Your bad attitude from work is no reason to take it out on this hardworking entrepreneur who’s running a one man show by himself.

“Here ya go,” he says, thrusting a paper bag at you. “Eat it while it’s hot!”

And then he’s off, scampering back down the stairs instead of taking the elevator even though you’re several floors up. You suppose there’s a reason he has those thighs.

That the food is good is an understatement.

Your former coworker Aiko used to work in food advertising before she pivoted. She loved to talk about how fake the industry was during lunch, both in terms of people and actual product. It’s through her that you know that half of the food in commercials aren’t actually food, but styrofoam and plastic painted to look appetizing.

Onigiri Miya, in contrast, doesn’t look perfect. Appetizing, certainly, but not like a work of art. It just looks like what it is - a ball of rice with special ingredients for flavor.

So why are you crying as you finish your first onigiri and reach for the next?

It’s been so long since you had a home cooked meal. You’re trying not to be maudlin, but you can almost taste the love that went into everything you’re eating. Imagining Miya carefully packing each triangular ball of rice by hand with a smile has you reaching for another, then another, until eventually the entire order is gone before you know it.

Exhausted from crying and eating, you sink into your couch with a satisfied sigh and fall asleep.

It’s 1:30 P.M. by the time you rise again, feeling a little better. Sleep really was the cure to all evils. Now you have 20 hours left to indulge yourself as much as possible.

You’re not in the mood to turn off your brain by binge watching a show. You want to do something. You want to use your hands to craft something from scratch.

Learning how to make onigiri could be a start. A quick run to the grocery store and the first recipe that popped up on Google later, you have a half formed, crumbling mound of rice with pickled radish shoved inside. If you squint, it looks almost like what you got from Onigiri Miya this morning.

Who are you kidding?

That’s an insult to Miya’s craft. He put so much care into each dish - you can hardly compare your shoddy workmanship to his. There’s only one thing to do. You have to taste the real thing again to see where you went wrong.

“Miya. What d'ya want to order?”

“I’d like-“

“Hold up. Didn’t ya call this morning?”

Flustered, you nearly fumble your phone. You’re breathless as you clutch is tighter and bring it back to your ear. “Yeah,” you admit sheepishly. “Is that bad?”

“I mean, yeah, a little,” Miya says. “I appreciate the business but ya shouldn’t be eatin’ onigiri for two meals a day. Yer going to make yerself sick.”

“It’s a special day,” you tell him. “I got laid off.”

In the resounding silence that follows, you have ample time to berate yourself for sharing that. What is wrong with you? Why would you say that? He’s a stranger that you’ve randomly dumped your misery onto and you’re sure he’s -

“Ouch,” he says. “‘Kay, I’ll make an exception just for today. What’s yer order?”

Miya shows up at your door promptly. He’s ditched the cap so his yellow hair is on full display. It looks like he’s run his hands through it. It sticks up at odd angles.

“Here ya go,” he says, almost distractedly as he hands you your bag. “Enjoy.”

You bring the bag inside and start rummaging through it immediately, excited to try new flavors you hadn’t gotten the first time around. Out comes the four onigiri you had ordered, a cup of miso soup, and…

A little takeout container of sushi with a cat’s face drawn on it. A speech bubble next to its head reads, “You can do it, meow!”

Laughter echoes around your apartment. To your surprise, the world feels less daunting already. You hadn’t realized how quiet you had been the entire morning. Miya’s the only person you’ve spoken to the entire day, and even that was a quick and whispered thank you. Your throat almost hurts with the force of your giggles after disuse all morning, but it’s a good kind of pain.

Onigiri Miya, family owned. You can almost feel the warmth of an embrace around you as you bite into your steaming onigiri, still a little too hot.

All too soon, it becomes a tradition for you to order Onigiri Miya as your comfort meal. It doesn’t even have to be a bad day - you actively try to avoid associating things you like with painful feelings by using them as treats for hard days. Instead, Onigiri Miya is anything from a reward for getting to the second round of interviews or a celebration for successfully starting a new hobby.

Onigiri has become your favorite food, and the person on the other line who takes your orders and even spares a few minutes to chat with you when it’s not too busy has quickly become someone irreplaceable in your life.

You think you might need to redownload Tinder if you’re this attached to the man who fulfills your onigiri orders.

Even though you know it’s strange, you can’t bring yourself to sever your connection. Miya is warm and kind, and you’ve quickly come to think of him as a friend. It’s a culmination of lots of little moments piling up over time.

When you had forced yourself to go on your first date after a while, determined to get back out there, it had crashed and burned catastrophically. Onigiri Miya had been there to pick you back up. Miya had even recognized the sniffles in your voice that you were fighting and drawn you another little cat.

The next time you had ordered, before you could even tell him what onigiri you wanted, Miya had asked you what happened last week. Maybe that’s just how family owned businesses are. They actually care about their customers. Enough so to play therapist to the girl that orders from you every week.

Then there was the time you had gotten your first call back for a job application, and you had called Miya to celebrate.

Well, not Miya. You didn’t have his personal number, but you had called Onigiri Miya, which is more or less the same thing at the moment. This time, he had been the one to be interrupted as you blurred out your good news.

You can almost hear the smile in his voice when he says, “What’d I tell ya? I knew ya could do it.”

There’s no container of sushi with a hand drawn cat this time, but there is a little note written on a napkin. It’s accompanied by an origami star.

You don’t cry, exactly, but your eyes water up as you read the note. He’s proud of you. The star is to wish you luck on your continued journey. The knowledge that he’s proud - his own words - fuels you as you keep applying and interviewing, never letting rejection stop you.

He’s just the guy that takes your onigiri order, but at some point, he’s become someone special to you.

He cares. He spends an extra two minutes on the phone with you to ask about your day even when you can hear the sounds of a busy environment in the background. He remembers your accomplishments and failures. Whether you fall or rise, he’s there with you every step of the way.

Sometimes, you get a fluttery feeling in your stomach when he laughs at you, calling you silly for whatever mistake you’re relying to him. You miss his voice when you don’t have an occasion to call, and when something happens, your first thought is always to tell him about it.

Maybe he feels the same way, because the next time he comes to deliver your order, he tells you, “We’ve known each other long enough, ya order every week. I don’t like being called Miya. My name’s Atsumu.”

Or maybe not, because he never treats you in person the way he does on the phone. There’s no spark of connection, no bright laughter, no willingness to linger, to stay, to listen.

Perhaps he’s just shy. In that case, you’re willing to take what he’s offered you and make the first move.

The next time you order, you end the call with, “Thanks, Atsumu. I’ll talk to-“

There’s an abrupt interruption from the other end immediately.

“What’d ya call me?” His voice sounds funny.

“…Atsumu?”

Even when you’re confused, the sound of his belly deep laughter makes you feel all shivery from your toes to your head. It makes your joints feel weak, like they can’t support you, and you ease into the dining chair as you wait patiently for whatever laughing fit that’s gripped him to pass.

“Atsumu,” he repeats, with another snort of laughter. “Atsumu, really?”

“What?”

“Ya know Onigiri Miya’s a five minute walk from yer place, right?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Come here,” he says, and hangs up.

When you enter Onigiri Miya, you get instant whiplash. There’s two of them!

You’re just wondering if you should get your eyes checked when you start seeing the subtle differences. They have different hair colors, and their eyes are just the subtlest shades apart.

The most discerning difference is the way the one with grey hair is looking at you.

“There’s the girl of the hour,” Atsumu says. “I’ll leave ya to it.”

When Atsumu leaves, Miya gestures for you to sit at the bar in front of him. He’s still packing onigiri.

“I’m a little hurt, ya know. Can’t believe ya mistook me for my twin.”

“It was an accident!” You protest. “How was I supposed to know?”

“I’m teasin’ ya,” he says, laughing. “Yer so easy to rile up. Remember this, okay? I’m Osamu. The nicer brother.”

“I heard that,” Atsumu yells from the back.

“Atsumu’s just the delivery guy,” he says. There’s a twinkle in his eye. You don’t think it’s that funny, but you like seeing him mirthful. “I’d rather make the food than deal with the people, so he does it.”

“Am I part of the people?”

He gives you a look.

“Stop fishing for compliments,” he says, and your cheeks grow warm with delight. “Ya know ya aren’t.”

“Here,” he says, sliding you a napkin with a series of numbers and a hand drawn picture of a cat. “I’ve been meaning to do this for a while.”

By the cat’s head, the speech bubble reads, “Miya Osamu’s personal number.” The cat is winking at you.

“Is this…?”

He smiles at you. “Stop clogging up the line cause ya miss me-“

“I don’t-“

He ignores you. “I got a business to run, ya know? Just call me next time.”

Then, he leans over the bar. He’s too close. Your cheeks feel warm under his attention as he whispers to you, “I’ll make something just for ya, compliments of the chef.”

Trying to recover, you swallow to bring moisture to your dry mouth. You’re trying to be playful when you say, “It’s a date, then?”

He looks at you with a hint of a smile. “It is.”

#sera writes #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #miya osamu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff

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mrslankyman · 4 months

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New Years Kiss

Mike Schmidt x (fem) reader

->1.1k words

Music blared through the house. Your friend had decided to throw a party. You honestly didn’t care to be there.

New years around all these people didn’t feel like a good start to your 2000 journey. Why did it have to be so crowded.

You barely knew anyone at the party. Maybe the alcohol was the reason for everyone getting along. It loosened you up. Made you feel like you belonged. Perhaps you should drink. Maybe it help you.

You walked down the small hallway to the kitchen. Passing an open doored room. Honestly you wish you didn’t see the make out sesh going on inside. It simply reminded you of how lonely you were.

Going into the new years yet again without anyone. No amount of grapes eaten under the table or red underwear you buy would secure you a man for the next year.

If only life was that easy.

Mike thought the same. Minus the red underwear. He didn’t really know how to spend new years. Till he got invited to this party. Now he stood in the corner of the kitchen. Watching others talk, kiss, and run off to random rooms to do god knows what.

He felt so alone. He didn’t drink he had to drive home. Abby was off at their grandmas for the night. She always wanted to spend new years with her and Mike. This year Mike opped out of going. He wanted to give this party a try.

He regretted it greatly.

No girl came up to him like these other guys. No girl waved or gave him the eye. He saw so many movies of the girls just coming up and kissing the boy she wanted.

He wouldn’t have that luck. He wouldn’t wanna admit it to anyone but a new years kiss was one of his biggest wishes.

To have someone to hold on new years. Know you’d be with them once the clock hit 12. Secure it with a kiss. Like a fairy tale. It felt like a dream.

Which it was. As Mike knew he was not really desirable. A 25 year old man raising his sister and struggling to make ends meet. Who’d wanna be around that?

You walked into the kitchen. Looking up at the man who stood in the corner. He held a can of Pepsi. Not beer. Which was shocking. You also didn’t drink tonight.

You simply walked up to the small plate of appetizers. Grabbing some grapes. The man chuckled a little.

“Gonna sit under the table and eat them?” His voice sounded teasing but as you looked up his eyes didn’t display the same emotion. He looked tired, worn out but.. some what attractive.

Your face flushed as he had caught on to what you were gonna do. “Yeah. It’s stupid but.. I kinda want to find someone next year.” You looked down at the grapes. 12 in your hand. It had to work.. didn’t it?

He walked closer to you and grabbed 12 him self. “Okay, I’ll give it a try too. I’m wanting to find someone as well. This years been too lonely. Besides 2000 doesn’t sound like a bad year.” He looked at you. you smiled and nodded. He was about the same height as you. Which was cute. Not too tall.. but not terribly short.

“It’s only 11 we can talk under the table if you want.” He nodded towards the kitchen table. You nodded in agreement and headed over to the kitchen table. You both crawled under.

Mike pulled the chairs to cover you two under the table. It sorta felt like just you two were at the house. Besides the music and the sound of people talking.

“I’m Mike by the way.” His eyes flicked up to you. Displaying some new emotion. He seemed intrigued to know you.

“I’m Y/N..” You smiled and looked down at your grapes. “Rough year too?” You asked him not looking up.

“Yeah. Pretty rough. I hope this one’s better. Raising my sister is tough. I’ve never had kids. So.. I’m just praying I’m doing it right.” He sighed and looked down.

Your heart ached. This man seemed so sweet. At least from what he gave off. He seemed like he was caring. Even if his eyes looked dead and tired.

“I’m sure you’ll have a good year. It’s nice you’re there for your sister. I’m sure she appreciates it.” You nudge him gently. Wanting to lighten the mood a little. He chuckled as he looked at the ground shrugging his shoulders.

“I hope she does..” his voice dropped again. You frowned and looked over at him. His shoulders slumped, eyes down and lips in a thin line. He didn’t even seem excited for the new years.

But were you even excited? Every year came with the hopes of something new with the ending of nothing.

You both sat in silence for a few minutes. Though you just met him something pulled you to him. He could say the same for you. Despite coming off as not excited. He quite liked your company. He stared at the floor.

Not because he was awkward , or didn’t wanna talk, but because he wanted to make the perfect conversation. He combed over every possibility. He wanted to talk to you.

You were the first girl at the party to even pay him any attention. For the most part you were the only girl to give him this much attention.

So once he picked the topic it was just a long conversation. He talked about his sister, you talked about your work, he talked about his Aunt Jane and how he disliked her, you talked about how you wished for something great in life.

in a short time you two got to know each. All before the clock hit 11:59.

You learned that Mike longed for a new years kiss once. You told him how you longed for someone to go into the new years with.

And once that clock hit 11:59 you went to the grapes.

You both smiled and popped the grapes in your mouths. Trying to get all 11 in before 12.

Once the clock hit 12 and everyone else shouted happy new years. You and Mike got to your last grape. You stared at him happily. You had done it. You ate all 12 grapes before 12:01.

“We did i-“ Mike was cut off by you leaning in. Pressing a kiss to his lips. He tasted like the grapes. With a mix of Pepsi. He quickly kissed back. His body felt a surge of electric. He didn’t suspect this.

He didn’t realize how tentivly you listened to him as he spoke of his wish. He pulled you closer. Deepening the kiss. Maybe he just met you. Maybe you just met him.

But you had a whole year to get to know each other now.

Maybe the grapes did work.

#fnaf movie #fnaf #mike schimdt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf fanfic #josh hutcherson #new year

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cloudrumble23 · 7 months

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Evan woke up gasping, his shirt plastered to his back and his hair stuck to his face. He rubbed the tears from his eyes quickly to focus on the clock. 5:48 a.m. An ominous feeling spread through his entire body, but he took comfort in reminding himself that nothing bad could happen while Fredbear was watching over him.

The fabric of his plushie was worn and stuffing was sticking out between some of his joints, but Evan couldn’t bear to part with him long enough for proper repairs to be done. Father always said it would take a few days to fix the plushie if he wanted it done properly, and Evan would never accept a poor repair job, so instead of giving up the bear for repairs, he just kept Fredbear as he slowly deteriorated more and more each day.

He didn’t feel too bad about it though; Michael had done the exact same thing to his Foxy plushie, and he’d had his toy much less time than Evan had. Evan swapped out the destroyed plushie with his own, but Michael hadn’t seemed to notice, even as the original plushie’s head fell off somewhere, making it impossible to repair the poor fox.

The vest was coming a bit loose, but Evan ignored that. Fredbear didn’t need the vest anyway. It wasn’t his identity any more than Foxy’s hat was, and besides, no one remembered that Foxy even normally came with a hat. He squeezed the small bear, humming softly to himself as he waited for 6 a.m. to arrive.

Evan walked cautiously down the hallway to the kitchen, his guard still up from his unpleasant night’s rest.

“You stink,” Elizabeth complained. She was already in the kitchen eating her cereal while Michael was pouring his own bowl.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Welcome to reality Lizzie. People sweat and have body odor.”

“You never stink in the morning,” she retorted as Evan set Fredbear on the counter before climbing on it to reach the cabinet.

“I put on deodorant. Ev, get off the counter. I can get that for you.” Michael grabbed another bowl from the cabinet and filled it with cereal as well. “I’ll get Evan some when I go to the store, okay?”

“You better,” Elizabeth grumbled into her cereal.

“Plus, it’ll be fine. He’s probably going to shower before we leave for school anyway.”

Elizabeth scowled at that. “But then I won’t have time to do my hair.”

“Then I’ll do it.” Michael rolled his eyes again. “You talk like you have a terrible life, Liz.”

“Maybe I do!” Elizabeth snapped, shoveling more cereal into her mouth.

“Good morning to you too,” Mother said, yawning as she walked into the kitchen. “Are we having cereal for breakfast today?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Michael said, grabbing Evan around the waist to drag him from his spot on the counter. “I was planning to go to the grocery store today to pick up a few things.”

“No nonsensical things we don’t need now, Michael. You know how your father hates that sort of thing.”

“Of course,” Michael’s voice sounded stiff, but he maintained his politeness. “Do you want some cereal as well?”

“That’d be lovely, darling.” She sat down beside Elizabeth. “You children are so wonderful.”

Evan felt himself finally starting to calm down. Today was a good day. Mother and Michael were both in a good mood, a rare occurrence, if he was being honest with himself. Elizabeth’s mood was always sour, depending on who she decided to blame for her problems, but she was manageable. He just hoped they didn’t see his Father before school. That was the one thing that could ruin the peaceful moods of his mother and brother before they left for school.

“Do you want to go to the store with me, Evan?” Michael said abruptly after they’d all finished eating. “So you know where to look for deodorant next time?”

“I guess so,” Evan replied quietly, hoping that was the right answer.

It must’ve been, because Michael smiled faintly and ruffled his hair. His expression faltered, and he made a face though. Michael wiped his hand on his pants. “You really need to shower before we leave though, Little Man. Lizzie was right, no offense. You are kind of gross this morning.”

Evan shrugged. He didn’t want to explain the nightmares, assuming it would put Michael in a sour mood. He didn’t want to ruin the moment.

“Fredbear’s not looking too good lately either,” Michael mused. “Want me to stitch him up for you?”

“Huh?” Evan blinked up at his brother. “Fredbear’s fine.”

“His stuffing’s going everywhere-“

“He doesn’t need anything. He’s fine!” Evan scooped the little bear into his arms, and Michael raised his hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine. If you change your mind, let me know. It would only take, like, 30 minutes, tops.”

Evan didn’t reply to that. Instead, he changed the subject. “I’m going to go shower.”

“Okay.” Michael almost sounded disappointed. But that didn’t make sense. Normally he was happy to be rid of him. Especially so near his birthday, when his friends would be coming over all the time.

On the walk to school, Elizabeth wouldn’t stop gushing about how wonderful her hair was. She practically begged Michael to make it a more regular occurrence, but Michael just shrugged. Evan could see the smile on his face though. He knew it was only a matter of time before Elizabeth got her way.

“Mike!” one of Michael’s friends tried to call him over, but Michael ignored him.

“Come on, you two gotta get to class,” he said softly, putting his hand on Evan’s shoulder to direct him away from the other kid. With a startle of surprise, Evan saw a faint frown on Michael’s face. Maybe he’d had some kind of fight with his friends? Evan couldn’t ask about it, just in case.

“You can’t ignore us forever!” one of the boys shouted angrily while Michael guided Evan in the direction of the store after school.

“Just keep walking,” Michael muttered. He seemed very tense, and Evan wasn’t sure he could do anything to reassure his brother. He just did as Michael asked, hurrying along so they could get out of range.

A few short minutes later, they were walking into the store. Evan felt odd. He’d never been to the store without his parents before. Normally, he and Elizabeth only came when Mother was looking for something specific, or when Michael was sick, and Father was going to the store instead. Being here with Michael was… different.

“They don’t get it,” Michael whispered, seeming to forget who he was talking to.

Evan blinked at him, but Michael didn’t elaborate until after they’d filled the basket with necessary groceries and Evan’s deodorant.

“Everyone expects so much from me,” he mused. “My friends seem to think I have to give them every second of my attention. Mother thinks I have to be responsible all the time. Father…” Michael shook his head. “Even Uncle Henry assumes things. It’s awful, Ev.”

“Maybe it’s just because they like you so much,” Evan said quietly, hoping not to upset him.

“Nah. They expect me to disappoint them. Aside from my friends, anyway. It’s just so stupid. All this shit I have to put up with.” Michael froze. “I mean- Just forget I said that.”

Evan giggled involuntarily, surprising them both. “You’re not seriously apologizing for saying ‘shit,’ are you?” Evan asked. “Kids say that all the time at school.”

“Yeah, but if Mother or Father catches you saying that-“

“Who’s going to tell them?” Evan blinked innocently up at Michael.

He groaned. “I forgot how insufferable you are.”

“Only when I can be.” Evan grinned, feeling secure in his behavior. “Let’s get home. I have homework to do.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Michael shook his head, but the faint smile Evan had seen that morning returned.

“Want to watch T.V. with me?” Michael said when he walked into the kitchen.

Evan guessed he was finished with his own homework, considering his confidence in the way he sat beside Evan at the counter.

“What are we watching?” Evan replied, continuing his notes while Fredbear observed them both.

“The Immortal and the Restless,” Michael said with confidence. “And, it’s not even scary, so you won’t wet yourself when we watch.”

Evan shook his head disparagingly. “I got scared watching a movie with you one time-“

“It gave you nightmares, Ev! I got in so much trouble for that, you know.”

“Then why offer to watch something with me again?” Evan asked before realizing what he was implying.

“I-“ Michael sputtered. “C’mon, man.”

Evan put his pencil down and stared at his brother. He wasn’t getting angry, which meant Evan could actually ask serious questions without fearing consequences for it. “You spend all your time making fun of me, and teasing me, and scaring me, and making me miserable. Why should I trust that you actually want to watch something with me?”

Evan expected a lot of potential reactions to his comments. Yelling, maybe. What he didn’t expect was for Michael to crumple in on himself. “I… Look, it’s not…” Michael swallowed harshly. “I can’t say anything to justify my past actions. You have every reason to be weary. But maybe I’ve changed, Ev. I want to spend time with you. I’m tired of pretending all the time, and I-“

“You’re not kidding,” Evan said softly. “Were you exaggerating this morning, then? When you said it would only take 30 minutes to fix Fredbear?”

“What? No. It’s a bunch of little fixes. You just gotta have the right thread. And if we hurry,” Michael glanced at the clock nervously, “I know Father has thread in his office.”

“You…” Evan blinked. “You’d do that for me?”

“I gotta prove my point somehow, don’t I?” Michael jumped up from his seat. “I’ll be right back.”

Evan turned back to his homework, no longer able to fully comprehend what was happening here. Was Michael genuine? Was he really trying to be a better brother? Evan honestly had no idea, but the best way to find out was to wait until the summer, when Michael was always really nasty usually. For now, though, he’d settle for help repairing Fredbear.

Michael returned, out of breath and a little bit shaky. “We only have a few hours before Father is supposed to be home.”

“Lucky you said it wouldn’t take very long,” Evan said softly, expecting a contradiction.

“Still frightening to think about,” Michael replied. “Okay, I got this.” He threaded the needle and looked at Evan expectantly. Reluctantly, Evan handed his brother the battered gold bear.

Michael set him up gently on the kitchen counter, tucking the stuffing back where it belonged as he started his row of stitching. Evan knew the seams had been originally on the inside of Fredbear, but Michael had tried explaining that he couldn’t fix Fredbear like that. He’d rolled his eyes actually, saying that doing it that way would take a sewing machine and a trip to the workshop, something Michael was not willing to do without permission.

So Evan had to accept that the repairs would be visible, but at least Fredbear would be ready to fight off another night of terrors.

Evan didn’t mean to fall asleep against Michael’s shoulder while watching the show. In his defense, he didn’t have a clue what was going on, and Michael was too busy watching to explain it to him. Evan ended up giving up on the show to study his brother’s face. It surprised him how energetic Michael seemed while watching the screen, but then, Evan guessed this was one of his rare moments where there weren’t expectations dragging him down.

He stirred as Michael carried him upstairs. Confused, Evan blinked sleepily at his brother. “What-“

“Shhh, go back to sleep,” Michael said softly. “I just want to make sure you’re not going to have nightmares.”

Evan always had nightmares. That was the general idea of everything going on. He hated the idea of disappointing Michael, especially after how nice the day had been, but he couldn’t control his dreams. Not now and certainly not ever. He couldn’t even remember a time when he didn’t have nightmares every night. But he had a feeling Michael wouldn’t be swayed in this, so he just nodded against his brother’s chest and closed his eyes again.

Evan didn’t have any nightmares that night. Or at least, they weren’t nightmares he remembered. He woke up that morning with Michael curled protectively around him, like Michael was afraid of something happening. Evan wasn’t particularly worried about that, though.

For the first time in years, he felt content and safe.

#cloud writes #hiiiii #I should really be asleep rn #but I wanted to get this done today #well #tonight anyway #since it's past midnight here #but yeah #afton family #evan afton #michael afton

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mariaofdoranelle · 2 months

Text

Look at Us Now - Bonus chapter 23.5: Maisie’s pov

Fic masterlist

Getting Maisie’s voice right was challenging (and the whole reason I didn’t consider writing her pov before loll), and I don’t think I nailed it, but I kinda like how this chapter turned out heheh enjoy!

Rowan mentioned dropping Maisie at Aedion’s on ch. 23, and this is what happened

*Winks at this Nonnie*

Warnings: none?

Words: 2,6k

“F—fork,” Uncle Aedion said as soon as he opened his front door, rubbing his eyes. “Rowan, what the fork are you doing here at six-thirty?”

Maisie sighed, holding Fleetfoot. She knew what he was going to say, that word she couldn’t repeat either. But if grown-ups hated the word ‘fuck’ so much, why were they always saying it?

“I brought Maisie for a fun morning with you.” Rowan patted his daughter in the head, a reminder of the terrible braid he made. It was the fastest braid he’s ever done, with no ribbons and some strands thicker than others. Her mom would never let her go out with hair like this. “You can go to the pool…” He trailed when Aedion wouldn’t stop glaring. “The playground?” Rowan’s face started turning into a grimace. “Watch TV? Roblox?“

Maisie’s heartbeat fastened. Her dad was strict about screens, so something must’ve happened. And it was weird that her mom didn’t sleep with them last night. The only change was Fleetfoot, but Aelin liked Fleetfoot—she even promised to play with them later.

But she didn’t.

The little girl turned off from the conversation her dad and uncle were having, needing to think. Most of the time, she was the cause of her parents’ fights, since they were always shouting her name at each other, but it all got better when they started going to the playground together. She didn’t hear them shouting anyone’s name, but maybe her dad would feel better if Maisie took him to the playground with her mom.

The little girl clutched Fleetfoot to her chest, her heart feeling all tight and squeeze-y inside.

Rowan and Aedion were having a weird staring thing, so she didn’t miss much.

“We can go to the pool once it opens.” The last words didn’t sound nice, and Maisie didn’t like the way Uncle Aedy was talking to her dad. Not sure of what to do, her eyes darted between the two men.

Rowan ran a hand through his head. “Look, I know I should’ve—“

“And I have a guest sleeping upstairs,” Aedion added, eyebrows raised.

Her dad’s eyes widened, and for once he seemed to change his mind, his expression dropping. “I’m sorry. I’ll try Lorcan—“

“No, I—“ Aedion ran a palm over his face, shoulders dropped, and when he looked up again, it was like a different person. He smiled down at Maisie. “Come on, Kiddo.” He patted her shoulder, frowning just a little bit at her ugly braid. “Gods, I’m as bad as your mother when I wake up too soon. It doesn’t even look like I’m always asking her for more time with you, huh?”

Her uncle gave her a reassuring smile, lighting up Maisie’s mood a little.

“Just—“ Rowan cleared his throat. “Your guest… is he or she decent?”

She didn’t understand why Aedion’s smirk was so big, but at least he said, “She’s a mom—a very good one. Don’t worry about her.”

Her dad hesitated, but handed her purple backpack. Maisie knew he didn’t like leaving her with strangers, but he trusted Aedion, even if Aelin complained about him.

Rowan crouched down to remind her of everything every grown-up ever told her, but she wasn’t worried about staying with her uncle. Instead, she thought about her dad. He had already done everything Maisie thought was impossible, so she trusted him to fix things today. He did it once by taking her mom to the playground, he could do it again.

“…don’t talk to strangers, don’t listen to anyone but your uncle, and don’t leave his side, okay? Do not, under any circumstance, run off.” A pause for emphasis. “But if you do, call me when you get lost.” He lifted a brow.

Maisie let out a heavy sigh, already knowing what to do. She recited her dad’s phone number in front of him, watching him check if she was correct.

“That’s perfect.” He kissed her forehead. “Your mother’s now.”

Like she remembered the second part of it. “You’re teaching too many numbers,” Maisie protested, “It’s making me dizzy!”

Uncle Orlon said her life would be easier once she knew how to count, but she was having a tough time agreeing with him. Ever since Maisie learned it, Rowan had been making her learn phone numbers. She tried to remind him that she could know every number in the world and play Roblox if he just gave her a phone, but it was hard to change her dad’s mind.

After a long time of her dad being a big Buzzard, Aedion finally shooed him away. He banged the door closed and grimaced at the sound, then dropped her big purple bag and Fleetfoot’s smaller one at the couch.

“You hungry, Kiddo?”

“Yes,” Maisie lied. She ate breakfast at home, but she also had plans.

“I can make you a grilled cheese,” he called on his way to the kitchen. Maisie carefully laid her puppy on the floor and ran to her uncle.

“Can I eat lots of sweets and then you tell Mom and Dad that I ate grilled cheese?”

She didn’t expect Aedy’s loud laugh.“Nice try, Kiddo. I’m more scared of your mom than you.”

Maisie frowned, a little grumpy about her plan not working out, but she could convince him to give her sweets later. It worked with her mom most of the time.

“You’re lucky I did the groceries for my friend yesterday,” he said, head stuck on the fridge. “I have Brie, Gouda and provolone.”

Interesting. Maisie had no idea what any of these were. “I want grilled cheese.”

“With which cheese?”

The little girl sat up straighter. No one ever asks her that, but Uncle Aedy would mock her forever at any sign of weakness. “The yellow one.”

He snorted, but brought a very yellow cheese to the counter. “Good choice.” He paused before closing the fridge. “With salad?”

“No, thank you.”

“Good manners, Munchkin,” Aedion praised, even if Aelin always complained that he had none. “Would your parents even ask if you want salad?”

She giggled. “No, but you did.”

He sat her on the counter so Maisie could help him make the perfect grilled cheese—like cutting off the crunchy part of the bread and making triangles, or adding the perfect amount of cheese. It looked so good, Aedion even made one for himself.

“This is the bestest grilled cheese ever,” she said on the table where they ate, eyes closed to taste it better. It tasted differently from the one her parents made, but it was so good Maisie wished she could give some to Fleetfoot, who was laying at her feet.

“Really?” Aedion perked up. “Better than your dad’s?”

“No.”

Uncle Aedy didn’t seem as happy anymore, but her parents always tell her that it’s bad to lie.

He changed the subject. “So, you’ve got a dog now?”

“Yep.” She gave her uncle a big grin. “I went to a dog place with Uncle Dorian and Uncle Fen, because they were looking for one. Daddy went too, but he kept being bossy with me and didn’t even notice them. Then, I saw this little puppy, and I just loved her so much!”

“She is cute,” Aedy said, leaving the table to sit with Fleetfoot on the kitchen floor. Maisie did the same, not caring about their dirty plates. He grabbed a small toy the dog chewed on, trying to play with her. “I think Dorian posted about it on Instagram. They got two rescue boxers, right?”

“Yes,” the little girl said without explaining a lot. She was still grumpy about her uncles—why invite her if they wouldn’t do anything she said?

“Did you like them? What’re their names?”

She frowned. “Calvin and Klein.”

Aedy leaned back, laughing loud. She couldn’t figure out why it was funny.

“What? You don’t like it?”

“No,” she said with her arms crossed.

“But they’re boxers!”

Who cares? Just because the doggies have a smushed, grumpy face, it doesn’t mean they can’t have cute names. Maisie sighed. “Calvin is okay, but Klein?” she said in a squeaky voice. “Klein isn’t a good name for a dog, a kitty, a fish, not even a giraffe!”

Aedion had this smiley, funny face on. It didn’t even look like they were talking about something important. “So you think ‘Fleetfoot’ is a better name than ‘Klein’?”

“Much better. Fleetfoot is the cutest, babiest puppy name.”

“Did your dad teach you how to clean her poop?”

“Daddy’s having a tough time teaching me how to clean me after I poop.” Much less Fleetfoot. It’s too much poop for a kid to clean.

“Fair enough. She’s sleeping outside, then?”

“She’s sleeping with me.”

Aedion snorted. “I doubt your parents would let it.”

“She is!” the little girl shouted, then crossed her arms, eyes squinted at him. “If Daddy sleeps in twos, I can sleep in twos too.”

Maisie never got to join her parents’ sleepovers, so she told her dad that she’d have super fun slumber parties with Fleetfoot and not invite them too. Rowan said it was fair.

His eyebrows went so high it looked funny. “Your dad sleeps in what?” Aedy asked really loudly.

“We’re all sleeping in twos now. We spend the day together because it’s more fun, and then Daddy sleeps with Mommy, and now I’m sleeping with Fleetfoot too.”

He bent down to be eye-to-eye with Maisie, eyes as big as plates. “So your mom and your dad… they’re sleeping in the same bed now? You’re sure of that?”

She sighed. This was getting boring, and she was supposed to spend the morning at the pool. But maybe… is this why her mom’s always saying that she worries about Uncle Aedy when he’s alone? Because he needs someone to hug?

Maisie put one hand on his shoulder, petting it like she sees adults doing sometimes to someone who’s sad. “Hugging someone when you sleep is nice because it makes us feel happy and safe. That’s why we’re all sleeping in twos now,” she said, hoping he’d get the tiny suggestion.

Maybe he was worse than her mom thought. Uncle Aedy was so surprised he didn’t say anything, and his mouth was open so big a fly could come right in.

“Aw. That’s so sweet, Mais.”

Maisie heard the voice coming from the door, squealed when she saw Auntie Lys there and ran to hug her.

Aedion blinked, still looking a little frozen. “Okay, Kiddo, focus on me. Just to be sure, your mom and your dad—”

“Shh!” Lys gave him a sneaky grin while she hugged Maisie. “I didn’t know I’d see you today, Hawkie.”

The little girl giggled at the nickname. Auntie Lys started calling her that after seeing the White Hawks shirt her dad sometimes makes her wear to soccer classes. It was her favorite team—not that Maisie knew many—and she liked cheering for them with her parents.

“Is Timmy here?” The little girl asked his mom, excited with the idea. Maybe she could take them to the pool, since Aedy was a little slow today.

“No, he’s not…” Lys trailed, combing Maisie’s loose strands out of her face until she saw that crazy braid. She made a funny noise with her throat and kept going, “And I’d appreciate it if you waited a little to tell him you saw me with your uncle. You see, Timmy hasn’t met him yet, and I don’t want him to feel left out.”

Maisie walked past Lys, into the living room, and threw herself on the couch. What’s a girl gotta do to go to the pool here?

“I don’t have anything cool to tell him anyway. I know Uncle Aedy likes boys more than girls.”

Aedion ran to her, his eyes big again. “What?”

Why was he making her repeat everything she said today? “I know you and Auntie Lys aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend because you like boys more than girls.”

“No, that’s not—“ He looked between her and Lys, saying the f word that would make Maisie’s mom mad—he said it in a low voice and probably thought she didn’t hear it, but she did. Her auntie was laughing, but Aedy looked red like a tomato, and he said, “Not like that! I like boys and girls the same, okay?”

Huh. Maisie held her chin with her hand, trying to understand. People like girls or boys more, because they have to pick one to marry and have kids, puppies or kitties with. But if Uncle Aedy liked both… her eyes widened with realization.

“Is that why you’re not married? Because you can’t find a boy and a girl to marry at the same time?”

“No!” he answered super quickly. Auntie Lys had the same red face as him, but she was laughing, while Uncle Aedy looked weird and mixed up. “I don’t wanna be with two people. Not that I can’t, it’s… actually, I can’t anymore, but—“ Aedion sighed and ran a hand through his face. “I��m like your Uncle Dorian, you know? Like when he used to date your mom—“

“That’s a lie!” Maisie screamed, feeling angry for her mom and uncle both. “Uncle Dorian likes boys more than girls.”

He and Uncle Fen have puppies together. He doesn’t want to marry a girl! And him and her mom—ew. He’s her uncle, not a second daddy, and Maisie liked it that way.

“Yes, yes.” Aedy squatted to look at her in the face, holding both her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Kiddo. I’m just trying to explain that some people look for girls or boys to be with, but I look in both until I find one person to settle down with. You got it?”

“Yes,” she lied. Girls or boys was easy to understand, but if you could search in both, it’s not helpful to chop off half the people you could marry. Maisie sighed, resting on the couch. Whenever she talked about marrying a girl because boys are gross, her dad said she was too little to decide. She was finally understanding that he knew something she didn’t—or maybe he still knows something else she doesn’t yet.

Uncle Aedy looked ready to say something else when his phone rang. “It’s your mom,” he said before taking it, answering her with lots of yes and um-hum, and finally letting her—and Maisie—know that yes, they were going to the pool soon.

He passed her the phone. “Your mom wants to talk to you.”

“Mom?”

“Hey, Maisy Daisy.” The happiness in her mother’s voice made Maisie feel better too. If her mom was happy, it meant her dad was happy too, and if both of them were happy, it meant her dad fixed whatever he needed to fix. “Your father told me you were spending the morning with your uncle. Are you having fun? Are you hungry?”

“It’ll be nicer once we go to the pool,” she said, eyes squeezed at her uncle, watching him closely so he’d know she hadn’t forgotten about that promise. “And we ate grilled cheese. It was yummy.”

“That’s great, honey.”

Her mom sounded relaxed in a way it only happened when she was being lazy, and Maisie didn’t want to end it with something serious, but she had questions.

“Uncle Aedy just told me that you and Uncle Dorian were boyfriend and girlfriend.” Maisie scrunched up her nose. “That’s super duper gross. Did you do it or not?”

“AEDION TOLD YOU WHAT?!”

You can get notified when I update by either turning notifications on for @mariaofdoranelle-fics or entering my (sometimes glitchy) tag list!!

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#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #throne of glass #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #look at us now #aelin x rowan #rowaelin fanfic

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theres-a-body-here · 8 months

Note

I wonder how the survivors would react in a situation where somehow creep!readers mask gets pulled off.

Survivor reactions to Creep!Reader face reveal (Part 1)

Whether intentionally or not, your mask got yanked off during chase

Creep!reader

Instant panic

The mask is part of your charm, your character

You keep it ok for a reason

It's easier to blame your acts on the Creep character when you hide behind a mask. But with it off, you can no longer hide behind a persona. Now (y/n) has to take all the blame. You feel sick to your stomach

You don't want the sheep to see you like this

You instinctively cover your face

Only to wack it with your own whip

Yelps and cries of anguish pursue

You have to reveal your face if you want to get your mask back

Fuck it

You uncover your face and fumble around on the ground to find your mask on the floor

(My glasses...I can't see without my glasses)

You don't even care that the survivor who did this is standing shocked and watching your pathetic display

Claudette Morel

She's almost, if not, more panicked than you are

"SORRYIDIDNTMEANTODOTHATPLEASEDONTBEMADATME"

She almost trips over herself to grab your mask and hand it to you

One of her hands is firmly covering her eyes, not wanting to see your face out of fear (and maybe empathy)

She's shaking

You grab it and quickly put it on

You take deep breaths

That's better

You look at her

She's still covering her eyes, still shaking

Your grip on your whip tightens, then relaxes

You reach out to ruffle her hair

Claudette stiffens but doesn't uncover her eyes

There's a long pause as silence fills the realm

She slowly uncovers her eyes while apologizing

"I really didn't mean to....."

You're already gone

You let her have hatch that trial

Dwight Fairfield

Just as panicked but frozen to the spot

He's thinking of all the terrible, painful, and vile stuff you're gonna do to him. Even if it was an accident

He's trembling as he watches you look for your wolf mask

You break the stiff silence

"You're gonna help me or just stand around like a dumbass?"

You sound really pissed

Dwight squeaks and does as he's told

He finds it and hands it to you

He's not even hiding the fact he's staring at your face

You look.....pretty

"Good Boy," you hum in approval when Dwight gives you your mask

His face erupts into a blush

"I-I....uhhh......okay"

He's waiting for the other shoe to drop

This is the part where you skin him alive for doing that to you, right?

"10 second head start"

Dwight blinks

Huh?

"10....9....8..."

He yelps again and speeds off as he yells back a "Thank you"

You decide to leave him for last. Whether or not he escapes is up to your mood

Haddie Kaur

Very short interaction

She almost just kept running

But she caught a look at your face

She took her time to observe your desperation as you fumbled for your mask

That was the face of a depraved monster

She sneered

Haddie could also feel the absolute evil that emanated from your mask

She could feel the pain it witnessed, the despair, and oddly enough, she felt denial

Haddie didn't stay too long to see what you would do to her since she saw your face

She's long gone by the time you put on your mask

You let out a growl

You can't let her leave until you threaten her

No other sheep can know what you look like

Felix Richter

Stands there awkwardly

He's not sure what to do

On one hand, he feels bad for you

On the other hand, you're a killer

He's conflicted on what to do

Felix also takes a look at your face, his curiosity got the best of him

You look vulnerable

You're not making his internal conflict any better

He settles for a quick tip before continuing to run

"It's on your left, the bush"

He calls out as he runs towards main building

You scoff and grab it

You didn't need his pity or help

Okay maybe you did

You put on your mask and continue chasing him

Felix doesn't fail to notice when you put him on the hook more gently than before

He doesn't comment on it

Masterlist here

#dbd x reader #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight #dbd #killer!reader #creep!reader #dwight fairfield #dwight x reader #claudette morel #claudette x reader #felix richter x reader #felix x reader #haddie kaur #haddie x reader

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graceful-starker · 1 year

Text

You’re More Than Just a One Night Stand (Redo)

OG Prompt: Uhmm I dont know if this might make u uncomfortable, but I was thinking about a married!Tony cheating Pepper with Peter (he loves her but they are not in a good moment), and Peter accidentally (or not) leaves a hickey maybe too visible

Summary: Tony Stark and Pepper Potts have the most famous on again-off again relationship in the world. Peter Parker sees his opportunity and takes it.

Warnings: Cheating, unhealthy relationships, emotional manipulation, angst with a (starker) happy ending, alcohol mention, angst.

Notes: This is part of my New Years’ Resolution project (Guess what my New Years resolution is next year? To finish this list :P ) Anyway, people really liked this one, but thought that it would be better if I redid it now, because of how much my writing has improved over the years.

Word count: 7,714

~~~

Tony groans as he’s shaken awake, feeling the ache in his back before he even opens his eyes. Falling asleep at his desk is no longer a manageable task for his body, it would seem.

He stretches and blinks slowly, wincing at the fluorescent lights. “Oh, god,” Tony groans again, turning to look at who woke him up. “Hey, kid,” he sleepily greets Peter.

Peter smiles sadly at him. “You fell asleep in the lab again, Mr. Stark,” he states. And if the worry in Peter’s eyes didn’t look so real, so much like he actually cared, Tony might have snarked him for stating the obvious.

Instead, he just gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile and straightens up. “Pep kicked me out again,” he explains. He stands and starts to shuffle towards the coffee maker he keeps in the lab. “We’re broken up. Again. I give it twenty-four hours, honestly, this was a stupid reason to get mad at me, all things considered.” He was rambling, and he knew it. He always tries to keep his problems away from Peter, to not worry the younger man. He has a feeling he’s embarrassingly bad at it.

He’s surprised when he turns around and sees Peter right behind him, brows furrowed with a mix of worry and something Tony couldn’t quite decode in this context. Tony almost spills his coffee over Peter, but manages to steady the cup with a gasp. “Kid? What the hell-”

“This isn’t healthy,” Peter says softly. “She can’t keep doing this to you.”

Tony shrugs and looks just over Peter’s left shoulder, taking a sip before responding. “She puts up with my bullshit, I sleep in the lab sometimes. It isn’t as bad as it looks.”

“She’s hurting you,” Peter says, hesitating before touching Tony’s arm gently. “Not just emotionally, either. Your back hurts for days after you sleep at your desk.” The fact that the kid even knows that means Tony is as terrible at hiding his problems as he thought he was.

Tony shrugs again, but doesn’t move away from the comfort the boy is providing. “It’s real sweet of you to worry, Pete, but I’m really okay. ‘sides, she’s the only one that’s been willing to put up with me for more than a night,” he tries to turn the mood lighter, teasing himself so Peter will smile.

Instead, the worry is replaced with a mixture of anger and...and that emotion Tony can’t make sense of. “That isn’t true, Mr. Stark. I would--I know tons of people who would kill for a chance to be yours. And she’s taking advantage of it...she’s taking it for granted, acting as if you’ll always be there to take her back.”

Tony works his jaw. Emotions aren’t his strong suit, and being vulnerable is his worst nightmare. “Well, I will. I love her. There’s no one else.”

Peter swallows thickly, eyes flickering between Tony’s. “What if there was someone else?” Peter whispers.

Tony shakes her head. “There isn’t. No one else would put up with me, so it’s fine if she hurts my feelings every once and a-”

“I wouldn’t ever hurt you, if you were mine,” Peter says boldly, staring deeply into Tony’s eyes. Ah, that’s what that emotion was. “I wouldn’t ever give you up, even for one day. I wouldn’t ever make you feel anything less than my god damn sun, my universe.”

Tony’s mouth drops open, lips slightly parted as he takes in the words. He puts his coffee mug down, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks Peter over. “But I’m not yours, I’m hers.” He doesn’t want to hurt Peter, but it’s the truth. He and Pepper both know a break up is only temporary.

A flicker of hurt at the dismissal, but the kid is quick to regain his footing. “Not right now,” Peter whispers, stepping closer, getting bolder. “You’re single right now. You don’t have to take her back, when she calls for you. You’re single.”

“Not for long,” Tony protests weakly.

“You’re single,” Peter repeats, his lips a mere inch away from Tony’s. “Aren’t you?”

Tony lets out a shaky breath, looking down to Peter’s lips. The earlier words were so beautiful, so perfectly what Tony has always wanted to hear from Pepper. And his lips are so enticing, so pink and beautiful, and...and you know what, Pepper did break things off between them, didn’t she? She can’t be angry at anything he does anymore, he’s a free man. Right?

Fuck it.

Tony leans in that extra inch, connecting their lips softly. He waits for the feeling of guilt to leech into his brain, for the need to be loyal to Pep to hit him.

But it never does.

Peter wraps his arms around Tony’s shoulders, gently resting them so he isn’t holding on or pushing away. Tony isn’t as gentle. He wraps his arms around Peter’s waist, pulling him flush against his own body.

Peter gasps softly into the older man’s mouth, one hand sliding up to tangle into the older man’s hair. Tony releases a contented sigh, allowing the younger man to slide his tongue along Tony's lips.

Eventually, Tony opens his lips and allows Peter in, enjoying the feeling of their tongues gliding together. They both get lost in it, time seeming to exist outside of them.

Tony only comes back to his senses when Peter starts to kiss down Tony’s neck. The older man is breathless, both from the kissing and the way Peter’s lips feel against his neck. “Oh, fuck,” Tony breathes, grinding their hips together.

Peter whines at one particularly rough thrust, biting down where Tony’s neck meets his shoulder. Tony groans softly in Peter’s ear, pulling roughly at his hair. “Careful,” Tony warns.

Peter licks over the mark in apology, sucking a mark right above it instead. Tony sighs in half annoyance, but doesn’t want the boy to stop.

He simply enjoys the attention, enjoys the touches, enjoys the memory of the words Peter had murmured earlier.

It wasn’t until Peter started to rub at Tony’s cock through his pants he realized he needed to stop this before it got too far. If he hasn’t fucked it all up already. “Pete,” he whispers.

“No,” Peter argues, moving his lips up Tony’s neck. He kisses at Tony’s jaw instead.

Tony sighs, pulling away gently and kissing Peter’s lips. “I can’t do this to you, Pete. I’m always going to choose her. And you’re too important to me to lose.” He cups Peter’s cheek, rubbing his thumb gently over Peter’s jaw. “We should stop while we still can.”

Peter scoffs at that, keeping Tony’s hand cupped to his cheek by cupping his own hand over Tony’s. “I’m not like Pepper, I’m not holding my mere presence as a bargaining chip to get what I want.”

Tony pulls away at that, sighing heavily. He doesn’t like Peter insulting Pep, but the words still make him feel warm inside. Knowing he doesn’t have to be afraid of Peter leaving him...is this what Pepper feels like?

Tony kisses the boy once more, and sighs softly. “My point still stands, Peter. I’m going to end up with her, sooner or later.”

“And I’ll be here,” Peter starts, finally pulling away but holding Tony’s hand. “Waiting for when she dumps you again.”

Tony has started to feel more and more guilty the longer he doesn’t tell Pepper about Peter.

When she first called him back to the penthouse, telling him he was forgiven and they could get back together, he had hesitated.

Pepper had shifted uncomfortably. “Well?” she had pushed.

Tony had sighed, and pulled down his shirt. It was just far enough to show the hickeys. “I don’t know if we can keep doing this, Pep.”

Pepper had simply sighed in annoyance. “So you got a one night stand while we were broken up, so what? Is she worth ruining everything we have over? Are you not going to take me back because of some whore that spreads her legs for you as soon as you ask?”

Tony had ground his teeth together, but made a quick decision not to out Peter. “No, Pep, that isn’t what I...I mean...Pepper, I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep feeling like I’m absolutely nothing to you. I can’t do this anymore.” Not now that Peter has shown him what he wants in a committed relationship.

Pepper had rolled her eyes. “Did she tell you that shit? She just decided I treat you like shit, huh? You’re going to let that whore tell you about our love life?” Pepper walked over and sat in Tony’s lap, her arms resting gently over Tony’s shoulders while one hand slides up Tony’s neck and cups the back of his head. “I love you, and I always will. No matter what happens. No matter what we go through, no matter how much you or I fuck up. None of that matters. The only thing that matters is that you and I belong together. Forever.”

Tony had melted into the words, looking up at her with adoration, but was unable to keep the conflict off of his face. “Pep...”

“Just tell me you love me too, and everything else goes away,” she had whispered.

“I love you,” Tony had said easily, and he had meant it. He did love her. He just...he knew he betrayed her. Far more than she thought he did. He didn’t have a one stand stand with a whore, he made out with a close friend. Someone Pepper has met multiple times, someone who has come up to their penthouse and had dinner with them. Someone Tony spends a good chunk of every day with.

And then there was Peter, too. He had said he wasn’t going to hold Tony’s momentary weakness over their relationship, but Peter can’t help himself. He can’t help the longing stares, or the lingering touches, or the way his eyes light up whenever Pepper dumps Tony again.

“Peter,” Tony had finally said one day, when the hand Peter had on Tony’s back slipped downwards. “You gotta stop. I’m sorry, but you gotta stop.”

Peter had only sighed, and pulled his hand away. He scratched the back of his neck with it. “You’re single again,” Peter whispered.

Tony didn’t say a word, only rubbed a hand over his face.

“You’re single again,” Peter said louder. “So what’s the harm in a one night stand?”

“The harm,” Tony said loudly, putting both hands on the desk a bit harsher than necessary. But then sighed and lowers his voice, looking into Peter’s wide eyes, sadness taking over his own. “The harm is...you’re more than just a one night stand, Peter. I can’t do this, because once I do, I’ll never stop. And the only thing I’ll do is hurt one or both of you, more deeply than any person should ever be hurt. And I don’t want to be that kind of monster.”

Peter had accelerated his breathing with every word, until he was practically gasping for air by the end. “You love me,” Peter accused. No, not accused...begged. He begged Tony for the words to be true, both with his eyes and his tone.

Tony hung his head, shoulders slumping in shame. “Don’t do that. Because I’ll still choose her, and you’ll still be heart broken.” He looks up at Peter again, feeling broken already. “And if you break, I’ll break.”

Peter just stared at Tony, looking both dejected and sad. “I want you, Tony. All the time. Every second of every day, I want you. And I won’t throw you away when you piss me off. I won’t reject you when you need me the most. And I’m not going to stop loving you just because you can’t love me back.” Peter’s voice breaks, and he steps forward, into Tony’s space. “I’m right here. Come and get me.”

Tony’s breath hitched, and then his resolve crumbled. He pushed forward, crushing their lips together in a kiss that was infinitely more intense than their first kiss. The first one was sweet, slow, gradually increasing in passion. This kiss was raw, hungry, and desperate.

Tony is a terrible person. He’s hurting Peter, even if the younger man insists he isn’t. And he’s hurting Pepper. He’s hurting her in a way she doesn’t deserve, even after all the shit she’s put him through.

But he can’t take it anymore. He loves them both, and he wants them both. And right then, in that short period of time, he could. He could have Peter, and the day after, when Pepper got bored of her little games, he would have her again.

And he will hate himself for it, every second of every day.

Tony knew it was a mistake before he even slept with Peter. But now, all he can think about is the beautiful young man. The way his back arches when Tony nails his prostate right on. The way his face screws up in pleasure, and his nose scrunches so cutely when he’s just about to cum. The way his curls feel around Tony’s fingers. The way Peter’s body gets so warm, it feels like fire when Tony rubs against it.

And now he knows. He knows what it’s like to be with Peter. He knows what it’s like to be with the man he loves.

And he knows how god damn awful it feels to crawl out of his sweet, warm embrace and right into Pepper’s waiting arms.

“You have more,” Pepper had said softly, pushing lightly on one of Peter's bite marks.

“You left me,” Tony says back, but he keeps his eyes closed. If she looks into his eyes, she’ll know. He knows she’ll know.

“I know,” she says softly. “Still.”

Tony shrugs. “If you leave me, I can do whatever I want. You don’t want me to, don’t leave me.”

Pepper kisses his cheek, before rolling over and turning off the light. “Just because we’re on a break doesn’t mean you don’t come back to me. You and I both know it isn’t a real break up. Tell yourself what you want, but when you sleep with whores, you’re still cheating on me.”

Tony bites his tongue. He bites, and he bites hard, until he tastes blood and he hears her even breathing. “Not a whore, honey,” he whispers, knowing she won’t hear.

Tony was guilt ridden. Pepper’s words had bothered him more than he thought they would. But she was right; they both knew it was just a game for Pepper. They both knew they weren’t really broken up. So Tony was a cheater, for sleeping with Peter.

Tony nearly jumps out of his skin as Peter enters the lab, reviving him from his thoughts. He turns his guilty eyes on Peter, and suddenly he doesn’t feel as bad.

Because Peter walks in, and he’s glowing. He’s whistling as he struts in, a giant pep in his step as goes to his station. Peter looks so beautiful, it makes Tony’s stomach drop.

And then Peter puts his stuff down and turns those big, bright doe eyes on Tony. And a brilliant grin splits across his face, and he looks so genuinely happy that Tony can hardly help but to breathlessly smile back.

“What’s got you so happy, kid?” Tony asks, fiddling with his wrench.

Peter laughs softly, and it’s music to Tony’s ears. “I dunno, I just feel good. I feel great, actually. I have since Friday,” he says, unsubtly hinting to their affair.

Tony laughs softly, but the guilt is starting to return. He doesn’t want to ruin this moment, to ruin Peter’s happiness for even a second. So instead of saying anything, he just stares at Peter with a smile on his lips and love in his eyes.

Peter starts to blush after a moment and looks down, laughing softly once more. “What are we working on today, Mr. Stark?”

Tony allows himself to look just a few more seconds, before he tears his eyes away to look down at the plans. “Mark III for your suit. I think it’s finally time to give you a suit that never had training wheels, don’t you think?”

Peter had lit up again, this time in excitement instead of happiness. His face is just as beautiful. “Awesome! Lemme see,” he says, coming over and getting in Tony’s space. He looks over the plans, and Tony fights the urge to wrap an arm around the kid’s shoulders to make everything easier and less awkward.

It’s going to be a long day.

Tony laughs bitterly, rubbing a hand over his face. “What’s the reason this time, Pep? Did I skip a meeting? Did I forget to do the dishes? Did I not bring you flowers when you wanted them?”

Pepper snarls at him. Usually Tony just sighs and gets out, he never questions her. “Just get out,” she says, flicking her wrist dismissively.

“No!” Tony says, standing up from where he had been sitting. “No, not unless you give me a reason, Pep. I’m tired of playing these games, they aren’t funny anymore.”

Pepper scoffs. “Of course they aren’t funny! Fine, if you want to know--yes, you missed a meeting. An important one, because you were too busy playing in the lab with the kid.”

Tony’s nostrils flare, and he stares her down. “Playing?” he asks, voice low and dangerous. “That’s what you call my job?”

Pepper scoffs again. “Yes, playing! Because you aren’t making anything for SI, you’re making his suit-”

“You know what?” Tony snarls, cutting her off. He grabs his coat, slipping it on and grabbing his keys. “We are done. We are done, Pepper. I’m done.”

She’s stunned into silence, and he’s gone with the door slammed before she unfreezes.

He gets in his car and drives, drives and drives and drives until he’s gotten all the anger in his system out and all he’s left with is a bitter sadness.

The truth is, he had always known, known, he was going to end up with Pepper. He wanted to marry her, and have kids with her, and always stay with her. But he just can’t take it anymore. The games, the hurt, the uncertainty. It’s all too much.

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s parked in front of Peter’s building. He shouldn’t do this, not when he’s hurting. Their first time had been so beautiful, filled with only want and desire, not guilt and sadness. He doesn’t want to ruin what he and Peter had over this.

But he didn’t drive away in time. Because there was Peter, tapping on the passenger side window with a concerned look on his face. Tony sighs and rolls down the window. “Hey, kid,” he greets.

Peter frowns, unlocking the door and getting in. Tony glares half-heartedly, knowing he wouldn’t actually be mad in any universe. “Mr. Stark?” he asks softly. “What’s going on?”

“I shouldn’t have come here,” Tony admits softly. He puts his head in his hands, pulling at his hair in frustration. “I didn’t actually want you to see me like this.”

Peter doesn’t say a word, only gently rubs at Tony’s right shoulder. Tony can practically feel the frown on the younger boy’s face. He shouldn’t be here. Peter is too good, too perfect for this. He’s too kind to hear what Tony needs to say.

“I think it’s really over this time,” Tony says, voice breaking. He shouldn’t be here, but he is, and he’s about to hurt Peter.

Peter makes a sympathetic noise, letting his hand slide down Tony’s arm until he can carefully pull Tony’s hand away from his hair. He holds onto it, and Tony finally has the courage to look up at the younger man. “What makes you say that?” he asks softly.

And Tony doesn’t deserve Peter. Because here Tony is, broken hearted over the woman who was keeping Tony from Peter, and he’s not celebrating. He isn’t pushing Tony to think it’s a good thing, or making a move. He’s just listening. Comforting.

Tony doesn’t deserve this.

“Because I told her I was done. And then I walked out.” He sniffs, and looks sadly at Peter. “I don’t know anymore, Pete. I feel both like I’m done and like I can’t live without her. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I...why can’t I just be normal? Why can’t I just decide I’m done with her, and be done? Why does it hurt this much?”

Peter doesn’t say anything again. He just leans over and hugs Tony, petting his hair softly. “Maybe you aren’t done,” Peter says softly, voice breaking. “Maybe you love her enough to put up with things you wouldn’t for anyone else.” He pulls away then, still holding Tony’s hand and looking deeply into the older man’s eyes. “I would understand that.”

He knows Peter wasn’t trying to hurt him with those words. But he did. Because Tony is an asshole, and he is treating Peter like shit. Peter is dealing with things from Tony he would never, should never deal with from anyone else. He shouldn’t deal with it with Tony either, but he has decided to.

Just like Tony is with Pepper.

“Peter, “ Tony whispers, holding back sobs. “Peter, I-”

Peter shakes his head, squeezing Tony’s hand. “I know,” he whispers back. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

Tony sniffs, thinking again about how much he doesn’t deserve Peter. “Invite me up,” he asks, sounding desperate and broken.

Peter laughs softly, sniffling himself and shakes his head. “Not tonight, Mr. Stark. I think you need to go home tonight.”

Tony looks away, down at the steering wheel, fighting the tears again. “Peter,” he begs again.

Peter only squeezes Tony’s hand, leans over to kiss his cheek, and opens the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Stark,” he says.

Tony lets out a shaky breath, slamming his head into the wheel. He stays for another ten minutes after Peter goes back up, before going back home.

He and Pepper have been back together for a solid three months, longer than they ever have been before. And Tony has been happy, these last few months. He feels like Pepper was so scared by Tony leaving, she doesn’t want to push it.

The bad news is, he misses Peter. A lot. And Pepper isn’t pushing it, so he doesn’t have any excuses to sleep with the younger man.

Peter has been more reserved lately. Ever since the night Tony parked in front of Peter’s apartment, he’s been more reserved and more...timid.

Tony misses the carefree laughter. The blindingly bright smiles. The love in Peter’s eyes when Tony gives the man attention.

Until one day, Tony just breaks. He can’t stand the lack of brightness in Peter’s eyes, and he misses Peter, and he just...snaps.

“Peter,” Tony says softly, making the younger man look up from his project.

“Yes, Mr. Stark?” He asks, looking up. And that does it for Tony. He can’t see the sadness there anymore. He doesn’t want to, and he knows how to fix it. Tony walks around the table, getting into Peter’s space. Peter’s breath hitches, and he looks up at Tony with wide eyes. “Mr. Stark?” he whispers.

Tony puts his hands on Peter’s hips, swallowing the guilt he feels towards Pepper. “Peter,” he whispers back.

Peter’s hands rest gently behind Tony’s neck, crossed at the wrists. His breath comes quickly, and his eyes light up. “Did you break up again?” he asks softly.

Tony swallows, looking at Peter with hungry eyes. “No,” he says honestly. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Tony,” Peter whispers, eyes a conflicted mess. Tony knows Peter wants this, but he also feels guilty. Just like Tony.

“Kiss me,” Tony begs softly. “I want you, I want...I need you.” He doesn’t push the younger man, not willing to risk pressuring him.

Peter looks like he’s fighting himself, his eyes conflicted. But then the want wins over, and he surges forward.

Tony holds onto Peter’s hips harder, pulling the younger boy closer to him. Peter moans into the kiss, tongue exploring Tony’s mouth. They grind into each other, until Tony lifts the younger man onto the desk and then Peter grinds into Tony’s stomach.

Tony pants into Peter’s mouth, using Peter’s hips to encourage the grinding. He pulls away from the kiss, and Peter’s hands curl tightly into his hair. Tony shivers, kissing his way down Peter’s jaw and neck. The whines and moans the other man sings go directly to Tony’s core, and makes him feel even crazier and more desperate.

They pull apart only long enough to take each other’s shirts off, and then they attack each other’s mouths again.

Tony is momentarily distracted by the fierce kissing, but he eventually pulls away, panting into Peter’s mouth. He grins evilly, kissing Peter again once softly before falling to his knees. The action hurts more now than it would have if he were younger, but he doesn’t care that much. The gasp of happy surprise Peter emits is more than worth it.

They spend hours together. Hours of making each other feel good, of moving together, of being one. All over the lab, every which way. No surface in here is without a memory now. No where in his lab is just the lab anymore.

They end on the couch in the corner, Peter laying on top of Tony, panting together. Tony smiles up at Peter then, kissing him softly. He runs his fingers along Peter’s neck, satisfied with the marks he left behind. He asked Peter not to leave any where Pep could see, because he doesn’t want to deal with her knowing just yet. But he got to leave as many as he wanted on the younger man.

“Tony,” Peter whispers, shivering at the touches.

“Hm?” Tony asks softly, smiling happily up at him. Tony hasn’t felt so contented and happy in so long.

“I love you,” Peter says softly. He takes Tony’s fingers, kissing them softly.

Tony’s grin falters for just a moment, but he’s sure Peter caught it. He gets the smile back quickly, although it's slightly more bittersweet. “I love you too” he tells Peter truthfully. “I shouldn’t tell you, I shouldn’t do any of this to you...but-”

“It’s okay,” Peter lies, leaning down and kissing Tony again, feather light. “It’s okay. I’m always going to be here for you.”

Tony sighs softly. “I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve you.”

Peter blushes and smiles at that, as if it was a compliment and not a warning.

It had taken them a surprisingly long time to get up the energy to get up and dressed again. They were so happy in their little bubble.

Little did Tony know that Peter ran into Pepper on his way out of the building. And even though Tony has no marks, no evidence on him that anything happened, Peter does. In plain sight. And Pepper had almost let it go, but then Peter had looked her up and down and smirked, and she knew.

A few months after their affair started, things felt calm for Tony. Like for once, everything was going right. He had Pepper, he had Peter. Everything felt calm and nice and lovely.

But of course, it couldn’t last.

Tony sighs in annoyance, rubbing at his eyebrow. “Pepper.”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Pepper shouts, arms in the air. “I want you out, we’re done!”

Tony sighs and stands up, scratching at his beard. “Over a missed meeting?” he confirms.

“Yes,” Pepper hisses, eyes narrowed. “Among other things.”

Tony shakes his head. “I thought we were past this, Pep. I thought we were done with the games.”

“And I thought you loved me!” Pepper shouts, tears in her eyes.

Tony sighs again, and his obvious disinterest grates on Pepper. “I do love you, Pep. I skipped a meeting, that doesn’t mean-”

“I know who you’ve been cheating on me with,” Pepper finally says, eyes full of tears. They fall, and she looks downwards, crossing her arms over her chest. “You didn’t just skip a meeting, you were with your little whore.”

Tony grates his teeth together, eyes narrowing. “See, I know you’re full of shit, because if you knew who I used to cheat on you with you wouldn’t-”

Pepper scoffs, looking up again. And that’s it, that’s the look. Tony knew he was going to do nothing but hurt her. And somewhere along the way, he stopped dreading it.

The pit of guilt in his stomach makes itself known now, though. And he, almost subconsciously, reaches out to touch Pepper, to comfort her. She leans into it, shaking her head in anger.

“I know who it is. I know. I don’t want you to spend time with him anymore.” Pepper tightens the cross of her arms.

“Pepper, you can’t...you can’t expect me to just...” Tony’s breath comes quicker, and he realizes the idea of losing Peter; not just giving up on the idea of bing with him, but never seeing him again...it makes him feel hollow inside.

“You don’t love me anymore!” Pepper accuses yet again. “You’d rather have that little skanky intern of yours over-”

“Peter is not a ‘skanky little intern’” Tony growls, pulling his hand away. “You like Peter, you’ve always called him smart and a hard worker-”

“That was before I knew he was a home wrecker-”

“What home?!” Tony yells, voice breaking. He almost regrets the words, but he sets his jaw and takes a deep breath. “You left me every other day. You made me feel like shit. You made me feel like I was worthless, like I didn’t mean anything to you. I have never felt safe or secure in this relationship, how can you call that a home?”

Pepper has tears streaming down her face, and her mouth is set in an angry frown. “And Peter...what? Makes you feel like you have a future with him? A pretty little thing half my age, who sleeps with the boss as soon as there’s trouble in paradise, you see a future with him?” She uncrosses her arms and starts to stalk Tony into the wall. “That’s the future you envisioned for yourself?”

“No!” Tony says, eyes full of anger and sadness and loss. “I pictured you and me. I pictured you marrying me. I pictured us having kids. I pictured building you a house, and raising our kids in it. I wanted to marry you! But you kept leaving me, and I didn’t feel-”

“Yes,” Pepper says, eyes wide and breath rapid.

Tony blinks in confusion. “What?” he asks, sounding dejected.

“Yes, I’ll marry you. And you can build me a house and knock me up and we can go far away from here. Just you and me. Yes, I’ll marry you.” Pepper leans forward and connects their lips softly.

Tony shakes his head when she pulls away. “I wasn’t done, I wasn’t pro-”

“I don’t care,” Pepper says, wiping her tears. “If you want that future, marry me. I’ll get word to the press, it’ll be the headlines tomorrow. Do you still love me? Do you still want me? Do you still want that future?” She cocks an eyebrow, lashes still wet with former tears.

Tony swallows heavily, unable to deny the truth. “Yes,” he whispers.

Pepper nods. “Then I’ll marry you. And you’ll get rid of the skank.” She turns on her heel, phone already to her ear, as she walks into their bedroom area.

Tony lets out a heavy breath, putting his head in his hands.

Pepper was right, of course. Every single headline in every single news network was about the world’s favorite on again-off again relationship finally committing to each other and tying the knot.

Tony is sitting at his desk in the lab, head in his hands. Every time he looks up, he sees somewhere he and Peter did something together. Every time he thinks about it, he misses Peter. And then he thinks about how he will never see the boy again, and he’s trapped, and he doesn’t know what to do anymore.

He winces as the door opens, and sighs heavily. “I said I want to be alone, Pepper, just leave me alone!” He can’t help the agony in his voice. He knows he’s being terrible to his future wife, but she was terrible first.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter’s voice breaks on his name, and Tony’s head shoots up.

Peter has obviously been crying. His eyes are red rimmed, and his hair is a mess. Tony’s own tear filled eyes meet Peter’s, and they both just stare for a moment.

“Peter,” Tony croaks, taking in all of Peter. It feels like this might be the last time.

“You’re marrying her,” Peter accuses. Because that’s really the only word for it. It’s not a statement or a question. It’s an accusation.

Tony takes another gulp from his tumbler, finishing off the glass and pouring himself another. He doesn’t like getting drunk anymore, but it feels like an understandable exception. “Apparently,” Tony answers.

“You don’t have to,” Peter says, tears still streaming down his face as he gets closer. “You can leave her.”

Tony rubs at his forehead, trying to think. “I know. I don’t know. I just-I...I don’t know.”

Peter goes closer, pushing Tony away gently from the desk and climbing into his lap. “Tony,” he starts, throat thick with tears.

Tony shushes him, kissing his shoulder softly. “I know. I know, baby.”

Peter shakes his head. He cups Tony’s cheeks, forcing the older man to look into his eyes. “I’ve been patient, Tony. I’ve waited for you to realize how much you don’t like her. I’ve sat aside while you went back to her every single time you left my bed. I supported you, and I gave you good advice, and I put you back together again when she broke you.”

Tony has his own tears in his eyes now. “Peter-”

“I can keep being patient,” Peter sobs, putting their foreheads together. “I can stay. I can wait. I can handle this, I can-can....” he hiccups, and lets out a shuddery breath. “I know I can do this, Tony. But I...marriage is so final, Tony. I don’t think you’ll ever leave her if you marry her. I’ll always be here, but is marrying her what you want? Is being stuck with her what you want?”

Tony closes his eyes, his own breath ragged with the pain he’s going through. “I love her,” he tries to desperately explain.

Peter takes a deep breath, leaning back just enough so Tony can look up at the younger man. “Then I’ll stay,” Peter says, wiping away his tears. He’s trying so hard to put on a brave face, and it breaks Tony’s heart.

Tony looks down after that, rubbing his thumb into Peter’s hip. “No...” the older man sniffs, looking up sadly at Peter. “She said I can’t see you anymore, if we get married. She found out it was you specifically, and she...she wants us to move away. She wants me to never see you again.”

Peter stiffens, and pulls Tony away. He looks into Tony’s eyes with fear. “No.” he shakes his head, sniffling loudly. “No, you can’t let her do that!”

Tony lets out a shaky sigh, leaning back in for a kiss. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” Tony admits. “All I did was hurt you both. All I did was ruin everything. Just like I knew I would.”

“Don’t marry her,” Peter begs through a sob. “Stay with her if you need to but don’t--please don’t marry her.”

“She won’t stay with me if I don’t marry her,” Tony says brokenly. “I’ll lose her, and I...” Tony shakes his head, looking away from Peter’s fearful eyes. “I love her.”

“You love me too,” Peter begs. And the fact that he sounds even a little unsure makes Tony hate himself more than words can express. “Don’t you?”

Tony surges up then, capturing the younger man’s lips in a fierce kiss. It feels a lot more like their second time than their first. Full of desperation, need, want. He pulls away before it can get too far, nosing at Peter’s neck. “I do. I do love you. So god damn much, Pete. This would be so easy, if I didn’t love you.”

“Then if you love me, you-”

“Peter,” Tony says, sounding as agonized as he feels. “You don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you. You deserve so much better than me, so much better than what I’ve done to you.”

Peter pulls Tony back again, standing up and pulling Tony with him so they can be eye level. “I know. I know I deserve better, but I don’t care. I chose you, a long time ago.” His voice trails off, and he leans closer to the older man. “I can’t live without you, Tony,” he whispers. “Can you live without me?”

Tony opens his mouth to immediately deny it, but Peter shushes him. “No. Think about it. Can you live without me? Can you be happy without me? Can you marry her, and have kids with her, and never see me again?”

Tony closes his eyes, picturing that life. He can see most of it. Him and Pepper getting married. Him and Pepper holding a vague faced baby. Them living in a cabin. Away from it all, away from the Avengers, away from Peter.

But even in his make-believe, Peter free scenario, he can’t help but picture his favorite picture of them in the house. The one with Tony giving Peter the Stark Internship.

“No,” he says honestly, opening his watery eyes. “No, I don’t think I can.”

“What about her,” Peter prompts softly. He doesn’t look like the man he loves just told him he can’t live without him. He looks unbelievably sad. “Can you live without her?”

He tries again, this time replacing Pepper with Peter. Marrying Peter. Holding a baby with Peter. Living in the city with Peter. Raising a family with Peter. Seeing Pepper in every SI meeting, every call, every surface in the penthouse. She would be everywhere, even if they broke up.

Tony hangs his head, wanting to just disappear. Wanting the floor to open up and swallow him whole. “She’s the CEO of my company,” he softly reminds Peter. “I would have to leave SI to avoid her.”

Peter laughs bitterly. “I’m not asking you to cut her out of your life, like she is me. I’m asking, can you see yourself happy with just me? Can you live without her as your lover, your girlfriend? Could you be happy with just me?”

And it’s like a lightbulb goes off in Tony’s head. His head shoots up and his eyes fly open.

Because yes, yes he can live with just Peter as his lover. If he doesn’t have to cut Pepper out of his life, he can happily belong to Peter and Peter alone. Because Peter has never given him ultimatums. Peter has never made Tony feel stuck, or trapped, or broken. Peter has only ever made Tony feel safe, and wanted, and respected, and loved.

Tony surges up into Peter’s lips, holding the other man as close to himself as possible. Peter gasps into Tony’s lips, protesting for only a millisecond before melting into it. Tony pours all the love, adoration, and thankfulness he feels into the kiss. Because for the first time in...in maybe his entire life, Tony feels sure.

He finally pulls away after what could have been minutes or hours, staring up at Peter in awe. “Yeah,” the older man says softly. “Yeah I can. I...I can.”

Peter sniffles, looking at Tony with teary, suspicious eyes. “Does that mean-”

“I’m not going to marry her,” Tony says quickly. “I’m going to end things between us, for good this time, and I’m...I’m going to leave her. And if you still want me, I want-”

Peter crushes Tony in a hug, eyes wide with both surprise and excitement. “I didn’t think you would choose me,” Peter gasps, burying his face into Tony’s neck. “I didn’t get my hopes up.”

Tony sobs once, and then laughs in relief. “I love you, Peter Parker. I’m so...I’m so sorry it took me so long to realize what I-”

Peter cuts him off with a kiss, then hugs him tightly again. “It’s okay,” Peter promises, sniffling as he does. “Worth it.”

Tony laughs softly, kissing Peter and pulling him close. He kisses the younger man deeply, but not too intensely. He doesn’t want it to get out of hand just yet, not when he’s still-

“This is why we are moving away,” Pepper’s low, warning voice sounds.

Peter practically flies out of Tony's arms, unable to look Pepper in the face.

But Tony can.

Tony sighs in annoyance at Peter’s warmth being ripped away from him, and turns his gaze to her. “Didn’t I tell you not half an hour ago to leave me alone?” he asks coldly.

Pepper mistakes his hostility for something it isn’t. She takes it as her winning, as Tony being upset his ‘last meeting’ with Peter was interrupted. “Sorry Tony, didn’t realize you and your little home wrecker were in the middle of something,” she sneers at Peter, and the younger man winces.

It makes Tony see red. “Actually-”

“But if you don’t mind, slut, my fiancé and I have a lot of planning to get to. Planning the wedding, planning the house we’re going to move to, planning what we’re going to name our kids. My fiancé and I have a lot to do, so I’m going to have to cut your little seduction act short for the day, okay?”

Tony works his jaw, seething in anger. “Actually,” Tony says, louder this time. “There is no wedding to plan. We’re done.”

Pepper scoffs and rolls her eyes. “That’s what you said before you proposed to me,” she dismisses. “No more games Tony, let’s-”

“You’re right,” Tony cuts her off. “No more games. We are done, we are not getting married. I’m not choosing you, I choose Peter. I’m not living without him, and you aren’t taking him away from me.”

A spark of fear lights up Pepper’s eyes, and she darts her eyes from between Peter to Tony and back again. “No,” she says. “No, you agreed to marry me. You said you wanted to marry me.”

“I did,” Tony says, and his voice softens just a bit. No matter what she’s done to him, and no matter what realizations he’s had in the last few minutes, he can’t just turn off his love for her. The woman he was in love with for over a decade... “A part of me still does,” he admits. “But I’m not going to. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t do these ultimatums and these games and the manipulation. We’re not getting married.”

Pepper’s nostrils flare in anger. “Fine, we won’t get married. But you can’t see Peter anymore, I need you committed to me.”

Tony smiles sadly, scooting closer to Peter and wrapping an arm around his waist. “No,” Tony says. “I’m not giving up Peter. Ever. I’m giving up you. We are done, Pep.”

Pepper’s breathing quickens. “Tony, you can’t just-”

Tony shakes his head, kissing Peter's hair. “I can. I love Peter, and I want to be with him. We’re done.”

Pepper’s hands shake, and she shakes her head in denial. “Fine, keep your little whore! Just don’t throw away what we-”

“Stop calling him a god damn whore,” Tony growls, sympathy slowly dissipating.

“Keep us both,” Pepper says, ignoring Tony’s outburst. “Please baby, I love you! I’ve loves you for years, we belong together, remember? That’s all that matters, is that we love each other.” She steps closer, a hand outstretched in offering. “Please, baby, we love each other.”

And it’s so perfectly delicious. So perfectly exactly what he’s wanted for almost a year now. A nice, juicy worm wiggling away right in front of Tony’s face.

But Tony isn’t a fish, and he knows the hook is attached. He knows it won’t last, and the games will begin again. Until she manipulates Tony again, and until she hurts Tony again.

The older man looks down at Peter, seeing the building tears and the worry on his face. And Tony is again reminded of how perfect Peter is, and how much he doesn’t deserve such a beautiful, kind, loving person.

Tony smiles at Peter, and then looks back to Pepper. “No,” he says softly. “I want Peter, and I want him alone. I love you, but I don’t want you anymore. I want to feel safe, and loved, and wanted, and secure. I love Peter, and I want him. I choose him. You told me to choose, I choose him.”

“Tony,” Pepper says, barely a whisper.

“Effective immediately, our relationship is strictly professional. You are the CEO of my company, and I hold a lot of respect for you. But that’s all. Our relationship is no longer romantic or sexual of any nature.” Tony kisses the top of Peter’s head, pulling him even closer.

Pepper shakes her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “Don’t do this.”

“It’s already done,” Tony says with an air of finality. “Goodbye, Ms. Potts.”

Pepper scoffs, tears finally falling and she turns on her heel. She doesn’t say a word as she exits, slamming the lab door behind her.

Peter turns to Tony, looking at him with wide eyes. “Tony?” he whispers.

Tony breathes, smiling down at the younger man. “That wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be.”

Peter sobs in relief, throwing himself into the older man and connecting their lips with a mixture of relief, happiness, hope, and love.

And Tony kisses him back, with equal intensity, feeling more sure than he has in his entire life.

#starker #Gracie's New Years Resolution #My writing #tony stark #tw: emotional manipulation #tw: unhealthy relationship #tw: cheating #tw: alchohol mention #tw: angst

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 7 months

Text

John and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day - a Malevolent fic

What do a rough night, a grouchy host, an annoying party, and a cruel trainer have in common? They all drive John half-mad.

Today, there are consequences for that.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3

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He’d been good. So very good.

He knew how important Parker was to Arthur. Sort of.

He knew how fragile Arthur was about Sunny. Sort of.

He’d been fucking good, and now, he was paying for it.

Oh, this was going to be a bad day.

Arthur had one of those dreams he was refusing to talk about lately—one of the ones where he moaned, and woke up just upset, and with nocturnal penile tumescence, which always left Arthur weird and finicky and refusing to let John help in the shower (which was stupid because Arthur wouldn’t help Arthur in the shower), and after all that, he wouldn’t even wear what John wanted him to wear.

They were seeing Dagon today. It mattered.

Arthur wanted to wear a sack.

This is ugly!

“It’s fine,” Arthur grumbled.

It’s loose in the wrong places and tight in the stupid ones!

“You’re stupid,” said Arthur, which made about as much sense as anything that had been said today, and they were still sniping at each other when they went to miserable breakfast.

It was John’s least favorite because Arthur could eat the whole thing himself with one hand and needed no help.

It was worse because Faroe was in a terrible mood (“Do I have to meet them?” “Yes, my darling, you have to give them at least a chance.”) and Hastur was in a terrible mood (“Arthur… what the fuck are you wearing?” See? “What I want!”) and Nibbles was in a terrible mood (crack went the back of her chair as she bit the top rail off for no reason) and John just wanted it to all be over.

The only good thing was Hastur did not forcibly strip Arthur and make him change. The bad thing was he transformed Arthur’s outfit right on his body with magic, which somehow didn’t work right, and Arthur had to hurry back to his room holding the damned thing up around his waist so it wouldn’t just fall off completely and expose him.

Was this what John got for behaving at dinner? It sure as hell felt like it.

Court made it even worse.

Dagon and his absolute horde of offspring arrived in a cloud of seaweed smell and raucous voices, and John couldn’t even begin to describe the sight—power to warp the room so the light danced as if underwater, but not as if showing off, just as a result of Dagon’s proximity. And then the invader (guest, fine, fine) was bellowing, and slapping Hastur on the back, and picking Arthur up to look at him (“Well, check this here little guy out! Whadja do here, peg him? Hahaha!”) and Arthur went hot and red, and John told Dagon exactly where he could stick his dick and how much it would hurt.

John didn’t get a second of horror or tension out of it. Not even one shocked gasp.

Dagon laughed like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, and handed Arthur off to Hastur like a doll, and John’s best, nastiest insults were ignored.

And the he was ignored more (“Hey, honey, I hear you had some trouble with a few’a my kids. Sorry ‘bout that.” “I… it… it’s okay.” “Naw, it ain’t. Don’t you worry! Uncle Dagon’s gonna make it better.”) and Arthur somehow started playing sea shanties (why had they never played these before? They were fun! Why had Arthur never shared this with him?) and instead of proper court there was some kind of dancing and a weird party and Dagon ended up carrying Arthur AND the piano around or carrying Faroe on his shoulder so she was even higher up than Hastur and somehow got everybody laughing (and John hadn’t been able to get Arthur laughing all day and he tried to hit Dagon and only hurt his hand) and even Hastur seemed to have a good time.

John hated everybody. Nobody would talk to him. (Maybe because he yelled at anyone who tried.) They were all horrible.

Arthur laughed. Not with John. It felt awful.

Dagon promised to come again, and Faroe hoped he would, and John howled oaths and curses, and it didn’t matter at all.

Dis was mean. “You bent the fork. You’ve cast a shield before. We need to get this down, but it won’t work if you don’t do it together.”

“I’m willing,” Arthur said again. “Come on.”

No! (And he couldn’t explain it was because he didn’t feel right and was terrified of hurting Arthur, and the words wouldn’t come out, and nothing was coming out.) Fuck you both!

“You’re wasting time,” Dis was saying.

“I’m trying!” Arthur snapped. “He’s the one being stubborn!”

Stubborn! Stubborn! You’re the one stubborn enough to slice his own damn throat!

A moment of quiet shock, all around.

“Yikes,” said Dis under her breath.

“Fuck, John, what the fuck,” said Arthur softly, and John realized he’d gone too far.

You did! John cried. To his horror, he sounded like he was going to start weeping.

“Uh, huh. We’re gonna play a new game called ‘ignore the asshole,’” said Dis.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Arthur murmured.

Nooooo! John howled to no effect.

And Dis worked on Arthur’s wrist and helped his hand (his hand, not John’s) get stronger, and John lost his mind.

Dis saw it coming, maybe felt the gathering power, who could say? “John—”

John cast the shield spell he had in the games to make a fucking point. Nnnn’dm!

The shield worked—perfectly of course—blasting out from them with power. It made his point, all right: it pushed Dis back a couple of steps (he refused to believe she’d let it), and he crowed in triumph. See? We can do it without your help!

Arthur collapsed.

The really awful thing was he felt sane after.

It seemed unfair. Wrong. Even as Arthur’s vision shuttered, and they fell, John suddenly knew the whole day had been actually fun. There hadn't been a reason for him to feel… whatever he’d been feeling.

It was so awful. A stretching, straining, retching feeling, like he was just going to burst, and for some reason, it made him completely nuts.

Well, now he wasn’t nuts. Now, he was fine, and couldn’t escape the truth that Arthur was hurt.

John was dazed as the ground rushed toward them, disconnected in the weird torpor he always felt following a spell, and he hardly appreciated Dis catching them like they weighed nothing, hardly registered Faroe’s horrified cry, hardly noticed Parker out of nowhere (that’s right, he’d been running again, on purpose) picking Arthur up like he weighed nothing and charging into the palace, calling for Hastur.

But he did register one thing: Sunny, very quietly, saying, Ph’lloig.

Healing.

Arthur’s heart beat. He didn’t wake up, though, not even when Hastur came flying out of nowhere to snatch him from Parker’s arms.

And John felt so much better, so much saner, and the guilt from that kept him from chiming in when Dis explained what happened.

The gods who’d dared gather in the hall, drawn by Hastur’s abrupt departure, were all intrigued, and gossiping, and worried that the great gift might be too much for the little human, after all.

“We just… this is… baffling,” the medimages were saying. “He’s all right, at least… physically.”

“Meaning?” Hastur growled.

“He won’t wake up. We… can’t seem to wake him up.” The medimages cringed, fearful of his response.

John couldn’t blame them. Hastur’s rage warped the air, sending little black cracks of power in silent jags through his aura.

“You’ve done what you can,” said Hastur, low. “Out.”

Because what else could they do? Something John did—something about this moment, in the middle of all this stress—was holding Arthur under.

John’s voice hitched.

The medimages scurried. None were stupid enough to answer any questions in the hall, and simply said the Lord of Carcosa was handling it.

Hastur closed and sealed the door. He held Arthur. “Wake, my own,” he said, to no change at all.

Arthur slept, breathing deeply. His color in the mirrors was much improved, at least; but he did not even stir at Hastur’s command.

John’s voice hitched. I’m so sorry.

“What,” said Hastur, low, “the fuck did you do?”

Any other time, John would have answered with snarls, threats, oaths. Railing for no reason, defensive and angry. But he wasn’t now; when he’d cast that spell and hurt Arthur, he’d calmed, and he didn’t know why.

I don’t know, he said. He reached up and touched Arthur’s cheek; there were tears on it, and they didn’t belong to Arthur. They said he’s going to be okay.

Hastur paced, back and forth, then seemed to come to some decision and stopped. He conjured a Dancer. “Tell my daughter Arthur is fine. We are going to consult an expert to be sure, but he is fine.”

He’s not fine! said John.

“We’re going to see the Keeper,” said Hastur, and John shut up.

He wiped away another tear. Fuck. I’m sorry, Arthur.

“He can’t hear you.”

I don’t care. I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m so sorry.

Hastur opened a portal, and ice and snow blasted through.

Hastur’s portal was hijacked. Instead of cold and howling wind, the moment he stepped through, they were inside the Scriptorium.

Hastur’s startled clutch nearly hid Arthur from view.

“Hastur!” The Keeper emerged from behind a bookcase, sweeping forward. “You know, I was just about to write a le… oh, oh dear.”

Her thrum of power echoed their first meeting, instantaneously shielding them from prying ears. Some of the more senior members of the scriptorium began to ferry the others away, also removing prying eyes.

“Poor thing looks dreadful,” she said. “What happened?”

Hastur’s voice was low. Angry. “Tell her. Piece.”

John wasn’t in a place to argue over semantics. I cast magic through him. It was just a shield spell, and… his heart stuttered, and he collapsed. I nearly fucking killed him. I nearly… His voice broke, and he stopped.

“He has been stabilized. Repaired.” Hastur still sounded angry. “But this isn’t the first time, is it? Piece.”

John’s voice was tight. No. It’s not. I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry!

“Easy, now,” the Keeper said, very gently. “Let's get the three of you to my office, and we can set him down and take a look. John, what does Hastur mean? About this not being the first time?”

Why did it all seem so clear now? It was like some madness had been siphoned right out of him. Why now? Why too fucking late? The first time, Hastur was abusing him, and I tried to cast a small fire spell to hurt him. Arthur hadn’t been attuned to magic at all. It stopped his heart then. Fully stopped.

“And then, in the games,” said Hastur, who was not giving him any fucking quarter.

When the Mi-go attacked at the end of the games, I used the same shield spell I did here. Arthur passed out then, too. I just thought… we’ve done this successfully a few times. I thought it would be okay. And, inexplicably, he’d also had to prove Dis wrong. Why? Why the fuck had he wanted that?

She opened a door in a bookcase that had patently had no door (much less a room on the other side of it) a second ago. “In you go. Hastur, when did you attune him to magic? Formally?”

“I didn’t. It was entirely John’s doing, and it was done by accident—which I am well aware cannot occur. It seemed to happen as they practiced… jazz.” Like the word was dirty.

The Keeper’s veiled face turned to John. Stared. “Well,” she said. “Well. You were playing music with him? Allow me to clarify: you were also playing? Not just controlling the hand for him?”

John sniffled. We’d been sharing the hand a little, on and off, but when he decided to teach Faroe jazz, he taught it to me, too, and we just… kept doing it. I had the hand completely. We got pretty good.

“They did,” said Hastur, which was a concession, then brought the topic back around. “I can’t wake him.”

“How very strange,” said the Keeper. With a sweep of her arm, she shunted her marble-topped desk to the side, and one of the plush chairs unfolded itself with a creak and a groan into a low, gently-sloped bed, cushioned by deep green satin. “I’ve spent quite a bit of time thinking about Arthur and the peculiar ways magic seems to interact with him. I have a theory.” She fluffed a throw pillow and set it down, gently. “Hastur, if you wouldn’t mind—your marked will come to no harm, I’ve given you my word.”

Hastur hesitated.

Arthur looked peaceful.

Very slowly, Hastur handed him over. His tentacles lingered, sliding off.

John was silent, which was a concession.

A flick of her hand brought the massive chaise lounge beside the makeshift bed. “Sit, Hastur. May I touch him, John?”

Yes. Please… help him. Fuck. I didn’t mean to do this.

“If Hastur says he’s stable, he is stable.” She swept to the opposite side, neck craning with a burning curiosity, and gently brushed the hair out of Arthur’s face. “Oh, my. You’re really tangled up in there, aren’t you, John?”

We are? said John, softly.

“Tell me about it,” Hastur muttered.

I mean… it’s both of us? Not just me.

Very gently, she tilted Arthur’s head to the side, lifting his chin, her thumb brushing his cheekbone. “If you’re worried it’s one-sided, John, don’t be. It isn’t. It’s just remarkable to see it so clearly when he’s not fighting perusal.”

“When he’s not… he resists you?” Hastur blurted.

“Oh, yes,” she said. The angle of her face shifted just a fraction, and John could feel her gaze on him, pinning him like an insect. “I think I know what’s happening here, and it’s two-fold. Let’s confirm! Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, John?”

John was speechless. I… I don’t…

“You don’t need to be frightened.” Her head angled, and somehow he felt like he was meeting her gaze; it was not a terrible pinned feeling, but something warm, something kind. “I want to help you. I can see you’re hurting, and I think that may play in. Are you alright?”

Damn it, he was gonna cry. N… no. I haven’t… I haven’t felt right. In a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Her voice was soft, gentle. “You don’t have to, but… Your condition is also important here. The two of you are interlinked, for better or for worse.”

For Arthur. For Arthur, he’d say anything, do anything. Confess anything. For a while, I’ve felt out of control. I can think right now; since I fucking did this to him, I can think fine. It’s like… it’s not emotion. I don’t know what it is, but it comes out as emotion. Too much. I can’t think through it. I don’t understand why. It’s been happening since we got back from… everything. With the Oracle.

Hastur inhaled and held it.

“John,” the Keeper said, her voice low and soothing and firm. “May I touch you?”

Yes. John’s voice was shaky.

It wasn’t a physical sensation, but John could certainly feel the Keeper pressing in, sliding past that which was Arthur Lester to seek out the places between where John dwelt. It was like warmth racing down his metaphysical spine, not unpleasant, but so much, overwhelming. “Oh,” the Keeper said quietly. “Oh. That’s so interesting…” She paused. “Perhaps Arthur is not the only one doing the impossible.”

What? he said, unsure, undone, sounding as close to Sunny as he ever had.

“What?” said Hastur. “What is it? What’s happening?”

Arthur suddenly stirred. “John?” he said.

Arthur! John cried.

“Arthur!” Hastur boomed.

Arthur apparently just needed to hear that voice. He was out again.

What the fuck? Arthur!

The Keeper paused. “He… should not have been able to do that,” she said, staring down at the unconscious human.

“Ha!” said Hastur, and pointed with numerous tentacles. “That! That’s what he does!”

Is he okay? John cried.

“Vindicated!” Hastur declared, worry evidently gone now that Arthur had stirred.

“He is perfectly fine,” the Keeper said. “But… my hand is inside his chest right now, and I’m feeding him a tiny dose of magic to keep him asleep, and… well.” Her head angled up to Hastur. “He’s done this before?”

“Yes.” Hastur sounded like he’d won something. “To me… and Shub-Niggurath herself.”

“You’re having a laugh at me,” the Keeper said, voice stunned.

“I am not. He did the same damn thing to her, when she put him to sleep after… being injured.”

“Extraordinary,” said the Keeper. “Absolutely extraordinary. That confirms some things, ironically, having gotten to feel it… firsthand.” A huge, monumental shift, and the gentle heat along John’s body disappeared. “Pardon my pun.”

If he’s all right—

“He is… and I think I know what you need to do to prevent this from happening again. Or at least, it won’t do any harm to try. How much do you remember about magic, John?”

John hesitated. My… I remember some things on my own. Others, I remember when they’re brought up, or I see them. A lot, though, is… lost to me.

“It isn’t lost. Magic isn’t a rigid, structured thing for our kind; it’s intuitive. Our desire to assert our will on reality is what gives us the ability to do magic; and our will, as gods, comes as natural to us as breathing,” she said.

I just feel like I’ve lost so much. John’s tone was heavy.

The Keeper was silent for a moment, letting the melancholic silence stretch. “You have the ability to move forward, to forge something new, and that has a magic of its own.” Her voice was very quiet. “It is not the same, but it will have to be enough.”

John sighed. I suppose. All right. I’m listening. What do we do? I can’t keep hurting him like this. I’m afraid it’ll happen when we don’t have medimages or this asshole around to help him.

Hastur’s tentacular undulation was rude.

“To start, I would recommend telling Arthur about this as soon as you can. His cooperation is important, as my current theory revolves around the idea that his particular brand of tenacity, for better or worse, is the cause of your predicament.”

A beat.

What? said John. Are you telling me this happens because he’s stubborn?

“I spent quite a while testing Arthur’s blood,” she said. “I have a few more tests yet to do, but one of the incredible things I discovered was that under the correct conditions, his cells resisted healing. Not rejected, mind you; but resisted. That’s completely unheard of, and insane, to be clear.”

“Resisted healing?” Hastur sounded appropriately baffled.

Is he dying? John said, rocketing straight into panic.

“He’s not dying, I can assure you. I examined his blood thoroughly; he’s a perfectly healthy, normal human.” A pause. “Which… is also very, very interesting, as at this point, he shouldn’t be.”

John huffed.

“You’re right,” said Hastur, low. “What I did to him alone should have left far worse damage.” It was as close to a proper confession as he’d come.

“That’s not what I meant at all,” the Keeper said, “Though it’s also ostensibly correct. Arthur’s medical records showcase quite a lot of things that should not have left him ‘perfectly healthy,’ but I meant more in the sense that Arthur has been a host for John for… if my understanding is correct… just over ten years, now?”

”Yes,” said Hastur. “After being in the Dark World, then a book. I don’t know how that plays in, or if it does.”

“Have you ever had a chance to study the cells of one who is marked, Hastur? Our influence, as gods, permeates the world around us and brings change to everything we touch,” the Keeper said, her voice light and curious and sweet. Her left-side hands grabbed a section of her skirt and pulled. With a soft sound of ripping fabric they tore off a sheet of black satin, shook it out, and turned it to a knitted blanket, which she gently draped over Arthur’s prone form. “That is a core tenet of our nature; we assert our will on the world around us, and it changes.”

“Yes,” said Hastur, thoughtful.

“The bodies of the marked change due to our influence. Not only do they cease aging, and are protected from disease, but they pick up traces of our divinity as well. Prolonged contact with a deity will change one, as well; it’s most easily seen in Dagon’s brood, some of whom spend their entire lives looking, behaving, and thinking like ordinary humans until they make contact with another of his brood who is more changed, and they begin to metamorphose.”

Hastur nodded. “Yes. That’s how they work.”

“But that’s where this is strange,” said the Keeper. “Arthur has had a piece of a Great Old One within him for ten years, and yet… his body looks just the same as if I had plucked him from his investigator’s office before he ever encountered your book.”

Hastur went very still.

Except for all the scars, John felt he need to remind everyone. I don’t understand. He’s not resistant to magic.

"There is a difference between being resistant to magic and tolerating it," the Keeper said. “Arthur does much more the latter.”

Tolerating it? John choked. Am I hurting him even when we do magic that goes well?

“On the contrary! I think doing magic with him helps quite a bit, as long as he cooperates—and that’s the key for both of you.” The Keeper folded her hands, and a small stool grew from the floorboards so she could sit. “Arthur is a peculiar human—said as complimentary as possible, of course. While he is affected by magic the same as most, he seems to be primarily resistant to things that would change him; in essence, if Arthur does not want something to happen, his own will makes it very difficult for that magic to effectively take hold. His will to be left unbalanced, unchanged, stubborn, makes him resistant even to magic that is widely viewed as helpful, like magic for sleep, or the magic of the mark.”

But Arthur…

“Meanwhile, you,” said the Keeper, “actually are changing.”

Hastur was very still.

John stared. What does that mean? How?

“I don’t know yet,” said the Keeper. “But you need to do magic. I understand you didn’t do any for years in him, right?”

John couldn’t go red. He still felt like he was hot from ill-defined embarrassment. Yes. I couldn’t remember how. For a while, I… lost so much that I felt like I was fading.

The Keeper nodded. “That’s defying your nature. You are a god, John, albeit incomplete.”

I know that. He was barely audible.

“So you need to do magic, but there’s something about him that will reject and resist magic done to him that he does not want to happen, the same way that he endures despite what should be debilitating, fatal injuries. Picture this: the magic you wish to use is like an electric current, and Arthur is the conductor for it. If he flips the switch ‘off,’ there’s nowhere for that energy to go, and it redirects back onto him. We need to ensure he’s able to flip the switch on. Does that make sense?”

Unexpectedly, John started crying. So I can do this without hurting him. That’s why my anger hurt him, because it made my magic surge—but I can do this without hurting him.

“Oh, sweetheart,” the Keeper sighed—she reached out, one hand taking John’s and gently rubbing a thumb over his knuckles, the other gently brushing the hair out of Arthur’s face. “Yes. Yes, you can do magic without hurting him, once we teach Arthur to let the magic flow through him, as opposed to positioning himself like a dam. This is just a hiccup; we can find a way to keep the both of you safe. Alright?”

Hastur reached for them, hesitated, and put his hand back down.

Quick and light, she captured his hand with hers, pulling it close, and sandwiching it between two more.

Hastur went stiff. Staring. But she wasn’t hurting him.

John laughed weakly. Tears slid down Arthur’s face. So now I just have to convince him. That’s harder than anything else.

“I would recommend telling him the truth,” the Keeper said. “We’re far from a solution, but we can manage the symptoms in the meantime.”

This is why, John was saying, hitching. All this time, this was why.

“It is a theory, John.” Her voice was soft, and she patted John’s hand gently. “I am still researching other possible causes, and other ways in which we may solve the conundrum of Arthur Lester. It is not your fault you got yourself stuck in the only human I have ever seen who has outright resisted the influence of a god. This—all of this—is why Hastur chose to enlist my aid.”

She looked up, then, her gaze landing gently on Hastur.

“Your aid is appreciated, Great One. Deeply,” he said, stiff.

He is special, isn’t he? said John, abruptly flipping into pleased. He’s mine.

“Yes, we know,” Hastur drawled.

He’s gonna be all right. John wasn’t saying it to any of them. He’s gonna be all right.

Very, very quietly, Hastur said, “Did I weaken or damage that… characteristic when I treated him badly?”

John scoffed. You probably made it worse.

“If you had damaged it, Hastur, we would not be having this conversation,” the Keeper said. “Somehow, this human is resisting not one, but two gods attempting to share their immortality with him, nevermind the relative age and power of one of them. Why? Who’s to say?” She paused. “I have a hypothesis, of course, but… not today. That will require Arthur’s full cooperation, and I believe I am at least a few visits away from acquiring that. We’ve only just begun our search, Hastur. I have more to unravel first. I will uphold my end of the bargain, I swear to you; you have the proof of my sincerity.”

John peered at her as though trying to translate a language he’d never heard.

This was too kind. Too consistent. It made no sense. “Why?” whispered Hastur as if to himself.

“Because that is the kind of god I wish to be,” she said, voice gentle. “I’ll write you when I’ve gathered more information on my theory, and when I am ready to progress in my plan for treatment. Would you like to wait for Arthur to wake before you head home?” She squeezed Hastur’s hand. “I’m certain he’s still asleep because he wants to be.”

He probably didn’t want to deal with the drama, John laughed unsteadily. He’s just avoiding the whole fuss.

“You’re possibly correct,” said the Keeper, and looked toward Hastur. “You know you have time.”

Hastur gathered Arthur back up, ignoring John’s shove. He stared at her. “Yes.”

John had to be a butt. You could be like this all the time, you know.

Hastur just growled.

Arthur woke up to the smell of hot tea and some baked thing. Some slightly burned thing, honestly, but it paired well.

He also woke to the feel of Hastur holding him. He went stiff.

Arthur.

“John?” Arthur shoved a little. It wasn’t a panicked motion; just instinctive. He didn’t feel trapped.

“We are with the Keeper,” said Hastur, ignoring the shoving.

Come to think of it, there was music Arthur couldn’t identify. It wasn’t radio; it wasn’t live, either, though. Nor was it a style he’d ever heard. “What’s that sound?”

“Welcome back, Arthur.” The Keeper’s voice was gentle. “We’re watching the Sound of Music; it’s a musical film about an Austrian governess who cares for a wealthy widower’s seven children. I think it’s quite lovely, though it’s a bit after your time. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve never heard anything like that.” Arthur sat up. “Um. Why are we here?”

I… I fucked you up.

“What?” said Arthur, voice high.

“Be calm,” said Hastur. “John is dramatic.”

For whatever reason, that made Arthur concerned. He took John’s hand. “Are you okay?”

Am I okay? You… fucking idiot.

“Yes, you whacko,” said Arthur.

“The both of you will be just fine, allow me to assure you,” the Keeper said, voice light and amused. “Though clearly distressing for poor John, this gave me quite a bit of useful information regarding your predicament, and a possible way to help mitigate the issues you’re facing in the meantime. Would you like to hear it now, or would you rather discuss it with John and Hastur when you get home?”

Arthur hesitated.

She’s saying… we need to do magic together. That will help us. Help you.

“Why?” said Arthur.

“I believe that learning to do magic with John may help prevent events like this in the future, as well as be beneficial for John in helping work off some of the excess energy that’s causing him such distress. Hastur will explain.”

Arthur couldn’t look at anyone for confirmation. He could grip John’s hand.

She’s telling the truth.

“All right.” He swallowed. “So we just… do magic?

“Together. As a team.” Her voice was sweet. “But Arthur, I must stress: this will only work if you want it to.”

Arthur scowled. It was a raw stubborn look, nothing else. “Sure. All right.” He didn’t mean all right at all. He had no idea what was going on.

Hastur rumbled. “Thank you, Great One.”

John felt along Arthur’s chest, as if ensuring his heart still beat. Thank you, he said, barely audible.

“But what happened?” Arthur muttered.

I cast magic without warning you and you passed out.

“Like before?” said Arthur, quietly.

“You handled it better,” said Hastur. “Perhaps you weren’t willing to let your heart stop this time,” he quipped.

Arthur’s jaw set.

You’re all right, said John, reassuring himself.

“We shall return now. I believe you need rest,” said Hastur.

“Of course, Hastur. Thank you for your trust.” She inclined her head, gracefully. “You may absolutely return at any time. You can expect a letter from me in… perhaps a week regarding my findings.”

Hastur bowed deeply, then portaled back to Arthur’s room.

He finally put Arthur down.

Arthur swayed. He was weaker than he liked. “What she said. That checked out?”

Yes, but… John made a low, frustrated noise. It can’t be that fucking simple. She’s hiding something—is she spying on us? What the fuck?

“I believe she is still piecing this together,” Hastur said. “And I appreciate her taking her time in this case. I do not care to deal with accidental damage.”

I’m not going to let you be hurt again, John vowed.

“Okay, John.” Arthur captured that hand again and brought it to his lips. “It’s going to be okay. I, uh. I don’t know what time it is, but I think I want to go to bed.”

“Do. Your duties are relieved for today.” Hastur wondered if Arthur realized he was being that affectionate in front of just anyone these days. “Rest. Tomorrow, I will ensure Dis knows you must include magic in your training.”

“Sure,” muttered Arthur. “Bed?”

Left. Straight. There.

Arthur was already stripping, even knowing Hastur was in the room. How far they had all come…

Hastur left.

This had not been planned. Now John was changing, and Hastur had no idea how or why, and if something went wrong there, this entire plan would have to be reworked.

There was no room to rework it. Sunny was too small to take John’s place. Faroe would be too young. John was his only hope.

He needed help. He needed the Keeper’s help… and he had nothing huge left to bargain with.

Maybe he could find something. Maybe he could trade more of himself. Fuck, if she wanted another damned piece of him to peer at, he’d chop it off himself. (And warn her it would probably fall in love with the first human it saw, but whatever.)

No use wasting time. She’d said he could come back. She’d said it repeatedly. Did she mean it? Could he go there, to her, and make a new deal for John?

Could he, in that process, maybe take a moment in that time-free place to rest?

It was an enormous risk. If the Keeper was being merely polite, this would use up good grace, possibly place her in a dangerous category. But oh; the lure of rest was terrible.

What he needed was a bribe.

Hastur swooped to the Librarian, spent half an hour picking through stacks of books, and then, scared out of his mind, opened a portal to the Keeper’s home and stepped through.

Arthur was asleep.

This day; gods, this had been the worst day. Awful. Terrible. Horrible. No good.

But Arthur was all right. And now… they’d be doing magic together, and John could finally admit to himself how incredibly good that magic felt.

It was release; it was relief. It was satisfying, and he felt so relaxed afterward.

John didn’t miss the fact that this relief came through Arthur. It was intimate. Maybe more intimate than he dared tell Arthur for a while. The man would stubborn right up, and that would end it.

It had been an awful day, but the end of it wasn’t so bad. He stroked Arthur’s hair, and counted his breaths, and listened to the blessedly even beat of his heart, and wondered if doing magic felt as good to Arthur as it did to him.

Notes:

Yes, Arthur stubborned himself into ruined clothes when Hastur tried to fix his outfit with magic. Yes. He did that. And he'd do it again.

#malevolent #malevolent fic #malevolent au #arthur lester #john doe malevolent #kiy malevolent #surrogate series

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kitkatopinions · 1 year

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Opinion on Ren?

Ahhh, Ren.

He was a good support for around six years and his volume four arc with the Nuckelavee Grimm was pretty a-okay, nothing super special, but the biggest problem with his character in the first six seasons was the lack of attention paid to him in things like not letting him grieve Pyrrha and not showing his actual friendships develop + dragging out his romance with Nora (which should've started happening in volume 4 or at the very least in V6.)

V7 muddied the waters, making Ren have this arc where everyone was supposed to be mad at him for being a horrible friend and partner because he *checks notes* doesn't tell Nora every single thing he feels as soon as he feels them and didn't feel ready to date her and didn't like being forcibly yanked into a kiss he'd just made it clear he didn't want. I was already feeling sorry for Ren in V7, but then V8 included him being the only member of the team other than Ruby to even consider 'maybe we're not doing that good maybe we're in over our heads' which was, you know, just the truth. However, all Ren got for his troubles was scolded for being such a horrible person to ever doubt their perfection. And then Ren got a semblance upgrade that let him identify people's mood, like a mood ring, and he somehow understands what every color means immediately, and I guess the only person who can feel more than one thing at a time is Winter, and I guess Ren just is intuitive enough to determine exactly what people think based off of their one single feeling - like telling Marrow doesn't want to do what he's doing just because Marrow is sad. And it's like... The dumbest most hand-of-the-author semblance until Neo's V9 upgrade, and used terribly. But apparently acquiring the semblance was enough to make Ren randomly decide he was stupid for thinking or feeling the 'wrong' things and he suddenly was just like "actually everyone is right we're perfect :) :) No one needs to confront any mistakes :) :) I was being a bad friend and partner for not immediately doing whatever Nora wanted and it was wrong of me to have any reservations about our relationship :) :) It's a good thing fearless Jaune is here to be perfect unlike me :) :) Gee I sure am glad Nora forced a kiss on me :) I was one hundred percent wrong :) So glad I stopped thinking any of us need to change :) Better start making sure I express all my emotions the way Nora does because being reserved is a sign of a bad guy :) :) :)"

I mean, what a sucky way to deal with the character. I like Ren okay but less now that he switched around in V8, and I'm really anticipating that the only thing his character will be used for from here on in is just getting together with Nora officially. I still like him, but since his type of character isn't the type of character I gravitate towards usually, I just don't find him particularly interesting with how they've handled him, which sucks because he has a lot of potential! But past being indignant on his behalf and then rolling my eyes over how he switched around to the rwbyjnor group think, I just think Ren's good-ish but not a character I really gravitate towards.

#rwde

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charzard-lord · 2 years

Note

river song x female reader that has dissociative identity disorder and has random mood switches pls

Title: Every Part Of Me

Pairings: River Song/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 949

Key: ☁️🎭🧸💣♀️

Warnings: Angst, language, fluff, comfort, switching identities, child alter, confusion, crying, tears, persecutor, anger, slight self-deprecation, host

A/N: Thank you for sending in this request! I hope I did it justice. I don’t know a ton about DID but I tried my best to accurately represent it here. DID is 100% real and 100% valid. This story in no way represents every person with DID. Every person’s experience is different and valid. I’m open to feedback and constructive criticism! Enjoy :)

Every day brings a new challenge. Today, your child alter is fronting, which can be equally as good as it can be bad. You get easily excited but you also get easily emotional and confused.

“River! Look at these flowers!” you run over to a stall selling a beautiful array of lilies, roses, and a few others you can’t name. You lean forward and smell them, giggling in delight. It’s wonderful!

You turn to say something to River but quickly realize you are alone. You look around in a panic, tears starting to form in your eyes. Where did she go?

“I found a good place to eat. Do you wa- are you okay?” Rivers voice makes you whip around. Upon noticing your distressed state, she moves closer. Without hesitation, you throw your arms around her and cry into her shoulder. She holds you, rubbing your back soothingly.

When you finally pull away, you look up at her and ask her where she went.

“I just got caught up with a local and they showed me all the good places to eat around here. I’m sorry. I really thought you were right behind me,”

You don’t answer right away, stuck in your head. River gently grabs your hand and looks at you with care.

“Maybe we should hold hands, just to make sure that doesn’t happen again,” a smile slowly starts to form on your face and you nod your head enthusiastically, feeling better now that River is with you again. She makes you feel safe.

The two of you make your way to a cozy looking restaurant. As soon as you’re seated, you start looking through the menu, realizing you see a lot of your favorite foods. You squeal in excitement, bouncing slightly.

“What looks good?” River asks, smiling affectionately at you.

“Everything!” you shout, maybe just a little too loud, but luckily no one else is near your table.

River laughs lightheartedly and you laugh with her.

“Well, you’ve got to pick something,” she says, still smiling. You nod and put on a serious face, looking back at the menu intensely.

“Okay! I know what I want!” you grin and River chuckles slightly, shaking her head in amusement.

The waiter comes to take your order and you chat idly with River while you wait for your food. When the food finally arrives, you immediately dig in, enjoying every bite. It’s all going rather well, until you grab some a little too enthusiastically, causing a piece of your meal to fall into your lap.

Instantly, your mood shifts, and a boiling hot anger rises within you. You can feel your persecutor clawing at your mind. They’re trying to take over.

A few moments pass and the world becomes distant. You start to lose your grip on reality and soon, your child alter is pushed to the back as your persecutor comes crashing to the front.

“What the hell is wrong with you,” you mutter to yourself.

“Hey,” River calls out gently and you glare at her without saying a word.

“How are you feeling?” she continues and you grumble in annoyance.

“I’m pissed off,” you reply, shifting in your seat.

“And why’s that?” River presses. You sigh deeply.

“There’s food on my clothes and that’s disgusting,”

“I understand. That’s a terrible feeling. Would you like a change of clothes? I actually bought this earlier. I was going to wait to give it to you, but I’m happy to share it with you now,” she pulls out a bag with a really adorable outfit inside, showing it to you.

“We don’t deserve a gift right now,” you say, the anger starting to grow.

“Okay, well, this is here for you whenever you’re ready for it,” River places the bag on the far corner of the table. “Do you want a napkin in the meantime?”

You nod your head and she grabs an extra napkin, pouring a little bit of water on it before handing it over. You take it with a small thank you and dab at the spot where the food fell. The anger slowly starts to subside and you can feel your host standing over your shoulder.

“I just got here,” you say, trying to push your host away, but she is persistent. You stare blankly at your glass of water as the world once again becomes distant. Your host comes to the front and you look around in confusion.

“What happened?” you ask River and she gives you the spark notes.

You look over and notice the bag of clothes and tilt your head in curiosity. River pushes the bag towards you and you take it, thanking her. You head to the bathroom to change. Once you’ve finished, you admire yourself in the mirror. This outfit really suits you.

You walk back to your table and River immediately showers you with compliments. A slight blush dusts your cheeks as you take your seat, smiling brightly.

Once you’ve both finished your meals and paid the bill, you walk outside into the cool summer night. You hold hands and admire the little shops as you pass. Finally, you make it back home. Just as River is about to leave, you call out to her. She turns to face you and you suddenly feel shy about what you want to say. You swallow the anxiety and speak.

“Thank you. For everything. I had a great time today, and I’m glad I can rely on you. It means the world,” as you’re saying this, River steps closer and takes your hands in her own.

“Of course. Anything for you, love,” she smiles at you and you feel your heart soar.

#request #river song x reader #river song #original work #reader insert #doctor who #doctor who x reader #angst #fluff #dissociative identity disorder

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tinypurpleparrot · 2 years

Text

Thunderstorm

Going off what @cwahsont said the other day, it reminded me of a short I wrote a while ago about those lazy days where it’s just too cozy to get out of bed. I hesitated on posting it because it’s sort of non-canon for Starfall, but some fluff wouldn’t hurt after the past couple weeks for a lot of us.

Rating: T Words: ~1,300

Violet hummed in contentment and snuggled against her pillow under the mass of quilts. Breezehome’s roof slats were open on the far end of the room, filling it with the smell of morning rain. Soon someone would be up the stairs to try and coax her out of bed to go do something stupid like chores or dragon hunting. She wasn't moving. It was cold and rainy. The dragons wouldn't be out in this (or maybe they would if they knew where she was), and the chores would still be there in the afternoon. She could feel the slow rumble of thunder out on the plains; it wasn't so bad when it was so far away. But it'd be closer soon, and then she'd have to put her earplugs back in.

"Okay," she mumbled to herself. "I need tea. But I know if I ask someone downstairs, they're going to instantly remember that I'm not down there working. Never mind this is my damn house, paid for with my damn money, and my literally damned blood, and I'm perpetually tired and…"

"What kind of tea, Star," Kaidan sighed wearily. He sounded like he was directly underneath her at the hearth.

She blinked. Was she being that loud? And how did he hear over the storm? "Canis root, sen lu'he? Please?"

"If you're not feeling well, I'm not going to drag you out of bed. I know better, now."

She could already hear him pouring hot water. "Thank you. Plus, it's a nice morning and I want to enjoy the sound of rain and thunder. It's beautiful, and I never hear it back home unless I make it myself."

"This is a nice morning for you?" For Kaidan, it wasn't terrible, but at least he wasn't out in it. He'd had several times in his life where he was stuck out in a storm with little recourse but to wait it out.

"Yeah. Cozy. Warm. Soothing rain. Resting," she said, and a slow rumble of thunder agreed.

"Fair enough, then." A few minutes later, Kaidan made his way up the stairs with a big, blue and white striped, crackle glazed cup. He set it on her nightstand, then stood over her. "Anything else, your highness?"

Violet looked up at him. Of course, he only meant it playfully, but there was that slight bit of weariness at the back of it. "Thank you, again, sen lu'he." She frowned at him, then slipped a hand out of the quilts and held his. Or rather, a couple of his fingers. His hand (and the rest of him) was almost comically large compared to hers.

Kaidan couldn't figure if this was guilt or if she wanted something else, at least until she squeezed his hand and started gently tugging him down to sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Stay for a few minutes. Please."

Oh. "‘Til your tea cools, alright?"

"Like you held me when we were both healing from Bleak Falls."

His cheeks darkened slightly as he looked away. "You complained that I was smothering you. I didn't know that you don't like being hugged."

"I want you to understand what I'm feeling right now," she purred.

Now that tone, he understood. He wasn't sure if he wanted what passed for her advances right now, considering she was also having one of her moods. Kaidan had been with her long enough to know that when Starfall started in on feelings and emotions, that she felt them more strongly than anyone he'd ever met. Which very rarely turned out to be a good thing. But they were in a safe place, and there was nothing pressing on her to get done at the moment, so he gave in. He went around to his side of the bed and lay down.

Starfall threw a few of her pre-warmed quilts over him and sidled up close to hug his side. And he was immediately trapped. He never admitted it, but all that extra softness in all the right places that he would gently tease her about made her just too perfect to hold (and sap the heat from). Hearing her sigh happily and feeling her body cozy up against his very quickly changed his mind about trying to leave. He slid his arm around her to nudge her closer.

"Mmmm…" she nuzzled his chest. "See?"

She had a point.

"Listen to the rain and the rumble of thunder getting closer."

The patter of droplets collecting on the roof and running down the gutters. The loud 'shaah' as it washed the cobblestones of the main road clean. "Aye."

"Smell the tea you made for me."

Canis root, thankfully not named for smelling (or tasting) like dog. Combined with the rain, the room smelled like the middle of the deep woods of Falkreath. "Reminds me of quieter times as a hunter."

Violet nodded. "Reminds me of studying in the botanical gardens at Elinhir. Peaceful. Bright. Flowery."

"Yeah…" he sighed contentedly and suddenly found his eyelids getting heavy.

She didn't need words for the next part. Her free arm moved up, brushed his hair out of his eyes, and cupped his cheek. Even though she was slightly given to paying closer attention to the wildfires in his eyes when the passion of battle was driving him, his sleepy, dreamy, dim embers were a close second. Her fingers traced along his jaw and cheek, then lightly brushed his lips before pulling away.

'Damn it, dovahdin…' A small moan escaped from his lips just from her touching him there. Had it really been that long since he'd bedded someone? He realized (and hated) that that would probably make her hesitate and stop. She had no qualms about love itself. The inevitable end, though, wasn't something she cared about or needed at all. Bloody tease.

Violet did hesitate for a moment, though more in caution for whether or not he'd want those kinds of attentions from her. She could do love, fine. Hugging (with a bit of effort), kissing, feeling, smiling, words of affection, and indulging their senses. But the rest… "Sorry, Kai. I didn't mean to get you that caught up."

Looking into her big brown eyes in the candle light, it was a little hard to tell if she was all that sorry. "Can I have a kiss as an apology?"

She nodded and sat up a bit to get up to his height, then leaned in close and breathed, "Anything else, my brave knight?"

"Kiss first." He tested by gently brushing his lips to hers.

A sharp crack of thunder made her clutch him tightly and the kiss became a little more heated with her fingers digging into his back. He almost pulled away to snicker at the big, scary storm surprising the little dragon, but since a kiss was all he dared to ask her, he wanted to savor it. Breathing her in reminded him of the summer nights, hiding from the harsh storms and the forest floor blooming in celebration of a good rain. And the happy sigh of her approval instantly made him sorry he couldn't show her how much more of that she could have.

"Now you've got me not wanting to leave," he purred and lightly nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

Her response was to turn her free arm over and behind her, and wave her hand at her teacup until it started steaming again.

"Clever little thing," Kaidan chuckled. His lips traced along her jaw until they were close enough to hers to steal another kiss.

#skyrim #kaidan skyrim #kaidan 2 #fanfiction #writing #fluff #oc #starfall

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kilojulietsierra · 2 years

Text

Tejana - Chapter Two (Javier Pena x OFC)

Things change when Ali does a favor for Steve and ends up in the line of fire. To make things worse they find out Javier and the others are being sent to Medellin and Ali will stay in Bogota.

Warning: canon typical action/violence, some fluff, angst

Since it's been awhile here's Chapter One

Chapter Two

"Are you cooking?"

Javier looked over his shoulder at her as she shuffled down the hall from the bathroom, freshly showered and mostly dressed. "I was hungry."

She snorted out a laugh as she came up behind him to peek around his back at the stove. "Ohh charizo?"

"Mhmm." He jerked his head towards the end of the counter, "There's tortillas, if you want some."

Ali grabbed two tortillas and held them out to him, smiling as he scooped the sausage into them."Salsa?"

"Over there." He moved the pan to the side so he could heat another tortilla over the burner, "Taking my shirt with you?

"Maybe…" She smiled at him, holidng eye contact as she took a bite of her breakfast. Her eyes closed for a moment and she sighed as she chewed, saying a silent prayer of gratitude that she would find a Texas boy so far from home. "Delicioso."

Javi smiled back at her, "Bueno." He reached out and tugged at his shirt she wore, "Gonna bring it back?"

"Maybe…" She teased again, this time leaning towards him, "Or you could come take it back one of these days."

Javi nodded, "This is true." He glanced from her to the tortilla over the flame, flipping it before it burned, "You need a ride to the embassy?"

She shook her head, speaking before taking another bite, "Jamie will be here to pick me up soon."

Javi nodded again, shoveling sausage into his own tortilla.

"You going to be around the office today?" Ali was already starting on her second breakfast taco, hip leaned against the counter top.

"For awhile yeah. You know how we were talking about the pool halls the other day though?" He waited for her nod before he continued, "Well i got to thinking about that again yesterday."

"So you're going back into the comunas?

WIth a mouth full of food Javi gave an exagerated nod, "Wanna come?"

"Not a chance." She snatched another piece of sausage out of the pan and stepped into his personal space, "I probably better go get ready for work."

She swore he pouted when she said it but he still leaned down to pull her against him and drop a quick kiss on her lips. "Okay."

"See you later." She gave him one more kiss, stole one more piece of sausage and turned to jog up the steps to the front door.

Javi cooking her breakfast, barefoot and shirtless in a pair of jeans and sleep messed hair was a pretty great way to start the day and she couldn't help but be in a fantastic mood.

~~~

The door to their shared workspace slammed open and all three translators flinched to varying degrees. Ali jerked her headphones off and snapped her head around to set eyes upon the intruder.

"Have you seen Javi lately?" Steve Murphy huffed from the doorway.

"Hi steve, I'm good thanks! Yourself? How's Connie?" Ali rolled her eyes, "No, actually, now that you mention it, I haven't seen Agent Pena for awhile? How about y'all?" She turned to check their response, head shakes all around. "Why? did he lose you again?" Ali turned back to Steve.

For his part Steve looked appropriately scolded and exasperated, "Sorry Ali. Look I found a lead we can't ignore but now I can't find my partner or get a hold of him, and nobody knows where he is."

Ali shrugged, "Sorry Murphy, guess you're on your own."

Murphy frowned, jaw tense as he stepped in a small circle, pacing. He jerked to a stop as if he'd run headfirst into a terrible idea. "Come with me!"

Momentarily lost Ali blinked, and then, "What? Me? No, nope, not a chance. You're a big boy Steve. Big, bad, DEA agent Steve Murphy. You'll be fine."

Before she could turn back to her work, her coworkers had long gave up on the exchange, Steve approached her desk, "Yeah, that speaks absolutely no Spanish. C'mon, it's just talking to some people, nothing dangerous. Please?"

Why was she considering this? It was a terrible idea. Worse than a terrible idea. But... Steve's Spanish really was terrible, and what if this lead was the lead that brought down Escobar? What about Javier? Where was he? Was he okay? Would she get in trouble? Was she even allowed to leave the embassy? Was she actually going to do this?

Bogota was safe. Relativly. That's what she kept telling herself as she stared out the window of the car as Steve drove deeper and deeper into the comunas.

He parked down the street from a small market, and pointed towareds a shop on the corner. "See, nothing to worry about."

"Mhmm." Ali climbed out of the SUV and followed him up the sidewalk.

Inside the shop they looked around for a moment, until Ali caught sight of the shopkeeper. She gave her a smile and walked towards her, "Senora, disculpe."

The shopkeeper pointed them towards a seamstress down the street, where they learned about a young boy who hung around the market a little too much. Ali was in the middle of a conversation with a street vendor when a murmer rolled the crowded market like a rising tide. Mid-sentence Ali paused, looked to Murphy, and together they turned to scan the market behind them.

The murmer grew more intense, followed by yelling, the crowd scurrying in different directions. Then they hear the shots.

Alison flinched, nearly jumping backwards, and murphy dropped low to the ground with his gun drawn. "Stay down!" He moved towards the gunfire and on impulse or fear of being left behind, Ali followed him.

Everything around her was a blur. People screaming and running, tripping over each other. Gunshots echoing of the walls of the crowded buildings and ringing in her ears.

As Murphy took cover, Ali watched the sicarrios as they flew past, the few lone gunmen that stood against them mowed down in the street.

Just like that, the chaos subsided. Dead bodies in the street, screams hushed back to mummers, and the crowd stood still.

~~~

"What the fuck were you thinking!?" The car door slammed as Javier made a beeline for Murphy.

"Javi..." Murphy attempted to head him off but it was no good. Ali sat in a Bronco a ways away, shaking in the passenger seat, watching Javi and Steve yell at each other.

Her teeth chattered, her legs bounced, there was a rushing in her ears and she couldn't quite catch her breath. The sight of Agent Pena coming her way did nothing to calm her.

His strides were rough and his posture rigid. As he came closer Ali could see the harsh glare through the tinted sunglasses and when he climbed in the open drivers door slamming it shut she could not bring herself to face him. "What the fuck were you thinking?" This time the question quiet, more disappointed than angry, and was followed by a deep sigh.

She couldn't answer. She didn't know what she had been thinking and she knew that answer wouldn't be good enough for him.

"I mean... Jesus Ali..." He gripped the steering wheel. The tendons rolled under his skin as he clenched and unclenched his fists around it. "Coming out here, with Steve..." He paused and Ali couldn't help but think that beneath everything else, that was part of what really had Javi so upset. "Looking for one of these sicarios? What were you thinking?"

"I don't know." Her voice was shaking and her throat was dry. "Steve asked for my help and I... I don't know. I just..." She couldn't finish the thought. She had no answer.

That must have been answer enough because Javier nodded, "I'll get someone to drive you home."

Finally she was able to look at him, "Javi?"

He was already kicking the door open again, "I've got a mess to clean up here sweetheart." He met her eyes for a moment, still hard and dark, unforgiving. Then, he climbed out of the Bronco and headed back towards Murphy.

~~~

It was late when pounding on her door woke her up from an uneasy sleep. Ali jerked awake, heart racing, disoriented until the pounding sounded through the dark apartment once again. She slid from the bed and made her way, carefully, through the dark apartment. As she reached for the doorknob the door rattled once more under an impatient fist on the otherside.

Her eyes burned at the dull light of the hallway and she squinted, poking her head around the door, "Javier?"

As her eyes adjusted she saw how tired he looked and her stomach twisted all over again.

He glanced from her face, to the floor and back, "Can I come in?"

"Of course." Ali stepped back, opening the door wider for him to enter, flipping the switch for the small lamp by the doorway.

He walked straight to her couch and sat down on the edge of it, elbows braced against his knees, chin resting on his fingers laced together.

ALi took a few steps into the living area but kept her distance. "What's wrong Javi?"

"There relocating us to Medellin."

"Oh."

Javier stared straight ahead, knuckles white, and his jaw clenched.

At a loss Ali came closer, "That's good though, right? Closer to the action. Closer to Escobar."

"Yeah." Still he stared ahead. After a tense and tedious silence he spoke again, "I shouldn't have bothered you."

"No," before he could stand Ali was in front of him, her hands on his shoulders, "You're fine, just…" she relaxed slightly as she fetl the tension in his shoulders ease under her hands, "Dime lo que estas pensando."

"Solo ustedes." Finally he looked up at her, his hands unclenching in favor of resting gently on the back of her thighs. "Don't do that again, please. Don't put yourself in that situation again."

Ali nodded, moving one hand to run her fingers through his hair, pushing it back and to the side like she had watched him do a thousand. "I won't."

He nodded, a single, slight nod, before he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against her torso.

Without a word Ali stepped back, slipping her hand into his, and pulled him towards her bedroom.

Javi was already awake when she cracked her eyes open the next morning, or she wondered if he had ever actually gone to sleep.

"I wake you?" Javier whispered as he turned his head to look at her.

Ali shook her head but couldn't keep her eyes open for the life of her. "It's still early." She reached for him and placed her hand flat on his chest, rubbing her thumb back and forth over the center.

"Mhmm." He moves to pull her to him, enjoying the feel of her warm and naked against him in the quiet morning air. "Go back to sleep hermosa." He stills her hand on his chest with his own.

She shuffled and got comfortable against him, "When will y'all leave?"

"Today."

Her room was silent. Ali breathed in and out slowly, enjoying the feel of Javi stroking his thumb over the back of her hand and his other arm wrapped tightly around her. For a long time they stayed quiet, neither of them able to go back to sleep.

"I'm gonna miss you…" Her voice was so quiet neither of them was sure she meant to say it outloud.

Javi squeezed her tighter, "Me too." I

~~~

t had been a week since Javi and Steve and their skeleton crew had been shipped to Medellin.

Ali refused to admit she was losing her mind. She hadn't realized how much she had grown attached to Javier and the way she was feeling now that she wasn't seeing him every day was driving her insane. Every tape took her twice as long to transcribe because her mind would wander and there seemed nothing she could do to stop it.

Two weeks after he had left she was drinking every night just so she could get some sleep. She had heard reports of how things were going. Javi had made a couple calls and she had clung to them like a liferaft.

Most days now she was ashamed with her herself and how she was feeling. Lonely, depressed, one edge. No amount of drink or nicotine could dull that and she couldn't stand to sit still long enough to drown herself in work. By the third week she knew something had to change.

One morning she met a bunch of MIL group guys and a couple CIA agents with vests and guns on their way out for some surely classified mission.

For a reason she could not name that moment stuck with her all week. To the point that she found herself knocking on the door to the Majors office late one evening. When he looked up at her surprised but expectant she asked the question she'd been pondering for days now…

"What do I need to do to get cleared for field work?"

~~~

@hnt-escape asked to be tagged

#javier peña #javier pena x ofc #narcos fanfic #narcos fanfiction #narcos #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #josé pedro balmaceda pascal

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higheldertala · 2 years

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series 12 ranking list

please feel free to discuss and share your opinions on any of the episodes too! also please feel free to ask me any additional questions on my opinion of any specific subject!

ranking scale

good - a decent episode of doctor who.

okay - give it another draft and this would also be a good episode of doctor who.

bad - not great, noticeable flawed, needs a good fix up.

awful - downright dreadful or insulting to watch.

doctor is explicitly racist tier - does what it says on the tin.

i switched this round from my s11 ranking so this ranking is based on the ch*bnall era alone, not as the whole of nuwho.

looking back at my s11 ranking and i feel like it may have come across as a touch harsh. for clarification my big criticisms boil down to the lack of character work and obviously in s11 it was just pretty lacking of decent character work and characterisation which is probably why i ranked them all as bad and below. the same criticism of poor character still exists in this season, maybe not as bad? idk, still no where near the standard for actual good television. of course my opinions and rankings change depending on how/ what I am basing an episode on so this is none of this is concrete as such.

haunting of villa diodati - pretty good. if only all of ch*bnall’s episodes lived up to this standard, it might have actually have been good.

nikola’s tesla night of terror - solid episode, pretty reminiscent of an rtd era historic. i feel like the villian could have been a tad stronger and then it could be moved up to good.

spyfall pt1 - a solid start, sacha is a delight, definitely could used some a bit of tweaking to tidy it up.

fugitive of the judoon - ranking this episode in isolation and it ends up being middling. i feel like the fugitive plotline could be a lot stronger rather than leaving it as ✨a mystery✨. the subplot of the fam meeting jack could be a lot better and more engaging. could be worse but also be a lot better.

praxeus - the location hopping is an awful trope of ch*bnall designed nothing more than to show off the budget rather than be utilised to showcase a good story. also annoying side characters which barely add anything and only exist to become extra tag alongs.

ascension of the cyberman - gets put into the awful tier mainly because of how dull it is. a 50 minute build up for the second part (and yes I know this technically applies for all two parters but this one takes the piss). completely dull and unengaging.

revolution of the daleks - this one is perhaps harsh and it’s positioning could change based on my mood. i just don’t care for it at all honestly.

the timeless children - did no one think to stop this man when destroying 57 years of canon? yes fandom will be completely happy with this im sure(!)

spyfall pt2 - the second part falls apart. the plot is abandoned to become a run around episode, extremely bad moral decisions are made and the resolution literally happens off screen.

can you hear me? - insulting to mental health and completely wastes its fear aspect because all the main characters are severely underdeveloped.

orphan 55 - whatever was the original intent of this episode, the final execution of it is abysmal. a terrible episode of doctor who.

additional comments:

9 of out 11 episodes this series takes place on earth, with over half being set in the present day. THIS IS A SHOW ABOUT TIME AND SPACE TRAVEL. where did we lose you with this concept ch*bnall? wish we could ban earth stories for at least a season or something.

the companions still just exist for the majority of the runtime, occasionally given something to do but nothing of any consequence and are still never key players in the stories they are in. the addition of jack is pure key jangling in an attempt to get a boost in figures.

timeless child bad. destroying gallifrey again actually infuriates me more than the timeless child and i will be ignoring it as canon.

#series 12 salt rewatch #dw commentary

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wizkiddx · 3 years

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3 hearts broken

I did an angst thing again oops also not proof read double oops

summary: an argument between you and tom, except it takes him hurting someone else for you to loose it

warnings: alot of swearing (im British sorry not sorry) idk anything else except commitment issues?

////////////////////////////////////////////

It was an argument you and your boyfriend regularly had. In fact, it was the only argument the two of you ever had. And especially recently, one that Tom seemed to want to have every day. It didn’t matter where you were on set; in the rental home; out for dinner. Or like now… in the airport lounge.

You were sitting across from each other in a semi-private booth. Tom in his joggers and a burgundy hoodie, you in your black leggings and an oversized tee that actually belonged to your boyfriend. The rest of the place was almost deserted, given the late-night time of the flight. It was probably why Tom felt so comfortable bringing up this touchy subject in a public place.

You were both way past overtired too, owing to the end of a gruelling shoot. All you wanted was to get back to London and get into your own bed. Without an unnecessary fight with Tom.

Unfortunately for you, when you had naively said those exact words, Tom’s overtired brain skipped straight to it being a personal attack.

“I don’t see why you can’t commit to moving in Y/n! We practically live together for filming anyway so-“

“I love you Tom, more than I could ever express. I just… I can’t do this yet. I need… more-“

“More time, I know.” He grumbled, already standing and slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder - as the flight’s gate was announced by the intercom. Had he not already turned his back and started heading along the hallway, you would’ve tried to protest and calm him down. But thanks to his urgency to get away from you… all you could do was sigh. Slumping back against the seat before hauling yourself up and grabbing the bags - that he had helped you with on the way in.

No doubt this would be a long flight.

That it was. Tom had been maturely giving you the silent treatment at the gate, as you were boarding, and finding you seats. You were both in first class, so you had adjacent little pods with a little partition in the middle. It’s standard position was to be lowered however, before you’d even been able to settle into your window seat, Tom had already switched to button to have it slowly slide up.

Real fucking mature.

Thinking he just needed some time to cool off, you rolled your eyes but let him be. Even though you were such a frequent flier, you were terrible at getting any sleep on them. Tom knew this, knew how much you disliked the idea of being hurtling through the air in a tin can. Usually, he’d be holding your hand, entertaining you by watching a movie and providing a shit commentary over the top. Sometimes, when you were both as exhausted as right now, he’d even slide into your chair, having you perch on top of him so you could fall asleep listening to his heartbeat in his chest. Now though? He refused to acknowledge your existence.

Tom never had such issues flying, he was like a switch that could just choose to fall asleep at any and every point. Which is perhaps why it shocked you to see him still wide awake, staring angrily at the corner of his pod when you went to the loo, hours later. Thinking it was time for a peace offering, on the return to your seat you made eye contact and began to smile softly at him. However, that plan lasted for all of two seconds, since as soon as he realised you had seen him staring, Tom instantly shut his eyes - playing asleep.

He really was being particularly stubborn tonight.

By the time the plane landed, he’d still refused to say anything - and it was starting to really piss you off too. You’d tried to be mature, tried to offer the metaphorical olive branch and he had quite literally thrown it back in your face. So by the time you were being escorted off the plane (first because you were first class), you hung back from your boyfriend, wanting to have your own space.

Which was exactly why you didn’t want to give up your own apartment yet!

The two of you walked across the bridge into the terminal with a good 8 metres between each other. Tom didn’t bother to turn round and check on you, taking purposeful steps as though he wanted to get away.

Thankfully the terminal was quiet, probably due to the ungodly hour in the morning you’d landed at. The halls echoed only with your and Toms footsteps, the echo exaggerating just how far away you felt from him at this point. Still, Tom hadn’t acknowledged your existence, or anyone elses for that matter - the pair of you almost got to baggage reclaim before seeing any other humans.

And that is where it all went wrong.

It was typical, an otherwise empty airport except for you, Tom and a family with 2 girls. 2 teenage girls. 2 teen girls whose eyes widened to almost comical levels at the sight of your boyfriend. You’d seen them from a mile away, but from Tom’s reaction to them - he clearly hadn’t.

In fact, you were such a distance away you couldn’t exactly hear the exchange. But what you saw, had your heart in your mouth.

The girls ran over from the seats their whole family were sitting in, squealing at Tom with that overcited little jump you’d seen so often. Instead of Tom turning to them and entertaining them with small talk and a photo or two - he did the opposite. If anything, he quickened his cadence, looked as though he waved the girls off without muttering two words.

And maybe there was a reason. Maybe they had shouted something really rude at him - but fuck, the chances were slim. One looked ten, and one looked a couple of years older - as you approached, you saw the dejected and shocked faces melt into ones of intense disappointment. The eldest turned and hugged the younger, whose chest appeared to be shaking in a way that meant only one thing. Tom had made her cry.

Just as both the mother and father stood up to rush to the girls, you matched their hurried steps - getting their first.

“Hi, excuse me… “

You felt really awkward but knew you had to do something for these poor girls. And quite possibly for Toms career too. “Are you guys okay?” It took a second or two, but the girls clearly both recognised you too (thank god), throwing nervous looks at each other.

“Are yo-you Y/n?” The younger one asked, bright eyes glazed in tears which broke your heart to see.

“Yeh-yeh I am, what are your names?” You knelt, smiling warmly at the girls, who seemed to chirp up a bit.

“I’m Tima” The eldest spoke first before nudging the other to speak. You waited patiently till the little girl had wiped her eyes before replying.

“I’m Azara.”

“Wow, you’ve both got very beautiful names. Where are you both headin-“

“Can I ask you a question!?” Litte Azara burst out, interrupting you, but in the cutest and sweetest way. You just laughed and said of course, as she twiddled with her thumbs nervously.

“How big is the biggest T-rex?” Her little eyes were so curious and you had to suppress a giggle, seeing how serious it was.

Of course, the T-Rexs in Jurassic world (one of your movies) were all CGI. But Azara didn’t have to know that.

“Oh, they are bigger thanthan the tallest trees you’ve ever seen!”

You carried on your little chat with the girls for five or so minutes, laughing with them and exchanging soft nods with their parents too - who seemed appreciative of your time. Eventually, though, it was the dad who pulled time on the exchange, signalling that the girls had taken up enough of your time. As you stood up, Tima spoke up - after being relatively withdrawn from the conversation.

“You’re friends with Tom Holland right?” You nodded, subconsciously biting your lip to see what she would say. “Can you tell him sorry for bothering him, it’s just Azara was excited, we only wanted to say hi.”

Yeh, there was absolutely no way these incredibly sweet girls did anything to Tom. He was just being a knob.

“Hey, it’s not your fault at all. We’ve just had a really, really long flight, and he’s in a bit of a mood at me - I’m so sorry that he let it out on you.”

That explanation seemed to satisfy Tima with a nod, and with some final hugs you bid the girls both farewell. By this point, the rest of your plane had caught up along the corridors, so it was busier, and you had to fight against the small crowd to get through the airport as quickly as possible. Because you were seething with rage for Tom and could not wait to tell him exactly what those poor girls thought of him.

Unsurprisingly Tom had chosen not to wait for you in the airport at all, instead already hiding inside the blacked-out windows of the 4x4 waiting at the collection point. You marched up to that car angry to the point you thought the whole airport would notice. Yanking the door so hard you were surprised you did no damage to it, you threw your bags in - momentarily ignoring the sight of Tom huddled into a corner, staring at his phone with AirPods in.

But once you slammed the door shut and the driver started the car, you let yourself go.

“Who the fuck do you think you are!”

“Y/n can we just leave it for- “

“You made 2 girls cry!!! You were so self-absorbed in your temper tantrum that you made 2 teenage girls cry. You proud of yourself?”

This time he did look at you, eyes wide and confused - clearly not understanding. So you continued - laying it out for him.

“Those two girls you waved off because you were so busy running away from me? Well the youngest one cried and then the eldest didn’t speak and when she did it was only to ask me to apologise to you. You’re a fucking dickhead!”

“I didn’t mean-“

“Oh god, that makes it all better. You didn’t mean to make them cry on purpose, so it’s fine! God if you’d only said I’d-“

“Fuck off Y/n you’re not being fair, cut the sarcasm.”

“I’m not being fair?!? Because I’m the bad person in this situation, right? I just saved you from a very, very bad headline tomorrow morning because you were too busy giving me the silent treatment.”

“Yeah, well, your the one who doesn’t seem to give a damn about me!”

You scoffed hard at his words, air trapped in your throat that now felt completely stuck. How could he say that? How could he even think that?

As much as you hated showing it, you felt your eyes well up with tears. Because who the fuck did he think he was.

“Now that, that is so unfair. You know exactly my history and why I don’t want to move in yet AND you know just how much I fucking love you. So don’t you dare.”

“You're not convincing anyone.” He spoke quieter, but the venom behind his tone was still there. As the first tear escaped over your bottom lashes, you knocked on the partition to the driver and asked him, in no uncertain terms, to pull over.

“Congrats Tom. That’s three women you’ve broken the hearts of in 20 minutes. Must be some sort of a record.”

And with that you slammed the door shut, abandoned on the side of the road somewhere within Heathrow.

?a part 2? idk where id go from here aha

tagging: @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala

#tom x reader #tom holland fic #tomholland #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #famous!reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x actress!reader

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kurowrites · 3 years

Text

Betting On You

Single parent Wei Ying vs. everyday struggles.

(I hope you are all grateful. This is effectively the only work I managed to get done today. Also I guess this need a second part.)

---

Just to be clear, Wei Ying would never complain about being a single father. He loved his child and wouldn’t change his situation for the world.

But some days, it was all a bit much. The running around and trying to stay on top of things, all while having the distinct feeling that he was this close to drowning.

Days like today, for example.

The day hadn’t started terrible. He’d brought A-Yuan to the nursery, handed him off to the capable staff there, and headed to work. All in all, it had been a normal workday, up until one of his company’s customers had called him, berated him for things that were out of his control, and ended up insulting him repeatedly over the phone.

Wei Ying had swallowed his anger, and silently let the tirade pour out of the phone speaker, not really listening to it as long as the insults flowed. He was good at his job, a decent programmer with a fair amount of experience under his belt, but he was no magician. There was only so much lipstick that you could put on a pig, and all too often his clients made him work on some very hairy pigs (metaphorically speaking). Not to mention that customers generally only received what they actually paid for. His boss was already stingy enough as it was, there was no way he was going to do endless amounts of additional work for free.

By the time he was finally able to leave work, he felt drained. He picked up A-Yuan from the nursery, and the staff told him that A-Yuan had been becoming a little grouchy towards the evening. He might be coming down with a cold or a fever, and if that happened, they wouldn’t be able to have him at the nursery tomorrow.

Wei Ying’s mood sunk even lower as he heard this. He couldn’t really take another day off work, and he had no one that could watch A-Yuan for him. Still, he still did his best to keep a positive outlook (at least superficially) and tried to cheer A-Yuan up. Thankfully, A-Yuan being the happy, generally agreeable child that he was, was all too willing to let himself be cheered up by Wei Yin’s chatter, and followed Wei Ying out of the nursery without complaint, seemingly just as eager as Wei Ying to get home.

Their short walk home might have turned their moods around, but they never got the chance. They couldn’t have been walking more than five minutes when the sky above them suddenly turned from overcast to dark and threatening, and before they could even think about seeking shelter, torrential rainfall started to pour down, soaking them within seconds.

Wei Ying obviously didn’t have an umbrella with him today, and even if he did, it would probably have been useless. The rain felt less like rain and more like full buckets of icy water being poured over their heads. So he picked A-Yuan up, wrapped him into his coat as best as he could, and made a run for their home. He wasn’t going to bank on the rain stopping anytime soon.

The way home seemed to take forever, and carrying A-Yuan through the heavy rainfall did no favours for his exhaustion. Within minutes, his arms and legs hurt from the strain, and several times, he felt like his legs were going to give in under him.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached the door of his apartment block. He fumbled his keys out of his pocket, stuck it into the lock clumsily, and just barely managed to turn the lock so he was able to stumble into the entry hall, letting the door slam shut behind him.

He wheezed a few times, trying to catch his breath, and then carefully set A-Yuan down onto the floor. He wiped the water off his son as well as he could, but there wasn’t much helping it. At this point, they were both drenched, Wei Ying’s cheap black trench coat not being much help in protecting them from the rain.

Poor A-Yuan looked a bit like a drowned rat, and Wei Ying imagined he himself didn’t look much better.

He had actually intended to go grocery shopping before returning home, maybe also buying a few nice, fresh steamed buns as a cheer-me-up. But now, he certainly wasn’t going back out into that rain, and anyway, A-Yuan desperately needed a warm bath as soon as possible. If the little one wasn’t getting sick at this point, it would be bordering on a miracle.

Wei Ying wasn’t going to count on it. Today had been enough bad luck already, so he fully expected for that streak to continue.

“Hey buddy,” he said, smiling as he wiped A-Yuan’s bangs out of his face. “Let’s get you into a warm bath, okay?”

A-Yuan nodded once, and then raised his arms, silently asking to be carried up to their apartment. He always got a little clingy when he wasn’t feeling well.

Wei Ying sighed inwardly – his arms were killing him already – but he acquiesced regardless and carried A-Yuan all the way to the door of their apartment.

As he once again fumbled with the keys to unlock the door, the door next to his opened, and his cursed, overly handsome neighbour emerged.

His overly handsome neighbour who was also extremely neat. Wei Ying threw a quick look over his shoulder, and sure enough, the entire hallway was wet and grimy, Wei Ying and A-Yuan leaving a trail of destruction behind them.

Wei Ying winced. Probably another thing his neighbour would want to chew him out for.

He was not in the mood right now.

Overly Handsome Neighbour seemed to startle when he saw the two of them, still in front of the apartment door, Wei Ying still fiddling with the key in the lock.

Wei Ying sighed internally. He knew what they must look like, and he really didn’t want to be told by a handsome man that he was looking terrible.

“Wei Ying,” Overly Handsome Neighbour said, staring at the two of them. “Are you alright?”

“Haha, yeah,” Wei Ying quickly replied. Why the hell was the door not unlocking? “Sorry for the mess in the hallway, Lan Zhan. We got caught in the rain. I need to take care of A-Yuan first, I’ll clean up as soon as I’m done.”

Lan Zhan did not reply, and for a moment, Wei Ying thought that he’d successfully chased him away, having taken the wind out of his lecture sails pre-emptively.

But then, a hand appeared in his field of vision, and Lan Zhan, with a gentle grip, helped Wei Ying open his own apartment door.

How embarrassing!

“It does not matter,” Lan Zhan said, far too close to Wei Ying. “Go. Is there something that you need?”

Wei Ying’s brain immediately reminded him of the groceries that he should have gotten, but he quickly shook his head. What the hell was he thinking? He couldn’t ask Lan Zhan to go shopping for him. They weren’t friends or anything like that.

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying shot Lan Zhan an exasperated look. It was entirely unfair, Wei Ying hated when Lan Zhan used his stern teacher voice. He was a music teacher, for fuck’s sake, his commanding voice shouldn’t be so effective! What was he teaching those music students that he had the military commander down pat?

“Soup,” Wei Ying eventually replied with a sigh. “I think we could use some soup after this.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replied, letting go of Wei Ying’s hand. “I will bring some over later.”

And with that, he turned around and disappeared back into his apartment.

Wei Ying looked after Lan Zhan’s disappearing back for a moment, his eyes wide. What the hell had just happened? What was Lan Zhan thinking? And then the–

A small sneeze by A-Yuan had him return to reality, and he quickly entered his apartment. Still confused by Lan Zhan’s behaviour, he focused on getting off their wet shoes and clothes in the entrance so as not to flood the entire apartment with dirty and water, and then quickly carried A-Yuan into the bathroom. They really needed that bath, A-Yuan felt pretty cold.

He ran the water and set A-Yuan into the bathtub, gathering their shampoos so they could clean up properly.

As he was arranging the bottles within arm’s reach, A-Yuan looked up at him and then said, as innocently as only a small child could, “Baba, I like Handsome Gege. He always tries to help. And he always plays nice music.”

That startled a laugh out of Wei Ying. He teased him by tousling his hair and then lifted him for a moment, so he could settle into the bathtub together with A-Yuan.

“Taken in by a handsome face, I see how it is! And so, you abandon your poor father.”

“No! Baba is baba!” A-Yuan cried.

Wei Ying laughed again, and reached for the first bottle to shampoo A-Yuan’s hair.

Strangely enough, Lan Zhan had improved this unlucky day. A warm hand on his, his name called by a steady voice, and Wei Ying felt strangely lighter.

A little less as if he was going to be swallowed by the waves.

What a strange creature his neighbour was.

“Well, let’s see if he delivers on that soup. Then I might be willing to agree with you.”

#kuro writes #the untamed #mdzs #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #betting on you

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