#I’ve hated that white man from the moment he was introduced | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sakura-scum · 10 months ago

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island in the sun ☼

✧ hip hip ✧

✿ summary: CHARACTER ANALYSIS || Megumi Fushiguro is a teenager burdened with the stressors of the Jujutsu world. Quick to adapt a suicidal mentality, Fushiguro plans to seal his own fate. One day, something makes him rethink this ideology. Can an external light help reveal the light that shines from within? Inspired by Megumi's theme song appointed by Gege: Island in the Sun by Weezer! ☆

✿ w/c: ~3.6k

✿ warning: JJK S2 Shibuya Incident Spoilers! Graphic depictions of blood + scars, lots of mentions/discussions abt su!c!de

✿ a/n: in honor of the solar eclipse, i wanted to do a little sun/moon trope, ehehe~

i feel like megumi's character often gets overshadowed by gojo, itadori, or even geto by comparison. he deserved his own little spotlight and this weezer song has been on loop for me lately so i felt inspired to write this little bit. a little longer than what i usually write lol. hope u enjoy ♥︎

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

I’ve always loathed summertime.

From as early as I could remember.

I was four years old that wretched summer. The quaint apartment where Tsumiki and I stayed was uncomfortably hot. The air was thick and humid; it felt like an oven. The relentless heat oppressed us, making every breath a strained struggle. Our feeble fan, barely functional, merely stirred the stifling air around. Yet, Tsumiki claimed it as her own, propping herself up on our shared twin-sized mattress. She’d sit in front of the fan like a princess, desperately grasping for the slight relief it offered. She claimed she needed it more than I did… something about her being older than me or whatever… I don’t know. I sat to the side as I watched her, renounced to the floor. Even though beads of sweat rolled down both our faces, I complied, my parched lips unable to voice my protest. I finished the last of the cold water, my last drop of hope from the insufferable heat.

I hated it.

Ever since that day that man-child, Gojo, introduced me to the concept of tanning.

“What are you doing?” I asked as I spotted Gojo sprawled out on a beach chair in the backyard. “It’s hot, don’t you want to go inside?”

“Nah,” he’d reply nonchalantly, rolling over to expose his backside to the sun. “I’d tan.”

“What?”

The white-haired man chuckled. “I’m *tanning*. Y’know, sunbathing? That thing that gives your skin that golden complexion so you don’t look as white as snow.” Gojo’s skin practically glimmered under the scorching sun. It was as if he was born to be in the limelight. Which, let’s be honest, he probably was.

“Oh,” I muttered, uninterested. At the young age of seven years old, I couldn’t care less about my appearance. Why start worrying now?

“Why don’t you come to join me, ‘Gumi~?” he’d tease, knowing full well I had no interest. I couldn’t tan if I tried. I always burned. What’s it like to bask in the spotlight, I wondered.

“I’m good,” I’d grumble, heading back inside. Cool, shaded, and away from the glaring sun. Always on the sidelines, that’s where I belonged, right?

“Live a little, touch some grass for once,” Gojo would encourage me. It’s like he didn’t understand. Of course, he didn’t. How could he? He was crafted from stardust and moonbeams; the golden child. Handcrafted by some divine entity, if such a thing existed. Hell– he might just be God incarnate. Or at least he thinks so.

It’s moments like these, that I ponder how Suguru Geto must’ve felt.

Oh, to be taken under the wing of an underdog.

But no.

Summer was the bane of my existence.

I was always the last pick in kickball or any kind of sport. My athletic abilities were mediocre at best. Rumor had it that my biological father possessed some sort of absurd physical strength. Why couldn’t I be gifted like that?

In airing my frustrations about my athletic abilities, I was always met with the same comment from Gojo. “Well ‘Gumi, sometimes other people’s curses are others' blessings,” he would say as he ruffled my hair. I couldn’t shake the feeling he was talking about becoming my guardian, even though he never said it explicitly. On the other hand, what was made crystal clear was Gojo’s disdain for my father, for reasons unknown to me. He always neglected to tell me any details about him, leaving me to wonder if his feelings towards my father stemmed from having to care for us at such a young age.

Summertime reminds me of my father. How he abandoned us. How he left us all alone in that sweltering apartment. How he entrusted me to the care at the hands of some kid. Everyone always reassured me that being sent to the Zenin clan was worse, but how could it be worse than this? Maybe they would’ve made me strong.

After that summer, Gojo made sure to devote extra time to my sorcerer training. It marked the beginning of a turning point in my youth as I delved deeper into the realm of Jujutsu.

Ten shadows dance in the twilight, silent guardians of unseen realms. Shikigami; conjured spirits from nine letters, veiled in mystery’s shroud. Eight Handled Sword General, the beast I yearned to summon— a lasting legacy, a testament to Fushiguro, the name that ate me alive. It became my identity sevenfold yet, I could only claim a sixth of what truly belonged to me. What even was mine? I train rigorously, five days a week, no rest between, remembering who I fight for… “Deep breath,” Gojo’s advice echoes in my head. “Start on the count of three, take the plunge, and never second guess yourself…”

But the countdown halts before it reaches one. The crescendo never arrives.

“WITH THIS DIVINE TREASURE I SUMMON–”

One. Not even one single victory for me.

I trained under the strongest sorcerer alive, yet I couldn’t even manage to go on one successful mission without being a complete failure.

What was the point anymore? Did anything even matter?

No sorcerer in history had ever tamed the general. How the hell was I supposed to be the one to tame Mahoraga? There's no way. It seemed impossible. I’d meet my end swiftly, a pathetic demise. Certainly, this technique would be a last resort, a futile attempt to take my assailant while sealing my own fate in the process. Would there be significance in dying like that? Was it all meaningless? Careless? Reckless?

That’s when it occurred to me.

Maybe my death could be a statement— a testimony to my life; a reclamation of my identity. I would die a hero. I would dedicate my life to it, proving to everyone that I am capable of committing and sacrificing for a noble cause; that I'm not just a burden or a failure. I never shared my plan with anyone; it remained tucked away in the recesses of my mind, a sacred treasure awaiting its moment. Swing and ring, the final act of defiance…

The concept of death had once inspired me like a dog inspires a rabbit. But that resolve was fleeting.

I remember it vividly– the summer when I was 12 years old. I happened to stumble across the song “Island in the Sun”. It played on the radio during a muggy afternoon as Gojo, Tsumiki, and I drove to a beach in Okinawa. Tsumiki seemed overjoyed to get out, while I couldn’t care less. As a child, times like this would excite me, even despite my hatred of summer, however, as I got older, my enthusiasm faded. As the song played on the radio, Gojo hummed along much to my annoyance. Tapping his index finger on the dashboard to the beat of the song, he began to mumble the lyrics.

"When you're on a holiday

You can't find the words to say

All the things that come to you

And I wanna feel it too"

‘Feel what?’ I wondered. By then, everything already felt so numb. That was the summer I stopped caring. I couldn't care if I even tried. In my mind, my fate was predetermined. As a sorcerer, I would sacrifice myself for a noble cause, whatever it may be. Death no longer felt like something I had to run from, like a looming cloud of uncertainty. Instead, it felt like something I started to embrace, a one-way shot to confirming my own end. I thought about it frequently. Surely, that held some significance, right?

At first, the song annoyed me. It would always loop in my mind, and I could never decipher this feeling the singer sought to convey. The thought of a blissful paradise as an escapade sounded like an unobtainable fantasy. Still, the yearning to experience said sensations, or feel anything for that matter, lingered inside of me. No matter how many beaches I visited, that elusive ‘feeling’ never found its way to me; it always seemed out of reach. Driven by relentless curiosity, I found myself repeatedly listening to the song, hoping to remedy my situation. I hate to admit it, but I developed a bit of a fondness for the song.

Yet, as the years slipped away, that summer afternoon faded into memory.. Three years later, the echoes of "Island in the Sun" lingered faintly, but they were soon drowned out by the clamor of new challenges and experiences. The biggest challenge of my life to date was in Shibuya.

Several hours before I set foot in the city, I found myself waiting outside a conference hall alongside my classmates, Itadori and Kugisaki. Annoyance gnawed at me as it became apparent that neither Kugisaki nor Itadori took the warnings from our elders seriously. This was a crucial mission, one fraught with peril, yet they treated it with casual indifference, passing the time with a game of tic-tac-toe while we waited.

Eventually, the pair grew tired of their countless games and resorted to casual conversation until the meeting was dismissed. I must’ve been preoccupied, thinking about the mission or something, as I shuddered when Itadori placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, his voice breaking through my thoughts. “Everything will be alright. Let’s just do our best out there, ‘kay?”

Perhaps I was showing more emotion than I realized, but Itadori seemed to see right through me. He always knew what to say. However, couldn't allow myself to show well he was able to console me. Maintaining a tough exterior felt crucial. I’ve been let down too many times from a young age. There was no room for outsiders in my mind, just me and Tsumiki till the end. She was the only one I could truly trust.

“‘Course,” I replied, mustering a semblance of confidence. “I’m not going out there to half-ass things. Besides, Gojo will be there so everything’s fine. We’re just backup.”

“Right,” Itadori responded with a nod. He gave my back a firm pat before flashing his signature grin. Seeing him smile reassured me that maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out alright.

. . .

Everything did not turn out alright. Gojo was promptly sealed, and we, the backup, were thrust into the forefront of battle. After emerging victorious in an initial battle with Itadori, the chaos only escalated as the night wore on.

Itadori and I split up to better help our comrades. In my attempts to save them, I found myself in need of rescue, saved by a stranger who effortlessly overpowered me. I felt utterly pathetic, convinced my end was near.

As the night proceeded, the events that unraveled became more chaotic by the minute. I had tried to save my peers and ended up getting rescued by a stranger. The very same man proceeded to wipe the floor with me without breaking a sweat. I felt pathetic. I thought I was finished. Suddenly, he asked, “Hey you, what’s your name?”

“Fushiguro.”

“You mean your last name is not Zen’in?”

He held up his weapon, swiftly impaling himself in the head before me.

“That makes me glad,” were his final words before he collapsed at my feet.

I owed my life to someone’s suicide. Over something as insignificant as my name? As if that name hadn’t already burdened me enough. Although I survived, that encounter only deepened my despair. I couldn’t shake the feeling that my fate mirrored his– if I wasn’t killed tonight, I was destined for a similar end.

After witnessing one tragedy after another, I felt utterly drained. And now, just when I’m at my breaking point, some fool with a ponytail decides to pick a fight. My mind is still reeling from the encounter with the man who took his own life. I have no fight left in me; he caught me when I was at my weakest.

Unless…

I’ve attempted this countless times before, but there was always someone to intervene to save me. But not tonight. Tonight, it’s just me.

I have to play my trump card. This is the night I finally sealed my fate. I couldn’t care less about my opponent’s strengths or weaknesses. This is my moment. My last resort.

My moment had arrived.

"On an island in the sun

We'll be playing and having fun

And it makes me feel so fine

I can't control my brain"

It was absurd. Why now? Why did this stupid song have to worm its way into my head?

"With this divine treasure, I summon, Eight-Handled Sword, Divergent Sila, Divine General Mahoraga!"

I had finally done it.

‘I'm sorry, Itadori,’ was the last thought that crossed my mind. The melody of that cursed song faded into a distant echo just before I lost consciousness.

. . .

Did I black out, or had the world become brighter than ever? Sunlight blurred my vision, and I could hear the distant waves crash onto the shore. Birds chirped in a serene chorus and a gentle breeze carried warmth through the air. I woke up in paradise.

Warm honey-colored eyes met mine. I squint as I cover my eyes from the distant sun rays to get a better look. “Fushiguro! Are you alright?” With his pink hair slicked back, a goofy grin spread across his face, and a warm tan gracing his skin, Itadori extended his hand out to me. “You took a pretty hard fall there,” he said, barely containing his laughter.

I looked to my left to find Kugisaki, a guilty expression written all over her face. “My god,” she exclaimed, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “Don’t scare me like that, I thought I killed you!”

Itadori let out a hearty chuckle. “Kugisaki went a bit overboard with the spike and nailed you,” he explained, amusement evident in his voice. “No pun intended.”

Disoriented and confused, I scanned my surroundings. Didn’t I just die?. “Where are we?” I blurt out. Could this be the afterlife? Did Itadori and Kugisaki die in Shibuya too? No, this scene was too familiar, too tangible to be heaven. It was almost like a distant memory.

“The beach, dude,” Itadori replied, shaking his head as he helped me up with a strong hand. “Dammit, Kugisaki, you gave Fushiguro brain damage!”

“I did not!” Kugisaki protested. “He’s just disoriented. Give him a minute!”

Warm sand cushioned my feet, a limitless ocean stretched out underneath a cerulean sky. I look up and see a tall net, wavering in the salty air with each pull of the tide. I was standing on a beach volleyball court, wearing swim trunks and all. I was in the midst of a tropical getaway.

“When you're on a golden sea

You don't need no memory

Just a place to call your own

As we drift into the zone”

The lyrics of the song resurfaced, echoing in the back of my mind.

I’m taken out of my daydream by two large hands cupping my face. “Dude,” Itadori’s voice broke through, bringing me back to reality. Was this reality? “Oh man, Kugisaki, he’s totally out of it!”

For a moment, I melt into Itadori’s palms, a sense of calm washing over me. Maybe I did take a hard fall. Snapping back to my senses, I slap away Itadori’s hands from my face. “You idiot, I’m fine,” I grumble.

Itadori’s expression turned blank before he burst into laughter. “Oh, no, he’s definitely fine! Never mind~!” he called out to Kuigisaki. Then, he turns to me with a warm and sincere smile. “I thought we lost ya there.”

Warmth graces my cheeks, and I feel gradually flustered. My heart fluttered, and I felt the urge to melt in a puddle all over again, wanting to return his soft look. Instead, I rolled my eyes and turned away, walking myself to the sidelines to get some water.

For once, the sun was beating down on my back, its warmth pleasant and balmy. Similar to the flush on my cheeks, I wasn’t hating the heat for once, it actually felt… nice? Despite that, I found myself on the sidelines yet again.

Despite my current position, I felt my lips curl into a faint smile, relishing the rare enjoyment of the Summer atmosphere. The laughter of my friends filled my ears as I leaned back, warm sand beneath my palms, grounding me as I observed their lively game of volleyball. Itadori soared into the air for a powerful spike, momentarily blocking the sun. SLAM! The ball hits out of bounds, tumbling toward the ocean, and Kugisaki runs over to retrieve it.

Meanwhile, Itadori approaches me once more, extending his hand.

“C’mon Fushiguro,” he encourages me. “You gonna play or what?”

I shake my head. “Go on without me, I’ll be fine.” I open my water bottle and take a sip. The water is thick and putridly warm. Itadori pouts at my answer, shaking his head. “You’re playing,” he decides for me. He reaches down for my hand and drags me onto the court. Instead of letting go, he pauses for a moment, allowing our fingers to intertwine. His palms felt warm and inviting, safe and secure. He turned his head towards me, radiating warmth that seemed to glow underneath the sun, as he flashed the brightest smile I had ever seen.

I look down and suddenly notice our position of holding hands. I feel a blush return to my cheeks once more, but I don’t fight Itadori’s gesture. Instead, I avert my gaze, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Something the matter, Fushiguro?” Itadori asked, genuine concern laced in his question.

I shake my head. “No.”

Nothing was wrong. I felt… content.

It was like that one part in the song. My favorite part, actually:

“We'll run away together

We'll spend some time forever

We'll never feel bad anymore”

I look down at our intertwined hands once more, admiring the stark contrast between Itadori’s hands and mine. His were larger, calloused, and adorned with various scars that spoke of untold tales of hardship and battles fought. It was like studying a map of various trials and tribulations. I found myself drawn to these marks, wondering about the stories behind each one. What did they signify? When did they appear? I never remembered him having so many scars on his hands before, though. Maybe it’s because I never bothered to look… but something felt off.

As I continued to gaze, a sense of unease crept over me. It’s as if his hand was undergoing some sort of twisted transformation. The scars, once healed and faded, began to take on a form of livelihood, twisting and contorting into grotesque shapes. Suddenly, they erupted into fresh wounds, skin tearing at the seams, oozing blood that pooled around our intertwined fingers.

I watched as the crimson liquid stained our hands in a horrific display. Sounds of malicious laughter echoed faintly in the background, sending shivers down my spine.

“Fushiguro?” Itadori's voice broke through, pulling me back to reality. His question was posed as if nothing was wrong. As if I was the one seeing things. Despite hearing his voice, I couldn't shake off the horror that gripped me.

I wanted to look up, to find solace in his smiling face, to feel that familiar warmth in my chest. Yet, I couldn't tear my gaze away from his bleeding hands. The sight alone sent chills down my spine. I wanted to let go, to escape from this dream-turned-nightmare, but something held me back, like an invisible force chaining me to him.

“Fushiguro?” Itadori's voice sounded strained now, laced with concern. He called out my name again, each utterance heavier with urgency.

“FUSHIGURO?!” His voice escalated to a scream that reverberated through my mind, drowning out the unsettling laughter that continued to echo around us.

A dark ominous presence enveloped us. I felt shaken to my core. As my breathing escalated with panic, red pooled into my eyes as my surroundings gradually faded out.

. . .

My eyes are hazy when they open, greeted by a world spinning in disarray. A pounding headache pulses through my skull, matched by a sharp, stabbing pain in my side. The ringing in my ears persists, Itadori's desperate shouts echoing relentlessly in my mind. I detect the faint scent of cigarette smoke, mingling with the metallic tang of blood that stains my face. Yet, strangely, there's no trace of blood around me.

I find myself sitting alone on a dimly lit streetside, faint illumination barely casting shadows around me. My gaze drifts upward, drawn to the imposing silhouette of a sky bridge above. In the distance, I can make out the faint figures of Shoko and Yaga, their presence a distant comfort amid bustling chaos.

I'm alive.

The realization washes over me like a tidal wave; relief with a gnawing sense of unease. Perhaps, deep down, I never truly wanted to die. The concept of mortality now looms over me with newfound weight, casting doubt on the meaning I once held about my fate. Maybe I didn’t want to die just yet.

With weary eyes, I shift my gaze upward to the night sky, where the moon hangs alone amongst drifting clouds. A cool breeze sweeps through, stealing what little warmth remains. When did it become so cold? The moon's soft glow casts over the desolate ruins of what is now Shibuya, illuminating the remnants of a city once surging with life.

I squint, trying to keep myself awake. I focus on calming myself down by studying the moon. As I do so, my breath steadies, and I’m met with another realization: the moon owes its luminance to the light of the sun. Suddenly, only one thought encapsulates my mind: where is my sunshine now?

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sshbpodcast · 10 months ago

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Character Spotlight: Miles O’Brien

By Ames

Though he was introduced in The Next Generation (in the pilot episode, no less!), Miles Edward O’Brien doesn’t really get to stretch his legs until he gets promoted to chief engineer in Deep Space Nine. Not much room in the transporter room, I’m afraid. As Star Trek’s most epitomic everyman, the chief isn’t some magic-powered alien or augmented human or even a pinnacle of futuristic ethics. Hell, it’s his flaws that make him more relatable than most other characters in the franchise, and he remains one of the most popular crewmembers all around!

Is it Colm Meaney’s approachable yet nuanced performance? Is it the strength of the writing of DS9? Or do we just love watching a grown man suffer in the way only O’Brien can? Find out below as your hosts of A Star to Steer Her By shine this week’s spotlight on the chief, and listen to this week’s banter over on the podcast (beam over to 55:13). Jaysus!

[Images © CBS/Paramount]

Best moments

They say you will be doing this manually, sir. No automation. O’Brien shows up in the first TNG episode, “Encounter at Farpoint,” though he doesn’t get a name yet. And even though Picard orders Riker to reattach the saucer section as a test of his skills, frankly O’Brien does almost all of the work. Riker really only tells O’Brien to reattach the two sections and he just goes and does it while Riker gets all the credit. No respect, I tell ya!

The minstrel boy to the war has gone For most of TNG, O’Brien is stuck in the transporter room, but he gets to use those abilities to beam over to the Phoenix in “The Wounded”! Even through shields! Now that’s impressive on its own, but there’s more. Despite his predilection towards hating the spoonheads, he talks Captain Maxwell out of destroying a Cardassian supply vessel and surely inciting another war.

I’ve been doing this for twenty-two years and I haven’t lost anybody yet One more great use of transporter chief O’Brien comes when Barclay is exhibiting transporterphobia in “Realm of Fear.” Though most of the crew view Barclay’s eccentricities as irrational, O’Brien remains understanding and patient throughout, and works with Reg to figure out what’s really going on in the pattern buffer and save the crewmen trapped in there.

Now you are Tosk as well, O’Brien Our overall favorite Miles moment from the show is probably how he stands up for Tosk in “Captive Pursuit” and helps him escape from his hunters. In one of our best examples showcasing when it’s a good idea to disobey the Prime Directive, O’Brien makes a statement by taking off his combadge to go do what’s right, saving the life of a subjugated person.

I’ve met some Cardassians I didn’t like, and I’ve met some I did O’Brien starts off “Cardassians” being racist about letting Rugal play with Molly or share their table, but it’s commendable how he warms up to the boy. They find common ground. Granted, it’s in how much they hate Cardassia, but it’s something. But it’s truly a great moment when he bonds with Rugal: someone who’s had no choice in life and whose future is being decided for him.

I want to die on my feet Here’s a quick badass moment from O’Brien. When he’s already dying from the bioweapon in “Armageddon Game” and the T'Lani and the Kelleruns are about the execute him to get rid of all people with knowledge of the harvesters, Miles requests that they allow him the dignity of dying on his feet instead of slumped in his own filth. There’s something powerful about that.

He’s their commander. They trusted him. He can’t leave them. This one’s controversial since “Hippocratic Oath” is so multifaceted in a lot of ways. Last time, we commended Julian for his humanitarian (Jem’Hadaritarian?) attempts to save our Dominion enemies from their ketracel-white addiction. Well, O’Brien is there to save Bashir from himself when the doctor’s attempts fail and a bunch of rabid alien soldiers are ready to tear the humans apart.

That boy’s life is in our hands and I won’t let anybody give up on him O’Brien’s friendship with Quique Muniz culminates in some beautiful scenes in “The Ship.” Muniz is dying a whole lot and O’Brien never gives up on him, even battling (verbally and physically) with Worf over how to handle his approaching death. And when the inevitable does occur, it’s all the more heartbreaking when Worf joins in the ritual ak’voh.

This is how an engineer plays kotra You don’t see a lot of scenes between Garak and O’Brien throughout the show. Now some of that is probably that they don’t like sharing Julian’s attention, but the rest is that there’s no trust between the Cardassian spy and the hero of Setlik Three. We get to see them stand off in “Empok Nor” and O’Brien impresses by outsmarting the homicidal Garak using his engineering skills!

Good cat, Chester! Even when infiltrating the Orion Syndicate (for reasons), O’Brien tries to do the right thing. He tries to tip Bilby off in “Honor Among Thieves” when he has entrapped him, though that does neither of them any good. But even more importantly, Miles agrees to take in Chester, who is a pretty cat and a good cat, and your SSHB hosts here have to give him credit for that.

The cause of death was the Orion Syndicate In fact, O’Brien was so dedicated to his sorta father figure that when Bilby’s widow has vanished in “Prodigal Daughter,” he goes looking for her. Without asking or informing anyone, which probably wasn’t the brightest move, but this is Miles we’re talking about. And without him, we’d never have solved her murder case at the hands of Ezri’s messed up family’s business.

You gotta friend in me Just as we did in the Julian spotlight, we’ve got to close out on O’Brien’s sweet friendship with the good doctor. Bashir, who never looks before he leaps, frequently finds himself needing the constant support and level head of someone like Miles when he does asinine things like leap into Sloan’s head in “Extreme Measures,” even when it’s a bad idea, as we've discussed before.

—

Worst moments

Don’t phaser the messenger I’ll avoid citing marriage to Keiko as a Worst Moment because that’s mean, but the way they got married in “Data’s Day” was painful to watch. The audience’s first impression of their relationship is one in which both parties refuse to communicate over something as important as their marriage, and make Data (of all people!) act as their middleman. What a terrible start!

Sweetheart, I’m not a fish Don’t worry, there’s more to drag about how Miles and Keiko’s relationship was depicted in TNG. In the very next episode, “The Wounded,” we see just how they clearly didn’t know each other before deciding to get hitched. Neither likes how each other eats. Guys, you can hate each other’s food because, ya know what, food replicators exist! Order your own potato casserole!

I hate what I became because of you We give Miles a lot of grief on the podcast for his systematic racism. Which is fair – he certainly is quick to hate on other races on occasion. We see this explored interestingly in “The Wounded,” for which we already gave him credit for transcending his racism above, but not before he snaps at Daro and blames the Cardassians for Maxwell’s actions before knowing if he was even right or not.

Grapevine says Chief O’Brien and the missus are having problems But let’s move on to when Miles makes it to the main credits in DS9. As expected, we’re starting off with more Keiko drama. We learn in “A Man Alone” that Keiko was none too pleased about being uprooted (cuz she’s a botanist, get it?) from the Enterprise, and they argue about it publicly at Quark’s. In front of everyone. Do they never communicate before major life changes?

I suppose you’d be happier if I was miserable? I’m sorry that there’s more Keiko drama to include. I didn’t do this on purpose. In “Fascination,” Keiko is finally doing actual botany work and feeling useful doing a long term study on Bajor, and yet she and Miles end up fighting (again, in the middle of Quark’s!) about extending her assignment. And to make matters worse, Miles insinuates she’s having an affair! Dude! Stop.

They call me Smiley Smiley O’Brien is almost indistinguishable from our universe’s Miles (they’re both inherently good guys who suffer enormously), so I’d say it’s safe to include kidnapping Sisko in “Through the Looking Glass” and coercing him into pretending to be mirror Sisko on the naughty list. What a bold move! The Terran Resistance is lucky to have him even if we the audience are getting sick of mirror land.

They’re killers. That’s all they know how to do. Jake may have included saving Dr. Bashir in “Hippocratic Oath” on his Best Moments list, but we’ve also got to reprimand O’Brien for sabotaging Julian’s attempt to cure the Jem’Hadars’ addiction. It’s not just in order to save his friend’s life. Miles states up and down that Goran’Agar is not to be trusted because he’s a Jem’Hadar and starts spewing all the old propaganda again, like a racist.

Just leave a Yelp review, dude While it’s always sadistically fun to watch O’Brien suffer (Colm Meaney does it so well!), it’s also rough to see just how poorly he recovers in an episode like “Hard Time.” Miles is suffering hard from PTSD and guilt and he takes it by attacking Quark. Even worse, he nearly beats Molly when she’s annoying him, which is shocking coming from Miles. Please, seek professional help.

All the time you were holding out on me Later in “Hard Time,” we learn what was on Miles’s conscience the whole time. While in his memory jail, he gets paranoid enough of his cellmate Ee’Char that he murders him in cold blood over a couple orts of food that Ee’Char wasn’t even hoarding for himself. Even though none of it was real, the knowledge that Miles could be pushed to kill an innocent man is a huge blow for him.

It gets worse. There’s a view. We ragged on this plotline in the Kira spotlight as well, but there’s enough discomfort to go around. Those weird, unnecessary feelings Miles develops for a pregnant Kira in “Looking for par'Mach in All the Wrong Places” are just a bad plot device. It feels forced to make two people get romantically awkward just because they’re in proximity with each other. Just lazy.

There’s no hiding from the Syndicate Does it make a ton of sense to force O’Brien to infiltrate the Orion Syndicate in “Honor Among Thieves”? Especially in the middle of the Dominion War? Maybe not, but he does a decent job winning the trust of Liam Bilby using his engineering skills and general good nature. In fact, he does such a good job that he certainly gets Bilby killed in Starfleet’s scheme, like a little rat.

Molly and the Hendersons It is just deplorable how “Time’s Orphan” treats the developmentally stunted Molly O’Brien, and the most shame belongs to Miles and Keiko. What parent would give up on their trauma-ridden child after just a few days and release her into the dangerous wild to live like an animal? I am appalled that not once did anyone float another option to aid in Molly’s rehabilitation, but even more appalled that getting rid of her was the proposed solution.

—

And that’s the way the Alamo crumbles. Keep your eyes here for more character spotlights! DS9 certainly has a lot more to cover, so make sure you’re subscribed to our Tumblr, follow along with us on the podcast over on SoundCloud or wherever you get your podcasts, sing us an Irish ballad on Facebook and Twitter, and replicate up a nice potato casserole!

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nicolesainz · 2 years ago

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Secret love song (MØ 8)

Martin Ødegaard x f!reader

Warnings: fluff to its core

A/N: It will be the first time I write a one shot from the male perspective and first time I write about Martin, so hope I don’t disappoint

Summary: First times are difficult. Even if that means saying three powerful words

“Come on Martin. What’s wrong with you? Just say it!” I say to myself, shaking my head, wanting to get my shit straight.

“What’s wrong man? Everything alright. You seem stressed” Ben White’s voice echoes in my ears, as I feel his arm on my shoulder.

“So it’s that apparent, huh?”

“You always are stressed but this time it looks like you’ve reached its peak. If I can help anyhow, tell me Martin”

My palms are sweaty and my throat is drying as minutes go by. This feels like torture and as I keep to myself those three little words, the more they haunt me in my sleep.

Tonight, Y/N, finally had time to attend a home game with Manchester City, as we battle for the first place in the league. The excitement I had when she broke the news, blasted all over the room.

Seeing her in the grandstands, wearing an Arsenal shirt, with my name plastered on its back, with her mesmerizing being brighter than every light in the stadium, gives me strength.

“Y/N is here today. And I think it’s finally time, Ben”

Not a lot boys from the team knew about Y/N. Only Ben, Bukayo, Aaron and Kieran. Besides Kieran, the other three had interacted with her many times whenever the England squad gathered.

And the reason I say England squad, is because she is Aaron’s sister. He was the one who introduced us at first place and from the very first night, she absolutely took my breath away.

“So that’s why you’ve been sweating as if you’ve been walking on hot sand at the Sahara.” Ben let out a small laugh, but seeing how worried I was he instantly stopped.

“Dra til helvete, rasshøl” (Fuck off, asshole) I say as I give him a slight kick.

“At this point, I know when you talk shit about me, Ødegaard. So, instead of insulting my grace, go talk to her!” He jokes around, trying to lighten the atmosphere, but clearly doesn’t.

“It’s not that easy. She’ll hate and avoid me if something goes sideways. How will I ever face her again if she shows up at more games?” I go back and forth, trying to reason myself in order to calm down.

“Hey hey hey! Look at me!” Ben held me still and shook me so I looked him in the eyes.

“From the way she talks about you, I believe that everything will be alright” Wait…what way? And how does Ben know? Does she talk about me to her brother or someone else?

“What do you mean? Spill or I’ll kick your leg even harder” I wouldn’t actually do it. It was my nerves talking. I was even more flushed and anxious right now.

“Whenever the squad meets, she always asks where you are, as if she doesn’t know that it’s only the England boys. We all tease her and then Aaron calls you out of nowhere”

That explains everything now. I’ve been receiving calls from the boys over a few Saturdays after the games, with all of them laughing and a woman’s voice in the back. It was her!

Flashback, to Valentines Day, a few months ago…

I was home alone after practice, with no one, but Netflix playing a stupid movie Erling had suggested me.

I just needed it to get my mind off. I was a coward once again. Today I had a great chance at telling Y/N how I feel and I blew it. I chickened out and left the very moment with a lame ass excuse.

“I’m so sorry. I need to rush home. My dad fell off the stairs”

My dad was in Norway, miles away from here. And was probably fishing. But she didn’t know that.

When I was almost falling asleep, my phone rings and wakes me up abruptly.

It was Aaron.

“Everything okay mate?” I say, looking at the time. It was 11 pm.

“Surely my guy. What about you? Happen to have any beautiful girl over there?” Aaron voice was dubbed by the yelling and laughing of the other England players. They were definitely all drunk.

“If he doesn’t, let’s give her to him. I’m sure they’ll get busy with one another.” Ben Chilwell screamed from the background and a woman’s voice followed.

“Find a girl first and then talk about me, Chilwell” she replied snarkily, although I couldn't understand who she was in between the loud music and shouting.

"Do you want me to pick up any of you guys? Seems like you've had a fair share of drinks, huh?" I say letting a soft sigh escape my mouth.

"Nahhh, we are just fine. Although someone definitely would want to be picked up. Hey-" and Aaron's sentence was cut in the middle as he hung up.

I shook my head disappointingly and went to bed that day, with the biggest heartache and three words ghosting over my head.

I love you

End of flashback

"Let's go out there and win this. If you score a goal, dedicate a celebration to her. I am sure she will appreciate this afterwards" Ben hit me a few times on the back and pushed me forward, as the Captain of the team had to go out first.

My nerves were all over the place and very clear to everyone else too. Okay Martin. Dype åndedrag (deep breaths), like Ben said, alt kommer til å ordne seg (everything will be alright).

The fans went wild as the game started very strong with the side of City, immediately going full on attack with all their defenders marking us.

They had a few chances of scoring but thankfully Aaron deflected all of them perfectly. So far, things were going okay, but the score still was nil-nil, with the ball possession being in favour of City.

It was now a few minutes before the end of the first half and the ball was around Erling's feet. When he is about to reach the net, I kick the ball in the air and Haaland ended up falling messily on my leg.

I let out a massive yelp, holding my leg with my hands, somehow wanting to ease the pain. The referee doesn't blow the whistle, which means the game still goes on with me and Erling helping each other get up.

"Beklager, men dette kunne ikke ha skjedd på noen annen måte" (Sorry, but this couldn't have happened any other way), he says to me, reaching for my hand and picking me up.

"Been through worse. It's okay", I say back and run as fast as I can towards my teammates, who were trying to steal the ball from Walker's 'embrace'.

The first half whistle blows and it's still nil-nil. Fuck, we need to do better. I need to do better. I raise my head and my eyes immediately fall on Y/N, who has been caught staring at me, with her cheeks fully flushed and a worried look in her eyes.

To her disappointment, she can't come down to the changing rooms, so instead, in order to check on me, she points at her leg and gives me a thumbs up and down signal.

I smile shyly, with my heart fluttering, as I give her a thumbs up and a small wave, before heading back to the rooms. If only I could hug her right now and tell her that even if we lost, all I cared about was not loosing her.

"Martin, how is your leg? Can you continue or do you want me to sub? Your call." Arteta asks me looking one time in my eyes and the other down to my leg.

"I can do it, boss. No problem here" I reply to him, with a stern look taking over me.

"Please, don't gamble with your health. If you are not feeling okay, tell me." he says one more time, wanting to make sure I was fully agreeing with what I said.

"I can play. It was just at the spur of the moment. Doesn't hurt" I assure him as the ref comes up to call us back on the pitch.

He nods at me and the squad goes out for a final time this evening. We need to score. We can't give up. I shouldn't give up. I need to fight.

The only thing helping me carry on was the sweetheart going by the name Y/N, watching us from the grandstands and having every bit of her faith lying on us. Lying on me.

And the game is back on. We do better than the first half, with the possession of the ball being at our advantage. Everything is going from better to best as Martineli assist Bukayo and he scores the first goal of the night!

We all go around and hug him, as happiness can't be contained. The fans roar and wave their flags in honour of this amazing goal and Saka.

Unfortunately, City equalised a few moments later around the 83 minute, with Grealish being the surprise scorer of the match, as he avoids the defence of Saliba, Ben and Kieran and sends the ball right on the net, with Aaron being unable to react.

My eyes land on the time board. 88 minute. Shit.

I wave at Jesus to pass me the ball as I was the only one unmarked by the City players and closer to the net. There was a fifty-fifty chance I would catch the ball and be able to score. This time, I gambled and proved myself right.

I manage to get the ball my way and with a hard headshot I send the ball in the net, making it a 2-1 at exactly the end of the game! The whole stadium got up and started yelling from the explosion of happy emotions and we had won a massive derby against our biggest rivals of the season.

"You, fucking Captain Ødegaard, did this! Thank you" Ben says with a huge smile on his face turning me around and pointing towards Y/N's way, who was jumping up and down filming the whole moment. I take my chance once more and shape with my fingers a heart at her.

She pays me back with another heart, as the filming stops, whilst pointing at my name on her back, signing the number one. This, was my sign to tell her how I feel. It was now or I would forever hold peace.

After the celebration with the team, we all dress with dry clothes and head outside the stadium now that it had emptied from the crowds. Every player, run to either their family or girlfriend.

Aaron looked at me and mouthed "go talk to her", as he was walking towards his fiancée.

For some reason, I didn't feel nervous or scared. I felt confident and sure about what I was about to do. It was surely risky but I had a gut feeling, this would work out perfectly.

She looked at me as if it was only the two of us, surrounded by no one else, with her embrace fully open for me to land in. How I wish this would become my permanent safe place.

I ran up to her and gave her the biggest possible hug, I have ever shared with someone. I could feel her heart beating in sync with mine and I instantly knew, why I did love her.

I love her because she can turn ones day from bad to extremely amazing. She can make you laugh, without trying too much. Only with her wit and charm. She can create a feeling of safety with a simple touch. But most importantly, she can make you fall in love with her, with a single smile.

She doesn't have time to react after the hug, as my lips fall on hers softly. My one hand cups her cheek whilst the other is tangled up with hers. She doesn't fight me back as the kiss gets deeper and more passionate, as it was a way of saying how we both felt this entire time.

She pulls my hand and places it on the side of her heart, so I could feel how fast it beat. How fast it was beating, only for me. My lips form into a smile as we break apart and look at each other with full adoration. If I could, she would be the only person I looked at for the rest of my life.

I didn't care about any trophy or championship. If my career ended now, I wouldn't care, if it meant having her by my side.

"I love you. More than you can possibly imagine. Day and night, this was all I wanted to say but the fear of losing you, held me back" I admit to her, trying to catch my breath.

"Jeg elsker deg, Martin. And honestly, I can't love anyone more than you. It feels impossible. But I am glad it is. I never want this to change" she lands into my arms once again, this time with a soft feeling caving into my heart.

#martin odegaard one shot #martin ødegaard #martin odegaard fluff #martin odegaard fanfic #arsenal #martin odegaard x reader #martin odegaard

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lemonhemlock · 2 years ago

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To be fair Aegon actually get the worst first appearances of any character of GOT/HOTD , like the main antagonists of got (Ramsay/cersei/Daenerys/tywin/joffery) were shown in much better way in their first appearance.

Joffery was shown as a charming prince that made sansa fall in love with him

Tywin was shown as a father and a commander with a scene with his son jaime .

Cersei was shown as the queen of westros and as a bitter wife due to Robert neglecting her children and cheating on her publicly.

Daenerys as a victim of her brother and her circumstances.

Heck even ramsay was shown as a kind man who just wants to help theon xd

This why i feel Show aegon is not a character but a mere plot device/tool to Whitewash everyone in team green at his expense , same has been done to Rhaenys and Daemon. To me i like book aegon better🤷🏻 because despite being a historical figure so that means not everything has been said about him is true and despite being an unhinged asshole (in a story where everyone is unhinged asshole in it) he feels like a character to me compared to his show version. I mean book Aegon got a lot going on for him other than you know rape and child arena . Also he got really cool lines there , show Aegon could never .

Anonymous asked: I know there is a lot of outrage about how Aegon get portrayed in the show and not only in the greens corners but also I've seen a lot of criticism coming from book readers as well . However to me personally I don't really care if Aegon was portrayed as a grey character although it would be better if he was since his book version is a grey character not a full-villain . But I won't hate him if he was portrayed as a villain/antagonist , and I'm sure he would become one of the greatest antagonists in TV shows (given by the crumbs we have from the book) and this will work only and only if they bothered to develop him in a consistent manner . Problem is they're not even interested in writing him either way , so he can't be an interesting grey character or even a compelling villain for some reasons I honestly can't know.... is it because if they developed him as an interesting grey/antagonist character he would become more interesting than rhaenyra? So they're afraid?Or there is something else I don't know?

I’ve had these show!Aegon asks in my inbox for a while now, so I grouped a few of them into this reply.

Interesting observation about HotD!Aegon getting the worst introduction out of any villain-coded character. I both agree and disagree. We first see Aegon as a baby and he seems very loved, even by Viserys, albeit that comes at the expense of Rhaenyra. And since we’ve spent more time with Rhaenyra as a character (and she is also very sympathetic at this stage, truthfully), the viewer is inclined to take her side and see baby!Aegon as kind of an interloper. Then you also have the white hart symbolic investiture moment and the scene where Viserys is doubting his decision to name Rhaenyra as heir, so, naturally, people are encouraged to view this as unfair. I mean, of course it is to us, because we relate it to our modern experiences and we all hate it when we have siblings who are favoured by our parents. So I kind of think that’s the lens through which people are first introduced to Aegon and even though there’s obviously a degree of unfairness AS WELL in being jealous of a literal baby, it’s undeniable that the show is highlighting protagonist-biased morality.

Being introduced as a baby who gets a lot of attention and whose sister is jealous of him is not the worst and they could have done lots with that. But Aegon’s portrayal only gets progressively worse after that. The next time we see him, he’s bullying Aemond and beating his meat in the Tommen window. Not unforgivable actions, since he’s still a teenager, but he’s not exactly framed in a positive light either. And, of course, we all know how Tom’s Aegon is introduced. So he is shown to the audience at three different ages basically and at no time is he awarded one fully positive interaction. I mean. Really?

Even when he is most loved and happy as a baby, he is contextualized by the other characters around him as a future threat to Rhaenyra’s claim - the character the audience has been primed so far to be invested in. I’ve heard this argument that it’s not unbelievable that someone as privileged as Aegon could grow up to be the worst, insofar as to imply that we’re complaining too much that his dark portrayal is unwarranted, but this kind of imbalance is just plain narrative manipulation.

Textually, Rhaenyra is in no way presented as a “good” alternative to Aegon’s rule and this was never primarily a story about who would make the better sovereign. However, it becomes such a story adapted on screen, because the show narrative is, time and time again, very indulgent with Rhaenyra - it both gives her heartwarming scenes with other characters and it glosses over her mistakes and unsavory traits. I’ve said this before, but people are not stupid idiots - there’s a reason the majority of viewers finish HotD on Rhaenyra’s side; it’s because the framing itself encourages them to do so at every turn.

A casual viewer is not an ASOIAF nerd, they are not familiar with medieval legislation or historical examples. They are tired from working all day and just want to unwind: therein comes Rhaenyra, who isn’t shown to have done anything egregious so far; of course they are going to prefer her to her gremlin little brother. If the show took the time to portray Rhaenyra as she should have been (realistically) perceived in-universe by the nobles and the smallfolk and was willing to put some meat on Aegon’s bones as a proper contender, the divide would have been way more even. I don't think it's unreasonable to point that out.

Anonymous asked: I could imagine them adapting the "Aegon throws a feast for Aemond killing Luke" story beat in a slightly less over-the-top way by having the Greens having supper together. Maybe it's to welcome Daeron back to the Red Keep (it's going to definitely happen just Trust Me) but it's after they find out Aemond killed Luke so it's pretty uncomfortable and Alicent and Otto (and maybe Helaena) are still not happy. Aegon picks up on the weird atmosphere and in an effort to cheer up his lil bro he does a toast to Aemond and his valiant effort of getting the Baratheons to their side, and also killing one of the enemy! Yeah it was their nephew, and now Aemond is forever branded as the kinslayer, but you know, one dragon down is one dragon down. Everyone else at the table (including Aemond) is like 😬😬😬

I love this idea of combining the welcoming feast for Daeron with the kinslaying feast for Aemond, that could make for some great comedy. I don’t have anything against a supper, per se, but I think this is probably the last time we get to have a feast, at least until Rhaenyra gives Joffrey a lavish birthday party that contributes to getting her kicked out of King’s Landing. ☠ Aegon also needs a banquet for his coronation, so it would be a good opportunity to combine all three.

Anonymous asked: Until now i still can't believe that the showrunners who -supposedly- read the book , decided to make Aegon the VILLAIN when Aemond and Daemon are out there.....

I mean………….. Again, I LOVE what they did with Aemond and I wouldn’t change it. Even as his psycho book self, it honestly makes a lot of sense that he was deeply traumatised by the eye incident and that circumstances later evolved in such a way that at one point he just snapped. And it goes to show that they can take a character who is anime-villain-level from the books and make him nuanced.

But, I have to say, that if they were looking for a quick insane antagonist fix for shits and giggles, Aemond is the most natural choice that pops up from the page. With Daemon it’s more complicated, because he’ll always have GRRM in his corner fighting for him as a “grey” character.

I wonder if they chose to humanize Aemond more because they wanted to cut Daeron and so gave Aemond some of Daeron’s traits instead. I heard this theory before and it does sound plausible. It’s definitely suspicious that they do not have one single throwaway line about “our brother in Oldtown”, yet they confirmed Daeron’s existence in the opening credits with Alicent’s bloodline from the very first episode her sigil was shown, and Miguel Sapochnik shortly departed the show after it aired. IDK, but to me that sounds like they must have had disagreements over Daeron behind the scenes.

#ask #anon #hotd critical [storytelling]#hotd critical [aegon]#hotd critical [aemond]#hotd critical [daeron]#hotd critical [rhaenyra]#anon is currently off while i make my way through my backlog

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lyon-amore · 2 years ago

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What if...? Duskwood Chapter 40

Chapter 39 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Macie POV*

I'm wondering how would I be right now if I wasn't here in Duskwood? Probably hanging around my living room, alone, making Henry nervous with my energy. I feel better being with Jake. We both need each other right now. He needs me.

This time I won't ask how long he has left and I'll wait until he's done with the work he's doing. It is important. I receive a video call. Dan. I suppose to distract myself a little, it will do me a little good while I wait. “Hey” Dan says calmly. "Hello," he settled on the bed, sitting me down. "I wanted to talk to you” he looks at me calmly ". We didn't quite see eye to eye earlier." "Earlier?" "Yeah" he pauses, sighing "When we were talking about not running away anymore… You were opposed to my plan." "Because I think you're risking too much, he's already attacked us twice, Dan." I reply, trying to control my anger a bit. "Macie, I'm not call to argue" I sigh and let him continue "I’d like to tell you a story." I look at Jake, it seems that at the moment I still have to wait a little longer. "Okay, I’ve got time." "Listen, when I was thirteen, a guy suddenly turned up at our door." I pay attention to his gestures. He is recording right now "He was holding his hat in both of his hands and was trying to smile, asking me if my mom was home” He pauses, letting out a sigh ". He had a big white scar on his left hand” he makes the gesture to describe it ". He didn't introduce himself, but he didn't have to." "He was a wanted criminal?" "Well" he twists his lip, frowning ", kinda." I hear hate in his voice. Even disgust "I knew was straightaway and I know how he got that huge scar" little by little, I'm softening up a bit with the situation, paying more attention than before "The idiot got wasted and slipped with a bottle of beer in his hand” He puts his hand to his head, pointing "The was aiming that bottle at my… At my mother's head” my breath catches when I hear him. I try not to freak out with his story or make me feel bad ". But I guess she was faster than the drunken douchebag." I understand now what he is telling me. "That man was your dad..." Dan snorts, with a sarcastic laugh. "I gave that scumbag lots of names over the years" I see that he tries to control himself by even insulting him. He will be controlling himself for me ", but dad wasn't one of them." "Why did he show up?" "That's a good question, Detective Macie." Dan shifts in his chair, as if he wanted to settle "I didn't ask him” He makes a gesture of disinterest ". I didn't want to know and I didn't care.” I nod, understanding. "I told him to get away from our porch and that I couldn’t guarantee for anything if he showed his face again and asked” His jaw tightens ". A couple of days later, I came home in the evening and this guy was standing on the porch again” He raises his tone a little again ". But this time, my mother was there with him." He pauses, letting out a sigh. I see him look away for a moment, remembering that moment. "She was covering her face, hiding the black eye he just gave her." I tremble to imagine the fear of that lady. I see that Jake had stopped writing, paying attention to the story. I wonder how long it's been like this. We're both empathizing with Dan and his story. "But she wasn't hiding her tears." He shakes his head and I see the affection he has for his mother in his eyes "As I approached him, that son of a bitch just shrugged" I bite the inside of my cheek, starting to get mad at that man now ", as if it had been an accident or as if he wanted to apologize, but I didn't care." “I can imagine what you did then…" He scratches his chin, then runs his hand through his beard, again, remembering something. "All my life, my mom’s had real trouble walking" he rages in his voice ". All thanks to him" he looks me straight into my eyes. Now I understand Dan's concern for his mother "He pushed her down the stairs because she put peas in her casserole one evening.” He growls "Goddamn peas..." "And what happened next? "He showed up again" now I notice a relieved face on her face ". And until today I have no idea if he even knew who I was” He makes a face without caring ". And to be honst, I don't give a shit." "Of course he knows..." He lets out a laugh, but not from happiness. "The son of a bitch looks t like me" he makes an annoyed face "If he doesn’t know, he must have had drowned his last brain cell in liquor." "In my opinion, I think you're much more handsome than him." I say, trying to cheer him up a bit. "Thank you, Boo." He makes a chivalrous gesture of thanks. “I didn't know about your father until now." "Nobody else knows" he looks back a bit, as if he's searching for someone around him "and as you've probably realized by now, he's not worth talking about either." I perfectly understand. To speak of an asshole like that would only be giving it prominence. It is better that he never appears again. "To make a long story short" Dan is more relaxed now and continues to be friendly "I know what it’s like when you open the door and you’re suddenly faced with a monster " he says seriously "and I know exactly how to deal with that monster." "I know…" I nod. Now I understand more why he has offered to have the gun. He is able to protect whoever he is, even though he can't move, he wants to try. I rest my head on my knees, holding the phone.

The atmosphere has changed. Now I feel a little bad. I should never have misjudged Dan from the start, he has his own reasons for being the way he is so worried and mistrustful of Jake. “Hey Macie” I look up, paying attention to Dan. He had distracted me for a moment ", What do you do in your spare time by the way? When you're not looking for missing women, I mean." I start to think. Most of the time I'm at home, lying on the couch watching my favorite series and movies after a long day at work. But if I have to think about when I finally have vacations and more free time. "Let see… I'm a people person." "Do you like going to bars?" "Sometimes" I answered thinking, "but only if I go with my friends. Although lately it's been banned." I remember Lian told me not to go to a bar until at least her baby was one year old. And that the pregnant one is her. "What about action movies?" "Yeah, no thanks," I say, shaking my hand. I hear him laugh and I laugh too. A bit better. "Okay, then no" he starts to think a bit, until I see his face light up "What about horror movies?" "Heck yeah!" I reply with a smile. "Nice" he sees that he makes a surprised face ". I wasn't expecting that" I laugh and he gets serious ". I bet you're the type to cover their eyes in the theater." I frown, does he really see me like this? "No, I don't do that." I say proudly. Dan laughs, almost with tears in his eyes. But hey! Don't he believe it? "Yeah, yeah, you’d have to prove that to me." I look over my phone at Jake, who's back to typing after Dan's story. I wonder if he will be listening to everything I like, will he have an interest? Then I dare to put him to the test, with a smile. "You want to watch a movie with me?" I ask Dan, amused "A horror movie?" I see how Jake has looked over his shoulder a bit. “Yeah,” Dan says, raising an eyebrow. “Anything that would speak against it?" "Yeah, my boyfriend for example." I answer Dan, without naming anyone. I listen as Jake stops typing, paying attention again. "It's Hackerboy, isn’t it?" Why does he ask me that? Hasn't Lilly said we're dating since I jokingly told her we were together? I bite the inside of my cheek, sighing. Likewise, my heart races just thinking about Jake and if he could be my boyfriend. The truth is that I would like him. I don't want ours to stay alone in something secretly. If at least this group knows, that's enough for me. "Yes, you're right." I reply. I don't look at Jake this time. "It's just…" Dan runs a hand over his head, irritated. "I just don't get it. What do you like about him?" Dan, we'd stay up here all night if I made you a list of all the good and bad things I like about him, because it's really long. "Well, there’s a few things" I replied, shrugging. If I told him, he would know that I have met him in person. "Yeah, well then." He sighs, annoyed "No can do I guess." “Friends can go to the movies together too, Dan.” I tell him with a mischievous smile. "Right" he answers awkwardly "Ive to go, we don't want the faceless one to smear his mark on this door too, do we?" "Take care of yourselves." “You too Macie." We hung up and I put the phone on the table.

I stay sitting on the bed. Looking back at my phone, waiting if someone else calls me or sends me a message. “Interesting conversation with Dan.” I hear Jake say. "Which part of the conversation did you find interesting?" I ask, curious. "His story of him with that man" he replies ". It is incredible how brave he is, he has my respects." "Yeah…" I get up from the bed, approaching him "And what do you think about him inviting me to the movies?" I lean in a little, hugging him. I hear how he lets out a little laugh, without stopping writing. “I do not mind if that is what you want to know." I smile kissing him on the cheek. I'm glad to see that he no longer feels jealous towards anyone.

Well, first we would have to solve Phil's issue, but that's when we get him out of jail and it's cleared up with him too.

*Jake POV*

Everything was going well listening to the conversation until Dan started asking her private questions. I think he was trying to figure out how to ask Macie out. If it is not Phil, it is Dan… But at least, I think if something happened, I would leave him in Macie's care if I asked him to. Today I have discovered that he is not a bad man, even though we have our differences.

And again, she has said that we are together. It no longer makes me nervous like when I saw the conversation between Lilly and her, just happy to hear her tell him.

Macie has gone back to bed, awaiting my new instructions, but she does not know that I am going to need everyone's help. I join the chat group and write. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake I need your help. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hear Macie seem to jump on the bed in surprise. "Have you achieved what you were trying to do?" She asks, approaching with the cell phone. It will always seem a bit curious that we chat while here, but I can not leave her friends out of this anymore. "Watch out for the group" I tell her, with a smile "They should not be left out of this." She smiles rolling her eyes, returning to the bed and sitting on the edge. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cleo From all of us?

Macie I don’t know anything about this

Jake If that is possible, then yes.

Dan Here we go again

Jessica Hey 🙂

Macie Hello everyone ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I wait for everyone to connect and continue writing. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake As you all know, Michael Hanson activated location sharing via GPS on Hannah's cell phone. however, that way he also unknowingly revealed a significant weakness to me. A few minutes ago, I was able to establish a connection with his cell phone.

Dan And what does that mean in normal words?

Jake That it is now possible for us to access Michael Hanson's microphone as we wish. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Jake!" That's great! Macie exclaims, with a tone of happiness. "This is not quite what I had hoped for, but it should be enough." I replied, proudly. I like it when Macie congratulates me on my accomplishments, her excitement is contagious. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake So. As soon as I establish the connection, we will be able to hear to everything occurring in the vicinity of his cell phone. Perhaps that way we can outsmart him

Macie Sounds exciting ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I laughed reading her words. She has not been able to do anything for a while and she is finally going to be able to work on some research. I know that she likes it a lot and her help and her theories have never failed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake And that is where you all come in. Listen for any and every sound. Both striking and inconspicuous. Anything could be important.

Cleo Okay

Dan 👌

Jake Any questions?

Macie Not from me

Jessica Don't have

Jake And please increase the volume on your cell phones. It would be even better to use headphones, if at all possible. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I start to prepare the program and add them in it. I try to calm them down and Macie welcomes them into her world. So it is her world already? I smile to see that we share something else.

I let them know that I am going to start with the connection so that you are attentive. As soon as Macie tells me, I turn on Michael's microphone.

I also listen carefully, in case something goes wrong. The first thing we hear is a vehicle. He is driving. I look at Macie for a moment, as she listens concentrated with her headphones. It seems that there is no problem at the moment. I try to listen concentrated to every detail, reading the chat. The car stops, but nothing is heard except the sound of animals. "No traffic" I start to say ". No people…" “Nothing…” I hear Macie say. We hear an iron chain and he continues walking. It seems that he has opened something. Has the vehicle removed anything? And his steps are very heavy. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Macie He’s walking more slowly than before

Cleo Right?

Dan He’s in the forest, safe bet

Macie It would make sense at least ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yes, but where? Duskwood forests are big. I took information from the entire town to keep myself informed, from it is founding until today. I have so many things in my backpack full of papers, maps and important items that it's starting to weigh and I say this knowing that I could even carry the backpack plus a travel bag with other computers ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jessica This is so creepy I’m too scared to even breathe Because I’m afraid he might hear me

Macie Same here ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"He cannot hear you" I tell Macie, worried that she might be scared ", do not worry." "I know…"

It is then that we hear someone cry. A woman. I recognize the voice, it is Hannah. I try to control myself hearing her like that.

The audio starts to drop out and I am trying to figure out a way to filter out the noise. Dan and Lilly rush me. I finish fixing it and I read that Lilly does not want to continue listening to Hannah's crying. Michael opens a door and little by little the connection begins to lose little by little until they end up expelled. I hear Macie's cell phone. "It's a video call." She warns me. "Alright." Macie accepts and the first to speak is Jessica, who seems to be complaining. "I got kicked ot!" "What happened?" Macie asks. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake We have lost connection

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

"Can you get it running again, Jake?" Cleo asks me now. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake I will trying. Give me a few minutes. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I return to the program trying to see what I can do. “Okay, I guess were going to have to wait.” Jessica says. “I'll staying on my phone.” Macie tells them. "Ok." Those were Jessica's last words before she hung up. Macie walks over to the table, leaning on it. "Are you Ok?" She asks me "Yeah, I just need to focus on this." "Jake-" "I said I am fine!" I yell, thinking this was my last chance to hear her again. I feel Macie's hand on my shoulder. I did not want to have yelled like that. I have only been afraid of what that man may have done to her. "I am sorry-" "It’s okay" Macie hugs me, letting out a sigh ". I understand, calm down..." Surely someone else would have ignored me and left by now. But there she was. Holding me to calm myself as I try to reconnect. I did not think the audio would affect me as much as I thought. "You are going to get tired standing up." I warned her in a calm voice. "I don't care if I can make you calm down..." "Thank you…" She kisses me on the head, continuing to hug me.

I try my best, but I cannot get the connection. "Nothing…" I say, raising my hands to my head "I have not been able to get it back… Now I am notifying the group." Macie separates and goes for her cell phone. Meanwhile, I get into the group to deliver the bad news. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake I am afraid, I am unable to re-establish the connection.

Jessica Oh no 😕

Macie Ok, what do we do now?

Thomas We have to find out where Michael is at any costs.

Dan Yeah and quickly

Macie Jake has to get the connection going again

Jake As I said. That will not be possible any time soon. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I reach for my phone and Macie taps me on the shoulder. "We are going to talk about what happened in the audio by video call" She warns me again ", I thought that this way you would be calmer listening to every detail." "Yes, alright." I answered quickly. I hear the ringing sound and again, first Jessica. “We heard a ton” she says thoughtfully ". Let's just recap. I’m sure we’ll find something helpful." "Okay, let's go then." Macie replies decisively. “So first we heard Michael driving a car." "The car was pretty slow." I hear Macie walk across the room and I see that he walks in such a way that the camera does not see me. She has caught my habit of walking thinking "It might have been a road with lots of curves." "He speed was too consistent for that kind of road." Thomas's voice. "Probably outside of Duskwood." I listen to Lilly think. It must have been hard for her to hear it. For a moment I thought that she would leave the group, but she has carried on regardless. She is very brave and strong… My little sister. "Then there was a rattling of chains." Macie nods at what Jessy says. "I think that must have been some kind of gate or something." Cleo remarks in what we ear. "I think so too" Thomas's voice then changes ". Then he got Hannah.” he says furiously. I manage to see that for the moment I am not achieving anything and I leave the computer for a moment before going crazy, putting my hands to my head again. "Jake, come on, come here." I turn to see Macie sitting up, patting her lap. I grab my cell phone so I can communicate with them and lie down on the bed, placing my head in Macie's lap. She then strokes my hair, trying to relax me. I feel like I am going to explode as I think of a way to fix it. My brain is going to a thousand thoughts. "Did he carry her?" Cleo asks. "Maybe, he was walking more slowly after all." I hear Macie say sadly. I have worried her about my screaming. I took the hand that she caressed me with and kissed it. To later caress her. She smiles at me and I smile back. "In any case, our feathered friend wasn't expecting any visitors" Dan calls Michael another nickname again ". Otherwise, he wouldn't have walked around with Hannah so nonchalanty." “Yeah, that’s true." "The metal sound at the end sounded pretty strange." I agree with Cleo, what was it? A door? "Totally!" Jessica exclaims. "What do you think it was?" "It sounded a bit heavy, didn't it?" “Yes…” Lilly admits. I sigh hearing her so bad. Macie gently strokes my face. I am having a hard time listening to her like that. “Whatever it was” Jessica continues “, the connection broke off shortly after." "The connection was already getting worse before." Tomas speaks. "When we heard Hannah for the first time..." "You mean that static noise?" Cleo asks. “Yeah." Silence is made. They're all thinking from what I can gather.

It is then that Lilly makes an appearance in the face of doubt. "What if that was because of that weird object, too?" She asks and something comes to mind ". The closer Michael got to this object, the louder the noise got." "Maybe some sort of broadcasting tower?" Hearing Macie say that, I quickly get up and apologize to Macie for the sudden movement, going to the computer. “I don't know enough about them to say anything.” I hear Jessica say. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake There are some signals that can negatively influence the connection at close proximity. But I would have to research which those are. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have to find out with all the data they give me where he could be hiding. So far: A transmission tower. Noted in case it is true. "We don't have time!" Thomas exclaims. He always so nervous about everything related to this whole case. If he knew then what I am controlling myself... "In any case, this static noise is an important clue." Macie looks at me quickly, also saying it to my face. "Where could Michael have gone with Hannah?" Jessica asks, more confused. Where could he be? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake Tomorrow is the tenth anniversary of Jennifer's death. Michael has prepared everything for this day. We can assume that this place was not chosen at random. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Probably not, no…” Macie comments. “It has to be somewhere important, something to mark this day.” I see she's put her phone down, which means I am safe from talking. “We can discard the memorial stone site” I say, looking around the internet “it does not look like there is anything close to what we have heard." "Wait a second," Macie picks up the phone again as she listens to Dan, hitting the microphone button "What if the noise wasn't an interference?" "But?" Lilly asks. “But” Dan pauses a little “a waterfall." "That would sound similar." Macie replies. "Yeah, right." Jessica agrees. “Cleo” Dan speaks again “, that cart thing at the Pine Glade." "You mean the horse carriage tour?" "Yeah that, did they have that ten years ago?" "Yes, of course." "Exactly the way it is now?" Dan asks quickly. “As far as I know, it’s never been changed." "Dan, what is this all about?" I see Macie put a hand to her head, growing more confused "I think Hannah mentioned this carriage tour at the time back then." He replies. Macie and I look at each other and off I go, I look up that route on the Pine Glade information website, stopping to listen to them for a moment.

There was a place where this year the carriage was not going to pass. That place was... “The Grimrock is one of the locations the carriage tour visits.” I hear Cleo reply. “Yeah, I know.” Macie replies. “I think Hannah went to Grimrock the night of the accident.” Dan then remembers. "And with what we just heard as ‘static noise' before wasn’t actually static." "It was the Grimrock Waterfall!" I exclaim at the same time as Macie, excited. "What was that strange echo?" Thomas asks. "Nothing." Lilly and Macie respond quickly. I apologize to Macie. This information was important and I could not help it. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake The waterfall is blocked off every year for the festival. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“That's right Jake…” Macie sighs. “It said so on the Pine Glade’s website." “Wow, not bad” Lilly congratulates us, and I hear a certain joy in her voice “, you really are a great team." Macie laughs and I smile. "Cleo?" Jessica calls her, her voice worried. "Could you maybe can ask your mom about why the Grimrock is blocked off? " "Will do, wait a moment please." “For the first time in a long time, I’m feeling hopeful.” Thomas sounds a little more relieved.

In the meantime, we wait for Cleo, but something makes our attention divert in waiting when listening to Jessica. "That reminds me of something weird." I walk over to Macie and take her hand, avoiding going onscreen. We both listened to Jessica's words "Do you remember at the beginning of our search? Alfie called Cleo 'The dead girl’ friend' Why did he say that if Hannah is atill alive? Why would he say something so horrible?" There is silence for a few seconds, until I see how Macie's expression changes little by little. Her expression that she just thought of something. I like it when I see her so focused. "What if he meant Amy?" She looks at me, with that look that she just discovered something interesting "What if 'dead girl' wasn’t Hannah?" So if we have a witness to the crime, we should get them to tell us something. Alfie lives here, maybe in the morning Macie could go find him and ask him about it. "I got through to my mom and now I know why the Grimrock is blocked off." Cleo returns to the group call "Apparentl, some some poisonous substance was found in the waterfall’s catch basin." Macie turns off the microphone for a second and looks at me as if she is discovered something. "Jake, the barrels that were in the photos" she starts to sound more animated "they weren't for Hannah and Richy like Thomas thought! But for Grimrock to can’t be accessed!" "So you mean Michael wanted to make sure nothing and no one was there." I replied. I see her excited and her joy infects me. We finally have it. We know where Michael is hiding. "Then I’ll drive there right now." We looked at each other with surprised faces hearing Thomas say that. "Hannah is alive! And now we know where she is!" Macie picks up the cell phone, returning to put the microphone "I have to go get her!" “We should think of a plan first.” Macie explains calmly. “Macie! Tomorrow is Jennifer's death anniversary. Hannah is only alive because he’s waiting for that day!" Thomas yells at the screen, as if he is looking at the real kidnapper. "He'll finish it! Hannah will die tomorrow! I know!" Thomas always as impulsive as ever. That is why things turn out the way he does them: Bad. I listen as they try to talk sense into him and that Amy is dead and Hannah is alive, that there is no need to rush. Clearly it is so as not to make a mistake and that it is his fault that they kill her. "Your words don't change a thing for me" Thomas finally answers, determined and angry ". I have to go get her." “Thomas, please” Cleo calls out to him “, we shouldn’t split up now, no matter what." "Then come with me!" Everyone looks at him surprised by his idea "I'll give you five minutes. Anyone who wants to join me is welcome” He looks hard at the camera". The rest can stay here." He leaves the call and Macie puts a hand to her head. It is just amazing. At the moment we have a guess to send someone to Grimrock. "How can he be so unreasonable?" Macie asks, brushing back her hair "How far from you is that waterfall?" she asks, closing her eyes and exhaling. "A little over forty-five minutes if we go by car." We stay thinking for a moment, until we see that Cleo goes out of call. They all decide to follow them and Macie and I stare at each other.

I put my hands to my head and Macie stands up, making a sound in her throat as if she were complaining. "It is no use" I commented, rubbing my hands together ". We will be faced with nothing but resistance by using words." “They’re all going to go to the Grimrock, I know it.” I watch her pacing back and forth. "We must to find an alternative." I get up from the bed, going to the computer looking for the easiest way that we can go to Grimrock without having to risk someone's life. "I know" She growls under her breath ". I’ll come up with something…" "I will also trying coming up with a solution." I listen as she sits up looking on the bed. I look at her and see that she is looking at the cell phone screen. Thoughtful. If we do not find a solution soon, more than one will end up dead tonight due to the imprudence of their attitudes.

I look at my backpack, where I have everything I collected.

And if I do not find a solution soon, then I will only have one alternative.

Chapter 41

#duskwood #duskwood jake #duskwood mc #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood fanfic #duskwood everbyte #everbyte studio #everbyte

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augustusaugustus · 1 year ago

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Fic: Witness

The second time they meet, it’s in a dark alley beside the pub Jim’s just staggered out of. Boulton has a man up against a wall, the stranger’s cheek pushed against dirty bricks, and for a moment Jim thinks he’s stumbled upon something sexual. But then John turns and sees Jim and gives him one of those far-too-charming smiles.

‘Perfect timing, Jim,’ he says, gripping the stranger’s arms tightly. ‘You can be the witness to my arrest.’

The first time they meet, it’s in a vast ballroom filled with tables covered in white starched cloths. A met charity do that Jim drew the short straw for, despite the invitation clearly stating Burnside’s name. He’s at a table with three other nobodies: two PCs from Stafford Row in their fathers’ suits and a DC from Barton Street with a sullen look and ginger hair.

‘John Boulton,’ he says to Jim. ‘Here on penance.’

Jim smiles properly for the first time that evening. ‘You must’ve done something terrible, then.’

John shrugs. ‘Matter of perspective,’ he says. ‘You know how it is.’

Jim nods as if he knows what Boulton means.

Jim’s heard people call him a cynic, but the truth is he cares far too much. About justice, about his colleagues, about doing what’s right to do in the face of so much wrong. He’d take a bullet for the men he works with. Lying for them should be so much simpler, but it hurts Jim every time.

‘I need a drink,’ John announces halfway through one of the speeches. ‘Not this two-pound wine they’re serving. Think they’d miss us if we left?’

Their table is in a back corner, but even if they’d been front and centre, Jim doubts anyone would notice them leave. ‘Let them,’ he says boldly. ‘Surely we’ve served our time.’

John laughs. ‘And too bad if we haven’t, right?’

There’s a pub right across the road from them. Jim goes home with John instead.

Jim pulls Boulton aside as Pringle’s being loaded into a Panda. ‘I didn’t actually see it,’ he mutters. ‘The arrest, I mean.’

‘Near enough,’ John says easily.

‘But what he said about you hitting him…’

‘They all say that, don’t they?’ John checks his watch. ‘I clock off in twenty minutes. Want to grab a drink once I’ve booked him in?’

Jim’s not an idiot; he knows just what Boulton’s doing, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Jim stands up in court and lies for John.

He’s not an idiot, but he may well be a fool.

The sixth time they meet, it’s in another alley, and Jim witnesses more than he would’ve liked. What Boulton does to his prisoner, yes, but also the look in his eyes when Jim says he won’t lie for him again. Hurt, not angry like Jim’s expecting, as if John’s the one who has the right to feel betrayed. As if Jim had been more than a tool to make use of; as if he’d truly considered them (more than?) friends.

Jim doesn’t know if he hates himself more for lying the last time or for the part of him that wants to do it again.

Taking a bullet, Jim thinks, would be so much easier, as Meadows introduces Sun Hill’s new DS.

#the bill #the bill slash #the bill fanfic #fanfic #slash #jim carver/john boulton #the bill: episode: faith in the system

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sarah-dipitous · 2 years ago

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Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 85

Lucifer Rising/The Last of the Time Lords

I can't believe we're doing two season finales today. What...fun?? Who's to say

"Lucifer Rising"

Plot Description: Sam and Dean prepare for the apocalypse in different ways. Ruby, Lilith, Castiel, and Zachariah appear

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: you know, in 5th grade there was a moment where I was like “I think I’ll become a nun so I never have to get married” (an extremely allo and amatonormative thought to have), but I never did. And therefore I’d never be in the position to be killed like this

It’s not JUST the 11 more seasons that makes me think there is an “after” for Sam and that he’s not changed forever…

Ooo Bobby laying it ALL out. He’s right about most things here, but your family is not SUPPOSED to make you miserable, man…I’m SOBBING. “You’re a better man than your dad ever was. So do us both a favor, don’t be him.”

Castiel, what…where did you take Dean off to??

What in the White House McDonalds meal is this??

Wait. Dean knows about the Suite Life of Zack and Cody??? Why?? This is not a judgement, it’s just…

I don’t like basically knowing what the next line from Zachariah is…when Dean asks why he should have faith in the angels, I said “because you swore to?” Right before Zach goes “because you swore your obedience”

So Dean has no choice but to sit there and wait?? Rude. So he calls Sam 😭 but the voicemail cuts off just as he’s saying he’s sorry?? Why do we keep having technology that cuts out RIGHT BEFORE THE THING THAT NEEDS TO BE SAID GETS SAID

I still don’t trust Ruby

On some level, Sam still knows what he’s doing is wrong. And you can tell that by his very deer in the headlights look when the demon possessing the nurse lets the nurse’s consciousness take over for a bit

Not to be…but like. Sam, this isn’t you. This isn’t your heart

Stop taking away Dean’s free will. He’s not an angel. He was given free will as a bonus to humanity.

This is a far cry from the Sam who, with Dean, wouldn’t let everyone in that police precinct die, nor the one girl who volunteered to be sacrificed for the greater good to stop Lilith.

You know…….I should have seen this “both heaven and hell want the apocalypse to happen.” Not just because I’ve seen this before, but because Good Omens did the exact same thing

Man I hope that security guard doesn’t blink

The weird knowledge gaps angels have cracks me up. There are pop culture references they don’t know, but they DO KNOW how cell phone plans work

Ooo, are Sam and Ruby about to break up?

No. NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOO THEY CHANGED DEAN’S VOICEMAIL. THOSE ASSHOLES.

the TRUST Dean has in Cas. That boy swore obedience to ONE angel. Like, yeah, it's in his best interest. Trusting Castiel, who has tried to, wanted to help him in the past, is his only ticket out of this room to go find Sam. But to be startled like that, have have Cas shove you up against a wall, hand over your mouth, Ruby's knife out and inches from your gut, and just the knowing look that as long as you don't make ONE sound, there is a CHANCE you might get out of there. (Look, back in 2011/2012, did I start shipping Destiel because it a little bit bothered my friend who introduced me to the show? yeah, but at the same time, after watching it, I understood why people did. And I was right to)

Omg omg Omg omg omg, I’m connecting the dots of Ruby feeding Sam demon blood and Cas using his blood to rescue Dean, banish Zachariah, stop the apocalypse (Edit later: I haven't connected shit...I was pretty busy the rest of the day)

There's something about Chuck touching Cas's shoulder (knowing who Chuck actually is) as the archangel coming to protect him rages outside, as they're trying to stop the apocalypse from coming.

I knew she couldn’t be trusted. This was a long, long game she was playing…

Not the demon eyes on himmmmmm. Great job, Sam. You broke the last seal…

Ok. I know the story is telling me to absolutely hate Ruby. I know this. And on some level, I do. But holy shit she’s so hot right now. Way better than any other moment she’s been on screen. So unrepentantly evil. She’s giddy about it. She’s so excited. She’s been persecuted for so long by EVERYONE but Lilith because they all thought she was helping the Winchesters. She's been around for two seasons "helping" them. And all this time...and she probably would have been greatly rewarded iiiiiiiiiiiiif she hadn't pissed off the Winchesters and they didn't kill her immediately :/

“Been On My Mind…”: Saby? Rum? broke up so nah, man. 9

"The Last of the Time Lords"

Plot Description: The mighty warships of a new Time Lord Empire arise from the Earth. With the Doctor being held prisoner by thte Master, and the Universe on the brink of war, only Martha Jones can save the human race

A whole YEAR passed since the last episode???

Oh. OH. OHHHHH. I forgot that this is what Martha does this episode. She's on a sort of fetch quest

God...I do love the Jones family. I love them outsmarting the Master. And it's so easy, too. He doesn't even consider them because he's this genius Time Lord and they're merely human...and they know THAT

The whole CGI'd Doctor will never not be creepy

In...in this timeline Bill Gates is dead?

Ok, the Master talking about the drumming reminded me that I realized this morning that there's a beeping my car makes (and I don't know how to trigger it) that has that tempo.

That's....unbelievably horrific. What did the Master DO to those poor humans on Utopia??

It's really interesting to hear the differences in what the Doctor and the Master believe the duty of the Time Lords is. The Master believes it's his right to meddle with time and space however he wants simply because he has the power to. But the Doctor knows it's to hold things in balance and there are certain things you just do not mess with. AND FUCKING PARADOXES IS ONE OF THEM WTF MAN

(Had to look up the actor who plays Thomas Milligan...tell me why the universe has lined up again so that I'm watching an episode with the lead actor for the show Lucifer on the same day I watch the episode that Lucifer is set free in Supernatural??)

THE PROFESSOR IS GOING TO BETRAY MARTHA????

Martha, you deserve to be a legend, too, babes. Sure, the Doctor was born into greatness by being a Time Lord, but YOU. Oh, YOU! He doesn't deserve you

Oh, but even though that professor betrayed her, the people did not...yet she gave herself up anyway. Oh, Thomas. RIP. You were a good guy

OKAY BUT HOW DOES THAT WORK. I knew the gun thing was a red herring, but she still had to do the quite literal legwork. But...why does everyone on Earth just THINKING the word Doctor at that one time reverse what the Master did to him??

I'm sorry, you did WHAT NOW??

Ayo, did they lose the rights to use "I Can't Decide" by the Scissor Sisters?? Because I remember THAT being used in these episodes, but I haven't heard it ONCE. There's not enough time/story left in this one. Right??

I think it would have been more interesting to not let time reverse? And have to live with the consequences of what happened? Rebuild from there? Then again, that would probably mean that Donna would be a very earthbound companion, she wouldn't get to meet Agatha Christie or anything. So, it's probably best. Maybe? Anyway...

This scene though...where the Master refuses to regenerate. I can't imagine how it would feel to discover that you aren't the last of your species, your near immortal species, the species you wiped out yourself, only for the only other one to be your old friend, your rival, but he'd rather DIE than spend any more time with you. And on the flip side, to be brought back into consciousness of who you really are, who you believe you were meant to be, and then to be told that your one chance at living is as at best a pet? and at worst a prisoner? Just an eternity of THAT? You can hardly blame him for not wanting to go on...(Ohhhhhhhhh, there's probably some good todobros angsty shit I could dig out of this...)

What is it with these BBC shows having diametrically opposed yet equal in every way rivals? And having the evil one die to cause IMMENSE PAIN to the good one?

And AGAIN!!! Like, that was episode TWO of season ONE. JUST LONG GAMES ALL AROUND. Yeah, the Face of Boe identity reveal is no longer a surprise for me in 2023, but...it's just weird how these two episodes were put together so beautifully

Ohhhh, he wants to take Martha to meet Agatha Christie, but Martha's about to tell him she's staying home. (This does shed new, sadder light on the "great big outer space dunce" moment next season. He didn't appreciate Martha as much as he should have, but he learned and gushed all his feelings to Donna how he appreciates her and how her friendship has meant the world to him....when she's telling him she's just gonna pop home to say hi)

Martha <3 It's sad to see her go, but knowing she comes back (and I think a couple times next season?) eases the pain

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

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Meeting the Family // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: Hello there, could I please request Anthony bridgerton and reader fic where hes introducing the reader to his family for the first time and shes really nervous but the family ends up loving her more than him? Thanks, I absolutely love your work!! Please dont overwork yourself darling❤ - @lespaceboi

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! I had so much fun with this request, I love it so so much. I only hope you do too! Lowkey posting this early bc I’m watching the euros final tonight and I won’t have time.

Warnings: she/her pronouns, female reader, light angst, some worries, lots of fluff, family fluff, Anthony being cute, dialogue heavy, declarations of love.

Word count: 3.6k

Her hands shake uncontrollably as the carriage clatters through London. Taking calming breaths, (Y/N) does her best to stop her shaking hands by gripping her shawl tightly. Her maid, Jayne, looks over at her in concern. “We can always turn back, my lady,” Jayne whispers, “I’m sure Viscount Bridgerton won’t mind postponing to another day.”

(Y/N) smiles warmly at her maid; grateful for the care in her voice. However, she shakes her head. “I’m afraid it can’t wait any longer, Jayne. Anthony’s sister and her husband have travelled all the way from Scotland.”

Jayne sits back against the carriage bench, nodding her head understandingly. “I’m sure it’s going to be fine,” She offers in comfort.

“I can only hope,” (Y/N) whispers, casting her gaze out of window and into the London streets.

She had met Anthony Bridgerton when shopping for ribbons. An unusual time and place to meet anyone, but Anthony had strolled into the shop and asked to see the best ribbons in the place as nothing would be better than the absolute best for his nieces. (Y/N) had giggled at the tone of his voice; unused to seeing such a powerful figure in such intimate settings. Her laughter had drawn his attention to which a conversation began. By the end of the Viscount’s visit to the ribbon shop, he had asked to see her again.

The visits continued in secrecy, or in as much secrecy as one could afford when holding a peerage. The relationship blossomed; what was once considered a friendship was turning romantic, and (Y/N) could not help her feelings for the Viscount. He had captured her, body and soul. She counted every blessing that Anthony felt the same.

The first glimpse of Bridgerton House steals her breath away. The red brick stands out amongst the paler buildings; Anthony’s wealth already obvious but further personified by the sheer scale of his home. The sweet scent of the violet hyacinths perfume (Y/N)’s carriage; their aroma bringing a small smile to her face as she remembers a masquerade party in Chiswick, a balcony and Anthony’s hands on her waist.

Her carriage rolls to a natural stop; (Y/N)’s heart in her throat as she tears her inquiring gaze from Bridgerton House to Jayne. Jayne smiles and squeezes her lady’s hand, a silent offer of support for the afternoon.

“They’re going to love you,” Jayne whispers, bolstering (Y/N) as best she could as the door to the carriage is opened by (Y/N)’s footman.

Now closer, Bridgerton House is much grander. The deep green iron gates pronounce the family’s wealth further. (Y/N) gulps as she takes step after step down the path to already open front door. Her steps falter slightly as she catches sight of Anthony waiting in the entrance; his hair the usual untameable mess that endears her so.

“You came,” Anthony breathes in greeting; his eyes wide with barely concealed surprise as he takes in the sight of her on his doorstep.

“I came,” (Y/N) answers just as breathlessly. Even the sight of him was enough to leave her gasping for breath; there were moments in their prolonged courtship that she couldn’t quite believe he had chosen her, that he wanted her. As Anthony stands there, his white shirt unbuttoned from the collar with his waistcoat undone, she realises that this is the most casual she had ever seen him. His outfit wasn’t proper, but she doesn’t want it to be. She wants to see him from every angle; she wants to know every Anthony there is. So far, she had found herself besotted with each and every one.

Both remain silent as Anthony offers his arm to her. (Y/N) uses the silence to quash the nerves rioting in her gut; she had never been this nervous, not when she was presented in front of the monarch for her season, and not when she danced with the Prince of Wales at his birthday celebrations two years ago. Now, however, her nerves were beginning to get the better of her.

Anthony pauses their journey. “Are you okay?” He asks, a note of concern in his voice.

“I’m nervous,” (Y/N) confesses bashfully, “What if they don’t like me? What if they hate me so much that you end things? I’m having so much fun with you, Anthony. I don’t want this to end.”

“Hey,” Anthony whispers, taking her face in his hands, urging her to look at him, “You’re going to be fine. They’re going to love you, I know it. I’ve spoken about you so much they feel they already know you.”

“You talk about me?” (Y/N) asks, her voice small.

Anthony presses a kiss to her forehead. “Constantly. I’m surprised they haven’t kicked me out with how much I talk about you.”

“You’re really very sweet.”

“Only because of you,” He flirts, pushing his luck by kissing her quickly.

(Y/N) laughs softly against his mouth. “You’re incorrigible.”

Anthony laughs gently, pulling away from her lips but keeping hold of her hands. “I’m as nervous as you,” He confesses, “But I have you by my side to help me get through just as you have me through this too. Any time you want to go, let me know and I’ll call your carriage back round.”

“Thank you,” She whispers before Anthony continues on down the hall, his hand squeezing hers tightly.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” Anthony asks, double checking, voice wavering as they stand outside the door to the drawing room. “My family can be a bit much to meet all at once.”

“We’re nothing of the sort!” A masculine voice shouts from behind the door.

A surprised laugh leaves (Y/N) lips. She covers her mouth to bring back the mask of perfect decorum, not wanting to insult a member of Anthony’s family. “I’m ready when you are,” She whispers, smiling at the eldest Bridgerton.

“Sooner rather than later,” Anthony whispers before opening the door, giving her the first glimpse at his family.

The Bridgerton brood sit around the large drawing room. Sisters and brothers, husbands and wives – they all mix together as they wait for Anthony and his new beau. Each all fall silent as Anthony and (Y/N) enters the room; their first glimpse of her, their first conversation with her. Anthony had spoken about her constantly but refused to let any family meet her until they were both ready.

Now that moment had arrived.

“Mother,” Anthony introduces to the silent room, “This is Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” (Y/N) exclaims, smiling at the Bridgerton matriarch. “I’ve heard so much about you all,” She continues, casting her gaze around the room.

“It’s a pleasure for us too, dear (Y/N),” Violet announces, “Anthony has been nothing but a ball of nerves since he announced you would be joining us.”

(Y/N) nods at the matriarch, feeling herself become speechless as she takes in the sheer size of Anthony’s family. It isn’t hard to tell who the Bridgertons are among the group are; they each have the same eyes and smile. “It’s lovely to meet you all,” (Y/N) announces, repeating her earlier words, unable to keep the nerves from entering her voice this time.

“I’m Benedict,” The second eldest introduces, jumping up from his seat on the couch, holding his hand out for her to take.

“The artist!” (Y/N) gasps, “I’ve seen some of your work. You’re exceptionally talented.”

“Thank you,” Benedict blushes, excusing himself with a pat to Anthony’s shoulder, a silent sign that Benedict already approves.

“Help yourself to some tea,” A younger woman exclaims in the brief silence between conversations, “I’d get up to greet you, but it would take twice as long as the conversation itself.”

“Please don’t strain yourself,” (Y/N) offers graciously, “Congratulations on your pregnancy.”

“Thank you, dear. I’m Daphne, and this is my husband, Simon.” Daphne introduces, her hand landing on the thigh of a handsome man.

“It’s lovely to meet you both,” (Y/N) greets, making her way to an empty seat at a nearby table. There she pours two cups of tea, one for her and one for Anthony, knowing he would be dropping by in a minute or two. The tea steeps as (Y/N) helps herself to one of the many biscuits, taking a small bite of the buttery concoction before reaching for the milk and sugar. This is a routine she has practiced many times before, knowing exactly how long to stir her tea so it wouldn’t burn the tip of her tongue with every sip.

It’s takes less than two minutes for someone to join her at the table. (Y/N) offers the young woman a polite smile, “I’m (Y/N).”

“Eloise Bridgerton,” introduces the young woman.

“A pleasure to meet you,” (Y/N) repeats, feeling herself already grow tired of the words.

“Are you educated, (Y/N)?” Eloise enquires; her keen blue gaze dancing over the young woman.

(Y/N) finishes her sip of tea before nodding at Anthony’s younger sister. “I am,” She answers, “I studied under a very thorough governess, and I am fluent in French and Latin, but I’ve also been fortunate enough to sit in on some lectures at Oxford and Edinburgh.”

“How?” Eloise all but demands, ignoring the stern stare of her mother as she leans forward, elbows on the table. “You must teach me your ways.”

(Y/N) represses an amused smile at Eloise’s antics. “My favourite cousin, Sylvester, was a student at both. I often annoyed him into letting me attend in secret whenever I visited.”

“Did you attend any interesting lectures?”

(Y/N) nods, happy to further indulge the brunette. “Sylvester was a student of medicine, beginning his education at Oxford before continuing on to Edinburgh where he lives now. I’ve attended a few medical lectures, but I pressured him into letting me attend a philosophical debate surrounding Wollstonecraft’s Vindication of the Rights of Woman.” (Y/N) shakes her head, amused at the memory, “Sylvester didn’t find that one nearly as thrilling as his medical lectures.”

“Anthony!” Eloise calls, gathering the attention of all her brothers, “I’m keeping (Y/N) for myself. You’re going to have to find a new beau, I’m afraid.”

Anthony chuckles, leaving his brothers to their own conversation. “Pray,” He begins, “Just what are the two of you talking about.”

“(Y/N)’s education. Did you know she’s sat in lectures at both Oxford and Edinburgh? I daresay I might attend a few myself.”

Anthony’s hand lands on your shoulder; a warm squeeze has you turning to meet his stare. His smile is fond; his eyes are bright with happiness. “Are you inciting further rebellion in my little sister?”

“Of course not,” (Y/N) playfully scoffs, “Just letting her know that should she want to attend any lectures, I have a connection for her.”

A laugh leaves Anthony’s lips as he catches sight of Eloise’s excited wiggle in her chair. “I’m glad you’re getting along,” He murmurs to (Y/N) quietly, dropping an unexpected kiss to her hair before entering a debate with Eloise, explaining why she cannot go about interrupting lectures at prestigious universities.

Leaving the siblings to their bickering, (Y/N) stands from table, wanting to stretch her legs and discover more to the drawing room. By this point in the afternoon, the appeal of company has worn off. The large family now broken off into their own conversations; Francesca and Michael remain sat close together on the couch under the window, Lady Violet remains sat by her eldest daughter – the matriarch keeping a weather eye on her pregnant daughter.

(Y/N) smiles fondly at the scene before turning to one of the many fixed bookshelves in the room; leather bound volumes line the shelves. There wasn’t much for light reading, she thinks to herself as she reads the spines. Much about the War of the Roses and the subsequent Tudor reign, not much in the way of Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron.

“You’re very pretty,” A young girl announces from behind (Y/N). She turns to find two girls, both no older than four or five, their hair matching pigtails, curled into ringlets.

(Y/N) kneels to their height, ignoring the pinching of her corset as she smiles at the young children. “Why thank you,” She states gratefully, “But you know what I would really like?”

“What?” The eldest of the two asks, leaning forward in anticipation.

“Gorgeous pigtails like yours,” (Y/N) smiles, gesturing to their hair.

Both girls break into wide smiles, already won over. “What are your names?” (Y/N) asks.

“I’m Amelia,” The eldest states proudly, “I’m five and a half.”

“I’m Belinda,” The second girl introduces, “I’m four.”

“Well it is lovely to meet you both,” (Y/N) compliments, “My name is (Y/N).”

“We know,” Belinda chimes. “Uncle Tony talks about you all the time.”

“He does, does he?” She murmurs amused; catching sight of the brunette doing his best not to intervene on the conversation taking place with his nieces.

Amelia nods. “All the time!” She cries happily. “He talks about your hair, your eyes, your smile.” She breaks off, leaning towards (Y/N) to whisper in her ear. “I think he’s in love with you.”

“Do you think?” (Y/N) questions, unable to keep the eager hope from her voice.

“I know,” Amelia nods sagely, “I heard Uncle Tony tell Mama and Papa.”

(Y/N) presses her lips together to keep the wide smile from growing across her face. She had known that Anthony felt very deeply for her though he had never uttered a word. With a quick glance in Anthony’s direction, she gestures for the two girls to come closer. “Can you keep a secret?”

Amelia and Belinda nod silently; too excited to hear what (Y/N) has to say. “It just so happens,” (Y/N) whispers to the two girls, “That I also love your Uncle Tony.”

“You do?” Belinda squeaks.

“I do,” (Y/N) nods seriously, “I love him very much.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Amelia asks; her blue eyes wide with burning curiosity.

“I think on some level he already knows, but I plan on telling him very soon.”

Both girls squeal in happiness, leaving (Y/N) behind as they run towards their parents. Daphne and Simon greet their children with open arms, wide eyed at their level of noise as they demand their voices to be heard over the hubbub of the rest of the family.

“I don’t suppose you’d enlighten me to this particular conversation,” A warm voice sounds from behind her. The way his arm slips around her waist, as if it were his home, tells (Y/N) that Anthony has found her once more.

“A secret for another day,” (Y/N) teases, turning to face the man that had captured her heart so wholly.

“Will you tell me later?” He asks, pushing out his bottom lip in a pout that has her giggling.

“Perhaps,” She whispers, leaning ever closer to the Bridgerton. “Only if you promise me something.”

“Anything,” He whispers seriously, “I’d give you the world if I could.”

“I know you would,” She murmurs, “But all I’m asking for is for you to not pester your nieces over what I told them.”

“How did you know?” Anthony asks, voice glum.

(Y/N) brings a gloved hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Because I know you, my dear.”

Anthony leans into the touch, turning his face slightly to press a kiss to her wrist. “I like being your dear.”

“I like being yours too,” She replies earnestly. “Now, I’ve spoken to most of your siblings. Do me the honour of introducing me to Francesca, she came all the way from Scotland, it’s rude that I’ve neglected her.”

“Yes, my darling,” Anthony responds, taking her hand and leading her to the couch where Francesca sits with her husband, Michael.

The day continues in a similar fashion. Bridgerton House had never been quiet when the whole family was in attendance; raucous laughter and loving bickering filled its many corners with noise. The life and laughter of the family bringing the house to life.

As the grandfather clock ticks closer and closer to the evening, (Y/N) finds herself lamenting the fact that she must leave the Bridgerton family so soon.

“I must take my leave,” She announces to sad cries to Amelia and Belinda, already so attached.

“So soon?” Benedict asks, frowning as he wonders when he’ll get to continues his conversation with her. So few wanted to talk about art nowadays.

(Y/N) meets Anthony’s gaze, hating how sad he looks. “I’m having dinner with my parents and their friends. An occasion I simply cannot miss, I’m afraid.”

“Do we know them?” Violet asks in an attempt to delay the inevitable. She had grown fond of the young woman over the course of the afternoon, seeing how perfectly she fit amongst her family, how she brought out the best in her eldest son.

“The St. Clair’s?” (Y/N) enquires, drawing her shawl around her shoulders. “My father has worked with Lady Danbury’s family for a long time. Gareth and I are old friends.”

“Have a wonderful time,” Violet announces, “But please visit us soon.”

“I would love to,” (Y/N) smiles, crossing the room to be by Anthony’s side.

Offering her goodbyes to the large family, (Y/N) takes Anthony’s offered arm, hooking hers through his as they descend the grand marble staircase to the foyer. “Your family are lovely,” (Y/N) compliments as she takes care not to trip over her skirts on the stairs. “You all care for each so much, it’s clear the moment you enter the room.”

“My mother and siblings are the best people I know,” Anthony murmurs, walking beside (Y/N) at a steady pace in order to delay her departure by a minute.

“I can only hope they liked me,” She worries, her teeth biting into her bottom lip in a way that has Anthony restraining himself by gripping her arm tighter.

“You were wonderful,” Anthony murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to her cheekbone before helping her into her carriage.

“Thank you for today,” (Y/N) calls, sticking her hand from the window to prolong the contact between Anthony and herself. She wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye; wasn’t quite ready to leave him.

“Thank you for coming,” Anthony answers, kissing her hand before tucking it back through the window of her carriage. If they didn’t say goodbye now, they wouldn’t say goodbye at all. If she didn’t leave, he would most likely offer marriage on the pavement than somewhere proper.

Nodding to her footman, Anthony watches her carriage leave. He stands on the doorstep to Bridgerton House until her carriage is no longer in sight. Only then does he let himself release the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Weariness washes over him as he turns to face his childhood home. Inside, in his mother’s drawing room, await his family. Each one ready to give their verdict on the woman he has had the good fortune to fall in love with.

Sighing, he kicks at the ground, knowing he cannot delay this any longer.

His mother and siblings are where he left them; his mother’s drawing room. They fall silent at the sight of him; each clearly unwilling to make the leap and be the first to broach the elephant in the room.

“What do you think of (Y/N)?” Anthony asks; voice loud in the ever so silent room. He meets the eyes of each of his siblings, not missing the way Daphne leans into Simon or the way Michael reaches for Francesca’s hand. They’ve all found their love matches; it was now Anthony’s turn.

Colin takes the fall for his family, standing to face his eldest brother and titled peer. He clears his throat, fidgeting on the spot before he eventually pauses all movement, breaking into a smile to declare, “We all loved her!”

“You do?” Anthony asks, falling onto a nearby couch in shock.

Violet smiles at her eldest son. “We do. (Y/N) is a sweetheart and looks to be just as taken with you as you are with her.”

Blush begins to paint Anthony’s cheeks. “I can only hope, dear mother.”

“It’s true,” Amelia chimes, her young face bright with joy. “She told Belinda and I.”

“You have found your love match, my darling boy,” Violet states warmly.

“It does help that (Y/N) is a trifle more tolerable than you, dear brother,” Benedict teases, laughter bright in his Bridgerton blue eyes.

“And so educated!” Eloise gasps, “We had an enlightening conversation about Wollstonecraft’s Vindication on the Rights of Women.”

“She was wonderful with Amelia and Belinda,” Daphne murmurs, her hand falling protectively over her pregnant stomach.

“Why do I get the feeling that you prefer (Y/N) to me?” Anthony murmurs, mischief bright in his eyes and evident in his voice.

“That’s exactly what we’re saying,” Gregory points out, “I only hope (Y/N) can keep up with your obsession with Pall Mall.”

“A worthy obsession,” Anthony argues, mind wandering to the games he could play with (Y/N).

“She’s wonderful,” Violet interrupts, a large smile on her face as she takes the final say.

Anthony smiles widely at his mother; constantly grateful for her love and care throughout his life. She had been lost after the death of his father, as had Anthony, but Anthony had never truly understood what it would feel like to lose someone you love as wholeheartedly as his mother loved his father.

Until now, that is. The mere thought of losing her sends a lance of pain through his chest, cutting short his breath and increasing his panic. Anthony shakes his head to rid himself of such thoughts and feelings.

Calm enough, he faces his family once more. “I plan on proposing to (Y/N),” He announces, showing his family the ring box that has been sitting heavily in his trouser pocket all day.

“Thank goodness,” Francesca murmurs, smiling indulgently at her big brother. “I cannot wait to call her sister.”

“Indeed,” Anthony murmurs, a loving smile on his face, “I cannot wait to call her my wife.”

******

Bridgerton taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @sexysirius @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley @spideysz @iammirrorball @writeroutoftime @joyfullymulti @nuttytani @multifandomfix @freyathehuntress @lespaceboi

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90minsofscreentime · 3 years ago

Text

The Future Has Ended Before it’s Begun

Hello all! I am delighted to introduce my most recent fanfic! If you’ve been mentioned in this post it’s because I added you to a taglist of people I’d really like to check this story out! I’m so over the moon with how much I’ve written and how much I’ve enjoyed writing these past few days. Of course, you are under no obligation to read my work if you don’t want to! There will be no hard feelings <3

Also Available on AO3!

Summary: Peter’s gonna do it. He’s going to. He doesn’t care anymore - he’s going to get back at Harley in any way he possibly can and he’s about to. Fucking. Do it. Hell yeah. No longer will he be a prime target for jock bullying; no longer will he be wary of his own locker slamming onto his fingers before class and most importantly: no longer will Peter Parker have to hear one more insult, slur or degradation from Harley Fucking Keener. Even better - Peter hopes Harley never even looks in his direction ever again after this. What an absolute dream that would be.

Or: The one where Harley has been bullying Peter for so long that he finally snaps and comes up with the brilliant idea to sleep with his charming, debonair father: Tony Stark. (Because, let's be honest, Peter was looking for an excuse).

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11,962

[Unfortunately the italics I used in both AO3 and Google Docs don’t translate here and I couldn’t find the strength to go through and italicise everything one by one, so while there aren’t any italics here, there are on AO3]

Peter’s gonna do it.

He’s going to.

He doesn’t care anymore - he’s going to get back at Harley in any way he possibly can and he’s about to. Fucking. Do it.

Hell yeah.

No longer will he be a prime target for jock bullying; no longer will he be wary of his own locker slamming onto his fingers before class and most importantly: no longer will Peter Parker have to hear one more insult, slur or degradation from Harley Fucking Keener. Even better - Peter hopes Harley never even looks in his direction ever again after this. What an absolute dream that would be.

Peter had only attended this party - the party that Harley throws at the end of the year for the whole school (y’know, since he’s a rich-white-man’s-son kind of asshole) because MJ dragged him along in that brusque manner of hers, claiming that he was a “loser” for wanting to “sit and mope around at home again when this is literally the last time you’re gonna see any of these people now that we’ve graduated High School” and was subsequently told to “get up off your ass, make yourself look good and come downstairs, Ned’s waiting”.

Of course, Peter came along, but only for his friends. No way in hell was he ever going to go to a party like this by himself - not when he’s finally free from High School, Flash, Harley and everything in between.

For what it’s worth, the party wasn’t actually that bad to begin with (as much as Peter hates to admit it) but, again, he credits that to Ned and MJ just being their awesome, funny selves. MJ spent a lot of the evening going around the mansion of a house (seriously, it’s humongous) and telling all of their former classmates what she really thinks of them, swiftly followed by a bird being flipped by someone and then an unbothered exit on MJ’s part. Ned, on the other hand, has not been able to stop gushing about the high quality food being served, or the decor, or the retro arcade games set up in one room, or the round of beer pong that he actually won, or the compliments he received about his hat, or - okay - Ned hasn’t stopped gushing about anything since they entered the party, and to be honest… the excitement was kind of infectious. Peter actually began to enjoy himself, relishing in his last moments as a senior, surrounded by familiar faces - many of whom were actually quite nice to him throughout the course of his school years - but of course, one could not get through the party without bumping into the host…

...And now Peter’s evening is ruined.

Placating his friends’ worried expressions, Peter retreats - uh flees.. Um.. makes his way upstairs and away from the chest rumbling, ear numbing beat of heavy bass music, drunken chatter and shame. Maybe a few tears too.

The hallway is long and dark, modern and sleek and cold. The surfaces might as well be concrete. Dying dregs of sunlight filter through multiple walls of windows and Peter stares out at what little there remains of a once serene dusk. Peter feels raw. Hollow. On display.

He’s going to do it.

Peter knows Harley’s Dad is in the house - he entered through the front door somewhere in the middle of the party, warning Harley to not keep the festivities going for too long, “Your old man needs his beauty sleep”, before going up the stairs, turning around on the landing and yelling: “Oh, and if anyone ‘stays over’, make sure to kick them out before I have to meet them over breakfast tomorrow - I’m not one for awkward conversations with one night stands, punk.”

Oh boy.

Harely’s Dad sure is… something. Peter’s interest in him isn’t just revenge fueled agenda, in fact, he views the man with a kind of curious admiration. There were always whispers about his successful business between parents and carers during school trips and plays - harsh mutters about his lack of presence as a father for his son, or as a participant at PTA meetings - but Peter will never forget the time when Mr. Stark did show up for a school trip.

It wasn’t that long ago actually. It was an Academic Decathlon that took place in DC and all the parents of the team were invited to watch their kids slam buzzers and answer trivia for a big shiny trophy - the ‘trophy’ part being the one motivator for players like Harley and Flash, where Peter, Ned and MJ just… really like knowing weird stuff, okay? Anyway, Peter answered the “Sudden Death” question correctly and subsequently won Midtown Tech the trophy and the title and all the glory. It’s up there as one of his favourite memories, honestly, and what came after only served to enhance the high that Peter was riding from his success.

After hogging the trophy all evening, Flash and Harley were finally convinced to let the other teammates pass it around, MJ presenting it to Peter last in an overdramatic fashion, the (almost) entirety of the Decathlon team cheering and whistling, before separating to drive back home with their respective families. Aunt May needed to use the bathroom so Peter said his goodbyes, handed the trophy to Mr. Harrison, and waited by the building’s entrance.

“They should’ve let you keep the trophy,” Peter jerked and turned his head towards an unfamiliar voice. “You were the best player up there, kid - gave the final question and everything.” A smirk followed the statement and Peter began to get a good look at the stranger.

He was incredibly handsome. A distinguished, yet roguish kind of handsome. His dark hair was artfully tousled, his goatee trimmed to razor sharp perfection, defining his acute jaw, and his eyes were a hypnotising whiskey - pools of colour that enhanced his effortless charisma, whilst also hiding a deeper emotion. His eyes looked tired, his crows feet gently creased and his mouth slightly strained at the corners. God, was Peter swooning big time. He was also not saying anything. Shit.. Uhh..

“Uhh.. Thank you, Sir, but it really is a team effort. I definitely wouldn’t be able to do a solo Academic Decathlon, i-if such a competition even exists, so… yeah,” Ugh... Peter still cringes thinking about his response to this day. God, he’s lame.

“Yeah sure, it’s a team contest, but kid, you answered more questions than the whole ‘team’ combined,” The man insisted. “Hell, you answered two times as many questions as my son - meaning I obviously messed up somewhere raising the guy.”

Oh, he was a parent. Of course he was, why would a random guy watch a Decathlon of High Schoolers and then strike up a conversation with one outside, Peter? Yeah, ‘parent’ made much more sense.

“Oh uh, Who’s your son?” Peter turned his body to fully face the older man, hands gripping his backpack straps, silently hoping May stayed in the bathroom for at least a few more minutes.

“I happen to be responsible for the punk with the blonde mop of hair and way too much self confidence for his age,” The man said, gesturing down the steps of the building to where Flash was talking with… Oh God, please no …

“Harley?” Peter tried to keep the disbelief out of his voice. Judging by the look that was on Harley’s Dad’s face though, Peter probably didn’t succeed. “So uh, you’re Mr. Keener then?”

“Stark.”

“What?” Peter, about to do a light introduction and shake the man’s hand, started to drop his arm.

“Tony Stark, kid,” The drooping hand was grasped in a firm, calloused, ohmygodhishandsfeelsonice grip - as was the breath in Peter’s chest. “And you?”

“Oh uh, I-I’m Peter Parker, Sir…” Neither one of them had let go yet.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Parker,” Tony Stark gave a lazy grin and gently released the hold he had on Peter. The physical hold, that is.

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Stark…”

With a final smirk and a parting salute, Tony Stark made his way down the stairs of the venue, grabbed Harley by the scruff and dragged him to a black car before driving off. Peter had stared at the car, frozen in place, eyes remaining on the vehicle even as it faded from sight.

Mr. Stark was also at his graduation ceremony. He was sitting next to a blonde woman.

Peter noticed him the moment the school had settled and the first speech began. He was sporting a pair of golden aviators, a form-fitting blazer, a white tee and some tight jeans. In short, he looked good. Like, really good. Better than good actually - he was all the adjectives. Peter couldn’t stop staring at him.

When Peter’s name was called he made his way across the stage, smiled at May’s cheers and turned to shake Principal Mortita’s hand, before moving to sit with the other students - making eye contact with Mr. Stark whilst doing so. Holyshitholyshithe’slookingthisway- Peter had thought. The man sent him a smirk and a nod of approval and Peter felt himself blush, raising a shy hand and sending back a timid smile in return.

Peter couldn’t stop looking at him for the rest of the ceremony. He probably wasn’t being subtle in the slightest. He just remembers feeling transfixed by the captivating man - frozen and drawn in and… incredibly warm. Nervous butterflies fluttered in his stomach every time their gazes met - Hell, every time he so much as glanced at the man his tummy would clench and thrill, buzzing with anticipation for… something. Peter had never felt this way about anyone before.

And he hasn’t since.

After what seemed like hours, the final speech concluded and everyone rose from their seats to mingle and chatter and take last-minute pictures in their graduation gowns - Peter making a beeline to May who couldn’t stop smiling and crying and laughing and taking hundreds of pictures of him and his friends. Peter really enjoys that memory too. And it seemed Mr. Stark had a habit of appearing during the best moments of his life, serving to make them even better.

Case in point, May leaving to use the bathroom and Ned and MJ taking off to greet and share pictures with their respective families, leaving Peter alone on the outskirts of the sports hall.

“Once again, Mr. Parker you have managed to outdo all of your classmates in terms of Academic accomplishments,” Peter looked up at the now familiar voice and sight of Mr. Stark approaching his solitary corner. God, but those butterflies were raving.

“And once again, Mr. Stark, you have grossly exaggerated my academic skill,” Peter returned, incredibly smoothly he might add, definitely making up for his awful first impression. “Plus I don't think you should be saying my accomplishments are better than your own son’s, Sir, especially at his graduation,” Whoops, that might’ve been a bit too scathing… But Mr. Stark looked as if he was astonished and delighted by Peter’s newfound snark (Peter doesn’t blame him; even he can’t recall where this sudden ability to socialise came from).

“I’ll only compliment Harley when he’s done something worthwhile with his life, lest his ego get too inflated for him to make it through doors,” Mr. Stark replied, somewhat bitterly, looking to the other side of the gym where Harley was talking with the woman Mr. Stark had sat with all day. “God, I wish there was less of me in that punk.”

“What’s so wrong with you, Sir?” Peter asked carefully, glancing up at Mr. Stark and tilting his head. Mr. Stark looked back at him with amusement.

“Think of all the worst traits that Harley has, kid,” Peter started listing them in his head. Egotistical, self-absorbed, selfish, violently competitive, just downright mean honestly. “Yeah he got all of that from me,” Mr. Stark muttered with a self-deprecating grimace.

“Well to be honest, Sir, you’ve only ever been kind and flattering to me and neither of those words came to my head, so clearly Harley has been ignoring all of your good traits.”

A genuine, surprised smile began to blossom on Mr. Stark’s face, making his eyes twinkle and his crows feet crease delightfully.

“Who’s the flatterer now, huh?” Mr. Stark laughed and nudged Peter’s shoulder playfully. “God, kid… You just made my day.”

“Hey Peter! Sorry I took so long, the line was an absolute- Oh!” Aunt May effectively broke their little spell and Peter discreetly shook his head, thoroughly rattled by how enchanted he was for a second there. For a moment, it seemed like the entire hall - no, the entire world - had narrowed down to just the two of them. It was dangerous, it threw Peter off his guard. It was heavenly. “Hi there, Do I know you?” May came to a stop in front of them, gesturing to Mr. Stark with a confused, slightly sceptical look on her face.

“You must be Mrs. Parker,” Mr. Stark extended his hand to May for a shake, clasping their hands together once she reached in. “Tony Stark,” He began with a grin, flashing his perfect teeth. “I’m responsible for one of the students graduating today, he’s actually in a lot of Peter’s classes, so I thought I’d come over and congratulate him.”

“Mr. Stark was also at the Decathlon, May,” Peter added, trying to make eye contact with her and not glare holes into where Mr. Stark and his Aunt’s hands were joined. Get a grip, Parker-

“Oh! Nice to meet you then - I assume you saw how my nephew absolutely crushed the other school’s team?” May grinned, letting go of Mr. Stark’s hand (finally) to put an arm around Peter and hug him to her side proudly. Oh God.

“May-” Peter tried to interject, feeling his face rapidly heat up to the point of embarrassment. Not in front of Mr. Stark-

“No, no, Pete, she’s right. I wholeheartedly agree actually,” A handsome grin stretched across Mr. Stark’s face and his head tilted attractively to one side as he observed the display. “Your nephew has got an incredibly bright future ahead of him, which is more than I can say for my kid,” His eyes softened. “If I were you, I’d be so, so proud of the person he’s become and the things he’s accomplished,” Mr. Stark was obviously talking to May there, so why was he looking into Peter’s eyes? Why was Peter so transfixed? And why, oh why was Mr. Stark saying such kind things about him?

What is this man doing to him?

“I am proud,” May crooned, startling Peter out of his reverie once again - seriously he needs to stop that - and bringing his attention to her shining eyes. “Very, very proud.” Peter can still remember that little moment between them to this day; that shared look of pride, gratitude and mutual grief. It felt good to hear those words. Mr. Stark shifted in the corner of his eye.

“Well,” Mr. Stark clapped his hands together. “I know when I’m a third wheel. You two enjoy the celebrations tonight, okay?”

“We will, Mr. Stark. It was lovely to meet you,” May smiled, probably under the same spell that Mr. Stark seemed to cast on everyone he met.

“You too. Take care, Mrs. Parker,” Beautiful, dark eyes slid to catch Peter’s. “Peter.”

With that, Mr. Stark sauntered to the other side of the hall, ruffling Harley’s hair, exchanging some words and a curt nod with the blonde lady before pushing open the double doors of the gym and disappearing into the afternoon sun.

Peter hasn’t seen him again until now. Until this party. This fucking party.

The halls seem to stretch out forever in this mansion, making it frustratingly difficult for Peter to try and navigate. To try and “accidentally” find Mr. Stark. So frustrating, in fact, that Peter gives up after just a few empty rooms and slides down a perfect wall onto a perfect hallway carpet and stares out of a perfect window into a perfect garden. His heart is still pounding from the altercation downstairs, his chest still clenching with shame and fear, his side still bleeding from the harsh daggers thrown so carelessly his way. It hurts. The insults and jeers always did hurt, but something about tonight has made that ever-approaching tide of cruelty finally reach Peter, completely overwhelming him. The sheer volume of taunts had never seemed that significant before, but now that he’s thinking about them - now that they’ve caught up to him - Peter can feel himself being swept up in an endless surf of suffocating, terrifying indignity. Peter’s eyes start to sting. This is stupid, he’s ready to go home now.

It’s in this state of distressed exhaustion where the sounds of the downstairs party become muffled and Peter starts to tune into a different kind of music somewhere else in the house. A guitar wails quietly as if it’s underwater, accompanied by bass, drums and keyboards, luring Peter to stand up and investigate. Strains of music lead Peter to the right side of the house, where he gets close enough to catch a faint tune sung by a deep, growling voice.

Born in a graveyard adopted by sin,

I cultivate evil that's living within.

A warm glow seeps through an open crack of a door, spilling into the hallway and sliding towards Peter’s feet, carrying the - now pretty loud - music with it. With a delicate tread, Peter steps closer and creaks the door open.

A preacher tried saving my black damaged soul,

Possessed by a demon that had full control.

A record player sits at the back centre of a room, crooning and crackling, sending classic rock to every corner of what seems to be a study - an incredibly cosy, leather-y, expensive looking study, with bookshelves embedded in almost every wall. The one side of the room without a bookshelf holds a gorgeous fireplace that appears to be the main source of lighting, as the sophisticated lamps are extremely dimmed and (unlike the lengthy hallways) there are no floor-to-ceiling windows. Plush white sofas circle the hearth to the right of the room while a grand desk is situated to the far left; books that aren’t shelved are strewn on every surface and there are two closed doors in both bottom corners of the room.

This can’t belong to Harley, Peter thinks, it has to be Mr. Stark’s study. It certainly looks that way. Everything about the room screams class, charm and… sexiness. Yeah, okay, Peter’s such a dork, he finds older men’s offices sexy, laugh at him all you want, but who’s the real winner here? The person making fun of the dork? Or the dork who gets to breathe in a heavenly, woodsy smell and just imagine the elegant, alluring man he’s been fantasising about for the better part of weeks now standing right in front of hi-

“Peter?”

Shit.

Mr. Stark emerges from the connecting door to his right, a tumbler of amber liquid in one hand, single-handedly surpassing all of those aforementioned fantasies of Peter’s in one fell swoop. God, but he looks incredible in loungewear right now; his black long-sleeved t-shirt and sweats, coupled with deep red socks has Peter’s aviary of butterflies swarming once again in his core - desperate, enamoured and wanting.

“Uh, h-hi, Mr. Stark!” Peter stutters, his panic rising by the second. Oh shit, how’s he gonna explain this?

“What are you doing up here?” Mr. Stark glides over to him, his mystifying eyes searching Peter’s in the dim lighting. “The bumping and grinding downstairs not doing it for you?”

A startled huff of a laugh pushes through Peter’s lips and he has to look away from that intense gaze for a second. The glowing fire and dull lamps are only serving to create an atmosphere designed to torture Peter with how exceptional Mr. Stark looks highlighted by orange, yellow and red. He looks like a God. A God that Peter hasn’t answered yet. Shit.

“Yeah, no, Mr. Stark - this kind of party’s never really been my scene,” Peter glances up shyly at this, finding the same simmering stare looking back at him. “I needed to get away… I might just go home now actually,” Peter mumbles, fiddling with his hands and moving to stare at his feet. Nice job, Pete, now you look absolutely pathetic in front of the smoothest man in the history of men. Mr. Stark probably hosted all the best parties when he was a teenager and didn’t have to scurry away in fear halfway through.

“I get that, kid,” Mr. Stark rumbles soothingly, like a big cat comforting a stray cub. “House parties can be intense at the best of times and not really all that good for your safety considering the illegal junk that makes an appearance during most of them. It’s good that you’ve got a better scene to be enjoying, rather than the one that can potentially end you up in juvenile detention.”

“Actually, I’d just be going to prison since, y’know, I’m eighteen,” Peter returns quietly, feeling far more relaxed now that Mr. Stark hasn’t made fun of him or kicked him out or anything.

“Even better - or even worse, in fact - prison certainly isn’t a good time. Look at you, being all responsible, I’m impressed,” Mr. Stark jokes softly, his eyes crinkling delightfully when Peter lets out a soft chuckle. There’s a slight pause as they look at each other. “Do you have a way to get home then? Someone to give you a lift?” Mr. Stark asks. Oh yeah, he was leaving wasn’t he? After his ridiculous, unrealistic plan of revenge fell through.

“Uh, well, I came here with two friends and they’re supposed to be my ride but-” Peter’s breath hitches. Don’tcrydon’tcrydon’tcry. “-I uh… I left them downstairs and I don’t know where they are, so they might’ve left already… Or they could still be here, but they might want to stay longer so-” A single tear sneaks out of Peter’s eye and he hurries to scrub it away with a frustrated huff. Damnit. Wasn’t the original idea to seduce Mr. Stark? God, what was he thinking? The man probably feels so turned on watching some random teen cry right now.

“Come and sit down, Peter,” Mr. Stark hums, gently steering him towards one of the lavish sofas and setting him down on the buttery cushions, stroking Peter’s shoulders comfortingly and murmuring “It’s alright, Pete, it’s okay,” and honestly, that just makes Peter’s eyes water even more. This man is so kind and beautiful - he doesn’t deserve to be a pawn in Peter’s vindictive schemes. He probably wouldn’t even entertain the idea of sleeping with Peter to get back at his own son, let alone sleep with him for his own pleasure, or desire, or attraction or… anything like that.

“Stay here, okay?” Mr. Stark gives his arm a final pat before moving to the back of the study to turn down the record player, until the music becomes much more ambient and a lot less blaring.

God of the almighty never answers their call.

Satan is just waiting for the righteous to fall to him.

Mr. Stark lets out a little exhale as he sits down next to Peter, resting his hands on his knees and inclining his head towards him. After a moment of silence (and slight awkwardness) Mr. Stark shuffles a bit closer - close enough that Peter could touch their knees together if he really wanted to (he really wants to) - and slings his arm over the back of the sofa.

“Okay,” The older man begins, splaying his hands in preparation to gesticulate. “The first thing you’re gonna do is message your friends and tell them that they don’t need to wait up for you to leave the party,” At Peter’s look of confusion, Mr. Stark continues. “Because I’m gonna give you a lift home, okay?”

“Oh God, Mr. Stark, you really don’t have to do that, I can-”

“Woah, woah, try to appear a bit less aghast at the notion of riding with me Pete, it’s hurting my ego a bit.” Mr. Stark brings a hand to his chest in mock-offence.

“No, no, no, I didn’t mean it like that, Mr. Stark! I’m perfectly fine with riding you to m- R-Riding with you I mean! Oh my God, I-I didn’t-” If there’s a God up there, can he get the memo and smite him already? Peter has already dug himself a grave as it is.

“Take it easy, Petey, I know what you meant, it’s okay,” Mr. Stark chuckles, crossing his legs before reaching out to touch Peter’s bicep placatingly. God, Peter loves it when Mr. Stark touches him - he’s only really interacted with him three times, but Peter has no idea how he managed his everyday life until now without this man. “I don’t mind driving you, Pete. You’re clearly not in a very good state at the moment and I don’t want your friends worrying about you all night under my roof, okay?” Peter nods. “I assume the reason you were getting a ride was because May can’t drive you?”

“Yeah, May’s working tonight,” Peter confirms. Mr. Stark remembered May’s name.

“Alright, so let your pals know about the change of plans then,” Mr. Stark moves back slightly and reaches for his drink on the coffee table, giving Peter an opportunity to get out his phone. Whilst typing in a quick message to the group chat, Peter can’t help but look at Mr. Stark out of the corner of his eye as the older man takes a delicate sip of what appears to be alcohol before setting it back on the polished wood in front of him. Peter can’t believe how generous Mr. Stark’s being - how caring and thoughtful. The way Mr. Stark has catered to Peter’s sensitive state and told him what to do in such an assured, calming manner is just doing all of the things to him right now. And he means all the things. Now is not the time to be popping a boner thinking about being ordered around by your bully’s Dad, Peter.

“Done,” Peter croaks, clearing his suddenly dry throat.

“Done? Good,” The older man angles himself towards Peter again, giving him his full attention. “Now, the next thing is for me to ask you if you want to talk about whatever’s made you so upset,” Oh boy, so the hard part then. “Even if you don’t want to talk, I recommend taking a few minutes to relax, cry, sleep - whatever - because the few therapist appointments I’ve had have taught me that suppressing emotions is a no-no,” Mr. Stark jokes, making Peter grin involuntarily. So charming.

“But at the end of the day, Pete,” Mr. Stark continues. “It’s your choice, alright? I could take you home straight away if that would make you more comfortable.”

“No,” Peter blurts, a tad too loudly and bluntly in his opinion. “N-No, I… I’d like to stay for a little bit… w-with you,” He trails off, gaze retreating to his lap. God, he hasn’t felt this nervous in forever. High School finals could never come close to Tony Stark.

“Perfect,” Mr. Stark breathes, then subsequently clears his throat. “That’s fine with me Pete - keep me updated, okay?” Peter nods and smiles gratefully, letting out a relieved breath. Simply spending time with Mr. Stark is infinitely better than his ill-advised ‘revenge’ plan.

The older man turns away briefly to reach for a remote and turn on the wide T.V settled above the fire. Flickering to life, the large flat-screen displays an episode of Friends, already half-way through and seemingly on a channel that shows only reruns of Friends episodes, if the rest of the T.V guide is any indication. After scrolling for a moment, Mr. Stark can’t seem to find anything more interesting at this time of night, so he goes back to the reruns channel and lets Rachel argue her heart out with an exasperated Ross. It’s mostly for ambience, Peter guesses. He doesn’t think either of them are die-hard fans of the show, but Peter appreciates the tinny laugh tracks coupled with the record player that’s still droning on. He feels calm and relaxed - probably for the first time in hours - all thanks to the wonderful man sitting next to him. So close that Peter can feel the body heat coming from his side; smell the warm, woodsy scent… So close that Peter knows the butterflies in his tummy and the hold on his mind - his heart - won’t be released anytime soon.

Slowly, emboldened by the hypnotic calm that has washed over the two of them, Peter tilts his head to flop gently onto Mr. Stark’s shoulder. Before the younger man can panic too much about his actions, the defined arm that was previously resting on the couch behind him draws ever closer to wrap itself around Peter’s side protectively, selflessly and (Peter can only dream) affectionately. It’s probably the stress of the evening, the fresh bout of mocking he endured and the fact that he’s curled up with the man of his dreams that makes Peter’s throat sting; makes his vision blur; makes his breath hitch and it’s probably some sense of obligation that makes Mr. Stark squeeze him a little closer and rub his arm soothingly in response to the shaky exhales of breath he’s letting out, but just for the moment, Peter pretends it’s something more. Mr. Stark heaves a deep sigh before moving to speak.

“Tell me what happened, Pete,” He murmurs, in that ever caring, ever understanding baritone. Peter tells him. He tells him about his reservations to come to a house party; he tells him about his incredible friends and how they managed to help him eventually enjoy himself; he tells Mr. Stark about his son’s endless harassment and bullying, about how he’d managed to brush it off for so long, but for some reason it was all too much tonight, resulting in his retreat from the main area of the house, away from the party - away from everybody. He doesn’t tell Mr. Stark about his spontaneous revenge plan. Instead, he skips to the part where he heard music and decided to follow it - his voice faltering with every new development - finishing his story with a ragged gasp, followed by a somewhat controlled breath in an attempt to calm himself, lest he burst into unrestrained sobs.

There’s a charged silence. Mr. Stark’s hand has long stopped stroking his arm and instead holds it still with a firm squeeze. If Peter’s head hadn’t slid down to the man’s firm chest, rising and falling with every breath, he’d assume the man had stopped dead. Sassing with someone about their troublesome son during graduation is one thing, telling them that same son has been your bully for years by crying on their chest and hugging their side is another thing entirely. Peter can’t imagine what’s going through Mr. Stark’s head right now. Worst case scenario would be an angry, protective father who unblinkingly vouches for his child against this random kid of the same age; best case scenario would be a Mr. Stark who returns Peter’s hopeless crush, but - in Peter’s totally unemotionally compromised opinion - both of those seem pretty unlikely at present, so he can only hope the middle ground isn’t too awful. Mr. Stark shifts, bringing his other arm up to cradle Peter’s waist in a loose hug.

“Peter,” He utters, huskily. “I am… so, so sorry you had to go through all that,” With a quick breath, Mr. Stark seems to come to life again, smoothing Peter’s arm with one hand, rubbing patterns on his back with the other.

“It’s okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter whispers, still teetering on the edge of a breakdown.

“No,” Mr. Stark insists, his voice firm and unyielding. “No, it’s not okay, you hear me? You are in no position whatsoever to apologise for being a victim of harassment, okay? Harley is to blame - that little shit - no, if anyone, you should be blaming me for not raising him properly-”

“No! Mr. Stark I don’t blame you at all,” Peter cuts in, rising up on his knees and looking Mr. Stark in the eye, because - anxiousness about eye-contact be damned - Peter needs to stress how much this isn’t Mr. Stark’s fault.

“-and for not teaching my own son that bullying people to the point of tears isn’t fucking okay!” Mr. Stark curses, distress tensing every line of his person; anger etched into the handsome creases on his face. Despite Peter’s kneeling up, they’re both still holding onto each other and Peter belatedly realises that this is the closest they’ve been - their faces inches apart.

“Trust me, Mr. Stark,” Peter stresses, looking straight into those distraught eyes, the colour of whiskey. “You’re the last person I would think of to blame for anything,” Mr. Stark’s hands tighten where they’re clenched on Peter’s body. “You’re not responsible.”

“You don’t blame me?” Mr. Stark queries, head tilting minutely.

“No,” Peter responds. Mr. Stark smiles, resigned and bitter.

“You should. You should hold me responsible, kid.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“You should,” Mr. Stark repeats. “There’s far too much of me in that punk, I told you,” Peter swallows, remembering the reference he’s making. Their reference.

“You’ve never bullied me, Mr. Stark,” He emphasises, jaw clenching. “I’d say that’s a noticeable difference.”

“Still, I’m not proud of myself for this,” The older man puffs, world-weary and disheartened. “I should’ve put a stop to it sooner.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter retorts. “I. Don’t. Blame. You,” Eyebrows furrowed, Peter continues to stare Mr. Stark down, determined not to lose this argument.

“You shou-” Mr. Stark begins, but Peter interrupts him. With his lips. Or more specifically: with a kiss.

For a moment it’s still - it’s bliss - it’s Mr. Stark’s moist, alcohol tinged lips against his own and then Peter jerks.

What the hell is he doing?

Peter hastily detaches himself from the older man’s face, but doesn’t retreat very far, leaving their heads incredibly close, their hot breath mingling in between their matching expressions of shock. Holy shit… Holyshitholyshitholyshit-

“I’m sorry! I didn’t-” Peter breathes hurriedly, only to be cut off by Mr. Stark’s finger against his lips.

“Shh,” Mr. Stark hushes, his expression morphing into something curious. Not disgusted, not horrified: curious.

The finger on Peter’s lips gently drags across the flesh, moving onto the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, until a large, warm hand is cupping the side of Peter’s head. In his chest, Peter’s heart is pounding impossibly loud, throbbing in his ears and making his cheeks flush a fierce red - Mr. Stark can probably hear it in the tense silence between their bodies; he can probably feel it from the hands resting on Peter’s face and arm respectively. Their eyes have yet to tear away from each other. Mr. Stark gazes with microscopic intent - searching for something in Peter, in his eyes. What are you looking for? He wants to ask. What are you hoping to see?

Eyes still locked, the hand cradling Peter’s head starts to pull forward, bringing their faces closer and closer - inch by excruciating inch - until they’re virtually a hair’s breadth away. Mr. Stark’s all encompassing eyes dart down to Peter’s lips, staring hotly as Peter slowly wets them with his tongue, his pupils dilating almost imperceptibly had they not been so close. Peter drops his own gaze to look at Mr. Stark’s plush mouth in kind - the flesh rosy and shining from the alcohol he drank (and probably Peter’s saliva too). He’s gorgeous. He’s effervescent. Peter wants to kiss him again and again and again, and from the way the older man meets his stare once more - eyes hooded and almost completely black - it’s not too hard to guess Mr. Stark wants the same thing.

With a conclusive breath huffed between them, their mouths meet for the second time, both men unsure of who initiated it; both men rapturous with undeniable pleasure. A shared sigh of bliss is released, the breath from their noses puffing on the other’s face, warming the little space left between them and sending shivers down Peter’s arched spine - is this what heaven feels like?

Rising higher on his knees, Peter tilts his head down to where Mr. Stark is still sitting and wraps his arms around the older man’s neck, holding on for dear life as their mouths start to open and they begin to taste each other. Mr. Stark shifts in response and wraps his arms fully around Peter’s middle, squeezing euphorically, causing Peter to breathe an involuntary moan.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter sighs into Mr. Stark's open, gasping mouth. Their lips dance for a moment, their open mouths grazing and sliding, before Mr. Stark surges forward to reconnect them - his groan vibrating Peter’s skin.

“Mmm, Pete,” Mr. Stark grunts, squeezing their bodies together once more, before tipping back to lie on the plush cushions, taking Peter with him. Rearranging his legs so he’s straddling the older man, Peter moves back down to connect their bodies, only for his quickly developing hard-on to meet the significantly larger bulge in Mr. Stark’s pants. “Ah, fuck,” Mr. Stark groans, detaching their lips to tilt his head up in pleasure.

“Nngh, is this okay?” Peter whispers, almost shaking with restraint, trying to keep his hips from desperately rutting into Mr. Stark’s. He doesn’t want to appear overeager and end up cumming before anything’s truly begun yet.

“I should be the one asking you, kid,” Mr. Stark grits, shuffling them both further up the couch so he can rest his head on the plush leather arm and look down at their bodies. “You sure you wanna do this? With me?”

“Oh, Mr. Stark,” Peter breathes. “I’ve been wanting this ever since I first met you,” He confesses boldly. Were he not out of his mind with lust he’d probably be mortified to reveal such a thing, but when his head is grasped and pulled back in so Mr Stark’s tongue can penetrate his slippery mouth, Peter quickly forgets his fears of humiliation.

As soon as their tongues slide together, Peter’s hips jolt without his permission, thoroughly turned on by the wet sounds they’re making as Mr. Stark holds him still and dominates every crevice of his mouth. The older man tastes heavenly: the alcohol he was drinking is sharp and addicting when shared via Mr. Stark’s spit, and the deep sounds he’s grunting into Peter’s mouth are just as delectable, if not more so.

“Yeah?” Mr. Stark moans, somehow still speaking whilst licking around Peter’s mouth. “You get off thinking about me? The father of the kid that bullies you? Does that get you hard, Petey?” Peter lets out a throaty shout he didn’t know he could make. Fuck, that’s hot. His hips speed up. “Do you want revenge, baby?”

“Yes!” Peter wails. “That’s why I came upstairs tonight,” He whimpers, eyes squeezed closed in ecstasy.

“Oh, fuck, really?” Mr. Stark pants, dragging his lips down Peter’s cheek to mouth at his jaw.

“Yes, yes!” Peter exclaims. “I was so angry, I wanted to make sure he never - ah! - looked at me again,” His body trembles as Mr. Stark grabs his hips and grinds their fronts together with fervour. “But, I also, hah… I wanted - needed - a reason to f- uhnn, to sleep with you.”

“Ngh, Peter… baby,” The hands on Peter’s hips slide lower to grope his ass, hard. “Coming to find me during my son’s party,” Mr. Stark slows their movements to an easy, pain-staking rhythm. “Revenge at the forefront of your mind, intending to seduce me with your beautiful tears and alluring doe eyes,” The older man moves to lay back against the arm of the couch, stopping to just admire Peter’s kiss-swollen lips, ruddy cheeks and glazed eyes. “Not even knowing that you could’ve asked me to eat you out at your graduation and I’d have dropped to my knees right then and there,” Peter gasps as fresh heat flares in his tummy - those butterflies finally released from their cages, completely free to flutter around where they please. “You’ve had me wrapped around your little finger the moment you stepped on that Decathlon stage, in your little blazer with your serious face and your incredible, fantastic brain-” Mr. Stark cuts himself off to kiss Peter furiously, removing the hands previously clutching at Peter’s ass to thread through locks of chocolate brown hair, holding his head steady. Always so gentle, always so delicate, as if Peter’s made of porcelain. “You’re so fucking smart, Pete, so smart and fascinating; so darn perfect, I’m obsessed with you,” He kisses Peter once more before stopping to stare into his eyes, completely enamoured and full of… affection. “I’d much rather have you as my son.”

Peter freezes. His control vanishes and he cums. Instantly. His mouth open in a silent scream of elation; his hands clenching where they’re holding Mr. Stark’s shoulders. I’d much rather have you as my son. Fuuuck, fuck - Peter’s already getting hard again just thinking about those words. To be Mr. Stark’s son, to be Mr. Stark’s boy… He’d be so good for him, he’d never cross a line or talk back; he’d always do what he was told and he’d do whatever it took to make Mr. Stark proud of him every single day.

“Oh fuck, Petey, darling, look at you - of course you’d cum untouched like that for me - fuck, you’re so perfect,” Mr. Stark frantically kisses every part of Peter’s face he can reach. “You’re Daddy’s perfect boy.” Peter whines at that, because God… He did not know he had a Daddy kink until now - until Tony. Maybe he just has a Tony Stark kink. “Yeah, you like that, baby? Of course you do - it’s like you were tailor made just for me,” Mr. Stark coos, scratching his fingers passionately through Peter’s hair. “D’you wanna be Daddy’s good boy, Pete?”

“Yes, yes, yes, please,” Peter sobs, his face slack and his eyes watering from the overwhelming everything happening all at once.

“Okay, baby, it’s okay - Daddy’s got you - Daddy’s never letting you go,” Mr. Stark murmurs soothingly, stroking and kissing every part of Peter that comes in reach. “Hop up for me, baby, that’s it,” Peter sits up as instructed, Mr. Stark following behind. “I want to eat you out, Petey, can you take off your pants for me?” Mr. Stark purrs, pawing at the fabric of Peter’s jeans - hungry. Peter hasn’t taken off a pair of jeans quicker in his life.

Once free of his boxers, Peter allows himself to be manhandled by Mr. Stark so he’s sitting above the older man’s face, the position sending ripples of humiliation through Peter’s body - especially when Mr. Stark breathes “Oh, yes,” as soon as Peter’s settled inches away from him.

“I can’t wait to ravish you, Peter,” Mr. Starks croons, thumbs lifting to spread Peter’s already extremely exposed cheeks further apart, giving the man an unobstructed view of his pink, untouched, virgin hole. Peter’s thighs quiver with nerves and anticipation, his heart rabbiting away in his tight chest. He clutches at the wrists of his sweater and button-down combo, creating little paws for his hands to fumble in. Sensing Peter’s tension (as he always seems to do), Mr. Stark rubs at Peter’s skin and hums soothingly. “Is this your first time, Pete?”

“Mmhm,” Peter mumbles.

“It’s okay to be nervous, we can do something else if you’d like?”

“No, I want to do this, Mr- uhm… D-Daddy,” Peter stammers, face rapidly heating up. “I-I want to be a good boy for you…”

“Oh, sweetheart, you already are, but I’ll gladly eat this delicious ass regardless,” Mr. Stark quips, slapping the meat of Peter’s ass gently. “I probably won’t be able to stop, even after you cum,” He muses, kneading Peter’s flesh with intent.

“I wanna make you feel good too,” Peter says, hands twitching, desperate with the need to touch this awe-inspiring man.

“Perfect boy,” Mr. Stark utters fondly. “You know what? Let me…” The older man reaches down with one hand to blindly yank down his sweats and boxer briefs, revealing his impressive erect member to Peter’s salivating gaze. That’s the most beautiful cock he’s ever seen in his life… “There, you can play with my cock while Daddy tastes your beautiful hole, okay?” Peter immediately leans down to press a chaste kiss to the glistening head. “Ah, just like that, baby… just like that.”

They both begin exploring each other, licking and sucking and spitting and slobbering with exhilarated abandon, moaning without restraint or embarrassment - their minds focused on one thing and one thing alone: the other’s pleasure. That being said, Peter’s finding it somewhat difficult to coordinate his mouth whilst Mr. Stark is working wonders spearing his tongue in and out of Peter’s hole - wetting it, sucking it, just all in all devouring it like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. But Peter tries regardless, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing his head to the best of his ability, stopping every now and then to follow the vein from the underside to the tip with his tongue and suckle on the weeping head. Peter’s heard of cock whores and cocksluts from porn and films and such, but now he thinks he gets it. Just like how Mr. Stark won’t be able to stop eating him out after climaxing, Peter doesn’t think he’ll stop sucking this gorgeous, girthy cock until he’s physically dragged away.

“Ooh, yes, Peter, just like that,” Mr. Stark moans as Peter starts sucking and swirling his tongue around the head of the older man’s cock.

“Uhn, right there, right there,” Peter responds, shyly bucking back against Mr. Stark’s heavenly mouth.

“C’mon, Pete, ride Daddy’s face,” Mr. Stark encourages, using the hands he’s resting on Peter’s ass to start up a steady rhythm. “That’s it, don’t be shy, Daddy wants you to ride his face as hard as you can, baby,” Keening at the man’s vulgar words, Peter begins rocking, delicately uncertain at first, but as soon as Mr. Stark starts sucking on his rim and penetrating his hole, Peter can’t stop himself. The little restraint he had left snaps as he surrenders to his body’s movements, letting his hips grind, swivel and thrust of their own accord, doubling his efforts on Mr. Stark’s cock by sinking down further - gags and gurgles impeding his progress, but never stopping him for long. “Oh, yes, yes, yes,” Mr. Stark’s gravelly, muffled voice chants behind him. “That’s it, that’s it, ride me, honey - suck my cock just like that-”

“Mmphf,” Peter groans enthusiastically, repeating himself when Mr. Stark lets out an uninhibited cry at the sensation. “Mmm!”

“Ngh, yeah, moan on my cock, sweetness,” A loud slurp interrupts Mr. Stark’s speech. He must be drooling all over himself, Peter thinks delightfully. “Let Daddy feel how much you love it.”

“Mmm! I love it, I love it-” Peter slurs, lips still attached to the older man’s heavenly length, abhorring the idea of stopping his ministrations for even a second. “I love your cock, I love you, Daddy,” Mr. Stark’s hips cant upwards in response and a particularly loud and unrestrained moan follows the confession.

“Ah, fuck! Uhn, I love you too, baby. God, the things you do to me-” Mr. Stark gasps for breath, but never falters in the attention he’s giving Peter’s slick hole. “-Daddy’s gonna cum, darling, you’re gonna make Daddy cum-”

“Yes, yes, yes, I’m close, I wanna-” Peter squeals with sheer ecstasy as a rough hand circles his drenched cock. “I wanna cum with you, Daddy!”

“Ride me hard then, baby,” Mr. Stark pants, hand speeding up where it holds Peter’s cock. “Suck Daddy as hard as you can for me,” Peter immediately complies, slurping and bobbing with abandon, uncensoring his cries and whines and muffled ‘ah, ah, ah’s. His ass bounces wildly, the rhythm of their bodies bordering on animalistic as they chase their climax together. “Daddy’s cumming baby, Ah! Yes! Cum with me Peter, cum for me now-”

“I’m cumming! I’m cumming, I-” Peter wails as the ferocious heat in his stomach blazes, getting hotter and hotter until it finally overflows, shooting across his whole body from the swell of his chest to the tip of his toes. His entire being curls with satisfaction and his body shakes uncontrollably with the toe-curling aftershocks that seem to last forever; overwhelming, all encompassing, ravishing. Mr. Stark follows soon after, his release spurting erotically all over Peter’s gasping lips and face, the older man letting out a long, drawn-out grown of rapture and bliss - both of their bodies sagging with exhaustion and euphoria.

After a moment of calm and post-orgasmic serenity, Peter feels himself being manhandled and rearranged so he’s draped on Mr. Stark’s chest once more; firm but so, so comfy. Peter nuzzles his head into the warm space underneath Mr. Stark’s jaw, completely spent and touch starved.

“Oh, baby, your face is so sticky,” Mr. Stark chuckles, reaching up to lift Peter’s head gently with both hands and inspect him lazily. The streaks of cum are only really in the centre of his face, draped over his nose, lips and chin, due to most of Mr. Stark’s release dripping down his length and landing on his abdomen. “Ahh I can’t be bothered to get a tissue, screw it,” Mr. Stark bemoans, leaning forward to lap Peter’s soiled face with his tongue, like a big mama cat grooming her cub. Peter giggles drowsily at the thought. “What’s got you giggling, huh? Does it tickle?”

“Heh, no… well, a little bit - you just reminded me of a cat licking its babies,” Peter smiles. He imagines this floaty feeling must be what tipsy or drunk people experience at the peak of their high, because Peter feels invincible right now - on top of the world. Completely careless.

Mr. Stark huffs out a laugh, growling low in his throat to imitate a wild creature, nipping Peter’s skin and baring his canines playfully.

“My little tiger cub,” The older man murmurs, voice laced with fondness, eyes twinkling and tender. “My perfect pet.”

“Ngh, don’t get me started Mr. Stark,” Peter whines. “I’m still worn out from the last two orgasms.”

“Ooo, being my little kitten makes you horny again, does it?” Mr. Stark teases, licking a big stripe up Peter’s cheek, making him squeal in faux disgust. “And also, Pete, you’ve sat on my face, I think you’re allowed to call me Tony now,” Peter’s face heats up and the smile on his face freezes before widening into an infectious grin.

“Tony…” Peter croons, tasting the name out on his tongue. Strangely enough, calling Mr. Stark ‘Tony’ feels more taboo than the whole… y’know, sex thing.

“That’s it,” Tony’s smile turns lazy and affectionate as he licks his lips clean of the remaining spatters of dry cum.

“Well, Tony,” Peter exaggerates, leaning forward to press his nose against Tony’s, playful and flirtatious. “How does it taste?”

“My cum?” Tony asks, bemused.

“Yup,” A big smile grows on Peter’s face as he pops the ‘p’ gleefully.

“Uhmm,” Tony tilts his head, pretending to think about it. “It’s not the best thing I’ve ever tasted, but certainly not the worst,” He concludes matter-of-factly.

“Mmm,” Peter hums, playing along.

“Want a taste, Mr. Parker?”

“I’d love one, Mr. Stark,” Peter beams sunnily, before leaning down to meet those magical lips, his tongue sliding its way past the seam to greet the older man’s. Their tongues rub against each other, sliding and smoothing noisily, as if they’re kissing for the first time and not the fifth, sixth, seventh (Peter hasn’t kept count). Lovely as sucking Tony’s cock is, Peter thinks he already infinitely prefers making out with the man. The intimate depravity of licking into someone’s mouth is so unlike anything he’s ever done before and will probably never lose its appeal if Peter has anything to say about it. In fact, Peter would be happy - overjoyed, even - to share saliva with Tony Stark until the end of time.

The tang of cum in Tony’s mouth fits the older man’s description pretty well actually - not the best taste, not the worst - but Peter would be lying if he said the ambiguous flavour, plus the knowledge that it was Tony’s seed they were sharing, didn’t make his exhausted cock give a feeble twitch.

The kiss begins to slow down even further, until all they’re really doing is bumping mouths and touching tongues, so tired yet so insistent on continuing any form of contact possible until the very last second. However, Peter’s neck is starting to protest its prolonged craning position, so he moves to rearrange himself and sit up, stopping short when he spots something attached to his bottom lip. It’s a string of spit, stretching all the way down from his lip to Tony’s glistening mouth, quite thick and noticeably bubbly.

“Oh, let me-” Peter starts, prepared to wipe or slurp the saliva away (as un-grossly as he possibly can), but Tony’s hand moves up to grab his wrist, halting his movements.

“Wait, let it drop.”

“What?” Peter questions, confused at the older man’s sudden seriousness.

“Let it fall into my mouth,” Tony says seductively, laying back and parting his lips carefully. “Spit it into my mouth, Peter.”

When will this man stop being sex personified? Holy hell… Peter’s discovering all his unknown kinks this evening then.

If only his friends could see him now… Man, he’s got so much to tell them.

Too afraid to outright shoot saliva into his… boyfriend’s? No, boyfriend is too ambitious and a little overeager after one fuck (plus a tad childish for an experienced man like Mr. Stark). Partner? What if this was just a one time thing though? Agh… lover? Yeah lover sounds good for the time being. Distinguished. Cool. Mr. Stark is his lover now. Tony is his lover. Hell yeah.

So, too afraid to outright shoot saliva into his lover’s mouth, Peter gathers up all the fluid he can and slowly dribbles it out of his pursed lips, some of it catching on his chin; most of it drooping and slowly reaching its way towards Tony’s. The older man rises up to meet the string halfway, letting the spit land and pool on his outstretched tongue, holding himself steady as the rest of the saliva makes its way down the line and into his mouth. When the spit stops moving, Peter leans down the rest of the way, allowing Tony to tilt his head up and kiss the remaining saliva off of Peter’s lips, Lady and the Tramp style. Well, that was really sexy…

“Well, that was really sexy,” Peter voices out loud as he watches Tony swallow satisfactorily, eyes hooded and mischievous.

“You’re telling me,” Tony retorts, swiping the side of his mouth with his thumb. “Is there anything you don’t look beautiful doing?” Is there anything you say that isn’t irrevocably charming?

“Probably a few things, I’m not the most graceful person,” Peter replies, mouth twisted bashfully.

“Your incredibly flexible body and gyrating hips beg to differ,” Tony states, eyebrows wiggling as he leers at Peter’s lower half.

“Oh my God, shut up!” Peter grumbles, ducking his head into Tony’s shoulder - trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing Peter’s enraptured smile. Judging by the way Tony snickers and wraps his arms around Peter’s back, nuzzling his head and kissing his temple protectively, he probably doesn’t succeed. Peter doesn’t care. He loves the taunts and the teasing. He loves Tony. And he most definitely heard Tony say “I love you” back. Heart pounding suddenly, Peter quietly snarks: “You love it, Mr. Stark,” The arms embracing him tighten affectionately.

“I do love it,” Tony chirps, voice sweet and affectionate as honey. Peter smiles contently and lowers his voice to a timid whisper.

“You love me,” Peter breathes, shy yet eager for confirmation of his statement.

“I do,” Tony repeats, volume low to match Peter’s. “I love you, Pete.”

“I love you, too,” Peter responds instantly, endorphins rushing through his body at those magical words. They feel so unthinkable on his tongue, an onlooker would surely gawk at the idea of confessing their love after three interactions, and Peter’s sure he’d deny it if a time traveller told him he’d ever do such a thing, but there’s something so irrevocably right about loving Tony - and telling him so soon. Romeo and Juliet probably felt something similar when they kissed during their first ever meeting. They were meant to love each other; meant to devote themselves body and soul to each other. Like the world would cease to go on turning if they didn’t. Peter feels forever changed. He feels as though he’s finally met the person he was supposed to meet; the person he’d encounter over and over again in unquantifiable alternate universes. The person he’d always end up loving one way or another. It just happened a lot faster in this specific time and place.

“That works out wonderfully, because it turns out that I love you more,” Tony drawls in a sing-song voice, reminding Peter of that scene in Tangled, but - y’know - healthy.

“I love you so much, Tony,” Peter reiterates, his voice enraptured and full of yearning. “I don’t know why or how, but it’s so crazy, you’re like- the love of my life and it’s confusing my brain, because we’ve only known each other for such a short time, but… I just know, y’know?” That whole speech didn’t need to happen, Peter, could you not ramble for once in your life?

“Pete,” Tony slides his body so they’re both lying down on the sofa facing each other. His eyes burn like the crackling fire behind him, full of warmth and devotion - hundreds of emotions simmering behind those deep, endless orbs. Peter can’t wait to see every single one someday. “You just perfectly summarised how I’m feeling,” Tony confides, voice low and secretive. “My rational mind is just… screaming at me that I shouldn’t be allowing this - should convince you to find someone else that isn’t old enough to be your father and doesn’t harbour this unexplained, uncontrollable protectiveness over you - but I…” He pauses, averting his eyes in a rare moment of fear and uncertainty. “I don’t know, I just… can’t,” He concludes, eyes desperate to convey all the emotions swimming behind them - trapped and beyond words. Peter leans forward and rests his forehead against Tony’s, closing his eyes he tries to feel, communicate and understand everything Tony wants to say; everything he wants to say…

… Everything they both want to hear.

“We’ll get through it, Tony,” Peter murmurs, reaching up to caress Mr. Stark’s cheekbone, jaw, nose - everything he can reach. “Thank you for not leaving me alone with all this love,” He expresses softly, chest tight and throat beginning to sting.

“You’re very welcome, Peter,” Tony swallows thickly. Peter opens his eyes. “Thank you for loving a lonely old man with no friends and barely any family to speak of,” Peter wants to object. He wants to call Tony beautiful and scream about his love from the very highest mountain-top, but he stays quiet. Tony needs to express these feelings. “Thank you for not choosing someone else over me. Thank you for not making off with the one thing I wanted to do right by in this world. Thank you for not turning that thing into all the worst parts of myself. Thank you for loving me when clearly no one else wants to anymore - if they even did in the first place,” Tony’s eyes glisten with sorrow and untold misery, the bottled emotions finally spilling over - the carefully manufactured walls cracking under the weight of a great, painful ocean locked behind it. “I don’t know what’s going to become of this… thing that we’ve got going on here… But I will tell you - with the utmost certainty - that I’ll do my best every single day to earn your love, Peter, because it’s going to be hard for me to be convinced that I deserve it.”

A silent tear falls down Peter’s cheek. When did he start crying? He looks up and sees a corollary tear sneak out of Tony’s mystifying eyes and reaches out to wipe it away with a shaky thumb. He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say in the face of such a vulnerable revelation? Peter doesn’t think words can suffice just how grateful and honoured and scared and small he feels, so he tries to pour everything into a vehement kiss - probably failing to impart everything he wants to say, but striving to do so with every fibre of his being regardless.

They lay there for hours, minutes, days - neither of them know - just kissing, whispering and holding each other close, trying their best to process the enormity of what they’ve done; what they’re feeling; what comes next. It’s during this moment of quiet that Tony’s record finally comes to an end and the fire dies down to a handful of burning embers, prompting them both to sit up and stretch, parting for the first time in at least an hour so Tony can put his record away and Peter can hunt for new clothes.

“Keep going through that door, you’ll eventually end up in my bedroom,” Tony says, pointing at the door he came through when Peter entered the study. “Have a rummage, look for some new boxers and pyjama bottoms or something,” Tony mumbles, closing his record player and shelving the vintage sleeve. Peter follows his directions (but not without one more kiss), finding himself in a stunningly modern, connecting en suite bathroom, with white ring lights and black marble surfaces. After an awe-struck cursory glance, Peter continues through to the gorgeously distinguished bedroom, with a colour scheme not unlike the study’s. Dark browns, reds and the occasional stroke of white decorate the space, creating an even cosier area that Peter thinks he wants to curl up and quietly exist in forever.

The undeniable musk that permeates the room becomes stronger as Peter searches through draws of clothes and underwear - barely stopping himself from leaning in and taking a long, lascivious inhale, his nose buried in the fabric - eventually choosing some older briefs and some flannel pyjama bottoms that look small enough to fit his lithe frame.

As he’s in the middle of tightening the drawstrings (as much as they can be, so that the waist doesn’t completely slip down his hips) Peter hears footsteps outside the room and looks up, startled when he hears a knock on the main door to Tony’s bedroom. It’s not Tony.

“Dad? Open up, or say ‘come in’ or something, I don’t wanna see you naked,” Peter’s heart starts rabbiting almost painfully. Shit, shit, shit! It’s Harley- “Dad! Are you decent? Yes or no?” Shit, shit, say something! Don’t let him come in!

“N-No?” Peter’s voice breaks (because of course it does) and he cringes, teeth gritted, body poised to flee.

“What the hell is up with your voice? I’m coming in, Dad, I don’t care-” The handle turns and the door starts to swing open.

“No, no, no, wait!” Peter shouts, but it’s no use. The door is open, Harley is standing right there… and Peter is wearing his father’s pyjamas.

Fuck.

“What the fuck?” Harley demands, a bottle of beer loosely grasped in one hand, a horrified look on his face. “What the fuck are you doing in here?” The teen starts to advance on Peter, gait somewhat sloppy due to the alcohol probably coursing through his veins right now, but the underlying intentions of harm frighteningly clear.

“I-I was just-”

“‘I-I was just’, Jesus, lissen to yourself,” Harley mocks, invading Peter’s space, filling the air with his intoxicated breath. Peter shrinks away like the prey he is, frozen with fear under a predator’s gaze - nowhere to run. “You’ve got one last chance, Penis,” Harley threatens, grabbing the front of Peter’s shirt in a vice-like grip. “Why the fuck are you in my Dad’s bedroom?”

“I can answer that for you,” Tony’s voice appears behind Harley, causing the boy to turn around and let go of Peter, freeing him. Tony stands there like a guardian angel - his saviour - and Peter allows himself to take a relieved breath. He’s safe now, Tony’s here. “Peter here just spilled a drink on himself and needed a change of clothes, okay Harls?” Tony reaches out to grab Harley by the ear. “Does that satisfy your drunken invasiveness?”

“Yes, ow! Yeah, okay! Stop it!” Harley squirms, unable to detach himself until Tony deigns to let him go a few seconds later. It’s so strange to see Harley, of all people, so defenceless and submissive in the face of his father. This was the guy that argued with a teacher for a whole period, refusing to back down or keep quiet - even when sent outside the classroom - so clearly he’s not afraid of authority. But now Peter sees that what he once believed to be a vicious wolf, lone and aggressive, is in fact nothing more than a misbehaving dog that cowers before the apex predator that is Tony Stark. It’s quite therapeutic actually.

“Actually, Harley, while you’re here,” Tony begins, slapping his hand onto Harley’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “I’d really like you to make amends for being such a colossal asshole to Peter during your entire time at High School, pretty please,” Harley’s mouth drops open in disbelief. As does Peter’s. They both start protesting at the same time.

“What the hell, Dad? I’m not gonna do that-”

“To- I mea, Mr. Stark, you don’t- he doesn’t need to do that I’m fine-”

“-I’ve got nothing to apologise for! If anything he should be apologising for barging into these rooms!-”

“-Seriously, I don’t wanna cause any trouble! I don’t need an apology-”

“Boys,” Tony projects, effectively silencing both of them (and making one of them a tad aroused). “I’m perfectly serious about this, and I’m not letting either of you go until you’ve apologised, Harley.”

“I’m not gonna apologise!” Harley declares, the arm still holding the beer bottle swinging dangerously in protest. “I’m a fucking adult, you can’t treat me like a goddamn child right now!”

“Can’t I? Don’t children bully other people for years on end for their own sick sense of enjoyment?” Tony challenges, voice brutal and unwavering. “I’m so disappointed, Harley - you were always a little shit to me, but I didn’t think you’d stoop this low,” The older man stalks forward, stopping in front of Harley and leaning in close. “Peter doesn’t deserve to be dragged into our mess. If you hate me and your Mother then take it out on us, not him,” Harley glares down at the floor, hands fisted so tightly his knuckles turn white. Peter looks on, heart thumping uncontrollably. He feels like he shouldn’t be here - watching this. There’s a lot of pain and repressed anger permeating the air and Peter is most certainly intruding on this private interaction. “It’s not Peter’s fault that I’m such a bad Father.”

There’s a deafening silence. Peter doesn’t dare breathe. He can see Harley’s jaw clenching repeatedly, his head still ducked - eyes ablaze with intensity, eyebrows furrowed in a permanent frown. No one moves. Harley breathes an aggressive inhale and shoves Tony’s chest, before storming out of the bedroom and slamming the door with such hostility, the entire house seems to shake. Peter flinches at the burst of noise after such a tense silence, eyes flicking immediately to Tony.

“Are you okay?” Peter whispers, afraid to speak any louder.

“Yeah, he’s pushed me harder, I’m fine,” Tony grumbles, his gaze lingering on the door, mouth twisted bitterly.

“B-But are you okay, like, emotionally?” Peter asks, slowly approaching Tony with the ease of someone who doesn’t want to spook a distressed animal. The older man turns to him and huffs a sigh, mouth tilting at the corners into a woeful smile.

“Not really, but I don’t think anyone is, so,” Tony throws his arms up in a wry, “what can you do?” gesture, probably attempting to appear nonchalant about the whole ordeal. Peter strides forward to hug him urgently. There’s very little he can say that would be of any comfort at this moment, so he does what he is capable of: unconditional support and physical compassion. It’s difficult not to feel completely useless and out of his depth when Tony clings onto him just as tight, clearly distressed and in need of solace, because… he’s just a newly eighteen year old kid who doesn’t know anything about marriage or kids or the kind of struggles Tony’s going through, but the stubborn, determined side of him doesn’t care how unsatisfactory his loyalty and encouragement may be - Peter just wants to alleviate this admirable man’s pain in any way that he can. So he keeps hugging Tony. He keeps trying to hold in his tears and be strong for his lover. He keeps drawing circles on Tony’s back in the hopes that he’s calming the older man somewhat. Peter knows he isn’t capable of solving everything right now, but he’ll do everything he can in the meantime to try and show Tony how serious he is about this burgeoning… thing between them. He’s not going anywhere.

“I should probably take you home now huh?” Tony muses, pulling away from Peter and looking into his eyes. So beautiful.

“I want to stay,” Peter whines, succeeding in making Tony’s lips quirk up in a fond smile.

“I know, baby,” Tony whines back, pursing his lips into a long-suffering pout. “But it’s been a long, exciting night and I don’t want you getting sick of me,” Peter hums low in his throat at that and leans up to give Tony a long, closed-mouth kiss.

“Never,” He sighs against Tony’s lips once they part, making the older man chuckle softly.

“You made my night, sweetheart.”

“Mmm, you made mine… Daddy,” Peter simpers, a saucy grin stamped on his face. The taboo word still leaves an unfamiliar tang in Peter’s mouth, but he’s certain it’s a flavour he’ll grow to love.

“Argh, stop tempting me you… temptress,” Tony growls, dipping to kiss Peter before launching a tickle attack on his unprotected sides. The squeal Peter lets out is probably hideously unattractive, but Tony catches it gleefully with his mouth - a contagious, enamoured grin spreading across his face.

They both wear those grins all the way down to the basement garage. Those same smiles remain stamped on their faces as Tony navigates the dark, empty roads - occasionally using the steering wheel as a make-shift drum to accompany the blaring music he plays. When they kiss goodnight, parked outside Peter’s apartment building, they do so with beaming mouths (making the mechanics of the kiss pretty difficult to navigate, but blissful all the same). Now lying on his bed, a brand new phone number in his contacts, Peter grins down at his glowing phone screen as the first ever text in an empty message display comes through.

Miss you already xxxxxxx

Cheeks starting to hurt, Peter types out his reply with the most lovestruck, idiotic smile on his face, uncaring about what’s sure to come and what complications the future may bring - it’s all white noise; inconsequential. The only thing filling the space in Peter’s overtired brain is undeniably, irrevocably Tony Stark.

Miss you more xxxxxxxxx

taglist: @the-mad-starker @starkerforlife6969 @starkeristheendgame @starkerhead @laraswan90 @thegreenmetblue @itfeelssogoodmrstark @snowstark @vaguekiwi @winterthal @definitelythatstarkergirl @starkly @peterrparrkerr @darker-soft-starker @blushnik @nerdylocksandthethreebears @peterparkerisaslut @kaleidoscopeluli @sinditia @starker1975 @useless-fanfictions @sarcastich @carelessannie @harryscrack @starkerscoop @momothequeenblog @twokinkybeans @muse-of-gods @pantastic-peach @helaisthequeen @starkrpro @jordanparker @starkerhowlter

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dreamingofaizawa · 4 years ago

Text

Potent

Alpha! Hanta Sero x Fem! Omega! Reader

***18+ Fic***

If you are under the age of 18 please vacate the premises.

Warnings: A/B/O, smut, knotting, marking, breeding kink (sorta? idk it comes with the A/B/O territory), a hint of pregnancy kink, a bit of blood

Word Count: 3.6 k

Author's Note: Ohhhhkaayyy so this has been sitting in my google doc for AGES. I think I started this in...October of last year? It's been sitting there for months and I've lacked the motivation to finish and post it but then I sent in an anon ask to @reinawritesbnha and, being the absolute queen she is, she became the little push I needed to do it. I DID IT FOR REINA!!

Also, this is some of my earliest writing and I only skimmed and edited a little bit of it so if there's a little bit of weird pacing or a strange cutoff where the writing styles clash it's because I haven't touched this piece in months.

Anywho, enjoy~

It had to happen when you were surrounded by alphas.

Your suppressants flaked out, again, and your scent wafted through the air on the street. Normally It’d be fine for an omega to let their scent float freely around them. But your scent is particularly...potent, even when you weren’t in heat. Not only that, but you weren’t mated yet, your scent glands still bare, and you still didn’t have a pack. To make matters worse, you’re quirkless.

You hadn’t realised what was happening until your path was blocked by an especially large male alpha. You turned around, and there were two more behind you. Fuck. This isn’t good. You took in your surroundings and searched for an exit, but you couldn’t find a way out. There's no way you’d be able to outrun the three very large male alphas.

Probably the worst part is that more alphas are turning their head toward you, taking notice of your lavender honey and rain scent that slowly began turning to a sour swamp. You dared to hope that change would ward off the three cornering you, but they’d already got a whiff of you. Several distressed chirps sounded from your chest, voicing your discomfort, and you glared pointedly at the three alphas as they edged closer to you.

You hate when this happened. Why’d you have to be cursed like this? Your growls only grew, baring your little omega fangs. There’s no way in hell you’d let some stranger scent you, let alone one of these creeps. They wouldn’t take the damn hint and just crept closer to you, calling out to the ‘pretty little omega’ to ‘come have some fun’.

You’re scared now, the involuntary chirps in your chest coming more frequently. None of the other alphas or betas on the street were big enough to face the three, making you a sitting duck and a ragdoll if they wanted you to be. Your claws are small, nowhere near ideal for this situation, but you’d use them if you needed to. With a final low defiant growl you dropped your bag against the wall behind you and readied yourself for a fight.

Suddenly a large body dropped in front of you, his back to you. His scent alone hit you like a freight train, orange zest, mint, tree bark and something earthy. It had your head spinning, nearly sending you into an early heat. He growled, low and powerful, the sound rattling in your chest and making you sink further into the wall behind you. The other three alpha’s scents together were still overpowered by the new alpha before you, and they vanished faster than they appeared.

He turned around and stepped away from you, giving you space to breathe. He kneeled down enough so he was eye level with you, his hands reaching out clearly in an attempt to comfort you, but kept from touching you.

“Are you okay?” The question barely registered, still delirious from his scent, and you’re having a hard time recovering. Large hands grip your shoulders and shake you lightly, your mind beginning to clear with the soothing pheromones he’s releasing.

“Omega.” The command snapped you to attention, your gaze fixated on his own dark irises.

“Are you okay, omega?” You blink, swallow down the lump in your throat, take a deep breath.

“Yeah...I’m okay. Thank you, alpha.” But you’re not quite okay. You need to get home. Fast. The alpha seemed to catch on, probably by your scent that still hadn’t returned to normal. He stands and slips off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders and wrapping you in his scent. It’s a comforting gesture.

“Let’s get you home.” With a nod you set off, the man walking next to you with a strong, warm hand on the middle of your back.

“What’s your name?” You introduce yourself, and he does the same. His name is Sero Hanta, and now that you’re calm again, you take in just how handsome he is.

Raven hair is pulled back into a small bun, showing off his undercut and strong, sharp jawline. Onyx eyes shine with kindness and playful mischief, and a beaming grin reveals pearly white teeth. He’s incredibly toned, his muscles calmly rippling under the t-shirt that stretched over his chest. You vaguely noticed the strange shape of his elbows, but disregarded it as his quirk. The omega in you is howling, begging for this alpha, his scent invading your senses. But you suppress it quickly, reminding yourself you’d only just met this man.

As you reach your apartment you exchange phone numbers, and he tells you to keep the jacket and use it when you go out to ward off any unwanted attention. You thank him again for helping you earlier, and he waves to you as he walks down the hall and enters the elevator, the doors closing in front of his handsome smiling face.

Despite meeting him only ten minutes earlier your instincts trust the alpha, and you hold the jacket close to your face, breathing in his scent. It’s wonderful, and your inner omega is in love. You find yourself wondering when you’d see him again.

The next few days are riddled with work and calls to your doctor about the strength of your suppressants. You work from home as a secretary for a small company. It’s a miracle you’d found it, too. Nobody wants an omega, let alone a potent one. It’s an alpha’s world, you guess. When this job opening popped up you were ecstatic, so you took it and have been working from home with decent pay for the last five years.

The calls to your doctor were not going as smoothly as your job, though. You leave a message every four hours until she finally calls you back. She was concerned since the suppressants she’d prescribed are the strongest out there, and if your scent was overpowering them they were either defective or your scent glands were overproducing. It wasn’t an immediate threat to your health, it only meant you’d be drawing more attention than you wanted to. Still, it’s annoying and makes life so much harder than it needs to be.

After she prescribed twice the amount, she said she’d look over your tests from the latest visit before she hung up the phone. You groaned once the call ended. You seriously needed a break from your second gender. Taking the prescribed double dose of suppressants, you got ready to go out to the corner cafe to read and drink coffee. Hopefully the new amount will keep steady. You really don’t want to deal with any more aggressive alphas this week. For good measure you pull on Sero’s jacket, allowing his scent to cover you, then grab your keys, phone, wallet and a book and begin the walk.

When you arrive at the cafe you order a hot mocha, curl into the small corner booth and crack open the book. You got lost in the ink and your mind floated along the adventure, putting yourself in the shoes of the main character and leading the mission to take down the corrupt queen who’d framed you for killing the prince of a neighboring kingdom. You were ripped from the fantasy world when a bright, enthusiastic blonde came up and tapped you on the shoulder, making you jump. His smile was as bright as his hair.

“Sorry to scare you cutie, but I couldn’t help but notice that jacket of yours smells an awful lot like my friend Sero!” You smile softly at the blonde.

“Well if we’re talking about the same Sero Hanta, then your nose would be correct. This is his jacket.” His eyes widen as he nods.

“Oh my gosh you must be the omega he keeps talk-” The blonde’s words became muffled by a large hand. A hand that belonged to the very man you were talking about. Sero smiles apologetically down at you as he shoves the blonde back to where you assume they’re sitting.

“Sorry about Kami, he’s… extroverted.” You smile back at him, mostly because you’re happy to see him again.

“It’s no problem at all. He recognized your scent on me.” He looked down and only then realized you’re wearing his jacket, and he beams at you. Then he takes a glance at the booth you’re sitting all alone at, his smile falling just a bit.

“Do you wanna come sit with us?” You take a moment to think about the offer, then agree with a nod. Your omega couldn’t pass up more time with him.

As you approach the booth you notice there are more people with Sero than you anticipated. There were four other people sitting there. Sero introduced all of them from left to right. Bakugo Katsuki, Kirishima Eijiro, Ashido Mina, and the happy blonde from earlier is Kaminari Denki. You introduce yourself and when Sero slid into the booth, you followed after him.

These five are a tight pack, and you learn they all met in high school. Bakugo’s brash personality made you wary at first, but it didn’t take long to realize he’s just like that with everyone. He makes a bit of a snippy remark, which you easily counter, and he smirks while the rest smile or snicker. It would seem they like you.

You can’t tell what their second genders are, and you mentally kick yourself for even wondering in the first place. Their genders are none of your concern, but you can’t blame yourself when you’re constantly alert because of your own stupid second gender. As it turns out, you don’t need to wait very long to find out.

This time you smell your own scent as it permeates the air around you. You swear under your breath at the stupid suppressants that obviously can’t so their job, and the others snap their gazes to you. You sigh.

“Yeah, that scent is me. My suppressants flaked again. Sorry about that.” They all nodded, seemingly understanding. Sero must have told them about the other day. Of course, it would soon repeat. It didn’t take long for an alpha to take notice of your scent. The man -- why is it always the largest males??? -- strides up to the booth with a cocksure grin and leans down to inhale your scent. You duck away from him, into Sero, and let out an albeit small warning growl that was drowned in Sero and Kirishima’s. He ignored them all the same.

“Hey there little omega, you smell real nice. You wanna come hang with me instead? We can have some fun together with my buddies, what do you say?” The others stayed quiet. They’re going to let you defend yourself before they do anything in case they end up escalating the situation. You turn your head and lift your shoulder, hiding your scent gland.

“I’m not interested, thank you. Please leave me alone.” You hoped to whatever deity watched over you that the man would leave. Before anyone could react the alpha grabbed your wrist in a vice grip, yanking you roughly from your seat. You chirp, your scent turning sour and the entire pack abruptly stands, baring their fangs at the man. It barely registered in your head that Kirishima and Bakugo are alphas, Mina is a beta, and Kaminari is an omega, their fangs giving them away.

The man tightens his grip on your wrist and you cry out, your bones creaking under the pressure. With no other options you did the one thing that would get him to let go, and sank your fangs into his wrist. You jump back into Sero, who wraps an arm around you protectively.

“You bit me, you bitch!” He raises an arm, clearly about to try and hit you, but a large hand grabs his wrist. Surprisingly enough it’s Bakugo, and his growl is laced into his words.

“Leave now, or you lose a hand.” Sero speaks up from above you.

“You might wanna listen, amigo. That’s Dynamight.” The alpha rips his arm from Bakugo’s hold and looks down at you, and you growl at him as he scoffs and walks away, apparently not ready to fight the #2 pro hero over an omega.

You all sit back down and you pull up the sleeve of the jacket to inspect the already forming bruise on your wrist. Your nose wrinkles with a half-angry half-pained snarl. Tenderly, Sero takes your wrist and lightly squeezes the sides of your forearm, against your bones, and your lack of reaction tells him nothing’s broken. Still, he growls at the offending bruise.

“I’m gonna kill him.” You shake your head and put a hand over his.

“It’s not worth it Sero. He’s probably long gone.” You turn to the rest of the pack.

“Thank you for protecting me.” Kirishima is the first to speak.

“Of course! That dude was a jerk. I just hope he doesn’t go around doing that to other omegas.” Bakugo, surprisingly, spoke next.

“Obviously we’d protect you. You’re a potent omega and quirkless, so you attract unwanted attention without even knowing or wanting to. Besides, if you’re gonna be Sero’s omega there’s no way in hell we’d let some extra handle you like that.” The implications make your face burn, and Kirishima smacks the blonde’s arm with a ‘Don’t just say that kind of thing, Katsuki.’

After an hour or two of talking, and shockingly no other aggressive alphas, they all walk you home to your apartment. Sero wanted to check on your wrist again, so you invited them all in, but they all had something else to do, so you were left alone with Sero. The fact that the one alpha you desperately wanted to be around is alone with you in your apartment is both great and terrible. Thankfully, you have self-control and his own suppressants are working perfectly fine.

He inspected the darkening bruise on your wrist, his large hands gripping your arm tenderly and turning it gently as he prods at the skin. It doesn’t hurt too bad, so you assure him you’ll be perfectly fine. Eventually he leaves with a hug and you sigh once the door is closed, relieved that you were able to keep your omega at bay and your hands to yourself.

A couple days later you get a text from him and the two of you text often, asking how each other’s day went, if anything interesting had happened. You didn’t leave your apartment unless you needed to, since your suppressants clearly weren’t working, so you made sure to cut grocery trips short and keep away from any alphas that seemed a bit aggressive. Sero invited you to hang out with the pack at their house, and you obliged.

They lived in a huge house all together. Most of the rooms were sealed so no scents or sounds could go in or out for ruts and heats, and there were several spare rooms that were empty and waiting for more pack members. It was a fun hangout, filled with video games and good conversation, and even better food which Bakugo cooked. Sero had an arm around you whenever he was close, and you definitely didn’t mind. Your suppressants flaked in the middle, again, and Sero insisted he walk you home. With him walking you home there weren’t any alphas trying to get you this time. You ended up going over to hang out with them a lot when you weren’t working, and eventually Sero began to court you.

Obviously, you accepted, and after a few months of dating and scenting, your overactive scent glands seemed to mellow out, Sero’s scent mixing with it. Your suppressants are lasting much longer now, which is a good sign. Now that you’re Sero’s omega, he often helped you with your heats and you’d help him with his ruts, and he was strong-willed enough that he hadn’t marked or knotted you in the middle of things.

About a year and a half into the relationship you realize you really love him. Sure you had arguments, but everything was settled through calmed discussions over coffee or tea, and you came to understand each other well enough that arguments became few and far between.

You’re happy with Sero, so when your heat came around early and he was there to help, you were going to let him know just how much you loved him.

You texted him once you felt it starting. He was there within half an hour, and you pounced on him once the font door closed, smothering him in hot, wet kisses, eager to feel him inside you. He carries you to the bedroom, and you two are quick in shedding all of your clothes. He lays you on your back with a hand on your throat as he growls into your ear, making a hot shudder roll down your spine.

“Are you ready for me omega?” You whine and nod, your slick already dripping down your folds. You want him so bad it hurts.

“Please alpha, I need your cock.” He growls again, satisfied with your answer, and he presses into you, bottoming out with one firm thrust. You chant his name like a mantra as he set a bruising pace, rutting into you recklessly, wet skin slapping on skin the only other sound beside your whimpers and his growls. His teeth nip at your shoulder, sharp fangs testing your skin and claws digging into the fat of your hips. His cock is so deep, hot swollen tip kissing your cervix with every full-bodied thrust and sending you into a euphoric haze. Your own claws are sinking into his back, leaving little trails of red and blood beading down the lines. It drives him wild every time.

“That’s right, little omega. Mark me up, I’m all yours. Fuck you’re so pretty underneath me like this.” His hands grip behind your knees and press them into your chest, folding you nearly in half as he plows into you further. The angle knocks the breath from your lungs and your eyes roll back. You can feel his knot beginning to swell, feel how his thrusts are getting more controlled and his grip on your thighs tighten from the sheer concentration it’s taking for him not to breed you. You have other plans. Between wheezed breaths you squeak out.

“H-hantaaa~” He slows to a near snail’s pace, grinding his slowly growing cock into your sweet spot, a smirk stretching across his face as you splutter from the sudden change. He’s enjoying making you squirm.

“What is it, sweetness? Tell your alpha what you need.” You pant, chest heaving as much as the position will allow.

“Want your mark, want your knot~ Wanna be bred Hanta! I want your pups!” He stills completely, claws digging into the fat of your thighs with enough force to have drops of blood falling to the sheets beneath you. You’d never said anything like that in the heat of the moment. He can’t have heard you correctly...right?

“Princesa, do you know what you just said?” The seriousness in his tone has you sobering, but even before you knew exactly what you were saying. You nod frantically, wiggling your hips to get him to move again.

“Yes! I know alpha! Please, give me your knot~” His growl makes your bones shake, and with no warning he drops your legs around his waist and leans down so his face is buried in your neck.

“Fuck, I’m gonna trust you with this baby girl. I’ll give you exactly what you want.” His fangs sink into your scent gland just as he picks up his brutal pace, and the euphoria makes you cum hard, your whole body locking up and mouth falling open in a silent scream. He plows into you as you regain your breath, and you bite down on his own scent gland as hard as you can, tearing into his skin with every intention of leaving a pretty scar for the world to see.

His knot swells more, and he’s pushing it into you with every ounce of power he can generate with that gorgeous body of his. With one final snap of his hips he locks his body to yours and cums hard, ropes of hot seed filling you to the brim. He collapses on top of you and laps at the wound on your neck and you do the same. After a few minutes he leans back and cups your face in his hand, gazing down at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

“Are you alright?” You nod, nuzzling into his palm.

“I’m sorry. I was gonna talk to you about it, but my heat came early.” He kisses your forehead gently, brushing the strands of hair from your face.

“It’s okay, pretty thing. I trust you know what you’re getting yourself into.” You giggle and wrap your arms around him.

“Of course I do. I love you, Hanta.”

“I love you too.” You lay there, tangled in each other’s arms until his knot goes down. You whine at the loss when his cock slips out of you, clawing at him to come back because you’re still in heat. His hand gently wraps around your neck, a low chuckle on his lips.

“Relax, we’re far from done.” His already hard erection rubs up and down your glistening folds, barely stimulating your clit, teasing you until tears prick your eyes and you’re beggin him to fuck you again.

“When I’m done you won’t be able to walk for days. I’m gonna breed you so well, You’re gonna look so pretty all big and round with my pups.” He groans at the image he’d conjured in his head and you squeal as he slams his hips into you.

You’re in for a wonderfully long night.

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