#READ THE FUCKING WARNINGS

[mischievouslittlecreature]

I continue to be amazed at how I have literally indicated in every way I know how that Love Me Where I'm Most Ruined contains polyamory, and yet I STILL have people coming at me, getting mad at me over the story featuring polyamory.

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 27

Summary: In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he’d briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is of Legal Age, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker, Passive Aggressive Canned Soup, Two Morons Trying to Try Their Best, Borrowing Characters, Edging

Author’s Note: I had an urge, okay? Also, special thanks to @iwantutobehapppier for helping me with Peter's loophole swearing. 💜

----

Chapter 27

----

Stephen was not at all happy. He knew he was being ridiculous, he did! But he couldn't come up with a rational, reasonable excuse for not letting Peter do it.

So he sat and gave Peter his full attention as Peter showed him his plans for the front flower beds and flower boxes. Peter wanted to plant creeping thyme, clematis 'Nelly Moser,' New North England Aster, flox 'David', and a variety of peonies to start. His plans for the flower boxes included petunias, zinnias, and begonias filled in with ivy and heather. He had more ideas for some shrubbery around the house that would give off more of a wild and whimsical look than Stephen would have ever considered.

He had to admit that the drawings and plans Peter had done were gorgeous and when done, would look very attractive. No other house in the neighborhood would look nearly as nice. But many ladies, unfortunately, would look at Peter while it was in progress. Dammit.

"What do you think?" Peter asked. He'd explained how they lived in "Zone 6" and that the some of the planting would be would be staggered through early spring to early fall. All of it was so far out of Stephen's realm of understanding. Before Peter, he'd just paid the local nursery and landscaping company to manage the flower beds and boxes for him.

"I think it will be a lot of work for you but will be very nice when done."

Peter beamed. "I'm planning on visiting the local nursery with Ava next week. She's more into vegetable gardening, but she wants to help.

"And you'll help her?"

"That's the plan," Peter confirmed. "I love learning to do new things, so it'll work out really well." He straightened the papers and set them down neatly. "You're really okay with it?"

"I am," he said. And it was more true than not. Stephen would just have to make peace with the fact that the Desperate Dahlias would enjoy the show. As long as they didn't approach and definitely did not touch he'd make himself live with it. Peter was an attractive young man. It was only natural for others to appreciate that, even if he himself was annoyed by it.

Peter checked Stephen's watch. It was only two in the afternoon. Their reservations for dinner weren't until seven.

"Can we go upstairs?" Peter asked shyly.

Peter had been... not different since their check-in at the BCSS, but more settled. He was still a brat and a smartass but he'd started initiating intimate moments with Stephen outside of just getting on his knees. He'd hoped that Peter would eventually want him just as desperately and it seemed he'd gotten his wish.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"Y-yes, please, I'm so close, yeah, NO!"

Peter's held fell back against the pillow as Stephen sat back.

"Patience," he reminded teasingly.

"Ben zona!" Peter swore. "Zine behsechel!"

Stephen had no idea what he'd just said, but he imagined it wasn't very flattering. That Peter was swearing at him in what he assumed was Hebrew amused him more than anything.

"Stephen, come on," Peter whined. He was flushed and sweaty but oh, he looked gorgeous.

"There's no rush," Stephen told him. He was enjoying this far more than he'd anticipated. Edging the young man could easily become his new favorite hobby.

So far he'd brought Peter to the brink of orgasm three separate times only to stop just before he could tip over that glorious peak. Each time had Peter swearing - again, in a language Stephen didn't know, so it wasn't like he would punish him for it - and begging. Even though Stephen adored the sounds Peter made when he did find release, he was enjoying Peter's frustration and tears tremendously.

He's so beautiful. So mine.

"There's no rush for you," Peter countered, tugging at the neckties that bound his wrists to the headboard. "Why are you even doing this?"

"Because I enjoy it," Stephen said simply.

"At least one of us does," Peter muttered.

Stephen chuckled. "I sure you'll find you're enjoying it a lot more than you think." He squirted more lubricant into his palm and with Peter watching him warily, began to stroke his pretty pink leaking cock.

As if on cue Peter's eyes rolled back and he moaned. "Stephen, yes, oh hell just like that." His hips rocked up into Stephen's hand, trying to get more touch, more sensation.

He let Peter get away with it and continued his steady stroking as he savored every whimper and moan he drew out of his young husband. He watched as Peter's abdominal muscles contracted and his toes curled. Twisting his wrist every so often and never in a clear pattern, he worked Peter over until he once again started begging.

"Please, Stephen, 'm so close, please Stephen, I've been so good, right there just let m-" he stopped begging and then yelled as Stephen took his hand away before he could finish.

"Stephen!"

Heavens, those angry tears were beautiful.

"Settle down," he warned. "It's my cock, remember? I own it just like I own the rest of you and I decide when it gets spill or when it's going to dribble while locked up its pretty little cage." He trailed a finger up and down the flushed shaft. "It's my right as your selecting spouse, after all."

Peter's cock twitched at his words and he looked to see that Peter's eyes were just a little glassy.

"And you like that. You enjoy when I assert my rights to your body as your selecting spouse. You want me to use you as I see fit, don't you?"

Peter said nothing, the stubborn little brat.

"Answer me or I will go downstairs and bring up an ice pack."

"I enjoy it," Peter whispered, swallowing hard.

"Tell me what you want," Stephen ordered. He trailed his finger up and down Peter's cock again.

"I want- I want you to make me come please," Peter said, voice ending on a small whine. "Use me how you want and please let me come."

Stephen grabbed the lubricant. "Spread your legs."

Peter spread them and watched him eagerly as he slicked his fingers.

He'd never get tired of how Peter obeyed him in bed, he thought. Oh, sometimes Peter's bratty, defiant streak appeared but Stephen enjoyed taming it. It would be so dull if Peter didn't have a mind of his own and his own desires.

He always took his time getting Peter ready for his cock, partly because he didn't want to hurt his young husband and partly because he enjoyed touching him so intimately. Months later and sometimes he could still hardly believe that Peter was his to touch.

Stephen probably should have let Peter come once he finally slid inside, but he was enjoying the sight of Peter's sexual frustration too much, so he stopped thrusting just before Peter could tip over.

Denied his orgasm once more, Peter swore at him - he'd have to ask Ben just what exactly 'Mamzer!' meant, though from Peter's tone and resulting glare, he had a fairly good idea.

Enjoying himself thoroughly, Stephen kissed Peter. "Trust me," he urged, and began to thrust again. This time he didn't stop, just angled his hips in the way he knew would have Peter moaning.

It didn't take long before Peter was coming between them, his release hitting both of their stomachs. His eyes had a hazy blissed out look to them. Stephen continued driving in and out of Peter, searching for his own completion. When he hit his peak he came inside Peter with a loud groan and barely caught himself before collapsing on top of his young husband. He pulled out with a small measure of regret, but Peter's needs were more important at the moment.

"Absolutely perfect," he whispered as he untied Peter's wrists. He rubbed them gently and kissed each, ensuring there was no damage to the skin and satisfying himself that blood flow was unimpeded. "You were wonderful," he added. "Stay here and I'll be right back."

Peter was shivering by the time he returned with the usual warm washcloth. He soothed Peter as he gently cleaned him, then pulled him into his arms to just hold him.

"I hate when you're right," Peter finally grumbled out nearly an hour later. He'd long since stopped shaking and even cuddled into Stephen's arms. "It was awful while it was happening but when I finally got to come it was great."

"There's nothing wrong with enjoying what we did," Stephen assured him. "Take your time and think about it. If you really don't like edging, we don't have to do it again."

"Is that what it's called?"

"Edging? Yes."

"Let me think on it, when I'm not drifting in some weird floaty mood." He looked up at Stephen. "We're not going to miss our reservation, are we? I really don't want to cook right now."

"No, we have plenty of time yet. We'll shower and dress and then head out. Unless you don't feel up to going out? I know you weren't expecting what we did."

What I did.

"I'm fine," Peter insisted. "And I did enjoy it, for the most part. It was just a lot, you know?"

"I know."

If Stephen was extra attentive during their shower and later during their dinner, well, Peter had more than earned it.

Peter meeting Len's husband Jim was almost as headache-inducing as Peter meeting Tony had been.

Both Peter and Jim were entirely too smart for their own good and if they both weren't so occupied with being a house husband and aeronautical engineer, respectively, Stephen rather thought they'd get into all sorts of trouble if left together and to their own devices.

Judging by the look on Len's face, Len thought the same.

It was entirely chance that they all happened to be in Upper York for the Stratten Spring Festival but once they'd been spotted, it wasn't exactly like Stephen and Len could ignore each other.

They ended up watching, amused as Jim and Peter hurried around excitedly. Peter told Jim all about his plans for the flower beds and what progress he'd already made. Jim didn't have as much of a green thumb but listened to Peter with a careful ear, even if he made sure to stay away from certain plants that local nurseries had on display.

"He's allergic to damn near everything," Len grumbled to Stephen. "The allergy meds I shot him up with this morning deserve a round of applause at this point. At least he knows what plants to stay away from." He motioned to the messenger bag he carried. "And the next doses are coming up soon."

"You should give Peter the list," Stephen said. "He wants to have you and Jim over for dinner, along with Nurse Chapel and her fellow."

Len looked amused. "Did he finally get over his embarrassment that she gave him his Protoflu shot in the rear?"

Stephen smirked. "He gets embarrassed over the smallest things. It's delightful."

"I keep the list of Jim's allergies on my Mobile. Give me Peter's number and I'll forward it on to him. I hear he's a damn good cook."

"He is," Stephen confirmed. "I didn't even notice the little substitutions he made in all of the food before I learned he observed kosher rules."

"Ben couldn't stop raving about him," Len said. "I'll admit I'm damned glad Jim and I aren't expected to have folk around for dinner parties. It'd be hit or miss given his schedule."

"You're a lucky man," Stephen said. "It's such a pain in the ass dealing with it all; thankfully Peter always does a fantastic job and it keeps the board of directors and various donors from bothering me."

"I'm happy things are working out for you." He paused as if considering his next words. "Most of us at Sanctum General are, you know."

"I didn't know that, no," Stephen finally admitted. "Len, these past two years I've felt all alone."

Len shrugged. "You did the right thing, Stephen. That's all any of us can do and knowing what you risked to do it gained you a lot of admirers, professionally speaking. You've honestly never noticed how no one really engages with that group unless they have to?"

He hadn't, no. He'd buried himself in his work after their falling out and it never occurred to him to gauge how anyone not involved had felt. Good grief he'd been a self-absorbed ass! "I really haven't," he admitted. "I've still spoken with coworkers like yourself, Ben, Misty, and Christine, but no one's ever really approached me. I know I've kept to myself, though."

"Every dog's entitled to time lickin' it's paw after getting stuck with a thorn," Len said. "But I'm glad you're starting to get back out in the world." He shot Stephen a sly smile. "I'm supposed to be the miserable, unapproachable doctor on staff and I haven't much enjoyed sharin' that title."

"Your Southern is showing," Stephen teased.

"Yeah, well, sometimes it's needed."

"Stephen!" Peter and Jim came running over to where he stood with Len. "They have a tilt-a-whirl!"

"And over at the lake they have bumper boats!" Jim fairly bounced as he announced that fact. "And a devil's wheel!"

Beside him, Len sighed heavily. "If you get sick and vomit everywhere I'm not cleaning you up!"

"Can I go?" Peter asked Stephen, all eager hopefulness. "Please? I haven't been on some of these rides before. The merry mixer looks like it's so much fun!"

Stephen gave Peter a few bills to buy a wrist band that would allow him to ride anything at the festival. "I'm not cleaning you up, either," he warned.

"Don't worry," Jim said, slinging an arm around Peter's shoulders. "I'll stay with him the whole time!"

The two took off and knowing they'd be occupied for at least an hour, Stephen and Len settled themselves at one of the many picnic tables set up. When they saw Ben and Alicia, Len waved them over.

"Who's watching the damned hospital?" Len wondered aloud.

"Well, Misty and Sam are at his sister's wedding down in Louisiana and Nic is attending a conference for cardiac surgeons over in Lancaster," Ben said. "That leaves the C team at the helm."

Stephen couldn't help but laugh. It was good to have friends again.

"How's my favorite surgeon?"

Stephen smiled and leaned back in his office chair, grateful for the quiet stretch in his otherwise busy day. "I'm good. How's my favorite former special agent?"

"Well, Tony's spawn refuses to stop kicking my bladder and I'm only able to manage a brisk, thirty-minute walk on the treadmill instead of running, so overall I'm doing great."

"I'm glad to hear it. Just do what your obstetrician recommends and you'll continue doing great. I was calling to see if you've made any more progress on tracking down Beck?"

There was a pause and Stephen just knew it wasn't good news.

"My official update is that I can't give you an update," she sighed. "Last week I got called off by someone at the Bureau. My bureau, that is. It turns out that Beck is the subject of an on-going case and the agent in charge doesn't appreciate my snooping around."

He couldn't be too surprised at the news, even if he was annoyed. "What's your unofficial update?" Stephen asked.

"Unofficially? I know an agent or two who are willing to play ball. Give me some time and I'll see about arranging a meet with them, if you want."

Stephen considered. "My place or yours?"

He could practically hear her wince as she answered, "It would have to be my place. Stephen, I swear, if I even look up at a zeppelin while we're outside, Tony breaks out in hives." She muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "Such a wonderful, sweet, unreasonable pain in my ass."

"Well, I was planning on visiting in the next month or so," he said. "I know Peter would love to see you and Tony again; he talks about you all the time."

"What exactly is your goal here? Revenge?"

She'd avoided asking this entire time and he'd wondered when she finally would.

"Ideally? I'd like to get Peter's money back. Barring that, I'd like to see Beck in a world of pain." Something about people who took advantage of others who were struggling or hurting just boiled his blood. They were the worst of the worst, in his opinion.

"The first one isn't likely but the second? I know the agent heading up the case and the other agents involved; I need you to trust me when I tell you that Quentin Beck is done for."

There was that, at least.

They spoke for another half an hour, sharing various life updates. He learned that Tony had a number of plans and contingencies drawn up for when Sharon eventually went into labor. "He's insane," she told him. Considering the man had considered what to do in the extremely unlikely events she'd have to deliver while at sea or while on a zeppelin (that Tony didn't even like her looking at), Stephen couldn't exactly disagree.

Meanwhile he informed Sharon all about his and Peter's trip to the spring festival and Peter's progress on the flower beds.'"I have half a mind to put up ten foot tall hedges all around the house," he grumbled. "Or a privacy fence. Or maybe giant mirrors all around so they can see how pathetic they look while they're ogling him."

"It doesn't matter if they look," she reasoned. "Peter only has eyes for you, that much was clear."

He hoped so. He really did.

He only had eyes for Peter, as well.

----

[sop-soap]

TMA begins with a lure, but TMAGP begins with a warning.

[inkskinned]

you have to go to work so you can pay for your doctor, who is not taking your insurance right now, and if you say i can't afford the doctor's you are told - get a better job. it is very sad that you are unwell, yes, but maybe you should have thought about that before not having a better job.

(where is the better job? who is giving out these better jobs? you are sick, you are hurting - how the hell are you supposed to be well enough for this better job?)

but you go to the doctor because you had the nerve to be hurt or sick or whatever else. and they tell you that it is because you have anxiety. you try your best. you are a self-advocate. you've done the reading (which sometimes pisses them off worse, honestly). you say it is actually adding to my anxiety, it is effecting my quality of life. so they say that you are fat. they say that all young people have this happen to them, isn't it a medical marvel! they say that you should eat more vegetables. they say that you probably just need to lose a little more weight, and that you are faking it for attention.

(what attention could this doctor possibly give? what validation? that's their fucking job, isn't it?)

there is always a hypochondriac, right. someone always tells you about a hypochondriac. or someone who is unnecessarily aggressive during the worst days of their life. or someone looking "for a quick fix". or some idiot who wasn't educated about how to properly care for themselves who just abandons their treatment. and again, the hypochondriac, the overly-cautious hysteric. these people don't deserve to be treated like humans (right), and since you might be one of these people, you also don't get treated like a human. because those people can really fuck with the system, you now have to pay for it. and besides. you're actually probably faking it.

(more often than not, you find a 2:1 ratio of these stories. for every "hypochondriac", there are 2 people who knew something was wrong, and yet nobody could fucking find it. the story often ends with pointless suffering. the story often ends with and now it's too late, and it's going to kill me.)

you are actually just making excuses. someone else got that procedure or that diagnosis and he's fine, you should be fine too. someone else said they watched a documentary about other inspirational people with your exact same condition, maybe you should be inspirational, too. you're just too morbid. your pain and your experience is probably just not statistically concerning. it is all self-reported anyway, and you're just being a baby.

(once, while sitting down in the middle of making coffee, you had the sudden, horrible thought - i could kill myself to make the pain stop. you had to call your best friend after that. had to pet your dog. had to cry about it in the shower. you won't, but that moment - god, fuck. the pain just goes on and on.)

you know someone who went in for routine surgery and said i still feel everything. they told her to just relax. it took her kicking and screaming before they figured out she wasn't lying - the anesthetic drip hadn't been working. you know someone who went in for severe migraines who was told drink water and lose weight. you know someone who was actively bleeding out and throwing up in the ER and was told you're just having a bad period.

in the ER there are always these little posters saying things like "don't wait! get checked today!" and you think about how often you do wait. how often the days spool out. you once waited a full week before seeing the doctor for what you thought was a sprained wrist. it had actually been broken - they had to rebreak it to set it.

but you go into the doctor. the problem you're having is immediate. the person behind the counter frowns and says we're not taking your insurance. you will be paying for this out-of-pocket.

they send you home with tylenol and a little health packet about weight loss or anxiety or attention deficit. on the front it has your birthday and diagnosis. you think about crying, and the words swim. it might as well say go fuck yourself. it might as well say you're a fucking idiot. it might as well say light your money on fire and lie down in it. and the entire fucking time - the problem persists.

it's okay. it's okay, it's just another thing, you think. it's just another thing i have to learn to live with.

[dukeofthomas]

"Jason just needs to see things from his family's perspective and understand how much they love him (despite them never actually communicating or showing him through their actions)" is out. "The batfamily putting a single bit of effort into understanding Jason and reconciling with him on his own terms" is in.

[fraternum-momentum]

mfs when they see dead dove content in the game that the creator specifically warned them about

[dendroaspis-viridis]

I'm begging you, BioWare... Learn from the mistakes of Baldur's Gates past...

[lbhslefttiddie]

youve heard of sex flowers get ready for the flower that makes you into a celestial shoujo herione complete with particle effects you cannot turn the fuck off and creates a wifebeam so powerful it can incapacitate and maim and keeps making you burst into tears and fall on your ass which makes the wifebeam More Powerful and you also cannot turn this off either. and is also still, sort of, a sex flower

from one of my favorite fanfictions, Celestial Afterglow by elanor_pam, a fic that defies description in the best possible way

[comet-wire]

QUICK. POST THE SILLY.

[hom3landr]

"just lie to me, okay? just this once."

Necessary Lies

CW - Major Character Death, descriptions of gore and sickness, ANGST ANGST ANGST

Homelander’s intentions had been pure when he arranged to dose you with Compound V. He’s reminded by a friend that’s how the road to hell is paved

You aren’t getting better.

Homelander’s stomach turns.

You aren’t getting better.

He’d done everything right. The whole process was done under the supervision of all of Vought’s best doctors and scientists. Even as you screamed and begged, he’d been confident that any complications could be swiftly dealt with. Sure, you’d been an adult when the V had been introduced into your system but you are strong. You have to be. You have to.

He watches you in your room. It doesn’t seem right for you to be surrounded by so much blank white. You are color and light but even you can’t withstand the way the awful room dims your soul. Maybe if you could see the sun you’d get better. But the doctors insist you are too fragile to handle any environment except the sterile one you are contained in.

He bites his lip anxiously as you continue to hack up blood, the bright crimson automatically drawing the eye. His instincts tell him to scan you, to watch as the V twists your DNA and transforms you into something greater.

I told you not to get your hopes up. You tend to have a less than stellar track record when it comes to mud people.

He shakes his head and tries to ignore the little voice in his ear. He’s wrong this time. It’s a hiccup that’s all. You’re strong. You are.

The voice is blocked out but not by his own efforts. A horrible cry leaves your lips as your bones crack and shift under your skin. More red spews on the floor. He winces at the wet splat as a chunk of something hits the floor.

That was juicy. Wanna bet that was a lung?

Homelander tastes iron as he splits his own lip. It feels like it’s your blood he’s tasting. It’s your blood he’s spilt.

That one was a little mean, I admit. But buck up Bucko, this is what you signed up for. Maybe you’ll listen to me next time.

He’s done this before. Why the fuck were you the one with complications?

“There’s a good reason Vought doesn’t do it.”

That’s what he told Madelyn that fateful night.

He’d killed her too

He steps to the side as a squad of sour smelling scientists rush in to stabilize you. But what can they do? What can they do now that the only outcome is for the poison to run its course? He vividly fantasizes about popping each one’s head like a ripe melon as punishment for not fixing this. It doesn’t make him feel better.

Please

He begs the voice in his head.

Just lie to me, okay? Just this once.

The once dependable steady rhythm of your heartbeat is dangerously erratic.

You smell like death.

Please!

He worries the cut on his lip with his tongue. It feels strange to have a wound. The scientists flutter around you nervously. They know you’re a lost cause but Homelander’s icy gaze compels them to at least pretend to be helpful. Their terror burns his nose. He decides to make their demise slow.

No can do Buddy, you know that’s not what I’m here for. I’m the only one who’ll never lie to you.

Your heartbeat grows fainter. Your breaths rattle.

One of the scientists pisses himself.

Please…

You turn your head and despite your eyes meeting his, he knows you can’t see him. You wouldn’t be able to even without the wall in the way. He doesn’t think you can see much of anything anymore.

I told you so. Better go in and say your goodbyes.

I hate you

Aw buddy, I’m the only thing you have left.

Your heart stops and a noise all too terribly familiar leaves your throat. The last noise you’ll ever make. A wail just as wretched leaves his lips.

He didn’t even say goodbye. He let you die in that awful room alone. He wasn’t even holding your hand. You were alone like he was alone all those many years ago. Being poked at like he was.

He vomits bile onto the floor.

You’re gonna need me more than ever now. Better get used to it.

[witchspeka]

I love my girl Miwa but as soon as I read that this image immediately popped up in my head:

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 24

Summary: In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he’d briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is of Legal Age, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker, Passive Aggressive Canned Soup, Sick Peter Parker, Caretaker Stephen Strange, Two Morons Trying to Try Their Best

Notes: I really, really love this chapter. Special thanks to @iwantutobehapppier​  and @imwithtony​ for their read-through of this chapter and advice on writing Peter’s faith around the holidays. 💜

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Chapter 24

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As November crept into December Peter considered his life as Stephen's selected spouse less a hurdle to get over and more... well, normal. He wasn't sold on staying married after the year ended, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. He realized that he was comfortable, perhaps even hopeful as the six-month mark approached.

Thanksgiving was spent out at a fancy restaurant in Upper York and Peter learned that Stephen had called ahead and ensured that his meal would be kosher, which Peter found touching.

He'd hosted another two dinner parties and both had gone well.

"Is there anything I need to know for when we have some of your colleagues over for dinner next week?" He asked.

Stephen wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin, considering. "Mr. Bolt may not be able to speak but his hearing is quite sensitive. He uses USL and his wife will translate his signing. Dr. Palmer is a lovely woman and her husband is tolerable."

Peter snorted. "Tolerable," coming from Stephen, was fairly glowing praise.

"I've sent the invitations out and have the menu set, so I think we're good to go."

"I'm sure you'll do an admirable job."

Mr. Bolt and his wife, Dr. Xavier, and Ms. Rambeau weren't his favorite guests but they weren't unbearable. He could understand why Stephen disliked them. Dr. Palmer and her husband were perfectly pleasant, at least.

He didn't exactly enjoy hosting the dinner parties, but he didn't panic about it like he'd done that first time. It was just another evening, he'd realized. He did like the feeling of accomplishment that followed, especially when Stephen showed his appreciation.

The first week of December had Stephen telling Peter to join him in the den after he was finished clearing the dinner table. Nerves struck him. "We need to talk." was never a fun sentence to hear and Peter couldn't imagine what he'd done wrong. Or was Stephen getting called into another case out of state?

When he joined Stephen, he sat in the other armchair and tried not to fidget.

"You can stop looking like I'm about to announce your execution, Peter," Stephen said dryly.

"I just... I don't know what I did wrong," Peter said.

Stephen frowned. "As far as I know, nothing. Have some faith in me, hmm?"

Chastened, Peter nodded. "Yeah, sorry. It's just 'we need to talk' aren't exactly words that instill confidence along with 'can you come into my office for a minute,' you know?"

"I'll have to keep that in mind the next time my admin oversteps himself," Stephen said. "No, I wanted to talk because the holidays are coming and with them come invitations to various parties. Given that the holiday season isn't exactly secular, I wanted your input as to which invitations to accept."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine with anything, honestly," Peter said. He'd been to plenty of Christmas parties while growing up in addition to Chanukah parties and mostly enjoyed all of them. "Are we getting a tree?"

"Not if it makes you uncomfortable," Stephen said. "I know you don't celebrate Christmas and I want to be considerate. I’m an atheist, so I'm fine with whatever you decide."

"Cool. We can get a tree, though. It's not a big deal."

"Are you sure?" Stephen asked.

The sheer power of will kept Peter from rolling his eyes. "I promise you, there's at least a ninety-six percent chance I won't burst into flames if we get a Christmas tree. Ninety-eight percent if I don't decorate it."

"Brat," Stephen muttered before turning to the conversation to other plans for the rest of the month.

As December progressed, Peter found himself enjoying the month far more than he'd thought he would.

The daytime outings with Ava to window shop, donate the scarves and hats they'd crocheted, and sip hot chocolate were a particular pleasure. Stephen had ensured he had a suitable coat and gloves, and Ava herself had made Peter's hat and scarf. The storefronts of Sanctum Heights, already attractive in summer and fall, turned picturesque for winter.

Peter, as he was sure to gleefully tease Stephen, did not burst into flames and managed an attractive, classy tree set up in front of the living room window that from the outside, gave the house more holiday cheer than any of the neighbors could remember previously seeing. The few household decorations Stephen had in deference to the season were tasteful.

Peter had even set up a simple menorah in the guest room, content to have a small space in case he felt like lighting the candles and speaking the prayers he'd once eagerly recited as a child under the guidance of his aunt and uncle. (He'd returned home from a Saturday afternoon spent over with Ava baking cookies to find the menorah on the mantle of the fireplace and his heart gave a little jump. He wasn't there yet, but it was something.)

Stephen and Peter attended various parties - most more secular than anything truly celebrating what was often deemed "the reason for the season." Peter was happy to socialize, especially when he realized that some of the hosts - now familiar to him - had gone out of their way to have simple snacks and refreshments he was able to eat and drink.

His favorite event by far was the Chanukah party hosted by Dr. Grimm. Part of that was definitely the food that he didn't have to make himself: latkes (so many perfectly fried latkes!), chocolate rugelach, raspberry rugelach, sufganiyot, and other delicious treats.

Stephen, studying the little cards that listed ingredients for everything, noticed a common ingredient. "I'm guessing the olive oil is important?" he asked Peter, who was adding various things to both of their plates.

"Yeah, it's the miracle we're celebrating. There was only enough oil for one night, but it lasted for eight. So, we cook a lot with it. If the oil can last for eight nights then we figure our arteries can last through all of the oil and fat we end up eating this time of year."

Stephen snorted. "And everything is meatless, save for the salmon pinwheels because otherwise there could be no dairy," he concluded.

Peter nodded. "Exactly."

"Ben mentioned something about a game that's played. What is it?"

A slow smile spread on Peter's face. "Oh! The dreidel game! It's fun!"

Stephen learned exactly what the dreidel game was and that Peter was a shark at more than just cards, much to the amusement of Ben and Alicia.

"If make yourself sick eating all that chocolate, I'm not cleaning you up," Stephen warned once they were home.

Peter grinned and unwrapped another gelt coin - one of dozens he'd won - before holding it out to Stephen to try. "You're such a sore loser."

This time, when Stephen asked Peter to join him in the den after dinner the night before Christmas Eve, Peter was curious, but not worried.

"Would you be upset if I offered to work the Christmas shift at Sanctum General? Dr. West is scheduled but his father is ill. Since neither you nor I celebrate, I believe I'd like to do him a favor and offer to work in his stead."

Peter was surprised. Was Stephen starting to mellow? He'd heard Stephen rant about Dr. West many times, though not since he'd gone back to work after Peter had been sick.

"No, that's fine," he said. "If his father is sick he should be with him! Especially if this might be..." He trailed off, not wanting to speak the possibility into existence. It was a remarkably kind thing Stephen wanted to do.

Stephen noticed his surprise but didn't seem offended. He was well aware that Peter had heard his ranting about Dr. West. "We've come to something of an understanding, Dr. West and I."

"What happened?" Peter asked. "If you don't mind me asking," he added quickly.

Stephen smiled slightly and told him.

The worst part of returning to work after an illness, or in his case, caring for someone ill, was testing. He put on the required face mask, filled out the necessary paperwork, and took a seat. There was nothing else to do but wait to be called back for the array of swabbing and bloodwork.

"Your husband is feeling better?"

Stephen looked over to see Dr. West sitting a few seats down. He wore the requisite mask as well.

"Peter? Yes, he's feeling much better. The protoflu shot helped mitigate the worst of it." He sighed. "I wish I'd thought to get him an influenza shot when the season started, but it never once crossed my mind."

"I'm confident it's not something you'll miss again," West said. "I'm glad he's feeling better. From everything I've heard he's a nice young man."

Stephen studied the doctor he'd always viewed with a measure of annoyance. West looked exhausted, but he was still offering kind words. Nicodemus West wasn't a bad doctor, just taught differently than he'd been. Perhaps being kinder to the man wouldn't be such a hardship.

"He is," he confirmed. "He couldn't believe I was taking care of him," he found himself sharing. "He was rather self-reliant before we married, but he finally stopped worrying I'd run the house to ruin while he recovered in his sick bed."

"It's hard to make the switch from caretaker to the one cared for," West said with a nod. "At least, that's what I tell myself whenever the older Dr. West decides to be difficult."

“You've been taking care of your father?" Dr. Simeon West was of the old school and highly regarded in the world of oncology. He was also, by all accounts, a difficult and patronizing boor of a man.

"As much as anyone can take care of him," West confirmed ruefully. "He recovered from pancreatic cancer last year and subsequent transplant early this spring only to be brought low by this year's influenza strain."

Stephen winced. That had to be brutal for both Doctors West. "I'm sorry to hear that. I've told Peter the strain this year is a beast. It must be a relief to come back to work."

"Oh, it is. My younger brother is taking this month to stay with him," West said. His eyes crinkled in amusement. "We've let our father believe it was his idea rather than Gamaliel and I deciding over darts."

"Dr. West?" the nurse called.

"Good luck," Stephen offered. "I hope your father continues to recover."

West blinked as he stood. "Thank you, Dr. Strange. Good luck to you as well."

When he was finally called back to be tested and verified he wasn't a walking contagion, he felt lighter somehow.

"You have to do it," Peter said firmly, once he'd heard the whole story. "You have to offer."

"You're sure?" Stephen asked. "I don't want you to feel like I'm abandoning you on the holidays."

Peter shook his head. "No, no I promise it's fine!" It was more than fine, he thought, feeling a warm glow of pride in his husband.

"I'll let Dr. West know."

West didn't answer when he called, but Stephen left a message with his offer.

"It's a really good thing you're doing, Stephen, even if he decides he'd rather work. It's a real mitzvah."

"You've used that word before. What does it mean?"

"Translated it means a commandment. You've heard me use it to mean a good deed or a blessing."

They'd have the next day together, in any case.

Early on Christmas morning, Stephen left for work as he always did and Peter was content to do very little after handling the dishes and making some orange cranberry bars and chocolate cookies with some of the gelt he'd won. He listened to the radio, including the special holiday episode of Winding Road Whispers while he worked a puzzle on the card table he'd talked Stephen into buying when they were in Upper York with Clea and Ava one afternoon. When the announcer mentioned the special holiday episode of Rex Gladstone, Ace Detective scheduled for that evening, a brilliant idea came to him.

Excited, he made a call, placed an outrageous order, and then made another call to Serval Industries Car Service.

 "Merry Christmas, Mr. Strange," Happy said cheerfully when he arrived early that evening, even though it was cold outside and gently snowing.

"And Happy Chanukah to you, Mr. Hogan," Peter answered, grinning. He handed Happy a small little tin he'd filled with the orange cranberry bars he'd made.

"Just the restaurant and then the hospital?" Happy asked, wanting to confirm.

"Yep!"

The restaurant had his order - in five large brown paper bags each packed to the top - and offered their warmest regards. The rich smell of the food permeated the air in the cabin of the car. His mouth watered and even Happy muttered "Oh, that's not fair."

When he arrived at the hospital, Peter handed Happy a small container from one of the bags he'd asked the restaurant to mark.

"Thanks, Happy! Happy Holidays!"

Stephen had never minded working on Christmas, even as a tired, much-abused medical student. He wasn't a religious man, though he didn't judge anyone who was... provided they kept from trying to convert him or his patients. And while he wasn't one for sentiment, he did take a small amount of satisfaction in knowing that his choice to work meant that others could be with their families and loved ones.

Dr. West had been almost uncomfortably grateful for Stephen's offer to take over his scheduled shift. Stephen, doing his best to be kinder to the man, simply said, "You're welcome. Please give my best wishes to your family."

In his experience, the Christmas shift was either slower than old Farmer McPhee's fifteen-year-old Border Collie or so busy he wouldn't even have time to consider using the bathroom. The trick was not to comment aloud on it either way.

This year's shift was maybe as fast as a twelve-year-old Border Collie, he thought. He wasn't bored, precisely. He caught up on his paperwork in between a couple of pages to the ER and his rounds in MedSurg. If it weren't for knowing that Peter would be spending their first real holiday together alone, he'd be perfectly content.

As evening approached, he was closing out a particularly tricky case report when his office phone rang and the light signaled it was the front desk. "Dr. Strange," he answered.

"Dr. Strange, you have a visitor. May I send him over?"

"Who is it?" he asked. Who on earth would be visiting him of all people? And on Christmas?

"It's your husband, Doctor. And he told me to tell you that he is not sick or injured."

Peter? Peter was here?

"Send him over. I'll meet him at the entry." He saved his case report, locked his computer, and made his way to the front of the department where his husband was arriving. Peter carried several brown paper bags that smelled incredible.

"It's Friday evening," Peter said with a grin. "Which means it's date night. And, I thought it was time to introduce you to the ancient Jewish tradition of Chinese take-out for Christmas."

It took him a moment to recover. He couldn't think of anything better. "Ancient tradition, hmm?"

Peter offered a playful little shrug. "I'm pretty sure it dates back to Moses." He looked around at how empty the department was. "Do you have time? If not I can just leave some food here and go home. I don't want to be in the way."

"No!" Stephen said quickly. "No, it will be fine. I'm due to start rounds in the next fifteen minutes or so and I might get paged to the ER, but otherwise, I'm yours."

"It seems really qui-"

"Don't," Stephen ordered quickly. "What you were about to say, never say out loud here. Never."

Peter grinned. "You really are superstitious!"

"About jinxing the hospital? Absolutely!" He took a few of the bags. "Come on. I'll show you where to set up and start my rounds early."

The neurology department staff lounge room was abandoned so Peter unpacked the feast he'd brought while Stephen started his rounds.

Stephen in full-on doctor mode was rather attractive, Peter thought, setting out chopsticks, forks, and spoons. And knowing that Stephen was working today as an act of kindness for a colleague in need? It warmed his heart; it was exactly the kind of thing his Aunt May had done.

"We've been given many mitzvahs, Peter,” she'd say. “It is our responsibility and our privilege to pay those mitzvahs forward to others."

Although it wasn't the life he'd thought he'd have, it was a good life and Stephen was undoubtedly a part of that. What else could Peter do but show his appreciation for it and make sure Stephen had a nice meal?

When Stephen returned, he eyed the spread of food - at least a dozen containers still unopened - with wide eyes. "Is there anything left at that restaurant or are Mr. and Mrs. Zhou going to have to turn customers away?"

Peter flushed even as he smiled. "Well, I only ordered so much because I kind of thought that we could share it with some of the other people working here if that's alright."

Stephen, who'd many times suffered through miserable food while working Christmas shifts, swallowed at the kind gesture. "I think that's a fine idea."

They dropped food off for the doctors and nurses in the ER, over in oncology, the lab technicians, and housekeeping. Other departments, Stephen was heartened to see, were recipients of pizza deliveries and various holiday treats from family - both of staff and of patients.

Once back in neurology, Peter and Stephen enjoyed dinner and the special holiday episode in which Rex Gladstone (Ace Detective) saved not only Christmas and Chanukah but the in-universe non-denominational holiday of Wintertide. And he'd prevented his car from exploding.

"A true holiday miracle," Peter said once the episode wrapped up and the announcer let listeners know that Rex would return to his usual adventures in the new year. He'd stowed leftovers in the lounge refrigerator and wiped down the table. Then he tried and failed to stifle a yawn.

Stephen checked his watch. "My shift ends at midnight. It's pushing ten. Do you want me to call the car service for you or crash on the couch in my office until it's time to leave?"

"Couch," Peter said. "Unless you need it."

"I'll brew a pot of terrible coffee and be good to go until Dr. McCoy arrives."

"Is he the same Dr. McCoy I saw in Urgent Care?"

"The one and only," he said. "He had yesterday and today off so he's due."

"Good. Tell him there's food."

Heart warm and belly full, Peter dozed on the couch until Stephen gently shook him awake.

They drove home in light snowfall and when they went to bed, their only thoughts were to hold each other.

Small gifts were exchanged on New Year's Eve rather than on Christmas or any of the days of Chanukah and a thought struck Stephen as he impulsively kissed Peter while they listened to the ball dropping on the radio at midnight.

This marriage might end up working out.

[st-hedge]

Guess what, there’s a new chapter for botw calamity au. strictly speaking I can’t draw anything directly from the chapter besides a tipsy link

[bikananjarrus]

NO NO NO BUT THE “tell me why” “you don’t want to hear why” and their little laughs—THEIR LAUGHS!!!!! UR JOKING!!! and the “but you have no one to say it to and maybe that’s the most unfair part of it. you say it, and i will listen.” THROWING UP!!!!!!! SICKENING!!!!!!! He probably knows exactly what she’s going to say BUT HE WILL LISTEN!!! and the way that they haven’t been looking at each other at all, they can’t look at each other, because that will be giving in and they can’t be together, and she stays looking at the wall but he turns to look at her, just a little, when he says, “his mother raised him well” I’M GONNA WALK INTO TRAFFIC SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UPPPPPP

[wrathofrats]

aethfrit... medfet... breast exam >_>

Anon you know exactly what the fuck I’m on bc this was the post plan before I decided yall might be tired of the aether medfet thing I’ve been on recently. Also forcefem. Because who would I be really if I didn’t turn this into forcefem

But I think aether brings him into the office for a normal check up, gets him up on the table as he puts his gloves on.

“Take off your shirt ifrit”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m doing an exam, and I need you to take your shirt off”

I think aether is overly clinical with it. Doesn’t use any of his little pet name for ifrit, barely smiles at him, just tells him what he needs him to do while he feels around his burning hot skin. His touch his light, feeling up the ridges of his spine while he drags a stethoscope along and tells ifrit to take deep breaths.

Has him sit up straight, pushes on his shoulders as he trails his hands down his sides, just a little less professionally than he really should. Reaches up to smooth his thumbs across his pecs, staring at them like he’s studying them.

Ifrit goes impossibly red when aether starts squeezing as the fat and muscle, practically fucking groping him.

“What are you-“

“I have you give you a breast exam”

It’s hard not to choke on his own spit at the words. At how cold and professional aethers voice is while he touches him like he owns him.

“I thought those were only for women?”

“Oh, they are”

Ifrit hates to admit how light headed he feels when aether says that, blood flowing from his brain to pool in his dick.

“But I’m not-“

“ Only women have tits right ifrit? I have to make sure yours are healthy, would be unprofessional of me to let you walk out of here without a thorough exam”

Aether is forceful with his movements, really just playing with ifrits chest after a certain point. Rubbing and pinching at his nipples to get them all hard and puffy

“Probably should give you a pelvic exam while we’re at it, spread those legs of yours so I can examine that pretty pussy of yours? Just want to make sure there’s nothing wrong of course”

[colorful-bees]

Volo's friendship story in the Trainer's Lodge is so interesting to me because it seemingly contradicts his usual way of thinking. He asks to take a commemorative photo with you in the event that the world disappears, obviously referring to what he wants to eventually accomplish in the future.

And I can only wonder why he does this. His exact words afterwards are, "Please remember me as you've seen me during our time together." He plans on erasing the world to build a better one, as per is goal in P:LA but the idea that he would want you to remember him as you knew him, someone who was simply friendly and nice to you, goes against how he views relationships with people. There's no transactional value to taking this photo with you nor is there for him wanting you to remember him fondly.

Volo is overly nice to people to get what he wants out of them, that's kind of his thing. You see it with the protag in P:LA, you see it with Jacq and Trevor, and later with Lear in the Mysterious Stones chapter. He likes to get in people's good books so that he might get something out of it later. But what does he want out of you in this interaction? What is he hoping to gain by telling you to remember him the way he is now? He plans on destroying the world and so... he asks to take a photo with you? I can only imagine that he wants it for himself since if the world disappears, you won't even be there to remember him in the first place. He plans on destroying the world and you won't even be there and yet, he still asks you to remember him.

I don't think Volo necessarily lied when he said, "It's just a matter of using them before they use you." Those were thoughts inside his head, he has no one to lie to there; that's what he truly believes. However, I do think there's a disconnect between the kind of person Volo is and the kind of person Volo believes himself to be.

I think maybe he does love his Pokemon, maybe he even wants to be your friend. I don't think he knows that though. His genuine view of himself is that he feels no love or care for others and relationships are just a means to an end and that is mostly how he comes across when showing his true colors. But he has moments that don't quite line up with that. He wants you to remember him fondly. He considers Pokemon tools and yet, there's that photo of him and Togepi. It's these two moments that make me question things. He looks after Togepi and in return, Togepi sticks by his side; that's their trade-off, what they both get out of their relationship. But the photo is what throws me off. If there wasn't even a little bit of love for Togepi, why does that photo exist? Why did he take it? Volo in this same conversation says, "Photos are wonderful things! They allow you to capture and isolate the best moments!" Why take a photo with something you don't love? Why consider that one of your "best moments?"

Volo honestly believes that he doesn't love his Pokemon and that he's no one's friend. That isn't a mask he's putting on, that's who he thinks he is and I can only assume that the reason for this is due to whatever event happened in his past that set him down this road to begin with. But he has these small moments that contradict that view of himself. Volo does have a capacity to care for his Pokemon, to have friends. I just don't think he realizes that. He's incapable of recognizing if he loves or even likes someone in a genuine way; so caught up in viewing every relationship like it's a barter or a trade that he has no idea that he can care and that maybe, at some points, does.