#at a book store demanding a book should be taken off the shelves because

[1shadowhole]

Been arguing with people on tik tok about "don't like don't read" for two days. I swear to God only one out of the 20 people attacking me because I don't think people should be prohibited from writing/reading their fictional fantasies was civil.

The worst two points: people trying to educate me on my own county's culture and them trying in vain to make me fall in contradiction:

"So what if people wrote fanfiction about Rape??! SA? NAZIS?? OR ISIS!?!?!? Would you be ok with that????"

They simply don't seem to understand my answer being: "I simply wouldn't read them if I don't like them".

[fraugwinska]

I've seen fanfics about Alastor × deaf reader

But what about.. blind reader? Maybe they lost sight in some battle

How they would be confused meeting Alastor at first: did someone turn the radio on- oh, thats a demon talking!

And how confused would be Alastor as his feelings started to grow towards the reader: he just enjoys their company! What else can he do when they like to listen to him spilling the tea and just rambling about everything because of his soothing voice? His favourite listener

Then.. their relationships get a bit different as in another one relaxing evening together Alastor asks if they want to see him..

And on their confused silence he answers bringing their hands to his face for them to "read" his apperience..

Just thought it would be hella fun to read! Not good enough at english, sorry for mistakes

I love your writtings! 💕Stay hydrated and don't dare to overwork yourself ☝

Hiya lovely Anon! <3 I put my own little spin on your idea! I love fics like those, and this one sat in my drafts for ages - I hope the wait was worth it! Thank you so much for this ask! <3 Warning: Contains depictions of attempted SA, please read with caution - MINORS DNI!

The bookstore was always quiet in the evenings. Well, it was quiet almost always.

Hell wasn't the most... appreciative place for tombs and books that didn't have porn or egregious murder in them, so your shop wasn't really frequented much. Occasionally, a new sinner would find their way in, not yet taken by the unpunished excessiveness Pentagram City had to offer, and would buy a book or two, never to be seen again. The rest of your clientele were loyal regulars, mostly elderly demons and imps getting books for their masters in other rings. It wasn't much, but enough for you to get by, live a simple, modest life. Your shop was mundane enough as to not attract the more dangerous ones the city had to offer, yet held the beauty that only an antique bookstore could, with a reading room like atmosphere, mismatched armchairs scattered in between the high bookshelves and an old radio on the counter playing in the background.

That didn't mean there weren't moments you'd have to get yourself out of some serious situations. On rare occasions, the patrons of your bookstore became too demanding or rough with you, thinking they could intimidate or screw you over because of your... handicap. After all, how would you see the hand reaching in the register, or the little spell book slipping into the inside pocket of a jacket. The blindness you were born with on earth hadn't left you in your death, but the enhanced sensitivity of your other senses made things easier for you. You had learned to take your losses, unwilling to let these moments ruin your confidence in your work or diminish your spirits.

You navigated through the little store with ease, putting laid-out books back into their designated places - feeling the backs of the books like it spelled their names, and motion memory guiding you through the maze of furniture and shelves - your plain, long felt skirt softly brushing this edge and that wood panel. What you wore wasn't fancy, modern or stylish attire, but it was comfortable enough. And who were you kidding? At the end of the day, nobody cared for your less-than-ordinary appearance, but yourself.

Your mind had been drifting around between random topics for a while until, on your last trip back to the front desk, your round ears picked up the bell on your door and the faint sound of staticy talking, coming from the direction of the counter. A customer, at this hour no less! But you were sure you had turned off the radio hours ago... maybe the old thing was finally breaking down, you thought with a little sadness. You hurried to it, still hung back in your thoughts and babbling as you turned the desk to shut the little device off so your customer wasn't disturbed.

"Hello, I'm terribly sorry if you're bothered by the radio, I should have turned it off. Feel free to browse through-" you paused mid-sentence as the air shifted slightly. You had turned the familiar knob but the filtered voice didn't stop talking. Your ears moved around, as if the source was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, trying to determine its source, when the other occupant of the store laughed at the surprise written on your face.

"Apologies aren't necessary my dear, but that wasn't the little device here but me, asking for service. Although I'm quite fond of a little old fashioned tune - comes with the title of the Radio Demon, you see." He talked with amusement, or something in his tone seemed powerful and dangerous. As his words started to make sense to you, you held a sharp breath, struggling not to take a step back. Of course you've heard of Alastor, the Radio Demon, but you've never had the honor (or dread) of meeting him in person. Rumors had spread around in hell a long time before you'd even gotten here, stories of a powerful overlord who'd broadcasted the screams and torments of his victims, spreading fear to everyone, from sinner, to lesser demons, to even other overlords themselves.

"W-welcome to my store, sir! What can I help you with today?" You smiled pleasantly, hoping that showing him respect and going out of your way for a courteous interaction could possibly keep you from being torn to pieces. You heard the ruffling of fabric - a hand reaching into a pocket, wrapping it's fingers around a thick piece of paper, along a low, distorted chuckle. "A good friend of mine recommended your store to me, I am looking for a few... unusual books, hopefully to be found here."

You waited into the silence, one second, two, three. When he said nothing, only static noise slowly increasing in volume, you decided to speak again. "May you tell me the titles, sir?"

"If you'd take the list, little mouse, everything I need is on it." His voice had an edge of annoyance to it now. You didn't know when his presence had approached so close to where you stood, and couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not. You sighed, pulling the darkened glasses off you wore day in, day out, revealing the white irises that gave your blindness away. After a sound like a record scratch, you managed a helpless smile. "I fear if it's not in braille, it won't do much to hand me that."

The other demon was silent again, but the crackling static had dropped, and before you had time to add something that wouldn't get you gutted, he'd barked a laugh, sounding genuinely amused and entertained.

"My, isn't that a bit cliché, my dear? A blind mouse? Any chance you have two siblings?"

That joke was new. You dared to husk out a little laugh, too, your hands gently resting on the counter top. "I hate to disappoint, but no. I even have my tail still, no farmers wife with a knife."

There was a change in his stance, his coat sweeping the air as you heard the list was laid on the wooden surface in front of you, surprisingly not crushed or crumbling under the power of his hand. Coldness swept like waves of fog over the front desk and your hands, you pulled them away with a shudder, confused, but your patron just hummed.

"There, that should've done the trick. I'd rather not want to read my little.... requests aloud, they're a rather curious bunch, I believe. Very useful, though, especially those for more creative types in cooking."

You reached for the paper and thumbed through the braille letters one after the other, feeling a long list of more... taboo tomes you were sure wouldn't have even been mentioned in any respectable catalogue. Luckily, you were a glutton for oddities and curiosities, and with a small smile of pride you found that you had every book on the list on hand. Maybe it was this pride thatgave you the confidence so that you didn't reply and instead swiftly jumped ahead, bustling through the rows and pillars of bookshelves. Every step was calculated, from the short staircase to the tiny nook where you stored spell books and tombs of dark magic, navigating past all the tables and furniture to the particular bookcase containing ritualistic cookbooks. Once you had a feeling where a book would be located, you searched the titles by stroking the backs with the pads of your fingers, tapping quickly and analyzing the material and little bumps and nicks of the spines. Once found, you traced the edges of the piece and drew up a mental image in your mind to check it wasn't bent, dirty, torn or had any parts missing. Your fingers were your eyes, and they were keen.

As you carried the rather heavy stack back, the Radio Demon hadn't moved an inch from where you'd left him, as far as you could tell. It had been hard not to acknowledge him throughout the ordeal while your brain just went on autopilot after realizing he didn't mean to kill you, at least for the moment. On one hand, that was comforting; on the other hand, it was absolutely horrifying.

"Here you go, sir. Please, feel free to check if they are up to your standards." You set the books down carefully, counting the number of thick covers in the stack to be sure and your fingers brushed sharp talons as apparently the Radio Demon reached out to inspect the books as you offered. With a sharp inhale and a heated face you quickly drew back, stammering apologies. He only chuckled faintly, the static surrounding him crackling as if it, too, was amused.

You stood silently behind the counter and listened to him flipping through the pages, turning the books around to read their contents, humming here and there. He seemed content with the lot and you were sure that once he'd paid, he would leave, hopefully sparing your meager existence and not leaving any destruction behind.

"Very well! These will do perfectly, little mouse. And, I have to say, you have a very interesting collection. The quality of your inventory exceeds what Zestial promised. You might expect a few more visits from me in the future, if you don't mind."

The last sentence wasn't a question. It was a statement, underlined with the sound of a heavy stack of bills placed on your counter. Your hands confirmed what your ears already suspected - your patron well overpaid you.

"Not at all, sir, but you gave me too much mon...."

But the air shifted again, and a chime and a thud later you knew he had already walked out, his laughter the last thing you heard before the door clicked shut.

“...ey.”

What a peculiar man, you thought, still processing the entire experience. His voice had been darling, no wonder he chose radio as his medium. You were sure his smile you've heard so many demons whisper about was wide and predatory, but he had been so polite. Even the nickname he'd given you had been charming, compared to the names and remarks you've had thrown at you by lesser demons, and you shook your head at the ridiculousness of your face flushing at the memory.

'Little mouse.'

After a long moment, you finally counted the money and put the amount he tipped you aside in your hidden safe, making a note to yourself that you would give it back to him when he'd return. If he'd return.

Weeks passed and the Radio Demon had kept his promise and visited again. And again. And again.

The first time he came back and you, already flustered, offered to give back the surplus money he'd paid you, he was baffled before he heartily laughed and ignored your attempts to return it to him, instead buying three more books and leaving you with even more undeserved cash in your hands.

Almost once a week he'd return to your store, sometimes he'd have a whole list of books he'd want to buy, and he almost never left your store with empty hands. Sometimes he'd sit down in one of the many chairs to peruse a tomb you set aside for him, predicting he'd find interest in it as you learned his tastes in literature, and he'd hum almost happily when you found a new curiosity or a grimoire that was especially hard to come by. And sometimes he just came in for a quick visit, not even intending to buy a book but just to chat a bit. With every encounter your initial apprehension shifted into appreciation, so much so that you'd grow to eagerly await his return, the sound the bell made when he enthusiastically swung the door open or the slight distortion of your radio when he changed the station to one that suited his mood better.

You were a bit enchanted with him, if you were honest. Not only had every interaction been intriguing and entertaining, he'd been one of the rare visitors who hadn't maliciously mocked or threatened you, or worse. And you found that you enjoyed the small banters you could have with him, the fact that he treated you no differently than anyone else. It was refreshing, and each of his visits put a spring in your step for days, no matter how hard you tried not to think about him.

By the time several months had passed, he became your favorite client and he seemed to have an everlasting interest in your inventory as well as yourself. You learned that he was quite a wealthy demon with a seemingly insatiable appetite for entertainment, and always with an eye for quality, which you vowed yourself to provide in return, if only to keep him coming back. You found you could spend hours with only him at the store over freshly made coffee, discussing various literary concepts and historical events he used as references, and it was a delight to laugh together about some particularly odd rituals in books like 'Old Spells to Cure Thievery' or 'Blood Rituals of the Flaying Kink'.

Sometimes, when you'd hand him a new find or a heavy tomb, his hands would lightly brush yours and his voice would drop and become a bit softer, quieter as he cooed his nickname for you - 'Little Mouse'. With your lack of vision, you didn't know how his face looked nor how his expression would've surely changed - but his voice took on a tone that would be fitting for a date, and the touches made you shiver lightly and tingle and you felt heat spread all over your chest and the pit of your stomach when he did. If your body betrayed those reactions on your face, he wouldn't tease you for them. At least, you never noticed if he did. Maybe he had the grace to simply not remark on them, you thought, for once grateful for your blindness so you wouldn't have to see your own - surely ridiculously dumbstruck - expression reflected in the windows of your storefront. But the physical contact between you became more frequent, more deliberately made, and you'd caught his own quiet sigh every now and again when he lingered for just a moment longer before the doorbell chimed and he'd leave again.

One evening, as you were cleaning up and preparing for tomorrow's customers, a soft knock on the already locked door pulled you out of the haze of your radio's gentle tune. Turning around, you moved slowly towards the sound of the interruption, adjusting your dark glasses.

"My apologies, but we're closed for tonight, please come back tomorrow."

There was no reply, no sound of footsteps and your ears strained to catch a whisper of a sound, to find a new hint as to who was outside. Another knock, harder now, sounded and this time it took all your courage to approach. Your hair stood at its roots as your hands rested at the wooden door, your senses tingling that you better not open - that danger stood in front of your store.

"Please go, we'll be open again tomorrow."

Your reflexes, acting faster than your brain, made you stumble back as the glass of your front doors shattered into a million pieces. In a panic you tumbled to the floor, hands over your face as the pieces broke apart on impact. There were voices, rough and foreign sounding, that accompanied the stomping of boots. You shuffled back on the ground, trying to get out of the way before being stepped or kicked upon, reaching to the walls and bookshelves to find some stability to guide you in getting away from what was coming towards you.

"T-take what you want, please, I won't stop you. Just... just take it and leave."

Your words were shaking in fear and the little hope that a verbal warning and submission would placate the robbers. To your horror the voices - two, if your panicked mind didn't fool you - erupted into raspy laughter and you realized then that money might not be the only thing these demons were after.

"You were right, Hank. This is going to be easier than I thought, look at how helpless the bitch is."

"Told 'ya, Tommy Boy. An' the best part..." supposedly the one called Hank said deviously, and you were yanked up at your wrists and thrown over what must've been your counter, your glasses slipping and breaking at the impact and your eyes dwelling with hot tears. You recognized this voice… just a few days ago this demon had come into the shop, just as Alastor was about to leave, lingering around the shop and leaving quickly mumbling a half-asses excuse without buying anything after you asked if you could help him find something and Alastor's static crackled dangerously. The same smell of sharp sweat and wet tobacco lingered around him, making your stomach turn. "... she can't tell anyone who we are. Hoh, look, her eyes are some freaky shit, 'n you bet her tits 're freaky, too. S'not even our damn birthday but looks like we got ourselves a gift. 'Ya wanna go first?"

"You know me - Don't mind if I do."

With a heart beating out of your chest and shallow breaths, you tried to feel with your only free hand for something, anything, to defend yourself with. You had to defend yourself. Anything would be better than what horrific thing they were about to do. There was only the flat, leather bound accounting book close by, but it was better than nothing, and in a motion of impulse and fear you slashed with it into the general direction you felt the weight of Tommy settle onto the counter top above you. His complice bellowed angrily, making your ears ring, and Tommy snatched the weapon from your hand to throw it away. His breath smelled of filth and cold ash, the skin of your throat burned when he wrapped his calloused hands around it.

"We're gonna show ya your fucking place, worthless blind cum-chunk bitch, an' when we're done with ya..."

There was a sudden, instant sound of feedback, a wet splatter and a horrified scream and hasty, fleeing footsteps before a wave of relief washed over you as your neck fell free from the intruders grasp and you heard a familiar voice.

"Oh, my dear fellow, do go on. I'd love to hear the end of that sentence." A low, distorted chuckle followed. Alastor sounded different - menacing. Bone-chilling. If those words would've been directed at you, you would've been mortified. But it sounded like honey in your ears, knowing who the recipient was. "Ah, how silly of me - surely it's much harder to speak without vocal chords."

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as the sounds of violence became ever more gruesome. A whipping sound, a wail and a choked gasp and two stomach-churning thuds of something hitting the floor.

"Well that's not handy at all - you can't even sign your pathetic pleas now. How unfortunate to be in such a vulnerable position, isn't it?"

A thud, then another - your stomach turned as the room got flooded with a different type of warmth. Your lungs and chest stung from the stench of iron and decay and your throat hurt as you realized one aura had vanished from the store and Tommy was most likely reduced to a fleshy pile on the ground. Suddenly you felt a sharp but warm, strangely long but familar hand cradling the back of your skull, pressing your cheek against a broad, angled shoulder, another wrapped tightly around your shoulders, resting under your ears. It was quiet, now - you could only hear your staggered breathing and Alastors static that had gone down a notch or two. You thought his breathing had become more labored, too, when he slowly, gently, let go and straightened you to bring you to a standing position, his hands shifting into their usual shape as they came to rest lightly on your upper arms.

"Are you alright, dear?" His voice was almost back to the tone you were so fond of - almost. There still was an undertone, a dangerous sharpness. Your fingertips instinctively grasped and searched until they met with the familiar texture of his clothing and you nodded.

"Y-yes... I think so, yes. What - what happened to the other one?"

There was a deep laugh, one you haven't heard yet from him. "Oh, my dear, no need to fret over that. I'll deal with that pest later. I should've dealt with him the moment he stepped into your store. An oversight I intend to shortly redeem."

It should have frightened you - should've made the situation so, so much worse, hearing that Alastor planned more torture for that vile creature, probably even an equally gruesome death like the one his friend got. But his words only calmed you. Made you feel... safer. Your fingers lingered on his suit longer than you expected, tracing the detailed seams of his lapels, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on the fabric, feeling the details of the cool, metallic buttons. And he let you. He stood still, allowing your hands to see what your eyes couldn't.

"I can't decide if it's a blessing or a shame that you can't see the carnage I caused. Although I am pleased that you didn't have to look at the ugly faces of those cretins who tried to defile you." He took your hands from his coat and placed them softly on his face. "But maybe… you can try to envision what your savior looks like, hm?"

His hands left yours again, though you found the sensation and feeling of his touch remained where he placed them. Your heart fluttered as you couldn't keep yourself from running your palms and fingertips over his skin, cautiously tracing his angular jaw, making out the distinct feeling and sharp lines of a toothy grin. Then you pushed further, fingers running along a slight bow and over the indent where his brows arched, his cheekbones prominent enough you felt the warmth of blood flushing under the skin as the mental image of his face got clearer.

You were in awe that you could do this, that he encouraged it even, but he allowed you the tender moment, making a muffled humming sound and exhaling quietly under your soft, curious touch. You realized at last that his eyes were closed for you, the skin there slightly pliant and firm at the same time. With the tips of your fingers, you followed the firm, straight bridge of his nose down the length of it and he inhaled sharply when you brushed his lips. The familiar sound of static increased just enough for you to realize there had been complete silence aside from your soft and his steady breathing. He opened his eyes again, slowly taking your hands away to leave a feathery light, lingering kiss on your knuckles as he hummed thoughtfully.

"Now, let me clean up this mess, we don't want you stumble over any... unpleasant bits." You heard a snap and felt the air whirring around you, filling with a thick, fog-like sensation as you heard your floors creaking, wood mending and cracking and tiny bits of glass swirling around you, piecing itself together and returning into their frame. Not even a minute later the shop felt normal again, the unpleasant smell gone as well, and with it the overall apprehension the threat had caused.

"Thank you, Alastor. Truly, I don't know what would've happened if you weren't..." you started, pausing as his hands wandered gently around your face to put on your miraculously repaired glasses. He laughed softly, tapping a gentle, slender finger on the tip of your nose.

"Luckily we didn't find out, did we? Ah, but, unfortunately, I'd say the night has been spoiled for us, given that there's another vermin to take care of." He walked behind you, carefully setting the accounting book you had used as an attempted weapon into your hands, his taloned fingers curling gently around yours as if to make sure you had a proper hold on it.

"You lock up when I'm gone, little mouse. And who knows - Maybe we'll continue to see each other... tomorrow night."

And then you felt another gentle peck, this time on your flushed cheek, and the door opened with the bell ringing, the faint crackle of a radio fading and his heavy, signature scent of burned wood and bourbon lingering around you as you hurried to bolt the doors shut, heart racing painfully in your chest at the prospect of adding even more parts of the Radio Demon to the image in your mind.

[centrally-unplanned]

Another big stop in Tokyo for me was Jimbocho Book Town! It is a neighborhood of, depending on who you ask, up to 400 generally-secondhand bookstores flanked by some of the major universities in Tokyo. The local government even prints out maps of the stores to help people find them all:

Which, you will note, is not 400 stores, because the process of becoming an "official" Jimbocho Town Bookstore is an intensely political operation run by local stakeholders with tons of fights over what should qualify and what rights that entails - never change humanity!

"Book Towns" used to actually be quite a common thing, and they peaked during the literary boom of the late 19th century. Figuring out "what books existed" was a hard task, and to do serious research you needed to own the books (you weren't making photocopies), so concentrating specialty bookstores in one area made sense to allow someone to go to one place and ask around to find what they need and discover what exists. It was academia's version of Comiket! Modern digital information & distribution networks slowly killed or at least reduced these districts in places like Paris or London, but Jimbocho is one of the few that still survives.

Why it has is multi-causal for sure - half of this story is that Tokyo is YIMBY paradise and has constantly built new buildings to meet demand so rents have been kept down, allowing low-margin, individually-owned operations to continue where they have struggled in places like the US. These stores don't make much money but they don't have to. But as important is that Japan has a very strong 'book collector' culture, it's the original baseball cards for a lot of people. The "organic" demand for a 1960's shoujo magazine or porcelainware picture book is low, but hobbyists building collections is a whole new source of interest. Book-as-art-collection powered Jimbocho through until the 21st century, where - again like Comiket - the 'spectacle' could give it a lift and allow the area to become a tourist attraction and a mecca for the ~cozy book hoarder aesthetic~ to take over. Now it can exist on its vibes, which go so far as to be government-recognized: In 2001 the "scent wafting from the pages of the secondhand bookstore" was added to Japan's Ministry of Environment's List of 100 Fragrance Landscapes.

Of course this transition has changed what it sells; when it first began in the Meiji area, Jimbocho served the growing universities flanking it, and was a hotpot of academic (and political-polemic) texts. Those stores still exist, but as universities built libraries and then digital collections, the hobby world has taken over. Which comes back to me, baby! If you want Old Anime Books Jimbocho is one of the best places to go - the list of "subculture" stores is expansive.

I'll highlight two here: the first store I went to was Kudan Shobo, a 3rd floor walk-up specializing in shoujo manga. And my guys, the ~vibes~ of this store. It has this little sign outside pointing you up the stairs with the cutest book angel logo:

And the stairs:

Real flex of Japan's low crime status btw. Inside is jam-packed shelves and the owner just sitting there eating dinner, so I didn't take any photos inside, but not only did it have a great collection of fully-complete shoujo magazines going back to the 1970's, it had a ton of "meta" books on shoujo & anime, even a doujinshi collection focusing on 'commentary on the otaku scene' style publications. Every Jimbocho store just has their own unique collection, and you can only discover it by visiting. I picked up two books here (will showcase some of the buys in another post).

The other great ~subculture~ store I went to was Yumeno Shoten - and this is the store I would recommend to any otaku visiting, it was a much broader collection while still having a ton of niche stuff. The vibes continued to be immaculate of course:

And they covered every category you could imagine - Newtype-style news magazine, anime cels, artbooks, off-beat serial manga magazines, 1st edition prints, just everything. They had promotional posters from Mushi Pro-era productions like Cleopatra, nothing was out of reach. I got a ton of books here - it was one of the first stores I visited on my second day in Jimobocho, which made me *heavily* weighed down for the subsequent explorations, a rookie mistake for sure. There are adorable book-themed hotels and hostels in Jimbocho, and I absolutely could see a trip where you just shop here for a week and stay nearby so you can drop off your haul as you go.

We went to other great stores - I was on the lookout for some 90's era photography stuff, particularly by youth punk photographer Hiromix (#FLCL database), and I got very close at fashion/photography store Komiyama Shoten but never quite got what I was looking for. Shinsendo Shoten is a bookstore devoted entirely to the "railway and industrial history of Japan" and an extensive map collection, it was my kind of fetish art. My partner @darktypedreams found two old copies of the fashion magazine Gothic & Lolita Bible, uh, somewhere, we checked like five places and I don't remember which finally had it! And we also visited Aratama Shoten, a store collecting vintage pornography with a gigantic section on old BDSM works that was very much up her alley. It had the porn price premium so we didn't buy anything, but it was delightful to look through works on bondage and non-con from as far back as the 1960's, where honestly the line between "this is just for the fetish" and "this is authentic gender politics" was...sometimes very blurry. No photos of this one for very obvious reasons.

Jimbocho absolutely earned its rep, its an extremely stellar example of how history, culture, and uh land use policy can build something in one place that seems impossible in another operating under a different set of those forces. Definitely one of the highlights of the trip.

[poetrusicperry]

the poets and their first summer jobs

i’ve seen some discourse about how rich all the boys/their families are, and of course there would be like very little reason for them to work, but i couldn’t help wondering who would do what for their first jobs (summer jobs bc they couldn’t work while they’re at school). andddd that led me to writing this lol

neil: so neil would have like absolutely zero time for a job between all his normal coursework/extracurriculars and his summer classes (”you know me, always taking on too much”), but i guarantee you he would still take the time to get a job and have his own money to do with whatever he chose. mr. perry wouldn’t care much because it showed neil “taking initiative” or whatever. neil would likely work at a diner as either a bus boy or a waiter. he’s super personable, so he’d always strike up conversations with people sitting at the counter, and he’d get loads of tips bc he’s cute (: he’d bring his summer school work with him to do during lulls in business, which his boss didn’t mind because it’s neil and everyone knows how responsible he is. the poets would come visit him pretty much every day (to eat, see neil, and escape the heat in the air conditioning), likely taking up a whole booth, and making an absolute mess of the area. charlie would be making spitballs, aiming at cameron and knox every time (earning a “charlie, knock it off, i told you three times already! so mature of you, really.” from cameron) and meeks/pitts would try to see how many straws they could connect to make “ultra straw.” todd would come hang out at the counter when neil was closing, admiring his pretty bf as he worked (’: neil would always make todd a chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and rainbow jimmies on the house, claiming, “we have to empty out the ice cream machine anyway” (but really he’d take the cost out of his paycheck, just wanting to make todd happy). his boss would hire him back every summer, loving how much business neil drove in (even if the poets made a mess every time they hung out and ate) and absolutely adoring how much effort neil put into what anyone else would seemingly call a “meaningless” job.

todd: you can’t tell me that todd wouldn’t look forward to working. especially during the summers, it would get him out of the house and away from his parents judging his every move. being the shy introvert he is, he’d likely do things like mowing lawns or gardening for people around his neighborhood. minimal interactions, but still decent pay (as all the people in his neighborhood were likely super rich and could afford to pay him well). the poets’ parents would hire him, after much convincing from their sons (”todd’s just trying to make some money, dad. please?”) and todd would appreciate this more than they ever knew. he’d become super familiar with flower types and he’d become a lot more nurturing after taking care of plants and grass for multiple summers. he’d keep a little journal or notebook with drawings or sketches of the flowers he’d taken care of, complete with descriptions and magazine/newspaper clippings from his mom’s better homes and garden subscription (a lot of his poetry would become nature-related as well). it would be his late night project, or something he’d do if he couldn't sleep (which was pretty common for todd). he’d call neil on the phone some nights and just gush about all kinds of flowers or tell neil how he accidentally got stung by a bee and cried about it because he knew the bee would die (all the while, neil would be listening so intently, taking note about which flowers were todd’s favorites for future use (’: the calls would have to be pretty planned, bc if neil wasn’t working, he was doing school work, or his parents were keeping an annoyingly close watch on him. but sometimes neil would call him impromptu and that made todd just the happiest little camper ever). todd’s nails would be really short (he’d cut them really often because he doesn’t like the feeling of dirt under his nails), which means he couldn’t bite his nails anymore, causing him to pick up a new anxious habit of biting the inside of his bottom lip ): overall, though, todd would like his job, and even find pleasure in being surrounded by little flowers all day. also if/when neil ever got the chance, he’d absolutely tag along to see his sweaty boyfriend in action (come on, neil would go absolutely nuts for todd in a cutoff shirt, 5″ inseam shorts, and converse mowing a lawn looking all manly and tough). 

charlie: obviously, charlie wouldn’t need to work because of his financial situation, but his mom would 110% make him get a job just so he wouldn’t be around the house causing trouble/bothering his siblings for fun (”i’m hosting a lot of book club meetings for the country club this summer, i can’t have you putting spiders in the ladies’ hats again, charles”). similar to neil, mr. charlie dalton would work his summers at an ice cream/custard stand. he’d have to wear a white, short sleeve button up, a red and white striped apron, and one of those white, rectangular hats (his least favorite part HAHA, stating, “my hair is one of my best features and this just takes it all away. it’s unfair.”). the poets would visit often, both for ice cream, but primarily to give him a hard time about his uniform (”i’ll give you twenty bucks to wear this on our first day of classes” meeks would tease, completely gobsmacked when charlie showed up to their first chemistry class in his uniform, earning lots of demerits, but also twenty dollars). charlie would hate it at first, but obviously he’d adjust, being the extroverted/personable person, not taking himself too seriously and being one of the best ice cream slingers anyone had ever seen. he’d give the cute girls (and boys) extra scoops of ice cream for free, winking as he handed them their orders. like neil’s boss, charlie’s boss was even more thankful for charlie’s presence because they’d likely be raking in at least triple the income they would in a summer without him. he’d become a sundae expert, spending many dead poets meeting making them for his friends while they read poems and stories. that being said, he’d come to hate eating ice cream, publishing an article in welton’s honor demanding that they remove ice cream from their dessert menu (yes, almost exactly like the “girls at welton” prank, but he’d make the call collect this time. mr. nolan would be fed up to the point where he wouldn’t even punish charlie physically, just suspend him from rowing [which charlie wouldn’t mind at all HAHA]).

meeks & pitts: after their hi-fi success and the fact that they are seemingly inseparable, they both sought out jobs at the local radio station where they were hired as interns/assistants, running errands and picking up coffee or lunch for the station. but sometimes, when they worked pretty late, the night shift dj would let them pick the records and show them how everything worked (: after nights like that, meeks and pitts would go to one of their houses and add modifications to their hi-fi radio, staying up all night modifying and researching (by the end of the summer, they had made another hi-fi (portable) and their og hi-fi would have been morphed into a huge nationally reaching radio that they keep in the cave (since it would be disallowed in their room at welton). another job that the two of them would have would be answering calls for the station about song requests. with this knowledge, charlie and the other poets would hang out at someone’s house, calling and requesting the same songs over and over and over again. their biggest task for the summer would be organizing the shelves with all the records into alphabetical order (”duh, we should go by first name, meeks. which other way would it be” pitts would argue, only to find out that after they had spent about three weeks alphabetizing by first name, they were supposed to go by last name. “now who’s the idiot?” meeks would jeer, beginning to pull the records off the shelves). they’d also learn a lot about music from their night shift coworker, which would help in their quest to woo some ladies the following school year.

cameron: cameron liked spending his summers doing research projects for fun and just reading a whole lot, so you can imagine his displeasure at when his parents asked him to get a job (presumably to help with paying for his schooling). while upset about it, he wouldn’t complain, and took it on the chin, understanding the reasoning. he’d apply to a couple places, but ultimately end up as a grocery store cashier/stock boy. much like charlie, he’d have the same kind of uniform, but with a green apron instead. he’d spend most of his shift ringing people up at the register, being friendly and personable (something no one ever really realized about him !!). the poets’ moms would always see him and choose his register on purpose, using it as a chance to catch up or tell him to tell his parents that “the overstreets say hello!” or “mrs. anderson says hi!” pitts, meeks, and charlie would utilize cameron’s position at the supermarket to buy nudie magazines unembarrassed/slightly illegally HAHA (”come on, cameron! it’s not like you won’t be included in seeing them next year, too. we bring them to the meetings, you know that!” charlie would say, leaving cameron at a loss, reluctantly scanning the magazines and bagging them as pitts and meeks sniggered). charlie would wave, blow him a kiss, and wink as they left, “love you, richardddd.” sure enough, the magazines would make an appearance during the following school year and cameron was glad he had decided to let them buy the magazines lol. 

knox: out of all the poets, i feel like our knoxious would be the least inclined to work (yes, even less inclined than charlie). his parents wouldn’t even make him get a job because he simply didn’t need to, but to everyone’s surprise, he would volunteer at the animal shelter. the poets would later find out that it was a great way to meet girls (which is why he did it lmfao so they endlessly goaded him about it). charlie would visit often, and even took a rescue puppy home, much to charlie’s younger sister’s delight. charlie even wanted to start volunteering at the shelter to also meet girls, but he was too busy at the ice cream stand (plus, he had really grown to like it there so he didn’t want to leave). another effect of volunteering made knox super interested in zoology and animals, which brought out a newer, more nurturing/caring side to him, and who knows, maybe he’d go vegetarian somehow. he’d want to pursue a career in animal science or becoming a veterinarian, but mr. overstreet was hellbent on knox taking over the firm, so it seemed like a pipe dream. knox would continue to volunteer at the animal shelter, well into his career as a lawyer, and would even go to veterinary school in his 30s (when he was a nationally famous, established lawyer) to get certification to work with animals in a broader way (: 

hope you guys liked these. it was pretty fun to write, and i'd pay such good money to see neil, charlie, and cameron in their uniforms (and todd, but that’s neither here nor there). happy thursday !! let me know what you guys think of these <3(:

[mimisempai]

You walked into my life like you had always lived there

Summary

Charles has resigned himself to a life alone in Paris, but he might be surprised by a visit from an "old friend"... Will they get another chance to reach happiness?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31463351

Words:3719 - Chapters:1/1

This morning, like every other morning, sitting on the terrace of the café downstairs from his small apartment, Charles was waiting for his usual coffee while watching the bustle of the street. Delivery men unloading their vans at the grocery store on the corner, the bookstore owner unpacking his shelves, a tourist couple having their picture taken with the view of Montmartre in the background. The passers-by, people going to work, others walking their dogs. All this lively and colorful world coming and going, talking, laughing, reminded him of the hallway of a certain school, in the mornings just before the students entered their classrooms.

And like every morning, Charles was acutely aware of his loneliness. He had voluntarily closed his mind to all other thoughts than his own.

Thoughts that were enough to torment him.

More often than not, they were memories which he forced himself to face. His mistakes, what he should or should not have done. Searching, dissecting when he had lost sight of his values. At what point he had let down those he had sworn to protect since the day he had discovered Raven in his kitchen so many years ago.

But appeasement never came.

At the beginning, Hank gave him news of the school, of the progress of the students, news of each one and then little by little the messages had spaced, Charles put more and more time to answer, letting the distance grow voluntarily. It was now 3 months that he had no news and it was good like that.

Raven, Jean, Alex... and the names of all the others were spinning in his head, like a macabre dance, a torture he was inflicting on himself to atone.

There was only one name that he refused to pronounce, that he refused to think about. The one name that had always been able to read him without having any telepathic powers.

"You're always sorry, Charles. And there's always a speech. But nobody cares anymore."

"Will that be all sir?"

The waitress, pulling him out of his musings, put his coffee on the table.

"Yes, thank you," Charles replied.

"Mutant and proud."

Raven had always been right,

"Or is that only with pretty mutations or invisible ones, like yours. But if you're a freak, better hide."

Mutant yes, but proud he was no longer. He was the freak who had to hide.

He took a sip of his coffee and ran his hand over his face.

He suddenly felt a presence behind his back, and a shiver went through him at the sound of the voice with such familiar inflections,

"How's retirement treating you Charles?"

Erik sat down and placed a small case containing a chess set at his feet. Why was he there? To taunt him? To provoke him? Charles resisted the temptation to read his mind. He clenched his fist on his knee. Erik was the only one to provoke this storm of emotions in him. The only one who had the capacity to unsettle him.

So as always he chose the attack,"What are you doing here, Erik?"

He finally dared to meet Erik's eyes, and he almost gasped, because, in the blue-gray eyes, there was nothing of the harshness, of the disappointment from their last meeting. Erik's gaze was kind and open as he replied with a slight smile, "I came to see an old friend. Fancy a game?"

Erik showed him the chess set at their feet. Their usual chess game, the moment when their minds clashed. That space outside of time, where despite the fights and conflicts, they always managed to find each other. But this time Charles wasn't sure he had the strength to offer Erik a worthy opponent. So he shook his head and replied, "No, not today. Thank you."

He looked away. He couldn't look at Erik when so many emotions were running through him. He was sure he would never see the only man he had ever loved again, and there he was in front of him, beautiful, making Charles even more aware of his own state.

"A long time ago, you saved my life. Then you offered me a home. I'd like to do the same for you."

Charles studied Erik's expression for a long time. Always the same openness and acceptance. He was once again tempted to read Erik's mind.

"You can, you know." Erik made the hand motion that Charles made when he wanted to access someone's mind.

As always he had seen right through Charles, but again no disappointment or disgust in the voice and the eyes.

Charles after swallowing, answered in a slightly hoarse voice, having trouble containing his emotions.

"I don't do that anymore."

Erik simply nodded with a half smile, put his hands in his pockets, then took them out, and held them out in front of him in clenched fists, just like in the old days.

"Just one game. For old times' sake."

Charles gave in, he didn't feel like fighting anymore, he didn't feel like pretending. So he held out his hand to Erik's right fist, which opened to a white pawn.

Erik said with a slight teasing smile, "I'll go easy on you."

Charles replied with the same smile, just a little more hesitant, "No, you won't."

As they set up the pieces, Erik added, "I might surprise you, you know Charles."

Charles stopped his motion as he went to move a knight, and said with emotion in his voice as he stared into Erik's eyes, "You already have."

Time stood still for a moment, neither of them able to take their eyes off the other. Then Charles continued his movement and the game resumed.

The sun was high in the sky when they finished their game. It was Erik who had won. But as always, no matter who won, neither of them cared, the important thing was the duel not the result.

"Well?" inquired Erik as he closed the chess set, "Did you have time to think about my offer?"

"Did you mean it?" Charles hoped Erik couldn't hear the eagerness in his voice, because he really wanted to accept Erik's offer. But did he deserve it? Did he have a right to this home Erik was offering him? And what did a home even mean?

His hand began to tremble slightly, as if he wanted to grasp something, but didn't dare. He closed his eyes to compose himself.

He felt a hand rest on his as Erik's voice said softly, "Charles...". He opened his eyes. Erik's hand opened his clenched fist and intertwined his fingers with his. Charles slowly raised his eyes to Erik's face.

The urge to surrender, to let go, hit Charles even harder. He could see so much in Erik's eyes, but he was so afraid of being disappointed and of disappointing... again. He closed his fingers over Erik's and tried to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat.

Erik continued, "Charles, no demands, no debts, no obligations, this is completely free, I'm just offering you a simple and protected life. It's far from a castle life, but Genosha is a small, isolated island where we have created a self-sufficient community. Most of the inhabitants are like us, "retired" mutants with wounds to heal. You can-"

Charles interrupted him, "It's okay Erik, no need to say any more, I accept. " and after a moment of silence, he added, "Thank you."

Erik simply smiled, put his other hand over their entwined hands and said, "I'm just showing the same generosity that you have shown to me over and over again. No need for gratitude between us. We are just two friends and..."

Erik paused as if he were about to say something else.

"And?" asked Charles, curious about what Erik had stopped himself from saying.

For the first time since the beginning of this meeting, Erik looked a little unsettled before answering, "Nothing... well at least not now."

Charles didn't insist, he knew there was a lot to clear up between them. But now that he had decided to follow Erik to his island, he knew they had time.

"So how do we do this?"

Erik replied as he stood up, "I'll go with you to your flat, you take what you need for a few days, and we'll leave for Genosha. You can get the rest delivered later."

"So soon?"

"Why wait? Do you have obligations here, people to say goodbye to?"

"No!" replied Charles curtly, angry at having been found out once again.

He began to roll his wheelchair quickly toward the entrance of his building. Erik joined him in two strides before putting his hand on his shoulder. Charles felt bad for being so touch starved that this simple touch immediately soothed him.

"Charles, I know what it's like, I've been there. Don't get upset. It wasn't a criticism or a mockery." He squeezed Charles' shoulder before letting his hand fall back.

"I know..." sighed Charles. "Come on."

As they walked through the door of Charles' tiny apartment, sensing that Erik was about to say something, Charles admonished him, "Don't say anything."

Erik waved his hand, as if he were zipping up his mouth without hiding his smile, but finally couldn't help himself.

"My Charles, do you live in that shoebox? I'm disappointed in you! Pretty spartan."

Seeing Charles' dark glare, he pretended to surrender. "Ok, ok, I'm not saying anything more."

Charles muttered, "Liar."

Then they gathered Charles' things and a few hours later they were on their way to Genosha.

__________

Two weeks later, Charles was unpacking the last of the boxes that had just arrived, mostly books. Erik had built him some makeshift shelves. His "residence" like all of Genosha’s, was made of salvaged materials, but Charles didn't mind. Although he had always lived in a certain opulence, he knew how to make do with little.

"Need a hand?"

Erik had just stepped through the curtain that served as a door.

"I'm not saying no."

They hadn't had time to really talk and clear the air between them, but Erik was very thoughtful. Charles was a little insecure, not knowing where he stood. So he decided to just take things as they came. If he was honest with himself, he knew how he felt about Erik. But he wouldn't act, he didn't want to risk breaking the friendship they were rebuilding.

Erik had begun unpacking a box of books.

"Do you have a particular order?"

"No put them on the shelves as they come for now."

So Erik began to put the books away, commenting on some of the titles.

"Oh Charles, Charlotte Brontë really? Jane Eyre as well?"

"Hey Erik, just because you're helping me doesn't mean you have to like what I read."

"Ho Ho! You even marked a page."

Charles remembered, what page and what words he had written in the margin.

"Erik, please put that book away, it doesn't matter."

But he could see from Erik's face that he wasn't about to let go, so he resigned himself and closed his eyes waiting for a reaction, of what kind, he didn't know.

"Charles?"

Charles squeezed his eyes tighter.

"Yes?"

"Is that about me?"

Charles had a small self-deprecating laugh before he replied, "I don't know any other Erik, so yes."

"What do you mean with 'you left Erik and now I'm bleeding'?"

Charles let out a big sigh and put his head in his hands. "This is really embarrassing...it's in relation to the underlined passage that's a little higher up if I remember correctly."

He knew the phrase by heart, because it had resonated in a special way since he'd met Erik, but he hadn't expected the raw emotion that ran through him when he heard Erik read the words aloud.

“I have a strange feeling with regard to you. As if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you. And if you were to leave I’m afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I have a notion that I’d take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you’d forget me.”

Charles heard Erik put the book down, and a sound of footsteps, he still didn't want to open his eyes, he was too afraid of what he would read in Erik's eyes. He was aware of Erik's presence very close to him, then a hand clasped his.

"Charles, please look at me." Erik's voice was almost pleading, Charles didn't resist and opened his eyes, to see that Erik had knelt down to be at his level. Then he looked up at Erik's eyes, afraid of what he would find there, and gasped, Erik looked almost amazed, yes that's right, amazed.

"Charles is that how you still feel?" Erik asked him in an pressing tone, his eyes scanning his, leaving Charles no escape.

Charles swallowed, and despite his tight throat, he tried to answer, "Yes."

"But when... I mean since when?"

"When? Do you remember the day you managed to unlock your power. The day you let me access that memory? Well since that day, I've felt this very strong connection between us."

Erik tightened his grip on his hand and asked, "And those words in the margin?"

Charles' voice was a whisper, "After the missiles and the beach, when you left."

"Oh Charles, I...I'm so sorry." The regret was genuine in Erik's eyes.

"Don't be anymore, it's been a long time since I forgave you and since then I think I've made my share of mistakes and bad decisions. Some of which have more consequences than losing my legs. Raven was right, I had forgotten who I was. Why I started all this in the first place. I lost sight of what was important, I lost... I lost so much. And I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner, and... I'm not as evolved as I thought I was. You say you're sorry Erik, but you don't know how sorry I am. Forgive me I... I must..."

Charles had to go, he had to get out, the grief he had been feeling since he left school, no even before, since Raven's death, it was all threatening to come out, he didn't want to fall apart like that in front of Erik.

But Erik was keeping him from walking away. Still kneeling and holding his hand.

"Erik, please move over... let go of me, I have to get out, I-" the tears were starting to blur his vision, with his free hand he was trying to push his wheelchair forward.

"Charles, stop! You don't have to leave. You don't have to be alone anymore. You are not alone!"

Erik loosened Charles other hand's grip on the wheel, and suddenly took him in his arms, and he felt his lips move against his head and the words came to his ears "Charles, you can let go, even though I've failed you many times in the past, this time I won't. Let it go. Don't be afraid, I'll catch you."

Because Charles no longer had the strength to stay strong, because he was craving for someone to lean on, he let go. He let the grief engulf him, because he knew Erik was there and would keep him from drowning.

Erik continued to hold him and whispered over and over, "That's it, let it all out. I'm here mein Liebster. Let it out."

Once the crying dried up, exhaustion fell on Charles and he fell asleep in Erik's arms. He was sleeping so deeply that Erik had been able to lift him out of his wheelchair without him waking up and now he was lying with his back against Erik's front, his head under his chin and Erik's arms wrapped around Charles.

Erik had been torn when he saw his beloved overwhelmed by grief and wondered how long it had been since Charles had been able to express his pain. He had always been attracted to the shining side of Charles, he often compared them to two sides of the same coin. But when he'd found him in Paris, he'd seen that all that light was like dulled.

"Erik..." the still broken voice Charle continued, "Thank you..."

"Sshh Charles, I told you no thanks are needed between us."

"Yeah..." Erik felt Charles relax against him again.

"Sleep, meine Liebster."

Much later, Erik was awakened by a gentle brushing sensation on his face. He opened his eyes, found himself facing Charles, who was withdrawing his hand as if he had been caught with his hands in the jam jar.  Erik grabbed his hand and placed it back on his own cheek.

"Don't stop Charles..."

He saw Charles' expression ease as he gently stroked his face with feather-like touches, tracing Erik's facial lines with his fingertips.

Their faces were so close that Erik immediately caught sight of Charles gulping as a veil of sadness passed over his face.

"What's wrong?"

"I've lost you so many times already," Charles murmured.

"But I'm still here and so are you. Now we're together."

Erik couldn't resist, he crossed the remaining distance between them and put his lips to Charles'. It was as if everything fell into place in their worlds at that moment.

They remained for a long time, joined in a soft and almost innocent embrace.

Charles moved back and stared at Erik, looking for something in his eyes. He must have found what he was looking for because he smiled. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from his face.

His lips parted and he pressed them to Erik's again. Erik licked the corner of his mouth and slid his tongue over his bottom lip, then kissed him. Charles quickly opened up to him, welcoming him wordlessly with his lips and hands in his hair. His tongue mimicked the actions of hers, and soon they were drinking from each other's lips, caught up in a thirst that would not seem to be quenched.

Erik slid his hands to Charles' waist, and pulled him as close as he could get. Charles' head fell back with a moan as Erik’s fingers slipped under his shirt and caressed his back. Erik took advantage of his distraction and lowered his head even further to press himself against his neck. He felt the slide of his tongue against his skin, then his teeth biting the same spot. Charles had a slight startle. His hands slid over Erik's shoulders and his fingers dug in. Erik immediately raised his head, worried about his reaction. "Not good?"

"No. Good. Really good," Charles reassured him in a gentle sigh. Erik smiled fondly and returned his attentions to Charles' neck. But Charles groaned and tugged at his hair, pulling Erik toward him so he could take his lips again.

Much later, as they both caught their breath. Lips to lips, forehead to forehead, Charles asked Erik, "I don't know if I was dreaming or not, but before you called me 'mein liebster', 'my dearest' if I am not mistaken."

For the first time since he had known him, Charles saw Erik's cheeks turn slightly pink. However, Erik's voice was perfectly assured as he replied, "You were not dreaming mein Liebster." He punctuated his words with a tender kiss.

"Unless you prefer, mein Schatz, my treasure." Another kiss.

"Or mein Geliebter, my beloved." Another kiss.

It was now Charles's turn to have slightly red cheeks. But he, too, looked Erik squarely in the eye and asked, "Is that really what I am?"

"Yes, my love and much more." Erik emphasized this with another kiss.

"Since when?"

"I'll show you. By looking into my thoughts in the brightest corner of my sensory memory like you did that time, you will find an additional memory beyond the one you found to help me unlock my powers."

Charles began to protest, "No Erik, I don't want to-"

Erik put a finger over his mouth, "Shhh, I'm asking you to."

He took Charles' hand and placed his fingers against his temple, in the familiar gesture he had when he wanted to access someone's thoughts.

Erik, visibly moved, addressed Charles, "What did you just do to me?"

"I accessed the brightest corner of your memory system. It's a very beautiful memory, Erik. Thank you"

"I didn't know I still had that."

Charles put his hand on his shoulder and said with strength and emotion in his voice, "There's so much more to you than you know. Not just pain and anger. There's good to you, I felt it. And when you can access all that, you'll possess a power no one can match. Not even me."

When Charles exited Erik's head, they were both deeply moved by the strength of the emotions of the shared memory.

Erik pressed his forehead against Charles'.

"What you told me that day, that there was good to me, that you felt it. It's a memory as happy as my mother's. It was also that day that I felt the connection between us. That I knew that-"

Erik paused for a moment.

"That you knew what?"

"That I was hopelessly and madly in love with you. I love you Charles. We've fought together, we've clashed, we've been through terrible trials sometimes together, sometimes against each other, but this, what I feel for you has always been my ultimate truth. I love you Charles."

Charles once again gasped, this time at the open adoration he read on Erik's face.

He raised his hand to his face, tracing the outline of it he said, his voice broken, "Despite all the detours I've taken, all the bad decisions you or I have made, every time, when it counted, you were there by my side, that unchanging presence. I can't tell where you start and where I end. I love you Erik, more than my life."

There. That moment. This moment of perfect communion after all they had been through. The fate, the choices, the events that had separated them, brought them together in a spiral that never seemed to end, it was all over. It was time for them to live. It wasn't the end, it was the beginning. This was their story.

___________

Although I am very familiar with X-men - Movie verse, I have never written for this fandom before. After rewatching Dark Phoenix, I'm only holding onto this ending scene. I wanted to write about Erik and Xavier from there. I hope I did them justice.

Not beta'd I hope you enjoyed your reading.

[crystalas]

Starting to see

More of Demon Bull Divorce AU, this is set before Hindsight and Medical Muddles.

Warning: mentions of physical abuse.

Starting to See

It had been over two weeks since Red Son had shown up to pay back his father’s debt for helping them with the whole Lunar New Year event, which Pigsy was immediately suspicious about. He may be a modern demon but even he knew that if you had a dept you paid it yourself you didn’t send your kid to do it for you especially when you are demon royalty. He wasn’t giving Red Son a chance to try anything, despite MK and Mei’s arguments in the demon boy’s defence.

If Red Son wants to work off this debt, then Pigsy wasn’t going to let free labour go by so he quickly set the fire demon to work and surprisingly he didn’t resist or mind. He was currently cleaning out Pigsy’s tricky stove, all he had wanted was for him to fix it so he didn’t need to kick it every time he wanted it on. Red Son went above and beyond and had not only fixed it but was giving it a thorough cleaning and check-up, which is why he was currently trying to reach around the back of said stove to check the pipes. Red Son had taken off his jacket to avoid getting it stained with oil, grease and whatever else might have found its way at the back of the oven, as he stretched his shirt travelled up and that’s when Pigsy saw it.

“That’s one heck of bruise Red!” he whistled when he saw the markings peeking out. Red Son jolted back up as if he had been hit by an electric shock and pulled his shirt down.

“Do you mind?!” he snapped. “It’s bad enough having you stare at me the entire time now you’re ogling me?!”

“Heck yeah I’m keeping an eye on you demon boy, don’t want you planting a bomb or something in my kitchen when I’m not looking!”

“This stove was so broken give it a few weeks and it would have blown up on its own!” Red Son growled they stared at each other for a second before Red Son tugged his shirt down a second time before getting back to work. Pigsy watched him for a little while before giving a hefty sigh and walked over to the other side of the kitchen and pulled out a large basket that had a first aid symbol on it. Most kitchen had a small box for any small cuts and burns one might get while cooking, Pigsy’s was designed for wounds one might get fighting monsters and demons so it was far more extensive.

“Want me to fix you up?” Pigsy asked.

“Excuse me?” Red Son retorted “I do not need your pity!”

“Last I checked you’re here on your father’s wishes, I don’t want you going back and him seeing that and assuming we had anything to do with it!” Pigsy explained as he rummaged through the box but stopped and looked at Red Son “You didn’t get that from us, right?” Red Son shook his head before he carried on going through the basket. “At the very least he would be insulted that we didn’t at least tend to your injuries…” he pulled out a jar labelled ‘healing balm’.

Red Son grumbled under his breath as he tried to fight that logic and stood up, Pigsy gestured to a stool and the fire demon sat down with a thump with his arms crossed. Pigsy pointed at his top and with a reluctant sigh and took off his shirt, Pigsy resisted the urge to whistle or remark even further. He first thought the bruise ran along the base of his spine but it travelled up his back and along his side, it was a big ugly bruise of several shades.

Red Son flinched a bit when Pigsy started to apply the healing balm.

“So how did it happen?” Pigsy asked.

Now if Pigsy could claim a super power he could say his was a super sense of smell which should be obvious as to why, it was a brilliant boon in his industry as he could tell which herbs and spices have the best flavour for a dish and the freshness of his ingredients with a single sniff. Tang had remarked that it made food shopping with him an absolute pain in the ass but he didn’t have a world-famous dish for nothing. However, this also meant he could smell other things too.

Like fear.

And Red Son was suddenly reeking of the stuff, but what worried Pigsy more than that was the fact that Red Son still had his what Mei called ‘resting bitch face’ but he also noted that the fire demon had yet to answer.

“Well?”

“I fell out of my chair” he said casually as if Pigsy had asked him what he had for tea last night.

You fell out of a chair? Pigsy thought to himself. At what speed? Mach two?

Pigsy was brought back to the horrible memory of being in a similar situation with MK when he first came into his life. Sitting there trying to figure out why MK had burn marks that looked to be from cigarette butts on his arms but MK would swear up and down that they were ‘nothing to worry about’.

“When did it happen?” Pigsy carried on.

“About a week ago so they are on the mend, give them a few days it’ll be gone” Red Son replied and Pigsy knew that was a freaking lie. Demons healed fast; he should know he was one! This must have happened yesterday the day before at the most. Once again, the ease of which these excuses and cover ups came worried Pigsy.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself Pig man, I was just careless” Red Son stated, Pigsy finished applying the balm and started to put it back where he had gotten it from. Red Son watched him from the corner of his eye and gripped his hands to stop them from shaking.

Red Son wasn’t lying he had been careless. He should have known better than to be out of his room while his parents argued for what felt like the hundredth time that week, he had given up trying to mediate or stop them as it seemed that his mere presence made it worse.

It was his fault they were fighting after all.  It would be best if he stayed out of it for now.

He had been in the family study, he figured if he was out of the way then he couldn’t be a bother to anyone right? Red Son had found a new recipe book and was looking through for new stuff to try with his father when Demon Bull King wanted to relax or spend time with him.

He had been careless, he could have known better to be out in the open with a recipe book of all things, the very topic which seem to start these fights. He should have listened out for the door, the click of heels…

It had happened so fast, before he could even register what was going on he found himself caught in a hurricane gale that pushed him out of his chair and flying into a nearby bookcase sending the shelves and books crashing down on top of him.

He hadn’t been lying he DID fall out of his chair…

He gave a wince as he tried to clamber out and saw his mother standing there glaring at him with utter distain before glancing over to the desk he had been at, she picked up the recipe book with her finger and thumb as if it was a disgusting rag and threw it into a nearby bin with such force the bin skidded away a few feet.

“You better tidy up that mess you’ve made before your father sees it!” she declared coldly before walking away.

Red Son was glad he had come up with this plan, if anyone asked, he had the Debt to explain his reason for being there. He could stay out of the house for as long as possible and sneak back in before either parent noted his absence.

Not like they even noticed he was gone most days.

And it was nice to have people to talk to, Noodle Boy and Dragon Horse girl would chat to him about all sorts of stuff that intrigued him. Noodle Boy would show off his art and Dragon Horse girl her motorbike which got Red Son demanding the schematics. Mr Tang would talk to him about history and he was very interested on what Red Son had to say about demon culture. When there was a quiet moment in the noodle store they would just hang out and chill…

He felt a pang of guilt, he shouldn’t feel more at home with his enemies than his family. He shouldn’t feel like he had to hide from his own mother for his never-ending failures and mistakes, but here he was cowering under the pretence of an honour bound agreement because of the dumpster fire he had started at home. He should have never suggested the BBQ stand, he should have never even suggested such a peaceful means to get by.

He should have never come back…

“Hey Red!” Pigsy stated causing Red Son to pull out of the mental spiral he was in. “You alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for your aid” he put his shirt back on, the ache of his injuries seeping away under the warmth of the balm. “I’ll get back to work now.”

As he returned to fixing and cleaning the oven, Pigsy watched him with growing concern on his face.

“Hey just so you know, if you ever had any more problem with ya know… “chairs” just let me know ok?” Pigsy offered and he could see Red Son stiffen slightly before he relaxed again and turned to face him.

“…thanks” he mumbled quietly.

[delicioussshame]

Have more of Luo Binghe trying to rationalise buying his love interest.

Luo Binghe’s constant pacing is only interrupted by Shen-laoshi’s arrival.

From the look of it, his teacher is too occupied with taking in Luo Binghe’s penthouse to spare him much attention, which is perfect. It leaves him completely free to take in Shen-laoshi himself.

He hadn’t been wrong. Shen-laoshi is so thin he’s verging on unhealthy. The result of too much work and not enough home-cooked food, surely. Luo Binghe would be worried if he didn’t know it wouldn’t last. Shen-laoshi had always eaten every dish Luo Binghe used to bring to his tutoring sessions, the only thanks he could afford at the time, with every sign of enjoyment. Luo Binghe fully intends to rekindle that tradition.

“This is a bad idea.”

Luo Binghe is too fast; he steals Shen-laoshi’s small luggage before he can take it back. “Am I such a bad host that Shen-laoshi won’t even give me a chance to show him hospitality? He should at least let me serve him the meal I prepared for him. It would be a shame for the food to go to waste.”

He doesn’t smile when Shen-laoshi visibly hesitates. “Binghe still cooks? Doesn’t he have people for that?”

Luo Binghe would never let strangers handle his food in his own home. “I do. I’ve always enjoyed cooking, especially for others. It’ll be a pleasure to do so again.” It’s not a lie. He does enjoy cooking for others, as long as he cares about those others. The people he holds dear are just very few.

Shen-laoshi throws a longing glance at the door, but slumps in defeat. “Well, I guess it would be rude not to at least stay for dinner then.”

“And Shen-laoshi is never rude.” Luo Binghe starts for his room. “Here, I’ll put your baggage away.”

Shen-laoshi follows him in a hurry. “Binghe, wait! Where are you going?”

Could he settle Shen-laoshi somewhere less provocative than in his own bedroom? Yes, he could have. He’d thought about it. The last thing he wanted was to spook Shen-laoshi away. He does want to take his time, in his own way.

But he knows his teacher. He’d made Luo Binghe’s adolescence hell with his complete obliviousness to his student’s shamefully evident crush. If his interest is too subtle, Shen-laoshi will fool himself into thinking it’s platonic, which it never was.

Shen-laoshi freezes when he enters a room he has to recognise as Luo Binghe’s. “Binghe…”

Luo Binghe ignores him in favor of setting the luggage down beside a dresser. “This is yours. I did say you didn’t have to bring anything if you didn’t want to, so there are clothes in it and in the closet. Take whatever you want.” Would he love to see Shen-laoshi leaves his bathroom with wet hair dripping down on a shirt Luo Binghe had bought him? Why yes, he would very much enjoy that. Also, Shen-laoshi deserves better than the worn garments he was usually seen in.

But if it’s too much, too fast, he’ll settle for Shen-laoshi’s own clothes stored in his home, like they belonged there.

Shen-laoshi peeks into the closet gingerly. “…Binghe, that’s way too much.”

It is not. “It’s nothing less than Laoshi deserves.”

Shen-laoshi shakes his head. “I don’t know what story you’ve constructed about me, but Binghe must be confused about something. What I have ever done for you to think this all makes sense?”

Luo Binghe could spend hours explaining to Shen-laoshi how lonely he’d been as a child. Struggling to adjust after his mother’s death, terribly aware that what little money she left him wouldn’t last forever, the soothing presence of Shen-laoshi, the only adult willing to listen to him, had been a lifeline he’d needed more than anything. He’d promised himself he’d be the same for him, when he would be able to.

He could, but he’s afraid he’ll scare Shen-laoshi away. He’s been told before he can be a bit… intense. “Shen-laoshi will understand in time. Meanwhile, why doesn’t he follow me to the dining room? Now that you’re here, we should catch up properly. There is so much I want to share with him!” The urge to reach for him, to put a hand on his back or his arm to guide him makes itself known, but he restrains himself. Patience. He can’t spook his teacher, or he’ll run.

Shen-laoshi doesn’t fight the suggestion, meekly following along.

Dinner is nice and uncomplicated. Luo Binghe deliberately keeps conversation light, retreating to familiar grounds, his studies. After all, Shen-laoshi is the only reason Luo Binghe managed to ace the required entrance test. He should be made aware of the results of his hard work.

As he prattles on, he gets to see Shen-laoshi’s walls fall, piece by piece, as he forgets why he’s here to only focus on Luo Binghe’s words. Luo Binghe knows Shen-laoshi has always been fond of him. With insight, he can tell he was favored, maybe more than a teacher should favor one of his students. As long as Shen-laoshi can think of Luo Binghe as that student of his, he’ll happily let himself be entertained.

If he had time, he would have invited Shen-laoshi over to such dinners. He’d have taken him out to good restaurants. He’d have visited museums with him, taken him shopping, walked around the city by his side until Shen-laoshi would have accepted him, and then he would have confessed.

But that would have meant letting the object of his affection struggle through another summer of part-time jobs, tutoring gigs and calligraphy lessons that barely paid the rent. Shen-laoshi would have been stretched even thinner.

Luo Binghe couldn’t allow it.

He waves Shen-laoshi away after dinner, claiming work he has to finish before tomorrow. He, of course, would prefer to spend the rest of the evening with him, but the point of this manoeuvre is to let Shen-laoshi discover his house by himself. It’s a show of trust, demonstrating he has nothing to hide from his teacher.

It’s also a chance for him to find the room Luo Binghe always thought of as his.

He believes it will be obvious. The rest of the house has been professionally decorated, all tasteful whites with the occasional colorful accent.

Shen-laoshi’s study is all soft green and rosewood furniture, a more antiquated style Luo Binghe had always associated with his teacher. Nothing like the modern feel of the rest of the house. There are shelves, some stocked with classic literature, others empty, waiting for their proper owner to fill them as he saw fit. A fully furnished desk with the latest tech. A soft, huge couch Luo Binghe made sure he could sleep on comfortably if he wanted to. Large windows letting in the sun in the morning. A few plants Luo Binghe diligently watered so that they’d be radiant when Shen-laoshi first saw them.

A space just for him.

Luo Binghe thrills as he heard Shen-laoshi putters around the house, the muffled sounds of his steps on the hardwood floor or of doors opening and closing softly obliterating the silence he’s used to, reminding him each time that this is real, that Shen-laoshi really is here with him. It’s a good thing the work he has to do isn’t too demanding, because he could never focus in this state of elation.

He hopes his teacher likes the place, though he’d move in a heartbeat if Shen-laoshi found it lacking in any way.

After a while, the sounds stop. Luo Binghe supposes he found the study.

When, a few hours later, he closes his laptop for good, he does find Shen-laoshi sitting on the couch, engrossed in one of the books.

He smiles. The sight of Shen-laoshi making himself home here is very pleasing to his more possessive tendencies. “I see Shen-laoshi have found a way to entertain himself.”

Shen-laoshi startles. “Binghe!” He sets the book down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, it’s just-“

Luo Binghe cuts him off. “Shen-laoshi has done nothing wrong. All that is mine is his, and these books were always intended for him.” He opens the desk’s drawer and hands him the card. “He is welcome to purchase any book he wants to read, or anything else he lacks. He doesn’t have to restrain himself.”

The credit card is a crass reminder of their supposed arrangement, but there is no way around it. Luo Binghe wants Shen-laoshi to get all he desires, and money facilitates that process.

Shen-laoshi doesn’t take the card. “Binghe, I can’t accept this. This isn’t right.”

Luo Binghe is getting quite tired of Shen-laoshi’s refusals, no matter how expected they were. “Please do. It would make me so happy to know Shen-laoshi is provided for, for once. But it is getting late.” Luo Binghe settles the card back into the drawer, ostentatiously, so that Shen-laoshi knows where to find it tomorrow, when he’s alone in Luo Binghe’s apartment and wondering how to spend his time. Once he’s done, he offers Shen-laoshi his hand, keeping his face blank and his tone simply pleasant. “Will Shen-laoshi turn in for the night?”

He sees Shen-laoshi tense as it becomes impossible for him not to worry about what will be coming next.

The silence stretches on.

Luo Binghe breaks first. “Shen-laoshi doesn’t have to worry. He needs to recuperate. I wouldn’t keep him from his sleep.”

The hand finally settling in his still is a bit unsure.

Luo Binghe decides to ignore it, preferring to focus on its warmth and the fluttering feeling of holding Shen-laoshi’s hand.

“Binghe shouldn’t call me Laoshi in this context. It’s… He shouldn’t.”

“What should I call him, then?”

“My name, simply. Shen Yuan.”

Shen Yuan.

While to Luo Binghe, Shen Yuan will always be his teacher first, he can definitely learn to love the sound of his name. “Shen Yuan it is.”

Luo Binghe lets Shen Yuan uses the main bathroom while he uses a guest’s, and tries to steel himself for what will be coming next.

He doesn’t manage it.

Even if the pajamas Shen-laoshi are wearing offer him full coverage to the point of prudishness, it’s still Shen-laoshi standing by his bed, waiting for him to signal how to proceed.

Luo Binghe bites his tongue until he tastes blood as he himself settles down, and pats the space besides his.

There is no relaxation in either of them, though, Luo Binghe expects, for very different reasons. From this close, he can smell his soap on Shen Yuan’s skin. He can hear the faster-than-average rhythm of his breath. He can feel the warmth of his body.

But he can’t reach for it.

He keeps his antsy hands to himself, instead very deliberately turning off the lights. “Good night, Laoshi. Please rest well.” He needs it.

He doesn’t expect an answer, but the soft “Good night, Binghe,” he gets in response ensures that when he finally falls asleep, he does so with a smile on his face.

[abluescarfonwaston]

Gregory Week - Flowers

Day 2 of Gregory Edgeworth Week (note: contains delayed speech Miles and Gregory excited when he does start talking. He’d had taken steps to learn how to communicate even if Miles didn’t talk because he loves his son but please take care of yourselves.)

“So when do I get to meet the most important person in you life Gregory?”

She smiled at him and his chest ached. He wanted to run his fingers down the length of her braid. Kiss every blossom weaved in. She was beautiful and kind and perfect.

“Soon Flora. Soon.”

He sat on the floor next to Miles as he sorted through his building blocks. Arranged them by color and size. “There is someone I would like you to meet. If you would be partial to that.”

Miles considered one of the strange pieces. Debated where to put it. Set it down carefully so all the lines were straight. Nodded.

“Thank you.” He outlined when she would come over and for how long. Miles always appreciated that. Knowing exactly what he was up against. It made grocery store runs less daunting for them both.

Hopefully this would be less upsetting than the grocery store.

She brought a large bouquet of flowers with her.

“Don’t worry, we were going to throw them out anyway. Oh! But- But I’m not trying to give you subpar flowers it’s only that-”

He took them. Cradled them in his arms. Breathed in their sweet scent. “I love them.” He wasn’t sure anyone had ever given him flowers before. Not before her. Kept them on the desk at work until she threw them out and replaced them with new ones.

It was the little things like that. Like how she packed an extra orange for him because those convenience store meals don’t have any fruit in them Gregory! You have to take better care of yourself! You’ll get scurvy! Or how she reminded him to sort through the mail collecting on his desk. Or just pulled him up out of his chair to stretch. 

Or how she laughed so bright and warm and it filled his chest. Just like it did when Miles giggled.

He wanted to be good for them. Be better. Be put together and organized and not be constantly two weeks behind on laundry and debating which of Miles shirts had the least amount of stains so people wouldn’t think he was failing as a parent. 

“Well I like doing laundry Gregory. And we all need a little help sometimes.”

Oh he could love her. Marry her. One day.

“This is Flora, Miles. She’s one of my friends.”

Miles hid his face in his pant leg. Waved with one hand and clung with the other.

Her lips pressed together into a frown. Cast a worried gaze up to him.

“When you said he wasn’t talking yet, I thought he was younger.”

Add this to the list of ways he’s already failed Miles as a father. That he didn’t know they were missing milestones.

She sits next to Miles as he flips through the pages of his favorite book. Evidence law. There’s a little chick on the front with a deerstalker. He’s had to move his current law books up out of the reach of sticky fingers because Miles loved to take them out and stare at them. Mirror him as he read his own tomes. Although these couldn’t be interesting, they were just text.

Miles wiped his nose against his sleeve again. A button up with a bowtie. If he dressed Miles up fancy enough maybe no one wouldn’t notice how his shirts hadn’t been ironed in months. She leaned closer and pointed to one of the pictures. Braid with all those beautiful flowers falling over her shoulder. Asked him a question about it.

Miles sneezed. A tiny kitten of a sneeze. Neither could stop the instant coo. His sneezes were just so cute. Miles tugs on his sleeve and then covered his nose with both hands. Tissue please. He understands. Retrieves one and hands it to him. Blows his nose with a honk.

(I hope he isn’t catching a cold.)

Dinner is Miles favorite. Which isn’t the most impressive of meals but in the debate between impressing Flora and making sure Miles was as happy and content as possible for the duration of the meeting, keeping Miles happy had won. Besides, he barely had time to clean the spaces she’d see before she’d come over, much less make something fancy. 

He reaches out and strokes the soft petal of the flowers on the table. They really made this place seem nice. Adult. Not like the bachelor pad turned baby playground it was. They could go to the farmers market together, swing Miles between them, and buy fresh fruit that wouldn’t rot in the bottom drawer half the time. Purchase nice art to hang on the walls. Always have fresh flowers for the vase. Have enough time to actually clean the dust he’d only noticed built up on the shelves once she’d stepped in the door.

(You’re getting ahead of yourself Gregory. Taking things too fast.)

“Miles dear? Is something wrong?” Flora asked.

He was wiping at his cheeks. Tears flowing. Snot running down his face. Discomfort and distress in every line. Breaths ragged like the start of a meltdown.

“Miles?!”

He scooted off his chair. Ran to his room. The door slammed closed behind him.

They stared at each other. Those beautiful flowers framing the shot.

Wilted alongside them.

“I should go check on Miles.”

He could never tell what the problem was with Flora. Miles seemed to like her right up until he started crying out of the clear blue. Began to sulk whenever they’d go to see her.

“I’m sorry Flora. Perhaps when he’s older...”

He knows she won’t wait that long.

She shouldn’t have to.

She leaves him with a dried flower and a book on sign language.

“So we can communicate even if you don’t talk.” He says and signs achingly slow. Has rehearsed these motions countless times in preparation. He wants to hear his son’s voice more than anything. But even more than that he wants him to be happy and understood. “I love you Miles.”

Miles plays with his trench coat. Fiddles with his attorney’s badge. He’s always worried Miles will pop it off and hurt himself. So far he’s been content to just shine and admire it. Cocks his head the way he does when he doesn’t understand a direction. Say that again?

He does. Begins to repeat the explanation on sign language. Miles shakes his head. Waves his hand. “Just the last part?” Nods. He hesitates. “I love you Miles.” He says and signs.

Miles watches his hand. Looks down at his own. Adjusts his right hand into position with his left.

I love you. He signs back.

His glasses immediately begin to fog. Tears blinding his eyes. “Can I…” Oh he doesn’t remember that word. He’ll just have to make one up for now. “Hug you?” Held his arms out wide. Shrugged his shoulders. Cocked his head.

Miles nodded and climbed into his arms. Pressed his ears against his chest. As if listening to his heartbeat.

I love you. I love you. I love you. He hoped Miles heard with every single beat.

I love you.

Miles played quietly under the bench as he argued his case. He didn’t like bringing Miles to court – one very prominent memory from when Miles was even smaller that ended in him covered in sick, making closing arguments through tears, and lightheaded with hunger came to mind. He really should have just switched to formula sooner. He hadn’t been able to keep up with the calorie demand. – But the Judge was always incredibly lenient about such things. Had taken a crying Miles off his hands to rock him to calm more than once. Refused to give him back until the trial was over, cooing his questions to Miles the entire time.

Wait. Did he just say-

“Hold it!” He began to say. Your statement contains a contradiction.

“HOLD IT!”A voice he did not recognize called out. High and loud. Young. He glanced around for it’s source. “Or Statement contains a,” Hesitation. He peered over the bench to the voices origin. To where the prosecutors, judge and courtroom were all staring. “Con-Tra-Dic-Tion!” Every single syllable was over and carefully enunciated.

Miles little grey head stood on the other side of the bench. Finger pointed.

The court erupted into noise.

Did he just- Oh that’s so cute! – why’s there a toddler – did you hear him?!

He rounded the bench and scooped him up. “What did you say?!”

Miles jumped. Looked away. Startled. Head bowed like he’d done something wrong.

“No- no no no. Miles what did you say? Can you say it again? Any of it. Say anything again.” Nuzzled into his hair. “I love you so much please say something.” I want to hear your voice so bad.

(Am I pushing too hard? Am I scaring him? Too much. You’re making this too big a deal. You said it was okay if he never spoke.)

It would have been. He loved his little boy. No matter what.

But he couldn’t help but want to hear that voice.

Miles buried his face in his shoulder as he squeezed him to his chest.

“… Father…” Came the embarrassed little squeak.

Oh I love you I love you I love you.

The prosecutor cleared his throat. “Gentleman… I believe we were in the middle of a cross examination?”

He rounded on the witness. Pointed with his free hand. “Yes! We were! And as my favorite legal assistant has just pointed out,” Miles giggled. Oh he loved that sound. “Your testimony directly contradicts the evidence.”

“Thank you.” The defendant’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. “You truly saved me.”

Miles studied him from behind his legs. Eyes catching on the brilliant fabric of the magicians cape. He pressed his hat to his chest. “I was just doing my job.” Bowed.

“Yes!” Magi laughed. The light caught on the glitter on his cheeks. “Take a bow!" Ah. That was… “You’ve put on a magnificent show.” Removed from his sleeve an entire bouquet of flowers. Handed it to him. “Truly. Thank you.”

He accepted it. They were beautiful.

He knelt. “And for the legal assistant and his indispensable aid,” Pulled one more beautiful flower out and presented it to him. “Here.”

Miles reached out. Took it. Inhaled.

Sneezed.

Sneezed again.

Magi covered his laugh as Miles sneezed once more. “Oh dear.” Pulled out a colorful handkerchief for him. “My apologies.” Took the flower back and made it disappear as Miles blew his nose. “I didn’t realize you were allergic.”

Allergic.

He dropped to the floor. Pulled Miles to his chest.

“Oh Miles. That’s why you didn’t like Flora. She always had flowers on her.”

And he was just allergic enough to be irritated.

What a fool he was.

“… Father.” Miles was tapping him. He forced open his eyes to Miles signing at him. “Why are you laughing?”

He received an invite to Flora’s wedding not a month before. They seemed very happy together.

That could have been us. If only I’d know about your allergies.

Father? He repeated.

“Because I’ve been very silly. And caused you unnecessary pain.”

(I’m not a very good Father at all am I? I keep messing up.)

“… Oh. You want another handkerchief?” Magi asked. “Here you go.”

Cloth touched his face. He opened his eyes to Miles very seriously wiping the tears from his face. Just like he would for Miles. He let him finish his very serious work.

Miles dropped his hands. Considered him from where he stood in the nest of his knees.

Raised his right hand and signed, “I love you.”

Oh Miles.

“I love you too.”

[elvish-sky]

The Magic of Books and Peppermint {FilixModern!Reader}

Anon Request from Tumblr: Hello! And happy new year! I love your blog! (Especially the funny dialog posts! They really make my day when I read them!) If you're doing requests, can I ask for one between fili x fem!modern!human reader? Where Bain/Legolas is into her and makes obvious advances but Fili is in love with her too and gets super jealous so that's how the reader finds out he returns her feelings? If not that's cool too and I hope you have a great and wonderful new Year! :D

*To make the story work you are in one of those booths that has openings on either end. 

A.N: So I set this around this time of year just because I’m still hanging on to that holiday mindset so I hope that’s ok! Also, no, I am not addicted to peppermint drinks, why on earth would you think that? Anyways, thank you for the request lovely Anon! I’ve never written modern au before and I had a lot of fun with it. I hope you like it and that you are having a wonderful start to 2021!

Word Count: 2,398

Pairing: Fili x Fem!Modern!Human! Reader

Summary: Fili gets jealous of Bain’s attention towards you.

Warnings: Unwanted romantic advances, fluff, some angst, jealousy.

****

The Magic of Books and Peppermint

You slid into the coffee shop booth, peppermint mocha in hand, and, upon taking a sip, sighed in happiness. December was your favorite time of year, not just because you got to come home, but mainly because coffee shops sold peppermint flavored drinks. Sure, it was nice to see your family and get a break from college, but man, peppermint mochas were good. Kili, one of your best friends, laughed at you from the other side of the table, as his brother Fili tried to take the cup away from you with little success. You had known them since you were five, they had moved in next door with their uncle while their mom was away, and you had been best friends ever since. 

“Y/N,” Kili commented, “I honestly don’t think it's good to consume that much caffeine and sugar.” “What are you talking about?” you answered. “This is only my fourth drink of the day, and one of them was a peppermint hot cocoa!” Fili and Kili just shook their heads at you as the “Ding!” of the bell at the door announced the arrival of Legolas and Bain, completing your little group. Bain and Fili were older than you, Legolas, and Kili, but somehow the four of them had taken you into their group when you had become friends with Kili in seventh grade. Legolas swung a chair around to sit at the head of the booth, and Bain slid in next to you and slung his arm around your shoulders, prompting a glare from Fili which you missed. Bain had become increasingly touchy-feely every time you returned home from college, and you were unsure why. You figured it was probably just because he missed you, but you never saw him act the same with Fili, who was a year ahead of you at the same out-of-state college. 

“Bain, Legolas, tell Y/N she drinks too much sugar,” Kili demanded. “Why?” Legolas wanted to know. “It’s eleven in the morning, she can’t have had too much already.” “This is her fourth drink today!” Fili exclaimed, looking exasperated. “That’s it, Y/N,” Legolas snatched your cup out of your hand and slid it across the table to Kili, who chugged it with a smug look on his face. “You’re going to join me in a sugar-free lifestyle.” You sighed. Legolas had been sugar-free since your freshman year of high school, as he wanted to stay fit for sports. It had paid off, he had gotten a full scholarship for gymnastics, but you sometimes thought he went a little overboard. Kili had also gone to college on an athletic scholarship, for basketball, but as evidenced by the fact that he had just chugged your entire mocha, he was not on any sort of health kick, nor had he ever been. “I will consider going sugar-free after New Year’s,” you told Legolas. “But after New Year’s we all go away again and I won’t be able to keep tabs on you!” he exclaimed. “That’s exactly the point, Legolas,” you leaned back with a smug look on your face. “Well, I don’t think Y/N needs to do anything of the sort,” Bain interjected, “She’s gorgeous as is!” A tad uncomfortable at this statement, you shrugged out from under his arm, missing the disappointed look on his face, but noticing the slightly triumphant look on Fili’s, as you did so. 

After you had finished your sandwich, you announced, “Well, I’m gonna head over to the bookstore,” as you slid out of the booth. “I’ll walk you down there,” Bain said, sliding out of the other end. “I have to stop at the hardware store down the street anyway. Da wants me to carve Tilda a slingshot, and my pocketknife is dull.” Making your way towards the door, you heard a muffled thump and turned around to see Bain sprawled on the floor next to your booth. “What happened?” you gasped as Legolas helped him up. “I have no idea,” he answered, shaking his head while walking towards you across the linoleum. “Let’s get going.” You didn’t hear Kili whisper “I know you tripped him,” to his brother as you left.

Bain had left you at the bookstore with a promise to come back once he was done with his errands. As you entered the store, you heard the jingle of the little bell and breathed in the air. Kili had always made fun of you for your love of the way bookstores smelled, but to you, there wasn’t anything better. You wound your way through the tall shelves bursting with novels until you got to the YA section. Grabbing a random title off the shelves, you collapsed into the beanbag in your favorite nook of the store with a sigh and became engrossed. You were pulled out of your reverie sometime later by the sight of a head peeking around the corner of the shelf in front of you. 

“Fili!” you beamed as you jumped up from the chair. “You never come to the bookstore!” “I go to the bookstore all the time, Y/N. You just don’t see me.” He countered with a grin. “I’m at either this store or the one near campus all the time, so when could you possibly be here if I didn’t see you!” you questioned with a skeptical look on your face. “I’m an English major, I help out at the bookstore on campus a lot, and Uncle Thorin’s friend Balin owns this place. I can get into any of them any time I want!” “I can’t be your friend anymore.” you dramatically stated as you fell back into the beanbag. “You have unlimited access to two bookstores AND YOU’VE NEVER SNUCK ME IN?!?!?!?” This shout was met with a shushing noise from Balin who was arranging the shelves nearby. Chastened, you glanced back up at Fili only to see a glare on his face. You followed his gaze to the end of the aisle and saw Bain walking towards you. “What’s up, Y/N?” he reached you and yet again slung his arm around your shoulders, drawing you close to him. “You finished or should we stick around until you’re done with that book?” He gestured to the open paperback on the chair. “Nah, let's go up to the counter and I’ll buy it.” And with that, you made your way to the counter and paid. Laughing with Bain, you exited the store with Fili trailing behind you, looking rather angry. 

You made your way down the street only to be ambushed by a snowball to the head from a giggling Legolas, who had somehow perched himself on top of the lamppost and was now scooping more snow off of it to use as a projectile. Kili, who was balanced on the roof of the building next to you, dumped a bunch of snow onto Fili’s head, who, spluttering, yelled up at him, “I know you have your crazy ways of getting up there, but Mum’s gonna kill you if she sees you on top of another building!” Kili ignored him, and so Fili hit him in the face with a well-aimed snowball. Bain had pushed you down and was attempting to protect you from Legolas to no avail, as the blond was now swinging around the lamppost like a monkey, firing off snowballs at random. “Legolas, how did you get so much snow up there?” you queried while cowering from the onslaught. In response, he pointed to his coat, which was full of snow and tied to the lamppost so that he could reach it. “Movable ammo, Y/N!” he declared. Meanwhile, Fili had attacked Bain when he saw him protecting you and was now in the process of shoving snow down the back of his jacket while Bain squirmed as the cold hit his back. Fili let go and backed away, looking immensely pleased with himself. Kili clambered down from the roof as Legolas swung from the lamppost, did a flip, and stuck the landing, all while firing off two more snowballs to hit the brothers. He slung an arm over Kili and Bain’s shoulders and they set off down the road, with the sound of Legolas’ voice trailing behind them. “What’re we having for dinner, Kili? I hope your mom made something good!”

You trailed behind them next to Fili, who still looked like something was wrong. You were a little worried about him, and especially about the way, he was acting with Bain lately. Making up your mind, you blurted, “Hey, Fili. Can I ask you something?” He nodded, and you continued, stomping your boots on the icy ground as you spoke. “You’ve been a little off ever since we came home,” you continued. “Especially with Bain, you seem a little bit mean, if I’m being honest, and I want to make sure everything’s ok and nothing happened with you guys.” “Nothing’s happened with us. We’re still all good, and I’m really happy for the two of you.” As he said this you were focused on his eyes, which seemed to hold depths of sadness, and his smile, which seemed very forced. You studied them, and then stopped walking as the implication of what he had said sank in. 

“Happy for us? Why would you be happy for us?” “Because you’re together,” “What?!” you exclaimed. “I’m not..we’re not…” you trailed off as your head spun, everything finally making sense. “Wait,” you grabbed Fili’s hand and pulled him closer to you, “you’ve been jealous!” He shuffled his feet on the ice, eyes stubbornly fixed on his boots. “I was not jealous! What do I have to be jealous over, anyway! It’s not like you and I are…” his voice dwindled as he purposefully avoided your eyes. “But we could be.” You grabbed his hand, and twined your fingers with his, hoping it would send the message you wanted. He stiffened at first but then relaxed. “Would you like to be?” he asked, looking like he regretted speaking the second he did so. “Yes, Fili. I very much would.” 

“So, nothing is going on with you and Bain?” he asked as you started walking, hands swinging in between your bodies. You laughed at him, “No! Bain’s like a brother to me, the same as Kili or Legolas!” “Ok,” he blushed. “Just thought I’d clear that up before I did something else stupid.” Hand in hand, you followed behind your friends, looking forward to an excellent dinner when you arrived at Fili and Kili’s house.

Later that night, after your family had joined Thranduil, Legolas’s dad, and his husband Bard, who was Bain’s father, at Fili and Kili’s house for a delicious New Year’s Eve dinner, you lay in your bed mulling over your day. You had talked to Bain after dinner, just to let him know that you were now taken. It had been awkward, but you were proud that you had both handled it well. You just hoped things would go back to normal between the two of you soon, and that the fact that you were now dating Fili wouldn’t sting too much. 

You were startled by a tapping on your window, and, rising from the pillows, opened it to see Kili, Legolas, and Bain standing below. “What are you guys doing?” you hissed from the second floor. “Just get dressed and climb down!” Legolas whisper-yelled back up to you. Sighing at the fact that whatever they had planned meant that you wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night, you threw on leggings, a hoodie, a flannel, and your beanie, wanting to be warm, and then shimmied out of your window, dropping smoothly to the ground and somersaulting to break your fall. “Wow, Y/N, I didn’t know you could do that!” Bain effused as you set off. “I’ve spent too much time around Legolas to not be able to somersault,” you shook your head as you remembered the many times that that skill had gotten you into, or out of trouble. “Where are we going?” you asked. “And where’s Fili?” “You’ll see when we get there,” Kili answered with a smug grin. You rolled your eyes at his vagueness and quickened your pace to keep up. 

After about fifteen minutes, Kili halted in front of the bookstore, gesturing for you to open the door. “It’s closed, Kee! I can’t break in!” “Just trust us, Y/N” Legolas whispered. Sure this was just going to end in you tugging on a locked door while the three of them laughed, you yanked the handle, surprised when the door opened. You stepped inside, hearing the soft tinkle of the bell as the door swung closed behind you. You turned around to see the three faces of your friends pressed up against the glass, and Kili gestured for you to keep going. You saw a faint light at the back of the store and wound through the shelves until you reached your favorite little nook. You gasped at what you saw arrayed in front of you as you rounded the corner.

Fili was standing there with a bashful grin. “You were mad I’ve never snuck you into a bookstore before.” He motioned for you to sit down and so you sank into the beanbag next to him, a look of shock on your face as he handed you a mug. “What’s this?” you took a sip and sighed with delight. “Peppermint hot chocolate!” Fili smiled at your blissful expression “I figured we could just stay here tonight, maybe read to each other.” You blushed at his thoughtfulness in knowing that this would be your perfect first date. There was nothing more magical than books and a peppermint drink. “That sounds wonderful, Fee. Thank you.” You snuggled up close to him with your hot cocoa warming your hands, his arm wrapped around you as he began reading. You recognized the first sentence as the beginning of your favorite book when you were little, and you contentedly rested your head on his chest as his voice rose and fell with the story. “I love you, Fili,” you murmured. “I love you too, Y/N.” He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead and continued to read as you sighed in content, knowing there was no place you would rather be. 

Everything tag💗: @entishramblings @boyruins @itgetsatadhazy @anjhope1

[milstrim]

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 6: That I Would Be Good

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

When Peter woke up, it was horribly bright. His eyes opened a sliver only to be immediately squeezed shut with a groan, a sensory overload surely on its way as the harsh yellow light broke through even his tightly shut eyes. He could already feel the migraine, but the teenager pushed it down as the memories of what had happened flooded back.

The ferry. Mr. Stark. The suit. The men in the alley. And then...darkness. And now wherever he was right now he guessed. After a few moments, Peter managed to crack his eyes open again, surprised a little by the room he was in, not that he'd expected much to be honest.

Peter himself was chained to a pillar, his arms cuffed around it uncomfortably while metal ropes twisted around him at least five times over. His entire body was stiff, leaving him to think he'd been stuck in this position for at least a few hours. What time was it? Had anyone noticed he was missing? Peter blinked emptily, very much doubting it. Nobody at Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys would be expecting him home until late, and it wasn't like Mr. Stark was going to be looking for him.

The teenager took a deep, rattled breath, pushing the regret to the back of his mind and observing the rest of his situation instead.

The yellow lights in the room were horrible bright, allowing for Peter's shadow to loom out in front of him in a stark contrast to the light concrete ground. He forced himself to turn away from it, instead trying to find a means of escape. There were no windows in the small room that he would peg as a larger storage room, though there wasn't really anything to store. There were a few plastic shelves that had wheels on the end, but, save for a couple of blankets and a pillow, there was nothing resting on them. The only other things in the room were a metal door, a stained bucket, a few stools, and a blinking camera.

Peter turned to glare at it directly, watching it warily as the light on it blinked red. Who was behind that camera? It had to be the vulture guy, right? He'd recognized one of the men that had come to grab him, and they had alien weapons, so. Yeah, Peter may have gotten in a little over his head.

"Hello?" he called, shouldering the ropes wrapped around him. They didn't give, just rubbing against the hoodie that still smelled of Mr. Stark. He tried desperately to block it out. "Hey! What the hell's going on!?"

There was, of course, no answer, so he slumped against the pillar, grimacing at the hunger gnawing at his stomach. He wished desperately that he knew what time it was. Then again, he guessed it didn't really matter. His grounding had already been extended, and what was a few more missed meals? It surely didn't feel like it really mattered anymore.

It was a few minutes before anyone came by. Peter was straining against the chains, struggling to get some kind of hold in his awkward position, when the sound of footsteps caught his attention. He paused in his efforts, stilling to stare at the door as it opened and a wrinkled man stepped through. It took him a moment, but he was quick to realize that it had been the man on the ferry.

This must be the vulture guy.

The door boomed to a slow shut behind the man, who grabbed one of the stools and sat atop it, regarding Peter easily. There was a minute of tense silence before anyone spoke.

"I'm sorry to do this to you, Peter," the man started. Peter scowled. Great. Of course the man knew his name. "But you're bad for business, and so is your little shadow right there, so you'll be staying with us for the time being."

Peter blinked, trying to hide his surprise as he glanced down at the shadow he'd been avoiding. The vulture guy knew Mr. Stark was his soulmate?

"What is this? A ransom? Because he won't pay."

The man huffed sarcastically, shaking his head. "You two seem close." Peter bristled at the mockery in the man's voice. "But, no, I'm not going to ransom you for money. You'll be a nice and easy distraction while we take what we want."

Peter stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm afraid you aren't cleared to know that," the man said, standing up. "The light will stay on while you're here, in case you give Stark any flashes. The only way out is through this door, which has a second electric door on it that will reactivate once I leave. If you stay nice for this first day, or if you somehow manage to do it yourself, you'll be let out of the chains and brought meals on the regular. Understand?"

"How long do you think you're going to keep me here?"

"Just a few days. You will miss your Homecoming, though, I'm afraid."

"How did you find me?" Peter demanded. The man gave him a threatening smile.

"All we had to do was follow your shadow."

And then he was out the door. Peter was left alone in the overly bright room. Just him, his shadow, and the clinking chains.

He knocked his head against the pillar, closing his eyes shut with a regretful sigh.

  ---

After a few hours of rest, Peter managed to wrestle out of his ropes. First he snapped the handcuffs holding him against the pillar, flinching as the metal cut into his skin, and then tearing through the last of the binds restraining the rest of him. As the man had promised, no one came for him after he'd freed himself from the ropes, leaving the boy to his own devices. So he'd gone on to try and figure a plan of escape. These men were planning something, scheming to trick Mr. Stark, and they were going to use him to do it. And Peter wasn't going to let them.

That had been two days ago.

With a tired sigh, the teenager knocked his head against the stone wall for the millionth time that day, staring up at the camera and wishing desperately there was at least something for him to do. He'd even take a coloring book at this point. With those dumb twisty Crayola pencils. Anything was better than just sitting here and wondering.

Wondering what was happening. Wondering how people were reacting to his disappearing. Wondering if Mr. Stark had heard, or if he'd cared. And, of course, pondering the 'What if?'

What if Peter hadn't gone after the vulture guy? What if he'd listened to Mr. Stark? What if he'd done better and been able to take the man down without messing up? Would he be a good soulmate then? One worthy of Mr. Stark?

There were no answers to his questions. Not one. There were speculations and dreams and nightmares that had shocked him awake the few times he'd been able to catch slivers of sleep in this place, but there were no concrete answers. Maybe there never would be.

"Forever."

Peter shook himself vehemently, turning away from the camera to stare at the door instead. At least the meal times here were consistent, more that with Mr. Fowler, though with the same boring peanut butter sandwiches for every meal. In all honestly, if the teenager had been given something to entertain himself with, or the lights were at least dimmed for when he needed to sleep, he'd consider this place better than the group home. Yes, he was aware of how horrible that was, but anything was better than the musty odor of liquor and the sharp tug of a hand, fingernails biting.

Teeming with unbearably restless energy, Peter pushed himself to his feet, walking around the small room in laps, trying once more to find anything to get out of here. A loose nail, a crowbar, something cool that an alien weapons dealer might have left in their storage room, but, like the first thousand times, there was nothing for the teenager to grab. There was the bucket for him to relieve himself in, the couple of empty storage shelves (he'd placed the left over blanket and pillow on the top of one, feeling much safer to be at least out of temporary reach should anyone come into the room to try and grab him), and the stools. There was, also, the camera, but that had made out to be very off limits since day one.

He'd crawled up the wall towards it and the light had immediately flashed red, a warning buzzer screeching through the storage closet. With a shiver up his spine, Peter had dropped from the wall, clutching at his ears desperately. The light had turned yellow once more and the room had been returned to that horrible, thick silence.

And it had been like that since.

And today it changed.

The hairs on his arms raised, forcing Peter to sit up from where he was laying against the wired shelf. He glanced at the camera warily but, a few seconds later, the door buzzed and then opened. There were three men. Vulture guy, shocky-gauntlet dude, and the other man that had been in the alley when Peter had been taken. They all had weapons.

Vulture guy was the calmest of the three, horrifyingly easygoing as he stopped in the middle of the room, looking at Peter lazily. The teenager eyed the gun strapped to his belt.

"Get down here, Pedro. You've got work to do."

Peter stared at the man. The man stared at Peter.

"What kind of work?" he asked hesitantly, keeping his expression painfully schooled, though he wasn't sure it'd worked.

"Just a bit of good ol' fashioned negotiation."

"I already told you he wouldn't pay a ransom."

"Money's not what we're looking for, kid," the man said. He gestured to the gun strapped to his hip. "Now we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. You choose."

"What are you? A cop?" Peter muttered, but he jumped down from the shelf anyway, keeping his head up in an attempt to avoid his shadow. The man smiled, clearly amused by his joke.

"I've got the cuffs to prove it," he joked, pulling the thick metal cuffs out. They weren't regular cuffs, like the ones that he'd snapped out of a few days ago, but instead thick ones that would coat all the way up to his wrists. They were held out, open, in front of him expectantly. "Putter' there, kid."

With a low exhale, Peter placed his hands in the cuffs, resisting a flinch when they clamped shut. The man just smiled on him, a condescending pat on his shoulder. He couldn't help the flinch.

"Great. Let's get going."

Peter followed the man out of the room he'd been trapped in, his hands stuck together in front of him and his head forced up away from the glare of his shadow. The teenager finally took in the building he'd been kept in for the past two days, eyes narrowing as he tried to remember every single detail, but it wasn't some sort of maze like he'd been expecting. It was just--a warehouse. An empty warehouse, a few loose pieces of furniture and knick-knacks scattered on the cement floors.

It wasn't very long before they stepped through one last hallway, ending in an open room. It was as dim as everything else had been, shadowed pillars holding up the ceiling. For some reason, his hairs raised and his spine shivered. He halted to a suspicious stop, staring at the vulture guy for a moment before turning to stare at the rest of the room. Something in here was wrong. Very, very, wrong.

The man with the shocker knocked against his shoulder, pushing Peter forward. With a hesitant shiver, the teenager followed after the man, examining every inch of the room he could see.

They stopped in the dead center of the room beside one the pillars. A pile of chains sat on the ground next to it. Peter stared at it for a moment, brows furrowing, before turning to look back up. His eyes caught onto a timer on the wall, sitting idle at thirty minutes but not yet counting down.

The clinking of chains caught Peter's attention, and he turned to see the shocker guy and the other men grabbing the metal and staring up at him expectantly. He glanced between them and the timer, his eyebrows raised. The vulture smiled.

"It'll all be explained later," he said. Then he shrugged. "Or maybe it won't. I don't really care either way. Now sit down."

Peter glanced at the pillar, the men with the surrounding chains, his cuffed hands, and, finally, at his shadow. His gaze rested there for a tired moment, at where he'd been refusing to look at for days. At the sharp cut of Mr. Stark's chin and the hair that was always spiked up in a constant swoop. He was grateful that shadows didn't have eyes, saving him from the man's disappointed stare.

But the shadow wouldn't save him from the men here, so Peter would have to. He'd have to at least try.

"Yep. I will definitely do that now," Peter said, moving over to the men.

He allowed for the shocker gauntlet guy to move just a little closer, and then he struck. With metal encased fists, the teenager lashed out, landing a harsh punch to the man's face and following it with a kick that launched him halfway across the room. There was panicked shouts as he whirled back around, ducking low as a bullet fired, lodging in the pillar behind him.

He rolled as he ducked, using the force of his weight to slam into the other man's legs, who consequently tumbled to the ground. Peter rolled fast enough to carry past the man as he fell, springing back up onto his feet clumsily. He ran, ducking behind a pillar as gunshots rang, the men picking themselves back up.

The teenager twisted, searching for an escape. There was a door to his right, about halfway across the room. A few pillars stood between him and his best shot at freedom, just enough for him to dive and grab some cover, but it would be risky. Peter glanced at his shadow.

He ran.

He only made it past two pillars when his senses spiked. He dropped into a crouch on instinct, flinching as the pillar beside was slashed, a slice of beating wind rushing over him. He squinted up to see the vulture's wingsuit, turning around at the wall and circling the room once before coming back to Peter. He moved to run, but the suit had already caught up with the gasping teen, blocking his path and knocking him to the ground.

Footsteps echoed lightly as Peter tried to scramble back to his feet, only managing to push himself onto his elbows until there was the click of a gun. He turned, glaring up at the vulture guy, a pistol in hand pointed barely a few feet from his head.

"Nice try, Pedro," the man said, pulling back a smile. He called, "Schultz!"

Shock gauntlet guy was back, one eye black and his gauntlet buzzing with power. It charged up with an electric whine, the man raised back his fist, and when it came down, Peter only knew two things. Pain and darkness.

  ---

Tony stared around the completely packed tower, only a few boxes left in his lab to be moved to the plane that would blend into the dark New York night in barely ten minutes. He sighed, tucking his hands in his pocket as he looked out the window over the city. The billionaire had never been known for his sentiment, but even he could say that this move held a lot of significance. And, not only that, but, out there in the dark city below, his little shadow remained.

He'd been reeling the past couple days from the incident at the ferry, about Peter's actions and his own. In the end, the kid was only a kid, one desperate to put some good in the world. He was smart and strong and everything Tony hadn't been, but then he thought of the people on that ferry. If one had died, and Peter had been the cause of it--well, it was easy to see the kid would have never recovered from that.

He needed time, and Tony needed time too. 'Forever' had been a little rash, but a week and a half didn't quite have the consequences the teenager needed to swallow. After returning from the dock, he'd placed the neatly folded suit into the nearest box and hadn't looked back. He assumed the suit was somewhere still in the empty lab, waiting to be unpacked and then eventually returned to the kid when Tony saw him on Friday.

He furrowed his brows, pulling out his phone. Maybe he should text Peter, or call him, and make sure he was okay. He hadn't really expected to hear from the kid in the past few days, but after seeing Peter's thin ribs and hearing that his foster father had taken his money, he was less than thrilled to leave him alone.

Glancing back at the boxes left, he moved to click on the kid's number. This wouldn't take too long, and they would be going in his car anyway. No plane required.

An echoed ringtone answered the stale night air before he could click call.

"What?" he muttered to himself, turning his phone off. He turned away from the window to stare at the leftover boxes. Hesitantly, he stepped over to them, opening the one where the ringing was loudest.

Peter's suit sat inside, twitching as it rang. He reached out his hand, grabbing the red fabric and pulling it out. It was folded crisply, the mask tucked away neatly between the cloth. He snagged it from beneath the fabric, surprised at the heaviness of it.

A badge, a card, and a ringing phone all tumbled out, clattering on the floor as the mask was upturned.

What the hell...?

He kneeled down beside the items, heart racing and picking up the still ringing phone displaying an unknown number. He snatched it up, answering the call immediately and pressing it up to his ear, picking up the other items left behind.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Hmm, I expected a cute kid like Parker's soulmate to be nicer." Tony froze, motioning for Friday to begin tracking the call. "Then again, I knew what I was walking into ever since you pulled him out of that lake last week. You two should really be more careful about where you hold your conversations, y'know."

"Get to the point," he snapped. Out of the lake. Vulture Guy. He pulled up a separate hologram and began to search for what he'd previously left to the FBI. Pictures and shaky videos of the large metal wings appeared in front of him.

"Y'know," the man dawdled, ignoring Tony's demand. "I didn't quite believe the kid when he said you wouldn't pay a ransom. I mean, a billionaire for a soulmate and, with no hesitation, he just said it. But really, I get it now. I do."

"You don't get anything."

"I don't? Well, that's a surprise. I usually get things, and this one isn't very hard to tell. Kid hasn't looked at his shadow in two days."

Two...

"What the hell have you done to him?" he whispered, voice cold. He whirled around towards the screen that had the phone's location, brows furrowing when it wasn't any closer to finding out the source of the call.

"I've insured that business will continue to boom, Tony," the man answered easily. Tony took a seething breath, reigning himself in. Ransom. He'd said something about a ransom.

"What do you want?"

"Did you finish packing yet?"

Tony glanced at the boxes. "Yes."

"Good. That plane of yours is scheduled to take off soon. Let's make sure it stays that way."

"And Peter?"

"You get to come and get him."

"And if the plane doesn't stay on schedule?"

"You won't get the location in time. No more shadow for you."

Tony glanced down at the mask clutched in his hand and then at the shadow on the ground. It was pale in the dim room, hair curly and clothed in a baggy sweatshirt.

"I need proof that you have him," he demanded. There was ding. Drawing the phone away from his ear, he glared down at the photo. Peter was slumped against a cement pillar, chains wrapped tightly and thickly around him and the pillar. He was gagged and clearly passed out, a purple bruise forming around his eye. He still wore Tony's red hoodie.

"Did you get your proof?"

Tony swallowed. "Yep. Loud and clear."

"Great. When your plane leaves, I'll send you the location. As of now, you have half an hour."

"Until what?"

"I guess you'll find out."

And then the call disconnected.

"Shit!" he yelled, grabbing the suit and balling it up. "Friday, location."

"I was unable to trace the call, sir."

He rubbed at his face. "How long until wings up?"

"Ten minutes."

"Keep an eye out for an anonymous message. Notify me immediately. And how long would it take to get out a suit and reassemble it?"

"For the current Mark, anywhere between ten and fifteen minutes."

"That's too long," he muttered. Everything was taking too long. "Get my car ready downstairs. I want it waiting out front for me at a moment's notice."

"Of course, sir."

Panicking only slightly, he grabbed the last two boxes, piling them in his arms and rushing them to the elevator. The ride was quick, but it could have been quicker. When the doors slid open, he dashed out to where workers were piling the last of the tower's belongings into the open plane, Happy overseeing them all.

"All right, wheels up in eight minutes. We just got to load Tony’s old Hulkbuster armor, prototype for Cap’s new shield, and the Meging... the Meg... the... Thor’s magic belt," his friend called, catching sight of Tony, he paused. "And these two boxes. Hey, boss, what's up? You look like you're about to be sick."

"I need the plane going as quickly as possible. And I really mean as fast. As. Possible."

"Tony, what--"

"Just get it going," Tony snapped, making a note to apologize to his friend later. There wasn't any time to explain. Happy stared at him, and then nodded.

"Okay. Five minutes, it'll be in the air."

"Good. Thanks, Hap."

Tony left the boxes, keeping the suit and Peter's belongings with him and dashing back to the elevator. It took him to the empty bottom floor as quickly as possible, where he practically tore out through the doors and to where his car was waiting for him. The gas was already running as he slipped into it, pulling out his phone and waiting.

"How long since the timer started, Fri?"

"Seven minutes."

"The plane?"

"Taking off now."

Tony rolled down the window, poking his head out and squinting up. There was a distortion of movement, and then there was a buzz. He turned back into the car, glaring down at his phone to see an address in Brooklyn.

He floored on the gas.

"How far away is this?"

"Approximately twenty-eight minutes."

"How long we got?"

"Twenty-two."

"Great. Let's be there in twenty. Quickest route. I don't care how many laws we have to break to get there, got it? And trace the message's location, send it to Rhodes when you find it."

"Of course, sir."

Tony didn't know how many red lights he forced the car through, how many people he cut off and sped around, cutting every corner he could possibly find. It didn't feel fast enough. But nothing ever could. The only thing that went fast enough was the rapid pounding of his skittery heart.

How could he have been so stupid to leave Peter alone like that? To meet him and then drop him off like the drop of the hat. And to not even bring him home or make sure he wasn't injured. Or to even just have a reasonable conversation. It was despicable of Tony. And now Peter might die because of it. His little shadow.

While driving, he ordered for Friday to find Peter's missing person's report, his heart beating rapidly as he tried to piece together when the kid had been taken. Where? How far out had Tony been? Had they just been waiting for him to leave?

As it turned out, there wasn't one. Tony chewed his lip, pushing it to the back of his mind for now and just continuing to floor the pedal. One step at a time. He just had to get there before whatever was going to happen happened.

Tony ended up arriving in eighteen. He barely even parked the car, just ripped down the joystick and leaped out, running without any kind of hesitation into the dark warehouse.

  ---

When Peter blinked awake, it was to a constant ticking and the loss of his shadow. He panicked, struggling in an attempt to see what had guarded over him for so long. He needed it now more than ever. The chains he was trapped in rattled and clinked with his weak movements, and he winced at the pain around his eye and the soreness in his jaw. After a moment, he realized that it was the tight gag cutting into his cheeks so hard he was sure that there were cuts around the area.

A little more searching revealed to the trapped teenager that his shadow was still there, if a little faint. It stumped out in front of him, hard to make out, but Peter was grateful nonetheless. He knocked his head against the pillar, staring at the shadow in an attempt to force down the way his hairs were still raised on end.

He forced himself to tune into the ticking that was still happening, furrowing his brows and straining his ears. There was a lot of ticking actually. One in the pillar across to him, and the one across from him, and the ones line across the room...

The pillars were filled with bombs.

His breath caught.

Breathing was hard through the tight gag, but he managed to shudder in a few deep breaths, his whole body moving with the impossible action. After what felt like forever, he was a little more coherent, a little more able to comprehend his situation. Peter glanced away from his shadow, instead staring up to where the timer had been earlier. It was counting down quickly, now leaving him with five and a half minutes. The vulture guy hadn't said what was going to happen when that timer ran out, but, given the ticking bombs in the pillars, he had an idea.

The teenager began to struggle, trying desperately to get a good enough grip to pull his cuffs apart, but the chains kept his arms firmly strapped against his side. He let out a frustrated grunt after a minute of fruitless wrestling with the clinking metal, letting his head drop and blinking tiredly. Think, Parker, think.

"PETER!!"

Peter perked back up at the sound of his name, his eyes widening as he recognized the frantic voice echoing through the halls. Mr. Stark. What was Mr. Stark doing here? Is this what the vulture guy had meant?

Peter tried to shout back but, of course, the gag muffled his ability to speak. All that was choked out was a long grunt that barely made it past the room. He tried a few more times, rustling his chains as loud as possible to catch the man's attention. It apparently worked, because footsteps approached.

Mr. Stark burst through the door, frantic and wild eyes landing on Peter with a short gasp, but he never stopped running, sliding to a stop on his knees in front of the boy.

"Peter. Oh, my God, Peter, I am so sorry," the man apologized, his voice a whisper. Hands reached out towards his face. Peter couldn't help the way he flinched away, his head knocking against the pillar painfully, leaving splintered cracks in the cement. Mr. Stark paused, mumbling a horrified apology and glancing at his watch anxiously. "Okay, here's the deal. We're under a pretty strict time limit, okay? I just gotta get you out of here. Can I...can I take your gag off? Please?"

Peter hesitated, glancing at the clock behind Mr. Stark's head. Three and a half minutes.

Mr. Stark followed his gaze, glancing over his shoulder to catch sight of the ticking timer, his expression darkening. He turned back to Peter.

"Like I said, time limit. So, can I?"

After a moment, Peter nodded, leaning his head forward to let him grasp at the fabric. His instincts screamed to not give the man purchase to his hair, but Peter knew better. Not that he could stop the flinch when Mr. Stark's fingers brushed against the back of his head.

Mr. Stark reached forward immediately, untying the knot and pulling the gag away in a gentle manner, letting Peter finally take a deep breath. He moved his jaw, trying to undo some of the tension trapped there and wincing at the pain that dug into it. The billionaire moved onto working the chains, his watch turning into a bright red Iron Man gauntlet that began to power through the metal.

It was silent a moment before, "When did they get you?"

Peter swallowed, leaning his head back and shrugging. "After the uh--after the ferry. Cornered me in an alley probably half an hour after."

"I'm sorry, kid," Mr. Stark apologized, but Peter just shrugged again, staring pointedly forward. He kept a careful eye on the clock. Two and a half minutes, and the chains weren't looking good. He narrowed his eyes, glancing down at the watch. It didn't have a direct power source, and he very much doubted it would be able to break through all of his chains in time. He swallowed.

"It's okay. My fault anyways."

"No. This isn't--"

"It is, Mr. Stark," Peter protested. Mr. Stark stared at him, but he needed this off of his chest. This horrible guilt that he was he'd never get the chance to get rid of. And now might be his last opportunity. "I was the one who went after the vulture guy. Not even with good intentions. I just... I don't know. You're--you're Tony Stark, and having me for a soulmate seemed less than thrilling to you. I just wanted to prove that I was worthy to be your shadow. And I didn't. And I'm sorry. And...and I get why you didn't want to talk to me again."

"Peter--"

"Just go, Mr. Stark."

"What? No! I will not leave you--"

"The clock, Mr. Stark." They both turned to look at it. "Less than a minute. You won't get me free in time."

"We don't even know what will happen! It could be a fluke for all we know," the man protested. Peter stared at him, unable to keep himself from trembling in fear, gesturing towards the nearest pillar with a nod of his head. His voice was a quaking whisper.

"These all have bombs in them. Every single one, except for the one I'm tied against. You won't make it if you stay here."

Mr. Stark stared at him, his gaze hard, still blazing through the chains. None had been completely broken yet, but they were beginning to turn orangey-red. There was a frightening resolution in his stare, and Peter did his best to return it despite how much he was blinking back horribly frustrated tears. He forced his gaze away, checking the timer once more. Twenty seconds.

"Please, Mr. Stark. You need to go."

"I'm not leaving you," the man said. The chains were getting redder, Peter could probably tear at them soon, but not soon enough. He continued straining anyway, grunting as the metal resisted against him. "We're going to have a much longer talk later, kid, but I don't want you to think for a second that I don't want you as my soulmate. You're a good kid, with a good heart. There is nothing to prove. Absolutely nothing."

Peter glanced at him from where he was straining, surprised at the wetness swimming in the man's eyes.

The chains snapped, falling around Peter in a metal heap. The timer beeped.

The thundering of booms crowded Peter, going off around the room in a sporadic circle. Mr. Stark's arms wrapped around him immediately, a protective body shielding him against what Peter had honestly expected to be a bigger explosion. Instead, they were small, knocking out the middle of the pillars so quickly that trying to follow them made his head spin. He figured out what was happening just a second too late.

Working against the instinct to curl himself into a protective huddle underneath his soulmate, safe from the crowding dust and explosions that shattered through the air so hard that he could feel the vibrations underneath the man's arms, the teenager broke free of his hold. The ceiling crumbled down as quickly as he moved, forcing Mr. Stark to the ground as far away as he could reach and piling himself in between.

No amount of bracing himself could have prepared Peter for the pain.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

[carmenlire]

Plum

read on ao3

He thinks he scared himself. Just a little. Just enough for it to have an impact.

Maybe. The jury’s still out on that, he supposes.

Falling asleep last night had taken longer than he’d thought. He thinks they’d been hunger pains and he knows it’s ridiculous but a part of him still hadn’t understood.

At that point, he hadn’t eaten in forty eight hours, give or take a few minutes. He’d gotten home from work and he’d been exhausted. He’s always tired these days and even if it had been a couple of days since his last meal, the last time he’d chewed and swallowed, he’d been fine.

Until he’d gone to bed at least. It wasn’t even a struggle to collapse in bed after work. He’s a little tired of his job, of the way he feels like his superiors are always breathing down his neck, at the way the people he’s trying to help just seem to get a little meaner and a little ruder with every passing day.

He’s a little tired in general but that can’t really be helped, either. He’s usually tired. He hasn’t worked out in longer than he cares to admit-- he’s been brushing Jace off every time his brother tries to get him to go on an early morning run or join a boxing class at their gym. There are some absolutes that Alec follows and one of them is that to work out in the morning, he needs to have eaten the day before.

Perhaps it should be a warning that he hasn’t been working out lately-- the past few weeks, really the past several months-- because he just can’t make himself eat with any consistency. He usually eats once a day but it never feels quite right. So he wakes up the next morning and tells himself tomorrow as he hits snooze on his alarm for another hour of sleep that doesn’t leave him any more well rested than before.

Yesterday, all he’d been able to think about during his shift was coming home and taking off his damn tie. Dinner was a far off thing, easily avoided. He’d just wanted to slide between his sheets where nothing matters and where he doesn’t have to be a person.

Where he’s not Alec Lightwood, aiming to make senior associate within the year. He’s just a guy who’s a little sad and maybe a little hungry and so, so empty that he feels like his insides are cracking most minutes of most days.

Well, that’s not entirely true, Alec thinks and it’s not even with a wry little smile because even so small an action feels beyond him right now. He hadn’t just felt exhausted during his late evening shift-- there was a noticeable part of him that had been a little smug, a lot relieved, not inconsiderably proud. Because at that point, it’d been almost two entire days since he’d last eaten and he was happy about that-- felt the stirring of pride at his wherewithal to not give in to what his body demanded, felt good because he felt light.

Usually he feels like he carries the weight of an army behind him and so that feeling-- of being a little smaller, a little less in the way that matters, in the way he wishes for-- it’s.

Well, it’s intoxicating. A little addicting, if he’s being honest.

It’s been a rough year, Alec thinks now. So much is going on and he hasn’t felt this way in years, the way the fog rolls in, the way he sometimes thinks he doesn’t have a body. Still, some of it’s been good. There’s that weekend last month that he spent with Izzy and Jace, the three of them on the camping trip from hell. He hadn’t laughed so hard in ages as he had watching Jace try to put together a tent, as he did watching Iz take her turn during a particularly drunken round of charades.

Then there’s Magnus. Things are so good with him. Too good, a voice whispers in the back of his mind but he tries so hard to knock it back to where it came from, to make it disappear. He has a boyfriend now and just seeing Magnus makes him happy. Or if not happy, then content. Alec can be himself with Magnus and it means more than he can say to have a boyfriend and find such easy comfort within him. He takes great pride in being that person for Magnus, as well.

There’s guilt too, though. Because the longer Alec’s like this, the more he thinks that he might have an actual problem. And it terrifies him because he doesn’t see a way out. He doesn’t think there is one.

Because here Alec sits and he’s staring at nothing in a bookstore a few blocks from his apartment and he wants to die, just a little bit. Because that would be easier for anyone involved in his shit take at taking care of himself.

He feels Magnus staring at him from where he sits within arms reach in his own chair. He feels his boyfriend rubbing a hand over his back in soothing circles but it does nothing to stop Alec from feeling like he shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be anywhere.

This morning, Alec ate a plum.

This morning was day three of Alec’s little challenge to himself. He had idle plans to make it a full seventy two hours without eating. Don’t get him wrong, he’s had a few iced coffees every day and it worries him, a little maybe, because he was starting to fixate on how the coffees felt like cheating, too.

There’s oat milk in the lattes, you know.

But he’d had this date day planned with Magnus for days now. His boyfriend, his wonderful boyfriend, has planned a whole day of things for Alec, for them to enjoy together. Alec was excited for today and he’d been feeling good when he woke up.

A day off from work, a day spent with a man who he’s increasingly sure that he loves. It sounded like a recipe for a lovely day.

Plus, he’d woken feeling lighter. In the past two days, he’d lost seven pounds. He knows most, if not all of it, is water weight. But seeing the number drop so severely on the scale felt so good. It gave him confidence. It made him happy.

It filled him in a way that a meal hasn’t been able to in months.

It sounds so dire now but Alec’s never been underweight. From the outside, he looks exceedingly healthy. It does nothing but make him feel worse a lot of the time.

So, Alec knew that the plan for the day was a bookstore in the morning, followed by lunch at this place Magnus had been dying to try for weeks now, with the afternoon spent wandering the halls of an art museum further uptown.

Alec’s not stupid and he never wants Magnus to worry. So, he’d decided to break his fast and eat some fruit. That way he’d have energy for the day and when Magnus asked him what he’d had for breakfast-- his boyfriend is definitely in the camp that believes it’s the most important meal of the day-- Alec wouldn’t have to lie. It's a bonus that fruit falls squarely into a safe category of food in his brain.

Alone in his kitchen, it’d been equal parts shameful and irritating that taking that first bite of stone fruit had taken several attempts. He washed the fruit and patted it dry with a paper towel and stared at it for a long minute, most of him loathing the thought of biting into it. He felt like a failure not being able to last another minute, another hour.

But Magnus would be here within the hour and he needed to get ready.

Four tries later, and his teeth pierced the plum. Immediately, he’d thought that this had to be the best plum that he’d ever eaten. Perfectly ripe, juicy, the flavor positively bursting from the flesh.

Idly, he’d thought that maybe he’d make these lengthy fasts a more regular thing, if he could truly appreciate food like this at the end.

The plum was small and he’d finished it in a handful of bites. Almost immediately after throwing away the seed, he’d started to feel a tiny bit of shame and a whole lot of regret for eating.

He was so weak that he couldn’t wait until he had a true reason to eat-- lunch at the Korean restaurant Magnus had been raving about. If he’d waited until then, then maybe he wouldn’t have made the full three days but Magnus is worth eating for. It would have been okay, then.

Nothing for it now, he’d finally decided and had been ready when his boyfriend picked him up.

The bookstore was a little busy. Not crowded, but a fair few more people than he’d anticipated. Truthfully, though, Alec hadn’t really noticed because he’d been enjoying his time with Magnus so much.

Magnus, who has such an array of knowledge. He’s interested in so many subjects and strolling through the shelves of books and floating between genres, idly picking up paperbacks with interesting covers and hardbacks by beloved authors he wants to share with Magnus had been fun. He hadn’t noticed the time that slipped by.

They’re climbing the stairs to the second floor of the store and Alec feels a little winded. More than he’d usually ever feel walking up a single flight. His head feels a little weird, too. Light but not in a good way.

It doesn’t make sense. He ate a plum this morning.

Magnus looks over with a smile. “What do you say to a coffee while we look up here? My treat,” he adds with a wink that has Alec laughing.

Alec easily accepts and they get in the short line.

“What’d you have for breakfast, darling?”

It’s an idle question as Magnus looks over the selection of bakery treats on display. Alec looks, too, and thinks that if it was another time, if he was a different person, he might like to try a piece of the oreo cheesecake.

“A plum,” he answers simply as he turns his head to people watch the few occupied tables.

“And?”

Alec shakes his head, bemused. “And that’s it,” he replies. “I ate a plum for breakfast.”

It’s now that Magnus looks over, askance. "I told you to eat something that would give you energy until lunch, darling. A plum is nothing,” he chastises and the tone is light and teasing. “You should eat more.”

Alec keeps the easy smile on his face, though he can’t help a small part of himself from growing a little worried, a little guilty-- but there’s a kernel of anger there too that he can’t really define.

He shouldn’t be upset over his boyfriend’s light teasing. It’s not that deep. Magnus doesn’t know the sharks circling just under the edge of this conversation and Alec’s grateful for that, even more now.

“I guess you’re just the breakfast person, babe. You know I don’t really like to eat before noon.”

Magnus just harrumphs and turns toward the cashier. They’re next in line.

But Alec doesn’t feel so well. His head feels even lighter. He thinks his vision starts to waver but he thinks he’s also being dramatic. He has a tendency to do that, he knows. Sometimes he even thinks he might have some type of-- some type of disorder but he’s usually quick to tell himself that everyone feels this way about food and eating and weight and calories and he shouldn’t add more to his plate of stress.

Magnus takes the final step up to the barista but Alec stands stock still. The edges of his vision are gray and that’s weird because he thought that only happened in books. He thought it was just a clever description but oh God the tables by the window are in grayscale and now he can’t really see them at all and the volume of the bustling cafe area is muted, did everyone stop talking and--

He doesn’t think he’s breathing. He can’t feel his chest. He can’t feel his legs. He needs to sit down.

He thinks Magnus is turning back to ask him what he wants to drink but he can’t answer. His sight is set on an unoccupied table a few meters away and it’s with single minded focus that he puts one foot in front of the other and very roughly sits down as soon as he’s within reach.

More like collapses, Magnus would say.

He stares down at the ground. He counts his breaths. Everything is still quiet and Alec’s still preoccupied enough making sure that he stays conscious that he can’t immediately rationalize everything away to himself. Magnus comes over and brings the other chair around the table until they’re side by side.

“Alexander? You okay?”

Alec can’t answer. He just needs a moment. He hopes Magnus doesn’t get mad that he can’t bring his head up, that he just can’t quite manage to string together a response right now.

Magnus doesn’t seem mad, at least. He isn’t irritated. He also isn’t hovering, thank God, because Alec doesn’t think he could take that right now. His presence is quiet and calms Alec down a little and maybe it’s mixed with relief, too, that there’s someone with him right now-- that it’s Magnus who he knows he can trust.

It’s quiet for a few moments before Alec looks up and makes eye contact with Magnus. His boyfriend smiles a little but his eyes are deadly serious. “What can I do?”

Alec takes a deep breath in and slowly lets it out. He looks down and watches his hands flex, feels his fingers curl. “Can I have a lemonade?”

Normally, Alec doesn’t drink anything with sugar in it. He has a sweet tooth but prefers to stick strictly to water and his iced lattes. He knows he needs something more now.

Magnus merely nods and stands without another word. He’s back a moment later and hands over a bottle of lemonade he’d bought from the cooler. “Here you go, darling,” he says softly.

Alec drinks and Magnus goes back to sweeping a hand over his back in an aimless pattern. “It was rather warm in here, wasn’t it?”

Alec makes some noise of agreement and Magnus adds on quietly, much more subdued, “Maybe you should’ve eaten something more for breakfast.”

There’s that little flick of annoyance that Alec can’t quite squash down but he’s not stupid. And Magnus doesn’t even know the half of it. And so Alec nods a little more weakly than he’d like and says, “Yeah, maybe, babe,” unable to control the tendril of indifference in the words.

Magnus is quiet for a minute and Alec works on the lemonade and thinks through what just happened.

He’s never fainted before. He’s never come so close to blacking out. He thought he was stronger than that and he’s a little mad at his body for showing that it can have a mind of its own, too. It happened so fast that it leaves him with whiplash.

Over it all, though, is confusion because he did eat. He thought the fruit would be enough to last until lunch and it doesn’t make sense to him that he ate an hour ago and almost passed out just now.

Magnus’s voice breaks through the self recrimination. “Why don’t we take a little break, get a treat, and find a table by the windows,” he suggests. Alec knows him well enough by now to know that while it was phrased as a question, it’s anything but.

Seeing as he doesn’t really have a choice, Alec nods and they stand and make their way back over to the counter. Alec takes a look around but no one's staring at them. Everyone’s focused on their own computers and books and Alec doesn’t feel like a bug under a microscope in the way that he thought he might. He doesn’t really want any more witnesses to this.

Magnus orders a cranberry almond croissant and turns to him. Alec decides on a slice of that cheesecake, after all.

They sit down and Alec stares at the dessert. The truth is, he enjoys food. More than he should, he thinks. He likes trying new things and he has a sweet tooth and he enjoys a truly good, filling meal. The problem is that it’s been so long since it’s been worth it. He has a lot of food rules and this cheesecake breaks at least three that he can think of off the bat. It’s a little terrifying actually and he’s mad at himself that a piece of cake can make him feel genuine fear.

When did it get to this point, is all he can wonder. How do I go back.

Magnus doesn’t make him feel like a child. He doesn’t make a scene of things, doesn’t make Alec feel like he embarrassed him. In his quiet, competent way, Magnus simply takes care of him.

The day isn’t ruined, which Alec feared as he took the first bite of food. They spend awhile at that table and they both eat their treats and enjoy their coffee and talk about anything and everything that pops into their minds. Magnus doesn’t rush them from the table, seems content enough to enjoy Alec’s company at a table in the bookstore cafe rather than walking around the store like originally planned.

Eventually, they do throw their trash away and Magnus takes Alec’s hand as they start wandering the second floor. Magnus doesn’t mention what happened for the rest of the day but it lingers in the back of Alec’s mind.

The day ends up being a smash success of a date. Alec buys a few books for Magnus. They enjoy the Korean restaurant-- Magnus was right, it’s phenomenal-- and the art museum is eye catching.

It’s later that night and Magnus is spending the night at Alec’s. They’re in bed and Magnus is fast asleep.

Sleep eludes Alec for awhile, though. He can’t stop thinking about this morning at the bookstore cafe. He thinks that things might be escalating. He thinks that he doesn’t want a repeat of what happened.

He can’t help but think that maybe that episode was a sign that he was doing things right, after all.

He’s so tired and he doesn’t have any answers. He feels rather helpless, really. Maybe he knows that this isn’t normal but he can’t help the way he feels. He doesn’t know who he can tell these things to-- things like how he feels an almost compulsion to weigh himself every day even if he knows the results will devastate him, the way he has a very narrow list of safe foods and feels totally removed from what normal people eat, the way he sometimes asks himself what he’d like for his next meal but the voice in his head immediately retorts but you don’t deserve to eat.

Alec’s an adult. He knows what the signs point to. But he can’t quite make himself believe that he has a problem because it seems only logical that he hold these misgivings, given his body. It’s just the way things are for him. It feels increasingly like it's always been this way.

But maybe today scared him a little. Maybe, Alec thinks as he looks down at his boyfriend sleeping peacefully on his chest, maybe he does have someone he can talk to.

And maybe Magnus will tell him he has nothing to worry about, that these overwhelming thoughts and feelings are normal. Or, Alec thinks with a sliver of dread but an even greater sense of hope, Magnus will look him in the eye and take his hand and say that it’s okay to have a problem and that they can find a solution.

Together.

[chimchimsauce]

Maniac: Stalker

Over the course of one week, Min Yoongi transitioned from YN’s sweet, lovable boyfriend into a complete nightmare - a maniac determined to make her life hell.

Rain patters down on the roof as YN taps the edge of her pencil against her five subject notebook, trying to think of what she should write next. This essay she’s working on isn’t due for another month, but if here’s something she hates, it’s the possibility of turning anything in late. She’d much rather stay up all night weeks early and be finished than to stress and cram last minute.

But for now, she’s sufficiently stuck, mind blanking on what she could possibly add to her essay about historical English literature. With a sigh, YN pushes away from her desk to massage her temples. As an art major, YN wishes she could just focus on her paintings instead of having to take general education classes, but sadly that is not the case.

She rolls her head around to loosen her stiff muscles and trots downstairs for a midnight snack. Thankfully, the college YN attends isn’t far from her childhood home, allowing her to save thousands by not living in the dorm. It also means that YN can work on her art projects without having to worry about creeping into her roommate’s personal space. YN downs a glass of water and looks at the clock, realizing that it’s already a little past one in the morning.

“That’s a good enough excuse to pick up that essay again this weekend,” she says to herself, drying her glass and placing it back into the cupboard.

Someone (most likely her Dad) left the TV on, so YN grabs the remote to turn it off, hesitating when she realizes the door to her art studio is slightly open. Frowning, YN leaves the TV on and goes to investigate. She knows that she hasn’t been in the studio today - hasn’t even been in there this week. Her parents know not to go in there because YN is very particular about not letting anyone see her work until it’s finished. So why . . .

The overhead lights buzz when she turns them on, humming lowly in a sound that is usually comforting to her. Her workspace is illuminated, a large drawing table taking up most of the space inside. Shelves full of paint, brushes, and other art supplies line the walls, as well as a gigantic mural her parents let her paint when it became apparent that art was her passion back in middle school. In the furthest corner, right next to the only and slightly opened window (did she do that?) is an easel holding a covered painting, one she hasn’t been able to work on for months.

With her throat suddenly feeling dry, YN places the TV remote on the table and makes her way to the window, being sure to close it tightly and lock it. For a moment, she stalls in front of the covered painting, almost wanting to reach out and reveal what’s hidden underneath. Just as her fingers brush across the cloth, lightning strikes, startling her so thoroughly that she trips over her own feet and grasps the cloth as a lifeline, ultimately landing firmly on her butt and revealing the half-finished painting in all of its glory. YN freezes as she is forced to come face to face with her creation, face to face with the portrait of the only man she’s ever loved - the only man she’s ever hated.

The memories come rushing in even though she tries not to think about it, tries not to let the past affect her. And yet . . .

The day is warm. It’s the middle of May and classes have just ended for the year. YN can barely believe that she’s successfully made it through her first year of college. All she wants to do now is head home and take a three-day-long nap. Before she can head to her car to begin making that dream a reality, something cold touches her forearm, causing her to jump slightly. When she turns, she is greeted by her happily smiling boyfriend.

“Yoongi!” she shouts, hitting his arm playfully, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to congratulate you on surviving her for a whole year,” he says, placing the beverage into her hand, “Oh, and to give you think. I know you probably haven’t had anything to drink all day.”

YN smiles sheepishly, looking bashful.

“You got me there,” she says, taking his gift and cracking it open.

The bubbles feel nice on her throat.

“But I know you’re up to something else,” she says, eyeing him somewhat warily.

The two of them have been dating since her junior year of high school. She knows Yoongi like the back of her hand by now.

“Just . . . stuff with my Dad again. He’s pissing me off.”

“Oh no,” YN says, reaching out with her free hand to touch his shoulder, “Is everything alright?”

Yoongi has always had a bit of a rocky relationship with his father. His mother passed away when he was just twelve years old, and his dad has taken up some toxic ways of handling stress. From gambling to drugs and alcohol, his dad has done and tried it all. It put Yoongi in a really rough place, so by the time he met YN, he was just about to go down that path his won self. But YN and her family reminded him of the good days, the days when his father made him feel safe and loved. She made him oh so desperately want to be a better person than his father had the ability to be, encouraging him to follow his dreams of becoming a producer and landing them both at the prestigious college they attend today.

Yoongi shrugs.

“Alright enough. He wants me to head home for a bit to talk about something important. I’m not sure what it is, but I wanted to let you know that I won’t be home for family dinner tonight.”

Yoongi is practically part of YN’s family at this point. Her parents adore him and her mother has been dropping some not so subtle hints about a wedding some time in the future.

“Okay. I’ll be sure to tell my mom,” she says.

Yoongi pulls her into a tight hug, one which betrays his true anxieties about his upcoming trip. YN isn’t sure what his dad told him, so all she can do is melt into his embrace and rub his back, being there for him.

“Thanks for the drink,” she says once he pulls away, “And I’ll see you soon, okay? I love you.”

“I love you more,” Yoomgi replies, kissing the top of her head and heading off, disappearing into the fray.

If only YN had known how much her life would change, she would have stopped him from going, screamed and kicked until he agreed to stay with her, to not go visit his despicable, scummy excuse for a dad. But hindsight is 20/20.

Yoongi didn’t call her when he returned from visiting his father. In fact, he was blatantly ignoring all of her calls. Paranoia began to build up inside of her, the young woman worrying that something had happened to her beloved boyfriend.

It wasn’t until she tried to visit him at his shared apartment to demand answers that she even began to understand what happened.

“He what?” YN asks, blinking at one of Yoongi’s roommates in confusion.

“Yoongi moved out a few days ago. Didn’t tell us why, just handed us a stack of hundreds, grabbed his stuff and left. He didn’t tell you?”

“I - no . . .” YN says, perplexed beyond belief.

What on Earth is happening?

“Sorry . . .” the other man (YN thinks his name is Jungkook) says, smiling apologetically at her.

“No, thank you for telling me,” she says, readjusting her purse on her shoulder and turning around, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

She tries to call Yoongi again but is once more sent to voicemail. Determined to find him, YN embarks on a trip across town, checking all of Yoongi’s usual hang out spots. He isn’t in the coffee shop or the comic book store. She can’t find him at the independent recording studio or at the park where he likes to write songs.

Thoroughly exhausted and so nervous she’s almost shaking, YN steps into a small restaurant - the most expensive one in the area. She’d never be able to afford to eat there, but her friend Taehyung works as a waiter here and he usually takes his break around this time. She just really needs some comfort right now.

The waitstaff doesn’t look too disgusted by her casual attire and somewhat messy appearance - they’re used to her showing up to see Taehyung.

Thankfully he’s on his break, just like she predicted.

“Oh my gosh, Tae,” YN says as the two of them slide into a booth near the corner of the restaurant, “I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” her best friend asks, concerned.

YN doesn’t usually get this frazzled

“Yoongi’s basically shut me out and disappeared off the face of the planet,” YN says, clenching her fists together as if that will help anything at all.

“Did you guys have a fight or something?” Taehyung asks, frowning.

Yoongi and YN have always been a power couple. The two rarely got into a fight at all, and when they did they soon blew over completely.

“No. Last weekend he went to visit his dad and then radio silence. He was perfectly fine beforehand. I don’t know what’s wrong. And Tae . . .” YN says, leaning forward and widening her eyes, “He left his apartment! Pulled out of the lease and everything!”

“What?!” Taehyung says, this tone catching the attention of some of the other patrons who send him a dirty look, “Is he okay?! Did his dad do something?!”

“I don’t know!” YN says, glad not to be the only one freaking out, “Should I call the police?”

Before Taehyung can reply, the door opens and a small crowd of men enters. At first, YN doesn’t pay them any attention at all. They’re dressed just like everyone else - wearing outfits that probably cost a whole semester of tuition. They settle into the booth in the corner, one table between them and YN. Their chattering is obnoxious in a way that only rich brats can pull off. It’s as if they don’t even notice the other people in the restaurant.

The college town they’re in has a strange mix of really rich and not so rich people. It’s definitely a higher-end area with a great school that recently began to give out a ton of scholarships, pulling in a lot of different people from different backgrounds. You can definitely still tell who is who, though.

The group of men all take their seats and YN’s breath catches in her throat as she catches sight of her boyfriend. He’s almost unrecognizable. His dark hair has been bleached blonde, the color of white corn. He’s dressed to the nines too, wearing outfits YN knows for a fact he didn’t own last week.

“What the fuck,” she whispers, causing Taehyugn to turn around.

The other man’s eyebrows knit in confusion.

“What about that broad we see you hanging out with, Min Suga?” one of the boys asks loudly, leaning against the booth with a confidence that falls straight into the arrogant category.

“Hm?” Yoongi asks.

It’s clear that he hasn’t caught sight of YN yet. She’s just about to stand up and rush over to him, but Taehyung stops her.

“Maybe we should just watch for a bit,” he whispers, sinking low into the booth and peeping as conspicuously as possible.

“What? But . . .”

“Shh!” Taehyung hisses.

“Yeah, Suga, that arty girl. She your girlfriend? I see you hanging out all the time,” a different guy says.

“Oh please!” The third person says, “No way in hell. Everyone knows that art hoes are crazy.”

YN’s shoulders tense up and she has to fight the words springing up in her throat. Surely her Yoongi will -

“Nah, she’s just some weirdo who likes hanging around me. We went to the same high school and she’s used that as an excuse to cling onto me.

“Ah. So she’s a watcher,” Guy one says.

“A stalker!”

“A psychopath!”

All four of them cackle like a pack of hyenas. It’s then that Yoongi finally looks up and catches YN’s eye.

“She’s a fucking maniac,” he says, looking YN dead in the eye.

Her world comes to a screeching halt as Yoongi dismisses her so cruelly and completely without explanation.

“I’m leaving,” she tells Taehyung, standing up to leave as tears gather in her eyes.

“Isn’t that her now?” One of the others says, “Did she follow you here as well?”

“What a fucking creep!”

“Hey!” One of them shouts loudly, catching the attention of everyone in the venue, “Stop being such a psycho! Don’t you know that people like you aren’t anything to people like us? Stop bothering Suga and fuck off!”

Before YN can even move, something cold covers her skin and glass shatters on the floor, causing a few people to scream.

One of them had snatched a pitcher of water from one of the waiters and thrown it at her.

“The fuck is your problem, man!” Taehyung demands, no longer able to stand idly by.

“Don’t,” YN whispers to him, skin stinging from the glass that sliced her. Tears are falling down her face now, “You have to worry about your job,”

“Fuck this job!” Taehyung says, getting ready to snatch one of those arrogant assholes by the collar and wring his neck.

“Kim Taehyung!” A voice shouts.

It’s his manager.

“Hand over your badge right now! That is no way to treat a guest!”

“But!”

“Now!”

The two of them are then shoved out of the restaurant, Taehyung comforting a sobbing and trembling YN as best he can. It was the first day of her new life - the first day of hell.

YN rises to her feet and recovers the painting, shaking. Lightning flashes once more and she swears she sees a figure outside in her yard.

Hey there! I hope you guys enjoy this little miniseries I have planned for this month! If you want to be tagged, add yourself here.

Tag List:

@bartiertae @helperofthenight​ @knjkitten​ @coffeeismylife28​@childofmoonbeams​ @lizardthewizzard @jalexa83 @crackhead1-800 @kawaiimusiccollection​ @bibbykins​ @btsenchanting 

[samwilsonsbabymama]

If I Want To

18+

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Black Reader

Summary: Sequel to All the Things (Your Man Won’t Do) After finally breaking up with your crappy boyfriend, how long will you wait before you finally let Sam make you his?

Warnings: Smut, cursing, fluff, and a bit of angst lol

A/N: So @princessmisery666​ gave me the idea to use If I Want To by Usher and this is the result lol the break-up scene was inspired by two really good movies lol try to guess what they are!

Word Count: 4,100 ish

v2- I typed all of the texts out in this version so people can see them if they don’t load on the other version. Sam is italicized and reader is bolded. I tried to separate them. Let me know if the format is messed up 💖

A few days after your not-a-date with Sam, you finally broke up with Ty. While he was at work, you packed all of his clothes into boxes and sat them outside your apartment door. When he got there that evening, he banged on the door demanding that you let him in.

“Open the door, Y/n! My key don’t work,” Ty screamed as he pounded on the door with his foot.

“Go away, Ty!” you moved from your spot on the couch to stand in front of the door.

“Baby, I’m sorry for how I treated you, I shouldn’t have taken you for granted,” he said loud enough for you to hear him. “We can work this out.”

“You’ll never realize that you had something good,” you stepped closer to the door. “I took a lot of shit from you, and it’s cause I thought I loved you.”

“I understand okay,” Ty pleaded. “Please open the door so we can talk about this on the inside. I won’t be selfish anymore.”

You nodded your head and reached for the door.

“I’ll do better, baby, I promise.”

“No, Ty,” you snatched your hand away and crossed your arms. “You don’t mean that shit. You just runnin' your mouth like always.”

“OPEN THE DAMN DOOR, Y/N” he yelled once again and kicked the door.

“Stop kickin' my damn door, Ty!” you yelled through the door. “Get yo shit and leave!”

“You raggedy bitch!” Ty yelled as he continued to bang on the door. “Fuck you, Y/n. Where the fuck am I supposed to go? How am I supposed to get there?”

“I don’t care, Ty. Just leave!”

“You’re gonna miss me, Y/n. You’ll never find anyone like me!” you could hear Ty moving around outside your door, presumably moving his boxes down the steps. You refused to look through the peephole, you needed to stay strong and stick with this break-up.

A few minutes passed and you didn’t hear any more movement from the other side of your door. You chanced a look through the peephole and sighed with relief that all of Ty’s stuff was gone.

You flipped off the living room light and went to your room. You contemplated whether you should tell Sam or not, but you didn’t want to jump right into a relationship with him. So you chose to keep it to yourself for a while.

Sam had been adamant about being present in your life since he came back. He called and texted you multiple times throughout the day just to make sure that you were okay. He would randomly drop by the bookstore to see you, sometimes bringing Steve or Bucky with him. You didn’t mind at all; it actually made you feel good knowing that he still wanted to be around you. You still hadn’t told him that you’d dumped Ty, it just never came up.

In the middle of one particularly boring shift, Sam came to visit you at work alone. He followed you around the store and flirt with you as usual.

“Ya know, sweetpea,” he said as you reshelved some books. “We’re having a cookout this weekend at the compound. You should bring your boyfriend. I want to finally meet him.”

You turned to face him and smiled, “Who? Ty?”

“Yeah, unless you have another boyfriend that I need to worry about?” Sam said as he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I dumped him weeks ago,” you shrugged and resumed stocking the shelves. You could feel Sam burning holes into the back of your head but you chose to ignore him. You attempted to move past him, but he blocked your path with his large body. You still hadn’t looked at him, but when he refused to move, you had no choice.

“So when were you going to tell me that you were single?” he said with a mock attitude. You knew that he wasn’t upset, annoyed yes, but not upset.

You shrugged, “It never came up.” you attempted to move past him again.

“Nah, baby girl,” Sam shook his head and took a step closer to you, backing you into a bookshelf. “So you mean to tell me that we could have been together for weeks? And all you can do is shrug?”

You didn’t move a muscle as he lowered his face to yours. You knew that if he kissed you, you would throw caution to the wind and end up in his bed by the end of the night.

“Sam,” you whispered, placing your hand on his chest, causing him to stop just millimeters from your lips. “I don’t wanna rush into things.” your voice was weak, but you needed to make sure that Sam understood you.

He nodded and moved to place a kiss on your forehead, “I respect that, but you still should come to the cookout this weekend, Bucky misses you.”

You nodded as your head cleared now that Sam wasn’t crowding your space. “Yeah, I’ll come, but only as your friend Sam, nothing more.”

He grinned then licked his lips. “Yeah, friends and nothing more.”

You watched as he backed away from you before he left the store. You needed some time to compose yourself before the cookout.

The few days before the cookout passed by in a blur, almost if the universe was gearing up for something.

On the morning of the cookout, you made sure to take extra care in your outfit. You opted for a yellow spaghetti-strapped sundress and brown gladiator sandals. You put your hair into two space buns and put on a layer of glossy lipgloss. You were feeling yourself and you lowkey might have been dressing up for Sam.

You stepped out of the bathroom, finally ready to go when your phone dinged.

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw a message from Sam and your smile grew at the name that he chose to call you.

I can't wait to see you, Baby girl

Me too! I feel like I haven't seen you in weeks, Sam.

Is it weird to say that I miss you?

Not at all, because I missed you too.

What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?

Remember that this could be something more than friendship, Baby girl 😜

You rolled your eyes at his teasing even though he couldn’t see it. Your stomach was full of butterflies. You hadn’t seen him since he had invited you over, due to him going on a short mission.

You looked yourself over once again in the mirror before grabbing your purse and the bowl of potato salad that you made and headed out the door.

As you drove to the Compound, your music selection mirrored your mood. You happily sang along to every song in an attempt to calm your nerves.

When you arrived at the compound, Sam was there waiting for you. He greeted you with a large smile and helped you out of the car.

“Y/n, I’m so happy that you made it,” he said as he pulled you into a hug. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

You shook your head no, “Your directions were great, and honestly, almost everyone knows where this place is.”

Sam laughed and took a step back from you, holding your hands out at arm’s length as he looked you up and down. “Damn, Y/n, you look radiant today,” Sam complimented as he spun you around. “Reminds me of my favorite flower.”

Your eyes lit up and you smiled. “Really?” your voice was small as you felt your cheeks heat up and butterflies fill your stomach. You had half a mind to ditch the cookout and drag Sam to the nearest empty room and let him have his way with you.

Sam cleared his throat, “Y/n, you can’t keep looking at me like that if you want us to stay friends.” His voice was lower than usual and you knew from past experiences not to push him any farther.

You grabbed your bowl of potato salad and locked your car door and allowed Sam to give you a tour of the Compound.

“Hey, everyone,” Sam yelled when the three of you made it to the back of the compound. “This is my friend, Y/n.” You took a step closer to Sam when you looked around and all eyes were on you. You’d never been around so many important or famous people before.

You spotted Steve and Bucky as they made their way over to you and Sam took the bowl of potato salad and sat it on a nearby table.

“Y/n! I’m really happy you came,” Steve smiled as he pulled you into a hug. “Bucky here has been begging me to go with him to the bookstore for a few days now.”

“Really?” you laughed as you pulled away. “You guys are more than welcome to come and visit! We just got a new shipment of books the other day. You should come and check them out.”

Bucky nodded and pulled you into a side hug. You loved how easily Steve and Bucky accepted you, you never felt like they were judging you or your relationship with Sam.

After Bucky released you from his hug, he and Steve pulled Sam off to the side, for a quick chat. Before he left, Sam placed a gentle kiss on your temple and He whispered that he would be back. You began to feel nervous about being alone, but through the excitement of meeting the Avengers, you forgot it.

As the introductions died down, you found yourself hanging out with Wanda, who you recognized from the bakery. It didn’t dawn on you, until you saw her at the cookout, that she was the Scarlet Witch. Even though you had only met her once, you felt comfortable enough to spend time with her alone. She introduced you to some of the other people that worked at the compound.

You were having a great time, eating and drinking with the Avengers and people that worked behind the scenes. You were laughing at a joke that someone had shared when you felt Sam wrap his arm around your waist.

“Having fun?” he asked as he handed you a plate full of your favorites then led you to a seat and sat down across from you.

You nodded. “Everyone is so nice. I thought I would be scared to be around them, but everyone’s been so welcoming.”

You two ate in silence for a while before Sam spoke again.

“I’m glad you came, Y/n,” his knees bumped against yours as he turned to face you.

“Me too,” you agreed. “I haven’t had fun like this in years.”

“Imagine how things will be when we’re finally together,” Sam replied with a straight face.

“Sam, you can’t say things like that,” you mumbled. “Someone might overhear.”

“So, let them hear,” he sat up and straightened his back. “Everyone here knows that I want you. And they know that you want me.”

You looked around to see if anyone was watching the two of you. When you realized that no one was watching, you looked back at Sam. “Ty and I were together for-”

“I don't really care how long you were together with your ex,” Sam said, cutting you off. “It's just a matter of time before I make you mine. I wanna make it clear, so there are no misunderstandings, that I get what I want, when I want.”

You sat there looking at him wide-eyed. “You don’t mean that,” you denied.

“When have I ever lied to you, baby girl?” Sam leaned forward and ran his thumb under your bottom lip. Without thinking, you opened your mouth and caught it in between your lips and gently sucked. His answering moan snapped you back to reality and you moved away from him once again causing him to smirk.

“I’m wearing you down,” he stated.

“We’re just friends, Sam,” you repeated, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

“Sure we are.”

You chose to continue eating and to not reply and when you finished eating your food Sam took your trash and walked away leaving you to your thoughts. You hadn’t been alone for more than a few minutes when Steve came over and sat down.

“I have never seen him look so happy,” Steve remarked, and you turned to follow his gaze. Sam had been forced to play as the server in an impromptu volleyball game.

“Really?” you reached for your drink and drained it as Steve nodded.

“Ever since you came around, there’s been a glow about him. He’s been taking on easier and shorter missions almost as if he’s planning on a change or something.”

You remained silent wishing that you hadn’t drank all of your drink.

“You know he loves you right?” Steve said absentmindedly.

“What?”

“Sam. He’s in love with you. He’s been in love with you since you two were in college,” he elaborated. “And from the way you look at him, I can tell that you’re in love with him too.”

You remained silent, refusing to affirm or deny his statement.

“My advice? Listen to your heart. You’ll only regret it if you don’t.” Steve patted your arm before he left you to your thoughts.

You continued to watch Sam play volleyball. You knew where your heart was, where your heart had always been, so why was it so hard to dive in? Sam was who you wanted to be with, and you both deserved to be happy.

Still deep in your thoughts, you got up to go to use the restroom and on your way back you collided with none other than the man that plagued your thoughts.

As Sam helped steady you, you took the chance to search his face. “What am I doing?” you whispered.

Sam quirked an eyebrow at you.

“You’re absolutely right, Sam,” you continued. You were fully aware of Sam’s hands on your hips as you pressed your body flush against his. “I do want you.”

Sam’s eyes crinkled with his smile, the gap in his teeth on full display as he cupped your cheek with his hand.

“Took you long enough, baby girl,” he whispered.

You leaned forward, your lips seeking his, but he held you at a distance and continued to smile.

“As much as I want to kiss you, Y/n, I can’t,” he mumbled as he leaned his forehead against yours. “You’ve been drinking, and I want you to make sure that this is what you want because this is it for me. You’re it for me.”

“Sam, I am sure,” you pouted. “But I respect your wishes.”

Sam pulled back and kissed your hand. “Let’s go back out and have some fun.”

You turned over in Sam’s bed and snuggled deeper into the covers. You were warm, a little too warm, but you didn’t mind as you moved closer to the person laying next to you.

Sam wrapped his arms around you, and you slowly blinked your eyes open. You were thankful that Sam made you drink water after each of your drinks the night before. You were completely hangover free.

You watched Sam’s chest as it slowly rose and fell with each of his breaths and your fingers began drawing random circles over his chest. You remembered Sam refusing to kiss you because you were drunk, but you weren’t drunk anymore.

You pulled away from him, gently enough to not wake him and moved to straddle his hips. You stared down at him as he slept and took note of how peaceful he looked. You watched him for a few more seconds before you slowly lowered your lips to his and kissed him. Sam responded to the kiss the moment your lips touched his, almost as if he had been awake the whole time, but you didn’t mind.

You sighed at finally being able to feel his lips on yours once again, and it was exactly as you remembered. You gently rocked your hips, and Sam snapped his hands to them, holding you still before pulling away from your lips.

“Y/n, are you sure?” he asked, and when you whispered yes he rolled you over so that he was on top and attached his lips to yours once again.

Sam kissed down your neck after helping you out of the shirt that he let you sleep in. He attached his lips to your nipple while he played with the other. You thought of how good Sam made you feel all those years ago and you knew that he would make you feel better this time around.

He kissed down your stomach, along your stretch marks, and licked along where your thigh met your hip. You knew where he was headed, and you were getting frustrated with how long he was taking.

Finally locking eyes with you, Sam slowly lowered your panties and tossed them onto the floor. His eyes glinted and he licked his lips before he pressed your thick thighs to the mattress. You’d never felt so exposed before, but you were comfortable in this position with him. And with one last look, Sam dove in.

He ate you like a man starved and you wanted to cry because it felt so good. You kept one hand on the back of his head urging him deeper and one alternated between grasping the sheets and the headboard. Sam kept your legs pinned to the bed as he fucked you with his tongue, his moans vibrating through your body, pulling your orgasm closer.

“Sam, please!” you begged as you felt the coil in your lower belly tighten. Sam latched his lips around your clit and began to suck and flick it with his tongue when he slipped two of his thick fingers inside of you. He watched you as he fucked you with his fingers and sucked on your clit before curling his fingers inside of you and rubbing your walls. You screamed as your orgasm washed over you, your free leg kicking straight out as you tried to push Sam away. He used his body to hold your leg down as he continued to finger fuck you through your orgasm and ripping a second one from you.

Sam slowed his movements but didn’t withdraw his fingers from you. He released your clit with a pop and smiled up at you.

“Do you know how good you look right now?” he asked knowing that you wouldn’t be able to respond and he laughed when you moaned instead. “You ready for more?”

You panted out a yes and Sam smiled before finally removing his fingers. He held the by your lips and without hesitation, you drew them into your mouth and sucked your essence off them. You held his gaze as you moaned around his fingers before he removed them from your lips. He placed his hand at the base of your throat before he leaned down to kiss you letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

Sam continued to kiss you as he removed his boxers and threw them on the floor. You clenched around nothing in anticipation of what was to come when you felt his dick against your thigh. Sam reached up and gently tugged on your scarf. “Might as well take this off, Y/n,” he joked.

Your hands flew up to the tie and undid it allowing your curls to breathe. Sam pulled on one and watched it spring back before he bit his lip.

You reached down between the two of you and gripped his dick before you stroked it. Your lips quirked up into a smirk when his eyes rolled back into his head. He stopped you after a few pumps and you guided him to your opening. You ran the head of his dick through the seam of your pussy lips and you both groaned.

“Y/n” he whispered. “Are you really okay with this?”

“Yes, Sam. I want this with you,” you consented and he kissed you as he slid inside of you.

You tried to keep up the kiss and he moved within you, but it became too much. You pulled your lips away and panted, releasing a heavy breath as he steadily pushed inside of you. He was bigger than you remembered, thicker, and wider than you were used to, but you were determined to take it all. You clawed at his back when he finally bottomed out. His breathing was heavy in your ear when he placed his head in the crook of your neck. He held your hips down with his hands to keep you from moving as he calmed himself down.

“Fuck, Y/n, you feel so much better than I remember,” he growled in your ear after a few minutes.

You clenched around him, silently telling him that you were ready for him to move. He hitched your leg around his hips before he slowly pulled out of you then pushed back in. He kept his slow and steady pace up for a while, but every few thrusts were hard and fast catching you off guard each time. You held onto him for dear life, bringing his lips down to yours and crying out when he thrust just right.

He brought you to the edge multiple times only to back off leaving you dangling there, wanting more but never getting it. Your pleas of needing a release played into his game of not giving you what you want. After the third time, you begged for release only to be denied once more.

Sam kept your hands locked in his grip as he pounded into you, the rhythm of his thrusts never consistent enough to give you the release you craved. Tears fell as you cried from the pleasure of his treatment. He whispered filthy words of encouragement as you cried for him to let you cum, but deep down you knew that he wasn't going to let you. He was playing dirty, and luckily enough, you knew how to play dirty as well.

Finally having enough, you locked eyes with him and whispered three words you’d never thought you'd say. “Cum in me.”

Sam’s hips stilled when his brain registered your words. And with a devilish smirk, he released your wrists and pulled out of you and flipped you over. He maneuvered your body so that your back was arched and slid back inside of you. The grip he had on your thick hips was almost bruising as your cheeks clapped against him. You held onto the headboard as he fucked you and you met him thrust for thrust.

“Want me to cum in you?” he growled from behind you. “Fine, I’ll cum in you. I’m gonna fill this pussy up.”

You looked over your shoulder and clenched your walls once again catching him off guard causing his hips to stutter. Sam dug his nails into your waist when he locked eyes with you and finally came inside of you with a shout.

The feeling of his warm cum filling you up tipped you over the edge and you came right after him. Sam continued to weakly pump his cum inside of you as you both came until he was completely spent. He fell on top of you and wrapped his arms around you as he tried to catch his breath. You moved against him loving the feeling of his weight on top of you. You whimpered when he attempted to move off you. You pulled him back on top of you and clenched around him.

“Stay in me please,” you whispered in a small voice. You felt safe in his arms, and you didn’t want him to let you go.

Sam moved around so the two of you were laying on your sides, his dick still inside of you. You felt his cum begin to leak out of you when he moved and you frowned. You wondered how long it would take for his to begin fucking you again. Sam moved once again before you felt him pull a blanket over the two of you. He placed a gentle kiss behind your ear and moved his hands so that one was playing with your clit and the other was playing with your nipple.

“Spread your legs a bit wider, Y/n,” Sam whispered in your ear. “I wanna cum in you again.”

[29-pieces]

Whumptober day 17 - Good Omens

Day 17: Blackmail Fandom/Setting: Good Omens, pre-Apocalypse (mid 2000s) Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

~*~

Aziraphale hadn't been himself lately and Crowley didn't like it.

If he didn't know any better, he'd say the angel was avoiding him. He'd declined all of Crowley's suggestions that they meet up for a nice bottle of wine and a chance to complain about their respective Head Offices. He was barely taking calls, always finding a good reason to hurry off the phone with a hint of anxiety. Crowley wasn't hurt, that would mean he had feelings which of course he absolutely did not, not a single one, but if he did have just one feeling it might have been concern.

Something had to be going on. And so, Crowley swiped the best bottle of wine he could find at the store, reminded the owner he'd already paid for it (he hadn't, but he was supposed to do demony things like that), and went straight for the Bookshop.

It was closed, which was always statistically likely, so Crowley headed for the back window and slithered in as a snake, the bottle of wine carefully held in his coils.

Inside, he changed back to his human shaped form and strolled towards the front where Aziraphale could normally be found at a desk or chair with a heavy book.

No angel.

"Oy, Aziraphale!" Crowley shouted, setting the wine down and tossing his dark glasses onto a nearby shelf. "Wine!"

And still no answer, leaving Crowley to frown and prowl around. It could be the angel was just out; it wasn't like they told each other about all of their assignments, but Crowley was starting to feel like he was being left in the dark, and that didn't feel nice. So, when the front door jiggled and opened with a light ring of the bell, he stayed where he was back in the shelves so he could give Aziraphale a proper scare as payment.

The door shut again, then there was a moment of silence, then a long, weary sigh. Crowley frowned, listening to Aziraphale's heavier than normal footsteps cross slowly to the coat rack. He peeked out in time to see the coat slide down off Aziraphale's shoulders, followed by the vest, and then Crowley's snake eyes grew wide with shock and fury.

There were bloody stripes on Aziraphale's back, showing through his shirt. Had he tangled with another demon? Crowley watched Aziraphale reach behind him and gingerly dab at one bloody streak with a soft whimper of pain, and that was enough. The demon stormed from the shelves, making Aziraphale leap around with a squeak.

"Oh, Crowley, it's you," Aziraphale sighed, hand over his heart. "You shouldn't be here."

"What happened to you?" Crowley demanded, ignoring the frankly rude greeting with one of his own. "You're bleeding. Was it a demon?"

"What? No, of course not. Everything's fine. Crowley, please go."

Crowley crossed his arms, fixing his yellow glare on the angel. His forked tongue flicked out, testing the air for hints of sulfur, but what he smelled was even worse. Reeling back, Crowley hissed.

"You smell like Heaven," he said. His jaw clenched. "You smell like you've just been to Heaven, and your back is bleeding." It wasn't hard to connect the dots from there. Crowley's fists tightened. "When I get my hands on Gabriel-"

"It was my own fault!" Aziraphale yelped, more frantic than the situation called for. "I, erm... I made a mistake, and I was justly punished for it. So- so let it go, there's a dear boy, forget you saw anything. Now you really must be leaving. Good day." He stormed towards the back, or really sort of hobbled because no storm moved as slow and painfully as he did.

Crowley followed him, hardly satisfied. "Made enough of a mistake to be flogged?" he hissed. "How? You haven't even had an Assignment in ages!"

"Crowley, please let it go."

"Something's going on," Crowley barreled on. "Since when did we start hiding things from each other?"

They'd reached the back room now, but somewhere at the front of the shop, the bell rang again. The faint tinkling of celestial space followed, an angel in the shop. Aziraphale's eyes grew wider and he shoved Crowley bodily away.

"Go!" he hissed in panic. "Go, go, I'll call you later, please just get out before anyone sees!"

Crowley watched his friend hurry back out to the front, torn. On the one hand, it wouldn't be the first hasty exit he'd made when another angel came to call unexpectedly, of course he shouldn't be found there. His safety and Aziraphale's depended on it. But on the other hand, something was wrong and Crowley wanted—needed—to know what. Frowning, he pulled out his cellular device and opened the video recorder, staying out of sight.

"Ah, Aziraphale!" a cheerful voice rang out, not one Crowley recognized.

"Zaccheus," Aziraphale returned with a distinctly frosty edge. "What do you want?"

"Relax, old boy, only popped in to check on you. That was kind of Gabriel to only give you ten since the others hadn't healed yet."

The others? How many floggings had Aziraphale been getting? Crowley cursed himself for not having pressed the matter sooner.

"Yes, very... kind," Aziraphale stiffly replied. "Now I expect we're through here."

"Ah, well, since you bring it up..."

"Zaccheus..."

Now there was a clear edge of panic that Crowley did not like one bit. He tipped his phone around the door jamb, watching in the screen as a dark-haired angel slowly circled Aziraphale.

"I mean," this Zaccheus angel said, "it's in everyone's best interest for us to keep up this... partnership. Don't you think?"

"I've already taken the fall twice for you now," Aziraphale retorted through gritted teeth. "I did what you asked. I told Gabriel your mistakes were my fault and I took your lashes-"

"For which I'm terribly grateful," the other angel said, beaming. "You were very convincing. I get the impression they rather expect for you to make mistakes, you know, that's why it couldn't have been a better arrangement. And speaking of arrangements, I mean, come now, Aziraphale. Can you really afford not to play along when I need you to? What would happen to your demon then?"

Crowley inhaled sharply as the picture formed a little clearer. So it was blackmail. Aziraphale took this angel's punishments in exchange for not spilling the beans on their partnership?

"You said," Aziraphale spoke up shakily. "You said if I did this, once, you would destroy any evidence. I didn't breathe a word. Zaccheus, please. If you tell Gabriel and he tells Beelzebub, it's not just me who would be in danger, Crowley-"

"Would be demon fodder, yes," Zaccheus beamed. He clapped a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, not noticing or not caring about the soft whimper it brought as he hit one of the wounds. "So... you do the math... Next time I need you, you're going to be readily available to take the licking, right?"

Crowley saw Aziraphale's shoulders sag and he'd had enough. Turning off the recorder, he kicked the door open with a bang and strode out into the room, brimming with demonic fury.

"Wrong," he snapped, ignoring the terrified yelp from Aziraphale, the stammered insistence that Crowley leave at once what are you doing and focusing instead on a shocked Zaccheus. "You twat. You absolute prick. So that's what's been going on? You found out about our Arrangment and made your own arrangements to have Aziraphale punished for your screw-ups?"

"Zaccheus," Aziraphale cried, holding out his hands. "I didn't tell him, I swear it, I asked him to leave, this isn't what it looks like, please don't tell Gabriel-"

"Oh, he's not going to," Crowley growled, getting in Zaccheus's face. He'd give the other angel this much, Zaccheus didn't back down, but rather smirked.

"I'm not? I have enough evidence to-"

"Evidence that goes nowhere if I kill you right now, makes all the problems go away."

"No!" Aziraphale squeaked, bodily shoving the two apart and standing in front of Zaccheus, pleading eyes gazing up at Crowley. "Don't, Crowley, please, don't kill him."

Crowley sighed. "Y' never let me do anything fun," he grumbled. The demon glowered at a more uncertain looking Zaccheus now and growled, "Fine, but the only reason I'm letting you live is because somehow you've got Aziraphale's protection, in spite of what you did to him! If it were up to me, I'd tear you apart right now. But Aziraphale says no, so it's back to Plan B." The demon smirked and held up his phone. "Ever heard the term 'mutually assured destruction'?"

He clicked the button to play back the recording he'd taken, watching with satisfaction as Zaccheus's face grew crimson and then white, hearing his own voice incriminating himself. Crowley pointed the phone at him and snapped, "So you get the message, there's no way we go down without you going down, too. Now, if I even think you're going to blab anything to anyone, or if I even suspect you've been bothering Aziraphale, I'm going to get very angry." His eyes shifted to full snake, the whites disappearing into gold, skin morphing partway into scales. Crowley stretched slightly taller, looming over the other angel. "And when I'm angry, I tend to forget thingssss," he hissed. "Might even forget he doesssssn't want me to kill you. Underssssstand?"

Zaccheus swallowed, then bobbed his head. Crowley shifted back to normal size and gave him a feral smile.

"Good. Then I suggest you gather whatever 'evidence' you've got, if you've even got any, and send it to Aziraphale."

Again, Zaccheus bobbed his head, then with a glower in Aziraphale's direction, hurried from the bookshop. As soon as the door had shut, Crowley bit his lip, waiting for Aziraphale to tell him off, but when he turned to look, the angel only slumped down into the chair and buried his face in his hands.

"Crowley, I'm so sorry," he muttered into his palms.

Taken aback, Crowley stared. "Er... for what?"

Aziraphale pulled his hands away and looked up at him with sorrow. "I should have told you, but- he said if I even hinted... I think he was scared of you, truth be told, and the risk... it was just too much. If my office ever told yours, I- I don't think they would give you a flogging and send you on your way. I couldn't risk it, Crowley, I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

He really meant it, Crowley could tell. The demon regarded Aziraphale, then slowly moved to sink down in front of him. "Got nothing to be sorry for, angel. You were trying to protect me. I'm not angry with you. Wish you'd let me kill him, but I'm not angry. But..." Crowley released a long breath and shook his head. "The whole Arrangement was my idea. The thought of you being the whipping boy for that tosser for the rest of your life, because of me..." He swallowed. "Do you... do you want to keep doing this? Or- I'd understand if..."

Aziraphale smiled and patted Crowley's hand. "I don't regret the Arrangement," he said firmly. "Or our friendship. I don't know how Zaccheus found out, but we'll collect whatever he's got on us, and... well, we'll just be more careful. And thank you, my dear. For making him stop. Truth is, I was starting to feel ill whenever he came to call, not knowing what he would ask for—mostly just menial tasks after... after the first time... filing his paperwork for him and such. But knowing he might ask worse of me, and that I'd have to go along with it for both our sakes..." Aziraphale shuddered. "And I'm so sorry for having been distant, my dear, I just- I thought- if he'd gone back on his word and alerted anyone, if they were just waiting to catch you here..."

Crowley glowered, remembering the note of anxiety Aziraphale had kept trying to conceal. It all made sense now. "You don't have to explain, angel. I get it. How many times did you take his punishment?"

"Just the twice," Aziraphale assured him softly, looking away. "Gabriel didn't even question it. Fifteen the first time, but- but he's right, it was only ten tonight, since I couldn't heal the wounds from the week before."

"How merciful," Crowley spat, standing up with a glower. "That was, by the way, sarcasm, as I can tell some part of you actually believes that tripe. That's not mercy, but there's no sense arguing over it. Right, I assume the lashes are magicked and can't be healed away by me either, but I can at least clean them off and wrap 'em. Get that shirt off, I'll get some hot water going."

"Crowley."

He stopped and turned, waiting as Aziraphale glanced at the floor, then up at him with a small smile.

"Thank you."

Crowley quirked his mouth in an answering smile, then turned to fetch the water. His angel did require some taking care of, but after all Crowley didn't mind.

[wackapedia]

Hello, My Alien! || Part 4: We Have A Problem

Taehyung X Reader

Y/n is traveling to Terran-03 to find her soulmate, Taehyung who is also from her home planet. Two aliens in one roof, what could go wrong?

Fluff, a dash of angst, crack, and alien things

Hello My Alien Masterlist

You wake up in your little folding bed tucked in the space under the stairs of the shared dormitory. The large edifice did not happen to have a spare bedroom, which prompted some of the dorm inhabitants to offer their rooms for you. You, of course did not want to impose and chose this makeshift quarters instead. Lying still on the bunk, you note that none of them are up at this hour. The nearest star has broken the horizon and your digestive pouch grumbles. Before you could sit up, a string of heavy footsteps rattle the ceiling of your makeshift quarters. Soon, the divider is ripped open and reveals Jimin, holding his communicator device. "Hey, Harry potter, wake up." "Good morning, Jimin. I have been awake for 36 minutes." You answer him from your folding bunk. "Management is coming over and you're not supposed to be here." He yells, running back up the stairs, possibly to wake everyone up. You take a moment to understand this recent information. Management? Deciding to start your day, you fold the single-sized bunk and stow it away between a shelf under the stairs. A small pile of male-sized sweaters and sweatpants are stored in one of the shelf holes. Taehyung decided that the clothing you brought are not earth-appropriate and had promised to take you shopping for your own. Stepping out of the spandrel closet, you hear all 7 inhabitants scrambling down the stairs and then spreading to the common room and the kitchen to sort their mess out. "Hey so we have a problem.." Taehyung slides in next to you. "3 minutes!" Seokjin yells from the kitchen. "What's going on?" You ask. "People from the company are coming over, and we aren't allowed to have guests in the house." "...I see. Do you want me to dematerialize?" You ask. "I don't know a safe place for you and we don't have time to look for one." "Should I use my computer's cloaking feature, then?" "Y-you have a cloaking feature?!“ The look on Taehyung's face is both of surprise and relief. "Yes, but its only for one time use." You tell him. "Great, how long does it last?" "One Terran hour, at most." "THEYRE HERE!!!" Seokjin's voice rattles the whole house. "Go, go! I'll sort out the spandrel closet. You can stand there..." Taehyung points at a wall beside where the entertainment plate was mounted. He quickly tosses the stack of clothes in the washing equipment. The main door opens, revealing a whole team of people, dressed similarly, and are carrying all sorts of tools. You press your invisible figure against the wall when one of them passes directly in front of you. "Hey boys. Routine inspection. You know the drill." A bossy man sits on the couch, prompting the rest of the dorm inhabitants to sit down as well. "Come on, Jun-ho, don't you trust us?" Seokjin pipes in laughing a little too loud, causing suspicion to arise on the authoritarian's eyes. Yoongi and Namjoon shuts him up. "There's something in the tabloids for you..." Jun-ho comments, passing a digital pad to Taehyung. You wish you could go over and see what it is, but the cloaking system can only be reliable when you stand very still. "This looks photoshopped, come on." Taehyung whines. The rest of them gather around the digital pad squinting at whatever the display is. "That's not the point. The point is that, were you or were you not out with someone last night?" You swear under your breath. "No! I was here the whole time!" Taehyung lies. He's a great liar, you note. Lying in your home planet was rare as it is considered illogical. "Well, you better make sure of that." Jun-ho pushes. "Manager-nim, Taehyung is telling the truth. The picture is obviously photoshopped. This photo belongs in a supernatural website than in a gossip column." Namjoon passes the digital pad back to Jun-ho who was still eyeing them suspiciously, and continues to do so for a whole Terran minute. It was almost unnerving how Jun-ho's eyes stare holes into their seven skulls. He almost looks non-Terran. "Aren't you gonna offer me a drink?" Jun-ho makes himself comfortable, leaning back and crossing his legs. "Sure. Banana milk...?" Jungkook offers. "You actually drink that shit?" Jun-ho cusses unnecessarily. Throughout your three day stay, these six locals have been nothing but nice to you. Some of them may be standoffish, like Yoongi and Jimin, but they would never be rude to you. Which is why Jun-ho's behavior makes all of them uncomfortable. Taehyung occasionally checks his watch while bouncing his leg against the floor. If his timer was accurate, your cloaking will only last for the next 12 minutes. The maintenance team are packing up their tools on the foot of the stairs. Jun-ho decides to take a walk, to inspect the compartment under the stairs. He takes a peek around the shelves, tapping here and there. If he noticed something, he didn't show it at all. "Thanks for your patience boys. We're only doing this for your welfare." He stands in front of the tv, a little to the right and he'd be directly behind you. Your wrist computer counts down to the cloaking's last minute as the maintenance team filters out of the room. The door shuts and everyone exhales, including you. The cloaking expires, making your figure gradually fade into visibility. "We can not go through that ever again. I will literally die." Hoseok collapses on the couch. "We wont. Because she's leaving. Tonight. Right, Taehyung?" Jimin sharply calls Taehyung's attention. "Wait, really? Did your beacon respond?" Taehyung asks, a little crestfallen at the notion of you leaving. It was rich of you to note Taehyung's lie to Jun-ho when he was protecting you when your own lie about the beacon had no logical reasoning wharsoever. You didn't realize you were a burden to these six Terrans, and to Taehyung, who has become more Terran than your own species. "No.. It hasn't responded." You lie. Again. "Oh, that's fine.." Taehyung answers, looking relieved. "Fine? Nothing is fine! Management is literally breathing down our necks and you all couldn't be more obvious that you're hiding some alien in the house! What if the next inspection wont be announced, then what?! As if that's not enough, we have a dating scandal looming around!" Jimin bursts. For a minute, all eyes were moving from you to Taehyung and Jimin. Taehyung finally spoke. "Is this what you all think? Do you agree with Jimin?" The silence extends. And then, a muffled noise of your knees dropping, bowing deeply. Keunjeol. "My sincerest apologies for causing discomfort to you all. You have shown me nothing but kindness." You speak, voice muffled under your weight. Taehyung pulls you up by the arm to pull you upstairs to his room. "Tae, we need to be at the office by 8." Namjoon reminds him, standing at the foot of the stairs. Taehyung offers no answer. "Give me your transporter." Taehyung demands. "Are you sending me away?" You ask. Tears threatening to fall. "What? No. We're moving. You're staying with me. Give me the transporter." You pass him the cylindrical device, letting him input coordinates to a location not far from here. "Ready?" He holds your hand and presses the launch button as soon as you nod. You realize that the photo Jun-ho was showing them earlier was the photo taken in the middle of you and Taehyung dematerializing in the dark alley. The flashing in the corner of your eye was probably the photographic device going off. You materialize in a large room, more furnished than the ones in the dormitory. "This is my apartment. You'll be staying here for now, until your beacon responds." Do not leave this place alone. I have to go to work right now but I'll be back soon. I'll bring you some stuff. Shame we cant go shopping together anymore." He sighs. After he gets dressed, Taehyung leaves you in his apartment. You distract yourself with the books on his shelf, and the magnificent view of the metro from so high above the ground. Soon, you feel yourself getting drowsy. You let yourself lie down on the foamy flooring. Its so much fluffier than your folding bunk back at the dormitory. You sleep a dreamless sleep for an unknown set of time. Converting Terran time sure is exhausting. ------ "Why are you sleeping on the carpet?" A familiar deep voice wakes you from your slumber. "Who the hell is she?!" Another voice, an unfamiliar one, shrieks at you.

[paradisobound]

World’s Greatest First Love: Chapter 8

Summary: Dan Howell wanted a clean break from his father’s publishing company. It was why he applied for a different company in London: to stop the ridicule of his coworkers for riding on his ‘daddy’s coat tails’. But he wasn’t expecting to suddenly be going from a literature editor, to a graphic novel editor. And he certainly wasn’t expecting to come face first with his first love who broke his heart from when he was a teenager: who just happens to be his new editor-in-chief.

Based on the Anime and Manga “The World’s Greatest First Love: The Case of Ritsu Onodera” aka Sekai-Ichi Hatsukoi

Rating: Mature (For Now)

Word Count: 2.3k (this chapter)

Warnings: None

Beta Read by: @phanandpenguins 

Updates Every Tuesday 12pm EST and Saturday at 1pm EST

READ ON AO3

IMPORTANT A/N: These next few chapters, if you haven't seen the anime, might seen a bit like a fever dream haha I mean this as the storyline gets a bit more complex and new characters and other elements began to be thrown in. I'm trying to keep this as close to the anime as possible and follow these same plot points, while also keeping it as close to Dan and Phil as possible too. Like my outline is each chapter is an episode of the anime so keep that in mind too. That being said, these next few chapters, if you have any questions at all, please them in the comments on Ao3 or come to my inbox and ask them to me!

Dan’s next manuscript is due at five and he is currently fighting with his author to try and get it. He feels like he shouldn’t have to pry this hard to get the manuscript, but his author isn’t budging. He keeps telling Dan that it’s coming and Dan will have it soon but Dan is having a hard time believing that.

He really needs the manuscript because he needs to send it to the printer for the initial printing decision. But without it, he can’t do that and now the workers at the printer are going to be all up in arms because Dan just wasted their time.

Dan could go to Phil and ask what to do. But Dan has made it a point to avoid Phil these last two weeks since their interaction at his apartment. It wasn’t that he thought he needed to avoid Phil, but it was more or less the idea that he didn’t want to be confronted with the fact that they do need to talk about everything.

But Dan isn’t ready for any of that yet. So instead of letting himself just get the talking done and over with, he’s been walking opposite directions from Phil, taking the bus instead of the train even though he hates the bus, and just not talking to him besides exchanging pleasantries in the morning or when Phil walks by.

As Dan turns his head to take a quick look towards Phil, he notices Phil isn’t even there. His desk chair is pushed back and his laptop is still open but he’s gone. Dan feels like that’s normal, because of course Phil is busy and is being called to everywhere in the building. But it still bothers him a bit when he looks up and sees Phil isn’t there.

But he doesn’t have to wait long to know where Phil is because suddenly his tall, lanky frame is coming down the hallway and he has a book in his hand a bunch of paperwork in a manilla folder. Dan assumes that it’s for Phil’s book that he just tried to get published but instead, Phil makes a beeline right to his desk.

“Congratulations, Dan!” Phil says, placing the book and the papers on Dan’s desk. “This is the final printing edition for your book and on top of that, Onyx is asking for us to do a second printing due to the demand already. Here is the paperwork talking about how you’ll need to go about the second printing.”

Dan feels all air leave his body because his first graphic novel that he edited is getting a second printing! That’s amazing.

“We should celebrate!”

Dan looks up to see the other editors all perking up at their desks at Mitch’s exclamation.

“Yes!” Phil says back, “Let’s all go out for some drinks tonight in celebration for Dan’s first book getting a second run.”

“Oh no, I don’t think…”

“It’ll be fun,” Mitch speaks up, reaching out and putting his hand on Dan’s arm. “I promise we’re a fun crowd.”

Dan feels like he doesn’t have much of a say in the matter but he decides to give in because honestly, it’s just going out with coworkers. That’s all it’s going to be. It’s not going to be him and Phil alone and that's totally fine.

Phil leaves from behind him and walks back to his desk and sits back down into the seat. Dan looks down at the cover of the book and feels it. The hardcover feels amazing under his touch and he can’t believe that he’s just published his first book at Onyx. It feels a bit like this is all a dream.

***

Mitch had made reservations for a restaurant in central London for later that evening so since Dan had some time between when he left work and dinner, he decided to stop by W.H Smith and see if any of the copies of his book have made it to the shelves yet.

He was a bit eager to see how well it was selling so it would be really interesting for him to find a copy of it and see how many have been sold off from the shelves or the tables. He stops at the first one he sees between Onyx and the tube station and he walks inside the doors to see his book sitting in the front on a ‘New Releases’ table and he walks over to it.

Dan lifted the book up and flipped it over, looking at the back and seeing that the store was charging £15 for it and he knows that that’s mostly what the sales department decided but he feels like that’s a bit steep. But then again, he sees the contrasting colors and how high quality the book looks and he actually feels like the price is justifiable.

He fingers through the pages of the book and is looking through the published pages. He doesn't even remember what the books from his father’s company looked like while published but a thought in his head made him smile when he thought about how he these had to be a higher quality. He is still thumbing through the pages when he hears someone clear their throat behind him. He turns his head and sees Damien standing there.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, folding his arms over his chest, his blazer pulling tight across his shoulders. He looks so much more professional than Dan who is in just a sweater and a pair of black jeans.

“I was checking out my book.”

Damien shook his head and furrowed his brows, “Don’t do that.”

Dan furrowed his brows, “Why can’t I? It edited this.” He held the book up in his hand as if trying to make a point.

“Because that’s not your department. You’re editing, not sales. It’s not your job to see the book in stores. That’s mine. I’m the one who goes to the stores and gathers sales reports every month,” Damien says, snapping back.

“Why are you acting like this is such a big deal?” Dan asks, his voice getting huffy as he sets the book back down on the table. “I was just checking out the book.”

Damien lets his arms back down to his side and Dan watches as his chest puffs out and then retracts back, “Just...don’t do this again. It’s not your place.”

Dan softens his demeanor back, not wanting to continue the argument if Damien was backing down as well. It was clear that they were both coming to a compromise and that was good enough for Dan.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dan says finally, not quite accepting Damien’s response but wanting to keep everything at a stasis.

Damien nods back and that’s when Dan sees he’s holding a bag in his hands that he hadn’t honestly noticed before in the momentary confrontation. It’s for a pet store and his stomach sinks a bit more as he remembers the animal it must be for.

“Is that for your cat?” Dan asks, not even realizing he’s talking until Damien’s eyes widen and he stiffens again.

“How do you know I have a cat?” He asks.

“I...I saw you chase after the cat one day when I was going to my apartment. You were coming out of Phil’s.”

“You live near Phil?” Damien asks, his voice changing a bit.

Dan nods and then quickly backtracks, “Well, yes, I do but I didn’t know he lived there before I moved in. I promise.”

Damien hikes his shoulders up for a second and crosses his arms again as he says, “It was Phil’s cat...but I’ve taken it over. It’s none of your business.”

Damien then turns on his heels and leaves Dan behind. Dan watches him leave out of the doors and he feels a bit like he has whiplash. He has many more questions roaming around in his head but he’s not sure if he wants any of them ever to be answered.

He leaves the store not long after.

***

Phil: Mitch and the others can’t come anymore so it’ll just be you and I

Dan stares at the text for a solid five minutes before he even begins to think of a reply. This is the worst possible scenario to have happened and he cannot believe that his luck is doing this to him. He genuinely wants to scream but he can’t.

He’s still contemplating a reply when Phil texts him back another message.

Phil: I’ll pick up some drinks and we can just celebrate at my apartment. I’ll be home in 20

Oh, that’s even worse, Dan thinks.

This entire night is just getting worse and worse and Dan falls back on his couch and groans out loud, rubbing his eyes with his hands. How on Earth could such a great thing of getting a second printing of your book suddenly turn into drinking with your boss because the others couldn’t attend.

Dan still hasn’t answered the message when his doorbell rings and jolts him from his thoughts. He stands up and walks over to the door, opening it up to see Phil standing there with a bottle of wine and a few other bottles in bags in his hands.

“Didn’t know what you drank so I picked up some different things,” He says. “Let’s go to my apartment and celebrate.”

“I’m not sure if I…”

“Come on, Dan,” Phil pushed. “It’s just celebrating for an actually super rare occasion. Hardly anyone gets a second printing on their first book. I definitely didn't so we need to celebrate!”

Dan doesn’t know what told him to agree inside of him, but suddenly he was walking to Phil’s apartment and sittin in Phil’s living room as they opened up a bottle of wine and Phil poured them both a glass.

Dan drank his down in no time, mostly because he didn’t really want to be sober right now. But Phil took slow sips of his and took a while longer to finish. They don’t speak much, which Dan doesn’t actually hate.

But the silence begins to eat at him more and more, and he finishes half of the bottle by himself. His world begins to get a bit cloudier, and his vision a bit softer as he sits back on his palms and tries to remain grounded.

“You’re a lightweight,” Phil says with a chuckle.

“Am not.”

Phil laughs. “You were already pissed after the first glass.”

Dan shakes his head and looks down at the floor in front of them. He’s not sure of what else to say.

“Damien told me he saw you at W.H Smith this afternoon,” Phil says and Dan looks up suddenly.

Of course Damien told Phil.

“I don’t mind if you go there every once and a while to check out your books,” Phil says. “But that is the sales department and if Damien sees you there often, he’s gonna start getting upset.”

Dan rolls his eyes, not even meaning to fully do that but it happens as a natural reaction.

“I know you don’t like Damien but he is your superior.”

“Can you stop mentioning him so damn much?” Dan snaps out. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Is this because of what happened the other day with him?” Phil asks, setting his glass down.

“I don’t like Damien,” Dan admits. “He’s mean.”

Phil shakes his head, “He’s really not when you get to know him.”

“Well if that’s the case, can you tell him to get off my fucking back?” Dan exclaims.

“What is Damien doing?” Phil asks, his tone serious.

Dan bites back his tongue from yelling out that he wishes Phil would stop playing with his emotions and just go to Damien but the small rational side of his brain is telling him that’s not fair for either of them.

“Damien told me that he is taking care of your cat.”

Phil looks at him and his mouth opens and shuts for a moment before he speaks up, “Oh? My cat? It’s not really my cat. I got it a few months ago but my demanding work schedule didn’t allow me to take care of the cat properly so Damien took it over since he works a set schedule.”

“Why was he coming out of your apartment with it a few weeks ago then?”

Phil shakes his head, almost as if he doesn’t know how to answer the question but then he says whatever he was thinking of, “Damien goes out of town for work on occasion and probably needed me to watch her. So he was probably bringing her over that day.”

Dan sat in silence because of course that’s the solid answer but Dan wishes for whatever reason that it was different. He sits back, trying to not stew on anything that was just said.

“Is this all why you don’t like Damien?” Phil asks, his voice questioning but sincere.

“Why don’t you just date Damien?” Dan asks, turning his head away. “Why are you still chasing after me when you’ve had him by your side all this time?”

Phil suddenly moves next to him and Dan does all that he can to remain fixed in his spot and not flinch and scutter away like a startled animal.

“We tried, back when we were in uni,” Phil says, “But it didn’t work because I’ve told you a million times. I never stopped thinking about you.”

Dan feels his eyes well up a bit with tears that he can’t control as feelings bubble in his chest. Because as much as Dan hates admitting it, he knows he never stopped thinking about Phil too.

Every night he dreamt about Phil until he suddenly stopped one day. Every day he thought about Phil, some days he even cried. He never wanted to admit it because deep down, he always figured he would never see Phil again.

But with the alcohol in his veins and Phil sitting beside him, so close to him, Dan feels his inhibitions lower a bit more than they should. He’s tired of fighting off these feelings that he knows are there. He’s tired of acting like he doesn’t feel the same because…

He does. He feels the same as Phil and fuck it hurts.

“You’re crying,” Phil says gently, reaching up and running his thumb over Dan’s cheek just as Dan feels the wetness seep down his skin.

“Sorry,” Dan apologizes with a watery laugh.

“Don’t apologize,” Phil says. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“We were really young, Phil,” Dan says, laughing a bit more now, “We didn’t even know what love was.”

“No, but it felt like we did.”

Dan nods because it did feel like that. Dan had felt genuine love in the short time he had been with Phil.

Dan doesn’t know who leaned in first, but all he knows is the feeling of Phil’s lips on his feels like a dream. Phil’s hand comes and cups his jaw and Dan allows the kiss to deepen. Dan can feel the heat coursing hotter in his veins and he can’t tell if it’s from this or from the alcohol.

All he knows is that it feels like ten years ago.