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css1992 · 3 years ago

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Guilty Pleasure

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

All the warnings listed on Part I apply.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X / Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

Almost two months after moving out of Beck’s place, Peter was able to rent an apartment in the same building as Ned and MJ. It was tiny, of course, but pretty inexpensive, compared to other options he found around that area. Besides, with the money he made with Just4Fans over those few weeks, he would be able to afford it comfortably for at least a few months – largely thanks to YKWIM. He still planned on saving up as much as possible, so he put a lot of effort into making his account grow and it was working – by the end of April, he was up to five hundred subscribers.

He didn’t check to see what Beck was doing, he was too afraid to look and see him with his new boyfriend, but he got lots of comments from his old fans, who still followed Beck, telling him that the new boy had nothing on him. Again, he didn’t dare to check, but the ego boost was nice, even if he didn’t really believe them. Also, he was down to crying once every two days instead of every other day, so he was counting that as a win as well.

His apartment was still pretty empty, specially because he spent most of his time downstairs at his friends’ place, but he decorated the bathroom and his room to the best of his ability, since they would be the background of pretty much all his videos and pictures. He also bought some new lingerie sets, a few costumes and sex toys he wasn’t even sure how to use, but he was slowly figuring them out.

Aside from decorating his room and the bathroom, he also bought an armchair and placed it by the window with a couple of pillows. It was a nice spot to spend the afternoon reading or working on his computer. The light in that apartment was great, sunlight streamed right into his living room and warmed it up nicely. As they approached the end of April, the weather was getting better everyday.

Some days, he felt happy. He felt okay with the fact that he was still doing porn and that it wasn’t a terrible crime. Sure, it wasn’t what he had planned to do with his life, but he was young, he would eventually figure things out. For the time being, he needed that gig and he couldn’t beat himself up for it. Also, it wasn’t so bad now that he was only doing solo stuff.

Some other days, though, were just – hard. He remembered all the videos that were still online and he felt awful for the sole reason that they existed. Not so much for the ones he filmed with Beck, he was somewhat okay with those, the guy was his boyfriend after all, they had sex anyway, the only difference was the camera in the room. But the other ones…

When he started filming with other men, it quickly turned into an unpleasant experience for him. He hated every second of it and always ended up feeling guilty, used and disposable at the end of the day. Beck didn’t make it any better with the way he looked at him afterwards as he told him to get in the shower.

He wasn’t entirely sure of the reasons why those videos bothered him so much, sometimes it felt like it wasn’t even him in them. It was like he was watching a different person, he looked at himself and felt completely dissociated from that boy – at the same time, he looked at him and he knew – he knew – exactly what he was feeling when those were shot.

But that was a lot to unpack and he just wasn’t ready for that particular crisis.

So in short, sometimes he was still a little unsure about how long he would be able to keep his Just4Fans account, because even though most days he didn’t feel too weird about it, sometimes it reminded him of things he preferred to forget. But that was fine, he was usually able to work around that. Also, most of his subscribers were great and didn’t make him feel like a cheap whore, so he had that going for him as well.

YKWIM was one of the good ones. They chatted almost daily, and Peter always sent him exclusive pictures and videos just because. He never posted those pictures on his feed once he sent them to him, it was their little secret. In return, he got his own collection of short videos of YKWIM finishing himself off. He didn’t know much about the person behind the videos, he’d taken to calling him daddy because most of his subscribers seemed to like it and YKWIM never complained, so it stuck.

Peter did know he lived in New York – which made him shiver – and that he was a businessman of some kind, but he also always talked about a workshop, so Peter wasn’t sure and he avoided asking personal questions. He worked most of the day and into the night, they usually talked when it was late, always around two in the morning.

He traveled a lot, too, and sometimes sent Peter small clips of his hotel rooms or the view from his balcony. In return, Peter sent him pictures of his messy bedroom and the horrible view from his window as a joke. It was nice talking to him, he always made Peter laugh – and then it often ended with a very satisfying orgasm that put him right to sleep, which was awesome.

Peter estimated YKWIM was older than Beck, but not by too much. He clearly had a fit body, which at first led him to believe he was in his thirties, at most; but he noticed YKWIM sometimes talked about the 80’s like he lived them, so he had to be at least in his forties, but Peter couldn’t be sure. He really wished he would show his face, though, it would be nice to have one to fantasize about. But then again, maybe it would ruin the whole thing.

One afternoon, after Peter spent hours taking pictures, shooting videos and editing them so he could post them over the following week, he got a message from YKWIM. He hurried to check it and was shocked to see that he had sent him yet another tip – forty thousand dollars this time.

“For you to buy pretty things so you can show them off to me.” Said the message that came with the money.

Peter almost dropped his phone when he saw it. It had been only five weeks since his last insane tip, so that made fifty thousand dollars in just a little over a month. For, like, thirty nudes. Who even was that guy?

“Wow, daddy, that’s way too much!” He added a flushed face emoji, for lack of something better to say. He was honestly feeling a little overwhelmed, even if the guy had millions to spend, there was no way just giving someone that amount of money was normal.

“That’s not nearly enough for what you’ve given me, baby.” Peter’s cheeks burned.

“I’m very flattered, but please, I really don’t think I deserve all this.” He was pretty sure he sounded pathetic, but that was how he felt, so. Yeah.

“Oh, but you do. Trust me, you really, really do. You’re worth every penny.” Peter bit his lower lip, a little unsure and still a little shocked.

“At least tell me what you’d like to see from me, please. Do you have any kinks that you’d like me to perform? Don’t be shy.” He asked, even though it always made him nervous to offer that kind of thing. Sometimes people were just waiting for the perfect opportunity to make the weirdest requests.

But, to be fair, he had been talking to YKWIM for over a month, so he somewhat trusted him not to ask for anything too absurd. And then again, the guy had just paid him forty thousand dollars.

“Well, if you insist...” Here it comes, Peter thought, bracing himself. “Red and gold are my favorite colors. I’d love to see you wearing them.” Oh. Not what he was expecting at all.

“Done! Anything else? Come on, there’s gotta be something else.” Again, risky move. But again, forty thousand dollars.

“I’d love to hear you. You’re always so quiet in your videos. If you feel comfortable, I’d love to hear you call my name.” The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at that request. It sounded… almost sweet? It obviously wasn’t meant like that, it was completely sexual, but out of all the wild things he could have asked for, he wanted to hear Peter call his name.

“What’s your name, daddy?”

“Tony.” Tony. Peter tested the word out on his tongue, saying it out loud once, twice. Tony. It suited the image he had created in his head. Tony.

“I can definitely do that, Tony. Anything else?”

“Buy yourself something pretty and send me a picture wearing it. Nothing sexual. Something you’d wear to a date with me.” Peter’s breath hitched. He supposed it was probably just a weird, rich people kink or something, but his mind went wild anyway. Very, very wild.

“I don’t know what I’d wear to a date with you, daddy. Any advice?”

“I like expensive and beautiful things such as yourself, baby.”

Normally, Peter wouldn’t appreciate being called expensive, like he was a thing to be bought, but he felt weirdly flattered by the answer. He promised YKW – Tony – he would send everything he requested over the next few days, and he was actually excited about the whole thing. And of course he knew that feeling was trouble, there were warning signs flashing like crazy before his eyes, but he ignored them and convinced himself that he was just having fun and he was allowed to have fun if he was going to keep doing porn. He didn’t have to feel miserable and guilty all the fucking time. He could – and should! – take some pleasure from it. He deserved it.

So the following day he asked MJ to go shopping with him, but he still didn’t tell her the whole story, he just said it was for his Just4Fans and she readily agreed to go. They went to Victoria’s Secret and Peter told her what he had in mind.

“So, how’s the job going? You’re doing okay? Not too overwhelmed?” She asked coolly as they searched through the panties section.

“Yeah, it’s fine, it’s different when I’m in control, you know? Like, I know my limits and I don’t need to count on other people to respect them. Well, most of the time. So it’s cool.”

Some subscribers were a little pushy sometimes, asking for things Peter wasn’t willing to do and then getting really aggressive after being told no. But it didn’t affect him as much as it did when Beck ignored his boundaries, because those pushy subscribers could be easily blocked, whereas with Beck, well. It was a different story.

“Don’t ever feel like you need to push your limits, okay?” Michelle stopped what she was doing to grab him by the shoulders and force him to look at her. “If you ever feel like stopping, for whatever reason, just do it. No matter what, you’ll always have me and Ned, understand? We’re family, we’re here for you, we’d never leave you alone. If you want to stop, we’ll figure something out together, you hear me?” The way she looked into his eyes made him understand that she really meant every single word of it.

Family. He had a family with them.

Peter felt silly tearing up in the middle of Victoria’s Secret, so he pulled her into his arms and hid his face in her neck.

“Thank you. I needed to hear that,” he muttered, as she squeezed him a little tighter, before pushing him away.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all teary-eyed on me, come on, you’ll ruin my reputation.” She looked around, sniffing, then stuck her hands in her pockets. Peter laughed halfheartedly, drying the corner of his eyes. “C’mon, there are panties to be bought.”

They spent a couple of hours searching the store, but in the end he found the perfect set. He bought some other pieces, too, for his feed, people had been asking for lingerie a lot lately, after a slightly weird phase of cat ears and tails. Once they left Victoria’s Secret, Peter was nervous because he had to tell MJ at least part of the truth to get her help with the second part of Tony’s request.

“So, listen,” he started and she turned to him, happily sipping her large coffee as they walked down the street. “I have this subscriber. He’s, like, a rich, old dude who always sends me tips and stuff. Anyway, he gave me some money and asked me to buy something nice and pose for him, but like, not in a sexual way. He wants to see me clothed.” She frowned, staring at him suspiciously. “Um. I was wondering if you could help me with that?”

She was silent for a few seconds, just looking at him with narrowed eyes. He looked away discreetly, trying to avoid her mind-reading skills.

“Should I be worried?” She asked, finally. He shook his head and chuckled nervously, waving a hand dismissively.

“He’s harmless, just some lonely, old dude. So, will you help?” He looked at her expectantly. She was still frowning and definitely knew something was up, but she nodded anyway, to Peter’s relief.

“What do you have in mind?” MJ asked and resumed her stroll down the street, Peter had to jog a little to keep up.

“Something expensive and beautiful,” He quoted Tony, like an idiot, because he honestly had no idea what that meant.

“That’s oddly specific and somehow not helpful at all.” She lifted an eyebrow and looked around the busy street. “How expensive are we talking about?”

“I’m not sure. Very?” He answered nervously, and, yet again, she looked looked like she wanted to rip the truth out of him, but she also knew that was not the way to go with him.

“How much did this guy give you?”

“Um. for – five thousand dollars.” He stuttered. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her the actual amount, because it sounded absolutely insane and she would worry unnecessarily.

“Holy shit!? Fuck, why aren’t I doing porn?!” She screeched and Peter hurried to put his hands over her mouth, because at least three people turned around to look at them.

“Don’t even joke about that, you hear me? You have a bright future ahead of you, don’t fuck it up,” he told her seriously and she looked like she wanted to argue just for the sake of being annoying, but something in the way he looked at her must have made her realize he meant it.

“Chill, I’m joking.” She patted his shoulder and looked away. “So. Five thousand dollars? We can work with that.”

He was a little scared of the weird gleam in her eyes, but followed her anyway.

They spent the rest of the afternoon shopping, it was a lot of fun and he even got her a pair of shoes she kept staring longingly at. She was worried they would go over the budget because she wanted him to save some of the money, but he assured her he could afford it. They managed to put together a great outfit that he was very confident about and then called Ned to meet them for dinner in the evening.

Later, they took the subway home and, for a while, he felt like a normal 20-year-old guy – happy, weightless and just a little heartbroken, like everyone was bound to be at some point in life. He was going to be okay, he realized. That thought hit him like a punch in the face and it felt fucking awesome.

He rested his head on Ned’s shoulder with a sigh of relief, feeling the warmth of MJ’s hand on his thigh.

It was around midnight when he got home, which for him was still a little early, he had developed the terrible habit of going to bed well after two in the morning – he blamed Tony, but to be fair, many of his subscribers were mostly active around that time as well. He debated whether or not he should start working on Tony’s requests, he was a little tired from a long day of walking around carrying bags, but also surprisingly eager to show the older man what he got for him.

He took the Victoria’s Secret bag and displayed the new outfit on the bed. It was a simple, but beautiful lingerie set. What Peter loved most about it was the fabric – it was made of deep red satin, smooth and glossy, and it felt simply amazing on the skin.

He decided to try it on, just to make sure it fit properly.

The top was a delicate bralette, two little triangles only big enough to hide his nipples and a little bit of his pecs. It was the perfect size for him, it sat flush with his skin, no unflattering cup gaps. The panties were tiny, Peter wasn’t too sure about those back in the store, he was worried not everything would fit in it. It did, but just barely, but it actually worked in his favor, in his humble opinion. Lastly, he put on the garter belt, which was just a thin piece of fabric that went around his waist, with two straps that hung down to clasp onto two elastic bands that went around his thighs.

Since Tony said red and gold, he also put on a thick, golden choker, just to see how it would look.

Once he was dressed, he went to check in the mirror. He bit his lower lip, running his hand over the fabric that covered his chest. It felt really smooth, and the way it brushed against his nipples sent shivers down his spine. He closed his eyes and imagined it was Tony’s hands on his body. They looked strong enough to hurt, but he imagined they would be gentle with him, as they traced a path from his collarbone to his neck, to wrap themselves around his throat – but not tight enough to choke him, just a promise.

He sighed, as if to check that he could still breath under the pressure, and slowly slid his hands down from his neck, brushing his hard nipples on their way down to the front of the panties – God, it was so smooth...

For some reason, he imagined Tony would be a gentle lover. Maybe it was the way he talked to him, always so charming, all sweetheart and baby, all praise and compliments. Maybe it was the way he never demanded anything, only asked nicely, all please and thank you.

Tony wouldn’t ruin him, like he promised so many times in those last few weeks, he would fuck him long and slow, raspy voice whispering sweet praise in his ear, rough hands holding him down, hips snapping with each unrelenting thrust.

He bit his lips, knees buckling as he felt the front of the panties getting wet, while his leaking cock struggled to get free.

Well, then.

He grabbed his camera from the closet and positioned it on a tripod in front of the bed, just a few feet away, and programmed it to take pictures every five seconds. He sat on the bed, facing the camera, feet still on the floor, and just closed his eyes for a minute, letting a sigh escape his lips as the fantasy from before filled his mind again.

He spread his legs and his fingers reached down to the front of his panties again. His cock felt impossibly hard, straining against the delicate fabric, dark pink tip peeking out of over the top of the tiny underwear. He touched himself slowly, hips rocking lightly to match the pace of his own hand, as he listened to the clicks of the pictures being taken.

He had to force himself to stop, before he lost control, and moved to kneel on the bed, with his side facing the camera, and lowered his chest until it was touching the mattress, letting his back curve in a sinful arch, head turned to the side, staring right at the lens. At Tony. Imagining what he would do if he were there.

He sat back on his heels and turned his back to the camera, spreading his knees, each of his hands grabbing one ass cheek, pulling them apart, only a thin, barely there strip of fabric hiding his nakedness. He looked over his shoulder and waited for the camera to take at least a couple of pictures.

Next, he laid on his back, side facing the camera again, left hand rubbing one nipple over the silky fabric, as the right one reached down the front of the panties, to finally give himself some sort of relief. He let out an almost pained moan as he wrapped a hand around his cock, pumping it slowly, once, twice, but all that teasing was driving him a little insane.

He knew he should probably take a few more pictures, but he also knew wouldn’t last much longer.

He got off the bed and went to the dresser where he kept all of his “work stuff”. He grabbed a tube of lube and a vibrator that was neither too small, nor too big, it was a size Peter was comfortable with.

He switched the camera to video mode, pressed record and resumed his position on the bed, knees on the bed, holding his lower body up, and chest resting on the mattress. He squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, pushed the panties a little to the side and circled his hole gently, slowly, because that was how he imagined Tony would do it. Those big, rough hands would have grabbed him by the hips, put him in that exact position, before teasing him mercilessly.

He moaned quietly and closed his eyes, rubbing slow circles around his rim, pressing a little against his entrance, but not hard enough to breach it. He felt his cock pulsing, begging for attention, but he didn’t dare to touch it, not yet.

“Tony, please...” He whined, pushing his hips back against his own hand, he was so lost in his fantasy he almost forgot he didn’t need to beg. Almost. “I need you...”

Gently, he started pushing one finger inside, knuckle by knuckle, he was so aroused he barely felt the burn, just delicious pressure that made his eyes roll to the back of his head. He started fucking himself on his finger, feeling the muscles around it slowly make way.

“’Been thinking about you, Tony…” he rasped out, hips pushing back against his hand. “Can’t stop thinking ‘bout you...” When he felt loose enough, he pushed another finger inside, the stretch becoming a little more noticeable as he slowly scissored himself open. He got on all fours and turned his back to the camera to give Tony a better view, all spread out for him, and kept fucking himself, picking up the pace once just those two fingers weren’t enough. “Fuck, daddy, need you so bad...”

He eased the fingers out of himself, sighing at the loss, and reached for the vibrator that was sitting on the bed and turned to face the camera again. He knelt on the bed and, with one hand, he propped the vibrator up on the mattress, holding it down from behind him, as with the other hand he guided its tip to his already abused hole.

He flicked the switch and it vibrated to life, nudging against his hole before finally slipping in. Peter’s breath hitched at the intrusion, feeling the delicious burn on his lower back, as he moved his hips up and down slowly, trying to push more of it inside with each painful thrust.

“Fuck me, Tony,” he begged, as his free hand finally reached for his neglected cock, pumping it hard and fast, matching the maddening pace his hips set. He lost all sense of rhythm when he felt the tip of the vibrator finally – finally – reach his prostate and he pushed it even further in, until the pressure against the bundle of nerves became too much and he exploded in one of the best orgasms he had had in a long, long time. “Oh, f-fuck!” His vision went dark for a second as he let himself fall back on the bed, wasted.

He spent almost ten minutes just lying there, trying to catch his breath and regain consciousness. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like that, he was boneless, floaty, completely satisfied. It was honestly the best he felt in months.

When his legs stopped shaking, he got up and headed straight to the shower, still feeling a little dizzy and weak, but he wasn’t complaining.

Once he was finished, he debated whether he should just go to bed or send Tony what he had, but with the way he was feeling, he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep so easily. So decided to send at least the pictures right away, even though it was nearing 3AM. Peter knew Tony was probably up, the man did say that he was an insomniac and that he sometimes went days without any real sleep, so it wasn’t a surprise when he answered just a few minutes after Peter sent them.

“Holy fuck, Peter!!” Peter bit his lower lip, burying his face in the pillow to hide his blush, even though he was alone in his room.“What the fuck, baby, it’s three in the morning, are you trying to fucking kill me?!”

“So you like them?” He asked with feigned innocence.

“I fucking love them, you little tease, these are hands down my favorites yet. I swear I’m gonna have them framed and hung in my workshop and I’ll spend the rest of my fucking days just writing odes to you.” Peter giggled into the pillow, turning on his side to get more comfortable on the bed.

“I bet you say that to all the boys.” He joked lightly, blushing again, which was stupid, but he couldn’t help it.

“Fuck no! You’re something else, kitten, and you don’t even know it.” Peter suppressed a smile, biting his lower lip.

“Are you touching yourself right now, daddy?”

“To be honest, I’m so fucking hard I think I’m gonna come instantly if I even brush my fingers on my cock. I’m literally just staring at the pictures right now and worrying I’m gonna come untouched just from that.” Peter laid on his stomach and bit the pillow, gently rocking his hips against the bed.

“That’s so hot. Can I see it?”

Seconds later, there was a video in the chat. He played it immediately and, sure enough, Tony wasn’t kidding. His cock was rock hard, throbbing, the head was an angry purple, already glistening with pre-cum. Tony was just holding it at the base, not daring to touch it, and the whole thing almost made Peter hard again, but he was really exhausted.

“Fuck, daddy, I really wish I could help you with that.”

“Oh, you don’t even know what I wish.”

Tony didn’t say anything for a few minutes and Peter figured he had gone to sleep, but then his phone beeped, alerting him to another message from him. It was, of course, a picture of Tony’s spent cock, resting against his belly, which was covered in come, so much of it Peter’s mouth watered.

“Was it good, daddy?”

“The best, sweetheart. Thank you. I’m gonna sleep like a baby today.” Peter chuckled. Tony always said that was high praise coming from someone who hardly ever slept and the younger man took his word for it.

“Goodnight, Tony. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Looking forward to it, Pete.”

He knew he was fucked the second he tried to suppress a small smile, but couldn’t.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark

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tardis-stowaway · 5 years ago

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Ten years after the Not-pocalypse, Adam Young, age 21 and recently graduated from university:

-Works in a crappy retail job and lives in a tiny, crappy flat in London

-The crappy flat has no sound insulation, so he’s always hearing the absurd amount of movement from the people in the flat above and the really loud but not quite intelligible conversations from the people in the flat next door. It’s a long way to the nearest public park, and he misses the green of home.

-Is not all that good at his customer service job, with the exception that if a customer is irrationally angry about something, he says he wants to make sure he understands the problem and repeats their complaint back to them with this look in his eyes, and they universally back down and often apologize. His coworkers love him for it. Everything else is just drudgery.

-Single, despite his best efforts. Okay, maybe not his best efforts, but some efforts.

-Knows that his childhood was uncommonly idyllic at least partly due to his powers. He’s not entirely sure how his life went quite so off the rails lately.

-Maybe his powers have faded gradually since he rejected his destiny, or maybe it’s just that on some level he absorbed the expectation that being in one’s early 20’s means being broke and a little lost, and the expectation made it happen whether he wanted it or not.

-Or maybe he just should’ve chosen a more employable course of study at uni instead of comparative religion. In his defense, it seemed relevant to his life.

-Spends much of his free time on climate crisis activism. He’ll be damned (ha) if he stood against the forces of Heaven and Hell, the Four Horsepeople of the Apocalypse, and his own birthright to preserve the continuing existence of humanity on the Earth only for humans to blunder into destroying themselves unintentionally through greed and shortsighted decisions.

-He’s been doing this since he was twelve, when Brian sent the Them’s group text an article about the group Extinction Rebellion with the caption “named for us?? :)” Adam had laughed, then actually read the article. Within a week he’d convinced the Them and a dozen of their classmates to show up at the next town council meeting with a list of sustainability demands.

-No matter how many civil disobedience events he takes part in, he never seems to get arrested. Adam suspects it’s his supernatural entity privilege. Pepper says it’s probably mostly that he’s white and great at charming his way out of trouble.

-He’s still friends with all of the Them, but they don’t live especially close together. He does have a flatmate, an American who Adam met at uni.

-At this point you, a genre-savvy reader of much Good Omens fic and meta, are probably seeing the word “American” and thinking that Adam is flatmates with Warlock Dowling. For once, you are wrong.

-Adam’s flatmate is Jesus.

-Not Jesus Christ, but a young man named Jesus Dominguez, pronounced the Spanish way (like hay-soos).

-Jesus is from Southern California, and he talks more than a little bit like a surfer stereotype. He’s got warm brown skin, shoulder-length dark hair in perpetually-mussed waves, and a little beard. He’s kinda leaning into the look to mess with people, but it’s also the same style found on at least a third of the other male-presenting hipsters in London.

-When he learned that he was going to share a flat with someone named Jesus, Adam called Crowley and Aziraphale. He’s never been gladder that he stayed in touch with them, because he NEEDED someone who understood how the Antichrist and Jesus sharing a flat sounded like the setup for a joke or a sitcom. Crowley did indeed laugh out loud, then told Adam that as a fellow lapsed member of the forces of Hell, he could personally recommend sharing quarters with a heavenly adversary. Aziraphale just muttered “oh, stop” at Crowley.

-Adam moved to London because it was easier to get to the important protests there, and because he was curious. He spent the first six months desperately homesick for Tadfield. The city was so crowded but somehow he still felt so alone, other than Jesus.

-Then a midnight fire-alarm in their building sent him and Jesus into the streets along with dozens of their neighbors. Adam finally met the people in the flat above theirs who made all that moving around noise. They were an older couple who took ballroom dancing lessons at the senior center and liked to practice at home. Mrs. Kapoor tried to teach Adam how to foxtrot right there on the pavement in the middle of the night. He stepped on her feet, but since he was in bare feet and she’d actually taken the time to find shoes it wasn’t a big deal.

-Meanwhile Jesus was finally talking to the loud young men from next door. By the time Adam wandered over, Jesus had learned their names (Leon, Seamus, and Nazim) and secured an invitation for the two of them to come over to watch Saturday’s football match, and to join their next D&D campaign (“just no more paladins,” said Nazim). Adam looked forward to finding out whether it was the D&D or the football that was the cause of more yelling.

-As the evacuation stretched on with no hint of either actual fire or clearance to go back inside, the building’s children began to get fussy. Adam found a coin on the ground (successfully picking it up, because Crowley didn’t make it to this neighborhood very often) and proceeded to distract them with stage magic.

-He initially learned stage magic from Aziraphale, but he’s better at it than the angel ever was. He hardly cheats physical reality at all. The kids love it.

-When the fire department finally gives them the clearance to go back inside, Adam’s stomach rumbles. “Is anyone else hungry?,” he asks, to a chorus of agreement. It’s too late for any nearby takeout, but Jesus chats with their neighbors about options.

-Jesus enlists Adam’s help in going from flat to flat gathering ingredients from everyone, and before long they’re serving fish tacos and grilled cheese sandwiches to a small crowd of pajama-clad people. It’s 2 am, but everyone is smiling, or at least has contentment at the edge of their yawns.

-The next day, Mrs. Kapoor brings Adam and Jesus a spider plant cutting, because she thought their flat looked too bare. Adam texts a picture of it to Crowley and receives back lengthy instructions on watering, pot size, soil, and the most effective threats for the species.

-Five months later, the local planning council has an intense debate about why crime rates in one neighborhood have dropped by 75% since their last meeting. They each try to claim credit for their pet civic projects. Actually, it’s because Adam Young has started to love London, or at least his nook of it.

-Buskers soon realize that certain tube stops are generating far more tips than they ever have before, with no obvious demographic shift accounting for the change. The common ground is that these are the stops on Adam’s commutes to work and his activist meetings. He can only occasionally spare a tip himself, but his enjoyment of the music is contagious.

-Even after the breakthrough, not every day is good. On a late summer day that just happens to be the anniversary of the day the world didn’t end, Adam comes home from a protest fuming.

-“Dude, you okay?” asks Jesus, looking up from his guitar. (Jesus sometimes goes to protests with Adam, but not usually the ones where they’re planning on breaking laws. “I’m a brown-skinned foreigner, man. Do you think I’ll get away with what you get away with? I’m not ready for that yet,” he says, and Adam can’t argue.)

-“The media barely showed up at our event, probably because it was about a million degrees and even though that’s exactly what we’re protesting, nobody wants to be out in it. Six of our people passed out from the heat and three got arrested. They still didn’t arrest me, but I got pushed over and cracked my phone screen. On my way home, some drunk on the tube vomited on my shoes. Our green jobs bill still doesn’t have the votes in Parliament, and have you seen the latest news on the Antarctic ice sheets?” Adam kicks off his shoes, then collapses dramatically onto the futon and groans.

-“Sounds rough,” says Jesus.

-“I should’ve just ended the damn world when I was eleven and I had the chance. Would’ve been quicker,” Adam mutters.

-Jesus gets up and goes to the kitchen. He brings Adam a beer. “You don’t mean that, bro,” he says.

-Adam sighs, accepting the beer. “I suppose not.”

-He drinks his beer. Dog, now grey-muzzled and slow, shuffles over to curl up at his feet. Adam pulls out his phone, which is cracked but still seems functional. He’s got a text from Aziraphale.

-“Dear Adam,” the text begins, because Aziraphale might have finally deigned to learn to text but he steadfastly refused to adopt its stylistic conventions, “I hope that you have returned safely from today’s protest. I’m very proud of your continuing efforts, and though he won’t admit it I know that Crowley feels the same. Please write back at your earliest convenience. Fondly, Aziraphale”

-Adam texts back to reassure the angel, who will doubtless pass it on to Crowley, then he texts similar reassurances to his parents and to Mrs. Kapoor upstairs. He’s still figuring out this adulthood thing, but he’s got a lot of parental figures looking out for him. His Infernal Bio-Dad isn’t one of them, and that’s the way Adam likes it.

-Through the open window comes the sound of music blasting from a car stuck in traffic below. Freddie Mercury and David Bowie are singing:

And love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night, And love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves.

-He turned down the chance to rule the world, and he’d make the same choice again, but he still feels a certain proprietary responsibility towards the planet and its inhabitants. His father—his real, earthly father—didn’t raise him to shirk responsibility, and he’s not one to cave under pressure.

-Life is hard, people are mostly idiots, and the world is coming apart at the seams, but it’s his messed up life and his idiotic people and his beautiful, half-broken world.

#good omens #adam young #good omens headcanons #fanfic #post-canon #please excuse any errors and americanisms #long post #tardis-stowaway's writing & stuff

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toshootforthestars · 3 years ago

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From the report by Beth Mole, posted 19 July 2021:

Fully vaccinated people are largely protected from delta; the current vaccines are still highly effective against developing COVID-19 from delta and other variants of concern. Though a small proportion of people can develop so-called “breakthrough infections,” those infections will mostly be asymptomatic or mild. But, unvaccinated people are completely vulnerable. Moreover, those who have received only one dose of a two-dose vaccine or have only recovered from COVID-19 are not much better off than those who are completely unvaccinated.

But according to new polling data from CBS News, a new wave of vaccinations seems unlikely. Among unvaccinated and partly vaccinated people, only 48% said they are concerned about delta. Among fully vaccinated people, 72% reported being concerned about the variant.

Despite the fact that the current COVID-19 vaccines have proven highly effective and safe, 53% of those who are unvaccinated or partly vaccinated said in the poll that they are concerned about side effects. 50% of the group cited a lack of trust in the government as a reason not to get vaccinated. And 45% said they don’t trust the science. All of these percentages are higher than they have been in earlier polls, indicating that these anti-vaccine sentiments are hardening among the unvaccinated.

Some unvaccinated people who may be more persuadable have said they are waiting for the vaccines to receive full approval from the Food and Drug Administration (currently, they are authorized by the FDA under an emergency use authorization). On Friday, Pfizer and BioNTech said that the FDA had granted them a Priority Review designation for their mRNA vaccine, but they didn’t expect a decision on full approval until January 2022. Currently, vaccine providers are administering only around 520,000 COVID-19 vaccine per day, down from a record of 4.6 million in a day in April.

With over 161 million people vaccinated, only 48.6% of the US population is fully vaccinated.

See also: How much COVID misinformation is on Facebook? Its execs don’t want to know

For years, misinformation has flourished on Facebook. Falsehoods, misrepresentations, and outright lies posted on the site have shaped the discourse on everything from national politics to public health. But despite their role in facilitating communications for billions of people, Facebook executives refused to commit resources to understand the extent to which COVID-19-related misinformation pervaded its platform, according to a report in The New York Times.

Early in the pandemic, a group of data scientists at Facebook met with executives to propose a project that would determine how many users saw misleading or false information about COVID. It wasn’t a small task—they estimated that the process could take up to a year or more to complete—but it would give the company a solid understanding of the extent to which misinformation spread on its platform.

The executives listened to the data scientists’ pitch and then reportedly ghosted them.

The data team’s proposal wasn’t approved, and they were never given an explanation for why it was silently dropped.

The revelations come as Facebook has drawn fire from the White House for its role in the spread of misinformation about COVID-19 and the vaccines that prevent it. “They’re killing people,” President Joe Biden said about the role of social networks in the spread of misinformation. “Look, the only pandemic we have is among the unvaccinated. They’re killing people.”

Biden later walked back his comments slightly, but they revealed the administration’s frustration with social media platforms—and with Facebook in particular—over their response to the pandemic.

For weeks, the White House pressed Facebook for details on how the company is combating COVID vaccine misinformation. The social network offered some details but gave unsatisfying answers to other requests.

Facebook’s unwillingness or inability to understand the scope of COVID misinformation on its platform was apparent in comments it gave to The New York Times, in which it blamed its nescience on the lack of a “standard definition” for pandemic-related misinformation. “The suggestion we haven’t put resources toward combating COVID misinformation and supporting the vaccine rollout is just not supported by the facts,” said Dani Lever, a Facebook spokeswoman.

“With no standard definition for vaccine misinformation, and with both false and even true content (often shared by mainstream media outlets) potentially discouraging vaccine acceptance, we focus on the outcomes—measuring whether people who use Facebook are accepting of COVID-19 vaccines.”

For researchers who study misinformation, that explanation isn’t sufficient. “They need to open up the black box that is their content ranking and content amplification architecture,“ Imran Ahmed, chief executive of the Center for Countering Digital Hate, told The New York Times. “Take that black box and open it up for audit by independent researchers and government. We don’t know how many Americans have been infected with misinformation.”

Me:

This situation is extremely bad!

First off, the individuals that aren’t getting vaccinated just do not care to. They’ve bought hook line and sinker into all the disinfo and misinfo on facebook, instagram, youtube, tiktok, reddit, and/or whatever 8chan replacement one choosed. What they see and read reinforces their pre-conceived (and factually incorrect) views that “experts” “really don’t know shit about anything” and thusly are “blowing things way the fuck outta proportion,” etc. Their views are both informed by, and reinforced by:

what they read and see online

what they hear on FM/AM radio

what they watch on broadcast TV

what their friends and communities consume from media

what the prevailing societal and political attitudes in one’s community are

“rugged individualism” and the post-1980 erosion of the social contract

So, if your fb friends are covid truthers, if the on-air personalities you hear on the radio at work are covid truthers, if your neighbors and friends at werk are covid truthers, if the elected leaders are covid truthers, if the snippets of Fox News you get to see randomly are pushing covid truther disinfo, and if those in your inner circle at that 4th of July party you went to are covid truthers, then you yourself, at a minimum from peer pressure, will dismiss the recommendations of the American Academy of Pediatrics, the American Medical Association, scores of hospital operators, plus countless professionals in medicine and epidemiology in your decision not to get vaccinated, nor to mask up indoors in public even when “recommended”.

“I have rights. I know what’s really going on. I’ve got things figured out.” Or, at a minimum, “I don’t give a fuck either way.” “Fuck you.”

Facebook absolutely is responsible for the covid truther disinfo and misinfo being shared on their platform. I believe they are the largest vector of disinformation and misinformation to the public. So many people are chugging the “vaccines are a scam, masks don’t work and I have rights” kool-aid thanks to disinfo introduced and shared widely on facebook

Some other major vectors of disinfo: iHeartMedia - Premiere Networks - iHeartRadio, Entercom/Audacy, Westwood One, One America News, Fox News, Newsmax, Sinclair Broadcast Group, YouTube + Google, TikTok, and Reddit.

“I saw a video on YouTube where the military did a study…” or “I heard a guy on the radio saying mask mandates are part of a plot…” It's all bullshit!

At this point it cannot be anything but an active choice the leadership at these companies consciously make to pipe out total bullshit in a time of crisis. Content from all of the above easily makes its way to facebook, too, unrestricted!

The U.S continues to spiral into this post fact, post truth, anti-intellectual, anti-science neo-fascist hellscape where no lives matter and where mass death is AOK because “none of us get out of this world alive” or some asshat folksy quip that masks as wisdom. Empathy, reasoning, established facts and observable reality have all become political statements… People hear what they want to hear.

IMO this is truly a disastrous situation with no easy way out.

Many, many people will not wear masks again. Many, many people see the survival rate for coronavirus and they surmise wrongly that the risk for them of getting covid is worth it, that the risk for others isn’t remotely their concern, and that the entire situation is overblown. The social contract is in bad shape. Public confidence in the state is almost gone. Covid truthers are everywhere.

Getting a vaccine requires time off from work to travel to a mass vax site that’s still open, time off to recoup post-shot (if necessary), and overcoming fear that the anti-vax disinfo on social media was true after all. Plus overcoming peer pressure from unvaccinated friends and family.

Covid case numbers are likely undercounts. Test kits are still problematic. Persons with no health insurance have no PCP to call when they get sick. Underinsured persons may have to wait weeks for their approved PCP to get around to a telehealth call. Many people are getting sick and not getting tested and they’re not reporting anything to anyone. State officials, wanting to look good, may skew whatever data is reported to them.

COVID-19 is an airborne virus. Most people catch covid from contagious asymptomatic people. Coronavirus has always been a risk for children! Getting vaccinated is part of an overall good strategy to keep COVID-19 at bay. Masks work!!! If indoors, stay in a ventilated room if you’re with other people, and keep doors and windows open for air circulation. Coronavirus is producing extremely serious long-term cognitive and cardiovascular complications for many people who survive it. “Long covid” is real.

We don’t have to live with this! The political and business leadership in much of the United States today have collectively decided there’s nothing that can or should be done in regards to covid-19, no masking requirements, no easy supplies of N95 masks, and no mitigation efforts of any kind. They wrongly conclude that COVID-19, a new virus with so many unknowns, “isn’t that bad” and so the level of permanent damage or death resulting from covid is acceptable.

None of this is acceptable, the amount of permanent damage and death occurring from COVID-19 is far, far too high, and there’s no rational excuse whatsoever to allow this virus to spread across this country unchecked. There’s no reason to allow this virus to spread further. There’s no valid reason for me and anyone else to justify allowing covid to spread out of control.

#news #coronavirus #third wave #covid vaccine #facebook sucks #please get vaccinated #misinformation #disinformation #america 2021 #rant #ars technica #vaccine hesitancy #anti vaxxer #things are going swimmingly #long post

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screamting · 4 years ago

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Dick’s first day of school snuck up on them.

Bruce drove him down in a rusty small blue honda civic from the 1990s. They’d picked it up off the lot for under 3,000 and were using it as a way to ferry themselves to the junkyard to pick up parts for their special car--but for now, they were using it to drop Dick off at school.

Drop Richard Malone off at school.

On paper, Alfred paid for Dick to attend Gotham academy. A private school. It had both boarders and day students. Dick would be a day student, so long as it was feasible.

...on the first day of school, Bruce drove Dick down to his alma mater (which translated to ‘place you never wanted to visit again,’) and dropped him off outside the gates.

“Want me to walk you in, Chum?” he asked, despite it not being any Malone’s alma mater yet, and Dick glanced back at him and shook his head sharply, mumbling a quiet “see you later,” before going off towards the gates.

Bruce turned to drive home and realized, belatedly, that Dick had never not been homeschooled.

He waited for afternoon to pick Dick up again, and resolved to remember to pick up milkshakes on the way back, so he can ask how the day was with a backup plan.

“It is not the right time of year to prune,” Alfred told him. It was far too close to school starting. Far too close to fall. “But, I suppose, it isn’t impossible . It will just be a good bit trickier to know which branches need it.”

Bruce obligingly bought a new plant from a chain store--a nursery would’ve properly pruned it weeks ago, but chain stores didn’t have that same attention. Alfred brought it home in a little green planter: a tiny bush cut into a lopsided circle.

“This isn’t, in fact, how to do it,” Alfred said, setting it beside Bruce on the patio table. “Can you tell me why?”

“..it doesn’t target the dead branches,” Bruce said, and Alfred gave a nod.

“It’s indiscriminate. And quite sloppy.”

He handed Bruce a pair of pruning shears.

“With it cut like this, it’s a little difficult to find the dead branches, but you’ll manage.”

...after a moment, Bruce shoved his hand inside the bush and just… gripped one of the little branches that didn’t have any leaves on it between his fingers. He glanced at Alfred, who nodded obligingly and gave a smile that felt far too much like it was meant for a child.

“How far back do I cut?”

“As far back as you can.”

Bruce nodded and pushed the shears in. And snipped.

The metahuman had power over plants, the paper the day before had said. She argued she’d been acting in self-defense. Her children were crying out for help. And so she helped.

(“‘ I is hearing the scream of a flower as its stem is twisted from the ground,’” Dick read aloud by Bruce’s bedside, trying to work through the recommended reading list for his level. One year behind his age level wasn’t bad for three years on the road, but it was a lot to catch up on all the same. “‘ I is hearing the soft moan of the old oak, like an old man dying, weeping, when it is felled.’ ”)

As the state of New Jersey did not recognize plants as people or her as the property owner, her appeal was denied. She would spend several years above minimum in Belle Reve for aggravated assault.

(even though the one she assaulted wasn’t there. Bruce hadn’t stepped into court. Bruce hadn’t said a thing. There was one phone call, and a woman, naked, trapped outside on a Gotham street, and then five other people stepped forward, claiming to be someone she’d attacked.

And he didn’t know what to think about that. If what everyone said was true was true, or if it was just falling into the fallacy of mob mentality. If it was easier to accept what was said as true. Even if he'd seen the violence first hand, it was him being attacked, that was different--)

He kept his mouth shut, and reached for the next dead branch, and clipped.

“...and how would I trim something that’s not dead, but it might… be overgrown? Or the wrong height?”

“Hmm,” Alfred said, still watching him. “Well, first we will need to get you a proper ladder.”

Justly imprisoned or not, the metahuman--a former botanist called Pamela Isley--would be in Belle Reve for several years.

Maybe he could change something in this town while she was gone.

Therefore, Mr. Malone came to the Gotham Parks and Recreation office, asking if when he got this 501c3 approved that he be allowed to enter Robinson Park and clean up the place.

And the budget-starved Parks office said fuckin’ do it if you’re brave enough, man , and sent him on his way.

It was… much easier than he expected, really. But perhaps the Parks department carried so little influence no one had even bothered to bribe them to keep people out. All the same, he’d listen to that backwards warning.

He drafted the papers in two days. He worked over it at dinner, trying to fill the gap that had once been occupied by discussing with Dick where to travel next and how to best avoid a million impending dooms. He had a free consultation with an attorney in the morning who looked up at Bruce over his glasses, eyebrows up, and reminded Bruce that the park was where mob deals went down and that grassy lady attacked a fella the other day.

Bruce said that was fine. He knew. He wasn’t here to cause a ruckus.

Legal documents. Articles of Affiliation. Mission Statement. It was helpful to have a second pair of eyes that actually expected the little bureaucracies innate in law, things that Dick and Alfred preferred to grumble at rather than knot through. Not that Bruce had been trained in law himself, but his school friend, Harvey Dent--

(was still in the hospital. Burn ward. He’d stabilized, but wasn’t often conscious--)

...Bruce submitted the paperwork after the Parks commission met with him, and then all he had to do was draw up a budget and wait. Alfred ‘lent’ Mr. Malone the startup money to establish a paper trail. After the initial donation, Bruce could make periodic donations to himself in various names; have miraculous windfalls whenever cash grew thin. Even without any backing or campaigns, he could make this startup impossible to fail.

...the problem is, Bruce has long proven his judgement is impaired.

When Dick returns from school not sniffling but vibrating with stress all the same, Bruce’s first thought is to run and start over somewhere else.

He thinks it might be an averted suicide response. The need to pack up and leave the current problems behind. With a hardline against being able to die, his mind latches onto another option. A fight-or-flight response that only hits flight when the problem isn’t something that can’t be physically fought off, like a tween coming into the car and sitting down in the passenger seat with a deep sigh.

...Bruce asks how his day was.

Dick says it was fine.

Bruce doesn’t ask if he wants a milkshake. He goes through the drive-through and buys some anyway. They go home and work how to install tail fins on the car frame slowly coming together in their garage.

...the ‘suicide’ response isn’t the only thing that lingers. Bruce isn’t really sure ‘lingering’ is the right term, actually. The flight response only arises when things can’t be handled directly in front of himself anymore, but the fight response--

Bruce has impaired judgment.

He proved it as soon as his first ‘suicide’ response sent him to the League of Assassins, and he decided to not flee the moment they made it clear nothing would continue until he took a life. He proved it when he wasn’t able to avoid dragging a literal child in the middle of a personal crisis into his mess, rather than leaving him somewhere safe and far, far away from him. He proved it with each near-death experience from Deathstroke in Metropolis to Isley in Gotham.

And yet, here he was again, finding himself cleaning up the Batman suit long after Dick was put to bed, adjusting it with better material to withstand a bullet’s penetration.

The people at the parks department weren’t wrong. It would be dangerous to work the area while the mob still operated widely inside it, and he would not cooperate alongside the mobs for protection. The alternative was therefore relatively obvious: get rid of the mobs.

Mobs weren’t exactly like a snake, but they did function well enough like one. Cut off the head. And like a hydra, if new heads sprouted--smother them.

...that, at least, he knew how to do. Kidnapping and recon, and finding information. Find proof of a mob boss’ wrongdoing and get a prosecutor not so cowardly to be bribed. Hand the information over. Don’t let them fail the charges. High profile dangerous people wouldn’t be kept in a local jail, but would likely be transferred to a higher-security prison, circumnavigating the cluttering, and with a focus on high-priority prisoners rather than most random people out on the street, they would be moved through the system more quickly, hopefully at least stalling out their operations in the meantime, if not shattering the whole system beneath them with the sudden departure.

This was the best plan he had, and it relied far, far too much on too many external variables--finding a clean court, getting a jury that felt safe enough to actually put their foot down, finding witnesses willing to testify, a prosecutor who wouldn't be bribed--

(fuck)

--and dealing with a Commissioner whose good graces he might’ve worn out.

…

But the alternatives were to allow this to continue growing, complicit by his own inaction.

(he was already complicit enough in too many crimes.)

(How did you clean up a world that you yourself aided in the destruction of?)

Prosecutors that couldn't be bribed?

They ended up like Harvey Dent.

Batman appears without Robin that evening, because it is a school night and Dick needs to sleep. He stops what crimes in progress he comes across and starts watching Robinson Park more closely.

He doesn't interfere inside it. He just watches. Plants cameras in the bushes and on the branches of trees, and zips his way out, to watch the footage and get to know the day and nighttime patterns of the area.

It… will take time. That's something he's not used to. Dick and he worked fast on the road, and even before that he was either handed his information by the ones lower down the chain or only spent a handful of days doing legwork to verify things that'd been missed. Instant gratification, he guessed he could call it. Just… dealing out a death and being done with it.

(And somehow, he'd drawn the line at known violent mobsters and Deathstroke.)

...he had to do a lot of meditation to get through the park video feeds. He had a lot of work stacking up between tracking down faces from the feeds. Police database of mugshots helped more than he expected. He started a tally of how many people in the mugshots were brought in bloodied and who brought them in to look into later.

After all, if Gotham was going to get rid of its mob problem, the police force would need some pruning, too.

Gotham recidivism was above 80%. Bruce gargled his coffee and tried very hard to not spit it out somewhere, because somehow, he was more tired by this statistic than shocked. A bit of, ‘oh, I knew it would be high, but really?’

No fucking wonder there weren’t enough cells in the world.

(What do you do when you can’t put anymore garbage in a landfill?

Learning what a fucking recycling program is might be a good first step.)

It's okay, though. He's totally got a handle on this. He's already been looking into what makes recidivism lower, and the difficulty of access to jobs for felons seems like a big one. Lack of change to living situations that caused pettier crimes like reselling material or shoplifting. The inside prison situation has an effect, according to Norway, which has a prison system Bruce isn't even hoping to replicate, even if he were a living millionaire with a clear conscience.

Reading other people's’ writings on recidivism has… definitely helped clarify things for him, even if all he can think of for the worst of criminals is still to lock them in a cell far away from everyone or until the death penalty finally takes it out of his hands.

But it is one thing to lock up a murderer who sabotaged a family performance and killed in front of an audience, and children, and child … versus locking up the child who killed trying to protect their family from an abusive partner.

They’re different. They have to be.

If Bruce has any right to be alive, he has to be able to believe in gray areas.

Bruce drops the first of several Maroni forerunners on Gordon's desk in the northern precinct. When he finds the precinct desk vacant, he pays a visit to the commissioner’s house instead.

The thought process is that it would probably be best to clarify that the dropoff isn’t an attack on the commissioner's authority. It’s an opening for compromise. Bruce will be mindful of the incarceration rates, but he won’t be leaving Gotham and he’d like cooperation from the police when it came to prosecution.

Unfortunately, he proposes it in the form of a paper note (written in his off-hand) slipped onto Gordon’s bedroom table where the man will notice it as soon as he returns for bed, which is much more threatening than he fully realizes.

(He doesn’t imagine Gordon’s daughter will find the note first and replace it just as she found it after reading. Then again, he doesn’t ever find out it happened, either.)

The county’s defense office wants to cut a plea deal with the gangster brought in, because no one wants to be the next Harvey Dent. The Assistant DA, a woman named Rachel Dawes, seems willing to try, but the department is extremely reluctant to support her, even as she steps up to take Dent’s place until another election can be held.

In the precinct, Bruce’s audiobugs catch officers he’s tracking placing bets on how long until someone finishes Dent off in his hospital bed.

Bruce decides he needs to be more aggressive.

Twenty-seven aggressive anonymous tipoffs and two synchronized FBI raids half a month later, and Bruce is startled when the door to his bedroom opens and Dick walks in. Bruce doesn't really jump in surprise anymore-- it’s more of… half reaching a position to fight, and stopping in a split second as he realizes the threat doesn't exist.

“Ah,” he says, “do you need--?”

“I was at school,” Dick says, answering the question in an odd way. He didn't need anything, he'd just come back from school--

Bruce’s neck snaps up to look at the clock, while the other part of his brain realizes that it’s nearly dark outside.

“Did Alfred--” he says, a panicky shame he’s not used to rising up within him.

“No,” Dick says, shrugging his backpack off and slumping onto bed. “When I realized you weren't coming I walked home.”

Bruce's throat feels tight. “You should've called.”

“Figured you were busy,” Dick says, watching the ceiling, “you've got more important stuff than school.”

Bruce remembers, the pain less raw with years, the slow agony of a school day, knowing there must be more he could do than sit through the farce.

He remembers that agony of adolescent uselessness clearly, pain dulled or not, but he’s also wisened to its falsehood over the years. There was little he could manage at the time.

“...I’ll set an alarm next time, but school isn't unimportant,” he says, keeping calm and controlled for an extra moment, before doing a double-take on the thought he’d had just a moment before.

Adolescence?!

School is over a month in. Dick’s anniversary is coming up soon. Bruce has gotten the Feds back in Gotham and an internal investigation into the police force for corruption. His nonprofit is finalizing some paperwork and looking into how to hire nonviolent offenders and start training them for small-time landscaping and cleanup by contracting with a local pre-established landscape crew that mostly does the outer and northern Gotham estates. Harvey Dent is conscious but minimally verbal in the hospital. And Dick is thirteen, officially a teenager.

Bruce does not know how teenagers are different from younger children. He does not recall being any different than he is now at either age. Only morose haze interspersed by flashes of overwhelming tension and temper.

Harvey once knew him at that age. Not that Bruce could talk to Harvey--not… as himself. The man Harvey knew was long, long dead, (or, it would be simpler if that man was dead, and Bruce as he was now was a new man entirely--) and it’s not as though Bruce could ask advice anyway.

Still. Maybe he will send Harvey some flowers they’ve started in the backyard...

Once the Justice League gets out of his living room.

Aside from Superman calling over the phone whenever he seems to please, once a month Martian Manhunter seems to show up, posing as just another social worker or lawyer or family friend, here to check in on how things are going with adoption, or the 501C3, or the… latest cookies out of the oven.

And if it’s not Martian Manhunter helping Dick sneak cookies off the cooling rack, then it’s Wonder Woman, which is somehow even worse.

There are not a lot of situations when Bruce would rather a mind reader with incredible telekinetic powers who could mentally and emotionally cripple him with a thought be in his presence, versus just a very strong lady who could rip him in two by breathing.

Diana Prince has made that situation a monthly occurrence.

She came this time while they were in the garage, putting together a much-overdue car engine. Alfred had insisted on dinner before business. Diana Prince stands in his house for over an hour by the time the rope finally came out and they got down to business. It is an hour too long. Bruce doesn’t think he’s had more than a few words of conversation with her since they moved into Alfred’s townhouse late summer, but he has heard the same questions out of her mouth far too many times.

“Have you been hurt lately?”

“No,” Dick says, because he only patrols on weekends, and Bruce makes sure he’s kept well away from anything that looks like it will have guns.

“Are you being treated well?”

“Yes.”

“Are you happy?”

“Y…”

...Bruce blinks for a second, before he realizes that Dick’s teeth are clenched tight and his face is turning faintly to another color.

“Dick…?” Diana says, before Dick gives into the rope, and says the truth.

“No.”

He’s not sure if anyone else can hear the air leave the room, but it does, and Bruce feels his lungs collapse in the vacuum left behind. His stomach shrivels into a ball.

He wants to run from the room, but his feet are too heavy and slow to move, so he just crosses his arms even tighter, and digs his fingers into his ribs.

“...why is that?” Diana asks. She doesn’t even glance back at Bruce when she does it. She doesn’t even glance away in the first place, even as Dick is screwing his eyes shut. The color his face has settled on is red, and blotchy, and fast.

Dick drops the rope from his hand and hiccups.

Bruce can’t move to comfort him.

...Diana looks between Dick, and the dropped rope, and pulls it back into the lasso loop. She stands.

“...I’m going to head outside for a bit and give you two some privacy.”

She turns and walks out to the garden, where Alfred is still watering the flowers.

Dick hiccups again, and Bruce is a stranger in his own body as he sits on the floor cross legged, and pulls Dick into his arms.

...he’s a lot bigger than he was when he was eight and curled into Bruce’s side, just minutes after his parents fell. Bruce puts his hand on the kid’s head, fingers running through the cropped dark hair.

“...Dick?” Bruce says. “Dick?”

He doesn’t get a response. He sits there, uncomfortably rubbing Dick’s hair, until Diana returns some long minutes later, announcing it’s about time she headed out.

“I’ll see you next month,” she says, mostly to Dick, who still hasn’t looked up.

Even as Bruce wonders if it’s a threat, something in his chest loosens when Diana leaves and Dick stays behind.

Eventually, they get up, and try to get ready for bed.

—

Harvey Dent wakes up again.

The last thing he remembers is a gun being pulled on him; a court case that he had to win, no matter what—

The nurses are alerted to his consciousness by the sound of his screaming.

Bruce Malone has no reason to visit him. No clearance. No nothing. All he does is run a small nonprofit startup, currently sending out applications to the very criminals Harvey put behind bars.

He doubts Batman would be welcome.

—

Gotham elects temp-head Rachel Dawes to permanent DA to finish out Harvey’s term by seventeen votes. Bruce doesn’t rig the election, though he thinks of doing so. Instead, he spends the week beforehand trying to disrupt the bribery network connecting the ballot counters to the remaining mob and asking Robin to go make sure the paperless polls aren’t hacked the night before.

...Robin isn’t happy with Bruce going out on his own still. But they compromise, some.

They send Harvey flowers.

They leave a note on Dawes’ desk. An offer, if she needs anything. They don’t want her to end up like her predecessor.

—

In the morning, at the first hint of workable weather, Bruce has some on-parole inmates and recent-releases standing in the middle of the park, shivering, holding shovels and rakes.

This is the first day they’ll be working together and training on the job. There will be a stipend associated with the work. Tools are provided. There’s just—they haven’t done this before. And neither has Bruce Malone, who failed to shake off his kid, Richard, who is sitting off on a picnic table not far away, arms wrapped around his snow pants and pouting furiously.

...He stays quiet as Bruce starts showing the group what they’re supposed to be doing— first snipping the large bushes down to size, raking the sticks and leaves into piles, and then coming up the back with shovels to help define areas for mulch beds around the bushes. Generally they would not be pruning this early into fall, but… the bushes have to go.

It’s step one (ignoring Bruce’s personal twenty-step plan midway through execution) to help keep the park safe and free-er of illegal activities: just being able to see into the damn park.

Once they actually start working, Richard gets up from his perch and glumly takes a rake, helping follow along and pulling the old foliage and branches into a set of neat piles a couple feet out of the way.

It would be one thing if Dick seemed to be having fun, but… he doesn’t really. He’s tolerant enough with the car (whose construction has largely stalled) but he’s never really had the kind of brain like Bruce’s which likes the simple, repetitive patterns of gardening, or kata, or math.

(“I don’t want to stay home,” Dick had said that morning.

“Then wouldn’t going out with a friend be better?” Bruce said over breakfast.

“I don’t have any friends!”

Bruce did not respond to that, and had escorted Dick to the park.)

...they pack up in the later afternoon, when the sun is still high but before banks close-- Bruce gathering up all the direct deposit information for the ones who sound interested in coming back, and paying the rest with checks. Dick waits in the car.

When they drive back home, something big, and blue, and midwestern is already in their kitchen, and is talking to Alfred about pie crust technique.

( Hell. )

Superman is wearing his full goddamn uniform as they enter. He turns and smiles when they come into the living room, raising up one big hand to greet them.

“Hey there! Decided I’d stop by.”

“....You did,” Bruce agrees, while Dick seems to perk up, eyes widening at the very large and blue man leaning on the counter.

Dick had met Superman already. Spent a week at least on the same spaceship as him. Stared him down over Bruce’s unconscious body. Somehow, it wasn’t stopping him from having that bright excitement in his eyes, now.

Maybe Superman was more exciting when he presumably wasn’t here to arrest anyone.

Presumably.

“Uh-huh,” said Superman. “And Mr. Pennyworth was telling me some about how things have been going for you here! Community service work. Sounds good.”

Sounded innocent was more like it. Sounded like prisoners in bright orange vests on the roadsides picking up litter for fifty cents an hour. Doing time, paying back society for all he’d done to it— yeah, he figured it would sound good to Superman.

“It is,” said Bruce.

Dick, maybe in a better mood now that they were out of the Gotham smog, saves him again.

“Are you here for dinner?” Dick asked, not quite on his tiptoes—not on his tiptoes at all, actually.

He’d grown again, Bruce realized. Now he stood almost to Bruce’s ribs, where once he’d had to stretch to reach.

“No, I didn’t think I’d be that welcome,” Superman said, smiling sheepishly, and good. At least he knew. “I’m just the messenger this time. Because we are going to have to start cashing in on that deal we made.”

For a moment, Bruce’s heart stills, and he feels Dick tense just a little bit beside him.

(Is it wrong, for a moment, that he’s still glad that Dick tenses when they both know it won’t be him attacked?)

“Woah, woah, no scary faces—“ Bruce’s face had not changed. “We just need your input. Information sharing, remember? Flash has had some weird things going on in his neighborhood and we thought maybe it’d be something you’d recognize.”

...Right.

Right.

He was getting protection from This League in exchange for cooperation, not just his dignity.

Before he could pull himself back into his body, Superman added, “and Robin too, of course.”

“Robin doesn’t need to—“ Bruce began.

“—Robin would be delighted ,” Dick said, raising his voice unnecessarily high and drowning out Bruce’s own.

Bruce looked down at Dick, mouth flat. Dick stared back up at him, scowling and arms crossed.

“You hate busywork,” said Bruce.

“It’ll be fine!” Said Superman, suddenly in his face , arms moving between him and Dick, pushing them apart, like they were dangerous to each other— “Flash was just going to bring his kid, uh, flash along with him, and thought it would be good for them to meet. Should’ve led with that. Just, giving kids friends in their own age bracket.”

Bruce had stood rock still, staring at the same spot Dick had been, now blocked by Superman’s arms. He did not look away.

“Yes,” Bruce said. “You should’ve led with that.”

—

...the next evening, his attempts at trimming his hair were interrupted by Alfred, who was quick to steal the scissors away and finish things himself. Soon, it was short enough he could slick it back for the first time in… a while. He pulled on one of his better dark turtlenecks. Business slacks. Dark shoes. Dark. Maybe too obviously a hide-away-in-the-background type dark.

They met Flash… on the other side of a zeta beam. Bruce hadn’t ridden one since first being escorted from the Watchtower to Gotham.

He hadn’t forgotten how uncomfortable it was, but it was one thing to remember in the mind and another to be given a reminder in the body.

Neither he nor Dick were in costume. There was no reason for Batman and Robin to suddenly be in Central. There would hopefully be no reason for anyone to suspect Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson to travel so far away from their little safe haven and attack.

Flash, however, did have some things to protect still, and so he waited on the other side of the zeta with his bright red costume made darker in the night, and an unfortunately bright smudge of yellow standing beside him.

“Hey, Bats,” Flash said, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you nicely this time.”

Bruce was really glad he hadn’t given in to breaking this guy’s legs. That would have made this reintroduction unbearably uncomfortable. As it was, he met the hand slowly, and enough of a sound for acknowledgement.

Flash didn’t say anything about it, turning instead to Dick. “And you! Also glad to see you’re doing fine; hooow’s the ankle. This is my sidekick, Kid Flash.”

There was no time to answer to the ankle before Flash had introduced and thumped the yellow teen him on the back, getting the very encouraging response, “I’m not a kid I’m a teenager, ” which was too obvious to have needed pointing out, considering the cracks in his voice and the speckles acne surrounding his lips. “Don’t embarrass me!”

“I would never do that.”

(While Bruce remained cold in his skin despite the warm night, beside him, Dick let out a little bit of a laugh. Almost a few huffs of one, really. It was softening. It was enough to unfreeze Bruce some and get him going again.)

“You needed help with identification?” said Bruce, stepping forward to end the introductions.

Flash’s expression changed back to serious in a… flash. At least he didn’t look disappointed. Or surprised. “Yeah. Follow me, there’s a place a little more private down the street.”

That place ended up being a deli bakery. One that had very much closed for the evening, and had shuttered its windows for good measure. This made very little difference to Flash, who pulled out a key from a very discreet pocket, and opened the staff door in the back.

“They donate the day-old stuff to me,” Flash said, grinning, like that explained much at all. “Why don’t you kids go see if there’s anything set on top of the counters in the back?”

The little yellow flash made a sound that wasn’t quite a whoop, but wasn’t quite quiet, either.

And then the little hand reached out, grabbed Robin’s wrist, and pulled him through the door behind the counter.

“Woah, easy, chief.”

Flash’s hand wasn’t touching Bruce, no, but it was in front of him, ready to block and restrain in a movement as Bruce took a step forward to follow.

He turned to look at Flash, and met his same hard eyes looking back through Flash’s mask.

“They’re just gonna look around and see if they can find some food. It’s fine.”

Bruce knew that was just what they were doing, of course. He just wanted to— check. Just to make sure. It was a closed up shop of people they didn’t know in a city that was too dark and empty at night, save for a few well-maintained streetlamps and a pair of teenage girls walking down the sidewalk to the seven-eleven, sticking close together in the Midwest fall—-

“Let’s just get a seat and wait for them, and we can get started. How’s that?”

Flash had removed his hand, and was gesturing now to one of the booth seats near the bar. Not by the windows. Maybe far enough from the windows that anyone who looked in and saw a book light on would just assume management was doing the books late.

(Bruce’s jaw was not tight , it was just his teeth kept pressing down together. He sat down across from the seat Flash gestured to. It was better to get through work quickly, and head home.)

“Okay,” said Flash, suddenly in the booth with him. Bruce almost still felt the breeze of the movement as a book-clipped green folder was produced and laid out on the table. “So, this is a case that’s been going on a little while. Take your time and let me know what you think of it.”

The file was pushed over to Bruce’s side of the table, and he took it quietly, removing the clip and flipping it open.

He disregarded the notes and bios and instead turned first to the photos.

...he did not like looking through other people’s photos. All he could think of was that he would have liked a bit closer look at the doorframe, or just a little bit out of angle, or frustration at someone’s focus being a little bit out. That was why you took lots of photos of course, but it was still a gnawing anxiety in him that they were going to just miss something. All he had were his eyes through someone else’s lense and someone else’s word to take for it.

Which he was very bad at liking.

….but that was just what this was, he guessed. The case was from five years prior. A body of an older woman on the floor of an enclosed porch. Broken glass. Gunshot wound to the left shoulder, close enough to the heart she’d probably been dead within a minute or two, long before the first police officers had arrived. A bullet hole in the wall behind her. Fallen out of her chair. Glass window of the porch had shattered. A bullet had been extracted from the wall, looking like a .22– moderately furnished house with plastic sheeting over the couches. Wicker chairs. An expensive security system had captured what were rendered as stills of the moment the bullets entered the cameras view, and a man a minute or so later on the front door at the other side of the house, running inside, presumably to inspect.

There were other things. They seemed comfortably middle to upper-middle class, from the photos, and finally turning to look at the profiles confirmed it. 68. White. Retired with a moderate stipend. Married thirty years. No priors or connections that Bruce might consider linking to any of the people he knew. Just things like public intoxication, driving violations, a few fines—

Her husband was found with her, and owned the same caliber gun that had broken the glass encasement, shot the woman, and knocked her out of her chair before lodging in the wall. He’d run in from across the street to investigate the gunshot, he said. He denied doing the deed, and circumstantial evidence was not enough to make a conviction on—

...Bruce flipped through the folder again, frowning.

Flash, who had pulled out his phone, looked up. “Something?”

“...what is it you want me to say about this?” It was a neatly put together file. Very neatly. No real loose ends, if everything in it was true. What was he supposed to be catching, here?

“Just, I guess, your thoughts. Anything stand out?” He took the moment to arch his back and stretch his arms out a bit, one hand still holding the phone. Smiled a bit. Friendly.

Bruce frowned while looking at Flash this time.

“This is a test,” he stated, “and I doubt just to see if I’d throw out a name just to be ‘useful.’”

Flash blinked innocently at him, but he was still smiling. “I mean, haha, can’t blame us too much…? You found a lot of trafficking chains, but, I mean—“

“The case has already been closed, and you’re certain of who did it,” said Bruce flatly. He flipped the folder shut and shoved it back across the table. “I’d rather see the scene myself, but if the numbers are right, the bullet hole is too steep an angle for a flat lawn if the husband shot from shoulder height. Someone half his height, or someone kneeling or lying in the grass. He’s old enough to have trouble getting up from that position, much less from the edge of the yard, to run around to the front of the house and avoid grass stains from a new cut lawn. There’s not enough other information to know who might’ve had a motive to make it professional or not.”

…

Flash blinked at him, leaning his elbows on the table to watch. He wasn’t smiling or laughing anymore. Good.

“Yeah,” Flash said. Moved the folder off the table, to the booth seat, out of view. “Some kids were playing with their new .22 in the yard across from the house and accidentally shot her through the window. They confessed a few months ago.”

It was a small enough crime that news wouldn’t have made it to Gotham. Or been widely publicized at all, if ‘kids’ meant they were still minors. That would make them thirteen at most at the time of the shooting—

Bruce wasn’t sure if his throat was full of acid or metal as he said, “Is there anything else for me to look over?”

Flash hesitated a moment (an eternity for him, surely) and said, “Well…”

Bruce stood and made a straight fucking line to the door Dick had been pulled in and not yet emerged. Flash called out, “Hey—!”

….even as the hand fell on his shoulder and tried to pull him back, Bruce had frozen in the doorway.

On the other side, he could only see a bit— the doorframe was too narrow and he dared not step closer—but he could see enough.

He’d wondered, a little bit, why Robin hadn’t emerged when he’d begun speaking. Surely he was loud enough to be heard from the back room. They were only meant to be separated minutes. Just a quick mission. Now, he could see, though—

Dick, sitting on an industrial chest freezer, his legs kicking, not near touching the floor.

He was holding a popsicle. One of the fudge ones. Partly eaten and the top of the stick beginning to show, and Robin didn’t see how it was beginning to drip down over the crinkled plastic wrap, and would soon run over his fingers.

He was busy, looking at Kid Fash. Kid Flash squatting on the floor with a creamsicle, holding it up to the color of his suit, and visibly whining with an orange tongue, a pouting face—

And Robin ignored his own melting ice cream to laugh.

...Flash’s hand tugged on his shoulder again, this time gentle enough that Bruce felt it. He turned with the pressure, and headed back for the booth.

He sat down in it, across from Flash and his already-solved case folder.

“...this was not for case files, was it,” Bruce said, staring at the table between them, feeling very stupid and small.

“I mean,” Flash said, looking almost as embarrassed as Bruce was shamed. “...we did want to know. But… we thought maybe my uh, my cousin could use someone who could relate to him.”

Ah yes. For Kid Flash’s sake. For the boy who they’d never seen publicized before, who was complaining about his outfit color as if he hadn’t chosen it, who didn’t know that in Flash’s ‘occasional empty diner hideout’ he was allowed to run off and eat before being told.

Not for the boy that for the past month Diana’s pitying face had hung over, the boy who had eagerly asked to Superman to stay for dinner, and who Martian Manhunter would deliver sleeves of choco cookies to, even though they had more than enough money to purchase a box for themselves.

...perhaps Bruce should be glad Flash wasn’t the best at lying. Perhaps Bruce was too used to looking for tells, and mistook super speed masking for the truth.

“I see,” was all he said.

When he’d been a child, there had been plenty of others who knew death, and who had never moved him an inch for all their crying. He’d done his best to make that untrue for Dick the past few years, and now they knew each other’s grief inside and out.

Bruce did not know what else to do from there.

It was grief all the way down.

“He’ll need to learn how to counter people who might actually know how to fight speedsters,” he said, watching the table. “There’s pads in the basement, if he’d like to improve sparring with Dick sometimes.”

Flash blinked at him again. Flash sat up straighter, grinning. “Oh?”

“Oh,” Bruce agreed, looking up to scowl. “But for fuck’s sake, bring more than one casefile next time.”

—

On Robin’s anniversary, a gang fight breaks out in the Diamond District.

Something gone wrong. A shootout.

Bruce isn’t sure if it could’ve been called a shootout before the police arrive. By the end of the night, the building is on fire, and a gas vein has blown. Heavy smoke drifting down the street causes a panic, and then a stampede—

He doesn’t want to let Robin out tonight.

On the news, it looks like there are fights breaking out in the stampede. There are people lying down, specks of color on the ground as the helicopter news anchor tries to describe the scene. She’s pure professional. Cold eyes. Clear eyes.

The smoke momentarily engulfs the helicopter, and she begins crying.

He does not want to let Robin out tonight.

He will deal with the outrage in the morning.

—

(On Robin’s anniversary, Harvey Dent sees the fires and hears gunshots from his hospital room. He drags himself and his IV stand away from the bed, towards the window, and fumbles with the latch with ineffective hands. The nurses come with the heart monitor alert. When they sedate him, Harvey is still screaming “Burn it down, burn it down.” )

—

...as often as it happens, Bruce doesn’t think Gotham knows how to deal with tragedy. Wasn’t it common by now? Weren’t they used to it? But as much as the flags should’ve flown half mast and statues been erected, the world stood still— the next morning, school busses take the children to school, and their parents march out to work.

Bruce has a distinct face, but with enough makeup and a red wig, he can seem to be a different person for a while. He can dress himself up as officer and with enough confidence and disdain walk right passed the caution tape and into the crime scene the next morning.

Is it still accurate to call several city blocks a crime scene? Is it a crime scene at all?

There’s caution tape around it. He knows what the words mean in his head. A shape, more than a real definition, with real letters attached— a block of space that has crumbled differently from the world around him. A depression of buildings, some with more tarps laid down than others.

Most of the bodies have been taken to the morgue by now. Not all of them. But most.

Is he going to sneak into the morgue tonight? Is he going to cut open an innocent person who gave no consent to him? To do more than what their family may have agreed to? Will he just steal the coroner’s report and assume they did their jobs properly?

….it is Gotham. He will assume nothing until proven otherwise. Even now it feels like the police are more rattled than usual, like something has actually gone and bitten them and made them pay a bit more attention.

Inside the building where the shootout started, he starts to look for the bullet holes and take pictures. He looks for scorch marks to track towards the origins of the blaze.

He doesn’t find a blown gas vein, no matter how hard he looks.

There was a difference between a storage building and a warehouse. This was a storage building. It had perhaps had a secretary and some organizers. Someone in charge of keeping track of records. There had been unused parts of the building. Bare rooms without much beyond stripped light switches and unpainted walls. One or two empty office spaces, for meetings perhaps. For presentations.

It was on the second floor where he found the lab. What appeared to be the remains of a lab, in any case. It had been shot up through the floors, and the papers had burnt up in the fire. Police hadn’t officially come up this high yet. The stairs didn’t seem stable. Bruce had not specifically used the stairs. As long as no one saw him slip back down, it would be fine.

It seemed as if the lab had not been in use at the time of the shootout. Fortunate. The beakers were broken, but they were all clustered together near the sink, clean, and so presumably had all been put away after any use. There was nothing sitting out that seemed to have been mid-use. He would’ve believed a Bunsen burner might’ve started part of the fire, but there was none of that, either.

...there was one thing. A broken tankard in the corner that had caused most of the damage, to be certain. A high caliber round seemed to have punctured it, either from the floor below or fired from the hall outside. Otherwise, there would’ve been another body up here, or at least the remnants of one. But the sudden decompression seemed to have mostly left just… a badly scattered room and shrapnel damage on the opposing wall.

He was about to move to the next room when he noticed the faint texture inside the tank and a matching sort of stain on the ceiling above.

...he moved closer to the tank, holding his breath and not daring to hope (should he be hoping for something?) and investigated.

A thin layer of green-ish white powder layered the insides of the tankard. An explosive cloud of the stuff must have also flown towards the ceiling and stained it during decompression. He’d assumed it was an oxygen tank. Assumed wrong.

Taking out a few q-tips, he picked up a few wipes and sealed them away in an evidence bag, did another once-over of the room, now trying to double check everything and ignore his ‘assumptions’, but the burnt papers remained largely illegible, and the cleaned lab materials yielded nothing new.

He moved on to the next room, and slipped out quietly from there to check the rest of the street.

—

He arrived back home in different clothes just about the time that Dick (picked up by Alfred) returned home from school.

The kid looks at Bruce as Bruce enters the front room, and a silent but perceptible drone passes between them.

For a moment, Bruce simply looked back, wondering what it was he was supposed to say here.

Eventually, he fumbles in his pockets and pulled out dust-covered q-tips. They’d done this lots of times on the road, hadn’t they? And it had been fun, then. “Want to help identify oddly colored dust?”

Dick lets his head drop back with an open-mouthed groan at the ceiling, but he does come to the garage lab without… any other response than that sound and movement.

...Bruce was not sure what that meant.

—

Who the fuck was rigging exploding nitrous oxide cans to deliver green-dyed powdered LSD?

—

Monday, at the park, he tells the ones who show up they can stay and work in the park as they’ve been doing the last two weeks, or they can come with him to help clean up the areas damaged by the fire.

Most of them, eight out of the ten, peel off to go help with the fire damage. He can’t say he expected that. But they wander out of the park, keeping together in a group, and spend the day with magnet sticks picking up nails and crooked metal and stacking bricks up out of the walkway. They hose down the ashes to stop dust and at Bruce’s insistence, scoop the ashes into garbage bags instead of just washing it all into the sewer.

It gets him some weird looks, but no one is ready to argue with him after only working for two weeks, because these are the ones who stayed for that daily stipend-- there’s not a contract here; these ten are the ones who hate this work less than anything else they might’ve had available, so they break out two flat shovels and bag things up, wearing cotton masks to avoid inhalation. Bruce trots back to the park to get the truck and pick up all those bags for disposal.

He’s prepared for the ones they left behind to have skipped out early, unsupervised, but as he rounds the (now lower) hedges to look at their base of operations he finds… they actually have acquired an extra person.

No, the shovels aren’t moving and the hedges don’t look that different from what they’d been like this morning, but that’s still not abandoning a position. And instead they have some soda cans from the nearby vending machine, and are leaning on a termite-eaten picnic table, talking with rapt interest to Dick Grayson.

Bruce paused to take it in a second time. Dick certainly clocked him coming into view even though the kid didn’t turn to look his direction. Dick was still there, though, sitting on the other side of the picnic table with a fizzy orange juice and his legs crossed under himself. It wasn’t Bruce’s day to pick him up, Bruce was certain, and yet he had a moment where he had to think of it again to make sure, and checked his phone, and his pocket schedule. But his instinct was right, and it was indeed Alfred’s day to pick Dick up from school while Bruce worked here in the park--

He started to walk over just as Dick turned and raised a hand in greeting, letting the recruits cue into his presence before he was close enough to startle them. And yet, they were still startled enough to look at their shovels and very obviously say “shit,” even when Bruce was still too far away to actually hear it. Then, one seemed to realize they had cursed in front of a tween, said “shit” again, and smacked themselves on the forehead.

Dick’s nose wrinkled up as he smiled. Bruce couldn’t hear it, but he knew it was a laughter snort.

(He did not acknowledge his jaw untensing as he walked up to Dick who was smiling and sociable again.)

He came over intending to smile and say words and have a nice conversation, and… then he was close enough and realized he didn’t know what to say. Did he tell them not to corrupt Dick? Would they take that as him implying they were poisonous to others? Would Dick take that as him being protective and spoil the mild good mood? If he told them to take the rest of the day off since clearly things weren’t going to happen, was that dismissal? Or was that chasing them off? Would it be a threat to their paycheck, even though he intended to pay the day’s wages fair as always?

Things seemed to be going almost well lately. The park was slowly being cleaned and Dick was in better spirits than he’d been for two days since the anniversary--

“Oh, he stalled out, don’t worry about it.”

It is not embarrassment, but Bruce does snap out of his train of thought and back into the present. “Sorry,” he says, and looks to the two grown men in their baggy jackets and laced up work boots and secondhand hats. “We’re just finishing cleaning up some of the ash. If you come help move the last bit, we’ll all call it a day.”

As they got up and started shuffling away from the picnic table, Bruce did glance at Dick, and after a moment of still confusion, say, “Coming?”

...the expression Dick gives him was not a smile. But he did come.

They throw the garbage bags in the back of the trunk, and pack it largely to the brim. Surreptitiously, before Dick can climb into the passenger seat, Bruce digs out a simple dust mask and hands it to him. With barely a second look, Dick puts it on and rolls down the window before settling in. It’s smooth, and no one asks questions or looks much askance, because he and Dick are good by now at not announcing something is happening that is different than normal to the world at large.

(And Dick has become very good at seeing through that with Bruce, but Bruce is… starting to wonder if perhaps, he has taught Dick too well to hide anything that would draw attention that something was wrong. Like a wounded animal could run on a broken leg, or a predator bleed from the mouth, and neither would ever make a peep.)

They drove the bags of ashes home to hide behind the house’s perimeter walls, and Bruce tried to explain. The dust, and the huge plume of heat and smoke that could’ve blown even heavy particles down the street, and the sort of cues that psychedelics took from the state you were in. How most people probably wouldn’t exactly get a good trip, surrounded by gunfire and smoke. And maybe there was something else he missed, in the ash, unsafe for casual disposal, how he wasn’t certain he hadn’t missed something--

Dick laid his head back on the car seat, sighing through his mask, and Bruce stopped his mumbling.

Glanced over.

“...maybe I can… arrange for Flash to take a look, if you want to come along,” he offered as they pulled onto their street.

Dick sat up a little straighter, a little light in his eyes.

...he wondered, maybe unkindly (but mostly tiredly), if Dick would rather move in with the Flash and his sidekick. He didn’t have any real evidence for this. Kids did tend to be fairly excited to see friends around their own age, and just because someone might enjoy a trip to a festival didn’t mean they wanted to live in one.

...yet, Dick probably would’ve been quite happy, adopted into a renaissance fair circuit.

Maybe it wasn’t that Dick needed more friends. Maybe the issue was Bruce.

But it’s too late to change that now, isn’t it? Dick drew his line in the sand in front of the Justice League, and Bruce had given him too many secrets to have to keep, and there was nowhere else to go.

—

Bruce goes to Gotham Academy early. Very early. Two hours before pickup is meant to be.

Dick has gotten into a fight.

The parents of the other kid are already there when Bruce arrives and is shown to the principal’s office (it is in the same place it has been since Bruce went here) and ushered inside to the sound of anger and snapping threats.

The office is wood, with a centered carpet and a large mahogany desk at the center, and surrounded by three adults and two children, one of them his.

Dick doesn’t have a scratch on him, unless you count a faint bruise starting to show on his knuckles. The other boy, who is bigger and taller in every way, has a tissue up to his nose and an ice pack on his ear, and is simultaneously shielded and towered over by his two parents, neither of whom have stopped arguing with the principal since Bruce arrived.

He barely gets a chance to get to Dick’s chair by the wall when he is also pulled into the argument by a “Is this little heathen yours, Mister Malone?” from the mother.

Things are not going to improve from there, he’s pretty sure.

“What’s going on?” he asks the principal instead, who is a balding white man with age spots on his face and horn-rimmed glasses on his nose.

“ Master Richard here has assaulted Master Reynolds--” the principal begins.

“--and we will be pressing charges if adequate disciplinary action is not taken,” says the father.

“But what actually happened,” Bruce says, and somehow the noise gets louder in the room. Not the physical noise of three or four people talking at once, but also the hot dissent from Dick in his corner, the hidden bloodied fear of the boy he attacked, the principal patting the desk with his hands over and over, trying to call attention back to himself. Fluorescent lights bright as static. Itchy polyester fake turkish carpets even though his shoes. The room is small and red-orange with wood stained to look like cherry, yellow copper accents on the studs of cushions and trophies and the frames of portraits and certificates hung on the clustered walls--

Dick is suspended three weeks.

Dick is curled in the front seat of the car, furious that Bruce didn’t defend him enough and fight back, and get his sentence reduced or vetoed entirely. His body is balled up tight enough he’s no bigger than he was at eight, curled around the seatbelt in a haze of fury.

“He was picking on people ,” Dick says in a way Bruce knows means Dick had seen it before, but this time it had crossed a line. “ He should be suspended.”

‘He’ is getting two stitches and a formal apology written (ostensibly) by Dick. Dick will not be the one writing it, even if it’s his name at the bottom. ‘He’ will be in school, not in trouble for bullying but now with free reign to his targets without Dick to stand in the way. If Dick was even in the way before at all. If being in the way without being physical meant anything in this case.

“You’ll just have to be more subtle about it,” Bruce says, trying to be encouraging. Because Dick didn’t do anything wrong to step in. Maybe it didn’t deserve a bloody nose, maybe it could’ve been handled some other way, but he still hasn’t been able to wrangle the exact story out of anyone but he is certain that--

Dick goes “RRR” and kicks the windshield hard enough that Bruce startles and slams on the breaks.

Their seatbelts jerk tight and a car horn behind them blares.

...there is the faintest tap on their bumper, but Bruce is already speeding the car forward again, heart pounding too hard to stop.

There’s not even a scratch when they get out at their house later.

He goes to Dick’s bedside in the evening. Dick’s lying on top of his covers with the lights turned off in a darkening room, staring at the wall opposite the door. There was music playing before, but the CD player turned off as soon as Bruce turned the door handle.

He sits by Dick’s bedside and asks if he’d like to go out for the evening.

Dick agrees, but there isn’t much laughter that night, except the sort Robin scares people with.

The mood is still there the next morning.

It is Superman’s turn to check in. Apparently.

The visit is unscheduled (and probably because of Dick’s suspension) and today involves casserole, which Bruce is primed automatically to dislike.

"Yes?" Bruce says upon seeing big blue and buoyant in their kitchen, hovering over the kitchen island with a glass dish covered in aluminium and Alfred looking over a handwritten paper beside him.

"Oh, hey, good morning there," Superman says, as if he's surprised to see Bruce here when there was no other person for him to be there to see . "I was just dropping off the casserole recipe Alfred wanted to try."

…one of the only people for him to be here to see. But Bruce still doubted a casserole was a real reason for a whole visit. So Bruce tries again. "Did you need something?"

Alfred looks up from the paper with a frown and without a word starts shooing them out of the cooking space if they're going to be talking business. "I dunno. Was there something you needed to talk about?"

They make it to the couches of the living room, though neither of them sit down.

"No," says Bruce.

"Alright then," says Superman, who Bruce is learning is an asshole. "I heard some stuff happened with Dick at school?"

Which is entirely unsubtle and a very clear sign that Superman is not leaving until Bruce asks some sort of question or resolves whatever this is.

So fine. Bruce hasn't even had some fucking coffee yet. He'll ask a question. "What would you do if your child, who is aware that at nightime they can go out and punch abusers and rapists, during the daytime attempted to defend an underclassman, and as a result are threatened with criminal action or suspension while you are trying to lie low and causing a big fuss about it and fighting the decision will do the exact opposite of laying low, severely limiting their freedom regardless of if we win."

Like a coward, Superman's expression says he had been thinking of Dick as a kid who was not Dick , and sheepishly says, "I guess, what would your parents do?"

Bruce thinks he feels it this time. The expression on his face turning colder. He feels it the same way Dick can always see the change. "I wouldn't know that, now, would I?"

...this was why he left in the first place, wasn't it. This eternal loop of days upon days surrounded by people who just forgot or never could let him forget. It's been easier as an adult, almost-- it's normal now for people's parents to be dead. It's normal to not have people ask after them like limbs they can't see have detached. Even if Superman doesn't know his old name, doesn't know that stupid story about a boy billionaire and his rich family, its jarring to realize that even the most alien being on earth just assumes--

--well, of course. He would know all humans have parents.

But the bite in Bruce's voice is cold enough, and the way Alfred's slight shuffling in the kitchen goes quiet, it's enough to get through apparently-- Superman's head is ducked down embarrassed and he says, "right, sorry," because perhaps Bruce returning to Gotham to the fucking Wayne Butler's House should've been enough reason to realize he didn't have any family left of his own. "The person who raised you…"

"Nothing they said," Bruce interrupts, "has ever done anything about this."

…

Maybe he's angry. He hasn't had any coffee yet. But he turns to end this conversation and walk out to the garden, and hears Alfred's sigh from the kitchen.

But he's telling the truth.

Even if Alfred had found something new to say in the years since Bruce tried to bite his therapist's face off, if he's tried to say it to Dick, it clearly hasn't been working.

There is a thing like a piston beating up against his head. A hammering rhythmically at the front of his skull. One thing, then another, then another, then another, and when he wakes up the next morning to one more ring there will still be all the ones behind him, echoing through the halls still unresolved.

He wasn’t made to live like this. How was anyone made to live like this? One thing after another and another and when he wakes up in the morning there are still more banal, useless things to do in a world that eats up and eats up and eats up--

How does the grocery store clerk wake up each morning? How does she go to bed at night knowing the same thing will happen the next day, but worse, and more tired, and less pay, over and over, for eternity.

#batman #dick grayson #bruce wayne #robin #fanfic #roadtrip vigilantes

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paintedwithapalette · 4 years ago

Text

SoKai Week Day 4 - Together

Words: 3,545

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Useless.

Insignificant.

Worthless.

These were just a small portion of the words that ran through his mind as he trudged down the empty road with nothing and no one to keep him company aside from a backpack with water and a few of his favorite snacks. Sora stopped walking, planting his feet firmly in the middle of the asphalt road and the weight of his own loneliness truly settled in.

This was it. He was going to go through with it. No backing out now.

He tried, he really did. No one could say he didn’t. No one could say he didn’t train for days on end. No one could say he didn’t travel in hopes of looking for a cure that would bring an end to this horrible disease that plagued countless worlds. No one could say that he didn’t give it his best every single day and that he didn’t pour his own sweat, tears, and yes, sometimes even blood, into doing his absolute best to uphold the honor of being the chosen one.

With his lifeless eyes, he summoned his Keyblade. Simple in its design but effective. A sentient Key that chose one person per generation to maintain order in the universe. To solve any problem that threatened the balance between light and darkness. Centuries of chosen wielders before him and only once had it chosen wrong.

But as far as Sora was concerned, it chose wrong again. How was he supposed to live up to the legacy Zack Fair left behind? Sora couldn’t do anything on his own. Without Zack holding his hand, he was worthless. Maybe if he had developed any sort of competence in his months of training, he might have found a cure to resolve the geostigma crisis by now. Maybe he would’ve found a way to save the lives of thousands, no... millions... if he were someone else. Maybe if he were just a fragment of the man Zack was, he could’ve done something.

And maybe, just maybe... he wouldn’t have let Eraqus die.

Eraqus was counting on him to do something - to find a cure and bring him back to health. Sure, Sora was only sixteen and it was a lot of pressure to handle, but he had the Kingdom Key, so naturally that meant he was supposed to put the pieces of the puzzle together, right?

Wrong. In the end, he was a failure who could only let down the people he cared about most.

The boy chosen by the mysterious Kingdom Key. What a joke.

As his eyes devoid of life wandered up and down the blade, he couldn’t help but wonder why. Why did the Keyblade choose him? It must have had its reason, it always did, but whatever reasons they were didn’t connect with him. All he wanted was a simple life where he could be a regular teenager, have fun with his friends, and just be normal. He didn’t ask for this. He didn’t ask for this responsibility. This pressure. The weight of the world sitting on his shoulders when he wasn’t even old enough to drink. None of it made any sense.

It must’ve been a mistake. The fact that he let Eraqus die proved it was a mistake. Sora gripped the handle of his blade so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

“You were wrong!” Sora yelled as he tossed the Keyblade, sending it crashing into the pavement. Sora glared, as hard as he could before he settled into his prior look of indifference. He turned on his heel to leave the Kingdom Key in the middle of the road, hoping that it got run over by a car before he felt something pop back into his hand with an accompanied flash of light. Sure enough, when he looked down, it was the Kingdom Key refusing to leave his side.

Clenching his teeth, Sora hurled the Keyblade once again. And like a broken record, he heard that familiar flash and the Keyblade return to his possession. With an agonized cry, Sora threw the Keyblade a number of times, his uncharacteristic sense of anger and resentment fueling every futile attempt at discarding himself of the burden the universe set on him.

After a while, he hadn’t even noticed the fact that he threw his backpack aside and that dark sky was now dropping pellets of raint. His mind could only focus on trying his best to keep the Keyblade away and maybe eventually it would get the memo and just stop returning to him. But it never did. No matter how many times Sora pushed the Keyblade away, it kept stubbornly coming back.

After his final attempt and the Keyblade returned once again, Sora stopped, his breathing heavy and dense. The rain continued to drench his clothes and slide down his brown spikes. When the dust cleared and his anger subsided and all that was left was...

Sadness.

It was the utmost level of dejection he had felt all day. It was clear that there was no way that the Kingdom Key would be leaving his side. But why? He was obviously no good. He was positive there was someone out there better than him to save all of the lives that were being ruined by this geostigma ordeal.

That was why he had to kill himself.

The Kingdom Key typically didn’t switch users until the current one was deceased. Then, and only then, would the Kingdom Key move on to the next suitor. Maybe if he was erased from the equation, the Kingdom Key would find someone strong, confident, and sure of themselves enough they would be able to locate some sort of remedy to this ever-growing dilemma affecting the worlds. Someone like Riku. His best friend. He always wanted to be the chosen one. Compared to Sora, he actually deserved it.

Yes, it was the only way. He would go to the Play Island. Spend his final day appreciating all of the memories he and he friends had made during his sixteen years of existence, enjoy his final meal, write a letter to his friends saying how much he’ll miss them, how much he would miss her, and then… he’d plunge himself in the deepest, darkest depths of the sea and -

“Sora!”

He heard a voice. Her voice.

Sora turned around and there she was; she looked like a ray of hope as she stood underneath the light of a street lamp - wet wrinkles drooping from her clothes and her hair drenched. A shivering sheen of liquid covered her eyes as her worried and gloomy expression told Sora everything he needed to know.

Sora’s eyes still remained lifeless and that bothered Kairi even more. He couldn’t even look her in the face. Not if he wanted to suppress the tremendous guilt that came about over what he was about to do. They stood in silence, Kairi’s lips quivering. She’d never seen him like this - at his lowest. She barely recognized the person standing before her. This wasn’t the usual, upbeat, cheerful Sora she knew.

But she was going to bring him back.

“What are you doing here?” Sora asked.

Kairi shook her head. “That doesn’t matter,” she answered. “I think the better question is what are you doing out here?”

Sora opened his mouth but realized it wasn’t such a simple question with a simple answer. The layers to the situation were too vast for Kairi to understand. Even still, despite what he thought, Kairi had an inkling for why he was out there. His reaction back at the hospital gave her enough of a hint.

“It’s not your fault,” was the first thing Kairi said after a stint of silence.

“How can you say that?!” Sora asked, his frustration flaring. “How is it not my fault, Kairi?! I’m the one the Kingdom Key chose! I’m the one everyone expects to do something about this, and I just… I-I can’t, okay? I just can’t!”

“But no one is putting this on you,” Kairi reminded. “This was just... an unfortunate incident that no one could have predicted. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“And why can’t I? I was the one everyone expected to do something about it. But I couldn’t. I can’t. And he’s dead.”

Kairi didn’t say anything for a moment before she opened the gates of conversation once again. “Sora. Why are you out here?” she asked again. Like before, she received no answer. “Whatever is going on, we can figure it out. I’m here for you, Sora! I told you that I would be and I meant that.”

Sora shut his eyes, holding back the tears he didn’t want Kairi to see. He really didn’t deserve her. And she deserved better than him. “Kairi... I’m sorry... I just can’t do this anymore...”

She was almost afraid to ask. “What... what do you mean by that?”

Through the rain, he smiled. Though, clearly a sad one. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to deal with me anymore. Maybe... you’ll find someone better to worry over. You’re an amazing person, the way you look after your sister, Haru, me...” Sora’s eyes lowered. “I think I can truly say that I’ve never met someone like you before. I guess that’s why... I fell in love with you.”

Kairi gasped, her eyes wide as saucers. He said it. He really said it.

“I guess now at least... I won’t have any regrets,” Sora continued. “I wanted to at least tell you that, but I just couldn’t find the right time or place... but now, when you think of me, you’ll know. You’ll know how I feel. How I always felt.”

“What are you talking about, you dummy?” Kairi asked, her voice choking as she used both arms to wipe away her tears like a child scolded by their parents. To see him acting so uncharacteristic hurt more than she ever anticipated. “Why are you saying these things, Sora?”

“Please don’t cry,” Sora said gently. “I know it’s hard, but you’re strong Kairi. You’ll be okay. I know you will.”

“What are you talking about?! Answer me, Sora!”

“I know Riku has always liked you,” Sora continued, as if he weren’t even listening. “You know, he asked me once if I wanted to talk to you before he did. But I didn’t think I had a chance. Maybe I still don’t. So, I let him know that I wouldn’t take offense if he talked to you first. So, I guess I just thought it wouldn’t be right to tell you how I feel knowing how Riku felt. But it won’t matter now. Even still, I wanted to at least let you know...”

“Stop that!” Kairi cried out, clutching her chest as the pain in her heart swelled. She didn’t even bother trying to stop the stream of tears pouring from her eyes. “J-Just stop!”

Sora sighed. He supposed the least she deserved was an explanation. “Don’t feel bad... I think I just realized that the Kingdom Key made a mistake. All I’m going to do is fix that mistake. I’ll make things right.”

“You don’t really mean that...”

“If you, or Riku, Donald, Goofy, the King, Roxas, Naminé... you,” he almost stuttered. “If any of you got geostigma... what am I supposed to do then? I’m not going to sit here and watch as my friends die because I’m too weak to save any of you! I can’t do that, Kairi. That’s why...” he said, hesitating, “it’ll be best for everyone if I’m not here.”

“Do you hear yourself right now?!” Kairi yelled. “You’re not even thinking about how much it’ll hurt the rest of us if something happened to you! How it’ll hurt me... doesn’t... doesn’t that matter to you?”

Sora couldn’t look her in the eyes anymore. “You’ll be better off,” he stated bluntly. “Trust me.”

“Sora, you’re not in your right mind! None of the previous chosen ones have been perfect. You can’t expect that of yourself. We’ll get you some help. I’ll help you! Let’s just go back to the hospital and figure this out! We can do it together!”

When he found the willpower to look in her eyes, it was a face Kairi was certain she didn’t recognize. That droopy exterior of his only brought one word to mind for her.

Loneliness.

She could tell that her words weren’t getting through to him. No matter what kind of logic she mustered, it couldn’t connect. It looked like the Sora she knew was gone, but she refused to believe that. He must have been there... somewhere, deep inside. Kairi just had to pull that out.

“Kairi... I’m sorry,” Sora said, breaking the silence. “I don’t want you to follow me. I don’t want you to see what’s about to happen... but just... I know what I’m doing. And this is the right thing to do.”

“No, it isn’t!”

“The Kingdom Key will move on to someone better. They’ll find a cure and maybe they’ll find a way to save all of the lives ruined by geostigma. Maybe it’ll be someone who wasn’t chosen by accident.”

“Sora!”

“You won’t be alone. Roxas, Naminé, Lea, Xion... Riku... they’ll be here for you.”

“Sora, listen to me!”

“And just know that to me, you were someone very special.” He smiled sadly. “From the moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew you were someone special. I think... leaving you is what’s going to hurt the most.” Sora felt some tears sneak up on him and he quickly wiped them away with the sleeve of his jacket. “But... this is what’s going to be for the best. For everybody. I know it won’t be easy, but just know that when I’m gone, I always appreciated you for the way you made me feel better even on my worst days. You always supported me through and through. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend…and the time we spent together... will always be precious to me.”

At this point, Kairi was bawling. Each and every word stung harder than the last. How could he be saying these things while knowing what he was about to do? She couldn’t make sense of it but she knew she wasn’t supposed to. She just wanted him to snap out of it, but how?

Sora was such an amazing person. The way he lit up a room with just his presence. The way his smile made her feel warm and fuzzy inside. The way he brought people together. The way he cared for other people. That was why the Keyblade had chosen him. It wasn’t because he was the strongest, the fastest, the toughest... that wasn’t how the Keyblade went about its choosings. It was the kind of person he was. His compassion for others. His kindness. All of the good points. Why wasn’t he seeing that?

Then again, she had dealt with someone with depression before. Naminé had been struggling with it for years, so this was just another case of that. But even Naminé had never been this severe. And Kairi was left unsure what to do. All she could do was cry and hope that her tears were enough to convince him that everything his brain was telling him was wrong. But it wasn’t that easy.

The pain wouldn’t stop. It was welling up deep inside and was bursting at the seams. She clenched her fists and stopped listening to her head, but her heart. What was she supposed to do? She had to do whatever felt right in that moment.

She didn’t have long to ponder, however, as Sora turned around. “Kairi... goodbye.”

“I LOVE YOU, TOO!”

That’s when everything stopped. Sora whirled back around, his eyes wide and confused. He didn’t hear that, right? “What...?”

“I love you, too,” she said softly.

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Sora affirmed. “You can’t do that. That’s not true. You like Riku, and you’ve always -”

“Oh, so now you know how I feel?!” Kairi asked, her temper flaring up again. “It doesn’t work that way! Stop acting like you know everything and listen to me for once!” When he didn’t say anything, Kairi took that as her cue to continue. “I’m sorry, Sora, but you can’t speak on behalf of my feelings. And I’m not just saying this because I don’t want you to do anything stupid. I’m saying it because it’s true.” Her tears continued to flow freely. “I... I love you, too, Sora.”

Sora stopped, letting the revelation process. “W-Why are you telling me this now?”

“I’m a coward too, sometimes.” She chuckled humorlessly. “But you deserve to know. You’re special to me, too. You made me realize that I do have more to offer to the world. You always make my day better. You’re always there for me and... I love you. I love you so, so much, Sora.”

His mind was so foggy and cluttered that it didn’t even seem like a possibility. He thought he was nothing more than a friend she cared deeply for. Though, he supposed even if that were the case, she still wouldn’t be okay with his plans.

Still, what was he supposed to do? Wasn’t he supposed to end things here and now, allowing the Keyblade to move on to a more suitable wielder? Sure, he could still do that, but knowing that Kairi returned his feelings, all this time... it definitely made it a bit harder for him to do that.

“What am I supposed to do…?” Sora asked quietly to no one in particular. When Kairi didn’t have an answer, Sora’s conflicted emotions exploded in the form of a scream as he put his hands on his forehead. He fell to his knees, his hands still hovered over his ears. During his clouded thoughts convincing him that suicide was the only answer, he almost forgot about it.

Love.

Not just the love he had for others, but the fact that others loved him, too.

And Kairi loved him in that way? He could hardly process it.

Kairi raced towards him in a panic, her black and pink boots splashing in the murky puddles until she kneeled down to make sure he was okay. Sora found the strength to look up from his state of confusion. “You’re... not lying to me, are you? You’re not just saying that?” he asked. His voice almost sounded desperate. Kairi figured he was still dealing with the thoughts that convinced him he was being lied to. So, she figured the only way to prove it to him was to show him.

And show him she did, as she pressed her lips against his.

It caught him by surprise for a moment, but it didn’t take long for him to give in as he shut his eyes. The rain continued to pour during their moment that edged dangerously close to the margin of passion. It was a longing and need that hadn’t been quenched for either of them in what felt like so long. It took just about every fiber of strength in them both to break apart, as Kairi wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, pressing her forehead with his.

“Do you believe me now?” Kairi asked.

The question was enough to give Sora the ghost of a smile, but it didn’t take long before it returned to its prior frown. “I guess I just don’t know... if I’m someone worth loving.”

“Stop that,” Kairi demanded. “You don’t get to decide how I feel. And this is what I feel. So, you’re just going to have to deal with it. I don’t care what you say.”

Silent tears continued to fall from her eyes as she continued to hug him. Sora gradually went from standing on his knees to sitting cross-legged, but Kairi didn’t let go. She needed him to know that she wouldn’t let go. That he had someone there for him that would never let go. Their damp clothes and the fact that they were very likely to catch a serious cold didn’t matter... as long as they had each other.

“Don’t you ever go doing something like that again, okay?” Kairi asked. “That’s not the Sora I fell in love with.”

Sora felt his eyes beginning to well up. She was right. He couldn’t believe he was seriously considering that. So many people were counting on him. The Kingdom Key chose him for a reason, and while it may not have been a reason he understood, it knew what he was capable of inside.

And, if nothing else, he had this amazing girl there to support him. To save him from himself. He forgot that his bonds with the people closest to him was what gave him strength. He had to be thankful for that.

“I’m... so sorry, Kairi,” Sora said, choking up.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” Kairi repeated. “Promise me.”

She knew how seriously Sora took his promises. Once he made one, he would never, ever break it. “I promise.”

Kairi mustered up a smile through her tears as she nuzzled into Sora’s soft hair. “It’s going to be okay,” she comforted. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

_______

Shoutout to my amazingly talented friend @blissfulnightrain for drawing this this page! You’ll be able to check out the full piece on her page!

#sokaiweek2020 #sokai #sora #kairi #kingdom hearts

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kamiyu910 · 5 years ago

Text

All right, @the-defiant-pupil, I’ll see what sort of research paper I can throw together here concerning Corona-chan.

Right now, we’re going on fatality rate based on known/confirmed cases. This global fatality rate is currently at 7.1%, with 3,253,181 confirmed cases and 233,014 deaths. We’re still lacking a lot of data, such as China withholding so much, and with other countries only testing those with symptoms while ignoring the high percentage who are asymptomatic.

https://gisanddata.maps.arcgis.com/apps/opsdashboard/index.html#/bda7594740fd40299423467b48e9ecf6

Antibody tests are now being used to tell who has had the virus, and to see if they’re actually immune to it, which would allow them to go back to work. This also allows us to see exactly how far Corona-chan has spread, and this data is being used to show a slightly different picture for a mortality rate, since it helps identify those who were asymptomatic. Countries that don’t count asymptomatic people show a might higher fatality rate because they only count the people who seek medical help.

https://www.livescience.com/coronavirus-antibody-tests.html

In the US, there are still places that are barely testing, and only testing those who show symptoms, such as the largest county in the country, the San Bernardino County. Currently, we’re listed at 2058 cases, with only 93 deaths, putting us at a 4.5% fatality rate. We cannot take that at face value, however, because even those with mild symptoms are being turned away, and those with no symptoms are being ignored. Out of a population of 2.18 million, only 20,000 have been tested. That’s 0.09% of our entire population. We’ve known about this virus since at least December last year, it has been in the US for months, yet we lack so much information.

https://sbcph.maps.arcgis.com/apps/opsdashboard/index.html#/44bb35c804c44c8281da6d82ee602dff

https://coronavirus.1point3acres.com/en

Some sources say the true mortality rate is:

“In the new analysis, the death rate in confirmed COVID-19 cases is estimated to be 1.38%, while the overall rate, which includes estimated unconfirmed cases, is calculated at .66%.”

https://www.webmd.com/lung/news/20200331/covid-19-death-rate-drops-still-deadly-to-seniors

https://time.com/5798168/coronavirus-mortality-rate/

In this post by Berkeley, they say:

“A comparison of daily deaths in Italy since January 2020 with those over the previous five years there indicates that the fatality rate in that country for those infected with the new coronavirus is at least 0.8%, far higher than that of the seasonal flu and higher than some recent estimates.Extrapolating from the Italian data, University of California, Berkeley, and Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory data scientists estimate that the fatality rate in New York City and Santa Clara County in California can be no less than 0.5%, or one of every 200 people infected.”

“The difference, the researchers say, is likely due to many deaths among older people that have not been counted in the official Italian statistics. The team found a much higher fatality rate for those over 70 years of age: In Lombardy, a region hit hard by the pandemic, those between 70 and 79 had a 2.3% infection fatality rate, while those 80 to 89 had an almost 6% fatality rate. Nearly 13% of those over 90 died.In comparison, those 40 to 49 had a 0.04% fatality rate.

In comparison, those 40 to 49 had a 0.04% fatality rate.These differing fatality rates can explain the observed higher number of deaths among younger people in New York City. Because the population there is younger than in Italy, more deaths among young people are expected, despite their lower fatality rate. The researchers predict that about 26% of all deaths from COVID-19 in New York City will be among those younger than 65.

The population of Italy, on the other hand, is older, yielding a higher overall fatality rate for the country’s population: 0.8%, versus 0.5% for New York. Only 10% of Italian deaths will be younger than 65.The team also estimated, based on the predicted fatality rate for those infected with the new coronavirus and the positivity rate for those tested for COVID-19 in New York City, that about one-quarter of that city’s population has been infected with the virus. This agrees with the recent announcement by New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo of 21% infection.The team’s predicted infection rate for Santa Clara is around 1%, while that for Los Angeles is around 2%, based on current mortality rates.”

https://news.berkeley.edu/2020/04/24/study-challenges-reports-of-low-fatality-rate-for-covid-19/

So if an area has a higher rate of elderly, they will have a higher fatality rate than an area where the population is young. If a rest home gets hit, it will be devastating, whereas if a nursery gets hit, it’ll probably not even be noticeable, though that doesn’t mean they’re immune, there will be a couple of kids who may need hospital care, and the potential for other side effects that’ll become more apparent later on (still waiting for more studies to be done to confirm this).

There is a lot of fear mongering being pushed on people with all the misinformation out there, and people are actively allowing their governments to become controlling dictatorships out of fear. It is possible to maintain safety measures while opening up businesses so that the economies don’t collapse. We don’t have to go so extreme as to destroy ourselves out of fear. People are going to die one way or another, whether it be from Corona-chan or from a man made famine.

Take the US for instance. Farmers are being made to dump tons of food, perfectly good food, because they’re being told there isn’t a market for it just because certain businesses are closed, like schools. There are plenty of other places that need the food.

https://www.wsj.com/articles/new-york-dairy-farmers-feel-the-squeeze-from-coronavirus-as-milk-sales-dry-up-11588183989

https://www.miamiherald.com/news/coronavirus/article241627101.html

https://www.chron.com/news/article/Farmers-seek-help-selling-crops-while-volunteers-15238489.php

My milk.... all of that precious milk...

We do not have to go this far, people. We do not have to go to the extreme! This is fucking ridiculous.

I’ve seen this screenshot going around as well, not sure how accurate it is but if they cut off the supply chain, which is possible, it can be a reality. I’ve talked to more than a few people who have no idea how to keep a store of food to last a few months, and apparently it’s common for people to just have food for a week in the fridge/freezer/pantry. I don’t understand how that’s possible...

On top of all that, the government is overreaching on their control issues, going so far as to turn off electric and water to businesses that refuse to close

https://calepa.ca.gov/2020/04/02/news-release-governor-issues-water-shutoff-order-and-takes-steps-to-maintain-delivery-of-critical-water-services-during-covid-19-crisis/

https://abcnews.go.com/US/small-business-owners-file-suit-gov-newsom-ca/story?id=70365949

Not to mention all of these headlines, like what timeline are we living in that they feel these levels of invasion are necessary? You can fight a virus without going to this length of control!

Not to mention New York itself, like really?

And while I can kinda understand wanting to prevent large parties from happening, they’re going after single people having a walk in the wilderness and arresting them for it, or going after a couple of dudes on a rooftop having a cold one, even boaters are getting arrested, despite practicing social distancing, yet we’re allowed to still go to the store? However, in some places like Michigan, they even have police checking bags for essential items...

Which, btw, is also a point of interest, as being allowed to buy seeds has been banned in many areas, but lotto tickets are still available for purchase. There aren’t near enough articles detailing all the things that people are slowly finding out are being restricted/outlawed, and honestly, the more I see people calling on some random person taking a lone walk around a neighborhood, the more I think of this meme:

In many ways, I’m more concerned with the government destroying us than the virus. Many governments around the world are taking advantage of this to tighten the leash. This is completely unnecessary. The main reason for the lockdown isn’t to prevent people from getting the disease - it’s pretty much just accepted that we will eventually get it - but to lighten the load on hospitals so we don’t end up overloaded like Italy, where they have to decide who to let die. The Netherlands is reportedly doing similar.

“...in the Netherlands as in Belgium, euthanasia has been applied for years, according to the authorities, “voluntary”. However, in Germany, and in France, Spain and Italy, they have received elderly patients from these countries to be cured, not of coronaviruses, but of anything, because they do not trust the hospitals of their country: euthanasia is not Voluntary, they say, nor is it respected - not infrequently - the will of the person to whom euthanasia is applied.”

https://es.aleteia.org/2020/03/28/coronavirus-dejar-a-los-viejos-que-mueran/

I can understand wanting to ease the load on hospitals, but again, house arrest is not necessary. These measures being taken are too extreme. Some governors in the US have eased up on their restrictions, and the number of cases has not risen dramatically like some people spreading fear claimed. Our hospitals are not being overrun with cases.

In fact, the number is going down. Plus, look at the number of beds. It doesn’t mean I want more people to get sick, but we have to be logical about this and think about more than just the illness. We cannot keep letting the government say “money printer go brrrr” (not to mention the insider trading they were doing, like this shit is blatant, the corruption can be cut with a knife)

If we head into another depression, there will be many more millions of people who will die. People in poverty are at most risk for illness in general, and greater health problems, and malnutrition, and they will be the most hit in a depression, obviously. The elderly who get made homeless will basically be guaranteed to suffer badly. We can balance this out so that we can save the economy (as long as it’s not too late) and protect people from the illness as well as keep hospitals from being overloaded. Balance is the best way to protect everyone. I know people seem to have an aversion to moderation for some reason these days, but it really is a good thing here. Balance the needs of everyone.

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taetaespeaches · 5 years ago

Text

“You do know you’re not actually a grandpa, right, Min?”

Yoongi x Reader (or oc)

Genre: fluff

Word count: 2.4K

a/n: This scenario is inspired by Hozier’s “Jackie and Wilson” so if you know the song and the lyrics, you’ll probably pick up on bits of it throughout this. It’s basically just Yoongi and his partner being soft while listening to the actual Jackie Wilson. I hope you all enjoy! As always, thanks for reading :))

TURNING over in bed, your eyes still stubbornly shut, you felt around for your boyfriend to cuddle into him. Your hand finding nothing but mattress and sheets, you groaned. Slowly opening your eyes, allowing them to adjust to the brightness of the room, you scanned the empty spot next to you.

Reluctantly sitting up, you scooted to the edge of the bed, wrapping the duvet around your shoulders, holding it together at the center of your chest. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you sat on the bed, your mind in a haze, Yoongi at the center of it.

Standing up, you dragged your feet across the bedroom floor, making a quick stop at the bathroom to brush your teeth. As your mind woke up, you began to wonder where Yoongi was. He couldn’t seriously be in the studio already, could he? Growing more curious of your boyfriend’s whereabouts, you shuffled down the hallway, toothbrush still at work, stopping in front of Yoongi’s in-home studio, expecting to find him there.

Peeking through the door, you found the room empty, the computer monitor’s screen black, no sign of activity since the previous evening. Pulling your eyebrows together, your confusion growing, you walked a little faster down the hallway, scanning the living room quickly, then the kitchen. Still no Yoongi, however, the coffee pot was on, nearly full minus one cup.

Spitting the toothpaste out in the kitchen sink, you tilted your head towards the ceiling, inhaling deeply, calling out, “Yoongi,” on the exhale, dragging out the final vowel in his name. Freezing as you silently waited for a response, you pouted when you received none.

As you swished water around your mouth, a knock on the glass panel of the sliding glass door on the opposite side of the kitchen resounded throughout the room, your head quickly snapping towards the sound.

Your eyes landed on Yoongi sitting in a patio chair, wearing an amused gummy grin with his hand held up waving cutely at you, the other hand wrapped around a coffee mug. Cocking your head at him, you took a moment to comprehend the fact that your boyfriend, Min Yoongi, was outside on the deck at 8 am.

Quickly spitting the water out and tossing the toothbrush onto the counter, you waddled across the kitchen, pulling the sliding door open, peeking your head out to look at him.

“What are you doing out here?” You grumbled, still slightly surprised to find him outside on the deck.

Yoongi bit back a smile, gesturing for you to come to him with a nod of his head. “Come here,” he said with his gentle voice, setting the mug on the table.

You easily complied, scuffling towards him, dropping lazily across his lap. While one of his arms settled across your blanket covered thighs, his other arm wrapped around your lower back, his hand resting on your hip.

Looking down at him, his gaze set on your own, he gave you a tight cute smirk, effectively making your heart swoon at his adorableness. “Morning, Kid,” he mumbled, a soft look in his eyes.

Leaning towards him, you touched his forehead with your lips, leaving a sweet peck to his skin. “Morning, Baby.” You could feel his body relax when you laid your arm over his shoulder and ran your hand through his hair. Leaning back, you looked at his expression. Studying him. “I wasn’t expecting to find you out here,” you smiled softly. “You ok?”

He gave you a single nod, your eyes scanning his face for a moment longer as your hand slid down the back of his head onto his neck. Yoongi noted how your eyes were kind. They didn’t show much concern, definitely no judgement, but rather just a gentle curiosity and a desire to listen.

“It’s a nice place to escape to sometimes,” he said simply, the words that seemingly said nothing told you everything you needed to know. After a moment of silence, your cheek resting against his shoulder, your breath fanning across the side of his neck, Yoongi squeezed your upper thigh. “Your flowers look nice.”

“I know, what the fuck?” You said in shock, making your boyfriend let out breathy chuckle.

“I like the black ones,” Yoongi added softly, referring to the black irises that had recently bloomed. You lifted your head off his shoulder, looking at the irises before looking at him with an appreciative smile. “When you inevitably start killing your garden, try to spare those,” he added with a small smile, amused by his own teasing. You glared at him, holding back your own grin.

“Don’t mess with me bud, those will be the first to go,” you threatened as your thumb ran soothingly along the skin at the nape of his neck. You reached to your side towards the table that sat directly in front of Yoongi, grabbing his mug of coffee that sat there steaming.

Taking a sip of the bitter drink, your nose scrunched up in distaste of the minty toothpaste mixing with the drink. “That’s mine, you know,” Yoongi softly said.

“Mhmm,” you smirked as you removed your hand from his neck, wrapping both of your hands around the warm ceramic, taking another drink, this time letting out a quiet displeased groan.

“What was that?” He chuckled in your ear, sending chills across the side of your neck.

“Toothpaste,” you simply said, Yoongi letting out an “ahh” in understanding, smiling as he touched his lips to your blanket covered shoulder, leaving a kiss along with a small chuckle. “This is nice,” you whispered into the warm air, nuzzling your back against your boyfriend’s chest. Yoongi wrapped both arms around your waist in silent agreement. “Despite the nasty coffee,” you added with a smirk.

Gasping in dramatized offense, Yoongi moved his hand from your hip to your waist, giving your flesh a squeeze. “Hey, it’s not my coffee, it’s the toothpaste,” he scoffed. “Don’t knock my coffee making skills,” he pouted. “I only have about three skills and that’s one of them.”

Giggling, you held the mug up to your lips as your eyes met his. “Three? A little cocky, aren’t we?” Yoongi smiled widely as he tickled your side, making you squirm against him.

Still laughing, you leaned forward, grabbing Yoongi’s phone off the table. Holding it in front of his face, you grinned cutely. “Unlock, please,” you said sweetly, making Yoongi look at the phone allowing the facial recognition to open it. “Music,” you mumbled as you pressed and swiped across the screen.

Setting the phone back down on the table, you nuzzled your side back into Yoongi as a groovy bass line and some light percussion started playing out of the phone speaker, soon joined by a guitar. Yoongi smiled as he recognized the song as Jackie Wilson’s “Your Love Keeps Lifting Me Higher & Higher”.

“I love this song,” he whispered to you as Jackie Wilson’s voice began singing out. Shimmying your shoulders a bit to the beat, Yoongi smiled at your cute actions, squeezing his arms around you a little tighter.

“Oh shit,” you sat up straight suddenly, placing the mug back onto the table, surprising Yoongi, his eyebrows raised in concern. Pulling the blanket off your upper half, pooling around your waist on Yoongi’s lap, you giggled at yourself. “I haven’t watered my plants in like three days.”

“Ah see,” he shook his head, “I knew this whole gardening thing was going way too well,” he teased as you stood up, leaving the blanket behind as you scooted your feet into Yoongi’s slippers. As you pulled the door open, you held up a middle finger at your boyfriend while wearing a smirk at his previous comment. Yoongi chuckled at your action as he watched you scurry off wearing his slippers which were much too big for your feet, hindering your walking as you couldn’t pick your feet up without the shoes sliding off.

As you worked on filling a watering can in the kitchen, Yoongi leaned forward, grabbing the mug of coffee and taking a drink as Jackie Wilson sang to him about devoting oneself to a lover who lifts you up and makes you happier than you were before. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as you filled the can with water, swaying your hips to the music that echoed inside the kitchen from outside through the open door.

Yoongi couldn’t seem to pull his gaze from how his baggy t-shirt hung off your shoulders just right, meeting the tops of your thighs, the exposed skin enough to drive him mad. He then noted how cute your messy hair made you look.

As the third verse played, his eyes still on you, he realized just how true the lyrics were for him.

I’m so glad I finally found you, yes that one in a million girl, and now with my loving arms around you, honey, I can stand up and face the world.

Yoongi had to grow up quickly, and early in life. With dreams to achieve, he had little time to feel young, sacrificing his youth for a career. And though he would never have wanted to choose another path, his life wasn’t easy. He worked hard, day after day, leaving little time to be a normal man in his 20s.

A mid-youth crisis had come and gone by the time he was 24 years old, and that’s when you made a sudden appearance, showing him he could be loved for the man behind the masks that he wears in front of millions of people every day.

The way you entered his life was much like how you reentered the deck area, humming along to an old classic song. Only this time, you weren’t walking up the greeting card aisle at the corner market, and instead of carrying a bag of carrots in one hand and a chocolate bar in the other, you were carrying a watering can and a coffee pot, managing to spill small amounts of both out onto the deck as you made your way to set them on the table.

Yoongi always admired how loud and vibrant you were, not in voice or action, but in presence, impossible to ignore. Yoongi never could ignore you.

As the song came to an end, Yoongi quickly restarted it, not wanting to let the moment pass before he had a chance to etch it all to memory. He acknowledged the way your lips quirked at the sound of the song starting over, shaking his head in feigned annoyance of how well you could read him.

“I just like this song,” he told you with a small smile, you exaggeratedly nodding at him, pretending to believe him.

“Yeah, yeah, the song, the moment, either or,” you teased him, making him fight off a grin to shoot you a feigned glare.

As you watered the black irises, prioritizing them over all the other plants, you started singing along with Jackie Wilson. Getting into it, putting on a show for your boyfriend, you set the watering can down, facing him as you sang the second verse dramatically.

“Now once, I was downhearted,” you sang, tapping your palm against your heart. “Disappointment was my closest friend. But then you came,” you pointed at Yoongi with both pointer fingers, “and it soon departed, and you know he never showed his face again,” you sang out holding your arms passionately to your chest.

Snapping along to the chorus, as you sang Jackie Wilson’s part, Yoongi bounded up from his seat, surprising you for a moment before you simply smiled widely and watched as he performed for you, knees bent as he sang in a purposely terrible head voice, providing the background vocals, holding his hand out as a fake microphone. He brought his other hand to his ear as if he was trying to hear himself better.

You laughed as you continued trying to sing the third verse through your happiness, Yoongi’s lips curving up into a gummy smile as he started to lose composure. Dancing over to you with a little shimmy, he held out his fake microphone for you to continue singing the song. Wrapping your hands around his wrist, you brought his hand towards your face as you dramatically sang the final chorus, Yoongi continuing his backup vocals.

Both of you falling into embarrassed giggles, you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, his coming to hold you around your waist. Nuzzling his face into your neck, his shoulders shook in laughter.

As the song came to an end and the piano intro of Jackie Wilson’s “I Get The Sweetest Feeling” started playing, Yoongi’s laughter faded slowly as he began swaying you both. His eyes scanned your features slowly and carefully, appreciating every detail. Cocking your head, you dipped your chin to meet his eyes with your own. Raising your eyebrows, you silently asked him to share his thoughts.

Touching his forehead to yours, Yoongi closed his eyes for a moment. “You make me feel young, Kid,” his lips turned up into a bashful gummy smile.

The comment elicited a small chuckle from you as you gently pulled at the hair on the nape of his neck. “You do know you’re not actually a grandpa, right, Min?” You teased.

Opening his eyes, he chuckled. “Yeah, yeah,” his eyes flickered down to your lips. “It’s easy to forget sometimes.” As soon as the words were spoken, his lips were pushed against yours in a sweet kiss.

When he attempted to pull away, you grasped the back of his neck, holding him in place as you kissed his lips again, then spreading them out across his face, making him giggle and tickle your waist. You squealed at the touch of his fingers pressing into your sides, nuzzling your face into his neck as you wiggled around in his grasp, your arms wrapping completely around his neck as you hugged him close.

Lifting your head so your lips hovered near his ear, you left a kiss to the top of his cheekbone. “I love you, Min Yoongi,” you assured him, emphasizing the you. He knew the emphasis meant you loved who he was behind the personas. You loved the man who was slow dancing with his girlfriend on their deck in the mid-morning sun as the slowly and unknowingly dying flowers watched as your only audience.

Wrapping his arms completely around your lower back, holding you as close as possible to himself, he whispered into your hair, to both you and himself, “there’s no other version of myself I’d rather be right now.”

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oreoambitions · 5 years ago

Text

In Which Boobs Get Kara Into Trouble

There will come a time later, when Kara is standing on the roof of Spherical Industries with a gun to her head, when she will wonder how she ever got herself into such a mess. The rain will pour and the city will roar, oblivious, far below while Kara tries to piece it all together. And it will end as it began: with a pair of brilliant green eyes and a sad smile.

Kara spies her at the hotel bar and, if she's being honest, the first thing she notices are the boobs. I mean, can you blame her? The cut of that dress is scandalous at best and the woman wearing it is a vision, truly. Kara, lingering in the doorway in her slacks and buttondown, tired and a little unkempt from a long day on her first field assignment as a junior reporter, almost forgets for a moment that she's shy and awkward and Definitely Straight Thank You Very Much. She flashes her brightest smile almost before she realizes it and, to her surprise, the woman with the boobs looks up and smiles back.

The second thing Kara notices is the older gentleman leaning in across the bar, his hand lingering on that dress somewhere just north of inappropriate as he reasserts his position at the center of the boob woman's attention. The journalist in Kara says: I wonder what their relationship to one another is. The Definitely Straight Thank You Very Much side of Kara says: I should go rescue her.

There will come a time when Kara curses the fact that she's somehow inherited that trademark Danvers penchant for heroism and trouble, but this is not that time. This is the time when Kara strolls up, one hand in her pocket, heart pounding in her ears, to flash that million dollar smile one more time and adjust her glasses. She glances dismissively at Just North of Inappropriate as she inserts herself into the situation with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.

"Sorry I'm late," she says brightly. "Just a little bit of traffic on the bridge. Shall we get a table?"

The plan, if you can really call it that, has just about formed in Kara's mind by the time she finishes speaking. There are, she assumes, roughly two possible outcomes. Either the boob woman doesn't need rescuing after all and Kara is about to suffer an incredibly humiliating encounter, or she does need rescuing and they can head to the hotel restaurant together where Kara can see her delivered safely to wherever it is she'd like to be. What actually happens is neither of those things.

"Darling," the boob woman says, a sad smile on her lips. "I was just about to call. This is Jack, the gentleman I was telling you about. Jack, this is my wife..."

It is to Kara's credit that she only hesitates for a moment. She did take an improv class for half a semester in undergrad; she's about as well prepared for a curveball like this as anyone could reasonably expect. She extends her hand and says, "Kara. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Jack replies, his eyebrows high. "Forgive me; Lena didn't mention you were coming."

Lena slides an arm around Kara's waist so casually that for one insane instant Kara wonders whether this woman has confused her for someone else. "You know how it is," Lena is saying. "Work doesn't always allow for travel; I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up."

Travel. So Kara, Wife of the Woman with the Boobs, is not supposed to be from here.

Jack fixes Kara with a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. "I hope the flight wasn't too difficult."

"Somehow it always feels shorter than I expect," Kara says, mind scrambling. Where is she supposed to have flown in from? Is this a test? Is there something she should know to say?

Jack chuckes. "Well, Metropolis to National City is a short trip compared to what you're used to, I'm sure. If you'll excuse me, I'll just let them know we'll be needing an extra place at the table."

Lena is hissing as soon as he's out of earshot. "It took you long enough, goddamnit. I called for backup an hour ago! I think he has the asset here, at the hotel. If we're lucky we can- shit. Hope!"

And just like that Lena is all smiles and warmth but for her white knuckled grip on Kara's hip. She waves to a woman lingering in the doorway and Kara finds herself tangled in pleasantries and small talk, playing the part as best she can.

Now the plan is: get out of this as soon as possible.

It becomes clear that 'as soon as possible' might be a while coming when Jack returns and the four of them are escorted not, as Kara had assumed, to the hotel restaurant, but into the elevator. Oh. They are dining at the private club on the top floor, and all at once Kara is conscious of the fact that her entire outfit is likely worth less than the average glass of wine here, that her hair is coming a little undone in the back, that she didn't put makeup on this morning because she was hoping that seeming a little more like 'one of the guys' might earn her a more favorable quote at the conference she was working this afternoon. This is trouble, and if Kara's gut is right, it's dangerous trouble at that.

The menu doesn't list prices but Kara navigates the social waters by ordering just about whatever Lena does - although she kips the salad appetizer in favor of egg rolls - and fumbles through conversation by saying as little as possible until the conversation drifts to the Kaznian refugee crisis and Kara begins to shift uncomfortably in her seat.

"Well, you know as they say in Kaznia," Jack is saying, "Without work, there is no desert."

He says the phrase in Kaznian so smoothly that it would have passed by perhaps anyone but an actual Kaznian refugee without comment. But Kara has never been the best when it comes to holding her tongue and so she corrects him almost without thinking about it. "Bez prace nejsou kolace. Without work there is no cake."

Jack raises his eyebrows, but it's Hope who comments, "Are you from Kaznia too? Is that how you two met?"

Kara is frozen, processing the implication that Lena may also be a Kaznian refugee, but Lena is already answering. "Our fathers knew one another, yes, but we actually met at a bar. It's a terribly mundane story. There I was, enduring the cumbersome attentions of some ape, and she simply swooped in for the rescue. The rest is history."

Kara almost laughs. "Really, it was love at first sight," she says. "Coming to the rescue was the least I could do. Even if I did turn out to get rather more than I'd bargained for."

Lena's smile is sugar sweet as she leans over to press a warm kiss to Kara's cheek. "I'm worth it," she promises and, mercifully, she changes the subject.

They make it most of the way through dessert before the conversation finally turns to business.

"How long are you in town?" Jack asks. "Not just for the conference, I hope."

Lena hums, noncommittal. "Maybe a few days longer. There are a few business meetings I'd like to take care of while we're here."

"Well I hope you'll save one of those meetings for me. Spherical Industries has made a breakthrough, I'm sure you've heard, and while I've obligations to the board to hear a few proposals the real prize would be a partnership with L-Corp. We could do great things together, you and I."

A number of thoughts cross Kara's mind in quick succession.

The first: Jack's tone is so overtly predatory, so intensely suggestive, that Kara is absolutely shocked that he would speak to Lena in such a way in front of her (supposed) wife or in front of his own spouse.

The second: If Lena works for L-Corp, Kara has gotten herself into the middle of something very complicated indeed.

The third: Jack is, as Kara has suspected for the better part of an hour now, not just some rando putting his hands on a woman in a bar. He is, in fact, none other than Jack Speer, as in Spherical Industries, as in the man responsible for the conference where Kara has been working. The conference where she was hoping to hear something that might confirm a rumored breakthrough to which Jack just openly admitted. And, if Kara's sources are to be believed, Spherical Industries has gone to great length to keep the details of that breakthrough out of the hands of the authorities. Kara would give just about anything to find out why.

"You know I always have time for a few drinks with an old friend; I'm sure something can be arranged," Lena says. "It really is lovely to catch up with you both. And isn't your anniversary coming up soon?"

"One year on Sunday," Hope replies.

“Well then an early congratulations to you both.”

When dessert has been consumed, coffee sipped, and the check paid (by Spherical Industries, at Jack's insistence), it's time for the long walk to the elevator and down the hall to what is presumably Lena's room. Jack and Hope walk them all the way, and the small talk lasts another excruciating handful of minutes while Lena fiddles with her key until, at last, Hope suggests that everyone must be tired.

Kara's mind is reeling. Jack and Hope aren't walking away and so, in order to keep up appearances, she follows Lena into the hotel room.

It's almost - almost - not a surprise when, as soon as the door shuts, Lena pulls a gun on Kara. There is still something a little inherently startling about finding herself on the wrong end of a firearm but, well, that's been looking like the almost inevitable end result of this evening for a little while here and Kara figures the best thing she can do is handle it as calmly as possible.

"Who the fuck are you," Lena demands, "and who the fuck do you work for?"

"I can ex-"

"You are definitely not the backup I called for. Are you with Edge? How did you find me?"

Kara raises her hands in the universal symbol for surrender. "I don't work for anyone," she explains. "Well, I work for CatCo, actually, but the point is, I think we might be on the same side."

Slowly, her eyes never leaving Kara's face, Lena lowers the gun and engages the safety. Kara's gaze drops to the boobs. If there has ever been a time not to be distracted by boobs it’s this moment but, well. Kara may be Definitely Straight Thank You Very Much but even she can appreciate the absolute goddess standing in front of her in a sinful dress with a loaded weapon in hand. She swallows and forces her attention back to Lena's face and to the knowing smirk that says her distraction has not gone unnoticed.

"I'm listening," Lena says.

#1 of 3 #ficlet #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #supergirl #supergirl fic #supercorp fic #idk #fake marriage

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frasier-crane-style · 4 years ago

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Percy Jackson: Sea of Monsters

You ever watch a movie just because it’s fun to see a few million dollars go to recreating Greek myths and because Alexandra Daddario is a cutie? Meh.

- I guess they can’t call it Percy Jackson And The Sea of Monsters because this is cooler and more American than Harry Potter. It has a colon, like a Marvel movie!

-It’s probably a good sign when a movie starts with a bunch of characters running away from a threat and they’re a little ways away from safety, so one of them goes “I’ll hold them off!” or “I’ll lead them away!” And then they all stop to have a debate about it. Like, if you just kept going, then you all could get away. I mean, I’m not the son of even one of the crappy gods from the later God of War games, and I could figure that out.

-We go from the prologue to a war game between the various demigods, which Percy is about to win when he sees a classmate is trouble, so he just has to give up the W to help him out. Only the classmate didn’t seem to be in any real danger, he was just inconvenienced by hanging upside down for a while in a game that was about to end anyway, so Percy looks like a real dumbass for pulling a Harry Potter there.

-The fact that he only technically lost does not keep him from having a crisis of confidence and the rest of the camp from treating him like shit. Even though it’s pointed out that he saved the world in the last movie--who cares about that, he lost at flag football! I guess all that Greek god inbreeding catches up to you after a while.

-These things can only have one hypercompetent female sidekick per ensemble, so Annabeth gets demoted to being a chick (signature fighting move: getting shoved to the ground) and someone who looks a lot like Mackenzie Davis, but isn’t, gets the job, getting me all excited to make a crack about Terminator: Dark Fate but then preventing me from doing so. Thanks a lot, Leven Rambin! Enjoy your Star Wars name.

Notkenzie Davis is basically playing a female Draco Malfoy, and I’m sorry, but there’s only room for one of those in my heart.

-Now, conventional wisdom is that if one of your main characters is a cyclops, you should probably have enough of a budget to make them a cyclops all the time, but this jigga Tyson spends half the movie either with sunglasses on or with a magic spell that makes him look like he has two eyes.

-What’s also weird is that everyone seems cool with satyrs and centaurs, but they’re racist against cyclops, particularly Annabeth--that’s her whole character arc here. On the one hand, prejudice is bad, but on the other, Alexandra Daddario is super cute and has big mommy milkers, so fuck those cyclopses. Go back to your own country!

-Anyway, they play it like Tyson’s whole thing is people being prejudiced against him, but he also seems mildly... well, there’s a word for it, but let’s put it this way... he seems less than untarded. This conveniently ambiguous disorder varies dramatically from scene to scene--at one point, he mistakes the Capitol Building for Olympus, but at another, he has encyclopedic knowledge of Greek mythology. In the end, it comes off a bit like he’s just stoned throughout the whole movie. Which probably makes him the smartest guy in the room.

-The Graeae show up to give Percy a somewhat meaningless plot coupon (I know he’s the Son of Poseidon, but he can see map coordinates? Like, literally latitude and longitude? And has there even been a character given a seemingly random string of numbers who doesn’t later figure out that they’re coordinates?). They also make an “oh no you dinnit” joke and I think it should count as a hate crime to force Yvette Nicole Brown to be in the presence of dialogue that unfunny.

-This is probably a problem with the source material, but why conflate the Golden Fleece quest with the Odyssey? They’re going after the Fleece, but they run into Charybdis, the Cyclops, Circe is name-dropped. No harpies, no skeleton armies, no Talos, no hydra. That’s just going to bug people who get anal retentive about this stuff and who else is Greek mythology for????

-You know, these things never have Greek accents, but I think I should make bingo cards of all the non-Greek accents they do have. I mean, British is a gimme, that would have to be the center spot, but in Wrath of the Titans, they have Edgar Ramirez as a Spanish-accented Ares (!) and here, Shohreh Aghdashloo voices an Oracle with an Indian accent. Man, talk about rubbing it in. (Some Southern accents also show up courtesy of some Confederate zombies, so expect riots if Disney doesn’t edit them out.)

-Said zombies also come with an ironclad/submarine, which I know was a thing, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t have recoilless rifles installed on them.

-Nathan Fillion shows up, once again typecast as the One Good Thing In This Mess. And man, if you thought Kylo Ren was a whiner for complaining about having Han Solo for a dad, the villain here is bitching about Mal Reynolds being his pop.

-In case poor Alexandra Daddario and her milkers haven’t suffered enough from being portrayed as a candyass and a racist, she gets a Disney death in the climax. The narrative has already had one with Tyson and they have a magical blanket that can heal all injuries right there, but the movie still has the audacity to milk this for a tearjerker. Like, maybe if the movie were aimed at small children, but they aged everyone up to sexy teenagers, so who’s going to fall for this? Shut up.

#percy jackson

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troped-fanfic-challenge · 4 years ago

Text

The Master List of the Summer 2020 Chopped 3.0: The 100 Fanfic Challenge!

Thanks so much to everyone who participated in this third run of our full Chopped Challenge! We are so happy that this fun little idea that we got from @chants-de-lune continues to be such a success!

In this event we had Historical Body Swaps, Sci-Fi Reunions based on TV/Movies, Epic Platonic Fantasy Heists, and Crazy El Dorado Adventures! We received so many creative and exciting fics that were a thrill to read. We hope you guys had as much fun writing and reading these fics as we did, and we hope you’ll join us for more events in the future.

Please check out all the Chopped 3.0 fics below. Don’t forget to leave the authors some love!

———

Round 1: Historical Fics

Tropes:

Body Swap

Competing “Businesses”

Meet Ugly

First Kiss

On a Tear (Rated M) [Emori/Murphy/Raven] by @sparklyfairymira

Summary: Raven Reyes doesn’t get along with John and Emori Murphy - the owners of the only other speakeasy in Arkadia. What happens when her world is turned upside down and she finds herself inside Emori’s body?

2nd Place Best Overall, 3rd Place Theme, 1st Place Body Swap Trope, 3rd Place Competing Businesses Trope, 1st Place Meet Ugly Trope, 1st Place Tie First Kiss Trope, 2nd Place Best Dialogue, and Most Unique Pairing Winner.

A Change of Heart (Rated G) [Bellamy/Clarke] by @queenemori

Summary: When Clarke’s mother informed her she’d be spending her summer in England’s newest seaside resort, she did not expect such an eventful trip. She was only sent to see if they actually posed a threat to her family’s resort in Brighton. She did not at all expect to make an enemy of the architect’s nephew. But when an unusual situation arises, Clarke and Mr. Blake must learn to work together, no matter how much they dislike each other.

Or, a loose Sanditon AU

1st Place Best Overall, 1st Place Theme, 3rd Place Body Swap Trope, 2nd Place Competing Businesses Trope, 3rd Place Meet Ugly Trope, 1st Place Tie First Kiss Trope, and 1st Place Best Dialogue Winner.

May We Meet Again (Rated T) [Bellamy/Clarke] by @changingthefairy-tale

Summary: Clarke and Bellamy both show up to assassinate the same target. Chaos ensues.

3rd Place Best Overall, 2nd Place Theme, 2nd Place Body Swap Trope, 1st Place Competing Businesses Trope, 2nd Place Meet Ugly Trope, 1st Place Tie First Kiss Trope, and 3rd Place Best Dialogue Winner.

———

Round 2: Sci-Fi Fics

Tropes:

Based on a TV Show/Movie

Reunion

Kiss to keep cover/keep a secret

Forehead touches

and i’ll never say i love you (but i meant it all along) (Rated T) [Bellamy/Clarke] by @bellamysgriffin

Summary: When Coach, a dating system that pairs you with someone for an allotted amount of time and gives no way to bypass its rules, matches Bellamy and Clarke together, they find an immediate dislike for the other. Luckily, they only have to spend twelve hours together and then they can go their separate ways.

That is, until Coach matches them again. And again. And again. Until they start to wonder if something deeper is going on.

Or, Bellamy and Clarke in Hang the DJ

1st Place Theme and 2nd Place Based on a TV Show/Movie Trope Winner.

Per Aspera Ad Astra [Through Hardship to the Stars] (Rated G) [Bellamy/Clarke] by @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold

Summary: It’s boredom one fateful night that leads Clarke Griffin to ditching the first basketball game of the season. That same boredom then leads to her choosing to hang out with one Bellamy Blake – which should feel weirder than it is since they haven’t really been friends since his sister’s disappearance two years ago.

But then their night really takes a turn.

The two of them discover a strange audio frequency that could change the small town of Arkadia, New Mexico – and the future – forever. Dropped phone calls, forgotten tapes, and strange lights follow Bellamy and Clarke as they race through the night on a scavenger hunt to discover the truth. That maybe there was something more to Octavia’s disappearance, maybe there’s more to their friendship than being just friends, and that maybe they aren’t as alone in the universe as they thought.

2nd Place Best Overall, 2nd Place Forehead Touch Trope, 2nd Place Tie Kiss to keep cover/keep a secret Trope, and 1st Place Reunion Trope Winner.

through the muted waves (Rated T) [Murphy/Emori] by @the-most-beautiful-broom

Summary: Scientists call the Tomorrow People the next stage of human evolution, the government denies their existence, but their cocktail of psionic abilities have made homo superiors the target of Eligius. Even though Eligius has closed the project that allows Tomorrow People to override their genetic inability to kill, they still relentlessly hunt them, desperate to neutralize their abilities. When Murpy wakes up in Eligius headquarters, he knows he’s returned for a reason…if only he could understand his connection to the brown-eyed girl who keeps cropping up on the corners of his memory.

3rd Place Tie Theme and 2nd Place Tie Kiss to keep cover/keep a secret Trope Winner.

in the red snares (Rated T) [Octavia/Lincoln] by @justbecauseyoubelievesomething

Summary: The prevailing theory around the existence of Slayers (her existence) is that a variation of the alien parasite the miners unearthed deep in the Sub Stratum started infecting hosts in order to combat the vampire parasite. Octavia scoffs at the thought. The theory is probably right, especially since Monty is pretty confident in it, but she still hates the whole thing. The Slayer parasite really needs an upgrade in her opinion.

3rd Place Best Overall and 3rd Place Most Unique Pairing Winner.

The Cockroach (Rated T) [Murphy/Emori] by @mobi-on-a-mission

Summary: “This is the cockroach hailing Mission Team Alpha. It’s Sol 30 here on good ol’ Planet Alpha. Not that it’s really a planet, but eh whatever. Technicalities, right? Anyway. Systems check. Arm: healing. Bugs: normal. Radio: shitty. Attitude: good.”

1st Place Best Overall, 2nd Place Theme, 1st Place Forehead Touch Trope, and 3rd Place Reunion Trope Winner.

I’m No Hero (Rated T) [Murphy/Emori] by @queenemori

Summary: It’s 2052 and Reapers are wreaking havoc on mutants and humans alike. Murphy is recruited by Kane and Jaha to go back in time to prevent Octavia Blake from starting an international crisis that made the future much worse. But going back to the past comes with some side effects, mainly having to do with some relationships that Murphy left on bad terms.

3rd Place Tie Theme, 3rd Place Based on a TV Show/Movie Trope, and 3rd Place Forehead Touch Trope Winner.

from angels or devils (Rated T) [Octavia Blake] by @dylanobrienisbatman

Summary: Octavia was dead, and then she wasn’t. The nuns say it was the gift of an angel, but they may not know as much as they claim.

Will she be able to learn to channel it’s gifts, or will she be claimed by the villain who has followed the Halo through time and space?

3rd Place Most Unique Source Material Winner.

Can’t Tell if this is True or Dream (Rated M) [Echo/Gabriel] by @kuklash

Summary: “Do you understand your mission, agent?” A cloud of smoke punctuated the Director’s question, streaming from his mouth in thick, grey ribbons.

“I am to evaluate the necessity of the work Dr. Santiago is doing and report back at the conclusion of the investigation,” Echo repeated her instructions. Her lungs filled with second-hand smoke and she stifled a cough.

“I hope you appreciate the delicacy of this mission, Echo.” His intense gaze bore a hole into her’s. “Gabriel is not to know the nature of your assignment.”

She met his gaze with equal intensity as she stood up to leave.

“I understand, sir.”

1st Place Most Unique Pairing Winner.

There are some things written in the stars (Rated G) [Bellamy/Clarke] by @changingthefairy-tale

Summary: Dear Bell,

I know you have a million questions. When I planned to come see you in Sau Paulo, I knew I wouldn’t have much time, and there was just too much I wanted to say. But also so much I knew I couldn’t. My only hope is that this journal answers some of your questions, and by some miracle saves your life.

My name is Clarke Griffin, a historian. We’ve never met before today, in your time at least. In 2019, I would be just starting my professorship at Arkadia University back in the states. That’s honestly the only reason Murphy didn’t fight me on seeing you — no chance that I’d cross paths with myself. He wouldn’t have been able to stop me, mind you. But he’s definitely the better pilot, so I’m glad he was on board.

I’m getting away from myself. It’s hard to remember a time when you didn’t just instinctively know what I was thinking. It’s felt a little like you’ve just known me my whole life, the way we’ve always been in sync. Let me start from the beginning, just rip the bandaid off…

Or the “Timeless” AU you never knew you needed. Submitted as part of the Chopped Challenge: Round 2.

3rd Place Kiss to keep cover/keep a secret Trope, and 2nd Place Reunion Trope Winner.

Healing AIs, Healing Hearts (Rated T) [Octavia/Raven] by @spacekrulesbians

Summary: Raven and her mother were a perfect team, working with damaged and mistreated AIs and tech. When tragedy strikes, however, Raven has to figure out how to make it on her own. And then there’s that new assistant her mom hired, making things interesting.

1st Place Most Unique Source Material and 2nd Place Most Unique Pairing Winner.

inconceivable (Rated T) [Bellamy/Clarke] by @kindclaws

Summary: The first touch of his fingers on her wrists makes her whole body shiver. She’s so painfully aware of him being just behind her, of the wonder and the impossibility of his existence here, that she has to remind herself to keep breathing as he slowly picks apart the knots binding her hands together. “If I turn around, will you be gone?” she murmurs. “Is this a bad dream? Will you be dead again when I wake up?”

“I’m real,” he says softly, and finally the last knot falls away and her hands are free.

It’s practically inconceivable.

(Chopped 3 presents: The Princess Bride. In space, bitches.)

1st Place Based on a TV Show/Movie Trope, 1st Place Kiss to keep cover/keep a secret Trope, and 2nd Place Most Unique Source Material Winner.

———

Round 3: Fantasy Fics

Tropes:

Heist AU

Character gets given a potion that makes them unable to lie

Garnderer AU

Forehead kiss

What Is Mine (Rated T) [Jordan & Hope] by @memoriisendgame

Summary: Jordan learns the important lesson of family and friendship as he attempts to get back something he feels he rightfully deserves.

5th Place Best Overall, 3rd Place Tie Heist AU Trope, 3rd Place Forehead Kiss Trope, and 2nd Place Most Unique Pairing Winner.

A Change in the Weather (Rated T) [Murphy & Clarke & Raven] by @sparklyfairymira

Summary: Murphy leans over, plucking a weed from between the Bitter Spolwoods. “There you go. All better now. Can’t let that mean old weed try and strangle you, can we?” He grabs the water jug by his side and waters the ground around the plants before stroking the purple leaves. “You’re doing so well here. Look at you getting so big.”

“Are you talking to the plants again?”

Murphy grins as he turns to face Raven. “I don’t know why you’re surprised. I always talk to the plants. Why do you think they grow so well?”

“They’re plants, Murphy.” Raven raises an eyebrow as she stares at him.

“Exactly.” Murphy turns to the plants again, lovingly stroking the leaves. “Ignore her. She just doesn’t understand.”

Or: A friend is kidnapped causing Murphy, Raven, and Clarke to join forces with others to save him, all while set in a magical fantasy world.

3rd Place Best Overall, 2nd Place Truth Serum Trope, 1st Place Forehead Kiss Trope, 1st Place Tie Gardener AU Trope, 3rd Place Best Descriptions, and 3rd Place Most Unique Pairing Winner.

We will begin again (Rated T) [Raven & Gaia] by @dylanobrienisbatman

Summary: Over two centuries ago, Man stole the Giant’s Heart from where it was protected by the Witches, and with it, they gained great power. But the longer it is away, the more damage is done to the planet.

Can Raven, along with her companions, return the Giant’s Heart to the Witches and restore balance and prosperity to the world?

1st Place Theme, 1st Place Heist AU Trope, 1st Place Best Descriptions, and 1st Place Most Unique Pairing Winner.

picture me in the weeds (before i learned civility) (Rated T) [Clarke & Murphy] by @probably-voldemort

Summary: There are three days from when Clarke was seven that she doesn’t remember. Not odd in itself, except for what those days contain. She remembers leaving her house with her neighbour John to play in the woods like they did every day, and then she remembers coming home three days later. She has no memory of where they’d gone or what happened or why John never came back.

Now, Clarke returns to the woods for the first time in sixteen years. After running into someone from her past who shouldn’t exist, Clarke begins to wonder if everything she’s believed for years could really be a lie.

1st Place Best Overall, 3rd Place Tie Theme, 2nd Place Forehead Kiss Trope, and 1st Place Tie Gardener AU Trope Winner.

talos bless us (Rated T) [Echo & Raven] by @spacekrulesbians

Summary: When Bellamy gets himself captured by Imperials, sisters Raven and Echo plan the ultimate heist to break him out of a closely guarded fort, aided by a dark elf and a khajiit.

4th Place Best Overall, 3rd Place Tie Theme, 3rd Place Tie Heist AU Trope, 1st Place Truth Serum Trope, and 2nd Place Gardener AU Trope Winner.

truth lies in an abyss (Rated T) [Bellamy & Clarke] by @justbecauseyoubelievesomething

Summary: “Thank you for meeting me here.” Her dark blue hood obscures most of her face, but when she tilts her chin towards him, her green eyes flash in the starlight.

He nods demurely. “I take it you have a proposition for us?”

She hesitates. “Is it true what you can do? Enter the Fade?”

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t true.”

“And are you as good as they say you are?”

Bellamy lets a faint smile cross his lips. “I don’t know what they say, but I can assure you I take the utmost pride in my work, Lady Griffin.”

A Fantasy Heist AU for the Chopped 100 Challenge

2nd Place Best Overall, 2nd Place Theme, 2nd Place Heist AU Trope, 3rd Place Truth Serum Trope, 3rd Place Gardener AU Trope, and 2nd Place Best Descriptions Winner.

———

Round 4: Championship Fics

Tropes:

El Dorado

Frikdreina

Telepathy

Free Space

The Life We Seek To Find (Rated T) [Emori/Murphy] by @memoriisendgame

Summary: “Alexia and Blue, they’ll have a better chance there. You will have a better chance there. Trust me.”

Murphy and Emori make the daring decision to travel across the unknown wasteland of Earth in order to find the so-called ‘City Of Light’ in the hopes of finding a better future for their little family.

-Loosely based on “Bird Box” in the sense that there is a safe haven a long journey away.

1st Place Frikdreina Trope, 1st Place Telepathy Trope, and 2nd Place Tie Best Plot Twist Winner.

Am I dreaming (Or is this burning an eternal flame) (Not Rated) [Emori/Murphy/Raven] by @sparklyfairymira

Summary: A post-apocalyptic story of soulmates.

Murphy never thought he’d meet his soulmate - let alone find out he had two. But that’s just what he does while he and Bellamy searched for Octavia. And now he’s expected to help save the world? This was not how he was expecting his life to go.

3rd Place Best Overall, 3rd Place Tie Theme, 3rd Place Tie Frikdreina Trope, 2nd Place Telepathy Trope, 2nd Place Author’s Choice Trope, and 2nd Place Most Unique Pairing Winner.

Show Me Yours, I’ll Show You Mine (Rated T) [Emori/Murphy] by @queenemori

Summary: Emori doesn’t do normal. That’s something she’s never had in her life. It’s why she doesn’t really question it when she starts having weird dreams that have absolutely nothing to do with her. And why she doesn’t question it when she happens upon the subject of the dreams, either. Like this mysterious guy, she’s just along for the ride.

A modern retelling of Emori and Murphy’s first meeting.

2nd Place Best Overall, 2nd Place Theme, 3rd Place Tie Frikdreina Trope, 3rd Place Author’s Choice Trope, and 2nd Place Tie Best Plot Twist Winner.

leave my loneliness unbroken (Rated T) [Bellamy/Clarke/Raven] @justbecauseyoubelievesomething

Summary: When you turn ten years old, you hear your soulmate’s voice inside your head.

Or so Raven’s been told.

3rd Place Most Unique Pairing Winner.

Rattle the Stars (Rated G) [Octavia/Lincoln] by @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold

Summary: Even as humanity spread itself through space, the universe remains the true final frontier. Outlaws rule the fringes of galaxies and for those who are down on their luck, it’s not an easy lifestyle.

Octavia Blake grows up on stories of a fearsome bandit named Charmaine Diyoza and dreams of one day going on her own intergalactic adventures. She’s eighteen when that becomes a reality, a chance encounter leading her on a treasure hunt throughout the galaxy in search of the famed El Dorado, a Treasure Planet made entirely of gold. Along the way she makes allies and enemies –– but one person in particular guides her along the way. A cyborg named Lincoln helps her blossom on the ship and come into herself and she can’t help but fall for him, even as she learns that not everything is as it seems. But with the mysterious map in hand, unusual friends, and her own belief in herself, she might just discover more than gold on this adventure.

1st Place Best Overall, 1st Place Theme, 1st Place El Dorado Trope, 2nd Place Frikdreina Trope, and 1st Place Best Plot Twist Winner.

until the next, my beloved (Rated T) [Luna/Raven/Roan] by @spacekrulesbians

Summary: Luna and Roan set off to find the legendary city of Eden, where it is said there is gold stretching as far as one can see. As Raven cannot come due to her blindness, Luna takes it upon herself to keep sending her messages.

3rd Place Tie Theme, 3rd Place Telepathy Trope, 1st Place Author’s Choice Trope, 3rd Place Tie Best Plot Twist, and 1st Place Most Unique Pairing Winner.

lost in the woods (Rated T) [Clarke/Murphy] by @probably-voldemort

Summary: Murphy can read minds, but only sometimes. It doesn’t help him not get lost on a class hiking trip.

3rd Place Tie Best Plot Twist Winner.

12 notes · View notes

css1992 · 5 years ago

Text

If you let me

Starker, 12k+ words

Warnings: explicit, nff, 18+, daddy kink, daddy issues, age gap (duh), brief mentions of non-con (not between main pairing), unhealthy coping mechanisms. No power AU.

The thing Peter liked about older men was that they were easy to figure out, no games necessary. They were usually after one of two things: a distraction from a midlife crisis or an affair. If it were a midlife crisis, they wanted adventure, but it had to be a dirty little secret – after all, they were raised in different times, their family and friends expected them to fit certain boxes. These men liked pretty, young things to make eyes at them, play coy, pretend to be naive and sweet and virginal. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t usually do this, am I doing it right?” Peter figured it made them feel young, powerful, strong, so he played along.

The ones looking for an affair were pretty amusing, too, they usually had a good family, a beautiful wife, cute kids, but they wanted more. Something fun, and new, and crazy, without risking what they had. Usually, this happened to men who never got to experiment in their youth – again, different times. So they got married, had children, worked at boring jobs, barbecued on Sundays and fucked guys like Peter on Monday after work, or Tuesday before gym, or Wednesday after their son’s little league game.

It was cool with Peter either way, he didn’t want commitment, but he did want a few things. A warm, strong body to hold him for a couple of hours; a thick, hard cock to fill him up good, and that sense of protection and safeness that came from being with an older man. The endearments that inevitably fell from their lips, the praises, the gentleness of their touch, the way they grabbed him by the nape of his neck with a warm hand and called him boy. Good boy. Baby boy. With no strings attached, they had reputations to keep and families to get back to at the end of the night, which was perfect.

Peter had tried dating younger guys, but it just didn’t do it for him. They were often too eager, too fast, too rough. Just too young, in general. Not that older men couldn’t be too much, too, Peter learned it the hard way, not all of them knew how to take no for an answer; not all of them were willing to stop if he asked. It was okay, though, because even the ones who didn’t stop at his request were usually nice to him afterwards, so – no harm, no foul.

The man looking back at him from across the room seemed like a good one. He knew he shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but he was gorgeous. Possibly the most handsome man Peter had ever seen in his short life. He must be well into his forties, if the wrinkles around his eyes and the graying hair at his temples were anything to go by, but his face was beautiful and yet so masculine. His eyes were kind-looking, bright and brown, with long eyelashes, framed by dark and thick eyebrows. His nose was thin and straight, almost aristocratic, but round at the tip, and he had a strong jawline and a well-groomed goatee, that framed the fullest, most kissable lips a man his age should be allowed to have.

He approached Peter with his drink, probably whiskey, judging by the color, and the younger man clutched his glass, smiling coyly when the gorgeous man finally stopped by his side, looking at him intently.

“What’s a sweet boy like you doing all alone in this terrible place?” He had a charming smile that lighted up his whole face, it was almost blinding. Peter refrained from telling him it wasn’t a terrible place, otherwise such a distinct man like himself wouldn’t be there. It was a fancy, five-star hotel bar, Peter obviously couldn’t afford anything there, not even a glass of water, but he didn’t need to, every time he was there someone bought him a drink.

“I’m not alone anymore,” he smiled charmingly, sucking the colorful straw of his sugary drink. He hated it, but he was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, the drink had been sent to him by a shy gentleman sitting a few seats away from him. “And I’m not that sweet.”

“Is that so?” The older man seemed amused by Peter’s boldness, a playful smile tugging at his lips. He gave him a shameless once over, eyes traveling from head to toe, burning holes in the boy’s clothes, but he seemed more than happy with what he saw. “Could have fooled me.”

“I’m Peter.” He offered his hand and the older man took it carefully, like a gentleman, and kissed his knuckles softly. Peter shook his head with amusement, more than aware of all the tricks a guy would pull to take a boy like him to bed. Little did he know, he already had Peter in the bag, no games needed.

“It’s a pleasure, Peter. I’m Tony.” He held his hand for a little longer than necessary, then let it go, sipping his whiskey slowly, eyes fixed on Peter’s face. “You looked so lonely here, all by yourself, thought I’d keep you company.”

“My hero.” The younger man grinned, tucking a stray curl behind his ear, under Tony’s intense gaze. “Did you come by yourself as well?”

“I never come by myself, sweetie.” He wiggled his eyebrows and if it were anyone else, Peter would probably have rolled his eyebrows and walked away, but that man was so magnetic he actually giggled at the lame joke. “I’m staying here for a couple of days, came from California for a boring meeting with some boring people, and I was just heading back upstairs when I saw you needed rescuing. Can I buy you another drink?” He gestured to Peter’s nearly empty glass and the young man nodded with a smile.

“If you insist.” Tony gestured to the bartender and he came over so quickly Peter thought he might trip over his own feet, which was odd, because he was basically scowling at at pretty much everyone at the bar all night.

“Yes, Mr. Stark?” The name sounded familiar, Peter was sure he had heard it before somewhere, and not that long ago, but he couldn’t place it.

“Another one of whatever he’s having. Put it on my tab.” Peter wanted to tell him that he didn’t want that pink, frilly drink, he could really use a beer, but again – gift horse.

“What was your meeting about, Mr. Stark?” He asked, cocking his head to the side, once the bartender hurried away to make his drink, and the older man narrowed his eyes slightly.

“It’s Tony, sweetheart.” He winked, downing the rest of his whiskey. He waved his empty glass at the bartender and he quickly nodded in understanding. “And what is everything ever about? Money, of course.” He shrugged. “You see, I’m plotting world domination, you need cash for that.”

“So I’ve heard.” He smiled, amused. His eyes drifted to the man’s hands when he accepted a new tumbler filled with golden liquid from the bartender, and Peter noticed that there were no rings on his fingers. “What’s your big plan to take over the world, Tony?”

“Clean energy.” The older man had a smart glint in his eyes when he answered, like he was satisfied with himself.

“Nice. Tell me more.” Peter wouldn’t usually take this long to drag a man to bed, but Tony seemed interesting and he was nice to look at, so he indulged himself a little bit. Besides, the bartender had just placed a fresh drink in front of him, he couldn’t let that go to waste.

“Well, it’s a little complicated, sweetheart.” Peter rolled his eyes, disappointed, but not surprised. Men like Tony would usually take one look at him and assume he was just a dumb, horny bimbo who couldn’t keep up with their wit.

“Why don’t you give it a try, sweetheart.” He mocked, seeing an amused smile take over Tony’s face, then he nodded.

“Fair enough.” He took a deep breath, scrunching his face up in thought for a few seconds. “Let’s see, do you know what a fusion reactor is, in theory? What it does?” He asked, and Peter nodded easily, sipping his drink. Tony looked doubtful, but went on anyway. “Well, so I created an affordable, compact fusion reactor that’s able to power all of New York City for a month with just a small amount of fuel.”

“That’s very impressive, assuming this is true. I suppose you’re using deuterium and tritium as fuel? Or just deuterium? How do you even meet the Lawson criterion? You’d have to heat the fuel to tens of millions of degrees, how do you produce enough energy for it to be self-sustained?” As the words left his lips, Tony’s eyes grew comically wide and Peter couldn’t avoid a chuckle.

“Who are you? Do you work for Hammer or something?” He took a step back, eyeing Peter suspiciously, so the younger man quickly shook his head.

“I’m just a waiter, Tony.” The older man continued to stare at him as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, or maybe he was waiting for Peter to confess that he was a corporate spy. Well, he couldn’t care less about any of that, he just wanted to get laid, so. “You don’t have to tell me how you did it, I was just curious.”

“Okay...” He said, slowly, approaching Peter again, carefully. He searched his face for a few seconds, then shrugged. “I’ll bite.” An amused smile stretched over his face. “It’s not like it’s a secret anymore, I did publish a paper on this subject just last week. Anyway, I’m using hydrogen isotopes with palladium, which means –“

“Cold nuclear fusion.” Peter raised his eyebrows, a little shocked, and the man seemed just as shocked by the fact the Peter understood what he said. “Are you telling me you cracked cold nuclear fusion? Scratch that, are you telling me you cracked nuclear fusion as a viable energy source at all?” He asked, still a little incredulous, but the older man looked really proud of himself, so maybe he was telling the truth.

“If you give me your e-mail address, I can send you the paper I wrote on that.” He sipped his drink again, giving Peter another once over, more carefully this time around. “I’ve gotta admit, I’m impressed, kid. I came here fully expecting to talk to an airheaded, slightly tipsy twink. I was planning to charm you with a few smart words and talk about world domination.” Tony’s smile was genuine and it was beautiful. He seemed so relaxed when he smiled, and so much younger.

“Is that what you like?” Peter cocked his head with a raised brow and a teasing smile, and Tony shrugged, still grinning.

“Sometimes, yeah.” He got a little closer and Peter observed with interest as he dragged his eyes lazily all over his body, making his skin tingle with anticipation. “Not tonight, though.”

Peter lay on the bed feeling a little dizzy and short-breathed, already fully naked – when had that happened? - as he watched the older man unbuttoning his crisp white, expensive-looking shirt, revealing a broad chest spattered with soft hairs, muscular abs and strong biceps. Peter was still trying to figure out what hit him when he entered that hotel room, Tony was like a force of nature the way he attacked his lips, hands roaming freely all over his body, like he owned him, like Peter belonged to him. It was thrilling and intoxicating and the young man was still dizzy, trying to wrap his head around what was going on, because that man could not be real.

He sure felt real, though, when his goatee prickled his sensitive neck, as those sexy lips left a wet trail of kisses across his jawline, then down his throat. Peter moaned helplessly, carding his fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp with short nails, biting his lips and trying not to make a fool of himself by moaning like a bitch in heat, which was exactly how he felt right then and there.

His mouth traveled down to his collarbones, biting across them with great care and the right amount of pressure to leave bruises, but not too many, licking the sore skin right after as if to soothe it. The older man stuck a clothed leg between Peter’s and he humped against it unashamedly, eyes rolling back in pleasure, feeling Tony’s lips stretch in a smile against his skin.

“So needy...” He whispered hoarsely, before attacking one of his nipples, sucking it into his mouth, torturing the little bud sweetly by holding it between his teeth as he licked it with the rough pad of his tongue. Peter threw his head back in ecstasy, hips bucking up to meet Tony’s leg. His nipples were so sensitive, it was the easiest way to get him off quickly, and it was like the older man knew that, like he knew everything about Peter’s body, he played him like a violin. “Such a pretty boy.” He dragged his lips to his other nipple, his goatee scratching the sensitive skin of his chest. He’d have beard burns all over his come morning, but he couldn’t care less. “Daddy’s gonna take good care of you.”

“Fuck.” Peter loved it when they said it first. He always felt awkward bringing it up, always felt weird asking to call someone daddy, or even just saying it out of the blue. Not that he ever received a bad reaction, but he was just afraid one of these days someone might not like it so much. “Fuck, daddy, your mouth feels so good,” he cried, writhing on the bed and rutting against the older man’s leg. His cock was impossibly hard and leaking so much precum he was worried he’d ruin Tony’s very expensive-looking pants, but not worried enough to stop. He could feel the older man’s hard-on pressing against his thigh and his mouth filled with saliva just thinking about what it looked like, how good it would taste on his tongue – fuck.

Tony kept alternating between his nipples, sucking and biting them until they almost hurt from how sensitive they became – swollen and red from the abuse. Sensing it, the older man made his way down his abs, dragging his teeth and tongue all over his skin and quivering muscles, until Peter was no longer able to rub against his leg, but it didn’t stop him from trying. The older man stopped when he reached his cock and Peter blushed a little. He was always a little self-conscious about that part of him, he knew he was a little on the small side, but Tony didn’t seem to mind at all.

“You have such a pretty cock, baby, so hard already, you’re leaking all over, making such a mess.” His hot breath on Peter’s sensitive, flushed skin made him shiver, body trembling with anticipation, as he tried to breathe deeply to avoid a disaster. “Daddy’s gonna take care of it now, ok? You just sit back and relax.”

He swallowed Peter’s whole cock in one go and the younger man went to heaven and back in a matter of seconds, eyes rolling, back arched off the bed, hands grabbing the other man’s head desperately, toes curling in warning. He moaned loudly, beyond caring if Tony would find it weird, his fingers were shaking, skin shivering. The brunette didn’t seem to mind, though, as he pulled back slowly to suck the very tip of his cock, only to go all the way down again, until Peter could feel the back of his throat and the way it squeezed his cock when he swallowed.

He was good, fuck, he was so good, probably the best Peter ever had, some guys didn’t even care if he got off or not, some didn’t even mind much if he was hard. Not this guy – fuck – this guy didn’t even seem like he cared about getting himself off; from the moment their lips touched for the first time it was all about Peter.

His hands traveled up Peter’s legs from the back of his knees, touch so light he could barely feel it, but a jolt of electricity traveled all the way up to the back of his neck, his hole fluttered around nothing, he was so fucking empty all of a sudden. Tony’s hands reached his ass and he palmed his cheeks hungrily, his fingers were strong and rough as they lifted Peter’s lower half from the bed to meet his mouth halfway. It felt so good, being manhandled like that by such a powerful, gorgeous man, he was going insane seeing that mop of brown-gray hair bobbing up and down on his cock, he was –

“Fuck, daddy, stop, stop – I’m gonna –“

He stopped almost immediately, letting his cock go with a pop and a smirk. He reached for the night stand, where a bottle of lube and a packet of condom sat innocently. Ah, he had planned it. Of course he had, he went to that meeting knowing that he wouldn’t come up to his room alone. Peter was just glad he was the lucky one.

Tony threw the supplies on the bed, then ran his wide, open palms from Peter’s thighs to his ankles, before placing them on his shoulders. He kissed both of his knees sweetly and Peter didn’t really know why, but it made him shiver, his nipples perked up and he gasped, biting his lower lip. Tony leaned forward, folding him almost in half, and took his mouth possessively, capturing his lips like they belonged to him, like it was his right. His tongue fucked into his mouth like a promise and Peter felt helpless and hot all over, hole quivering desperately, begging for touch.

“You were lying earlier, baby boy, you’re just as sweet as I imagined,” he murmured against his lips, before dragging his mouth across his jawline, his goatee scratching his face in the most sweet torture he could imagine. When Tony bit his ear, he felt his wet, slick finger trying to breach him and he yelped in surprise. Again, when had that happened? The older man made him feel so out of it, he thought he was missing time. “You okay?” He asked, seriously, stopping at once.

“Yeah, I’m good, just kiss me,” Peter didn’t mean to sound so needy, and he usually didn’t, but fuck. That guy was messing with his head. Tony smirked and obeyed; his soft, wet lips could almost swallow Peter whole, it drove him mad with want. He barely felt as the finger tried to breach him again, successfully this time, then went deeper and deeper until it was fully sheathed inside him. He whined into Tony’s mouth as he rocked against it, craving that sweet friction, that slight burn on his rim.

Tony fucked his finger in and out of his hole slowly, carefully, it slid easily with the help of a lot of lube. It was such a sweet kind of torture, the promise of something so much better, bigger –

“Fuck,” He squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lip until it hurt, as he tried to reign in the pleasure when Tony brushed against his prostate. “Right there, daddy, please...” He could barely form words when he felt the older man slide yet another finger inside him, as he kissed his neck soothingly. “Oh, fuck.”

“Doing okay, sweetie?” He asked quietly against his skin, fingers moving ever so gently until Peter nodded his head frantically and he chuckled, resuming his pace from earlier that night. He scissored his digits and curled them inside him, as Peter moved with him trying to get him to go deeper, faster, harder, he didn’t really know anymore, but he saw white when Tony found his sweet spot again.

“I-I’m not gonna last, daddy,” he warned, feeling another jolt of pleasure course through him when Tony pressured against his prostate yet again. “Pl-please!”

“You beg so nicely,” he whispered against his lips, drawing his fingers out of his hole. He sat up straight on his knees, letting Peter’s legs fall from his shoulders, as he started undoing his pants. “Are you gonna take it like a good boy, huh?” he asked, lowering his pants just enough to free his cock and Peter gasped, because it was fucking gorgeous – long, thick and veiny, and so fucking hard it was dripping, head flushed almost purple, it looked painful. “Do you wanna help daddy get it ready for your little hole?” He asked, stroking it slowly, and Peter up quickly, licking his lips. “Open your mouth, baby, there you go. Just the tip, ok? Don’t make daddy come too early.”

The younger man barely let him finish before he was licking and sucking the head of his cock into his mouth, groaning in satisfaction when the salty, bitter taste of his precum filled his mouth. He held the shaft with one hand, pumping it, and when he looked up he saw Tony with his eyes closed, mouth parted open and he almost came untouched right then and there. “Fuck,” he whispered, pushing Peter’s head away gently, and he whined unhappily.

Tony smirked as he got out of the bed to take his pants and underwear off, returning quickly to push Peter back onto the mattress. The younger man parted his legs, eager for what was to come, and Tony wasted no time, the blunt head of his cock started breaching him unrelentingly. Peter threw his head back, crying out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, he wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but it was good, fucking perfect.

“Sh, shh, you can take it, I know you can, baby.” He placed sweet kisses on Peter’s neck as each inch of his cock was forced into him, and it felt endless, so big, it wasn’t gonna fit, it wasn’t –“There you go, baby, so good for me, such a good boy.” He whispered against his hair and Peter felt so full, his head was dizzy, he felt so out of it, light, floating, and so fucking good. “Doing okay there, sweetie?”

“Yes, daddy, feels so good,” He was able to answer, grabbing the older man’s face to drag him down for a filthy kiss. “You feel so fucking good, fuck me.”

“As you wish.” He grinned, pulling back slowly only to slam back into him hard, making him see stars. He set a hallucinating pace, hammering into Peter like a madman, hands clutching his ass, his thighs, his waist, leaving bruises everywhere. The younger man wrapped his legs around him for leverage as he rocked back against him just as hard, fingers leaving marks on strong shoulders. Peter saw white when his orgasm took him by surprise – he hadn’t even touched his cock – and when Tony saw it, he lost it. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot.” He kissed him again, sloppy, dirty, wet, and Peter’s hole was sensitive, but it felt so fucking good, he thought would come again. Tony grunted against his lips when he came, hips bucking a few times, before his body fell limply on top Peter, the younger man’s legs falling apart to make room for him.

They lay there for what felt like hours, Tony’s body felt heavy, but good, it grounded him. He shut his eyes and let his fingers run across his broad back as they both tried to catch their breaths. After a while, Tony pulled off, placed a kiss on his abused, swollen lips, and got up from the bed. Peter hissed at the slight burn, but said nothing as the older man headed to the bathroom.

He heard the slick sound of the condom being taken off and thrown in the trash, then he head the tap running and, after a few seconds, Tony came back with a wet towel and gently cleaned his chest and stomach, and Peter smiled, eyes fluttering shut. He wouldn’t fall asleep, though, of course he wouldn’t. He had to go home, back to his own bed, back to real life.

The older man got back in bed and pulled Peter closer, let him rest his head on his chest, and they lay there silently for a while longer, but it didn’t feel weird or awkward, it was nice, Tony’s fingers scratched his scalp as Peter’s fingers drew figures on his skin. It was getting pretty late, though, and he still had to catch the train. He sat up lazily, stretched, then got up to find his clothes.

“Can I see you again?” He was surprised to hear the older man’s voice. He turned around, already buttoning up his shirt, and smirked, as he approached the bed. He covered the older man’s eyes with a hand, playfully.

“I don’t know, can you?” He grinned when Tony grabbed his wrist, an annoyed huff leaving his lips.

“Cheeky.” He kissed his knuckles like he had earlier that night, then looked up at him with a resigned expression. “Is that a no?”

“It’s a ‘give it a try’” Peter winked, smiling honestly. He wasn’t against seeing the older man again, as long as they kept it casual. He didn’t usually go for second “dates” - or fucks – be he could make a few rare exceptions here and there.

“Good.” He smiled that beautiful, genuine smile of his and got up from the bed in all his naked glory. “When you get downstairs, there will be a grumpy-looking man waiting out front. That’s my driver. I’ll text him to take you anywhere you need to go.”

“Oh, there’s no need, really –“

“Let’s skip this part, just accept it, sweetheart. It’s late, if you go out there by yourself and something happens, I feel like that’s on me, and I don’t need that on my conscience.” He took Peter by the chin and pulled him closer, giving him one last kiss. “I’ll see you soon.”

Peter figured he didn’t mean it, he didn’t even ask for his phone number, but that was okay.

~-*-~

“How are you doing, man? It feels like we haven’t talked in ages.” Ned was on speaker because Peter couldn’t seem to find his one good, clean shirt that was supposed to be on the top drawer of the dresser, but it wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“That’s because it’s been ages, dude. I miss you. Stop pulling that disappearing act, will you?” His voice sounded a little sad and Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I know, I’m sorry, life’s crazy when you don’t have a cool, tech job, you know? I’m killing myself here trying to make ends meet.” There was no bite to his tone and Ned knew he wasn’t being bitter, Peter was actually proud of him. When they graduated high school, his friend got accepted into Caltech and was hired by a big company right out of college. He had a nice life in Malibu, it seemed, but Peter never got to visit him.

“You could have one, you know that.” Again, Peter sighed, he hated hearing that familiar sound of disappointment in his voice.

“So, how’s work, anyway?” He changed the subject quickly, finally finding his shirt under the bed, for whatever reason. His phone announced a new message and a quick look revealed it was from Adrian Toomes, the guy he was supposed to meet in an hour and he was already running late. He seemed nice when they talked on Tinder, he had kind, blue eyes, but he was also a little older then Peter would usually go for, but he thought he’d give it a try.

“It’s ok, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Stark Industries is about to launch a new power plant that’s supposed to generate renewable, clean energy, at really low prices.” Peter paused for a second when he heard the name, but then it all made sense, why it had sounded so familiar. Ned had been working for Stark Industries ever since he graduated last fall. “So it’s been a little crazy, but it’s good.”

“Oh, yeah, cool.” He sat on the bed to tie his shoelaces and couldn’t keep his mind from wandering. He remembered that glorious night with Tony and it sent shivers down his spine. He hadn’t thought of that in a while, it had been three weeks since then and, sure enough, no word from him.

“Dude, you know I’m worried about you, right?” Ned asked and Peter flopped on the bed, sighing.

“No need to, Ned, seriously, I’m fine, I’m more than fine, actually.” It felt like the hundredth time that he had to say that in the last half hour.

“Really? When was the last time you saw May?” Peter squeezed his eyes shut at that, refusing to feel the burn of tears that were sure to follow every time he thought of her. He missed her so much, but couldn’t bear the look on her face whenever they met and she realized he’d never amount to anything anymore.

“I don’t know, Christmas?” He shrugged, alone in his messy, tiny room in Brooklyn, and he missed his tiny, old room in Queens, which always smelled of May’s nasty cooking.

“Dude, fuck, that was eight months ago, what about your birthday?” He sounded alarmed for some reason, and Peter flinched, because, yeah – almost a year. Almost a whole goddamned year.

“We talked on the phone. I was busy.” He muttered, fumbling with the hem of his shirt, like a kid who knew he’d messed up.

“Doing what?” Came the outraged reply.

“Stuff.”

“Peter, c’mon!” Ned sighed, frustrated, and Peter pinched his nose, shutting his eyes.

“Ned, stop this, it’s –”

“I just… You’re killing yourself, man, you don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve any of this. You deserve to go to a good college, get a good job, have a good relationship with your aunt, who’s your only fucking family, and –“

“Look, I gotta go, I’m late for work. Catch you later?” He asked in a haste, sitting up and taking the phone from the bed. There were three texts from Adrian asking if he was close, and he typed in a quick answer as he flew out the door.

“Sure, man. Talk later.” As always, Ned sounded tired and disappointed, and that was exactly why they never talked anymore.

~–*–~

“Hey, Parker, table three asked for you specifically.” Brad rolled his eyes impatiently as he handed Peter the menu. “You always get the best fucking tables,” he grumbled, walking away towards the kitchen.

Peter took a deep breath and braced himself for what was bound to be a night of unwanted flirting and maybe even some ass groping, which was what usually happened when someone asked for him specifically. That place was a dump, they couldn’t careless if the waiters were harassed by the clients, as long as they payed for their food. Well, he hoped some good tipping was involved, otherwise he would lose his shit, he really wasn’t having a good day.

When he headed towards the table, though, he quickly recognized those smart, brown eyes staring back at him, that cocky smirk framing perfect, straight, white teeth and the honey-like voice that greeted him.

“Missed me?” He asked coolly, but Peter knew better than that, a man like Tony Stark wouldn’t casually walk into a dumpster in Brooklyn to have dinner on a Thursday evening. He was there for a reason.

“How did you know where to find me?” Peter raised his eyebrows, clutching the menu, and the older man just looked amused.

“I have my ways,” he replied unhelpfully, with a smug, self-satisfied grin, and Peter couldn’t help but smile back, even though it was a little creepy.

“Should I be worried?” He asked, placing the menu in front of the older man and, sure enough, he didn’t even try to pretend to be interested in it.

“Probably.” He shrugged, eyes never leaving Peter’s body, like they were actually trying to burn holes in his clothes. “So, is the waiter on the menu?” He cocked his head to the side, trying to look at Peter’s ass, and the younger man chuckled, shaking his head at his antics.

“I’m afraid not, sir.” He looked around to check if anyone was listening in on them, and once he was satisfied, leaned down a little to whisper closer to the older man’s ear. “But he gets off at eleven if you wanna ask him again.” A wide grin spread across the man’s perfect face, accentuating the little crow feet around his eyes.

“My driver will meet you out front.”

“Sh, sh, shhh, nice and slow, sweetie, nice and slow… There you go. Good boy.” Peter felt like crying as he rode the older man’s cock painfully slowly, knuckles white from clutching the solid muscles on his shoulders like his life depended on it. With one hand, Tony held his right hip firmly, dictating the pace, and with the other he was stroking Peter’s cock, pumping it lazily, as he kissed his jaw and nipped his neck. “Such a sweet boy.”

“Daddy, please, I need to come so badly,” he begged, eyes squeezed shut, hips twitching, wanting to go faster. He felt so full, and stretched, and perfect, he just wanted to ride the hell out of that dick and find his release, but the mere sound of Tony’s voice telling him to go slow was enough to pin him to place. Fuck, the things he’d let that man do to him.

“Not now, honey, I’ll make it good for you, I promise,” he whispered against his lips, before taking them roughly. Peter cupped the older man’s face with both of his hands, kissing him back with just as much hunger and despair, trying with all his heart to keep the slow pace that Tony imposed.

“You’re killing me.” He bit Tony’s lip harder than necessary and the older man smirked, biting him back, as his right hand left his hip to tug his hair. Peter moaned as he sunk back down on his cock, trying to take it as deeply as it could possibly go and it drove him a little mad when it brushed against his prostate for the hundredth time that night. He moved upwards until the head of his cock almost slipped out of him, making them both hiss, Peter’s dick was leaking so much precum Tony’s stomach was soaking wet with it.

“You’re such an impatient brat,” he grumbled, tugging Peter’s hair hard enough to make him tilt his head back, exposing his throat, and Tony attacked it with soft bites and kisses. “It feels amazing inside of you, I’m just enjoying it for as long as I can, is it to much to ask?” His hand slid from the back of his head all the way down his back to his ass and Tony grabbed it roughly, squeezing his right cheek before slapping it loudly.

“You’re mean,” he whined softly, but he shivered all over at the words, the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the cock inside him brushed his prostate yet again. “Daddy!”

“Take what you need, baby, c’mon.” Finally, sweet permission. Peter let himself go with abandon, holding on to Tony’s shoulders as he bounced on his cock for dear life, trying messily to thrust into the tight squeeze of his fist at the same time. “That’s it, baby, come for me, come on.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He slipped over the edge, falling limp in Tony’s arms, and the older man flipped him easily, lying him on the couch, manhandling him like he was a rag doll, only to pound him into the cushions, taking his pleasure from him like it was his god-given right. Fuck, he was so hot with his face all scrunched up in pleasure, in ecstasy, as he came inside Peter. He wished he could feel his seed sliding out of him, he really did.

They lay there for a while, breathing heavily, and again Peter felt like Tony’s weight on top of him was grounding and soothing. It didn’t last long, though, as the older man rolled off of him and headed for the bathroom, coming out a few minutes later with a wet towel to clean him up.

“How do you feel about room service?” He asked, once he was done, as he sat back on the couch with Peter’s legs on his lap. “I’m starving, that ting you called a steak hardly counts as dinner.”

“Ah, which reminds me,” Peter reached for his jeans on the floor, struggling a little. He pulled out the five hundred dollars Tony had left on the table from his left pocket and offered it to the older man, who raised a brow. “I’m a little slutty, but you do know I’m not actually a hooker, right?”

“What? I just really enjoyed the service back in the restaurant.” He feigned innocence but accepted the money back, throwing it on the couch. “I was just trying to show my appreciation.”

“I can think of a few other ways you can show your appreciation,” Peter smirked, parting his legs, making Tony laugh loudly.

“Starting with some food, how about that? You must be hungry, too.” He squeezed Peter’s calves, and the younger man bit his lip. He should really leave, he really wasn’t the type to stay around after fucking. It just felt weird and overly intimate to be with a person after you’re both sated, it seemed besides the point. Still--

“Sounds good.”

The older man grinned and quickly grabbed the phone to place an order, Peter couldn’t understand half the words he said, really, but he’d eat pretty much anything. Feeling a little self-conscious to be naked now that they were done, he crossed his arms over his chest, not sure if he should get dressed, or if it was rude or whatever, he really wasn’t familiar with that part.

“Are you cold?” Tony probably noticed him rubbing his arms.

“Yeah, a little,” he answered sheepishly, and the older man got up from the couch, heading for the bathroom again, coming back with two robes.

“Here. It is a bit chilly.” Peter accepted it with a sigh of relief and quickly covered himself with the soft, fluffy robe. Tony grinned when Peter snuggled on the couch like a satisfied cat, then walked to the mini bar in his own robe, which somehow made him look expensive and refined, not like he had just stepped out of a bath. “So, how long have you worked at that restaurant?”

“I don’t know, too long, for sure.” Peter smiled, watching as the older man filled two glasses with scotch from tiny bottles. “Why, do you wanna hire me? Not as an escort, I hope.”

“That wouldn’t be such a terrible idea. I could keep you on my arm like a pretty accessory, people would assume you were just a dumb gold-digger. Then you’d open your mouth and knock them dead with that brilliant brain of yours. I’d pay good money to see that.” Tony came back with the glasses then offered one to Peter, as he sat on the couch by his side. “But seriously, kid, you’re so smart. Thought you’d be doing something else. I actually looked you up to make sure you weren’t a corporate spy working for Oscorps or something, that’s how I knew where to find you.”

“Told you, just a waiter.” He shrugged, growing uncomfortable with the subject, and the older man must have picked up on that, because he dropped it immediately.

“Did you get a chance to read my paper?” He asked with a curious glint in his eyes and Peter nodded excitedly.

“Yes, I looked it up, it’s genius! Where the fuck did that idea come from?”

Everything became easier after that, they spent hours talking about the arc reactor, how it worked, and how Tony got the idea for it. When the food arrived, they sat at the small table in the room and somehow ended up talking about Tony’s time at MIT – Peter’s dream college –, about Stark industries, what life was like in Malibu. Peter had no idea what he was eating, but it was delicious, and so was the wine. It was nearing 2AM when they finished and Peter started getting dressed.

“You can stay over, you know, plenty of room in the bed.” Tony announced from his spot on the couch, nursing yet another glass of scotch.

“Oh, I noticed.” Peter smirked, but didn’t reply to what the older man said, as he continued to get dressed. Tony didn’t say anything for a few minutes, just kept watching Peter like some sort of predator.

“What a man’s got to do to get your phone number, huh?” The older man’s voice startled him when he was fully dressed and he turned around, raising an eyebrow.

“You could try asking for it.” He smirked, seeing a similar expression take over Tony’s face.

“Can I have you number, kid?” He asked, amused, and Peter pretended to think, tapping his chin.

“I don’t know, I kinda like my privacy.” He sighed, and the older man threw a cushion at him, making him giggle. He told him the number, though, and Tony typed it into his phone.

“Is that your real number? Will you actually answer if I call?” He narrowed his eyes and Peter shrugged.

“You’ll have to figure that out yourself.” He crossed his arms over his chest when Tony got up from the couch, approaching him slowly.

“Why do you have to be such a tease about everything, you little minx?” His robe was tied very loosely around his waist, his chest was almost completely exposed, Peter’s fingers twitched, wanting to touch it.

“I’m a man of mystery” He answered gravely, feeling the older man’s strong arms wrapping around his waist.

“You’re an asshole,” Tony muttered against his neck as he bit it, and Peter giggled, trying to get away.

“You like my asshole.” They burst out laughing and Tony pulled him into one last kiss.

~-*-~

Walking inside that apartment felt like time-traveling. Everything was exactly how he left it years ago, May didn’t move a single vase out of place. He suspected that his room would still be the same, too, but didn’t dare to check. He sat on the couch and observed May’s features, she looked older. Still incredibly gorgeous, yes, but older. The only thing in the apartment that gave away that time had moved on.

“Mr. Delmar asked about you the other day.” She smiled, sipping her coffee.

“It’s been a while.” He admitted, watching her face become more serious as she nodded slowly.

Fuck, this was such a bad idea, he shouldn’t have come. Ever since his talk with Ned, he was feeling guilty about not visiting May, but sitting there, in his childhood home, with the woman who raised him like a mother, felt – wrong. He didn’t deserve to be there. He should never be there. He ruined her.

“It wasn’t your fault, Pete,” she could always tell what he was thinking – another good reason not to visit. “There was nothing you could have done to –“

“I was right there, May,” he cut her off, quietly, rubbing his hands at his face. They’d had that conversation at least a million times over the years and it still felt draining. “He pointed the gun at me first, you know. Ben protected me. I stood there, frozen, like a scared little boy. I didn’t –“

“What were you supposed to do? Jump in front of the bullet? Die in his place? Peter, he would never want you to do that, I would never want you to do that! You were like a son to him, to us, it was our duty to protect you, not the other way around!” She pleaded, desperate, and he looked away from her. No matter what she said, he looked at her, at how – broken she was, and he knew it was because of him. Because he couldn’t help Ben. Because her husband gave his life to save his, and Ben was a hardworking, kind, loving man, who had May and tons of friends, and Peter was just – worthless. He knew, deep down, May could see that too.

“Nevermind, I’m just gonna –“

“It was hard for me, too, Pete.” She said, suddenly. “I know you were a kid and you loved him like a father, but he was my husband. My life partner. It was hard for me, too.” Her eyes were shining when she looked at him briefly and his heart broke to pieces to see how devastated she was, but she looked away quickly.

“I never said it wasn’t, May –“

“But it wasn’t your fault. Never, in a million years, could anyone ever blame you. I just… I don’t know why you keep pushing me away. I know I’m not your blood like Ben was, but you’re still my nephew, no matter what. I raised you like a son.” She was crying openly now and Peter couldn’t even reach out to comfort her.

“I’m so sorry, May.” He covered his face with his hands, unwilling to look at her, unwilling to let her see the tears forming in his own eyes at her admission. “It’s not you, okay? It’s just – I need – I-I miss you, too.”

After Ben’s death, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bear to look at May. He couldn’t bear to be in the apartment. He figured they reminded him of Ben, of his parents, of better days, but it wasn’t just that. He was 16 when Ben died and it broke him, it took him back to that dark place he’d been in at 10, after his parents’ death. He couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t leave the house. He failed so many classes, by the time they were supposed to apply for colleges, he didn’t have many options and, weirdly enough, he didn’t really care. May was devastated, she cried for months. It was hard, looking at her.

But she didn’t deserve what he was doing to her, so he sucked it up and smiled.

“I promise I’m gonna visit more often, ok? Are you free on Sunday?”

~– * –~

It was Saturday night and Peter was just lounging on his bed, after a long shift at the restaurant, when his phone ringed. He didn’t recognize the number, but he figured it could be one of the guys he hooked up with in the past, and he was really bored, so.

“Hello?”

“Ah, so this really is your number.” Peter was a little surprised to hear that voice. After he left the hotel, a couple of weeks prior, Tony never called or texted, so he thought that was the end of their little adventure. He smiled to himself.

“Took you long enough to figure that out.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, kid, I meant to call earlier, but that whole world domination plan is still a thing, so I’m a little short on time. But I’ll be in New York next Thursday, any chance you could make some time for me then? Say, around nine?”

Peter bit his lower lip, considering. He enjoyed Tony’s company, he really did, the man was smart and funny, and he made Peter feel so fucking good when they fucked. He was also a great kisser, a very attentive lover and just generally a nice guy. The thing was, Peter couldn’t even remember the last time he had a third date with someone and, to be completely honest, he usually tried to avoid those, he didn’t want to send the wrong message. But Tony lived in California, anyway, and he only called when he was in town, looking for sex, so what was the harm in going?

“Sure, yeah. I can make that work.” He shrugged at the empty room.

“Sweet. Dress nice, I’m taking you somewhere fancy.”

“Oh, God, no, there’s no --” Peter rubbed at his face, already feeling anxious just to think about the sort of restaurants Tony usually went to.

“Hey, don’t even try, I’m gonna feed you before I fuck you, it’s common courtesy and I’m a gentleman. You just didn’t give me a chance before, you jumped me before I could even offer you a drink.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you complaining, what with your tongue so far down my throat.” Peter grinned and heard the other man chuckle.

“Happy will pick you up at nine, brat. Text me the address sometime this week.”

Peter was still a little tipsy from the fancy wine they had at dinner and the scotch they had later. Tony wasn’t kidding when he said it was a fancy restaurant, he felt weird and out of place at first, but the older man made everything seem so normal and natural, he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that his brain seemed to stop functioning properly around him.

They ended up back in his hotel room, where they had the sloppiest, messiest, drunkest sex anyone had ever had and Peter was lying on his stomach with his eyes closed, slowly sobering up as the minutes ticked by. Tony was sitting with his back against the headboard, running his fingertips lightly across Peter’s shoulders, talking about his PA, Pepper Potts, and how he couldn’t run the company without her, because he was such a slacker. He was still drinking scotch and Peter honestly had no idea how he wasn’t completely trashed, even though he was clearly not sober either.

“You were really young when you took over the company, right?” Peter slurred, sleepily, as Tony’s fingers slid up the back of his neck and into his hair, massaging his scalp. The younger man closed his eyes, purring.

“Yeah, I was around twenty or something.” For the first time since they met, Tony’s voice was quiet, not booming with confidence or mirth, just quiet and soft.

“Because your parents died?” Peter whispered, eyes still closed, but Tony’s hand in his hair didn’t even falter, so he figured it wasn’t a touchy subject.

“Yeah.”

“How did you cope so well?” He opened his eyes and the older man was resting his head against the headboard, eyes closed, face relaxed and open, fingers still scratching his scalp. It took Peter by surprise how at ease he seemed to be around him, it made him blush and feel – what was he feeling?

“I didn’t, kid, I was all over the place. I got drunk every night, got high everyday. I fucked so many people it’s miracle I didn’t get some fucked up STD. My twenties are a fucking blur.” He turned to look at the younger man and he felt so small under his gaze.

“But you’re better now.” He whispered, trying hard not to break eye contact. The older man smiled.

“Yeah, this might come as a surprise to you, but it’s been a while since I was twenty.” Tony grinned and Peter raised his upper body, supporting his weight on his elbows. Tony slid his knuckles across his cheeks, and Peter’s eyes fluttered shut. “Did you lose your parents, too?” He asked, softly, and Peter thought about avoiding the question, but he was too drunk and too tired to be mysterious.

“Yeah, when I was ten. I-I was all over the place, too, and just when I thought I was getting better, I lost my uncle – and I. I couldn’t help him. He was like a father to me. I think it fucked me up for good, you know?” He winced while trying to smile, and the older man tried to smooth down the lines on his forehead with his fingers.

“Nah, it gets better. I promise.”

“That’s nice to hear.” He smiled, even though he didn’t believe him, and Tony could probably tell. “How come you never married?” Tony raised and eyebrow, amused, and Peter shrugged. “You’re hot, smart, rich. Like, people must throw themselves at you all the time. Are you a confirmed bachelor or something?”

“It just never happened. I guess when you have so many – attractive features, it’s difficult to tell who’s there for the right reasons.” He pinched Peter’s nose and the younger man scrunched up his face, making Tony laugh. “Why? Are you gonna propose? Got a ring hidden up this cute little butt? Let me check.” He playfully patted and squeezed Peter’s ass cheeks and he squealed, laughing hard.

“You wish!” He giggled when Tony started tickling his ribs, batting his hands away and turning over on the bed. “Stop!” The older man crawled on top of him, caging his head between him arms as Peter panted, trying to catch his breath. He didn’t have a chance to do so, because Tony started kissing him gently and deeply, slowly, and Peter melted into the bed. The man was such a good kisser, he could swear he must have taken a course somewhere or something like that. When he pulled away, Peter took a deep breath. “I have to go now.”

“You want to go now.” Tony corrected, but he was smiling. He rolled off of his body, not before leaving a peck on his lips. “Happy will be waiting for you out front. Drink lots of water, you don’t wanna have a hang over tomorrow.”

“You do realize you’re not really my dad, right?” Peter narrowed his eyes at the older man and he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Oh, no, trust me, if I were, you wouldn’t be this bratty.”

–*--

Bored out of my mind

Tony’s text lighted up Peter’s phone screen and he smiled, shaking his head as he pocketed it to serve his tables. That was a thing, now, apparently. He and Tony texting. They had been doing it for a few weeks, ever since the older man left the last time. He was fine with that. They were friends, Tony made him laugh, and there was the added benefit of sex whenever he was in town, there was really no harm.

His phone vibrated in his pocket a few other times as he worked, he figure they were more texts from Tony, or maybe even from May or Ned. He had been trying to talk to them more often and, slowly, it stopped feeling weird and forced. Slowly, it started feeling good again.

Once his shift was over and he walked home, he took a quick shower and opened his texts. There two from Tony, one with a picture of his bored face and another one saying “entertain me”. There was a text from Ned letting him know that he planned to come home for Christmas and a missed call from May that he’d return later.

More importantly, there was a notification from Tinder. When he opened it, he saw that he was matched with a guy named Quentin Beck. He was 38, so not a lot older, but still. He looked gorgeous, with pale blue eyes and a lumberjack beard. It had been a while since he had gone out with anyone besides Tony – actually, when he thought about it, he hadn’t really talked to anyone new in a very long time.

So when the guy asked him if he wanted to meet that night, he went. He didn’t really want to go, even though the guy was gorgeous and apparently very nice, but he went anyway. They made small talk in the guy’s living room, but they soon moved to his bedroom. He was okay, not amazing, Peter had to get himself off or he wouldn’t come. It was whatever, he felt a little used, a little weird, but didn’t think much about it.

When he got home, he texted Tony a picture of himself making a silly face, along with a text: “I hope this is entertaining enough.” Not even two minutes later, he got a text with a picture of the older man with a hand over his heart, making a dramatic face. “I’m not entertained, I’m in love, but thanks for trying.”

Peter laughed alone in his room at Tony’s joke, shaking his head, and for some reason, his night got a little better.

–*--

“I missed you so much, baby boy.” Tony whispered in his ear from behind and he shivered all over, clutching the wooden headboard as the older man slammed against him, chest touching his back, arms firmly wrapped around his waist. Fuck, he missed Tony, too, so much, even though they’d been talking every day for months, they hadn’t met in a long time, Peter was climbing the walls by the time the older man announced he’d be in town for the weekend. “Come for me, baby, come on.” He wrapped a hand around Peter’s cock and it took only two pumps to push him over the edge, as he moaned loudly, hole clenching around Tony’s dick as the older man came, too, grunting against his neck.

After a few seconds catching his breath, Tony pulled away, still holding Peter from behind, kissing his neck, his ears, and tickling his ribs. Peter giggled, trying to get away, but the older man wouldn’t let him.

“Tony, cut it out!” He squealed, and finally the older man let him go. Breathing hard and still giggling a bit, he stepped out of the bed and hurried to the bathroom to clean himself up. “I really have to go, I’m so, so late!” Peter couldn’t afford to give up his shift at the restaurant, money was really tight that month, so he and Tony managed to squeeze an hour between the end of the man’s meetings and the beginning of Peter’s shift, but he was already running late.

He went around the room putting on his clothes, and when he was finally ready, Tony got up from the bed to meet him at the door.

“You need a new jacket” He muttered against his lips as they shared a final kiss. They both looked down at Peter’s pitiful jacket, there were at least two visible holes on it, and Peter knew there was another one under his left arm that Tony couldn’t see.

“Tell that to my bank account.” He joked, watching a dissatisfied look take over Tony’s face.

“Let me buy you one.” He asked seriously, wrapping his arms around his waist, and Peter rolled his eyes.

“Tony –“

“Please. We’ve been seeing each other for what, five months now? I’ve never got you a gift, do you know how hard this is for me? I’m a billionaire, I like spending money on people, you’re killing me with this ‘no gifts policy’, kid.”

“You’re impossible.” He shook his head, smiling, and the older man looked hopeful, arms tightening around his waist.

“So, what do you say? I have the afternoon off tomorrow, I could take you shopping.” He wiggled his eyebrows and Peter raised one finger in front of his face.

“Not shopping. One jacket. One single jacket. I mean it.” He said gravely, only to see a grin spread across Tony’s face.

“Gorgeous. Exquisite.” He adjusted the lapels of Peter’s new jacket, then his new scarf, which matched his new gloves perfectly. They had just stepped out of the store and Peter was still a little freaked out that there were no price tags on the clothes and Tony didn’t let him check the receipt. “And cute as a button.” He pecked his lips.

“You’re impossible!” He said as Tony clasped a hand on the back of his neck and guided him down the street, walking straight by Happy and his car. Peter frowned. “Aren’t we going back to the hotel?” They had met at the store after Tony’s meetings were over, so they hadn’t got a chance to be alone yet.

“How about some hot chocolate first?” He offered, walking them towards a coffee shop just down the street, and Peter shrugged, agreeing. Tony slid his arm across Peter’s shoulders and pulled him closer, and the younger man tucked himself under his arm contently, sighing at the warmth.

When they got to the coffee shop, Tony told him to take a seat while he ordered. He stared out the window as he waited, thinking that Christmas was just around the corner and how fast that year had gone by and how much had changed, specially over the last few months. He smiled to himself, feeling silly and happy, for the first time in a very long time.

“What is it, did someone fall on their butt?” Tony asked when he arrived with their drinks, looking out the window curiously. Peter chuckled, shaking his head, but didn’t offer anymore information. He eyed the mugs of hot chocolate filled to the brim with whipped-cream and his mouth watered.

Tony sat by his side on the booth and Peter took the beverage with both hands, trying to steal some of its warmth, and when he took the first sip, some of the whipped-cream smeared his nose and upper lip. He went cross-eyed trying to lick it clean, and heard Tony laughing out loud beside him.

“Oh, no, wait, wait!” He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and directed the camera at Peter. The young man made a bored face as Tony took the picture. “And that is my new wallpaper, thanks,” he beamed, turning to look at Peter again. “C’mere,” before the young man could react, Tony licked the tip of his nose clean.

“Tony!” There were tears in his eyes from how much he was laughing, even though he was punching the older man’s arm in protest.

~-*-~

“I don’t want you to make a big deal out of this, ok?” Peter warned seriously and heard Ned agree eagerly. They had been talking more often over the last few months, just like he was trying to visit May at least once a weak. “I’m gonna start attending community college next year.” He bit his lower lip nervously, a little afraid of what Ned would think. May had cried tears of joy for hours when he told her, but he and Ned had once made plans to be roommates at MIT and he had graduated from CalTech last fall, so--

“Peter, holy fuck! Dude, I can’t – I’m so fucking happy for you! That’s what I’m talking about, you’re awesome, you’re gonna do great, and then –“

“Okay, calm down, like I said, let’s not make a big deal out of this, ok? It’s just something that I’m gonna try and it might not work, so chill.” He smiled to himself, a little relieved that Ned was happy for him, but what did he expect? He was the best friend Peter could hope for.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, no, sure. Of course. Super chill.” He was silent for just a few seconds, before he spoke excitedly again. “But I’m so happy, Pete. You’re – I’m glad to see you’re doing okay.”

“Speaking of seeing, are you coming home for Christmas? I miss you, dude, haven’t seen you in what, two years?”

“Yeah, I’ll come, and I have good news of my own! Are you sitting down?” Peter confirmed, amused. “Ok, remember I told you about Stark Industries new power plant and stuff?”

“Yes?” Peter blushed at the mention of the name Stark. Ned had no idea that he’d been banging his boss, so it was always weird when he talked about his job.

“It’s gonna operate in New York, they were putting together a team to transfer there, and guess who’s going?”

“Shut up!”

“Yeah! I’m going home, dude, for good! And best part is, I’m gonna work closely with Mr. Stark, I’m talking about same floor kinda deal, dude.” Peter froze.

“Wait, what? But I thought T – Mr. Stark lived in Malibu?” Surely Ned must be mistaken, Tony loved Malibu, he would never leave it for New York, that was stupid. He wasn’t coming.

“Yeah, dude, but he’s moving to New York next year, after they launch the power plant. He’s moving the headquarters of S.I. to New York.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Peter tried to take a deep breath, he just needed to rationalize this. They just couldn’t be together once he moved, that would be – they weren’t dating or anything, because Tony lived thousands of miles away, so if he came, it would be different, because they would be living in the same city, and just – really, they weren’t dating, Peter didn’t date, so they weren’t dating, so it was fine, he’d just call Tony and let him know that their arrangement was over, which was fine, he didn’t –

“Oh. Cool.” He remembered that Ned was still on the line.

“Yeah, tell me about it. I’m psyched!”

–

“Hey, Pete. Are you ok?” Tony answered on the second ring, sounding surprised and on alert. “You never call.”

“Sorry, did I disturb you? Can you talk?” He asked, nervously. There was a reason he never called Tony, he was a busy, important man, he had meetings to go and things to create and money to make, he couldn’t possibly have time for Peter.

“Yeah, sure, what’s up? Is something the matter? Are you in trouble? You sound nervous.” He could hear the concern in his voice and he bit his lips, feeling guilty. There was nothing Tony had to worry about, after all, it was silly, Peter was making a big deal out of nothing. It wasn’t like they were breaking up or anything, they weren’t even together to begin with, so. It was just a “no more sex” kind of talk. Nothing to be nervous about.

“I’m fine, I’m okay, it’s – Are- are you moving to New York?”

“What? How do you know that?” He was surprised by the question, but didn’t seem mad, which was good, he didn’t want to get Ned in trouble over this.

“Just answer, please?” He pleaded quietly.

“Yes, I am. It was supposed to be a surprise, though, I was gonna tell you in person, after Christmas. What’s the matter?” Again, he sounded worried, and Peter bit his lips until he drew blood.

“It’s just… I… We – I don’t know, Tony, I’m. What is this to you – us? What are we…?” He didn’t know why the fuck he was going in that direction, he was just supposed to say they couldn’t fuck anymore.

“Uh, I don’t know? Does it matter? Do you wanna put a name on it? We can be boyfriends or whatever, but I think I’m a little old for that title, so maybe you could be my boyfriend and I can be your… manfriend? Significant other? We can figu–”

“Tony, stop joking around!” He gasped, shocked at the word boyfriend, what was Tony even talking about, Jesus, they weren’t – they never –

“I’m not joking around. I mean, I was joking about the manfriend thing, but otherwise I’m dead serious.” Fuck, no, this couldn’t be right, this couldn’t be true. Surely Tony wasn’t being serious, of course it was all a big joke, they weren’t dating, for fuck’s sake, they were fucking, that was it, nothing more, why was he talking about boyfriends, relationships – “Peter, you’re freaking out.”

“Of course I’m freaking out!” He squealed, taking himself by surprise by how high his own voice sounded.

“I knew this was gonna happen, that’s why I wanted to talk to you in person. Look, it’s no big deal.” Why the fuck was he so calm and collected?

“Tony, this is not – we’re not – this is casual! It’s – It’s just sex!” He reasoned, hearing a sigh coming from the other side.

“Honey, c’mon, you know that’s not true. I care about you, and I know you –“

“I’ve slept with other men while you were away.” He blurted out, because that was very important information, that was proof that they weren’t serious. He slept with Toomes and with Beck and if they were boyfriends he wouldn’t have done that, so, clearly, they weren’t boyfriends, what kind of boyfriend would do that? No kind. No kind of boyfriend would do that.

“O-kay.” He said slowly, clearly surprised by the confession. “Okay, that’s fine, we haven’t talked about exclusivity yet, so you did nothing wrong, there’s nothing to –“

“Tony! I’m – I’m worthless! I’m a slut, I’m poor, I’m – I’m just a waiter, I have no future, you can’t be with me!” He was really freaking out there, he could barely breath, he was sweating like a pig, pacing his room, and Tony couldn’t seem to understand what he was saying, why couldn’t he understand what he was saying? Wasn’t the man supposed to be a genius?

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, kid! First of all, take a deep breath, will you? Second of all, I’m a big boy, I can very well choose who I want to be with or not. And third of all, are you insane? You’re the smartest person I’ve talked to in years, you’re gorgeous, funny, kind and sweet, and of course I wanna be with you!”

“Well, I-I don’t wanna be with you,” He answered, voice wavering, but he was sure of it, of course he was sure.

“Peter, come on, you’re not thinking this through –“

“I can’t do this, Tony, I can’t. I’m not – I’m not boyfriend material, I’m – You’re – This isn’t gonna work.” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself down, he was doing the right thing, it was for the best.

“It’s been working for almost six months in case you haven’t noticed, Pete, what --”

“No, no! We’re not – Look, I’ve gotta go, just – Just leave it alone, ok?” He didn’t wait for an answer, he just hung up the phone and threw out of reach. There, done. Easy as pie.

–*--

Christmas had come and gone and it was really nice. He and May had take out Thai food after they ruined their attempts of cooking Christmas dinner. It was kind of a tradition for them. They would try to cook, fuck up royally, then they’d order the least Christmassy thing they could think of. Ned visited for a couple of days, they hung out in his room building Legos and drinking beer, then he had to go back to Malibu, but he was supposed to move back in February, which was nice.

Everything was nice and okay, life hadn’t been this easy in a long time, so he had no idea why there was a Tony-shaped void in his heart, when he was so used to that place to being completely and shapelessly empty.

It was the first week of January when his bell rang, he thought it was the Chinese he ordered, but when he opened the door, soft brown eyes stared back at him.

“Tony, wh – what are you doing here?” He stuttered, clutching the door, and the older man looked so elegant and composed and calm, what was he even doing in such a terrible neighborhood, he didn’t belong there.

“May I come in?” He asked calmly, and Peter wanted to say no, because he couldn’t look at him, he didn’t want to look at him. But he couldn’t say no, so he stepped aside and let the man in. He stood there, in the middle of his ridiculously tiny and messy living room, and Peter closed the door, leaning against it, as if he needed a quick escape route in case of emergencies. He turned to look at Peter. “Not very nice of you to break up over the phone, hang up on me and then block my number, kid.”

“I-I, I didn’t, I –“ Before he could think of an answer, the older man raised a hand, stopping him.

“It’s okay, I forgive you, I’m here now, sorry I couldn’t come earlier.” He stepped closer to Peter, who in turn tried to become one with the door the way he pressed his back against it.

“I-I didn’t ask you to come. In fact, you should leave,” He muttered, looking down at the floor, until he saw Tony’s expensive shoes stepping into his line of view, so close to his sock-clad feet, and he blushed when he noticed that his socks didn’t even match.

“Here’s what I think, correct me if I get anything wrong. I think you’re lonely – and I think you like feeling lonely, because it’s safer. I think you’ve isolated yourself from the people you love, afraid you’d lose them one way or another, afraid that you’d have to go through that pain again, and you’ve been avoiding getting close to other people for way too long. And then I came in.” Tony placed a finger on his chin, lifting his head gently, and Peter hadn’t even noticed that his face was wet and he was sobbing quietly. He closed his eyes, he couldn’t bear to look at Tony’s face, afraid of what he might see there. “I know you, kid. I’ve been you.” Tony’s lips on his took him by surprise, but he didn’t flinch, he didn’t move away, he craved that touch, he wanted Tony to come closer, to hold him, to stay with him, just – “I love you. And I’m not going anywhere, you can’t push me away.”

“Tony.” He wrapped his arms around his neck, crying silently against his shoulder. There were so many words trapped in his mouth, but he couldn’t say them, he couldn’t.

“It’s okay, I’m here. I’m not leaving,” He whispered against his curls, holding him so tight, so close, that Peter believed him.

If you let me

Here’s what I’ll do

I’ll take care of you.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark #ironspider

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exhausted-joy · 5 years ago

Text

SCARY HOURS [YANDERE!JUNGKOOK] [05]

CHAPTER FIVE.

SYNOPSIS: Jeon Jungkook is a high school delinquent who also happens to be your awful new next door neighbor. Every night at three am, you jolt awake to the bangs and screams that leak through the thin walls of your apartment. Eventually, you can’t stand it anymore and decide to confront your problematic neighbor. But as it turns out, Jeon Jungkook is no ordinary high school student, and the screams are not that of his own.

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NOTE: Let me know what you thought! ((: (I loved writing this chapter omg) Please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jungkook awakes with an awful pain in his stomach.

It’s the kind of stomachache you get when you move around too quickly after you have just eaten yourself full, and it’s incredibly unpleasant in every sense of the word. But, honestly, he’s used it. A handful of painkillers and he’s good to go - he will be able to remain competent throughout the day, for the most part. It’s usually around lunchtime when he crashes and it’s also usually the time where his urges are most content in laying themselves to rest, at least for a little bit.

Jungkook finds himself most at peace when he’s with you. He knows, it’s weird. He can’t seem to figure it out, either. Ever since the incident on the third floor stairwell last week, every couple days you meet him there for whatever reason. He thinks he recalls you saying something about that stupid class president being occupied on certain days or something. He believes it’s a load of crap.

Jungkook supposes that he does congest the way up to the rooftop when he takes his midday snoozes, and you have just given up trying to get past him. He lets you sit with him, fair and square. Now, don’t get him wrong, he actually doesn’t particularly want you around, nor did he ask - he finds you annoying, too happy and, despite it being mostly silent when you are in his presence, you just talk too much. But you insist on sitting on the stairs with him, babbling away endlessly about something he couldn’t care less about.

It’s a simple theory. He doesn’t want to be your friend. He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t even remotely like you. But it’s the thing inside of him that does. At night, the urges and contortions get so extremely unbearable that he can hardly stand it. He goes crying and wailing in his pillow like a helpless baby whose turned over too far on his back, unable to bear the pressure of it all. And, in a snap, it all goes away when he’s with you.

Jungkook remembers a sensation similar to this, but almost backwards. He felt the pull with his old friends and he now feels it with you. How careless could he get? It’s your fault for confronting him that one dreadful night; if not for that, he could have been living in this new life free of worry, without losing control, without getting too close to people.

He’s fighting down his murderous thoughts because as much as he doesn’t like you, he doesn’t want to hurt you. It’s this conflicted feeling, one he’s never felt before, that is the only thing he simply doesn’t understand.

━━━━━━━━━

TODAY IS the day Jungkook is being released from his isolated prison in Director Shiwoo’s office to another prison, which is filled with other more obnoxious and irritating prisoners. Basically speaking, he’s getting nudged back into the general population as his in-school suspension duration has run its course. And he is not excited in the least.

It’s because Jungkook knows he will have to see you. And the dumb face of that class prez, but mostly you. He doesn’t want to feel confused. He doesn’t like having the thing inside him repressed just to feel it crashing into him tenfold come midnight. He doesn’t get you or why you try so hard to be nice to him, or go out of your way to try and befriend him. It’s stupid. You’re stupid.

Jungkook shuffles down the hallway with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his uniform slacks, slowly making his way towards his class with half-lidded eyes. He would give anything to skip right now - anything to not be stuck in a room with people who probably think he’s some kind of monster. Like he’s off his rockers or belongs in remedial classes or something.

Scoffing at the thought, Jungkook shakes his fringe out of his eyes and exhales deeply, rounding a corner and watching as the classroom comes into view. He’s not nervous, no, he’s just simply not used to being around so many people at once. All his other schools were pretty small, so he didn’t feel overwhelmed with an influx of too much socializing. Since this was an international school, it was bigger - much bigger than what Jungkook was comfortable with.

Reaching the door, the dark haired boy stops in front of it, hand hovering over the knob. He thinks about knocking first, but decides against it. It wouldn’t matter, would it? All mannerisms were thrown out the window when he decided to throw hands with that kid. The door swings open with a creak, drawing the attention of practically every single person in the room, save for the ones who had already dozed off during the lecture.

A woman with cat-eye glasses, the teacher, he assumes, pauses mid-sentence to look over at the newcomer, raising a paper thin eyebrow at the sudden intrusion. Jungkook stares back in disinterest, eyes flickering towards the class who all quickly avoid eye contact at the shift in attention. It takes a second for the woman’s eyes to light up in recognition and a warm smile spreads across her face when they do.

“Ah, you must be Jungkook! Come in, come in,” she ushers him in towards the front of the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a deafening thud. “Class, this is Jeon Jungkook. He will be joining us as of today, and I expect he is treated with the utmost respect and kindness.” Her voice is stern with warning undertones, as if he were a ticking time bomb that could be set off at the slightest prod. Perhaps it was true.

“Your assigned seat is there,” she points to an empty seat beside a painstakingly familiar girl and Jungkook thinks he can hear his stomach dropping to the floor. “[Name]-ah, please raise your hand.”

Upon hearing your name, you force yourself out of your daydream stupor, biting back a yawn as you timidly hold up a hand to make your presence known. You watch with jaded eyes as Jungkook makes his way over his new desk, his features hardened in a way that makes him look, for lack of a better word, scary.

He doesn’t look at you as he sinks down in his chair, carelessly dropping his black backpack on the floor and facing forwards with a steely gaze. You sleepily peer at him, taking note of the way he disregards your whole existence. You aren’t surprised.

“[Name]-ah, I trust that you will take very good care of Jungkook-ah, hm?” The older woman sends you a sharp look and you gulp, quickly nodding with a shaky smile. She then turns around to resume whatever she had been teaching, the occasional squeak of her dry erase markers and click of her too-high heels making you feel sick.

You glance at Jungkook who already looks bored with his cheek resting in the palm of his hand. With clammy hands, you reach into your bag to grab the extra Tupperware of food you had prepared. Your heart is racing at a million miles a second - you think it might explode if you don’t calm yourself down. You just can’t believe you are actually doing this. Seriously, what is up with you and being a good person? Did you get struck over the head with a ‘good spirits’ stick or something?

“Jungkook-ah.” You whisper his name quietly. He doesn’t move.

Making a face, you whisper his name again, this time finally capturing his attention. Jungkook slowly turns his head to look at you and you can’t deny that you are a little bit intimidated at the cold glare he regards you with. Usually he just glared at you without any heat behind it, but this one was different; it was detached and unfamiliar, almost burning with some kind of fire.

“I-I, uh, made you this,” you slide the container of fresh bulgogi and seasoned rice towards him, watching as his expression softens slightly. “I hope you like it.”

It’s not abnormal, but it suddenly kind of feels like Jungkook can’t breathe. There’s a constricting feeling in his throat that cripples his airflow like there’s a vice around his neck, cruelly squeezing tighter and tighter. His hands drop into his lap and they lay there, shaking beneath the desk - he hopes you can’t see it.

His dark eyes glower intensely at the container of food. Jungkook can feel it stirring within, practically purring at your selfless gesture. Why couldn’t you just leave him alone? Shut up, he hisses at it, shut the hell up. It only grows louder and before he can say ‘don’t want it’ like he usually does, he’s already reaching out to accept it, spurring on the purrs that rumble through his chest.

You study the boy in the seat next to you as he seems to be going through an existential crisis. Pushing aside his strange, constipated expressions, you can’t control the grin that splits from ear-to-ear, watching joyously as he shoves the receptacle in his bag. The feeling you get is indescribable; maybe he was finally warming up to you.

As juvenile as it may seem, you really did want to be Jungkook’s friend. Or at least give it a shot. You didn’t know what it was that brought you to up to the third floor stairwell time and time again. There’s a sort of pull, a connection of some sort. Maybe it was how he was always alone that reminded you of yourself in a way. He looked like he needed a friend. Or maybe you were just being delusional. Either way, you were too committed now, so there was no use in backing out.

The rest of the class period consists of you glancing at Jungkook with shy smiles when you think he isn’t looking, and him knocking his knee into yours when you begin to doze off.

At the end of the class period, though, it’s you who has to tap him awake, for he was the one who had fallen asleep.

━━━━━━━━━

“NO WAY, you got assigned cleaning duty with that psycho?!”

You huff in annoyance as Jimin dramatically throws his head back to let out an obnoxiously loud laugh at your misfortune. If he weren’t so handsome, you’d give him another bruise next to the one still slightly visible on his left cheek.

“He’s not a psycho, Jimin-ah. And it’s only temporary. Haneul-ssaemnim said she would even give me extra credit if I let him help out.” You defend yourself, trying to make it seem not as bad as he is making it out to be. Jimin shoots you a look, almost surprised at your willingness to expend Jungkook for the sake of not failing a class.

“You know you can always come to me if you need help,” He leans forward, drawing in close to your face and watching in amusement as you flush red. “I’m pretty good at chemistry.”

You playfully shove him away, shaking your head. “I can tell. Your fanclub won’t stop looking over here.” You jerk your head in the direction of the group of girls that sit across the outside courtyard, creepily staring over at their class prez in timed intervals. Jimin frowns at your comment as he looks back at them, quick to replace it with a charming smile and a small wave.

You watch as the girls erupt into a fit of flustered giggles and googly eyes due to Jimin’s small gestures. A sullen look crosses your face. It’s moments like these that remind you that your new friend could be with literally anyone else right now, but instead chooses to sit with you. He could literally get anything and anyone he desired, yet being your friend was something he apparently wanted, too. In another dimension this could have made a lick of sense but, right now, you weren’t quite understanding.

“Hey, Jimin.”

The brown haired boy turns back around to face you once again, his face settled in question. Letting out a deep breath, you hope you don’t regret asking what you are about to ask.

“Why do you hang around me? I-I mean, not that I’m being ungrateful, I enjoy talking to you and all, but I’m kind of a loser an-“ Jimin cuts you off before you can ramble the both of you into the next century.

Having averted your gaze down to your lap, you see the older boy reach for your hand and you feel the warmth of his much larger one enveloping yours. You reluctantly look up through your lashes, ears hot from the skinship. He was really touchy when he wanted to be, you notice.

“[Name]-ah,” Jimin starts softly. “Let’s go to the arcade after school. I’ll wait for you.”

There’s a mushy, gooey feeling coursing through your chest all of a sudden. Your heartbeat speeds up slightly, the heat in your ears spreading to your cheeks as you look into his innocently slanted eyes. With a large grin, you eagerly accept his offer, watching him return your smile with just as much vigor as he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

You don’t need much more of an answer than that.

━━━━━━━━━

THE REST of the day goes by slowly, but eventually.

Before Jungkook knows it, the last dismissal bell rings, officially marking the end of yet another painstakingly boring, exhausting school day. He almost thought it would never end; the day seemed to go by more leisurely when he wasn’t allowed to kick his feet up on Director Shiwoo’s desk and mess around on his phone.

His train of thought is cut short by an angry growl of his stomach, the pangs of hunger gnawing uncomfortably at his gut. Ah, that’s right. He was actually able to nap today due to your absence and as much of a relief as that was, he was unable to emotionally feed off the tranquility you offered when you were around.

When you didn’t hang around him, Jungkook experienced a different kind of peaceful. It was the kind that was too quiet and rather lonesome, if he had to describe it realistically. The silence was annoying but so were you, and he didn’t know why he would ever prefer to be around you than have some actual peace and quiet for once. Shaking his head, he clears his mind of those intrusive thoughts. If only he could rid himself of the monstrous cravings, none of this would even be a problem.

Maybe in another life you two could have actually got along. Become friends, even. Jungkook snorts mockingly at the thought, unable to imagine such a thing. He could be friends with no one - it was his curse to bear until the day he died.

His stomach growls again. Rolling his eyes, he suddenly remembers the container of food you had graciously gave him. Having caught a brief look at it before throwing it into the black hole that is his bag, it was one of Jungkook’s favorites; a simple dish of bulgogi and rice. He hadn’t had a home cooked meal in such a long time that he couldn’t resist allowing himself to indulge just a bit. Besides, who was he to turn a blind eye to free food?

Jungkook halts in the middle of the semi-deserted second floor hallway to reach into his bag and retrieve the desired treat. As he’s digging, he’s stopped short when he hears his name being called from down the hallway.

“Jungkook-ah!”

A knot of dread sinks heavily in his stomach as he slowly looks up, his big brown eyes clashing with your own. You approach with a dustpan in one hand and a large broom in the other, and Jungkook can feel the knot growing larger and larger with each of your steps that close the distance.

“I’m sorry I forgot to tell you earlier, but you’re on cleaning duty with me.” You say as you stop in front of him, a polite smile plastered on your face. Jungkook raises an eyebrow and clicks his tongue in annoyance. Cleaning duty? What is this, child slave labor?

“No.”

He makes a move to leave but a desperate tug on his backpack pulls him back.

“Please!” Comes your plea, your grip on his bag tightening. A moment passes and you clear your throat, appearing slightly embarrassed at the sudden raise in your own voice.

“I, uh, wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with Haneul-ssaemnim..” you trail off, averting your eyes. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

Jungkook sighs, ultimately giving in. He really didn’t want to get into any more trouble than he’s already gotten himself into; not that getting in trouble really mattered to him, but he didn’t want to once again relocate and put more stress on his already sickly mother. He couldn’t be reckless anymore - it would catch up to him sooner or later.

“Fine. Let’s go.” The taller boy snatches the broom from your hand and makes his way down the hallway and back to the classroom. Sliding open the door, he breathes in relief to see its already empty despite the fact that class was dismissed just a few minutes ago. The state of the room, however, summoned another sigh, though for a different reason.

To be frank, the room was a complete mess. Jungkook hadn’t noticed before - having been asleep the whole time he was in class - but the place looked like an absolute pigsty. Crumpled up sheets of loose leaf paper pile beneath the desks, snack wrappers decorate the linoleum tiles in colorful streaks, and discarded pencils and spent pens are strewn idly amongst it all.

You enter the room moments later, your shorter form having a bit of trouble catching up in comparison to his longer strides. Huffing, you set your sights upon the garbage dump that is both of your guys’ classroom. A disgusted look warps your features and Jungkook can’t help but agree with it; it was truly shameful to see.

Wordlessly, the dark haired boy gets to work with you hovering over him closely. He sweeps articles of garbage into one big pile before scooping it into your dustpan, where you then take it to the trashcan nearby to empty it out. It’s rinse and repeat from then on until about only half of the room is fully clean. You both decide to take a break - it’s hard work.

Jungkook props the broom up against one of the desks and leans against it, uncharacteristically out of breath. You peer at him in concern, watching as he runs a hand through his hair to expose a sweaty forehead. His breathing grows heavier and he turns to face the desk completely, planting both of his palms on the surface of it to keep himself steady. You had never taken the tall, lean boy as one to be out of shape, so this was certainly a sight to behold.

Not now, Jungkook pleads, please don’t be like this right now! He can feel those pangs of hunger ruthlessly tearing away in his gut and he knows it’s not because he’s hungry. No, this is the feeling he gets when he wants more than food. He can feel his head begin to swim with lightheadedness, his body tipping to one side but quickly correcting himself in attempt to keep upright.

“Jungkook-ah…? Are you okay?” Your voice sounds so far away. But his dark eyes glance up to see you standing right before him in such crowded proximity, a hand slowly reaching out to touch him.

“Maybe you should sit down.. y-you don’t look so good. Should I get the nurse?” Your hand lands on his shoulder and all the muscles in his body instantaneously tense obscenely. A chord in his brain snaps.

As if possessed, Jungkook violently swipes at your unfamiliar touch, his inhumanely sharp nails raking across the easily broken skin of your wrist.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” He roars, stumbling back from you as if he had just been burned.

You let out a startled squeal at the attack, shock filtering out any other emotion despite the blood that spurts from your newly attained wound. Burning tears well up in your eyes at the sight of the scarlet that runs down your arm and drips from your fingers, the wound pulsing across the length of your wrist. A wave of stinging hits you all at once and you look up at Jungkook with fear. In all the few times he’s snapped at you, this is the first time he’s ever seriously laid a finger on you. And it’s absolutely terrifying.

“Stay the hell away from me. We are not friends and we never will be. Get that through your thick skull, you useless nobody,” The words he spits at you hurt, much more than the cut, as the arrows of heartbreak pierce through your chest. Lip quivering, you take a couple tentative steps towards the door, and the next thing that comes out of his mouth sends you in a full sprint towards it.

“I hate you.”

It only takes a choked sob and the gust of wind from you sprinting past and blowing him back a bit to make him realize what he’s done.

“[Name], wai-“ The slam of the door cuts him off, leaving him in a lonely, jarring silence that slices through him like a knife.

What did he just do? Slamming a fist down on a nearby desk, the plastic cracks beneath the pressure but he’s too angry to care. Jungkook looks down at his shaking hands just in time to see his sharp nails retracting back to their original state. You had looked at him with those eyes.

Scared and helpless and hurt. Usually the gnawing feeling went away when he smelt the sweet waves of fear and emotional pain, but it only seems to have grown tenfold. Jungkook doubles over on top of the desk, gripping the edge in an iron hold as he lets out a guttural groan at the way the pain slams into his abdomen like a brick. Something wasn’t right. It was supposed to help him feel better. Your terrorized expression briefly flashes in his mind and another blow of pain flexes in his gut. Panting, he rests his sweaty forehead against the desk top, mind swarming with muddled confusion as the strings of his heart are twinged taut.

Why, then, was he so unsatisfied?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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| DIRECTORY | MASTERLIST |

#yandere reader #yandere jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts x reader #park jimin x reader #jimin #bts #jeon jungkook #jungkook #yandere bts x reader #yandere

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justimajin · 5 years ago

Text

A Wilting Rose╰ Part 7╮

➺ Pairing: Jimin x Reader

➺ Genre: Angst & Fluff

↳ (3.8k) Actor and Actress AU

➺ Summary: The world of acting can be best described with three words - dark, invasive and inhumane. Talent, although heavily required, isn’t focused upon in comparison to the juicy gossip and various rumors that can be spread. This is why even you - an extremely talented actress - fall prey to the chops of the acting world and find yourself in a down whirling spiral with no escape. Desperately needing to get back up on your two feet once again, it seems like your best bet is a newcomer to the industry, who has yet to understand the ways of your fallen world.

➺ Warnings: some swearing, the angst has arrived and it hits pretty hard

➺ Moodboard Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

“Why, why do we have to be apart like this?”

“We cannot be married Princess, you are to rule the kingdom as Queen with a suitable husband beside your side…”

“But you are the one I want General, I-I can’t bear to be in a world that doesn’t have you.”

“Please try to understand Princess,” He touches your cheek softly, “I’m here to protect you, to be by your side as a noble warrior…”

“There is no way I can be accepted as your husband among the kingdom.” He looks away from you, slowly stepping away as your cheeks are drenched with tears.

He leaves completely, not even turning back once.

“CUT!”

You sigh, your stylist hurriedly trying to douse your fallen tears and re-touching your makeup as Jimin walks over with curious eyes.

“Is it hard to cry on sets?” So far you have been the only one to display wrenching emotions because of the General’s decision in choosing to leave. Jimin will eventually have to do the same at a certain point with the General’s part, but for now you are the one doused with wet eyes and drops trailing down your cheeks.

Really romantic right?

“Kind of?” You sniffle, “If you can’t cry properly then they have this paste you can use to irritate your eyes and stimulate tears. Or you can just think of something sad and then cry.”

“Wow…” Jimin looks at you fascinated, “You didn’t use anything, you’re seriously so good at this.”

You smile, standing up straighter once the stylist is finished, “What were you thinking of?”

“Hmm?” You walk back to the set with him and he occasionally stops to let you catch up with your long skirt.

“To cry. What were you thinking about?”

“Uh well,” You press your lips together, “....things.”

“Things?” Jimin tilts his head to the side, staring at you intrigued when you look away.

“Dead kittens. You happy now?”

He chuckles, “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t what you were thinking about, but I’ll take it.”

You roll your eyes but still smile, going through the script carefully as Jimin peers over your shoulder, looking through his own lines.

“When do we die?”

“I think…near the end?” You quickly flip through, not finding the specific part, “I dunno, something about you not being right for me and blah blah, more epic romance, throw in some sad violin music.” You turn and pass the script over to him, “Here, you can tell me about it later in more detail.”

He smiles, gladly accepting it as you sit down for a much needed break. Suddenly a roar of voices infiltrate the sets, flashes and whispers going off like no tomorrow.

“Oh god,” You groan, standing up, “Is Taehyung back again?”

“Taehyung? Y/N, Taehyung wasn’t supposed to come today.” You raise an eyebrow at that and Jimin puts his script down. Both of you try to see through the large crowd, a smile on your lips when you see Yoongi clearly getting irritated with the whole rukus.

The whole crowd finally parts in the middle, leaving enough space for the source of buzz to come through.

Your smile immediately drops.

Jimin’s eyes widen and he’s soon at a complete loss of words, moving his hands around frantically, “Oh my god, it’s-, oh my god!”

He places a hand against his chest to calm himself down and then he looks over to you in excitement, pausing completely when he sees the sheer level of horror overtaking your expression.

You are frozen in place when his footsteps enter the centre of the room, giving Yoongi a smile who just scowls at him before his eyes latch onto you.

He grins, taking easy steps towards the set, the same confidence radiating off of him with no end.

“I thought it would be nice to drop by.” He smirks, patting you on your shoulder, “You know, to congratulate my wife after all.”

Jimin’s heart immediately sinks, looking between you and him when the ill words leave his mouth, “You’re married to the Kim Seokjin?!”

“E-Engaged….” The words come out as a faint whisper, void of any strength or force.

His eyes widen and it occurs to him what was bothering him about the situation the most.

He was expecting something - for you to tell him to take his hand off you, for you to yell at him with a loud burst of rage.

But you don’t do anything.

You just remain shaken underneath his gaze, frozen to the point of no return.

“You seem nice.” He reaches over and ruffles Jimin’s hair, “Be sure to take care of her, everyone knows she needs the help.”

He arrogantly walks away, a smirk on his features when he stops mid-way, “Oh and don’t worry, I doubt they’ll be any news of my arrival here. You know, so that viewers are encouraged to watch the movie when it releases.”

He steps away, flashes encasing him once again when journalists are soon hovering around him and wanting to know every single detail about the encounter.

They don’t approach you though.

Because you had always been painted as the villain from the start.

“Y-Y/N?” Jimin carefully touches your shoulder, still not understanding exactly what was going on but wanting to somehow remove that hollow expression from your features.

You push his hand away slowly and he’s about to say something, but then he sees your bottom lip quiver and small drops of water escaping your eyes. “I-I need to go.”

You dash away, still in your costume as Jimin calls out for you, “Y/N!”

“Y/N!” He yells again but you don’t turn around.

“Fuck that bastard. Coming on to my sets and making such a scene…” Jimin turns to hear Yoongi, packing away the camera material with a frown on his lips, “He’d better watch what he says, he’ll eat his words when my movie releases.”

“Yoongi...sorry about that…”

“Why are you apologizing?” Yoongi turns to him, “If anything Y/N should be apologizing, she’s the one that’s associated with that moron.”

“He said Y/N was his wife...what did that mean?”

Yoongi shrugs, “There was something about a scandal between them, I don’t really know nor care. I just hire actors based on potential, not because of their personal lives.”

Jimin smiles at that, but then he frowns when he can’t get any answers from the man. An idea lights up in his head and he’s soon turning around, stopping in front of Yoongi’s busy way.

“Do you happen to have Y/N’s manager, Namjoon’s office address?”

He lets out a deep exhale as he stands outside the door, a hesitant hand reaching out and knocking on it. He patiently waits for an answer, now dressed in his usual casual clothes when the door opens to reveal the man he was looking for. “Jimin?”

“Namjoon! Can I come in?”

Namjoon opens the door for him, “Sure, what did you need?”

“It’s about Y/N.” Jimin pursues his lips, brows furrowed, “Kim Seokjin came to our set today and she didn’t look alright to me.”

Namjoon’s jaw drops, looking at Jimin like he just sprouted out nonsense, “Kim Seokjin visited Y/N?”

Jimin nods and Namjoon scoffs, causing Jimin to do a double take when the manager suddenly looks incredibly irritated, “He still had the nerve, huh? Showing up after all he’s done.”

“What has he done Namjoon? Why did Y/N look so...scared?”

Namjoon looks at him surprised, before he turns over to his desk, “You don’t read the news?”

Jimin shakes his head, eyes trailing over. He wasn’t particularly fond of spending time keeping updated with news, knowing the media had their own ways of twisting up words and conjuring up ridiculous stories. He’s only seen a couple about him, to which he decided they were more harmful than good after the shear load of hate that was directed towards him being casted in Yoongi’s movie.

A pile of new articles land before him, all of the headlines bolded with giant black words, like they were declaring a huge crisis going on. However, the closer he looks, the more the words just make him want to look away.

“Y/N L/N finished after disastrous breakup?” Jimin narrows his eyes, “Break up? I thought they were engaged?”

“They were. Until Y/N called off the wedding and broke up with Seokjin among a dozen of his fans.” Namjoon sips on some tea, offering a cup to Jimin who accepts as his mind turns with the new information.

“Why did she call off the wedding? If she was going to get married to him, it must have been because she liked him.”

Namjoon sighs, a deep, rooted sigh like this topic was one that was constantly wrapped around his head, “I’m guessing you’ve met Seokjin, correct?”

Jimin nods, “And you’ve discovered what he’s really like? How he treats Y/N?”

“I did, it was frustrating to see her look so devastated.”

“Well what you saw is the truth. He’s made out to be some sort of heartthrob, fans swooning over him and falling head over heels in love.” Namjoon darkly chuckles, shaking his head.

“But he’s a man of fake promises who only thinks about himself.”

Namjoon takes out another headline, handing it over to Jimin, “He proposed to Y/N when he knew she had fallen in love with him. The media coverage was amazing, they didn’t miss a beat in celebration.”

“However, Seokjin had great timing. Ironically he proposed to Y/N after her career hit its peak. Blockbuster after blockbuster, it was incredible to see Jimin.”

He can recall it beautifully, noticing how your posters were everywhere, millions of fans falling in love with your movies and you succeeding through it all.

“After someone so graciously purposes to you and you’re in love, you accept it. That’s exactly what Y/N did.”

“But there was a heavy price to pay.”

You stare at the diamond ring shining on your index finger, giddy laughs escaping you when you had finished excitedly shared the good news with Namjoon on the phone.

“Did she say yes?”

Seokjin chuckles and you stop for a split second, pressing your ear against the door, “Do you really think she wouldn’t say yes to me? Please.”

“With Y/N by my side, everyone will love us.”

You hear a laugh from the other side, your eyes widening with his next words.

“But most of all, my career will skyrocket. It’s finally get the attention it deserves and directors will practically be begging me to take part in their movies.”

More laughter mixes in, your ringed fist clenching, “It was a smart move indeed Seokjin.”

“Well played.”

Jimin stares at Namjoon with a contorted look, disgust leaking into his eyes, “It was all an act?”

Namjoon nods, placing his tea down with a sigh, “I still remember that phone call. It felt odd to me, Y/N had only been seeing Seokjin for a couple months and then for a sudden engagement to appear out of nowhere...”

“What ended up stopping me though was that phone call. She seemed so happy in telling me the news that I had faith in her, that perhaps I might have misjudged the situation.”

“Prior to the announcement, Y/N worked hard Jimin. Constant filming and running to schedules, she persisted in reaching her goals and became such a famous actress. But he,” Namjoon points to the headline, throwing it back at his desk, “He took everything away.”

Jimin looks at Namjoon solemnly but he just chuckles, “And you know Y/N. The moment she found out, she was ready to take him out right there and then. Ripped off her engagement ring in front of so many fans and told him to take a hike.”

Jimin laughs at that, wondering how that sounded like such a you thing to do. “The media though, they messed everything up.”

Namjoon goes on to explain the missing piece of the puzzle, why you had to suffer the consequences compared to your supposed husband that simply walked away without a single stain on him.

“Y/N was considered to be the villain who broke up with the heartthrob in front of millions. The horrible girl that ‘broke his heart’ and threw the pieces away, all while Seokjin had the entire media’s support and empathy for the scandal.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a moment, he simply stares at Namjoon with heavy hearted eyes, wondering how you were even able to tolerate someone like that. “She...she must have felt terrible…”

“He broke her, in more ways than one.” Namjoon says, a dark glint in his eyes as he keeps on sighing, “After that, creating meaningful movies was the last thing on her list of priorities. It was drunken nights, outburst after outburst, making me wonder what happened to that Y/N that captured everyone’s hearts with her acting. When would she return? Will she ever return?”

“This movie, it was my last option after getting rejected so many times. I never thought that in a way, it was also Y/N’s…” Jimin whispers, the whole ordeal making him want to shake his head.

“Believe me when I say it really is.” Namjoon gets up, turning to him, “So she met him again?”

“She left the set completely.”

“Hmm.” Namjoon taps a finger against his chin, “Can you do me a favour Jimin? Can you find Y/N?”

“Me?” Jimin points to himself in surprise.

Namjoon nods, “I think it would be helpful if you were with her. I’ve had this feeling, it’s strange, but Y/N does seem a lot more happier when you’re around. Something I truthfully haven’t seen in a while after the whole scandal.”

“I-I…” Jimin presses his lips together, considering it. If he were to be honest with himself, after learning about what had happened with you, he really wants to just talk. It’s almost like his concern has increased ten-fold and there’s seems to be only one question that keeps resurfacing in his mind.

Are you okay?

He snaps back into action, nodding when Namjoon smiles, “I’ll find her Namjoon.”

“I promise.”

Jimin carefully opens the door, looking right and left in the lone set room. It’s pitch dark, only a handful of small lights still lit and the entire scene, which was flourishing with actors and beautiful scenery just moments ago, now looks completely abandoned and deserted.

He had his own suspicion of you returning back to the set because you left in costume and would most likely need to change. After heading over to your apartment with the address Namjoon given and asking Jungkook about your whereabouts, it was the only option he had left in his hands.

Suddenly a muffled sob hits his ears. Its cracked and rough, like the person making the sound was struggling to even produce it.

“Y/N?” He calls out, barely being able to make out anything from the lack of light.

He hears a clatter, something light dropping onto the ground and its then he sees a small white pearl roll over to his feet, stopping right at the base of his heel.

He turns in the direction it came from and sure enough, there you are.

Your dress is completely ruffled up, pieces of ribbons and drops of pearls pooling around you in a misconstrued wavy circle. Your head is buried within the mess of your dress, arms wrapped around you similar to a hug and you don’t even once lift your head as his footsteps draw closer.

“Y/N?” He questions again, his voice low and contorted with concern as he leans down to meet your couched height. He places a warm hand on your shoulder, similarly to how your supposed husband had done and you immediately flinch, drenched wide eyes looking back at him.

In that one single moment, he suddenly feels like crying when the entire view of your wet scared eyes, red cheeks and shivering form meet his eyes. It’s overwhelming and it even becomes worse when you attempt to wipe away the remainder of the fallen tears, trying your hardest to sit properly.

“W-What are you doing here?” Your voice comes out incredibly hoarse, the words barely managing to arise and instead coming out in a whisperers tone.

He has no words for you. All he does is move forward and give you a hug.

You’re surprised for a quick second until you hear his voice, “I know who he was.”

You bite down on your lip, trying to stifle back what you’ve managed to fix up but a world wind completely unleases itself. You don’t remember how long you stay like that - him holding onto you when more and more waves keep hitting you, but they finally do subside and you part from him.

“T-The movie…” You whisper out, “It’ll be ruined.”

Jimin’s eyes widen and he connects the dots to your main concern, “It won’t be Y/N. We’ve worked hard on this, you’ve worked hard on this.” He shakes his head, “He can’t take this away from you.”

You glance up at him, looking hopeful before it mixes in with your worries, “You don’t understand at all Jimin.”

“What don’t I understand?”

“This.” You point to yourself, “This is why my life is like, what your life will eventually become. They don’t care about you at all, they just care about what they can say about you.”

You sniffle, wiping another tear that escapes, “And when they find out what happened today, those headlines are going to flood everything. Newspapers, TV’s, social media...the list just goes on and on.” You cover your mouth and shake your head, but that Jimin still presses on it.

“We can do it Y/N. Let them go crazy, let them spread as much hate as they want.” He holds onto your hand. “If we give them a great movie, they won’t be able to say anything about you.”

You shake your head, still in disbelief. Jimin suddenly shifts in front of you, kneeling down and brings both your hands into your lap with his own. “There was this one actress I love a lot. She started off really promising, all her movies were so loved by audiences and I remember going to theatres just to watch them.”

Something sparks in your eyes and you lift your head, causing Jimin to softly smile, “I used to always think that acting was boring and that someone like me should become a singer or a dancer. But then when I saw her movies, I saw people around me laughing and crying within the span of a couple of minutes and I couldn’t help but think how amazing that was. Having the ability to move people’s hearts with your performance.”

“I realized how strong her ability was, when I too was laughing and crying in theatres.”

Your lip slightly quivers, now staring at him when tears start to form in your eyes, “There is a problem though, this actress is going through a bit of a hard time, but that doesn’t mean she can’t act anymore. That doesn’t mean she’s finished.”

“If she can rip off an engagement ring in front of a ton of fans and tell a guy to take a hike, she definitely has the guts to make a comeback that packs a punch.” A small chuckle comes from you at hearing that and soon Jimin is looking to you with expectant, desperate eyes.

“What do you say? Does my actress have enough guts?”

You don’t say anything - you merely nod and look at him with tear-filled eyes, tugging him into a hug and not letting go.

A sigh of relief escapes Jimin.

“Done?”

You slowly come out of the changing room in casual clothes and then nod. He smiles at you before his phone rings and he gestures that he’ll be right back.

You patiently wait, wondering to yourself if you should call Jungkook to pick you up and you pull out your phone to place the call. Suddenly the screen lights up and the alarming amount of notifications are soon buzzing up before you even have a chance to view them. Quickly clicking on, an article pops up and the headlines are written in the same black colour, but now the topic has switched completely.

Y/N L/N and Park Jimin suspected of being in a relationship?

Your eyes are blown out wide, scrolling through and seeing pictures of times you’ve spent with Jimin being reported. There are comments and allegations being redirected to your movie, news of Seokjin visiting getting brought up as well.

The headlines are terrifying to view, however you haven’t even reached the fan comments yet.

There both about you and him, fans being upset and enraged at your sudden ‘relationship’ with a co-star so quickly after your break-up. Comments about Jimin are ones you can’t even look at, his fans disliking him for being mere inches close you and a pile of hate dropping onto his plate.

Things begin to unravel in your mind - getting hate wasn’t such a big deal for you, already so accustomed to how the media likes to paint an exaggerated image into people’s mind. However, Jimin was different, it’s blatant obvious on how hard he works and how much effort he brings forth, but for his career to be dragged down to the pits just because he was affiliated with you…

You don’t want him to spiral down like you once did.

“Sorry about that, Hoseok was calling me for a schedule tomorrow.” You nod, a lopsided smile surfacing on you and Jimin tilts his head to the side. “Is everything okay?”

Your eyes flicker, shaking your head with a smile.

“Everything’s fine.”

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