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missmonsters2 · 2 years ago

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Here You Are | Chapter 2

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x SingleMom!Reader

Summary: Natasha likes to think she's prepared for anything to happen. Nothing could ever surprise her because she was always prepared for the worst. But no one warned that she was sorely lacking in preparing for the best when it came to you.

Please do not repost/translate anywhere. Reblogs/Comments are much welcomed ♥

Series Masterlist || Library Blog

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Warnings: sorry you gave yourself a bad nickname for Tony to use against you

Count: ~4.1k

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"I just—" Natasha sighs. "I just don't understand why I'm the one who has to stay with her."

"You don't want to?" Bucky asks as he licks the remnants of ice cream off his spoon.

"No, it's not that," Natasha shrugs. "I just—I don't know. She seems really uncomfortable around me."

"I think she's uncomfortable around all of us," Steve sighs. "I don't blame her. Whoever she's running from, it seems serious and she won't even talk about it."

"I think she likes me," Tony chimes in. "I mean, I'm definitely her favorite...or at least Anya's favorite."

Natasha snorts. "No, I think Bucky's her favorite."

"Or his arm," Tony grumbles. "What's so cool about his metal arm? I have a literal arc reactor in my chest."

Bucky merely has a shit-eating grin on his face as he continues to eat ice cream.

"Anyway, it has to be you for this to work," Tony changes the subject. "Now that a whole hospital was blown up, she doesn't really have a choice about bringing this guy in. It's Avengers business now and just because she won't go after them doesn't mean they're just going to stop going after her."

Tony walks to the counter and pours himself a cup of coffee, measuring out a triple shot of espresso and ensuring it has an inhumane amount of sugar.

Natasha scrunches her nose in disgust at his cup. "That doesn't explain why it has to be me."

"Stop playing stupid, Romanoff," Tony wags his finger at her as he takes a long sip. "It's embarrassing."

"What?" Natasha mutters, but Bucky's just grinning again.

"Other than ignoring the fact that everyone else here has their own mission, you can't ignore that Anya looks the most like you. That dark reddish brown hair, her nose, and the shape of her eyes? You hiding a secret family like Clint is from us? Best friends don't have to do everything together, you know." Tony narrows his eyes in suspicion.

"Ha-ha," Natasha sarcastically laughs. "You know, that would totally be a plausible theory if I had a uterus. But I don't—because as you all should know—the lovely Red Room gives you an involuntary—"

"All right!" Tony cuts in, putting his hand up to signal Natasha to stop. "God, I hate when you use that one."

"And it never fails to win," Natasha smirks. "Hit me up when you have a comeback for that one, Stark."

"Whatever, Romanoff. You're still going to witness protection with her," Tony grins and starts throwing jazz hands. "Congrats on your new wife and child!"

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You stare at the house outside as you hold Anya's hand. It was much more modest than what you had lived in before. In a way, you kind of liked how this cookie-cutter house on the edge of the street blended right in.

There wasn't much you had to carry into the house with the Avengers disguising themselves as movers and helping you as they checked everything out.

The move was when it became dark out to prevent too many nosy neighbors from coming up to introduce themselves.

"Are you tired?" You grin as Anya lets out a big yawn, swaying slightly on the couch.

Anya thought about denying it, but for once, she didn't need to push herself to stay awake. She nods, and you press a quick kiss to her temple before you pick her up.

You were cleared from the hospital a few days ago, fully recovering before you left to live in this new house—new life that Tony Stark had built for you.

"I'm just going to get her ready for bed," you look over to Natasha, who had been working on her laptop at the dining table.

"Oh, yes, of course," Natasha says stiffly. "Let me know if you need anything."

You only nod before leaving towards the bathroom. The entire day had an awkward atmosphere, and the majority of it was your own fault. You couldn't help but be stiff around the redhead.

You were nothing but a liar—a fraud.

A coward.

All you did was probably put Natasha at risk too.

You wonder what was going through Natasha's mind. You knew she was probably tasked with finding out more about who you were running from.

A part of you wanted to spill everything, but you knew better.

Everyone who knew died.

Granted, if you were found, they were all going to die regardless.

But for every person who knew, Anya paid the price. So, you were never going to reveal who it was. If the Avengers figured it out on their own, that was their prerogative, but it wouldn't be because you helped.

You could offer nothing to stop this person. You had nothing to offer, and you knew it was your own fault it was that way.

Helping Anya brush her teeth, you walk her towards your room and help her onto the bed. It was a three-bedroom house, but the third bedroom was to be used as an office space. If anyone visited, it would be strange to have three separate beds in the home.

You and Anya would share a bed while Natasha had her own room. There had been a bit of a fight over who would get the master bedroom. Natasha insisted that you should have it, while you insisted she should have for having to stick out here to protect the two of you.

In the end, Natasha won the battle, and you appreciate her tenacity.

You look at the time and find it wasn't as late as you thought. With it being winter, you sometimes forget that the sun sets at 4PM. It was 9PM now, and you did actually feel exhausted.

Determined to have a better start to the day tomorrow, you got ready for bed and slipped in next to Anya.

The way her chest expanded and fell in slow rhythm was comforting. She was so small, yet you don't think anyone could be braver than her.

What a remarkable child, and she was yours.

You brush her hair, and she stirs, only to settle on her side, snuggling into you.

The safe sound of her breath and nothing else lulls you to sleep.

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Natasha finds it difficult to remain asleep. She slips in and out of slumber every other hour, and it's making her irritated. Letting out a deep sigh, she turns on her back and stares at the ceiling.

The house creaks as it expands and compresses with the changing temperature. She can hear shuffling and a light snore from the room next to her if she's quiet enough. But she can also hear shuffling in the kitchen. Natasha sits up, sliding her hand under her pillow and grabbing hold of her gun. Clicking off the safety as she quietly leaves her bed, she opens the door silently. She remains slightly crouched as she walks against the wall.

As the kitchen comes into view, she finds she can't see anything. So, Natasha stands taller and quickly puts her gun behind her back when she sees Anya slowly pushing the dining room chair towards the counter.

Natasha should really say something; she knows she should. But a part of her can't help but watch the young girl so dedicated push the chair inch by inch to avoid scraping it against the floor. When it's where Anya wants, she climbs up the chair, trying to open the cabinet.

"Anya, why are you up?" Natasha decides to interrupt. The young girl jumps slightly and turns around to look at Natasha sheepishly.

"Oh, hi, Nat," Anya quietly says, her cheeks warm. "I can't sleep. Mom says she used to drink a glass of warm milk to go to bed. I want to try it too."

"And why isn't your mom with you?" Nat quirks her brow.

Anya fidgets on the chair, pinching her pajama shirt. "Mom's tired. She doesn't get a lot of rest, so I want to let her sleep."

Something in Natasha's heart clenches, and she lets a deep sigh out of her nose to relieve the pressure.

"Alright, how about I help you then?" Natasha offers with a small smile.

Anya seems to contemplate it before she nods. "Yes, please."

Natasha carefully makes her way over, tucking her gun into her pants at her back before she makes her way around to Anya. She opens the cabinet, grabs a mug, and grabs milk from the fridge and honey from a basket on the counter.

"You know, if you don't want to wake up your mom, you are always welcome to come to my room," Natasha suggests.

"You don't sleep?" Anya tilts her head to the side.

"I also have trouble sleeping at night but I probably don't need as much sleep as the two of you," Natasha explains simply.

"You should make a glass of warm milk too. We can drink it together," Anya smiles.

Natasha chuckles and moves to grab another glass. Anya doesn't say anything after, making Natasha wonder if the young girl is shy. She seems okay with talking to Natasha, but kids are usually much more chatty at this age.

There is a moment where Natasha contemplates asking Anya about who you would be running from. Would it be her father? Mother? Is someone related to them?

The last words of that woman imitating the nurse make Natasha believe it was a romantic interest.

"Cheers," Natasha holds her mug out towards Anya, who stares back at her curiously.

"You clink glasses and say cheers when drinking with someone else," Natasha smiles, tilting her head at the young girl.

"Why?" Anya asks.

Natasha hums. "Good question. People have been doing it for so long. I think to show that we're wishing each other a good time."

Anya's mouth forms a little 'o', and she carefully touches her mug against Natasha's. "Cheers," she mumbles, thinking about how she wants to try cheering drinks with you too.

Natasha drinks her milk slowly, observing Anya through the corner of her eyes. She feels reluctant to admit it, but Tony is right. Anya's reddish brown hair looks soft like Natasha's, and she can see the shape of their eyes and mouth are similar.

But Natasha knows that whatever they were thinking—what she couldn't help but think for a moment—is not real. The red room made sure of it.

So, Natasha starts to theorize who Anya's other parent could be. Tony had said Anya was definitely your match. So, whoever the other parent is would have to have genetic similarities to herself. She would have to look for an influential man with red hair, almond eyes, and thick lips. Or, if it was a woman, she would need to find clinics that did IVG procedures.

Natasha internally sighs. The scope is still too wide, and she hopes she can get more information as time passes.

Anya finishes her glass, letting out a yawn.

"Bedtime?" Natasha smiles, and Anya nods.

"I have to brush my teeth again. Mother doesn't like it if I don't brush my teeth," Anya mumbles sleepily.

"Mother?" Natasha repeats. Anya has been calling you mom, so—

Anya rubs her face, trying to stay away as she slides off the chair and makes her way to the washroom. Natasha follows after, helping the young girl grab her toothbrush and toothpaste.

"Can you do it?" Natasha asks, remembering how you had helped her earlier.

But Anya nods and takes the toothbrush, diligently doing it herself. Natasha wonders if you just prefer to spoil Anya, not that she could blame you.

"So," Natasha says quietly as Anya brushes her teeth, mentally counting in her head. "Does mother not like when you don't brush your teeth, or does mom not like it too?" It was a carefully worded question.

"I don't know," Anya says sleepily and a little gurgly with her mouth occupied. "Mom always helps me brush my teeth."

Natasha tries to ask more questions, but Anya doesn't seem to want to answer anymore. So, Natasha is left passing the young girl a cup with water in it before she walks Anya back to her room.

"G'night, Nat," Anya mumbles. "Thanks for helping."

"No problem," Natasha smiles. "Good night."

Standing alone in the dark hallway, Natasha is left thinking about what the young girl said.

How is it that you always help Anya brush her teeth if someone was upset before if Anya hadn't?

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"You're going to be a good girl, right?" You softly encourage Anya, despite your furrowed brows. You were anxious but didn't want to show your daughter that.

Anya nods, pursing her lips to prevent herself from crying.

"It'll be okay," you reassure her, brushing wisps of her hair out of her face. "I'm going to be back real quick. You'll hardly even have time to miss me."

"But I miss you already," Anya mumbles, and it's so cute that it pricks your heart as you hold her tiny little hands together. You kiss them and smile.

"Me too, but I'm sure Natasha will play with you," you look over to the redheaded woman and give her a small smile.

"Well, Tony has dropped off lots of coloring books and pencils. I'm sure it'll keep us busy," Natasha crouches down next to Anya.

Anya nods and lets Natasha grab hold of her hand as the woman stands up. You put your coat on with gloves and a big scarf, and it engulfs half of your face, and Natasha finds herself staring.

Cute.

"Alright!" Tony draws the attention to himself. "If we're as quick as Nikon says over here, we'll come back with some of the best hot chocolate."

Anya doesn't react as much as Tony hopes, but she does look curiously at him, and that's exciting enough.

"Nikon?" You quirk your brow.

"Yeah, you know, like the camera because you have—"

"Creative," you say dryly as you cut him off.

"I thought so," Tony smirks, ignoring your sarcasm.

"I actually used to be called Psych in college," you say offhandedly. "I majored in criminal justice."

"Wait, Psych like the show—" Tony starts to say excitedly.

"Ooh," Natasha hisses pitifully for you. "You're going to regret revealing that.”

"Everyone except Anya has to call you Psych from now on. Anything else gets them a punch in the gut,” Tony exclaims.

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Natasha sits on the couch, book in hand that she's stopped reading for quite some time. In front of her sits Anya on a cushion over the coffee table. The TV is on with old cartoons Natasha used to enjoy with Yelena.

The faint sounds of pencils scratching against paper accompany the television, and Anya is dividing her attention between the TV curiously and whatever she is drawing.

Anya had started with the coloring books but quickly grew tired of them before she moved on to drawing whatever she wanted on blank paper. There had been a couple of pictures she finished, and Natasha stared at them in scrutiny.

They were all pictures of you.

There are pictures of you sitting in the garden, cooking in the kitchen, in the dining room, or staring out the window.

Natasha knows that you have definitely instructed Anya to not talk about your...wife?

Anya would seem to start drawing another person before scribbling it out and turning it into something else. But Natasha wonders why Anya hadn't drawn herself in any of the photos.

"Aren't you going to draw yourself with mom?" Natasha asks as she closes her book and moves to join the young girl on the ground. She picks up some paper and pencils to help the young girl relax around her.

"I am in them," Anya says simply as she shades in your hair color. They're outside the lines slightly, but Natasha is impressed by the work nonetheless.

"Oh?" Natasha furrows her brow. "Where? I don't see you."

"I'm watching mom."

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Anya stares at Natasha with wonder in her eyes. She sits on the barstool at the counter, her little legs swinging back and forth.

"Do you like your bread toasted?" Natasha asks.

Anya nods.

"How about the crust being cut off?"

Anya nods.

"Do you want jam?"

Anya nods.

"Do you like it cut in half?"

Anya nods.

"Or left whole?"

Anya nods.

Natasha quirks her brow at the young girl.

"Are you just saying yes to everything? Do you even like all of these things?"

Anya fidgets with her fingers and shrugs. "I don't know. I haven't had it before. I'll eat whatever Nat thinks is good."

Natasha is taken aback.

"You haven't eaten a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before?" Natasha asks with a frown. When Natasha lived with Alexei, Melina, and Yelena, she would eat them almost daily for lunch. She was sure it was a common food for young children still developing their taste buds.

The peanut butter sandwiches only stopped when Natasha returned to the Red Room.

"So, what did you eat before at home?" Natasha asks casually, returning to making the sandwich. She cuts it in half and only puts jam on one half of the sandwich to see if Anya will like it.

Anya hums in thought. "Chicken or salmon with vegetables and potatoes. Sometimes spaghetti or steak."

"That's all?" Natasha asks.

"Um," Anya frowns like she's being tested. "And salad."

"How about mac and cheese, chicken nuggets, pizza, burgers, fries, chips, or anything else like that?"

"Those are not good for you," Anya said gravely. "It will make you sick."

Natasha purses her lips, trying to not laugh at how serious the young girl looks. But Natasha also can't help but think it's sad Anya is missing out on such common foods other kids get to enjoy.

You don't seem like the type to be that strict on a diet because you had fed Anya M&Ms at the hospital. So, is it the other parent?

"But you had M&Ms before and you didn't get sick, did you?" Natasha points out.

Anya frowns again, thinking back before she shakes her head. "Mom eats M&Ms and she likes them and she's okay. M&Ms are okay."

Natasha can't help but chuckle then. What lovely logic. "I'm sure your mom has also eaten the same things I mentioned. She must like some of those things too. She's okay, isn't she?"

Anya is left thinking about what Natasha said, contemplating the logic.

"So," Anya drags. "They're okay? They won't make you sick?"

"Maybe too much of it will," Natasha smiles. "But eating too much of one thing isn't good for all foods."

Anya merely nods, accepting Natasha's words.

The peanut butter and partial jam sandwich is finished as Natasha places it in front of Anya, with no crust. She watches with amusement as Anya stares at it for a moment before carefully picking it up. She picks up the half that has peanut butter and jam and takes a small bite. There are a few careful chews, then a warm, excited smile. Anya takes a bigger bite, eating happily.

"Do you like the jam?" Natasha asks, and Anya nods, so she fixes the other half of the sandwich while the young girl finishes what's in her hand.

Natasha eats the leftover crust, scooping some of the remaining peanut butter on the knife.

They eat quietly, and Natasha thinks it's rather peaceful, and it reminds her of the days when Yelena was so young and they were happy. But unlike Yelena, who was boisterous and playful, Anya was more like Natasha, curious but quiet.

Natasha is about to say something else when she hears someone at the door before the keys jiggling, and it opens.

"Mom!" Anya smiles as she slides off the barstool, the sandwich still in hand as she runs to you.

Tony comes in after, suited down, and Natasha nods in greeting at him.

"Hi, sweetpea," you smile as you crouch and open your arms. "Did you have fun? What's that you got in your hand?"

"Uh huh," Anya nods. "Nat drew with me and showed me pinky and the brain and the powerpuff girls." Then she brings the sandwich to your face. "Nat made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It's yummy. Have you had it before?"

You look over at Natasha for a moment before looking back. "I have. It is yummy."

It's like your words confirm something for Anya as she bites her bottom lip for a moment before releasing it.

"Can I please choose what to eat for dinner?" Anya asks as politely as she can.

"Of course," you smile, kissing her cheek before brushing off some of the crumbs on Anya's lips. "What do you want to have?"

"Um," Anya looks up for a second. "Mac and cheese, chicken nuggets, pizza, burgers, fries, chips, or anything else like that."

Natasha is surprised by Anya perfectly recalling what she had listed and said.

You quirk your brow at the young girl, looking at Natasha for a brief moment. The other woman shrugs with a smile, and you return it.

"Alright, how about pizza? I'm pretty sure Tony will be happy to get us some since he's insisting to stay for dinner today," you turn your head back to look at him with a look.

"It's Uncle Tony, and I will happily order some even though burgers are better," Tony nearly sticks his tongue out at you.

"Burgers next time from Mr. Tony's favorite place," Anya says determinedly to appease Tony.

"You drive a hard bargain, kid. Also, it's Uncle Tony. Uncle."

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The evening passes with lots of chatter and laughter. Anya is warming up to Tony a lot more, and Tony is eager to get back and rub it in Bucky's face.

Anya claimed pizza was the best thing to ever exist, but Tony kept insisting the burgers next time would be better.

You hadn't said much during the evening, just smiling at the conversation and doting on Anya. Natasha joked and laughed along with Tony, but she couldn't stop watching you from the corner of her eye.

There were so many questions just on the tip of her tongue that Natasha wanted to ask so badly.

"So, how was it?" Natasha asks as she and Tony stand outside on the doorstep. "Did Y/—"

Tony glares at Natasha, and she rolls her eyes with a sigh. "Did Psych do okay out there?"

"It was insane," Tony replies quietly, adjusting his coat. "I've never seen someone with an eidetic memory like her. Most people who have it can usually only recall things for a brief period of time, and not in perfect detail. She's definitely got a photographic memory, maybe even perfect recall."

Tony looks back through the window to see you and Anya on the couch watching TV.

"You should've seen her out there. There was basically nothing left in the area. No footsteps or anything. Just banks of snow but she stared for two seconds before she started walking off in a direction. She just kept doing that until we encountered some bodies."

"Jeeze," Natasha huffed. "How did she react?"

"She didn't," Tony shrugged. "Not really. I think she expected them to be dead. I mean, there's really no means of shelter out there. She just asked if we could go home."

Natasha hums.

"Did you find anything out?"

Natasha shrugs. "Not much. I think it was definitely a woman that she was seeing. Anya mentioned another woman who was her mother. But I don't know if Anya has a bio dad that's not in the picture or if she was created with IVG. If it's IVG, based on Anya's features and traits, I have to assume this woman in question was also a redhead."

"A redhead who looks like you," Tony smirks. "Can't be too many of you walking around in a position of power. Are you sure it’s not you?”

Tony asks jokingly but Natasha answers seriously. “It can’t be. IVG was invented well after I left the Red Room. Not to mention children were considered a weakness. Also, Anya is only four, so it would’ve had to have been recent and I would definitely know if someone had used my cells after I left.”

Tony sighs. “Alright. So, a new mysterious, powerful redhead we have to find.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. "I don't think we're gonna find anything about this person publicly. We're gonna have to do some deep digging, but either way, we first have to find out how Anya was created."

"Perfect because nothing is ever easy for us," Tony sarcastically retorts. "Anything else?"

"Just some theories," Natasha shrugs.

"Share with the class," Tony says but then looks around. "Share with your classmate."

"Well," Natasha breathes. "I don't think Anya was allowed to be near Psych. Possibly she didn't even know about Anya until recently."

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanov imagine #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst #black widow imagine #black widow x reader #Avengers #Avengers AU #avengers imagine #avengers reader insert #marvel reader insert #mm: my fics

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mintaka14 · 3 years ago

Link

See the Light

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Chapter Three – Living in a Blur

“No Rose or Juleka today?” Marinette asked as she stepped down into the galley of the Liberty with that effortless grace that Luka was coming to associate with the woman she’d become. She reached up to tuck back a lock of hair that had escaped from the braid over her shoulder, and Luka moved around the tiny kitchen, pulling out mugs, while the kettle whistled loudly in the background.

“No, they had a few things to organise today for the wedding. They said to say hi, though.” He didn’t mention the other things that Rose had had to say, or the broad, suggestive beams she given him before she dragged Juleka away on whatever mission she’d manufactured.

He handed Marinette the tea that he’d just made and shifted towards the couch in the living room, cradling his own coffee. Marinette sank into the armchair across from him. She blew on the mug and closed her eyes to inhale the steam.

“I still can’t quite believe that Juleka and Rose are getting married. It feels like only yesterday we were all in collège.” Marinette smiled, and sighed.

“They’re incredibly lucky to be getting MDC original wedding dresses. That’s one hell of a wedding present you’re giving them.”

“Juleka and Rose are covering the materials I’m just volunteering my time and a bit of sewing.”

Luka’s eyebrow rose sceptically. “One artist to another, I know it’s not ‘just’ anything, Marinette. Your time and skill is a very generous gift, and don’t forget, I’ve seen what you’re putting together for them. Jules and Rose can’t have been straightforward to design for.”

Marinette laughed. “But they’re giving me the chance to have fun,” she insisted. “I spend all day every day dealing with clients with no individuality or imagination, trying to convince them to trust me, so it’s a relief to get a chance to do something interesting for a change, with friends who are happy to indulge me.”

Luka leaned back, all plans to rehearse forgotten, as he watched Marinette talk about the inspiration behind the wedding dresses and the creative possibilities in dressing certain clients, her face lighting up and her hands gesturing animatedly as she grew more impassioned about her theories of clothing as a reflection of self. He followed the movement of her hands and lost himself in the endless blue of her eyes.

“I really need to ask Juleka if she’d be willing to model for me sometime. She’s always so compelling in whatever she wears, and so much fun to design for,” she said eventually. He found her eyeing him speculatively. “I’d love to have the chance to dress you one day.”

“You could at least buy me dinner first,” he said without thinking.

There was a heartbeat, then Marinette burst out laughing.

“Smooth line, Couffaine. Does that work on all the girls?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He decided to lean into it, and grinned at her. “I’ve only ever tried it on you. Is it working?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “How are you still single?” she asked.

“You’re a hard act to follow,” he said, and Marinette levelled a look at him.

“Luka, I was a fourteen year old clumsy mess who kept on flaking out on our dates. You can’t tell me I’m the gold standard of your relationships.”

Put like that, it was ridiculous, but it was true nonetheless. He’d had relationships, and they were sincere in the moment, but he’d drifted out of them as easily as he’d drifted into them, and they’d left him with little more than fond memories. None of them had left a mark like Marinette had. Over the years, he’d put it down to rose-coloured nostalgia, but then she’d walked into his life again, more Marinette than ever, and he’d fallen harder and faster than he had before.

He looked down at the mug of coffee in his hands.

“How about you? Anyone special in your life these days?” he asked the coffee with casual disinterest. She gave a soft snort.

“Hardly. It’s not like anything’s changed since we were going out.” She seemed to catch herself, and froze as Luka’s head came up to stare at her. “I just… mean, who’s got time for a relationship, right? Life’s too busy.”

“Not since we were going out?” Luka echoed her, frowning. “Marinette, you were fourteen. You haven’t dated anyone since then?”

She shrugged uncomfortably. “I dated. It just never lasts long. It’s not that big a deal. And besides,” she muttered, “I’ve learned my lesson, the universe doesn’t want me to have a relationship.”

She put her mug abruptly on the table and stood.

“Weren’t we supposed to be practising?”

Luka got to his feet and reached for his guitar. Clearly this was a line of conversation that Marinette did not want to go down with him, and he dropped the subject to run through the song with her a few times, correcting her gently when her voice faltered.

He had to wonder, though, what the hell was wrong with the men in Marinette’s life that had left her love life such a sore subject?

Luka stopped again to make a suggestion about phrasing and breath control.

“All that time, never even knowing just how blind I’ve been,” Marinette tried again, sounding more confident with the slightly awkward vocal skips this time, and Luka gave her a smile.

“See?” he told her. “Fashion designer to the stars, artist, and now singer. You can add that to your résumé.”

He’d finally coaxed a laugh out of her, and then Marinette’s handbag buzzed. Luka watched the smile drop off her face. Her eyes flicked to the door. “I’m really sorry, I have to go. I have… a thing…”

She was gone before he could say anything further. For a moment, Luka sat there with his guitar silent in his lap, frowning thoughtfully. Apparently she was right – not much had changed in the ten years since they’d been kids together. There were still the abrupt excuses, the silences, the sudden disappearances.

Luka plucked out Now she’s here, shining in the starlight, and he considered the empty space where she’d been. He was coming to suspect that whatever had been going on when they were kids, whatever she’d been keeping to herself when she broke it off with him, it was something bigger than he’d imagined.

At that moment, Luka’s own phone chimed with an akuma alert, and the timing of it was jarring. His hand dropped, as it always did, to touch his empty wrist. He looked down at it, his frown growing troubled as a new thought took hold.

He found himself thinking back over the timing of some of those disappearances, and odd excuses, and the times she’d had just a little more knowledge of Ladybug's movements than any random civilian ought to, but it had all sounded so plausible at the time. Seen through this new lens, those moments took on a new significance the more he turned them over in his mind.

Black pigtails, unmistakeable blue eyes. The same damn plain black earrings that Marinette, the consummate fashion designer, was still wearing ten years later.

How had he never put it together before?

Luka was still sitting there, his hands resting on his guitar and his gaze fixed on nothing, when Juleka and Rose came home.

“Where’s Marinette?” Rose asked in obvious disappointment when she took in the quiet room.

“She had to leave,” Luka replied absently.

“Luka! You just let her leave?”

Luka could see the tiny frown that he was feeling reflected in his sister’s face, although he wasn’t sure what had prompted it in Juleka’s case.

“I’m not going to badger her into staying if she needs to go, Rose,” he said mildly.

Rose threw up her hands. “And how is she supposed to know you want her to stay if you don’t tell her? I don’t get why you’re both fighting this so hard. She’s single, you’re single, but both of you are too chicken to make the first move.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Juleka interjected, shooting a dark look at her brother. “Because I remember weeks and weeks of Taylor fucking Swift, and I do not want to go through that again.”

“That was ten years ago! You cannot tell me that there’s not something there!” Rose whirled and stabbed a finger at Luka. “You can’t argue with the Sparkly Sense.”

Luka was only half paying attention to the argument, and responded vaguely, “Marinette has too much going on in her life right now to worry about a relationship with anyone.” Like saving the city, over and over and over again, holy shit, she was Ladybug.

Once seen, it was hard to understand how he could have missed it, and his mind briefly derailed to speculate that it must be some sort of kwami-induced magic that obscured her identity. Given how adamant Ladybug had been back in the day that the secret of the miraculous holders’ identities had to be preserved, and how hard she had worked since then to maintain that secrecy, Luka had a bad feeling about how things would go if he told her that he knew.

He was about to become another crack in her armour, another worry dumped on her already overloaded shoulders. Although, what did he really know, when all was said and done? He had his suspicions, nothing more.

“Hopeless, the both of you,” Rose complained, and glared at Juleka. “Don’t you want your brother to live happily ever after?”

“I don’t want to have to live through weeks of I Almost Do again, because my stupid brother hasn’t got the sense he was born with, and you’re just encouraging him.”

Rose stomped away, muttering things under her breath, but Juleka stayed silent after that. His guitar still in his hand, Luka got to his feet and headed for his bedroom before Rose could come back and start again. He had too much else on his mind to deal with Rose’s matchmaking.

Every time he thought Marinette couldn’t get any more extraordinary, she surprised him all over again, but the music he played softly in the solitude of his room that night ached with all the burdens he’d seen in her eyes.

Some time later, he heard a soft knock on his door and it opened quietly. When he looked up, Juleka was leaning there, her hand on the door handle and a look of equal parts irritation and uneasiness on her face.

“Luka –“

“I’m fine,” he cut her off before she could say what he knew she was going to say. “I know what I’m doing, and it’s all good.”

Juleka’s mouth pinched. “Do you, though? Because from where I’m standing, we’re heading for Taylor territory again.”

Luka didn’t answer, his focus on his hands and the fragments of melody that he’d come to think of as Marinette’s song. Eventually he heard a sigh, and Juleka said, “I love you, you dumbass.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

The door shut behind her, and he was left alone with his thoughts and Marinette’s secrets.

~~~~~

“You’re playing with fire,” warned the voice of responsibility in Marinette’s handbag, and Marinette sighed. She shifted the bulky dress bags in her hands so that she could see the little round face peering up at her.

“It’s just a dress fitting, Tikki. Can’t I even have friends anymore?”

“It’s Luka,” the tiny kwami said primly. “Things never stay just friends with Luka, and I saw the way you’ve been looking at him. Remember what happened the last time you told someone?”

“That was ten years ago, and Luka is not Alya. Don’t you think things have changed a bit since then?”

“It never ends well,” Tikki insisted, and Marinette felt the weight of Ladybug closing in on her all over again. She looked up at the Liberty as she drew closer, and had never felt less free in her life.

“Don’t worry, Luka’s not even going to be there,” she said wearily. “Juleka said he’s got something tonight, so it’ll just be her and Rose there. And anyway, there’s no chance he’d ever be interested in me like that again.” Because if there was a chance, then Marinette would have to walk away now before she could do any more damage, and she’d never get to see Luka again. She couldn’t do that. She just couldn’t.

“Luka was a wonderful holder for Sass,” Tikki conceded, “but he’s always been a little too perceptive for comfort. If he were to find out…”

“We’re here,” Marinette said, cutting off the rest of Tikki’s dire predictions. The kwami vanished into the depths of her handbag, and Marinette maneouvred the dress bags carefully as she climbed the gangplank onto the boat and called a greeting as she reached the empty deck.

In spite of her mood after Tikki’s lecture, she felt a tiny smile curl her lips as Rose’s answering shriek echoed up from below deck, and she followed the sound down into the depths of the boat.

“Marinette!” Rose scolded reproachfully as Marinette descended carefully into the galley with the two dress bags in her hand and moved through into the living room. “You didn’t even say goodbye last time! We got back and you were just gone.”

Marinette held the dresses clear as Rose engulfed her in a whirlwind hug, and turned to meet Juleka’s more sedate greeting. The dark-haired girl gave her a nod and a quirk of a smile that turned to a frown when Rose gave her girlfriend a smug look.

Rose turned towards the bedrooms, and bellowed, “Luka! Look who’s here!”

“What’s up?” she heard Luka’s voice, and felt her heart stutter. Oh, that wasn’t good. Luka swung around the edge of the door, leaning against the frame behind his sister as he directed a slow, sweet smile at Marinette.

“Hey, you,” he said, and Marinette couldn’t help but smile back at him. Juleka rolled her eyes and slugged her brother in the arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Juleka!” Rose scolded.

“Weren’t you going out? Rose said you had a thing tonight,” Juleka said, and Luka frowned at her.

“Not for another hour. The band we were going to check out isn’t on til later.”

“Did I say eight?” Rose said innocently to the ceiling. “I meant nine. Oops.”

Marinette found herself standing there awkwardly holding the dress bags, her eyes shifting between the three of them.

“You don’t want to keep the guys waiting if you said you’d be there,” Juleka pushed.

“I only said I might,” Luka said, shooting his sister an annoyed look.

“Besides, he can catch them another time,” Rose insisted, staring at her girlfriend with a pointed message that Juleka ignored for once. “They won’t mind, and Marinette’s here now.”

Luka elbowed Juleka aside none too gently and came into the room. “I’m getting a coffee. Did you want anything, Mari?”

“I’d like a coffee,” Juleka said in a saccharine voice, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“I didn’t ask you, monster child.”

“You don’t have to stay on my account,” Marinette told Luka. “I’m only here to do the final dress fitting.”

“Oh no!” Rose protested. “You have to stay for dinner. It’s the least we can do after everything you’ve done with the wedding dresses.”

“You haven’t even seen the finished thing yet,” Marinette pointed out, and felt a flush rising at the smile that Luka was giving her.

“We don’t need to see them to know they’re going to be incredible,” he said. “And it wasn’t important. I was only half thinking of going out anyway.”

The noise Juleka made was not polite, and Luka made a rude gesture back without looking at his sister.

“Well,” said Rose brightly. “How about we leave them to it? They’re going to be doing this for a while.”

In Juleka’s bedroom, Marinette didn’t have to ask Rose if she was happy with her wedding dress once she’d settled the clouds of soft pink organza around her and done up the miles of tiny buttons. Rose was making a noise like a tea kettle on the boil that rose to a squeal of happiness as she spun around in front of Juleka’s bedroom mirror. Handbeaded organza flowers spilled down in glittering trails across the skirts as she turned, and Rose raised a hand to touch the flowers that clustered all over her bodice.

“It’s perfect!” she breathed. She made a move as if she was going to throw her arms around Marinette, but Marinette fended her off with a laugh.

“Hug me when we get you out of the dress,” she smiled. “How does it feel? Nothing slipping, or too tight?”

“It’s perfect,” Rose repeated, her voice turning a little wobbly with emotion.

When Marinette finally got Rose to stop twirling around for long enough to take the gown off again, they headed back to the living room to find the Couffaine siblings glaring at each other. Luka looked away as they came in, his mouth pressed in a tight line, and Juleka spun on her heel, stalking towards the bedroom without a word, leaving Marinette to follow.

She carefully removed Juleka’s wedding dress from its hanger while her friend stripped down to her underwear and slipped her formal shoes on, and then Marinette started easing Juleka into the gown.

“Mari, what’s really going on with you and Luka?” Juleka asked, her voice a little muffled by the softly glittering black fabric over her head. Marinette slid the dress down and settled it into place. “I love you, but he’s my brother and I’m worried about him.”

“We’re just friends,” Marinette said, and suppressed a flinch at the words. Juleka rolled her eyes.

“You were never just friends even when you were just friends. And the last time I thought you were just friends it turned out you’d been dating my idiot brother. So excuse me if I’m not buying it.”

Marinette swallowed at that, stung but unable to argue the point.

“Believe me, Juleka, I’m well aware of how badly I fucked up back then, and the last thing I want to do is hurt Luka like that again,” she said, insistent in the face of Juleka’s scepticism.

“You won’t mean to, but Luka gets stupid when you’re involved.”

“That was ten years ago,” Marinette protested.

“That was two minutes ago.”

Juleka’s exasperated words provoked a cold wash of dismay. Juleka had to be mistaken. Luka was long over her, he had to be. Somewhere deep down, though, Marinette felt a tiny fireworks explosion of something that she didn’t dare acknowledge.

“The moment you turn up, he drops everything without a second thought,” Juleka muttered as Marinette eased the hidden zip up. Marinette stepped back, and Juleka turned to face the mirror.

“Wow. Damn, Marinette,” she breathed. She angled herself a little, her eyes still on her reflection in the mirror. “I take it all back. You’re welcome to wreck my dumbass brother, as long as I get to keep this dress.”

Marinette gave a tightlipped little smile, and went back to regarding the gown with a critical eye. There really didn’t seem to be much that needed adjusting. She repositioned the crystal chipped dragon brooch that coiled over Juleka’s hip, where it caught up the fall of the fabric, but it all seemed to be working.

She extracted Juleka from the gown again, and back in the living room Rose was sprawled on the couch, scrolling through something on her phone. Luka had his guitar in his hands again, strumming something with his coffee forgotten on the table beside him. He looked up as Marinette and Juleka came in.

“How’s the dress?” he asked.

“It’s stunning,” Juleka said, and heaved a put-upon sigh. “I can’t stop you from being stupid, but at least you have good taste.”

He gave her a suspicious look, his eyes shifting to Marinette when there was no further explanation forthcoming. “What was that all about?”

Marinette shrugged awkwardly, but fortunately he didn’t press her on it.

“So are we doing Thai or that new Indian place tonight? There’s nothing on the Akuma alert,” Rose said from the couch, “but there is a new theory about who Ladybug is on the conspiracy forums.”

“Aliens, or the Mayor’s secret revenge love child this time?” Juleka asked, dropping onto the couch beside her.

“I miss the Ladyblog,” Rose said, stretching her arms over her head. “Remember that time Alya thought that Chloe was Ladybug?”

Marinette remembered.

On the couch, Juleka laughed. “How is Alya,” she asked, and tilted her head to throw a look at Marinette. “Have you seen her lately?”

Alya again. The universe seemed determined to beat her over the head with her failures. She opened her eyes to find them all watching her, and she gave a strained and unconvincing smile.

“Not recently. I think she’s working in a travel agency now. It’s been a few years, though.”

Nearly six years, to be exact, since she’d last bumped into Alya.

“Jules,” Luka said casually, “how about you and Ro go pick up dinner? Mari and I really should work on the song for the wedding a bit more.”

It was a transparent excuse to shift the subject and give her a bit of space, and she was grateful for it, even if Rose did give Luka a very unsubtle wink that he pretended to not see. Rose and Juleka didn’t seem to have noticed anything odd, but Luka threw her a quick glance as he laughed at something Rose said, and reached out to toss his wallet at Juleka, who pulled a few euros from it and threw it back. Marinette managed to respond lightly enough to a question about her preferences, and by the time it was just her and Luka she’d pulled herself together again.

“I take it that things aren’t good with Alya,” he said gently.

She shrugged, and the smile she gave him was a little unsteady. “Our friendship didn’t end well. We don’t talk to each other anymore.”

It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was as close as she could get without giving away too much. There was no way she could explain how her former best friend had looked straight through her as if she was a stranger the last time they’d run into each other, or the sickening wash of guilt, remorse, and self-loathing she still felt over the reason behind it, even after all these years.

“It was a long time ago,” she said as easily as she could manage, but Luka had always been able to read her better than that. His hand closed over hers briefly, reassuring and strong, and for a moment she let herself draw on his warmth.

“It still leaves a mark, though, doesn’t it?” he said.

She couldn’t help wondering a little bitterly how different things might have been if she’d told Luka everything, instead of Alya, back when she was fourteen. Would it have been Luka looking at her with that terrible emptiness?

Marinette broke eye contact and pulled her hand away to wrap it around her now-cold mug. She was aware that Luka was regarding her as if he saw a lot more than she was letting on, but he didn’t push for more. Instead, he got to his feet.

“I need another coffee,” he said, and gave her a questioning look. “Tea for you?”

She took the distraction, and followed him into the galley.

Luka kept to safe subjects after that, telling her about the group of students he’d been working with after school, and a gig that had gone disastrously wrong, until she couldn’t help but giggle when he described the drummer slowly sliding off his stool and passing out face down on his snare drum.

“It actually improved the quality of his playing,” Luka said wryly.

And he laughed when she countered with an account of Chloe Bourgeois commisioning her to design and make an outfit last season.

“I don’t think she’d even considered that MDC might stand for Marinette Dupain-Cheng until she turned up for the fitting,” Marinette grinned. “You should have seen the look on her face, though.”

“Ridiculous!” Luka scoffed in a passable immitation of the Mayor’s daughter, and waved his hand in the air as Marinette giggled at him. “Utterly ridiculous!”

“And of course, nothing was good enough. She couldn’t believe I was expecting her to pay full price for such shoddy workmanship. I should be paying her to wear my rags.”

“Tell me you told her where to shove it,” Luka said, and folded his arms on the benchtop, leaning forward in anticipation. Marinette’s smile grew broader.

“Oh, better than that. I told her if it wasn’t to her satisfaction she was welcome to leave the dress and I’d cancel her contract, and I’d even waive the cancellation fee because we’d known each other such a long time. I was very helpful. I told her I was sure I could find someone willing to buy it instead, and Clara Nightingale had already seen it and asked if it was for sale. Which was true,” she added as an afterthought.

“And?”

Marinette tilted her chin, her smile turning smug. “She took the dress, of course. And ordered another one under a fake name a month later.”

“Seriously?”

“B. Queen, to be delivered to the Grand Paris Hotel. With her exact measurements. Seriously.”

Luka tipped his head back and laughed hard, and Marinette lost herself in the sound. God, he was a beautiful man.

Next to the couch in the living room, her handbag shuffled in agitation, and Marinette ignored it, but her smile faded in response to the reminder.

“Marinette,” Luka said more seriously, and when she looked up his blue eyes had deepened into something that was a little hard to read. He frowned a little, as if he was trying to decide what he should say. “You don’t have to tell me anything, but I get the feeling that things haven’t been so easy for you. I know it’s been hard to let yourself get close to anyone.”

He was speaking slowly, measuring out each word carefully, and it felt like there was a whole lot he deliberately wasn’t saying.

“I just need you to know, the Liberty is always a safe place. We’re here for you. I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

It would be so easy, so very easy, to fall into those ocean deep eyes and fall into his arms, and tell him everything. That was what made Luka Couffaine so dangerous to be around. With ten years of Tikki’s constant litany of concealment and duty ringing in her ears, Marinette clamped her mouth shut on all her secrets even as a tiny voice in the back of her head pleaded but this is Luka.

“Weren’t we supposed to practise the song?” Marinette blurted out, and felt the heat of an embarrassed flush rise in her cheeks. She hadn’t felt this thrown in years.

Luka accepted the abrupt shift with nothing more than a nod and a soft smile, as if he’d expected it.

“Back to the Disney salt mines,” he said drily, and startled a laugh out of her. “Don’t tell Rose I said that. She’d have me tried for treason.”

“How did we get ourselves into this?” Marinette asked, and Luka chuckled.

“Well, Ro loves Disney, no surprise there, and Jules loves Ro.”

“And you love them both,” Marinette said softly.

“And you’d do anything for the people you care about, even agree to sing at their wedding if they asked you to,” Luka said just as gently, and they exchanged glances. “So here we are, knee deep in Disney magic. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to sit through Cinderella, both versions, and I can recite Tangled in my sleep.” His smile softened. “I’m developing a new appreciation for it, though.”

Marinette dropped her gaze, avoiding his eyes. He said in an easier manner, “I have to admit, there’s some great music. You should hear Rose belt out Let It Go sometime, and Jules did an incredible cover of Once Upon a Dream one Valentine’s Day for Rose.”

“What about you? Do you ever sing along?” she asked, trying to match his tone.

“What do you think? Music nerd here.”

He rapped out a solid, syncopated beat on the benchtop, and that husky voice of his sang, “Tatou o tagata folau...” She couldn’t help grinning, and he grinned back as he segued into a phrase from Circle of Life before riffing a bit of the simple bear necessities, and then finished on “You’re welcome, and thank you!” as she burst out laughing.

“Good music is good music,” he said with a shrug. “I get a lot of eyerolling from some of the kids when I start talking Disney in class, but it’s a starting point for a lot of discussion, and it turns out everyone always has their favourite song.”

“So what about you? What’s your favourite?” she asked, and he said easily, “Oh, there are a lot I could go with. It all depends on my mood.”

“Yes, but if you had to pick one?”

She wasn’t sure why she was pushing, and he hesitated for a long moment. Just when she thought he was going to brush it off, he reached for his guitar.

“It’s not strictly Disney, but ...” She didn’t recognise the soft, rippling intro that he played, and it wasn’t until he started singing that she worked out what it was.

He didn’t look at her as he sang about someday, out of the blue. It didn’t have to mean anything, it was just a song, he could have been thinking about anyone, but when he sang about still believing and still having faith in a voice that was far too heartfelt, Marinette felt her breath catch.

She couldn’t be doing this to him all over again.

~~~~~

He knew, the moment that his hands stilled on the guitar strings, that he’d gone too far and given away too much. The stricken look on Marinette’s face made that blatantly clear.

From the doorway, Rose breathed, “Oh Luka, that was lovely!”

Juleka dropped the bags of takeaway on the table and muttered something, while Luka watched Marinette and felt his heart sink like a stone.

“We so have to do a Road to El Dorado movie night tonight,” Rose was saying brightly. “You’re staying, aren’t you, Marinette? Otherwise Luka’s going to be the odd man out again.”

“I wish I could,” Marinette said. “I… I have to go. Sorry, Rose, maybe another time.” Her glance flickered in his direction. “Sorry. I’m really sorry I can’t stay for dinner after all.”

She scrambled her things together, dropping her handbag and coming up red-faced. This was more like the Marinette he remembered from their teenage years, and it brought up some difficult memories. She flashed an awkward smile in answer to Rose’s protests, and then she was gone.

“Well,” Rose said, staring at the empty doorway. “I guess Marinette’s still Marinette.”

“Rose!” Luka’s voice cracked like glass, and his future sister-in-law’s eyes widened at Luka’s uncharacteristically sharp tone. “Remember all those plans to get Marinette and Adrien together?” How well did those work out?”

“But this is different!” Rose protested.

“This is no different. No more plans. I’ve screwed things badly enough as it is.”

He drew in a deep breath and blew it out again, thinking of all those secrets that Marinette had to keep, and the distances that had grown in her life because of them. More quietly, he said, “Marinette could really use a few good friends in her life. I don’t want her to lose us again because we’re pushing for more than she can give.”

“I…” Rose looked away, biting her lip, and then met his eyes. “Yeah, I get it.”

Dinner was quieter than usual, and Luka ignored the perturbed glances his sister kept shooting him. He pushed the food around, barely tasting it, and put it aside when he couldn’t pretend he was actually eating it anymore.

Luka swung away from the table, his phone in his hand, and hesitated, then he texted Marinette before he could talk himself out of it.

+Sorry about that. Rose has promised to back off on the matchmaking – I think she’s just got wedding fever. Want to run through the song one more time before the wedding?+

It wasn’t Rose’s schemes, though. He knew that. Marinette was taking far too long for it to mean anything good, although he kept trying to tell himself that she might not be able to answer, she might be in the middle of something, she might have her phone off... Juleka muttered at him to stop fidgeting so much, god, you’re driving me crazy, before it finally chimed with a response.

+I think I know it now+ she sent back. +See you next week+

Luka stared numbly at the words on his screen. It was happening all over again, and this time he had no defences left. Juleka was watching him with a look of exasperated sympathy.

“You’re just as stupid as you ever were,” she told him, and Luka exhaled heavily. It was hard to argue with that.

#see the light #lukanette #lukanette endgame #pro lukamari #Disney

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pogokitten · 4 years ago

Text

Lost and Found

By @pogokitten for @lost-lunar-wolf

Rating: Teen (for swears)

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, Ben Parker, May Parker

Summary: People lose things all the time, keys, toys, favorite socks. It happens, it’s just a part of life. But sometimes these lost items make their way to soulmates. It’s phenomena as old as civilization itself. You lose your favorite hair tie and poof, it just appears near your soulmate for them to find and eventually return. Romantic or Platonic, it’s expected that everyone stumbles over some of their soulmates' lost items here and there. Some people just end up waiting longer than others.

Or: The platonic soulmate AU where Tony and Peter find and hold onto a lot of each other’s stuff over the years.

Tony is speed walking through his mansion the first time it happens. He’s not paying attention, tie barely on straight and coffee almost sloshing out of his cup as he rushes for the door. He’s late for a meeting and usually he wouldn’t care, but Obie has been up his ass about this one. Something about a grouchy general that thinks Stark Industries weapons are overpriced and overhyped needing convincing.

So when Tony stumbles on something caught under his dress shoes, he finds himself cursing colorfully as splashes of coffee dot the marble floor. He glares down at the offending object when he has his footing, fully expecting it to be a tool or something that migrated out of the workshop.

The engineer stops short and stares however, when he takes in the soft blue baby binky on his floor.

Tony is no stranger to having strange things in his house, being an eccentric billionaire and all, but he has absolutely no clue how a pacifier of all things has ended up on his floor.

Tony scoops the binkie off the floor examining it, completely baffled.

It looks new if the bright color and barely chewed appearance is anything to go by. Tony wracks his brain for any possible reason a pacifier could have made its way into his home. This wasn’t a week for the cleaners so it wouldn’t be something of theirs, and the only other people who have been in his house since yesterday were Happy and Pepper.

The engineer knows Happy himself is allergic to children, but doesn’t he have a sister or something? Does she have a kid? Maybe it got mixed up in Happy’s things? It’s not the most plausible explanation.

As for Pepper, Tony’s pretty fucking sure she doesn’t have a kid. He knows from her comments that she doesn’t have much in the way of family anymore and that she’s single. Maybe one of her college friends has kids? Could one of their kid’s binkies have ended up in her purse during a visit or something?

The theory’s not great, but that’s at least more believable than Happy being the culprit, and for the life of him, Tony doesn’t know where else the thing would have come from.

Tony stuffs the pacifier into his pocket and continues out the door resolving to ask Pepper about it later.

---

Tony never ends up asking Pepper about the binky.

He came home from an extremely long day at the office spent schmoozing the stuffy general and tossed the thing out of his pocket along with his keys onto a cluttered table in the workshop. He then proceeded to drink the night away to dull the built up tension. When JARVIS wakes him up the next morning, the pacifier is a distant memory due to his ragging hangover and Obie calling to talk business.

It’s not until a few months later that the binky even crosses Tony’s mind again.

It’s another typical day in the life of a party addicted billionaire genius, when Pepper pages him through JARVIS to help her into the house. Tony finally emerges from his lab for the first time that day, muttering equations under his breath. He’s lost in his own head, still focused on the designs he’s been hammering out downstairs.

So Tony nearly falls on his ass when he steps onto something that slides under his feet in the entryway. The engineer is quick to catch himself, heart still racing from the near drop, and looks around irritably for damn banana peel or whatever it was that almost killed him.

He quickly spots what looks like a scrap of fabric nearby. Grumbling, Tony snatches it off the floor and realizes it's not a pocket square or a tie like he thought.

No, it’s a lovey.

He gapes at the toy with wide eyes.

The blanket bit of the toy is a soft yellow fabric, the stuffed animal portion a smiling dog with floppy ears. It’s a bit love worn and could probably use a wash, but it doesn’t seem especially old.

It also absolutely shouldn’t be here.

No one else has been in the mansion for the last two days except for him, and Tony knows the lovey wasn’t there this morning.

“JARVIS, did someone break into the house to leave baby toys for me to trip on, and you just neglected to tell me?” Tony asks.

“Of course not, sir,” the AI says, sounding almost offended, “No one has been inside of the mansion aside from yourself and I would have alerted you to a perimeter breach.”

“Then how is this here?” Tony questions, holding the toy up to the nearest camera.

“It simply appeared in the foyer, sir,” JARVIS tells him.

“That’s impossible, things don’t just appear.”

“It is possible, sir. I thought it would be obvious,” the AI refutes, a hint of a smirk in his tone.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Not in the mood right now, J.”

“I believe that your soulmate has lost both the toy in your hand and the pacifier you found approximately three months ago,” JARVIS explains.

Any sort of snappy retort dies in Tony’s throat and he snaps his gaze back to the lovey he’s holding.

Soulmates were not something that Tony Stark had thought about often in the past two decades of his life.

Growing up he’d been as intrigued by soulmates as any child his age, waiting to find mysterious clothes or toys like many of his peers. He’d waited and hoped and looked for years, anything to ease the loneliness of the Stark Mansion. Only to find himself at the age of fifteen without a single lost and found object to his name. That had been when he started to doubt, when he stopped looking for items that weren’t his and steered away from conversations about soulmates.

It’s not unheard of to not have a soulmate until adolescence and beyond, but after he hit twenty-one, Tony had concluded that the cosmos hadn’t bothered to give him one. That, or his soulmate had died before they’d had anything to lose besides their life.

He is well past the age where he would have gotten a romantic soulmate bond, but a platonic or familial one…

It’s pretty common knowledge that a lot of parents and children share a familial soulmate bond, and it’s not like Tony is the most...celibate...person in the world. He’s been careful about his fun, but could it have happened? Or was this some random kid who had gotten stuck with Tony Stark as their ‘shared soul’ by the misfortune of fate?

Tony stares at the lovey in shock while his thoughts race for a long enough amount of time that Pepper irritably rings the doorbell again. Still practically in a trance, Tony opens the door for her on autopilot.

Pepper bustles into the mansion carrying several packages of mail and one of his freshly dry cleaned suits, strands of her vibrant hair escaping the usually tidy bun they’re usually pinned up in.

“Finally! I’ve been standing out there holding all these boxes for ages! Really, Mr. Stark what in the world did you order that’s so-?”

“Pep…” Tony manages to choke out, the nickname and his tone catching her attention.

His PA puts the mail and dry cleaning on a side table and turns back to him, concern on her face.

“Mr. Stark?” she asks.

With a slightly trembling hand he holds the lovey out to her. “I… I found this. And a binky a while ago. I’ve got… I’ve got a soulmate.”

“Oh… Mr. Stark-” Pepper’s mouth opens in shock as she takes in the toy, before her eyes crinkle in a smile, “Tony, that’s wonderful.”

“God look at this thing,” Tony chuckles, and to his slight horror, it’s a bit of a wet sound, “Between this and the binky, the kid can’t be more than half a year, huh?”

“I’d say so.” Pepper says smiling down at the little plush toy.

Tony swallows. “Do you think he’s mine?”

His PA looks back up at him, eyebrow raised slightly. “He?”

“Just a feeling.”

“A feeling, huh?” Pepper smiles, “Well he is yours. Your soulmate. It doesn’t matter if this child is yours biologically, because you’re going to care about them either way right?”

Tony nods, unable to voice any of his vulnerable thoughts. Too many emotions are still swirling inside, crowding his mind.

“Besides I don’t think he’s blood related to you,” Pepper tells him.

“How do you know?” Tony asks.

She gives him a bit of smirk. “Just a feeling.”

Tony gives a little laugh, giving her a grin in return. But eventually he looks back at the toy in his hands and feels it slip off his face. In his bones, he already knows that the bond he and his soulmate will have is going to be a familial extension of a platonic soulmate bond. Or more accurately, a paternal one. And that absolutely scares the shit out of Tony.

“What’s wrong?” Pepper questions, peering down at his whitening knuckles.

“Even if he’s not mine by blood, I don’t want to be like my dad,” Tony confesses in a rush, “I can’t keep the cycle going… I-”

“You won’t,” Pepper cuts him off, “The fact that you’re worried about that at all is proof enough that you care, and that you want to be better than Howard. So you will be.”

Tony doesn’t say anything to that, gaze dropping back to the lovey in his hands. He wants to be better than his father, but can he be? He’s been following in Howard Stark’s promiscuous alcoholic shadow for a long time now. But he owes it to this kid, and Pepper, and hell, even himself to try and be better.

Pepper eventually clears her throat. “Will that be all Mr. Stark?”

Tony gives her a genuine smile, the kind that is reserved only for the few people he trusts and cares for. “That will be all Ms.Potts.”

***

Peter sits on the couch in his aunt and uncle’s apartment pouting. The adults are standing near the doorway, talking. Sure he loves Aunt May and Uncle Ben, but he loves his Mommy and Daddy more, and they’ve been going on trips so much lately. They just went on a trip a few weeks ago and now they’re going on another one. And this one is so far away.

“We should probably head out. Thanks so much for looking after Pete this week,” Peter hears his dad say.

“Of course, we love having Peter,” May tells him.

“Don’t go!” Peter jumps up from the couch and tackles his mom’s leg.

“It’s not for long sweetheart,” she soothes, brushing his hair back, “Daddy and I have to go to a few boring meetings. You’ll have more fun here with Uncle Ben and Aunt May.”

“But I’ll miss you!” Peter whines.

“And we’ll miss you kiddo, but we’ll be back before you know it,” his dad says, kneeling down to hug him.

Then his dad picks him up so his mom can hug them too. Peter likes it when they all hug like that, it makes him feel warm and super safe.

“Love you. Bye-bye,” Peter mumbles into the embrace sadly.

He knows by now that no amount of begging will get them to stay, but that doesn’t stop him from trying at least a little bit every time.

His mom kisses his forehead. “And we love you Peter.”

Peter’s parents set him down and hug his aunt and uncle before they step out of the apartment and are gone. Peter’s eyes feel hot, but he doesn’t want to cry. He’s six, so he’s almost big now. Mommy said it was okay to cry no matter how old you are, but most of the other boys at school just make fun of Peter for it.

Aunt May cards her fingers through his hair. “Why don’t you go get settled, sweetie. Then we’ll all go to the park so you can play and feed the birds?”

Peter nods, subdued, and shuffles to the small guest room with his backpack and suitcase.

He sniffs back tears while he makes quick work of his suitcase, throwing his clothes haphazardly into the dresser, but takes much more care with his backpack.

Peter unzips it, double checking that all of his prized possessions are there. His dumb inhaler that he has to carry everywhere, check. His GameBoy and the handful of games he has, check. Toebeans, his stuffed snow leopard, check. His three favorite action figures at the moment, check. And… Peter panics for a moment before he feels his hand close around cold metal.

With a sigh of relief, Peter pulls the tool from his bag.

The screwdriver is small, the perfect size for Peter’s little hands. It’s old and its red handle is worn. Uncle Ben told him it’s for putting together small delicate things since it’s way too small for normal sized screws. Daddy said the screwdriver had turned up in Peter’s crib when he was just a few weeks old. He had explained that it belonged to Peter’s soulmate and that they must have lost it.

Peter’s soulmate must usually be good about not losing things though, since Peter hasn’t found that much stuff. So far it’s just been things like nuts and bolts or a couple of pretty neckties. Peter’s pretty sure his soulmate must be a grown up, since they never seem to lose fun stuff, like toys. Ned’s soulmate always loses toys, like My Little Pony dolls and plastic dinosaurs.

Still Peter keeps all the things he finds, even if they’re usually kinda boring. Uncle Ben and Daddy always say it’s important to return lost items, and there’s no way Peter would ever be mean to his soulmate. Especially when holding his soulmate's screwdriver makes him feel better whenever he’s sad. It’s familiar and it makes him feel safe, like his parents’ hugs.

Staring down at the screwdriver, Peter wonders what lost stuff his soulmate has from him.

...Maybe they’ve got that bouncy ball he lost two weeks ago? It was a really good one. He hopes they have fun with it.

Still Peter can’t wait to meet his soulmate, even if they are old. Mommy told him to be patient, but Peter’s never really been the best at that. Daddy said they would meet when the time was right and he and his soulmate needed each other most. Whatever that means.

“Peter! Come on, let’s hit the park!” His uncle calls.

The boy quickly puts the screwdriver back and zips his bag closed, swinging it onto his shoulders. “Coming, Uncle Ben!”

His aunt and uncle lead him from the apartment, his little hand clasped in his uncle’s calloused one.

Uncle Ben gives his hand a squeeze and a gentle smile when Peter looks up at him. “Buck up champ, your parents will be back before you know it.”

“Yeah,” Peter smiles and never once that week did he think Uncle Ben would be wrong.

***

They’ve just finished a meager dinner of mostly tasteless stew, and Tony wants nothing more than to collapse after another day of hard labor. He’s lost track of how many days he’s been in this godforsaken cave, no longer having any concept of time after being hidden away underground. Since that first week, most days have been the same. Tony and Yinsen desperately trying to craft the instrument of their escape without being caught, all while making their captors believe they’re cooperating.

It's a terrifyingly fine tightrope they’re walking.

At least he’s finally getting used to the constant pain of the reactor in his chest, something he’s very likely to live with for the rest of his life. However long that may be.

Tony has just stood and turned away from the fire, intending to finally sleep, when he stumbles over something in his exhausted state. He glances down half-heartedly, expecting a rock or a divet in the cave floor only to freeze when he sees it.

It’s an action figure of some sort. Clearly a superhero of some kind, his outfit is red and white with a helmet that hides his face. Tony thinks he’s flicked passed this show on TV once or twice. Power...Something. Power Riders..? No that’s not quite it.

Tony picks the toy up, feeling his lip quirk slightly despite himself.

“Stark?” Yinsen questions, coming over to look at what he’s holding.

“My kid...my soulmate,” Tony explains with a sad little huff of laughter at the other man’s raised eyebrow, “They must have lost this.”

“My children are the same, always misplacing their things,” Yinsen tells him with a nostalgic smile, “What are they like?”

“Well…” Tony heaves out a breath, blinking away the sudden urge to cry, “He’s a little boy if I had to guess, probably around seven or eight since that’s how long I’ve been tripping over his toys. He likes action figures and Legos, considering how many he loses, but I don’t...really know. I… I never got to meet him.”

And it’s true, he hasn’t. And god it feels like everything’s been a waste. He never even got to meet the little kid who’s stuff he’s been stumbling over for years. And now Tony’s in a cave held captive by terrorists with shrapnel near his heart, the only thing keeping him alive being the electromagnet in his chest and the knowledge of a missile his captives want him to build.

Yinsen puts a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You have not gotten to meet him yet.”

The engineer nods then, his jaw set. “Not yet.”

After that, Tony makes sure to keep the action figure close during his time in the cave with Yinsen. It’s almost obsessive how many times he checks that it’s still in the same place. But it’s like a little spark of hope in their dark cavern, a tangible reminder that there’s a life out there for him to return to, if he can just escape this hell.

Tony’s got to make sure he’s there to give all those toys back to the kid someday, after all.

***

Peter blinks awake sluggishly when May shakes his shoulder. “Come on. Get dressed sweetheart, breakfast is almost done. I know you don’t want to, but the two weeks the school let us have is up.”

Right. He’d been trying so hard not to think about it, he nearly forgot.

“Yeah,” he mumbles.

Peter pulls his aching body, sore from tossing and turning, out of bed while rubbing sleep from his eyes. Last night was definitely one of the worst nights he’s had these past two weeks. The teen had spent the first half of it shifting restlessly, unable to sleep, then he’d cried for at least an hour or two before finally succumbing to his exhaustion.

The boy shuffles into his clothes, not even bothering to check what he’s wearing. Moving to the bathroom, Peter cringes at his reflection after he finishes brushing his wild curls. He’s pale as a ghost, but his eyes are red and watery. Dark shadows sit under them, marks of the past two weeks of mostly sleepless nights.

He looks horrible. Like he’s a zombie or is deathly ill. There’s no way people won’t notice. The teen is really not looking forward to all the pitying looks and whispers he’s going to get just from the news he’s sure has gotten around, let alone how he looks like a ghost. Peter really doesn’t want to go back to school today...or well ever. Going back to “normal” after Ben… Well, it just doesn’t seem possible.

Unbidden more tears spring to his eyes.

Peter sighs, dropping his gaze back to the sink.

To his surprise an unfamiliar pair of sunglasses are sitting on the porcelain edge. Peter picks them up examining them, already aware that they don’t belong to May...or Ben. They’re a nice pair of sunglasses from what he can tell. The lenses are a deep red so dark it looks black, the frames a dark burnished metal. Clearly some really expensive name brand that probably costs near the apartment’s monthly rent.

Impulsively, Peter slips them on and checks out his reflection in the mirror. To his relief, they do a great job of hiding his red rimmed eyes and the dark shadows underneath them, perfect for his first day back to school. And he can admit, although they’re a smidge big, he does look pretty cool in them.

Peter slides them off and slips them into his hoodie pocket so that May doesn’t see. She probably wouldn’t approve of him trying to wear them all day. But hopefully his teachers will give him some leeway since they’ve probably all heard what happened.

Worst comes to worst, he can just lie and say he has a migraine or something.

He eats a solemn and slightly charred breakfast with May, sharing a long and tight hug with her before he forces himself to head out. As soon as he’s clear of their building, Peter slips the sunglasses back onto his face.

On the streets, no one gives him a second glance, but it is New York after all and that’s just the norm. The real test starts when he finally makes it to the front steps of his school. There are some kids milling around outside chatting about their weekends in the few minutes before the first bell. He slips past them easily enough, with only a few brief glances thrown his way.

In the hallway some of the students and teachers do give him lingering looks, but he keeps the glasses on and his head down and the whispers are minimal. When Peter finally makes it to his locker, he breaths out a sigh of relief. The sunglasses do attract a few lingering looks, but no one has commented on his distressed state.

He keeps them on for the rest of the day, sighting a migraine when asked. None of the teachers seem keen to try and force him to take them off, as expected. Peter’s pretty sure it’s just because none of them want to be responsible for making him cry or have a breakdown.

He ends up wearing the sunglasses a few more days that week, on the mornings after rough nights. The sunglasses almost feel like a shield, protecting him from prying eyes. It feels a bit like his soulmate is there, letting Peter hide behind them. They make him feel safe, and like he’s not an open book for the first time since that fatal gunshot rang out.

Eventually, after the rubbed raw pain of Ben’s death has faded a bit, the glasses end up tucked away with the little red screwdriver in the box that holds his most precious items.

***

Tony really wants a drink, despite all his promises to Pepper. He really has been trying to lay off since they finally got back together after such a long break. Not to mention he’d gotten black out drunk so many times in the first few weeks after Siberia that the few people left in his life had come together and begged him to stop before he killed himself. Tony’s a lot older than he was when he went out drinking every night after his parents were killed, and the drinking isn’t nearly as gratifying as it was then.

He hates that it’s still a struggle to not seek alcohol out on his own.

Now more than ever, especially after Ultron and the media dubbed “Civil War”, Tony wonders if he’s even managed to do any good in the world as Iron Man. More and more it seems like he just makes bigger messes than the ones he tries to clean up. Sure, he’s had his good moments, but they feel like they pale in comparison to all his missteps.

Not to mention how even when it’s a group failure, most of the world is content in letting just him take the fall. Everyone else seems to get off scot-free while Tony and his loved ones are left in the blast radius of the aftermath.

The engineer sighs, heading back to his lab after taking a stressful SI call in his office upstairs. FRIDAY opens the door for him without comment and he heads towards the single worktable he’s managed to set up so far in the compound. But then Tony blinks at the backpack that’s now sitting on top of the letter and dinosaur tech Rogers mailed him.

The bag is dark blue and little worn, something inexpensive that’s easily bought at big box stores. Feeling a bit excited, almost like he’s opening a present, Tony pulls the first zipper open. This isn’t the first backpack his kid’s lost, but it is weird that it’s happened at least four times this year alone.

Inside he finds a handful of pens and pencils, a mostly blank notebook with some pretty high level physics in it, an advanced calculus textbook that’s seen better days, and a change of clothes. There’s no name of course, because the universe hates to “ruin the surprise” as the saying goes, but it still tells Tony a bit more about the type of person his kid is.

Obviously the kid is incredibly smart, although Tony already knew that from finding the kid’s advanced biochem notebook in the first lost backpack and seeing the sort of stuff he was working on (Some of which seemed to be of the kid’s own initiative and was complex enough that Tony himself had needed to brush up on the subject to decode it).

He also knows that the kid must not come from a super wealthy household going by the cheap bag and worn clothes. Of course he already knew that too. Most of the stuff that the kid’s lost is generally well taken care of, but always inexpensive. That knowledge had certainly gotten Tony to fund a lot more scholarships for advanced school programs around New York City. Not that he knows where the kid is other than somewhere in America, but it still made Tony happy funding the future.

Smiling slightly, Tony puts everything back in the bag and is about to take it to store with the rest of the kid’s stuff when he catches sight of the pin buttons decorating the front. One is a Star Wars one with some nerdy meme on it, but the other one has the Iron Man mask on it. He lets out a surprised and almost wet laugh. Even after all these years he's still the kid’s favorite.

Tony will never forget the first Iron Man drawing he’d found that the kid had done, or the first action figure of himself he’d tripped over in the lab. Tony remembers preening like a peacock and showing the toy off to Pepper, Rhodey, and even Happy for the next week.

Somehow, despite all the shit he’s done, Tony must have done something right to end up as his kid’s hero. Becoming a superhero might not be why he originally set out to be Iron Man, but somewhere along the way he learned that he couldn’t just stand by and let people get hurt. Tony may not be as much as a pure hearted superhero as the spider kid, but it’s nice to have a reminder that he’s still got people to live up to.

Speaking of the kid, Peter is eager for sure. He’s smart as a whip and has a good heart despite all the times the universe has shit on him. And young as he is, the spiderling is using his superpowers with a maturity that most kids his age wouldn’t have. That and he did really well in Germany.

Tony looks back at the backpack frowning. Iron Man won’t be around forever, as much as Tony hates to admit it, he is getting old. And with almost all of the Avengers in the wind, he needs to make sure there are still heroes, real heroes, for the world to believe in.

Tony nods to himself and pulls up the design for the Iron Spider suit.

***

Peter pulls himself out from under the rubble of the collapsed warehouse, gasping for breath, limbs still shaking. Behind him the rubble shifts and tumbles further and the teen is quick to scramble away from it, coughing at the dust it kicks up. For a moment he just stands there trying to catch his breath and still his shaking.

Holy shit, that just happened. The Vulture dropped an entire building on him and left him to die. Peter can feel the embers of his panic trying to crawl up his throat and reignite. He already knows this incident is gonna be nightmare fuel to rival the ones he has about Ben’s death. Just like that night, Peter feels like he lost something of himself, only this time it was lost under the rubble and not in a puddle of blood.

But he thankfully doesn’t have time to dwell on it.

There’s no telling how far Toomes has gotten while he was trapped under the warehouse. Peter needs to move now if he wants to stop the villain from stealing dangerous Avengers tech. If that stuff gets out on the streets no one in New York City, or maybe even the country would be safe. The thought of what kinds of people Toomes could sell those weapons to is horrifying.

People are in danger, and even if Peter messes up or disappoints Mr. Stark again, he can’t let anyone get hurt when he has the power to stop it.

So, still trembling slightly, Peter raises his arm and shoots off a web, swinging into the night after the Vulture.

He doesn’t give a single thought to his Spider-Man mask, lost and left behind in the debris.

***

Tony is in the Avengers Compound again when he finds it.

Moving all the old Avengers tech to the compound has proven to be a nightmare. He’s still got the government up his ass after the “Civil War” debacle. Not to mention the modified alien weapons on the streets that both the DODC and FBI have been too incompetent to get a handle on, or even find the source of. But he’s still so busy with SI, the Accords, and the move upstate that he doesn’t have the time to track the guy properly at the moment.

And this Vulture guy really is below the Avengers’ pay grade like he told Peter. They were never really in the business of taking down arms dealers, not even high tech ones.

Tony sighs. He is starting to feel bad about taking back the kid’s suit. Sure, Peter was being reckless in it, but hadn’t Tony done the same in his? And Peter had the excuse of being an actual child. Not to mention sooner or later, the kid is going to remember that his powers don’t come from the suit. He’s going to run into a crime he can’t ignore and he won’t have the one thing that keeps him safe.

Tony had been telling the spiderling he didn’t want to be like his old man before the ferry shitshow, and what had he done as soon as Peter slipped up? Screamed at him, taken away the suit, and basically told the kid he didn’t want to have to deal with him anymore. And before that he had barely interacted with Peter after the whole thing in Germany, and yeah, Tony had some good excuses for that, but it was all still the exact same shit Howard would have done.

As much as Tony doesn’t do feelings, maybe he should call the kid up and apologize soon. It’s already been a few weeks.

Tony has just collapsed onto his desk chair in his workshop and started massaging at the tension headache sitting at the front of his skull when it catches his eye. A strange flash of red on his work table that wasn’t there just a moment before. Tony already knows it’s not something of his considering how little he’s been using this lab up until now.

His lip is already twitching up fondly as he reaches for it, wondering what the kid lost this time. He grabs the fabric object and pulls it out from under the stack of blueprints it’s ended up under.

For a moment nothing makes sense.

He’s holding Spider-Man’s mask.

The first one, from the kid’s onesie suit with the googly-eyed goggles sewn in. It’s soaking wet and covered in concrete dust. There are also a few smears of darker red that take a moment to register as blood to the engineer. All he can do is stare at it in utter confusion for a few seconds.

Then it suddenly makes so much fucking sense and Tony is so damn stupid. Of course It’s Peter, of course it’s always been the kid. Of fucking course his soulmate is the superpowered genius orphan with a guilt complex as big as his own. Of course it's the kid who agreed to help fight when Tony needed him the most. It was right in front of his face and he’s an idiot for not realizing that he found his soulmate nearly six months ago.

A soulmate who he’s been foisting off on Happy and refused to grow close to out of paranoid fear. A soulmate who’s looked up to Tony his whole life despite how shitty of a person Tony is. A soulmate who has obviously gone out in his homemade onesie of a suit and has obviously been wounded recently, if the fresh blood on the mask is anything to go by.

“FRIDAY, call the Forehead of Security,” Tony orders, vaguely realizing that his hands have started to tremble.

As soon as the line connects, Tony is speaking before his friend can get a word in. “Happy, where’s the kid?”

“Tony- what?” Happy asks, sounding baffled, “Who? Parker?”

“Yes. What other kid do we both know? Where is he?” Tony questions.

“Why are you asking me? I don’t know. You have his number don’t you? Or just call his-” Happy cuts himself off, and for a moment Tony thinks the connection dropped until he hears Happy swearing, “Shit! Shit!”

“What?” the engineer demands.

There's a long moment of silence and Tony thinks he might actually hear Happy gulp. “The plane. It just went down.”

“Oh God, that’s what he’s doing,” Tony breathes out, heart clenching, “Peter’s there, Happy! He’s trying to stop it and he’s going to get himself killed!”

“What? How do you know? Besides I thought you took his suit?”

“I did! But I found his old Spider-Man mask covered in dirt and blood!” Tony practically shouts into the phone, the fear he feels coming out easier as anger.

Happy is silent for a moment, maybe stunned at the outburst. “Tony what are you talking about? You’re upstate-”

“You aren’t getting it,” Tony cuts him off, feeling panic starting to win over anger, “I just found it in the lab! The lab that Peter has never set foot in! On my work table that was clear about five minutes ago!”

“What..? But that means...” there’s a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line, “Oh God. Shit- Okay. Coney Island that’s where-”

“I’m on my way,” Tony says, shoving Peter’s mask into his pocket and stepping into a suit, hoping with everything he has that the kid, his kid, is okay.

Then he’s blasting out of the lab’s launchpad, streaking through the sky towards the glowing beacon of New York City in the far distance as fast as the suit can take him. He tries to call Peter from his HUD but it goes straight to voicemail and Tony tries not to lose it completely.

---

When Tony finds Peter, bleeding, battered, and unconscious on top of the Cyclone coaster he greys out. FRIDAY is feeding him info on the kid’s condition and giving him instructions, but even as Tony’s body moves to follow her recommendations, it’s like he’s not even there. Or maybe he is but only in flashes, like his brain is skipping.

One moment Tony’s picking the kid up as if he’s made of porcelain and the next he’s shooting off into the air, streaking back towards the compound since he stupidly moved upstate and left Peter without support in the city. It feels like Tony blinks and he’s landing again and Helen and her team are taking Peter’s limp blood covered body from Tony’s arms. He thinks Pepper calls him, and then Happy.

He has no idea what he says to either of them.

And then, what must be hours later, it feels like Tony finally wakes up in the compound’s medby, sitting at Peter’s bedside. The kid’s old mask is still bulging out of his pocket. He pulls it out and stares at it for a bit before looking back at his kid, his soulmate, laid out in the narrow bed.

Peter in his hospital scrubs is smaller and paler than Tony has ever seen him against the crisp white sheets. Not that he’s seen much of the kid, a dark part of his thoughts remind him. The kid’s broken ribs and head wound are bandaged, and he’s got an air cast for a wrist fracture. Helen’s got him hooked up to a complicated IV drip of some sort and FRIDAY is keeping careful track of the spiderling’s vitals on a nearby monitor.

Tony doesn’t remember too much of what Helen said about Peter’s injuries, other than they were somewhat severe and he’d lost a good bit of blood, but they thankfully hadn’t had to operate. Although he remembers there had been a fair amount of stitches needing to be done on the kid’s torso. That and something about having to give him an insane amount of pain meds to even touch his metabolism.

Peter shivers in his sleep and Tony hesitates for a moment before pulling the blankets up higher and tucking the teen in. After a few minutes the shivering stops, and tentatively Tony takes one of Peter’s hands in his. The kid’s hand is cold and a bit clammy in his, but Tony doesn’t mind. His curls are adorably wild and the engineer has to resist the urge to brush them out of Peter’s face.

Tony doesn’t know how long he sits there holding his soulmate's hand, going over in his head again and again what he could possibly say to the kid, before he feels Peter grip his hand back weakly.

“Finally back with us, Pete?” Tony asks with a softness he didn’t know he possessed when the spider kid’s eyes start to slit open.

“Mis’r S’ark?” the teen slurs still half asleep.

Tony manages a weak grin. “The one and only.”

“Wha’ are you doin’ here?” Peter mumbles squinting his eyes open a bit more.

Tony squeezes the kid’s hand. “Didn’t want you to wake up alone and freak out.”

The physical contact and words seem to get through some of Peter’s drowsiness and confusion because he blinks rapidly then snatches his hand out of Tony’s own. The engineer tries not to feel stung by the action.

“Oh my god, your plane! Toomes! Is he okay, is anyone hurt?!” the teen asks frantically.

Tony is quick to stop the spiderling from trying to sit up. “The only one hurt was you, kid.”

Peter slumps back against the pillows. “That’s good.”

“It’s really not. Peter, you could have-” Tony cuts himself off and breathes out a long sigh, not wanting to lecture the kid while he’s still recovering.

The kid is giving him a wary look, like he’s waiting for Tony to lose it on him again. It makes him feel like even more of a piece of shit. So he does the only thing he can think of and holds the Spider-Man mask out to the kid.

“I found this,” Tony says abruptly.

“Oh. At the old warehouse?” Peter asks, taking it from him without meeting his eyes.

“No. In my lab.”

The spider kid’s head pops up at that, confused. “But, Mr. Stark, I’ve never been to your lab. And I had it for part of the fight with Toomes.”

Tony nods and clears his throat. Well, now or never. “I know. But you did lose it.”

Peter’s brow furrows in confusion. Tony sees it dawn on the kid after a few seconds, his eyes going wide and shooting up to stare at the engineer.

“You… So you’re…” the kid stutters.

“Yeah, kid. I’m your soulmate and I’ve got several boxes full of old toys, clothes, and backpacks that I’ve been holding onto for a long time,” Tony tells the boy feeling a little choked up.

Peter doesn’t say anything, he’s still staring at Tony looking completely gobsmacked. When the silence continues to stretch on, the engineer feels his insides squirm with insecurity. After everything that’s happened, maybe Peter doesn’t want to deal with such a shitty soulmate. Tony’s not sure he’d be too forgiving after the last few months of no contact and a near deathmatch with a supervillain that probably could have been avoided.

When Peter still doesn’t manage to get a word out, Tony lets himself deflate. “I don’t blame you if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore. I know I’m not anyone’s first choice of well…anything generally, and you deserve a better soulmate and mentor... But give me another chance, Pete. It won’t be perfect at first but let me try and fix-”

“That’s-!” Peter bursts in suddenly, cutting him off, “That’s not true Mr. Stark. The whole ‘not anyone’s first choice’ crap, I mean. You were...one of my first heroes and- and you still are. Both in a science and superhero sense. And yeah you, uh, do really suck at the whole…emotional availability thing, but you just need practice. Probably.”

Tony finds his mouth twitching up, especially when Peter’s ears go red at the last bit. The kid is endearingly honest and awkward.

“What I mean is, that I’ve been trying to follow your footsteps for a long time now. And I forgive you for the whole…ghosting me thing, and I don’t blame you for taking the suit after the ferry. And I want to be your soulmate if you’ll still have me after I crashed your plan, and-” Peter cuts off his own rambling and looks down, still flushed with embarrassment, “Sorry, I’m totally still freaking out that it’s you.”

“You and me both kid, I don’t know what I did to deserve compassionate, responsible, superhero Peter Parker as my soulmate,” Tony tells the kid, and immediately shoots for a joke to cut away from the vulnerability of that statement, “Even if you’re a little shit that gives me grey hair, especially with all the all the times I’ve nearly broken my neck tripping on your stuff over the years.”

“Well, I don’t know what I did to deserve Tony freaking Stark as my soulmate, even if he only loses boring crap like ties and metal scraps. Seriously, Ned’s soulmate lost Nintendo DS games and all I had to show from mine were socks or nuts and bolts. You made me so lame, Mr. Stark,” Peter whines dramatically, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Oh yeah, and it doesn’t ruin my very polished image as Tony Stark, billionaire genius, to trip over your Legos while out in public?” the engineer teases back, ruffling the kid’s hair.

Peter gives him a big innocent grin in response like the smartass he is and Tony just rolls his eyes.

The engineer leans forward and opens his arms in invitation. “C’mere spiderling.”

Peter lights up and gingerly leans into the embrace, careful of his injured ribs. He lets out a soft sigh of contentment and Tony won’t admit to anyone that the sound makes him melt a bit.

“Is this actually a hug this time, since there’s no door to get?” Peter questions with false innocence after a few moments.

Tony snorts. “Yes, you little shit it’s a hug.”

Peter’s laughter in his ear is the best thing he’s heard in months.

“So, when do we get to return each other’s stuff? Can we do it now?” the spider kid asks when they break apart, excitement shining in his eyes even as they began to droop with fatigue.

“Not till you’re healed, first of all. And we’ll have to take a day to do it. It’s a lot to go through. You’ve lost a lot of stuff over the years, kiddo,” Tony tells him, helping to settle the drowsy kid back under the bedsheets.

“We’ve got time,” Peter yawns, “Besides, if I didn’t lose anything, then how would you ever know to come find me and give it back Mr. Stark?”

Smiling fondly Tony finally gives in and starts combing his fingers through Peter’s hair. “I’ll always come find you, Pete.”

The spiderling gives a happy sleepy murmur in response before he slips back into sleep.

***

A few weeks later, after May had found out about everything, superhero alter egos and soulmates included, Peter is finally ungrounded enough to be allowed to go to the compound one weekend. May and Tony had talked a lot in the last few weeks and she had come to terms with everything. Well, after a lot of yelling at least. But now she was glad that Peter had another adult to care for him and watch over him.

Peter wasn’t just teasing about his not losing much over the years. He’s only brought over about three cardboard boxes worth of forgotten items. It’s a stark contrast to the eight or so big plastic bins that Mr. Stark keeps Peter’s things in. To be fair, he knows Mr. Stark has an eidetic memory which makes it pretty easy to keep track of most of his things, while Peter seems to be a bit more of a disorganized genius.

Mr. Stark starts in on his collection first, cooing over Peter’s baby toys and books while the teen sputters in embarrassment. In retaliation Peter just shoves the entire box of screws, nuts, bolts, and other assorted metal bits of various sizes at his mentor with a huff. Even Mr. Stark admits that it would be pretty boring stuff for a kid to find. Although Peter does confess to using a few spare parts in his refurbishing of tech he’d found in the trash.

“Oh wow, I always wondered what happened to my red Power Ranger!” Peter exclaims when he spots the bright flash of red and white in the box of toys Mr. Stark has just opened, “I was so sure one of the other kids at school had stolen it.”

“I found that guy when I was in Afghanistan,” his mentor divulges quietly.

Peter freezes half way through grabbing the toy. “What?”

“When… When I was kidnapped, I tripped over it in the cave the Ten Rings kept us in. I carried him around with me the whole time after that. That little dude went through the ringer with me then,” Mr. Stark explains ruefully, his eyes locked on the battered action figure.

The expression on Mr. Stark’s face is hard to decipher. It’s sad and haunted, but there’s also some deep fondness as he looks at the plastic Power Ranger. Obviously there are a lot of heavy memories tied to the toy, good and bad.

“You should keep it, Mr. Stark,” Peter says firmly, gently pushing the action figure back into his mentor’s hand.

Surprised, Mr. Stark seems to shake himself out of whatever stupor he’d fallen into. “You sure, kid?”

“Yeah.”

Mr. Stark doesn’t have to say anything, but Peter can tell. His Red Ranger means a lot to his mentor. It’s not something Peter wants to take away from him. Mr. Stark gives him a warm smile, his genuine one that he saves only for a select few people, and sits the toy on his work desk in a place of honor.

“Are you good to keep going?” Peter asks uncertainly.

He’s still not sure where the lines are with his mentor yet. They’ve slowly been getting closer over video calls and texts while Peter was grounded, but they’re both still waffling in that awkward phase when you first start actually getting to know someone.

Mr. Stark gives him a soft smile. “Yeah, kid. I’m fine.”

A bit later, after they’ve gone through and reminisced over all Peter’s baby stuff, Tony pulls a big binder out of one of the bins.

“I loved finding your drawings,” his mentor admits, “Rhodey, well you’d know him as War Machine, hung some up on the fridge as a joke when I showed them to him. And then, before I knew it, I was putting them up there myself.”

“You did what?!” Peter gapped, “Mr. Stark!”

“Oh come on kid, your artwork was adorable. Especially after the Battle of New York and I started finding a lot more Iron Man drawings. I even had a few of them framed,” his mentor grins.

Peter gives him a flat look. “You did not.”

In response, Mr. Stark just raises an eyebrow and pulls a framed colored pencil drawing of Iron Man out of one of the bins. It’s not a bad likeness, done on lined notebook paper depicting Iron Man blasting a giant monster out of the sky. Peter vaguely remembers having drawn the thing when he was bored during math class a few years ago. The teacher confiscated it when she saw he wasn’t paying attention and Peter never did get it back.

The teen hides his red face behind his hands. “Oh my God.”

Iron Man literally put Peter’s childhood artwork up on his fridge like a proud dad. He doesn’t know if he wants to preen or hide from knowing that.

Mr. Stark just laughs and claps him on the shoulder. “Don’t be like that, kid. Come on, I can’t not be proud of my kid’s artwork.”

Peter feels himself turning an even deeper shade of red. His kid.

Stuttering out something incomprehensible, Peter reaches for one of his boxes of Mr. Stark’s lost items. Still chuckling, his mentor leans over his shoulder to see what he’s digging through. He makes a surprised noise and reaches down to extract something from the collection.

It’s a very familiar small red screwdriver.

“Well, what do you know? That’s my favorite screwdriver from when I was in MIT. I put DUM-E’s circuit board together with that.”

“Seriously? That’s so cool, Mr. Stark. My parents told me they found it in my crib when I was just a few months old. I used to take it everywhere with me when I was little,” Peter recounts with a small smile.

Mr. Stark’s eyes crinkle, a subtle upward quirk to his lips. “I can see you took good care of it.”

“I’m glad I could finally bring it back to you,” Peter tells him earnestly.

He’ll miss the screwdriver a lot more than he wants to admit, but it’s something so important to Mr. Stark. This is the tool his mentor but his first AI together with. He deserves to finally have it back.

“Keep it, Pete,” Mr. Stark places the tool in Peter’s hand and fold’s the teens fingers over it, “You’ve obviously given it a good home.”

Peter looks up at him. “Are you sure?”

“It couldn’t be in safer hands, kid,” his mentor affirms.

Peter beams in response. He’d been so impatient to meet his soulmate when he was a kid, but now he knows it was well worth the wait. And there’s no one he’d want more as his mentor, father figure, or soulmate than Tony Stark.

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

#irondad and spiderson #irondad #spiderson #the friendly neighborhood exchange #fanfiction #MCU fanfiction #my writing

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haileyyanneupton · 4 years ago

Text

under the stars (just you and i) 🌌

pairings:

hailey upton x jay halstead

prompted by tumblr post by @snowwhite013 and post by @upstellaride (on twitter)

| masterlist |

Chicago was chaotic by nature. The Intelligence unit had been completely and utterly slammed for months now. With increased gang activity not only in the 21st District but all over the city, everybody was being stretched to their absolute limits in every way possible. Jay and Hailey — whose romance had been placed on the backburner when the surge began — were no exception to this; they were both equally as overworked and exhausted as one other. Their apparent inability to pass up a case was costing them not just their precious beauty sleep, but quality time to spend together as a couple, leaving them both frustrated every time the phone rang.

“You and me, Bartoli’s.” Hailey glanced up from the paperwork in her hand at the sound of her boyfriend’s voice. He was sitting across from her on his side of the desk that had slowly but surely become their communal desk over the years, his feet up on the edge of the surface as he stared at the blonde haired woman, awaiting a response. “When?” The question was simple, but it was one that hung in the air for longer than either of them would have liked. It was a simple question that in theory required a simple answer, but with the unpredictability of work as of late, both Jay and Hailey were unwilling to offer up a time or day without proper thought being put into it. “What about after shift tonight?” Jay offered, hesitation evident in his voice as Hailey’s eyes flickered to the rest of the unit — it was relatively empty. At least, the emptiest it had been in a while. “It’s been kind of mellow today, right? I mean, the fact that we have time to be here doing paperwork is usually a good sign.” “Tonight. After shift. . .” Hailey considered it for a moment, humming lightly to herself in thought. “Sure. Tonight after shift sounds good.” Jay couldn’t help but grin as he hid his face in his coffee — caffeine was the only thing keeping him going at this point — he had been dying for a night out with his girl. It had been far too long since the two of them had been able to just talk, and his Hailey withdrawal symptoms were coming in fast and hard with no place to go. Sure, they worked together every day — but with how spread out the Intelligence unit had been, they were lucky if they even got to say hello to each other. All of these reasons put together were contributing factors to his particularly pissy mood when Voight made his way back upstairs and informed everybody that they wouldn’t be going home until they could pull up a lead on the drug-bust-turned-triple-homicide they were working out in Jefferson Park. “Guess this means we’re cancelling. Again.” Hailey sighed deeply as she stood beside Jay, the pair of them watching as Kim placed the victims photos up on the board. “This is what — the fourth time now?”

“It’s not my fault, Hailey,” Jay mumbled under his breath. “Don’t blame me. Blame the guy who shot three people for his fix.” Hailey’s eyes snapped over to him, the blue of her irises darkening as she made it very obvious she wasn’t about to put up with his bullshit for another long night shift when they were both exhausted. “I know it’s not your fault Jay. Did you hear me say it was? Because I sure don’t remember those words coming out of my mouth.” Jay mumbled again, although this time it was a practically silent sorry that Hailey’s Vulcan hearing only just managed to pick up on. She could feel his frustration and despite knowing it wasn’t intentionally being directed at her, she also wasn’t about to let her get pushed around to make him feel better, even if he was her boyfriend. That’s how the next week or so went. Both Jay and Hailey were snapping at each other left and right, and although they both were mature enough not to hold a grudge against the other for longer than a few minutes, neither of them were exactly enjoying themselves. Their triple-homicide came and went, and before they knew it they had been thrown into an arson case — they couldn’t catch a break, no matter how hard they tried. Jay had walked into the locker room one evening after Hailey had disappeared for a while, his search for the woman coming to an end quickly as he spied her sitting on the bench with her head in her hands. Just when he thought he’d give her some time alone, (he figured she was probably trying to gather her thoughts or something) the sound of almost silent cries coming from the blonde caused his heart to ache painfully. At first, he wasn’t sure — but when the sight of her back rising and falling sharply with each cry, Jay practically bolted over to her in panic. “Hails." Jay sat down on the bench beside his girlfriend, his voice soft as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hails, what’s the matter? Why are you crying?" Hailey shrugged his hand off of her shoulder — not in a cold way, just in a 'I don't want you to see me like this' kind of way. Nonetheless, Jay persisted as he wrapped his arm around the woman's torso, pulling her closer to him until her head was resting in the crook of his neck. Hailey tried to wipe away her tears roughly, the woman clearly worked up as Jay ran his fingers through her hair in a feeble attempt to offer up some comfort. "Hailey?" "I'm fine, Jay." Hailey's response was much too quick for Jay's liking. Even if she hadn't been crying, her response alone would have provoked concern from the man. He only frowned down at his girlfriend sadly, his heart aching; Hailey wasn't one to show her emotions to anybody. Any time Jay saw Hailey this way, he felt his entire body tearing apart in some inexplicable way — he had the overwhelming urge to find a way to fix it. Because seeing Hailey upset was the absolute worst thing he could ever see. It was so heartbreaking and tore him apart so severely that it could (and would) keep him at night. "You're not fine," Jay's voice was gentle and unthreatening, but he still balanced on the line of pushing as she took a deep breath against him. "You don't have to be fine. But I think it'd help if you talked to me — you're the one who taught me that, remember?" Hailey stayed silent, not daring to utter a sound. Instead, she fixed her gaze upon one of the lockers standing in front of her, studying it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world before she found her breath getting caught up in her throat all over again. Before she knew it, tears were pouring down her cheeks all over again, half of them sad and half of them angry, partly because she had no idea what the hell she was crying for. "Please tell me what's going on," Jay practically begged his girlfriend this time as he rubbed circles on her back, his brows shaped in a concerned V. "Please tell me so that I can — I don't know." "I'm just so tired," Hailey breathed, her sentence being interrupted by a hiccup as she ran her palms down her cheeks. "I haven't slept a full night in days, Jay — neither have you. I'm tired of fighting you and arguing every time we're in the same room together for no other reason other than the fact that we're both exhausted, I'm tired of the lumpy couch and sleeping without you. I miss you, Jay. I miss you so goddamn much it's physically painful right now and I genuinely just don't know how to deal." Jay was sure he could feel his heart breaking into two right there and then, his grip tightening upon Hailey as he held her close. Hailey only sunk into his hold in response to the gesture before sniffling softly, barely moving as the pair froze in time for a short while. It was Jay who broke the silence a few minutes later, his hand still circling her back as his words were muffled slightly by her head. "I'll tell Voight we're both coming down with something." "Jay —" "I'll get Platt to cover for us." "But —" "No buts. We're working something out right here, right now so that you don't have to spend another minute here in pain because if you're in pain. . . I'm ready to kill, maim or otherwise seriously injure whoever's responsible." Hailey let out a small snort of amusement despite her mood. After all — how could she not? It was Jay. Cracking-jokes-at-the-most-inappropriate-of-times Jay. Her Jay. And despite the fact that she was still weeping silently in frustration and all of the other emotions that had decided to make themselves at home without her go ahead, her Jay was always able to put a smile on her face. "Let's just finish this shift." Hailey exhaled deeply, using a few fingers to wipe away her tears once more. "I'll be okay, Jay." Jay didn't seem all too convinced. "Are you sure?" "I'm sure," Hailey nodded as she wrapped an arm around her boyfriend and rested her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beating beneath his skin; the sound was oddly calming. "I just had to have a little cry." Although Jay was still hesitant to let Hailey go (mostly because he loved having her close and she was so, so warm) he knew that his girlfriend was one of the most headstrong women to ever walk the earth; once she said they were finishing the shift, they were finishing the shift. As soon as six o'clock came around, Jay and Hailey were out of the 21st district and packing into Jay's truck, switching their phones off so that they could have plausible deniability if they were called back in for a case. Yes, the detectives were dedicated to their job and by extension, the city of Chicago, but tonight was a night for them. A night where they could breathe a little bit. God knows they needed it. Hailey had no idea where they were going once Jay passed the turnoff for not just his house but her's too, but quite frankly, she didn't care. She didn't even question it when she saw the "Thank you for visiting Chicago" sign, she and Jay sitting in silence until they arrived in an empty field. It was dark by then, the sky being lit up by nothing than the moon and stars above them. "Come with me." Jay wore a lopsided smile on his features as he spoke, heading around to Hailey's side of the truck as he opened the door up for her and helped the woman out with an extended hand that she gratefully took. Hailey couldn't help the suspicious (and slightly concerned) expression she wore on her features, just as Jay couldn't help laughing at the very same expression. His lopsided smile turned into a grin as he pulled Hailey along, almost giddy as he pulled down the back part of his truck so that it laid flat. She wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed it before, but now that her attention had been bought to the back tray, she could see the pile of blankets of pillows that had been packed in there along with a 6 pack of beers calling her name from the back corner. Hailey's look of concern brightened into one of love and affection almost immediately, her eyes softening as she snapped her head up to meet Jay's. "You did this?" "I did." Jay was clearly very happy with himself. "You like it?" "It's absolutely sickening." Hailey's sarcasm didn't go unnoticed by Jay who grinned smugly as he watched his girlfriend clamber up into the back of his truck. Its height momentarily posed a challenge for the woman, but it was just another challenge that she overcame as she vaulted herself inside and practically pulled him in after her. With the mountain of blankets pulled over each of them, Hailey and Jay sat side by side as Jay held two beers in his hand, handing one off to the blonde who took a sip as soon as it was made available. Neither of them had the words to verbalise it, but they both knew this was what they needed. They both knew this was perfect. As the night grew older, Hailey found herself laying with her head on Jay's chest and a hand comfortably resting on his thigh; his hands were running through her blonde locks absentmindedly — he had always found Hailey's hair remarkably soft. The pair of them were still sipping on their beers, but the conversation had shifted to a much calmer and heartfelt topic. "I love you," Hailey had declared suddenly, though, it wasn't the first time she had uttered the three words to her boyfriend and partner. "I love you and your grand gestures, and your smile, and your laugh." "I love you. I love you and your eyes, and the way you scrunch up your nose when you find something funny, the way you're impossibly stubborn but yet incredibly reasonable." "I love you and how you make me feel okay, and how you can understand what I'm trying to say without me ever having to say it, and how you hold me at night and when I'm upset. I love you and how you showed me a million shades of colour that I had never experienced before." Jay's lips curled up into a warm smile, though his eyes showed it more. It was hard to distinguish whether or not it was the way the corners of his eyes creased or if it was the sparkle among the green that did it, but she didn't mind the not knowing. When she was with Jay, she didn't need to know anything except that she loved him and that he loved her — that was enough. It had always been enough. An exhale escaped Hailey's lips as she gazed up at the sky above them, the twinkling orbs that were even brighter away from city lights filling her vision as she studied them closely. They twinkled and shimmered beautifully — almost entrancing — Hailey could barely peel her eyes or focus away from them for more than half a second. "They're amazing, aren't they?" Hailey wasn't expecting a response, but she wasn't shocked either when she received one. "The stars?" "Yeah," she nodded her head against Jay's chest lightly. "They remind me of you, in a way." Jay chuckled with a puzzled look on his face. "They remind you of me? How?" "They're pretty. They're perfect. . They're also everywhere, just like your freckles are. Not to mention that half of them are on the brink of exploding, just like you." He poked her in the side playfully as Hailey laughed heartily in response. "It was so sweet, and then you decided to make fun of me." "Making fun of you is my only hobby, Halstead. How else am I meant to fill my time?" "I don't know! There's a whole world out there — you could take up boxing, or knitting!" "You see me sitting still for long enough to knit?" "No, that was a stupid suggestion. I should have known." Jay's chest rose and fell beneath Hailey's head as he laughed. "Since you're you, I guess I'll let you get away with it. You're both far too dangerous and far too attractive to stay mad at." Hailey only smirked as she turned her head, finally tearing her eyes away from the night sky and gazing into Jay's impossibly green eyes. "Oh yeah? Far too attractive?" "Well—" Jay shifted slightly as his hand brushed up against Hailey's bare arm beneath the blankets. "— maybe — maybe you'll have to remind me just how attractive." "Oh, I can do that."

🌌🌌🌌🌌🌌🌌🌌

aaaa okay i hope this was good! i don’t know if i did it justice lmao

#chicago pd #one chicago #upstead #hailey upton #jay halstead #hailey upton x jay halstead #jay halstead x hailey upton #cpd

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mustlovemustypages · 4 years ago

Text

Yuletide 2020 Letter

Dear potential writer,

I truly hope all is well with you and yours. No matter what state you find yourself in, my wish is that Yuletide boosts your spirits and gives you the extra jolt we all could use to usher in the new year.

Thank you for taking the time to read my letter and thank you in advance if you decide to write anything for me!

Below are my desired fandoms and pairings along with story ideas that I would love to see written. Please don’t feel stifled by my prompts; I’ve also listed my general likes and dislikes at the very bottom of this letter if you decide to go a different route.

Little Women (2019):

Characters: Amy March and Theodore “Laurie” Laurence”

The main reason I adore this adaptation is because it made me see why Amy and Laurie ended up together. They had very similar worldviews and fit so well what the other needed. Both deserved to be with someone that valued them for who they are. With Laurie, Amy was not just financially secure but with someone who encouraged her to express herself creatively, politically, or however she chose. With Amy, while she grounded Laurie in reality and challenged him to be the best version of himself, he didn't have to fundamentally change to make her happy.

Story ideas:

These quotes really show how Amy's perspective on life was different than her sister's: "You are your family's hope." (Aunt March) "I’ve always known I would marry rich." (Amy March) That's a lot of pressure on someone so young. We heard some of Laurie's thoughts, mostly that he didn't think Amy should feel ashamed for wanting that. How would some of that pressure continue even after she got married, and what would Laurie say to make her realize they were in life together as a team and she didn’t have to suffer the weight of the world alone?

The conversation between Amy and Laurie in the painting studio showed just how level-headed and intelligent she was. Laurie, while not wholly agreeing, was respectful and didn't discount her thoughts. It would be interesting to see the impact on their story if Vaughn hadn't arrived, and this had played out more. Would the proposal have happened earlier and/or how would later scenes be altered as a result of further conversation?

What did the other characters think of Amy and Laurie's relationship, and how did it change after seeing them interact more as a couple? It would be interesting to read about Meg, Marmee, John, or some of the other characters realizing they were genuinely a good match for each other.

Post-canon, I'd love to get a glimpse of what kinds of conversations they had. Did Amy encourage Laurie to pursue a career and find what he was passionate about (music perhaps as Laurie mentioned writing an opera)? And similarly, did Laurie encourage Amy to pursue her art? Did they continue to have in-depth conversations about societal pressures and expectations of gender in certain economic classes?

Tenet:

Characters: The Protagonist, Kat, and Neil

Tenet is the first movie I've seen in theaters since Star Wars IX. There have been some mixed reviews, but my love for Christopher Nolan sci-fi films combined with the experience of stepping foot in a theater again made it a wonderful experience for me. Sure, the plot could be confusing at times, but it was fun trying to fit certain puzzle pieces together and oh so thrilling when things just clicked into place in the most satisfying ways.

I adored the dynamic between Neil and the Protagonist. The easy friendship, the banter, the suits... everything. I also loved the relationship between the Protagonist and Kat. It started off as each using the other but transformed into one of genuine care on both sides. Ever the romantic, I definitely saw something more than just friendship between the two and was slightly disappointed the movie didn't explore that aspect more.

For pairings, I’m interested in friendships between all of the characters. I’d be interested in seeing a romantic relationship between Kat and the Protagonist if you’re up for that, but not between Neil and Kat, nor Neil and the Protagonist. If you really want to give a romantic partner to Neil, I'd be fine with Laura (or an original female character if she’s not the focus of the story), but please, no slash. While I’d be ecstatic to see all three characters together, if you can only find a way to fit in two, that’s wonderful as well!

Story ideas:

Even though Andrei Sator is gone, there are still other players in the game, some like Priya, who want to eliminate Kat or even abduct her with the delusional idea she can continue her husband's work. The Protagonist (and Neil, if you so choose) ensures no harm comes to her, and he realizes that keeping her at a distance may not have been the best idea.

I personally don't buy into the fan theory that Neil is Kat's son Max; however, I do find the idea intriguing and would be up for reading about how that worked. The Protagonist breaks his rule and sees Kat, helping to raise her son Max/Neil and eventually teaching him about inversion.

The Protagonist doesn't have to wait quite as long as he'd thought to see Neil again. It can be the Neil who had already met him and knows about Tenet or the Neil who knows nothing about inversion.

What conversations did Neil and Kat have while the Protagonist was asleep after almost freezing to death? Maybe Neil explained the finer workings of Tenet and inversion more in-depth. Perhaps they discussed the Protagonist.

Clueless:

Characters: Cher Horowitz and Josh Lucas

This movie set the bar high for teen romantic comedies. How can anyone ever beat 90s Alicia Silverstone and Paul Rudd? Plus, the relationship between their two characters is fantastic. Josh and Cher just bring out the best in each other. Cher shows Josh that he doesn't need to be so serious all of the time and that people are more than their outer appearances. Josh makes Cher want to be a better person, and he believes that she's not just a pretty face. Their banter and playful moments always make me smile.

Story ideas:

Knowing Josh and Cher end up together, this brings a heightened awareness to rewatches. They have so many casual touches and exchanged glances (when did Paul Rudd's eyes get so blue?) that it's hard to miss their natural chemistry. It may take quite some time for Cher's dad to notice anything has changed because they don't act all that different from before. Is there something that makes him finally take notice? How does he react?

Sort of related to the last prompt, there's a moment where Josh decides to go to the dance to keep an eye on Cher and Christian, and you can tell by Mel Horowitz’s smirk he realizes Josh has a crush on Cher. Does he do anything to push it along or play matchmaker just like his daughter?

I've always been curious about whether or not Josh believes Cher's story about being assaulted in the car by Elton and then held at gunpoint. We skip over Josh pulling up to the phone booth and go straight to Cher already being in the car. How did Josh react when she reiterated the story, and does he instantly believe her, or does it take some convincing? I'd like to see if he comforts her and if they both go together to tell Cher's dad what happened.

Cher is obviously very intelligent socially, if not always so much academically. When it comes time to apply for college, what does she major in? And how is Josh a positive influence in Cher's life, encouraging her to be ambitious and not letting negative comments from guidance counselors or teachers dissuade her?

Things I don’t like:

Alternate Universes – For the specific fandoms that I picked, I really like the universes as they are. I’m definitely okay with deviations from canon, but please don’t make Little Women into a supernatural werewolf story or have Tenet take place in a mundane coffee shop setting. (I don’t mind Soulmate AUs or something similar because those can be incorporated into canon with little change to worldbuilding).

Non-Con/Rape/BDSM/Sexual Violence/Graphic Sex – I like my characters to be happy and everything within ships to be 100% consensual, no question about it (mentions of non-con if it occurred in canon is fine). I also prefer plot over porn, especially with one-shots.

OT3s – Two people per romantic relationship, please. Any more than that makes me uncomfortable.

Character Bashing - Unless a character is a bad guy in canon, I don’t want to read hundreds of words about how awful they are, especially if they are one of the characters that I requested. Don’t take it out on the characters. If you hate my pairings, just write gen.

Things I love:

Hurt/Comfort – There is nothing I love more than one character comforting another. The hurt can be physical, psychological, or both.

Happy Endings – I’m all for the realistic endings… but if they could be plausible AND at least happy-ish, that would be amazing.

Expanded Scenes/Contorting Canon – Feel free to expand scenes and change up the canon to your heart’s content as long as it makes logical sense.

Humor/Banter/Snark – I thrive on this stuff.

Bonding/Building Relationships – Whether it be a friendship or a romantic relationship, I adore reading about two people growing closer together. When characters know each other so well that they can have conversations with just their eyes or anticipate the person’s next move (especially if it’s to the surprise/confusion of everyone around them), my shipper heart is thrilled.

Dark to Light – Seeing a character come out of a bad mindset or situation and get better is so satisfying.

Happy writing and I hope you get the Yuletide gift of your dreams!

- Maddy @mustlovemustypages (on Tumblr, Ao3, and FF.net)

#little women #little women 2019 #amy x laurie #theodore laurence #laurie #amy march #tenet #the protagonist #neil #kat #clueless #josh x cher #cher horowitz #josh lucas #yuletide 2020 #yuletide letter #yuletide

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lugubrious-poltergeist · 5 years ago

Text

First Meeting

Logan, after reading over what Virgil sent them, was willing to give the Ghost Box thing a try. The theories on ghosts were fascinating and he was childishly excited over the idea of being able to talk to their invisible stalker, even if it seemed to not like him when they first moved in. If this ghost really was this Remus kid, then the dislike made sense. Remus lived with his unnamed twin and abusive father, the fact a teen not much older than he was when he disappeared and a single father moving in may have been what made the ghost more active than he was in the past. Logan is in no way like Remus’s father, he’d rather die than harm Dee like that, but the situation may have been enough to give the ghost more situational awareness.

“Dad” Dee snaps Logan out of his thoughts, “Can we make popcorn? Virgil set up the ghost radio and is now picking out a movie in case the ghost doesn’t want to talk. They seem to think if the ghost is too shy to talk about themselves, maybe we could ask what it thought of the movie instead.”

“There is logic behind that idea, I suppose.” Logan hums in amusement before frowning as there’s a knock on the front door. No one in the house was particularly social and Virgil’s parents are borderline abusive from what Logan’s seen (Social Services would be called in an instant when they finally cross the line, but for now, Logan contents himself with the fact Virgil knows this is a safe place to escape when they need it) so Logan has no idea who might be at the door.

‘ Only one way to find out’ Logan gets up with a disgruntled sigh, only to realize Dee beat him to the punch and was already opening the door.

“Oh!” Came a semi-startled androgynous voice before it warms, which is much better than most who see Dee’s scarred face for the first time “Hello, sorry to bother you. Is one of your parents home?”

Dee just looks at Logan before stepping out of the way with a lazy, “Yeah.”

Logan rolls his eyes fondly before stepping into the doorway, only to have his brain short circuit at the sight of the Very pretty man standing nervously on the doorstep. Much to Logan’s relief, the man seems to be just think Logan is one of those tall, dark, and silent type and isn’t having gay panic. when Logan takes too long to speak and startles rambling out why he’s there.

“I’m sorry to bother you and your family. I have a weird request. Could I possibly walk about your house? Wait! That sounds weird! I-um, How do I put this? I used to live here with my brother and father and a lot of bad stuff happened and my therapist thinks visiting the place everything happened would help me heal from some of the traum-” He’s abruptly cut off by Virgil shoving Logan out of the way and shouting in excitement.

“Are You Remus’s Twin!?”

“Virgil.” Logan gives the teen a chastising look as he straighten, but catches their guest’s shocked wide eyes.

“Wha-what?” Shock fades to aggression, “ How Do You Know That Name?”

Logan takes control of the situation, watching the man, “They were looking into the history of the house and came across the police report about your missing brother and abusive father.”

Aggression turns to grief in a flash, “What an odd thing to be interested in, but I guess you know a good deal about what happened then. I honestly never wanted to see this house again, but the good Doctor said it’d help to see it again and see it in a different light.”

“I can see how that could hold some merit. I agree to let you walk through the house, but only with one of us with you, as you are a stranger.” Logan fights to not blush at the smile of pure sunshine that gets aimed at him in response before the stranger gets flustered again.

“Oh, gosh, I never introduced myself. Where are my manners today?” The man straightens and somehow gives off a Disney prince vibe as he extends his hand while smiling, “I’m Roman Sanders.”

“Logan Love, the two teens are my son, Dee and his friend Virgil. Dee and I use he/him pronouns while Virgil uses they/them.” Logan says and takes Roman’s hand for a hand shake, only for Roman to, instead, kiss the back of his hand. Logan can hear the teens snickering at his bright red face.

“Pleasure to meet you all” Roman beams, “I use he/him pronouns!”

Dee instantly decides he likes this guy and lightly grabs his wrist and pulls him in, “I’ll show you around while dad reboots his brain, I wanna know how the house was when you lived here.”

Roman blinks, but rolls with it, appreciating that the way Dee is holding his wrist makes it easy to escape if he feels the need. Especially as he realizes he’s the shortest one there, being at least half a foot shorter than the next shortest person, Virgil, and a near foot and a half shorter than Logan. He tells them some of the happier tales he has to tell about each room, they all mostly involve the two brothers being home alone and goofing off. The teens share some of their own goofy stories with Logan adding something here or there. They also get off topic, talking about jobs and hobbies, which reveals Roman to be from out of town. The oddly prince-like man bonds with the small family pretty easily and is invited to dinner by the time they go upstairs, which took longer than it should have.

“I’m hesitant to go up there.” Roman admits when they get halfway up the staircase, sorrow suddenly heavy in his voice, “The last I saw my brother was in his room and we had had some stupid fight. Something dumb that I can’t quite remember, but I stormed off and then he was gone when I got back...”

“You can take your time. If you need to come back at a later date, then we can do that. Let me give you my number before you leave.” Logan says patiently, ignoring the snickering teens mumbling about that being the “only reason” for the number exchange. Logan just takes it as their way to distract themselves from the terribleness of the situation.

“Thanks... I appreciate it. I’d like to try to at least visit Remus’s old room, even if I do end up ugly crying.” Roman lightly smiles at Logan, but is too in thought to notice the teens are near silently making fun of Logan’s obvious interest and his own obviousness.

“Alright...” Roman gives a few more funny stories when they enter his old room , now Dee’s room, and just kind of shrugs when they enter his father’s old room, now Logan’s room, explaining he’s never really been in there, Remus was the one who’d sneak in if they needed something in there. The guest room is where thing got interesting, it used to be Remus’s room and when Roman finally started crying in the middle of explaining the mess Remus kept his room in , a light bulb exploded. Startling them all, as there’s no reason why it should have exploded like that, but it seems their ghost was done being quiet because the guest bed’s blanket then wrapped around Roman and other stuff got thrown around. No one got hurt, just freaked out and once everything stopped moving, both Virgil and Roman looked faint, neither having experienced a haunting before.

“I may have neglected the reason Virgil looked into the history of the house is because we appear to have a ghost.” Logan says calmly, still a little pale from the shock.

“A What!?” Roman looks terrified as he removes the blanket, finding no reason for the blanket to have attacked him.

“Why don’t we go to the kitchen? It’s about time I started dinner and I think a hot comfort drink is in order. Do you prefer hot chocolate, tea, or coffee?” Logan just sounds tired, which has Roman sputtering. The sputtering turns into an indignant squeak as the ghost ruffles his hair and the static electricity makes his golden hair stand up.

“He likes you.” Dee muses before demanding hot chocolate and dragging a shell shocked Virgil out of the room with him. Logan just rolls his eyes before focusing on the tiny man flattening his hair and grumbling.

“I’ll explain more in the kitchen when we have our drinks.” Roman gives up on flattening his hair to eye Logan, slightly intimidated to be in the room alone with the tall man, but refusing to be meek like he once was.

“Do you have earl grey?”

“We should.” Logan hums and leads the way to the kitchen, where he see one of the teens turned on the kettle and so he just starts pulling of ingredients, “Any food allergies?”

“Shellfish.” Roman says, fidgeting because he doesn’t know what to do with himself before ultimately just taking a seat at the table nearby.

“Noted.” Logan starts preparing things for a mild curry and chicken with rice, “Now, I’ll tell you about some of the things that have happened since Dee and I moved in.”

Logan talks about the strange things that were small at first and slightly more malicious where he’s involved before they toned down, only for the ghost to take out a burglar one night and become active again. He only paused one moment to make and hand out the different drinks, hot chocolate for Dee, sweetened earl grey for Roman, sugary coffee with cream for Virgil, and a cup of coffee with a little cream for Logan himself and note that the weather turned at some point and it was now raining.

“That was one of the biggest out bursts we’ve seen so far. Makes our theory seem even more plausible.” Logan says sipping his coffee while pausing for the curry to thicken and chicken to finish baking.

“Theory?” Roman asks mentally chewing on everything he’s heard and fiddling with his empty cup.

“We have reason to believe our ghost may be your brother. I let the kids get a spirit box to try to talk to him, they were planning to do that when you showed up.” Logan eyed Roman a moment, “You can stay for that after dinner if you want.”

“If it’s alright with you, I think I need to think about everything first, if that alright with you” Was all Roman said before his face met the table.

“Of course, I’ll tell you if the kids get him to say anything”

“Thanks... I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem. Now dinner is almost ready, eat as much as you like.”

#logan sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #virgil sanders #ghost remus #remus mention #lugubriouspoltergeist #tw abuse #food mention

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spideybpy · 6 years ago

Text

peter parker x reader || the newspaper (part three)

part one || part two

summary: the reader finds a lead on Spiderman’s and somehow manages to enlist Peter’s help in discovering his true identity

warnings: like two swears

The paper was doing better than anyone expected, like a lot better. You had already exposed what was really in the lunches for 'Mystery Meat Monday', busted the science fair sabotage and covered every competition and celebration the school had held. Plus it was wildly popular with the students, despite what you had expected.

And your relationship with Peter was better than anyone expected, like a lot lot better. It seemed with every second you spent with him your affections continued to grow, much to your displeasure.

It was moments like this, when you were sat in the same booth in the same coffee shop as you always did with the same drinks as you always had, that Peter felt less like a person and more like home.

"I have some exciting news!" you said, determined to shake the thoughts away. You couldn't afford to think like that.

Peter raised his eyebrows, "News for me news or newspaper news?"

You rolled your eyes at him, "Big news: I might have found a lead on who Spiderman is."

"What!?" Peter choked on his hot chocolate.

"Look, I know it is more of a punt than anything solid but just hear me out: I think he might be a kid from our school." Any colour that was left in Peter's face had drained out. You grabbed your laptop and opened it in front of you both, "This is a list of all the recorded sightings of Spiderman. If you look here, weekends are sporadic but from Monday to Friday you can see that the earliest sightings are all around 3:45. Never any earlier. School finishes at 3:30, so you have to agree that there is at least some plausibility in this." You flicked up a map of Queens onto your screen, "And here, I've plotted all these sightings and any schools in the area. If he's our age, he has to be going to our school, Peter. You can't deny all these sightings are basically a cluster around school and if you can think of any other explanation, please enlighten me." You sat back and observed Peter's reaction.

"But... Y/N... that would make him just a kid." He licked his lips.

You wanted to catch him off guard. You didn't want to interrogate him but if the rumours were true... "Are you saying he's not a kid?"

"Yes!" Peter shot back.

"Because you know him."

"Yes!" You weren't sure whose eyes went bigger, "I mean no. I don't know him. I know Spiderman but I don't know who he is." He tried to recover, "I just know he isn't a kid. He's too tall and broad and his voice is too deep and he's too... too intimidating to be some kid. I hate to say this but it is probably just some coincidence." Peter exhaled, finally meeting your eye, "Why do you want to uncover Spiderman's identity anyway? Surely if he wanted to be known he would make it so."

You considered this for a moment. To be completely honest, you hadn't thought that far ahead. It was just the thrill of the unknown and the glory of being the only one to know who he really is. "I don't want to expose him," you knew that much was true, you respected his want for privacy, "I just- there's something about the mystery of it all, you know? Imagine getting an interview with Spiderman or exclusive details? I just enjoy this, the sleuthing, the stake-outs... I know I won't really find out who he is, it's just the excitement of it all, you know?"

"I just don't want you getting involved with Spiderman; he's the one fighting the bad guys and if they find out you're involved with him? They'll come after you, Y/N." Peter shook his head, "And I think you'll find that's the opposite of what he's trying to do."

Everything became too sombre too quickly. You didn't like it, with Peter it was meant to be all laughs and smiles, not whatever this was. You sat there in silence for a while, neither wanting to disturb the other.

"Hey, how about this," Peter met your eye for the first time in forever, "if you help me look around school tomorrow and we find nothing, I'll forget about this whole Spiderman thing."

The side of his mouth curved up into a smile. "Deal."

"What are you even looking for?" Peter leaned against the row of lockers which you were idly flicking open.

"Right now?" you asked, peering into the next locker, "I'm looking to see if Spiderman's made a mistake whilst we wait for someone to unlock the reprographics room."

"What, you think Spiderman's left his suit in his locker? Don't you think he must be slightly more intelligent than that?" he said too quickly.

You frowned as you came across a locked locker, completely ignoring Peter. "Hey, isn't this your locker? What secrets have you got locked away in there?" you turned to him to laugh but he looked too sheepish to join in. You rolled your eyes instead. "Whatever, forget I even asked- I don't want to know what could be so bad that you had to lock it away."

Fortunately, one of the reprographics staff walked past and saved you from whatever hell of a response Peter was going to come back with. You waited for the door to almost shut before catching it with your foot, millimetres from it locking. Peter looked at you with a big oh no when he realised why you had asked if he was any good at quickly copying files. You tossed a memory stick across to Peter.

"It's your time to shine, pretty boy."

In theory, your plan was foolproof. You were going to distract the reprographics staff in the back room whilst Peter copied the list of everyone's extracurriculars. Simple.

However, Peter didn't seem to agree- because if anyone is going to lose their neck over this Y/N, it's going to be me. You shrugged and told him something along the lines of suck it up, princess.

The member of reprographics was more than surprised to see you- students were strictly prohibited from entering- and made signs of protest before you swooped in to explain.

"Hello, I'm so sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you could help us? Peter and I are working on an article for the school newspaper special on our school's rich and frankly fascinating history. I was hoping that you had some old documents you could show me that I could include?" You managed to muster a sweet smile and any fight left in her face drained out.

"Follow me." she gestured towards the back room. With her back turned, you finger gunned towards Peter. He pursed his lips in response with a slight raise of his eyebrows as if to say, why am I doing this? Why is it always me?

You turned your attention back to the reprographics lady and humoured her small talk as you flicked through files without really seeing any of the documents. You couldn't focus, all you could think about was Peter's stupid locked locker and whatever he was hiding from you. It was stupid, you knew he didn't have to tell you everything- everyone had secrets, even you- but you didn't like it. It was as though someone had stuffed a huge locked locker shaped wedge between you.

Perhaps what bothered you most wasn't the secret itself; it was what it meant. It meant that Peter had a bigger secret than your biggest secret and you thought your secret was pretty big.

That secret being Peter, of course.

You lost whatever train of thought you were following because the reprographics lady was leaving to go back to her computer, her computer which Peter was currently meddling with. Without thinking, you gasped so she turned back to you. She looked at you expectantly as you struggled to explain what had surprised you so much.

Grasping at straws, you exclaimed, "I love your shoes!" You both glanced down at her brown, shapeless loafers.

"Thank you." She said, turning on her heel. Her voice was filled with thinly veiled indignancy.

"Wait! Where did you get them from?" She knew you were stalling this time and after a momentary pause she hurried back to her desk with more speed than before. You scrambled after her and reached her desk at the same time as her.

Her desk which Peter was sprawled underneath.

"It looked comfortable?" He tried.

Needless to say, you got kicked out.

You sat outside the school as the sky began to darken, backs pressed against the wall and chins tipped to the sky. You were horribly aware of how close you were, barely centimetres away from each other, and yet it still felt like each centimetre was a kilometre. You sighed and Peter turned to look at you for what seemed to the first time all day.

"What's up?"

You ran your tongue along your bottom lip as you calculated the perfect words to summarise how you felt. "Well, I fucked that up."

Peter frowned at you, "What do you mean?"

You went to give him an exasperated glance- as if he didn't think that the whole plan had completely fucked up- and saw him toss something and catch it.

"You did it!?" You looked at him in awe.

"Y/N, I have never and will never fail you." He smiled at you and some of the icy distance between you seemed to melt away.

You couldn't wait to go through the data so Peter suggested you went back to his since his aunt was away. You printed the lists off and highlighted all the names of students who did no extracurriculars and then narrowed it down to just the boys (Spiderman couldn't be girl, no matter how much you wanted him to be because he had the wrong build) and finally crossed out the remaining names who were either too short by Peter's judgement or too young, leaving a little over a dozen names.

"I think we can cross my name out.", Peter said next to you.

You raised an eyebrow at him, "Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."

"The truth is I'm not Spiderman."

Could Peter be Spiderman? You dismissed the thought with amusement. You sighed, crossing his name out and Peter exhaled in response. Poking him in the arm you said, "I guess it is impossible- Spiderman definitely doesn't have stick arms."

Peter looked offended, "I do not have stick arms! Look at them!"

You rolled your eyes, "Yeah, your biceps are even bigger than Thor's, Peter." You collapsed onto the sofa, your short list of names still clasped in your hand. One of these kids is Spiderman. You shook your head to yourself in amazement. What next? What next indeed- you tried to think only to find you couldn't.

"What time is it?" You groaned.

"It's just gone two." Peter flopped down next to you and yawned. At least he was as tired as you were.

"I'm just going to close my eyes for a moment." Peter murmured something that sounded like agreement. You put your legs on the side of the sofa and leant back until your shoulder was pressed against his forearm and your head leant against his bicep. He tensed at the contact and you immediately felt stupid for saying he had stick arms as you realised that that couldn't be further from the truth. You almost pulled away- you were tired to a degree that your thoughts were so incoherent that you had only thought about getting comfortable- but then he relaxed and leant back into you.

Just before sleep took over, you could have sworn he whispered "Good night, Y/N."

#peter parker x reader #peter #peter parker #spiderman #spiderman x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #peter parker fluff #fluff #peter x reader #spiderman blog #spiderman homecoming #spider-man imagine #spider-man: homecoming #spideybpy writes #spideyqueue #peter parker imagine #tom holland #spiderman imagine

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iammultifandomaf · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 15 - Meet the Divine

BROTHERHOOD

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12211562/15/

“What do you mean with 'he told us to leave' for god's sake!" a man, around his forties, raised his voice at his subjects who just watched the floor beneath them. They know that despite their boss' kind appearance, he was able to get very serious and angry.

"You had one job!" he insisted.

"But sir! You must realize that with what we are dealing here...-"

"I know! But they need to be under surveillance exactly because of what they are. And when the satellites can't track them nor anything else we can use... the shooting was the only hint we got in years!"

"You should maybe reconsider Mrs. Turner's offer..."

"I don't want anything in common with that witch!"

"Well, then maybe use a little blood... You need to use the right instruments in this situation. It requires supernatural techniques, sir."

"Alright," the boss sighed, "prepare it then."

Stiles blinked a few times to adjust to the bright light. He felt a pinch in his gut but he knew well that his brother had taken care of the bullet.

Slowly sitting up, he looked up at the redhead standing in front of him, smiling a little at the sight of him being well again. Her smile diminished quickly, though, as soon as she realized all the questions she had for those two.

Stiles looked down like a guilty child and waited for the shower of anger.

Meanwhile, John left to gather the bags and put them into the guest room.

Lydia crossed her arms on her chest, her eyes locked at her boyfriend.

"So, first of all, what the hell?" she asked, raising her voice a little. "We come here to enjoy Italy and suddenly you get kidnapped for whatever reasons and then the fairytale you told me...? You explain yourself, sir."

"Lydia, it wasn't a fairytale. How do you think I got rid of the bullet?"

"I-I don't know! You tell me!"

"I know," John chuckled, returning to the living room to have a seat next to Stiles.

"How are you feeling, Stiles?"

"Stop saying my name like this," Stiles said strictly because John made it sound as if he was mocking his new name.

"Hmm. Sure, sure, don't get edgy. Look, if this is going to be a problem for her, I can fix it for you two," John offered with a smile.

"What is he talking about?" Lydia said, slightly alarmed.

"That doesn't matter, Lyds. Mich, you don't need to do anything now, she deserves to know."

"Oh, does she? Then it's alright," John said sarcastically and left for the kitchen.

"Lydia, why don't you sit down?" Stiles asked kindly and Lydia did actually sit down into a leather armchair in front of him. She crossed her arms again on her chest and glared at her boyfriend.

"Look, I've done plenty of stuff which aren't considered as good, I suppose. Sure, I had my better and worse moments but in the end people usually remember the evil brought onto them rather than the good. Throughout the centuries, my brother and I have taken on a lot of new identities and lived many lives. My real name is Stolos. Stiles Stilinski is a name I adopted after my powers have vanished."

"How come they have vanished, as you say?"

"It was a curse put on us both by a family clan-"

"But you said John is still the same... why's that?"

"I had a theory, actually," John said from behind the armchair Lydia was sitting. He walked around Lydia to the coffee table to put some refreshments on it, grabbing a glass of wine himself.

"Really?" Stiles asked with genuine interest.

"Oh yes. I looked into that issue as soon as possible. I gathered enough information to make a few conclusions."

"Which are?" Lydia asked, finding herself actually interested about it.

"Well, first theory which I found plausible was that they simply wanted to punish you for the things you have done, so they have stripped you of your powers. But I didn't find any possible way how to make this work this. Not on you at least. After some other reaserch, I came across a rather complicated curse which takes away one's most precious thing in their life. When I realized this, it made me feel a little blue but it seemed as the correct answer."

"Wait, wait. So, you are saying that they put a curse on me so I'll lose the most precious thing, a.k.a. my power?"

"They put the curse on both of us, brother."

"But you seem alright...," Stiles said, wondering what had his brother lost.

"You don't get it?" Lydia interrupted Stiles' thoughts.

"Get what?" Stiles asked.

"Geez, it's obvious!" she said, rolling her eyes at him. Stiles sent her a puzzled look which made Lydia sigh loudly.

"It's you, dummy," she said and looked at John who turned his gaze elsewhere.

"What? You mean that the curse caused that you lost me? But that's nonsense. You left me on your own will," Stiles said, trying to talk over the fact that he loved his power more than his own brother.

"Yes, it feels like it. I don't want to throw my responsibility for my actions on somebody else, but I truly believe that the curse was the cause of this. It just meant to separate us thus making us weaker. When you became human again, I just couldn't ruin your chance for a new life. Or at least that's how I saw it. Maybe, if I didn't leave, we would be able to fight back... But I run away cowardly and that's something-"

"That's something what we don't do," Stiles finished his sentence and smirked at his brother. Lydia, who now was silently sitting in the armchair and listening to the two brothers, was slowly realizing that she is taking the information she hears as the truth. Stiles and John talked about it in such a causal way that Lydia started to feel a little weird if she were to doubt them on their story. But then again, it sounded all so unreal. At least in her ordinary life of an human adult living in NYC.

"Mich? Is everything alright?" Stiles asked suddenly when he noticed John's furrowed brows.

"Well, it would seem that I am being summoned."

"What?" Lydia broke her silence.

"How?" Stiles wondered.

"That's quite interesting actually. It feels like an old blood spell."

"That's weird... I wasn't aware that the old witches still did this...," Stiles murmured.

"Well, there aren't many left... we know that for sure. And the rest wouldn't dare," John said, standing up and putting down his glass of wine.

"Can you pull the person here before they summon you completely? You don't know what would wait for you on the other side of the call," Stiles said.

"Hm, still managable I suppose."

Lydia was feeling very left out at this moment but before she could've said something, her query became unimportant when she has noticed John's sudden eye color change.

It looked as if he was staring into something which wasn't visible for Lydia but what was the most disturbing for her were his eyes. His dark brown eyes were now glowing with sky-blue color which was still able to contrast with his pale skin somehow.

Lydia's staring into John's eyes was interrupted with Stiles coming into her view and saying: "Lyds, I get that you are probably angry with me now but please let's sit a little further from him. We don't know who was trying to reach him."

He offered Lydia his hand and she numbly reached it, letting him lead her to the other couch further away from John. When they sat down, Lydia's eyes looked into Stiles', trying to find the mental support he had always given her. But, did she really want his support? She didn't even know him, apparently.

Stiles gaze wandered away, though. Lydia frowned at him but then she understood. She turned her eyes back to John who wasn't standing there alone anymore.

#stiles stilinski #lydia martin #john mitchell #chapter 15 #meet the divine #fanfiction #brotherhood #fanfic

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thefinalcinderella · 7 years ago

Text

DIVE!! Book 3 Chapter 5-SLUMP

This chapter was very long. Next chapter is pretty long as well

Full list of translations here

Previously on DIVE!!: Youichi took a break and comes back to find out that everything changed.

October. During the period where the rays of summer had completely faded away, and the wind blew coldly through the wet hair that resulted from coming out of the pool, the MDC had never had such a tense atmosphere hanging over the practice grounds.

It was slightly different from being filled with enthusiasm about the upcoming Sino-Japanese Goodwill Competition next month. Before the meet, everyone’s expectations, anxiety, impatience, rival spirit, and so on were always laid bare and surged like the high tide, but only this time, everyone was confining those things within themselves.

It wasn’t that they had no motivation. Rather, it was more like that there was too much that can’t be displayed. It had continued to grow within them, already to the point of bursting, and it seemed that there was a danger of rupturing if it was touched.

In particular, Tomoki’s tension was not ordinary.

Everyone could see that Tomoki had changed ever since he learned of the Olympic representative decision. His former innocence had been shadowed, and he did an absurd amount of practice without laughing, talking, or even showing any expression. Kayoko had to put a stop to it by saying, “If you don’t want to damage your health before the meet, then please leave it here for today.”

Reiji also devoted himself to practice in a way that was influenced by Tomoki. Never a talkative person, because he was the type who did what he had to do at his own pace, his companion Tomoki had become increasingly silent in his present condition.

Perhaps because he was afraid of this silence, Sachiya, now a first-year in middle school, hardly went near the diving tower, and did nothing but watch the mom’s synchro class by himself. Nowadays, he wasn’t only familiar with the power dynamics between the moms, but also the family circumstances and personal worries of his favorite moms. Even though he occasionally joined practice, at best he only dived off the one-meter springboard with the elementary schoolers.

As a result, since Ryou was also present only until recently, the always noisy and lively middle school section of the MDC, consisting of Tomoki and Reiji and sometimes Sachiya, had fell completely silent nowadays.

The two high schoolers—Youichi and Shibuki—were also very quiet.

Shibuki didn’t show his face much at the pool anymore, probably because he was busy with ballet lessons. Although he participated in every dryland training session at the Mizuki Sports Club, he didn’t dive with everyone else at Tatsumi.

According to a plausible rumor that Sachiya was spreading around, Shibuki was said to have visited the sea at Chiba with Kayoko several times a week, repeatedly doing secret special training. Though it wasn’t possible to swallow a story that came from a source like Sachiya, it didn’t seem like a totally groundless rumor, when seeing how the Spartan-like Kayoko sometimes didn’t show up to practice these days.

After ballet, then it was the sea.

What the hell is Shibuki thinking?

Why is he diving into the sea again, in the first place?

Youichi couldn’t help but keep thinking about it, and thought about asking him directly, but every time he wanted to call out to Shibuki in the high school corridors, he always stopped himself because he thought now wasn’t the right time to be concerned about others.

Ever since his one-week break, Youichi suffered from an unprecedented slump.

He couldn’t dive well. The techniques that weren’t difficult for him yesterday had become impossible today, for some reason. Even as he kept thinking about what he did wrong…no, the more he thought about it, the more he didn’t understand it, and that confusion would make his performance even more jerky.

In short, he was in a slump.

Ever since he began diving in the summer of second grade, Youichi had went through slumps harshly, and knew that everyone had underwent the same kind of suffering if they were divers. In particular, the bodies of Youichi and the others had repeated their subtle growths and changes, day by day, before the adults. Weight control was possible, but in some cases the unstoppable growth of the body threw the whole body out of balance, callously stealing away the performance intuition that had been built up until then. Also, the peculiarities the body unwittingly carried will gradually erode the performances, leading to a serious slump.

The waves of the slump more-or-less visited periodically, but the athlete becomes stronger by overcoming it, boosting themselves up to a new stage. Worrying together with their coach, they lunged and tore at the wall before their eyes, sometimes rationally, sometimes by hurling themselves at it. Youichi had come to that point.

However, this current slump was too intense.

Why did I mess up the entries of such easy forward dives? Why were my pike dives, my strong points, so dull? Why don’t my takeoffs have momentum? Why can’t I achieve the no-splashes that I was so confident in at all!?

He felt like he was going mad.

He had asked Coach Abe to point out the problems in one of his dives, and then used all his effort for improvement. He even brought a video camera from home to try and probe the cause for his slump with his own eyes. But, it was the same thing. If he thought that one problem had been overcome, another new problem arose. And furthermore, the new problem was always more complicated and nasty than the last.

It was as though every single one of his body parts banded together to go on strike.

He felt like he had been betrayed at the last hour by the feet, abdomen, arms, shoulders, fingertips and the tips of his toes that he had so desperately trained.

“I want to help you out somehow…but this only made me realize my own inexperience. I really am sorry that I cannot be helpful.”

Coach Abe, who had been worrying together with him, finally gave up. That apologetic voice implied that he did have an excellent father in Coach Fujitani.

Youichi, at the end of his rope, finally went to ask for Keisuke’s opinion, because he was interested in what his father, who had only watched his anguished self from a distance, would analyze about his slump.

But in the end, he thought he had probably lost his mind, and immediately regretted his folly.

“What you are missing now is your heart’s performance. Those who adhere to form will always stumble over it. What do you want to express with diving? What are you diving for? Your priority is to re-examine those things, right? If you want spiritual training, I can introduce you to an acquaintance of mine who is a priest at temple.”

Temple. With that one word, Youichi gave up on any further consultation.

Shutting yourself up in a temple sounded like something that people who didn’t know what they were suffering from would do. Or, maybe people who wanted to make their own troubles clearer. In cases like Youichi’s, where his troubles were already clear, he didn’t need a monk or God, but an expert familiar with those troubles.

A person who knew diving well, had good eyes, and able to make calm judgements.

A person who didn’t express notions or spiritual theories, but detail concrete solutions—.

That person came to Youichi’s mind naturally.

No, it might have been that somewhere in his heart, he had a hunch that the day would come where he would need to turn to that person for help.

Youichi arranged to meet with that person on the Saturday of that week. It was such a warm afternoon that the blazer of his winter uniform clung heavily to his shirt.

He waited for her on the terrace of an open café in Shimokitazawa, after school ended during the morning.

It was a sunny terrace that faced alleyway that branched off from the main street. The inside of the café was reminiscent of an European street corner, and as it was noon, colorfully painted with the figures of young couples and students, and the tables were also decorated with colorful drinks and crepes. Even Youichi’s simple ice coffee glowed gold from the particles of sunlight that fell past the white parasol.

It was an elegant moment. While he lived in the neighbouring Higashikitazawa, he had never spent time like this in Shimokitazawa until now. The other party was the one who had specified this shop. Youichi fidgeted in this unfamiliar atmosphere, and his eyes curiously flitted everywhere.

It was around the arranged time of twelve that those eyes spotted her.

“Sorry. I heard that a legendary acupuncturist was in Umegaoka, and I had to hear a little bit about that. Although it is more like dried whole fish than a legend.” (1)

As she talked, she placed her bag on the ground, and at the same time she sat down on her chair she took off her hound’s tooth jacket, and at the same time she used her left hand to open the menu she used her right hand to call for the waitress.

“Today’s pasta lunch, please. And some diluted coffee after the meal. And a cup of water.”

After drinking up the cup of water the waitress brought in one go, she finally looked directly at Youichi. Her face, still tanned from summer, was as dazzling as ever today, and despite being in a hurry, she still concentrated on her makeup. Her golden-brown chest peeked through her yellow shirt, and it was strangely sexier than her swimsuit-clad form that he saw everyday.

“It sure is quick when only one person has to order.” She—Kayoko—said as she glanced at Youichi’s ice coffee. “You can also ask for something you like. You still haven’t had lunch yet, right?”

“It’s fine. I’ll buy something later to eat.”

“A woman of marriageable age and a high school student at a café during lunch time. Only the woman is eating lunch. What would you think of that?”

“I wouldn’t think it was sexual harassment, at least.”

“Even if an adult man was full, they’d still go along with it.”

“But I’m seventeen, and a diver.”

“Diver?”

Youichi opened the menu to show what he meant.

“Mushroom cream on hamburger steak, 840 kilocalories. Penne au gratin, 570 kilocalories. Spaghetti Bolognese, 680 kilocalories. Omurice with ratatouille, 920 kilocalories. Club sandwich, 950 kilocalories. French toast, 680 kilocalories. By the way, the pasta lunch you ordered has 1480 kilocalories.”

“1480 kilocalories…”

“Pasta is already high-calorie even with the noodles alone, and then you’re adding bacon and white sauce to it, of all things. Furthermore, the dessert is marron mousse, which is high in fat. Even pigs before hibernation are not fed that much.”

“Indeed.”

Kayoko raise both hands in surrender.

“Buy and eat something later.”

“I will.”

“But, do pigs actually hibernate?”

“It was just an example.”

Kayoko suddenly smiled, having had a strained expression that said, “Well?” towards the opening tale up till then.

“For some reason, you wanted to talk.”

What to say? Where should he speak from? Despite planning them in advance, now when the time came, Youichi was at a loss for words. It was the first time that he was talking to Kayoko like this with just the two of them, and in fact, being with a young woman in itself was a zone that Youichi had no experience in, at all.

It wasn’t that he was uninterested in Kayoko up until now. Rather, he had a lot of interest, and he was always very aware of her presence. But as a coach, it was Tomoki and Shibuki she had her eyes on. Youichi had been protecting his pride by ignoring Kayoko.

“There’s something that I want to ask…”

When the time came, his pride still took precedence. “What is it?” Kayoko asked, jutting out her chin. In response, Youichi ignored all of his planning and blurted out a rude adlib.

“Why are you trying so hard?”

“What?”

“Coach Asaki, your goal was to send a representative to the Olympics from the MDC, right? That’s why you had your eye on Tomo, and you dragged Okitsu in from Tsugaru. But the right to represent has already been secured, and the MDC is going to survive without being destroyed, right? You’ve achieved your goal. And yet, why are you still desperately busying yourself with stuff like ballet and acupuncturists in Umegaoka?”

Provoking his opponents like that, and bringing them to his own pace by confusing them was Youichi’s usual trick.

However, in regards to winning people over with words, Kayoko had a slight edge.

“Because, those kids were not about to quit.”

“Those kids?”

“Sakai-kun and Okitsu-kun, and also Maruyama-kun…if you saw those kids who kept diving without saying anything after they were left out of the Olympic representative team, you would know that goals aren’t what a coach needs, but athletes.”

The waitress brought a plate of salad. The dressing was Thousand Island. Youichi reflexively added an extra 90 kilocalories, and before his eyes Kayoko shoved it into her mouth heartily.

“To be honest, even I don’t know what will happen five years from now. I might be getting married, I might be getting pregnant. But, for now I’m free at least, and I am in an environment where I can devote myself to what I love. Recently, I had thought that this period of time in life is surprisingly short, isn’t it? I want to completely burn up this precious time with those children. That’s all for now.”

“Haven’t you thought of the possibility of being single and continuing to coach for the rest of your life?”

“The pasta is late, isn’t it?”

“You don’t seem like someone suited to be a housewife.”

“That’s why it’s a talk for the future. I don’t know what kinds of dramatic changes will happen in five years.”

“You’re not going to give up.”

“Why do I have to give up?”

“True. I also thought so, so I kept holding out, but…I’m getting really tired.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m in a slump.” He had intended to casually broach the topic, but the straining of his voice was undeniable. “You might have noticed it, but these days I have been in the worst condition for a while, and I have no idea what to do.”

Kayoko rested her fork for just a moment, then nodded for him to continue.

“I probably shouldn’t be consulting with you like this, but there was only you. Both my father and Ooshima-san acknowledged the skill of your coaching. They said that you have a genius for being a coach. Anyone could see that’s not a bluff by looking at your usual training and Tomo’s growth. If it was you, you would know, right? What’s wrong with me, and why I can’t dive…”

In reponse his desperate complaint, however, Kayoko finished her salad without changing her expression, and then extended her fork towards the pasta.

Spaghetti with bacon and mushrooms mixed in with plenty of white sauce. Kayoko’s fork spun beautiful on the plate, skillfully coiling noodles around itself. There were only so many who would have associated this movement with the “twist” in a diving performance. But, Youichi and Kayoko were one of such minorities. Though they didn’t exactly have a trusting relationship, they both recognized each other’s rarity.

That was why he consulted her.

He threw away his pretensions and pride.

While pushing back the saliva that was gradually rising from his empty stomach, Youichi continued to patiently wait for Kayoko’s pasta dish to become empty.

“What do you think?”

Kayoko, who had been concentrating on her food, finally returned her gaze to Youichi. The marron mousse and coffee appeared in place of the cleaned pasta plate.

“What do you think is the reason for your slump?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know, so that’s why…”

“Think about it with what you already know.”

Youichi thought. About how on the following day after he received the explanation about the Olympic selection, he had such a terrible chronic headache that he wanted very much to take a break from practice. How even though he always, if possible, drove himself on to do too much, he had no motivation for overworking. He tried to be absent from practice for one week. However, he reluctantly came back because of November’s Sino-Japanese Goodwill Competition. After that, his unprecedented, absolute slump continued…

“Seriously, this is the first time that I’ve been so wrecked. I know that my self-confidence is quickly decreasing. I won’t be myself if it disappears anymore than that.”

“Sakuragi High School’s Fujitani Youichi. The thoroughbred who everyone speaks of as having great confidence in himself.”

“Genetics are irrelevant. I always thought that my self-confidence was kept by my own effort, along with my stamina and physical strength.”

“But it’s different now?”

“It’s not my efforts that bring me confidence, but the results of my efforts. You can’t have confidence without results. I don’t know why, but when I see Tomo taking on the 4½, and Okitsu doing ballet, I lose my confidence even more. I feel like I have to hurry up, that I’m the only who isn’t progressing ahead…”

While thinking that there was no point in complaining about these things, Youichi couldn’t stop his mouth.

His usual feeling of frustration.

An unclear anxiety.

Just like footsteps that resound in the darkness, simply because he can’t clearly identify the origin, they chased Youichi down even more.

“I don’t know if I know, but…”

Kayoko finally put down her fork, leaving only the bowl of marron mousse.

“For most of your misdives, you relaxed your chin at the moment of takeoff. When you lift your chin up a little bit, your line of sight will also naturally be raised. Because of that, all of your intuition goes amiss from then on. After that, it seemed that you may have been troubled about the rhythm of your approach lately, because you’re too concentrated on your feet, and not paying enough attention to your upper body, right? For your bad jumps, it’s not just your feet, but the swing of your arms that has problems. While I’m at it, I had wondered if you were aware that reverse somersaults are your weak points. Your performances were stiffer than the ones for other dives, and your takeoffs were always one beat behind.”

Chin. The swing of his arms. Reverse somersaults.

Youichi was dumbfounded and couldn’t speak as she pointed out his weaknesses one by one.

How long had she seen the things that even Coach Abe, who watched Youichi everyday, hadn’t noticed?

Kayoko continued where she left off, as Youichi succumbed to his fear-filled thoughts.

“But, those are merely superficial issues. The essence of your problem is deeper within you. You don’t seem to care for Coach Fujitani’s idealism, but everyone can see that this slump is something mental.”

“Mental?”

“You were chosen as an Olympic representative. But in reality, you don’t understand how you were chosen. Isn’t that why you feel reluctant to come to practice? But for the Sino-Japanese Goodwill Competition…and consequently for the MDC, you were not able to resist until the end. Your mind and body are falling apart. This is why you can’t dive well. You were agitated when you saw Sakai-kun and Okitsu-kun, perhaps because even though they lost the chance to go to Sydney, they were doing their own diving with their own intents. In contrast, you are set on rails prepared by someone else, which has nothing to do with your own volition.”

“Rails…”

“You might have been happier if you could just go with it without thinking anything. But, you stood still and thought about it. In that way, you weren’t able to move forward or go back. You will become useless if you stay like that.”

“…”

The wind was blowing. The dust was dancing. When Youichi’s gaze went up to escape from the bustle of the terrace, he saw the clear, lush autumn sky spread out overhead on the other side of the parasol. The hazy feelings within Youichi were like smog that could make that sky cloudy, and Kayoko had put it into shape extremely easily. They had successfully spread to the table, like the salad, pasta, marron mousse.

“It’s a bit like imaginary snow.”

He muttered that, as though talking to himself. “Snow?” Kayoko asked, reflexively looking up at the sky.

“Snow without substance is falling. Even if you touch it, it doesn’t melt, and it’s not cold. Everyone’s rolling it.”

“Everyone?”

“The JASF is going to take me to Sydney as Teramoto-san’s assistant-slash-safety net. Mizuki is thankful for that right of representation, and trying to drag me into a shitty commercial. Maybe there is something going on behind the commercial appearance and Olympic representation right, maybe not. The little kids of the MDC who don’t know anything already treat me like a star, my father thinks of me as the chairman of the MDC Survival Committee, and I’m trying to make myself think so, too. Everyone’s disconnected, and yet they’re all making a big deal out of it. But I’m not even officially an Olympic representative yet...”

Youichi pressed his forehead against the back of his clasped hands in front of his face.

“A snowman is steadily growing bigger in places that have nothing to do with me.”

“That’s what the Olympics have always been, more or less.”

Just for a moment, a painful shadow flitted across Kayoko’s eyes.

“But, you don’t acknowledge that. You deny it with all your power.”

“What should I do?”

“Do you want to stop the snowman that’s rolling up?”

“I don’t know. But, I want to roll it by myself, at least.”

Kayoko let out a puff of breath, and wiped her lips with a paper napkin.

“If that’s the case, then you should be rolling it, right?”

“What?”

“It’s your snow that’s falling, so you should roll it by yourself.”

“By myself?”

“You only have to do what you want to do in the way you want. In any case, you don’t have the disposition where you can be moved at the wills of others, and if you’re trying hard to kill yourself, then this is the way to go. Therefore, do you have any choice but to do what you like?

Youichi was confused.

“But, I’m carrying the futures of the thirty people who go to the MDC on my shoulders.”

“The future of the thirty people is carried by the shoulders of each of those thirty people. No one else can carry it for them. Even if the MDC was forced to close down, children with true passion will continue elsewhere.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“That’s why, you have to decide. It’s your life after all.”

Kayoko stated flatly. Youichi immediately snarled back at her.

“You…you were the one who wanted to save the MDC more than anyone else. Why are you saying that?”

Kayoko rejected the hysterical Youichi’s question with her eyes. Despite having ingested about 1570 kilocalories, those eyes still looked hungry, greedily wanting something.

“Because, you have talent. A splendid talent that is no way inferior to Sakai-kun’s and Okitsu-kun’s…I don’t want it to be wasted in such a place. I want to see it with my own eyes, how far can you grow. I want you to see what’s ahead of you.”

It seemed like he had been walking around the bottom of a five-meter deep diving pool. Even when Kayoko headed for Tatsumi after they left the café, saying that she should “burn up all of my calories completely,” Youichi didn’t feel like going to practice together. He hadn’t dared to invite Kayoko either, and so he remained behind to prowl around aimlessly the young people’s neighborhood by himself.

A reality difficult to see directly.

The conflict of the mind that he had been turning a blind eye to.

He had thrusted those things before Kayoko, and he had carried them heavily in his head, on his shoulders, and on his chest, and he felt like the more he walked, the more he was sinking down to the bottom of the water.

And yet the weather was so nice. The flow of people did not end in the neighborhood, and though as long as one went along with it there, one could find one’s way somewhere almost without mistakes. He wondered just when had he missed that energy.

Youichi looked over the faces of the people who were swept along easily. It seemed that everyone in this neighborhood was wearing clothes that they wanted to wear, eating what they wanted to eat, and buying what they wanted to buy. Because he was hungry, his eyes were randomly caught by the good-smelling food that was everywhere.

Hamburger, 250 kilocalories. Curry bread, 300 kilocalories. Fried chicken, 150 kilocalories. Chocolate banana crepe, 560 kilocalories. Imagawayaki (2), 200 kilocalories. Potato chips, 500 kilocalories. Vanilla ice cream, 220 kilocalories. Chocolate ice cream, 250 kilocaloriesー.

Crap. This neighborhood is a sea of fat and cholesterol. I have to escape. Escape. Escape. Youichi raced up the stairs of an empty building in order to escape from the grotesque whirlpool of calories. A shabby barbershop was on the first floor, and there was a sign for a used record shop on the second floor. While listening to the tones of jazz leaking out from the second floor, he sat down with a thump on the cold staircase. My head feels like crap…he sighed.

He can neither go forward nor go back.

He was stuck in a dead end.

It’s your snow that’s falling, so you should roll it yourself.

When he recalled Kayoko’s voice, Youichi carelessly let his field of vision blur, almost letting out something like a sob.

Translation Notes

1. Legend (maboroshi) sounds similar to dried fish (maruboshi)

2. Imagawayaki is a cake filled with bean paste, and is a popular street snack.

Next time on DIVE!!: Guess who’s back? Also, what you think will happen to Tomoki happens to him.

#DIVE!!#dive novel translation

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crowleyaj · 8 years ago

Text

To Death

For @fandomwritingchallenge.

Fandom: James Bond Pairing: James Bond/Q Rating: PG Word count: 4,781 Prompt: carnival Warnings: swearing, non-graphic violence, very light sexual content (nothing really happens though)

Q returned home from a very exhausting, tedious day at work, bearing the image of a steaming hot cup of tea in his mind. He has been looking forward to one since the moment he left his lab, and now he could enjoy it at last.

Only—he found his flat’s door open by a cranny as he approached it with a key in his hand. He panicked. His other hand automatically reached for a pen with a mechanism that could shoot poisonous darts if the right button is pressed. He always kept it in the front pocket of his bag.

He narrowed his eyes and proceeded with utmost caution. There had been an intruder in his flat, and maybe still was. He had to be ready. One slow step at a time, he approached the door and opened it; it emitted a creaky sound. Whoever was inside must have heard it.

Pointing the dangerous pen in front of him, he entered the foyer. No visible damage had occurred in there, but there was no sign of his furry friends, either. When he listened carefully, he could hear a female voice coming from the living room.

Though, he had a glimpse he had heard that voice before. But that was impossible, because that woman was—

Q neglected all of the previous cautiousness and rushed to the source of the noise. He nearly forgot to breathe.

The door between the living room and the kitchen was open ajar. He burst through it, and came to an immediate halt when he sighted the figure standing in front of the telly.

Why wasn’t he surprised to see 007 in there?

However, he was surprised by one different thing: the reason why it was so, that is to say. Well, it was two things, in fact—that, and whom he could see on a video tape.

M. His M. The silver-haired iron lady just as he remembered her and very much alive. It was merely a tape, but his brain was suddenly flooded with memories. She was telling Bond about an unfinished business; giving him instructions.

Bond acknowledged Q’s presence without moving by a bit. “M’s given me work. I’m going to Mexico,” he said matter-of-factly, without a twitch of his face. He did not add any explanation so as to why he had gone to his flat and not his fucking own. “And I need your help, Q.”

Bond needed his help. His. He trusted him enough to show him a secret recording M had bequeathed to him and him only; he trusted him enough to ask for his help with an unauthorised, off-record mission in bloody Mexico. Q figured he should feel honoured—but in reality, he had mixed feelings about it, because doing what Bond had asked him to would require going against the new M’s orders, and his own protocols. And it would require flying to boot.

Was he truly going to do this? Q asked himself before he knocked on the door and entered M’s office. Was he truly going to lie to M, to everyone, for the sake of a stupid, impossible crush?

He took a deep breath. Yes was the answer to that, apparently.

M was sitting at his desk, dealing with some paperwork. Having heard the door click as it closed, he looked up. The bags under his eyes gave away the sleepless hours he had tortured himself with whilst ordering the opposite to his employees.

“Yes, Quartermaster?”

“Good day, sir,” began Q. He cleared his throat before he continued. “I have a request to ask.”

He got this. He had prepared the speech and the impossible yet plausible stories that came with it. He had nothing to fear. Right?

M nodded, propping him to continue. “Sir, it’s my brother, Daniel. He’s been injured, and he’s got no one to take care of him, which is why I’d like to ask you for a week off.”

M raised an eyebrow. He closed the file he has been reading. “Is that it? Well, in that case, consider yourself dismissed, Quartermaster. I thought you were asking for a budget rise or something.”

Well, that went easier than he’d thought. Although it was true that he’d saved for about six months of leave he hadn’t used, and however he couldn’t see inside Mallory’s head, Q was certain he was happy to release his overworking Quartermaster without persuasion for once.

And speaking of money: “Since you’re mentioning it… Q-Branch could really use a budget rise too, after the recent development of events…”

“Dismissed, Q!” M raised his voice.

“Yes, sir. And thank you.”

Q backed out of the office. He stepped towards an unexpected and most likely unpleasant adventure he might really regret later. If there even is a later.

Why was he doing this, again? It certainly wasn’t for the sake of sanity and self-preservation; those factors were forgotten in the presence of Double-Ohs.

Speaking of which, there was one currently lounging on his sofa with a cat on his stomach. The smug bastard must have thought he owned the place, by the looks of it. The overly casual behaviour made Q nervous and slightly irritated.

“007,” said Q. He came to the sofa, holding a rifle in one hand. The other one was on his hip. “I hope you do realise I had to sneak into my own lab and get past a certain nosy brunette, in and out, in order to take this unauthorised firearm for the purpose of your little secret operation.” Bond did not seem to register any of those words. Q frowned. “It’s the only thing you’ve got. Don’t destroy it.”

“Wrong, Q,” Bond said, quiet. “I’ve got you, do I not?” He smirked, and turned his head to him.

“Alas,” he said, “but I outrank you, 007, and therefore you must obey my orders. And I am certainly not a piece of equipment.” He laid the rifle on the coffee table behind him and put both his arms akimbo.

The smirk on Bond’s face widened. Q had to look away, because he liked the way he looked more than what would be appropriate. “You work with one.”

“But you need me,” Q delivered a quick reply. He went to take his medical kit from the kitchen.

Bond cocked his head. He had to raise his voice if he wanted for Q to hear him. “And you need someone to pull the trigger for you.”

“In theory, I do not, 007,” Q shouted back. “Remember I could do as much damage as you, and far beyond. I could ruin their bank accounts and data files with one finger.”

“I could do that better.”

Q came back. “Don’t push your luck, 007. And get up from my sofa.”

His messenger bag hung over his shoulder. He carried no other luggage than that, unlike Bond, who had a trolley suitcase that let everybody in a 500 metres radius know they were coming.

He did not need more than that: more than his laptop, his mobile, passport, wallet, some spare clothes, some gear in case something went wrong, and a toothbrush. It was that simple. It was supposed to be that quick. He hoped it would be. Perhaps he shouldn’t, because he knew the history of 007’s operations all too well, but he didn’t have much of a choice than to swallow a sickness pill, and his fear with it.

And move forward in the passport control queue by two spots. It was nearly their turn.

Butterflies flew around in his stomach. He did not know if it was because of the upcoming flight or Bond’s presence. He did not desire to know. He just moved, clutching the passport of a British citizen in his hand.

“Can I get you something to drink or eat, gentlemen?” the nice, dark-skinned stewardess asked them with an accustomed broad smile.

Q was too dizzy to think about his stomach, or even register the question properly. They were merely two hours into the journey, but he had calculated every possible danger or breakdown that might possibly occur along the way three times.

Bond, however, “A bottle of champagne, please. Two glasses.”

That man will be the death of him one day. With this wild approach, it might come sooner than anyone would like.

“Of course,” the woman said. She moved on to take orders from a couple sitting behind them. There were only nine people with a first-class ticket.

Q cast an incredulous glance at Bond. “If you are attempting to get me drunk so you could hit on the stewardess, good luck with it.”

“I am doing no such thing, Q. I wouldn’t dream,” the Double-Oh said innocently.

“Ha.” As if he was supposed to believe that.

Q turned away from Bond and faced the window instead. The sky was beautifully clear, and clouds stretched out beneath the plane like fluffy, white blanket of mountains. It provided at least some comfort for his eyes and mind.

Since he already happened to be in such height, he took his mobile and took a few hazy pictures. The view was breathtaking, both figuratively and literally.

Later on, when the stewardess returned with the champagne, and Q took one or two gulps out of politeness, the perpetual hum of the engines managed to lull him to sleep.

When his head fell onto Bond’s shoulders during a turn, he did nothing to move him back into the original position. He sat in absolute peace, reading a detective novel. When another two hours passed, the words in his book began to blur. He was tired, so he rested his head against Q’s and breathed in the lemony scent of his shampoo.

It was easy to blend in the crowd at that particular time of year: it was the Day of the Dead tomorrow, and thousands of tourists travelled to Mexico to join the celebrations. Not one man was too outstanding. They passed through the airport smoothly.

It was dark when Q and Bond arrived at the four-star hotel. It was in the centre of Mexico City, a little too posh to Q’s liking. This was Bond’s world, not his. But he could adapt.

According to what Q had dug out of the dark depths of the internet, Sciarra will be arranging a ‘business deal’ tomorrow, in a flat a block away from the hotel. The parade will provide a great cover and alibi: to both him and 007.

For now, the two of them could just wait.

Each of them had a separate suite, thank God. Q did not know how he could possibly deal with sleeping with the abomination in one room. Having him sitting next to him for the short amount of time they had before heading to their rightful quarters and calling it a night was fairly enough.

Q unzipped his bag and fished out a small piece of tech. An earpiece.

“I’m giving you this so we could stay connected. Do not—I repeat, do not—crush it, throw it away, or drown it in an alcoholic drink of any kind, please. We don’t have an endless supply.”

Bond accepted it. Their fingers touched briefly. “Yes, sir,” he said and added a half-smile.

Q, nonetheless, uttered a micro sigh. Knowing Bond, the odds of never seeing the earpiece again were too high at all times.

“That’s all. Now, I would kindly ask you to retire to your suite and not stain my sight with your presence for the next few peaceful hours.”

It was a rough wake up. Q’s mobile wouldn’t stop yelling at him, heat licked at his feet, and when he finally brought himself to unlock his eyes to shut the alarm up, he saw 007 sitting in an armchair in front of him. Q flinched. For how long was he watching him sleep?

“Good morning, Q,” he said. “I’ve brought you breakfast in bed.”

Q sat up with a grunt. He rubbed sleep and rheum out of his eyes and reached for his glasses.

“What have you done this time, hmm?” he replied. He gazed at the other half of the queen-sized bed. A tray with a fresh glass of orange juice, two warm croissants, and some pineapple lay on top of the sheets indeed.

“Why immediately assume I’ve done something bad, Q,” Bond said. His tone bore a tinge of reproachfulness. “Perhaps I wanted to do something for you. Or perhaps I’ve poisoned your juice so I could chase after my personal vendetta without your responsible arse in the way.”

“So help you God if you dare to be foolish enough to try that, 007,” Q retorted, last traces of sleep worn off. His senses have fully woken up.

He reached for the tray, despite the disapproval of the ‘nice gesture’ from the agent. He was famished—all he had eaten yesterday was a sandwich at the airport and later an apple. Just to be certain, he smelled the juice. It looked and smelled alright, deliciously fresh, even. He took a sip and ate his breakfast in silence.

He merely asked Bond whether he had eaten and if he had checked the environs.

To his surprise, Bond lifted a plastic bag from the ground and emptied it on a coffee table. There were two skull-shaped masks, two black top hats, and two black, matching suits with white imprints of bones.

“First rule of undercover: blend in.”

“To have the perfect aim on Sciarra, you must get on the roof of the opposite building, Bond. I think you should access it from the top floor…” Q said. The last words faded into pondering silence.

“Can you hack into one of the rooms?” Bond was buttoning his shirt. Q’s suit was already on; he tried hard not to stare at 007’s bare chest, and the bastard noticed.

“I am the Quartermaster of MI6 for a reason, am I not?” Q smirked. He opened another window and started typing quickly. “Done. You need to leave in twenty minutes.”

Bond put on the jacket. “Excellent.”

“Now, there is a CCTV camera in the flat. I’ve counted four armed men standing guard, and the heat scan showed me an unpleasant surprise in the form of an explosive ready to go off the moment you fire the first round. Someone needs to be on the inside, Bond, and that someone has to be me. You can’t go in.”

Bond’s face stiffened. He blinked.

“Please, don’t tell me you are worried, 007. I know how to fire a gun if need be,” Q responded. Though, deep down in his stomach, something twisted with an impossible hope he perhaps might truly be worried for him. Him.

“I know you do. But that is dangerous, Q.”

He knew. It had come to the point he started to regret his life choices. One of them was the decision to be insanely brave and do something he’d never thought of even considering.

“You’d asked for my help. I am helping you. I don’t need a failed mission or an agent down,” Q argued. “There is no valid argument that could convince me otherwise, which you are, of course, aware of. Besides, I happen to have invented a device that will disarm the bomb remotely; they won’t even see me coming.”

Bond stepped closer to Q. He contemplated putting his arm on his shoulders; in the end, he did not do it. “Be safe, Q.”

“Always,” Q said. “Unlike a certain somebody.”

Bond jumped over the rails on the balcony and quickly strode along the ledges. He put the radio in his ear; the connection between him and Q was restored after a few minutes of silence.

“Q?”

“I hear you loud and clear, 007,” the man said, quiet. “I am in position. The bomb is deactivated. Sciarra and his business partner have arrived.”

Bond readied his rifle. He put the silencer on, stepping over a gap between two buildings. He was nearly in position, too. Sun shone on his face, and he had to narrow his eyes.

He was worried about Q. He wasn’t a field operative, and missions like these easily go tits up. He has had the experience. If something happens to him in there, if they discover him—

“I’ve eliminated two guards. There are only two now, but I can’t get to them unseen. I’d have to shoot,” he reported.

What secret has Q been hiding from the world? Bond thought he should never dare underestimate the Quartermaster again. That did not lessen on the worry, though.

“Wait, Q.” Bond came to the edge and hunkered down. He could see Sciarra and the other man standing in front of the window as though they were waiting for him to fire; as though they knew.

Sciarra showed the other man a shining ring on his finger, and Bond could swear he had seen one of those before.

Q was inside, so he could hear every word of their conversation clearly. They both spoke Spanish, but he had no problem understanding.

‘Welcome, Signor Sciarra. I trust you had a pleasant journey.’

‘Do you have it?’

‘Yes. It’s over there.’

‘When do we blow the stadium?’

That kind of business deal, then. He pricked up his ears instead of shooting: one of the mission’s purposes were discovering their plans. Q was recording it, he knew, but either way, killing the men at the moment wasn’t an option.

‘This evening at six.’

‘And the flight out of here?’

‘All arranged.’

‘And then what?’

‘Then I visit The Pale King.’

The Pale King? Bond hesitated. He has never heard that name before, but he sensed it was crucial for the operation. Someone no lesser than the head of whatever convoluted organisation that connected all the criminal minds MI6 have been after for the past years.

‘A toast, my friend.’

‘To Death!’

“Bottoms up,” Bond said. He targeted the man. Two bullets escaped the gun barrel and crossed the distance between him and Sciarra in high speed. They broke the glass and embedded in the men’s heads. The shots were clear.

And so were the rounds Q fired to dispose of the guards who were ready to eliminate Bond the second they’ve registered the assault. He had wasted three bullets.

He was a killer now. Bond had brought him to his world, the world of manipulation, pretence, surveillance, and murder without really thinking of what consequences might his ill-considered, often premature actions have.

But it was his choice; he couldn’t have stopped him. Q can well damn obstinate when it came to fulfilling duties. He was entitled to such decisions. Bond could do nothing but go along with it.

They walked through the carnival parade, unrecognisable in their masks. They strode fast enough to get to the hotel in time but slow enough to remain inconspicuous. They sought refuge in the shadows at the walls, where weren’t many people and no one looked. The weapons were safely tucked in the bag Q was carrying.

“Have you recorded everything?” Bond asked, voice stone cold, emotion hidden behind a shell of sobriety—and the mask. He wanted to be certain, although Q was far from an amateur.

Q did not avert his gaze from the crowd encircling them. “Yes, and I’ve extracted all data from Sciarra’s laptop while you were busy on the roof.”

Bond made a brief pause. “Can I ask you a question, Q?”

“I suspect you will anyway, so I as well might say you can, 007,” Q replied.

“Why haven’t you complete the training and become a spy? You’re as good as a Double-Oh, Q.” This question had occurred to Bond before, on multiple occasions, but had never gathered enough interest to ask. Having seen him in action just confirmed him in his professional surmise.

“Perhaps,” said Q, “but I think you’d find out I prove to be more seminal on the position of the Quartermaster. Where would your arse be without me in the lab, hmm?”

“Fair enough.” Q stopped at the crossroads to let some people pass, so Bond had to do so as well. “But that changes nothing about the fact you could be the same genius in the field.”

Q moved on. “Have you just publicly admitted I am a genius, 007?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about, mister.”

As Q’s hotel room’s door clicked closed, he promptly ran to take his laptop. After he took off his mask, he pulled a flash drive out of his trouser pocket and plugged it in. Bond, however, had a different idea about how to spend the rest of their time in Mexico. Decoding and analysing information, and subsequent dispatch to MI6 could wait for an hour or two. Especially after what they both has just done.

“Q?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm?” Q was absent-minded. His eyes flitted across the screen.

“We are in Mexico during Día de los Muertos, Q, and if someone should celebrate the festival, it’s you and me. Get up and go have some fun.”

Bond’s suit-clad form blocked Q’s field of vision. Q frowned. “I take the liberty of assuming my and your idea of fun slightly differs, Bond,” Q replied. His eyes were focused on the files on his computer. “I have work to do, in case you’d failed to notice.”

“Mallory has no idea we are here, therefore he doesn’t need the files,” argued Bond. He leant over the laptop and put his hands on the top of the screen. His tie swung before it and prevented clear sight of the contents.

Q looked up, this time. He shot an annoyed glance at Bond. “But I need the files,” he insisted. “There is something bigger than Sciarra going on, bigger than any of us. This—all that’s in here—contains more data than we thought we could ever own, Bond. I cannot even begin to imagine what we could do with the half of it.”

“Then don’t.”

Bond gave the laptop a push and closed it swiftly; Q so-so moved his fingers out of the way on time. He took it and threw it on the bed, behind Q. He held out his hands, expecting Q to take them. He did not.

His heart was close to racing at the moment. He swallowed dry. This was too much to bear. He was trying to order him around, and wanted him to just take him by his tanned, calloused, beautiful hands and go do… whatever he was intending to do?

Apparently, he did, since when Q did not respond, he grabbed him and pulled him up, already heading for the door. He somehow got his hands on the mask Q had taken off, and his own dangled on his elbow. “Since I can’t seem to convince you nicely, Q, we have to do this the hard way.”

He backed out of the room, letting go of Q only to pull the door handle. With a foxy smirk decorating his face, he led them both to the morbidly vibrant carnival parade outside. His moves told Q he knew exactly where he was going.

Bond offered Q his arm. Q looked him in the face and back, hesitating. The little voice lurking in the subconscious whispered that allowing Bond to play his games wouldn’t be a wise idea and that he might end up in some serious trouble.

But when it came to Bond, he was never particularly good at listening to that voice, was he? So he linked his arm with his, possible consequences be damned.

“Where are we going?” he asked. They weren’t hiding anymore but walking amidst the bustling crowd, on everyone’s sight yet comfortingly anonymous in their costumes.

“I know a place,” Bond answered, tight-lipped. “They make the best carnitas in town.”

Q was slightly confused by the statement. “Are you… asking me for a lunch?”

“And a tequila,” he said, still as casual. Q knew what that meant coming from Bond’s mouth.

“Is this a date, Bond?”

Do you honestly think you can just say the two of us are going to share some tortilla or whatever that meal is supposed to be and ask me for a drink with that charming smile of yours, if hidden under a skull mask, while we’re on an off-record mission in bloody Mexico and have just murdered six assassins? Oh, of course you do.

“If you want it to be.” Bond even began to swing in the cheery rhythm of the music around them.

“I…” Yes, his mind offered immediately. “don’t know.”

“Then it is a date, Quartermaster. Will you eat carnitas with me?”

So help me Force. “Yes.”

Bond was actually dancing now, dragging Q along with him due to their linked arms. But Q let himself be carried away, this once. There were things to celebrate, after all. Six things lying on the building’s floor amidst pools of their own blood.

The bartender placed two snifters of neat tequila in front of them. Q and Bond lifted them simultaneously.

“To Death,” said Q, repeating Sciarra’s toast. It was to his death.

Bond added, “To us.”

They drank the strong drink off. Bond ordered another round.

Like Q had said, this man will be the death of him one day—so he might enjoy this day while he still can. He emptied the other glass as well, and did not stop Bond from ordering a third.

He found the carnival an acceptable form of entertainment in the inebriated state. More than before, anyway, with all worries and embarrassment long thrown away and the threat of a bomb attack having been warded off, he was more apt to dance and move along with the parade through the entire city.

The hat on the top of his head had somehow been replaced by a flower crown James had bought for him. They were holding hands now, open and joyous.

If this was a date, it was probably one of the best dates he has been on. It was with James Bond—he really wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the fact. James Bond.

James hadn’t even slammed the door to Q’s room, and his shirt was already unbuttoned. Q’s fingers weren’t only skilful with a keyboard; they could make short work of a jacket and a shirt, too, and with ardour that James wouldn’t seek inside the slender body of the boffin.

Q’s mouth was firmly attached to his. The kisses were devouring and hot, and tasting like tequila, but neither of them had that in mind; they were finally each other’s.

They separated for a moment, and James took off the shirt. He threw it on the floor carelessly. Q’s hands were on his chest now, searching, owning, tracing every scar carved into his skin. His lips were pressing a myriad of kisses along his exposed neck.

James slowly navigated them towards the bedroom. Q knocked his shoes off on the way, abandoning them at a chest of drawers. James’ ended up nearby. With his hands in Q’s gorgeous hair, he stepped forward and pushed them on the bed. Q lay on his back, and James was on top of him.

They paused for an instant, looking each other in the eye. There was a spark of longing in James’. Q loved that it belonged to him of all people he could have taken to bed that night. Only to him.

James’ lips parted, and Q met him in another eager kiss before he could say whatever he had desired to say. James found his hands. Lacing his fingers with Q’s, he pinned them to the sheets.

James lay in the middle of the bed. Q rested his head on his chest and listened to his steady heartbeat. The room was dark but a streak of yellow light on the ceiling. It was well past midnight, but the music and cheers of people outside did not seem to cease anytime soon. They would celebrate till the morning and on.

James played with Q’s hair gently with one hand; he couldn’t resist. Every stroke made Q shiver with pleasure. James’ other hand held Q’s. His entire body radiated warmth and warmed Q’s skin and heart.

Q closed his eyes. After a long time, he allowed himself to fully relax, and not just because he was exhausted in entirety.

“What do we do now, James?” he whispered. That question had many meanings. To be completely honest, he was not sure which he’d like to be answered.

“Now we go to Rome.”

#fandomwritingchallenge #00q #james bond #fanfic #*fanfic #quartermaster #spectre #au #sort of

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agentmarymargaretskitz · 8 years ago

Text

Thunderstorms, Coffee, and Candles

@a-girl-named-whiskey was my CCMBV! I’m posting this a little early since Monday and Tuesday are not great days for fic posting (thanks real life!), but I hope that you enjoy this Valentine! I know you like a good AU, so that’s what this is...although it could also totally be Earth-3.

AO3

Of all the places to be on Valentine’s Day, the last place Leonard Snart had expected to end up was a diner next to a rest stop. He never would have ended up there if his car hadn’t broken down, or if his phone hadn’t died on him when he tried to call his sister. That had been what made him decide to hike to the nearest place of civilization, which couldn’t have been far since there was a sign for an exit in the distance. He hadn’t counted on the light rain to quickly develop into a downpour. By the time he reached the diner and hurried inside, he was soaked to the bone.

“Not exactly the day for a stroll, huh?” someone remarked.

Leonard turned toward the source of the voice to see a woman turned around in her seat at the counter. She was smirking a little, her blonde braid hanging over her shoulder. The man who was behind the counter grinned briefly at that.

“It wasn’t really planned,” Leonard grumbled, shedding the coat that had given him some protection when the downpour had started while making his way to the counter. “There a phone here?”

The man behind the counter (Nate, according to his nametag) pointed over to the wall, where the phone was. Leonard gave him a short nod and crossed over to it. Inserting a few coins, he dialed Lisa’s number, waiting for her to pick up.

After a few rings, she picked up. “Hello?”

“Lisa, it’s me.”

There was some muttering in the background, followed by Lisa shushing someone. Her boyfriend was probably over at her place. “Lenny? Where are you?”

Leonard glanced at a menu. “Waverider Diner. My car broke down and my phone died, so I had to hike to go find one.”

“I told you something was going to happen to your car. Cisco’s never wrong.”

“I don’t care how many times he’s right,” Leonard groaned. “Lisa, he’s not psychic.”

“Tell that to all the things he’s predicted correctly. It’s not luck, Lenny.”

He sighed. “Lisa, do you think you can come pick me up?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” his sister replied. “I’ll look up where this diner is, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Thanks, sis,” he said before hanging up.

Sara watched as the man who had entered the diner hung up the phone and made his way over the counter where she was. He left a seat in between them as he sat down. She had been surprised when he first came into the diner, given that Nate had told her things had been slow due to the storm that had been going on for most of the day. Had she not been old friends with Nate, she probably would have kept on driving home to Central City too. But every time she passed by the Waverider Diner, she always made a visit to him.

“How’s the coffee here?” the man asked, the question directed to both Nate and herself.

“Pretty good actually,” Sara told him, drawing his attention towards her. “At least, I like it. Whatever the case, it’s better than what my roommate once made.”

The man smirked a little and ordered a cup of coffee from Nate. Her friend went over to the coffeemaker as the man turned back to Sara.

“How bad was the coffee your roommate made?” he asked.

“Thick as mud and didn’t taste much better,” Sara shuddered at the memory. “I don’t know how she did it. After trying it, I couldn’t touch a cup for a few years. When Nate gave me a cup of his, I started drinking it again.”

He laughed a little as Nate set the cup in front of him before paying for it. “Good or not, I’ll take anything warm after being in that rain.”

“Your car broke down, right?” Sara asked, getting a slight frown out of the man. “I heard you on the phone.”

“It did,” the man sighed. “I’ve been having trouble with it lately, and I was hoping to make it back to Central. Instead, it decides to give out on me, and then my phone decided to follow that pattern.”

“Ouch,” Sara grimaced. “Well, at least it didn’t break down earlier. You would have had a longer walk.”

“That’s a very good point, Ms…”

“Lance,” Sara supplied. “Sara Lance.”

He nodded. “Leonard Snart.”

“Nice to meet you, Leonard,” she smiled. “So, where were you going before your car quit?”

“Central City,” Leonard told her. “I was on my way home from a research trip in Starling. How about you?”

“Also heading back to Central from Starling, except I was visiting my sister,” she explained. “She and her husband just had a baby, and I decided to use some vacation days to see them. Every time I go between Central and Starling, I always stop here. Nate’s an old friend of mine, and the stuff here’s pretty good.”

“Good to know the next time I head to Starling,” Leonard murmured thoughtfully. “Which could happen again soon depending on how my research holds up.”

“What were you researching up there anyways?” Sara asked.

“Some of the records of the city,” he told her. “I’ve been working on a book.”

“Are you writing about the Undertaking?” she inquired. The earthquake that had quite literally rocked Starling City had only happened a few years back. It would make sense if people were starting to write books about it instead of opinion pieces in newspapers.

However, Leonard shook his head. “It’s more obscure than that. If you didn’t know, then I wouldn’t blame you. I didn’t even know about it until last year when someone I met shared their story about it with me.”

“I spent my childhood in Starling City,” Sara smirked. “Try me?”

He smirked and took a sip of his coffee. “Ever heard of the legend of the Hawks?”

Sara raised her eyebrows. “The bird people that apparently live in the Glades?”

“There’ve been a lot of thoughts on them, if they even exist or not. I’ve been looking up every theory I can about them and the evidence that has been provided to support it. Let the reader decide what they really are.”

“And what do you think they are?” Sara asked, tilting her head at him. “You might be the one collecting all of this research, but there has to be some kind of explanation you lean towards most.”

There was a long pause before he finally shook his head and sighed. “I think they exist. After all, there are metahumans in Central City, although there have been sightings of them before the disaster at STAR Labs even happened. Gun to my head, I’d say that they’re the result of some sort of mutation. Although one theory that I highly doubt is plausible is the reincarnation one.”

“Well, I always thought they were an urban legend of the Glades,” Sara shrugged. “Although some people have come to the paper claiming they have a story about them stopping crime in Central City.

“You work for the newspaper?” Leonard raised his eyebrows.

“I do,” she nodded. “Not a headliner. Maybe one day though I might make the front page. But I’m not stealing your Hawk story. Not unless they are seen in public and I get assigned to that story.”

Lightning flashed outside of the diner. A crash of thunder followed almost instantly, making the walls of the Waverider Diner shake. A moment later, the lights blinked out. Still, Sara could see Leonard in front of her with the minimal light that made it through the windows.

“Dammit.”

Both Sara and Leonard turned towards Nate. Sara had forgotten that he had still been there. The man dropped below the counter, muttering something about how he was sure he had put a flashlight down here once. When he popped back up, he wasn’t holding a flashlight, but a few candles.

“Forgot these were down here,” he admitted. “These will have to do for now.”

He lit a candle to place in between them and started working on the others. As he moved away from them, Sara turned back to Leonard, noticing that he was smirking.

“What?” she frowned as he started to chuckle.

“Not the way I expected February 14 to be going,” Leonard replied. “But I don’t mind the way that it’s going now.”

“Well, you’re not the only one,” Sara agreed, letting herself smile as lightning briefly illuminated the diner again before sending them back into candlelight.

Time went by quickly for them. Sara and Leonard talked some more before retreating to a booth by one of the windows to play cards with the slightly damp deck that Leonard had with him. Nate joined in with them for one round, but lost quickly and told them he was going to retreat to check and see if there was something he could do about finding more candles. He didn’t come back though, leaving Sara and Leonard to continue their discussions and games.

After about three hours, the rain had only let up slightly and the lights were still out. A pair of headlights shined into the diner, making Sara and Leonard look up. Leonard could see that it was Lisa’s vehicle and set down his cards. A losing hand of cards, the queen of hearts responsible. Sara set hers down, and he could see that she had been close to beating him again.

“Guess I’m off,” he sighed, collecting the cards and standing up.

Sara scooted out of the booth herself and stretched. “I should get going too.”

Leonard looked over at her. “You never had to stay.”

“I wanted to,” she replied.

Before he could say anything else, she grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and a pen from her purse. He watched as she scrawled down a series of numbers before passing the napkin to him.

“Look me up when you get back to Central City,” she told him.

“Only if you do the same,” Leonard said as he grabbed another napkin and put his own phone number down.

She took the napkin from him. “It’s a deal. See you around, Leonard.”

“Goodbye, Sara,” he nodded as he tucked the napkin in his pocket to prevent it from getting wet.

Leonard grabbed his coat and left the diner, the rain pelting his face immediately. It was cold and harsh after spending three hours drying off. He hurried over to Lisa’s car and got inside before he could get soaked again. As Lisa drove away from the Waverider, Leonard looked back to see Sara leaving the diner for her own car.

A few days later, Sara met Leonard for lunch in Central City.

Within a few months, they moved into an apartment together.

Two years later, they were back at the Waverider Diner when Leonard proposed to Sara.

At their wedding, Nate was the one who shared the story of how Leonard and Sara met, and how he’d known immediately that two strangers would become something more.

#a girl named whiskey #ccbmv #captain canary #legends of tomorrow #nate heywood #au #earth 3 #kinda #captain canary valentine #i hope you like this!

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