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silencesscreams · 2 years ago

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high infidelity

peter parker x f!reader

you know there’s many different ways that you can kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough.

warnings: college!, cheating?, toxic relationships, drinking, kissing, making out, SMUT, dirty talk, a bit of degradation, teeny tiny bit of angst, choking, oral ( f. receiving), no use of protection (please be careful and use protection irl), nicknames like princess or baby, cuddles, aftercare??

an: this happens after the whole nwh incident, so they are both 18+ AND I ABSOLUTELY LOVE COLLEGE! + PETER

it was 6 in the morning, you were brushing your teeth as your phone started to ring.

‘chris <3’ was written on the screen, along with a picture of him sticking his tongue out, that goddamn photo, it mocked you. you eyed your phone for a while before picking up, you had a fight last night, you didn’t remember the reason though. probably something you said, you hadn’t been seeing him in person for a few days now, you had been spending the winter break at your grandmothers. going back to uni on that same day you fought. chris studied there too, but he was on another level. he had come from dozens of private schools, uniforms and everything else in the deal, his acceptance was guaranteed on his last name. maybe it all was just a game for him.

“hey, did i wake you up?” he questioned, once you put the phone on speaker.

“hi chris. you didn’t, is everything alright?”

“yeah, just wanted to check in. you haven’t texted me since that talk we had” it wasn’t a talk. it was him screaming on the phone with you, like you had killed his entire family and burnt down his house, when you had just told him you felt sorry about not getting accepted on the internship at the stark industries, and talking about how peter parker, a guy in your hall that had gotten accepted when he was in high school.

“yeah… sorry about what i said, i know how you feel about me being friends with guys and all. and we never even really talked babe, he was just my biochemistry partner last semester.” you apologized, not wanting to discuss this at the time, maybe you’d just let it go. it was no use anyways. the relationship had been falling apart for a while now.

“it alright. just don’t do it again. ‘gonna get breakfast at the diner with lucas and the boys, so ill talk to you later, alright? text you when i get there.”

“sure” you replied as he hung up. maybe you should break up, just rip the band aid off, you know? it was clear that it would happen sooner or later. it was stupid to keep it like that, all the fighting was just idiotic.

when you got to the chemistry lecture, you got to your usual seat, middle row third seat. you spent a few minutes biting the inside of your cheeks while checking your phone from minute to minute. you hated when he did that. you couldn’t quite find a way to finish your relationship and not end up being crucified, you felt in high school again. all the parties, homework, relationship issues. you could feel so impotent around him, like everything you say is wrong and he’ll always know better than you because he went to ivy-

“hey, y/n, right?” you heard a male voice say, turning around to face yourself with peter parker.

“y-yeah. peter?” you replied, looking at him smiling.

“that’s me. is this seat taken? its always nice to be around a familiar face so…” he asked, pointing to the seat on your left, that was occupied by your backpack.

“oh, right, no its not taken!” you answer quickly removing your things from the chair so he can sit down, trying to be as nice as possible. he quickly sat down, eyeing you in awkwardness.

“hear you applied for the stark memorial thing, that’s nice of you!” he smiles, taking out his notebook. “sorry, uhm, i forgot my pencil… so could you maybe…?”

“oh sure! absolutely!” you had gotten lost in your own sea of thoughts smiling at him. ever since you’ve met peter you’ve felt something about him. maybe now your relationship is almost over you could maybe have a shot, you don’t know at what, but you could.

mid presentation, peter slips you a note. something he was afraid to say, but felt the urge.

‘wanna go to a party next week?’

you look at him, right next to you with an intrigued smile.

‘where?’

you write, and quickly give it back to him.

‘john’s, first floor of your dorms building. it’ll be around nine, i can bring you as an extra if you’d like.’ when he gives it back, you immediately feel bad, having to turn him down like this.

‘sorry peter, just remembered i’m going out with my boyfriend that night. its our anniversary, so sorry. would love to go, though!’ you give the note back with an empathetic smile. you can see that he feels a bit embarrassed, you hate it.

for the rest of the lecture he’s absolutely quiet, you can feel him eyeing you, some sort of feeling you couldn’t quite decipher.

as the teacher started to close up, he gave you a piece of paper.

“my number, if you ever need it. feel free to text.” he smiles at you, picking up his bag and leaving. maybe you should text, just maybe.

it was around half past eight when you realized something, your boyfriend wasn’t coming. in fact, he stood you up.

‘fuck you chris. this is it.’

well, you needed to text him something, maybe it was the heat of the moment, or just an impulsive thing. you only realized what you were doing when peter picked up.

“hello?” he said over the phone.

“hi peter, its y/n, is that invite still up?” in the past week, the two of you had been talking a lot, mostly texting. you met up in a starbucks twice to work on homework, but that was mostly it. sure, you’d developed a small crush, but you still had a boyfriend. but maybe that wasn’t the situation anymore.

“y-yeah, can i pick you up? is everything alright?”

“sure. ill be ready in five, see you soon.” you hang up, deciding it is go time, no matter what was going to happen after, this was your shot at it. maybe you could have some fun. he was always fun.

a few minutes later, you were locking you door as he waited for you to go with him.

“hope you didn’t have to cancel with anyone for this, sorry for the mast minute call.” you apologize, putting your keys in your purse.

“oh its fine dont worry, i wasn’t planning on bringin anyone else.” he smiled at you, while walking. you could tell he’d sprayed on some perfume and that his hair was still damp, you found it sweet he put effort in to getting ready for the night out. “what happened to your date with chris?” he questioned, almost puking the words out, he seemed nervous about it.

“oh, hm, i guess i got stood up. sorry, that makes you seem like a second option, but i truly wanted to go so i remembered and i dont want you to-“

“its alright, y/n. i get it, hes an asshole for standing you up like that.” he interrupted your blabbering.

“yeah, i guess he is.”

“what do you want? on me, please!” he says loudly, ao you could hear him through the music, he took a sip out of his beer, staring at you.

“just a shot! i hate the taste of beer, no offense though!”

“nome taken, sweetie.” he looks over your shoulder, and you can see a frown forming on his face. “you wanna go somewhere else? i dont feel like this’ll go well.” he says, his voice a bit lower now.

“what do you mean?” you say, so you turn around and you see him. chris. casually smoking, with a girl by his side and his free hand on her thigh. “seriously? fuck him.” you mutter, looking over at peter.

“no, its fine, dont worry about me.” you smile, the shots are delivered and you quickly take one. the taste of vodka and a bit of lemon going down your throat, burning hot. you can see through glances they have started to make out, he probably didnt notice you yet, so he’d come up with some excuse later.

but peter needed to make sure he did.

“hey, wanna go dance? fuck chris, lets have some fun, alright?” he said, taking you by the hand to the dance floor, with a dozen bodies moving to some song you didnt quite recognize. his breath hitched over your neck as you moved with him, your arms over his neck and your hips swaying to the beat. if you ever had a doubt he was into you, that was quickly offset by the way his eyes roamed your body. focused on every inch of you. god, he loved that dress.

“your boyfriends staring…” he whispered into your ear, nipping at it.

“oh, im sure hes not my boyfriend anymore. besides, we should put on a show for him, shouldn’t we?” you smile at him, turning around and starting to grind against him. you could hear him whisper curses, and you knew you both were in for one hell of a night. you could feel him grow through your dress, eager for more, but tonight, you were having the urge to tease him (more than you already were).

you never did that to piss off chris, you did it because you wanted peter. because peter parker was just perfect for you. maybe that was how you knew this wouldn’t ever be a one time thing. as the music was fading to its end, you turned to him, looking him in the eye.

for a moment there, you got lost in him. you forgot what you were about to say. his eyes had a bit of green in them, you had never realized that, maybe because you should’ve let yourself get lost in him before.

“y/n” he calls, pulling you from your thoughts.

“yeah?” and then you realize. he was staring back, and he was close. god, was he close.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” you are both quickly interrupted by chris, trying to push peter away from you, but he was faster, dodging him.

“id ask you the same, christian. you bailed on me, what’d you want me to do, huh? stay at the restaurant? waiting patiently for you to finish fucking some other girl, and eating appetizers? because that’s the ideal night! we’re over and you know it, leave me alone.”

“and so you cheat on me with this dick because i bailed on you once? really? fuck you y/n!” he says, screaming at you, his voice was louder than the music.

“i’m cheating on you?! I cheated on YOU? chris, for the past four months you’ve ditched 15 dates, a total of 5 dinners, two breakfast occasions and 8 lunches in the dining hall, honestly, where were you? why couldn’t you just send a fucking text? what? were you just too busy in bed with some other girl? because you sure as hell are missing tons of classes, there’s gotta be an answer right? fuck you chris. just leave me alone.” you scream back, if this was the last time he screamed at you, you sure as hell wouldn’t take it all in. he makes his usual, but more extreme, i want you to die face and walks away, slamming on to you purposefully as he walks.

in a matter of seconds you see peter punching chris, and you’re instantly shocked because you never saw peter as a guy who fights, and you were two times more shocked once you se chris falling to the ground.

god, was peter hot in that moment. he ran his hand through his hair.

“come on, lets get out of here.” he says, his eyes a bit darker now. and you were in, you were in for all of it.

“sorry, i know punching exes is more of a 5th date kind of thing.” he says, hissing as you put his dominant hand in a bucket of ice.

“i’m okay with it.” you said, leaning against the cold tiles of peter’s bathroom wall. after the ‘fight’ you needed to take care of him, and so you decided to kill two birds with one stone, going back to his place.

“just to clarify, i don’t usually get in to fights. ever. but i don’t know, him slamming in to you like that? god, y/n, he’s such an asshole.” peter said looking at the door to his room, seeing it quickly open and close, it was his roommate.

“can i talk to him for like 5 minutes tops?” he asks, his brows furrowed. you nod, smiling at him.

he leaves the bathroom, closing the door after him. you could hear him whisper to his friend.

“please, steven just leave for a few hours just do me a favor, man!”

“who do you have here? please don’t tell me its chris’s girl because he’ll kick your ass” there was a pause. “you are so dead.”

“they broke up, please let me try please!”

“i’ll sleep at carson’s, but i swear to god, if it goes bad for you i’m not covering for your ass.”

“fair enough! thank you thank you thank you!” you giggle at his excitement, so you hike your dress up, and continue sat on the bathroom floor, making sure he could see a glimpse of your underwear once he walked in.

peter was sweet and perfect for you, but you never imagined yourself in that situation, and to be fully honest, you were loving it.

when he walks in to the bathroom again, you try your hardest to not blush because damn it, all he said was “hi” and you’re 3 seconds away from taking off all of your clothes and kissing him.

he sits next to you, eyeing your thighs. he wonders if you were dressed up like that once you called him, or if you had changed to see him. he surely hoped that dress was for him, because he was so jealous of chris in that moment. every day he was jealous of chris, not because he felt inferior, because chris could see you like that. because chris could hear you moan his name. peter never wanted someone so bad in his entire life.

“it was just steven, you remember him right? from biochem?” you nod, staring at him for a while now.

“do you, uhm, need any more ice?” you ask, looking at his red knuckles, trying to focus on something else (which obviously doesn’t work).

“why’d you call me?” he asks abruptly.

“what?”

“why did you call me ?”

“because i could trust you, i guess, i don’t know.” you answer, feeling a bit ashamed.

“why’d you leave him? i mean, after all this time? you knew about all his bullshit didn’t you?”

“peter, once you just appeared back into my life i took it as a sign, i mean, staying with him was killing me. you know him, right? you went to school with him”

“yeah i did, but it just doesn’t make sense to me, what are we? i’m not just someone you can call when your boyfriend’s not around, i’m sorry to be rude but i’m not that guy, y/n, and if that’s what you’re looking for, i don’t want it.” “peter. i want you okay? you’re the only person i want, the only person i’ve wanted for a while now. he never loved me enough, hell, he never loved me. i don’t want him, i want you. please, just believe me in me, please.” you say quickly, trying to get all your feelings out, though they could never be translated to words, he stares at you, wondering what to do next. and so he kisses you.

it starts off as a soft thing, a delicate and sweet kiss. you part your lips, waiting for him to reciprocate. and so it turns into a passionate and messy kiss, your tongues intertwining and you could taste him, you could taste his minty breath. you could taste peter fucking parker. and with that, you don’t waste any time.

your hands drift off to his hair, tugging on it, kissing him desperately. you feel his hands roaming your waist, he starts kissing your neck, nipping at it, whispering onto your skin.

“you have no idea for how long i’ve wanted you, fuck…” he whispers, helping you up and bringing you towards his bed, hands on your ass and not stopping his kisses on your neck, he sits you on bed, his knee aiming towards the inside of your thighs, he takes his shirt off and his jeans had already fell to the carpet, you couldn’t help but smile, he was so pretty.

“i saw what you did there, don’t think i didn’t notice.” he says, referring to the was you looked in the bathroom.

“i have no idea what you’re talking about” you whisper through a moan, as he starts kissing your chest, pulling your dress down and unclipping your bra.

“don’t lie to me, you know better then that…” he says, looking at you with those eyes, he quickly starts sucking onto your left nipple.

while he works on your tits with his mouth, his right hand is headed towards your lace panties, only playing with the hem of it.

“that alright, princess?” you nod a yes in answer. “i wanna hear you say it.” “fuck, yes, its great, peter… please.” you answer in the midst of moans.

“good. do you like this? did you get what you wanted, huh?” he asks, kissing your thighs, everywhere but not where you most needed him, he was teasing you.

“y-yeah, i wanted you so bad, please.” you say, hands trailing off to his hair again, you could feel your panties getting wetter by the second, and he knew that too.

he takes them off slowly, teasing you more and more.

“so wet, all for me, baby?” peter asks, kissing the inside of your thighs, making sure to leave marks.

“ yes, pete, all for you, please…” you nod, desperately, needing him more and more.

“what’d you want, huh? tell me, y/n.” he asks, looking at you with doe eyes, spreading your legs for him to see more. he was loving to see you like this, he needed it again and again every day and it was only just beginning.

“i… i need you to touch me, please, taste me, please” you ask, feeling your face getting hotter, his hands roaming your waist, you can feel your stomach sink with need.

“that was all you needed to say, smart girl” he answers, licking a broad stripe from top to bottom, he tasted all he could. “you’re so pretty honey, so fucking pretty"

peter inserts a finger in, causing you to moan, you could feel his grin over your clit. sucking on to your bud, you couldn’t believe you’d spent all this time without this side of him. as he stretches you out, inserting another finger, you feel as if you touched heaven and came back. you had never felt this way, with anyone. it was him.

“fuck!” you moan as he brings a third finger into the equation, his mouth and hands working together, just for you.

“peter i’m so close please” and just with that, he stops, leaving you empty and eager for more. and just like that he’s on top of you again, kissing you eagerly, making you get a taste of yourself. his dominant hand on your neck, squeezing it softly, just enough.

“you’re so fucking hot” he whispers against your lips, you can feel his grin on your skin as he kisses your neck again, nipping and leaving marks all over. your pussy aching for him, you needed him inside you so so so bad.

“peter” you whisper, trying to get his attention, though he seems very entertained by your neck and how mane hickeys he could leave.

“yeah?” he immediately stops, looking at you, his brows furrowed.

“i need you inside me. i need your dick.” you say, getting more red, his lips swollen and pink, he looks beautiful. his hair messy, you wanted him so bad.

“yeah? you need my dick?” he asks, teasing you, a smirk forming itself on his face.

“please, peter. i need you so much” you say, nodding with your words. he looks at you with his eyes shiny. he takes himself out of his underwear, you’d already seen his bulge but you still were surprised. he starts aligning himself to your hole, tapping his tip on your clit, teasing you.

“so pretty like this, all for me” he says, slowly pushing in, “fuck…” he sighs, you moan trying to adjust to his size. he feels like heaven inside you. he starts thrusting lightly into you.

“harder… please i need you so bad, please, peter.” you say, looking at him over you with doe eyes, a smirk forms on his face, hearing you say those words.

“thats all you needed to say, princess.” he says, slamming into you quickly. You moan out unrecognizable words, a mix of “fuck” with “ohmygod” and “peter”. he was so fucking good, slamming into you, whispering curses, using his free hand to stimulate your clit. you were almost there, reaching your high, as you started to clench around him.

“no, don’t. not yet.” he says firmly, still pounding into you.

“please…” you ask, looking at him with those doe eyes again.

“no.” he answers again. “i want to cum with you.” he slams into you again, harder this time. picking up his pace, when suddenly his right hand is on your neck, squeezing it slightly.

“this okay?” he asks, you nod a yes. he’s pounding into you, you’re loving it. he has the power over you and you have to admit, you’re more turned on now than you ever were in your relationship with chris. you weren’t going to be able to hold back any longer, scratching his back with your nails, leaving marks all over.

“please, peter, i need to cum so bad please!” you beg, he looks at you with green eyes, brows furrowed.

"please princess, please cum for me." he says, his thumb not stopping at your clit, as you’re moving your hip with his. it takes no more than a few seconds until you're reaching your peak and moaning loudly. it's different from anything you've ever felt and you're trembling, moaning into peter's shoulder and leaving little crescent marks on his back from your nails. you could feel him twitch as you clench around him, his cum leaking inside you, carrying you through your high.

“fuck, so good all for me. my little slut.” he whispers while grunting and squeezing your neck more and mora tightly. your mouth forming an ‘O’ shape. God, was he good.

as soon as he finished, he dropped over you, his sweaty body coverings yours. you feel incredibly empty when he pulls out and lays beside you.

“you were so good.” he says, getting himself together and snuggling himself beside you. “i’ll clean you up in a bit, can we just stay like this a little?”

“sure.” you say, smiling, knowing it wouldn’t be a one time thing.

#peter parker smut #peter parker #peter parker x fem #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #spiderman smut #spiderman x reader #back from my slump thank you very much #I LOVED WRITING THIS OMFG #lila writes #silencesscreams #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker x you

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cheelduh · 4 years ago

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How to tie up a cute boy

(Highschool Au)

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Parts: 1 2 3

Word count: 4K

Warnings: Swearing, Scaramouche abuse, no Signora slander this time, shit humour.

Synopsis: "Why are you doing homework?" Childe groans, rolling off to the side and kicking off the blanket to expose himself in nothing but a pair of boxers. "I'm literally right here, naked and defenseless. Why aren't you taking advantage of me?"

Note: Unedited yet again besties. Tysm for reading :) I got Childe after losing him to mf MONA, istg it was the most stressful moment of my life.

The clock ticks with its pendulum, ridiculing you as it holds the time. The gentle whirring of the air conditioning in the background serves as the icing on the cake to your pent up aggression.

You try not to glare at your phone too much after receiving a text from Childe that told you not to worry, that his dad picked him up and that he was in the comfort of his home, letting the flu blow over.

It took a lot of convincing from his part earlier that morning to get you to go back and actually attend the rest of your classes, making sure to check up on him every break plus the additional "bathroom breaks" you usually never take while in class.

"I can't let you get in trouble for me." He murmured with a small smile that pumped your blood a little faster than usual. "I'm fine, really. Don't worry your pretty little head."

You do exactly that.

You don't even know why you're so worried. He's sick, not dying. Not to mention, you aren't even his girlfriend let alone his friend to care so much.

Your intrusive thoughts don't waste any time. You latch onto the one thought that takes over. He's probably dead. Lying in his bed in a heap of pillows, passing peacefully while his parents are in the other room. He's dead.

Okay, he's not dead. You intrusive thoughts sure do one hell of a job. He'll be fine, and in no time he'll go back to being a reckless distraction in your life that you need to surpass. Just another obstacle to add onto the list of things life has thrown at you.

But for an obstacle, he sure is kind of cute.

You refrain from bashing your head on the desk. School isn't really a preferred environment on your list of top ten places to shrivel up and die.

Speaking of death and all that is evil, why is Childe always on your mind? He takes up every nook and cranny of your day, constantly, and truth be told it's starting to boil your piss.

Every time you close your eyes you see his smug smile, and hear his stupid laugh. He's an annoying little prick who gets a rise out of exasperating you. Yet here you are, terrified by the warmth that blossoms in your heart when you so much as hear his name.

The final bell rings at long last, conveniently before you bite your tongue to avoid screaming, and not another second is wasted once you launch yourself out the door. You dodge through the crowd of students in the hall that are buzzing in excitement from it being a Friday afternoon, and you would be too if you weren't so damn hung up over a ginger with a battlekink.

Locker in view, you make a beeline and spend the next two minutes fumbling with the lock in your hands.

"Woah there cutie," Lisa speaks up playfully. "At this rate you'll break the poor lock with your bare hands."

For a moment you're surprised at her sudden appearance, but then remember that it's normal for her to worm her way anywhere.

"It's just—this lock is being dumb okay? It has no reason being a pain in my ass but it wakes up every day and chooses violence." You hiss through your teeth, a sharp metallic ring invading your ears when you lose it and jostle the combination lock against the door of your locker.

Lisa winces, but smiles teasingly nonetheless. "Want me to give it a try?"

"Please."

Lisa has the door open at record speed.

"I love you Lisa." You confess wholeheartedly, gripping at your chest. "I love you so much—"

"Yeah yeah," She waves you off with a grin. "Now hurry up and go save your boyfriend from the common flu. Archons knows he won't make the night."

You flush at the word "boyfriend" and don't give much thought to the insinuation that lies within the rest of her sentence.

Sliding your skateboard under an arm, you spin on your heel just to bump straight into Scaramouche, who's won the scowl of the century on his face. He's the last person you want to see right now, but apparently the universe wants to have a pissing match with you.

"Give this homework to that idiot Ginger." He shoves a stack of papers into you. "Tell him that once he's done circling the drain, I'm gonna kick his ass." He then leans in, murderous glint in his eyes. "And if you ever touch me again I'll take a shit in your cereal. That's not a threat, it's a promise."

You shiver at the thought of him squatting on your Cheerios, hands becoming clammy as you try and justify yourself. "It was an accident."

Your pitiful excuse earns you nothing from the navy haired boy. "It'll be an accident when I murder your entire family, three generations over."

"Hi Mona!" You wave excitedly over his shoulder at the body of students that are totally not Mona. With elation he fails to conceal, Scaramouche turns to look at the speed of light.

You take the chance to make your escape—not before waving to Lisa, chuckling to yourself. He's down bad.

With great expertise you file your way through the flock of students chattering near the entrance. , you confidently place your skateboard down on the sidewalk, ready to—

Wait—where does he live again?

You sigh heavily, ignoring the sadness as you thank the universe internally for pulling the reigns on your disastrous plan. Checking up on Childe at his house? With his family present? Making a complete fool out of yourself? What are you thinking? The possibilities are horrendous. He probably doesn't even think of you like that, he just likes a challenge and you pose as one.

You turn away to make a run for it in the direction of your home, all the while ignoring the nagging worry in your chest for Childe. He's probably fine anyways, you don't need to check up on him, and if you did he'd likely find a way to spin it and tease you relentlessly.

Although somehow, the thought of being teased by him isn't as dreadful as you'd like it to be.

Suddenly, an idea graces you, one that guarantees your misery by sating your obligation to check up on Childe. A litany of curses escape your mouth. Genius really, the amount of ways you can think of doing something that'll end in your demise.

"Adeptus Xiao." You whisper apprehensively, already regretting your decision. "Adeptus Xiao." Glancing around your surroundings, you barely notice the shadow that looms over you at your backside.

"What do you want mortal?" Unbeknownst to you, he strikes out of nowhere, making you jump back several meters. You manage to muffle a surprised shriek.

Xiao is Venti's -6 ft boyfriend, the vicious epitome of an eboy. He has a scaled tattoo covering up the majority of an arm, a few piercing holes in his ears, all matched up with a disinterested look. Somehow, he always appears out of nowhere if you call out his name. It's sort of disturbing in a way.

His amber eyes pierce through you, forcing a shudder of fear and dread to lace your blood, almost as if he can sense you shittalking him in your head.

With shaky hands, you ask, "Can you tell me where—"

"No."

"You didn't even hear me ou—"

"No."

"Please?"

He refuses to at least pretend to think about it for a moment.

"No."

"Why?" You frown, stomping your foot on the ground childishly.

"Because." He retorts with a lack of interest, but doesn't further explain his point. English teachers must love this kid.

"Okay," You say slowly, casually inspecting his form as you come up with an idea, briefly remembering Lumine mentioning it to you. "How about I give you my share on almond tofu Tuesday."

The lack of interest on his face wavers slightly. Bingo.

"What do you want mortal?" Xiao mutters gruffly, arms crossed, face morphing into subtle annoyance.

You wrack your brain for a proper answer. You can't just outright ask him or it'll seem like you have a thing for Childe, which you unfortunately do, but you'd like to keep a semblance of integrity. Ah yes, the homework!

"I gotta deliver these to Childe." You outstretch the pile of worksheets in your hands. "Except I don't know where he lives. Can you tell me?"

Xiao's eyes glint with danger. "Did you summon me for the trivial task of giving you an address?"

You nod furiously.

"Do humans have no shame?" Its rhetorical. Expressionlessly, he closes his eyes with intent focus, doing what you assume to be locating Childe's exact location.

He blinks an eye open, reaches a hand out. "Give me your phone." Palm waiting.

You hand it over to him almost desperately.

One glance at your bubbly phone case and he doesn't even try to hide his distaste. He taps a few times, then hands it back to you almost immediately.

On the screen is maps, and Childe's home is about a fifteen minute walk away.

Your jaw drops in disbelief. "How did you do that?"

"Easy," He mutters, leaning back against the school gate as the remainder of students walk past the two of you. "Locating demons that need subjugating is but a simple task."

There's a pregnant pause. Demon.

"Childe's a demon?" You gasp, even though you've always had your suspicions. Hence the reason you invest so much in demon-cancelling charms.

"What? No." He mutters with a roll of his eyes, and you note that his irritation grows the more questions you ask. "I had a physics project with him last semester."

That's why the charms don't work.

Your mouth forms an o, in fear that if you keep this conversation going on any longer, he'll snap at you. Especially when your next line of interrogation involves how he's able to appear and disappear into thin air.

It's a magic trick you'll want to master whenever Il Dottore has another conniption fit in the middle of the hallways after Kaeya tells him he looks like he has skid marks.

"Thank you." You say instead, trying to preserve his regard, but by the time you meet his gaze he's already gone with the wind.

—

Childe's home is surprisingly humble, considering the amount of fat stacks of cash he carries around in his fanny pack so care-freely. It's a normal suburban home from what you can tell, a little bigger than normal with a double garage, neatly mowed lawn and a few forgotten decorations from the windblume festival. A series of water guns lay forgotten near the entrance, making their presence known when you stumbled upon them.

It's hard to remain unphased. Especially since such a normal looking home has bred someone as ruthless as Childe.

Maybe it not the home, you think. Maybe it's the way he was raised. You recall a few glimpses of his mother in middle school, but because of your worse for wear memory retention, you can't ballpark her personality type.

As your thoughts wander further down to his parents and early childhood, villain origin story and what not, you're pulled out of your concentration when the door opens. The possible implications of being here are most definitely not in your favor.

Childe's mother is a stunning woman in her mid-forties who sure as hell doesn't show it in that jaw-dropping sapphire dress, topped off with a brilliant smile that makes your knees weak. Like mother like son, you suppose.

With her sudden appearance, strangely enough, you can remember how good her tiramisu bites are.

You take a moment to respond, swallowing thickly, only to stare at her stupidly.

His mother doesn't waste another second before ushering you in, oblivious to your star-struck expression. "Y/N? L/N Y/N? My have you grown. I remember when you were only this tall." She lifts her hand up a little above her waist, the jewels on her fingers dazzling with every movement. "How is your mother doing?"

"She's doing alright, busy with the clinic." You're able to find your words, smiling back at her, able to get somewhat familiar with her warmth. "I hope I'm not intruding. Childe forgot some homework." You say, heaving the short stack up.

"Ajax?" She laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't believe he's going by that now. I wonder when this phase will be over. He may act tough but he's such a softie, has the biggest heart."

You, in between concealed emotions and giggles that threaten to leak, try to hide the oncoming grin but it's impossible. "Well he's got you to thank for it."

"You flatter me too much Y/N," She fixes the up do, pinning back the blonde hair that deftly frame her familiar cerulean eyes. "I can see why he can't stop talking about you."

Her words make you waver momentarily. The fondness you've refused to share, the drawn out stares in the halls, the lingering touches, you don't want to acknowledge it but it's there. Whatever it is.

"I'm so sorry for cutting this short dear," His mother sighs, grabbing her keys off the counter and placing her wallet in an elegant handbag. "My niece is getting married and we're already late. I told Ajax I'd stay if he didn't feel too well but he said he could handle a headache. That boy, I swear, always tries to power through."

You nod in understanding, but wait a minute. A headache?

Scrunching up your face, eyebrows furrowed, you ask. "Headache?"

She frowns, applying another layer of her rouge lipstick hastily in a nearby mirror. "I know dear, how unfortunate. The school nurse said it's a migraine, and I shouldn't fret much, but a mother can't help but worry. If only he weren't so stubborn, like his father."

As if on cue, a loud honk comes from outside.

"That must be him!" She exclaims, hurriedly sliding in her heels, turning back to look at your awkward figure. "Ajax is in his room, it's the second door to the right upstairs. I've made some lasagna for the kids, you ought to have some as well, I'll be upset if you don't—" Another annoying honk cuts her off, to which she scoffs, shaking a fist. "That old man, I'll strangle him in his sleep. I must be going now, goodbye dear." She reveals a twinkling smile at you one last time, waving a slim hand before picking up her heels and making a run for it.

The door closes with an unceremonious thud, gust of wind in its trail, leaving a bewildered high schooler in its wake.

Snapping out of your haze, overwhelming tides threaten to drown you whole. Being in Childe's home, alone, with him a handful of stair steps and a wall or two away, your cheeks are set ablaze.

Now that his mother's gone, you take a second to really look. There are a few toys littered in front of the TV, home covered in with soft throws and coordinated cushions, a lazy sectional plopped right in the middle. The marks on the furniture with all the stories, the light hued mismatched frames hanging on the walls and on all the table, so many pictures of those that resemble him, his brothers, his sisters, his family. You can almost hear the echoing laughter in the halls, the childish squeals and pitter patter of tiny feet slapping the hardwood floor.

This is where he grew up. This is where he retires to after a long day full of gratifying fistfights. This is where he was raised to be who he is today, ambitious and reckless, with the absurd dream to one day rule the world. This is his home.

It's...like being wrapped in blanket, safe and cozy, surrounded by all the love in the world.

Absentmindedly, your fingers trace the outlines of a younger Childe, two missing teeth and eyes full of dreams, hugging the side of his father's shoulder because his small arms can't wrap around them. Not just yet.

You make your way over to the staircase, which has even more frames littered across the wall, one that falls short of hiding the marks of a green crayon—another slice of domesticity you aren't quite accustomed to.

The reality sets in, and you come to a conclusion. This home is definitely not an environment for growing psychopaths, Childe just beats the odds like he beats up kids on the daily.

Your fist hovers over his door as you contemplate abandoning the sheets on a nearby table, but his mother was so sweet and polite, so incredibly hospitable, you wouldn't have the heart to make a run for it.

"I can see why he can't stop talking about you."

Three consecutive knocks. If he doesn't answer, you'll leave them at the door.

"Mama," Childe's muffled groans stem from the other side, and oh, you want to revel in the grave undertone of his voice because it's certainly not a common occurrence. "I told you I'm fine. You can go okay? I don't want you to be late, just need to sleep it off."

You blink, lips curling, and then knock again.

"Mama," He whines again, and it has you grinning mischievously. He's a mommy's boy, he has to be. The thought envelopes your heart with a newfound fondness. "Just come in and hurry."

You eagerly take in the room once you slip in, eyes scanning over every little detail, until they zero in on the heap of sheets smack dab on the single bed, a pair of feet dangling off the edge, topped with a comforter thrown over leisurely.

Childe's facing away from you, head dipped in between his shoulders, probably trying to find a position that's more comfortable. He's shivering, sweating at the same time. His mother must've been too preoccupied to notice. This isn't the first time he's used his exceptional bullshitting finesse.

"I can't believe you lied to your mother," You cross your arms, leaning back against the door.

With a jerk, Childe flings into a sitting up position, wide awake and aware of everything that is going on, a stark contrast from nearly seconds ago.

He blinks at you in shock, once, twice, rubs his eyes a bit, relaxes, then leans back, out of it completely. "For a sleep paralysis monster, you sure are kind of cute."

"For and idiot you sure are an idiot." You snort back.

"Wait a minute," He mutters slowly, jaw dropping. "You're actually here?!"

Ignoring his question, you opt to slap the papers on his desk to ignore your clammy palms. "Homework."

"And here I thought you came here all this way to be my personal nurse." He smirks, recovering from his momentary shock fairly swiftly. Doesn't refrain from giving you that shit stain of a bad boy grin, even with a flushed face and concavity under his eyes.

"I can be your personal mortician instead."

"I didn't know you were into role play babe, but I'll take what I can get." He winks, but is punished by a sequence of coughs that earn a wince from you.

"Headache?" You tease after he quiets down, but he remains as cavalier as always.

He sighs, sides of his lips still arched upwards. "My parents barely have any time to themselves, it's so hectic with the kids. What kind of son would I be if I couldn't even give them this?"

He must've threatened Barbara.

"You're," You inhale, briefly letting the silence hang between you two, mulling over what you wish to convey. sweet.

"Irresistible? Hot? Sexy?" He starts casual, arrogant smirk widening.

"Kind of not a complete asshole, is what I was going to say."

"Careful girlie," He narrows his eyes on you, playful lilt in his tone. The comforter is allowed to slip past his shoulders to reveal the goods that lie underneath, the complete naked chest of a post-puberty highschool boy who sprays too much axe. Full pectorals are something to pay for, stringed with smooth muscles that ripple their way over his toned shoulders. "If you keep teasing me like this, I can't promise I'll be the nice guy."

"One more time from the top," You bite back, avoiding staring at him for too long. "Without the congested nose this time."

With great expertise, he weakly throws a pillow at you, and you watch it exceptionally land at your feet, barely grazing the tips of your socks.

"Impressive," You whistle, not impressed.

He pouts, shivers, then is dunking his head back into the welcoming embrace of his plush collection of pillows.

With a sigh, you plop down on his chair, grab a pen and begin calculating derivatives.

"What're you doing?" He doesn't even turn your way, voice muffled.

"Homework," You reply nonchalantly, trying to calm your nerves. "unless you want me to get you something to eat, considering you puked out your gogurt on Barbara's shoes earlier. Congrats by the way, you're hit listed by her fan club."

"Why are you doing homework?" He groans, rolling off to the side and kicking off the blanket to expose himself in nothing but a pair of boxers. "I'm literally right here, naked and defenseless. Why aren't you taking advantage of me?"

He really has an IQ below room temperature.

Burying the formidable obligation to clock him in the face on behalf of society, you slowly get up to approach his bed, to which he grins widely in disbelief.

Apprehensively, you climb onto his bed, and he scoots over, excitement as clear as day. His hair's a wild mess from all the shifting, almost makes you want to card a hand through it. Your heart nestles it's way in your throat at the sight of his blazing blue eyes.

You pity him for what you're about to do.

"Relax Childe," You lean over him with confidence you never knew you had to begin with, face hovering inches before his. Your fists strategically grip the comforter on either side of him. "We have all day after all."

Although you attempt to pay no heed to his quivering hand that snakes up to find solace on your hip, you momentarily shiver at the tenderness.

He's eating this up and leaving no crumbs. Closing his eyes in anticipation, his lips tremble when he tries to close in the distance.

Abruptly, you cross both handfuls of sheets over his body, tying them securely in place to keep him docile. He struggles in your grip, eyes snapping open in surprise. "Wuh-What."

"Did you really think you had a chance?" You cross your arms, stepping back to get a good look at your handiwork.

"Honestly?" Childe huffs, struggles some in his restraints. "I wasn't really thinking."

"Typical," You scrunch your nose up, unscrunch, and then exhale. "You stay here and I'll go make you some soup. Well, not that you can really move but you get the idea."

"You're really going to leave me here like this?" He pouts cutely, melting you, and the sick bastard knows of his power.

"Relax," You wave a hand, "I may be evil but I'm not Scaramouche."

Meanwhile, Scaramouche sneezes as he tries to ask Mona out, falling straight on his ass from the kick back, making a complete fool out of himself. Mona doesn't mind though, finds it endearing.

Back at Childe's room, he raises a brow, expectant.

Going through the five stages of grief, you do something you've been wanting to do for a while, succumbing to the immense feeling.

Closing in the distance between you two, you suck in a breath and gently tilt Childe's head to the side. He blinks quickly, not quite expecting your sudden forwardness, about to say something that doesn't matter as soon as you place a tender peck on the side of his cheek.

Time stops, the world coming to a halt completely. A moment made in history, one you won't ever forget, fresh in both your minds from forward on.

And then you stagger away as if you've been stabbed.

"Soup!" You squeak, appalled by the sheer boldness of your actions. "I'll go make soup while you rest."

Childe, frozen, stares at you incredibly confused, and then beams.

Dear Archons, what have you done.

#genshin impact #genshin impact oneshot #childe x reader #childe #fanfic #genshin oneshot #kaeya alberich #dottore #genshin tartagalia #tartagila #lumine genshin impact #mona genshin impact #aether #barbara genshin impact #ajax x reader

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diavolosthots · 4 years ago

Note

Request are opeeeeeen yay

Oh, well, could you please do a comforting scenario with Belphie and a depressed MC that's usually very cheerful but not right now (y'know, because of✨ Seasonal depression✨) with a lot of fluff and love?

Thank you in advance, and thank you also for all the things you write! It is amazing!!!

Requests are not open, this is from last time. Also i love how you go to emo boy for seasonal depression haha

Warning: mentions of seasonal depression

As the Seasons Change (BELPHEGOR X GN!READER)

As if life wasn’t already complicated enough as it is, it also just had to throw yearly change at you. The warm, fun, light, bright, and outdoors-y stuff was suddenly replaced by cold, long nights and tons of darkness. Now, for some people, this was great. Who doesn’t prefer shorter days and more sleep? But to people like you, this just put you into a spiral of moodiness. Everything that you looked forward to in Spring and Summer suddenly got taken away and it wasn’t… it just made you feel bad, you know? Things are dying, animals go into hibernation, and people are dressing more darkly. It’s almost as if the world decided to be emo for 6 months out of the year and as much as that is okay, it really isn't. You liked the sunshine and warm days with the softest of breezes. The beautiful flowers and trees and animals that come out to play. Of course, people also just seemed happier. It’s beautiful, to you. Besides, the Devildom already gave you a shock with its constant darkness but you somewhat got used to it, up until Diavolo decided that he needed to “keep up with the human realm” and decided to bring winter down here. So now instead of dark and hot as hell, it was dark and cold as hell. Seriously, it may not be affecting the demons too much but how did he think his two human and two angel exchange students would react?

Still, you can’t blame it all on Diavolo. The guy was trying to do something nice by bringing a little bit of human into the Devildom, probably forgetting that not all humans react the same way to sudden change and or dark and cold dynamics in general. Bottom line is, you were less than pleased. Your moods spun out of control ranging from sadness to anger to not feeling worthy. It was a confusing time and right now, the most you could feel was ‘okay’. “Lucifer, why don’t demons get weirded out by the sudden change in temperature?” You hoped that the eldest could give you some type of explanation or maybe even a little bit of sympathy so you didn’t think you were the only one, but he only shrugged. “Demons adapt easily. We have to, otherwise we’d be tormented by our own minds.” It wasn’t exactly the answer you were looking for and Lucifer could tell, but it didn’t take away from the fact that that was the only answer you would be getting out of him.

You hated this, genuinely. You even tried talking to Diavolo about it but it seemed to fly right over the guy’s head. “Haha isn’t this fun? I forgot what the cold feels like!” No, Diavolo, it’s not fun. Did you know that some people prefer the cold and get depressed over summer too??? No??? Well, then don’t assume! Of course, you didn’t say that to the Demon Lord because although he himself never scared you, you were terrified of what Barbatos may do had you disrespected the future King like that. You felt alone because even Solomon preferred the dark and although the angels are being of light, they didn’t seem to be affected much by this either. Was it just a human thing? Maybe just a you thing? The more you thought about it, the lonelier you felt and the brothers began to notice your change in behavior. How couldn’t they? They felt bad for you. Beel tried to cheer you up with food, which usually made you laugh, but now you’re just turning away from him.

Belphegor is the only one who somewhat seemed indifferent, although his looks at you lasted a little longer than usual. Usually you’d annoy him with your constant happiness and ability to jump around everywhere, so now that it’s gone, it’s weird that he actually kind of misses it. “Come cuddle with me.” “Belphie I do---!” But he didn’t even care. He just grabbed you and then dragged you up into the attic with him. That’s probably the most exercise he’s done in a while: dragging someone up the stairs, but it was worth it. Kinda. Maybe. “I didn’t ask. I told you.” You rolled your eyes at him because when does he ever ask? He just does his thing and seems endlessly happy with that, although something told you that was the biggest lie.

“I don’t want to cuddle.” Now he’s rolling his eyes, falling down onto the bed in the attic and holding out his arms to you. “Maybe you don’t want it, but you definitely need it. Stop fighting with me.” you groaned but gave in, falling down beside him, trying to keep at least some space between the two of you, but Belphie didn’t care and immediately rolled closer, putting his head on your chest. “Stroke my hair and tell me what’s wrong.” What? See this is why you and Belphie rarely ever hang out. He’s so demanding, so needy, and you swore he rivaled Leviathan at times. Levi would beg you to stay until you would, though, and Belphie would just have a death grip on you. Right now you didn’t know which was worse. “Belphie I don’t… I don’t want to.” “Fine then just hold me, but talk to me.” You sighed, wrapping your arms around him because that seemed like a fair compromise and he was already half on top of you so what’s the point of arguing?

“I just… my emotions are all over the place. I’m sad and then I’m angry. I get annoyed and then I get lonely… it’s because Diavolo changed the damn weather…” You felt stupid for saying that out loud and you could almost guarantee that Belphie thought the same thing, but he didn’t say anything, instead waiting for you to go on. “I just got used to the dark and the hot of the Devildom and now it’s… it’s dark and cold and it feels lonely and empty and I can’t cope with that. He did it to be ‘hip’ or whatever with the human world but he fails to realize that just because it happens naturally up there, doesn’t mean people like that.” “So you got seasonal depression.” You nodded, slowly beginning to let your fingers run over his back while he wrapped himself around you. Well, he more so climbed fully on top of you and snuggled his face into your neck. It tickled a bit so you managed to let out a little giggle, but it disappeared just as quickly.

“Yeah… I was… you know I could’ve gotten used to just having dark and hot all year around but then he goes and does this and I can’t feel happy right now… everything is just so sad and gloomy. Spring just started in the human world and yet Diavolo decides to start late and extend winter…” Belphie snorted, finding amusement in your words. He has his own opinions about his Demon Lord, including the fact that that guy is a huge himbo, but he could never voice that out loud. Not when he knows Lucifer lives under the same roof as him. “He sucks. But you know… this does give you an excuse to just lay with me all day.” And yes, he truly believes that’s a good thing. Why wouldn’t it be? No expectations, just sleep and cuddles. He pulls his head out of your neck and leans up a bit, kissing your forehead before looking at you. “Just stay with me. I can make you sleep until Lord Diavolo decides winter is done. He’s going to get tired of it sooner or later.”

You laughed softly at his proposal, shaking your head a bit. “I don’t know if you’re aware but humans need to eat and drink and you’d have me play sleeping beauty, meaning I’d die due to the lack of food and water in my body.” Belphie only shrugged, laying his head back down and snuggling closer. He was behaving like a baby right now, but a cute baby, who wouldn’t let you go. “I don’t see the issue, but suit yourself.” Of course the Avatar of Sloth wouldn’t see the issue. You rolled your eyes again and then poked his sides before holding him tightly. “You’re warm….” “I know.” Another eye roll but you also couldn’t help but smile. He’s such an idiot but at least you’re not alone right now. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer… for just a little bit.”

Belphie smiled into your neck, kissing it gently before closing his eyes, “I thought so.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #belphegor x reader #belphegor x mc #belphegor obey me #belphegor avatar of sloth #mc x belphegor #belphie x reader #obey me belphegor x reader #tw mentions of depression

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xbladekitkat85 · 4 years ago

Text

Why Clint is on Tony’s Sh*t List

Word count: A bit over 3k.

Chapter summary: Peter and Harley are brothers and the children of Tony Stark. Which is highly classified knowledge that nobody outside of the Avengers knows. Until Clint Barton accidentally spills the secret with a technology related mishap.

Warnings: A bit of language here and there. Tony threatening Clint’s life because he did an oopsie.

Peter's POV

In the school that is Midtown School of Science and Technology, everyone is basically a genius of some sort. You have biology geeks, math geeks, chemistry geeks, robotics geeks. You name a branch of STEM subjects, there are guaranteed to be at least 5 masters in every subject.

That being said, being a master in a subject doesn't mean that you would be instantly popular. Sure you might get hounded for homework help, but it doesn't mean you actually make friends as easily. It's more like people want to leech off of your knowledge and don't bother to get to know you.

There's a social pyramid in all schools and let's just say I'm towards the bottom of mine. I build Lego sets, I love Star Wars, I'm a whiz at chemistry and math. But people ignore the fact that I'm 'somewhat' intelligent and focus on the Lego and Star Wars part of my image. Which sucks big time. At least I'm graduating this year.

But at least I have my brother Harley to confide in. We argue over stupid stiff but we both enjoy poking fun at each other.

3rd person POV

Peter was sitting at his usual table with his small group of friends. Ned, MJ, and Betty made up this small group of people.

"So, what are you guys doing this weekend?" Ned asked the group.

"Uhhhh, I was planning on going to see that new movie coming out." Betty answered. "You know, the one with Emilia Clarke and what's his name."

"Oh yeah, I know which one you're talking about." Ned replied.

"You losers can go see a movie, I'm going to a protest outside of Oscorp." MJ replied, sipping her thermos of coffee.

"What did Oscorp do?" Peter asked curiously.

"They're trying to cover up an employee getting severely injured, the safety protocols are shitty, and HR is as usual, the worst part of it all in addition to the censorship of the incident online."

Peter nodded his head, eyes widened.

"Gotcha. I definitely understand why you're going."

MJ set her thermos down and opened her latest book, Speak.

Ned turned to look at Peter.

"Stark internship all weekend?" He inquired.

Peter shrugged and took a sip of water.

"I'm gonna hang out with Harley. Probably do some stuff in the lab. Usual stuff."

Betty shook her head in disbelief.

"I still can't believe you're friends with him." She said. "He's pretty high on the social ladder here. I mean I know you guys have the internship together but it's still kind of baffling that I never see you interacting in school."

Ohhhhh, if you only knew Betty. Peter laughed to himself on the inside.

Nobody at school knew that Peter and Harley were half brothers and the children of Tony Stark. Not even Ned or MJ knew although he suspected that MJ somehow knew or was close to figuring it out. She's scarily perceptive and freakishly good at knowing things about other people that she definitely shouldn't.

The bell rang signaling the end of lunch.

The four friends parted ways and headed to their respective classes.

*After school*

Peter arrived at the tower straight from Delmar's after picking up snacks for the weekend. He had grabbed an assortment, ranging from potato chips to pretzel M&Ms. He waved at Ms. Maldonado, the lady who commanded the reception area and dashed to the elevator, scanning his pass when prompted.

FRIDAY greeted him when the doors closed.

"How was your day Peter? Harley is already waiting for you. He told me to tell you, and I quote, "Peter, I hope you remembered my PRETZEL M&Ms not PEANUT M&M's like last time. If you forgot, I'm going to steal that new Lego set you were planning on building tomorrow. And I WILL hide it somewhere you'll never, ever, find it. Insert maniacal cackling, blah blah blah."

Peter stifled a laugh at Harley's message.

"Uh, well my day was the usual, you know. And tell Harley I got his stupid M&Ms. And I grabbed him something else too if he promises not to threaten the Legos again."

"Sure thing, Peter."

He exited the elevator to the floor which housed the labs he shared with Harley. There were multiple as the duo tended to accidentally blow things up and would need to have another place to work while repairs were being done. Needless to say, Tony was more than a little annoyed that his kids needed multiple labs because they kept blowing them up. But whatever, he loves them and will pay for it as long as he gets to blackmail them with all the ridiculous stories of what blew up and how it happened.

Harley looked up towards the door Peter walked through and lifted his welding mask off his face.

"Hand over the merchandise, blockhead." He said, his arm stretched towards the bag of goodies Peter was carrying.

"Only if you promise to leave the Legos alone, biotch." He replied.

Harley rolled his eyes and dramatically lifted his hand in the air as if he was testifying in court.

"I promise not to touch the Legos." He said in a half joking tone.

Peter handed him the pack of M&Ms as well as a container of Oreos.

"I still don't understand why you like pretzel M&Ms." Peter remarked. "There's too much pretzel and not enough chocolate."

Harley stared directly at him as he tore open the M&Ms and popped a few in his mouth.

"I don't understand why you don't like pineapple on pizza." Harley shot back as he swiveled around in his chair

Peter groaned.

"We are not having this discussion again."

"Peter you're an idiot if you don't like pineapple on your pizza."

"Harley, you're a disgrace to the entire state of New York if you do. Fruit is not supposed to go on a proper pizza."

Harley chucked a bolt at Peter's head.

"Hey!" He protested as he turned to look at Harley. And then he saw a glint in Harley's eyes.

"Pizza is a dish with everything from the food pyramid. You have grain, dairy, meat, vegetables, fats, and oh, wait, you don't like pineapple so you're missing out. You could be getting every nutrient from the food pyramid but you're an idiot so you miss your daily serving of delicious pineapple on your pizza."

"Oh my god, stop."

The boys busted out laughing for a full 3 minutes, eventually with Harley falling out of his chair. Tony walked in to find his kids cackling at who knows what, and one on the floor, almost incapacitated by his laughter. He sighed before clearing his throat to gain their attention.

The boys sobered up and finally stopped laughing but they had unshed tears left from the fun.

"What on earth were you two dying of laughter over? Should I call a therapist? Do I need to be concerned? Did you eat something that you shouldn't have?"

Harley sniggered as Peter was trying to keep a straight face.

"He was eating pretzel M&Ms!" Peter said, holding back his laughter. "The type that should be illegal!"

"Peter, you don't diss Pretzel M&Ms, they're an underappreciated member of the M&Ms family. If you think pretzel M&Ms should be illegal, you clearly haven't tried the raspberry ones." Harley replied while doing his best to keep his face straight. "If anything, you should call a therapist for Peter and help him overcome his aversion to pineapple on pizza."

Tony looked even more lost than he was before.

"Ok, I don't know what I'm supposed to make of this. FRIDAY, show me footage of what the hell happened while I wasn't here."

"Sure thing boss."

Friday pulled up security footage of Harley and Peter's conversation. Tony watched it as the two teens were snickering behind him. After he understood the situation he turned to his kids and let out a tired sigh.

"Ok, I don't understand your sense of humor, but I came to tell you that we're having Italian for dinner."

Peter pumped his fist and Harley just shrugged.

"Italian is fine by me I guess."

"All right kiddos, be in the dining room by 7ish or else I'll cut the power to these labs. We eat as a family."

*Time skip*

It was 2 am, Monday morning and everything was silent except for the faint noise of shuffling towards the ceiling.

Clint Barton was crawling around in the vents, obviously on his way to do something he probably shouldn't be.

He had lost a bet with Nat earlier and the punishment was that he had to steal something for blackmail off of FRIDAY's databases.

He quietly dropped out of a vent shaft into an important looking office. He didn't bother checking who it belonged to but he was already too far gone to ask.

"Ok Nat, what do you want me to look for?" He whispered into his earpiece.

"Check the computer on the desk. The password is written on a sticky note in your pocket."

He checked his pocket and there was indeed a post it with a password on it.

"Ok, what am I supposed to find?" He asked once he logged in.

"Look for footage from the labs." She said. "Check labs CTS2 and IAI1."

"CTS2 and IAI1, gotcha." He reaffirmed.

He browsed around until he found the cameras he needed.

"Ok, found em. What dates should I look at?"

"Look at this past Friday," She answered, "around 4:45 to 6:15 pm. Tony drank from a can of motor oil instead of his coffee cup. I would like this footage in my posession. For my entertainment, and possibly blackmail to pull on him."

"All righty, ok, uhhhh." He muttered as he searched through that window of time.

He watched snippets of the footage and fast forwarded a few times until he glimpsed footage of Harley swiveling around in his chair as Peter looked exasperated. He paused and rewound to see what the situation was.

As Clint watched the whole argument play out and the aftermath, a shit eating grin began to spread across his face. He emailed himself the whole interaction for his own entertainment (blackmail, cough cough) and went back to searching for what he originally came for. He eventually found it, sent it to Natasha, logged out of the computer, and climbed into the open vent.

"You get it?" Nat asked suspiciously.

"Oh yeah, I got it." He said, trying to hold back the mischievous laughter that was threatening to let loose. He checked his phone to see whether he got the email he sent to himself. But to his surprise and sudden panic, it was not there. His social media, however, was blowing up with comments about the two kids and who they were and theories people were spouting.

"Oh shit."

"What did you do, Clinton?" Nat asked in a threateningly monotone voice.

Clint banged his head on the vent, forgetting that he still had his comms on.

"I may or may not have accidentally exposed Peter and Harley as Tony's kids."

Nat was silent for a moment before she finally responded.

"Tony's probably going to kill you for this, so you should pack your bags right now. Make funeral arrangements as well and update your will."

"Ah shit."

*Monday morning, 6:45 am*

Peter woke up to his phone ringing. He groaned and turned on his side to ignore the call. The phone rang again and he sighed before reluctantly sitting up and grabbing his phone.

What the hell, who's calling this early?

He looked at his notifications and saw multiple missed calls and texts from Ned and MJ. Something must have happened because Ned had typed in all caps, 'PETER EVERYONE KNOWS! CALL ME NOW!' MJ's text just said, 'I knew already. Don't try to hide it from me whenever you come to school.'

Instantly, Peter was wide awake. Did the whole world know he was Spiderman? But how did this happen, who would leak that information and how did they get it?

He called Ned and before he could even say, "What's up?" Ned butted in with a sentence he was not expecting.

"Peter, when were you going to tell me your dad was Tony Stark?! This is even bigger than Spiderman! As your Guy in the Chair, I think this knowledge might have been missing in our conversations."

Peter was at a loss for words as he stood up.

"It's all over social media and people are going apeshit over this!"

"Ned, you shouldn't believe everything you read on the internet." Peter replied in a nervous tone as he began pacing back and forth in his room. "How do you know the source is credible? Remember what Ms. Hernandez said about credibility when giving information in an essays or whatever?"

"But Peter, Hawkeye was the one who posted it. You know, the Avenger who shoots arrows?"

Peter stopped pacing and froze midstep.

Uncle Clint was behind this? But why?

"You sure he wasn't hacked?" Peter asked as he feebly attempted to get out of this confrontation.

"No, it's security footage from a lab. Tony said in the video that you guys were a family."

Peter then realized that he couldn't worm his way out of this situation. The whole world knew he and Harley were brothers and the sons of Tony Stark. Of course this happened, why wouldn't it?

"I'm going to call you back, I need to talk to Clint." Peter said.

"Ok, just let me know if you and Harley are going to be ok or not." Ned replied.

"Bye Ned."

"Bye."

Peter hung up and took a deep breath before leaving his room to go find Clint.

He entered the kitchen and almost everyone was there except the one person he wanted to talk to.

"Hey, uh, where's uncle Clint?" Peter asked.

Uncle Steve looked up from his breakfast.

"He left last night. Family emergency."

"Uh huh, so correct me if I'm wrong but Clint left because dad was going to kill him, right?"

Suddenly everyone was avoiding eye contact with Peter. Yup, everyone knew what happened.

Just then, Tony walked in with a very irritated expression.

"I don't think you and Harley are going to be able to go to school today. Some kid from your school, Dash or something posted you go to school with him and know you both. So there are multiple news stations outside the tower and surrounding your school. Might be best to just stay home today."

"Is Uncle Clint still alive?" Harley asked as he walked in, yawning.

"He is alive," Tony responded "Not for much longer though."

"Dad, you can't just kill him." Peter protested. "It's not like he actually did anything that warrants his death."

"I don't think he meant to do it." Harley added. "He deleted it maybe 10 minutes after he posted it but other people recorded it on their own devices and re shared it. He probably realized what he had done and tried to delete it but of course, once it's out there, it's out there."

"Don't kill Uncle Clint, he's got a wife and kids. Besides, we need him on the team." Peter said.

"We don't need Clint," Tony said, waving his hand. "I already got a replacement set up."

Peter had not heard of this new team member that was apparently going to replace Clint.

"Who is it?" Harley asked curiously.

"Kate Bishop. She's already on her way here. Clint trained her to take over the mantle of Hawkeye anyway so it shouldn't be that big a deal." Tony shrugged. "She's a bit older than you two, 18 or 19, I can't remember at the moment."

"Ok, then, as long as she's trusted by you." Peter relented.

"Don't know what she might be like, but if Clint trained her, and they share similar personalities, whatever spirits above help us." Harley said solemnly.

Peter smacked Harley's arm.

"Hey!" He complained.

"She's not even here yet and you are badmouthing her already. Have some manners, dude."

"It doesn't matter at the moment right? You said it yourself, she's not here yet and I will 'have some manners' when she does."

All of a sudden, Peter heard a nearly imperceptible shuffling coming from above. He felt a shiver go down his spine and the instinct to get into a defensive position.

"He's right, you should have some manners young man." An unfamiliar voice boomed from above.

Harley looked around wildly in confusion.

"Who's there?! Are you a spirit from above???" He asked.

All of a sudden, a figure dropped out of the vent directly above Harley and tackled him to the ground.

"And that is Kate Bishop." Tony said, answering the question in everyone's mind.

Kate released Harley from her grip and she helped him up.

"Clint was right," She said, smiling. "Crawling through the vents to prank people is fun."

She looked up to the open vent and held out her arms, to everyone's confusion.

"Lucky, come on down!" She called.

To everyone's shock, a dog with one good eye poked his head out from the vent and jumped into Kate's arms.

"Oh crap, nobody has allergies to dog dander, right?" Kate asked, looking at everyone.

"Maybe? I'm not sure." Peter replied.

"Damn, I should have checked before bringing him, huh." Kate muttered.

Tony waved his hand at the dog.

"As long as he's potty trained, we should be fine." He said, trying to reassure her worries. "We're all fine with dogs."

Peter thought back to all the dogs he's pet on patrol. They always seemed happy to play with him and now there was a dog in the tower. Huzzah, he didn't get to only pet dogs on patrol now!

"Well, all's well that ends well, right?" Peter said.

"How about everyone gets acquainted with Kate?" Tony suggested. "It's not like you two are going to school today anyway."

Peter and Harley agreed and that day became a get to know the new team member day.

Peter texted Ned to let him know he was going to school the next day and invited him to the tower after school to meet someone. Oh the look on Ned's face when he found out would be priceless.

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#marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #peter parker #tony stark #harley keener #kate bishop #ned leeds #mj #michelle jones #clint barton #natasha romanoff #irondad #irondad fanfic #fanfiction #hawkeye #ironman #spiderman

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babycracker · 4 years ago

Text

Fire Meet Gasoline: Chapter 6

chapter rating: teen & up story rating: explicit pairing: morgan/m!oc (tanner drake) & farah/f!oc (sadie kennedy) word count: ~2.7k chapter warnings: none story warnings: eventual smut, canon-typical violence, au - canon divergent a/n: as you can see, pairings have changed and i've added some warnings for the future bc this entire story has taken an unexpected turn and it's going to be much bigger than manner now. please don't hesitate to let me know if you wanna be taken off of the tags!

read it on ao3 here

Sadie was sure that she'd have more time than this. Six months isn't long, after all. Well, technically four months. She's been basically on the run for the last two.

She'd had four months to enjoy being twenty-one before the Agency had contacted her about signing the treaty, and for the two months since not so politely telling them to shove it she'd been dodging the bounty hunter that she'd evidently been assigned to.

He was an idiot. A troll, she was sure of it. Big and imposing and clumsy and menacing… but stupid. She hasn't seen him in a few weeks though, and she's starting to relax, fairly sure that she's lost him.

So, for the first time in the week and a half that she's been in this city she's daring to leave her room at the hostel and check out some of what could well be her new home. She pulls her hoodie on, reluctantly pulling the hood over her head and eyeing the bland grey of the fabric with disdain for a moment. Dreadfully boring, and dreadfully cliché - a banshee roaming around donning a grey hood - but she still needs to keep a low profile. Just for a little bit longer.

Everyone's heard about the supernatural bar in the city, such things are not exactly common, though no one seems to know where it is. It would seem the only way to find out is by word of mouth, and unfortunately she doesn't know anyone here, and she can't exactly go up to random people and ask them where the local supernaturals hang.

It would really be preferable; at just over 4'3 she doesn't exactly fit in with humans, but she supposes she'll just have to make do as she heads down the street. She sticks cautiously close to the buildings, avoiding the laughing groups of people and curiously looking around at the bright and colourful nightlife.

She could get used to this.

But for now, she resigns herself to something less flashy, a not quite as cheerful and slightly shabby bar with a bright green neon sign shining from its façade reading Shakers.

Looks good enough for now, so she steps inside, a grin spreading across her face as she takes in the atmosphere. God she's missed being around humans, and this place is packed with some of the rowdiest ones she's ever seen. Her favourite kind.

There's no dancing space as far as she can see (disappointing) but the bar is huge and there are booths lining every wall, the space in the middle filled with several pool tables.

She weaves her way through the crowd, thankfully remaining largely unnoticed, and slips up onto a stool at the bar, breathing out a sigh of relief now that her height is less obvious. She spins around on her seat, leaning one elbow on the bar and watching a group of guys at the closest pool table, trying (unsuccessfully) to gather some kind of hint at how to play the game, when a voice from behind distracts her.

"What are you drinking, pretty?"

She turns, expecting to find a bartender but instead there's a man on her side of the bar and uncomfortably close, a charming and yet slightly unsettling smile on his face. She forces one to her own to keep her frown away, the eerie sense of this guy being bad news creeping through her mind and making her thoughts slightly foggy.

“I’m really not much of a drinker, thanks anyway.”

He’s good looking enough, blonde hair, bright blue eyes and dimples in both cheeks on proud display as he grins at her. But her advanced senses are ringing every bell inside of her, warning her not to trust him.

“C’mon darl, no one comes to a bar unless they want a drink,” he presses, reaching out and letting his fingertips brush against the sliver of bare wrist peeking out from the sleeve of her hoodie.

She gasps and recoils too fast to be able to reign it in, her face twisting into a frown as she pulls her sleeves down and clutches them in her fists to cover her hands entirely. She really should've worn her gloves.

Demon.

He lifts both hands in front of him, a kind of peace offering, and takes a slight step back. “Woah, take it easy. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“It’s fine,” she clears her throat, hoping it’ll take the obvious rasp out of her voice as she struggles to get any words out at all. He grins and slides onto the stool next to her.

“If I promise not to touch you again, will you come and join us?”

She eyes him carefully for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh and giving a small nod. He seems nice enough, respectful enough. And she’s never been given any kind of guarantee that her perception is always one hundred percent accurate. Maybe she gets it wrong sometimes. Maybe she’s been disregarding people her entire life based on what she sees of them on the inside, and some of them didn’t deserve disregarding.

She’s been on her own since she ran away from home after her parents’ relentless persistence that she signed the Agency’s treaty became too much, she could do with some friends. Maybe now she can’t afford to turn down every single person that gives her a slight dishonest vibe. Who is completely honest these days anyway?

He grins again and gets to his feet, nodding towards one of the pool tables as a gesture for her to follow him. “I’m Axle.”

“Sadie,” she replies, reluctantly slipping off her seat and noticing the way he immediately arches an eyebrow at her height. He’s a demon, a supernatural, he’s probably already worked out that she’s not human and she just about winces as she waits for the inevitable questions.

They don’t come, however. He’s either much more polite than she’d expected, naïve and just thinks that she’s short, or he’s already worked out what she is and is choosing to stay quiet about it in this public space.

She follows him over to the pool table where a group of five other men are standing around playing a game, and a brief wave of panic surges through her when she realises that they’re probably all demons. They usually hang out with their own kind, and it would mean that she’s heavily outnumbered by a group of supernaturals far more dangerous and powerful than she is.

They barely spare her a glance though as she comes to stand at Axle’s side, and he barely offers an introduction in turn, instead waving his arm around the group and simply referring to them as “the guys”.

It’s probably for the best. She can handle one demon, should the need arise, she can slink away from him unnoticed, but once she has the attention of an entire group of them she’s not exactly sure how she’d get away if she needed to.

For someone that doesn’t talk a whole lot, Morgan sure spends a lot of time on the phone. Tanner hadn’t expected her to be so… clingy. She seems to really miss the rest of Unit Bravo now that she’s stuck away from them, which seems strange to him given that he’d assumed she wasn’t so different from him and would enjoy the break and getting to do her own thing (apart from having to work with him, of course) for a while.

But she’s on the phone again. Granted, she’s talking to Adam about their mission, but still. The number of questions she’d had about what they were supposed to do had been alarming to Tanner until he’d realised that she was most likely just coming up with the need for so much clarification as an excuse to speak to someone from her team.

Whatever her reasons though, he’s bored. He gets bored quite often with her, he realises, and he finds himself watching her on the other side of the room from where he’s kicked back on the couch, obviously and shamelessly checking her out as she paces and speaks in a hushed voice into the phone. Maybe it’d be different if he worked with her a little more; in regard to both her flirtation and their current job. At first, it’d been fun to irk her and get on her nerves but it’s already starting to get old - even for him - and he decides that maybe he should make more of an effort to be agreeable if they’re going to be stuck together for now. Or he could at least sleep with her. That might relieve some of her tension and get her to stop being such a hardass, at least.

She runs a hand through her hair and turns to face him, scowling when she notices his attention and lifting her middle finger at him before turning away.

He grins and sits up straight when she finally ends the call and turns to face him again.

“They want us to go to that bar tonight,” she tells him before he has a chance to say anything, and he groans dramatically and slides down to a slouching position, throwing his head back against the back of the couch and closing his eyes.

“It’s all work with you,” he complains, opening his eyes again when he hears her moving and watching her cross the room and start to pull her jacket on.

“We are on a job at the moment, so yeah, it’s all work.”

“You know this place isn’t gonna be like Mickey’s, right?”

She pulls a face, only small and only for the briefest second but he catches it anyway and for the first time sees how uncertain she is about having to be in that kind of environment.

“You gonna be good?” he adds, trying to sound at least a little sympathetic.

It actually surprises him how much he cares about how much this is going to affect her, and not just for the job. It’s going to be a pain in the ass, definitely. Having to keep an eye on her and make sure she’s not overwhelmed while trying to do his job at the same time, but more than that, whenever he thinks about how painful this is going to be for Morgan his stomach twists slightly, churning uncomfortably and making him feel… he doesn’t even know. Worried? Is this what worry for somebody else is?

Probably not. He’s probably just dreading having to babysit her.

He can already practically hear her teeth grinding by the time they get to the door of Shakers, let alone inside. They can hear (to be fair, godawful) rock music as well as the noise of what sounds like a pretty big crowd through the door, and he casts a glance in her direction. Her jaw’s clenched, brow furrowed, and eyes narrowed as she stares at the door before turning to the side and meeting his gaze.

“What? We going in or not?” she snaps, and he shrugs and waves a hand at her, gesturing to her general demeanour.

“I dunno, are we?”

She rolls her eyes and steps away from him, but he sees her shoulders rise and fall as she takes a deep breath before pushing the door open.

It’s loud. Really loud. Not too bright at least, but even he immediately catches the faint scent of alcohol, cigarettes and weed in the air. He can only imagine how strong it is to her.

His concerns for her are quickly overshadowed though when it takes less than a minute for his eyes to land on a group of men playing pool near the back of the room. He recognises them straight away, which means that they’re going to recognise him straight away and they’ll be gone before he and Morgan have gotten anywhere near them.

“Shit,” he mutters, ducking his head and turning to face Morgan more so as to turn himself away from them.

“What?” she snaps, glaring at him and not seeming to realise that something’s gone wrong, too caught up in trying to distract herself from the sensations bombarding her.

“I know them,” he answers distractedly, looking her up and down for a moment before casting a quick glance around the room in search of somewhere quieter. Something that doesn’t seem to exist in this bar.

He grabs her hand and pulls her over to the bar, nudging her to sit up on one of the stools and standing beside her, draping an arm over her shoulders and leaning in close to her. The close contact seemed to work the previous day when she was starting to become overwhelmed on the street outside, there’s no reason to think that it won’t work again in here.

“What do you mean you know them?” she asks, her voice a little less impatient as she leans back against him slightly, and he doesn’t miss the soft sigh of relief she lets out as he feels her body start to relax a little.

He doesn’t know why physical contact with him, of all people, seems to help her out but he’s going to count it as a bonus when it means that he’s able to set her at ease enough for her to function in these situations.

He glances back towards the pool table, but looks away again just as quickly, leaning down closer to Morgan to hide his face when he sees that the group are starting towards the door.

“They know you?” Morgan finally seems to click on, looking quickly towards the group and then back at him, and he only just realises how close he’s gotten to her when her nose just about brushes against his when she does it.

“Mhm,” he distractedly hums in reply, and she studies him for a moment before a small smirk crosses her face.

“I’ve been trying to get this close to you since we met, and now you’re telling me all it would’ve taken was a few demons to scare you?”

This bitch. He frowns at her, his arm dropping away from her shoulders as he straightens up again and moves away from her, temporarily forgetting that he’s trying to hide himself.

“I am not scared.” He spits indignantly.

Of all the things for her to say. Scared.

“You sure, sweetheart?”

Condescension drips from every word and his frown deepens into a glare. “Fuck you.”

“They’re going to see you,” she ignores his insult and nods behind him, and his eyes dart towards the group that have thankfully already moved past him when he remembers that whatever she thinks about him, them seeing him would be a disaster and if they knew that he was after them they’d be looking for them for weeks.

He subtly watches them go, waiting until the last two people are through the door, a blonde guy and a freakishly short girl, and then grabs Morgan’s hand and pulls her off of the stool. “Come on.”

He practically drags her out onto the street, making sure to keep a fair distance away from the group without losing sight of them through the crowd until he realises where they’re going.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Morgan mutters from beside him, obviously realising the same thing at the same time, and he stops and watches them step through the doors of the same motel that they’re staying in.

He grins and looks over at her, letting go of her hand. “Our job just got a whole lot easier.”

“You think?”

He doesn’t bother answering, just heads towards the motel once he’s sure that they’ve had a chance to get to their room and he’s not about to run into them in the lobby.

He’s stayed here countless times, he knows pretty much the entire reception staff, it shouldn’t be too hard for him to find out what room they’re staying in and pay them a visit when they’re not expecting it. Then all he needs to do is convince Morgan that he doesn’t need her help with his next job, they can go their separate ways, and everyone will be happy.

tags (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @admdmrtn @masonsfangs @homeformyheart @mmerengue @agentsunshine @bravomckenzie @freckles-spangledvampire @mistyeyedbi @kelseaaa @fhauvilles @amlovelies @forestcreatures @maraudern05 @kat-tia801 @alyssalauren @agentnolastname @utterlyinevitable @masonscig

#twc writing #the wayhaven chronicles #unit bravo #a du mortain #n sewell #f hauville #twc morgan #tanner drake #sadie kennedy #fire meet gasoline #chapter update #n*fw #kat writes

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let-it-raines · 4 years ago

Text

your wonder under summer skies (10/?)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

rating: mature

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

-/-

“Swan? Let’s do what?”

Emma’s lips are parted, and he keeps waiting for her to finish her sentence, to say something. He was rather interested in hearing what exactly she was about to suggest that they do, but she’s no longer paying him any attention.

What could have possibly gotten her attention?

Killian twists his head around to look behind him, and it would be impossible to miss Neal.

Neal and Tamara and the way that they’re standing hand in hand in line for the Ferris wheel like some kind of cliché out of a bad movie that plays on TV every Saturday night.

Well, fuck.

Killian’s hands fall from Emma’s hips before he moves them to her shoulders, tugging on them and trying to get her attention. It doesn’t work at first, but then she’s blinking and shaking her head before snapping her mouth shut, her lips pressed into a firm line.

“Hey, let’s get back to my place, yeah? The fireworks will be soon, and we don’t want Liam and Elsa to get the good spots. Liam’s got that huge head, so he might block the view.”

Her laugh in response is pathetic, and she obviously knows it from the way she overcorrects and attempts to make her laughter genuine. It falls flat. She’s an open book to him sometimes, he wishes all the time, and right now, he knows the path her mind is about to take.

He would know. He’s pretty much paved the damn path for her.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” she hisses, eyes slanting.

“It’s a holiday. Everyone here spends it at the pier.”

“Not Neal. Never Neal. He told me every year that he would never come with me. That asshole.”

Emma pulls away from him, and he loses his grip on her shoulders as she storms off toward Neal. Her swan falls off, and he has to lean down to pick it up.

Bloody hell.

Is he ever going to get to quit chasing this woman?

“Emma,” he shouts before cursing under his breath. He doesn’t need to bring attention to them. “Swan, hey.” He has to jog to catch up to her, tugging on her wrist and pulling her back and away from the main path until they’re standing between two booths.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to go yell at that fucking bastard for showing up here with her.”

“That is not going to make you feel better.”

“Really? Because I think getting to tell him that I absolutely despise him would make me feel a hell of a lot better.”

“For a moment, yeah, but then it all goes away and he gets the satisfaction of knowing that he is still affecting you like this.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. He may be a stubborn ass, but she’s the exact same way.

“Really? You’re telling me this? You, who if I remember correctly, had sex with me to forget about your ex when she showed up, is preaching about momentary satisfaction not being good enough.”

Killian flexes his hand and tries to keep it from balling up into a fist. He’s got the stuffed swan in his left hand, and it’s already straining from how he’s clenching it. Damn thing. He hates how easily it hurts now.

He hates that this is the way Emma is about to be, but if she’s going to have to realize that he’s more than capable of giving what he gets.

Stepping closer to her, Killian dips his head down until his looking into Emma’s eyes. “Aye, that I did, but I was not the first to do it and I also regretted treating you like that. I think it may be smart for you to remember that before you decide to throw stones at me because you’re upset with Neal.”

Her jaw clenches, and her eyes cut away from him. He can feel the heat radiating off of her, and her chest heaves as she breathes. There’s this part of him, something he knows is primal, that can’t look past the way her breasts look as they move or the way that he can see her stomach when he looks down. She’s been wearing a bloody bikini all night, the flannel shirt on top of it not at all buttoned, and he’s tried not to think too much of it.

He has spectacularly failed. The woman is a temptress.

But she is also his best mate, and none of that is what he should be focusing on since it doesn’t even make the list of his priorities at the moment.

“I think I need to be alone.”

“Swan – ”

“It’s…you’re fine. We’re fine. I’ll be on the rooftop at ten like I’m supposed to be so we can all watch explosions in the sky. I just need some time to breathe.”

“Emma.”

She finally looks at him. “I’m not going to talk to Neal. I promise. See you later, okay?”

“In half an hour, love. I’ll save you a seat.”

“Good.”

And then she’s walking away and turning in the opposite direction of Neal and Tamara. Killian, however, can’t seem to do that.

He’s seen Emma upset more times in the past month and a half than he has in the past five years. There have been times when she’s broody and annoyed and mad as hell, occasionally at him, but it’s never been like what he’s seen lately.

It’s never been heartbreak that she’s been attempting to hide.

If he’s honest with himself, he’s never cared this much either.

Right now, though, all he can think about is what a fucking idiot Neal has to be to cheat on Emma and to keep doing things that are going to upset her.

She doesn’t deserve it. No one does.

Well, Neal Cassidy might.

He and Tamara are still standing in line at the Ferris wheel, but Killian now realizes that they’re not in line at all. They’re simply standing there talking with Neal’s hand on Tamara’s ass as she throws her head back in laughter.

If Emma wanted Neal to come here every year, Killian can’t understand why he wouldn’t. They were together for half a decade, and the man couldn’t come once? It’s not asking much. Hell, it’s barely asking anything.

But he’s here with the woman he was sleeping with behind Emma’s back?

Maybe he should have let Emma tell him off because that would feel so damn good right now.

Breathing in, Killian pushes down the urge to walk toward Neal and decides to walk past him. Momentary satisfaction, he reminds himself. If he discouraged Emma from doing it, he can’t be the hypocrite.

Damn does he want to be.

Fortunately, or unfortunately really, for him, Neal seems to want to let him have the opportunity.

“Hey, Jones.”

Fuck.

Killian stops walking and slowly turns on his heels. Cassidy is walking toward him, his girlfriend staying back where they were standing, and Killian is definitely going to rip the head off of this swan before the night is over.

Better it than Neal, he guesses.

(Logistically. He would much rather rip the bastard’s head off, but he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life in prison.)

“Cassidy,” Killian greets, but he doesn’t offer anything else.

Neal smiles and laughs before sticking his hands in his pockets and shrugging. Is he trying to look nice? Because it sure as hell isn’t working.

“Can I talk to you for a minute? In private.”

“You can talk, but you can talk here. I’ve got somewhere to be in a few minutes.”

Neal’s eyes narrow, and he looks down at Killian’s hand. Out of instinct, Killian wants to pull his shirtsleeves down and cover his scars, but that’s not what Neal is looking at.

“Look, man,” Neal sighs, that same, insincere smile on his face, “I saw you walking around earlier with Emma, and I feel like I’ve got to warn you.”

Oh, this asshole definitely deserves to have his head ripped off.

“Pardon?”

“You and Emma.” He shrugs again while Killian straightens his shoulders. “I always kind of knew you two had a thing going on, but I didn’t believe it until I saw you walking around with her earlier. I’m cool with it and all, but I don’t think you know what you’re getting into with her. There are a hell of a lot consequences when it comes to choosing to be with Emma, and they’re not good ones.”

Killian swallows as his teeth start to grind. What kind of bastard is this man? Who the hell does he think he is to tell Killian that there are consequences to being with Emma? Killian wants to laugh, he really does. He wants to laugh and tell Neal that he has no idea what he’s talking about since Killian is most definitely not with Emma.

Mostly, he wants to knock the man’s front teeth out and break his fucking nose. He used to not be this bad. Killian was rarely a fan, but Neal had his redeeming qualities. They could have been friends in a way.

He doesn’t mourn the lost opportunity there.

“What could you possibly know about choosing Emma?” Killian sneers, stepping into Neal’s space. “Because it seems to me that you didn’t, that you did the opposite of that, and for you to think that you have any right to what she does with her life has got to be the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“So, you are fucking her then? I was right.”

It’s like he’s just been slapped across the cheek.

“What could possibly make you think that?”

“You wouldn’t be defending her like that if you weren’t.”

He scoffs and closes his eyes, his breathing heavy. “You said there were consequences to choosing Emma, aye? Well, I would still choose her every damn time even though I’m not with her. You, on the other hand, left, and the consequences of that mean I never want to hear about you trying to interfere with her life again. Go spend time with your girlfriend, Cassidy. I’m sure she’d love to know that you’re still hung up the woman you left to be with her.”

“Fuck you.”

Killian bites his tongue and focuses on the feel of the stuffed swan in his hand to keep him from doing something stupid.

“Emma has always deserved better than you. It’s a shame it took you hurting her to see it. Fuck off, Neal. I think it’s time that you moved on.”

“Neal?” Tamara calls from behind them. “Is everything okay?”

Neal blinks, slowly, and then the smile on his face transforms from sinister to charming. “Just catching up with an old friend.”

And then he walks away and goes back to Tamara.

Killian has no idea what just happened. All he knows is that he’s pissed off, still desperately wants to break Neal’s nose, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to act normal around everyone when they’re watching the fireworks.

He just really needs a damn drink.

But he is not paying for an overpriced one when he’s got perfectly good rum at home.

It’s easy to get back to his apartment once he gets out of the crowd. It’s quieter, too, and he can hear voices coming from the rooftop already. The darkness of the night makes it impossible to tell who’s up there, but he’ll find out soon enough. When he walks inside and makes his way upstairs, Skipper is asleep on the couch. He doesn’t bother to do more than lift his head when Killian comes in. Some guard dog.

Killian puts the swan down on the kitchen island, reaches into the cabinets for a bottle of rum, and takes a long sip. He doesn’t need a glass, not yet.

“You planning on sharing that?” Emma asks.

Shit. He didn’t even know she was here yet, but she’s sitting in the dark corner of the living room with her knees pulled to her chest.

“Do you want some?”

“You don’t have my wine, so yeah, yeah I do.”

She stands from the chair and walks over to him, grabbing the bottle out of his hand before taking a long, slow sip. She’s usually not much of a rum drinker, but it does happen on occasion.

“Why aren’t you up on the roof with the others?”

“Didn’t feel like climbing up there yet. You know, it’s really a shame that the fire escape is not on the side of the building that your room is on. Would have saved me once or twice.”

“I’ll have a talk with whoever built this place a few decades ago.”

She huffs and takes another sip before putting the bottle on the counter. “I wasn’t ready to see everyone. I don’t know. I felt like maybe I couldn’t keep it together, and I…well, I felt really damn pathetic.”

“Hey, hey, no, don’t do that. I – ” Killian sighs and reaches forward to put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “Do you want to go to my room and talk? I know we don’t have our slushies, but I think it can still work.”

“To talk or to…”

His lips press together. “To talk, love. Come on.”

Killian gently pushes Emma out of the kitchen until she’s walking toward his bedroom. He grabs the swan off the counter as a last-minute thought before following her. She doesn’t turn on the lights, so he doesn’t either. Instead he moves to open the curtains on all of his windows so that moonlight filters through. The fireworks will be starting soon, and he doesn’t want to miss them. He’s got a pretty good feeling they won’t make it up to the roof tonight, but he’s fine with that.

His mattress squeaks as Emma settles down, and it shifts when he joins her, the both of them settling against the headboard and under the comforter. It’s silent for awhile, and while Killian thinks Emma is going to take the lead, he finally realizes that she isn’t.

For once, it might have to be him making the first move.

Out of the corner of his eyes, his scars flash silver in the moonlight, and all of the sudden, Killian has this unbelievable need to share something he hasn’t talked about in years.

Something he’s never wanted to tell Emma before, but now, it’s all he can think about.

“Do you know how I got the scars on my arm, love?”

She twists her head. He’s not looking at her, but he can feel her gaze on his face instead of his arm. “No.”

“I was in an accident.”

“When you were in the Navy?”

Killian clicks his tongue. If only.

If only it had been that. He imagines that might be easier to deal with when it’s all said and done, but that’s not at all what happened.

“It was a car accident, actually.” He swallows and braces himself. If he focuses on simply staring at the painting of a sailboat hanging above his television, he might be able to get through this. “I was with my girlfriend at the time. Her name was Milah. We’d been out to dinner, and I was driving us back to my place. The roads were empty. I swear, I’d never even seen them that empty, and our light turned green so I started driving when an SUV ran a red light and crashed right into us in the intersection. I don’t actually know what happened after that, but the police report said we flipped several times before hitting a tree.”

A soft, small hand brushes against his own, and he spreads his fingers so Emma can twine hers together with his. It’s the most comfort he’s felt in ages, so he doesn’t stop himself when he brings their joined hands to his lips.

“Milah died in that accident, while all that happened to me was my hand getting caught in the door and shards of glass leaving some pretty nasty scars. I don’t even know how I stood up again after Liam told me she was gone. I didn’t think I would survive. I was so young and in love, and I thought she and I had the entire world in front of us.”

Emma squeezes his hand, and really, it’s better that way instead of her trying to say anything.

That’s not why he’s sharing this.

“I was so heartbroken. I’d never felt pain like that before, but then, as I started to make funeral arrangements, I got a call from her husband telling me that I was not welcome. I didn’t know she had a husband, that she had a son either, and it was like I was grieving two different things: the woman I’d lost and the woman I thought I knew.”

“Killian.”

“Don’t,” he whispers, pulling their arms over Emma’s shoulder and tugging her closer. “Don’t say anything. I don’t want pity. I simply felt like you deserved to know this about me and to know why I am so unbelievably fucked up when it comes to relationships. I loved a woman who lied to me for years, and I loved her still even after I knew about it. That anger you feel toward Neal? The one that’s mixed with betrayal and sadness and this underlying love, I have felt it. Sometimes I still do, and you are not pathetic for feeling anything that you’re feeling. I don’t care how many times we have to have this conversation. I will tell you the same thing every damn time.”

“Maybe one day I’ll actually be able to listen to you and believe it.”

“It takes time, and while I’m sure one of our friends is much better equip to understand emotions, I know that I understand you, Emma. I always have, and though you piss me off half the time, I’m never going to judge you for anything.”

She sighs, her shoulders moving with it, and then she leans her head over to his shoulder, strands of her hair tickling his chin, and Killian tugs her closer before brushing his lips against her forehead. There’s a loud whistle outside and then an explosion of light that flickers down over and over again as the fireworks show starts. the view isn’t quite the same from in here, the height of the windows not quite right, but he’s not going to complain. There are things much more important than lights in the sky.

“Do you want to hear something stupid?” Emma suddenly asks.

“I always want to hear something stupid.”

“I’ve never won a stuffed animal before. Hell, I’ve never even had one as a kid.”

Suddenly, he gets why it was such a big deal to Emma that Neal come with her to the festival. He understood, partially, but sometimes he forgets that Emma’s childhood wasn’t ideal. It was hard and painful from the few things he’s been honored to hear from her, and even with how much his sucked, it wasn’t like Emma’s. He at least had a few good experiences before his mum died and before his father became one of the biggest asses in the world.

It’s not a competition in who has had a shittier life, but it does help him keep on understanding her. A few days ago she made some off-hand comment about having a few minor run-ins with the law as a teenager, something about stealing food from convenience stories, and it clicked in his mind why she doesn’t like when Neal works at the pawn shop.

She doesn’t want to fall back into her past, and she doesn’t want to take any risks that are going to lead her there.

Knowing that and knowing that Neal must have known too, makes Killian seriously regret not breaking the man’s nose.

“It’s not stupid, love. If it’s important to you, in any way, it’s important to me.”

Her laugh is lost amongst the sound of the fireworks, but he still hears it. It’s a good sound to be able to hear.

“I always wanted to get to play the games as a kid, but I didn’t have the money. So, I don’t know. It was nice. It was stupid, but it was nice. I’ll have to find a place to put it in my apartment even though I’m not sure where in my apartment it would go.”

“On that chair in your bedroom where you put all the clothes you’re supposed to put up but never do.”

“Shut up. Just accept that I’m thankful for it. Don’t make fun of my laundry habits.”

“Sweetheart, I’ll win you however many stuffed animals your heart desires. No questions asked.”

“Then I expect several next year.”

Killian laughs into her hair as something unfamiliar settles in his stomach. “It’s a deal.”

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings @mrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @jonirobinson64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @sherifemma @galaxyzxstark @galadriel26 @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera @elizabeethan @captain-emmajones @csalltheway @itsfabianadocarmo

#your wonder under summer skies #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #captain swan

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autistic-singer515 · 4 years ago

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The ending of the Pinky and the Brain quarantine episode before the Julia Surprise ending Redone.

Since I’m already vaccinated, I wanted to redo my previous comic. So here’s my previous fan comic of the opening scene I want in the Animaniacs reboot I’ve redone about everyone having a world lockdown due to the fake piggy flu. It was all set up by Pinky and the Brain to make everyone in the world obey them. But mostly the Brain. He gave people two doses of the piggy flu vaccine to make it 100% effective against the virus.

The side effect? Obeying the Brain at every command!

But Pinky added an antidote into the serum when the Brain wasn’t looking because he thought the first dose of the vaccine wasn’t working. It causes him and the people to break out of the mind control. The people realized that the piggy flu scare was a fake. Nobody got sick when they got outside. Needless to say the people weren’t happy. They thought Pinky put the antidote into the serum by accident and was still angry with him for faking his own death.

Then it would cut to Julia watching over them on her game boy in anger.

Transcript:

In the suburban house, the restless father tried to unlock the front door to see if they could go outside now. But it was still locked because of the Brain’s auto lock in every house. He realized that he and his daughter couldn’t go outside and play yet.

The Father: “Oh, great! It’s still locked!”

The daughter cried out of frustration.

The Daughter: “But I wanna go outside now!”

She tugged her fathers hems of his house coat.

The Daughter: “Daddy! I wanna go outside and play now!”

The father sighed disappointedly as he sat down on the couch.

The Father: “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m afraid we still have to stay inside until the piggy flu pandemic subsides. Professional Doctor Brain says so. And we’re due to a second shot.”

The Daughter stomped her feet angrily.

The Daughter: “But I hate needles!”

The Daughter jumped up and down and grabbed her fathers hair.

The Daughter: “I wanna get out! Daddy! We can’t stay here forever! I wanna get out! This is so dull! I’m bored out of my skull!”

The Father rolled his eyes disapprovingly, knowing he and his wife had to stick with his daughters constant whining until the pandemic is over.

The Father: “Help me.......”

What were they going to do now?

Then suddenly their wide TV screen turned on automatically.

The Brain’s usual stoic face showed up on screen. He wore a tuxedo with a tie and some black shoes.

The Brain: “ This is Doctor Brain speaking!”

The Father, daughter and mother both watched the TV with anticipation.

We’re they allowed to go outside now?

But the Brain looked very serious looking.

The situation must be more serious than ever!

The Brain: “Dear people of the world...... It is with great sadness that my partner Pinkfert has died from the piggy flu today. He fought very valiantly. But alas the flu won. He was a sweet but stupid frie-! Associate! We’ve been working together for over 20 years. We’ve both tried to get, but failed world domination. But now I’ve succeeded! But Pinkfert sadly didn’t. But he told me to move on with my dreams of becoming a doctor.”

But the Brain didn’t tear up for his partner. He remained stoic and brave.

The suburban family got teary eyes seeing the news. Even the daughter.

The Mother: “Poor Pinkfert.....”

The Father: “So sorry for your loss....”

The Daughter: “That’s so sad.....”

The Brain picked up the needle with green liquid in it.

The Brain: “To commemorate my partner..... You will stay home unless you will swear fealty to me. And I will sanitize the world and when you’re all safe to go out again, you will worship me as your leader!! But if you go outside now..... You will end up like Pinkfert. So just wait a little longer. Keep grocery shopping online until I give everyone their second piggy flu shot to block out the virus 100 % guaranteed! And you will all be safe! We must not cry or get scared despite this horrible pandemic! We must be strong! For Pinkfert! Showing weakness will not save us! We must fight!

The family: “Yes Doctor Brain!”

But Pinky who was swirly eyed was lying in the hospital bed with his red curly wig on his head and he wore a green patient scrub. But then his eyes turned back to normal as he heard the Brain talking.

Pinky got teary eyed.

Pinky: “Pinkfert is dead?.... Oh no.....”

The Brain: “Yes!! I am the Brain! Your world’s greatest dictator and hero! I am not sad or afraid! I am proud and mighty!”

Everyone who saw the Brain on tv were impressed by his bravery. They couldn’t wait to get their second shot. They had to be brave for Pinkfert too.

Then later on, they all got their second shot at their own homes. Then their eyes began to swirl as they felt lightheaded. They knew they had to obey Brain now. He is the leader. There is no turning back.

The suburban family got teary eyed for Pinkfert as their eyes swirled as they faced the television screen at the Brain.

The Brain smiled at everything. Including his brainwashed human servants who stood there with their cameras. He knew the mind control serum will grow 100% powerful after the 65% powerful first dose and there would be nothing to get rid of the mind control serum’s effects.

The Brain: “Are you ready to obey me? And save everyone?”

The brainwashed suburban family: Yes! Please save us, Doctor Brain! You are our only hope for humanity! Save us!”

The brainwashed Father was mesmerized by the Brain’s stoic brave face. How he wished he was like him.

The Father: “Wow! That little guy is so brave and strong despite the piggy flu fiasco! I wish I was that strong like him! No weakness in sight! He never whines about stuff! Yes! We must not show weaknesses! We have to serve him and fight for survival!”

The Brain smiled much wider and much more devilishly than normal.

The Brain: “Yes..... At long last.... World domination is finally coming to fruition! The second dose of the 5G serum will make the mind control permanent! Once I inject the mind control serum into their bodies the second round, they won’t be able to resist me! They will forever sing my praises! Nobody can stop me now! Yes! Nobody!”

His human slaves: “Must obey Brain!”

The Brain chuckled maliciously as he turned away from the camera. And then his chuckles turned into a loud evil laugh. He curled his fingers while doing that.

The suburban Father looked at him curiously despite being brainwashed.

The Father: “Ummm.... Doctor Brain? Why are you laughing like an evil mastermind for no reason?”

The Brain stopped laughing and gave him an awkward, confused and shocked look.

Surely they are still brainwashed, right?

So the Brain turned around to face his human slaves on the screen. He had to come up with a lie to keep his slaves from getting too suspicious towards him and to keep his mind control serum working forever.

The Brain: “It’s a.... (Fake coughs)! Just a cough! As I was saying, you will stay home un-!”

Then Pinky popped up at the screen and started crying his eyes out, blocking the Brain out of the way.

Pinky: “BWWWWWAAAAAAA! POOR PINKFERT!!!!!!....... I’ve never got the chance to see him!......”

Pinky blew his nose on his handkerchief.

The Brain tried to get Pinky out of the way by pushing him, but Pinky remained on the screen by crying and pushing back.

The Brain: “Pinky, you idiot! No! Stop! What are you doing?!”

Pinky: “I wish I would’ve met him sooner!.... BWWWWWWAAAAAAAA!!!!!!”

Then people watched Pinky and the Brain with suspicion.

Pinkfert? He’s alive?

It causes the mind control serum to wear out of their systems.

“Wha?”

We’re they lying to them all along?

The Brain watched everyone resisting his mind control. He was beyond confused and angry. He stared at the nervous Pinky.

The Brain: “They resisted?! But how?!”

The people got even more suspicious at the Brain and Pinky as they heard this....

The Brain: “That could mean one thing! Some blithering idiot must’ve added the antidote in the second dose! PINKY!”

Pinky gulped nervously.

People looked around themselves. They didn’t get sick when they were outside and were together. Then they turned to Pinky and the Brain. They grew angry and betrayed. They’ve been lied to. They’ve nearly been robbed of their freedom thanks to the Brain. Pinkfert was Pinky all along.

The Brain noticed this and pushed down Pinky out of the screen. The wig came off of Pinky’s head. The Brain smiled at everyone nervously.

The Brain: “Oh! Um.... (laughs nervously)! You see.... it’s Pinkferts twin brother, Pinky! It’s all a big misunderstanding, everyone!”

Crowd #1: “LAIR!!!! THERE’S NO PIGGY FLU?”

Crowd #2: “Mind control?! Seriously dude?!”

The suburban family growled at the Brain on the screen.

Crowd #3: “You locked us in against our will just so you could control us!”

Crowd #4 “We didn’t get sick! Nobody did!”

Crowd #5: “I should’ve known!”

Crowd #6: Let’s get them!”

Crowd #7: “Yeah!”

The crowd angrily walked towards Pinky and the Brain. Pinky and the Brain shook in fear.

Pinky took a lollipop out of his pocket to try to offer them one.

Pinky: “W...W... Wanna lollipop?....

Pinky and the Brain both gulped nervously. Then they ran for their lives.

The Brain: “Run Pinky!”

They ran and ran and ran in the city and the Warner movie lot. Then they spotted Acme Labs. So they hid behind there when the people weren’t looking. The Brain took off his tuxedo as he watched the oblivious mob run the opposite direction. Then the mob were gone for good.

The Brain and Pinky felt relieved that they’re gone.

The Brain: “Good! They’re gone!”

Then the Brain remembered Pinky screwing up his plans again. His anger grew intense. He turned to Pinky furiously. He bared his teeth. His angry eyes became bloodshot.

Pinky jumped in fright at the sight.

The Brain: “PINKY!!!!! COME HERE!!!!!”

Pinky already took off his scrubs and threw it away nervously. He shook in fear again.

Pinky: “I’m sorry, Brain! I couldn’t help it! You see, I put the antidote into the second dose because the first dose wasn’t working! And losing Pinkfert is so sad that I cried!”

The Brain growled and shook his hands like a maniac. He slowly walked towards Pinky in anger. Pinky yelped in fear.

The Brain jumped and bumped Pinky on the head.

The Brain: “Pinky, you imbecile! You ruined my plan yet again!”

Pinky felt dizzy and injured from the hit.

Pinky: “Sorry, Brain....”

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hoardcloneheadcanons · 4 years ago

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Rhack Story P 4- Nisha and Spite

That was the part that Rhys was desperately trying to leave out when talking to Moxxie. Hitting on Jack may have been one of the dumbest things that Rhys did out of pure unbridled spite.

When Rhys first started working for Handsome Jack, he’d had hope. Yes, Jack’s P. A. was a disposable list job, but it was given to idiots, people who were nearly fired anyway. Rhys was only there on a fluke. He could make something out of the position. It was still working with the CEO. If he did his job right, he could still get power, and then rub sweet irony in Vasquez’s face.

All he had to do was do his job correctly, and then pick up jobs as they came along until he was too useful to kill. For the first three weeks he let himself believe this delusion. At the time his job consisted of:

1. Cleaning up the remains of the earlier P.A. from the spike pit of Jack’s office. Rhys still remembered the smell.

2. Filling out order forms for new shipments of weapon parts.

3.Taking notes during board meetings.

4. Making fancy presentations for the board meetings using the notes on new developments Jack gave him.

5. Picking up Jack from a bar one time when Jack didn’t feel like getting a shuttle service or teleporting

6. Talking to the freaks in RnD for Jack so that Jack didn’t have to get near them. He was mostly avoiding a scientist named Nakayama who, to be fair, was unsettling, and obsessive when it came to Jack.

7. Looking over code Jack had written to find where Jack had missed a bracket.

All of which Rhys had done to the best of his ability, and the best of his ability was pretty damn good. His robotic enhancements helped him look through code and record meetings. Rhys made sure to be on time and attentive for every random task he was called for. He didn’t even bother Jack with the fact that Nakayama had (pathetically and unsuccessfully) tried to kill Rhys.

But then three weeks passed, and Rhys got to meet Nisha.

It was a hunting trip. A date. Jack and Nisha wanted to go to a hunting reservation on Eden-5 and kill drifters with some high-tech slag rocket launchers. Rhys was brought to take pictures and carry equipment.

Nisha was curvy, had muscles, and could shoot a rocket launcher with frightening precision. Rhys had heard of Jack's outlaw, vault-hunting girlfriend before, but reality was more frightening than concept. She was different then Jack. Jack killed people, put he was also a wise-cracking, nerd with a cheese puffs addiction. Up close, you could forget his aggression, but Nisha wore hers like a high-fashion cloak.

Despite all that, it went well-ish. Jack and Nisha killed three drifters with relative ease and had a good time.

Mid-way through the day their luck ran out and the area seemed to be empty of creatures. So, after consulting with Nisha a bit, Jack sent him to go find a drifter's egg and bring it back to camp to attract more monsters. After all, Rhys hadn’t been hunting. He still had energy, and none of the creatures would be scared of Rhys and hide their nests from him.

The order sounded stupid when it was given. But he couldn’t say that to Jack. Not when he was so desperate to prove he was useful and competent.

So Rhys did it.

He had to bribe a local with a third of his week’s paycheck to get a location of an egg, and then wit another third to tell him how to hide from a drifter. He’d climbed into a cave in the center of a mountain, scratching his body and tearing his clothes. The bugs around had smelled his blood and bit at him. Then, with a tiny flashlight, he’d found drifter’s nest in the darkest corner of the cave and picked up a bowling-ball sized egg.

He heard an adult drifter scream from somewhere in the dark when he touched the egg. He’d run out the cave with it and dove into a mud-pit. The local he’d bribed told him that drifters sensed prey through smell and motion. Staying still in the muck was the only way to hide. So he lay still hours watching the giant spider-looking creature hunt for him, memorizing every detail of its form as he hugged its egg to his chest.

But then the drifter meandered away, lost, and Rhys went back to the car he’d parked at the foot of the mountain, drifter’s egg under his arm.

When Rhys got back to the camp he found Jack and Nisha napping together under a tree with disheveled clothes and hair.

When they realized he’d come back they laughed with shock and amazement.

They hadn’t expected him to come back at all. They didn’t even hide it.

Nisha had said something about Jack’s current stooge being more rugged than the last one.

They spent the next 15 minutes poking at his bug-bites and asking about the drifter’s reaction as he’d stolen the egg. He described it half heartedly as his eyes drifted over to where the rocket launchers were completely put away.

He remembered thinking, “They aren’t even going to continue the hunt, are they? I did all of that for nothing.”

And sure enough, before he could even finish his story, Jack started loading the equipment into the transporter dock for them to go. Jack briefly considered turning the egg into an omelet before deciding it would be gross and throwing it into the air for Nisha to shoot.

And Rhys’s hope shattered with the egg.

He’d done everything right, and he was still as disposable as he ever was. They would have thrown his life away for a joke. They’d wanted to have a romp in the grass together, and instead of sending him away like a normal person, they sent him on a death-near-guaranteed task because they thought it was funnier.

He hated them both for it, but he always associated that revelation with the meeting of Nisha.

_______________________________________________________________

It didn’t get better between them after that.

Nisha sometimes came up to the Hyperion offices to visit Jack and it did not make Rhys like her more.

For one, she ordered him around as much as Jack did, but wasn’t paying him, which got under his skin.

For two, she just didn’t remember his name. She didn’t pretend to forget to belittle him, she actively did not know. To her, Rhys was another Hyperion cog indistinct from all the rest and wasn’t worth remembering. She barely looked at him. It was worse.

Then there was the little issue of the intercom.

Nisha sometimes visited Jack in his office for… conjugal visits. Rhys was all for this. It distracted Jack so that Rhys had free time. It’s just that there was an intercom between Jack’s desk and Rhys’s that Jack used to quickly give his P.A. orders. It turned on and off on Jack’s side, there was a button he’d hold down while speaking, but it couldn’t be controlled from Rhys’s side.

Sometimes when they were together it would accidentally get pushed.

He remembered politely telling Nisha that it would be great if she could just avoid the little green button with INT on it.

Every successive time after he asked the button was constantly on whenever Nisha and Jack were visiting. She must have been sitting on it. She couldn’t remember his name but she could remember his pet peeves.

_______________________________________________________________

So maybe, just maybe, Jack’s attraction to Rhys, wasn’t completely caused by Rhys torturing people. Maybe, Rhys had actively hit on Jack after Jack started showing interest because he’d wanted Nisha to feel every bit as replaceable and disposable as he always did.

He should have been afraid when Jack had started paying attention to him. People who had Jack’s attention died.

But all he could think about was that he’d taken something from Nisha and how after it all was over, Jack would be the one suffering the fall-out from having replaced her with a no-name Hyperion cog.

Rhys would be dead. But he was going to die anyway, so he was going to go out petty.

#Petty Rhys #Borderlands Pre-Sequel #Tell Tale Borderlands #Borderlands 2 #Rhack #Rhys #Jack #Rhys x Jack

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secondhand-trash · 5 years ago

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Yule Shoot Your Eyes Out

Ficmas day 6 aka Christmas Eve!!!!

A/N: everything after that one use of “fuck” was written while I was drunk so if my grammar flew out of the window, I’m so sorry but I had no idea what I was doing.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x reader

Description: You had no idea how you were supposed to face your once best friend who you grew apart from after growing up.

Word count: 3193

FOB! FOB! FOB!

‘Don’t come home for Christmas.’

You could feel the dread pending up as you stood outside the large house. You had been staring at the building by the pavement for at least 15 minutes yet you kept finding more excuses for you to do anything but walk up.

You did not want to be here. You did not want to be here at all.

You had protested when your mother asked you to take the stuff she had bought for Mitsuki to her house, saying that it could be a good chance for you to catch up with the woman who watched you grew into who you were.

“Perhaps Katsuki would be there too! You two could hang out, it’s been a while.” Your mother said with a wide smile as she shooed you out of the front door and slammed it in your face despite your whines and groans. She thought that she found a good reason to convince you that the task was not as bad as you painted it out to be, completely unaware that what she thought was a selling point was exactly why you were so hell bent on refusing in the first place.

You had no idea what you would do if you see him. You sighed, feeling the torment in your heart boiling up as you remembered how there was a time when you would have felt the exact opposite to reluctance when your mother told you that you would be going to your childhood friend’s house.

Considering how your respective mothers were best friends since high school, it was only natural that you would grow up around Bakugou Katsuki starting from a young age that you could barely remember exactly when. He was, for a long while, your best friend and you were certain that you were his as well. Back then when there was nothing more to the world than the tiny neighbourhood you lived in, the few hours per week that you got to spend with him was the happiest times your young self could experience.

He was never an easy child to be around, always so quick to act on whatever he deemed as appropriate and getting you into trouble as he dragged you along with his plans. You were always yelled at for being slow or not being strong enough to completely follow his lead during the games of pretend you would play together but despite the harsh tone of the child, he had never left you behind even once, always waiting on you with a sneer while you ran to his side with a grin. Although there really wasn’t much things of importance that went through your mind at that age, you had always seen Katsuki as someone you could rely on.

There was this time when you were both five and your parents decided that it would be cute to go out and have dinner together during Christmas break. After the meal, you took a stroll on the busy streets. It had been a while since your mom last meet up with her friend and she was overjoyed to be reunited with Mitsuki again. Your mother was happy talking to her friend, unaware as you were trailing behind her. But you didn’t mind, you were ecstatic that you got to spend time with your friend as well.

“Oh Katsuki look!” You pointed to the side of the road excitedly. There was a street performer setting up right by the street. “Look at that!”

He let out a soft “Tch” as you tugged at his sleeve to go closer. He was not like you, he had no interest in theses stupid performances. At least that was what he said as he “unwillingly” stayed with you so you could watch the magic tricks by the street performer. He felt like there was something the both of you had forgotten about, but he could not exactly pinpoint what it was.

“That was so cool! Right, Katsuki?” You said to your friend but he didn’t seem to hear what you said as he looked around with slight worry in his eyes. You tilted your head, confused as to what got him like this. Did he not enjoy the performance?

You followed his gaze around and froze in place when you realised that all of the tall figures that blocked your view were of people you did not know, your mom nowhere to be seen. As people come and go on the bustling street that was starting to dim, the darkness only added to the panic you were feeling.

You shouldn’t have been distracted, now you couldn’t find your mom anywhere. What if she didn’t notice? What if you never find your way home? What if you never see your parents again?

As your young feasible mind travelled down and down the worst possible scenarios there could be, you felt a burning at the back of your throat. Katsuki immediately snapped his head towards you when the first choked back sniffle got to his ears. “Don’t... don’t cry you idiot!”

He was never the comforting type, and the sight of his best friend tearing up only messed up his best attempt at being logical even more. Was he not scared? Of course he was, the many people walking past where the two of you were standing made him feel a bit dizzy almost. But you were already on the verge of crying, and as the strong one in this friendship, it was his responsibility to protect you at a time like this.

The sob came out as a hiccup when you felt Katsuki gripping tightly onto your hand and started walking. Getting pulled to go along, you had forgotten about the discomfort at the tip of your nose that made you want to tear up as you were too shocked by his tight hold on your hand.

If you had been a little bit more observant, you would know that he was just as nervous and unsure of the whole situation as you were. He was holding onto your hand just a bit too tightly and sweat was starting to form on his palm. You took his action as a way to comfort you but little did you know that it was his clumsy way of trying to be braver himself. He had to look brave in front of you, he took on the role to look after you even when he could practically feel his own hand shaking.

You did not say a word, only trying to keep up with your friend who was marching forward, the small figure of the blond leading the way through the crowd of people forever engraved into your mind even years after that.

Bakugou Katsuki did not say anything as his mother fumed, yelling at him for not staying close to the adults. You watched as he bit on his lips, trying to stay silent as he took all the blame for what was necessarily your fault.

You had decided that he was the most heroic person you would ever know right then and there, even though you were merely a child who had no idea what a hero was.

And you grew up.

You should have known better than to think that nothing would change. He changed, you changed.

For you, the turning point was when his quirk started to manifest. When he got the first grasp of his own explosion, you were the first person he rushed to. “I’m showing this to you before I show anyone else!” He had proudly said to you when you watched in awe of his powerful quirk. Yours was nowhere near as flashy as his and although it was hidden under his usual facade of mean words and rude tone, he had guaranteed you that you would always be a part of his team no matter what you quirk was.

Imagine the hurt and betrayal you felt when you went up to him like usual that day, excitedly wanting to show him a new trick you had discovered you could do with your quirk only to have him tell you that he did not have time. With the wolf whistles of his new group of friends from afar that made you unease, he raised his voice at you for the first time ever and told you to leave him alone. When he walked away without doing so much as sparing one glance your way, the dull ache in your chest as simply too much to bare.

You did not see your friend stopping in his tracks as he heard a familiar sob passing through his ears. You did not see his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists, biting the inside of his cheeks so hard that he could almost taste a metallic tang.

You only knew that he had left you behind. All you could hold onto was the faint memory of him gripping your hand tightly in the crowd. And like that, the boy who you once trusted with all your heart was gone forever.

He apologized to you the next day, his head dropping low and his eyes avoiding yours. The void in your heart was still there, tearing it open by the seams. But still you smiled at him and said that you didn’t mind, hoping that you could latch onto whatever false hope that you could find for yourself that he was still the same person you grew up with. The same person who was grumpy, impulsive, and even offensive sometimes but you had come to love even when there was only so much you know about that feeling at that age.

But you knew that no matter how hard you tried to pretend that it didn’t bother you, that thorn that was stabbed onto your heart would never truly be removed. Not while the two of you pretended that nothing happened.

No words could be used to explain that odd mix of emotions in your mind as you noticed that you now had to look up to meet the eyes of your friend. You watched as the softness of his cheeks faded, replaced by the rounded edges that would soon turn into the sharp angles of a young man. You watched as he got more and more powerful each day. You watched as he slowly stopped coming over to your place with his mom. You watched as Mitsuki apologetically say to you that her son was out with some friends whenever you swung by in hopes of catching up with him. You watched as the image you had of Katsuki in your head slowly started to mismatch the boy in reality.

You watched as the distance between you and your once best friend grew further and further apart, until that was all you could do, watch. Until the day finally comes when you stopped missing the warmth of his hand on yours.

That was what hurt you the most to think of. There was no fight, no big moment that made you stopped talking to him. Only time, time and the painful truth of knowing that nothing stayed the same forever.

It had been years since you last talked to Katsuki, you realised as you remained still in front of the gates of his house. You had been here multiple times even after he moved into the dorms of his school, so why were you so nervous this time round?

It was winter break, you smacked your own face as you remembered, he might be there, that’s why.

You would never admit it out loud, but you always paid extra attention to the news whenever the famous academy that you knew you friend were at was mentioned.

You should go in. You had to at some point, why not get it done and over with? You thought to yourself as you lifted a finger to press onto the doorbell only to have it froze in place midair as all the worries in your head rushed through once more.

Please don’t be at home, please don’t be at home, please don’t be-

‘You’re the last thing I want to see underneath the tree.’

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Fuck.

“Oh, Ka-” You paused as the name that was once so familiar to you stopped at the tip of your tongue. That name was not yours to call anymore. “Bakugou.”

His eyebrows twitched at how stiff you sounded. It did not sound right, but he let it slide. “Are you gonna go in or what?”

Gingerly following him in, you stood behind him as he twisted the key and flicked the lights on. The house was the same as how you remembered it to be, it was nice to see that at least something didn’t change. “It’s just me, the stupid parents are out.”

You nodded, trying to hide the drop in your stomach as you heard that it was just him. You were here for a reason, just put down whatever you mom wanted you to get to Mitsuki and leave. “I’m just gonna-”

“Do you want anything?” Bakugou asked as he motioned to the kitchen at the other end of the hallway. Why couldn’t you act all formal and find a proper respond like normal humans do when you were with him? Perhaps it was because you would always remember how there was a time when formalities were non-existent between the two of you and now you felt like you were talking to a stranger, a stranger that you knew so so well.

“Water would be fine.” You forced out a polite smile as he huffed and the blonde’s figure disappeared into the kitchen. With a deep sigh, you sat down onto the couch and wondered what you were supposed to do under this worst case scenario you had thought of.

It was awkward. It was really awkward.

Taking a huge gulp of the cold water, you tried to distract yourself from the sheer torture that was sitting next to Bakugou while neither of you say a word. In all honesty, there were many things that you would like to say to him but you were not brave enough to say any of them out loud. Instead, you watched him in the most discrete way you could manage.

Yes, you watched. It seemed like you spent most of your time with him watching his every move while he enjoyed being watched.

He had grown a lot since you last saw him, that was a given. You had been shocked when you watched the live stream of the UA sports festival and saw the way your friend fought. It was still the same cut throat, ruthless way you had known but only more skillful. The arms that were once lanky now adorned with muscles that came from pure hard work. The line of his jaw now so sharp that the last hint of boyishness in his features were threatening to slowly fade away.

Bakugou got hot. Was that inappropriate to say about your childhood friend?

“What are you staring at?”

“What?” You tensed up when you were suddenly met with the direct glare of those crimson eyes.

“You’re staring at me.” You immediately backed away when he stood up and looked right at you, only there was nowhere to hide as your back hit the couch.

You held your breath as he just stayed there, standing right in front of you with his hand at the side of head, his legs trapping you in between them. What the fuck was this? Your eyes widened at the realisation of how close he was to you. You went so long without even talking to him and all of a sudden you were faced with this?

He sighed, slightly backing away at your startled expression. “You’ve always been like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like you had no sense of danger towards anyone.” He hissed, “Like you would just be nice to anyone. Like you would not say anything if someone pick on you. Like you would cry, but not fight back if something goes wrong. Like anyone could get close to you and you would accept them. Like if it was someone else, you would still not back away when they trap you in between their arms like I do now.”

“Oh no,” you whispered, “only you.”

He bit his lips, lowering his head as his eyebrows knotted together. That was all he wanted to say to you, all the things that he did not have the guts to say when you were still somewhere within his reach. Only him, that was all he wanted to hear for so long and he had no clue that you could still tug at his heart strings with those words he had only heard in his wildest fantasies even after so long.

You had changed so much, and he could not hold it back after seeing you like this.

“Then what about this? Would you let other people do this to you?” He growled before dipping down, capturing you in a sudden kiss that sent your entire body into a frenzy. It was not pretty, he barely moved at all as his mind was overwhelmed by the fact that you were actually there, letting him kiss you without even protesting a bit. Closing his eyes shut, he almost started to think that you might be enjoying it as well.

When he pulled away, your brain was still foggy from what just happened. That was the boy you were in love with, with his eyes closed and his face just mere breaths away from yours. The same person who torn you apart. Bakugou Katsuki. That Bakugou Katsuki, and he just kissed you.

“I missed you.” The Katsuki you knew had never been a soft person but at least for now, he sounded almost tender, like he was afraid of what you were going to say next.

“You fucking leave me behind.” You said, and the way you clenched your jaw made his heart ache.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled and looked away, the way he lowered his head reminded you an awful lot of the time when he shielded you from the blame that you should have took.

You sighed and reached out to touch his face, he immediately snapped up to look at you at the tender touch. You could never truly stay mad at him. “If you do that to me again, I swear to god I’ll cry right in front of you.”

He did not let you go on as he placed another chaste kiss on your lips. Never, he would never make that same mistake again. He had went through way too many nights wondering what you were doing, cursing himself for pushing you away to hurt you like that all over again.

Never, he was not letting go again. After all, he had failed his role as the one who was supposed to protect you for far too long.

‘Merry Christmas, I could care less.’

#bnha imagines #bnha imagine #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou imagine #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki imagine #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha imagines #mha x reader #mha imagine

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innittowinit · 4 years ago

Text

Abandoned amusement parks are the best place for young children (chapter 6)

Fic summary:

Techno, Tommy, Wilbur and Phil have been hanging out at the abandoned amusement park in the woods since they moved in. Techno likes knowing he's definitely alone with his brothers Tommy likes climbing on the old rides Wilbur likes having a place to play his music Phil likes spending time with his younger brothers

That is, until a group of brothers calling themselves the 'dream team' move in down the road. Will the sleepy boys give in and share the park or will they succeed in scaring the new kids off?

Chapter summary:

The dream team attacks Wilbur's asleep Phil's busy Tommy-proofing the park

Chapter Word count: 2363

AO3

Fuck…

It was so hot, so humid, that Techno could feel himself swaying where he was standing; his signature red jacket had been tossed aside in a feeble attempt to cool down for just a minute. With Wilbur having fallen asleep on top of the ticket booth roof and Phil trying to clean out some of the glass and brambles from one of the old gift shops before they let Tommy play in it -the white house needed to be safe after all- Techno was left to watch over Tommy on his own. Having taken on board everything Phil said to them, he managed to keep an eye on his brother the entire time.

He even climbed up a bit with him, making sure not to go too high and set a bad example, he was still a kid though and it was fun to mess around. He’d keep Tommy safe and have fun doing it, he wouldn’t let Tommy get board enough to warrant him wanting to venture higher.

“What are the kids in your class like then? They nice to you Toms?” Techno already knew the answer, Tommy could be a bit obnoxious at times but as far as kids would see it, he was miles more ‘normal’ than Techno and Wilbur had been. They probably loved him, that was a nice thought. He loved him too.

As they sat, feet dangling off a track, that wasn’t too high, as Techno had checked many many times, and was very sturdy, Tommy gave an excited nod. That was good news. “Love ‘em, we’re all super good friends! Tubbos my best friend though, he’s way way better than the others” he nodded, as if it was a well known fact that Tubbo was objectively the best, which made Techno chuckle.

Only now was he realising that he never really spoke to Tommy like this anymore, it was nice. Wilbur was always with him, he needed Wilbur nearby to be able to be calm enough to talk, so it was rare to find a conversation without the brunette at all. At times, he found himself wishing he could be more confident with his verbal abilities, it would be amazing to be like a character from a movie, to be able to just go out and maybe order himself a coffee, talk to a stranger as he waited for the bus. So often he found himself fantasizing about the most mundane things for most people, but really he did crave them a lot. He was working incredibly hard in his speech therapy, there had been so many times where he felt like just giving up, like maybe he could get away with not talking for the rest of his life, but then he’d hear how assertively Wilbur could tell their doctor that he was getting overwhelmed and needed a break and.. It just reminded him of how badly he needed to crack this.

He couldn’t stay silent forever, not when he wanted to talk so bad. Even now, as he sat with his little brother, he was reminded of how badly he needed to get his issues sorted out. It was grim to think about but he knew that if he didn’t have full confirmation Wilbur was close, he wouldn’t be able to communicate with Tommy.

“Don’t tell the others I’m getting soft but I really love you, you know that right Toms?”

Tommy giggled and then he nodded. Ah, confident as ever. Techno was incredibly grateful that Tommy hadn’t turned out like him or Wilbur. It was such a relief, at first he had been so sure that the social issues were hereditary, why else would Wilbur struggle too? Recently though, he had figured out that it likely was a mix between his adhd, which was genetics, and the lack of attention he and Wil had gotten while they were little. With Two parents who were constantly out working, babysitters were usually the only people they saw in the day, their parents leaving before they had woken up and arriving back home after they had been put back to bed, it was a bad cycle of them only getting to see them a few minutes a day at most.

He wasn’t a psychologist, if he was he probably could have started talking by now, but he guessed Wilbur had likely clutched onto one of the only consistent things, that being him, and he had developed a fear of talking. Out of fear of getting close to temporary people? Out of spite? He didn’t know.

What he did know though, was that perhaps through the constant praise and adoration he and his brothers had always given Tommy, they’d somehow prevented him from turning out like them.

Tommy could be happy, he didn’t need to fear random things.

Techno was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of someone throwing fun-snaps along the entrance to L’manburg. Fucking Dream Team, why couldn’t they leave them alone? And what was best was that the only people available to confront them were Tommy or Techno, a seven year old or a mute.

Nudging Tommy, he glanced towards the entrance knowingly, Wilbur was a lot better at reading him but Tommy and Phil were pretty decent too. After a couple knowing glances at each other, seemingly an entire silent conversation taking place, the two brothers started to climb down the coaster and back to safety. Techno would have been happy enough to just hide and wait for Wilbur to wake up or maybe Phil to come out, he could definitely take any one of them in a fight but he didn’t want to.

What he did want was for Wilbur to wake up and come do the talking because although he loved Tommy, he didn’t want to be represented by him.

He just couldn’t get that though; the second Tommy’s feet touched the floor he dashed into the centre of the entrance way, causing Techno to dash out of him, Dream visible despite the fact that he was hiding behind a bush. Huh. The idiot must have ran out of Fun snaps since he wasn’t throwing any more.

“This is war! It’s war! Your tyranny over L’manburg cannot last forever, sleepy boys!”

Dream stood up quickly, his green hoodie tied around his shoulders as he stood in a white tshirt and grey basketball shorts. As the blonde raised his crossbow, pointed directly at Tommy, Techno couldn’t help but wonder just how he was planning to aim through the small eye holes in that mask.

“You’re dead! You hear me! We’ll win this war.”

And with that he fired two shots, the foam bullets bouncing off of himself and Tommy pathetically as they watched in confusion. What was his problem? Seemingly, Tommy had been shot on the cheek, the boy was rubbing it with small tears in his eyes. Being hit with something, even if it was a toy bullet, must still be a shock when it hits you directly in the face.

Techno wanted to comfort him, but he couldn’t, not when Dream was standing mere feet away. Instead he opted to run his thumb over Tommy’s cheek then taking his hand as a sign he understood that he wasn’t happy - he didn’t know why or how but holding his brother’s hand’s hand started to be the thing guaranteed to let them know he cared when he couldn’t talk. It was dumb but at least he had a way to communicate it now.

“NOW!”

Right as he was distracted, he heard Dream yell out, causing him to snap back to reality, standing in front of Tommy protectively, only to realise Sapnap and George were scuttling in from a hole in the wall. Techno wanted to yell out, he wanted Phil to come, he felt scared and overwhelmed, logically he could take any of these boys physically but he was scared. This was new to him, they were new people, and he had someone to protect!

It wouldn’t be so bad if Wilbur was awake.

Wilbur could yell and get Phil to come and Phil would do something.

The two boys were charging towards them now, Dream still had that stupid toy crossbow pointed at them too. God why were they so awful?!

“Give it up Techno!” Sapnap yelled, waving a toy sword, it looked like it was made of wood. He wasn’t holding it right, Techno had noted to himself, if he were to try and hit someone with that he wouldn’t get much force. The other boy, George -He only remembered his name because that was the one Wilbur hurt- was carrying a wooden axe, it didn’t look sharp and the handle was painted in a way that made it clear it was also from a toy set, probably the same set that the sword was from.

That made it all the more clear that they were bad kids. They wanted to hurt them.

He repositioned himself in front of Tommy as the boys drew closer.

Sapnap had tried to hit him first, he was able to block that with his arm, then came George with his axe. The boy jumped up and swung as he came down, even though it was blunt, he had still been hit hard with it and it fucking ached.

Techno didn’t want to get violent but he would protect Tommy no matter what, he knew Phil said no more fights but as he saw Sapnap swing the sword, the wooden blade brushing past Tommy forcefully and leaving a splinter in his arm, he couldn’t hold back his anger. He gently turned Tommy around, nodding towards the ticket booth, before turning back to the two boys in front of him, shaking his head as if to tell them not to even think about going near him.

Techno had faith in Tommy, he knew he’d be able to get Wilbur, that’s why he had to be quick here. In all honesty, he didn’t care about George, he hadn’t hurt Tommy, but Sapnap had and so he felt no shame as he pushed him hard, letting him bounce on the sandy dirt of the warm summer’s day. He didn’t want to start an actual fight, Phil would kill him if he actually punched someone but pushing wasn’t that bad.

“Okayyy Okay kids”

ThankGod,ThankGod,ThankGod

He heard Phil’s voice as he jogged over to Techno, Sapnap and George; by now Dream was standing in the open, by the entrance to L’manburg, as if waiting for his brother’s to finish up their game since his part was over. Techno hated that they seemed to think of this as a joke. They didn’t need L’manburg, they just didn’t like that they couldn’t have it. In his opinion, they were just spoiled rotten, why was their discomfort a source of their amusement?

No matter how he thought of it, Techno couldn’t understand their thought process. Even though he had already pushed Sapnap over, Techno was still boiling over with anger, strong tension dripping from any motion he made.

“Boys get up” Phil sighed as he helped Sapnap off the ground, as well as George who had got down to make sure he was okay. “Techno we don’t push people..Okay I’m sorry about him, you head back home now”

The blonde ushered the boys out of the park as fast as he could, trying to be polite all the way, even though they had been nothing but rude to them.

…

Everything was silent for a minute.

“Techno-Blade Reid, How many times do I have to tell you violence isn’t okay?”

Okay, he used his full name, fuck shit. Phil rarely got this mad but it was obvious Techno had messed up. He hated making Phil mad, he never wanted to yell back, it always just made him disappointed in himself. Everybody knew that Phil was a nice guy and to be the one that forces him to lose composure? It felt horrible.

“Phil I-”

“No no! Listen for a minute okay? How hard actually is it to just talk? Why couldn’t you just call out to me? You know I would have got rid of them for you! Tommy said you had a sword fight, Techno, a sword fight! Did you even realise that Tommy got a splinter? What if that gets infected?”

Techno felt simultaneously that his heart had been stepped on and that he wanted to puke. It hurt, so, so bad, to hear his brother say these things. With the once comforting summer heat choking him up and threatening tears, Techno crossed his arms against his chest, walking directly to Wilbur.

Wilbur never would have said something like that, not even out of anger.

“Phil, I wanted to… You think I didn't realise Tommy got hurt? Why else would I have shoved him?! They attacked us!” He had to stop for a moment, getting a bit choked up, he had been so relieved to hear Phil’s voice, he really hadn’t expected this.

“No, fuck, Tech’ I didn’t mean that… I don't know why I said it. I promise I didn’t mean it”

Phil’s face had contorted slightly, he looked pained and guilty. Techno was well aware that he had just been frustrated and went for the easiest jab possible, he just hadn’t been expecting it.

No matter how much he told himself that Phil didn’t actually think any of that, no matter how much he told himself that his brother still loved him despite his speech issues, he still couldn’t help but find himself being hurt.

He knew what Phil said hadn’t been on purpose but it still stung.

“Take Tommy home and get his splinter out, me and Wil are gonna stay back here for a bit” Voice weak and mellow, he pushed the words out as if it was a physical struggle to talk right now.

He heard Phil sigh, the one he did when something was really hard. “Okay, I love you Techno, and you Wilbur.”

Techno nodded “I love you too.. I just need to be alone for a minute”

#technoblade #sapnap #georgenotfound #dream #the dream team #dtblr #sleepyblr #philza #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #fanfic

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farmhandler · 3 years ago

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for your sake

Fandom: Demon Slayer

Pairing: Rengoku/Tanjiro

Rating: T

Chapter: 1/6

Word count: 2.4 K

Summary: Rengoku is dying, but Zenitsu has an unorthodox idea that might be just what they need.

Warnings: Omegaverse, alpha!Tanjiro, omega!Rengoku

A/N: I watched the Demon Slayer movie and I fell even more in love with all these characters than I already was. Rengoku my beloved!!!! Please enjoy this unorthodox omegaverse!

Read on AO3

---

Rengoku. Rengoku. Rengoku. Rengoku.

Tanjiro couldn’t see through his tears. Every time he brushed them away, they overflowed and spilled past his fingers, unerring and constant. Tears were smeared messily across his cheeks and under his eyes, too, but none of that really mattered.

Rengoku was dying.

He was dying, and nothing any of them could do could change that.

Tanjiro was familiar with death. He had seen so much death already that the sight of dead bodies didn’t fill him with the horror and dread it used to. He still prayed for the dead, and it saddened him to see so much suffering, but it had become a familiar sight.

Sometimes the guilt from the mere fact he was getting used to people dying clawed at him, digging into his chest until he thought he might never recover.

But he could never, ever get used to something like this.

“Rengoku,” he rasped, shaking his head. He kept shaking it, as if denying his death might keep it from happening. “Rengoku!”

He heard Rengoku chuckle quietly to himself, and then cough wetly. He tried to speak, but it came out garbled, which made Tanjiro’s tears fall faster.

I’m so useless. I can’t do anything, he thought. Why can’t I do something?

The tears kept flowing. Inosuke and Zenitsu didn’t fare any better. As they waited for Rengoku to pass peacefully—as peacefully as his painful death would allow—they all wept.

If Tanjiro was a different person, he would congratulate Rengoku for holding his composure despite the intense and agonizing pain he must have been in. But he wasn’t that kind of person. His throat felt like he had been lodged with large rock, and all he could manage were whispered mentions of Rengoku’s name.

“Hey, Tanjiro,” Zenitsu said. He waited a beat, and then moved around Rengoku to sit at Tanjiro’s side. When Tanjiro didn’t respond, he repeated the phrase. “Tanjiro, hey.”

“What?” Tanjiro lifted his head, tears still flowing free. “What else could be the matter?”

He didn’t mean it unkindly. Tanjiro was begging. Begging him not to say anything else was wrong, or that anyone else would die just then.

Zenitsu glanced down, squeezed his hands into fists in his lap, and then lifted his head again. His eyes were bright. Tanjiro noticed that he had Nezuko on his back. He wanted to thank him, but couldn’t find the words.

“You’re an alpha, aren’t you?”

Tanjiro sniffled. What…?

“Yes, that’s right.” He tried wiping at his eyes again in vain. “What about it?”

“If…if you’re an alpha…” Zenitsu’s mouth hung open, uncertain. He took a deep breath. “If you’re an alpha, isn’t there another way we can save Rengoku?”

Tanjiro blinked at Zenitsu. “Zenitsu, what are you talking about?”

“Well—Rengoku is an omega. There are—at some point you must’ve heard the stories!” Zenitsu said, his voice rising in pitch. “About alphas and omegas.”

“Zenitsu…” Tanjiro gentled his voice and laid his hand on Zenitsu’s knee. “This isn’t the time for stories. Rengoku is—he’s dying.”

“I know!” Zenitsu snapped. “I know that! You really haven’t heard?”

“Heard what? What are you saying?”

Zenitsu shrugged Nezuko’s box off his shoulders and then pointed at Rengoku.

“He’s an omega! You’re an alpha. I’ve heard that when alphas mate omega, it can sometimes do something to their body. They become stronger and they heal faster. I’ve heard of alphas recovering from fatal wounds after bonding! If you bond with Rengoku, there’s a chance it can heal him!”

Tanjiro could hardly believe what he was hearing. Bonding—no, forcing a bond on Rengoku? Tanjiro had thought he was going to suggest they try and patch up his wound in some way, and he was prepared to explain how futile their efforts would be, but this was so much worse.

“Zenitsu, those are just stories.” Tanjiro’s voice broke, trembling while he spoke. “There’s nothing we can do. He was stronger than all of us, and we couldn’t do anything.”

He looked over at Rengoku, who was listing forward. His eyes had slipped closed, and that small smile that had been playing on his face for a while now was still there. Tanjiro’s heart ached just looking at him, and there was a tiny part of himself that wanted to consider what Zenitsu was saying. Rengoku was attractive, and he had a wonderful scent, but forcing a bond was out of the question.

“Can’t we try?!” Zenitsu exclaimed. He rose onto his feet and gestured to Rengoku. “You’re right: he’s dying. And that’s exactly why we should try to do everything we can to save him! He saved us from a demon; it’s the least we can do to repay him for being so useless!”

By the end of it, Zenitsu was shouting. He had even caught the attention of Inosuke, who’d wandered back over after walking away to cry alone.

“What is all this talk about alphas and omegas? Why are you talking nonsense?!”

“I don’t care if it’s nonsense!” Zenitsu spat. It was the most passionately animated Tanjiro had seen him in a long while, and he was almost transfixed by it. Zenitsu turned to him, eyes shining with tears and rare determination. “Tanjiro, if there’s even a small chance that you could help Rengoku, then let’s try it! What do you have to lose? Your pride?! Well don’t worry, because we don’t have any of that left! In fact, I have so little pride I’ll negatively balance yours!”

Zenitsu grabbed his arm and started pulling him towards Rengoku.

“So come on!”

Tanjiro let himself be pulled. He was so surprised by the turn of events that he hadn’t even realized his tears had dried up. He could see Rengoku a little clearer, and framed by the morning sunlight, he looked beautiful.

Tanjiro’s lips pressed into a thin line. He pulled himself free of Zenitsu’s grasp, and then hurried to Rengoku’s side on his own. With Zenitsu’s help, they steadied him on both sides, pulling aside his haori and cutting through his gakuran to reveal the base of his throat.

Can I really do this? he wondered, eyeing the patch of skin. I’ve never seen anything like what Zenitsu mentioned.

“What are you doing?” Inosuke shouted, sounding both angry and confused. “What are you two idiots doing? Are you trying to kill him faster?!”

“We’re trying to help!” Zenitsu yelled back.

“Zenitsu…” Tanjiro squeezed his eyes shut briefly. “This may not work. And even if it does, he might be too far gone! He’s already unconscious, which is a bad sign.”

“He has a hole in his stomach!” Inosuke yelled, even angrier. Tanjiro wanted to comfort him, to let him know that it was okay to be angry and afraid when they were riding on what could very well be false hope, but he had to focus.

“Both of you shut up! Don’t you think I know that? I don’t care about our chances, I just want to try!” Zenitsu met Tanjiro’s eyes. Rengoku slumped forward in their hands, so Tanjiro hurried into position. “It’s life or death!”

Life or death. Tanjiro hated himself in part for attempting this. It was stupid and not guaranteed to work.

But he had to try.

He pressed his mouth to the still warm crook of Rengoku’s neck. Almost immediately, nausea began to claw at his insides, rising up inside him. It took immense effort to work the disgust. He felt like he was seriously going to vomit.

Calm down, he told himself. Focus!

If this didn’t work, it would look like Tanjiro done something truly, horrifyingly awful to someone who had just saved all their lives and the lives of hundreds of others. Explanations wouldn’t matter; they rarely did, for alphas.

Fighting against every impulse that screamed at him, Tanjiro sank his teeth into Rengoku’s skin. Even though he’d never done it before, instinct urged him to bite down until he felt blood rise up onto his tongue. It mingled with his saliva, and then he pulled back and began licking at the wound to cement the process further.

For a while, Tanjiro continued what he was doing. He felt sick and he was openly crying again, but he kept going, lapping at the wound and inhaling his scent to detect any changes. His hand slipped to the front of Rengoku’s chest and over his heart. It was barely beating, thrumming weakly against his fingertips.

Please. Please. Please!

More time passed, and that was when the reality of their situation began to sink in. Rengoku hadn’t miraculously healed, and the heartbeat fluttering against Tanjiro’s hand was getting weaker by the second. He met Zenitsu’s eyes and saw a desperation there he knew must have been mirrored in his own.

Bile rose up hot in his throat. Tanjiro let go of Rengoku and turned around to retch into the dirt.

“What have I done?” he croaked. His chest heaved with each new, desperate sob. He dry-heaved, then vomited a second time. He was so disgusted with himself. What had he done? What had he done?

“Tanjiro?” Zenitsu said, his voice small.

“What have I done?” Tanjiro whispered. “Rokuta, Takeo, Hanako.” He cried out in anguish. “Shigeru, Mom. Everyone…! Please forgive me!”

“Hey, Tanjiro.”

This time Zenitsu sounded more frantic, but Tanjiro couldn’t make himself look.

“Tanjiro!”

He had desecrated the dead, acting under his own selfish desires.

“Oi, Tanjiro, for real!”

It was no one’s fault but his own. He was trash—no, worse than trash. He was—

“Tanjiro!”

Inosuke’s use of his actual given name jolted him out of it. Hands ripped him away from the ground and forced him to look at what he’d been avoiding.

Rengoku was… he was trembling. Shaking. No longer was he slumped in a heap, close to death. His face, which seconds ago had been deathly pale, was flushed red. He shook, seized, and gasped—all the while something was happening to his abdomen that Tanjiro couldn’t believe.

It was healing.

“Oh my god.”

Right before their eyes, Rengoku’s fatal wound was beginning to close. It didn’t close all the way, but as they watched, it went from an impossibly wide wound to something that he could come back from, with the right care.

In a matter of minutes, an impossible situation had changed completely.

“Oh my god,” Tanjiro repeated. He brought his shaking hands to his mouth and didn’t even care that they were covered in blood. He curled forward, a fresh wave of tears flowing down his cheeks. “My god! Rengoku!”

“Wh-what the is happening,” Inosuke said. “He’s really…? How did you—?”

“It worked,” Zenitsu breathed. “It actually worked. You and him are—” He shook his head. “Never mind that. Tanjiro, we have to get him help, fast!”

“You’re right. He’s lost too much blood,” Tanjiro agreed. He wiped his tears away and spat in the dirt to get rid of the taste of bile. “If we don’t get him help, he’ll actually die!”

Tanjiro stood on unsteady legs. At this point, with what he'd been through, and the whiplash this was giving him, the determination to make sure Rengoku lived was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Zenitsu! Inosuke! There are probably emergency supplies on the train behind us. We need to find a stretcher, or we’ll have to make one. I’m going to stay here with Rengoku while you two find those supplies. Inosuke—you get the stretcher. Zenitsu, bring all the bandages you can find!”

The two of them went off like a shot. They didn’t wait to discuss their options or talk about risks and chances of survival anymore. All that mattered was finding necessary supplies that would help Rengoku heal.

“Nezuko, it goes without saying, but you stay in your box.” Tanjiro slipped his arms out of his haori and began tearing it into strips. “I need to try to stop the blood. If it was still nighttime, I’d ask you to cauterize the wound, but this will have to do.”

Tanjiro made quick work of tearing into Rengoku’s gakuran. Fully exposed, his abdominal wound looked even worse. And with a fresh, new bond thrown into play, the sight elicited an even stronger reaction than before. He had to turn away, so angry at Akaza for a moment that he thought he might puke.

Focus, Tanjiro. Focus.

At first, Tanjiro didn’t know what to make of Rengoku. In particular since he had viciously opposed Nezuko’s existence and then later acknowledged it. But after fighting alongside him, being saved by him, he understood.

He’s a good person. And now he’s my…

Tanjiro licked his lips. He could still taste the blood.

Pushing the thought aside, Tanjiro did his best to stop the bleeding with what clothing he had. He used the cleanest parts of his haori as a makeshift bandages until Zenitsu returned with better ones.

“I wish I had you with me right now, Nezuko,” Tanjiro mused, as a means to distract himself. “You were always better at dealing with our siblings’ aches and pains. I’m trying to treat the wound, but I'm no doctor. When Inosuke and Zenitsu come back, we’ll also need to move Rengoku onto the stretcher.”

As if on cue, Rengoku gasped. He started coughing. It was the most alive he had seemed since the initial spasms, and Tanjiro tried not to weep openly at the sight. He was focused on the task at hand, but so many new emotions were swirling inside him that it was getting harder and harder to do so. He’d never bonded, and romance had been the last thing on his mind for most of his life, so this was completely unfamiliar territory.

That doesn’t matter. Stop thinking about it.

Warmth hit his back. The ground beneath them sparkled with morning dew. Tanjiro turned towards the rising sun, and for the briefest moment he closed his eyes and basked in the heat blooming across his face.

It felt so warm. It felt like hope.

He was about to turn his head back towards Rengoku when he saw figures in the distance coming their way. As they drew close, Tanjiro realized it was the Kakushi: the cleanup crew.

“Hey!” Tanjiro bellowed, rising to a stand. Relief slammed into him like a tsunami. He waved his arms to get their attention. “Over here!! Rengoku is still alive and he needs medical attention now! Please! Please!!”

Tanjiro was tired of crying, but just then, he couldn’t help it. Everything that had just happened caught up with him, and he fell to his knees, exhausted and relieved in a single breath.

“Please! Please save him! He’s my—”

He couldn’t force the words past his lips. But he knew; he could feel it forming inside him like a heavy weight.

He’s my mate.

#mugen train spoilers #kny mugen train #kny spoilers #rentan #kyotan #rengoku kyoujurou #tanjiro #all characters are around 18 which is what i thought they were until i looked it up lol #omegaverse #trope subversion #yes that was handwavey magic healing just accept it

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sweetiepie08 · 5 years ago

Text

RebelZ Chapter 6

Invader Zim fanfic

While analyzing Zim’s PAK for weaknesses, Tak discovers strange coding that sends her on a search for answers. The clues lead her to uncover a conspiracy that governs all of Irken society. When the truth sends her on the run, she has no choice but to return to the one place the Tallest would never willingly go: Urth.

Meanwhile, Dib has noticed odd changes in Zim’s behavior. Has the invader simply grown bored of his mission over the last few years, or is there something more interesting going on?

People who asked to be tagged: @incorrect-invader-zim , @messinwitheddie, @reblogstupids, @cate-r-gunn, @agentpinerulesall

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list feel free to message me. Also, if you’re on the tag list and you changed your name, please just let me know.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10.

[-]

Dib flipped through the streaming services, looking for something to watch. The documentary had ended, pizza had been eaten, and Gaz had gone upstairs to fix some emergency with one of her online gaming groups. He knew he had surveillance tapes waiting for him on his desk, (or worse, college applications) but he wasn’t ready to check up on them just yet. He was actually enjoying some downtime for once, and he didn’t want it to end.

Then, he heard the all-too-familiar sounds of an alien spaceship landing outside.

Nope, he thought as he hit play on whatever show he landed on. Didn’t matter what, so long as he could pretend he couldn’t hear what was going on in his driveway.

Some muffled arguing came from the front door, followed by the bell ringing. Dib turned up the volume. Not getting out of this chair.

Loud pounding began, accompanied by cries of “Dib-human! Open this door!” Dib turned the volume up as loud as it would go as the pounding continued.

“Jesus Christ, Dib!” Gaz shouted from upstairs. “Just answer the door!”

“Fine!” Dib shut off the tv and stalked to the front door. When he opened it, he found two Irken idiots.

Zim and Tak hung off each other and drank from plastic bottles while their robot pets bolted right in and made themselves at home. “Hey, you grew into your head,” Tak said, lazily pointing her claw at him.

“You know, Dib, there’s a lot of reasons to hate your planet,” Zim slurred, letting himself in. “You keep chihuahuas as pets, some of you refuse to inoculate against deadly diseases, and that Game of Thrones finale was garbage! But at least you don’t need identification to buy gingzor, and that almost makes up for it.” Zim punctuated his short rant by taking a long swig from his bottle.

“And look,” Tak said, pulling a box of ginger snaps out of a plastic shopping bag, “they had edibles.”

“Are you guys drunk? What is this?” Dib grabbed the bottle out of Zim’s hands. He checked the label, gave it a sniff, and took a small taste. Yup, it was exactly what the label said it was. “This is just ginger ale.”

“Eee-yup,” Zim said, swiping his bottle back. “Your light brews aren’t as potent as the ones we’ve got on Irk, but it gets the job done.”

“Wait, are you guys seriously telling me your species gets drunk off ginger?”

“Why?” Tak asked, shoving a cookie in her mouth. “What do humans consume when they want to forget the futility of existence?”

“Uh, alcohol, usually.”

The two Irkens locked eyes, then burst into laughter. “Seriously?” Tak squealed, wiping a tear from her eye. “That’s an antiseptic.”

“Humans really are stupid,” Zim agreed.

“Not that kind,” Dib grumbled, knowing he would be ignored. Then he felt his temper boil. “What are you two doing in my house?!”

“Oh yeah,” the two brushed past him and hopped on the couch like they owned the place. “We need to crash here for a while,” Zim explained. He turned on the tv, got blasted by an old episode of The Office, then turned the volume down.

“Why?”

“We uncovered a conspiracy behind the Irken empire and our government tried to kill us.”

“I discovered,” Tak corrected. “They just caught you harboring me.”

“Eh, details.”

“The point is,” Tak went on, “we’re both marked as traitors and we need to lay low for a while.”

Dib could have sworn his ears perked like a dog’s. An intergalactic conspiracy? There was a story here so juicy he could almost taste it. Still, as he watched the earth’s total Irken population spill ginger ale on the couch and grind crumbs into the cushions, the only question on his mind was, “why here?”

“Need your lab,” Zim tossed off as if it should have been obvious.

“So? Why don’t you go back to your base and use your own lab?”

“Can’t.” Zim took a teal cube out of his pocket and tossed it in Dib’s direction.

Dib caught it and brought it up to his eye to inspect. “What’s this?”

“My base.”

“Your whole base is in this?” Dib strained his eyes, looking at the cube. “What’s going on? How did this even happen?”

“How far back in Irken history do you want to go?” Tak asked, popping open a bottle.

“Wait, you mean you’re actually going to tell me?”

She gave a non-committal shrug. “Eh…”

“Hold on, wait right there.” Dib zipped upstairs to his room, grabbed a notebook, pen, and recorder, then zipped back down. He grabbed a chair, hit record, and poised his pen. “Let’s start at the beginning.”

[-]

Dib scribbled furiously, trying to keep up with Tak’s slurred ramblings. Zim interjected occasionally to add something or explain an Irken concept, but it was clear exactly who the conspiracy hunter was.

“So, anyway, that’s when I realized this parasite has been controlling our entire society for generations and, you know, it’s just a real buzzkill to find out you’re basically living food.”

“I see,” Dib said, making a note to ask about this library planet later (maybe get coordinates?). “And this parasite has been masquerading as the Control Brains.”

“Not ‘masquerading’ exactly,” she explained. “They always were the Control Brains.”

“And, just to make sure I got this, the Control brains are what, again?”

Before they could answer, he heard a loud “eh-he-eh-hm.” He looked over to see Gaz standing in the kitchen doorway. When he met her eyes, she curled one finger, ominously beckoning him over. “Uh, one second, guys.” He put down his pen and followed Gaz into the kitchen.

“Make this quick, Gaz,” he said, peaking back into the living room. “These two are giving me everything.”

“Okay then,” she said, her voice displaying her irritation. “Just answer me this: why are there two destructive aliens drinking like civil war amputee patients on our couch?”

“Revealing their government’s secrets, that’s what,” he answered with unbridled glee. “Turns out, ginger gets them drunk and when they’re drunk, they have no filter. They’ve been rambling on and on about their creepy big-brother-like society for an hour now. Look at all these notes.” He shoved the notebook in Gaz’s face and flipped furiously through the pages. “As long as I keep them drunk and happy, they’ll keep talking. Which reminds me…” He took out his wallet, grabbed a bill, and handed it to Gaz. “Go to the store and buy them out of ginger ale. We can’t let them sober up.”

“Five bucks?” Gaz said, wrinkling her nose. “I assume you’re planning on reimbursing me for the grocery bill later.”

“This isn’t about money, Gaz.”

“Then dig a little deeper, Scrooge. I know your part-time at Dad’s lab pays more than this.”

“And you make plenty off of your twitch gaming streams,” Dib argued. “Come on, this is about furthering human knowledge.”

Gaz raised her eyebrow in her ‘you’ve got to be kidding’ way. “You’re offering me $5 to drop everything, go to the store, and buy out their entire supply of ginger ale without reimbursing me for the bill.”

“Uh…yes?”

She scoffed. “Get a pulse.”

Dib pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed the corners of his eyes. Was she seriously arguing with him about money at a time like this? “Look, what if I give you an acknowledgement when I publish this baby? Like, say, in the forward?”

“You mean the part no one reads?”

“Uh…”

Gaz let out an exasperated huff and looked into the living room at the two Irkens. “So, they’ll really ramble on and on if you stuff them full of ginger, huh? About anything?”

“Yeah, pretty much. We managed to stay on topic so far. I mean, Zim did go on a tangent about the Game of Thrones finale, but we got back on track.”

Gaz smiled. “Did he, now? About what?”

“Something about Westeros crumbling as soon as the credits rolled. I don’t know. You watched that show, not me.”

“Hmm…” Gaz murmured, looking pointedly at Zim. Oh no, she was thinking… Worse! She was plotting!

“Gaz? What are you doing?”

She threw him a wicked smirk and sauntered into the living room. “Hey, Zim!” she called, clear as a bell. “That Game of Thrones finale sucked, right?”

“Don’t even get me started, Dib-sister!” Zim called back, slapping his hand on the couch. “Zim has never seen such a staggering drop in quality!”

Dib dropped his face into his hands. Was it too late to offer a twenty?”

[-]

“I guarantee Dorne and the Iron Islands rebelled as soon as they stepped out of the Dragon Pit.” Zim said, splashing ginger ale on the couch with every gesture. “I’ll bet they only voted ‘yes’ on Bran because this would be the easiest reign to overthrow.”

“Exactly!” Gaz said, slapping the arm of her chair. “Dany promised Yara independence two seasons ago. There’s no way she’s just going to watch him hand his sister a kingdom and not demand what’s owed to her.”

Dib twisted the notebook in his hands as he listened to them rant. They’d been at this since Gaz brought up the subject.

“And what was with them acting like Dany was in the wrong for executing Varys?” Zim added. “He tried to assassinate her!”

“As if Jon didn’t execute a child a few seasons ago for the same thing. And it was obvious that kid was coerced into it by the higher-ranking Night’s Watch men.” Gaz said. “You’ll notice Dany didn’t execute the child Varys manipulated into poisoning her. And he only thought she was ‘mad’ because she stopped listening to his shitty advice.”

“Their ‘advice’ lost her the Dornish forces, the Iron Fleet, and Highgarden’s armies,” Zim agreed.

“Plus another dragon and her best friend. And when she goes into mourning, he’s all ‘Welp, she’s clearly gone mad. Time to put her down like Old Yeller.’ Oh! And what was with Tyrion’s ‘everywhere she goes, evil men die’ speech? Like that’s a bad thing? Yeah, I know. That’s why I liked her.”

“You know wat she should have done?” Zim said. “She should have flown her three dragons to the Red Keep like she wanted to do last season. She could have taken the city with fewer casualties.”

Gaz nodded in agreement. “Maybe even no casualties if King’s Landing surrenders immediately.”

“Then she’d have all three dragons and all the armies in the Seven Kingdoms to fight the White Walkers with!” Zim added.

“Yeah, then maybe there’d be enough time to make the army of the dead live up to the hype! Nice Long Night. Lasted about six hours.”

“What is this show?” Tak asked. “I want to watch.”

“Enough!” Dib burst, jumping out of his seat. “Enough Game of Thrones! If you want to keep complaining, go on the internet and do it! Now can we please get back to you two spilling the secrets of your evil intergalactic empire!”

“There are no more secrets, human,” Tak snapped. “We’ve told all. The only other information I could find is on this.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a square, plastic information drive. “But this technology is too outdated to decode. So, unless you have access to an ancient computer…”

Dib took the square and held it up to his eyes. “This just looks like a floppy disc.”

“Really, Dib-beast?” Zim scoffed. “Your planet’s technology is antiquated, but it’s not that archaic.”

“Actually, that’s pretty outdated for us too,” Gaz said, “but our dad’s got a computer graveyard in the attic. Maybe we can get one of those to work.”

Tak regarded the disc suspiciously. “You’re serious? You think you might be able to get it to work.”

“It could be possible,” Dib answered, eyeballing the disc. It looked about the right size and shape. It may at least fit into the disc drive. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve gotten Irken and Earth technology to work together. It’s worth a shot.”

[-]

After about an hour and a few trips to the attic, they found an old monitor and hard drive they managed to turn on. As the computer booted up, they compared the Irken disc drive to a standard floppy disc. Dib was right. They seemed to match up.

“You really think this has a shot?” Tak asked again. She looked skeptical they whole time the were getting set up, but as the computer whirred to life, Dib thought he could detect a hint of hope in her voice.

“It could,” Gaz answered. “If the magnetic polarity is the same as we use on earth, the computer might be able to read the disc.”

Dib nodded along. While he was good with technology, his area of expertise was more on the engineering side. Gaz was the one with an affinity for coding.

Once the computer was ready, they popped in the drive. They all gathered around the monitor and held their breath. A buffering window popped up on the screen and they let out a collective gasp.

After a few minutes, the picture went black and green Irken text scrolled up across the screen, accompanied by, what sounded to Dib, like a series of chirps, clicks, and hisses. “Um, is it supposed to be making that-”

Tak and Zim threw a sharp hiss in his direction, then went back to staring intently at the screen. When Dib quieted and listened harder, he realized the sounds came from an organic voice and had a deliberate pattern. Holy shit, it’s reading the text! This is their language!

The voice stopped and the screen froze on another set of Irken symbols.

“Oh, my…” Zim choked out, eyes still glued to the screen. “We’ve got to write that down!”

“MiMi,” Tak commanded, “my tablet.”

“Wait, what was that?” Dib asked as he watched the two aliens scramble to scribble down the symbols on the screen. “Was that guy speaking Irken? What did they say?”

“Yes,” Zim answered. “And those are coordinates to the next place we need to go.”

“You mean, I need to go,” Tak cut in. “I’m the one who uncovered the conspiracy, remember?”

Zim scowled and stomped up to her, getting in her face. “You made this my problem when you crashed at my house, drank all my gingzor, and got my base cubified.”

“Why would I ever team up with you?” she shot back.

“I’m every bit as Irken as you are,” Zim argued. “I deserve answers as much as you.”

“Will someone please tell me what that thing said?” Dib shouted. The two stopped their bickering long enough to cast him an icy stare.

“Well,” Dib growled impatiently. If these two thought they were going to force their way into his home, spill ginger ale on his couch, tell him about an intergalactic conspiracy, and not let him in on the details, they had another thing coming.

“This doesn’t concern you, human,” Zim snapped.

“You two waltzed in here expecting me to hide you form your creepy totalitarian government and let you use my lab. Unless you want me to throw you out on your ass…”

“Fine, fine,” Tak said, waving an arm dismissively. “That voice claimed to be Krislotch. He confirmed that he left the clues that lead me to discover the truth about the Control Brains. He also claims more information is waiting on a planet at those coordinates. I must go there next if I want to solve this mystery.”

“We must go there,” Zim but in.

“This is my conspiracy, Zim,” Tak growled, turning back to him. “If there are more answered waiting on that planet, I will be the one to find them.”

“Oh yeah?” he said with a smirk. “How you gonna get there? I’m the only one with a working ship.”

“Dib’s got a ship,” Gaz chimed in. She turned to Tak. “Actually, I think it’s your ship.”

“You!” Before Dib could say anything, Tak had already jumped on the coffee table and grabbed his collar. “You have my ship?!”

“Uhh…”

“Take me to her!”

[-]

“wha-wha…WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

They group stood in the garage and stared at the collection of barely-held-together parts, also known as Tak’s ship. Dib had to admit, his last few forays into space hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing.

“It doesn’t look like this all the time,” he tried explaining. “I’ve gotten it to work. But, you know, sometimes things happen… and when they happen, I have to convince the ship to let me fix it again.”

“And why is she blue?”

“Um… I like blue?”

“Stupid human!” Tak spat, rushing up to her ship. “You have no idea what you’ve been toying with!”

“Fine,” Dib grumbled under his breath. “Only repaired it multiple times of the last six years but whatever…”

“Ship,” Tak commanded, laying a hand on the ship’s windshield. “Respond.”

“Biosignature detected,” the ship said as it began to light up. “You are Tak.”

“Yes, yes, ship! It’s me!” she cried. Dib could almost swear there were tears in her eyes.

“Hmpf, what took you so long?”

Tak looked taken aback. “I was, uh, had a lot going on, you know? Schemes and such?”

“And you never once thought to check in on your ship?”

“When I have to eject, I thought I’d lost you forever,” Tak explained, pressing both hands on the windshield. “I never wanted to leave you behind, but I’m here now. I can take you back.”

“Hey, wait a minute…” Dib protested. He started forward, but Gaz pulled him back.

“It’s her ship, dummy.”

“And how exactly did you get here?” Ship went on.

Tak hesitated. “Well, I…”

“I knew it,” Ship huffed. “You have a new ship now, don’t you?”

“It’s not like that,” Tak insisted. “Yes, I needed a new ship to get around, but I swear, it was a simple matter of transport. That ship means nothing to me. I would trade every other ship in the universe for you.”

The ship went quiet, as if thinking it over. Dib found himself oddly captivated, like when he’d accidently get sucked into his grandmother’s soap operas. He quickly shook himself out of it. This is ridiculous. She’s talking to a ship.

“I don’t know what to believe,” Ship finally said.

“I promise, Ship, I will fix you myself and, after that, I will never even look at another ship again.” She gently caressed its side and the engines purred.

“I will allow you to repair me, for now. After that, perhaps I can allow you to pilot me again, in time.”

Tak smiled and continued to pet her ship while it continued to purr. The scene was almost sweet until Zim decided to break it up.

“Well, well, well,” Zim said, a smug smile on his face, “looks like I’m the only one here with an operational ship.”

Tak only hissed in response.

“So, I guess I’ll be taking those coordinates and be on my way,” he continued, “unless someone wants to grovel for the chance to accompany me.”

Tak stomped up to Zim and unleashed a cavalcade of Irken at him. Dib wasn’t sure what she said, but if cricket/bat/snake could cuss someone out, he imagined it’d sound something like that.

“Okay,” Zim squeaked out, looking up at Tak who now towered over him. “I suppose I could let you come, but only because you asked so nicely.”

“I’m coming too,” Dib declared.

Tak and Zim both turned to him with questioning looks on their faces. “Uh, what?” Zim said.

“I’m coming. I want to see what’s on that planet, too.”

“This doesn’t concern you, human,” Tak spat.

“Excuse me? Who’s house are you two crashing at? Who’s ancient computer did you use to get those coordinates? And who’s been keeping your ship running while you’ve been got?”

“We don’t need-” Zim started, but Dib cut him off.

“Yes you do,” he shot back. “You need my lab to get your base working again. You said so yourself. And Tak, you need my garage and my tools if you’re going to fix your ship. If you want to stay here and use my equipment, to fix your stuff, you need to let me in on the conspiracy.”

The two Irkens looked at each other intently, as if holding a telepathic conversation. Dib briefly wondered if they could communicate semi-telepathically, or at least through pheromones. They did have antenna after all.

Finally, they broke their stare down and turned back to Dib. “Fine, the Dib can come,” Zim conceded.

Dib felt a jolt of excitement jump through his body. “Yeah, Gaz and I-”

“Nope,” Gaz said, turning on her heals and heading back inside.

Okay, so no Gaz. Aw well, he could at least count on her to cover for him while he’s gone. “I will get my space travel equipment and be ready to leave within the hour.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” Zim said, and he and Tak headed back inside as well. Dib went further into the garage and began preparing the things he’s need for the trip.

“You’re seriously going to let him come along?” Tak asked as they walked away.

“Eh,” Zim said with a shrug. “If the Dib-worm wants to come to a dead planet where total species-wide genocide took place, let him.”

Dib let the helmet he’d been holding clang to the floor. “Wait, what?”

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years ago

Text

21st Century Friction

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: T Word count: 10,817 @spideychelleweek

Spideychelle Week Day 6: Enemies to Lovers

Summary: Peter needs an arts credit to graduate, but he didn't mean to pick the course that even the English majors avoid! Luckily, he has the help of Michelle Jones, the tutor Tony hired for him. Unluckily, she just overheard him insulting her entire academic discipline. They're not breaking off the arrangement―Peter's determined to do well in this stupid English course to keep his average up and Michelle won't let his bad attitude stand in the way of a cheque from Tony Stark.

With one tempestuous meeting down, they only have two semesters and twenty-five books to go.

Peter’s in big trouble―huge―and Mr. Stark did tell him that if he’s ever in trouble he should ask for help, so he calls, looking for help, and gets nobody, so he calls again and gets Happy, who hangs up once Peter makes him understand that, no, this isn’t about somebody trying to kick his Spidey-suit ass but about him trying to pick a new class (Happy’s next to some freaky machine at the time and it makes the cell reception wonky), but who finally listens all the way to the end on the seventeenth time Peter manages to get through to him without having his call dropped, and then Mr. Stark is told about it and though Peter isn’t immediately apprised of the solution to his own problem for some reason, he’s informed that cash has been flashed and that the solution will, inevitably, be attained.

Until then, Peter begins the first week of his third year of college and shows up to the labs and lectures of every class on his schedule, including English 1034: 21st Century Literature from A to Z.

AGUALUSA, José Eduardo ― A General Theory of Oblivion

“A tutor?” Peter hisses into his phone, pacing the tight corridor of the library’s fourth-floor stacks. “How is his solution to get me a tutor? I don’t need a tutor! I’m smart, Happy, remember? What did I want instead? Well, I don’t know! I have to keep all my core classes for my major, but maybe he could’ve made them give me credit for taking something online from another college? I’m not screwing up my schedule for English lit. I don’t even know why I gotta take this! I know how to read, you know? I’m just―”

Oh sure, he heard the other person enter the aisle, but he assumed it was to grab a book, so the noise of annoyance that leaves his mouth when his phone is snatched from his hand and his call ended is absolutely genuine.

“’Sup,” says the person, who’s a woman his age, who’s handing his phone back with a lazy gesture, who’s apparently entirely cool, casual, and unapologetic about unceremoniously hanging up on Happy for him. “You gotta take English lit because it sounds as though your vocabulary needs it and, hi, I’m Michelle. Your tutor.”

She mumbles an indelicate string of words after that as she turns and walks away from him out of the stacks and Peter picks up ‘entitled asshole’ even though he isn’t trying to listen, just follow her and set this thing straight.

“Uh, no, you’re not,” he assures her, alarmed when the place he’s trailing her to turns out to be a table where her stuff is waiting―open notebook, two different coloured pens, a copy of the syllabus for English 1034. No, no, no!

“Well, I can’t guarantee you’ll actually learn anything since you seem to have a combination of a pretty thick skull and an overinflated ego, but I’ll hold up my end of the deal. Let me guess, Business major?”

“Bio,” Peter grits out, grasping the back of the chair intended for him as this Michelle person slides neatly into hers, like the library’s her living room because she lives here. Fine. He’s happy for it to stay that way. He has access to all the books he needs in the sciences library on the other side of campus.

“Well, my condolences to the parts of your brain which, in most people, would produce non-literal comprehension and creative thought. But I’m sure you know the names for those, don’t you, Science Guy? Ok, quit making that face and let’s go over your syllabus.”

She doesn’t look up the entire time she speaks and Peter has never heard a person sound so pretentious in real life.

“Are you kidding me? No. Even if I wanted or needed to be tutored, it wouldn’t be by you. You grabbed my phone out of my hand!”

“Yeah,” Michelle agrees, meeting his eye with something firm in her own, “and you were talking on it in one of the library’s Quiet Zones. I’m not here to give you a lesson on Comparative Ignorance.”

“What makes you think you can just do that?” Peter demands. He feels sort of ridiculous and like he’s simultaneously taking the argument a step too far and a step not-far-enough; he’s not usually like this, but then, other people aren’t usually like that.

“The fact that I was paid in advance.”

She nods towards the chair and Peter doesn’t know why he does it, but he sits, still mad.

“Stark paid you to tutor me,” he states.

“Boy, are you struggling with the concept of exchanging currency for services too? Maybe there’s a basic Econ class you could still get into.”

“Why you?”

“Why you?” Michelle counters. “Why can’t smarty-pants, Stark-patroned Peter Parker just suck it up and get through a single English credit? Seriously, why not, since you seem to think it’s just reading and therefore easy. Why not just bribe the college to hand you the credit? You want me to tell you where the Financial Office is? I could show you because, ok, about me now, I’m here on scholarship because I couldn’t find a benevolent billionaire to smooth my path for me.” She straightens up in her chair, eyes practically volcanic with heat. “And here’s another why me for you: because I love what I study, I think literature has worth and beauty, and, oh right, I have the highest grade point average in the entire School of Arts and Humanities.”

Peter’s so floored for a minute that he forgets why he’s angry.

“It wouldn’t be right,” he finally says, trying to at least regain the moral high ground after her offhand suggestion of bribery. “Buying a credit. It wouldn’t be right.”

“So… instead you demean the entire discipline, like that’s going to help you.”

He scoffs.

“It’d help me more than you would.”

“Helping you is why I’m here.”

“You sound thrilled about it.”

“Hard not to be when I have the honour of tutoring the Spider-Man,” she says, matching his sarcasm.

Ugh, he hates that she brought that up. By his third year, he’s become less of a novelty in the halls―these days, people get more excited about a sighting of the local gopher who lives in a hole near the Astronomy building―and having it thrown in his face like this is even more uncomfortable than requests for selfies. Or the few mortifying pleas for his autograph. They’re locked in a mutually-irritated glare, which Peter breaks with a groan and a roll of his eyes.

“I didn’t want to be in this class,” he admits.

“And yet the online course selection process is so very hard to fuck up. Thus, you did in fact choose this class. Unless… does Tony Stark pick your classes for you?”

Peter ignores that. He can’t both fume and be cooperative enough to get her help, which he’s starting to think he might need. Maybe she can give him some kind of insider English department knowledge that will rid him of English 1034.

“It is an interesting choice,” Michelle continues carefully. Is she smirking at him? He can’t quite tell.

“I didn’t read the description.”

“What did you expect ‘20th Century Literature from A to Z’ to be?”

She’s mocking him, but Peter feels like his mistake in taking this particular class is an easy one to make. He has plenty of reasons to back him up.

“It’s a first-year level English course, it’s non-essay, and ‘A to Z’ made it sound like an overview,” he lists confidently.

“In case you don’t already know or suspect this, nobody who’s actually in the English program takes it.”

Michelle’s tone is extraordinarily smug.

“I thought you guys loved to read,” Peter says accusingly, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“Not a novel every week for two semesters! Dude, you picked a course with twenty-six required texts. ‘A to Z’ is for the alphabetical order of the authors’ last names.”

“I know that now,” he grumbles, eyeing the booklist Michelle has neatly aligned next to the syllabus on their study table. “And now all the other full-year non-essay English classes are full, so I can’t drop this one because there’s nothing to pick up in its place.”

“That’s an insanely stupid mistake.”

“Noted.”

“Ok, if you’re ready to move on, what were your thoughts on Agualusa?”

“You still want to tutor me?”

She looks at him like he’s truly the uncomprehending, unimaginative Bio-dunce she described.

“There are few things I want less than I want this. The only possible enjoyment here is getting to meet one of the unsuspecting idiots who signed up for that class, and even that doesn’t cancel out the way you belittled my area of study and those who study it. So.” Michelle extends a hand and, when Peter realizes what she wants, accepts his panic-purchased copy of A General Theory of Oblivion. “Time to prove you can read.”

BEATTY, Paul ― The Sellout

“I see you found the place,” Michelle greets without looking up from what she’s reading (which is the book for his course).

Peter attempts to glance around without being obvious about it.

“It’s the same table we sat at last time,” he says, mostly certain.

“I know.” She looks up. “I just thought you might get lost in unfamiliar territory. Had you ever been in here before last week?”

He laughs bitterly as he slings his backpack off and lets it slam into the leg of the table, making Michelle frown.

“Yeah, I had.” Once. When he toured the college with May before applying to undergrad. “Don’t be so gatekeeper-y. These books aren’t just for English majors.”

“Oh, so you avail yourself of them often for pleasure reading? Sorry, sorry,” she adds quickly and something inside Peter eases at the hope of an apology, “I forgot I was talking to the guy who signed up for the most reading-heavy class the English department offers. Of course you must love to read.”

“I just want to get my mandatory arts credit to graduate.”

The motive should be obvious, Peter thinks, but maybe she’ll take pity on him because he’s offering an explanation.

“You’ve already successfully postponed it your first two years. Why not push it to next year when you can take a lighter class?”

“There are a lot of required fourth-year courses for my major. I don’t have room for anything that isn’t impor―”

He cuts himself off, but Michelle looks pissed. What? It’s the truth! If he thought English was more important than Biology, he would’ve studied English!

“You’re trying to get me to wait for an easier class and you told me I shouldn’t assume English was easy,” he accuses.

“It’s not! I didn’t say an easier class, I said a lighter one. You know, with fewer books to read. English ten-thirty-four is an easy class.”

“Yeah right!”

“Really, Peter?” He’s startled to hear his name leave her mouth. “Exactly how deep were you expecting the analysis to go when you only spend a week on each book? That’s a Monday and Wednesday course, right? So you’re only actually discussing the book for three hours. A bunch of your assigned texts are over four hundred pages, which means covering around one hundred and thirty-three pages every hour of discussion, or a little over two pages every minute. And that’s just content. If you were actually digging into any of these books, you’d discuss themes, historical context of the subject matter, intertextual influence…”

“You’re pretty good at math,” he says wryly. “I bet you could have majored in that instead.”

“I could’ve majored in anything, but I chose a subject that actually has a soul.”

“It’s cute that you’re so noble about it,” Peter says, feeling like an honest-to-Thor asshole because he’s never disparaged anyone or anything by calling them or it ‘cute’ before, “considering the current arrangement.”

She gives him a harsh look before finally asking, “What do you mean?”

“You’re studying something so intellectual and culturally important or whatever and looking down at people in Business and the sciences. Lots of us love what we’re majoring in and some of us are in it for a career with a good salary. I’m just worried you’re being a bit of a hypocrite. How superior can you feel when you’re peddling your English-major wisdom for a paycheque from Tony Stark?”

Michelle can’t really murder him―his reflexes are too fast, his body too durable, and the most dangerous thing she appears to have at her disposal is a blue ballpoint pen―but she kinda looks like she might give it a try. Ok, so undercutting her integrity in a vengeful rant was probably beneath him. She was being such a snob though!

Finally, her expression relaxes and she uncaps her pen (Peter flinches), poising it over the page where, last week, she composed him a strong set of notes as they attempted a rocky discussion of the book.

“How much did you get read?”

CHOI, Mary H.K. ― Permanent Record

Peter sits and nods at Michelle when she looks up.

“We’re past the add/drop date,” he announces. “Guess I’m officially in English ten-thirty-four for the rest of the year.”

“And when you graduate, it’ll be right there on your transcript, smuggled through in between the important courses. Even if you can’t hack it and fail the class,” she concludes with a small, scornful smile.

“As far as I know, you’re being paid too much to let me fail.”

It feels like a gross powerplay the second he’s said it. If they’re really going to do this, he needs to start taking the meanspirited way that she roots against him in stride. Does he think about finding a different tutor every time she makes a sly comment like that? Sure, but he’s stubborn enough about maintaining a strong average to recognize the value of learning from the best student in the program.

“So…” he says after a minute, watching Michelle flip through his book to find where he’s marked the passages examined in class. “We never really agreed to it out loud, but I guess this is our standing place and time to do this?”

“Yeah, there’s a clipboard where you sign up to reserve a specific table. I put our names down for every Thursday for the rest of the year.”

“Really?”

“No, numbskull,” Michelle informs him lightly. “You can’t reserve a table, only the study rooms. I knew you didn’t know how the library worked.”

“How ‘bout, instead of that, we talk about the demands of fame.”

“Oh? Are you trying to open up to me?” She taps the end of her pen hard and fast against the table as though to emphasize this is something she doesn’t have time for.

“No. I did my assigned reading.”

He reaches out and grabs his book, dragging it back across the table.

DAY, Kate Hope ― If, Then

“I kept waiting for it to get good. Why didn’t it get good?” he asks, spinning the book on their table, then trapping it under his palm.

“Patience, spider-brain,” Michelle instructs. “It is good. It’s suspenseful and subtle and atmospheric and it’s no wonder those things went right over your head. Weren’t you at least interested in Ginny? She’s a surgeon.”

“So?”

“So, you’re in Biology. Don’t you want to be a doctor or something?”

“I don’t know yet,” Peter says with a shrug. Man, is she going to start bugging him about figuring out his career path? He has May for that. “Do you know what you want to be?”

“A tutor,” she responds flatly.

He’d smile if they were friends because she’s apparently hilarious.

“It takes some time to build if the part you’re most interested in is the sci-fi stuff,” Michelle concedes. “Did you read it to the end?”

“I didn’t have time. I had to start the next book early because I have a big lab assignment next week.” He sighs and lets his head fall into his hand just thinking about it.

She frowns and looks down, so he can only assume she disapproves of his priorities or his poor time management or something.

But then she mumbles, “You should try audiobooks.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, because that’s actually a great idea. He can listen on his way to campus in the mornings and he won’t have to carry the book on the days he doesn’t have that class. It’ll mean buying an audio copy of everything he already purchased, but he’ll still use the hard copies most of the time, and it’s not like Mr. Stark’s going to begrudge him another hundred bucks. Plus, almost all of the books for this course are novels, so it won’t even feel like doing homework!

In the midst of excitedly thinking over how much time he’ll have if he takes her advice, he glances at Michelle. She’s ignoring him.

ENDICOTT, Marina ― Good to a Fault

It’s the first week of October and Peter thinks he has the hang of this being-an-English-student thing. He read-slash-listened-to the whole book this week and even though the next two weeks’ novels are a couple of the longest in the entire course, he’s undaunted. When he gets to the library and finds Michelle―the classes they have right before this tutoring session end at the same time, but she always beats him here―he brags about being totally on top of his reading. She’s possibly starting to smile at him when he says, “I’m getting good at this. You want any tips?”

“God, Peter!” she blurts. “This is the third year of my major! Try to have some fucking respect!”

He holds up his hands placatingly. Once his books are out, Peter starts watching her and notices a syllabus at her elbow that isn’t for English 1034. Aggressively highlighted in green is tomorrow’s date and ‘MIDTERM.’ His don’t start for another week. He never consciously realized that Humanities students had midterm stress too. Michelle must be taking more than one English class right now, plus whatever else fills up her schedule. Jeeze, that’s a lot of reading, and she’s reading enough of his books to help him on top of doing her own shit. Peter winces and keeps his mouth shut until she’s ready to begin.

FLYNN, Gillian ― Gone Girl

They’re in the thick of midterms and having a particularly grouchy (on both sides) tutoring session.

“Quit writing a bunch of nothing,” Michelle criticizes, like that’s somehow useful feedback.

“I’m getting to my point!” Peter complains.

“They’re long answer questions, not essays. You won’t get any pity marks for filler like you do in a Bio exam.”

“They don’t give marks for filler in Bio exams!”

“Well then where did you learn to answer questions like this?” she snaps. “Do you want to start this one over or try another one?”

They glare at each other for several sluggish moments.

“I’ll start over,” Peter decides, meeting her challenging look with his own.

“Fine.”

This time, Michelle not only passes him the question she came up with but also rips a piece of paper out of her notebook, tears it into thirds, and hands him one of those as well.

“One-sided,” she instructs.

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Be concise.”

“If you took your own advice, I’d be able to write in silence right now instead of being distracted by the sound of you talking!”

In what seems like a blink as Peter looks up from his paper and tightly-gripped pencil in confusion, Michelle has her bag packed and shoves back from the table.

“Help me study!” he yells after her in desperation.

“Earn it with something more than money,” she calls back, flipping him off over her shoulder.

GO, Justin ― The Steady Running of the Hour

Groveling wouldn’t be well-received, Peter thinks. Instead, he brings Michelle an iced coffee as an apology for being a dick last week when he was freaking out over midterms. They’re experiencing a final flare of summer weather and it seems like a practical offering as well as a symbolic gesture. Unfortunately, the man at the front desk makes Peter toss the coffee before he’s allowed in because of a No Food and Drink policy. He feels really awkward about it and distinctly emptyhanded when he approaches Michelle at their usual table.

When it’s clear that she’s not focused on anything else, Peter spills the story and does end up saying, “I’m sorry” out loud. She likes one of those things enough to smile at him―not a big one, but not a sarcastic one either―and he exhales in relief.

“I really appreciate that you’re doing this,” he adds during a lull when they’re looking over the notes he made in class, trying to decipher his professor’s analysis of a certain passage.

He studies Michelle’s downturned face until she looks up and meets his eye.

“When do you get your midterm results?”

“Not for a couple of weeks. The prof doesn’t seem like he’s in any rush.”

“Are you worried about how you did?” she asks, propping her chin up with her fist. It makes her mouth slope into a playful pout and he follows the line of it with his eye for a second.

“Kinda.”

Michelle shakes her head.

“You shouldn’t be. You’re working hard. I know you passed.”

It’s the first session that they don’t fight. Feels good.

HAM, Rosalie ― The Dressmaker

“Holy shit,” he breathes when Michelle enters. “What is that?”

The day has finally come that he beats her to the library, which is the first shock, but this is an entirely separate and far less expected thing.

“It’s Halloween,” she states. As though it’s no big deal that she just walked in here wearing a silky-looking, floor-length, emerald green gown. Well, he assumes it’s a gown and not a skirt that sits really high on her waist, but he can’t see the entire thing; she’s wearing a cropped hoodie over top. The juxtaposition makes him grin.

“Where did you get that?”

“I made it.” Just as Peter’s mouth is dropping open, she huffs a laugh and says, “Of course I didn’t. It was my grandma’s. The style’s not totally right, but I thought the colour was a pretty good match.”

“Right,” he agrees as she swishes over and sits, cautiously smoothing the dress as she does so. “Because you’re obviously supposed to be…”

Michelle rolls her eyes as she takes the opportunity for illuminating him.

“Cecilia Tallis. From Atonement,” she prompts. “Keira Knightley played her.”

“Oh, ok, yeah. I think I saw part of that one time when my aunt May was watching it.”

“It was a book first,” Michelle teasingly informs him.

“I know you’ll be amazed to hear that I haven’t read it.”

“So amazed.”

“You look good in green,” Peter throws out there while she’s still looking at him.

“Don’t be weird about it, Parker.”

He totally sees her smiling to herself when they turn to their books and wonders if they’re friends yet.

ISRAEL, Lee ― Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Nope, nope, nope, they’re definitely not friends yet! After their revision session last week, Peter thought more about his and Michelle’s potential friendship, then started to feel weird about the fact that he’s paying her―or that Mr. Stark is, on his behalf. It’s been rare lately that both he and Mr. Stark aren’t busy at the same time, but with Peter’s midterms over and a new month beginning, Tony worked out a time for them to speak in person. Peter might have got rambling a little under the heady influence of his mentor’s full attention and maybe some things came across incorrectly. It wasn’t a meeting though, and he definitely didn’t know that decisions were being made!

“I thought you were finding this helpful!” Michelle says.

“I am,” he insists. “I left Mr. Stark a message. I’m gonna set it straight!”

“Oh, like you set it straight over the weekend? He fired me as your tutor!”

“I didn’t know he was doing that!”

“What did you say to him?” she demands.

Fuck, this is going to be embarrassing to say face-to-face. Peter glances at their table―where they didn’t sit down, due to this accidental termination―and feels himself get all overheated and shifty.

“That I felt weird about paying you.”

“Because English is so worthless you should be able to learn about it for free? Yeah, I guess you could’ve made the internet your tutor, but it’s a full two months too late for that!”

“Dammit!” Peter says, frustrated. “No! Because I thought maybe you and I were friends now because it seemed like maybe we were and I’d definitely like us to be friends, but I didn’t want you to feel obligated to be nice to me as a friend or anything more than a tutor just because you’re being paid. Do you want to be friends with me?” he summarizes bluntly.

“Yes.”

He frowns in confusion.

“Really?”

Michelle’s eyes dart to the side, then zip back to his face.

“…Isn’t that what you want? I think that’s literally what you just told me you want.”

“And the money thing?”

“Yeah, you’re definitely going to fix that as soon as we’re done today. My time and expertise are valuable as hell and I’m super willing to take Tony Stark’s money.” She gives him a weird look. “My friendship is not for sale.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to assume―”

“I mean, I don’t know how people make friends over there in Biology, but―”

“Ok, that’s far enough,” he says, laughing when she smirks to admit she was kidding.

“I guess you better start calling me MJ too,” she says, taking her usual seat.

“If I had any extra names you didn’t know, I’d totally let you use one in exchange.”

She shrugs easily and picks up this week’s novel when he places it on the table within her reach.

“Speaking of people using other names…” MJ says as she taps the cover. “Ready to talk about a famous forger?”

“Smooth transition.”

“Thanks… pal?”

“No,” Peter says to ‘pal,’ making a face.

“No,” she agrees. “I’ll just have to remember that we’re friends now without a new name to remind me.”

“You’re officially my meanest friend,” he jokes.

MJ snorts.

“Peter, with all the time we’re spending together this year, I’m gonna be your best friend.”

JOHNSON, Adam ― Fortune Smiles

“Seventy-three!” Peter cries out when he strides into the library that Thursday. Desk Man shoots him a look and Peter mouths, “Sorry.” But if that guy’s annoyance with Peter is on the rise, so is the strength of his friendship with MJ.

“Seventy-three?” she repeats excitedly, then pauses, seemingly waiting for him to say more.

He understands. For her, getting a 73 on an English exam would probably be a blow to her average and something she’d struggle to course correct from on the final. He’d feel the same about receiving that grade in one of the classes that make up his major. But for his first college English exam? A discipline that’s forcing him to learn a completely different type of material and regurgitate that knowledge on an exam that’s neither practical nor multiple choice? It’s huge. He beams to let MJ know he hasn’t come to complain about her ineffective tutoring. Totally the opposite.

“That’s great,” MJ says. She rises from her chair because Peter’s too hyper―even a full day after getting his mark―to sit down yet.

“Yeah?”

“I told you you’d do fine,” she reminds him.

Then she goes to shove his arm and Peter misinterprets it, pulling her in to finish what he thought was the beginning of a hug. Just as he’s realizing and loosening his arms from around her, MJ’s hands come up and squeeze his back once, ending in a few reassuring pats. They break out of it, holding each other at arm’s length and she gives him a firm nod in conclusion. Peter laughs awkwardly. After that, they re-establish their usual rhythm.

“So, the first short story collection on your booklist,” she says as she sits. Rather than taking his regular spot across from her, he drags the chair around the circular table so they’re side by side. MJ watches him without protest.

“These are the first short stories I’ve read,” he tells her.

“What did you think?”

“I like it. It’s nice how it breaks the book into chunks. Makes it seem shorter maybe?”

“Definitely.”

Weirdly, their opinions about the book and what his prof wants him to learn from it continue to closely align. Of course, they don’t get through everything because, after about 15 minutes, MJ asks if he brought his midterm with him. He yanks it free of his backpack and they spend the rest of their time going over it. With a 73, Peter expects a lot of the review to be criticism (of the constructive variety) and notes on what he should’ve done better or different. Instead, it’s MJ gasping (quietly but happily) every time she finds a place where he mentioned something they went over together. He watches her eyes scan over where he described If, Then as ‘suspenseful, subtle, and atmospheric’ before going further into his comparison between that novel and Gone Girl. She catches his eye, her expressions changing like a shuffling card deck. Peter sees impressed come up, then pleased, then a third, unfamiliar thing that’s gone when MJ flips his exam to the next page.

KOCH, Herman ― The Dinner

“How is this book so horrific and so good?” Peter asks wonderingly.

They were going over his class notes until the notes referred to a page number of the novel. When he couldn’t remember what happened there, they looked it up. It was just supposed to be a refresher, but it turned into them reading nine pages―waiting for each other before flipping when their reading speeds raced, constantly slipping out of and regaining first place.

“It’s giving me rage-hunger,” MJ said.

“Rage-hunger?”

“Yeah, you know, when you’re incensed about something to the point that you start getting really hungry? Happens to me at protests.”

“Listen,” Peter says, dropping his voice to a compelling whisper. “I have pretzels.”

“Here?”

He nods.

“Do we risk it?”

“Yes,” she insists.

While she keeps watch, glancing around, Peter grasps the edge of the pretzel bag in his backpack. His expression feels pretty constipated as he struggles to open the bag soundlessly, but it’s worth the effort when he feels it give. Furtively, they sneak pretzels from his bag―balanced between their legs under the table―up to their mouths, attempting to chew as silently as possible and speaking in a soft slur with pretzels distending their cheeks.

LINK, Kelly ― Get in Trouble

Yeah, so, after being caught with mouths full of pretzels, they’re slightly afraid to immediately return to the library. Instead of meeting there on Thursday to go over all of Peter’s notes at once, he and MJ snatch time all week long. It’s another collection of short stories this week, so they go over the first one before he even attends his Monday English 1034 lecture, meaning he’s super prepared to participate for once, after running his thoughts by his tutor in advance. The next time, they do story number two, plus his class notes, then continue meeting when they can.

Peter hesitates before asking if she still wants to get together at their regular hour on Thursday. What if she feels like she’s given him enough of her time this week? What if she made other plans? But when he does ask, she’s surprised that he ever considered them not having their scheduled session. He’s not entirely sure why he was so scared she’d say no. That was silly. Although they both acknowledged that they’re friends, he thinks they’re finally starting to act like it.

So they meet on Thursday. And then they meet on Friday too. They say it’s for tutoring and keep Peter’s copy of Get in Trouble between them on the table of the student community centre, but they don’t open it. MJ trades him a bite of her pizza slice for some of his fries. He laughs hard when she gets ketchup on her lip, then swallows the sound down as she licks it off.

“Did I get it?”

“Um, yeah,” Peter replies, stupefied.

MOYES, Jojo ― Me Before You

“Well,” he says, retyping his notes to add MJ’s insights, “here’s another one where I can count watching a movie as part of studying.” Peter keeps typing for a minute, but she doesn’t respond, so while his eyes remain on the screen he asks, “Are you judging me? I promise I’m still going to read the rest of the book.”

Finished, he looks over to see MJ staring intently at the open novel. Peter concentrates on the book first―she’s right near the end―then on his friend’s face. Is she…?

“Are you crying?” he asks softly, leaning towards her.

He thought she might hide her reaction, but she raises her head and sniffs as tears pour down her cheeks. She’s so naked with emotion that Peter shudders.

“Maybe,” she says, making them both laugh, hers a bubbling noise from the wetness in her throat. “But ignore this. I said I wouldn’t spoil the ending for you.”

“Obviously, nothing dramatic happens,” Peter sarcastically infers. “You cry all the time. I have zero reason to think it has anything to do with Me Before You.”

Smiling, she finally wipes the last of her tears away with the sleeve of her cardigan.

“I still have a little bit left to read.”

“Borrow it,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I can listen to the audiobook for a while, or you can just keep it overnight and we’ll hang out tomorrow and I’ll get it back from you. Unless you think you’d need longer.”

MJ rolls her eyes at him.

“Please. I eat Jojo Moyeses for breakfast. I’ll probably finish it during the break in my next class.”

“So, you wouldn’t even need it overnight then,” he says, trying to be sly. She lets out a laugh.

“You want to read it so badly, don’t you?”

“Maybe I just don’t like lending out my books.”

“Liar. I bet you’re going to read the rest all in one sitting.” MJ smirks and stands the book on the table like both she and it are taunting him. “Don’t you need to prioritize your other courses, Peter? What about Biology?”

“Offer revoked,” he tells her, making to take the book back. She doesn’t let him, holding it up and away from him.

“Are you going to spend all night reading for pleasure instead of doing your science homework? Shame on you, Peter. What about your future?”

He stands too quickly in his attempt to grab the book, startling MJ, who rocks back in her chair a little too far. But it can’t tip faster than his reflexes can react; Peter instinctively grabs her around the waist and pulls her against him as the chair topples and the paperback hits the ground with a soft thump. They haven’t been this close since they hugged after his midterm results. He opens and closes his mouth without saying anything, fingers shifting against MJ’s back as she gets her balance. Seems to take her longer than it should, but he won’t let go before she’s ready. Which’ll be any second now, he’s sure. She’s flushed, eyes roaming his face. Probably about to tell him she can stand all on her fucking own.

Any second now.

NG, Celeste ― Everything I Never Told You

It’s the second week in December and their final tutoring session of the semester. Exams start tomorrow, though the one for English 1034 isn’t until the 21st. Peter should be psyched―after this exam, he’s halfway done the course―and yet his shoulders carry some heaviness into the library, along with big, wet snowflakes. He perks up at the sight of MJ, then grows subdued just as fast. They’ve become the kind of friends who meet during the week, always at school, usually with at least the pretense of studying. She’s never been to the apartment he shares with three roommates; he has no idea where she lives. Their most secure connection is a list of 26 books and after today’s session, 14 of those will already be behind them. Theoretically, they’re committed to spending another semester together (unless the world ends via hostile alien takeover, or Mr. Stark fires MJ again and she agrees to it for some reason). What happens after that?

Peter doesn’t like the way winter break looks like a preview for the end of the school year in April. He’s sure that’ll come up quick after the new year because second semester always feels shorter than first. Will they be close enough by then to make plans for hanging out over the summer? He knows MJ’s from here, but not if she’ll be around. And what about next year? He won’t be studying English. Are they gonna see each other on campus or both be too busy with their final year of undergrad―keeping up grades and searching for their first job opportunities right out of college? And then? Will one or both of them move away for work or grad school, or just to find a cheaper place to live while they’re starting out? Seriously, they could be faint memories to each other in under five years.

He's weighed down with all of this as he flops into his seat at their table.

“Do you think you’re ready?” MJ asks just before she glances up.

“What?” Peter replies, devastated.

“For your exam.” She meets his eye and her expression collapses inward a little as she assesses his mood. “What’s wrong?”

He looks at her face. It’s easy to admit to himself that her eyes are more trusting than they used to be when they stared back into his, and he has to allow that she’s more trusting too. Same with him. They’ve smoothed each other out, rounded off each other’s bluntest angles. Peter has no desire for them to ever have another shouting match like they did during the early weeks of this arrangement. In fact, his ideal dynamic for them would be the complete opposite.

“I guess I’m… worried.”

“We should get together next week.”

“That would be great,” he tells her with eager relief.

Wow, what would they do? Grab lunch? Dinner? Hot chocolates and ice skating at Rockefeller Center? A movie at his place? All of his roommates have early or no exams (lucky bastards) and plans to head home for the holidays right after, leaving him alone in the apartment.

“This is a late exam,” MJ says, doublechecking the date in her planner, which includes all of his deadlines (in red ink) alongside hers (in blue), “but the library’s open practically every day but Christmas.”

Oh. She means get together here. Of course. He didn’t really make it clear that the exam isn’t what he’s worried about, or at least it’s not the main thing.

“Well,” Peter says, “consistency.”

“What’s up with you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes are him, apparently not satisfied since he does still sound kinda bereft.

Retrieving his novel and his laptop, he says, “Nothing,” and thinks, I was just wishing we were more than friends.

OZEKI, Ruth ― A Tale for the Time Being

They hang out once before his exam, when MJ helps Peter with prep, and once after, when he’s getting a jump on his reading for semester two. The second time, totally by accident, she meets May.

MJ’s at his apartment for the first time and the two out of three of his roommates who’ve already returned are being loud enough that Peter can’t forget their existence the way he wants to (just for right now) and ignore everything in the world that isn’t his tutor/friend/person he’s been pining for every spare second since they’ve been apart. Two weeks is too long. They’re finally taking an honest crack at the novel he’s been assigned for next week, the first week back at school, when there’s a knock at the door, followed by cheerful hollering from his roommates. Peter knows who it is even before he rises and sheepishly lets his aunt hand him everything he forgot at home when he packed; his roommates love May.

Though he told MJ she didn’t have to get up, she’s suddenly next to him at the door―he’s startled to feel her briefly lean against him―then being pulled into a hug by his aunt. When she leaves for a minute to go to the washroom, May drags Peter away from his roommates.

“Who was that?” she wonders, face lighting up with curiosity and premature excitement.

He feels himself turn red and itches at his cheek like he can scratch the flush out.

“Just a friend.”

His aunt raises her eyebrows doubtfully.

PALAHNIUK, Chuck ― Choke

After spending last Thursday giving A Tale for the Time Being the attention they should’ve the week before, they’re back on schedule with a new book. Sort of back on schedule. They start off discussing the novel, but when Peter runs one of his prof’s assertions about it past Google, he finds out Choke has a movie version. He and MJ glance at each other. Yeah, why not? It’s only their second week back on campus and they don’t have their full studying stamina back yet. They trek down to the film library in the basement to see if they have a copy.

Soon, they’re wearing bulky borrowed headphones, hunkered down at the corner computer in the viewing lab that’s kept in the dark, watching a film about a sex addict. They’re awkward at first, or maybe it’s just Peter, but eventually he relaxes, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. MJ shifts around next to him. She kicks her shoes off and brings her feet up off the floor. They’re tightly side by side to watch the same computer screen, so when she crosses her legs, her knee lands on his thigh. Peter stares at it for a minute in the screen’s glow, missing the movie. He lays his palm on top of the rough, cool denim, and MJ turns her head to see what’s up. Immediately, he moves to withdraw his hand from her knee, but she pats the back of it, giving him permission.

Heart thumping, Peter eases the headphones off one ear. The room’s completely quiet, apart from the way MJ exhales heavily through her nose as she settles into position for the rest of the film. He swallows. He should tell her, right now.

“Hey, MJ…” he starts.

But she doesn’t look, doesn’t turn. Can’t hear anything outside those fucking headphones. Weirdly, she does glance at him a few minutes later, unprompted. She reaches out and pauses the movie. He lifts his headphones off when she does, eyes drawn to how they mess up her hair.

“Did you say something?” MJ asks.

Now, now, now, Peter tells himself.

“Uh, no.” He gives her a tight smile and unpauses Choke.

QUICK, Matthew ― The Good Luck of Right Now

“You have other friends, right?” Peter wonders aloud as MJ reads over the short responses he’s composed for an online participation thing that his prof made worth a truly stupid 4% of his grade.

“A couple.”

She says it straight, unembarrassed. He understands her well enough to know she has no interest in tricking people into believing she’s more social or at all inclined towards networking. Those people, whoever they are, were lucky to have her let them in. Abruptly, Peter realizes he’s probably being counted among them. He grins to himself.

“Plus, like, class friends.”

“Sure,” he agrees.

He does the same thing―always attempts to figure out who seems nice so he can try to be paired with them for group projects or have someone to sit with if they have another class together in the future.

“Any other kind of friends?” Peter asks tentatively. MJ quits reading his laptop screen and side-eyes him. “Like a… like maybe a boyfriend?”

It’s probably a no. It has to be a no. Even with the length of time it took for them to talk about their personal lives, she would’ve mentioned a boyfriend by now. Wouldn’t she?

“I… a boyfriend? No, I… Why would I have…? Do you?”

Well, this is a surprise. He expected her to either answer straightforwardly or question if he ever listens to what she says. But she’s oddly flustered and inarticulate. And blushing, Peter notices, though she won’t let him hold her gaze.

“No,” he says, settling for the single syllable that’ll do the job.

MJ sort of nods, then directs his attention to the screen.

“Just a question, but has anyone ever taught you how to use basic punctuation? Jesus, Parker.”

As much as that comment’s much more in character, every one of his senses screams, ‘MISDIRECTION!’

ROWELL, Rainbow ― Fangirl

“Say nothing,” MJ instructs when they run into each other in front of the library, coming from opposite directions.

About what? Peter wants to ask, but he doesn’t say even that much because the look on her face is intense and because the wind is icy, slicing their faces with snow that’s more like sharp daggers. He bounds up the stairs next to her and straight inside when she jerks the door open with her mittened hand. All the way upstairs and to their table, he keeps wary eyes on her. He only looks away for a minute to set his backpack down and shrug out of his outer layers; the library’s kept almost stiflingly warm and dry. They pile their wet outerwear on one of the extra chairs, then MJ glares at him before he can sit. He stares back, baffled.

“Nothing,” she reminds him, and unzips her hoodie.

Does he look silly with the way his jaw drops? He can’t even care. She’s wearing a Spider-Man t-shirt.

“I―”

“No words. No sounds of any kind.”

So Peter grins in silence and retrieves the usual studying accessories from his backpack. Eventually, MJ groans out her admission.

“I forgot to do laundry.”

He continues to say nothing about the shirt, even when he is permitted to speak so they can discuss his reading. What he wants to say isn’t something she’d like―that he’s deduced from the laundry comment that this is an old shirt, not a recent buy. Meaning she’s had it since who knows how long before she ever met him. Meaning she’s a fan.

SENNA, Danzy ― New People

“How are you liking the course?” MJ asks him out of the blue. She’s tracing the curving shapes and purple letters on the cover of this week’s book with her fingertip.

Peter laughs.

“My prof’s never even asked us that.”

“That’s because profs don’t want honest answers. Only in essays, and even then, you have to pad them with all the shit the prof said in class in order to stroke their ego into giving you a good mark.”

“Cynical.”

She smiles dryly.

“Thank you. But really, how are you finding it?” She looks nervous about how he might answer.

“A lot of work,” he says honestly, “but it also feels like less work than my other courses.”

“Because it’s a fluff discipline compared to Biology?”

“Stop it, no, because you’re helping me. It feels like something I’m doing for fun.”

“Who are you?” MJ shakes her head, wearing a smug smile. “If the you from September could see you now. Oh, actually, that reminds me. Put your number in.”

She hands him the new phone she mentioned she’d be getting last weekend.

“What did you have me saved as in your old one?” he asks, adding his number to a new contact page. MJ takes the phone back before he can input his name.

“Oh, you don’t want to know.” He’s fairly certain she’s joking.

“Did it contain the word ‘dickhead’?”

She shrugs and slouches in her chair, phone held low and close. She finishes entering his information out of his line of sight.

“You’ll never know.”

Maybe not, Peter thinks, when MJ gets up a while later to refill her water bottle, but he can at least check what she has him under now. She left her phone out on the table, screen up, so he texts her an innocuous ‘testing, testing’ and watches for the new message to pop up.

Evidently, he’s in her phone as his normal name. His name, plus a heart. His real one’s suddenly beating very fast.

THIEN, Madeleine ― Do Not Say We Have Nothing

It’s almost Valentine’s Day and their college’s week-long study week, two compelling reasons for Peter to tell Michelle Jones―tutor, friend, precariously deepening crush―how he feels about her.

Before their tutoring session, he psyches himself up in the bathroom mirror, until other people walk in and he has to pretend to be coughing. He doesn’t really feel ready and their time together ends up being sort of a flurry anyway because part of the library’s being painted and there are fewer tables. With a ton of people on the cusp of more exams and big assignments due before the break, it takes Peter and MJ a while to find a table. Even after that, the paint smell gradually fills the air, forcing them to stop early.

God, and he didn’t say anything!

“We should meet up later,” he asserts firmly, at the same moment MJ says, “Try again tonight?”

“Yeah,” they say together.

Peter grins and she smiles back before quickly ducking her head. He bites his lip, restraining himself from catching her chin with his fingers and tilting it up.

“Ok then,” he says. “Ok. The library’ll probably still stink, so… my apartment?”

“Or my place,” MJ offers, slightly wide-eyed.

“Oh, yeah. That would be, that’d be good.”

“You can walk back with me, if you don’t mind waiting for my class.”

He doesn’t, and they do that, and as MJ’s unlocking the door to her apartment, he finds out two things: that she has a roommate and that her roommate’s staying the night at her boyfriend’s. Whatever, that doesn’t mean it’s going to be romantic or anything. They’re discussing art and politics during China’s calamitous Cultural Revolution. There’s no way MJ would even be thinking about… but then she leads him to the couch instead of the kitchen table. And she sits down next to him, letting their thighs touch. And his breathing just isn’t steady for the hangout that goes two hours before they even think to check the time. So many times, he has the feeling they’re one brush of their legs, one bump of their shoulders, one tuck of her hair with his fingers away from something more, but every chance seems to come and go while the tension stays.

Eventually, Peter gathers his stuff and lingers with her in the open doorway of her apartment. She’s leaning into the frame, smiling at him as he says a bunch of nothing, just to make the night last longer. He takes a breath. Ok, he’s gonna do it. He’ll tell her.

The next second, MJ’s pressing her mouth to his. Then, while he’s still dazed from the kiss, she pushes him out the door and says, “Um, see you after study week, Peter.”

URQUHART, Jane ― The Night Stages

What’s this mean? Peter wants to ask her, right after the kiss and for the whole study break. Except he’s in the city, doing Spidey-patrol and finishing the nearly-500 pages of Do Not Say We Have Nothing, and she’s in New Orleans, building affordable housing with a charity. When he texts her because he can’t resist asking how she is and what she’s working on that day, she always gets back to him, but there’s nothing flirtatious in her words, nothing to assure him she shares his preoccupation over the kiss. So startling, so make-the-hair-stand-up-on-the-back-of-his-neck. And it was supposed to make everything clear, when one of them made a move (in his head over the weeks before it happened, it was him), not confuse the hell out of him.

It's awkward when they meet on campus on Monday. Neither of them goes in for a hug and they carry on a stilted conversation about how each of their breaks went, Peter twisting his fingers around in his sleeves. At least they didn’t postpone this until Thursday. He senses that they’re both thankful for the length of this week’s novel and how many times it guarantees they’ll meet (their productivity per session definitely took a nosedive when they became friends). He assumes the relief comes from wanting to push past this awkward stage by getting used to each other again. Then, when they meet in the library the next day, MJ picks a different table. Actually, a completely different floor. It’s basically dead, no other students or staff in sight, and, with his face flushed with desire and anticipation, she braces a hand on his thigh, leans in, and kisses him for the second time.

On Wednesday, it’s the same spot (but later because Peter has an evening lab) and he initiates, hand on the back of her neck as they kiss slow and deep, never even unpacking their bags.

Thursday, they meet at their old table, like normal, and do some actual work. But that night, he walks MJ home and tries to give her a goodbye kiss that turns into them making out with her pressed up against the closed door of her apartment.

They agree, on Friday morning, that Peter really needs to devote some concentration to this novel, so they study at his place that evening. Because all of his roommates are home, they’re camped out in his room, on his bed, but with his door wide open. The most they attempt is holding hands, anxiously separating when one of his buddies pokes a head in to ask if Peter’s seen his phone charger.

By Saturday, at her apartment, they abandon pretenses, though they haven’t exactly said in words what it is they’re doing without those pretenses. Are they friends who kiss? Are they dating? Is MJ his girlfriend? None of that is as pressing as pulling her onto his lap and kissing her until they’re tired and she checks her phone to see that it’s almost two in the morning. Reluctantly, MJ climbs off his lap and Peter watches her disappear into her bedroom. He strips off his jeans and falls asleep on her couch wrapped in a blanket and his school hoodie.

The next morning, they look over his notes because he’s here and they might as well. Their socked feet overlap beneath her kitchen table. She refills his glass of orange juice before he notices it’s almost empty.

VÁSQUEZ, Juan Gabriel ― The Sound of Things Falling

He’s in love with her. It’s the beginning of March, the air has quit biting, MJ’s blushing when he uses his high school Spanish to correctly pronounce the characters’ names, and he’s in love with her.

WALKER, Karen Thompson ― The Dreamers

Peter falls asleep at her place again. This time, MJ’s tucked into him when he wakes up. Gradually, he drags up a fuzzy memory of her padding into the living room during the night, putting him on alert until she nudged him over to make room on the couch. Her roommate’s home. They don’t care, don’t flinch apart when she walks into the room. He hangs around most of Saturday, only leaving because he really needs to do some work on his other courses. MJ kisses him when he goes, gently stroking his earlobe with her thumb.

X ― N/A

“No X?” she checks. “Are you sure?”

“It’s on the syllabus,” Peter points out, pulling MJ’s feet across his thighs as he eats an apple. They found an alternate study spot that allows food.

“Yeah, I know, I have the copy from the beginning of the year, but I figured your prof would update it to add something.”

“I think he told us one time that he was going to,” he says, trying to remember exactly. “Now, he says he was always planning on leaving this week free for us to ask questions in class before the exam.”

“But there are still two full weeks of classes before exams,” MJ says skeptically. “If this break was intentional, he’d do it the last week of classes instead.”

“I don’t know. I mean, I know there are two weeks left, but I don’t know what else to say. No X.”

“Semi-related,” she prefaces, giving him a serious look that makes Peter pay attention, “is it ok with you if I consider you my boyfriend?”

He laughs until he realizes she looks genuinely unsure of what his answer will be.

“Please.”

Peter holds his apple out of the way when MJ wiggles forward to hug him.

YAZDANIAN, Showey ― Loopholes

“You wanna go somewhere with me?” MJ asks.

Peter knows she’s been watching him rearrange the digital copy of his notes―simplifying and streamlining so they’ll be easy to study from between now and the date of his final exam. It’s very comforting, her undemanding gaze, and he feels himself emotionally stretching into it, like a cat. He loves to be near her. His girlfriend.

“Yes,” he says. “I mean, where?”

She laughs gently at him and props her elbow on the table, right next to his.

“The English Department scheduled a year-end trip to see a play.”

“That sounds very… high schoolish,” he decides, grinning.

“Hey, some of us aren’t too up our own asses to understand the thrill of a field trip. Maybe in Biology―”

“Ugh,” Peter groans jokingly at her relentless, unserious digs at his chosen discipline.

“―you’ve lost your sense of childlike wonder.”

“But I might be able to get it back if I go to this play? What’s the play?”

“Romeo and Juliet,” she mumbles.

“You want to see that? It’s depressing and, and overdramatic,” he states, though he’s never seen it performed, and definitely never read the play.

“I don’t really care about seeing the play,” MJ says as she gives him a meaningful look.

“Oh. Aw.” He smiles at the thought that she just wants to spend time with him. “Do I have to sign up or something?”

“I… might have already signed you up.” Peter raises his eyebrows at her and it’s enough to push her to continue. “It’s supposed to be an internal thing, just English majors, but the turnout for anything with any significant cultural value’s always really low―” MJ rolls her eyes. “―especially right at the end of the year, when people are starting to focus on exams, even though it’s a great opportunity to see a high-quality production with cheap student-group-discount tickets. Anyway, I talked to the prof because he knows me from teaching me last year and asked if you could come because you are taking an English class even if you’re not majoring.”

“He agreed?”

She nods.

“As I suspected, there were a bunch of tickets left over because they always reserve too many. They’re great seats.”

“Why are you trying to convince me to come?” Peter teases. “Apparently, I already signed up.”

Despite the dozens of times they’ve met this year, comprising probably a hundred hours, and the affectionate admissions, and the kissing that’s been driving him insane for more, this is their first date date. He’s excited to be at the theatre because he’s never gone before, and he purposely didn’t tell Mr. Stark about this so he wouldn’t try to pay for it; Peter bought his own ticket. They’re deep into the second part of the play, intermission behind them, and before things can get gruesome on stage with the stars meeting their violent ends, he leans in so close to MJ that his nose brushes her ear.

“You’re my best friend,” he whispers.

She turns her head, smile clamped together by the way she’s biting her bottom lip. There’s joy in her eyes that makes his heart drop and flip and soar back up, too high, into his throat. He’s still looking at her when she turns her face back to the performance.

“Also, I love you,” Peter says, almost choking on his heart.

Swiftly, he kisses her cheek and settles back into his seat, but MJ tugs the hand that’s been entwined with hers since they sat down. She leans across the armrest between their seats and he’s happy to move the rest of the way. Something hot courses through him when she not only kisses him more roughly than he anticipated but grabs the tie he wore with his button-up, blazer, and good jeans. When she releases him with a smirk and a pat on his chest, Peter practically collapses back into place, stunned.

“Oh,” MJ adds, glancing at him again in a quick flick, “I love you too.”

ZOBOI, Ibi ― Pride

There are three stacks of books on the surprisingly nice hardwood floor of MJ’s bedroom. It’s small compared to the size of his sense of accomplishment for seeing this demanding course through to the end. Although this is the first time Peter’s assembled all 25 books at once, they aren’t organized alphabetically; there’s a pile each for books he remembers well, those he wants to reread sections of, and ones where, logically, he knows he read them, and yet he can barely recall the plot. He feels pretty goddamn good about the fact that, out of 25, only 2 made the third pile. Actually, one’s unaccounted for, because it’s the last book on his syllabus and it’s currently dangling from his hand while he takes a break from reading it.

“Hey,” he hisses at MJ.

Lying on her back on her soft, thick rug while she studies for one of her exams, his girlfriend angles her head to look at Peter, hanging over the side of her bed.

“What?”

He grins.

“Nothing. Just wanted to say, ‘hey.’” He’s so used to her rolling her eyes. “How’s the floor?”

“Not bad.”

“You wanna come up here?”

MJ eyes him suspiciously.

“I need to study,” she reminds him. “Everything I know about your books got mixed up with everything I’m supposed to know about my books and I’m still mentally untangling.”

Peter keeps staring down at her, trying to make his eyes wide and pleading. It takes her seconds to give in. She groans as she starts to sit up, appearing to lead with her knees and elbows as she rearranges her limbs, collapsing and unfolding like a portable lawn chair. MJ steps gingerly over his book stacks, then he’s grabbing her waist and pulling her to the bed, where she flops down beside him. Her head’s facing the wrong way though, so Peter shuffles around, getting her socks out of his face. They take turns sighing tiredly―the extreme burdens of another year of lectures over and another round of exams about to begin―then Peter tilts his forehead to touch hers.

“Happy you’re almost at the end?” MJ asks softly.

“Yeah, but I also kinda wish I could take another English class next year. I think I actually did better in Bio this year because I got to take a break from it with something that was totally different. Does that sound possible?”

“Mhmm.”

She lets her eyes close―probably resting them after concentrating for so long.

“I’ll miss reading this much.”

“And?”

With her eyes shut, only her eyebrows prompt him to go on.

“And I’ll miss talking about what I read with you,” he says.

“Maybe you don’t need to worry about that,” she suggests.

“Why not?”

MJ smiles.

“Because I’ve been working on a new list of books I think you’ll like since October. We can meet in the library and talk about them.”

“Every week?” Peter checks. “What about Biology?”

“If you have time,” she clarifies.

“No, I mean I’ve spent a year studying English lit, learning about your discipline.” With a grin, he trails his fingers down MJ’s throat, stopping at the neck of her long-sleeved shirt. “So, I was just wondering, if you’d be interested in studying Biology.”

He kisses her neck where he stroked, then up beneath her jaw, making MJ laugh until she gasps instead, gripping his hair.

“I don’t think we should wait for September.”

“Well, you’re still the tutor for another week,” Peter reminds her. “I’ll follow your lead.”

#my writing #spideychelleweek2k20 #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

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