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gurugirl · 7 months

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Best Valentine's Day | bfd!harry

Summary: It's Valentine's Day and Harry's got something special planned.

A/N: They're back! Happy 💘Valentine's💘 Day my loves!

Word Count: 4.2k

Warning: 18+ only, smut, fluffy, the briefest tiniest bit of angst

Best Friend's Dad!Harry masterlist

Harry remembers well, that day. The day he decided to go to your apartment and finally give in to the tension that had been between you two. He didn’t know why. He wasn’t sure if he would really go through with it. He thought maybe he’d see you in your own space with your big smiling eyes and he’d snap out of it. He hoped he’d snapped out of it. He hoped he’d stop thinking about you the way he was.

But no. That’s not true. He had to face the truth. He did want something to happen. He instigated. He fantasized and he made it a point to have a reason to come see you. And yes, he did want to make sure you were okay after breaking up with your boyfriend, but it was all born of selfish things. He wanted you. Even if it was just a dirty secret, there was something about testing the waters with you that he always looked forward to.

And once he got to know you as more than just his daughter’s friend he didn’t want it to end. Once he got to have you in bed and wake up lazy in the morning to you wanting more of him and how easy it was to not get caught. Then secret texts, long conversations, quick visits to see your face in the morning over a cup of coffee before he had to be at work… then he found he wanted even more. He didn’t just want to pop in and get his dick wet and leave. He wanted to talk to you and hold you and laugh. He liked the way you looked at him and the way you said his name and how you’d pout when he had to leave.

“What are you thinking about?” You reached across the table to poke at his cheek. He seemed pensive. And lately, that was the norm. You were both stressed. The divorce was stressful for you both.

Harry had to prove that he hadn’t spent all that much money on you. His ex was going after him for cheating and had accused him of spending his money on you when it should have gone to the household or their combined savings. But the truth was he really hadn’t spent that much money on you during the course of your relationship.

It was flowers and some jewelry and groceries and small things. Not rent and car payments like she was trying to prove. Which didn’t matter in the end. Harry’s attorney told him that he’d be paying her alimony which would cover her insurance and current lifestyle, and that would be more than enough. She’d be getting the house, her car, and all of her own retirement. Harry also agreed to give her half of their savings but he was keeping his brokerage which she never contributed to. She wasn’t getting everything she wanted but she sure was trying to make it hard.

“Thinking about how we met and how I went to see you at your apartment that day. Just reminiscing. Crazy how we got here. After everything. Fell in love with you so fast.”

You smiled, “It is crazy. Sometimes it doesn’t feel real.”

Harry took your hand and kissed your palm, “Still like a dream.”

You’d been having lots of conversations about the past and future lately. Perhaps it was because his divorce was nearly finalized. Or maybe it was all the talk of getting you pregnant. But there was also the discussion of moving out of your apartment.

The lease on your apartment was coming up. Harry wanted to move you both out of your little place and find something with more space. You would go wherever he went without question but you did warn him you were still jobless. Your contribution would be minimal but he only assured you that he was going to take care of you and he didn’t want your money.

Once a week for the past few weeks you both had been looking at potential new places. Apartments and houses alike. And Wednesday after he got off work you two were on your way to look at a new one.

“Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day,” you suddenly remembered as you spoke from the passenger side of Harry’s car as he drove you to look at a place that was having an open house.

“I know,” he reached across to put his hand on your thigh, “Did you forget?”

You laughed, “I totally did. I think with everything going on it just didn’t cross my mind. But I saw that sign outside of Scasi’s restaurant about their Valentine’s Day special just now.”

“So you’re saying you didn’t plan anything romantic for us?” Harry teased.

“I did not. What would you like Mr. Styles? A night out on the town? Some flowers? Cologne maybe?” You laughed when he squeezed at your thigh.

“Why not all of it?”

You looked toward his side profile and laid your palm over his hand, “I’ll give you all of that if you want.”

Harry glanced at you with his dimpled grin, “Baby, I know you would. But I’ve already got something planned for us. Think you’ll like it.”

You adjusted yourself in your seat and angled your body toward his, “Oh yeah? What have you got planned then?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

The three-bedroom house at the edge of town was adorable. But it wasn’t a rental. Which had you a little surprised. The backyard was plenty big for landscaping (which it was in desperate need of), the master bedroom faced the big ugly backyard but the ensuite bathroom was to die for. All upgraded finishes with a soaker tub and a steam shower.

The kitchen, however, was your favorite. The stove was one of those fancy chef’s stoves with the red knobs. The refrigerator was built into shelving and at first glance looked like a tall cabinet.

“Harry this is a lot. Three bedrooms?” He had your hand in his as you both walked around the space.

“It’s a lot for us right now. But what if we have a baby one day? And that backyard? Ugly as sin right now but I love to garden and I know we could make that something really special. For us. For a family here if we wanted.”

He leaned down to kiss you, his nose knocking against yours playfully making you laugh.

“Maybe you’re right,” you rubbed your palm over his chest.

“I know I’m right.”

. . .

You were excited for whatever it was Harry had planned. You didn’t know why he didn’t just tell you but he seemed to always enjoy giving you surprises. He liked making you wait and anticipate what was to come. Sometimes even in bed.

He told you to wear something pretty so you picked out a nice dress and did all the things to pamper yourself that made you feel pretty before he got home from work.

Of course the minute you heard the key in the doorknob you rushed to the door to open it and greet him with a big hug.

He kissed your cheek as you took his coffee travel mug from his hand, “Sure is nice to have you open the door for me like this every time I get home from work. Got me spoiled.”

“Pretty sure you’re the one that’s got me spoiled,” you responded.

It was nice having Harry with you. Knowing you weren’t sharing him with anyone anymore. You knew it was bad to feel smug about such a thing but you kind of did. He picked you. Even if the circumstances were less than ideal, you were the one he chose.

“So, can you at least tell me if we’re gonna eat as part of these mysterious Valentine’s Day plans you’ve made?”

Harry began to unbutton his shirt with a grin on his face, “Why? You hungry honey?”

The way he said it was full of something devilish. Something cheeky. You rolled your eyes at him and laughed, “I kind of am.”

A mischievous smirk rose up on his lips as he lowered his hands to his belt, “I’ve got something to fill your tummy with. Little appetizer…”

You balked at him, “You’re like a teenager!”

He slid his belt from the loops on his pants and pulled your back into his chest, “Mmm… More like a man in love who knows how to feed his hungry baby.”

You laughed loudly and pushed your head back against his shoulder, “How is it you’re always thinking about sex?”

He rocked you back and forth and tucked his face into your neck, “It’s because it’s you. You’re so good to me all the time. So pretty. So smart. S’your fault I’m this way.”

You sighed as he kissed the side of your neck and then let you go, “We don’t have time for any hanky panky anyway,” he spoke as he finished undressing. “Gotta shower up and then get ready myself so I smell just as good as you. We’ll leave here in like thirty minutes.”

Harry put up with you trying to get him to tell you where he was taking you. You didn’t let up but Harry also didn’t give you any direct answers.

“Will there be dancing? Hot air balloons?”

He smiled as he continued looking at the road, “That sounds fun. We’ll see.”

You knew you weren’t going to break him down. When Harry set his mind to something he wasn’t going to budge.

So when he pulled into Club Stella and parked you finally knew what was in store for the night. Or at least you had a good idea. Club Stella was a posh place. It had a funky bar menu with a good selection of snacky bites, along with live bands or DJs, and a nice dance floor.

You had been there once before for a bachelorette party back when you and Fae were still close. It was one of those places where reservations were not super easy to get and it was paid entry.

You were led to a cozy little table not far from where the band was playing and handed special Valentine’s Day menus.

Harry scooted his chair close to yours and flipped the menu to look at the drinks, “Want to share a bottle of wine?”

You looked at the prices of the bottles and scoffed, “Harry every bottle is expensive.”

He laughed and drew his arm over the back of your chair, “Baby it’s Valentine’s Day. I’m gonna spoil you. Pick out what you want.”

When the waiter stopped at the table Harry pinched your arm the slightest when you started to say all you’d have was sparkling water.

“We’ll have a bottle of this,” he pointed at the menu and you rolled your eyes with a smile after the waiter left the table to get the wine.

The food menu was fun. You scanned the options just as the live band changed the song they were covering. The whole theme of the night was romance and the music was definitely part of that vibe.

When the server returned with the bottle of wine you were anticipating what you were going to order. But Harry pulled you to the dancefloor before you could mention what you wanted. You’d been ogling the lobster bites on the menu when he dragged you away He had his hands on your hips, holding you close and you laughed, “Harry I wanted to order! I’m hungry.”

He kissed your cheek, still moving you to the music, and then lowered his mouth to your ear, “Well I tried offering you an appetizer earlier but you turned it down.”

You slid your arms over his shoulders. Even though you were hungry, honestly having a dance with Harry to the song that was being played was certainly better.

He began to sing the lyrics as he swayed you gently, “I’d never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you,” his warm breath falling over your neck felt so sensual. There were others dancing as well so you didn’t feel as exposed. If only they knew the kind of relationship you and Harry had. What had led to that very moment.

When you felt his lips brush over the skin at your neck you sighed as your bodies moved slowly together until the song was over.

Harry looked down at you as the song switched and took your hands in his, “We’ll come back and dance after we eat. Just wanted to start our night off with holding you and dancing with you in front of everyone.”

You understood him. It was taking some time to get used to being public. To flaunt your love. But the more you two went out in public and did things like this, the more you wanted it. The easier it became. It was exciting.

Harry was a romantic at heart. You knew this because you’d been on the receiving end of his gestures. Sometimes he could be cheesy but you loved it nonetheless. Your favorite, though, was how playful he was with you.

You and Harry enjoyed the wine and food and the atmosphere of Club Stella. The later it got, the more people began to dance.

“Come on, let’s go dance,” Harry had his hand at the back of your neck and he squeezed as he spoke, “This is a good song.” Your food was mostly eaten, the wine was just about gone and you were getting warmer and warmer the longer you sat next to Harry and listened to his deep voice in your ear, his hand closest to you on your thigh or the back of your neck nearly the whole time. The man knew what he was doing.

“Okay. Let’s go,” you grinned at him.

You found a good spot on the floor and the song was a little more swingy than the first song you danced to but still sexy. The live band was really good.

Harry’s hands were dangerously close to your ass as pulled your hips against his and looked down at you, “Best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.”

You smiled as you laid your palms over his chest and looked up at him, “Me too.”

One of his hands slid up your back to the nape of your neck as he ducked down to kiss you. And it was like just about every other time he kissed you; hot and needy. He was holding back because you two were in public but you were reminded of the time you had bathroom sex in that nice restaurant in Quebec.

You smoothed your hands along Harry’s shirt over his strong pecs and then fit a finger between the buttons to touch his skin as your mouth opened for him.

He moaned softly and then backed away from the kiss to grin down at you, “What did you do on your last Valentine’s Day?”

You thought back to the year prior, “I think… Oh yeah… Randy had to give me a raincheck. He was working. We never wound up doing anything because it was midweek.”

“Today is Thursday. I have to work tomorrow and I’m still doing something with you. Sounds like he was the biggest dud. Glad I talked you into getting rid of him.”

You laughed and moved your arms up and ran your fingers into the hair at the back of his head, “He was a big dud. But of course, no one can compare to you, can they?”

His smile widened as the hand near your bottom slowly dropped until his palm was pressing into your ass.

The next song slowed things down and he kept you pressed into his hips as you danced together.

Time seemed to slow down or speed up. Every time he kissed you and squeezed your bum you felt yourself melting a little more. But then he ran his lips up your neck and spoke into your ear, “I’m sorry honey. But I can’t keep my cock down,” and you felt him rut into you softly before he turned you to face away from him, your bottom pressed into his bulge.

You gasped with a smile as you turned your head and lifted an arm to hold onto the back of his neck as he swayed you to the beat softly, “Remember that time in Quebec?” You could hear the smile on his mouth as he spoke into your ear.

“I do. Was just thinking about that too. That was fun.”

“Mmm… Might need to find a spot to fuck you like that again.”

You laughed as Harry’s hand on your hip tightened and his other moved up your side to just under your breast. You could feel yourself beginning to grow wet in your panties as Harry’s dick plumped up and pressed into your bottom. You loved that he got so turned on by you.

Another sexy, slow song came on and Harry’s lips stayed on your neck, peppering wet kisses on your sensitive skin. No one else existed. It was just you and Harry.

“Fuck… Baby, I’m serious. I need to have you,” his deep voice whispered against your skin.

You turned in his arms and attempted to hide the hardon he was sporting under his pants, “Should we leave?”

Harry looked around the space, “Let’s go see if there’s a spot we can take care of this.”

You and Harry went back to the area near the stage and he pointed to where the bathrooms were and a short hallway as you grabbed your purse from the table.

“Harry? Harry Styles?” You heard a woman speak, from behind you.

Both you and Harry turned around to see a woman near his age looking between you with a slight frown.

Harry scratched the back of his neck, “Hi Roice.”

“Who is she?” The woman pointed at you and you looked up at Harry.

“Uh, well, this is my girlfriend, Y/n. I don’t know if you knew…”

The woman cut him off and looked at you as she stepped in closer, “You know he’s married right? With a daughter, about your age,” she ran her eyes down your frame and you felt very vulnerable under her scrutiny.

You opened your mouth to respond but Harry took your hand, “Roice, my wife and I are getting divorced. We’re done. This is my girlfriend.”

You zoned out slightly as Harry let go of your hand and put his arm over your shoulder to hold you close. The woman made a comment and gave you a look that you knew wasn’t complimentary of you before she walked off.

“You okay, Y/n?” Harry put his hands on your shoulders and ducked his face down to get in your line of sight.

Nodding you spoke, “Yeah. Just didn’t expect that.”

“Me neither. Let’s just get out of here, okay?”

The bill was already paid as you and Harry left Club Stella and got into his car.

He put his hand on your knee and drove in silence until he pulled into a small lot at a wooded park and turned off the engine.

You looked at him, puzzled, “What are we doing here?”

Harry adjusted his seat and moved it away from the steering wheel and pulled at your hand, “Come here, sweetheart. Sit in my lap.”

You climbed over the console after lifting your dress so you could spread your legs and settle over his thighs.

He put his hand on your hips, “I’m sorry that happened. Did that ruin your Valentine’s Day?”

You smiled as you shook your head, “No, of course not. It just shocked me is all.”

“Shocked me too. But you promise you’re okay?”

You pressed your hands on his shoulders and leaned yourself into his chest to kiss his mouth and began to unbutton his shirt buttons, “I’m fine, Harry.”

You could feel him swallow as his hands moved to push the fabric of your dress up before he brought his hands to the inside of your thighs. He moaned when his finger dragged over the fabric of your panties and he realized you were wet.

You laughed with a smile, “Still wet. Think you can get hard for me again, Harry?”

He laughed and licked into your mouth as he ran his thumb over the wet material at your crotch. It was funny because you both knew the answer to that question. Of course, he could get hard again.

And when you felt his cock plumping up under his pants you began to undo his belt and then his button in haste before pulling him out through the front slot of his boxer briefs, stroking his velvety cock as you kept your mouths moving together.

Harry pushed your panties to the side and lowered his seat for more space as you pushed yourself up and placed his tip at your slippery pussy. He held onto your hips to keep you steady as you placed your palms on the seat back and gently lowered over him.

“Fuck… you always hug my cock perfectly baby.”

You imagined that with his girth it would be hard not to hug his cock the way you did. He was so thick and long and he always stretched you apart when he was inside of you.

Slowly you glided up and down as you looked into his eyes, “God… It’s always so full. Makes me so wet just thinking about how big you are and how deep you get. I always need you, Harry.”

Harry moaned and pressed a hand to your low belly as you continued fucking yourself on him, “Yeah? Like how it feels when I fuck into your tummy? Stuff you full every night ‘cause you need it so bad don’t you, puppy?”

“Yes… God, I need you every day. More than anything I’ve ever needed. I love you so much.” You tilted your pelvis down and pressed your lips to his as you ground yourself over him and felt that pleasant ache when his thick crown nestled into your guts.

You could feel the fabric of his briefs over your clit as you rocked down over him. Harry’s soft moans against your lips sounded desperate and you knew that meant he was close already. You hadn’t had sex that morning like you do some days and you knew he must be aching to burst inside of you.

“Gonna give me your come?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open and he jabbed himself upward, his cock squelching through your wet pussy as he thrust into you, “Is that what you want?” Another thrust upward making you squeal quietly at the deep ache in your tummy, “Want my come, baby?”

“Yes… give it to me,” you moaned as you rolled your pelvis down again and felt how wet his underwear had gotten from your arousal.

“Need you to come with me, my love,” Harry’s words were panted as he gripped the meat of your ass and guided you up and down his cock.

You watched his face as you felt his length open you wide and glide in and out with the sound of wet gushes from your slippery pussy in the small space of the car.

Holding to the seat behind Harry’s head to keep yourself steady, you ran the fingers from your other hand over your clit as Harry kept you bouncing over him slowly.

Desperate moans and the slippery sounds of sex with the background of music on the radio were all you could hear as your legs began to shake.

The moment Harry could tell you were about to come, he began to fuck up into you harder, his hips thudding into you making your body bounce harder as you pressed your fingers and moved them over your swollen nub and cried out at his deep strokes.

“Oh my god! Fuck, Harry!”

He groaned when your pussy began to flutter around him and your cries turned to choked moans.

It was his favorite. Feeling your cunt walls squeeze and spasm around his throbbing, leaking cock. He gave you a few more harsh plunges until he pulled you down over him and grunted with his head thrown back into the seat, draining his cock inside of your guts.

Your head was spinning and your heart was pounding as you came down and heard him panting as he throbbed inside of you. You’d never get tired of watching him coming, of feeling the way his body shivered when he pumped into you.

He pulled you against his chest as he breathed hard and you could feel the way he was still twitching inside of you.

When you felt his lips at your neck and heavy breaths puffed against your skin you opened your eyes and turned to look at him with a smile.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Harry.”

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hairstevington · 2 years

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Stranger Therapy

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Summary: Based on this text post, Steve and Eddie match on Tinder and decide to go to couple's counseling on a first date to see how long it takes the therapist (Murray) to figure them out. Link to Ao3

Word Count: 3K, check out part 2 part 3 part 4 and epilogue!

Warnings: Nothing too serious, Steve/Eddie went to high school together but don't know each other, modern day AU, aged up, brief Robin cameo, Matchmaker Murray, and my fav tag of all - gay scheming!

A/N: I'm a counselor in training currently but I don't specialize in couple's counseling so this may or may not be accurate? Idk man it's just fun and silly I love our stupid boys sm. Original post by @hxneyfarms

It’s a match!

“Robin, it worked!” Steve shouted from the couch. She ran from the kitchen and joined him, peering over to stare at his screen.

“I told you it would! It’s funny!” she insisted. Steve rolled his eyes and anxiously pulled up the profile of his new match.

“Oh, shit,” Steve said. “I remember swiping right on this guy. Didn’t think I had a shot.” He looked through the pictures. They were all candids, slightly blurry, or shots of him with his friends, but due to his distinguished look it was easy to pick him out even in a crowd.

“Show me his bio,” Robin ordered. Steve closed out the pictures and scrolled until the bio was in full view.

Eddie, 25. Shit at bios.

“Well that’s kind of boring,” Steve said.

“Yeah. You think he’s a bot?” Robin asked.

“Or a catfish, maybe,” Steve mused. “Either way, I still think I should take your joke down. I don’t talk like that in real life, and people might get confused.”

Robin had convinced him earlier to change his bio and replace it with - let’s go to couple’s counseling and see how long it takes the therapist to realize we don’t know each other. Steve had been a little tipsy when he agreed, and he assumed nothing would come of it. But then, Eddie matched with him.

“You’re thinking way too hard about this, Dingus,” Robin replied. “People write weird shit in their Tinder bios all the time.”

“Eddie didn’t,” Steve countered.

“Yeah, but look at him,” Robin responded. “He’s distinctive. It’s attention-grabbing in itself.”

“And I’m not?” Steve asked. Robin chuckled.

“You’re the kind of pretty where if you don’t have something witty in the bio, people will think you’re just some ignorant surface-level airhead who’s never worked a day in his life, and that’s not cute.”

“Okay, ouch,” Steve said.

“It’s a compliment!” she insisted. “Like, you need to show that you’re witty and funny and able to poke fun at yourself, otherwise you’re going to attract the wrong kind of people.”

“And this guy’s the right kind, huh?” Steve opened one of the pictures back up - one where Eddie was passed out on the couch with a beer still in his hand. As they looked at the screen, a notification popped up. Eddie sent you a message.

“Let’s find out,” Robin said.

Eddie: If your bio is serious, I’m in

Steve: Wait, really?

Eddie: Yeah xD sounds fun

Eddie: You got a therapist in mind?

Steve: Honestly didn’t think I’d get this far

Eddie: Boo.

Eddie: You’re lucky I know just the guy

Steve: Okay…

Steve: So how do we do this?

Eddie: Dude, it was YOUR idea

Steve: Ok but I’ve never done it before!

Eddie: Steve! I’m your first? <3

Steve: Yeah, yeah. I’ve never pranked a therapist before.

Eddie: I hope you’re either rich or have really good insurance. Otherwise this is gonna be an expensive first date.

Steve: I got it covered.

Eddie: I figured you did. I’ll call the guy in the morning and get back to you with the appointment time.

Steve: Okay. How’s your night going by the way?

Eddie: Nope!

Eddie: That’s not part of the deal, Steve. We go into this blind or not at all.

Steve: This is insane.

Eddie: Once again, your idea. I’m excited. Are you excited?

Steve: Thrilled.

Steve: I’m still concerned about how you know the perfect guy for this.

Eddie: 😛

Eddie: Don’t worry about it.

“I don’t even think he’s serious,” Steve said after he recounted the entire interaction to Robin.

“I don’t know, Steve. Sounds serious to me.”

“What if he’s like - not right in the head?” Steve wondered, reading the interaction over and over again. “Like, who is this therapist and why does he know him? Is he actually going to make an appointment? What if this whole thing crashes and burns?”

“I honestly think he plans on it crashing and burning,” Robin replied. “And then after, the both of you either hit it off and laugh about it forever, or you have an amazing failed date story to tell your friends until the end of time.”

“That’s…actually genius.”

“I know.”

Steve read the messages one last time, focusing on the bits where Eddie was mildly flirtatious. Steve! I’m your first? He could tell if Eddie was being condescending, or what vibe he was going to bring to this absolute insane first date. But, as Robin said, it would be a story no matter what.

He tried to focus on that and not the anxiety that started brewing in his veins.

The appointment was set for two weeks later. Eddie still refused to talk to Steve other than for details on where to go and at what time, so for the whole fourteen days, Steve assumed he was being pranked right back. Eddie was messing with him, or he’d cancel, or Dr. Bauman didn’t actually exist, or he’d be murdered, or, or, or -

None of that happened. Instead, on a Tuesday afternoon, Steve pulled up to an office building about fifteen minutes from his apartment. He’d passed by it several times and never once wondered what went on inside.

Apparently, really weird first dates.

They had decided to meet up in the parking lot and walk in together. The whole thing was crazy, but having one of them pick the other up so they could drive in together was way over what was needed to commit to the bit.

Steve got there first. They needed to be fifteen minutes early to fill out paperwork. It was twenty minutes prior to their appointment time.

This was weird. It felt a lot different than all the times he’d met someone for coffee. In another world, that’s how he and Eddie would have met. But no. He had to agree to this stupid thing, and now he was too far into it to back out. Jesus Christ.

Eddie’s car pulled in a few spaces down. Steve knew it was him from the hair alone - unmistakable. He got out of his car and walked towards his date, his palms sweaty. Eddie got out of his car a moment later, eyeing Steve as he approached him and smirking.

“What gave me away?” Eddie asked.

“You think I wouldn’t recognize my boyfriend?” Steve snapped back, pleased at the way he was able to take Eddie off guard.

“Touche. Well, come on, then. Let’s do this.”

Before they knew it, they were sitting in a cramped waiting room, alone, filling out paperwork. It consisted of insurance information first, followed by names and some quick background questions about the “couple.” Steve began filling it out, thankful that he was still on his dad’s fancy rich-person insurance. It covered basically everything, even fucked-up couples fraud with Dr. Bauman.

“Are you not worried I’m gonna, like, steal your information or something?” Eddie asked as Steve wrote down his policy number.

“I mean…should I be?” Steve responded.

“No,” Eddie answered with a shrug. “I gotta say, though, you’re way more trusting than I am. It’s ballsy. I like it.”

“Uhh…” Steve was trying to concentrate on the paperwork, but the compliment was throwing him off. “Thank you, I think.” He continued filling out the paperwork.

“You’re from Hawkins?” he asked. Steve nodded, absentmindedly. “I’m from Hawkins.” This caught Steve’s attention.

“No shit.”

“Yeah, seriously.”

“Small world,” Steve replied before turning his attention back to the form.

“You have a cute middle name,” Eddie teased.

“Shut up,” Steve responded. He wanted to find Eddie’s pestering annoying, but instead he found himself smirking, even giggling a little bit. This whole thing was so ridiculous. He shoved the clipboard onto Eddie’s lap. “Your turn, lover.”

“Euch,” Eddie groaned. “That is not one of our pet names, no way.”

“Noted,” Steve chuckled. He was…kind of enjoying this way more than he expected, as weird as it was. He’d grown accustomed to a lot of even stranger things in his life, so this didn’t feel as shocking as he’d initially thought.

“Don’t look,” Eddie said as he covered the paper.

“What? Why not?” Steve asked, confused.

“Because not all of us are as blindly trusting, Steven,” Eddie responded. Steve shook his head and looked away.

“Good thing we’re in therapy to work that shit out, Edward Munson.”

“You looked!” Eddie exclaimed.

“It was right in front of me!” Steve pointed out.

“Fair enough,” Eddie sighed. “Okay, now we gotta put down a reason for doing this.”

Fast forward ten minutes, Eddie and Steve were seated next to each other on a relatively small but cozy burnt orange couch. The color was ugly, but the seats were comfortable. Steve noticed the cushions had a natural dip that kept inching him closer to the person sitting on the opposite side. He figured this was certainly intentional.

The doctor sat in front of them, reviewing the papers the pair had just filled out.

“Hello, my name is Dr. Bauman, and one day I may let you call me Murray,” he began, his eyes fixed on the papers in front of him. “I see here on your sheet that you’ve been feeling distant from each other, and that you’re looking to feel more connected, right? Can you tell me more about that?”

“We’re just launching right into it, huh?” Eddie asked.

“Well, we are on a time crunch here. Your decision how you spend it,” Dr. Bauman answered.

The man was immediately intimidating.

“Ooookay,” Steve said, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess it just feels like - like he and I don’t even know each other anymore.” Eddie stifled a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand to make it seem like he was maybe getting emotional or perhaps trying not to sneeze.

“I see,” Dr. Bauman said, eyeing them both suspiciously. “Let’s begin with how you two met and we’ll go from there, okay?”

“We were high school sweethearts,” Eddie replied with a grin.

“Wow,” Dr. Bauman commented. “Well, it’s common for a lot of development to happen from then to now. How did you two get together?” Eddie looked to Steve, as if to say, you’re up.

“It just kinda…happened, I guess,” Steve began. “We were assigned as partners for a project and really clicked.”

“Yeah, and then we snuck around for a while. Sneaking kisses in janitor's closets and empty classrooms, you know the drill.” Steve tried not to blush at the thought of sneaking around with high school Eddie. If they were both from Hawkins, did they actually go to high school together?

“Snuck around for the thrill?” Dr. Bauman asked.

“No,” Steve responded. “I wasn’t out yet.” Eddie looked at him curiously, as if he wasn’t expecting Steve to say something so serious. He wondered if it was actually true.

“Well, that and -” Eddie added. “- he was a popular jock and I was kind of a freak.” This time, Steve looked at Eddie curiously. Steve was a popular jock. Eddie could have assumed that, or made a lucky guess, but something told him that wasn’t the case.

Eddie Munson. Munson.

Oh.

Oh!

It took Steve a minute to recover from that information. They did in fact go to school together, they just had never interacted. Eddie obviously remembered, and he obviously knew that Steve didn’t. So what was the goal here? Was Steve being punked or something just so Eddie could get free therapy?

“Steve, you look a little pale there,” Dr. Bauman noticed. “Did that trigger something?”

“Yeah -” Steve croaked, now unable to look at Eddie. If he had, he would have noticed Eddie didn’t look as smug as Steve assumed he was. “Yeah, I just don’t think about high school that much anymore.”

“Why not?” the doctor asked.

“Because, I - I’ve changed so much since then. I’m not that guy anymore, and I don’t want to be that guy.”

“Ah, I see,” he hummed. “So, Eddie fell for someone who no longer exists. I think I’m understanding the problem here. Eddie, do you feel that you’ve changed?”

Damn. This guy’s kinda good.

“Uhhh -” Eddie began. Neither of them expected this to get so serious so quickly. It didn’t even feel like it was about their imagined relationship anymore. “N-no, I don’t think I have.”

“And Steve, do you think Eddie has changed?”

Steve thought about the limited memories he had of Eddie in high school. Cocky, slightly unhinged, just as he was now. But there was something different, he just couldn’t really pinpoint what. Maybe if he’d talked to Eddie for longer than like ten minutes total in his life, he’d have a better idea.

Then, he realized the point of this wasn’t to be serious. It was to make shit up. Steve pivoted back to the original plan.

“Yeah, I mean -” He shifted in his seat, finding himself now thigh to thigh with Eddie, despite not meaning to be. “He’s, uh - it just feels like we don’t have anything in common anymore?” It was something he’d heard lots of couples say.

“Do you want to make this work?” Dr. Bauman asked.

“Why else would we be here?” Eddie answered. Dr. Bauman narrowed his eyes.

“You tell me.”

Eddie and Steve were kind of not good at this. Their story was based in truth and not very exciting. They both seemed to realize this at the same time.

“Steve slept with the dogwalker,” Eddie proclaimed. Steve scoffed, half-amused, half-offended.

“Yeah, well you sold drugs to my mom!” he shot back. The two guys looked at each other, pretending to look angry while simultaneously wanting to laugh.

“Woooah, there,” Dr. Bauman responded. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Do we want to begin with Steve’s infidelity or Eddie’s illegal activity?”

“That’s not gonna, like, go on record or anything, right?” Steve asked, suddenly anxious. “Like, the cops aren’t gonna show up at Eddie’s door?”

“Our door, babe,” Eddie clarified, not the least bit nervous.

“Depends on how long ago this happened, I suppose,” Dr. Bauman answered.

“Long time ago,” Eddie said.

“Are you still currently dealing?”

“No, I don’t even do drugs anymore. Well, like, except pot - but that’s legal now so it doesn’t really count, I think.”

“Dude,” Steve whispered.

“You brought it up,” Eddie replied just as softly.

“Right,” Dr. Bauman responded, taking it all in. “No report needed, then. Let’s move onto the dogwalker.”

They continued to add to their lore as the appointment went on. At one point, Eddie even faked tears. His acting was…decent enough to avoid suspicion, thankfully. When the clock hit 1:45, their time was up, and they’d successfully managed to fool Dr. Bauman. Mission accomplished, date over. Right?

“Well, thank you so much, Dr. Bauman,” Eddie said. “I think you’ve really helped us out today.”

“Yeah, seriously,” Steve said, smiling. “We feel so much better.”

“Now hold on a minute,” Dr. Bauman said with his hands up. “There’s still a lot of work to be done, in my professional opinion.”

“There is?” Eddie asked, confused.

“Oh, definitely. Most couples go to a minimum of four sessions, and that’s still a low average. Plus, this was only intake. I mean, unless you guys weren’t happy with the counseling I gave you today…”

It felt like a challenge, and Eddie loved challenges. Meanwhile, Steve was too awkward to come clean or tell the doctor they weren’t interested.

They made another appointment.

“Well, that went pretty well, I think,” Eddie said as they left the building.

“You knew me already?” Steve asked once they were a safe enough distance from the office and Dr. Bauman. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I just knew your name and face, man. And, like, your vibe,” Eddie answered. “Back in high school, anyway.”

“You should have told me,” Steve said.

“You should have remembered,” Eddie shot back. “Whatever, it was fun. Right?”

“Eddie, I have no idea what that was,” Steve replied. “We have to cancel that appointment.”

“Why? You don’t want to see me again?” Eddie grinned. Steve rolled his eyes.

“No, I - I mean, I don’t want to waste his time. That spot should go to other couples who need it. Meanwhile, we could go get coffee like normal adults.”

“I dunno,” Eddie said, kicking a pebble in the road as they walked. “I kinda liked it. You can’t tell me you didn’t.”

It was true. Steve couldn’t say that he didn’t.

“Doesn’t matter.” Steve unlocked his car and made his way to the door. “We’re canceling.”

“He’s the one that wanted to see us again, Steve,” Eddie reminded him.

“Yeah, because he thought we were an actual couple.” Steve was getting frustrated at Eddie’s antics, and the way he refused to back down. “I don’t know if this is gonna work, man. This has been, uh - well, it’s been weird, but I think -”

“We have to go, otherwise you’ll be charged a cancellation fee,” Eddie blurted out. It was a lie, a bold-faced lie, and yet -

“So, I’ll pay the fee. Can’t be more than the cost of a full session,” Steve figured.

“Ugh!” Eddie groaned in frustration. “Okay, fine. Look - I’m annoying as hell, I’m a mess, I’m broke, and I could never afford someone like Dr. Bauman. I don’t know about you, but some of the things he said actually made me think and I kind of want to ask him about, like, real shit.”

Steve stared at him blankly for a minute.

“You - you want me to keep going to fake couple’s counseling with you so you can get actual therapy?” Steve asked, stunned.

“I mean, you could work your shit out, too,” Eddie suggested.

“What shit? I don’t have shit,” Steve insisted.

“Of course you do! Everyone does!” Eddie yelled.

“You’re insane,” Steve muttered. The thing was, he wasn’t saying it out of anger. He was saying it in understanding.

Because the thing was, Eddie had a point. Dr. Bauman was good at what he did, and Steve knew he’d never sign up for individual counseling. He already had the appointment. Eddie smirked.

“You’re with me, aren’t you?”

Fuck.

“Fine,” Steve agreed.

Notes from Dr. Bauman - 3/18

Eddie and Steve

Together since high school

Feelings of disconnect

Steve/dogwalker

Eddie/mom/drugs

Clearly lying

Clients are faking their relationship for me, for some reason. Will continue to work with them to figure out why.

They aren’t dating…but they should be

(next chapter)

------------------------------------

@ofherscarlettwitchways @livvyshmiv @paintballkid711 @abraca-fxckyou @allbimyself26 @jellybabiesforall @allbymyselfexceptformycactus @justaloadofgarbage-blog @alliemunsonsstuff @undreamingscatworld @thefruityfours @hobbitnarwhal @calivanus @wreckmyplans-thatsmyman @antheia @goodolefashionedloverboi @lillemilly @missmagillicuddy @steviesbicrisis @gamerdano @menamesniall @eyeslikewildflowers111 @callmesirkay @stringischeese @eds-trashmouth @mnl-enuh @redfreckledwolf @itsanarrum @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins @gregre369 @stevesbipanic @momotonescreaming @aryakanojiaa @wrenisflying @comicmadlover @lilacrobin @itch-my-b0nez @anonymousbandgirl @disastardly @Dang_Dirty_Demons @daisyellsong @val-from-lawrence @starryeyedpoet17 @taikawaiteatea @samthemissfit @chaoticvictorianspirit @elizbaehth @despoenaandpyromania @bagofgreentea

#steddie #this is honestly so wild haha #nobody do this irl #but it's fun to read and write about!#steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #stranger things fanfiction #steddie fanfic #stranger things au #writing #st fanfic

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vizthedatum · 1 month

Text

I need to start carving out more intentional me-time again.

I told myself I’d have a ritual for my T shots every week and then I ranted to my therapist how having a meditation/prayer ritual everyday was so good for me. I fell out of it because I got so dysregulated… I was sick, I was sad, I was trying to help my friends, I was exhausted.

I’m thinking maybe I could ritualize the bladder instillations I need to do at home now too (those will be every two weeks). If I can actually teach myself well, I’m very hopeful!!! This way I don’t have to fight with my nurses about what to do. I can create my own personal workflow and make sure everything is disinfected. It just might be extra cost monetarily meh. I’ll have to figure out how much I can get insurance to cover and what extra tools I need at home. I need to make a good space for it so it’s easy. (Gloves, disposable warm compresses I think, the specific catheters I like (which I realized my nurses weren’t even using the past several times I went - I always tell them 12 fr and they were using a 14 fr. My urethra is small and sensitive and I am SO upset))

And I’m like working three jobs. One of them is gonna end soon. And the other one I love!! And my full-time… I do like but I’m trying to find balance. It doesn’t pay enough for the amount of work tbh.

And I’m very actively trying to date and make space for that.

—

I need to prioritize myself always. I am proud of myself for being firm with myself about my boundaries for new friends or lovers in my life. I need to vet more carefully.

I want to go slower.

I need to block out a couple nights a week at least for myself. Self-care means I’m busy.

And I want to block out time for people I like and want to keep dating - I will date intentionally and with purpose.

I am practicing not reflexively making a decision. I used to do that way too much. I know I take a while to process so I’m gonna take a while.

People who want to be in my life will understand.

—

I have such a huge to-do list sigh. But today I have just rested, eaten, and watched TV. My brain is so fried. My body is pretty sore. It’s been such a long week.

I don’t want my weekends to just be full of plans or chores. My free time needs to be more than 60% FOR ME, I’ve decided.

I do have a date tonight which I’m looking forward to! I’m nervous too…. (It’s a third date).

And I have two plans tomorrow with friends! Which should be super nice and fun. But I need to make sure I have stuff at my apartment clean and nice because I have so much to do come Monday. I basically can’t clean during the workweek unless something happens.

And I still need to figure out when to take time off to really do NOTHING (maybe next month? Or November?). I’d like to go on vacation for homecoming at my alma mater (undergrad)… I haven’t been back there since 2012. It might be slightly traumatic but I’m hoping to recontextualize it. And I’d like to just have fun.

And then there’s all the stupid debt I’m still paying off. Being chronically ill and going through a divorce basically wrecked my finances. I want to find a way to have a child/family and a house one day - I will figure it out. I have to have hope.

Lots to do and figure out as always.

#thoughts #healing #neurodivergence #trauma #self love #love #queer #prose

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shorkbrian · 3 years

Note

I swear I ain’t in it for the money, but I can’t stop thinking about sugar daddy shoto. Maybe he sweeps a cute little college kid or barista of their feet, just something fun and casual. But this man starts falling harder, needing a way to lock them down to him. Money isn’t quite cutting it anymore, so he decides fucking a baby into her would do the trick. Shoto would push her down into the mattress, large frame twisting her into a sweet mating press. This way they could stay together forever and Shoto would have absolutely no problem providing for his sweet family <3

but fr tho I feel like Shouto is NOT the type for kids.

Mans will tolerate them when they babble or wave at him, but he very actively Does Not Want them.

Always uses condoms, and even though he’ll threaten not to, it’s never a legit thought in his mind to cum inside. Shouto doesn’t want to be a dad.

-----

You’ll be sittin on a park bench, fading sunset dark and pretty in front of you yet all you can do is cry. There’s not really any people around so it’s not like you’re bothering anyone - you hadn’t wanted to cry in your shabby apartment (half the cause of your worries) just in case you received a noise complaint.

“Are you alright?”

A somber, smooth voice is heard. You’re swiping at your tears quickly as you look up, trying to laugh off your state of distress. “Oh, haha, yeah I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” It’s hard to smile with your puffy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

The man in front of you frowns, hands in his coat pockets, scarf draped around his neck. “You don’t look fine. Mind if I sit?”

He’s already claiming the spot next to you on the bench before you can say a word, turning to you with a passive expression. “Why are you crying?”

And that’s all it takes to have you breaking down all over again, tears streaming down your face. Just one person offering to listen to the heavy burden you have to bear.

‘’M sor-sorry...” You sob, wiping at your eyes with frigid fingers, successful in doing nothing more but smearing tears around your face.

“Here.” The man’s taking off his scarf, gloved hands offering it you.

“I ca-can’t use your sc-scarf sir.” But he’s insistent, pressing it into your hands up by your face.

“I’ll just get another one. Keep it, you’re in need of it more than I am.”

The kindness makes another fresh bout of tears roll down your cheeks, but this time you're able to dab them away with soft fabric as you sniffle.

It takes a moment for you to calm yourself. When you do, you can finally engage in conversation with the man.

You tell him about your job hours getting cut, how you’ve been turned down or ignored by every single place you’ve applied at for a second job. How you’re barely affording to wash your clothes - you have to hang them or drape them across things in your apartment because you don’t have the money to pay for a dryer cycle.

And to top it all off, you’re still short on rent, despite how you scrimped and saved and even forced yourself not to buy groceries this week - you’ve gone hungry for the past three days.

“You haven’t eaten?”

You glance up at the man and his incredulous expression, shaking your head. “I’ve been trying to save money, I thought I could afford my rent if-”

“What kind of food do you like?” The man is pulling out his phone, swiping and tapping immediately.

“Thank you, but I’m not-” looking for charity is what you want to say. Plus, you shouldn’t accept favors from strange men.

But the handsome man is waving you silent. “I’m cold, plus I’d like to grab a bite to eat before I head home. I don’t like eating alone though, you’d honestly be doing me a favor.”

You take a moment to process. Is he telling the truth? He sounds like an honest guy.

“Seems like the only place open around here is “Joe’s 24 hour Diner”.... You mind burgers?”

So that's how you end up in a booth opposite the man (”Shouto” he had told you as you both headed to the diner), munching away at warm food. It tastes so good, you hardly have time to worry about the man watching you as he eats.

You’d been shocked at his looks the moment you’d seen him in the light of the diner. Pretty two-toned hair, different colored eyes, perfect skin, expensive clothes. Why was he even talking to you? It’s obvious the two of you led very different lives.

“How does everything taste?”

“Delicious.” Is your response, and Shouto seems pleased, nodding before taking another bite of his meal.

Maybe it’s stupid... but you feel weirdly safe with this man. He doesn’t seem to bear any ill-intent towards you, nor has he made any comments about your body or let his hands or eyes stray. He seems like a gentleman.

Conversation flows easily between the two of you, even sharing a few chuckles at times. He’s some fancy rich businessman, you learn, and you share about your own life, laughing at the comparisons. Shouto can’t fathom growing up in a house with less than five bedrooms and a personal servant.

He asks for your number, and you’re hesitant in giving it - he surely can’t be interested in you? But he seems so sincere, it’s hard to say no.

When the two of you part ways, Shouto gives you a wave, “Hope to see you again soon, and under better circumstances.”

“You too! And sorry for being such a mess and stopping your walk-”

Shouto shrugs, cheeks beginning to pink from the cold air as you two stand outside the diner. “You needed help. I like to assist.”

-----

The next morning you wake to find an atrociously large sum deposited in your Venmo account by none other than a Shouto Todoroki.

Immediately, you’re calling him. “It’s too much, we just met. How can you give away that much money to some low-life?”

You hear him sigh on the other end of the phone. “You’re obviously struggling. I was wondering what your hours are this week, perhaps we could talk about this over dinner? Or lunch, if that fits better with your schedule. I’m flexible.”

It’s a few days later, days spent questioning yourself, questioning his intentions, before you see him again, both of you deciding to meet for lunch to further discuss... whatever had just happened.

“Was what I gave you adequate to cover your rent?” Are the first words out of Shouto’s mouth after you greet each other.

“Yeah, more than enough-” You squirm. “But I need to ask.... why?”

“Why?”

“Why me.”

“Oh.” Shouto’s expression clears. “That’s easy. I told you a few days ago - I like to assist. I’m quite lonely, and it feels nice to use my money on someone other than myself. I think providing for someone brings me... I wouldn’t quite say joy, but... contentment.”

You contemplate his answer for a moment.

“Well... you saved me with my rent, I don’t really know how to thank you.”

The man leans forward. “Well.... I know it might be a bit sudden, but how would you feel accepting me as a.... benefactor of sorts?”

“You mean like a sugar daddy?” Is your immediate, blurted response. You want to slap yourself for speaking before you have the chance to think about your words, but luckily Shouto just lets out a light laugh.

“If you’d like to call it that. I’m willing to provide financial assistance for you, in exchange for companionship, if you’re willing to give it.”

Your face heats up as you drop your eyes, fidgeting nervously in your seat. “I don’t feel comfortable with a... a sexual relationshi-”

“That’s perfectly acceptable.” Shouto cuts you off before you can continue. “I wasn’t trying to insinuate a contract of that nature. I’m thinking more along the lines of accompanying me at meals, sharing experiences with me, providing company and friendship to a lonely man. If it seems that we’d like to progress further than that after we get to know each other, well, that will be addressed then. For now-” Shouto meets your eye, dipping his head a smidgeon so he can look at you directly. “All I ask for is a simple, non-intimate bond between two people.”

This is crazy.

And yet you accept.

The situation may be wild, and completely absurd, but you’d be a fool not to say yes.

Shouto is charming and handsome, respectful, courteous - you could go on and on about his positive qualities. He just seems like a sad, lonesome man swallowed by work and responsibilities, too stressed and busy to put the effort into making friends the conventional way.

-----

Months pass by.

You’re eating at every meal, sated and never going hungry. You’re able to move into a new place, one that doesn’t smell like cigarettes and sits right next to a railroad.

Clothes aren’t a worry anymore, you have your own washer and dryer in your new apartment (Shouto offered to buy you a house, or a penthouse at the least, but you couldn’t justify it to yourself). You’re able to afford new things, and pretty dresses, shoes that are comfortable and fashionable and that fit.

You no longer have to wear clothes down until they have holes in them. You’re able to go to the doctor’s when you feel sick, able to pay for health insurance.

Life is good.

Shouto is a personable man, serious, but he can be rather funny and even crude at times.

The doubt and thoughts of “Why is he doing this for me?” and “I’m not good enough for this.” plague you, but Shouto always seems to catch on, reassuring you that you’re exactly what he needs - a friend.

And you’re more than happy to be that.

You think sometimes, that even if he wasn’t paying you, you’d still like to be friends with Shouto Todoroki.

Until he starts acting weird.

“You should just stay at my place. I have more than enough room,, it’d be easier for both our schedules. We’d get to see each other more often.”

“Uhm...” You don’t really know what to say. You like your freedom, and having your own place where you can walk around in your (expensive) underwear without being bothered.

“I think it’d be nice, don’t you? We could have breakfast every morning, you wouldn’t have to worry about traveling to and fro, we could spend more time together. We don’t see each other nearly enough.”

He’s pushing, insistent. How are you supposed to tell him no? He’s paying for your entire life. Plus, it wouldn’t be that bad to actually live with him. Shouto’s an amicable man.

So you move in.

“I bought you a few things, they’re on your bed.”

Shouto’s striding into the kitchen where you’re making coffee, buttoning up his shirt as he comes closer. You’ve found that the man likes to sleep in nothing but boxers, shrieking and flushing an embarrassing shade the first time he’d come to wake you up with a sweet “welcome” breakfast in bed.

It’s taken a while to adjust, but you finally feel that you’re fully settled in.

“Oh, you really don’t ha-”

“I wanted to. I went through your closet - your clothes are nice, but your underwear seemed to be lacking.” He’s so matter-of-fact.

All you can do is stare at the back of his head.

“Could you pass me a spoon please?”

-----

Shouto had splurged on expensive, fancy lingerie.

At least eight different sets were laid out on your bed. It was overwhelming. It also felt.... a bit intrusive? They were all in your size, in a complementary color for your skin tone.

Weird.

Not as weird as the onset of Shouto’s casual touches.

You’d be reading, or drinking tea and watching cars race by on the street so far below, and Shouto would come up behind you, caress your sides before intertwining his fingers with yours on one hand. He did it as if it was a normal thing, but it felt anything but normal.

Or you’d be on the couch together, and Shouto would shuffle closer until his large body was pressed to yours, almost curled around you. The faux-cuddling was a bit more off putting. How do you tell him no?

The touches became more and more intimate, Shouto’s gifts more and more frequent until you weren’t even spending a penny, the man taking care of everything.

The arrangement was beginning to make you uncomfortable.

Shouto’s bi-colored eyes seemed to always be on you, tracing the shape of your body, watching you move, or breath, or sit. It was distracting, and you felt bad for feeling this way towards the man who’d pulled you out of poverty, but it was so unnerving.

He seemed to notice.

“You’ve been so stressed these past few days. Is something wrong?” Shouto’s rubbing a hand into your shoulder, hovering over you at the dinner table.

“No?” Is all you can manage, wiping your hands on your napkin as you finish your food.

Shouto frowns. With a sigh, his hand drops from your shoulder and the man leaves your side, heads toward the kitchen.

You clear your plate from the table, following after him so you can wash it and put it in the dishwasher before you head off to get ready for bed.

But Shouto is rummaging in a cupboard, pulling down two wine glasses to accompany the bottle of wine that’s standing proud on the island. It’s your favorite, a sweet wine that Shouto knows you like, always brings it out when he decides to drink whisky or bourbon after dinner.

He pops the cork and pours you a glass while you finish with your dishes, handing you the glass when you turn away from the sink, pressing it into your hands. “Let’s relax a little bit, it’ll be good for both of us.”

You’re fine with that, knowing that a little wine won’t hurt you, especially when it’s of such fine quality. You’d never dreamed that you’d be able to taste such richness in your lifetime, spend frivolous amounts of money on wine and fine eateries. Yet here you are.

Shouto pours himself a glass, barely a sip filling the bottom. The man raises it to his lips and takes a swig, grimacing a bit in his flat, unexpressive way. You giggle a little.

“Too sweet?’

The man nods, setting the glass back down. “I’m not entirely sure how you can stand to stomach it. But if it makes you happy-” He shrugs, before pulling on of the bar-stools out from under the island so he can sit facing you, long legs stretching out before him.

You look at him, and he looks at you, and then you take another sip of wine to avoid the awkwardness.

“You’re distancing yourself from me.”

The accusation is quiet, Shouto’s eyes focused on your fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass.

He’s always been straightforward with his words. “Is there a reason you keep drawing away?”

The wine disappears from your glass, sliding down your throat and settling in your stomach. You fill your glass again before speaking, struggling to find the right words without upsetting your... benefactor.

“Well, Shouto... I don’t really know how to...” You trail off, hoping Shouto will say something, change the subject, say it’s alright and move on to something else.

But the man stays silent, eyes appraising you.

Taking a deep breath, and another gulp of sweetness, you try again.

“Sometimes the closeness... like, physical closeness? Makes me, well, uncomfortable.”

Hopefully, that would satisfy his curiosity for now. That wasn’t the only reason you’d been avoiding Shouto seeming distant, but you didn’t think sharing the others would result in anything good.

Said man accepted your response, dropping his eyes to his lap as he mulled it over. More wine was consumed, glass re-filled. You felt nervous.

“You’re saying that my touch isn’t something you’d prefer.”

Biting your lip, you soften at his confused expression, at the hint of sadness swimming behind his eyes. “Kind of. I don’t mind you Shouto, you’re really kind, and you’re good company, and a wonderful friend. I just don’t think the.... the intimacy is for me.”

Shouto raises his head, stares at you with those pretty eyes, lips parted as he comes to terms with your words.

“It sounds like you don’t trust me. I would never hurt you, you know this.”

You scramble to assure him. “I do! I do trust you, and I know you wouldn’t.” (at least you hoped) “But I guess I just... Coming into this agreement I wasn’t ready for that type of... thing. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

The man rises, shakes his head as he steps closer to you. “Don’t worry, I remember our first conversation about that aspect. I see that for you, that type of relationship would only begin after you really cared for the other person, trusted and wanted to see them happy, am I correct?”

“Oh, Shouto-” You rush. “No, I care for you, and I trust you, and of course I want to see you happy. I think it’s just, y’know, my last relationship like that went really bad, and it sucked. I don’t want to go through that again.”

Shouto nods, understanding. “I see. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me then.”

A smile crosses your face, and you feel relived that he accepted your rejection with grace and understanding instead of violence or anger. “Thank you, it means a lot to me.”

The mood of the room shifted, from tense and uncomfortable, to easy and light, and you poured another glass of wine, laughing a little at how worried you were about the conversation with Shouto, only for it all to turn out fine.

“I’m going to go drink some of the liquor that’s kept in my room. I could mix a few drinks for you to try, you might like how sweet they are. I know hard alcohol isn’t quite your thing.”

You beam a smile, nodding your head eagerly. Before, you’d feel apprehensive about going into his room with him to drink alcohol. But with the conversation the two of you just had, you knew - things would be fine.

-----

The room was spinning and you felt giddy and light. You were definitely tipsy.

“You can lay down on my bed, you’re getting wobbly on your feet.” Shouto had offered, and you’d gladly accepted, flopping down onto his comfy bedspread with a laugh at how the motion made butterflies rise in your tummy.

Shouto leaned against his dresser, swirling whiskey in his glass as he watched you, a half-smile across his face. You smiled back, before closing your eyes, a little bit tired as you realized that you might be a bit more than just tipsy.

Shouto had mixed quite a few drinks for you, and you’d drank each one eagerly, impressed with how little alcohol you could taste in each one. You don’t remember how many you had, but it didn’t really matter.

The next thing you know, hands are on your waist, scooting you further up the bed so your legs no longer hang off the edge. Cracking open an eye, you’re met with the visage of red-and-white, eyes soft and warm as they regard you, Shouto’s face tinged a bit pink from the few drinks he had consumed. The man had never been too good at holding his alcohol.

When those hands started to slip beneath your shirt, you wiggled like a little worm, not really comprehending the situation. Maybe it was a dream.

Your shirt was discarded, then your pants. It felt much more comfortable now, and you mumbled a “thanks” to the man helping you settle for bed. He was so nice, Shouto took such good care of you. You still kind of couldn’t believe the turn your life had taken with him, the good luck pushed into your path.

Someone was kissing you.

With a grunt of surprise, you kissed them back, meeting their feverish pace and trying to keep up, soft lips puckering and pushing against your own with intent. Kissing felt good. You liked kissing.

Then a hand was cupping your face, stroking tenderly over your cheek before it began sliding down, down your neck, into the valley between your breasts, trailing over your bra. It felt funny.

Pushing back for air, you gasped when the hand on your chest started squeezing at you, eyes flying open with the startling, sudden sensation.

Shouto was hovering over you, lips puffy, panting as he stared at you with lusty eyes, an uncharacteristic look on his face. This... this wasn’t supposed to be like this. You knew. Hadn’t the two of you just talked about something... important? Was it important?

You didn’t feel panic until a hand cupped your sex, feeling your skin through your panties.

This wasn’t right.

Alarm bells were ringing, dull and far away, but you didn’t think that Shouto should be touching you in such a way. you should be going to bed.

“Mm, Sho, can you stop?” But your words felt funny on your tongue, and Shouto didn’t stop. Maybe he didn’t hear you.

His hair tickled your chin as the man bent to mouth at your tits, pulling the cups of your bra underneath them so he could feel your hot skin, let his saliva drag slick and wet against your chest.

Your hands instinctively rooted themselves in his hair as you gasped again, not expecting such a move, tugging lightly at his head to pull him up. Shouto just groaned, teething gently at your breasts and not moving an inch. His hips were grinding against the bed though, as he stood between your spread legs.

Before you knew it, your panties were gone, bra clumsily unclasped and discarded, and you were completely bare. Shouto was undressing before you, struggling with the buttons on his shirt before giving up, easily ripping the fabric of his body with one tug, grumbling.

You didn’t feel so tipsy anymore.

“Shouto, what’re we doing? We shouldn’t be doing this, we need to stop-”

“Stay down.” Was his firm command, a hand splayed across your naked chest and pushing you back into the mattress as you tried to sit up. It made you breathless, the growl in his voice, the dominance emanating from the man. You stayed still.

“This’s gonna make us a stronger couple.” The man slurred, eyes dark and hands wandering, effortlessly keeping you pinned against the bed as he ground his hips forward against the edge. You were getting scared.

“Wait-”

You fell silent as one hand pushed down his pants, his underwear going with them, pink cock bobbing free. He was so pretty down there, and it made sense, all of him was pretty, but you suddenly realized the weight of the situation, what was happening.

“Shouto, no, oh my god. We gotta stop right now, we’re drunk, we’re-we’re-”

“Don’t care. Not gonna let you hide away from me this time.” Shouto shook his head, taking his cock in one hand and giving it a long, slow pump, flushed tip weeping precum and wetting his hand.

“No, no, this is wrong. I don’t want this, I could get pregnant!” You cried, beginning to panic for real, pushing against the one strong hand anchoring you to the bed.

Shouto just chuckled, letting go of his cock to crowd against you, getting up in your face to press a wet finger to your lips, the salty taste of his precum threatening to slip into your mouth unless you kept it shut. “Shhh, shh. If you stay nice and still, if you do what I say, I’ll use a condom.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

“You’re gonna listen to me, you always do.” The man nodded to himself, once again dragging his cock against the bed between your legs, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “Or else I’ll fuck you raw.” The finger was pulled from your lips, only to be wagged teasingly in your face.

You couldn’t believe how he was acting.

“Be nice.”

Shouto tapped your nose with a neatly manicured finger, before groaning as he heaved himself upright, red cock bobbing against his stomach, desperate for attention. The man gave you a look, as if to say “don’t move” before he took his hands off you, heading for his dresser.

Once you saw him pulling out a strip of condoms, you were on your feet, stumbling toward the door.

Although panic had sobered you somewhat, you were still struggling with the effects of the alcohol, so your reaction time was maddeningly slow. Slow enough that you weren’t able to truly fight against Shouto when he grabbed you from behind toned arms wrapping around your middle and heaving you into the air, only to throw you back on his bed.

You were almost sick on the bedspread, world spinning and stomach protesting, but you were able to calm yourself.

But then Shouto was on you, flipping you onto your back, a soft hand pressing against your throat threateningly.

“You want to have a baby? Want me to cum in you so you’ll get all fat with kids? Hm?” He was so intense, almost choking you, straddling your waist and keeping you pinned. It was too much

You were able to manage a tearful, desperate “No!” despite the hand around your throat, and Shouto backed off, releasing the pressure to instead stroke his hand against the sides of your neck.

“Stop acting like this, it’s the next logical step for us. You said you cared for me, wanna make me happy. This’ll make me happy. I won’t be like the last guy.”

His cock was pressed against your stomach, and you could feel it twitching. Shouto clambered off of you, letting go of your neck so he could grab the condoms he’d tossed on the bed before snatching you up.

“Do what I say and I use these.” He waved them in your face before tearing one off, beginning to open it.

You stayed still, gazing at him blearily, limbs feeling fuzzy, mind feeling the same.

The condom was rolled onto Shouto’s cock, the man spitting into his palm and giving the latex a few rubs to make it slick before reaching for you.

He dragged you to the edge of the bed - the perfect height for him to fuck you - and you didn’t fight, terrified of his threat. You couldn’t stand the thought of a baby.

(You didn’t know, but neither could he)

“Wanted to do this since I met you.” Shouto mumbled, pushing your panties to the side with a few fingers so he could guide his tip to your hole. “Want you so bad.”

You didn’t know what to think of this side of Shouto. This unreserved, uncareful, slurring mess of a man that loomed before you, gaze dark and wild, limbs everywhere as he groped and squeezed and appreciate the shape of your body.

But he must’ve gotten impatient, because then he was pushing inside.

It hurt, stinging pain rippling up your back and you keened, causing Shouto to pause. One of his hands darted down to wrap around your calf, hauling it up on the bed so he could lean forward and press it to you chest, sinking his cock a few inches deeper.

“You’re gonna take it.” He hissed before messily kissing you, pressed so close together that it was hard to breathe. “I’ll make it feel good after you do.”

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years

Note

Imagine orc!Lee using his size to intimidate others. As soon as he steps out of his vehicle the car almost bounces from the weight being lifted from it. He leans into your vehicle just to let you know how much bigger he is than you. Not just that but he mentions how much smaller you are compared to him.

How could you do this to me 😫

Who We Really Are

Pairing: orc!Lee Bodecker x Reader

Warnings: dubcon, forced marriage, breeding, allusion to kidnapping, usual filth.

Words: 3347.

P.S. I’M SORRY BUT IT’S NOT MY FAULT, BLAME THIS ASK!

______________

“You gotta be careful, little one.” Sheriff smirks, but you can see a glimpse of concern in his eyes when he blocks your way to your car, looking down at you from his height as if you’re a little girl - compared to probably the finest orc in your town you are, indeed. “That gas tank of yours is no good. You better replace it soon.”

You nod, unable to look him straight into the eyes as he watches you, his pants becoming painfully tight at the thought of fucking you into his bed till you’re a mewling mess with your legs spread wide for him, asking him to pump you full of his cum. You know sheriff likes you, you see that hungry look in his eyes, the way he treats you, how softly he speaks to you while barking at anyone else around. You know Lee’s been looking for a wifey for quite some time: for orcs who often marry early he’s pretty late, being too busy with his career and election. But now it looks like he’s getting impatient, and you get a little nervous knowing you might be very much one of his candidates.

“I get you’re intimidated by him.” Your colleague Annie says while putting canned meat on the shelves, you doing the same close to her. “Guess we all are, man’s a damn sheriff! But I think Lee’s one fine man, and you always gonna have food on the table, be respected by townsfolk, you know.”

“You say it as if he’s already proposed to me.” You murmur, slightly embarrassed and trying not to think of his large figure looming over you, his thick thighs and strong, beefy arms radiating heat.

“I won’t be surprised if he will.” Annie smirks, winking at you. “It’s orcs breeding season. Unless you don’t like him because he’s an orc?”

“Jeez, you know it’s not true!”

She laughs at you: being a half-orc, she always teases you about human-orc relationships, telling you to go find yourself a good orc husband, a real man ready to protect you. Sometimes she hints that orc men are way better lovers than human, and you have to shush her before your cheeks start burning. What a shameless woman!

But you know she’s right: just one look at Lee’s muscled but chubby body makes you embarrassed as you imagine him taking you on his lap while he kisses you, his large tongue in your mouth, his hands caressing the inner side of your thighs. You’re pretty sure he has a monstrous cock, and it both scares and excites you. Sometimes in your dreams you ride him, and your belly swells with his seed when he cums so much his sperm leaks down your thighs. You like to imagine him getting angry at you and fucking you till you cry and plead him to stop, your womb stuffed with his hot cock milk. You don’t know, but Lee has same dreams, every evening imagining you on your knees with your pretty little mouth wide open to fit his fat cock. He wanna fuck you so bad he barely contains himself from going to you and banging at your door at night. It’s pretty easy: you live next to him.

And yet, even if you admit you’re attracted to him, something stops you, something dark and heavy in his eyes when he looks at you, something telling you sheriff Lee isn’t your ordinary lovestruck young man, and you stay away from him, unsure why but unwilling to look too long into the abyss, afraid of what you might find there. Anyway, you aren’t even sure you didn’t imagine his looks, and maybe he has no intention to have any relationships with you. Annie laughs when you tell her that.

The night when you heard Lee yelling loudly in your house, waking you up, is like any other night - except that your house is on fire, your kitchen’s in flames, and your head is heavy from the smell of burning wood and plastic when you wake up, barely able to move in your bed. Lee’s already in your bedroom, and he covers you with what seems like a large wet towel, wrapping you in it and lifting you in the air as if you weight nothing. Everything around grows bright orange when fire gets closer, and an orc quickly carries you into the corridor, holding his breath - flames are eating your old red carpet and a beautiful drawer you’ve been so proud of, but there’s no time to save anything, the house will be gone soon even if firefighters arrive the next minute. You’re lucky sheriff couldn’t sleep and saw the fire starting, otherwise you’d be already dead.

When you wake up in a hospital, your head hurts and the smell of burning plastic is everywhere despite the fact the room is clean, and fresh air gets through a slightly open window. When the doctor explains you what happens, the only one you want to see is Lee. He’s waiting in the corridor, his arms bandaged, he has burn scars on his face, but it should bother you, sheriff says. Orc’s skin is much tougher than human, and these marks would be gone in a matter of two or three weeks. You cry when he tells you your house is gone. All your possessions are gone with it, too, and you has nothing left, not even a penny in your pocket. How could it happen?

“Your gas tank, honey.” Sheriff says, and you cover your face with your palms, weeping. Of course, the gas tank. You should have replaced it years ago, and Lee was reminding you about it every damn week.

Yes, the house’s partly insured, but all your documents and valuable belongings are gone. You don’t even have a place to stay, and you don’t know if there’s a shelter in your town.

“Don’t bother.” Lee says, looking at officers wanting to say something with such an expression his men back off immediately, unwilling to anger their boss further. “You can stay at my place. You’re my neighbor, anyway.”

You doubt it’s something casual for a neighbor to do, but you don’t complain: thank goodness Lee’s kind enough to give you a place to live before you’ll figure something out. You know you can call Annie, but she has three kids, and you living in their small house would only make things more difficult. You shouldn’t be scared of a sheriff, right? Someone like him wouldn’t do anything to you. In the end, he’s the one who saved your life.

You agree to come to him, grateful for his kindness. His house isn’t fancy, but it’s clean and warm, and you have the whole room to yourself in exchange for cooking: Lee’s often busy with his work, and he barely has time for house choirs.

Living with him seems easy enough when you don’t see him getting out of the bathroom half naked or catch him looking at you when he thinks you don’t see. It’s hard to concentrate cooking if sheriff watches you - in fact, it’s hard to do anything when he’s there, his eyes roaming over your body, and you think you can see him getting hard. You hope you’ve just imagined it, and sheriff is simply interested in what you’re doing - he hasn’t been living with anyone since he left his parents to be on his own.

When one day he catches you looking at him, he’s just had a bath, and the towel is wrapped tightly around his chubby belly, the fabric too short to hid his big, strong legs. Your cheeks grow hot in an instant when Lee gets dangerously close, and you’re pretty much pressed into the wall when he looms over you, his huge body completely blocking the light.

“Listen, little one, I’m tired to play these games.” He growls into your face, and you accidentally lick your lips when you see his tusks so close, dreaming to touch them with your kitten tongue. Ooh, Lee gets so angry looking at you, and you feel his horse cock pressing into your belly as he slams you into the wall. “Shit, you think it’s funny what you’re doing to me? I’ll fuck your brains out, little bitch.”

You don’t know if you’ve been asking for it, doing your best to keep your thoughts to yourself, but you neither scream nor run when sheriff tears down your panties, his tongue in your mouth, his fingers touching your bare pussy softly beneath your skirt, his warm, chubby belly pressing into your body as his towel falls down the floor. You have no idea if he uses something on you, but your head’s cloudy and vision blurry when Lee kisses you like this, and soon you’re finally licking his tusks while he fingers you, sitting on his lap just like you always wanted to, his monstrous cock so fucking big you think he’ll break you in half.

“Think you can’t take it?” He chuckles, watching you stare at his shaft nervously. “You’re one fine bitch, honey. You’re made to cum on top of orc’s cock.”

His rough fingers massage you so well you cum from them alone, your eyes rolling inside your skull with your kitten tongue hanging out of your mouth. You don’t realize you’re in his bed until Lee presses you face into the sheets, and you feel his smell when he fucks you with his long, slimy tongue until you start to writhe, moaning and wining and asking for his cock. Lee’s getting impatient, you feel it, but he does his best, slowly bottoming you out till you can’t speak anymore, pain and pleasure mixing in one strange feeling as the tip of his cock is kissing your womb. It’s so good, it’s so good when he’s rubbing all the right spots, filling you full, his big, warm body embracing yours, so much smaller and softer. You mewl like a kitten for him, your cunt aching when Lee starts to move, and you’re both crying and pleading for more when he fucks you in his bed, and you get to touch his face, shoulders and chubby belly, feel his thick thighs and hips pressing into yours. Sex with an orc is so good, you mewl to him to see his dirty grin when Lee goes harder on you, soon filling your baby room to the brim with his fat cum. But he’s not done yet, oh no, what an orc stops after cumming just once? He gotta make sure he blows his load inside of you as many times as he can even if tomorrow you won’t be able to leave his bed. Lee would even prefer it that way.

When you woke up next morning, his side of the bed is empty, and you sigh, hiding beneath a comforter, deep sense of shame suffocating you when you remember the details of last night. What have you done? How could you sleep with Lee Bodecker, town’s sheriff, while not even being in relationship with him? Yes, you have always been attracted to him, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is your completely ruined reputation when people will learn about what you’ve done. What would Lee tell them about you? How were you going to live with it now?

Slowly getting up and wrapping a comforter around yourself, you shivered, looking at the nightstand and hoping to find some note from him, anything at all to comfort yourself that you didn’t make a terrible mistake.

You expect to find anything but a marriage certificate with your name on it.

Grabbing it immediately, you look at it while thinking it’s some kind of joke. Maybe you weren’t in your right mind yesterday, deciding to sleep with sheriff, but you most certainly didn’t leave the house to get married to him. It is ridiculous. Besides, it was already late when he pinned you to his bed, how would you get a certificate anyway?

But the longer you look at it, the less fake it appears to be, both sheriff’s and your signatures there along with a stamp. How could it happen? Did you suffer from amnesia or something? No, no, you didn’t. The only way to explain it was if Lee got the certificate without you, faking your signature. But who on Earth would do it? Who would agree to issue this paper in such illegal way?

Oh, people would do it for an almighty orc sheriff. You know they would.

Hearing some sound coming from the corridor, you keep a comforter closer to you and run, opening the door to see a surprised Lee in his uniform walking on tiptoe. He blinks, watching you holding a certificate in your trembling hands, and his gaze becomes heavier. However, you don’t even know what to say. You don’t understand what’s happening even the slightest bit until you think it was true sheriff was looking for a wife, and it horrifies you how barbaric Lee might turn out to be. No, wait, it can’t be true, can it? He’s the sheriff. He wouldn’t do it. Would he?

“Was it you?” You manage to mumble, and now all you’re thinking about is the explosion and your old gas tank. What if it has been his fault all along, too? The thought chills you to the bone. “The fire...”

You don’t finish the sentence when a huge orc looms over you, his face distorted by anger, and you take a step back, frightened by the change in his demeanor when his heavy hand lands on your shoulder. “What? You think it’s me who did that? That’s what you think of me, little one?”

“No, I... I-” You don’t know what to say, afraid to make him mad but also thinking that destroying your gas tank didn’t seem like something Lee - or any other sane man - would do. You could still see burn scars on his arms he was covering the best he could with his uniform, reminding yourself it was him who pulled you from a house fire in the middle of the night. Regardless of what happened yesterday, you still owed him your life. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“Good.” He snorts, turning back and getting his shoes while you just stand there watching him, a certificate still in your hand. "I don't have time for this now. I need to go to work."

You still can't get over what just happened, your mind wandering to you being married to Lee while you certainly didn't remember agreeing to it or him even asking you if you wanted to spend your life with him. Even if he didn't do anything to your gas tank, marrying you to him without asking seemed completely mad. Even for orcs eager to get married it was something totally unbelievable; there has always been a courtship period before an official ceremony.

"Is it real?" You asked, barely having enough courage to voice your thoughts when Lee looked at you again. "This... is it real?"

He's puffing like a steam engine, getting close to you again, his chubby belly pressing into yours. "Yeah it's real. What else?"

What else? What else? Was he serious?

You find yourself at loss for words, gasping for air. Lee married you. He seriously did it. It wasn't a joke.

Not knowing what to say, you think how little he cared about the law he was meant to represent, doing something as crazy as this. He didn't even ask you, though you knew what he was going to say if you started questioning him, "You have fucking slept with me, woman. You can even be pregnant with my child now, and you bother me with some formalities how I got the certificate?"

But it still didn't feel right that he didn't need your consent. Why? Did he think you'd outright reject him after what happened between you? Lee knew you had no one by your side, no suitors of any kind. Why didn't he bother to have a courtship period like everybody else?

Well, he isn't going to give you a divorce now over something like this, that's for sure. If he went as far as to have an illegal marriage registration, he surely was gonna keep you. You didn’t want to think what would happen if you tried telling police or anyone else how things were. Besides, even if you will get an annulment or something, people gonna call you sheriff’s whore till the end of your life, and this was your fault. You slept with him. You did it, and no annulment could change it.

"You could at least get me a wedding dress." You muttered in defeat, lowering your eyes down. "Didn't want to bother even with it?"

Feeling his large, warm hand on the side of your face, caressing your gently, he gives you a hearty laugh as if you amuse him, his eyes growing warmer when he hears you talking. "Wanna have a dress, honey? You'll get a dress.”

You look at him wide-eyed, unsure your heard him right. You thought he was going to scold you and call you names for being so ungrateful: he let you into his house while asking for so little in return and ended up marrying you while you had pretty much nothing to offer him but yourself.

“Call Lorraine and say sheriff needs it done in three days, alright? Her number's in the phone book."

Lorraine McCain, the best dressmaker in town. Her services always cost an arm and a leg, but she knows her job well, and if a girl is lucky enough to order Lorraine's dress, she's gonna boast about it all the time, showing off in front of her girlfriends until somebody else gets a new Lorraine’s dress.

"We'll make things right. Do the ceremony, have guests, all that sort of stuff, yeah?" He said, nuzzling against your cheek, his warm belly touching yours. "We'll talk about it when I come back, alright? Now take care of that dress of yours."

Perplexed with his sudden change of mood, you don't say anything again, your arms softly touching the back of his mighty neck when Lee leaves a clumsy kiss on your cheek, his tusks barely tickling your skin, and you smile unconsciously, enjoying his touch. Did he make the certificate because he thought you'd reject him? Now it definitely seemed like it. Why would he treat you so kindly otherwise? Maybe it's his way of showing his feelings without a risk of being refused, though you still think Lee is very barbaric even for an orc.

"Alright." You whisper when your husband presses a brief kiss to your knuckles, feeling soft. "I'll be waiting for you then."

"My good little wifey." Lee smirks when he sees you calming down and unwilling to fight him - he was afraid you'd turn on him after seeing that certificate and he'd have to lock you in the house until he spends enough nights fucking you into submission, but you really are his best girl. "We're gonna have a good life, I promise.”

Yeah, having a ceremony seemed right, he thinks in the car, looking at his house. He didn't plan to stop filling you up, and if you'd be already visibly pregnant by the time he brings you to church, townsfolk gonna start nasty rumors, for sure. Of course, he'd silence them all - he wasn't called the biggest orc in town for nothing, mind him being a sheriff - but it seemed too bothersome while he could just get things done in a couple of days, a week at the latest. Besides, the elections are getting close.

Shit, he was one lucky bastard, Lee grinned, thinking of your sweet cunt leaking with his cum once he was done with you. You'll surely be his pretty little wifey in front of everyone and a damn bitch in heat for him behind the closed doors.

_____________

Didn’t do the taglist for this one since it’s a completely new fandom for me 😌

#lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker #yandere #requests #the devill all the time #devill all the time #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes

855 notes · View notes

elareine · 3 years

Note

If you could, can you please write JayTim or RoyTim (whichever one you want) trying to be romantic and woo Tim (maybe with some puns, I love puns), but Tim is a bit oblivious towards it, because the other is so cool, therefore they must be trying to make friends and be nice with him and nothing more. So when he does finally realize its an italicized "Oh" moment.

Hi lovely!! Thank you for waiting so patiently for this fill. I... ended up making it JayRoyTim, I hope that's okay? It just fit so well, but I can totally write something else with JayTim or RoyTim for you if you want :)

Also, it turned out to be about pick-up lines more than wooing, sorry. I might’ve gone overboard with googling the puns. It's long enough that I put it on ao3, too. What's your username on there? Then I'll gift it to you.

if you were a transformer (you’d be optimus fine)

“Well, here I am.”

Tim looks up, utterly confused. “I didn’t call for you, but… that’s… great?”

Roy waggles his eyebrows. It looks faintly disturbing. Redheads should maybe not do that. Or, actually, Tim revises mentally, thinking of literally every other redhead Dick ever dated—that’s just Roy. “What are your other two wishes?”

“Coffee and some silence to finish working this case?”

Roy looks weirdly deflated at that, but he does get him some coffee. Tim soon forgets about it.

—

(“How’d it go?”

“Does obliviousness run in the family?”

“Yes. Yes it does. Have you met Bruce?”

“…okay, fair. Your turn next.”)

—

“Jason? What’re you doing here?”

Sure, Jason and Roy have been spending a lot more time in Gotham lately. Something to do with a case, Tim assumes. Maybe even with the one that they worked on together in Star City five months ago?

Anyway. They’ve been around, is what Tim is saying. Not at the manor, but at Tim’s apartment and his workspace, cause apparently it’s not worth rebuilding their safe house after it went up in flames, and Bruce and Damian are too often at Dick’s place. He’s not exactly surprised to see either of them anymore. (Pleased, yes. But not surprised.) However, Tim has no fucking clue why Jason is currently grinning at him from the other side of the library desk.

At least Tim has the good sense to check his name tag before he gasps: “Jason?”

“Oh, hey, Tim.” Jason’s grinning. “Guess you figured out my new job, huh?”

“Yeah.” Tim shakes his head. “Color me surprised.” So this is what Jason’s spending his days doing. He’s gotta be shadowing someone, right? Tim’ll ask him tonight.

“I’ve always liked this place.” Jason’s gaze is far away for a moment. Tim badly wants to know what he’s remembering. Then the older man seems to come back to himself and gives Tim a weird—maybe angry?—look. “It’s a good thing I’m a librarian, too, cause I’m totally checking you out.”

“Alright, I can take a hint.” Tim grabs his book and demonstratively walks over to the self-service scanners. Really. How rude.

—

(“Are you telling me he managed to resist you in your cardigan?”

“Apparently.”

“Aww. C’mere, babe.”)

—

So Roy blows things up all the time. No, really, Tim now totally understands why Dick was so happy when he heard the duo is camping out at Tim’s place for a change. His older brother even gave Tim a thumbs-up, for God’s sake. He must’ve known.

Cause yeah, there’s at least one explosion every two days. Or Roy dropping something cause he’s too focused on what he’s thinking to remember what his hands are doing. Or something dropping on him. Jason seems used to it; he just catches whatever it is or laughs at Roy. Tim… is starting to learn to do the same, actually. Whatever Roy comes up with at that moment is usually worth it, and besides, he’s kinda adorable.

Aaaaaaanyway. (He’s using that word a lot in his own thoughts right now. Almost as if he’s avoiding thinking about something. Hmm.) Tim’s not surprised when Roy walks into a room, stumbles, and slaps a hand over his eyes with a dramatic exclamation.

Tim, in shorts and not much else cause he got drenched in pollen earlier, just raises an eyebrow. “Alright, Roy?”

“Nope.” Roy’s hand is still covering his face, but Tim can still see his grin underneath. “I’m gonna need your name and phone number for insurance purposes.”

“Roy. You have both of these things,” Tim explains slowly, wondering if Roy sustained a brain injury or accidentally dosed himself on something. “And why insurance?”

“I was blinded by your beauty.”

God. Sometimes Tim wonders about the original Titans and their socialization for the two dudes if this is how they think making friends works. Then again, Kori, Donna, and Dick probably appreciated constant compliments about their beauty. It all makes sense. Roy must be so used to it that he even uses those same methods when someone unexceptional like Tim is around.

He smiles gamely. “I’m looking forward to hearing that phone call. Must be almost as great as the time Bruce tried to convince his insurance company that Clark dropping on his car wasn’t an act of God because God is demonstrably not a Kryptonian. Neither was the giant ape punching Clark out.”

Roy drops his hand at that. “…Batman did what?”

—

(“You were doing so well, too.”

“I knoooow. How much more obvious can we get?”

“I dunno, but I intend to try.”)

—

“Do you like Star Wars? Because Yoda only one for me!”

“Haha. No. Star Trek or die.” Tim’s answer is automatic. He’s had these discussions soooo many times with Kon before. Of course Jason also goes for the space cowboy soap opera.

Besides, Jason’s boyfriend is standing right next to him. He doesn’t mean to sound flirtatious with Tim. Or maybe he does, and it’s just good fun? Or maybe teasing him? Tim can’t figure it out, but he knows he doesn’t like the weird hollow feeling he gets in his stomach when he thinks about it, so he changes the topic.

And makes both of them sit down to watch some classic Captain Kirk, of course.

—

(“Should I be insulted by that pick up line?”

“Nah. There aren’t that many lines that imply a polycule, though.”

A kiss. “Alright.”)

—

One of the things Jason and Tim have in common is their predilection for motorbikes and fiddling around with them. Not that makes them unique in the batclan; Tim has never spent days quietly working side-by-side with Dick, though, the way he does with Jason. They started out with separate projects. Then Jason saw this vintage Ducati at an abandoned warehouse he was about to blow up and, well… Would be a shame, right? Tim just happens to have had one of these before—regrettably lost to one of Harley’s exploding baseball bats—so he offers his expertise.

It’s not because it means bending over the engine with Jason, closer than they ever are, their hands brushing when they hand each other instruments. It’s not.

Roy doesn’t join them. He’s too polite to say so, but he finds normal cars and bikes boring af. Doesn’t stop him from popping his head into the garage and whistling when he sees that they are shirtless and covered in grease. It’s a damn good look on Jason, so Tim can’t fault him for that.

Roy follows it up with a: “Are you a parking ticket? Cause you got fine written all over you.”

Tim can’t help it; he blushes at the suggestive tone. Those two never stop flirting with each other, do they? So far, he has managed to avoid stumbling over them while they’re making out (not that they’re making that easy—the kitchen? Really?), and he’d like to keep avoiding that, thank you very much. He’s already feeling guilty enough for his fantasies as it is.

“Uh. I should clean up,” he mumbles and flees.

—

(“Dammit.”

“…do you think that was a rejection?”

“Nah. He was definitely checking me out before you came and fucked it up.”

“That’s saying something if you noticed it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”)

—

So Tim has magically acquired cat ears and a very fluffy tail. Don’t ask. They’re gonna go away in eight hours, and until then, he’s gonna stay in the cave and work himself to distraction. Jason seems intent on keeping him company, though.

(It’s nice. Tim loves hanging out with Jason—that’s not the problem. The issue is that Tim is looking ridiculous, and Jason is being nice about it, and none of this is helping his stupid crush go away.)

They’re absently chatting about nothing until Jason says: “Kinda a pity you’re a cat, though.”

Tim looks up. Huh? Admittedly, he never pegged Jason as the type to go for catboys (though maybe… he did hang out with Kyle… perhaps it’s just that he definitely doesn’t go for Tims), but that’s still a weird pronouncement.

Jason is grinning. “If you were a chicken, you’d be impeccable.” He pauses. “Wait. Like even more than you already are. Uh.”

Tim sighs. Great. And now Jason is making fun of him again. “Whatever.”

—

(“A chicken?”

“Shut up. I panicked.” A sigh. “He was so cute with these ears.”

“…yeah, he was.”)

—

“You must be tired. You’ve been running through my mind all night.”

“I’m not tired,” Tim says automatically. Why does everyone keep asking him that tonight? Surely the shadows under his eyes can’t be that bad? He used concealer!

Something in Roy’s expression softens. “Aww. C’mere.” He pats the space on the couch next to him, and when Tim sits down, Roy pulls him half of on top of him and into a hug. “Relax for a bit, little bird.”

Tim sinks into the embrace, boneless all of a sudden. Roy just has that effect on him. Tim vaguely remembers thinking of him as his oldest brother’s cool friend and then Jason’s cool boyfriend, kind of a fuckboy but clearly good for Jay.

Now? Now, Roy just makes him feel safe.

—

(“So you spent the night on the couch just so he could sleep in your arms?”

“Yeah. Totally worth it.”

“Duh.”

“I just wish we could do that with him every night. Bet he fits perfectly between us.”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“We might have to up the ante or switch tactics.”)

—

They’re talking about their favorite books—Tim doesn’t read as much as Jason does, but they discovered a shared love of sci-fi weeks ago—when Tim says: “Actually, that book kinda reminds me of you.”

“Oh?”

“Overly dramatic but good.”

Jason makes an offended noise, and Tim grins.

“I’m not sure which part I should argue about first.” Jason pretends to think.

Tim is always down to tell Jason that fuck his self-perception—Jason is a good man, one of the best Tim knows; that also feels too revealing right now. Instead, he gets up from their comfortable position on the couch and grabs the first stack on the table, carrying them over to the shelves to replace the gaps. “What kind of book would I be?”

“Babe, if you were words on a page, you’d be fine print.”

“Annoying and no one reads it?” Tim asks without turning around, trying to ignore the babe. That’s. That’s gotta be a slip of the tongue, right? Force of habit from spending so much time with Roy?

“No, fine,” and the emphasis is clear this time. Jason continues before Tim can reply: “Though if we’re talking books…”

Tim whirls around. “Save it. You don’t have to make fun of me just because I—“He swallows down the words.

Jason looks alarmed. “Tim—“

As if he can smell trouble, Roy chooses that moment to enter the room. Tim has barely heard him approach, Jesus. He doesn’t want to have this argument in front of Roy, though, so he just stands there in the middle of the room. Jason, too, has stopped speaking.

Roy, of course, takes one look at the awkwardness and decides to make it worse. Or more confusing.

“Did you just come out of the oven?” he asks.

“As this isn’t Hansel and Gretel, no, I didn’t.” Tim checks his shirt, just in case this is an actual conversation opener and not just a weird attempt at a distraction. “Do I have soot on me?”

“Nope.” Roy shakes his head, and he’s smiling that smile again, the one Tim is startled to recognize, the one he thought is reserved only for Jason— “Because you’re hot.”

And finally, Tim gets it. “Me?”

“Yes, Tim.” Roy’s moving in closer. “You.”

There’s a soft touch to Tim’s shoulder, and Tim whirls around, expecting Jason to be mad, cause his boyfriend is—is hitting on Tim, right, that’s what’s happening, Jason can’t be happy—

Jason is smiling down at him. His hand is still resting on Tim’s shoulder, but it slides down to his collar bone, a gentle presence as he murmurs: “You’re so beautiful that you made forget my pick up line.”

Oh. Oh.

Tim says the first thing he can think of: “Are you a raisin?”

Jason starts grinning. “I’m not even gonna qualify that with an answer.”

Tim smiles back. “Cause you’re raising my hopes for a kiss right about now.”

And he gets one. And then another, and then Roy joins in, kissing Tim’s neck and then his mouth and—Yeah.

They’re too busy for any more pick up lines right now.

#elareine writes #jayroytim

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meganlpie · 3 years

Text

Firefighter

Based on this request from @igotmadskills Hello! I was wondering if I could request a cute Supernatural fic where Dean is a firefighter and saves the reader and maybe he checks up on them and they get to know each other and fall in love? I need some fluff in my life lol!

Here you are, lovely! I do not own Dean. He belongs to the writers/creators of SPN.

Warnings: AU, fire, fluff

Pairings: Dean Winchester x reader

The fire had broken out so suddenly, there was nothing you could do but stay low to the ground and wait for the fire department to show up. Your business was literally going up in smoke, but all you could think about was getting your employees out safely. While it was a horrible incident, you couldn't be entirely upset after a bit. After all, if not for the fire, you never would have met Dean.

Dean had been the one to pull you from the fire, covered in ash and smelling like smoke. He made sure you got to the ambulance to get checked out before returning to help put out the blazing fire that had been your building. You were so thankful for insurance. That would help replace almost everything. But you would have to figure out to pay your employees while they weren't working. It wasn't their fault and they needed to make a living too.

After the fire was out, you stood next to the ambulance with the shock blanket wrapped around you. "Hey, you okay?" You looked over to see one of the most handsome men you'd ever seen in your life. He had short hair that didn't get in the way of the freckles dotted across his cheeks and nose. His eyes were the kind of green you thought only existed in fanfiction. In any other situation, you could have easily swooned over him.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Medics say we should all be okay." He smiled and offered his now glove free hand. "Dean." You gave him your name then sighed. "I should go talk to my people. They'll want to know what's going on." He nodded. "Sure. Listen, I always ask if I can check up on people after something like this. Would you be okay if I do that?" You were confused, but agreed. Dean smiled. "Okay." When he left, you were certain you'd never see him again.

Yet, three weeks later, as you were standing outside your business once again, there he was. "Hey, Y/N. How ya doing?" You practically jumped at the sound of his voice. "Oh, good. Just checking on the rebuilding and remodeling. It's taking longer than I hoped, but it can't be helped. Anyway, I never got the chance to thank you. For saving me."

"It's kind of my job," he said with a grin. You laughed a little at that. Dean glanced over at the building. "How much longer?" You shrugged. "They said it depends on how badly the incoming storm hits. Could be up to another month before everything's finished." Before Dean could say anything else, your stomach let out a growl. You felt your skin heat with embarrassment.

"Sorry, I've been so busy I forgot lunch." Dean looked at you for a moment, seemingly thinking. Then, he nodded to himself and asked, "Would you like to have lunch with me? I could bring you right back here when we're done." You bit your lip. "I don't know. I don't really randomly go to lunch with guys I don't know." Dean gave you another dazzling smile and held up his hands. "Choice is yours." After contemplating for a moment and listening to your gut instinct, you decided there wouldn't be any harm. You didn't get any weird vibes from the guy. "Okay, yeah. Sure."

Dean was a perfect gentleman during lunch. He asked you about yourself and answered your questions as best he could. Being a first responder, there were some things he didn't want to talk about and you understood that. It couldn't have been easy in a career like his. "So, do you often take strangers out for lunch?" Dean flushed a bit as he smiled. "Nope. This is a first for me. I just like helping people, I guess."

After your lunch, Dean brought you back to your building, as he'd promised and left. But not without exchanging numbers first. If nothing else, you at least got a new friend out of a horrible situation. That made you a little bit happier about how things were going. You only hoped that the renovations to your business would finish on time.

It was two days later that you texted Dean for the first time. Just to thank him. Somehow, you ended the conversation with a date to dinner the next evening. The dinner was just as nice as lunch had been and it began a series of little friendly outings. You weren't sure when it happened, but after a while, those dates started becoming a little less friendly and a little more intimate.

You hadn't even realized what was happening until one evening when Dean was walking with you to a nearby diner for a milkshake. As you walked, you felt Dean's hand slip into yours, threading your fingers together. You glanced at him and he smiled sheepishly. "Is this okay?" You looked down at your hands then back up to his face. You thought for a minute before nodding. Dean's smile grew as you felt your face heat up.

Dean and you started going on more dates or sometimes even just cuddling together on the couch watching movies. Those were your favorites. Those moments when it was just you and Dean without no outside distractions. The part you loved the best was when Dean would wrap an arm around you and pull you close before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He made you feel special. He made you feel desired. He made you feel loved.

After that, you began to understand what people meant when they said love comes slowly and then all at once. You had been slowly falling for him more and more every day and then, once you realized it, it came crashing down on you like a wave. You thought and maybe hoped he felt the same way. Then, one day, he surprised you by showing up at your grand reopening.

"Dean! You're here!" He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "D? You okay?" He licked his lips. "Can we talk? Alone? Just for a minute. I wouldn't want to keep you from your celebration." Your brows drew together, but you nodded and let him lead you away from the ruckus.

Once alone, Dean turned back to you. "I'm a terrible boyfriend," he said suddenly, causing you to jump a bit. Before you could ask what he meant, he continued, "I work long hours. Insane ones. I never know if I'm gonna make it home. I have a bad temper. I drink too much sometimes. I play my music too loud." You stayed silent as you wondered where he was going with this. You tried not to let your mind go to the negative.

"Even with all that, I have to tell you…I think I love you, Y/N. Even if you don't want me, you needed to know." You blinked at him in surprise. He stared back at you waiting for you to say something. "Y-You couldn't lead with that?!" you cried after a minute, "I thought you were trying to break things off!" Dean chuckled and shook his head. "Leave you? They'd have to drag me away." You rolled your eyes and took a step closer to him. "I think I might love you too, Dean." Dean wrapped his arms around you.

"Yeah?" You laughed. "Yeah. Now, are you gonna kiss me or not?" Dean leaned in a bit. "I'm definitely gonna kiss you." Just before his lips touched yours, his radio went off. Groaning, he pulled away from you to listen. "I gotta go, sweetheart, but we'll continue this later." You smiled. "Go save the world." With a quick peck to your lips, he was off to work, leaving you standing there grinning like an idiot.

(a/n: I hope you liked it!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @sirkekselord @aikibriarrose @lady-of-lies @esoltis280 @stories-by-shanna-p @motleymoose

SPN Tags: @jotink78

#spn #firefighter au #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader

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imkylotrash · 4 years

Text

Black And White (2)

Pairing: Saul Silva x reader

Summary: Farah discloses an uncomfortable truth concerning the Burned Ones leading you to fear for Saul’s life.

Tagging: @grey-girl @anreeixcobra @kingunder221b @lflores2008 @alexiapayne12 @quuenofblacks @quarterback-5 @bitchwhytho @estelmei @music-of-melody

Series Masterlist

A/N I know this isn’t exactly what happens in the series but I have to change it a little to make it work with the plot.

“Fuck.” You have no idea how to tell Saul without telling Dowling too but it’s clear that he hasn’t spotted it.

“Thank you for seeing me this late. I want your perspective before I do anything,” Dowling says making you realise that this might just be something serious. For a second, you forget about the piece of evidence dangling off the chair instead listening in on the conversation.

“Of course. What’s going on, Farah?” Saul asks concern evident in his voice.

“The Burned Ones. Marco’s team found a whole group.” You furrow your brows wondering why this is so important to discuss with Saul right this instance. The Burned Ones have always been a concern and part of the reason why Saul insists on training the specialists so hard but when you think about it, you’ve never gotten that much information on the Burned Ones.

“A group? How many?” Saul asks clearly as worried as Dowling.

“Eight. Maybe more.”

“They’ve never done that before. They never hunt together,” Saul says revealing the reason why they’re so worried. A change in behaviour like this definitely means something. When Dowling starts moving further into the room, you remember the bra hanging off the chair. It’s only a moment of time before they’ll head for the chairs.

“Shit,” you whisper under your breath knowing that the only way to solve this is getting Saul’s attention but you’re too worried about what you just heard to think clearly. Very slowly you push the door to the closet slightly open cringing when you hear it creak. They both look towards the closet but Saul recovers quickly.

“Sorry about that. I’ve been meaning to get that door fixed.” He hurries over to close the door giving you the chance to whisper bra. He looks back spotting it immediately. You feel like you can finally breathe when he manages to grab the bra and throw it in the bin. But then Dowling sits down and starts talking.

“We haven’t seen a Burned One for sixteen years. Not since Rosalind was here. And now they’re back seemingly stronger. I fear for what that means.” There aren’t many who can hunt Burned Ones. Specialists have been trained to do so but practicing is very different from being out there. You remember Saul telling you about his father one night and the story has haunted you ever since.

“We’ll do a search party tomorrow,” Saul insures her in turn striking you with fear. You know he’s one of the best there is for haunting them but it’s also been almost two decades since he had to do it last. He’s a great fighter but he’s also not as young as he once was. You know he’ll never agree to you going with him but how are you meant to stay here when he’s out risking his life?

“Marco is returning tonight with what’s left of his group,” Dowling sighs covering her face with her hands. Ever since you could remember, you’d been told just how dangerous the Burned Ones are and now Saul will lead to search for them. Just the thought of it chills you to the bones. It takes everything you have to not just burst out and forbid him from leaving but you know you can’t do that. Instead you wait patiently for her to leave for the night and Saul to open the door once it’s safe.

“You can’t go out there tomorrow.” It’s the first thing you say when you’re finally alone with him and apparently, he expected it.

“I have to! I can’t send my soldiers out there and stay behind the barrier. I wouldn’t be able to look at myself.” In any other situation, you’d commend him for his loyalty to the soldiers but right now you want to chain him to the bed and make sure no harm comes to him.

“I know that! But what if you get hurt?” You didn’t mean for this to turn into a fight but you’re already on edge and the fact that he’s not meeting you with more of a reassurance just add fuel to the fire.

“That’s a possibility every day. If anyone should understand that, it’s you!” It’s true. You’re a specialist yourself and you know that danger is present every single day with this job but it’s different when it’s Saul. Logically, you know you wouldn’t think twice about it if it were anyone else going out there tomorrow. You might even volunteer.

“I understand the danger. It’s the reason I’m worried about you. I can’t lose you too.” You cover your mouth in shock from your own outburst. Your father never returned from the forest leaving you to fend for yourself and now you had to watch Saul head into the very forest that stole your father from you.

“You won’t lose me. I’m coming back for you.” He reaches out to touch you and you let him.

“You don’t know that,” you say choking back tears. He gently grabs you by the waist and pulls you towards him.

“I promise you I’m coming back,” he whispers kissing your forehead. He gives you a minute to just breathe before gently placing two fingers under your chin to tilt your head up.

“You can’t promise something like that, Saul. No one can.” Images of your father leaving the house that morning flashes before your eyes proving that even with the best intentions, it doesn’t always go the way you intended.

“I can promise I’m coming back because I’ll need this back when I do.” He holds out his ring to you. It was his father’s ring and in the time you’ve known Saul he’s never taken it off. Carefully, he unlocks your necklace and adds the ring to the chain before closing the lock again. The metal feels cold against your chest even though he just took it off.

“I will be coming back for this. And for you.” This time you don’t argue. Instead you kiss him trying to convey all your feelings for him through it. You don’t much sleep that night and as you get ready for the day, the feeling of his ring against your skin feels like a constant reminder of what’s about to happen.

“It’s time,” he says giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“A kiss for good luck,” you say giving him several kisses before finally letting him go. By the door he stops to look at you a final time and even with his promise of returning, you can’t help but feel like this is a goodbye.

“I’m coming back for that ring,” he says trying to convince you as much as himself.

“I know.” You stand by the window in his room watching the group of specialists cross the barrier and head into the forest. In an attempt to clear your head, you make a beeline for the training rooms. There’s no one there giving you the chance to work off some steam without anyone asking questions. It’s several hours later before you finally collapse knowing you won’t be able to move tomorrow. You don’t even notice that your necklace has slipped out from under your shirt before Terra comments on it at dinner. You meant to just grab a plate with food and hide in your room but of course, it’s not that easy to remain anonymous.

“Hello. My father told me to tell you to meet him in the greenhouse this weekend. He has some new mix of herbs to show you.” Expanding your knowledge of herbs and natural medicine has been a private project with Ben Harvey and a reason why you and Terra have gotten to know each other over the years despite her being a first year.

“Right. I’ll stop by,” you reply not paying much attention.

“That’s a pretty necklace. I feel like I’ve seen that ring before,” she comments and you freeze. At last, you realise that you can’t feel the metal against your skin. If Terra realises that the ring is Saul’s, you know the whole school will know tomorrow. As much as you hate lying to her, it’s necessary to keep your relationship with Saul hidden. You tell yourself that lying is okay when you’ll be able to tell her the truth in a couple of weeks.

“My mother sent it to me. It was my fathers,” you reply hoping that the mentioning of your dead father will shut her up long enough for you to make your escape.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” Terra quickly says properly feeling horrible about mentioning it but definitely not as horrible as you feel. Lying right to her face somehow seems worse than keeping you and Saul’s relationship hidden.

“It’s fine. I’m just really tired so I’ll get to bed.” You don’t wait for her reply as you hurry off to your room. It’s tiny but right now you’re happy that you have it to yourself rather than suites like the fairies. That night you try your best to fall asleep but nightmares of Saul and your father torments you. Clutching the ring in your hand you tell yourself over and over that Saul will return to you. This is not where your story ends.

#saul silva blurb #saul silva x reader #saul silva gif #saul silva imagine #saul silva #fate the winx club #fate the winx saga #fate winx club #winx saga #winx club #fate winx #fate

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luvknow · 4 years

Text

anything for you | lee felix

genre: rich kid!felix x reader | rich kid au ; friends-to-lovers au ; food ; swearing warning ; alcohol warning ; drinking and driving warning ; abuse warning summary: felix’s family owns the largest restaurant franchise in the country and your family works under them. you two have spent your entire lives together and somehow you’ve turned into mini versions of your parents with a boss and secretary type relationship. it wasn’t until last year on his birthday when he tells you he loves you while drunk that your friendship dynamic dramatically changes, and it’s not for the better when he pretends it never happened. wc: 11.2k

You and Felix were two peas in a pod.

From the moment you two were born until your last months at university, you were tied in this relationship for life. Were you two dating? No, of course not! Were you two friends? Well…

Your friendship with Felix was complicated because it was kind of… bought. There was no way to put it lightly, that was simply the origin of your relationship. It all started when Felix’s rich ass CEO of a Dad hired your Dad to be his right hand man in all decision-making aspects of the company he ran. You thought of your Dad as a Chancellor to the King, which I mean was still a high position in the company, but your peers around you thought otherwise.

You attended all the same schools as Felix (thanks to his Dad’s connections), attended the same after school activities (also thanks to his Dad), and even attended the same overseas summer camps (thanks to his Dad who owned the plane that flew everyone). Even then, after being on the same level as Felix for over twenty years, everyone saw you as Felix’s Secretary who waited on his every word. As a kid, your Dad was transparent about how all the privileges you had were all because of Felix and his family and that you should always treat them with respect. And as an impressionable kid, of course you took that a little too literal.

Your Secretary title started in Pre-School when Felix was crying because he forgot his toy to take a nap with at home, so you offered yours. Those small, kind gestures turned into getting him drinks and snacks whenever he wanted, to tutoring him in subjects he had trouble with, to completing essays he didn’t want to complete, and you did it all without ever complaining.

So despite receiving all the same opportunities as all the other inheritance-dependent kids, you were the bottom-feeder of your entire grade.

“_____ ~” Felix whined while entering your apartment. “I’m hungry.”

You exited your bedroom fixing the last couple buttons on your dress shirt. You’re not surprised to see him in the least, as you’re used to him coming in whenever he pleased since he owned the other copy of the apartment keys. “I have food in the fridge.”

“I don’t want a huge meal before the shareholders meeting.”

“You know where the snacks are, what are you waiting for?”

“I just wanted to ask just in case.”

The excited boy wasted no time invading your pantry and grabbing a handful of fruit snack packets, some he stuffed in his dress pants pockets and some he immediately tore open. He made himself home by flopping on your couch, also known as his second bed, and scrolled through his rotation of dating apps while waiting for his dear friend to finish getting ready.

“Don’t lie down like that!” you nagged. “Your pants are going to get all wrinkly!”

Rolling his eyes, Felix sat up straight, to which you immediately fixed random strands of hair that strayed away from the rest of his slick-back style.

“What are you, my mom?” he mumbled, swatting away your hands.

“Don’t you know how important this meeting is? We could land our internships today.”

“Do you really think I need to worry about that?”

“I guess not… You don’t even want to try out another company for a semester? Scope out your partners?”

“That’s exactly why I shouldn’t be doing that. I’ll look so shady! You probably shouldn’t be thinking about doing that either.”

A small pout emerges from your lips. As much as you owe the Lees and their company your life, you’d like to think the possibility of freeing yourself from their financial shackles was high, even if it was for just one semester. But Felix was right - in order to avoid any spying controversies, it was probably best to not even think about another company. Basically, you were trapped with this company for life.

“Ready to go?” Felix broke the silence. He was the first to leave your couch and head for the door without even bothering to wait for you to catch up.

When you finished locking your front door, you caught Felix looking at your business casual outfit a little too closely. If you weren’t so quick with your reflexes, you would have bumped right into his oddly bulging chest (has he been working out lately?). Still, his foxy eyes scanned you up and down, slowly and intimately.

“Wh-What are you doing…?” you asked nervously. “Is my outfit too bland? It’s ugly, isn’t it? I can’t really glam up for a business meeting, you know.”

“Chill, why are you being hella defensive right now?” he teased. “No, you look good. Honest. Good enough to stand next to me, at least. I wouldn’t stand next to Father if I were you.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“You kind of fit that secretary stereotype you like so much. Especially since you’ll be following me around all day.”

“I do not!”

“Yeah, ok,” Felix tossed you the keys to his expensive black sports car, to which you were also covered as a driver by his insurance. For someone who owns several expensive cars, he sure hates driving them. “Shotty.”

“There’s only two of us…”

The car ride was mostly silent other than the deafening rap music that blared through the subwoofers. Felix could tell you were nervous depending on how talkative you were. If you were blabbering on about how you looked or something arbitrary for at least fifteen minutes, you were probably nervous about a date or maybe a quiz that was coming up in class. If you were silent, he knew that the matter was much more serious. Silence meant that you believed no matter what you did to change yourself or improve upon past mistakes, there was no hope and that whatever was coming was absolute.

“Don’t worry about today,” he reassured after reading your mind. “It’s not like you’re talking in front of hundreds of people at the meeting.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re used to this type of crowd.”

“Are you not? We have class with those good-for-nothing kids of theirs, it’s like the same thing!”

“It is definitely not the same thing! These people have power and they’re smart! The uni is full of idiots who got in with bribes!”

“And you don’t think our shareholders do their fair share of bribing?”

“Of course they do, and that’s what makes them even more terrifying, Felix! They have that kind of power to either buy my entire life or buy out and make sure I never see anyone’s faces again!”

“You say it like you haven’t been shackled to me for over twenty years.”

“That’s different ok, I was a commodity, I couldn’t change anything as a fetus.”

“And now you think you can?”

“I mean, I’d like to think so. Am I crazy?”

“No, not at all.” Gingerly, Felix patted your head like a little kid. “You’ll be just fine ~ I can even introduce you to the ones you want to talk to if you’d like.”

“That’s ok. I’d like to try on my own.”

He understood completely. How he wished he could have that little bit of freedom… To even think about leaving the company behind to work for someone else was blasphemous.

The shareholders meeting was a social event like no other - like, it might as well be a ball with all the people attending and all the press surrounding and being in the building. You pulled up to the normal valet guy who only chuckled at your shocked expression. Felix, on the other hand, wasn’t all that surprised and was rather annoyed at how something as simple as a meeting was getting this much attention.

After dodging all of the press and making it through several thresholds to reach the conference room, you helped Felix prepare for his opening speech.

“You seem more nervous than me,” Felix teased while you quickly smoothed out the wrinkles in his jacket.

“I'm nervous all the damn time.”

“Well, can you quit it before I start sweating? This outfit was expensive. Do you have my speech?”

Searching through your trusty bottomless bag that held everything from tips from your part-time at the cafe to snacks in case Felix got whiny, you pulled out a medium-sized notepad with his opening speech written on it.

“Really, _____? Hand written?”

“My sentences sound better when I write them down instead of typing it!”

“At least it’s legible.” Felix’s Dad announced over the microphone on stage that the meeting will begin shortly. He saw the both of you standing off to the side and waved happily, to which you both could only wave back. The boy in front of you sighed, and it’s the first time today he seemed only slightly nervous. He turned to you. “How do I look?”

How did the most handsome boy you’ve come to know look this morning? Dressed in navy with a white button-down, ears bejeweled and shining in the bright lights, his eyes and his smile sly and foxy, so of course to you he was the only one in the room who you had your eyes on because no one else could ever compare. That’s how it’s always been.

Gentle fingers startled Felix, only for him to realize you were fixing his monogrammed silver tie clip. “You look just fine.”

“‘Just fine’? Not the sexiest man in the entire world?”

“I’d hardly call you a man…”

“Welcome to the YONGBOK Inc. Shareholders Meeting,” greeted your Father while on stage. Felix noticeably cringed at the sound of his birth name slash company name. “We will begin this meeting with an opening remark from Mr. Lee’s son, Felix.”

“Go get ‘em, Tiger,” you whispered with two thumbs up.

A loud round of applause erupted from the audience filled with press and shareholders. Lee Felix was named one of the most influential people under twenty-five this year and has consistently landed spots on Forbes’ 30 Under 30 list so yes, Felix was always highly anticipated as a guest to fashion shows and charity balls and even more so as a speaker for his future company. Though it was only less than a minute ago he was jittery with nerves, the second he stepped on stage in front of the podium, it was as if he was born to be a public speaker.

“Good morning, honored guests,” he began in his deep voice that startled unfamiliar guests..

His speech - your speech - wasn’t that long, since it was a simple welcome to all the rich people who gave the Lee’s their money. Regardless of its length, Felix somehow drifted his gaze towards the right where you stood. You, who always stood by him and was his friend through everything, stood at the sidelines giving him your unwavering support, even through this minor milestone. Despite this huge corporate building being the last place you want to be, still, you were here by his side.

In your eyes though, it looked like maybe his stage fright was worse than you expected, so you gave him two thumbs up again for reassurance. You couldn’t really tell what he was thinking because he seemed totally fine, in fact his execution was quite flawless, it was just… Why wouldn’t he look into the cameras? The stage lights that shined on him showcased the bright grin he gave when he saw how confused you looked.

“We will continue to work hard together so that YONGBOK will continue being the best restaurant franchise in the country,” was the motto of the company and how Felix ended the speech. With a deep bow and a wink for fan service, he exited the stage.

He fell into your arms clutching his heart. “Ugh, that was so scary!”

“You did fine,” you mumbled, quickly pushing him off before any cameras caught you. Still, he swung an arm around your shoulders unapologetically.

“All right, let’s ditch this popsicle stand.”

“You know we can’t do that or our Fathers will kill us.”

“You think I haven’t died and resurrected like a rising phoenix dozens of times?”

“Leave if you want, it’s your suicide.”

“You won’t come with me?” the handsome boy pouted.

“I’m not actually your secretary, you know.”

“I know, but I’ll be so lonely… Did you at least bring a snack?”

Felix decided to stay when he realized you weren’t kidding about wanting to sit through the entire meeting. Your right ear was focused on all the questions shareholders and the press had while your left ear focused on the child you were babysitting playing with the chocolate bar wrapper. Eventually the conflicting sounds merged into one when the lack of caffeine in your veins made it hard to concentrate for long hours.

“Bet you wished you left with me a couple hours ago, huh?” Felix teased once everything was over.

“Whatever. The important thing is that it’s over now.”

“Are you going to go talk with some of the shareholders?”

That was the original plan - to land an internship at a different company and slowly but surely escape the bubble that is the Lees’ world, but what was the use of making life harder on yourself if you’ll just be seen as a spy? What was the use in anything anymore when your life was determined the moment you came out of the womb?

You shook your head tiredly. “Nah, I think I’ll save that for another time.”

Felix linked his arm with yours like you were the gentleman and he was the lady. The warmth of another body so close to yours was only familiar when it was his, and you wished your body was unbiased and rejected anything within a five feet radius. “You wanna hang out with me that much?”

“Who said I’m hanging out with you? I’m driving you home.”

“No come on, let’s hang out today! Neither of us have class and when was the last time it was just the two of us?”

By ‘just the two of you’, he meant when was the last time you and him hung out without any business involved? When was the last time you and him had pizza together after a long week of midterms and studying, or the last time he picked you up from your part time at the cafe to have a cup of coffee, or the last time you talked about anything other than being ordered around by the Prince himself?

The answer to that question was last year on his birthday when he got too wasted and you didn’t have the strength to carry him up his multi-story mansion, so instead you carried him up to your humble apartment and let him crash on your bed the whole weekend (insisted upon staying the whole weekend because all the puking made him ‘weak’ and ‘dehydrated’).

Truth be told, you loved Felix’s company, whether it was business or personal. The hesitation was because you wondered if he truly felt the same way, especially since he never spoke about that night on his birthday. That night, a lot was said, but nothing was ever confirmed, so you were left in limbo while Felix managed to live in ignorant bliss.

It was better this way.

“I guess it’s been a while…” you trailed off.

“It’s been forever, love. Can we go to your cafe? I’m really craving the strawberry milk latte thing.”

“Anything for you, Felix ~”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“Felix,” the haunting voice of his father echoed from behind. “Come here for a second -”

“That’s our cue!” The wild blond took you by the hand and sprinted out the conference room doors before his dad could catch him.

As if already predicting the time of events for the shareholders meeting, the valet already had the sports call pulled up and tossed you the keys for maximum efficiency.

“Hey, you’re hand-eye coordination is getting better!” Felix teased while hopping in the front seat.

“And your fear for your dad is not.”

“It’s not fear, it’s pure distaste. Completely different.”

The short ride to your cafe was anything but quiet as Felix filled you in on his most recent Tinder match. The story was something along the lines of ‘she was hot, but kind of stupid’, and you weren’t exactly sure what came after that because, well, you didn’t care. Hearing about the guy you were in love with slash your childhood friend slash the guy whose family bought out your family’s current dating app situation wasn’t exactly the most ideal setting, but hey, it beats sitting in that conference room for any longer.

The cafe was surprisingly not as busy around lunch time, even though it was Friday. Other than a few customers, the only other person in the cafe was your coworker Wooyoung who was busy dramatically singing to whatever drama OST was playing over the intercom.

“Are you making it?” Felix asked, referring to his strawberry latte.

“I wasn’t planning on it since I’m not working.”

“... Can you?”

“Are you serious!?”

“The last time someone other than you made my drinks, they tasted watery!”

He wasn’t wrong - a lot of the baristas here were a bit lazy with the job. You and Wooyoung were among the very few who genuinely cared for the cafe, the menu, and its customers. You supposed you could take a moment to step away from Felix - you sort of missed the barista behind the counter, anyways.

“Sit tight,” you told Felix, who obeyed happily at his favorite table.

Wooyoung with his cutesy cheeky grin chucked one of the ugly brown work aprons right at your face, to which you only whipped right back.

“I’m not working and you know that!”

“Can’t a guy dream to have the same shift with his favorite coworker? What are you doing here then?”

“Making a strawberry latte.”

“For yourself or for His Highness over there?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

Wooyoung knew all too well what your relationship was like with Felix and that was because he was also one of the elite, also known as a trust fund son. Wooyoung and Felix were from the same side of a coin, reigning from families whose net worth could buy out entire towns. The circle of the elite had a lot of members, but it was tight-knit, so everyone knew everything about everyone else. You were included in Felix’s dossier.

“You know, _____, you are your own person,” Wooyoung tisked as he hovered over you making the fruity drink. It was as simple as pouring milk over some strawberry compote (Felix liked it when there was extra compote) and shaking vigorously.

“You telling me that whenever I come in with him totally makes it more valid than the last time.”

“You know I’m just looking out for you.” His soft fingers gently pinched your cheeks. “You’re so sour today, I kind of like it.”

“Aren’t you known for liking people who have zero interest in you?”

“Exactly, so you better watch your attitude or I’ll steal you away from Mr. Lee Felix ~”

“You’re so weird!” Even so, Wooyoung stole a kiss on your bruised cheek before helping the customer at the counter. The aftermath left your face burning up, even though you were used to his flirtatiousness by now.

Of course Felix saw the entire interaction. Though he tried to hide behind his phone, he made sure to still have a view of whatever you and that spoiled ‘I-own-a-yacht’ Wooyoung were doing. You were much different around him than you were with that cheeky bastard behind the counter. With Felix, you were strict, quiet, and pouty, but with Wooyoung you were able to smile more and joke around and even laugh when you flicked whipped cream in his hair. In those short five minutes, that was a type of you he hasn’t been able to see since high school.

But now? You were so cold and distant. He could barely hang out with you without it seeming like it was some business meeting. What changed?

Felix watched you walk back to him holding his pink drink with your cheeks to match its color.

“I didn’t know you two were so close,” he said bitterly after you both exited the cafe.

“We work together, of course we’re close. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You’ll take his happy humming as he inhaled the latte as a thank you. “You talk about how much you hate some of your coworkers all the time!”

“I guess I do… but he’s different.”

“Of course he is…”

The handsome and pouty boy beside you did his best to ignore your accusing glare. “Do you have some beef with him, or something.”

“No,” he said simply in between gulps. “I just don’t like him.”

“You don’t like any boy I talk to.”

“Exactly.”

“So what happens when I really like someone? Do they need your ‘Lee Seal of Approval’?”

“Yup.”

You sighed heavily. “Why do you enjoy making my life so hard?”

“Because I love you, that’s why!”

You couldn’t count on all your fingers and toes how many times Felix has said ‘I love you’ since his birthday party. With his special day coming up again, the words hit harder than usual, even when you knew he was joking, but no ‘I love you’ hurt more than the first time he said it last year before he passed out on your bed.

Speaking of which, “Sooo ~ Guess what next week is ~?” Felix sang cheekily after hopping in the car.

“Uh, midterms week?”

“No ~”

“Buy one get one free soju at the karaoke place?”

“No…”

“Oh wait, isn’t it Han’s birthday next week?” He knew you were trying to push his buttons, but it clearly worked by the way he was glaring at you. “Yeah, that must be it.”

“So mean…”

“Are you two throwing a joint party again?”

“Yeah, but I think we’re skipping the club scene and throwing it at his house instead.”

“Wow, the Lee Felix is tired of the club scene?” you scoffed. “Never thought I would see the day.”

“Maybe it’s just my eyesight getting worse - I’d like to see who I’m hitting on for once.” One sharp stab in your heart. “Will you help me plan?”

Did you really have any other choice? “Of course.”

“Yes ~ This’ll totally top last year’s party!”

You sure hoped so, and you hoped you wouldn’t remember a single moment of it.

Planning for the party didn’t start until a couple days before the big date. Since Jisung was hosting, it was Felix’s responsibility to come up with all the decor and the theme and literally all the smaller bits and pieces of the party.

“Honey, I’m home ~” Felix sang as he walked into your apartment. An aroma of fresh spices and cooked meat and roasted vegetables hit his nose upon entering. “Whoa, are you cooking!?”

“We can’t plan on an empty stomach,” you stated the obvious. Immediately, a bowl of rice and the fixings was handed to the grinning boy.

“I love it when you cook. I haven’t eaten your cooking in a while.”

“I didn’t know you liked my cooking,” you blushed. “I haven’t cooked for you that often.”

“It’s because we’re both always so busy or we just eat the restaurant’s food when we’re lazy.” A happy hum came from his lips. “You have a mad talent for this, you know.”

“Do I?”

“Of course! The Boy with the God Tongue himself said so!” Being the future heir of the country’s largest restaurant franchise meant ridiculous chef-related nicknames, to which Felix enjoyed whole-heartedly. “You know this means I’m never going to let you leave YONGBOK.”

“Can you stop, you’re so embarrassing, it’s not that amazing!”

“You stop! Quit undermining your talents.”

“If it’s so good, what do you like about it?”

“For one, there’s tons of balance between the flavors. It’s also not as salty, which is what some of the chefs in some locations are having trouble with lately. But the best part is that it feels like home when I eat your cooking.”

“Like home? Like… as if your in-house chef was cooking it?”

Felix chuckled cutely. “No, I mean it feels like someone who loves me very much made this with lots of care.”

You’re too stunned to say anything right away. It felt as if Felix caught you in his trap and was forcing you to admit something that he knew from the very start. But now was not the time nor was it the place. As a response, you turned away and chugged the rest of your glass of water.

“Right,” you cleared your throat awkwardly. “G-Glad you liked it.”

Felix wondered why you wouldn’t look at him. “S-So, let’s get started?”

You took a bowl of food for yourself and refilled Felix’s before settling down at the table. “Do you have an idea for a theme?”

“Ok, hear me out - casino themed?”

“Isn't that underage gambling? Sounds super illegal to me.”

“Right, right… Ok, how about, uh, a masquerade?”

“Not bad, but a little cliche, no?”

“But it’s so sexy! Classy clothes, bejeweled masks -”

“Choreographed waltzing?”

“Yes! For the first half of course, then we’ll probably bump the real shit after a couple of drinks.”

“Hm, I actually like that.” You entered the theme into your notes. “Cool, we have a theme down. Now for all the decoration…”

That itself took about an hour. Imagine, talking about banners and balloon arches, and personalized masks for a whole hour with the most indecisive human being alive. How he’s expected to make major decisions for a multi-million dollar company one day, you’ll never know.

“Ugh,” you were over it, at least for another hour. You couldn’t take comparing different shades of gold and different grades of champagne anymore. Your couch was supposed to be your safe space away from Felix, but he followed you like a puppy and laid his head on your lap.

“This weekend is going to be so much fun! Did you get me a gift yet ~?”

“Uh, maybe…”

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise, silly.”

“Can I at least get a hint?”

“Probably the cheapest gift you’ll get.”

“Hey.” Felix silenced any doubt you had about your gift by taking one of your hands in his and holding it over his chest. He closed his eyes, tired from the day, tired by your constant doubts, tired of it all. “You know I don’t care about that kind of stuff when it comes to you.”

“I know, but I do.”

“Well, don’t. My favorite gifts have always been from you.”

“Even more than the diamond chain from Chan?”

“... Your gifts are my favorite after that one.” Your free hand poked his freckled cheek, causing him to laugh and smile brighter than the sun. Lying here with you made him happy. “I miss hanging out with you like this.”

“We hang out all the time!”

“Not like this. We never just chill out together and not worry about anything. We’re always worrying about something, especially since we started uni.”

“Uni sort of defines our future, so of course there’s tons to worry about.”

“Not for me. My life has been predetermined. If you think about it, uni doesn’t define your future, either.”

“I wish you didn’t tell me that,” you groaned. “You’re so right. What’s the point when the two of us are just going to take over our Father’s positions, anyways!?”

“Does our future together sound that miserable to you?” he teased. You wished he didn’t word it that way.

“Not miserable, but doesn’t it suck that we don’t have that sort of freedom? You and I have had our lives predetermined since birth!”

“Perhaps it was fate that you would be my Chancellor and I would be your King,” Felix snickered.

“Call it whatever you want, but where’s the joy we could get from spontaneity and disorder?”

“Good point. But I think you and I will find that joy just fine.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. Life will always be a joy if I’m with you.” A tired smile spread across his lips. “You and I make a disorderly pair.”

You and him were definitely a disorderly pair. It was like you two were in a modern-day forbidden friendship that was only seen in royal fairy tales. Felix was the Prince, the apple of everyone’s eye, the boy with the highest ranking just below the King. You were the lowly common person who devoted their life to the castle and serving the royal family. Somehow, even with the drastic gap between your social classes, you both found each other and became inseparable.

Through childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood, the time spent together naturally formed your feelings for Felix to nothing less than love. You were the number one witness of seeing him laugh, smile, cry, and scream through all his happiness, sadness, and anger. You were the only one who knew the exact number of freckles that dusted his cheeks. You knew what specific snacks he wanted for certain craving occasions, his favorite orders at every restaurant, how he liked his instant ramen (with egg, American cheese, and green onions), and especially his cafe drink orders. When they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, you supposed that was especially true for Felix.

After over twenty whole years together, how the fuck were you supposed to avoid falling in love? How were you supposed to look at Felix and feel with your whole chest that you were not madly in love with his beautiful face and his kind heart? When Felix told you he loved you with slurred words on his birthday last year, how were you supposed to let that go and live on like you didn’t cry in the shower for a whole month afterwards?

You put the blame for the disorder in this messed-up friendship all on Felix, but you couldn’t help but clean it up and do your best to keep it together. So when he forgot he said those magic words, you did your best to forget them, too, but the best you could do was bury the memory away and cover it up with work and school. It wasn’t the most ideal way to deal with the issue, you knew that, but the important part was that it was working even if it was just a little bit.

Felix was the first to wake up the next morning. You didn’t move a single muscle and ended up sleeping upright since he used you as a pillow. Still, your hand was in his and the other tangled in his messy blond hair and truly, being here with you was the only place that felt like home.

The day of the party was filled with chaos on your end, as you had to wake up at 6:00 am just to make it to Jisung’s pool house in time to set up the decorations for the joint birthday party. You ended up directing all the crews to where the cocktail tables needed to be set up, where the instagram photobooth should go, and where the Michelin-star chefs were going to set up for dinner. The most important part was the dance floor, which would be clean with nothing but some shoe scuffs for the first couple of hours and probably stained with different colors of liquor by the end of the night.

By noon you were totally wiped out having a stomach full of only coffee and a granola bar. The worst part was that you didn’t get a chance to buy a mask yet and would probably have to settle for some cheap recycled paper with sequins and feathers glued on it from the birthday party store down the block.

But as if the Gods’ translated your feelings telepathically to Felix, your Prince in shining armor came to the rescue with a sandwich, more coffee, and something in a matte black gift bag. The gesture, though small, made your cheeks burn the brightest of pinks. It was your first time seeing and talking with Felix since he left the comfort of your lap a couple of nights ago. Although you were unsure of yourself (as with any situation, am I right?), the Prince didn’t seem so phased.

“I figured you could use a pick-me-up,” he grinned brightly, handing you all the goods.

“You are a blessing,” you sighed, chugging the iced coffee. “What’s in the black bag?”

“It’s a surprise. Open it.”

“I thought today was your birthday?”

“It’s nothing big, I promise!”

You shot him a skeptical look, but opened up the gift regardless. Inside was an intricately bejeweled mask for tonight, colored perfectly to match your outfit.

“I went to your apartment because I thought you’d be there,” Felix began shyly. “I went to your room and saw your entire outfit laid out, but no mask, so I figured you didn’t have one yet. I bought one to match your outfit and to match mine! Mine looks exactly like that, but black.”

“You really didn’t have to,” you pouted, though staring at the shiny jewels adoringly. It was gorgeous and you never thought in your lifetime you could own anything so glamorous. The gesture lifted an extremely loaded weight off your shoulders and you couldn’t help but hug the birthday boy as a thank you. “You’re the best, thank you.”

“Anything for you, love.”

“Also, please stop going into my bedroom.”

“What, afraid I’m going to raid your panties?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fair.”

Felix spent the rest of the day helping you make the pool house perfect since it was also technically his job as the co-host. Holding the ladder while you hung up crystal decor was reminiscent of past Christmas parties that his family hosted. Your two families would come together and prepare the cookies, the eggnog, and the presents for the whole morning before the big party that started around dinner time, and you and Felix were in charge of the Christmas tree. He’s not too big on heights, so he always made you hang the ornaments on the top layer. It was a very adult networking and old people gambling games type of party, so you and Felix would always sneak off into his basement and play video games or watch corny movies with a stolen tray of sugar cookies.

The Christmas before uni was probably the last one where you two felt like kids and didn’t have to worry about what kinds of feelings would get in the way of your beautiful friendship.

“Ugh, my calves are burning,” you whined on your way down from the ladder. Your legs gave out on the second step down and the weight of your tired body pulled you down, causing you to drop to your death from a mere five feet above.

Luckily, your Prince had quick reflexes and caught you bridal style. As kids, it was surprising when Felix could carry anything even half his weight with his twiggy arms, but the fact that he could hold you without struggling or even breaking a sweat was the closest you’ve ever experienced a miracle.

A gentle, handsome smile came from his lips. “You ok?” he asked in his deep voice.

No, you’re definitely not, but lying was ok in this situation. “F-F-Fine! I am fine!”

“Are you sure?”

“Y-Yes! Uh, you can put me down now…!”

“Hm, but I kind of like holding you like this.” You hit his rock-hard chest lightly, to which he recoiled dramatically before placing you down gently. “Is that how you thank your hero!?”

“Thank you, My Hero.”

“That’s more like it.”

It wasn’t until around dinner time when you left Felix alone to be in charge of guiding all the caterers to their cooking spots while you sped home to get ready as fast as you could. You didn’t want to leave Felix in charge for more than an hour, otherwise there would be more room for error.

You must have had such little faith in him because he did as was told without any issues and was done well before the party was going to start. He took the down time to put on his satin black suit and fix his blond hair before putting on the matching mask. While looking in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, of course he admitted to himself that he would be the sexiest one at the party, but something about the view didn’t seem right. He didn’t have you beside him hyping him up like always. The view in the mirror was lonely without you.

“Good job with the chefs!” you called into the dressing room unannounced.

Felix could see you jogging in wearing the full outfit he saw on your bed this morning, now complete with the mask he gifted you in the reflection of the mirror. The view of you was stunning, so much to the point that the Prince himself was too afraid to turn around and look at you with his own eyes. You reminded him of the story of Medusa, who would turn men into stone if they dared to look at you, and Felix thought that he was well past that point, already frozen in place with his jaw dropped and hands fixated on his crooked tie.

Luckily, you didn’t seem to notice as you stepped in between him and the mirror. The feel of your knuckles brushing up against his chest broke him free of his frozen state, causing him to hitch his breath in his throat. It was very un-Felix-like to be this nervous, especially before an event that circled around him, but perhaps it was his sobriety that made him jittery.

“You good?” you reciprocated after a long moment of silence.

Prince Felix cleared his throat before speaking. “Yeah.”

“Nervous?”

“I guess so.”

“What do you have to be nervous about other than being the center of attention in front of hundreds of people?” you teased lightly.

“It’s not like I know everyone, though.”

“What do you mean? You and Han invited all the people you normally party with.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I’m friends with all of them. I don’t hang out with them before 10:00 pm.”

Even behind the mask, you could tell his nerves were sincere. “Are you having regrets about this party?”

“I wouldn’t say regrets… I don’t know. I’m sorry, I know you put a lot of work into this.”

“Do you not want to go -”

“No! No, I want to go.” To ditch a party you worked on for forty-eight hours would be like slapping you in the face and he knew that. But he also knew if he said yes, you would follow him wherever he’d go in a heartbeat because that’s how much you loved him. He cleared his throat once more. “Will you stay with me?”

You raised a brow, unsure if you heard correctly. “Stay with you?”

“As in, will you stay by my side tonight?”

“You want me by your side the whole night?” Oh, how the tables have turned, in which Felix with his blushing cheeks couldn’t look you in the eyes as he nodded shyly. It was hard to believe what you were seeing with your own eyes and you wondered if you were dreaming. “Ok.”

“Really?”

Softly, you straightened his mask. “Anything for you, birthday boy.”

The anxiety from the claustrophobia of the party was replaced with the thought of being with you the whole night, but this is how he’d rather be. No longer did he want to stay in this room he filled with bad energy, so he took you by the hand and led you back to the main room where guests quickly filled in. Anxiety filled his chest again and you felt it through his hand squeezing yours tightly, as if afraid you would let go and slip away into the crowd where he’d never see you for the rest of the night. You’re not sure what’s gotten into him and you didn’t want to make it worse, so you led him to the tables of food hoping he could fill the emptiness in hopes of loosening up a little.

Even while eating food, Felix refused to let go of your hand, so you had to act as his free hand and feed him gourmet finger foods.

“You’re even more of a baby on your birthday,” you scoffed.

“But you love babying me, right?” he teased.

“I don’t know if ‘love’ is the right answer…”

The beginning of the night was nothing short of energy-draining as every single guest came up to greet Felix on his birthday and greeted you second. It was crazy that even in a room full of hundreds of peers, the crowd was still able to distinguish the birthday boys from everyone else, but you supposed it was easy because who else was blond and this handsome? The same way you looked at Felix, everyone else also had their eyes on him because he was truly that stunning in a crowded room.

It was occasions like these when you felt most out of place. You only ‘belonged’ here because Felix was your ticket in, but you would never become one of the elite. You didn’t have all the luxury of buying a new outfit or new jewels for every occasion like everyone else here. You were a simple person in your humble apartment living your predetermined life and getting by without any conflict, all thanks to him. That was what made you believe for twenty years that you had no right to fall for Felix the way you did - you were nothing more than the King’s hired Chancellor.

Even so, when the whole room was looking at him, he only looked at you.

The next song was a common waltz song that was played at every masquerade party on the planet. With a hop in his step, you found the birthday boy in front of you bowing with his hand still in yours.

“Will you dance with me?” he asked dramatically like he was playing a character.

“Why, of course, Your Highness.”

Waltz dancing was definitely not the first talent you’d think of while wondering what Felix was good at, but to your surprise, it was like he’d been taking classes for years. You knew little-to-nothing about it yourself, but it was easier when your date took the lead and you didn’t have to think, just follow. It was a ride, honestly, and you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling, even when the dance finished with Felix dipping you, faces close and noses barely touching.

You hardly noticed his eyes shift to your lips in the midst of all the giggles. “When did you learn to do that!?”

“Last night,” he admitted sheepishly. “Are you impressed?”

“Very.”

“Then those three hours of Youtube tutorials were worth it.”

Your predicted cycle of food, dancing, alcohol, and back to food was correct. Several rounds lasted several hours to the point where you were at the perfect amount of tipsy, but still able to navigate, although if any more rounds of alcohol were going to happen, you might be in trouble. Keeping up with the birthday boy was so hard!

But you didn’t mind, because the poison made you forget about how much you didn’t belong there and swept any overreaction to Felix’s affection under the rug, though it was getting harder to do the latter, as each shot meant closing the distance between you and him. Somehow, you went from holding his hand to his hand never leaving your waste, with your bodies keeping close contact, a feeling you’ve always been familiar with even when sober, but this time was different.

“So,” he began in the middle of the dance floor. “When do I get my gift?”

“How about after your birthday cake?”

“Birthday cake?”

On cue, the lights dimmed and the music stopped. Jisung found his way next to Felix and all the chefs rolled out a giant tiered cake with candles on it, cueing all the guests to sing happy birthday. You made sure to keep the design simple, but the flavors immaculate and matching the boys’ palates because that was the most important part. Even from afar, you could smell the chocolate.

You tried to step away from him so that he and Jisung could have the spotlight together, but even then he didn’t want you to leave. He squeezed your side a little tighter, a silent gesture that said, ‘please don’t go.’

By now, you were starting to sober up a bit and that was a bad sign because now you were realizing that this whole night would be forgotten tomorrow, just like last year. Still, you stayed by his side because that’s what he wanted.

Why it had to be you, you’ll never know, but the feeling was too right to question it.

At the end of the song, the birthday boys blew out the candles and the cheers deafened your ear drums. What shocked you next was the feeling of soft lips on your cheek.

“Thank you,” Felix whispered with so much adoration. “For everything.”

You’ll never be able to recover from tonight. “Why are you like this all of a sudden? Have you had too much to drink?”

A cute giggle escaped his lips. “No, I’m fine. This day feels extra special, that’s all. You’re the reason.”

Felix was such a smooth honey talker when there was a little something swimming in his bloodstream. You should know better not to take these words to heart, but you can’t help it when they’ve all you’ve ever wanted to hear. A repeat of last year was bound to happen any second.

You did your best to avoid the compliment. “Do you want your gift now?”

“Ooh, yes!”

The gift was hidden in the room you find him in earlier today. You were too embarrassed to set it up next to the gift table that was dressed in bags with brands like Cartier and Gucci, so you stashed it away from the rest. The bouncy and excited boy had the widest grin on his face, impatiently waiting for you to present him with what you had.

“Close your eyes,” you demanded.

Felix held out his hands with his eyes closed and expected something small, like a watch or a cupcake or some plush toy that he could strap on his keychain, but instead nearly stumbled forward holding something as heavy as a textbook.

“Ok, open your eyes.”

He wasn’t too far off, actually. In his hands was a thick, heavy book titled “Felix & _____” that you printed out on an embossed label maker. Inside were infinite pages of pictures, stamps, receipts, travel brochures, foreign currency, movie tickets, anything and everything from most if not all the memories you spent together over the past twenty years. The first few pages were filled with old film pictures and polaroids you had to steal from your parents and the later pages progressively got more crowded with trinkets and things when you two were old enough to hang out on your own.

For a while, Felix was silent as he flipped through all the memories. There wasn’t a smile on his face, no tears streaming down his cheeks, in fact he was emotionless and now you were confused. He told you he didn’t care about money or the cost of gifts when it came to you, but…

“You hate it,” you stated rather than asking.

Felix looked up at you, completely sobered up, with the most incredulous expression. “Of course not,” he reassured softly. “I love it. So much. You saved all of this…?”

“I saved every receipt that wasn’t smudged with barbecue sauce or oil and every movie ticket since the start. I had boxes full of it and I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I didn’t have the heart to throw it away, so I made you a scrapbook. It took forever, but luckily your family’s historian captured a lot of the earlier stuff.” Felix was listening, but his eyes were fixated on the last page, where you pasted a single picture of a selfie you two took just a couple days ago. “Happy birthday, Felix.”

Flipping through the scrapbook made him realize that yes, so much has changed between the two of you. There’s so much growth and care and love in between the pages and the fine lines that isn’t seen unless you look for it. As he looked at you, with your cheeks dusted scarlet and wearing your heart on your sleeve, perhaps him pretending he didn’t tell you he loved you last year was what was slowly drifting you away from him, because how were you going to deny to his face that you didn’t love him, too?

Perhaps it was best you would admit it to him on your own time. For now, he hoped a gentle kiss on your forehead would push you a little bit.

His rose petal lips left your forehead tingling. “You’re the best. Thank you.”

When Felix tried to close the gap in between, you took a large step back. You couldn’t look him in his eyes and now he’s confused and his heart hurts.

“Why do you keep doing that?” you asked.

“Doing what?”

“Holding my hand, holding me, kissing me…”

“Oh, I thought you were ok with all of that.”

You take a deep breath. You can’t let last year repeat itself. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m wrong?”

“You can’t just do that whenever you feel like it.”

“Do what!?”

“Play with my feelings!” You took another breath to calm you down and prevent anymore tears that were about to pool. “I have feelings, Felix. You can’t just use me whenever you feel like it and take it all back like it never happened the next morning!”

“I have feelings, too. How the fuck else was I supposed to deal with the night I told you I love you and you didn’t say it back?”

You’re left stunned and speechless. Felix just admitted to you that he once told you he loved you. He didn’t have to say when for you to know that he was talking about the inebriated self on your bed mumbling those three words as you tucked him in on his birthday last year.

“You didn’t say it back and I thought you didn’t feel the same, so I pretended to forget all about it. But now I know you feel the same,” he begged desperately. “I just know. Tell me I’m wrong, _____. Tell me I’m wrong to think that after all these years together, I think you fell in love with me the same way I fell in love with you.”

You couldn’t say anything. You couldn’t admit that he was right because he was drunk then and he’s still a little intoxicated now. But even if he’s right, even though you both knew how much you loved every cell of Felix, what if all this sweet talk was brewed by the mix of drinks that settled in his core? What if he forgets again tomorrow and you’re left in a worse state than you were last year? What if the alcohol just jogged last year’s memory that was stored deep in his cortex that only tequila was able to unlock?

The more you tried to make an excuse for it, the more ridiculous it sounded...

When you didn’t say anything right away, Felix was sure if he had his ribs broken that it would hurt less than the pain he felt in his chest right now. But that wasn’t your fault - nothing was ever your fault. This was all his doing because that’s what Felix did best - screw everything up.

The blond’s once hurt expression turned to stone before he dropped the scrapbook onto the cushioned chair next to his belongings.

“My mistake then,” he muttered before leaving you alone in the room.

“Felix, wait -” but it was too late, he was already out of the room to do something stupid to forget what just happened.

You ran after him, but the party room was so loud and dark and filled to the brim with guests that you couldn’t find him. In a room full of people, you were always able to find Felix no matter what, but it’s like he changed the makeup of the atmosphere to make sure that wouldn’t happen again for the rest of the night. You tried looking for blond locks from high ground, you tried snaking your way on the dance floor, you even checked the private rooms and men’s bathrooms in the whole house and none of them worked. You were afraid that after all the heartbreak, you wouldn’t see him again for a long while.

You bumped into Jisung in an empty hallway, who seemed out of breath like he was running a marathon just now.

“You have to come with me,” he gasped in urgency.

“What happened?”

“It’s Felix. He’s about to race Wooyoung.”

Those five words sounded like a terrible ad-lib in the newspaper, but when you followed Jisung to the front of the pool house, lo and behold half of the guests were gathered around the two boys who looked like they were about to get into a fist fight. In Felix’s hand, you could see that he was holding the keys to his sports car that was already parked out front.

Wooyoung’s the first to see you run to them from the crowd, with Jisung following behind you. “Hey, _____. Can you tell Prince Charming here that I’m not about to race him and go to jail?”

“That’s because you’re a pus -”

Jisung held Wooyoung back before he could get a swing in and you stepped in between. This was the first time you got a good look at his face, which was tear-stained and flushed red, all because of you.

“What are you doing!?” you muttered harshly.

“Trying to understand what you see in this guy. It’s not his looks, or his brains. Can’t be his car either, but I just wanted to prove my prediction just in case.”

His breath smelled like freshly poured alcohol. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Am I ridiculous, though? I think I might be onto something when I said there’s something that you see in him.”

“There’s nothing, so can you please give me your keys so we can talk inside?”

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

Ouch. “Ok, we won’t talk. Let’s do something else -”

“I don’t want to do something else with you. I want to race and kick his ass.”

“You want to crash and burn that badly?” Wooyoung screamed over Jisung’s shoulders. “Fine, let’s drive!”

The crowd cheering only boosted Felix’s ego more, so he broke free from your wall and walked towards his car.

“Felix, don’t do this!” you cried out desperately, and for a second you could see the hesitation, but it was easily overcome.

“If you don’t want to be here, then go home. I don’t need you.”

The crowd oohed in unison and your left in the middle of the circle humiliated, watching the boy you loved the most get into his car and prepare to race your coworker. There’s a myriad of scenarios that fly through your mind of what could go wrong and you’re not sure if you should stay for the mess of the aftermath. But Felix said it himself that he didn’t need you, so maybe you should follow his advice and go home.

If something were to happen to him and you weren’t there to pick up the pieces and mend them back together, you would never forgive yourself. Your life’s purpose had always been to help Felix mend his pieces together whenever he needed it. But maybe this was his way of telling you that you were no longer needed for that - that you were free of all your duties as his personal fake secretary and since he thought you didn’t love him back that you served no purpose to him anymore.

When Felix said he didn’t need you, he meant that he didn’t need you to be the person you always were. He didn’t need you to be his babysitter trying to stop him from doing something stupid, he needed you as someone who wanted to stop him because you loved him and was afraid that he’d get hurt. And perhaps it was his mistake for saying it so harshly because you didn’t bother to stop him after that. But it hurt him to his core that you believed him when he said he didn’t need you anymore, that after twenty years you so easily believed that he could cut you out of his life, just like that. How many stupid mistakes could Felix make tonight? He was too far into this that he couldn’t back out, so all he had to do was race and make it out alive to see you again.

From the rear view mirror, he saw your distant figure fade away with the night.

It has been a long sixty-eight hours and twenty-four minutes since you arrived home from the birthday party. Hermit crabbing for the first twelves hours was stressful - you couldn’t sleep until 6:00 am, you only slept for a couple hours, you sent mass text messages to multiple people, including Felix, curious about his whereabouts and no one got back to you until twelve hours after that.

han solo [8:43 pm]: sorry darling, i like just woke up. he’s fine i guess.

you [8:44 pm]: what do you mean you ‘guess’!?

han solo [8:44 pm]: i mean they both came out unscathed and his dumbass won so physically he’s fine! but he didn’t seem too happy that he won. i think he’s back home with his parents atm.

That settled your racing heart only a little, but at least you knew he was fine physically, at least. Still, your hundreds of texts sent to him were all left on read, meaning he saw all your desperation and worry and didn’t bother to ease any of it.

You couldn’t eat for those long hours, but now it was getting unbearable and you needed to eat something. You had all the ingredients for Felix’s favorite soup, and as much as you didn’t want to constantly remind yourself of him, you couldn’t help yourself. The process was nice and slow, where you took extra care into washing the vegetables and bringing the broth to a gentle boil before dropping everything in. You could imagine the look on his face if he smelled what you made with your own hands.

Cooking for Felix was a very rare occasion because you were still self conscious about your abilities, especially as someone who was going to work for the country’s largest restaurant franchise. But the times he’s tasted your creations, his reaction was nothing but sincere bliss, cleaning his plate or bowl or several every time. He was the only one who truly believed in your talents and far-off dream when your parents wanted you to follow your Dad’s footsteps. You always cared about what Felix thought about you and your actions and nearly everything, but what he thought about your cooking was one of the most important things and his constant support for your craft was what made you fall for him so much harder than you already did.

The aromas of the soup made you miss him even more. If you didn’t hear back from him today, you were going to take drastic measures and find him yourself.

A quiet, eerie knock came at your door. You hesitated, wondering if you should just pretend you weren’t home, but then a voice spoke up.

“I know you’re home,” Felix said. “I can smell you cooking my favorite soup.”

You dropped your wooden spoon and hurried to open the front door. Behind the door revealed a tired Felix with one bruised up eye and cut up lip. Though the tears quickly fell from your eyes and you covered your gaping mouth, he still gave you a weak smile in hopes of easing any worry you now had.

“I kind of need you,” he admitted softly. “I really need you.”

Speechless, you took Felix by the hand and sat him on your couch before grabbing your massive first aid kit. He’s not surprised that you took him in with open arms without any hesitation because that was the kind of person you were. He loved that about you, but there’s guilt in his heart because he’s the last person who deserves this treatment. He knew you didn’t exactly forgive him yet because you still haven’t said a word, even as you were wetting a cotton swab with isopropyl alcohol.

“Is it going to sting?” he asked. You didn’t bother answering and let him feel the pain for himself. “Motherfucker!”

Through all the cleaning and wincing, though your facial expression didn’t move much, a waterfall of tears fell from your eyes at a constant speed. Since you were kids, Felix’s Dad was big on spanking and physical discipline, but this was a whole different level than you’ve ever seen before - this wasn’t discipline, this was intentional. Even so, Felix still smiled, even through all the stinging.

“Stay still,” you whispered, voice shaking. Your free hand held his face in place by pressing your palm into his nonbruised cheek. The wound still stung, but the wincing at least lessened. When the cotton swab dried up and you weren’t sure what to do, Felix calmed your racing thoughts by placing a hand on top of the one you had on your cheek.

He liked the way your thumb gently brushed across his cheek. Your touch always left tingles in its absence.

“What happened?” you finally asked.

“Dad found out about the racing because it was in the tabloids as ‘Future YONBOK CEO Caught Racing Under the Influence. Is the Future of YONGBOK in Good Hands?’ and, well, you know how that turned out.”

You said nothing while shaking your head. You took your hand back and stood up to get something and the fear of you leaving him again left Felix sweating and tears of his own pooling in his eyes. But you came back with a bag of frozen peas to press against his bruises and swollen lip.

“Are you hungry?” Felix nodded silently. “I made your favorite soup.”

“I know. Did you know that I was coming?”

“No. I guess I’m lucky.”

One of his hands is on top of yours holding the frozen peas and the other grabs hold of your other free hand. Felix wanted to hold you in every way possible, but for now this would have to do until you accepted him.

“You know I love you,” he told you. “And you know I will always need you. I’m sorry I pretended to forget about telling you last year and I’m sorry if that made you think I was insincere the second time. But now you know for sure that I love you. Was I really that wrong to think you felt the same?”

“It seems like you already know my answer.”

“I need to hear you say it.”

You sighed heavily. By now the tears had stopped, but you wouldn’t be surprised if they started up again. This was the first time you would admit aloud that you loved the stupid boy who tried to hide his smile sitting in front of you.

“I love you, Lee Felix. I always have.”

“Knew it ~” he sang. “Tell me when you fell for my handsome looks.”

“Remember Prom night?”

“Prom night!? Seriously?”

“My date standing me up and you offering to dance with me the whole night sounds like the perfect formula to fall in love with you, does it not?”

“I guess! I just thought it’d be longer than that!”

“I’m sure it has been longer than that.”

“Really?”

“Prom night was just the point of no return - that no matter what I did, my feelings were absolute and I couldn’t be in denial anymore. But I didn’t feel any different… And that’s when I assumed I just always loved you.”

“Even when I do stupid shit like this, you still loved me that much, huh?”

“Even with a busted lip, I still think you’re the most handsome.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he chuckled. “Do you know when I knew?”

“Uh, last year?”

“Nope. On your tenth birthday.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. When you shared your birthday cake and gave me the corner slice with the most icing flowers on it, I knew you were the one for me.”

“Can you be serious for once!?”

“Baby, I am dead serious! Look me in the eyes - well, my good eye.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.” Felix pressed a long kiss to your forehead and then rested his own up against it. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“And being an ass.”

“Yes, and being the biggest ass.”

You dared to kiss his lips, but just enough for them to touch, too worried about hurting his bruise. Felix didn’t care - this was the only time you’d have your first kiss and he wanted it to be long and slow, putting his all into your very first kiss even if it hurt a little. His lips were hungry for yours and so were his hands, making you drop the frozen peas on the floor so he could pull you into his lap to deepen the kiss. Wandering hands traveled your waist and your own in his hair and all your worries about wondering if love was truly real melted away with every second. Even when you broke free to come up for air, Felix refused to loosen his grip on your waist, holding you so close that he buried his face in the nape of your neck. He short breaths tickled your skin and when you giggled, he peppered kisses all over. Your laugh was music to his ears.

“Do you forgive me?” he said in between kisses.

“Mm,” you hummed. “Just don’t leave my side again.”

“Never again. I promise you.”

“Well… Where do we go from here?”

“Hm… I get to eat my favorite soup with the love of my life?”

“I like the sound of that.”

“And then straight to bed.”

“But it’s only 9:00 pm?” A playful, naughty smirk spread across Felix’s lips. “Lee Felix!”

“What!? I won the race, can’t I get a prize!?”

“Stop.”

Soup was always better with your love and a cup of frozen peas.

#lee felix #felix lee #skz #stray kids #skz felix #stray kids felix #felix scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #i wrote this in less than a week so if it sucks that's why #bleh finally a felix fic......................... it's been like a year LOL #ok lemme know how u like it mwah

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rodeoxqueen · 4 years

Text

DEVIL MAY GRIND

(I)- Can You Touch This?

Dante/ AMAB! Reader

Series Summary: From a surprise rendezvous to a male strip club on your birthday to a private dance, you end up seeing eye-to-eye rather than eye-to-groin with a cowboy stripper named Dante Sparda.

Work Summary: A shy and short homebody celebrating your birthday with friends, you end up somewhere you’d never expect: a male strip club. And what you’d also never expect is a certain red-devil/cowboy stripper to lay his special treatment on you.

Tags/Warnings:18+, AMAB! Reader, Stripper!AU, Minors Do Not Try It, Wholesome Filth

Rodeo’s Two-Pieces: And after months, Rodeo presents the male version of this soon-to-be filth. *tilts cowboy hat over eyes and leans in seat*

You were never one for large crowds, alcohol, loud music, and nudity. So what a mess you were in, your friends dragging you into a strip club.

It wasn’t your fault, they promised you were all going for a quiet dinner at your favorite restaurant. No loud noises, no crowds, and especially, you didn’t even know why you had to specify, no naked guys! That’s what happened at first. You went and blew out your candles on your cake at a nice place, but then things got weird. Your friends had got you thoughtful gifts, except one of them who promised to give it to you after another “surprise.”

They practically herded you to their car, blindfolding and ear-muffing you while giggling. After driving in some unfamiliar directions, you were pulled into a strange building.

So when you couldn’t hear your thoughts due to the overbearing bass in the room you were in, you realized you should’ve known better. The blindfold and earmuffs were taken off and you opened your eyes to a neon-lit room with the most hard-cut abs right in your face.

“A strip club?! W-why would you think I’d want to go to a strip club?”

“Okay, first of all (Y/N). It’s a male strip club. Second, come on! I know you want to touch some diamond abs!” One of your friends exclaimed as they threw bills at one very tan and very oiled-up man named Diego. The box from before landed on your lap, and you unwrapped it to find a giant stack of dollar bills.

“Now stuff them bills down some hottie’s pants!”

The orange thong-wearing male with the most defined quads you had ever glanced at winked at your friend and opted to dance on someone else. Clutching your drink, you swallowed thickly as other males who went to the gym every other hour thrust their hips proactively at you.

Your friends had called ahead and bought the lot of you a table to the stage, much to your chagrin.

Luckily, your ability to disappear in a room, with your meek personality and small stature, came in handy in these situations. The tall and buff guys your friends screamed over seemed to prefer the company of the more extroverted and thirsty. While other tables farther from the stage had easy contact with the not-themed strippers, you were all confronted with the stage floor dancers.

“My god, how many themes do these guys dress in?” You squeaked as an entertainer dressed like James Bond (minus the clothes except for the bowtie and gun holster) ground on the stage floor.

“Not enough! Now make it rain, (Y/N).” Another friend demanded as she took another shot.

You made a noise as your hand was forcibly placed onto an eight-pack. You quickly threw a wad of bills at the man and ran off to the bar.

“I gotta go!” You panicked, speed-walking to the bar in your favorite pair of dressy sneakers. Stomach quivering, you put a few bills down and asked for a stronger drink. Maybe you could pass out on the table and your friends would feel bad and take you home.

You sighed as you watched your friends have the time of their lives, although they noted your absence.

“First time?” The bartender asked, sliding your fruity drink to you. You fiddled with the napkin. A woman posed in the corner with the logo “Devil May Cry” to the side of her, all lined in neon pink.

“Oh!... Yeah, it is.” You mumbled shyly. You blushed at his blue-eyed stare. Luckily, he wore a collared white shirt so you could look at him without bleeding out of your nose. He was very handsome, with rugged features and slight facial hair. His stark white hair shined even in the dim lighting.

“Ah, could tell. Watched you get dragged in here.” He chuckled.

“I-I was tricked, first of all!” You exclaimed, tucking some hair behind your ear.

“It’s alright. Your next rounds on me if you stay a lil longer.” He winked, wiping a glass. A few other people came and went, requesting all sorts of raunchy-titled drinks. Despite that, he leaned on the table where you sat, making idle conversation.

“I’m Dante.”

“Nice to meet you, Dante. I’m (Y/N).” You impulsively stuck your hand out to shake and stilled at his strong and warm grip.

He whistled.

“Nice name for a nice man. It’s your birthday right?” You nodded.

“What did you wish for?”

“Peace and quiet.” He laughed at that, gesturing to your friends who screamed and clapped at a dark-skinned stripper who ripped off his pants.

“With those friends?” He chuckled.

“They’re a lot more restrained. This is an exception.” You whined.

The conversation grew longer. You learned that Dante worked here with his twin brother Vergil. He loved pizza and strawberry ice cream, along with nice motorcycles. A total manly man, if you asked yourself.

You found a safe space talking to him since you didn’t have to look at nude guys with your back turned.

You were hoping to talk the night away until a similarly white-haired male with a serious glare rounded the corner.

Swiping back a few stray hairs, the esteemed brother Vergil knocked the smile off his twin’s face.

“You fool! Your shift has been over for some time now.” He snapped. Dante rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, this is old douchebag.” You giggled at his comment, quickly stopping when meeting eyes with the frigid twin.

“Have you been speaking ill of me? I will-” Dante threw a towel at his brother’s face before leaving the bartending station. By leaving, he jumped over the counter.

“Hey, (Y/N), nice talking to you. I’ll see you later.” The white-haired man left to the employee’s room.

“Alright-” You muttered. You’d sit, but Vergil’s cold glare prompted you to leave and rejoin your friends.

“Where were you? Chatting up the bartender?”

“Look at you. Being social in a strip club.” They teased.

After a few more dancers, you couldn’t help but miss the blue-eyed bartender with his quips and casual flirtiness.

Suddenly, the music and lights went off. The crowd stirred. Your friend grabbed your arm.

“Oh boy, they’re gonna need a mop after this.”

“Ew!” You cried out. Your friends sang that one horribly sexual song from the radio. Something about parking a truck in a garage and about wet-

A shirtless DJ grabbed the mic.

“And now, for our next entertainer, we have the Legendary Lady Killer. Hold onto your panties and your wedding rings, you’re all in for the ride of your life.”

The lights were turned back on from back to front. On stage, stood a muscular man with a cowboy hat and shawl. His legs were perfectly framed by black leather chaps and boots. You turned as red as his shawl as you could see his formidable bulge from yards across.

His spurs clinked on the floor as people began to cheer at his physique. Your jaw dropped in shock.

White hair.

“Ladies and gents, I got some questions for y’all.” He drawled, lowering his hat.

“Yes! I’m single!” Someone yelled from the back. He chuckled as others screamed with agreement.

“That’s nice ma’am. But really, I got three questions.” He made his way down the stage, his shadow covering your table.

He palmed his chest and abs, showing white chest hairs and slicked-down muscles.

“Can you touch this?” Everyone screamed for yes. He tutted.

“No, no, no.” He waggled his finger. He spun and exposed his lush tush. He was packing it front and back and you blushed while putting your face in your hands.

His hands groped his butt. Even with his giant hands, he still had more ass to spare.

“Can you touch this?” The screams grew louder. He waggled his finger again, wiggling his butt.

“No, no, no.” The crowd awed. He turned back around, a cocky grin on his face.

“Now,” He pointed to the crowd.

His palms groped the leather that concealed his huge package.

“Can you touch this?” Your friend threw a wad of cash at him, hitting him in the nipple. He stood unflinching.

“No, no, no.” He drew out each word.

“These are my laws.” Putting his hands on his hips, he rocked left to right, clicking his spurs.

“But I see a hell of a lot of lawbreakers here tonight.”

He shifted to walk around the chair placed behind him. He sat on it backward, legs spread to place his groin in the spotlight.

“And I don’t see a cop in sight.” He pointed at the DJ.

“Hit it!” Music blaring, he did his number. And boy, was the DJ right to warn you. Dante practically made sweet love to the chair, flipping his head back.

Hips circling and then pistoning the air, sweat trailed down his pecs.

You ended up throwing a few bills, hoping to avoid eye contact. It failed as he slid to his knees to the edge of the stage and crawled off the ledge onto your table. Like a preying tiger, he made his way over to you.

Thank god you had health insurance, your blood pressure was going off the charts.

Your friends lost their heads, throwing bills and screaming like banshees. But he wasn’t interested in them. His eyes preyed after your own, baby blues on an absolute beast.

“Wanna save a horse and ride a cowboy, handsome?” He purred as he traced your jaw. Your skin jumped as you internally imploded. This was was too sensual and people were watching, for goodness sake!

“(Y/N), if you don’t agree I will cancel your Barnes and Noble membership.” Your friend threatened.

“Come on, spare this outlaw some sugar?” You didn’t have a moment to think. Dante threw his hat on your head and carried you onto the table and to the stage.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” You shrieked.

He ran hot. So hot. Your skin burned at contact with him, pressed up against his chest as he stood you in front of the chair he practically humped.

“Take a seat, sir.” You blushed at his sensual persona, not sure where the kind bartender and the suave cowboy started and ended.

Obediently, you turned the chair around and sat with your ankles crossed. Dante tutted in disapproval.

His hands lingered by your legs.

“May I?” He asked. You shook your head slowly, feeling his callused hands on your thighs. He firmly spread your legs and stood over you on the chair.

As if that wasn’t enough, his arm muscles bulged and twitched as he ripped off his leather chaps. He ripped the chaps. There were no zippers or velcro straps. That was all him!

Your face a hair’s width from his abs, he gently took your hands and traced his pecs with them. He growled and winked at you.

Despite the one-in-a-million situation you were in, you shrank at the many peering eyes of the other women and bar patrons. Your anxiety was seen by Dante, who tilted your head up.

“Hey, it’s alright. Just focus on me. If you’re nervous, just give me a purple nurple or something, alright?” You laughed at his idea of a safe word and nodded.

“Okay, Dante.”

And like that, it was like you pulled a trigger. Dante grinded on your form and explored his peak-conditioned skin with your own hands.

You gasped as he led your hands down his front to his leather shorts. You couldn’t stop looking with widened eyes at his crotch. You had read erotica before, describing the male member in the throes of passion, yet this was the first time you had been this close to anything like those erotic novels.

It was obscene! Why did it seem to get larger? How was he allowed to carry that thing around without a license?!

“Hey, eyes up here.” He teased as you snapped your head up.

“O-oh! Sorry.” You whispered. Your blood had rushed to your head and you had grown deaf to your friends’ yells of validation.

“Grab him by the buns!” One of your friends yelled. Dante turned around to make eye contact with her.

With a grin, he slid your hands to the back. What he didn’t expect was you to squeeze.

“Whoa now, kitty.” He purred. You gave a watery smile.

Suddenly, a water bottle was thrown at his head. With lightning reflexes, he caught it after it bounced off of him.

“Hey! Stage times’ over, you fucking show pony.” A short-haired woman with mismatching eyes called out. Dante scoffed.

“Just givin’ a nice gentleman some lovin’.” He argued.

“No, get off the stage, Dante.”

“Five more minutes?”

“NOW.” He sighed. Getting off of your lap, he kissed your hand that was resting on his thigh. Lord, if you died right now, that’d be fine.

“Glad to have this dance.” He flirted.

“Y-you too.” Taking your hand, he took you for another surprise and swept you off your feet. You squeaked as he handed you to another dancer on the ground. The club-goers cheered as dancers arrived, dressed like businessmen with briefcases.

You were promptly seated, head dizzy from everything that just happened. You watched as he took his leave as if he didn’t just cause you to get feverish from how hot he was. Your friend hugged you.

“Nice work! You were so lucky!” Another friend plucked the hat off your head.

“Ah! He left his hat!” You exclaimed as you took it from her hands.

“A souvenir.”

For the rest of the night, you held onto the hat and traced the red stitching. You never saw Dante for the rest of the night, his brother in charge of the bar service.

Finally, before the last round of dancers, you were tapped on the shoulder. You found yourself staring into much harsher blue eyes.

One of your friends threw money at him, which he growled at.

“I am not an entertainer. Well, not right now.” He explained. He handed you a drink with a napkin on the bottom.

“My buffoon of a brother said to keep the hat. Although, I’m not sure why you would.”

“I-”

“The drink is on the house. Good evening with you all.”

He walked off, and you took your drink. You realized it was the same one you ordered when you got to the bar.

“Hey dude, take a look.” A well-manicured nail pointed to the napkin. You saw in red pen an arrow pointed to the folded corner.

You shakily opened it to reveal a series of numbers and words, along with a card that flitted onto the table.

Tonight was fun, wanna do it again? The card’s for a private dance, just call and ask for Dante Sparda. No crowds, only you and me. No Lady barking up my tree for appreciating beauty either - DS

A little heart with an arrow through its center was scrawled in a corner. You picked up the laminated card and saw it was for a free private dance. Your heart beat out of your chest.

Your friends laughed as you immediately stuck it in your pocket, along with the note. The club closed and you were all ushered out. The night was pitch black when you emerged from the debauchery that was the Devil May Cry strip club.

As your other wasted companions were stuffed into the car, you sat shotgun to the sober and designated driver.

You were silent the car ride home, laying your head against the window. You thought about that white-haired flirt’s remarks and how gentle he was to you.

Waving and embracing your wonderful friends, you left for your apartment with all your gifts. However, the little slips of paper in your pocket weighed the heaviest on your mind.

With your keys in your hand, you climbed up the stairs home.

After closing the door, you slid down the wall and let out a pleased sigh.

“Best birthday ever!” You said to no one in particular.

#amab reader #dante x reader #dante x male reader #devil may grind #devil may cry

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delimeful · 4 years

Text

as the fabric starts to fray

donation drive commission for @hazelriver74 with the prompt: dukexiety and glitching powers! thank you so much for your patience, and i hope you enjoy! :)

warnings: violence, fights, mild body horror, involuntary drug use, remus being himself and saying gross stuff, profanity, borderline panic attack

Virgil always knew when Remus made his way into a fight by the dramatics alone.

No matter where the brawl was going down, no matter how many people were involved, there was always enough space for him to make a scene. If there was any doubt that he was related to Princey, that alone would have eliminated it. Not that Princey would be happy to hear that.

So when the bank windows exploded into glass grit and a flash grenade trailing disgusting-smelling smoke landed between Virgil and the seriously-outclassed robbers, he wasn’t as concerned as he probably should have been.

Sure, Remus-- “The Duke” was a self-identified villain, and sure, Virgil had shifted to the more legal side of the super scene these days, but it was a recent thing. He was a vigilante, not a narc, and that meant that he didn’t particularly care what Remus called himself so long as the guy wasn’t seriously hurting anyone.

Plus, it was hilarious to see how thoroughly he could frustrate Princey just by existing.

“Having a party and you didn’t invite me?” Remus called, strutting through the smoke in shoes that appeared to have literal knife-heels, ones that scraped unpleasantly against the stone with each step.

Virgil kept himself focused on the robbers, because he hadn’t gotten close enough to get all the guns from them and there were still civilians behind him. Remus better have made the smoke non-toxic this time; not everyone could make a gas mask from shadows like him. “Pretty pathetic party if you ask me. These guys didn’t even bring any fun toys.”

Remus clicked his tongue, ignoring the weapons pointed his way. “Well, maybe I’ll show them how a real robbery looks, hm? Better cover those innocent civvie eyes, Shade!”

Virgil immediately snapped an opaque dome into existence over the hostages, just in time for Remus to make his move.

“Here’s my favorite party trick,” he hollered, ignoring the gunshots as he charged forwards with melting skin and too-many limbs. “It’s the one where I make your kneecaps disappear!”

Virgil rolled his eyes as Remus employed his usual level of ‘creativity’ to the fight. Good thing he was already well accustomed to cheesy supervillain lines in his lines of work, both past and current.

Still, he kept a sharp eye as he worked to pry the weapons from the ones on the outskirts of the skirmish. While it was sort of hard to look at Remus right now, and he generally didn’t kill, the villain could get a little… sloppy. He ended up having to shadowpatch a few of the would-be robbers’ more grievous wounds, just in case.

The fight was over quickly, and Virgil smacked Remus on the shoulder, grimacing at the wrongness of his shifting flesh. “Don’t think I didn’t catch what you said about robbing the bank. This place is a community fund, and it’s not insured. Go rob somewhere that deserves it, won’t you?”

Remus snarled with too many teeth, and Virgil hissed back, smacking him again like he was a finicky car engine. It did the trick, and the villain started looking distinctly less Lovecraftian.

“You never let me have any fun,” he complained, waving his hand about as it slowly stopped resembling a medieval mace. “You’re almost as bad as the goody-two shoes trio.”

… He probably shouldn’t be so offended at the comparison, since he was technically working with the heroes now, but. “Am not.”

Remus threw his head back as he cackled at Virgil’s expense, but before the vigilante could retaliate, a flash of movement caught his eye.

One of the still-conscious opponents was glaring from the ground, something strange and glowing in his hands, pointed directly at Remus. Virgil’s sense of danger went haywire, and he forced his body to shift forward, rather than away. He shoved Remus, hard, and moved just slow enough to catch the projectile in his own thigh.

He swore loudly on principle, but whatever it was actually didn’t hurt beyond a stinging impact. He pulled it out: a canister dart with colorful feathers.

“What the hell was in it?” he muttered to himself, and then got an answer in the form of the shield dome dissolving into thick, purple smoke.

This time, he swore loudly with feeling.

“Shadowman, what’s going on?” Remus asked, but Virgil didn’t have time to play games anymore. He reached out and drew the smoke towards himself before it could settle on the civilians, shuddering as it settled into his arms and dyed them the mottled color of a bruise.

He swallowed down the rising terror with the ease of long practice, but Remus was still too close for comfort. Really, when he was like this, everyone in the lobby was too close for comfort. He was feeling a distinct lack of comfort at the moment.

“Don’t wait up,” he muttered, failing to keep the strain from his tone. He immediately ducked out one of the blown out windows, because now was not the time to worry about what was and was not a door.

Now was a time to get as far away from human contact as possible.

Because the world hated him, he only got three blocks away before Remus tried to tackle him at full speed. Emphasis on ‘tried’, because Virgil’s ‘spidey-sense’ nearly puppeteered him out of the way, even more high-strung than normal. “I told you to-- why?”

“I must really be losing my touch if I seem like the kind of person who takes orders,” Remus said, hand on a hip as he recovered from his failed lunge. “Especially after you just took a bullet for me like some swooning damsel. Is my bro rubbing off on you or something?”

Virgil, who could feel his headache getting stronger by the minute, forewent words entirely in favor of a very rude gesture that had absolutely no effect. “Look, I’m not playing coy here. Whatever was in that dart was bad news, you need to leave, now--”

He hurriedly smacked a hand over his mouth, but it was too late to take back the warped double-tone of his words. Remus, despite all his actions, was not an idiot, and his eyes flicked between Virgil’s face and his arms before widening with realization.

“No fuckin’ way,” he said, advancing a step closer. Virgil shifted a leg back. “You-- Paranoia? You’re alive?”

“Paranoia’s dead,” Virgil snarled, even as his voice refused to cooperate, even as his shadows began to pull themselves away from his skin and materialize as a particular villain’s signature fog. He clutched at his head, gritting his teeth as he struggled to keep the fog from spreading. “Fuck, I thought I was done feeling out of control of my own goddamn powers.”

Remus seemed to notice Virgil’s posture, the disbelieving half-smile dropping off his face in favor of something like concern. “Woah, easy, emo. I’m not gonna rat you out, but you do look a little pathetic and in need of help. Hey, you’re a boring normie now, can’t you just call the cavalry?”

“No!” More fog dripped off of him at the mere thought of interacting with the heroes like this. He’d ‘killed’ his old identity for a reason; he didn’t ever want to subject them to that.

“Fine, fine! Yeesh, and people call me dramatic,” Remus said, his hands held up in a gesture of non-aggression. “If you won’t call them, then you can hide out at my place until we figure out how to deal with your little leaking problem.”

Virgil grimaced at the description, and then shook his head. “It’s too dangerous-- Hey!”

His voice cracked embarrassingly as Remus stepped forwards, caught his arm, and slung it over his shoulders in one fluid gesture. The fear fog swirled around him like thick and burning smoke, but he barely even blinked.

“Dangerous, schmangerous,” Remus said, and tugged him towards the next back alley turn. “This is weak shit; Vigilante-You is much scarier, what with all that control and precision.” He fanned himself with one hand, grinning mockingly. “It’s enough to give me goosebumps.”

Virgil punched his shoulder, shaking his head, but Remus really didn’t seem affected, and he could already feel his shadows becoming more manageable as he calmed down. “Fine, but you asked for it. No complaining when I make your hideout feel like the twilight zone.”

Remus cackled again as he led the way. “Shade, you underestimate my appreciation for freaky shit. If you spookify my place, I’m going to be ecstatic.”

#sanders sides #ts virgil #ts remus #superhero au #commissioned works #donation drive #writing #my writing #glitching powers #as the fabric starts to fray #atfstf #platonic dukexiety #the ship names in the fandom...

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scoopsgf · 4 years

Text

can i get a good night’s sleep? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep?!

or: five times peter parker doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

my contribution to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! this is for @snarky-drabbles - I hope you enjoy it!

The first time is actually just the first in a while. Peter’s had problems sleeping ever since he was a little kid; it was just one issue of many that stacked up on top of each other, resulting in his personal belief that he must be the most difficult kid to look after on the planet.

Asthma meant hundreds of dollars spent on inhalers, covering what their shitty insurance didn’t. His poor eyesight was the same story and the bullies that used to break his glasses had never helped. But it wasn’t just physical crap, of course: he’s had anxiety for as long as he can remember.

There are cute side-effects like panic attacks and nausea, not to mention the constant sense of impending doom he’s been nursing since… well, birth, probably. When he was younger he’d worry about whether or not the taxi driver had enough gas in his car to get them where they needed to go, or maybe Ben would get shot at work (ironically enough, he’d never worried that Ben would get shot off-duty, and there is a teeny superstitious sliver of him that believes maybe if he had considered the possibility it never would have happened, like some kind of a reverse jinx or something).

One of the other cute things that comes along with it is insomnia.

So here he is, pacing in his kitchen at three in the morning because May isn’t home yet.

Her shift ended at two. She’s usually back within a half hour considering the hospital isn’t far, hence his agitation.

He’s tried calling and texting to no avail, and he keeps telling himself that everything is fine, that she probably just got held up; meanwhile his subconscious provides a great slideshow of mental images that speak to the opposite—her getting kidnapped because somehow someone links her to Spider-Man, her getting hit with a car, mugged, shot, slipping on black ice—and that’s actually not far-fetched considering it’s January, there’s a lot of it, and so he pulls out his phone and types, You didn’t slip on black ice and die did you? to May.

No little dots appear to signify that she’s typing. The message doesn’t even change from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’.

She has her read receipts on. She’s promised him. There’s no reason she’d change that, right? But maybe she accidentally switched them off when she was scrolling through her settings.

He calls her.

“Hi, this is May Parker, I’m unavailable at the moment but if you leave me a message I’ll get back to you as soon as—”

Peter hangs up with a dissatisfied grunt.

It’s only then that he realises, to his great dismay, that he’s paced all the way onto the ceiling.

In his shock he loses concentration and falls. “Ow, fuck.” He pulls his aching knee to his chest. It’ll no doubt be bruised soon. “God has forsaken me.”

He picks up his now cracked phone and texts Ned:

I just fell off the ceiling at 3 AM in the morning

Don’t ask me what I was doing on it

Every bone in my body is broken :(

No reply comes which is pretty typical; Ned probably passed out in front of his PC like, hours ago. Peter can picture it: the light of his computer screen casting a blue glow over everything in the room, his head probably tucked into his arms to muffle his snores (and there’s also probably a bowl of stale popcorn spilled across his floor at this point), his creepy mother lurking in the doorway—or worse, trying to find out how to snoop through his laptop while he’s out of it.

Peter could totally go swing down there and help the guy out. It would be something to do anyway.

But no. The door is too far. His suit… too much work. It’s definitely better to just stay here curled up under the table like a little turtle.

But wait—a blanket.

Is it worth the effort? Probably. Peter scans his immediate surroundings and, oh boy, Lady Fate is actually on his side tonight because there’s a gigantic purple fluffy one hanging off the couch and it only takes a little bit of physical exertion to yank it down and wrap it around his body.

He burrows deeper into it and scrolls through Instagram. MJ posted a picture of a banana today. Literally like, just a banana. No caption, no explanation on her story, nothing.

Peter double taps it and comments: i hope u asked before u took his jacket

No like. No reply. That makes sense. It is three in the fucking morning, after all.

No. Three thirty. It’s been an hour and a half.

What had May said once? That it was okay to call someone if she was two hours late?

Peter tries texting and calling one more time and then just sits there, staring at his home screen and watching the minutes pass. At exactly four AM after much deliberation and stomach churning, he calls someone else.

Three rings later: “I’m in Vienna right now so this better be good.”

Peter feels even more nauseous than before. “Oh,” he says. “I guess—never mind, then. Sorry.”

“Wait, wait, that was just for show and I’m greatly intrigued as to why you’re calling me so… early? Late? Anyway I’m out of the conference room now so lay it on me.”

Against his will, Peter’s lip quirks up. “Um, it’s kind of stupid—”

“Nothing is ever stupid,” Tony says. “Especially when it’s coming from the brain of a kid with an intelligence quotient of 260.”

He feels his cheeks heat up and then it all just comes tumbling out, “It’s really late and May was supposed to be off at two and home by two-thirty, but she’s not and I don’t know what to do. I tried calling and texting but she’s not replying and I know that I’m probably just building it up in my head but I can’t help freaking out because like, what if she got stabbed or slipped on black ice or—”

“Hey Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe.”

Tony’s voice has softened immeasurably. Something uncoils in Peter’s stomach. He flops onto his side and closes his eyes. “I’m breathing.”

“That’s good, kiddo. Now just hang on a sec, I’m gonna call the hospital.”

“What? Why?”

“Well she works there, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“And you haven’t tried calling them yet, correct?”

“...Correct.”

“Ergo,” Tony says.

“But I—”

“Yeah?”

Peter bites his lip and then he just blurts it: “I don’t want you to hang up.”

He feels like such a child but the thought of losing connection with Tony is literally making his heart palpitate and his palms sweat. He needs someone. He needs an adult.

“Well lucky for us both I have two phones.”

Peter cracks an eye. “You what?”

“I’m Tony Stark, don’t question it. Hang on, let me just—hello, hi, um, I need this room. No, it can’t wait. Yes the whole room. Yes locked. I don’t know, five minutes? Ten? An hour? No, I’m not joking. Thank you. Thanks. Yeah. Okay. Bye now.” Something slams shut—the door to the office Tony just stole, probably. “Okay, just a sec, I have the number for the reception desk she works at in my phone.”

Peter, for some reason, feels immeasurably comforted by that. He sits in silence gnawing on his lip while Tony has a somewhat muffled conversation he can’t hear the other side of. Then, “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay, well, they said she’s covering for someone and can’t get to the phone because a baby had to have emergency surgery so she’s literally in the OR as we speak. Pretty badass and not bad as far as excuses go. Now that you know she’s fine and not dead by ice, how about you get some shut-eye, okay kid?”

Peter swallows. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Tony.”

“No Mr. Stark this time, huh?”

“It’s too late for formalities.”

“I see,” Tony replies. “Sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

The line goes dead. Peter, slightly relieved but not fully consoled, rolls over to face the door. He doesn’t sleep at all that night and is still there when May comes home at six in the morning with bagels and apologies.

—

The anniversary of Ben’s death is always super weird.

This time it takes him a few minutes to remember what day it is: he’s in the middle of brushing his teeth and then it hits him like a train: oh, it’s been three years.

Then comes May. She usually tries to cook something for breakfast but like always it burns. He leaves the bathroom to the sound of the smoke alarm and fans a cookie sheet at the screeching little device while she swears up and down in Italian.

“It’s okay, May, really—”

“No, it’s not!” She snaps, tossing a batch of blackened cinnamon rolls into the trash. “I just want this day to be easy for you!”

Peter goes over to her and, after kicking the oven door shut with his foot, pulls her into his arms. May starts to cry even though she tries not to; sniffles turn into barely stifled sobs. He knows that it’s harder for her than it is for him. Ben was her husband and they’d been married for thirteen years when he died. Sometimes he still catches her looking to see if he’s laughing too when they watch TV, only to find an empty recliner.

“It’s okay for it to be a bad day,” he whispers. “You know that, right? I mean, I love you to pieces, May, but I don’t wanna see you bending over backwards for me.”

“But that’s my job, doofus.”

Peter pulls back. He’s an inch taller than her now. “No it’s not. We take care of each other, okay?”

Then comes school. Ned usually hovers nervously like an agitated gnat, too afraid to say anything, not sure if he should act normal or be sad in solidarity, which means it’s kind of Peter’s job to set the tone. As he’s putting his combination in for his locker he asks, “So did you beat that level of Obra Dinn last night?”

Ned, shoulders slumping with relief, starts to ramble on about how hard it was to do and how it took him like, thirty whole tries.

They go to class. Peter zones out. He doesn’t bother making more web fluid or ditching and he gets so inside his own head that Coach Wilson compliments him again during gym class. Peter deliberately slows down after that, even if it’s kind of irritating; being physically active actually helps work off his anger.

Because that’s what he is more than anything else: angry. At the mugger, yeah, but at himself more than anything else. It was his fault that they were out that night, anyway. It’s a wonder that May doesn’t hate his fucking guts.

When school is up Peter comes home to an empty house. He thinks about going on patrol but doesn’t really feel up to it, and then he feels bad for not wanting to do it because like, what if someone is dying?

So he puts on the suit and swings from rooftop to rooftop, but there’s no action today. Peter eventually settles on a fire escape with a burrito. A stray cat hops up after a while and, despite his matted fur and crazy eyes, Peter decides he has a kind of quiet dignity about him and names him Charles.

“Do you like beef?” He asks, holding some out for Charles to sniff. The cat yowls and, without any warning other than that, nearly chomps Peter’s fingers off to get the meat.

“Ow, jeez!” Peter shakes his wrist. “I was literally giving it to you for free, but go off I guess.”

Charles blinks his big brown marble eyes and then literally jumps off the fucking ledge. Peter leans over and watches him scamper across the street, somehow not getting hit by any traffic. Sometimes he thinks his spidey sense is more like feline sense in that way: he could probably manage the same thing with his eyes closed.

After a while the sun sets and all of the streetlights turn on. Peter does another patrol around the immediate vicinity but again, nothing. He stays out anyway though because he’d rather do his Chemistry homework behind a dumpster than sit alone in the apartment with nothing but the quiet for company. At least out and about there are sewer rats and mangy dogs and shady characters who actually just turn out to be skateboarders.

Peter is almost done with his assignment when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He looks up and finds Iron Man himself coming in for a landing. The suit drops with a barely audible clunk; it’s Mark 54, the sleekest and most lightweight model yet.

“Oh thank God,” says Tony’s voice, “you’re not dead.”

Peter frowns even though Tony can’t see it. “No,” he agrees slowly. “Why would I be dead? What are you doing here?”

“Well, your aunt called me in a panic at around four when she got home and you weren’t there, and then I checked the scanners and saw that you’d been here, completely stationary, for like five whole hours—needless to say I had a little bit of a heart attack and here I am, relieved and also mildly infuriated. Care to explain, young padawan?”

Peter opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Opens it again and, “It’s four AM?”

“Four fifteen,” Tony corrects.

“I didn’t even—I didn’t know! Shit, May’s totally gonna kill me, I might as well be dead—”

“Woah woah woah,” the faceplate lifts, “calm down, okay? No one is mad. Just, uh, concerned, I promise.”

Peter is still frantically packing up his school supplies and not really listening. He only stops when Tony gently touches him by lightly gripping his elbow. “Kid?”

Peter stares down at the older man’s hand. Behind the mask his eyes start to burn. “Ben died.”

“Pardon?”

“Ben died,” he repeats louder. “In this alley. Two years ago.”

All at once Tony’s face falls. He moves to sit by Peter on the grimy floor of the alley while the suit hovers nearby, a hollow shell, just the way Peter feels now.

“Kid,” Tony says, “take off the mask.”

“What? No, I’m in public—”

“No one’s around,” Tony says. “Just take it off, okay?”

Peter does, reluctantly peeling it back to reveal his tear-stained cheeks. Tony stares for a second and then, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Peter. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I—” he chokes. “I’m just so tired. I’m tired of having to watch May be strong for me when I can’t be strong back, and I’m tired of Ben not being around. I miss him and it—it’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not. It’s never fair. That’s why it hurts, kiddo. You’ve got all this love and no place to put it.”

Peter bites his lip to stop it from quivering and looks away, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I just feel pathetic.”

“Don’t,” Tony says firmly. “I felt the same way after my mom died and it… In some ways I don’t think the feeling ever actually went away, but uh, take it from someone who’s had a lot more time to process: no one is expecting anything from you, okay? And I can guarantee there’s not a single human that thinks two years is long enough to be perfectly fine again. You’re allowed to still be upset about this.”

And Peter is. He’s really, really fucking upset about it and so tired of holding it in. Tony pulls him against his chest when Peter starts to cry and it sort of seems like he’ll never be able to stop. There’s just so much, so much guilt and pain and all kinds of other bullshit that he refuses to lay on May.

So he lays it on Tony. And it’s surprisingly not horrible or awkward or even the end of the world.

“You good?” the older man asks, when Peter finally sobers up enough to wipe his cheeks dry and take a few steadying breaths.

“Yeah,” he says, voice ragged and awful-sounding. “Um, sorry. For freaking you and May out and ruining your shirt, I mean.”

“You know there’s this really snazzy invention called a washing machine—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Tony laughs and it makes Peter laugh too, and the tension between them just sort of dissipates. “Speaking of clothes,” Tony claps his hands together, “you got any to wear in that backpack?”

“Uh, jeans and a hoodie?”

“Fantastic, incredible. Throw them on, I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

“But what if someone sees?!”

“Let ’em. I’ll have Pep release a statement claiming you as my personal assistant or head intern or something.”

“That’s totally unrealistic.”

“Do I care? No. Just—okay? Up and at ’em, make haste, come on. What do you feel like, pancakes or waffles?”

They bicker about which is better the entire way to the little diner Tony choses, and Peter comes home full an hour later. May is fast asleep at the kitchen table. He kisses her forehead and starts on breakfast for her.

—

He’s thirty minutes into helping MJ study for her AP French test when she finally gets a question wrong. “‘Il n'est pas clair que’?” Peter queries, holding up the flash card.

“‘It’s not certain that’?”

He makes a pitying noise. “Close. ‘It’s not clear that’.”

“What’s not clear, exactly? That if I see one more word in French I’m gonna blow my brains out?”

Peter snorts. “No, actually it says more clarification is required on how much you like your boyfriend. Suggestions to improve that include: a hug, a kiss, both—”

“Neither?”

He pouts. “Mean.”

MJ rolls her eyes, but she kisses him first. She tastes like the Twizzlers they’ve been eating and her hands are in his hair and she laughs when he presses his lips to her cheeks and nose and forehead.

They somehow end up in an incredibly compromising position. “You know,” MJ muses, “I don’t think I’ve been studying the right kind of French.”

Peter, hovering over her (oops), nods in agreement. “This kind is definitely way better.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and he’s so consumed with this: her and him and the smell of her jasmine shampoo—that he almost doesn’t hear it.

Almost.

Peter rips away abruptly. “What was that?”

She groans. “God, you’re such a dog sometimes.”

He ignores her, sitting alert with his eyes narrowed at the window and, sure enough, there it is again: a faint, blood-curdling scream. “Someone’s being attacked or something. Maybe four blocks away tops.”

MJ squints. “Don’t tell me you can echolocate.”

“I—” Peter’s mouth snaps shut and then opens again. “I actually don’t know. Anyway, I gotta go.”

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek, throws on his jacket, and quickly ducks out her fire escape (which happens to be the same way that he came in). He slips the mask on and tosses his hood up; it’s raining in heavy, icy sheets and Peter is drenched within seconds of swinging. He remembers the first time he’d gone out during a storm; the webbing he’d made hadn’t held up because the chemical formula hadn’t accounted for the massive amounts of water-based reaction, so the biocables had evaporated as they left his shooters. Thankfully he hadn’t jumped first that day, otherwise he would be a Peter Pancake.

Another scream sounds. Peter follows it and winds up latched onto the side of a two-story brick building. There’s an incredibly dark alley below, but a quick flash of lightning tells him everything he needs to know: one man is trying to wrestle a woman down, while another is rifling through her purse. He’s also holding a gun.

“Oh, cute,” he mutters sarcastically.

Peter tries to time it right: he takes aim and shoots a web right at the weapon with the next bout of lightning, but to his immense misfortune, the armed mugger had already seen him and was aiming right back. The bullet hits Peter in the side.

“Ow,” he says, “that was uncalled for.”

He drops. His side is throbbing and hot but he ignores it in favour of disarming the guy who shot him. It’s a brief struggle but Peter ends up whacking the gun out of his hand and webbing it to the wall opposite. Then he knocks the guy out with a solid upper cross to the temple.

Peter rounds. The assailant has already fled, leaving the woman shivering but relatively unharmed.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asks.

“Me? That guy shot you!”

Peter looks down at his side which is now stained with blood. “Oh, yeah.”

He’d actually forgotten for half a second. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he’s starting to really feel it: a burning sensation in his abdomen, an aching that pulses from his stomach to his chest. Ah. Wonderful.

A little dazed, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Super healing. Are you good? You need me to call you a cab?”

“What? No, um—the police station is like, down the block, I can go get them.”

“Are you sure? Because I can totally do that—”

“I can handle myself,” she says sharply, bending down to pick up her purse and the discarded items within. “It’s just… there were two of them and there was a gun and—”

“I get it,” Peter says, his hand pressing harder into his side as the world grows blurrier around the edges. “You really don’t want me to at least walk you down?”

“I’ll take a taxi,” she says. “You just, um, get yourself fixed up, okay? And thanks.”

“Yeah, sure, anytime! But, y’know, preferably never again,” Peter says, and proceeds to swing away.

—

Tony doesn’t expect to get woken up at two AM after only just falling asleep five minutes before, but such is life; FRIDAY’s voice bleeds through the speakers above to inform him that Spider-Man is currently rifling through the Med-Bay and bleeding from a wound on his side.

Pepper looks at him. “You heard that too, right? That was real?”

“It was real.”

They both scramble out of bed. Tony takes the lead, throwing on his jacket as he runs toward the elevator. It’s times like these when every second stretches out into an eternity; it takes maybe five of them to get from their floor to the Med-Bay, but it feels like forever.

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

“I know, right?” Peter glances up. “Hey, Pepper.”

“Peter,” she returns. “Do you mind if I wash my hands and take a look at that?”

“If you want. It’s kinda gross, though.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

Through this exchange Tony was already washing up, and now he dons a pair of gloves and sits on the rolling stool. “Looks like it’s through and through,” he tells Pep over his shoulder. “Could you grab a couple suture kits and, uh, the stuff?”

Pepper makes a face. “The stuff?”

“You know,” Tony says, “The Good Stuff.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, that stuff.”

Tony feels around the area. “Do you know what kind of gun was used?”

“Looked like your standard nine mil,” Peter replies. His voice is growing a little slurred.

That’s good though, about the gun. Means there’s probably not any bullet fragments to worry about. Tony grabs a load of gauze and presses it against the wound. He checks Peter’s pulse while he’s at it and finds that it’s slowed considerably. “We’re gonna have to get you some blood, too. A neg, right?”

“Yuppers.”

Tony excuses that because after all, the kid is bleeding out on a table. Said kid actually starts to swing his legs back and forth and, yeah, that’s not gonna fly. “Do me a favour and lay back? I’m gonna put this towel right under you for now.”

Peter doesn’t have any arguments, or if he does, he doesn’t vocalise them. Pepper comes back in with the kits and drugs and, because she’s just smarter than him like that, bags of blood.

Tony grabs the vials first and loads up a syringe. Peter is pretty numb to all of it until the needle goes in. Then he frowns. “Why are you injecting me with alien blood?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s not alien blood, it’s a pain killer. A serious one at that, so you’re probably gonna feel a little out of it for a while, okay?”

Peter frowns. “Is it for Steve?”

Tony tenses, but it’s only for a second. “Yes,” he says, somewhat tightly.

“Ugh. What a turd, Mr. Stark. You’re giving me turd vitamins!” Tony scoffs while Pepper laughs. Peter notices. “See? She thinks I’m funny.”

“You’re not helping me here,” Tony says to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Here, have some thread.”

Tony sighs. “Just stay still for me, okay?”

Peter does. Pepper passes him various supplies and they work together to sew up both ends of the gunshot wound. By the time they’re done, Peter hasn’t moved once, but his eyes are open and he’s frowning.

“How do you feel?”

“Wired,” he says.

“Seriously? Bruce never said anything about the side-effects, but I figured they’d be like normal pain-killers; make you drowsy and all that.”

“No,” Peter sits up quickly and doesn’t even flinch. “I feel like I just got steroids or something. Are you—are you actually telling me that Captain America’s drugs are infused with a stimulant? What, so he can keep fighting even when he’s in the middle of dying?”

Tony blinks. “Well that was smart of dear Banner.”

“Yeah, or insane.” Peter flexes his hands. “I feel like I need to go for a run, or like, break something.”

“Let’s avoid that,” Tony says, pushing him back down. “You need to heal, not mess yourself up even more, understood?”

Peter stares. “Is it normal to see sounds?”

Pepper bursts out laughing again. “I’m sorry,” she says when Tony glares. “Really, I am, I promise. Peter, honey, how about we get you to a bedroom where you can rest up? We’ll call your aunt and explain everything.”

—

Everything is going fine until May asks, “How did you get to the Tower so quick, then?”

Peter blinks. “Hmm? Pardon?”

“If you were at Ned’s,” May says, “how’d you manage to swing all the way across town?”

Peter opens his mouth and closes it. “I, uh… well, funny story, um… I wasn’t actually at Ned’s?”

There’s a pause over the phone. Pepper, who’s holding it, raises an eyebrow. May says: “You told me you were going to Ned’s, Peter.”

His face feels hot. He hopes it isn’t red. Both Pepper and Tony—from the doorway with his hands stuffed in his sweatpant pockets—are staring. It’s almost as bad as if May were really here.

“Well I was going to Ned’s, but then I changed my mind and went somewhere else and oh—look at the time! I think we’re going through a tunnel—”

“Don’t even try to pull that crap! That’s it, I’m coming over there—”

“May,” Peter says, serious now, “you’re in the middle of a shift, there’s people dying. Just—I’m perfectly fine, I took my Captain America drugs and everything is gonna be okay.”

“But you lied to me.”

“No, I changed my mind.”

“And went where?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Peter.”

“May.”

She groans from the other end of the line and demands to speak to Pepper one on one. Tony’s fiancé grins and switches off speaker, before slipping out with a bright laugh to finish off the conversation. Tony stares expectantly. “So where were you?”

“Oh my god, not you too. You know, on second thought, I actually am completely exhausted and—”

“Uh, nope,” Tony flops down onto the bed. “Fess up.”

Peter sighs. He squirms down and covers his pillow with a head. “No.”

Tony joins him under it. “Tell me.”

Peter scowls. He rolls onto his side so they’re facing one another. “I was with my girlfriend.”

“Oooo—”

“Shush! It’s… it’s really not a big deal and I haven’t told May yet because MJ and I haven’t even really talked about it and it all happened super fast and—” he remembers to breathe, “I just… I always tell May everything, you know? But I kind of just felt like… this was something I had to figure out first on my own. Maybe it’s stupid, but I know she’s gonna be super hurt when she finds out it’s been a month and I haven’t said anything—”

“Kid,” Tony cuts in. “Calm down.”

“I’m calm,” Peter promises, because he is. He’s also just incredibly hyper and stressed.

“It’s a normal instinct to want to figure things out and define them before you start announcing them to the world. I get that. But you’re still a kid, Pete, and even if you don’t want people prying into your love life, we still need to know where you are in case something goes wrong.”

Peter harrumphs as he turns away. “There’s a tracker on my phone and my suit. It would be easier to find me than anything else.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “You got a point there.”

“I just wanted time.”

“I know.”

“But I really like her, okay? Like she’s so smart and she’s got this really dark sense of humour and she’s actually kind of terrifying sometimes—”

“Oh, the scary ones are always fun.”

They stay up talking through the night and, when the sun comes up, Pepper joins them with a tray of freshly made blueberry waffles. May arrives around the same time and, looking too tired to be mad, simply drops onto the bed with them and steals what’s left of his food.

—

Peter is on patrol when he hears it:

a soft, quiet yelping coming from somewhere down below the rooftop he’s perched on.

At first he figures he’s imagining things, but then his ears perk again. He leans over the building’s edge to find the source of the noise.

In the dark it’s hard to make anything out, so he climbs slowly down the side of the wall, squinting. There’s another yelp and a low whine, almost pained. Peter zeroes in on the sound and creeps toward a set of dumpsters; they’re so full of trash they’re overflowing, and it’s underneath a broken down cardboard box that he finds it...

A puppy.

Now, Peter is no liar. He’s wanted a dog since he was like, a fetus. The words ‘A dog’ have been on every birthday and Christmas list for as long as he can remember. It’s only recently, in the years since Ben’s death, that he’s pretty much given up—after all, May is so overworked and they can barely afford to feed themselves. How could they afford a pet?

But also…

This is the cutest dog he’s ever seen.

It’s tiny and fluffy and brown and has the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever seen.

Peter kind of just stands there staring like an idiot for a good few seconds and then slowly kneels down. “Um, hi,” he says, in the gentlest voice he can manage. The puppy, who can’t be older than a few weeks and looks completely starved and exhausted, whines in response.

Peter holds out his hand for the dog to sniff. It lifts its head lazily and leans forward, nose twitching and dry. “You need water, huh? Come on, I know a place.”

—

“Shelob,” Tony greets without looking up from whatever project he’s working on. “What can I do for you at… one in the fucking morning?”

“I need your help with something, but you have to promise you won’t get mad or make me get rid of him—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done now?”

“He was just so helpless and cold and small and…” Peter swallows and reveals the puppy, presently wrapped up in his hoodie. “Meet Nugget.”

Tony’s face is the epitome of Disappointed Dad. He stares, open-mouthed, and after a second his shoulders fall. “Well, fuck.”

Peter snuggles Nugget against his chest and steps closer, but then Tony holds up a hand to stop him. “Nah-ah! Not until that thing gets a flea bath!”

Hope sparks in Peter’s chest. “You mean we can keep him?”

“I mean there’s no way I’m getting near him until I know I won’t break out in hives.”

“That’s not how fleas work.”

“Do I care? No. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom.”

—

“Why do you have flea shampoo?”

Peter’s inquiry is made tentatively. They both have their hands in the sud-filled sink as they systematically wash Nugget’s fur.

“There was… an incident a while ago. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Peter stares. Blinks. “Okay. Well, I think he’s clean.”

Nugget barks as if in agreement, and so Peter and Tony lift him out of the basin and set him on a pile of no doubt expensive, fluffy white towels. Tony takes the lead after that. He’s surprisingly gentle and patient with the yapping, impatient puppy—even when Nugget tries to claw at him and shake himself dry, Tony never loses his cool.

A few minutes later they’re sitting on their stomachs watching Nugget stomp around on a blanket. There’s water in a bowl for him at one corner and a plate of chopped up chicken at another.

“I can’t take him home,” Peter says morosely after a few minutes. “May won’t let me keep him.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Where does she even think you are right now?”

“...In my bed.”

“Wow,” Tony says, deadpan. “Okay, well, I most certainly can’t keep him either.”

“What?! Why not?!”

Tony sighs. “I’m Iron Man, if you hadn’t noticed, kiddo—”

“Oh, what, so you’re too tough to look after him?”

“No, I’m too busy. I spend like, twenty-three out of twenty-four hours in a day in my shop and the rest of the time I’m on my knees apologising to Pepper and begging for forgiveness. There’s no time in-between to feed the pup, walk the pup—”

“I could come by,” Peter blurts. “Like, once a day, and I could make sure he’s eaten and play with him and stuff. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger—”

“Except to press ‘purchase’ on my shopping cart full of dog food—”

“Tony,” Peter cuts in, pleading, “please? I can’t just drop him off at some kennel so they can—” he covers the dog’s ears, “so they can euthanize him in a week when no one buys him. He deserves so much better, you know?”

Tony frowns, considering it, and Peter waits with his breath caught in his throat until, “God, fine.”

“Yes!”

“But! But! A pet is a serious responsibility, okay? You might as well be adopting a child—”

“What would you know about raising kids?” Peter asks, only jokingly, but Tony just stares and then, for some reason, smiles.

“You have to make sure he’s happy,” Tony says. “You have to be there for him in whatever way he needs, alright? I’ll set up a pen in the penthouse and you can make sure he works off his energy there, and if I have time I’ll even take you both to the park. And if he ever happens to pee on my carpet, I’m counting on you to clean it up.”

“Don’t you have, like, housekeepers for that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, but this is character building stuff.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll clean up the pee.”

They continue to iron out the details for a while and bicker over whether Nugget’s last name should be Parker or Stark, and it’s only when Pepper walks in—still in her pajamas, bleary eyed and complaining that they woke her up—that they both decide it should be ‘Potts’.

—

5. (+1)

It starts with a headache.

He’s bent over his desk studying for a Calc test when the throbbing begins. It’s not so bad at first, but after a half hour or so his vision is swimming and he keeps having to take breaks to massage his temples and close his eyes. The equations are all blending together and he can’t think straight anymore.

Peter decides to give up right around then. After all, if he’s not gonna retain any of the information, why bother?

May pokes and prods through dinner. Peter tries to fool her by acting like everything is normal and okay and even manages to make her laugh once or twice.

Inside, dread is coiling through his stomach like an irritated snake. He knows what’s coming next; after all, he doesn’t really get sick anymore, so what else could it be?

Peter tries to sleep but ends up tossing and turning for most of the night. He falls into some kind of half-conscious daze at around four in the morning and rouses about twenty minutes later, soaked with sweat and aching everywhere.

Feeling like he’s gonna vomit, Peter kicks off his blankets and strips the sheets off his bed. He takes his shirt off because the fabric is too abrasive against his skin and it’s like he can feel every fibre tickling against it, grating and chafing. He curls up into a tight ball and covers his ears with his hands to block out the now amplified sounds of the city: car alarms, dogs barking, music playing.

Normally Peter loves the way New York is never silent. Now, he just wishes everyone would shut the fuck up for once.

When he stumbles out of his room a little while later, May is already gone. She’d told him the night before that she had an early shift and for once he’s actually grateful. Haltingly, Peter gets ready for school. He’s already skipped three days this month and if he misses this Calc quiz he’s gonna fucking bomb the class.

May would kill him.

It’s better to suffer a little than die.

Brushing his teeth makes his head spin and the minute he wriggles into his clothes he feels like a caged animal about to claw his skin off. Everything takes so much longer than normal. He doesn’t eat because the mere thought of food makes the back of his throat sting with bile.

On the train, he closes his eyes and rests his head against the cool glass of the window, trying to tune out the constant screeching of the rails. One day, on God, he will make it a personal project to oil every fucking line in the subway.

At his fifth stop, an old lady boards and all the seats are taken.

Peter swallows thickly and stands. Black spots dance in his vision and he grabs onto the overhead bar—something he hasn’t actually needed to use since he was a little kid—and tries not to pass out.

He almost misses the stop to get to school, but slips out at the last second, millimetres away from getting his backpack caught in the doors. Peter is hot all over and lightheaded as he makes his way out of the station. It’s even hotter up above, what with summer coming now and all.

Peter is late and he doesn’t need his watch to tell; Flash’s car is already parked out front instead of zooming through the drop off to run him over (which, hey, silver lining), and the majority of the student body is already inside.

Peter has to stop multiple times on his way to Spanish just to breathe. By the time he gets there he’s at least ten minutes late for roll call.

“Mr. Parker,” his teacher greets, unimpressed. “So glad you could join us.”

Peter makes a noise and takes the proffered quiz. He wonders absently why some people choose to teach. What is it, like, some kind of power trip for them?

He has five minutes to finish the quiz but doesn’t make it past the first question. Ned volunteers to collect them and stops at Peter’s desk while Professor Scott outlines today’s lesson plan.

“Dude,” he whisper-hisses, “you look like complete shit. What on Earth are you doing here right now?”

“Test,” Peter mutters dully, resting his cheek on his hand and closing his eyes. “Here you go. Didn’t finish it.”

Ned takes it carefully, holding it with two fingers like it’s covered in disease. “Do you want me to get the nurse or something?”

Peter hums. “No. Just… headache.”

Slowly Ned backs away. “Um—”

“Mr. Leeds!” Professor Scott says, loudly. Ned jumps. “Is there a problem back there?”

Yes, Peter thinks. You’re the human version of nails on a fucking chalk board. Please, for the love of all that is holy, just start on the vocab.

Only he accidentally says all of that out loud.

The whole class is staring. Flash is slack-jawed. Betty Brant’s eyes are the size of small moons.

“Parker,” Scott grits out—and Peter has denominated him to just Scott now out of reciprocation and spite; “You just earned yourself a shiny new detention. I’d like you to take this slip to the principal’s office. Please.”

Oh, thank God. At least it’ll be quiet there.

Peter stands and brushes past Ned and it literally feels like flames of hell are licking against his skin. He almost vomits. This is decidedly not good.

He takes the paper. “Gladly, good sir.”

When he’s gone, there’s an outburst of muttering that his enhancements let him hear. It only makes the overload worse. Peter covers his ears with his hands again and, overcome with a sudden wave of vertigo, ducks into the bathroom.

He barely makes it to the toilet before emptying his stomach of last night’s food.

Peter sags against the wall, panting. He keeps his eyes closed and waits for the world to stop spinning. About ten minutes later, the smell of jasmine shampoo—normally welcome—causes him to lean over and retch again.

MJ pokes her head inside the unlocked stall. “Jesus,” she whispers. The second her hands touch his body he flinches and she immediately retracts them. “Fuck, sorry. Ned said you wigged out in Spanish. I looked for you in the Principal's office but you weren’t there and... What’s—what’s wrong? I thought you couldn’t even get sick.”

“Bad headache,” he mutters, spitting into the toilet. It’s easier than explaining about his freakish mutations and how they sometimes go completely haywire, leaving him on edge and nauseous and irritable.

MJ grabs him some toilet paper to wipe his mouth with. “Did you take anything?”

“Pain meds don’t work on me.”

“Does May know? You should have called in.”

“Couldn’t. Can’t miss my test.”

She sighs. “Your final is like fifty percent of your grade and you could pass it with your eyes closed. You can miss your test, you’re just afraid of getting anything lower than an A.”

Peter is silent. “You got me there.”

MJ’s hand twitches like she wants to touch him but knows she can’t. “You need to go home. Lie down, get some rest.”

“May is working,” Peter says, “and if I have to take the subway again right now I’ll die. I really will. It’s so—the smell and the noise and I can’t sit down and—”

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Just give it.”

She’s holding her hand out for it and giving him a no-nonsense expression that kind of reminds Peter of Pepper Potts on a rampage. He’s seen what happens to Tony when he crosses her, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over.

“Hold on.”

She stands and leaves. Peter closes his eyes again. He tunes out her conversation because if he doesn’t, he’s absolutely gonna vomit again and nobody wants that.

MJ slips back inside the stall. “Okay, solved. Do you still feel like you’re gonna vomit?”

Peter thinks about it. “No.”

“Good. We’re gonna go to the nurse, okay?”

“Oh boy.”

—

Tony Stark walks into Peter’s school and finds the hallways empty. The classroom doors are shut and the muted sounds of teachers lecturing are the only signs that anyone is here at all.

He finds Peter in the infirmary, sitting on the examination table with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes.

He’s at his side in an instant. “Kid?”

It’s surprise that gets Peter’s eyes open, but the little spider baby immediately regrets it. He flinches and sucks in a sharp breath. “Tony,” he whispers, like the name is all he can manage and the questions will have to wait for later.

Tony looks him over. There are no obvious injuries. The girl on the phone had said it was just a headache, but Tony is way more experienced with Peter’s brand of bullshit and knows there’s usually something else going on beneath the surface.

“I’m gonna go talk to the nurse and then get you out of here, okay?”

A nod.

It’s always a bad thing when he doesn’t argue. Peter Parker would start a fight about what kind of pizza to order, even if you suggest the kind he really wants, just to be a stubborn little shit about things.

Tony slips out of the exam room. The nurse looks up when he enters her office. “Oh my—Mr. Stark?!”

“Yes, hello,” Tony takes a cautious step forward as she stands. He doesn’t bother to sit. “I’m here to pick up the little gremlin in there.”

Her face flushes. “I didn’t know you’d been called, I—I figured I would just let him wait it out, you know? He didn’t want to be touched, so it was hard to figure out what was up and—so it’s real? About the internship?”

“Of course. Why would he lie?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Well… you know how kids can be.”

“Do I?”

She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that.

Tony sighs. “Look, Nurse—uh, Timms—Nurse Timms, can I please just sign the kid out and take him home? He’s clearly in pain here.”

She starts rifling through her desk for a form. “I mean, I can admit you to take him home, but I really suggest you talk with the principal first—Peter was given a detention before he was brought to my ward, see, and I was—” she shakes her head. “I thought he might be faking.”

Tony stares without blinking for a whole five seconds and then, “Detention? For what?”

“I heard he bad-mouthed a teacher or something. But to be fair, Professor Scott isn’t exactly what I’d call patient.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Tony takes the form she hands him to sign, “my kid doesn’t fake. He has a condition, see. Gets uh… overloaded. Sounds, smells, it can be too much for him. Probably why he snapped.”

“That… that makes sense.”

“Yes,” he says succinctly, and hands the paper back. “You’d know that if you bothered to ask. Anyway, I’ll be going. Thanks for the help, Nurse Times.”

“Uh, it’s—it’s Timms—”

The door shuts behind him.

—

MJ was forced to go back to class. She’d argued and protested but Nurse Timms was insistent. So, MJ had relented. She’d pressed the lightest of kisses on his forehead and it surprisingly hadn’t felt that bad, and then she’d gone.

Tony Stark had shown up about twenty minutes later and it’s just when Peter’s starting to think it was all just a vivid hallucination that the smell of coffee and motor oil fills his senses again. It’s overwhelming but not debilitating.

“Kiddo,” Tony whispers, “is it okay to touch you?”

Peter cracks an eye. Everything is bright but Tony’s suit is mercifully black, so he focuses on that. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna move.”

“Well I gotta get you outta here somehow.”

“But my detention—”

“I already got you out of it,” Tony says breezily. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Tony,” Peter says, cheeks flushing. “You can’t just bribe my principal into—”

“I didn’t bribe anyone. I just explained the situation and besides, Morita’s an old friend.”

Peter closes his eyes again as he frowns. “You’re friends with my principal?”

“I’m a benefactor for your school, too,” Tony says. “But don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.”

Something shifts in the air. Tony is sitting now. “Happy’s waiting outside,” he says, “but whenever you’re ready.”

Peter thinks about it for a few seconds and decides it’s gonna have to happen at some point, anyway. Might as well rip the band-aid off now. Slowly he takes a deep breath and manages to sit up with Tony’s help. The older man tries to avoid touching him as much as possible, but surprisingly enough the weight of his hand against Peter’s spine isn’t crushing or aggravating. It doesn’t hurt.

“Baby steps,” Tony says softly. “We’ll take you out the side door, okay?”

Even getting to the door is slow going but Tony doesn’t seem to mind. Right before they open it, Tony stops and pulls his sunglasses off. “Here, try these.”

Peter puts them on. He feels ridiculous because like, they work on Tony who was literally born in the seventies, but Peter really doesn’t dig the groovy shades. Regardless they’re better than nothing and even help a little.

The halls are empty again. Most of the students will be in the gym right about now, or the cafeteria for lunch. They don’t run into anybody on the way out and as soon as they’re in the back of the car, Peter sags against Tony’s side. He feels like he’s just run ten miles.

“Drive, Hogan,” Tony says, and then the partition glides up.

For a few seconds it’s almost completely quiet. Noise suppression tech, Peter realises, and he feels like he could cry from relief. For the first time in hours there’s just… nothing. No traffic, no dozens of students talking at once. The air conditioning unit is filtered, so he’s not being attacked with the smell of body odour and clashing perfume scents and Axe cologne. There’s just Tony and beautiful, amazing, showstopping silence.

Tony shifts a little. “Better?”

Peter nods, figuring it’s still probably not safe to speak.

“We’ll be there soon,” Tony says softly.

—

Peter doesn’t remember much after the car ride. He can vaguely recall protesting getting out of the Audi, and he remembers Tony assuring him that everything would be okay, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back in an utterly dark bedroom. The walls are insulated just like the car had been, so there’s just no sound, and the bed sheets probably have the highest thread count of all time.

Something shifts beside Peter and he realises Tony is there, feeling his forehead.

“What—?”

“Oh, hey,” Tony greets. “I think you might’ve blacked out there. All the noise hit you at once when we got out of the car and you just…”

“I fainted?”

Tony snorts softly. “Relax. It happens to the best of us. How do you feel, Webster?”

Peter hums. “Bad.”

“Let’s try a scale of one to ten.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “Ten.” Tony lets out a little grunt at that and so Peter elaborates, “It was at like, a twenty this morning, so.”

“Ah, I see.” Tony’s grip shifts to Peter’s wrist to measure his pulse. “This okay?”

“It’s fine.”

And it really is. He doesn’t feel like burning his skin off or anything. Tony’s hands are just warm.

“Any idea what brought this on?”

Peter shifts a little. “I uh… haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.” He swallows. “Like, at all.”

“And how long’s that been going on for?”

“I don’t know. On and off for a few weeks, I guess.”

“Jesus,” Tony sighs and pulls his hand away. He rakes it through his hair. “Kiddo, what have we said about communication? Does May know?”

“....No?”

There’s a long pause where Tony just kind of sits there thinking, like he wants to say whatever comes next carefully. He massages his temples and then: “Alright, scooch over.”

“What?”

“Make room for me.”

Peter blinks and then, tentatively, scoots over a little to allow Tony room to lie down. The older man does, arching his back a little and grunting in pain because he’s like, ancient. They’re not touching, but very slowly Peter starts inching closer again. Eventually he works up the courage to try resting his head on Tony’s chest, which is terrifying not only because it’s Tony Stark, but also because he’d rather not have his brain implode.

Nothing happens. “Your fabric softener must be like, super expensive,” he whispers, because this is actually better than the sheets.

Tony snorts. “I’ll ask Pep about it.”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise and before he knows it, his eyes are closing. For once they actually feel heavy, and the steady rhythm of Tony’s heart beat is soothing, dependable.

Tony’s hands brush lightly over Peter’s hair and then thread through it. “Too much?”

“No,” Peter promises. “Good.”

And so Tony’s fingers run through his curls over and over, gently, lightly. His thumb sweeps over Peter’s cheek once, too, and then he starts muttering in Italian.

Peter cracks an eye. “Are you telling me your grocery shopping list?”

Tony laughs a little. “My mom used to do it for me,” he says. “Something about just hearing her speak the language made me feel… relaxed, I guess. Didn’t matter what she was saying.”

Peter smiles and wraps an arm around Tony’s torso. “Tell me something else.”

“You wanna hear about the time I almost blew up a Chem lab?”

“Uh, duh.”

So Tony launches into it, speaking in a low voice and absently twisting one of Peter’s curls around his finger. It feels nice and the headache is fading fast.

Peter sleeps.

#marvel #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #my writing #friendly neighborhood fic exchange #may parker #pepper potts #michelle jones #spideychelle #pepperony #nugget the dog #insomnia

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beaversatemygrandma · 2 years

Text

Okay guys. It’s story time. I had something that literally has a 1:10,000,000 chance of happening. Starting to wonder if I should get a lottery ticket.

So. Driving down the road. Going the usual 40 and minding my own business when suddenly a deafening slam and the car shakes violently. Glass is scattered across the front seat and I’m dusted in shiny little sharp bits.

A Fucking Huge Tree Branch flew from the trees off the road and Hit My Car Right Above My Head.

We pulled over to check What The Fuck happened only to find a Stick Through the windshield of my car. The entire windshield is cracked and the top center is shattered with a thick stick poking through.

I shit you not. And this doesn’t even show the huge dent on the roof that’s the size of my torso. This branch was literally large enough to kill somebody walking by and we were lucky that nobody got skewered by a damn branch.

The fun part is neither my insurance company or the police count this as an accident. Now to figure out if replacing the windshield costs more than the car did. If so, that means it’s totaled and my insurance might force me to get a salvage title because the car is 17 years old. 😭

Like bud. Get tf out of my windshield.

Now I gotta vacuum all this glass up before even thinking about sitting in it again. And putting some more stuff under a cut to really tell just How Fucking Crazy this situation is.

There’s this big patch of old and dead trees near the powerlines on the side of the road that have been known to cause issues for Years. One year, one of the trees fell across the road. Not from a storm, no rain, no ice or anything. It Just Fucking Fell one day. And the power was out on that street for a day and the road was shut down for a Long Time. After storms, they spread large branches through the road, causing hazards. That’s relatively normal though.

But on an odd chilly and super windy day: this is what happens. A Whole Ass branch from the tree takes out a car moving fast enough that this shouldn’t have happened.

Now. My dad has been running the idea that we should figure out who owns this property and get them to pay for the damages because my insurance is like “uhhhh what. That’s on you, but go to *some company that’ll overcharge me*” as if you could avoid a massive branch falling from the sky. If it’s the city, they’re paying for every repair. I’m getting the dents taken out, windshield replaced and i can pretend that hail damage on the roof was from that too. Fresh and shiny. Getting a new roof and windshield. Hell, if the car is totaled, suing for a new one. Get me a 2020 Camry to replace my 2005. Fuck you. Take care of the streets for your people. They’ve been complaining about this spot for YEARS. (not to mention the huge ass pothole like a hundred feet up from where this happened, but that’s another story of somebody getting the shocks of their car ripped out from hitting it) If it’s somebody who lives nearby, we’ll take it easy on them but ask for the hundreds or so it takes for a new windshield. We can fix the dents. Fix the dents, maybe get a wrap or something to hide the fact that this car is scratched up to all hell.

Hilariously, I’m still working on my driving permit and this doesn’t count as me getting into an accident (which nulls the permit if it’s my fault). But it’s a weird accident nonetheless and I HOPE I’m not stuck with paying a thousand out of pocket for this shit when I still need to do that to get my wisdom teeth out. Like fuck. My savings are going to be GONE at this rate.

What in the ever-loving fuck is my luck?

It also took like two hours for a cop to get out there so i could get a report so all bases were covered. Just sitting there. In a glass filled vehicle on the side of the road. The people in the house across the street ended up coming over asking if we were okay because of just how damn weird that situation was. Like. What. Has anybody else had this happen? Apparently there’s 6 yearly worldwide events of a tree hitting a moving vehicle and i want to know WHAT MADE THE WORLD MAKE ME ONE OF THE SIX THIS YEAR. Out of billions. Come on. Why.

....hold on. can you vacuum up glass shards? Or will that kill the vacuum too? 🙃

#taks speaks #honestly I’m just wondering how this is gonna play out #like this might turn into a money post and I’m sorry #but holy shit. that tree branch Hit Hard #I was literally deaf for a minute #I heard nothing but my ears ringing as glass shards got flung into my face #I literally looked up the stats for this event bc I don’t want to do all that math #it’s one in ten mil #like. fuck. that’s low #I’ve been in two car accidents in my life and this wasn’t what I expected to be the first one in this car #Ik the cracks are hard to see in that sunlight but they’re huge #all centered around the middle and all on the drivers side #my dad stuck his finger through the hole. it’s that big #it also knocked the front seat overhead lights out a bit #but the dent on the roof can literally just be pushed out and buffed so that’s fine #BUT GLASS. FUCK GLASS.

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pinkflamingcreatures · 3 years

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“Tux and Fanny”: An Appreciation Post

The hardest part about learning to be an adult hasn’t been teaching myself to do taxes or figuring out car insurance policies - although those have been really hard - it has been trying to maintain excitement with tasks that I have to perform everyday, struggling to find joy in monotony.

Of course, an easy solution to this problem is to do new things. “Mix up your schedule!” they tell me; and I have, to a certain extent. But really, my schedule can only take so much mixing up before I’ve fundamentally changed the way I live: I have to work a set amount during the week, I have to eat a couple of times a day, and ideally I leave the apartment at least once every 24 hours. So, although a walk before breakfast instead of after lunch is a welcome change, it is still a walk around the same neighborhood which often leaves me feeling bored and unfulfilled. Who can get excited about getting out of bed in the morning when the day doesn’t greet you any differently today than it did yesterday?

Alas, there is always a new movie to watch once the sun goes down. A recent dive into the world of Letterboxd lists introduced me to Albert Birney’s Tux and Fanny, a compilation of 79 1-minute long animated shorts originally posted on Instagram. The description reads: “Tux and Fanny are two friends living together in the forest and these are their adventures!” Being a notorious lover of all things fun (especially when they only take 82 minutes of my time), I was hooked. The concise blurb and pixel-art style led me to believe that it would be a simple, entertaining watch - which it was! What caught me off guard was the emotional depth of the characters, and the ways in which the film explored mundanity and absurdity with an equal amount of weight and humor.

Tux and Fanny does exactly what it promises: follows two characters named Tux and Fanny through a whole lot of day to day activities, although it would be a stretch to call most of them “adventures.” Tux is pink and speaks in a lower voice than Fanny, who is purple. They live in the same house in a forest and sleep in separate beds (in the same room). Beginning with a very basic premise, the film goes to some pretty bizarre places. The first segment shows Tux and Fanny kicking a soccer ball back and forth in their yard when a black cat walks up. Tux wants to bring it inside, but Fanny worries that it might be flea-infested. They bring it inside anyway, and it turns out the cat is infested with fleas. Thus begins the first conflict of the movie: how to stop the itching? The internet sayeth: Peanut Butter! So, our protagonists lather themselves with peanut butter, and: sweet relief. But how to get it off? While Fanny opts for the ol’ hose technique, Tux goes a different route: “I’ll lay down on this ant hill and feed thousands.” Unfortunately, the ants not only eat the peanut butter off of Tux’s skin, they eat his skin, too.

Peppered among these absurd situations are moments when Tux or Fanny pauses and ponders a lofty philosophical question. Covered in peanut butter, Tux picks up a dandelion and says “Look at the shape, the structure. Millions of years of evolution has brought it to this design. These gentle pilgrims will disperse to the four corners of this vast universe. Fanny, we are like these seeds. The day will also come when we must float away and seek our destiny.” He promptly blows the seeds away which inevitably land on Fanny and stick to the peanut butter on her skin. It is juxtapositions like this one that help bring comedy to lofty topics like eternity, while injecting some much needed wonder into seemingly dull moments.

Aspiring to a world view like Tux and Fanny’s would probably be unsuccessful and maybe even undesirable, but there is certainly something about the way they interact with their day to day activities that struck a chord with me at this moment in my life. The fact that Tux can still see beauty in things like “the sunlight through the leaves, the sun dappled grass,” and “the butterflies, so light and free” when he is a literal skeleton is truly inspiring. I have been at a place in my life when everything looked new, and every day gave me a novel insight. It pains me to acknowledge how fleeting the feeling of awe can be: how do I get it back once it’s gone? Is it just a part of getting older?

The film raises more questions than it answers, like, “are Tux and Fanny humans?”, and “Why can’t they go to the store to get food if they’re hungry?” Maybe they can go to the store - where did they get the peanut butter in the first place? - but these characters constantly turn to absurd solutions for simple problems (like keeping a chicken trapped inside of Tux’s ribcage as a source of food). More often than not, Tux and Fanny are involved in situations that seem drenched in mundanity, like eating turkey on Thanksgiving, standing outside on a windy day or playing a computer game, yet inevitably take a turn for the absurd: the growth hormones in the turkey cause Fanny to grow extra limbs, Tux gets whisked away by the wind, and Fanny gets sucked into the computer when lightning strikes the house. These instances offer a new perspective on the tedium of adulthood. There is always a new way to see things.

Even if I can’t live just like Tux and Fanny (would I even want to?), I can learn lessons from their attitudes. “What if for every grain of sand here, there exists another universe out there. And in each universe, there exists another version of us.” “That’s a lot of us. If we do exist out there, I hope we have sunsets.” To display reverence for the small, and nonchalance towards the lofty. Why should I entertain ideas I can’t comprehend but ignore the richness of my immediate surroundings? The best lesson I can take away from this silly, hilarious and beautiful movie is to slow down and appreciate each moment as I live it. I may be able to notice something I’ve never seen before.

#tux and fanny #albert birney #cinema

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s-creations · 4 years

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Two Steps Forward

Panchito has a heavy question on his mind. Something that he's worried that could make or break this relationship with the two people he loves the most. But he has to ask.

Fandom: DuckTales 2017 / The Three Caballeros Rating: General Audience Relationships/Pairings: José Carioca/Donald Duck/Panchito Pistoles Additional Tags: Discussion of Marriage, MArriage, Struggling New Life, Living Together, Minor Discussion of Racism, And I Mean Minor, Nervous Discussion, Happy Ending.

Part of a Series Called: We’re the Three- Sorry, Six Caballeros!

Heads up for everyone! Please note in the tagging section, I have made mention of racism being present in this story. It's nothing super impactful overall, but more of a show of frustration and to act as a sort of barrier. It's nothing that should make anyone feel uncomfortable, but I still wanted to make mention of is at it's still there.

With that being said, please enjoy!

Panchito knew what he brought to their relationship. He was the more chipper out of the three. Always with a smile, the positive outlook on the situation, to offer a good laugh to lighten the mood. Most would assume he was a bit ‘simple minded’. That the attitude came from not knowing what was happening.

But if he wasn’t paying attention, how would he know when to cheer people up?

It was a subtle skill he held. One he’d developed and perfected over the years with having to deal with a large family. Taking in what was happening and finding a good resolution. Understanding what the best outcome would be to spare everyone emotionally. Something he was having difficulty figuring out for this current situation.

Even with him and José having full citizenship, there were still a number of obstacles they couldn’t figure out how to get over.

The parrot was the only one out of the three that held a proper job. It was easy to transfer his position from one airport to another. He still had steady hours and proper insurance. A good income that helped supply the household. But that’s pretty much where the ease stopped.

It seemed realtors and landlords were overly cautious about renting to anyone recently immigrated. Even if said person had a secured job. Even then, there weren’t that many options available to them that made the trio thrilled enough to move. It was expensive to live in the city. Or anywhere near it. Every place they were shown was just as cramped as the boathouse and in a worse state of upkeep. One place being more duct tape than actual building materials. It honestly wasn’t worth the move. All decided it would be better to do so when the other two found stable jobs to help with their income. Which Panchito hoped would be soon because the boathouse was very cramped now with the extra boxes.

But even getting a job was becoming a struggle for both him and Donald. The duck had the unfortunate issue of having a bit of a criminal record. His temper caused him to be tossed from a number of businesses and blacklisted as being someone who was unreliable. Which aggravated the other two to no end because they knew of Donald’s work ethic. The duck was more than reliable if given a proper chance. Which a lot of businesses didn’t feel the need to do.

For Panchito, he had the trouble of finding a performance company that didn’t treat his heritage like a novelty. He was a serious performer, not a trinket for people to patronize! He wasn’t meant to play for families who used his heritage as a theme. Playing songs from his childhood dressed in an overly offensive outfit while privileged families broke apart dollar store bought pinatas. He should be playing at cumpleaños and quinceañeras. To people who would actually respect his work. He was not a trinket!

After a month of searching, it was starting to become a trudge to find a job.

Another concern was the health coverage for the triplets. Even if hatching was a natural process, there were still a number of worries. Donald had the cheapest version of healthcare his non-income could provide. Which still left a lot of out of pocket expenses. José offered to help, to take the full burden. Only to have that shot down when the parrot was told he’s not a legal guardian to the eggs.

“But, we are helping care for the triplets and I am making the offer. How is that not enough?” José argued in disbelief.

Donald just shrugged and shook his head. “You’re not related to them, so it won’t be allowed. That’s just the bottom line. We’d have to get married before we could do anything about it.”

That caused Panchito to perk up at that. His mind rolling the idea of possible marriage around in his head.

He knew what the risk could be. Truthfully, the three hadn’t properly dated for a long time. Maybe only close to a year. Donald had left and returned to his family after a short while of them being together. A promise from him that he’d return after another year and they could continue to explore the world together. After a year, however, it became clear Donald wouldn’t be able to keep that promise. Even if the duck kept contact as best he could, it wasn’t the same.

They never truly ‘broke up’. But Panchito really questioned if they had started dating all those years ago. They loved each other. That was never a question. Confessions were shared and an understanding was created, but they never said they were in a relationship. It was sort of just a silent understanding between the three of them. What worried the rooster was the fact he was thinking of an offer that could scare the other two away. And that scared him to think he could lose Donald and José just as soon as they were together once again.

Donald was a wreck at the moment. No matter what the duck said to convince otherwise. He’d just lost his family, either to the stars or because he cut them out, and had taken in three eggs without questioning how hard it was going to be to raise them. Even with José and Panchito back in his life to help, there were still a number of things that Donald had to worry about. A suggestion of marriage, of another huge life event after losing so much, might cause the duck to shut down and turn away from them.

José, while having a very forward and suave personality in public, was actually reserved when only around Donald and Panchito. They were aware of the parrot’s past ‘relationships’. Which were honestly nothing more than numerous one night stands. He never talked about his family. Panchito could only conclude on his own that any relation the parrot could have with his parents was a negative one. The rooster was worried he and Donald were the first people to give José an actual loving relationship. Something as extreme and rather permanent as marriage might cause the parrot to run.

Even with the possible threat of losing two people he cared so much about, marrying was a thought that hadn’t left Panchito’s mind as days passed. A want that grew stronger with each night that passed with them pressed close in the hammock. The rooster resting in the middle. Donald tucked right under his chin with José using the red feathered chest as a pillow. Arms and legs tangled together and all covered by a well-worn quilt.

As he lays awake, eyes watching the night sky as it passes, Panchito knows he wants this. He wanted it, wanted them, and he never wanted to let go.

He was going to make sure it happened.

Panchito was an early riser. Skillful at slipping out between the other two and standing on the cold floor without making a noise. He waited a few moments to make sure the others remained asleep. Looking back to watch as Donald and José shuffled closer together to reclaim the warmth that had left. The duck wrapped every limp around the parrot, José muttering as he nuzzled under Donald’s chin. Panchito gave a small smile before collecting the eggs, wrapping them up with an overly fluffy blanket and moving them to the kitchen.

Once the eggs were settled and still on the kitchen table, Panchito flipped on the radio to let music chase the quiet away. Loud enough to be heard, but not enough to wake the others. With that set, he turned his attention to making breakfast. The small buffet of different dishes was near completion when Donald and José shuffled out from the bedroom. The duck looked more awake than the parrot. Both took a seat at the table to wait for the still cooking food. Donald talked gently to the eggs while José leaned against his hand, eyes closing again.

Panchito soon joined them. A plate put before each to let them take their needed fill of food. A quiet mumble of ‘Thanks.’ sounded before all started eating. His heart was hammering as he started to eat as well, knowing he needed the others to be a little more awake before broaching the subject.

Absolutely not stalling because he was terrified with where this could lead.

“Panchito? Are you okay? You are quiet this morning.”

The rooster was a little embarrassed at how far he jumped. Eyes darting up to José before flickering between him and Donald. “Uh, yes. I’m fine. Just...I have something on my mind?”

“Do you want to talk about it?” The duck asked this time.

Unsure of what to say, Panchito stalled for time by plucking at the small feathers on his fingers and wrist. Only for Donald to reach over and halt him.

“I want to get married.” Well, there goes all that subtly and structured argument he’d been trying to build up. Panchito felt his feathers ruffle in embarrassment, eyes darting down as the other’s exchanged looks of surprise.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ask like that.” The rooster groaned.

“What...brought this on?” Donald asked.

“I...just… We’ve been talking a lot about what we need to do to care for the eggs. And how it seems that we can’t move forward because our credit, or our finances, or that just being together doesn’t count as being ‘stable’. And you made a casual comment about being married would really benefit us. Which got me thinking about marrying you two and how much I really wanted to and I…”

Panchito exhaled slowly, leg bouncing as he squeezed Donald’s hands. “I don’t want to lose you two and I...I really like the idea of us marrying and I… I love you two, so much. I love the eggs and I want to give them the best. I don’t need or even want fanfare about it all. I just...I want...to marry...you two…”

With that, it fell quiet. Shoulders slumped as he leaned back into the padded seat. His eyes remained on the table, not wanting to see the other’s looks of possible disgust or rejection. It was such a poor argument (it wasn’t even an argument, he wasn’t sure what that rambling counted for) and he was already worried the other two weren’t ready for this. If they had been on the fence about this then Panchito did not win them over.

What was he thinking?

He couldn’t have been better prepared for this?

Make a list. Pros and cons to make his case. Why did he just dive head first into this? He’s such an idiot. No sane person just asks something so heavy and so suddenly. They were going to leave him because they’re going to realize how much of an idiot he was. He was going to lose them.

He felt so sick, he wanted to cry-

“I was honestly thinking the same thing.” Panchito’s head shot up so quickly José actually flinched. The parrot recovered quickly, giving a small smile before continuing. “I know it is a large step forward, but...I don’t want to lose you two. I want to spend the rest of my life with the both of you.”

José reached over to take a hand from both Panchito and Donald. “I wish to marry you two.”

Heart beating furiously, Panchito beamed and gave a gentle squeeze to the parrot’s hand. Both turned to face Donald who still looked stunned.

“Is this moving too fast?” the rooster asked worriedly, “I-I really didn’t want to push you-”

“No, no, you’re fine. It’s just…” Donald laughed softly, “People normally get on one knee to propose.”

“Oh, well, by all means. If we need to do this properly.”

“No, I was joking!” Donald laughed as Panchito slid from the booth. Making a large show of getting on his knee, flipping his crown back and setting his face as serious as he could. It didn’t help that Donald was laughing still, clearly flustered. “Donald Duck. José Carioca. Will you do me the great honor of allowing me to take your hands in marriage?”

“So salacious,” José smiled, “Did you even ask my father if he approved of this?”

“...I’d rather not. He scares me.”

Donald doubled over in laughter at that. The parrot playfully rolled his eyes as he sighed dramatically. “Well, I suppose that does not truly need to happen… Very well, I accept.”

“This is the strangest proposal that I’ve ever seen.” Donald wheezed.

Panchito pouted. “This is supposed to be serious and heartfelt.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, hold on.” Taking a few deep breaths, the duck collected himself the best he could. Feathers still ruffled as he said, “I happily accept as well.”

Being mindful of the eggs resting nearby, Panchito clambered onto the table. Close enough to pull the other birds into a deep kiss. He wished he had enough room to dance and jump without the worry of breaking something important. Or that he could yell with joyful abandonment without disturbing the neighbors. But he was more than content with being squished between his fiancées as the sun fully rose into the sky.

They were married two weeks later. No fanfare, no family members physically present (Panchito’s family watched and cheered from a computer screen), they didn’t even bother with rings. All deciding it would be better to save up for a larger place to live.

The rooster didn’t want to say the written paper that officially announced their marriage was any sort of a good luck charm. But it seemed after said event, things started to look up. Panchito was able to get a ‘non-themed’ position with an entertaining business. A small company that catered to the minority families located in Duckberg and the surrounding towns. Donald eventually decided he would just be a stay at home parent. Knowing someone would need to keep an eye on the triplets once they hatched.

“We’ll save on babysitters this way.” The duck concluded with a shrug.

They were able to find a comfortable apartment next. Three bedrooms, two baths, and positioned perfectly in the suburbs near Duckberg. There was a bit of a commute, but one they were more than willing to put up with for the price of the place. There was a bittersweet moment when the boathouse was finally sold. José and Panchito recognized how hard Donald had worked to get a place of his own after the fall out. But it was forgiven and forgotten rather quickly when the money was spent on a large bed and three cribs.

“We’ll get a hammock when we buy a house.” José promised.

Donald laughed softly. “I’ll be fine with an actual bed for awhile. Shockingly, back support sounds more appealing.”

It took a few weeks to properly settle in. The big pieces of furniture were placed first, allowing for some semblance of a layout. José would be called away for a few days at a time, so Panchito and Donald focused on putting the smaller items in place when the parrot wasn’t there. The rooster was more than thrilled when he had an entire set of shelves for his heirlooms. While one of the rooms was specifically made up to be the nursery, Donald wanted the eggs to be nearby for the time being. One of the cribs having been set up in their large bedroom close to the bed.

“It’s just until they’ve hatched.” Donald concluded.

Panchito laughed softly. “Or until you feel okay with leaving them alone. Which will probably be never.”

“Shut up.”

They eventually fell into a comfortable routine. José was gone for most days but slipped into the others arms easily every time he returned home. Panchito and Donald kept all as orderly as they could at the homestead. The rooster content with his new career. Even if it wasn’t the record label he had always dreamed about as a child. He had a home, a job, and happily married to the two people he cared so much about.

When he woke early, before the sun had even started to crest over the horizon. Pressed against a clinging duck and parrot that were resting on either side of him. Eggs resting in the nearby crib being illuminated by a nightlight. Panchito would realize, with a watery smile and warmth in his chest, he wouldn’t change this for anything.

This was his new dream and he was happily living it.

#Donald Duck #Jose Carioca #Panchito Pistoles #jose carioca/donald duck/panchio pistoles #The Three Caballeros #the three gay caballeros #s-creations

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