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chaos-burst · 3 years ago

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direction to perfection

Dorian fought his parents to be here.

He fought tooth and nail to be allowed to live in a dorm, so there is no way he can back down from this decision. It’s his first shot at freedom and being normal and doing something for himself instead of his family.

Dorian will not back down.

He will persevere.

“Harder, come on!”

Loud moaning and the creaking of an old mattress accompany the dull thudding that comes from inside of his room. The room he’s currently standing in front of.

“I’m so close, so close, so close—“

Dorian stares at the door. His face is hot and he stands frozen in place as he tries to decide what to do. He needs his lute for the next bard class. He also needs to be far away from this room.

Gods, most of all he needs a new roommate.

“Oh, fuck, just like that—ah—“

Dorian closes his eyes and hides his face in his hands.

He was so proud after he finally convinced his parents to let him stay here. When he first entered his room he wasn’t even concerned about how small it was, or how his roommate’s bed was so close to his that stretching both their arms out would result in them touching hands.

And then he met Dariax, the guy he’s supposed to be living with for a long time.

“Dorian, are you literally standing here listening to Dariax bang someone inside of your room?”, Opal’s voice reaches his ears and he turns his head to look at her. She must see the desperation on his face because the next moment she gives him a pointed look before hammering her fist on the door.

“What the fuck, guys! Rent a room! And hurry up, Dorian needs his stuff!”

Dorian feels mortification creep from his face down into his stomach as he hears a loud thump, a shriek and a curse. The fact that Dariax knows that Dorian has been standing here makes him go through the five stages of grief so quickly that he can feel his insides churn.

Opal turns to face him and gives him a stern stop-putting-up-with-this look before she stalks away, twirling her dagger in her hand.

Dorian wishes it were that easy to voice what he wants.

To be sure of himself.

To live unashamed and free.

Sadly, his current repertoire covers none of these things.

The door gets yanked open and Dorian finds himself face to face with a white, half-elven woman wrapped in a bed sheet, her hair a complete and utter, blonde mess, her purple lipstick smeared across her left cheek.

“I was so close!”, she hisses as she holds up her index finger and thumb to indicate the fact that Dorian just ruined her earth-shattering orgasm.

“I—uh. I’m so—“

“Dorian! Gosh, I’m so sorry, I forgot that you had class, buddy!”

The half-elven woman throws Dorian the nastiest stink-eye and rushes down the corridor in nothing but the bedsheet wrapped around her. Dorian has no idea why she would do that, but Dariax distracts him.

Dariax, who is completely naked, his lips covered in purple lipstick, his cheeks flushed and his hair standing up from his head.

For decency, he’s holding a bottle of wine to cover his crotch.

Dorian wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

“I—uh. Sorry to disturb the—ah. Fun? I just. I just need to grab my lute real quick”, he says weakly, rushes over to his bed and grabs the lute leaning against the wall beside it.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, buddy, I’ll just go jack off in the shower, it’s no biggie.”

Dorian stares at Dariax who grins at him, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to say to someone in this situation.

“Sure. Have fun”, he croaks, his cheeks still flaming, and flees out of the room and down the hallway.

Dorian fought so hard to be here but gods, he wishes he were somewhere else right now.

The class he’s attending is one of his favorites—one that covers Bardic Inspiration as a form of self-expression, but it takes him a while to cool down from the mortifying ordeal of having Dariax as his roommate.

They’ve been living together for almost three months now and it’s not like it’s all bad.

Hell, Dorian likes Dariax.

He’s funny, doesn’t take himself too seriously, he tells ridiculous, entertaining stories and is loyal to a fault. But he’s also extroverted in a way that makes Dorian go insane. There is no moment of silence when Dariax is in the room—because Dariax hates silence. He also brings back so many different people to their room without asking Dorian first. Not all of them are Dariax’ lovers—at least not as far as he knows.

But they’re always loud, always messy and always completely oblivious to Dorian’s social cues.

Opal keeps ranting about how Dorian needs to reinforce his boundaries, but Dorian has no idea how to do that. Never in a million years would he bang on the door of his room if he knows that Dariax is having sex in there. Opal is always so loud and unapologetic about everything—Dorian envies her for it.

Dorian has never kissed anyone. Or had sex. Or anything in between these things. How the fuck both Dariax and Opal know exactly what they like and who they like is beyond him.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”, a soft voice says right next to him and Dorian is ripped out of thoughts and into reality. The class has been going for an hour and there’s someone standing next to him he’s never seen before.

She’s definitely some sort of fey—the whole lower half of her body is goat-like and her long ears are drooping. The amount of ribbons her dress is supporting is truly astounding and there is a whole crown of poisonous flowers on top of her head that she wears like a crown. Dorian blinks before catching himself.

“Ah—no. Please”, he says and gestures at the empty chair next to him.

The faun sits down carefully and watches as she carefully places a panflute on her thighs.

“Which bard college do you specialize in?”, Dorian asks.

“Hm? Oh, I’m not a bard. I’m majoring in druid. I just like to make music”, she answers with a smile.

Dorian never considered just taking classes that have nothing to do with his major. Maybe it would be something his parents would disapprove of even more than they did of his bard major and his choice to sleep in a dorm.

“I’m Fearne, by the way”, she adds and nods her heads slightly. A single leaf falls from her head and onto her panflute.

“Dorian”, he answers. Fearne smiles at him.

“You have very pretty hair”, she says.

“Oh. Ah—thank you? You—you too. Your hair, I mean. It’s—uh. Very green.”

Fearne’s smile widens.

“Thank you!”, she says in a tone that suggests that this might be the compliment she’s ever received. Dorian on the other hand wishes he could bite off his tongue. Your hair is very green. What kind of compliment is that? It’s no wonder that he didn’t have any chance to kiss anyone yet if this is all that he can come up with.

Dorian turns around and tries to concentrate on the professor’s lecture but his mind keeps wandering. He takes only a few notes and as he looks over at Fearne he sees that she’s doodling all sorts of mushrooms into her notebook. Then there is a small screech coming directly from her bag.

The class falls silent and everyone turns to look in their direction.

“What was that?”, professor Brooke asks with a confused look on his face. “I don’t remember any familiar registrations for this class.”

Dorian looks at Fearne who turns her head to look around at all the people staring in their direction.

“That was just me”, Fearne says and points to herself. “I ate too much pudding for breakfast.”

Professor Brooke looks embarrassed and very apologetic.

“I’m sorry, dear. Let’s continue then.”

As the lecture continues, Dorian leans over to Fearne.

“Didn’t that come out of your bag?”, he wants to know. Fearne shoots him a sly smile and gently lifts the flap of her green bag. Dorian stares at a small monkey peeking up at him with weirdly glowing eyes. Then the monkey raises his index finger to his mouth as if trying to tell Dorian to shut up.

Fearne closes the bag.

“That’s just Little Mister. He’s my… friend.”

“I see”, Dorian says.

He supposes that this is what he left home for—to meet all sorts of people, learn about all kinds of different things that he would never get in touch with while under his parents’ wings.

So Dorian decides to simply accept that some people are friends with monkeys and carry them around in bags.

If he can manage to live with someone like Dariax, he sure as hell won’t judge someone for bringing an animal companion to class.

After another fifteen minutes, Fearne leans over to Dorian again.

“I don’t understand this concept that the professor is talking about.”

“Oh, they explained it in the first half hour, before you got here.”

“Oh, I see. I was late”, Fearne says and looks disappointed, as if she was only now realizing this.

“Uh—yeah. Like, half an hour.”

“Time is kind of hard, you know. It’s like—it’s like this weird soup. And I don’t think I really have it memorized how to read clocks.”

Dorian stares at her.

“So. Are you not from here?”, he asks and groans internally at his phrasing. Fearne doesn’t seem to mind, though. She nods gratefully as Dorian pushes over his notes so she can look at them.

“No, not really. I come from the Feywild. We don’t really have clocks.”

“Because… time is a weird soup.”

“Yeah, exactly. Is that a saying here, too?”, she asks, her ears turning towards him full of excitement.

“Ah—no. I don’t think it is. Not here, at least.”

“Well, now you know it.”

Dorian nods and watches as Fearne studies his notes to copy some of them down into her notebook. He tries to imagine a world without clocks and immediately gets anxious at the prospect of always being late.

In the last twenty minutes of the lecture, they actually get to play their instruments.

“You play beautifully”, Fearne says after listening to Dorian play for a few minutes.

“Thank you! Your music is really different from what I know. It’s interesting.”

Fearne beams at him.

“Maybe we could make some music together some time?”, she asks.

“I would like that, yeah.”

Dorian isn’t bad at making friends, he’s just not as good or fast at it as Dariax. Maybe that’s because he’s a little more selective about the people he hangs out with, but Dariax just seems to consider everyone he talked to more than once his friend.

Dorian never really had friends growing up, so he doesn’t consider himself an expert. But at least for him Dariax’ way doesn’t seem to be all that great.

So when Dariax asks: “Hey, do you wanna come hang out with me and my friends tonight?” Dorian feels less than inclined to say yes.

“Uh—I already have plans”, he lies, trying to figure out if he should try to convince Opal to spend the evening with him or if he should just take this opportunity to have some peace and quiet in his room.

“Aw, man. Too bad. We wanted to go skinny dipping in the gym’s pool”, Dariax says.

“Isn’t that off limits at night?”, Dorian asks, his brow furrowed as he looks at Dariax’ face that breaks into a wide grin.

“Yeah, that’s why it’s fun to go there”, he answers and winks at Dorian. Dorian feels his cheeks grow hot and swallows as his intestines suddenly feel the need to writhe around like living snakes.

“Oh, well—I’m not really a—uh. A rebel boy, as they say”, he says and laughs nervously. “You go and have fun, though.”

He tries not to picture Dariax completely naked in the dim, shimmering light of the campus’ pool but he fails miserably. His palms start sweating.

“Oh, don’t worry, I will, I will. But hey, maybe next time!”

“Uh—yeah. Maybe”, Dorian says weakly as Dariax saunters out of their room and closes the door behind him. Dorian stares at the locked door for way too long and he’s endlessly glad that no one can see him.

This doesn’t seem like a normal thing to invite someone to. When he went to college to learn how to be a bard, he envisioned parties, maybe some illegal weed smoking on a restricted rooftop, at the most.

He did not envision to be asked to get butt naked, break into a gym with a pool at night and go swimming with a bunch of—probably drunk—strangers he doesn’t even know the names of.

That was, of course, before he got Dariax as a roommate.

Now Dorian feels like he should be prepared for anything.

As Dorian grabs his lute and sinks down onto his bed he wonders if Fearne lives on campus or if she lives in the Feywild and somehow manages to travel here for every class that she has. That would explain the time thing, he supposes, because he learned that time works differently on other planes.

This is the first evening in what feels like weeks that he has the room just to himself. In between the pieces he plays on his lute he simply sits on the bed, enjoying the silence. When he opens the window the cool breeze from outside reminds him of home and he closes his eyes for a little while.

It smells like rain and autumn outside. Dorian turns to look at the small room that’s his now. It’s nothing compared to the big, bright room he had at home, but it feels special simply because this is the first time he gets to do what he wants with a space without anyone breathing down his neck.

There’s not much in the room aside from their desks, beds and the closet they share, but Dorian pinned a few posters and postcards over his bed for the very first time. His bed is unmade—something that his parents would have never allowed—and there are fairy lights dangling from the ceiling that he actually picked out himself.

The desk is covered in sheet music and books and for a few seconds Dorian looks at the small picture of his brother and himself that is sticking to his pencil holder, before turning his gaze at some of the articles he printed out yesterday.

He might actually get some homework done in this blessed quiet.

At least that’s what he thinks until his phone rings.

At some point Dariax must’ve stolen Dorian’s phone and taken a selfie to make it pop up every time he calls Dorian, because as his phone lights up Dorian can see Dariax’ dopey smile appear. Dorian ignores the rush of heat he feels as he looks down at the glowing display, reaches for his phone and picks up the call.

“Dariax?”

“Dorian, hey buddy!”

He definitely sounds drunk, which doesn’t surprise Dorian. But there’s an edge to his voice that makes Dorian nervous.

“What’s up, Dariax?”

“I—uh. Remember how I told you that we were going to go skinny dipping in the gym and everything?”

“Yeah, I haven’t forgotten. It was like, three hours ago.”

“Cool, yeah. So the guys—“, and Dorian wonders who exactly ‘the guys’ are supposed to be, “were in a real funny mood. So. They stole my clothes and locked me in here—“

“They what?”

“I know, right? So… I tried to break open the lock, but I might be a little too drunk to get it right. And I was wondering—could you maybe bring me some clothes and get that door open for me?”

Dorian stares out into the night.

“How do you have your phone if they took all your stuff?”, he asks weakly.

“Had it with me in the pool to take some underwater selfies. It’s waterproof”, Dariax supplies cheerfully.

Dorian can see lights in the buildings all over campus and a crescent moon in the sky. He tries not to imagine what kind of pictures Dariax was trying to take of himself. Naked. In a pool.

“You want me to break open a door”, he repeats, just in case he misheard.

“I mean, kinda? Maybe? I really don’t wanna sleep in here. I slept in worse places, but it seems kinda shitty to wake up and immediately get into trouble for trespassing and all of that…”

Dorian isn’t sure if he wants to know in what kind of places Dariax has slept that count as worse as a college gym’s pool.

“But I guess I could just sleep in the showers or something.”

“I don’t really know how to get locks open”, Dorian sighs, but he’s already walking over to their shared closet. In theory, Dariax’ half is on the left, but he insists on just throwing all of his clothes in there without actually caring about which side they land on, so Dorian grabs some jeans, a hoodie and some underwear and stuffs it into his bag. He tries very hard not to look at the underwear too closely.

Dariax might not know what privacy is but that doesn’t mean that Dorian has to stoop down to the same level as his roommate.

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do”, he huffs.

“Aw, fuck yeah, you’re the best. I lo—“

“Bye”, Dorian calls and hangs up hastily before Dariax can finish.

His dreams of a quiet night dissipate into smoke as he throws the bag over his shoulder, grabs his keys, his jacket and his phone and leaves the room to head towards the gym.

Dorian, never in his life, has tried to open a lock with anything other than the key that was supposed to go into it. He doubts that he would manage to learn it in the heat of a moment so as he walks through the night, passing under a lantern every few steps he takes, he considers what he can do to get a locked door to open.

He is not strong enough to pry it open.

He has never learned how to do that trick with a credit card and isn’t sure if it would even work on this door even if he knew how.

There is no spell he knows that would be useful to open a door.

The only thing Dorian is good at is music and talking to people.

He makes his decision as he heads for the closest security guard patrolling campus at night.

“Excuse me, hi”, he says with the most honest and simultaneously nervous smile he can muster. The young man looks him up and down and seems to come to the conclusion that Dorian is worthy of his attention because his body turns towards him and offers a small smile back. He’s white withshort, brown hair, a long nose and arms full of tattoos.

“Can I help you?”, he asks.

“Well—this is so embarrassing. I—uh. I was in the gym earlier and I forgot my phone in there and my girlfriend wanted to call me tonight and I—uh. I already missed the last call so…”

He trails off as he tries to looks as bashful and stressed as he can—something that isn’t hard because Dorian still has to think about how Dariax is naked and probably dripping wet and how they’re most likely going to get into so much damn trouble.

“Oh wow, that sucks”, the security guard says and Dorian nods.

“Yeah, I’m—this is so dumb, I know you have better things to do, but… If you could just let me sneak in there for a minute and grab my phone? That would be a total life-saver, man”, he says and brings his hands up in front of his chest in a pleading gesture.

“Well, I guess we can make an exception. Don’t want to be the cause for trouble in paradise, right?”, he answers with a smile and Dorian forces himself to laugh.

“Thanks so much, I’ll drop off some cookies next time I see you around”, Dorian says and the security guard chuckles and makes a joke about bribery that Dorian doesn’t actually find funny but laughs about anyway. Since he officially ‘lost’ his phone he has no idea how to let Dariax know what his plan is.

All Dorian can do is hope that Dariax isn’t standing right behind the door butt-naked. Dorian supposes that he could always claim not to know him then—something that would only hold up for so long.

They walk towards the gym and Dorian can feel his heartbeat picking up.

What if he gets suspended? Kicked out? Sent home?

When they arrive in front of the gym everything is silent. Dariax is not banging on the door from the inside, calling Dorian’s name. Dorian decides to take that as a win as he nervously watches the guard fiddle for the master-key before opening the door.

“So, where did you leave your phone?”, the guard asks him and Dorian looks around hastily to see if he can spot Dariax anywhere.

“Uh—over on the benches, I’ll be right back!”, he says with an apologetic smile before rushing through the gym and towards the benches on the other side of the building.

“Dariax!”, he hisses into the darkness towards the corridor that leads to the locker-room and the pool.

“Hey bu—“

“Pscht. There’s a guard there. I had him open the door, you have to sneak out!”

Dorian starts crouching down on the floor and drops his bag so Dariax can reach it. He’s peaking his head out of the dark corridor and Dorian hopes that the security guard doesn’t spot him as he reaches his arm out towards the bag with Dariax’ clothes inside it.

“Did you find it?”, the guard calls over and Dorian can hear his footsteps coming closer. He hastily fishes for his phone and slides it under one of the benches.

“Not yet, it’s pretty dark in here”, he says. The rustling in the corridor next to him tells him that Dariax is hastily getting dressed.

“I have a flashlight, one sec”, the guard says and crouches down next to Dorian who feels bad for lying to the poor guy. He’s so friendly and forthcoming—Dorian decides that he actually has to get this man some cookies.

“Oh, there it is!”, he says and points to the left as the light of the torch reaches his phone.

“I’m afraid my arms too short to reach that”, the guard says and scoots back so Dorian can extent his arm and grab his phone. He tries hard not to look behind him to check if Dariax already made it out or not. He gets up, stuffs the phone into his pocket and dusts off his pants before turning towards the guard with an embarrassed smile.

“Man, thank you so much, this is really clutch.”

“No problem. I hope it works out with your girlfriend”, he answers and leads Dorian back towards the door.

“Thanks. If I see you again I’ll keep you posted!”

They step outside into the cool night air and Dorian can’t see Dariax anywhere. His heart is still beating rapidly in his chest and his palms are terribly sweaty. He wipes them off on his pants and decides that he needs a hot shower and his warm bed after this terrible disaster. His body feels as if he just ran a marathon.

So much for a quiet, peaceful night.

As soon as the guard leaves Dorian looks around frantically. If Dariax didn’t make it outside, there’s no way Dorian can convince this guy to open the gym up again without telling him the truth—something Dorian desperately does not want to do.

“Hey, over here!”

Dorian turns around and sees Dariax waving out of one of the bushes. His hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, his face is flushed and his eyes glassy, but he has a wide, reckless smile on his face that makes Dorian’s heart leap into his throat and press on his windpipe.

“What the fuck, man?”, Dorian hisses as he walks over to Dariax who gets up now, slightly swaying on his feet. There are some yellow leaves stuck in his auburn hair.

“Damn, buddy, that was awesome! You seriously have a velvet tongue, how did you even do that?”

“I asked nicely. What the actual fuck, Dariax? Why did your friends think that was a good idea?”

Dariax looks at him sheepishly and shrugs.

“Ah—to tell you the truth, I don’t know.”

“Sounds like they were fucking you over”, Dorian says and starts walking back towards the dorm. Some fine mist hangs between the trees, which look mostly black except for those who reach into the light of the street lamps. The orange and brown colored leaves remind Dorian of Dariax’ hair.

“Yeah. Sounds like it, huh.”

Dariax is quiet after that, something which Dorian, for some reason, finds even more disturbing than hearing Dariax’ sex-noises through a locked door.

“You okay?”, he asks after two minutes of walking in silence.

Dariax turns to look at him and the smile that appears on his face doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah, sure. You know how it is, people just fuck you over. That’s how it works, I guess.”

“It doesn’t have to work like this”, Dorian says, his brow furrowed and his hands itchy to reach out and tussle Dariax’ wet hair for comfort. He doesn’t even know if Dariax wants to be comforted. Or wants to be comforted by Dorian specifically.

Dorian doesn’t even know why he feels the need to comfort Dariax, seeing as to how it’s his own fault for getting into such a situation in the first place.

“Hm, maybe. But I guess you showed up to save the day”, Dariax says, looking at Dorian thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I didn’t fuck you over”, Dorian agrees and holds open the door for them as they reach the dorm.

“Yeah. You didn’t. Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.”

The security guard’s name is Orym, he knows Fearne from taking some druid classes on the side on top of his fighter classes and he enjoys blueberry muffins.

“So, how did it go with your girlfriend?”, he asks while chewing on the muffin that Dorian handed him a few moments ago.

“We broke up”, Dorian replies with a gravelly voice and Orym pulls a face.

“I’m sorry, man.”

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks again for helping me with my phone.”

“It’s no problem at all. Thank you for this muffin.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you around.”

Dorian is pleased to find that the steady trickle of loud people that Dariax used to invite to their room before is thinning. He still goes out drinking and partying a lot, and he still has guests over to play Mario Kart or some horrible drinking game, but overall Dorian’s having more peace and quiet than ever before since he moved into this room with Dariax.

On a Wednesday night Dariax is sprawled out on his bed flipping through his phone. Dorian wonders if he’s going through his contacts, considering whom to call on for some. Well. Drinking or sex, probably.

Dorian hopes it’s not sex. And if it is sex, then for sex that is supposed to happen far away from here.

“How come you never go out?”, Dariax wants to know.

Dorian looks up from the sheet music he’s working on. He’s humming along quietly as he writes down, erases, writes down again and corrects the song he’s trying to write. He finds that he actually likes working in companionable silence, even though he didn’t think this would be possible with Dariax as his roommate a few weeks ago.

Dariax doesn’t seem to mind not talking as long as there is some sort of sound in the room—and Dorian’s humming apparently counts.

“How do you mean? I go out all the time”, Dorian says and looks up from his paper, cocking his head to regard Dariax who’s head is now hanging off of the side of the bed so he looks back at Dorian upside down.

“Yeah but like, partying. Drinking. College stuff, you know. You just hang out with the scary lady and she seems to like partying.”

“First of all, her name’s Opal. And I guess she can be kind of scary, but only if you’re a dick. And second of all, I hang out with other people! I met this very nice faun in my bard class and we’re making music from time to time. And—I don’t know. Partying is just not. Uh... It’s just not...”

Dorian sighs and leans against the wall behind him. The room is so scrappy that some of the wallpaper is coming down in little flakes in some places. He absentmindedly starts picking at his pillow.

“I never really went to parties before coming here. It’s just. I don’t know. New. I’m not like you. You know, with all the drinking and partying and—and uh. Sex. I guess.”

He can feel his ears burning and his cheeks heating up as he mumbles the end of his sentence. Dariax blinks at him and drops his phone on his face.

“Ow, fuck—okay. Wait. Are you saying that you’re a party-virgin and an actual virgin?”

“Oh come on, man, why do you have to say it like that? I’ve been to parties! But not—you know? College parties! And I never really drank alcohol before. It seems... I don’t know. Shifty.”

“Shifty”, Dariax repeats and a shit-eating grin spreads over his face, lighting up his eyes with a shimmer of mischief that Dorian finds very disconcerting.

“So you are a virgin.”

Dorian throws his pencil at Dariax and misses.

“So what? There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin! We can’t all walk around like you sleeping with people left and right!”

Dariax chuckles, obviously pleased with himself.

“Very true, I’m one of a kind. So, okay. But you kissed people, right?”, he wants to know.

“Why is that even relevant?”, Dorian hisses. He decides to throw his pillow next and Dariax almost falls off the bed trying to dodge it as he laughs.

“It’s not, I’m just curious! You’re always super uptight and mysterious, I know shit all about you and you’ve basically seen me banging someone at least twice!”

Dorian tries and fails to keep his poise as he flails his arms around.

“I could’ve lived happily without having seen any of that!”

“So that means you never kissed anyone?”, Dariax asks again, his grin wide and his eyebrows offensively wiggling. Dorian wishes he had some sort of cake that he could press Dariax’ face into.

“No, never. Are you happy now?”

“Would you like to kiss someone?”, Dariax wants to know and leans forward on the bed. He seems to have decided that sitting upright is the better choice in case Dorian decides to throw something else at him.

“I—I mean. I don’t know? I haven’t found the right person to kiss yet!”

“Ah, you’re one of those guys”, Dariax says with a wise nod that drives Dorian up the walls.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know? Like a romantic. True love and shit.”

“I wouldn’t—I. I haven’t really thought about it much. It’s not that important to me.”

Dariax pulls a face and nods, as if he understands perfectly what it means to not much care about kissing, sex or relationships. Dorian doubts that he actually understands with the frequency in which he drags people into his bed.

“I guess it’s not bad to wait for someone special”, Dariax concedes with a lopsided smile. “My first kiss was a total disaster, I didn’t know what I was doing at all and the dude told me it was like kissing a bowl of rice pudding.”

Dorian stares at him.

“That’s such a horrible thing to say”, he answers and Dariax shrugs.

“Yeah, I guess. He could’ve been nicer about it.”

Dorian’s brain is reeling.

Dariax had his first kiss with a guy. Dariax doesn’t only like women.

“Oh gods, I wish you hadn’t told me”, Dorian groans and presses the palms of his hands on his eyes until he sees little, colorful specs dancing on the inside of his eyelids. “What if I kiss someone I actually like and it turns out to be a completely terrible?”

He lowers his hands and stares at Dariax who stares back at Dorian with an intensity that surprises him.

“I mean. I guess you could just practice”, Dariax says.

“Oh yeah, sure. I’ll ask the first random person I meet in the hallway—“

“I would do it. Practice with you, I mean.”

Dorian blinks. He can feel the heat rising in his face and knows that his cheeks are turning purple.

“I—uh. That’s. Well. That’s very kind of you. But I’ll—I guess I’ll just figure it out on my own.”

Dorian chuckles nervously and glances back at Dariax who looks at him for a second longer before flopping back down onto his bed.

“Sure thing, buddy”, he says quietly and it’s probably just Dorian’s imagination that he sounds a bit disappointed.

“Dorian. Hey, Dorian!”

Dariax’ voice cuts through a dream about flying through space naked and Dorian opens his eyes. He is met with darkness and turns his head over to look towards Dariax’ side of the room. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust and the confusion and sleep to drain out of him.

“Huh?”

“Hey, sorry. I—uh. I kinda had—I kinda had a nightmare?”

“Sorry to hear that”, Dorian rasps and rubs at his eyes, “was it the one about the giant dwarven woman again?”

“Ah, no. Not this time. I—uh. Do you mind maybe just… I don’t know. Talking to me a little? Or, ah—humming? I would scoot over but your bed is probably a bit too small”, Dariax rambles and laughs nervously.

Dorian is too tired to get flustered about the prospect of cuddling with his roommate.

“You can scoot over. But don’t hog the blanket”, he mumbles and makes room in his tiny bed, pressing his back against the wall and lifting his blanket up, his eyes already falling shut again.

“Oh fuck yeah”, he hears Dariax whisper. There’s a rustling, the sound of naked feet on a wooden floor and then the mattress dips and Dariax climbs into bed with him, his body way warmer than Dorian expected it to be.

He’s wearing nothing but boxers.

“You sure this is okay?”, Dariax whispers into the dark and Dorian makes a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat before letting the blanket fall down over Dariax. His arms simply drops which is probably way too close to a hug in this position as they lie face to face on the mattress that was not made for two people to sleep on it.

“Thanks a lot, buddy. You’re the best”, Dariax whispers. Dorian knows that Dariax is pretty dense simply because he’s a dwarf, but while he drifts back off to sleep he feels the tension in Dariax’ body. This nightmare must have been deeply upsetting for someone as carefree and jovial as Dariax to ask for goddamn snuggles in the middle of the night.

Dorian starts humming. It’s faint and definitely not his best and probably not even a real song, but slowly, ever so slowly, he can feel Dariax relax beside him as they both fall asleep again.

What his sleepy brain did not account for when Dorian allowed Dariax entry into his bed was how they might wake up in completely different positions to the ones they fell asleep in and how his body was a mean betrayer set out to humiliate Dorian.

As he slowly comes back to consciousness Dorian realizes how incredibly warm it is. The next thing he notices is that there is a quietly snoring dwarf pressed against his side, one leg pushed over Dorian’s legs. Dariax, sometime during the night, has curled into Dorian so his nose is now pressed somewhere close to Dorian’s ribs. He can feel Dariax’ hot breath tickle his exposed skin.

This is the most skin-on-skin contact Dorian has ever had with someone who is not related to him.

Dariax’ arm is curled around his waist and Dorian has no idea how he’ll be able to get to the bathroom without waking Dariax up or alerting him to the fact that Dorian is suffering a terrible case of a morning boner.

Yeah, he definitely didn’t think this through when he allowed Dariax in here. If Dariax pulls his leg up a little more his thigh will absolutely come in contact with Dorian’s dick and he is not ready for that to happen.

Not even a little bit.

Dorian can’t help but notice that Dariax smells kind of nice. And the feeling of naked skin on naked skin feels so much better than he imagined it would. He should probably not think about skin on skin contact too much in his current predicament but Dariax decides that this is the right moment to move his leg.

Dorian makes an undignified noise in the back of his throat as Dariax’ thigh rubs against his erection and before he can really consider what his best course of action might be, he’s already shoving Dariax off of him.

Since these beds are tiny, that also means shoving Dariax off the bed.

There is loud thunk as Dariax hits the floor and bolts upright with a yelp, his hair tousled and untidy, his eyes barely open.

“I didn’t do it!”, he slurs loudly, holding both hands up in a gesture of surrender and Dorian can’t help but wonder what in the nine hells Dariax has been dreaming about.

“Sorry, man. You were—uh. Getting a little close”, Dorian says and sits up, carefully pulling the blanket over his crotch.

Dariax blinks up at him.

“Sorry, buddy. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable”, he mumbles and sways to his feet to stumble back over to his own bed.

Dorian immediately misses the warmth and the feeling of naked skin against his but he pushes the thought away and clears his throat.

“Did you sleep okay after your nightmare?”, he asks.

“Hmhm. Like a baby”, Dariax mumbles into his pillow. His face is pressed into it and he didn’t even take the take to cover himself with his blanket. “You have the most beautiful voice.”

Dorian’s cheeks begin to burn and he grips the blanket tighter.

“Thank you.”

“’S no problem.”

Dorian glances over at his roommate. Dariax looks surprisingly peaceful like this and it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep again. The quiet snore returns and his mouth falls open slightly. When Dorian finally gets up to take a shower, he shivers slightly in the cold before carefully stepping over to the other bed and pulling the blanket over Dariax.

“You know what, I feel honored that you’re going to trust me with your first time”, Dariax says, looking endlessly pleased with himself.

Dorian sputters.

“Excuse m—“

“Your first time drinking, buddy”, Dariax explains and laughs as he sees the flush on Dorian’s cheeks.

They’re both sitting on Dariax’ bed—because Dariax doesn’t care about getting spots on his sheets at all—with a bottle of liquor that is bright red and looks a little radioactive.

“Well, I think I would just—uh. Prefer it… to try this out with someone I trust before I make a fool of myself in front of a whole party, you know”, Dorian says. When no answer comes, he turns his head to look at Dariax.

Dariax’ eyes are shimmering with something that Dorian can’t quite read but it makes his heart race in his chest. Dariax never looked at him like this before. His expression is almost soft with the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Glad to hear you trust me, Dorian. I trust you, too.”

Dorian clears his throat and looks away, the tension in the air between them suddenly too much for him.

“I am very trustworthy”, he jokes and grabs the bottle to unscrew it and smell the liquid inside.

“Ugh—it’s revolting”, he remarks and coughs a little.

Dariax chuckles.

“That’s how you know it’s good”, he says with a nod and gestures for Dorian to take the first sip.

Dorian has tried some champagne before, some beer. Some wine. But never more than half a glass. He never tried drinking any hard liquor and this stuff is burning his throat and sending heatwaves through his whole body immediately.

“Wow”, he coughs and hands the bottle to Dariax.

“Good stuff, right?”, Dariax says and

“It’s terrible!”

“Yeah”, Dariax says with a wide grin and a twinkle in his eyes.

“I don’t think a thing can be both good and terrible at the same time”, Dorian remarks, his face still in a grimace as he tries to get used to the burning sensation of hard alcohol in his throat.

“Nonsense, those are like, all of my favorite movies!”, Dariax says and takes a huge swig out of the bottle before handing it back to Dorian.

Dorian feels weirdly honored that Dariax decided to stay in on a Saturday night just to hang out with him and test the waters with his roommate while no doubt all his friends are out there partying.

“Like what movies”, Dorian wants to know and takes another careful sip out of the bottle. His mind provides him with the terrible thought that this might as well count as an indirect kiss, something that is entirely idiotic and not useful at all.

“Okay, so, you know when someone asks you a question about yourself and suddenly you have forgotten all of your interests and hobbies and favorites and pretty much everything about yourself?”, Dariax says, his brow furrowed as he tries to think of a movie that is both terrible and good at the same time.

“Tell you what. I can say that two of my favorite movies of all time are Pacific Rim and Mad Max, and those are not terrible, mind you, they’re just good. But if I manage to think of one that is both terrible and good, I’ll tell you immediately.”

Dorian has neither seen Mad Max nor Pacific Rim. When he tells Dariax as much his roommate looks aghast.

“Oh my gosh, Dorian. Buddy. My boy. That is—no. No, I can’t let this stand. Grab your laptop, we’re watching Pacific Rim right now”, Dariax orders and looks at Dorian expectantly.

This is how Dorian ends up crying about giant robots. And maybe also brothers.

Dariax hands him a tissue and sniffs.

“Good stuff, right?”, Dariax asks and empties the bottle as the end credits start rolling. Dorian nods and watches as Dariax throws the empty bottle to the side before pulling out a second one from under his bed.

Dorian is definitely tipsy. He drank way less than Dariax, of course, but he can feel a faint buzzing in his head and his vision seems to be slowed. There is a feeling of heaviness in his legs as he accepts the new bottle—this time the liquor is bright blue and tastes even worse—and drinks.

The new sensations in his body aren’t unpleasantly.

In a way, his soul feels lighter like this, less anxious, less unsure about things, which is pretty nice.

“So, what’s your favorite movie?”, Dariax wants to know.

“I—hm. I don’t know. I’m not much of a movie guy. I suppose I liked Lord of the Rings when I watched it a few years ago”, he says, thinking about the movies he has seen and which ones he enjoyed the most. Weirdly enough it’s exactly as Dariax said—now that someone asked about what he likes, Dorian can’t seem to remember much about himself.

“Good choice”, Dariax says with an approving nod that makes Dorian feel weirdly pleased.

“I guess we could totally do a Lord of the Rings marathon, you know? Get some snacks, order pizza, get fucked up. Hey, we could make it a drinking game!”

Dorian isn’t sure why there’s a tingling sensation under his skin, or why his heart starts beating faster in light of Dariax’ suggestion. Maybe it’s because he feels happy that Dariax wants to spend more time with Dorian. Maybe it’s just because the alcohol is getting to Dorian.

“What about your other friends?”, Dorian asks.

“What about them?”

“Well—wouldn’t you rather spend more time with them? You know—partying. Going skinny dipping. That sort of thing.”

Dorian knows that he’s fishing for compliments. He knows and he feels embarrassed about it but he can’t stop. Validation is something that he craves way too much for his own comfort, but the alcohol has lowered his defenses—or raised his stupidity. Either one of those.

“Well—you know when we went skinny dipping and they fucked me over, that was like. Not cool? And you got me outta there, even though you don’t really do that sorta thing, you know? So—that was not the first time I got fucked over by people I called my friends, but it was totally the first time someone bailed me out of stuff. So yeah. I’d rather stick with you, if that’s alright with you”, Dariax says, taking a few long gulps from the bottle of blue liquid.

Dorian feels a rush of heat under his skin. It’s not unusual for him to feel strongly about being praised or validated, but it usually doesn’t hit this hard.

He swallows and laughs nervously, grabbing the bottle from Dariax and taking a big sip that burns his throat.

“Yeah—yeah, alright”, he croaks and Dariax beams at him.

“I’m sorry, by the way. That—uh. That those people left you behind”, he adds quietly and hands the bottle back to Dariax.

“Oh, you know. I suppose it’s on me. I’m not very smart and I’m not good on my own, so I tend to follow people’s leads and they—uh. I guess they get bored with me, or something? Anyway. It’s not really important. Hey, how do you feel about watching Mad Max, too?”

“Hey, my friend is throwing a party on Saturday. Do you want to come?”

“Are you kidding? Do I wanna take your partying virginity? Hell, yes!”

“Dariax...”

“Sorry buddy, I got carried away.”

Dorian is still thinking about rice pudding on Friday.

The fact that somewhere out there is a person who would tell someone else something mean like this makes him nervous to try and kiss anyone. What if he actually likes the person he’s kissing and gets told that his kisses feel like a bowl of rice pudding?

Or worse, something even slimier?

He’s trying to get another song for one of his bard classes done, but he’s unable to concentrate.

“Hey, Dariax”, he says and looks over at Dariax who’s watching cat videos on YouTube, “can I ask you something? About—uh. About... kissing?”

Dariax looks up at him with bright eyes.

“Sure”, he says and grins.

Dorian swallows.

“Uh—I was thinking. How—uh. How did you get better at kissing? Did you practice with anyone?”

“Nah, not really. I mean, not like that. I just went for it again and again until I got better at it. Guess it would’ve been nice to have someone around for practice, but I made it work anyway. No one’s been complaining for a while now.”

Dorian chews on his bottom lip and pokes the paper he’s working on with a pencil.

“So—uh. You said—“

“Yes”, Dariax shoots back immediately, as if he knows what Dorian is going to say next. Dorian feels the familiar heat rise up in his chest as he looks at his roommate who seems very intense all of a sudden, leaning forward and shutting his laptop, his eyes fixed on Dorian.

“I—uh. I don’t. I don’t really... I don’t like... guys?”, Dorian says and his voice sounds way too hoarse in his own ears. Dariax’ shoulders sag a little but he shrugs.

“Doesn’t really matter for this, right? It’s just kissing.”

“Right. Okay. Uh—so. If I—if I wanted to try this... how do you—how do we make this work?”, he asks.

His heart is beating so fast, Dorian is afraid it’s going to break his rib cage and fly out of the window. Dariax puts his laptop to the side and pats the mattress beside himself, his eyes still fixed on Dorian’s face with an intensity that makes heat pool in Dorian’s lower abdomen.

He pushes the feeling aside and gets up from his own bed to sit down next to Dariax.

“I know what this is about”, Dariax says with a sly grin.

“Uh—you do?”

Dorian doesn’t know what this is about aside from his own nagging sense of anxiety and the fact that he can’t stop thinking about kissing Dariax—which is entirely Dariax’ fault because he offered this whole practicing thing in the first place.

“Yeah. You’re going to check out some ladies on that party tomorrow”, Dariax says, his grin widening as he scoots closer to Dorian. Dorian can feel Dariax’ body heat and he presses his back against the wall, his fingers digging into the blanket crumpled below his legs.

“Ah—yeah. You got me”, he lies and laughs nervously. Dariax winks and gives him fingerguns.

“Don’t worry, buddy. I gotcha! I’ll be the best wingman ever. Here, just lemme—“

And Dariax climbs into Dorian’s lap, straddling him, his face so close to Dorian’s that Dorian can feel his breath on his cheek.

He holds his breath as he notices all the freckles on Dariax’ face, his scruffy beard, his hazel-brown eyes...

His heart is stumbling in his chest.

“Thanks”, he rasps.

“No need to be nervous, I’m sure you’ll be way better at this than I was the first time around. Just lemme take the lead, okay?”

Dorian nods.

If he gets hard now, Dariax will definitely feel it.

Fuck.

Dariax raises his hands and tilts Dorian’s chin up while his other hand gently cups Dorian’s cheek. It’s already almost too much for Dorian. His lips open slightly and his eyes widen as Dariax gets closer still, his nose gently touching Dorian’s.

“If you want me to stop, just smack me real hard”, Dariax whispers and his breath tickles Dorian’s lips before the distance between their mouths is closed and Dariax is kissing him, his hazel-brown eyes closed.

Dariax’ lips are warm and a little chapped and Dorian gasps against his mouth helplessly—something that Dariax seems to take as encouragement. He tilts his head to the side to get a better angle and then his lips press against Dorian’s in earnest.

Dorian’s heart stops for a few seconds before restarting with doubled speed.

His whole body seems to be on fire all of a sudden and he can’t help but raise his hands to touch Dariax—just touch him anywhere. He needs to ground himself, hold onto something, or he might just get lost in the feeling of Dariax’ warm lips carefully moving against his.

It’s a slow kiss, almost sweet, but Dorian’s skin is set aflame.

I don’t like guys, he thinks as his whole body decides that he must get closer to Dariax, wrap his arms around him, pull him in, cup the back of his head so he doesn’t move away—

“This okay?”, Dariax mumbles against his lips and he sounds so out of breath as if he just sprinted a whole mile.

“Yeah—I. Yeah.”

“You wanna try with tongue?”

Dorian swallows. There is still heat pooling in his abdomen. He should say no. He should stop doing this. This feels dangerous and stupid.

But it also feels so good.

“Yeah, okay”, he whispers.

Dariax doesn’t wait for another invite, he immediately leans forward again to close the distance between them and as Dorian’s hands dig themselves into the back of Dariax’s shirt and his heart starts racing even faster Dariax slides his tongue into Dorian’s mouth and Dorian’s mind goes blank.

There is a sound that is dangerously close to a moan and it takes him a few seconds to realize that it’s coming from him.

He holds onto Dariax like a drowning man before he manages to kiss back.

The second their tongues slide against one another there is a sound from Dariax too, one that shoots directly into Dorian’s lap. His hips buckle up involuntarily, his arms wrap around Dariax tighter and Dariax presses closer, his hips grinding down against him.

Dorian is lost.

And he’s so, so fucked.

It feels so incredibly good to kiss Dariax. He forgot why he even started kissing him, all he knows that he doesn’t want to stop, that he wants to get closer, wants to touch more skin—

He’s hard by now, and so is Dariax. Dorian can feel his erection through the jeans that Dariax is wearing.

Dorian buries his hands in Dariax’ hair and pulls. Dariax makes a helpless sound and bites down on Dorian’s bottom lip before sucking on it lightly and Dorian is afraid that he might come in his pants just from kissing and the delicious friction of Dariax’ crotch rubbing against his.

Shit, shit, shit, shit—

Before Dorian can make a fool of himself Dariax pulls back.

He’s panting, his eyes are glassy, his lips red and wet from kissing and he looks so pretty, Dorian is momentarily stunned by the revelation that he might not be into girls or guys or pretty much anyone.

But he’s definitely, terribly, irrevocably into Dariax.

Fuck.

“S—sorry”, Dariax gasps and clambers off of Dorian’s lap. “That was—I’m. I—uh. I got carried away a little. Didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries.”

Dorian swallows and stares at him, his eyes wide and his heart pressing against his rib cage.

“It’s okay”, he rasps. “I—uh. I got a little carried away, too.”

Dariax throws him a lopsided smile.

“Well. I’d say you’re good to go.”

And he gets off the bed and stumbles over to the bathroom, leaving Dorian behind with a rapidly beating heart, tingling lips and the revelation that he has the world’s worst crush on Dariax.

#doriax #critfic #exu fic #critical role #dariax zaveon #dorian storm #exandria unlimited #exu #fanfiction #screeching into the void #text #this has an M rating on ao3 jsyk #we have ~9k of practice kissing/college au magical realism here my guys #dorian #dariax

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cuttoothed · 4 years ago

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Getting this in just under the wire for day 1 of @jonmartinweek prompt “Comfy Jumpers”. I get so much joy from writing these two in s1 and thinking “lol you idiots are going to be in love some day.”

Martin knows that Jon doesn’t approve of the way he dresses.

It’s not exactly a surprise. Jon doesn’t approve of much about Martin: his report-writing, his Latin translations, even his very existence seems to irk Jon at times. Frankly, the feeling is mutual. Martin was perfectly happy working in the library, where his boss wasn’t an overbearing perfectionist arsehole, and if he’d been given a choice in the matter he’d still be shelving books and updating the filing systems, not getting glared at for his clothing choices. He’s well aware that Jon never wanted him in the Archives either, but they’re here now, so Mister Head Archivist is just going to have to live with it. They’re both going to have to.

Jon isn’t subtle about his displeasure; it’s difficult to miss his pointed scowls at Martin’s scuffed trainers and graphic-print t-shirts. And considering that Sasha wears jeans and t-shirts some days as well—though admittedly she tends to plain colors or muted prints, rather than retro video game characters—it’s pretty clear that it’s less about the clothes than it is the person wearing them.

Well, Jon can scowl all he wants, because everything Martin wears technically falls within the Institute’s dress code and there’s not a word Jon can say to him.

Martin has always run hot, so as winter closes in and other people are bundling up in heavy coats and jumpers, he throws hoodies over his t-shirts and zips them up only far enough that the bright graphic prints are still clearly visible to Jon’s critical eye.

Yeah, he thinks sometimes when he walks into Jon’s office, get an eyeful of Yoshi and see how you like it.

Jon, for his part, seems determined to outlast the winter in his usual dress shirt and tweed jacket combo. Martin knows that Jon isn’t particularly warm blooded—he’s seen the way the man huddles into his jacket like a tortoise in its shell until the central heating warms the basement up in the mornings—but he still refuses to add so much as an argyle sweater vest to his outfit in deference to the season.

The only concession Jon makes to the weather is a voluminous gray overcoat and a dark purple scarf, which he takes off the moment he gets into the office, regardless of how cold it is before the ancient heating system creaks to life.

And, well, it’s none of Martin’s business if his boss is too much of a pompous arse to dress appropriately for the weather. If he wants to freeze his backside off to maintain his academic dignity, far be it from Martin to intervene. Martin doesn’t feel sorry for him, when he sees Jon blowing on his fingers to warm them up, or briskly rubbing his arms while he waits for the kettle to boil and he thinks nobody else is around. Not in the slightest.

It’s below zero on the day in December when the central heating finally gives up the ghost. Even Martin can feel the chill in the Archives this morning, keeps his hoodie zipped up all the way even when he runs into Jon in the kitchenette. Jon looks miserably cold, his shoulders hunched and his movements stiff as he makes his tea.

“Morning, Jon,” Martin says cheerfully. “Bit nippy, isn’t it?”

“Just a bit,” says Jon sardonically. Somewhere overhead, there’s a metallic clanking as the heating system starts up.

“Finally,” Jon mutters, casting his eyes upward. The pipes creak and clank some more, and there’s an odd whirring sound that Martin’s fairly sure isn’t normal, and then a long, descending groan into silence.

“Oh,” says Martin. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Bloody hell,” says Jon, and storms off to his office. A while later, he sends an email to inform them all that he’s spoken to Elias and the heating is out for the whole building, and that they should all feel free to work from home for the rest of the day if they choose. Sasha and Tim waste no time packing up, but Martin lingers, agonizing over which notes and references he should take with him. He’s never before had a job where working from home was an option, and he isn’t Tim or Sasha, isn’t someone Jon trusts and actually wanted to work with. Martin needs to make sure he gets it right.

At last he thinks he has everything he needs, but still Martin is hesitating, fiddling with the strap of his satchel. Maybe he should just check in with Jon before he leaves, make sure there isn’t anything else he needs to do. Make sure Jon knows I’m going to be working today, not just skiving off.

The door to Jon’s office is standing ajar; Martin taps on it, and pokes his head in without waiting for a response.

Jon looks up as he walks in, his expression startled. He is wearing a jumper. A chunky knit jumper in a warm maroon color, with a Christmas tree and several reindeer on the front. One of the reindeer has a red bobble for a nose. The jumper is oversized, the ends of the sleeves falling past Jon’s wrists.

It’s...incredibly cute, which is not a term that Martin ever expected to associate with his arsehole boss. Attractive, in a severe, unattainable way, sure, but not cute. Yet somehow, here they are.

“Ah, Martin,” Jon says, looking flustered. “I, uh, I thought you’d left with the others?”

“I was—I just wanted to check in with you first, make sure you didn’t need anything. You should head home too, it’s freezing in here.”

“I—I’m perfectly fine.” Jon plucks at the front of the jumper, looking embarrassed. “This is, ah, I bought this for the Institute Christmas party, but it’s surprisingly warm—and quite comfortable.”

“Oh, that’s, uh, that’s not part of your usual wardrobe then?” Martin hazards a chuckle, and to his relief, Jon huffs an amused breath. He raises a hand to adjust his glasses, but his sleeve gets in the way; he pushes both sleeves up to the elbows, and oh no, that’s even cuter.

“No, not—not usually,” he says. Martin frowns, suddenly remembering.

“You didn’t wear it at the party last week, though?”

“No, it’s—it was from the previous year, when I was in Research. It-it didn’t seem appropriate this year, being in a management role. Fortunately I still had it in a box, though I, uh, I didn’t really expect anyone to see me in it.”

Martin feels a sudden pang of something that might be sympathy. He understands how it feels, the desperate pressure to be professional, to be taken seriously, the constant second guessing of what you’re doing, whether you’re giving away something you shouldn’t. It’s hardly the same, of course: Jon’s not likely to be fired for wearing a silly jumper. But...Martin gets it.

“Actually,” he lies, “I, uh, I have to meet with Sophie up in the library later, so I’m around for the day. I was just going to go out and pick up some early lunch. Thought I’d see if you want anything?”

“Oh, ah, where are you going?” Jon asks tentatively, looking surprised at the offer.

“I was thinking of that cafe just around the corner—maybe get some soup and a sandwich?”

“That would be...very nice, actually. If you’re sure you don’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I did,” says Martin, and takes the ten pound note Jon offers him.

“Thank you, Martin,” says Jon, and it’s the probably the most sincere thing Martin’s ever heard him say. He finds himself smiling without meaning to.

“Not a problem.”

It’s too early for lunch, really, but Martin knows Jon never eats breakfast and he missed it himself this morning. He gets two portions of steaming tomato and basil soup and toasted cheese sandwiches from the cafe, and when he gets back, Jon’s found a small space heater to plug in, so his office is marginally warmer than the rest of the Archives. They sit on opposite sides of Jon’s desk to eat, talking about the case that Martin’s working on. It’s the first time Martin’s actually had the chance to properly discuss a case, rather than stumbling through his report while Jon watches expectantly; Jon listens, and asks questions, and even offers some helpful suggestions for Martin’s follow up. It’s...oddly nice.

(Jon also continues to look unreasonably cute in his oversized Christmas jumper, but Martin carefully ignores that.)

The heating gets fixed by early afternoon, and the Archives warm up to the point where Martin can unzip his hoodie. When he drops off his finished case report to Jon’s office, Jon is back in his shirt and jacket, the maroon jumper packed away out of sight. He looks perfectly staid and professional once again. I saw you looking cute, though, Martin thinks, and then tries to pretend he didn’t; he is not going down that route.

Jon glances up when Martin comes in, taking in the “Marvin the Martian” t-shirt that’s now visible beneath his hoodie. Instead of a disapproving scowl, however, he gives a small, hesitant smile.

“Thank you, Martin,” he says as he takes the report, and something flutters warm in Martin’s chest.

Oh no, he thinks.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartinweek2021 #jonmartin #my fic

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cherrycocaineee · 3 years ago

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13. Dean Winchester - Confession

Bobby was sitting at his desk flipping through the millions of dusty, old, torn books he had collected over the years when I came down the stairs, carrying my purse along my shoulder. The sound of my small feet thumping against his creaky wooden floors caused him to look at me. He was already drinking scotch this early in the morning and the tired, purple bags under his eyes proved that he had a restless night just like usual. I smiled sympathetically at him as I approached, getting a large whiff of the liquor he was pouring down his throat. I could hardly count the number of times I’ve warned him and the boys about drinking so much, yet they never listened. Though I didn’t really expect them to, considering all of the things they’ve seen in their lifetime.

“Where are you off to?” He asked, pouring himself another glass of scotch.

“We’re low on groceries,” I hummed, “so I’m going down to the market to pick some stuff up. I’ll make breakfast when I come back, okay?”

“I’ll hold ya to that. You need any money?”

I shook my head and patted the side of my purse before leaving for the market. It wasn’t a long trip, it was literally a block from where Bobby lived. When I arrived at the small, yet vibrant place, I inhaled the sweet scent of freshly picked produce and other aromas. Inside I pushed the basket around and collected everything we needed for the house: fresh produce, meats, bread, eggs, and much more. Considering how much fast food I use while travelling with the boys, I was happy to find a place that sold freshly grown fruits and vegetables, and freshly cut chops of meat, and more. I spent an hour in total at the market before paying for my groceries and heading back to the house.

While carrying all of the paper bags inside, I could hear talking going on inside. I shook it off as Bobby being on the phone and continued.

“Bobby, I’m home,” I called, “I’m about to start breakfast, so why don’t you trade that scotch in for a cup of coffee.”

The voices from the other room quieted down just as I placed the groceries on the kitchen table. I walked out of the kitchen and saw Bobby standing in the middle of the room with none other than Dean and Sam. My eyes widened at the sight of them. The last time I saw Sam was when he jumped into the cage, holding Lucifer in and knocking Michael inside too. And Dean, well, I hadn’t seen him since he went to live with Lisa and Ben. It had hurt a lot when he left too, not wanting to stay with Bobby. Not wanting to stay with me. But I didn’t make a big deal about it despite being madly in love with him. Though I’d never tell him that since he was in love with Lisa.

“Hey, Persephone,” Sam and Dean said simultaneously, making my eyes water.

“Hey,” I whispered, a smile forming on my face.

I walked over to them and embraced them both, feeling their large, muscular arms wrap around my thin frame as they held me close. As I pulled away from the hug, Lisa popped her head around the corner. My chest was tightening as I saw Dean walk over to her. They went off to speak to one another, I cleared my throat and turned my attention to Sam.

“When did you get back from hell?” I asked.

From the look on his face and the way he was rubbing the back of his neck with his rough hands, I knew there was something he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell me. Or at least the truth anyway. But he decided that he’d tell me in the end.

“A year, actually,” he muttered.

My forest green eyes widened at his words. I spent the next fifteen minutes tearing a new one into both Sam and Bobby, who had been hiding this from me the entire year, then returned to the kitchen to cook breakfast. There was a mix of frustration, betrayal, and other emotions mixing up inside of me as I started scrambling the eggs and cooking the sausage and bacon. Quiet sizzling could be heard throughout the kitchen, masking the sound of my humming while I cooked. As I was moving on to the coffee, I heard footsteps coming from behind me so I swirled around to see Dean walking in. He didn’t look too happy either.

“Did you just find out that Sam’s been back for a year too?” I questioned, throwing away the old coffee grounds into the trash.

“Well yes,” he stated, “but that’s not while I’m upset.”

I had started plating the food by then, starting off with Ben’s since he was here and was probably hungry.

“What’s going on?”

I set a cup of coffee down in front of him.

“Sam needs my help hunting a Djinn,” he answered, “and I’m worried because the things might come after Lisa and Ben.”

Honestly, I should have seen that coming. Sam, despite being back from hell, wouldn’t have asked Dean for help if it wasn’t life or death. It made me wonder if they’d only come to drop off Dean's family or to ask me to help. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t jealous of Lisa, in fact, I was happy for her and Dean. It just hurt every time I saw them together.

“So that’s why you brought them to Bobby’s,” I whispered, buttering some fresh French bread, “so we could watch them while you guys hunted the Djinn?”

“Well actually,” Dean said, placing his cup on the table, “just for Bobby to watch them. You’re coming with us right?”

A small, sad smile appeared on my face as I lifted up Bobby’s plate while shaking my head.

“I don’t hunt anymore, Dean. When Sam jumped into that cage and you left to go live with Lisa and Ben, the two of you left me behind. So I just stopped hunting. Now I just clean up and cook while studying.”

“Studying?”

“I started going back to school. Granted it’s online but I figured I might as well get an education.”

It was silent between us, so I just walked away and headed towards Bobby with his breakfast. He was sitting at his desk once again when I arrived and graciously welcomed the warm food. I went back into the kitchen, where Dean was still sitting, and picked up the plate for Ben then headed upstairs to give it to him.

Lisa was unpacking their overnight bags when I reached the room they were staying in. Ben was sitting on the bed, playing some video game on his gaming device. Tapping on the door, I caught their attention and smiled welcomingly.

“Hey,” I said, “I’m Persephone, a friend of Sam and Dean’s. I made your son some breakfast if he’d like to eat.”

A smile appeared on her face in return, “thank you, Persephone. I’m Lisa and this is Ben.”

I didn’t tell her that I already knew her name, that would be rude. Instead, I shook her hand and placed Ben’s food down on one of the nightstands. He thanked me and started shoveling food inside his mouth fast. It reminded me of how Dean would eat when he was in a rush. Swallowing the forming lump inside my throat, I left the two of them to finish unpacking. Halfway down the stairs, I froze and gripped the railing tight. My heart felt like it was racing, tears were streaming down my cheek as I tried to collect myself. Wiping away the unwanted water leaks, I sighed softly and went downstairs. Sam and Dean were getting ready to leave when I made it to the main room. The two Winchester brother’s faced me when I entered.

“You sure you don’t want to come, Perse?” Sam inquired.

I held up my hands and giggled, “no thanks. You guys be safe.”

I hugged them tightly, almost relaxing when I felt the safety of their embrace. They said a final goodbye to Bobby and I then left for wherever it was they were going to hunt this monster. Bobby returned to his breakfast and I went into the kitchen to pack up the leftovers and clean up. Once the kitchen was tidied up, I headed back upstairs to my room to get some reading done. I had some homework assignments that were in desperate need of doing before midnight tomorrow and I liked to stay ahead of the clock.

Hours and hours passed before I finally passed out while reading my book. No dreams occupied my slumber while I napped, however, I was eventually awakened by the sound of someone knocking on my door. Stirring around in my covers, both eyes pried themselves open and stared at the dimly lit ceiling before looking to my right and seeing it was well past three o’clock in the morning. Another knock echoed throughout the room and I finally dragged myself out of the comforting quilt and onto the assaulting, cold floor. I rubbed my eyes to wipe the sleep away and pulled the door open. Lisa was standing on the other side, holding a plate in her hand.

“Bobby said that you were up here studying, and you missed dinner,” she said, “did I wake you?”

“Yeah,” I groggily whispered, “but it’s okay.”

I took the plate from her and saw that she had cooked some chicken noodle soup. It smelled great, reminding me of my early years in life when I still lived with my mom. She followed me inside of the room as I sat criss crossed on my bed with the soup in hand, smelling the melted butter on the toast. My eyes met the clock once again and was astonished to see that I had slept and studied for such a long time. It felt like only seconds ago that it was morning and I had just finished cooking breakfast.

“Persephone,” Lisa said while I slurped the soup up, “I’m sure you’re aware of the things Sam and Dean do, right?”

“Of course,” I answered before scooping another spoonful of soup in my mouth.

“How were you okay with it? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Dean and I understand that he’s gotta do what he has to, but sometimes I worry that he’ll come home hurt or something will follow him home.”

Though there was a ping in my chest when she said she loved Dean, I couldn’t help but smile at how worried she was for him. It was something that he definitely needed since he was always worrying about other people. I placed the plate onto the empty nightstand and scooted closer to the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to me. When Lisa sat down, I took her hands into my own.

“It’s a lot to process,” I whispered, “when I met Sam and Dean, I was so unsure about leaving everything I knew to travel with them and fight all of those monsters. But I know deep down in my heart that they would never let people they love get hurt and they’ll die trying to protect those they consider family. Especially Dean. What you can do for him, is just be there, even if it’s hard. Because at the end of the day, he needs that most of all.”

The two of us shared a hug before she agreed she would do her best to make Dean feel loved and secure. After saying goodnight to me, she retreated back to her room, closing the door behind her. When she was out of sight, I grabbed my soup again and slowly started slurping it up again. It was comforting knowing that she would be taking care of Dean. Once he came back, I’d persuade him to go back with Lisa, telling him that he deserved to be with someone that made him happy.

The next day came quickly and I hadn’t fallen back asleep after my conversation with Lisa, so I spent the rest of the entire night reading. Soft, illuminating rays of sunshine burst through the clear, white curtains in my room as I finished throwing on a short-sleeve, white, shirt that only tied close. Running my fingers through my brushed hair, I fixed up any lumps that were visible.

Bobby was asleep at his desk when I reached downstairs, so I went over to him and wrapped a blanket around his snoring body. Picking up his almost empty bottle of scotch, I carried it back to the kitchen to put it away and make a new pot of coffee. Wanting nothing more than to sit outside with a non-school book and my delicious morning nectar, reading as the sun played against my pale skin. There was no telling when Sam and Dean would be home, along with there being no way of knowing when they would wake up. So I wanted to get in as much peace and quiet as possible before the day began.

With the coffee cup in my right hand and a good book in the other, I sat on the back of one of Bobby’s rundown cars and started reading. Four chapters in and I was already getting up to make myself a second cup of joe. Just as I slipped off the back of the rusted car, Dean and Sam pulled up. The sun was only just inching towards the middle of the sky when they arrived. Both climbing out of their seats, I noticed that they were not only tired but relieved.

“How’d it go?” I inquired, “seemed pretty quick.”

“It went fine,” Sam replied, “except Dean’s got a big slash on his arm. They came right at us.”

I went over to Dean and saw that he had wrapped his cut in a cloth but the blood was still leaking through. Clicking my tongue, I shook my head while leading the two of them inside. Sam explained on the way that they had figured that the Djinn were targeting both of them, so they went back to Dean’s home and waited there. When Dean noticed that his friends and neighbors were being killed, he ran to help and ended up almost dying. But Sam helped him. The fight raged on but in the end, the Winchester boys came out on top. Sam went to wash up while I started taking care of Dean’s wound.

With the First Aid Kit laying beside me on the kitchen table, I unwrapped his wound and gulped at the sight of it. Dean chuckled.

“Makes you miss the old days, huh?” He laughed.

“Not really,” I giggled, “a lot of it may have been great but watching the two people I cared the most about get injured was never easy.”

“It was never easy watching you get hurt either.”

I cleaned up the wound and sprayed some of the cleaning solution on it causing Dean to wince. It made me laugh because of how soft he had become in the last year. After rewrapping the wound in a proper bandage, I threw everything else away and put the first aid kit back in its rightful spot. When I looked back at him, I saw that he was staring at his hands.

“Are you thinking about leaving Lisa and Ben?” I asked, returning to the table.

“I’m not sure,” he stated, “if I leave them, more monsters could show up looking for me and hurt them, but if I stay then even more monsters will show up and hurt them to get to me.”

“But at least you’d be there to protect them.”

His perfect, bright green eyes met my own darker, emerald ones.

“If you left Lisa and Ben today, then you would never be able to forgive yourself if they got hurt without you being there. However, I know, and Lisa knows, that you would do anything for the people you love. So maybe you being there is what’s best right now.”

The words seemed to sink in before he nodded in agreement.

“Then it’s settled. I’ll be going back with Lisa and Ben when they wake up.”

I squeezed his shoulder and sat down at the table. Running a shaking hand through my hair as a soft sigh left my lips. I don’t know what came over me, all of a sudden I felt that maybe I should say something to him if this was the last time I’d see him. I had no intention of breaking him and Lisa up but I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. It was practically tearing me up inside.

“Dean, there’s something I need to tell you before you go,” I whispered.

“What is it?” He asked, his eyes never wavering away from me.

My palms felt sweaty and my throat felt drier than I had ever felt before. Taking a deep breath, I faced him and smiled. I chickened out.

“I’m going to miss you.”

I went to go back to my room, but Dean grabbed my wrist stopping me from leaving. I clenched my fist tight and turned around, not ready to face him because I knew he could read my face like a book. He stood there holding my arm, not tight but not lightly so I would stay there.

“That’s definitely not what you were going to say,” he said, “tell me.”

With a final deep breath, I nodded my head, “I love you.”

His eyes widened and he dropped my hand, letting it drop to my side. I felt it sway before coming to a slow stop. Then I held it to defend myself.

“I’m not saying this to break you and Lisa up,” I said, “I want you to go with her and be there for Ben. But I also wanted to let you know, in case we never saw each other again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He croaked, and I thought that I could see tears in his eyes.

I could only shrug my shoulders, “with everything going on, it just didn’t feel right. And then you wanted to go live with Lisa after Sam was gone so I just never told you.”

Our conversation was interrupted by Ben and Lisa running into the kitchen, Bobby walking behind them, and embracing Dean. They were happy that he had come home with hardly any injuries. Dean wrapped his arms around them both but he was staring at me. I smiled sweetly, holding my hands in front of me while watching them be reunited. Lisa and Ben were ready to go home with Dean, and even though I knew Dean wanted to stay and talk more about what I had just confessed, I helped push him out the door. If he stayed any longer, I was definitely going to want him to stay forever. But I couldn’t be selfish. Sam, Bobby, and I stood at the front door and waved as the three of them drove off. When they were out of sight, my hand dropped. I felt Bobby place his hand on my shoulder and look at me with understanding.

I wasn’t sure when the next time I would see Dean again, but I knew that it wasn’t going to be any time soon. And if I was being honest, I didn’t want to see him again. He needed to be with Lisa.

#dean winchester #dean #supernatural #spn #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester one shot #supernatural one shot #supernatural imagines #dean winchester fanfiction #fluff #dean winchester fluff #imagines #one shot #fanfic #dean winchester x reader #smut #supernatural fluff

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secretsickysideblog · 3 years ago

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dumb lucky

"“you know my favorite color?” bucciarati slurs, brows furrowing. “anyway, it also came in purple, and black, and ivory, so I bought all of them, and uh…” “that’s cute,” bucciarati smiles, and abbacchio nearly dies at the way he looks while smiling unabashedly, weak as it may be right now. “you know my favorite color.”'

a mission takes bucciarati and abbacchio all the way to a town in piedmont where bucciarati finds himself fever-riddled in the midst of a snowstorm. abbacchio finds silver linings.

(sicktember day 1 - fever)

read under the cut!

It’s only tradition for things to go wrong for Passione.

Well, perhaps that’s a lie--normally, they get dumb lucky. But this means that when things go wrong, they go incredibly wrong in multiple ways at once. It’s only fair for the amount of times the gang has narrowly escaped death by the skin of their teeth. And Abbacchio is grateful that neither he nor Bucciarati are running the risk of death right now; it could be much, much worse.

But this mission could certainly be going much better. After all, Abbacchio never thought he’d be buying fever reducers in a little town in Piedmont, Italy as a part of the job of Neapolitan Mafioso. He hadn’t expected to be led all the way to Piedmont in the first place.

Easy mission my ass, Giovanna, he laments internally, rolling his eyes as he compares the prices between on and off-brand fever reducers. Abbacchio doesn’t usually bother to buy things like this, but Bucciarati’s fever--yes, a fever that had managed to swell up to a whopping 39 degrees overnight while on a mission--definitely needs to be treated.

He settles on both bottles, and he grabs a pack of water bottles, too. Abbacchio peruses the shelves, considering what else Bucciarati might need. He’d rather not come trudging out through this snow again if he could help it; it started coming down last night and hasn’t shown any sign of stopping since. He grabs another thermometer, a can of soup, and he’s about to head to the register when he spots something else that catches his eye.

It’s a large blanket in blue--Bucciarati’s favorite shade of blue (not that Abbacchio bothers to remember things like his Capo’s favorite color), and god, does it look soft. His gaze wanders to the window. Snow falls in clumps, kicked up into a white mist by the wind, and Abbacchio could shiver just looking at it. He does shiver thinking about the short walk back to the motel through that storm.

Abbacchio sighs, runs his fingertips over the inviting fleece. A blanket couldn’t hurt.

He grabs it and tucks it under the arm without the basket only to spot that there’s another of the same in purple. And another, in ivory? Abbacchio isn’t someone tempted by luxuries, but blankets in the cold seem like a necessity.

So he picks up both. Because Bucciarati has to sweat out the fever anyway, right? He’s too out of it to be angry, anyway.

Abbacchio lugs the three heavy blankets and the basket of various other supplies to the register, fishing around in his pocket for his wallet. The cashier looks over his selection as she rings up and bags each object, smiling fondly.

“Taking good care of someone, I see.”

Abbacchio huffs, lips quirking upward to a ghost of a smile. “Yeah, I guess I am. It’s about time he lets me.”

“These blankets are on sale, you know. Buy one and the other is half-off,” and, in an expertly-crafted manner of egging him into it, the cashier finishes her sell with, “Everyone loves a good blanket. Perfect to cuddle up under.”

Abbacchio doesn’t anticipate growing the balls to ‘cuddle-up’ with Bucciarati, but something about the idea sways him into it. He stares at the blanket shelf in consideration for a long moment before giving in and grabbing a fourth, this one in black.

The cashier is, clearly, proud of herself. Abbacchio can’t find it in himself to get as annoyed by this as usual. He did fall for her marketing scheme, after all. Can’t bitch about it if he gave in.

Altogether, he walks out of the store with five bags slung on his arms, four of which are occupied by heavy fleece and tied off to avoid any of the snowfall. His boots feel like weights as he trudges through planes of muddy white, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. His hands are freezing--he wishes he’d bought gloves.

When he finally returns to the motel room, Bucciarati is curled up on the bed. He looks just about the same as he did when Abbacchio left which is, admittedly, like shit. His hair, lacking its typical braid, fell in uneven layers wherever it wasn’t sticking to sweat-soaked skin. The only real color in his face is across his cheeks in bright, splotchy red, and though his eyes are closed now, they’ve been glazed over all morning.

Abbacchio shakes his head in disapproval, wondering how Bucciarati managed to just ignore this, because he knows damn well it didn’t just spark overnight. He must’ve been feeling at least vaguely unwell before they’d embarked on this (unexpectedly) lengthy journey. Abbacchio tells himself, as he has every time he starts thinking about how his Capo sucks at self-care, that he’ll just bitch at him about it later; criticizing a sick person is mean, and besides, there’s not enough cognizance in his fever-addled head to comprehend annoyance right now anyway.

He unties his scarf, shrugs off his coat, and unbags the items on the small coffee table in the room. Bucciarati stirs into half-lucidity, as told by the mix of a groan and a whine that slips from him after a bit of shifting around. Abbacchio looks over to him, seeing his hazy blues blink open, and he immediately grabs the bottle of fever reducers to force down his throat now while he’s just awake enough to swallow and not awake enough to protest.

“Here,” he holds out a bottle of water and two of the pills for Bucciarati to take, which he does after taking a second to process the command. He moves sluggishly, but he manages to get the pills down and put the water bottle on the nightstand. Abbacchio feels his forehead with the back of his hand, frowning at how much he’s burning still.

He goes to pull away. Bucciarati doesn’t let him, grabbing his wrist and holding his hand there.

“What are you doing?”

“Cold,” he mumbles, letting his eyes flutter closed again. “Feels nice.”

Abbacchio opens his mouth, closes it. Thanks the lord above that Bucciarati can’t see the way his cheeks heat up as though he’s contracted a fever. After a moment of hesitance, Abbacchio brings both of his hands up to cup Bucciarati’s cheeks, and the other man sighs contentedly.

“Well, if it’s cold you want, maybe you should go take a nap in the snow,” Abbacchio jokes.

“Hm,” Bucciarati takes a breath. “Perhaps I should.”

Abbacchio stares down at Bucciarati. At the way his eyelashes, dark and thick, fan out across his cheeks. At his lips, still pretty and pink and miraculously not very chapped. Even now, sick as a dog, Bucciarati is gorgeous. Abbacchio could watch him forever, he’s sure, but then he realizes how creepy he’s being and abruptly pulls away. Bucciarati’s eyes open with a dejected look to them, and Abbacchio reminds himself that it’s not because it’s his hands, it’s because his hands are cold and Bucciarati is delusional with fever.

“Uh, so, I got you two kinds of fever reducer, and you’re gonna take it whether you like it or not,” Abbacchio starts to say, clearing his throat. Bucciarati hums, half-listening. “I got water. A can of soup, if you get hungry, but since you just woke up I’m sure you’re not yet.”

Bucciarati doesn’t respond, so Abbacchio assumes he’s right. He’ll make him eat something later.

“And,” Abbacchio unties the other four bags, “I know you’re not looking to get warmer, but fevers have to be sweat out, right? I got blankets. They were on sale.”

Bucciarati almost whines, though it’s quiet, subtle. Abbacchio opts to ignore it, because it does nothing good for his heart.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but look, it’s your favorite color,” Abbacchio holds up the blanket in proud display. Bucciarati looks at it, but it’s clear that he’s not fully seeing it.

“You know my favorite color?” Bucciarati slurs, brows furrowing.

“Anyway, it also came in purple, and black, and ivory, so I bought all of them, and uh…”

“That’s cute,” Bucciarati smiles, and Abbacchio nearly dies at the way he looks while smiling unabashedly, weak as it may be right now. “You know my favorite color.”

Abbacchio takes the tags off the plush fabric and chucks it at Bucciarati. Bucciarati, as expected, makes no move to catch it. It takes him a minute to slip the fleece off of his head and onto his lap. This process is repeated four more times as a mountain of plush fabric piles up on the bed--the singular bed, which Abbacchio would be incredibly nervous about if this was a year ago, but they’ve been stuck in the ‘unfortunate’ one-bed scenario too many times for him to care anymore.

“This is...so many,” Bucciarati murmurs, staring down at the pile. He runs his thumb along the hem of the blue one. “They are soft, though.”

“I don’t know if you can feel how cold it is in here, much less out there,” Abbacchio gestures towards the storm just beyond the windows, “but we needed them. I don’t know how long we’re gonna be stuck here, between your fever and the bastard we’re after.”

Bucciarati nods, absently petting the blankets. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Falling ill,” Bucciarati says it like it’s the most obvious reason to apologize in the world. “We’re stuck here. It’s my fault.”

Abbacchio rolls his eyes. “Stop apologizing for things you can’t control.”

Bucciarati looks like he wants to protest, but then his expression turns confused as if his own thought process doesn’t make sense to him anymore. Abbacchio snorts at the sight and shakes his head before climbing into bed beside the other man and urging him to lay back down.

“I’m all sweaty.”

“I don’t care,” Abbacchio pulls one of the many blankets around them up to his shoulders, and another about halfway above that. He lets Bucciarati kick the others aside. “You’re warm, and I’m cold. I’m finding silver linings.”

Bucciarati chuckles a little. If he were any more coherent, he’d make a joke about Abbacchio’s usual pessimistic cynicism being an act; the latter is almost grateful, at that thought, for the fever. The wind howls outside as the storm picks up. It’s definitely not an ideal situation, but it could be much worse.

Bucciarati turns to nuzzle his face into the crook of Abbacchio’s neck. Tentatively, Abbacchio wraps an arm around him.

Maybe this was just dumb luck in disguise.

#sicktember #sicktember2021 #jjba sickfic #jjba fanfiction #jojo's bizarre adventure sickfic #bruabba #bruno bucciarati #bruno buccellati #leone abbacchio #bruno x abbacchio #bruabba sickfic #sick!bruno #caring!abbacchio #sickfic #fever #nice first post

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 3 years ago

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Let Me Get Close To You

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: This is my fic for my @starkerfestivals summer BINGO “wrong number” square. I sat down to write this a couple of days ago & just couldn’t stop - I hope you guys enjoy the cute little verse I created (that I’ll more than likely revisit soon!!). Here’s my bingo card - if you see something on there you might want written, shoot me a message!!! Word Count: 7K Warnings: There’s a tiny bit of smut in here, but it’s me writing, so when is that not the case? Summary:

Stuck with the worst professor for Nuclear Science, Peter tries to vent his frustrations to Ned - only to send a desperate text message to Tony Stark, instead. When an immediate spark and so many things in common make it easy for Peter to fall further for the elegant genius, what’s the worst that could really happen?

Or: the one where Peter texts the wrong number & romance ensues.

Read on AO3 here.

----

Fuming from a frustrating Nuclear Science class, Peter maturely stomped his way out of the engineering building. They were only two weeks into the semester and the old man already had Peter on edge. His major revolved around the class and his ability to get the most out of the information. The dinosaur that stood at the front of the lecture hall every day hadn’t had an original thought since the 90s and refused to see when others did. Much like every old white man, Dr. Milner’s ideas were the be all end all of a science that changed by the millisecond.

Still pretty new to campus after a late sophomore year transfer, Peter didn’t have many people to turn to that weren’t his nerdy and standoffish teammates on the Academic Decathlon team – most of those guys lived in a world a couple steps from the norm, happily keeping to themselves. Though Peter existed there eighty percent of the time, his need to be social and fill a space in the real world made it impossible to commit to that sort of isolation fully. Straddling the line made it difficult to exist on either side – Peter’s favorite pieces of himself were what kept people away, no matter the lifestyle.

With his mind so heavy with all sorts of negativity, Peter suddenly found himself homesick; he spent so much of his life trying to escape the streets of New York – so far from home now, Peter missed them desperately. Thinking about his tangible connection to his favorite urban wasteland, Peter pulled his phone out and hastily typed in Ned’s new number.

Peter Parker [1:23PM]: Hi, I hate it here. Peter Parker [1:24PM]: Dr. Milner is out to get free thinkers. I may not survive the next fourteen weeks.

Peter already felt a little better after typing the words – the mere ability to get one of his many worries off his chest did wonders. Until his phone pinged with a new text message notification, of course.

Nimble fingers pulled the phone from his pocket, his eyes carelessly looking over the screen as it unlocked. Expecting to see Ned’s name there, Peter almost threw the phone to the ground when Siri’s suggestion registered.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:26PM]: Hi stranger! I think this was meant for someone else, but I too think Dr. Milner is out to squash any new idea that doesn’t fit the mold. In his forty-year career, he hasn’t changed a bit.

Another text message was below it, but Peter forced himself to stop reading – his heart felt like it might beat out of his chest already, too much excitement at once couldn’t be good. Out of all the numbers he could’ve accidentally typed, Tony Stark, New York’s genius and resident beauty, Peter’s secret (though not so much) crush, ended up on the other side of the line. The unbelievability of the idea made Peter consider a well thought out prank. Then again, how did any of his fellow classmates know Tony Stark’s personal number?

Sucking in a deep breath, Peter made himself look at the second text message waiting unread.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:27PM]: I’m not sure how you got this number, but I sincerely hope you make it out alive. If you’re in Milner’s class, you’re on the Nuclear track, which means you must be smart. Trust me, the world needs your future contributions, whatever they might be.

Peter gripped the phone a little harder after reading through the second message over and over again. He let his eyes take in each of the words, wondering, if it really was Tony Stark, how anyone ever survived talking to him. In so few sentences, Peter already felt discombobulated, both more confident and turned around than just seconds before. Aside from his infatuation with the man, Peter understood Tony Stark’s contributions to the technology community and the world at large more than most.

It took him a few minutes to convince himself to text back – every time he tried to type something, his fingers froze just centimeters above the screen. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many questions he wanted to ask to make sure he wasn’t getting catfished. Instead, Peter took the direct route, his courage obviously all or nothing in the face of something as big as an accidental interaction with Tony Stark.

Peter Parker [1:35PM]: Holy crap – excuse me for the bluntness, but is this really Tony Stark? Siri doesn’t often get things wrong, especially since I souped her up. But I’m sure you can understand the apprehension. Peter Parker [1:37PM]: Would you be up for answering a few questions just to make sure?

The tip of his finger tapped against the screen impatiently after he hit the send button, his nerves and the not-so-subtle excitement were barely contained under the surface of his skin. He couldn’t remember a time where feeling alive was so prominent.

A smile slipped across his lips when, a moment later, three consecutive texts vibrated Peter’s phone in succession.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:40PM]: You souped up Siri? Steve Jobs is probably turning over in his grave right now. Maybe – Tony Stark [1:41PM]: I think I’m the one that should be asking the questions, don’t you think? How did you even get this number, Peter Parker? It’s a private line. Maybe – Tony Stark [1:42PM]: I am, though – Tony Stark, I mean.

Peter Parker [1:45PM]: Reconfiguring tech is kind of my thing. I used to dumpster dive in high school – you’d be surprised by the cool pieces of technology people put in their trash. Peter Parker [1:46PM]: Oh, bringing out the big guns – I’m happy to see Siri without my latest addition works for others, too. Peter Parker [1:47PM]: It was an accident, sending those first texts to you. My friend in New York just started a new job that came with a paid phone. I still haven’t saved the number. You are one off from him. Peter Parker [1:48PM]: Alright, Tony Stark. Tell me what campus I’m on.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:53PM]: I’m not surprised by anything human beings do, especially in New York City. Throwing out a perfectly good iPod is certainly not the weirdest thing I’ve heard of. Did you make anything interesting in your trash conversion adventures? Maybe – Tony Stark [1:54PM]: You talk a big game, Mr. Parker. Can you walk the walk, too? Maybe – Tony Stark [1:55PM]: He must be on my payroll, then. The bank of numbers my employees have come from my personal network. Maybe – Tony Stark [1:57PM]: That’s an easy one. You’re at MIT – Milner was there when I was a student. The only thing that’s probably different between then and now is the amount of hair the old bag has.

Peter Parker [2:01PM]: You’re not wrong, Mr. Stark. I made things that helped me be self-sufficient. I grew up really poor and couldn’t afford the things everyone else had – so I figured out how all the tech worked and made my own. I’ve been using a ten-year-old iPhone for ages. Peter Parker [2:03PM]: You bet. Are you challenging me? Peter Parker [2:04PM]: He is, actually. He started in an entry level position two weeks ago. Peter Parker [2:06PM]: It’s gross, isn’t it? I’m glad we’ve moved past projectors in the classroom – the hair on his hand would make for a distracting shadow. Peter Parker [2:07PM]: Okay, okay. I think I’m convinced. One more test, though – send me a picture.

Maybe – Tony Stark [2:14PM]: Oh boy, none of that Mr. Stark shit. As far as you’re concerned, I’m Tony. Only Tony. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:15PM]: You made your own. That’s – impressive. I’m impressed and more than a little curious. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:17PM]: Challenging you, no. Enticing you, yes. I’m visiting Cambridge to do a guest lecture series next week. Come see what Stark Industries is up to – I’d love to hear what you think. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:18PM]: It was as bad as you think. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:20PM]: Okay, Peter Parker. [IMAGE ATTACHED]

A gasp of shock left Peter’s mouth when he opened the last text to find a smirking Tony Stark looking right at him. To prove the time and date, Tony held up the New York Times, his free hand pointing to the headline Peter read on his phone earlier that morning. After the shock of actually talking to Tony Stark wore off, Peter let himself take in the picture and all of its details.

Tony’s desk was largely visible in the shot – pens and stacks of paper littered the surface, a few rogue pieces of tech ready to be fiddled with acted as paper weights and grungy aesthetic. The man himself was breath taking – his glasses were a deep violet, offset beautifully by the crisp white shirt and black waistcoat covering Tony’s upper body. A light purple tie was loosely knotted at his throat, as if he fiddled with it while working just to keep his hands busy.

Without much thought, Peter saved the photo and added Tony to his contacts before replying – there was no reason not to trust the man, the spark in his shiny hazel eyes seemed to genuine and real to even question.

Peter Parker [2:25PM]: Only Tony, got it. Peter Parker [2:26PM]: Curiosity is good – keeps you fresh and on your toes. Peter Parker [2:27PM]: Oh, I see. You want a chance to impress me. I like that. Not sure what my opinion is going to do for you, but I’ll be happy to share it. Peter Parker [2:29PM]: Gross. Peter Parker [2:30PM]: I’m – you’re… Wow. You really are Tony Stark.

Tony Stark [2:37PM]: I think you’ll have no problems keeping me on my toes, Peter. Tony Stark [2:38PM]: I have a feeling your opinion is one that I’ll be very interested in. You’ve been nothing but blunt this entire conversation, I know I’m getting the real deal stuff. Tony Stark [2:40PM]: I am. I really am Tony Stark. Tony Stark [2:41PM]: It’s your turn, Peter Parker. What face belongs to that beautiful brain of yours?

Forcing himself to breath, Peter looked around the room for the best spot to return the favor. The bed was a hard no, he didn’t want to send the wrong vibe to a person who could easily have whomever they wanted. His desk was small, but meticulously organized – his study materials open and ready for a night of reviewing the only thing obscuring the surface. It was obvious Tony appreciated his brain, it seemed pertinent to take advantage.

After a few attempts, Peter found the perfect angle to catch the light in his eyes, making them shine brightly in the camera. He thanked the clothing gods that he chose a well fitted three-button Henley in his haste to get out the door that morning. The feeling of satisfaction was new, but not unwelcome – he wanted to send Tony the photo; for once, he knew it would impress.

Peter Parker [2:55PM]: Keeping implies longevity. Are you planning on sticking around? Peter Parker [2:56PM]: My brain to mouth filter runs at less than 10% at all times. It has brought me more trouble than shutting up ever would. Peter Parker [2:27PM]: You’re gorgeous. Violet is a nice color on you. Peter Parker [2:29PM]: What do you think? [IMAGE ATTACHED]

Tony Stark [ 2:37PM]: Yes. I think that’s the answer to that question. You’ve presented a puzzle I want to solve. Tony Stark [2:38PM]: Shutting up never got anyone anywhere. The noise we create is what shapes us. Tony Stark [2:40PM]: Thank you – I have a lot of it in my wardrobe. Tony Stark [2:44PM]: & you called me gorgeous; Peter Parker, you’re a stunner.

Peter Parker [2:51PM]: You’re a scientist, you do that for a living. What makes me so different? Peter Parker [2:52PM]: That’s a refreshing opinion. I like the way you think, Only Tony. Peter Parker [2:54PM]: That honestly doesn’t surprise me. Peter Parker [2:55PM]: Do you tell the person who made you blush that you’re blushing? I don’t remember that standard operating procedure.

Tony Stark [3:01PM]: My intrigue is of a personal nature only – the puzzle you pose is of a different sort. Usually, I think and think and think until I solve whatever the problem is. With you, I want to gather all the clues and take it apart piece by piece. Tony Stark [3:02PM]: That’s a little heavy for only knowing each other a couple of hours, but when you know, you know. Tony Stark [3:03PM]: Not usually, but I have a feeling you’re an exception to a lot of things, Peter Parker.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, Peter continued to exchange flirty text messages back and forth with Tony – the mood stayed open and easy as the time passed. The older man helped Peter get through Nuclear Dynamics and three hours of decathlon practice. For all the brains Tony had, Peter was surprised to find humor and a bit of insecurity, too. Tony let himself go on tangents and make dad jokes that were a step away from being obscene.

That trend continued for the rest of the week and well into the weekend. By the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, Peter knew Tony’s schedule, half the newest late-night discoveries, and the way Mr. Sweet Tooth took his sugary coffee. Though a line of attraction and want existed, Peter was happy to know Tony as a person without the ability to act on the obvious tension between them. And while he appreciated the wholistic way they were coming to know each other, Peter couldn’t wait to see Tony throughout the week, either.

The older man seemed to share his sentiment – the shrill notification of a text message received pulled Peter out of his thoughts.

Tony Stark [7:30PM]: Hey, Pete! I present at 5:30 tomorrow afternoon. Want to grab something to eat afterwards? Tony Stark [7:31PM]: I’m impatient to get back to Hogan’s and thought you might appreciate his culinary prowess.

Peter Parker [7:35PM]: Tony – this is the fourth time you’ve reminded me about your presentation. I’ll be there. For dinner, too. Peter Parker [7:36PM]: Culinary prowess; if it merits that title, I’m sure it’ll be worth it.

Tony Stark [7:42PM]: I know – I just get some performance anxiety. It helps to remind myself that you’re going to be there. Tony Stark [7:43PM]: It is. Hap is an old friend of mine. He left MIT to go make his restaurant dreams happen and has been stupidly happy ever since.

Peter Parker [7:47PM]: I get it – I’ll gladly be your security blanket, Tony. Peter Parker [7:48PM]: Something tells me there’s more to that story, but I’m sure you’ll tell me one day. I’m excited to try it. Should I look up the menu beforehand, or let it be a surprise?

Tony Stark [7:55PM]: I like the sound of that. I’ve pictured having you in my arms often. Tony Stark [7:57PM]: There’s always more to the story, Pete. Let it be a surprise! In fact, I’ll order for you to make sure you get the whole newbie experience.

Peter Parker [8:05PM]: I’ll boldly say you can have me in your arms as often as you like. Peter Parker [8:06PM]: The newbie experience – there hasn’t been a time in my life where that’s been a good thing. Peter Parker [8:07PM]: Yet. Surprisingly – I trust you.

The next day went by quickly – Peter took a quiz in Nuclear Science and dug into his other two classes to keep his mind focused on anything other than Tony’s imminent presence. His last class was a core history class, so he gladly tucked into the reading the professor let them loose to do. The chime of his alarm broke through Peter’s fog a couple pages from the end of his assignment. Though he liked to be ahead, Peter gladly took the extra few minutes to get himself together before heading to MIT’s presentation hall.

Decked out in his finest pair of black jeans, a blue denim short-sleeve button down, and solid black high-top Converse on his feet, Peter walked the few minutes it took to get back onto campus from his small apartment. Unsurprisingly, a line was formed out the door of students hoping to get into the presentation last minute. Tony told him earlier in the week that they waited to advertise his appearance until the a few hours before to stop the masses from flocking. To Peter, the time restriction seemed to only make it worse.

In Tony’s excitement to have Peter there, the older man set aside a ticket for him – instead of joining the line like he might’ve without Tony’s insistence, Peter walked straight into the cool auditorium, snagging a seat at the end of a row located dead center in the auditorium. The vantage point was perfect – Peter wouldn’t have any trouble catching Tony’s eye as he spoke. Grinning at his access to such a simple pleasure, Peter relaxed back into the seat, passing the time until Tony took the stage by watching the crowd flood in around him.

It wasn’t long before the lights were dimming and a sweaty, high ranking alumnus gave Tony Stark a mediocre welcome onto the stage. The crowd broke out into a cheer that more than made up for the old man’s subpar words. Tony timed his entrance perfectly; he walked out as the energy rose, the shift in the crowd’s tension working to enhance everyone’s excitement. Peter found himself glued to the man, who until that moment, existed entirely on the other side of the phone – he didn’t want to miss a single second of full-body absorption.

A black suit coat sat snuggly on Tony’s shoulders, a singular button keeping the sides closed. His dark hair was elegantly styled, the bed-head look enhancing the easy-going style Peter knew Tony strived for. The facial hair Peter came to truly appreciate over the last few days of texting drew attention to his sharp cheekbones. Tony seemed genuinely happy to be there if the beaming smile on his face said anything at all. With a few claps and the corniest joke, the older man got the crowd under control, proceeding onto his speech with an effortless transition.

As expected, Peter found himself interested from the very beginning. Tony’s new work on energy and its uses amongst transportation and city overhaul was ingenious – when things got up and running, New York’s power grid would run completely on sustainable energy. So many thoughts flashed across the front of Peter’s mind – he wondered if Tony would let him take a look at the blueprints. He might not have much to contribute, yet Peter understood the opportunity for learning and development when it presented itself.

By the end of Tony’s presentation, Peter was overjoyed to know that he wouldn’t need to feign interest in the topics Tony brought to the table. For a while, Stark Industries went through a slump of working on weapons and junky tech Peter found in the trash more often than he ever wanted to admit. It felt good to be excited about something new coming from the company – Tony Stark was the smartest person in his field, anything less than almost perfect just didn’t do the man and his ideas justice.

After fielding a lot more questions than Peter expected, Tony headed off the stage with a roar of applause – the genius wasn’t a household name for nothing. Smiling at the thought, Peter pulled his phone out; he got to see behind the curtain more than others – he felt a sudden surge of gratefulness at the fact. Every person around him would do anything for the privilege; taking that for granted just wouldn’t do.

Peter Parker [6:45PM]: You’re an incredible public speaker, Tony. Peter Parker [6:46PM]: Thanks for making me come!

Tony Stark [6:49PM]: How inappropriate of me is it to say that this isn’t the only time I plan to make you come?

Peter Parker [6:55PM]: Very, but it’s appreciated, nonetheless. I’ll meet you over by the Engineering building whenever you’re done trying to outrun your fans.

Tony Stark [7:00PM]: You’re fucking hilarious. I’ll meet you there in five.

True to his word, Tony snuck up behind Peter a few minutes later – soft palms that gave way to well-earned callouses pressed against Peter’s cheeks as Tony covered his eyes. The mere fact that Tony was there at all was surprise enough; the touches and softly whispered “Hello, Pete,” in his ear felt like more than enough to cause a coronary.

Shaking his head to clear it, Peter turned in Tony’s arms, a huge grin playing across his lips. With the way they were standing now, Peter’s chest was pressed delightfully against Tony’s – he felt each and every one of Tony’s inhales of oxygen and exhales of carbon dioxide that brought Peter’s attention to the firm muscles pressing and pulling the man’s abdomen. His breath caught when Tony palmed his cheek, their mouths mere inches apart. Despite not actually knowing each other, Peter felt comfortable in Tony’s embrace.

“Hey, Tony,” Peter finally replied after allowing his breath to mingle with Tony’s. As they stood there pressed together, neither could decipher where one started and the other began. The thought made his grin grow a little wider, the courage inside of him pulsing a little more boldly with life. “You were amazing up there.”

Tony remained perfectly still; his limbs seemingly frozen in a clench to keep Peter close to him. His grip was firm, both the hand on Peter’s hip and his late day stubbled cheek. Like the man himself, Tony’s touch left something behind that kept Peter on the hook, always seeking more. He half expected for Tony to lean in and slot their lips together – his deepest desires and tangible wants were starting to collide in such close proximity.

Instead, Peter’s smile was returned with quirked cheeks and bright hazel eyes. “You weren’t too bored?” Tony asked, his voice soft in the small space between them. His thumb swiped constantly across Peter’s cheek, the obvious need to move apparent, even in such an intimate situation.

Chuckling lightly, Peter shook his head. “So far from bored. My thesis research is all about sustainable energy – you had me interested from the very beginning,” Peter replied almost immediately, not caring that his excitement clearly shone through in the pitch of his voice. The way he was leaning into Tony’s touch, Peter didn’t have much of a chance to disguise his truth, anyway.

“You’re so much smarter than you give yourself credit for – I can tell already.” Tony’s words were mumbled almost as if the older man was embarrassed to say them – to hand out such a compliment to someone other than himself. And yet – Tony’s hesitation made the statement mean so much more; the rarity of such kind words (despite being spoken so softly) did nothing but make Peter want to melt into Tony even further.

Before things could get too mushy or physical, Peter took a large step out of Tony’s arms – begrudgingly, the need for space was prominent if they ever wanted the night to continue. Never mind the fact that paparazzi were constantly hounding and following Tony wherever the man went. Though he was deemed an appropriate companion at the time, Peter was more than sure the public would not agree.

With that thought in mind, Peter shot Tony a shy smile – “I’m pretty famished. Want to show me what Hogan’s is all about?”

They spent the ten-minute walk talking about the presentation – Tony grilled Peter about a few of the technical parts, while Peter drooled a little bit over the projected uses of Tony’s new energy storage and production. Like two nerdy peas in a pod, neither could help themselves – geeking out and talking about something they were both interested in made the rest of the world melt away. Peter might’ve kept on his tangent if it weren’t for a tall, thickly built man clearing his throat.

Looking up at the noise, Peter realized they’d walked a few blocks already and were standing in the lobby of a well-maintained hole in the wall that radiated the most delicious smells. Grease and cheese and freshly dropped French fries hit his senses all at once – there was no doubt that whatever they were about to consume would be more than delicious.

Peter was seconds away from wiping drool from his chin when Tony broke out into action. He took the couple of steps between their current position and the hostess stand to wrap who could only be Happy in a firm, breathtaking hug. “Happy, my man. It’s so good to see you,” Tony exclaimed as he stepped away, an adorable look in his eyes. “I’ve been talking this place up to Peter here, thought I’d cash in on your good will.”

Suddenly, all eyes were on Peter – Tony looked at him like something he couldn’t wait to deconstruct, while Happy tilted his head curiously, as if the one glance would tell him all he needed to know about Peter Parker. Unwillingly to stand there like an animal on display, Peter broke through the weird with a soft laugh and a light wave.

“Nice to meet you, Happy. Tony’s been selling me on your food for days now. I can’t wait to try it,” Peter said, his shoulders rolling back to help him stand a little taller. Though he had nothing to prove to the total stranger in front of him, Peter couldn’t help but want to make a good impression – Happy obviously meant something to Tony; their comradery and easy affection said that without much effort.

There was a moment where all three guys seemed to look between each other – Peter watched with bated breath as Tony and Happy carried on a silent conversation with just a few blinks and forehead crinkles. By the time Peter understood what was happening, Happy stepped a little closer to him, his big hand reaching out for what could only be a handshake. Without hesitating, Peter took it – for whatever reason, the handshake felt monumental; like with the one touch, he beat the level boss and gained access to the next one.

“Good to meet you, too. Tony’s good about that sort of advertisement – we probably wouldn’t have made it without his ugly mug around at the beginning,” Happy replied. “You guys know what you want? I’ll get it on the grill personally.”

At that point, Tony stepped back into the spotlight and grabbed the reins – he ordered everything at rapid fire speed, like the menu existed as a hard copy in Tony’s mind. Considering the warmth of the older man’s welcome and Happy’s cryptic words, Peter didn’t doubt that Tony was a regular – more than likely a founding customer, even.

It took no time at all for their food to come out to the small table in the corner Tony led him to. The tray was piled with an abundance of food – cheese steaks, fries, burgers, even a couple of desserts littered the table as Tony unpacked their haul. Peter’s eyes were wide, his mouth watering with a want that only Zap’s Bodega could illicit before. “This – it all looks amazing,” Peter babbled, his stomach both hungry and overwhelmed by everything in front of him.

“Just wait until you taste it. Happy used to crank out these cheesesteaks on the little hot plate we had in our dorm room. They were excellent, but the addition of the flattop has made them unbeatable.”

Unable to decide what smelled the best, Peter grabbed whatever was nearest to him. His fingers wrapped around the greasy paper of the aforementioned cheesesteak, his mouth watering even more. “So, you and Happy were roommates at MIT?” Peter asked around a large bite, the food in his mouth muffling some of the words. It really was good – worth looking like a pig in front of the most beautiful man alive.

“Hap and I go way back. His father worked security at Stark Industries – he was on my dad’s personal protection team for most of my life. When Happy’s mom died and the need for babysitting became a thing, Happy started to spend the evenings with me after school. In a lot of ways, he’s the only family I’ve ever had. When he first opened up this place, I was young and just looking for some investment that would piss my dad off. I knew Happy had talent, but neither of us thought this place would blow up the way it did.” Tony looked up then, a vulnerability in his eyes. “We’ve been in business together ever since.”

Smiling encouragingly, Peter nodded in Tony’s direction – their closeness, Tony’s unwavering advertisement and protectiveness, even some of the food names he could see on the menu; it all made sense. After taking another bite of the cheesesteak, Peter chewed slowly before responding. “There’s always more to the story, right?” he questioned cheekily. “It sounds like your gamble worked out for you – I didn’t look at the menu, but I did Google Hogan’s; there’s ten locations within a 300-mile radius.”

A snort had Peter looking up, his eyebrows quirked. “I should’ve known,” Tony said through a laugh. “Your generation is all about instant gratification.”

Their eyes locked then, Tony’s words and their meaning sitting in the space between them. Peter forced himself not to blink – he wanted to memorize the rich hazel color that barely ringed a growing pupil. Hunger and want and something unrecognizable existed in Tony’s glance; when it was all over and Tony moved on, Peter desperately wanted to remember the genuine rawness he drew out of one of the world’s greatest minds.

“Or just impatience,” Peter countered. He drew his eyes away, needing to break the glance to stop himself from propelling himself across the table and tackle Tony to the ground. Though it looked as if Happy kept the place spick and span, Peter didn’t want to think about Tony’s expensive suit on any other floor aside from his own.

They attempted to pull the small talk back to something a little tamer, but the road of the rest of the evening had already been paved. It became harder to focus on anything other than the thick press of Tony’s thigh against his own under the table. As the minutes passed, Peter noticed Tony staring, and after a while, the older man just never stopped. Every time he looked up, Peter caught hazel eyes taking him in – undressing him button by button with the sheer want in his eyes. A red blush took up permanent residence on Peter’s cheeks and neck, the color following him out of the restaurant and out onto the street where Tony took his hand without hesitation.

Before his mom passed away, Peter remembered a softly mumbled conversation laying across both his parents early, early in the morning. His dad’s big fingers were wrapped so neatly around his mother’s, the embrace tight, despite the hour. Peter reached out to touch the unbreakable seam, his eyes wide with wonder. “They fit,” Peter whispered softly, his finger running reverently over their joint fingers.

His mother pulled him close then, her lips finding that special place on his cheek. “One day, Petey, you’ll find that perfect person whose hands will fit yours just the way your father’s fit mine.”

A warmth settled in Peter’s chest as he slid his hand into Tony’s, their fingers interlacing perfectly with ease. The immaculate fit of Tony’s hand pressing against his own made him snuggle in further – whatever happened between them after this, Peter would forever know how easily he and Tony Stark fit together.

Giving Tony’s fingers a squeeze at the thought, Peter looked up, breaking the silence – “Do you want to see my apartment? I’m sure it’s not nearly as fancy as the hotel you’re staying at, but I’ve got Netflix and a really comfortable couch.”

Tony took a few long strides to answer, his face a little pensive. “I’d love to see your apartment, Pete,” Tony replied easily. They came to a stop at the crosswalk – Tony used his momentum to pull Peter close to his chest while they waited out the light. “I don’t care about fancy. You’ll be there.”

While Peter had lots of things to reply, his words were cut off by slightly chapped lips eagerly pressing against his own. It took Peter a second to recognize what in the glorious hell was happening – when the reality of the situation finally registered, Peter surged forward, tilting his head to not only return the kiss, but deepen it.

Both of Peter’s hands found their way around Tony’s neck to keep him close – he felt like he might pass out from the sheer goodness of Tony surrounding him without the grounding touch. He was far from a virgin, but none of his previous encounters knocked him off his feet in such a way that made Peter feel like a fumbling newbie.

Sipping from each other’s mouths, Peter was surprised by a strange and unrecognizable voice coming from behind them – “the light’s changed, fellas.”

It took an obscene amount of effort to pull away – though the stranger’s words made his face burn with embarrassment, Peter was reluctant to step out of Tony’s embrace and the tantalizing press of warm lips against his own. Regardless of his trepidation, Peter reluctantly moved back.

He made sure to slip his hand into Tony’s before they set off again.

“I’m just another couple of blocks away,” Peter reassured, a hungry smirk on his face. Tony returned the look, their stride all of the sudden lengthening. Their walk turned from a leisurely stroll to a brisk half-run. If it weren’t for the want raging through Peter’s veins, he might’ve found the change hilarious. In all of their time together, Tony never expressed impatience – he always seemed calm, cool, and collected. Yet, in the face of heat and need and the promise of bare skin, Tony let that mask drop.

Happy to know a new something about Tony, Peter reveled in the pent-up silence that carried them back to his apartment. Snagging a ground floor unit close to the entrance, they luckily didn’t have to wait for an elevator or awkwardly pretend that they weren’t about to push the other against the wall and start ravaging whatever pieces of skin they could find. Instead, Peter impatiently pulled Tony behind him as they walked between building 1 and 2 with eager steps.

After some fumbling and a set of dropped keys, Peter finally got his door open and Tony through it. Without missing a beat, Tony pushed him back against the newly closed front door, their lips harshly joining. Groaning at the contact and suddenness of it all, Peter pulled Tony in – any space left between them was unacceptable now that they were in a private space where wandering eyes and clicking cameras couldn’t see. Their obvious passion was too much for the public eye; Peter so desperately wanted to keep Tony to himself – devouring him in a safe space was only the first step.

As Tony traced his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, Peter fumbled his hands down the older man’s chest until he could pull the crisp button-down from well-tailored pants. The second he was able, Peter shoved his hands under the soft fabric, his palms greedily pressing into Tony’s hairy chest. A groan left his mouth – the chest hair under his fingers was soft and teasing. Peter was caught between the urge to tug at the strands and lay his head gently against them just to feel the texture against his skin.

Tony made the decision for him – large hands were suddenly on Peter’s waist, his feet coming up off the ground with little effort. Unable to keep his hands where they were, Peter broke the kiss with a groan and shifted until he could wrap his legs around Tony’s hips. Peter panted for breath while his lips were still free as Tony navigated through the room blindly. Another soft moan left Peter’s lips when his back hit the pliable leather of his couch.

Where just moments before they were standing chest to chest, Peter now had the full weight of Tony against him. The older man fit seamlessly between his splayed thighs, their hips lining up in a way that made Peter’s cock pulse against the confines of his tight jeans. With a bit of shifting, their groins were matched – Tony’s thick cock felt sinful against Peter’s. If his impending orgasm was already upon him, Peter wondered what it’d be like when their clothes hit the floor and he really got to taste what Tony had to offer.

Like he was reading his mind, Tony made quick work of the buttons on Peter’s shirt. Calloused hands dragged up and down Peter’s bare chest as he pushed the navy fabric to the side – his skin was practically hairless, the only exception being a small trail of it leading down to the v of his jeans. Tony let his fingers play through that small amount of hair, his fingers teasing as they got closer to the one spot that Peter wanted him to be the most.

Deciding to take his mind off of the heat in his belly and the closeness of his orgasm, Peter returned the favor. His hands were shaky as he passed button after button through their holes. With a gasp, Peter spread the sides of Tony’s shirt to get the maximum impact of the older man’s torso. He liked what he felt before, but the view was something else – Tony’s chest was chiseled and cut, his pecs and abs straining with effort. Peter noticed throbbing veins and a few scars in his perusal; the evidence of Tony’s life and the way he lived it made Peter pull the man a little closer. Tony Stark drove him absolutely mad – every new thing he learned contributed to the insanity even more.

Before he could get lost in the thought, Tony’s lips were skating along his cheek, only to stop and caress the outer shell of Peter’s ear. “You feel amazing, Pete,” Tony babbled, his tongue peeking out to join in on the fun. “I want to taste you, feel your cock pulse against my tongue. You’re so fucking hard and I can’t fucking wait. Is that okay?”

Peter pulled back then, a soft grin pulling at his lips. In all of his sexual encounters, Peter couldn’t recall someone caring about him so thoroughly, let alone stopping to ask how he felt. Both hands came up to grip Tony’s cheeks until the older man was looking right at him. Through the haze of arousal, Peter recognized that warm spark in Tony’s eye – it was the look in that first picture that kept Peter coming back for more.

“It’s perfect, Tony. I’ll take anything you want to give me,” Peter said breathlessly. He leaned up for a kiss to drive the words home.

Tony looked genuinely happy when Peter pulled away – his cheeks were flushed with obvious arousal, his lips quirked in a saucy smile. Without saying anything, Tony nodded his head and travelled slowly down the length of Peter’s body. Nimble fingers made quick work of the button and zipper of his jeans before Peter could think or even draw his next breath.

Sturdy hands didn’t hesitate to pull at the waistband of Peter’s boxers – his flushed cock was already leaking as it came to rest casually against the firm abs of Peter’s chest. Tony’s calloused fingers immediately wrapped around the length, giving a tight squeeze to the base. The sheer feeling of his crush’s hands on him was almost enough for Peter to jump straight over the edge. Catching Tony’s eyes and biting down on his bottom lip was his only saving grace – the knowing look in beautiful hazel eyes pulled a chuckle from Peter’s chest, the noise distraction enough.

“Okay?” Tony asked again, the words were spoken with his mouth hovering just inches from the pulsing flesh of Peter’s cock. He could feel Tony’s breath against his sensitive skin, everything about the situation making it hard to articulate or think or exist as anything other than a melted puddle of goo against broken-in leather.

Peter took a couple of deep breaths before nodding vigorously. He felt a red flush travel even further down his neck and torso, arousal and embarrassment mixing together to create the ultimate aphrodisiac. He finally found his voice, muttering a choked off “yes” before the motor function of speaking left him once more.

After a heartbeat and then another where neither man moved, Tony gripped the sharp bones of Peter’s hips, pushing his lower body down against the cushions. They shared another look as Tony lowered his head, his pink tongue poking out to lick lightly against the leaky head of Peter’s cock. Hazel eyes stayed on him – Tony continued to lap along his sensitive skin, all while killing Peter slowly with the heat and want reflecting back. By the time Tony had all of Peter in his mouth, Peter was seconds away from being undone.

It’d been so long, and he’d wanted Tony since he understood what attraction was. Being pinned down by the person he desired longer than some of his friendships did nothing but magnify everything that was happening. His skin felt like it was on fire under Tony’s touch – the suction around his cock felt like it was coming from all angles, everywhere, all at once. Unable to stop himself, Peter moaned, panted, and shamelessly shouted Tony’s name as the blissful seconds passed.

The telling zip of a zipper being pushed down, and Tony’s hasty shift told Peter that Tony was similarly affected. He picked up his head to watch Tony suck his cock down while his right hand moved at the same pace – while he took Peter’s cock into his throat, Tony was stroking his own erection with sure strokes. As if the heat around him wasn’t enough, the beautiful visual of Tony taking his own pleasure pushed him those last couple of steps over the edge.

Bubbling heat in his belly boiled over. Peter frantically reached down to grip Tony’s shoulder, his mouth wordlessly shaping around warning words. “I’m – I’m… fuck, Tony. I’m going to cum,” Peter finally managed to gasp out. There was just enough time for Tony to pull away, to let Peter’s pleasure splatter on the blood warm skin of Peter’s stomach. Yet, Tony held fast, instead – he redoubled his efforts, his lips tightening and throat relaxing in invitation.

Unable to stop himself, Peter let go – his hips thrust up into Tony’s enticing heat, the man’s name dripping from his lips as pulse after pulse of cum left his body. Tony moaned around him, swallowing easily without pulling his mouth away or stopping his ministrations. The suction continued until Peter was reaching down halfheartedly to push at Tony’s soft curls.

While he caught his breath, Tony crawled up Peter’s body, a self-satisfied smirk on his red cheeks. Peter grinned at him, happiness and satiation rolling off of him in waves. Without thought, Peter pulled Tony tightly to him, their lips finding each other like opposite poles of magnets drawn together by the sheer force of nature. Tony shared Peter’s taste with him, his talented tongue thrusting into Peter’s mouth with a shared groan between them. It was all so hot; Peter felt his spent cock already starting to come back to life.

With that thought in mind, Peter started to reach down to help Tony finish achieving his own pleasure; yet his hand was batted away with affectionate finesse. Peter shifted until he could meet the honey hazels he was already addicted to, a question in his eye.

“There’s no need,” Tony mumbled, his face tucking into the skin of Peter’s neck. “You’re so sexy, I couldn’t help but touch myself. The way you look in the throes of pleasure – it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

“Holy shit.”

Tony chuckled at the awe in Peter’s voice. “My sentiment exactly.”

For a while, they stayed stretched out on Peter’ couch, exchanging kisses and greedy touches on all the bare skin either could reach. Without so much adrenaline coursing through his system, Peter felt himself melting even further into the comfy cushions below him. After a jaw breaking yawn, Peter reached up to cup Tony’s cheek, pulling the man’s attention towards him.

“Want to stay over?” Peter asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. Though they were spent and wrapped up in each other, Peter wasn’t sure where Tony stood. There was a big difference between the type of intimacy physical touch and sleeping next to another human being required. The last few days, Peter fell asleep with Tony’s messages open on the bed next to him – actually sleeping side by side, in person, that was a whole new step for them.

Tilting his head to the side, Tony shot Peter a tender smile before nodding and leaning down to press their lips together.

“Yeah, Pete – I want to stay.”

#starker #starkerfestivalsevents #starker festivals summer bingo #bobbie writes #let me get close to #peter parker/tony stark #starker fic #sfsummerbingo21

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gubler-me-up · 4 years ago

Text

Outside the Box

Request: It do be a sad day. So could i request a Spencer x Fem reader where she’s tall and heavier and she really likes Reid but he doesn’t know and she’s always comparing herself to JJ? And like one day she skips work for mental health day and he comes over and she tells him her insecurities and he’s all like “but I love that about you!” And they share their feelings? Thanks

A/N: Thanks for the request, @spencers-hoodrat! I hope it don’t be a sad day any longer and this fic cheers you up ❤️ I hope this fic does justice for your request and you find comfort in it! (PSA to everyone you’re all beautiful angels and deserve the world) Happy reading!

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content warning: None

Word count: 2.3k

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

You walked into the bureau early Monday morning feeling a sense of dread overwhelm you. Throughout the whole weekend, you had contemplated not going in on Monday. You felt off. Every time you passed a mirror you found yourself fixated on the image reflected at you.

“Hey, Y/N. How was your weekend?”

You turned around and saw Spencer walking towards you. You felt a sense of discomfort as you saw him. Did he feel as if you were disproportioned as much as you did? Being on the taller side was bad enough, but with the extra thigh fat and stomach weight made you feel almost undesirable.

You smiled at him. “It was fine.”

You could tell he didn’t believe your answer. It was hard being friends with profilers because they were always one step ahead of your lies. How do you tell someone you like your insecure about your height and weight comfortably? To tell him you felt disgusted with yourself and wished you were in a different body.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. Enough about me though, how was your weekend?”

“It was pretty fun actually. I was apart of a chess tournament at the park on Saturday. Super intense gameplay,” he said.

You giggled as you both walked towards your respective desks. The one thing you admired about Spencer the most was he didn’t know how funny he could be at times. He just lived his truth and wasn’t phased by how it may come off or if it made sense to anyone else. You wished you could live your truth as well.

As the two of you continued small conversation as you both got settled for the day, your eyes couldn’t help but wonder to JJ. She had just walked in with her perfectly slim and petite body. You stared at her as she walked to her desk to unload her files for the day. You felt rude for not looking at Spencer while he talked, but you always fell into a deep abyss of wishing you were smaller.

JJ looked up at you with a smile and waved. You smiled back and waved as well to not seem weird for staring at her for so long. Spencer turned around to look at JJ as well to greet her a loving good morning. You watched them interact with each other. The way he looked at her with so much love in his eyes was ridiculous. You wished he looked at you like that, but you didn’t blame him for not looking at you that way.

“Y/N?”

You looked up to see a concerned Spencer and JJ looking at you. You had zoned out as they were talking, not even realizing they had included you in their conversation. You snapped out of your thoughts and put on a smile for them.

“Sorry, guys, I’m just a little tired. What were you saying?” You asked.

“We were just wagering bets on if we’re gonna get a case today or not,” JJ said.

“I hope we don’t. I wish the weekend had been longer,” you said.

“You and I both,” JJ said.

“I kind of hope we get to do something brain-stimulating today,” Spencer said.

“Spence, you think going through 20 case files in five minutes is a fun time,” she said.

You eventually zoned out their back and forth bickering as you once again found yourself thinking about if life would be better if you weren’t you. Maybe you’d get more compliments from people. Maybe you’d actually have a boyfriend. Maybe Spencer would give you the time of day the way he gave JJ.

It had always been hard for you to find the confidence to be yourself. You always felt out of place in your friend group. You felt physically overbearing. One time a guy asked if you were into football because you’d be an amazing quarterback. That was his idea of flirting with you. Little remarks like that stuck with you for years. It was hard to see yourself for more than just your physical attributes since no one bothered to look past them.

One night you and the BAU ladies went out for some drinks. No surprise every guy’s eyes were fixated on JJ until they saw that ring on her finger. No one looked your way, not even once. If random strangers didn’t give you the time of day, you felt as if no one in your everyday life would either.

You felt tears starting to form in your eyes. You had shot up from your seat to go towards the kitchen. You couldn’t let JJ and especially Spencer see you crying. They would inquire about your mental state and you weren’t ready to tell them about your disgust with yourself. You didn’t want to bother them with your negative feelings. You could barely handle them yourself.

————

You decided to take the day off on Tuesday. You hadn’t told anyone besides Hotch you needed a sick day. You told him how you believed you wouldn’t be any value in the office with your state and opted to work from home. Hotch agreed to let you do that but told you not to push yourself. Sometimes he had a real soft spot for his team.

You tried to get through as many case files as you could in the morning, but you felt mentally drained. You found yourself not focusing properly on any of the information you had to read. After you struggled to get through 10 case files, you decided to give your brain a rest. You told yourself you would only nap for two hours.

When you had opened your eyes, you saw through the window the sun was already setting. You turned over on your bed to reach for your phone on your side table. You checked the time and let out a deep sigh. It was nearly 6 p.m. You forced yourself out of bed and made your way towards the kitchen to see what leftovers were still good to eat.

You opened your fridge and saw a bowl of this pesto penne recipe you tried a few days ago. It was pretty good but you didn’t feel like filling yourself up with carbs. You decided it might be a better decision if you grabbed an apple and went to do some work. You had already wasted time laying down not being any use.

You closed the fridge and walked over to your counter to grab an apple from your fruit basket. Before you sank your teeth into it, a few light knocks came from your door. You groaned as you put the apple down. You guessed dinner had to wait a while longer.

You walked over to the door expecting to see a package delivery you had forgotten you ordered. Someone should really take away your access to online shopping. You only indulged in it so much because you hated going into stores to try on clothes. You felt so embarrassed and judged. At least if you ordered clothes online you could try it on in the safety of your house and ship it back if it didn’t fit.

As you opened the door you were surprised to see Spencer standing there in his usual brown corduroy jacket, purple scarf and tan satchel. He was tightly holding a paper bag in his right hand. It seemed as if he didn’t go home after work considering he hadn’t finished long ago. You looked at him confused as if he lost his way home.

“Hey, Spence. What’s up? What brings you to this part of town?” You asked.

“I noticed you weren’t at work today and I asked Hotch if you were okay. He told me you weren’t feeling good, so I decided I’d pay you a visit after work to give you some soup,” he said.

He held up the bag of soup for you to take. You smiled and soon found yourself letting out a little giggle as you accepted his soup. It was cute how he believed you were physically sick. It was better than him knowing why you actually took the day off.

“Thanks, Spence. I don’t wanna get you sick, so I’ll talk to you later,” you said.

“You’re not actually sick, are you, Y/N?” He asked.

“I am,” you assured him.

“Not physically. No stuffed nose, no cough, no sweating, no puffiness under your eyes, no-”

“Okay, Spencer. I’m not physically sick. I just needed today for myself, that’s all,” you explained.

The way he looked at you confirmed his profiler mindset was kicking in overtime. He wasn’t about to leave you without a solid answer. He was stubborn that way.

“Y/N, if you want to talk about whatever’s bothering you, we can talk,” he assured you.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Can I at least keep you company for now until you decide to tell me the truth?”

You weren’t ready for him to say that. He had never been inside your place before. He had never even asked to before. You didn’t know he was invested in your wellbeing so much.

You sighed and stepped aside. You gestured for him to come in and he did. You locked the door and then turned around to see him with his hands in his pockets, looking at you with the same concern.

You smiled. “What’s wrong now? Don’t like my place?”

“No, your place is wonderful. I just don’t like seeing you so…defeated,” he said.

“Defeated? That’s an interesting word choice,” you said.

“I saw it in your eyes yesterday. You were in deep thought and it brought tears to your eyes. It looked as if you were reflecting on yourself.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You zoned out on JJ before you lost yourself in thought. I don’t really know why and I just want to know if everything’s okay with you mentally.”

You took a deep breath as you tried to avoid the tears stinging in your eyes from making an appearance. You hadn’t thought he noticed you at all yesterday since he was in deep conversation with JJ. He made you feel as if you weren’t invisible in his eyes.

“I’m okay. I just…”

“It’s okay, I’m here. You can tell me anything.”

When he said that you could feel the tears rush down your face. It was as if he knew the right words to say to you to break free of keeping everything in your mind. You saw as he watched you with patient eyes as you tried to gather the right thing to say.

“I-I…I never liked what I saw in the mirror,” you confessed.

“Why not?” He asked.

“I’m tall and on the heavier side. I look as if I play for the NFL. It’s embarrassing to even stand beside anyone smaller than me because I look like some sort of Goliath.”

“Y/N, I know it’s hard for you to believe this right now, but you’re not the size of a football player or Goliath. Comparing yourself to people smaller than you isn’t healthy.”

“I try not to compare, I really do. It’s just hard when you’re surrounded by beautiful, petite women everywhere you go and I’m just…”

“Just as beautiful.”

You calmed your sobbing as you looked at him confused. You didn’t know if you imagined him calling you beautiful or if he had actually said it. By the way his cheeks had turned a light shade of pink you assumed he had said it and meant it. You didn’t exactly know how to respond to that. You couldn’t even recall the last time a man complimented you without inserting comments about your stature.

“I admire you, Y/N. You’re an amazing person with amazing talents and you’re beautiful. You don’t fall into the box society tries to market to us as the “norm”, which I love that about you. I know it might feel as if this is coming out of the blue, but it’s my fault for not telling you how I felt towards you sooner,” he confessed.

“You…You like me? For real?” You asked.

He nodded. “For a while now. Morgan said if I didn’t tell you soon he was going to do it for me, but I just didn’t know how to express it perfectly. I also didn’t want to make things awkward if you didn’t feel the same way back.”

“I do,” you quickly replied.

He smiled. “That was easier than I anticipated it to be for all these months.”

You looked at him shocked. “Months?”

“Yeah, I’ve been admiring from afar for a while now. That’s not really important right now though. What’s important is that we sit down, have some soup and I can help bring some positivity to your day.”

You smiled as you walked up to him and embraced him in a big hug. He wrapped his arms around your waist and held you tight. You hadn’t felt so comfortable with someone holding you like that in a while. You let go of him and held up your bag of soup.

“What type of soup is it?” You asked.

“Vegetable soup,” he replied.

“Huh, maybe you do like me after all.”

“I couldn’t imagine someone who doesn’t.”

You smiled widely at his sweet words as he wiped the tears away from your eyes. You looked at him and felt as if a warm aura was surrounding you. You couldn’t resist but to lean in and kiss him. He kissed you back as he held your waist and pulled you close to him. If this was the way he expressed love, you didn’t think there was anyone else in the world who could compare.

—–

MASTERLIST

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sitp-recs · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I've recently started reading Drarry on ao3 and I wanted to ask you for recommendations of good and cute fics (with a happy ending please) that are long (maybe more than 50k) sorry for all the requests. Hope you have an amazing day!

Welcome anon! I’m so happy you’re enjoying the fandom ❤️ to be honest I don’t read much fluff in general, especially when it comes to long fics, but I think you might like these. I consider them ultimate feel-good stories and despite the occasional bit of angst, they all have wholesome happy endings. Enjoy!!!

Another Heart Whispers Back by @slytherco (2020, E, 53k)

At twenty-five, Harry Potter is still a virgin and sorely lacking in options to change that state anytime soon. To help him find a plus one for Ron and Hermione’s wedding, and maybe kill two birds with one stone, Harry’s friends set him up on a series of blind dates. The only problem is, there’s something not quite right with each of their candidates. In which Harry learns that some things are worth waiting for, that looking and seeing are two very different things, and that his heart’s song has been heard a long time ago.

Stately Homes of Wiltshire by waspabi (2016, E, 57k)

Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (2020, E, 61k)

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is. And it really doesn’t seem fair that Draco Malfoy is back in Harry’s life, all of a sudden, and even though he’s wandless, and living with Muggles, and making his mother cry with his lifestyle choices, he’s happy. So what's he doing right, that Harry isn’t?

The Promise of Summer by Omi_Ohmy (2019, M, 66k)

How was Harry supposed to know that coming back for eighth year would be so confusing? Everything is the same, and yet not the same. And nowhere is this more obvious than with Draco Malfoy. Harry finds himself once more watching and following Malfoy, trying to work him out. When they are drawn together to heal the castle, Harry doesn’t just find Malfoy - he also finds himself.

Headlights in the Snow by Saras_Girl (2016, M, 71k)

What’s big and purple and smells like tea? Harry is about to find out.

Right Hand Red by @lqtraintracks (2015, E, 73k)

Harry felt Malfoy's breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory. Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy. Malfoy felt inevitable.

Criminal by @the-sinking-ship (2020, E, 83k)

Things were going just fine for Draco Malfoy. He successfully conned and counted cards across Europe and America, amassing a small fortune, along with a lengthy rap sheet. That was until he made the grave mistake of returning to England for a high stakes card game and got himself caught – by Harry Potter no less. Now, Draco is stuck in England under Auror Potter’s guard with no friends, no distractions, and no escape. How the hell will he pass the time? And since when did Potter get so bloody fit?

Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run by waspabi (2016, T, 93k)

‘You're a wizard, Harry' is easier to hear from a half-giant when you're eleven, rather than from some kids on a tube platform when you're seventeen and late for work.

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) by nerakrose and dustmouth (2018, M, 96k)

Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry. Features: Little League Quidditch, an abundance of bath bombs, happy endings, and gay robots in space.

Soup-pocalypse and The Great Curry Cataclysm by SquadOfCats (2018, E, 104k)

Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria.

Written on the Heart by who_la_hoop (2016, E, 113k)

When he’s hit by an illegal love-spell though, Harry finds he has more to worry about than whether or not Blaise Zabini actually wants to be his friend. For if everyone affected has been blessed – or cursed, by the look on Malfoy’s face – with a magical tattoo revealing the name of their soulmate, what does it mean that Harry’s skin remains completely bare?

What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym (2017, M, 131k)

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

#anon #asks #long fics #fluff

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avengerscompound · 4 years ago

Text

Until the End of the World - 13

Until the End of the World: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 2085

Rating: E

Warnings: pregnancy

Synopsis: Four years after Steve and Bucky got to the bottom of the HYDRA conspiracy that had led to you and your son being hunted for the first three years of his life, you, Bucky, and Steve have carved out a nice life together. Things are calm and you feel like a family unit. When Geo starts calling Bucky and Steve ‘dad’, a decision is made to try and add to your family.

Things aren’t as calm as they seem. When your pregnancy hits the papers, HYDRA rears its head once again, and Steve and Bucky need to track you down to protect the family they had created.

Chapter 13

The paperwork was all put in to adopt Geo. Steve had put his lawyers on it, petitioning to allow both he and Bucky to go onto the birth certificate as adoptive parents, while you also kept your legal rights as a parent too. The lawyers had said for everyone not to get their hopes too high, it was hard to be the precedent, but they were on it. Bucky hoped it worked. He read that in Canada there had been not only a lesbian couple that had been allowed to have both mothers and the donor father listed on the birth certificate of a child, but also a polyamorous family with two fathers and a mother all listed as parents on their child’s birth certificate too.

Bucky hoped that maybe if both he and Steve could adopt Geo, it would lead to both being listed on their little girl’s birth certificate too. He hadn’t brought up his idea to go to Canada to have the baby yet. It might be a little much to convince Steve to have a Canadian baby considering who he was. But he might if it meant they could both be listed as her parents.

For now, Bucky would keep his fingers crossed and hope that the world might just surprise him and accept him and his family for what they were, even if maybe that was more than he’d earned yet. There were other things to worry about.

The apartment was finally finished and you, Steve, Bucky, and Geo were moving your things back in. It wasn’t a huge job, as almost everyone’s belongings had stayed in the apartment and just been covered in drop sheets while the work was done. But still, there were clothes and Geo’s toys and random miscellaneous items that had drifted to the guest apartment they’d been using while construction had been underway. Not to mention, even though all their things were there, the new rooms were empty and things needed to be reorganized to fit the space.

Bucky and Steve were in charge of moving the larger things, while you and Geo did smaller runs back and forth with clothes and toys and went about putting up pictures in new places and spreading out nicknacks.

“The baby doesn’t have a bed yet,” Geo said as nosed around the rooms, trying to get a feel for the new space.

The nursery had been done. It was painted a light purple and Steve had been spending some of his free time painting a forest mural on one wall, but aside from the furniture they’d had built-in, like the wardrobe and sets of drawers, the room was still completely empty.

“We wanted to wait until the place was ready before we bought any,” Steve answered, ruffling Geo’s hair as he passed him in the hall, one large bag hefted over his shoulder. “Did you want to go out and help us pick when we do that?”

Geo shrugged. “I don’t mind. I wanna buy her some toys.”

“We can do that,” Steve agreed.

You came out of the bedroom and dragged the drop sheet off one of the couches, before flopping down on it.

“You okay, babe?” Bucky asked, stopping near you with his arms full of clothes.

“Yeah. Just my back is aching and the baby is kicking me so much,” you complained.

“Let me just put this down and I’ll come and rub your back,” Bucky said, carrying the things into the bedroom and dumping them on the bed. He came back out and removed the drop sheets from all the furniture and took a seat beside you. “Can you get in a comfortable position?”

You got on your knees and leaned over the arm of the couch, resting your head on your arms. Bucky began to gently work out the tension in your lower back. Steve came back through the room followed by Geo as Bucky began to feel your muscles relaxing.

“Maybe it’s a good time for a break anyway,” Steve said. “Do you want a drink?”

“Lemonade, please,” you half-moaned.

Geo sat down on the recliner and popped it out. He was still quite small and in the large chair, he looked tiny. His legs barely went over the side even when it wasn’t in the recline position. He grabbed his tablet and immediately began playing a game with FRIDAY. His eyes flickered as he communicated with her using his technopathic abilities.

Steve bought over a tray with a jug of lemonade and five glasses. “Do we want to order lunch in?”

“Yes, please,” you moaned.

“Maybe you should rest and Bucky and I will finish unpacking,” Steve suggested.

“Gee, thanks for volunteering me, pal,” Bucky teased, earning a soft laugh from Steve.

Steve grabbed his phone and started to flick through it. “What are we feeling? Subs? Something from a deli? Something a little more hearty?”

“I’m feeling sandwich and soup, and a pickle on the side,” you said.

“I’m fine with that,” Bucky said, his hands sliding up your back a little while he massaged you.

“Geo?” Steve said. “You want soup and a sandwich?”

“Mac and cheese, please,” he answered without looking up.

Steve chuckled. “Always have to make things difficult. I’ll see what I can find.”

He tapped around on his phone for a little while before he found somewhere and then handed his phone to you. You added some things to the cart, while Bucky massaged you. “What are you feeling, Bucky?” You asked, holding the phone for him to see.

“The Italian and-” his eyes flicked over everything as you scrolled down. “-the loaded baked potato.”

You added them and sent the order in. Bucky kept massaging you back and for a while that the only sounds in the room were the hum of the aircon, the tap of Geo’s fingers on the screen of his tablet, and the groans you would make when Bucky hit a particularly sensitive spot.

Eventually, you seemed to tire of the position you were in and you sat back, and put your feet in Bucky’s lap. He immediately began to rub your feet.

“The good news is, we’re nearly done with the big things,” Steve said. “We still have to spread out into the extra space, but there’s no rush to do that.”

“That’s good. Your daughter is kicking the hell out of me,” you said.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Steve said. “And she’s a little super soldier.”

“Yeah, be careful she doesn’t break one of your ribs,” Bucky said and ran his hands up your leg and pressed it against your stomach.

“How am I supposed to be careful?” You snarked, moving his hand so it was in a better position. No one else had been able to feel the kicks yet but this was a normal routine for the family. You’d tell them you could feel the baby. Steve or Bucky would put their hand on your stomach. You’d move it to the spot you could feel them, and then nothing would happen. Bucky lived in hope though. It had to happen sooner or later. “She’s inside me. What can I do to stop her?”

Bucky chuckled and leaned over and kissed your forehead. “Nothing with that attitude.”

He sat back and pressed his metal hand down against the baby bump where you held it.

He wasn’t particularly fond of his metal arm. Sure there was this objective part of him that appreciated the technology. It was very advanced, even for today’s standards for prosthetics, and he had always been a big fan of technology. He appreciated that it allowed him to function easily. He could get by without it and had done for a while and despite the fact, his hair would get caught in it from time to time, it did make it easier to do things like washing his hair and fastening the buttons on his clothes.

However, there were a lot of issues too. It was heavy for one. He had to lean to the right to compensate, which made his back ache on the best of days and meant his gate was a little off, and if he had to do a lot of walking or running, his hips would be screaming at him by the end of the day. The new one was lighter but it still wasn’t as light as his flesh and blood arm. The way it connected to his body caused problems too. He wasn’t exactly sure they were all physical problems, or just in his head, but the way the skin rubbed against metal was irritating, and he knew, at least originally, HYDRA hadn’t cared about him, just the arm, so the connections weren’t the best, and they hurt all the time, sometimes sending painful spikes right to his head. He used to scratch at it a lot like he was trying to dig the metal out of his flesh. The problem was, all that should have been fixed with the new one, but he still felt it from time-to-time and he’d still find himself stretching at it.

It was how it made him feel about himself that was the worst. Even though this was a new arm, it served as a constant reminder of what had happened to him. It was an ever serving trigger to his past torture and enslavement. It meant that he was never going to be a person first. It was always the weapon, and then the person. If he ever got too comfortable in his place at home with you and Steve he just had to look at his arm and remember, he wasn’t a boyfriend and a father. He was a weapon who was lucky enough to have something to come home to.

It was advanced though. He could hold it against your stomach and feel the texture of the fabric of your clothes and the slight movement of your body shifting under him. He didn’t exactly know how they’d made it so he had such fine control and was able to perceive touch with it, but it worked. Not as well as his real hand, but enough that he would use either when testing fruit for ripeness, or the temperature of water. He’d never really appreciated that before. But when he felt that press from inside you as the baby kicked, he had never appreciated that prosthetic arm more.

“Was that her?” He asked, sitting up quickly. “I didn’t just glitch did I?”

Steve moved so fast that one second he was over on the recliner and the next he was on his knees beside you. “You felt her?”

“She did kick there, so … yes?” You answered.

Bucky switched hands, pressing down on your stomach. It was like the baby pushed back against him, trying to repel the thing intruding on her limited space. “I felt her. It’s soft, but I can feel her.”

Steve pushed Bucky’s hand out of the way and pressed his hand where Bucky’s had just been. It took a moment but Bucky saw exactly when their daughter kicked because Steve’s face lit up from within. So much happiness and love and excitement were written on his features. He leaned down and pressed his forehead on your stomach. “Hey in there,” he whispered. “Are you giving your mommy trouble?”

Bucky looked over at Geo. “G, you want to feel the baby kicking?”

Geo looked up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, bud,” you said, waving him over. “Come feel your sister.”

He slid off the recliner and came over, Steve made room for him and guided the little boy’s hand to the stop on your stomach where the baby was kicking. He looked down furrowing his brow. “Does it feel like a little bump?” Geo asked.

“Yeah, like a twitch. She’s still very very small,” you explained.

“I feel it,” he said grinning. “That’s my sister?”

“Yeah, that’s her,” you said.

“You think she’s giving you a high five, bud?” Bucky asked.

Geo giggled and nodded. “Yeah, she is.”

Bucky chuckled and rubbed Geo’s arm. It was strange, he hated his metal arm, and yet, it was what drew Geo’s attention that day he met you, and now it was the one that felt the baby kick first. It was a sign of so many things that were taking from him, and now it was bringing him new, amazing things. Maybe he could start seeing it for the positives too.

// NEXT

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #pregnancy #until the end of the world

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guqin-and-flute · 4 years ago

Note

I love the Yanli/JGY verse so so much, so in the hopes that a prompt might help there be more of it: JGY, being a very observant genius and all, figures out Something Is Up with WWX's core, and since what A-Li wants is to take care of Her People, and because what A-Li wants, JGY will make sure she gets, he and Yanli work together to deal with it?

[Ahhh thank you so much!! Well, THIS went off in a direction I didn’t expect, but thank you THANK you for the fascinating prompt! TW for: canon-typical alcohol use, mention of an injury, heavily implied offscreen self harm, but for a very specific reason? It’s not for self injury/mental health reasons]

[First post in Yaoli/Peony to Lotus!verse]

Wei Wuxian stared moodily out at the sunset drenched lake, sprawled on one of the docks with a jug of liquor cupped in his hand, listening to the cicadas drone far off in the trees, the crickets sing in the grass, the frogs croak in the reeds, the people far across the lake shout and laugh. Everything was so noisy. The clamor used to be such a comfort--and to most of him, it still was, filling him with the warmth of soup and long days in the sun. But there was a new ball of darkness that had tightened a cage around his heart. That sometimes sang in his veins. Reminded him that, in the Burial Mounds, there were only moments of silence and of screaming and that both were equally dangerous.

Reminded him of the unnatural quiet that lived at his core, now. Sometimes, the pitch of the insects would rise to such an edge that it would become too human, become something he had once heard in the darkness. Or uttered himself.

He splashed the alcohol into his mouth, reveling in the burn. At least it wasn’t night quite yet, the last vestiges of bruised purple-blue light clinging to the tops of the trees, brightened by the heavy moon. There were footsteps on the dock behind him, approaching light and even and he paused without turning. Then relaxed.

Jin Guangyao stopped next to him at the edge of the pier, clasped his hands behind his back and looked out at the moon that was held in a thousand little cups of the lily pads, tiny silver coins tucked beneath the lotuses. Wei Wuxian glanced up at him, saw the pleasant, directionless neutrality on his face and sat up with a grunt, leaning his elbows on his knees. He liked the man and his presence--had even grown quite fond of him over the many months he’d lived with them, but right now, he’d rather be alone with the frogs and his drink. He opened his mouth to greet him, but Jin Guangyao spoke first. “I was in the kitchen, just now, and,” he clucked his tongue against his teeth despairingly and turned his arm out with a grimace. “I cut myself by accident. I managed to focus some energy to keep it from bleeding too heavily but I have to admit that I don’t have the same schooling as you all do. It isn’t completely….”

Frowning, Wei Wuxian quickly got to his feet, taking the proffered arm in his hands with a sympathetic hiss between his teeth as he studied the wound. It was indeed not very deep, an irregular crescent on the side of his wrist, but his sleeve cuff had bloody blotches on it and the skin around it was stained with more blood than just this would have produced. “Yowch. Jin-xiong, we should get this cleaned. I can wake the doctor--or where’s shijie--”

“Actually, I was hoping that you could help me, Wuxian.”

It was Wei Wuxian’s turn to grimace. “I don’t know all that much about medicine, I wouldn’t leave this to me.”

Jin Guangyao’s smile managed to be at once anxious and reassuring as he looked away from his injury, finally, and up into his face. “I would think all you needed to do was channel some spiritual energy into it, right?”

The bottom dropped out of Wei Wuxian’s stomach, but he managed to hide the sudden queasiness behind a throwaway smile. “Ah, I’ve never been very good at that--Lan Zhan is much better. If only he were here, eh? Listen, I’ll go get--”

Jin Guangyao’s face fell into a gentle pleading. “Please, it’s so embarrassing; I don’t want anyone knowing I can’t handle a knife properly. We can handle this here, can’t we?”

“Look--”

Jin Guangyao sucked in a quick, protesting breath, but only gazed at him imploringly, eyes round and mouth twisted in discomfort. Wei Wuxian groaned and spun on his heel, dropping back to the dock with a thump beside his jug. “Ah, so particular. If you're so picky, you must not really be so close to dying, huh?” His insides writhed like snakes, his skin alive like a storm on the horizon. He wanted to leave. He wanted to dive into the water and let the silk of it swipe away all the restlessness. Stop forcing it, Guangyao….

For a moment, there was silence above him, then the soft rustle of clothing. Then, Jin Guangyao spoke in a voice very unlike the one he had just used, even and conversational and light. “I have not been able to verify any reports that say Baoshan Sanren's mountain is in Yiling. It's miraculous that you were able to recall so faithfully something from so young an age.”

At this, a surge of cold flooded Wei Wuxian, quickening his heart, tightening his chest and his fingers on the neck of the liquor jug as he looked up at him sharply. “Jin-xiong.”

Jin Guangyao looked down at him with a mild smile. Except Wei Wuxian hadn't had anything to say--he had just wanted him to stop. This wide eyed man was slyer than he had ever given him credit for, damn him. Did he…? Was he…? Fuck. Fuck.

“There has also never been a report of someone recovering after being tortured by Core Melting Hand,” he continued in that same friendly, casual tone and the liquor soaked stone that was Wei Wuxian’s stomach officially plummeted with a sick swoop.

Fuck.

“...Have you told Jiang Cheng?”

“About?”

Wei Wuxian curled a half-scowl and clicked his tongue against his teeth. He was unable to look him in the eye, though he kept him in the corner of his gaze. “You know what.”

“I haven't anything to tell. I'm only mentioning a few interesting details from my studies.”

“Is that so,” Wei Wuxian said, sullenly, flopping back onto his elbows, jaw cocked mulishly even as his fingers flexed and tapped the rough wood beneath him. “So why were you studying it, then?”

Jin Guangyao sighed breezily, rolling his neck once as if to loosen it. “Because you are troubled. Because A-Li worries. Because I have an eye for patterns. Because we are family.” He let that rest a moment before looking down at him once more, eyebrows slightly raised, mouth in the barest of smiles. “Are we not?”

“We are,” he grunted reluctantly. “Though now I regret letting someone so nosy under my roof.”

Jin Guangyao hummed a single, polite laugh in acknowledgement of the non-truth of the statement and allowed the silence to lie a few moments more. And while Wei Wuxian might be a habitual chatterbox, he surely wasn't going to help the conversation he desperately didn't want to have. “I’ve considered it, you know,” Jin Guangyao continued, suddenly, turning back to look out across the lake. “Telling someone. A-Li, Jiang Wanyin. But I thought it best to not...surprise you. Given the state of things.”

Wei Wuxian found his fingers wrapped around Chenqing stuck through his belt, the edge digging into his palm like the slow bite of an implacable serpent as his racing heart sped dangerously. That seeping ache spreading….“Meaning?”

“Wei Wuxian,” his tone was gentle reproval. “You cannot tell me you don't see how A-Li is affected by all this.”

With an effort, he peeled his hand away from the flute, batting down the prickling, caged anger. Cornered. Trapped. He heaved a sigh and sprawled further on the deck, propping his head up on his hand, squirming as if to get comfortable--more to allow the restless energy some outlet and trying to convince this man that this was simply...what? A misunderstanding? Not that big of a deal? Jin Guangyao was proving even now, in front of his eyes, that he was not in any way stupid. “I suppose I should be grateful that she has a husband who dotes on her so,” Wei Wuxian grumbled. “But does it have to be at my expense?”

“I don't know,” he countered lightly. “Does it?”

Wei Wuxian scoffed in exaggerated, dismissive disgust, but said nothing, his stomach roiling. As the silence lengthened, the restlessness grew, the nervous energy was crawling through his limbs like bugs. Why now? This was supposed to have lasted for years. No one else had looked that closely. No one else considered that there might be a reason beyond his own arrogance, his own blind bullheadedness that would lead him to dance with corpses and amulets that tore him up inside. Why did he need to look closer?

Of all the people to see him, why did it have to be him, why couldn’t it have been--?

He snapped off that line of thinking and leaned over, aggressively swishing his hand through the water, splashing it onto lily pads, up the struts of the dock, soaking his bracers. It was still warm from the heat of the day. “And so what are you going to do, then, Jin Guangyao? Because this feels an awful lot like a threat,” he demanded, all at once flipping over and sitting up with a scowl, staring at his calm face. “I don't appreciate being manipulated. Bad things tend to happen.”

“This also feels an awful lot like a threat.” When Jin Guangyao smiled back down at him, nothing noticeable in his face had changed and by all rights should still be classified as pleasant, dimples and all. But there was something--maybe the eyes--that all at once had a weight that was not there a moment ago. And maybe a warning. “Are we threatening each other? I wasn't under the impression that's what we were doing.”

For a moment, Wei Wuxian’s hackles fully rose, that restless darkness housed in his chest eagerly shifting to press against the back of his gaze. No one can make you do what you don't wish to, anymore. There is no one who can force you ever again. There is nothing you cannot do.

As if in response to these private thoughts, Jin Guangyao tilted his head, just so, smile still perfectly affixed, growing no wider and no sharper but now ever so slightly wrong for the length it sustained its unwavering stretch. For the briefest moment, Wei Wuxian’s fingers flexed.

But no. No.

He let out his breath, shoved that darkness back and away, roughly. This wasn't the Burial Mounds where the heat of that rage kept him alive. This wasn't the Sunshot Campaign where such darkness could be harnessed to help. This was wounding. This was danger.

Those things didn't belong in Lotus Pier.

Anger always felt better than fear, but that didn't mean that he had to choose it. Nothing made him turn into a fox gnawing off it's own leg in a trap in a panic. Maybe this was a mercy killing. Maybe this was even...a rescue. He rubbed his face with his palms, letting the tension fully seep out of him until he let himself wilt to the side and sprawl across Jin Guangyao's feet. “Jie-fuuuu. Jin-xioooong, why do you torture me with this? Can't you just leave well enough alone?”

Jin Guangyao huffed out a quiet, amused breath above him and the tension bled out of the night, leaving it cool and sticky once more. Crouching down, the edges of his robe brushing over Wei Wuxian's prostrate form, Jin Guangyao laid a hand on his shoulder. "If it was well enough, don't you think I would?"

"Ugh. You’re terrible."

“Mm,” he merely agreed, indulgently.

Wei Wuxian scoffed and closed his eyes, breathing in the wet, green scent of the lake. He did not want to do this. Not tonight and not any night. “Do we have to do this now?”

Jin Guangyao sighed. “I'm telling you this so you have time to prepare and have some control. But I am not going to keep this from A-Li and she will not keep it from Jiang Wanyin. I wanted to be…considerate.” The mildly thoughtful tone in his voice sort of seemed to imply that there were times he had not been considerate which Wei Wuxian found hard to picture.

He had never seen Jin Guangyao anything but patient and elegant, courteous and nonthreatening. Though, he corrected, thinking of that tacit warning he had just seen in his gaze, maybe that was not entirely true. Maybe this was something he could watch for. If not directed at him and his own, it might even be fun, this unassuming man that had the presence of someone you could fit into your pocket with ease. Perhaps he was a bit sharper than he seemed, in all respects. “I’m drunk. I don’t want to do it now.”

“You’re not drunk,” Jin Guangyao said, easily, a smile in his voice. “It would take something much stronger to get you drunk. Right now, you are numbing. That is well enough. For now. If not tonight, when?”

“I don’t know, I don’t plan things!”

“Perhaps you should. I think you would find the alternative quite unpleasant.” His tone was nothing but knowing sympathy, but the words were quite firm in their message.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.”

“Mm. If you say so.”

Wei Wuxian opened his eyes to glare up at him, his pale face sideways and framed by the stars winking on overhead. His expression was understanding and benevolent and there was no more hint of darkness in his eyes, this man who was outmaneuvering him with annoying deftness. “Don’t be funny. I’m suffering.”

His polite smile grew real and crinkled his eyes at the corners. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Wei Wuxian heaved a huge sigh, and then again for good measure. “I hate this,” he said, voice smaller than he had intended, staring up past his brother-in-law’s face into the vast darkness of the sky. “I hate this.” The anger and restlessness was gone, leaving his throat to swell and his eyes to prickle with helplessness and the brutal fucking unfairness of it all.

Jin Guangyao was silent for a while, eyes hooded and face still, before he fully settled himself on the dock arranging his dark purple robes just so around him, allowing his feet to still be Wei Wuxian’s cushion. “I would imagine so.”

The frogs shrilled their chorus around them as Wei Wuxian sniffed and swiped at the few tears that escaped his eyes, making a run down his cheeks for his ears as he lay, absorbing the thick night air. Jin Guangyao sat beside him, quietly, hands folded in his lap.

“Jiang Cheng is going to hate me,” Wei Wuxian said, finally, voice rough.

Jin Guangyao shook his head, slowly. “Be incensed; yes. Hurt; yes. Feel inadequate and insecure and violated; yes. But Jiang Wanyin does not hate you. Could not, for this. A-Li and I...we will help.”

“I don’t know what the hell to say.”

“I find, if you forgive my immodesty, that I can be very good with words.”

“...I think I’d like that.”

Jin Guangyao smiled. “Whatever you need, Wei Wuxian.”

After a few minutes of frog and cicada and cricket thick silence, Wei Wuxian all of a sudden looked back up at him. “Did you really slice your damn arm open just to prove a point?”

This seemed to startle a laugh out of him and he shook his sleeve back and glanced down at the wound with mild consideration, turning it this way and that. “To confirm a theory, but I suppose the spirit is the same.”

“You aren’t really bad with knives, are you?”

His eyes still on his arm, that smile grew just a bit more sharp and just a bit more knowing. “No. I’m not.”

#Me @ me always: you can have a little dark!JGY with your soft!JGY. As a treat.#my fic #wwx #jgy #my stuff #yaoli #text #ask #Hope you enjoy!#It's so much fun writing characters that look at JGY and think 'oh. tiny. how cute and polite'#while inside JGY is just like 'i am not to be fucked with :3 '#sparklespiff #peony to lotus #Also 🐝 anon I think your pier/dock setting was lurking in my brain for this so THANK YOU FOR YOUR FIC

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Note

If you're still taking prompts could you do Jiang Yanli/Jin Guangyao?

Four Worlds in which Jin Guangyao Marries Jiang Yanli

Yunping was a bit out of the way for the Jiang sect, but it was still a city in Yunmeng, so when there was a large enough night-hunt in their region, that was where the Jiang sect usually stayed.

It was always an event for the city’s children, that loved to run over to marvel at all those beautiful purple-clad cultivators walking through the streets – they usually didn’t fly within city limits, much to the disappointment of all.

Meng Yao loved watching them most of all.

After all, his mother told him that his father had been a cultivator, even a Sect Leader; one day, he would return to claim him, or perhaps Meng Yao would need to go present himself to him, but one day, she promised him, one day, he’d have his father’s name and no one would look down on him again.

That promise was everything to him, and yet that wasn’t what really drew him over to the Jiang sect.

No, what he went for was all Jiang Yanli – the girl he’d bumped into by accident, then shown around at her request. He’d shyly told her about his father being a cultivator, and she’d looked so happy for him; she’d even promised to bring him a proper introductory cultivation manual the next time she came so that his mother could stop spending all her money on fakes.

He hadn’t really expected her to remember actually do it, but she had. She’d confided in him that she’d met her future fiancé for the first time, that he was young and spoiled and didn’t seem to like her much, but that her mother wanted the marriage – and saying no now would be a slap in the face of the Jin sect.

“Jin?” Meng Yao said, dazzled. “Oh – that’s the sect my father’s from. If you have to marry someone from there, why don’t you marry me instead?”

Everyone had expected the young lady from the Jiang sect to have taken refuge with the Jin sect. After all, the engagement between her and the heir might be broken, but Madame Jin had still been her mother’s good friend – it would be comfortable with them, and safe…although people would whisper about it.

Perhaps that’s why she didn’t go there.

Meng Yao found himself unwillingly sympathetic. Who knew better than he did how much whispers could corrode the soul? Who knew better the idea of being faced with the disappointment of Lanling, and decided instead to turn to Qinghe, where merit was prized over blood?

The iron-hearted Nie Mingjue agreed to allow Jiang Yanli to stay in the Nie camp only if she agreed to work, but she was willing – even eager – to lend a hand to the war effort, whether by helping nurse the sick, mend clothing, or help in the kitchens.

One day, she brought him soup.

“Sect Leader Nie has already retired,” he said, blinking down at it.

She laughed. “It’s for you. Sect Leader Nie speaks so highly of his hard-working deputy – it would be a shame if you collapsed from hunger because you were too busy working and forgot to eat.”

No girl had ever made anything for Meng Yao before.

“Mistress Jiang,” he said, staring down at it. “Is this – I’m not the right son, you know.”

“If I wanted to make soup for young master Jin, I’d be in Lanling,” she pointed out, eyes curving with a smile. “This has nothing to do with that.”

He’d almost hoped it was; it would spare him the need to say the other part of it. “I don’t know if you haven’t heard,” he said, and if he didn’t know better he might almost think it could be the case – Jiang Yanli was not the type to gossip. “But my background…I wouldn’t want the taint to spread to you.”

“The circumstances of your birth were not your fault, and should not taint you,” she said gently, and she meant it, too; he’d always been good at reading expressions. “It’s just soup, Deputy Meng; don’t think about it too much. Eat it and regain your strength.”

She brought him one every night from that point on.

(“Sect Leader Nie,” Meng Yao said one night, some time later, bold in his desperation. “If I were to propose marriage to Mistress Jiang, would you back me?”

Nie Mingjue’s eyes widened. “I thought you were going to wait until you were reestablished in the Jin sect for that,” he replied, which wasn’t a no, and that’s what Meng Yao cared about right now.

“Sect Leader Jin would never allow a bastard son to have something that should have gone to his legitimate heir, even if his heir has already discarded it,” Meng Yao said. He wouldn’t even allow for sharing, and Meng Yao had had the bruises from falling down the stairs to prove it. “The only way it would work is if there was already an agreement in place before I go to Langya. Sect Leader, please –”

“Don’t beg,” Nie Mingjue said hastily. “I will, I will; did I ever say I wouldn’t? You’re a good man, Meng Yao; I can see no reason for you not to petition for her hand. If the lady agrees, I’ll speak to Jiang Cheng on your behalf.”

“I won’t let you down,” Meng Yao swore, and for the first time since he came to Qinghe, he meant it.)

Meng Yao was good at remembering names and faces, but he had grown up far away from the cultivation world – he was always behind the others in etiquette, having to learn everything all at once when even Jin Zixun, who didn’t care about anyone, could recognize most of his peers on sight.

So when he asked the kitchen girl at Langya her name and she looked surprised, he resigned himself to another embarrassing incident and having to apologize for not knowing what everyone else did.

Instead, she laughed lightly. “Why don’t you call me A-Li?” she said with a smile. “And I’ll call you A-Yao, and we’ll be friends.”

“I can always use friends,” Meng Yao said, and smiled back.

He expected it to be little more than a joke, but she seemed to take it seriously: she spoke warmly to him whenever he came to the kitchens, and in the rare times they were both free, she would come find him and they would spend time wherever there was a refuge from people.

“People gossip about me rather a lot,” she confessed when he asked her why. “I had an engagement to someone in the Jin sect, and it was rather publicly broken, and then I came here anyway…it was very nice to meet someone who didn’t know about all that.”

Meng Yao could understand that very well. She knew who he was, of course, but she pretended she didn’t, and that suited him very well.

And so they were friends, anonymously, right up until Jin Zixuan humiliated A-Li in front of the entire camp, accusing her of stealing another girl’s credit, and she ran away in tears – it would have been impossible for him to pretend he didn’t know she was the young mistress of the Jiang sect after that.

“He’s an idiot,” he told her, voice unusually fierce, having found her in their usual spot. Even Qin Su, who liked his face, treated him with a touch of pity for his poor background; Jiang Yanli, who was of even higher birth, had never done so, not once – perhaps the unlikelihood of that was why he had managed to stay ignorant of her identity for so long. “One day he’ll know it, too.”

“I don’t want him to,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I didn’t even mean it like that! It was only that our mothers were friends, so I thought…I don’t know what I thought.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Meng Yao said. He hadn’t planned on telling anyone his plans, not even A-Li, but after a scene like that… “I’m leaving the camp tomorrow, with a plan to earn fame and merit enough to force my father to recognize me. It’s risky, and I may not survive, but if I do, would you marry me? We could rub it in his face.”

Jiang Yanli smiled at him. “Meng Yao, I would marry you even without that.” She thought about it a minute. “I’m not saying it wouldn’t feel nice, though.”

Meng Yao laughed.

Jin Guangyao wasn’t expecting the knock on his door.

Jiang Yanli was still wearing mourning clothing, all in white; with her pale face, she looked like a ghost, and only the rosy-cheeked baby in her arms indicated that she was alive.

“Sister-in-law,” he said, not quite sure if a smile was appropriate at this moment. “It’s late – how can I help you?”

“You want to be Sect Leader, don’t you?” she asked, direct and to the point, and the pleasant expression on his face stiffened. “Don’t deny it, I won’t hold it against you. You weren’t the one that killed him; all you did was tell him about the situation, which even I would have done.”

“Why do you ask?” he replied, still unwilling to commit himself.

“Because I don’t have much else to offer,” Jiang Yanli said simply. “Your father is gathering up cultivators to go to the Nightless City, where he’ll demand A-Xian’s life, and never mind that it was just a horrible accident. I don’t want that to happen, but no one will listen to me – but you’ve never needed anyone to listen to you to get what you want out of them.”

Jin Guangyao hadn’t known that Jiang Yanli was so perceptive. If he had, he might have been more cautious around her. “You want me to find a way to save your shidi’s life,” he said slowly. “Even after he killed your husband, and turned the vast majority of the cultivation world against him. And in return, you’re offering…what?”

“Legitimacy,” she said. “You’re the obvious next heir at the moment, yes, but Sect Leader Jin has dozens of children outside; he need only go and get one to put your inheritance in doubt. But if you marry me, even Sect Leader Jin won’t be able to resist the pressure of making you the heir.”

He stared at her. “I’m – engaged.”

“I don’t object to you taking Qin Su as a concubine,” she said. “Sect Leader Qin will be open to the idea if you’re the heir. But as a matter of dignity, I would insist that you refrain from intimacy before marriage during the time that you’re engaged to me – I know the two of you have been considering forcing your parents’ hands that way, but it would leave me with no face at all if you persisted with that approach.”

Yes, Jiang Yanli was far more perceptive than he’d previously believed.

Marriage to her would be – interesting.

“Very well,” he said. “I accept.”

#mdzs #jiang yanli #jin guangyao #meng yao #my fic #my fics #couldn't decide which one #so I wrote them all #Anonymous

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thestarkerisobvious · 4 years ago

Text

White

inspired by the incredible artwork of

@cutepandaprincess

“White. So white. I’ve never seen anyone that shines so white.”

Tony only trusted her because everyone trusted her, including Fury. Well… that wasn’t entirely true. Nat trusted her, and while Tony Stark never thought he would give a second glance to anyone claiming to “see auras,” still Nat’s word carried a lot with him.

Round and soft and cheery and freckled and grey, she didn’t seem like a witch (although supposedly she had been lean and ravenhaired and darkeyed in her day. Or so she claimed. But then she got older “and wiser” and gave it all up as too much effort.) In any case her ability to see into the future was invaluable in bringing in that last souped-up badguy with the ridiculous name, and so Tony had invited her to the New Year’s Eve party along with the rest of the team. And if he sidled up to her at said party and tried to subtly get some relationship advice, well, no one had to know.

And if that entire party was just an excuse to get Peter in his arms on New Year’s Eve?

Well, no one needed to know that either.

And there was the boy now, standing by a window surrounded by the best scientific minds at the Avengers compound, laughing and joking and looking entirely edible. That crystal glass wasn’t even holding alcohol… even though the kid was well within drinking age. But when Tony finally got the witch to realize who he was trying to describe (he couldn’t exactly describe him as “the most delectable piece over by the window”) she said the exact opposite of what he wanted to hear.

“Oh, oh. So white, Tony. I’ve never seen anyone that shines so white. It’s like clouds… like flowers… like stars…”

…but then she only got distracted describing the gentleman on Peter’s left who was responsible for adapting some nanotechnology but was apparently having marital troubles. It wasn’t easy, keeping the witch on topic. But Tony poured her another glass of Champaign and did his level best.

“And what does it mean… a white aura… exactly?”

“White means purity and virginity, and peace. Red auras are usually determination and passion… that’s you darling. That’s you through and through. The pink is friendship and unconditional love. The green aura is often the peacemaker, or else someone at harmony with themselves, but more often that not one who can help others harmonize with each other. Not the purple aura, of course that is one who is far too independent…”

And that was it for the rest of the evening.

He didn’t make his move. Even though he had been planning his move since the moment he realized the boy wanted him to make it. Even though he had been planning this entire party ever since that moment. Even though the point of the party was to have Peter there on New Years Eve when the countdown came.

Even though Peter Parker cornered him when the countdown started. Even though, at midnight, he suddenly had an armful of Peter and a New Year’s Kiss right on the corner of his mouth. Even though Peter had held himself there for a moment, just waiting for Tony to move his head a fraction of an inch and close the distance. Tony could feel the boy waiting.

Could feel the boy’s disappointment when it never came.

He didn’t make his move. Even though Peter must have laid awake all night in the guest-room waiting for him. Peter had been invited to stay the night on the premise that, after the party, he wouldn’t be safe to drive. Peter hadn’t had a drop to drink that night, but played along with the premise.

But he played along alone.

Tony wasn’t going to make a move.

How could he, when the witch had laid it out for him so plainly?

Peter was white. Peter was pure. Peter was virginal. Peter was unsullied.

How could Tony possibly be responsible for corrupting that?

* * *

And so Tony resigned to live in utter misery. Resigned to never accept that beautiful gift that Peter was making it clear that he was willing to give – a gift that Tony was entirely unworthy to receive.

For years he lived with that misery (okay he was being a drama-queen. It was six months.)

By day Ironman and Spider-Man still worked together with perfect precision, taking down badguys with a witty quip or clever badinage or a droll rejoinder, until villain and minion alike raised a flag in surrender. At night they worked side-by-side or back-to-back in the lab, finishing each other’s thoughts with eerie precision and perfecting technology at lightning speed. Late-night lab sessions often ended with Peter sleeping in the ‘guest room’ rather than webslinging his way home in the early hours of the day.

Tony still steadfastly called it the ‘guest room’ even though it was very quickly becoming ‘Peter’s room.’ Steadfastly called it the ‘guest room’ even though Peter once joked that more of his clothes were there than in his dorm. Tony steadfastly referred to it as the “guest room” for the same reason he steadfastly refused to visit the “guest room” no matter how many times Peter slept there. No matter how many Avengers joked that they were practically living together… no matter how many suspected that they were already a couple. Tony was steadfast. Because Peter was too pure for him. The witch had said so.

He even asked her… once… when she was brought in to consult on a terrorist-cell case that they were considering. She guessed his name wrong twice, then asked him delicately why he wasn’t with “that beautiful boy” she had met at the party. “I thought that was your night… he certainly thought it was.”

“Did you see us together? See our auras?” Tony asked cautiously, daring, for a moment, to hope.

“That lovely, angelic-white aura? Oh yes sir. Well, I saw many futures for him, so very very many. He has such a storied future, that boy. But I saw the two of you together… oh just for a fleeting moment I caught a glimpse…”

“And it changed, didn’t it,” Tony said, his voice dropping. His head dropping. His hopes dropping. Why did he bother to ask? He already knew the answer. Had reminded himself of it night after night after lonely night.

“Oh yes, certainly. You’re very red, Mr. Stark. Very red. Painfully red. I knew it the instant I saw it… when I saw you together… together you had become so pink… not subtly pink... vibrantly pink...”

* * *

In times of weakness, Tony reminded himself of that conversation. Of a witch who, when she looked at Peter in a roomful of people, saw a white aura so blinding that it took her breath away. Virgin. Pure. Unsullied. And if Tony came anywhere near it he would taint it, like blood on white silk.

He started trying to avoid the boy, he honestly did. Stopped scheduling time together in the lab. Stopped laying awake longing for the boy in the ‘guest room.’ But crime refused to acknowledge Tony’s resolution, and criminals kept throwing them together in the most ridiculous situations. Alien sex pollen made things so awkward as to be almost unbearable. Pretending that Peter was his sex-slave when they went undercover to get info on the Mob Boss? Tony Stark suddenly had the patience of a monk. When they traveled to Sokovia to investigate the arms deal? There might only be one bed, but Tony had plenty of floor to sleep on. And when his head injury left Peter with amnesia? Well the less said about that the better.

Whenever Tony even considered giving into temptation, not for his own sake but for Peter’s (the boy who was making his desires crystal-clear) Tony remembered. The witch’s words. White. Pure. Tony could only sully him. Like blood on white silk.

* * *

Peter graduated early, because of course he did, and Tony gladly accepted the boy’s invitation to his combo-graduation-party-dash-housewarming-soiree in his brand new small apartment that he had rented across the street from Stark Tower. Was he surprised, when he arrived with wine and a dozen roses, to find he was the only one invited? Maybe he was. Or maybe he realized it was too late.

Too late to tell the boy “no” when he melted into Peter’s kiss. When he gave in to those powerful arms and let Peter mold their bodies together. When he obediently let Peter lead him to the couch and sat, pushing the cream cushions aside so Peter could climb into his lap.

“But you have to tell me the truth,” he whispered between kisses. Whispered as best he could. “I know you’re a virgin…” He didn’t whisper how he knew. How he had been on the phone with a certain woman with a crystal ball the day before he bought the white roses…

“Um, sorry?” Peter said, pulling up, blinking. Then he grinned. “Tony… no. Nope. You missed that boat a while ago. Sorry.”

He giggled a little at Tony’s expression, then kissed the slack mouth with a chuckle low in his throat. “Dude… you worry way too much.”

Underneath Peter’s gentle hands, Tony couldn’t deny that it was true. His worries melted like snow under Peter’s warmth. Under Peter’s knowing kiss. They moved together in each other’s arms just as confidently as they fought in the clouds, Tony moving underneath Peter in sure, knowing strokes. Peter peeled off his shirt and pressed his pale skin to Tony’s mouth, moaning his name. Holding each other close they moved like moonlight on the water, breathing sighs as soft as feathers as they came in each other’s arms.

And that freezing fear? That chilling panic that always came when the sex was over, that always made Tony cover himself up and pretend to hibernate, all to avoid looking his partner in the face? That fear melted just like snow in white sunlight. Tony opened his eyes and looked up into Peter’s own, shining like stars.

“I should have known you would make it easy,” Tony breathed. He wasn’t sure if his words made any sense, but Peter seemed to understand. He stroked Tony’s cheek and smiled a knowing smile.

“I told you, you worry too much.”

“Agreed,” Tony chuckled drunkenly (even though that hadn’t touched the chardonnay) and nuzzled his nose into Peter’s hair. Honey curls tickled his nose, and he was oddly reminded of dandelion fluff, the kind he used to blow away as a child when he made a wish. He blew now. He wished now.

“I love you Tony Stark,” Peter whispered, holding him close. “I wanted to tell you at Christmas. I wanted to tell you New Year’s Eve.”

“Oh I know, angel,” he said, and when he felt Peter relax in his arms he had no doubt.

“I’ve always known it,” he murmured as he moved them off the sofa and down to the floor. “I’ve always known,” he whispered, laying Peter’s back to the floor and bowing his head to lick up the milky-white droplets still clinging to Peter’s stomach. “Mio angelo, il mio paradiso. I’ve always known.” He pressed a kiss to the pale skin in the center of Peter’s chest. What he was thinking should have alarmed him then, but it seemed so simple now. An hour ago he had been reminding himself of the words of the silver-haired woman, now all he could think about were young men and diamond rings.

“I love you Peter Parker,” he whispered. It came so easily…

…and only then did he realize. Only then did he understand.

“Pure, and virginal.” the witch had told him that night. “White means purity, and virginity…

“…and peace.”

* * *

“Why are you calling me you ridiculous man?” she scolded when Peter was snug in bed in Tony’s bed, even as the white light of dawn lit up the penthouse. “Listen to your lover. You worry too much.”

“So you know,” Tony said, even as he struggled to explain why he had dialed her number in the first place. She was supposed to be advising the Avengers on criminal activity, not relationship advice.

“I’m going to burn white sage over every inch of your domicile. I’m going to strap a quartz crystal to your forehead,” she groused. “I’m going to stop toasting to WORLD-peace and start toasting to TONY-peace.”

“But you told me, that night, you told me that when you saw us together you saw stained-white…”

“No, I told you I saw vibrant pink. Who in heaven’s name thinks of pink as stained-white? You’re absurd.”

“But you… you never told me what pink meant.”

“Oh for gods’ sake man… pink means friendship.” She spoke more patiently, as if explaining it to a child. “That’s why I thought you were so lovely together, that’s why I always thought it. Because you had been friends for so long…”

“But you said something else that night, I just didn’t remember…”

“…I said several things that night silly man. I told you I had seen so many futures for him, and one of them was with you. And that was rose-colored loveliness, if that’s what you wanted to know.

“And rose is friendship. Friendship. And unconditional love.”

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

Mio angelo, il mio paradiso = “My angel, my heaven.”

with many thanks to @mrstarksbaby

#Starker #Peter Parker/Tony Stark #TheWitchway writes stuff

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stillebesat · 4 years ago

Text

A Hero’s Rescue (part 2)

Sanders Sides: Roman, Virgil Blurb: After being defeated in battle, the last thing Roman expects is to have a soaking wet hero show up at his doorstep. Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort Superhero!AU Inspiration: This Post by @messythoughtsandscribbledplots Overall Fic Warnings: Blood, Injuries, Drugging (mentioned), Negative Self Talk, Threats of Violence, Death Talk Taglist in reblog.

Part 1

Roman had made his mother’s special soup over a thousand times. To the point where he could do it on pure muscle memory--a feat he discovered after a particularly unrememberable encounter with one of Brainiac’s mind ray beams that he didn’t want to experience ever again.

Still. Being able to feed himself with his mother’s soup even when his mind was completely blank of conscious thought was a good survival instinct to know he had...despite the circumstances.

And yet.

His master chefs had needed to take over the making of the soup halfway through after Roman had nearly sliced open his finger for the second time while dicing the onions because he wasn’t focused on the task at hand.

Now though, with the main preparation done, he’d sent them back to their slumber, leaving him alone to stir the soup on the stove while keeping an eye on the pot of hot chocolate simmering nearby. At least he hadn’t managed to burn either one...yet.

He supposed he could be granted a pass for being distracted though.

It wasn’t everyday he, a supervillain, had one of his nemesis’ over for a...well Roman had said kidnapping, but honestly, it was hardly that considering he’d left the kid alone to clean himself up without locking the door or even tying him up.

Roman exhaled, forcing his tense shoulders to relax as he reached up with one hand to check that his mask was still on.

Not that he’d let it or the crown he still wore to vanish. But he had to make sure.

Because he had a hero in his house.

He had a HERO in his House.

If any of the others ever discovered this--but no. He frowned. Someone had treated the young Thunderclap bad enough that he’d want to--that he’d come to Roman, no, to the Tyrant. To be--be---.

He let out another shaky breath, tilting his head to listen for the sounds of running water. For any indication that Whirlwind was still in the house.

For all he knew the young Rainspout had vanished as soon he was sure Roman had left the room.

Or...he could be sneaking around the place right now. Looking for the Tyrant’s Lair. It could all have been a trick. A trap--NO. Roman growled under his breath.

There had been no mistaking the despondency and then the disbelief in Sparky’s eyes at how he, as Tyrant, was willing to take him in and treat him like a decent person--which Roman honestly needed to figure out how that was gonna go down for the next couple of days having a guest--instead of well...killing him.

As Tyrant he was a lot of things…but an outright murderer? Hardly. Sure he could easily name a dozen other vile villains who wouldn’t have hesitated. To kill. To injure. To treat a hero, even a new one, like a punching bag. A dozen people Roman would need to check on to ensure they hadn’t mistreated Thunderclap in such a manner. Honestly, it really was a stroke of luck that the young hero had chosen to come to him first instead of--

Roman stiffened, hands going still on the pot as the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

Static Electricity.

Did Sparky realize he gave off that much energy? Probably not.

The soft coo of his dove confirmed that his new...guest? Yah. Guest was probably the best way to think about this. Had finally arrived.

“Fifteen minutes late, Whirlwind.” Roman said, fighting the urge to again check his mask to make sure it hadn’t slipped. “And here I thought heroes were supposed to be on ti--” He turned to the young hero standing awkwardly in the doorway with the dove on his shoulder, and promptly forgot to breathe as he caught sight of Sparky’s face.

His maskless face.

Roman jerked his eyes back to the soup, heart hammering in his chest as he gestured with a hand to conjure a simple silk mask, making it the same shade of purple as the pjs he’d created earlier that Sparky now wore.

He coughed awkwardly, desperately trying to forget all the little details, all the bruises, he’d seen just from the two second glance at the, oh Crofters, he’d known the hero was young, but not a freaking teenager! What was he fourteen?!

He’d better have not been fighting a child this entire time. No, Sparky had to be at least eighteen. Please let him be an adult and not a minor. Because if he wasn’t...Roman would have to rethink his fighting strategies against his favorite hero.

He clenched his jaw. And if...if the kid was actually freaking fourteen years old...then the perpetrator who’d hurt him like this would soon come to regret their actions because there was no way the Tyrant would let them get away with it.

Still looking away, he held out the mask to where he’d seen the hero standing, sending it with a flick of his fingers to hover near him in a crimson bubble. “You uh--forgot something, Thunderclap.”

Perhaps he should have taken Sparky to a hospital first if he was so addled in the head to forget something so simple as keeping his secret identity intact in front of his enemy.

There was a soft sigh and a faint tingle as static electricity brushed against Roman’s crimson glow, like a finger poking into the side of a balloon, before the mask was pulled free from his hold. “I didn’t forget.” Came the quiet response as the hero edged closer, pausing by the oak dinner table, using it as a feeble barrier between them. “Figured you wouldn’t let me keep it on long anyways if I’m your…prisoner.”

Prisoner? Roman scoffed, moving to pull cups and bowls out of the cupboard, setting them down on the counter. “Even if I intended you to be a prisoner, Whirlwind, which I don’t by the way even if you are technically kidnapped, because otherwise you’d be in a containment bubble where I wouldn’t be risking getting myself shocked senseless by one of your little lightning bolts. I still have standards. I wouldn’t unmask you like that.”

“....You wouldn’t?”

Roman glanced at him from the corner of his eye, noting the mask was definitely still in the kid’s hands as he dished up the soup. “Of course not!” It was hardly fair play. Especially for a new hero.

As the Tyrant, Roman may have enjoyed his battles with the Waterspout over the past six months, but they definitely weren’t ‘there’ yet when it came to him feeling any sort of victory from finally tearing away the hero’s mask to see the face of his enemy.

The moment he could corner that annoying army zapping Nerdy Wolverine though? Oh, that would be a sweet sweet victory he would savor for at least a year when he finally defeated Brainiac and rightfully discovered his true identity.

Roman turned, two bowls of soup held in his hands as he carefully kept his eyes directed at the kid’s bare feet, noting that even there the hero had cuts and bruises. He fought back the flare of anger, adding a couple more potential acquaintances he’d need to pay a visit to on his ever growing mental list. “If I wanted to find out who you were, Whirlwind, I would have taken your mask off outside when you were kneeling at my feet in the rain.”

He took two cautious steps closer to the young Hurricane, watching the feet as they shifted in place. He needed to tread carefully here. Go slow. His hero had been hurt and Roman needed to prove that Sparky was safe with him here.

He took a breath, holding out both bowls to give the kid the option of choosing one, conscious of how the hero had been concerned that they could be drugged. Right. Drugged. Mentally he crossed off six names and added one more. “Beyond the fact that I would very much prefer it to happen after a long hard fought battle where I soundly defeat you, at least that reveal outside would be far more dramatic and rewarding than doing so in my kitchen of all places.”

Wind whistled in his ears as Waterspout huffed a bitter sounding laugh as he tossed the mask onto the table. “Sorry to disappoint you then. But I’m done.” The lights flickered, the static electricity around them increasing. “Done with this...hero business. I can’t, Tyrant. It’s too much pressure. I’ll just fail.”

Roman shook his head, frowning as he set the bowls on the table, gesturing with his hand to float the two mugs of hot chocolate by the stove over to them. “You haven’t failed me.” He said lightly, setting them down.

Scare him? Yes. It wasn’t every day that a hero comes to your home out of the blue asking you to kill them.

Thunderclap snorted, resting his hands on the back of the chair closest to him, his fingers turning white. “Umm. Earlier today?”

“I know you can’t make every battle, Sparky. It’s not the end of the world if you don’t show.” Roman said with a shrug as he pulled out a chair at the table and sat, pushing the purple mask closer to the kid while fighting to not adjust his own or look at the hero’s face.

Sure he’d been disappointed. He always was when Thunderclap didn’t come to face him. Their battles were far more exciting, far more challenging compared to the other heroes he’d faced over the years. “You may not want to be a hero right now. But you’re injured. Exhausted. And hopefully hungry because I made you a ton of soup.” He twisted his hand, a soft red glow surrounding his fingers as two golden spoons appeared. He was careful to keep his eyes down away from the kid’s face as he twirled the spoons around his fingers. “After you eat your fill and get a good night's sleep in a big soft bed you might find you’ve changed your mind come morning.”

He could feel the static electricity continuing to build in the room until it felt like every hair on his body was standing on end. It made it difficult to not retaliate and send up a shield of defense against the lightning bolt that could be coming his way any second.

But the kid had no reason to zap him. At least he hoped he didn’t. He just had to stay calm. Stay relaxed.

Unexpectedly, the static energy vanished like an iceberg breaking apart leaving goosebumps racing up and down Roman’s arms as Sparky relaxed his grip on the chair. “You’re...not...acting how I expected you to.”

He smirked. Good. The Tyrant couldn’t be just your predictable regular run of the mill bad guy. “Oh?”

The chair scraped against the tile as Sparky cautiously sat down, his hand resting on the mask. “You...you care far too much about...” He shakily inhaled, the lights flickering above his head as he raised a hand, presumably to scrub at his eyes judging by the movement. “Me. No one ca--but you--and--and you don’t even know who--”

No one cares? If he wasn’t certain he’d be electrocuted on the spot Roman would have pulled the young hero into another hug then and there. It sure sounded like he desperately needed one.

“Kindness doesn’t need to be shown a face, Sparky.” Roman said softly, laying the spoons on the table with a quiet clink. “Just because I’m a bad guy...doesn’t mean I’m a bad guy.”

The kid huffed another shaky laugh. “Did...did you seriously just quote Wreck-it Ralph at me?”

Roman jerked his head up in surprise. “You know--”

The hero flinched back, causing the dove on his shoulder to take flight as his violet eyes half hidden by damp bangs flashed with panic while lightning crackled at his fingertips.

Wait! Face! Gah! Roman twisted in his seat, hissing under his breath, his body tensing with the expectation of getting electrocuted. Great. Of course his love of Disney would come back to bite him at a delicate moment.

This really would be much easier if the kid would just put on the mask already, so he wouldn’t have to worry--- but Roman wasn’t going to force him to do something he obviously was reluctant to do. Sparky was a guest…even if he was technically kidnapped.

“I didn’t see anything, Whirlwind” He said as evenly as he could as the dove landed on the counter nearby with a soft coo, his mind racing as he turned his head further to stare at the pot on the stove. “But...judging from your reaction...perhaps you don’t actually want me to know who you are?”

“I--I--” There was a thunk on the table as the crackling sound coming from the boy faded. “I don’t want to...be a hero right now, Tyrant.” He whispered. “I--I can’t--not now.”

But the kid couldn’t exactly use his civilian identity in front of the Tyrant either since they were enemies. A pretty pickle. Except Thunderclap seemed to be forgetting one thing. He didn’t have to be either identity.

Roman glanced towards the young hero to see his face buried in his arms, purple mask half hidden underneath them. “Last I checked, Hurricane.” He said quietly. “There’s no rule saying that because you wear purple and white as a hero...that you can only ever wear those colors.”

It would be a dead giveaway to the villains--for the smart ones at least--if the heroes did that.

Roman gestured, his hands again glowing crimson as he created a dozen more masks similar to the purple one the table, making each one a different color of the rainbow plus some boring shades like black and brown to give Raindrops a variety to choose from.

He turned away from the display as Sparky looked up. “If you don’t want to be a hero then pick a different color mask. You can be anyone you want to be under it. I can even conjure you a different set of pajamas so you can distance yourself further from your hero color scheme while you’re here. Just…” Don’t give up just yet. He shrugged. “Pick one.”

Waterspout reached out, hesitantly touching a blue mask, before shifting to hover over a green one. “...It can’t be that easy.” He whispered. “What’s the catch?”

Roman made a face. “No catch. Pick a mask and then tell me a name to go with it.” He said, watching him from the corner of his eye as the boy lowered his head, his bangs hiding his eyes. “Any name.” He coaxed. “And I’ll call you that instead while you’re here. You won’t have to be a hero. You can just...be my guest.”

“A guest. To the Tyrant.” Thunderclap said, putting an emphasis on the name.

That--the kid had a point. Roman exhaled. How could Sparky forget he was a Hero if his enemy, the Tyrant, was still around? Which meant...he would need to create his own alter identity as well.

For the seemingly simple task of taking in a young hero and giving him soup...this whole thing was becoming more and more...complicated.

“No. Not to him. To me. Your host.” He stated, raising a crimson hand to his golden mask, altering it so that it became the same size and shape as the ones on the table, his crown vanishing as Roman made minor alterations to his appearance to keep Whirlwind from guessing his own civilian identity.

He dropped his hand from the simple red mask he now wore, heart hammering in his chest at how...well naked he felt in the thing as he turned more fully to the kid, once more back in the clothes he’d been wearing while working on recreating his Knightmare Soldiers, careful to keep his attention on the masks on the table and not the hero’s bare face. No wonder Sparky was reluctant to wear this sort of thing. It hardly felt like a disguise at all.

“You can call me Pryce.” He said, spreading his hands, fighting not to fidget under the weight of Sparky’s eyes boring into him, taking in his changed appearance.

“Pryce?”

Roman nodded, watching Thunderclap’s hands twitching over his color options. “Yes.”

It was one name he knew he would answer to that couldn’t immediately be connected back to his own civilian life.

“You’re serious about this? No heroes...no villains...just…us?”

“So long as you’re here as my guest. Yes.” If Raindrops needed a break, then Roman would give him it. Anything to keep the kid from doing--from---from repeating--.

A soft sigh. “Okay.” Thunder rumbled in the distance as Sparky plucked up a plain black mask, placing it over his eyes.

Roman blinked. Wait. Black? “Sooo...what? You going all goth on me now, kid?” He asked, slowly turning more fully towards the hero--to his guest as the boy looked up, already visibly relaxing now that Roman could look at him without seeing his identity.

The corner of his lips twitching in a half smile as Sparky ran a hand through his darker hair, ensuring the bangs still half covered his eyes. “You have a problem with me wearing black?”

Roman rolled his eyes. He was a villain who wore gold for a reason. Of course he didn’t like black. “Beyond it being such a common, dull, and boring color?” He waved a hand dismissively, vanishing the other masks. “No. Not really.”

Thunderclap huffed, shaking his head. “Then...you can call me Andy.” He said, reaching for the closest bowl of soup, violet eyes flickering to him to check Roman’s reaction.

Andy.

Roman tilted his head. Not a name he would have picked for the hero. But he supposed that was kinda the point. “Andy.” He repeated. “Nice.” Not as nice or creative as Pryce, but he’d save his critiques for the boy’s lack of originality another day. “Is it short for the Mountain range?”

Spar--Andy choked on a laugh, shaking his head as he picked up a spoon. “No--not after--No.”

“Pity.” Roman said, a more natural smile appearing on his lips as he grabbed his own bowl of soup, purposely getting the spoon to his lips before his guest to prove that the soup was safe. “After the Mints then? I would be more understanding of your emolicious choice in black if that were the case.”

Andy flashed him a smile, eyes sparking. “Only if Pryce is short for Price Tag. How much you going for these days? Two bucks?” He asked, taking a cautious sip from his bowl, only to immediately go for another spoonful.

Roman nearly choked on his own soup. Price Tag? TWO BUCKS?! How dare he insult the Tyr-- Gah! Right. Not actively being the bad guy right now. But STILL. The audacity!

No wonder he loved bantering with this kid.

“You’ll come to find, Hot Topic, that I’m priceless. You can’t afford me.”

Andy hummed, nodding like a wise old sage as he picked up the bowl in both hands, tilting it to his lips. “So your name is Less now?”

Roman clicked his tongue, watching the kid gulp down his soup like there was no tomorrow. Okay...he’d walked into that one. “No.” He said, summoning the pot over from the stove, so that the kid could get more if he so desired.

“Pity.” Andy set the bowl down, glancing to the pot then to him. “Guess I can’t think of you any Less then.” He licked his lips, meeting Roman’s eyes before he could respond. “Not after--well...thanks--for letting me...crash here for a bit...Pryce.”

Roman blinked, caught off guard at the sudden change in direction. A pity. He’d had a great retort to that earlier remark too.

He took up the ladle, filling the kid’s bowl once more. “No problem, Peppermint.” He said as he also pushed the mug of hot chocolate closer to the hero, summoning a bag of marshmallows with a twitch of his fingers. He chuckled as the kid’s eyes once again lit up. “Stay as long as you need.”

#A Hero's Rescue #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Roman #Virgil #Creativity #Anxiety #Superhero!AU #Villain!Roman #Hero!Virgil #injuries tw #drugging mention tw #negative self talk tw #threats of violence tw #death talk tw

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