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whimsimille · 4 months ago

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PSYCHOCHROMIA

Seo Moonjo (Patient) x Reader! (Doctor)

Chapter 2: Slaughter house

Tick tack

30 minutes now and you're going crazy. You look at Moonjo through your mascara-coated eyelashes, the clumps of black giving your gaze an almost predatory edge. He only smirks, a Cheshire curl of lips that deflates another question once again. It's grating. It's perverse. But you still take a sip of the cold coffee.

Your fingers moved almost subconsciously to cross over each other on top of the table—a nervous habit you had since childhood when Mom wasn't looking. She would have shot you a disapproving look if she were still alive, reminding you of Dad and how he used to beat you for being so much like him. But she wasn't here now; she couldn’t make you feel like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. She couldn't see you crossing your fingers in this room, hoping against hope that Moonjo would open up and reveal something about his past or his crimes.

"Can you tell me about your... work? How do you reconcile your actions with your own moral compass, Mr. Seo?"

Moonjo's smile widened, revealing perfect, gleaming teeth that seemed almost too pristine, too sharp. He reached for the crayon you usually leave out for Mina, a patient with regression disorder. The bright red crayon looked almost comically out of place in his large, bruised hand. Without breaking eye contact, he began to sketch on the paper in front of him, making slow and chirurgical strokes that gradually took form.

"You see, Dr. Song, extracting a tooth is an art form. It's delicate, precise. You must be gentle but also firm. One wrong move and you could shatter the tooth, ruin the whole endeavor. It's very similar to... my other work."

He paused, glancing down at his doodle. Hollow eyes, razor-thin smile lines carved out of the paper.

"I had an unfortunate upbringing. My father was a strict man—a pastor who preached about sin and damnation every Sunday. I suppose it rubbed off on me." Moonjo pulls at one of his bottom lips with his teeth, revealing the sharp edge of his incisor. There's something feral about him now, almost primal. It's as if he's been waiting for this moment—not only to share his story but also to relish in it. "I remember one Sunday, after a particularly fiery sermon about the wages of sin, he took me to the basement. There was a row of dental tools laid out on a white cloth—forceps, scalers, probes. He said they were instruments of God's will, tools to cleanse the soul. That day, I learned how to extract a tooth. He made me practice on myself first, pulling out a molar with trembling hands. The pain was excruciating, but the lesson was clear: salvation through suffering.”

Your pen hovered over the page, barely able to keep up with the torrent of his revelations. "I’m sorry for you—"

“Don’t,” he shook his head slowly, almost pityingly. “People think of God as a comforting figure. Like a teddy bear a child clings to at night, or a security blanket. It's nice to think there's someone up there who's always watching, always caring. The promise of paradise, of eternal life—it’s a comforting thought, isn't it?"

You shifted in your seat again, uncrossing your legs and recrossing them the other way around, trying to find some sort of comfort in the movement. "But not everyone sees it that way. Some people find comfort in the rituals and the community. It's not just about fear or comfort; it's about belonging."

Seo paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he were trying to recall a distant memory. "For some people, yes. But I understood that it was always in the blood, in the agape mouths and in the crushed windpipes. It was in the steel of the dental tools, the ones I used to clean my victims' teeth before... well, you know."

It was like listening to a twisted version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; the transformation from healer to killer so seamless it was almost poetic. It was like being in a surreal version of a dentist's office—one where the patients were more likely to bite you than spit out what was stuck in their teeth.

“I might not understand everything, Mr. Seo. But I do know that everyone has their reasons and their justifications. Even if those reasons are twisted and dark, yes. I know.”

The man looks up from his drawing and raises an eyebrow at you—a challenge in his eyes. You force yourself to maintain eye contact, holding his gaze even if it feels like he's seeing straight into your soul.

"If the idea of eternal punishment is the only thing keeping you good, are you really a good person? Is it the fear of hell that makes you help an old lady cross the street, or is it genuine kindness? Maybe it was other things that caused me to lose my belief. Maybe my faith was only conditional to begin with. Perhaps it was rooted in the childlike wonder I felt when I first read the Bible, like believing in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny."

Moonjo stretches his arm out, displaying the paper with the half-finished drawing—a crude sketch of a man in a robe, arms spread wide and eyes closed—and an almost serene smile on his face. Above his head, a halo glows bright and golden. "Sometimes when we prayed at church or at home, I would close my eyes and try to summon that feeling of awe, of connection to something greater. But it always felt hollow, like I was reciting lines from a play I no longer believed in."

You took a deep breath before speaking again, not wanting to break the eerie silence that had fallen between you two. "I understand, Mr. Seo… But what do you want me to do with this? This man in your sketch, is he supposed to represent your father, or perhaps a version of yourself?"

You held up the drawing, trying not to let your shaking hands give away your fear. There was no answer from Moonjo; he simply sat there, staring at you with those empty eyes that seemed to hold an endless well of madness. Sweat began to bead on your forehead as the temperature in the room dropped precipitously. It felt as if the air itself were becoming chilled by his presence, as if he were sucking out all warmth and light like some kind of parasite.

"Mr. Seo?" You tried again, louder this time. "Are you alright?"

He didn't respond, but instead reached over to a small pot on the table and picked up a stick of sugar-free gum from it. Popping it into his mouth with a loud crack, he began chewing vigorously on it as he stared at you intently, studying your every move as if trying to decide whether or not you were worth keeping around any longer.

“This is how they saw him. Pure and holy, a beacon of light." His voice drawls with disgust, lips pulling back to show his teeth chewing the gum. "But I saw something else. I saw an old man who'd lost control of his son, who beat him when he misbehaved and demanded silent obedience. I saw the hypocrisy in their pews every Sunday. They sang hymns of love while their husbands beat their wives at home." He pauses, nodding slowly as if in agreement with himself. "So I started cleansing them—cleansing them with my own hands and tools. It was liberating."

As he speaks, he absently fiddles with the red crayon, twirling it between his fingers before dipping it into the black inkpot on the table. A smear of blood-red color mixes with the black ink, forming an ominous stain on the wet surface. The sound of scratching fills the air as he writes his next words: 'Sometimes I imagine they scream so loud for me'.

In general, when you start working with a patient, there is no urgency, no predetermined therapeutic timeline to meet specific goals. Usually, it begins with many months of conversation. In an ideal world, Moonjo would talk about himself, his life, and his childhood. You would listen, gradually building a picture until it was complete enough to venture into precise and useful interpretations. But in this case, nothing real would be said. Nothing non manipulative would be heard. The information you needed would have to be obtained from non-verbal cues, from whatever information you could extract from other sources, like the confidential notes from the police files or the whispered rumors among the nurses.

In other words, you had to set a plan in motion to help Moonjo without knowing exactly how to execute it.

A fly buzzes aimlessly around your head before landing on Moonjo's sleeve; he casually reaches out and crushes it between his fingers, never breaking eye contact with you. The crunch of the exoskeleton is barely audible, but you can see the minute satisfaction in his eyes as he slowly pulls at the insect, dismembering it piece by piece. His jaw tightens, and you can't help but notice the pure, unadulterated grayness in his gaze—no spark, no humanity. Were the men and women he killed made out of a pair of fully developed wings on the thorax and a knobby, vestigial second pair of wings too? Had they too committed the crime of being small enough to fit between his fingers?

"You know, Mr. Seo, everyone has a different perspective on faith and morality. It's not always about fear of punishment or the promise of reward. Sometimes, it's about the simple act of doing what's right because it feels right. It's about the connections we forge and the empathy we extend to others." You spoke with more confidence than you felt. And you thought your voice sounded inordinately high and squeaky, though you could barely hear it, blood pumping so hard in your ears. "When I help someone, whether it's through my work here or in my personal life, it's not because I'm afraid of some divine retribution. It's because I believe in the inherent value of each human life. I believe in the power of compassion and understanding to bring about change, no matter how small."

Moonjo's smile widened as he dropped the insect, now crushed like an ant beneath a boot heel. Its wings had been smudged into grayish-black smears and you tried not to fidget at the thought that you were now the insect he wanted to dissect, to see if your blood was just as shiny and if your teeth would be as easy to pull out, but the rustle of your skirt against the vinyl chair caused you to twitch involuntarily.

"Do you really believe in what you're saying?" he asked, wiggling his fingers as if casting a spell, emphasizing their length and dexterity. "Or is your faith rotting in your drawer alongside your paints and canvases?"

Breath catches in your throat like an invisible noose tightening around your neck and your hand moves instinctively towards your necklace at the base of your throat—a simple silver chain holding an old Saint Christopher medal your first patient had given you when you first started working here.

You had never mentioned your passion for painting to anyone. How could he possibly know?

Quickly, you find your hand reaching for the recorder, your fingers fumbling a little, but you manage to hit 'pause' just before the next words. You can't believe what you're hearing. Your stomach churns and you feel your face go pale, yet you know that there are only ten more minutes left and you're pulling the plug on this interview. You'll have to pick it up with another patient later or simply write it up yourself based on his words, but the last thing you will do is be here when night falls.

"How do you know about that?"

He pointed toward your nails. "It's all in the details, Dr. Song. The way you hold your pen, the slight smudges on your skin... It's clear that you paint. And it's also clear that you're trying to reconcile two parts of yourself—the healer and the artist."

You glanced down at your hands, now trembling slightly. The faint traces of ultramarine blue under your thumbnail, the barely noticeable streak of burnt sienna on your wrist—marks of your late-night sessions that never seemed to completely wash away, no matter how hard you scrubbed with the lavender-scented soap from the local market.

Still, who would look at tiny bits of color strokes that couldn’t be cleaned with a sponge and make poetry out of them?

You gulp down the rest of your cold coffee, feeling its harshness sit heavy in your stomach like a rock. Moonjo watches intently as you set the mug down gently on the table that separates you from him—its metallic clank echoing off the walls like a warning bell in an empty church steeple.

"What makes you think my faith is rotting?"

"Because, jagiya, people like us... we wear masks. We hide behind our roles and our titles. But deep down, we are all searching for something. And sometimes, the very things we believe in, the things we cling to, can decay and fester within us."

"And what about you, Mr. Seo? What are you searching for? What lies beneath your mask?"

Moonjo shrugs nonchalantly, his chained hands moving up to his leather restraints as if he could snap them off at any moment if he wanted to. "Perhaps I'm searching for someone who can understand the darkness within me. Someone who can see beyond the monster and find the humanity buried deep.”

Tick tack.

Suddenly, another fly buzzes around the room. It lands on the battered oak table, right next to the crushed remains of the last one Moonjo had dismembered. Its tiny legs twitch as it surveys the scene, perhaps sensing the latent malice in the room. It cautiously inches towards your coffee mug. You shiver involuntarily as its spindly legs dance closer to the rim of the mug, delicately navigating the remnants of your lipstick stain.

Still, you just roll a piece of paper—the appointment schedule for the day, printed on flimsy office stock—and swat it away. The fly buzzes off, leaving a faint smear on the page, the scent of ink and paper mingling with the stale smell of old coffee.

It's an innocent gesture, a reflex born out of years of dealing with minor nuisances. But the act makes Moonjo stifle a laugh, a sound that is both mocking and curious. He tilts his head as if you were an interesting specimen under his scrutinizing gaze, his eyes narrowing like a cat watching a cornered mouse.

“…Or maybe I'm just looking for my next challenge." His tone was perfectly neutral, without judgment.

Even so, you felt a swell in your chest—a familiar toxic squeeze—like your lungs were eroding under the sheer weight of your work. You exhaled, fighting to remain calm. Seo Moonjo stayed under control only so long as you were calm.

"And do you think you'll find what you're looking for here, in this room with me?"

Moonjo's eyes bore into yours. "Maybe. Or maybe you'll find something about yourself that you never wanted to confront."

After a failed snack at the cafeteria—where the only offerings were a sad-looking sandwich with wilted lettuce and a cup of what could only be described as dishwater masquerading as coffee—you wandered through the dimly lit corridors of Gonjiam, still stained with the rusty marks of dried blood from the day a patient named Ji-Hoon had torn out his IV and sprinted through the halls, desperate for an escape. The metallic tang of old blood seemed to cling to the air, mingling with the antiseptic scent that never quite masked the underlying odor of despair. You needed to sneak out for a cigarette to escape the suffocating weight of your thoughts after the unnerving session with Seo Moonjo. His doodle, now folded and tucked away in your pocket, felt like a lead weight pressing against your leg.

Just as you were about to give up after minutes of wandering around and heading back to your office, Son Yoo Jeong appeared near the fire escape, her ever-present clipboard clutched to her chest and a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead, suggesting she'd been rushing around the ward. Still, she was pretty with her new short bob cut, the kind of haircut that looked effortlessly chic but probably required meticulous maintenance.

“Are you lost, Y/N?" Jeong tilted her head slightly, her brown eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress.

You hesitated, the urge to confess weighing heavily on your chest. “No, not lost. Just... needing a break, noona.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Oh, there’s no need to lie, honey! It happens even with senior nurses! It took me months to find my way around here. It feels like a maze with no exit. Sometimes I still get lost, and I've been here for ten years." She laughed, a light, tinkling sound that contrasted sharply with the heavy atmosphere.

Before you could protest, she gently took you by the arm, her fingers surprisingly strong for someone so petite. She led you through a series of twists and turns, past the nurses' station, where a couple of RNs were chatting over their cups. You barely had time to register the framed prints of Van Gogh's "Starry Night" and Monet's "Water Lilies" hanging on the walls before she was guiding you upstairs, where nurses and aides moved in and out, their scrubs a blur of blues and greens, punctuated by the occasional flash of a brightly colored lanyard or a pin celebrating a recent vaccination.

"I'll put the water on to boil," Jeong said as soon as you two entered the place, her voice cutting through the noise. "What a miserable weather, huh? It would be better if it started raining to end this... Rainis a very strong symbol in the imagination, don't you think? It cleans everything. Have you noticed how patients like to talk about storms? Try to observe. It's interesting."

To your surprise, she reached into her oversized tote bag—a well-worn, brown leather piece that looked like it had seen better days—and pulled out a huge piece of cake wrapped in cling film, placing it in your hand. "Here. Walnut cake. I made it last night. For you. Don't think I didn't notice your pretty face getting smaller every day. I know you're not eating."

"Wow, thanks. I..."

"I know it's not conventional, but I always get better results with difficult patients when I offer a slice of cake during the session," she said with a wink.

You laughed, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit. "I bet you do. Am I a difficult patient?

Jeong giggled with a deep, hearty sound. "No, although I also think it works well with difficult team members... which you are not, by the way. A little sugar helps a lot to improve the mood. I used to make cakes for the cafeteria, but Sangwoo made such a fuss about all that nonsense about health and safety with food brought from outside... It was like I was smuggling files to see through the bars. But I still make my cakes on the sly sometimes. My rebellion against the dictatorial state. Eat a piece.

It wasn't a suggestion but an order. You took a bite. It was delicious. The cake had a perfect consistency, full of walnut pieces, and just the right amount of sweetness. You were chewing, so you tried to cover your mouth while speaking. "I have no doubt that this will put your patients in a good mood."

Jeong clapped her hands, seeming pleased. You realized why you liked her: she radiated a kind of maternal calm. She reminded you of your former therapist, Go Eun. It was hard to imagine her angry or upset. She also had that pink shade on her, mostly on the tip of her nose. You suspected it was partly from the cold; the hospital's thermostat perpetually set a few degrees too low, partly from her habit of pinching her cheeks whenever she felt flustered—a nervous tick she picked up from her grandmother, who always said a little color in the cheeks made one look healthier and mostly because she was just pure goodness and kindness.

You glanced around the room while she made the tea. The nurse's station is always the center of a psychiatric unit, the heart of the place: staff coming and going, and it's from there that the ward is managed day-to-day, or at least where practical decisions are made. "Aquarium" was the nickname the nurses themselves gave the station because the walls were made of reinforced glass, meaning the staff could keep an eye on the patients in the recreation room, at least in theory. In practice, the patients roamed outside constantly, looking in at us, making us the ones under constant observation. Since the space was small, there weren't enough chairs, and the existing ones were usually occupied by nurses working on the computers. So, you generally stood in the middle of the room or leaned awkwardly against a desk, making the place feel crowded no matter how many people were inside.

"Here you go, my dear." Jeong handed you a cup of chamomile tea, the steam curling up in delicate tendrils.

"Thank you. That's exactly what I needed after Jungwoo dropped a big case on my lap out of nowhere. He didn't even give me a heads-up; he just waltzed into the garden and dumped a stack of files on my hands. I swear, he enjoys watching me scramble."

Jeong sighed like a teenage girl from one of those American movies, twirling a lock of her new short bob cut around her finger. "Oh, that cutie. Have you seen him this afternoon? I wanted to show him my new hair. I thought he might appreciate the change. You know, he has a good eye for detail.”

You took a sip of the tea, savoring the gentle floral notes. "He clocked out around three. Said he had scheduled a meeting with his previous seniors and his girl. Probably talking about his residency program and catching up on old times. He looked pretty excited about it.”

"Wished I was her," Jeong sighed wistfully, leaning against the counter. Her new bob swayed as she shook her head. "It must be nice to have a boyfriend so cute like that. Plus, he's a nurse. It makes his appeal get a boost. I mean, who wouldn't want someone who can take care of them and look like he walked out of a K-drama? Remember when he helped old Mrs. Kim during her panic attack last week? The way his hands moved so gently, so sure..."

"Please, stop," you groaned, feeling the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. You set down your cup with more force than necessary, the china clinking against the saucer. It was bad enough that Jungwoo was the topic of many daydreams among the staff; hearing it out loud made it all the more embarrassing. And it certainly didn't help that you'd caught yourself staring at those very hands more times than you cared to admit.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I forgot I'm talking with Mrs. Cold here."

"Mrs. Cold, huh?"

"Well, you know how it is," Jeong leaned in conspiratorially, her breath smelling faintly of the walnut cake. "You've got that icy exterior, but we all know you're just a big softie underneath. Like a lollipop with a hard shell and a gooey center. Besides, it's kind of endearing. The way you pretend not to care when Jungwoo brings you coffee every morning, or how you always make sure he eats during long shifts..."

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, sure. Just call me the Ice Queen of Gonjiam.”

“Hey, it’s better than some of the other nicknames flying around,” Jeong winked, glancing around as if to make sure no one else was listening. “Remember when Nurse Kim accidentally dyed her hair green and everyone called her ‘The Hulk’ for months? At least your nickname has a certain... elegance to it.”

“You're impossible, Noona.”

Just then, the door to the nurse's station creaked open, and Go Sangman entered, his presence immediately commanding the room. The man was painfully thin, almost skeletal, his frame accentuated by the oversized white coat he wore. His thick glasses magnified his eyes to an almost comical degree, and his hair clung to his scalp in a desperate attempt to cover the bald spots. A dark blue one.

As always, though, he exuded a strong smell of mint gum that he was always chewing.

It was one of the few things you shared in common while you worked at a downtown asylum, and you recalled that he smoked a lot. However, he had given up smoking, got married, and had a young child since then. You pondered Sangman's potential as a father. Thought he was not a very caring guy, and yet here he was—the new employee of the month, with his picture emblazoned on the bulletin board outside the "aquarium," surrounded by an outrageous gold border.

He gave you a cold smile. "Funny running into you again, Y/N."

"Small world."

"The world of mental health certainly is," he said, as if to imply that he could also be found in other, broader worlds. You tried to imagine what those might be like, but all you could visualize was him hunched over a dimly lit desk, engrossed in the latest volume of "Attack on Titan" or scrolling through a forum dedicated to anime theories.

"How's Ji-Young and little Soo-Min?" You asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Ji-Young has become quite the entrepreneur," he finally said, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. "Her brownies are practically flying off the shelves. And Soo-Min... She's already the teacher's pet. Loves her new ‘Frozen’ backpack and can’t stop talking about Mrs. Kim, her homeroom teacher. Time flies, doesn't it?"

You nodded."It sure does."

Sangman stared at you for a few seconds. You had forgotten his habit of pausing, sometimes for a long time, forcing the other person to wait while he considered his response. It annoyed you now, just as it did back then.

"I’ve joined the team at a rather inopportune moment," he said finally. "The sword of Damocles is hanging over the Gonjiam."

"You think the situation is that bad?"

"It's only a matter of time. Sooner or later, the government will close our doors," he replied, his eyes narrowing as he leaned against the doorframe. "The question is, what are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?" Jeong asked, pausing mid-bite of her walnut cake, the crumbs scattering onto her clipboard. A child’s laughter at a funeral.

"Well, when the ship starts sinking, the rats run away. They don't climb aboard."

You were perplexed by Sangman's direct aggression. You decided not to take the bait. "It's possible. But I'm not a rat. And in that case, you are the one who should leave since you’re new here."

Before he could respond, a violent bang on the reinforced glass interrupted the conversation. Hanna was on the other side of the window, pounding on it with such ferocity that the glass vibrated. Her face was pressed against the glass, nose squished flat, features distorted to the point of resembling something out of a Francis Bacon painting.

"I'm not taking this shit anymore. I hate these fucking pills, man..."

Sangman opened a small hatch in the glass, the kind you see in old bank teller windows, and spoke through it. "Now is not the time to discuss this, girl."

Hanna's eyes were wild; her pupils dilated. "Discuss? What's there to discuss? You people don't listen. You just shove pills down our throats and expect us to be grateful."

"I'm not talking about this now. Make an appointment to talk in a private setting. Please, step back.”

But Hanna was having none of it. "You mean the isolation room, right? Where you can pump me full of more drugs?" Her words were laced with bitterness, and you couldn't blame her. The isolation room—Room 317, a windowless cube—was a last resort, a place none of the patients wanted to end up. The walls were padded, and the only window was a small, barred one high up on the wall, allowing in just a sliver of daylight. Designed to break the spirit.

“Go. Away.”

Hanna furrowed her brow and thought for a while. After that, she turned and went away with a heavy step, leaving behind a small condensation circle where her nose had touched the glass. Her slow shuffling step, with one foot dragging slightly behind the other due to an old injury sustained during one of her episodes, was audible.

Jeong sighed while pouting, "Poor Hanna."

Sangman grumbled, " There’s nothing poor about her. Difficult. That 's all she is."

"Do you even know why she is here?" You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the chamomile tea in your hand, before eyeing his red face, the veins in his neck bulging slightly as if he were restraining himself from snapping back.

"Double homicide," Go replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "She killed her mother and sister. Smothered them while they slept."

You shook your head slowly, the corners of your mouth curling into a grim smile. "No. Wrong. She actually killed her abusive father. The one you’re talking about is Gunwoo-shi. Before calling me or other people rats, you should recognize you’re one yourself.”

Sangman’s eyes widened momentarily, a flicker of uncertainty breaking through his usual facade. His fingers twitched, as if reaching for the pack of cigarettes he no longer carried. "I don't recall—"

“Of course, you don't," you interrupted. "You’ve always been quick to judge, slow to understand. Hanna was admitted last spring. Maybe you’re too busy with your ‘research’ on the effects of antipsychotic medications on her to notice the details. She killed her father in self-defense. He broke her soul before she broke his neck.”

“Ouch!” Jeong giggled. “You deserved that, oppa!”

“That’s not funny,” Sangman retorted, rubbing his arm where Jeong had playfully swatted him. His glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them back up.

Ignoring them, you watched what was happening on the other side of the glass.

Hanna had joined the other patients. She was much larger than the others. One of the patients, a man named Minho with a penchant for collecting bottle caps, handed her a crumpled five-thousand won note, which she pocketed with a practiced nonchalance. Minho's eyes darted around nervously, his fingers twitching as if he were itching to add another cap to his collection.

Just as you were about to resume your conversation with Jeong about the teenager’s relationship, you noticed a stillness settle over the room. Across from you, Jeong looks like she might be sick; her face is ashen and she keeps licking her lips, a nervous habit you remember from when she first started working here. Go Sangman stays rigid near the doorway, his arms crossed tightly across his chest and his mouth slightly agape as if unable to find words for once.

It was as if someone had pressed a mute button, silencing the usual ambient noise of whispers, shuffling feet, and the hum of fluorescent lights. Every head, every pair of eyes turned slowly to the left, towards the maximum security room.

You followed their gaze and felt a chill run down your spine. The double doors of the high-security wing creaked open, and there he was—Seo Moonjo. Flanked by five guards, he walked with an unsettling calmness, his eyes scanning the room like a predator surveying his territory. The guards looked tense, their grips tight on the batons at their sides, ready for any sudden movement. They had seen this before—patients attempting to attack their infamous new roommate in order to earn his favor and join his ranks.

As they led him towards the solitary dining area, the patients parted like the Red Sea, creating a wide berth for Moonjo and his entourage. Some of the more unstable patients reached out as he passed, their fingers barely grazing his skin. Their eyes were wide, filled with a mix of awe and fear, as if they were in the presence of some unholy deity.

"Moonjo-ssi," Yoo Gi-hyeok said, his voice trembling. He stretched out his hand, trying to touch Moonjo's face as if seeking a blessing. "Save us..."

The dentist’s lips curled into a smile, but it held no warmth. His eyes were dark, devoid of any human emotion. He allowed the patient to touch his cheek for the briefest moment before the guards shoved the man back, causing him to stumble and fall.

Gi-hyeok didn't seem to mind; he lay on the floor, gazing up at Moonjo with a look of reverence. His eyes were glazed over, his mouth slightly agape as if still tasting something—perhaps what little piece of human connection he got from touching the infamous killer or perhaps simply relishing in fear itself. Whatever it was, it made them all feel alive in some twisted way.

A savior? Or a butcher? Did the others sense the predator within him, the one that saw them not as individuals but as prey? As potential meals, are their flesh and bones nothing more than sustenance for his insatiable hunger? Did they sense, in some deep part of their psyche, that he would devour them, body and soul?

And what did Moonjo see when he looked at them? Did he see the delicate curve of their necks, the pulse of their blood just beneath the skin? Did he imagine the taste of their fear, the texture of their flesh as his teeth tore through it? Was every touch, every glance, a prelude to a feast, a silent promise of their inevitable consumption?

You couldn't tear your eyes away from the scene. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion—horrifying yet impossible to look away from. Moonjo continued his march towards the solitary dining area, his presence casting a long shadow over the room.

Jeong took a quick sip of her tea but spilled some down her chin when her hand shook; she quickly wiped it away with a trembling hand.

She glanced at you with wide eyes before looking back at Moonjo's retreating form. ” It's his first day here and they act like this when he's around. They treat him as if he's some kind of messiah."

With that, Moonjo and his guards disappeared behind the heavy metal door of the solitary dining area, the clang of the door echoing ominously through the now silent room.

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

Kwang, Min-Jun's father, short leashes his dogs again. They were valuable, and he had no intention of losing them to a shot female doe howling and gibbering just down yonder. His son reloaded their guns and snapped them closed. That howling had chilled you and made the sweat under your arms run down your back feel like ice water. When situations become uncomfortable like this, people look for someone to guide them and in such cases, Kwang Jun steps up. He wasn’t feeling much of a hero right then—quite the contrary—but he did it nonetheless, leading the way toward an outcrop of alders jutting ambitiously from the woody fringe on your right side while you followed nervously at a short distance behind him, trying hard not to stumble over roots or fall behind too far.

Only once did he halt his stride—long enough to crush his spent cigarette underfoot—and then push ahead into the vast open area beyond trees filled with dense underbrush.

To the left, the riverbank sloped gently. Thunderstruck, you halted, wishing you could erase the sight that greeted you, a sight that would haunt your dreams—it was the sort of raw, sun-scorched nightmare that lurked beyond the ordinary—church suppers, walks along the vibrant Han River, honest labor in the factories, stolen kisses under the cherry blossoms. As you'd often told Ae-ra after her nightly story, there's a grimacing skull lurking behind every man's smile. That day, you saw it—you saw the grinning skull.

Sprawled on the riverbank was the most beautiful doe, a bullet lodged in her back. Flies had already begun to gather, buzzing around her wounds and settling in the congealing blood. Her head turned towards the gray sky, as if admiring the sparrows launching from the Lotte World Tower before retiring to the bushes. And then you notice it—a slight bulge in her abdomen. She was pregnant.

So often you read in the local paper that “the killer showed no remorse,” but that wasn’t the case here. Min Jun was torn open by what he had done, you saw it in the trembling of his lips, the quivering of his right point finger on the trigger, the way his eyes widened and darted around, almost as if seeking an escape from the reality he had created. . . But he would live. The doe would not. She had been torn open in a more fundamental way, a way that the blood seeping into the earth couldn't even begin to convey.

You have never been as quiet as you were at that moment, holding that live track. Your whole body just stopped working. Your legs felt like water, jelly, completely unreliable. Your mouth opened. You didn't open it; it opened by itself, a gaping maw trying to silently scream. You couldn't move, but you could hear, see and sense everything inside you and for miles around. It was like you were hyper aware of every rustling leaf, every distant bird call, every breath you took. You thought of church mornings at the confessional with that smelly priest, and you thought that Min Jun and you would soon be joining him in seeking absolution.

You think it was fear. You're always fearful. For what you've done, for what you haven't, for things that haven't even happened yet. The fear is a constant deadweight. A backpack full of wet cement is strapped to your shoulders, dragging you down. You were fearful of not spending enough time outside, of playing with your dolls—a Barbie with a missing shoe and tangled blonde hair that you found in the trash and the plush rabbit Dad won you at the county fair before getting drunk and hitting Mom in front of the Mayor. Fear accompanying your neighbors on their hunt.

You were fearful of not trying hard enough to be better.

"Come on, girl. Get closer. Don’t think too much about it. Her head will have a special place in our family’s house," Kwang chuckled as he finished lighting his tobacco stick, the one he always kept tucked behind his ear, before ruffling your hair and pushing you to stand in front of the bloodied carcass. "She turned out to be on our way; she turned out to be prey, kid.”

You think about the way he said it. Turned out. Not grew up to be a prey. She turned out to be prey. Like she was always supposed to be this way, and it was just hiding inside of her. And this was all inevitable. And her instincts of submission were hiding right underneath the surface when she birthed her fawn in the spring, teaching it to navigate the forest, to find the sweetest grass by the riverbank, to leap over the streams that crisscrossed the woods. Like a volcano that's seen as a mountain, the ones people live right on top of.

It doesn't look deadly until it is.

Your bones shift away from one another like nervous tectonic plates as you crack your head down to finally look at the animal’s eyes. Toes become bloated like little water balloons as you kneel in the grass, the damp earth soaking through your worn-out Converse sneakers. Your eyes crystallize and for a second, everything feels okay as you wrap the frayed, weathered cord around the doe’s neck, the rough fibers scratching against your palms.

Then you explode.

No.

You don't explode.

You slowly morph as you finish the third loop. The wick effect. Your own fat keeps you inflamed. Looking into the water of the river, you see yourself changing. Your reflection warps; your features distort and elongate. Your hair falls out in clumps, drifting away like dandelion seeds in the wind. Your eyes, once black and sharp, soften and take on the glassy, lifeless stare of the doe. You watch as your skin stretches and sags, transforming into a hide, your freckles merging into the spots of a fawn. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, but no sound comes out—only the soft, pitiful bleat of a wounded animal.

Just before you fully morph into the doe, before your mind succumbs to the instinctual fear and resignation of a hunted creature, you wake up.

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

You reach for the hairbrush and start smoothing down your wild hair. It always stuck up all over the place in the morning, especially after a nightmare that involved placing the corpse of a doe in the back of a truck.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Still the same, old you: short, black hair that reached down to the chin, black eyes, and splatters of freckles over the ridge of your nose and the rest of your body. Your nightgown had slipped down during the night, revealing a pale shoulder. You stopped brushing out your hair and tugged it back up.

Your eyes caught the glint of the diamond ring on your finger, a small but noticeable sparkle even in the dim morning light. You looked outside. The sky was gray today, with a blanket of clouds promising a downpour. The kind of weather that made you want to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over your head, and forget the world existed.

It's funny, isn’t it?

Sighing, you reached for the pack of cigarettes and the lighter at the far end of the vanity, only to find nothing. Jesus. Min Jun and his fucking ramblings about lung cancer and how, as a doctor, you should stop going to the hospital smelling like nicotine or weed. The endless lectures about the carcinogens, the secondhand smoke, the image you presented to your patients—it was all part of his new routine.

“Looking for this?”

You cracked your head to the side, turning to see the man himself standing there in the doorway, wiggling your cigarettes and the lighter. He was already dressed in a new, crisp suit with trousers tailored to his frame, as well as a tie that matched his jacket and polished leather shoes from Ferragamo. God, he had been insufferable since he discovered aesthetics on his social media feed, always posting pictures of himself in meticulously coordinated outfits, each post tagged with #OOTD and #Style Goals.

But, yeah, today, his clothes matched the color you always associated with him.

Yellow.

Min Jun’s yellow wasn’t the vibrant hue of sunflowers or gold. It was the jaundiced yellow of sickness, the kind that creeps into your skin and festers. It was the color of deceit, of broken promises whispered in the dark. Every time he flashed that politician's yellow smile, the one inherited from his dad, it made you nauseous. Old man Kwang, who had escalated a non-violent protest into bloodshed. It was Min Jun, though, who took Ae-ra with him that day. He paraded your girl around like some political prop to gain momentum for his father’s campaign.

You could never forgive him—not after what happened to her.

Because, in the end, it was their ambition that had taken your daughter away. A lamb led to slaughter.

Colorful flyers and bold banners invaded the city streets while chants and marches echoed in every corner—all for endorsing Kwang’s political charade. Slogans rang through speakers: "For a Brighter Tomorrow," "Unity and Progress," "Kwang Jun for the People." And Min Jun, playacting as the perfect son, had pulled Ae-ra into that cyclone of chaos. Your sweet little girl was swallowed by a turbulent crowd, lost within its confusion—her wide eyes were framed on the hospital TV screen as she clutched her new Hello Kitty backpack from Lotte Mart nervously—a maze of pink braids bouncing behind her with every step she took.

Everything around you in the psychiatric ward was fast and stressful that day, but you were stuck in tar while everyone else was on land. Sinking slowly while other people were using their legs to run in circles to help the Gonjiam Hospital with all the hurt people. Your legs didn’t work for days. Neither has your brain.

And now? Now you haven't cried since three weeks ago on the third anniversary of her death; your eyes feel dry and cold. You've tried, but there's just nothing. Even when you sit away from Min Jun and ignore his extended hand, watching things that aren't lungs move his chest up and down, praying to feel something for him, there's just silence in response.

You did love Min Jun once. At times when he was cornered, you would dive into the deep end, plunge so suddenly it would cause waves to ripple out, drawing the public’s attention away from him. You would swim to abandoned shores where you would carry buckets, helping him scoop up the murky water of regrets as he cried out till the ocean itself seemed to tremble and the sky collapsed into the horizon.

But what has he done for you? All these years of sacrifice have caused this world to erode everything that was once pure and you can no longer breathe with a rib missing. There was all of this water settling deep within the walls of your lungs, drowning you slowly.

So, after her death, he grabbed another bucket and took you to the abandoned shores, where you used to scoop up his regrets to free him from all his mistakes. And you didn’t even cry out till the ocean itself seemed to tremble and the sky collapsed because, after all these years of carrying his mistakes, how could you believe that you had become one?

“Do you mind knocking before entering my bedroom?”

“Oh, come on! Don’t be so grumpy at this hour!” Min Ju retorted, his voice carrying an almost cheerful lilt that grated on your nerves.

Sleeping in his office wasn’t doing the best things for his princess back; of course, you saw it as he walked in a hunched way. His loafers made no sound on the thick, cream-colored carpet, but the rustle of his suit filled the silence. He placed the lighter and the pack on your side on the vanity, making sure not to knock over the scattered makeup compacts and the crystal perfume bottle.

From the corner of your eyes, you noticed how he kicked the clothes you left on the floor after getting home exhausted from another grueling 12-hour shift. You noticed how he scoffed as he saw the patches on your faded covers, once a deep navy but now a murky gray from too many washes and your sweat.

“Did you wet the bed?” His laugh was a little louder this time, but still hollow. That was his old joke. It was stupid.

Long ago, you pretended to laugh, pretended to play along, as if to apologize in front of former friends. In front of your own eyes, for admitting such a yoke. Nothing, however, was funny to you anymore.

“No, I had another nightmare.”

The cigarette finally lit, and you took a slow drag, feeling the familiar burn of nicotine as it filled your lungs. You discarded the lighter in the jewelry holder plate, where it landed with a small clank, nudging a pair of earrings slightly askew.

He scrunched his nose the exact same way Ae-ra used to before deciding to grab all the covers, making a bundle in his arms. “Nightmares again, huh? You know, Y/N, maybe if you didn’t bring your work home with you, you’d sleep better. All that stress isn't good for you. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, letting out a plume of smoke, coughing. “I’ll get right on that.”

He received the phrase with displeasure, as always, when your "animal intensity shocked him." He fixed his eyes on you, and progressively his features transformed. You almost blushed. The constant preoccupation with reaching his thoughts had not granted you the power to penetrate the most important ones, but it had honed your intuition regarding the smaller ones. You knew that for him to pity you, you had to be ridiculous. Neither hunger nor someone's misery moved him more than the lack of aesthetics. Loose hair, damp with sweat, fell over your flushed face, and the pain, to which your long-calm features had not yet adapted, must have twisted your mouth, lending them some grotesque note. At the most grave moment of your life, you were ridiculous, his pitiful gaze told you.

Finally, after seconds that felt like centuries, his eyes briefly flitted to the divorce papers on your nightstand but he ignored them. Instead, he focused on the small details of the room—the way your books were scattered everywhere, mostly medical journals and a few dog-eared novels, a framed photo of you and Ae-ra by the Han River, and, in the darkest corner of your room, your unfinished canvas.

“You know,” Min Jun began, walking towards your creation as if he were a little boy eager to discover his mom’s secrets. “I remember when you used to teach Ae-ra how to paint every night. So sweet….”

People said that a lot. Even your own mind did, sometimes. Be sweet like before; be better for the people around you. They knew there was a gaping hole inside of you, and they poked and prodded in there, looking for bits of Ae-Ra floating around in the void. As if somehow you could reach inside yourself and pull parts of her out—parts that you lacked. But she wasn't there. She was nowhere. When a part of you disappears, you change, and sometimes it's impossible to go back to who you used to be. That's what people didn't understand. That’s what this cosplay of SpongeBob didn’t understand.

You coughed again, then took one last inhale and stubbed the end of it on the vanity’s smooth and sanded surface, ash and embers falling to the carpet like crumbs off a pastry. “Yeah, well, those days are gone.”

Min Jun touched the dried paint, lingering over the signature line that remained blank. “You know, maybe if you spent half as much time on this marriage as you do at Westlake, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

You bristled at his words, but he continued, undeterred. “You’re always so busy, Y/N. Always with your patients, your research. Think about Ae-ra. She wouldn’t want this. She wouldn’t want her parents to fall apart like this.” He leaned closer, his cologne—something expensive and heavy—filling your senses and making you want to recoil.

“Don’t you dare bring her into this,” you snapped, your voice breaking. “You think you can manipulate me with memories of her? You think that’s going to work?”

His eyes softened. “I’m not trying to manipulate you. I just want us to be a family again. I miss her too, you know. Every single day.” He reached out to touch your hand, but you pulled away, the gesture feeling like a trap.

You pushed past him to the dresser made of dark, deep oak with elegant twisted legs and gilded golden trims. You picked out your attire for the day, folding it into a bundle: a red silk blouse, black high-waisted trousers with a tailored fit, a leather belt that cinched snugly over your waist, and your usual black heeled boots, still at the foot of the bed. There was still some mud caked on the bottoms, no matter how much you had scrubbed them the night before from running after a patient. You’d have to ask Jungwoo for his shoe shining spray.

With your clothes in hand, you made your way to the bathroom. Min Jun followed you like a shadow, still grumbling something about you and your work, but you tuned him out, focusing instead on the sound of your bare feet padding against the cold, hardwood floor. Still, after twenty seconds, you had enough.

You stopped at the bathroom door and turned to face him. “Why aren’t you at work already? Taking care of Daddy’s laundry?”

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his face tightening in a way that reminded you of the time he had to tell his father that he didn’t want to go into politics. “I was actually trying to be good for you. I know your car is still at the workshop and your driver is on vacation.”

You turned on the faucet, letting the warm water fill the tub. “I’ll take a cab,” you muttered, the words rolling off your tongue with a deliberate calmness, pronounced in a way that revolutionized and exposed what was most hidden within you.

While waiting for the water, you grabbed a towel from the shelves in the back as well as a bar of soap.

Min Jun’s eyes narrowed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, sure. Just like you always do. Ignore the problem, run away.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you laid out the towel on the heated rack. “You’re so dramatic, Min Jun. It’s almost entertaining.”

“What’s so funny?”

You turned off the faucet and threw your head back, your hair falling behind your back like a cascade of dark silk, the ends brushing against the lace trim of your nightgown. You laughed then, a sound that felt foreign, almost unnatural, before walking towards him, cornering him against the sink. He almost dropped the bundle of sheets in his hands, his eyes going wide with a mix of surprise and something else—fear, maybe?

For the first time in a long while, you saw the old Min Jun, the rebellious teenager who once stole his father’s suits to impress you, the same boy who would sneak flowers into your school locker when no one was watching. He used to bring you daisies, your favorite, wrapped in newspaper because he couldn’t afford anything else. Now, he stood before you, a stranger in an expensive suit, holding onto wet sheets and a past that no longer existed.

After feeling helpless, unsure of what to do with yourself, not wanting to continue the same past of calm and death, and unable to dominate a different future due to the habit of comfort, you now realized how free Min was and how unhappy he had been. His past—obscure, riddled with frustrated dreams—had left him unable to settle into the conformist, half-happy world of mediocrity.

You leaned in, your breath warm against his cheek, and whispered, "Min Jun."

The sound of his name seemed to snap him out of his daze, and he blinked rapidly, trying to regain his composure.

He tried to take a step back, but the sink behind him left no room for escape. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his, and he flinched, almost losing his grip on the sheets.

“You think I don’t know you, huh?”

“W-what?”

He raised his eyes, meeting your anguished face, and narrowed them, analyzing and understanding you. There was a long minute of silence. You waited silently. You knew this moment was the first truly alive between you, the first that connected you directly. That moment suddenly separated you from all your past, and in a singular premonition, you foresaw that it would stand out as a red dot over the entire course of your life.

“Are you fucking out of your-” he began, but you cut him off, your words spilling out in a rapid-fire burst.

“Elections are coming up, aren’t they, honey? Elections are coming up, and your damn wife isn’t going to any of those shitty interviews or rallies anymore. Your wife doesn’t appear on the cameras, and it is making the public’s attention go to us instead of your father, and that is driving him mad. And now? Now I’m taking over Seo Moonjo’s case! What a perfect way to steal his lollipop, huh? So I’m guessing you’re being all sweet like that because something’s going to happen this weekend, isn’t it? A meeting or a family dinner? Or do you want to take me to bed, soften me up like a piece of meat and tell you all of the things that serial killer told me?”

Min Jun’s face flushed a deep red, his hands trembling slightly. “Are you really trying to use your psychiatric skills on me?”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Oh, darling, I don’t need to use any skills on you. You’re an open book and I know you're scared, aren’t you?” You whispered, your lips barely an inch from his ear.

“Scared that I’ll mess up your perfect little plans? Scared that I’ll drag your name through the mud along with mine.”

#lee dongwook x fem! reader #lee dongwook x reader #a shop for killers #seo moonjo x reader #jeong jian #imagine #lee dong wook #lee dong wook x reader #jeong jin man #seo moonjo

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mavigator · 1 year ago

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peter pwease for the character ask game

ahh....the person brave enough to ask the peter guy about peter. step into my parlor.

one aspect about them i love

there's something peter says to flash thompson that basically describes one of my favorite things about spider-man: "you don't quit until ten minutes after you're dead!" like. my god. not "you don't quit until you drop dead" but, even after you're dead, you keep kicking and hitting and fighting tooth and nail. which is, of course, impossible. WHICH leads me to another line that encapsulates the same thing: thanos (long story) says to peter, "it's too late. you can't save anyone anymore. you're trying to do the impossible." for the record, peter is dead here. he's in a confrontation with thanos and Death after failing to save a little girl and, like, having a heart attack and dying. anyway, peter responds, "yeah? so what. so what?" peter has this unfathomable arrogance in the face of death and he has it on PURPOSE. he CHOOSES to look death in the face and say "so?" he's fucking crazy. he literally gets buried alive for two weeks and crawls out of the grave just because he wants to see his wife. what the hell is his problem

one aspect i wish more people understood about them

(concrete scraping) only one? ok. i wish people understood the Audacity he possesses more. i talk a lot about how i wish his anger issues weren't phased out of his character so often, but i think his sheer audacity goes hand-in-hand with that. this guy isn't socially anxious. in fact, it might be for the good of society at large if he was MORE socially anxious. half the reason peter is such a Figure in the vigilante game (from a watsonian perspective) is because since the jump he's been putting his foot down and telling people how things were going to go even if he had no right or position to do so. sometimes this makes him a jackass. sometimes this makes him one of the best of them

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character

his teeth are pretty messed up because he couldn't afford to see the dentist as a kid and he doesn't feel like getting adult braces. he has Wife Merch that he wears in public and points to and goes Guess what? That's My Wife. Jealous? what else....... oh. NSAID painkillers (like ibuprofen) don't work on me so they don't work on him either.

as well as

one character i love seeing them interact with

aunt may :) that's his mommy and he loves her

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more

hmmm........ ben grimm. the ever-lovin' blue-eyed thing probably reminds peter a lot of his uncle (older jewish guy named ben with a penchant for mischief). i don't think peter sees ben as a paternal figure or anything, i just think he appreciates his company and ben's always the one telling peter he's part of the family. i want them to hang out more and clobber people

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character

he's definitely been on Talk Daredevil Down From Mania-Induced Behavior more than once. i know this happens, like, canonically, but the visual of peter trying his best to calm matt down and then sighing loudly and just cocooning him in a web and dragging him kicking and screaming back to foggy is very funny to me.They're buddies

#i couldve said much more.but i wont #pete #comics

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inkybinkyboink · 2 years ago

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various ofmd brainrot headcanons

ok i know im just babbling but frenchie who has tens of plants in his apartment, his space is just so green and lively and he takes such good care of all of them, feel free to disagree, but frenchie’s a plant guy.

mary teaching ed to sew, and stede and ed going to the fabric store together. they have a membership there and all the staff love the two husbands who frequent the place and make just the friendliest conversation. ed goes for the fabrics, stede goes for the yarn, ed makes dresses change my fucking mind

lucius being on meds and pete reminding him to take them and like you know that man uses endearments dont tell me “dont forget to take you meds baby” doesn’t exist

roach owns a fucking bakery and he features baked goods from around the world. he does a different country every week. and lucius came up with like a snappy title

listen, dont question it too much but i really really think buttons and the swede would be HELLA good yoga partners, i really feel like theres something there

i feel like the swede and roach are also hella good friends.

i think lucius and oluwande would have glasses and, ed, wee john, buttons and swede would own reading glasses in a modern world

oh fuck i have this whole headcanon that ed volunteers at a community center like its a whole thing please ask me about it

jim who writes. god they write so much. poetry, fiction, journal entries, short-stories, and its good too.

frenchie paints and god he really is just that hipster with an art studio

can fang and ivan be like,,,in a qpr? is that weird? bc i dont think thats weird i think they could pull it off.

dont tell anyone but jim still owns the teddy bear theyve had since they were a kid. only olu knows.

pete has a phobia of the dentist. god its so bad. lucius holds his hand the entire time. it takes him months to even just go in for a cleaning, forget getting a cavity filled.

evelyn crochets and shes that crazy bitch who only ever crochets blankets and when you ask her why shes either like “so i can strangle anyone who tries to fuck with me” or “it’s for my kitten ned :)” like theres NO in between

k fuck you, this is my headcanon, and i want the two british privateers to be boyfriends thank you VERY much.

roach does photography thats it thats the post he prints some of them and frames them in the cafe :,)

izzy owns a cat and is good at taking care of kids.

ok thats all thank you bye

#our flag means death #ofmd #stede bonnet #ed teach #blackbeard #lucius spriggs #black pete #oluwande boodhari #jim jimenez #the swede #roach our flag means death #buttons our flag means death #wee john feeney #frenchie our flag means death #fang our flag means death #ivan our flag means death #izzy hands #our flag means death headcanons #ofmd headcanon

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 4 years ago

Text

⛽️ 🔥 FIRE AND GASOLINE 🔥⛽️ (PART 1?)

Prompt: Y/N’s life has changed drastically, precisely 10 years ago and all because of an adorable lunatic and two little maniacs. But what will happen when a divergency of thoughts leads Y/N and her lunatic to say some pretty harsh words, that they know they will regret it later?

Word count: Maybe too long?

Pairing: Jon Moxley (or even Dean Ambrose if that’s your liking) x Reader

Warnings: For now, just some cursing and angst

Notes: His time has finally arrived and I couldn’t be more nervous about it! This goes out to my sincerely unhealthy love for Jon Moxley and my mixed feelings about having kids (sounds like a good match right?). Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories typing ‘masochist writes’ on the search bar on my page and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

A light smile formed on my lips as I watched through the kitchen sink window Atticus and Rosie play in the backyard as I did the dishes. I never thought that my life could change for the better with a 6 and 4 years old..and to think that I never thought of myself as the maternal type.

The plate I was rinsing off almost broke on the sink as my body jumped from fright, when a pair of hands embraced my hips

“Oh God, you almost gave me a heart attack! Are you crazy?”

“Not really, just a little lunatic..” He laughed “I’m sorry it wasn’t my intention to frighten you, but once I saw that ass kitten I lost my fucking mind! Just like I did 10 years ago...” His hands roamed on my hips until they reached my ass that he lightly slapped. “Did you miss me, cherry?” His lips glued on the nape of my neck

‘Cherry’ that lame ass nickname he gave me 10 years ago...and all because my cheeks go incredibly red when I blush or whenever the weather gets cold making a huge contrast against my pale skin.

“Of course I missed you! This house gets too boring without you in it” I lightly chuckled

“Is that the only reason why you missed me?” He grinds his bulge on my ass, as an insinuation to what he actually meant by that question

“Jon, the kids are outside...”

“I’m not doing anything, I’m just asking an innocent question kitten” He nibs my neck

I turn around to face him, placing my arms around his neck leaning in for a kiss. It started innocently, but Jon Moxley wouldn’t be Jon Moxley if things were kept innocent.

His hands reached the hem of my tank top, sliding in to meet my bare skin, he roams up til he finally founds what he was looking for.

“Fuck baby, I missed these” He whispers as he softly but firmly squeezes my breasts. As much as I would like to have some fun time with my husband it’s not ‘adult time’ yet, which meant the kids were still up. So no ‘dirty deeds’ for us just yet.

I took the little bit of sanity I still had and broke the kiss

“Jon, that’ll have to wait babe”

He sighs “C’mon Y/N is just a quickie kitten, the kids won’t even notice you’re not here..just a few pumps in, I swear!”

“The last time you wanted to give it just ‘a few pumps in’ I was birthing Rosie 9 months later” I reminded him

“So? We love each other, we’re an adult couple with a beautiful family and a lot of love to give” He nibs my bottom lip “What’s wrong with having another little maniac? I wouldn’t mind! We make some pretty fucking good looking kids, we should start practicing another one now” He vaguely said

Oh God not this again... This has been a pretty heated topic between Jon and I, he was always crazy about kids but I wasn’t very fondly of them. When I found out I was pregnant with Atticus I lost my mind! I wasn’t sure about the whole ‘mommy’ commitment for life thing, I didn’t even knew if I had one single bone of motherhood in me. That soon changed though when I first held Atticus on my arms, at that moment I knew my heart was sold to some stinky bum that would call me ‘mom’ for the rest of my life. Rosie was a surprise too, we haven’t even talked about the possibility of having another kid and I was already pregnant with her.

Right after that the baby factory was officially closed to me but not for Jon, he wanted at least two more kids and I didn’t, he had a bit of a trouble understanding that back then I didn’t even wanted my first one! I love my kids, I would die for them in a blink but that doesn’t mean that I eagerly look forward being pregnant every goddamn year.

Jon’s job doesn’t help either, with him constantly being on the road I do most of the raising when it comes to the kids. Of course he still is an amazing father in the short amount of time he is home but still, I’m the one who has to do the working, cooking, cleaning, give baths, put to bed, take to swimming classes, brazilian jiu-jitsu classes, dentist appointments, running to the emergency at 3am because one of them is suddenly sick while the other one sleeps at the emergency’s waiting room chair, wiping off their tears whenever daddy has to leave again..

“Jon, not this topic again, please” I beg

“What is wrong with me wanting to discuss having another baby with the woman that I love?”

“It’s not that simple Jon, I wish it was but is not” I said slightly angry

“Yes it is that simple Y/N! You’re the one who’s always trying to complicate things” He let go of my hips

Great! Now he’s angry too. That’s just what I needed!

“Jon look, I don’t want us to fight ok? You just got home and we all miss each other so why don’t we drop it for now huh?”

I tried to wave the white flag, but I should’ve known it wouldn’t work with Jon ‘The Stubborn’ Moxley

“Of course you want to drop it, it’s not of your interest is it? No it isn’t! You always do this! Whenever a subject doesn’t matter to you, you don’t wanna talk about it, you’re always so selfish! Always thinking about yourself, never once caring about me or what I want! Selfish as fuck!” He raised his voice

When people say that words can hurt more than actions they were right. If he had punched me in the face it wouldn’t hurt as much as the harshness of his words. To say that I am selfish? After everything I left behind just to be with him? That hurt! And instead of doing the adult thing and keep my mouth shut before I said something I knew I would regret it, I did the Y/N thing where I run my mouth with harsher words than he’s previous ones just so I could hurt him as much as he hurt me

“I’m selfish? Me? Oh you better place the mirror in front of your own face to find the definition for that word Jonathan! You are the one who gets to make your ‘wrestler life’ on the road, living like a single man with not even one worry on your mind while I get behind with two kids and all the shit that comes with the package! It’s easy for you to say it with your 15 minutes FaceTime parenting that you do! In the mean time I have to be the bad guy who has to always say no because glorious dad is on the road chasing his dream for when he gets home he will do all of his kids luxuries so he can try to compensate his absence with Barbie dolls and hot wheels cars! So yeah I’m the selfish one Jonathan, good thing you notice that” I regretted those words as soon as they fell from my lips.

Jon’s eyes briefly showed the hurt caused by them but he soon replaced that with rage and pride before lifting his head up to say

“And is thanks to glorious dad that you have this comfortable house, a nice car and a shit ton of food on your table sweetheart. Let’s be honest here Y/N, how are you supposed to support yourself and the kids with your shitty excuse for a salary? I wipe my ass with the pitiful money that you make” He huffed

I’ve never felt so humiliated in my life. Yes my paycheck was mere cents compared to his, but I worked hard for my money, I was proud to have my own money, to share the bills with him and was proud for not taking the easy path of relying on a rich man to support myself (like my dear old mother proudly did). So the fact that he took something that was so prideful to me and used to humiliate me, made me for once rethink all of our 10 years together and if it was worth it at all.

Tears threaten to fall from my eyes and Jon seemed to have realized what he just said as for he reached his hand to cup my cheek

“Kitten, I-“

“Don’t! Don’t touch me, I don’t want you anywhere near me” I said in between sobs

“Y/N please I-“

“Mommy, why are you crying?” I saw Rosie’s smile die on her lips once she saw me crying.

I heard Atticus’ fast footsteps coming by the french doors to stop by Rosie

“Yay, daddy’s home- Mommy are you ok? Why are you crying? Did you get hurt?” His small but smart baby blue eyes roamed my face and my body for any signs of physical hurt

“Yes stinker, mommy got hurt” I said trying to hold back my sobs

“Where? I can’t see anything” Those clever blue orbs that were a faithful copy of Jon’s roamed through me once more trying to find the injury

“Why don’t you guys come here and tell daddy how much you’ve missed him while mommy goes upstairs to clean up the scratch?”

They just nodded and ran towards Jon, who took them both in his arms

“Y/N” He started but I gave him a look that made him go silent.

I reached the safety of my bedroom, feeling the urgent need to run away. Run away from him, from this house, from this country. Taking with me only the clothes on my body and my two little beasties...the immature part of me yelled ‘do it, do it’ but the grownup in me knows I can’t do this. It’s not fair to the kids, they barely get to see their father whom they love and miss so much. It’s not fair to Jon either, he loves those kids more than he’s own life.

But right now I needed my safe place (or better, person), I needed to breath so I called her and when I received the ok on spending 3 days at her house I packed a small little bag with enough close for just those days, as I was zipping up the bag a faint knock came from the bedroom door soon after being followed by it opening.

“Kitten, can we talk- What are you doing?” He asked in urgency as he bursts into the bedroom approaching me.

“I’m gonna go to Nancy’s” I vaguely said looking at anywhere but him

“Nance? Your sister?”

“She’s the only Nancy I know, so yeah..”

“But why? I just got home, I wanna be together Y/N”

“It’s just for 3 days Jon..you’ll be with the kids, they need you and they miss you” My voice is a faint whisper

“But I need and miss you too! I want you here! How am I supposed to enjoy my family if it’s not complete? I’m sure we can figure it out whatever it is that happened earlier” He grabbed my shoulders turning me to face him and cupped my cheeks, tilting my head up to look me in the eyes.

“Y/N, kitten, I know that I’ve said some pretty harsh things to you earlier. I’ve been stressed out. It’s all my fault, I’m so sorry cherry. Please forgive me baby” He pressed his forehead with mine

That was typical Jon, always pulling the guilt towards himself, he has a hard time understanding that he was not always the only cause of a disagreement.

“Jon, we both said some stupid things ok? This is not all on you, love” I released myself from him, if he continued this close I wouldn’t resist, and right now I need to think.

“Yes it is Y/N. Me and my stupid fucking mouth, not you. You’re perfect kitten”

I scoffed “Trust me, I am not”

“Yes you are! Look at who I am now because of you, I stopped doing drugs, I’m not a drinking mess anymore, I eagerly look forward coming come because I know that the three pieces of my heart are waiting for me, look at what I’ve achieved, what you gave me, how you gave up everything and everybody to be with me”

Oh yeah,that.. my ‘high society family’ was not happy at all when they met Jon, they said that we were a very dangerous combination of fire and gasoline, that we would never be happy. I had two options they said, either them or him. I hated my family and loved Jon so it was a simple math. I left my house and all of the luxury behind to live with him in his ridiculously small one bedroom old apartment. The only person that I still talked to was Nancy my older and just as rebel sister, who gave everybody the middle finger and left the not so humble abode of my family never speaking with them again. So it made sense that the two rebellious black sheeps would become their own family, mine was Nancy and I was hers.

“Jon I need some time to think, we need it ok? Please, we both need to digest what we’ve said to each other. It wasn’t just a simple ‘fuck off’ we’ve said some pretty bad stuff so let’s just process this ok?” I beg

“Are you gonna leave me forever? Please don’t tell me you’ll want divorce because of this...I won’t handle it kitten” His voice was strangled by tears

“Jon-” I was thankfully interrupted by Rosie’s and Atticus’ screams of joy on the hallway as they ran towards our bedroom

“Mommy, daddy the movie is about to start c’mon” Atticus says as he jumps from excitement. They have been wanting to watch Moana for a while now, but only when daddy got home so he could watch it too.

“We’re going buddy” Jon fastly said

“Actually” I begin “Only daddy will watch the movie with you” It crushed my heart to see the disappointment on their faces

“Why?” Rosie asks

“Because auntie Nancy called and mommy’s gonna need to go and help her”

“Is auntie Nana in trouble?” Now it was Atticus turn to ask

“No stinker, she just need momma’s help with something, it’s nothing bad I promise”

“Can you go to Nancy’s after the movie?” Jon hopefully asks, he knows that the longer I stay the less likely it will be for me to leave.

The kids gasped at their daddy’s amazingly smart idea.

“Please mommy, please!” The kids started to beg as they kneeled down to make their begging really serious.

Jon kneeled down too, by my side. I looked at him confused and he just said

“Yeah mommy, please stay” He placed his hands on my hips “Please kitten, don’t leave me” He whispered

And now I have 3 pairs of incredibly beautiful and pleading baby blue eyes staring at me waiting for my answer.

What am I supposed to do?...

To be continued (?)

What do you think? Should this story continue? Would you like to see what will Y/N do? What would you do? Please let me know your thoughts, they are so very important to me and help me with my writing 💕🥰

#jon moxley #jon moxley one shot #jon moxley fanfiction #jon moxley x reader #aew one shot #aew fanfiction #dean ambrose #dean ambrose one shot #dean ambrose fanfiction #dean ambrose x reader #dean ambrose x oc #wwe imagine #wwe one shot #wwe fanfiction #jon moxley imagine #dean ambrose imagine #masochist writes

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jennsmischievousmind · 4 years ago

Text

Fucks not Found

Ghosts

Summary: You hack, that's what you do. Dying to do so freely, wasn't what you had expected. Meeting the weirdest fucking squad; losing the best part of you; falling for a thief : was not planned.

Pairing : Four/Billy (Ben Hardy) - You

A/N: The story goes through the all movie, so I suggest you watch it before reading.

I don't own any characters other than Eight.

English is not my native language, I'm trying to get better at it, please be indulgent.

Tried my best to match Ryan Reynold's level of sass aha

This is how you die.

"So you're the one who hacked the wrong guy" You swiftly turn around gasping at the sudden voice in your apartment

"Depends, you’re his hitman?" You were ready to run even if it means jumping by the window.

"Nooo, I'm an angel.” You snort at his sarcasm, unknown to you at this moment that he was full of it.

"Wanna disappear?" he asked taking a seat at the kitchen table eyeing your bags at the door.

"In a body bag? Slowly you make your way to the knives, just in case.

"You are a funny one, aren't you? I know the man you stole from, you won't get far until he got you. But, he emphasized, if you’re willing to do what's right.."

"I've already done my part for the flag." Assuming he was American by the way he talked.

"I'm not talking about shitty drug dealers. But evil war-lovers, genocide perpetrators, that kind of shitty so-called human. Those ones that are above the laws with governments' balls in their hands, ready to squish them.”

"That's gross" your brother appeared from the adjacent room. You let your mind consider the stranger’s offer as soon as you look at your confused brother, knowing he was in danger because of you.

“You two look at lot alike.” The guy leaned in, screwing his eyes at you both.

“We’re twin dumbass” your brother answered glancing at you wondering.

“What’s the deal?” you asked considering the offer

The guy smirked, “Well, to be short you die, and then you take down evil motherfuckers without governments’ backlash on you.” He tapped his fingers against the Formica table.

It took 5 minutes.

"One condition, my brother comes to!"

"What's he good at?" he crossed his arms.

"I can drive…Hold on what? Die? Who the fuck are you!?”

"Already too many questions” he rolled his eyes

"He's a hell of a driver, it got him under surveillance when he got chased by 6 police cars after an illegal race back in the States."

"So they caught up Muttley” the guy clucked his tongue

“Hey!”

"No, you interfered almost ashamed, I told him to stop the car...I got motion sickness."

The guy erupted in laughter, you two watching him unamused.

“I’m more like Peter Perfect.” Your brother mumbled as the guy left.

You look by the window discreetly, catching a glimpse of the guy mingling in the crowd. “You’re Muttley bro.”

A week later you got a text. The guy who called himself One had planned your fake death. A random trek in Italy’s mountains, an assumed fatal fall, no bodies recovered.

It was never supposed to be your life. But we all know nothing happens as it should.

Papà went to fight a war and disappeared, you were forced to move in America when you were 6.

Mammà never cope the loss of her motherland and husband. She died of a belated broken heart syndrome when you were 16.

Both you and your brother were placed in a host family. It wasn’t a crappy family like it’s always the case in some tv show, they were nice and wealthy. The father was a tech engineer, somehow you took interest in his work and start learning to code, soon reading about hackers: white hats; black hats; “We are Legion”, you were hooked and skilled in a matter of time.

When you turned major though, things turned difficult, the host family had to let you go and Internal Affairs of your state caught you looking in their network. Which led to you working as a C.I for them, it was that or prison. Not thrilled by the idea but obliged to cooperate was your new motto.

Your brother had some job here and there but nothing steady, so money from the IA was welcome.

After a year and a half, I.A ditched you, it was rather good news in a way, they’ve erased your past mistakes but said they’d keep a distant eye on you.

So you moved on from your shithole that was the 1 bedroom apartment you and your brother shared and went to your parents’ hometown in Italy. Your brother was reluctant at first as he couldn’t even say hello in Italian, you taught him as your mamma had done it with you but he wasn’t that interested.

Working with people was not your forte, you were too bossy, so you got fired ... plenty of times: from a coffee shop, a rental bike shop and a tourist city tour bus thingy. So you started doing what you were good at, hacking for money, it went well for a few years, never being too greedy - until you hacked the wrong person and got in trouble.

That's how you became a Ghost and ended up in the middle of the California Desert.

One had built a squad. No names, only numbers to identify each other. Not calling your brother by his name was a challenge, same for him.

There were 7 of you.

One, the “boss”, a mysterious sassy billionaire who decided to fund his own strike team.

Two, a French blonde woman, pretty cold, a spy apparently

Three, a crazy hitman who couldn’t shut up

Four, a young parkour master and reformed thief

Five, a Doctor, but you heard she was actually working at a Dentist

Six, your brother, the annoying driver.

And then Eight, you, the Black Hat somehow becoming a hacktivist.

Why not Seven? Long story short, it was one more condition you’d submitted to One.

_SICILY

"Your focus determines your reality.”

“Oh for fuck's sake One, quit your Jedi bullshit!” you loosed your temper typing on your keyboard angrily. An entire week, an ENTIRE WEEK quoting Star Wars!

Four and Five laughed in the comm. One braced himself on the other end of the line. Three cut the heavy silence.

“Eight, Chiquita please stop yelling”

“I’m not a Chiquita stop saying that!”

“Ok ok chi…Eight, damn you’re stressful”

“God, why do I have to team you up!!” One facepalm

“Now what?” Five asked

Radio silence

“Oh so now no one’s talking! What are you, 4?” One angrily called out to you 2.

“Yeah, uh high, literally.” Four answered One, you snorted.

“No .. damn not you!”

“You called me Mate!” Four said offended

“No, shush – Eight are you done with the system?” he was about to lose it.

“I’ve been done with it the second Three called me Chiquita!” you crossed your arms in front of your laptop.

“Hey ..” “We’re not talking about that again!” One cut Three

“Can we get going now?” Two interfered, you heard her bike roaring.

“Finally, some sensed words.” One said wrapping it up.

Four entered the place you’d hacked the system of. Six and Two were not far in case of trouble.

“Four, the hard drive is in the main office. Second floor.” One enunciated, you followed Fours progression with the security cameras.

It was enlivening, stressful, but oh so exciting. When you worked with I.A you were never there when they’d go down in action, it was nothing but boring data researched and dealer’s MacBook.

“Freeze Four, guards coming east.” Switching cams you gave him a safe path.

“Ok, you’re clear. Now to your left, third door then turn right.”

Four got his hands on the hard drive containing all you needed to know about the next target.

“Well done.” One congratulated the team

“Thanks, thanks, It helps to have a sexy voice guiding you” Four chuckled, you blushed, sexy voice? is that even possible?

“Great, kid. Don’t get cocky.”

You rolled your eyes at the endless use of Star Wars' quotes.

“Hum that’s my sister, remember?” Six growled tightening the wheel

“Luke grab Solo, meet up in 15minutes at the hotel. Everyone move!” One instructed you smiled at the thought of being Leïa. Gosh, you were as much of a nerd as One.

Climbing down the jeep Three had rented, you laughed seeing your brother holding Four in an arm lock for a few seconds anyway, Four reversed the lock, pining your brother’s arms behind himself.

You passed by them “Easy with my twin please.” Four wasn’t releasing his hold so you stopped, turning back you lift an eyebrow at Four insisting he let him go.

“Oh!” he lifted his hands in defence taking a step back.

Grabbing your brother by the sleeves as he was about to jump on Four “Come on piccino” you made your way in the hotel laughing.

Your first big mission started a few weeks after, everyone gathered in The Haunted House as One called it, an old bunker, cheesy name for an HQ.

“You don’t get it, I need a CAR!”

“That’s a car, Six.” Three argued back.

“No that’s a heap, that thing won’t get us through the paved road of Italy, believe me.”

Four and Five were amused by the situation, Three had rent a truck and an old Volvo for this mission.

“Alright, shut up, we’ll get another car!” One declared, Six flicked to Three.

One resumed the mission’s details. Giving everyone their own missions. A simple mission, retrieve a lawyer’s smartphone.

In the midst of it, your hand flew to your brother’s head next to you. The smacked resonating between the walls of the unfinished bunker.

“Why ..why’d you hit him?” One asked confused, your brother was rubbing the back of his head frowning at you.

“Cain’s instinct.” You replied wriggling your fingers for him to continue. Four snorted, Six nudged him in the ribs.

In a few months, you had learned a lot from this weird squad. Learning to shoot was an obligation, Three was insane but a good teacher.

You’d asked Four to teach you some parkour in case of a chase. Six and Four became close friends in a matter of time. Five was nice, but you were never one to be good at making friends. Two was not a big talker and frankly, she scared you a little.

So you spend your free time hacking and reading, on the hammock installed between a dismantle plane and a dead tree. Not far from there you could hear Four skating in the empty pool and three at the makeshift shooting range.

Suddenly,

“EIGHT!”

Groaning you closed your book “WHAT!?

Your voice boomed against the caravan and lost itself in the desert, but you still hoped Four had heard. It was his thing, screaming your name instead of coming to you directly. At his silence, you wriggle out the hammock and strode to the pool.

“What’d you want skater boy?”

He was lying in the pool his board by his side. “Four?” you made your way to the ladder, “hey” you gently nudge him with your foot but he didn’t move.

“Four? you called out worried, “shit” knees hitting the vinyl liner checking if he was breathing, he wasn’t.

“Hey wake up, seriously dude don’t make me do CPR on you, I suck at it!” suddenly laughter erupted in your ears. Six appearing on the edge, Four chucked on the floor.

“Pranking you..he tried to breathe in, is always the best sis!” Six laughed even harder at your confused face. Still kneeling at Four’s side, he was looking at you laughing, until he wasn’t, catching a glimpse of worry melting with anger in your eyes.

Punching his left shoulder, you hurried out the pool. He stayed on the floor watching you go.

“Don’t make me do CPR I suck at it!” your brother was still laughing his brain's out.

“What was that?”

Four leaned on the dead tree near your head, his shadow offering some shade.

“A real bad joke?”

“No I mean, why’d you hit me?”

Sighing you clasped your book closed for the second time today “you really got me worried, happy?”

“No, you propped up on your elbow at his answer craning your head to him, I didn’t mean to scare you.” His warm hand slide in your hair at the base of your neck, he leaned in, letting you enough time to push him away if you wanted.

"Sorry" he whispered, his lips pressing in your temple gently, warmly for a few seconds. Catching yourself leaning in you almost fell off the swinging' hammock as he released his hold, he grinned and left not saying anything more.

"What the hell Four!!" you yelled at him, an ounce of laughter in your voice, a blush creeping into your cheeks, his own laughter filling the desert's silence.

FLORENCE

A/N: don't forget to double tap if you liked it. 🙏

#billy x reader #four x reader #6 underground imagine #four imagine #Ben Hardy #6 underground Four x reader #Fucks not Found

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zrtranscripts · 3 years ago

Text

Home Front, Mission 4: Magpie

We'll Meet Again

SAM YAO: Okay, okay. Here we are again, stuck indoors, staring at the same walls. Have any of you started to notice, like, shapes in the wallpaper? I've been sitting looking at the ceiling so much that I'm pretty sure the stain in the corner looks just like Vasco da Gama, or at least what I think the cartoon of Vasco De Gama in a history comic I had when I was eight looked like. I can't even get onto Rofflenet right now to find out who Vasco da Gama was because Janine's using the connection for some kind of important work connected to the future of Abel Township. Hmm. She-she's probably using it to make a top five list of her favorite military commanders, isn't she? I mean, I know she's not. It's something about crop rotation.

Hey, I could make a list of the top five things I miss about you runners! Um, I miss Runner Nine’s cooking. The stews with the dumplings, oh my God. You know, things are not the same around here now you're stuck in that abandoned community center, Nine. Although I'm happy to hear from Rofflenet that you've invented a new... cauliflower and sausage stew. Now it doesn't sound promising, but I'm pretty sure you'll make it delicious.

Anyway, look, basically the only thing that made me feel better last week was to do that exercise broadcast, so I thought we could do another one! Janine says if I keep this up, she might let me help out with some of the simpler tasks in the vegetable garden here, which at least would be something to do. So okay, I'm gonna play a song, and you just warm up to it however you like. Dancing around, doing star jumps, skipping, marching on the spot, whatever you like, okay? Now this is a song I don't think Janine would like me playing in the vegetable garden.

SAM YAO: All right! Yeah! I feel kind of better already. And I've got the Ministry guidelines in front of me for exercise to stop you going stir-crazy. No, that's not actually what it's called. So shall we do something? [paper rustles] Oh. Oh, Janine's marked these up with "useful training for working on Abel's farmland" Post-its. Where does she even get Post-its in an apocalypse? Has she been like, making Post-its? Did she stockpile Post-its before all this? That-that does sound like the kind of thing she'd do, to be honest.

Anyway, [laughs] here we've got forward lunges. Janine says, "These will be good training for picking inaccessible fruit and berries." Okay, right. Here are the instructions. Stand up straight with your feet hip-width apart. Take a big step forward with your right foot, then lower your hips towards the ground, bending both knees, keeping your right shin vertical and let your left heel come off the floor. Make sure your right knee doesn't go over your right toes. Uh-huh. Says here that if you can, you could let your left knee touch the floor gently, but if you can't do that, don't worry. Just do what you can and make sure it doesn't hurt. Then push down into your right heel to go back to the starting position, then do it again.

Okay, right. Now I'm gonna time it. It's 30 seconds. Uh, right leg forward, and go! And 10 seconds done. [laughs] Man, I bet that's burning your thighs right now. Look, I'd join in, but-but people said it sounded weird last time when I did it. That's it. Okay, now change legs. Left leg forward for 30 seconds. There's no need to go quickly, just go at your own pace. And go! [laughs] Man, I'm imagining you all doing that right now. [laughs] It does look like you're reaching for a juicy apple just out of reach, actually. Okay, that's 15 seconds, and I'll give you a little countdown when we get to five. Keep going. And that's five, four, three, two, one, and that's 30 seconds! Good work, everyone!

Now it says here that lunges are a very versatile exercise, and there are also backward lunges! Exciting stuff! Anyway, I'll play some music now. Either dance around to it or do marching or carry on with the forward lunges, whatever feels good to you.

SAM YAO: Aw yeah, that song. That song just always puts a smile on my face, you know what I mean? Do you find right now that you're looking out for stuff that makes you smile? Like there's a new pair of black birds that are coming to feed at the bird table outside the comms shack and I just keep feeling so grateful I can even see the outside world right now.

Ah, sorry, Runner Eighteen. I-I know you're in a crypt right now. Well, at least it's not raining in there. And Runner Eighteen, I miss your virtuoso drumming performances on talent night. Yeah, can't wait to hear you on the tin cans and packing boxes again. I'm going to put on some music now that reminds me of Runner Eighteen. Runners, if you want to, you can air drum along to this, you crazy diamonds. Or, but you know, whatever movement feels good to you.

SAM YAO: Oh yes, yes! I drummed it out all over the shop round here. Oh. Oh. Uh, might have put a bit of a dent in the tin Janine keeps her special pens in. I expect it'll knock out okay. Anyway, here's a little exercise Janine says will help train for setting the Abel strawberry nets. Oh yeah, I might like those black birds, but they do get at the strawberries. This exercise is called inchworm, and it's pretty simple.

You stand straight up, feet hip-width apart as usual. As far as I can tell, your feet should only ever be hip-width apart. And your knees should always be gently bent. Right, so now you slowly bend forwards and put your hands on the floor in front of your feet as near as you can get to your toes. Right, done that? Now walk your hands forwards, keeping your abs engaged until your back is straight. You should be in a plank position now, and then walk your arms back to your feet and stand up. Oh yeah, [laughs] I get it. It's like reaching down to spread out the strawberry nets, getting them in place, and then standing up to check them.

So okay, let's do one minute of this. I'll time it. Remember, start by standing straight, then bend over, walk your hands forward until your back is straight, then walk back and stand up, then do it again. Okay, and three, two, one, go. It says here that this exercise should strengthen your arms, your bum, and your core, and if you can't get your back completely straight, don't worry. Just do what you're able and focus on going at a pace that works for you. Keep going! Oh, imagine how many strawberry nets we're going to be able to spread when we've got good at this! And yeah, you're halfway there. Make sure you're not scrunching your shoulders, and if you need a few seconds break, take it. Okay, and that's just 15 seconds to go. You're almost there. Keep going. That's five, four, three, two, one, and that's it. One minute of inchworms.

Time for some music. As usual, use it to carry on with this exercise, or dance, or any other movement you like, or just have a rest. Ah yes, here's a song that makes me think of the amazing taste of strawberries. [hums]

SAM YAO: Ah man, do you know what that last verse reminded me of? Runner Twenty-Four’s stories. [laughs] I don't know what it is with her. Those same things happen to me, but she can just make any little thing so funny. [laughs] Did you hear her story about that dentist who couldn't pronounce her surname? Oh, or the one about the bus driver? Oh my God, I couldn't stop laughing. It was like medical. Runner Twenty-Four, your stories are definitely on my top five list.

Huh. Do you ever think about when you'll ever get on a bus again? Or like, when was the last time you were on a bus? Can you even remember? I'm pretty sure it was about a week before Z-Day for me. Bus from college to my house. I can't... I can't remember anything about it. I've tried. I think the last time I was in a restaurant was, oh, maybe a Millie Burger. You know that chain, posh burgers with salsa and stuff? I didn't even notice how nice it was to be able to do all those things, sit at a table someone else had cleaned, order from a menu. When we get the world back, I'll notice.

Okay, time for a song. Have a little dance and think about how one day, we'll all be able to dance together again.

SAM YAO: All right, final big exercise of the day. We are going to do [makes trumpet fanfare noise with mouth] backward lunges! I just wanted to see how it works. Also, together with forward lunges, they're a good leg workout. But also Janine says they mimic the movement of moving logs into place to construct an animal pen for animals, like little goats to give us milk! Oh, little tiny goat kids with their little ears! Yeah, I might have been in here by myself for a bit too long.

Anyway, the backward goat pen-constructing lunge is just like the forward lunge, except you start by putting your right leg back and not forward! Genius! So stand with your knees locked, and... [laughs] Just kidding! Stand with your feet hip-width apart and your knees not locked. Not locked, like always. Take a big step backward with your right foot, then bend your knees, lowering your hips toward the floor and keeping your left shin vertical. Let your right heel come off the floor and make sure your left knee doesn't go over your left toes, then rise back to the starting position. Take it slowly. You get no extra benefit from rushing it, and you could hurt yourself.

Okay. Ready? Now I'll time you. 30 seconds using the right foot to lunge backward, and then we'll change legs. Stand tall, knees gently bent, and go. Yeah, I'm picturing it now, a backward lunge. Okay, halfway there. You should be feeling it in your thighs. Keep going. Keep going. Three, two, one, and that's it! 30 seconds on that side. Give your legs a bit of a shake out and get ready to start doing backward lunges by putting the left foot backwards.

And if your legs are burning, just think of those teeny little jumping goats that are going to be so safe in the pen we’ll build. Ah man, I think I need to add the way Runner Thirty is always bringing home all those stray animals to my list. I didn't know how much I missed that. Okay, left leg. Ready? Go! Lunging, lunging, and halfway done. Remember, take your time. Slow body weight exercises build more muscle. Five, four, three, two, one. There we go! Backward lunges done, increasing your leg strength to hoist logs and planks and hold them in position. Brilliant.

Okay, I'm gonna play a song. You can use it to carry on with the lunges or just to dance around, run on the spot, or stretch out. Uh, yeah, this song reminds me of all your smiling faces.

SAM YAO: [whispers] There's a magpie outside the comms shack window right now. Turned up when I was dancing. I think I remember Runner Thirty feeding it when he was here. The magpies still miss you, Runner Thirty. Oh no, he's flown off. I expect he'll be back. I miss all you runners so much. Runner Thirty'd know what to feed that magpie. Runner Twenty-Four would turn it into a silly story. Runner Nine'd cooked us something tasty to eat while we listened, and then Runner Eighteen'd drum on the empty cans after dinner.

No no, I can't make a top five list. I miss you all. But I'll see you again, and it won't be so long. Even the biggest horde doesn't last forever. Look, when we get together for a rave, this is the first song we'll play.

SAM YAO: Ah man, I feel better for all that dancing, I tell you. I'm just thinking about... that there will be a next time we all have a dance together. That makes me feel so much better. And there will be a next time. It feels like forever right now, but it won't be forever. There'll even be buses and restaurants and other people to sit too close to and hug. And until then, well hey, we-we're getting ready to work on the Abel farm together and that's not nothing!

You know, the nice thing with all of this is we can all see how much we need each other, how things don't feel the same without a friendly face and a smile or a nod from a stranger. When things are good, it's easy to forget how much we all really do need each other. Maybe when this is over, we won't forget so easily. I don't think I will, anyway. You all mean too much to me. Look after yourselves. We'll do this again soon, and until then, stay safe. Really.

#zombies run #zr home front #zrhf4 #magpie #zr transcript

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slashingdisneypasta · 4 years ago

Note

So tell me: What is there to do in Australia?

I’ve never been, but have always wanted to go there.

Oh! Really?? Well we’d be happy to have you!!

Hmmm, lemme try to do this without triangulating my location, haha XDD

Okay, so, I’ve been to Queensland, Victoria and NSW- the rest of the country is a complete mystery to me XD Also, I think most of it is desert and, like, 3 people plus an echidna anyway so that’s okay! Haha.

I’m no tour guide, and my family always stuck to camping out in the bush when we were vacationing so I know next to nothing about mainstream Australia hah XD *Sweat drop*. Of course, I recommend the obvious ones- the Sydney Opera House, Sea World and Movie World in Queensland, Luna Park either in Sydney or Melbourne, Q1, Australia Zoo (Fun Fact: My family visited there THE DAY that Steve Irwin died. ... yeah. Not so fun, but there you go. Scary coincidence that plagues me everyday that I live in a world without that man), Uluru, The Great Ocean Road and the Great Barrier Reef, Sydney Harbour Bridge, Melbourne for a culture boost, etc. I would also list the Blue Mountains but all our mountains basically look the same, so. And I’m not even gonna attempt to list any beaches cuz, well you’ll find plenty on your journey and they’re all basically the same. Not to say they aren't great though! I’ve grown up around beaches and they’re beautiful ^^ I could stand with my feet buried under water and sand for hours, in cold or hot weather and its always nice.

If you like more populated, normal society kinda areas, those are the places ^^ Lost of shopping, cultural enlightenment and beaches.

Now, stuff I know XD CAMPING, ROADTRIPS AND SMALL TOWNS. Okay okay okay, XD Its been forever since I’ve camped but as soon as I rope a friend who can drive in, I’m going. I love the bush, and I think everyone who likes fresh air, and wild life, and nature will too of course (And, I know people worry about this so just saying- I used to camp all the time and I’ve only come upon one snake. No sweat. You’re far more likely to get attacked by a giant freaken kangaroo or pecked by an emu then bitten by a snake or spider. My Dad made up this campfire horror story about the ‘Ghost Kangaroo’ that makes a ‘Shhh-THUMP’ sound because it had to replace one of its legs with a mop, and THAT scared us more then the possibility of a snake).

I bet you’ve heard of the Big Apple... but have you heard of the Big Pineapple? Probably not. Well its a thing we have in Woombye, Queensland and its just pineapple building thing that you can go inside, but is a fun touristy thing to do XD I think its reopening? Or its been reopened? I dunno.

My BIGGEST recommendation is Beechworth. This is a town in Victoria that is Ned Kelly crazy. My mum’ll deny it now but honestly I think she had a bit of obsession with the famous Bushranger when I was little but she totally was. He kinda dominates my childhood memories. Documentaries, the Old Melbourne Jail where he was hung, his armour... and this town. This is where he was caught with Harry Power and there’s a whole walk you can go on that follows his run from the police, including a little statue of him shot and all (This tour is one of the most memorable tours I’ve ever been on. Right next the one I went on with a bunch of other kids where they taught us how to identify animal poop). There's also a museum, of course (If you want to see his famous tin can armour, though, you’ll have to visit the State Library in Melbourne), the Beechworth Gaol, and giant motherfucking statue of the guy. Yeah... as a country we tend to romanticise him a bit. I even have a picture of little me and my brother grinning ear to ear at his huge boots.

Beechworth also has the b e s t Bee Stings you’ll ever find, and a good Gold Rush tour.

OH MY GOD SPEAKING OF THE GOLD RUSH. You MUST visit Sovereign Hill in Ballarat. Omg, I love that place so much. Its basically this town full of paid roll players like Disney Land where you can pretend you’re in the Gold Rush times and explore all the old fashioned shops and buildings (The Dentist is nightmare fuel), get dressed up in old fashioned clothes and get your picture taken, have high tea or, you know, pan for gold at the lake. I’ve been picked on by a roll players (A policeman. Both times.) both times I’ve been but its easy to avoid them if you aren't comfortable with that kinda thing ^^

Also- Food! Another recommendation for if you go to Australia? Go to a Bunnings if you’re hungry. They’ll likely have a sausage sizzle going and you can get a cheap, delicious lunch!! Plus the proceeds are usually for a charity, which is always good. I love sausage sizzles so much, haha XD

Oh, if you aren't in to camping out in the bush, or at all, then I toooootally recommend any Big 4 holiday park you find. They always have giant pillows (The trampoline things, not the bedding XD) and- come on. How can you say no to that? Haha.

Aussie movies to watch: Kangaroo Jack, Red Dog (Muahaha), Rogue, Crocodile Dundee and Nim’s Island.

We call our Prime Minister (Scott Morrison) ‘ScoMo’.

Enjoy the fun facts written on pad wrappers! (If you get periods, or your have a friend who gets periods)

And uhhhh... I think that’s all I can think of? XD Thanks for allowing me to rattle on about home! ^^

Parting advice: DO NOT besmirch milo. You’ll promptly be fed to the dingo’s, and there is nothing I can do to save you.

Also don’t talk shit about vegemite either, but that's mostly because you’ll be branded as an out-of-nation-er (?? Pft, haha) for the rest of your trip. Its hard to come back from that XD

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prettyboy-parker · 5 years ago

Photo

come with me and escape

words: 4k

warnings: cheating, underage drinking, fem!peter, daddy kink (always), semi degradation, unprotected sex

author’s note: happy summer! I’m feeling really summer-y right now, so this was the perfect way to get those vibes out! as with most dark/taboo themes that I write about, I do not condone cheating in real life. It is used as a plot device/conflict in the story. Happy reading!

listen to while reading:

Escape (The Piña Colada Song)- Rupert Holmes

Does Your Mother Know- ABBA

Santeria- Sublime

Doin’ Time (Cover)- Lana Del Rey

Tony has a hard time relaxing.

Pepper tells him this constantly. They’ll be sitting outside, sipping on some cucumber water, watching Morgan put on her own one-woman play, and Pepper will point out how hard he’s holding his glass. His dentist tells him that he grinds and clenches his teeth in his sleep, he’s getting sick more easily, and he’s lashing out at Pepper.

He assumes the stress is from work, since the launch of the new Stark Phone X is coming up. Or, it could be how his marriage is falling apart. He’s definitely fallen out of love with Pepper. She’s still his best friend, of course, but they don’t romantically love each other anymore. Tony would file for divorce, but his company would take a huge hit.

And he doesn’t want to do that to Morgan.

So, when Pepper announces that they’re taking a family trip to an all-inclusive resort somewhere in Bali, Tony knows he’s not going to be able to relax. He’ll most likely be worrying about his own work while worrying about Pepper’s work the entire time. Also, a 5 year old and a day long plane ride sound like a recipe for disaster.

Tony fully expects his stress levels to multiply by 10.

Tony was wrong.

When he stepped off that god-damned plane, it was like all his worries were brushed off of his shoulders. Pepper definitely looked happy, the salty Bali air raising her mood. Morgan was just ecstatic to be off the plane.

Pepper is in such a good mood that she actually is letting him drink.

“I’ll get a strawberry daiquiri,” Tony tells the bartender, a young woman with dark skin who looks a little too enthusiastic for her job. She hustles off to make the drink, when,

“Everything sucks. I can’t tan. I only burn.”

There’s a gorgeous young man leaning over the bar, plump, pink lips formed in a pout. His damp, chestnut brown hair is pushed back by the Ray Bans perched on his head. His long eyelashes flutter as he looks at Tony, big, brown, doe eyes peering at him as he cocks his head to the side. His pert ass is sticking out, contained in the shortest red bathing suit bottoms Tony has ever seen. A sheer red coverup is draped over his long, milky arms, leaving little to the imagination.

“Why don’t you just get a spray tan?” Tony manages to stutter out, pushing his own sunglasses on top of his head. He wishes he lived in a world where his biggest problem was that he couldn’t tan.

The boy bites his lip and lets out a little giggle.

Tony wishes hecould bite those lips.

“As if!” He exclaims, “I don’t want to look like an orange.” The boy hoists himself up onto one of the bar stools.

The bartender puts Tony’s drink down in front of him and he gives her his resort card.

“That’s fair. Don’t lay in the sun all day, though, if you know you burn.” Tony tell him, taking a sip of his drink.

“That’s very thoughtful,” The boy says, then turns to the bartender.

“Could I get a Shirley Temple, please?” He asks, tapping his fucking French manicurednails on the countertop.

“Not old enough to drink?” Tony asks teasingly.

He rolls his eyes.

“Not legally,” He winks, ��Will be in a year.”

Tony smirks at the boy.

“You’re 20?”

“On the nose. It kind of sucks, because I’m not really into guys my age.”

Tony only gets a moment to process what the boy said because Morgan comes bounding up to the two.

“Daddy! Mommy said you’d come watch me on the slide.” She squeals, pulling on the bottom of his swim shorts.

His chances with the boy are totally gone.

On the slim chance the boy didn’t know who Tony was, he definitely doesn’t want to get with someone who’s married and has a kid.

“Did she? She’s crazy.” Tony jokes, leaning down to put Morgan on his lap. He brushes a wet strand of hair out of her face, trying to avoid poking her eye.

“Hi!” Morgan exclaims, waving her pudgy hand wildly at the boy. Tony should be a good dad and tell her not to talk to strangers, but he wants any excuse to keep talking to the boy.

“Hi!” The boy says, waving back at her.

“What’s your name?” Morgan giggles, swinging her little legs donned with pink crocs.

“Peter.” Peter responds, taking a sip of his drink.

Being the child she is, Morgan doesn’t respond.

“Daddy, can you come watch me on the slide now?” She asks, reaching up to tug on Tony’s ear.

“Ouch! And yes, I’ll come watch you.” Tony tells her, putting her on the ground gently. Tony stands up and takes her tiny hand in his, which is already outstretched.

“Bye Peter!”

Peter waves goodbye and winks at Tony.

Yeah, he has to see the kid again.

***

The next time he, or should he say they, see Peter again is at dinner.

Pepper is exhausted because Morgan is complaining about the smell of the seafood and how yucky shrimp is. Tony just wants to go to the bar alone.

While Tony and Pepper try to eat their food, Morgan’s head snaps up from where she’s sulking.

“Peter!” She shrieks, Pepper promptly shushing her. Tony turns around and there’s his boy, swiftly approaching. He’s dressed in tiny, high waisted black shorts and a red Hawaiian shirt that has the top 4 buttons undone. Peter’s face is practically glowing and as he gets closer Tony can see that his shirt has dogs riding fucking surfboards on it.

“Hey Morgan!” He says as he stops at the edge of their table, curls bouncing from his stride over.

Pepper gives Tony a look that says who the fuck is this kid and why does he know my daughter?

“Pepper, this is Peter. We talked for a bit at the bar earlier. Morgan introduced herself.” Tony tells her with a forced smile, wanting to look at the boy instead.

“Oh, you made a friend, Morgan?” Pepper turns to their daughter, who nods furiously, whipping her unruly brown hair around.

“You have a very polite daughter, Mrs. Stark.” Peter says, practically beaming.

What a charmer.

Pepper takes a breath, surprised.

“Why thank you. We try to raise her well.”

Peter giggles and bites his lip.

“You’re definitely doing something right! I have to go eat now, I’ll see you all later!” Peter waves goodbye and trots off to the other side of the restaurant, hips swaying.

“Sweet boy.” Pepper mutters through a mouthful of food.

“Yeah. Sweet boy.”

***

If there is a god out there, he must like Tony.

Because Pepper ends up with food poisoning.

She starts throwing up around 2 in the morning. Google tells Tony that she’s going to be bedridden for a couple of days.

Perfect.

After breakfast, Tony promises Morgan that they’ll spend all day at the pool. She’s ecstatic, jumping up and down. Tony shushes her and helps her get ready for the day.

Peter finds him relaxing on one of the pool chairs, watching Morgan play with her mermaid Barbie doll.

“Tony,” Peter purrs, the older man almost dropping his drink in surprise.

“Peter, hey,” Tony responds, adjusting himself in his chair.

Peter perches himself at the edge of the lounge chair, extending his long legs and crossing his ankles. He’s chosen black swim shorts today, paired with a sheer black coverup embroidered with roses.

“You’ve got your sunscreen on?” Peter asks, hand resting very close to Tony’s leg.

Tony chuckles at the thoughtfulness.

“No, I’ve got this umbrella.” He says, gesturing to the big tan umbrella over them.

Peter gasps, reaching for the spray can of sunscreen next to the chair.

“You still need sunscreen, silly goose.” Peter scolds, spraying Tony’s legs. He can only swallow thickly as Peter takes his dainty hands and rubs the sunscreen in. Tony tries to tear his eyes away as the boy’s hands rub up his thighs. Peter sprays more on his chest and arms, hands massaging the liquid into his skin. He quickly pushes Tony’s sunglasses onto the top of his head, spraying the sunscreen directly into his hands. Tony almost loses it when he starts putting sunscreen on his face, ridiculously soft hands cupping his rough cheek.

“There.” Peter says, wiping his hands on his on thighs.

“Thanks.” Tony manages to choke out, adjusting his swim trunks.

“Anytime,” Peter giggles, standing up.

“Hey, why don’t you sit down? Hang out for a little bit?” Tony offers, gesturing to the empty lounge chair next to him.

Peter rolls his eyes and smiles, climbing onto the chair. He sighs as he leans back, closing his eyes.

“This is my favorite spot.” He tells Tony, keeping his eyes closed.

“What, you come here often?” Tony laughs, shaking his head.

Peter opens his eyes and turns his head, grinning.

“My dad owns the place.”

“Shit, really?” Tony says, surprised.

Peter lets out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah. I’m down here quite a bit in the summer.” He says nonchalantly, picking at the bed of his nail.

“Where are you usually?” Tony asks, taking a sip of his water.

“Massachusetts. I go to MIT.”

Tony smiles.

“No way! That’s where I went.”

Peter cocks his head to the side.

“I know.” He says. He bites his lip and brushes stray curl out of his face. His cheeks are dusted with red, most likely due to the sun, and his sunglasses block his honey brown eyes.

“Do you want to have a drink with me tonight?” Tony blurts out without thinking, too caught up in the boy’s beauty.

His heart sinks when Peter stays silent, eyebrows rising.

“The misses has food poisoning, so,” Tony trails off, face heating up in embarrassment.

“I’d love to.” Peter says softly, pink lips stretched in a genuine smile.

“Really?” Tony asks in disbelief, like a teenager.

“Of course. But I’m going to need your number.”

***

Tony can’t remember being this nervous about a date in a very long time.

He doesn’t even know if it is a date, but he like to think it is. He feels like he has butterflies in his stomach as he waits at one of the bars near the end of the resort. There’s not too many people around, which is nice.

“Hey, Tony.”

The older man turns around, coming face to face with a literal angel.

Peter stands before him, smiling softly. He’s wearing a very skimpy outfit (not that Tony’s complaining) for drinks at 8 at night. He’s wearing tiny white shorts over what looks like a very light pink chiffon teddy. Dusty rose colored silk drapes over his shoulders, wound tightly around his forearms. The cutest pink ballet flats encase his feet, silk ribbon tied into a bow around his ankles. There’s blush dusting his cheeks and clear lip gloss slathered on those plump lips.

“Oh, Pete, Hey,” Tony manages to say, clearing his throat. Peter giggles and bounds up to Tony, stands on his tippy toes, and presses a kiss to the man’s cheek. Tony’s at a lost for words as Peter sits down, leaving lipgloss on his stubble ridden cheek. He’s glad Pepper made sure to find a very private resort, because if there were crowds of people he’d be screwed.

“You look nice.” Peter compliments, thin fingers grazing over the rolled-up sleeve of his gray dress shirt. Tony swallows as he tries to get his shit together.

“Thanks, you do too. Gorgeous, actually.” He blubbers, losing years worth of smooth talking experience

Peter giggles and looks at one of the purple coasters on the countertop.

“Thanks,” He says softly. He brushes a stray curl out of his face, tucking it behind his ear.

“You want a drink?” Tony asks, fiddling with his Rolex.

Peter blinks a couple of times.

“I’m not old enough to drink. You know that,” He teases, swatting at Tony’s arm.

Tony leans in close, lips brushing against the top of Peter’s ear. He hears the boy’s breath hitch. His fluffy brown locks tickle the older man’s nose.

“We can indulge for one night. Isn’t that right sweetheart?” He mumbles, nipping on his ear before pulling away.

Peter’s blush has darkened and his mouth is parted slightly.

He nods wordlessly.

Life Lesson #254: Never give kids alcohol.

Peter’s not really a kid, but he is really fucking light weight.

He’s tipsy after his first drink and Tony would like to avoid a complete blackout, so he denies either of them more drinks around 10.

“Let’s do something fun,” Peter insists as the leave the bar.

“Yeah? Like what?” Tony asks as they enter the near empty hallway, the smell of disinfectant in the air.

“Mini golf,” Peter whispers, bouncing on his feet slightly in excitement.

Tony can’t help but laugh at the boy, wrapping his arm around Peter’s dainty waist.

“Show me the way, princess.” Tony says, not registering the pet name that slipped out. Luckily, Peter just grins wider.

The make their way through the resort, through hallways that all look the same. They eventually reach the outside, the humid air hitting their bodies.

“Here we are!” Peter exclaims, dragging him to a nice looking shed.

“Shit baby, it’s closed.” Tony says, noting the “We Open at 8 A.M” sign perched on the front counter.

“I told you, I know my way around.” Peter giggles as he punches in a code on the keypad that’s connected to the door. It opens and Peter slips inside.

“Hello, sir. Mini Golf is 7 dollars per game, but I think I’ll give you the handsome customer discount,” Peter jokes, wiggling his perfectly groomed eyebrows.

“Oh hush, you.” Tony scolds jokingly, leaning on the top of the counter.

Peter just winks and disappears under the counter.

“What color do you want?” He asks, voice muffled. “You can have anything but pink. I always get pink.”

Tony rolls his eyes and smiles.

“You have red down there?”

Peter pops back up, a red club and a pink club in hand.

“Sure do.” He says, waving the clubs around. He places the clubs on the counter, disappears again, then reappears with two golf balls in his hands, each their respective colors.

“You ready?” He asks, swinging over the counter.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Tony responds, taking both his golf club and ball in one hand.

Peter takes his free hand and they walk to hole number one.

“I’m absolutely atrocious at mini-golf, by the way. I miss every single time.” Peter huffs, bending over to place his ball on the ground.

Tony tries to tear his eyes away from that ass, but he’s unsuccessful.

“I guess I’ll have to give you a private lesson, then.” Tony smirks, poking Peter in the stomach.

“You’re funny. But I wouldn’t mind,” The boy purrs, looking up at Tony and fluttering his mascara coated lashes.

“Let’s get started, then.” Tony grins and places his hands on Peter’s tiny waist, his own club forgotten on the ground.

“Spread your legs a little more. You need a proper stance.” He says huskily, turning Peter so he’s standing to the side. The boy obeys, then sticks his ass out a little more.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, like that.” Tony growls, his arousal almost clouding his brain.

“Now you need a good grip on your club. Right hand under the left.” He instructs, placing his own hands over Peter’s.

“There you go. Good boy.” He praises.

Peter shudders against Tony, heavy breaths falling from those perfect lips.

“Then you just swing back,” Tony swings the boy’s arms back, “And hit it.” The club hits the ball, narrowly missing the hole.

“Damn. Nearly got it in the hole.” He mutters in the boy’s ear. He slowly moves his lips right down under Peter’s ear, right under his jaw. He sucks the skin into his mouth, biting hard enough to leave a mark. A high pitched whine leaves Peter’s throat as he drops the club onto the ground.

“Kiss me already, god dammit.”

At that, Tony grabs the boy by his shoulders and pulls him in, pressing his chapped lips to the glossy ones. Peter moans immediately, hands flying up to grip Tony’s salt and pepper hair. Tony cups his lower back, dipping Peter down slightly. His tongue eventually slips into Peter’s mouth, the younger much less experienced than Tony.

“Fuck, Tony, we need to get to my room now.” Peter whines once they pull apart, gripping at Tony’s broad shoulders.

“Roger that.” Tony quips, guiding Peter off the mini golf course, clubs and balls long forgotten. Peter leads them to one of the lesser known elevators, kneading Tony’s growing bulge the ride up to his room.

“Damn, baby. So spoiled, a suite all for yourself?” Tony teases as Peter tries to swipe his room key. The boy moans at the older man’s words, pushing open the door weakly.

“Daddy-“ Peter moans, but immediately cuts himself off in embarrassment. Tony can only let out a deep moan, throwing his head back.

“Fuck, such a needy princess.”

Peter falls to his knees, massaging Tony’s cock through his slacks.

“Only for you, daddy.” Peter responds, mouthing over the fabric of the pants.

Tony groans and starts to unbutton his slacks, but his thick fingers are pushed out of the way by Peter’s dainty ones. The younger pushes down the black slacks, then gives Tony’s very visible bulge a squeeze through the fabric. Tony’s hand flies up to grasp Peter’s pretty brown locks tightly. Peter’s long nails scrape against his thighs as he pulls Tony’s boxers down. He moans when Tony’s thick cock springs free, slapping against his stomach. Peter wastes no time, one hand cupping Tony’s heavy balls as the other starts stroking his cock slowly. Tony groans and tightens his grip on Peter’s hair when he sees that the kid is drooling. Peter leans down to wrap his lips around the head of his cock.

“Fucking hell, baby,” Tony moans, Peter lips slipping further down his length. He hollows out his cheeks and sucks.

“Peter, honey, we need to move this to the bed now if you want daddy to last.” He managed to grunt out. Peter pulls off his dick with a satisfying pop, saliva covered lips formed in a pout.

“Poor baby. Daddy will give you what you need.” Tony coos, thumb running over Peter’s bottom lip.

“Take everything off except for your underwear.” Tony orders, kicking off his pants and moving to unbutton his shirt.

Peter nods vicariously and drops his shawl on the ground. He bends over to untie the bows on his shoes, placing them neatly next to the bed. Dexterous fingers unbutton his shorts. His shorts slide down his milky legs and he’s left standing in the chiffon teddy, small cock hard and leaking, covered by the fabric.

“Fuck, you naughty boy.” Tony growls, giving his dick a few strokes.

Peter giggles and hops up onto the king bed, immediately going on his hands and knees.

“Good boy,” Tony praises, making his way to the edge of the bed. He gives Peter’s ass a little slap, pushing the fabric covering his skin away. He climbs onto the bed, kneeling behind Peter.

“Lube?” Tony asks, gently running his hand over Peter’s red cheek.

“Drawer,” He croaks out, pressing his ass against Tony’s cock. The older man leans to the side, sifting through the drawer until his hands hit a familiar bottle. Tony uncaps the lube, squirting some on his fingers.

“Relax, sweetheart,” He coos, brushing his slick fingers over Peter’s tight whole. The boy shudders, back arching at the contact.

“Be good.” Tony orders as he slips his index finger into him. Peter moans, hips desperately rutting into the bedsheets.

“Daddy,” Peter whines as Tony pushes in a second finger, than a third. The older man chuckles as he purposely avoids his prostate.

“Just fuck me already!” Peter cries, trying to fuck himself on Tony’s fingers.

“Needy slut.” Tony grunts, pulling out his fingers and slapping Peter’s ass again. He snatches up the lube, squirting more into his hands and stroking his cock.

“Ready Baby?” Tony asks Peter, gently pushing him over so he’s on his back.

“Yes, daddy.” Peter responds, eyes glistening with tears.

Tony groans and grips the base of his cock, positioning it on Peter’s hole. The boys hips jerk upwards, pretty pink cock slapping against the silk of his lingerie. Tony can’t take it, so he pushes in. Both of them moan, Peter’s high and breathy, Tony’s deep and full.

“So fucking tight,” Tony grunts through gritted teeth once he’s all the way in.

Peter doesn’t respond, just breaths harder.

“So full,” He mumbles, manicured nails scraping at Tony’s biceps. Peter is a vision, brown curls all tousled and cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

“M’ gonna move, that okay, princess?” Tony asks, tightening his grip on the boy’s unblemished hips.

Peter nods and Tony gets to work. He starts his thrust slowly, burying himself in Peter’s tight, wet heat. But when Peter cries out for him to move, how could he deny it?

“Fuck, daddy, harder!” Peter wails, body moving back and forth from the force of Tony’s thrusts.

“Yeah baby,” Tony grunts, hips snapping at a ridiculously delicious pace.

“Gonna come,” Peter moans, squeezing his eyes shut, a tear rolling down his cheek. His lips shine with his own saliva, parted enough to let out another moan.

“Do it baby, come on daddy’s cock,” Tony coaxes. Peter’s body tenses and he’s coming, eyes screwed shut as he paints his chest white. His walls tighten around Tony’s member and with a shout he spills his release inside of Peter.

The older man collapses on top of the younger. Peter lets out a giggle as Tony slips out of him.

“You did such a good job. You were gorgeous. Perfect. Beautiful.”

Tony peppers kisses down Peter’s torso, the boy’s eyes screwed shut, smiling softly at the praise. Tony adjusts the two so their heads are on the pillows and wrapping his arms around Peter’s thin body. He nuzzles into the crook of Peter’s neck, inhaling his scent of sweat, sex, and perfume.

“Stay?” Peter squeaks, pulling Tony’s arms closer to him.

“Of course.”

***

“I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

Tony sighs heavily, running a hand through his messy sex hair.

“You know I don’t want to.” He tells the boy, looking at where he’s seated.

All he’s wearing is Tony’s dress shirt from last night. He’s sitting criss-cross on a wicker chair, staring off over the balcony railing. There’s hickeys down his neck and chest, proof of their slower morning session.

“I always get caught up in this.” Peter says, not looking at Tony. “Fall head over heels for some rich guy that vacations here with his wife, then become forgotten after his trip.”

Tony swallows thickly.

“You know I won’t forget you.” He says, staring at the glass in his hands.

“I don’t think you can promise me that.” Peter says sadly, picking at his ring finger nail.

“I sure can. You’re an angel, Peter.” Tony says truthfully.

Peter smiles sadly.

“I’ll come visit you. At MIT.”

Peter laughs bitterly and shakes his head.

“I will. I don’t particularly want to have dorm sex again, but I can make an exception.”

Peter lets out a genuine laugh this time. He rubs his face with one hand.

“How are you going to explain that to your wife?”

Ah, there’s the dreaded question.

“We don’t talk much anymore. I don’t think she’ll even ask.” Tony says sadly, eyes drifting to the crisp blue ocean in the distance. Long arms wrap around his bare torso. Peter rests his head on Tony’s shoulder, breathing in deeply.

“You know, in an alternate universe, we’re probably together.” He mumbles, squeezing Tony tighter.

“Alternate universes. Funny.” Tony says dryly.

“There’s a reason why we found each other.”

Tony smiles.

“Yeah. There’s a reason.”

#starker #starker fic #starker moodboard

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years ago

Text

Oh, the places you’ll go.

Bring it around town Post Office: When’s the last time that you mailed a letter or a package to someone, and who was it to? The last thing I mailed was a birthday card for my Nana back in September.

Library: The last book that you checked out from the library? I haven’t checked out a book from the library since high school.

Veterinarian: What was your pet’s last visit concerning? She was due for her last shots.

Pet Store: Which animals do you tend to go check out first? The doggos.

Drugstore: Last medication or item that you picked out from here? I haven’t been myself in quite awhile, but my mom just picked up my prescriptions last night.

Grocery Store: Do you usually have a big list or a small list when you go? Big if it’s a grocery shopping trip. If it’s just a quick trip to the store in between grocery shopping trips then it’s small.

Church: Do you attend church every Sunday? Do you believe in God? Yes and yes.

Bank: How much was the last check you deposited? How about the last amount that you took out? I don’t even recall the last time I deposited a check. It’s also been awhile since I last withdrew any money.

Hospital: Have you ever been admitted into the emergency room? For what? Yeah, after my accident.

Doctor’s Office: What was the last doctor’s appointment that you had? Which type of a doctor? My pain doctor this past Thursday.

Police Station: Have you ever been arrested before? Ridden in the back of a police car? Nope.

Fire Station: Have you ever been a victim of a house fire? No, thankfully. However, last year we came home one night to fire trucks and our neighbors all standing around because something caught fire in the house next to mine, which is connected, and it was causing heavy smoke that came over to our garage and was coming out the sides. It was really smoky. We literally pulled up to this without having any clue what was going on or the extent of it, but all we thought about was my dog in the house. I was FREAKING out to say the least. My mom jumped out and ran inside and brought her outside first thing. She was really frightened by all the commotion going on outside and apparently our neighbors had been banging on our door for awhile cause they were worried we sleeping and unaware, but she wasn’t physically hurt. Anyway, yeah it was a crazy sight to come home to that’s for sure. Thankfully, neither the neighbor’s house nor ours were on fire. The issue happened in their garage and it was out by the time we got there, it just caused a shit ton of smoke and because our houses are connected it carried over to our side. It’s just wild because we had been out of town that whole day and happened to come home just in time. They were going to knock our door down otherwise.

School: When did you graduate high school? Back in 2008.

Gas Station: How much gas can fit in your gas tank? I don’t have a car or drive.

Mechanics: Does your vehicle break down a lot?

Clothing Store: What’s the last clothing item you bought from a store, and which store was it? Bought some shirts from Boxlunch online.

Bookstore: Do you prefer to get your books new or used? Preferably new, but I don’t mind used unless it’s in like really bad condition and beat up.

Coffee Shop/Cafe: What do you typically order when you go here? Lately it’s been a caramel macchiato with soy, light foam, and extra caramel.

Fast Food Restaurant: What are a few of your favorites? I don’t have a favorite anymore, I just get random cravings for one of them once in awhile.

Sit-Down Restaurant: What’s the longest you’ve ever had to wait before being seated? Probably over an hour.

Dentist: Have you ever had a cavity before? How about a root canal? A tooth pulled? Braces? Yes to all but braces.

Movie Theater: Last movie you saw in theaters before the pandemic hit? The Invisible Man.

Art Gallery: Which art forms do you appreciate the most? Literature, music, and cinema.

Zoo: What is your favorite zoo animal that you would like to set free? Giraffes.

Aquarium: Favorite kind of fish? I don’t have one.

Museum: What kinds of artifacts fascinate you? I just find historical artifacts in museums interesting in general. I think about the people who once used those things and what their stories might be.

Amusement Park: Favorite ride to go on? I love most of the rides at Disneyland.

Courthouse: Have you ever gone to court before? Nope.

Hotel/Motel: Where were you, the last time you stayed at a hotel? It was during my Disneyland trip back in February before shit hit the fan and everything changed.

Club: What is the last song that you danced to? I don’t recall.

Bar: What’s your favorite alcoholic drink? None. I don’t drink anymore.

County Jail: Is there anyone that you’ve visited in jail? Yes.

Airport: Are you more likely to fly in an airplane, or pick people up/drop them off at the airport? My mom often has to pickup and drop off our family friend and her son at the airport and I’ve gone with her many times. I’ve only been at the airport for myself a total of 4 times, most recently was back in February for aforementioned Disneyland trip.

Train Station: Have you ever ridden a train before? Nope.

Concert Venue: What’s the last concert you saw? Green Day back in 2009. I’m way overdo for a concert. Who knows when I’ll ever go to one, though.

Sports Arena: Which sporting event would you be most likely to sit through? I don’t want to go or sit through any.

Flower Shop: What’s your favorite kind of flower? I don’t really have one I just usually say roses as my default.

Ice Cream Shop: Favorite flavor of ice cream? Cone or dish? Any sprinkles? Strawberry, mint chocolate chip, or birthday cake. Possibly a “fun” flavor if I go to an actual ice cream shop. I like to get a dish because I take forever to finish my ice cream, so cones end up being too messy and a nuisance. I don’t care for sprinkles, honestly. If I add a topping it’d be syrup or like cookies or M&Ms or something if at an ice cream shop. Speaking of all this ice cream, it’s been like 4 or 5 years I think since I’ve had any. I was never a big ice cream eater, but I liked it now and then. This has been the longest I’ve gone without, though. Haven’t thought much about it until now.

Bakery: Favorite type of baked good to eat? Brownies, cupcakes, donuts, cinnamon rolls.

[bionic-beth]

#personal #text #survey #surveys #places around town

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caconymhypocrisy · 4 years ago

Text

Jan. 1, 2021 - Journal Entry

I masturbated a lot today. I don’t think it’s really a healthy thing anymore. I don’t know. I liked it. But it was for like, hours. And hours. I should probably start totaling the number soon – like start time and end time. It was great, and I want to do it again.

But earlier today I was so sad. I wept at the show “Euphoria”. It pulled all these crazy emotions out of me, and afterwards… I don’t know. I just felt so fucking sad.

I remembered the nights before tonight… the nights since the breakup.

I did a pretty similar thing.

I would jerk off for hours. Like 6 hours of just clicking through videos with one hand and edging myself with the other. It sounds pretty despicable to write it out like this. And if anyone is reading this, just know that I’m going through a hard time.

Although it seems to be getting less hard all the time now. Not my emotions. I mean my dick. After doing it for so long, I think I might start to be wearing it down.

It could be that, or the alcohol, or the coke, or the emotions. But it seems more difficult now than it used to be to keep “it” up for a long time. Yet I still try. I scan the videos, I use my plugs and oils, some stupid ring, all because I want to feel that feeling, that “oh, fuck. Yeah, that’s hot” feeling.

That feeling when you get right to the edge. Right up to the line. And it feels so good and you’re about to nut… but you don’t want to nut. Because when you do, it’s over.

Then you have to go back and face reality.

Then you have to remember why you started watching porn in the first place. Why you tried so tirelessly to get yourself hard again. Why you were looking for some form of temporary happiness that would take you away from this unstable emotional turmoil that you created for yourself. From the loneliness that you so desired and now find that it’s nothing but a pile of bricks that suffocates you. This fucking hell that finds you no matter what you do.

That was a dark line of thought. We all are a product of our actions. And I want to make more actions that improve my life.

I don’t know how to do that now, though. Drinking feels good. Masturbating feels good. Porn is really, really nice to watch (there is so much of it. It’s hard to stop). But all these things fade.

But I suppose, too, life fades. We all will die. And at least I’m enjoying some things, right?

I mean, it is fleeting. The drugs, the alcohol, the few moments of ecstasy before coming. But so is life. So why am I fighting it?

People with these issues, these “addictions”, want to improve their lives. Improve. What does that mean? Stop doing your drugs and obsessions, and start being a better person.

I don’t know. For what? What’s the point of doing all that? Jesus, I sound so entitled. People are starving in the world and I… fuck. What’s the point?

Do something that makes you better. Or help someone else be better. But these words to me now seem so arbitrary. What is better? What is progress? It might be a good thing to have a healthy diet, but why? So you can live longer? Support your kids and your family?

I don’t have those. I don’t want those. I just broke up with my girlfriend. And now I feel so alone. And getting a job, going back to school, or finding someone else to love… it all just seems so… exhausting.

I’m tired.

Fuck the world. Fuck this pandemic. I feel like there aren’t even friends I can talk to. Not really. I mean, I have friends. But they don’t really listen. Not really. Not when emotions are involved. And I broke up with my girlfriend, the one who is supposed to be the person to talk to about these things.

I just feel so alone.

And I believe in my mantra: no one will ever really understand you.

So, progress. I don’t know what the fuck it is. I don’t know why I’m writing all this down. But I can say that I’m enjoying the process of typing.

In self-help books they tell you to set goals, to become the person you want to be, and imagine the memory you want to leave behind.

Honestly, I don’t give a fuck what I leave behind. I’ll be dead. And the person I want to be? Well, I guess healthy enough to jack off another night. It might be nice to have someone to sleep with. Not like “sleep” with like sex, but just to cuddle. But I’ve also enjoyed these nights sleeping by myself. But what if I don’t want that anymore? What if I want some of both? Is there someone out there who can do both? What if I get bored of my next partner? What then? I have to go through this whole entire painful process again?

I got off topic. Setting goals. OK, let me think.

I should exercise more. That’s for sure. I went on a short run today and two days ago with Bosko. I didn’t run far, just a few blocks, and I was embarrassed with how that turned out.

Whatever. I should probably stop vaping soon too because I coughed a lot afterwards. Maybe I should start swimming again.

I want to.

Ugh. I used to be so active. I used to swim at least a few times a week. Depression (I think I’m depressed; why else would I be typing this much at 5:41 in the morning) just makes you feel so heavy. So worthless. Like… what’s the fucking point of doing anything?

My bike is still at her house. And the skates that she bought me… they’re in her car. God, I want those skates. I thought about using them. Then I think about her. Then I think about if I made a mistake leaving her. But then again, no, maybe I just want the skates.

I don’t fucking know.

OK, one more time: setting goals.

Exercise more. That’s something.

Drink less. That one is going to take some time. I think I’m developing an addiction.

Ok – moving out… this one… fuck.

I should move out. I need to. I can’t stay here. Fuck my brothers. And fuck I can’t start talking about my mom. I love her, and she supports me, but my god she really wants me to go through with this PT shit.

And I guess I’m for that. I don’t know. I’m not passionate about it. I don’t crave learning how to be a PT. Helping people is cool, I guess.

God, I feel like such a bitch complaining about all this shit. COUNT YOUR FUCKING BLESSINGS, DICKNUTS. I’m in a good home. And yeah, I’m going through some emotions and that. That’s normal. That’s being a human. Get over it.

You don’t want to work? No one does. Get fucking over it you dumb piece of shit.

OK stop that. You should be nice to yourself. Now I’m sounding like I’m talking to myself, not just writing to a page.

Whatever, everyone has to work. That’s life. Man up. (That’s a stupid phrase, I know. Patriarchy and all)

I am enjoying typing all of this.

It would be more interesting to write about stuff. Maybe I could make a novel or a short story. But what would I write about? My emotions don’t generate creativity. I don’t have any crazy life experience, some traumatizing backstory that can lay down the foundation of some revolutionary work of art. I’m just a boring kid from the suburbs.

Yet, I like writing. Maybe I’m not passionate about it, but I like it. But also… I think I suck at it. Always in the writer’s groups they say “oh yeah, that’s cool. I like this part. Good job” whatever. But those are all my friends; of course, they aren’t going to say what they honestly think. Emotions and egos are at stake.

Maybe I should just share a post like this anonymously on some blog. I don’t know, is Tumblr (or whatever) still a thing? At least strangers would/should be honest.

You dumb shit. Stop asking yourself questions you don’t know the answers to. This is your fucking journal you’re writing in. There’s no one here to answer.

Except me.

Ok so goals. Maybe go back to school. Got to do something. I’ll keep writing thoughts. Fuck the dentist. Exercise. What’s the fucking point. God damn it. What a waste of life.

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thanksjro · 5 years ago

Text

Last Stand of the Wreckers, Issue #4: This Series is Awash With Lippy Sons of Guns

Issue #4 starts off with an uncomfortably handsome Prowl. I mean honestly, look at this asshole, he’s simply too pretty.

I don’t think Roche has ever drawn the guy ugly, but this is on another level.

We’re in a flashback sequence here, as we start to gain an understanding of just why exactly Ironfist got put on the Wreckers in the first place. Back when he was working at Kimia, Ironfist got a call from Prowl. Seems Prowl’s read his work, and is impressed by the sheer amount of effort he’s put into it. They chat a bit about it, but no call with Prowl is ever casual, and he asks Ironfist if he’s ever been interested in actually being a Wrecker. Which, of course he has, but he’d never exactly been cut out for that kind of work, especially after his Accident™. Prowl has a little push in that area, because he’s Prowl, and makes a deal; Ironfist joins the Wreckers as a weapon expert, and in exchange he does something for Prowl.

We won’t find out what exactly Ironfist’s agreed to do until later, as we jump back to the present, where the Guzzle and Kup are about to lay the smackdown on some unsuspecting Decepticons.

With how many cameras are currently trained on you guys, I can’t say you really have the time for wisecracks, old-timer.

That big vault door behind them leads to the cell of one of the most notorious Autobots ever to grace the galaxy- Grimlock. This is the “help” Springer requested they find, meaning that he’s a sort of last resort, which tells you just how much of a powerhouse the guy is. Volatile, sure, but a powerhouse regardless.

Too bad the cell’s empty.

Snare steps in to explain just why that is, having snuck up on our Big Gulp duo.

Well I’m sure that won’t be a plot point later on.

Of course, Guzzle doesn’t really feel inclined to believe a word of what this Getaway kitbash says, and starts threatening to shoot him. Snare however, has even more secrets to tell.

Perceptor and pals have finally discovered just what the hell it is that they’ve been looking for all this time. Aequitas is a supercomputer, and a massive one at that. They’re here to download its memory files. Topspin is less than pleased with this whole thing.

Ironfist agrees- there’s no way they’re going to be able to get all the data in Aequitas downloaded before the Decepticons get through to them and tear them to pieces. Verity, however, is more concerned about the size of the computer itself.

A large part of Aequitas is made up of something called a culpability drive, which breaks down factors like motivation and accountability into a streamlined equation so it can do something completely ridiculous: calculate guilt. Yes, someone had the bright idea to break down guilt into a binary system, without any “human” element involved. Because that couldn’t possibly backfire.

Then the narrative catches up to Topspin, and Ironfist and Verity get put on babysitting duty while he deals with his phantom pain. Pyro’s made to help Perceptor with booting up the computer.

Over with Springer, he and Impactor have a little heart-to-heart, while Twin Twist is passed out with a shadow over his face, probably waiting for the horrific reveal of what the dentist’s done to him. Springer feels really bad about Impactor having been sent to Garrus-9; he’d figured that after the trial, Impactor had been sent to rehab, or at least a prison that wasn’t quite as torturey.

Impactor points out that Springer’s testimony at Aequitas was pretty damning, and I’m starting to wonder why Springer didn’t see this coming. Unless they somehow managed to move that massive friggin’ supercomputer in the last few years, Impactor’s trial happened on Garrus-9. Kind of seems like a foregone conclusion that anyone who got put through the Aequitas wringer would end up staying if found guilty.

Impactor still doesn’t think that what he did was wrong, and the only reason they stop verbally duking it out is because Twin Twist does his dramatic face reveal and the dentist comes back in to finish off those fillings.

Funny, they had a similar setup at my old orthodontist’s.

As the dentist prepares to turn what’s left of Twin Twist’s face into the “Lust” scene from Se7en, we get back to the real point of this whole miniseries: fanwanking. Ironfist is telling Verity about the Decepticon’s answer to the Wreckers- Squadron X.

This group is made up entirely of characters who only existed in the Marvel UK comics, and even then only barely. This is convenient on multiple levels; it allows the Wreckers to have an antithesis to their own group that won’t disrupt any of the ongoing storylines outside of Last Stand of the Wreckers. Nobody’s really vying to use the guy who beat up a piano and then got thrown out of a bar, now are they?

It also allows you to use an already-established character that still has plenty of wiggle room for story application. No point in trying to make a new set of characters when we’ve got a bin full of nobodies off in the corner. Especially when we’re only going to have these guys around for a few minutes.

But we’ll get to that later.

Back to Ironfist’s story…

Oh hey Whirl.

Springer’s in a bit of a pickle- his lower half is trapped under a busted barricade, and Squadron X is closing in. Impactor has no intention of leaving Springer behind, so it’s time to get crazy. Springer tells Impactor to blast a hole through his TORSO so he can surprise-attack the approaching enemy. Impactor does so, reluctantly.

Please note that the emphasis is not mine, but the narrative’s.

That’s just a cool panel.

Once all that’s over and done with, Squadron X are all put into inhibitor harnesses to keep them from trying anything funny while in custody. But oh ho, what’s this? They’ve escaped! And they’ve ripped Sandstorm’s arm off! Surely, this must be dealt with, and who better suited for the job than the dude who’s been obsessed with taking these guys out for years now? Impactor gets to work.

And thus the day is saved, thanks to the Wreckers! Yaaay!

With Ironfist’s story concluded, Perceptor takes the time to mention that they’ve got a problem. Turns out Aequitas has some state-of-the-art security measures going on- in order to even turn the thing on, someone’s got to feed the thing their spark. You know, a robot soul. This thing runs on souls, and the donator has to be a willing participant otherwise it won’t work.

Well that’s awful convenient for you, now ain’t it, Percy?

I’m assuming they just never turned the thing off during the trials, otherwise they would have run out of juice very quickly.

So it’s slim pickings in terms of sparks. Perceptor’s playing IT, Topspin’s whole spark situation is a consent minefield, and Verity’s soul is the normal, human, intangible kind. And now we get to the part of our story that’s a little sad.

Pyro and Ironfist aren’t popular. They’ve never been in the spotlight. They aren’t important. They were brought on the Wreckers to die, plain and simple, because it’s a game of numbers, and their numbers are miles below the likes of Springer and Kup.

Pyro isn’t on-board with this at all, saying that this isn’t how it’s supposed to go down for him.

Say what you will about his delusions of grandeur, but this is a guy who knows what he wants.

While Pyro’s dreaming big, Topspin’s having a really bad time in the background. That vicarious perception’s hitting real hard right now.

Ironfist plays the child in a bitter divorce between Pyro and Verity as they argue over who the hell should die so the plot can keep moving. Ironfist has a lot to say, a lot that he really should say, but he doesn’t. He’s not proud of himself, or the things he’s done as a weapons’ expert. After reflecting on his life- a life that hasn’t been profoundly wondrous or meaningful- he concedes to being the one to die.

But that doesn’t happen, because Topspin takes matters into his own hands and puts the goddamn dog to sleep. The dog in this case being himself and Twin Twist. Aequitas thanks him for his donation, sucks out his spark, and over in the torture chamber Twin Twist explodes.

With the twins(?) dead, Aequitas is online, and not a moment too soon, because those Decepticons are starting to bring the door down. Perceptor hands a headphone jack to Ironfist, tells him to plug it into his brain, and to get ready for the hurt, because they’re about to download the entirety of this supercomputer into his head.

Back with Impactor, he’s about to get his cornea scratched, when Guzzle and Kup come to save the day, following Snare’s guidance.

I just want to say, Guzzle wins the Worst Crotch award. It’s simply awful.

So Kup and Guzzle free Springer and Impactor, just in time for Springer to revenge-stab the dentist with the torture stick. Too bad he’s already shot Snare.

Play… makes you free... in the prison that’s been turned into basically a death camp. Is… are we really doing the Holocaust parallels again? God, I hope I’m reading too much into that, I really do.

We finally find out what the prize for winning the Pit fights is: you can either fight Overlord, or kill yourself. Not much of a prize, if you ask me.

Speaking of the Blue Terror, he’s on his way over. Snare asks that Impactor just kill him, because there’s no way he’s going to risk being found out by Overlord that he was being sneaky. Impactor obliges, crushing his brain module between his fingers.

Then Overlord quite literally explodes into the room.

Back over in the Aequitas chamber, Ironfist’s just finished with his upload, and he’s shaken by what he now knows. The Decepticons have nearly broken down the door at this point, and there’s only one way to save themselves- they have to detonate the prisoners’ deterrence chips. This, of course, includes Impactor. Perceptor’s all for it, but Pyro’s wholly against the idea. Verity tries to put in her vote, but humans don’t have rights in the eyes of Wrecker law, so it all comes down to Ironfist.

You heard the man, let’s kill the purple guy.

#transformers #jro #last stand of the wreckers #issue 4 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing #wreckers trilogy

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 5 years ago

Note

140. “You deserve love.” - Ahkmenrah. Make it soft and fluffy, maybe even smutty should your muse take you that way. I’m greedy and submitted 2. I just love your writing 💕

I highly suggest making an appointment with your dentist before reading this because it is so sweet you’re gonna get a toothache. Also, I’m going to go back in time for this one for a change of pace : )

* * * * *

Ra had only recently returned, so Ahkmenrah’s chambers were still bathed in the cool grey light of the early morning. However, Ahkmenrah had been searching for the source of the sniffling he had been hearing for over ten minutes. He had been through his garden, through his bedroom and balconies, and he was on his way to his bath now. If he couldn’t find the source soon, he was going to alert all his guards to search this end of the palace until they did. It was driving him crazy.

Ahk was dressed only in the light, short shendyt he wore to bed, his feet bare of sandals and his head bare of crown. His curls, though closely cropped, were a bit wild, as were his eyes as he searched for the source of the noise that had awoken him.

When Ahk entered the bathroom, he stilled his movements as he watched a young woman scatter fresh oil and petals into his bath in between sniffles. He could see her reflection in one of the mirrors and it was clear she had been crying.

It was also clear she was quite lovely.

Ahkmenrah knew he should speak up; he was, after all, the king, but he found that his voice caught in his throat. But Ahk wasn’t able to remain silent for long. The young woman turned toward the doorway as soon as she finished her task, her mouth falling open in surprise before she immediately bent in a full bow.

“No—uh, please carry on,” Ahk said as he found his voice.

The young woman honored her king’s command and rose, quickly gathering up her baskets and dashing to the doorway, except that Ahkmenrah still stood in said doorway. She flicked her eyes up to her king’s face and then lowered them again, clearly distressed.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Ahkmenrah said, not moving from the doorway.

“Your majesty?” she questioned, confused.

“You have been crying for quite some time. I just wondered why—is someone on the staff mistreating you?”

For the first time, the young woman looked into Ahkmenrah’s eyes as she spoke.

“Oh, no, your majesty—it’s . . . it’s nothing like that at all. I am so sorry to have dis—dis—disturbed you,” she said before dissolving into tears.

Ahkmenrah reached out and took her baskets from her hands, freeing her to now cover her face as her shoulders shook. Ahkmenrah scrambled over to the fresh piles of linens the young woman had left and brought back a small towel.

She took it and dabbed at her eyes, looking at the ceiling as if she could pray her tears away. Ahkmenrah was silent as he watched her, but he pulled her by the elbow toward a seating perch that was built into the back of one of the fountains that emptied into the bath.

He kept a slight distance between them, not wanting to make her uncomfortable when she cleared her mind and realized she was seated next to her king.

“I’m so sorry, your majesty. This is most inappropriate,” she said as she dabbed at her face, clearing away the tracks of tears.

“Emotions are nothing to be ashamed of, no matter how unpleasant they may be in the moment of expression,” Ahkmenrah said in a soothing tone. “May I at least know your name?”

“I am called Tiya,” the young woman said, her eyes once again avoiding the king’s.

“Tiya. It suits you,” Ahkmenrah said, smiling.

Tiya raised her eyes enough to see the king’s smile and couldn’t help managing a small one of her own, given the brilliance of his. In fact, King Ahkmenrah’s smile was often a topic among the servants.

“Now that we know each other a little better, will you tell me why you are so upset?”

“It’s silly,” Tiya said, huffing and wringing her towel in her hands. “Well, silly to a king.”

“Considering whatever the cause is also woke me much too early, I promise not to call it silly,” Ahk said, a hint of teasing in his voice.

Tiya looked a little horrified and started to apologize, but Ahk held up his hand and shook his head, indicating all he was interested in was her story.

Tiya took a deep breath and explained.

“I thought, finally, I had found someone. You know, a person you just know you want to wake up next to for the rest of your days. I was so sure he loved me like I loved him. And then, last night, he told me he had found someone else and while his time with me had been fun,” Tiya spat, “it was at an end.”

Tiya was silent, her gaze on the ground, her cheeks flushing with either shame or anger.

Ahkmenrah reached over to place his finger under her chin, lifting her face and turning it to look into her eyes. He was quiet for a moment, then spoke, “I am certain he is a fool and will live to regret his choice to break your heart.”

Tiya turned away again as she sighed.

“That’s just it—how many times must I have my heart broken? I feel like . . . like I’m undeserving of love.”

“I am sorry for what that young man did to you, but I am even more sorry you feel undeserving of love. I can assure you, Tiya, you deserve love.”

“Your majesty,” Tiya breathed, her eyes filling with adoration as she met Ahk’s once again. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Ahk laughed softy and explained, “It is something my mother taught me from an early age and something I have tried to abide by, even when people do horrible things to one another. I try to always look for the love in them or around them.”

Ahkmenrah stood and proffered his hand, so Tiya slipped her own hand into his and allowed him to help her to her feet.

“And you, Tiya, still have love to give. I can see that when I look in your eyes.”

She bowed her head and said, “I can’t thank you enough for your kind words, your majesty.”

Ahkmenrah smiled and watched Tiya as she gathered her baskets and left the bath.

Ahk loosened the tie on his shendyt, and it fell to the floor. As he made his way down the steps to submerge himself in the warm, sweet water, Ahk heard a low whistle of approval from the doorway.

The water shook as he chuckled, and he slowly turned to see you sliding the straps of your sheer sleeping gown off your shoulders.

“See something you like, my queen?” Ahk asked, settling on to the bench beneath the water.

“You are the sweetest king the gods have ever sought fit to bless us with,” you said as you stepped into the water and settled on the lap of your husband.

“And you were spying on me, too? Hmm, I really must have done a number on you last night,” Ahkmenrah said, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he teased you.

You laughed and bent to kiss him, his hands sliding around your waist.

“Was it the right thing to say to a young woman who just had her heart broken?”

“I don’t know,” you said, looking at your husband with an openness that confirmed the truth you were about to deliver. “I’ve never had my heart broken by the only man I’ve ever loved.”

Ahk’s smile was breathtaking as he pulled you close to him, hugging you tightly and silently thanking the gods he had you, his splendid queen, who loved him with unfathomable depths.

#Ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah x reader #ahkmenrah drabble

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writingthingsisdifficult · 5 years ago

Text

Oh my god they were roommates part 3

You are forced to take over the monitoring of Loki. Snapshots from the life of being a god handler.

It’s weird how a phrase or sentence can inspire a whole story. In this case it was “A polished turd is a turd nonetheless.” This is what grew from it. The whole story is almost 13.000 words long, so I felt I had to split it into parts.

The next part will be the last part, and I’m hoping I’ll get around to posting it tomorrow.

If you like it, let me know. Knowing that people enjoy my writing is what keeps me posting my stories.

Word count: 2299

Part one Part two

_______________________________________________________________________

The months passed quickly as you and Loki settled into a sort of quiet routine together. You learned a lot about him; his favourite books, that he preferred the autumn to the summer, and that he was surprisingly gentle if you only allowed him to be.

Another thing you learned quickly was that Loki preferred a savoury breakfast. He was usually up before you anyway, and had eggs and bacon ready when you stumbled into the kitchen fantasising about extra strong coffee.

But every now and then you woke early, either because you had extra work to do, or simply because you couldn’t sleep, and then you made pancakes. The first time that happened, Loki scoffed.

“Pancakes are a dessert, Y/N. Not a breakfast food.”

Shrugging, you continued cutting berries into halves. “Well then, Loki, let’s be adults and have dessert for breakfast. What’s stopping us? I mean, if you aren’t.”

Rolling his eyes, Loki looked at you as if you were crazy, but he sat down to eat anyway, and by the second pancake he was positively glowing.

Once you were full and had moved to the living room again, you decided to get some work done. Having a home office was a plus with this new mission. You didn’t even want to think about the looks from the other agents in the office if you had to come in every day.

“Hey, I read a book I think you’ll like,” you said, producing a battered soft cover from your bag and tossing it at Loki.

Of course he caught it just before it hit his head. Sharp reflexes were another skill you noted behind your ear. “Something from the Nightside?” He frowned, turning the book over to read the back. After a short silence, he opened it to the first page. “Thank you.” You heard nothing much from him for the rest of the day, but when the clock struck five, he asked you if you had book number two too.

_______________________________________________________________________

Loki looked like a thundercloud, even more so than he used to. His eyes were dark grey, and his face was drawn. He had pulled his lips into a tight sneer that never seemed to loosen, and when he moved through the flat, it sounded like he was trying to stomp the pictures off the walls.

You tried to mind your own business, as you usually did when he had these little moods, but this time he was infecting you as well. By lunchtime you were both on the verge of war.

After his fifth groan in the span of two minutes, you walked over and sat down on the sofa next to him. “Bad day?” It was obvious, but you had to try to be understanding if you were going to get through the day alive.

“You could say that. I’ve got a headache that would even put a frost giant to shame. And yes, I am aware of the irony in that. Don’t talk to me.”

You let out a small huff; surprised he was even answering, let alone giving you a reason. “Oh. Should I go get a –“

“No. I’ve tried everything. Nothing works. After the… incident in 2012, my head sometimes feels like it’s about to implode.” He rubbed his eyes and got up.

“Wait,” you said, your own frustrations dissipating fast, pulling him back down by his sleeve. “May I try something? My sister used to get these horrible migraines and the only thing that helped was when… I played with her hair.” It sounded silly, and you cringed having suggested it to a man who were considered a god by some.

“Fine. Why not?” He shrugged and scooted closer to you.

You blinked. He was really that desperate. That headache must really be of another world. “Wait here,” you muttered and went to close the curtains. On your way back, you flicked off the light too. The darkness was almost complete, and the only thing providing some light for you to navigate by was the blinking green light from the internet router behind the TV.

Keeping your voice as airy and light as you could, you climbed onto the backrest of the sofa and asked Loki to lean on your knees. “Close your eyes if you can. And let me know if I pull too hard.” As gently as you could, you separated his hair into equal parts. It was softer than you had expected, and you let it glide over your fingers before gathering it in your hand again. Suddenly you had an inexplicable urge to sniff it, but you resisted, and started braiding instead.

Small warrior style braids on the side of his head met larger ones in the back, and once all of his hair was done, you ran your fingers through and loosened it again. Twisting a lock into a knot, then releasing it again made him sigh loudly. Combing your hands up through his hair and running your fingers over his scalp had him sag against your knees. You smiled.

You had played with his hair for over an hour, and to be honest you had forgotten that it was supposed to be for his benefit, not yours. It was just that his hair was so incredibly silky and luxurious to touch that you lost yourself completely in the sensation. It wasn’t until his head lolled over and rested heavily on your knees and thighs that you returned to reality.

Loki had fallen asleep while you played, and the peaceful look in his face made you all tingly and warm inside. Without jostling him too much, you slid out from underneath him and lowered him back on the sofa. He sniffed and clutched a cushion to his chest with a tiny, tiny smile. Fighting the urge to go get your phone to snap a picture, you grabbed the nearest blanket and draped it over him. It was your time to make lunch anyway.

_______________________________________________________________________

You stumbled through the door, knocking over the umbrella stand, a pair of wellingtons, and the coat stand, scattering jackets and scarves all over the floor. “Shhh…” you hissed, gesturing to the pile of clothes before clutching your mouth gingerly. “Owww.”

“Isn’t it a bit early to be drunk, Y/N? While I completely understand, I thought it was generally frowned upon to drink in the daytime.” Loki was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning on the frame with a spatula in his hand.

“Not drunk.” Rubbing your jaw, you felt tears pool in your eyes. Great! Now you were crying too.

Taking you by the arm, Loki supported you into the living room, making sure you were comfortable on the sofa before stepping away, his face stiff and cold. “What happened? Who did this to you? Were you on a mission? I thought you had desk duty while minding me.”

You shook your head, but that made you dizzy, so you stopped. As you opened your mouth to answer, a long string of saliva dripped out. Your ears burned as you wiped your mouth on your sleeve. “Dentist.”

Loki frowned.

“Had to fix a cavity,” you muttered, sinking deeper into the soft cushions. “Don’t react too good to local anaesthesia. Fuzzy,” you added, tapping the side of your face with a languid finger. “Sleep?”

Loki nodded. “Yes. Maybe you’ll be more comfortable in your bed?” he asked, but you were already snoring. Smiling to himself, he fetched a blanket and draped it over you and brushed away a stray lock of hair from your eyes. “Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

A couple of hours later you woke up feeling like someone had punched you in the face. Your jaw was pounding, and the corner of your mouth felt stretched and cracked. Groaning, you pulled the blanket over your head, dreading the short walk to the kitchen for water and painkillers.

When the pain got too much to endure anymore, and you decided you would finally brave the walk, you carefully sat up, sliding your legs over the edge of the sofa. The movement made your head swim, but you steeled yourself.

Giving yourself an extra push to get up, you noticed a glass of water and two aspirin on the table. “Huh. Past me was pretty smart. I’m amazed I had the awareness to even find this,” you muttered.

_______________________________________________________________________

You had lived together for almost a year. It was a comfortable partnership, and you had found you really liked Loki. His calm demeanour and creative humour was a welcome contrast to the monotonous days in the office. Whenever you had the opportunity, you opted to work from home.

“I’m heading out. You want something from the shops?” Loki called from the door.

Jumping out of your chair, you tried to stop him. “Hey wait up!” You hobbled after him, trying to pull on your boots while walking.

He turned around, looking inconvenienced as always. When you caught up with him, he grimaced, picking a piece of lint off your jumper. “What?”

You smiled and finally managed to wrestle your foot down into the boot. “Nothing. Just figured I’d come with you. Can’t have a repeat of the Chocolate Incident.” You made a show of shuddering, exaggerating both movement and sound.

“Right,” Loki replied with a roll of his eyes, but there was a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. “The Chocolate Incident.”

The memory made you both wince and smile. It seemed so long ago now, just after you had moved in: you had woken up from your back aching, making it difficult to turn over in the bed, and as you lay there trying to ignore the pain, another one punched you in the guts. Days like these were the worst.

Sliding out of the bed, you pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants and wrapped yourself in the blanket, not bothering with changing out of your sleep shirt. Your hair fell in knotted tufts in your face. Blowing them away didn’t help, so you let them be and continued to the kitchen.

You stopped in the door, watching as Loki cooked. With a sigh you entered the room: you really just wanted to be alone and wallow in self-pity. This was not a situation that had crossed your mind when you had been forced to volunteer for the mission.

Loki turned around, on his way to put a spatula in the dishwasher when he spotted you. “Good grief. Are you sick?” He looked at you with distant concern, and you felt tears pool in your eyes.

Blinking them away, you shook your head to buy your voice enough time. “Shark week,” you muttered.

He frowned and tilted his head. “I don’t really see how a TV programme has anything to do with your condition. Do you want me to call a doctor?”

Sighing again, you rolled your eyes, not wanting to have to explain. “I’ll be okay. Just gimme the chocolate in the back of the small cupboard and nobody gets hurt. My back hurts like a motherfucker, and satan’s waterfall isn’t making things any better,” you said, gesturing to the general area of concern.

“What? …oh.” With that realisation he turned to the cupboard in question. “Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate…” For a moment he was silent, moving the other contents around on the shelf before freezing. “Oh. That chocolate.” He sucked air through his teeth and turned slowly to face you. “I… am truly sorry,” he said, and his face showed exactly that. “When I could not sleep the other night, I… Had I known it was your… time, I would have replaced it immediately.”

You groaned to stop yourself from crying, and turned dramatically on your heels. Marching through the hallway, you growled: “I’ll be in my room if you need me. Don’t disturb me unless it’s an emergency.”

There was a half eaten packet of Twizzlers in the bedside table, and luckily you had a handful of painkillers, but you weren’t going to forgive Loki anytime soon. That chocolate was your favourite, and it was notoriously hard to find, so when you did find it, you hoarded and saved it for difficult days. Like this day.

Shaking yourself out of the memory, you smiled to Loki and followed him down the stairs.

Loki’s preferred shop was just around the corner; a medium sized shop with an amazing fresh produce section, and you liked it because they had several aisles of candy.

“Hey, can we get PopTarts?”

Loki turned, looking like an exasperated parent dealing with an annoying kid. “Absolutely not!”

“Aw, why?” you pouted.

“Because that’s a sure way to attract my brother, and I am not in the mood to deal with him these days.”

“Ooh. I’d love to meet Thor some day,” you thought out loud.

Loki glared at you.

Holding up your hands, you smiled apologetically. “Okay, okay. But then we have to buy cookies.”

Loki sighed and shook his head in defeat. “Why do you have to be so happy all the time?”

“Because we’re shopping for candy.”

“We’re not just shopping for candy. What do you want for dinner?”

Your eyes lit up. You didn’t often get to choose. “Spaghetti.”

“Again?” He made a weird face, but put a packet of pasta in the shopping basket.

You stuck out your tongue. “So I like pasta. Sue me.”

“Don’t think that would do any good,” he snickered, continuing to the next aisle. “Pretty sure they’d rule in your favour.”

A distant rumble made you both stop in your tracks. Another one came, followed by a loud chime from your phone. The chocolate in your hand was immediately forgotten when you read the text: “Code RED. Report to HQ.”

Part four

_______________________________________________________________________

@80percentmarvel @tardis-is-mine @schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte @jessiejunebug @thefuriousquake @wolfgar15

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #reader insert #fan fiction #oh my god they were roommates #mcu sort of?#fluff #writing is hard

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whumppile · 5 years ago

Text

I’ll pray that sleep comes easy

(AN: I accidentally came up with this idea this morning when I was trying to get back to sleep and since I've finally got a day off I got to write it yay!just a little warning this does have a little bit of 'recovering alcoholic tony' so if that's going to trigger anything for you be safe and maybe skip this story? Love you all)

“Tony, you need to sleep.”

The mechanic ignored Rhodey’s very sound advice and reached for a bottle from the shelf, fingers dancing over labels until he’d found a whiskey he liked.

“What I need is a drink and some Ritalin.”

Rhodey snatched the bottle out of Tony’s hand, anger thinning his patience out faster than usual. “You promised Pepper you’d stop this.”

Tony reached for it again, sour mood worsened by being told what to do in his own lab. “She’s used to it.”

Rhodey evaded his grasp and tried again, tone lower as he held Tony’s gaze. “Peter’s not and you promised him too.”

That was a low blow but not a word of it was a lie and that's what hurt the most. Tony blew out an irritated breath as he walked away, throwing an arm out and sweeping bits of scattered projects from his workbench.

He was throwing a tantrum and he knew it but the loud clang of metal as it crashed onto the floor was cathartic and that was enough of an excuse for his guilt to let it slide.

Rhodey sighed. “He’s fine. We got him out.”

Tony rubbed a hand over his face, still turned away from his friend as he shook his head. “He should never have been there in the first place. That building should have never come down. He should never have been put through that again!”

His words turned into shouts by the end of it and he turned to face Rhodey, hands trembling as he crumbled just a little, voice softening.

“I should have saved him this time. I was right there and he had the suit but it wasn’t enough.”

He was quiet, pleading with Rhodey like he could turn back time and fix it but he couldn't.

Rhodey, having known the man long enough to know that the anger was gone and all that was left was the hurt, stepped forward and gripped Tony by his shoulders.

“You can’t protect him from everything.”

He knew that but it wouldn't stop him from trying.

“He wasn’t in there for long, Tones and you made Friday and Bruce do every scan and test they could. He’s okay.”

:::::::::

Peter was fine. I mean, the cast on his arm was annoying and he still had a headache from the concussion he’d gotten when the roof collapsed on him. But the deep cuts over his face had healed enough that he’d graduated from bandages to the bright teenage mutant ninja turtle bandaids Bruce got him.

And sure, having a building collapse on him in the middle of a mission was NOT the way he’d wanted his Friday night to go but he was okay. Really. He just wished the fear and panic from it would go away.

It was bad enough that he’d been buried under rubble but when that rubble reminded him of another collapsed building it just ramped up the anxiety. And having a panic attack through coms and begging for Tony to save him while the Avengers could all hear was just embarrassing.

Peter wasn’t sure if he was ever going to be able to look them in the eye again. And to make matters worse he’d freaked Tony out so bad the man had refused to sleep for the past three days.

The sound of his own voice cracking as he’d sobbed for Tony rang through his head again and he shook it away.

“Mr Stark, you gotta help me, please! I’m stuck! I can’t get out! I can’t breathe! Help me!”

God, he should have just shut up and waited quietly.

The other Avengers hadn’t made fun of him, not even Sam and Bucky, they had all just shouted to him over the coms, telling him they were getting him out.

Tony had sounded frantic, digging through rubble with his hands until the paint on his suit had scraped off. When he’d finally dug the teenager out he’d grabbed him in a hug and held on until Peter had finally stopped crying.

Great work Spider-man.

“I bet Black Widow never cries when she gets trapped.” He’d muttered it to himself, sulking in his room and unaware of the other Avenger in his doorway.

“No, but she does insist on being knocked out for any dentist appointment longer than a cleaning.”

Peter turned around at the voice to see Clint leaning on the door frame. Peter didn’t say anything as the archer strolled into his room and took a seat on the chair next to Peters bed.

“Look, kid, we all have trauma and shit that scares us. A kid your age shouldn’t have two building’s collapse on them in their lifetime let alone one. No one's going to look down on you because you freaked out. We would have been more worried if you hadn’t.”

Peter looked down at his sneakers and scratched idly at the bandaid on his cheek, anxiety rippling through him. “I just feel bad that I worried Mr Stark so much. I know he’s not sleeping. I heard Miss Pots talking to Dr Banner about it.”

Clint watched the droop of Peters' shoulders before nodding. There was no use lying to the kid.

“Yeah, but we’ll get him sorted. He’ll be okay.”

Peter kicked at the carpet, annoyed at himself. “Yeah but it’s my fault. I just keep screwing things up and getting in the way and-”

Clint smacked the back of his hand against Peters' shoulder, frowning at the weight the kid was putting on himself. “Hey, you didn’t screw anything up. The building collapsed while you were evacuating people from it. You got everyone out and you got yourself to the safest place you could before it came down. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Peter sniffled, wiping a hand over his nose as his eyes stung with tears he really didn’t want to fall.

“But Mr Stark-”

Clint leaned an elbow on his knee as he leaned forward, searching for Peters' eyes were they stayed glued to his shoelaces. “Peter, Tony has had a lot of people that he cared about, and that were supposed to care about him, let him down. You are not and could never be one of them. Do you know how many kids I have?”

Peter sniffed, not seeing the relevance. “Three?”

Clint nodded. “Now that makes me an expert Dad so let me let you in on a secret about the whole parent thing, okay?”

He'd never said it out loud, he'd been too afraid of losing it if he named it but Peter did see Tony as his dad and he wiped a hand over his eyes as he leaned forward, listening eagerly.

Clint looked into the teenager’s eyes and wished he didn’t see so much loss in them.

He softened his voice and let a small smile lift his features. “There is nothing in this world that we wouldn't do for our kids. Not all parents are good ones but the ones that are, like yours were, like Tony is, would give up everything just to make sure you’re okay. So, trust me when I say Tony doesn’t want you blaming yourself or feeling bad. Especially when it’s not your fault.”

Peter’s mouth tugged down at the sides and he ducked his head down like he was fighting against tears. Clint stood and took a seat next to Peter on his bed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and letting him collect himself.

It took a few minutes before Peter sniffed and blinked the tears away, taking a breath and evening out his voice enough to ask. “Hey, Mr Hawkeye? If Mr Starks my dad, what does that make you?”

Clint smiled and squeezed him tight. “Your crazy awesome uncle.”

Peter laughed, letting his shoulders shake with it in Clint's hold and he felt a little better.

That was until night came.

::::::

Tony sat at his desk and stared at the shelf of liquor he’d made Rhodey leave alone.

He should have gotten rid of them, he knew that. They were just a temptation and he wanted to stay sober for all the people that he needed to protect from his stupid drunk self but nothing else calmed his roaring anxiety like the burn of alcohol and he was weak.

It was three AM and while it was the fourth night he hadn’t slept, he didn’t plan on changing that.

Sleep led to nightmares which lead to panic attacks and he wasn’t signing up for his brains thrilling rerun of Peter trapped in that building, thank you very much.

He saw it enough during the day. God, the kid's screams and sobs through the coms had almost killed him.

But he shouldn't drink. He couldn't, he promised.

“That building on the south side’s come down.”

Deep breaths, Stark.

“Wait, where’s Peter?”

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

“I don’t- I think he’s-”

He's fine. He’s fine.

“TELL ME HE'S NOT IN THAT BUILDING!”

God, someone make it stop.

“Mr Stark, help me!”

Fuck he really was sleep deprived. That one had sounded so real.

Tony jumped up from his seat and stormed over to the line of sins on the shelf, pulling the vodka down. He hated himself the second he touched it but that didn’t stop him from reaching for the lid.

“Please! I’m trapped!”

Tony’s head snapped up, heart thundering hard in his chest because...fuck. That wasn’t a hallucination or a flashback. That was real.

He dropped the bottle, too panicked to even be aware of the shattering glass and spray of spirits across the floor as he ran.

“Friday, where’s Peter?”

The AI answered as her creator sprinted from his lab, nothing else on his mind but his need to get to his kid. Right. The Fuck. Now.

“In his bedroom, Boss.”

Shit, had someone broken in? Had something happened? Were they under attack?

Tony’s legs had never carried him faster and he barreled his way into Peter's room, ready to kill whoever he needed to keep Peter safe only to find there was no intruder. There was no alien or death squad, no dangerous threat of any kind.

Peter was asleep and having a nightmare.

The kid was tangled in sheets, crying out and thrashing as he struggled to free himself from his cotton prison.

Tony was frozen in the doorway for a second, brain trying to catch up with the fact that Peter was in fact safe. He didn’t move until one of Peters screams of terror broke into a sob.

“Da-a-ad!”

Tony didn’t need to think about what he needed to do, that word snapped something inside of him awake and he jolted forward the few meters to Peters bed.

“Peter, wake up.”

He reached for him, tearing his sheets away and gripping his arms, shaking him a little, trying to rouse him from his horror-filled dreamscape.

“Peter!”

The teenager’s sobs stuttered as his eyes snapped open and he lay frozen on the bed, hyperventilating for the second it took for his eyes to register Tony in front of him.

“You’re okay, Pete. It was just a nightmare.”

His face crumpled once he realised who it was that was gripping him and he started crying all over again, reaching for his mentor with sleep clumsy fingers.

“Mr Stark.”

Tony took a seat on the bed and pulled the kid until he was sitting up, trembling beneath his hands. He wrapped his arms around him, rocking the two of them as Peter wet his shirt with huge heaving sobs.

“I w-was back there and I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t find you.”

“You’re okay. You’re safe now, kiddo. I gotcha.”

Tony pulled in deep slow breaths as he tried to calm the residual waves of panic leftover from his scare. “Just breathe, Pete. We’re okay.”

The poor boy was shaking against his chest and while Tony felt like crying too he didn’t have time for his own meltdown. With his arms still around the sobbing teenager, because he was clever like that, he took his anxiety demon and put it in a vibranium box and sealed it. That little shit wasn't getting out until he knew Peter was okay.

He steadied himself with another deep breath and softened his voice, forcing it to be as steady and calm as it had ever been. He held Peter close and brushed a hand over the back of his head, fingers massaging the soft curls that lay at the back of the boy's neck.

“I’m right here, Petey. I’m not leaving you. You’re okay.”

Peter’s crying was quietening down, settling into small whimpers and sniffles against Tony’s chest but his back was still jumping up under his mentor's hands with each jerky gasp and Tony held tight.

He kept up the steady stream of reassurances to soothe himself as much as Peter, making sure the kid knew he wasn't going to let go until he was ready.

The room was dark and Tony found his eyes blinking slower and slower as he held the shivering boy. Peters' fingers were already curled securely into his shirt so he felt like he'd be okay to move around a bit.

He held Peter to his chest, making it clear he didn’t have to let go as he repositioned them, swinging his legs onto the mattress and leaning back against Peters headboard.

“We’re okay. You’re safe with me, Pete.”

He reached a hand down and pulled the comforter from where Peters thrashing had let it slip to the side, and pulled it over the both of them, tucking it around his ward.

Although it had been his job to make Peter feel better he found that not only had he managed to lock his anxiety away but Peters weight against his chest had silenced it completely.

The teenager was warm and safe in his arms and he let himself relax against the headboard, small puffs of air against his neck smoothing out and deepening as the kid calmed down.

Peter lifted his good wrist to his eyes and wiped the tears away, wishing he would stop hiccuping so pathetically. He should have felt more embarrassed but Mr Stark hadn’t even blinked an eye at holding him and it was the only thing making him feel better.

The comforting ramble of reassurances had quieted as his own crying had and although Mr Stark had made himself comfy there on his bed, Peter was worried that he’d pull away any second and leave him in the dark again.

He really didn’t want him to leave.

He hid his face in his mentor's shirt and scrounged up the scattered bits of courage he had left to get his voice to work.

“M-Mr Stark?”

Tony’s arms tightened against him minutely but there was no answer and Peter closed his eyes as he pushed the small words out into the air.

“Can you stay? I don’t want to be by myself.”

The room was quiet and Peter suddenly felt as if he’d dropped every bit of bravery he’d managed to find. He pulled away, sitting up as he backtracked, wiping a hand over his face.

“Forget about it. You don’t have to- I’m being stupid and-”

Of all the things that could have come out of Tony’s mouth to interrupt him he never thought it would be a snore.

He sat there on Tony’s knee, the man's arms still looped around him, and stared in amazement at the sleeping face of one Tony Stark.

He was out like a light, head leaning back, soft snores coming from his mouth and Peter smiled.

They were okay, the both of them.

Peter tugged the blanket back up his shoulders and laid back down on Tony’s chest, curling up in his arms as Tony instinctively wrapped his arms back around him.

“Night, Dad.”

And finally, for the first time in three days, the two of them slept through the night.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20010922

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13348917/1/

let me know what you think?

#tony stark #iron dad #fanfic #mine #spiderman #peter parker #whump #emotional whump #nightmares #insomnia

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