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sugamamacustard · 3 years

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Feed Me

Pairing: Alpha! Keiji Akaashi X Omega! Reader, Alpha! Wakatoshi Ushijima x Omega! Reader, Alpha! Rintaro Suna x Omega! Reader

Genre: Fluff

Request: Ooooo what about when Alphas 🐘 ( maybe akaashi, ushijima, rin and kuroo) find out that their omega has not been eating enough like (their only eating little things like granola bars or fruit) so their upset that they had to find out through someone else and they scold them for that but then their told that they have gain some weight and that gets them even more upset because they think their perfect etc.

Summary: Some times, people do things because it’s what they think is best. You don’t tell your alpha about some weight gain you’ve noticed, and try taking care of it yourself because of this.

Author’s Note: Hey, you. Yeah you. The beautiful person reading this? You are perfect. You are worth it. Your feelings are valid and you shouldn’t feel bad about having them. You are so amazing, and even if I don’t know you, I am so proud of you. You are so strong for making it so far. Keep going. Never change. :) Also your nice comments? Literally my dose of serotonin

did I mention my OC one or twice? Yes. Am I sorry? No. Also, idk if anyone is curious, but Yuka doesn't actually go to Shiritorizawa but whatever.

Requests: Closed!

Buy me a coffee?

Trigger Warning: Mentions of (Semi?) Starvation.

Keiji Akaashi

➵Now, Keiji is pretty on top of omega and significant other care.

➵ Like, weirdly so. It's honestly kind of creepy?

➵ In an endearing way.

➵ He always says 'Bokuto-Kun prepared me in a way.'

➵ Honestly, he loves doing this for you too!

➵He loves caring for you so much.

➵ Like I firmly believe Akaashi's love language is acts of service.

➵ So things like bringing you food, leaving sweet notes in your locker, helping you with your homework.

➵ He lives for doing these things.

➵ Especially feeding you snacks and things.

➵ It made his inner alpha purr because that meant he was caring for you. Providing for you.

➵ Being the very thing that made him worthy of an alpha.

➵ Prove that he could continue being the alpha you needed and wanted.

➵ Unfortunately, there were downsides.

➵ Your hips had the beginnings of small love handles, a little more chub on you tummy, thighs a little squishier.

➵ Let's not lie, Keiji absolutely adored this, by the way.

➵ I also think one of his biggest kinks is praise

➵ He makes sure you know how loved and how perfect you are.

➵ It's sometimes hard to believe him though.

___

"Y/N?"

You hummed an acknowledgment at Keiji's call, typing the final words to your essay before turning to look at your beautiful alpha- Sometimes you questioned how you hooked him. His gorgeous emerald eyes shining with love and adoration.

"I'm gonna go run and pick up some supper, what would you like beloved?" He came up to squeeze and massage your shoulders, leaning down as he pressed a small peck to your temple, your purr a sweet melody to his ears.

You swallowed behind your purr, trying to hide the small panic in your eyes. Your mind instantly flashed to your reflection this morning, how you pinched your hips with a frown. You already had been slowing down on the snacks, and fast food made you shiver.

"I-I'm okay for now, Keiji. Thank you though." You smiled, nonetheless, holding Keiji's cheek in your hand. He quirked a brow, frowning slightly before nodding lowly. Another peck was pressed to your cheek before he left, ordering your favorite from the diner he took you to for your first date.

"Beloved, I'm back." Keiji called, once more tearing you away from your essay; you were always thankful for the distraction though. He set down the take out bag, taking out the top box and handing it to you before shrugging off his jacket.

"Keiji? I said I was okay-"

"I didn't believe you. Now come on, you need to take a break and I'm touch starved." The raven didn't even look behind at you before pulling out his own box, dragging your rolley-chair to the bed. He pulled his sweater over his head, handing that to you as well before giving you a sweet peck.

His eyes locked with yours. Your breath hitched. So many silent words swam in his eyes, asking you, demanding you, to tell you what was wrong.

"I just- I've gained a little weight lately and-"

"And? My love, you are just as gorgeous as the day I met you. Nothing is wrong with a little weight, even if I think you're foolish to think you've gained weight. Never think otherwise. Even if you do, let me know, my job as your alpha and boyfriend is to make sure you feel as good as possible no matter what."

He slipped the sweater over your head, rehanding you your meal that he took from you momentarily, running a hand through your hair.

"Your my beautiful omega. Nothing should keep you from your happiness."

Wakatoshi Ushijima

➵Unlike Akaashi, Wakatoshi is little more...Hesitant (In a way) when it comes to omegan care.

➵ He never really learned how to? Ya know?

➵ Both his parents were alphas, and he was never around omegas consistently enough to learn.

➵and it's not like you were a volleyball that he could use the same techniques to up-keep.

➵ He also couldn't ask his team.

➵ Well, he could, but only one other person on his team had an omega. (It was Satori and his advice, though helpful, could only go so far.)

➵ He was doing good though, especially with you holding his hand through the entire thing.

➵ The first time he noticed something was up was when you didn't show up to lunch-- texting him a picture of you in the library, tongue poking out as you held up a peace sign to assure him you were okay.

➵ When he brought it up to Satori, who had his own omega (A small, but fiery brunette named Yuka) leaning on his side as she played some sort of phone game on his phone (Mama's slusheria? He thinks?) .

➵He explained he didn't know what was going on with you while Satori listened with a hum before giving him a sad smile. "Sorry I can't help you further Ushi-waka, but as you can see-" He slid his unfinished lunch towards Yuka, who popped one of the Dango skewers into her mouth without looking up. "I'm not very familiar with the problem."

➵ He offered his help as much as he could nonetheless.

➵ He slowly began to pick up on smaller things, locking them in his steel trap.

➵ Like a good boy :)

➵ He put hours of research into omegas after this (not that he hadn't previously). Keeping strenuous notes beside him.

➵ They were colorful and highlighted :)

➵ And he followed the advice that 'Mommy Luna-boo' posted on the blog he found like a goddamn Mantra. ('Sometimes Omegas need a little more love! Their bodies, especially during high school years, will change a lot! They may feel a little down! As an alpha, make sure you remind them how beautiful they are!')

➵She was mother Theresa and he was her follower.

➵ Well after he followed you.

➵and after he made sure you were feeling better

___

"Omega?"

"Toshi."

Walking into your dorm room, Wakatoshi set down a small bag filled with goodies. He set it down on your bed as he sat down as well, watching you carefully.

When you gave him a small smile with a quirked brow, he took a deep breath, remembering everything Tendou had coached him through.

"Have you been eating enough lately?"

You sucked your tongue at the question, shuffling your shoulders. Truth be told you had been missing out on a few lunches after noting a few extra pounds you hadn't noticed earlier. You never meant to worry him, that was never your intention, but it seemed the world was working against you. You had no clue where to go from here. If you told him the truth that would do nothing but worry him, but lying was never good in any form of relationship.

Your hesitance to tell him was more than enough though, as his larger lands encased your own, holding them tightly.

"Why?" His tone wasn't accusatory nor was it angry in the slightest. Genuine curious if anything. If he could get to the bottom of the root of the problem, he could prevent it from happening in the future. Right?

"I- I just...Noticed a few extra pounds and-"

"That's it?"

You looked up to him with a tilted head, like a lost puppy. "What do you mean that's it?"

Pulling you closer, Wakatoshi effortlessly pulled you onto his lap, using one hand to dig through the bag beside him while the other wrapped around your hips. He pulled out a few of your favorite snacks laying them out in front of you.

"That's, in my opinion, a silly thing to worry about. If you feel that's a big problem, I can offer my services to you in any way you wish-- whether it be support or as help, it is my job to be there for you." He nuzzled your scent gland, voice rumbling against your shoulders.

You purred in response, leaning back onto your alpha.

Rintaro Suna

➵ Suna is a lot like Akaashi in the sense that he has incredible observational skills as an alpha.

➵ His eyes are like sniper scopes.

➵ The minute something is wrong, he's on it.

➵ Like he looks aloof but he's not.

➵ He had notes.

➵ So hiding something from him is not easy at all.

➵ But you two most likely ended up together because you gave him a run for his money.

➵ You made him work at being an alpha.

➵ And he loved you for that.

➵ It did come back to bite him in the ass though.

➵ The only reason he heard about this was because the betas at Inarizaki were loud mouths.

➵ Honestly he learned so much tea from them.

➵ Like this third year was sleeping with a first year because she planned on baby trapping him and-

➵ It was wild.

➵Though most times it was nothing more than a source of entertainment for you and him to laugh about.

➵This time the gossip was actually useful.

➵ He wasn't thrilled they were talking about you, but provided some very useful information.

➵ And he was set into action.

➵ typing a few things onto his phone he set out to find you.

___

"Rin, I said I'm not hungry-"

"I know and I'm making the executive decision to ignore you."

He squinted his eyes at the carefully written instructions in front of him, sending a silent thanks to Atsumu's mate Haruka. (;)) She had written a step by step instruction sheet to making Onigiri while also dropping off all the ingredients (Pre-prepped). The only reason she didn't make it was because Suna's alpha, no matter how much he trusted her, wouldn't have let it near you.

"Rintato-"

"Look, Y/N. I love you, you know that. You know a lot of things, you're my smart little omega. So you must also know this isn't good, right?" Sliding a plate of, albeit mediocre, onigiri towards you, Rintaro focused his gaze on you.

"You know this, eh?"

You swallowed before grabbing one of the triangles, nibbling on the top in an attempt to appease your alpha. His sharp gaze still focused on you, making you shiver as he rounded around the counter. He turned you around so you were facing him, his hands holding your hips.

"You know this."

You wilted under his expectant gaze, knowing what he wanted from you. "I know this."

He smirked, leaning to take bite from your snack, licking his lips as he did. "Good omega."

"Rintaro that's mine!"

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mrsblackruby · 3 years

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“Here ye Here ye the court is now in session will the defendant Billy Hargrove please stand.”

Me reading to much into the politics of Billy Hargrove / Harringrove

I would first just like to communicate that I recognize there are much bigger problems in the world that we should be focused on organizing against. (capitalism is a threat organize against it) and you are in no way shape or form a bad person for engaging in the behavior I criticize in this post.

Humans have flaws and in media characters having flaws can make them more relatable to the audience. Film and television can offer a way to engage in modern problems that feel way less traumatic. I feel like discussing child abuse through how media portrays it can be less traumatic.

I’m am a Black Genderfluid Queer 18 teen year old and I am a victim of child abuse (You don’t have to believe me but I am) and the reality of my experiences have shaped how I see this character so I wanted to share my analysis on how stranger things treated Billy Hargrove and especially how the fan base has treated this character.

I hope I make my points clear and I’m open to respectful criticism. I’m interested in the conversations we can have about this character. And look maybe there’s no correlation between how you treat human beings and fictional characters but I still think it’s worth analyzing just to be sure.

If you’re a Harringrove Stan I hope this makes your day better. If you’re not, I still hope you have a good day but don’t harass people who do like Harringrove.

Racist?

I personally do interpret Billy as Racist I think it adds dimensions to his character but that’s the thing I interpret it as racism.

I personally think you’re giving the Coke Cola and KFC product placement writers too much credit when you say Billy is a definitive racist. They left it up to interpretation by never explicitly addressing racism in the show. I think it’s heavily implied Billy is racist and it wouldn’t be far fetched based on the time period. I definitely felt the weight in the “certain type of people” comment. That’s the thing tho I felt the weight of the line because it was only an implication not a confirmation. people don’t have to read into it as a criticism of racism especially if it’s not tied to explicit themes on racism in the text.

Also this goes to a much larger critic I have of stranger things. that it doesn’t try to even tackle racism in a big way. The 80s saw crack planted into black communities only for those same communities to be demonized and criminalized. I mentioned that cuz If you are going to present racism in your show about the 80s potentially down playing it into one bigoted character instead of a whole system that everyone in the world building participates in means that subsequently your writing is just beating up on one character but you are not truly exploring the racist system in your fictional world. So you’re definitely not making a smart critic of racism in the real world. Stranger Things just simply fails to explore racism in its cannon and being mad at people for not interpreting something left up to interpretation baffles me. I’m finna get eat up in theses comments

Over-Sexualized?

Billy Hargrove is definitely one of the most sexualized characters in Stranger Things and even though we were introduced to his character when he was 17 the camera frames him in such a hyper sexaulized manner. I personally do feel slightly uncomfortable with the overt sexualzation of Billy's character. I also feel rather uncomfortable by the age gap relationship that they explore in canon between Billy and Karen. I myself find no interest in forming a romantic relationship with someone the same age as my parents.

However I don’t think the exploration of Billy’s sexuality is a harmful thing. I was 17 a couple days ago and I’m 18 now like how Billy was in season three. I’m very aware that teenagers have sexuality. I think there is a cautious step to take when exploring the sexuality of a character who just turned 18 in fandom. I’ve seen things that have made me feel downright disgusted. On the other hand It’s more likely for me to see fans going out of their way to tag their posts , art, and fanfics to create a safe environment to portray Billy's sexuality.

I also see fans trying very hard to be respectful to the actor and not down right sexually harass anyone and if someone does I’m willing to call them out for It and I see others willing to do the same.

All in All, Billy's character is definitely sexualized and the more toxic aspect of that sexualization is not inherent to the Billy Hargrove/ Harringrove fandom but fandom culture at large. I’m also willing 2 die on the hill that season 3 handles Billy’s sexuality worse than many fans. I don’t think ur a bad person if you “ship” (using the definition of ship very leniently) Billy/Karen and can recognize the harmful power dynamics in the relationship. I just think the show fails on many levels to set up the relationship. that they didn’t really frame how toxic an age gap like that could be. The show fails to really hold Karen accountable for crushing on a 17/18 year old and putting him in danger. And Like many other shows in the industry, deciding to sexualize teen characters by having adults play them is a little off to me instead of having less sexualized teen stories. I digress tho we should all be cautious of how we present fictional character’s sexuality at any fictional age.

The Redemption by Death Trope

One valid statement I do believe is warranted is Billy did not have the chance to lead a better life in the fiction. if you think he was completely redeemed I don’t fully agree with you.

This is one reason I hope Billy Hargrove comes back someway in the show because if not he will fall victim to one of the biggest tropes in media. “Redemption by death” popular examples include Kylo Ren, Loki ( too many times to count), Killmonger, etc. This is a very popular trend in Hollywood and it’s not inherently bad. Some people do die without the chance to heal and those stories deserve to be told. However, telling this same story over and over again can make the themes kinda become demoralizing like there is no possible way morally gray characters like this can heal (I will expand on this later).

Now I may have poorly named this trope because there is no redemption in death. Your character arc is finished so the audience doesn’t get to see the work it takes to actively become less harmful just a self sacrifice. And/ or the character does change and the audience doesn’t get to see the work they put in before they die. ( it rubs me the wrong way seeing character’s self sacrifice a lot of the time because it makes me question how much that character valued their life but it’s much more likely that the writers or audience just didn’t value the character. And if that’s the case why is that?)

I connect to everything in canon about Billy’s character. I’ve made worse decisions than we see Billy make in the show and understand that when you make those mistakes it’s mostly likely a call for help. If I were to die before I could say sorry and prove I will never make the mistake again. That would be a tragedy not a redemption.

What does it mean to not be redeemable in fiction?

Now in response to me some people will just say Billy can not be redeemed. And in response to that I ask what do you mean?

I personally believe anyone in the real world can be redeemed as long as they are breathing. They can learn and grow and try not to cause harm. So of course I believe in a constructed world you can choose to give any character a redemption arc.

This is where I will expand on the demoralizing nature of the over use of redemption by death stories. In my opinion I don’t see how anything Billy has done is justification for him to be deserving of death in the media or be left to rot. But sometimes that is the message people get from death in fiction that somehow the character was “deserving” of it. As if it were destined and not constructed.

This saddens me because what message are we sending when we say the actions Billy took in fiction means he was only meant to be left for dead. What could we possibly be saying about our fellow human beings who have made mistakes or abused us in the past?

Let’s take a look at Billy’s actions because he has done wrong in the fictional world. I personally do headcanon Billy as racist so let’s examine that first. Racism is taught not an innate quality of a human being and can be unlearned. Racism in the real world is built into the foundation of society and we’re all conditioned into it. To fight racism we must be willing to unlearn it and unlearning can be the first part of healing. Racism is so fraught that in unlearning it you must realize the only way to truly destroy racism is by killing/ fighting the systems that manufactures it. So yes I think Billy is racist but he can learn to not be.

The next thing is Billy beating up on kids. I understand the context he is coming from and why he could have responded that way since he was beat up on as a kid but to be able to grow from the situation he must learn that doing something that low again is something he should probably consider wrong, understand boundaries, and the effects his actions had on the group. And clearly learning to not physically assault people is not that linear but I think it can be learned and Billy may not be fully forgiven but he can learn to do better and learn that what he did was wrong. Now the question is are we gonna leave space for characters to be redeemed?

The overt villain coding of My Rat Boi

This will be short but sometimes villain coding can make it hard to sympathize with characters and we start to see them as beyond redemption. I say this because I disagree with the Duffers when they say they wanted an antagonist beyond redemption so they made Billy. Billy is not beyond redemption and even though he is framed that way it is still possible he can be redeemed in the plot line. Also when we code characters as villains we could start to dehumanize them and think of their actions as monstrous evil and think no decent human could ever commit such an act. When the character might just be imitating very common human behavior. I think in a story like stranger things we should be seeing the humanity of all the characters, even the demo dogs. Whatever tho end of short villain coding rant

Queer coding

Alright here it is Harringrove, I am chaotic!!!

Okay so I also headcannon Billy as queer for multiple reasons some being because I connect better to his character. Other reasons being that it adds dimensions to his character.

I personally think it can explain a lot of the actions we see Billy take in the story too. Like I understand how he acts more in the basketball scene if he is repressing a forming crush he has on Steve. However, Billy can be queer and not have a crush on Steve. I just think Billy being queer adds a lot to the story.

I think there is a lot of overlap between Billy acting hyper masculine but also holding a lot of insecurities that I think queer people can relate to. I think it would hurt more when Billy’s father calls him the f-slur. I just think a lot of queer people can read into Billy actions as it being coded that’s all. To me It honestly feels like all his interactions with Steve’s character are obviously sexually charged. “Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington” “Yeah it’s me don’t cream you’re pants”

Their our so many ways to reimagine their relationships. A story where the two come to terms about their fight and the consequences of it. Our maybe the fight never happens at all and they both learn about each other secrets. Billy learns about the dead demo dog and Steve learns about Billy’s home life. So once again I am baffled on why so many people say if you ship Harringrove you are romanticizing abusive relationships. When clearly that is not the case for every shipper. Look you don’t have to headcanon it but let me reimagine my angsty enemies to lovers.

How Billy and Max’s sibling dynamics map on the real world?

Tw/ indepth reference to child abuse

I was abused as a child. When I was younger me and my little sister had a very toxic relationship. She would snitch on me whenever I did anything against the rules and in turn I would be given an ass whooping. After I was punished I would then get into a physical altercation with my sister because I was mad she told on me.

The complex relationship we see Max have with Billy is sadly more common than some would think in abusive environments. I’m kinda uncomfortable elaborating any further but me and my sister have apologized to each other and I would like to think we have both grown from it.

So the relationship Billy and Max have really speaks to me. I wish we got to see more of it and understand why Max acts so differently towards Billy in season 3. To hear people harass Billy stans who don’t think Billy deserves to die for what he did to Max doesn’t make me feel good. I imagine to a lot of abuse victims in complex family situations it’s very isolating.

End of Tw/ indepth reference to child abuse

How Billy’s trauma responses relate to real world ?

I feel like Billy as a character has a lot of the same coping mechanisms I have. I get angry, impulsive and make a lot of decisions I might regret later. I make stupid mistakes that put me and others I love in harms way sometimes. I’m not perfect but these coping mechanisms don’t mean I deserve death so of course I don’t think a fictional character like Billy does and I just want my RAT boi back!!! Pls stop comparing how other people respond to abuse as if there’s a right way every victim reacts differently and has a different support system and some have no support at all. Best advice meet them where there at or not all. Just don’t demonize their coping as they try to heal and become better (and when I say demonize I mean act as if they are irredeemable, you can still hold them accountable and call out/ call in)

How would you feel if you could relate to a character so many people said deserved to die? If you could relate more to the character if you head cannon their sexuality as being queer like yourself and people say you romanticize abusive relationships? How would you feel if people assumed your entire hyperfixation with a character was solely because they are a white cis gender man you’re attracted to? When it’s actually because so many stories about abuse are given clear black and white portrayals in media and after a lifetime of little to no representation of your experience a more nuanced portrayal (even though it’s not perfect and sadly set in a “race blind” environment) comes around and a community forms where they explore the complex tragedy in abuse. Also I find it hard to hate people who envision a relationship from fiction different then intended or from how I interpret it. But I sure don’t like it when people degrade others for how they choose to connect to the media.

You don’t have to like Billy or his character and your interpretation of his character can be more simple than mine but why harass individuals for their more complex interpretation of Billy? I’m not even saying you can’t have a “harmful” interpretation of the media , just that mine and a lot of people's connection isn’t that harmful of a coping mechanism.

We are all just people and no one is better than you but no one is worse than you either. I find it hard to believe I am the only one to ever cause harm to the ones I love. To deeply regret it afterwards but understand you can never go through life without being hurt or hurting someone but you CAN always grow from it and change.

BUT HEY THAT’S JUST ME READING TO MUCH INTO BILLY

Howdy🤠there do you want more content from me?

*groans and booing*

Alright well since y’all keep begging me. I made a whole case 4 rat man on my blog it’s right here if you’re interested

#harringrove #billy hargrove #anti harringrove #anti billy hargrove #stranger things #personal vent #my first post

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awkwxrdapple · 4 years

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Fallen Angel (Part 1) - Peter Parker x reader

Request: Hi! I love your writing! I was hoping you could do a peter x reader where the reader gets badly hurt and captured and it takes a long time for the avengers and peter to find her and once they do, she is scared half to death, jumpy, nervous, and stays by Peter's side during pretty much everything. They are living in the avengers tower with everyone and since they are the youngest, Peter is particularly protective of her during her recovery. Thank you!

Word count: 1.6k

WARNINGS: mentions of anxiety, light torture, injury, trauma (after reading if you think I should include any others please let me know thank you)

Part 1

Simultaneously, you removed your headphones and slammed the textbook shut in front of you. Your assignments were getting tiring. It wasn't that they were hard and you were struggling, it was just that after being part of the Avengers, doing calculus and algebra seemed too easy for you. You could do it easily, but after all that you had done and seen already in your life, you knew your time could be better spent.

Being the youngest Avenger alongside Peter Parker was exciting. You felt unbelievably honoured to be given the opportunity to be part of a team that did wonderfully amazing things. You had made friends for life, and most especially so with Peter. When you had come to New York you were enrolled into the same school as Peter. Midtown High was a good school and you enjoyed it, it also meant spending more time with Peter even though you both lived in the Avengers Tower now.

Lying back against your bed you realised you were hungry, you'd been studying for what felt like ages.

Knowing you had nothing sweet that you wanted to eat in the tower you decided that a quick trip out would let you get what you needed. If you were going to carry on studying you were going to need all the help you could get.

Grabbing your purse from your dresser, you wandered down the corridor to where Peter's room was. The door was slightly open but you knocked anyway and waited for his reply.

"Hey, I was just going to go to the store, do you want anything?"

He, like you had just been, was sitting on his bed with papers strewn around him. When he saw you he gave you a warm smile. Having Peter living with you in the Avengers tower was amazing. Peter really was your best friend and you trusted no one more in the world.

"I'm ok, but thank you. What are you going for?"

"Chocolate, ice cream, cake, anything." You said.

"Homework giving you a hard time too?"

"Is it that obvious?" You laughed before placing your hand on the door handle again. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Bye Y/N."

Taking the elevator it didn't take too long to get to the ground floor and out into the centre of New York. You knew there was a little grocery store a few blocks over that made homemade chocolate cake.

Unknowing to you, a set of eyes were watching you leave the tower, cross the street and make your way down the sidewalk. It was busy, and you were tired. Your instincts were slower and less aware of your surroundings. The one set of eyes soon became two, then three, then four. You were blissfully unaware of the imminent danger you were about to find yourself in.

Taking a swift left at the next building you passed, your face collided with a hard arm and sent you stumbling backwards. Jolted out of your oblivious state, you raised your guard and lunged to land a punch square into your attackers chest. They struck back, using their larger build to throw their weight towards you forcing you to the ground. The air was knocked out of your lungs.

Kicking back up from underneath them you tried to force their body off you, but they were heavy, and armed. You could feel a gun strapped to their hip pressing into yours. Rapid footsteps were heard around you as more people wearing a similar black combat suit to your assailant emerged and began to hold you down. You continued to fight in any way you could but soon all your limbs were rendered useless.

"You're coming with us. Don't try to resist." A low male voice spoke into your ear as a cloth was placed over your face, a strong smell evaded your nostrils and then you relaxed back into the concrete.

+ + +

Upon waking, you found yourself cold, aching and stiff. Your head hung towards your chest and a dull throb emanated from your forehead and rang throughout your skull. Your hands were tied behind you back and placed behind a chair, with your legs also tied to the chair legs completely restricting all of your movement.

Fear and panic flooded through you and your chest became horrifically tight. The room around you was incredibly dim, with the only light coming from a single dull light bulb above your head. Feeling your breathing become hastened you remembered your training.

Don't panic. Be calm. Assess the situation.

The situation looked bleak. There were no sounds to be heard so you couldn't even begin to work out where you were being held. You remembered the last memory of being free, but couldn't place the people from anyone or thing you had seen before.

You weren't kept guessing for long as a door creaked open to your left and two figures entered the room. The door was roughly closed behind them and a click of the lock was distinctly heard. You nervously swallowed and waited for one of them to speak.

"We hope you aren't too badly hurt, Y/N." One spoke and made his way over to you. His voice was calm, and in any other situation you would have mistaken him for a nice man.

"How do you know my name?" You ignored what he had actually just said to you. It was far more disturbing that your first name was known to these people.

"That doesn't matter. We may know a few things about you, but you know much more than we do about things important to us."

"And those would be?"

The other man laughed coldly at your attempt to sound confident.

"Your friends." The first man now knelt down a meter away from where you were sat.

"My friends?"

"The Avengers."

To this you had nothing to say. You instantly felt guilt at being caught in this way, no other member of the team would be trapped like this. It made you ashamed. These people needed you for whatever heinous reason they had.

"We understand you know a great deal about the runnings of that Tower, and of the inner workings of the group itself." The man continued. "We think you would be very useful to us."

"I won't tell you anything."

This brought a sigh from him. It was almost sarcastic.

"We thought you would say that."

He stood up and took a few steps backwards, allowing the other man to walk into your focus.

"Maybe this will change your mind."

The first strike to your face stung. The next hurt. The third, numb. The intensity of the punch quickly removed all feeling. You could taste your own blood as your lip was cut upon the second blow.

"It… it won't change my mind." You spluttered. Tears welled up in your eyes but you were not going to give them the satisfaction. You would never betray your friends, your family.

"We shall see."

+ + +

"Has anyone seen Y/N?"

Peter was worried. You had left the tower four hours ago, and still had yet to return.

"No I haven't, why?" Nat answered him as she wandered into the shared living room and kitchen space.

Peter told her that you'd told him you were quickly going to the store and that you weren't back.

"I'm sure she will come back soon. Maybe she ran into a friend?" Steve offered as he sat holding a mug of black coffee.

"Yeah… you're right." Peter tried not to think about it too much. But after an hour or so that he hadn't heard you walk down the corridor, he went to check your room to find it empty. And he couldn't find you anywhere in the tower.

Wanda gave Peter a small smile. She had seen how close you two had become. It was only natural that Peter was concerned.

"If she isn't back tomorrow morning, we shall then worry, yeah kid?" Tony walked behind Peter and placed a brief hand on his shoulder.

"Ok…"

The next morning resulted in Peter's worry increasing exponentially. He had sent you multiple texts and phoned you many times to receive no response. Usually you would let him know if you were staying with a friend. The whole situation seemed off.

"Still no sign of Y/N?" Tony asked as Peter wandered through the kitchen on his way to school.

"No. I am worried."

Tony considered Peter for a second.

"Come with me, I might be able to find her." Tony stated and headed for the elevator. "School is important, but it can wait."

Walking into one of Tony's labs, Peter realised he hadn't been into this one before. Tony tapped on a screen and brought up a map of New York on one of the monitors.

"Mr Stark, what is this?"

"I regret not telling you sooner but I have tapped yours and Y/N's phones. So even when it's off, it can be tracked."

"You're going to track her phone?"

"I think that's what I just said." Tony raised his eyebrows. "Let's see if she still has it with her." He could see how upsetting this was to Peter. He began to wonder if you two were just friends, or something more.

After putting more information into the computer a yellow dot appeared on the map, quite far from the Tower, but still within the city.

"Is that her?" Peter asked urgently.

"It should be. I don't like the fact she's in a decommissioned warehouse though."

Peter suddenly felt a sudden urge to drop everything and run to you.

"According to this, the signal hasn't moved in 12 hours." Tony turned round to face Peter.

Peter's jaw was tight. Tony could tell he was ready to fight.

If you would like to be in the tag list for part 2 or any of my other Peter Parker imagines please let me know!

"Alright kid, suit up."

PART 2

Tag list: @unmistakablyunknown

Masterlist

#peter parker #peter parker imagines #peter parker x reader #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #peter parker x y/n #tom holland x y/n #marvel imagine #spiderman imagine #storyofavengers

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lilacorgi · 4 years

Text

Twisted Wonderland Overblot Part 2

Previous Part: https://lilacorgi.tumblr.com/post/624742668880281600/twisted-wonderland-overblots

“You need to run Mr. Crowley,” Grim said. “Or I’ll burn ya,”

Crowley didn’t move, he was aware of his dire situation and consequences because of his actions.

“Why should I… control it?” Yuu asks.

“You will do things that you will regret,” Crowley replied. They thought for a moment and realized what he meant.

“Principal… can you kill me?” They pleaded.

“Yuu… I’m not going to kill you,” Crowley answered.

“I know. That’s why you lied and gave me false hope,” Yuu cried black tears. “Why didn’t you do anything to stop this?”

“This is all inevitable,” he stated.

“You couldn’t have stopped it no matter what you did,”

“So all the things Grim went through was for nothing?” They ask. Grim didn’t react even to his name. He was only focused on one particular bird.

“No, it’s why we can talk like this,” Crowley said.

“You’re running out of time," Crowley’s statement made Yuu grit their teeth.

“Who cares what happens to me? My friends are going to die!” They cried.

“This is my punishment for failing to save them,” Yuu stared at the black stain on their hand. They could feel the darkness trying to escape.

“Yuu,” he kneels to them and looks at them in the eyes. “I promise you, I will tell you everything,”

“And why should I believe you? You were lying to me for an entire year,” Yuu questioned.

He takes off his mask, revealing his golden eyes underneath.

“Because I am very kind,” he says.

Grim jumps out of Yuu’s arms and runs to the wall, growling. He shrieks, his body distorts, growing larger, and transforms into a beast.

Yuu and Crowley were taken back by the monstrous form then Grim blows fire at the principal. Yuu steps back, shocked by Grim’s attack.

Crowley was nowhere to be seen, only leaving behind his coat.

Yuu breathes and their eye becomes entirely back. They cover their eye as they fall on their knees. Grim walks to them and nuzzles their head.

“It’s okay, Grim,” they stroke his cheek. “Why don’t you try out those wings of yours?” They tell him. He spreads out his wings and teleports in a cloud of black smoke.

Yuu saw something shining at the edge of the room. They walk over to see a broken necklace of Grim’s magic gem. It was in a good condition despite Grim’s transformation.

Yuu’s phone dings from a text and they pick up their cracked phone off the ground. It was a text from Malleus, making their face slightly brighten.

“It’s finally the end of the year, what are your plans for the future?” He asks.

“Future?” They thought. “I don’t have one anymore,”

“I need to answer him,” they type in their reply.

“Yuu!” Deuce calls out. The first years burst into the room, making their eyes widen.

“You’re all here,” they said, pulling their hood down.

“Of course! We were all startled by that loud explosion!” Sebak hollered.

“Are you alright? What happened to Grim and the mirror?” Ace asks.

“Grim has become a beast from eating the black rocks,” they answer.

“In other words … he overblotted?” Jack asks.

“Yes, except he has the power of all the dorm leaders,”

“We’ll have to gather all of them and fight him together,” Ace said.

“No… you’ll have to do it without me,” they asserted.

“Why?” Epel asks.

Yuu takes off their hood and they show their eye that was entirely black.

They were all speechless.

“I’m running out of time,” Yuu said.

“No… That can’t …” Ace denied.

“So this is what overblot feels like… what a terrible feeling,” they choked out. “It feels like there’s a monster inside me trying to claw its way out,”

“Yuu…” Jack muttered.

“Could you guys do me a favor?” Yuu asks.

“Anything,” The first years said.

“I need a…” they were cut off when they all give them a tight hug.

Yuu didn’t need to say anything, their friends knew they wanted a hug. They had clear tears running down their cheeks and gently pushed them away.

“Go, I don’t know how long I can hold it back,” they warned.

“We’ll kick your ass!” Epel cries and Yuu smiles, watching them leave.

“Sebak… wait…” He halts and turns to them. Yuu sends their text on the phone and lends it to him.

“Give this to Malleus,” they requested.

“Yuu… Young Master’s worst fear is losing the ones he holds most dear,” Sebak told them.

“Am I really that precious to him?” Yuu asks.

“…More than you can comprehend,” he says with tears running down his cheeks. He wipes his tears away and Yuu grabs his collar with their hands.

“Yuu?” They grit their teeth as they throw him out of the mirror chambers. He manages to get back up on his feet.

“Run Sebak! Runaway from here as fast as you can!” Yuu cried. He does what he was told with tears running down his cheeks.

They whimper as something shakes, making a rattling noise, and it breaks. Their eyes widen and they take shaken deep breaths.

Each breath they took, the more fear and pain it was filled.

Screeching quietly, they wondered, “Is it this painful to overblot?”

A coffin bursts open and darkness floods out.

The first years rush to the hall of mirrors. Epel is wiping tears away, while the others are trying their best to hold it in but failing.

“Where did Sebak go?” Ace asks.

“He went to get Malleus,” Jack answers.

The ground suddenly shakes and comes to a halt.

“Was that Grim?” Deuce asks.

“Probably,” Ace answers.

When they arrive, they see Crowley without his jacket sitting on the ground, texting someone.

“Principal, something-“Jack asks.

“I know. I have evacuated all students to their dorms. You tell your dorm leaders, I have already summoned the rest,” the principal orders.

“Why do they need to handle it when you can?” Ace asks.

“Yuu told me that you’ve been lying to them. You finally tell them the truth and they overblotted,”

”Mr. Trappola, you don’t know the full story and neither does Yuu. I would prefer to explain to Yuu first before anyone else,” Crowley said.

”Fine,” Ace turns to the Heartslabyul mirror and goes to his dormitory with Deuce following.

Jack and Epel give each other a look then go to their dorms to tell their leaders.

Malleus was standing by a gargoyle in the forest. He was reading a text from Yuu over and over.

“I’m planning to stay by your side, Malleus,” they said. He loved the thought of that, Yuu standing by his throne as his advisor.

How he yearned for that future so badly… to the point where he overblotted and put a sleeping curse on them.

Despite that, Yuu’s smiling face was the first thing he saw after he overblotted.

He had already come to terms with it that eventually, they will leave him.

“Why did Yuu say that when they will be leaving?” He thought, concerned.

“Young Master!” Sebak hollers. He was crying, not tears of joy, but sadness, a rare sight to see.

“What’s wrong?” Malleus asks.

He holds out Yuu’s cracked phone to Malleus.

It makes his eyes widen, his worst fear… is going to become reality… losing Yuu.

The dark clouds quickly turned to a thunderstorm, and the sky roared.

“What’s in your hands?” Malleus asks.

“Their phone. Yuu wanted to give this to you before they overblotted,” Sebak answers “They need you,”

"I know," Malleus said.

“You have done it again, Yuu. You brought them together to fight the same opponent,” Malleus thought.

“Who could have thought that it would be you?”

#twisted wonderland grim #twisted wonderland #dire crowley #malleus draconia #deuce spade #sebek zigvolt #ace trappola #jack howl #epel felmier #overblot #my writing

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eusuntgratie · 2 years

Note

4, 10, 13, 17, 18, 25, 27, 36 sorry they're good and stuff.

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

hahahaha i know this isn't the intent of the question but y'all already know it's baby. got hit with that first baby in a buddie wip i'm reading and felt myself physically swoon.

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

um. i feel like there's definitely things i'm not thinking of but the your blue eyed boys series and its sequel series. god. i think about it all the time. i used to re-read the whole thing every year but i haven't in awhile. something about steve's complete and utter dedication to bucky, his tenacity in figuring out a way to help him despite having no fucking clue where to start just does something to me. the things they carried kind of collectively fucked up my entire friend group in high school. this is me trying haunts me. tiny houses. oof. there are definitely more not-fic examples but i can't think of them atm bc i barely read anything besides fic lately.

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

maybe grief. i have a hard time putting the small quiet moments of loving someone into words. things that resonate with me personally are sometimes easier to write and sometimes harder, it just depends how i'm doing and what i'm writing.

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

okay i'm gonna talk about shadow even though i'm not really actively writing it right now bc i've been thinking about it for REASONS and bc its my beefiest wip. its one of the million fics spawned by a buddie playlist you made me (MWAH!) inspired by one particular song on there. a very specific scene of baby eddie at a college party with his sister meeting a very out and very queer and slightly older buck and just losing his whole ass mind came to me on my work commute.

so basically the fic started with this mental image of buck in a crop top and glitter - you can see him here lovingly drawn by @demonlandline 😍😍😍 like the image was SO clear in my head and still is and i still can't believe i get to look at him eep

but then its sort of spiralled out into this much larger story of eddie exploring his queerness and facing the ideas of who he was supposed to be and i think i'm probably gonna project a lot of my catholic bullshit and thoughts about my own queerness and all the other reasons i am obsess about eddie into the story. and i think it will be a beast to write, because there will be some fun scenes and i'm planning for a lot of smut but there will be a lot of heavy shit too. so it'll be awhile before i can focus on it but. i'm excited about it.

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

i was really really nervous to write Q, because I'd never really fleshed out an OC before but mostly because they're nonbinary and i'm cis and i just didn't want to fuck up.

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice…what do you Know?

sex?! hah. there's a reason i'm so comfortable writing smut. 🤷🏻‍♀️ parenting. healthy communication and healthy romantic relationships. i guess i could write more about gardening or sewing or taking care of an iguana or cooking or any of my other weird/random experiences/interests but i don't think i've really worked any of that into my writing yet. i definitely know way too much about higher education in the us but i have no interest at all in writing about that :)

okay i skipped two bc this is hella long and i'm afraid tumblr will eat it before i can post

weird writer asks | ask me

#weird writer asks #ask grace #grace writes #shadow #poe tag

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fanficshiddles · 4 years

Text

Caught in his web, Chapter 53

Chloe had her work experience this week. She was really excited about it, and a little nervous. But Loki gave her a pep talk and had her go shopping with Amanda and Georgie to buy whatever she wanted for the week to make her feel better about it.

So of course, she splurged on new clothes. And a fancy new notepad with pen to take notes.

When she got to the fashion magazine building on the first day, she was made to feel welcome instantly from the receptionist. She introduced her to Holly, who was going to be her mentor for the week.

Holly was lovely, she explained everything she could possibly think of to Chloe. And kept telling her to ask as many questions as she wanted. There was no stupid question to be asked, she told her.

During the afternoon break, Chloe sat down to eat her lunch and she gave Loki a quick text.

C: Hey. It’s going absolutely amazing! Having so much fun already. As usual you were right about me being nervous for nothing. I was thinking of cooking tonight, so Tania can go early. XxX

L: I’ve already sent her home. But because I’m cooking for you tonight for a change. Glad you’re having a brilliant day, see you later. xxx

C: Ooo, awesome! Looking forward to it. Love you. xxx

Chloe was excited about Loki cooking her dinner tonight. It was a very rare occasion he cooked. But she had noticed that since the incident the other week, he was much more attentive and loving than ever before.

And she certainly wasn’t complaining.

Loki smiled when he received Chloe’s reply. He slipped his phone into his pocket and as he looked up to the man on front of him, his face hardened.

‘You owe me money.’ He growled and got to his feet, stalking around his desk towards the terrified man who was kneeling on the floor, begging for more time. Loki had paused him in the middle of his plea while he had replied to Chloe, making the mans torture of not knowing what was going to happen even longer.

‘I do not have the time to deal with your blubbering and begging. I have a girl to get home to and cook for. So I will make this plain and simple.’ He walked around behind him and grabbed his hair, hauling his head back. He whipped out his dagger and placed the blade firmly against the man’s throat.

‘You either get my money to me by noon tomorrow. Or I will not only come after you, but I will also come after your wife and children. I know they live in that lovely little detached home in the outskirts of Camden opposite the park. So if you don’t want them to meet a swift ending, you will get me ALL my money by tomorrow.’ He snarled, pressing the blade into him enough to make him bleed.

‘Am I clear?’

‘Y… Yes.’ He stuttered, scared to move because of the blade.

‘Good. Now get the hell out of my sight.’ Loki snarled and pushed his head forward so he fell onto his face before scrambling up and out of Loki’s office as quickly as possible.

Loki pulled out a napkin and wiped his dagger clean. ‘Have Nelson come round the front, I’m heading home early.’

‘Will do. Have a good evening, boss.’ Samuel nodded and disappeared into the lift.

Loki smirked and slipped his dagger into his pocket and went to his desk. He opened the top drawer and pulled out the little box which held a beautiful bracelet for Chloe. He smiled and slid it into his pocket before making his way down to his car.

When Chloe returned home, the smell of a lovely stew was wafting through the house and Bear came running to meet her at the door.

‘Hey buddy.’ She crouched down to greet the pup. ‘I still can’t believe how big you’re getting.’ She laughed as he licked her face.

‘Hello, doll.’ Loki grinned, watching.

Chloe looked up and laughed, he was wearing an apron over his suit. She’d never seen him wearing an apron before.

‘Are you not going to greet me as enthusiastically as Bear?’ She teased, taking off her jacket.

‘I can if you want me to.’ Loki growled and wiggled his eyebrows at her as he moved in on her and captured her in his arms. He bent down and started kissing all over her face, making her laugh and push at his chest.

‘Dinner smells good.’ She said as she sniffed at the air.

‘I hope you’ll like it. Come on, wine is waiting.’ Loki slipped his hand into hers and led her through to the kitchen, with Bear following behind at their heels.

‘How was your day? Did you enjoy it?’ Loki asked as he pulled a chair out for her and she sat down so he could tuck her in.

‘It was amazing. I think I’d quite happily work somewhere like that, actually. If my main plan doesn’t work out.’ She picked up her wine and took a sip as Loki sat down at the head of the table in his usual spot, joining her with the wine drinking.

‘Really? That good?’ He grinned.

‘It was.’ She nodded, smiling.

Loki was just so happy and relieved that she was back to normal. Happy and enjoying life again. The first few days after getting her home she had been a little quieter than normal. But once she went back to college and met with her friends again, her usual sparkle came flooding back. Everything was perfect now.

‘I have a little something for you.’ Loki smiled mischievously and pulled out the box from his pocket.

Chloe’s smile grew even larger as she opened the box and saw a beautiful charm bracelet. Already it had a dog charm and a heart charm.

‘You’re so soppy, you know that?’ Chloe grinned, toying with the heart charm. ‘Thank you so much, it’s beautiful.’

Loki put it on for her and leaned in to kiss her.

She waited at the table, drinking her wine while Loki went to serve the stew. It was his speciality and Chloe thought she had died and gone to heaven when she tasted it. It was gone so quick, and she just had to go back for seconds, making Loki laugh.

‘There’s plenty, so we can have leftovers tomorrow night. Or you can take some for lunch over the next few days.’ Loki suggested.

‘Lunch. That means I get it all!’ She playfully stuck her tongue out at him as she sat down with her seconds.

‘Watch it, girl. I’ll need to put that dirty tongue of yours to better use.’ He warned, narrowing his eyes at her.

After dinner, Loki didn’t give her much time to let her dinner go down, he coaxed her to the living room, abandoning his apron on the way.

‘Not very sexy.’ He chuckled, stealing kisses from her.

‘Not with stew spilled down it, no.’ Chloe giggled.

Loki slid his hands down her back, right down to squeeze her bum. Then he moved her over to the sofa and sat down, pulling her with him so she was straddling his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck while they kissed, his tongue delving deep into her mouth and moving slowly against hers.

She started grinding against him, feeling his bulge between her thighs as she pressed down to try and get as much friction as possible.

Loki gripped her hips tightly, moving her about on top of him. Though she didn’t need much help at all, she was as desperate and horny him.

Chloe reached down between them and hastily unbuckled his belt, she unzipped him and reached into his trousers, taking hold of his cock and squeezing. He gasped and bucked his hips up against her, groaning into her mouth.

She managed to pull him free and stroked him a few times, while he slid his hands up her body underneath her dress to toy with her breasts.

‘Undress for me, doll. I need to get inside you.’ He growled.

‘No need.’ She let go of his cock and lifted herself up slightly and hovered over him. As she moved down, he moaned as he felt her bare cunt rubbing across his tip.

‘Ooooo, you little minx.’ He growled and slid a hand under to stroke over her clit.

She was wet enough for him, so they both didn’t waste time and she sank down onto his cock. Her body welcomed him in with the usual delicious stretching and hitting every sweet spot inside her.

Loki rocked upwards and met with her movements, hitting nice and deep. She buried her face into his neck, whimpering as he took more control and guided her himself by holding her hips.

‘Ohhhh, yes, doll. You’re all mine.’ He growled and slid one hand up round her back, right up to tangle into her hair as he fisted her tightly and yanked, forcing her head back and exposing her neck to him.

He felt her clench around him as he sucked and nipped along her sensitive throat, growling like a mad man. But she just felt far too amazing around him, so soft and wet. Oh so tight.

Loki was so close, and he could tell that Chloe was too by the noises he was getting from her. He couldn’t hold back anymore, so he flipped them over and fucked her hard into the sofa, pinning her down with his body.

‘I’m never sharing you with anyone.’ He snarled, rutting into her like a wild animal.

Chloe came hard around his cock, crying out in pleasure. Pulling him with her as he moaned just as loud and emptied into her.

Both of them were sweaty and breathing hard while Loki throbbed for a little longer inside her, making sure not to waste a single drop. Chloe trembled as he kissed her forehead and smoothed a hand down her side.

She thought he was finished for the night… But no. Instead of pulling out of her, he grew hard within her again. He rolled them onto their sides, her back over the edge of the sofa. But Loki kept a hold of her, he wouldn’t let her fall.

He hiked her leg up over his thigh and started fucking her roughly again. This time he also slid a hand down to her backside and started probing at her anus with a finger. He covered it with their juices first, giving just enough lubricant so he could slide said finger into her back entrance.

She moaned and found herself pushing down on him, meeting with his thrusting and getting that finger as deep as possible.

‘Good girl.’ Loki rumbled as she hid her face into his chest while getting fucked into next week for the second time.

#Loki #Tom Hiddleston #fan fiction #caught in his web

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years

Text

365 Days: Part 2 (Feysand)

I feel like this should be beyond obvious at this point, but black lives matter. As a white person, I understand that I’ll never fully comprehend the struggle black individuals face on a daily basis. I stand with them, protesters, and activists as a lifetime ally. “Don’t be mad they’re rioting, be happy you don’t have to.” -- If you are not a supporter of the BLM movement, go ahead an unfollow me. I couldn’t care less.

OKAY. Sorry this is a day late! This part kind of has it all (humor, fluff, some slightly kinky smut) so I don’t know how to describe it. I also hate it, but whatever. Part 3 (last part) out Friday!

Part 1

________________________________________________________________

Day 1, 7:13 AM

~Feyre~

Something warm laid across her cheek, and Feyre peeked an eye open, only to groan at who she saw staring down at her. “If you make a habit of waking me up at the ass crack of dawn, I can already tell you you won’t live through our year of marriage, Rhysand.”

He smiled. “You have to get up. We're taking wedding pictures.”

She didn’t see the point. They’d signed the marriage license last night. How he’d procured one in less than an hour, she didn’t even want to know.

“Why the hell would we do that?”

“Because I’m a public figure, and the newspaper asked for a quote on our marriage.” She groaned. “Now get your cute ass downstairs.”

She glanced at him speculatively but stayed firmly planted in the bed. “What’s downstairs?”

“Someone to help get you ready. Not that I don’t appreciate the bed head. Up.”

Feyre shook her head. “Ask me again in two hours.” She glanced at the clock. “Make it three.”

Her husband pinched the bridge of his nose, but stood back up. She closed her eyes, happy she’d won their first argument.

Only to be proven wrong a moment later as the demon spawn flung back her blankets, grabbed her waist, and threw her over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Put me down,” she shrieked, beating the back of his toned legs with a fist.

Rhysand, calm as always, smoothly responded, “If I put you down, you’ll just get back in the bed.”

“No, I won’t,” she lied.

Even though she couldn’t see his face, she’d bet anything he rolled his eyes. He walked out his/her/their bedroom door and down the stairs, his casual gait suggesting nothing out of the order.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly to whoever was waiting.

Feyre peeked around his ass to see four complete strangers, varying levels of amusement on their faces. “Um, hi.”

She was placed on a salon-like chair.

Which was odd, considering they were in the middle of the living room.

Rhysand pointed at two hulking figures sitting on the couch. “These are my friends Cassian and Azriel. You’ve met.”

The smugness in his voice, combined with the shit-eating grins of the men he was referring to, had her snapping back, “Oh yes, my kidnappers. Sorry I didn’t immediately recognize you. I had a sack over my head last time we met.”

“I’m Cassian.” The larger of the two smiled. “I’m the one you tried to gut with a butter knife.”

“I’ll have to practice my aim.”

Cassian looked at the man standing next to her and winked. “I like her.”

The other man on the couch, Azriel, sighed and shook his head, resigned.

Rhys just rolled his eyes and continued his introductions. “The two normal people here,” he gestured to a very brightly-dressed pair, “are here to do your hair and makeup and whatever else.”

He gave her a light kiss on the forehead, then spoke to his fellow criminals. “We have shit to do. Come on.”

“Are you off to do illegal activities, my dear husband?”

“Don’t worry, Feyre darling. You won’t be without eye candy for too long.”

He laughed at the look on her face, then wisely jogged out the door before she could throw something at him.

She turned to the people left staring at her with wide eyes and repressed a groan. “Let’s get this over with.”

~Rhysand~

Two hours after he’d left, Rhys came back to the house, showered, and changed into a tux. Then he went to his backyard where the photographer had set up.

“Where’s Feyre?” he asked the man as he messed around with lighting balloons.

The photographer gave him a knowing smile. “I want to get a picture of your reaction when you first see her.”

He was about to respond when the backdoor of the house opened and she walked out.

She was wearing a classic gown with long sleeves and a deep neckline, but that wasn’t what drew his attention. Her hair was up, and she had a veil trailing behind her. The sunlight made the white of her dress almost glow.

If she’d been beautiful before, now she was...

There were no words for how she looked.

Fucking radiant was a start.

She walked across the lawn to him and smiled, and he couldn’t keep the matching grin off his face if he tried.

Rhysand heard the faint snap snap snap of the camera and finally understood what the photographer had meant.

He’d wanted to capture the moment the city’s Son of Satan was practically brought to his knees by a single woman.

And Rhys didn’t even care.

Feyre finally drew close enough that he could see the details of her face. Even though he had a million more romantic things running through his brain, he murmured, “Who’s the eye candy now?”

“You are,” she said, as if it were obvious. “You look like sex on a spoon.”

His mouth dropped open, but before he could respond, the photographer butted into their moment. “Okay, I want you two to act like I’m not even here. We’re aiming for three or four really good shots, so just be natural, and I’ll let you know if anything has to change.”

They both nodded absently, still staring at each other. Rhys reached down to grab her hand, finger flicking the ring on her finger.

“I can’t believe our marriage is making the paper, and I didn’t even get a real proposal,” she teased.

It was true.

He’d put the ring on her bedside table the night before, too much of a simpering coward to give her the ring in person, too nervous about what’d she say. It had been his mother’s, and he’d once sworn to never let another soul have it.

“I didn’t want to risk your wrath and wake you up.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled.

Almost on its own accord, one of his hands reached out to cup her cheek. He didn’t know if Feyre was acting or something else, but she leaned into his touch, a hand coming to rest against his chest.

“Beautiful, just beautiful,” the photographer cooed.

“You are,” he told his wife. “You’re beautiful.”

She smiled.

“Annoying as hell, but beautiful.”

She shoved his shoulder and turned away, but he grabbed her wrist to spin her back, and decided to risk his life.

He kissed her.

Hands locked around her waist, lips crashing into hers, Rhysand kissed her like he’d been dying to since he’d seen her asleep in his shirt.

And she really, really kissed him back.

Feyre’s hands wound around his neck, and he lifted her up a little to get a better angle. Her lips opened to let his tongue in, and he had no other thoughts in his head besides the woman in his arms.

The photographer coughed pointedly.

They ignored him.

Until Rhys finally relented and set her back on the ground, both of them panting for air.

“Sorry,” she told the blushing man, but he waved her off and insisted it happened all the time.

The thing was, it didn’t.

Rhysand had kissed plenty of women in his lifetime, but none of them had made his entire body start simmering like that.

Her blue eyes watched him speculatively as he slipped the ring off her finger, dropped down to one knee, and smiled. “Feyre darling, will you marry me?”

Despite already being legally married, she bent over and kissed him, then stole the ring back. “I’ll take it into consideration.”

Day 9, 8:04 PM

~Feyre~

Feyre had to admit that while the house outside the city had a charm and wholesome quality she’d come to admire, being trapped here had started to drive her slightly insane.

Especially since Rhysand had been been on a business trip the entire week, so she’d been here by herself.

After a tense phone call with her sisters--where Nesta had cackled and called her Satan’s nephew--and getting ahead in her textbooks, she was out of things to do. So she spent most of her time being a nosy little snob and going through her husband’s stuff.

Apparently, the Son of Satan had a very serious addiction to wine, if the cellar in the basement was any indication.

But other than that--and a mysterious letter from a woman named Amren--he had no trinkets, pictures of family, or any other worthwhile gossip.

The word “boredom” hardly covered it.

Once upon a time, Feyre wouldn’t have minded a couple days like this. When law school was in session, she didn’t have a spare moment and enjoyed when she got to do nothing.

She didn’t bother lying to herself about why it was driving her insane now.

She missed Rhysand.

After only a couple days of marriage, he’d wormed his way into her heart and made her start to rely on teasing him, seeing that devilish smirk, making him laugh. The nightly texts he sent her weren’t enough to satisfy her insane need to talk to him. He’d told her he was coming back later tonight, and she was practically coming out of her skin with excitement.

She was an idiot, basically.

This marriage wasn’t supposed to involve actual feelings. It was a publicity save. And despite giving her a hotter-than-hell kiss during their photo shoot, he hadn’t so much as touched her since.

Feyre had the distinct feeling he was waiting for her to make the first move.

Which, again, she normally wouldn’t mind. But something about Rhysand... she knew once she started down that path, she wouldn’t be able to stop.

So she slept in his bed, wore his t-shirts, and avoided thinking about how his mouth had felt against hers.

And how he’d tasted like chocolate and watermelon and-

Cutting that thought off, she resolved herself to be cool and calm and collected when he came back. She needed to nip the feelings she’d started to develop for him in the bud.

But then the front door banged open, and Feyre instantly disregarded every promise she’d made to herself and raced down the stairs, yelling like a banshee.

She saw Rhysand standing in the doorway in his usual Johnny Cash uniform and didn’t hesitate before yelling, “You’re home!”

And throwing herself on him.

He dropped whatever he was holding and laughed as she wrapped herself around him like a koala.

“Are you alright, love?”

She nodded against his neck. “I’m fine. Ignore me. I’ve just been so bored. This place is way too fucking quiet when you’re not here. I think I’m going insane.”

“I believe you.”

“Asshole.”

He laughed, then did as she’d said and ignored her presence, crossing the living room to the kitchen.

Rhys bent to look through the fridge, and she tightened her hold on him.

“We have no food, also,” she told him helpfully.

“I see that. If you put some pants on, we can go into the city for dinner.”

She laughed. Along with wearing his shirts, she’d taken to stealing a pair of boxers to sleep in.

Feyre dropped to the floor, and he smirked down at her. “I was gone for five days, and that’s the greeting I got. Next time I’m staying away for six.”

She swung a hand and punched his shoulder, which probably hurt her more than him, and told him, “You’re so very funny, Rhysand. Please feed me.”

Her husband gave her a shooing motion. “You might want to put on something besides my boxers, then.”

She took his advice.

About an hour later, she sat in front of him, watching as he adamantly tried to avoid looking at her.

She’d chosen a dark green dress--unremarkable except for the low neckline and short skirt--black heels, and simple makeup.

“Are you alright, Rhysand? You look like you’re having a stroke.”

Those violet eyes slid to hers. “I’m fine, thank you for asking. I like that dress.”

“I can tell.”

He looked at the ceiling. “When we get home, I’m going to replace your entire wardrobe with burlap sacks.”

Feyre shrugged, then decided to take a chance. “You’d still stare at me.”

His eyes met hers, and when he spoke, it was practically a purr. “Am I supposed to deny, Feyre darling, how attractive I find you?”

The waiter arrived before she had to respond. She made a mental note to leave him a huge tip.

As they ate their meal, she was overly aware of how many people stared at them. The whispers that surrounded them.

She was about to ask how he dealt with it when a chair was slid up next to her, a heavy-set man settling in. “Hello, Rhysand. I need to talk to you.”

The man was dressed in dark clothes, covered in tattoos, and had the promise of violence written across his every movement. He practically had the words drug dealer floating above his over-sized head.

“Dante.” The warm look she’d come to recognize in her husband’s eyes was nowhere to be found. “Whatever it is, it can wait. Leave.”

“I promise you, it can’t,” the man said boldly, continuing to ignore her presence entirely. “A shipment’s gone missing.”

Feyre watched, stomach twisting, as Rhysand leaned forward and smiled cruelly. “Would you like to join it? I don’t discuss business in front of my wife.”

My wife.

Despite the more than tense surroundings, Feyre felt a spark run through her at the words.

“Then the bitch can leave. I need to talk to you.”

There was a slight pause, then everything changed so quickly she didn’t have time to process it. One minute she was watching the man’s face twist with impatience, the next there was a gun pressed against his ruddy forehead.

A gun that practically looked like an extension of Rhysand’s arm.

Her husband was standing, entire body stiff with anger. The look on his face was inhuman. And promised a slow, slow death as he looked towards the man on the recieving end.

“Refer to her as Feyre Asterra, or lose your fucking tongue.”

The restaurant was dead quiet, everyone holding their breath and waiting to see what happened. No one dared move a muscle.

Except Dante, who nodded stiffly.

“Now apologize.”

The way he said it, the command in his voice... a thrill sparked through Feyre, and she bit her lip to keep the gasp in.

What was wrong with her? Where fear should’ve taken root, there was raw, untapped excitement whirling inside her. Rhysand’s entire body was lined with power and dominance and rage, and it made her breath come quicker as she watched.

Dante looked at her, the hatred clear. “I’m sorry,” he spat, then looked back at Rhys.

Rhysand tilted his head, a king holding court. Another cruel smile. “Beg me.”

Something inside Feyre twisted at his words.

Beg me.

The man’s jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth, but he still said. “Please, Rhysand. I’ve worked for you for five years. I’m sorry.”

There was a pause, and she wouldn’t be surprised if someone passed out in anticipation. Then Rhys made a soft tsk sound.

“You no longer work for me. You’re no longer welcome in this city. If I see you after tonight, I won’t be as forgiving.”

The man opened his mouth to oppose, thought better of it, and sulked to the restaurant of the exit.

In that moment, Feyre knew why people called him the Son of Satan. Knew because, as calm as ever, he turned to their waiter and said, “Check, please.”

~ nsfw warning ~

Rhysand stood in front of the fireplace in their room, silent as the dead.

He hadn’t said a single word on the way home, and she could tell whatever had happened at dinner had been the tip of the iceberg. Something had gone wrong.

She replayed the meal over and over in her head, trying to figure it out, but only seemed to be able to remember one thing.

Beg me.

Something had snapped inside her tonight, and she couldn’t keep herself still. Seeing him like that, seeing the power he had over people...

Slipping off the bed, Feyre walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Her hands were spread on his taut stomach, but he gripped her wrists and took them off. When he spoke, his voice was rough and low. “I can’t do this right now. I’m not... I’m trying to keep my promise to you.”

Stay good with me. It felt like she’d said that a lifetime ago.

Rhys turned around, drank whatever was in his glass, and looked down at her. There was violence and anger and animalistic rage in his gaze.

It did little to calm the roar in her veins.

“Break your promise.”

A muscle in his jaw flickered, but he kept his hands to himself.

She wanted him so bad she could hardly stand. Her hands found their way to his chest, needing to touch him. “Please.”

Suddenly, she was pressed against the mantle near the fire, heat scorching up her leg. His glass fell to the floor as his hands pressed against her shoulders.

He’d barely touched her, and she was breathing like she’d run a mile.

A hand came to trace her bottom lip, then he was kissing her, and she finally let out a sigh.

The day of their wedding pictures, his kiss had been decadent and exploring. But that was when he was happy.

When Rhys was pissed off, he kissed her in a raw, aggressive sort of way that made her lose her mind. A hand pulled her hair, making her tilt her head back, and he deepened the kiss.

She’d just started to unbutton his shirt when he lifted her by the back of the thighs, then dropped them both to the floor and pinned her underneath him.

Rhys braced himself over her trapping her arms above her head. She thought about the first time they’d been like this, and the look in his eye said he was doing the exact same thing.

“I wanted you so bad that night,” he told her, voice rough.

She arched her back, chest pressed against his, and he gave her a wolf’s smile.

“Did you want me, too?” he asked, lips and teeth on her collarbone.

Feyre nodded.

His mouth drifted down to her chest, and his teeth scraped her nipple through her dress. Rhys looked up at her, more monster than man in his eyes, and asked, “Were you wet for me, Feyre?”

Okay. Maybe it had been a mistake to encourage being together right now.

Only one way to find out.

She nodded again, and his eyes went dark.

A hand remained pinning her wrists, the other drifting up her thigh. His fingers grazed the lace of her panties, then slipped inside.

He ran a finger up her core, and she shifted beneath him.

“Stay still,” he ordered, the command in his voice making her freeze.

His finger slipped inside her, and he nudged the neck of her dress down to take a breast in his mouth. He made a humming sound in appreciation as he moved, then added another finger.

Feyre moaned, pushing uselessly against the grip on her hands. It was too much. He was too much. She wouldn’t survive this.

But she couldn’t force herself to stop.

She’d been right. Now that she’d started, a shower of bullets wouldn’t make her leave this room.

His stubble scraped the valley between her breasts, and then they were kissing, a deep, wet slide of tongues and lips and teeth. He kissed her in time to the movement of his hand, and Feyre groaned into his mouth.

“I need more,” she panted onto his skin.

Rhysand’s teeth closed softly on her shoulder, and then he was looking down at her. His eyes were so dark they were like the nighttime sky, and then he said the words she didn’t know she’d been craving.

“Beg me.”

She whimpered underneath him, shifting restlessly.

A small, knowing smile was on his face, and she would’ve punched it off if she hadn’t been so attracted to it.

“Please. Please.”

His hand was on her jaw, and he pressed a wet kiss to her lips. “Good girl.”

Lord help me.

He made quick work pulling her clothes off, then leaned back on his knees, surveying her head to toe.

She repaid the favor.

She didn’t know when his shirt had fallen open, but she sure as shit wasn’t complaining.

His chest was covered in tattoos, the dark swirls running across his pecs and shoulders, all the way to his fingertips. The tattoos, the dangerous look in his eyes... Feyre lost a bit of her sanity as she leaned up to drag her mouth up his stomach.

Flicking open his belt, Rhys pushed her back down. Then his pants were pulled down, and he was spreading her thighs and settling in between them before she got a proper look.

“Again.” He looked half crazed with anger and lust.

She nipped at his bottom lip. “Please.”

He was pushed inside her, deep and slow and steady. He groaned in her ear, and the sound threatened what remained of her.

Then he gripped her hips, lifted slightly, and began to move.

Holy gods.

Feyre didn’t know what language she was speaking in, but it wasn’t English. She was murmuring incoherent somethings, not able to string together proper thoughts.

She moved in rhythm with him as he picked up speed, and even though they were spread out on the ground, Feyre felt like a freaking queen.

He was taking his time, listening and learning what she liked, and she could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge.

Soon she was so loud it was a miracle they didn’t have close neighbors.

But as soon as she felt release start to come, he paused his movements.

The sound that came out of Feyre’s mouth was close to a snarl.

Rhysand smiled, gripping her chin. “Do you want to come, Feyre darling?”

If she wasn’t practically immobile, she’d strangle him. “You’re such an insufferable bastard, Rhysand Asterra. Yes.”

“And what do people say when they want something?”

She bit his lip in frustration, but said, “Please, you pri-”

His hips slammed into hers, a moan cutting her off as release crashed into her. Muscles twitching, face pinched in concentration, he followed her lead, collapsing on top of her.

They laid there together, both breathing heavily, until she started losing air. He rolled off her and looked over her with male satisfaction.

There was still a little tension from earlier, but his usual brightness and light was back. It was impossible not to smile at the happiness coursing through her veins.

Then he opened that smart mouth. “Let’s take a moment to remember when you said you could go two years without sleeping with me.”

“In my defense,” she panted back, “I hadn’t seen you in action before.”

He looked adorably shocked. “So threatening to shoot people is hot to you?”

“When it’s because of me, yeah.” She flicked his bicep, unable to help it. “I almost jumped you right then and there.”

He started kissing her neck, grinning against her skin. “I might have to hunt him down, then.”

She laughed, hands playing in his thick hair. Feyre pulled him back on top of her, a deliciously heavy dead weight. “I think I might have to update my pros and cons list.”

Rhysand laughed, and Feyre doubted a year of looking at that smile would be enough.

Hell, a lifetime might not be enough.

She didn’t let the thought linger.

“Do you think there’s some innocent people around for you to threaten?”

A kiss to her temple. “I’ll hire someone if I have to.”

________________________________________________________________

Part 3

@a-bit-of-a-cactus @bamchickawowow @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @rapunzel1523 @negativenesta @burritowithfeels @exciting @sis-it-dont-add-up @mockingjayusa @aelin-is-my-heart @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @awesomelena555 @thekeytohappiness-is-you @keshavomit

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #feysand smut #feysand fanfiction #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acofas #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of frost and starlight #a court of wings and ruin #acotar fanfiction

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buttercup-of-kaer-morhen · 4 years

Text

(@sophiakuso1 gave me the prompt for a modern College AU drabble with Jaskier being at least part dragon and it got completely out of hand so here it is.)

Warning: Minor Injury

Primary tags: Magical College AU, Dragon!Jaskier, Injured!Geralt, Hurt/Comfort with a happy ending, Slight Jaskier Whump?, super fluff, Eskel is here and Lambert is an ass

————————-

Jaskier swept through the doors of the campus medical center, making a beeline towards the emergency wing. He was determined to get to his destination and no one would get in his way if they had even a shred of self preservation. He had completely forgotten to put his guitar down when he ran out of his dorm room so a few nurses gave him the side eye as he passed but thankfully the place was rather quiet this late at night and no one tried to stop him. This also meant there were not that many people around to witness him stalking down the halls looking rather disheveled. He had been lounging on his bed with only his tight jeans which were more hole then pant in the front, his knees and almost all his thighs on display, when the text came in. He then proceeded to grab the first shirt available, a large button up of his boyfriend’s, which he barely buttoned up before, was out the door while wielding his guitar by the neck. He supposed he was just so used to taking it everywhere that he absentmindedly brought it. He had also forgotten his shoes in his haste and was too worried to waste time going back. At least his dorm was close and it wasn’t winter, so being barefoot wasn’t that bad.

Now, normally, he would try to keep up his friendly harmless appearance but his worry and urgency had him on edge and he didn’t really feel like sending a polite little comment to everyone he passed this time. In the back of his mind, a small voice told him that Yenyen would be proud.When he finally reached the waiting room, Lambert and Eskel were sitting in plastic chairs looking uncomfortable. Both of their gazes flickered to him as he marched over and, from the way Eskel winced, he must have been making a rather severe face. “Well?! What happened!” He demanded, fuming mad that Geralt was now in the emergency room after his two brothers had insisted he come along to a low key event. They had assured him it was going to be nothing more than a small get together at the frat house since Geralt wasn’t one for larger parties.

“Whoa, ok Jask, just calm down a bit… Are you growling? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you growl before…” Eskel immediately tried to sooth him.

Yes, it seemed he was growling, but his boyfriend Geralt, his dorm mate and love of his life whom he just started dating only a few months ago, was in the hospital! So Yes, he was allowed to growl!

“It’s not that bad, I swear!” Eskel tried again, glancing nervously over to the woman behind the help desk to didn’t bat an eyelash at them. She either hadn’t noticed the commotion or she just didn’t care.

“Not that bad-- Not that bad?!” Jaskier shrieked incredulously before digging in his pocket for his phone with his free hand before tapping furiously away on the screen. “A-hem, Lambert at 12:31 in the morning: Geralt rushed to the emergency room. Come now with, like, a gazillion exclamation points!” He promptly pushed the phone into Eskel’s hands so he could look at the evidence before continuing on his tirade. “I sent back like thirty messages which no one replied to! So I think I have a right to be a little upset and worried!” He did however try to breathe deeply to calm himself once he was finished venting, the feeling of tears pricked at his eye and tickled the back of his throat.

Eskel, to his credit, gave Lambert a questioning look which screamed ‘really?’ and sighed in sympathy. “Lambert…” He paused to inhale deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What- What the fuck?”

“You told me to text him. I texted him!” Lambert shrugged defensively, his tone flippant but confused.

“I told you to let him know what was going on! Not send him into a fucking fit! I, Fucking… Why did I expect anything different...” With a shake of the head, Eskel turned to Jaskier once more. “It’s really just a minor injury and he’s fine. Something just fell and popped his shoulder out of his socket slightly is all and I didn’t want to fuck with it so we decided to get it checked.” He tried to reassure the shorter man.

“Pfffft, I don’t see what the big deal is, at least he’s here now and we can leave Geralt to him.” Lambert huffed under his breath. His gaze finally fully took in the musician’s state of dress however and a grin slowly plastered itself across his face. “But I gotta say, if he’s going to look this fucking rediculous every time I text him that Geralt’s in trouble, I might do it more often. And look, he’s ready to entertain at a party.” He joked lightly, the shit eating grin never leaving his face. Oh, and the anger was back.

Normally, Jaskier would snap something back in playful banter but he really was not in the mood at this hour of the night. He grabbed the larger man by the shirt and lifted him off his feet by the collar. “I swear, Lambert, I will burn you to a crisp if you worry me like that again for no reason.” He growled in warning, letting a small puff of fire out to emphasise his threat.

“... Well shit. Sometimes I forget you’re part dragon…” Lambert laughed warily, his eyes wide with surprise.

Eskel put a tentative hand on the smaller student’s shoulder and Jaskier slowly lowered Lambert back down after taking a deep breath. “Hey, why don’t you go stay with Geralt until they release him while we go deal with the aftermath of the party. They only want to keep him until some of the side effects wear off ‘cause he reacted oddly to what they used to knock him out. It left him a little, uh, weird. He’s completely fine, really.” Eskel insisted softly, understanding how upsetting the situation must have been. He was glad his brother had someone who cared so deeply about his well being. With a pat to Jaskier’s shoulder, the scarred brunette steered Lambert out of the place, cuffing him upside the head lightly for being an asshole. “Oh, and his room is 109.” He called just before they exited.

The musician sighed before sweeping a hand through his hair, trying to tamp the last of his nerves down before heading off to find his dear wolf. A soft beeping is what greeted him once he reached the small dimly lit room and stepped in. And then a low whistle followed after his entrance which had him smirking and huffing a laugh. “Wow… You don’t look like a nurse.” Geralt’s confused but curious voice filled the space as he openly eyed Jaskier up and down.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, wondering what his boyfriend was getting at. “You would be correct, I’m not a nurse nor do I think I would be any good at the profession.” He couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice or the soft smile from spreading across his lips as relief flooded him. Geralt seemed fine for the most part, other than the sling cradling his arm.

A hum followed before he opened his mouth to speak again. “So, do you go into random hospital rooms to magically serenade them better?” He asked, smirking and nodding toward the guitar that Jaskier kept forgetting was still in hand.

Alright, he did seem oddly talkative, which wasn’t bad in any way just odd, but Jaskier was just happy he was in one piece so he indulged him. “No, but I do perform at a bar quite a lot.” He announced proudly as he walked over to take a seat at the side of the bed and set his instrument down.

“Hmm… So, talented and beautiful.” Geralt nodded to himself, his voice sounding so confident that it had Jaskier blushing and tongue tied. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

Ah! So that was what Eskel meant by weird.The question made Jaskier snort but he reached a hand out and put it atop one of Geralt’s, patting it. “Sadly yes. I am currently dating someone.” He nodded solemnly, deciding that this was too cute not to prolong.

Geralt’s hand turned over and gently but firmly held Jaskier’s hand. He met the musician’s gaze with a very serious expression that left no room for joking. “Have they proposed yet?”

Jaskier stamped down a fit of giggles and gave a solemn sigh. “Not as of yet.” He fluttered his eyelashes as he looked down at their hands in overly dramatic dejection.

“Tsk! Fucking idiot.” Geralt grumbled before tugging Jaskier’s hand to get him to look up at him. “If I proposed right now, would you leave that idiot for me?” He asked in complete earnestness.

Jaskier had to raise a hand and placed it on his lips to hide the amused smile as he desperately held back giggles. He didn’t trust himself to speak so he shook his head lightly in response.

“Yah. I thought so. You look too nice to do such a thing. Your boyfriend may be an idiot but he’s lucky to have you.” The disappointment that openly showed on Geralt’s face had him finally take pity on his lover.

“Darling, I can’t leave my lovely boyfriend because he’s laying right here and I am oh so terribly fond of him. I can think of no one I would rather be with.” He spoke honestly, flashing his wolf a shy smile which drew a happy gasp from the other.

The next minute, he found himself pulled into Geralt’s lap as the man looked at him as if he hung the moon. “I must be the luckiest fucking idiot in the world.” He sighed happily as he hugged Jaskier and buried his face in his neck so Geralt could kiss anywhere he could reach. “I have the hottest, sweetest wife in the world-- or wait, do you prefer husband? Shit! I haven’t gotten you a ring or asked yet…” The man looked up at him in slight panic.

Jaskier laughed openly now, unable to wipe the smile off his face as he gently took Geralt’s face in his hands and kissed the ridiculous man. “Oh dear heart… I’m never letting you forget this…” He giggled as he was pulled down more so they could cuddle. He thanked Melitele for keeping his love safe as the two showered one another with soft kisses and whispered ‘I love yous’.

#geraskier #Witcher #witcher netflix #the witcher #fanfic #geralt x jaskier #gerlion #college au #immortal jaskier #dragon jaskier #monster jaskier #Buttercup's Writings

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unsettledink · 3 years

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Gotcha Chapter 6!

(Trying something new and posting the full text here as well as AO3? It feels too long, but I’ve posted longer things here before, Idk.)

Read on AO3

Peter: sorry im on my way!

Peter: iswear im just running late

Peter: i will be there supr fast!!

Peter: sorry!

Quentin stares down at his phone and somehow, manages not to sigh. It’s a full ten minutes past when they were supposed to meet, and he doesn’t even want to be here in the first place.

Quentin: Don’t worry, it’s fine.

Peter: im sosorry

Peter: my alarm got set for tomorroow instead of today

Peter: i dont even know how

Peter: adn i just woke up and i dont even sleep this late like ever

Peter: but i willl bet there soon i promise

Peter: sorry!

Quentin: Really, it’s fine! There’s no hurry.

Quentin: We’re not exactly on a schedule or anything.

Peter: its so rude tho

Peter: for once it wast me losingt rack of time!!

Peter: im still sorry!

Quentin had given himself a little extra time this morning, just to remind himself of all the many, many reasons he is doing this, in this particular way. Had spent that time summoning up every bit of patience he could find to get through this day, because he had a feeling he was going to need it.

It feels like he’s already used half of it.

And of course he won’t be able to comment on Peter’s lateness, not even as a joke.

Peter: im like hafway there already illl just have to chagne and then ill be there!

Peter: seriously i am so sorry

Normally he’d be all for hearing Peter apologize, but it keeps happening every other word, Quentin will lose his mind.

He’s already losing his mind.

Well, he’s not going to just stand here until Peter does show up. He glances around for somewhere to sit; there’s a coffee shop just across the street. Perfect. He’s going to need that.

Quentin: Hey, don’t rush!

Quentin: I’ll just grab a coffee okay?

Quentin: I’ll be over at Kaldi’s, it’s just across the street. Can’t miss it.

Quentin: You want anything?

Peter: you dont haveto!

There’s no stopping the sigh this time. God.

Quentin: Not what I asked, kiddo.

Peter: um

Peter: suure?

Peter: someting with carmel i dont care mych

Peter: ill be there realy soon tho!!

Quentin: Then we can just sit for a bit.

Quentin: You’ll probably need it if you just woke up.

It’s a little funny how… drastically downgraded Peter’s texting is when he’s apparently still half asleep. Or maybe it’s just that he’s in a hurry. Or—

Quentin nearly stops in the middle of the sidewalk. He— surely, Peter isn’t—

Quentin: Are you texting AND webswinging?

Peter: …maybe?

No wonder he goes through phones so fast.

Quentin: You’re going to drop your phone

Peter: hey! imst icky! i wont drop it!

Quentin: Then you’re going to fall from being distracted

Quentin: And I won’t feel sorry for you.

Peter: :(

Quentin: I’ll laugh

Peter: :( :( :(

Quentin: You brought this on yourself.

He spends the time until Peter gets there reviewing Lynn’s newest plans for the miniaturized drones; they actually aren’t too bad.

Of course, they’ve probably had them sitting, waiting, for months, what with how they’ve harped on and on about how this should be a priority.

It won’t do to let them get too full of themselves, so along with the praise he sends back plenty of potential revisions. Even brings up some entirely new bits for them to consider; should keep them busy for a bit.

“Hi!” Peter says, flinging himself down across from Quentin. He’s flushed and still out of breath, his hair sticking up. “I’m here! I’m so sorry!”

Quentin allows himself a slightly amused smile. “Hi,” he says. Pushes Peter’s drink—some sort of ridiculously sweet caramel flavored thing that’s barely coffee at all—across the table to him. “Sit. Drink. Relax a bit, okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, running a hand through his hair and only making things worse. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry, though. I’m just… it’s really embarrassing to be that late when this was my idea in the first place and—”

“Peter,” Quentin says, cutting him off. “Breathe! It’s fine, I promise.”

For once, Peter listens, and takes a deep breath, holding it in for a moment. Lets it out and relaxes the smallest bit, and grabs his drink. “Oh,” he says. “This is good! Thanks; you were right about me needing it.”

Quentin watches while he unwinds; Peter’s latest idea regarding ‘things they could do together’ was to show Quentin around Queens, so today they’re wandering. Quentin’s thrilled.

It could be worse. Peter had been all set up to take him to the most popular, well known, touristy spots, and Quentin had barely been able to hide his dread at the thought. It’d taken a little work, but he’d manage to convince Peter that Quentin would much rather see Peter’s favorite places. Even if they were nothing fancy or exciting, or little hole in the wall type places, or silly.

Even if they bored Quentin to tears.

Not that he can let Peter see even a hint of that. There’s a special kind of… vulnerability in sharing the smallest things you like, something different than exposing the larger, more damaged pieces of yourself. Something oddly hopeful about showing someone the unexplainable, intimate things you like and waiting for them to enjoy those things as well. Or at the very least, not reject them, in a way that suggests they’re rejecting your tastes as well.

Not rejecting you.

He’s started to prove to Peter he can handle the bigger things, the superhero stuff and the feelings nearly suffocating Peter; time to show that he can be trusted with the little things too. That Peter can come to Quentin with anything at all. Anything. Everything.

“So,” Quentin says. “What’s first?”

He was right; it is pretty boring. Not… awful, surprisingly, but not Quentin’s sort of thing at all. Peter’s apparently decided to try and cover as many miles as he can in one day, dragging Quentin from one end of Queens to the other. And then back; Quentin’s going to take tomorrow off for sure. Peter just has so much energy.

Has so much enthusiasm, Quentin thinks, as they poke through a small used record store that isn’t nearly as hipster as he expected from Astoria. So, so much enthusiasm, for the smallest things. It just bursts out of him once he gets comfortable and isn’t second guessing every single word he says.

Once Quentin has seemed interested in the first few things Peter shows him. Peter’s nervous about it, trying to explain away any shortcomings before Quentin’s even gotten in the door. He’s just desperate for approval, for acceptance. For Quentin to like him.

It’s not that hard to, actually.

It’s never been that Quentin dislikes Peter. Sure, Peter’s causing him grief and can be incredibly annoying, and sure, about half of what he feels for Peter is pity, but those can exist alongside the fact that Quentin kind of likes Peter.

Has liked him, ever since he started compiling research on him, ever since he’d met Peter as Mysterio and shook his hand and watched him get so excited over the existence of multiverse. It’s harder not to like Peter, not even a bit. He’s ridiculously smart, and stupidly good-natured, and—

He throws himself into everything he does; goes full out, with his heart on his sleeve. It’s no wonder he gets anxious as hell, if his first impulse is to practically flaunt all his soft spots, open and eager and expecting the best. It’s going to go poorly more often than not.

Must have, judging by the way Peter pulls himself in and hides, overrides that instinctual reaction so quickly it’s just a flash, a glimpse Quentin keeps catching again and again. He’s been taught to second guess himself somewhere along the way, by someone—probably a lot of someones—who saw those tender spots and couldn’t help poking them, taking advantage of them.

Just like Quentin’s doing; Peter should be better about spotting that sort of thing by now.

It’s almost a shame to fix Peter just to tear him apart completely, to have to use him like this, but… well. In the end, Peter’s nothing but another obstacle scattered in Quentin’s path. There are far more important things to worry about than the fate of one kid.

Peter grins at him when Quentin admits that this dinky little secondhand bookstore in Jamaica was worth a stop, even if it’s just for the most comfortable couch Quentin has ever sat on. Smiles when he points out a mural he loves on the way to the next attraction and admits he’d actually webbed up someone who started to tag it.

Straight up laughs at Quentin’s face when Peter shows him the most supremely creepy things in some huge thrift store, full of weird antiques and vintage crap. God, it’s disturbing that the things Quentin had as a kid, even as a teen, are considered vintage now.

“Jesus, Peter,” Quentin says after he has to look at a one hundred percent haunted taxidermied squirrel. “Why would you make me see that? I’m going to have nightmares.”

“For that exact face,” Peter says. “Oh my god, you look like you think it’s going to bite you!”

“It might,” and it’s unfair that Peter just laughs harder. He glares at Peter, but it might be slightly put on.

He’s allowed to like Peter a little, Quentin decides, watching Peter nearly double over with giggles. It’ll make having to deal with him easier, if nothing else, and it’s not as though liking someone has ever stopped him from using them—even disposing of them—in the past. It sure won’t this time.

They wander some more, Peter chattering on and easily filling the silence as long as Quentin remembers to make the appropriate listening noises occasionally. Every now and then, Peter hesitates, a nervous stumble in his words, something throwing him off, and Quentin reengages fully. He can’t afford to let Peter get too caught up in his thoughts.

But a few questions—carefully designed to make Quentin seem far more interested than he is—are enough to get Peter going again, bouncing from place to place until Quentin suggests they could use something to eat.

“Oh my god, yes,” Peter says. “I’m starving and didn’t even realize it. Ooo, last time we were down here, Ned and I found this awesome truck that does crazy good Korean barbeque, you’d love it.”

“No,” Quentin says without thinking, the sweet tart burnt smell so strong he can nearly taste it, can feel it stinging when he draws in a breath.

He twitches, shrugging it off, and tries to walk back how sharp that had come out. “Uh, I’m not big on sweet sauces and meat?” he says. “Got another recommendation?”

Peter drags him to a place that has the weirdest chimichanga combinations—and normal ones too, thankfully—and once again, attempts to pay.

“You know,” Quentin says as he pokes Peter out of the way, immensely irritated that Peter is still pushing him on this. “I didn’t realize your memory was this bad.”

“Hey!” Peter says. “It’s not! What are you talking about?” like that doesn’t prove Quentin’s point exactly.

“I seem to remember a bet I won,” he says, “relating to this exact situation.”

Peter opens his mouth to protest, and then closes it. “Um,” he says.

“Yeah,” Quentin says,raising his eyebrows.

“Okay,” Peter says, “okay, you can’t blame me for trying!”

“Hmmm,” Quentin says, passing over one of the foam trays. “You’re forgiven. This time. Just don’t do it again.” It’s always a good idea to get Peter into the habit of following Quentin’s rules, of remembering not to challenge Quentin too much.

Of remembering that Quentin will forgive him anything, easily.

“Fine,” Peter says through a mouthful, so mature.

They eat on the way to the next stop on Peter’s little tour; Quentin had been hoping they were approaching the end, but when Peter looks at him and asks, so hesitantly, if Quentin is tired and wants to call it a day—

Well he can’t say no.

Quentin finds himself dragged on to little half hidden shops, with any signage and down stairs that Quentin has to ask how Peter could have found in the first place. To statues Peter likes, to places he feeds pigeons—why he’d want to, Quentin doesn’t know—places with great views of the Hudson.

And, over and over, once Quentin catches on and starts pushing it, places to eat. Because Peter’s metabolism is a thing of wonder.

It’s interesting watching Peter banter back and forth with an older man about his sandwich; Quentin had gotten the impression Peter was uneasy around strangers, all his awkwardness amping up. But the way Peter’s interacted with people today is much more relaxed, much easier. Peter has a sharp sense of humor that Quentin has only started to see, as Peter gets comfortable around him.

Why do all these strangers get it right off the bat?

He watches Peter dart over to help get a stroller over a curb and— they’re not strangers. Not really. It’s not just that everywhere they’ve gone is somewhere Peter has been again and again, to the point where he knows people.

This is Peter’s home ground. His comfort zone, and the people in it— they’re his people. And when he’s helping them, his nerves disappear. His awkwardness becomes a tool of its own, disarming, downplaying the threat Peter could so easily be.

This is what he wants to be when he’s Spider-Man; the guy on the street, helping in a hundred tiny ways.

That’s fine with Quentin. Perfectly fine; now how does he get Peter to stay there, with EDITH looming over his head?

He can practically hear that in William’s voice, ugh. He’s working on it.

They wind up in Kissena late in the afternoon, almost early evening, really. Peter steps off the path once they get into one of the more wooded areas, and there’s a grassy spot past a few bushes, with a truly massive tree near the center, smaller ones scattered around it. It’s well hidden.

“Alright,” Quentin says, as he has with every other place, “what's the story behind this? How’d you find it?”

“So, when I got bit, when everything changed?” Peter settles down at the base of the tree, cross legged. “One of the things that was like, a huge pain, was how all of my senses got crazy amplified. Everything was turned up to eleven, you know?”

Quentin sits across from Peter, stretching his legs out as he leans back. Ugh, grass; he’d better not end up with bug bites. “Okay,” he says. “Sounds like that was pretty overwhelming.”

Peter groans. “You have no idea! It was really hard for a while, because even once I started to get used to everything being too loud and too bright and too smelly and— things tasted weird and my clothes made me feel like my skin was crawling and it was—” He stops, tipping his head back against the tree and looking upward.

“It was a lot,” he says. “Eventually I sorta started being able to deal with all that sort of… feeling stuff? I mean, physical, sensory, not like feeling feelings.”

Coherent; Quentin does not roll eyes through sheer force of will.

“But I was still really struggling with the, um,” Peter frowns, tips his head back further until Quentin can’t really see his face. “The stuff in my head. Actually doing things, thinking about things or even focusing on one thing was all so hard. It was like…”

“It was like what?” Quentin asks, after a few moments have passed.

“Everything was a distraction,” Peter says, slowly. “That’s still not right, because normally, before, I’d get distracted thinking about something else I wanted to do, or I’d be daydreaming, or, um, just, good stuff? Stuff that I’d want to focus on, just not right that second.”

“This wasn’t like this.” Peter looks down and starts to fiddle with a bit of grass, pulling up blades one by one. “This was like so much noise inside my head, like every little detail about every single thing was right there, grabbing my attention. I’d be trying to do one thing and all that would be clamoring at me nonstop.”

He closes his eyes, scrunching his whole face up. “People talk about wanting super sense a lot,” he says, “but it sucked so much at first.”

“People generally don’t think through those kinds of wishes very much,” Quentin says. Honestly, for the most part people don’t think at all.

“I’m pretty much okay now,” Peter says. “I figured out how to filter things most of the time; when there’s a bunch of stuff at once I can get so caught up in trying to ignore it that I ignore everything, and then that’s it’s own problem.”

“I noticed,” Quentin says, dryly. “Makes you pretty jumpy.”

Peter huffs, almost a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, brushing the ripped up grass off his pants. “I’m still working on getting the kinds of focus right?”

Quentin leans further back on his hands, crossing his legs. “You said something about focusing on me that one time,” he says, and Peter goes faintly pink. “That the sort of thing you’re talking about?”

“Something like that,” Peter says. “If I have one thing I can focus on, almost completely, then I can make it into… uh, white noise, I guess? Or it makes everything else into white noise. If that makes any sense at all.”

Not one bit, but whatever. He can press that later. “Sure,” Quentin says, waving his hand. “I’m following.”

It’s actually something to consider— if Peter manages to function better in difficult situations by focusing on one specific thing, what happens when that thing is taken away? Is ripped away from him, in fact. Would there be a moment of disorientation they could take advantage of? Maybe they could set Peter up to focus on what they want; he’s already using Quentin as a focal point, apparently.

He’ll have to watch Peter, Quentin thinks. This fumbling little explanation leaves a lot to be desired, but he doesn’t have much faith Peter actually could explain it better even if he tried.

“That helps,” Peter’s saying, “but it’s still really exhausting after a while. Sometimes I want to just… stop. Just not feel it at all, not have to try not to feel it.”

He glances at Quentin, and Quentin nods. Peter looks oddly shy, so he’d better pay close attention to what he’s showing.

“I’ve found a couple of places like this, but this is probably my favorite,” Peter tells him. “I can come here and actually relax. If I stop trying to block things out, or stop focusing on one thing, it doesn’t matter.” He tips his head back again, looking up at the tree.

“It's quiet here, pretty much all the time,” Peter says; the light through the leaves is diffuse, dappled on his face. “Even the noises that I get are like, soft things. Leaves and wind and things walking on grass. People talking, yeah, but that’s more distant and almost like background noise. It’s still shadowy in here when it’s super bright out, and there aren’t any super gross strong smells either. Just dirt and water and uh, green stuff.”

He darts a glance down at Quentin without moving his head. “Don’t laugh at me!” he says, and it’s right on the edge of plaintive. “I don’t know what else to call it.”

“I’m not,” Quentin says. He understands; it’s not something a city kid would be around that often, would probably even notice without senses like Peter’s. “I wouldn’t. I know what you mean, Peter.”

“Okay,” Peter says. Looks back away from Quentin and then closes his eyes. “It’s nice. And when I have to go back to the real world, it’s not quite as hard to handle.”

Quentin watches him. Watches as he slowly, slowly unwinds. Peter doesn’t move, aside from his head tipping slightly to the side, and Quentin—

He’d thought, earlier, that it was interesting how much Peter loosened up around people he felt comfortable with, places he felt safe. He’d thought it was a large degree of relaxation—and it was—but it was nothing compared to this.

Nothing compared to the way the tension drains from him with each passing second, from every single bit of his body, until he looks calmer than Quentin has ever seen.

Happier.

If this is how he looks when truly relaxed, the level of stress Peter must carry with him every day, everywhere he goes—from the physical tension to the mental, the anxiety, the constant background level of effort that other people don’t have to think about—must be ridiculously high.

He doesn’t want to say anything, do anything, that would break the stillness that seems to have spread over the entire glade. Poor kid. He might be doing a great job at being a pain in Quentin’s ass, but he isn’t cut out for this superhero shit.

Everything Quentin sees just convinced him further that taking EDITH from Peter really is doing him a favor. He’d never intended for that to be true, but— it’s not a terrible byproduct.

Peter sighs eventually, a barely there breath of a thing, opening his eyes halfway. He looks dazed, almost half asleep.

At least, until he notices that Quentin is watching him, and then he flushes. Looks down, the moment dissipating. “Anyway,” Peter says. “It’s— it’s a nice place for me,” like he’s admitting something embarrassing.

“I can tell,” Quentin says, offering him a small smile. “You deal with a lot every day, don’t you.” He shifts against his tree, trying to get more comfortable without Peter noticing and getting all fussy about it.

“I guess,” Peter says.

He picks up a leaf, twirling it through his fingers absently. “It’s getting really frustrating,” he adds. “Because it’s been almost two years, right? So I should have a better handle on this! I shouldn’t still be getting tripped up by such little things. And—” he makes a face, shoulders starting to hunch again.

“So I have this… this sense? Uh, I call it a spidey sense— I know, it’s kind of stupid. It sort of warns me about things? Like someone poking me, or shouting that something bad is about to happen.”

“Mmm, you mentioned that once,” Quentin says. “Sort of like a limited precog?” Honestly, he’d dismissed it— not fully, it wouldn’t do to completely dismiss anything about Peter. But it hadn’t seemed like it did much for Peter in Europe.

And it hadn’t picked up anything about Quentin, so how good could it really be?

“Oh, huh,” Peter says. “I hadn’t really thought of it like that? Maybe, but it’s not very exact. Sometimes it’s super obvious, but others it takes me a while to figure out what’s wrong. And lately, especially, it’s been— it’s gone kinda nuts? I don’t feel like I can trust it anymore.”

“Like, like right now?” he adds. “Right now it’s just going off like something really big and bad is happening, but come on!” He throws his hands up, exaggerated. “We’re just sitting here talking! Nothing, literally nothing bad is happening. It’s freaking out for no reason.”

Fuck.

Maybe he really shouldn’t have dismissed it, Quentin thinks, trying to stay as relaxed as he was a moment ago. Maybe he really fucking shouldn’t have, because some part of Peter knows that Quentin’s not good news. Knows that Quentin is something dangerous, is a threat.

And apparently knows it very, very insistently. Oh, fuck, this is the last thing he needs. Why now? Why is Peter’s sense losing its shit now and not at any time in Europe? What has he done differently to set it off?

God, what if it had been going off then too? Could that be why Peter had backed off at the last second in the bar, EDITH almost in Quentin’s hand? Has Peter been feeling this the entire time?

It’s a good thing he doesn’t seem to be listening to it, but that could stop at any second. At any time, Peter could decide that maybe his stupid ‘spider sense’ isn’t wrong, and that would be— that would be bad. That would be so bad.

Quentin has got to figure out how to make sure Peter keeps dismissing what it’s telling him.

“It’s so annoying,” Peter’s saying. “I wish it would stop, would just shut up already. It’s like this constant thing lately, sort of fading in and out but almost always there, but not a single thing has happened!”

Oh, that’s really, really not great. Almost always? In and out? How long will it take before Peter starts to realize it’s linked to Quentin?

No. No, he can fix this. He can nip this in the bud, before Peter has even a hint of suspicion. Peter’s already trying to ignore it, already annoyed by it. Quentin can use that.

“Maybe it’s just confused?” Quentin brings one knee up and rests his elbow on it, letting his arm dangle oh so casually. “After all,” he adds, “I’m hardly a bad thing, am I?”

Peter smiles, all that irritation gone in a second. “No!” he says. “Of course not! You’re like, the least bad thing that’s happened in a while.”

Quentin grins back at him. Yeah, keep thinking that, kid. “Well that’s a relief!” he says. “How finely tuned is this thing anyway? Could something have… I don’t know, damaged it? Hmm, screwed up its baseline, maybe? How do you even recalibrate it?”

“I have no clue,” Peter says. “I mean, it’s not like I can’t really test it or fix it or whatever. It’s practically useless now.”

Perfect; he wants Peter distrusting this sense. Wants him not thinking about it at all, avoiding the topic entirely— ah.

If he can get Peter thinking his damaged sense has something to do with the fights he’s been in, these bigger battles, that would be ideal. Peter’s already trying hard not to think about those; tie this sense to them as well, and he’ll just have even more reason to avoid both

“Could something have overloaded it?” Quentin asks. “Just completely swamped it, and it hasn’t recovered yet? If it got used to there being danger nonstop, on all sides, maybe it can’t stand down.”

“…maybe?” Peter says. “But I don’t know what would have caused that, or even when. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

What.

Really, Quentin thinks, really? Peter can’t think of anything that would fit? Why wouldn’t he think of that? “Nothing?” he says, quietly.

Peter frowns. Takes a moment, and when he opens his mouth, Quentin is almost sure he’s made the connection; but Peter hesitates. Shrugs. “Not anything that’s like, major or a big deal or anything,” he says.

Does Peter— has he really managed to convince himself that all the fighting he’s done is nothing? Or at least, been trying to, because that hesitation says a lot.

He should have expected this, with the way Peter’s consistently downplayed himself so far. He really should have, but somehow it still annoys him. No wonder Peter isn’t willing to admit how scared and screwed up he is, if he thinks he’s completely overreacting to ‘no big deal’.

“Well,” Quentin says, and he’s watching Peter carefully. He doesn’t know quite how this will hit. “You were at war, on a battlefield. More than once, even. That can really mess you up in all kinds of ways.” Remember, Peter, he thinks. Remember that you were hurt, that there’s a good reason to be scared. To run.

“I— that—” Peter stares at him. “I wasn’t in a war,” he says. Dammit. Looks like downgrading it in his head is exactly what Peter’s been doing, and that is exactly the opposite of what Quentin wants.

“No? What would you call it?” Quentin asks, raising an eyebrow. He pushes himself more upright, uncrossing his legs. “It sounded a lot like war to me.”

Peter shakes his head, fingers crushing the leaf he’s been playing with. “It was just a fight,” he says, strained. “That’s all!”

A fight. Just a fight, like it was nothing more than a little spat, was nothing at all. Has someone been telling him this, reinforcing it? Fury, maybe, or even Tony before that?

He knows Fury wants Peter to think he can handle things, but has he also been trying to convince him that what he’s been through so far was small enough Peter should have been able to handle it? Should be able to handle the aftereffects? That he shouldn’t be upset about it, that he’s overreacting?

That’s not good; Quentin doesn’t need Peter doubting he can handle things. He needs Peter to be certain he can’t, and more, that it’s perfectly normal. Acceptable. Not something horribly selfish at all.

“Peter,” he says, “it wasn’t just a fight.”

“It was! It was just one— it wasn’t a war!”

“It wasn’t— Peter,” Quentin says, and sighs. “It was a lot more than that. You’ve been dragged from fight to fight to fight the past couple of years, without anyone helping you after; from what I hear, you really could have used some after that thing upstate.”

He huffs, too sharp to be a real laugh. “And that’s just what I know of,” he adds. “I’m not stupid enough to assume that’s everything.”

Peter sucks in a sharp breath, his hands fisted on his thighs. Blinks, and then looks at Quentin intently, his brow furrowed. “How do you even know about that? About— about other fights?”

“I spent some time talking with Fury,” Quentin says. “He wasn’t big on details, but I got enough that I can fill them in on my own. I’m willing to bet he doesn’t even know every fight you’ve been in, though I’m sure he’d like me to think so.”

He’d been talking with Janice, more like. God, she’d been such a find; seething about having had Tony himself be an ass to her, more than once, but willing to stay where she was to pass things on. She’d had access to so much confidential information, and every time SI and SHIELD decided to bury another thing, shift the blame and throw money at it until it all went away—for them, at least—she’d gotten a little more resentful.

It’s true that they might not have the finer details—it drives him nuts how sparse the info about whatever it was that crashed SI’s plane into the beach is—but he has enough to know that Peter’s been involved time and time again.

“Oh,” Peter says, looking down, losing some of his ire. “You probably didn’t hear much good, I bet. But— it doesn’t matter if it was more than one fight, cause they were all different. All like, spread out and about other stuff. It’s still not war.”

“What do you think war is, then?” Quentin asks, actually curious.

“I don’t, uh. War is… more?” Peter stumbles along, and he’s being incredibly stubborn about this. “More than that, than any of those. Worse. Way worse. You don’t— you weren’t there, you don’t know what it was really like. It wasn’t like that.”

“I think,” Quentin says dryly, “I have a pretty good idea of what war is.”

Peter looks absolutely horrified. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “God, I didn’t mean— I’m sorry, I didn’t think— I just, just meant that you were in a war. In a real, horrible, endless one and this…” He shudders. “These were just fights. It’s not the same, it’s not anywhere near as bad.”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter says. Looks at Quentin and then drops his head into his hands, knees coming up as he curls in on himself. “Fuck, I’m so sorry Quentin, I didn’t mean…”

This is really not what he was going for. Shit, he shouldn’t have said it like that; Peter’s too sensitive for him to be even a little sharp.

Quentin sighs, very softly, though he’s sure Peter still catches it. Pushes himself up onto his feet and walks over to Peter, who doesn’t even look up. “I know you didn’t mean it like that,” Quentin says. “It’s okay, Peter.”

Peter just shakes his head a little; Quentin thinks of sighing again but—somehow—manages to restrain himself. He sits down next to Peter, his back against the tree.

“War doesn’t have to go for a long time to be real,” he says, not looking at Peter. “It doesn’t have to drag on and on for it to still be awful, for it to still affect you,” and Jesus, he’s had to hear shit along those lines so many times. Had to sit there and listen to people be told over and over that what happened to them is worth being fucked up over.

Even if it isn’t. There’s a lot of reasons he never opened his mouth at those meetings, and his disgust at everyone else was the biggest. What a waste of time.

Well. Maybe not. It did give him the material to work Peter over.

“It doesn’t have to be some huge, dramatic battle to qualify,” Quentin says. “It still counts. Pretending it doesn’t doesn’t get it out of your head.” Come on, he thinks, let it be bad, be a nightmare. Admit that there’s a good reason, a real reason, for you to be scared, and then you can back down without shame. Come on, Peter.

“It doesn’t feel like it should count,” Peter says, a bit muffled, head still in his hands. “It wasn’t— lots of people have dealt with so much worse. Something like this, it’s not— it’s not an excuse for, for…”

He doesn’t finish that thought, but Quentin doesn’t need him to. An excuse, hmm? He turns his head toward Peter, just a bit. “Why don’t you want to call it a war?”

Peter lifts his head, arms sliding down to cross across his chest. “Why does it matter to you what I call it?” he asks, and there’s a hint of sharpness in there. Maybe even anger. “Why do you even care if I admit— if I think it’s a war?”

Nice little slip there; isn’t that interesting. Peter does know it was more than a few little fights. He knows, he’s just trying as hard as he can to pretend otherwise. Trying to redirect, as usual, turning the question back on Quentin. Why does it matter, Peter wants to know, and there are so many answers Quentin could give.

It matters because you need to see yourself as badly damaged. Because you need to acknowledge that this is something huge and overwhelming and frightening. Because I need you to start accepting what I say as right, start accepting me as an authority. I need you to not question me.

So many reasons, and he can’t tell Peter any of them. Ugh.

He turns further toward Peter. “Because I think you’re doing yourself a disservice,” Quentin says, tightly, irritation rising up in him. “When you sit there and insist that it’s nothing more than a little fight, when you play it off like it’s nothing— you’re devaluing what you did, and that’s wrong.”

“Don’t act like what you went through, what you did, doesn’t count,” Quentin says, and Peter’s looking over at him, startled. “That it wasn’t brave as hell, and terrifying as hell too.”

Peter stares, his eyes very wide. “I— it’s not like I did more than anyone else there. Than, than anyone else would have.”

“It sounds like you did more than enough,” Quentin says. “And— it doesn’t matter, Peter. It still messes you up. War fucks everyone up. Maybe it didn’t go on long enough for it to really warp your thinking, your morals or empathy or capacity to even feel, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t damage you.”

Peter jerks, sitting up straighter. “I’m not damaged!”

For fuck’s sake.

Quentin has to dig deep for a bit more patience. “Sure you are. Hey, Peter— wait,” he says, watching as Peter shuts down all over again, hurt. “That’s not bad, kid. It’s not an insult. It’s just… you gotta admit that before you can get better.”

Or not, if Quentin gets his way; admitting it might lead to Peter actually getting over his fear and stepping up. But with Quentin around, guiding him along? Peter’s never going to take that admission as anything other than a personal failure.

As just another reason he can’t, and someone else should.

“I don’t know,” Peter mutters. “It doesn’t feel like it should count.”

Quentin watches him for a minute. Leans in, his shoulder bumping against Peter’s. “You’d agree that I’ve been in war, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And that I’m able to judge what is and isn’t war. Right?”

Peter can be smart, sometimes. He sees where this is going. Sighs. “Yeah,” he says.

“Will you—” Quentin pauses, waits until Peter is looking at him. “Can you trust me here, and believe that I mean it when I say what you went through was war?”

Peter blinks, his eyes dropping. He’s silent, and Quentin can feel the muscles of his arm moving as Peter fiddles with something out of sight. “I’ll think about it,” Peter says, which is not quite the response Quentin was hoping for. Still, it’s not another denial. Baby steps.

“I’ll— maybe,” Peter says. “I guess you would know, even if you weren’t there.”

“You should listen to me,” Quentin agrees, leaning a little harder against Peter. “I do know!”

You should listen to me, and only me, he thinks. We’ll get you there, kid.

Peter huffs softly, pushing back against Quentin’s shoulder. “Maybe,” but he’s smiling faintly.

Quentin smiles back; he can accept a maybe, for now.

He’ll get a yes soon enough.

#mysteryspider #spiderio #quenter #quentin beck x peter parker #quentin x peter #mcu #spiderman #gotcha #wip #my work #fanfiction

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imagine-loki · 4 years

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Caught in his web, Chapter 53

TITLE: Caught in his web CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 53 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki is a crime lord, a very dangerous man in the city. He is owed money, but the man is unable to pay Loki back, so Loki takes his daughter as payment instead. RATING: M