#this has been bugging me for a while I just waited until threshold day to say it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neko-rogers · 4 years ago

Text

But It’s Better If You Do

Trying to keep your relationship with your professor was easy enough, until you learned that someone had found out about it.

words: 7,424 tags: manipulative!peter, explicit noncon/dubcon elements, degredation, implied overstimulation, blackmailing, kidnapping, college student and professor relationship,

a/n: whew this had a lot of words compared to what i usually write. plus, since im bad at titles, i’ll just use my fav song titles lmao. (ps. erik lehnsherr aka magneto is here and im just glad i could put him in my little fictional world bc im d biggest slut for him)

A complete lie, you just did not want to deal with college fuck boys.

The man in front of the class was practically pouring his heart out into the lecture. The chalkboard was filled with white letterings from left to right, not knowing where to start as you take down notes.

“It is important to keep in mind that bimolecular structure and function are dictated by the properties of the medium in which they are dissolved,” your professor explains while continually pacing from one end to the other among the students seated at the first row.

You decided to seat around the middle to the last row, knowing it was the least obvious way for other students in the class to notice how much you fawn over your Organic Chemistry professor rather than the subject itself.

Honestly you could listen to him talk for hours. All those information he had been discussing would not actually process through your thoughts. You knew that better than anyone.

But who honestly would invalidate your reason? Everyone can probably relate to hating Chemistry, no matter what subcategory it is.

Considering that this was probably one of the most difficult courses you had in your program. You were just thankful and lucky enough you landed on one of the hottest professors amongst the campus.

“Hey what did Professor Lehnsherr say about the problems during synthesis of proteins?” Peter asks.

In spite of being fortunate about everything else about this subject, you were not quite happy about Peter Parker following you around like a lost puppy. Especially during the classes you both have alike.

The boy constantly asks so much questions as if you were the teacher already. In addition, he seemed smart enough to figure things out yet somehow he keeps on bugging you for reassurance.

You did not want to be rude. He has not done anything to completely deserve your rage, however he was definitely getting on your nerves.

Honestly you would not want to be infuriated over his consistent queries, but you were just as distracted as he was, maybe even more. With this, you were looking dumber to him each day.

To anyones pride, it was probably a kick in the stomach. You knew you were not the brightest in this class, but it was best to leave the information to yourself. No need for anyone to point out how mindless you were.

And you really were not. You had other Science subjects you totally excel at. Sadly, Chemistry was just not one of them.

“Well, uh, I don’t think I got that part either.” You look aside where he was seated and awkwardly smiled at him before mentioning an apology, “Sorry, Peter.”

In return, Peter smiled at you and dismissed the question. You were not so sure whether to forget about it or take even the least bit of offense. You felt a little mocked by how easily he did it and innocently he smiled, but maybe you were just overthinking this through.

“It’s fine,” he tells. “I just didn’t get the third bullet, but I’ll try to review it in the textbook when I get home.”

“Oh okay, sure.”

“Speaking about reviewing,” Again, Peter tries to start another discourse.

“I was wondering if you got reviewers for the upcoming text for next week? We all know how difficult Professor Lehnsherr’s exams can get, right?” He lets out a forced chuckle, assuming it could lighten the mood.

As much as he tried to make small talks with you, almost everyday, today you really feel like you did not want to return the favor. Especially after having to bring up the test next week.

“I don’t really make reviewers, I usually just scan the books I have at home.”

Lies. You probably have a box full of index cards and sticky notes in your room.

You tried to use every studying tips every corner of the Internet could give. All those study-life hacks that really did not help much but pile up to your disorganized state of mind.

You fucking tried to study Chemistry. You really did.

“What, you don’t?!” He suddenly exclaims, not realizing the loudness of his voice as it almost caught the attention from people at front. “You seem to be busy all the time though. It’s like I always catch your writing or reading something in class.”

Maybe your mood was just off but it definitely seemed weird for him to say that. Though, you did not want to make something from what he said. It was not worth your time.

“I guess people are not always what they seem to be, yeah?”

Again, Peter gives out that soft chuckle and smile, “Then I guess so. You do make a point.”

He does not argue with you any further.

“Can I at least borrow your Physics book? I only bought Chemistry and Biotech for the semester. Didn’t know they would actually utilize it for once,” he scoffs.

At first you hesitated. You were reviewing for it too, but you already felt bad for being no help whenever he asks a question and often times disregarding him when your mood if off. Plus, you did just make it look like you were not much of a study-freak.

“Okay.”

He instinctively fist pumps the air and looks at you with a wide, grateful grin. “Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver, Y/N.”

“Don’t mention it.” You grab the book he needs from your bag and hands it to him. He accepts it and places it inside his while also clearing the rest of his things.

Looking at his digital wristwatch wherein he raised his index finger up as if he figured something out of it, he says, “He’s going to dismiss the class in a few minutes. We should get ready for Cell Biology next period.

Oh how you hated it. Were you jumping to conclusions? Or was this boy really trying to be too close with you? Or was he just being nice and informing you to prepare ahead?

God, you did not give Peter Parker the right to cloud up your thoughts like this.

“Thanks,” you say, “but I need to talk to Professor Lehnsherr after class. Have to, uh, consult him about my concept paper that he made us submit last week.”

As he tidies his notebooks up and carelessly shoves it inside his backpack, he immediately looks back at you with a confused expression, “Oh, I can always wait for you–”

“It’s fine, Peter. Thank you though.” Two of your hands were instinctively waving in front of you, a meek gesture for him to stop coddling you or whatever move he had been trying to make at you.

“Are you sure? I–”

And if you were ought to be saved further from lashing out over Peter’s incessant attempts, you finally heard the words any student was longing to hear. “Class dismissed. I’ll see you all on Monday.”

“Eri–err, Professor Lensherr just dismissed the class. Better catch up to him before he heads out,” you hurriedly said. And with a loud slam from your notebook, you quickly shut him out. In addition, you practically shoved every thing in front of you into your bag without sparing a second glance.

One strap of your back was slung over your shoulder as you hurriedly flew down the aisle. Professor Lehnsherr was midway into packing his things before you interrupted and approached him.

“Professor,” you call out. “I have a question. About��the paper I handed in last week.”

“Uhuh.” He faintly furrows his eyebrows, trying to hide his already obvious bewilderment. “I forgot which assignment was that, Ms. Y/L/N.”

There were students still exiting in class. So you tried your best to make your conversation with him less suspicious. He was most likely doing the same.

“It was about the Chemistry-proposal thing.” You snapped your fingers a few times as you gathered your train of thought, but realizing it was not going effectively. “Well I just wanted to confirm it since, you know, I was hoping for any feedback from you throughout this week.”

“I’m not sure if I have read it. I’ve certainly been busy this week,” he clarifies. “Nonetheless, we can talk about it later. Thank you for bringing it up. I’ll make sure to follow it up in my schedule, Ms. Y/N.”

Both of you made your way out the door once there were only a minuscule amount of students left in class. You probably had been looking at your professor with gushing stares, but you doubt the other people in the room could notice it. They were farther away from where both of you stood, much less would they be able to hear what the two of your were talking about.

“Oh thank you so much, sir!” You almost cried out and jumped in joy while reaching through the threshold. Moreover, you composed yourself before mumbling out, “I’ll see you later, Eric.”

In which you were certain no one would have heard it besides him.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　-: ✧ :-゜・．

“I’m sure you’ll get a good grade in the exams, Y/N,” Eric leans back to his seat with a humble smile upon his face.

“Really? I doubt so, there’s a kid in your class that keeps bugging me out to a study date, or whatever you call it,” you sneer. You lick your lips as you finish taking a sip around the wine glass, setting it down and looking back at the man you were having dinner with. “It’s getting very annoying though, he surely knows how to get on my nerves.”

“I’m sure he’s just trying to flirt with you, like any other college boys do.” He optimistically and maturely lays out the options. “It’s pretty normal for anyone to chase someone they are fond of, especially for young adults like you.”

It was a pretty obvious sign that he was trying to let his message reach you.

“Well, I apologize for my standards of men,” you say. “I just want to skip the whole heartbreak in college and character development. All that stuff you usually see in a typical teen romance movie.”

You sigh, looking down and saying, “I already found a man for me. Why would I stoop down for some guy who’s most likely wanting something from me, and dumping me once he got what he wanted.”

“Y/N, I don’t blame you for liking men that’s ten years older than you,” Eric assures. “But I want you to realize that you still have a lot to look forward after graduating

“And I look forward for you too!” You tried to not raise your voice, though having dinner in his house wouldn’t really catch anyones attention. “I can’t wait to finally graduate from second semester and be able to spend more time, publicly, with you.”

“Yes, I understand, honey.” He places his hand over yours as he tries to calm you down. “Like I said, I just want you to make sure that you’ve clearly thought this through.”

Eric adds, “There’s plenty of men out there. I don’t want to take away your opportunity of experiencing something new at such a young age.”

“I’m turning twenty-four! I promise you I’m thinking everything through.” Your voice was much weaker than a few seconds ago. The evident tone of strength fades even with one glance from the man in front of you. You felt yourself shrink in your seat. But you were sure he does not intend to frighten you into compliance.

“Sorry,” you pout. “Didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“I understand, and I won’t pressure you any more tonight, okay?” He tries to uplift your mood, detecting quickly the shift of the room’s atmosphere. “You deserve a good dinner tonight, like I promised, sweetie.”

His smile made you calmer. It was then that you realized why you were attracted to a man like him even if he was still your teacher.

The way he handles you in any given situation so sensibly. Though it may feels intimidating at first, he consequently tries to override the tone of the conversation which cheers you up.

With one hand, he hold yours and gently draws it towards him at the same moment he leans his head down. Eric presses a kiss against the back of your hand and you butterflies immediately fill inside your stomach. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Every doubt you had entirely disappeared now. If there were hints of you hesitating to continue seeing Eric, they were certainly long gone now.

“Let me drive you home after dinner,” he offers, like the gentleman he is.

Eric always does make sure you get home safe. However, you both agreed that he drops you off at least a block away from your house. Just in case people around your neighborhood might catch you, or worse your parents.

It was not like you were ashamed of your relationship with Eric. Cautious was the term.

You were only a few months in seeing him. Fair enough, he was your second semester professor and the both of you met before that period.

You were not only risking the wrath of your parents once they hear you’re dating an older man, let alone your Chemistry teacher. But you were also putting him at risk if ever his faculty finds out.

Eventually, the two of you pack up and end your conversation. Other than talking about college, the two of you also talk more about yourselves which has progressed you into learning more about each other’s personalities and likes.

He helps you out of his house and into the passenger seat of his car. It had been more than thrice wherein he drove you home, and the familiar scent of leather and the typical Glad air fresheners has clung onto your nose. You strap on your seatbelt on just as he was getting inside the driver’s side.

The ride was not entirely dead silent. Eric made a few more small talks before finally turning a right which was where he usually drops you off. It amazes you how instantly he remembered the way to your home, as you instructed him the first time.

“Thank you for tonight, like always, Eric.”

As always, you made your way out of his car prior to giving him a kiss. You only had to walk straight ahead, glancing at your home which had one dim light illuminating through one window.

Upon entering the house, you figured your parents were already asleep and a hint of the living room lamp was present. Taking the benefit of not having to be interrogated by anyone, you rushed upstairs to your bedroom, turned on the lights, and immediately closed the door behind you with a sigh of relief. A smile was also visible after recalling your night with Eric.

As you made your way towards your bed, a piece of paper lays obvious in the middle of it. Your sheets were flattened and tidied, so you could obviously detect when something is placed on top of it. You have no memory of leaving it early in the morning before you left too.

When picking the paper up, you realized it was a piece of polaroid film. Its back was facing you, having no idea what to expect at the front.

At that point, the smile from your face turned into horror and all the color in you basically drained away.

The picture displayed you and Eric at one dinner night out from a few days ago, you still remember. It could have been anything but malicious, but the way his hand was intertwined with yours as both of you laugh away without worries. It was clear as day, the light shining perfectly at the both of you. Anyone can conclude what was happening in the picture.

You did not know this day would come. The picture was taken from Eric’s home to prevent such things like this from happening. So it puzzled you just as much at it terrified you.

This was definitely someone who had been stalking either one of you. It was not a mere instance like paparazzis who catch celebrities dating on the streets of New York.

Someone definitely have been observing the two of you.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　-: ✧ :-゜・．

Days have passed, a week almost. Examinations are scheduled for tomorrow.

And you prayed that the picture you received would be the only thing terrorizing your dreams. But you were completely wrong.

From thereon, you started to receive more pictures, specifically one every morning and night, from your past hangouts with Eric. It were simple shots but had the power to completely jeopardize either one of you, mostly him at stake though.

It was obvious that the person behind this was definitely observing the two of you for a while. Probably even during the most earliest weeks when your relationship with him started.

Though it may seem unfair, you did not mention anything about it to Eric. It was enough the he was keeping with you, his job, and himself private – which clearly was not working out so well. You felt like it was your responsibility to handle this situation. You were so sure you did not try to publicize anything and kept it on the low.

Nevertheless, it was out there. Eric had not mentioned anything so you assumed he did not receive a picture like you did.

Currently, you were seated at the farthest row at the back of the room, somewhat near the corner. Physics was your last subject and you could not wait but finally leave.

In addition, you texted Eric that you would not be seeing him until after the exams. It was an easy excuse not to see him, saying that you wanted to focus on studying for it; however, you knew that you would just be busy thinking about the creepy stalker gallery you have been receiving.

“Hey.” Unsurprisingly, a familiar voice whispers next to you which disrupts your heavy train of thoughts. “You finished studying for tomorrow? I’m about to end my review with Chemistry later.”

“Cool.” Probably the one of the most basic replies in the universe. “I haven’t finished studying, I’m kind of dealing with a lot of things recently.”

You made sure to generalize your answer, but enough for him to sympathize and at least give you some space.

“Oh, sorry to hear about that.” Peter frowns. He takes his seat a few desks away from your left, leaving you to continue thinking. You were thankful for his gesture too.

Surprisingly enough the boy barely bothered you for the entire lecture. You were still engrossed on finding out whoever was stalking you, even so dating back to boys you evidently rejected during the first semester – who badmouthed you immediately afterwards. There were not a lot of names, so it was easy to remember who was who.

You traced back to each boy and remembered what they said after you told them you were not ready to enter a relationship – a complete lie, you just did not want to deal with college fuck boys.

Just as you expected from any of them, rumors have spread out about you which was mostly shaming you physically or mentally. Some were milder insults than the other yet at the end of the day you did not care.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself. “Who was that boy at Liz’s party.”

Your eyes were sealed shut, recalling a list of names while using your thumb and middle finger to massage your temples. It was getting frustrating and mentally exhausting.

After some time, you had so much word filling in and our of your brain that you were not aware that your own name was being called. Your heart practically skipped a beat after hearing it the first time, assuming that you were being called to recite an answer. But you became content after seeing that it was just Peter, who started tapping your arm to get your attention.

“Huh?” You lightly shake your head before turning your head aside.

“Oh, class was dismissed a few minutes earlier than usual–”

“Don’t forget to answer the assignment regarding thermodynamic concepts found it the book. You’ll hand it in immediately on Wednesday.” The professor addresses the class as they were already carrying their bags and themselves out the room.

You start placing your stationeries inside yours, packing your other things up until it was only a pair of earphones and your phone left in front. Peter stood near the aisle while looking at you just as you were zipping your bag shut.

“Oh shoot, I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he states out of nowhere causing you to furrow your eyebrows at him. “I forgot I still haven’t returned your Physics book I borrowed last week.”

Nodding your head and standing up, you shrug it off. “It’s fine. You can return it tomorrow.”

“Sure, but how will you do your Physics assignment?”

Oh yeah. Your professor literally reminded the class a few seconds ago.

“I think I might be able to do it overnight. How many pages is the task?”

“Eight, or nine I think.” He frowns looking very guilty at you.

“Shit,” you swore. That was a lot of pages than the usual assignments given.

“Yeah, professor said it could help add points if you somehow get a bad grade at the tests.”

“Never mind,” you tried to set his mistake aside. “I’ll try to do it within overnight tomorrow. I can ask for help from my friend tomorrow morning and–”

“Wait! I realized you can stop by my apartment to get it.”

“Oh–er, Peter, I don’t think I have time to–

“It’s just nearby the campus, I promise,” he assures and adds, “it wouldn’t be a hassle, it’s probably on your way home anyway so it won’t make a difference.”

“Uhm.” You were doubtful of him.

However, you did realize that you did not have anything to do after class. You were keeping distance with Eric for the meantime which meant that your schedule was mostly vacant after this.

“Please,” he begs, “I feel so bad for keeping it the whole week. I swear it’s like a few blocks from here.”

“Would it take more than twenty minutes?” You purse your lips, convincing yourself that you would rather force yourself to study at home than spend it at someone’s apartment.

“I only take around ten minutes to walk so,” he answers. “Unless you’re a slow walker, of course.” The tone of his voice seeming to be joking.

Again, he pleads. This kid will not fucking budge.

“Fine,” you blurt out. Though, you realized your sudden-almost lash out moment at the boy that you made sure to reiterate it but slower, “I mean, sure. I can stop by your apartment to pick up my book.”

An awaited smile and sense of agreement washes over you.

Peter then leads the way as you walked behind him, maintaining a short distance so people would not throw out any suspicious looks. Like in every college, everyone knows just how fast gossips formulate and rumors spread.

If you think about it though, it might avert anyone’s suspicion – mainly pertaining to your creepy stalker – with you and your Professor. But you were not prepared for that yet, maybe some time when you can finally think about its consequences through.

True to his word, as the both of you exited the campus, it took a short time before the boy in front of you told that you were about to enter through the entrance to the building of his apartment. You were not so sure if it was really a momentary walk or because you were so focused on thinking and keeping a distance.

At some points he did often look back in case you got lost from following him. Plus, like always, he asked you simple questions either about your day or your subjects to make small talk. In which case, you were barely answering him but definitely progressed compared to when he attempted for previous times during class.

In addition, as the two of you walked down the block, the number of faces you could only assume was in college decreased. Meaning that the glares at you eased up.

“Well, here’s my location.” A loud huff follows as he uses a key to unlock the door for the entrance to the building, “It wasn’t that far, was it?”

“Yeah, I guess it wasn’t that far.” You agree as he holds the door for you and then walks right after you.

As Peter leads you upstairs onto around the fourth level, he proceeds to walk along the corridors. The array of same beige colored doors with small golden indents of unit numbers paraded along it too. Eventually he stops and inserts a key into the lock, twisting it until hearing the unlocking sound.

For a moment you hesitated to follow him. You just wanted your book and you were sure he can give it to you on a shorter span than your walk from campus to here. Was it that troublesome?

Entering his complex, you discovered how minimalistic it looked. To be fair it seemed quite small, the living room instantly greeting you through the entrance and a kitchenette at the side. But since his things were tidied up, it looked roomy.

You instinctively close the door behind you, slightly aware that it did not create a locking sound. Following Peter, you took a few more steps until you stood still at the passageway between his living room and entryway.

“Do you want a drink?” Peter asks.

“No thank you.” You were still trying to subtle. “I just want my Physics book, Peter. Please?”

He looked at you and paused for a split second. You could feel the frown behind the expressionless look. “Yeah. Okay. Sure,” he nods for a few times before turning around and proceeding to a seemingly narrow hallway. “I’ll get it in my room. Be back in a second.”

Your feet faintly paced back and forth, still where you stood a few meters between the entrance and living room. After a few more minutes, Peter emerges carrying the familiar book with one hand.

He approaches you within a few stops but stops in his tracks, leaving a distance from you. “Well uh,” he starts as his chin was tucked.

“I just want to tell you something before I hand you back your book.” He looks up at you with really pleading eyes. During other instances in university, you were definitely familiar with that look. However, this one probably ranked as one of the most downhearted ones.

You did not want to feel regretful for him. Though it definitely feels like you just kicked a puppy.

“Was is it?”

“I love you,” he blurts out as his face goes back from hiding and looking down.

It seemed awkward. You were somewhat expecting it, but you were also hoping that this day would not come – or not at least until you graduate and leave the university.

“Oh.” You honestly did not want to react.

Were you going to say sorry? How about thank you? Would it be better if you said you did not like him back? Or will the best response be that you are already taken?

“Peter, I–”

“Are you really dating Eric?” He shots up with eyes appearing almost teary.

What. The. Fuck.

“No,” you mutter. It was not much of an answer to his question. It was more on being quite horrified as your mind started jumping to conclusions.

The amount of things running around your mind right now was immeasurable.

Firstly, anyone could make two and two out of what he said, especially knowing that no one knows it even so around your circle of friends.

Secondly, you should have thought better. Your doubts with Peter should have been grater and you totally underestimated him. However, some part of you prayed that he was just an annoyingly awkward nerd who follows his friends regarding flirting tips.

Lastly, you turned around and ran.

You probably got your way with opening the door and taking two steps out. It was not long before you felt arms wrap around your waist and either side of your arms. You were then lifted and pulled behind while you tried to kick at the air as an escape. Did not work though.

Peter was surprisingly stronger than you thought. He already seemed fairly muscular at class, hiding behind those long sleeved sweaters and flannels.

Eventually the last thing you remember was the image of the door of his apartment open while you get sucked into the room further. Everything went black afterwards.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　-: ✧ :-゜・．

When you felt that you were slowly restoring to consciousness, you were aware of the pounding at the back of your head and your arms.

You tried to move your hands, wanting to press against the parts of your body that were aching. But you felt incapacitated as your wriggled your wrists around and felt an unfamiliar sticky fluid enveloping around them.

“Glad you’re awake,” a voice says. “Does your head hurt?”

You tried to open your eyes, the dark lighting of the room not cooperating with your vision. A light from the window and a lamp were the only things that helped you form something out of the void.

From there you saw Peter Parker sitting closely beside you at the edge of the bed.

Hell please let this be a nightmare.

“What–” You groan, “What do you want from me.”

Your mind was building up your anger yet your body says otherwise. You felt exhausted and heavy.

Peter shushed you in a caring manner, “We’ll talk when you feel better. I’ll let you get more rest okay, sweetie?”

“Uhh.”

That was what you could remember the most. If you have awoken for other times in between your sleep, then you surely did not have an idea of it.

When you finally woke up, the level of your grogginess felt little to none already. You looked around and saw that the room was still dark and seemingly still nighttime.

As your head was twisting from side to side, you saw Peter appear from the doorway carrying a translucent cup filled with water in one hand. “Hey, you’re finally awake.”

Instead of replying to him, your wrists writhe beneath the fluid that you are still not familiar of. You could not really look up to get a good view of what it was, but it was wet, sticky, and felt like super glue.

On the other hand, both your legs, ankles, and feet were free. The back of your thighs bounced against the bed as you struggled, but it would not do much since your arms were practically stuck.

“Fuck,” you grumble.

“That won’t help. You’re pretty much stuck there,” he says, Then he takes a seat at the edge of the bed, alike where you remembered him positioned from earlier, “Might as well talk to me until I let you go.”

“Okay then, when will you let me go?” Your voice was calm hoping you could talk your way out of this mess.

“If you behave for me like a good girl, okay?”

Shivers went up your spine as you cringed at his statement.

Immediately, your mood shifts from calm to furious after hearing his disturbing bargain. Then purposely rolling your eyes for him to see. “How the hell will I behave if you’re a creepy stalker! You disgust me!”

Peter hums, displaying a look wherein he seems like he was thinking. You were not sure if it was sarcastic or not, either way it annoyed the hell out of you. “Creepy stalker sounds overstated, it was more on being curious.”

You scoff as well as exclaim, “You sent me photographs of me and Eric at his house! Fucking hell, Peter.”

“Oh yeah that part.” He slyly pouts his lips to the side as he comes to realize what he had done, “I guess it was a bit creepy–” “What do you mean a bit? That was invasion of privacy!”

Despite being trapped, both your hands balled into a fist, feeling very furious at his dense answers. “I was living my own life! I kept my relationships to myself,” you cry out.

“Yes, but you weren’t completely living your life,” he whispers while gently combing his hair through the front of your hair. “You deserve much more than someone who couldn’t proudly tell that you’re his girl. Is he even a man? Do you really enjoy that kind of life, sweetie?”

“We were happy,” you weep. The evident crack on your voice was a signal that you were about to cry though you were not sure if it was because you were held hostage or because you were worried for Eric.

No one would understand your situation with him right now. Especially Peter.

“Trust me you weren’t,” he scoffs. “You deserve so much more, and I can give you that.”

“I’d rather be alone forever than be with you, asshole!” Your voice was inconsistent, clearly affected by how fast Peter’s mood also shifts quickly.

You also figured you were not looking entirely fresh while crumbling beneath him. Drops of tears and sweat were all over your face and neck, both your eyelids felt swollen, and your nose was almost stuffed.

Peter stand from the edge of the bed and advances to his desk from the side. A harsh bang echoed throughout the room as your body twitched out of shock.

“What does that dick have that I don’t?!” He grits his teeth as the curves of his jaw intensifies. A displeased look was written all over his face.

“P-please let me go.”

“I need you to answer, sweetie. We going nowhere unless you answer!” He was never going to let you go if you were not going to cooperate.

Every step he takes closer back to the bed just increases your heart beat further. He had rolled the sleeves of his sweater up to the edge of his elbows and you felt threatened looking at how firm his arms looked.

“Peter, p-please,” you hiccup.

As Peter returns to the edge of the bed, he does not hesitate anymore to keep a distance. His hands hover to either sides over your body and sets the left side of his head on your midriff, laying while also getting a good view of your vulnerable state.

He does not even look life he was struggling to make an effort to keep you down, but you could feel how heavy he was and was barely giving you a chance to move around.

“I can give you so much more, Y/N.” The way his gaze directs at you was definitely one of the creepiest things you have experienced. He had so much emotions yet completely lacked sympathy for your state of mind.

Shutting your eyes, you only cried further. You felt a hand cup one of your cheeks as its thumb wipes away the pouring tears. Like a broken record, you only pleaded more, “Please let me go.”

“I can’t.”

“Why.” You bawled, realizing he has no plans of releasing you anytime soon despite it. “I won’t tell anyone about this, I p-promise.”

“I know that,” he says, “but you’re going to run back to Eric, probably tell him too, right?”

You did not want to answer, merely shaking your head as you resisted a cry from your lips. It was somewhat what you had planned, but now you were just scared shitless.

“You won’t tell anyone but him cause no one knows about it other than you two, right?” He corners your words.

“Eric would lose his job if someone, especially your parents find out, right?” Hell he was correct. He most likely had been stalking you for so long to find out about it.

“You love him so much, you wouldn’t want to hinde

It was terrifying that someone had been learning about you and your life for a while without your awareness.

“Please stop. What do you want... money?” you whimper.

Peter did not seem likes normal college boy; he does not think like one, too, for sure. Anyone with a right mind would not do something like what he did. No one would have the guts to do so.

“I just want you, Y/N. I want to give you what you deserve,” Peter answers as he sits up and leans his face closer to yours. His mouth leaves a small gap from your right ear as he whispers, “Let me make you feel good.”

“No–”

He cuts off your plea with a proposition, “If you let me, I might consider letting you free.”

“You want that, right? Want me to let you go...” His hand combs through the other side of your face, “just let me show you that I can do way better than him.”

Every ounce of your blood was trying not to give in. You were smart, you ought to find a way out of this. However, you realized that it will not be enough. You already struggled so much from the super glue around your wrists and you could not imagine how much more would it take now that Peter was on top of you.

Eventually you stopped struggling and let him be. There was no way out of this than to let him do what he pleases.

You feel his lips press against your ear first and then progresses over your cheek. His grip around your arms loosen after detecting that you stopped struggling beneath him. You could feel him smile on your skin, “That’s it, relax for me. Good girl.”

His hand reaches to undo your pants as his lips drifted on yours to force their way on making out with you. Another hand then presses under your jaw and throat. “P-Peter,” you choke, feeling lightheaded after being unable to breath properly though your mouth until the grip had loosen.

“Sorry, babe.”

He soon descends from your face to your neck and collar region. You were so sure he was leaving marks on you as you felt him suck and nibble against your skin. Like a controlling asshole he was, you expect to see bruises on your skin by tomorrow.

Despite having your hands fastened, he still moves your shirt upwards past your head. It halts and hands loosely around your arms as you emerge topless beneath the boy.

“Fucking beautiful,” Peter compliments your body under his breath.

Although he seemed to have time on his hands, he does not leave a second wasted. He also goes to haul your pants past your legs and ankles. The growing look of impatience on his face says it all.

Peter moves from your side and welcomes himself between your legs. He spreads them out to have enough space for his body and you could not feel more embarrassed than this.

You grit your teeth over each other as you felt him press fingers against your cunt. Instinctively, you clench around nothing as he continues to play with your entrance, making sure you get entirely soaked under his touch.

“You know you shouldn’t hold back. I know you’re loving it so far, your body says otherwise,” he teases before laying on his stomach and moving his head closer to your pussy.

Without a warning, he licks a strip of you making the back of your thighs quake lightly. Peter senses your reaction and continues to do so, using his tongue to play around and poke inside of you until you were slowly giving in without even realizing it.

Just as you thought you were getting used to his actions, he then inserts fingers inside you, feeling your warmth around it as he pushes it in and out.

“Oh,” you moan.

He continues, making sure he also does not leave your bud of nerves behind. The tip of his fingers and tongue alternate on playing against it, making you throw back your head out of pleasure.

“I bet he doesn’t please you like this,” he scoffs.

Eventually, at your vulnerable state, you could already feel yourself closing to an orgasm. Your toes curled as your temples throbbed, sealing your eyes shut as you accepted on giving in.

You bit onto your lower lip, trying to resist a moan. Somewhere inside you, you were still trying to fight back and not let Peter have the satisfaction he had been craving.

“You’re being so tight... Just let it out.” He coaxes and you hate how you did what he told you so.

The extensive grin on his face seemed priceless. He pulled back and you were aware that you seemed exhausted beneath him. You assumed he was done with whatever he wanted to do with you.

But when he started to take off his sweater and unbutton his pants, you realized it was far from over.

As he presents himself just as naked in front of you, he again welcomes himself between your legs. This time you get a better view of him and his muscles and abs. He gets a good view of your body too for sure as his hand reaches to start stroking his dick.

He places one hand on your thigh and pushes it farther to give him more room. Finally, he inserts in inside you and you automatically felt him throbbing between.

There was a growing heat between the both of you, and it only intensified as Peter started to thrust his hips forward and backwards. There was not even a rhythm from him as he moves harder after hearing you softly moan underneath.

The slapping sound echoes through the room that would eventually reek of sex and you felt ashamed that your body was enjoying all of this.

“Ah… ah… ahh… agh….”

“You’re starting to enjoy this, aren’t you?” He brags as one hand was reaching for your breasts while the other holds your thigh up. “Fucking slut.”

Your body and mind were tired and could only hold so much longer. It was not a surprise when your stomach started to churn your the muscles in your thighs were cramping up.

Peter did no help after seeing you starting to wear out. He tried leaning in to make out with you and expect to moan into his mouth. You did for a moment, a combination of both your drools were streaming down from the corner of your mouth.

“We’re making a mess, huh,” he mumbles. “But I know you’re already a dirty fucking girl.”

He proceeds to deprave you with statements, “Can’t believe you’re enjoying my cock better than that old man’s... Such a fucking whore.”

You twist your head aside, trying to hide the fact that you feel like your temperature were burning up. You were so sure he could feel the increasing warmth of your walls either way.

Your eyes were rolling back as you resist arching your back, which was not really a success as the amount of pleasure was overwhelming.

As you writhe beneath him, you felt a hand on your cheek. It pushes your head back onto looking at front and at Peter. “I want you t look at me when you’re going to cum, sweetie,” he orders and you could not do much anyways.

The second time you came was a whole other level. You never felt this with any person you slept with so far, rather not this fast and intense to say. “That’s it, fuck, you’re tighter than I could ever imagine.”

Peter continues until it was his time to cum. The bed continues to move along with his pace and your body was basically abused to his liking.

And even if you were not aware of it, the boy was practically thankful that his agency decided to agree to soundproofing his whole apartment – his motive being for personal reasons, which they did not question any time soon.

You were helpless, you knew that. All you had in mind now was rest. Your eyelids were heavy and your mind was drifting to slumber.

The last thing you remember was Peter moving over your body to come all around your chest like a painter with its paint brush creating a masterpiece from your chest to your core.

“I love you.”

a/n: ily pls leave comments <3

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thefanbasewhore · 4 years ago

Text

About Time.

Summary: While Din has a hard time showing how he feels, it’s not take he doesn’t want to I’ve into them, he wants nothing more in this world but in order to keep you safe he makes some decisions that can strain your relationship forever. Reader has enough of it and finally says something to be ignored. Despite this she still does something that makes even the Mandalorian cry.

Warning/Content: Fluffy din, broken heart, din doesn’t know how to handle his feelings, emotional Din with first kiss between characters. Two idiots finally admitting their feelings for each other.

Paring: Din Djarin/Female Reader

Tag list here || Master list.

“Do you want some of these, is that is bug?” Your tone is teasing, a small laughing falling from petal like lips and Din can’t find himself to look away from the soft curve of your nose, eyes wrinkling with joy to match the most breath-taking smile even though it’s directed towards the child tucked inside the bag the slings across the Mandalorian’s chest he is rather breathless at the sight.

From the form of your jaw, the few dark spots that form against cheeks, he feels his heart stuttering inside his chest. The sun is hangs so high in the air, thick clouds can’t even contain the orange haze that hits your skin just right, illuminating the dips of collarbones, a natural glow that no one could even come close to. The shine reflecting off the beskar but you still manage to look up, pause and really give him something to be nervous about as the kind smile is now exclusively for the breathless Mandalorian.

Despite what others may think that the Mandalorian is ruthless, nothing but a cold stone killer he proves them wrong. Has an eye for acquired beauty, takes time at every planet he visits just to watch the sunset - if it’s over the forest, the bitter cold mountains or buzzing city, there’s just something about watching the colors of the sky collide, the dim light singing a silent lullaby with the promise of new life tomorrow when sun rises again. But nothing, absolutely nothing will beat that smile, it’s hurts to see it, makes his head spin as he’s consumed with thoughts of you, you, you.

Knees feel like they’re going to buckle underneath the weight of your smile, cheeks are instantly hot as he’s caught but with the way the sun touches your skin and glimmers against the natural highlights of your cheek bones, he could careless. So close, your so close he can smell the intoxicating scent of soap, gooseberries and spice, sweet but fierce, calm but firey. A surge of goosebumps makes him shiver feeling the heat of your body as you brush your hand along his arm unintentionally raising the sleeve of cookies teasingly, up and down towards the child. His bead bobs with your own, he’d following that smile to the pits of underworld.

The marketplace is full, buzzing with life, bodies knocking against each other in the afternoon rush, a few goers knocking against the Mandalorian and yourself but he quickly puts a stop to it. He’s closer, nearly attached at the hip, helmet following anyone who gets too close with a silent warning which has a few men gulping, turning back into the direction they came from.

“What else do you need?” The vocoder crackles under his baritone, thick and laced with a genuine concern that makes you bite the inside of your cheek. He must have reached out unintentionally for you, watching as your eyes flicker from his gloved hold that softly rubs your wrist to his face, cheeks flushing just a little as he pulls away - not sure if his actions.

“I think we have everything.” Face burning, but only because of how fast the Mandalorian moved away - like he was disgusted, impulsed he would ever touch you. He seems to notice the shift of temper, nervously trailing behind as you walk away without a second glance towards him.

His throat is weary, unable to speak because of just how try it feels. It’s awkward, lingering silence between you, he wants to know why. Nervousness stirs his stomach, beads sweat across his forehead. He’s so inobvious of your affections, it is absolutely infuriating at times. It’s not his fault, how could he notice? He can barely think with you so close. The sudden change doesn’t go unnoticed though, not daring to look up at him at least half way through the market place.

“Are you okay?” He’s clueless, completely unaware of your pounding heart, the question making you pause and freeze and he must have not been paying attention as he hits your back with a small huff through the static of the vocoder, knocking the wind from your startled chest. He curses under his breath, fingers spreading across the base of your hip to steady you. “Kriff, I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

“Fine.” The word is sharp, more harsh then intended and thankfully the Mandalorian’s face can’t been seen, confusion pinches his eyebrows, mouth dropping to say something, anything but the little wobble of your voice along with the small tears that gloss over eyes as him immobilized.

Unable to speak, not prepared nor what to say to the tearing beauty in front of him. What does he say? Does he let it go? Obviously you didn’t want to talk, but he doesn’t like the swirl of emotions in his own chest as he watches you turn, try to slip out towards the direction of the Crest but his hands grab your sides before he even register what is happening.

“Wait.. wait. Cyar'ika, why are you crying?” As the tears slip past long eyelashes he feels confused. “Where are you going?”

“Why do you always do this?” The words confuse the Mandalorian, make him step closer, reach for you but with every inch he steps forward you find yourself steering away. “You can’t keep calling me these nicknames, touching me and acting like nothing exist between us. It’s - it’s - it’s exhausting! Every time I bring it up, you ignore me.”

He never misses a beat, hearing the choke in your throat, voice rising an oculate as his heart pounds inside his chest. He pauses, completely freezes as the commotion causes uncomfortable eyes. Harsh and grumbled. “Not here.”

“You never want to talk about it! – ugh, you’re impossible!” While he didn’t particularly like your tone there are some truths behind your words, the sting of realization brazes his cheeks, makes him bite his lip, chewing nervously on the fat of it.

It’s true, every single word. He is impossible, difficult to talk too especially when it comes to feelings. He wants to blame it on his upbringing, feelings were never a factors, what he felt never mattered. He carried it all throughout his life but what really did matter in this point and time is how you feel. It matters to him, the way you pout if he doesn’t hold you close at night, when you’re feeling homesick, like a caged bird from being in the Crest for too long. He cares, cares so much but doesnt know how to show it.

Din Djarin doesn’t like change, he doesn’t like being unprepared, parting from a very stern schedule but once he met you, that all seemed to be thrown out the door, only coming up on a year but it feels like another life. Truthfully, he doesn’t know how to handle these feelings, they swell inside, make his heart four times bigger until he feels like it’s going to explode with just how lovely you are. So naturally, just like the way he was raised instead of handling them, he chooses to ignore them, let them dangle in front of your face with sweet nicknames, touches of a lover, promised that seem like nothing.

The Crest isn’t too far, camouflaged between trees whose think branches canope around it, the greenery hiding any proof the Mandalorian roams these parts, he didn’t have too. It’s almost second nature now, hiding the ship to guarantee the safety for his son and girl.

You don’t say another word, shoving through the rather large crowd, slipping through a few crack but so quickly that Din and his large mass of armor can barely catch up, calling your name but it’s no use as you’re swollowed into the swarm of people.

When the Mandalorian finally does make it to the ship he calls home he lifts the sleeping child from the brown bag, rockling him softly until he reaches the threshold of the upper belly of the Razor Crest, noticing the rather large lump of blankets. He pauses, his heart wants him to press further, peel back every layer of insecurity as the blankets would reveal your body under his fists but he shakes his head, clear the thought all together before placing the child next to you, placing the loose corner to cover him. The Mandalorian doesn’t come to bed that night or even the next following nights.

He doesn’t dare speak, the only time you do hear him over the course of a few days is a cracked scolding or coo towards the child but he now spends the majority of his time in the cockpit. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. It’s like two ghosts passing in the night. It makes you regret even bringing it up, claiming his sweet touches were fake, that his kisses in the dark meant nothing. You know they do, despite how much he wants to claim their not, that he doesn’t care for you in the way, the memory of the smile that caresses your shoulder says different, the warm lips that melt against your forehead but never dare dive to the intoxicity of your lips. He used to hold you so close at night, warmth and familiarity fight away fear that may creep up on you late a night but now you find yourself nudging nose deep into the pillows just to get a glimpse of his fated scent.

Earthy woods, dewy morning pine smell mixed with the ringed, worn leather of his gloves. You never realized how much you loved it. Even right now, late hours of the night but early hours of the morning sitting up on the bed. The only sound is the heavy breathing of the little green ball curled up in Din’s spot, sleep doesn’t seem to come easy anymore.

You’re so exhausted, eyes heavy, crusting for the relief of closing but nothing can take away the aching of your heart. It hurts so much you find yourself pressing your hand against your chest, rubbing the skin like it would sooth the ache. It almost makes you want to march up the stupid, wobbly later and apologize but it’s hard when you meant every word you said.

You know it deep in your heart Din cares for you, he would do anything, die for you but living on this constant edge of “what are we” is almost as tiring as not sleeping for three days, at this moment you can’t tell which one is worse. He needed to admit it, stop playing heartless bounty hunter because he’s anything but.

He’s comes off as cold, stern and ruthless but he’s anything but. He’s kind, cares for others. You see it in the way he tries to understand, attempt to speak the languages of the people he meets in order to make sure they’re more comfortable. He gives the benefit of the doubt no matter the reputation of man. Maybe because it hits so close to home. To the outside world he is a cold man, will do anything to return his bounty but if anyone bothered to try, the world would notice the façade quickly crumbles.

You’re so wrapped up in just thinking, concentrating on every breath that falls from your erratic, heavy chest you don’t notice the way the ladder to the upper level rattles under the pressure of a man.

He pauses almost instantly, clearly not expecting the sight of you protruding forward, sore shoulders slumped. Not noticing the extra shadow you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep the small promise of tears from rolling over but it’s pretty much useless.

The tears come, flush against the heat of your face as you pull the blanket closer, turning the slightest bit just to check up on the sleeping child but tucked away in the corner the rather large silhouette catches catches your own reflection.

He pauses, the T of his visor never leaves the direction of your reddening face. There’s a small noise, a peak of his voice. It’s like he tried to speak, words dying in his throat, tries to hide it but the vocoder catches it.

Din feels at war. His heart just wants to climb into bed with you, kiss every single tear that you cry but his brain says the opposite. Be logical, it would never last, no one would want a life like this why would he subject you to it? Give you more of a reason to stay?

Besides it’s easier this way, you would never be safe. If there isn’t one already, there would be a giant target painted on your back. Especially with the child, you would never be safe.

Honestly, you don’t know what hurts more, the lack of sleep that pinches your eyes or the sinking of your heart as the Mandalorian walks away without a word.

The next morning is awkward, scratch that, the last few days have just weird. Din comes before you even manage to wake, taking the child to feed and wash him and keeps him in the cockpit while he tries to figure out where the last bounty has traveled to. Which is fine but all this time alone as left you.. bored.

Usually you would be up there with them, teasing the Mandalorian at the fact that his voice raises a few notches as he talks to Grogu, which would only result in a scoff but he would still murmurs in the annoyingly cute voice and call him his little co-pilot.

The words on the page in front of you start to blur, words grouping together, it didn’t make any sense no matter how many times you try to reread them. The ship is rather warmer then usual, not having to go outside to know it’s a beautiful, warm day and judging by your calculations, it was market day again.

You stand aimlessly, the lack of sleep making you shift on your feet, balance and coordination long gone. Movements are slower, messy but despite heavy eyes still are able to move though the belly of the Crest to find your bag, throwing it across your shoulder as you mindlessly press the button the shakes and squeals as the hydraulics of the descending ramp come to life.

You don’t want to be alone anymore, no matter how much the bed calls, the chattering of civilization and social interaction call you from just over the ridge. Before stepping out, you take one last look around, biting your lip as you nervously suck on it. It wasn’t a good idea to just disappear, just in case something would happen but truthfully, the Mandalorian doesn’t seem to care too much at the moment.

The first step into the forest is liberating, fresh air beings the color back to your skin, it’s easier to breath following the small trail towards the town. Fresh pine and dark green leaves that shiver with every low breeze, it nips your skin pink but it just feels so good to be out of the ship.

***

The laugh that falls from your lips is quite unexpected, the small human that extends his hand, offering you a beautiful, purple flower.

“Thank you.” The boy gives a shy smile before disappearing behind the stall of the vender, off to find his mother.

The market is buzzing, filled with laughs, venders shouting deals from every corner, the smells are beautiful, mixed with homemade soaps to mouth watering food. The colors are bright, no doubt to match the just as shining sun, bright oranges and sky blues from fabrics, blanket and clothing.

You find yourself smack dab in the middle of it, not really knowing where to start as the first smile in days touches your lips as people shove past you. It felt good to be out but the realization of why you were alone dropped your smile instantly.

“Are you alright miss?” The voice moving your head in direction, peering over your shoulder to notice the man leaning against one of the stalls, throwing the apple in his hand up then back down to his palm.

He was quite tall but not as tall as the Mandalorian. A scruffy dark beard that is cut low, leaving a shadow of darkness over the distal end of his prominent features. Cupid lips, the curve of his nose strong but the bridge slightly crooked, looks like it’s been broken a few times. Baby blue eyes, ones that are filled with concern as you realize how long you’re taking looking at him. He has silky, long curls.

“Yeah…” You finally answer, unsure of the words as he steps closer. His clothes look expensive, blood red fleece mixed with a pattern of gold. He gives you a small grin… And he’s not ugly.

His skin is flushed from it’s normal color, no doubt a little irritated from the brutal sun. He smiles at your reply, dimples and all. “Would you like an apple miss?”

“How do I know you didn’t do anything to it?” This makes him laugh, clicking his tongue as he flirty leans a little forward.

“I guess you must take a leap of faith, my lady. I’m sure one little, innocent apple won’t cause death to such a pretty lady.”

Your cheeks ignite almost instantly but the wide smile hides it. “My lady?”

“Well you never gave me your name.”

“You never asked.” You take the apple from his outstretched palm, watching and anticipating the bite but it never comes. Still skeptical of taking foods from a stranger.

“What is your name?” You answer, telling him as his hand covers your free one but right when you’re about to push him away he brings the ring on your finger closer to his face, running his own thumbs over it in amazement.

“What is it?” His eyes fill with so much awe at the stone, large and black. It looked like a galaxy, the stars inside of it moving, making him look up questioningly. “It’s moving, it’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s just a moonstone.” A gift from months ago, Din had shyly placed it in front of you, swearing Grogu picked it out but the way he lingered for a reaction told you everything.

He must have noticed how close he was but didn’t bother to move as his eyes widen. “Oh, sorry! I don’t get out much.” He must have noticed the pinch of confusion Where are my manners? I’m Prince Brydon.“

“Prince? As of prince of?”

He pauses, brows moving closer in confusion. “As of Aralan, the planet we are on..”

“Oh.” Suddenly you felt nervous of the man, giving him a polite but uncomfortable smile.

“I know I just met you but would you like to walk with me? Just for a little, I can offer you food or drink?” Who are you to say no to the prince?

You’re about to follow but a smooth grip that pulls you back by your elbow makes your head whip back. The orange tipped leather gloves never leave despite gaining your attention, instead pull you further away from the prince. Even though the Mandalorian’s face is completely concealed, there’s no hiding his anger, he visibly trembles, words are deep from his chest. “Where have you been? How long have you been gone?”

You look up at the prince apologically, feeling like a toddler getting a scolding especially with the angle of your arm. The baby is pressed against his chest with the other arm, cooing as he reaches out for you. His father’s displeased attitude rubbing off onto the green baby.

The Mandalorian is frustrated, so much he doesn’t notice the prince only lets a soft curse fall from the static as he releases your arm, mumbling a soft sorry as he extends the child towards you. You take him happily, bouncing him as he goes right to burying his petal-like ears into the crook of your neck. With that you hope the Din will just leave it alone, go back to not talking because right now the last thing you want to deal with is him. “You can’t just run off like that, what is something happened?” It felt good to hear him speak, it’s been so long and honestly the deep vibration of his vocal cords were soothing, husky with a odd element of security. “Who are you?”

The words were a little harsh as the Mandalorian finally notices the added presence, stiffening and taking two steps in front of you. Institutionally protecting the child and yourself. Din almost towers over him, broad shoulders blocking the prince from your peripheral.

The Prince speaks, claiming his title but Din looks unamused, still standing strong and straight, shoulder widening, slowing his strength. He’s sizing him up, the poor prince is confused, eyes dropping towards your own but Din blocks his way. Overbearing but Din has vowed in silence to himself to always protect you.

“Will you be okay?” The prince asks, unsure of leaving you with the metal man but you nod, giving him a soft smile. “Well It was a pleasure to meet you and your weird friend.”

The giggle that falls from your lips makes Din’s heart thump and chest fill with jealousy, the smile towards the Prince he’s one he’s never seen before.

***

Din still ignoring you but every few minutes looks past his shoulder to see if you’re still following. He doesn’t seem to care about the delicious smell of food, or singing of passerby’s, but you do, you keep stopping to look at the flowers, inquire about something to eat but feel suffocated by the Mandalorian. He’s walking so close that he’s practically ontop of you, hips pressed against the back of your own, trying to ignore the feeling of your ass pressed against him but the scowl on your face knocks sense into him.

“You don’t have to watch me.”

“Why? For you can run away again?”

You scoff, hand pressing against the cuirass of the armor trying to push him away. Truly amused by the challenge in his voice, the audacity of a man who didn’t care weather you were alive or dead for the last few days. “I didn’t run away. You been ignoring me for days and then scare away the first person who wanted to talk to me. Why do you care?”

The Mandalorian’s mouth drops behind the helmet, words trapped behind his teeth, they’re fumbling on the tip of his tongue, an apology so close but he can’t help but notice you’re looking past his shoulder now, brows moving closer in concentration and then widening but before he can manage to turn around to see you tackle him to the ground.

A large spray of blaster shots kick the dirt up from around you, curling yourself deeper into Din but laying across him, using your own body to shield him. Eyes squeezed so tight expecting pain and blood but nothing comes. It only last a few more seconds before the loud boom fills your ears, the smell of gun powder and heat fill your entire body and the shooter drops dead a few feet away. The source is right next to you, one of Din’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist, the other extended and gripping the just fired blaster.

There’s a moment of silence as everyone around starts to look up, realizing the gun fire is gone. Low chatter followed by heavy breaths, even your own chest betrays you. Din’s eyes never leave your own, pants cracked with static as his throat feels dry.

“Why did you do that?” The Mandalorian’s hands grip your face, don’t allow you to move from the captivating reflection of yourself in the helmet. Still on top of him but now he pulls you into his lap, a deep sigh racks his body. The orange tips of his glove shape against the outline of your jaw, keep your eyes on what you can only guess is his own. They’re gentle, applying just enough pressure to keep you up right.

One set of fingers rub the bumpy surface of your cheek bones, it’s gentle, savoring every moment of it. His chest falling and raising with faltering adrenaline but swelling with emotion.

Small tears pick his eyes, he can’t seem to care about the yelling and chaos that surrounds you, he leans closer, forehead pressing against your own. “Why did you do that? You could have gotten hurt - that was st -.”

He wants to finish the sentence but can’t seem to. It’s not stupid, it was incredibly dangerous, selfless but the action on it’s own filled him with such warmth and so many unsaid words. Never, ever has anyone risk their lives for his own. He’s speechless, can’t form words as the ball of emotion grows inside his throat, so big it barely allows air to pass through.

It’s so sudden you’re stunned when it happens, the rush of air from the force of his arms wrapping around your waist. He sits up, but it’s only to pull you closer into him until your head rests against his chest. Now it’s your turn to stop breathing, hearing your heart pound in your ears but still managing to hear the cracked gasp that falls from the helmet. His chest is moving to fast, the rise and fall abnormally pressing against your cheek. Fingers clutch his forearm, rubbing soothing circles as you try to ask him if he’s alright, the reason for his tears but he doesn’t allow you to. “Never ever do that again.”

“Din -.”

“Promise me, please. Never, ever do something like that again.”

He’s so suddenly filled with so much guilt, the look on your face when he walked away from your long night of crying is seared in his brain. Even now he feels guilty, it racks his body, makes his hold tighter as one hand comes to rub the soft strands of your hair. “Promise me.”

He suddenly can’t think of anything else except for how absolutely breath taking you are, and how this planet could be named his favorite just by the way it so generously let’s the natural light shine against your skin. He’s a complete mess, shoulders protruding forward, back starting to ache from being the man base of support for holding you and him up, no matter how much he tried to squeeze his eyes shut, blink away the tears he can’t help as they slide past eyelashes.

You notice almost instantly, he sees they way your hand outstretches to feel the points of the helmet. In that very moment, under the scrutiny of those eyes he feels three words touch his tongue, he’s leaning forward into your touch, mouth opening to finally say them but the bewildered, pure panic that widens your eyes has him looking around impending danger he’s too distracted to notice.

Just like that the both of you click, Din letting out a worried gasp. “Grogu.”

As if there wasn’t any other reason to feel like a terrible person already, he was so distracted by you, finally allowing you to peal back the layers and layers he’s built but forgetting his soon after an all out gun fire was pretty low on even his list. To be fair though, the way you looked at him was almost sinful, it would be a crime to look away.

The Mandalorian’s gentle fingers lift your thighs, helping you stand as he quickly stalks away, the child’s name break through the static, low and horse, no doubt trying to swallow the ball that made it so hard to even talk. He’s not injury, both of you know this. He’s a baby, lacks a little common sense but one of the smartest creatures you’ve ever met.

No doubt he sensed the danger, no wonder why he was so fussy. He most likely ran for cover to avoid the blaster shots. With wobbly legs you stand, using the stall next to you for support but the Mandalorian’s hand against the small of your back steadies you, the small child cooing from his fathers arm’s.

Almost as quick as the night he found you crying, he turns his back to you, heart dropping at the sudden coldness almost identical to the temperature of his shiny beskar. Small, unwanted tears gather in the corner of your eyes, just like that he was back to hating you, possibly ignore your presence for another week or so.

A smooth gush of air follows as he turns to face you, heart skipping in your chest as the shadow of his visor meets your gaze. Pushing Grogu closer to his chest. Mouth dropping in surprise as he extends his other, hand opening for your own.

“Let’s go home, Cyare.” He doesn’t give you much of a choice as he steps closer to fill the gaps between his fingers with your own. They trip back to the ship is quiet, not uncomfortable but clearly the both of you have a lot on your minds.

***

No one says a word, nightfall kisses the horizon by the time you return. Convinced nothing could calm the irregular pattern of your pounding heart, the heat on your cheeks never leaving, a reminder every time you look down and see your entangled fingers.

Once on the ship, he’s still silent, not daring to speak as he puts the child down and retreats to the cockpit, once the ship is up and out of the atmosphere you half expect him be dismissive again, spend the rest of the trip in the cockpit but instead are filled with surprise as the lights of hull flicker off. Instantly reaching out to find something to steady yourself on but instead strong, large arms wrap around you. They keep you grounded, steady as your eyes widen. The Mandalorian’s hot breath fanning your face, the ghost of his lips at the shell of your ear. “Easy, easy, it’s just me.”

Standing in complete silence, all breath void with fears it might scare him away. You’re so caught up in the heat of his breath against your face, so close to your lips which he never allowed himself to touch that the realization of his helmet being off almost sends you onto your ass, grabbing his sleeves to stand up straight.

Finally you can’t take it anymore, hands softly running over the smoothness of his jaw, coarse hairs of the patchy beard followed by the fly away hairs just above his lips, then to form over the soft flesh of his cupid shaped lips. This causes the Mandalorian to stiffen, a long breath parting his lips as he pulls you closer, stepping back until he falls onto the cot, bringing you down with him to straddle his lap.

Without thinking you start to lean in, the Mandalorian feeling the force of your body lifting up but turn his head for you feel the corner of his lip, the bluntness of the kiss against his cheek. This makes your skin on fire, embarrassed as your try to move away but the grip on your thighs doesn’t allow you to.

“I’ve never kissed someone before.” He admits lowly, just above a whisper trying to save you the embarrassment. The soft oh that falls from your lips is panicked as you try to pull the touch away but the Mandalorian is too quick, his palm squeezes your fingers, pulling them back to cup his cheek and nuzzling into it.

“We don’t have to Din, I should’ve asked.”

“No, no, I want to kiss you sweet girl.” The nickname alone is enough to have you melting into a puddle, knees weak and buckling but lucky for you, Din holds you up right. “I just don’t want to mess it up.”

Staying silent, not daring to move but instead allow Din to take his time, experiment as he starts to lean closer and do it on his own time.

Time felt like it almost stopped when his nose nudged your own, lips barely touching, hovering as he lets out a soft sigh, leaning closer until you feel his eyelashes flutter against your own. He’s so gentle as his lips finally meet yours, only being able to focus on how soft they were against his own.

Every breath he took smelt like you, wild flowers and vanilla as his lips shape against your own. Whole body tingling as he pulls you closer against him, giving him a better angle to kiss you at, he pulled away for just a second, catching his breath before claiming your mouth again. Filled with emotion, heavy and soft as his tongue slips past your lips.

You’re so caught up in the way he feels you don’t notice the fingers that slip under your shirt, feeling the soft flesh of his skin. A soft moan falling from his parted lips as you shift on his lap.

tags: @coonflix, @mudhornchronicles, @kaermorons @winter-rxn @carlygrayson @naturalswifty89 @Curiouskeyboard @idjitdestiel @tossacoin2yourwitcher @victias, @altarsw , @nikkixostan , @moonlightnumbsthepainifeel, @est19xxshit , @owloveyounever , @engie115@dinsbeskar, @akatasukilove , @nerdalert-andi , @mailee420 , @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @thatonedindjarinfan, @Sporadicshoebailifffish, @coldlilheart, @starsvck, @agirlinherhead, @lokismidnight, @expellopatronum, @dinschutta , @queenbbarnes, @ironbabey, @i-ship-it-ironically, @coonflix, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @maileecabudal, @buckysalefty, @fangirlmendes, @godohammers, @mermaidbrina, @capsheadquaters, @i-ship-it-ironically

@dinsbeskar

#din djarin #din dijarin x reader #din djarin fan fiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #the mandolarian #the mandolorian imagine #the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine

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witch-hazels-musings · 4 years ago

Text

is this all i have?

^ hey all, a little different fic I have for you today.

If you decide to read it, it’ll give you some insight into why I haven’t been posting a lot ... it says more than I probably would normally share about my struggles but @genshin-karebear encouraged me to be honest and, so, here I am. (thank you, friend)

Warnings -> negative self-talk, comfort, one curse word

I sat at my desk, head in my hands and tears on the verge of spilling over the edges of my eyes. For days I’d been struggling, frantically, painfully trying to get back into the swing of things with nothing to show for it other than tear stained clothes and empty pieces of paper.

Where did it all go? Where was the spark that used to ignite in my heart when I sat down to write the words which once came so easy? Am I spent, have I used up all that skill in a matter of months … what’s wrong with me.

A single tear cascaded down my cheek as I stared at the massive nothingness that lay before me. The taunting paper which looked back at like a score card of failures after failures, as if to remind me that I will never be a person worthy of it’s time. I rubbed my eyes, pushing my glasses over my brow and feeling the hot liquid which rested in them, this would be the tenth time I’ve done this today.

“I’m just spent and I don’t know what I’m going to do anymore.” My lip quivered, my cheeks became wet, my eyes blurry. “I’m a failure.” I whispered to myself shaking my head and holding onto the last ounce of energy I could muster - it didn’t matter that the sun was warm and shined through my window, there was nothing strong enough to push through my veil of despair.

I looked out the window and saw the world move on around me; it never waits, while it pushes on I’m left behind. The trees continue to spread out their leaves in an attempt to soak up the necessary nutrients they need to survive, seeds float on the wind looking for a place to rest, bugs move from place to place at random, the cat lounges on the chair lost in its dreams as its fur is warmed by the sun I cannot seem to feel. I’m jealous of that cat.

I contemplate getting up and doing something different, but there is a voice inside of me that tells me to push through, to keep going and write something - put anything down on this piece of paper. Fuck you, paper … you are nothing to me and yet you have total control over my pen. I’m angry and frustrated at an inanimate object when I should really be mad at myself. It’s my fault I cannot get anything out --- I’m broken, that must be the only answer.

The tears have all fallen, water droplets speckle the parchment and my eyes look onward without any ounce of life left. I feel empty and hollow, I have no more energy for it all and so I lay down the pen, drop my head to the table and close my eyes.

I don’t know how long I sit like this, time has been moving so slowly for me as of late that this feels like nothing new. I don’t even hear the sound of the door opening, or footsteps headed my way. In fact, I barely register there is another presence in the room until I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Hazel?” I stir, but only enough to turn my head onto its side and glance at the person who called me by name, a name I didn’t feel I had the right to claim. I looked up and felt my stomach drop, of course it would be him … the one person who I continued to fail over and over again. “Are you okay?”

I bit the inside of my lip, desperate to keep my emotions in check. I hated looking weak, and complaining about my frustrations only made me feel worse. These worries and inadequacies are my own issues to deal with, there was no need to drag others down into my sorrow, so I changed the subject.

“You’re back earlier than I thought you’d be.” I leaned up from the desk and turned myself to face him. Instinctually, I placed my hand on the blank paper, an attempt to hide my shame.

“Yes, there wasn’t much for me to do, it seemed everyone had it under control and I didn’t see a need to stick around.” He placed a few items down on the table in the study. It was some of the only sounds which broke the monotony of my day. “… did I disturb your work?”

“No, I only just started.” I lied, grinning to add another layer to my coverup.

“Oh, normally you get started much earlier than this …” His observation was accurate, even if it stung a little. He was right after all, I’d been sitting at this desk since we parted ways earlier in the morning … I felt chained to it, obligated to do something worthwhile at this god forsaken wooden nightmare.

“Normally, yes. I just, uh, had some things to get done before this …”

“Well I’m sure you are eager to get started, I’ll leave you to it.” He looked down at me kindly, and I yearned to have more than just his words and kind eyes at the moment, but I knew it wouldn’t be possible to ask that of him.

“Sounds good, I’ve got a lot of ideas and think I can get some good stuff done today.” Another lie.

“I believe you will.” He looked at me and my brain screamed. It battled between the side of reaching for him and letting him go. As busy as he was, he didn’t need to be bothered by my struggles. So, in an effort to keep them under control I pushed my knuckles to the small space between my chin and lips, the nail of my index finger digging into the corner of my mouth for extra sensory support. I smiled weakly at him and watched as he made his way through the threshold, disappearing beyond my line of sight. When the door closed I stood from my chair and walked to the window, my hand extended to capture the rays of the sun which normally brought me comfort, but today only illuminated my skin.

The emotions bubbled up in my chest and, like a sad child who didn’t get what they wanted, I removed my glasses, dropped my head into my hand and cried. Soft, quiet sobs spilled from my mouth while my eyes remained shielded by the darkness of my hand. Something caught my attention and as soon as I allowed my vision to adjust to the source, dark cloth and a flash of red envelope me.

“What …?”

“I knew something wasn’t right.” His voice was so soothing, his arms tight around my body, his chest inviting and the way his hand spread across my back ... it all meshed perfectly together. “For days, you’ve been acting strange … I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

“What .. what are you talking about ..?” my voice was strained, telling of my emotions, and still I tried to push through. “I’m fine, I-I just got something in my eye.”

“You know you can be honest with me.”

“I know …”

“So, tell me what’s on your mind.”

“This isn’t something to worry you over.”

“Isn’t it?” He pulled back so he could look at me and I was glad my glasses were still off. I couldn’t bear to see him clearly right now. “Something is clearly weighing on you, how could I not offer my support?

“It’s stupid, and I just need to get over it.”

“If it makes you feel this way, then whatever problem you have isn’t stupid.” He pressed, and his words, combined with the closeness of him, was starting to break my resolve. I didn’t want to put anything else on his shoulders … I didn’t want to appear weak … I didn’t want to be a failure.

“I’m … struggling.” He didn’t let me go or say anything, which made me fill the silence with my own pitiful words.

“I’ve been trying for days to get something, anything out and every time I do the words don’t flow like they did. I’m worried … did I write all that I’m ever going to write. What if I can’t do it anymore … what if this is all I have …” The tears began to slip down my cheeks, some found a home in the bend of my lips and filled my mouth with the taste of salt. I shook my head and bit my tongue, this is stupid, I’m acting like a child. I tried to push away from him but he only tightened his grip. “God, there are so many more important things to be upset about, and here I am whining about something so petty.”

“When was the last time you took a break? Perhaps, that may help?”

“I’ve done that … I’ve taken such a long break -- I-I don’t want to take a break anymore. Why is this so hard.” I felt the pressure of my brows as they moved closer to one another, the bending of my nose as I scrunch my face out of frustration. “I’m wasting time and people are waiting on me … how long can I ask them to wait … how long do I deserve their patience …”

“Has anyone pushed you to work faster than you can?”

I parted my lips and ran my tongue over the back of my teeth, “No … but I can’t expect them to wait forever. There’s gotta be something wrong with me, right? That’s the only explanation I have at this point. I’m not good at it anymore … I’m worried and stressed and ... just ... so sad.”

His hands slipped around my arms, one resting against my shoulder and the other cupping my face. “I know this feels like an impassable obstacle, but you haven’t lost anything … you just need to give it time.”

“Haven’t I done that?”

“You told me you’ve been in here trying to force yourself everyday, have you really taken time to rest?” I shrugged my shoulders and shifted my eyes away from him.

“You don’t take breaks either …” I mumbled, my words were an effort to get even and show him how the suggestion was nothing but a silly statement that had no meaning.

“Maybe, I should.” I didn’t want to look at him, but I could tell his tone had grown more thoughtful. He let his hands fall to my wrist, the feeling of his glove against my skin was somehow comforting. “Come with me.” He gripped tightly and led me through the door of the study faster than I could protest. We walked down the stairs, confused maids and staff staring at us as we blew by them before leaving through the heavy doors of the winery and onto the dirt path which held endless possibilities of destinations. I protested, but there was no escaping his grip and, soon, all my effort was on keeping up with his pace.

When I thought I couldn’t take another step we stopped, he released my hand and with him no longer keeping me upright, I fell into the grass below me, my arms sprawled outward. I breathed in deeply and relished the feeling of the wind against my face.

“It’s been a long time since I moved that quickly.”

“How do you feel?”

“Let me get back to you on that… ” I laughed and rested my hand against my chest, the beating of my heart pounding there as I tried to breathe with hot lungs.

I looked up at the sky, the vastness of it stealing my vision and removing anything else. My skin was tickled by the blades of grass that brushed against it, and I watched as a small bee flew over my face his swaying movement mesmerizing. When was the last time I was outside like this… it felt like such a long time ago.

I stretched my hand toward the sky above me, the blue color peeking through my spread fingers, my palm cutting off the fuzzy clouds that moved lazily along. His face came into view and I realized I had yet to put my glasses back on.

He bent down to meet me, his back falling into the grass at my side, hair following the pull of gravity and spreading out in the grassy hill.

“I can’t believe you are laying in the grass.” I chuckled and dropped my hand back onto my chest, turning my head to look at him.

“I’m known to have a few surprises up my sleeve.” He responded, turning his head to look at me, the light from above gracing his face and somehow only making him even more beautiful than he already was. It was so blinding that I had to look away.

“Hah, well, color me impressed.” For the first time in days, I feel a small reprieve from the darkness which had seeped into my skin. Something internal began to tingle, starting from my fingertips and slowly up my arms and as I took in a deep breath the smell of sweet flowers filled my nose. “Thank you, Diluc.”

He reached for the hand which was moving back and forth above the grass at my side, his strong, large grip providing protection and comfort, and for the first time in days, the feeling of warmth.

“Promise to tell me next time you are struggling; don’t hide away alone.”

“I’ll do my best.”

---

I feel much like Kiki did in Kiki’s Delivery Service ... how can I fly again when I feel so ... bleh

I’ll keep trying, all <3

#genshin impact #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #self insert #genshin self insert #diluc #genshin diluc #diluc ragnvindr #genshin impact diluc #hazelsmusings

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years ago

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COSMIC - S3:E4; Chapter Four, The Sauna Test - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘌𝘭, 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘠/𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘺𝘯𝘹.

📝: lmaooooooo this just gets gayer and gayer 💀💀

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"Do you copy? This is a code red."

The rising sun makes its way through the blinds in Max's bedroom, its gentle yellow rays split into several thin beams and casting out over the three sleeping bodies splayed over one another on the floor. El's body still curled into Y/n's arm, her hair a mess. Y/n was splayed out on her stomach, crooked, as her head had edged its way onto Max's pillow and her legs fell over El's. All the while, a sleeping Max had resorted to using the back of Y/n's shoulder as a pillow.

And they were snug as can be, tucked away in sleep, drool threatening to drip from their parted mouths as Lucas's desperate voice rings out from Max's super com.

"I repeat, this is a code red."

The device seems to grow louder with every word, slowly but surely pulling the girls from sleep.

"Max. Do you copy?" Max lifts her head from Y/n's shoulder, scooching back onto her pillow, and begins palming the ground under her bed. "This is a code red."

Her hand finally finds the comms and she senses El lazily rise up onto her elbow. She presses the button and seethes into the microphone.

"Shut. Up."

She slams the antenna down and shuts off the device, throwing it back under the bed. Y/n hums into the pillow, eyes still closed.

"Mm... what's red?" She asks through clenched teeth, still much too tired to even move her jaw.

"Nothing," Max yawns.

She turns over in bed, nestling back into the rainbow sheets and finding herself nearly nose to nose with Y/n as El rubs the sleep from her eyes, finally joined them. El just settles her head back into her pillow, her tangled hair still falling over her face and blocking out the sun. She let out a soft yawn, letting sleep return to her as she snuggled back into Y/n's arm happy and warm.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Lucas stares at his super com in light shock as he looked between his friends perched on either side of him on the basement couch.

"She turned it off."

Simultaneously, Will, Lucas, and Mike's eyes all jump to the phone hanging on the wall.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The blaring ring of Max's telephone is the next thing to wake them, and Y/n groans. Max shoots up in anger, her long red hair falling over her glaring face.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." She seethes, pulling herself up to her feet.

"Tell him we're not home," Y/n mumbles, still fighting a losing battle with sleep and a foggy mind.

Max stomps across the floor, strategically maneuvering around her friends, and rips the phone off its receiver.

"I'm sleeping. Go away,"

"Max, this is Will—" her hand caught mid-air, the boy's words barely registering to her in time. Reluctantly, she brings the phone back up to her ear. "I need you to stay on the line, and please just listen."

When Will doesn't hear the click of the dial tone, he breathes a sigh of relief. His eyes dart over his shoulder at his waiting friends trying to feed him the words but he ignores them, turning away.

Max frowns into the phone at what he says next, his voice going pleading.

"Is Y/n there?" There's a pause, and Max frowns down at the phone when she thinks she hears light shushing. "And El? Are you guys all together?"

Okay, now she was bugging out a little.

"Why?" She asks, an edge gradually returning to her voice out of concern.

She glances over her shoulder at her two best friends; Y/n had finally opened her eyes and was trying to make sense of her surroundings as she squinted through the sunlight and El was flowing up at her, worried.

"Just, stay together, okay? Something bad happened, is happening, whatever. We don't really know, but we can't take any chances."

"Okay, what are you talking about? What's going on?" She presses.

"Just meet us at Mike's house, and I'll explain. We all will. Just get over here, quickly."

"What?"

"Hurry!"

And then the line went dead.

Max held the phone in her hand, her stare drifting off as Will's words echoed in her mind.

"What'd he say?" El asked.

"Yeah," Y/n yawned, finally pulling herself into a sitting position, her face puffy from sleep. "is everything okay?"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Try Dustin again," Mike says, turning to Lucas.

"He's not answering," Lucas says.

"So, try him again,"

Lucas bites back a sigh and returns to his comms with a sigh. Will picks the phone back up, shooting Mike a knowing look.

"I'll try their house,"

Lucas shoots him a thankful look before returning to his mindless search.

"Dustin, do you copy? I repeat... this. is. a. code red."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Dustin watches from the very same ledge as Lynx Transportation hauls a cart full of shipments from Kauffman Shoes and Imperial Panda. But his mind was still spinning, trying to formulate possible answers as to just what he was dealing with as he scouts for their routine.

His eyes had caught on the third armed officer who approached the keypad holding a small plastic card, and Dustin made a mental note.

"That keycard opens the door, but unfortunately the Russian with this keycard has a massive gun,"

Sure enough, the metal doors swung open and the cart is pushed inside. Apart from his cautious glare on the armed guard standing watch, his eyes try to catch whatever lays beyond the threshold.

It looked to Dustin to be a storage room no bigger than his living room, stacked with similar boxes.

"Whatever's in this room, whatever's in those boxes, they really don't want anybody finding it," Dustin concludes as he paces the back room of Scoops Ahoy.

Robin and Steve sit opposite one another in thought.

"But there's gotta be a way in," Robin mutters.

"Well, you know..." Steve stops twirling his hat, quickly reshaping the top with a quick puff of air before dropping it on the table and leaning in with a serious tone. "I could just take him out,"

"Take. Who. Out?" Robin blinked.

"The Russian guard," he answers obviously.

Robin leans back in her seat, nodding sarcastically at him through wide eyes and Steve scoffs.

"What? I sneak up behind him, I knock him out, and I take his keycard. It's easy,"

"Did you not... hear the part about the massive gun?" Dustin asks with crossed arms.

"Yes," Steve snarks, surprised. "Dustin, I did. And that's why I would be... sneaking."

"Ahh," Dustin nods. "Well, please, tell me this, and be honest, have you ever actually..." Dustin gives an all too casual shrug, knowing exactly what button he was pushing. "won a fight?"

"OH-kay, that was one time—"

"—Twice. Jonathan. Year prior?"

"Uh, listen. That doesn't count,"

"Why wouldn't it? Because it looks like he beat the shit out of you."

Robin finds herself laughing, lazily rolling her eyes across the shop as the two continue to bicker.

"It was—"

Her grin slowly falls when her eyes catch something in the corner.

"—You got a fat lip, crooked nose, swollen eye, a lot of blood,"

"...things all added up, yeah they sound bad but..."

As the thought grew into an idea, the grin returned to Robin. "That just might work,"

She was out of the backroom, hand diving into the tip jar faster than they could blink. They scrambled to the window in a baffled frenzy.

"Robin,"

She didn't answer, and when she made a break for the exit, Steve and Dustin tumbled out from the back room.

"Hey, Robin! Hey, what— what are you doing?"

"I need cash," she explains, backing out of the store.

"Well, half of that's mine," he pouts. "Where're you going?"

"To find a way into that room, a safe way. And, in the meantime, sling ice cream, behave, and don't get beat up," she says with an excited smirk. "I'll be back in a jiff!"

With a quick two-finger salute, she had disappeared into the crowd leaving her privately self-proclaimed Dingus Duo at home base.

Steve sighs, looking to Dustin only to find him licking the scooper.

"Oh, dude," he scolds, yanking it out of his hands and returning it to his sling with a twirl. "Come on, man, not my scooper,"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The trip to Mike's house had indeed been a quick one. When Max had relayed the message, a grave face became all of them. El and Y/n looked at each other and knew; their fears were being realized. And Max knew there was no more denying it, no matter how much she wanted to. No matter how much she needed to.

"I didn't think it was anything at first," Will says.

He was before his friends - most of them anyway - all of them seated around the coffee table in Mike's basement. He hadn't realized how much he had missed Y/n until he had seen her, nor her him. And neither had left each other's side since they gathered. She was sat beside him on a low footstool, El to her right on the upholstered chair, and him on her left; perched on the arm of the couch to the far right of Mike and Lucas.

Concern was etched on her features, as it was on all of them as they listened intently.

"I mean, I think I just didn't want to believe it." He sighs, locking eyes with Y/n knowingly. "The day I first felt it was at Day of the Dead,"

《•••》

And not unlike only months short of a year prior, when he felt himself ensnared in the terror and icy grip of the monster that lurked in shadows only he could see, Will Byers could feel his skin tightening painfully as goosebumps gripped his neck. It was a chill he hoped he'd never feel again, a chill that had nearly destroyed him and his family and friends. And Y/n. The passionate, fiery, hatred for the girl was the only thing about this icy monster that burned brighter than the horrifying memories it left with him.

"Will?"

Startled, his head is ripped to her direction, arm already slipping away from his neck as she stares at him in worry. She recognized the look in his eyes all too well, and immediately she knew something was amiss.

"Will, what is it?"

《•••》

"The power went out that night, too," Mike says in realization, and Will nods.

"And then I felt it again at the field near the Nelson farm the next day."

《•••》

Will stopped suddenly when the world plunged away from underneath his feet and the dark feeling returned. All the while, Y/n's voice faded into the distance as he gripped his goosebump-covered neck, looking fearfully out onto the horizon.

"Think they'll carry me if I fake a leg injury?" She chuckles, her voice far away and fleeting from him.

Despite the steady burst of hot air carried through the breeze and the sun beating down on his skin, he felt a total absence of warmth. And like almost like a phantom limb, all he can feel is panic and something dark, and desperate... Something angry.

"Will?"

《•••》

"Then again, yesterday outside Castle Byers,"

《•••》

As Will mingled with the dirt beneath him, the storm pounding against his back soaking him to the bone, he feels it again.

The same feeling he had felt the night before Dustin's return, the day of, and now...

Well, there was no denying it. No more running. This was real, and it wasn't something so easily shaken.

A great change was upon him and his friends, a change none of them were prepared for.

Shakily, he pulls himself to his feet, not entirely sure if the voice calling his name was real.

"Will?"

With a faraway look in his eyes, Will turns to his awaiting friends as his stomach plummets beneath the earth.

《•••》

"What does it feel like?" Max asks from her spot across the coffee table.

"It's almost like..." everyone watches patiently as Will draws on a thoughtful face, for once it seems, struggling for the right words. "You know when you drop on a rollercoaster?"

Y/n, Max, and Mike all nod.

"Mm-hmm,"

"Yeah,"

"Sure,"

"No," El says, still listening intently.

"It's like... everything inside your body is just sinking all at once, but this is worse," Will says, a faraway look in his eyes that Y/n knows all too well. "Your body... it goes cold. And you can't... breath."

Will's eyes jump down his wringing hands when he feels Y/n entwining her left with his right, interlacing their fingers and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. He feels his shoulders slack at her warm touch and he sends her a thankful look before continuing, feeling just a little braver.

"I've left it before," he says through a wavering voice. "whenever he was close."

《•••》

He fearfully crept towards the front door. He came to a stop when he heard the dreadful sound of wood creaking and he watched in horror as the front door slowly swung open to reveal a reddish-purple sky, and the violent winds were carrying leaves and other debris with it. Something strange was growing around the outside of the house and he felt the familiar sensation returning.

He felt his blood run cold and his skin shriveled up, goosebumps breaking out all over. His breathing picked up and he could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he watched frozen in terror.

《•••》

"Whenever who was close?" Mas asked, fearing the answer she already knew.

Will tried to remind himself he was in the presence of his love and his friends but fear still gripped his lungs and threatened to steal his voice. Finally, with a trembling breath, he spoke the truth none of them wanted to hear, changing the rest of their summer - and possibly the rest of their lives - forever.

"The Mind Flayer."

《•••》

"Go away!"

It got closer. It was swooping in like a vulture but Will didn't give in.

"Go away! Go away!" Tears were streaming down his face, and the monster got closer.

《•••》

Y/n's eyelids fall closed at the mention of the monster that brought so much harm and grief to her and the lives of her loved ones as the truth hits her completely. Just the sight of his convulsing body and his weeping mother that day out on the field when the Mind Flayer got him was traumatic enough. Her eyes flicker back open, back onto the equally horrified looks of her friends and her grip on her boyfriend's hand tightens.

"I closed the gate," El reasons.

"I know, but," for a moment, WI loses his voice again and he clings to Y/n's touch like a lifeline bringing him back. He fears the words he is about to speak, not only for his sake but for everyones. For Y/n's. But the fear was too great to keep quiet. If it was even a real possibility, it had to be stopped. As soon as possible. "What if he never left?"

Shakily, he looks around the room with horror hidden within his hazel irises until they land on Y/n, full of grief. His voice was soaked with apology, unable to contain his worry.

"What if we locked him out here with us?"

Y/n's head turns to meet El's eyes, the two share an equally concerned and knowing gaze from beside one another. Her stomach was twisting into knots, the horrible, sickly feeling of dread that had been building for the past two nights was finally realized.

||𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"This is him," I say, throwing a spare piece of paper on the D&D table before us all. The six of us all stood together, finally surrounding the D&D table for all the wrong reasons but there's no time to think about that now. I grab the charcoal in hand and began frantically scribbling an all too familiar shape in charcoal. "All of him,"

"But that day on the field," I explain. "part of him attached itself to me,"

I fight the intrusive memory trying to overwhelm me, bringing back the phantom chill that has always lingered since that day.

《•••》

He stood frozen, now trapped in the swirling fog. Several black tendrils spawned from the mass and invaded Will and he could feel the evil presence as it possessed his body and settled in his very soul.

《•••》

I yank my hand across the page, pulling up my dirtied palm to show my friends before nodding to my left.

"Y/n got him out of me,"

《•••》

"I think it's an earthquake!" Mike cries.

A light breeze picks up in the tunnel from where they're headed, carrying with it a warm toasty wave of heat that answered their question.

"No, not an earthquake!" Dustin's eyes went wide from behind his goggles as he looked to the others excitedly. "It's Y/n!"

•••

The Henderson child had managed to pull herself from unconsciousness, and she now stood across the bed. Her arms were stretched out before her and a blazing fire resided in her eyes, a grunt pulled from deep within her throat. Three bloody lines where his nails had caught her ran diagonally down her vein-covered face. Each vein protruded from her skin as blood poured from her nose and ears.

Like a broken dam, all that raw power trapped inside her burst free. Y/n was a supernova, a sight to behold as everything inside her exploded all around her.

•••

Will's mouth opens in another scream and a billowing cloud of inky black smoke escapes. It twists and unravels out from between his lips like a pitch-black tornado.

《•••》

"and El closes the gate,"

I flip the page back over and my eyes trail across my friends' faces thoughtfully, the last of the pieces falling into place as I explain.

"The part that was still in me, what if it's still in our world?"

《•••》

It grows larger and larger, circling over the boy and looms over the entire room as it had the last few days. Will's body goes limp, falling back onto the mattress as the dark mass zips across the room and through the front door breaking it open.

Nancy quickly recovers her footing and chases it out of the door to assure it's leaving for good. Sure enough, when she reaches the porch she spots the black dust circle the trees before disappearing into the sky.

《•••》

I plant my charcoal-dusted hand on the paper, leaving behind a faint trace of black.

"In Hawkins," I conclude.

"I don't understand," Max began. "The Demodogs died when El closed the gate. If the brain dies, the body dies,"

Y/n shook her head gravely from beside me, standing up a little straighter after leaning against the table.

"But the brain didn't die," she sighed heavily in realization. "Not all of it. So the part that was in control, lost. And so did the army, but, enough must have survived... And now after all this time..." She trailed off.

Mike nodded from beside me.

"Exactly," he said. "We can't take any chances. We need to assume the worst... The Mind Flayer is back."

I feel Y/n shift uncomfortably from beside me, her eyes drilling holes into the paper as she chews on her lip and I feel a tug in my chest. But the others were still looking towards me, waiting, and so was she so I continued.

"And if he is," I begin, hesitant to tear my eyes away from her. "He'll want to attach himself to someone again. A new me,"

Once again my eyes meet with all my friends as the very air around grows thicker, and Lucas finally concludes what we all fear.

"A new host,"

I nod and the room falls quiet again at the challenge laid before us.

It was difficult enough facing an enemy as powerful and ruthless as the Mind Flayer, but I think it helped our chances considerably he attached himself to me; someone who already had some insight on his territory, the Upside Down. Not only that, but I was indescribably lucky enough to have the people I have in my life who fought for me. The chief, Bob, my friends. Jonathan and my mom, and of course Y/n.

But his next victim could be anybody, and that's what makes him even more dangerous.

Finally, Y/n broke the silence - the second time she had spoke since the news had been broken. If I thought she was terrified before, I was dead wrong. I saw pure dread growing in her eyes as they trailed from El's and up to mine, widened and shining. It was with a plunging stomach I knew she had our first clue.

"Oh, no,"

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sabraeal · 4 years ago

Text

Not Necessarily a Virtue

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Practical Magic AU

There hadn’t been a plan when Obi picked up the phone.

All it had taken was one rogue text-- another case assigned to his social worker, one that was enough of an emergency that it his behavioral issues seem tame in comparison. Her chair rattles when she stans, its plastic back hitting the filing cabinets with a metallic tang, but her hands tremble more.

“This will be just a minute,” she says, smile plastered tight to her face. And then she leaves him there alone, his file open on her desk, flaws left out for the world to see.

It doesn’t bothered him. There’s no point, not when he already knows: he’s trouble with a capital-T, each failed family drawing him closer and closer to being unplaceable. Some people have a face only a mother could love, but Obi-- Obi has that for his personality. Though considering how each of his six almost-moms signed him away with a sigh of relief, walking out the plate glass doors without even a glance back, maybe he has the sort of personality that makes people reconsider whether they could be a mother.

So here he is again, freshly abandoned, back in the sterile halls of social services for the seventh time without a place to call home. He’s not even twelve.

Not that these people aren’t trying to change that-- he’s not some cat left at the shelter, free to a good home. Unless Kerry or Janine or the girl at the desk he didn’t get to read the name tag of wanted to sleep on their couch, they have to find someone to take him for the night. And he knows from experience, there’s always a family that believes they can change him. A young couple who thought all problem children needed was just a little extra love. By the time Kerry came back, there’d be good news waiting, a miracle crafted by three people who didn’t want to miss the Masked Singer finale. They’d pack him into the back of a car and ship him off to a new place to fail. Because no matter how many homes they tried to make for him, it’d never change how he felt.

Obi had tried, at first. He was just a little kid, wanting to be loved, but every home he went to itched like hives in his head, a constant buzz that set his teeth on edge and made him do anything, try anything to leave. He belonged somewhere else, somewhere not here, and he knew it like he knew Kerry’s other case had overdosed on a bottle of sleeping pills in his foster mother’s cabinet-- with an inexplicable certainty.

He waits thirty seconds after she leaves before he slides off the the plastic seat she’d put him in. They love these things, oddly shaped and in primary colors that make the little kids giddy, but Obi hates them. He’s undersized, and putting him in these kiddie rooms always makes people treat him like he’s eight instead of eleven, asking him about Blue’s Clues.

But that’s not why he gets up, not entirely. There’s a buzzing in the back of his brain, a knowing, and it makes him stand, his hand straying to the glass door. He can’t see anything outside, at least not anything besides more kiddie chairs and offices, but he steps out nonetheless. He steps out and, unerringly, turns to face the girl waiting for him down the hall.

“It’s you.” Her tawny hair stresses the elastic she’s trapped it in, too thick. It’s not one of those hair ones either, but one of those thick rubber bands they use on the produce in grocery store. It hurts; he knows because it’s common sense, but also because he just...Knows. Their eyes meet, and even though he doesn’t her name, they’ve known each other forever.

His mouth is dry when he asks, “Do you know me?”

“I saw you in a dream.” She takes a step toward him, her sneakers scuffed and worn, just like his. “You’re Obi. I’m Torou.”

He doesn’t know this girl. There’s a hundred ways she could get his name; one of them is sitting on a desk behind him right now. But when she looks up at him with eyes he’s only ever seen in the mirror, he holds out his hand. “Come here.”

His heart pounds with each mincing squeak of her sneakers on the tile. She’s taking too long and she’s coming too fast; each terrible second convinces him he’s making a mistake at the same time he’s doing what he was always meant to do. By the time she slips her hand into his, he’s trembling, but it doesn’t matter because they both are and this--

This is right. And he knows exactly what to do.

It’s holding her hand that he picks up the phone. He fucks it up the first time-- he gets that gross digital buzz before he notices the sticker beneath the speaker, informing him 9 dials out-- but the second one his fingers guide him, releasing the number he has no reason to know. A number he has no reason to believe will work, that could have just come from the weird recesses of his mind but--

But he’s not surprised when a man picks up. “Who is this? Do you know what time--?”

“We’re here,” Obi says, and it shouldn’t be enough, but it is. “Come pick us up.”

A specter arrives on the front walk at noon.

Obi knows by the hush in the office. Or really the weight of it-- it’s been quiet like this since last night, since he and Torou sat down on the big bean bag couch in the waiting room, and Obi announced they wouldn’t be letting go. His case worker had crouched in front of them, that sweet smile plastered to her lips, and told him that they’d only have to be separated for a night. But he’d known-- the way he always did-- that every word was a lie. His fingers tightened in her grip, narrowing his eyes until the woman shivered, and that was that.

Kerry stayed with them, of course; she’d slept in her office, under a blanket it’s clear she’s never used and had only just discovered wasn’t comfortable no matter how many Sesame Street characters were on it. They’d been tucked under another by a younger girl with trembling hands, her eyes darting between them as she smoothed out its edges. He’d heard them through the walls this morning while the rest of the office filtered in-- government buildings like this were always cutting corners, leaving things like this paper thin, stuff that would go up like tissue in a fire.

Do you think they’re twins? one asked. Trembling hands, he guesses, since her voice does as well, like a chihuahua in a sweater. I’ve heard about this happening with twins. They look and just know.

Can’t be, we have their birth certificates, says another. Kerry, probably; she might be a liar, but she’s one of the only people in this place that has her head screwed on right, too. Two different sets of parents.

And the man they called last night? This one is stern; their manager maybe. He’s not really sure how this all works; he’s not even twelve, and he can only just know so much. Who is he?

There’s a heavy pause. I...I don’t know.

So when he arrives, dressed like an undertaker and holding an umbrella beneath the bright New Mexico sky, the whole place goes quiet. When he walks it’s stiff, like it took a hundred volts to get him up off the table and he’s only just gotten used to the idea. Obi casts a look down at Torou, at where her hand is white knuckled in his, and thinks about how he knows things, and wonders just what she might be able to do.

The man enters, umbrella folding in a single neat motion, before he says. “I am Lata Forenzo. I believe you have my...niblings.”

Niblings, Obi learns, is like siblings, only sideways.

“It was a simplification,” Lata says, his voice a deep, hesitant gravel. He casts a speculative look at the taxi driver, adjusting the gloves on his hands. “Niece and nephew is an unwieldy phrase, and time, after all, is of the essence.”

“Is it?” Torou’s eyes are wide, and for the first time since last night, her hand leaves his, gripping on to the cloth at Lata’s knee. “Is there something after us? Those bugs, they’re not--”

“No.” Obi’s known his uncle for barely more than a half hour, but he knows he isn’t a tactile person. Even still, Lata looks down at Torou, his not-gold eyes somehow softer, and puts two fingers over the bones at the back of her hand. “But it is time to bring you home.”

Home is an island. It takes the whole night to fly in, and when they land the sun is just barely scratching the sky. Even still, there’s no stopping; Lata bundles them straight into a cab, shushing them before they can make much more than a peep.

“We’ll be home soon,” he says, and the next time he wakes them, salt stings Obi’s nose, and he’s being carried over a threshold.

“Are we here?” he slurs. The house is weird-- angular, really, with a hall so narrow he could kick out a leg and stop them up like a cork. He nearly does, just to be cussed, but he catches Torou still wrapped up in her blanket, lolling on the couch, and says instead, “Can you let me down?”

Lata hesitates, fingers stiff where they wrap around his knees and shoulders, but he nods.

Obi’s feet-- just wearing socks now, somehow-- press on the floor, and he knows: he’s home.

“Oh,” he breathes, hands flying out to steady himself. “Oh.”

When he looks up, Torou’s eyes meet his, round and wide. “I felt that.”

Her own feet swing down-- bare-- and the moment she touches the wide old planks--

“Oh.” Lata braces himself against the wall, the sound bitter on his lips. “So it’s true. There will always be two.”

They aren’t his words, Obi knows, but they’re important. They’ve got that feel, the same as when Torou said she dreamed of him. The sort that are going to be life-changing, one way or another.

But Obi’s had enough of that today. Enough of it for a lifetime. He glances over at Torou, and she nods. “Can we go outside?”

Lata blinks, eyes pulling from the wallpaper to fix on him. After a long moment, he says, “You know where the door is.”

Obi does, somehow, and when he opens it--

It’s paradise.

Home has rules too, loads of them. It’s quiet time from nine to eight, though Lata doesn’t much care if they’re sleeping, so long as they’re in bed. Teeth have to be brushed twice a day-- he’d glowered when Obi said he had good teeth and only needed the once, standing over him for a week morning and night to see the rule stuck. There’s only one dessert after dinner; Obi balked at that one, until he’d learned that a limit on quantity wasn’t the same thing as size. He and Torou find three old sundae dishes in the cabinet and pile them high with ice cream and every topping they can find, and when they slap Lata’s down in front of him, cheeks bulging with their own towers of sweets, all he’d does is give them that small, reluctant twitch of a smile and dig in.

They have to make their beds and pick up after themselves-- this house has treated us well, Lata tells them, it’s only right we take care of it in return-- and they have to tell him if they plan to play in the yard; but in return their sheets are always clean, and dinner’s promptly at six. When they come back in, sweaty and exhausted from the summer heat, there’s always a bowl of fruit waiting for them and cold drinks.

He’d known, in the way he always does, that this couldn’t last. So when summer’s heat began to cool, he’s not surprised to see Lata waiting on for them on the veranda, mouth pulled into an even grimmer line.

“It’s time,” he says, “for a Family Meeting.”

“School,” Lata says with the sort of relish and derision only a professor like him can summon up, “is starting. Which means there are new rules.”

Fingers brush at Obi’s, and when he reaches out, Torou’s fingers knit in his. He knows what rules these will be-- his parents had them to, the only ones they’d ever made. His mother had gotten down on her knees the night before kindergarten, nails digging into his shoulders, and used a voice so dark, so unlike her, he’d dreamed of button eyes staring into his for a week. His father had tossed out their Coraline DVD after that.

“Forenzos,” Lata starts, already sounding weary, “look after each other. So you’ll walk together, both ways, and if one of you gets into trouble--” he fixes them both with a stern look-- “I expect both of you to run.”

Obi stares. “What?”

“You’ll come back right after school, unless we have previously discussed plans,” Lata continues. “You’re far too young for...cellular phones, so I expect that if you make plans with friends, you will discuss them with me the night previous, or you will come home first and ask permission. Not,” he murmurs, just barely audible, “that I expect you’ll have much trouble with that.”

“Is that...” Obi’s jaw works. “Is that all?”

“I expect you to keep up your grades.” Lata’s brow furrows, taking them in, as if he’d never once questioned whether or not they would be stellar students. As if most people don’t look at the both of them and see future high school flunk outs. “If they are slipping, I’m afraid I’ll have to limit your free time until we are able to bring them back to an acceptable level. Homework is to be done at the table, and once you are done, your time is yours until dinner.”

Torou’s hand squeezes his. “We?”

Lata blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You said ‘we.’“ She clear her throat, eyelashes fluttering with nerves. “If our grades are bad, you said we would, uh, fix them.”

“Of course.” His mouth pulls at the corners, annoyed. “How could I possibly ask you to rectify such a thing on your own? You’re already doing the best you can, if you still struggle, then it’s clearly something we both-- oh my,” he murmurs mildly, “she’s leaking.”

“Sorry,” she sobs, pink burning on her cheeks, the way it never did on his. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” Lata flails out, yanking a tissue from the box, shoving it into her hand. “I just...hope that you find this all fair. I was always quite good at school, but my sisters--” he glances at them, wary-- “varied. I hope I can only...encourage you to your best.”

“But what about...” Obi snaps his teeth around the words. If he doesn’t ask, then it won’t become a rule, and his uncle can’t be disappointed when he breaks it.

The pictures on the wall prove that they’re family, that Lata truly is his mom’s brother, even if they don’t share much more than a hair color. But Obi’s never seen it, the way he does in pictures of Torou’s mom, where there’s a flick of the hand or a cock of a hip that says they spent their childhood together, inextricably intertwined forever in ways they would never understand.

But Lata raises a brow now, and he sees it, that small thread that ties him to his mom, that says brother. “About...?”

“The other stuff,” Torou blurts out, coughing down a sniff. “He wants to know what we...”

Her words peter out too, like she can’t figure out what to do with them. He can’t stop knowing, and she can’t stop dreaming, and the thought of having to pretend they can is...tiring this time, in a way it never was in the system.

His mouth wraps around the words with a curious sort of wonder. “Other stuff?”

“You know,” she mutters, so small. “The weird stuff.”

Lata jolts in his chair, spine as straight as a poker. His hands press flat against his knees, and when he looks at them, the gray in his eyes in thunderous.

“This is the most important rule,” he tells them, voice oddly resonant, “you must follow it. Promise me.”

Obi’s heart sinks into his stomach, but he nods, fingers squeezing Torou’s tighter.

Lata’s hand presses heavy on his shoulder, leather flexing over cotton. “Don’t ever hide yourselves. Not for anything. Not for anyone.” Obi dares to look up, and Lata’s gaze is waiting to catch him. “Being...normal is not necessarily a virtue. There is no shame in being who you are, none at all.”

Or what you are, he doesn’t say, but his eyes do, loud and clear. He doesn’t say what that is either, but--

Obi knows. Just like he always does.

And if he didn’t, well-- he would have found out soon enough.

It’s a small island; small enough that K-12 are all squeezed into one school, though Lata tells them that by the time they go to senior high, they might have built another. It’s still not small enough for Torou and him to be in the same class, so he drops her off at the door with promises to find her at lunch and moseys down to his own. It puts him a little behind schedule, the school bell ringing on his heels, and when he steps in--

The room goes silent. Twenty pairs of eyes stare at him, round and wide, not a single person daring to do much more than breathe.

“Forenzo,” the teacher says, faint. “You must be...the Forenzo boy.”

“Yeah.” He grips at his shoulder. “Obi.”

“You can take your seat...at the back,” she says, before hurrying to the board, eager to put her back to him.

“I thought my mom said all the Forenzos died,” a boy whispers as he passes. “Except the old man, of course.”

“No, they just left,” says the one next to them. “Chased out. Because they’re, you know...”

Obi does; he always had, even before he had a word for it.

“I don’t think a boy can be a witch,” a girl says, thoughtless and thoughtful at the same time. “They’re wizards, or something.”

“Warlocks,” scoffs another. “Don’t you know anything? And they do blood magic with little girls--”

Obi grits his teeth, eyes forward. There’s two empty chairs in the back, one in the corner by the window, and the other next to it, and he steers toward that one-- window seats always get him in trouble--

And the boy next to it scoots away, fear bright in his eyes. Obi looks back at the teacher, but she’s writing her name on the board real slow, like she’s hoping this might solve itself.

Fine, he can take a hint. He takes the window, sliding in behind the desk. The girl in front of him scoots forward too, making sure her chair doesn’t touch his desktop, and he sighs. At least they’re all getting this out of the way first.

A bag drops, right next to his seat.

“Ms Kino!” There’s a girl there, smaller than everyone else, though her voice makes her twice as tall. In the morning sun, her hair burns bright like the horizon. “Can I change my seat?”

“Shirayuki?” The teacher blinks back at them, and Obi could swear she breaks into a cold sweat. “Shirayuki, I’m not sure that’s--”

“I can’t see the board from over there,” she says, every syllable digging in its heels. “There’s glare. Because I’m so small.”

Ms Kino squints back at her, and really-- there’s no denying how small she is, at least a head below Obi and he’s nothing to write home about either. “If you’re sure...”

“Great.” She drops into her seat with a thump as loud as thunder, setting out her notebook and pencil with the sort of purposeful efficiency that says there’s no doubt she’s here to stay.

Obi slips his out of his backpack too, so quiet so the other kids will stop looking at him like he’s going to set the place on fire, but he hears, “You’re new, right?”

He looks down, and there’s the girl, smiling across the aisle. “Yeah. I’m--”

“Obi, I heard.” She leans toward him. “I’m--”

“Shirayuki.” His mouth twitches. “I also heard.”

Her smile stretches towards a grin. “You know, Ms Kino likes group projects.”

He blinks. “Does she?”

She nods. “Would you like a partner?”

“She hasn’t assigned one yet,” he says, a little lost.

“She will,” this Shirayuki says, confident. The way he is, when he knows.

He nods, slow. “All right, so for the next one.”

“To start.” She fixes him with a look he can’t get out from under. “Are you eating lunch with someone?”

“Ah, yeah.” He feels guilty about it now, for some reason. “My um. Cousin.”

She brightens. “Great. I’ll show you guys the best place to sit.”

He’s been adopted, he realizes, like the way the cats around the house aren’t. And this girl means to keep him.

For once in his very short life, Obi doesn’t mind knowing. Just like he always does.

#obiyukibingo21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #practical magic au #ans #there is so much to be written for this fic and i desperately want to write all of it #like honestly consider this a teaser for a fic i COULD write #one that would involve shirayuki obi and torou being childhood friends #and obi casting a spell of forgetting #and later shirayuki finding obi and torou again #after they have possibly murdered the resurrected then killed again torou's ex #and obi trying to hide that secret at the same time he's trying to keep shirayuki from remembering #while also desperately wanting her to remember because sure this Zen guy seems rich and nice but ALSO MAYBE YOU COULD LOVE ME???#like the notes i have for this potential multichap are CRAZY i wish to UNLEASH them #also LATA/GARRACK #and also Lata ruminating on love and loss and the complicatedness of inherited trauma #but uhhhhh with magic you know how it be

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boxboysandotherwhump · 4 years ago

Text

Ready or not, here they come!

Taglist: @salamancialilypad @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee @comfy-whumpee @ashintheairlikesnow @haro-whumps @vickytokio @yet-another-heathen @orchidscript @finder-of-rings

Chapter 11

The polished surface of Kaida‘s prosthetic fist shimmered silver in the early morning sun, suspended mere centimeters from Gideon‘s face. A bead of sweat trickled down Gideon‘s cheekbone as he froze in his halfhearted attempt to block her punch. His eyes were fixed on the entrance gate to their training field instead of her, and Kaida‘s expression crumbled into a disappointed pout.

“Forgot your reflexes in bed today?“ She dropped her fist and shook her head in disbelief. Wisps of black hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. “C‘mon Gideon, what‘s up with you this week?“

Gideon didn‘t respond. He was too focused on the tuft of brown hair that appeared on the top of the staircase, where everyone who wished to enter the academy grounds had to ascend. The giant gate framing the entrance dwarfed Sahar as he lingered next to one of its red painted wooden pillars, unsure if he should cross the threshold onto the training field. His large eyes scouted the area, hopping over their teacher and the other students, most of them already in the midst of exchanging punches or jabbing the air with their spears, until they found Gideon.

Sahar‘s lips played around a hesitant smile as he mouthed a silent hello, while his fingers tapped a symphony of nerves over his pant leg. Gideon watched their gentle movement, the contrast of soft olive brown skin brushing over black linen. There was no trace of Sahar‘s mutation to be found. The only hint of what had happened in the woods was the flash of white bandages that poked out from under his shirt sleeve.

Kaida‘s eyebrows raised in surprise as she followed Gideon‘s gaze. “Isn‘t that the farm-boy? What was his name again?“

“Sahar,“ Gideon breathed, disbelief prickling down his legs like an agitated ant swarm. He stomped past his classmates, dodging still sheathed spear heads and ignoring Kaida‘s exasperated protest. What the hell was Sahar thinking, coming here during training hours? If a stray spear jab or accidental punch hit his still wounded arm hard enough to make him mutate again, all the secrecy and sacrifice would have been for nothing.

“The hell are you doing here?“ The words came out harsher than intended, and Gideon winced at the sharpness of his own tongue.

Sahar‘s tentative smile fell and his green eyes grew impossibly larger but held Gideon‘s gaze with an almost defiant kind of determination. “A a a a applying. As, as a scout.“

“You- Have you lost your mind?“

“You didn‘t strike me as someone scared of competition.“

Both boys jumped at the familiar voice sparkling with teasing self-assurance. Gideon‘s heart plummeted somewhere to his knees.

Sahar‘s smile returned ten fold. All sparkling sincerity.

“Charlotte.“

A gust of morning breeze chilled Gideon‘s sweat damp skin as he faced Charlotte fully. Some of his classmates had stopped their warm-ups, curiosity written large across their faces while they turned to them. Even the teacher glanced over as he placed the wooden basket with slingshots and practice ammunition next to the target posts he had been setting up.

“I‘m no snitch. Didn‘t tell anything to anyone-“ Gideon hissed, whisper silent.

“Calm down.“ Charlotte chuckled, blue eyes glittering amused. “I‘m here to enroll as a student myself.“

He bristled. “What?“

Gideon‘s jaw tightened, thoughts working a mile a minute, as he tried to see through her intention. There was no way she would enlist just to make sure he kept his mouth shut. “The semester has just begun. You guys know that, right? Next registration is five months from now.“

Charlotte's lips twitched around a wry grin. “He who doesn‘t fight has already lost. But-“ White teeth nipped at pink lips and left small indentations in the wake of her uncertainty. “Sahar are you sure you want to do this? If you get hurt and-“ Blue eyes wandered to his right arm, lingered, flitted back up to his face. “...-the entire village could find out.“

“I- I I I-“ Sahar inhaled deeply, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shorts. “I‘m tired of hiding. You just, just said it. He who doesn‘t fight- I don‘t want to to to to lose the life I could have because I, I‘m,- because I‘m too scared to to to to go and live it.“

Determination burned under Sahar‘s gentleness, like fire hidden in a tree-trunk, simmering just underneath the surface. Gideon‘s heart hammered against his ribs. He felt hot, burned under the same determined gaze his brother had worn on the day of his death. The shadow of a ghost flickering to life in someone else‘s eyes.

The long sleeves of Sahar‘s moss green shirt covered the scar the spider's tooth must have carved deep inside his flesh, and Gideon‘s stomach flipped at the memory. It had taken forever to wash Sahar‘s blood from his skin, out of his clothes.Warm crimson red was still smeared on the inner walls of his head like a cave painting, illustrating his own future in violent shades of doubt and hope.

“Who do you think you are?“ Dillan‘s sharp voice cut through the breeze and Gideon’s thoughts snapped back like a rubber band. Dillan‘s pale blue eyes narrowed as he marched across the training ground, blond hair flopping over his wide forehead and narrow shoulders squared. “Wanting to apply in the middle of term? There are rules here!“

“Who do we think we are?“ Charlotte‘s lips curled. “Let me shoot that question right back at you-“ Cold blue eyes dropped to the red stripes embroidered to the sleeves of every first year‘s uniform. “Neophyte.“

Dillan reminded Gideon of a particularly offended fish with his wide watery eyes and small mouth, opening and closing to gulp in air.

Sahar glanced at Charlotte, full of disbelief as he said exactly what Gideon was thinking. “Cha, Charlotte we, we, we aren‘t even students-“

“But-“ she cut him off, voice gentling a fraction, before her tone sharpened once more. “We grew up here. This village is our home and we nearly died protecting it. I won‘t let a little incomer from the city lecture me about how things work in my own village.“

The color of Dillan‘s face resembled a fire bug more than human skin and neither Gideon nor Sahar could hold back their grins. If you could call the soft bashful twitch of Sahar‘s lips that.

Just as Dillan got ready to retaliate, brows drawn tight and hands balled into tight fists, their teacher strode over. Gravel crunched under the man's heavy steps until he came to a halt just behind Dillan, casting his student in the shadow of his wide shoulders. His black beard shifted with the quirk of his lips. Dark eyes twinkled, bemused.

“We teachers were already wondering if you two troublemakers would end up here. Well, I guess I owe Sybil dinner now.“

Gideon‘s brows raised nearly to his hairline. “What‘s that supposed to mean?“

“I would like to know that as well, Mister Bassam.“ Dillan protested.

“Well,“ Bassam chuckled, relishing the confused faces all around him. “C‘mon guys, did you really think we wouldn‘t talk about you three saving a bunch of children and fighting off a spider. Even if you said you weren‘t the ones to strike it down, that's still a huge feat. You should be proud of yourselves. Especially you, young man.“

Bassam‘s large hand clapped Sahar on his right shoulder and made all three of them wince. Sahar‘s fingers began to frantically tap his thigh, but nothing else happened. If Bassam had noticed anything he graciously ignored Sahar‘s display of nerves.

“Jumping that monster with nothing but an old firewood axe. The kids won‘t shut up about it down at the tea house, let me tell you.“

“Oh oh oh, yeah?“ Sahar flushed.

Charlotte sighed. “And I told them to keep it down.“

“Well, be glad they didn‘t, or we wouldn‘t consider giving two penniless orphans the chance to join nearly a month late into term.“

“Wait.“ Gideon burst out, gesturing wildly at Sahar and Charlotte. A cocktail of worry and apprehension pumped through his veins. “You mean they‘re in? Just like that?“

“No, no. Not quite. You two still have to pass our entrance exam. We do have standards here, after all.“ Bassam, whose hand still rested on Sahar‘s shoulder, began to gently push him forward. “C‘mon you two. We‘ll talk in detail in the principal's office. And the rest of you, five rounds around the field. Hade, hade, there is never too much warm up.“

Everyone groaned in frustration except for Kaida who jogged towards Gideon with a wide grin, black bowl cut shining in the sun. He turned around and started running.

#whump #whump writing #mutant whump #mutant whumpee #post apocalyptic whump #post apocalypse whump #post apocalypse story #post apocalypse #autistic protagonist #asd #some flowers have teeth #when gideon ends up eing the one with the braincell you know shits gonna get bad

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rainplaysswtor · 4 years ago

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SWTOR: New player help: Contending with bugs

It's not a bug, it's a feature! It's working as intended! As you play SWTOR, you will notice that...things don't always go as expected. Here are some helpful tips for new players (and more long term players too) to try to help handle some of the most common bugs you will find in the game.

First thing: report the bugs you encounter. If nobody knows something's going wrong, it can't be fixed.

Everyone including free to play players can now use the in-game bug reporting system. How?

1. Go into your chat box (usually at the upper left of your screen and type /bug)

2. This should open a window that will allow you to type a short description of the bug you are seeing. Describe the bug. Make sure you mention 1) exactly what you were doing and 2) what was not working. For example:

"During the introduction scene for the flashpoint "This is Way Too Long," the character "I Don't Like You" does not have a head."

3. Press ' submit.'

Keep in mind that you will not get a response or any direct help from a bug report. This is to let the developers know what is not working in the game, so they can hopefully fix it.

2. Wait a little while after there's a new patch or game update

When there's a new game update or patch (you will know because you have new files that will automatically download when you launch the game), don't jump right into the new content with your favorite best character. Wait. It's hard, I know, but wait. The general trend over the past few years has been that new patches and updates always have bugs, and sometimes they're doozies.

It helps to have a "me first" character or two - perhaps a clone of your main - to wade into new content on the first day or week if you really want to see it. That way you can see the new content without being completely angry that it's messed something up for your characters or isn't running quite right.

3. Keep an eye on the Bug Reports section of SWTOR.com and the SWTOR Twitter account.

Even if you are not a subscriber you can still read the Bug Reports forum (I would not recommend the rest of the forums, though). There's usually a running list of known bugs for each patch listed at the top of the page. Also keep an eye on the SWTOR Twitter account. You can read it without being a registered Twitter user, and it will let you know when the game is going down for maintenance or an update.

4. If you are facing a bug that is making it impossible to complete a quest you need for story progression, you can reach out to SWTOR customer service for assistance. If you are a subscriber, press the little gears icon at the top of your screen, choose "customer service" and then "request help." If you are not subscriber, you can reach support at [email protected].

SPECIFIC STRATEGIES FOR COMMON BUGS

1. Help! My abilities bar got unlocked and I cannot get it to lock again!

When this happens, all your abilities will 'float' or move from their placements, which understandably makes it hard to fight. How to get around this:

1. When you are NOT IN COMBAT, press CTRL+U. All of your abilities bars/maps/etc. will vanish. Don't panic. This is the way.

2. Press CTRL+U again. Everything should come back. It may take a moment. Wait.

2. Oh no! My character's stuck in a rock!

Or on a cliff, or under a box, or up a tree. We've all been there. Go to your chat box (upper left, usually).

1. Write /stuck in the chat. This will either move your character to a place where they aren't stuck, or it will kill them and put them back at the nearest medical base.

2. What's that? Stuck isn't working, or you just used it and it needs to cool down? You can try using Quick Travel to travel to a nearby medical base.

3. Still nothing? Try porting to a stronghold, your ship or the Fleet.

4. Try logging out and logging back in.

3. What? I can't click the blue thing.

This bug has shown up all over the place, where an objective will be lit blue, but unclickable. I've found a few places where nothing I do makes this work.

1. Try changing instances.

2. Try logging out and back in.

4. This is a great cut scene...why is it freezing?!

Several years ago this bug was so severe in the Sith Warrior and Imperial Agent stories that only customer service could resolve it. It seems better now, but here are some ideas.

1. ESC out of the scene. Now try to start the scene again by clicking on the NPC /objective/whatever is the scene starter.

2. Can you guess? Log out and back in.

3. Close the game and try re-launching.

4. Try lowering your graphics settings in the game. Don't know why this works, but it did sometimes.

5. My character is frozen in a weird pose.

Just laugh at it, take a screenshot and share it with your friends so they can laugh. Typically this will not affect actual combat and will go away on its own eventually.

6. I want to romance Lana Beniko, Koth Vortena or Theron Shan in KOTFE...but I've heard things about the romance vanishing.

There are two general ways the romances in KOTFE get borked:

1. A patch happens before the romance is locked in (chapter 9) and all the player's flirts from chapters 3-8 are reset. The game thus forgets you were trying to romance Lana and you don't get the romance dialogue option in chapter 9. I've also heard of Koth and Theron romances vanishing, but not as often. The solution is to NOT play through chapters 3-9 of KOTFE when there's a patch happening. My general tactic is to play those chapters straight through, and not stop until I get to chapter 10, to make sure the romance is locked and won't be interrupted by a patch.

2. The player misunderstands the really poorly framed dialogue wheel in chapter 9. There's a moment, pictured below, where the camera faces Theron Shan, and there are choices that say "I need to see one of you" and "I need to see one of you" [flirt]. IT IS NOT JUST REFERRING TO THERON. If you are flirting with Lana or Koth and want to lock in their romance, DO NOT CLICK ON THE FIRST CHOICE (which is helpfully lit up here for your reference). YOU NEED TO CHOOSE THE [FLIRT] HERE, as well as the [flirt] in the conversation when you are alone with your companion of choice.

When your actions or conversation choice will start or end a romance, from KOTFE onward, you will receive a pop up warning that looks something like this.

Caption: This choice will begin a romance with Lana Beniko. Are you sure you wish to proceed? CONTINUE - CANCEL Once you have this scene, MAKE SURE you finish chapter 9 entirely so your choices don't get wiped out in a future patch!

7. My companion is stuck in place and won't move.

There you go, charging into the fray...there's your companion, lingering awkwardly at the threshold and not participating. Oops. You can usually wake them up by sending them away and then bringing them back. Easy ways to do this include:

1) Send them to sell junk (press N. Go to your companion who is with you. Press the little icon near their name to get them to sell the junk. Depending on the legacy perks you have purchased they will be gone for between 5 and 30 seconds)

2) Summon another companion, any of them, and then summon back the one you want.

3) It didn't work? Sometimes companions do seem to go on strike and you will probably just want to summon another to continue playing. This is a good reason to remember to have more than one companion at high influence, if you can, so you can switch as needed.

8. My companion keeps falling over.

Sternly tell your companion it's not time for a nap. Kidding. They really don't care. Any time is nap time. The steps in #7 should work to wake them up again.

9. I'm trying to loot something and it's telling me "out of range."

First, are you sure it's your loot and not some other player's? If it's yours, you can sometimes pick it up by walking away and then returning. Other times, look for someone else nearby to loot. I've on occasion found things unlootable, which is frustrating.

#swtor #rain plays swtor #new player help #it's a feature not a bug

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heresathreebee · 4 years ago

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Brackish and Briny Waters (two)

[Ralph Lamont X Female Reader]

Summary: Settling into your new house Part 1 Masterlist Part 3

Tags: +17 | 1.7k words | just really fucking domestic stuff, one (1) bad attitude, presumptuous behavior, unprotected morning sex, more remodeling.

AN: I kind of know where I'm going with this. The conflict will be subtle at first but it's there I promise.

The first day goes by fast and for Ralph meeting every single person on staff in this prestigious school was like trying cheeses and wines in a vineyard– fun at first but you get a stomach ache because somebody forgot to tell you not to swallow and there are just so many of them each more rich than the last. By the time he crosses the threshold to his new home, he's exhausted and annoyed.

"I told you not to unpack without me."

You look at him from the kitchen and shrug. "I needed stuff, baby. I already wrote a list of things to work on in this 'bare bones' house you put us up in and I was bored."

You don't care for his attitude but offer him the covered plate anyways. "I saved you some dinner."

All at once, Ralphie's anger melted from his face. He shuffled his tired feet across the still empty living room and pulled you into his side. The plate was warm (still warm or recently warmed up, he couldn't tell) and his stomach growled.

"M sorry," he said, "I don't mean to be an asshole."

You smile your forgiveness. "Long day?"

"Yes," he hisses. "I already can't wait for the weekend."

You chuckle. "Oh come on, it can't be that bad. Give it a chance, baby!"

"As you wish."

After eating, Ralph is right to sleep despite his insistence you finish packing together tonight. A part of you thinks it's the climate here– fresh sea salt air and less artificial light to disrupt the body's natural sleep patterns. You took off his shoes and empty his pockets because he was just 'resting his eyes for a moment,' then slid in right next to him. He's fine without a blanket, but you pull the back of the quilt over your rear and curl into his side. Sleep comes easier tonight than last night and you dream of wallpaper and wood smoke cologne.

DAY THREE

The rest of the week gets easier for the both of you. You arrived on Monday and unpack the bigger furniture together by Wednesday with the help of some locals. Ralph is getting to study the lesson plan for Ms. Lewis' math class and establishing a gentle authority with his temporary students. He is still excited for the weekend, intent to help you figure out what to do with the walls of the house.

"Has anybody come to see you at the house yet?," he asks you Thursday night.

You pause dicing onions to think. "Besides the neighbors to the north and those Vayle boys? No."

Ralphie raises his eyebrows and drops them, an involuntary gesture made more for himself than you.

You put a hand on your hip. "Why?"

Ralphie waves you off and continues mixing the meat with the spices. "Nothing. It's just everybody and their fucking moms has been asking me about you."

"What?" This was news to you. "Why?"

"Because they're nosy," he replies, "asking me about my whole life story and I let slip I had a wife and then they just wouldn't shut up about it."

You swat his shoulder. "Well don't sound so depressed about it. Do you not like having a wife?"

"No!" Ralph huffs and turns to look at you as he says, "I just hate that every single one of them bugs me about a million personal things and then I mention you and it's the only thing they can talk about now."

Ralph turns back to stirring the pan and grumbles to himself, "might tell them to fuck off and just hoard you forever…"

It clicks in your head at least a bit. Ralph's a born and bred city kid. In the city nobody cares who you are, what you like, or where you're from. Strangers don't want to be anything more than strangers. Their eternal social motto is 'don't waste my time' and anyone who acts differently is probably scheming something.

You chuckle and rest your chin on his shoulder. "You're forgetting these are a different breed of people. Rich and educated socialites more over but suburban, maybe even rural. We're probably the first new thing to happen to them in decades, and communities like this don't have a 'mind your business and I'll mind mine' attitude."

Ralphie flicks you a look but you know he knows you're right. It doesn't mean he has to like it but at least he understands it's not malicious, at least not inherently. It's out of his element, a little out of yours too, but you'll have to adapt and play by their rules if you want to stay here for a while.

The dining room table can seat six, but your Ralphie takes a seat right next to you at a corner so he can hold your hand while you eat. Homemade tacos ease your apprehensions a bit and you go over the remodeling plans with him until midnight. Getting ready to sleep, you wear your thinnest shift and wrap around him like an octopus, your warm core brushing over his barely clothed manhood in temptation.

Ralphie hums, tucking a stray hair back into your bonnet. "We need to get up early tomorrow."

It's a weak protest. The two of you keep rocking into each other and sighing at the feeling of friction but eventually fall asleep despite the delightful buzz of sexual energy surrounding you. You do wake up when Ralph flips you under him and sucks a few marks into your neck.

You spread your legs to accommodate his breadth, feeling him settle deliciously and glancing at the bedside clock. It's barely 5 o' clock and the sun is rising. You gasp as you feel Ralphie's cock slide into you and he's met with little resistance. You two have sex for the first time since you moved and it's been so long that the affair is short lived.

Ralph already has an apology on his lips but you shush him and come a moment later with your fingers brushing your clit in tandem. He peppers you with a dozen more kisses as silent promises to make it up to you.

You shower together, barely bumping elbows as this bathroom is way bigger than your New York City apartment ever was. You chat idly about the weekend and the town and when you're ready to leave, you grab the manila folder where you store the plans for the remodel. You've even got samples from the wallpaper, only taking the ones you like and want to replace.

"I know we probably won't find exact replicas but I want to at least find something similar."

Ralph squeezes your thigh. "Ok, ok. We'll try."

While this town doesn't have a McDonald's (the town over does and it's fancy for some reason), it does have a Home Depot (also pretty fancy). You know you'll need wood and screws and glass panes to finish that solar room but that's not the goal for today.

Ralph skips right over the green paint swatch section to the creams. He's rambling about paint brand pros and cons, he did his research on the way in since you were driving and he brought the book from the school library. You follow and half listen.

"What?"

Ralph finally catches on to your soft smile. You glance around to make sure no one is in earshot because god forbid these gossipers over hear your conversation right now.

"I guess I got you pretty excited last night, huh," you say with a sense of pride. Ralph feels the opposite about his performance this morning.

"I just… I think it's just been a while." He occupies his hands by grabbing every single free swatch sample on the shelf and says, "I promise I will make it up to you."

You roll your eyes in a not unkind way. "It's fine, babe, really. I uh… it feels kind of good to know I still have that kind of effect on you…"

Ralphie sports a smile of his own and puts you under his arm. "Of course you do, sugar."

He leans down to plant a kiss on your lips when you're interrupted by a bright voice. It's so startling that your husband bounces away from you. He stares wide eyed at the woman who interrupted you and he gets that dark look in his eye that only you can see.

"Jesus, Julie," he tries his best not to growl her name. "This is Julie, she's a teacher at the school. Julie this… is… my wife."

Julie makes a noise like a whistle. "Oh my god you are so much more beautiful than I imagined! Ralph doesn't have a picture of you in his office!"

"It's on my desk," he huffs, "it's the one turned towards me."

"And why would you do that?"

"...so I can look at it while I work…?"

Julie's… a little too hands on for just meeting you. You're too reserved to say something about it so you sling a loose arm around her back and hope Ralph doesn't say something for you.

"Hi Julie, it's nice to finally meet you," you tell her. "Ralph's been slowly but surely introducing me to the concept of his coworkers."

"I can't believe we haven't met before now! Ralph keeping you all to himself, me and the other teachers are just so curious about you," she coos. It feels almost put on, like overindulging in sweet to play up her first impression. You let it slide though, maybe it's just your city lens.

"Well, uh, once we've got the house fixed up a bit, we can plan a housewarming party," you suggest. "But not a day before and you may quote me on that, miss!"

Julie laughed and gave you her phone number 'in case you need anything at all.' Ralph breathed easy once she finally left and you tug his ear gently. "She's veeerry friendly."

Ralphie shoots you a glare like you'd made a joke he didn't find funny and you go back to debating the paint to use for your walls eagerly.

@escape-your-grape @hoodoo12 @softbeej @go-commander-kim @beetlesstuff @imma-fucking-nerd @werwulfy

#three bees writing #smut #🐝🐝🐝✒#Ralph Lamont #ralph lamont x reader #alex brightman #black reader insert

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bugmomwrites · 5 years ago

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Animal Crossed Lovers (Tamaki Amajiki)

Alrighty so I haven't put any finished work on here in a hot minute, that’s my bad. ANYWHO my mom got me ACNH as an early birthday gift since my birthday (April 5th) just missed the supposed quarantine cutoff date for our area (7th). I may be be stuck inside while everything’s closed, but hey- at least the island of Escapism hardly rests 😉

(SW-3129-0651-5422)

Tamaki Amajiki x GN! Reader

Tamaki was never one to play video games, but he had to admit there was just something...soothing about Animal Crossing that melted much of his anxiety away. Nejire had initially preordered a copy for his birthday weeks ago, but her friend who worked at the local (s/n) (who he may or may not have been crushing on since their second year after they joined them at lunch one day) was able to pull a couple strings and get it on the fourth of March instead of the twentieth. Of course he had no idea, but he was so stunned when he opened it that it didn’t even occur to him that the game wasn’t even out yet until Mirio had reminded him. He didn’t question it though- his friend group was one wild card after another, so he guessed he shouldn’t have been too surprised.

He was thrilled, and just the fact that no one else had a copy yet made it feel all the more personal. Of course he knew in sixteen days it would be all anybody ever talked about, but for the time being it felt like the game, the little world he had created in the past few days with its gentle music and soft, wholesome theme, was his and his alone. The fact that it was a gift from his friends made it all the more special, and even if he had a hectic day at school he could turn on the console and water pretend flowers on a pretend island, and for those few moments, all was right with the world.

He was pulling weeds to sell to Timmy for bells when his screen pinged in the corner that made his blood run cold.

(Gamertag) is online

Playing: Animal Crossing New Horizons

That’s right, you had friended him on the switch after realizing all his friends had one, and now with a fourth person they could have a full team online. Mirio has suggested everyone exchange codes, and you had taken the liberty of showing him how to punch in the code and adding yourself while he sat there trying not to melt into his seat at how excited you got, or how nice you smelled up close. You had passed it back with a beaming grin, telling him you couldn’t wait to do co-ops. At the time he could only nod, speechless as the rest of his friends made idle chatter until the bell rung, and everyone scurried back to class.

He quickly realized he had left the terminal gate open when he was poking around the various features, learning about what each thing does in game. He tried sprinting to the airport to close the gates, and he made it to the dock before a big green banner flashed across his screen reading “you have a visitor!”

Out of the threshold popped your avatar, and for a moment he was grateful he could hide behind a screen. He wanted to be mad, upset even, that you had wandered onto his digital sanctuary, but couldn’t find it in himself because, then again, it was you.

The Nookphone in the top left corner buzzed to life, and he opened up the chat log with shaky hands. In a cutesy, pastel speech bubble was your message, and he wondered how something that was once so therapeutic to him could do a 180 and suddenly become the source of his anxiety.

G/T: Hello! Sorry to pop in unannounced, I hope you don’t mind^^

Tamaki felt his mouth go dry, reading it in your voice and after steadying his breathing, he painstakingly typed out a response.

Suneater: its ok.

G/T: It’s kinda hard to find others to play with when the game isn’t even released yet >~<

Suneater: Oh?

He should have known it was too good to be true. You were only visiting him because no one else was on yet. He sighed, trying to keep the dread from crawling back in before another note popped up.

G/T: The game doesn’t actually release until the first day of spring, but working at (s/n) has its perks. I saw the trailers and the hype and figured it would be the perfect game for you.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him upon reading that. So he wasn’t the last choice- rather, the game simply wasn’t out to the general public yet. But if that was the case, how did you also get a copy?

Suneater: thats nice of you

G/T: And then a little birdy told me you had a birthday coming up, so since I have a couple connections after I got my copy, I asked my manager if they’d set aside one more.

Suneater: you

Suneater: you were the one who helped get it early?

Boy did he feel stupid now. You worked at (s/n), (as you had literally just mentioned in your previous notes), Nejire got him a game that wasn’t out yet, you guys were all mutual friends- how did he not put two and two together?!

G/T: Yes lol that would be me^ you liking it so far? You picked a good name for the island too.

“Sunshine Island” may have seemed a little cliche to most people, but Tamaki had so many things in his life linked to it that by this point, it was just routine. Mirio was his sun in dark times. His nickname Suneater, even the sunflowers he had received from his parents for his birthday each year was tradition. He knew not everyone would see it the way he did, but to him, it was perfect, and he was definitely chuffed when he thought it up and punched it in for the first time.

To hear you loved it too sent a swell of pride through him, and he wondered if it was possible to love someone as much as he did just then.

Suneater: you really think so?

G/T: Absolutely

And with that, the two of you explored Sunshine Island together, he showed you his tent, the shops, and the little orchard of peaches he had arranged. You were impressed by the amount of detail and care that went into arranging everything, and asked if he’d be willing to help you with your island sometime, to which he obliged.

You guys did some more walking, and he told you to feel free to shake theres and take a couple fruits with you. His native fruit was peaches, and in exchange you dropped a couple of your own fruits from your island on the ground for him to pick up so he could have more variety in his world.

G/T: There’s six different kinds, and each island is assigned one main type of fruit. the more you visit with friends, the more biodiversity you’ll get. Pretty cool right? I have some spare (F/N), and if you take and plant those, they'll grow and multiply!

His avatar hesitantly wandered over to the offering after yours stepped back a little to let him take them. Your generousity was surely appreciated, and even though you couldn't see it, he smiled softly before typing out a new message.

Suneater: Thank you. I’ll go plant those.

The game might have been synced up with real time, even getting darker after a certain hour- yet despite it being outside, neither one of you noticed just how much time had passed between all the bug catching, fishing, exploring and talking. When your screen loaded up a clock that read 2:54 AM, you blinked a few times, as if that would change the reading. But lo and behold, it was going for 3am on a school night, and you knew you both had to get to bed.

G/T: Ah beans its 3am, I gotta get to bed soon. Thanks for letting me hang out on your island, and sorry for keeping you awake >~<

Suneater: don't be sorry, i had a lot of fun. can we play together again sometime?

G/T: Of course! I can't wait to meet up again. Maybe we can visit my island next time? I should have those peaches planted by then, and you can teach me your ways, oh master landscaper.

Tamaki chuckled out loud at that, blushing, as he suddenly had a brilliant idea.

Suneater: That would be nice. Wait here a second.

He scurried off to a patch of flowers he had blooming, and with a shovel, picked up a few in your favorite color before making his way back over and dropping them in front of you.

Suneater: You can start by planting a few of these around your island. It is your favorite color, right?

Now it was your turn to blush as you picked up the (f/c) flowers he dropped in front of you, smiling like a goon at his burst of confidence. How he remembered your favorite color is beyond you, but hey- you weren’t complaining.

G/T: They’re perfect, thank you Tama!

Suneater: You're welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow?

G/N: You know it! Goodnight <3

And on that note you walked down to the airport, his avatar following close behind as if to see you off. It was a simple gesture, but appreciated nonetheless. Both of you powered down your switches for the night before plugging them in, and promptly hopping into your respective beds with racing hearts. It was the perfect end to your digital “date” and you couldn’t wait to log in again.

Thank you for reading! Feedback and reblogs are appreciated. Hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. The inbox is always open for future ideas, so don’t be afraid to drop in.

Also gonna tag @katsukisprincess cause I mean...Animal Crossing and wholesome Tamaki fluff. ‘Nuff said.

#bug mom writes #amajiki tamaki x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #acnh #bnha #mha x reader #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #tamaki x reader #amajiki tamaki #tamaki amajiki #x reader imagine #fluff

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itsadamcole · 4 years ago

Text

family gathering

fem!reader x kyle o’reilly

reader and Kyle tease at other and look at each other while at a family party for Christmas

word count: 2.1k+

warnings: teasing and touching, nsfw, eventually smut, fluff at the end :)

— day 14. let’s gooo —

masterlist || request an imagine here

~ 18+ content below - read at your own risk ~

It was the outfit you picked that started the whole thing before you even left the house with your husband.

The party called for formal attire, which meant suits and ties for the men and full length gowns for the ladies. You chose a silver dress. It's mermaid style, which means the dress hugs your body until it gets down to your knees, where the skirt flares out. The dress is sparkly and has a plunging v-neck with an open back. The plunging v-neck reveals a decent amount of your chest. The dress has a slight train to it. You wear silver heels and jewelry to complete the look.

Kyle steals glances at you while at the party. You're talking to a few of your cousins while he talks to some of his friends that he invited. You drink champagne as you speak with your cousins.

You steal glances at Kyle occasionally. His butt looks good in the dress pants he wears with his suit. The suit is black and white but the tie is silver to match you. The pants are a little tight on him but it's okay. They hug all the right areas.

"Excuse me," you say to your eldest cousin. "I have to get a refill on my champagne. I'll be right back."

She nods and you walk off to the minibar, asking for some champagne.

As it's being poured, Kyle approaches you and stands beside you. You look over at your husband and he says, "I can see you looking at my ass, Y/N. Stop making it so painfully obvious that you're staring at my ass."

"Have you been doing extra squats and didn't tell me?" you ask.

Kyle laughs as you're both handed your filled glasses of champagne. "If we're gonna talk about whose ass looks better right now, you're gonna win," Kyle says. "You chose the right dress, my love. It's hard not to keep my eyes off of you."

You stand close to your husband and fix his crooked tie a bit as you say, "I knew I chose the right dress when I walked downstairs and your eyes almost bugged out of your head. Don't think I didn't see you staring at my boobs either, Mr. O'Reilly. I always know when you're staring at my boobs."

Your husband smirks a bit and traces the neck of your dress, his fingers touching the exposed part of your breasts. "The whole dress is a tease and I'm not sure if I love it or hate it," Kyle admits.

Smiling, you say, "You'll love it by the end of the night. Wanna know why? Because you and I both know you won't be able to control yourself anymore and we both know what will happen as soon as we get home." You pause, taking a sip of champagne. "Now, if you excuse me, my cousins are waiting for me."

You walk away, swaying your hips a bit as you walk. You're teasing Kyle to the max. It's the outfit. It started it all.

A few minutes pass as you continue your conversation with your cousins.

Kyle has to keep his distance from you before he decides to rip the dress of you where you stand. He does everything he can. He talks to your family and his friends. He does everything he can to stay away from you so he can keep his hands off of you.

It doesn't work, because you and Kyle find your way to each other as you speak to your aunt and uncle.

"How's married life?" your aunt asks. "Any talks of babies?"

Kyle smiles as you reply with, "We've talked about it. It's definitely on the table, but Kyle travels so much for work and we both want him to be here for the baby. There's time. I'm only 26."

You married Kyle when you were 24 and when he was 31. You married in February 2018. Valentine's Day two years ago. It was just as cliche as it gets.

Your uncle says, "Don't rush into it. Have kids when you're both ready."

"Exactly," your aunt says. "Don't be io upset if it doesn't happen right away either. Things like this may take time and happen unexpectedly."

You smile and nod to what your aunt and uncle say, but you know Kyle's eyes are on you the whole time.

A slow Christmas song comes on and you drag Kyle out to the dance floor for a dance. Other couples have made their way out.

Kyle holds you in his arms. Your arms are wrapped around his neck and his are wrapped around your waist. His hands rest on your lower back. They're dangerously close to your butt. You press your head against Kyle's chest. He's only six foot but he towers over your five foot four frame, and that's with two inch heels on.

"You know," you say, beginning an important conversation. "I've been thinking about us and having kids a lot recently."

Kyle looks down at you and says, "Oh? What about us and having kids?"

You look up, meeting Kyle's eyes. You say, "I've been wanting to start a family recently. I wouldn't mind if we tried to start having kids soon."

Your husband smiles and says, "It's your body, Y/N. I've been waiting for you to tell me when you wanted to start having kids."

Happy and overjoyed by how this conversation is going, you say, "Let's start a family, Kyle. All I've wanted is to start a family with you."

Kyle smiles and leans down, kissing you softly. You kiss him back, your eyes fluttering closed. Your hands slide to cup his face. That's when you feel Kyle's hands dip to your butt. You giggle against Kyle's lips, pulling back. "You just had to find a way to get your hands to my ass, didn't you?" you say, smiling.

"What can I say, Y/N?" Kyle says, smiling cutely at you. "It's my favorite part of you. Well, one of my favorite parts of you."

You laugh and say, "You're crazy, but I love you."

Your husband says, "I love you too, Y/N."

The two of you share another kiss. This one is more passionate than the last.

As you stand there and kiss your husband on the dance floor, you think about a family with him. Kids running around and laughing as you and Kyle chase them, having fun. Family movie nights when Kyle's home, cuddles with Kyle and your kids, family dinners, birthdays. Everything.

A smile forms on your lips and Kyle pulls back. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours that has you all smiley?" he asks.

"Just thinking," you say. "About what our family would look like."

Kyle smiles and asks, "You want to start trying tonight?"

You giggle, "I thought you'd never ask. Let's get out of here."

***

The two of you make it home in record time. As soon as the door shuts to your two floored house, your lips are on Kyle's. You smile against his lips as the kiss becomes more passionate almost immediately after your lips connect.

Kyle sheds his jacket and his shoes before he takes your hand, leading you upstairs. You kick off your heels, leaving then by the door as you follow your husband up the stairs.

As soon as you've crossed over the threshold of your shared bedroom, you bring your lips to Kyle's again. You quickly untie his silver tie, throwing it somewhere in the room. You untuck and unbutton Kyle's white button up shirt. His fingers are on the zipper of your dress, pulling it down.

The dress falls off your body, pooling at your feel. You pull off Kyle's button up as you step out of the dress, only in your panties at this point.

You pull off Kyle's tight dress pants as he pushes you gently down onto your back on the bed. Your legs hang off the end of the bed as Kyle leans down and leaves kisses trailing up your stomach and between your breasts. He continues to kiss up your chest and over your collarbone to your neck. You smile and run your fingers through Kyle's hair as he lays himself between your legs.

You leave kisses on Kyle's temple as he kisses up to your jawline.

Kyle's erect member is straining to get out of his boxers as he presses against your clothed core as his lips meet yours. You buck your hips up, grinding against Kyle a bit. A soft moan leaves both your lips as he begins to grind against you softly.

His lips leave yours after a second before attaching to your neck. You tilt your head to the side, giving him more access. You watch the snow fall outside for a second as you feel a wave of bliss come over you. You smile and close your eyes as Kyle rids you of your panties and himself of his boxers. You smile as you feel his tip run through your folds.

You didn't notice that you were wet for him. It's not surprising considering the words you've exchanged today and the thoughts you have been thinking today.

"Kyle," you sigh. "Please."

He looks down at you as he hovers above you. He says, "I need to know you're one hundred percent sure that you want to start having kids tonight."

You nod and say, "Let's start tonight, Kyle." A smile forms on his lips and yours as he leans down, kissing you softly as he positions himself at your entrance. You wait in anticipation.

Kyle slowly slides himself into you, his length filling you up. You sigh softly as he moves slowly. Your eyes flutter closed as he starts to thrust his hips after a moment.

His movements are slow, making sure that you're adjusted to him. Your nails dig into his sides a bit as he moves. Your soft sighs turn to moans as he speeds up.

"Oh, Kyle," you moan softly as he picks up speed. "Oh!"

Kyle smirks as his lips attach to your neck. You smile and his thrusts get faster and his member moves deeper into you. Your moans get louder.

He brings his lips back to yours and he kisses you hard. You wrap your legs around his waist and Kyle moves himself so he can move faster and rougher into you.

The tip of his length hits your g-spot and you cry out, "Kyle! Right there, oh my God."

He smirks and moves harder and harder into that spot. You're a moaning mess beneath Kyle as you moan a mixture of his name and a few different profanities.

Kyle begins to rub your very sensitive clit as he continues thrusting his hips.

"Kyle, baby," you sigh. "I'm about to come."

He says, "Me too. Come with me."

And you do. A few seconds later, you both release at the same time. You release around Kyle and he releases inside of you.

Gasping for breath, Kyle pulls out and rolls off of you. Both of you crawl under the covers and lay tied up with each other.

"How's your blood sugar level?" you ask. "Are you feeling okay?"

You wipe a few sweat droplets away from his forehead and he nods. "I feel great. Euphoric, even," he says.

A smile forms on your lips as you lay cuddles up to Kyle. Your legs are intertwined together and his arms are around your shoulders. Your arm is lazily thrown across his waist. Your chest is pressed against his side.

After a few moments of silence, Kyle says, "If we have a boy one day, I wanna name him after one of the Undisputed Era guys. They're like my brothers."

"Of course," you say. "I wouldn't have it any other way. If we a girl, I want her to have Marie as her middle name. It's my great-grandmother's middle name, my grandmother's middle name, my mom's middle name, and my middle name."

Kyle smiles and kisses your temple. "That's okay with me," Kyle says. "God, I can't wait to have a little one of us running around."

You smile and say, "We better get some sleep now because we won't be getting much after we have kids."

Your husband laughs and says, "I can agree to that. Goodnight, Y/N. I love you, and Merry Christmas."

"Goodnight, Kyle," you say, yawning. "I love you too, and Merry Christmas to you."

#kyle o’reilly imagine #kyle o’reilly fluff #kyle o’reilly smut #kyle o’reilly x reader #wrestling imagine #wrestling smut #wrestling fluff #wwe imagine #wwe fluff #wwe smut #nxt imagine #nxt smut #nxt fluff #nswf imagine #smut #imagines #imagine #smut imagine

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snowdice · 4 years ago

Text

Little Kestrel (Part 11)[Birds of Different Feathers Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan & Patton & Virgil (future Virgil/Patton but not in this story)

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton, Virgil

Appear: Thomas

Mentioned: Janus

Summary:

It was supposed to be a quick job either way. Either Virgil would assassinate King Thomas of Prijaznia or he’d be caught and get executed. Yet, when Virgil gets the wrong bedroom and gets caught by Prince Logan and his future royal advisor, Patton, the job ends up getting way more complicated for the 14-year-old. He also ends up sleeping in a (actually pretty comfortable) closet for a few weeks…

Notes: Implied/referenced child abuse, assassination attempt, knives, torture mentioned, captivity, teenagers being really dumb

This is a prequel to Kill Dear. I wrote it 100 words at a time on my blog, but this is the edited version. If you want to see how it was crafted, look at the tag proofread stories.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Over the course of the next three days of Virgil’s captivity, Virgil would come to the conclusion that his captors were idiots.

This thought flickered to life once again as Logan leaned into the closet to point out another constellation on the ceiling, tottering unstably on his knees as his weight shifted forward and distracted by his enthusiasm.

They were alone in the prince’s room. Patton had left only a few minutes before to help his mother in the kitchen (less because she needed help and more to prevent her suspicion about why he’d spent so much time away in the last few days).

He wouldn’t be back for a while, and Virgil had full mobility in the closet. With Logan leaning over the threshold like that, it would be easy to kill him or even just incapacitate him. One rough yank on his arm would have him completely in the closet. Virgil had no question that he could pin him down so he couldn’t activate the restraints, and even if he managed to do so, he’d have been drawn close enough that Virgil could use his legs. He could either force him to take off the cuffs or, since they automatically went to the second setting when he left the closet, just deal with it until he managed to get away. It would just be so easy.

Yet, he did not act.

He just watched Logan as he leaned stupidly over an assassin while info dumping about stars.

This was the first day that Virgil hadn’t felt at all tired when he’d drank the provided nutrition and healing potion, though it had never affected him quite as much as it had the first day. Logan said that meant that his injuries must be healed. It was a weird feeling. He didn’t remember when the last time was that he wasn’t damaged in some way. Even before his grueling training, there’d always been bullies at the orphanage and he’d been the youngest and smallest in his age group.

He was also more well rested and fed than he had been in as long as he could remember. He felt better than he knew was possible today, and he suspected that he would only feel better after a bit more time under their care.

He told himself that was why he didn’t lash out now. He was waiting until he was as strong as possible to make sure his escape went as well as it could, even if it was a risk. They’d mentioned that the king would be gone for three weeks. After he returned, Virgil would surely be turned over to people much more capable of actually keeping him well trapped and less likely to feed him well, give him a nice place to sleep, and leave him without injury. It was a gamble to stay, because it was possible that he wouldn’t find another opportunity in time and would get handed over to his fate. Really, if he was being reasonable, he should get out now while he felt good and had a secured opportunity.

Still, he did not. He had not any of the times they’d given him the opportunity in the last few days.

Logan finished his sentence and leaned back out of the closet to safety. He still was speaking though in that soft happy tone. Logan liked the stars. He liked to talk about the stars, and Virgil found he liked to listen to him. They tended to end up in this position whenever Patton was away, just talking as Virgil laid in the prince’s closet.

Eventually, Logan’s latest story tapered out. There was silence then for a few moments. Virgil stared up at the fake stars on the ceiling, the stars that Logan had made for him when he really did not have to. Virgil had not been expecting lights in the closet, let alone ones so beautiful and thoughtful. Not ones with stories behind them. Just days ago, if someone had told Virgil the prince would be keeping him in his closet for the next few weeks, Virgil wouldn’t have expected a blanket let alone all of this.

He turned his head to look at Logan. “What?” Logan asked.

“Your magic’s very beautiful,” Virgil said.

Logan seemed pleased by the complement, lighting up almost as much as the stars he’d made. “Well, it’s just a basic light spell,” he said, “though I did make some adjustments to them and the dimmer was a bit more difficult. Anyone could do it with practice.”

Virgil shook his head. “They’re special, I think,” he said. “Your magic’s different than most people’s.”

“How so?” Logan asked curiously.

“It’s gentle,” he said. “Gentle and warm, like eating the warm soup you fed me a couple of days ago.”

“And other people’s magic feels different?” he asked.

Virgil nodded. “I’ve met a lot of magic users, but it always felt bad. Usually it hurts or makes you feel sick or just makes you uncomfortable. Even healing magic always felt like bugs nibbling at my skin, but the potion you’ve been having me drink in the morning feels… safe. It doesn’t hurt or make me want to cry. It’s just good.”

“Magic often has much to do with the caster’s intentions,” Logan said.

“I think you could poison me gently.”

Logan made an odd expression. “That…” he said, nose scrunched. “That is a strange thing to say.”

Virgil cocked his head. “Is it?”

“Yes!” Logan said, shaking his head. “You are far too comfortable with the concept of death for your age.”

“I’m fourteen,” Virgil argued. “That’s old enough to be sent on missions without a blood compulsion!”

“…A what?” Logan asked.

“A blood compulsion,” Virgil said. “You know, with a multrum.” Logan was frowning at him. “One works in your gardens and you’re a prince. You had to have at least seen one or two. They take a bit of blood and multrums process it into a little bead. Then you’ve got to do what your told or it hurts a lot.”

“I know what a blood compulsion is,” Logan said. “I am simply wondering who would put one on a fourteen-year-old.”

“They don’t,” Virgil said. “They stop putting them on people when they turn fourteen.”

“And exactly what is the age range for it?” Logan asked. Virgil was almost startled by the way his tone was quickly hardening. He’d never heard him be that harsh even when he’d first woken up in his custody. It made Virgil tense up.

“They take kids usually when they’re about 8 and it’s a year of training before you’re sent on a mission so 9-13,” he said.

“That’s horrible,” Logan spat so violently that Virgil flinched. Logan didn’t seem to notice. “They force children to kill under a blood compulsion?”

“Well, no one really wants to do it without one when they’re that little. They get scared, and usually try to chicken out so…”

“So, they torture them unless they kill someone.”

“I mean… it’s not. They have to agree to the deal.”

“And if they don’t agree to it?” Logan asked.

Virgil thought back to the second time they’d made him get a blood compulsion. It had been with the multrum before Janus, a girl by the name of Alina. He’d made the mistake of hesitating on his first kill and faced the consequences before finally giving in and doing the job. When the second mission had come around, Virgil hadn’t wanted to accept the blood compulsion.

That had been the first time they’d made him drink a binding potion. Logan seemed to be able to get an idea about it by the look on his face.

“So, your options were to be tortured, be tortured in a different way, or murder someone.” Logan looked at him. “You said your fourteen. Have you ever even killed of your own volition?”

“I… no,” he admitted, but quickly added, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t. I know what I’m doing.”

“That explains a lot about your personality and reactions so far.”

Virgil rankled at that for some reason. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Logan just stared at him for a long moment. “What they did, what they are doing isn’t right, you know?” he said.

Virgil blinked at him but said nothing. He became more and more uncomfortable in the silence that ensued.

“Would you like to learn more about magic?” he asked. “There are many uses other than to hurt. I can teach you a few basics if you’d like.”

Virgil was confused about the topic change but was relieved about it. “Uh.” He thought. “Sure. That would be… interesting.”

Logan smiled at him. “I’ll set up something and we can work with it in the next few days. What would you like to learn?”

“Um, I have no idea. What is there?”

Logan considered it for a moment. “We could do a hair color changing potion. Or perhaps a small protection charm or I can teach you to make fire shapes.”

“Protection charm,” Virgil said without hesitation.

Logan gave him a sad smile. “Of course. I’ll start showing you how to make them tomorrow and we can actually make some the next day.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed.

“Would you like to hear more about the stars?” he asked. Virgil nodded. He once again leaned into the closet to point and Virgil once again did not move to attack. Nor did he attack when that afternoon Patton turned his back on Virgil for far too long when they were alone. Nor did he when they settled him into bed once again in the closet. He told himself it was strategic, but he knew it wasn’t.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

#sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #character thomas #adriana writes #little kestrel #birds of different feathers #implied/referenced child abuse #assassination attempt #knives #torture mentioned #captivity

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imaginingsoftly · 4 years ago

Text

Wedding Date Pt. 5 - Tyler Seguin

Type: strangers-enemies-lovers, series

Requested: no

Warnings: swearing, mentions of emotional manipulation and shitty exes

A/N: Sorry about forgetting to post last week! Here’s part 5, and there should be two more parts after this one.

Tyler was already at the Benn house when Melissa arrived the next afternoon. Jordie had promised he would be, and it appeared the middle Benn kept his promises. Tyler was actually the one who met Melissa at the door, and his jaw clenching gave away that he was still mad. For just a second, she wondered if he would shut the front door in his face. The baby on his hip seemed like the only reason that he didn’t. Billie reached out for Melissa as soon as Tyler opened the door, and just like that she was in. Melissa made a note to get Billie a book or something as a thank you, even if the kid wouldn’t understand what it was for.

He stepped back as soon as Melissa crossed the threshold and began walking away. Melissa followed him down the hallway towards the kitchen much like she’d followed Jordie the day before. “So am I never going to be able to visit Jordie without you being here now?” Melissa glared at Tyler as he walked in front of her, though it was mostly as she tried not to look at his ass. It was hard, especially considering how tight his board shorts were.

Jordie frowned at Tyler as the two of them and Billie appeared in the kitchen. He’d more than likely heard what Tyler said to her. “Hey, Lissa,” Jordie said, “how’s it going?” His face changed when he looked at her, and the brotherly smile he flashed at her was incredibly reassuring.

The baby sitting on Melissa’s hip started babbling and clutching at her hair before she could respond. Clearly, she hadn’t been paying Billie enough attention. “Yeah, babe, I see you. You wanna tell me all about your day?” Billie continued to babble at her animatedly, and Melissa tried to ignore Tyler’s quiet huff as he stalked out of the kitchen and into the backyard. She stared after him as he began to help Jessie set up some lights around the deck. He hip-checked her out of the way, and Melissa’s heart tugged at the laughter that filtered in through the open door.

“You’re really good with her.” Melissa turned her attention to Jordie. He leaned back against the counter and jerked his chin at Billie. “You look like you’ve done this before.”

Melissa smiled and squeezed Billie gently. “My younger sister has two. She married her high school sweetheart right out of college, and they had their first kid right after she turned 23.” She bounced Billie until she started to belly laugh. “I’m the cool aunt.” Jordie laughed, and Melissa chuckled along with him. Sarah’s boys were the toughest part of moving out of the DC area. She had been the go-to babysitter from the time the oldest was born, and now she’d be lucky to see them a few times a year.

She looked out at the deck again, and Jordie gestured for her to make her way outside. Jessie gave Melissa a hug when she saw her, and Billie started reaching for her mom. Tyler looked like he was doing his best impression of a statue until Jordie punched him on the shoulder and ordered him into the yard to haul chairs in front of the firepit.

It seemed like Jordie and Jessie were doing their best to keep Melissa and Tyler separate during the entirety of setup, though they were making Melissa do things that involved her being in front of Tyler. If she had to wager a guess, Melissa would say they were trying to get him used to having her in his presence before they talked.

The party was well underway by the time Melissa finally caught Tyler alone. He was inside making himself a mixed drink when she went for another beer. Much like he had done all night when she tried to get him alone, Tyler immediately made a beeline for the back door.

“Tyler.” He kept walking, and Melissa hurried after him. “Tyler please just listen for a second.” He stopped, mercifully, and she hurried to catch up to him. “I’m sorry for almost all of the things you mentioned yesterday.” His body was stiff, shoulders tight and angry as she stepped around to look in his face. “I’m not sorry that I hooked up with you though. It’s the stuff afterwards that was the issue. I didn’t plan on sleeping with you, just sex, and when I woke up and felt comfortable I panicked.” It had taken Melissa until she saw Tyler again to realize it, too. She could easily imagine waking up next to him all the time, and it felt wrong to be that comfortable with someone she’d just met. Especially someone she imagined didn’t do relationships.

It felt like progress when she grabbed his hand and he didn’t pull it away. “I really really like you, Tyler, and it scared the shit out of me. I’ve never been the type of person to make friends easily, and I’ve sure as hell never been the type of person to fall for someone I’d just met, and both of those things happened with you.” Melissa squeezed Tyler’s fingers in an attempt to really make him understand. Brown eyes met hers, and they weren’t as angry anymore. He still looked hurt, but he wasn’t really angry.

Someone shouted for Tyler, and he jerked his hands back. “I’ll talk to you later.” His shoulders lowered slightly as he walked away, though his steps were still short. Melissa bit her lip. She had no right to expect him to forgive her easily. Ghosting him had been pretty shitty, and appearing in his friend’s backyard had been even shittier.

In an effort to save her heart from another rejection from Tyler, Melissa found Jessie and did her best to pretend he didn’t exist. Jessie seemed more than happy to be a distraction, shoving cookie dough and a scoop into her hands and instructing her to fill the cookie sheets. Jessie stood on the other side of the kitchen island scooping out of her own giant batch of cookie dough, and Billie stared at them from her seat in her high chair. Melissa made faces at the baby every few minutes, and at one point threw some cookie dough in Jessie’s direction. Billie screeched in excitement, and the pair of women laughed as they continued to do everything they could to make Billie laugh.

Later, Melissa was sitting by herself near the fire when a large body dropped into the chair beside her. “Why did you ghost me?” Tyler stared out into the fire when he spoke, and he wouldn’t meet Melissa’s eyes when she turned her head in his direction. “I thought we at least had enough of a connection to be friends.”

Rather than anger, Tyler looked hurt. She hadn’t even considered that he would be upset about losing a potential friend. Honestly, she’d assumed it was embarrassment over being rejected that was bugging him more than anything else. “I panicked.” Tyler scoffed, and she placed a hand on his thigh so he didn’t try to get up. “Kirsten convinced me that a hookup would be good for me, and I agreed. I thought we could hookup, maybe more than once, and be friends.” Melissa squeezed Tyler’s leg to get his attention, waiting until he looked into her eyes before he continued. “I woke up the morning after the wedding and realized that I liked you way too much for this to be a casual hookup. My last relationship ended really badly, kinda messed me up, and I told you about that, which is crazy. Nobody except Kirsten knew that whole story.”

Tyler was melting, she could see it in his eyes. Somehow, Melissa was lucky enough that he understood. He leaned into Melissa’s space as he spoke again. “We didn’t have to be a hookup. Maybe I would have been interested in a relationship, especially if I knew you were here in Dallas.”

He met Melissa’s eyes with a fiery intensity. She found herself getting lost in them again, just like she had the morning after the wedding. “I don’t know if I can handle another relationship right now. Liam messed with my head pretty badly, stuff I didn’t realize he was doing until we were over.” She looked down at her lap because meeting Tyler’s eyes was out of the question. It was hard for her to admit, but it was the truth. Liam was a master emotional manipulator, good enough that she didn’t realize he was doing it. Looking at language in emotional manipulation was one of her damn areas of research, for fucks sake, and she still hadn’t figured it out until after.

The fire crackled a few feet away. A large hand snaked into Melissa’s lap to cover her hands, and another hand pushed her hair out of her face and gently tilted her head up. Tyler’s eyes, so incredibly expressive, had changed yet again. There was none of the sympathy she’d expected. Just sheer determination that took her breath away. “Let me try.” Melissa opened her mouth to speak, but Tyler shook his head. “Let me chase you. I’ll gain your trust. Be my date to events. Let me show you how incredible you are, and when you feel comfortable moving us forward you tell me. Okay?” Tyler gently rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone, and Melissa sank into the touch. This was what she missed about being in a relationship. She craved physical intimacy.

“Okay.” Melissa whispered the words, and could hardly believe they were coming out of her mouth.

“Okay?” She nodded at Tyler’s repetition, and he grinned cheekily at her. “We’ll start Saturday. There’s a donor event before the draft, and I need a date. We had a bit of fun the last time we went to an event together, yeah?” Tyler winked, and Melissa couldn’t help but laugh.

Tyler’s face turned serious again as he searched her face. “Are you sure about this? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, baby, and I damn sure don’t want you to run away again.” Melissa’s heart tugged. She would never stop feeling bad for that, no matter the reason why she’d done it.

She nodded. Tyler kissed her forehead gently, and she leaned into his touch. “I’m gonna make this worth your while, I promise.” Despite herself and lingering reservations, Melissa believed him.

#nhl imagine #nhl imagines #wedding date ml #tyler seguin imagine

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winterbuckytho · 4 years ago

Text

When Is It Over

After being missing for 48 hours, Tony Stark comes into the restaurant and is escorted to the table James Rhodey was waiting for him at. Rhodey, always a patient and understanding man wanted to give Tony an absolute earful for disappearing like that. He and Happy had been just about to raise alarms when he got the text "I'm a genius and you know that but I had major breakthrough and can't talk to anyone else. You will never guess who's bed I woke up in."

Rhodey guessed wrong 17 times then finally gave up by texting back. "Uuuugh, I hate it when you’re right! Just tell me!!"

"One Sargent James Buchanan Barnes, the Manchurian Candidate himself. TMI, but we have no boundaries, he's an awesome lay btw. I'll send you info for a meetup and brunch. I need so much coffee."

And so not long after the two sat in a little known upscale place seated at a privately reserved table on a terrace over looking the sea, Rhodey asking how in the flying fuck Tony had ended up at a dick appointment in Wakanda.

"It all started a while ago but what happened last night started the night before last. I kept having this nightmare where Barnes is bearing down on Pepper and my reactor is busted and I'm trapped in my suit, pinned to the floor like a butterfly to a card by one of those creepy bug collectors. Pepper is right there but I can never convince him to not hurt her. Sometimes it's you or Steve and I guess because I watched footage of him before he started remembering stuff... God, the way he gunned after Steve, like a pretty Ultron. And I fought him myself in trigger mode, Christ, his eyes were colder than dry ice and emptier than Bruce's apartment right now... I had it again and sitting up after with a glass of warm milk thought about that exposure therapy thing, what is it called?"

"Systemic Desensitization?"

"Right, anyway, so I called King T'challa and it turned out Barnes was awake. So i asked to see him, explain what I want to try and do because I already have 15 flavors of PTSD, I didn't need a special designer one and reassured nothing like vengeance was even remotely on my mind. I just needed to see him outside the context I had him in before in Siberia so he agreed to have me."

"Whoa, that's a stupid idea. So what happened?"

"Well, he has a convalescent suite in the mines, most secure place on the planet I bet. From himself and from others. I went straight there and was on his doorstep at 2 the next morning. He was still willing to see me and the Princess seems to have figured out how to end his following through with the programming, so he opened the door and..."

"Stark, I understand I never even knew you and I fucked up half your lif-" Bucky Barnes began.

“I don't wanna talk about that Barnes..." Tony replied.

"Then what do you want?" Buck asked shaking his head a little at a loss as to why Stark would need to see him this bad. A cold fright made his belly feel full of squirming eels as he wondered what in God's name he had done now. 'Th-they say I'm alright now but before... I hardly remember being brought to Wakanda, everything after my arm was fried off... is just a smudge of awareness. Did I hurt him bad that day, he looks okay but what did I do..?'

"I... fuck, okay, this is one of those times where I am doing a crazy rich person thing, you know. I keep having these dreams... "I remember them all." you said. That's what you said and ever since I feel like I need to face you in a.... I don't know... unfiltered way? I need to know you're not going to... hurt me or Pepper or Steve or Rh-"

Bucky stood in the doorway his blood chilled to slush in his veins. What did Tony want him to do? Act out some death wish? 'Absolutely fucking not. I will eat a gun before I endanger anyone else. I can't, I literally can't let it happen, even by the most unpredictable accident...' "Tony, what is it you mean for me to do? I'm not gonna fight you, I-i can't, I-"

"Shit, Sarge..."Tony says and aggressively goes in for a kiss. A hard confused long and breathless kiss.

"Oh my God, you did not!" Rhodey exclaimed his incredulity impossible to contain.

"You going keep talking or are you going eat your lunch and let me finish?" Stark says a little miffed even if he wouldn't say that word unironically.

"I thought you were in like, regular killer robots trouble, but this takes the cake, please do go on. I want every sordid detail. I can't tell if I'm more horrified at your taste in guys or frustrated with you for not telling me about what you were going to do."

'Oh god my heart is racing faster than that time it almost got its promised dose of metal shards before I could get the other reactor in. I might throw up. But uh yeah, I'll admit it. I'm definitely getting hard. Is this it? Is this what I need to make myself understand he's not a killing machine anymore? For an engineering genius I'm so fuckin' stupid... O-oh ah, is- is he... holding me?' Tony's mind went from one thought to the next so rapidly it almost made him dizzy. But as Barnes wrapped an arm gently about his waist and pulled him closer over the threshold and into his suite, his initial fright at his own actions became quieter and slowed till he was thinking nothing and only letting the electricity of it flow as neurons and synapses and receptors did their work. He could feel Barnes' lips tremble slightly against his as they kissed, cold metal under his palm as it slid up over the smooth curves up to the other man's shoulder, his need now becoming clearer by the second.

Bucky didn't understand what was happening and in ordinary circumstances would like to know and love someone before getting closer this way. It felt wrong at first and he was so hypervigilant he was half convinced his body was acting on its own to attack Tony until the man moaned deeply in to the kiss, the sound of it long and greatly pleased. Barnes pulled away a moment looking at Stark. "What is this? I... I’m afraid I don't understand..."

"You and me both, pal. Oh no, Steve is rubbing off on me.... But yes... I'm figuring something out. Can we go to your room?"

"I- uhm sure it's... uhm... on the left. End of the hall."

"Come on, I can make it fast."

"I... had no idea you..."

"Again. You and me both, pal. Turned out my heterosexual philandering was me performing gender conformity and trying to hide from anything real about myself. I think I swing both ways. Or multiple ways at once." Tony said leading to the bedroom. He took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair by a small table in the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

Buck sat next to him and said "Ah. Well, you're not alone in that. If I had a nickel for all the girls I had hanging on my arm while hiding the truth..."

"Wow. I mean... The length Steve was going for you... I didn't realize it was a two way street."

"Yeah, I'm fuckin' stupid for that boy. All those years... and then the first one I see his face again, the curse was lifted. Kinda like a fairytale." Barnes laughed.

Tony laughed too. A genuine happy sound he had been too anxious to properly make the last few months. Hearing Bucky say it like that, he knew they both loved the same things in their favorite star spangled dumbass. Another layer of fear melted and he grasped Bucky's metal hand. "Is this going to hurt what you got going for him? I can stop, find some other way to work through how I'm feeling about everything..."

"No, its okay. I...think I understand what you need."

"Oh yeah?"

"We were never properly introduced and until you know who a man is, he will always be a stranger."

'I'll be damned... that's kinda exactly what this is. I need to know him. I need to know him inside out like how I know Steve. It took almost dying together a few times for us to become friends. This is the express route for me and Barnes.' Stark sniffed and nodded then said abruptly, "But first I... I’m sorry. I'm sorry things went down how they did for you, I'm sorry for reacting that way when I found out our... connection. I- well I was going to say I'm sorry I blew your arm off but I'll say it when I'm sure I won't be lying. I had seen you kill a dozen people that day and I'm still scared shitless of you."

The room was quiet a moment as Bucky carefully gathered so he wouldn't burst in to tears before he could say it. "I'm sorry as well. I never got to apologize to any of their families before. So thank you too."

"Hey." Stark said quietly. He was beginning to truly feel something about Bucky other then that fever pitch fear. The time Barnes had come within a second of shooting Tony straight in the god-damned face came back to him but he didn't see that man in this moment. "I want to believe you so, come on. Make love to me and show me who you really are."

"Oo, you was being all smooth with it, okay, alright, Mr Stark, turn the swag on..." Said Rhodey.

"One of these days, Alice, right to the moon." Replied Tony.

"Ha ha, okay, I'll stop. One of these days...”

Barnes nodded and turned further to Tony reaching a hand out. He used the side of his index finger to take Stark's chin and tug lightly guiding him towards himself and beginning to kiss him in soft slow motions. "Do you want me to take charge a bit? Because I don't think I want you to make it fast."

"Hah~ I uh... don't mind, bottom, top as long as you're comfortable."

"How bout we work it both ways. I mean sure I'm big and can probably punch out that whole wall down in less than 3 minutes but I have a... softer side too."

"Being little spoon is nice..." Stark replied with a small smile pulling his tie vest and shirt off. He was endeared further to see Bucky blushing in the low warm light.

Bucky pressed him back on the bed and rolled half on top of him. His was so effortlessly strong his weight could barely be felt as he held himself from simply pinning Tony to the bed under him. Heat began to flush his body as the gentle kisses they traded became more passionate and hungry. A thrum of pleasure pulses outward from his pelvis and Bucky groaned in the ecstasy of it thinking 'Guess it's like riding a bicycle... it's all coming back to me now, huh?...uhn~' while his hips rocked forward pressing down against Tony.

It was a small gesture but so erotically charged, Stark's breath caught in his chest a second then he mirrored it with his hand sliding downwards to explore the stiffening shaft pressed against his thigh. He squeezed and stroked it marveling it a little for it's size and immediately wondering how much of Bucky's size was from the serum. He suspected from the way Barnes handled himself though that it was all Buck. He pulled the waist band of Bucky's pajama bottoms out and down exposing him. Tony's hand wrapped around it and he watched as Bucky's eyelids lowered and he breathed quietly "Oh God hahn..." pecs heaving as he gasped. Stark bit into his lower lip surprised how a sight like that could turn him on and quiet still more of his fear of the man. It humanized Barnes instantly like nothing else he could have made in the Avengers tower r & d labs.

Bucky's erection throbbed, Tony's hand feeling cool on it's hot skin as he took in the sensation just made it even more captivating but he paused a moment before raising himself to stand and pulled his pants off. As he did Tony took off the remainder of his clothes as well and soon they reconvened on the bed together. Tony waited for Buck to lie down then took a position that would serve well for oral. He was surprised to be further guided gently to straddle Barnes' face. They each used oral to the pleasure of the other and it was not long before the room was full of moans and sighs.

Barnes could never explain it but serving someone willingly in this scenario nearly made his mind melt with the extreme arousal building inside him. He moans softly his tongue massaging and circling sensitive skin, probing flicking at the entrance. He can't help how he is drawn in to the movement both soothed and excited by it, all the while feeling heat and soft textures and slick saliva slowly slathered up and down his length paired with a delicious friction he couldn't withstand in stoicism. His hips jerk and thrust up and his arms wrap around Stark's thighs pulling him down against his now wildly thrashing tongue.

"O-ohn hah! Mmm~!" Tony's breathes come fast and eratic as he tries to not be distracted from the task at hand. Which was enjoying Barnes' response to his sucking and licking of the man's cock. He is becoming increasingly intensely aroused to the point of loosing much of his control leaving him trembling and squirming as he struggles to keep his tongue moving. Finally unable to do much else he accepts Bucky's entire length in to his mouth allowing him to thrust himself in and out while Stark groans in deep pleasure at the many sensations.

Bucky came to a point where it wasn't enough and he needed to see his lovers face as well as become the more active party. He slowed his licking and paused one hand grasping Tony's arm and pulling him up to head of the bed French kissing him and enjoying the feel of their tongues sliding about one another. After a few moments they worked into missionary position. Bucky licked his fingers, massaged and stretching Stark making the man whimper and gasp pressing his head back into the pillows. Then he began to penetrate working his tip in slowly, setting urgency aside for a bit to be sure they were both on the same page.

Tony, experiencing great pleasure eagerly thrust his hips up as his calves rested on Barnes' broad strong shoulders. "I-it's okay, I'm experienced, you can go harder, go faster. Oh god~!" Even as he did it he was having a strong sense of sorrow derived from the way Bucky handled his body, with such a care, terrified of himself of hurting anyone. He knew this was because of who he was as a person and not just special treatment. Hydra had commited a deep sin against humanity by making such a man kill against his own will and every minute with the former Sargent made Stark's heart break for him, drowning the animal fear right out with the deep kindness that had stayed true in Barnes’ heart all these years.

Buck nodded now breathing heavily and started to thrust deep and hard at an almost relentless pace, grunting in a low tone his eyes scanning Tony's face drinking the pleasure he caused, this somehow just as pleasing as the direct stimulation of the sex itself. But still he maintained responsibility for both of their well being and carefully examined himself to be sure he could warn if he lost control of himself somehow. His ardor rose and swelled around him and to this he was perfectly happy to lose himself in the moment, his breaths harsh and fast as his powerful thighs and hips worked to thrust and his hands rose to lace his finger with those of both of Tony's hands holding them pressed to the pillow beside Stark's head on either side, Bucky's mouth exploring licking kissing Tony's throat and chest.

"That's it , oh don't stop, don't stop huhn!! Ah aaah hah~!" Tony groaned as he chased his orgasm.

"Yeah? Ohn~ come on, come with me, come on baby..." Bucky told him between gasps and moans speaking softly into his ear.

It was one of the best climaxes he had ever had and he supposed it had something to do with how emotional the sex had been paired with Barnes commanding him to do it. 'I didn't even feel submissive till he took the reigns, and that's kinda how I like it.' Tony thought. Panting he said "You really must have given those girls a run for their money. And Steve?"

Bucky paused and smiled. It was honestly one of the most beautiful smiles Tony had ever seen. "Actually, I'd bet my left arm he's still a virgin. He's always so focused, no one ever wonders. They think a man like that would have been taken such a thing the first time it presented itself but our history together says otherwise. His birthday wasn't always July 4th, you know?"

"Meaning he didn't always appear to be the reserved type, a no kiss and tell sort of guy. Oh my God, that explains so much. Does he think it's too dirty or something?"

"Nah. He just wants the moment to be right. And it never can be with the world at stake every other day. He says to me, 'We can move to the country or the sea shore and no one will bat a lash. The ring can be made of the perfect materials for your hand and we can just settle down, when the fight is over’. He doesn't know... living is always going to be a fight. There's always a fight. It doesn't end until your heart stops. So he'll always be waiting for the right time and I'll always be waiting for him." His gaze was a bit melancholic, a bit proud and a lot yearning. His crystalline cerulean eyes swam with tears a moment before he closed them and leaned in to kiss Tony.

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky and now he felt more real than ever, there was no monster here. Just a man who was having the most rotten luck in history. And he still fought for more each day. 'Men like them really are cut from different cloth. I always thought my dad was just being a righteous asshole when he said that but no...'

"And I'm cured! Turns out the right guy can heal you with magic peen." Strk said sarcastically.

"Pft, really?"

"Well, of that one thing. My mind is still fucked pretty hard from everything else though. But I'm glad it's finally laid to rest. Dad would have wanted it that way. Mom would forgive him, why shouldn't I?”

"Jesus, did you just mature before my very eyes?" Rhodey said with a smile reaching out to put a hand on Tony's shoulder with a squeeze.

"Yep. Let's hope I don't have to fuck everyone who has wronged me to finally put my suit away." Tony sassed back patting the hand of his best friend.

He hoped that day would come though. That Steve and Nat and Bruce and Vision and Wanda and Sam and Clint could set down their suits and anger issues and come home so they could all be worth the wait together.

#winteriron #for no real reason at all #ns.fw #Bucky X Tony

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xxx-cat-xxx · 5 years ago

Text

A little broken

Over a year after defeating Thanos and almost losing Tony, Peter is still haunted by the final battle. In an attempt to outrun the memories, he starts college far from New York.

It takes a visit from his mentor and an ill-timed flu bug that brings them both to their knees until Peter realises that he doesn’t have to take on the whole world alone.

Some Irondad hurt/comfort for everyone who’s quarantining at home (and those of you who have to work. Stay safe!) This is my @marveltrumpshate fic for Heyriel. Great thanks to @whumphoarder for doing so much more than beta reading. I hope you enjoy.

______________________________

The first time they meet, Peter isn’t sure what to make of Tony Stark.

The man shows up unannounced to Peter’s apartment, chewing on May’s date loaf and walking around Peter’s room as if he owns the place—talking as if he owns the whole world. Peter is both awed and appalled, May’s occasional comments about greedy billionaires ringing in his ears. But then Peter starts talking about his motivation for doing what he does, and for a moment something in the older man’s face seems to break. That’s when Peter knows that there’s more to him than what makes the tabloids.

Germany is both a thrilling adventure and an unparalleled disaster. Peter watches the group of heroes he’s looked up to since childhood break apart before his very eyes. The fight is grueling, taking more out of Peter than he knew was possible. He is lying there on the ground, trying to catch his breath, when Tony bends over him. And for a moment, there it is again: the broken facade on his face—below it, pure panic. The way Tony looks at him with thinly masked worry reminds him of Ben’s expression whenever Peter was little and having an asthma attack, and it does something to his insides that he can’t really explain.

Then, a few months later, Peter inevitably screws up and slices a ferry in half. The two of them are standing high above the city when Tony takes his suit away, and Peter feels tears pricking at his eyes. He cries later in his room, alone, because it’s so much more than just the suit; he feels that by disappointing Tony he’s lost his chance at something so much bigger.

It’s a miracle he manages to fix this one.

After Siberia, Tony is darker and quieter and indisputably older—like he’s finally grown up. Peter is sad for him, but it’s not all bad either. This new Tony starts taking more of an interest in Peter’s training—starts acting like a real mentor to him. There are afternoons spent together in the lab, dinners at the tower with Tony and Mr. Rhodes, and even the occasional low-stakes mission. Slowly, Tony’s world starts to feel like a place where Peter might one day belong.

But then, the universe gets ripped in two and somewhere on a red and war-torn planet, Peter clings to Tony in desperation, feeling first his body, then his thoughts slip away from him.

When he wakes again, there’s another battle to fight, but this time there’s no thrill to it. It’s his personal horror film come true.

He can hear the moment when Tony’s heart stops. Peter cries openly this time.

In the end, Tony makes it through. He loses an arm and much of his physical strength, but he’s stubborn as hell and fights his way through recovery. But somehow the day of the battle never fades from Peter’s brain like memories should.

When he finishes school, May proposes NYU, Tony naturally wants MIT, but Peter chooses Culver University. It might be good for him to get out of New York, is what he says. It might be good for him not to be in a place that has Tony’s legacy lurking around every corner, is what he thinks. And maybe moving away will make things easier when he returns.

Three months into Peter’s first semester at Culver, Tony accepts a guest speaking gig at the university and decides to stay at a nearby hotel to spend the weekend with Peter.

And that’s when it all goes to hell.

“Hello? Earth to Peter.” Tony waves a hand in his face. “Who are you daydreaming about?”

“Huh?” Peter looks up at Tony, then down at his half-finished iced tea. “Nothing,” he evades. “Nobody, I mean. Sorry, I’m just—just tired. And I have a lot of work left this weekend.”

“Mh-hmm.” Tony looks as if he isn’t quite believing it. “You want more spring rolls?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll wait for the main dish.”

Peter hasn’t eaten much today, but he’s not quite hungry either. He’s nursing a headache and the tiredness is not just an excuse. As happy as Peter is to see his mentor, Tony’s timing in showing up the week before midterms really could’ve been better. Peter feels like he might fall asleep right here at the restaurant table, but he already knows that he’s going to have to stay up until late to finish his readings.

“You’re doing it again,” Tony points out. “You’re being awfully quiet, kid. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, seriously.” Peter manages to hold eye contact for a few seconds and then takes another sip of his iced tea. “So, you said we could fix the suit while you’re here?”

Tony takes the bait (or maybe just lets it drop intentionally) and the talk quickly turns technical.

After a few minutes, they’re interrupted by the waitress—a student Peter thinks he recognises from his Python lab—who stares at Tony for a moment, her gaze lingering on the scars decorating his right cheek and ear before dropping down to his bionic arm. Then she catches herself and asks for their order.

When their food arrives, Peter observes Tony take out a box of different coloured pills and swallow a couple of them dry.

“I know, not sexy,” Tony remarks, noticing his look, “but sort of necessary if I want to keep this baby ticking.” He taps his hand over his chest with a wan smile.

Peter grins half-heartedly in return, even while he can feel his insides clench. The comment reminds him of the time Tony’s heart actually did stop, of the battlefield with the dust of Thanos’ army still hanging in the air, of the utter helplessness he felt when Tony snapped, of―

“Uhm, excuse me?” It’s the waitress again, her voice shy, cheeks blushing. She extends a piece of paper toward Tony. “Could I, uhm, could you, maybe give me an autograph for my sister? She’s a big fan. I mean, we all are, of course, but she’s got her room decorated with posters of you and all that…”

Tony looks her up and down with a raised eyebrow and a smirk playing around his lips. “What’s your sister’s name?” he asks finally, making a show of producing an integrated pen from his bionic arm. The waitress is visibly impressed, and Peter resists the temptation to roll his eyes―it’s far from the first time he’s seen this trick. If Tony was famous before, it’s nothing compared to the status he earned since dusting Thanos and saving the universe.

Tony gives the waitress an easy smile along with the paper he passes back, and then turns back to Peter with a smirk. “Fangirls,” he whispers. “Gotta love ‘em. Did I tell you about the kid who offered me all of his allowance for a hoofprint from Gerald?”

Because Tony is Tony, it takes a long time before he has caught Peter up on anecdotes of Morgan, Happy, and Gerald’s newest misadventures, and by the time Peter gets back home, it is already late evening. His studio apartment is small and rather old, with walls that have turned grey over time and windows that don’t fully close anymore, but it’s got its own kitchen and bathroom, which is much better than a dorm room―especially since Peter wouldn’t know how to explain the odd hours he keeps or the regular blood stains in the shower to any of his fellow students.

Peter’s head has been throbbing painfully for the better part of an hour, and the lights from the screen when he pulls out his laptop don’t make it any better. All his body seems to want is sleep, but if he’s going to spend the next two days upgrading his suit with Tony’s help, he really needs to get these chemistry readings finished.

He tries for several hours, but the words don’t seem to want to stick in his mind and it takes longer than expected until he feels that he has understood the chapter. Peter drops into bed around 3:30 in the morning, too tired to even change out of his jeans, and falls asleep immediately.

Peter is woken up by someone knocking on his apartment door to the beat of “We Will Rock You”, and it’s all he can do to stifle a groan. He drags himself out of bed and over to the door.

“Finally,” Tony sighs when Peter lets him in, shoving a reusable thermal to-go cup in the kid’s face and causing him to flinch backwards. “I thought I’d have to actually start singing.” Then he gives Peter a once-over and his face falls. “What happened to you?”

“I think I’m sick,” Peter replies, realising it is true the same moment the words leave his mouth. His head is hurting even more than the night before and his throat feels raw and painful, but the worst is the utter weakness in his body and the chills running down his back that tell him he has a fever.

“What kind of sick?” Tony asks suspiciously. To Peter’s surprise, instead of turning on his heel and leaving the surely germ-infested apartment, Tony steps over the threshold and raises a hand to cup to Peter’s forehead.

“Dunno.” Peter shrugs. “Just feel like garbage. Flu was going around the school last week―it’s probably that.”

“Aw, kid,” Tony sighs, something like compassion in his voice. “Yeah, you feel really warm.”

“Sorry about the suit,” Peter says, moving back to sit down on his bed heavily. “I guess you can just go back to New York early then.”

“What? You think I’m coldhearted enough to leave my former intern alone on his deathbed somewhere in the Virginian wilderness?”

“Culver’s not that bad,” Peter defends. “And I’m not alone either.”

“So that means you have someone here to take care of you?” Tony raises a sceptical eyebrow.

Peter hesitates. “I… May’s a nurse,” he evades. “I can call her.”

Truth is, there actually isn’t anybody. He hasn’t really made friends yet―at least certainly not the kind he would consider asking to take care of him while he’s down with the flu. He calls May twice a week, skypes with Ned—and occasionally still with MJ—on the weekends, and he’s friendly enough with his classmates when they’re working together in classes. But his downtime is mostly spent studying on his own and patrolling the city at night.

“Yeah, no, that’s not happening.” Tony looks him over appraisingly, then seems to make a decision and presses the cup of hot chocolate into Peter’s hand. “Guess I’ll stick around for a bit. Here, drink that.”

“I don’t really feel like it.” Peter is definitely queasy, bordering on nauseous, and the thought of drinking something as rich as hot chocolate almost makes his stomach turn. He shifts on the bed so that he can lean against the headboard, feeling too tired to hold his body up without support.

“Well, you need to have something. Super metabolism and all that.” Tony strides over to the small, definitely not tidy kitchenette and starts opening cupboards, most of which are empty. He comes up with a few packets of shrimp-flavoured instant noodles and a box of Coco Puffs. “Really, kid?”

“I was gonna get groceries today,” Peter says defensively.

“Yeah, I’m gonna do that now,” Tony states. “What do you say to buttered noodles? That’s all Morgan ever wants when she’s sick.”

“Yeah, that’s...that’s fine,” Peter says, dumbfounded at the idea of Tony Stark going to the supermarket and making pasta for him.

“Good. Glad that you agree, since that’s about as far as my cooking skills go.” He zips up his jacket and grabs Peter’s keys from the table. “Don’t do anything stupid till I’m back.” With that, he’s out of the door.

Peter doesn’t feel like he’d be able to do anything stupid even if he wanted to. He can’t remember the last time he felt this bad, and with his Spider-Manning lifestyle, that really says something. He’s thirsty, but his throat hurts in a way that doesn’t make him want to swallow anything. There’s an ugly taste in his mouth and he really wants to brush his teeth, but the bathroom could just as well be a hundred miles away.

If May were here, she would have set him up on the sofa with Star Trek: TOS playing on the TV while changing his sheets and airing out the room, he thinks. And suddenly the homesickness hits him like a train. He misses May. He misses New York and his friends and even the busy schedule that high school provided him with, but mostly he misses coming home to an apartment that’s not empty, having someone to eat breakfast with in the mornings and share his day with in the evenings over burnt teriyaki chicken. Just the thought of May’s disastrous cooking skills almost brings tears to his eyes.

He stays like this for an indefinite amount of time, feeling miserable and blinking back tears, until Tony eventually returns. He sets down the shopping bag on the table and closes his eyes for a moment, rubbing the bridge between them with his fingers, the telltale sign that he has a headache.

“You okay?” Peter asks hoarsely.

“Yeah. You live in a village, kid. Took forever to find a parking spot and then everyone and their mother wanted an autograph. Basically fought my way out of there. Might have to give my lawyer a heads up, actually.”

Peter can’t even bring himself to force a laugh. A part of him wants to tell Tony to just go home already; the other part of him really, really doesn’t want to be alone right now. He sniffs hard and swallows to keep his nose from dripping.

“Hey,” Tony’s expression sobers as he sits down next to him on the mattress. “Did I miss something?”

“I just―” Peter rubs a sleeve over his watery eyes, feeling embarrassed. He thinks for an excuse and suddenly remembers the very real problems of college. “Ah, crap.”

“Huh?” Tony asks.

“I have two tests next week,” Peter admits miserably. “I haven’t done anything for them yet―I was going to study this weekend in the evenings―”

“That’s fine, kid, we can deal with that. We saved the universe, remember? Schoolwork is nothing compared to Thanos, trust me.”

“I know,” Peter sniffs. Then, before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “I‘m just missing home.”

“Ah,” Tony says. He lays his bionic hand on Peter’s shoulder and rubs it. “Yeah, that makes more sense.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter goes on, “I didn’t mean, I’m just―”

“You’re just sick and tired and emotional,” Tony assesses, but there’s no judgement in his voice. “Come on.” He gestures for Peter to lie down and pulls the blanket up to his neck. “Go to sleep, kid.” His tone is almost soft. “I’ll be here.”

Peter falls into a feverish, exhausted sleep. He’s dimly aware of an icy cold gripping him and chills wracking his body, and then of Tony putting an extra blanket on him. At some point Tony offers food, but Peter’s too tired to even fully open his eyes. He mumbles something that he hopes Tony understands and turns over to the other side.

The next time he fully surfaces, it’s from Tony gently shaking him awake. “Hey Pete, I know you’re tired, but you really need to eat something.”

“Don’ wanna,” he mutters, pulling the covers up to his chin.

“Peter. Come on, kid.”

He blinks himself awake. The apartment is dark now; it must be evening already. The faint smell of food lingers in the air. “D’ I sleep all day?” he asks, confused.

“Almost. You can still catch Saturday Night Live.”

“Hmm.” Peter sits up slowly. He feels woozy and weak and his head is still hurting, which is ridiculous considering how long he slept for.

“Just let me check your temperature.” Tony takes off his smartwatch and presses it against Peter’s neck, just under his chin. The cold metal sends shivers down his spine.

“102.6,” Tony reports. “Yeah, that’s not great. A pity that fever reducers don’t work on you.” Tony’s voice sounds rough. Peter squints up at him just as the man turns his head into his shoulder to cough. He looks tired—really tired—and, as far as Peter can make out in the dim light of the bedside lamp, his face is kind of flushed.

“Are you okay?” Peter croaks.

“Uhm...” For a moment it looks like Tony wants to lie, but then he falters. “Not really. Guess I caught the same bug you did.”

“Shit,” Peter says. This sucks big time.

“I already texted May—she’ll probably be up here tomorrow. As soon as you’d had something to eat and drink, I’ll go back to the hotel and get out of your hair. You don’t need an old sick man around.”

“What? No!” Peter blurts before he can stop himself. He feels his breath speeding up, horrified at both the idea of Tony leaving him here alone, and of Tony being on his own in some hotel room feeling as miserable as Peter does now. “Please don’t go.”

Tony looks taken aback. “Pete, I don’t think I’m going to be much help soon.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just…” Peter feels himself blushing. “It’s nice not to be alone,” he admits in a small voice.

Tony gives him a long look. “Okay, fine,” he agrees eventually. “But that means you have to listen to me. And the first rule is: eat your dinner, kid.”

They eat quietly. Tony is visibly making an effort not to let on just how bad he’s feeling, but Peter has learned to read the signs during his mentor’s long period of recovery from the snap. Tony is rubbing his shoulder whenever he thinks that Peter isn’t looking, which means that his prosthesis is hurting him. His shoulders are slumped, showing how tired he is, he’s nursing a headache, and then there is the fairly obvious sign of him hardly having eaten anything except for two spoons of pasta and his medication.

After dinner, Tony calls Pepper while Peter calls May. She gives him a run-down of the usual flu advice―“Stay hydrated, try and rest, and for god’s sake, don’t pile every blanket you own on yourself like that time you had strep, Peter—keep the curtains on the windows”—and promises to drive up tomorrow if she can get her shift covered. Then she asks to talk to Tony. Meanwhile, Peter uses the bathroom, brushes his teeth and changes into pyjamas. Observing himself in the mirror, he realises just how run-down he looks. He splashes some water on his face, which does nothing except make him shiver.

“She asked whether you built that Lego ship she got you for your birthday,” Tony announces when Peter returns.

“Oh.” Peter hasn’t, of course. He’s neither had the time nor the motivation to do so without Ned.

Tony makes a show of looking around the room. “This place is less personal than an airbnb. I told her there’s not even a poster on your wall.”

“So what?” Peter sighs. He feels the need to defend himself, but he’s too sick to come up with anything.

Tony doesn’t press it, luckily. He borrows a pair of sweatpants, which end up being a bit short around his ankles and make it look like he’s outgrown them. It almost makes Peter smile. They pull out the sofa-sleeper that May insisted on him getting, but which he’s had no opportunity to use until now. When everything is set up, Peter is almost dizzy from being on his feet for so long. He’s both sweating and shivering and very glad to lie back down under the covers.

Tony turns on the TV, but neither of them is really paying attention. Peter is half asleep a few minutes into the news and Tony seems visibly uncomfortable, shifting around every few minutes on the couch.

“Do you want to switch to the bed?” Peter asks him, secretly hoping for the answer to be no―he really doesn’t want to get up again. Tony shakes his head, lips pressed tightly together. Then he gets to his feet faster than Peter would have thought possible for someone in his condition and bolts to the bathroom.

Peter hears nothing for a while. Then there’s a few weak coughs, followed by a retch and the sound of splashing. Peter cringes, his own stomach twisting in sympathy. The small size of the apartment and his enhanced hearing make it impossible to tune out the sounds as Tony continues to be sick into the toilet for the next ten minutes. When the retching tapers off, Peter shakily gets to his feet and fills a glass of water from the kitchenette.

He knocks on the bathroom door, then leans heavily against the frame. “I got you some water,” he calls, hearing Tony’s ragged breathing inside. “Can I come in?”

“Just go to sleep, kid,” Tony croaks.

“Yeah, sure,” Peter mumbles under his breath. After a few moments, he hears the sound of the flush and then the door opens. Tony is covered in sweat and looking about as bad as Peter feels, plus there’s a greenish tinge to his face. The smell of vomit wafts out and hits Peter’s nostrils, turning his own stomach.

“Thanks, Pete,” Tony croaks says hoarsely and takes the water from his hand. His metal fingers feel cold against Peter’s burning skin when they brush the back of his hand. “Sorry you had to hear that.”

“‘S okay,” Peter mumbles. He suddenly has a hard time focusing on Tony. His head feels so heavy that he has to rest it against the doorframe as well.

“Jeez, kid,” Tony comments. Then his face drains even more of colour and he presses his knuckles against his lips, swallowing thickly. “Go lie down, okay? I’ll be out in a bit.” With that, he turns and disappears back into the bathroom.

For once, Peter listens to him, unsure whether he will be able to keep standing much longer anyway. After a moment of consideration, he curls up on the couch, leaving the softer bed for the older man. He drifts there for a while, trying to tune out the sounds of sickness coming from the bathroom.

Eventually, he is dimly aware of someone entering the room and switching off the lights. There’s cold metal touching his neck as someone takes his temperature and tsks, then softly brushes back his hair and lays a cold washcloth on his forehead. It feels amazing against Peter’s burning skin.

“Thanks, May,” he mumbles.

Waking up feels like resurfacing after diving into a deep pool of water. Peter’s eyelids are sticky with sleep and his brain feels like it’s been through a potato masher. He’s disoriented, so it takes a bit until he realises that it was Tony’s voice that woke him. “Pete,” he hears him calling again weakly. Something about it shakes him out of his half-awake state.

“Tony?” he asks, sitting up. There’s a rustling sound and a thump from the bathroom, confirming his worry. A quick glance at his phone on the bedside table tells him that it’s just after 4am. Definitely not the time to take a shower.

Peter’s head swims when he gets up from the couch. He takes a few unsteady steps towards the bathroom and then stops to lean against the wall until his vision clears and he can open the door.

Tony is on the ground next to the toilet, wrenched in between the bowl and the shower, looking about ten times worse than earlier. His face is almost grey except for the scars on his right cheek, which are flushed in an angry red. His dark eyes are glassy and deeply exhausted. Sweat sticks to his hair and t-shirt, the prosthesis off and one sleeve dangling empty. The smell of vomit hangs thickly in the air, much stronger than before.

Tony slowly lifts his head when Peter steps in. “Hey,” he croaks, attempting a smile and giving up somewhere halfway. “Sorry for waking you. ‘S just that I could use some help.”

“With what exactly?”

“Getting up?” Tony asks sheepishly. “I tried and almost took down your shower curtain.”

Peter blinks. “Well, shit.”

“You said it, kid.”

Peter extends a hand and Tony grabs it gratefully, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Peter closes the toilet lid and Tony sits down on it with a heavy sigh. He shudders convulsively, then closes his eyes and swallows rapidly a few times, as if trying to stop himself from being sick again.

“How long have you been in here?” Peter asks while checking Tony’s temperature on his smart watch. He finds it to be at a worrying 103.6.

“Uhm,” Tony makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Midnight, maybe? Kinda lost track of time.” Peter frowns. “Sorry for waking you up, kid,” Tony says again, taking his expression the wrong way. “That’s kind of why I didn’t want to stay.”

“You should have called me earlier.” Peter fills a glass of water from the tap. “And yeah, really reassuring to think of you spending the night on the bathroom floor of your hotel because you can’t get up on your own.”

Tony mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “Not like I haven’t done that before.” When Peter hands him the glass, the man’s hands are trembling so much that half of the water spills out onto his shirt.

“Shit,” Tony mutters. “All my spares are at the hotel.”

“I can give you one of mine,” Peter offers.

“Yeah, that... that would be great,” Tony says earnestly. Peter wonders whether he’s maybe a bit delirious. “This shit didn’t use to happen before the snap, you know.”

“Don’t worry,” Peter says, surprised at the admission. He fetches a clean sweatshirt from the dresser and hands it to the older man. His mentor’s whole body is shaking violently with chills. While Tony changes, Peter notices that the scar pattern around his shoulder stump is an angry red. It looks painful, but Tony doesn’t seem to care too much.

Something twists within Peter. It reminds him too much of the time just after the snap when he saw Tony in the hospital, weak with fever from the infected limb.

“Ready for bed?” Peter asks, shaking the thoughts from his head.

“Yeah,” Tony says, although he doesn’t look too sure. Peter pulls him upright and almost staggers under the man’s weight and his own weakness. Tony doesn’t comment, and when Peter turns towards him, he sees that he is biting his lips, eyes largely unfocused.

“This really hit you hard, huh?” Peter asks when they have made it to the bed, sitting down next to Tony. His mentor is bending forward, head in his hands, panting and shaking like he just finished a mission in the suit. That’s not the only thing, though. With his advanced hearing, Peter can pick up Tony’s heartbeat, which is slightly arrhythmic.

“Tony?” he asks suspiciously. “What’s wrong with your heart?”

“Yeah, about that…” The other man raises his head, but avoids Peter’s gaze.

“What?” Peter can feel his own heart rate speeding up in worry.

“I, uh...remember my heart medication?” Tony says casually. “I threw up the last dose. It’s not dangerous, don’t worry,” he adds when Peter stares at him, alarmed, “Or, well, at least not yet. Just sort of increases the nausea and dizziness.”

“Can’t you take another dose?” he asks.

“I don’t think I can keep anything down right now,” Tony admits. “But I’ll try in the morning.”

“Hmm.” This doesn’t really do anything to make Peter feel better.

“Don’ worry, kid” Tony adds with a tired slur to his words, which only achieves the opposite. With a lot of effort, he pulls his legs up to the bed and then lies down under the blankets. “Let’s both sleep for a bit and things will look brighter in the morning.”

Peter gets himself a glass of water and then curls back up on the couch. He hears Tony’s breaths turn heavy and even out before long, but although he feels exhausted, he has a hard time going back to sleep. The sofa feels like rocks under his achy body, and he keeps turning around, unable to find a comfortable position. His head doesn’t fare any better. With his brain cloudy from fever, it’s even harder than usual to stave off the memories from the battlefield.

His eyes finally fall shut and back he goes, right into the middle of dust and blood and death looming around every corner. He knows that there should be screams and shouts everywhere, but it’s silent, dead silent, except for the underlying thump-thump-thump of Tony’s heartbeat, becoming ever quieter.

Peter rounds a heap of rubble and almost stumbles over Tony, who is lying on the ground, half his body eaten away by the radiation. The beating gets weaker even as Peter falls onto his knees and tears stream down his cheeks. He’s been here a hundred times, unable to save the man who saved him, and he knows exactly how this is going to end.

A beat, almost indiscernible. A breath leaves Tony’s lips for the last time.

Silence.

He wakes to the feeling that everything in the world that possibly could be wrong, is wrong. His whole body is hot and he feels nauseous, almost as if he will throw up. Sick, he remembers. He’s sick. Tony’s―

Peter forces himself to take a deep breath that comes out more like a choked sob. He sits up dizzily, and is surprised by the light streaming through the windows. His eyes immediately wander to Tony’s still form on the bed, covered by blankets. Peter can make out his slightly ragged breathing, but he’s way past the point where he would feel calmed by this.

Unsteadily, he makes his way over to the bed and sits down on the floor next to it, shivering uncontrollably from the coldness of the tile, but not wanting to wake Tony up. He tries to calm himself, but his heart won’t stop racing. Everything feels kind of surreal and he can’t shake the image of Tony’s body on the ground, so still and lifeless. There are tears burning in his eyes. He shoves his knuckles in his mouth to keep himself from sobbing loudly.

“Kid?” Tony’s groggy voice asks. “What ‘appened?”

“S-Sorry,” Peter manages. “G-Go back to sleep.”

“Hey.” Tony rubs his eyes and tries to push himself up, only partially succeeding. Looking at Peter, his face takes on an alarmed expression. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Peter whispers, feeling infinitely stupid. “J-Just had a nightmare.” He bites his lip, but with the admission, a dam seems to break. He can feel his eyes overflowing.

“Hey, kid, hey,” Tony says softly. “It’s alright.”

Peter just shakes his head, tears dripping down his cheeks onto the floor. Tony extends a trembling hand to wipe them away. “Do these nightmares happen often?” he asks.

“Sometimes,” Peter evades. He wonders why he doesn’t just tell the truth. That there’s rarely a night when he doesn’t go back to the battle against Thanos, or the dust on Titan, or even the Vulture in flames―an enemy that seems ridiculous now compared to the ones they’ve fought since, but sometimes still makes it into Peter’s dreams.

“It’s gotten worse again, hasn’t it?” Tony asks. “Since you moved here.” His hand drops down to Peter’s shoulder and squeezes it lightly.

“‘S okay,” he lies. “I’m fine. Jus’... just the fever.”

“Mmh-hmm, sure. Come here.” Tony nods his head towards himself, weakly lifting an arm, and Peter lets himself get pulled into the hug. “Woah, kid. You’re on fire.”

“Hmm,” Peter mumbles. “You too.”

It’s true; Tony’s body feels even hotter than his. The sweatshirt Peter had given him is already damp with sweat. And, most concerningly, his heart is still beating out of rhythm. It reminds Peter way too much of his dream for him to ignore it.

“You need to have some water,” Tony says, ignorant to Peter’s thoughts. “And eat something. It’s been a while.”

Peter’s queasiness increases at the thought. “Stomach’s not feeling great,” he admits. “How are you doing?” he asks then, into the older man’s chest. “And don’t lie.”

He feels Tony grimacing. “Like a clock someone forgot to wind up.” His remaining arm lets go of Peter as he brings it to his chest to massage the area around his heart. “But hey, don’t worry. I’m gonna try my pills and some water and then I’ll be back on my bullshit before you know it.”

But he isn’t. Half an hour later, Peter has to support Tony to the toilet to once again throw up the medication and the few sips of water he’s just managed to get down. He stops trying to reassure Peter after the second bout of painful dry heaves wrack his body and doesn’t even resist when Peter wipes down his grey face with a wet cloth. On their way back, halfway across the bedroom, they almost lose balance when Tony’s legs suddenly give out. Peter just manages to stabilise him before they can faceplant all the way.

“That’s it. You need to go to the ER,” Peter decides after all-but carrying Tony back to the bed and sitting him down. Peter’s own body feels heavy with exhaustion. Tony weakly shakes his head and opens his mouth to object. “Please, Tony.”

There must have been something in his voice that gave away his desperation because Tony shuts up mid-inhale. He gives Peter a deep look and then nods shakily. ”But only if you eat something first.”

“Okay.” He checks Tony’s temperature, which has climbed even higher, to 103.8. Peter’s own is hardly any better at 103.2, but at least he can still stand―kind of, he realises when he has to sit down to be able to concentrate on his phone screen long enough to call a cab.

The walk to the kitchen feels like it’s a mile long. Peter surveys the meagre food choices and decides that cold pasta with salt looks like the best option. After the first few bites, his queasiness abides a bit and he manages to finish his small plate, suddenly realising how hungry he was. He drinks two glasses of water with it and finally feels a little less lightheaded. Then he goes to the bathroom and, on a whim, swallows a small handful of painkillers from the bottle of Advil Tony has sitting beside his pill box. They will hardly do anything for him, but hopefully they’ll keep him upright until they reach the hospital.

When Peter comes back, he expects Tony to be lying where he left him and is already wondering how he’s going to maneuver him down the stairs from the second floor with the man's balance shot and his own legs feeling like noodles. But Tony is sitting up and in the process of putting on his shoes. His determination, however, falters a bit when it comes to actually standing up.

“Just go slow,” Peter directs, supporting Tony to the door and taking on most of the man’s weight. “One step at a time.”

They make it down the first staircase before Tony holds up a hand. “Just need a minute,” he exhales, sitting down with a sigh and leaning against the wall, his eyelids fluttering shut. His breathing is ragged. Peter looks at him worriedly, the unsteady thump of the man’s heartbeat loud in his ears. Tony, as if feeling the gaze, opens one eye to squint at him. “Not dead yet, kid. Come on, let’s get downstairs.”

Maybe it’s the fact that the painkillers are wearing off faster than expected or that Peter’s anxiety is finally getting the better of him, but the cab ride is kind of a blur. He just remembers Tony sitting with his head tipped back and his eyes closed, looking deathly exhausted, and at some point grabbing the older man’s hand and holding on.

Peter only lets go of it when he has to fill in the forms once they reach the hospital. The ER nurse takes one look at Tony’s scarred face and missing arm and then directs them to a private room. Peter’s hand is shaking so hard that Tony’s name on the form looks like a child’s scrawl. Behind him, his mentor is already being connected to a heart monitor, while another nurse is bringing an IV stand.

He hands the form to the elderly nurse and then has to steady himself against the wall when he stumbles a bit.

Her brow furrows. “Are you alright?” she asks.

“Y-Yes,” Peter answers quickly.

“Bullshit. He’s got the flu too,” Tony mutters from the bed behind them.

“I’m fine,” Peter insists, feeling his heart rate spike. They’ve done a great deal to keep his secret identity, well, secret while he’s at Culver, and he’s not about to let his powers be discovered just because of a flu bug. “Really, I’m okay. Not a big deal.”

“Honey, you can’t be here as a visitor if you’re sick,” the nurse says, her tone kind, but firm. “You’ll risk infecting the other patients.”

Peter looks up, taking a moment to understand the implications. “What? No, please don’t make me go!”

The nurse eyes him critically, then sighs and relents. “If you’re going to stay, you’ll have to be inside this room at all times. I can’t have you walking around spreading germs.”

“That’s okay,” Peter agrees immediately. It’s not like he was planning to walk the halls anyway; his legs feel like they might go on strike any moment. When the nurse turns around to start working on Tony, Peter wobbles over to an uncomfortable chair in the corner and collapses into it.

He feels like the next time he takes an actual breath is once Tony is hooked up to painkillers, antiemetics, and something for his heart, the fluids dripping steadily into his arm through an IV and the heart monitor finally—finally—reverts back to a steady rhythm of beeps. Tony isn’t conscious anymore to notice; after spending the better part of the last 24 hours on Peter’s bathroom floor, his exhaustion has finally gotten the upper hand. He drifts off as soon as the meds start kicking in.

Once the nurses leave, Peter drags his chair over next to the bed. Tony looks—there is no other way to describe it—frail. Like he might fall apart any minute if Peter stops watching. His fever is still much too high at 103.3 and he is sleeping fitfully, as if the dreams are haunting him as well. Peter can still see images from the nightmare in his mind. Not clear, but looming, like he might find himself on the battlefield any time he turns around.

He doesn’t want to fall asleep, but he’s dead tired. Now with the adrenaline fading, it feels like his body weighs a thousand pounds. He suddenly doesn’t even feel able to keep his head up, and instead lets himself slump forward, crossing his arms and resting his head on top. His cold hands are a sharp contrast to his burning face.

His mind feels oddly detached from his body, like he’s floating, and he has no idea how much time has passed when suddenly the nurse shakes him awake from where he’s slidden down onto the edge of Tony’s mattress. “Can you just move for a second, hon?” she asks gently. “I need to hook up some more fluids."

"Oh yeah, sure, of course..." Peter nods groggily and goes to stand up a little too quickly. The moment he is on his feet, he can practically feel the blood rushing away from his head, and a wave of darkness rolls over him. Peter grabs for something to hold on to but comes up empty. He feels himself sway into the nurse, who grabs his shoulders and just about manages to keep him from face planting on the hospital floor.

“You’re really warm, dear,” she observes after helping him sit back down on the chair. "You really can't be here if you're not a patient. Let me call someone to get you a bed."

“But I—” Peter feels panic swelling in his chest. He doesn’t want to leave Tony alone, especially when he can’t be sure that the man’s heart won’t stop again, but he can’t let anyone find out about Spider-Man either―

"Peter, it's fine,” he hears a thin voice. Tony, just woken up, is shifting wearily under the blanket, turning his head towards them. “They'll sign NDAs and no one will know. Just do what she says and get in the bed, alright?"

So Peter does. The nurse calls her colleague, who sets up a bed next to Tony’s and takes Peter’s vitals. After Peter groggily explains that fever reducers won’t do anything to bring down his 103.5 degree temperature, the nurse hooks him up to fluids to counteract the dehydration.

The world goes blurry again and he is half asleep when he sees Tony slip something into the elderly nurse’s hand on her way out the door.

When she’s gone, Peter gives Tony a confused look. “You bribed her to let me stay in the room?”

“What are you talking about?” Tony scoffs lightly. “I just asked nicely and told her you took part in saving the world―that was more than enough.” He shrugs a bit. “And I might’ve signed an autograph for her son.”

Peter would have rolled his eyes if his head wasn’t hurting so much. “Still a bribe,” he mumbles.

“Go to sleep, kid,” Tony says warmly.

He closes his eyes but then opens them again to see Tony watching him. “You’ll be okay, right?” Peter asks.

“Of course,” Tony replies. “I’m always okay.”

When Peter wakes up again in the early evening, it’s to May lightly stroking his curls out of his face. A tension he didn’t even know he was holding seems to fall off his shoulders.

“Hey, baby,” she says softly when he hugs her. “Rough weekend, huh?”

It is decided that neither of them has to spend the night at the hospital―Tony has to fight to be discharged, but they eventually let him go after making him promise to rest, take his medicine, and tell May if his heart acts up again. In turn, Tony collects each of the staff members’ contact details to have his lawyers send NDAs later.

The drive back to the flat is quiet. Tony attempts small talk for the first five minutes, but is still too out of it from the combined force of illness and drugs, and quickly gives up again. Peter is just relieved that May is there.

Once they’re home, May makes both of them eat some toast and then ushers them off to bed. Peter feels like he hasn’t slept since he moved to Virginia, and maybe that’s true in a way. But now with Tony and May both there, he finally feels like it’s safe to let himself go.

He wakes up to May opening the windows to let in the chilly morning air.

“C’n I have some water?” he mumbles.

May hands him the glass. “Your fever has come down a bit overnight. Feeling any better?” she asks.

“Hmm.” He’s still weary and headachey, but the chills are gone and the world seems much less frightening now. “How’s Tony?” he asks.

“Still asleep. We talked a little last night—he didn’t get much rest, I’m afraid. But you should wake him up and tell him it’s time for food and medicine.”

Peter sits up and is rewarded with a lack of dizziness. He goes to the toilet and washes his face before trudging over to the bed and sitting down carefully on the mattress next to his mentor’s sleeping form. Tony’s eyes are moving rapidly behind his closed eyelids as if he’s in the middle of a dream. His hair is a greasy mess, the scars as red and angry as before and his cheeks still flushed with fever, but the rest of his face isn’t as pale as it was the previous day, and, when he listens carefully, Peter can make out his regular heartbeat.

“Tony?” Peter whispers, gently touching his flesh shoulder.

Tony grunts and rolls himself over. “Pep?” he asks in a muffled voice.

“Not exactly.” Tony blinks awake and squints up at Peter. “How are you feeling?”

“Ugh…I want my hospital drugs back,” Tony half-jokes. “But not on the verge of cardiac failure anymore, so that’s a plus.”

“Hmm.” Peter reaches for his hand to check the smart watch. “Your temperature’s down.” Tony’s is at 101.5, whereas Peter’s is at 100.7. Tony gives first the numbers and then Peter a critical once-over before closing his eyes again.

“Don’t go back to sleep,” Peter warns. “May said you need to take your medicine and eat something.”

Tony groans audibly. “Nurses never let you have any fun...”

The first time they met, Peter wasn’t sure what to make of Tony Stark.

Times have changed, Peter thinks, as he surveys the scene in his apartment.

After a painfully slow shuffle to the bathroom and back, Tony decides that he doesn’t feel up to walking around just yet, so they all eat breakfast in bed, assembled on various pillows and blankets, while Star Trek plays on the TV in the background. With his appetite returning and worries temporarily lifted, Peter devours two pieces of toast with chocolate spread and a glass of orange juice while Tony sticks to saltines, tea, and the pills he swallows under May’s watchful eye.

When they’re done, May announces that she’s heading out for groceries. “No crime-fighting until I’m back,” she orders with a smile. “And I want each of you to finish the water bottles on the table.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Tony salutes sarcastically. The moment May shuts the door, he sets down his half-finished cup of tea and slumps visibly into his pillows.

“You alright?” Peter asks immediately.

“Jeez, kid, you’re worse than Morgan,” Tony comments, not without affection. “I know last night was scary for you, but honestly, this is not even in my top 20 for life-threatening events I’ve experienced in the last few decades.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” Peter retorts. “Because it really doesn’t.”

He must have come across less playful than intended, because Tony’s expression sobers. He regards Peter with the deep look that always gives him the feeling of being x-rayed.

“I know,” Tony says. “But that’s kind of the point. I’ve been through so much shit in my life that I know pretty much exactly how you feel.”

He drags himself a bit more upright and lays a warm hand on Peter’s forearm. “I know how it is when your thoughts circle back to the same moment over and over again and the nightmares won’t let you rest. I know how easy it is to isolate yourself because the memories are eating you up and you feel like nobody can help you.”

He pauses for a moment and rubs a hand over his forehead. Peter remembers the darkness on Tony’s face the first time they met and wonders whether that’s what Tony sees on his now.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Tony continues, “you don’t have to pretend to be fine if you’re not. At least not in front of me or May.”

The irony of it almost makes Peter smile, despite the lump forming in his throat. Tony just spent the last 36 hours trying to downplay the pain he was in. “You are one to talk,” he remarks.

Tony chuckles quietly. “Still learning, kid.” He picks up his tea cup and takes another sip before continuing in a softer voice. “Just trust me, it‘s okay to be a little broken, even when you’re not sick. And you don’t have to hide it. I know what loneliness looks like. I’ve been through all of it and it took me years to understand that the only thing that can help is to let other people in―the right kind of people.”

The thoughts are running a marathon in Peter’s head and he’s dimly aware that he’s trembling. He swallows hard before speaking. “It’s just… sometimes I don’t even want to remember. It’s just so hard to start talking. About”―he takes a deep breath―“the battle. And the dreams. And everything else.”

“Yeah, it is. I never said it would be easy.” Tony seems to hesitate for a moment, but then he pulls Peter toward him one-handedly so that they can lie side by side. He covers both of them with his blanket. Peter turns his head into Tony’s shoulder and closes his eyes, taking deep breaths. “And we don’t have to start today. But I’ll be there whenever you’re ready.”

________________

If you liked this, you might also enjoy my other post-Endgame fic (in which Tony is obviously still alive): What We Lose in the Fire We Gain in the Flood

All my fics

Taglist: @toomuchtoread33 @yepokokfine

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