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rulerofstars · 3 years

Note

i love your writings! but maybe we could have some angst??? like um.. levi had an argument with his s/o before an expedition over something and they made up after they came back to the walls?

Sunsets and Mishaps

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Genre: Angst, light fluff.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of blood, gore, deaths.

Word count: 2,600 words.

Angel: Thank you so much for requesting and for the kind words, anon! I enjoyed writing this one. <3

The taste of the warm, strong tea eased the coldness caused by the chilly morning of an expedition. You have the habit of waking up early and being productive whenever there is one, just to calm yourself down and have a good start before heading outside the walls and encountering titans. Being out there could have two outcomes only, the first, you’d come back alive, and the second, you don’t. Every second spent before every venture is special to you, for no one will ever know what could happen next.

An assuring warmth from the rays that slipped through the window pain sent solace through the dubious mind that bothered your entire system. If the sunrise is this beautiful, then should you be looking forward for the day?

“You’re early, (Y/N)!” Moblit greeted, sitting next to you, and Hanji who has a bunch of different food in their hand sat across you. The latter, your best friend and squad leader had notable dark circles under their eyes, accompanied by the messy hair. Staying up late for experiments, again, you thought.

A piece of bread has been shoved in your hand as Sasha, one of your favorite cadets passed by your table and greeted you with a wink, you smiled at her.

“You are, too.” Hanji scoffed at your reply and glared at Moblit.

“He woke me up!”

“Of course, you told me to wake you up!”

“Not this early!”

“It’s your normal wake-up time! You’re just sleep-deprived, squad leader!”

Because of the noisy quarrel in front, you wanted to walk away and just sleep for a little bit more. These two never seem to hear each other even when they are millimeters close, they always shout!

The atmosphere of the mess hall transitioned from light to heavy when the intimidating aura of the elite squad entered the room. Their mere presence is enough to justify the reasons why they belong in the so called Special Operations Squad, and the number of titans they have obliterated is mind-blowing and you can’t help but to wonder, are they really human beings?

A familiar back profile made your heart flutter, his undercut makes you weak, and the way he held the tea cup as if he’s afraid to break it into pieces.

So he’s up early, too.

“Aren’t you going to kiss your lover?” Hanji asked, making you blush furiously. That question was so sudden!

Moblit immediately interfered, “Lovers don’t kiss all the time, Hanji-san!” He said, earning an approval from you.

Little by little, your whole squad appeared and occupied the empty spaces available. Your eyes occasionally dart onto Levi, who’s quietly listening to the conversation of his own squad and speaks every now and then. You wanted to go to him and spend the rest of your morning with him before you set off outside the walls, but you don’t want to interfere with his time for his squad. You are well-aware of your boundaries. How you should keep your feelings out of missions and focus on the objective. You and him had talked about this kind of matter ever since you’ve started dating.

And how you should keep your relationship as lowkey as possible.

Gentle yet meaningful habits pacified the yearning that burned for the both of you, the littlest things that you make, the slightest details that he considers, is what kept you sane. After all, it was you whom he would come home to.

But, you would not deny how much it irks you. . . to see him too close to another woman, yet not being able to do something to ease the slight pang of jealousy and pain.

“You okay?” Nifa asked, noticing the glint of uneasiness in your eyes, but you quickly shook the feelings away.

To make it believable, you forced a smile on your lips and answered your friend, “Of course!”

You hated how his certain squad mate looked at him the way you do, too. You are too aware of the woman’s feelings towards your lover, and you can’t help but to feel upset. How her small actions that meant something else find their way towards Levi, and how he does nothing about it, how he lets it happen, as if he’s giving her a chance.

Trust is one of the core foundations of your relationship, but you weren’t doubting your boyfriend, you are just. . . jealous. The two of you talked about how you should be open and tell each other everything you feel without any kind of hesitation. It was what made you strong as a couple- the thick line of communication never grew weary.

-----

Preparations weren’t that tedious an hour before the expedition because everything is already put together, thanks to Erwin. Everyone’s already in their uniforms, ODM gears have been checked, so no one is really having a hectic time, or so you thought.

The four corners of Levi’s office sealed every kind of noise from the outside, encaging you both with silence that is sometimes interrupted by the sound of papers shuffling. The captain sat on his chair, facing his desk, while he scanned a pile of paperworks to sign to. Thanks to Erwin.

You sat on the chair in front of his desk, sighing and arranging the scattered papers neatly.

“Levi. . .” You started, trying to gain his attention but to no avail, he did not even raise his head to look at you, but he did acknowledge you.

“Hm?”

Thoughts pervaded your mind, doubts about yourself and the matter that you would bring up to your lover. For once, you became hesitant of the things that you would tell him, but the way your jealousy permeated through the deepest part of your heart offered you no chance to analyze if this was the perfect timing, or not.

“Petra Ral. . .” His eyes focused on you since the mention of his certain squad mate, making you grow slightly more jealous of the girl, “Her actions. . . her actions towards you make me uncomfortable,” You looked at him and tried to read if any kind of emotion slipped through his steel grey eyes, but you found nothing but nonchalance.

“I’m jealous, Levi. I just want to tell you that.” You admitted, looking down and pressing your nails on your fingers. Agitation rushed through every vein of yours, you were nervous and you didn’t know why. Maybe for how her would react or what he would say.

He stopped what he’s doing and sat up straight, staring directly into your anxious eyes, “What do you want me to do?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know, tell her to stop? Tell her about us? About me?” You suggested, and your heart almost stopped when you caught the slightest glint of irritation in his eyes.

“I thought we’d keep it low-profile?” He asked, looking at the papers one more time before arranging it neatly and staring at you again, “We talked about this, (Y/N).” His austere voice sent shivers to every part of your body.

“This isn’t about us,” You muttered, looking down and avoiding his cold stares, “It’s about me, my feelings, Levi.”

A scoff flee from his mouth, making you feel like what you just said was so dumb that he could not stand it.

“You’re being unreasonable,” He spat your name like it was poison out of his lips, and you stared at him in shock. For a moment, words would not come out of your mouth. For a moment, you were frozen and you couldn’t believe what you just heard. For a moment, you were hurt.

You bit your lower lip, eyes furrowed as you stared back at him with the same intensity. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought we were supposed to tell each other things.” Sarcasm coated your voice like sugar on spice.

His fingers flew on his face, massaging his forehead, as if it was too bothersome and stressful to talk with you, “Stop being childish, (Y/N).”

“Then stop being insensitive!” You spat back, raising your voice. Your heart never beat this hard because of a different reason. The way pain and disappointment embraced you right now felt so wrong.

A sigh left his lips, as he pointed towards the door of his office. And you felt yourself drop, never have you ever had an argument so bad that he would resort to kicking you out, or parting ways without talking about it.

“I can’t deal with you right now. . . just leave.”

Tears pooled in your eyes like a puddle being filled by the chilly raindrops of a hail. He made you feel so petty. Your feelings were never invalidated, and you never thought that it would be him to make you feel like this.

-----

You gripped the end of the reins tightly as you waited for the commander’s signal to advance. Hanji questioned your puffy eyes the moment they saw you earlier, and you lied by saying that you accidentally fell asleep while waiting.

What irked you the most is the noise caused by the Elite squad and how they tease their woman to the captain. You wanted to combust so bad because you had no choice but to endure hearing them. Childish? Fine.

As Erwin shouted, you wasted no time waiting and you immediately followed Moblit, with Nifa behind you and your other squad members at the back. You rode your horse like there was no tomorrow, occasionally being told to slow down to not ruin the formation.

Once the big-ass trees greeted your sight, you shifted to your ODM gear and slaughtered every titan that came across your vision. How you are extremely offensive right now surprised your squad mates, because you were never like this before. It was as if you were angry, and hell you are.

You let your body get taken away by the emotions that overwhelmed your system, that you didn’t notice how far you got and how long you were fighting. But you did not seem to care, you were going to fight until Erwin decides to retreat. The good thing is, you knew how to conserve gas, Levi taught you himself.

Like a thunderbolt, a titan rushed towards you, jumping through the branches of trees, and catching you off guard, making a sharp piece of the wood graze the side of your cheek slightly. You hissed at the sting yet resumed slaying the titan.

Time passed by and you lost count of how many titans you have killed, the second to the last blade in your hand is now starting to get weary, and you badly wanted to kill the one in front of you. You advanced in full speed and positioned your blade in a way that it’d execute the titan in one slash, but an arm stopped you before you could cut.

“Stop it.”

Your body shook, not because you were tired, nor exhaustion is starting to creep up your body. But it was because you heard your lover’s voice. And you did not know why, or for what reason could your body react like this.

“It’s time to head back.” He whispered on your ear. His voice was nothing compared to his cold ones earlier, because this one. . . it’s warmer than the sunset.

You bit your lip, letting your emotions take over you once again and yanking your arm away from him just to get back to the formation all by yourself. Your squad mates nodded at you the moment they recognized your form, and you were greeted by the sight of several bodies of people who suffered the fate of being taken too early.

The entire way back to the walls was coaxed with the heat provided with the orange sunset. Gone was the coldness that bothered everyone in the morning, it was engulfed by the warmth that reminded you of how every expedition ends like. The only warmth that reminded you of losing someone important.

-----

On an open field is where you sat, where they had experiments with the boy- the titan shifter. Of course, you knew, you were there. In front of you was the sunset that would soon say goodbye and leave its remnants of purple and deep pink. And the scent of your favorite soap sent comfort in knowing that you are already home, freshly showered, with a piece of snack in your hand.

You felt your lover’s presence slowly approaching you, his heat was greater than anything else. But visions of what happened earlier repeated in your mind, causing you to walk away from him, away from the feelings.

“(Y/N).”

One word from him, and you halted. And you hated it.

Not a minute had passed and you found Levi in front of you, his brown jacket now discarded, and what protected him from the cold solstice was a thin long-sleeves that you used to steal from him. His hand caressed the wound on your cheek, lightly letting his fingers kiss the fresh cut, but your eyes continued to avoid his.

Because of the schedule and trainings, you were deprived of the chance to spend time together. And you would not deny that you miss it. How you would sneak into his office late at night and come back to you and your roommates’ room before dawn. How you would steal food from the mess hall and share it with him. Or the late-night walks that you have done with him, pretending that no one would see. And you were sure that someone did.

You were never a secret, but you were extremely private.

“Look at me.” He said, his hands still cupping both of your cheeks. You pouted, not wanting to look at him because you knew how frail you get when it comes to him.

Your eyes met his, and it felt like you haven’t for a while.

“Look at me,” He repeated, and you stare directly into his, letting him read the emotions you have felt earlier. You looked at him as if you were complaining to him about himself and his actions earlier. “I’m sorry.”

Your lips trembled. Cheeks flushed and puffed, lips pouting, while warm tears filled your eyes once again. And Levi kissed your tears away even before they could paint your pretty face.

“Don’t cry,” He whispers, gone was the harsh tone that he used on you earlier, gone was the Levi that made you feel invalidated and puerile, “Fuck! Don’t cry. I’m sorry, baby.”

Sultry kisses on your forehead, and how his voice burned in apologies saved you from the cold breeze that wanted to touch your skin. He held you so close to him that you could feel how fast his heart beats for you, muttering how sorry he is, how he told not just Petra but his whole squad about you, how much of an asshole he was.

“D-don’t do that again. . .” You sobbed, face still buried in the warmth of his chest while your hands gripped his shirt.

“I promise.” He responds immediately, wiping the sadness and pain you have felt for hours and replacing it with the fire that dwells within him; the fire that you both made.

You were beneath the moon, and tonight, it was more beautiful. It was your witness, along with the stars that smoldered like a fiery heat. And within the coolness of the dusk had you both realized, that the once searing sunset has kissed you both goodbye.

#attack on titan #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #attack on titan x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #aot #snk #rulerofstars

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ptergwen · 4 years

Text

4 times peter loved you and 1 time he said it

warnings: angst, swearing, and flash being a dickwad (love him tho)

a/n: i wasn’t sure if i would ever finish this bc i started in march? and gave up but i really like the concept so i made myself get back into it and AHH i’m really happy with how it turned out! fingers crossed y’all like too ahaha. also this is unrelated but send me requests!

to say you and peter were each other’s missing halves would be an absolute understatement. there wasn’t a secret you didn’t share, an inside joke you didn’t have, a text or call left unanswered, or a second you weren’t on the other’s mind.

it had been like that since your first day of freshman year. you took the seat next to peter in first period spanish, and the rest was history.

peter knew you better than you knew yourself. as cheesy as it sounded, it was true. he could guess what you were going to order at a restaurant before you picked up the menu. if you had a bad day, he’d come over to your place with tissues and hugs, without you having to ask. he knew all the little things.

you? you were a peter parker encyclopedia. you watched all his favorite movies so he could rant to you about them, and you’d actually understand what he was saying. whenever he felt overwhelmed by his chaotic life, you found a way to calm him.

you two were soulmates in best friend form.

best friends, nothing more.

♡ 1.

you had an arm around peter’s neck as you picked at some fruit on his lunch tray. his head was resting comfortably against your cheek, whole body leaning on you. impromtu cuddle sessions weren’t unusual for the two of you. they worked in both of your favors. peter was your own personal heater, and you were just really comfortable to nap on, in his opinion.

“are you gonna eat all my grapes? i was looking forward to those,” peter whined, taking one out of your hand. “are you gonna keep using me as a pillow?” you challenged. he responded by moving his head to your shoulder and chewing. “then, yes. i am gonna eat all your grapes.”

“you know what two people who share food are?” ned chimed in from across the cafeteria table. already knowing what he was implying, you sighed. “what, ned?” he cupped his hand over his mouth like he was about to spill the world’s biggest secret. “a couple.”

it wouldn’t be a regular day without ned trying to play matchmaker for you and peter. the idea made peter scoff. “leave us alone, man. that doesn’t even make sense.” “yes it does!” ned nudged mj for backup. she only raised her hands in defense. it was always a hard pass from her on getting involved in these types of things, unless she found a reason to.

“really? how?” you grabbed peter’s milk and took a sip just for the hell of it. he chuckled at that, forgetting he was supposed to be annoyed with you. a bit of milk dripped down your chin in the process. “oops,” you grimaced at yourself and licked it away.

something about the whole thing made peter’s heart clench. it was so... you were so... cute. cute was definitely the word he was looking for. wait, what? that was new. peter had always thought you were pretty and all, but he’d never found himself endeared like this over such a little thing you did. or had he? no. nope. it was ned’s stupid theory messing with him. that was all.

“y/n, dude, everyone knows it’s a thing. like, why else would someone give up their whole lunch? it’s flirting,” ned interrupted peter’s sudden thoughts about your cuteness. the smug look on his face made you want to throw the tray at him.

before you even joined their friend group, ned was on a mission to set the two of you up. peter described you to him and mj as “the actual sweetest girl ever. she makes me laugh a lot. you guys gotta meet her.” mj obviously ‘tsked’ at him, but a light bulb went off in ned’s head. peter was crushing. he just didn’t know it yet.

part of how you and peter got so close was that ned and mj used to back out of group plans. you’d end up hanging out alone most of the time. of course, it was ned’s idea. a successful idea, yes, but neither of you understood the obsession. apparently it was a guy in the chair’s duty to be a good wingman, and you should leave it to him. whatever that meant.

“if i remember correctly, you and your mom went halfsies on a piece of cake at your birthday party last year. what are you trying to tell us, leeds?” mj asked with a smirk. you and peter looked at each other and burst into laughter, ned’s mouth hanging open. the girl could really get someone when she wanted to.

“shut up, you guys! that’s different!” “so is y/n stealing my food and you calling it sharing,” peter made a point of saying more to you than ned. despite his words, he pushed the tray over to you. it was basically yours, anyway.

you thanked him with a pat on his cheek and popped more grapes into your mouth. in that moment, peter decided he’d get you all the grapes in the world if he could. jeez, he seriously needed to reel it in.

ned was only going to keep going now. “see that? peter’s such a sweet boyfriend. isn’t he, y/n?” he cooed and clasped his hands under his chin. you didn’t have the chance to change the topic before flash appeared at your table. he’d probably overheard your conversation. “penis parker is somebody’s boyfriend? good one.”

feeling peter tense up next to you, you put a hand on his shoulder to let him know you were there. you’d been in too many of these situations. the way flash talked to peter pissed you off in ways you didn’t think were possible. he was fine with everybody else, so why did he choose to pick on him? peter was the least deserving person of having to put up with it from anyone.

“just ignore him, okay? he’ll get bored and leave. works every time,” you reminded peter. too uneasy to say anything, he reached back and put his hand on top of yours. he tried to focus on how nice your touch felt instead of the fact that he was about to be humiliated by flash yet again.

“peter could totally get a girlfriend! he has, like, tons of girls after him,” ned attempted to back peter up, pleased with himself. groaning, peter put his head down on the table. he couldn’t bare to watch his friend destroy what was left of his social life. “you’re really pushing this now. stop talking,” mj warned in a whisper yell to ned. that didn’t stop flash from hearing her.

“she’s right. even parker agrees! look at him,” he snickered at peter’s embarrassed state. you’d had more than enough of him at that point. screw the silence. it wasn’t going to cut it for this one. while wingman ned was still making up stories, you tapped peter’s shoulder to find out how he was doing. his head remained down.

“you okay? want me to say something?” “i’m used to it, and no. i don’t wanna make you deal with him.” peter hated putting his issues on other people, but you couldn’t stand another second of listening to the things flash was saying. you cut into an argument between him and ned about peter’s body count. like his was any higher.

“fuck off, flash!” he stopped in the middle of his sentence. “huh?” “i said fuck off. anyone would be so lucky to date peter. you’re probably salty at him all the time because it’ll never be you,” you finally snapped. his tough guy persona faltered for a few seconds at your words, ned and mj taking the opportunity to high five you for telling him off.

peter was glad his head was still down because his cheeks were pinker than he’d like to admit. did you really mean that? would you be lucky to date him, too?

“what are you, president of the parker protection squad? or are you two a thing?” flash quickly recovered. there he went trying to get the last word in. the embarrassment for peter if you denied it was exactly what he wanted, but you weren’t letting him have it.

“ask me again some other time.” you plastered on a shit-eating grin and waved goodbye. unsatisfied with your answer, flash huffed his way back to his own table. after he was gone, peter looked up at you with something you’d never seen before twinkling in his eyes.

“thank you, y/n. you really didn’t have to say all of that.” “oh, no. don’t thank me. i‘d do it for you anytime. i am president of the parker protection squad, after all.” your fake smile turned into a genuine one for him. peter couldn’t help but mirror it.

his was heart doing that thing again. he guessed it was because he loved you so much, but this love felt different somehow. it wasn’t the friend kind of love he’d had for you all those years.

it was the kind of love he saw in the rom coms you made him watch when you got to pick for movie night. cupid’s love was the official name for it. when he put two and two together, the realization smacked him straight in the face. ned was right.

peter was starting to fall in love with you, and there was no way he could stop.

♡ 2.

peter was a workaholic. patrolaholic to be exact, especially when he had a reason. he’d sometimes find himself in a cycle of getting home late and going out early for days on end. he’d gotten used to the sleep deprivation. his grumbling stomach from missing meals wasn’t too big of a deal either. not when he had a city to save.

it was also a good distraction from everything else going on in his life. man, did he need a distraction. after peter came to terms with the fact that he loved loved his best friend, he narrowed it down to two options; telling you about his feelings or taking them to his grave. since the city was so busy, he was thankful he could throw himself into patrolling and not decide just yet.

may would usually only allow peter to patrol on weekends. school existed, and he had to take breaks. peter really wanted to help out more, so he proposed an idea that could potentially let him up it to the full seven days. he had to make it home in one piece every night for a trial week. that would prove to may he could handle it.

ignoring his black eye on tuesday and limp on thursday, it worked out. peter was positive he could finish off the week just fine. may didn’t have the same optimism. she decided that so much as a scratch on friday and it was strike three. friday came, and peter had impressively managed to end the day, like he thought, just fine.

he did one last swing around the neighborhood he was in, then started heading back to queens to gloat to may. on his way, he remembered he had to text you goodnight. he was bound by a pinky swear to you that he would do it every time he finished patrolling.

peter being spider-man was something you figured out only a few months after he got his powers. he technically exposed himself, and you pieced everything together. it all happened when spider-man offered to walk you home from school one day.

the way he rubbed the back of his neck while asking was a nervous habit that was oddly familiar, and urged you to say yes. you also thought it was strange how even though he didn’t ask for your address, he somehow knew where he was taking you. then again, he was spider-man. it was his job to know new york city and the people living in it.

you came to the conclusion you were making things up until he was about to leave. he walked you to the door of your apartment building and said, “stay safe, squirt.” nobody called you that besides peter. he came up with it because he had recently grown a few inches taller and could finally give you hell for being the short one.

needless to say, peter didn’t take off like he was intending to. he realized his slip up as soon as the nickname came out of his mouth. you brought him upstairs and had a long afternoon of questioning, explanations, and making promises.

peter typed out a message telling you he was fine and to go to sleep. as he was about to hit send, he swung too low and smacked his head right into a traffic light. that was what he got for texting while swinging. he could imagine mj giving him one of her famous safety lectures already, but that wasn’t first on his list of worries. he had a throbbing head and may’s third strike to deal with.

crap, may couldn’t know about this. she’d ban him from patrolling probably forever. going home was out of the question, but peter was in desperate need of an ice pack. there was already a bump forming from where the light hit him. his next choice would be to go to happy, only he couldn’t do that because he‘d tell may.

peter’s hands worked faster than his brain, and he started swinging over to your apartment. the overthinking began soon after. nobody wants to deal with a surprise appearance from their possibly concussed friend at 2 a.m. besides, what would he say? he’d barely seen you all week. it wasn’t fair to you, but it was too late to turn back.

peter landed on the sidewalk with an “oof” and crawled up the wall of your building. when he reached your window, he knocked in the same rhythm that he always did. no answer. he knocked louder. no answer again.

seeing as he had no other option, peter had to let himself in. he pushed on your window to see if it was unlocked. thank god it slid up then, but he made a mental note to remind you about keeping it locked another time. he climbed through the window with as little noise as possible so your family wouldn’t hear.

after navigating in the dark, peter pulled off his mask by the side of your bed. he instantly melted at the sight of you. your face was squished into your pillow, hair sprawled everywhere. you’d must have fallen asleep waiting for his text because you were holding your phone. peter was sure he’d never seen something so adorable.

he let himself stand there and watch the peaceful rise and fall of your chest. the bump on his head was no longer a priority. peter was utterly and completely entranced with you. god, why was he acting like this? oh, right. he was secretly in love with you.

before peter could help himself, he brushed some hair that had fallen into your eyes away with his fingers. you squirmed in your sleep, peter pulling his hand back. he was such an idiot sometimes. your eyes fluttered open and landed on him.

“peter? ‘s that you?” you squinted to see in the darkness of your room. he moved closer. your legs dangled over the bed as you slowly sat up. “yeah, it’s me. sorry to wake you.” he went to scratch his head out of nerves, but stopped when he remembered it really freaking hurt right there.

“‘s okay. i was hoping you’d come over soon. missed you all week.” you frowned at the red and blue clad boy in front of you. except for school, you hadn’t seen peter the past few days. “lots of crime to fight lately?” “missed you more, and yeah. been kicking lots of asses.” the awkwardness peter was imaging faded away when he plopped down next to you on your bed.

“how’s your eye doing? and the limp?” you turned his head towards you by his chin. he exhaled in relief. “getting better, i think. now that we’re talking about injuries...” the sleepiness was knocked out of you. you all but leapt to your feet and turned on the lamp by your bed. peter had a feeling you’d slightly freak.

“we’ve been making small talk and you’re hurt? what happened, peter?” “i-i sort of, um, i was texting you and swung into a traffic light.” “oh my god, where?” he pointed at his forehead with a weak smile. surely enough, there was a big bump. you gasped. “please don’t be mad at me.” “i’m not mad at you. just feel bad it was kinda my fault. do you think you have a concussion?”

you weren’t sure what to do beyond the mostly useless first aid videos they played in gym class. being an avenger, peter had had his share of experience with wounds. whenever he came to you hurt, he talked you through how to help him. the most you’d ever dealt with was a few particularly deep cuts. this was not the same.

“i‘m not sure. you could try that finger thing?” he suggested. you crouched down in front of him. “good idea. let’s do that.” as you waved your index finger back and forth and peter’s eyes followed it seemingly well, his mind was elsewhere. he was thinking about crawling into bed with you and sleeping in your arms.

“well, you passed or whatever they say. i’m pretty sure you don’t have a concussion. you’ll heal fast because of... you know.” you stood up and mimicked the way he shoots his webs. peter chuckled quietly. your thumb ran lightly over his bump, making him wince. “how bad does it feel?” “on a scale from one to ten it’s, like, a five and a half.”

although not what you wanted to hear, it was manageable. you hoped so, at least. “i’m gonna go get some stuff. change into comfortable clothes.” “yes, doctor y/n.” peter saluted you. you were happy to see he still felt up to joking around. biting your lip to hold back a smile, you made your way to the kitchen.

peter searched through the spare clothes he’d left here over the years. there were so many, you had to give him a drawer. he changed into pajama pants and a t-shirt, then sat back down criss cross on your bed.

you came in shortly after with a water bottle, two advil, and an ice pack wrapped in a towel. “i was kidding about the whole doctor thing, you know.” “too bad.” you handed him the advil and water. “take these. they’ll help until your magic healing powers kick in.” peter took the pills while you pressed the ice pack to his bump. he took it from you when he was finished.

“is that any better?” “much better. i’m all good. i should probably go soon.” he mumbled, not meaning it but also not wanting to overstay his welcome. you’d already done so much for him. you stopped him from getting up by putting a hand on his chest.

“what? you already changed, and i’m not sending you home to get killed by may. just stay.” “are you sure? i don’t wanna bother you anymore. it was annoying for me to come here so late in the first place.”

a frown set on your face. “peter, don’t you remember my promise?” there was a beat of silence while he thought about it. “that you’d help out with spidey stuff?” “however and whenever i can. i don’t know what made you think differently just now, but nothing’s gonna change that. doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of the night or early in the morning. i’m always here.”

only you could reassure him just like that. peter was really lucky to have you. really, really lucky.

“right. you’re right. sorry for... whatever that was.” “you apologize too much.” you poked his chest to punctuate your statement and switched the light off. “sorry for that, too,” he teased, wanting a reaction from you. “peter benjamin parker, just get in the bed.” “yes, ma’am.” that was enough before you changed your mind and threw him out.

you rolled to lay on the other side of peter. still pressing the ice pack to his head, he laid down next to you. it didn’t take long for both of you to be settled under the covers. “try not to bang into the wall or something,” you joked and pulled your comforter up to your chin.

peter puffed some air out of his cheeks, tugging more of it back. “you can’t be mean and hog the blanket.” “it’s my bed, so i actually can. i’ll hog everything.”

to prove your point, you moved over to peter until there was no room between you. both of you knew it was an excuse to cuddle. he wasn’t mad about it at all. peter opened an arm for you. you curled into his side, letting him hold you close. his whole body relaxed as you hugged him against you. “goodnight, spidey.” “night, squirt.”

♡ 3.

“what does that cloud look like to you?” you pointed up at the sky. peter’s eyes darted around as he tried to find exactly which one you were talking about. there were a lot of them, in his defense. you made a big circle with your finger around the cloud in question.

“the really curvy one. right there.” “kinda looks like a tiger. can we keep walking now?” peter tugged your arm linked in his in an attempt to move you from the spot you’d randomly stopped in. he made a whiny noise when you didn’t budge.

“i think it looks more like a horse, and no. why are you in such a rush?” furrowing your brows at him, you tightened your grip on his arm. “because some people don’t like cloud watching, grandma.” “i only asked you about one! i’m just... trying to get the most out of today.”

with college around the corner, you and peter both had a lot to do and a little bit of time to get it done. your only hangouts had become some shared extracurriculars and weekly study group with your other friends. trying to binge watch your shows together on facetime hadn’t been easy, for one thing. you fumbled to keep your phone up more than you payed attention.

on a more serious note, being apart sucked majorly. it was going to be this times a million when you would inevitably have to split up in a few months. thinking about it for too long usually made you cry.

peter was struggling in other ways. his more than a friend feelings for you were only getting stronger. having all that love and not being able to give it to you was hurting like hell, and he had to just pack everything up and act normal during the rare moments you were together. you were both going through it.

this was the first sunday in what felt like forever that you and peter were both free. you decided that the nice weather called for a meetup at central park. so, there you were, arm in arm on your afternoon stroll.

“don’t say it like that, y/n. you’re making me sad.” peter let out a breath as you rested your head on his shoulder. “that was the point.” you started walking again, peter following next to you. he kicked at pebbles while you smiled up at him. that made him smile at his feet. you were getting really good at making him flustered.

“so, did you finish that pre calc packet?” peter asked to distract himself. you lifted your head off his shoulder with a groan. “peter, we’re not talking about school for once. let’s talk about literally anything else.” “like what?” you were about to make a suggestion, but something caught your attention.

you raced over to a swingset, dragging peter along with you before he could realize where you were taking him. you stopped in front of it and threw your hands up to present it to him. he let out a breathy laugh. “when was the last time you went on one of these?” you asked, taking peter’s arm again. peter shook his head. “way too long ago.”

with a smile, you walked him over and took a seat on one of the swings. peter sat on the one next to you. you spun around in a circle to see how much you could twist the chains, peter laughing. “y/n, what are you doing?” “having fun. you should try it sometime.” he backed up to get himself started and grabbed his own chains. “i do have fun. it’s just not in the ways you think.”

you untwisted yourself to watch peter. “so, how?” “well,” he started going higher, “i like learning about stuff, even the things we have to in school.” “everybody knows that. that’s the first thing i thought of.” you did know everything possible about him.

everything except his new feelings for you, but this wasn’t the time for him to blurt that out. he was still figuring out when or if he should.

“guess i’m not gonna say i like movies, either.” “singing?” you were swinging next to him, turning it into an unspoken competiton for who could get the highest. peter slowed down a bit since he’d had a head start. “i suck. the only person who’s allowed to hear me is you.”

“it’s possible to suck at something and still enjoy it.” the breeze blew your hair around, peter seeing it from the corner of his eye. he’d always loved how carefree you were around him. it rubbed off.

“remind me to force you to do karaoke one day.” “you’re so annoying.” that motivated you to kick off harder on the ground. peter huffed and tried to catch up to you. “don’t be mean to your only source of fun.” if that wasn’t true, he would’ve came up with a comeback.

the only time peter remembered to relax was when he was with you. it was usually because you reminded him. he skidded to a stop on the swing and looked up at you.

“why’d you let me win? was that too mean?” you looked over your shoulder. “nah, i just got tired.” “oh. we can do something else now. catch me?” “sure,” peter chuckled and got off the swing. he stood in front of you on the grass and waited for you to get lower. you clenched your teeth into a nervous smile.

“ready?” “ready.” swinging towards him, you jumped off and expected to land in his arms. you ended up completely on top of him instead.

the wind was knocked out of both of you, but peter had it worse because he broke your fall. your hands were on his shoulders and one of his was around your lower back. neither of you realized the position you were in. you were too busy trying to breathe again.

“god, that hurt.” “my bad,” peter mumbled. in any other circumstance, he wouldn’t be complaining about this. “i should’ve warned you or something,” you dismissed him.

you were still hovering over peter, your lips dangerously close to his. he could’ve sworn they almost touched. that was when you got off of him. he only forced out a laugh. nothing ever went his way. you offered him a hand, oblivious to his inner conflict. peter took it and pulled himself up, falling into step next to you as you headed to another path.

that could’ve been a chance to make some sort of move, and he blew it.

♡ 4.

it hadn’t been easy for peter to move on from that day. his mind kept replaying the split second you almost kissed on an endless loop, and all he could do was come up with what he should’ve done in the moment.

things were getting to a point where he had no clue how to act around you. being your friend was hard, but becoming your boyfriend would be that much harder. his stupid feelings put him in an awkward place, and he was afraid you were starting to realize. he couldn’t lose you altogether.

you asked peter to meet you for coffee after school. it was this small place in between your apartments you’d both been to once before. they had really good cookies and an overall cozy feeling you liked. peter wasn’t sure what this was all about.

were you going to confront him? did ned say something? maybe it was a mistake to confide in his most gossipy friend about how he felt.

with a headache from stress and a heavy backpack hanging off his shoulders, peter walked into the café. he spotted you at a table near the window. you’d already taken the liberty of ordering, two drinks and a chocolate chip cookie waiting there. you looked up from your phone when peter pulled a chair out.

“hi.” you gave him a small smile and put your phone down. “i already got everything.” peter shrugged off his backpack with a grin. he sat down facing you. “thanks. sorry i’m kinda late. i had to stop at my locker.” you usually met him there. come to think of it, why hadn’t you today? you pushed peter’s drink over to him. “you’re fine. i came here early to get us a table, anyway.” phew.

peter bent the straw to his iced macchiato and took a sip. it made him feel grown up, casually drinking coffee with you over a boring conversation. adult life must’ve sucked. “so, how was the rest of your day?” he asked to fill the silence. you only had two classes without him after lunch, so that was a dumb question. he’d never had so much trouble talking to you.

“eh. betty fell asleep on me during this cold war documentary we had to watch.” “didn’t she say american history is her favorite?” you broke off a piece of the cookie with a laugh. “not after that. what about your day?” the light from the window was shining directly on you, blocking out everything else from peter’s view. he wanted to tell you how beautiful you were so bad, but that would be creepy.

you took a bite of your cookie and raised an eyebrow. he was staring. “uh, nothing interesting. i’m gonna patrol a little bit later.” peter sipped his drink again. you clicked your tongue and let out a breath. “that’s all you do these days.” he knew you were catching on to how off he’d been. what was he supposed to say? it would’ve helped if he’d prepared a few excuses.

“just trying to help out while i’m still here.” that was a half truth. “yeah, but you should still take some time for yourself.” you ripped open your straw wrapper and blew it at peter. he caught it just before it hit his face. rolling your eyes, you put the straw into your drink. “i hate your reflexes sometimes.” he shrugged one of his shoulders casually. “jealousy is a disease.”

neither of you said anything for a few minutes. you stared out the window while peter finished the rest of the cookie. he could tell something was on your mind. whenever you were deep in your thoughts, you sort of zoned out like this.

he was too nervous to ask you what was wrong because of the conversation you just had. it sounded like you had already considered he was being distant before today. his feelings aside, he needed to reassure you. that was more important.

“y/n?” you turned your head to look at him. “yeah?” peter’s gaze shifted from you to his thumbs twiddling in his lap. “i know we’ve both been really... busy lately, but i’m still here. don’t forget that.” a hint of a smile played on your lips. you would’ve hugged him if you could reach. “thank you, peter. i kinda needed to hear that.” he nudged your leg under the table. “of course. hey, you wanna come with me tonight?”

a couple of hours later, you were in peter’s arms on a rooftop that was much higher up than it looked. he insisted on taking you for a swing so you could get the full experience. he’d been trying to get you to do this for the longest time, so he wondered what made you agree today. you wanted to find out what was so enjoyable about it.

“i trust you, but you’re not gonna drop me, right?” your legs were around his waist, and he had one hand supporting you by your back. that wasn’t terrifying at all. you grabbed peter’s shoulders, the idea of it making you nervous. he wrapped his arm tighter around you.

“oh my god, no. i can always web you back up.” “peter! that’s not funny.” even behind the mask, you could tell he was smirking. “you’re always safe with me, squirt. don’t worry.” you brought your arms up to loop around his neck.

“i feel better now.” “good. i’m gonna jump when we get to the edge, okay?“ your whole body stiffened up. peter could sense it. as excited as he was to share this with you, he didn’t want to make you feel pressured. “or we don’t have to do it.” his voice was quiet. you tried to relax in his hold. “i’m just gonna close my eyes. i think that’ll help.” “we’re about to find out.”

peter started walking towards the edge of the building with you holding on even tighter to him, your eyes squeezed shut. he kept finding himself in situations where he was close to you in the ways he’d been wishing for, but never for the same reasons. it was bittersweet.

he bit down on his lip and aimed his free hand at a building. you squealed when he leaned back. “i’m jumping now,” he prepared you, and before you could respond, you were in the air. you hid your face in peter’s chest the second you felt yourself pretty much flying.

“what the fuck, you like this?” you had to yell so he could hear you. peter shot another web to keep swinging. “it’s really not that bad! try looking up!” he shouted back, clearly amused.

grip tightening around his neck, you slowly pulled your face away from him. he kept you close as he swung. you somehow convinced yourself you weren’t going to die by looking at something besides peter. your eyes landed on the sky behind his head.

the sun was almost completely set, deep pink and orange merging together against the glowing lights of the city. you were finally understanding why he liked this so much. it was beautiful.

peter peeked at you for a second to check on you. he swore his heart was going to explode out of his chest. the look of adoration on your face, it was even better than the view. it was the view. the little moments where peter got to see you this way made him realize how in love with you he really was.

“this is... wow. i get it now,” you laughed in disbelief, watching as the city whirled past you. peter smiled so big it hurt. “pretty awesome, huh?” one of your hands slid back down to his shoulder. “take me with you more often.”

♡ 5.

peter licked his lips out of habit as he held the door open for may, who was following behind him with a look of pride. he was about to graduate high school. the ceremony was being held in a really nice stadium-like place. trying to find it added minutes on to the parker tradition of being late to everything important.

peter wasn’t as concerned with his tardiness as he was with finding you.

while he tossed and turned in bed the night before, he went over his whole school year in his head. that meant little things and big things. he was starting to drift off until he remembered a conversation with ned a few weeks back. they decided on a deadline for peter to tell you about his feelings, and it was before graduation.

they chose it because if peter got rejected, he’d be over it by the time college started. that was the goal.

it wasn’t that peter had changed his mind. it was that he completely forgot. he didn’t have a solid plan for what he should do. these things needed to be decided way in advance. he ended up pulling something together last minute because it was you. plus, this extra pressure gave him the push to go through with it. somewhere between steps seven and eight, he passed out.

may rushed him to get ready because he’d slept past his alarm. the whole morning was a mess, and he had at most fifteen minutes to confess his love to you by the time he got there.

“you should go make sure you’re marked here. i’ll see you after. love you.” may pressed a kiss to his cheek and half-jogged to the auditorium for a seat. he squeezed her arm and headed off to check in. your whole grade was already lined up along the walls for what looked like miles. the deal was to tell you before graduation. he still had about ten minutes.

peter walked past hundreds of students with his heartbeat thumping in his ears. everyone was in alphabetical order, so it didn’t take too long to find you. relief washed over you when you saw peter. you were worried he wouldn’t show up at all. his cap was in his hand, hair getting tangled from running his fingers through it. he looked at you with pleading eyes.

“finally, i’ve been trying to call you all morning. where were you?” your tone was dripping with concern. “i overslept. there’s something i gotta tell you, y/n.” he gulped. you smiled in a way that was kind of pitying. “we’re about to start going inside. i- you have to wait, pete. go get lined up.”

this wasn’t how it was going to end. not again.

he looked around to see who was watching, then he grabbed your wrist. “peter, what are you-“ “just come with me really quick.” despite yourself, you let him lead you down the hallway. you dodged a couple of teachers having a conversation and went into a bathroom that was vacant by some chance. he let go of you after the door shut. you stood behind it while he walked over to a sink.

it was making you anxious to not be out there. you could be late. peter was the same way when it came to school, so you knew this had to be pretty serious. you gave up the battle with yourself and made your way over to him. he was looking at himself in the mirror, trying to get a stray curl back in place.

“let me help.” you stood next to him. he turned to face you, that same look of urgency still in his eyes. you used two fingers to brush through his hair. there was so much gel that it was wet enough to mess with. you smiled a bit and took your hand out of his hair. his hand was gripping the sink.

“you look good, pete. you smell good, too.” “so do you.” his voice was lower than usual. you flattened out the material of your blue gown. “thanks. so, talk to me. what’s up?”

the question was so simple, but way too many answers were running through peter’s brain. he wasn’t even sure he’d have enough time to explain everything now. this was why he needed a written out and carefully crafted plan.

but, like he said to himself last night, this was you. his best friend in the entire world and any other that might exist. the person who’s been there for his most embarrassing moments, and who’s been responsible for some of his best ones. if he couldn’t finally say the three words he’d said to you so many times before, what was the point?

his fingers drummed a steady rhythm while he mustered up the last remaining bit of courage in him. you watched him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. “just, um...” he was stalling. he pulled his hand off the sink. “i... love you.” peter only glanced at you for a second, too afraid to see your reaction. “i love you, too. is everything okay?” his heart sank. you thought he meant it in the friend way.

that was what he got for being so terrible with words.

“no, y/n. not like that.” he blurted. you were lost. peter pressed his back against the wall and sat down. confused and equally worried, you sat next to him on the floor. “then what do you mean? you’re scaring me.” he checked the watch may made him wear to see how much time was left before graduation. four minutes. he really should’ve woken up on time.

“we have to get back in line soon. i don’t wanna miss-“ “i love you, y/n. i’m in love with you.” a weight that had been on peter’s chest for months was lifted just by saying it. you squinted your eyes at him, but said nothing.

“i’ve been trying to tell you for a while, and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same. i just had to say it.” “fuck, are you serious?” you sounded what peter could only describe as disappointed. yeah, it was unrequited. here came a summer of crying. “i was gonna tell you first.”

peter’s breath hitched in his throat, and he swore you could hear it. he was so sleep deprived that it felt like he was hallucinating. you shook your head as heat came to your cheeks.

“how long have you...” peter trailed off, an eye crinkling smile interrupting him. “that day we went for coffee. something clicked, so i thought for a while and figured it out. i think i’ve loved you for a really long time.”

you inched closer to peter, just barely resting your head on his shoulder. for once, you felt like the shy one. he put his hand on top of yours. his thumb traced over each of your fingers. “i’d ask you out, but you know. we don’t really have time.”

“peter, it won’t take that long.” you giggled. he squeezed your hand in his. “hm. y/n, would you wanna go out with me after this?” you thought about teasing him for it, but he was right. you had to go. that was the friend still in you. “i’d love to go out with you, peter.”

with that, you both jumped to your feet and ran out of the bathroom. you were still holding hands, and a few classmates made faces when you rushed past them to get to your spots. you exchanged one last smile with peter before lining up.

the person in front of you said everybody was looking for you two. honestly, you didn’t care all that much. you were too excited for your date later. peter already knew he’d be checking his watch throughout the whole ceremony.

it was a best friend and soulmate thing.

#tom holland #peter parker #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland writing #spiderman #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #marvel #mcu #tom holland oneshot

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sappy-seresin · 4 years

Text

heat wave (j.m)

Requested: No, I was just inspired by how hot it was today and had this concept come to mind.

Summary: You’re a kook but, like Kie, you’ve been best friends with the Pogues for years. The outer banks is experiencing a heat wave and you’re trying to manage the heat with your friends.

Warnings: None, other than a few curse words. Overall just fluff.

———————

I hopelessly roll over on the small twin-sized bed, trying to get comfortable under the weight of JJ’s arm lazily strewn over my waist. A frustrated sigh falls from my lips as he moves to pull me closer, I can’t help but grimace at the feeling of our clammy, sweat-covered skin coming into contact.

The sweltering heat in the house has made it absolutely impossible for me to sleep. Living in the Outer Banks all of my life has built up a high heat tolerance, but this is a different level. My damp clothes cling to my feverish skin; everything I touch feels slightly moist due to the sweat that both mine and JJ’s bodies have accumulated since we’ve laid down.

JJ passed out awhile ago, tossing and turning in the heat had managed to exhaust him while it only prolonged my process of trying to get comfortable. I feel like I’m suffocating. Between the heat in the room and JJ’s body curled against my own, it’s as if I can’t breathe.

Finally giving up on trying to sleep, I carefully slip out from JJ’s grasp and make my way towards the living room; hoping to find something to help bring some sort of relieve against the heat.

“Can’t sleep?” John B’s voice questions, breaking the calm silence in the house. I jump, placing my hand over my heart in surprise, squinting in the dark to make out his silhouette sprawled across the couch carelessly.

“It’s too hot to get comfortable,” I complain, hobbling over to the fridge. I pull the door open quietly, blindly waiting for my eyes to adjust to the brightness in the mostly empty fridge. An involuntary hum falls from my lips as the cold air meets my clammy skin, bringing a temporary wave of pleasure at the contact. I bask in the coolness of the air for a moment, leaning into the fridge, before I grab two beers from the top shelf and swing the door closed.

I clumsily make my way to the small living room, tripping over unknown items as I wait for my eyes to readjust to the darkness in the room.

“Is JJ sleeping,” John B asks, gladly accepting the beer from my hands before I plopped down on the pullout couch across from him.

“JJ could fall asleep in a burning room,” I roll my eyes, making John B chuckle in agreement. We fall into a comfortable silence, sipping on our beers while my eyes slowly begin making out my surroundings.

Not too long after that, JJ comes sauntering out of the guest room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, disoriented. He groans, collapsing onto my body whilst I yelp in surprise, protesting due to the bottle in my hands. He ignores my protests, closing his eyes as his head settles onto my chest.

“I thought you were sleeping,” I hum, pushing his sweaty hair away from his forehead to press a chaste kiss against his skin.

“Couldn’t go back to sleep when you left,” he huffs, his words slightly muffled by the skin on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, but it’s too hot. I can’t sleep when I’ve got a koala bear that needs affection twenty-four-seven,” I tease, cringing at how warm JJ’s body feels against mine, but choosing to leave him be on my chest.

“Excuse me,” he gasps, voice raspy as he pushes off of my chest to stare at me, feigning offense. “This koala bear doesn’t need your sass. He’s sensitive. His need for love and affection is a touchy subject.”

John B snorts, placing his beer on the floor as he watches us banter back and forth for awhile. The casual banter slowly escalates into a full blown fake argument, resulting in me carelessly shoving JJ onto the floor in an attempt to settle it.

“Ow,” he complains, playfully pouting at me from his position on the floor. “Dad, Y/n pushed me.” He spun to face John B, who is now cracking up at our childish antics.

“You guys are children,” he shakes his head, standing up to stretch. The hint of a sunrise now peaks through the windows, lighting up the boys features as he yawns. He sarcastically salutes us before disappearing down the hallway to his room.

“Do you want to try to sleep,” JJ asks, casually crawling back onto the couch next to me. I sleepily blink at him; suppressing the yawn threatening to escape my chapped lips.

“It’s too hot to sleep,” I hum, beginning to feel grumpy due to the sleep deprivation and the continued heat soaking up the air in the Chateau.

“Okay, we won’t sleep then,” he states, pushing himself off of the couch to stalk down the hallway. I hear him have a quiet conversation with John B before he comes sauntering into the room with his backpack slung over his shoulders. He stops in front of me, lips curled into a goofy smile as he he sticks his hand in front of my face for me to grab. “Come on.”

“Where are we going,” I ask, hesitantly allowing him to pull me off of the couch and out the front door. He just gestures towards the boat, waiting for his idea to click in my head.

“I thought that it might help cool you down a bit,” he shrugs, helping me onto the HMS Pogue before climbing in himself. “Besides, you always say that it’s your favorite nap spot, so if this is the only way to get you to sleep, so be it.”

I shoot him a lazy smile, pulling him in for a sweet kiss before we take off down the marsh. I hazily take in the world around me; a content hum falling from my lips as the wind brushes past my previously clammy skin. I settle into my seat comfortably, watching the sun begin to peak over the horizon as the boat carries us further and further away from the horizon.

My eyes begin to droop; my body feeling comfortable enough to fully relax in to my seat. I close my eyes, shifting into a more comfortable position before allowing the sound of the water to lull me to sleep. ——————— I woke up a few hours later to the rest of the Pogues obnoxiously clambering on the boat.

“Good morning,” Kie smiles, casually sliding onto my lap. I wrap my arms around her waist, curling into her embrace, still half asleep.

“Hi,” I rasp, squinting due to the bright sunlight beating down on us.

“Rough night?” Pope asks, handing JJ a cooler before jumping into the boat.

“Something like that,” I reply with a shrug. “It was impossible to sleep last night. I love John B and the Chateau, but the kook side of me has made it impossible to live in those conditions. Air conditioning in the midst of heat waves my entire life has ruined me.”

“Well, I’m sorry that I couldn’t cater to your kook needs, princess,” he jokes sarcastically, taking JJ’s place at the wheel.

We spend the day on the water, allowing the cool water to be our escape from the sticky heat. It’s easy to tell that thee three of us who stayed at the Chateau last night are exhausted. Our comebacks to any teasing were slurred, our reaction time slow, and our eyes never really fully adjusted to the suns rays. ——————— “Cuddle with me,” JJ yawns, pulling me onto the hammock with him after we’d all decided to call it a day. The sun was beginning to set causing the temperature of the day to lower slightly; yet it was still a little too hot to be smushed against JJ. John B had offered to drive Pope and Kie home, leaving us at the Chateau by ourselves.

I casually pull my damp hair into a high bun; JJ grunts below me when my hair smacks against his sun kissed skin.

“Sorry,” I murmur, placing a lazy kiss against his bare chest. He sighs in response, allowing his eyes to close.

“I’m so tired,” he shifts, a yelp falling from my lips as the hammock jerks due to his movements. I cling onto him, scared that we’re going to tip over before he gets situated, holding me firmly against his chest.

“Get some rest, I’ll make some food when JB gets back.”

It isn’t long before his breathing evens out, signaling that he’s fallen asleep. My fingers curl into his hair, mindlessly playing with the blond strands, as I silently watch the sun disappear over the horizon.

———————

“Are you staying over again?” John B asks, appearing on the porch. JJ stirs awake with a slight groan, hiding his face in my hair.

“As tempting as spending another sleepless night baking in the heat sounds, I think I’m going to bask in the air conditioning that my house provides,” I reply, moving to stand up. JJ grumbles in disagreement before following my movements, drowsily stretching when his feet hit the ground.

“Oh, so our Pogue-like conditions aren’t good enough for you anymore,” JJ sasses, placing his hands on his hips. “I knew your kook family would rip you away from us eventually, but I didn’t think it would be this soon.”

“Once a kook, always a kook,” John B chimes in, ruffling my hair jokingly.

“Well, my kook parents are out of town for the week, and I thought I’d spoil you guys with my lifestyle, but if you’re going to sass me I’ll just invite Topper and Rafe over instead,” I fire back, shoving John B’s hands away from me.

“Oh yeah,” JJ raises his eyebrows; the boys sharing a knowing look before lunging at me. I screech launching myself off of the deck as they chase after me.

“Take it back, Y/n,” John B demands once they caught up to me. I grip JJ’s arms tightly as he dangles me over the edge of the dock.

“Yeah, take it back, or you’re swimming with the fish,” JJ adds, leaning further over the edge of the dock. Our reflection stares back at me as I scurry to latch onto him tighter.

“You know, I don’t think Rafe and Topper would-,” before I’m able to finish my thought, JJ’s arms untangle from my waist, dropping me into the water without warning.

“JJ,” I exclaim, sputtering when I resurface.

“You actually dropped her in,” John B cackles, doubled over laughing at the look on my face. “I didn’t think you would actually do it.”

“Asshole,” I mumble, gripping onto the dock to pull myself out of the water. JJ reaches down to help me onto the dock, an amused smile on his face as he tries stifling his own laughs. “Maybe I should just leave you here and let John B bask in the glory of my air conditioning tonight.”

“You wouldn’t-,” JJ gasps defensively, his hand shooting up to his chest dramatically.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. You owe me a dry pair of clothes before we head over there though,” I tell him, cringing at the feeling of my wet tennis shoes rubbing against my feet as we made our way back to the house.

———————

“Feel free to entertain yourselves however you want. I’m going to make dinner,” I tell them, stalking into the kitchen as they trail behind me.

“Air conditioning and free dinner? Damn, Y/n you should let us go full kook more often,” John B states, jumping to sit on the island as he threw m&m’s into his mouth.

“Honestly, why don’t you sugar mama me more often?” JJ questions, pressing a kiss against my cheek before mirroring John B’s actions.

“You guys have only been here for an hour and you’re already letting it get to your head,” I roll my eyes, focusing on the pasta in front of me. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

The boys laugh, continuing to pester me as I focus on finishing dinner; fully expecting to spoil them as much as I can while they’re here.

———————

This is kind of trash, but I’m also here for it. I hope you enjoyed reading it!

#jj maybank #jj imagine #jj maybank concept #jj maybank imagine #jj maybanm fic #john booker routledge #john b #kie obx #pope obx #outer banks #outer banks imagines #outer banks fics #outer banks blurbs #obx #obx imagines #obx fics #obx blurbs #im kind of in love with this actually #lol k bye

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kitkat1003 · 3 years

Text

Tower Tales

3: Well, they’re not sad all the time, are they?

I posted this on AO3! Diversify ur platforms kids. Read the first two chaps Here, it’s kind of integral for ur understanding

@asilcorner sent me some ideas for this fic. Give them love! They have a great webcomic @ghostboyscomic that I love, and their art is so friggin cute. ANYWAY TO THE FIC

(also the Dot section lowkey has a song and im v nervous about so pls b gentle I’m fragile)

They’ve started drawing up plans.

For the Tower. Why not put it together better, why not make the space a home now that it has to be? Yakko refuses to let his siblings live in squalor, not when they have the ability to make it better.

Yakko is surprisingly adept at architecture, though Wakko can’t make heads nor tails of it.

“It’s just art with a little math,” Yakko shrugs off Wakko’s incredulous look with a smile, and Wakko frowns.

“I hate math,” He’s never had to do it in a classroom setting, but at this point he’s certain. He lets Yakko continue to try and figure that mess out, idly chewing on his mallet as he glances up at the tall expanse of the tower.

Yakko’s been thinking about expanding the kitchen and bathroom. Dot says she wants a space for herself, but there doesn’t seem to be room for it between everything else. Yakko tells her this kindly, though they can tell he’s not at all pleased with having to do so, and while she isn’t mad at him, she is upset at the situation.

“A proper lady is supposed to have a place to beautify herself,” She almost whines, but beneath the simple complaint is something closer to hurt, like this is another reminder that they’re trapped and they don’t have the luxury of comfortable space.

The frown lasts on her face longer than Wakko is comfortable with. She’s his baby sister, she’s not going to be upset on his watch, unless it’s funny and not from a place of real hurt. He glances up at the tall, tall ceiling.

Hmm....

Wakko grabs the lightbulb that appears above his head and tosses it into his mouth, crunching on it.

“Careful, if it isn’t funny you’ll cut your tongue on the glass,” Yakko calls over his shoulder. Wakko shrugs, and starts rifling through his gag bag. It looks like he’s got plenty of material, and while Yakko keeps writing up plans Wakko gets to work.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It’s a couple of hours later that Dot looks up from her book and she sees an entire second floor being built-scratch that, being finished. By Wakko. Alone.

“Holy Cow!” She can’t help herself from exclaiming, and Yakko jumps out of the intense scene of concentration he was in and looks where Dot’s pointing.

His jaw hits the floor.

The first floor, now.

“Hi guys!” Wakko waves from the entrance to the second floor, nailing down the last spiraling stair to it. “I got bored so I figured we could use a second floor!”

He skips down the steps and despite his rather hard stomping on them they stand firm. The craftsmanship is impeccable; Yakko and Dot meet in the middle of the first floor and glance at each other in shock.

“What have you guys been up to?” Wakko asks, completely innocent, as if he hadn’t just made an entire second floor on his own in the span of a few hours.

“How did you do that?” Dot asks, incredulous. Wakko looks confused, for a moment, and so she gestures wildly to the second floor. He shrugs.

“Just thought we had a lot of ceiling space, so we could use another floor. I think we have enough room for a third, but I thought I should take a break,” Wakko looks up at the new ceiling proudly.

“What measurements did you use?” Yakko asks, and Wakko stares at him blankly.

“Uhhhh...I kind of just started making stuff. I’m not good with numbers,” he responds.

“But how did you even get the materials for this?” Dot rebukes, and Wakko pulls out a burlap sack.

“It’s all in my gag bag, see?” He reaches in and pulls out a long wooden board, showing it off before shoving it back into the bag. “Easy peasy. And look, Dot, now we have room for your girly stuff!”

“I protest to the fact that looking good must be described as girly, but regardless-I’m so excited!” She rushes forward and wraps Wakko in a tight hug, spinning him around. When he’s set down he stumbles a bit, dizzy.

“Glad you...like it,” he mumbles, accent a little stronger, before shaking his head and coming back to himself. “Do you guys wanna see the upstairs?”

Yakko, who has been previously speechless, jumps into action.

“Heck yeah I do! C’mon!” He lets Wakko lead them up to the second floor, and they marvel at the open space. Dot keeps pointing at places where she wants her stuff to be, and Wakko rolls his eyes, but it seems her joy brightens his day more than he though it would. She was the reason he started building this, after all. Yakko is already dreaming up new plans, thinking of how to best utilize the space they now have. The kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom can stay downstairs, but they can make the living room smaller and put extra entertainment space up here.

“But, uh, yeah, that’s all,” Wakko has the audacity to look sheepish, and Yakko won’t stand for it.

“Wakko, this is beyond words,” He kneels down to his level. “This is a great help. Now, I think I should make something for us to eat, cause building this had got to have burnt up some calories, but do you think you might want to teach me how to build something later?” He smiles, and Wakko’s eyes go wide. Teaching his big brother something for a change? It’s a dream come true.

“Would I!” He tackles Yakko in a hug, and when Yakko catches him, just for a moment, he forgets the situation they’re in, and focuses on Dot’s giggles and the excited pattering of her feet on the new wooden floor, and on Wakko’s prideful expression and smile.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Yakko has never had an issue with food before. He’s learned to make it, because Wakko needs it and Yakko would never not be able to do something for his family’s needs, that’s ridiculous.

But right now he’s certainly regretting ever ingesting anything, because they’d had a sundae party to celebrate the third floor being made-a celebration type picked by Wakko, who had headed the third floor expansion-and now he can’t sleep, because he feels like he’s going to vomit.

His stomach feels like he just ate a bomb, and not for fun like Wakko sometimes does. He curls in on himself, trying not to make a fuss, but he opens his eyes and both Wakko and Dot are leaning over either side of him, mirrored looks of concern on their faces.

“Yakko, you look terrible,” Dot deadpans, but he can hear the slight tremor in her voice. She still occasionally hovers over Wakko, though has relaxed as he’s gone from eating like a normal person to his more “typical” unusually voracious appetite.

“It’s just some...,” he winces. “Some stomach pain. It’s nothing,” He smiles, even though he feels awfully sweaty and nauseous.

“I thought my problem was just stomach pain too,” Wakko rebukes, and, well, Yakko can’t really argue there.

“But we’ve been eating with you, Wakko, it can’t be that. And it couldn’t be bad ice cream, or we’d be sick too,” Dot puts a finger to her chin and thinks, but can’t come up with anything.

“Don’t humans have that thing where they can’t drink milk?” Wakko suggests, and, well, doesn’t that make too much sense.

“Thanks for the plot mover, Wakko,” Yakko groans from his place on the bed.

“I’ll go get you some water. Maybe if we flush it out with other stuff, it’ll go away quicker,” Dot hops off of the bed and off to the kitchen. Yakko’s stomach groans in displeasure, and Yakko curls up tighter.

“Guess this means no more milk, huh? Oh well,” Wakko shrugs, and Yakko half glares at him.

“I’m not banning milk from the house just cause I can’t have it,” He says, a growl in his voice. Wakko shrugs again.

“Who said you were banning it? I just don’t think we need it anymore,” He smiles, almost Cheshire. “Don’t have the craving for it anymore, right, Dot?”

“Right!”

Yakko almost jumps when he feels the bed dip down with Dot’s weight, surprised by her return, but he shifts to face her and takes the glass of water offered with a smile.

“Thanks, sis,” he takes a few sips, and while it doesn’t change much, he gives her a thumbs up anyway, so she’ll feel like she helped.

“Wakko, you need calcium in your diet,” he goes back to arguing, and Wakko leans back on his hands.

“Pretty sure toons don’t have certain diet they need.”

“Pretty sure toons don’t need to eat at all, but,” Yakko raises a brow and lets the sentence hang.

“Touche,” Wakko admits. “And hey, we’re broken body buddies!” He raises his hands up and grins, and Yakko tries for a smile, too, chuckling to himself.

“But I’m pretty sure we can get calcium in other foods. Just saying,” Wakko finishes, and Yakko gets it, but he isn’t going to deprive his siblings of pizza and ice cream just because his body can’t handle it.

But it’s an argument for another day, because Yakko’s stomach makes another very unpleasant noise, and he slowly sits up and starts crawling his way to the end of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Dot asks.

“The bathroom,” Yakko says, and his voice sounds weak even to his ears. “Don’t wait up.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour and a half later, Yakko stumbles out of the bathroom, drained, and he slumps in on himself as he shuffles back to bed, only to stop when he sees the bed itself.

In the middle, where he typically rests, is a fort of sorts. Rather, it’s a perfectly shaped resting spot for him, lined with the softest pillows and with a blanket his favorite color, all as comfy as can be.

“Take a rest, brother,” Wakko gestures to the bed nirvana, though Yakko can’t help but notice him wince when he looks at Yakko. Makes sense.

“Yeah, we set it all up nice for you! See how it feels!” Dot adds, and Yakko smiles and makes his way to the bed, worming into the spot made to perfectly fit him.

He sinks into the softness and sighs. At the very least, while his stomach is a mess, he doesn’t have to worry about any other part of him being uncomfortable.

“Thanks guys,” He mutters, spent. He’s never going to even try and eat something with milk in it ever again, if this is the result.

“No prob,” Wakko waves off his thanks.

“You take care of us all the time. Turnabout’s fair play,” Dot quips, and Yakko chuckles, sighing and closing his eyes.

He’s asleep faster than expected, but he stays awake long enough to feel Wakko and Dot cuddle up on either side of him, like usual.

Despite his intestinal discomfort, he smiles.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dot stares in the mirror.

Her new vanity is rather spectacular, and she’s been living on cloud nine since Yakko and Wakko finished it. They’d nearly gotten into an argument while making it-evidently, Yakko couldn’t understand how Wakko could see all the pieces and put them together without numbers or instructions, and Wakko couldn’t understand how Yakko couldn’t understand how the pieces fit together when looking at them as a whole.

Boys. She shakes her head and sighs, looking back at herself in the mirror.

She can see her brothers behind her. They match, of course, they’re the Warner Brothers.

The Warner Sister is alone.

She’s not unaware of why she was made. A token female character, eye candy, take your pick. She’s both. Made to fill in the tiny gap Hollywood makes for female representation while continuing the legacy that women are supposed to look and act pretty, and that’s it.

It makes her blood boil. And yet, isn’t she falling into it? She wants to be pretty, she likes being cute, but is that just because she’s supposed to?

She’s not even just cute, anyway! She can nearly go toe to toe with Yakko when it comes to word play, and Wakko barely has her beat when it comes to strength. So what if she’s cute? She was drawn that way!

So why does it still feel so weird?

Her brow furrows. It’s not like she can even prove to anyone that she’s better, anyway, because Yakko and Wakko likely wouldn’t care or know, and they’re stuck in this tower for forever.

“My name is Dot Warner,” She starts, a soft tune, “And I always get the final word.”

She misses musical numbers. She misses having fun outside of this place. She misses messing with people. Yakko and Wakko seem so similar-their names rhyme, for Pete’s sake-and she feels out of place here. But they were out of place together out there.

“I though your name was Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the third,” Yakko interjects, leaning a hand on her vanity. “Surprised you forgot, sis,” It’s all gentle ribbing, but now is not the time.

“Oh, put a sock in it, Yakko,” She responds.

“Which one?” Wakko comes up on her other side, holding out two similarly disgusting socks for her to pick from. She pushes him away.

“Leave me alone!” It comes out louder and harsher than she wants it to, and as a result Wakko looks bewildered, and Yakko lifts his hand from the vanity to move it to his hip. “Go be-be gross boys somewhere else,” She tries to cover up the actual frustration with a weak excuse, but Yakko just crosses his arms and raises a brow, and Wakko walks back over, sans socks.

“What’s the matter, Sis? Something’s bothering you,” She sighs at the question.

“You guys match better than me,” She grumbles. “I’m the cute one, and that’s it? You two get to be witty and strong and creative and funny and I’m just...,” She growls out the final word. “Cute.”

She sees Yakko and Wakko share a look over her head, and rolls her eyes.

“You seriously think that’s all you are?” Yakko sounds...confused. Bewildered. Like her worry is so unfounded it’s surprising she even is worrying at all.

“You’re way cooler than that,” Wakko agrees. “You’re smarter than me.”

“And you’re better at the physical jokes than me,” Yakko adds.

“I know,” She says, almost cheeky, but her mood refuses to lighten. “But-I don’t know. Iit’s not just that-I-I guess I miss doing stuff outside. Like songs.”

There’s a beat, and when she looks up, Yakko has a smile on his face that is nothing short of sly.

“Songs, you say?” He rubs in chin in thought. “Wakko?”

“On it,” She watches as he pulls out instrument after instrument from his gag bag, until they practically have an orchestra. Wakko also pulls out a conductor’s wand.

“Shall we, m’lady?” Yakko holds out his hand, and when she takes it, he pulls her to the middle of the room. A spotlight lands on them, and the music starts.

“Her name is Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the third,” He begins with a wink, “and no matter the situation or confrontation, she always gets the final word,” Yakko’s tenor is sugary sweet as he dances her around the room, and he passes her off to Wakko, who leaves the self playing instruments to their own devices.

“If you think you can beat her, just wait till ya meet her, cause you’ll realize that thought is absurd,” Wakko’s voice has a grovel from the accent, and he makes silly faces as they waltz, to make her giggle.

“Sure she’s cute,” Yakko starts.

“Quite the beaut,”

“But she’s got the strength of a brute!” They harmonize, and she pulls out her mallet. She watches as they cringe away in fake terror, and she does a fake swing before tossing the mallet away. “So watch out, because if you make yourself a target she’ll shoot!”

She watches them laugh at the end of the line, and they do fit each other, don’t they? But they’re going out of their way to do this for her, and so what does it matter? Being different and being special are the same, depending on how you phrase it, and they don’t mind her being different at all.

The music keeps going, the piano leading into verse two.

“Don’t make her mad, don’t make her sad, if you want to keep your limbs intact,” Yakko twirls her, and she imagines being at a fancy Ball or Gala, surrounded by admirers.

“She’s got all modes of attraction, and kneejerk reactions, it’s all just simple fact,” Wakko takes her for a spin himself, his movements more wild and less controlled than Yakko’s more straightforward dancing, but she loves it anyway, and is almost remiss when he passes her back to Yakko.

“She always tries her best,” Yakko dips her, low enough that her ears nearly touch the floor, and her tail presses close to her back.

“To be better from the rest,” Wakko continues.

“Because we all want to reach for the stars!” Yakko throws her up and she poses mid air before he catches her with his shoulders, letting her sit there. She can’t help but laugh at the whole thing.

“She’s Dot Warner,” Every time they go into unison, it’s perfect harmony, and she loves it. Them.

“Our giggling sister,”

“Does she know how much we’d miss her?”

The music pauses, and they look to her patiently, to join the song, and for a moment she hesitates. Because she’s never had such a ballad before. What if her voice doesn’t sound right? What if she messes it up?

But Yakko and Wakko are smiling at her, as if they know she’ll do it right, and you know what. Screw it.

“I’m Dot Warner!” She shouts, and the belting note rings as she jumps up. “I’m no one’s former!” The music swells, and she stands on Yakko’s shoulders, triumphant. “I’m sweet and I’m tough!”

“Always more than good enough!” Wakko and Yakko crow as back up.

“And I’m better than why I was drawn!” It’s like a warrior cry, like she’s daring the world to tell her different.

“She’s charming,” Yakko.

“And alarming,” Wakko.

“In every role I’m starring, no longer just the token girl!” She hops down from Yakko’s shoulder, taking center stage. This is what she is. The breaking of her own role, just as loud and proud and wild as her siblings, with a touch of cuteness that she loves. Because hey, what’s wrong with being cute?

“With wit and sass,” Yakko and Wakko start to finish.

“I’m the highest of class,” She interjects, giggling.

“She’s the best of our two worlds!” They all come together, Dot in the middle, the boys kicking out their outside legs and gesturing outwards with one arm as the music plays them out, and when the music number is over all Dot can do is drag her brothers together into a hug.

“Thank you,” because she needed this. A sense of normalcy, the constant reminder that she’s more. She knows why she was drawn, but who cares? She’s better than that.

She’s Dot Warner, Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the third, and she’s got her brothers behind her.

And when she has them, nothing can stop her.

#animaniacs #animaniacs 2020 #yakko wakko and dot #yakko warner #dot warner #wakko warner #kitkat1003

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elisaphoenix13 · 3 years

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Delusional (Ch.1)

Okay, so this is something that won't be for everyone. It's a trope that me and my friends got into while RPing so this was born. I think this will be one of those fics that I'll only continue if there's enough interest. Let me know what you think!

Tony had been pissed when his parents told him that his mother was pregnant. He had no idea what possessed them to think having another kid was a good idea when they could barely pay attention to the one they already had, and he even said that. It ended up turning into an argument between him and Howard and Tony gave them both the cold shoulder for the entirety of Maria's pregnancy. Whether it was because of her age or possibly because of Tony's ongoing silent treatment stressing her out, his mother went into labor a month early. Tony couldn't even bring himself to visit his parents or the new baby at the hospital, but they eventually came home with his new baby brother that he almost considered ignoring completely.

But then he realized that would make him exactly like Howard.

So when his parents went gallivanting off to some party one day, leaving their preemie baby in the hands of the maid, Tony finally decided to properly meet his brother. A seventeen year age difference wasn't unheard of, but it still felt weird to walk into the nursery with the knowledge that the baby inside was a sibling. He decided he would make sure the baby was still alive and then go back to his bedroom to study for his physics final, but when he approached the crib the baby was sleeping in...he softened.

His baby brother slept peacefully on his back with his arms stretched out on both sides of his head and every so often snuffled in his sleep. He wasn't covered with a blanket and he vaguely recalled hearing that he shouldn't be at his age, but he was at least dressed warmly in tiny blue footie pajamas. He had wisps of dark hair that looked like they would be soft to the touch and Tony was tempted to reach out and see but he refrained. He didn't want to disturb the baby.

Tony had been so focused on ignoring Howard that he had to wrack his brain for his brother's name, which he knew his mother had told him. He was pretty sure he had been studying at the time and was only half listening, but it eventually came to him.

Scott.

Scott Harris Stark.

It was barely seconds later that the baby started to fuss and Tony looked around a little lost before finally giving in and leaning down to scoop him up. Tony was a goner after that. Scott's hair was just as soft as it looked and Tony was worried he could break his brother if he so much as sneezed. It didn't stop him from taking over most of the responsibilities of caring for Scott from that moment on though. Tony did his research, watched his mother, and even asked the maid for advice, but soon he was changing diapers. He fed Scott, stayed up for hours on end when he was colicky or sick, dressed him, played with him…

Tony was determined to make sure Scott had the love and attention he was deprived of. At least Maria tried with both of them.

But when Scott was just under a year old, tragedy struck. Both their parents died in a car accident on the way to a party, leaving Tony alone with his infant brother. Fortunately he was freshly eighteen so he could have legal guardianship over Scott and Tony had Rhodey and Obadiah for support and help with the company he now had control over. Scott always came first though. Tony made sure he had a decent childhood despite the fact that he easily got sick, and the adorable smiles he got in return were well worth it as Scott grew up.

So was the boy's first word. Dad. Tony never corrected him since he did raise Scott, and his brother never knew their parents. So as far as Scott knew, Tony was his father and Tony made sure to hide away the truth. As far as he was concerned, the lie wasn't hurting Scott and it was partly true in a sense.

He didn't expect it to be easy and it wasn't. Because Scott was born premature, he had special needs in the form of allergies (both food and environmental), asthma, and he even got sick constantly. Most days found Scott in Tony's room because the boy whined whenever Tony tried to put him in his own room, and he was terrified Scott would stop breathing in the middle of the night. Scott slept in Tony's bed until well into his grade school years when he finally started to grow out of his need to be near his father. Tony was still nervous and checked on Scott before he went to bed and at least once in the middle of the night when he woke up.

When Tony first found out Scott was allergic to peanuts, he was a wreck. He threatened the doctors to help his kid when he heard Scott wheezing for breath, and when the boy was finally recovering, he demanded they do whatever they had to do to check for any allergies he might have had. Tony didn't think he could handle seeing Scott as sick as he was again. The wheezing, the hives, the overall misery his little boy had been in…

It turned out Scott was severely allergic to all types of nuts. Peanuts, cashews, almonds, walnuts...if it was a nut, Scott couldn't have it. That was easy enough to plan meals around but then there was also shellfish, sesame, parsley, and pineapple. Whenever they went out to eat, Tony scrutinized every ingredient on the menu if it was available, and if it wasn't, he demanded to talk to the chefs. Fortunately once he learned what food Scott could have, it became second nature.

Tony always made sure to carry an inhaler and epipen with him, had extras held for Scott at school, and more in the boy's backpack. He taught Scott as early as possible what he couldn't eat because it would make him very sick and for the most part, things went well enough. There was only one incident at school when Scott unknowingly ate something he wasn't supposed to, but he was quickly treated with one of his pens and sent to the hospital. Scott was quick to bounce back from that since the school staff had been prepared, so the only constant issue was his asthma.

Scott never let it slow him down and Tony swore he was going to either go gray at 25 or suffer heart failure. The little boy was constantly climbing everything, and Tony once had to pull him off the bookcase that he managed to climb up to the fifth shelf. The fifth shelf. Rhodey had his fair share of retrieving Scott from high places whenever he visited too.

Before Tony knew it, Scott had grown into a young man with a talent for hacking and engineering and had a penchant for tacos, oranges, and lollipops. He helped Tony with a lot of his projects but absolutely refused to help with anything related to weapons. Scott never liked violence and always hated that Stark Industries was solely based on weapons making. Tony never faulted him for it.

"Scott, have you seen my--?" Tony stops mid sentence when he looks over at the young man and finds him at his computers with his feet kicked up on a small part of the desk, dozing with a lollipop in his mouth. "Oh, that's safe."

He walks over and takes the lollipop out of Scott's mouth and he jolts awake. "Hey! I was eating that!" Scott complains.

"Yeah, you were very proactive about it. I didn't raise you for 21 years so you could choke and die because you fell asleep with candy in your mouth." Tony rolls his eyes and sticks the candy back in Scott's mouth before he could protest. "Now have you seen that little screwdriver you like to steal?"

"You had it last, and I've been busy updating Jarvis's code." Scott answers.

"I saw that. I guess you're so good you can do it in your sleep."

"It was uploading!" Scott drops his feet to the ground with an annoyed huff. "And I told you I wouldn't help you with your stupid weapons. That includes finding misplaced tools."

"Fine, fine."

Tony tries fixing the cow lick in Scott's hair and rolls his eyes when it only floofs back into place. He learned very early on that his kid's hair was untameable but that didn't stop Tony from trying. Hair gel, pomade, hair spray...none of it could contain and style Scott's hair. The cow lick worked for him though so Tony wasn't too obsessed with trying to find something to keep it in place.

"Well while you wait for your new code to upload, why don't you make me a sandwich?" Tony says. "I gotta get the Jericho prototype finished tonight."

Scott frowns. "Why do they want you to fly all the way out to Afghanistan? What's wrong with how you usually sell this stuff?"

"It's just for a couple of days volpino. Now where's my tuna sandwich?" Tony asks.

"Probably in the fridge. It's deconstructed." Scott says as he leaves the lab.

"Oh, haha. Funny. I like mine constructed so get on it. Chop chop."

Tony smirks when he hears Scott mumble something under his breath along the lines "slave driver", but with no heat. Things had gotten easier as Scott got older but he never really grew out of his physical problems. He still had his food and environmental allergies, his asthma, and even his tendency to get sick, but that had mostly been remedied when Tony moved them to Malibu. The warm weather helped with that and Scott didn't get sick nearly as often as he did in New York, and that had been a huge relief for the both of them. Tony only wished he had thought of it sooner.

When Scott comes back with the sandwich and sets it nearby for Tony, the man looks up at him and rolls his eyes when he finds the younger man drinking out of a juice box. "You know you can have beer now right?"

"Juice is better." Scott says. "When are you leaving tomorrow?"

"You'll probably still be asleep. Even if I leave late." Tony grabs the sandwich and takes a bite. "So try not to blow up the lab while I'm gone." He adds around his mouthful.

"That's no fun." Scott says sarcastically. "Pepper called by the way. She said she has some paperwork for you to look at before you leave."

Tony groans. "Tell her I'm not home."

"It'll be true in a few hours anyway."

"Don't underestimate Pepper. She'll be waiting on the tarmac for me to look at those papers if she has to." Tony grumbles and then looks up at Scott with a suspicious smile that makes his son narrow his eyes at him. "You're 21. Maybe it's time to start giving you some responsibility with the company."

"I do. It's called making sure my dad doesn't blow himself up because he writes codes when he's half asleep. How are we still alive?"

"Rhodey and Happy." Tony replies dryly before whapping Scott upside the head. "Don't sass me."

Scott rubs the back of his head as he walks back over to his personal workstation to check on the progress of the code. When he had shown an interest in engineering and computers, Tony had immediately set up Scott's own work area with age appropriate equipment that he either replaced or updated as Scott got older. He was good at it too. Tony couldn't count the number of times he got calls from the FBI asking him to get Scott to stop leaving them viruses with laughing cat videos or something. They were always harmless and easily fixed, so Tony's response was to tell them to update their security so Scott couldn't get in.

Apparently they had yet to find a way to keep Scott out and Tony wasn't about to take away one of his son's very few joys in life. As long as it all stayed harmless, Tony would look the other way. He knew Scott was very capable of hacking into pretty much anything, and he was glad his kid was a pacifist. Because Scott was definitely very capable of getting his hands on nuke codes.

Tony actually wouldn't be surprised if Scott had already gone in and changed them.

Some whirring pulls Tony out of his thoughts and he looks over at the kitchenette to find DUM-E making smoothies again. A quick glance told him that there was at least peanut butter and almond milk in it so it wasn't safe for baby boy consumption.

"Hey! Are you trying to kill your little brother with that?" Tony asks and DUM-E beeps sadly when the blender goes off. "You know he can't have nuts!"

"There goes my social life." Scott says and Tony makes a face.

"I don't want to hear about that."

"Says the man whose one night stands I had to chase away."

Tony laughs. "To be fair, it was funny to see them get creeped out when you just stood in the kitchen and stared at them while drinking your juice box."

"...yeah. That was pretty fun." Scott admits.

"Sir, Miss Potts is on her way down." JARVIS says and Tony groans.

"Ugh the dreaded secretary with her paperwork."

There's a few beeps before the lab door hisses open and then the sound of heels clicking across the linoleum.

"Tony-"

"I know," he sighs. "Paperwork. Give it to Scott."

Pepper places the small stack next to his arm. "He's too busy making sure you don't blow yourself up."

"You know I had to teach him how to do that right?"

"And now he's better than you." Pepper says and Scott cackles.

"Ouch. My pride." Tony clutches at his chest in mock hurt.

"Please just look at this and sign. It won't even take you ten minutes." Pepper sighs.

"I trust you."

"Nice try."

#tony stark #scott lang #pepper potts

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bangtan-pugh-bug · 3 years

Text

Scott Lang x reader

Chapter 3

I’m back at uni so writing this is comforting. I really hope you like this chapter - anyone who’s following this.

‘Plot’ : reader lives in Stark Tower with the Avengers slow burnnnn

Warnings: none 🌚 yetttt ... except swearing as always

FUUCK. You’d been ill for a week and just as you thought you were getting better in time for Clint’s birthday party you took a turn. Most of Stark Tower had helped you out in some way, whether it was Bruce trying to find a cure using his 7phds or Thor keeping you company by thrashing you at Mario Kart. As you always did when you got sick you were grumpier and even more indecisive. On Monday you didn’t let anyone visit you and chose the company of your pillow and the fly that wouldn’t leave your window sill over seeing anyone.

Scott had visited you with Nat and Tony but only alone once and of course you had been asleep that day. When you woke up you weren’t being watched, which was a good sign you weren’t getting sleeping with the enemied, and you felt slightly less like shit. Your throat didn’t feel as assaulted by food so naturally you searched your room for snacks on all fours. Standing still made you feel hot and woozy, as if the floor was miles away but touching you at the same time. Your head felt screwed on upside down whenever you tried to stand so crawling was an okay second choice. The carpet was rough against your soft hands and knees.

As you crossed the floor on all fours with your eyes on the galaxy bar Thor had left, the door opened. ‘Ton-‘

‘There’s something I’m missing isn’t there? So this makes sense?’

Scott.

You didn’t need to look up to know what face he was pulling but you did.

‘Standing hurts.’ Was the explanation you gave (making sure to lay on your ‘I’m sick’ voice for effect and possibly sympathy). Everything was beginning to piss you off. Your skin felt so hot. Your brain filled with fast images of volcanoes, fires and anything else you were apparently as hot as. The carpets existence was irritating. Against your bare knees it was starting to feel like itchy shards of rock. You just wanted to go to sleep. Scott was blankly looking at you, probably regretting entering the room at all.

‘Hmm?’

You mumbled something incoherently. The urge to act like a grumpy child because you felt sick was incredibly strong. It was the driving force keeping your eyes open.

‘Not that your mumbling isn’t charm-‘

‘I said I want to sleep!’ Your interruption came out as more of a yell than you intended. Scott widened his eyes before laughing ‘Okay you big baby.’ On a normal day that wouldn’t have bothered you in the slightest but the needy, self pitying part of you was thriving off making itself sad and you did want to sleep. You really wanted to sleep. Scott walked backwards away from you until you realised you didn’t want him to leave. ‘Please don’t lea-‘

‘Ah! Y/N still feeling gross and generally... miserable and... well..not-good?’

Thor’s voice carried before you saw his enthusiast, slightly concerned, face pass Scott’s. Scott don’t leave. If you thought it loud enough maybe he’d stay. Wanda was so lucky, she could make people stop in their tracks to talk to them. Scott was sweet, he would have stayed if you had asked but you didn’t want to have to ask.

You decided it would be wise to stand up and you did. Slowly. If your grandmother could see you she’d think she was athletic kind of slow. It didn’t go unnoticed by your Asgardian friend. ‘Y/N?’ He frowned and closed your curtains making you sleepier. As you attempted to crawl into your bed which seemed to sigh at your return Thor asked if he should fetch Scott. Fetch Scott? Scott wasn’t a doctor?

‘Why?’

In a rare moment you and Thor were not on the same page and he knew it. The visible confusion in his face and the change from a powerful God like stance to an unsure one drove that home. He even tilted his head like the giant puppy he was and didn’t answer.

‘You can if you want but he left. I’m fine here, I’m gonna sleep.’

His face implied he knew something about you that you weren’t admitting to yourself. That wouldn’t fucking fly. ‘Thor,’ your voice became impatient as you shuffled under the covers. ‘If you’re not gonna bring me chocolate can I... jus-I-‘ but just like Scott he left. It was fine. You could finally try and lucid dream and get some rest.

You closed your eyes, despite it being 4pm, but of course trying to sleep was a criminal offence in Stark Tower because Scott’s hand was suddenly beside you. Even with your eyes almost fully closed you knew it was his hand. They were usually slightly dirty from repairing the Antman suits despite Hank’s advice against it (he wasn’t great at listening) and you’d wanted to hold them so many times you’d lost count.

You weren’t even sure if you could speak but Scott didn’t. For once the two of you were silent. No snarky remarks and no magic tricks or childish behaviour that made Stephen roll his eyes. It felt odd. The light that was managing to escape through the edges of the curtains barely reached Scott’s face. What you could see was the man on his knees beside your bed like you were in a hospital bed. As the thought was born you couldn’t help but wonder if Scott would be the person you’d want if something awful happened to you? Tony would take it personally, Thor would be hurt but he was becoming your favourite person somehow.

Did he expect you to speak? More than enough time had passed for him to comfortably speak but he stayed silent with you. It felt like something you shouldn’t discuss with anyone including Scott. It felt like the two of you were sitting in a sensory deprivation tank in the dark and your sleepiness was overwhelming. Your breathing became heavier as your eyes closed you heard Scott finally speak.

‘Goodnight Y/N.’

When you woke up you knew he’d be gone. It would be inappropriate for him to stay. Out of everyone in Stark Tower the closest you’d gotten to sleeping beside someone was with a very drunk and sad Wanda. But you’d really wanted him to stay. The light entered your window just as you let your brain become infected by thoughts about what that long silence could have meant? Had he wanted to grab your hand? You hated how high school and desperate he had unknowingly made you become. You needed to get your mind on other things.

After a week of sleeping for far too long and being made fun of by Tony and Clint your - whatever it was you were a medical mystery - had cleared up. Your master plan was to spend more time with the one person in Stark Tower who brought out your mature side. Who was an excellent distraction from torturing yourself over every Scott interaction you had.

‘Peter don’t chew with your fucking mouth open. It’s gross.’

You watched in disgust as Parker made every vile mouth noise a human could possibly make. In fact he’d probably surpassed a world record. Scott stopped buttering his toast just to gasp in ‘horror.’

‘Y/N! You can’t swear at the kid. It’s like swearing at a little bird!’

Stephen scoffed. The ‘sexy uptight magician’ ,as Tony had lovingly dubbed, had no patience for most conversations. Especially ones that didn’t involve him or how excellent he was at everything.

‘All I did was eat toast!’ The baby retorted and you almost felt bad for him. ‘You’re so mean.’

‘The fact that you two are only 2 years apart is shocking.’ You tried not to let Scott’s comment get to you but you felt smugger by the second.

‘Frightening.’ Tony added before smiling at Peter, like exhausted fathers do at their complaining kids. You smirked in Peters direction who scowled at you as if to say you’re not as grown up as you think you are. You finished your toast, listened to Tony and Stephen bicker effortlessly and watched Scott. He always ate while watching people like he was David Attenborough or someone in a documentary. Instead of ‘Blue Planet’ the title would be ‘Superhero’s and why you shouldn’t live with them’. He always ate stood up. He always leaned back onto the kitchen top and made it look casual instead of an effort to look sexy (which you suspected it was). He always left some food on his plate because it went cold while he was distracted and he often caught your eye when someone was being entertaining.

‘Atleast I know how to dress myself...Stark.’

You hadn’t been paying attention to their petty argument but Scott’s eyes locked onto yours. Amused and then a look of realisation hit him. ‘Y/N I haven’t even asked how you are!’ He crossed the kitchen towards you and Stephen and Tony shut up.

‘I’m fine.’ You laughed and raised your eyebrows at Tony, who was watching you and Scott like a snake. He was standing behind you, the scent of overheated electric wires and warmth reaching you. ‘Stopped sleeping for 13 hours,’ if no one played their cards right you would start rambling about your ‘health’ for an hour just to fill the quiet. Peter was distracted on his phone.

Without any hesitation Scott’s large but boiling hands reached your face. You leaned back so you were directly looking up at him. He was glowing with pride at his actions. ‘For fucks sake!’ You squirmed away from his hands. ‘Why are they boiling? Jeeeez!’ Of course he laughed at your overreaction but they really had felt like hot pokers on your already warm cheeks.

‘You didn’t need warming up?’ He asked quietly, sensing he was on thin ice, but knowing the answer. Tony laughed but Stephen seemed deep in thought and somewhere else. You knew how that felt.

‘You’re worse than Tony.’

With every ‘angry’ remark at Scott you felt yourself making everything safer. It was easy to argue with him like he was Tony irritating you or even like Peter. That silence the week before had not been safe. Sitting with him on the roof hadn’t been safe either.

Despite your anger, that maybe he just saw right through as the opposite, Scott stayed stood behind you. His fingers started to gently run through your hair and a loud exhale of breath left your chest. You wanted to sink into his touch like a needy cat. No one ever played with your hair and it would have felt comforting if it had been anyone but having it be Scott..

Peter started rambling which brought Stephen out of his head and back down to Earth to interrupt him. Tony, however, had his eyes locked on Scott’s fingers playing with your hair. He gave you a knowing look and you mentally shunned him. You didn’t want him in your head right then and there.

‘How can you agree with him?!’

Scott seemed to be listening to Peter and Stephen’s discussion but you couldn’t care less. His hand brushed down your neck and settled onto your shoulder. You suddenly felt tiny, sat in Tony’s egotistical table chair with Scott looming behind you. ‘What do you think Y/N?’ Shit. Did he know you hadn’t been paying any attention? Was he testing what effect his touch had on you? What a thought.

‘I think...’ you suddenly sat up so Scott’s hands had nowhere to go. The last thing you wanted was Tony deciding to point out Scott’s touchy feely behaviour in front of everyone. ‘That I want to see if there’s any Ben and Jerries left.’ What a save.

‘There’s not.’ Peter shrugged returning your his phone. The little shit.

‘Here we go.’ Tony and Scott chuckled because they knew what was coming.

Taglist: @supraveng

#marvel #marvel fandom #scott lang x reader #scott lang fluff #scott lang #avengers x reader #tony stark #paul rudd #slow burn

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cant-blink · 3 years

Text

My Gigan’s Backstory

Gigan hardly knew his real parents. He still has memories of them, vague memories deep in his data banks. He knew enough to have imprinted on his own kind; he knows he’s a space-duck.

His Masters, the Nebulans, has taken him from his nest before he was even old enough to leave it. They took him in, fed him, raised him. They took lots of pictures of him, in all his babu floof glory, and made sure to save those photos for future use...

Gigan as a babu was damn near the cutest thing in existence, a cottonball with a face. He would instinctively seek cuddles for warmth and would waddle after anyone he laid eye on, chirping and peeping the entire time. He quickly won the hearts of every Nebulan that came in contact with him, and a great bond was formed between him and his adoptive ‘family’.

But good things don’t last long in my universe and when Gigan began approaching pubescence, he became increasingly more aggressive and violent. Tis a normal part of space-duck development, as the young start to learn how to hunt and fight amongst themselves.

For Gigan, though, this natural change would become anything BUT natural. His Masters not only placed him in complete isolation in a ready-made enclosure, but also placed a ‘mind-control’ chip in his brain. A weak one, just there to ensure he doesn’t turn that aggression towards them. They deprived him of physical company, but still spoke to him through the chip. Although obviously, the conversations were rather sparse and one-sided. Most of Gigan’s days were spent sleeping or restlessly pacing around the enclosure. His only source of entertainment was when the Nebulans would teach him how to ‘hunt’. Aka, to attack anything that went through The Door.

The Door was Gigan’s only contact with the outside world beyond his enclosure. The Nebulans would give him whatever he needed through The Door. Food, toys, or (his favorite) live prey to serve as both. He lived like this for many years, until he was a fully-grown adult. Then the Nebulans, his ‘parents’ that he came to look up to, told him that it was time for the Change. He didn’t know what this entailed, but he was excited and ready for this Initiation!

He was put under, and the modifications were made to his body, his senses, his brain. They took his natural weaponry and made them even more deadly by coating them in powerful alien alloys. They gave him power, in the form of lasers, fire, flight, teleportation, and a buzzsaw implanted into his chest. They gave him knowledge in his brain, able to access whatever information he could possibly desire (that they already had on record, of course). And most importantly....

... They downloaded his baby pictures into his memory bank. Just to humble him a bit, remind him of how cute he was.

Gigan was quite overwhelmed at first. His body stayed mostly the same in appearance, but the changes made took some getting used to. After giving him recovery time in his room, this overwhelmed feeling only increased as they FINALLY began letting Gigan out of his enclosure to practice in a training room.

This overwhelmed feeling quickly went out the window when he learned he was going to fly for the first time. He also began learning how to control his powers, and he took to the lessons pretty well. So many new ways to kill his prey, it’s great! He loved every moment of it!

Once he mastered his skills, he was finally allowed to venture into the real world to carry out missions. Much death and destruction was waged at his claws, all in the name of ‘peace’ as the Nebulans called it, and he loved every moment of it. After being confined to his room damn near his entire childhood, it was like he was able to release all that pent-up aggression on something other than his prey. And once it was all over, and his mission was a success, he would retire back in his enclosure and rest. Despite having been a prisoner in there for the longest time, he still took comfort in his nest.

He was content living with his Masters for a while; he had food and shelter, and a purpose in carrying out whatever missions the Nebulans sent him on.

But as time went on, he began to find that he wanted something more. He didn't know what he was missing, but something was wrong. There was a need in him, ever since he grew to adulthood, that he couldn't fulfill. It got so bad that just the sight of anything colored gold got him bothered and only agitated his aggression further.

Taking note of Gigan's increasing frustrations and unhappiness, the Nebulans came to the conclusion that he must have a mate. He deserved it and they pulled strings to obtain the finest specimen they could find, only the best for their pet space-duck! Importing the specimen, they let her into his room using The Door, and for the first time since being taken from his parents, Gigan saw another of his own kind. The Nebulans had their hopes up, for the interaction seemed peaceful as the two curiously met. All Gigan had to do was fluff out his feathers, fan his sails, and strut his stuff!

But that never happened. For this bioweapon did not court her and instead tried to force himself on her. It’s typical behavior for male space-ducks without a mate, but to not even try courtship? What's worse, when the female rejected his advances (who did this cyborg asshole think he is?!), Gigan only got increasingly more violent and with his enhanced strength and weaponry, it got real bloody really fast.

So fast, the Nebulans couldn’t even stop it from happening when Gigan killed his potential mate. It was horrified silence from the roaches, as their beloved pet finally found release on the corpse. He continued this until he tired himself out and turned to cannibalizing the remains.

Now that... was not normal.

But maybe the Nebulans did something wrong? Perhaps using The Door triggered Gigan to view her as a toy, as live prey? They tried again, and again, with different locations but with the same results. If anything, Gigan only learned how to keep his toy alive for longer. Kept in isolation most of his life, and trained to choose violence at every opportunity, Gigan had no real social skills among his own kind. His instincts to court and breed like a normal space-duck was severely stunted and the Nebulan’s repeated efforts only really reinforced in Gigan’s psychopathic mind that other creatures existed for his own personal pleasures.

They did come to accept that trying to breed their prized weapon was a lost cause. If anything, they’ll reward him with an opportunity to mate if he does a good job at his missions. Whatever makes him happy.

This arrangement made him very happy, and for a while, he thought he needed nothing more in life.

But one day, was the day something new awakened within Gigan.

It was an unusual mission; the Nebulans wanted him to help them capture a target, alive and unharmed. Their target was another bioweapon, just like him, created by a long-extinct race and flying around the cosmos destroying worlds. That kind of power could be useful, and best of all: it came with a mind-control chip of its own.

His name was Ghidorah. King Ghidorah.

The pictures did not do this dragon justice, as Gigan and the Nebulans tracked down the mind-control chip’s signature, and found the massive asteroid. From it, emerged the three-headed dragon. The GOLDEN three-headed dragon with MASSIVE sails that caught the light beautifully.

Setting his eye on the creature woke something in Gigan, for the very first time. He... He WANTED this creature, all to himself. Alive. And he can have him, once they brought this creature into Nebulan control. That was all the motivation he needed.

The battle was a dangerous one. The dragon’s intentions to kill were obvious, and for once in his life, Gigan had to hold back. He had one goal in mind, to incapacitate the dragon and bring him into Nebulan captivity. A swift and powerful strike to the middle head was all that was needed to finish the job.

The Nebulans went right to work with that mind-control chip. Gigan wanted something else, but was forced to sit out while the dragon was prepared. And when they finally did meet, the dragon spoke not a word to him. He just needed time to adjust, the Nebulans reassured the cyborg. They’ll be spending plenty of time together once their plan was ready to set in motion.

Their first mission was to Earth, to dispose of a creature called Godzilla. Ghidorah apparently already had run-ins on this planet, but was swiftly outnumbered. But now with Gigan at his side, surely the odds will lean in their favor.

And it very well nearly did. Together, Gigan, Ghidorah, and the Nebulans almost killed Godzilla.

Until...

Something went terribly wrong. All of a sudden, Gigan lost contact with the Nebulans, for the very first time. The mind-control chips in both kaiju was de-activated, and Gigan was left on his own. Unfortunately for Godzilla, Gigan was no innocent victim under the control of malicious aliens. Mind-control or not, he functioned largely of his own accord and he quickly resumed torturing the fuck out of Godzilla.

Even dragging him to Ghidorah’s feet like a proud suitor showing off prey.

Which Ghidorah promptly rejected and punted the fat Earth lizard away...

That’s okay, it was funny watching Godzilla fly anyway.

However, it quickly became obvious that Ghidorah was no team player and had a great disdain for Gigan. He made little effort to involve himself in the fight, beyond warding off Anguirus’s advances. This hatred even seemed to outweigh his beef with Godzilla as Ghidorah ignored his Earth-side enemy to argue against Gigan. Such vitriol from the dragon for what was an accidental collision- Wait, this wasn’t about Gigan accidentally flying into him. No, Ghidorah was blaming HIM for this whole entire mess?! THE FUCK!!

This argument costed them the mission, Gigan attempting and failing twice to retreat back to the Nebulan ship. Only when Ghidorah was allowed to retreat did Godzilla finally let the cyborg flee alongside him.

It was a bitter blow to Gigan’s ego; not only was his attempt to impress such a beautiful mate a complete failure, but he never lost a mission so miserably. But things go from bad to worse, when Ghidorah followed him back to the ship and to his horror, proceeded to destroy it. Revenge for keeping him hostage.

It was at that moment Gigan had to choose, between his Masters, who were essentially his parents, or this beautiful dragon that he wanted so badly but whom didn’t seem to return the favor...

He chose his Masters and, despite being injured, he rushed to defend the ship with everything he’s got. Ghidorah seemed reluctant to engage in teeth-to-claw close combat, and when the hydra saw that it would take more than Gravity Beams to keep this cyborg at bay, it was what allowed Gigan to chase him off. The Nebulans were safe...

... For now.

For it was barely over a year later, after yet another failed Earth mission with an ally named Megalon, that Gigan returned to his Masters even more damaged than last time. And that’s when Ghidorah, lying in wait for the perfect opportunity, decided to strike.

The Nebulans were defenseless and a weakened Gigan could do nothing but watch as his Masters were destroyed. His home... The sight of it all was horrific, and yet... somehow beautiful, seeing this dragon’s full destructive power unleashed first-hand. After the carnage, Ghidorah turned to him, regarding him with six blood-red eyes. Gigan was ready to go down fighting, but to his surprise, the dragon turned and flew off into the void. Leaving him alone for the very first time.

His mind-control was lost completely. No orders, no reassurance that everything was okay. Nothing but silence. With everything he’s ever known gone, Gigan knew not what to do. Is this what it feels like to finally leave the nest? Was he ready?

........

Of course he was. His Nebulan ‘parents’ taught him all he needed to know in life, and he went forth to make his own path. He forged his own way, making a living as an assassin and a pirate. He met with old friends, recruiting Megalon into his crew, and made new ones, meeting a grumpy ol’ centipede. He also took those same friends and threw them under the bus when the law finally caught up with them.

He was totally going to come back for them, honest....

His career as an assassin came to an end, however, when the worst day of his life happened. It was like any other, coming to meet those who wanted a job done. However, this turned out to be nothing more than a means to trap the cyborg and put him through another Change...

This one, for the worst, as it completely stripped him of his space-duckness, his feathers gone, his sails tainted red. His new ‘Masters’ wishing to enslave him...

Needless to say, it didn’t end well for them, when they learned the mind-control chip was only ever mild and served more as a means of communication than anything. The Nebulans never needed complete control, like Ghidorah’s mind-control chip was designed for. They had Gigan’s loyalty because they were all he’s ever known. Like hell, he’s letting his freedom go for some no-name low-lives who think they’re hot shit.

Still, the whole experience left its mark. He quit the idea of working as an assassin, and went full-time pirate. Taking out all the anger and frustration on innocent ships, innocent worlds. Stealing their most important resources to sell on the underground space-market. Accumulating riches in the most dishonorable of means.

But every so often, the thought of a dragon would enter his mind. Those gold scales, those massive wings, a complete disregard for life. Everything he could ever want in a mate...

... He would have extra fun with his victims whenever he got that bothered.

Until one day, he decided he was finally going to act on those desires, make those fantasies a reality. He had the tracking information on Ghidorah, he just needed to catch up to him. Not too hard when the dragon would spend so much time destroying any life-bearing worlds he came across.

When he finally did meet his Master’s killer once more, he... didn’t really know what to do from here. His new Final Wars form made him a freak; even if he were to do a proper courtship, he was certain it wouldn’t be successful. Maybe play off his new look like it was an intentional change, something he labeled a “work-in-progress”?

Would Ghidorah even recognize him?

Turns out, yes, yes he did. Despite Gigan’s attempts at friendly re-introduction, Ghidorah seemed just as hostile towards him as before, making it clear that he was still holding a grudge against the cyborg. But the dragon never really escalated that hatred into an actual fight.

This was something he can work with.

And he was nothing if not persistent. Unlike all those other females the Nebulans would try to pair him with, this one was special. He wanted him, forever and not just for the night. For that, he knew he had to earn Ghidorah’s forgiveness. Maybe then, the dragon will be willing to give him a chance.

Worst case scenario, he still remembered how to activate that mind-control chip...

#gigan #ghidorah #king ghidorah #godzilla #gigadorah

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fearfulkittenwrites · 4 years

Text

Gala and “I’m allergic to bullshit.”

Word count: 2244

Link for it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180371

Notes: Hey! This was beta'd by @3ambird , who is an amazing sweetheart and improves evertything they touch. Thank you for the help!

Galas were never fun. Bruce had hated them as a kid, and hated them as teen, and he hates them as an adult. Still, he has to maintain appearances, so he always attends. And as his family grew, his kids were forced to attend as well.

Dick Grayson was particularly good at socializing. After he moved past his teenage rage, of course. He used to get in passive aggressive arguments with the rich CEOs and company owners all the time. He still does, but at least now he was good at it to the point where it almost couldn’t be recognized as an argument, instead of jumping on the necks of greedy millionaires that bought land out of poor people.

That was an interesting headline.

Jason sucked at galas. Soon enough, he figured out that if he started enough awkward conversations, people wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore. Especially the creepy single older women, pinching his cheeks and squeezing his biceps.

“Say, Claire, what’s your opinion on the alarming rate at which the bees are disappearing? They say that’s because of all the chemicals we put in our food.” He’d smile, carefully holding his glass. Bruce would struggle to hide his gasp, because Jason, that’s the owner of the highest earning pesticides company in the country.

“Well, Roger, I’m certain that the legalization of abortions would be a great thing, considering that now your mistresses won’t have to be sent overseas to terminate the unwanted preganancies you give them, right?” He’d say, and Bruce would nearly have a heart attack, because Jason, that’s the president of Gotham’s conservative party.

“Oh, you see, Sandra, I think that gay marriage should not only be legalized, but encouraged. If straight couples were to cease existing, then no more children would be born, and honestly, no one needs any more of those snotty gremlins running around, ruining perfectly good tapestry.” And Bruce would faint, because Jason, for God’s sake, that is the leader of the Gotham’s Motherhood Association.

Tim wasn’t all that bad. He could be social with a little effort, and he was far more used to galas than any of the other family members, having grown up attending them. Of course, all of that was only valid when he wasn’t sleep deprived, which, considering all he had on his plate, was roughly 32% of the time. When he was running on three hours of sleep and seven cups of caffeine a day, trying to finish a project, run his share of the Wayne Enterprises, and manage school work, he became a bit more irritable and impatient. And extremely impulsive. Which is mainly why Bruce asked Dick to stand by his brother through most of the night.

“We both know you’re his impulse control, Dick.” He said, adjusting his oldest son’s tie “Remember what happened the last time he was left unattended for fifteen minutes?”

“He got into an argument with a young Creationist and dunked his own head in an ice bowl after screaming ‘Fuck God! I can hear colors and dinosaurs rule!’” Dick sighed, “Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Cass despised them, but Bruce insisted she should attend anyway. More often than not, she’d just stay at the table, tasting as many appetizers as the waiters would bring her, and shooting murderous looks at anyone who sneered at her. Bruce was relieved that at least she wasn’t cracking any bones.

Damian was... Better than Jason and worse than Dick. He had an unamused expression through most of the event, and would unceremoniously swat away any hands that tried to pinch his cheeks. Other than that, he wasn’t much trouble. The real trouble were galas all Wayne kids attended. The five of them could cause enough trouble when they were apart, together they were the embodiment of chaos.

And this was supposed to be a calm, slightly boring family evening. It really was.

But Bruce just had to bring all five of them.

Everything had to go just right. As they walked in through the red carpet, the media was eating up the image of the six Waynes dressed formally; Each of them had a tie color matching their hero uniform (a cheeky thing they enjoyed doing to play with the theorists minds), Dick had a dark blue one, Tim and Jason slightly varying tones of red, Damian had a green one and Bruce had a black one. Cass wore a long black dress that sparkled when it was hit by the light in just the right way.

The first sign was the reporter, who, while aggressively pointing a microphone in their faces, asked pushy questions about relationships and the like, nothing out of the ordinary, until he shoved it in Cass’ face and asked her if she could even speak. Jason almost broke the man’s nose. Bruce silently thanked God for Dick, who stepped in front of the man before that happened.

“Try some shit like that again pal, you’ll hear from our lawyers.” He led his sister inside, a protective hand on her back.

They calmed down. And Bruce still had hopes that this would be a quiet evening.

Looking back at it, he doesn’t know why.

Because as Dick and Cass were at the bar, ordering drinks, a woman stood next to them, trying to make small talk. Neither of them seemed too interested in her; she is a hassle at every gala, making weird advances on all of the boys. Today, however, she was a little more tipsy, and Bruce couldn’t quite make out what exactly the conversation was about, but Dick was clearly uncomfortable and Cass was fuming. The woman kept grabbing at him, sliding her hands over his tie, squeezing his arms. And then she squeezed his ass, and it took Cass less than a second to break her nose.

If they were any other family, Cass would have been thrown out of the party, but they were the Waynes, and you do not throw a Wayne out of a party. If she punched a middle-aged woman, then she punched a middle-aged woman. Bring her a glass of water and some ice for her injured hand.

Of course, it didn’t end there.

Bruce was still surprised he didn’t have gray hairs yet.

Because Damian had discovered and made friends with a stray cat in the garden, and Jason had a laser pointer, because of course Jason had a laser pointer, and the cat ended up knocking down not one, not two, but three expensive pieces of pottery, shattering them on the gravel floor. And when the house owner saw the damage, he turned pale and had to hold back his tears. Jason laughed.

“-tt-.” Damian stated, adjusting his suit “You owe that cat a favour,those vases ruined the garden’s aesthetic. Regardless, I’m sure father will be more than happy to compensate you for the damages.”

He walked back to the party slowly, passing by the man who would need some time to make it back.

Once Jason broke him the news, Bruce thought (and hoped) that that would be it.

But no, the night was young, and there was so much time left and the batsibilings for sure wouldn’t waste it.

The previous statement about sleep deprived Tim?

Well.

Tonight, he had to pick a fight with an essential-oil-loving, antivax mother. Simply because he liked to torture himself. And because nobody realised he was alone until Bruce spotted him in the crowd, eye twitching as a woman rambled about all the heavy metals and chemicals that vaccines had in them. He thought about getting to him, but he knew it was too late. There was no going back now.

“Well, you see Karen,” He started.

“Uuum, my name’s Patricia.” She interrupted.

“I’m a billionaire’s heir, I don’t give a shit.” He said “Anyways. As I was saying, the thing is, I’d rather take the chance of being injecting myself with mercury than, oh, I don’t know, get meningitis and fucking die?”

The circle went quiet. Another woman, wanting to dissipate the tension, tried to restart the conversation.

“I-I mean, I don’t understand why can’t they make something safer, right? Like, when we used to throw those smallpox parties, why won’t they make something that works like that? So that we can build a natural immunity instead of all of those chemicals.” She laughed awkwardly.

Tim slapped his own face so hard that it attracted a lot of eyes.

“How. Do. You. Think. Vaccines. Work. Susan?”

“M-my name is Mary.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He answered. And just in time, Dick swooped in.

“Hey, Timmy!” He greeted “Can I borrow this guy for a second?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he guided Tim out to the garden.

“Fucking idiots.” He muttered “I don’t know how they have so much money. They’re all fucking idiots, Dick. I’m surrounded by dumbasses.”

“There, there.” He said “Okay, we’re far enough.” He looked around “Go ahead.”

And Tim let out the most horrendous, rage filled scream any of those guests had ever heard. Because of course they heard it. Bruce sighed and shrunk on his chair.

“Better?” Dick asked as he finished, patting his back.

“So much.” Tim answered.

“You should’ve slept a little before this.”

“No way. I’m totally fine.” He answered “I had three cans of monster before we left, so I feel great.” Dick raised an eyebrow, worried.

“Whatever you say, buddy.” He led him back inside, tidying up his brother’s hair “Just... No more picking fights with moms tonight, okay?”

And Bruce thought that was enough. Bruce was certain that this would be the last incident.

But his kids just loved proving him wrong.

He thought that the best strategy would be to ask them to stick together, so that Dick’s responsibility and social skills would keep his feral siblings under control. He should’ve known it would backfire.

The last he checked, they were making small talk with some CEOs on the edge of the room, away from the dance floor. Jason, Cass and Damian seemed completely bored, Tim was clenching his jaw for some reason, and Dick tried his best to look polished and polite.

“So, I heard that Wayne Enterprises have a new project?” One of them asked, chest so projected forwards it looked like it was about to explode.

“Yes. Yes we do.” Dick said, smiling politely “We’re opening up a refugee housing program.”

“Oh, so that’s what those buildings are for?”

“Yes, exactly!” He exclaimed, opening his arms in a seemingly natural manner “We are building apartments to shelter them. It’s nothing fancy, but we can charge a cheaper rent than most, and not charge at all for the first six months, giving them a chance to properly establish themselves here.”

“Well, I must say,” Puffed up chest guy stated, “I can’t see why not to give them to good old Americans instead. There’s a lot of homeless people nowadays, you see.” He leaned forward as he talked.

Damian perked his head up, but didn’t say anything. Cass and Jason seemed to be listening. Tim’s left eye twitched.

“Actually,” Tim started “The company has very stable, successful projects to help the homeless.”

“I’m familiar with those, yes.” He arrogantly dismissed the teen “But, you see, I just can’t understand why not open the housing to tax paying Americans instead of some...”

“Potential terrorists?” Damian suggested, arms crossed, scowl on his face.

“...Foreigners.” He completed.

“Well, since you ask, we are currently planning on the possibility of eventually opening vague apartments to Americans too.” Dick answered, swirling the liquid in his glass around “But the priority now really are the refugees.”

“I don’t see why can’t we prioritize our own people.” He insisted “I’m simply concerned for the well being of our poorest patriots.”

Dick blinked.

And here’s why Bruce should have known it would backfire.

Because, yes, Dick was able to cool them down...

But they were able to fire him up.

And so, like the charismatic man he was, he covered his nose a little, rubbing at the end, and faked a loud sneeze.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” He started “You see, I have this strange condition.” Dick stared at the man in the eye, the guy who had bought an old building people were squatting at, just to demolish it and doom them to the streets with no care or compensation, and, knowing this and so much more, said “I’m allergic to bullshit.”

And his siblings went feral again.

Tim and Jason screamed an ‘Oooooooooh!’, Damian pointed at the man and laughed loudly, and Cass snorted, covering her mouth in surprise.

Dick didn’t break eye contact as he drank the last of his champagne.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” He said “I have to go look for better company.” Dick left the empty glass at the nearest table and adjusted his suit, smiling “Have a nice evening.”

As he walked away, the gang followed close behind, all of them very excited about how Dick, the composed, calm, cool, polite and polished Dick Grayson-Wayne, had just burned a millionaire in front of his economic allies. As the party reached Bruce, the man once again seemed to sink into his chair. Dick sat next to him, radiating confidence and charm.

“Do I wanna know?” The man asked.

“No,” Dick answered, grinning but not looking at the man “No you don’t.”

#Batfamily #BatFam #batbros #batsiblings #dick grayson #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #Damian Wayne #cassandra cain #bruce wayne is a good parent #exasperated dad bruce wayne #batman bingo #batman bingo 2020 #fanfic #fanfition #writing #chaotic batfam

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awhitehead17 · 4 years

Text

A Regular Occurrence

Tim Drake & Everyone, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleep Deprivation, Tim is a tired boi, Friendship, Sibling relationship.

Summary: 5 times Tim fell asleep on someone and 1 time they fell asleep on him.

A/N: So this was taken from one of the prompts from rvdhood’s ‘timmy requests’. I read it, instantly got some ideas and wanted to write it.

Also on AO3

Enjoy! :D

“Man, I am beat.” Jason states as he locks his hands together and stretches his arms over his head. “Either that was a tough patrol or I’m just getting old.” He sighs when his back pops and drops his arms down his side.

It had been a long night. It wasn’t one that contained any Arkham breakouts or major gang wars they had to try and stop, all it was just petty crime, the usual drug busts and gun point stand offs they had to deal with but it had left him feeling exhausted.

“I’m more than ready to bury myself in a ton of blankets and not wake up to the next full moon, how ‘bout you kid? How you are feeling?”

When his question was met with silence, Jason frowns and turns around. He finds his brother slumped against the wall of the alley way they’re in. His mouth was open slightly and if Jason listened closely enough he could hear a light snoring sound.

“Hmm,” Jason mutters to himself, “Well that answers my question.”

He walks over to Tim and kicks him lightly in the shin, “Yo Red, wake up!” Jason quickly steps back to avoid the swinging bo staff coming towards his head and stares at Tim with a bored expression.

Tim startles awake and takes a swing at him before realising where he was, “I’m awake! I’m awake.”

Jason hums thoughtfully, “Sure. Now come on, it’s the end of the night.” He starts walking away before Tim could say anything.

He only gets a few feet down the alley when he hears swearing. Jason turns around just in time to see Tim trip over his own feet and stumble forward several steps before he miraculously stops himself from face planting. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.

The kid can barely walk on a flat surface, how the hell would he survive swinging from a grapple line? The answer is: he won’t. Jason takes a deep breath and lets it out before walking back over to Tim, he turns around to offer his back.

“Come on Timbit, get on.” He’s tired and just wants to get home, but he has enough energy left that he can carry Tim on his back, it’s also not like the kid was heavy or anything.

“What? No. I’m fine I can make it back on my own.” Tim protests.

“I’m not asking. You either get on my back willingly or I carry in any way I see fits and trust me, you will not like what I decide.” Jason threatens his brother. He wasn’t in the mood to be dealing with an argumentative Tim.

There’s a couple beats of silence, like the kid was actually debating about his options before he eventually gets on Jason’s back. Jason makes sure he’s comfortable before starting to make his way back home.

It was when Jason gets halfway home that he realises something. There was a faint rumble by his right ear, right where Tim’s head was perched on his shoulder. He stops moving to work out what it was. After a moment he snorts in amusement, that sound was of Tim snoring. The kid had fallen asleep on him.

Jason would be annoyed if he hadn’t been expecting it, that’s why he’s carrying him after all. He tightens his hold on Tim and starts moving again.

Tim owes him big time for this. For now Jason won’t tell anybody about this, however if his brother happens to piss him off in the future then Jason certainly isn’t above using this as blackmail material.

Dick:

Walking to the door, Dick taps his knuckles lightly against the wood to announce his presence before entering the room. As he goes in he’s greeted by mostly darkness except for the little bit of light that was coming from the TV.

Dick observes the unmoving lump on the bed for a moment and then walks towards it, he hovers above the figure on the bed to try and get a look at them. Tired blue eyes eventually find his own and Dick grins, “Hey Timmy, I brought you something courtesy of Alfred.”

The teenager on the bed blinks at him before frowning. He shifts on the bed and wraps his blankets around him tighter, “What’d you bring?”

Dick perches on the edge of the bed facing Tim’s curled up form. He holds up the plate he had been carrying, “Just some crackers and a little bit of spread.”

Tim’s been sick over the last couple days and hasn’t been able to keep everything he eats down. While he’s been a lot better that day, Alfred’s making sure to keep him on some dry stuff and build up to heavier meals again.

Tim’s eyes dart to him before flickering back to the TV again, “I’m not hungry. Thanks though.”

Letting out a sigh, Dick leans forward and brushes some hair off of Tim’s flushed face. He doesn’t push the matter however, arguing with an ill Tim was just as productive as arguing with a brick wall was.

“Okay, Timmy. I’ll leave it on your bedside table just in case you do get hungry.” He places the plate onto the table and starts to make his leave from the teens room when suddenly his wrist is captured in a weak hold.

He looks down at Tim to find his brother pushed up onto his elbows staring at him, “Dick… are you, uh, are you busy right now?” He asks quietly, almost shyly.

“No, I was just going to help Alfred move some stuff but nothing major. What’s wrong?”

Tim’s eyes flick away, “Can you stay? Just for a bit?”

A soft smile takes over his face. “Of course Timmy.”

With some manoeuvring, Dick manages to get himself under the mountain of blankets Tim has on his bed. He lies on his back, perched against the headboard as his brother cuddles up next to him with his head on Dick’s chest and arm slung around his waist.

Dick lets Tim settle down and watches the TV in front of them, his brother’s been re-watching the X-Files while he was bedridden apparently.

Time goes by, while they don’t spending it talk they do stay cuddled together on Tim’s bed. It’s only when the credits music starts playing that Dick notices something. Tim hadn’t moved from his position in a while, his brother was breathing heavily into his chest and his body was completely limp on top of Dick’s.

Dick lets out a small chuckle when he realises Tim’s asleep on him. His ill little brother had fallen asleep on him while watching the X-files. He wishes he had his phone in that moment because this was a golden moment and he wanted physical proof that this happened because once Tim is better he’ll deny that it ever happened. He doesn’t mind it however, he simply runs a soothing hand up and down Tim’s back as the teenager sleeps on.

After a while a soft knock comes from the door and Dick looks over to find Alfred standing there wearing a smile, “That’s where you got to Master Dick, I was wondering why you never returned downstairs.”

“Sorry Alf,” Dick apologises sheepishly, “I may be here for a while. Once he’s awake and had the food I’ll come down and help.”

“No problem Master Dick, please do take care.” With that the English butler leaves. Dick turns back to his brother and presses a light kiss to his head. Well, at least he was getting some sleep.

Bruce:

For once it was a quiet, calm day in the Manor. Bruce sought this to be the perfect opportunity to get some work done in his home office without being distracted by any screaming kids trying to kill one another. He loved them all, but by god where they hard work.

Unfortunately his peace lasted for no more than two hours. He barely manages to hold in the sigh that wants to escape past his lips when the door to the office bursts open. He looks up to find Tim storming in with a determined look on his face.

Bruce was about to ask his third son a question when Tim was slamming a pile of papers onto his desk in front of him. “You need to sign every one of these files Bruce. Right now.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow at Tim. Tim simply glares back. “I mean it.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Bruce comments, he could see the way Tim was riled up from something just by the way he was standing. “I just need to finish reading this proposal then I’ll look into them okay.”

Tim slams his hand down on the papers, “You’ll sign them right now Bruce! I need these papers by the end of the day.”

“I understand Tim and I will. I just need to read this.”

There's a moment of silence between them. A beat goes by until Tim was moving. He moves around the desk and stands by Bruce’s chair, he starts tugging at it until Bruce wordlessly pushes himself away from the desk. Without any explanation Tim sits in his lap. His son throws his legs over the arm of the chair and leans against the opposite one as he makes himself comfy in Bruce’s lap.

Bruce frowns disapprovingly, “Tim…”

“I’m not moving until those papers are signed Bruce, so if you want me gone then better get to it.”

He hates, yet loves, how manipulative Tim could be sometimes. Sighing in defeat Bruce puts down the proposal and picks up the first of Tim’s papers. He adjusts the chair and makes himself as comfy as he can considering there’s a teenager on his lap, though it’s not like Tim weighs a lot, and settles down to get started on going through those papers.

It was as he was signing the last paper that he realised Tim had been very still and quiet for a long time. He looks down at his son to find Tim’s head leaning against his shoulder, his breathing coming out in even breaths, his body limp and relaxed against him and most of all that he was asleep.

Tim had fallen asleep on him while he had been working. He blinks to take in the moment of Tim relaxed and resting against him, something that hasn’t happened in a very long time. Bruce reaches up and gently strokes his hand through Tim’s hair. He wonders how many all-nighters Tim has pulled recently for him to get to this stage. He really ought to track his son’s sleeping schedules better to prevent this from happening.

He doesn’t move or wake Tim up however, his son wasn’t causing any harm and it’ll probably do him some good to be resting so Bruce decides to leave him. He can read the proposal he had been planning to when Tim first burst through the door and then wake him up afterwards.

Kon:

Flying to the Manor was quickly becoming second nature at this point. He’s done it so many times by now and continues to do so as he goes to pick up his best friend from his house so they could get started on their weekend with the Titans.

Tim used to just take a jet to the Tower but they found having Kon pick him up was a lot quicker, especially if he was coming from Metropolis. He didn’t mind of course, he loved spending time with his friend.

As Kon was entering the Wayne property, he could spot Tim standing on the roof of the Manor waiting for him. Kon grins as he continues to fly closer, this weekend was going to be brilliant and he’s been itching to get off the farm for days now.

His grins soon drops however when he sees Tim’s form become unbalanced from where he was standing. Kon uses a burst of super speed to get to the building quicker and he reaches it just in time to catch Tim as he tumbles off the roof.

Tim lands safely in his arms and Kon takes them back onto the roof. Once there he puts Tim on his feet and stares at his best friend, “Dude what the fuck?”

Tim blinks at him and frowns, “Shit, sorry man. Thanks for the save though.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I feel exhausted. I’ve had next to no sleep this week and I guess it all just caught up to me.”

Kon continues to stare at him before looking down to where Tim would have fallen if Kon hadn’t caught him. He may have been alright, there were bushes on the ground to break his fall… Kon shakes his head. No. He would have not been alright. Thank god he had been there to catch him.

“Well come on, you can sleep on the flight on the way there if you want. I’ll even fly slower.” Kon offers.

Tim simply blinks at him as if trying to process what he had just said, Kon rolls his eyes and just picks his best friend up. He carries Tim in a bridal style rather than the usual wrist grab or piggyback carry they normally do. He figures this might be the easiest way for Tim to fall asleep.

As he said he would, Kon does fly slower than usual and he keeps Tim pressed up against him. His best friend doesn’t complain so he doesn’t do anything to change it. It was when they were halfway across the country that he realises why Tim hadn’t complained. It was because he was asleep.

Tim’s head was tucked up between his shoulder and neck, his body was limp and relaxed in Kon’s hold. His heartbeat and breathing were both slow, steady and even.

Tim had fallen asleep on him on the way to the Tower. Kon was just as surprised as he wasn’t at that. He hadn’t expected Tim to fall asleep until they got to the Tower but after the roof incident it’s not surprising that Tim’s drifted off.

Kon sighs, it wasn’t a problem because at least his best friend was finally getting some sleep. Once they get to the Tower Kon will make sure Tim goes to bed, even if he has to take him there himself. Their weekend can start the next morning once Tim was well rested and wasn’t on the brink of collapsing.

Steph:

“Why am I here? I don’t want to be here.”

“Because dummy, you’re here with us so we can stop you over working yourself when you should be resting.”

Steph walks over to the bed and plonks down next to Tim who was scowling at her with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks like a child who didn’t get his own way and now was sulking. On his other side Cass smiles happily and takes another spoon full of ice cream.

She reaches up and flicks Tim in the head, “You need some time off and everyone else is busy to keep you from running off and making things worse for yourself. Cass and I are the only ones around and now you’re joining us for our girl’s movie night. Consider yourself lucky!”

The look he gives her tells Steph he feels anything else other than lucky in that moment. It makes her snicker and throw an arm around his shoulders to bring him in for a side hug. “Come on Tim, it can’t be that bad to spend a night with your sister, her best friend which happens to be your ex.”

Tim doesn’t give a response, instead choosing to ignore her.

On his other side, Cass leans over and bops his nose with her spoon. “You rest. Enjoy time off. Now relax.”

Tim sighs and bats her hand away. “You guys are bullies. This is bullying. I hate you both.”

Steph rolls her eyes and gets up off the bed and goes to her TV opposite them. She puts the DVD of the first movie of the night into the TV and goes back to the bed to join the others. The three of them settle down and get comfy to watch the movie, they were surrounded by a few tubs of ice cream, chocolate bars, and half empty boxes of pizza. It was a night off they were all going to enjoy.

“I didn’t agree to this.” Tim continues to protest. He was sat in between the two girls and was watching the TV with disinterest.

After hearing that everyone was busy and how Tim was still benched from any form of vigilante work, her and Cass made it their mission to force Tim to join them for their monthly girl’s night. It was for his own good. So after dragging Tim away from the Manor and back to Steph’s apartment, they all quickly got settled in her bedroom and ready for the night but not without Tim’s constant protesting.

Steph pokes him in the ribs. “Quit your complaining and enjoy it. Now hush, the films starting.”

Tim grumbles under his breath and continues to scowl at the TV but doesn’t move otherwise. Steph shares a winning smile with Cass before turning her attention to the TV where The Hunger Games was just starting to play.

Steph’s attention only turns away from the screen when she feels something hit her shoulder. She jumps slightly and looks down only to find Tim’s head now resting against her shoulder, his body was limp against the bed and against her side, his breathing was even and his eyes were closed.

She glances over at Cass who instantly meets her eyes. She smiles, “Asleep.”

A light laugh makes it way out of her, that was something she had not expected from that night, Tim had fallen asleep on her while watching a movie. How cute. She’s so going to tease him about this later on, or even possibly use this as blackmail material.

Leaning back she reaches up and starts to gently stroke his hair in soothing motions. She isn’t going to push him off, not knowing how much he needs to sleep. It’s great that he’s finally getting some rest.

Damian:

There wasn’t a lot going on at that moment. He was casually scrolling through social media trying to kill some spare time he for once has. Kon and Bart were messaging him a variety of memes which were both amusing and annoying, of course he was sending his own back when he stumbles upon them.

His attention was drawn away from his phone when he hears a knock on his bedroom door. He looks over just in time to see it open up to reveal Damian. Tim frowns at seeing the younger teen, out of everyone to visit him Damian was at the bottom of the list he would have thought would come willingly to see him.

The teenager scowls at him from the door, “Drake.” He greets, though his voice was somewhat muffled by the kid’s blocked nose.

Damian had gotten injured while out on patrol, however while recovering he had gotten the flu which has only set his recovery period back further. Though that doesn’t explain why Damian was now at his bedroom door scowling at him.

“Demon spawn. What do you want?”

At the door Damian hesitates as if he wasn’t sure on something. Tim raises an eyebrow and sits up right on his bed and eyes Damian. “Damian what are you doing? You should be in bed, resting.”

His words must have had an impact on the teenager because he was finally stepping into his room. “I cannot rest easy in my room,” Damian tells him looking uneasy, “Father and Grayson are….”

He trails off but Tim’s able to understand what he means, is able to pick up on what he’s not saying. “Bruce and Dick are currently being overbearing mother hens and you feel like you’re suffocating.” He sums up.

Of course that makes sense, he totally understands how suffocating their care can be, while they mean well it’s not always easy to be on the receiving end of it. It still doesn’t explain why Damian’s at his door.

When Damian doesn’t offer up anything else Tim sighs and settles back down on his bed and starts playing with his phone again. There’s a moment of tense silence between them but Tim doesn’t do anything about it, the younger teen will get bored and leave in a minute anyway and he’s not picking a fight just for the sake of it.

“I know I must rest to get better but I cannot in my own room. I was hoping - or rather it’ll be a logical tactic if I could stay here for a few hours.”

At those words Tim shoots Damian a raised eyebrow in question, because what? The teen wasn’t looking at him however as he continues to speak.

“Father and Grayson would least of all expect to find me here with you, therefore meaning I can get some undisturbed rest if you’ll allow me.”

Tim blinks, he hadn’t been expecting Damian to ask if he could stay with Tim to get some sleep at all. He considers this for a moment because while it was stupid Damian wasn’t wrong, the two older men wouldn’t expect him to be with Tim and of course Tim knows what they can be like when worried.

Making a decision Tim scoots to one side of the bed and pats the empty space. “Sure thing, just don’t cough on me or whatever. I don’t want to be ill.”

Damian makes his ‘tt’ sound but comes to the space allocated for him. He lies stiffly on Tim’s bed and curls up in a blanket he had brought with him. Tim stays quiet as the teen settles down beside him and goes back to his phone, at least he wasn’t trying to kill Tim this time.

Tim had gotten so absorbed into his phone that he didn’t even realise Damian had fallen asleep until something was landing on his leg. He jumps slightly at the contact and looks down to find Damian curled up next to his leg with his head now resting on Tim’s thigh. The teen was completely wiped out and oblivious to what he was doing.

Tim smiles and lets out a snort, at least he was resting even if it was on him and not on the pillow he had taken or the mattress underneath them. Tim raises a hand and gently strokes it through Damian’s hair, the younger sighs and shifts slightly but does not wake up. Tim continues with the motion and goes back to his phone, if Bruce or Dick make an appearance he’ll be sure to keep them away.

#Tim Drake #Jason Todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #Kon-El #Stephanie Brown #Damian Wayne #batfamily #fanfiction #5+1 Things #prompt inspired #fluff #cuddles #sleepy cuddles #sleep deprivation #friendship #sibling relationship

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hortensemitchell · 3 years

Text

Into the Woods: Chapter One

After Big Time Rush, their lives seemed to only get more hectic. So on the rare chance their schedules lined up, they had to make the most of it with an epic camping trip for the ages.

Rating: M

Pairing: Kendall Knight/Carlos Garcia/Logan Mitchell/James Diamond

Words: 1889

The morning light drifts through the cracks in the curtains, shining directly onto Kendall’s face. If it were any other morning, he would turn over and groan into his pillow desperate for five more minutes of sleep. For once though, he could stay still and enjoy the quiet hum of the city outside his window and the soft snores from the man still asleep against his chest.

Kendall rarely had the time to stop and fully appreciate how beautiful his boyfriends were. Life was so chaotic when they were in a band together, and somehow it became even more so as they each chased their dreams. But here in the early hours of the morning, he was free to stare till his heart was content.

Carlos was still fast asleep, completely unaware of the morning light. When awake Carlos was like a hurricane, boisterous and barreling through the world at breakneck speeds. But while he snoozed, Kendall got to appreciate the softer side of him.

He carefully raised his hand to trail his fingers across Carlos’ cheek, feeling his morning stubble and warm skin. The man was practically a heater, which was wonderful when they visited Minnesota. Back home, he, James and Logan would go into an all out war over who would get to share with Carlos. And the shorter man reveled in the attention he received. The arguments usually ended with them attempting to crowd into one bed like they would when they were younger.

Every time they did that though, they would wake up with back pain and achy limbs and promise they would never do it again. But it never took long before they broke their promise and made the same mistake again.

In LA that warmth was practically a death sentence. Pair it with Carlos’s tendency to attach himself to you like an octopus, and you had a recipe for a sweaty disaster. Fortunately Kendall found that if he kept to sleeping with just a sheet and a box fan, he and the other boys could make it through the summer nights.

From downstairs, Kendall could smell the pot of freshly brewed coffee and the scent of bacon Logan was no doubt frying in the kitchen. The other men would be expecting them to stumble down the stairs sometime soon.

He laid his hand against the small of Carlos’ back and began rubbing slowly as he trailed his hand up and down coaxing the other man awake. Against his chest, he felt Carlos begin to stir and watched as he blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“Morning Sleeping Beauty, did you sleep well?”

Carlos glanced up at Kendall with his warm brown eyes. “You know I did”, he said with a soft smile. He leaned up slightly in an attempt for a kiss, but was kept in place by Kendall’s hand on his shoulder.

Kendall turned his face to the side, “Ah- no, I’ve totally got morning breath.”

“And I totally don’t care.” He replied, moving impossibly close into Kendall’s personal space. “Now let me give you your morning Carlos Kiss.”

Kendall sighed before leaning in and meeting him for a chaste kiss. If Carlos wasn’t too upset about the state of his breath, then there really wasn’t a point in worrying about it. He did make a mental note to brush his teeth in the bathroom before going downstairs though, just in case.

Beside him, Carlos suddenly jolted upright in the bed taking the sheets with him. “I smell bacon.”

“You smell bacon every morning, why is this any different?” Kendall replied sitting up as well. He begins to stretch his arms, trying to regain feeling in the left one that was under Carlos all night.

“Because today is our mini vacation and I figured Logan would sleep in.” Carlos was already up and heading for the door. “But if he’s awake that means I’m late on giving him and James their morning kisses.”

With that Carlos was out the door and Kendall could hear his heavy footsteps heading down the staircase. He leaned back against the headboard taking a moment for himself. Today was going to be a good day, he could feel it.

After a quick stop to the bathroom to make sure his breath was minty fresh, he finally made his way downstairs. In the kitchen Logan stood at the stove frying an egg. Carlos had his arms wrapped around him from behind while he rested his head against his shoulder and watched him work.

Kendall stepped into the kitchen, pressing a kiss to Logan’s cheek as he passed. He pulled the blender from the top cabinet and began the necessary steps to prepare a smoothie.

Their morning routine almost moved like clockwork. James was the first of them to wake up, his beauty rituals took a surprisingly long amount of time. Before he took off for the bathroom though, he’d always start a fresh pot of coffee for Logan.

Logan was the next awake, although awake was a generous term for it. He generally had a hard time falling asleep, so in the mornings he operated like a sleep deprived zombie until he was at least halfway through his second cup of coffee.

Once he came back into the world of the living, he’d start frying up breakfast for Kendall and Carlos. Both of them had pretty physically demanding jobs, being a professional hockey player and police officer. And Logan would often lecture them about the importance of a well balanced and hearty breakfast.

The smell of bacon was usually enough to pull Kendall and Carlos down the stairs, and they would take up their usual tasks. Carlos would begin setting the table for breakfast and Kendall would start preparing James’ breakfast smoothie.

With their crazy schedules, morning was the one time they all could just relax and enjoy the company of one another. Sometimes it made Kendall long for the days of Big Time Rush where they spent so much time together that they got sick of it. But then he would take one look at his boyfriend’s faces as they accomplished their dreams, and he realized the time apart was really a small sacrifice.

Besides they made the time count when they did find time to be together. Kendall chuckled to himself as he remembered their last day off together. What was supposed to be a relaxing day turned into an all day affair of playing knights. He’d been given the role of ‘Evil Eyebrow Wizard’ who had kidnapped the fair prince Logan. They hadn’t played like that since they were small children, but damn if he hadn’t had fun.

His thoughts were interrupted as the bathroom door creaked open, letting a hefty amount of steam into the small kitchen. Kendall glanced over and took in the sight of a freshly showered James, clad only in a towel. His skin always seemed to glow after his routine and Kendall had to tear his eyes away from a stray water droplet as it made its way down James sculpted stomach. It was sort of unfair how in shape he was considering Kendall was the pro athlete, but James did put the work in and certainly showed.

However, Kendall had some pride and refused to let James know he’d been staring. Instead he turned back to his work chopping up some bananas for the smoothie. He shot a smile in James' direction before asking, “Would it kill you to wear some clothes?”

“No, but you guys seem to appreciate all of this so much,” He said, gesturing to his body. “I figured why hide it.”

Kendall rolled his eyes good naturedly, as he watched James make his way to the kitchen table. Carlos was hot on his heels, obviously on his quest to secure his final morning kiss. Left on their own, he and Logan were able to work together to finish preparing the rest of their breakfast. And soon they were able to join their other boyfriends at the table.

Kendall glanced down at his plate and noticed how the food was arranged in a happy smile. The orange slice eyes, the egg nose, and bacon smile were impossibly adorable. From the way Carlos was eagerly scarfing down his food, Kendall doubts he noticed the plating. Still he leaned over and squeezed Logan’s knee, flashing him a small smile to let him know his extra effort was appreciated.

A comfortable silence began as the men worked on finishing their breakfast, and Kendall let his mind drift off with the sounds of the forks clicking against the plates. He was quickly brought back to the present though as Logan pulled a binder seemingly out of nowhere, and slammed it onto the table.

Logan looked around the table to make sure he had everyone's attention before flipping open the binder. “Well now that everyone is here, we can quickly go over a couple things.” He reaches into a flap pulling out a stack of paper, passing copies to each of his boyfriends. “I took the liberty of making not only a packing checklist, but a safety protocol for our trip.”

Kendall had to admit, the amount of organization was pretty impressive. But he also knew Carlos and James, and there was no way they were going to follow any rules or regulations. Especially on what they deemed a fun trip.

James leaned forward, placing his hand on top of Logan’s across the table. “Listen, Logan we love you, and clearly you put a lot of time and effort into this. But camping isn’t about lists and protocols, it’s about winging it and making it through the cold unforgiving wilderness with only your manly instincts.” He looked over to Carlos for some backup.

It took a moment for Carlos to finish his mouthful of eggs before he joined in. “James is right! Today is all about reckless adventure, that’s why people go camping in the first place.”

Logan squinted his eyes, throwing an analyzing look at the two men across from him. “You guys haven’t started packing, have you?”

“Yes we have! We just- we needed some last minute supplies.” Carlos said with an innocent smile. It was almost believable if James didn’t look so confused. He gave James a sharp elbow to the rib cage in an attempt to get him on board. “Remember?”

James' eyes opened comically wide, feigning remembrance. “Yeah the- the supplies. Now I remember.” He pushed himself away from the table. “I’m just gonna go check, make sure everything we packed is there. You coming?” He held out his hand to Carlos, who happily took it and the pair took off for the stairs.

“Hey, don’t worry. If you and I follow the packing guidelines then we’ll have enough to share when they inevitably forget something important like water or deodorant.”, Kendall said as he cleared the dishes from the table. “And if worse comes to worst? We’ll have a doctor on call all night.”

Logan shook his head as he helped Kendall gather the rest of the mess. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t get that far. It’s our mini vacation after all.”.

Kendall came around to the other side of the table, wrapping his arms around Logan’s waist. “It’s going to be perfect, I promise.”

#my writing #Kendall Knight #Carlos Garcia #Logan Mitchell #James Diamond #ot4

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weltonreject · 4 years

Text

an evening with night.

|| quick study in boris’s pov. ended up being his view of theo’s ptsd while they’re living together in new york, years after Everything. he just wants to help. || ao3

It was seven at night and Boris had hot soup and sandwiches from Theo’s favorite deli tucked under his arm. It was a bit late for dinner, but Boris also knew Theo never ate without him. It wasn’t an agreed upon or even announced rule, just something Boris noticed. Even if Theo did eat without him, when Boris was horrifically late as he sometimes was, Theo would still sit down and pick at Boris’s food, having an echo of his meal.

There was no need to rush, but Boris found he had no patience that day for any sidewalk traffic. He weaved around evening walkers and giggling couples. He ducked around scaffolding over the block before their apartment building. That morning when he’d left, he’d waved up to the workers-- three of them having previously worked for him on a Job. Nice men, all of them. By then though, no one was working. It was dark out and the entire city seemed to be tucking in early.

The lobby was slightly less empty than the street-- somehow-- a few other tenants milling in from outside and heading up to their beds. Boris waved to the two men at the front desk-- and one of them waved him over.

“Mister Decker! Good evening, how are you?” The man-- boy, really-- smiled. His face was covered in hormonal acne and his voice cracked as he incorrectly said Boris’s last name. It was the name all their mail was addressed to because Boris was very tired of things being sent back because dumb Americans couldn’t spell his name. He understood why the boy (Antony perhaps?) called him by Theo’s last name. It also wasn’t really a bad thing. Not at all a bad thing.

“Very good-- have dinner and am very hungry. And you? Busy day? Excitement at all?” Boris liked making small talk. It made people feel good-- and that was also never a bad thing.

"We’re alright, Boris, we’re doing alright.” The other man said before turning and looking at the mail shelves behind him. Jean Paul was Boris’s favorite of the two-- he always laughed at Boris’s jokes and was the first to put Theo at ease whenever they walked into the building together-- which was still something Theo stumbled through uncomfortably. “Got a package for you. Thought I’d give it to Theo when he came by after work but, never showed.”

“Theo is not back from work?” Boris tried to remember if there was a phone chime he had forgotten to answer.

“Never left today.” Antony added, typing something out on the desk computer in front of him. Boris was glad he wasn’t looking at him, he didn’t want the boy to see the moment of confused panic on his face; it could worry him, someone so young.

“Hm. Maybe he is feeling ill today. I will go up and see. Thank you, thank you. Have good night, both of you, yes?” Boris grabbed the package with his free hand and started off for the elevator. Jean Paul and Antony waved as the doors closed over.

It took Boris five minutes just to get a hand free enough to get his keys out-- only to find that the door was unlocked. He slid the package in with his foot as he stepped inside, kicking the door closed.

“Potter?” Boris kicked off his shoes and padded into the kitchen first. He placed the food down on the counter and poked around to the small dining room. The curtains were still closed by the table, their home shut out from acknowledging the day-- well, night by then. “Potter, where are you? Everything okay?”

Finally, a slow answer. “The couch.”

“Theo!” Boris backed through the kitchen and looked through the cut-out over the sink. He saw Theo slowly propping himself up and turning to find his voice. “Are here! Men downstairs had said you were not at work-- did not see you leave! Did you stay here all day?”

Boris spoke, almost, with a kind of excitement. Not because he wanted Theo to be in a poor mood, but because he was excited to turn it around with the surprise quart of matzo ball soup and sausage and pepper grinder. Theo had never said it was his favorite, but Boris could tell whenever they went to the deli for lunch, he had a certain joy waiting for his food. Boris wanted to hand over the food and see that joy appear suddenly.

Instead though, he saw that Theo was not just feeling poorly. He looked it too. Theo was still wearing what he wore to bed: a ripped, old gray shirt from their Vegas years (it was so old Boris didn’t even know who’s it was by then) and his plain, blue boxers. His hair was poking out in different directions as if he’d been restlessly rolling around all day. Which he probably was. There were crease marks on Theo’s face where he’d been pressed against the pillows for hours. His eyes were on Boris, but they weren’t looking at him.

“Theo, what is wrong? You look very bad.”

“Thanks.” Theo ducked his head. His neck cracked audibly. Boris winced and walked around to the couch.

“Why are you like this? What are you on? Drinking? Take something?” Boris wasn’t sure what was in the house except maybe some Xanax. They had cut out the harder stuff in the past three years. They wanted to see the other live a long time-- which of course meant they both had to stop. Fair was fair. “Who did you buy from?”

“I’m not... I’m not high, Boris.” Theo swatted in front of him, despite Boris not coming into his personal space. “I’m just tired.”

“What has happened?” Boris sat on the edge of the couch. “Potter?”

Theo sighed and closed his eyes. He clenched his jaw, muscles all the way up to his temples tensing. “The construction... It... I heard them this morning.”

“Keep you awake? Oh, I will talk to them then! I know half of the group there. Very understanding men! If I tell them--”

“No.” Theo opened his eyes but he didn’t look up at Boris again. “I heard the construction when I was sleeping and... it woke me up and.. it sounded.” Another sigh. “It sounded like an explosion.”

Boris reached for Theo’s hand, hesitating to counteract Theo’s own involuntary retraction from the touch. After a moment, their two hands slotted together. Theo stared at their fingers, tangling them.

“You are upset. Reminded of... before. Have had long day, yes? All alone, in here? That is long day, very hard on you, Potter. I am sorry mother is gone and ghost of fear will not leave you. Very sorry... But I am here now! Not alone now.” Boris smiled and lowered his head to fit into Theo’s distracted eye-line. “I brought you food, Potter. You need good meal-- and then we take bath! Oh, yes. We sit and relax you and--”

“I’m not hungry.” Theo said curtly. He pulled his hand away from Boris’s and laid back down. He rolled over and faced the back of the couch. “Eat without me.”

“But Theo--”

“I said eat without me. I don’t want any.” Theo’s voice was muffled, He rested a hand over his face, just under his glasses.

“Is your favorite though. Called in before I left to make sure was ready when I got there. Your soup, hot sandwich, both.” Boris shook Theo gently, resting his hands on his waist. “Potter, have to eat with me. I can hear stomach grumbling. Hungry, very hungry.”

“Boris, please, I’m not in the fucking mood today.” He rolled his head back to look at Boris, exposing his red, bleary eyes and tight, pinched expression. “I spent half the morning thinking I was thirteen I don’t want to play house right now, okay!” He shouted.

Boris wasn’t sure if it was the way Theo shoved him-- or the way he felt the unflattering urge to grab Theo and hold him tightly-- but Boris wanted to hit Theo. He felt a hot tension in his bicep as if he could bring his arm back... but he’d never bring it down on him. Oh god never. They weren’t fifteen anymore. They weren’t shoving each other into dark, under-chlorinated swimming pools. They weren’t deprived of touch. Boris could take Theo and hold him, if he wanted. It was just that, if Boris hit him there could be no room for argument. He could try and make Theo feel the warmth of his skin on his without refusal-- without deprivation.

“Sit up.” Boris said, standing back from the couch. “Potter, sit up. Put feet on the ground. Sit up.” Still, Boris did not touch Theo, but he pointed with enough force Theo slowly pushed himself vertical, his bare feet pressing down on the wood floor. “Will not let you sulk-- feel upset? Yes, cannot stop you. But this... this! Doing more harm than good for you. Will feel worse when morning comes and you are still unfed! No shower! Are not drunk orphans no more, Theo. Have house! Have good life. Let it help you.”

It wasn’t screaming if Boris was desperate to help. It wasn’t raising his voice if he was doing it to get Theo to hear over whatever was in his head. He wasn’t like his father if he kept his hands to himself and yelled only the nice things. Boris couldn’t be like his father if he genuinely loved someone. He got that from his mother.

Theo rolled his wrists and looked at Boris, resigned but not unwilling. “What did you get me? A-And you got yourself something too, right?”

“Pfft, Potter. You insult me.”

Boris walked back to the kitchen and grabbed the deli bag. He ripped a fistful of paper towels to take as place settings-- Theo would not let them eat on the coffee table without any cover-- and ducked down to grab a bottle of wine from under the cabinets. Before Boris emerged again in the living room, or met Theo’s eyes through the wall cut-out, he thought of Theo drinking that night. The heavy slosh in Boris’s hand would only amplified with whatever heavy, thick darkness was in Theo. He’d black out again. He’d start screaming and crying. He’d try and climb out the window-- try and find his mother in a cloud of smoke that had dissipated ten years before.

Boris put the bottle back and hurried out to Theo, smiling and hoping to appear aloof.

“Hungry, yes?”

"Kind of starving.” Theo was exhausted enough to agree.

“Good thing you have kept me around, eh? Boris keeps you fed and happy. Good roommate, no?” Boris sat beside Theo on the couch, nudging his side with obnoxious eagerness. “Good man to have around.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” Theo muttered, cracking the smallest but least reluctant smile. “He’s pretty good to have around-- wait, did you get me soup?”

Boris burst out laughing at Theo’s sudden distraction-- he had to. If he didn’t laugh at it, at how much life and focus was missing from Theo’s face as he came back to reality, Boris would surely get upset.

It was usually a strange sadness; not one that most people spoke about in explorations of their darker moments. Seeing Theo so absent and crumpled, Boris’s felt like he fell backwards into a tunnel. Going and going, falling down down down. He sunk, feeling like he was stomping his way down the street after telling his best friend-- without words-- that he needed him to stay, but left abruptly anyway. He felt helpless by his own doing. When Boris felt upset, he felt like he was stranded on that burning hot asphalt all over again, thinking he’d never have to stop running. That he’d just fall over and drop dead first.

"Is okay? It is warm enough?” Boris cupped the container with his hands.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.” Theo took the soup and sat back on the couch, resting the warmth against his chest. “It’s fine... Thank you.”

"Of course, of course.” Boris leaned back too. He rested his feet on the edge of the coffee table. Tired, but with no need to take off again.

---

Theo had this very strange habit of only existing at night. Not that he wasn’t active or didn’t do anything in daylight, but the Theo that worked with Hobie was a far different one than the one that trudged home after five o’clock. Every memory Boris had of Theo-- of his Theo-- was in the cool, summer darkness. The harsh grey winter night. Three in the morning when they both had to get up at six for errands and work. There was a safety in night, Boris knew. He also knew there was a danger in it, in having the world beyond the flickering reach of a streetlamp fall away completely.

After eating their dinner, Boris knew they had found the safe kind of evening. The bathroom was dimly lit with the runoff street lights streaming through the window. Theo was sitting in their bathtub, arms draped over the sides. Boris was on the floor beside him, recounting his day-- something he was too busy eating to do earlier.

“I tried coffee place you keep telling me about. Went in and asked for tea way I like-- and actually gave it to me! So hot nice woman put it in two cups and little, uh, neck tie.”

“Collar.” Theo said languidly. “It’s a coffee collar, but same thing.”

“Collar! Yes, cup had collar-- and two shirts! HA!” Boris nudged Theo’s arm. His finger lifted as he laughed. “Then had meeting with Misham-- was fire down on west eight-one. Misham knows people who work fire, a few very impressive antiques may have been too burnt to be saved... Boo-hoo, so sad, yes?”

“Hm.” Theo lifted his finger again. He seemed to be trying to match the steaming bath water in terms of similar states of matter. “Wait, what?”

“Nothing. More surprises for you soon, Potter. Few days time.”

“I think we need to investigate your definition of the word ‘surprise’.” Theo said, turning his head to Boris. He’d kept his glasses on, his tired but attentive eyes finding Boris sharply. “Today it was dinner, last week it was one hundred year old whiskey, a month ago you said you almost bought me an entire new set of dishware because I drunkenly said ours was tacky... Boris, these aren’t surprises, they’re ambushes.”

"Ack, do not know what you are talking about. Are nice things.” Boris shifted and recrossed his ankles. “You are hungry, like to drink-- and made big sale last week! You surprise first with good job-- and do not like dishes we have. All important gifts.”

Theo licked his lips and let his head loll back to center. “You’re crazy. You’re just a spendthrift that’s just a bit too romantic for your own taste.” His fingers lifted once more. Boris finally noticed the motion of his hand was not an echo of the water’s slow waves, but a slow search in the open air.

Boris reached up and let Theo’s fingers bump into his own. Theo wrapped his fingers around one of Boris’s, letting his wrist hang loosely in the air. He’d closed his eyes, the blend of moonlight and neon washing over his face. Theo wasn’t quite ready for sunshine, but Boris would take it. He’d soak it in with Theo, leaning his cheek against the porcelain edge.

“Should talk about your day, Potter.” Boris said. “Is no good to sit on it.”

“Right now I’m sitting on my ass in boiling hot water cooking like a crab.” He laughed.

“Theo.”

"I’m fine. I just... Had a nightmare.” A pause. “While I was awake. No big deal. I have them all the time.” A longer pause. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it... What did I ever do before?”

“Try to kill yourself.” Boris said. Theo looked at him out of the corner of his eye; Boris had forgotten to soften his words. “Not best way to deal, is what I mean.”

"Am I supposed to... cope or something?” Theo pulled the rest of Boris’s hand into his own. “Grieve? What the fuck does that even-- I can’t do that.”

"Have not tried.” Listen, Boris may have had to kick a heroine addiction in the past two years, but he was at least half way alright with the fact his mother was dead and his father was probably the same. Is was what they did to Boris when they were alive that kept him up sometimes.

Death? That was the easy part-- for Boris at least.

“I’m trying.”

“Are not.”

“Boris, I fucking swear--” Theo tightened his grip on Boris’s hand. “I... I am trying-- and don’t say to try harder or so help me God, I’ll dunk your head in this water right now.”

It also seemed Theo also had to laugh at it all. His chuckle sounded like phlegm loose in his lungs, coming up with a hoarse cough and sniffle. His head fell back to the side, looking at Boris. The steam from the water had condensed on the cool, exposed porcelain and was slippery enough to slowly let Theo slip further into the water. His legs were bent and he left himself gently wash away.

“The water’s going to be hot for a while. Want to get in?” Theo’s shoulders were fully submerged.

“No, no. Am fine out here. Had very long day, don’t want to ruin bath with-- ack-- dirt.”

“I didn’t ask you because I wanted you to be clean.” Theo said, his chin touching the surface of the water. “I’m asking because I want you to be a little more naked than you are right now.”

Boris laughed again, full and warm. “Potter, do not use me as distraction.”

“I didn’t say I was.” Theo looked out of only one eye, a smirk lifting his cheeks. “Don’t put words in my mouth.” Theo pulled their hands into the water as he dipped under, just up to his nose. Boris reached and grabbed Theo’s glasses with his other hand, holding them still as Theo slipped out from under them.

“Avoiding what I said does nothing, Potter.” Boris placed the glasses on his own head and rested his chin on the edge of the tub. His right arm was nearly up to his elbow in water, his sleeve soaked. He counted the bubbles from Theo’s slow exhale-- or possible laugh-- as they rose to the surface.

It seemed they were both waiting for Theo to seize upward, startled by the pressure of the bath water; it always snuck up on him when he relaxed into it. Boris pulled Theo’s towel closer with his foot, quietly preparing to have to start talking in circles about things that didn’t really matter in order to distract Theo from screaming and thinking he was going to suffocate, despite how much he was hyperventilating.

Under the water, Theo splayed out Boris’s fingers and rested his hand against his chest. The heel of Theo’s palm pressed against the back of Boris’s hand, cracking parts of his fingers accidentally. It wasn’t frantic or desperate, just firmly intentional. Theo should’ve come up already, Boris thought, but he was testing himself-- not for lung capacity, but some other limit that neither really wanted to acknowledge existed in both of them.

They weren’t invincible, and Boris really hated to admit it. They’d treated their bodies and minds as such when they were young, and now they were scared to acknowledge they damage they’d done-- or left festering for ten years. Seeing the evidence so clearly-- even underwater, gripping his hand-- was like seeing a crack in a ceiling. Growing growing growing, right over his head, unless he did something about it. They’d both die in the rubble.

“Actually, Potter.” Boris said loudly, pulling on Theo’s hand. “In I go. Get back.”

“What?” Theo surfaced and spit out water. He wiped his eyes, squinting in the dark. “Did you say something?”

“Sit back, I am getting in.” Boris started pulling his shirt up over his head, not sparing time to unbutton it.

“Well that was fast.” Theo lowered his knees and sat back. He pulled his hands into the water with a soft splash. “Afraid I’m going to drown in here or something?”

Boris had to laugh, again. He wasn’t sure he was as subtle that time, but Theo’s face remained amused-- unaware of the cathartic numbness. “HA! Yes. Or something, Potter. Something.”

#boreo #boreo fic #tgf fic #my fics #this was a fun experiment!!!! enjoy her!!!!#would love to write more about boris and how he looks at things #but wanted to do something shorter first #thank you for letting me write something fun for myself

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lakesandquarries · 4 years

Text

After the Storm (Chapter Four)

AO3 Link

“ Shit, ” Tom mutters, the first time he’s sworn in nearly a month.

How had he not realized something was wrong? Sonic had been acting suspicious for a while, long enough for Tom to pick up on. And he’d caught the way the kid deflected questions. He could list off the things he actually knew about him and his life, and most had been stuff from the roadtrip.

- he’s a hedgehog

- he’s from another planet

- he had to leave for some reason

- he’s been on earth (and Green Hills, specifically) for about ten years

- he lived in a cave and had presumably stolen most of what he needed

And everything past that was a mystery. Why he’d left his home planet, what had happened to his parents (did he even have parents??) how he got his powers, what his powers actually entailed ....The kid’s basically a bundle of mysteries.

And that was fine. There was no rush in trying to learn everything. All that mattered was that Sonic was safe and happy and had a home. And yeah, Tom hoped he’d open up eventually, but all the parenting books said to be patient and that was fine by him.

But...he’s reconsidering that, now, especially after Sonic just apparently decided he had to leave with no indication of when or if he’d be returning. Maybe he should have pushed. Maybe he should have made Sonic stop deflecting, made him sit down and have a conversation, explain that this was Sonic’s home and that if something was upsetting him he could talk about it. Maybe in that case Tom wouldn’t be stuck wandering through the forest at 3 am in his pyjamas.

Unfortunately, that’s what he’s doing.

Maddie had managed to stop him from running after Sonic immediately, though she’d had to physically throw shoes and a jacket at him and make him wait long enough for her to grab a flashlight.

“Look for footsteps,” Maddie said, as she dug through the closet. “He just took off, right? He’s probably not thinking about where he’s going.” Tom’s expression must have changed or something, because she followed it up quickly. “He knows these woods well. I’m sure he’s safe, he’s just…” she sighed. “I’m gonna stay here, in case he comes back.”

“I don’t think he’s gonna,” Tom said, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.

“It’ll be okay.” Maddie handed him a sweater and a flashlight. “Put your shoes on.”

“Right,” Tom said. “Right. Okay.”

“You’ll find him.” Maddie kissed his cheek. “It’s gonna be fine. We got through the whole evil government scientist thing, didn’t we?”

Yeah, the evil government scientist might have been easier. At least then Tom kinda knew what he was doing. Protect the kid, get him to San Francisco, don’t get arrested. Sure, things didn’t work out like he planned - he certainly did not intend on getting as attached as he did - but at least there was a plan.

Right now, he just feels like an idiot wandering through a forest, which is exactly what he is. There are some footsteps, but even with the flashlight they’re hard to see, and Tom’s not even certain they’re Sonic’s.

“Sonic?” he yells out. No response. He wasn’t really expecting one.

He keeps going.

Sonic wakes up with the sun, watching the first rays of light poke between the trees. He’d originally found the cave soon after ending up on earth, so it’s been a while since he’s actually had to sleep outside, and overall? Not fun. 0/10. Do not recommend.

Not that he really has a choice. He’ll have to find a new cave, or something like it. Could he sleep in a tree? That might be something to try.

(He thinks of his bed at home, warm and soft and cozy and not full of splinters, and shakes his head.)

It’s a nice day, at least. Warm, but not too hot. The sunrise is beautiful from where he’s standing.

(Maddie would love it.)

He shakes his head again. Not going down that road! Just gonna focus on….on the trees. And the grass. And the flowers. Nature’s nice! He’s fine, out here all alone. Sure, he’s lost, and covered in dirt, and kinda hungry, but...it’s pretty, at least? It’s fine. He’s fine.

He gets up, dusts himself off, and starts walking.

He gives up when he passes by the tree he slept against for the third time.

“I’m lost,” he mutters, leaning his head against the bark. His knowledge of the forest was pretty limited, for how long he’s been there. But he’d never really ventured too far - staying by the town always seemed a better option. Easier to find food, easier to keep from getting bored. Out in the middle of nowhere, there’s only berries to eat and squirrels for company, and both are pretty terrible options.

He turns around, so his quills are against the tree, and slides down, collapsing into a heap at the base of the tree. He’s tired, and hungry, and lonely . He’d forgotten how bad being alone was, cause right now there’s nothing more he wants than to squish himself between Tom and Maddie, put on a movie, and pet Ozzie.

But then he remembers last night - Tom, staring at him, confused and afraid, hand singed by powers Sonic doesn’t know how to control. He thinks about Longclaw, shot because of him, probably dead because of him. He thinks about power outages, and evil scientists, and all the many ways he could hurt people without even trying.

It’s not worth it.

( He’s not worth it.)

And yet in the back of his head he can still hear Tom, trying to calm him down, saying his name…

Wait.

Hang on.

Sonic stands up, and immediately crashes into Tom.

“ Sonic! ”

He could run. Couldn’t he? Run like he did last night, run like he’s been doing for his entire life. Run away, again, and give up on the idea of ever getting to be happy.

Run, he thinks, but his legs don’t move.

“Sonic,” Tom says again, kneeling down. He practically falls over, actually. He looks about the same way Sonic feels - covered in dirt, exhausted, sleep deprived - but there’s a relief in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Yes. No. Maybe? No. Does he know what being okay is? Has he ever been okay? Is that even a real thing? Is -

“Alright, bad question. Just - talk to me, please?”

“Hi,” Sonic says.

Tom tips forward, sitting on his legs. “Good enough.” He takes a deep breath, rubbing his face with his hand. “Please don’t run again?”

Sonic hunches in on himself, shoulders raising. He nods.

“Okay. Okay,” he says again, still rubbing at his face. “Are you hurt? I should’ve brought some water or something,” he says, sighing. Sonic just stares at him, silent, too many words running through his head to actually say any of them. “Sonic? It’s okay, I’m not mad, I just wanna know what’s going on. I just need you to talk to me.”

The words tumble out. “You came for me,” he says, and then starts crying.

“Hey,” Tom says, scooting forward. “Hey, here, c’mon,” and he keeps scooting forward until suddenly his hand is on Sonic’s head and Sonic’s face is buried into his shirt, and it’s definitely covered in dirt but it feels like home . “It’s okay,” he says, along with a bunch of other stuff. Sonic can’t really make out the tone, but he gets the meaning: he’s safe.

“I’m sorry,” he says, except it comes out more like m surree . He thinks Tom might be petting him.

He doesn’t move until he absolutely has to, and even then he’s still nestled close. Tom’s definitely petting him, running his hand through his quills repeatedly.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, clearer this time.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Tom says, and then, “ are you okay?”

Sonic’s not sure he has an answer to that. He shrugs.

“Fair enough,” Tom says. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

I’m scared of hurting everyone I care about , he thinks, and I’m not sure I actually count as a person, and I don’t even understand why you wanna help so much , but out loud he just repeats himself. “You came for me.”

“Of course. Maddie had to stop me from running outside with no shoes.”

“ Why ? I - I hurt you, I ran off, you barely even know me! I almost got you killed like, five times after knowing you for a day! And then you let me move in with you, even though I - I’m -”

“You are not finishing that sentence,” Tom says, cutting him off. But he doesn’t get it.

“Longclaw said to never stop running. What if - what if it wasn’t to protect me? I don’t want anyone else getting hurt, but all this bad stuff keeps happening and the one thing that’s always there is me . So...so if I’m alone, then everyone else will be safe.” He nods his head once, decisively, daring Tom to argue with his logic. Tom...actually doesn’t seem to have an argument. He’s just staring at Sonic. “I’ll grab my stuff, first, but -”

“No,” Tom says, surprising Sonic. “No, absolutely not, you are not just leaving. I’m not letting you just walk out because you think it’ll protect me. That’s not how this works.” Tom makes a sound - laughter, almost, except without the actual finding-something-funny part. “That’s my job. Literally, my job is to protect people, and even if it wasn’t - that’s a parents job. Not a kid’s.”

“I’m not a kid,” Sonic protests.

“Okay, you’re whatever the word for a baby hedgehog is. Protecting is still my job.”

“Then what’s my job?”

“Your job is very important. Your job is to be happy, and learn about the world, and grow up.”

“But...I managed it before. I was fine on my own! I mean, up until the power outage, but I was doing fine before then! I can do it again, I can -"

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Tom says firmly. "Whatever happens, we'll handle it. You don't need to be on your own before. I'm not letting you get hurt again."

Sonic’s crying again. Or maybe he never actually stopped? Either way, his face is getting very damp, very quickly. Tom’s petting him again, slowly, very carefully.

“What if I mess up again?” Sonic asks, wiping at his face.

“We’ll handle it. No matter what it is, I promise, I’m not gonna leave you alone or kick you out or anything. Just...talk to me, okay? And Maddie. We wanna help you.”

“Okay.” This time, when he wipes his face, it actually stays sorta dry. “Can...can we go home?”

“Of course,” Tom says, standing up and brushing himself off. “Want me to carry you?”

That had never even occurred to Sonic as an option. He nods his head. It takes a moment for them to figure out the logistics of it, but pretty soon he’s nestled up comfortably and Tom has figured out the right angles to avoid quills, and they’re on their way.

Sonic falls asleep about two steps in.

#sonic movie #sonic 2020 #sonic the hedgehog #sonic wachowski #tom wachowski #maddie wachowski #cora writes #ats tag #after the storm

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calumcest · 4 years

Text

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter five

[ao3]

cannot believe the malum is going somewhere now this is truly scenes...only 50k into the fic and all...would you believe that i don’t read fics over 8k long because i’m too impatient i’m literally the worlds biggest hypocrite i HATE slow burn look at me. i literally write everything i hate

@tirednotflirting my lovely basically-co-writer i love you thank you for dealing with this shit i changed like half of it i cannot believe you had to read it in the state it was in...truly vile...also this chapter actually owes its life to @kaleidoscopeminds i wasn’t going to post today bc the laptop i have to use rn is doing my nut and bc i thought nobody cares but meg cares and so this is for her <3

Noel gets back the next afternoon.

He’s dishevelled, he’s sleep-deprived, he’s stone-cold sober and in a right fucking mood, but he’s there. Calum sees him at breakfast, sat at a table chatting to Alan - he’s just got off his flight, still hasn’t taken his suitcase back up to his room, looks like he hasn’t got changed in the four days he’s been gone - and when Noel spots him, he just stares for a minute, wavering, like he’s not sure how Calum’s going to react. It makes Calum falter too, because Noel’s always so certain about these things, always scoffs and says c’mon, then, don’t be a dick, all business-like, so it’s an unexpected reaction. It feels almost like a shift, feels like maybe something’s irrevocably changed, now, and he’s not really sure what to make of it, not sure whether the way his stomach flips is because of that or Noel or the comedown he’s currently pushing through.

He heads to the table, though, because what the fuck else is he supposed to do - skip a free meal? No fucking chance - and Noel’s eyes follow him the whole way, a slight edge of trepidation leaking into the edges as Calum gets closer and closer until he’s hovering at the table. He’s not going to speak first, Calum realises. He’s going to let Calum take the lead, and that’s unusual too, nothing like the Noel that had left all of four days ago. Jesus, what the fuck do they do to the water in San Diego? Whatever it is, he hopes Noel’s brought some back for Liam to drink.

Alan’s watching the two of them, that managerial instinct telling him that something’s not quite right here, like he can see the way Calum’s skin is crawling with this strange, unknown hesitancy around Noel, and Calum doesn’t want to make a scene in front of him, so he just cocks his head and looks down at Noel.

“You’re a prick,” he says. Noel blinks, and for a brief moment Calum’s stomach drops, like maybe even that has changed, now, like maybe that’s not the right way to say I love you, you massive cunt anymore, and then Noel grins tiredly.

“Aye,” he says simply, and Calum grins back, relief flooding his veins, and sits down opposite Noel.

It goes pretty much the same with Tony and Bonehead, although Bonehead does cuff Noel upside the head a little harder than strictly necessary. Liam doesn’t come down for food, even though he’s always the first up, and when he realises that the waiters are clearing away the chafing dishes without an indignant Mancunian telling them oi, I’ve only had six hash browns, Calum exchanges a look with Bonehead. Liam’s going to make Noel go to him, isn’t going to let them have a chance meeting. He’s going to make Noel go to him, which for Noel is the same as crawling through broken glass on his hands and knees.

Noel does it, though, swallows his pride and heads up to Liam’s room when everybody else is chatting animatedly, relief powering the conversation. Calum doesn’t even notice he’s gone until he turns to ask Noel to back him up on Help! being better than Rubber Soul, which is probably what Noel wanted. He’d hate to make a big show of it, for everyone to know that the roles are reversed, that Noel’s going to Liam rather than Liam going to Noel. Still, though, Calum thinks, turning back to the rest of the group and launching into his impassioned defence of Help!, it’s not like Noel. Something’s changed, and Calum’s not entirely sure what, and he doesn’t fucking like it.

The rest of them don’t see Liam and Noel all day, but when Calum passes by Liam’s room he hears two low voices talking calmly, quietly, rationally, and catches what sounds like look, you love me, I love you, so let’s make this work, and ...for mam’s sake, if nowt else. They emerge again at dinner, and don’t speak about it, and nobody dares to ask, not even Calum. It’s not like anyone else would understand, anyway; the two of them live on another fucking planet where the normal rules of brotherhood and family and basic fucking decency don’t apply.

Once Noel and Liam have made up, though - or, at least, started calling each other cunts a little less venomously - the rest of the American leg of the tour goes off without a hitch.

They’re there until late October, and despite an edge of tension in the band, a little uncertainty as they all try to find their feet in their new, post-Whiskey-a-Go-Go-disaster relationships, the tour goes well. Noel and Liam don’t escalate past their usual arguments, only ignore each other for a few hours at a time, and all their dates are sold out. On top of all that, the album’s hitting heights none of them had even dreamed of.

(Well, maybe Liam had dreamed of them. In fact, Liam had laid it out plainly for them on the first day of recording, pointing accusingly first at Noel, then Bonehead, then Calum, then back to Noel, skipping Tony completely: it’s going to be number fucking one, you hear me, and it’s going to go fucking platinum, and whatever the fuck comes after platinum. It’s going to be fucking mega. )

Noel had written some songs while he was in San Diego, one candid acoustic ballad that makes Calum and Bonehead share a slightly alarmed glance when they hear it, and Alan insists that they’re masterpieces, so they head to a studio in Texas to record them. Calum stands with Liam behind the thick glass that separates the live room from the control room, watches as Noel blinks down at his acoustic guitar and sings I wanna talk tonight ‘bout how you saved my life and then looks up at either Calum or Liam, Calum can’t tell, and sings you and me see how we are. It sends a shiver down his spine, the sheer fucking openness of it, and for the first time makes him think shit, what was going through Noel’s head when he was gone? He’s been so preoccupied with their side of it, with Bonehead’s drinking and Tony and Maggie’s conversations and Liam shutting himself in his room that he hadn’t stopped to think about what Noel might have been feeling, about just how literally Noel means you saved my life.

When the rest of them get back into the studio to record the other songs, though, it feels like something slotting back into place. It reminds them all who they are, what they are, and smooths over the discordance, evens out the dissonance. The five of them come out of it grinning, laughing, shaking their heads at some ridiculous tale Liam’s spinning, and it feels good. For the first time in weeks, giddy with nothing but adrenaline and love, Calum feels good. The music’s what makes them, and the music’s what fixes them. It’s an important lesson, that they can go through something like that and stitch up the wounds with a few guitar strings, and it makes them all feel a little more grounded, a little more confident that they’re back on their feet.

The day of their flight back to the UK, when they’re all still nursing their incredible hangovers from the celebrations of finishing the North American leg of the tour the night before, Calum goes down for breakfast to find Noel and Liam already sat at the table, deep in what looks like a heated conversation. He hesitates for a moment - any conversation with the brothers whispering fiercely like that is likely a conversation he wants no part in - but it’s too late, because Noel’s seen him, and he’s beckoning him over, brows knitted together.

“What?” Calum says warily, about three feet from the table, far enough away that he can still make a break for it if it devolves into a shouting match.

“D’you know where we were this morning?” Noel says. Calum shrugs. He doesn’t even know where they are now, let alone where Noel and Liam might have disappeared to before he was awake.

“We had a radio interview,” Liam says. Calum’s not sure why he’s supposed to care about that.

“With Blur,” Noel adds, and Calum’s stomach drops.

What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” Calum says, trying his best to school his features into something neutral, feeling the two identical sets of blue eyes scrutinising him, watching for a reaction. “Why- what? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We didn’t know,” Liam says, a little coolly, and takes a sip of his tea, eyes still on Calum to see how he reacts.

“What happened?”

“What the fuck was s’posed to happen?” Noel says, raising an eyebrow. “We did the fucking interview.”

“Without calling them cunts?”

“‘Course,” Liam says, pulling a cigarette out of the packet lying between himself and Noel on the table. “We’re fucking professionals, we are.” Calum snorts. The most professional thing either of them have done is turn up to a bus call only twenty minutes late.

“You did call Damon a prick,” Noel says mildly to Liam, who waves the hand that isn’t flicking his lighter dismissively.

“Cal asked about cunt, though, didn’t he?” he mumbles around his cigarette, and Calum and Noel both roll their eyes, Calum huffing out a laugh and Noel tutting, both edged with fondness.

“The Sun’s going to have a fucking field day,” Calum says, deciding it’s safe enough to sit down. The two of them don’t seem in too bad of a mood; in fact, they seem a little too calm, both of them looking at Calum with almost blank expressions, heads tilted one way. “What?” Calum adds, a little defensively, and Liam leans forwards, taking the cigarette out of his mouth just so he can speak properly.

“Mike was there,” he says, like he’s revealing a big secret that he’s been bursting to tell. Calum’s heart skips a beat, but he keeps his face straight, and just blinks at Liam. So that’s what this is about. He should’ve known, really; it would have been too much to ask for the Gallagher brothers to forget about that part of Calum’s sexual history for, like, two fucking minutes.

“Well, he’s part of Blur, isn’t he?” Calum says.

“He asked after you,” Noel says, far too nonchalantly, stirring his tea. Calum swallows, feeling the all-too-familiar guilt surge up in his lungs. He shouldn’t be talking to Michael. He shouldn’t have taken Michael’s number, shouldn’t have learnt it off by heart, shouldn’t have sat in Noel’s empty hotel room and turned to Michael on one of the worst days of his life. And he definitely shouldn’t have done all of that without telling Liam or Noel.

“Oh,” Calum says. “Well.” He’s not sure what else to say, what else the guilt will even let him say. “What did you say?” Liam throws him a slightly indignant look.

“Told him to fuck off, obviously,” he says, like he’s a little offended Calum’s even asked. “Not telling him fuck all about you, am I?” God. If it were anyone else they were talking about, Calum would feel a pure rush of love for Liam, at the fact he’s so unquestioningly and unnecessarily protective of Calum, but because it’s Michael, a huge surge of guilt washes over the love that rises in him, lapping at his veins before the love can get there.

“Oh,” Calum says again, and Liam just turns back to his tea, clearly thinking the conversation’s over, that what needed to be said has been said and satisfied with Calum’s response. Noel, though, is still looking at Calum, something too perceptive in his cool blue eyes.

“Why would he ask?” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice, something cold and challenging.

“What d’you mean?” Calum says, holding his gaze, trying to push all the panic rising in his chest back before it reaches his eyes. Shit, what the fuck had Michael said? Did he mention anything about the phone call? Does Noel know?

“Seems a bit friendly.” Noel’s eyes are carefully blank, expression guarded, not giving anything away, cards held close to his chest.

“He’s a friendly guy,” Calum says, relieved at how even his voice comes out. “Just because you two are cunts.” At that, Liam looks up again, frowning.

“Who’s a cunt?” he says, incensed. Calum almost lets out a sigh of relief - if Liam’s back in the conversation, Noel won’t say anything else. At least, not now, he won’t. Calum’s just buying himself time, really; Noel’s going to stew on it, mull it over on late-night bus calls and midday hangovers, and come back to Calum when he thinks he’s got something infallible to slash at Calum’s defences with.

“You are,” Noel tells Liam.

“You are too,” Calum reminds him, and Noel shrugs.

“Could be worse,” he says. “Could be Damon Albarn.” Liam snorts, and even Calum has to roll his eyes and shake his head, reaching over for Noel’s tea and pulling it towards him, wanting something to do with his jittery fingers. Noel lets him, even pushes a packet of sugar in his direction because he knows Calum can’t stand drinking tea unless it’s immediately going to give him diabetes, and Calum smiles, watching as something a little disarmed crosses Noel’s face for a split second before he schools his features back into that half-irritated, half-challenging expression that’s so Noel he might as well patent it.

Strange, Calum thinks, as he empties the entire packet of sugar into what’s now his tea. Noel doesn’t have chinks in his armour, not really. At least, not when it comes to anyone whose name doesn’t start with an ‘L’ and end with an ‘iam’, and last time Calum checked, he wasn’t a loud-mouthed twat from Manchester that Noel’s been exasperatedly hauling out of trouble for the past two decades. He doesn’t really have time to wonder what it’s about, though, because then Liam’s sighing loudly, raising his hand to catch the nearest waiter’s attention, and saying: “Alright, mate, don’t happen to know where the best place to score coke around here is, do you?”

“Liam,” Noel says warningly, the well-worn older-brother irritation already lacing his tone, and Liam just shoots him a what? sort of look, as the waiter stares back at them.

“Coke?” he asks, a little hesitantly, like he’s sure he’s misunderstanding what Liam’s asking.

“Yeah, mate, y’know, the old Colombian marching powder,” Liam says, nodding his head, like this is a perfectly normal conversation to have with a waiter at ten in the morning.

“I- uh, sir, I’m not sure-” the waiter starts, a little nervously, and Liam leans forwards.

“Cocaine, mate,” he says slowly, clearly thinking the waiter’s not caught on, like that’s the only possible explanation for why he’s not immediately gone oh, yeah, ‘course, hang on, let me my local dealer on the line.

“Piss off, Liam,” Noel says, a definite note of annoyance in his voice now, and Liam’s like a shark to blood, turns away from the waiter, all thoughts of getting whatever white powder he can procure up his nose forgotten as he spots a new drug of choice; arguing with Noel. It’s something Calum’s seen a hundred times, the way Liam will find a gap in Noel’s defences and worm his way in, make a home under Noel’s skin just for a few minutes of his attention, and it’s not something he fancies sticking around to watch, knowing it’ll end with fists flying with no regard for who might be caught in the crossfire.

“I’m going back up,” he says, even though he hasn’t eaten yet, but neither Noel or Liam are listening anymore, already caught in a half-hissed, half-yelled conversation about whether it’s inappropriate or street-smart to ask a random local guy for coke plugs at his job, Liam, at his fucking job, and do you know how many fucking hotels we’ve been kicked out of because of you so far this year? Liam’s raising his voice as Calum walks out of the room, shouting something about me? It’s not just me, you prick, you were in fucking Sweden as well, right, and you’re the one who took off to fucking San Diego, what the fuck else was I going to do while we all waited for you to stop being such a pathetic little cunt? , and Calum knows he’s left just in time when he hears the sound of crockery shattering in the distance as he jogs back up the stairs to his room. He doesn’t really mind, though, doesn’t care if they get kicked out of this hotel too, because all he can think, heart pounding, is why the fuck did Michael ask after me, when the last thing he might have heard is me calling him ‘no one’?

He doesn’t even get time to think about that, though, because Bonehead’s on his way down as Calum’s on his way up, and he blocks Calum’s path and insists Calum join him on a walk to the supermarket because the amount of beer he’s going to have to drink to deal with the brothers on an eight hour flight back home needs two people to carry it. Calum thinks shit, he’s right, so they fetch Tony to carry all the alcohol Calum’s going to need to drink too, and then spend the walk to the shop and the entire time traipsing around it arguing about whether or not Tony should get any of the alcohol they’re loading into their arms. Calum weighs in for the first ten minutes, but it becomes clear Bonehead and Tony are just looking to fight about something, so Calum draws back and lets them have at each other, walks next to them and lets the sound of their rowing wash over him as his thoughts turn back to Michael.

Did Michael really want to know? Or was it a power play, him saying something to Liam and Noel knowing it would get back to Calum? No, surely not, Calum thinks, as Tony and Bonehead bicker about whether or not Tony deserves at least one of the six-packs Bonehead’s picked up. Michael wouldn’t do that. He’s not that kind of person.

Maybe Michael isn’t, a little voice in his head says, but maybe Mike is. You don’t know Mike, do you?

(Calum thrusts one of his six-packs at Tony, suddenly feeling a little too sick to drink.)

-------

They head back to Europe in November, first to the UK to record Whatever, and then straight off to France. Noel even manages to make a joke about the Amsterdam ferry incident as they’re waiting to board in Dover, which is as close to saying I forgive you to Liam for the episode as he’s going to get.

Calum doesn’t speak to Michael for almost two months. He doesn’t want to call first, after the way the last call ended and still uncertain about the whole Michael-Liam-Noel situation, and Michael doesn’t call him. Calum tries not to dwell on it, to think too hard about the sound of the dial tone and the way he’d called Michael no one, but Blur are fucking everywhere. It seems like they’re playing all the same places as Oasis but a few weeks earlier, because every time Calum walks down a French street he’s accosted by blown up images of Michael’s face, moody and pretty, staring down at him from billboards and bus stops and fucking lampposts.

It’s one of those posters stuck haphazardly onto a lamppost in Berlin that Calum sees, a few hours before they’re due to play a show, that reminds him, with a jolt, what the date is.

The twentieth of November.

Michael’s birthday.

Calum’s almost taken aback that he remembers. He’d forgotten for the past three or four years - the date had passed him by without so much as a second glance - and the thought makes him feel a little guilty, a little sick, like he’s broken a promise to himself that he never even knew he made.

There’s a little phone booth next to the lamppost that looks like it might not even be working, and Calum finds himself striding in that direction, fumbling in his pocket for the few German coins he’d been given. It’s nothing, he tells himself, as he starts dialling Michael’s number. It’s just polite to wish someone a happy birthday. It doesn’t mean anything.

It only takes two rings for someone to pick up, a soft click and a moment of silence at the other end of the line.

“Hello?” It’s not Michael; it’s a woman. Maybe Michael has a house-sitter? Calum’s pretty sure Michael must be loaded now, right, if he’s in Blur? He’s probably not pissing all his royalties away on drink and drugs. They probably have a group accountant to manage everything for them, rather than Noel cuffing them all upside the head and going eeyar, yous need to start buying cheaper coke.

“Oh,” Calum says. “Uh. I’m looking for Michael?”

“He’s in Japan at the moment,” the woman says. Her voice is sweet and warm, almost comforting, and oddly familiar. It’s probably just the Australian accent, Calum thinks. Anyone with an Australian accent has sounded familiar to him since he left.

“Oh,” Calum says again. He should’ve guessed, really. Of course Michael’s not at home. He’s in a fucking band. In Blur, no less. Of course he’s on tour.

“May I ask who’s calling?” the woman says. Calum hesitates.

“Just a friend,” he says, a little evasively. “Just- uh. Wanted to wish him a happy birthday, is all.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” the woman says, and she sounds like she’s smiling. “I can give you the number of his hotel room in Japan, if you’d like.”

“I-” Calum’s not sure what to say to that. He might be sending a message he’s not entirely sure he wants to send if Michael finds out Calum had called his house first, and then got the number for his hotel in Japan.

“Or I can pass along a message?” the woman offers. “What’s the name?” Calum bites his lip. It can’t hurt, he thinks. It’s not like Michael will have spoken about Calum to anyone who’s known him in the past few years, if he hadn’t told his own bandmates.

“Yeah,” Calum says. “Yeah, that’d be good, thanks. It’s Calum.” The woman lets out a little gasp.

“Calum Hood?” she says, and Calum’s stomach drops. "I should have recognised your voice! You've lost your accent, haven't you?"

“Uh,” he says intelligently, but she’s already started talking again.

“It’s Karen,” she says.

Oh, fucking hell.

“Oh,” Calum says. Fuck. Jesus Christ. Of course it’s Michael’s mum. Of course Michael wouldn’t get a fucking house-sitter, rich and in Blur or not. It’s oddly steadying, though, that in this instance at least Michael’s Michael and not Mike, makes something electric shoot through Calum as he thinks maybe I still know enough of him. “Uh. Hi?”

“I didn’t know you and Michael were still in contact,” she says, and he can hear the grin in her voice, how happy she sounds about it. It makes his stomach twist in guilt, heavy and leaden.

“Yeah,” Calum says weakly. “Well. Not really. But- y’know. It’s his birthday.” He cringes at his own words, stilted and uncomfortable, but Karen doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m sure he’ll want to hear from you himself,” she says jovially. “I’ll give you his number, hang on a minute.”

“Actually, I-”

“Yes, here it is. Have you got a pen and paper?”

“I don’t-” Calum breaks off, looking wildly around him, and picks up the pen on the top of the telephone keypad, scratching it against the sign that tells him how much of his money he’s pissing away on this phone call. He’s roped into this, now, isn’t he? Karen will tell Michael Calum called, and if Calum doesn’t call Michael after telling Karen he would, it’ll look suspicious. Or it’ll look like he doesn’t care enough, which, with their fragile balance and Calum not knowing where Michael’s head’s at, is the last thing he wants.

“Okay. It’s oh-one-two,” Karen begins, and Calum nods along as she reels off the number for him, phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder as he forces the last of the ink from the pen onto his hand. “Oh, and the country code is zero-zero-eight-one.” Great. Now he can’t even use that as an excuse.

“Thanks,” Calum says, hoping it comes out genuine and not sarcastic. “I’ll, uh. I’ll call him, then.”

“Do,” Karen says, and Calum can tell she’s positively beaming. God, he’s a terrible person. “I’m so happy you called, Calum. I should have known you two would have stayed in contact and not let any of this Blur versus Oasis nonsense get in the way of your friendship.”

“Yeah,” Calum says feebly, feeling guilt tap insistently at his lungs, waiting to be let in. “Well. It was nice talking to you?” He’s not sure how to end a phone call that isn’t either a polite speak to you soon or an exasperated Liam, you cunt, don’t you fucking hang up on m-

“Of course!” Karen says brightly. “I’m very proud of you, Calum. Y’know, I remember you getting your first ever guitar, and look at you now. I’m glad you kept your head screwed on straight.” Calum thinks of the three thin white lines Liam had cut for him earlier that are probably still in his bloodstream, and winces.

“Yeah,” he says, trying for grateful. “I, uh, I try. Thank you.”

“I’m sure I’ll speak to you soon,” Karen says. “I hope you manage to catch Michael!”

“Thanks,” Calum says again, and hopes he doesn’t sound like he wants to gouge his own eyes out. Karen doesn’t seem to notice, though, just chirps a happy goodbye! and leaves Calum to stare at the telephone keypad, holding the receiver loosely in his hand, like he can’t really believe what’s just happened.

Well, fuck. Now he’s got to call fucking Japan.

Calum sighs and starts dialling the number, sending out prayers that Noel’s got some really big fucking tunes up his sleeve for the next album to pay for this call. It rings three times, and then there’s a click as someone picks up.

“Hello?” It’s not Michael. Jesus Christ. Why the fuck is wishing someone a happy birthday this much of an ordeal?

“Is Michael there?” he asks. There’s a short pause.

“Who’s calling?”

“A friend,” Calum says. “Who’s this?”

“Graham.” Which one was that? The one with glasses, right? The other guitarist?

“Right. Is Michael around?”

“Depends on who’s calling.” Calum sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Wishing someone a happy birthday really shouldn’t be this fucking hard.

“It’s Calum,” he mumbles. “From Oasis,” he adds, in case Michael happens to have met a few more Calums in the past couple of years.

“What the hell are you calling for?”

“Why the hell d’you think?” Calum knows he sounds hostile, but he doesn’t care, not when the nervousness that had been contained in his stomach is starting to seep out into his bloodstream.

There’s another pause.

“Alright,” Graham says, but he still sounds suspicious. There’s a rustling sound, and then Calum hears him yell Mike! Calum’s on the phone for you. Yes, Oasis Calum, d’you know any other Calums? Well, okay, yeah, but you haven’t spoken to him since last Chri-

Every second feels like an eternity - although that’s probably at least slightly to do with the fact that he’s spending his entire month’s pay on this call - but eventually there’s more rustling, some fierce muttering that Calum can’t understand beyond - in the bathroom, you dick, and then the sound of a phone being lifted to someone’s ear.

“Calum?” Michael says, and there are footsteps, like he’s walking as far away from the handset as possible.

“Happy birthday,” Calum says lamely. All of this for those two words. It feels incredibly anticlimactic.

“Oh,” Michael says, and he sounds surprised. “I mean. Thanks. I didn’t think you’d remember.” Neither did Calum.

“Well,” Calum says, because he doesn’t want to say that. “Just wanted to call and- uh, say happy birthday, I guess.”

“How’d you get this number?” Michael asks, sounding curious. Calum bites his lip.

“Your mum gave it to me,” he says.

“You rang my house?”

“Well, it’s the only number I have for you, isn’t it?”

“Did you tell her it was you?”

“Yeah.” Michael exhales heavily.

“I haven’t told her,” he admits. “That we’re talking again. Or- y’know. I just haven’t mentioned.”

“I know,” Calum says. “She was surprised that I called.”

“What did she say?” Michael asks. Calum swallows.

“Just, y’know, nice to hear from me, she’s glad I called, all that,” he says vaguely. Michael hums, like he’s mulling it over, and Calum’s stomach flips. Maybe he shouldn’t have called at all. Maybe Michael wants Calum to be his dirty little secret just as much as Calum wants Michael to be his. After all, Calum’s own mum doesn't know either, does she? It’d be hypocritical of Calum to hold it against Michael if he wanted to keep it under wraps too.

(It still kind of stings, though.)

“I’m going to get a fucking Spanish Inquisition when I get home,” Michael says eventually, and Calum huffs out a laugh, stomach untangling itself a little from the tight knot it’s been in for the past five minutes.

“Yeah, probably,” he says, the ghost of a smile flitting across his face as he thinks back to being grilled and reprimanded by Karen any time she got so much as a whiff of a secret from either of them. “D’you remember that time she thought we-”

“Remember when she thought we’d been out smoking weed?” Michael blurts at the same time, and Calum can’t help but smile properly this time, heart somersaulting at the fact that Michael remembers too.

“She was so angry,” Calum says, through a grin. “Kept saying she could smell it on you.”

“Fucking crazy woman,” Michael says, but Calum can hear that he’s grinning too. “We couldn’t afford weed, what was she on about? We hadn’t even been drinking, just been-” he cuts himself off abruptly, and the smile drops off Calum’s face.

They’d been fucking, is what they’d been doing.

“Good thing she didn’t smell that on us,” Calum tries, and Michael huffs out a small laugh, but it’s tight and uncomfortable. Neither of them speak again for a moment, the silence awkward and palpable, until Michael sighs.

“What are we doing?” he mumbles, sounding a little pained.

“I’m wishing you a happy birthday,” Calum says, because he doesn’t want to follow the road that Michael’s words are beckoning him down.

“You know what I mean,” Michael says. “We need to talk.” Calum’s stomach twists. Those words are never followed by any good conversations.

“Do we?” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound as apprehensive to Michael as it does to him. He doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to have that conversation, to hear Michael say you fucked up, and this is it, doesn’t want to have to go all the way to see him just to hear him say I don’t want you anymore.

“When are you back in the UK?”

“December,” Calum says. “Late December. Near Christmas, I think. I’ll have to ask Maggie.”

“Maggie?”

“Our tour manager.”

“Oh.” There’s a moment of silence. “Well. Call me when you’re back?”

“Look,” Calum says, a little desperately, clutching the receiver to his ear. “I- if you want to, like, end whatever this is, not talk to me anymore, I’d rather you just do it now. I don’t want to travel all the way to London for you to tell me you never want to speak to me again.” Michael inhales, and doesn’t exhale.

“I didn’t say that,” he says carefully, after a minute. “But we need to talk.” Calum blinks at the telephone keypad. He’s not sure what to make of that.

“Okay,” he says. “I- uh, yeah. Okay. I’ll call you when I’m back home?”

“Yeah,” Michael says. He pauses, and then adds: “I should go. I locked Graham in the bathroom to take this call.” Calum can’t help the snort that escapes him.

“I should try that on Liam,” he says.

“I think it’d take more than a bathroom door to contain Liam Gallagher,” Michael says. He’s got a point.

“You’ve got a point,” Calum concedes, and he hears Michael huff out a small laugh at the other end of the line, crackled and tinny but genuine and soft. “I should probably go too. I’ve got a show in a few hours.”

“Where?”

“Berlin.” Michael hums.

“We played there a few weeks ago,” he says.

“I know,” Calum says, without thinking. “Uh. I mean. The posters are all still up.”

“Surprised Liam and Noel haven’t gone around tearing them all down,” Michael says, and Calum can hear the smile in his voice.

“I think they’re planning on pasting posters of us over you.”

“Hope they have a lot of them.” Calum grins, eyeing the three Blur posters he can see in his line of vision.

“That’ll be my entire share of the royalties gone,” he says, and Michael snorts.

“I really should go,” he says, sounding a little regretful. “I’ve got to spend at least half an hour convincing Graham not to tell Damon I locked him in a bathroom to talk to you.”

“Why?” Calum’s not sure why he asks, because he’s fairly certain he doesn’t want to hear the answer. Because I don’t want anyone to know we’re talking. Because I want to keep you a secret. Because I’m ashamed of you. It’s even worse because he can’t blame Michael for it.

“If I do anything to Graham, Damon takes it as a personal attack.” Oh. Well. That probably shouldn’t make something warm blossom in Calum’s stomach, the fact that it’s not because of him, but it does.

“Damon doesn’t seem particularly intimidating,” Calum says.

“You fucking wait,” Michael says, and there’s a fondness to his tone that makes Calum’s heart ache, because Michael used to talk about him like that. “Call me when you’re back in the UK, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Calum says. “Bye, Michael.” He’s expecting a click, the thin sound of the dial tone, but it doesn’t come.

“I’m glad you called,” Michael says after a moment, all in a rush, like he’s had to build up the nerve to say it.

“I’m glad I did, too,” Calum says, and he can’t help the small smile playing at his lips. Michael’s glad he called.

“I’ll see you soon,” Michael says.

“Yeah,” Calum says, smile slipping off his face as his stomach flips unpleasantly thinking of the inevitable conversation. “Soon.”

The dial tone rings loud and harsh, and Calum listens to it for a good few moments before putting the phone down and stepping out of the booth. Three Michaels stare at him from different angles as he heads back for the hotel, declaring something in German that he can’t read, eyes seeming to follow Calum as he turns the corner. They seem almost disapproving, like they know Calum doesn’t want to talk. Or maybe that’s Calum’s guilt-ridden imagination.

Well, Calum thinks, stomach flipping as his eyes find another picture of Michael plastered to a lamppost. At least they aren’t posters of Noel and Liam, in that case.

-------

December comes far too soon.

The album goes platinum while they’re in Southampton, or maybe Sheffield, and Calum joins the rest of the band at some grimy nightclub, drunk and high and full of adrenaline because shit, that’s their fucking album. Number one and platinum, fucking hell. It doesn’t feel fucking real.

They film a video for Whatever somewhere in London, and Noel turns up late to the filming, still dressed in his clothes from the night before, so drunk that he can barely play his guitar. Liam’s fucking furious, probably because this is the first time Noel’s ever been drunker than him, and Calum has to spend the rest of the day making sure Liam doesn’t go into the same room as Noel, because they still have a few weeks worth of dates in the UK and they could do with having both the lead guitarist and singer alive for them.

The UK dates pass so fast in blurs of games of Frustration on the tour bus as green and grey whip past the window that Calum barely notices that it’s their week off until he sees a river that looks suspiciously like the Mersey and asks Noel where they are.

(“Liverpool,” Noel says, throwing him a strange look.

“We’re going home tomorrow,” Liam adds.

“Too right you’re fucking going home,” Noel says. “Not fucking kipping at mine again.” Liam scowls, opens his mouth with an indignant expression, and Calum decides now’s a great time to find Alan and ask him about the re-stringing of Calum’s bass he’d said he’d sort out before the gig.)

He’s so exhausted after their last show, having his first proper comedown in weeks, that he can’t do anything but crash through the front door and stumble to his bed at six in the morning. He sleeps like the fucking dead, and by the time he gets up and showers, feeling a bit more alive than he has done the past few days, it’s nearly dark outside.

“Good morning,” his mum says pointedly, when he wanders into the kitchen, yawning, and pulls open the fridge.

“Morning,” Calum says, pulling out a beer and some leftover pasta. “Where’s Dad?”

“Gone fishing,” his mum says. Calum grunts to let her know he’s acknowledged it, and heads to the microwave.

“Liam called earlier,” his mum says, as he presses some random buttons - he really should figure out how this microwave works - and then sets it off.

“Oh?” Calum says.

“He was asking if you wanted to come round tonight,” his mum says. Calum hums, frowning a little. Liam’s not very good at being on his own, no one to take his endless energy out on now that both Paul and Noel have moved out, but he can usually take at least a day or two.

“Might do,” he says, because there might be something more to it if Liam’s already itching to see him again after less than twenty-four hours, and then sees the disappointed look on his mum’s face. “After dinner?” Her face clears, and she nods.

“We’ll be eating around seven,” she says. “Oh, and another bit of wall’s fallen in. Could you take a look?” Calum groans, and tips his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, drawing out the first syllable. His mum tuts, and the microwave dings. “Yeah, alright.” He opens his eyes and reaches for the microwave.

“Michael called, too,” his mum says, and Calum swears again as the plate drops out of his hand and crashes to the floor, smashing to pieces and dropping hot, steaming pasta everywhere. His mum jumps out of the way, swears loudly, and says: “Bloody hell, Calum.”

“Sorry,” Calum says, scrambling to his knees to try and pick up as many pieces of plate as he can. “It was hot.” His cheeks are burning, partially from embarrassment and partially from whatever’s making his heart race like it is, and he stares steadfastly at the floor as he shuffles around.

“What did he want?” Calum asks, as casually as he can, speaking to the floor.

“He didn’t say,” his mum says. She hesitates, and then adds: “What’s going on with you two?” Fuck if Calum knows.

“I don’t know,” Calum says, still not looking at her. He doesn’t want to see the inevitable disapproving look on her face, the motherly instinct to stop him doing something that’s probably just going to get him hurt etched on her features.

“When did you start speaking again?” Calum hesitates, hand hovering over a shard of ceramic. He’s not really sure himself. Would it be the awards show? Or Glastonbury? Or that first phone call a few weeks later? It’d be Glastonbury, he supposes, because Michael hadn’t even acknowledged his existence at the awards show, couldn’t even look Calum in the eye. Glastonbury had been the first time Michael had admitted to the both of them that he still remembered Calum.

“Glastonbury,” he says, and his mum inhales sharply.

“Why didn’t you say?” she asks. Calum sits back on his heels, looking up at her, and shrugs.

“I didn’t know how,” he says, which is sort of the truth. He leaves out the fact that he hadn’t really wanted to tell her, had wanted to squirrel it away, the last little piece of Michael that he could have to himself.

Her expression softens, and she purses her lips, a little sadly.

“Be careful with him,” she says, and Calum’s not sure whether she means Calum should protect himself or protect Michael. After all, she’d seen all the unopened letters Michael had sent.

“Yeah,” he says, looking back down at the pasta still spread across the floor. It feels sort of fitting, somehow. “I’ll try.” His mum sighs, and pushes herself off the kitchen counter she’s been leaning against.

“Go,” she says. “I’ll clean this up.”

“No, it’s alright, I-”

“Go,” she says, a little more sternly, and Calum gets to his knees, wiping his hands and dusting his knees off.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll just-”

“Call him,” she says. He hates that she knows him so well.

Calum heads out for the phone in the hallway, not wanting to take the call in the living room or kitchen where his mum might eavesdrop, and dials Michael’s number. He twirls the cord around his finger while it rings three times, until there’s a click and someone picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Oh,” Michael says. “Hi. Your mum said you were asleep.”

“Yeah,” Calum says, a little apologetically. “I didn’t get up until, like, half an hour ago. We played our last show for a while yesterday.”

“Oh,” Michael says again, a note of recognition in his voice. Of course, Calum thinks; Michael’ll know what last shows - particularly home shows - are like. “Well. I just wanted to see if you were home, really.” He doesn’t say why, but they both know.

“I am ‘til the twenty-seventh,” Calum says. Michael hums.

“When can you come down?” Calum exhales heavily. He could go down any day, really. Tomorrow, if Michael wanted. He’s not sure whether he should just get it over with, or whether he should make the most of the last few days that he might have with the secret feeling of maybe there’s still hope. It’s been six months; he can probably stand a few more days of anticipation. But then again, it’ll be better to get it out of the way now, to have as long before Christmas as he can to gather himself after whatever Michael will throw his way so that it’s not overshadowing the few days his parents will get with him before he’s off again.

“Tomorrow?” he offers, a little tentatively. He’s not sure whether it seems a bit too keen.

“Yeah, tomorrow’s good,” Michael says.

“I can be in London for twelve?” He winces, thinking about how early he’s going to have to get up for that.

“Twelve works. Where d’you come in?”

“Euston.”

“Can you get to Camden?” Michael asks. “Or d’you want me to pick you up?”

“No, I can get there,” Calum says, even though he’s not entirely sure he can.

“Alright. I’ll give you my address, hang on-” there’s scrambling at the other end of the line.

“D’you not know your own address?”

“I- well, sort of, but-” Calum can’t help but laugh. “Fuck you,” Michael says, but Calum can hear he’s smiling too. “You got a pen and paper?”

“Yeah,” Calum says. Michael reels off an address, postcode and all, and Calum dutifully jots it down, only stopping him once to ask whether he’d said D or E.

“Alright,” Calum says, re-capping the pen and tearing the sheet of paper off the pad next to the phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow,” Michael echoes, and Calum only hesitates for a moment before hanging up. It feels strange, he thinks, not to hear the dial tone ringing in his ear, one last reminder of Michael even after he’s gone.

(He wonders whether Michael lingered like he always does.)

-------

Liam ends up coming round for dinner, sounding relieved and grateful when Calum calls him and offers, making Calum frown and file the information away to quiz him on later. Calum’s mum rolls her eyes and makes exasperated noises when Calum tells her he’s coming, because now I have to make dinner for four people, Calum, couldn’t you have told me a bit earlier? but Calum knows she doesn’t really mind. Brash and corrosive though Liam can be, he’s got a childlike charm to him that captivates anybody who meets him, Calum’s parents included. They spend dinner laughing at stories Liam tells about tour, exaggerated and carefully skipping over all the drug use, and Calum’s mum even waves them away when they go to help wash up, tells them with a smile to head to the pub, go on, enjoy yourselves, you deserve it.

“I fucking love your mam,” Liam says, practically skipping as they walk down the dark street to the pub. He’s not even wearing a coat, the fucking madman. Calum huddles further into his own, nosing into the collar of it as the cold wind whips at him.

“You’re just saying that because she made your favourite pasta,” Calum says, and Liam turns back to him and grins.

“Didn’t hurt,” he says. “C’mon, it’s cold.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you bring a coat?” Liam shrugs, hopping from foot to foot. Calum’s not sure whether it’s because he’s cold, or because he’s Liam.

“Nearly there, anyway,” Liam says, as they round the corner to the street the pub’s on. “Mam gave me a tenner for drinks.” Calum snorts.

“Why’s your mum giving you money for drinks?” he says. “You’ve got a fucking number one album.” Liam grins.

“Still the youngest kid, though, aren’t I?” he says, eyes twinkling. He’s got a point. Peggy would never give Noel a tenner for the pub.

“Y’know, I can see why Noel hates you,” Calum comments, and Liam’s grin widens as he pushes open the door of the pub.

It’s warm inside, and Calum says he’ll get them a table if Liam gets the drinks, which Liam doesn’t want to do until he sees a pretty girl tending the bar, and then he’s off like a shot. Calum squeezes between a bunch of tipsy men laughing far too loudly into a table in the back corner, wrinkling his nose as he steadies himself on the table and comes into contact with something sticky. Gross.

Liam, inevitably, takes a good twenty minutes to come back with the drinks and a phone number tucked into his shirt pocket, grinning and eyes twinkling as he sets Calum’s pint down opposite him.

“Took your fucking time,” Calum says, raising an eyebrow, and lifts the pint to his lips.

“Did you fucking see her?” Liam says. “‘Course I took my bloody time.” He takes a sip from his own pint, and then nods at Calum’s. “You owe me for that.”

“No I don’t,” Calum says. Liam scowls at him.

“That’s your fucking Christmas present then,” he says, and Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling into his beer.

They drink in comfortable silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. Calum’s enjoying the warmth of the pub, the familiarity, the way it feels a little like home. He wonders whether Sydney would feel foreign to him now, whether he’d still love the feeling of the warm sand under his feet at Christmas.

“We used to go to the beach at Christmas,” he says, without thinking. Liam shoots him a strange look, before his face clears.

“Oh, ‘s all the wrong way round down there, innit?” he says, like he’s just remembered. “Must be weird for you, Christmas being cold.” Calum shrugs.

“It was at first,” he says. “I’m used to it now.”

“Oh aye?” Liam sounds genuinely interested, so Calum carries on.

“Yeah,” he says, with another shrug. “I never saw snow until I moved here.”

“Did it freak you out?” Liam asks. “Seeing things all white, and that.” Calum blinks at him.

“What?”

“Well, if you’d never seen snow, what’d you think all the white stuff was?”

“I knew what snow was, you fucking idiot,” Calum says incredulously. “Fucking hell.”

“Well, how the fuck am I meant to know that?” Liam says defensively.

“You ever seen a camel? You think camels don’t exist?”

“ Yeah, but-”

“You thought I didn’t know what snow was?”

“How the fuck am I meant to know what they do and don’t teach you in Australia?” Liam demands, and Calum snorts and shakes his head.

“You’re fucking unbelievable,” Calum says, even though Liam thinking Calum didn’t know what snow was until he moved to the UK is entirely believable. Liam scowls, but it’s good-natured.

“Fuck you,” he says. “You wait, I’m going to fucking leave you in Australia when we tour there.”

“You wouldn’t last a minute without me,” Calum says confidently. “Who’ll save you from the bities?”

“The fucking what? Bikeys?”

“Or the freshies and salties?”

“What? Those aren’t words. You’re fucking making this up, you are.” Calum laughs, and Liam folds his arms, resting his elbows on the table.

“Watch it,” Calum says, nodding at his elbows. “Table’s sticky.” Liam looks down, and grimaces, unsticking himself from the table.

“Couldn’t’ve told me that before, could you, you prick?” he grumbles, dusting off his elbows, like it’s going to get rid of the stale beer.

“Didn’t know you were going to put your fucking elbows down, did I?” Calum says, and Liam just sticks two fingers up at him as he reaches for his drink again, making Calum grin in response and wink at him over the rim of his own glass.

They drink in silence for a while, listening to the chatter in the pub as they let the cosy atmosphere and the drinks warm them from the inside out. It’s nice, Calum thinks, downing the last of his pint. He hasn’t been alone with Liam in God knows how long, been stuck on tour buses and in planes with him and at least five other people for far too long, and he realises just how much he’s really missed his one-on-one time with Liam, the easy comfort of a friendship that both of them fall into without even thinking about it, the security of knowing their lives are irrevocably intertwined now. It’s nice that they don’t have to speak, that they can just sit here and drink each other in, just exist alongside each other in quiet peace.

Liam’s not usually this quiet for long, though, usually can’t contain his incessant energy for more than three minute bursts at a time, but Calum knows better than to push. There’s something there, but Liam will say it when he’s ready to say it, and not a moment sooner. Calum’s been burnt one too many times by his own good intentions in that area, so he just sits back, pushes his glass away from himself and waits. It only takes another few minutes of Liam staring down at the bottom of his glass, brows furrowed and deep in thought, until he suddenly says:

“Noel’s moving to London.” The penny drops.

Ah.

“Is he?” Calum says, although really, he’s not that surprised. They’re getting somewhere, and Manchester’s not exactly the place for an up-and-coming musician to be based. It’s been at the back of his own mind, but he’s been pushing it aside, preoccupied with too many other more pressing issues to worry about the logistics of moving that far out.

“Yeah,” Liam says, still staring at the bottom of his glass.

“You knew he would,” Calum says, trying to make it as gentle as possible.

“I know,” Liam says. He doesn’t sound as upset about it as Calum had expected, actually. “He’s going to look at houses tomorrow.” Shit. London’s big, though, isn’t it? What are the odds that he’ll bump into Noel?

“Did he say where?” Calum asks, hoping it comes out casual. He wishes he had another pint in front of him, wanting something to do with his hands and feeling just how sober he is all of a sudden, so used to either being on a high or a comedown.

“Yeah, but fuck if I remember,” Liam says, with a shrug. “I’m going with him. Cunt’s making me get up at eight to catch the train.” Oh, fucking brilliant. Two Gallaghers to avoid in London, not just one. Is it too late to call Michael and reschedule? Probably; his mum’ll be listening if he makes a phone call when he gets back from the pub, and he doesn’t want to deal with all those questions. It does explain, though, why Liam doesn’t seem all too torn up about Noel moving so far away; Noel allowing Liam to come and look around with him is a silent acknowledgement that he knows Liam’ll be spending more time there than he will at home, most likely, so it’s got to be a place he likes too.

“You’re a fucking scrounger,” Calum tells him, knowing Liam will know what he’s talking aout, and the ghost of a smile crosses Liam’s lips, but doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he plays with the rim of his glass. Calum frowns. He’s missing something.

“What?” he asks, and Liam shrugs, a little uncomfortably. He’s feeling something he’s not sure how to articulate, then, something he can’t channel into punches or barbed words. It’s something to do with Noel, because that’s the only topic he never knows how to approach while knowing exactly how to navigate it with his eyes shut and his hands tied behind his back, but it’s not something that Noel’s done, or Calum would be fucking hearing about it, and it’s not something that Liam’s done, or Calum would also be fucking hearing about it, but from Noel. It’s got to be something else, something that Noel doesn’t know about yet, something internal for Liam. Something about him moving to London, maybe, since he’s managed to bring that part up. Something that Liam feels about Noel moving to London, something that’s making him hesitant about accepting that he’s going to be spending a lot of time at Noel’s new place-

Oh.

“He’s not doing it to get away from you, Liam,” Calum says, and Liam swallows, finger stilling on the rim of his glass for a split second, and Calum watches a little apprehensively as two conflicting emotions flash across Liam’s face; anger, irritated and embarrassed at the fact that Calum’s just called him out on it, and vulnerability, afraid and wanting Calum’s reassurance. Calum knows Liam better than almost anyone, and even he can’t ever tell which way it’s going to go. Luckily for him, though, Liam seems to struggle with himself for a moment before he exhales heavily, and slumps back in his chair.

“You don’t know that,” he says.

“I do,” Calum says. “He’s your brother, Liam.” Liam looks pained at that.

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “But- y’know. After LA.” He doesn’t say anything else - probably doesn’t know how or what to say - but Calum gets it. Everything had changed after Whiskey-a-Go-Go, shifted a few centimetres to the left, and even though everything’s okay again, it’s a different kind of okay to before.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Calum says, because it wasn’t.

“Wasn’t it? I was a right cunt.”

“You’re always a right cunt,” Calum says, but he doesn’t mean it unkindly, or even teasingly. He means that’s just how you are, and we’re all still here, aren’t we? “And anyway, so was Noel.” Liam has to concede there, tilts his head to indicate yeah, I s’pose.

“I dunno,” he says, still staring steadfastly at his empty glass. “Maybe he just needs a break from me.”

“He always needs a break from you,” Calum says. “But he never takes one.”

“Took one in LA.”

“Yeah, and then he came back,” Calum says. Liam seems to mull the words over, let them roll around in his mind, see how they feel, but Calum can see from the look on his face that they aren’t quite enough.

“Maybe you should get your own place in London,” Calum suggests. Liam looks up for the first time, brow furrowed. “Then you could be close, but not too close.” Liam’s brow stays furrowed, but he hums thoughtfully.

“You think?” he says, sounding a little uncertain. Liam moving out of Manchester is quite a big step, the city etched into his veins like none of the rest of them, but it makes sense. And, Calum thinks, they’ll probably all have to move to London, eventually. It might be better to get it done at the same time as Noel, to have someone who knows how to navigate Liam’s inevitable misplaced temper tantrums at the fucking movers or traffic or furniture shops when he’s really just stressed about the change.

“Yeah,” Calum says. “It’d do you good, anyway, being on your own. Probably do you and Noel a world of good too, not living on top of each other all the time.” Liam scrunches his face up, looking ten years younger than he is, like the annoying little kid that Noel must see him as, and then sighs heavily and nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, you’re right. Yeah. Might have a look myself tomorrow, then.” Calum swallows. Not in Camden, he thinks as loudly as possible, in case Liam’s psychic.

“Yeah, do that,” he says out loud. Liam nods again, a little more decisively this time, clearly not listening to Calum’s thoughts, and then grins at Calum, bright and easy, like the past five minutes hadn’t happened at all.

“You’re getting the next round,” he says, and Calum sighs, all long-suffering, but heaves himself out of his seat, forgetting that the table’s sticky and squawking when he puts his hands down on it to support himself. Liam laughs delightedly, like there’s nothing in the fucking world that brings him more joy than Calum’s misfortune, and Calum scowls good-naturedly and flips him off as he heads in the direction of the bar.

Well, he thinks, as he jogs down the steps leading up to their seating area and weaves through tables of increasingly tipsy old men laughing far too loudly. At least Liam’s sorted. And London really is big, right? Must be twice the size of Manchester, at least. And he’ll be in Michael’s house, anyway, won’t he? There’s no way he’ll see Noel and Liam there.

Yeah, he thinks, flagging down the bartender. It’ll be fucking fine.

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chapter six

#malum #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos slash #5sos fanfiction #ill be responding ot messages tomorrow i need some time to gather brain cells #this heat is SERIOUSLY doing me in #nadya...i have Some Thoughts but i need to collect the fics #god im literally sat in front of my fan on full blast and its just blwoing hot air at me SUFFERING #imagine not having yorkshire blood must be so nice

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