#and if you’re hoping for romance between them I’m just squashing that right now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amjustagirl · 3 years

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Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her.

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance

Wordcount: 7.8k

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics.

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!).

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time.

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out.

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter.

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball.

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party.

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back.

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air.

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory.

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head.

Why on earth did he agree to this again?

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’

His glare softens by a fraction.

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting.

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here.

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down.

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’

‘Hm.’

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews) when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey.

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively.

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender.

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree -

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek.

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest.

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness.

Then he takes a breath.

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end .

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands.

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn.

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts.

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders.

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even worse .

Much, much worse.

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand.

He ends up face planting directly into her chest.

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – ,

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt.

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed.

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.

He takes her hand with a rare smile.

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband.

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees.

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough.

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product.

He appreciates that.

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal.

He likes that.

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify.

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules.

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer.

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls.

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently.

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings.

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together.

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes. He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so I know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb.

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks.

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’ on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way.

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod.

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other.

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north.

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself.

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant.

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course.

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night.

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands.

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence.

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify.

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle.

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind.

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’.

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze.

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before.

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze.

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant.

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways.

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day.

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on.

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially.

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time.

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands.

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss.

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her.

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain.

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars.

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up.

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer.

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air.

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands.

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look.

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either.

He finds himself wondering about them.

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text.

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two?

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion.

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’.

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him?

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers.

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card.

Oikawa Tooru .

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further.

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer.

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’

He blinks. That was unexpected.

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance.

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt.

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb.

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’.

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined.

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache.

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’.

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance.

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause.

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her.

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground.

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales.

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’.

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him.

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips.

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips.

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no – it’s always going to point towards her.

They move in together after that.

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards.

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife.

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while.

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep.

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much.

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold.

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning.

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob.

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly.

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other.

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell.

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes.

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way.

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back.

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’.

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them.

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in -

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place.

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open.

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’.

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal.

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat.

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath.

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.

He waits.

Then his phone buzzes.

Ah.

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.

“Omi?”

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first.

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind.

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what I want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’.

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face.

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles.

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date.

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again.

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two.

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more.

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party.

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association.

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread.

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name.

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make.

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’.

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake.

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out - pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead.

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability.

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud.

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser.

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist:

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 3 years

Text

Meeting and Courting Jareth

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(Apologies for the long meeting, I just love him and the story of Labyrinth with all my heart)

- The thing about Jareth is that he becomes what you wish for him to be. If you want an adventure then he’ll give you one. Want romance? You’ll get it. Want an escape? He’ll whisk you away in an instant. Everything that you encounter is there because of you.

- But perhaps we’re getting ahead of ourselves. You and Jareth meet after you encounter the story of the Labyrinth at an old bookshop.

- You couldn’t quite explain why you’d entered the shop. Curiosity perhaps, you’d never been inside, in fact, you hadn’t even known it existed. But a part of you knew that it was more than that; you felt a pull towards it. It was as though something beyond your understanding had wanted you to go inside. And so you did.

- Wandering between the dusty, wooden shelves filled with old, fading books, you jumpd as an abrupt dull thud came from behind you. Once you’d turned, you found that a book had fallen off the shelves. ‘The Labyrinth’ the cover read and upon opening it, you saw the portrait of an unsightly yet endearing goblin printed on the opening page.

- You went to put it back on the shelf before an odd gnawing feeling filled you, as though you were missing out on something if you returned it to its; what you thought was it’s, rightful place. You turned the book around and gazed at the cover for another moment before deciding that you’d purchase it.

“Oh that one? That one you can have for free. See how old it is? Free, free, free. No ones bought it for many years, you’re doing me a favor by taking it.” The withered shop keeper had said as you went to hand them the book.

- Odd. You thought since nearly all of the books in the shop were just as old if not older. But who were you to turn down a persons generosity? Thanking the shop keeper, you left the store, clutching your newly owned book in your hand as you made your way home.

- Once you arrived home, you set the book down and went about the rest of your routine. It wasn’t until later that night that you actually cracked the book open, completely unaware of how invested you would become in the story.

- You spent hours devouring the pages, seldom stopping for anything and oblivious to the starry eyes which watched you from the dark of the night outside your window.

- It was a few days later that you would first encounter the goblin king in person. You’d had a bad day and felt as though you’d rather disappear forever than be a functional human being for another day. It was then that you remembered a specific quote from the story you’d read mere days before. With a solemn chuckle, you sank to the floor, closing your eyes and saying the words.

“I wish the goblins would come and take me away right now.”

- You sat silent for a long moment, taking a few deep breaths and trying to forget about the day you had. Creak! Your eyes snapped open and your head whipped to the side before you began to laugh nervously, there was nothing there.

- But in an instant, it felt as though the entire room was alive and that; even though you were completely alone, there was someone or something there with you. The distinct feeling of being watched filled you and you felt a twinge of panic invade your senses. You quickly made your way towards your back door and stepped outside …only to find that you weren’t in your backyard.

- Before you was the beautiful view of a, well, a labyrinth. It was just like the one in the book. Were you dreaming? You must have been, how else would you be …here.

- You began to walk towards the labyrinth, soon encountering the fairies, Hoggle, the worm. You marveled at the place around you and yet, you were worried. How would you get home?

- The answer wasn’t going to be anywhere outside of the labyrinth, and so you kept on going. Maneuvering your way through obstacle after obstacle, joining up with Hoggle once more who agreed to show you the way out after some bribery and blackmail. It was with Hoggle that you saw him for the first time.

- Well, it wasn’t really him at first, he was sitting on the ground in the shape of a creature-esque beggar. Even if it was him, you wouldn’t have recognized him. You moved closer to Hoggle as the two of you went to pass the blind beggar, creeping past before the creature spoke.

“Your majesty.” Hoggle said and your eyes widened. Stooping slightly, you bowed your head in a show of respect, up until the king made Hoggle confess his “true intentions behind helping you”.

- Unbeknownst to you, the goblin king was jealous of your newfound friendship with the ghastly little man and sought to squash it. Playing the role of kind king, he watched your reaction to the news, hiding his glee and making a face of teasing disappointment at the Hoggle.

“And you Y/n,” he turned his attention towards you, a smirk settling on his face as he leaned against the wall in front of you. “How are you enjoying my labyrinth?”

“Well, it’s very beautiful,” you fumbled for the right words to say, your throat dry and your stomach filled with butterflies. “I’ve enjoyed my time here, the good and the bad. But …I would like to know the way home....”

- He tsked at you before offering you a deal. If you managed to arrive at his castle in the next thirteen hours, then you could leave. But if you couldn’t, you would have to stay with him forever. With no other option, you accepted the challenge.

- Of course, he tries to foil all of your plans and attempts. Every now and again, he’ll drop in and make your mission harder. He’s always very smug whenever he messes you up and makes you take a longer route, though; at the same time, he wants you to arrive at his castle as soon as possible.

- Throughout his visits, he’ll try and win you over. Trying to impress you with his powers and woo you with his charms.

- Not many people have gotten as far as you have so believe me; he’s impressed. Though he also feels jealous as he watches you express any affection to the creatures of the labyrinth and your new friends. He threatens them every time they leave your sight.

- Regardless of his attempts to throw you off track, you do in fact make it to the castle in time. Thoroughly distraught, he offers you a final desperate deal though it sounds more like a plea. Let him rule you. Stay with him, fear him, love him. Do as he says, and he will be your slave.

- The offer makes you freeze, your heart and mind racing. For a long moment, you remain silent before you slowly open your mouth and give him your answer. Yes, you’ll stay.

- The smile he gives you is genuine and the world around you begins to put itself back together. Soon enough, you’re standing in the room full of staircases, a hopeful feeling rising within you.

“Come, let us pick your new room.” He offers you his hand and you take it, allowing him to lead you into the corridor of the castle.

- The two of you have dinner that night and both of you would consider it to be your first date. Candle light, flowers, the occasional rambunctious goblin; it was beautifully strange and you wouldn’t have changed a thing.

- The two of you share your first kiss in one of the many gardens of the Labyrinth. You were admiring the flowers and he was standing beneath a shady tree, admiring you; something he does very often.

- Out of nowhere, he stalked out from his shaded corner, hands behind his back as he leans down and kisses you. No words spoken, no questions asked and certainly no complaints made. He pulled away and you smiled up at him, though he was looking at the flowers in front of you. He only returned your smile as you turned back to the flowers happily, his heart full of adoration and gratitude.

- The two of you would only remain together forever ...not long at all.

- You’re only ever in the company of goblins and/or other creatures; and he couldn’t care less about their comfort or opinions, so pda isn’t really a problem for him. The only problem with Pda is the fact that he doesn’t want to appear too soft in front of his subjects.

- Passionate, breathtaking kisses that make you weak in the knees and send a wave of heat coursing through you.

- He loves when you come to spend time with him; or just to see him, on your own accord, even if you’re technically disrupting something. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He’ll say, his face brightening as you come into view or the instant he hears your voice.

- He craves your affection and attention, even though he’s good at hiding it. He knows that he’s been “alone” for a very long time but it still genuinely surprises him when he’s reminded as to how much he’s actually missed having a companion.

- He always gives you a closed lip smile whenever you kiss him on the cheek. How big it is depends on the situation.

- He loves when you play with his hair, he’ll lay between your legs and toy with his crystals while you braid or twirl his teased locks.

- Getting to hear him sing. He usually pulls you into a dance while he does so.

- He’s quite fond of terms of endearment, he likes that only he is truly allowed to call you them and you him. Usually, he’ll call you love, darling, pet, and my queen.

- He’s a cuddler but you aren’t allowed to let anyone know that. Most of the time, the two of you will sleep with your head on his chest, one of your hands in his and his other arm wrapped around you, keeping you close.

- He likes tracing his fingers across your skin, usually your bare back while you’re laying on your stomach next to him in bed.

- Hand kisses.

- Constant compliments and praise.

“Well don’t you look ravishing~”

- He plays little tricks on you from time to time. I’m fairly certain that he’s; at least, part fae and we all know that they’re mischievous little bastards.

- Occasionally getting spooked by him because he’ll just appear somewhere close to you out of nowhere, usually with an expression that tells you that he knew exactly what he was doing.

- He enjoys the banter that the two of you get into. He likes the little smiles he can force you into making with his teasing comments.

- Sometimes, he’ll just drape himself across you; or lay his head on some part of you, and start a conversation as though nothing is out of the ordinary; which is true because he does it enough that you’ve gotten used to it.

“Do you think it’s too much?”

- Telling him about your dreams and the little odd things that happen to you throughout the day, even though he most likely already knows about them. He finds it amusing to listen to you describe them either way.

- He likes having your full attention. He likes the feeling of being yearned for and adored, though he adores you the same amount if not more.

- He’s sorta clingy though he tries his best to hide just how clingy he is. You get little glimpses of it every now and again, like him dropping in to see what you’re doing throughout the day or having you stay close to his side whenever you can.

- He’s a; for the most part, chivalrous gentleman, even when you’re testing his patience. It doesn’t matter if you’ve just had an argument, he’s still offering you his hand to steady yourself with while climbing up the castle steps.

- Getting his capes draped over your shoulders.

- Getting to hear all of his stories about the land, the labyrinth, and all of the creatures that inhabit it.

- You definitely sit on his lap while he’s in his throne, having little conversations while the goblins jeer at each other and cause trouble around you.

- You try to get him to be nicer to the goblins and all the other creatures of the labyrinth but old habits die hard; especially since he sees them as below him. He tries though, mainly to please you.

- You’re somewhat feared by association; at least until they get to know you, which means everyone is pretty much always incredibly nice to you, even if they’re usually rude to people. After they do get to know you, then they just begin to genuinely like you enough to be kind to you.

- Although, they revert back to their; understandably, timid selves when Jareth shows up. You can; quite literally, tell when the king shows up because their smiles will drop and their eyes will widen, some cowering slightly as you glance behind your shoulder, finding the blonde watching you.

- Masquerade balls thrown in your honor.

- Strange but delicious meals.

- Nights spent in front of a fire, cuddled into his side and watching different places and dreams in his crystals.

- Watching the sun rise and set together.

- You get anything your heart desires, all you have to do is ask or mention something in passion. He’ll either leave it for you to find in your room or manifest it right then and there, raising an eyebrow at you and smirking, a sparkling little glint in his eyes.

- Magic tricks. He enjoys seeing the wonder and awe on your face.

- Hugs from behind.

- Catching him talking to the goblins about you. It’s always something that you can’t help but find cute.

- Getting dressed up in extravagant clothing. He enjoys seeing you in proper goblin ruler fashion.

- You assume your queenly duties and take it upon yourself to make the labyrinth a better place wherever you can. He doesn’t understand your need to be kind but he does find it quite adorable when you return home with dirtied clothing and mussed up hair; usually out of breath with a big smile on your face, having spent the day helping the citizens of the labyrinth.

“Well look at your dress. You’ve ruined it.” He’ll say, usually in such a fond teasing manner that you can’t help but let out a little laugh.

- All the goblins adore you, even if you don’t necessarily fit in with them and the king. They like your little quirks and contrasting personality traits as much as they like the ones that match theirs.

- Occasionally stepping in to stop him from making brash; and oftentimes cruel, decisions.

- He’s incredibly jealous. Anytime he sees someone talking to you in a relatively “too friendly” way, he’ll threaten them with the bog of eternal stench or some other horrible part of his land.

- He’s very protective of you, the labyrinth can be a very dangerous place for someone who doesn’t truly know where they’re going. He always insists that you have someone accompany you; which you usually have no problem with. He also watches you from his crystals whenever he feels that something is wrong.

- You cant be sure but you guess that Jareth has something to do with the barn owl that follows you on your little journeys through the land.

- Arguments here and there. He usually ends up either shutting you down or snapping at you, though he doesn’t ever yell. Just to be petty, you’ll ignore him and occasionally go to stay somewhere else, usually being wholeheartedly yet wearily accepted into the home of one of your strange friends.

- He’s extremely irritable during these cold shoulder sessions, snapping at the goblins more than usual and ranting to them about how you “could dare just walk out on” him. He usually makes the creatures/goblins try to convince you to talk to him. Eventually, he’ll visit, telling you that you’re acting childish before breaking; as you refuse to say a word to him, and desperately trying to get you to forgive him.

- He doesn’t say “I love you” constantly but he does say it very often. Even so, it doesn't change how special it feels every time he says it.

- He wants to marry you as soon as he can but he thinks he’ll wait for children for a little while, wanting to savor your lives together before making a new one. As surprising as it may be, he genuinely does like children and is eager to have his own, especially with you.

#80s movie imagine #80s movie imagines #80s movie headcanons #80s movie headcanon #labyrinth imagine #labyrinth headcanons #labyrinth headcanon #labyrinth imagines #jareth imagine #jareth headcanons #jareth headcanon #jareth imagines #jareth x reader

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 3 years

Text

Let Me Get Close To You

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

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

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

Read on AO3 here.

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit.”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, Pete – I want to stay.”

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

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uhhhhyandere · 3 years

Note

i would do anything for just a short one shot of orphic light x reader cuddling . its valentines day and im down bad

me too lol i hate V-day.... but chocolate is on sale tomorrow.......

this one’s for you bby and everyone else who is feeling it today. im right here with y’all <3

idk what it is tho hahahahaahh

You didn’t think about it.

Okay, okay, that was a lie. You did. Fuck, you did, but what were you supposed to do? Pretend you didn’t? Pass by other regular, healthy couples and pretend to not wish with every fiber of your being that you were them? It was tiring, so tiring to put on a face and act, to shove your emotions down down until they're squashed out of existence.

Or, at the very least, pretending they're out of existence.

But god, you had to give yourself this one. You didn’t have the power to pretend or act or ignore or do anything right now. Even if you wanted to, Light had everything down to a science from the twitch of your fingers to the drag of each syllable out of your mouth whether it was a microsecond too long or one pitch too high to be normal. Up until now, you’ve every valentine’s day deep in daydreams and fantasies full of flowers, dates, and just... happiness, however that looked like to you with whoever was home to you.

Light was definitely not what you were expecting to be your first - and most likely last one way or another - relationship, but you just wanted something normal. Something that can just give you a taste of real, tangible escapism. To feel warm and happy and cozy and appreciated and loved. For fuck’s sake, you just wanted to feel as loved as every other goddamned couple you see holding hands or - fuck - even laughing and smiling like normal people in a normal world.

That’s all.

But, no, no you couldn’t even have that. You spent ten whole minutes pacing outside Light’s office to gain the confidence to walk in and ask if you can do something, anything. All that amounted to was him grimacing and telling you to leave him “the hell alone right now,” and it hurt. Of course, it did. You finally take a risk and ask for something you want and not live every second of your life wondering what’s going to make him happy, and it gets shut down so easily. You’re not sure what would happen if you ever did that.

So, in your prepubescent turmoil, you left. You escaped the stiff air of the house and his presence, and deeply inhaled the brisk February air. It was cold, sure, but not nearly as ruthless as the winter air could be. It was actually relatively nice out. Thank fuck. You only grabbed your lighter coat in your absconding and settled for the first place of peace you can find in the city: a small park with a cobblestone path cutting through it.

The cruel, black metal of the bunch bit your ass and chilled your skin, but now you could hardly feel it. You could hardly care. What were you going to do? Get up. Sure, and go where? Wander aimlessly and just pass more restaurants brimming with everything you ever wanted? No thanks. The volume of people walking past you here was far fewer. Plus, if you leaned back to let the cold touch your thighs and stare at the cloudy sky, you didn’t have to see any of them.

You’re not sure the wetness on your cheeks began as soft drifts of white landed there or as tears crept from the corner of your eyes. You’re also not sure how long you sat there. Your legs have long since fallen asleep, succumbing to countless pins and needless. Snow was accumulating all around you, on you, even as a terrible, freezing, wet blanket you slightly shifted to knock off every so often.

It really must have been a pathetic sight to see. You shut your eyes and felt each flake land on you, hoping, eventually, they would bury you.

But they stopped.

You opened one eye to see the disturbance. Black completely overtook the sky. Ah, no, not the sky. An umbrella was tipped to cover your body entirely. Your eyes trailed down the thin metal supports to his face. Not unimpressive, not frustrated, not angry, just... there. Light looked down at you like he would look down at the sidewalk while walking any other day. A pale face sticking out of a black turtleneck under a brown coat he bought to replace the white one that was just getting too old and worn out for him.

You look away. Using the back of your finger you wipe away a tear - definitely a tear and not snow - before settling both frozen hands in your pockets. Your eyes meet for a few more seconds before he steps to the side and takes a set next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his thigh next to yours. Light held the umbrella in the small gap between you.

“What are you doing here?” You ask finally, breaking the minutes-long silence. “Thought you were busy.”

“Finished,” he replied. “Then I had to come play hide-and-seek with you when you ran out like a petulant child who didn’t get the toy they wanted at recess.” You want to shoot up straight and bitch at him, to say that it’s his fault, that everything is his fault, and to tell him that this is the least of the reactions you could offer in response to it all.

“Then leave,” you said. “I’ll come back. You know that. Just... just for today let me be... happy. Please.” Your voice cracks and you have to look away once more to wipe away more stray tears. “I just wanted something... normal.”

“Normal was out of the question from the start. In fact, don’t pretend that it was ever in the question. We’re meant for more than... normal.”

You shake your head. “Not today, Light, fuck. You’re such a fucking genius, but god, you could never read a room, could you?” Light clenched his teeth but ultimately stayed silent. At least, for the minute he spent contemplating whether to tell you to ‘come off it,’ or to play into it for the longer-term benefit of your temporary satisfaction. You beat him to the punch. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Funny enough, I knew that.”

“Well, I couldn't tell.”

“You don’t seem the type for flowers and poems, Y/N.”

“Well, you don’t seem the type to-to... you know, and that’s-god-that’s not it, and I feel so stupid, in the scheme of things, to have this bother me, but fuck, Light. I’m a human. I’m complex and shit, and I can’t do what you do. At least, not consciously.

“This is... this fucked up, sure, but it’s the first real... something I ever had with someone else. Middle school, high school, even most of college was just me existing alone. It seemed like... it seemed like every single other person just got a handbook on how to socialize, how to develop relationships, how to love and be loved that I never got. That everyone else was able to be loved, but never me. Never me. I was never picked or chosen, or, even if I was, something better would come along and I’m left in the fucking dust. It’s me, you know? Never... never enough. For once - just for once - I can feel like I’m enough. That I’m not deciding every second if I’m breathing too loud or not being useful or whatever.”

By the time you’re done, you feel far too comfortable in the silence that follows. You’re not horrified of what he’s going to do in response. You settled back down and shut your eyes. “That’s all,” you add pointlessly, “and, I’m not sure if you can tell, I really, really hate this holiday.”

Light stood up. You watch him, like before, with one eye. The umbrella rests on his shoulder at an angle, and with his free hand, he extended his palm out to you. You furrowed your brows and quadruple your number of chins to look down at it. Light rolled his eyes.

“You could stay here if you want.” You kind of wanted to. Spending a few more hours alone was tempting, but... but that’s what you always were, have been. You had one chance - one person - left to change that.

His hand was warm over your own. It kept you centered and balanced as he led you down the snow-covered streets. Though it’s nothing like the pure joy emanating from others, it was something. It could probably be compared to two business partners walking stiffly while holding hands if you’re being honest.

But for this, you can act for.

You played pretend the rest of the way home until you convinced yourself you were in a good mood. You refused his offer of food when you return home. Instead, you nestled under a large white blanket and clicked on whatever was on: some cliche romance fic Light would never, on any other day, stand for. You could heat Light shifting around in the kitchen behind you. He emerged with two mugs with steam rising in small swirls above them. Light placed them on the table and you watched him motion for you to raise the blanket.

Light slipped in beside you, and you wondered how painful it was for him to wrap his arm around your shoulder. It’s stiff, uncomfortable, and a bit cold, but not surprising. You shut your eyes and imagine... you try to imagine someone else, but there’s no one else you could picture besides Light. Anyone else felt... wrong, so you opted to watch the snowfall through the windows. Turning your body towards him more, you snuggle into him and rest your head on his shoulder.

His hand rose between you. You figured it’s him adjusting himself or the blanket, but you’re surprised when his fingers lightly grab your chin and lift your head. There’s no time to react before his lips land on yours.

Oh yes, you can act today. For today, you can pretend. You could let your heart be filled and convinced you are loved, because tomorrow, tomorrow was never guaranteed.

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flourgirl · 3 years

Text

When We First Met

Part I of “The Unbelievers” series

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You’re the new intern at Stark Industries and you’ve made it your mission to figure out just how Peter Parker became Mr. Stark’s favorite.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: A slow burn with a few curse words thrown around.

A/N: This fic helped drag me out of my writer’s block, so I really hope you guys like it! Happy reading <3

“Have you been talking for a million years? Did I go deaf because you're burnin' my ears? Spare the details, it's unnecessary I got places to be and people to see” -It’s Not All About You, Lawrence

The first time you met Peter Parker, he was actually tolerable. It was your first day at Stark Industries, and you had just gotten your job assignment as Pepper’s assistant’s assistant. In other words, you were about to spend your days making coffee runs and changing out ink cartridges.

“Hey, uh, do you need some help?” he had asked as you struggled to carry two boxes of printer paper all the way to the copy room on the other side of the building.

“Yeah, for sure,” you huffed, not being able to see who your savior was over the stack of boxes. When he took both of the boxes out of your arms, you were met with his dopey grin and wavy, brown hair.

He’s cute, you thought. But all you dared to say was, “Thank you so much. I felt like I was about to die.”

The two of you shared a laugh at your dramatics before you continued walking.

“No problem. I was headed this way, anyway,” he replied nonchalantly. You caught yourself staring at how light he made the boxes seem. He must’ve been a lot stronger than his baggy, oversized sweatshirt made him look. “Are you new? I’ve never seen you around before.”

Peter had to slow his pace down a lot to let you catch up to him. He wasn’t used to taking casual strolls around the office, always having to run over to wherever Mr. Stark was at a moment’s notice.

“It’s my first day, actually,” you admitted, offering him a weak smile. You weren’t much of a conversationalist, especially not when it came to cute guys who looked that good in sweatshirts with dorky math jokes printed across the front of them. “Are you an intern, too?”

“Yeah! I’ve been working here since I was fifteen,” he told you, leaning against the doorway of the copy room. “But I don’t do anything too important. Mostly just fly under the radar and do what Mr. Stark tells me to.”

Your eyes widened. “Whoa, you work directly with Mr. Stark? You must be one important guy.”

Peter blushed, not knowing how to backtrack out of the hole he had just dug for himself. “Uh, not really. We’re not like friends or anything. It’s just, Mr. Stark knows about all of my science fair projects and—”

“You aren’t making yourself sound any less impressive,” you interrupted, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes at him as he set the boxes down on the counter. “So, Einstein, who are you?”

“Parker. Peter. Shit, sorry, it’s Peter Parker. I have to go now. Bye!” he blurted out, running from the room before you could even tell him your name.

A girl who looked about your age slipped into the copy room, startling you out of your confused state. “Were you just talking to Peter Parker?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?” you questioned, hoping she’d have some sort of explanation for why he acted the way he did.

“He’s basically Mr. Stark’s surrogate child,” she said, sipping one of the many coffees that she was carrying. “I’m Grace, by the way.”

“Y/N. What do you mean by ‘surrogate child?’”

“It’s like, everywhere Mr. Stark goes, so does Peter. That thing with you and him was basically the first time any of us had ever seen him next to a printer, and he’s only talked to a handful of us once or twice. Guess he’s just too busy being the golden boy to associate with the less important interns.”

Of course. The first chance at a cute office romance that you get is squashed by the fact that the guy you like is an antisocial jerk. But that’s not how he seemed to you, so why was his reputation with the other interns so bad?

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

It had been one week since you started working, and every day you learned more and more reasons why everyone hated Peter Parker. He didn’t make coffee runs and nobody had seen him at an intern meeting in the last year. And yet, somehow, he was the CEO’s favorite. It was annoying, to say the least.

You actually hadn’t seen Peter around ever since you had first met, which only helped to confirm the rumors that he’d rather eat lunch alone than be forced to talk to any of you. You hated that even when Grace or anyone else wasn’t dragging Peter through the mud, you were still thinking about his stupidly adorable Queens accent and whatever the hell he could be doing that was so important.

Of course, the next time Peter decided to grace the cafeteria with his presence was when Mr. Stark had just arrived back from a business trip to Germany. Figures that he would take his favorite on the trip of a lifetime. Your bitterness grew as you imagined Peter relaxing in the company’s private jet, but it wasn’t until he held up the elevator that you really started to hate him.

“Hey,” he panted, slipping into the elevator just before the doors closed. Once again, your hands were full, this time with a stack of folders meant for Pepper to look over. “You’re that new girl. Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.”

“You didn’t,” you noted, turning to look away from him in the hopes that he’d get the message. You weren’t interested in giving him the time of day.

“Did I do something to upset you?” He rubbed the back of his neck while he waited for the answer that you didn’t plan on giving him.

The awkward silence between the two of you was starting to feel especially long when the worst thing possible happened. Loud creaking noises came from the elevator shaft, shaking the two of you as the cables screeched to a halt.

“You have got to be kidding me!” you groaned, setting the files down to press the emergency call button. You had luckily never actually had to use one of these things, but that also meant that you had no idea how to work it.

“Hi, I’m here with another intern and we’re currently stuck in the elevator on the west wing, between floors four and five. Could you send someone over to get us out, please?” You pleaded into the little phone, bitterness lacing your voice.

“What do you mean it’ll take two hours? What do you expect us to do, sit here and play checkers?” You could feel your face heating up as you panicked over the fact that you were going to be stuck in this metal death trap for a while.

Peter walked over to you, leaning against the wall of the elevator to take over the conversation before your attitude extended the wait to three hours. You begrudgingly handed the phone over to him.

“Hey, could you put Mr. Stark on the line?” You couldn’t hear what the person was saying, but you could guess that it wasn’t very positive.

“Well, tell him it’s Peter and…” He looked at you, mouthing for you to give your name.

“Y/N,” you muttered, continuing to pace back and forth as the tiny box that you two were stuffed in started to feel smaller and smaller with each minute that passed.

“Y/N. Five minutes? Alright, thank you so much, Alice! Have a great day.” You were irritated by his effortless charm with others, despite how awkward you knew him to be.

“Um… thank you.” You rubbed your arm awkwardly.

“Are you okay? You seem a little on edge.”

“I’m fine! I just… really need to get out of here.” You wanted to keep pacing back and forth, but you were too busy hyperventilating to think about moving your legs. Peter watched as your eyes started to water, not sure about what he could do to make you calm down.

He stepped closer towards you, which only made you feel even more anxious than you already were. You didn’t want him to see you like this.

“Y/N,” Peter whispered, wrapping his arms around you. You looked up at him in surprise, your eyes probably red and puffy from crying.

“What are you doing?” you sobbed, leaning in closer to him. It was comforting, but you were so embarrassed that you were crying in the arms of a complete stranger.

“Well, uh, I know that hugging someone can release endorphins, more specifically dopamine and serotonin, that calm them down. And it relaxes the muscles, and I know that when babies hear their mom’s heartbeats they feel better, so I just thought—”

“Peter.”

“Yeah?”

“Please stop talking.” You leaned into the hug, taking in the clean smell of his sweater and how warm he was. Little by little, your breathing slowed down.

“Okay,” he agreed, holding you tighter, one of his hands gently stroking your hair in the comfortable silence that had filled the elevator.

You almost forgot about where you were when the elevator jolted upwards, causing you to wriggle out of Peter’s grip and pick your files back up off the ground. When the doors opened, you scrambled out without a word.

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

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter began, fiddling with one of the many decorations around Tony’s office. “I… I think that, maybe, I should be doing, you know, more intern-y things around here.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow, looking up from his computer screen. “Let me get this right, kid. You’re asking me to give you random tasks to do around the office?”

“Uh, yes?” Peter answered, unsure if he had just made a big mistake or not. His confidence was dwindling by the second.

“Now, why on earth would I do that? What if we need Spider-Man for a mission, but Peter Parker is too busy getting some jackass down in HR a peppermint mocha latte?”

“Well, I mean… I just… Some of the other interns are getting kind of mad that you don’t make me run errands or come to any of their meetings, and I’m just worried that they’re getting a little bit too suspicious that I’m always with you and—”

“If I say yes, will you please stop rambling?” Tony groaned, returning to finish typing whatever Peter had just interrupted.

“Yes,” Peter squeaked. For once in his life, his inability to stop talking had been beneficial.

“Fine. Here, go sit downstairs and take the staples out of these packets. And then re-staple them.”

Peter immediately perked up again, excited to be someone other than Spider-Man to Tony. “Right away, Mr. Stark. Thank you so much! Bye!” He quickly ran out of the office and downstairs to where he knew some of the interns liked to have their lunch breaks.

“Is that Peter?” you heard Grace ask in between bites of her panini. Your head perked up to see his head tilted down, making only his soft brown curls visible from where you were sitting.

You squinted, wondering what kind of task had him so engrossed, and why he was sitting over here. He never sat here, especially not while you were eating lunch. Carlos, who interned in accounting, glanced over at Peter before taking his seat across from you.

“Parker sure does seem interested in removing staples all of a sudden,” he laughed, unwrapping his tortilla wrap from its aluminum foil.

You couldn’t believe it. He was just pretending to be doing something. “That’s it? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Before your friends could stop you, you were marching over to Peter’s table, tapping your foot as you waited for him to notice you.

You cleared your throat, finally catching his attention. “Hi, Y/N,” he grinned, looking back down to meticulously bend back the small metal arms of the staple, freeing the sheets of paper from each other.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Taking out staples.”

“Is this some kind of joke? Some weird way of you proving that Mr. Stark totally doesn’t give you special treatment or something?” Peter got nervous, realizing how quickly you had caught onto his ruse. He needed a way to distract you and fast.

“You, um, you look pretty today,” he told you, not even looking up to meet your cold stare.

A blush started to spread across your cheeks when you realized what he had said. Surely the quick glance he had just given you wasn’t enough for him to actually know what you looked like today.

“Nice try, Parker. You barely even looked at me. Showering me with false compliments isn’t going to stop me from figuring out what the hell you’re actually up to around here.” You countered, satisfied that his plan wasn’t working as well as he wanted it to.

“Didn’t need to look. You’re pretty every day,” Peter replied calmly. He didn’t even realize what he was saying until it had come out of his mouth. It was true. He thought you looked nice every time he saw you, but you didn’t seem to take his compliments very well, and so he never told you.

But you didn’t know that he actually meant it. He’s just messing with you, you reasoned, regaining your composure.

“Whatever,” you huffed. “Just some advice: next time, you should try to come up with something better than taking out the staples of packets that clearly never had any problems in the first place.”

He peered up to see you turn on your heels and walk back to your friends, who had been carefully watching the two of you this entire time.

“Was that a lovers’ quarrel?” Carlos teased as you sat back down. You rolled your eyes at him, and Grace giggled at your insistence that nothing was going on between you and Peter.

“Yeah, it looked like things were getting a little hot and heavy,” she added.

“Shut up, you guys. We definitely are not lovers,” you assured them, digging back into your grilled cheese.

“Sure. So if there’s nothing going on, then why did Yuri tell me that he saw you guys making out in the elevator on the security cameras?” Carlos asked, making you snap your head at him mid-bite, your eyes widening.

Fucking Yuri. All of those security interns were just nosy and power-hungry, but you’d have to deal with him another time.

“We were not making out! We were just stuck in the elevator and—”

“You guys decided to have a romantic embrace?” Grace questioned, only further exasperating you. “Come on, Y/N, just admit it. You have a crush on Peter.”

“No, I don’t! I wouldn’t date Peter if he were the last guy on the planet,” you yelled, suddenly aware of how loud you had become.

You looked around the room to see many confused faces staring back at you, including Peter’s, which had a frown on it.

You watched as he collected his stack of papers and walked out of the room, staring so hard at the floor that he almost ran into two women who were walking by.

“Geez, Y/N. We were only joking. It’s okay,” Carlos said, holding back a laugh at your little scene.

“You guys suck,” you huffed, settling down to hopefully enjoy the rest of your lunch break in peace.

You needed to forget about the way that Peter had looked at you just a minute ago, full of hurt and disappointment. He didn’t actually care, you thought to yourself, even though you weren’t quite sure if that were true.

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman #spiderman x reader #mcu #marvel #tom holland x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you

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cindersandroses · 3 years

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Digital Get Down, Chapter 5

AUTHORS: cindersandroses ( losille2000 and cinderella1181)

CHAPTERS: 5/?

PAIRING: Actor!Henry Cavill/ Plus-Size OFC

GENRE: Romance/Fluff/HUMOR

FIC SUMMARY: When SuperHank met OrcPrincessPeach on the World of Warcraft message boards, it was love at first raid. Now, almost a year later, they’re ready to take the next step and meet in person. Half a world away from each other, both decide to meet in Atlanta for DragonCon, since she was already going to be there for her work as a game designer at Blizzard… never mind that she is a devout nerd. They both have to face the fact that reality is very different from a digital world.

RATING: Mature

WARNING: Mentions of assault.

AUTHORS NOTES: Love you all!

Also on AO3!

Chapter 5

Opal turned to the side as she looked at herself in the full length mirror on the back of the closet door. She smoothed the front of her dress over her rounded belly and picked at the slight ruching that was meant to help hide her imperfections along with the black color of the dress, but it did neither. There’d be no hiding anything. This was about as bodycon as one could get, and indeed she bought it a long time ago because she thought she looked hot in the form fitting silk. As soon as she got it home, though, and really looked at herself wearing it in the harsh light of day, she put it away, in the back of her closet with the other beautiful clothes she’d bought but never found the courage to wear.

That was changing. Now. Today. Okay, not today. But as soon as she walked back into her house. She planned to go straight to her closet and pull them all out and wear each of them as soon as she had the right opportunity or occasion. Considering that most of them were on the fancier side of things, meant for dates, she figured she’d have more chances to wear them now, anyway.

Even though she and Henry would literally be halfway across the globe from each other after this weekend. She couldn’t dwell on that fact, though. If she did, then the sadness set in. She refused to let that particular emotion claw its way back. They’d make it work if it was going to work. It wasn’t like she couldn’t just take her computer places and work there.

If she could convince her boss to allow frequent trips.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t also spend part of his time in Los Angeles.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Henry walked by behind her, drawing her attention away from those troubling thoughts. He fumbled with the cufflink on his left shirt cuff. She was going to make a quip about it, but the words died on her lips when she noticed he looked at her like a fat kid looked at cake. He licked his lips, smiled, and walked into the bathroom.

She couldn’t help but blush. She never would’ve believed he was truly stealing glances at her, but that notion had been squashed earlier at the spa. In fact, now she was hyper aware of his long, molten stares.

And it was all because of the wonderful esthetician who completed her facial after their massage. What had started out as a traumatic experience ended up making her feel the most confident she’d ever felt in her own skin, thanks in part to Jessa the esthetician’s enlightening conversation.

“He’s looking at you like you are the purest water and he’s just had some hot sauce.”

Opal giggled, and blushed, looking at the woman. “I just keep thinking he’s going to be like, ‘Ugh, not my type’ and leave, Jessa.”

“Girl, please. You got one of those peach bottoms that men love to get a handful of. You already got him eating out of your hand, he’s not stopped glancing over here this whole time,” Jessa said, putting her hand on her hip. “And if he does do that, I got a handful of fine brothers who would eat that peach bottom up. So you just let Jessa know and I’ll hook you up.”

The comment made Opal laugh loudly, disturbing the serenity of the spa and resulted in a few perturbed glares from other clients. Henry had glanced up, one eyebrow raised in interest. She smiled at him sweetly and he went back to his shave. Opal smiled. “Thank you, Jessa. I’ll keep you updated.”

Opal had made sure to slip Jessa an extra tip, even though she was sure Henry had tipped everyone well. Stingy wasn’t really a word she would use to describe this man, not materially or emotionally.

Or physically.

Definitely not physically. He liked touching. Being affectionate.

She did not; or, more aptly, she was not used to it in the romantic sense. But she wasn’t even that affectionate with her family. There were a few hugs here and there as a child, but they weren’t overly huggy. And then there was the other thing he didn’t know about, because she never talked about it, that prevented her from initially enjoying his touches.

It was getting easier, though, the more he touched her. She found, with some relief, that she actually quite liked being close to him in that way. Perhaps there was hope for her, after all.

Opal moved away from the mirror and followed his trail to the bathroom. She rested a hip on the door jamb and watched him finish his grooming. He saw her in the mirror and smiled.

“Like what you see?” he asked, that insidious brow raised.

“Nah,” she said with a grin. “I was just thinking about how you use twice the product I do.”

Henry rubbed his hands on a hand towel to remove the remnants of whatever moisturizer he’d used on his freshly shaved jaw. “That’s because it takes a lot to make me look this good. You’re already bloody gorgeous, so you don’t need it.”

Her cheeks heated and she shifted her weight awkwardly on her bare feet. Why were compliments so difficult to take?

“And as an answer to your question, I do like what I see,” she replied. “I appreciate your efforts. But I also love getting to just observe each other. That’s what we were missing over the last year.”

Henry stopped and smiled at her. “I watched you getting ready, and that’s why I’m so behind. I couldn’t stop watching you. You are enchanting,” he whispered.

The air caught in her lungs upon hearing the deep gravelliness of his sentiment. He closed the distance between them. The hunger, the lust, the pain, the joy, the need, all passed across his face. He leaned down and brushed his lips across her temple. “We’re going to make a hell of a couple tonight, Princess.”

“Yes, we are,” she replied breathlessly.

“Let me finish getting ready. You are distracting.”

Opal giggled. “Pot, kettle.”

She moved away from the door and went back to the bed to struggle into the sky high heels she had thought would be great to wear, but now she regretted the decision to pack them. Her feet were going to ache by the end of the night. But--the minx inside her reminded--that could possibly lead to another massage. This time, just with Henry.

As she finished up the last buckle on the strappy things and stretched her legs out to check how they looked, she noticed Henry watching from across the room with a glazed look in his eyes. She laughed at him, because it was the exact same look she’d had as he secured the waistcoat around his trim torso. “This… me putting on shoes shut you down?”

Henry reanimated with a shrug. “I have a thing for really high strappy, almost slutty, heels. Nothing like…” He stopped and blushed slightly. “Uh, never mind.”

Opal stood up and went over to him, just barely shorter than him now, and grinned. “I will have to remember that for later,” she replied.

“Oh, god, please do. Bonus points for silk stockings and the whole belt contraption,” he murmured.

She giggled. “You know, men and women are so different. You want the littlest piece of clothing on me, but I’d rather see you in a three piece suit.”

“I can fuck in a three piece suit just as well as I can without,” he teased.

His comment, and the harsh word, caught her off guard. Taking the opportunity, he went over to grab his cell phone. He beckoned her with a crooked finger. “Come here.”

She didn’t ask for clarification or even think about it; her feet in their dangerous footwear moved of their volition. When she reached him, he wrapped his arm around her and kissed her head, all while snapping a quick picture. He looked at it, smiled, and turned it around for her to view.

Her cheeks were high with color. Her skin glowed; her eyes sparkled. Her smile showed almost every one of her teeth. Everything about it made her seem so vital, so alive, so… beautiful. She had never seen herself so happy. Simply being near him made her want to beam from ear to ear.

He smiled softly. “Now you see what I see when I look at you.”

“I don’t always look like this,” she protested.

“You do,” he replied. “Let me send this to you so you can send it to Amber.”

Opal shifted uncomfortably. She’d completely forgotten about sending Amber a picture. What kind of friend was she, anyway?

“We can’t bring our phones tonight,” he explained. “Something about making sure nothing unflattering gets out.”

Opal looked up at him and nodded. “Okay. Let me just send Amber a text telling her I’m going out for the night.”

She saved the picture to her phone and opened up the text stream with her friend. She took the picture, sent it, and wrote, “I don’t think I ever expected my Hank to be this real. Going out for the night. Talk to you in the morning.”

She plugged her phone in, stood up, and took Henry’s hand. “Okay. Let’s go.”

~~~

Opal stood in the atrium of the Georgia Aquarium and sighed. She was enchanted. She’d been here a ton of times before at previous cons, but never on a night specifically designed to be an intimate cocktail party with all of the con’s celebrity guests.

What actually was her life right now?

Henry talked to Dany and Dwayne, and she couldn’t get over the fact that she was standing next to The Rock. How many times had she sat next to her brothers while they watched this giant man wrestle? If someone had told her this was going to be her life when she left Los Angeles the night before, she’d have told them they were lying. It was all a little surreal.

Dany smiled at her, obviously picking up on the fact that she had zoned out and had literal stars in her eyes. “So, Opal, what do you do?”

Opal hummed and blinked at her. “Yeah, sorry. I’m a designer and programmer for Blizzard. I have been there, oh gosh, almost ten years now. Best job I have ever had.”

“And you live with?” Dany inquired.

Opal understood Dany’s reticence to accept her into the group. Dany didn’t want anything to harm the business, and even though she seemed tough, she clearly cared deeply for both men as friends. Still, though, Opal didn’t think she gave off a crazy fan vibe.

“My best friend, from like middle school,” Opal said, moving to stand closer to Dany. She leaned in to speak quietly. “I know you’re worried about me using him, I get that, trust me. If I was in your position I would, too. But honestly, Dany, I didn’t even know he was him… until this morning when I arrived. I just thought he was a dorky British guy named Hank. That was it. In the months leading up to this I just got to know his heart and who he is, not Henry Cavill, God’s gift to women. I knew SuperHank, the cleric who runs around healing people, because he is that guy. I got to know the Hank who was shy and loved to cook and gets excited about Warhammer and new fantasy novels. Who tells me constantly that I am worthy and beautiful.”

Dany beamed at her. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.”

“And frankly, you scare me a little bit, so I won’t do anything untoward,” Opal said.

Dany laughed and flexed a bicep. “Don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t.”

“But seriously, Opal,” she said and grabbed Opal’s hand. “He needs someone he can love with his whole being, and I’ve never seen him happier than when he has spoken to me about you.” She squeezed her hand. “It’s not going to be easy, but I promise to make sure you’re okay and safe, and that you can be with him.”

Opal grinned. “He is pretty special.” She looked beside her, expecting to find him there. “And... gone, apparently.”

Lauren smiled at her. “He and Dwayne went to get some drinks.”

Opal felt her stomach clench. She tried to smile, but before she could muster one, Henry was back by her side. He handed her a flute of champagne. “Here, Princess.”

Opal took the glass from him and didn’t say a word. Her jaw clenched and it took everything in her to stop her hand from shaking.

Henry frowned. “Is that okay? Do you want something else?”

“Huh? Oh, no, it’s fine,” she replied and tried to smile again. Even though she couldn’t see it, she knew it came off as more of a grimace because of the expression Henry returned. He knew something was wrong, but the words to explain it to him failed to form on her tongue.

Not that she really had the chance to say anything, anyway. A loud, booming voice rang out across the atrium, “LITTLE BRUDDA!!!”

Opal spun around and watched in abject horror as two grown men raced towards each other and chest bumped each other like drunken frat boys.

Dwayne shook his head. “Seriously, you two? We’re in public.”

Henry came back and smiled. “Jason, my man, this… is Opal.”

Jason looked at her, his eyebrow raised. “Well, hello there, beautiful. I’m Jason…” He took her free hand and kissed the back of it. “If he gives you any trouble, let me know.”

Opal blushed. “Thank you. I will.”

Dazzled once more by the Man Also Known As Khal Drogo, Henry startled her with a hand on the small of her back. She looked up at him, still holding the flute from which she had not yet had a drop of champagne.

Henry leaned down into her ear. “Do you want me to get something else for you?”

She shook her head. “No, I just, uh… I’m going to get my own drink.”

She excused herself and headed over to the bar, trying to convince herself that she wasn’t running away from him and running away from the conversation she should have already had with him, even before they both decided to meet here in Atlanta.

She wasn’t in line long when she felt his presence behind her.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, concern written all over his face.

“I am, honestly. I just… well… it’s stupid. I don’t drink anything that I don’t see poured myself, and I very rarely drink alcohol in public. I should have told you. It’s just my hang up and, gah... I’m sorry I freaked out a little bit.”

Henry’s eyebrows knit together. He nodded, but he clearly wanted more.

“Let me get my drink and we’ll take a walk and talk, okay?” she asked, hoping to smooth things over.

He nodded and stood quietly with her. Even though he was clearly confused and maybe a little angry, his presence was still one that calmed her and she found herself resting against his sturdy bulk as they waited. Opal ordered her cranberry juice in a martini glass. To anyone other than herself and Henry, it looked like a Cosmo. It was her fallback when she wanted to hang out with the cool kids but didn’t want to do what the cool kids were doing. Because that one time she did what the cool kids were doing? She lived to regret it.

She took his hand and started to walk through the first exhibit. Opal paused at a tube enclosure in the middle of the room full of jellies. A black light shone down into the water, illuminating the sea creatures as they performed a graceful, haunting dance around their tank. She stood quietly, Henry standing next to her, silent, thinking.

Finally, she cleared her throat from the heavy emotion making it difficult to breathe. “I was drugged.”

Henry’s fingers curled into her back. Though he tried to mask the sharp intake of air, his gasp was still audible. “Opal, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” she said, just barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t just that. Amber and I were freshmen in college and I wanted to fit in. We went to a frat party. A guy we had art history with invited us.”

His anger was palpable; it wasn’t anger directed at her, though. Somehow, she knew that, as she stared at the gelatinous orbs bobbing through the water. She took a sip of the cranberry juice before moving on.

“I woke up the next morning, head fuzzy, in a room I had never seen before, and my panties around my ankles.” She braved a look up at Henry, to gauge his reaction. The sharp line of his jaw was set, his rage evident.

For some reason, it was cathartic to share this secret with another human. Amber knew, of course. Amber had nursed her back from the brink after they got home from the hospital.

“It’s the reason I pull away sometimes when you touch me, and the reason I am so unsure of myself. I’m sorry I never told you before, but you have a right to know.”

Henry didn’t speak; he looked at a point beyond her, staring in stony silence for the longest time. He finally tore his focus away from that point and gazed down at her. His face spoke volumes, even before his words did. He rested his chin on her head and wrapped her in his arms. “You know I would never, ever do that.”

“Oh, no, I do! I just… I want so badly for you to touch me, to be yours, I just need… time,” she said. “I don’t even know if I’m actually a virgin or not. I don’t know what they did to me. The next morning, Amber took me to the ER and a rape kit was done, but it was inconclusive. I’m sorry if this changes the way you feel about being with me.”

Henry pulled away from her and put his drink on the floor. He took her face gently in his hands. “I never, ever would feel any different about you. I just… I understand now.” He kissed her forehead, but didn’t move his lips from the spot they’d touched. His next words were muffled, but the meaning behind them was everything. “My promise to you is that I will not hurt you, and it’s all going to be at your pace.”

She smiled and pushed his hands away from her face. With her free hand, she reached up and let her hand rest on the nape of his neck. “Well, then, we can do this, cause I’m very ready for it.”

With little strength, she pulled him down to her and kissed him. It wasn’t passionate or chaste; it was somewhere in the middle. A reassurance. A promise. Her promise to be as open with him as possible. His cue that she was okay with him pushing her boundaries. And she loved him for it.

#Henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fan fiction #henry cavill fan fic #dgd #digital get down #tw:mentions of assault

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greenbergsays · 5 years

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Good afternoon, are y’all ready for feelings again? Let’s talk about the break-up scene.

“But, Des,” you say, “you’ve already talked about the break-up scene!”

Yeah, I talked about the actual break-up, let’s talk about THE BEGINNING OF IT.

This isn’t really what I wanted to talk about, but it’s just another one of those great moments that I love between them.

Crowley, literally two seconds ago, says: “You’re ridiculous, I don’t know why I’m still talking to you,” and walks away.

But as soon as Aziraphale says, “You can’t leave, Crowley!” He turns around and just drops this bomb.

“Enough, I’m leaving.” / “We can go off together!”

Honestly, do the two of you even know how to be properly mad at one another? The answer is no.

But like I said, that wasn’t really what I wanted to talk about.

What I wanted to talk about is what happens directly after that. I wanna talk about Aziraphale’s reaction.

The way his expression goes slack, lips parting, it’s surprise, yes, but it’s also more. It’s awe.

There are no words, none whatsoever, that do justice to Michael Sheen’s voice in this moment.

“Go off together?” So soft, filled with disbelief and longing, like in those three words, Crowley has given him everything he’s ever wanted, but never even dared to dream about.

And then there’s this. He takes a little fortifying breath like Crowley’s just knocked the air out of him.

The thing that kills me, though, is that as soon as he realizes that he’s daring to hope, he has to reel himself in again. Because he is Aziraphale and he doesn’t get what he wants.

A little sigh as he lets that same breath go, his shoulders dropping again.

First of all, before I go off on a tangent, I wanna talk about Crowley’s body language.

He’s just said, “let’s go off together,” and he’s standing there with arms wide open like he’s offering up his entire self to Aziraphale, and in some ways he is, but it just kILLS me to see, knowing what’s coming next.

Now onto my tangent:

Listen to yourself, Aziraphale says. It’s a silly thought to entertain; a pipe dream.

This is the moment, the very second, that Aziraphale teeters on the knife’s edge of a life-changing decision.

Taking what he wants means turning his back on Heaven. Being obedient to Heaven means losing Crowley.

For six thousand years, he’s been able to put off this decision, but he’s been aware more and more that it’s coming, that he’ll have to choose some day. Maybe in those first days, it would’ve been easy for him to choose Heaven.

But six thousand years later, it isn’t. Six thousand years later, the idea of choosing Heaven over Crowley makes him feel like he’s unraveling at his very core.

He needs to be talked into it, though, the same way Crowley talks him into everything else. Needling him, coaxing him, spouting absolute logic at him--because logic is the language that Aziraphale speaks most fluently--until Aziraphale can make his decision and feel good about it.

It’s easy to say that Aziraphale is a worrier and you would not be incorrect in saying so. But let’s call a spade a spade: Aziraphale has anxiety. Seemingly very severe anxiety.

The first time we meet him, he says, “Oh, I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing,” and then he spends the next six episodes worrying about that very thing.

That is his defining trait. He needs to do the right thing and his entire life is spent wondering if he’s succeeding.

The thing that Crowley does--that no one else will do, keep in mind! and that I think is absolutely, utterly wonderful--is he talks it through with Aziraphale. He doesn’t just say, “Stop being a worrywart,” or “Why are you worried about this?” or “You worry too much.”

No, he acknowledges and accepts Aziraphale’s anxiety as part of who he is and instead of dismissing or ridiculing it, he helps to ease that anxiety with the thing that works best for Aziraphale: logic.

Crowley gamely engages Aziraphale’s worries and lays out careful arguments to show that no, dove, you aren’t doing the wrong thing. This is the thing to do, I promise, and here’s why.

That way when Aziraphale makes his decision, he won’t worry about it afterward.

I mean, think about Aziraphale after he makes the decision to help thwart the apocalypse & raise Warlock with Crowley. Crowley’s the one voicing his worries in the flashes we see, not Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s fears have been squashed by Crowley and now he Knows he’s doing the right thing, no anxiety present.

So the thing is...he needs Crowley to do it again. He’s giving Crowley the opportunity to ease his fears again.

And Crowley tries to because he knows that’s how this song and dance goes:

He tries.

Aziraphale has spent the past 6,000 years putting boundaries on who and what they are to each other.

Crowley has spent 6,000 years trying to respect those boundaries. He’s ass over teakettle in love with Aziraphale, but he’s spent 6,000 years knowing that he can’t say that because to love one another is to disobey orders.

Something that Crowley is very comfortable with, but which Aziraphale is not.

And, of course, to say that first would be making himself too vulnerable. If he says it first, what if Aziraphale balks? What if it’s not okay to love him?

Of course, this whole conversation between them is a love declaration and Aziraphale does balk. And Crowley, as he walks away with a crumbling heart, is secretly glad that he did not say the words.

So he chooses the word “friend.” His question is calculated, but it’s also a miscalculation.

“How long have we been friends?”

Because I think that “friends” is a bucket of cold water for Aziraphale.

It’s the very moment when he starts to backtrack. It’s when he starts to pull away from Crowley and everything that's being offered. It’s when he starts building up his walls again.

It’s not that Aziraphale doesn’t value what they have--it’s not that what they have isn’t enough--it’s that he is in love with Crowley and he erroneously assumes that he needs more in order to turn his back on Heaven.

He wants the big sweeping gesture, he wants Crowley to say, “I’ve been in love with you for six thousand years, run away with me before the Apocalypse comes.”

Aziraphale has no doubts at all about how he feels about Crowley, but if he’s going to give up Heaven, he needs to know that Crowley doesn’t have any doubts, either. He needs to know that they’re on the same page, that they always have been.

He thinks he needs more of a commitment than “we’re friends, let’s go off together.” (Probably because among his first editions, he has quite a few trashy romance novels. Don’t base romance on that, Aziraphale, ffs.)

And Crowley? Crowley is looking back at the past six thousand years and assuming that the commitment bit was obvious.

Aziraphale wants a big gesture because he's looking for Crowley's behavior to change, and to change in a way that indicates his feelings. He can’t turn his back on Heaven for things that are unsaid.

The problem with that, though, is that Crowley's behavior can't change. It can’t because he's been in love since they met. He's ALWAYS acted in love, he can't just start now because Aziraphale’s ready for it.

Aziraphale wants a big sweeping gesture and Crowley thinks that standing there with his arms wide open, offering to run away together, is the gesture.

These dumbasses are so close to getting what they both want, it’s right at their fingertips. They’re on the same page of the same damn book, it’s just different translations.

Now please look at it again, along with what Aziraphale says next:

the thing

that absolutely kills me

about this fucking part

is that Aziraphale can’t even look at Crowley when he says it.

That very last gif, he manages to glance at him for a second before he has to look away again, but other than that, he has to look away when he rejects what Crowley is offering, while he rejects what he so badly wants to accept

The other thing that kills me--actually there are two other things.

One is the look on his face as he says, “We’re an angel and a demon,” as if he’s having to remind himself of this fact.

They aren’t friends. They can’t be friends. They can’t be more. They are an angel and a demon. There’s no future for them; there can’t be, because this is what they are.

The other thing that kills me is that that line--”We are an angel and a demon.”--is such a meaningless party line and they both know it.

They’re so far past what they are that the fact that Aziraphale has to remind himself of it is telling in and of itself.

It’s such an arbitrary thing to them at this point that Crowley doesn’t even bother arguing with it.

The idea that that’s a reason to do or not do anything is just silly, honestly.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #the nice and accurate ramblings of desdemona greenberg #shout out to kedreeva for helping with bits of this #'you forgot to add this'#'you forgot to talk about that'

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yconic · 4 years

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Can you do “We went to school together but haven’t seen each other in a long time and wow have you gotten tall.” With stony pls?

Sure!! Sorry this took so long lol, things were hectic. Hope this is what you looked for :>

∆∆∆

"Tall. Beard. Tall. Handsome. Tall. Cute. "

"Tony, " Rhodey had that barely restrain amusement clinging to his tone, the familiar note he had whenever Tony was being his trademark ridiculous self and he was getting a great kick out of it, but Tony was too preoccupied with oogling Steve to care. "Either kiss the poor guy or let him go."

Naturally, Tony's supposedly genius mind chooses to glitch at the moment he intended to dish a smartass quip or witty one liner, all he give is a small, high pitched "Huh? "

Rhodey holds back a laugh, but the way he bites the inside of his cheek gives him away. "You've been holding Steve's face for like 10 minutes now."

Huh. It's true, Tony realizes, as if he can only now see the pair of warm blue eyes looking down at him, shadowed with a fondness that makes his heart stop for a good second. His hands are cupping Steve's grinning face, and tries not to blush at how Steve nuzzled into his palm, not at all inadequated by the predicament he's in. "I'm good here, actually."

"This is hard to watch, " the scary shadow with the name of Bucky comments from Steve's side, eyeing Sam's back frame from his spot at the bar (Because Tony went through enough bullshit in high school, the least this reunion could amend for him is to be held in a bar)

Tony doesn't think anyone has the right to judge or blame him. This is Steve, the same little spitfire with heroic streak miles wide from the North pole that could barely touch shoulders with him in their youth. With Tony, who, although sulkily, knows was the shortest in his class.

Who, now, was smiling brightly down at him with a small but prominent blush dusting his fair features. Tony pouted, not missing the way Steve tracked the movement. "God. Did they give you Popeye's canned spinach in the army, or something? Who let you be this tall?"

Steve's eyebrow quirks upwards, in synch with his lips. "Well, who let you be this pretty?"

Twin groans of disgust leave Rhodey and Bucky at once, both of course painfully unimpressed by their spectacle. Tony will deny it for the rest of his life even with the photographic evidence Rhodey most likely took, that he did not, in fact, flushed in pleasure at that compliment.

"Wow, " he mutters, clearing his throat so the break in his words is less noticeable, asaa last-minute attempt to dignify himself. "Well, it's a good thing the boldness remained intact. I always did say it'll get you in trouble, but it was also my favorite thing about you, so I can't really complain."

But Steve always had a more timid side to him, one that Tony loved as well, something very gracious and modest only men with old souls have, and he could still spot it now by how Steve ducked his head then as it did years ago. His younger self shined through his actions and it was more than endearing.

"Well, didn't do me much good back then after all, when I... There's really no nice way of phrasing this, when I left you on Prom, " Steve winced, eyes soft and apologetic. "Still sorry about that, by the way. "

"It was a dick move, " Bucky nodded. "Natasha beat his ass for it, if it's any consolation."

Tony sighed in the inside, anticipating this moment. He would've been more affected, probably, if that hadn't been the precise motivation that lead to him attending the event. He never had the chance to question Steve's change of heart as he enlisted as soon as he could, without as much as a peek back and no word of goodbye for Tony.

It had hurt terribly, back then, when he was young and deadset on letting the anger stew in him, but as the years stacked on top of each other he learned to move on, and the little grudge he held for his high school sweetheart turned into a curiosity, declining from a stab of pain to a subdued aching.

His feelings for Steve remained as strong as they were since the blonde asked him on their first date, which, he realized was more than pitiful, still harboring emotions for something as little as High School romance, for someone who most likely moved on.

But he needed to know, even when knowing it wouldn't do much to squash the crush that gradually blossomed into something... More. On his part, at least.

Tony forced a smile on his lips and shrugged, taking his hands back so he could play with the warm amber of his whiskey glass, promptly ignoring the saddened shade taking home in Steve's look. "No hard feelings, Captain Crunch. If I wasn't trapped in this objectively hot body, I'd ditch myself too."

The air felt heavier somehow, an imaginary weight falling over them, even with the faux chipper in Tony's joke. Rhodey must have taken notice because he grabbed Bucky's arm, excusing them to the bathroom. Not before he looked directly at Steve and did a slit motion across his throat using his thumb, making Tony snort.

Quietly, Steve took the smaller man's hands into his own, lacing their fingers together. Tony gasped slightly at the tender gesture, but didn't pull back or encouraged Steve to let him go. Steve took that as permission to go on.

"First of all, " Steve's voice took that firm edge it possessed back then, even with his weak lungs that gasped for breath after every P.E. class he was determined to attend because he refused to be left out. " don't talk about yourself that way. You know how much I hate it. Second of all, if I could punch my old self for making you think I wanted to ditch you, I would."

"He'd probably die because he would not hesitate to fight you, " a small smile graced Tony's lips, feeling more real than he felt comfortable with. "Can I just... Ask why? I mean, you don't owe me an explanation or anything, we were kids, it's not that big of a deal, but I mean... If I did something, I'd like to at least know.''

Steve sighed, his own smile sad and barely there. "Would you believe me if said I didn't show up because I couldn't fit into my Pa's suit?"

Tony giggled. '' You're still shit at lying. Steve, " his own tone softened slightly, squeezing Steve's large hands, rough skinned with callouses, but still comforting. "Just tell me."

"... I didn't wanna embarrass ya, " the confession left Tony flabbergasted. Blinking slowly, as if he just mishear something. His words failed him, but nodded, processing, giving Steve the Que. "Tony, you just... Ya were a big shot, you know? You were handsome, rich, smart, popular, everything everyone wanted to be.

Everyone had their eyes on you, your father, the school, the media. It was bad enough you were dating a guy, but being taken to prom by one who looked like me back then? It would've, it just, - it would've been humiliating. I couldn't do that to you. Not only was I a riff raff, I was too skinny, I was ugly, I was, -"

"You stop that right the hell now, Steven, " Tony growled, sharply, so sharp it made Steve shut his mouth with an audible click. "There wasn't and isn't even one ugly thing about you, do you understand me? Riff raff- Steve you had a job since you were 15! You helped paying bills even if you shouldn't have, because you wanted to help your parents. What's embarrassing about that? Do you really think I give a fuck about how much money you made?"

"Tony, - I've seen the people you dated after we graduated , " Steve sounded wounded as he said it. Tony wanted to kiss all his pain away as his life depended on it. "I could've never compete with that, - Hell, for some, I still couldn't compete. I was less than dust put next to them. "

"I didn't care!" He might have been a bit loud, because some heads were turned, yet quickly retreated after the death glare they received from the angry brunette.

"Steve. I liked you because you gave your food to the homeless in every lunch period, because you volunteered at canteens with your mom and because you kept on drawing me every day for 4 years. Because you were outspoken, and funny, and kind, and cared so much about other people. Because you treated me so damn well. These people that you mentioned, they didn't treat me half as good as you did. I didn't give a shit what the world had to say about it. Between the world and you, I pick you. I'll always pick you."

Steve listened. Steve nodded. And Steve cried. One trembling hand wiped at wet eyes, and Tony resisted the urge to take his hand back and press comforting pecks on it.

Inhaling and exhaling, Steve got a grip on himself, wet laugh puffing out. It made Tony's chest hurt. "God, I was such a fucking idiot, huh? I, - I knew you wouldn't care, I knew, but I still went ahead and - God, I'm so sorry sweetheart. " Laughter deeming, a pinched but guilty expression taking its place. " I... I at least hope Hammer treated you half right. It's more than I ever did, -"

"Wait wait wait. Wait. Back it up a bit, - Hammer? As in, Justin Hammer? Why would he have anything to do with this?" At Steve's blank expression, the wheels in Tony's head sped up, allowing him to connect the dots. "Steve... You know I never went to prom, right?"

Steve paused. "What?"

"I never went to prom. And even if I did, Hammer would be the last reject I'd pick from the toolbox. He tried, sure, but I told him the same thing I said to Howard. 'I'm going to Steve, or I'm not going at all. ' "

"But, - But, Hanmer told everyone that he took you to prom, that, - " Steve stopped mid-sentence, face wooden as if he only now got a very simple epiphany. He facepalmed. Hard. Tony was concerned he'd get brain damage. "I'll let Natasha shoot me. It should be illegal to be this dumb."

"Not dumb. Just taking your own pace, " Tony chuckled. "So... All this time, you didn't contact me because you thought I was with Hammer? " His nose wrinkled in disgust just thinking about it, an expression Steve mirrored.

"No. I was just? Too chickenshit to face you, after everything. Honestly, I thought you hated my guts, which, who could blame you, but... I couldn't have handled that. So I stayed away." A self-deprecating snort accompanied a shake of head. "Guess all these extra inches are wasted, huh?"

Tony thinks about Steve, with his frail fists drenched in blood from split knuckles, fighting back against bullies who thought they could walk all over him or others, with his loud voice battling ignorant, hateful ideas, against big foes and bigger, and he says: "You were tall back then, too."

Steve stares and says nothing for a prolonged moment, content to look at Tony as if he's falling in love all over again. It makes Tony hopeful, fills him with something warm he didn't think he'd want to indulge again.

He's building up nerve, Tony can see that much, and right when he thinks he'd lose it, that they'd part again, Steve pulled him against his chest and pressed light kisses on top of Tony's head. It felt like pieces of love. "We're going to go on a date, " Steve murmured, voice hoarse. " and I'm going to give you the night I should've given you years ago. I'll give you the fairy tale, baby."

Tony smiles in the chest, nose taking in the scent he missed so much, listens to the heartbeat whose pattern he could still remember, still knows as well as his mind. " You get the story. Leave the happy ending to me."

The kiss they shared was shy, and timid, and felt too young, but it was just right for them.

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bidnezz · 3 years

Text

Revenant [2/5]

Pairings: Magnus/Alec, background Clary/Izzy, mentions of past Magnus/Camille

Rating: Mature

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Blood and Violence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Clave Politics (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Downworlder Politics, Betrayal, Revenge, Background Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Angry Magnus Bane, Light Romance, Mystery, Prophecy, Minor Character Death, lots of death

Summary:

Alec has heard the legends of Magnus Bane. He knows all the tales and he’s read all the records of his downfall. The High Warlock of Brooklyn who became so hungry for power that he began to mistreat the very warlocks who sought his help. It’s been a hundred years since then, and when a sudden rift opening between realms brings an onslaught of lesser demons, so too does it bring Magnus Bane, insatiable and vengeful for the power and people that locked him away in Edom. As newly appointed Head of the New York Institute, it’s Alec’s job to protect the residents of New York from one of the greatest Demons he’s ever faced. Only, he has no idea how, and maybe things aren't what they seem.

Art by the talented: @abby0007

Beta’d by the wonderful: @squiggly-lines-on-a-page

Read on ao3

Chapter Two

A myriad of colors flood Alec’s vision; a blur of purples, blacks, and yellows. The thrum of the portal around him and the pull of it against his core, all-encompassing and loud until finally, finally, it stops.

He stumbles forward gracelessly, all attempts at being nimble lost with the sudden foreign jerk of motion as the portal closes behind him. Behind them.

Magnus Bane, the Greater Demon gone mad, causing all of the destruction and chaos tonight, standing right before him. Because Alec followed him through a portal.

A hundred and one words flood his mind, questions and concerns and the hopeful glimmer of diplomacy all lodged in his throat with no way out. Not because Alec is afraid to speak, not because he’s stunned at the horror Magnus Bane has shown himself to be. His silence is forced. He is prevented from uttering a single word by the rope of magic that clings to his throat and holds him captive.

His fingers clutch at nothing, digging at the tender flesh of his neck where he knows there should be something solid and obtrusive. He finds nothing there, nothing but the bones of his collar and the rapid beat of his pulse, his heavy heart pounding against his ribs in a cry for salvation. A gasp escapes him then just as a noise catches his attention off to the side, barely distinguishable through the rush of blood that infiltrates his hearing, but when his eyes search before him where Magnus Bane once stood, he finds no one.

Has Magnus Bane inflicted him with the slow torturous death of strangulation to suffer all alone?

“To think you could simply follow me into a portal and assassinate me all on your own is the stupidest thing I could have imagined from a pathetic Shadowhunter,” comes the low, grisly voice against the back of his neck, close enough to cause a chill but not close enough for Alec’s hands to wildly reach around to.

No, he wants to say. I’m just here to talk.

All he manages is the dry wheeze as the magic tightens around his throat and the corners of his eyes prickle as tears form.

“I told your kind to stay out of this,” the voice begins again, now to Alec’s right. He’s being circled like prey, watched aptly as he sinks to his knees and the oxygen deprivation pales his face, taking his life in the slow seconds. By the Angel, what a sorry way to go. “If this counts as Shadowhunters starting a war with Edom, so be it.”

Stars dance across the scene before him, a modest apartment decorated in silver and deep colored fabrics, slender legs filtering in and out his sight that leads higher to the Demon above him. Magnus Bane, staring down at him with a look of contempt, disgust curling his lip and the color of his jacket blending perfectly with the droop of Alec’s eyelids as he slips further under and his vision begins to fade.

Another scratch against his throat that meets nothing but raw skin, blunt nails that fruitlessly seek what they will never find, blood that begins to sink into the grooves and ridges of his fingerprints. And one last attempt as his eyelids hang heavy and he catches golden salvation high above. One word, mouthed pleadingly, that he can only pray to the Angels will save him.

Jace. Isabelle. Max.

The faces of his family take over his consciousness, playing before him in slow motion as the last thing he sees before he goes. A life he let pass him by, a life he took a sideline to as he let the ambitions of his family’s reputation take over. Too soon, and too late, and no chance at remedying any of it. Not now, at the mercy of a mad demon and his thirst for revenge.

---

The next time Alec opens his eyes, it’s to the pale light of the setting moon and burgeoning sun that filters through the windows of the same unknown apartment as before. He hasn’t been moved. There’s a hammering in his skull, a steady throb of pain that threads all the way down to the open wound the ravener demon gifted him with, that begets a wince and a groan when he sits up too quickly. Dizziness follows immediately, too much too soon, and suddenly the memories of his last interaction fill his mind.

Magnus Bane.

“Your request for mercy has been granted, but I must warn you that there is a limit on just how long my graciousness will last in the presence of a Shadowhunter.”

The voice, not the low rough voice Alec remembers from before, comes from a lavish chair to his right that houses exactly the person he hopes for.

Fear spikes through him first involuntarily, the instinct to pull out his seraph blade enticing enough, but a recipe for disaster should he actually attempt it. No, that’s not what he’s here for. He’s here to have a conversation with Magnus Bane, to find out his true goal and what that means for the rest of them. Alec curls his fists where he sits, balled against the soft material of the couch he woke up on, and clears his throat.

It’s sore, uncomfortably so, but he bears through the pain and begins to speak.

“I’ve just come to talk,” he offers, his voice foreign to himself, more along the lines of white noise than anything resembling actual words. “I’m not here to harm you, or get in your way.”

If he suspected it would aid his cause, Alec would raise his arms in a show of surrender, too, but Magnus’ sharp gaze keeps him locked in place. No sudden movements for fear of his life.

“As if you could harm me,” Magnus scoffs to himself, though loud enough to be heard.

Alec doesn’t comment on it, or the way Magnus keeps a watchful eye on him despite the casual demeanor he feigns. It makes him itch underneath his skin to be scrutinized like this, to be seen as beneath the person across from you. Magnus doesn’t watch him for his own safety, or because he trusts Alec. He watches him with distaste coating his tongue and lips, as though the thought of Alec dirtying his sofa is a great travesty. He supposes he should expect as much from a Greater Demon.

“For someone who has come to talk, you have awful little to say.”

He’d feel foolish, for sure, if the oxygen deprivation hadn’t clearly left residual effects on his brain. “It’s a bit hard to get my thoughts in order when I’m still recovering from near-death,” he snaps.

Maybe it’s not such a great idea to anger the demon who just spared your life, though Magnus seems unbothered by the remark. “I did what I had to.”

“Is that what happened last night, too?”

The golden eyes that watch him reduce themselves to barely visible slats, and Magnus’ lip curls in anger. “You would be wise to remove the judgement from your tone, young Shadowhunter. You know nothing of my goals in this wasted realm.”

Alec swallows carefully, the metal of his seraph blade burning against the holster that houses it, begging to be used in the presence of danger.

“Then tell me.”

Magnus’ brows knit closer together and Alec feels magnified under his piercing gaze. Uncomfortable. “You want me to divulge all of my plans to some measly little Shadowhunter who’s going to run off and recite it all to the Clave as one more reason to help banish me again? I think not. You’re in no position to make demands.”

“I’m Head of the Institute,” Alec announces emphatically, hoping that his status will garner him at the very minimum an ounce of respect. “A bit higher on the chain than just some ‘measly little Shadowhunter,’ I’d say.” Then again, who would respect someone equivalent to a bug they almost squashed with a fraction of their power?

Magnus doesn’t respond in any timely manner, choosing instead to look Alec up from the sole of his combat boots, to the wayward strands of hair haphazardly resting on the crown of his head. He’s sure he looks a sorry sight with his dirty, bloodied clothes and roughed up features, but there’s no helping it. Pulling out his stele would undoubtedly cause more harm than it would be worth to heal and stabilize himself properly.

After more than a moment’s observation, Magnus summons himself a drink and stands from his chair.

For the first time since he regained consciousness, Magnus looks away from him to watch the city skyline from the window. It’s a poor view, Alec notices. Nothing attention-grabbing or worthwhile to see from his seat, and he’s sure Magnus’ can’t be much different. A Greater Demon with all the power in Edom and the expensive tastes Alec remembers connoting with Magnus Bane could surely set up a base in a better location than this. The top floor, perhaps. With lots of gaudy accessories to spruce it up, not the muted reds and blues and metallics that sparsely decorate it now.

For all this mental evaluation of Magnus Bane’s base of operation, Alec doesn’t miss the solemn sip he takes from his martini glass, or the way he seems to let it sit on his tongue before swallowing. Contemplating.

“Last night was… Necessary.”

Alec waits for more, expects it. But a hesitant silence fills the space between words instead. He stands carefully, unsure if this will have an unexpected reaction from Magnus, and when it doesn’t, Alec takes a step closer to the window. “Why?” He asks, to the point.

Another swig of liquor leaves the glass, this one bigger than the last and going down with a near audible gulp. “Camille needed to be the first, or she would have been the last, and I’m not sure I would have had the will to go through with it by the end.”

It’s a moment of raw honesty that Alec isn’t expecting. He knew Greater Demons had the capacity for human emotions, but he didn’t suspect to this extent.

“Camille was close to you, I gather?”

The way Magnus’ eyes shoot to him with disbelief makes Alec visibly step back. “Have you not done your research, Shadowhunter? Do the Nephilim take pride in going into battle headfirst and unprepared?”

Stubborn anger begins to bubble inside of Alec, but he pushes it away as he always does, and tries to remain as professional as possible in this situation. “I admit, I do not know a great deal about you. Only what I’ve gathered from Clave documents, although there’s hardly anything of substance written in them.”

Those eyes, cat-like and sharp, shift in their intention from anger to curiosity, something more appealing than talking about the revenge Magnus is here to carry out, piquing his interest. Alec makes a mental reminder to circle back to Camille later. “Do tell me more.”

“Alec,” he offers on instinct. The corner of Magnus’ lips twitch.

“Alec,” Magnus corrects with a nod. “Go on.”

With the spotlight on him now, the room feels a bit hotter, and the unhealed wound on his shoulder flares with the need for attention. He ignores it, if only for a little longer, and dredges up what he can remember from this evening’s research of Magnus Bane.

Has it really been less than 24 hours? Time feels stretched, as if it’s been days since everything started, since Magnus Bane became an actual figure in Alec’s life and no longer just a cautionary tale to ward off greed for power. That’s all his legacy had been reduced to, really. A fable.

“Your existence according to Clave records goes back centuries, but there’s not actually much information on you. Just what the Clave perceived of you: dangerous, sly, hedonistic. You partied constantly through the 1800’s before you rose to power and became High Warlock of Brooklyn. Despite what the Clave thought of you, the Downworlders must have respected you enough to give you that power.” Alec’s thinking out loud at this point, he realizes. So he lets one more thought escape. “Why did you do it?”

He’ll never know when in all of his talking Magnus turned to face him, or when his features softened to the point he looked more human, but he’ll never forget the way Magnus’ small smile slips and the reminiscent memories floating behind those golden eyes plummet back down into stoic indifference.

“What exactly is it that you think I did, Alec?” Magnus’ voice floats quietly between them.

“You sought more than you had, you became hungry for more power than you had,” Alec states, matter-of-fact, forcing down the uncertainty behind his words. “You began to abuse that power and summoned what you could from Edom. You gallivanted around as a Warlock, hiding what you really are the whole time.”

“What am I?” Magnus questions solemnly, as though he doesn’t already know.

“A Greater Demon.”

The stiff tilt of a head, and another sip of martini, and then Magnus is turning back to the window with pursed lips. “Is that what Clave history says about me? The terrifying wonder of Magnus Bane and his downfall, consumed by greed and lust for more power, a Greater Demon in hiding.” Magnus inhales deeply, holds it for three precious beats Alec can’t help but count, and then releases it with a defeated slump. “What a story to tell.”

Alec takes a timid step closer. “Are you saying it’s not true?”

At that, Magnus strikes him in place yet again with a sharp look. “Did the Nephilim become so stupid in the hundred years I was away? Did no one think to question the lunacy of the assumptions wrapped up in Clave history with a neat little bow? Should I summon my father to show you what a Greater Demon truly looks like?”

The words are hissed with such spite that Alec begins to question them himself, to re-evaluate his own upbringing and knowledge of the past learned through years of training. Who is he to question the past? The Clave wouldn’t change the passages of history intentionally, that would surely go against the Accords and everything Alec knows to be true.

There must be a mistake.

“You summoned power from Edom, you-” Alec falters, just for a moment. “You pretended to be a Warlock to gain power among the Downworld. You were banished to preserve the Accords, and because you couldn’t be stopped unless drastic measures were taken. The Downworlders banded together to stop you, Bane.”

Magnus downs the remainder of his drink and rolls it around his tongue, letting the words sit and marinate in the spirit.

“I was there when everything happened, Alec,” Magnus scoffs, “obviously.” In a flash of grandeur, Magnus turns from the window, away from the pinkening sky of the city. “History has a tendency to change over the years. Word of mouth, tales of skepticism, those in power feeding their lies to those who don’t know any better. And you lot,” Magnus shakes his head, “you gobble it up like the little birds you are, waiting to be fed by your mother. What would the Angels think of their Accords now, I wonder?”

The topic at hand is territory that begins to feel unsettling. The words Magnus speaks of imply known lies from the people Alec trusts the most, the people who guide and direct their entire lives. What would Isabelle and Jace say if they were to hear the same words? It would incite anger, surely, outrage and disbelief. It would start a war with Edom, at the very least, and go against the shreds of diplomacy Alec has worked towards.

So why doesn’t Alec feel the way he knows he should? Why are the words of this Greater Demon in front of him sowing seeds of doubt into his mind where none have ever taken root? Is it having a face to the name that makes it all the more real for him? Is it being able to see the way those words are uttered, the nuance and enunciation of each and every one?

“So you’re not a Greater Demon?” Alec questions, hesitant. Not to ask, but to hear the answer he knows will follow.

Magnus catches his eyes and stares between both pupils, seemingly taking in all of the emotions hidden deep down inside of Alec, buried so far below where not even he chooses to acknowledge. Magnus searches and searches but for what, Alec’s not sure. He delves and prods with those eyes that Alec can’t tear his own gaze away from, Magnus resolute in his endeavor until whatever he finds is enough, must be enough, because soon that swirling golden gaze is pulling away from him.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not the Greater Demon you were hoping for.”

Something sinks low in the pit of his stomach, acidic and bubbling and causing so much discomfort Alec takes a step back to catch his breath with his body tucked into the cushions of the sofa. He’ll ask his mother, he’ll get clarity back at the Institute, and he’s sure it will make sense. It has to.

Until then, he needs more answers. Different ones that won’t affect everything he thought he knew.

“Camille?” He tosses out, and Magnus catches without missing a beat.

“My former lover.”

Former… lover? “Then why did you kill her?”

Magnus’ back straightens from his spot in front of the window, and his shoulders sit rigid. “As I said before, it was necessary. Camille is - was - a master of the fine arts, and manipulation was the medium she chose to wield most proficiently. If I let her live any longer, she’d have found a way to send me back to Edom, or get me to do it myself.”

“I gather she was the one who rallied the other Downworlders against you, then?”

A hum flits between them, and Magnus lifts a hand to his chin where idle fingers rub against the silver that decorates them as he sits in thought. “Not entirely, I believe. Although with her soul gone I suppose I’ll never truly know.” It rolls out so nonchalant, Alec can’t help the chills that run up his spine. “I’ve had nothing but time in Edom to try and make sense of that day. It was Warlocks, friends and foes alike that banded their powers together to silence me. They weakened my defenses, abused the trust I blindly allowed them, and when my back was turned, they took a knife to it.”

“Everyone betrayed you? Why would they have done that?”

“Not everyone,” Magnus sighs with a genuine soft smile. “My two dearest friends of course would never betray me. They tried to warn me numerous times and I regret every time I did not listen to them. Every instance I shrugged their worries off was bathed in my overconfidence of my own prowess. I was foolish and naive. I believed I was untouchable to most, that I was respected and loved by my own kin enough that these worries were fruitless.”

Pain mars Magnus’ face and the kneading of his fingers stops. “Nothing is guaranteed in this world, Alec. There is always something darker lurking in the shadows, something more sinister than any Downworlder or demon you can imagine. Greed and jealousy can change a person, can make them capable of horrifying realities. The only guarantee we have is that there will always be someone else who wants what you have.” At that, he motions towards Alec with a wave of his hand. “You’re in a position of power, Alec. You should know just as well as I the dangers that lie below.”

It’s a chilling thought, to think of the faces of Shadowhunters he’s grown to know over the years, Shadowhunters he’s met along the way here and there, and wonder if anyone might one day try to take him down the way the Downworlders took down Magnus.

“There must have been a reason,” Alec inquires.

“I’m sure there is,” Magnus sighs, lifting his other hand to twist the silver band across his wrist. “Camille, for how easy she was to read when she was begging for her life, gave me very little to go off.”

The way he casually throws out Camille’s death unsettles him again, and this time Magnus takes notice.

“It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, Alec,” Magnus states, a forlorn expression cast across the shadows of his face as the sun lightens the room. “I loved Camille for hundreds of years, and I don’t doubt I’d have loved her for many more if she hadn’t betrayed me. Locked away in Edom I had no choice but to quell the ache in my heart that she caused, and truly see the wickedness she commanded. For all her beauty and charisma, she was not a good person and I hate that it took me this long to see.”

Alec swallows the lump in his throat and nods. It hasn’t been an easy path for him, but Magnus must have prepared himself for the grief he would feel afterwards. For that, Alec feels a hint of guilt that he’s holding hostage this time of mourning Magnus likely needed.

But it had to be done. Alec needed these answers, he needed to hear what Magnus had to say tonight, and he’s only surprised the words came so willingly, with very little cost to himself.

Well, not entirely free. His neck still feels scratched, bloodied and bruised, and the slow leak of the Ravener demon’s wound continues to spread blood against his clothes. For the information he’s gathered, and under the flag of diplomacy, it was well worth the trade.

“I seem to be doing most of the talking this morning,” Magnus mentions lightly as he adjusts his position in his seat. “For someone who is very much at my mercy, I’ve heard little of your plight.”

What is his plight? With everything he’s learned, everything Magnus has trusted him with, he’s not even sure where he stands anymore. His world has been spun on its side, and until he can take a step back and properly think, get an actual unbiased look at things… he has no idea.

“In my mind, there were only three options. One, I could sit back and watch as you destroy Downworlders, the Shadowhunters left out of it to observe. Two, I could intervene, try to gather whatever defenses I could and prepare the Institute for the war with you that would be inevitable once I made my decision known. Or three, I could try to,” Alec pauses, searching for the right word, “reason with you, be as civil as I possibly could with a Greater Demon.”

At Magnus’ pointed stare, Alec corrects himself.

“Alleged Greater Demon.”

“Hmm,” Magnus exhales into his steepled fingers. “The first one would have been the safest option. I would have stayed true to my word, assuming no Shadowhunters tried anything funny. The second one would have been the total destruction of the New York Institute, no doubt about it, clearly.” Magnus offers a faint smile that Alec almost feels himself returning, but forces himself not to. “The third brings about a whole round of further questioning. What does being reasonable entail?”

Alec’s furrowed brows and the way he rests his balled fists in his lap must give way to the overwhelming uncertainty he feels in this moment. He doesn’t know what it entails, if he’s being honest. He knows what it did entail, which was an attempt to get Magnus Bane to back down and return to Edom. A chance for him to see the error of his way, and correct it.

But then Clary had stepped in, altered it and put ideas in Alec’s mind of helping Magnus, before he even knew for sure all of the minuscule details of the situation. She suggested they help him, that they find out why he’s here and fight this battle with him, unsanctioned by the Clave.

A truly terrible, horrible idea.

Yet, now, the most compelling.

In a reciprocated moment of honesty, Alec reveals this to Magnus. “At first, I wanted to guide you into returning to Edom, to try and find a way to avoid all of this death and destruction. But then it changed. The Clave didn’t want me to concern myself with you, they wanted me to stay as far away as possible, to be less of a threat to the rest of the Shadowhunters, I suppose. So if I couldn’t reason with you, if I couldn’t get you to go back to Edom without the damage… Maybe I could help you.”

Alec releases an anxious breath and allows himself the chance to peer over and meet Magnus’ wide golden eyes. It’s just a second, maybe two, or perhaps three that they keep contact, searching and afraid and so deeply confused by each other. Eventually, Alec turns away and focuses down at the scuff that covers his boots.

The sun is rising higher with each minute that passes, and time seems to drag on forever, but Alec sits patiently and waits. He’s always been good at that.

“I could kill you with the snap of my fingers,” Magnus whispers, after what feels like hours.

There’s a creeping feeling along Alec’s neck, the slithering tendrils of magic that he unmistakably catches. They’re not quick to whip around his neck this time, rather, so gentle and curious that it almost feels taboo to let them continue. A prickle of heat remains where the magic brushes by, growing warmer and hotter with each pass until the remnants of pain subside and the self-inflicted wounds close up and heal. “You could,” Alec responds with a low voice that he isn’t sure he can equate to the tenderness of his throat anymore. “But I’m trusting you not to, Magnus.”

Perhaps it’s the fact that Alec is using his name for the first time, or the fact that he’s putting the power so willingly in his hands that Magnus winces at the words, and the recession of warm magic around him leaves Alec feeling suddenly hollow.

“Trust is not something you give so blindly, Shadowhunter.”

“I don’t give it blindly,” Alec corrects. “You’ve told me your truth, and I want to help you. After everything you’ve been through, isn’t that the right thing?”

A flash of anger crosses Magnus’ face, and he offers a dark, crooked smile to Alec. “What do Shadowhunters know of the right thing?”

“Magnus - “

“I appreciate the sentiment, truly, but I did warn you that my graciousness would only last so long. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

With that, a portal is summoned beside where Alec now stands in front of the couch, a movement he doesn’t recall even making. The static of the portal is loud in his ears, and his jacket flaps viciously in time with the wind.

“Magnus,” he tries again, but Magnus raises a finger and shakes his head.

“It’s kind of you to feel I’m owed the satisfaction of my revenge, but for your safety, and the safety of keeping the Accords in tact, I must refuse your offer. Be well, Shadowhunter,” Magnus articulates through the rush of the portal, completely unfazed.

A flick of his wrist, and fiery red magic shoots towards Alec, propels him forward and through the portal that he knows will take him back to the Institute.

Bright sunlight burns his eyes when the portal dissipates behind him, and he stumbles forward yet again, catching himself just in time to not fall onto the concrete sidewalk. People walk by him, blissfully unaware as they meander along the paths that pass by the Institute, oblivious to the death the previous night brought upon the Downworld. Ignorant to all of the inner machinations that go on inside the Institute, free to live the life they choose, as they see fit without having to answer to a higher authority in what’s the right thing to do.

For just a moment, Alec feels a sting of jealousy towards the Mundanes that walk around him.

Jealousy and greed, he remembers Magnus’ words.

The next step is unclear to him, he realizes as he heads towards the tall wooden doors that greet him, the same doors he knows so well. Everything feels the same, standing here in front of the Institute, but at the same time looks so foreign to his eyes that feel awakened by the conversation that just transpired.

He thinks of Magnus, drink in hand, staring at the high-rise of absolutely nothing important in the humble apartment he temporarily resides in. Magnus, with all the power in Edom, and all the clarity of a spurned Warlock cast out by his own people for reasons still unknown to Alec. Magnus, opening a world Alec never knew in front of him, a world hidden in shadows and secrecy. Hidden by the Clave.

But now, standing on the steps of the Institute, Alec begins to doubt again. The Clave wouldn’t hide the fact that Magnus was a Warlock this entire time, would they? To knowingly transcribe fallacies into their proud history, to crown an innocent man as a monster that should be feared…

With the shake of his head, Alec places one hand on the door of the Institute and pushes it open. Whatever questions he has, he’s going to figure out the truth. Even if it means disappointing his mother and seeking out an uncooperative Magnus Bane.

#shmb2021 #shadowhunters #malec #malec fanfiction #magnus bane #alec lightwood

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years

Text

Walk Me Home - Ch 8

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension.

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 2696

Author’s Note: Gettin’ close here, folks. Two more chapters after this. Always thanks to @mskathywriteswords , @fangirlxwritesx67, and @cracksinthewalls for the fixing of my words. Thanks to everyone who read/reblogged/liked the first chapter. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I do. And I make no apologies about the end of this chapter.

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY.

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 8

They both jerk awake a couple of hours later to the sound of Dean’s cell phone going off on the table. Dean curses and nudges Kimber, who growls her displeasure and pulls his arms tighter against her chest.

“Lemme up, sweetheart, that’s Sam.”

He pads across the room, not bothering with clothes, and answers the phone with a hoarse, “S’goin’ on, Sam?”

Kimber rolls over, losing most of the conversation as she yawns and stretches. She resettles under the covers, drifting in and out of consciousness. She feels steadier than before, less frantic, but still so worn out.

Just a few more days of sleep, that’s all I need, she thinks as the mattress dips behind her. The covers lift, letting in a chill gust of air, and she shivers as Dean’s considerably cooler skin presses against her back.

She hisses in protest, swatting at his cold fingers as they creep over her hip. Chuckling, Dean ignores her ineffectual slaps as he drags her back against his chest. His flesh warms rapidly, spurred on by his wandering hands and lips. Pacified by his renewed body heat, she snuggles deeper into his embrace, luxuriating in his feather-light kisses down her neck and across her shoulder.

“Mmm, s’nice...warm.”

“If you want me to warm you up, darlin’,” Dean drawls, his hand splaying over the swell of her hip, “all you gotta do is ask.” His nose drags a lazy line behind her ear as he inhales, his breath sending a ripple of heat straight to her belly.

He presses lush, damp kisses along her throat, down her jaw, and she turns her face to aid in his exploration. She smiles as he outlines each of her lips meticulously with his own before finally flicking the barest tip of his tongue against the seam of her mouth.

She breathes his name out, and if it’s more prayer than request, neither of them bothers to discern the difference. She reaches back, resting her hand for a moment on the curve of his ass, reveling in the simple joy of finally being able to touch him however she wants.

When she drags her nails forward over his hip, he jerks against her, letting out a stuttered hiss of his own. He snatches at her wrist, bringing the offending appendage up to his mouth, inspecting it with exaggerated annoyance.

“No, ma’am,” he grumbles, glaring sternly down at her. Any menace behind his expression is completely ruined by the kiss he presses against her pulse point. She purrs contentedly as he nips the pads of each of her fingers in turn; the plush of his lips against each bite is balm straight to her soul.

“Why, Dean Winchester, how in the world did I ever forget that you’re ticklish? I think this rediscovery calls for further examination.” She wiggles the fingers of her free hand playfully, inching towards his armpit. He sighs, sounding utterly put-upon, and lifts the arm her head is pillowed upon. He deftly collects both of her wrists, stretching her arms up just over her head.

“‘Fraid I can’t allow that,” he says, though his soft expression betrays his gruff tone. “This okay?” He squeezes her hands gently, holding them tight above her. She lifts her head, grinning, and bumps her nose against his.

“I promise I’ll tell you if anything isn’t. I trust you.”

His eyes flash in the dim light, his expression going from earnest to keen in the blink of an eye. She freezes under his intent gaze, her mouth arid and lungs empty. His fingers contract around her wrists as he adjusts his grip and leans down to graze her cheek with his own, and her skin tingles in the wake of his scratchy caress.

“Good,” he says quietly. Her eyes shut involuntarily at the raw, filthy promise in his tone. His right hand ghosts over her shoulder, fingers dancing a titillating trail alongside and underneath her breast, down and down again, before coming to rest on her belly, just below her navel.

He nips at her earlobe, startling her, and she squeaks in surprise. His hand presses against the plain of her abdomen, hot and steady as she twitches in his grasp. His tongue rolls out, soothing the sting of his bite. He ruts against her from behind, and Kimber finds that she’s panting, twisting her hands against his hold, needing something, anything to grab onto.

“Nuh uh,” he warns, squeezing just a touch. She stills, a whine stuck in her constricted throat. “I’m driving here, darlin’. Relax and enjoy the ride.”

He spends the next several minutes demonstrating exactly how skilled a driver he is until she’s strung, taut and pleading, before him. Her fingers are white in his grip, clasped together in both desperation and supplication. Breathy, whispered entreaties spill from her parted lips between quick, shivering breaths.

“You beg so sweet...you sure you’re ready for me?” His lips brush the shell of her ear with every word as his hips grind hard against her ass, his hand slick between her thighs. She’s so far gone she can’t even answer, can only moan incoherently as her eyes roll back.

“Good.”

He enters her steadily, his teeth closing on her shoulder, and every nerve in her body shorts out for a single, white-hot moment. She comes back to herself as he retreats and returns, setting a steady rolling pace. She throbs around him, and he groans, only just managing to keep his rhythm.

“Fuck, baby, you...can’t...do that to me.”

“You...started it!” She gulps in air, heart hammering against her ribs. And still he moves, measured and even, infuriating in his constancy. She can feel every inch of him as he presses and withdraws, over and over. Her fingers flex; she needs to hold something, needs an anchor, needs him to just...fucking...go...faster.

“Dean, I...need...can you...faster, please!?”

“Sure I can,” he says. He nuzzles into the crook of her neck, kissing every bit of skin he can reach. “But I’m not gonna.”

She doesn’t know how to classify the sound that escapes her, but Dean isn’t exaggerating. He drives her mad one stroke at time, never once varying his speed or rhythm. She can feel the end building, unyielding and inevitable, and she tenses against him.

“That’s it,” he coaxes. He presses a palm, heavy and febrile, against her belly, his fingers torturously close to putting her over the edge. If he would just stretch a little further, another inch or two, then-

“C’mon,” he murmurs. “Come with me.” He releases her wrists, and she immediately pushes his hand lower, plunging his fingers exactly where she needs them. She’s got fingers twisting in his hair, his hand stroking the one spot she wants the most, and then she’s gone. His hips stutter, snapping against hers as he abandons any further attempt at self-control.

He shudders behind her, his breath sharp staccato in her ear, his heart pounding against her back hard enough for her to feel the beat in time with her own. His arms move, engulfing her, and they spiral together through the aftermath.

When she can breathe close to normally again, Kimber turns over, slipping her leg between his and squashing herself fully against him. His hands tangle in her hair, and he tilts her face up toward his. She expects a kiss, but he simply watches her, his eyes moving carefully over her face. She can feel the minute change in his hold, the sudden tension in his arms, the tick in his jaw.

“Dean, what-”

His forehead touches hers, his arms almost vibrating with the abrupt intensity of his grip. Anxiety rips through her gut, shredding through the peace of the last few hours.

“Up on that roof. If I had been a minute later, if I had stayed on the phone with Sam any longer. If I hadn’t spotted you at the end of the hall...If I had tripped, or...If you hadn’t…” He stops, lips pinched white and angry. “You were on the goddamned edge, Kimber, right fucking there. You could have…”

“But I didn’t. And you weren’t late, you didn’t trip, you were right where you needed to be.” She cups his jaw and gives his head a short, gentle shake. Her thumbs smooth over his lower lip, pulling it gently.

“I’m not always-”

“But you were this time, and that matters,” she insists. “Listen, Dean. Are you listening?” She waits for his grudging nod before continuing. “I didn’t take the step. I fell back, I pulled away, and you caught me. You got to me in time, and we came down from that roof together. And now we’re here. Together.”

She squeezes his face for emphasis. “I’m right here with you. Safe. In your arms. You feel me?”

His eyes close, painful and tight, his expression hardening as he struggles with something she can’t see. Then he exhales, forcing his shaking limbs to relax by increments.

“That’s it,” she murmurs. “We’re okay. We’re right here. We got off that roof together. Both of us. So come back to me.” He exhales once more, and opens his eyes. The depth of loss that shines from within him humbles her, and she doesn’t bother fighting her instinct to pull him tight, shifting so his head is tucked against her neck this time.

She never had any illusions that the Winchesters led any easy life. She’s heard a lot of stories about them over the years, and she’s pretty sure they barely scratch the surface of what the brothers have gone through. She is intensely glad, for many reasons, not to be another loss for Dean to suffer through.

He doesn’t react for a long, silent moment, but she persists until his arms snake around her waist. She runs her fingers over and over through his hair, massaging circles across his scalp, pressing against the hard tendons of his neck. His hands press, release, press again into her back, and when she feels a faint trickle of moisture run from her shoulder, down between her breasts, she is wise enough to forgo commenting.

She doesn’t know how much time passes, or really what time of night it even is, at this point. Dean taps her gently, pulling back and lifting his face to brush a kiss across her cheek. He clears his throat and rolls away quickly, though not quite fast enough to hide the red, damp rims of his eyes.

“Sam is gonna be gone for a while. Said there was some sort of weird accident in another building on campus today. He heard about it at the rec center and wanted to check it out while the scene was fresh, interview some of the kids that saw it.”

Dean sits on the edge of the bed, running his hands up over his face and through his hair as Kimber closes the space between them. She kneels behind him and gently links her arms around his neck. She rubs her cheek against his, and a little more of the tension in his shoulders drops away.

Then she turns, planting her mouth tight against his cheekbone, and blows. He exclaims indignantly at the sudden reverberation, and tugs her down so she has to fall into his arms or tumble off the bed. He stares down at her, his expression very clearly asking, “What the fuck?”

She widens her eyes innocently even as she clutches his shoulders for dear life, suspended awkwardly across his lap.

“Things were getting a little brooding. You didn’t seem to like the tickling, so I tried a different tactic?”

“You are making me seriously question seventeen-year-old me’s judgment,” he huffs, but his exasperation is tempered by a healthy dose of indulgence as he helps her to her feet. He stands, considering her for a brief moment before kissing her forehead. His hand settles on her hip as if it was meant to be there, and she can’t help the sigh of contentment that escapes her lips.

“I’m going to get a shower, since we’re awake anyway. I know I rinsed the dust off from this morning, but now I’m all sticky and sweaty.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, winking. She snorts in response, though she has to work hard to keep the smile from her face. He leans over to snag his discarded t-shirt from the other bed, and her face warms as her eyes rove over his bare form. Her hand is nearly to his ass before she returns to her senses, snatching her fingers back just as he straightens.

God, what is wrong with me? she wonders, shocked at herself. He takes in her heightened color and outstretched fingers, and a smirk tugs the corner of his mouth up.

“Excuse me, Dr. Harper. I don’t appreciate your continued objectification of my person. I’m going to have to ask you to keep your hands and eyes to yourself. Didn’t you say something about a shower?”

He locates his boxer briefs and slips them on before turning back to Kimber. She bites her lip against the laugh that threatens to burst out. She rearranges her face into her most professional expression and clears her throat.

“Apologies, Mr. Winchester. I will keep my objectifications of your person to myself. Several times. While in the shower.” The room phone rings then, but she doesn’t miss his pleased smile as he turns to answer.

She’s just finished rinsing the shampoo from her hair when she hears a tap on the door. She hears the knob turn but doesn’t bother to open her eyes as she revels in the spray of water rushing over her face.

“That was the desk clerk. Says something is wrong with my credit card, started squawking about calling the cops if I didn’t come down and sort it out ‘right now.’ You almost done?”

“No, but the office is a hundred feet away. Lock the door behind you and take your cell phone? Mine’s there on the bathroom counter, and you’ll be back in five minutes.”

He hesitates, and she pauses, wiping her eyes and looking over at him. He frowns, not at her exactly, his fingers clenching on the doorknob. She has a flash of his expression back on the rooftop, the stricken anger in his voice.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight again until we gank this son of a bitch.”

She immediately cuts the water and reaches for her towel. “Grab my clothes for me? I’m coming.”

…

“Fucking waste of time,” Dean spits out the second the glass door closes behind them. Fifteen minutes of arguing has not improved Dean’s impression of the desk clerk, who insisted Dean had given him an invalid credit card.

“It’s the same damn card you ran the first night. Was it invalid then?”

Kimber reaches over, linking her fingers through his. A sudden gust of night air hits her wet hair, and she shivers, chilled to the bone.

“At least you got it straightened out. I think I’m gonna finish that hot shower and blow dry my entire body. Maybe a late dinner after that? Check in with Sam?” Dean grunts, refusing to be deterred from his irritation.

“Join me for the rest of my shower?” she offers, half tempting and half hopeful. “I’ll scrub your back.”

His expression lightens considerably, and he grins. “I mean, if you’re offering.”

Back in the room, Kimber toes off her shoes and immediately heads towards the bathroom.

“How hot do you like your water?” she asks. She reaches into the bathroom, fingers questing for the light switch as she glances back over her shoulder at Dean.

A hand closes on her wrist, painful and terribly strong, and yanks her into the bathroom, jerking her from her feet and spinning her around. Her bare feet slip on the damp floor as her back collides with her assailant’s chest, too fast for her to react. Something cold and smooth slides against her throat in a stomach-twisting caress, but it’s the unhinged voice right against her ear that turns her blood to ice.

“Can’t wait to finally hear you scream.”

…

Chapter 9

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sidecarghost · 3 years

Text

Suptober20 - Day 21 Fear Part 1

HighSchool!AU with a little bit of Soulmate trope - this AU has a phone app that can tell you the fears of your soulmate

Part 1/2 (part 2 is an epilogue that kind of changed the feel of the story enough that I decided to split into separate post)

Summary: Dean wants to get Castiel on a date and asks his best friend Charlie for help. Charlie tries to convince Dean just to talk to Castiel, but Dean is sure that Castiel doesn't even know he exists.

“Please Charlie, have some pity on me,” Dean laments tragically. He sits at the lunch table across from his best friend Charlie. He attempts his best puppy eyes to help his cause.

“Just talk to Castiel or I can talk to him. Your plan to rig his soulmate app results is so bizarre. I really can’t believe it has any chance at working,” Charlie counters.

“You just need to have faith, and I’m sure you can do it Charlie. Please don’t abandon me in my hour of need,” Dean begs his friend.

“Okay, okay enough with the guilt trip. You owe me after this Dean. But I’m not hacking Cas’s phone. We share a CompSci class. I’ll just ask him to beta test a soulmate clone app that will be loaded with a few random things you can try to be scared of,” Charlie explains.

“Thanks Charlie, you’re my hero,” Dean smiles enthusiastically.

“I’ll work on the app later, and text you after school,” Charlie tells Dean as she picks up her lunch tray and leaves the cafeteria. Dean floats to his next class with complete optimism that this plan will work.

~~ Later on, Charlie texts Dean ~~

Charlie: How is this for the list of your fears for the soulmate clone app?

Clowns

Cockroaches

Opening up to people

Germs

Demonic Possession

Cat jumping out of locker

Dean: Really “opening up to people?”

Charlie: Yeah, you can walk up to Castiel and tell him that you like him, and you were scared to tell him before. And then we can skip the rest of this bizarre plan.

Dean: Not happening.

Charlie: Okay, then back to our overly-complicated and sure-to-fail plan. How about this list?

Clowns

Cockroaches

Public speaking

Germs

Demonic Possession

Cat jumping out of locker

Dean: Okay this will work, and I have some awesome ideas how to pull them off. Cas is in a few of my classes, so I just need to do some prep and everything will run as smooth as a drive in the Impala.

Charlie: So what are you thinking?

Dean: my awesome plan:

When I see Cas at bus drop off area, Garth can help scare me with a clown mask

During our HomeEc class I'll put a cockroach in my pie batter to scare me

Presenting our projects in civics, I can do a mini panic attack or something

During gym maybe I can get someone to sneeze on me and then overreact

I have a charm from my Uncle Bobby that he said would ward off evil spirits according to lore. But since monsters aren't real I'm not sure how that one will work.

Who has cats at school? I don't think this one will work, can you take it off the list?

Charlie: Ok, so 4 is probably enough, but ig wear your evil charm just in case. And you have totally grossed me out with #2.

Dean: hey, the things we do for love right? I do feel bad for the pie batter tho.

***

Charlie makes her soulmate clone app, and she asks Castiel if he wouldn’t mind beta testing it during their Computer Science class. Castiel looks at Charlie with a fair amount of skepticism, but Charlie is his friend so he decides to indulge her request and installs the app. Charlie tells him a story about how she hit the original app with some machine learning algorithms to feed her clone app. So her soulmate app should be just as reliable as the original. Castiel figures they can just test that theory by opening the original app and seeing if the fears listed in both the original app and Charlie’s app match. Charlie sighs, and says that is very sensible, but she thinks her algorithms may have actually found flaws in the original app, so the results could be different because hers are more accurate.

"Really you think your app could be more accurate Charlie?” Castiel asks with a heavy amount of skepticism. “As in, there is actually a chance that a random generator on some server, is in fact not random but knows who we are destined to be in love with. I don't think soulmates are even something I believe in, do you believe in them?"

"Well, I never used too," Charlie replies thoughtfully. "But I have a friend, and he has been pretty unlucky in love. Maybe some people just keep striking out, because they really were meant to be with one particular soul. And until they finally end up with that person, they just have a lot of heartbreaks and casual flings. Seeing my friend struggle, is enough to make me think that sometimes, cupid can be a soulmate app. Or maybe I'm cupid in this metaphor and the soulmate app is my arrow, I'm not sure. But anyway, I guess what I mean is, romance doesn't only have to exist in romcoms. Sometimes we can let go of our fears, and believe in some greater force like destiny or soulmates or a very efficient machine learning algorithm will find us something we never knew we were missing, like the love of our lives."

"It sounds like your friend is lucky to have you," Castiel says.

"Yeah, he totally is," Charlie smirks.

"So what can I do with your soulmate app to help you and your friend's cause?" Castiel asks.

"Just look over my soulmate app results to see the kind of things that it lists as your soulmate’s fears, and I guess let me know at the end of the week if you found your soulmate, potential soulmate, or at least someone worth a date or two," Charlie says sheepishly.

Castiel checks the clone app results and laughs, "Okay, Charlie I'll keep you posted."

Charlie: Castiel has the app. Good luck! Dean: Awesome! Tyyyy!

Dean is not having good luck with these fears, and is beginning to think Charlie may have been right calling this plan too bizarre or complicated to succeed.

The first failure was the clown. Everything was going smoothly. Castiel was walking by him after leaving the bus drop off, and Garth jumped out with perfect timing wearing his creepy clown mask. But before Dean could say a word, Sam started screaming like a kid possessed. It was all Dean could do to calm his kid brother down and show him that it was just Garth playing a prank. Sam gave Dean and Garth the ultimate bitchface, and any hopes of that fear establishing his soulmate status with Castiel were gone.

Then there was the crisis with the cockroaches. For some reason, Garth was able to give him a cardboard box of several large cockroaches. And Dean was feeling pretty good about his chances of success, because Sammy wasn't there to scream bloody murder at the bugs. But when he went to get the cardboard box he found it empty. As the emptiness of that box registered in his brain, the shrieks from Meg and Jo's station gave him a good clue where the cockroaches were. Dean shook his head, and he looked over to see Castiel watching Meg and Jo take their rolling pins to squash the bugs. "Crap, now Cas is going to think Meg or Jo is his soulmate." Dean was definitely going to have to sell some panic for the Civics presentation.

But it seemed that fate was mad about Dean trying to rig the soulmate clone app results because the Civics presentation ended as the worst failure so far. Dean and his Civic project partners Anna and Kevin had taken their place at the front of the class. Dean checked out Castiel, who was seated in his desk and watching him and his partners attentively. Dean ran through in his head how he could nervously drop some things and sell the whole paranoia for public speaking. While Dean daydreamed a bit about Castiel's sexed up looking hair, he was snapped back to reality by the sound of vomiting coming from his left. He turned to see Kevin had upchucked all over Anna. Apparently Kevin was actually afraid of talking in front of people and that stress had affected his digestion. And it turned out that Anna was a bit of a germaphobe, because she seemed equal parts afraid of catching a disease and disgusted that her clothes were stained in barf.

Dean was faced to admit defeat, every fear meant to establish him as Castiel's soulmate had slipped through his fingers. And unless a demon suddenly appeared he was out of options.

Gym class was the last class he shared with Castiel. Dean was not going to bother to try to get sneezed on. Seeing Anna covered in upchuck was enough germs for one day. His gym teacher told the class to run laps around the building, and Dean began to run at a steady pace.

"Hello Dean," Castiel had run up alongside Dean and matched his speed so they could chat.

"Oh, hey," Dean turned to see Castiel had a slight smile and that was enough to encourage him to return with his own smile. Maybe Dean should try Charlie's original advice and just talk to Castiel. "How's it going Cas?"

"Pretty good. How's your brother? I think I saw him get upset on the way in to school today," Castiel says.

"Oh, he's okay," Dean grins sheepishly. "He is afraid of clowns, and I kind of had this prank idea with Garth. But since I can be a self-absorbed, older brother I didn't really think through how that would affect Sammy."

"Yeah, it seems like there has been plenty of weird stuff going on at school today between the clowns, cockroaches, and vomit," Castiel says cocking an eyebrow at Dean.

"Tell me about it. Sometimes I just wish I could hit a restart button, and start the day over without all the weird," Dean shakes his head.

"You know Charlie Bradbury right? If it was possible to program a restart button I would talk to her," Castiel replies. "We are in Computer Science together, and I think she knows more about the subject than our teacher."

"Oh yeah, I know Charlie. We have been best friends since kindergarten," Dean tells Castiel. "And I have no doubt that she is smarter than your Computer Science teacher."

"Do you mind me asking what that charm is on your necklace?" Castiel asks.

"Oh, just this thing from my uncle. Supposed to ward off evil things or bad spirits." Dean tells Castiel.

"I guess that would be a good thing to wear if you were afraid of demon possession," Castiel deadpans.

"Uh..." Dean finds himself at a loss for a response. Dean has the sneaking suspicion that Castiel has figured out everything about “beta testing” Charlie’s soulmate app. He considers changing course from circling the school, and instead running flat out the entire way back to his house. Maybe Charlie can get him an assumed identity.

Before Dean has a chance to flee, Castiel continues the conversation. “Do you have a cat in a locker somewhere?" He asks with interest.

"Of course not," Dean tries to hold back a laugh and fails. "Charlie was supposed to take that off the list. So I guess you found me out." Dean glances towards Castiel to get a read on his expression.

"Well, I did tell Charlie I'd give her app a chance," Castiel replies with a soft smile towards Dean. "Would you like to go on a date with me later? Maybe we can find out if we are soulmates or not."

"Yeah, Cas," Dean says with a dazzling smile. "I really would like that."

#suptober20 #destiel fic #spn au #spn #gum writes

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

Text

Back Again

Request: #143 + #144 for anon – “You make me feel the happiest I’ve ever been.” & “I am so lucky to have you.”

Anonymous said:

Can I get a Mark Tuan Drabble with #143 and #144 from the prompt list? Thank you!! You’re one of my favorite writers btw!! I love your recent Air Force series it’s soooo good! Have a lovely day!

Pairing: Mark Tuan x reader

Genre: friends to lovers / angst / romance / fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 4396

Applause filled the garden as the two standing under the archway shared their first kiss as husband and wife. You grinned, wiping away the tears that fell watching one of your closest friends finally secure her Mr Right.

Weddings always made you mushy and hope for your fairytale ending someday soon.

They also brought a lot of people all into one venue, some in which you wouldn’t normally see in day to day life. Especially when you bumped into a man you would have expected to be the last person to receive an invite to this wedding. Blinking rapidly as a warm smile crossed his face; you grabbed onto his lower arm and stepped closer. “Please tell me you didn’t come to crash this, Mark.”

“Now why would I want to do that? Besides, aren’t I a little too late to do such a thing?” he mused, lifting the champagne flute to his lips and you watched the action in a haze for a moment, your eyes soon narrowing on him in confusion.

“You were invited?”

Mark nodded. “The groom’s my cousin, remember?”

“And the bride is your ex,” you muttered, not intending for the man before you to hear but he must have since he chuckled at your concern.

“Ease up, Y/N. It’s a celebration and Lucy and I are well and truly old history.”

It wasn’t as simple as that. Not for you, anyway. It never had been when it came to Mark Tuan. Still, you attempted a smile. He was right, the vows had been exchanged and rings firmly upon their fingers. Lucy and Henry were a match made in heaven, nothing would rock their boat, you were certain of it.

Reaching out for a champagne glass as a waiter walked by, you took a gulp before you relaxed properly. Mark stood there grinning, watching you as if your little panic had given him more enjoyment than the entire day had. Perhaps, it did. All you knew was that someone who you had grieved losing from your world was standing before you.

And you were conflicted as an individual and as a loyal friend of what you should do. Deciding for you, Mark slung an arm over your bare shoulders, pulling you closer to him. “I think we have a lot to catch up on, don’t you?”

“Three years sure went by fast enough,” you agreed, allowing him to lead you over to a vacated table where you spent the rest of the reception catching up. You hadn’t laughed this much in ages, and Mark was just as you remembered him to be.

You sighed, resting your head on your hands. “I have to admit, I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

“Really? I thought you were going to march me out the back door as soon as you could,” he teased and you grinned, nodding softly at his sentence. Mark feigned being offended. “And here I thought we were the best of friends, Y/N. I’m hurt.”

Once, you both had been far closer than tonight. You had grown up in the same suburb, gone to the same schools and even the same university. It was there that you met Lucy and become incredibly close over the first semester with her. She soon joined your gatherings with other friends and set her eyes on Mark.

Their relationship was intense, and although you hadn’t openly shown it, you were jealous of them both. You missed the times where the three of you would just hang out and unwind from the stress of endless studies. Your loneliness was made obvious the deeper they got, and although you had a brief stint dating a friend of Lucy’s, it didn’t last long.

Because you wanted to be with Mark.

“Friends,” you mentioned as you broke out of your memories, nodding in his direction, squashing away the ghost of your feelings. “It’s been odd not seeing you around, Mark.”

He stared at you then, expression unreadable as his smile faded. His umber eyes grew hesitant, blinking a few times as he reached under the table for something. Pulling out his phone, he handed it over to you. “Let’s change that, shall we? Give me your number. Friends should have a way to contact one another, right?”

You took the device and typed in your details, inwardly struggling through the turmoil of your thoughts. You smiled all the same as you handed it back to him, now connected by some digits to see if fate would pull you both back together.

Or if you would remain as fond memories, your lives having drifted too far apart.

Staring up at the man you had opened the café door into abruptly, you began to smile, a chuckle soon leaving your lips. You had literally just smacked him with it and yet he was laughing as well, which would have seemed a little off to anyone who had watched the incident.

But you were just too happy to bang into him like this.

“The door?” Mark mused and you let go of it suddenly, stepping outside and grinning at him. “It’s been a while, Y/N.”

“I could say the same about you,” you greeted and then he looked into the coffee shop you exited. Finally, you started to connect things together. “Oh! You were going inside there, right?”

He nodded. “Morning fuel is needed.”

“I should buy you a coffee. I did just hit you with a door and all. Are you okay?” you offered, searching him over for obvious signs of injury. Mark laughed at your sudden concern, waving you off immediately.

“I’m stronger than I look.”

“That much I know,” you retorted, a communal smile shared as you thought back to the night you had taken on everyone willing to arm wrestle you at a house party. Only Mark had been fair in the game with you, and although at the time you weren’t completely lucid, given the alcohol in your system, you had been frustrated that the others went easy on you. Then again, you had tumbled around as kids, it made sense there was no hesitation in Mark to do it as an adult either.

“So, this coffee?”

“Right!” you exclaimed, turning back around for the door, only to end up with a similar fate waiting for you when you went to reach for it. Mark pulled you back just in time, your body now within his firm grasp, the other person sending a hasty apology on their way out to the sidewalk. You were certain you had forgotten to breathe, given how close you still were to the man behind you, and you could tell he was stronger than you remembered as well. Mark had always been slender growing up, but despite the clothing between you, it was apparent over the last few years he had been hitting up a gym with how toned his torso and arms were around you.

Springing away from him in heated embarrassment, you dashed up into the coffee shop, ordering him a coffee in the way he used to have it. Mark leaned over your shoulder and you visibly jumped. “Actually, can you change that to an Americano?”

“You don’t like it sweet anymore?” you wondered and he gave you a long hard look before shrugging it off with a smile.

“Tastes can change,” Mark stated, moving away as you paid for his drink. You waited in semi-comfortable silence until the takeout cup was placed in his hand, heading back out into the morning bustle.

“So, I didn’t know you worked over this way,” you said after a couple of minutes of walking still in silence, glancing at Mark and finding him staring at you. It threw you off and you lost your footing, his hand shooting out to save you for the second time today.

Mark smirked. “Since when were you such a damsel in distress?”

“Well, we keep bumping into each other every time we met, it must be the effect you have on me.”

“I make you clumsy?” he concluded with a snort, shaking his head gently. “That’s a new one.”

“You also know how to hold onto a phone number and not contact it once. It’s been, what, six months since Lucy got married?”

“I distinctly remember my number being saved into your contacts list too,” Mark mentioned with a grin, waving his coffee cup around a little as he talked. You smiled; it had always been a quirk of his to talk with his hands when animated.

God, you had missed it.

You missed him.

Still, your brain was all too wily and reminded you instantly as to why Mark hadn’t been around. You sighed. “Perhaps there’s no need for our lives to step so closely back together after all the years. Like you said, taste’s change.”

“You’re the same as I remember you,” Mark murmured and you looked up at him as he had his moment, a playful grin spreading on his lips. “Clumsiness included.”

“I’m not that clumsy!” you complained and Mark laughed, his giggles brightening your mood yet again. You felt as if you were on a wild rollercoaster ride, the ups and downs throwing you off your game.

You were surprised to be relieved when you saw your office up ahead, just so you could get off this ride and be back on stable footing. “Well, this is me.”

“I know.”

“You knew I worked for Archer and Sons?” you questioned suddenly and Mark nodded.

“I know a whole lot of useless information,” he joked, though it didn’t hold the same effect as before. Rocking on his heels, Mark chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “Are you free tonight?”

“Well, I’m finishing at seven but yeah, why?”

“Should we do dinner?” he offered and your smile faded, his anxious gaze darting between yours and the tree behind you on the sidewalk. He attempted to remain carefree. “You gotta eat, Y/N and so do I.”

“Mark,” you started and it pained you to see his shoulders slump with dreaded anticipation at your denial. You wondered for a split second if you truly were as you had been back then.

He hadn’t known about your crush on him, however.

“Too busy, after all?” he offered and you shook your head. “Right, because of Lucy. Got it.”

“It’d just be weird, you know? What do I tell her when she finds out?”

“Two people shared some food and good times, just like we did at her wedding? Did she pull you up for it then?”

You smiled, reaching out for Mark’s upper arm apologetically. “Maybe another time?”

“Sure, a rain check.” He was ready to escape now, moving away from you and walking backwards, holding up his coffee cup. “Thanks for this.”

“It was nice seeing you!” you called after his departure, your heart thudding heavily in your chest until he rounded the corner out of sight.

It was too good seeing him again.

You couldn’t believe the odds.

It had been so long since you were actively seeing your childhood friend in your world. Right after breaking up with Lucy, he disappeared, shutting off all contact with you. At least, that was how it felt, and you had assumed you wouldn’t cross paths with Mark again in this lifetime. When you had at the wedding, well, it was a moment in life where it wasn’t a normal setting and so it worked. Since the coffee shop incident, however, you had seen Mark a total of four times in three weeks.

And now, your fifth was in the grocery store.

As a creature of routine, you would do your grocery shopping every Saturday morning. Saturday had always been your day set aside to catch up around your apartment and run any errands you needed to before you spent the entirety of Sunday relaxing and preparing for your return to the working week.

And yet, in all your years of having this engrained schedule, you had never seen Mark enter a grocery store at the same time as you. In fact, you were sure he didn’t even see the morning sun until it was high in the sky and classed as the afternoon sun if he didn’t have to.

So why was he in your grocery store at 10 am of all times?

Mark was genuinely surprised to see you there as well, blinking a few times and hesitating on whether to push his cart your way or not. It came with the awkwardness that had seeped between you, your friendship battling through not knowing what level it was on with every encounter. Still, it was all too easy to talk with one another. Just as you had your whole lives, there was always something to talk about.

And today it seemed it would start with zucchini.

“Do I get a bag of them or just a couple?” he wondered and you smiled at his dilemma, posing your index finger to your lips in thought.

“Well, are you going to use them in a big dish or not?”

“Any recipe ideas? I was told to add them into my morning smoothies since there isn’t a distinctive taste,” Mark explained and you recoiled at how grown up the statement sounded. He laughed at your reaction. “Apparently, I eat too much meat and need to have more of a balanced diet due to high cholesterol.”

“You?” Eying him carefully, you then smiled. “You could make mini pizza bites with them. Or zucchini lasagne. There’s a lot you can do with them, actually.”

“Big bag it is,” Mark confirmed, picking up what he required and placed it in his cart. You reached around him to grab yourself a bag and he arched a questioning eyebrow at you.

“Well, now that I’ve mentioned those ideas, I want to make them.”

“We could do it together if you want? I wouldn’t know the first thing about making them and could use the help.”

“Are you asking me on another dinner date?”

Mark nodded. “This time at my place too. Can you even handle the idea of that?”

You didn’t want to admit the nervous flutters in your stomach that had just erupted felt as if they couldn’t handle that at all. But the way Mark was smiling at you, well, you were nodding before you realised it. “Fine, I’ll come to yours. When do you want me?”

“Uh–” Mark’s happiness was broken as he had a flash of thought, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tonight? Do you have plans?”

“No. But you seem like you do,” you mused, pushing off with your cart to the stack of bananas. Mark followed you hastily, reaching for a bunch himself. You glanced at him bemusedly. “I can come another time if you–”

“No, I’m free tonight. I just need to make sure my housemate Jackson isn’t.”

“He’s welcome to join us,” you offered and Mark shook his head, sending another round of those flutters through your stomach.

With your hope now building, you were certain he was making this a date.

“Just us, and the zucchini,” he confirmed with a laugh and you grinned, nodding in agreement.

“Send me your address and I’ll make sure you’ll be convinced that they’re a staple vegetable for your diet.”

“Deal,” Mark replied, already pulling out his phone to text you the information you required.

And after several panicked hours, many potential excuse messages written and then deleted before pressing send, and finally getting ready, you stood in front of his door and pressed the doorbell gingerly.

Mark appeared shortly after, face flushed as he took your appearance in before inviting you inside. You gasped when you were greeted by an unexpected housemate. Crouching down to pet the dog, you fussed over it whilst Mark watched on with a smile. “His name is Milo.”

“Hey! That was my name. I said I was going to call my pet that if I ever got one.”

“Do you have a dog, Y/N?” he bartered and you huffed at Mark’s thieving ways before smiling back down at the canine nuzzling your hand.

“You’re lucky you’re adorable and suit the name perfectly,” you humoured, petting the dog before standing back up. “Lead the way to your kitchen then.”

You had decided to do mini pizza bites tonight. It was a simple recipe and since the zucchini pack Mark had chosen were all rather large, it made for perfect little pizza bases. You cut several slices before loading them up with pizza sauce and your preferred toppings, and then popped them into the oven you had preheated.

“Wow, that’s really simple to make,” Mark enthused when you pulled them out of the oven shortly after, arranging them all onto the plate he had out for them. You then reached for your bag, retrieving a large container.

“Since the pizza bites on their own are more of an appetiser, I also prepared a salad. I didn’t know what you would have on hand here so I thought to make it ahead of time.”

“Were you always this adept in the kitchen, Y/N?”

“You used to scoff all the cookies I would bake for our classes, remember?”

Mark grinned. “How has nobody wifed you yet?”

It was meant to be a joke, that much you could tell. But when you both glanced at each other, the mood faltered, Mark clearing his throat as your cheeks flushed with colour. Soon recovered, you shrugged. “Maybe Mr Right isn’t ready for me yet.”

You avoided his gaze, not letting on that you had always imagined moments like this in the past. Today hadn’t helped either. Meeting in the grocery store had morphed into a day of imagining Mark doing everything domestic with you. From shopping to cleaning, you had envisioned it all, and now that you had just cooked dinner together, you were feeling a little on edge.

You were grateful when Mark pulled out a bottle of wine. “To say thanks for your cooking skills and to complement our good food choices.”

“One glass shouldn’t hurt,” you agreed, gulping half of it down in one go.

The night was wearing on and the bottle of wine had been emptied. You conversed over a range of topics, from future goals to funny anecdotes, the laughter and wine flowing effortlessly.

Finally, you had enough liquid courage to ask him why everything happened back then. Mark looked at you, surprised. “What did you just say?”

“Why did you cheat on Lucy?”

“Is that what she told you happened?” Mark asked and you clutched your glass to your chest, brows furrowing together. He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “I guess I can see why she would.”

“You didn’t cheat on her?”

“Do I seem like the type to do that?”

You hummed an unanswerable tone. “I never thought once I’d lose you from my world, but it happened. So anything’s possible, right?”

“I didn’t cheat on her, Y/N. I broke up with her because I didn’t want to hurt her anymore.”

“But...” you started, scooting closer to Mark with your confusion. “You hurt her when you broke up with her. She was a mess! Do you know how many weeks she cried on my bedroom floor saying she would never find love again? She was broken.”

“It was true that I liked someone else. Which is why I ended things with Lucy,” he admitted, gaze now guarded. “It wasn’t fair to either of us.”

“So you left her for another woman.” Nodding slowly, you lifted the glass to your lips. Still, it felt just as cruel as cheating had, though you were relieved your initial belief that Mark would never cheat on anyone had been right. His parents had raised him up too well to do something that dishonest. Guilt flared in your stomach at your eventual acceptance that he had and you tried to slosh it away with more wine.

Mark took the drink from your hand and you whined.

“I never got the woman either.”

“What?” Sitting up, you pointed in his direction. “Why not?”

“Because she was out of my reach, she always had been.”

“Then she clearly didn’t deserve you.”

“No, I suppose she deserved far better. Though when I saw her dating someone, it made me realise I was in the wrong relationship.” Mark was staring intently at you now and you stopped moving, signs pointing inwardly. Your hand slipped from the table you had rested it on in realisation and thudded onto the floor.

“You know, I really did try. But you’re right, I hurt Lucy. And she made it clear that if she had to lose me, then there was no way she’d let me have you too.”

Even though you had concluded it was you, it still shocked you for the pronoun to change from she to you. “Mark-”

“I figured, I’d never see you again too when all the walls built up around you by Lucy. Then I received the wedding invitation. I don’t know, I held some hope that maybe I’d see you again, that you would be happy to see me too. And then finding out you were still single, well I–”

Perhaps it was the alcohol. Or it was the fact that Mark just told you he got jealous seeing you with someone else like you had him. Maybe you just plain old didn’t need to hear anything more since your heart was beating fast enough. Whatever it was that led you to lean over and kiss him felt worth it when your lips met his. He didn’t hesitate, mouth now moving against yours with a passion you had never experienced before. Soon entangled, both lips and limbs, you were moaning with the heady pleasure of kissing Mark.

This had been a part of your fantasies earlier on too. But you hadn’t expected it to feel this good.

When you finally separated, now breathless and dishevelled, you felt vulnerable and as if you needed to explain yourself. “It’s just that I, well I always… and um–”

“You know, I half-wondered if Lucy kept us apart for more than just her own healing. I don’t hold it against her but I was sure you liked me too.”

“I did,” you announced, nodding softly. “I mean, I do.”

“Even now?”

You nodded again. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I didn’t.”

“Mind if I kiss you again?” Mark asked and you swooned, smiling as you nodded for the third time.

When his lips found yours, you decided that this time around, you would tell Mark about everything you felt for him. There would be no regrets, no feeble acceptance. You wouldn’t let anyone stop you from being with him.

“You make me feel the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Rolling over so you could face the man uttering such words, you pressed your hand to Mark’s bare chest, marvelling at the sparkle on your finger before smiling up at him. Mark’s arms encircled you, bringing you closer so he could kiss the tip of your nose. He then moved to your lips whilst mumbling, “I am so lucky to have you.”

You hummed with appreciation, kissing him several times over before stilling again, entrapped with his loving gaze.

Three years had passed again, yet this time, it was spent together. You had dated, fallen deeply in love, moved in together and last night he had finally popped the question.

You would marry next year.

“How lucky?” you asked with a sigh, chewing on your lip giddily. “How happy?”

“Didn’t you just hear me?”

You shook your head innocently. “Hear what?”

“Trust you,” he answered with a chuckle, hugging you tenderly. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you even more.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Oh, you’re going to argue this out with me?”

“You didn’t ask me to marry you first,” Mark pointed out and you gaped at your fiancé, poking him firmly in the chest. “Therefore I win.”

“I should’ve said no,” you grumbled and Mark brushed his lips over your forehead, knowing you would melt immediately. Your protests simmered.

“It’s a good thing you said yes.”

“Do you think had you not dated Lucy, we might have been married already?” you wondered, and Mark smiled at your question.

“If I didn’t, do you think you would have spoken up about your crush?”

You glanced away, knowing back then you had been too shy to think of such a thing. And then you pouted. “I should have dated someone first. Then you would have gotten jealous earlier and–”

Mark kissed away your alternate pathways, shaking his head as he did so. “No, this is how we were meant to be. It wouldn’t be as good as it is now had we not had a reason to step toward each other like this. Besides, Lucy is really happy for us. Why do we need to change a thing?”

“Well, we do need to change some things,” you murmured, sitting up, much to Mark’s chagrin. “It’s Saturday morning, after all.”

“Babe, we just got engaged last night. Can’t we spend more of the morning in this bed together?”

You shook your head, slipping out from under the covers. “I can’t wait any longer.”

“Your need for that schedule is really pressing, huh?”

“No, it’s not that,” you corrected, backing up towards the ensuite where you would shower to start your day. Mark eyed you curiously. “I just need to start doing things with my fiancé. The shopping, the house chores, I want to feel what it’s like to do them now I’m engaged.”

“You’re so incredibly adorable,” he told you, getting up from the bed and coming over to you in the threshold. Wrapping his arms around you again, Mark leaned down to kiss you. “Okay, let’s experience it all.”

“Even our first shower together as an engaged couple?” you questioned and his mouth twitched, a giggle leaving you at his sudden eagerness.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier, we have a lot to get through today!”

You had finally found your Mr Right. After losing sight of Mark years ago, you were certain there would be no need to do anything apart from each other now.

_________________

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mrsbhandari · 4 years

Text

Shutter - Part 2

a/n: HI it me!! i don’t really have much to say lmao, but i hope you like it!! also the cover of vogue looks like this, by the lovely @lxdy-starfury, and is like the entire inspiration behind this fic so yee!

warnings: some language but that’s really it

words: 2k

tags: @lxdy-starfury, @huntress1024, @anotherbeingsworld, @brightpinkpeppercorn, @chaotic-ramsay-queen

“Can you believe I got his number?”

“You what?”

“We talked a little bit after the shoot.” Nia guiltily fidgeted with her tea cup, her ring making small clicks against the porcelain.

“Okay, talking is very much different from getting his number. You have a billionaire’s phone number.” Incredulous, Naexi sat back in the plush seat of the book store lounge area, shaking her head. “So now what? Is he gonna be your sugar daddy?”

“What?! No!” Nia blushed furiously. “I don’t like him...that way.”

“Sure. And I didn’t just get credited with the cover of Vogue.”

“Congratulations, by the way.” Nia tried to change the subject, which Naexi picked up on and allowed. Nia grabbed the latest issue of Vogue off the table in front of them, admiring the glossy cover of Tyril with his hair in a messy ponytail and a somber look behind his glasses. “He was...unexpected, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“I expected him to be like all of those aloof and distant love interests in romance novels.”

“And how did he seem to you?”

“He was really sweet! Super warm, like you could just talk to him all day about everything and he would totally understand.” Naexi hummed, looking down into her coffee. “What? How did he seem to you?”

“I’m...not sure.” She shook her head and looked back up to her friend, giving an easy smile. “He felt nice enough, but I totally bet it’s all some act. He’s definitely a vampire.”

“At least he’s attractive.”

Naexi sent a glance down to the magazine. “Maybe.”

“So what I’m getting from this is...you’re in love?”

“That’s absurd! I am in nothing of the sort.” Tyril sat straight up in his chair, which was a direct contrast to Mal, whose feet were spread as he lounged lazily in the wire seat. Despite the cold, they sat in the outside seating section of a small cafe, right near small space heaters set up by the table. “I never said anything about even liking the woman--”

“Alright, alright, chill out. I was only joking, but it sure seems like I might’ve been right.” Mal sent a smug smile over the table and raised an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?”

“Dude, you want to impress her? You want her approval? You noticed the smell of her lotion? I diagnose you with love, bud.” He crossed his arms and briefly glanced towards his bike that was parked across the street; a car seemed to be driving kind of close to it. When he returned his gaze to Tyril, his friend was pensively staring at the half-eaten pastry on his plate and chewing on his nail. Reaching across the table, Mal plucked Tyril’s hand out of his mouth and held it on the table top to get him to stop. “It’s not a bad thing.”

“I don’t have time for it, though. That’s the problem.”

“C’mon, Ty. We both know that’s bullshit. You’re into her, but you’re afraid of getting hurt and don’t want to take a risk.” Mal squeezed his friend’s hand. “I agree that what happened with Kaya sucked, but you have to be willing to step back out on the edge to see the view, even if you might fall.”

“Poetry is supposed to be my thing, Volari.”

“What, I’m not allowed to be romantic?” He batted his eyelashes and placed a hand under his chin, prompting a small smile from Tyril.

“Not with that haircut, you’re not.”

“Hey!”

“Um…” Naexi cautiously eyed the large vase of flowers on her desk, tapping her coworker Belana on the shoulder before approaching the tulips. “What is this? Who delivered these?”

“Well, they look a lot like tulips and a delivery guy just came with them about ten minutes ago. Who’s the admirer?” Belana wiggled her eyebrows, laughing when Naexi shoved her shoulder.

“As if I know.” She set her bag down and dug through the jungle of vibrant red to find a small card. The gold inscription read “When I’m around you, I lose my focus,” paired with a tiny drawing of camera in simple black ink. It wasn’t signed.

“Well?”

“I have no clue what to make of it.” She handed the card to Belana, who burst out laughing at the joke.

“That’s a good one! Because you’re a photographer!”

“No, stop, please. My stomach hurts from laughing so hard.” Snatching the card back, she read it again before pushing the vase to a miraculously unoccupied corner of her desk and placing the card in one of her frames, the one housing the picture of Nia and her on a work trip in Paris. Nia was a bookkeeper at a small bookstore, but she abused the hell out of Vogue’s plus one policy on trips. She grabbed her phone and found Nia’s text conversation quickly, typing out a short message asking about the flowers.

NIA: that’s so weird! I have no clue who could have sent them.

Nia definitely had a clue who could have sent them. She had so much of a clue, in fact, that she scrolled down to her conversation with Tyril, the exact person who sent them.

NIA ELLARIOUS: She got them! And she doesn’t know who sent them.

TYRIL STARFURY: Did she like them?

NIA ELLARIOUS: Hm, I’m not sure. She didn’t say anything about them, just that she wasn’t sure who they were from. We’re having lunch today, I can ask her then.

TYRIL STARFURY : I can’t thank you enough! I hope this isn’t awkward, being somewhat of a spy for your friend.

NIA ELLARIOUS: Of course not! I think it’s incredibly sweet what you’re doing.

TYRIL STARFURY: Thank you, I’m very nervous about it working.

NIA ELLARIOUS: Don’t be! It will all work out, I can promise you that.

TYRIL STARFURY: Thank you.

Nia slipped her phone into an apron pocket and went back to humming as she dusted the shelves.

“I’ve probably gained twenty pounds since you’ve started working here. These pastries are to die for,” Naexi moaned as she bit into her chocolate croissant, savoring the flakiness of the breading that practically melted in her mouth.

“Me, too,” Nia sighed, nervously fidgeting with her apron.

“What’s got you all nervous?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing!” She offered a shaky smile, which did nothing to squash Naexi’s suspicions.

“So we’re lying to each other now?”

“No, of course not!” Nia struggled to come up with a believable lie that could easily segue into talking about the flowers. “I’m just still trying to think who would’ve sent you flowers today. Very odd.”

“To be honest, I kind of forgot about them.”

“Really?!” Nia set down her teacup before she had the chance to drop it. “I know if someone sent me flowers, I would be thinking about it for the rest of the day.” Naexi hummed. “What?”

“Now that I’m thinking about it again, it is kind of weird. I haven’t been dating in a while, so who could’ve done it? And obviously they were sent by someone who barely knows me, because the joke was….not my style.”

Smirking, Nia spoke before she could stop herself. “Maybe that’s why you’re so cranky. You need to put yourself out there more.”

After a small moment of silence seemed to be occupied by Naexi’s thoughts, she waved her hands. “I think not. No significant other is going to keep me from being my grouchy self. Sorry to disappoint.”

Nia threw her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “I’d never want you to change.” For the rest of her lunch break, the two girls sat and talked while watching people pass outside the window of the store. As soon as Naexi left, Nia eagerly fished out her phone and found Tyril’s text conversation.

“I shouldn’t have gone with that inscription.” Tyril was pacing back and forth in his office between where Imtura sat in one chair and Mal sat in another. He was chewing on his nail again, and Mal stood to take his hand away again. He sat back down in his chair with a firm grip on Tyril’s hand, limiting the length of the billionaire’s pacing while still not stopping it.

“Will you stop panicking? I’m sure the girl loved it,” Imtura reassured, barely looking up from her phone. “It was a pretty funny joke.”

“But what if she doesn’t like jokes?!” Tyril exclaimed, running a hand through his hair and pulling some pieces out of its tidy half-up do.

“Ty!” Mal stood and grabbed his friend’s other hand, forcing him to stop and look at him. “I’ve never seen you like this. C’mon, talk to me.”

“I’ve just never done something like this. Flirting and relationships and what have you....It’s all foreign to me. I want to make sure it’s perfect.” He jumped as his phone went off in his pocket.

NIA ELLARIOUS: She still doesn’t have any idea who sent the flowers, but she doesn’t really like puns. Especially about her job.

TYRIL STARFURY: That is...most unfortunate. Thank you so much for your help.

NIA ELLARIOUS: Would you like to come by the shop and have lunch with me on Thursday?

He looked at the date; It was Tuesday.

TYRIL STARFURY: I would love to.

NIA ELLARIOUS: See you then!

“I knew I shouldn’t have gone with your idea, Mal.”

“She didn’t like the joke? Sounds like this girl’s a real snooze, if you ask me.”

“Good thing he’s not,” Imtura joked, dodging a punch from Mal.

“Well, Nia invited me to lunch with her on Thursday--” He was cut off by his phone ringing, his father’s contact flashing on the screen. “Pardon. Hello, Father?”

“Tyril, I hope you are doing well.”

“You as well, Father. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” In his seat, Mal cringed at the formalities.

“I’ve sent the information to your email, but I wanted to remind you directly about a charity gala I’m hosting next week, for the company.”

Mal rolled his eyes, but Tyril snapped his fingers and gave him a stern look, akin to a mother scolding a child. “Yes, of course.”

“Your sister has a date, so I would have to ask you to bring one as well. It would look good for the company.” Tyril opened his mouth to speak, but his father beat him to it. “Mal is already invited as a high ranking member of the company, therefore he cannot count as your plus one.”

“Yes, sir. I will find a date for your gala.”

“Thank you, Tyril. Goodbye.”

“Good bye.” Tyril continued to look at the phone, even after his father hung up.

“Well.” Clapping his hands together, Mal stood up and sighed, placing his hands on his hips and swiveling his body to crack his back. “He’s even more of a snooze than the girl.”

“Are you kidding me? Again?!” Naexi exclaimed, throwing her bag down on her chair since her desk was occupied by yet another large vase of flowers, this time peach dahlias. “Who is doing this?” Belana peeked over to her coworker’s desk, whistling at the sight of the large collection of flowers.

“Damn! Wait, what logo is on the card?” Naexi fished the card out.

“It says it’s from a place called Loola’s.” While Belana typed something into her laptop, Naexi read the card aloud. “‘For a woman with a unique view of the world and the means to capture it.’”

“Holy shit!”

“I don’t think it’s that good, but I--”

“Not that. I looked up a bouquet of peach dahlias from Loola’s and it looks like that one cost about a hundred and ten bucks.”

Naexi blinked. “It still isn’t signed. I don’t…” she trailed off, looking again at the bouquet before whipping out her phone and texting Nia.

NIA: Wow, another one?

NAEXI: Yeah! Belana says it cost 100$

Despite knowing who sent it, Nia’s eyes still widened at her phone.

NIA: Seriously?! Any idea who it’s from yet?

NAEXI: Nope.

NIA: We can brainstorm tomorrow over lunch.

#tyril #tyril starfury #choices tyril #blades au #choices blades #blades of light and shadow

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always-and-forever-a-killjoy · 4 years

Text

Coming Home Chapter 2

Hello fuckers I know I promised this chapter yesterday but then I fell asleep because I was incredibly exhausted. So I'm posting it today because I deserve it Also, the song for the last chapter was Revolution Radio by Green Day, which no one guessed! I'll give you a hint for this chapter- it's very far off from Green Day or My Chemical Romance.

Title: Coming, Coming Home

Chapter Title: Cause I’m with you this time

Chapter Wordcount: 3333

Chapter Summary:

Cherri Cola settles into living with Dr. Death Defying and White Lily, figures out that someone actually cares about him, and makes some reckless decisions.

Warnings: implied/referenced past abuse, referenced past misgendering, light panic/anxiety attack, non-graphic/canon-typical violence and injury, uhhh i *think* that's it? (If you want to know what parts to skip, go to the end notes on AO3- I also put a brief summary of any important info in those parts. Stay safe!)

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia @dagger-queen @no-braincells-here @piratecherricola (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

Chapter 1 AO3 Link

Chapter 1 Tumblr Post

(Actual fic under the cut)

It took a few months for Cherri to really settle in to living with the other two. He was younger than them, and lacked the shared experience of fighting in the Helium Wars. But all three of them had the shared understanding of having grown up too fast, the pain and weariness in the other’s eyes mirroring his exactly. Not to mention that running a pirate radio station and attempting to spark a rebellion did tend to bond people. Having each others’ backs in firefights, fixing the radio equipment together, and eating their meals as a group only aided that process.

So 109 WKIL slowly got off the ground, heading into the sky just as promised. Their transmitter was fairly decent, and so their range was large even if few listeners were tuning in right now. But the rebellion grew daily, neutrals and Battery City folk abandoning a more peaceful life under the hand of Better Living Industries for the wild world of a killjoy. White Lily spoke over the radio at least weekly, encouraging them to fight, to not let themselves be squashed under bli’s heel.

“Power is not given, but taken. If you hate oppression, you better be ready to fight against the oppressor and give it everything you’ve got.”

Cherri was sitting in his usual spot under the broadcast desk, making sure that all the equipment was running smoothly as White Lily spoke above him. Her voice didn’t have the deep, gravelly weight of D’s, but the fire in it was inspiring. There had always been something about White Lily that made people want to follow her, D had told him. Some spark in her spirit that kindled fires in others, bringing them together under her leadership.

“Better Living may have bombs, and gas, and more ray guns than we can dream of getting our grubby little killjoy paws on. But we have something they can never replace: spirit. You can’t make a fiery heart with pills and white walls. They can take our bodies, shoot us full of plasma and throw us to the wolves. But they can never touch our spirit. Never. We will rise again, as many times as they try to throw us down.

"The spirit of the desert is something they can’t kill with any amount of laser beams. Any size of bomb, any number of exterminators. None of it will squash our spirit, and that’s what makes us invincible. As long as a single killjoy rises to fight, Better Living Industries cannot win. So get out there, crash queens! Get your vehicles, motorbabies. Angel kissers, grab your med kits, and kerosene saints, your matches. We’ve got a corporation to overthrow, and we’re not stopping at just nipping at their heels. Killjoys, it’s time to make some noise!”

She clicked off the radio. “How was that?”

“Good,” Cherri told her. “Inspiring. Makes you want to fistfight an exterminator.”

“Oh good, that’s what I was hoping for.” Lily paused. “No fistfighting exterminators though, that’s a bad idea.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Oh yes I can,” Lily laughed. She was still grinning as she reached to help Cherri out from under the desk, a grin both achingly close and achingly far to one he remembered. There were days when she looked so much like his sister it hurt, not in her features but in the way she laughed and her teasing grin as she and D bantered back and forth.

Cherri tried not to think about it as he pulled himself to his feet. “And how do you plan on stopping me?”

“Hmm…I think I shall tackle you.”

“Then what?”

“Make D lecture you nonstop until you fall asleep.”

Cherri laughed as they headed back into the house. "Good luck with that."

So far, they hadn’t had to move the van from its position in front of their home in Zone Four, but all of them knew it was only a matter of time before bli would be breathing down their necks.

“We have some time,” D said that evening. “Our signal will be hard to track, and we don’t have a wide enough reach to be a threat to Better Living Industries yet.”

“We’re getting there, though,” Lily commented, digging around for the last bit of power pup in her can.

“True, we’ve got a lot more listeners now than we did before.” Cherri was already finished with his, playing with his dented spoon and reflecting the sunlight across the room idly. “It’s going to be hard to stay hidden for long, not when the other killjoys whisper about our station and spread the word between themselves.”

“The more people who know, the easier it is for Better Living to find us,” D agreed. “Of course, we need people to know so they’ll tune in, but we’ll have to be careful as we get larger.”

“Careful, careful, you’re always careful.” Lily leaned back in her chair, setting down her spoon. “I’m not saying we abandon all caution, but there’s going to be risks running a rebellion. A lot of the time, we’ll just have to decide if they’re worth taking.”

Cherri nodded, still examining the spoon. “And a lot of the time they will be.”

“Didn’t know you were such a daredevil, Cher.” He made to glare at Lily, but she went on. “You’re right though. Everything’s a risk, and we’re going to have to take a lot of them.”

“I don’t like that,” D put in.

“None of us do, except maybe Cherri the daredevil over here. But we’re doing it.”

“We’re doing it,” D agreed tiredly.

“I’m not a fucking daredevil,” Cherri muttered. That was….mostly true. Risk for the sake of risk wasn’t exactly his thing, but risk for any other sake was. As long as only his life was at risk, it was a risk worth taking. He figured, at least.

“You’re pretty fucking daring, Cher.”

“Only risks that are worth it, though.” He pretended not to see the two older ‘joys exchange glances.

True to their predictions, the rebellion grew. Their radio was a contributing factor, Cherri hoped. It certainly seemed to have grown in popularity as more killjoys entered the desert and more neutrals lay down their peaceful ways and took up arms alongside the killjoys. WKIL was something whispered about in killjoy circles, told to the newbies, the undergrads of the desert.

Cherri knew because he was the one who went and talked with them, the lesser-known face. Everyone recognized at very least the voices of D and Lily by now, the two radio speakers who rallied the rebels, but Cherri Cola was not a name whispered in legend yet. He was just a sixteen year old with a shitty ray gun and a bad haircut, which had advantages and disadvantages.

One of the advantages was the ability to go talk to random people and be seen as relatively harmless, just a teen with a bright pink mask. There was nothing about him to suggest that he was an incredible shot with a ray gun or a dangerous fighter, not in the slightest. He wore oversized clothes and perpetually looked disheveled, so he had been told. And if you didn’t look too closely at his eyes, you wouldn’t even see the fire in them.

So Cherri used that hidden advantage, appearing perfectly harmless to anyone who didn’t know him well. It was helpful for White Lily and Dr. Death Defying, since neither of them could go anywhere where there were a lot of rebels without being recognized.

And the rebellion grew and grew. Their voices were growing louder, their colors brighter even as Better Living Industries tried to squash them down. The spirit of the desert truly was rising, and a faint sense of hope had started to permeate the air. White Lily never promised that they would win. But she promised that Better Living Industries wouldn’t, so long as a single killjoy stood, and that was enough for most of the desert.

They were teenagers, mainly. The bulk of the force that was forming the current rebellion was either teenagers, running from their pasts in Battery City, or twenty-something former soldiers of the Helium Wars, running from what they had done or trying to put it right. They were young and invincible, so it seemed. The reality that they could easily die doing this hadn’t sunk in for most of the younger population of the desert, intoxicated on freedom and the thrill of the desert.

D and Lily knew that reality all too well, Cherri knew. He knew they knew what all of them were up against, had watched death in their own right in the Helium Wars, had wrought it with their own hands.

He knew what the consequences were too, a memory of bli employees in clean white suits coming to respectfully ‘recruit’ the person he loved most hovering behind a door in his mind. That door would remain closed, Cherri had decided. The past was the past- but he fought because of it anyways, knowing the horrors Better Living Industries had done.

Cherri might have been young, but he was no fool. He knew quite well that he could die, and he couldn’t be bothered to give a fuck, as Lily would put it. There were things more important than living to some grand old age, and this rebellion was one of them.

He would be lying to himself if he said that some part of him wasn’t in this for revenge, maybe a larger part than he was willing to admit.

“If you take away someone’s world, they might just burn yours down,” Cherri muttered to himself, aiming his shitty old ray gun at the empty cans Lily had set up that day. Despite how long he had already been out here, they still hadn’t managed to locate him a better weapon. That was fine, he thought, he was deadly enough even without one, but D and Lily both insisted that it would be a lot easier for him with something that wasn’t outdated by at least three years.

“What?” Cherri jumped as D came to stand next to him, aiming his own black and blue ray gun at the cans. “Did you say something, Cherri?”

“Oh, uh. Nothing.”

D shrugged, tilting his head to take aim. “You don’t have to tell me, I just figured I’d ask in case you were trying to tell me something.”

Cherri lowered his ray gun, glancing down. “I said if you take away someone’s world, they might just burn yours down.”

“Ah. True, and insightful.” Cherri didn’t have to glance over at D to know his face would be gently concerned. “Somewhat dark though, you could say.”

“Guess so.”

They were silent for a moment, apart from the zap of ray guns.

“Pasts are something to be forgotten here,” D said finally. “But if you need someone to talk to about yours, Lily and I will support you.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it, you know.”

Cherri fiddled with his ray gun. “Yeah.”

“Just putting that out there.” D turned back to their target practice.

Despite D’s words, there was a silent agreement amongst the three of them that pasts were not to be spoken of or asked about. Occasionally, D or Lily would tell a few stories, mainly from their childhood. They rarely talked about the Helium Wars, only occasionally with each other. And Cherri said nothing about his past. Instead, he pretended not to notice the days when the other two flinched at any loud sound, and they pretended not to hear him cry out in the night, when everything was silent and there was no buffer against the memories. It was a courtesy more than anything, a way to keep each other from having to speak about their darkest times. Usually, Cherri appreciated that, finding it easier to deal with any hurt alone than worry about burdening the others.

Tonight, however, was different. No matter how much he tried to calm himself down, his breath kept coming too quickly and he couldn’t drown out the voices of his past. Worthless, never going to amount to anything…should be more like Samantha…your grades are slipping again…never going to be a boy…

Cherri shivered violently, even though the blanket was tucked safely over him, and climbed off the window seat he had been using as a sort of bed, picking up said blanket. It was cold in the desert at night, no use leaving it behind.

It took him more rests of leaning against the wall and trying frantically to draw a single breath than he wanted to admit before he was down the hall to the room D and Lily had claimed. Their door was cracked open, but Cherri pushed it open a little bit further to see both of them seemingly sleeping peacefully as he stood in the doorway.

“Cher?” That was White Lily, lifting her head a bit from the mattress. “Everything okay?”

He managed to shake his head, and she gestured for him to come sit.

“What’s going on, friendo?”

“Bad dream,” Cherri whispered.

“Ah. Those are no fun. Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Lily nodded as if to say that didn’t surprise her, and she looked dreadfully like someone he used to know in that moment. “Come on then, lay on down. D won’t mind if you elbow him, he gets up at ass o’clock in the morning anyways.”

Cherri was quite certain D would, in fact, mind, but he did as she asked anyways, settling down on the creaky mattress. Lily put her arm out in what was clearly an offer, but didn’t touch him until he rolled over towards her. When he did, she wrapped her arm around him fully, pulling him closer, and Cherri felt like he could breathe for the first time since waking up.

Lily didn’t say ‘I love you’ or anything of the sort, but she did ruffle his hair and give him a quiet “Goodnight, Cher.”

And Cherri didn’t say ‘I love you’ either, but he leaned into her embrace. “Goodnight, Lily.”

True to Lily’s words, it was, in fact, what Cherri would qualify as ‘ass o’clock in the morning’ when D woke up and proceeded to wake the other two up while getting out of bed.

“Is it even light out?” Cherri questioned as Lily gave a massive yawn.

“No, which is why D’s being an asshole.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, Lil. Or you, Cherri.” He didn’t question why Cherri was there, much to Cherri’s relief.

“You did anyways,” Lily grumbled, but she released Cherri and sat up. “I guess it would be time to get up soon anyways.”

“Exactly,” D huffed.

Lily just yawn-laughed as she got up, and Cherri reluctantly followed the others downstairs. They had quick breakfast in the predawn light, followed by a bit of fussing around as they got ready for D’s morning broadcast, organizing all the news and things that had come in yesterday. Killjoys had started to send them news of the desert, to the point where they got almost as much from what people sent in/dropped off/radioed to them as what Cherri found out on his almost daily runs. It was starting to pass what he could find out on daily runs, really. But he went anyways because they still needed his info, and they needed to eat.

“Bye, Lily, D!”

“See you, Cherri,” Lily hollered back. “Be careful!”

“I will!”

The three of them split the tasks that living in the desert and running a radio station required. Today, D and Lily were taking the radio station van to drive around and talk to people, encourage them to join the cause. Cherri was taking the motorcycle to get any news and see if he couldn’t grab some power pup from a supply truck.

He sped down the road, getting in position to raid the supply truck. A one-killjoy raid was a dumb idea, for sure, but Better Living Industries hadn’t started to arm their trucks very heavily yet, and Cherri was confident enough in his ability to think he could pull it off. This was a small one, anyways. The initial raid went off without a hitch- the driver and few accompanying dracs were dead before they had time to see the teenage killjoy who hurried down from the dune to pull out as much of the contents of the truck as would fit in the sidecar of the motorbike. It was afterwards that became the problem, as a full two cars of bli employees came rushing towards the site.

“Fuck,” Cherri hissed under his breath. He quickly assessed his odds. One teenager with a shitty ray gun and a motorcycle against what must be at least one scarecrow and probably at least eight dracs was not good odds, but he doubted running away would be any better. They would chase him down, and then he wouldn’t even have the advantage of his higher vantage point. Hiding wasn’t an option either, given that dracs would search the entire area, so Cherri crouched behind the motorcycle and got ready to fire.

When the first person hopped out of the car, Cherri almost swore out loud. Not a scarecrow. An exterminator. He was so fucked.

Cherri’s hands shook slightly as he lifted the ray gun and aimed. He had to take down that exterminator as soon as possible, or he was dead. The shakiness proved his undoing, as the shot whistled past the exterminator, missing by barely half an inch and causing the Better Living operative to turn.

Fuck it. Cherri got out from behind the motorcycle and ran directly towards them, firing off shots indiscriminately. His best shot now was to overwhelm and confuse them. It seemed to be working, given that one thing they did not expect was a teenager in a bright pink mask to come running directly at them. In fact, most of the dracs froze, enough that he was able to get in a few good shots before they realized what was happening. One shot even hit the exterminator in the shoulder, but unfortunately not their shooting arm, leaving them perfectly capable of raising their gun to retaliate.

Retaliate they did, and Cherri screamed as a shot hit him in the side. “Fuck! Fuck you!” He was shaking too hard to shoot back as the exterminator held up a hand, quite calmly.

All the dracs stopped, and the exterminator strolled casually towards Cherri. “Greetings, rebel.”

Cherri spit at their feet.

“Rather rude of you, wasn’t that? I’m tempted to kill you here, you ill-mannered rebel scum.” They reached out and tilted Cherri’s chin up to look them in the eye, letting him see the cold fire that lingered there.

“Get fucked,” Cherri spat out as they took his ray gun from a shaking hand and tossed it over their shoulder.

“I do appreciate the suggestion, but I suggest you keep your mouth shut if you want to live.”

Their ray gun was positioned at his neck, and Cherri knew he had a low chance of surviving even a stun shot to that spot at such a close distance.

“I would kill you now, ill-mannered rebel, but I think I’ll let you live for one reason and one reason only- I want you to go to that ‘Doctor D’ and his friend White Lily, and tell them they will not win. We will find the radio station you killjoys speak of, we know your precious leader is hiding out in Zone Four. So go, tell them. And pray you survive that shot.”

They shoved Cherri, and he stumbled away, ignoring the pain in his side as he climbed onto the motorcycle. He revved the engine, throwing it into action and barely caring if some of the supplies fell out of the sidecar.

The exterminator watched him go with a cruel smile.

#cherri cola #dr. death defying #ttlofk #coming coming home tag #auri writes #ask to tag #white lily #killjoy oc #sometimes a family is a 21 y/o rebellion leader her tired best friend and the feral 16 y/o they picked up along the way

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