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autisticlancemcclain · 2 years

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“I’ll catch up with you, Shiro.”

Shiro turns around, raising an eyebrow. Keith isn’t even facing him, looking instead at the planet’s extensive flower fields. They’re like the Dutch tulip fields, only a million times better.

“What are you doing?” Shiro asks slowly, trying to keep his voice neutral. He knows exactly what Keith’s doing, but he desperately wants to hear the man say it.

Keith hesitates. “Um, just getting something.”

Shiro smirks, especially devilish because Keith’s not looking at him so he can get away with it. “Oh,” he starts, faux-concerned, “did you forget something? I’ll help you look!”

Keith whips back forwards Shiro, who hastily wipes the smirk off his face. Keith’s ears are red.

“No, no you can go ahead! I can get the thing on my own. Thanks, though.”

“But Keith —” alright, Shiro may be overdoing it a little — “let me help! I don’t want you to be left looking for something on your own. What’d you lose?”

Keith scowls at him. “If I tell your nosy ass what I’m trying to get, will you fuck off and never mention it again?”

Shiro drops the concerned façade, leering at him. “No. But I won’t leave you alone unless you tell me, so. Speak up, lover boy.”

Keith glares harder, and tries to kick him, but Shiro’s always had faster reflexes. He lunges forward, putting Keith in a headlock. Keith does his best to buck him off, but Galran growth spurt be damned, Shiro’s still bigger. Punk ass kid.

“Better fess up before you don’t get a chance to give your boyfriend your present,” Shiro taunts.

“You already know, apparently! Why do I need to tell you?!”

“‘Cause I want to hear you say it. I didn’t endure several years of you gagging every time I kissed Adam to miss out on you being absolutely down bad for our resident lanky dork.”

“Alright, you fucking dickhead, fine!” Keith relents. “…I want to go get a bunch of flowers for Lance. There are a bunch of yellow ones that look like dandelions, those are his favourite. And the stems get wrapped in these pretty ribbons, I found a brown one that matches Lance’s eyes exactly. And,” he sighs dreamily, despite the fact that he’s still very much in a headlock, “Hunk said my arcade first date idea was bad ‘cause Lance is gonna slaughter me. I can’t wait.”

Shiro can’t take it anymore, and bursts into laughter so severe his whole body shakes. Keith slips out of the headlock, slapping Shiro repeatedly on the back. Shiro’s too weak with giggles to stop him.

“You — you’re whipped as hell,” he wheezes.

Keith stomps his foot. “Fuck off!” he says hotly. “This is normal! It’s Lance, for fuck’s sake! He doesn’t deserve anything less!”

Shiro wheezes harder, going completely soundless. He can barely keep himself upright.

“S — so whipped, holy shit you want to straight up marry him —“

“I will leave your sorry ass here, Shiro, I swear to God —“

Shiro takes several deeps breaths, desperately trying to calm himself. Whew. This is golden.

He straightens himself up, and almost loses it again at how red Keith’s face is, but manages to keep himself in check (although barely).

Keith scowls further. “Go fuck yourself. You were just as bad as I was.”

Shiro shrugs, still smug. “Yeah, but I never gagged and said all romance was stupid and I’d never date a boy as long as I lived.”

“…Whatever, buttface. Go back to the castle so I can get my shit in peace.”

Shiro sniggers one more time, but relents, making his meandering way back home. He glances back at Keith, only to find him talking with the utmost seriousness to one of the florists. They gesture to a field, and Keith smiles, softer than Shiro has ever seen him, and sets off towards it. Shiro shakes his head, grinning.

He’s so happy for his dumbass little brother.

#this is so silly ahabajabaj #vld #voltron #shiro #takashi shirogane #keith #keith kogane #broganes #klance #keith is whipped #it’s truly embarrassing #brown-eyed lance #tall keith #gay gay gay #fluff #humour #banter #my writing #fic fragment

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julietashton · 1 year

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it’s hard to be anywhere these days (when all i want is you) - two

part one.

two.

Five months went by monotonously. He attended classes, he studied and wrote essays. He patrolled and put criminals in jail. He went to see May without ever entering her room. He ignored Tony’s messages. He ghosted Ned. He received Sophia’s wedding invitation and, later that same day, beat a bad guy that didn’t really deserve it into a pulp.

There was a girl in one of his classes that made eyes at him. He wasn’t one to notice those things, but she wasn’t being very subtle and, in a moment of desperation for human interaction, he asked her out. Carlie, as her name turned out to be, took him home after a pleasant dinner and kicked him out the very next morning saying she’d had a nice time but wasn’t looking for anything serious. Peter felt both empty and relieved.

It bothered him, that emptiness; after all, that had been his goal all along, to be on his own, and his efforts were working. May hadn’t still remembered him. Ned had gone radio silent for weeks. Tony kept calling but it would only be a matter of time until he got the message. And Sophia—

I gave up on you a long time ago.

Good. Good for her.

And yet, the words haunted him. They kept him up at night. They carved a crater inside his chest every time he remembered them.

I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself.

He didn’t need help. He was fine. It was all working out exactly the way he had planned it.

***

The fragile tranquillity and isolation he’d found ended when Mysterio came into the scene.

At first, he’d been the support he’d needed, the friend he’d been desperately craving. The Europe trip had been a distraction from the loneliness he was experiencing at home.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when everything turned to shit and his psyche ended up even more fucked up that it already had been.

It said a lot about his mental and emotional state that he’d felt safe in the Dutch prison. At least, no one there knew who he was, and being dead to the rest of the world was a strangely nice notion he could get on board with.

And then, Sophia showed up.

The look on her face gave away how unimpressed she was by the whole thing, especially when Peter was brought to her in that dirty orange soccer shirt, smelling like cow’s shit.

“Can you walk?” was all she said.

Barely, he thought, but nodded instead.

Without saying anything else, Sophia turned and walked out of the forsaken place, clearly expecting him to follow. He knew better than to argue or protest; besides, the shock at the sight of her was so great he couldn’t have said anything.

The Quinjet was parked in the outskirts of the village, in a colourful field of tulips. Peter had never seen anything so beautiful except for the woman walking ahead of him with an unreadable expression on her face.

“Is it really you?” he dared to ask in a whisper, before getting inside the jet.

Sophia stopped and turned to stare at him. “It’s been five months since my father’s birthday. Have I really changed that much since then?”

His heart raced but he still asked, “What did you say to me then?”

“I said many things.”

“Tell me one of them.”

She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes slightly. “I called you stupid for thinking pushing people away would keep them safe.”

Peter drew in a sharp breath, and he almost collapsed from the relief. Without even thinking, and ignoring all the complaints he got from his wounds, he closed the distance between them and threw his arms around her.

It hit him then that this couldn’t have been Mysterio. Not even his fancy illusion could have faked her scent, or her warmth, or the intensity of her eyes.

“It’s really you,” he sobbed like a little kid, hiding his face in her shoulder as he cried. “Thank God, thank God it’s really you. Thank God you’re safe.”

Sophia froze, evidently not having expected his reaction—or his breakdown. It took her a few moments to get out of her shock and hesitatingly return the embrace. Peter shivered when he felt her hands rubbing his back softly.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered. “We’re both safe.”

***

The Quinjet had a small shower because, well, it belonged to Tony Stark after all.

Sophia helped him take off the orange shirt and get out of the suit he was still wearing underneath, leaving him only in his boxers. Then, she cleaned him up with the shower headset; her fingers massaged his scalp while she washed the dirt and blood away, the hot water on his skin helping him to ease the pain in his bones and muscles.

They didn’t exchange any words during all of that; Sophia looked very busy on her task, and Peter was simply too tired to speak. He was also enjoying her touch and presence way too much, and he didn’t want to say anything to make her mad and drive her away.

Once he was decent, she left for a moment to find clothes for him. She came back with a pair of sweatpants and a band t-shirt that clearly had belonged to Tony. She didn’t let him put on the t-shirt though, and proceeded to stitch him up, also in silence.

The pain was rather unbearable, but there was a small mirror in front of him, and he distracted himself from the stitches by observing her as she worked diligently on his wound.

Sophia was in washed-out jeans, white sneakers and a band t-shirt of her own. Her hair was down, with only a clip on one side to keep her long fringe away from her face. He couldn’t imagine what she’d been doing before she had to fly all the way to a godforsaken Dutch village in search of him.

“How did you know where I was?” Peter asked, his voice coming out hoarse.

“I was visiting Dad when your protocols went off,” she told him without looking up from her task.

“I thought I had disabled those,” he frowned before hissing in pain and throwing Sophia a resentful look.

She didn’t even apologise. “You should know better than to think you can trick him with that shit.”

Peter winced. “So he is aware of—”

“Of course not,” she huffed. “I asked FRIDAY not to tell him. He would have wanted to suit up and come for you… so I took the Quinjet and came myself.”

He didn’t say anything for a while, her words making him incredibly emotional and guilty. Even after everything he’d done, Tony still had protocols for him, he was still willing to come for him if he was in trouble.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, quickly rubbing his eyes to dry the tears that wanted to come out. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

Sophia didn’t reply, but he saw the scowl on her face through the mirror.

She worked in silence for another while until she announced she was done and carefully put on a bandage, to cover the stitches. He observed her with a lump in his throat.

“Soph…”

She flinched at the nickname and gritted her teeth before throwing Tony’s t-shirt at him so he could get dressed.

“I’ll make you something to eat,” she ground out before leaving the small bathroom.

Peter took a few moments to himself before he followed her, looking at his face in the mirror. Even if some of his wounds were already healing, he still looked like absolute shit, because there was more there than evident physical exhaustion. The expression in his eyes was dead, and he could barely recognise himself.

Sophia was waiting for him in one of the seats, a plate of food sitting at the table in front of her. Peter sat in the opposite seat and began eating in silence under her watchful eyes. He didn’t realise how hungry he’d been until the first bite of food touched his mouth.

She waited until he’d finished to begin the interrogation.

“What the fuck is going on?” she asked without beating around the bush.

And Peter started spilling out everything, from the reason he’d accepted to study abroad for a semester—to escape his loneliness, basically—to meeting Mysterio, to being tricked and betrayed by him, to every single one of the illusions Mysterio had fabricated for him, including the ones about her.

Sophia kept quiet through all of it, keeping her expression carefully guarded, until he got to the part where he’d been defeated in Berlin.

“You’re telling me you’ve been hit by a train?” she gasped, palling in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time. “That wound in your back is from a bloody train?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, I managed to climb it up. I must have passed out in one of the cars, which is probably how I ended up in that prison.”

She gaped at him. “Peter, you could have died.”

“I’ve been dead before. It wasn’t that bad,” he joked weakly, which was clearly the wrong thing to say, because her face turned even whiter. “Sorry.”

Sophia stood up from her seat and gave her back to him. Her shoulders screamed tension, and Peter could hear the rapid beating of her anxious heart.

“Do you realise—” she began in a shaky voice, “that even if you push people away, that doesn’t guarantee they will stop caring about you?”

He gulped down. “Tony doesn’t need to find out—”

“I’m not talking about my father,” she snapped, turning to look at him brusquely. There were tears in her eyes, even if her cheeks were red in evident frustration. “I’m talking about me. How can you speak about dying so lightly when I have flown across the world to make sure you were still alive?”

Peter felt sick, knowing that he would have lost it if it had been the other way around. When he thought about the Blip, he was so glad it hadn’t been him in Sophia’s position that it was easy to forget she actually knew what it was like to experience his death, even if he’d been gone for only six months before the Avengers brought everybody back. Sophia was so strong all the time, so confident, that her trauma was sometimes overlooked.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, taking a hesitant step towards her. “I didn’t think about it.”

“But that’s the thing, isn’t it?” Sophia laughed dryly. “You don’t think about the people that care about you at all.”

“That’s not true and you know it,” Peter said with a frown. “Everything I do is to keep you safe. You may not agree with my methods, but all I think about is your well-being.”

“And do you think we are all well and happy without you in our lives?” she shook her head. “You always think about your losses, Peter. What about ours? Because, in a way, we have lost you.”

His eyes burnt, and his hands started shaking. She was right, he couldn’t deny she was right, but he was too scared.

“You’re better off without me, Soph,” Peter said quietly. “You may not see it now, but you will eventually. Tony will have one less thing to worry about, May will not even remember all the trouble I’ve caused her, and you—” he looked away, his throat closing. “You’ve already given up on me, you’ve said it yourself. Aren’t you happier?”

Sophia smiled bitterly. “Do I look happier?”

Peter stared at her properly and without restraint for the first time in what felt like forever. She was paler and thinner, her eyes duller and no longer sparkling mischievously—but then again, she wasn’t in the best situation right now.

“You’re getting married,” he said weakly. “That’s a good thing.”

She crossed her arms, her eyes pointedly on his. “Is it?”

He couldn’t hold her gaze. “Aren’t you happy about that?”

“One thing doesn’t cancel the other out, Peter,” she replied sharply. “You were one of the most important people in my life. I thought you were dead for six months and I mourned you…” She drew in a sharp breath, her bottom lip trembling. “And then you came back, and you pushed me away. I was the first person you pushed away—was that because I was the easiest to dispose of?”

His brain broke down, and he was left speechless, unable to believe her train of thought. It felt like a dagger through the heart to imagine she could believe that.

“What?” he let out brokenly. He couldn’t even recognise his voice. “Is that—Is that what you think?”

Sophia didn’t bother to reply, which was answer enough. He would have laughed at the horror if he could even remember how to do that. He’d been drained out of everything, and all he could feel was a deep-rooted exhaustion and sadness.

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” Peter stated, making her look up. “I pushed you away first because I knew that if I could do it with you, then I could do it with the rest.”

She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I had to break my heart beyond repair first in order to do what I had to do, Sophia,” he explained, the sorrow and frustration entwined in his tone. “If I had saved you for last, then I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it. I would have found an excuse along the way—I would have convinced myself that I didn’t have to do it. The longer I waited with you, the harder it would be.”

Her tears were falling freely down her cheeks by the time he finished. He probably was crying too, if the blurriness in his eyes was any indication of it, but he couldn’t focus on anything that wasn’t her.

“So, no,” Peter went on with a sad smile. “You weren’t the easiest to dispose of; on the contrary, pushing you away was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I can’t—I can’t even put into words how much I miss you… every day, all the time.” He inhaled some air and even that hurt. “And I know you won’t like this, but I would throw myself under that train again if that meant you would be here with—”

“No,” she cut him off, angrily wiping her tears away and glaring at him. “Shut up. Shut up. You never told me that—what are you even saying? You—”

“I love you,” he whispered but it was loud and clear enough. “I have been in love with you since the moment I met you, and I don’t think that’s ever going to change. I’m sorry.”

She was absolutely astonished by his confession, as if his feelings for her weren’t the most obvious thing in the world. He’d always been bad at hiding his emotions, and the way he felt for her had always been at another level entirely.

“You are—You are apologising?” Sophia cried out after a few moments of shocked silence, stomping his way and getting on his face. “After telling me you love me and all that—all that bullshit?”

Peter simply stared at her, taking in the fire in her wet eyes, the red of her cheeks, the trembling of her body. Her sweet perfume enveloped him and his head spun.

Yes. I love you. I love you. I love you.

“How dare you, Peter Parker?” she snarled, stabbing him with her finger accusatively. “How dare you tell me this after all these years? After you almost died again?”

“Soph…” he tried to speak; to say what, he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter in the end.

Because Sophia slanted her mouth over his and kissed him.

Peter hadn’t been expecting that in a million years, and the shock left him incapacitated to react for a few seconds—until her fingers curled around the hairs on his nape and pulled him closer to her.

And Peter utterly and completely lost it.

It was a burst of light, blinding the darkness that had been hanging over him; something akin to the way he’d felt the first time he’d jumped off a building after he’d got his powers. He forgot all about his wounds, about his cuts and bruises. He even forgot all about his plans to keep her away—a plan that he’d been trying to maintain for years. It all flew his mind as if it had never been there, and he could only focus on the feeling of her.

She was everything; all silk and warmth, encaging him in a whirlwind of light and goodness, chasing away the shadows that had been looming over him. His heart thumped like a drum against hers, starved and needy for her, becoming alive in a way it hadn’t been since before the Blip.

“Soph…” he rasped out, feeling high and desperate; eyes still shut.

His lips parted, his senses reeling with the taste and smell and feel of her. He tangled his hands in her hair as he brought her closer, wanting to fuse them together and never let go. She was giving him air after not being able to breathe, she was his oasis in the desert, the only beacon of light in the middle of a dark sea.

And he couldn’t get enough. He’d been deprived of her for too long.

Sophia threw an arm around his neck, her other hand cupping his jaw. “Shut up,” she mumbled, biting on his lips. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Peter could only moan and oblige.

three.

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x ofc #mcu!peter x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #tom holland imagine #marvel fanfiction #mywriting

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