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mandoalorian · 3 years

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Fireworks [Max Phillips x Reader]

Summary: When your boss, Max Phillips, asks you to work late on New Year's Eve, you're infuriated. However, you don't realise what his true intentions are.

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: mutual pining, colleagues-to-lovers, mention of drink, mention of family, cursing.

Author's note: This is my second time writing for Max Phillips and I have to admit, it was slightly out of my comfort zone but I hope you enjoy it none the less!

Masterlist

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For @66wookies

Kiki, it was such a pleasure to write this. After this intense year and the anticipating lead up to 2021, I thought now was a perfect time to share this fic with you. I truly hope you enjoy this fic and had a wonderful festive season. With love,

Your Secret Santa (Rach) Xx.

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You hated him. Okay, maybe that was a slight over statement, but you weren't exactly pleased with your boss. It was New Year's Eve and you had plans to spend time with your family like you did every year. You'd go to the beach and watch the firework display before heading back home and getting cozy on the sofa, nursing a mug of your favourite hot beverage and watching the countdown on live television. It was simple, but it was your tradition, and it was important to you.

You had to drop by the office during the break between Christmas and New Year's to drop off a sales project you'd been working on for the past month. Proud of the results, you slipped it on your boss' desk and turned around to leave when a large hand dropped down to the small of your back, stopping you in your footsteps. Your whole body stiffened up and you swallowed the lump that had appeared in your throat. You knew it was your boss, because there was just something so distinct about the aura Max Phillips gave off.

He called your name and you took a deep breath, turning around to face him. His hand slipped from you and he smiled politely.

"I need you to stop by on New Year's Eve… work late." Max said matter-of-factly like you couldn't even question it. You stood there completely dumbfounded, your eyes turning comically wide in disbelief when you saw him spin around and walk into his office. You hurried after him.

"I can't do that," you replied with a small, incredulous scoff, like his suggestion was ridiculous. "I booked in to take a holiday for New Year's Eve months ago. I have plans."

"Plans change," Max sighed, sliding into his chair and casually slipping his feet up on his office desk, crossing over his ankles and folding his arms against his chest. "You knew what you were getting yourself into when you took this job. You knew that you must make your position here a priority."

He was right. You hated that he was right.

"But I have plans!" you repeated in protest, perhaps a little too loudly. Max looked up from the paperwork you handed in and stared at you with a quirked eyebrow. Something about the look on his face made you infuriated. It was like he failed to understand how much this has upset you. "Can't you ask Evan? Or Amanda? Or hell, even Tim?"

"Now, no need to get upset," Max hummed, his tone as condescending as ever. "If I wanted Evan or Amanda or Tim I would've asked them. But I want you."

You were angry. So angry you felt your cheeks burn up with rage. But there was something so personal about Max specifically selecting you. You didn't understand it— truth be told, you were just as qualified as everyone else in the office. You always felt like you didn't particularly stand out from a crowd, but clearly, in this circumstance, you had stood out to Max. In fact, you had stood out the moment Max hired you.

He shouldn't have done it, but it wasn't his fault. When you walked into his office for the first time, bright eyed and prepared for your interview, he found you completely and utterly alluring. You were smiley, perky, and gave all the right answers. Even if you had given the wrong answers, the chances were that Max would've still hired you. He figured he could get used to your irresistible good looks by seeing you every day, but he hadn't really. It had been months and he hadn't gotten over you.

Max was no monster. In the moment, you were filled with blinded rage and you were certain he must've had a heart made of stone— but actually, that wasn't true at all. In fact, you couldn't have been more wrong. After you had stormed out of his office, Max was left alone. He swung his feet off the table, immediately ridding himself of that cocky persona he always displayed, and began to nervously pick at his fingernails. He did feel bad. He did feel selfish. But if he didn’t do this now, he felt like I would simply explode. And that would be messy.

He’d admired you from day one. He loved your charm, and the way you’d waltz into the office every morning and brighten up the room. No one else noticed, but Max certainly did. He tried dumb little ways to win your affection, like bringing you a coffee on his lunch break or the bouquet of red roses on your birthday, but you never took the hint.

Maybe you hadn’t taken the hint that he liked you because you were too busy yearning over him yourself! You were smitten with Max. Who wouldn’t be? On the exterior, he was cool and collected, smug and suave. He wore these perfectly pressed designer suits and had the most beautiful chocolate brown hair. You swore you always caught his eyes sparkling, even under the dull, artificial office lighting. He was your dream man, but he also happened to be a man you never would’ve imagined ending up with. He had such a big and boisterous personality, and his job was literally his lifestyle. He was so career oriented whereas you were more focused on spending time with your family. Maybe that’s why this hurt you so much.

You laid on your bed, staring at your wall clock as it ticked by with every second. You had to be at the office in half an hour. If it was up to you, you would’ve been at the firework display doting one of your sleek, little black dresses. You huffed out your cheeks, mourning the New Years Eve you could’ve had. But that was when the realization hit you. You looked down at your comfy slacks and sweater and decided that you weren’t going to let Max Phillips ruin your evening. You could still have a good time, even if your plans had changed. You got up, walked over to your closet and picked out the outfit you had planned on wearing tonight.

You slipped into the dress, fastened your heels and grabbed your favourite jacket, pulling it over your body for warmth. Knowing the roads would be busy, you didn’t want the stress of driving, so you called a cab. As you waited outside for your taxi, your feet became submerged in the thick, fluffy white snow and your breathing became jittery from the cold. You almost regretted wearing the short dress but knew once you entered the office, the heat would engulf you and it would be so worth it.

You were right, too. When you had finally arrived at work, you noted that Max had left the heating on for you. You supposed that had been thoughtful of him, all things considered. The front door got stuck, as it always did. You groaned, trying to get it to budge open and took a mental note. You'd have to text Frank in the morning and remind him to get the stupid lock fixed before something bad happens. The lobby was dark but you did notice the small amber light illuminating Max’s private office at the end of the room. You walked down the deserted office space, your heels clicking against the marble floor as you approached the very end. You knocked on his door, which already stood slightly ajar and waited for Max to call you in. After a brief silence, you finally heard Max’s voice.

His jaw dropped when he saw you, but as always, you didn’t even notice. You always failed to recognise the signs that Max was indeed completely enamoured with you. His lips parted slightly in awe and his eyes widened as you slipped out of your jacket and hung it on the coat peg. Max drunk in your appearance like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen; he even felt something begin to stir in his lower abdomen. It was a sensational feeling. He couldn’t tear his gaze from you as he admired the way your dress hugged your body and accentuated you in all the right places. You were even wearing that beautiful shade of red lipstick, the same one you had worn at the annual Christmas party. The same one that Max had specifically mentioned he adored so much. That colour suited you so well, it drove him crazy.

"You… you look exquisite," he gulped nervously, feeling himself begin to fluster up. "I didn't realise we were making it formal."

"You always wear your suits," you pointed out. "I figured I could dress up too. I bought this dress specifically for my plans tonight and well, I didn't want it to go to waste,"

Max didn't reply, he was still too busy raking in your appearance. The prolonged silence irritated you slightly and you released a sigh that you didn't even realise you were holding back. "Max, if you don't mind me asking, why am I here?" you quizzed.

"Oh, right," Max replied, an air of apology in his voice. He pointed at the chair that was located on the other side of his desk. "Sit."

You obeyed his instruction, gently sliding into the plush leather seat and crossing your legs. You literally took his breath away. He was going to do it, he was finally going to admit his feelings to you, but he couldn't help but notice the scowl that played across your lips. You looked genuinely pissed off with him. So much so that he figured maybe now wasn't the best time after all.

"What is it?" you raised your eyebrows, waiting for the acting sales manager to say something— anything.

"I-" Max started but he really couldn't bring myself to continue. He just couldn't do it. It would be humiliating for him, and there was no way you'd even feel the same way. His whole idea was a joke and he couldn't have been any less thrilled. "Doesn't matter. Sorry for calling you here tonight. Go be with your family." He told you, finally breaking eye contact and looking down at the floor sadly.

You knotted your eyebrows together. "I'm sorry? What?" you gritted out. You weren't as much angry as you were confused.

"Yeah," Max muttered, pointing aimlessly at the door. You blinked profusely. "Sorry." he mumbled again. This was really embarrassing for him. Max Phillips didn't let this kind of shit happen. Max Phillips wasn't the kind of guy to fall in love with his employees— but you had him wrapped around your little finger and didn't even know about it.

"Don't you have family to be with?" you asked your boss hesitantly. Come to think of it, you had never heard Max talk about his family. All you knew about his personal life was that he was excluded from university and ended up finishing his Business Management degree in some quaint and rather illegitimate sounding Romanian college. Max shook his head 'no' and you opted not to prod him any further about it. "Well, I appreciate you letting me leave. But it's no fun staying cooped up in here all night. You're more than welcome to join me and my relatives at the firework display."

Were you mildly annoyed that Max had brought you to his office on New Year's Eve for no evident reason? Yes. But were you also ecstatic that he was allowing you to leave and see your family? Absolutely. You weren't going to deny him, and you were afraid that if you questioned him any further he might change his mind.

Max's eyes lit up at your suggestion. "Wait, really?" He asked, already grabbing his coat and pulling it over his shoulders. "I can drive." His enthusiasm reminded you of the very reason you had fallen for him in the first place.

You giggled. "Of course! Mind, my family can be quite...intense." you warned. Max shut the light and the both of you walked down the empty office to the front door where you tried to open it. But, it wouldn't budge. It was stuck. Your movements became erratic as you tried to yank it open, your fingers clenched tightly around the handle. "Um, it won't open." you said hesitantly, beginning to panic and use all your upper body strength to try and push the lock back. You had remembered the door had been on its last legs for quite some time now… but of course it would only be your luck for it to finally give way on New Year's Eve.

"Let me try." You stepped back and watched as Max jiggled the lock a little. He looked up and down at the door, trying to gauge its sturdiness before slamming his full body into the wooden frame and breaking it down. You screamed, your eyes going comically wide as the door shattered into a million splintered pieces. Max brushed his fitted suit down like nothing had even happened.

"What the-" you gasped, your voice turning incredulously high pitched. "How did you do that?"

"Uh, just a simple shift of weight," Max said, analysing the damage done.

"Gosh, it's like you have super strength or something." you started pointedly at the mess on the floor, your gaze flicking between the rubble and your boss who was just waiting for you to follow him outside.

"...or something," he muttered when you eventually stepped over the mess and walked with him to the parking lot. Max Phillips was not your ordinary guy by any means. He'd love for you to one day learn the truth about him, but for now he'd have to tackle one step at a time and all he could think about was the possibility of finally admitting his feelings to you.

You slid into the passenger's seat of Max's car and he followed behind you. As he turned on the exhaust, you pulled down the interior mirror and padded out the little snowflakes which had fluttered into your hair. As you fixed your appearance, you noticed Max was staring at you from the corner of his eye, trying to be discreet. He waited until you had finished before he started to drive.

The drive was filled with a comfortable silence, the car radio quietly humming in the background as you glanced outside, unable to contain your smile. There was just something so beautiful about this time of year. You loved seeing the way the ground was lapped with snow and the trees which stood tall and bare. It was magical.

Max finally pulled up as close to the firework display as he could get— although it was still around a ten minute walk away. You both slid out of the car, immediately shivering as the cold winter air once again hit you. "Definitely wasn't planning on doing this tonight," Max admitted with a light chuckle.

"You know? Me neither," You laughed back. "Otherwise I would've brought my gloves."

Truthfully, Max didn't feel the cold. There was something about him… it was like he was always cold and so the winter air didn't bother him as much as it would bother anyone else. Max slipped his hand into yours, his fingers curling around yours and giving you a gentle squeeze. You felt your heart rate increase speed under his touch and you looked up at him with confused, glazed eyes.

"Transferring just a little body heat," he explained, but cursed himself as soon as the words left his lips. Who speaks like that? Could he not have just admitted that he's been wanting to hold your hand for what feels like forever? You nodded unknowingly and shot him an adorable grin.

You both walked through the thick snow, hand in hand, and Max paid extra care to make sure you wouldn't slip over on the black ice. Those heels you were wearing looked like a nightmare to walk in. He had your back, and for the first time in forever, you genuinely felt protected.

You spotted your family immediately once you arrived at the display, smiling and shouting them over. Max nervously followed behind you, his hands in his coat pockets. "Hey, I thought you couldn't make it." your mom grinned, pulling you into a comforting hug.

"Well we figured something out," you laughed. "This is my boss by the way, Max Phillips."

Your family and Max exchanged pleasantries as you waited for the display to start. "I'm going to get some hot cocoa from the vendor over there," Max announced. "Does anyone want anything?"

Your family said no but you asked him politely for a cup of your favourite hot beverage. "So," your mother cooed. "What's the deal with you two?"

"What do you mean?" you asked with a quirked eyebrow, but you knew what her tone suggested.

"Are you kidding? I see the way he looks at you!" Your mom explained and you felt a flush of heat swamp across your cheeks.

"I really don't think he feels that way about me," you scoffed and your mother emitted a small hum. "We're just friends and uh… colleagues."

Max came back and handed you your hot drink. You hummed in delight as you nursed the cup, the heat warming your hands and the smell enticing you.

The firework display began, bolts of pretty colours shooting up into the air and exploding into magic. You leaned your head into the crook of Max's shoulder as you both watched the night sky explode into colour. It was awe-inspiring.

Your mother tapped you on the shoulder, interrupting your moment. "The kids are cold," she explained. "I think we're going to head home early and watch the countdown to midnight on the television. You and Max are more than welcome to join us."

You turned to Max, wanting to know what he thought. He dropped a hand to your wrist. "Uh actually, could we have a moment of privacy?" he raised an eyebrow and you hesitantly nodded your head. Your mother smiled understandingly and waved you both goodbye.

"So," you hummed, gently rocking backwards and forwards, a slight awkwardness in your body language.

"I've never actually seen fireworks in real life before." Max admitted.

"Really?" you felt your eyes widen in surprise and Max nodded. "You know Max, I've always thought you were like an enigma. Mystery man. There's so much I don't know about you, but then sometimes, you come out with the most random things."

"Well, what do you want to know?" Max asked.

You thought for a second. "I want to know why you invited me to your office on New Year's Eve, only to let me go home after all. I don't understand. I finished the sales project, done all the work you asked of me…"

Max sighed, cutting you off. "I know," he said. "It wasn't for a work thing…"

You furrowed your eyebrows together in bewilderment, waiting for him to continue. "Countdown to midnight in one minute!" the announcer yelled and everyone around you screamed.

"The truth is, I had to tell you something. Something I've been keeping to myself for a long time," Max began to explain. He felt himself getting nervous but he knew he had to do his best to shake off the anxiety. Now was a good of a time as any. "I like you," he admitted. "A lot. And I've liked you for a long time. And I'm not sure if you feel the same way but these feelings have been eating me up for what feels like an eternity… I never thought a man like me could fall in love but I'm pretty sure… I'm pretty sure I could be falling right now."

You were in complete disbelief. Your boss was admitting he had feelings for you this whole time?

"I invited you to my office because I wanted to tell you, but when I saw how upset you were with me… it put me off," Max sighed, running his fingers through his dark hair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable. If it does, just let me know and we can forget all about it."

He was rambling on, he hadn't even noticed the countdown beginning.

10, 9, 8…

"But I don't want to forget. I want to go into this new year with you knowing exactly how I feel. I'd love to go into the new year with you by my side because shit… I've imagined it for so long,"

7, 6, 5…

"I'm not a perfect guy, in fact, there's a lot you need to know about me. But if you just give me one chance… I promise I won't mess it up,"

4, 3, 2…

"Please."

The crowds erupted into chaos as the final batch of fireworks exploded into the night sky. "Happy new year!" People cheered and screamed excitedly. You pressed your lips against Max's, unable to contain your smile. Your action took him by surprise. After a slight stumble backwards, he wrapped his arms around you and rested his palms on the small of your back.

"Happy new year," you mumbled against his lips.

"Happy new year," he replied, affectionately nudging the curve of his nose against yours.

"I love you too." And with your confession, Max pulled you into another, deeper and more passionate kiss. You knew in that moment you'd be in for a great year ahead.

Taglists — let me know if you wish to be added!

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #max phillips #max phillips x reader #new years eve #secret santa #blood sucking bastards #pedro pascal fic #Pedro pascal x you

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constellationsatnight · 3 years

Text

rainy days

One Shot.

oliver wood x female reader

@marauder-exe prompt list

56. “If you steal the blankets, I am going to put my cold feet on you.” 89.“I don’t remember ever having this many hickeys. But I don’t mind.”

Summary: you spend the day with your boyfriend Oliver.

Warnings: just fluff i guess?? mentions of sex kinda?? swearing maybe?

You loved rainy days. Even before Hogwarts, it always made you happy, the light sound of the water tapping on the window. It was the perfect time to read a book, or watch a movie, with a fuming cup of tea, and nothing would make you happier. And now that you had started going out with your boyfriend, you loved them even more, it was the only days that he couldn't possibly go out on the Quidditch pitch. Oliver, your boyfriend, was the captain of the Gryffindor's team, and took his role with an exemplary seriousness and devotion, some would say obsession (you might agree on that), wich made you proud, but also reduced your time together by much. So when you woke up to the first weekend of November, the wind was making the windows shake, and if it wasn't for your watch you wouldn't have believed it was day already, the sky was gray and a rainstorm was starting.

You stretched in your bed, looking at the ceiling, and smiled softly, you had caught up with all your homework yesterday, so today was all about relaxing, and this time, with your boyfriend. The first match of the season was next week, and you had barely seen him in two weeks, his attention completely on the strategic plays he was working on. You weren't so bothered, you enjoyed some alone time, and as much as he would insist that you stayed with him while he did some strategy work, your interest in Quidditch was very limited, and you knew he'd work better on his own.

You stepped up, the cold air wrapping around your legs, and shivered, quickly taking some loose jeans, and changing in a big sweater. The dorm was empty, wich seemed normal since it was already 10 a.m., and your dormmates were probably already in the library, working, as you had done until the wee hours of the morning. You only put some socks on, it was a habit, you just walked around in socks all the time, in summer as in winter, wich resulted to ice cold feet, all the time.

You quickly got down the stairs and stepped out of the common room, jogging a little down to get to the Great hall. You barged through the doors, the tables weren't very full, most people had finished eating and were discussing or working on the tables. You quickly scanned the faces before spotting Oliver, sitting next to Percy and the Weasley twins, he seemed annoyed. You started to make your way over them, and couldn't help but grin as Oliver's face lit up, seeing you.

'Hey guys' you dropped on the bench, next to Oliver. 'What's up with the mourning?' you looked at Oliver, who was visibly gloomy.

'We should have been practising today.' Fred grinned, obviously not so sad about not having to fly for two hours in the cold.

'Your boyfriend is crushed.' George added, the same grin on his face.

You shook your head chuckling as Oliver snicked his arm around you, hiding his face in your neck. You ran your hand in his hair, stroking it slowly.

'Well, it's a great time to catch on your homework' Percy stared all of them down.

'I'm all caught up personally, I have the entire day free.' you smiled as Oliver pulled away, his hand catching yours, and resting on his thigh.

You grinned, finally seeing your boyfriend's face, he smiled back, leaning closer.

'Hi you.' he whispered almost on your lips.

'Hi.” you replied even closer, and you fell into a soft kiss.

You pulled away, still smiling.

'We can have the day all to ourselves' you got back on the subject.

'Hmmm. Sounds pretty good.” he put his head back on your shoulder, closing his eyes.

'You didn't sleep last night?' it wasn't that much of a question, more of a scowl. He smirked, not answering as you rolled your eyes.

You continued to talk with the Weasley's, eating your breakfast, until Oliver stood up, forcing himself to get out of your embrace.

'I'm going to shower, I'll see you in my room?' he pecked your cheek and you nodded, gazing at him as he went out of the hall.

You finished eating, and leaving the twins, who were trying to elaborate some new prank, you made your way to the Gryffindor common room. The fire was roaring, providing warmness to the room, and contrasted with the cold and rainy wind outside. You quickly went up to Oliver's room, wich was still empty. You smiled a little, taking your jeans off and slipping inside the covers. They were still cold, but the soft cushions made you sleepy again, since you hadn't gotten that much rest either. You could smell Oliver's scent, making you feel comfy and relaxed. The door barged open five minutes later, and your boyfriend came in, his hair still humid, and the hot water seemed to have exhausted him even more.

He smiled at the sight of you curled in his covers, and gave you a small peck on the lips before stripping out of his pants.

'Hey cutie pie.' he whispered as he got into bed, pulling you close to him, cuddling.

'You smell good' you mumbled, your eyes closed and your face against his chest, his strong arms wrapped around you. 'For once.” you added, smirking and pulling yourself closer to him.

He made an obfuscated noise, suddenly pulling out his embrace and rolling over, his back facing you as you laughed at his pettiness. But as he rolled he took the cover with him, the cold air hitting you.

'Oliver!' you scowled, 'Give me back the covers!' you tried pulling it off him, unsuccessfully.

'No' he smirked, making a human burrito of himself.

'If you steal the blankets I'm going to put my cold feet on you.' you said seriously.

His only response was to laugh, but little did he know; his legs were not rolled in the covers, giving you easy access to them. You sneaked your feet under it and brushed them around his warm body, making him cry out and roll himself in a ball, ensuring the warmness around him. He ended up laughing with you and rolled back to face you, pulling the blankets over both of you. You smiled at each other as he pulled you back in his torso, pecking the top of your head.

'I love you' he whispered in your hair, making you smile against his chest.

'I love you too' you mumbled back.

The rain continued to pour over the castle, as you spent the entire morning cuddling in Oliver's bed, talking a bit about what was going on, and making out heavily. The windows were covered in a light mist, a trace of the warmness of your bodies, now innocently tangled together. You felt amazing, happy to have Oliver all for yourself for so long. It was around one in the afternoon when you finally got out of bed, to go have lunch in the Great Hall. As you couldn't find your sweater, it had been thrown across the room at some point, you sneaked into Oliver's Quidditch jumper, wich was so big you had to roll it up your wrists, and it got to your mid thighs. Your boyfriend smiled at the sight, as you put back your knee high socks, after all it was really cold, and you went to check your reflection, curious about Oliver's fond reaction. You smiled, you did look cute, and Oliver sneaked behind you, his arms wrapping you.

'I don't remember having ever this many hickeys.' he chuckled, watching the two of you in his mirror. 'But I don't mind' and he kissed your neck, right on the purplest mark, as you chuckled. He scooped your hand and pulled you with him, getting out of the room.

'Oliver! I need to put my jeans on!' you whined, trying to loosen his grip on your hand.

He pouted as you hurridly went back to the room and sliped in your pants.

As you got to the table, still holding hands, you sat down at you usual seat, the twins already there discussing with their younger brother, Ron, and his friends, Hermione and Harry, the later being in the Quidditch team too. You sat down, a small grin still on your face.

'Well well, having fun Wood?' George teased.

'Cancelling practice to snog your girlfriend Captain? You should be ashamed.' Fred added as they high fived under the table.

Oliver glared at them as he put food in his plate, and you chuckled.

'We might have something for your neck y/n.' Fred smirked, winking.

'Shut it Weasley. I'm not touching anything one of you has had your hands on.' you pointed at them as Oliver pulled you closer, glaring at Fred. He got jealous so easily it made you laugh.

'Oh I see it wasn't only one sided!' George exclaimed as he saw Oliver's neck too.

'Why do we sit with them?' Oliver asked you, not so sarcastically.

You burst into laughter, feeling relieved and calm. You were exactly where you wanted to be.

i officially suck at this

#oliver wood x reader #oliver wood #quidditch #oliver wood one shot #hogwarts #harry potter #fred weasley #george weasley #fred and george #percy weasley

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loversamongus · 4 years

Text

Coffee, Chills, and Closeness | modern!Zuko x reader

a/n: I was really happy with the way Friends, Fevers, and Family Movies came out so I decided to write a sequel to it in which you now have to take care of a sick, grumpy, little Zuko. I just really love good ol’ fluff.

warnings: characters sick with the flu; some language

words: 2.2k

After a few more days of bed rest and bowls of Katara’s special flu season homemade soup, you were starting to feel much better. The color reappeared in your face, the bounce returned to your step, and clarity chased out the dizziness in your head. Your best friends noticed your change in health and mood almost immediately.

“Must be my soup,” Katara said as you bounced past her in the kitchen to reach your cereal. You couldn’t help but question a knowing look in her eye. You raised an eyebrow in response.

“Or maybe just some good nights of sleep,” she continued. “You’ve had a smile plastered on your sleepy face for a couple nights now.”

“I’m gonna ignore the fact that you’ve been watching me sleep and eat my breakfast now, if you don’t mind.”

But what Katara said couldn’t be completely ignored, no. You don’t often remember your dreams, but recently you’ve been able to remember one recurring image that has appeared in your subconscious for the last few nights in a row. A certain shaggy haired, golden eyed someone kissing your forehead, just the remembrance of the sensation is enough to give you the chills again. Of course, there were cowboy dolls and astronaut action figures dancing in the background so the mushiness of the dream didn’t last too long.

It’s funny how the nostalgia of your childhood could wiggle its way into any dream, conversation, or movie night decision. You didn’t have a particularly cushy childhood but it was stable enough compared to your friends. While little you sat on the floor of your living room rewatching The Lion King for the umpteenth time, Sokka and Katara were mourning the loss of their mother, Aang was shouldering enormous responsibility that isolated him from his grammar school friends, Toph was being sheltered and completely restricted from most activities by her parents, and Zuko. Well Zuko hasn’t shared much about his childhood with you but the parts he did definitely weren’t filled with faith, trust, and pixie dust.

Your thoughtful reminiscing was quickly interrupted by Sokka barging through the front door, carrying three cups of Jasmine Dragon tea. While handing one cup to his sister and one cup to you, a devilish smirk grew on his face.

“You got your boyfriend sick.”

“My what?”

“You heard me. Iroh told me he came in for his shift all wheezing and hacking and snivelly and had to send him home. Sounds a lot like someone I know.”

“I- Sokka, Zuko isn’t my boyfriend. “

“Yeah, yeah, and I’m not the funniest, sexiest, strongest, most talented man on the planet.”

You heard Katara nearly choke on her orange juice and you reached to pat her on the back before grabbing your wallet and house keys.

“Okay well, I don’t have time to unpack all of that with you. I have to get to the diner.”

At this point, Sokka had already made his bowl of cereal and with a very full mouth, he seemed to be talking to his spoon more so than you. “That’s because you know it’s Zuko.”

“What?”

“I said tell Suki I love her!”

With a roll of your eyes, you headed out the door. For a few moments, you grumbled to yourself over the annoyance of Sokka’s teasing. But very quickly into your walk to the diner, a wave of guilt rushed over you. Zuko is sick with the flu. You knew you shouldn’t have snuggled up to him or cried on his shoulder while watching Toy Story 2!

“Okay but it’s not all my fault. He’s the one that kissed me on my feverish forehead. That was a mistake,” you mumbled to yourself.

Once at the diner, you headed to the workroom to get your apron but before starting the breakfast shift, you took out your phone to send a quick text.

hey heard you were sick :( how ya doing?

Not a minute goes by before you get a response.

Uncle exaggerates. I’m completely fine.

Letting out a sigh, you wonder how you could have met anyone as stubborn as you. The small smile forming on your lips is quickly erased by the sound of your manager calling for you to get on the floor. Your sick friend would have to wait.

The morning shift started out the same as it always had, and you were grateful for the routine after being out sick for the past week. A couple of the regulars welcomed you back with warm smiles and kind tips, while you still made sure to avoid small talk with some of the other diner patrons. Seriously, what was up with that cabbage obsessed man? The morning hours seemed to fly by with ease. Just as you were refilling a coffee pot, however, your calm routine was shattered when you noticed a very pale, black-haired man slouched over one of your tables.

“What are you doing here?” you whisper-yelled at him before passing his table to refill one of your other table’s coffee mugs.

“Getting some breakfast,” he whispered back, propping his droopy head up on his hand.

“Well it’s almost lunch now, you idiot.”

“Getting some brunch then.” A dopey smile appeared on his face but you could see in his eyes that he must not have slept well last night.

“Zuko,” you said, almost scolding. “You shouldn’t be here. You have the flu.”

“I do not. I’m just tired. Can I have some coffee, please?”

“If you’re just tired, why do you sound all congested?” you asked as you poured some coffee for him.

“Allergies,” he replied simply but unconvincingly.

“Oh my god, Zuko,” you began to raise your voice but immediately regretted it when you saw your friend raise his hands to his head. A migraine no doubt, the memory of those still fresh in your head from your own bout with the flu. Lowering your voice, you spoke to him again.

“Why did you come here when you’re sick?”

“It’s Tuesday. I always come in for breakfast on Tuesdays to see you.”

Goddamnit. After being out for a week, you completely lost track of what day it was. Also goddamnit again. Zuko really dragged himself out just to keep up this little ritual even though he looks AWFUL. Okay, not completely awful because somehow even when he’s sick, the way he looks at you could give you chills and suddenly you’re remembering that forehead kiss again and--

“Excuse me, miss? Can I get some more orange juice?”

“Yes, of course. One moment please,” you snap out of your thoughts and reply to your waiting tables.

Before going over to satisfy your customer’s request, however, you turn back to Zuko with a gentle smile. “I’ll bring you some toast and some fruit. I’m sure that’s all you’ll be able to keep down anyways.”

It didn’t take long for the kitchen to fill Zuko’s order and once it was complete, you headed back over to his direction. You had to stop right in your tracks for a moment though and take in the picture before you. In the booth sat a sleepy little Zuko still perched up on his hand but his eyes have fluttered shut. Noiselessly, you place down his plate of toast and fruit in front of him and gently nudge his shoulder to wake him up.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Eat as much as you can. I’ve got one more table to take care of before my shift ends. Then you can drive me home. If you can stay awake, that is.”

“Mmmmmm thanks,” he muttered into his hand.

You left him to pick at his food while you finished up with your last table. When you returned to Zuko about twenty minutes later, you jokingly congratulated him on eating half of his toast and a couple pieces of cantaloupe-- probably more than you had eaten when you had the flu yourself. As you started taking away his plate, you caught Zuko reaching into his pocket to take out his wallet. Knowing what little you actually served him, you stopped him before he could take out more bills than was necessary.

“No, stop. We talked about this. I don’t take tips from friends.”

“It’s only fair and it’s the right thing to do.”

“No. You took care of me when I was sick, that covers it fine.”

“How ‘bout another tip? You should wear your hair up more often. It looks nice like that.”

“Here’s one for you. You’re delirious. Give me your keys, I’m driving.”

With that, your shift was over and you were gathering your things to go home. Zuko did manage to put up a little bit of a fight over letting you drive but once you shot him your “I’m serious, mister” look, he finally gave in. It was a short drive back home but you couldn’t help but glance over at your passenger every now and again. It was rare to see Zuko in such a state as he is always the put-together one in the friend group. That wave of guilt rushes over you again since you were the one that got him sick in the first place.

“No, it was the forehead kiss. His own fault,” you mumble to yourself.

“What?”

“NOTHING. Uh, Katara still has some leftover soup. Why don’t you come up and have some? OH! And we can finish Toy Story 2 since someone didn’t let me finish it last time.”

“I’ll come for the soup but not for the movie.”

“ZUKO. I was cured by the nostalgic joy of my childhood, it can cure you, too!!”

“I don’t have any ‘nostalgic joy from my childhood’ in case you forgot. My mother left, my father scarred my face, and my sister hates me.”

Thankful you had come to a red light, you looked over to Zuko with concern. But he did not look back. His head was leaning on the window and with his arms folded, he avoided your gaze and continued to stare out the window.

“Well, all the more reason to finish the movie,” you tried to say lightheartedly, but the rest of the drive was silent.

Once you’ve reached the apartment, you ordered Zuko to make himself comfy on the couch while you threw some soup in the microwave. You spy a note on the kitchen counter from Katara explaining that she’s out to lunch with Aang and Sokka went to the gym with Suki. You smiled, happy that you could avoid good-natured sibling teasing for the time being. When the soup was ready, you turned to find Zuko sitting on the couch under a pile of blankets and holding the remote for the DVD player.

“I thought you didn’t want to finish the movie,” you questioned, handing him the bowl of soup.

“But you do.”

Your grinned ecstatically, quickly moving to sit next to him on the couch.

“You shouldn’t get too close. You’ll get sick again.”

“I’m immune now, it’s fine,” you said as you reached to share one of his blankets.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works. At all,” he replied, but his protests ended there as the movie started back up.

As you were getting yourself comfortable on the couch, your arm grazed Zuko’s and your body shook, chilled from the cold skin. Zuko noticed immediately and looked over at you questioningly.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, you’re just cold. Eat your soup, it’ll warm you up.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Um, I had to take those pills when you watched me so the least you can do is eat some soup.”

With a small smirk, Zuko obliged and ate a few spoonfuls of soup before laying back against the couch. You cuddled up closer to him, figuring if the soup doesn’t warm him up, you definitely could. Once you rested your head on his shoulder, his head gently tilted to rest on yours, a much familiar scene from the time you were sick. Although the roles have been reversed this time around, the warmth of happiness bursting through your chest from this closeness is unchanged. You felt his left arm wrap around you before settling at your waist, and you reach up with your right hand to hold onto his. Sure, Toy Story 2 isn’t a romantic movie by any means, but it makes you happy. Just like Zuko does.

The movie ends with Wheezy singing his rendition of “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” and you looked up at Zuko as if to say, “See? I told you Wheezy comes back. I love this part,” but he’s already asleep. It seems like you’ll never be able to get him to watch the whole movie, but you sighed contently anyways. Then, in a fit of sudden boldness, you sat up to inch closer to Zuko and kiss his cheek softly.

He stirred and looked at you through drowsy, half-closed eyes.

“That’s not fair,” he said. “I can’t kiss you back properly while I’m sick.”

You smiled and leaned in closer.

“I’ll settle for a forehead kiss for now.”

“Deal.” After giving to you what you asked for, he gazed admiringly at you for a few moments before falling back to sleep. You could have sworn he had a dopey grin on his face, too, and you wondered if this is what Katara saw on you the past few nights. You settle back against Zuko’s chest and let his breathing lull you to sleep. The two of you fell into such a deep sleep, while in each other’s arms, that not even the sound of Katara and Sokka double hi-fiving after spotting you both on the couch woke you up.

#zuko #zuko fic #atla #atla fic #zuko x reader #modern!zuko #I DID IT

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marvelsunderoos · 4 years

Text

Couples who act together, stay together - Tom Holland

AN: Here I am, back again. Hope you will enjoy it! I really enjoyed writing this, might even do a ‘season 2′ if you like it.

Parts in italics are during filming the show!

(Also please feel free to think of whichever president you want, lol.)

Summary: You and Tom meet on the set of a new tv show “New Beginnings” where you play love interests. Little do you know, that you are both falling hard for eachother off screen.

Warnings: None? The tv-series is a little dark though.

Word count: around 1.7K

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Y/n y/l/n. Actress. Known for: Gossip Girl, Younger, New Beginnings.

Tom Holland. Actor. Known for: Spider-Man, Onward, New Beginnings.

Tom and you had met on the set of a new tv-series called ‘New Beginnings’. It was a series from the creator of ‘Younger’ and ‘Sex and The City’ and was essentially about two young lovers at Oxford university who were both looking for a way out of their former lives. For Tom’s character, Leo, it was about escaping his high school life where he had been bullied and Oxford was just a new beginning. For your character, well, you were the daughter of the president of the United States and were more than happy to follow in your father’s footsteps. That was, until someone had disagreed with your father’s way of ruling and decided to show it by taking your role model’s life. To escape the mourning of your father’s death and, more importantly, men like your father’s murderer, you decided to go to college overseas.

You were thrilled to hear that none other than Tom Holland would be your co-star in the show. You had both attended several of the same events and had been introduced to each other through Zendaya, a mutual friend of yours. You hadn’t spoken much, but you admired his work in the Spider-Man movies and could tell during his audition that the chemistry was definitely there.

Since your characters were love interests in the show, and also the primary characters, you and Tom would spend nearly every night together, whether it was filming or going through the script together. You would be lying if you said those late nights with Tom weren’t the highlight of your days, you loved acting dearly and you loved being Tom’s love interest in the show, but that was just it.

In the show.

Every night you would go over the script together, figuring out the best way to get the emotions across but somewhere along the way you two always seemed to get lost in conversations about everything and anything, the script usually long forgotten after an hour or two. These conversations meant the world to you, but you weren’t sure how Tom felt about them. For all you knew, he thought this was the most normal thing in the world and he did this with all his co-stars. So, that was that, this is how you would always shake the thought of Tom and you being a real thing from your mind.

Tomorrow, you would be filming the last scenes of the season finale meaning that tonight was the last night you would spend in Tom’s trailer, for now at least, since the show had been renewed for a second season. The night went on as always and you stood up to walk away when Tom grabbed your wrist.

“Wait, y/n.” He looked at you with a thoughtful look on his face, as if he was going to say something. His mouth opened but closed again as if he had decided against it.

“Sleep well.” He had said instead. You smiled at him. “Sleep well, Tommy.” Addressing him by his nickname. You could’ve sworn that you saw his cheeks turn a shade of red at your words but turned around and made your way back to your own trailer.

You lay flat on your back, your eyes staring up at the ceiling. You couldn’t shake the thought that Tom had meant to say something else to you when you were leaving. And then there was the blush on his cheeks when you called him Tommy. Could Tom feel the same way? You smiled at the idea but pulled yourself together to not get your hopes up. Finally, you drifted off to sleep.

Your entire body was shaking as you read the text on your phone.

Unknown: Your fate is the same as your father’s. See you soon.

How had they found you? How did they know you were the president’s daughter? There were only three people on this campus that knew about your true identity. Two of those people would never betray you, one being yourself and the other one being Leo. Leo was the first person you called after you received the text. No longer than 5 minutes later there was a knock on your dorm’s room. You opened the door and rushed into Leo’s arms.

“Shh, darling. It will be okay. The FBI knows.” He stroked your hair and muttered comforting thoughts into your ear.

“I’ll always be here to protect you.” He said quietly as he kissed your forehead.

The scene ended and you pulled away from Tom. You could hear cheers coming from the crew and heard a “that’s a wrap!” coming somewhere from your left.

“Great acting guys! Great chemistry!” The director said to you both. You thanked her, smiling widely. As you got engaged into another conversation you heard Tom muttering something under his breath.

“I wasn’t acting.” Tom whispered quietly, seeing your head whip around to the sound of his voice. He quickly walked away; he wasn’t sure if he was ready for your reaction if you did hear him.

Traditionally, the crew went out to dinner since it was the wrap of the season. You had booked the whole restaurant, since most of the crew members usually brought their friends or family to this event. Since you knew Zendaya was in London for a shoot, you decided to invite her along. You knew you would have fun and, in this way, you could finally talk to somebody about your feelings for Tom, and Zendaya was the perfect person since she had known him longer than you.

You walked back to the hotel Zendaya was staying at and decided to throw it all out. Admitting it started as a little crush as soon as you met him, you told Zendaya all about the late nights in your, or his, trailer, the conversations, the night he stopped you from leaving and finally, the quiet words he muttered under his breath only mere hours ago. As you finished talking you could see Zendaya laughing. “You think Tom doesn’t like you back? Oh honey..” She laughed. “Go talk to the guy, please.”

You looked at her with a quirked eyebrow but got your phone out nevertheless. Looking for his name in your contacts, you dialed his number. He answered almost immediately with a quick “It’s Tom.”

“Hey, this is y/n. What are you doing?”

“I’m on my way home, my actual home.” He said and you could tell he was smiling.

“Can I maybe come over?” You asked shyly.

“Missing our late-night script readings already?” He teasingly said.

“Something like that.” You said back with a laugh. He agreed and told you he would text you the address and hung up. Zendaya cheered when you told her you would go to Tom’s place, walking into the hotel lobby she said, “Call me tomorrow, I’ll still be here for a few days.” You promised her you would and made your way towards the street, calling a cab that would take you to Tom’s.

Taking a deep breath in, you ringed the doorbell. He opened the door with a smile on his face and pulled you in for a hug. “Are you okay?” Was the first thing he asked. You smiled, loving his concern.

“Yeah, I am. Just wanted to talk to you.” You replied. He pulled away and motioned for you to go to the living room. It was simple, the tv taking up a large part of the wall and the very comfy looking couch right in the middle of the room. Your eyes fell on a plant in the corner that, in your humble opinion, could use some love. He caught you looking at the nearly dead plant and blushed.

“Shouldn’t have let my brothers in charge of my plants.” He chuckled. You laughed along with him, understanding completely. You were lucky your mum was living close enough to your place and you knew she would water the plants, knowing you would never leave your brother with such an important task.

“Want a drink?” He asked.

“Yes, please.” You watched him walk away to the kitchen and come back a minute later with two drinks in his hands. You thanked him and sat down on the couch, which was indeed very comfy.

“So, you are probably wondering why I invited myself over after we already spend practically the whole day together.” You stated.

Tom began to laugh. “Yeah, I was wondering actually.”

“Well, I guess you were right. I do miss our script reading nights already, and I guess I miss it even more when I think we will not be able to do it for the coming 6 months. But then I realised, it is not the script reading I will miss. It will be you, Tom. I really really like you and every time our script reading turned into conversations about all kind of topics, I started to like you even more. I guess I just wanted to tell you, before we both start doing different projects and we won’t see each other until over 6 months from now, and I understand if you don’t feel the same way but I-“ You rambled, but your words were cut off by Tom pressing his lips to yours. You were surprised at first but kissed him back, his soft lips felt warm against your lips and even though you kissed during the show, this felt different. This felt, real.

“Of course I feel the same way darling.” He whispered against your lips. You smiled as you pulled him in for another kiss, feeling happier than ever.

6 months later, you and Tom walked on to the set hand in hand. Your director from previous season smiled as she looked at the both of you. “Some developments, I see?” She asked. Tom and you both grinned.

“Couples who act together, stay together.” You said jokingly.

The director laughed. “Ready for season 2?”

“More than ever.” Tom replied, looking at you with adoration.

“I love you.” You whispered to him.

“I love you too.” He kissed your cheek and you both walked away to get into your positions.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x actress reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #my writing #marvel #mcu #tom holland x you

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a-collection-of-villainous-aus · 3 years

Text

COFFEE SHOP AU

Part four

Segment four

(continued on straight from segment three as this was too long to fit into one post)

Back in the present day of this Au now, Cruentus was in the kitchens, listening out for when Black Hat would finally leave the mourning museum, ears twitching as he heard the weight shift off the bed and shoes clacking up the wooden stair case that wound round in secret to his office, hmm he’d not sat at his desk, then no doubt he was sat on the windows ledge, the soft sound of a duvet being shifted and cushions being patted as he adjusted himself.

The old hellhound butler let out a relieved sigh, it was never good when Hat slept down there, he would be in a terrible mood for days when he did that, usually due to the reoccurring nightmare of Acylius….passing away in his arms like that.

Setting Hat’s tea on the tray along with a very late dinner, Cruentus was not about to complain he’d been grateful to have something to momentarily distract him, both of them were left shaken after seeing their loved one…to see him so full of life when the last image they’d seen bloodied and broken.

Cruentus wiped at his eyes, desperate to hold back his tears, not now he could cry later…not now…not now , he was on duty…he couldn’t think about how badly they’d hurt his son…about the little boy he’d adopted and rescued from that abusive monster.

Or how that little boy would panic if you tried to touch his face, that little boy who expected punishment if he was too loud or laughed, who forced himself to be quiet when he cried…

It was months before the bed wetting stopped he’d only found out because Acylius had tripped on the sheets one night accidently knocking something over when he was trying to put them in to wash, those large blue eyes looked so scared…it was that moment though when he’d held him and told Acylius it’s alright…that he wasn’t angry for the first time his son had cried…really cried and desperately held onto him.

How it was one winter’s day when Acylius had taken his hand, he recalled how small it was in his own as he looked up at him, shifting on his feet asking nervously

“Cru Cru…can I call you Papa?”

Yes he remembered it like it was yesterday.

From the moment Cruentus had adopted him, this baby had always been his pup, but to hear Acylius call him that, to have gained his trust after everything he’d been through…he knew that if anyone gained Lulu’s trust…made you a very special person to him.

A servant entered, working as assistant to Cruentus started humming a tune usually sung round this time of year only to be silenced as his masters bright yellow eyes glared at him, they appeared completely golden yellow, orbs of sunlight shining brightly.

The hellhound knight scrubbed his hands down is face, fuck, the hound inside of him was howling, it was hard to miss the light when it reflected off Jonathan’s glass surface.

Handing him the tray he growled

“Take this up to Lord Black Hat, apologize to him that I could not bring it, I need to rest.”

“But sir- I – I”

“Did I stutter Jonathan, now do your job!”

Cruentus barked before storming off.

UP IN THE HAT OFFICE

Amadeus was leaning against the office window, cheek pressed to the cool glass, I know there isn’t exactly a windowsill you can sit on in hats office in cannon but this story isn’t exactly cannon now is it?

Large comfy red velvet cushions were tucked behind his back, blanket now situated over his lap, Mew Mew loaf was no longer that tiny kitten he’d gifted him on their first Christmas, no now she was a grown Norwegian Forest, fluffy as anything and still demanded that she had a crimson bow at the back of her neck.

Mew was currently sleeping curled up beside him, small squeaks coming from her as she snored lightly.

He looked out over the darkness of his domain, where only a few lights pricked the buildings below as silver moonlight washed over shadows, his gaze focused on that sweet little coffee shop…

The park across the street from it…Acylius had never wanted statues or plaques, his tree was happy to be a foot note in history, but the Elderichts and older Legions, they remembered him, he’d helped to save them from being sewer rats and pets, he gave them back their name and the Legion’s freedom to decide to be free…

It was the Elderichts and the Legions who helped Amadeus to build it.

Cobblestone paths, trees that always blossoms frilly pink flowers in spring to rain down a flurry of petals in the gentle breeze, just as Acylius had always loved, a small coffee stand selling only the best (well second best now compared to Flugs) so the aroma would waft delicately amongst the scents of each season and in the middle, surrounded in a small black iron fence, it’s length at six ft seven exactly a patch of cornflowers and daffodils would grow when the season was right…that exact spot where Acylius had died in his arms.

For his Doctor to set up shop so close by was peculiar to say the least…but perhaps there was another reason…he wasn’t sure but he wondered if Acylius could see him looking down from his window.

Hat could see him clear as anything, blanket over his shoulders and just looking up at his mansion high upon the hill much like in Edward Scissor hands, ears wiggling and the cold weather turning his cheeks pink.

Hat smiled fondly, was his tree thinking of him affectionately even if he didn’t him in this life, he’d been about to wave meekly when Jonathan knocked, he turned his head telling them to enter, of course he was disappointed it wasn’t Cruentus, but if Cruentus had retired for the night it was usually for good reason…and considering today, that was more than enough.

The tray was set on the table that had now materialised beside Black Hat, clearly the servant was nervous around him, no matter how he tried to steady his hands, the items had still rattled lightly.

“Do you require anything else sir?”

Jonathan asked bowing his head.

“No, that will be all, you may leave.”

Hat answered plainly, waving his hand.

Acylius might have been sweet to all his workers, but he himself was more guarded than that, his softness was kept for those he loved and cared for.

Turning back he was disappointed to find Acylius was no longer at the window, kissing his finger tips he touched the glass where it covered over the sight of Flug’s room and whispered

“Goodnight my Tree, may you rest well.”

Unbeknownst to Hat, Acylius was already in bed, covers over his shoulder and quickly falling asleep, eyes heavy, the Legion demon swore he could feel the tender touch and hear those loving words, perhaps he was dreaming who knew but still he smiled and answered

“Pleasant dreams, my little Gremlin.”

End of pt four

#villainous #black hat #paperhat #villainous au #acylius flug #doctor flug #Coffee shop au #Present day #Ooc #Stuff

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diazevan · 4 years

Photo

7. I’ve Got You “Support”

After pulling over at a motel, for the night, the team undergoes strange experiences, that seems to be out to claim the lives of the people closest to them - Tony is sure, that Peter is sleepy soundly, throughout the ordeal.

Warning: Characters are controlled, by a supernatural force, which makes them suicidal.

Inspired by the episode 'Motel California,' from season three of MTV's Teen Wolf.

AO3 Link

Tony agreed that the team deserved a ‘work retreat,’ after the year they’d had, a break where those, who wanted to, could spend a week without a care in the world, doing nothing.

Peter wanted to go too, so they waited patiently until he was on spring break before heading off.

Tony cursed himself, wishing he’d planned the trip, instead of leaving it to Steve. The Captain was old fashioned, he wanted to go on a road trip, and refused to fly.

A twelve-hour drive to Chicago didn’t sound too bad, but Tony completely forgot, during the planning stage that the kid, suffered tremendous motion sickness when it came to traveling in cars. In Tony’s defense, he only forgot, because he’d traveled, by car, a far distance, with Peter, once, and then refused to ever do it again. He’d rather fly, with the kid, to keep both their sanities in check.

After six years, and five of those spent mourning Peter, it briefly slipped Tony’s mind.

On field trips, when they traveled across the country on the bus, Peter took super soldier travel sickness tablets and would doze off, either with his head rested against Ned or Michelle’s shoulder. Tony had seen the pictures, they were ridiculously adorable.

Even though they were in traveling in a fancy minibus, that had televisions and air-con, it didn’t stop Peter’s ailment.

The kid, caught up in his excitement, hadn’t forgotten to take his pills, and May had been called into work, to cover a shift, so it passed her mind too when she bid goodbye to a sleepy Peter.

At the end of the day, all three of them messed up. No one was to blame.

They were six hours into the journey when Tony realized his mistake.

They pulled over for dinner, at a Burger King, and as soon as Peter stepped outside, he collapsed to his knees and brought up his breakfast, Tony was surprised that he didn’t bring up a lung.

Long story short, they had to make an unscheduled pitstop at the closest motel, for the night. Steve found it on the map, and they drove half an hour. Peter spent the entire journey, with his head rested against Tony’s arm, silently groaning about his luck.

They parked up, on the roadside.

Clint peered out the window, “Wow.” He snorted a chuckle, “Definitely not five stars.”

“It’s only for one night.” Rhodey teased, throwing a backpack at him, “You’re a spy, I bet you’ve seen worse.”

Natasha got up, swinging her overnight bag onto her shoulder, “We once to a motel that didn’t even have beds, like, we slept on cardboard, but you know—”

Clint leaped up, “It was comfy cardboard.”

“I guess.” Natasha gave a half shrug, “I could hear Clint’s snoring through a wall though.”

“I do not snore.”

Tony waited until everyone was off the bus, before helping Peter up, “Come on, kiddo.” He grabbed Peter’s listless arm, hanging it over his shoulders, “One step, at a time.”

Peter slurred, “I’ve got it, Mr. Stark.”

They made it out, onto the road, “This is what happens when you don’t get your beauty sleep.”

“Uh.” He leaned his head back on Tony’s arm, “Shut up.”

“Okie Dokie.”

Sam folded his arms and looked over, with a smirk, “Such a lightweight.”

Natasha slapped his arm, and stared him down, with her infamous glare.

Steve jogged over, coming back from the kiosk, holding room keys in his hand, “Here.” He handed Tony his credit card back, “Thanks.”

Tony pocketed it, “No trouble.”

“There were only five rooms left for tonight.” Steve held up the keys, “So, we’re gonna have to share.”

Clint inclined his head, “Ugh.”

Bruce spoke up, “That works out, there is ten of us.”

Wanda beelines for Natasha, taking her hand and standing aside from the others.

Clint held up his hand, over his head, “I choose Sam.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, “What?”

Clint skidded over to him, “You’re the only one who doesn’t snore.”

Sam nodded, “Oh, okay.”

Steve spun on his heel, “Buck?”

Bucky shrugged, “I don’t care, as long as it has walls.”

Tony held up his head, motioning to Peter, “I guess I’ll take this one, then.”

That left Rhodey, with Bruce, neither of them seemed to mind that.

Everybody started hurrying to their rooms, Clint and Sam’s room was right behind them, so they headed straight in, Natasha and Wanda rushed up a set of metallic stairs, to the upper floor of rooms.

Rhodey and Bruce had a trek, to the opposite side of the lot.

Tony took the last key from Steve, and stepped aside, reading the number, “Ugh, stairs.” He groaned, turning to the same side Natasha and Wanda had sprinted off to, “Pete, can I carry you?”

Peter shook his head,, “No way.”

“Walking it is, then.” They slowed made their way up the stairs, Tony turned back to Steve and Bucky who were waiting behind, “Sorry, we’re taking it slow.”

Steve smiled, “We don’t mind.”

Tony pushed Peter’s back, helping him up the last step, “Next time we do something let this..” He said, to Steve, “We’re flying, not driving.”

Steve held out his hands, “Driving is more of an adventure.”

Tony fumbled with the key, unlocking the door, “Not for a kid who gets motion sickness.”

Bucky barked a laugh, “Isn’t he Spider-Man?”

“I’m generalizing here.” Tony explained, “He doesn’t do well in cars.”

Bucky frowned, “Ah, okay.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t make sense, but Pete never has.” Tony clicked the door open, “Night-Night.”

Peter stumbled away from Tony, and landed, face first, onto one of the beds, “This is nice.” He mumbled, without turning his face around.

Tony laughed, placing their bags down onto his bed, “Wanna get into your pajamas?”

Peter shook his head, “Uh-uh.”

“Okay.” He paced into the bathroom, poured a glass of water, and walked back in, grabbing two super soldier pills from the backpack, “I’ve got the drugs, sleepyhead.”

Peter sat up, hunched over, with his eyes half-open, “Thank you.” He took them, and then fell back down, comforted by the pillows.

Tony bent down, pressing a kiss against Peter’s temple, “Don’t let the bed bugs bite, buddy.”

He moved over, sitting on the other bed. He put the television on, quiet, and lost himself in the stupidity of Reality TV.

Peter fell asleep pretty fast, gently snoring to himself.

Tony messaged Pepper, asking her if Morgan was any trouble getting to sleep, she was being a real madam, recently. He then informed May, of their forgetfulness.

Tony's stomach rumbled, “Uh.” He’d seen a vending machine, below the stairs. He got up, grabbing the room key, he gently tiptoed out, being as quiet as possible.

Bruce was standing, in front of the machine, studying it with wide eyes.

“Midnight snacking, hey?” Tony joked, as he got closer, “I won’t tell.” He leaned in, noticing that the machine was dead, the lights were off, and nothing was coming up on the selection screen.

“Oh, shit.” He reached for his phone, “I might order—”

Tony jumped, out of his skin, when Bruce extended his closed fist, punching the side of the machine and shattering the glass.

“Um..” Tony stood still, remembering Bruce’s boundaries, “Are you okay?”

Bruce grabbed two packets of chips and turned back, “I’m just tired.”

He watched, as Bruce made his way back up to his room, “Alright…” He tapped his watch, “Friday, honey, can you tell Rhodey that Bruce seems to be acting off? It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Of course, Boss.”

Footsteps coming down the stairs, caught Tony’s attention, he turned to see Natasha, holding a pile of folded towels, “Hey.” She stepped over, “You good?” Her eyes locked onto the machine, she raised an eyebrow, “Did you break it?” She laughed uncertainly, “You’re a billionaire, just order.”

Tony rolled his eyes, gesturing to it, “Bruce did it.”

“Oh.”

“He was acting weird.”

“He’s probably just tired.” She said, “Have you warned Rhodey?”

“Yeah.”

She darted his eyes around, “I’m sure it will be fine.”

Tony nodded, hoping the same, “What are you doing?”

“Getting new towels, these smell like smoke.” She complicated, “Wanna join me?”

“Sure.”

She looped her arm around his prosthetic arm, and they headed over to the kiosk, “Come on, then.”

A lady was standing inside, with her back faced towards them.

“Excuse me?” Natasha spoke, with her ‘civilian’ voice, that was oddly gentle and high pitched, “You don’t have any spare towels, do you? I’ve got a non-smoking room, but these ones reek of nicotine.”

“Yes, of course, love.” The clerk said, with a croaky voice, she turned to face them – she was well into her sixties, she had a cigarette in her hand, but contrastingly, a tracheotomy tube in her throat, “I’ll get those for you now.”

Natasha slid over the old towels, wearing an awkward smile, “Thanks.”

Tony looked around, noticing a plaque on the board behind the clerk, that read ‘112.’

The clerk handed Natasha new towels, and turned to Tony, “Do you need anything, Mr. Stark?”

"Um, our friend...." He motioned back, "Accidently broke your vending machine, I'm okay, with covering the costs--"

"No worry dear, that old thing hasn't worked for months-" She informed him, "It's scheduled for removal."

Tony nodded, "Alright..." His eyes found the plaque again, "Um-"

The clerk gestured back, "You admiring our memorial plaque, sweetheart?"

Natasha's forehead creased, "Memorial plaque?"

Tony pushed further, “What does that mean?”

She shook her head, with a cackle, “Oh, that’s an inside joke.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll warn you, it’s morbid.” She laughed, “You really wanna know?”

“We’ve seen a lot of morbid.” Tony said, truthfully, nodding his head towards Natasha – there had never been a truer statement, considering Tony almost died, and Natasha was actually dead, for a short period, until Steve returned the soul stone to Vormir, “Hit us.”

“We're not gonna make the top of anyone's list when it comes to customer satisfaction.” She mocked, “But we are number one in Cleveland when it comes to one disturbing little detail. Since opening, more than any other motel in Cleveland, we have the most guest suicides.”

Tony’s jaw dropped, “Wow.”

Natasha leaned up, whispering in his ear, “That wasn’t in the brochure.” She held up the towels, “Thank you.”

They quickly scurried away, “That was disturbing.” Tony snickered nervously, “This is the last time I let Steve Rogers decide our emergency pit stop. If I’d asked Friday, she would have found us a nicer place.”

“I don’t know.” Natasha’s mouth twitched into a smile, “It’s creepy, but it’s kinda fun.”

They made their way up the stairs, “That’s so you.”

A door swung open, and Wanda darted into view, throwing her arms out, grabbing onto the railings in her front of her.

Tony’s smile dropped, “Wanda?” He looked to Natasha, who looked as equally as concerned, “You okay?”

She turned, her face, as white as a sheet, “Did you hear that?”

Natasha looked around, “What?”

“The couple, next door, it sounded like—” Wanda pointed, to the room, behind them, with a shaking hand, “—Like they’re making a suicide pact.”

“Shit—” Tony jumped into action, hurrying back, and knocking his fist, rapidly, against the door, “Hello!”

“Get out of the way.” Natasha barked, throwing the towels aside, she raised her foot, kicking the door open, swiftly.

Tony leaped inside, flipping on the light switch, but there was no couple – the room seemed to be under construction, covered with white sheets, and full of building equipment.

“This doesn’t make sense.” Wanda paced inside, tears in her eyes, “I heard them, they were so clear.”

Natasha peeled back one of the sheets, to reveal splatters of blood, across the wall, “Look.”

Tony held a hand under his chin, “Holy shit.”

Natasha studied it, “They were here?”

Wanda exclaimed, “But it was now, I heard them—”

“Your powers, they’re constructed from the mind stone, your mind is on a different wavelength from ours, right?” Tony asked, gently.

“Yeah.” Wanda nodded, “I still don’t really know the full extent of them.”

“I’m sorry.” Tony rested a hand on her arm, “But I think you heard an echo, a memory of the people who died in this room.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks, “I can hear the dead?”

Natasha walked back over to them, “Is that even possible?”

“Strange would be the one to ask.” Tony held out his arms, “I’m only theorizing.”

“I don’t like it here.” Wanda moved away, she took out her phone, “I’m gonna call Vis.”

Vision, Thor, Scott, and everybody else, for that case, had the right idea, of sitting out for the work retreat.

Wanda stared at her phone, her forehead creased, “No signal.”

“That’s impossible.” They all had new StarkPhones, and the connection was impeccable, “That—” He took out his phone, “No way.”

Natasha leaned over to see, “I thought your phones were absolute.”

“They are.”

She prodded his screen, “Not in creepy motels.”

Tony rolled his eyes.

“Look, these aren’t murders.” Natasha pointed out, “They’re suicides.”

Wanda squealed, “These?”

Tony looked up, “This place has a history with suicide.”

“It does?”

Natasha blew a slow breath, “Yeah, the owners keep score.”

“That’s gross.” Wanda put her phone back in her pocket, “I wanna leave.”

“We should round everybody up and find somewhere new.” Tony agreed, “I don’t wanna risk it.”

They left the room and pulled the broken door to a close.

“Hey!” Rhodey called, from down in the car park, waving his hand.

All three of them hurried down, to meet him, in the middle.

Tony rushed over, placing a hand on his arm, “What’s wrong?”

“Any of you seen Bruce? “ He asked, “He went to get snacks but never came back.”

Tony slouched his shoulders, his heart running at a mile a minute, “He was acting weird when I last saw him.”

“He was?”

“Didn’t Friday alert you?”

“No.”

Tony clicked the side of his watch, “Friday, did you send the message to Rhodey?” He received no response, “Friday?”

Rhodey shook his head, “That’s not normal.”

“No signal, No Friday.” Tony hid his trembling hands in his pockets, “This is—"

Steve sprinted down the stairs, “Anybody seen Bucky?” He asked, worry laced in his tone, “He just, disappeared while I was in the shower, and he was—”

“Let me guess.” Natasha tilted her head to her shoulder, “Acting weird?”

“Yes.” Steve frowned, “Like he was, out of it.”

“It’s not only him.” Rhodey said, “Bruce is gone.”

“Something weird is going on here.” Tony itched the back of his head, “It’s not right.”

“Bucky and Bruce?” Natasha raised, “What do they have in common?”

Tony held out a hand, “Super soldier serum?”

They all turned, looking at Steve, who blurted, “I feel fine.”

Tony muttered, “Control?”

Rhodey stepped in closer, “What was that?”

“Lack of control.” Tony suggested, “Both of them, have lost control of their minds, before. In extraordinary ways. Perhaps, whatever’s going on here, it’s taking advantage of that fact.”

Steve and Rhodey, who had no idea about the history of the place they were standing in, stared at him like he had egg on his face.

Natasha jumped, smacking Tony’s arm, “Loki overpowered Clint’s mind.”

Wanda turned, sending a blast over to Sam and Clint’s door – the noise would be enough to wake the surrounding neighborhoods.

Rhodey’s eyes widened, “That’s a way to do it.”

Wanda turned, “Should I wake up Peter?”

“No.” Tony squeezed the brim of his nose, but he wished he could simply grab Peter and get out, he had to look at the big picture. The kid was asleep, recovering, the safest place for him, despite the circumstances, was that motel room, “He’s probably sleeping through this, I’ll grab him in a second.” He looked around, noticing something obvious, “There’s no cars.” He said, “It’s a car park and there are no cars—”

Steve cut in, “But there were only five rooms.”

Tony clicked his fingers, “Unless…there wasn’t.”

Wanda jumped in, “We’re the only ones here?”

“Maybe.”

Sam and Clint’s door swung open, they both walked out, in their pajamas, bleary-eyed.

Clint barked, “What the hell?”

“This isn’t funny.” Sam groaned, “What’s going on?”

“Mind control.” Natasha said, blatantly, “We think.”

“But we’re on holiday.” Clint groaned, holding his head back, “Mind control is so 2012.”

“We’re only guessing.” Natasha pulled him aside, “You feel okay?”

“Yeah.” Clint said, “I was sleeping.”

Sam folded his arms, “Can someone explain what’s going on?”

“Quick rundown.” Tony said fast, “This place is famous for its suicides.”

Clint sang, “Terrific.”

“Bruce and Bucky are missing, and they were acting weird.” He held up a hand, silencing Clint’s remarks, “And yes, weirder than usual.”

Natasha added, “Like they weren’t in control.”

Clint rubbed the nape of his neck, “You think whatever is going on here, it’s controlling people who have lost control of their minds before?”

“Yeah.” Tony nodded, “So, you feeling alright?”

“Just tired.” Clint shrugged. “I mean, I know I went through it, with Loki, but definitely not as bad as those two have.”

Natasha crossed her arms, “Could the super solider serum still be involved?”

Tony held out a hand, “It could be both.”

Steve added, “Or neither.”

Tony bit down on his nails, “Whatever it is, we need to look for them.”

A noise echoed from the upper floor, they all jumped, out of their skin.

Tony looked up, he knew that noise, he was a mechanic, after all, “That’s—” It was coming from the room, under construction. “That’s a handsaw!” He charged up the stairs, as fast as possible, with everybody hot on his tail, he threw the door open.

Bucky was stood, in the center, holding the handsaw in his hand, like it weighed nothing, and he was about to slice himself in half with it.

“Barnes, no!” Tony screamed, charging ahead, with his arms held up.

Steve leaped over, “Buck!”

Tony pulled on Bucky’s arm, “Wanda!”

Wanda hurried inside, using her powers to pull the handsaw aside, she left it suspended in the air as Rhodey dashed over, pulling the plug out of the power socket.

Bucky growled, he pulled his metal arm free from Tony’s grasp and tried to crawl, at his stomach, “No!”

Wanda held up her hand, trying to get into his head, “I can’t stop him! His mind is—"

Tony taped his prosthetic arm, firing up the reactor, “Close your eyes.” He told everyone, as he held it up, blinding Bucky, with a quick flash.

Bucky jerked backward, landing on his backside, “What the hell?” He pushed himself up, on his elbows, “What’s going on?”

“Can’t believe that worked.” Tony backed out, pointing to Steve, “Explain it to him, everybody else look for Bruce – I’m grabbing Peter.”

They all scattered, calling Bruce’s name.

Tony darted down, towards his room, he fumbled for the key, “Come on, come on—”

“Somebody!” Natasha shrieked, from her room, “Quick.”

“Fuck,” Tony turned, hurrying back, “What—”

She charged back inside, “Quick, it’s Bruce!” She led him into the bathroom.

Tony wasn’t ready for the sight.

Bruce was in the bathtub, holding himself down, with the safe that was in the bedroom, it was pressed against his chest.

Tony jumped into action, trying to move it, “It’s no good.”

Natasha tried to get to the plug, “The drain’s blocked.”

“Stand back.” Tony did the same, as before, blinding Bruce with the reactor.

Bruce sat up, with a roar, he tossed the safe aside, on the bathroom floor, “What—what—”

“I got this.” Natasha pushed Tony’s arm, “Go and get Peter.”

“Thank you.” Tony charged down, throwing his door open, “Come on, Pete This place is screwed.” He moved his hand, flipping on the switch.

But as the light flickered on, Tony’s world grew darker.

Peter wasn’t there.

“Peter?” He stepped inside, looking around, “No.” He stepped into the bathroom, “Peter!” He ran back outside, screaming, “Peter!”

Rhodey’s panicked stricken voice, grabbed his attention, “Tones…”

Tony snapped his head around, “What?”

“I found him.” Rhodey leaned over the gate, pointing down to the car park.

Tony leaned over, looking at the bigger picture, “No.”

Peter was standing, in the center, surrounded by a puddle of gasoline, and in his hand, was an emergency flare, that they stored in the back of the van.

“Kid!” Tony hurried, down the stairs, towards the chaos, “Peter!”

One wrong moved, and his kid was gone, again.

Everyone followed, standing around, with nothing to say.

Tony spun, “Wanda?”

“I can’t see into his mind, I can’t move the—” She seemed helpless, “I can’t move the flare, he could drop it, I could drop it—”

“Don’t worry.” Tony said quietly, “I’ve got this.”

The gauntlet would have the same problem, Peter would drop the flare, into the gasoline, from the shock.

Tony slowed his breathing and turned, “Hey, kid.”

Peter’s eyes were glassy, unfocused, but underneath it, Tony’s Peter was fighting to get back to the surface, he needed a helping hand, “It’s my fault.”

“What…” Tony stammered, “What’s your fault, kiddo?”

“Everything.” Peter’s eyes filled with tears, “My Mum and Dad – I should have made them stay.”

“Peter, you were only six.” Tony pointed out, keeping his voice low, “What happened to your parents shouldn’t have happened. They deserved better, and so do you.” His throat cracked, “It’s not your fault, buddy. You couldn’t have stopped them from leaving. No one knew what was going to happen.”

“Ben.” Peter met Tony’s gaze, “He was following me, when he was shot—I stormed out.”

The team held their surprise, for they had never heard these stories – they knew about the loss, but not about the circumstance.

“You were going through a change that no one else has before, Pete.” Tony spoke with his stomach in his throat, “Teenagers storm out all the time. That is not your fault. You know that. May has told you that, so many times, it—”

Peter cut in, “She hates me.”

Tony hiccuped, “She could never hate you.”

Peter tightened his grip around the flare, “Ben would still be here if it wasn’t for me—”

“No.” Tony interrupted, “You are not responsible for the actions of others.”

“What about you?”

Tony stared, at a loss for words.

“You nearly died.”

Tony looked, at his prosthetic arm, “That was my choice, Pete.”

Tears fell down Peter’s cheeks, “You did it for me.”

“Still not your fault.”

“Everyone around me gets hurt.” Peter’s chin trembled, “You’ll all be gone if I stay.”

“No, baby.” Tony edged closer, “No, we need you.” He motioned back, “All of us need Peter Parker.”

“Nobody needs me!” Peter snapped, “That’s what they say.”

“Who?”

“People at school.”

“They’re bullies, nothing more.” He pointed, to the flare, “I’m gonna need you to pass that to me, kiddo, and then we’ll figure this out together, huh? Like we always do.”

“Not this time.” Peter said, emotionlessly, “I’ve had enough.”

“Okay, buddy. Listen to me, okay?” Tony pleaded, “Something is doing this to you. Making you think this. They went after Bruce and Bucky – they’ve got to you too. I should have realized, I should have guessed—”

Control? Peter lost control of everything when he was bitten by the spider. It changed his genetics, overnight, and that should have killed him. Tony wasn’t there then, but he could imagine, the agony the kid went through. The venom, from the spider, had a similar structure, to the super-soldier serum, but it wasn’t the same, still, Tony had only just connected those dots. He’d hate himself, for being that slow, no matter how this turned out.

“No, I don’t—” Pete shook his head, “No, this is me, I’m a mistake.”

“This isn’t you.” Tony sniffled, “We’re gonna be okay, kiddo. I promise.” He pointed, “You’re not a mistake. Anything but. You’re—” His voice wavered, “You’re my kid, and I love you—”

The unfamiliarity in Peter’s eyes started to clear.

“So, if…” Tony stepped forward, into the gasoline, “If you’re gonna do this…”

Rhodey gasped in a gentle knowing tone, from behind, “Oh, Tones…”

Tony swallowed the lump, in his throat, “You’re gonna have to take me with you then.”

Peter’s face contorted, as he stared Tony in the eye.

Tony carefully pulled the flare out of Peter’s grip, he held it back, “Take it.”

“I—” Steve wrapped his hand around it, avoiding the gasoline puddle, “I’ve got it.”

“Thank you.”

Peter flinched, his body slouching, “Mr. Stark?” He squeaked, looking around, the car park, “What—”

Tony reached over, pressing a hand against Peter’s cheek, “Hey there, kiddo.”

Peter leaned into his palm, he blurted, “That wasn’t me, that wasn’t—Oh, God—I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t—"

Tony tugged him into a hug, combing his hand through Peter’s gasoline-ridden hair, “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He muttered, “You’re back.” He held him, tight, “I’ve got you."

#whumptober2020 #no.7 #i've got you #irondad #irondad fanfiction #the avengers #tony stark #peter parker #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #rhodey #steve rogers #bruce banner #clint barton #sam wilson #bucky barnes

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hockeylvr59 · 4 years

Text

Be My Valentine || Tyson Jost

Requested: [x] yes [ ] no

Authors Note: So uh...this was supposed to be a blurb...and well it turned into not a blurb...enjoy.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, and more fluff. And maybe like one curse word.

Word Count: 1,963

You’d first met Tyson when he moved into the apartment across the hall from you. His rambunctious personality and the fact that there were constantly people in and out of his apartment meant that he was the only neighbor whose name you even knew or who you’d honestly even seen in passing before though. It had been a few months after he had moved in that he’d come knocking on your door almost shy but at the same time anxiety filling his expression. He’d explained that his mom’s Christmas present was delayed in shipping and now he was supposed to be out of town when it was delivered. He’d added that it wasn’t something he wanted sitting around and his ramble ended with him pleading with you to collect the package for him and to deliver it into his apartment so that he didn’t have to worry about it.

You’d agreed without hesitation because it was an easy ask. Since then, he’d asked you to collect other packages/mail for him and to water the plant he’d been trying to keep alive while he was away. He’d explained dramatically that he couldn’t let the plant die because he needed to prove a point to his captain who’d bet him that the plant wouldn’t last the season. On the occasions that you talked when he was leaving town or had arrived home and was checking in, you enjoyed the tales he told about his teams’ adventures and antics. His stories alone told you that there was never a dull day for the Colorado Avalanche and you looked forward to bumping into him in the elevator or parking garage because he never failed to cause you to leave smiling even if your day had been crappy otherwise.

It had been a rough week by the time Friday arrived, so rough in fact that though you’d mourned spending another Valentine’s day alone earlier in the week, by the time the hallmark holiday arrived you’d completely forgotten that today was Valentine’s day. By the time your day was over and you’d returned home with plans to change into PJs and curl up on the couch with a movie, takeout dinner, and wine, you were shocked to find a bouquet of flowers sitting outside your door with a card tucked into them. Adjusting your bag on your shoulder you bent to pick them up, a soft smile gracing your face as you caught a whiff of their sweet scent.

Flowers in hand, you unlocked your door and headed inside, setting the flowers on the counter while you put your bag away and slipped off your coat and shoes. It was only then that you reached for the card, pulling it out of the envelope. The front of the card had a cartoonish image of a wedge of cheese on it and read “sorry about the cheesy card” and once you opened it you couldn’t help but laugh at the scratchy writing inside in what you recognized was Tyson’s handwriting though he hadn’t signed it.

“...but since we’re both provolone on Valentine’s day will you have dinner with brie?” The card was so cheesy (no pun intended on your part) that you weren’t sure if this was a friend’s thing or whether it implied something more. So setting the card aside you quickly worked to get the flowers into a rarely used vase before pulling out your phone from your bag and pulling up your text conversation with Tyson.

So…someone left me a beautiful bouquet of flowers and inquired about dinner...know anything about that??

Standing in your kitchen waiting for a response you couldn’t help but feel your heart thud in your chest in a way that it hadn’t before. Still, you chastised yourself that he probably was just talking about a friendly dinner...even if that wasn’t something he’d ever done before and it likely didn’t mean anything more. When your phone finally buzzed on the counter you felt yourself jump in surprise before you reached for it, blush growing on your face.

I might know something about it.

Change into something comfy and come over?? I have pizza and wine…

Be over in 5.

After changing into a pair of sweats and a too-large sweatshirt you grabbed your phone and apartment key before making your way across the hall. In response to your knock, Tyson called out that it was open and the moment you stepped through the door, you froze in shock. The entire living space of the apartment was dimmed and lit only by candles and while there was a bottle of wine and a pizza box on the coffee table in front of the couch, you were immediately distracted by the fact that Tyson was sprawled out on the floor in sweats and a t-shirt with a half dozen tiny kittens crawling all over him.

“What is going on here?” You found yourself asking and when Tyson glanced up at you after settling the kittens onto the floor his smile grew.

“So uh...I think you accidentally called me the other night and before I realized it was an unintentional call I heard you whining about Valentine’s day…” The moment the words left his mouth you thought back to the other night and suddenly an apology was spilling from your lips.

“Oh god...I’m so sorry you had to witness my pity party...I absolutely did not mean for that to happen.” You explained. Tyson was now standing in front of you and he shrugged his shoulders for a moment.

“I know. But anyway...it got me thinking about how much you’ve done for me and how I haven’t really properly thanked you...so I thought maybe since we’re both single we could spend the evening together making fun of hallmark movies or something.

You started to say that he didn’t need to do anything to thank you because you doing little things for him wasn’t a big deal but he stopped you before you could even start.

“Okay. Fine. This sounds nice.” You agreed, stepping forward to press a quick kiss to Tyson’s cheek. “Thank you.” The fact that his cheeks had gone rosy sent your mind reeling but that thought pattern was stopped when you heard a soft meow at your feet. “Okay...so explain the kittens...because you do not have time for one cat let alone six Tys…”

Chuckling, Tyson bent down to pick up the kitten that had wandered over to you, cradling it in his hands and petting it gently.

“You mentioned a while back how much you missed your family’s cats so...I may have made a call to the humane society…” That still didn’t explain anything and when you raised your eyebrow at him Tyson continued. “They had a litter of kittens that isn’t quite old enough to be adopted yet, but they agreed to let me borrow them for the day as part of their house training. I thought maybe cuddling and playing with them might make you smile…” As he spoke the last sentence his voice dropped to a whisper and then suddenly he was tugging your hand pulling you over to where the rest of the kittens were rolling around on the floor. “Come play with them! They’re so fucking cute.” He exclaimed, picking a little grey furball up to hand it to you.

The small creature wiggled in your grasp and you immediately felt yourself relax at the feeling of soft fur under your fingers. You had certainly thought about getting a kitten, but the rent increase and going home for the holidays had prevented you from doing so. Looking over at Tyson wrangling two of the other kittens you couldn’t help but acknowledge the aching feeling in your chest that had appeared tonight for the first time. The fact that Tyson even remembered you saying you missed your cats when it had been an offhand conversation was mind-blowing and the ‘friends’ lens of your vision was quickly becoming blurred.

After a few moments of play with the furballs, Tyson settled the quickly tiring kittens into a soft bed at the corner of the couch. Once all of the kittens were settled in for a bit of a nap, he moved to the table to pour two glasses of wine, handing you one of them along with a plate to eat the pizza off of.

Snuggled onto his couch with pizza and wine and Tyson on the other end, he started the first of tonight’s movie selections. Within five minutes he was chirping the movie and how ridiculous it was causing you to laugh. By the end he was questioning why women even watch these things when they’re so predictable and you couldn’t help but shrug.

“Maybe because it’s nice to think that maybe something could just be that good even if it’s not realistic. Sometimes it’s nice to think that there are good guys out there that aren’t afraid to admit what they want.”

You could feel his eyes on you as you finished your glass of wine, leaning forward to set it back down on the table. Silence spread through the room for a minute before suddenly Tyson was shifting and his thumb was brushing against your cheek as his lips pressed gently into yours. It took a moment for your brain to process what was happening but when it did you kissed him back causing him to smile against you before pulling away.

“How’s that for an admission?” He questioned softly, his thumb still brushing against your skin. Basking in his touch for a moment more you eventually spoke.

“I mean it could use a little clarity…but it’s a good start.” You murmured, your gaze focused on him. “Because I just don’t want to read more into this than it is.” You added, your hand brushing over his knee gently. Kissing you gently once more, Tyson pried himself up from the couch, moving to his kitchen for a moment before returning with a box which he handed you with a sheepish smile on his face.

“So I was hopeful but didn’t want to presume so I left these in the fridge…” He mumbled. Opening the box you flushed not at the chocolate covered strawberries but at the chocolate bark with ‘be my valentine?’ written in elegant script on it in white chocolate.

“Tyson…” You breathed only to be cut off by Tyson insisting that it was fine if you didn’t feel the same. “Tyson...are you serious?” You found yourself asking and when he replied that of course, he was you jumped up off the couch to kiss him once more.

“Does this mean you’ll go on a date with me?” He inquired when you finally broke the kiss to breathe. Your affirmative nod in response caused him to let out a whoop of excitement which caused you to laugh once more.

With plans pending for an official date, you settled back onto the couch, this time curled into Tyson’s side as he started another movie. By the time it ended, the two of you had kittens snuggled all around purring happily.

Considering how shitty your week had started, the fact that it was ending like this was incredible. In a matter of hours, you’d gone from spending another Valentine’s day alone, to being the Valentine of a man who made you laugh more than anyone else and who listened and remembered the things you talked about, a feat which spoke volumes.

Thinking about it, your story seemed like one that could feature in a hallmark movie. It was cheesy for sure. But it was also absolutely perfect and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#tyson jost #tyson jost imagine #colorado avalanche imagine #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #cavalanche #021

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punkandsnacks · 4 years

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Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Eleven; Reveal.

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

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Trigger Warnings: !!! major blood gore/violence/death !!! in this chapter-

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

Another week in the life of a soon-to-be-wedded young woman perched delicately upon the dizzying precipices of matrimonial bliss; for she had to suffer yet another outing with her intended huffy Sergeant.

They were bid to the local theatre three towns over, this eve, to take a the comedic operatic of a show. A paltry pastime perhaps, Hux was not keen, where Iris entered the evening determined to have some share of joy in it.

She’d often found a healthier outlook far more substantially bearable, than that of a venomous one. A better application of her energy as far as she’s concerned; her determination to enjoy such things outweighs the scope of misery she could place upon her evening.

She’d be sat down upon a comfy seat. In the dark. Not conversing. That sounds like some sheer brazen luck to her; she won’t have to interact with Hux or his overbearing unctuous mother. But then her mind callously interjects that she’d have to spend the rest of her life married to the man. So one night’s reprieve was almost sadly tragic. A happenstance to be mourned.

Pitied. If she had anyone who could so pity her in that manner.

They could certainly pity her now. Sat in a dark coach. Travelling and clunking along to the theatre house.

Hux sit’s opposite inspecting the quality of the shine of his boots. Besmirching his valet’s hand no doubt.

She sits opposite. All wrapped up in her velvet cloak and another silk dress he didn’t compliment her on looking so becoming in.

A better man might’ve atleast called her pretty. Might’ve atleast made her feel just the tiniest bit flattered that he has her on his arm. No such luck with the loveless Armitage Hux.

Moody silence sits with them. Almost as if a completely intrusive third passenger. Heralding the frosty silence that’s colder than the light of the icy moon outside tonight. Catching on all the snow. Shining over brown-frosted hills and dead winter trees.

They come to the gaiety of the theatre. Even as the coach pulls up, Iris can see numerous men and women flocking there. Driven in by the chill and the desire for the show. The name of which is emblazoned above the door. And in peeling posters all along the torch lit front of the stony theatre building.

A creamy edifice of domineering cotswold stone. The sleeting snow, like mush and rain and ice, patters and melts into the roof and seeps soggy into the dirty pavements. Spitting gloopy down from the heavens.

The weather is a foul as Hux’s somber mood. He barely looks at her just as he barely offers her a hand down from his coach. She had wounded his ego most sorely the other night. With the carriage and the wolf debacle.

Iris has never known such frailty or scorned derision greater than that of a man’s bruised ego. Softer than eggshell.

She would be more incensed at his sullen mood. If she wasn’t already suffering in other ways. A persistent headache had taken up residence in her temples. It pinched and hurt and her tolerance for annoyance had furiously lessened.

They cross the steps up the foyer, and cut through the bustling crowds to come to the gathering of their family who await them. Their carriage preceded their own by mere minutes. Maratella rewards herself being so sly and forward thinking in sending Hux to fetch Iris in their second coach whilst the rest of her family rode on with her and Brendol.

She fancied she was giving the budding lovebirds a moment alone; probably imagines they’d steal a kiss or gabble excitedly about their wedding plans. Hopes for the loving future ahead. She wasn’t to know they were barely on speaking terms.

Hux catches her elbow before they reach their assorted relatives. Brings her to a stop.

“Might we endeavour to appear civil, tonight Iris?” Hux speaks lowly into her ear. Stooping over her. Looking as if they are exchanging some lovers secret from a trysting moment.

“I should like to set an example of gentility for yours and my families interests. For we both know what is at stake if we are, after all.... destined to be wed.” He tells with a note of dullness to his voice.

Be still my swooning heart, Iris remarks to herself dryly.

“There is no quarrel between us, Sergeant. And if there is, I assure you, it is certainly not being offered from my quarter.” Iris insists. A veiled comment meant to remind and remark how annoyingly taciturn he was behaving.

Without mistaking her utter joy at correcting a gentleman’s behaviour and the out-coming matter of it being inherently satisfying; she’s more vexed at how he can seem so displeased with her conduct.

He does have the gall to look the tiniest bit ashamed to that confession. He offers her a flicker of a curtly guilty smile. Nodding. “Very well.” He adds.

Iris looks down and gently takes his offered arm. He stands straight. Peacocking, puffing his chest out in his scarlet uniform. They stride across for their families with perfectly false smiles pasted on their faces. An air of geniality seeping out of every pore.

Posy and Flora are the first to not so subtly comment at their sister and the titian haired Sergeant being left alone together for an entire carriage ride. Again.

Her mother leans to Maratella and smiles something unto her friends ear. If her relatives get any the more transparent, Iris strongly suspects she’s going to scream and start tearing out her hair.

Iris nods a hello to the Huxs’. Brendol is in attendance tonight. A man of late age, little hair. Thinning russet red that hints at his sons colouring. He is portly and acts and speaks as if he disapproves greatly of everything in his path.

The man is merely eyeing her with the same bored indifference as his son. Mutters something to his wife about getting to their seats before too long. Looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else. Bedecked in his army uniform too. The heritage of proud soldiers, the noble and gallant Hux ancestors. Men with soldiery and lust for war and medals and honour in their blood, dating as far back as the Normandy landings, most likely.

She felt something then she never fathomed she’d feel for Armitage- she pitied him.

Growing up with a father who domineered and controlled his interests as much as her mother had controlled hers. She was raised and bred for marriage? Hux was raised and bred for the glory of war. No matter if he wanted it or not. Anything to continue the proud heritage. She suspects they are perhaps more alike in that regard than she first thought.

She however, cannot pretend it makes her love him any the more. Respect him slightly, possibly. But her heart and feelings are still sworn away to another man.

“I’m very much anticipating the performance. Maratella you are very generous to invite us all to take use of your box. Such a fine view.” Iris insists to Mrs Hux. She had even said that it would not be so prudent for Iris to start calling her ‘her second Mama’ if she so wished. For they are almost connected as family already.

“Indeed. Miss Ashton you are most welcome. My dear friend and I jointly share the box for the season. I think mayhap you know of her? Lady Spencer...” She preaches jovially. Loudly enough for everyone around them to hear. Whether by design or accident- Iris cannot say.

Iris nods. “Indeed ma’am. We were at her ball at Cavisham House, just last eve.”

Maratella’s face falls with comedic over-exaggeration. “Oh we did most want to attend. Alas so many parties and assemblies we are promised to at present!” She gushed.

“Armitage and I got caught up at the Countess of Whetherby’s assembly last evening. Hux took dances with many fine young ladies. But I dare say he missed you something most acutely awful my dear.” She winked at Iris. Reaching over and patting her hand in mock comfort.

Her levity didn’t lessen the barb of insult that struck through her heart. She’d waited on Hux being in attendance all evening, and he thought so little of her, he took dances with other women.

Now atleast she knew where she stood. No matter Maratella’s telling her otherwise. That pity she spoke of before, quickly dried up. The well of her good thoughts for Hux quickly dried up. As it usually does mere seconds after prevailing herself of his company.

She rather wants to drop the arm of his she’s now holding in fake mannerly affection. Only she doesn’t get the chance too. Maratella is already rabbiting on and boasting about something else.

“Alas, I had word from my poor friend Lady Spencer just this eve. She sent me a missive. I chanced on its arrival just as we made ready to leave. She so hates to decline an invite to the theatre. But she is struck down with pains of the chest. A nervous compliant I fear.” She admits sadly.

“She did say she sent a certain gentleman to take her place. I believe you are of his acquaintance, Mrs Ashton. He claims one with you...”

Mrs Ashton frowns most keenly. “Pray. Who might that be?” She comments.

“That would be me, I believe.” Interjects a new deep voice into their conversation.

Iris’ skin crawls. And not in any sort of horrible way. But the very best way. That smoke and whiskey-molasses voice that sets her bones quivering is like manna to her ears.

So sudden his appearance that all the blood in the upper half of her body rushes suddenly to her face. Heating her cheeks. And she’s never been more aware of her spine being a column of thrashing fizzing and excited nerves.

Their party turns around and sure enough, there is Lord Ren. Stepping out of the shadows of the nearest hallway. He looked oddly at home amongst the scarlet blood walls, the shadows, and the cloaking velvet curtains of the nearest entryway. Hands behind his back. His impassive figure cuts a handsome image.

Black coat and breeches and boots as always. An ivory silk waistcoat the colour of old bones sits on his top half. A searing white cravat knotted at his neck. Collar tipping under his chin. A monochrome monstrosity. So monstrous because he’s so beautiful Iris can liken no other sight in the world like him. He was truly a wondrous beast.

He appears so opportunely. As if summoned by the devil. Sculpted out of thin air. In a great rushing shift of air he brings with him the cologne that’s almost as tantalising as his very handsome looks. Sandalwood, rich dirty earth and something cold and opulent, fragranced, like frost crusted on mint leaf.

Iris takes great pleasure in knowing his mere presence grits her mothers teeth to dust. She’s biting back her tongue. So as not to be uncivil in front of Maratella. Showing up her host was the height of rudeness.

“Lord Ren.” Maratella gasps excitedly. Preening and fussing with her appearance. Kylo looks over at Iris warmly. Sets her soul on fire with those honeyed black eyes before he smoothly rolls his look across to Mrs Hux. His second host for the evening.

His vampiric charms and hypnotic influences seep out of his every pore. The aids to the ultimate predator. He can enchant anyone. Even the vapid likes of Mrs Hux.

She’s reacting to him - blushing and fluffing her hair curls. Even in her late age. Humans are always so susceptible to him. He never has a problem attracting interest. He’s tall, dark and far too beguiling. The weak mortals - of either gender - throw themselves at his feet and fawn into madness that he might dare look at them.

His eyes are however, set upon one prize. And at that very moment; Kylo’s ultimate prize has her hand hooked on another insipid man’s elbow. That won’t do.

He eyes the contact with fleeting derision as Mrs Hux flatters and compliments him every manner. As if her tongue simply drips honey and sugar.

“... Indeed. We are all so honoured you will be making up our merry party this eve. Lord Ren.” She wheedles.

Kylo tips his smirk across at Caroline Ashton. Who looks ready to spit venom at him past her forked tongue. She was reddening with rage. Clutching her hands together like she wanted to break bone.

“I am excessively happy to make up the party.” He smiles. Hoping it would be a dagger in Mrs Ashton’s scaled skin.

“Lady Spencer simply begged the acquaintance on me. I couldn’t possibly in all good grace refuse it.” He shows off.

He sees Caroline flinch and watches the veins strain at her temples. He will torture her for every second. Tenfold. For what she’s putting her daughter through. Making her suffer the attentions of a arduous prick, who thinks himself the finest soldier England has ever produced.

That makes Kylo scoff. He known soldiers like Hux: men who flock to the uniform, quick to put it on. Not so quick to honour its pride and meaning.

Men like him; fighting men like him are one’s born out of centuries and generations upon generations of soldiers forced unto the army life by their domineering and stuffy fathers. Kylo casts an eye over Mr. Hux who boredly inspects his pocket watch. Doesn’t so much as even turn his head toward Kylo.

He’s seen a hundred men like this. And they flee from battle. Unable to take the horror of being cannon fodder. They think themselves above it. Better. Superior. They don and peacock their red coats but when it comes down to committing the savagery of fighting in battle, they run.

Kylo’s slit the throats of a thousand deserters in his day. He’s sure when the next war comes - and it will - he will be called upon to do more of the same.

He’d take ten peasants with the will of iron and guts to defend their homeland with their bare bleeding hands, warring to the bone, over a thousand preening dandy officers like Hux. Ones who picked the lint and specs of dirt off their uniforms. Bragged about their commissions and then would doubtlessly abandon good men to die when battle finally came.

“How long have you known Lady Spencer sir?” Mrs Hux asks.

“Not at all until I met her at the ball last Eve. Mrs Hux. She was most grateful for my ousting an awful drunkard who was causing insult to her guests.” Kylo explains.

Mrs Hux looks amazed. Iris blushes. Posy and Flora look all flirty up at the tall Lord. Mrs Hux looks ready to swoon.

Armitage appears bored and annoyed. “How very gallant of you Lord Ren. Did he offer you insult perhaps, snub your grand title? Laugh at your boots?” Hux sniffs with derision.

Kylo locks eyes with the redheaded cur who dared to offer him, the landed peer, an insult. The ember warmth leeches from Kylos eyes and his smile drops. His stare hardened to black frost. His eyes glitter darkly in the lowlight. Like shiny, scuttling black beetles wings.

“Actually, Sergeant, he offered foul mouthed insult to your beautiful fiancée. You would know of this, had you not left her unattended all evening.”

Hux sneers and his lips twitch to snarl an ugly response. Kylo looks nonplussed. Though behind his back, his knuckles crack white where he curls his fist. And he feels the veins in his arms and his biceps strain, itch and tense not to retaliate.

Sensing the men bristling over Miss Ashton. Maratella suggests they all take to their seats for the performance begins soon. The Ashton’s walk off with Brendol and she takes the time to turn around and hiss at her son. Her sugared smile disappears and coldness takes its place.

“Armitage. Remember your manners. Don’t be so uncouth in front of Iris. And especially not to Lord Ren.” She shrilled at her son, before she takes her leave.

Hux cups over the back of Iris’ hand where it rests on his elbow. Kylo stays stood opposite. Glaring at the man. Seeing his hand on hers made his blood itch for terrible violent things. He aches to reach across and twist Hux’s stupid neck til it crunches into pieces.

What’s worse... is that Hux doesn’t love her.

He will never love her. He is using her for show and want of connection and that is all. Instead of appreciating the beauty on his arm... he’s using her to manipulate the emotions of another man he detests.

Kylo so very much wants to dismember the sad prick. The animal in him claws at its confinement’s. Slobbering maw baying at the gates of his temper. He swallows and keeps it tamed - for now.

“Hux. Please. I beg you. There is no cause for incivility here.” Iris insists.

Sensing the bristling and enflaming of masculine tempers flaring up around her. Kylo looks calm. Hux looks snotty and more and more like a spoilt brat not getting his own way. The poncy Sergeant barely turns his head to her when she speaks.

He’s fraying on the last ragged rope holding Kylo’s inner beast in check. In his time he was raised to hold women in high regard. They were warriors. Mothers. Strong farmers, and skilled craftspeople. People worthy of alignment with men. In this rabid society? They are merely goals and dowries to be won. It sickens him.

Hux looks like he wants to stomp his foot and stroppily exclaim that Lord Ren started it. He eyes as the crowds about them thin away. Off to their seats. He snatches his arm off her. Steps forward.

“Do not dare think to correct me, woman.” Hux says lowly at her. Before he turns his head to Kylo. Still addressing her. But his eyes stabbing into Kylo.

“Lord Ren should be apprised of speaking so discourteously towards me.” He warns. Thank goodness he wasn’t isn’t full ceremonial dress and had his sword strapped to his side. He might have run Kylo through.

Lord Ren raises one sardonic brow. Really, there was an advantage to his lofty peerage ranking as a Lord. It meant he was always in a position to arch a sardonic brow. His smirk tips up on one side too.

“You offer me threat? Sergeant?” Kylo asks. He’s twice the man’s width. And three heads taller.

There’s no question who the real power is. Kylo’s itching to show how much. Slam the pathetic boy up against the nearest wall. Feet off the ground. He could choke him there with one hand. It would be no more to him than swatting away a stray flea.

“I do, Sir. Maybe your foreign ways make you unaware of the standards here in our polite society. But understand me; it is in very poor taste to try a poach a man’s intended from him.” He snarls. Voice reedy thin.

“In my foreign experience...” Kylo digs at his poor choice of words. “I seldom recommend that senseless men such as yourself leave their beautiful ladies unattended. Who knows what may come to pass...” Kylo suggests.

He wouldn’t allude to their kiss last eve and bring her mortification and embarrassment. Hux recoils to spit some more venom but Kylo steps up.

“Perhaps if you bore an ounce of gallantry and backbone you’d be better placed to deserve a woman like Miss Ashton. A curious intelligent woman, whom you can overlook and subjugate at every turn. She deserves a far better spouse than some coward in a uniform.”

“I would call you outside if I believed you had any honour with which to meet me.” Hux seethes.

He was challenging Kylo to an illegal duel. Not over Iris’ honour. But rather his own. How typical. Lord Ren’s amused face quickly turns into the most terrifying expression she’s ever seen. Such fury steeling his handsome features.

“Don’t dare talk down to me, of honour.” Kylo cautions. Iris’ mouth gapes. Such wounded fury in his eyes.

“You believe that because you don a pretty red coat that you are the most valiant warrior to ever set foot on this earth? I’ve seen such carnage and bloody fighting that it would make you shudder in horror and scream out in your dreams. I’ve fought in more wars than you can ever name, boy.” He spits in gross insult.

“I gladly lack many things your fetid society seems to value. But don’t you dare accuse me, of lacking honour.” Kylo seethes.

“I will not waste my time listening to more of this effrontery.” Hux straightens his back. Pretends not to be undignified and stalks off towards the box after his family.

Iris sighs in his wake. It appears he’d forgotten to escort her. She wasn’t entirely sure that was a bad thing. She didn’t wish to spend time with such a spoilt brat of a man, who can’t look behind his own ignorant scope.

“I detest many things. But a man such as he who so readily and openly snipes to others and thinks himself loftily superior, is not something I can pretend to stomach.” Iris offers to Kylo. Chewing lightly on her lower lip in trepidation.

He walks quick across to her and gently plucks her hand up to kiss it. Putting it on his arm thereafter. If her own idiot of a fiancé won’t escort her, he sure as hell will. Damn the cur for making less of her.

“I’m so sorry for his conduct Lord Ren. And any insult you offered you. ” She offers. Even though he’s trembling with anger and rage, entwined with disgust for that man. He doesn’t let her see how close he came to loosing his temper. A hairs breadth.

He’s sure to look stern. But his eyes are warm. “Your apology is not needed. Iris. He formed and spat those words. You did not.” He tells her seriously. He lets the bitter bile of rage slip off his tongue. She calms him.

Her beauty soothes the beast.

She looks ashamed. Ashamed of being connected to such a low example of man. “A woman is supposed to support her intended in every manner...” She says with perturbation.

“Well. He makes that venture impossible.” Kylo admits lowly. She smiles a little. Agreeing. Though she dare not speak such terms aloud.

“If I might add, You look very handsome tonight. Miss Ashton.” He flatters. Where her cloak was taken some time ago by the porter, the exquisite nature of her dress came into view.

A soft teal blue silk. Simple cut. He’s seen it on her before. The one with the low back and the sweeping train. He admired it on her before, and he will do so again. She shouldn’t be made to feel plain or boring in her dresses when she really did look truly beautiful in each one.

Tonight there is a thin necklace with some pretty sparkles and paste gems of some blue stones set around her neck. He watches the broach of it raise and sink with her breathing. His eyes run unhindered along her collarbone. Watches the jitter of her pearl drop earrings.

They walk up the narrow little carpeted stairs, and come along the hallway. Selecting their door they join the others in Lady Spencer and Mrs Hux’ box. The theatre was not exactly a grand one. Though the building was magnificent in its Georgian architecture it was a small country place of not much elegance. Candles flickered low, and the gloomy edifice is only made bright by the stage lights blinking upwards towards the painted scenery and the backdrop of draped red curtains.

The rest is lost to darkness. Ladies and gentlemen mill about in their seats, shifting in the rows of seats below. The upper circle opposite is populated too. As busy as the rest of the place.

The show is shortly to begin. Kylo doesn’t have time to admire the look on Caroline’s face seeing him deliver Iris to her seat. Glaring at Hux sharply, who gave him his own acerbic look right back. They watch the big impressive Lord stride down the box toward his seat.

Hux leans into her. “I make no such apology for my exit. I cannot stand a man who thinks so meanly of brave soldiers, such as I.”

Iris sighs to herself. Of course he overlooked the fact that he was the one who started the tirade of insults in the first place. He turned Kylo’s chiding the Sergeant onto a martyrdom for all English soldiers.

“I understand.” She says dully. Her head is throbbing. Temples hurt.

If she says anything else she’d get too incensed with him. He didn’t even defend his poor actions. Kylo was directly correct about Hux; he really did have no backbone or honour where she was concerned.

The curtains pull apart. The play begins. Lord Ren settles in his seat. Down the far far end of the box by Maratella and Brendol. Iris finds it not at all ironic or unsurprising that there’s a box length of people between them. Doubtless that was her mothers doing.

Kylo knows it too - he catches her eye where their seats are set back. A wry grin tugs at his lips. Despite herself, Iris blushes at it. She looks down into her lap. Hux turns to the side and catches her blush. Sees how Lord Ren turns away. Smug and smiling. It piqued his interest.

Iris tries to concentrate. But it appears the niggling headache she began to suffer earlier was pounding incessantly at her temples. She’s reminded of it every time there’s sharp clapping or the pitching whine of a violin chorus. The room suddenly feels much too much. Too hot. Too stifling.

Her dress feels too sticky - clinging to her back and her chest. She forgot her fan and she wished she would have remembered it. So she wouldn’t now be gasping for air.

Another thundering round of applause sharply rippled through the theatre. She shuts her eyes and winces at it. How it stings so at her head.

Hux continues clapping beside her. Elbows jostling her. Kylo frowns at the idiot not even sensing she was unwell. He doesn’t applaud. He looks her way with a frown of interest. Brow creased with concern.

It wasn’t long til the intermission now. Barely a half of an hour. Kylo watches her face crumpled in pain. She stands and says something idle and quick to Hux. He nods and she slips away. Out the darkened door. Into the shadows of the dimmed theatre.

Kylo turns his head back. Tries valiantly to concentrate on the insipid comedy play. But he finds he can’t. Especially not as a moment opposite catches his eye. Draws his eyeline to the opposite box. Where a dark coated man with golden hair slips out the door. Smirking directly at Kylo. Piercing eyes stabbed into Kylo’s nonexistent soul. He knows that smirking face.

Viscount Eversleigh. The most foul letch on two legs. The drunkard he had thrown out of the Spencer’s ball last night.

He couldn’t leap up and go after Iris. It would look planned. He had to leave it as long as possible. He tried to think that the perfidious and indocile Eversleigh had gone to fetch a drink. Yet he seemed like the kind of man to order someone to do it for him.

Kylo’s worries and paranoia seeps heavy through his blood like rotten sticky tar. He hates this sickening feeling. He prayed that Eversleigh’s exit wasn’t fuelled by Iris’. He really did.

He has no such blind faith left in mortal men. He may be the darkest foulest creature, but it’s nothing to some men’s filthy aspirations. Some were truly vile. Especially those men gone on drink and snobbery who view the world as quite their own.

Kylo launches out his seat. Hot in pursuit. So quick in fact it rattled back on its far legs as he rose out the thing so quick. Storming for the door. He almost yanked it off - ripping it clean of its hinges, like matchwood. If Hux wouldn’t care for her, the task fell to him. To protect his little Dove.

Iris made her way down the stairs. Stopping before she got to the foyer. She needed air and in search of it, she rounded the stairs up to the boxes and found a narrow dingy hallway which snaked out onto a dark alley.

The door was left wide open and cold slushy grey of night and the scent of damp and dirt spilled inside. Seeping onto the cold wet stone doorstep. Darkened by the spitting slush of rain.

She takes deep lungfuls of the bitter air. It hurts her lungs but the cool feels so soothing on her skin. Her skull still echoes with the nasty pain of headache. But the air helps aids her.

She no longer feels so suffocated. Stifled by this evening and her dress. Forcing herself to be civil to a heartless man she doesn’t want. It takes it toll of her already sore shoulders from carrying the weights if other people’s expectations.

Oddly enough, when she’s talking to Lord Ren, her worries and all those bothersome fretting’s leave her mind. For a second, she feels like someone sees her for the sheer value of herself. See’s and cherished her as a whole. It’s an awfully heady feeling for the likes of her; who always felt sought after merely for marital status and connection. She who was always made to feel like an example of regency gentility for marriage. And never having any dreams or aspirations beyond.

She sighs. Crosses her arms over herself. Hears the silk rasp. Feeling how the cold nibbles savagely at her arms. Stings her chest and turns her necklace to savage ice resting around her throat. Before she starts to shiver, she shifts herself from the doorway and turns to go back inside; entering back into her paltry monotonous existence.

The one that made her chest seize up in panic, the same thing clawing through her blood. The one that made her want to run fleeing every chance she got.

Damn family reputation. Damn propriety and society. She could run for the coast with the meagre pin money she has saved. Hidden behind the loose skirting in her bedroom. Behind the door. She’s gotten used to stashing the odd sixpence in the velvet pouch therein. She has a neat little sum tidied away by now.

She could go for the coast. Where no one knows her. Down and across to Dorset and seek for work. Or maybe Plymouth? Perhaps give herself a new name. Invent a dead husband who died in the war, invent a past that wasn’t at all true. Wear a wedding band that represented nothing more than a falsehood.

She may yet find work in some great grand house for a noble family. She has a good brain and much knowledge, she could be a Governess well enough. Teach young girls or young masters in the nursery. She was so vastly tempted by the idea. Atleast that way she’d have a life she could control.

She’d almost run away so many times. She was merely ten and four the first time she tried.

Barely longer in the tooth than Flora was now. And she’d wanted to bundle her meagre possessions into a carpet bag, and go scrounge together a life earning a measly palm full of pennies in some dirty gin soaked tavern on the outskirts of London, where no one would know her. Anything was a desirable alternative to staying and having her head bitten off day in day out by her mother. Always ready to find fault with her eldest.

Caroline Ashton’s fears of propriety and want for connection completely ate her up. There was no affection in her of any sort.

There wasn’t anything else there in the woman behind that porcelain front. Iris remembers learning that the day her mother clipped her across her cheek in a harsh slap for not getting the practiced dance steps right. That was the first night she dreamed of running away.

She regrets the memories now. They are no more than barbed reminders of her failed hopes. She’s never been brave enough to run. Her penance for her spoilt dreams. She’s stayed. She’s the biggest coward she knows of. Never could quite summon the guts to do it.

She sighs deeply. Turning and heading for her seat; the intermission began soon. She wanted to avoid the crowds if at all possible. She makes it just to the corner of the dingy hallway.

And where she’s looking down at her feet, when she looks up she’s gasping and jolting backwards at the sudden apparition of the man before her. Blocking all discernible light from the hallway beyond.

Stood there with his foppish mane of honey curls. His sapphire coat and his biscuit coloured breeches. Viscount Eversleigh. He stands. Smirking. Twiddling the golden sovereign ring around around around on his little finger. Anticipating her.

So suddenly she shrunk back with a gasp. “Lord Eversleigh.” Iris timidly greets him. Her back hits the wall where she stumbled.

“Iris. Isn’t it?” He seeks. She doesn’t care for the fumes of whiskey on his breath and on his jacket. Or his attentions. His manners. His looks. She didn’t care for anything and everything about him. And if he had a dog too? Well. She didn’t care for that either.

“We are not intimately acquainted.” She dismisses. He would never have known her first name.

He chuckled and stalks slowly towards her still. Backing her into the wall. She had nowhere else to go. Her hands scrabble against the smooth cold plaster. She can hear her heart hammering in her ears. Aware her chest is heaving and he notices this too.

“We could be...” He smarms at her. Smile tugging up. There’s a glazed look of something she can’t quite read in his eyes. And it’s bright and awful.

“Tell me, my dear, how long have you been lifting your skirts for Lord Ren?” He coos. Flattening her to the wall. His coat brushing her chest. “How long has he been fucking you?”

She’s mortified. And scared. Her mouth gapes. Such insulting speech. “I beg your pardon...” She gasps.

“Don’t be all missish. My dear. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way he pays court to you. Holds your hand. Much more than that redheaded prick does.” He scoffs. The shock of his foul language lands on her skin like the lashes of a cracking whip. They leave her sore and reeling.

“Indeed you are mistaken, Sir. And you are drunk.” She holds firm but her voice wobbles. She recoils from his breath as he stood over her. Intimidating. Hands flat to the wall by her shoulders.

One either side. He’s enclosing her. Trapping her. She turns her head to the side. Repulsed. He watches her neck corded, straining with each breath.

She feels the heat of his breath roll down her skin. “Please move...” She ushers lowly.

“How often does he get you under him? Hmm? Every day? Every week. Do you scamper over to his estate under the guise of running errands. Get on your back for him. Knees spread to the sky.” He drawls. “Bet you look a pretty picture... lying out under him, ready to be rutted.”

Iris glares up at him. She grits her jaw. She’s dealt with the foul four legged creature of fangs and venom that is her mother. Like a Greek harpy. She tries not to let this entitled man scare her.

“Get off of me.” She bites in a lethal little whisper. Full of rage and grit teeth. She almost shakes with it. He was making her feel lesser than her worth. She won’t stand for that. Not under any condition.

He smiles more. His hand skims down for her hip. Brute fingers rasping the silk. He grips the side of her thigh. Hard. He licks his dry lips and she wants to empty her stomach contents onto his shiny brown boots. “A man like me could make good use of such a gorgeous plump arse such as yours, Iris.”

She’s had more than enough. She brings her hand up, striking quick, she slaps him hard across the cheek. He’s too drunk and stupid to respond quickly. He had none of his wits about him.

She wriggles out from under him. Gathers up her skirts as a bundle in her arms and dashes away. She hears the commotion of him. His boots clack the tiles. He shouts and barks after her slurring. He sounds like he was following. Pursuing her.

And then it stops. It all stops.

There’s a garbled yell. Muffled and the yelling. And then, silence. Nothing but the sleeting rain pattering down on the stone doorstep where she was just stood. The wind howling down through the open door. Bringing the bitter frosty cold with it. Howling desolate down the eerily silent hallway.

“Turn back.” Comes that silvery honey voice in her head. The ancient one she can’t fathom to whom it belongs. It’s almost as if it’s always been there. Always croons sweet melodic things at her. The silvery voice that swims in her dreams.

“Turn back around. You’re perfectly safe little spark. There’s something you need to see...”

Something terrible is ringing dark and violent down in her bones. It makes her slow to a stop.

She doesn’t know why. But something within her along with that voice, calls upon her body to stop. And she turns back.

He wasn’t there-

She thinks she’s descending into madness. That she dreamt him. Or made him up. But then again, the fumes on his breath were far too vile for her to have conjured them up. Foul breath and sloshes of Scottish malt whiskey. She saw a stain on his collar where it had dribbled onto his chin. Down onto his cravat. She couldn’t have made up such an unnecessary detail as that.

She treads cautiously back down the tiled corridor she just fled down. Eyes flitting all over. She must be taking leave of her senses. Venturing back into the place where the man she ran from is residing.

She comes to the corner. Puts her cold hand to the wall to steady herself. The rain is louder. The wind howls more vicious. The cold pricks her skin like a ream of dressmakers needles rasping her into pain. The hair on the back of her nape stands to vulgar attention. Black nasty fear rotting in her veins like cloying syrup. Her heart feels too loud.

A whimper leaves her throat. Her chest pounds ragged with a shaky breath that leaves her in a tremble.

For there’s a handprint smear of blood and spraying droplets dribbling down the pale yellow wall just ahead.

Her gaze is drawn to the tiles of the floor, where little crimson drips shimmer in the half light, leading out the door. Into the raining and the dirt and the foul smog of the open brick alley way beyond.

Through the rain and the dark. She focuses on the big dark shape she can identify as a man. Hunched over. Her gaze is drawn downwards to the pair of wet brown boots. Dripping with something viscous and black.

Scarlet-black. Blood.

Those lifeless legs and limp arms lay prostate against this humungous dark shape. Bowed over the soon to be corpse. Dark head bowed. Iris recognises the scent of the cologne fading in the air. Mint leaf. Sandalwood. And rich dark earth.

And she can hear slurping and groaning.

Her eyes cannot help but leak tears. Sheer fear bubbling up in her body.

She almost can’t comprehend what she’s seeing. Her eyes must be traitors. They’re lying to her. She can’t possibly be seeing this. This must be the death of her sanity. Throw it in a grave and cover it with soil. Mourn the loss of her saneness.

There’s a slick thud as the dark shape drops the figure in its arms. Bloodied pale hands, big wide hands, drop Eversleigh’s blue coat collar. The limp man looks comically small against this dark beasts proportions. He’s dropped to the mud and dirt of the alley floor. Strewn into the filth where he belongs. The dark shape puts one hand to the brick wall. Crimson cakes it’s round yet sharp fingernails. It’s human hands.

It turns its shaggy head back to her. It’s not a beast. It’s a man. With gold eyes ringed with garnet.

Lord Ren.

And there is blood smeared raw and dripping down his mouth. Over two sharp fangs protruding from his plump upper lip. Staining his teeth. Running in sticky red rivulets over his handsome chin and dribbling down his white silk waistcoat.

He looks right into her. Pierced into her eyes and stunned her brain, persuading her not to move so much as one muscle.

She can’t know how long they stand there gazing at each other. Kylo stalks in to her. Sleeting slushy rain dotting on his hair. On his shoulders. On his blood stained front. She shrinks to the wall. Tears silver in her shimmering eyes.

She wants to speak. She can only stare. He’s nearing the doorstep.

“Little dove...” He seeks. Panting. Her eyes catch on the way that even his usually white teeth are bleeding crimson. It sticks in the cracks between them.

“Wh-what...” She seeks. Shakes her head in disbelief.

“Iris. I will not hurt you. I offer you no threat. Believe me.” He pledges. Reaching out a steady bloodied hand to her. Raising them both. Showing her he means his word. He means no danger to her. Never to her.

She doesn’t know if she’d rather sob, or run or scream- her brain cannot choose which.

“There’s this voice in my head.” She begins in a sob. Shakily pointing at her throbbing temple.

“And it’s telling me to..to... trust you.” She cries. Conflicted by the blood lusting monster she sees in the man before her. Caught in those haunting eyes and the blood and the gore of this shocking moment. He’s the same, yet so different. its painful.

Kylo is moved by the fact Iris can hear Draegan in her head. Ever the lenient one. He was reaching out.

“You trust that voice?”

She nods. “I must be mad.”

“You are not mad.” He soothes. “What I am is as real as you or I, standing here right now.”

As real as the bee stings of cold rain he can feel on his cheeks. The wet stickiness of his tamped down hair. The wind on his skin. And Eversleighs blood in his throat. Tasted like warm metal and whiskey spice.

Her eyes drift back to the slumped man in the dirt on the alley floor. “Is he?” She gasps. Seeking as to his state of life.

Kylo doesn’t tarry in his answer. But he keeps his words soft. “Yes.”

For the way he assaulted her, Kylo should’ve taken his head clean off. He’s done it before.

Hearing the vile thoughts in the drunkards perverted head about all he wanted to do to her when he got her alone, it well justified Kylo’s ridding the earth of the bastard letch by ripping his neck out. He turns back, nudged the tip of his boot into the man’s head. Turns the bastards throat away so she wouldn’t have to see the gore.

When he twists back, Her gaze sticks on the harsh glare of gold that was his eyes that were usually the deepest handsome shade of russet. Such savage eyes.

A terrible thought clicks in her head like snapping bone. “All those deaths of late... the wild animal attacks. It was- you?....”

“I’m afraid so.” He answers her curious questions.

She gasps anew. “It all makes sense now. And that Wolf...” She begins. “The one with the golden eyes.” The pieces start slotting together.

He nods.

Her mind can’t make sense of this insensible thing.

She expects to wake up any minute and this be the dizzying reaches of some far off, fantastic fever dream. Scrabbling first her bedclothes as the dream fades from her imagination.

“D-Do you wish to kill me, Kylo?” She whimpers.

He looks agonised. “No. Iris.” He pleaded to her so honestly.

“No.” He croons.

“In fact if anything happened to you, it would most likely kill me.” He assures her.

Her mouth gapes again. He watches those rosebud pink lips part. There is nothing but majesty and integrity on his face. In his features.

“I hardly know what to say...” She admits.

“I didn’t intend for you to find out the nature of what I am, in such a manner as this.” He confesses.

“You were going to confide in me?” She seeks.

“Yes I was. But when I saw this stupid drunk sneak after you. I had no choice. My hands were tied upon the matter. I could not have you hurt.”

“You did it to save me.” She comments.

“Of course I did, my dove.” He explains.

“I-“ She’s so moved she can hardly form words. Questions zip and crackle around her head like a crackling roaring fire. Like splintering logs fluttering with sparks.

She’s so dazed and enchanted. She almost doesn’t hear the applause come from inside that signifies the start of the intermission.

Kylo’s voice snaps her out of the stunned haze that swims in her mind like a pool of thick dark black treacle. She can’t free her arms or legs. The thick of it is swallowing her whole. His voice manages to finally disturb her out of it.

“Iris. You need to go. Now.” He tells. Eyes flicking upwards, hearing the clamour from within of footsteps and clattering doors. Crowds are descending. They can’t he found like this.

She barely summons the energy to move. “How will you-“ She looks back at the lifeless corpse of Lord Eversleigh.

“I’ll take care of it my Dove. But you must not spare a worry for me. You must go now.” He orders gently.

She slips around the corner and walks quickly away. Quitting the scene. Kylo watches until she moves out of sight. Her blue silk skirts trail away. He watches her as she moved back into polite society.

He looks down at the corpse and the blood seeping into the dirt. His pretty gentle Dove is back into the folds of politeness and civility.

How fitting;

The beast is out here. Confined out into the filthy muck and the snow and the blood, where he belongs. Outside, banished to the shadows.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

#kylo ren #Kylo ren x oc #vampirelovestory #vampire!kylo #vampire au #adam driver #very wolves and doves #vampire #demon #ao3 fanfic #Iris vibes🕊#Draegan vibes 🥀#Lord Ren vibes 🐺#blood #violence #death #mentions of death

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