#one of my coworkers is very nice though. genuinely so supportive and kind and I think he’s going to do soso well as a shift / manager | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

axoxtxhxh · 3 years

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Pairing: Sub!Goshiki x DomFem! Chubby!Reader Part 1 Summary: You met your good friend Goshiki at work one day, having similar interests in books. When you start developing feelings for him, things get difficult. Especially when he asks a special favor. Content: Body image issues

A/N: Thank you for following along! We’re now on our fourth week of stories! Both virginity loss stories are three parts. The second part will release on Wednesday and the third part on Friday. Be sure to check out @millenialfanfictionaddictions story Oikawa’s Oasis! You can reach it through the Please Me Series Masterlist. Feedback is appreciated!

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this at all. It wasn’t like you had your whole life planned out, in fact, it was quite the opposite. You didn’t know what you were doing half the time and you had reached a point in your life where you were kind of okay with that. While there were good things you tried to bring into your life, there was an even longer list of bad things you tried to keep out.

After hitting your late twenties, you decided it was important to take care of yourself. Getting rid of toxic friendships and focusing on your mental and physical health became your priority. You were doing a great job, as much as the rolls on your stomach and all over chubby look you had attested against it.

One of the other things you decided to finally pursue was your dream of being a romance novelist. You quit your nine-to-five day job that you hated and started working at your favorite bookstore in town while your nights were spent writing. The support you had from your friends at the bookstore was way more than you could ever have imagined. Even your boss loved hearing about your story ideas.

“You look tired.” Your boss, Dylan, joked as you walked into the breakroom, ready to start your shift.

“I was up late last night writing.” You hung up your jacket in your locker. “I could really use some… cof…fee.”

Your eyes lit up as you saw the full cup of coffee in your boss’s hand, extended to you. It was from your favorite shop down the street.

“How did you know I wanted coffee? Are you even real?” You took the cup and gulped down half of it.

“You forget, I’m your beta reader.” He laughed. “When you’re up writing, I’m up reading. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you!” You held the cup up to him, then took another big gulp.

“You get another tattoo?” He asked, eyeing your arm as you closed your locker. You looked down at your arm and smiled.

“Yep. Trying to finish up this sleeve.”

“I have a question.” He leaned back in his chair, his hands resting in his lap. “Why don’t you ever write with characters that look like you?”

“People like me don’t get to have romances like those in the books.” You shrugged and headed out to the floor.

The morning mid-shift was always your favorite. As much as you hated getting up early, the bookstore was at its quietest then and you could relax with your coworkers. You spotted your favorite co-worker manning the help desk and focusing on something on the other side of the bookstore.

“What are you looking at?”

“Shh…” They put their fingers to their lips. “I don’t want him to know I see him.”

“See who? What are you talking about?” You whispered, trying not to expose yourselves even though you still didn’t know what you were looking at.

“That guy.” They pointed and your eyes followed the direction of their finger to see a tall figure in the magazine section, his hood up, mask on and wearing sunglasses. You could see black bangs peeking out under the hood.

“So why don’t you want him to know you see him?”

“In case he’s stealing.” They whisper-yelled and you laughed.

“I’ll just go talk to him.” You stood up straight and made your way over. He looked a little less shady up close because you could see that he was lost in his reading and didn’t even really notice you being there.

When you first walked up, you saw him reading one of the car magazines from the shelf, but now that you were closer, you could see he had a book inside the magazine and was reading the book.

“You know, normally people put the magazine in the book, not the other way around.” You leaned closer to him and he jumped back, shrieking as he dropped the magazine and the book. He backed away from you and if he didn’t have his entire face covered with a mask and sunglasses, you could only imagine his eyes wide and his mouth open.

The magazine was all bent on the ground and you leaned over to pick it up along with the book. You could only imagine what he was reading that he had it hidden in a car magazine. Putting the magazine back on the shelf, you looked at the cover of the book. Romance?

“Were you reading this?” You held the book up to him with a smile.

“No.” He shook his head back and forth anxiously.

“Then why is it here?”

“It fell.”

“From where?” You questioned.

“Alright fine, I was reading it.”

He dropped his head low and you gasped sarcastically, your hand to your chest. “No! Really? I would never have guessed.”

“Very funny.” You laughed, looking back down at the book.

“So why are you hiding then? Or did you not notice there’s only like two other people shopping.” You gestured to the rest of the store. “Or maybe you couldn’t see well with those incredibly dark sunglasses.”

“That’s not it.” He pulled off the sunglasses and mask, dropping the hood to his sweatshirt as he looked around the store nervously. “I just don’t want anyone to know I’m reading it.”

“What’s wrong with it?” You looked at the book. It was one of your favorites. “This is a great book.”

His eyes widened as he quickly looked back to you. “You like romance novels?”

“I love them. I’m trying to write one actually. This one has given me a lot of inspiration for my current story.”

“That’s so cool.” He smiled, looking really amazed, you weren’t sure by what though.

“So, let me get this straight.” You narrowed your eyes skeptically. “You come in here to secretly read these romance novels because you don’t want people to know you’re reading them?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you just buy it and read it at home?”

“I have a roommate and I don’t want him to know.”

“You could go to the library.”

“They don’t have the ones I like and they don’t release as quickly as you guys do.”

“How long have you been doing this?” His mouth opened and he turned away, looking nervous by the question so you changed the subject. “Never mind. Honestly, as long as you’re not stealing or planning to steal, you can read however you’d like.”

You stepped back, adjusting the unorganized magazines, and turned to walk back to your station.

“Well, wait.” He went to grab your arm, but thought better and pulled back as you turned around. “You said you write.”

“Yes.” You nodded at him.

“Can I read your stuff?”

“Why would I let you read my work?” You laughed slightly uncomfortably. It was a weird question. He doesn’t know anything about you or your writing. You could actually suck at it. “I don’t even know you.”

“Goshiki.” He put his hand out with a smile and you shook it, telling him your name. “So we’re friends now?”

You started laughing. You couldn’t believe this guy. Friends? You met less than two minutes ago because he was being a creep in your store.

“You don’t have to laugh.” He grumbled.

“Why do you want to read my work so badly? You don’t know me. It could very well suck.”

“I just don’t have anyone to talk to about this stuff. I’ve been reading these books for years. I tried to avoid them in high school because I knew I would get made fun of, but I’ve never met anyone in person that likes them too. Not since you.”

The look on his face made you feel so guilty. Why did you have to have such a big heart? The guy just wants to talk about romance novels. He also had a point. You barely knew anyone that liked romance novels and you worked at a book store. Honestly, you could use a second opinion. Dylan had no idea what he was talking about half the time.

“Fine.” You sighed and he started smiling.

“Really?”

“Yes, but I’m not letting you read it without me watching. The last thing I need is you to steal my ideas.”

“That’s perfect.” He pulled out his phone. “There’s a coffee shop just down the street I like. We can meet there. Can I have your number?”

“Are you talking about Milstead?” You took his phone and typed your information, handing him your phone.

“Yeah, you know it?”

“Know it? I love it. I practically keep them in business.”

That’s where your friendship with the weird guy in the bookstore started. You weren’t so stuck in middle school that you would call him your best friend, but he was definitely your best friend. You had even caught him calling you his best friend to your coworkers and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t have you smiling.

You had never gotten along with someone so immediately the way you did with Goshiki. You had an endless list of similar interests, from favorite books to your favorite coffee shop. You even had the same oddball order from the café. Though, you were both pretty sure that he accidentally got your order once and liked it so much he continued ordering it.

It didn’t take long for you both to start hanging out nearly every day and he started coming into the bookstore to talk to you rather than actually reading the novels he loved. After a couple weeks you trusted him enough to email him your work and it was only a month into your friendship before he was going over to your apartment to hang out regularly.

“Don’t you think it’s weird how close you’ve gotten?” Dylan asked as he helped stock the shelves. He had been wondering how your writing was going and if you were going to finish the latest chapter you had been working on. When you told him Goshiki was coming over to your place later so it wouldn’t get done, he worried.

“I don’t think it’s weird. Is it?” You didn’t feel uncomfortable. Honestly, Goshiki didn’t give off any of the red flags you were so used to seeing in people. He was genuinely a nice person who loved the same things as you.

“I don’t know. You just so happen to love all the same things?” He paused his stocking and looked at you. “Are you sure he doesn’t just have feelings for you and maybe he’s pretending to like the same things as you?”

“Stop trying to put me in my romance novel.” You laughed. “Guys don’t do that for me.”

Later that night you were in your kitchen waiting for Goshiki to get there. You had done something so stupid, something so completely thoughtless that you knew would ruin your mood yet you couldn’t resist the torture apparently. You weighed yourself. The level of fluctuating your weight did was honestly unbelievable. You always had good days when it was down, but days like today when it was up, you couldn’t help but let it sour your mood.

There was a knock at the door before it opened up and Goshiki walked in. You hadn’t given him a key or anything, but it was only a matter of time before you both hit that step.

“I brought Oreos.” He smiled, setting the container on the counter, pulling it open and eating one. He grabbed a second one and split it open, handing you the side without the cream. “Here.”

“You can have my side.” You tried to smile.

“But you always eat my half that doesn’t have cream.”

“It’s fine.” You shook your head. “I shouldn’t be eating it.”

“Shouldn’t be eating it? Are you sick?” He pulled another Oreo from the container and ate it in one bite. He was honestly so lucky he could eat whatever he wanted.

“No just watching my weight. I sort of fell back into some old habits.”

“What’s wrong with your weight? You look great.”

“Let’s get started on the story.” You tried to change the subject.

“Did you finish the chapter?” Goshiki’s eyes were wide and he spit the dryness of the cookies from his mouth out of excitement. You laughed as he quickly covered his mouth. “Sorry.”

“Maybe.” You smiled coyly, grabbing his hand and he grabbed the Oreo container. “Come on.”

Moving to the couch, you sat on the end, Goshiki plopping next to you, and you put your laptop in his lap. There was a tiny bit of anxiety building in your stomach as you sat there watching him read and you were pretty sure part of it was what Dylan had said earlier. Was it possible that Goshiki had feelings for you? You watched as he put another Oreo in his mouth, his eyes glued to screen of your computer, scanning back and forth as he read. You weren’t even sure if he was blinking, the glow of the monitor shining onto his eyes. There was no way someone could be that into you to fake that look of concentration.

You smiled to yourself and kept watching him read. This chapter had a pretty steamy scene in it but you’d known Goshiki long enough and seen him read enough of your work to know that it didn’t matter what he was reading, his expression never changed. His eyes were always wide with interest, mouth closed in a pout.

He put another Oreo in and you watched him as he chewed, his jaw working. You could see the sharp, jagged edges of the cookie through his cheek until it eventually became a smooth, round bump and he swallowed it, reaching for another.

Propping your head up on your hand on the back of the couch, you continued watching him. He was definitely good-looking. You had noticed how good-looking he was the first day you saw him in the magazine section, hiding his romance novel. Not wanting to interrupt him, you tried not to laugh, but definitely couldn’t hold back the smile as you thought about the memory. Would it be so bad if he did have feelings for you? You had dated some really terrible guys in the past. Goshiki wouldn’t even be close to the list those guys were on.

He licked his lips, wiping Oreo crumbs from his mouth and you licked your own lips, swallowing hard as you watched him. You liked the same food, the same coffee, the same books, you had so many hobbies that overlapped and you could honestly spend hours with him without getting bored. You started to think that maybe you were feeling anxious not because of what Dylan thought of Goshiki, but maybe what you were feeling about him. Was it maybe you that had feelings for Goshiki?

“Wow, that was such a good—” He turned to look at you but noticed something in your face, an expression he wasn’t sure of. “Everything okay?”

You had made a lot of questionable decisions in your life, some of them you regretted, some led you to the most amazing times. This last year especially was a time of making really great decisions, cleaning out the bad and bringing in the good. You weren’t sure which direction this decision was going to take you, but you leaned into Goshiki anyway. His eyes went a little wide as your lips barely touched. You wanted to give him time to pull away if he wanted, but he didn’t and that made you push yourself the last inch until your lips met his.

Soft, plush, velvety lips pressed against yours and for an instant you were taken out of the moment, your head swirling with a mix of feelings, amazing feelings that you weren’t even sure you could separate but it didn’t matter because the cocktail they created in your head made you feel drunk, stupidly drunk as you kissed him. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you pulled back.

“Oh my—I’m sorry—I don’t—"

“No, it… it feels good.” He brought his hands up to your cheeks and pushed his lips against yours again, this time without any hesitation. You never knew the feeling of his nose touching yours or the little puffs of his breath against your face, or just how warm, calloused, and big his hands would feel against your cheek. Suddenly you were feeling them all at once and you pulled him closer, your tongue licking over his lips until he opened his mouth.

He dropped his hand to your waist, rubbing at the fleshiness of your body and you couldn’t stop the heavy beating of your heart. The awkwardness you had briefly worried about didn’t exist, it was only bliss. It was the best kind of overwhelming and you wanted more of him.

Pushing the laptop to the other side of him, you lifted yourself up until you could climb over him, straddling his lap. His hands immediately went to your plump hips, cradling them, but again you wanted more and you scooted yourself closer.

“Uh—I…” He gasped, sitting back from you.

“Is this too fast?”

“I’ve just never—I mean, I don’t know how—I’ve never—reading it is totally different.”

“Are you okay?” He kind of looked like he was shutting down. He was saying a lot, but none of it was complete and made no sense to you.

His eyes widened as he whispered quietly to himself. “Holy shit, my dick’s hard.”

“Goshi—”

“I have to go.” He started standing up with you in his lap and you quickly moved out of the way so he could get up. “I’m sorry. I just… I have to go.”

He didn’t even turn around to look at you as he moved hurriedly to the front door of your apartment. You heard the door quickly open and close and you couldn’t even let yourself feel bad. You were just confused.

It was possible you misread the situation, but he seemed really into it. Maybe he changed his mind partway through. You didn’t want to think about you being the problem, but it was hard to ignore. He felt your weight. You sat on his lap and he held you and maybe he finally realized that you didn’t ‘look great’ like he always told you.

You sighed, sitting back on the couch and running your fingers through your hair. You had done so much this last year to better yourself. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this at all. Great decisions would lead to great opportunities and you were trying to bring good things into your life. Falling for your best friend was not on that list, yet here you were.

Shit.

.....

@chaotic-nick @yep-seeyalaterbranflakes @serostapesweat @lovelyzabrak-meadow

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tennessoui · 3 years

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49!!!!!! Please

finally!!!! baby, finally!!!!

49. Boss/Intern (35yo!Boss!Anakin, 19yo!Intern!Obi-Wan)

(2.4k)

Obi-Wan rubs his hands rapidly down his face. He feels distinctly like he’s about to burst into tears, which would be a very bad thing to do here and now. His supervisor had come in fifteen minutes ago to tell him everyone was going to lunch. She’d invited him along, but he’d said no.

He always says no.

Lunch for the rest of the office means he gets to have a scheduled breakdown at his little cubicle.

He just. He just doesn’t know anything.

He’s only had this internship at Temple Tech for one week and already he’s floundered and fucked up more than anyone else probably has put together in their lifetimes.

He shouldn’t have ever applied, but he had been getting so desperate for summer employment, any sort of employment and, yes, this internship was out of his career field, and yes, he did have to lie at least five times on his resume, but it was an internship and it was paid.

It had felt like a good idea at the time. But then he actually got the job by some stroke of hellish luck, and he’s been learning every day since that it was actually probably a terrible idea. The learning curve is too steep. Obi-Wan is trying, but wow is he bad at it. Tech. Data stuff.

On his open computer, the sound of an email pinging rushes through his ears and he takes his hands off of his face to look. It’s from Anakin Skywalker. The boss.

Obi-Wan thinks he can feel his fingers grow numb. His heart feels like it’s stuttering in his chest, like it’s about to stop once and for all.

Temple Tech is a start-up company, still small but growing quickly. At its head is thirty-five year old Anakin Skywalker, which shouldn’t be any sort of a problem because Obi-Wan’s nineteen now and he can keep it in his pants, even if Anakin is hot as hell, smart as well, and so terribly kind whenever they run into each other.

Which happens a lot. Because it’s a small company, operating out of one renovated warehouse turned office. The floor plan is open enough that Obi-Wan’s able to see Anakin’s space--he gets a proper office, as part of being the boss, but he’s chosen to make the walls glass so it doesn’t feel as if he’s cut off from everyone else--from across the room. And Anakin is big on making everyone who works with him feel like family. A lot of companies say they do that or support that, but Anakin actually does. For one thing, he tells them to call him Anakin, not Mr. Skywalker. For another, he’s open about his personal life, but not so much that it makes anyone feel uncomfortable.

He’s quick with a smile and so understanding, and if he ever gets mad—and from his stories of his younger days, Obi-Wan knows he must have a temper—it’s never been in public.

And Anakin has never commented on how often Obi-Wan blushes around him, or how hard it is for him to focus on his work if Anakin sits on the edge of his desk to talk with him. Or any of the other employees, Obi-Wan has had to remind himself many times. Even though Obi-Wan feels hypersensitive and like a schoolgirl whenever Anakin is in his general vicinity, Anakin is a professional. He’s Obi-Wan’s boss. Nothing could ever happen between them. Not while Obi-Wan works under Anakin.

Even if Anakin is so nice and so kind and has asked to meet him now when everyone else is out of the building. It’s not suspicious and it’s definitely not cause for concern of any kind.

He thinks about shooting back an email, confirming it, but he’s never been good at the whole office environment thing. Instead, he logs off his computer and stands up.

It’s a short walk to Anakin’s office, hardly enough time for his palms to get sweaty.

Anakin’s typing something when Obi-Wan enters the room and he looks up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, aghast when he realizes he’s forgotten to knock. “I’m sorry, I--”

“Obi-Wan, come in, please,” Anakin gives him a slight smile and gestures for him to sit on the couch next to his desk. Obi-Wan takes a seat hesitantly. It’s as soft as it’s always looked.

Anakin types for a few more seconds on his computer before pushing away from his desk all together and taking a seat next to Obi-Wan on the couch.

“I’ve noticed you never go out to lunch with your coworkers,” Anakin says, positioning himself so he’s facing Obi-Wan completely. His body language is open, like he’s read one of those business books on how to sit so everyone knows you’re nice but you have an agenda.

It puts Obi-Wan on edge, and he fidgets around on his seat.

“You’re not in trouble, b--Obi-Wan,” his boss murmurs. “I just want to know why. Do you not like them? Have they been mean to you?”

“No!” Obi-Wan denies immediately, looking up at Anakin and biting his lip when he sees that the man’s attention is fixed so squarely on him. “No, of course not. Everyone here has been amazing.” He widens his eyes and raises both eyebrows. “Really, sir.”

Anakin looks distinctly uncomfortable. “I’ve told you to call me Anakin,” he criticizes, and Obi-Wan blushes more.

He’s really messing this up.

“Sorry, sir, I mean. Anakin. Sorry. Anakin,” he coughs. His palms are sweaty. He’s sitting on his attractive boss’s couch when everyone’s gone on lunch, and his palms are sweaty.

He doesn’t even want anything to happen.

Alright, so that’s a lie. He definitely has spent a lot of late nights thinking about something happening between them, just like this, but those are fantasies and Anakin is his boss. More than that, Anakin is a good man. He’d never take advantage of an intern in that way, no matter how frequently Obi-Wan feels as if he’s walking around with a sign around his neck that says, Take Advantage of Me, Mr. Anakin, Sir!

“Why don’t you go to lunch with them, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asks softly, gently.

Obi-Wan’s hands clench down on themselves. It’s really the moment of truth, now. He really can’t keep lying, not when Anakin sounds so concerned. He has no right to be concerned! He shouldn’t care about Obi-Wan at all; hell, he shouldn’t even know him!

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he mumbles, staring down at the stretch of fabric on his knees.

Anakin hums. Obi-Wan wonders if he learned that from his fancy How to Run a Business books as well: don’t say anything, just let the other person talk until you know everything you need to know to crush them.

Damn if the silence doesn’t work to get Obi-Wan speaking again though.

“I...I’m behind on the work,” he admits. “I don’t have time to go to lunch because I need to figure out how to do my work.”

Anakin makes a sympathetic noise deep in his throat. “If...if your workload is too heavy, Obi-Wan, we can look into cutting it. I don’t want to be known as the company that runs its interns into the ground.”

Obi-Wan’s throat tightens too much and he shrugs. He can’t cry. He really shouldn’t cry. He did this to himself. “It wouldn’t help,” he whispers.

“What?” Anakin asks, leaning forward to hear him better.

“It wouldn’t help,” Obi-Wan says again, louder this time. Anakin blinks at him, and Obi-Wan finally tells him the truth. “I don’t know how to do any of this. I...I lied on my resume. I needed a job, for my student visa. I needed the money to keep it while not in school. And...and internships are supposed to look good on your resume, so I...I thought I could figure it out, I’m smart, sir, I’m so smart. I don’t know why I can’t figure it out.”

He drops his gaze to his hands again and breathes out shakily. He’d been carrying the weight of that secret for far longer than he should have been. It should have been a relief of the utmost degree to give it away. But instead he’s waiting for the punishment. Anakin will have to fire him now. Anakin might even get mad at him for lying.

When his boss doesn’t say anything for several long seconds, Obi-Wan chances a glance up at him through his lashes. Instead of anger on his face, there’s only a confused sort of sympathy.

“I’m...not sure I understand, Obi-Wan,” he says slowly. “You lied on your resume to get this internship, but...why couldn’t you have just applied to an internship in a different field? One you actually want to study? I know you like biology, you’ve told me more about biology in the past few weeks than you’ve told me about yourself.”

“None of them wanted me,” Obi-Wan sniffles and hates himself for it. “I tried, I promise. I promise I didn’t want to lie, but I needed the money, and this internship paid so much better than working at a coffeehouse would.”

Anakin puts his hand gently on his shoulder and Obi-Wan can’t stop himself from turning into the pressure of it. “It’s alright,” Anakin murmurs. “Oh no, please don’t--please don’t cry, b--Obi.”

“It’s Obi-Wan,” Obi-Wan wails.

Anakin hushs him. “Alright, Obi-Wan, alright. Let’s see what we can do.”

“You’re going to fire me,” he says with absolute certainty. He doesn’t even much like his job at Temple Tech, but how is he supposed to find another one on such short notice?

Anakin is quiet. He doesn’t say no.

“Look, I’ll try harder, I promise,” Obi-Wan stutters out, turning to look up at Anakin with wet eyes. What a picture he must make. Nothing professional about him at all. Nothing worth keeping around either. “I promise, please, don’t--I’ll--I’ll stay after hours, I’ll work late, come early. I need this job, sir.”

Anakin’s eyebrows furrow and he looks genuinely regretful, which is little comfort. “Obi-Wan, it’s not about...your work ethic. I promise, your work ethic is stronger and better than most of the people on my team.”

Obi-Wan wipes at his eyes hastily. He knows there’s a but coming soon.

“But I can’t...if you’ve lied on your resume, you can’t put Temple Tech there later. That’s not fair for anyone else who applied and was rejected in favor of you. The spot you have...I need someone there who knows what they’re doing with computers. Who wants to be there. Obi, it makes sense that you don’t know anything about tech. You never look like you really want to be here unless you’re talking to someone else.”

Obi-Wan’s bottom lip trembles and he can feel another wave of tears coming. “I understand, sir,” he mumbles, standing up and preparing to leave the office and Anakin Skywalker behind forever. He’s never been fired before. He doesn’t know what the decorum really is in this situation.

Being tugged back and into his boss’ arms doesn’t feel like how it normally goes, though.

But he can’t resist melting into Anakin’s tight hug, rubbing his cheek on the man’s nice shirt. He wants to give him something to remember him by, even if it’s just tear stains on expensive cotton.

“Lemme help you,” Anakin suddenly says, voice very gruff. Obi-Wan freezes in his arms and tilts his head to try and see Anakin’s face. Help him?

“I don’t understand,” he admits, biting his lip.

“I like you, Obi-Wan,” Anakin confesses. “I do. I’ll be sad to see you leave. I was already going to be sad to see you leave when your internship concluded, but this is much sooner. I…”

He trails off as if trying to make up his mind. It doesn’t take him long to nod to himself.

“Be honest,” he warns him, but there’s a joking lilt to his voice. Obi-Wan, personally, thinks that’s a little too soon. “Do you know how to clean house?”

Obi-Wan pulls out of Anakin’s arms to stare at him.

“Or walk dogs,” Anakin adds.

Slowly, Obi-Wan nods. Cleaning up a house and walking dogs feels like something he can figure out how to do. Feels pretty self-explanatory for the most part. The only thing he’s confused by is why Anakin is asking this of him.

“Would you...that is, just for the rest of the summer, until your classes start again--how would you feel about cleaning my house? And walking my dogs?” Anakin seems to hold his breath.

Obi-Wan feels like he’s stepped into the Twilight Zone or something.

“You’re...firing me,” he says slowly. “But...you’re offering me a job? As your….maid?”

“‘We should call it housekeeper,” Anakin says quickly, a pained look flashing across his face. “Too...many connotations with maid.”

“Why?” he has to ask. “I mean. I lied to you, sir. I...you’re firing me.”

“Because I need someone in that position who knows what they’re doing,” Anakin explains slowly.

“Do you want me in another position, sir?” Obi-Wan asks. He blushes furiously as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

Anakin’s eyes darken and he clears his throat. He doesn’t say no, and his silence, the double entendre of his silence, makes the breath catch in Obi-Wan’s throat.

“You said you needed money to keep your visa,” Anakin says. “I’m trying to offer you an honest means of employment. I need someone to keep up my house and walk my dogs. If you can do it, I’d hire you over anyone else in a second.”

“Why?” Obi-Wan whispers, suddenly so very aware of how close they’re still standing to each other, how nice Anakin smells, how handsome he looks with just the beginning of a silver streak at his temple.

Anakin sweeps his gaze over Obi-Wan’s face and chest, and Obi-Wan has to wonder what he sees there. Whatever he does, he must like because he smirks. “Work ethic,” he murmurs.

#probably the next sentence out of obi-wans mouth is 'can you wait like fifteen minutes before you hire me after you fire me'#and anakin is like 'why'#and obi-wan is like 'so i can blow you and have you not be my boss'#and anakin is like 🤭😳😏👀 'baby you can have forty-five'#asks #prompt fill #cant believe i turned kinky boss/intern prompt #into just as kinky maid/boss prompt tbh #anakins about to start working from home a lot more #obikin #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker

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spinster-sisters · 3 years

Note

ohh okay! so to kick it off, can we get ateez members’ reactions to their very successful partner taking them to a company party like their trophy wife/husband/partner — not in a derogatory way tho!! but just like,, flaunting the members around and going on about how handsome and hardworking and amazing they are, even though everyone’s attention should be on their partner in that big event?

This is very different from the stuff I normally write but honestly I had so much fucking fun doing it. Like genuinely this made me smile like an idiot the whole time.

Hongjoong:

It's ur birthday or sum shit, but here's the dealio, he had some big work promotion at some smaller company. Most people haven't heard of it and it's nothing like the major corporation you work for so most people there just think of him as your trophy husband cuz he's so good-looking. while the party and presents were for you, you just could stop bring up how proud you were of him. He would immediately shut it down every time you brought it up, "yeah thank baby, I appreciate it. Hey, guys don't you think my baby is beautiful tonight?" Just won't let it distract from your attention no matter how much you bring it up. He doesn't think that he should be praised for doing what he should be doing. It's a nice sentiment and it makes him giggle but he wishes you would just let the guests congratulate you.

Seonghwa:

It's some work party on your behalf at your home. And Seonghwa planned the whole thing. Your not gonna deny you were just looking for a hot husband with social perks (read: rich parents and rich friends) but after meeting Seonghwa you genuinely fell so hard and so fast for how humble he was despite his wealthy upbringing, and you wanted to work even harder to provide him with the lifestyle he had always had at home. And he is happy to fulfill his house husband role for his doting partner. So yall are just happy and in love. Everyone at the party is your coworker and honestly, he would probably have just been your arm candy under any other circumstances, except you keep reminding people how great of a job he did getting everything set up. From a 5-star catering company to a live band, to imported wine from somewhere fancy, the whole thing took him weeks to put together and you will be dammed if he doesn't get the recognition for a job well done. He takes the praise blushing and mumbles quiet thank yous to all you and all guests who praise him, but he leaves it at that. If they ask him questions about the things around him he will keep his answers short and minimal yet polite before slipping away. Despite planning it, it isn't his party and he wants to keep it that way.

Yunho:

it's actually your friend's launch party for something or other. But you had a fair amount to do with the starting of the company as an investor and your friend had wanted to honor you as much as her. But here's the thing. Yunho's also pretty fucking cool, he doesn't have a permanent job, instead, he bounces around to all kinds of random things to keep himself entertained instead of just being at home all the time. the entire fucking time you're like "oh but have you heard what Yunho's been up to lately." He tries to one-up you with praise. Every time you say something cool he does, he brings up something cool you have done. And it just gets more and more intense as the night goes on to the point where the other giggles just fucking giggle cuz yall are so obvious in love.

Yeosang:

Yalls wedding is gonna be the social event of the year. You both come from very prominent families, but Yeosangs family got their money from fame not business. So when yall got engaged there was quite a bit of gossip about how "real" the relationship even was. Who the "throphy" was would change based on who you asked and it was getting annoying reading all the headlines. It was your wedding shower, and it was no secret that most of the people there were there for you and not him, but he couldn't care less. People kept coming up to you trying to talk business, and you were endlessly shutting them down because this was a day for both you and your soon to be husband, not for social climbers to try and get on your good side. The wonderful thing about Yeosang however is how much he can read you emotions even when you are trying to hide them. His course of action was simple. You both just fucking leave. You both had already talked to your actual friends and at a certain point you couldn't be bothered to keep up appearances with people who didn't respect both of you equally. So you left. Probably went and got some food in your cocktail attire. Much better use of time anyway.

San:

You're some kind of model or something. So it's like fashion week. So the whole time u have cameras shoved in your face and are being followed everywhere you go. But ur mans San is also incredibly beautiful, so you play a little game where whenever you go out all you do is put on sweats and a hoodie and you bring him out with him dressed in full fashion week regalia so the photographers are fucking confused who they are supposed to be taking pictures of. He thinks it's funny ao he plays along, wearing whatever you put him in and posing dramatically for literally every photo he can. You two go through the posted photos absolutely howling at them all night.

Mingi:

Your some big-time producer and Mingi is this like an underground rapper. Yall have been together long before you ever made it big and back before you got the job you lived almost exclusively off Mingi's part-timejob. But now the turntables have flipped and he can live mostly of your income allowing him to focus on his music and yall wouldn't have it any other way. But here's the shit. Some dopey fucking pop star you produce for comes over for dinner and makes a "joke" about mingi being a freeloader and you get so fucking petty. Especially after seeing Mingi's dejected face. So basically you help mingi produce a professional track and release it legitimately and not just on SoundCloud or in some shitty nightclub, and it fucking blows up way more than the other person music ever did and you just do nothing but talk up how amazingly talented Mingi is to your boss and he gets signed after the other person is dropped from the label. It's a great time.

Wooyoung:

Allow me to paint you a picture(this is a pun just wait for it.) Your an artist 😃 and Wooyoung is your husband and your muse. Almost everything you paint is either of him or reminds you of him. And your opening this big art exhibit and it's just this super fancy cocktail party with all the art snobs in the city and of course you bring him. As soon as yall walk in people immediately notice he's the guy in all the paintings and you're just like "yes isn't he stunning" and he's like "yes I am stunning" he's only half kidding. Whenever you go on and on to some art blogger about your muse he just sits there drinking it in with a smirk on his face, occasionally adding things like how you owe your success to his beautiful face. In that case, he's completely kidding cuz he knows damn well your talented enough to make anything beautiful with or without him.

Jongho:

ima say you married rich. You didn't have much growing up but Jongho has done nothing but spoil you. Despite the fact he came from a big business family, singing has always been his passion. When you begin to work in his father's company you rise through the ranks alarmingly quick due to your skill. It's some party for your father in laws retirement and everyone coming up to you betting your gonna be the next CEO. Here the thing though, Jongho left the company not long after you joined, so he could pursue singing and most people there haven't seen him since then and they keep giving him side-eyes, clearly thinking he threw his life away and he's just gonna be your "trophy husband" for the rest of his life. Not on your watch homie. You expected this so you and your supper supportive father-in-law set aside time for him to perform to the whole room and you're standing there all proud and satisfied as all your coworkers are dumbfounded at his amazing talent.

#ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #ateez au #ateez timestamp

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waveypedia · 3 years

Text

A Day in the Life of Gyro Gearloose

Ao3

Gyro arrives at the lab at six A.M. on the dot, two hours before call time. The lab is empty, for once. He slips through the elevator doors and darts around the lab, putting on coffee (even though he’s already had two cups at home), and arranging his papers.

At last, he settles down at his desk, fully prepared to get a good amount of work done before Fenton and Manny bustle in with their noise and cheer that used to bother Gyro oh so much.

He’s excited to have the lab to himself, for once. Even Lil’ Bulb is still charging, as it’s too early for him too.

Gyro lifts his pencil, ready to write… and lowers it, unable to think of a concrete idea.

He struggles to put words and calculations on paper, and only gets a couple steps in before he inevitably loses focus again.

“This is ridiculous,” Gyro spits at the empty air, startling a sleepy Lil’ Bulb out of his slumber. “I am Doctor Gyro Gearloose. I do not lose focus.”

Missing the rest of your team? Lil’ Bulb flashed at him in Morse code.

It’s a testament to how far Gyro’s come since Fenton’s original hiring that he only crosses his arms indignantly and mutters a quiet “Maybe.”

It’s not physically possible, but Gyro knows Lil’ Bulb is smirking, somehow.

He busies himself by bustling around the lab, taking inventory of mundane machines and ordinary tools. The lab is still uncharacteristically silent, but at least with Gyro’s manually manufactured noise it’s somewhat bearable.

Fenton, bless him and his errant punctuality, arrives a blissful seven minutes early.

“Good morning, Dr. Gearloose!” he chirps, dropping his bag on the floor with a thud that would’ve made the Gyro of a year ago scoff, but today’s Gyro just sighs in relief. “How are you today?”

“Unproductive,” Gyro grumbles. He’s reluctant to admit the supposed cause of his unproductivity, but knowing Fenton it’ll come out sooner or later.

Fenton hums in response. “Sorry about that. Hopefully you’ll escape your funk! In my experience, a refreshing walk always clears my head!”

Gyro snorts. “I’m not going outside, Doctor Intern.”

“I’ll get you out there someday,” Fenton replies, not swayed in the slightest.

“Whatever you say,” Gyro says, waving him off and turning back to his workstation. Fenton’s presence in the lab is noisy, which used to bother Gyro to no avail. Now, it seems, he can’t focus without it.

“Huey’s coming later today,” Fenton calls over as he makes coffee. “He has a promising project he’s presenting.”

Gyro snorts goodnaturedly. “You make it sound like a school assignment.”

Fenton shrugs. “Huey’s words, not mine. Besides, I think that format works well for him. It does for me, too.”

Gyro snorts in lieu of a reply. He actively chooses not to tell Fenton it works for him as well.

As their conversation fades out, Gyro settles down at his desk. With his coworkers’ chatter floating around him, he slides easily into a focused headspace. In fifteen minutes, he’s made more progress than he had in the hour before his coworkers arrived.

While Gyro tinkers with a gadget, he’s vaguely aware of Fenton getting up and crossing to Manny’s desk. Usually he’d pay more attention, but he’s busy cursing ridiculously small screws.

“Dr. Gearloose,” Fenton calls. It only half registers, and Gyro hums in response, waving a hand dismissively.

“Dr. Gearloose,” Fenton says, a little more insistently this time.

Gyro starts. He blinks down at his project, which is nearly completed. “What do you want, Doctor Intern?”

Fenton quirks a brow. “Can you look this over?”

“We’re having trouble with it,” Manny clops via Morse Code. “Could use an extra eye. Or four.”

Gyro rolls his eyes behind his aforementioned glasses. “What are you, six? I’ve never heard that used outside the elementary school playground.” But he acquiesces, crossing the lab and settling his hands on his hips as he eyes the gizmo Manny’s been working with.

“It’s the double-sided shrink ray,” Manny says, pushing it towards Gyro with his hooves.

“We were able to activate the shrinking command upon request, but it’s unstable,” Fenton says, carding a hand through his swoopy hair. “The beta waves are successfully translating into gamma rays, but some of the neutrons are glitching.”

Gyro pushes closer to the table. “Let me see.”

“That’s why we called you over,” Manny clops, but steps back. Fenton chuckles softly, making Gyro roll his eyes.

He picks up the device and squints at it, examining it from all angles. After a little while of tinkering, he drags a nearby chair over. Fenton drops a cup of coffee next to him, but he barely notices it.

The lab falls back into its quiet - but not silent - rhythm while Gyro works. It’s comforting.

During the second dissection attempt, Gyro lets out a small “Aha!” and tweaks a few wires. Triumphantly, he leaps out of his chair and holds the device out to Manny, puffing out his chest. “That should do it!”

Manny twists the device sideways and fires. Simultaneously, an apple and a pile of paperwork shrink into almost-nothingness.

“You did it!” Fenton’s grin splits his face in two. “Thank you, Dr. Gearloose!”

Gyro still finds it difficult to meet Fenton’s gaze when he’s so openly enthusiastic and supportive, even now. He settles for glaring at the coffee maker behind him, pointedly not looking at Manny either, even though he’s laughing. “Of course. It was nothing.”

Fenton’s smile softens, but it’s no less genuine. “Well, we still appreciate it.”

Gyro crosses back to his desk. “Well. It was nice to actually get some work done.”

Fenton frowns, dropping his pencil to focus on Gyro. “What do you mean?”

Gyro drops his gaze, gritting his teeth. “Well… maybe… I’ve unfortunately gotten used to your incessant, needless background noise,” he finishes in a rush, scowling. “It was too quiet this morning.”

Fenton beams back at him. “Aww, Dr. Gearloose! That’s so sweet!”

“It is merely an observation,” Gyro grits out.

“Admit it, “ Manny says. “You love us.”

Gyro only huffs in response.

“Well, it’s nice to work with you too,” Fenton says, still smiling widely. Gyro would say his grin is too wide, but for some reason it doesn’t quite bother him like it used to.

He’s grown fond of it. He’s grown fond of them all.

ii.

There are three constants in life. Change. Death. Gyro Gearloose’s inability to leave the underground lab for long periods of time.

Della texts him just often enough to be a nuisance, but not often enough for him to justify blocking her (it would result with a very angry Della in his lab, a volatile variable he’d rather not contend with, especially when Fenton, Launchpad, and Scrooge fulfill that dangerous category as well. He knows this from experience.). The familiar buzz of Gyro’s phone, once startling from disuse, is now a surprisingly comforting constant of the background noise in the lab. Gyro’s a scientist working under Scrooge McDuck, with Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera and Manny the Headless Manhorse in his lab - he has to be able to tune out the white noise.

You. Me. Coffee. Della texts. She leaves no room for argument, which frustrates Gyro to no end even though he’s the exact same way. He sighs, tucks his phone under a towering pile of papers, and resolves to ignore her until the time she’s set for their gathering has passed.

But Della cannot be swayed that easily. Nothing can stop Della Duck.

At five minutes to their set meeting time, the elevator doors open with a ding. All of the lab’s primary occupants are present, but Gyro is too buried in his work to notice.

He does, however, notice the next noise. It’s impossible to ignore.

“Heeeeyyy, G-Man!!!” Della chortles, all exuberance and energy. She’s next to Gyro’s desk before he can say “Blathering Blatherskite!” (Hey, it was his catchphrase before it was Fenton’s!). She slams her hands on his desk, sending papers flying. Gyro squawks in protest, but Della ignores him.

Della shoves her face in his personal space, grinning like a maniac. Gyro maintains his death glare for a moment longer before slumping into his chair, dropping his head into his arms.

“I’m not going for coffee with you,” Gyro groans. “I have enough on my plate right now,”

“Enough of that,” Della nags, smacking his shoulder lightly. Gyro just groans in response. “You prooomiiised!”

Gyro’s head snaps up. “I did nothing of that sort,” he hisses, low and dangerous. “I didn’t even reply!”

Della smirks triumphantly. “But you did see it,” she says, tugging on Gyro’s perfectly pressed shirt. “So you were ignoring me! Now you have to go.”

“Of course I was ignoring you,” Gyro replies matter-of-factly. “I hate you.”

Della grins at him. “C’mooooon, you looooove me. Now let’s get going!”

Gyro turns pleading eyes back towards his crew. “Tell her! Tell her we have work to do!”

Fenton smiles at him apologetically. “Dr. Gearloose, you worked really hard today and got a lot done. You deserve a break!”

“Yeah,” Manny clops. “Also, I’m kind of tired of hearing your inhuman screeches whenever something goes mildly wrong. No offense.”

At that, Gyro treats his coworkers to one of said inhuman screeches. None of them enjoyed it very much, it seems.

Which is how Fenton, Manny, and Lil’ Bulb (betrayal!) ended up bodily shoving Gyro into the elevator with Della dragging him by the shirt and pressing the buttons for him, Gyro glowering furiously all the way.

“You’ll regret this!” he vowed, shaking his fist. “You will rue the day! The great Dr. Gyro Gearloose will never forget this act of betrayal!”

“Aw, you care!” Della says flatly as she opens the elevator door. “Now c’mon, let’s get some coffee in you that’s not from your lab machine. You look like you need it.”

—

By the time they’ve arrived at Della’s fancy coffee shop across town, ordered, and gotten their drinks, Gyro has calmed down considerably. Nursing two coffees that will be sure to give Gyro a heart attack someday, he settles in across from Della on the patio. Outside the thin fence separating the restaurant from the sidewalk, passerby flit along on their way through the city. Downtown Duckburg is usually far too crowded and populated for Gyro’s taste, but today, separated from the hustle and bustle of the crowd and sated by the infuriatingly good (if ridiculously expensive) coffee, it is… palatable. Almost enjoyable, although there’s no way he’s telling Della that.

Della grins at him like she can read his mind. (Did Mr. McDuck mention anything about a mind-reading artifact last time he stopped by the lab? Or did the Narration 3000 reach her hands? He could’ve sworn he sold it for scrap metal…)

“So.” Della sets down her coffee on the table and leans forward with her head resting on her hands. “Gy-man. Nerd. Mr. Mad Scientist. Bearer of Bad Taste.”

Gyro frowns. “Excuse me? Bad taste? I’ll have you know that black licorice is objectively the finest taste in existence. You have bad taste.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, buddy,” Della says, lazy and lethargic, smirking like she just won a presidential debate.

Gyro huffs and crosses his arms, turning sideways in his seat to face away from Della as much as he can. She cackles.

“You’re a dummy,” Della says, smiling fondly.

“I’m a world-renowned scientific genius,” Gyro replies, rolling his eyes.

Della snorts. “I know. You’re still a dummy.”

“Impossible.” Gyro wants to say more, but Della laughs and laughs. They dance easily between insults and compliments, toeing the line between teasing and hurt. Their arguments continue, sometimes flitting dangerously towards genuine. They both revel in the fact that an average eavesdropper wouldn’t be able to tell if they’re friends or not.

Sometimes Gyro himself can’t tell if they’re friendly or not. But he knows for certain they’re friends, at least.

Before he knows it, his coffee cup is empty.

iii.

After Della returns to the mansion for Dewey’s flight lesson (a phrase that made Gyro want to flee into an underground bunker for a year) Gyro heads back to the lab and vows to actually get something done for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, in his life, things rarely go the way he wants them to.

Even with Huey in the lab (why did Fenton agree to work with him once a week anyway? Why did Gyro agree?) and Manny, a surprising force of calm, out for lunch, they make it an entire hour without incident. Before things inevitably go wrong.

The first sign of trouble is the explosion that rocks the Money Bin.

It takes all of them by surprise. Gyro and Huey scramble to save their projects while Fenton calls for the Gizmosuit. With the Gizmosuit’s enhanced strength, Gizmoduck shoves aside debris and forces open the elevator doors only to find a supervillain already there.

To their credit, the supervillain, a broad-shouldered orange lizard with medieval-style armor, seems just as surprised as Fenton.

They narrow their eyes at Gizmoduck behind their mask and drop into a fighting stance, their fists raised and their weight centered beneath them. “I don’t know how you predicted that I, the Liliputan Lizard, would raid Scrooge McDuck’s coveted lab. But now that you’re here, we will have a battle for the ages!”

While the villain monologues, Gizmoduck’s head snaps around to stare at Gyro and Huey. He can feel Fenton’s piercing gaze through the impenetrable visor.

“Get to safety!” Fenton hisses through his teeth, flapping a frantic, dismissive hand.

“But-” Huey steps forward, raising something he’s holding, but Gizmoduck just shakes his head and turns back around, readying for the villain’s attack.

The force of their gadget knocks Gizmoduck into one of the side tables. Taking advantage of the chaos, Gyro snags Huey’s arm and hightails it into an all-too-familiar closet.

“Dr. Gearloose!” Huey yelps, stumbling along at his heels. “Wait!”

“Blathering blatherskite,” Gyro scowls, peering frustratedly through the tiny gap in the closet door. “I’ll never get anything done at this rate. They’re going to ruin all my projects!”

“Dr. Gearloose,” Huey snaps, tugging at Gyro’s sleeve insistently.

Gyro spins around. “What, kid.”

Huey clutches whatever he grabbed close to his chest and peers up at Gyro with wide eyes. “We have to go out there and help! I have-”

“No way,” Gyro says, cutting him off. “That would mean too many variables. I’m not about to see another project crushed to bits because you want to get in the way.” He glares out into the fray, fists clenched. “Although I have half a mind to go out there and punch that guy for messing with my work.”

Huey presses up onto his tiptoes to peer around him. “But I can make a difference,” he insists, impassioned. “Look.”

Huey holds up his object, and Gyro reluctantly turns away from the fight to examine it. He pushes his glasses up on his beak to get a better look.

A short, stiff antenna pokes out from a small rectangular box with a big red button in the middle. As far as gadgets go, it doesn’t look very impressive - but looks can be deceiving.

Gyro adjusts his glasses. “Did you make this?”

“Fenton helped,” Huey confirms bashfully. “It discharges electricity, in both large bursts and streamlined blasts. Theoretically, it can reprogram circuits and switches, although I haven’t had any chances to test it out yet.”

“Just my luck,” Gyro grumbles, dragging a hand down his face. So that’s what they’ve been working on. “Well, I’ll tell you a secret, kid. I test all my inventions to the nines, and they all seem to blow up in my face. It’s worth a shot. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, anyway.”

“Not all of them,” Huey says, smiling in a way that’s far too knowing for a twelve-year-old boy. He steps in front of the doors, readying the remote.

Gyro reaches for the unlock button he’d painstakingly installed after one too many times of getting stuck in this closet.

Huey steps around Gyro to peer through the gap. “If we cross behind these tables here and Manny’s desk, we’ll have a clear shot at the elevator. I can use my remote on it.”

He glances up at Gyro, eyes wide. “Is that good?”

Despite himself, Gyro’s beak quirks up. “Yeah. Let’s get these jokers out of my lab.”

Huey’s face lights up. Gyro snaps his head away, unwilling to let the sappy moment go on for any longer, and punches the unlock button with far more force than necessary.

They duck out of the closet (with an undignified sigh of relief from Gyro) and behind the worktables. Almost unconsciously, Gyro scampers just ahead to slip closer to the tables, keeping his body between Huey and the fight. (With the tables between him and the fight, of course.)

Within seconds, they clear the worktables and duck behind Manny’s desk. Huey steps out, angling his remote to the most precise degree. He’s got a clear shot - but he’s also out in the open.

Gyro’s fingertips hover just over the hem of Huey’s sleeve, not quite holding on. But if anything happens, he’ll pull Huey back to safety.

Hopefully.

At that moment, Fenton dives towards them to avoid an oncoming attack. Gyro can tell the moment he sets eyes on the pair - his jaw tenses and his shoulders flick back. In the back of his mind, Gyro wonders if it’s even noticeable to others. The supervillain certainly doesn’t seem to notice.

Does he really know Fenton so well he can read the nuances in his body language?

It feels nice.

The softness blossoming in Gyro’s chest is unfortunately overridden with adrenaline and fear, and he barely registers it. Gyro gives Fenton a tiny nod towards Huey, who waves his remote.

Gyro can see Fenton grapple with the situation internally, before eventually giving up and turning to distract the Liliputan Lizard. He grabs them by their shoulders and spins them, hauling the villain so his back is to Gyro and Huey.

Gyro nods begrudgingly. Smart.

With the window Fenton’s given them, Huey lunges forward and blasts a stream of electricity at the elevator. It dings, and the floor numbers at the top whir and whir. They don’t settle.

The Liliputan Lizard’s head snaps up. “Huh?”

Huey frowns, deep in thought. Gyro doesn’t mirror his cliché thinking pose, but they’re both pondering the same dilemma: What now?

A fresh surge of adrenaline pumps through Gyro’s veins, and, on impulse, he jumps out and does something twelve months ago he wouldn’t even have considered.

“My lab is filled with dangerous, votile inventions,” Gyro snaps, intentionally drawing out his words with more annoyance than he feels. He steps out from behind the desk, away from the elevator. “You just messed up my project! You’ve doomed us all!”

He points an accusing finger at the supervillain and wills it not to shake. “Don’t you see what you’ve done?!”

The Liliputan Lizard shoves Gizmoduck away (no easy feat) and strides towards Gyro, slow and confident. His tail lashes behind him, knocking a vial of bubbling fluid to the floor, but they don’t even flinch. Gyro drops his hands at his side and clenches them into fists.

“Ah, Gyro Gearloose,” the villain says, smirking. “I almost forgot the reason I came here in the first place. Thank you for reminding me.”

“It’s Doctor Gyro Gearloose, actually,” Gyro intones, holding up a finger. “And what is that oh-so-important reason? Surely it cannot be more important than my projects. Which, may I remind you, you’ve ruined!”

The Liliputan Lizard is close enough to touch now. They stop an arm’s length away from Gyro and settle into a wide second position with their weight centered. It’s a position of power.

“The double-sided shrink ray,” the villain drawls. “Hand it over.”

Gyro narrows his eyes. “And why should I do that?”

“Well, I’ll trash your precious lab, for one,” the Liliputan Lizard says, gesturing lazily to the already trashed-lab. Gyro growls. “More than I already have, of course.”

Gyro takes an unwilling step back, his feet moving of their own accord. Something hard brushes against his back. His hands hesitantly fall on the edge of Manny’s desk.

“So what’ll it be, Dr. Gearloose?” The Liliputan Lizard mocks, stepping forward into Gyro’s personal space again. He snarls.

Gyro chances a glance behind him. On Manny’s desk, glinting underneath the overhead lights, lies the famed double-sided shrink ray.

Oh, if only he hadn’t given it to Manny for the finishing touches today. Today, of all days!

Gyro chances a glance back at the scene before him. Fenton’s still on the ground, and Gyro staunchly refuses to acknowledge Huey in case the villain will see him.

Is it worth it?

Gyro’s fingers graze the corners of it.

“Hey!” A bolt of electricity, sparking blue, arcs into the villain’s side. They double over, revealing Huey behind them. “Leave Dr. Gearloose alone!”

Fenton rises to his feet just in time and cracks his knuckles. “All right. Playtime’s over.”

The Liliputan Lizard whirls around, snarling, as Gyro twists and steps sideways. “Like you can stop me! I’m getting this shrink ray, like it or nooooooooooooooooooooot!”

Tinny screeches pierce Gyro’s ears, but it’s the most damage he takes. The once-mighty Liliputan Lizard stands tiny on the lab floor, joined by Manny’s desk lamp.

Slowly, Gyro lowers the shrink ray. “Stay out of my lab,” he snaps, sharp and biting as always, but with a rather uncharacteristically dark undertone. “Stay away from us.”

Gizmoduck scoops the tiny figure up in his gloved hands, muffling any protests. “I’ll get him out of your feathers, Dr. Gearloose!” he says with the awkward, stiffly polite manner they use to protect Fenton’s identity.

Gyro nods once sharply as Gizmoduck leaves. All of his adrenaline leaves him in a rush, and he sinks heavily into the nearest chair (which happens to be Manny’s, but he’s out for lunch and Gyro can’t bring himself to care).

“Dr. Gearloose!” Huey scampers over to him, eyes wide. “Are you okay?” He bustles around to Gyro’s side, not waiting for a reply. “The Junior Woodchuck Guidebook advises to rest after stress.

Gyro takes a deep breath. “Yeah, well, I did have a quiet day planned. Mostly.”

“With your track record, that’s highly inaccurate,” Huey snorts, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve had enough excitement for one day,” Gyro grumbles. “All my excitement was planned for later, thank you very much. I’ll take a quiet rest of the day.”

iv.

Except things are never quiet in McDuck Industries’ Research and Development.

It’s a surprise when the elevator dings, signifying an arrival, but the figure that emerges is no surprise at all.

The elevator is still in pieces and sparking with remnants of Huey’s electrical blast, but that’s never stopped Scrooge McDuck. In fact, he probably finds the challenge appealing.

“Gyro, my boy!” Scrooge says, spreading his arms open wide. “

“Mr. McDuck,” Gyro acknowledges his boss with a nod. “What do you need? Progress checks?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Scrooge saunters over to Gyro’s desk, glancing around the lab. He smiles to himself, the kind of smile only a secret brings, like a joke just before the punchline.

“I thought you could accompany me out, eh?” Scrooge says, light and lilting. “I’ll let you choose where we go~”

“I sense a conspiracy,” Gyro grumbles, dropping his chin. He levels a fierce glare at Fenton, who hides a triumphant giggle behind his hand.

Scrooge tugs on Gyro’s arm, gentle but forceful. “Come on. It’ll do you good, laddie!”

“I already had one spontaneous outing today,” Gyro grumbles. “With your niece.”

Scrooge only beams brighter. “Ah, good lass!”

With a little more poking and prodding, Gyro begrudgingly allows Scrooge to drag him out the door and into his car. True to his word, Scrooge lets Gyro choose where they go. For a while he drives around aimlessly, with the intent of wasting time until Scrooge gets bored and lets them go back. But before Gyro can see his plan to fruition, he spots somewhere he’d actually like to go.

“Ah, the library. Good choice, lad!” Scrooge praises as they step out of the car. “All the wee lads and lassies prefer that blasted telly to good, old-fashioned books.”

Gyro frowns at Scrooge. “I’m not one of your kids.”

Scrooge just snorts and brushes past him, leaving Gyro to run in his footsteps.

When Gyro catches up to Scrooge, he finds the older duck humming to himself in front of a displayed stack of books about Inducknesia. Planning for a new adventure, probably. Gyro laments the lack of science books in the front and starts to head to the back in his search.

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice pipes up. “This book will likely interest you, Dr. Gearloose.”

Curious. Of course everyone should know the name of Dr. Gyro Gearloose, acclaimed inventor and mad scientist, but unfortunately that just isn’t the case. Yet.

So just who is this mysterious stranger?

Gyro whirls around to find a familiar-looking child, holding a thick leather-bound book patiently out to him. He squints at her.

“Violet Sabrewing,” she supplies helpfully after a minute of dead silence.

“Ah.” Gyro nods awkwardly at her. Isn’t she one of Pink Niece’s friends?

Scrooge wanders over, likely to check that Gyro hasn’t somehow set the building on fire in the five minutes he’s been gone. His gaze lights up at the sight of Violet. God, all the Duck-McDucks are weak for children. “Ah, Violet! What brings you to the library today?”

“Hello, Mr. McDuck,” Violet says politely. “I’m looking for references on micronanite portal technology.”

“Ah, micronanite portal technology!” Scrooge says blusteringly, grinning wide to hide his confusion. Gyro snorts.

Violet’s smile flattens. “You have no idea what that means, do you?”

“I’m afraid not,” Scrooge confesses abashedly.

“It uses miniscule robotic parts to create wormholes in time and space,” Gyro jumps in flatly, earning him a nod of approval from Violet. Gyro tries not to sneer, since Mr. McDuck would likely chastise him for it. He doesn’t need approval from a child.

Even if it is a very, very smart child. Who’s working with micronanites, which Gyro didn’t get to study until he was working under Dr. Akita. Who’s also friends with the Niblings.

Scrooge chuckles softly. “Thank you, Gyro.”

Gyro nods sharply.

Scrooge turns his attention back to Violet. “That sounds… interesting! I look forward to seeing your adventure with this technology,” he says kindly. “

As they converse, Gyro wanders away to peruse the library. Every so often, he passes by Scrooge and Violet, deep in conversation.

Eventually, Violet leaves, and Scrooge finds Gyro flipping through a book of scientific theoreticals. “I’d say it’s about time we left, eh, laddie?”

“Finally,” Gyro mutters, but he makes them stop to check the book out. Scrooge smirks knowingly at him.

On the drive back, Scrooge prattles on about his latest adventure. The constant socialization is zapping Gyro’s energy exponentially by the minute, but Scrooge seems content to fill the silence himself.

It’s only when they’re walking into the Money Bin does Gyro finally initiate conversation.

“You have a weakness for children,” Gyro tells Scrooge flatly as he walks into the elevator. “You should spend more time humoring them instead of me.”

Scrooge smirks at him. “Really,” he says teasingly. Gyro feels like he’s somehow fighting a losing battle, although he has no recollection of entering any kind of argument. “Aren’t I, though?”

“I’m not a child,” Gyro tells him again.

“Neither are Donald and Della,” Scrooge responds immediately.

Oh. Oh.

Quick as a flash, Gyro spins away from Scrooge, pressing a fist to his beak. Behind him, Scrooge laughs heartily.

After he’s composed himself, Gyro steps away from the episode. Scrooge pats him on the back, harder than he usually does. Gyro stands there frozen for a moment, hesitant, before giving into his instincts and pulling Scrooge into a tight, impulsive hug.

Scrooge lets out a grunt and coughs dramatically, but he hugs Gyro back just as tightly.

Just then, the elevator doors open with a ding and out steps Gyro’s favorite person in the whole world.

“Hi, Dr. Gearloose!” Boyd chirps. “I went down to the lab to see Huey, but he just went home, and Dr. Fenton said you’d be up here!”

Gyro smiles fondly and turns away from Scrooge. “I was just about to head down there, but now I guess I don’t need to.”

Boyd takes Gyro’s hand as they leave. Gyro smiles down at it, soft and loving. Lil’ Bulb hops from Boyd’s shoulder to Gyro’s, and he keeps carefully still as Lil’ Bulb clambers across his head to perch on his favorite shoulder.

As they pass, Gyro turns to say goodbye to Scrooge, who looks like the cat that caught the canary. Gyro raises a questioning eyebrow.

Scrooge’s triumphant smirk turns into an all-out, unabashed grin. “Where do you think you got it from, lad?”

Gyro looks at Boyd blissfully clinging to his hand and Lil’ Bulb contentedly perched on his shoulder, and chokes.

Within minutes, Boyd and Lil’ Bulb are safely packed away into Gyro’s rickety car and on the road. Gyro slides in one of his cassette tapes Boyd likes, one of the eighties soft rock tracks his dad gave him. Lil’ Bulb perches on the dashboard, fiddling with the volume dials. They coast through the streets of Duckberg with Boyd’s bright chatter and electric guitar notes floating through the car.

Gyro relaxes at the wheel, slumping back in his chair and exhaling gently. He’s often the personification of road rage. It feels odd to not white-knuckle the steering wheel today. But when Boyd came back into his life, and subsequently into his car, he has made a conscious effort to not let frustration get the better of him. At least, not when he’s driving a two thousand pound death machine with a child inside (robotic child or no).

But to Gyro’s delighted surprise, he’s found that Boyd’s mere presence calms him more than any of Donald’s breathing exercises or Dickie’s yoga classes. When he’s with Boyd, he loses tension he didn’t even realize he had.

After a quick drive, Gyro pulls into an offshoot of the Duckburg Mall. Boyd’s out of the car before Gyro’s fully parked, making the chicken roll his eyes and grumble under his breath. When he’s ready, he steps out of the car with the full intention to admonish Boyd. But one look at his excited face and the way he bounces eagerly on his toes, and all feelings of frustration vanish.

On Gyro’s shoulder, Lil Bulb cackles via Morse code. Gyro pointedly does not look at his other son as he takes Boyd’s hand and lets him lead them to their destination.

“Huey and I come here all the time,” Boyd babbles as they cross the parking lot. “We always get the Sugar-Free Butter Pecan, because Huey doesn’t do well with sugar.”

Gyro ruffles where Boyd’s head feathers would be. It’s metal, but warm to the touch, just like Boyd. “You can have sugar, though.”

“Yeah,” Boyd replies, unperturbed. “But I like the routine.”

Gyro nods in understanding. They reach the ice cream shop and peer up at the menu. “Do you want to get that today?”

“Hmm.” Boyd puts a finger to his chin, contemplating. After a moment, he brightens like a lightbulb - somehow more than the actual lightbulb on Gyro’s shoulder. “I think I’ll try something new today! I’m not with Huey, after all.”

Gyro hums in agreement and examines the menu himself. They order and choose a small table outside the restaurant, overlooking the parking lot.

“Did you have a good day?” Boyd asks, digging in with his spoon.

Gyro thinks about how his day started crappy and unproductive, but immediately flipped when Fenton and Manny came into the lab. He thinks about how Della’s impromptu visit, for all of his frustration at the break in routine, provided a much needed excuse to see his friend. He thinks about his terror and fury when a supervillain entered the lab, and the rush of adrenalinic joy helping Gizmoduck gave him. He thinks about his quiet afternoon out with Mr. McDuck, and how he’d missed researching in libraries as well as hands-on in labs. He thinks about how the people he cares about shaped his day.

He turns his gaze towards Boyd and Lil’ Bulb, who fit perfectly into that category.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling softly. “I did.”

Behind Boyd, the sun is setting, with pinks and purples blossoming across the tangerine sky and seemingly setting the clouds ablaze. The grapefruit-orange light of the setting sun makes Boyd and Lil’ Bulb shine. Gyro’s heart clenches and aches, but it’s with love.

Boyd beams back at him. “I’m glad.”

“You’re my favorite person,” Boyd says, tilting his head back to gaze unflinchingly into Gyro’s eyes. Although the self-deprecating side of Gyro vehemently denies the sentiment, but somehow his words ring with a truth Gyro can’t deny. He may not believe in himself, but Boyd does wholeheartedly.

Gyro splutters and coughs, still unused to open affection after all this time. After a minute of struggling to cope, he settles on setting his ice cream down so he won’t squeeze the cone so hard it cracks. (It’s happened before, but it was fueled by anger, as many things are in Gyro’s life.)

Boyd reaches up to take Gyro’s free hand. “You don’t have to say anything. I know this is hard for you. But I want you to know how I feel.”

Gyro bites the inside of his beak and rubs his thumb over Boyd’s hand. “I… I wish it wasn’t,” he whispers, surprising even himself with the rare display of vulnerability.

Boyd scoots his chair over next to Gyro’s and leans against him. Gyro exhales, feeling a knot of tension leave his chest, and leans back.

Lil’ Bulb, already perched on Gyro’s shoulder, scampers over his head to settle on Boyd’s shoulder. He rests his head against Gyro’s shoulder, settling directly between them.

Gyro squeezes Boyd’s hand tighter. Boyd squeezes back.

“You are loved,” Boyd says.

Gyro smiles. “I know.”

“Thank you.”

this is my piece for the Gyro Gearloose zine run by @georgiarose and glo.draws! I had a wonderful time working on this zine, and there are so many amazing pieces in it! It’s free to download, and we’re asking for donations to the Crisis Text Line in lieu of payment. I highly recommend checking out the entire zine!

For this piece, I wanted to explore the variety of relationships Gyro has with the people around him. he’s such a fun character and i love writing for him so much!

both the micronanites and huey's gadget are references to existing tech in disney animation (which i probably spent too much time researching to represent accurately akfghak). cookies if you can guess them!

thank you to @mrpinniped for the beta and to the entire Gyro Zine server for the lovely encouragement and feedback!

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #gyro gearloose #fenton crackshell-cabrera #della duck #huey duck #scrooge mcduck #gyro gearloose zine #manny the headless man-horse #lil bulb #violet sabrewing #wavey writes #ducktales fanfiction

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outro-tearist · 3 years

Text

paws of paradise - chapter 3 {bangtan ot7 x reader}

hi!!!!!!!! it's been a little longer than i thought to update this, but here it is! it's also summer so updates hopefully will be more frequent as i dont have school to worry about!

as per usual, i'd appreciate comments, thoughts, suggests, anons, anything! have a great day!

~silver🤍🌙

chap 1 chap 2 chap 3

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Thinking.

That was what (Y/N) was doing, and had been doing for the past- How long had it been? The coldness that crept up onto Jimin had only happened yesterday, but the guilt overwhelmed her the more that she had thought about it. It felt like the incident had happened days ago when all she could think about was the crestfallen look Jimin had given her before he raced out of her shop.

It wasn’t his fault that he looked at Taehyung like he hung the stars in the sky. He was a gorgeous man, not to mention the genuine kindness he had shown any person he came across. It was hard to admit, but she had been very obviously jealous. Not only did that embarrass her, but it also made her feel worse for thinking those awful things about a dog owner just wanting to get his precious baby’s hair cut.

She decided to close the shop for today, officially saying she “needed more supplies”, but privately she knew she would not be able to focus.

Oh my god, Yoongi definitely saw her acting like a fool too! The blood that had flooded her cheeks seemed to swirl restlessly even more, just begging to be noticed and called out. He luckily hadn’t mentioned anything, probably to spare the shame she would feel in the moment.

Poor Jimin… He hadn’t done anything.... (Y/N) was being selfish and she recognized it as soon as they made eye contact. His appearance had startled her.

“Jimin! Hey..” (Y/N) started nervously as she saw the man enter through the back door like he usually did. He seemed shocked that he had been found so quickly, but awkwardly smiled back at his coworker.

“Oh. Yeah, hey.” Jimin said shortly. His curt tone had honestly hurt (Y/N) a little bit, but she took in a small breath and persevered.

‘It’s your fault he’s being distant,’ a horrible voice whispered in the back of her head. ‘He deserves more than you, someone better… someone more like Taehyung.’ It whispered again.

“I am so sorry about yesterday… I didn’t mean to dismiss you like that, I just- well, I got some bad news?” her last sentence sounded more like a question than an excuse, but Jimin had obviously softened after hearing her jittery voice.

“(Y/N), it’s not a problem. It did hurt my feelings, but I’m glad you’re telling me this now. I wish you would’ve told me earlier, but I won’t force you to tell me anything you don’t want to,” his smooth voice had felt like honey to her ears, slowly melting all her fears and anxieties that she had about not being forgiven.

Unfortunately, they quickly appeared again when rethinking her shitty excuse.

How was she supposed to explain that the “bad news” she had received was watching the man in front of her look so happy with someone else? It was an awful excuse and Jimin might be worried about her. (Y/N) would have to tell Jimin more about it later, she figured. All she had cared about at this point was just to get on speaking terms with her crush-- no. Her coworker.

“Thank you so much. Seriously. I don’t know what I would do without you, Jiminie.” (Y/N) tried to express her sincerity, but she was never the best with words anyways. It was all that she could muster up even with her head clogged with the image of Taehyung and Jimin practically glowing as they stared at each other.

Still, Jimin could seemingly read into her soul, knowing that she was as genuine as she could be through her words. She could not take her eyes off his kind eyes and perfectly shaped eyebrows and structured face and plump lips and...

“You know I’d do anything to help you, honey. All you need to do is to say the words.”

Pulse quickening and face warming, (Y/N) knocked herself out of her trance once the word “honey” had left Jimin’s lips. Maybe this little work crush was turning out to be a little bigger than she thought…

She giggled like an airhead in response, and if Jimin had seen the bright flush that had spread across her face and neck, he didn’t show any signs other than a slight smirk.

“This is kinda sudden, but um… Can I hug you?” (Y/N) shyly asked. If Jimin’s excited face said anything, the warm hug that had enveloped her completely confirmed everything she thought she saw.

He gently cradled her head in one hand as his other arm pulled her into his surprisingly built chest from the shoulders. He smelled of vanilla and another gentle sweet scent that (Y/N) couldn't put her finger on. It didn’t matter now. What did matter, though, was the feeling of Jimin’s head digging into the top of her head and how he deeply inhaled. Letting out a content hum, (Y/N) wrapped both her arms around his waist and snuggled into the crook of his neck.

“Out of curiosity… where did you have to go yesterday?” (Y/N) asked into Jimin’s neck. He shivered for a split second, before responding:

“Oh, Taehyung asked me if I wanted to spend the day together. That’s why I popped in yesterday, he told me we could meet up in the shop then grab some food or someth- is everything okay?” Jimin’s perplexed and concerned voice inquired above her.

As soon as he said Taehyung, (Y/N) froze up. He skipped work, where he would be with her and the cute dogs and be getting paid, just to see Taehyung.

‘It doesn’t mean that much,’ she tries to reassure herself. ‘He’s just wanting to see possibly the most gorgeous man you have ever seen in your life. It means nothing.’

‘Liar. He doesn’t want to hang out with you.’ The mean voice in her head spat back.

“(Y/N)?” Jimin tried to pull away and bent down to see her face. “Was it something I said?”

“NO! I mean, no. I’m just. Glad you got to get out for the day. How was it?” (Y/N) forced herself to smile and look back into Jimin’s furrowed eyebrows.

“I guess it was good, but I was still pretty worried about you. Are you sure you’re okay…?” Jimin tried again, but (Y/N) shook her head defiantly.

“Yes, I’m sure I’m good right now. Give me the juicy deets about you and Tae yesterday!” (Y/N) once again forced herself into the supportive best friend role. Jimin deserves a great person to be with him, and if that person is Kim Taehyung before it’s her, she will help her coworker in any way she could.

(Why did it hurt so much when she referred to Jimin as her coworker?)

A blush formed its way across his cheeks as he thought about the patience his TaeTae showed him after he was swamped with thoughts of (Y/N) and if she was ok.

“It was really nice… he’s a great guy and I really like being with him. He just- he gets me in ways I feel like nobody else does, y’know?” Jimin softly admits as he finds a seat next to one of the grooming stations.

(Y/N) feels faint. She basically crumbles onto the ground right in front of Jimin. She looks up at him expectantly, waiting for more information that would completely destroy her heart.

‘That was you. You were the person who got me as nobody else has.’ She thought somberly, wishing she could voice out her feelings to Jimin. ‘Was I not enough?’

“He’s so patient and understanding and… I could talk about him all day,” Jimin sighs dreamily as he rests his beautiful cheek into his palm, “It might be a little soon, but I think he might be my soulmate.”

(Y/N) physically recoiled. This was the slap in her face that she had been expecting, but him voicing his feelings was like a horrible moment of finality. She tried to play her flinch off as getting dog hair off her clothes, and Jimin hadn’t even thought twice about it.

Fuck. That cut way too deep, way more than she had prepared for. She keeps her head low so Jimin can’t try to make any eye contact.

“I’m really happy for you Jiminie.” (Y/N) says dully, but with some sincerity. “You seem to be so much happier when he’s around. You deserve this.”

Jimin’s adorable teeth flashed at her as a full smile graced his already perfect face. “You really think so? Wait, is it that obvious?!”

“You look at each other like you’re meant to be. You two must be soulmates!” (Y/N) grits out despite the tears wanting to well. “You have to tell him and let me know what happens!!”

“I’m gonna call him and see if he wants to hang out again tonight! You’re the best, honey, I love you!” he shouts as he runs out of the back.

She can’t even manage a response as she walks to the back door, shuts it, and locks it.

(Y/N) can’t see straight. She can’t think straight either, as she whips out her cell phone and dials the first contact she sees on her phone. She hadn’t even meant to call anyone, truly, but it was too late to stop her sluggish mind from pressing onto a name.

“Hello?” Min Yoongi answers the phone. A response doesn’t come, except for a loud sniffle and another sob. “(Y/N)-ssi? What’s wrong?”

The dog groomer barely knows this man, how he even got into her contacts was beyond her, but all she wanted was somebody next to her.

“Can you- can- come here please? The shop?” (Y/N) barely got the words out of her sore throat but Yoongi seems to understand them.

“I- Ok, I’ll be there in about 10 minutes. Do you want to stay on the line with me?” he asks the sobbing girl gently. His soft voice was soothing and nice, but it didn’t matter much.

She couldn’t respond. Her head was filled with three words. Three words that meant so much that hurt so much just because of the context.

I love you.

Taunting and repeating in her head for seemingly hours, until the front door jingled. She saw Yoongi burst into the store quickly and that was the last thing she saw before she closed her puffy and swollen eyes.

#bts #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bangtan x reader #bangtan #bts jimin #bts jungkook #bts taehyung #bts namjoon #bts seokjin #bts yoongi #bts hoseok #bts rm #bts jhope #bts suga #bts jin #bts v #bangtan boys

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sadachmesarthim · 3 years

Photo

yes this is a rewrite, feel free to fry my ass on anon about it.

content: starker being mean to each other, peter parker has Supportive Friends™, tony has daddy and mommy issues, quentin beck is a Mean Boss™, smoking, secondhand smoke.

word count: 3.0k

square filled: coffee shop au -> link to playlist here

part two is here!

a little vocab lesson before continuing: mobster = really high up in the chain of command for this group of coffee shops. they go around training new hirees, and often decide who gets to move up the line of command. they get to travel on company money, and are very well respected in the workplace. mobsters usually come in groups - siblings, hires from the same groups, etc.

Tony didn't like Richland.

Sure, okay, it was a serious step up from Federal Way. He was free from his parents, he could do whatever he wanted in a house all to himself, no one knew who he was - it was a refreshing change, one he definitely needed now that he was graduated, all grown up.

He'd moved back east about two months ago. He'd wanted to get as far away from home as possible, stretch his legs - he went under the guise of missing his grandma, wanting to go to school. He wasn't a terrible liar, either. Howard and Maria'd eaten it up, encouraging him to go as soon as he could.

"If you go now, you could get there in time for summer classes. Maybe even get a job before they stop hiring seasonally. You never know, but you might as well try!"

So here he was. Still jobless, still not yet enrolled in school. Enjoying his time in the (now autumn) sunshine, biding his time before he ran out of money. He'd planned well - he had enough cash to keep him covered for a while, as long as he didn't go blowing it.

He'd blown it.

He was a sucker for good coffee, though, and he missed Outback. He'd worked at one back home for almost a year before he left, and now... now, it was like an itch he couldn't scratch - he needed the interaction, needed to go make friends. He was too much of a social butterfly.

Yet again, he found himself in his truck, on the way to the nearest stand. He was pathetic, really. Here he was, wasting more money on coffee, when he could be out hiking or climbing or... literally doing anything else.

He knew it was worth it the second he pulled in. The cutest kid was running lines that day - shorts hugging his tight ass deliciously, in a way Tony knew his operator would get in trouble for if a Mobster or Coach saw. Christ, they lettin' just anyone work here now, that it?

He had to keep his thoughts to himself, though - the kid had just finished the cars in front of him, and was headed straight for Tony, iPad in hand. He took a breath, putting on his best poker face. He needed a fucking cigarette.

"Hey handsome! Welcome to Outback, what're we drinkin' today?" Shit, he's cute. All bright and cheery - it might be fake, sure, customer service voice and all - but boy, did he play the part well. All big eyes and wide smile. He looked up at Tony expectantly, right hand hovering over the screen of the runner iPad. Shit, he still has to order something.

"Hi, just a small iced white vanilla breve please." Tony watched as the kid pressed a few spaces on the tablet, shocked at how fluidly he moved. Tony'd never seen him at this location before, but he obviously knew what he was doing. Location transfer, maybe? Mobster? He wasn't sure.

"Perfect! I've got you in - anything else, love?" God, he was too much. There's no way this was just the sickly facade Outback enforced - no, this was all him. "Nah, I'm okay. I'm paying card today, too." He reached his hand out for the tablet, wanting to tip this kid specifically.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, this card reader's broken. The one up at the window's working though! My girl Maia'll be up there waiting for you!" He turned with a smile, skipping off to the next car.

Jesus, who was this kid? And what did Tony have to do to see him again?

•|||•

Return an application, apparently.

Maia, the girl at the window, had let him know that they were hiring. He didn't have to feign interest - he had relevant experience, could work his way up if he needed to - and he'd get to see the mystery boy again. She'd ran and grabbed a small stack of papers for him, which he dutifully filled out and brought back a couple of hours later.

The closing shift lead had briefly interviewed him, practically giving him the job on the spot. Apparently she'd met his sister on a Mob trip, before - it paid to have connections, but damn... someone in town already knew who he was. Oh well. Not a big deal. These were still new people, fresh faces - he could make a clean reputation for himself, a fresh start...

It was exactly what he needed. And if he needed to use a bit of his influence with his sister to get it... so be it.

•|||•

"Emma, please, just... don't be a dick when he calls you. I need this job, it'll be good for m-"

"Save it, Tony. I don't want your excuses. If I say I'll do it, will you leave me alone?" She was being unusually short with him. Fuck. She and Rhodey were fighting again.

"Yes, yes, anything. Thank you so much." He was met with a bored sigh.

"Whatever, dude. I'll put in a good word. Talk to you later." She hung up before he could say anything else. Whatever - it wasn't the worst conversation he'd had with his sister, but it left a lot to be desired.

They hadn't been doing well since she & Rhodey got together. It was on-again-off-again... and they were honestly both to blame. Neither one of them was good at commitment, and it showed.

It put strain on both of their relationships with Tony, and didn't do much to help keep him in Federal Way. He sought comfort in the isolation of a new town, but it didn't seem to be helping anything.

Leaving never did, but it was really all he knew how to do.

•|||•

Peter hadn’t been at Outback long, but he’d enjoyed every minute of it.

He’d gotten hired almost immediately after graduation, not wanting to waste a second of his summer not making money. It was a bit of a difficult transition - he wasn’t a big fan of Beck, his boss, and training was really overwhelming. But after he’d hit that twelve week mark... it’s like something just clicked.

He was a whiz on bar, he was making friends right and left. He and Maia’d even gone to get tattoos together a couple weeks ago during a flash sale. He was getting faster and faster at running cars, he knew almost all of his regular customers. He genuinely felt like part of the family.

That didn’t really change when Beck hired a new group, either. There weren’t too many of them, helping keep their group small. They’d been spending a bit of time in the stand here and there, going over the rules, the ins and outs of making coffee, taking their menu test.

The three he was introducing today seemed okay enough. He just barely caught the tail end of Beck's “congrats on becoming a full employee” monologue before the man set the fresh meat loose. Not that they could really go far - it was maybe a good spit's distance from corner to corner. But, if it helped them get their bearings...

He was pulled from his thoughts before they could take off too far. “Hey, Parker! Come say hi to the green beans!”

•|||•

The red haired girl was nice enough. They'd introduced themselves, exchanged snap usernames, gushed over Peter's tattoos, and bonded over the typical new job anxiety. He'd forged a sweet new friendship with Bri, and was hopeful she'd stick around. He'd seen people like her get chewed up and spit out in this industry, and he liked her.

The tall guy... was pretty boring, actually. He stayed on his phone for the majority of the introduction, opting to ignore Peter entirely. It was fine - he'd probably be gone by the end of the month. Not like they’d miss him - he barely passed his menu test, from what Peter’d overheard.

Then came Mr. Short, Dark, and Brooding - Tony, apparently - Peter remembered him from a few weeks ago. He’d given Peter a poorly concealed once-over, tried to take the runner iPad from right out of his hands... if he wasn’t so attractive, Peter’d pin him for a fuckboy.

Despite how much he looked like he’d wanted to back then, when given the opportunity, he didn’t really engage with Peter. He apparently wasn’t the type to keep eye contact, go in for a hug, make small talk. 0 for 2. Disappointing. Oh well. That’s fine - Peter was perfectly content as the only guy at this location (sans Beck, of couse). Too much testosterone didn’t foster a healthy working environment, and they all knew it.

The girls, especially. They all gushed over Peter - apparently being the token gay guy in the stand somehow made him exempt from the targetted harassment. Nearly every guy they’d hired had left within 9 months - coffee was definitely a female-dominated field.

Peter was excited to see how these two fared.

•|||•

The tall guy was gone within a week. Didn’t even leave notice, just up and stopped showing up to his shifts. Not that it was the end of the world - he was still in his probationary period, so he wasn’t even making tips. No sweat off Peter’s back.

Bri did really well, in comparison. Beck was unusually strict with her - lashing out during her initial first shifts, generally being a hardass. It was unnecessary, and everyone knew it - Peter often found himself having fridge or bathroom meetings with her to help calm her down. But she kept showing up, kept trying, and after a few weeks she was doing just as well as Peter and the rest of them.

Tony was even better. Peter’d heard through the grapevine that he’d worked at a different location when he was still in school. Why he had to go through training again was lost on Peter - Beck tended to be thorough when it came to these kinds of things, but Tony was arguably more experienced than some of Peter’s coworkers...

Apparently, it’s because he wasn’t one to play nice.

•|||•

It took them quite a while to work together. Peter’d found himself getting the shit end of the schedule, working 7-1s religiously. It was by far his least favorite shift - dealing with the morning and lunch rushes were nothing, if not exhausting. But he pushed through, and finally got a say in what he worked - a very comfortable 5 - close.

Tony seemed to fill the between-shift gap - 2-8 was his jam. He liked working later, but still getting home before dark. Apparently being a newbie meant drawing the short straw sometimes -

And the short straw just so happened to be barring with the twink from a few weeks ago.

He hadn’t been... avoiding him. Tony just... didn’t like the way he worked. Peter was flighty, always moving. It irked him... he was just so much, it made Tony’s head hurt. If he wasn’t so engaging he might actually piss Tony off - but he knew the kid had nothing but good intentions, and that made it bearable.

It didn’t translate to the bar, though.

It seemed nearly impossible for them to work well together. Tony’d been assigned the milk station for the last three hours of his shift - a long stretch, but nothing he hadn’t done before. Peter was on shots almost the entire time. Poor kid.

Tony’s sympathy ran dry when they actually began working. They were almost always on top of each other - Peter crowding his space and trying to do too much. It grated on Tony’s every nerve, made it difficult to function. Peter didn’t seem to notice at all - or if he did, he didn’t care.

It came to a head when Peter went for the fridge.

It was a pretty well-known rule that the person on shots doesn’t reach for the fridge. Not only was it too far away from their position on machine, it requires them to go behind their bar partner, which is dangerous in a shop this small. Hot liquids, ice, sugar... they can cause spills, burns, falls...

So of course this dumbass goes for the fridge. Opens the door. Grabs a can of cold brew with his bare hands before turning back around.

And running into Tony face first.

This would have been fine if it were literally anything other than a cold brew. This would have been fine if Tony wasn’t holding a fresh drink! But no - the universe lined things up just right, laid out the most well-planned disaster.

As they made contact, Peter’s hands flew up in shock, dropping the very pressurized can. It exploded as it hit the concrete, spraying nitrogen and foam-y coffee all over them. This caused Tony to let go of the drink in his hand, coating both of their lower halves in hot, sticky milk.

It was picturesque, the mess they made.

Tony looked up at Peter in absolute shock. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Why were you in the fridge?!”

“I was just trying to help! You were busy, I figured I could-” Tony cut him off before he filled the stand with more hot air. Not in the mood for his bullshit excuses.

“I don’t care how busy you think I am - you ask before doing something outside of your station. Do you understand me?” The look in his eye was one Peter’d never seen before - it probably should have scared him, but frankly, it just made him angrier.

“Who do you think you are to be giving me orders?” He was huffy, he could feel his cheeks burning red. He was an angry crier, and knew he was struggling to control his face.

“My sister’s a Mobster. I think I know what I’m doing.” Oh. That explained it - his experience, his proficiency on bar... why he was such a dick. Peter’d never met a Mobster he liked, and if this guy was related to one... shit just made sense.

•|||•

He spent the remaining few hours of Tony’s shift hiding in the back. They were better off separated, and neither complained. Tony could handle himself up front, and Peter was productive enough. He had chores to do, dishes to finish, the closing list to start... Getting an early start benefitted everyone.

By the time 8 rolled around, the atmosphere in the stand had relaxed. They’d both had a chance to clean up, the girls on window had helped ease the tension with casual conversation. Bri had been running, and Peter spent plenty of time in the back with her, hushed enough to avoid the ears a few feet away.

“I don’t see why he gets to walk all over us. You’ve been here longer, and the attitude isn’t necessary.” She was sitting on the edge of the sink, goldfish making their way to her mouth between words. “You know I don’t like him. I don’t see why you keep trying to be nice.”

Peter sighed. He knew she was right. “I just... I don’t want anyone here to feel left out, or like I did at the beginning. Beck can be mean... I want all of you to feel welcome.” It wasn’t a lie, either - he’d made a point to make everyone feel at home, to make this stand a family. Until Tony showed up, he’d been doing a great job.

“I know buttercup. Just... don’t go bending over backward for someone that won’t even look you in the eye.” With that she hopped down, ready to clock out.

Tony shuffled past them both, excited to do the same. Maia’d taken over the bar for him, alleviating him just before the four minute window was up. He didn’t even excuse himself, just inserting himself in their personal space without concern.

Bri shot Peter a look before she left. Talk to him!

He opted for bravery. He deserved an apology for Tony’s harsh words earlier today, and he was going to get it.

He checked the cameras before walking back, making sure Maia wasn’t gonna wind up swamped if this took longer than necessary. Tony was collecting his things - he had to do this fast.

“Hey, listen.” Tony looked up, unamused. “I know we didn’t exactly have a good shift, and yeah I’m partly to blame for that... but Beck doesn’t really vibe with hostility, and the girls...”

Tony cut him off halfway through. “What, it makes them uncomfortable? They don’t like it when a man takes charge, has a little outburst? Sheesh, y’all really are a mess.” What the fuck?

“Okay, seriously. I tried to be nice. You owe me, and the rest of us, a serious apology for today, or I’m going to Quentin about it. It’s not that hard to say you’re sorry, Tony.” Good job Parker, firm boundaries.

“I’m sorry? Sorry for what, doing my job? Fuck that, man. I’m out of here.” He opened the door and left, skipping past an oncoming car and heading toward his own.

Peter followed him. It was stupid, sure - but he needed to assert himself here. This was his stand, his home - and he was damned if he was going to let some... some asshole trample all over his home like this.

He caught up to Tony quickly, stopping him before he could open the driver’s door. “Why are you such an asshole? The girls are obsessed with you, you clearly have a leg up against everyone else in your group. There’s no reason for you to be acting like this, dude. You’ve been here all of what, a month?”

Tony took a long drag from his cigarette before answering. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Now be a good little closer, and run inside. Finish your shift.” He exhaled the smoke into Peter’s face, getting into his car and driving away without another word.

What a douchebag.

#sorry i just flat out didn't like this #sfsummerbingo21 #starkerfestivalsevents #starker #peter parker/tony stark #peter parker x tony stark #coffee shop au #.mine #i'm so sorry mads #i know i'm a pain in the ass

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jalapeno-princess · 3 years

Text

According To Him

CEO Mark X Reader

Genre: THE FLUFFIEST OF FLUFF I HAVE EVER WRITTEN (with some mentions of sex) (God how do I write about things I have never and probably will never experience I am so sad)

Word Count: 6.5K

Summary: Being in such a high position at one of the biggest tech companies in the country on top of attending college full time can be a lot to handle. You’ve never thought highly of yourself and there were days that you felt like giving up because the workload was too hard. You also were extremely insecure over every single thing about yourself. However, there is one person who makes you feel like the most beautiful, hard working and deserving person in the entire world--the CEO of the company you work at and the man of your dreams, Mark Tuan.

A/N: (GUESS WHOSE BACK, BACK AGAIN IN LESS THAN A WEEK) IT’S ME WITH ANOTHER STORY but this time it’s adorable, endearing, full of love and laughter and everything I wish was going on in my life but no, I’m seconds away from a mental breakdown every single day. This is based off of Ariana Grande’s new song “POV” and honestly as soon as i heard the song I knew I had to write an imagine based on it it’s sooooo good I wish someone made me feel that way dude why can’t I have a boyfriend like Mark in this story (Or just Mark in general) Please enjoy! (And cry with me)

It's like you got superpowers Turn my minutes into hours You got more than 20/20, babe Made of glass, the way you see through me You know me better than I do Can't seem to keep nothin' from you How you touch my soul from the outside Permeate my ego and my pride

I wanna love me (ooh) The way that you love me (ooh) Ooh, for all of my pretty and all of my ugly too I'd love to see me from your point of view I wanna trust me (trust me) The way that you trust me (trust me) Oh, 'cause nobody ever loved me like you do I'd love to see me from your point of view

“If we want to build stronger relationships with our hundreds of clients in order to get them to prolong their contracts with us, I suggest that we increase the amount of stocks that we invest in to each of their companies and find more sponsors to help get the attention of the public—maybe we could start putting ads on television or on the radio?”

If there was anything you hated about your job, it was public speaking. For someone who graduated with her master’s degree in communications with double minors in criminal justice and journalism, one would think you were great when having to speak to a large group of people—but no. Your entire body along with your voice was shaking profusely and you felt as if you were about to throw up. If it wasn’t for the devastatingly handsome man whose been sneaking cheeky winks and a few grins in your direction here and there in order to calm your racing heart, then you would have blew the entire thing.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea y/n. A lot of people listen to the radio nowadays and television can get the attention of those who don’t drive or use cars as transportation. What does everyone else think?”

If Mark wasn’t there, you were sure your heart would have jumped out of your chest. He actually wasn’t supposed to be there; he had a couple of meetings he had scheduled months beforehand, but when he found out that the members of the board were having a meeting and you were expected to be involved in it while presenting your ideas on how the company you were currently working for could expand throughout the United States and maybe even outside of the country, he cancelled every single meeting with the intention of giving you moral support.

No matter how much you tried to reject his offer, not wanting to get in the way of his other responsibilities—you’d be lying if you said you weren’t extremely happy that he was there. His presence was undoubtedly calming; no matter wherever the two of you were, whether it was a board meeting, a company dinner or more relaxing and romantic places like the beach or on vacation in Europe, Mark could always bring you serenity.

You looked around hesitantly in attempts to prevent Mark from seeing the blush he caused rise upon your cheeks from gazing at you and because you were genuinely curious about what your colleagues had to say about your brainstorm. When you saw a hand raise—particularly by a specific someone you weren’t all too fond of in your workplace, you wanted to let out a disgusted groan, but you refused to stoop to her level nor did you want any of your coworkers thinking you were rude.

“Don’t get me wrong, that is a decent idea—but I know there are other things we can do that would better benefit the company without having to waste money on unnecessary ad sales. With all due respect sir, I don’t think it’s fair for you to show favoritism towards y/n just because she’s your girlfriend.”

If you weren’t surrounded by fifteen other people, you were sure you would have leaped across of the table and socked her in the face. There were at least 1,000 people employed at the company you were working at and although you haven’t met every single person, you genuinely liked all the employees you did get the chance to get introduced to. However, there was only one person in particular that you honestly could do without and she just so happened to feel the need to speak up against you because she loved making you look stupid—especially in front of Mark.

From the day you met her, Megan never seemed to care about you even if you were nothing but nice and friendly to her. You didn’t care though—you were there to work, not to worry about someone who dislikes you. But you didn’t do anything wrong for her to treat you as if you were scum of the earth. Every time you would walk past her desk, she would glare at you and during meetings like these that unfortunately she had to attend, she would always plot against you.

You overheard a conversation between two colleagues in the bathroom one day about how Megan felt as though Mark might have taken a liking to her and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Your boyfriend had no clue about the way she treated you so rudely; you didn’t like starting unnecessary drama, but you were sure he caught on to her hostility—she wasn’t very vague about it.

As the days went on though, you only grew more and more irritated with her and it was getting harder for you to bite back your tongue and prevent yourself from saying how you truly felt about her. It didn’t matter that your boyfriend just so happened to be the CEO of the tech company you’ve been working at for almost three years now; if you were to physically attack someone or instigate a fist fight, there was nothing he could do if she were to press charges—well other than bail you out—but that wouldn’t look too good for him as one of the youngest and most successful CEOs in the country.

Your boyfriend Mark just so happened to take over his father’s company right after the elder man decided to retire just a year after you began working there. You were an intern at the company for a couple of months before Mark’s dad offered you a permanent job; stating that you were one of the best interns he’s ever had—that you were extremely responsible, hard working, dedicated to your craft, passionate about your education and just an all around kind of person.

The Tuan family’s company was a very fast paced working environment. Nine hours would pass by faster than you could even comprehend only because you were constantly doing something. You’d be lying if you said your life didn’t get stressful every now and then—managing both college and a full-time job wasn’t the easiest thing to do; especially since you were a double major. But you did your best to stay on top of school and work. You were introduced to Mark one day by his father when he told you that he wanted the two of you to work together in order to build a healthy work relationship seeing as how he wanted you to be his son’s go to person.

Mr.Tuan trusted you the most out of every single person working at his company; so it was only natural for him to want you to show his son the same support that you’ve shown him.

Mark was nothing short of a gentleman when you first met him—he never used his position or the fact that he was the heir to the company to get what he wanted or to intimidate anyone of the employees in anyway. In fact, sometimes you’d forget that his family owned the company and that he was supposed to take over his dad’s position seeing as how he blended in so well with everyone else. He allowed you to show him the ropes; even if his father was the CEO and this company has been in his family for over four generations, he himself has never really been involved in what went on at the company.

His parents wanted him to enjoy his life and do whatever it was that he wanted to do before having him take on such an important and tiresome role. Mark was such an amazing listener and he seemed to be very eager to learn. He complimented you on how dedicated and how hard working you were and he was very grateful that his dad had someone working for him who cared for the success of their company as much as he did.

There was a point where you spent almost every minute that you were at work with Mark and you honestly weren’t complaining. You loved his presence and enjoyed how happy he made you. Although he wasn’t a man of many words, his actions spoke for him. He’d open every single door for you, pulled out your chairs, carried the things you would need for meetings, held your bag as you paid for coffee—hell, he even started to take over every bill that you had whether it was for food, drinks or just your necessities.

At first, you assumed that he was only being nice as a way to no verbally thank you for helping him out—but with the way he would look at you with a certain glint and sparkle in his eyes, and the way he would try and touch you every now and then, whether it was bringing back some of your hair behind your ear, pulling you on the inside as the two of you walked on the sidewalk or playfully poking your cheek if he noticed you falling asleep from how exhausted you were, people didn’t do that to just anybody.

It was obvious he felt comfortable around you and you knew it was a stretch to feel this way, but you were secretly hoping that he saw you as more than just a colleague. You knew you were screwed from the moment he was assigned to work under you—Mark had to be the handsomest man you’ve ever seen in your entire life. He had the most well-defined features; the prettiest brown eyes, a sharp and pointy nose, prominent cheek bones and the softest, heart shaped lips.

You’d find yourself staring at his lips during meetings or when the two of you would get lunch together and you always wondered what it would be like to feel them against yours. Only after a month, your partnership with Mark grew more flirtatious. He would always playfully tease you and make jokes in attempts to make you laugh when he could tell you were stressed; he also complemented you every single day about how beautiful he thought you were and how your laugh had to be the prettiest and most contagious sound in the world. You’d observe the way he would act around the other employees to see if the way he interacted with you was just him being friendly—but he hardly ever talked to anyone else unless he had to for business purposes.

It made you feel special in a sense that maybe—just maybe Mark had developed some kind of romantic feelings for you as you quickly did with him. One night, Mark took you out to dinner as a way to thank you for all you’ve done for him so far and the night went along perfectly. Conversation flowed so easily between the two of you and you found out that you had so much in common with the older boy. Your sense of humors were the exact same and you both were very generous when it came to helping out the less fortunate.

You didn’t think much of him offering to drop you home, you just assumed he wanted to make sure you made it in to your apartment safely. Once the two of you pulled up to your complex, he insisted on walking you to your door. You didn’t really expect anything once you were to reach the front door—you planned on thanking him for such an amazing night and for taking you home.

To your surprise, he tugged on your wrist and pulled you in to his chest before connecting your lips together in a sweet kiss. His lips were so soft and tasted like bubblegum—he lowered his hands to your waist while licking on your bottom lip, ultimately bringing it in between his teeth. The two of you made out for a couple of minutes until Mark abruptly pulled away. Right as you were about to whine at the loss of his lips against yours, he hid his face in the crook of your neck and giggled softly.

“I like you y/n—a lot more than I’d like to admit actually. If I’m being honest, I think it might be more than that. I’ve liked you from the minute my dad had me shadow you and if I’m being honest, I kind of hinted towards wanting to be partnered up with you because I witnessed how amazing your work ethic is and I’ve admired how intelligent and talented you are. I think my dad talks more highly about you than he does me and I can see why—you’re wonderful y/n. These last few weeks with you has been some of the best moments of my entire life. You make me so happy. I would have never thought that I would actually enjoy going to work as much as I do and it’s specifically because I want to see you. Would you—um—maybe want to be my girlfriend? I totally understand if you don’t want to and please don’t feel as if you have to reciprocate my same feelings because I’m going to be your boss or because you feel bad—“

You didn’t allow him to say anything else before you roughly smashed your lips back up against his. Now that you knew how it felt like to kiss him—something you’ve been dreaming about for quite some time now, you would never get enough of having his lips meld perfectly in unison with yours.

“I like you too Mark. You don’t understand how happy I am—I’m sure you’ve caught me stealing glances at you every now and then. I would doze off sometimes and dream about what it would be like to be the lucky girl who gets to love you and be loved by you. I would love to be your girlfriend. If you don’t have to go yet, did you maybe want to uh—come inside for some coffee?”

He beamed at you and nodded in excitement—it didn’t take a genius to know that coffee was not at all going to be involved in the nights festivities and he couldn’t care less. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t dreamt about being intimate with you and getting to see you naked and bare—writhing underneath him while begging him to do anything to soothe the fire building inside of you. It’s happened on many occasions and he isn’t embarrassed to say a lot of his wet dreams were caused by you. As soon as you both made your way inside, he pressed you up against the door and began leaving sloppy kisses on the expanse of your neck and chest while whispering sweet nothings against your jaw.

That entire night was spent relishing in your newfound relationship in your bed, in the shower, on the counter and up against your fridge. From that night on, the two of you were inseparable—it wasn’t much of a change from your usual time spent together other than him being even more clingy and touchier now that the two of you were a couple. Plus, you got to see him on the weekends which was a bonus—even if you spent almost ten hours a day every single day with him, it was never enough.

Both you and your boyfriend decided to keep your relationship a secret from everyone at the company to prevent people from talking negatively of you or assuming that you were only dating Mark for beneficial reasons which was far from the truth. You didn’t think it was possible for Mark to be an even more amazing boyfriend than he was a business partner, but he proved you wrong entirely. He was so shy and soft whenever it came to you.

Although he practically hovered over your tiny frame, the older boy would follow you around like a lost puppy. He would show up to your apartment every morning and take you with him to work so you didn’t have to worry about transportation. He would also wait until you were finished with work if he just so happened to end earlier that you did in order to take you home. If Mark was anything, it was extremely observant.

It took him less than a week to learn your coffee order, he’d purchase all kinds of things for you while he’d go grocery shopping, he would buy you bags and clothes that he thought would look amazing on you, he would write you cute little post it notes and stick it all around your desk and if you were to catch a cold or if you weren’t feeling all too well, he’d take off from work in order to help nurse you back to health—in more ways than one. You never thought you would ever be able to experience the love Mark was giving to you.

You’ve only ever been in two actual relationships before him. Other than that, you were the type of person who enjoyed to fool around. Whenever you and your friends would go out to clubs and bars, you’d find yourself getting drunk and taking someone home whose name you’d never got around to learning. If you were being honest, you never thought you would ever be in a long term relationship before.

Your parents divorced when you were only two years old and it seemed like most of the adults you were surrounded with just so happened to be divorced also. Love was a foreign word to you—you never believed love could exist. Everything you’ve seen in movies was fake; all these shows and books about men who would give their lives for their significant others, you thought it was complete and utter bullshit. You ended up breaking up with both your boyfriends because you were afraid of getting your heart broken.

It wasn’t like either of them really made you feel loved or genuinely cared for in the first place, so breaking up with them didn’t hurt as much as you expected to. That all changed the minute you found yourself falling in love with Mark. Time and time again, you told yourself you would never allow yourself to make such a stupid mistake—nor did you want to give your heart, mind, spirit and just yourself entirely away to someone who would only break your heart and leave you like it is the easiest thing do to.

For years, you’ve put up this barrier around your heart and kept every single person out of it. However, you didn’t know how he did it—but Mark knock down your walls and made you want to fall in love with him. Even before you really got to know him and how he was as a person, you know you could trust him. You wanted to give yourself a chance at love; it’s what you deserved. You couldn’t keep running away from something so good—or someone who obviously loved you more than life itself just because you didn’t want them to hurt you.

The way he took care of you—even if you weren’t necessarily aware of it; the way he looked at you with so much adoration and happiness, the way he would talk so highly about you to everyone he surrounded himself with made it all the more clear that you must have meant a lot to Mark and you weren’t going to let anything or anyone for that matter get in the way of experiencing what true love felt like. Not once in your relationship with Mark did you ever have to worry about getting hurt—you knew that man loved you with his entire being. He never failed to show you or tell you every single day and sometimes you had a hard time accepting that someone could love you so much in the way Mark evidently did.

Mark Tuan had to be the best thing that has ever happened to you and you were never going to take him for granted. He was the man you knew you wanted so badly to spend the rest of your life with—there was nobody in this world that you loved or could ever love more than you did with him. He captivated your heart in ways you didn’t believe was possible. Honestly, there were times where you felt as though he deserved better.

You didn’t think all that highly of yourself; sure you had a pretty high position at his company for someone who was only 21-years-old and you were obviously well educated, but you weren’t very sociable nor did you think you were as street smart as you were book smart. You also never considered yourself to be attractive; you’d stare at yourself in the mirror ever now and then and picked out a lot of your features that you didn’t like about yourself.

There were days that you thought everything about you was ugly; your teeth were crooked, your eyebrows were bushy, you had chubby cheeks, you were on the more curvy side—you had thick thighs, decent sized breasts and your butt was on the bigger side, but you also had big hips and your stomach wasn’t as flat as you wish it would be. On many occasions, you found yourself growing jealous of a few of the employees at the company because a lot of them were so pretty and had petite, dainty bodies.

No matter how many times your boyfriend would remind you on a daily basis that he thought your body was so beautiful and that he was completely obsessed with each and every curve, beauty mark and birth mark scattered along your skin, your insecurities never failed to get the best of you and you’d always tell yourself that he probably wanted someone with the body of a model. However, you would observe Mark just as much as he did with you; he never batted an eye at any other girl—even when he talked to one of your colleagues, he seemed so disinterested and it made your heart flutter.

You wanted nothing more than to be content with the fact that your boyfriend only had eyes for you, but it was only natural for you to feel as though you weren’t good enough for him. There was an insult on the tip of your tongue; you wanted to ask her what she had in mind and hoped that it was worse than your idea so she would look like a complete dumbass, but luckily—Mark beat you to it.

“Decent? I think you mean brilliant—and no Megan, I do not allow my personal affairs to conflict with my work ethic. I genuinely like y/n’s idea and I would support her even if we weren’t dating. Do you have any better ideas?”

You didn’t have to confess anything out loud; Mark could read your body language like it was a picture book. He knew you better than he knew himself and even better than you knew yourself. With the way you tightened your fists and clenched your jaw, he knew you were seconds away from reaching across the table and pulling on Megan’s hair and if he was telling the truth—he was all for it. Your boyfriend knew all about your ill-relationship with the older girl—he wasn’t blind. Your mood was always quick to change from excited and bubbly to quiet and visibly annoyed whenever she came around.

He wasn’t the kind of person to press you for information if you didn’t want to flat out tell him yourself. He did wish you would tell him though; he wanted to know everything that was bothering you or things that made you upset—if there was anything Mark loathed, it was seeing you sad. His sole purpose was to make sure you were constantly happy, healthy and living the best life possible.

As a CEO, he couldn’t fire her for the reason that she was tormenting you; there was no evidence. But as your boyfriend, he could use his title against her and he always used that to his advantage—to protect you. You had to bite your lip to prevent yourself from laughing at the sight of her now defeated demeanor.

“No sir.” Mark sent you a cheeky wink before clapping his hands together and getting up from his seat.

“What does everyone else think about the radio station and television commercial ad idea?” Everyone around you nodded their heads in agreement and some even gave your boyfriend a thumbs up—you weren’t one to boast nor did you particularly find contentment in proving others wrong unless they deserved it and Megan definitely deserved the shade your boyfriend gave her.

“Good, then it’s settled. If anyone has any better ideas—then feel free to bring it to the next meeting. But until then, we’ll go along with what y/n pitched and take it from there. I have some phone calls I have to make, so I’ll be taking my leave. Good job everyone.” Mark bowed to the entire table and quickly made his way towards the door but not before walking over to you and gently squeezing your shoulder.

“No rush, but can you come to my office once you wrap things up here? I want to talk more about your idea.”

You nodded in agreement even if you knew that you and your boyfriend would only briefly go over what was brought up in the meeting before doing something you both shouldn’t do in a work environment. The meeting only lasted for a couple of minutes after Mark had left—all the employees in attendance were extremely supportive of what you came up with and you couldn’t have been more thrilled and grateful with their responses.

Right after you adjourned the meeting, you made a beeline for Mark’s office; not wanting anyone—specifically Megan to keep you from your boyfriend any longer. When you noticed her approaching, you quickened your pace and made sure she was no longer tailing you once you reached Mark’s door. You knocked gently and waited patiently for him to invite you in and as soon as he called out for you to enter, you made your way inside and gave him no time to process your movements before flopping on to his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. A soft giggle fell from his lips as he brought his hands down to your waist and held you tightly against his body.

“You’re amazing and I love you. Thank you baby.” His laughter filled the room—going straight to your chest and making warmth rise upon your cheeks. For someone who was only three years away from turning thirty, he had the most adorable, high pitched laugh that you knew could light up any room he was in.

“You’re the one whose amazing and I meant what I said—your idea is brilliant. Almost as brilliant as you my love. You never cease to amaze me. Did you see the look on Megan’s face when I indirectly called her out? That shit was priceless I wish I got it on camera. By the way—why didn’t you tell me about how she acts towards you earlier? I’m not stupid y/n, I know there must be some kind of animosity between the two of you and I know you’re not the cause of it. You know you can trust me with these things. What else does she do to you? Nobody treats my baby so unfairly and can expect me not to do anything about it.”

You brought your hand up to his cheek and cupped it ever so gently before placing a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. He smiled softly against your lips and stole a couple more kisses before leaning back in his chair in order to get a better look at you.

“I didn’t want to bother you with something I can handle on my own. I’m a big girl Mark and I don’t let shit like that bother me. I don’t know why she acts like this, I didn’t do anything to her—and I don’t want everyone here to think that I’m not capable of fighting my own battles and that I have to have my boyfriend use his power to fight them for me. I’m sure a lot of employees gossip to each other about our relationship—“

“Who cares what anyone says? Our relationship is nobody’s business but our own. I just—I’m sorry, hearing her try to make you seem so small—so incapable of great things pissed me the fuck off. You’re the hardest worker we have in this entire company and I’m not just saying that because you’re the love of my life. I’m saying it because I’ve watched you work your ass off for the last four years taking on overtime, flying all around the world to meet with and make business with all these important companies, staying up all night to study for exams only to come in the next morning like you weren’t exhausted at all. You are an ethereal being baby. You’re otherworldly and I just can’t stop looking at you in astonishment. I hope you know Megan and every other girl who acts that way towards you is just jealous of you and I don’t blame them. I mean, just look at you.”

The tears were hot as they built up at the brim of your eyelids. This happened almost every single day. Mark had a habit of going in to detail about the love he had for you and how wonderful he thought you were and you were never prepared to hear his complements and sweet words.

“I don’t know what they would be jealous about Mark. Like you said, look at me—“

“I am looking at you. I can’t seem to stop looking at you. All I ever want to do for the rest of my life is look at you and admire you for the extraordinary human being that you are. You are the most beautiful girl in the world, I’m being completely honest y/n. You are so fucking gorgeous, I can’t even form your beauty in to words. You’re honestly God’s favorite and definitely mine. I hate that you think so negatively about yourself when I think the world of you. I know there’s no such thing as a perfect person but damnit y/n, you come very close. I really don’t know what I did to deserve you—and yes, I know what you’re thinking and you can just get rid of the thought that you’re not good enough for me out of your mind completely. Y/n, you are the best thing to ever happen to me—I mean that wholeheartedly. All my life, I felt as though something was missing but I could never put my finger on it. When I met you, everything changed and it just clicked. You were my missing puzzle piece—you’ve brought so much love and light in to my life and I’m forever thankful for being blessed with you to be my person.”

You allowed the tears to fall from your eyelids and a small sob left your throat leading Mark to laugh against your jaw while bringing you closer to his chest. He began to run his fingers through your hair and left a few gentle kisses all around your face.

“God Mark, I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I would do it again and again—I would lead and fight an entire world war if it meant getting to be the person you love in each and every single lifetime. I can’t even—I know I tell you that I love you every single day but I can’t help to feel as though it’s not enough. I wish there was more I could say or do to show you just how much I truly, deeply and irrevocably love you, how you mean the entire world to me and how I would be completely nothing without you. I wish I could see myself the way you see me—from your point of view. I want to trust and believe in myself the way you do. I wish I could love myself, the way you love me. I’m trying to learn to love myself because I know you worry about me and I don’t want you to anymore. I want to make you proud Mark—“

“You do make me proud y/n—every single day. I know you want to keep us a secret for reasons I have yet to understand—I’m sure now it has to do with people like Megan, but you shouldn’t care about what anyone thinks about you other than yourself and me. I think you’re the most astounding person I have ever met. It’s okay if you never learn to love yourself baby—I love you enough for the both of us and I will spend the rest of my life reminding you just how much of a wonderful, amazing, beautiful both on the inside and out and extremely sexy woman you are.”

He stole a few sloppy kisses from the corner of your mouth and began grazing your cheek feather lightly.

“You don’t have to do anything more to prove your love for me, I feel it in my heart. You’re the reason it beats by the way. You keep my blood rushing and my veins pumping. I would give up anything and everything—this job, my family, my friends, hell I would even give up my PlayStation 5 for you and that says a lot baby. You’re all I could ever want and need in my life. Now, if you want to show me some gratitude for loving you so much and for being your backbone today, maybe you could help me fix the problem in my pants that you caused as soon as I saw you leave the bathroom this morning wearing this outfit. Did I tell you how breathtakingly beautiful and devastatingly sexy you look right now? You know what was so hard for me—well, other than my painfully hardened erection, but it was seeing you in this skirt and blouse—watching you tell everyone of your plans with so much confidence and observing the way all the men in there were looking at you with desire in their eyes and not being able to walk up to you and kiss you with all my energy. I would have fucked you right there on the table if I could. But now that we’re both on lunch break—I’m all for eating you out right now. Lunch with a view sounds amazing and I’m not talking about the cityscape babe.”

You playfully shoved him while attempting to get out of his embrace but he wasn’t having any of it and tightened his grip around your waist if it was even possible. “Mark, we can’t have sex right now, everyone is going to find out what we’re doing. You and I are not exactly the quietest people when we have sex—“

He gave you the most adorable pout before bringing his lips right under your ear and nibbling tenderly—trying to get a rise out of you. “Why not? We’ve made love in here many times y/n. I daydream about the multiple times I fucked in to you auto against this desk and against the window. The imprint of your breast on the glass is still in the back of my mind. Who cares if they hear? All the more better. I saw the way all the men would let their eyes linger on you a little too long. I think it’s time they are reminded that your bed is spoken for. It’ll also teach anyone in this building not to mess with you. Don’t try to talk me out of it, I know you’re a huge exhibitionist baby. There’s this one particular position that I wanted to try out if you’re okay with it. I’m going to need you to get on all fours and this blouse, as amazing as it looks on you, I want to see these pretty titties bounce for me. Get ready to sing my love—I’m going to make sure everyone on this floor knows whose the boss in more ways than one.”

I'm getting used to receiving Still getting good at not leaving I'ma love you even though I'm scared Learnin' to be grateful for myself You love my lips 'cause they say the Things we've always been afraid of I can feel it starting to subside Learnin' to believe in what is mine

I wanna love me (ooh) The way that you love me (ooh) Ooh, for all of my pretty and all of my ugly too I'd love to see me from your point of view I wanna trust me (trust me) The way that you trust me (trust me) Ooh, 'cause nobody ever loved me like you do I'd love to see me from your point of view

I couldn't believe it Or see it for myself Know I be impatient But now I'm out here fallin', fallin' Frozen, slowly thawing, got me right I won't keep you waitin', waitin' All my baggage fadin' safely (baggage fadin') And if my eyes deceive me Won't let them stray too far away

I wanna love me (ooh) The way that you love me (ooh) Ooh, for all of my pretty and all of my ugly too I'd love to see me from your point of view I wanna trust me, ooh (trust me) The way that you trust me, baby (trust me) 'Cause nobody ever loved me like you do I'd love to see me from your point of view, yeah

#got7 imagines #mark tuan #got7 #mark tuan imagines #mark tuan got7

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loxxxlay · 3 years

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Can we get the rest of the ball destroying story?

This is a very long and probably anticlimactic story about how I destroyed an attorney's metaphorical balls by not letting him get away with being a toxic pile of shit. I hope you enjoy.

So, the first thing you need to know is that my old boss (whom I will call M) is a real fucking asshole. 1, he voted for trump; 2, he's a creep; 3, most obnoxiously, he treated his previous lead paralegal like a freaking wife.... or actually worse than a wife really... like an object. like a trophy wife. When the lead paralegal left, he basically treated her like she was divorcing him, as if she was an object of his possession. And he was like "you'll NEVER have it better than you have here, and i'll never let you come back." (Funny story: i am one of 5 paralegals there who put in their 2 week notice during June, and they were so panicked that they called this exact former lead paralegal and asked her to come back. -_-)

Okay so anyway, let's cut the story back to about 2 months ago. I have been M's lead paralegal for about 8 months now since the previous one left, and I'm hating it. I'm actively job hunting because M is becoming toxic to me the same way he was to the last paralegal. I needed references, so I asked another attorney who also worked there to be my reference. We will call him T. So T is my favorite attorney. T is the first person I came out to as having a girlfriend at the firm, and he never once betrayed me. He is everything that M is not. He gives positive feedback like he gives out candy, but he's also honest and real in a way that not a lot of ppl are.

So anyway I secretly ask him to be a reference on my resume, and T is like "sure! but well funnily enough, I'm actually leaving the firm in 2 weeks. I can't ethically recruit people while I'm here, so I'm going to end this conversation here, but.... wink wink, nudge nudge, call me in 2 weeks." So I'm like COOL COOL. And we don't speak of it again.

So 2 weeks pass, I continue job hunting, T leaves the firm. He calls me literally the next day, and he immediately is like "I wanna hire you" and I'm like "okay cool, I wanna be hired." So boom I got a new job. Ethically. (I'm serious though, T is a very ethical guy and he did nothing wrong.) So anyway, T is okay with me waiting until my NYU program in June is over, so my start date is July 1. 1 month from then. T also asks me very politely not to tell M where I'm going because it would sour their "friendship" (a.k.a. the attorney world in utah is a small world and he doesn't want M to get his feelings hurt). And I want to be clear, T did not pressure me at all - he asked for a favor, and I decided to do it for him, because I care about him, that's it. If at any point it became a burden for me, I would have changed my mind, and T would have understood.

So, I wait a week until I'm in New York to tell M i'm leaving him. I come up with a brilliant excuse for why I don't want to tell him where I'm going - "I have a few offers and I don't want to talk about it while I'm still deciding" (which wasn't even really a lie). So I call my boss and I tell him I'm putting in my two weeks. And he treats me like he always treats people - he interrogates me. Except this time, he's shocked and upset, so he SUPER interrogates me. It's super inappropriate questions like "why are you quitting???" and "is it because of money???" and "this is SUCH bad timing" - but it's frustrating because he's an attorney and he knows how to dress up these rude questions with politeness. In a way that if I call him out on it, I'll be the one who looks inappropriate. :( It sucked. But luckily I had spent 3 days researching how to approach this, and.... I gave him nothing. He was desperate for fuel to try to convince me to stay or guilt-trip me into working overtime, and I just didn't give him any because I was prepared, and also.... I'm good at this. My mom says I've been good at this since I was 3-years-old lol.

Anyway so unfortunately during the conversation, he asked the question "Where are you going?" and I immediately gave him my excuse. And I expected that to be done and over with. Idk why I thought it'd be that easy... He immediately started trying to guess where I was going. And at what point, he said "are you going to work for T????" and..... honestly guys... I panicked. I lied. I said, "uh, no." flat out lmao. Like, I was just so shocked that he was asking me in the first place. :( But weirdly, he believed me and that was that (or maybe he filed away the lie for later use as you'll see). I also want to make it clear here that I, at first, wasn't telling M where I was going because T had asked me to... but at this point, with how nosy and inappropriate M was asking, I didn't want to tell M anymore either. It wasn't for T that I was hiding it; it was for me. Like, no M, I don't want you to have any personal details. You're being 150% more of a creep than usual which is impressive considering.

Anyway so I never tell anyone where I'm going except 2 ppl whom I trust on my last day (and yes, one of them betrayed me, which kinda sucks D:). I told T that I had lied to M, and T was like "it's okay, if he finds out, I'll have ur back" and also... I told T I go by Echo instead of my legal name/dead name, so I'm fine with the lie because M will probably never find out anyway. and T was delighted and super supportive of my enby identity. ^_^ It's cute because he never called me by name, but now all of his texts and statements deliberately start out with my name as if to remind me that he supports it lol.

Anyway so flash forward to my new day at the job. It's going great. I love it there. And then I check my phone and I see this fucking text:

M: "I hear you work for T now. I wish you the best, but I specifically remember asking you if that's where you would be working, and you said no."

Like.... what the actual fuck? He never texts me, and also I've been gone from his firm for like a day.. max... have some chill, lmfao. like. At first, I was REALLY upset. Not in a "i feel bad for lying" kind of way. I couldn't care less about that. More in a "i feel like i'm being stalked, one of two close friends betrayed me, and also what the fuck, why are you texting me this??" #yikes. But then that night, I was talking to my dad about it. And I became super amused? Like. What is he going for here? What does he want me to say? What response does he hope that I'll give that will make him feel better? Does he want me to call him crying and begging for forgiveness and for my job back? Like? I genuinely sincerely want to know what the fuck he was expecting me to say. I want to understand what was going through his head lol.

And of course, because I am a passive aggressive bitch, I immediately catch on to the fact that he is Butthurt (shocking, I know). His feelings are hurt. An object of his, his very own lead paralegal, lied to him outright and he didn't see it coming! How dare she! He wants to make me feel hurt like he feels hurt, and he's a lawyer, he knows how to interrogate people and manipulate people and get them to suck his dick, idk. So he should be able to use those skills to make me feel bad for lying. He wants to one-up me. But see, what he didn't realize is that....

1, I don't feel guilty for lying to him... at all... like, it took me a couple hours to realize this, but the only negative emotion it made me feel was discomfort and fear. not guilt. the same way i feel when a strange man asks me for a hug, and i feel like refusing would look "rude." Like, there's nothing guilty about that. So yeah. His goal is to expose my guilt to make himself feel better, but... my guilt doesn't exist, so good luck

2, um, like I said earlier, I've been a passive aggressive bitch since the day I was born, unlike this bitch who had to go to college to learn how to do it, and not only that - I'm better at it than him. lmfao. His pride is gonna take a hit.

so I toy with the idea of ignoring him because I know that will really fuck him up and make him constantly think about it and check his texts to see if I've responded. But then T tells me that it's probably better to not burn a bridge because again.... super small world here.

So anyway lol, my response ends up being pretty simple but painstakingly constructed:

"Thank you! :) It wasn't an option at the time - it was a new development after you and I had already talked. I wish you the best as well."

The "Thank you! :)" to seem like I am utterly oblivious to the hidden accusation and passive aggressiveness. The middle sentence to be like "uh, are you really accusing me of lying right now?" and the last sentence, my favorite, to shut down the conversation forever. Now, if he responds, he already lost. Because there's no way to continue this conversation without exposing the fact that his "I wish you the best" was completely insincere. I've stripped away his ability to respond fake-politely (which is his modus operandi), and I've forced the last word on him.

Also, even better... (and no one has any way of proving this, least of all him, but) that statement (the "it wasn't an option at the time - it was a new development after you and i had already talked") is completely a lie on my part, and he knows it. T offered me the job the Monday after he left. There's no way he doesn't know that. So not only did I show obliviousness and not only did I shut the conversation down, I outright stonecold lied a second time. And there's no way for him to call me out on it. Like what could he even do? Send me a screenshot of my hire date? Send me a screenshot of an email I sent to a coworker? If he tries that, he's already lost again because like ... obviously super immature... it would be so easy to crush him with niceness like "Wow, I can tell this has really bothered you!" hahahhaha. Sadly he's smart enough not to do that, but it must be infuriating to know I'm lying and not be able to accuse me.

As an attorney whose literal job it is to catch & expose people lying, he literally watched me flat out lie to his face. Twice. And I didn't feel bad about it. And there was nothing he could do about it either time. He went to law school for this shit, and he still can't out-passive-aggressive me, the classic bitch.

Anyway so T apparently he showed his wife M's message, and she was like "oh my god what an asshole!!!" which I must admit was extremely validating!! And then he showed his wife my message, and she made a shocked face and said "wow she's good." And I always thought T was kinda just flattering me to be nice when he complimented my use of words in defusing angry clients and conveying info about a sensitive subject... but apparently his wife thinks so too, so I guess he's been more serious than I thought. I feel so.... complimented.... it's weird.... but I"m very happy and squeeing.

It's been like almost 24 hours and M has yet to respond to me, and if he does, he's already lost. I'll eviscerate him.

So like I know this story is probably disappointing and might not seem like I shanked his balls, but ... take my word for it because if u knew what a chaotic insecure pathetic mess he was and how he desperately claws for control by trying to intimidate and upset all of his employees (and pretty much always succeeds), then you'd understand that he's NEVER encountered something like this before. Someone literally just not giving a shit what he thinks about them. And from what I know of him, I promise you that this has certainly fucked him up for a good long while. And that makes me happy :')

#lox replies #tismannyv14

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banashee · 3 years

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It's midnight where I am, which means it's technically the 21st already 😁 Hi Folks, welcome to my fourth fic for the Archival Pride 2021 project! Look at their tumblr for more info :)

@archivalpride

Archival Pride 2021, Week four (June 21-28) Prompts: comfort, childhood, research, missing scene, statement

The key words I've used here are comfort, research (and arguably missing scene depending how you look at it)

So, this wasn't supposed to get nearly as long as it ended up being. But I enjoyed wirting this a ridiculous amount, and I hope you can find a bit of joy, comfort or anything else you're seeking as well.

Please mind the tags and content warnings for this one! It’s quite a bit heavier than my other entries for the Archival Pride 2021.

Content warnings: - Trauma, Grief - PTSD / Panic attacks - violent canon death of a sibling - coping - Nightmares - Canon-typical violence - Canon-typical Clowns / The Stranger - Death of a loved one - Canon-typical violence and thoughts of violence - Past underage kissing between consenting teenagers (nothing graphic and very PG) - breif internalized Bi-Phobia in the past - brief mention of past Ace-Phobia - strong language - TMA season 3 spoilers, even though this story is set pre-canon.

Whispers in the Dark

The first time Tim meets Jonathan Sims is when he sets down a small cardboard box and a stack of files onto a desk. More precisely, his own new place at the desk he just got assigned.

Tim just started out with his new job and he smiles, even though he is barely holding himself together at this point. He hopes no one will ask too many questions - it’s not like he plans on telling anyone what made him seek out the institute in the first place. It’s way too personal, and way too much to handle.

So he’d lied in the job interview, spun some story about wanting a new challenge. Mr. Bouchard didn’t question it, and Tim would like to think that is because his CV and education are rather high quality, which he isn’t shy about. Not at all - he is proud of his achievements, and rightfully so. But Tim can’t shake the feeling that his new employer had looked at him oddly, like he knows something that no one else does. It had been deeply unsettling, and if Tim thinks too much about it, it causes the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up straight.

Despite his gut feeling telling him something else, Tim decides to chalk it up to nerves and his… Current situation, so to say. He is more jumpy, more paranoid than he used to be, which isn’t surprising. He has seen things, lived through things that he wouldn’t know how to explain if anyone asked. But overthinking it won’t get him anywhere.

So, he puts on a bit of the show, something that looks like his usual happy-go-lucky personality. Loud, brash, flirty and wicked smart, just like he always has been. It feels incredibly fake to him, but then again, no one here knows him. No one has ever met him before… Before. They don’t know. They don’t know . None of them ever sees him when the mask falls, home alone, in a house that feels too big and too empty with Dany gone and - no.

“Don’t go there, Stoker, just don’t. Get through the day, see what you can find out and go home. Get back tomorrow, rinse and repeat. You can do this.” he tells himself and plasters on a smile that almost hurts.

As he sets down the box and his files, he greets his new coworker and desk-neighbor.

“Hi, I’m Tim, nice to meet you!” ( “be happy, sound happy, god dammit” he thinks, then reminds himself that this guy won’t know the difference.)

The man on the desk opposite of him looks up from his computer which he’d previously looked at with intense concentration. It seems to take him a moment to catch up, then he nods and there is the hint of a very small smile on his face.

“Oh, erm, hi. Welcome.” he says, like someone who isn’t used to interacting with too many people. And maybe he isn’t - Tim wouldn’t know. He almost moves on and accepts that he won’t get a name from his new desk neighbor, but then he hears him say,

“Jonathan. Jon is fine, too.”

And then, as if he never said anything, he focuses back onto the screen in front of him and starts typing furiously.

“Thanks!” Tim says, probably just a tad too loud and too enthusiastically, but he doesn’t get a response this time. Okay, awkward. He isn’t sure if Jon is ignoring him or if he just doesn’t realize that he is being talked to - judging from the very brief, first impression of him that Tim got, both options might be entirely possible.

As the days go by, they don’t interact a lot besides basic politeness and the occasional question or comment about something work related.

The first time Tim ever really talks to Jon, is when he witnesses the man climb a bookshelf in the library like a fucking tree. No kidding. Tim blinks, and for the first time in a long while, he feels a real, genuine laugh bubble up in his chest. What the hell? He steps closer, next to the large, antique bookshelf that his coworker is currently clinging to, pulling books from a shelf that is over his head still.

“Jon, hi.” Tim says, watching the scene in front of him unfold. This is not something he expected, least of all from the coworker who never seems to say or do anything mildly interesting. So much for the first impression - the second impression is something entirely different, and it is this very moment that Tim decides that he likes the guy.

The sound of Tim’s voice addressing him directly makes Jon turn his head.

“Hi. Can I help you?” he asks, brusk and matter of fact, as if there wasn’t anything odd about this situation.

“...I was going to ask you the same?” Tim offers, mildly amused as he finds himself kind of impressed when Jon manages to shrug with his hands full like that. While clinging to the shelf, because what even?

“No. Why? I’ve already got what I need.” Jon jumps down from the wooden board he’d been standing on, and it is only now that Tim realizes they’d been on eye level before. Now… Not so much. They never stood next to each other up until this moment, he realizes.

He’s only been here for about a week, but whenever Tim arrives at the office, Jon is already there, at his desk and working. He never gets up for lunch, only ever seems to leave the room to pick up or drop off books from the library, and by the time everyone else has left, Jon remains seated at his desk. If he wasn’t changing out his clothes, Tim would have been convinced that Jonatahn Sims simply plugs himself into a wall socket to recharge for the next day. Or maybe sleeps under his desk or something.

“Just… You know what, nevermind.” Tim has come to the very correct conclusion that he better just accept this as it is. It seems easier. Much, much easier than arguing with someone over nothing, even though Tim feels like punching a wall or two some days. But that is not his coworkers fault, and he doesn’t want to mess up the chance to get to know him because he is cute.

Tim doesn’t even question this train of thought anymore.

At some point in between meeting the man for the very first time and… well, this, he must have filed away the odd combination of grandfather cardigans, chipped dark nailpolish and neatly tied up hair, combined with that deep warm voice and decided that yes, this person is attractive.

To be fair, it doesn’t take Tim long to fall for people - it never has. He just didn’t expect to spend any time really looking at someone, now that his life has gone sideways in so many horrible ways.

Turns out he’d been wrong.

Finding something attractive about a person, no matter their gender or any physical attributes, is the easiest thing in the world to Tim. Ever since he can remember, he has enjoyed looking at people. Tim likes soft curves just as well as sharp angles, and has spent many many hours of his life getting lost in people's eyes. Sometimes, he’d caught himself staring when talking to a friend, losing himself in the depth of warm brown eyes with specks of gold, watery blue, light grey or green with specs of hazel and anything in between.

Tim vividly remembers a game of spin the bottle when he was a teenager and sat on the floor with a group of friends and classmates. Of course, there had been many dares to kiss someone, and he had happily taken them whenever possible.

At the time, Tim wasn’t sure about himself at all, because he’d only known that he finds people attractive, but all everyone around him had talked about was if you were gay or straight, if the question was even asked. Mostly, they just assumed whatever seemed convenient at the time.

No one tells Tim about the meaning of the word “Bisexual”, or even about the word itself until he is in college. But he knows how he feels, even though he is lacking the word for it for many years

Once he finds out, Danny is the first person he tells about it. Tim calls him that same night, sitting in a quiet corner of the dorm as he excitedly tells his little brother that he found a word to relate to himself and his feelings for other people.

“There are other people who feel that way, Danny. There is nothing wrong with me and there is a word for it!” he tells him in a hushed but excited voice, fumbling on a loose thread in a hole of his jeans. Those trousers have long been frayed into shreds but Tim refuses to part with them.

His voice is shaking with excitement, and he may or may not be holding back happy tears. This is a big moment for him, and because Danny is literally the best - not just because he answered his phone at fuck-o-clock in the morning when his brother called - he reacts with nothing but support.

“I might have a few questions, but I love you. No matter what. I’m happy for you.” he tells him, and in that moment, Tim couldn’t be happier or prouder of his younger brother.

The game of spin the bottle a few years earlier was the one of the first things that taught Tim that he finds many many things to be interested in and attracted to. It taught him that he is attracted to the many different ways people feel, and it hasn’t changed ever since.

Over the years, Tim finds himself falling in love quick and hard with a number of people, and none of them are ever the same. Each and every person is unique, in their looks and size and voice and feelings - and every single one is loveable just as they are.

“You do have a thing for certain types of voices though.” Tim thinks, and maybe that is the culprit here, now that he is standing in the library of the Magnus Institute and faced with Jonathan Sims, who looks up at him with one raised eyebrow. Oh shit, has he been staring the entire time?

Before Tim can think too much about it, or god forbid, overthink it, he hears his mouth blurt out without his brains permission,

“So do you want to come to lunch later? There is a café not far from here that I’ve never been to.”

Jon stares back for a moment, like this isn’t something he expected. Truth be told, he didn’t. But just when Tim starts thinking that he’ll decline, Jon nods slowly.

“Yes, I suppose. Just… Let me know before you’re going. I tend to, well, I tend to get lost a bit when I’m working and chances are I won’t notice how much time has passed.” he explains, and this is probably the first time he said anything personal besides his name.

“Sure, no problem. I’ll just put a giant sticky note on your monitor.” Tim offers him with a grin and wink, and as he turns around, he could swear that he catches a real smile on Jon’s face.

Tim actually does put a note on Jon’s screen though. As he was warned, all attempts to verbally get his attention have failed, so Tim scribbles a quick note for Jon.

The sticky piece of paper is bright pink and obnoxious, and all that Tim has written on it is “Lunch time!” in big bold letters, accompanied by a smiley face. He manages to walk up behind Jon, stick it right in the middle of his computer monitor and get back around to his own desk to gather his jacket and wallet before Jon squints at it through slim, rectangular glasses and blinks a few times before he remembers the conversation from earlier. Then, there is a small hint of a smile on his face, very similar to the one Tim caught in the library earlier.

He gathers his things and leaves the office with Tim, and the two of them walk next to each other comfortably as they make their way to the café.

Surprisingly, the lunch break together isn’t nearly as awkward as it could be, or should have been, really. Jon doesn’t talk much at first, and Tim has a feeling he himself is talking way too much without actually saying anything, just so his brain doesn’t drift off into the wrong direction. But then, it’s like the air has left his lungs and there is a minute or two of slightly awkward silence.

Then, Jon clears his throat and asks,

“So, did you know that snails can sleep for three years at a time?”

When Tim, surprised by the question, shakes his head, Jon starts talking about the topic in great detail as he fiddles with the edge of his napkin the whole time. Somehow, this of all things breaks the ice, and Tim finds himself to be able to breathe a little bit easier.

Even more so, he is enjoying this. He isn’t sure what he expected when he asked Jon to join him for lunch. Maybe it was just the urge for human interaction and to not be alone, which he supposes is fair enough. But he certainly didn’t expect random information about nature phenomenons. All Tim knows is that he feels better after their first break together, and after that, spending the break together becomes A Thing.

What he learns pretty fast is this: Jon is an info dumper when he feels comfortable enough to do so. As it turns out, Jon isn’t very picky with his topics, either. They range from science phenomena to weird, interesting nature facts and anything else that catches his interest.

Tim also learns that, if he is in the right company and being asked the right questions, he can hold monologues that could last for hours. He figures that one out when Jon drops a fun fact about 19th century architecture, and without thinking, picks up the loose end of the sentence and continues,

“Oh, yes, did you know that…” and thus, without even realizing it, Tim spends the entire lunch break talking about it - he is passionate about the topic, but he leaves out the details about the Covent Garden Theatre. It just hurts too much to think about, but other than that, Tim is excited about the topic. He gets so carried away and rambles on and on and on, he only stops when Jon and him get back to the institute. It takes even longer for Tim to catch up and realize that Jon just paid for both lunches while he went off on a monologue about Robert Smirke architecture. But when he tries to pay him back, Jon just waves him off.

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, your lecture was very interesting, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

From anyone else, this might have been a dig - but coming from Jon, Tim knows by now, it is a genuine statement that makes him way happier than it should.

So, their lunch breaks together quickly turn into a tradition,

Tim isn’t entirely sure what is more surprising; the fact that he manages to get Jon to actually leave his desk for human needs like food and social interaction, or that the two of them are enjoying it so much.

Sometimes, they go to cafés or restaurants, trying out places that neither of them has been to before. It turns into them picking favourites, and then they become regulars at a small handful of places. Sometimes they simply go on a quick walk to pick up some food, other times they sit down and enjoy being out of the office for a little bit.

One day, Tim arrives in the office early, and he brings lunch from home for Jon and himself for the first time.

Tim has spent the previous night wide awake, unable to rest after a nightmare startled him out of a deep sleep. It takes a long time to get his breathing back under control, and very late at night, or very early in the morning, depending how you look at it, Tim gives up on sleep. After hours of useless tossing and turning, he won’t be able to rest, he knows from experience.

Cursing under his breath, he pulls aside the covers and takes a few deep, shuddering breaths. Exhausted, both in a physical and emotional sense, he scrubs a hand over his face.

The memories linger, and Tim feels like his whole chest is pulled together with anxiety and grief. Seven months. That’s how long it has been since he found Danny sitting in his dark living room in the middle of the night, crying silent tears as he had no idea what to do besides be there for him and offer comfort. Seven months since he followed his younger brother to the Royal Opera House Covent Garden and had to watch him being torn apart.

Carefully, Tim forces himself to keep breathing as evenly as possible. In - hold - out - hold - in - rinse and repeat. His hands are shaking, and he tries to force them into stillness as he grips hard at the rumpled bed sheets.

Attempting to go back to sleep is useless, he knows from experience, and so he makes his way down into the kitchen.

This house feels too big, too empty without the presence of his little brother. He left a hole in his life, and even though it’s been months since Danny died, Tim hasn’t moved a single one of his possessions. Not yet - it hurts too much.

Despite having been alone for a while now, Tim is still careful to leave the lights out in the hallway, walking as quietly as he can in the middle of the night as if there was still someone around he could wake up with his movements. It’s a long standing habit, and he isn’t sure he’ll ever shake it off.

It’s only when he arrives in the kitchen that Tim switches on the overhead light. It flickers to life, slowly, and the small kitchen is tinted into a warm light. Warm and homely, like this house once was. Now, it just feels painfully empty.

With a long sigh, Tim makes his way to the sink and fills up a glass with water - his hands are still shaking and he spills a bit onto himself, but he doesn’t care. Caring about it is too much right now, so he focuses on draining the glass empty before refilling it again. He feels dehydrated, but given the night he’s had so far, it isn’t surprising.

“I need a distraction.” he mumbles, and soon enough, he’s raided the pantry and his refrigerator. Tim pulls out some pots and pans from the cupboard, scattering everything throughout his kitchen where it’ll be most convenient. The repetitive tasks of cooking have always had a relaxing effect on him, and soon enough, the room is filled with scents and aromas that make his mouth water. Even now, while he is absolutely miserable.

The casserole ends up being huge. It’s way too much for one person, even one with an appetite. But cooking for one after being used to there being someone else is hard - kind of useless, while you’re already at it.

Tim has had that problem ever since he’s been cooking on his own, but knowing that Danny will be back to join him again, freshly back from some cave diving or urban exploration or whatever other strange new hobby he’d found at the time.

Now, Tim is all on his own. He sighs unhappily. Cooking was a good distraction, up until he is painfully reminded that no one is there anymore to share it with. Not here, at least.

He allows himself a few minutes of quiet greif, seated at the kitchen table with his head in his hands and a lukewarm cup of tea, sitting on the table by his side, almost forgotten.

By the time the sun is starting to rise, Tim is up and moving again. He has put the casserole in several plastic boxes and packs two of them into his work bag.

When he arrives at the office, way earlier than he usually does, because what is the point of staying home doing nothing, Tim places one of the boxes at the edge of Jon’s desk.

Jon seems to be mildly surprised by the early company, and even more so by the plastic box.

“Oh, Good morning... What is this?” he asks then, mildly curious.

“Lunch. I was cooking last night and it was way too much. Thought I’d bring some in to share.” Tim forces a smile along with the half-lie, if only to cover how tired he is. He needs coffee.

The “Thank you” Tim gets in response is equally surprised and genuine, and he tries very carefully to not interpret too much into it. Especially because their shared meal feels a lot more homely and strangely intimate that day. Getting takeout together or sitting somewhere is one thing, but sharing a home-cooked meal is something entirely different, he finds. He also finds that he doesn’t mind it.

Only a few days later, conveniently when every last bit of the casserole is gone, Tim finds a plastic box that isn’t one of his own sitting on his desk. Curiously, he opens it and finds it filled to the brim with homemade curry, rice and veggies. Even cold, it smells heavenly and makes his mouth water. Tim looks over to the desk opposite of him, where Jon is already typing away like he usually does, but when he looks up and finds Tim smiling brightly at him, he smiles back.

Something in his chest feels incredibly warm and fluttering.

One evening, when the two of them get out of the office equally late - Jon because he always does, and Tim because he may or may not have waited for him - they walk to the tube together.

In a spontanous fit of bravery and “Oh well, fuck it”, Tim carefully rechaes out until his own fingers gently brush against Jon’s as they walk. It’s dark outside, only illuminated by the countless lights that illuminate the shops and pubs and the sides of the street they’re walking along. Tim does so casually and carefully enough to be ignored or taken as a coincidence if needed be, just in case. But then his heart almost stops for a second when after a moment of stiffness, Jon accepts the offer and closes his own fingers around Tim’s.

His touch is light at first, but then his grip tightens a bit, warm and comfortably so, and it is clear that his heart is in it. Of course it is - the two of them have gotten close in the last few weeks and months. There might have been some wishful thinking on Tim’s end involved - Jon is not always great at picking up social cues, especially romantic ones.

“That’s fine though” he tells him later, “You’re a huge enough flirt to make it up for the both of us.”

Jon squeezes his hand, and Tim happily squeezes back as he keeps walking beside him, just a little bit closer than before.

He can’t help but smile. Something like happiness blooms in his chest, and even though they don’t talk about it the entire way, even though they keep holding hands when they sit next to each other in the tube, they remain this close all the way until their ways separate and they have to get onto a different line each. It feels right, and the sudden loss of touch as their ways separate makes Tim wish it could last - but turning back and running after the other train seems kind of silly now, especially since he’ll see Jon again the very next day.

This becomes A Thing as well. Touching, that is.

Holding hands, brushing along each other when they reach for folders or mugs or books in the library. Speaking of which, Tim has learned very quickly that there is no way to stop Jon from literally climbing high spaces to reach whatever he needs. As of now, he is long used to watching him scale a bookshelf or kitchen counter, much to his own amusement.

“Hold on tight, little monkey.” he tells him as he walks past, grinning from ear to ear, knowing full well that he can’t expect more than a scoff and,

“Oh, shut up.” as a response.

Tim keeps it up though - because it’s fun and he knows he’s allowed to get away with it. Which can’t be said for anyone else in the institute, not like anyone would have tried as far as he knows. But he is ridiculously proud of it nonetheless. Tim is still cackling to himself when he wraps an arm around the other man’s shoulders and keeps chatting away to him all the way back into the research offices.

He has always been very openly affectionate, with family, friends and romantic partners or those he’d fancied. It’s part of who he is, and if he is honest with himself, it feels good to have some part of him back that’s always been there. It helps a bit, and even more so since Jon not only happily lets him, he also leans back into the touch. Jon’s attempts at seeking out touch are a lot more subtle than Tim’s, at least at first, but he knows and recognizes it for the sign of trust and comfort that it is.

That afternoon, there isn’t much time to chat at their desks, but about an hour before they’re supposed to get off, a balled up piece of paper hits Tim’s hand, clearly coming from Jon, but the sneaky bastard isn’t giving indication that he stopped reading at all.

With a small smile, Tim opens the note. It’s not like Mr. Workaholic to pass notes on the clock, but then again, he has to give Jon credit for loosening up significantly since the day they met. Or, maybe warmed up to human company is more like it. (He very carefully tries not to think, or more like hope, that it's him in particular Jon has warmed up to so much. But then again, Tim has heard some of their coworkers whisper in astonishment that it’s completely unheard of that Jonathan Sims leaves his desk for breaks or in time in the evenings, let alone interacting with other human beings more than absolutely necessary. Tim also caught the rumors about the two of them being a couple - he’d almost laughed then. He fucking wishes .)

Tim unfolds the note and reads;

“I have a lot of leftover curry I made last night. Would you like to come over for dinner after work? - J.”

This has become A Thing, too. Sharing meals after work and sometimes on the weekends. It alternates where they go, but especially lately, they have preferred to go to either Tim’s house or Jon’s apartment instead of a restaurant. For one, going out to eat on a regular basis is expensive, but also, cooking together or eating the leftovers from a late night cooking binge is a lot more comfortable and homely.

Sharing a meal and oftentimes a couch with someone fills at least part of the void that Tim finds inside of himself. He is struggling still, but having another human being in his personal space, warm and alive and happy to be there, means the world to him. He’s feeling something again, something that isn’t constant fear or everlasting sadness.

They watch movies sometimes - it’s not exactly easy to find something that both of them like . Their tastes in movies are widely different from each other, so instead, they opt to choose obscure sci-fi movies or anything they can pick apart and make fun of. No horror - they haven’t talked about it, but this is one of the few movie-related things they are in silent agreement over.

Truth be told, poking fun at bad movies together is much more entertaining than watching anything the normal way.

They are stuffing their faces with snacks and complain at the protagonists for making very unwise or straight up unrealistic decisions, even in-universe illogical ones. They pick apart plot-points and anything that doesn’t add up while they share space on the couch, either holding hands or leaning against one another.

“Oh, of course, give me a break!” Jon grouses as he shakes his hand that is currently holding a few crisps at the TV, annoyed to no end, it seems. In truth, he is enjoying this. He enjoys this an awful lot, and so does Tim.

He laughs out loud and pulls Jon a little closer to his side.

“Yes, you tell the creepy alien why it’s mere existence even in this fictional universe doesn’t make sense, Love!” He eggs him on, and only realizes the pet name has slipped out of his mouth by the time he notices the deep blush creeping on Jon’s face. Oh shit.

“Now don’t say anything to fuck this up, for once in you life, just shut up!” Tim thinks to himself, carefully trying to remain as calm as he can. They’ve been holding hands for ages and they keep cuddling up on the couch - this isn’t anything unexpected, for heaven’s sake. Hell, if Jon were anyone different, they might have ended up in bed already, but Tim is aware that this probably isn’t going to happen anytime soon - or at all, if he isn’t entirely mistaken, based on the hints and observations. First and foremost the slow and careful way in which their relationship to each other is changing and developing, but then again, he knows what the simple black ring on the middle finger on a person’s right hand usually means.

Tim doesn’t ask though - he figures that if Jon wants to talk about it, he will do so eventually and at his own pace.

So, Tim doesn’t push anything and carefully waits for a response. But there isn’t one, or at least nothing verbal. Instead of saying anything, neither to Tim or about the movie, Jon simply scoots a little bit closer to him, leaning against him and doesn’t let go of his hand. Tim takes this as a win and leans his head against the tuft of long black hair that tickles his cheek.

Both of them relax in an instant, and if they end up falling asleep on the couch, legs a tangled mess and with the TV still on, well, the next morning isn’t nearly as awkward as it might have been once upon a time.

It takes Tim, way longer than it should to realize that, for the first time in a long while, he didn’t startle awake screaming that night. Company helps. It helps a lot. Just knowing that there is someone else, that he isn’t alone and doesn’t have to wake up to an eerily empty house anymore helps.

Tim doesn’t fool himself into thinking that everything will magically resolve itself - he knows it won't, especially because his research about the circus isn’t going anywhere yet.

Sometimes, he feels guilty. Guilty for not spending every waking minute searching for hints, searching for answers to the things that have taken his brother and traumatized him for life. The calmer, logical part of his brain is aware that it doesn’t work like that - he needs a break sometimes, needs the time to himself and spend it with other people…. And goddammit, he deserves to be happy.

Danny would have kicked his arse if he could hear him think this, would have told him to get a grip and do something that makes him happy. Because this is what scares him sometimes - the happiness, the times where he doesn’t think of the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden or circuses and… Skin. Just the thought alone makes him shudder, but he can’t stop thinking about those memories sometimes.

“...Are you alright?”

Tim blinks, not having realized that he must have zoned out. He’s still on the couch, slowly waking up and with Jon tucked somewhere next to him. He doesn’t sound very awake yet, but there is concern in his voice as he fixes Tim with a very direct look.

“I- yes, just. Zoned out a bit there.” Tim shoots him his best bright smile, hoping he’ll be able to chase away the ghosts. At least for now. He sighs, and happily leans into the touch and hugs back when he can feel a pair of slim arms snaking around his waist. Jon doesn’t say anything, but he seems to pick up that something is bothering Tim. And much like him in emotional situations, Jon doesn’t know what to say. So he remains close and thankfully, this is exactly what Tim needs right now. Just being close to someone he cares a whole lot about, feeling their heartbeat near his own. Being held for a bit. He squeezes Jon in silent gratitude for being there, and hopes he can get across what he can’t say.

It is Saturday and they have a whole weekend in front of them. After they peel themselves off of the couch, they stumble off to the bathroom after one another and then to the kitchen in an attempt to fuel themselves with tea and breakfast. It’s painfully, beautifully domestic.

While he is keeping an eye on several pans on the propane stove, Tim is chatting away about something - he isn’t exactly sure himself, except it is something pointless that distracts him from his earlier train of thought. Jon and him are laughing and joking while they drink tea and prepare breakfast together. But after a while it looks like Jon wants to say something, stops himself, and then more of the same all over again.

Eventually, Tim can’t watch him struggle over it anymore and straight out asks,

“Hey. What’s going on in that fuzzy head of your’s?”

It’s true - both of them still have a severe case of bed-heads, and Jon huffs at the question and tries to smooth down a few of the stubborn flyaways around his face. Only very mildly successful.

“I… Was going to ask something.”

“Alright? Shoot.” Tim very, very carefully swallows the joke he was about to make in the end - if this is going where he hopes it might, he doesn’t want one god awful pun to be part of the memory of it. So he waits.

Jon seems to be bracing himself, and then he turns around to face Tim.

“I would like to kiss you. Is that okay?” he asks. A simple question, and yet - it means so much. Tim smiles at him, heart beating out of his chest as he steps closer to Jon.

“Yes, I’d love that.”

There are only mere inches separating them. Both Jon and Tim cross the last of the distance at once, hands searching for each other. Their fingers are interlacing tightly as soon as they touch, and just a split second later, their lips meet for the first time. There is no rush, nothing in this world that would get them to hurry anything up at this moment. Slowly, they kiss again and again, tasting faintly of the tea they had earlier, but even more so, it feels like comfort. Maybe even a little bit like home.

A quiet happiness settles deep into them, and something seems to click into place. They are happy, and there is nowhere they’d rather be than anywhere, as long as they can be together.

After a little while, their hands let go of each other, but only so they can pull one another closer. One of Tim’s hands is cupped around Jon’s cheek, thumb gently stroking over the soft stubble while his other arm remains wrapped around him, hand resting at the small of his back. Jon on the other hand, has to angle his head up a bit due to their height difference, but he doesn’t mind that at all. Both of his arms are wrapped around Tim’s torso, and if it was possible, he would like to remain like this forever.

Unfortunately for the two of them, life has other plans.

When the smell of something burning registers with the two of them, they regretfully break apart cursing and laughing as they quickly remove the pans from the heat.

“That was - good lord, why now of all times?” Breathlessly and more than a little high from happy brain chemicals, they try to get a grip on themselves and on the situation.

“Just like our luck, isn’t it?” Tim is joking, of course, but still. The timing couldn’t have been worse.

“This better not become a habit.” Jon glares at the charred eggs and smoking pans as if they personally insulted him. He’d been having a good time, but of course something had to happen. Oh well.

“We’ll just have to make up for it.” Tim winks at him, grinning widely. He doesn’t mean much by it, and he only realizes how that might have come across when Jon awkwardly clears his throat and says,

“The kissing? Yes, absolutely. Other things… Well, most other things, actually… Not so much. I erm, I should have said that before now, I suppose. But, I’m Asexual.” he chooses his words slowly and deliberately, like he is trying to say them exactly right.

Tim looks into his eyes, bright green and shining with happiness, but now, there is something else creeping into them. Self-doubt, insecurities - Tim isn’t sure, but he wants to do his best to make the doubts disappear - and apologize for his big mouth.

“That’s absolutely fine. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that - I wasn’t implying anything else, I promise.”

Slowly, Jon nods, visibly relaxed now. He asks,

“So… We’re good?”

“We are. More than good actually, if you ask me.” Tim finds himself smiling again, which is something he’s been doing so much more lately. Then he tucks away a strand of hair from Jon’s face and kisses him again, just as gentle as before. He is happy to find that he returns the kiss in an instant, pushing close until the two of them end up pressed up against the kitchen table. After they break apart again, they remain standing in an embrace.

“I like you, Jon. I like you a lot. I love being around you and with you, just for who you are. Yes, I enjoy sex, but I don’t need it. So if you don’t want to, that is okay and it doesn’t make a difference to me. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

He nearly says, “I love you” but that might be a little early - saying it too early has ruined his relationships in the past, and although what Jon and he have is something different, Tim doesn’t want to risk it.

But as it turns out, he said the right thing. Jon looks a lot more relaxed than before, and he keeps a loose hold around Tim’s hips.

“Thank you, Tim, that’s… Very reassuring actually. I’ve been with people who reacted quite a bit differently to this, so” Jon shrugs, but it is clear that this isn’t a happy memory.

“I appreciate you.” He adds, and Tim pulls him a little bit closer.

“I’m sorry. These people fucking suck.”

“That’s one way to put it, yes.” Jon smiles, and pulls Tim down for another, longer kiss. It feels just as intoxicating as before. Then he tells him,

“And, just for the record. I like you a lot, and spending time with you makes me very happy.

The giddy happiness stays with them - being freshly in love and being freshly together is exciting. It is a feeling Tim will never get tired of. The thing is, being together with Jon doesn’t change a whole lot - they are still on opposite desks from each other at work, they still spend their lunch breaks together and Tim actually manages to get Jon to leave the office at 5pm these days, instead of late at night like he did for the longest time. They still have dinner together most days and they often spend their weekends together. All of these are things they did before, but now, it still feels… Different.

Then of course, there are the casually affectionate touches throughout the day. They’d like to think that they’re being more discreet here, but then again, at least Tim has never been shy about throwing arms around people or bumping shoulders or anything like that. In fact, people would probably get concerned and suspicious if he stopped doing any of it.

The point is: they keep it down to normal levels at work, but they seem to be glued together whenever they’re off the clock. Whether they hold hands, hug, kiss, bump shoulders, hips, arms or hands, or sometimes simply nap stacked on top of each other, they are always touching in some way. Both of them soak up the contact like sponges, and they know without having even talked about it in detail that they spent quite a bit of time lonely and touch starved before… This. Their relationship.

Waking up with one another in the mornings is probably Tim’s favourite part of all. Holding onto each other with their legs tangled together, hands searching for warm skin to rest on and heads pillowed on each other's shoulder or chest. Sharing breaths of air - all of this feels wonderful and intimate in it’s own way, and he can’t get enough of it.

Waking up in the morning is a peaceful thing. But some nights, unfortunately, are not. Both of them have nightmares on a regular basis. They find that they generally sleep better when they are not alone, and having someone to hold close or bury into when the lingering horrors hit, helps significantly.

Some nights, it’s Jon who startles awake in the middle of the night, eyes wide and chest heaving as he frantically looks around himself until he realizes where he is, or until Tim wakes up and mumbles quiet reassurances into his hair as he holds him close until the tremors have calmed down.

If they’re lucky, they manage to fall back asleep after a while, but if not, they simply stay awake, cuddled up under soft blankets and they just talk. Their topics of conversation vary widely, ranging from silly, lighthearted distractions to things they did or experienced in their past, as well as heartfelt conversations that are about much more than just that.

Tim himself has his fair share of nightmares as well, ever since he lost Danny. And even though having Jon close by and being held at night helps to keep them at bay sometimes, there are still nights where he startles awake either screaming or crying or both.

The first time it happens, Tim wakes up terrified and tangled in the sheets. His shirt clings to the cold sweat that is running down his back and his breath comes out in irregular, shaky bursts.

A dimly lit circus arena, old and dusty with centuries of dirt. Tim can’t move. It’s like he is rooted to the spot, and yet, his legs won’t stop shaking. He is shivering from the cold - no surprise, since he ran out in nothing but his pyjamas earlier, and this place is surprisingly freezing for a hot August night. Tim can feel the cold, but more so than anything, he is absolutely terrified.

He wants to scream, to run, do anything but stand here - but it’s impossible. The crumpled form of his brother - or the Thing that pretends to be Danny - sits motionless and hunched over, no matter how much Tim tries to call out for him. Not a single word leaves his throat, even though his vocal cords hurt from the strain he’s been putting on them. But Danny doesn’t hear him - can’t hear him.

From out of the shadows, Tim can see… Something. It looks like a clown, but it’s wrong. Too long, too folded up to be human. It drags itself across the floor slowly and grotesquely, like a creature from a horror movie, up until it stops. Unlike a movie creature though, this is very much reality.

Breathing is hard, and Tim wants to force his body to move, but still, there is nothing he can do. Part of him wants to believe that this… Place, this Thing is influencing his ability to move somehow, but then again, he might just as well be paralyzed by fear.

The clown moves forward, right towards Danny. As it unfurls itself, it is clear that there are smears of blood all over its face, red and bold and dripping wet.

“Shall I?” it asks, with a voice that is playful in the worst possible way. Too happy, and way too sinister. Tim can’t even answer, still unable to talk or move or do anything, but he can feel the bile rise in his throat. He wants to grab Danny and run, but knows he can’t. He wants to scream, cry or throw up, anything but watch the scene unfolding in front of him.

None of this happens though.

Instead, Tim is forced to stand motionless and helpless, watching in agony and horror as the clown moves much more quickly than he could have anticipated. It’s not as much that he can actually see the movement, but Tim can feel it. He can feel the breeze of air on his face, and just a split second later, it has removed the entirety of Danny’s skin. His limp, bloody and bare form slumps forward, and it is only then that Tim actually starts screaming.

He is screaming his head off, loud, desperate and terrified. Tim is shaking like a leaf. Breathing is impossible, and it takes him way too long to realize that in order to breathe, he needs to calm down for just a second. It takes even longer for him to realize that he is at home, safely in bed and long out of this situation. But Danny… Danny is just as dead.

Between ragged, forced breaths, Tim is curling in on himself, unable to register that Jon has woken up and is talking to him in a low, concerned voice. He tries to get his partner to calm down at least a bit, afraid he’ll end up hyperventilating from panic.

Tim doesn’t register any of it. He can’t make out Jon’s gentle voice trying to bring him back, doesn’t register the light, careful touch on his arm in an attempt to soothe without scaring him further. Tim curls himself into a tight, shaking ball without noticing any of it.

After the first initial panic, there is a brief moment of silence, but after that, he breaks. Ragged breath turns into uncontrollable, hiccuping sobs and it is only then that Tim realizes the familiar pair of arms slipping around him in a protective embrace. He uncurls just enough to be able to hug back and let Jon slip closer to him, which he does as soon as humanly possible. Tim clings onto him for dear life as Jon curls himself around him in what must be an uncomfortable or at least awkward position, but this is the last thing on his mind. All Jon cares about right now is making sure that Tim is okay, or at least, as okay as he can be.

Their bodies are pressed flush together, tightly enough for them to feel each other's rapidly beating hearts hammering out of their chests. Tim tries to focus on that, tries to focus on the carefully even rhythm of breath that Jon attempts to get him to follow.

His presence is constant, warm and comforting. Tim can feel his weight on top of himself, the hold of his arms around him. Strands of hair and warm breath on his neck are a familiar sensation as well, something he’s been getting used to lately. Even more so, it is something that Tim loves and associates with home by now. And while the fear and pain caused by his nightmare are still very much lingering, he is able to relax in order to calm down eventually. Slowly but surely, a little bit over the course of - he doesn’t even know how long.

Time has lost all meaning at this point. It might take him minutes or hours to breathe normally again, and at some point, Tim realizes that the steady stream of talking, besides the quiet attempts to comfort and assure him, are actually bits and pieces of random information. Anything to keep talking and keep up a steady presence, Tim supposes, but he is eternally grateful for it. He shifts a bit, arms still wrapped tightly around Jon, although he’s stopped clinging as much by now. He stretches out a little bit without letting go of their embrace - everything hurts from holding himself so tense for so long. Then Tim pulls the both of them onto their side so they can cuddle properly.

Gentle hands keep running through his messy mop of purple hair, blunt nails scratching against his scalp. Tim leans into it, soaking up the touch like a sponge. He’s stopped shaking now, he notices, and he registers a lot more sensations than he did before.

Little sounds around the house, wind outside, the occasional car. Most of all, he registers all the different little touches from Jon, and the way he keeps talking to him even now.

After a while, he leans in to kiss Tim’s forehead, thumbs wiping away a few stray tears. It seems like the worst of the storm is over by now, but Jon stays close. He’s never seen Tim in such a state, and it worries him to no end. At least it looks like he isn’t in severe panic anymore.

“Do you want to talk?” Jon asks quietly, but all Tim can manage is shake his head. It's not like he could talk right now if he tried. He doesn't trust his voice, knowing it will break, which is probably going to set him off again and he's not ready to face that.

Maybe, a part of him wants to talk about what happened. Sure, it is going to hurt regardless, whenever he decides he is ready for it, but there is no doubt that it will help to get it off of his chest. But Tim doesn’t know how he is supposed to talk about the horrors he's witnessed. Where would he even start? How does he explain all of it without sounding - well.

“That’s alright.” Jon tightens his hold around Tim as he shifts a little bit, without letting go, so he can rest his head on top of Tim’s. There is a quiet, almost suffocating sadness radiating off of him, and even though he doesn’t know what happened that got him into this state, Jon offers him all the support he can, in any way he knows how. Physical touch seems to help a lot, thankfully. That, he can do forever.

“I’m here for you. Whatever it is you need, I’m here.”

The sun is starting to rise on the horizon, but Tim and Jon remain in bed, wrapped up around each other just like before. Birds are starting to sing outside, even before the first rays of the morning sun tint the room into a low light.

“I love you. I’m here for you, and I love you.”

Notes:

#Archival Pride 2021 #Banashee writes #tma fanfic #JonTim #the magnus archives #tw trauma #tw death #tw blood and violence #mind the tags and CWs please

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suttttton · 3 years

Text

Elias Bouchard vs. Destiny

Febuwhump, Day 4 (alternate): Identity Reveal

***

Working at the Magnus Institute is… surprisingly normal.

At best, Elias expects to see his own terror reflected in his coworkers’ eyes. At worst, he fears they will all be like Wright, their eyes cold and monstrous and hungry. He expects to be brought into a world of darkness, to face true monsters that ordinary people never imagined existed.

Were you drawn here? Against your will?—

Instead, his job is just… paperwork. Spooky paperwork, sure, but still paperwork. He talks to a lot of people on the phone, most of whom admit that the statement they gave was just a prank or a dare or whatever. Even the people who genuinely believe their experiences were real seem… more than a little unhinged.

“It saw me through the pages, it’s coming”—

He avoids James Wright, of course. It isn’t difficult. Wright spends most of his time in his office on the third floor, only occasionally coming down to visit Research. When that happens, it’s easy enough for Elias to excuse himself for a smoke break, avoiding Wright’s eyes the entire way. Elias doesn’t understand why his coworkers don’t do the same, although he imagines it would get very crowded in the alley behind the Institute if all of Research tried to take a smoke break at once.

The first time he sees his line manager return from a meeting with Wright, Elias watches her very closely, looking for… unease. Fear. Anything to reflect the way he feels whenever he so much as catches a glimpse of Wright in the halls.

She notices him looking, and smiles at him. No sign of distress in her whatsoever.

Elias returns to his work, but the moment sticks with him. She’d just spent thirty minutes having a meeting with a monster, and she isn’t the slightest bit disturbed.

Have you ever had an experience that you would consider supernatural?—

They don’t know.

All of these people who work here, who interact with Wright every day, and none of them know. Elias is the only one who sees it. Elias is… different.

Elias doesn’t get much work done, that day.

***

Two months later, Elias’s line manager informs him that he has a performance review scheduled with Mr. Wright.

His mouth is dry. “But—I thought you did my performance reviews.” He tries for a smile, but it’s weak.

“Mr. Wright likes to do an in-person review with everyone at the end of every quarter,” she says. She notices the look on his face, and softens slightly. “It’s no big deal. They usually only take five minutes or so. He just goes over the reviews I submitted, and asks if there’s anything he can do to improve your experience here.” She rolls her eyes. “Standard management stuff.”

“Okay,” Elias says, his voice faint. He has to go into that office again? Sit across from the thing that looks out from behind James Wright’s eyes, and just—what? Pretend he isn’t terrified?

Allan’s lifeless body—

What did they do with his eyes?—

“He won’t fire you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” his line manager says. Her voice is gentle, very different from the thinly-veiled annoyance she usually addresses him with. “Wright hasn’t fired anyone the whole time I’ve been here, and your reviews are fine. You’ll be okay.”

“Right,” Elias manages.

The day of the review, Elias seriously considers going to work high.

He decides against it. Wright would know, and then he’d smile and ask Elias some question that he isn’t prepared for, that no one would be prepared for.

What are you afraid of? A very sensible fear—

Elias wonders what would happen if he just—skipped the review. It would be rescheduled, probably. He could skip it again, obviously, but he isn’t sure Wright would tolerate a farce like that for very long.

So, at 2:00pm, he climbs the stairs to Wright’s office. By now, his terror has faded to a blank numbness, an acceptance that he can’t stop whatever is about to happen. He almost feels like laughing.

“Do you enjoy your work here?” Wright asks, after he’s seated and the little introductions are complete.

“Yes,” Elias says, and it isn’t even a lie. He does enjoy the work. He enjoys the variety involved in followup, enjoys chatting with total strangers on the phone. He gets along with his coworkers, and even his line manager is more tolerable than other bosses he’s had. He’d be planning his career here, if not for James Wright’s unfortunate presence. As it is, he’s just trying to survive each day.

“Is there anything about working here that you… hate?”

Elias is not going to tell James Wright that he hates him. He’s not. That’s clearly what Wright wants, leering at him as he is, but Elias refuses to engage with these games.

“Uh—The commute,” Elias says. “It’s a bit far from my flat, and taking the tube every day isn’t exactly the height of luxury.”

“Yes, I’d imagine it would be difficult for you, dealing with the unwashed masses every day.” Wright is still smiling in that cold, slightly-bored way of his. Like what he’s just said is a normal sentence, and not—

“So many gifts, and you’ve squandered them all”—

“What?” Elias’s voice is soft now.

“Do you miss the luxury?” Wright asks, his smile curling up into something more vicious, and Elias—

“Enough! Your friend died in a tragic murder, and it’s well past time you accepted that!”—

No, no, Allan knew what was going to happen, he told me—

“You had a bad drug trip. That’s all.”—

It wasn’t—I didn’t imagine this, there was a book and—

Elias gasps, suddenly back in the present. Wright’s expression is exactly the same. Elias is trembling. This shouldn’t—Wright shouldn’t be able to—What do these questions have to do with his performance?

“Are we done here?” Elias manages, his voice soft to hide its shaking.

“Not quite,” Wright says brightly. “There’s still the matter of your past reviews.” Elias’ review forms are stacked on Wright’s desk, and Wright picks them up, flicking through them. “In general, Lydia’s feedback is very positive, but there are a few concerning things here. You chronically miss deadlines, and on a few of your cases you’ve neglected to follow very promising leads.”

“I’ll try to do better.” Elias’ voice is flat, toneless. The numbness is returning.

“See that you do,” Wright says. “I hope to see improvement by next quarter.”

Elias nods.

What are they doing to his eyes?—

Wright dismisses him, and he makes his way back downstairs. He should return to his desk, return to his caseload that he’s been largely ignoring in favor of panicking about his review.

But he—can’t.

He goes to the alley instead, lights a cigarette with trembling hands. His shaky legs won’t hold him, even when he leans against the wall, so he ends up sitting on the ground.

The first sob forces its way up his throat, and then—he’s crying.

Sobbing on the filthy ground in the alley behind his less-than-respectable workplace. Pathetic. What would Father say?

Probably, “Elias, I’ll be happy to talk to you once you get help for your drug addiction.” Christ.

While he cries, Elias tries to think of what to do. He could quit, he supposes. But he really does need this job. His bank account had been full when his parents first cut him off, and there were provisions in the trust to provide for his needs when he was still in school. Now, though, his money really is running concerningly low. He needs the paycheck.

His tears are just starting to slow when the door opens. Elias starts, turns his face away, trying to hide the fact that he’s crying while hiding from his job.

“Oh—sorry,” she says. Elias recognizes the voice, they work together in Research. He can’t quite remember her name—Megan, maybe? “I can go, if you want some privacy.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he says, and his voice wobbles. If she didn’t already know he’d been crying, she definitely does now.

She sits down on the step just outside the door. “Um—are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine.”

“Right. Yeah, I also like to come out here and cry when I’m feeling fine,” she says, her voice light with humor.

Elias smiles slightly, and wipes some of the wetness from his face. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“I’m all ears,” she says. “Unless you really don’t want to talk about it, in which case, keep your secrets.”

Elias doesn’t respond to that. Doesn’t know how to reply, really. It would be nice, to talk to someone about it, but—It seems cruel, to force someone else into this mess. If she even believed him.

“I just—” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, this is going to sound really weird, but… We look after each other, in Research. A lot of the people who work here don’t really have support networks in our personal lives—ghost stories attract lonely people, I guess—so we try to support each other. So… if you need someone to talk to about this, you can talk to me.

Elias takes a breath. Might as well try. “Have you—noticed anything… off, about Wright?”

“Oh, you mean his whole mind-reading thing? Sure,” she says. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t take a moment to consider.

“I—yes,” Elias says, a little unbalanced. She knew? “The way he—drags up all your worst memories.”

“Oh yeah, he’s like that,” she says, wincing. “Did you just have your first performance review? Those can be kind of intense.”

He nods, uncertainly. She’s talking about this as if it’s completely normal.

“You’ll get used to it eventually,” she says. “In research, we like to make jokes about it. She wiggles her fingers at him. “'Ooh, I know everything about you,’” she says mockingly, pitching her voice down.

Elias doesn’t laugh. Just stares. “Aren’t you afraid of him?”

She laughs, really laughs, like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “What’s he gonna do, fire me? No. Why would I be afraid of him?” Then she sobers. “Are you afraid of him?”

Something sinks in Elias’s chest. He’d assumed that they didn’t know, that Elias was unique in being able to see Wright’s monstrous nature.

Turns out he’s just unique in being frightened by it.

He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Just—had a bad performance review.”

She nods in commiseration, and he excuses himself not long after. Returns to his desk, his heart loud in his ears. He looks around at his co-workers, all of them so happy, so careless. Why aren’t they afraid?

Why did you heed the call?—

He doesn’t know.

He can’t trust them.

***

He asks to be transferred to Artifact Storage, and his request is accepted, albeit with some strange looks. No one requests to go to Artifact Storage.

For him, it’s infinitely preferable to Research. The monsters in Artifact Storage are acknowledged, for one. Feared, treated with caution. Not allowed to run a so-called research institute. Not joked about. For two, the turnover rate is so high that he won’t have to deal with pretend camaraderie. He knows, now, that he can’t trust any of these people. He’s on his own.

For four years, he does his work, cataloging dangerous artifacts, sending the more junior assistants to do the more dangerous tasks. He doesn’t try to be good at his job, he doesn’t want to be good at his job, but after years of working in Artifact Storage, he is by far the most senior member of the staff. He starts to pick up a few tricks. He becomes knowledgeable. People respect him.

His line manager says he’s looking to transfer to the Library, and asks if Elias would like to be recommended for the promotion. Does he want to be Head of Artifact Storage?

He should say no, but some part of him that never quite managed to kill its ambition answers for him. “I’d be honored,” he says.

***

Meetings with Wright never get easier. In four years, he manages to drag up everything Elias would rather keep hidden, everything he doesn’t want to think about. Allan is a popular subject, as are his parents. And there’s always—

He cannot move. He cannot scream. What are they doing to his eyes?—

Elias doesn’t get used to it, and when Wright schedules a meeting with him to discuss his forthcoming promotion, Elias dreads it just as much as that very first performance review.

“I am very impressed with your progress,” Wright says, steepling his fingers over his desk.

“Thank you,” Elias says.

“Nearly five years in Artifact Storage,” Wright says. “I wouldn’t have guessed it, but perhaps I should have. You’re not a brave man by any means, but what does that matter, when you’re running from the most frightening thing you can imagine?”

What are they doing to his eyes?—

Elias swallows. There’s something heavy in the air. He always feels watched, in the Institute, in Wright’s office, but this is—different, somehow. Closer.

“If you were more curious, you actually might have guessed it. If you’d looked into the history of the Institute, investigated the men who preceded me in this position. You might have noticed certain similarities. You’re smart enough to have put the pieces together, but alas.”

—squandered—

“You never were the curious sort, were you? You were more interested in self-preservation than answers. Keeping your distance from anyone who might drag you away from your… destiny.”

Wright stands, and Elias flinches. “I-I don’t—” This is wrong. Something is wrong.

This is the place I know I should be—

But—

“What did you imagine was calling you here?” Wright says, and now he’s close, too close, towering over him. Elias wants to stand, want to retreat, but he doesn’t—He can’t move—

Wright places his hands on the two arms of Jonah’s chair, trapping him. Elias shrinks back, as far as he can get. “Did you think it was something noble, that you were destined to be a hero of light, to put an end to the sickness of this place? You would drive a knife into my eyes, killing the monster and setting everyone free?”

He doesn’t know what he thought. He thought he was destined for something better, to be something more than other people.

“You will be,” Wright says, leaning over him, too close. “Have you figured it out yet?”

He shakes his head wordlessly, a sob gasping from his throat.

Wright smiles. “James Wright didn’t either.”

***

When the thing that now controls his body takes over the Magnus Institute, they all think, nepotism at its finest.

Elias understands why he’s here, now. Understands the thing that called him here. Understands the many paths he could have taken, to reach a different end. Too late.

Elias’ eyes are carved out of his still-breathing body, and the Eye feasts on latent terror, cultivated so perfectly, for so long.

Elias is replaced, and no one misses him. He himself ensured that no one who worked with him knew anything about him. And everyone else is dead already.

James Wright is discarded. Elias Bouchard is taken.

Jonah Magnus lives on.

#tma #tma fic #tma spoilers #mag 193 #hey i wrote an episode fic! exciting!#febuwhump #febuwhumpday4 #scopophobia cw #manipulation cw #parents cw #my fic #fun fact! i had to write the first ~1500 words of this TWICE because my computer crashed and lost everything

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