#everyone hes worked with and streamed with has said how genuinely kind and sincere and compassionate he is

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin��� is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

[angrylizardjacket]

fit by my side {Machine Gun Kelly}

@bitchylittleredhead said: Okay I hear your MGK x pastel!reader and I raise you MGK x Mother Nature!reader. Hella plants, strong love for animals, heckin soft, v kind, mom friend, sunshine child. (I just really really love soft paired with him, it’s so damn cute) also I love you I hope you are well 🧡 

Also This Concept

A/N: 3177 words. Gender Neutral Reader (they/them) ! im worried kells is OOC. also there’s no smut but it does get M rated, but there’s no genitals specified. gets quite sappy at times. also @url-under-construction i hope u like it and i hope its good.

----

When you meet Colson, he’s famous, but he’s not, you know, famous famous. You meet on the set of The Dirt; he’s one of the stars, you’re a production assistant and stand-in when they need it, and you don’t think for a second that he’ll even remember your name when this is all over. 

But he does; in rehearsals, you’re the one reading the lines for the characters they haven’t cast yet, and the first time the four main cast members see you, in your floaty, floral top, and your gentle aura, and then to hear you say, with absolute sincerity, ‘your mom’s a cunt’, it has them bursting out laughing. You smile, sweet and kind, and you step gently through the blocking that has the character you’re currently standing in for, stabbing Tommy - Colson - with a pen. 

Maybe the juxtaposition of you taking part in this whole production is what intrigues him.

When filming starts, you’re still around, and something about seeing you, amid this performance of debauchery, and yet you’re still sincere and gentle, your choice of attire making you stick out like a sore thumb amid the leather and grime. At first, he tries to play it off, that you look somewhat out of place and it’s eye-catching, but you bring the cast food and water and whatever they need, you go on coffee runs, and take a genuine interest in each of them, and by the time he realises that his mood lifts every time he walks on set and sees you there, he knows he can’t play it off as you catching his eye for completely platonic reasons.

He asks you out the week after Casie leaves from visiting set, having seen you interact with her, entertain her while Colson was in hair, treating her with just as much kindness and respect as you did everyone else on the production. It convinces him that your intentions are true, and he knows that he can’t finish this production without shooting his shot.

By the time the wrap party comes around, you’re calling him your boyfriend, at first tentative, looking to him for confirmation, but then you see the way he beams at how the words sound when you say them, and you grow more confident each time you say it.

It’s met with... confusion.

Really? 

It seems no-one saw that coming - if anyone, I would have expected Douglas - you hear, and frown. 

“What does that mean?” You ask; a frown is rare to see on your face, but you’re wearing it anyhow, and the woman your speaking to splutters her way around a sentence as she’s trying to backpeddle.

“I just- I mean, well, Kells - Colson - he’s so... Doulgas just seems more... refined? Not that Colson not, you know- you’re just -”

“I’m just what?” You ask, not accusing, more curious than anything else, and the woman’s voice dies in her throat as she looks you over; pale blue jeans and a pastel, patterned button-down that would have looked right at home in the eighties. 

“I’m just concerned for you,” she eventually says, laying her hand on yours like she’s trying to do you a favour, “Colson’s intense, I’m just worried you’ll get hurt.” You see what she’s trying to say, but her tone is so painfully condescending. 

“I’m an adult,” you tell her, tone understanding but firm, “and I appreciate your concern, but I promise I can take care of myself.”

The moment you can get out of the conversation, you find Colson, talking animatedly to one of the makeup artists, and you slot yourself into the space by his side. Automatically, without even stopping the conversation, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you close, and you gratefully take the moment to press your face against him, wrapping your arms around him without saying a word. It’s both strangely intimate and familiar, his thumb rubbing small circles against your side.

As he stops talking, there’s a lull, and you don’t have to look up to know the makeup artist is giving you both a strange look.

“Ignore me,” your voice is muffled against him, using one hand as if to waive off any last bits of hesitation. 

“They’re fine,” Colson assured, tapping you on the hip. He’s still oozing casual confidence

You’ve been together for almost half of filming, which isn’t exactly a short amount of time, but usually you try and keep things professional on set, so it’s nice to be able to be close to him in public. 

The rest of the cast know, of course, you’ve been out with them on several occasions, and they all have come to adore you just as much as you adore them. Something about hearing Daniel drunkenly assure you that if Colson ever hurts you, that there’d be a line of people ready to slap some sense into him. You try to brush him off, endeared by his drunken affection, but he turns suddenly to the rest of the cast.

“Hey, hey, hey - who’d throw down for Y/N?” He asks; without hesitation, Douglas, Iwan, and Colson raise their hands, eyes wide and alert, as if the offer needed to be acted upon immediately. The show of support has your heart swelling in your chest.

You find yourself fitting into his life back in LA easily; while beginning work as an assistant on a Netflix original series, you call into his house in the Hollywood Hills, delighted to be privy to demos and snippets from his next album. 

And you meet his friends, shake their hands and smile and chatter with them. They’re not sure what to make of you at first, no-one really is when you present yourself in conjunction with Colson, but soon they start to see what he sees in you. It’s endearingly genuine and thoughtful and honest and enthusiastic and -

“They’re like sunshine,” it’s Rook’s Instagram live, almost six months into your relationship with Colson, that really cements it to the public. Rook is smoking in Colson’s living room in the middle of the afternoon between recording sessions, and someone asked what your deal was. 

“I’m so sick of - and I know Kells is, and Y/N too, not that they’d ever say anything. ‘ve never heard them say a bad word ‘bout anyone, you know,” Rook hits the blunt again, his face scrunching up, “but everyone ‘round here’s so fuckin’ sick of people talkin’ shit ‘bout ‘em. For real, Y/N is sunshine, nicer than all of you motherfuckers put together,” and he laughs, but it’s clear he isn’t entirely joking, “- you know what?” He asked, eyes lighting up and standing abruptly, grabbing the phone.

“Baze, man, you seen Y/N?” He calls, and Baze responds from somewhere off-camera that you’re outside. The comments are going off, but he pays them no mind, heading out to the backyard, only to see you by the back fence, peering over into the trees, on your tip toes, one hand straining over the fence, in shorts and a singlet in sunshine yellow.

Rook calls your name.

You shush him loudly, and then, without looking at him, slowly wave him over.

As he approaches, he can hear the telltale sound of a bird chirping, and as soon as he gets close, he hears you whisper -

“I think they’re bluebirds,” you murmur, and finally look back at him, lowering yourself, surprised to see his phone held aloft. He tells you he’s live streaming, you wave awkwardly, which is when he sees the slice of banana you’re holding, “I’m not sure what they eat; do bluebirds eat banana?” You ask, a little helpless, looking at Rook, and then to his phone. 

After a moment, you step aside, and gesture for Rook to take a look over the fence, and sure enough there’s a nest with a single, rather sad looking bluebird with it’s wing bent at a strange angle, calling out pathetically, obscuring a few eggs, just out of arm’s reach. While he’s looking over the fence, also trying to reach them, and also trying to get the phone close enough to see if anyone watching the livestream could identify the bird or offer any suggestion, he hears your footsteps retreating.

“Stay there, I’m going to get Kells,” you call out to him, voice bright, “he’s got long arms!” And Rook bursts out laughing; you weren’t wrong. 

While waiting, he sits against the fence and answers a few more questions, until he looks up and sees you, expression concerned, and Colson uncharacteristically fond as he lets you lead him by the hand.

You show him the nest and ask for him to get it, worried the bird was hurt, and he obligingly reaches over the back fence to gently collect the bird nest, trying his best not to jostle the bird. The bird’s wing appeared to be broken, and Rook ends the live when you mention that you’re going to take the bird to the vet.

Already, the fandom is exploding from what had transpired. 

People are making suggestions as to what the birds should be named, people are claiming your caring and sweet personality is completely fake, people in the live managed to screenshot Colson’s expression as you’d lead him to the birds, how smitten he was with his hand in yours, and have started posting ‘get u a man who looks at u like kells looks at y/n’ all over twitter and tumblr.

“Bird update!” Several hours later, Colson posts a series of videos to his instagram story, “for those of y’all who don’t know, Y/N found a bird with a broken wing in a tree out the back of my place, we rescued it and it’s eggs, and took it to the vet,” and with that he flips the camera around, from a close up on his face, to show a large, cardboard box in the corner of the room. 

Peep Davidson was written in large, black letters on the side of the box.

The rest of the videos are outlining what the vet had told you all, and that the bird should only take about seven days to heal before you could put them all back into the wilderness. 

At that, he pauses.

“You worried about putting the birds back when you saw that cat the other day?” And he angles the camera to reveal you, laying with your head in his lap.

“The orange one?” You ask, voice heavy, as if he’d disturbed you when you’d been right about to fall asleep. You yawn, and he confirms, you give a little, lazy shrug and smile, “not sure where that cat is.”

“Fuckin’ hell, babe,” Colson laughs, “you gotta stop finding random animals in my backyard.”

“They find me,” you counter, and shift so you can press your face against his belly, humming contentedly as his free hand begins stroking your back. 

“Snow White-Cinderella-Pied Piper motherfucker,” how that is somehow the softest, most gentle words to ever leave his lips, is utterly baffling, but there’s so much love and adoration but you turn enough for the camera to catch your delighted little smile, “you’re-” he starts, “who’s that dude from that, that My Hero shit we were watching the other night?”

“Koji Koda, you weeb,” you tease him fondly, knowing exactly who he’s referring to, and that’s where the video ends.

That’s the day it’s confirmed for the rest of the world. There’s countless paparazzi photos, and hints, and speculation, but this is the first time he’d called you anything but your name, and they’d all seen you snuggling up to him, your head in his lap.

This also is the day the trend begins on his Instagram story of a photo of you, usually in his backyard, with whatever animal had decided to befriend you that day.

My partner. My backyard. No fucking idea who’s animal that is.

And he still goes out and gets fucked up, and sometimes you’re there, and sometimes you’re not. When you’re out together, it still doesn’t quite make sense; he’s hard partying and over the top, and it seems like it wouldn’t be your scene at all.

But then there’s photos of Colson and a few of his friends standing on the edge of a roof, announcing that they’re Kings, and you’re by his side, smiling and waving at the person taking the photograph. He manages to get himself injured pulling a stunt at a friend’s house party, but you’re in the back of some influencer’s vlog, straddling his lap with tissues in your hand, him holding you secure as you clean up the scrape on his forehead; it’s kind of sickening how in love he looks, as he watches the way you concentrate. When you notice his expression, your own softens, and you lean in to give him a kiss. 

And so you start to make sense, but people still ask why.

So when asked, you tell people that you support each other, and challenge each other, and yeah, that’s absolutely why you’re together, but it’s not the whole reason as to why you make sense.

Because no-one sees the way you hook your finger into his belt loop at the back of his pants at the house party, and you press a kiss between his shoulder blades, and he knows exactly what that means. He’s quick to make some flimsy excuse to leave as you step into place by his side, which everyone he’s speaking to immediately sees through. You play at being flustered, tucking your embarrassed expression against him as he slings his arm around your shoulders, and calls an Uber.

The drive back to his place has you both on edge with anticipation, his hands all over you in the back of the car while you try to hold a civil conversation with the driver. It’s killing you not to give in, but you know it’s worth it. 

“You’re such an idiot!” You announced, grinning from ear to ear the moment you get into the house, before the door’s even closed, and he slams it shut to press you against it. Kissing him feels like a cathartic release, but after a moment you shove him back, loudly admonishing him for taking part of a stunt that got him hurt.

“You could have been seriously hurt!” You keep poking him in the chest to punctuate your words, and he steps back each time, expression alight, pupils blown wide. He keeps reaching out, as if to touch you, to snag your clothes, like it’s a game when you smack his hand back every time. 

“Got a gnarly cut though,” he pointed out, as his ass hits the kitchen island. His legs open, making space for you, and you step into it.

“Gnarly cut,” you murmur, tone surprisingly derisive, and you reach up to push his hair back from his forehead. His head tips back, leaning into your touch, the look on his face almost dreamy even as you’ve got a hand on his hips, pushing him back on the counter. 

Then you’re in his lap on the counter, hand fisted in his hair, lips on his neck, leaving bruises and bite marks. He’s trying to get you naked, efficient and desperate, but the moment he gets your shirt off, you push the fruit bowl behind him onto the floor, and push him back against the granite countertop. 

“You were worried about me,” he smirks up at you, admiring you with your hands planted either side of his head. 

“Because you don’t worry about your damn self!”

“Ooh, breaking out damn tonight? Must be serious,” he teased, deliberately riling you up; he loved this side of you just as much as the sweetness. Instead of responding, you reach up under his shirt and rake your nails harshly down his chest and stomach, delighting in the way he arched up at the sudden sensation, eyes falling closed. 

With one hand still flat against his belly, the other comes up to cup his jaw, gentle at first, before your fingers move to caress his throat, and you press yourself against him. 

“If you get yourself killed, I’ll kick your ass,” you whisper, lips inches from his as you press firmer against his throat. He grins, and sighs, the sound content and syrupy and so fucking into it, leaning up, to meet your lips with his, to feel the pressure on his neck just a little more.

And you bite, and you scratch, and you ride him on the kitchen island. The location is new, but the situation isn’t; once he’d discovered the righteous, sexual fury you’d been bottling up, he’d been more than happy to let you unleash it on him. Not to say that he didn’t give as good as he got; there’s been several times he’s had you swearing a blue streak, seeing stars, desperate and blissed out in equal measure.

But then there’s your dominant moments, the mean streak, and the teasing, the sting of your nails and your teeth and the way you push him around, into the mattress, against the wall without hesitation, and that he covets. No-one else is allowed to see you like that. To be tied up or blindfolded or or punished or pushed around, at your mercy, it’s as close to Heaven as he’s ever felt on Earth, because he knows without a shadow of a doubt that your heart is kind, that you’d never really hurt him in a way he wouldn’t like.

You make him feel safe.

And it’s not just the sex, you’re never dismissive of ideas or suggestions, seemingly always ready to help if he ever needs it, rather than judgmental. It makes him want to be there for you too. 

He wants to be better for you.

Which is kind of terrifying to consider.

“I love you,” he tells you in the shower, in the afterglow, soft, pausing where he had been washing your back where you couldn’t reach. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but he felt like he needed you to hear them.

“Love you too,” you say around a yawn, though the words are as genuine as they’d always been coming from you, and you lean back against him, leaning your head against his cheek in a moment of quiet intimacy. You try to kiss him like this, but turns your face directly into the shower, and end up spluttering and breaking the moment.

Colson chuckles softly, stepping back and pulling you with him, out of the stream of water and into his arms so he could kiss you properly. You’re still giggling as you’re wiping the water from your eyes, looking at him with fond adoration. When you settle your arms around him, you quiet down and bask in the moment, his forehead coming to rest against yours, warm and safe in his embrace, sensing that, in that moment, he felt the exact same way.

[the-bau-quinjet]

You can’t be gone, no

Chapter 13 of In Breakable Heaven! I would like to apologize for how long this took! I was really buys with work this week, but I’ve got the next chapter almost done already so it shouldn’t take too long. 

Summary: A bit of aftermath of the show, plus the show from Spencer’s perspective.

Word Count: ~1900

 Spencer’s POV

“Hey Spence. I miss you, but you already know that. I’m doing a sort of mini show at 7 tonight. It would mean the world to me if you came… Look, I get it. You don’t want to be with me anymore, but I don’t want you to disappear from my life completely. Not when I need you now more than ever… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not trying to guilt you into coming, I just really want you to be there. For the moral support. The rest of the team is coming, so you won’t be alone. That’s it I guess. Bye.”

 He listened to the voicemail on repeat as he made his way to the venue where you were playing your mini show. He had no idea what to expect, but the idea of not supporting you hurt too much to stay home.

 After parking and walking inside, he managed to find the rest of the team. Turning to Morgan, he began to ask “hey, do you-” He was cut off by the sound of his phone ringing. Turning to look at it, he recognized the number as his Mom’s doctors. “Oh, it’s my mom’s doctors. I have to take this.” He retreated back outside the venue, answering the call on the way.

 It was really a simple call, only took a few minutes, but you had already started when he walked back in. Not wanting to disrupt anything, he took a seat near the back of the venue, shooting Morgan a text that he probably wouldn’t need to go to Vegas.

 “…how I was feeling about a month ago. Before everything happened. It was the happiest I have ever been. I had a great group of friends, a job I loved, a hobby that helped me bring some of that joy to you guys, and… a perfect boyfriend. Most of that is still true and for that I am incredibly grateful. Without further ado, here we go!”

 His heart hurt to know that he was the part that wasn’t true anymore. He immediately recognized the song as it began to play. He memorized all of Taylor Swift’s songs in the months he’s spent with you in your apartment listening to the range of playlists. It’s honestly a good thing he got that call because he started tearing up almost instantly realizing how happy you were when the two of you were together.

 I want to drive away with you. I want your complications too. I want your dreary Mondays, wrap your arms around me Pr-aby boy.

 His breath caught in his throat when he heard the slip up. You used to change the lyrics to all of Taylor’s songs to be about him. “Wrap your arms around me pretty boy” is exactly what you used to sing to him. The range of emotion he was feeling surprised him. He expected this to be painful, but not this much.

  “Thank you! Thank you! This next song is kind of a complete about face. 180 degrees if you will. Actually” you pause to think, “it’s more like 540 degrees.” He watches as you take in the confused glances from the audience, searching the crowd for someone. “I feel like I went through every emotion possible, returned to where I started, and then was forcefully turned in the opposite direction.”

  “Clearly, you can tell why I was so happy a month ago. Paper Rings is kind of obvious in that sense. But, 3 weeks, 4 days, 6 hours, and 27 minutes ago every possible ounce of that happiness disappeared.” He froze knowing that exact amount of time meant your happiness disappeared not when you were abducted and tortured, but after he left your apartment that night.

 “ For those of you who don’t know, I recently went through a fairly traumatic event. My good friends at the FBI saved my life. But after I left the hospital with a new found relief, I went home and my boyfriend, well I guess ex-boyfriend, came over.” He could see the tears forming in your eyes even from his place in the back of the crowd, and it only hurt him more.

“He didn’t tell me why, but he broke up with me that night. He said he didn’t want to do it while I was in the hospital, so he waited. I’ve had a lot of time to think it over, and I might know now why things changed. But even if I’m wrong, he left. And now, he won’t talk to me. Now I know what you’re thinking. This guy sounds like a complete asshat.” He couldn’t help thinking that was a massive understatement.

 “And maybe you’re kind of right. But he’s been through more than I could even explain, and I know that it is slowly killing him to know that I went through barely a tenth of what has happened to him. Especially because I know he blames himself. So, I have this next song. To try and explain how him leaving is worse than anything that happened in that building. ”

 Again, he immediately recognized the next song that began playing. Haunted, especially the acoustic version, was one of the few songs you saved for when you were so sad nothing else helped. He knew how much pain you must be in to even listen to this song, let alone sing it in front of the crowd.

 By the time you reached the bridge, he could already feel the tears streaming down his face.

 I know. I know. I just know, you’re not gone. You can’t be gone, no

 The way your voice sounded like it completely broke when you sang “no” made his heart wrench. He had his head in his hands. He felt completely useless. This kind of pain was the exact thing he was trying to prevent. He didn’t think you would still feel so strongly about him 3 and a half weeks later.

 “I know what you’re thinking. What the hell happened to you? Well, a lot. But that song, the first song, and the last song are all to the same person. The one person in the world who understands me more than anyone else. You should all know, however, the ‘he’ I was referring to when I sung ‘he will try to take away my pain’ is none other than my therapist. Thanks for the all the help Doc, I’m trying to do what you said. The last song I have for you is what I wish I had the chance to say that night 3 weeks, 4 days 6 hours, and 33 minutes ago. It’s something I need you to know.”

 He doesn’t know how, but he knows you are talking to him when you finish the last sentence. He lifts his head to look at you again as he once again recognizes the song. His favorite line in this particular song was always:

 You keep, his shirt. He keeps, his word.

 He knows exactly which promise you are referring to this time. And he knows that he didn’t keep it.

 You can see it with the lights out.

 Before the two of you even started dating, he promised you he would always be there.  No matter the time of day.

 You are in love, true love.

 No matter where he was in the country. No matter what he was doing, he would drop it to help you if you needed him.

 You're in love.

 And he failed. He left when you needed him most. And he had no idea how to fix it.

  “Thank you all so much for coming! We can only hope for and work towards a better future than the present we find ourselves in. Goodnight.”

 You’re right. He is in love. And apparently, so are you. All he knows in this moment is that he has to fix things. He has no idea how, but he has to at least try.

--

Y/N POV

It felt like hours, but it had only been about 15 minutes when you heard a knock on your door. You somehow managed to stop crying and wipe your face before answering the door. You were met with the concerned expressions of almost all of your friends. They rushed in to take turns hugging you with varying degrees of sadness and anger in their voices.

Morgan probably noticed you looking around them all when he said “Reid wanted to come, but something came up with his Mom.” After hearing that, you immediately shifted from your spot on the floor. All you felt now was concern for him. “Is she okay? What happened?” The genuine sincerity in your voice was no surprise to anyone. You have always put everyone else’s feelings above your own.

“He didn’t say what happened, but he said he probably wasn’t flying out so it will be fine.” Morgan responded. The room shifted into silence, not quite awkward, but not comforting either. JJ chose to break it “Why didn’t you tell us what happened? Or even that you were seeing anyone?”

You shifted your gaze to her face from its previous resting place on the floor, you sighed. “I don’t know really. At first, it was because it was like a game between us. We actually had a bet going about which one of you guys would figure it out first. I was actually planning to tell you all at Rossi’s last family dinner, but then with everything that happened it just…” You stopped to force yourself not to cry again. It was killing you that they didn’t know who you were talking about, although they were probably figuring it out as you continued to talk.

“Y/N” you had never heard your name spoken so softly by Morgan before, “what can we do to help? Do you want me to kill him? The team can probably hide his body.” He tried to joke. You managed a weak smile in response.

“No. The truth is I’d rather feel like this in a world with him than be happy in a world without him. I… I was supposed to meet him for dinner that night, but he had to cancel. That’s part of why he blames himself. Or at least I think so. I genuinely haven’t talked to him about it.” Admitting that truth was a lot easier than you expected. You rose from the ground to change the song, knowing exactly which song might help you. Before you could get to your phone though, there was a knock on the door. You signaled for Rossi to answer it since he was standing the closest.

You turned to see Spencer Reid walk into your dressing room. “Hi Y/N” he said in a sad greeting.

“Morgan said you had to talk to your Mom’s doctors, is she okay?” you responded, your concern for your friend’s mom returning.

“Oh, uh yeah she’s fine. They just wanted to switch her medicine again. Thanks for asking.” You nodded in response, not knowing what else to say.

“I think, um, I think I’m just gonna go home now.” You said, staring at the floor to avoid everyone’s sympathetic looks. “I just want to go to bed and hope for the best, ya know?” You began pushing your way through people, your bag on your shoulder.

Spencer grabbed your wrist as you passed him, giving you a pleading look. The tears began to fall again as you looked at him, gently pulling your arm away. You couldn’t do this here. Not in front of everyone. Not when you hadn’t even told them it was Spencer who left you near catatonic staring at your apartment door. You turned and ran to your car before they could stop you.

--

 tag list:

@mac99martin​ @goldeng1rl8​ @eevee0722​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ @haylaansmi​ @dinonuggets15 @laurakirsten0502​ @green-intervention​ @burnin-passion​ @takeyourleap-of-faith @secretpickleprofessordean​ @awkwardnesshabitat​ @loveheathens​ @fan-girl-97​ @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat​ @akuri-shinsou​ @prongsyy​ @panhoeofmanyfandoms​ @sherlockmarvelharrypotter​ @lizziebritish​

[ticklishtypings]

Ticklish Tutorial (Todo x Deku)

A/N: This took me THREE days to write, holy crap. But it was so much fun to write and I loved some of the personsl headcanons I weasled in there as well. I hope you enjoy <3

Disclaimer: This is a sfw tickle fanfic (I do not do nsfw for any fandom)

Summary: Shouto Todoroki had a hard upbringing, that was known to all. But to have no affection whatsoever? It shocked Izuku when he found out the poor boy had no idea what tickling was but he is more than happy to show him what it is.

Word Count: 1,680

It wasn't a secret amongst class 1-A that Shouto had a rough upbringing. They tried to help him experience things he never got to due to his fathers' "training," so it wasn't a surprise to Midoryia that he had probably never experienced tickling before. Endeavor considered anything that brings pleasure to a weakness that can be used against you in combat. In short words, the boy never received affection, and he always shied away from anything considered remotely close to it.

“No way, you’re ticklish?” Izuku exclaimed, watching the taller boy look at him strangely. 

They had been doing physical training after school, organized by Ida, but before hand they paired up to stretch, Midoryia and Todoroki got paired together. They had been doing simple stretches alongside crunches. Todoroki asked him to hold his feet down, which was a bit hard since he went so fast. It resulted in Izuku having to dig his hands into his feet a bit, his thumbs drilling a bit into the arch of his foot. He wasn’t expecting the son of the #2 hero to cough up a laugh. 

“Todoroki! Are- are you okay?” His voice was full of concern. 

“Yeah. You didn’t hurt me. I don’t know what you did.” He rubbed his foot, trying to get the tingly feeling to go away. 

“What? I was just holding down your feet- wait. Todoroki..no way, you’re ticklish?” 

He had heard that word before, amongst the group, as they engaged in many tickle fights before. But he himself had no clue as to whether or not he was ticklish. 

“I don’t know.” He answered truthfully, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. 

“What do you mean you don’t know? How do you not know?” 

“I just don’t know. It was never in my life.” 

Midoryia felt his heart pang a little bit. How has he never been tickled? Not even by the group? No one dared touch him probably..

Mischievous eyes fell upon the bi-colored hair boy, who shot his friend a worried glance. His mischief left his eyes and was replaced by sympathy instead. 

“Are you okay with me trying to tickle you? Just a quick one, to you know, see if you’re ticklish? We won’t do anything more than you’re comfortable with.” 

“I guess.” He shrugged, he knew Midoryia would probably tell the others and once Kirishima or Kaminari found out they would try to figure it out as well. 

“Okay, I’m going to tickle your sides, they’re commonly ticklish.” Izuku stated before he reached both hands out to squeeze his sides. 

Todoroki watched his hands approach, his body automatically squirming. Why was he moving? Why was his heart racing? What was happening? Sensations. Wiggling hands met sides. The sound was music to Midoryia’s ears, Shoto’s laughter. It was soft, kind of quiet, and had an almost child-like bubbliness to it. It was almost intoxicating. A blush formed on the cheeks of both of them. 

“You are ticklish! That’s funny, but as promised, that was it. Wanna keep doing reps?” Izuku gestured to himself, starting to stand up to continue the training. 

“Do it again.” Was all Todoroki said, his face full of sincerity yet seemed to be confused. 

He wanted to feel it again, to feel what he’s been missing out on all these years. To feel loved. To feel something, and with tickling he felt so much. He felt happy, loved, carefree. 

“Todoroki-kun? Are you sure? You want me to tickle you?” He questioned, unsure if he heard him correctly. 

“Yes. Why won’t you?” God, the boy didn’t experience tickling enough to understand that most people hate being tickled and that it isn’t a common thing to just outright ask for it. 

He felt his heart soften though, the boy found something he enjoyed and probably reminded him of something he didn’t have. Who was he to deny him? He got everything in life, especially motherly love.. 

“Okay, but you need to tell me when to truly stop, we’ll have a safe word. Icyhot.” Todoroki rolled his eyes at that. “Do you want me to tickle you gently or maybe something Bakugo style?” 

He could sense a little fear in the bi-color haired boy once he mentioned Bakugo’s method of tickling. Once Bakugo starts on you, you don’t get a single break until you’re about to pass out. Maybe that was too rough for a first time, maybe they should start with something gentler. 

“We don’t have to do that! I swear! It was just a stupid suggestion!” Midoryia began apologizing, not wanting to ruin his experience with tickling so fast. 

“Midoryia, just tickle me.” There was a hint of desperation in his voice, and Izuku calmed down now, realizing it didn’t have to be anything special, he just wanted the action itself as it was. 

He instructed the boy to lay on his back, asking permission to straddle his waist (which was given) before going further. 

“Do you want any type of restraint? Or would you feel more comfortable with none at all?” He was quick to answer that he didn’t want to be restricted, a bit of anxiety coming with that answer as well that Midoryia picked up on. 

Gently, he began to spider the lee’s sides, starting off experimentally. It wasn’t crazy ticklish there, but it got him squirming and a smile forming. Drifting from his sides he went more towards his midsection, traveling up to his ribs. Applying a bit more pressure now, a few giggles escaped. 

“Come on, Shoto. Let me hear that cute laugh of yours.” He gently teased, he knew Todoroki wasn’t used to teases, and he didn’t want to patronize him or make him feel helpless. He was rewarded by the giggles turning into belly laughs, the same laugh he heard earlier, the one that caught his heart. 

Midoryia switched up tactics from scribbling against his ribs to massaging. God, the boy damn near screamed! He kept thrashing from left to right, but primarily to the right. There was warmth on his fingers suddenly...actually...all over his body. But only on the left side? 

“Todoroki? Are you okay? You’re getting warm, are you trying not to use your quirk?” He asked, genuinely concerned. 

“N-no. Uhm,” He was trying to calm down a bit to answer, “When I blush my entire left side gets a bit warmer.” 

Midoryia couldn’t help but smile, that was the cutest shit ever. He continued, curious about where else the boy was ticklish at. His ribs seemed to be a hot spot but he wanted to explore new places. Skittering his fingers up to the boys neck now, he was rewarded with louder laughs. 

“MIHIHIHDORYIHIHIA!” Todoroki happily laughed out, his hands trying to grasp the fingers teasing his neck and collarbone. 

“Yes, Todoroki?” But no answer came, just more happy laughter. 

Todoroki has never felt this...this...relaxed. There was absolutely nothing on his mind except the tickly feeling and how nice it was. 

“What if I tickle here? Does that tickle?” Those damn teases followed by wiggling fingers traveling towards his underarms but there was no response.

“It does not. Why does it not? Am I broken?” His voice seemed sad, as if tickling was an item that he damaged. 

“No! No, not at all. Some people just aren’t as ticklish in some areas while others are. Like for example, uhm. You may not be ticklish here but you could be ticklish elsewhere...like...here!” He scanned his body, trying to find an odd place to be ticklish before his eyes fell upon the boy’s hands.

Midoryia glided his fingernails carefully over his palms, noticing his eyes widen and giggles stream from his mouth. Squirming constantly, it was hard to stay on top of him. 

“Wow, Todoroki-kun! You’re really ticklish here! I wonder if it will work on you...it always worked on Bakugo when we were kids...” The statement made him shiver, if it worked on Bakugo of all people what was in store for him? 

Shoto eyed the green haired boy as he lifted his palm to his lips and blew. His eyes didn’t stay on him long though, he threw his head back cackling, his back completely arched. The sensation was overwhelming, his mind couldn’t focus on anything other than the tingling sensation that shot all over his hand and up his arm. He could barely catch his breath before Midoryia blew rapsberry. He tried pushing his head away, wildly kicking his feet, tiny fire sparks coming off him on one side and little snowflakes off the other. 

“PLEHEHEHE!” He couldn’t even form a sentence!

“You know the safeword if the tickling is too tickly for the number one ticklish hero~” Midoryia teased, continuing to scratch and trace the little lines on his palm. 

“IIHIHIHICY HOHOHOHOT!!” He pleaded, tears of mirth streaming down his face. 

The tickling came to an immediate halt and Midoryia got off his classmate, who immediately curled up into a ball grabbing his midsection, still drunk off giggles. 

“Are you okay? Did- did I go to far? I’m sorry if I did-” Mindless rambles poured out of Izuku’s mouth before being interrupted. 

“No. It was fun. Thank you, Midoryia. I can see why everyone engages in this play around school. They never include me though.” He seemed to be confused as to why he was left out of something fun. 

“I’m unsure, I don’t think they meant it Shoto, but I don’t think that will last too much longer. I’ll make sure of it.” He smiled, playfully teasing his palm, causing ice to shoot out and make Midoryia scream. 

“You could of done that the entire time?!” 

“Yes. But you weren’t hurting me, so there was no reason to. You caught me off guard this time.” 

“Right, okay, note to self: you need to be aware before you’re tickled or else I might die.” That got a Todoroki chuckle (basically a puff of air) as they both stood up. 

“Continue practice?” Todoroki suggested. 

“You aren’t tired?!” 

“No, why would I be tired? All you did was tickle me.”

[grokebaby]

[PREVIOUS WRITING]

Although she wasn't technically allowed in - Not being a part of the heavenly court - J'aimekiel eagerly watched the three angels settled on the other side of an enormous ring cloud. Ngah, Kxxxtr, and Grandefel had taken their places most likely an hour ago by now, and continued to wait patiently. Although maybe patient wasn't the right word for what Grandefel was feeling.

Despite her adamant efforts to appear serene, the persecutor was terrified. J'aimekiel hadn't lost the ability to smell fear upon entering heaven, and she was looking forward to seeing the case through those lens.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a cushiony, motherly aura approaching. Lamera seated himself on the same cloud situated an appropriate distance from the court. J'aimekiel chirped as Lamera greeted her with a warm kiss atop her head. "Excited to see the trial? This must be your first time witnessing a high court case.." He mused softly, worry reflecting in his voice. "Oh yeah. One question though, when does it start? They've been like this for forever now. There's still seats empty." J'aimekiel said, running her eyes through all the possible seats the ring cloud had. It must've been able to hold a city's worth of mortals, and definitely more than three high angels.

"Oh, child, Hell's court is yet to arrive. I'm certain it won't take long, they're surprisingly punctual!" Lamera said, trying to sound optimistic. He wasn't the only one scared for the potential conflict that could arise from a case like this. J'aimekiel simply nodded, leaning her cheek on her palm. She looked through all the high angels once more.

"I.. Really would've thought there'd be more.." she muttered. Lamera hummed, inquiring more about the statement. "Well, you know. High angels. I've been everywhere that I'm allowed, and honestly, there's not like. Alot of angels here. I thought maybe there's a bunch I'm not allowed to meet normally, but if this is it? That's our court..?" she continued, trailing off at the end. She wanted to let Lamera answer it for her, completely at a loss for how to feel about the subject. But he stayed quiet. She glanced to his direction awaitingly, finding worry in his eyes.

"Lamera.?"

A dark presence seeped into the atmosphere, signaling the Hellish court's arrival. At the very forefront came Delilah, a giant centipede with blazing horns, the scars on her face becoming visible in heaven's light

Xerxes right by her left, a massive, gold-armored, centaur-like ox. He steadily carried an impressive staff, although once settling on the ring cloud, using it more akin to a crutch.

And by their trail, looming in the back, Hart. A jet black mess of tentacles. Body - if you could call it one, contorted and twisted to the point where you couldn't tell where their pulsating form ended.

And of course Deirdre, the persecutor, among with a selection of punishers from her court. She should've looked as regal and powerful as the rest of her entourage, but to be brutally honest she looked like shit.

Everyone settled into place, exchanging awkward glances and hurried mumbles, getting comfortable on the cottony cloud. It quickly became clear who had been here before, as they settled into the fluff much more determinedly, whereas the other demons did alot of shifting and tossing on the pseudo-physical platform. Alot of them were more used to sitting on solid rock.

And there was silence. Everyone had settled. More looks were exchanged within the court. Delilah broke the tension, finally. "We're here, as you requested, High angel Ngah. Me and my court are fully prepared to take this case." she stated, lifting her head.

Ngah ran her gaze through the entire demon crew, sending shivers through the more uninitiated, making most of them thoroughly uncomfortable. Deirdre looked away.

"IS EVERYONE PRESENT UP TO SPEED ON; WHAT WE ARE GOING THROUGH TODAY?"

Ngah announced. Her two fellow angels sent affirmative vibrations as nonverbal confirmation that they knew. There was nodding among the demons.

She turned her eye to Deirdre, startling her.

"YOUR APOLOGY; PERSECUTOR DEIRDRE."

Deirdre rubbed her temples, squirming uncomfortably under the high angel's gaze. She straightened her back, trying to regain her professionalism. "Alright. Where is ZZZ?"

Ngah scoffed.

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO MEET ZZZ AFTER YOUR ENCOUNTER. YOU CAN ASK FOR FORGIVENESS FROM THE DIVINE COURT."

Deirdre tried not to roll her eyes as she bowed before the three divine beings, putting on an apologetic tone. Despite having to sorta force it, she realized that it was part of her mess up as well for not simply directing ZZZ out sooner. Although in that situation there was no telling whether they would've obeyed.

"Divine Court. I; Deirdre, high demon, Persecutor of hell, apologize for lazing during my duty. For being complacent when i should've acted. I am deeply sorry for what it has caused and will make sure other demons part of it will be reprimanded accordingly. " she stated, still keeping her head down. Sweat pooled on her skin as she stood still before them, heat and light radiating off of each one. The brightness was starting to overwhelm her. Being already fatigued before this wasn't helping. She tried to stop her legs from trembling, not wanting to be misinterpreted. She was deadset on making this case go as smoothly and quickly as possible, and getting back home. The earlier the better.

Grandefel was rather impressed with Deirdre's apology, wanting to grant her the forgiveness she most likely didn't need in the first place. Not that she was entirely blameless in ZZZ's incident, but it wasn't her who'd done the damage. At least Grandefel couldn't imagine the demon doing such to an angel without proper agitation. Or maybe she didn't want to imagine. She knew the side of Deirdre that was tender. Kind, even loving. She was rational and knew how to look at the bigger picture.

She would've given her the green light right away. But she acknowledged she might be a little biased thanks to knowing the fellow persecutor very intimately, as opposed to everyone else present, save for Delilah.

Kxxxtr broke the silence first, making a holy gesture upon their chest with their hand. "I ACCEPT YOUR APOLOGY, PERSECUTOR, HIGH DEMON DEIRDRE. FOR IT IS SINCERE AND RESPONSIBLE."

Both Persecutors breathed a sigh of relief. Not a big one, considering the angel that had made this happen in the first place, was still keeping her silence. Grandefel, feeling more confident to speak second, rather than rush to her mate's defense right away, straightened herself. She spun her halo lightly, illuminating her crown in a soft affirmative yellow. "I accept your apology, Co-persecutor, High demon Deirdre. For I know it to be genuine, as I know y-"

"I'M NOT SURPRISED."

She was cut off by Ngah. Her tone, though firm and loud as usual, held a mixture of amusement and disgust. The attention was directed back to her. She continued before anyone had the chance to vocalize their confusion

"PERSECUTOR GRANDEFEL; DO YOU AGREE THAT YOUR RELATIONS TO YOUR COWORKER HALT YOU FROM PERFORMING YOUR TASKS WITH THE CLARITY AND FAIRNESS REQUIRED; OF AN ANGEL IN YOUR POSITION?"

A portion of the court shuffled, confused by the diversion. Grandefel flushed with heat, mostly out of anger at the accusation, but partially because she had to consider the truth behind it

"What an APPALLING accusation! Anyone in this Court can tell you how acutely I do my job!"

Grandefel growled, looking to Kxxxtr for support. They looked back, unsure. The angel was noncofrontational, but the hesitation to take a stance in favor of the persecutor revealed that they might've considered it an issue as well

Deirdre was sweating bullets as she looked between Ngah and Grandefel. This is exactly the direction she didn't want this case to go. It was apparent Ngah either had ulterior motives, or was trying to kill two birds with one stone. Possibly literally.

Kxxxtr finally spoke. "I DO NOT DOUBT GRANDEFELS LOYALTY. HER WORK PERFORMANCE IS NO WORSE THAN USUAL. HOWEVER: SHE'S BEEN VERY ABSENT IN THE LATEST TIMES"

Grandefel scoffed, about to deflect the accusation, when Deirdre caught her eye. The pleading look deep in her gaze made the angel reconsider her words. After a moment of unbroken eye contact, Grandefel sighed, seeming defeated. "I.. Apologise for my increased absense. I assure you I do - and will prioritize my job" she said with gritted teeth.

"VERY WELL-" Kxxxtr started, intending to continue onwards with the rest of the case. Ngah cut her off with a gesture of her wing, promptly giving herself the turn to speak. "AND WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN DURING THESE; INCREASED ABSENSES OF YOURS, PERSECUTOR GRANDEFEL?"

Deirdre curled her tail closer to the body, something bad twisting in her gut. They both knew that was a tough one to answer. The angels had a thing for sniffing out lies..

"I fail to see why that's relevant at all! I have the freedom to do how I choose to, with my spare time!" Grandefel defended.

"I TAKE THAT TO MEAN; YOUR TIME HAS BEEN SPENT RATHER UNPROFESSIONALLY IN THAT CASE" Ngah tossed back, clearly driving the conversation somewhere. The court demons had started whispering amongst themselves, eagerly following along

Delilah brought her staff to the forefront, knocking it on the ringcloud to interrupt the stream of conversation. "High angel Ngah, with all due respect.. Is this something you absolutely have to talk about during this case?". Xerxes used his own staff to lift hers off the cloud. "Let her speak, Delilah. This obviously has to do with your sister here, doesn't it..?" he said, now moving his staff to point at the demon in question.

Deirdre scoffed in disbelief, lightly shoving the staff away from her

"HE IS CORRECT"

Kxxxtr stood in uncomfortable, unsure silence while the Hellish court shuffled not so silently

[a-napoleon-lover-at-17]

Promise (Comte X Reader)

Heads up! This a hurt/comfort fic that deals with self harm and depressive thoughts. If these are triggering for you, proceed with caution.

@coldjudgestudentdeputy Here is the fic you requested! I hope I was able to write Comte in character, and I hope you like this.

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

What did she do to deserve him? 

The answer: Nothing. 

But she had him. His love, his attention, his care, his… Everything. 

It felt wrong, so wrong, but it also felt so right. It was nice to have him, but… She didn't deserve it. 

So of course, she sought to punish herself. 

To reacquaint her skin with blades. 

She was careful not to let him know, though. Being a pureblood, he could smell blood all too easily. Should he come to know, he'd try to stop her and… Well, she didn't deserve that sort of comfort. 

Though deep down she wanted it. 

But no matter. Full sleeved shirts and copious amounts of perfume had managed to disguise the bloody scars which had found their place on her wrist. She had tried to avoid him, without making it too obvious, though. Just to decrease the chances of him knowing. He didn't seem to notice. It seemed that her strategy was working. 

This had been going on for a few days now. 

(Y/N) stood at the door to his room, half-dreading the idea of knocking. He had invited her to his room, and she couldn’t quite deny him. Not without making him suspicious. She loved spending time with him, but this secret stained every moment she had with him. This secret made her avoid him. 

But it's what you deserve, isn't it? 

Ah, she couldn't argue with that. 

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door, sealing her fate. 

"Come in." The pleasant voice of her lover beckoned her into the room. 

Sunlight streamed through the window, lighting up the entire room. Even so, Comte seemed to outshine the brightness of the sun. "Ah, mon amour. Have a seat." He gestured to a chair nearby. Wordlessly, she sat down. "It has been a while since we've spent time together, hasn't it?" She forced a smile, hoping it wasn't too obvious. "It has." She replied. He exhaled, content. "Thankfully that can change; now." A small smile spread across his face. Her heart swelled in her chest. How can you be so happy to spend time with me? With me? 

"I have something for you." His voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Her eyes followed his hands which lifted a little journal off of the table. “You mentioned that you ran out of pages in your old journal. I thought you might need a new one.” 

Her eyes widened. How are you so considerate? “Thank you. I did really need one.” She replied. He smiled. “The pleasure is mine.” He extended his arm, journal in hand. (Y/N) took it from him, but suddenly felt his fingers on her wrist.

Oh no.

He smelt it, didn’t he?

“Ma cherie.” His voice was low, sombre. “What have you been hiding from me?” 

Panic rose within her chest, but she quelled the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. “Nothing.” She lied. “It is not nothing.” He said firmly. “I’ve had my suspicions, but I didn’t ask, for I believed that if you needed me, you would tell me of your own accord.” Guilt made her mouth run dry. “However, it is clear that this is far more serious than I had expected.” He went on. “So please answer me honestly when I ask you this,” He looked straight into her eyes.

“Is everything alright, (Y/N)?”

Fear overcame her, all rational thought thrown to the winds as she jolted out of her seat, trying to push his hand backwards, away from her. His grip was strong, however, and he forced his hands upwards, pulling at her sleeve, the scars and cuts she had so painstakingly tried to hide, were now revealed.

He immediately rose, his eyes now on her wrist. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, the horror of him knowing rendering her immobile.

“How long have you been doing this?” His voice sounded so strained, as if he was struggling to hold himself together. I can’t lie now. It’s far too late. “A few days.” Her own voice sounded so strange to her ears. He looked up at her, gazing into her eyes again.

“Why?”

Oh, the look in his eyes! It broke her heart to see that gaze. He looked so sad, so dejected, the disbelief and agony was clear in his golden irises. He looked so-

Broken.

She opened her mouth to speak, a few heaving gasps escaping her throat, and all she could say was,

“I don’t deserve you.”

His eyes widened.

In a matter of seconds, he had thrown his arms around her. She sank her face into his chest, tired and defeated. “You’re too good for me!” She burst. “You’re always so kind, so caring, always looking out for everyone, you’re just- You’re a blessing to all of us, while I- While I’m just- I’m there, not doing anything, not particularly important, it wouldn’t matter if I died!” She sobbed, trembling in his arms. 

“Of course it would matter.” He whispered. “Do you not know that by now? Ma cherie, I am terrified of losing you. If anything happened to you, I- I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.” She kept crying, finding some comfort in his words. He can’t be lying. There’s no way he is lying right now. His voice rings with sincerity. “I am not an easy man to be with.” He went on, a little more composed. “I’ve pushed you away countless times, yet you insisted on staying by my side. It would have been easy for you to walk away from me, from the time, but you stayed. Do you realise how much strength that would take?” Her cries were softening now. “I’ve met countless people in my life. Out of all of them, you stood out to me. Rarely have I met someone so sincere, so kind, so selfless. You have changed me, and everyone else in this mansion for the better. Don’t ever think you’re useless. You mean the world to all of us. To me.” She pushed her face upwards, looking into his eyes.

And in that moment, she realised just how much he loved her. 

“Thank you.” She sniffed. “I’ll tell you if this happens again.” She vowed in a whisper. “Do you promise?” He asked, worry still lingering his eyes. She smiled, a genuine one this time. “I promise.” He smiled, his eyes clear with relief. “Good.” He replied, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

I love you.

[lesserfandomappreciation]

Hello hello!  Thank you that’s really kind of you!!! I love your writing (congrats on Chap 9, it was awesome)!

Personally I am terrible at flirting or even understanding how it works, so I did my best with this. Hope it comes across as good!

This wound up longer than expected, whoops! Flirting with Self-conscious s/o ( Red Shoes and the 7 Dwarfs )

Arthur

Charm out the wazoo. Arthur’s boisterous personality combined with his a princely upbringing and deeply instilled ideas on what a knight should be have created an inherent need to be charming when he’s interested in someone. It can range from surprisingly smooth to over-the-top. He’s pretty good at coming up with them on the go too, responding to what may be an innocuous question with a decent line.

His lines come in three main forms. 

Traditional knight/ye olde romantic keeping ideas of courtly wooing.

“May I join you, milady/milord?”

“Should you feel fear let me know. It’s a warrior’s duty to protect that which he treasures.”

Painfully, genuinely sweet lines that work only because he’s showing his real self and is not being over-the-top.

“Could I... hold your hand?”

Boasting: AKA showing off his muscles and hyping himself up (desperate moves he thankfully only rarely uses now thanks to his experience with Snow White)

The issue with all of these is that they come across as a bit fake or showy, as this type of flirting really isn’t for everyone. So a line missing when flirting with his self-conscious s/o is something he sort of expected. He doesn’t think it’s because they’re self-conscious, Arthur just thinks he messed up.

The way the self-consciousness manifests itself is going to change the way he reacts. For example, if they withdraw a lot, he’s going to think he really goofed it and is going to apologize, asking for clarification on what he did wrong so that he doesn’t do it again. That’s a very different reaction than if s/o were to bluntly tell him they didn’t believe him, leaving him dumbfounded.

The first reaction aside, Arthur would want to let them know he genuinely meant it, but his own lack of experience would really get in the way of that. How does he go about this? Him being him though, he would confront them directly about it and in that moment let his inner sweetheart shine as he makes it clear that he meant what he said. 

If they want to explain why they feel that way about themselves, great he’ll listen, but even if they don’t he asks them to not speak about themselves that way. They’re too wonderful to be hateful towards themselves.

After that the prince makes it a point to compliment them every single day. It’s not even always flirting, it’s straight up compliments. Their smarts, their passions, their looks, their hands, their eyes - everything is free game, and he’s not going to stop giving sincere compliments until they get it through their heads he likes them for them for a reason, and they should too. 

Pino

Stating facts about them counts as flirting, right? Cards on the table I don’t think Pino is really capable of flirting well, at least not on purpose. Yes, he’s mature and the eldest but that doesn’t necessarily equip him for the terrifying world that is interpersonal relationships outside of family. To even try to flirt takes a massive amount of pondering before he lets out a single word

His flirting, thus, is not so much flirting as it is:

A) stating things he likes about them/ Sort of.

“You are very smart. And strong. Strong and smart. Smrong.”

“You are a good size.”

B) complimenting them about something they did.

“Good job.”

“’You did good with that.” 

C) Giving up and just staring silently trying to think of something to say. Anything. Come on brain you helped build a selfie machine surely stringing words together isn’t that hard.

That one video of Lin-Manuel Miranda chanting “Come on brain, think of things.”

D) Any of the above, only his brothers are there to be the world’s best worst okayest wingmen.

The thing is, is that with this style of flirting barely comes across as flirting. S/o or not, it is going to be very difficult for anyone to pick up on any of this as intentional romantic interest rather than Pino being... Pino. Most people would maybe register this as awkward platonic compliments, if even that. His insecure s/o’s self-consciousness may not kick in for a while until they figure out that this is Pino desperately trying to show intentions.

Someone give this man cue cards he’s hurting.

Actually no don’t do that his brothers might get ideas. 

Despite this terrible inability to communicate romantic feelings, Pino does have one thing going for him. A stupid amount of emotional knowledge courtesy of keeping an eye on his brothers. Pino’s not dumb. When it comes to the people he really cares about he can get a good read on them. His s/o is no different. 

Upon realizing that s/o, the same s/o he has been pining after for weeks of awkward semi-flirting, has self-conscious issues, Pino is baffled. Bamboozled. Confusioned. Setting his own feelings to the side, the eldest brother works up the nerve to tell them full throttle that they are awesome. He doesn’t know what they have been through, nor where the feelings come from, but he will not let this stand. He is a little curt and blunt, but the intent is there.

If his s/o says 1 tiny negative thing about themselves, he’s armed with something they cannot deny. Facts. Pino has been debating his brothers for years, he will make charts if he has to.

Noki

Constant non-stopping stream of compliments. Noki is what happens when a fidget spinner is outfitted with an energy-drink powered engine. Pino, Hans and Jack can only somewhat keep him from vibrating into another dimension, and that’s with their powers combined. When he has someone in his sights, that energy is re-focused on making his s/o feel like royalty. 

Flirting is, if nothing else, absolutely amazing to witness in just how it is:

One constant stream of consciousness that results in compliment after compliment.

“That’s amazing, you’re amazing, that hat really suits you-”

“Your hair looks really nice today, though it usually looks nice every day-”

Painfully, unapologetically, sincerely sweet, gen-u-ine statements that could give anyone a bad case of sugar rush. 

“Why wouldn’t I want to be here? I really like spending time with you, you’re a really fun person.”

“When you smile your noise gets all crinkly and it’s super cute, you’re like a kitten!”

Cheesy, horrible one-liners that were bad in high school then and are bad in current times now. 

“Do you have a map? I keep getting lost in your eyes.” 

^^^^ That’s as much as I’m writing on that, this stuff is painful.

The painful part in all of this is that Noki, being Noki, is going to have no flippin’ clue that his s/o is feeling about this until he starts paying very close attention to their reactions. Are they turning away from him because they are hiding a blush, or because they are hiding tears? Are they blushing and incoherent because he’s just that good, or because they have no idea how to respond, this is a new experience to them, someone please show them mercy and send help. 

“Wait, you don’t believe me??? Why?!” Noki is not going to hide his bewilderment at all. This whole time he’s been flirting with them and they thought he was kidding??? He thought he was bad at this, not that they were going through some insecurities he may be encountering for the first time. He is going to sit down next to them, and s/o has about two seconds to decide whether or not they’re going to talk about it, because otherwise he is.

“You are amazing though! Everyone knows it! Snow White, Merlin, Sword-head, Hans, Jack, my brothers- we all know it! Do you think I could invent something that can possibly help this? You should have to go through life thinking badly of yourself when the world is a brighter place because of you! I-” 

TBH I do not have room for the whole rant here, but essentially this would likely wind up with him confessing because this is painfully obvious. 

By the end of this, he plans to make them blushy every single day until they see the them he sees, and beyond that too!

Kio

Shy sweetness that will punch you in the stomach when you least expect it. Oh you thought because he’s shyer and quieter than his brothers (and the entirety of the F7) that he isn’t capable of delivering some one-hit KOs using nothing but his words? You thought?! Pino is awkward but mature, Noki is a ball of constant validation, but Kio will use his reputation for shyness as an excuse to flirt out of the blue and then move on like nothing happened. 

Personal touch may be awkward for him but verbally making his s/o a goober just like him is his secret to being confident with his words. His s/o is in for it. 

Kio is a sneaky bastard who has the least range of flirtation (only 2 types really) but boy oh boy are they wildly different. 

The supreme sweetness that Noki (most of the boys if we’re being honest) take notes on when they want to be sweet to their loved ones.

“That’s a new bracelet isn’t it? It’s really suits you, you make it look good.”

“All your expressions are lovely but when you smile, the whole world seems brighter.”

The, ah, spicy stuff that none of the F7 besides Pino know that he is capable of uttering. Pino has no proof and is going crazy trying to prove to the group that the youngest brother can be downright heated with his flirting. 

“I could see you anywhere and be happy. Outside. Inside. In a house. In the bed. Especially the last one.”

“Your eyes are not the only part of you I could get lost in.”

Kio does not have the problem of not being clear in flirting. He’s not subtle. At all. As you’ve seen in some of the examples. The problem is that it can be a lot for a person to process, especially one that has self-consciousness issues. It really is out of the blue, which can throw the other person off when they’re not expecting it. Which is always. 

Thankfully, he is the happy middle between Noki and Pino’s ability to sense that something is wrong. It does take him a bit to pick up on it, but eventually he puts two and two together to realize s/o really is reacting oddly. Not in that they’re shy, but that there’s an underlying issue. It does take him a while to talk about it though because he has no clue how to approach it. It’s not a subject he’s good at tackling. 

The thought his s/o is going through this solo though does get him to gently pull them aside and ask them about it. He wants to know if it’s him overstepping into a very uncomfortable territory, if it’s specific things that trigger a certain response or if it’s something else entirely. Kio is a good listener, and mentally remembers a lot of notes for the next time he wants to compliment them. 

Very much makes it a point to let them know that hey, he likes them for them, and that yes, he is going to continue to give specific compliments their way because he adores them and they are worth it. 

[ejzah]

Could you write about alternate events between seasons 9 and 10 where the team made it back safely, but Deeks and Kensi still haven’t reconciled. Deeks is offered to officially return to NCIS, but since Kensi refuses to talk to him and thinking he needs space, he decides to leave LA and goes to the airport. Kensi realizes how unfair she has been and goes to the airport to stop him. Includes Mosley, another proposal and the entire team watch from ops. PLEASE CAN YOU WRITE THIS!!!

A/N: Is this kind of involved, yes. Is it kind of a mess, also yes.

Since the prompt specified that they return to LA safely, I decided that no one got injured, beyond a few scrapes and such (including Hidoko). Is this exactly what anon imagined, probably not quite.

***

Kensi glanced over at Deeks. He was sitting across from her, just like he had on the way to Mexico, but there might as well be several countries between them. Despite their success in “rescuing” Derrick from his father, their current interactions had not improved.

Derrick was at the other end of the plane, happily chatting with his mom on Sam’s cell phone. Every so often, Deeks would glance back at him, his expression dark. He’d interacted with Derrick readily enough, charming him with his usual ease into playing a guessing game while they waited for the plane to take off, but he’d also made it blatantly clear that he still thought the mission was unnecessary and ill-planned. It didn’t matter that they’d managed to retrieve Derrick without any deaths or major injuries and, most importantly, without Spencer Williams noticing.

After Kensi had pointed out how well everything had gone, he’d pressed his lips together and refused to speak to anyone. It made her heart ache. And it made her angry. It made her feel a whole host of other feelings, gnawing at her. Maybe if she gave Deeks the time he apparently needed, he’d eventually calm down enough to talk to her reasonably.

She glanced at Deeks again; he was staring at his folded hands, his face unreadable. She almost spoke, but just shook her head, glancing back out the window, watching the clouds pass by.

***

Mosley was waiting for them when the plane landed. She didn’t even wait for them to finished descending the ramp before she was racing towards them. She was dressed in leggings, a sweatshirt, and gym shoes and Kensi realized she looked much younger and remarkably small without heels and a dress

“Oh, baby,” she said, pressing a hand to her mouth as Derrick appeared in the doorway. She pulled him into her arms, shaking as she held him. Derrick was a little stiff, but after a moment hesitantly returned the hug.

“I missed you, mom,” he said shyly.

“Me too, Derrick. I thought about you every day.” They talked for a couple minutes more and then she turned to face the, not even attempting to wipe away the tears streaming down her face. “Thank you, for returning my son to me,” she said, her voice ringing with sincerity. All of you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“Oh, I think we do,” Sam countered, leaning heavily on the cane Callen insisted he use as soon as the boarded the plan. Turning around, she singled out Deeks who was watching the reunion with an unreadable expression.

“Thank you for coming Detective, even though you didn’t have to.” Deeks seemed surprised by her words, but just shrugged.

“It’s what I do. Or at least what I did,” he replied and if Kensi wasn’t mistaken, with a note of censure. Mosley sighed, none of her usual superiority present. She whispered something in Derrick’s ear then took a few steps away.

“I do owe you an apology, Deeks,” she told him. “My actions and words to you were unforgivable, but you should know that I have been reinstated as the LAPD liaison for the Office of Special Projects. Hopefully that will in some way atone for my behavior.”

Deeks looked momentarily surprised by her admission, but smoothed his expression quickly.

“Thank you, Executive Assistant Director.”

“It’s just Mosley now.” She smiled grimly. “I think we all know that I won’t be returning to NCIS in any capacity.” Glancing over her shoulder, her smile became more genuine. “But that doesn’t matter now. I have something much more important to care about.”

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Deeks said, which wasn’t exactly acceptance of her apology. Mosley nodded and started to turn away. “Derrick seems like a really good kid,” he added. “Take good care of him.”

“I will,” she promised. They watched her bundle Derrick into a black SUV and leave the lot.

“Well, looks like we’re one big happy family again,” Callen said with forced lightness.

***

“We should talk,” Deeks said abruptly several hours later. Callen and Sam had left the bullpen a few minutes earlier and the awkward silence had continued to grow between them.

“If it’s more of what you said in the garage,” Kensi started, schooling her expression into something professional and blank. “then I don’t want to hear it.” She glanced down before her mask slipped and missed Deeks’ look of anguish.

“Kensi...” he sounded anguished.

“I don’t think we need another fight right now.” She couldn’t take it, not right now. There was another moment of silence and then she heard him stand up. “Where are you going?” she asked without thinking.

“I need to get out of here,” he said.

“Ok, give me a few minutes and we can go ho-“

“No, I mean out of LA.” His voice shook, but when Kensi looked up, he had a stubborn expression she recognized. Whatever he was planning, it was set in his mind.

“Where?” she whispered, her heart plummeting. “Deeks, you can’t just leave.”

“Kensi, I can’t go home and pretend that everything is ok when it’s not,” he said, rubbing at his jaw. “I’ll find a cheap ticket somewhere and stay there a couple weeks.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” She shook her head, pressing her lips together to keep from screaming at him. Or crying.

“Then talk to me,” he shouted. He cringed as it echoed through the room.

“Talking right now is pointless,” she said, her voice shaking. “You obviously haven’t changed your opinion about any of this.”

He started to say something, leaning towards her, but then he shook his head again and pulled the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder.

“Bye, Kensi.” She almost called him back. She almost ran after him. Instead she sat frozen, unable to move or speak.

Sometime later, she didn’t really know how long, Callen and Sam returned.

“Where’s Deeks?” Sam asked, clearly noticing his missing bag.

“He left,” Kensi whispered.

“I realize he’s tired, but Hetty was clear that we need to get this all straightened out as soon as possible if we want to keep our jobs.”

“He went to the airport.” Callen and Sam shared another one of their looks and before they could ask another question, she added, “We fought the other night and he decided that the best thing for us would be for him to leave.”

“When’s he coming back?” Callen asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if he’s ever coming back.” Finally voicing the thought that had been running through her mind since Deeks had left seemed to be the tipping point. She buried her face in her hands as tears started streaming down her cheeks.

She vaguely heard Sam and Callen having a hasty whispered discussion and then Sam’s hand squeezed her shoulder.

“It’ll be ok, Kensi. You guys will work this out,” he assured her.

“How can you know that? You don’t even know what we fought about,” she said, hastily scrubbing at her cheeks as Sam awkwardly leaned against her desk. “It’s not the usual stuff. Dirty laundry and stupid comments. It was really bad this time.”

“I can guess what it was about. And whatever it is, I know that you’ll work things out because I know you two. I know how much you love and care about each other.”

“This is different, Sam. I really hurt him this time.”

“Somehow I have a feeling you both hurt each other. You’ll figure out a way to fix it, just like all the other times. It’s part of being in a relationship,” he said.

“I don’t know how to even begin,” she said helplessly. It seemed insurmountable, especially since every time they spoke to each other, they ended up arguing again.

“Start by going after him,” Callen suggested, you’ll figure it out from there.

“But-“

“Kensi, do you love him?”

“Yes, of course I do!”

“Then go now. Go before things get worse,” Sam said. She hesitated and then started shoving things at random into her bag.

“Tell Hetty-“

“We’ll handle it,” Callen assured her. Kensi’s rubbed her hand over her face.

“God, I don’t even know where to start looking for him. What if he’s already left?”

“We’ll get Nell and Eric to hack security and find him,” Sam said and Callen made a face.

“We will?”

“It’s for love, G. Go Kensi.”

***

Kensi blew out an unsteady breath as she parked the SUV in the airport parking lot. On the ride over, she’d taken time to really examine her reaction to Deeks suggestion that they quit. She still didn’t know what she planned to say. Hopefully she didn’t end up making things worse.

“Ok, Deeks just purchased last minute tickets for a one-way trip to Cedar Rapids, Iowa,” Nell informed her over speaker phone.

“What the hell is going to Iowa for?” she muttered. “Never mind, where is he waiting?”

“Um, a lobby just outside terminal 6. They start boarding in about 20 minutes.” 20 minutes wasn’t much time. She grabbed her badge, wallet, keys and phone and stuffed them into her pocket. Then, as a last second thought she opened the glove compartment and carefully removed the thin necklace she stored her engagement ring on when she wasn’t wearing it.

She latched it around her neck, the ring a familiar, comforting weight against her chest.

It took 10 minutes to get through security, even with her badge and multiple mentions of her federal status. Then came the task of finding Deeks among everyone else waiting to board.

She got several odd looks from people as she jogged up and down the rows, searching for him. Finally, she spotted him leaning against a wall next to a coffee shop, his head bowed as he typed something on his phone.

“Deeks,” she whispered, standing in front of him. His head popped up, a myriad of expressions crossing his face before he settled on confusion.

“Kensi, what are you-how did you...?” he trailed off.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I’m so sorry for the things I accused you of. I know you might not be ready to forgive me yet, but please say you’ll stay.” Her heart was pounding so hard it felt like there was a hammer in her chest and she felt slightly dizzy. Deeks blinked at her for a moment, stepping away from the wall.

“The only reason I decided to go was because I thought you didn’t want to talk to me. I wanted to tell you that I was sorry and that I never should have brought leaving or kids up when I did.”

“So you’ll stay?” She waited for his response breathlessly.

“Do you think we can work through our issues?” he asked. It was a terrifying question, but she nodded, taking his hand and gripping it fiercely.

“Yes, I know it won’t be easy, but if we really try, we can figure this out,” she said, remembering Sam’s advice. He closed his eyes, drawing in a trembling breath and then pulled her into his arms.

“The past few days have been some of the worst days of my life,” he told her, his voice raw with emotion. “I don’t want to ever feel like this again.” He let out a sigh of relief.

“Me neither. And we won’t,” Kensi promised. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” She leaned extricated her arms as Deeks watched and unclasped the chain around her neck, dropping the ring into her palm.

“Ask me again,” she requested and he rolled his eyes, which a little wet.

“A sixth proposal? Really?”

“The last,” she assured him. He took the ring slowly, rolling it around in his fingers. For a second, Kensi thought he would say no, but then he dropped to his knee.

“Kensi Marie Blye, will you please marry me?” he asked, his eyes holding the same warmth and love as the first time she remembered him proposing.

“Yes,” Kensi whispered, the conviction of her promise behind her words. “I want to marry you more than anything.” Deeks slipped the ring onto her finger once more and several people cheered around them, the faint sound of camera shutters clicking as she joined him on the floor.

***

“Well, thank god we have that mess sorted out,” Hetty said with a sigh as they all watched Kensi and Deeks kissing on screen.

“Do you think we should maybe turn the feed off? Give them some privacy?” Eric suggested.

“They’re in the middle of a crowded airport,” Callen pointed out. “Privacy is kind of a moot point right now.

“What would you have done if they hadn’t worked things out?” Nell asked. Sam and Callen has given them a very abridged version of events, not knowing the full story themselves.

“Consoled Kensi,” Callen answered.

“Knocked some sense into Deeks,” Sam added.

“Or give them both a firm kick in the behind,” Hetty suggested.

“Aw, I didn’t realize you were that invested in their relationship,” Sam teased.

“I’m not. But I already ordered their wedding present and don’t feel like paying shipping charges again.” She couldn’t quite contain her satisfied smile though as she watched Kensi and Deeks stand and leave the airport, hand-in-hand.

***

A/N: I have never been inside an airport, let alone LAX, so I’m kind of making half this up.

Thanks for the prompt!

[thewitcherssongbird]

Heartbeat

Chapter 2

****

Guys... there's a chapter twooooooo! I really wanted to finish and post it on Tuesday but then I forgot and then I had to write a stupidly huge test today so all in all I'm really proud of myself for doing it today :D

****

Jaskier wakes up with a pounding headache. He lifts his head from the pillows, squinting in the near noon sunlight, disoriented, and rolls over to find a jug on the nightstand, a piece of paper propped against it.

Hunting kikimora

Back before sunset

He sits up and peers into the jug. Water. After a few gulps of the blissfully cool water his headache begins to fade and he readies himself for the day, a day of peace and no brooding Geralt to distract him with his silent observation or just general… presence. A day of productivity.

His vision swims as he stands up but he quickly regains control of himself. Memories trickle back into his mind like a stream in drought, little by little. He muddles through his lost memories as he dresses and starts working but soon he sets the pieces of the night aside and makes use of his solitude.

He can’t remember much, a vague picture of sitting on the staircase. A foggy conversation. He hopes he didn’t say anything he shouldn’t have and focuses on his work instead. The sun makes its arc through the sky as Jaskier alternates between humming and working out the final chords on his lute and scratching violently on the paper.

The sun is shining low and warm, gentle shadows fall over the words on the paper;

Love me or hate me, choose and liberate me from this hell

Of wondering, do you know I love you? Pray tell

Lovely Lady, release me from your spell

Pale white woman will you wish me well

When you send me on my way, when I have to say farewell?

The song is complete. He is particularly proud of it, as one can only be about one’s work of art. He takes his chance to test the song on the melancholy afternoon crowd at the tavern, not wanting Geralt actually hearing it for fear that he might become suspicious about the apparent “maiden” the song was about, because the maiden in question has hair silver as moonlight and eyes golden as sunlight, she’s a quiet creature and prefers action over words, she is fierce as a wolf and Geralt was no idiot and he would certainly realize that the maiden was no maiden at all.

He knows very well that Geralt wasn’t born yesterday and if he heard the song he’d be balls deep in trouble because then Geralt would know. Jaskier is already ashamed of his indulgence enough as it is.

Geralt would know that the little bard who calls himself his friend is head over heels in love with him and lusting after him just like everyone else apparently. He’d be just another drop in the ocean that was Geralt’s admirers. What made Jaskier special was… absolutely nothing at this point.

Jaskier can imagine his reaction, he’d scoff, amused at the romantic minstrel whose fallen in love with the Witcher who is, ironically, famous for being incapable of love or any other feeling for that matter. He wouldn’t even deign him the honor of a proper laugh, he’d just walk away and leave him to his shame.

But Jaskier could never help himself. He couldn’t help it when he fell in love with the White Wolf, his travel companion, his friend. He couldn’t help himself when the lyrics of the song came to him, he couldn’t help but write it, compose it and he won’t be able to help pouring his heart out to Geralt when he asks about it.

At some point he will ask about it and deep down Jaskier knows. He’s is sure Geralt can hear the way his breath catches when he looks at him sometimes or when their eyes lock, the way his heart beats faster. For gods’ sake he can probably smell it on him. Jaskier know the day will come when Geralt asks, but still he lets himself tear down his bridges one by one and dig his grave a little deeper. He’s burning those bridges for momentary warmth, but still he doesn’t admit it even to himself and something foolish inside him pretends that he won’t be left cold and stranded in the end.

But for now he will be content to travel at his side and compose songs about the great Geralt of Rivia and suffer in silence. He will be content to love from afar until Geralt sends him away. It’s pathetic really, but it makes for a good song.

Something deflates in his chest when he thinks about it.

He sings it one last time, for practice he tells himself, before heading to the tavern to sing it to the sad saps who drink in the afternoons. They always like someone to share their sorrows with and Jaskier finds that the heartbroken are the most generous with their money. They don’t have much to live for after all.

****

Jaskier sings a few songs before he finally tests the new song on the crowd. They eat it up and he gets a few pitying glances from the women. He sits down at the bar, ordering himself a drink. The serving girl starts conversation while she cleans her cups.

“So,” she starts, she must be near Jaskier age. She’s pretty but her tone tells Jaskier she’s fishing for conversation to quell her boredom and not a bed fellow, she’s pretty enough to have one. “Who is this maiden after whom you’re pining?”

“Oh she’s a girl from a little village near Kaer Morhen. I come across her every once in a while, she travels a lot.” A lie so painfully close to the truth.

“Doesn’t she know you love her?” the woman asks, genuinely curious.

“I suspect she might.”

“That sounds like a tragic thing, doesn’t it,” she comments.

“Yes,” Jaskier says mournfully, “very tragic indeed. She’s either aware and indulging me tagging along with her every once in a while or she’s completely unaware of my infatuation. Either way she has no fondness for me. I suppose she just tolerates me.” Jaskier swirls the liquid in his cup, staring the little whirlpool.

“Well,” the girl says cheerfully, “maybe you’ll find your soulmate.”

“I think she is my soulmate,” Jaskier sighs before continuing, “but I am not hers.” The girl frowns.

“Perhaps,” she says, “but perhaps she’s a bit oblivious. You shouldn’t give up hope without trying.”

Jaskier smiles at the kind woman. “Thank you,” he says sincerely even though he won’t be doing that at all. She gives him a comforting touch before she hurries off to listen to another poor sod’s story and he realizes that he’s qualifies as a poor sod. He finishes his drink and picks up his lute, determined to change the mood.

When Geralt finally trudges through the door, the first of the regular evening crowd are already singing along cheerfully or chattering away with each other and Jaskier is proud to have them all participating, the warm feeling fades quickly when he spots the Witcher.

Geralt is filthy and wet, Jaskier stops mid-song. Something shifts like the last piece of a puzzle finally locking into place and suddenly Jaskier remembers.

Geralt you’re so handsome

And

Not just women

And

Why do you get to be pretty and muscly and gorgeous…

And ooooh fuck.

Geralt scans the crowded tavern for Jaskier, he finds him in less than a seond and locks eyes with him. Jaskier swallows.

“Geralt!” he exclaims, hoping he doesn’t sound hysteric. “It’s almost sundown I was starting to worry. Look at you, you’re soaking, you might catch a cold.” Geralt hums, stripping off his satchel of potions and Witcher necessities. “Are you alright? What you need is a warm bath.”  Jaskier starts fussing over him like he always does, but this time using proximity to hide his expression from Geralt’s all-knowing sight because he said that.

“What I need is my money and a drink,” Geralt says, grudgingly tolerating Jaskier patting him down, looking for injuries. He looks tired. Jaskier sees a few wide eyes all belonging to people ranging from middle aged to elderly. They are expecting something, expecting Geralt to break his hands, decapitate him, something. Because the last time Geralt visited this town he probably would have.

Jaskier finishes his fretting, Geralt lets him and waits until he finishes, it’s a routine and by now and Geralt has learned by now to just let Jaskier finish before he collects his payment from one of the staring men. The man doesn’t demand proof, just says his thanks and hands over the bag of coin. Geralt nods to him. Old acquaintances then.

Jaskier buys a flask of liquor to take with him to the inn for Geralt to drink while he bathes. The same girl he’d talked to hands it to him. She looks from Jaskier to Geralt and back to Jaskier. She says nothing but she knows and he trusts the girl to keep her mouth shut but the fact that she had put the pieces together so quickly has Jaskier wondering how obvious he’s being. Maybe he wouldn’t have all that much time left before Geralt puts the pieces of it all together himself.

For gods’ sake he probably already has because Jaskier called him handsome and told him it’s a shame he didn’t sleep with men. Didn’t sleep with him. But then Geralt told him he does and gods didn’t that just make it worse? Geralt didn’t want him.

His heart drops into his stomach.

***

Geralt is quiet, taking gulps of alcohol every once in a while as Jaskier washes his arms and chest. Jaskier takes quiet pleasure in getting to touch Geralt, after all it’s probably as much as he’ll ever get to touch him. Once again, Jaskier is painfully aware that he’s digging his grave deeper by indulging in bathing Geralt and once again he can’t bring himself to stop.

He waits for Geralt to say something, sure that he wants to. Or maybe he doesn’t care.

“Geralt,” he starts as he moves the Witcher to wash his back.

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something about your meditating?”

“Hmm.” Jaskier takes that as a yes.

“Can you hear me? When I talk to you while you’re meditating?”

“No,” Geralt says simply and Jaskier assumes it’s the end of it. “I can sense when there is a threat nearby. All my senses shut down save for the base instincts that wake me up when I’m in danger.”

“Interesting,” Jaskier comments. Geralt is quiet for a minute, Jaskier tips his head back and pours a jug of warm water over his hair before lathering soap into the dirty strands.

“Do you talk to me?” He asks then.

Jaskier debates his answer. “Sometimes.” He’s fucked anyway, deeper graves don’t hurt when you’re already dead.

“Why?” Geralt’s voice is flat, a product of years of succumbing to people’s assumptions of his absence if emotions.

“I don’t know,” Jaskier answers truthfully, “I hate the quiet. Sometimes it feels like you’re not really there anymore and I don’t like that. I suppose it’ my way of holding on to you.”

Geralt hums and the sound is not quite as… empty as usual.

He knows.

***

After his bath Geralt disappears to the tavern to inquire about the location of the drowner nest. Jaskier takes off his boots and jerkin and climbs otherwise fully clothed into the bed but waits until Geralt returns before he even tries to sleep, he’s gotten used to Geralt’s steady presence when he falls asleep. Geralt would wake him up just to reprimand him for sleeping with an unlocked door anyway. Jaskier picks up his lute, he hums some of his favorite songs.

Inevitably he ends up quietly singing his latest song and of course Geralt enters when he’s in the middle of it.

“Lovely Lady, release me from your spell

Pale w-“

Jaskier stops and puts the lute down somewhat abrubtly and snuggles into the blankets, ready to close his eyes and pray Geralt leaves him be, but Geralt speaks before he can fall asleep.

“Who is the lady you sing of?” Geralt while he removes his layers.

“What lady?” Jaskier’s heart is beating rapidly and he’s sure Geralt can hear it. This is it.

“The lady in your song?” Geralt stops undressing, he’s rid of his armor, only his dark blue undershirt still covers his chest from view.

“What song,” Jaskier says stupidly.

Geralt cocks his head. “The one you were singing.” Obviously, he doesn’t need to add.

“You heard that?”

Geralt taps his ear, “Witcher hearing.” Just Jaskier’s luck. Geralt still waits for an answer.

“Why do you ask?” he deflects instead.

Geralt shrugs “You’ve never talked about her.” Some useless part of Jaskier’s brain decides that the fact that Geralt actually listens when he talks is very noteworthy but it’s not enough to distract him from his inevitable heartbreak. He’s putting the pieces together now.

Oh gods, Jaskier can see the air around the witcher changing. He can see in Geralt’s eyes the moment something tips over the edge.

“You would have wouldn’t you?” It tenses between them as Geralt’s tone changes from casual interest to a curiosity that is slightly… unhinged. Jaskier is reminded of a cat playing with its terrified dinner. The tilt of his head is predatory.

Is he rubbing salt into the wound. How cruel of him.

“You’ve been travelling with me for months.” He stalks closer to Jaskier, his shadow falls over Jaskier, blocking out the candlelight. “You haven’t met any woman.” He braces his arms on the mattress, leaning over Jaskier. “You don’t invent your muses, you never have.” There’s something in his feline eyes that confirms that he can hear Jaskier’s rapid pulse, smell his terror. “Who is she.” His tone is quietly demanding and lethal. Deathly calm before the storm.

“Why?” Jaskier is playing with fire. He’ll get burned either way. “That’s none of your business.”

The storm hits. Geralt growls, pupils thinning, and throws his hands up, he turns faster than lightning, pacing up and down the small room. “What is it?” he demands. “Your heart. Your heart speeds up and your breath catches when you see me but you’re not afraid. No you’re never afraid and when you are,” he stops, staring at him in snake like stillness, ”it’s- there’s nothing to be afraid of and then suddenly I can smell terror. And there’s something else. I’ve never seen it before and it’s bloody annoying! What is it?”

Jaskier doesn’t answer.

Doesn’t he know?

Suddenly he calms and looks away. “You’re afraid of me now.” A statement. False.

“No.” Jaskier isn’t afraid, not of him.

Geralt scoffs. “I can smell it, I’m a Witcher for heaven’s sake and they don’t let me forget it.” The words hang between them, waiting for Jaskier to prove him otherwise.

He doesn’t even know.

Jaskier doesn’t know where the bravery comes from or if it’s just capitulation, surrender. “I’m not afraid of you.” He shrugs off the blanket and crawls to sit at the edge of the bed nearest to Geralt. He waits for Geralt, knowing how this conversation ends.

“And why not? Maybe you should be.” Geralt walks to the fireplace, his back toward Jaskier and presses his brow to the wall above it. “You,” he begins slowly, “you are a puzzle, a paradox. You defy everything you’re supposed to be, I don’t understand.” Geralt turns and there is something close to pure anguish tormenting his features. Jaskiers heart clenches in his chest.

He doesn’t understand. Of course. Of course Geralt would know, notice and still not understand, wouldn’t see blatant adoration if it was staring him in the face. Of course he’d have to go and make this so much worse for Jaskier.

Geralt never even realized that Jaskier was in love with him. Didn’t even know what it was. He didn’t know how to love and gods and how to be loved, and it made Jaskier angry. Angry that Geralt was so oblivious, so emotionless and conforming to everything people said about him, letting their rumors mold the truth. Angry that Geralt had never let himself feel, learn and understand the human part of himself.

Angry at the world for hurting the witcher who had believed he had no choice but to take the pain.

“Really?” Jaskier’s tone is low and frustrated, angry tears pooling in his eyes. “You really didn’t know?” he demands. Geralt says nothing, staring into the flames again. He shouldn’t be angry at Geralt. He isn’t.

“If I did, I wouldn’t ask would I?” Sarcasm drips from his tongue. Jaskier scoffs.

Geralt strides across the room to lean over Jaskier, grabbing him by the front of the thin shirt he was wearing. He pins him with a fiery gaze that should have made Jaskier cower under the blanket but instead, bright blue meet gold, ice meets fire. Ironic how Jaskier had always been warm to Geralt’s cold.

The tension between them is charged with something that feels like lightning before thunder.

Geralt’s eyes are glowing embers in the dim light of the candle.

*******

Ahhh I did it, I'm stupid proud of myself. Please leave kudos and comments :))))

[rwriting]

flowers of the heart // toko fukawa x sayaka maizono (dr1) -pt.1

description: hanahaki disease is my new favourite thing... here’s a story set in a non despair future, featuring flower shop worker sayaka and book shop worker toko. this is, naturally, part 1. 

word count: 2.4k

content warnings: hanahaki disease, mentions of a stabbing, mentions of obsessive fan culture

❀❀❀

Sayaka opens the flower shop at six o’clock every morning. At the time, the world is quiet; the world is her own. Nothing there but her hands reaching for the keys, and placing them in the lock, opening, what seems to be, what is for her, a little door into her own world. A place of serenity and tranquillity. A place of flowers.

The smell hits Sayaka as soon as she walks in. Whoever worked yesterday forgot to remove the lilies that are perched on the shelf above the counter – but it isn’t a big deal, she’s not upset. Everyone makes mistakes. Besides, the reason she arrives this early is so that she can take care of it all, make it all perfect.

She sets down her bag, taking care to lean it against the umbrella rack so that it doesn’t fall over, lest its contents slip out. She takes her apron off the hook behind the counter and puts it on – it’s not always necessary, but pollen is bright and stains clothes easily, the one from lily stamens especially so. Her hands reach up for the plant, secured in a colourful earthen pot, and bring it down with practiced ease. No dirt on the floor today, thank you, she thinks, smiling to herself at this small victory. She carries the plant pot outside, towards the compost bins where she removes the wilting lilies and their soil – once the pride of the shop, now just another piece of the gloom. Just like me… she thinks, the words sinking in before she can stop herself. It’s not entirely true, but it’s not entirely false either. Between the ages of sixteen and twenty, she’d been an idol. And not just any idol – the most popular idol in the country, with fame overseas too. She’d led her group to success, her angelic voice and sweet image attracting the best offers, the best opportunities. But it had all stopped. A member died in stabbing – a crazed fan taking things too far, and suddenly Sayaka had seen all the downsides of this career she’d chosen. Could you even choose something like a career at sixteen, truly? Sayaka doubted it. But how jarring the realisation had been. Idol professions don’t last forever – you are an hourglass, a ticking clock, waiting until the hour, the minute, when someone with too much time zooms in on a photo of you posted on a forum and comments ‘Is that a wrinkle?’.

No, Sayaka had thought. I shan’t let it happen. So she terminated her contract and stared at what was left of her life. No relatives – her father had died in car crash, driving while inebriated. No friends – she wasn’t on the best terms with her idol label mates, presumably because of her success. No qualifications – Sayaka had passed middle school with excellent grades, but had no high school diploma or other qualifications to show for herself. And no money – other than what she’d made as an idol which, after paying off the contract, was significantly less than she’d thought it was. She’d been so scared, so overwhelmed, so stuck. She had considered going back to her label, her agency, and begging them to take her back. But she hadn’t. She wanted something new, a fresh start. Something sustainable.

Being forgotten about when you’re an idol is surprisingly, or unsurprisingly easy. A few weeks of not leaving her home, a few interviews with leaders of idol companies, the debut of a few new groups… It was over. She’d ventured out of her home, not accosted by anyone, and seen less than four posters depicting her likeness. It was over.

When she got home that day, she cried for the first time in years. She wasn’t sure what she was crying for – what she’d lost? But that could be anything; her father, her idol friend, her job… And she’d gained nothing but the crushing realisation that she had nothing but her labour, her skill. And what skill was that? A decent singing voice and a cute image? Nothing that would help her now, surely. So she’d signed up for an online course – nothing special, just a high school level diploma. And, she’d thought to herself, feeling oriented for the first time in months, If I have that, I’ll have something.

Sayaka shakes herself out of her thoughts. She’s not this lily, she works at this flower shop, and it’s going to open soon. Seven twenty-five AM on the dot. She takes the pot back inside and places it in the store room. A vase is plucked from the shelf, filled with water and some long stem roses she cut yesterday – she was intending on drying them out, to use for either décor or to make tea, but they’d make a beautiful centre piece for the shop, and that’s what is needed now. She rearranges more things in the shop – her hands flit and fly with dexterity – the closest she’d ever gotten to this level of hand activity before was playing the piano, and even then her hands had felt clumsy. But now here she is, ordering the hanging vines about and making the shop resemble a little fairy’s store. She’s proud, and she clings on to the feeling, unwilling to let it escape. ‘Stay with me,’ she mutters softly, the words escaping without her notice. Stay with me.

In forty minutes, the store is done – Sayaka’s always pleased with her work, but today there’s a little more pride to be had. She’s added a new alcove, at the behest of her employer, which boasts a small collection of handmade teas. It had been easy to convince her hirer that this would be a prosperous venture – she’d simply suggested it, and he’d agreed. Maybe when he saw her he was reminded by all the other ways she’d ameliorated the shop – at first taking on this seemingly underqualified girl might have been an act of kindness, but now she was a part of the shop, as integral to it as its flowers. I’m proud, Sayaka thinks again, as she walks to the greenhouse. And what a wonderful feeling it is.

The greenhouse and the store room are both attached to the main room, the shop. The two doors on different sides lead to entirely different environments. The store room was cold and dry, filled with jars, vases and all manner of other things. Things that you needed for flowers, but were only half as pretty. Things flowers needed to survive, despite the lack of the item’s supposed beauty. And the greenhouse? Why, it was simply the most wonderful thing Sayaka had ever seen, all streaming sunlight and green tinged reflections, beautiful flowers that took her breath away every time she entered, sitting there paused. They looked so lifelike somehow – as if they would start talking as soon as she left. If I could, I’d never leave, thought Sayaka. And although she would have to leave soon – ten minutes to store opening, according to her watch, she’d could sit her a little while at least.

//

‘Hi, how can I help you? Maybe Sayaka had been wrong when she’d assumed that her skills as an idol wouldn’t come in handy here. The current customer was looking significantly more at ease than he had earlier, and that was saying something. As he explained the flowers he was looking for, a timid looking woman entered the store, the tense expression on her face changing softly into something akin to awe. It was a nice change to see, Sayaka thought. The woman looked much better without the scowl marring her features, and she had to force herself to return her focus to the customer’s words as the new person reached up to brush her fingers upon a jasmine flower.

‘Sure! And will that be all?’ The man said it was, and left the store, his coat trailing behind him, and finally, finally, Sayaka could turn her full attention to the new customer, the woman, without it being in the name of personal curiosity and instead being professional attendance.

‘Hello! What can I help you with?’ asked Sayaka, smiling gently to this person who seemed so sensitive, so easily affected by her surroundings. The reply was a murmur that she couldn’t quite hear. She caught the words smiling, and idiot, which did not bode well. But Sayaka wasn’t to get upset over that. She tried again. ‘Sorry, can you repeat that?’ At her statement, the woman seemed to come into herself, straightening out and making brief eye contact with her, before clearing her own throat.

‘Um, I was, um, wondering if you had any flowers that might be good with children?’ The woman had a pretty voice, low and soft – it made you quiet, made you want to listen. And want to listen Sayaka did.

‘Of course! I’m sure I can pick out something suitable. Do you have any children, Miss?’ Sayaka asked. I’m prying, she reprimanded herself. I’m prying and I shouldn’t be.

‘What?! No, of course not! How could you even…’ The response was exclaimed with so much surprise, that if it weren’t for the glaringly genuine (and just… glaring) expression on the woman’s face, she’d have thought she was acting.

‘O-okay. I’m sorry, truly.’ Sayaka replied sincerely, bowing slightly and hoping that she hadn’t upset the woman, who has now holding her single braid in her hands, and running her fingers on it roughly.

‘Seriously,’ the woman responded, sounding exasperated. ‘I only came here because it was the closest. If I knew it was also like… this, I wouldn’t have!’

‘Closest to where?’ Sayaka questioned. Silly girl. You don’t know what’s good for you.

‘What? Closest to my bookstore, of course. That’s where I work. We don’t treat our customers like this, though.’

We’ve slipped out of our roles, Sayaka thought. We’ve slipped out of our roles as employee and customer. But still, she couldn’t reign herself in. Why couldn’t she?

‘Oh, the bookstore! I know where you’re speaking of! Your seasonal displays are always beautiful…’

‘Wait, seriously? Are you… are you being genuine? You’re not making fun, are you?’

How did she even come to that conclusion? thought Sayaka. ‘Of course not!’ She lifted her hands in what she hoped was a placating gesture. ‘Honest!’

‘Oh…’ The look on the woman’s face was almost… disappointed? Did she genuinely think I was being mean? ‘Well, thank you. Sorry for jumping to conclusions, I guess.’ And then another comment, mumbled under her breath. ‘I like your displays too.’

‘Really?!’ Sayaka exclaimed, almost pouncing on the words. The woman flinched once, then twice, as Sayaka took her hands and held them in her own. ‘Thank you, thank you!’

‘God, what’s with you…’ said the woman, looking abashed and extricating her own hands.

‘Sorry, sorry….’ said Sayaka gently, before making a decision. She put out her right hand and looked the woman in the eye, making her facial expression stern and professional. ‘I’m Sayaka Maizono’

‘Jeez, why…. ugh.’ The woman seemed to make up her mind and put out her own, and as the shook she said ‘I’m Toko Fukawa. There, I’m not repeating it.’

Toko Fukawa… The name ruminated in Sayaka’s mind and she tried to place it. It sounds familiar…. someone I knew when I was an idol? She took another glance at the woman’s face. No, I would have remembered her… So I know her name but I haven’t seen her face? What sort of person… And then came the realisation, quick and lucid. A bookstore. Someone who’s name you knew but face you didn’t. ‘Oh my god.’

‘What? Are my hands sweaty?’ The words were accompanied by a tug, an attempt to take back her hand which was now clenched between two of Sayaka’s – the other had not been deliberate but it was there, holding down deftly.

‘Oh my god.’ Sayaka said again.

‘Seriously, is that all you can say? You’re gaping like a goldfish!’

At this, Sayaka shut her mouth, but didn’t release her hands. ‘You’re Toko Fukawa!’

‘I literally just told you that? What is wrong with this girl?’

‘But you’re like… famous! You wrote ‘So Lingers the Ocean’… you’re like my favourite author!’

‘Why are you so surprised? Are you upset? It’s only natural you would be, after seeing me… It turns out your favourite author doesn’t look the way you expected and you’re disgusted. It’s palpable.’

‘No! I mean… Miss Fukawa… I’m just very happy to meet you.’

‘Oh. Well thanks, I guess. And just Toko is fine.’

‘Cool! You can call me Sayaka, then.’

‘Okay…. Sayaka.’

Why is my heart beating so fast? Oh my god she said my name. Toko Fukawa said my name. Wait am I still holding her hand? Okay, stop doing that. Calm down. Flowers. She wanted flowers.

‘I’m going to get you your flowers, okay? Carnations are good long stem flowers for children – no thorns, but peonies and pansies are better for planting. You know windowsills, and all that? Do you have a preference?’ ‘Um, pansies would be good. We need them for the children’s reading corner at the bookstore.’

‘Okay! I’ll be sure to choose plenty of bright colours, okay?’ Sayaka quelled her nerves and went ahead, choosing flowers that she thought would evoke joy from children. Vibrant colours and gentle smells that you weren’t likely to be intolerant to. When she’d selected what she deemed enough – and glanced over and saw Fukawa’s nod, she proceeded to the counter and began to package them gently. Perhaps she should have chosen something with a bit more resilience? No, these were a good choice, she reassured herself. Besides, Toko was happy, and wasn’t that what mattered? Customer satisfaction? Customer satisfaction, or the satisfaction of this customer? said a voice in her mind, tinged with cruelty. She inwardly told it to shut up.

‘Alright, here are your flowers! That’ll be two thousand yen.’ Sayaka said, waiting patiently as Toko took a plain black purse from her pocket and check for notes. Sayaka thought of her own purse, light pink with blue stripes, not to mention covered with stickers and blushed with shame. As she took the money, and Toko turned for the door, the thing she wanted to say made itself visible in her mind. Say it! Say it! ‘Hope to be seeing you again!’

Toko turned gently and looked in her direction before leaving. If she noticed the difference in the way she and the customer before her had been addressed, she didn’t comment on it.

❀❀❀

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #309

“show me how to lie - you’re getting better all the time  /  and turning all against one is an art that’s hard to teach.”

Have you ever played Jackbox Games? If so, which ones of their party games are your favorites? No, but I looooove watching Mark and The Boys play them on charity streams. They can make up the funniest shit. I can't recall the name of the specific one I'm thinking of... but I enjoy watching most of them. I do think one or two are boring, though. Do you have artistic friends? If so, have you got their artwork displayed? I have some very talented friends, but I don't have anything of theirs displayed somewhere. Have you ever considered pole dancing? Why/why not? No. It takes an incredible amount of strength, plus confidence I don't have. That and I'm just not into it. What's the last thing you fixed yourself? Uhhhhhhh bitch I couldn't tell ya. Are there any CDs you've held onto for sentimental reasons? No. Did you read the Barbie magazines with comics made with the actual dolls? "I didn’t know that was a real thing." <<<< Me either. What's the last thing you knitted? I've never knitted before. Who was your first online friend? Emma. :') She was the first person who joined my RP mob back in the Animal Planet forum days. Why do you take surveys? Be honest. Boredom, distraction, and sometimes I just wanna ramble about whatever. Does mail get delivered to your door or do you have a mailbox outside? Our mailbox is by the side of the road at the end of our driveway. Your doorbell rings out of the blue. What's your reaction? Let Mom answer it. I don't answer the door ever if I don't expect someone or can peek outside and don't recognize them. Are all the lamps in your home LED or other energy saving lights? I don't know. Do you prefer writing by hand or typing? Typing. I can't write very long at all before my carpal tunnel flares up. Think of one of the biggest decisions you've had to make in your life...If you made a different choice, how different would your life be now? I'd be dead, that simple. Have you ever taken a course on CPR? No. What makes you laugh most effortlessly? You can guess it pretty easily. What makes you cry most effortlessly? I make it a rule that I "can't" listen to "Eternally Yours" by Motionless In White because there hasn't been even ONE occasion where it hasn't made me cry, even when I was stupid enough to binge it because it's just a good song. I've broken that "rule" before because I do just genuinely enjoy the song, but I know the pain truly isn't worth it, so I haven't heard it in a decently long time. What is the best smell in the whole world? Cinnamon rolls, probably. My body wash is currently that kind of smell, and Jesus Christ it's the best part of showering. Do you wear a watch? No. Can you tell time from an analog clock? Yes. What a time it'll be when kids can't anymore... Is there a number or a combination of numbers that feels important to you? Only dates, but not numbers themselves. What is the most socially awkward thing you've done? *gestures at my life as a whole* Is your computer decorated in any way? No. If your old class was to have a reunion, would you attend it? No. No. I don't want to relive my high school experience; it would be too painful for me to willingly walk into. What's the worst thing that's ever happened to you? I would say "the breakup," but technically it was letting him basically own me and my every neuron of joy. Not by his will of course, but my own. I was stupid and just... handed those rights over without really realizing it. I can harp forever and ever and EVER about the importance of making sure you own yourself and your emotions. Do you ever donate money to charity? If so, which charity and why? Blah blah blah, I don't get an income, you know this. Whenever I do, I 100% plan on donating to every charity stream Mark ever hosts again, as well as some other people's. I'd love to donate to a lot of places. Would you ever want to get married? If so, why? Yes, because society has made it too instilled in me that it's just like... this ultimate validation of "forever" with your partner, even though I know you can be just as or even far more invested in your relationship without marriage. The only *true* benefit of marriage imo is for legal and financial reasons, but yeah, I still want it. Like I said, it's too deeply embedded in that brain of mine that it's a relationship goal. Why do you live the way you do? I'm not even living the way I want to, so... Have you ever abused an animal? No, and I say "fuck you" with every ounce of sincerity and loathing if you have. Do you think animals are less important than humans? If so, why? Nope. We share this earth and grew from the same roots, so what *really* makes us better? We might be smarter (generally) and more developed as the apex predator, but that does not equate to being more important than, say, even a gnat. That creature has the exact same level of rights to be here as the human species does. I could go on and on and on about this topic. How close was the last person close to you who has died? Not extremely, but she was still important to and loved by me. Grandma and I were very, very different and butted heads more than once, but her love was unconditional, and she showed boundless kindness to others. She showed a courage I see as unmatched in the face of death. I truly, deeply, in the very core of my heart hope she is at peace and experiencing all joys she ever wished for. How does death in general make you feel? Well, it depends on how I'm looking at it. I fully accept it is an inevitable phase in simply existing that none of us will ever evade, so it's not exactly terrifying to me, though of course I don't want it anytime soon. If I'm thinking about people I love dying, I definitely get sad about it and scared of that possibly eternal separation. Is there a person you absolutely loathe? If so, why do you loathe them? Not that I know personally, no. Has anyone ever told you that you're rude? If so, what caused it? No; I think I'm very mannerly, honestly. Have you ever seen a therapist? I've regularly seen therapists since I started middle school. I advocate for everyone to have one, honestly, whether you have a mental illness or not. Have you ever been homeless? In technical terms, yes, but a friend let me stay with her until Mom and I settled into a new place. Have you ever been completely broke? That's the actual story of my life. Well, not me personally considering I've never had to take care of myself financially, but my mom struggles very, very badly with this, and mind you, she's frugal. Just disgustingly underpaid when she worked, and her current status with disability isn't exactly incredibly generous. I live under her roof, so. Have you ever had a steady job? No. Have you ever needed a loan? If so, what for? Have you paid it back? Yes, for school, and no. I do NOT want to know how in debt I am with schools. Have you ever wanted to go to space? Not seriously, no. What's the weirdest thing you've ever seen or heard? I am 99.99% sure mine and Jason's old roommates were having some ~kinky~ sex once while I was alone on the couch against their bedroom. Preeeetty sure the girl was making meowing sounds. They were furries (who I want to emphasize have zero judgment from me; I actually think they're very brave and creative), so that was... something I definitely wasn't used to hearing, haha. What has been the most exciting moment of your life thus far? Probably when Mark N O T I C E D me on Tumblr by reblogging a gif I made of him and his pupper, and I LITERALLY struggled to sleep for three days lmfaoooo. How many birds can you name just by looking at them? Uhhhh a pretty decent amount, I'd say. Which birds are most common around your neighborhood? Crows, sparrows, cardinals and bluejays if you're lucky, robins... pretty basic stuff like that. What do you think is the most interesting sea creature? Octopi are absolutely fascinating with their intelligence. How do you reset your head to zero, so to speak? Take a nap. That usually works. Have you ever gone exploring an abandoned building? Yeah, I love that shit and really wish I could do it more. Bring my camera, too. Are there any foreign television shows you enjoy watching? Some animes. Do you have any clocks in your house that chime when the hour changes? Do those types of clocks annoy you? No. I actually quite like them, though. Has anyone ever let you borrow some of their music, promising you'd love it, but you really didn't? Did you lie to the person and agree, or tell the truth, that you hated it? My dad lent me his Shinedown CD once clearly without thinking I could just look up the album online, haha... He's an old clueless man, leave 'im be. But anyway, of course I listened to it for him and I enjoyed it; I especially loved "The Human Radio," "Kill Your Conscience" and "Pyro." Have you had the same doctor pretty much your whole life, or have you went to a bunch of different ones over the years? Have you ever been to the doctor thinking something was horribly wrong with you, but it turned out to be something minor? Mine has changed a few times, but I haven't had "a bunch." As for the second question, not to my recollection. Is the background on your phone a default picture, or a picture you took? What is the picture of? The lock screen is a pastel-styled list of mental health reminders: "i am strong, i am loved, i am enough." My home screen has been some adorable meerkat pups for a while, which I didn't take. What is your favorite type of print (ex: zebra, stripes, argyle)? Do you have a lot of things with this print on it? Ummmm maybe plaid? No. Are there any stores you feel uncomfortable going into (ex: if you dress girly, do you feel uncomfortable going into Hot Topic)? Are there any stores that you refuse, or just never go in to? The only situation I could think of would be a sex shop. That'd be so fuckin uncomfortable. What is your favorite brand of clothing? Is this a brand that is sort of expensive, or is it pretty affordable? I'm heavily biased towards Cloak, haha. I just support anything and everything Mark takes part it, and it's his and jacksepticeye's business. I have one shirt and it's genuinely great quality and reall comfy. I wouldn't call its products expensive, but they're not cheap, either. What person do you text the most? My mom or Sara, depending on the day. Do you have any pictures that always make you laugh, or cry? Are they digital pictures, or printed pictures? What is the significance? No. Not pictures I have anymore, at least. Have you ever eaten raw pumpkin? Omg I would never. I hate the flavor of any sort of pumpkin food. Does your car have a name? I don't have my own car, but Mom jokingly calls hers "Olivia." Who was the last person you made plans with? One of my sister's in-laws that's actually the mother of one of my closest friends contacted me to plan some family pictures. What is the rudest thing someone has done recently towards you? I can't think of anything recent. How do you feel about your hair right now? It needs to be trimmed and dyed. How fast have you driven a car? I think accidentally leaning towards 80 on a highway. When you're hanging out with friends + you become bored, do you just leave or endure the boredom? Given I can't leave without a car, I deal with it. What did you last plug into your computer? What were you doing with this? The charger for obvious reasons. What color(s) have you dyed your hair? Red, purple, black, then red, purple, and lighter brown highlights. I really wish I could dye it more and actually have the color stick... Was your first kiss perfect? It was to me. What song did you hear last? I have "Over The Mountain" by Ozzy on now. (: Does anyone have any blackmail on you? No. Have you ever walked into the guys' bathroom? HA, once during a teacher work day (my mom was an assistant) at my elementary school. My sisters and friends went in there to be little "rebels." I remember being mega confused with urinals, haha. Then as a teen and adult, I've been in the dance studio's boy's restroom as well as a church's to help Mom clean. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? My therapist. Are you shy? I am VERY shy. Are you talkative? Generally, no, but when I'm in a very good mood, I tend to be. Has your most recent ex ever seen you cry? Oh jeez, she saw me wail once. When was the last time you were called "cute"? I'm not sure. Would you rather be called "hot", "cute" or "beautiful"? "Beautiful." Do you have a little sister? Yep. Definitely not "little" anymore, though. About to have her Master's in social work... How many arguments have you had with the last person you kissed? Given our childhood, we've fought a lot, but mostly just as kids over very, very stupid things. As adults, we've had a serious argument once or twice and then just some very minor disagreements sprinkled in there. Do you know anyone who's been arrested? Oh yes. What're you planning on doing after this? Another survey. What time did you go to sleep last night? Damn, it wasn't even 8:00. I was EXHAUSTED and actually slept decently for once in my life. Do you like waking up to good morning texts in the morning? I mean, I'd think most people would. It's a sweet, easy way of someone showing they care and think about you. Have you left some things unsaid with a certain person? Yeah. What was the last thing that made you happy? We had syrup to add to my breakfast, haha. I don't know if these are a thing everywhere, but I looove what we just call "pancakes on a stick," which is like a corndog, but with sausage and pancake batter. Dipping it in syrup is amaaaaaaziiiiiiing. Do you like the smell of rain? I don't love it, but it's refreshing sometimes. It's mostly just associated with a bittersweet memory, so it can be triggering to smell. I know, that sounds immensely stupid. What was the last thing you took a picture of? A very, very relatable meme to show Sara, haha. She doesn't have a Facebook, so that'll do. When you go to McDonald's, what drink do you usually get? I always get a Coke. What’s the nickname of your home state? Tar Heel State, from discovering tar in the since aptly-named Tar River. Have you ever thought about your wedding? I mean duh. What’s the worse type of weather in your opinion? Hot and humid, ugh. Especially right after a summer afternoon thunderstorm. It's unbearable. You can't fucking breathe outside, and you set one foot out of the door and it's soaked. Do you have a Kindle or iPad or neither? Neither. Would you rather read or write? Write. When was the last time someone took a picture of you? The time Misty visited last month and we were taking family pictures. Would you rather see Taylor Swift or Carrie Underwood in concert? I wouldn't pay for either or even willingly go to one or the other, but if I had to go for whatever reason, Carrie. She has a beautiful voice as well as a good handful of songs I actually like. I'm not a Taylor fan; there are only like, two old songs by her I enjoy. When someone screws you over, do you get back with revenge? No. I may not be the best at adulting, but damn, I'm not that bad. Name something negative that you hate about yourself? I overthink like a motherfucker. About everything. Is there a dead end road near where you live? I live on one. Huh, that's actually been the case three times... wow. Four if you count the apartment. Who are you tired of seeing in the news a lot (celebrities)? I don't care. I don't even pay attention to the news, other than Covid updates. Have you ever had to call and complain about a product you bought? No. Name something positive you love about yourself: I care a lot about people. Can you smell anything right now? No, besides however my house naturally smells that I'm numb to. Have you spoken to a relative on the phone today? No. How does alcohol affect you? I flush in my face very obviously, and I become more outgoing and talkative. Have you ever eaten tofu and if so, did you enjoy it? I've never tried it, but I very much doubt I'd enjoy it. What was the last type of meat you ate? Pork. What colour is your toothpaste? Blue and white. Have you ever been suspended from school? No. Have you ever inhaled helium? Once, I believe. Are you a fan of Adam Sandler? Yeah, I think he's pretty funny and a talented actor. What was the last fruit you ate? An apple. A candied apple for Valentine's Day, but still an apple, haha. Have you ever watched Parks and Recreation? With Sara's family, yeah. It was fine. Have you watched a movie this week? I haven't watched a movie in many months. Have you set an alarm today? Yeah, just to ensure I was up for group therapy today. Have you asked someone for advice today? No. What was the last website you were on, other than this one? YouTube. Have you ever been to Hawaii? No, but it'd be cool. Well, thinking about the humidity... Have you watched more than an hour of TV today? No; I haven't watched television in a long time. Do you keep magazines by your toilet? No. The last time you got dressed up, where did you go? I got my makeup done and put on a dress for a Halloween "witch" shoot with my friend and some other people. The pictures pretty much don't exist because they're blurry as shit and way too dark because we left too late. I don't know why we even left the house to do it by the time everyone figured their shit out. I was really disappointed because I thought Summer made me look really, really pretty. ;_; Did the one person who hurt you the most in your life apologize? Yes, but I don't know if he really meant it. He might have just wanted me off his back, but I kinda feel now that he meant it, at least regarding how it happened. Are you proud of who you are? Only in the sense that I think I have a good heart. Otherwise, no. I've accomplished so little. Have you ever been to Costco? We don't have those here, so no. Do/did you have to wear a uniform to your high school? No, thank Christ. Only in middle school. How many video games do you own? A whole lot. Have you ever been to a casino? If so, which one(s)? No. Have you ever visited a sex shop? No. How many sets of keys do you have for your house? One. Do you give spare keys to your place to your friends and family? Our landlord/family friend has one. Then obviously my sisters do, too. Have you ever ridden a bicycle through a busy city? Oh hell no. Do you use Instagram? How often do you post there? Yes, two for each of my photography "styles." I don't post a lot myself, but I react to stuff. When was the last time you high-fived someone? I believe the last time I was at my sister's and my nephew caught a Pokemon on his first throw in Pokemon GO. He and his sister LOVE that game; that's the first thing they ask to do when I come over, haha. Their dad doesn't like it because it's "evil" (which he finds most things, really...), and it's something I could roll my eyes into the back of my head about, but I still have to respect his parenting and ask if they can play it first. He let's 'em, just not long. He also took away the Pikachu plushy I gave Aubree because it's her favorite one. :^) Guess who doesn't fuckin like him lmao. Do you like writing? How often do you write? I love writing! I don't do it very much nowadays except through surveys, though. RP is kinda on pause, so surveys is really how I just get stuff out, even if it isn't creative. Are there any posters or artworks hanging in your living room? Artwork and family photos, yes. What's your favourite place to get pizza? I'm a basic bitch that loves her some Domino's. How many times have you been to the beach? Quite a few times. We live only like two hours away, and considering Myrtle Beach is a common dance competition location, we've been a couple handfuls of instances. Has there ever been a fire inside your house? Tell me the story. No. After we moved out of my childhood house though that we actually owned, the fucking idiots who were moving in completely roasted it to pitch by setting boxes on the goddamn stove and accidentally turning it on. The house had to be entirely rebuilt. My parents were livid considering it was THEIR house. Have you ever had a scary encounter with a wild animal? No. What was the best school project you remember doing? I actually really enjoyed the huge essay I did on toxic masculinity the last time I tried college. I've always been very firm about letting men be humans and not emotionless robots, but I learned a lot more while researching and writing. Name a video game you can play over and over again: Shadow of the Colossus is #1. I've beaten it at least 30 times, maybe even 40+; it's been too long since I've seen the save files. It's a relatively short game (you can beat it in less than like, four hours if you know what you're doing) and just very relaxing yet simultaneously absolutely epic to me. God, I want a PS4 to play the remaster, like beyond words. It looks incredible, and I want to try to get white Agro. Have you ever petted a cow, a sheep, or a pig? A pig, yes. I love pigs.

[hms-chill]

A Channel of Your Peace

Summary: Following Henry being outed, the election, and the end of the book, Henry and Philip slowly start to fix their relationship. There’s blood that can’t be unshed, but there’s also a chance that things could get better.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Chapter 5: Where there is Despair, Let Me Bring Hope

Chapter 6: Where There is Darkness, Let Me Bring Light

It happens slowly, starting over the course of the week while they're both in Kensington. Henry finds himself smiling at Philip during a meeting, a genuinely happy smile rather than the half-smiles he's gotten used to falling back on. The next day, during a break from meetings, they eat lunch together at a place Philp likes, with outdoor seating because they've been in stuffy rooms all day, and it's nice. They've finally stopped tip toeing around each other and are starting to just be friends, and Henry is so, so glad. Bea joins them for a movie one night, settling across the couch from Philip with Henry in the middle, and they argue over popcorn flavors instead of anything serious, and it feels good.

When Henry goes home to Brooklyn, he promises to call. Philip says he'd like that, and he seems sincere. So Henry does call, and Philip gets added into his weekly phone call rotation, and it feels right. When Philip gets a therapist approved, he calls Henry to talk about his first appointment, and it's five AM in New York, but Philip needs someone and Henry is so glad they're starting to fix things that he can't find it in himself to be upset he's up early. He just helps convince Philip that the therapist is a good fit, and he gets to ask about Martha and the baby, about how they're painting a room with a little forest and working on finding the perfect first bear. Bea's sent them a few already, and Henry knows he has a few to bring when he visits next (he and Alex are arguing about whether the beagle or the longhorn will be more popular), but Philip and Martha want to get the baby one from Mom and Dad, and Martha in particular wants it to be perfect. Then Philip talks about the charity he's still working on starting, and Henry gets to listen to him talk about how amazing Martha is, which is something he didn't realize he loved so much. He'd never really gotten to know her before he and Philip started to get along, but the way Philip tells it, she's some sort of nearly perfect superwoman who can single-handedly design a nursery, set up a charity, and be a royal, all while hiding some particularly nasty morning sickness from the nosy British press. Henry knows he's working hard, too, but the way Philip tells it, he's doing next to nothing while Martha saves the world. He clearly adores her, and when he talks about her, he gets more excited than Henry's seen him about anything else. He changes from a perfect heir to a lovesick teenager, all excited praise and rambling stories. Henry just grins and laughs through it all, settling at the computer and placing a few very special Etsy orders. A week later, People's front cover is dominated by a picture of Philip on a run, sporting a t-shirt with a collage of Martha's face and the words "Martha's Biggest Fan". #MarthasBiggestFan trends on UK twitter for hours, only bolstered when Philip tweets a picture of a mug covered in her face with a thanks to Henry. Alex sees it, and he laughs, and it's nice. A few days later, a package arrives with a shirt covered in Alex's face and the words "Alex's Biggest Fan".

When Martha's first ultrasound picture comes in a group chat to him and Bea, Henry's not sure if it's intentional, but he likes it. The baby is healthy, and Philip is starting to be more excited than nervous, and it feels right to have a group chat with his siblings, even if it's an accidental one.

He texts their group chat when numbers at the Brooklyn shelter look good for the next year, and his siblings get to celebrate with him. When Bea and Philip get tea together somewhere, Bea sends a picture of them with an empty chair and a packet of Jaffa cakes to tell him they miss him. When Bea and Henry meet up at a youth shelter in Argentina for a D&D fundraiser, Philip texts them saying he's got to go to bed before the stream starts, but he hopes they win and will watch tomorrow.

Slowly, the three of them start to be actual friends again. The next time Henry goes to London, right before the appointment where Martha could find out the baby’s sex, Philip invites him and Bea to lunch. They go, the three of them together, and it’s nice. They catch up, and eventually, Philip puts his fork down and says, "I... while you're both here, I sort of wanted to ask something, if that's okay? Mazzy and I, we don't know the baby's gender-- sex, or well, either, I guess, yet, but we were thinking... if it's-- they're a boy, we're thinking of maybe naming him for Dad? As a middle name. We're still not sure on the first, but I... I wanted to ask you both if that's alright, I suppose. Mum said it was alright with her, but you were both closer to him than I was, and I don't want to... to steal the name or anything if one of you wanted to use it. It's just... Mazzy and I thought it might be nice."

"It's alright with me," Henry says. "I don't think Alex and I are particularly concerned with children, but if we did want some I think we'd adopt, especially if you've got some to follow the line of succession. Not that it matters to us, but just for everyone else."

"I think it's a good idea," Bea agrees. "You're the only one of us who's particularly likely to have children you can name; I think it's right to name one for Dad. What other names are you thinking?"

Philip grins, the nervous energy he's been radiating all meal fading away. "Thank you. I'm glad you don't mind, and that I get to do something to sort of... celebrate him, I guess. First names we're thinking Victoria or Elizabeth for a girl, but we're not quite sure for a boy. We thought Owen, maybe, or Oliver. We considered Peter, but didn't like how that went with Arthur as a middle name. But then, well, we... we actually thought, maybe, if it's okay with Henry, we'd name him Edward."

Henry freezes with a bite halfway to his mouth. "Edward? That's... that's one of my names."

"I know. And we don't have to use it, but we... Martha and I, we both liked the sound of it, and... and we wanted him to be like you. When he grows up, I mean. You don't have to say yes, we can go with something else."

"No, I.. I'd be honored. Really. I was surprised, but it... that's really kind of you both. Thank you."

"Edward Arthur? Or are you thinking of more middle names?" Bea asks. Philip shakes his head.

"No; we didn't want to do the seven-names-thing to it. Them. Shit. I just remembered trying to write our full names in grammar school and didn't want to put a child through that. Edward Arthur Fox Mountchristen-Windsor felt like enough."

"And if they're a girl? You mentioned Elizabeth or Victoria, any specific middle names you're thinking of? Cat, for Mom?" Bea asks, and Philip smiles, and they go back to a lunch where Philip is relaxed and happy, talking about baby names and charity names and whatever else comes up.

As they head back to Kensington, Henry's struck by how impossible this all would have been a few months ago. Somehow, though, he and Philip and Bea have all changed. It makes sense now that, when the sun disappears and it starts to rain, he and Bea are grabbing Philip's hands to pull him into a run toward Kensington. It makes sense that, instead of calling a car or lecturing them about how running will actually get them wetter than if they just walked, he laughs a bit and runs with them. It makes sense to get dried off and pile into a movie room, where they say they'll all do work but really just end up turning on a TV, settling on the couch in front of it with blankets while Henry calls the kitchen for three bowls of differently-flavored popcorn and Bea channel surgs.

Henry's getting their popcorn sorted out when Bea and Philip both go quiet, and when he looks over, Bea's found a Bond movie. Henry passes out popcorn and finds a spot on the couch between them, and together, they watch their dad fight bad guys, the rain against the windows behind them a quiet backdrop. They've caught it near the end, which means they're just in time to see their dad save the day. As the credits roll, Henry asks, "can... can y'all tell me about Dad? And what it was like to know him when you weren't just a kid? You don't have to now, but... sometime? Because I... I sort of only knew him when I was a kid, and I feel like it's different when you're older, and I just wonder what that would have been like sometimes."

Bea pulls him into a hug, nodding, and Philip says, "I wasn't the closest to him, but of course."

A moment later, Bea looks at him more closely and asks, "did you just say 'y'all'? What are they doing to you over in the colonies?"

"There's no gender neutral, plural English 'you'!" Henry protests. "Y'all is the only one we have!"

Bea laughs. Philip opens his mouth, then closes it again, and Henry can see the wheels turning in his head.

"So... so 'y'all' is better than 'you guys', because 'guys' is for men? Is that right? Could I say 'you all' and be alright? Or... what should I say?"

"I think 'you all' would be alright, it's just a bit clunky. Just say 'y'all'. Give Gran a heart attack," Henry says. "Both of you adopt it, and we'll horrify her into retirement."

Bea laughs again, and Philip smiles, then says, "I... is it okay if I ask you things like that? I want to understand, but it's... a lot of things are confusing, and there's so much to learn. I thought I would be okay when I learned about the LGBTD, but now there's more, and there are some things I thought I wasn't supposed to say but some people say that's okay, and I... I don't know what to think, or where to find things, and a lot if it is complicated."

"Of course you can ask me. I'm not... I'm not an expert, really, but I've learned a lot from the kids at the shelter, and I'll do my best. But can I ask, um... D?"

"For drag? Is that not one of them? It's okay; you can laugh at me." So Henry does laugh a little, and Philip laughs, too, and Henry explains a bit of what drag is and how it interacts with queerness. Then, he googles the full acronym, noting that it's not all the identities but it is a start, and he watches Philip's eyes go wide.

"There's so many. I just learned 'bisexual' and 'transgender' a few months ago; I thought that was it."

"What... But you've known 'LGBT' longer than a few months. What did you think the B and T stood for?"

"Bottom and top? Lesbian, gay, bottom, top."

��Long ago, the four sexualities lived together in harmony, but everything changed when the bottom army attacked,” Bea says, switching the TV to music, “only the verse, master of all sexualities, could stop them. But when the world needed them most, they vanished.”

Henry laughs, and so does Philip. For a minute, they’re kids again, the three of them on a couch against the world. Philip asks what a verse is, and Bea explains. Henry has tea and biscuits brought up, and they go through the acronym, then talk about pronouns and terms like 'nonbinary' and 'aromantic' that aren't part of the official list. Then Philip has about what he should do if his kid is queer, and about whether or not he can say 'queer', and what he should say if he can't, and they talk about it over dinner. He takes notes on his phone, his questions coming more and more easily as he realizes that Bea and Henry won't be upset with him if he asks something the wrong way. Catherine finds them finishing dinner and joins them, asking questions of her own about what things mean and how she can better look after them and queer folks in the UK more broadly. Philip answers one of her questions, looking to Bea and Henry for confirmation but answering it well, and Henry feels a little rush of pride as the night closes in around them.

On AO3

Notes:

This is the chapter where I almost accidentally named Philip's child after Pez because "Percival Arthur" sounded nice and I forgot "Pez" is a nickname lmao.

--

Want to support the Hannah-Makes-Art fund? You can tip me in ko-fi here!

[magicmanias]

Sparks

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You were found in the ruins of the city of Sokovia when Ultron attacked—a helpless, thrown out HYDRA experiment that was left to die. The Avengers take you in and love you as if they were your own. And though you love your family, a certain sophomore at Midtown High lit the real sparks within you.

Warnings: Minor Angst in the beginning, Fluff!, so. much. fluff.

Word Count: 6.5k (this was way longer than I intended it to be)

A/N: Sorry for the long exposition, but I feel like it makes it all worth it when Peter and Y/N meet. And I didn’t heavily edit it, so I’m sorry for that.

AU where Tony discovers Peter earlier, Civil War happens but all is forgiven, and Homecoming has not happened.

There were loud booms and crashes in the distance. Flurries of terrified strangers ran past you. You didn’t know anything. Any of this. You placed your hands over your ears and closed your eyes shut. The screams. You couldn’t take the screams. You ignored the blood on your bare feet that began to run onto the dirt ground. Where were you? Where was your commander? You needed orders. Tears started to stream down your face.

“Hey Cap?” Tony flew down from the sky and landed on the once floating city of Sokovia. In the chaos amongst the terrified civilians, there was a girl. She couldn’t be more than fourteen. She looked normal—except for the red and yellow sparks that flew around her. Surrounding bits of debris floated around the girl, who appeared to be in agony as she sobbed on the ground. “I think I found something.”

—

“Hey, could I… ask you your name?” A tall, blond man in a blue suit sat down calmly in front of you. You backed away from him and cowered in the corner of your containment cell.

“Well, my name is Steve.” He reached his hand out. You refused to touch it. “We're here to help you.”

“Where's Mr. Strucker?” you whimpered. “He's my commander.”

“I-I um…” The man named Steve crunched down to your height. “Do you have a name?”

“I'm Soldier #82467. Experiment XIV,” you repeat what you were always referred to as. You were a number, not a name.

“How long has Mr. Strucker been your commander?” Steve asked you calmly.

Maybe this man could help you find your commander. Or was he the plague of the earth, as your commander always told you about? “My whole life. 14 years.”

“Do you know your birthday?” Steve continued.

You shook your head. You didn't know why that was important.

“I think we can give you a name. If you want one,” Steve said, with a small smile. You couldn't tell if it was genuine or not.  “Would you like a name?”

You slowly nodded your head. A name would be better than a number.

“Let's see what we can do.”

—

“Miss, could you sit here, please?” Bruce asked you. That's what Steve said his name was. It was strange to be on a first name basis with these men.

They were very odd. They weren't… intense like the men back home. They smiled a lot more too.

Bruce placed many strange items on you, similar to the doctors back at the base. The tools he used were cold, but you were used to being cold.

“Breath in, and out,” he said. Another man came into the room. He seemed older than the man who questioned you, Steve.

“Tony,” Steve approached Tony. “Did you get the results?”

“Yeah, Capsicle. She's definitely enhanced.”

“So what did Wanda say?” Bruce asked.

“She didn't know about her. They must have placed her away from the twins,” Tony answered. “And Nat is seeing if she can pull up anything on a Soldier—”

“Don't call her that,” Steve interrupted. He looked back at you. “We don't know her name yet, but she's a kid, Tony. Not a soldier.”

“Well, Nat is seeing if she can pull anything up on her in the old files that were recovered from SHIELD.” Tony cleared his voice and muttered a small, but sincere ‘sorry.’

The three men directed their attention to you. “Um, do you know what your powers are exactly?”

You hesitated before whispering softly, “That's classified.”

“You can tell us, kid. We're the good guys. The people you used to know, weren't very nice people. And we're trying to fix that,” Tony said, placing a hand on his shoulder in uncertainty. “If you tell us, we can help you control them.”

“They already tried,” you mumbled. “And they couldn't… I killed everyone who tried. I-I didn't mean t-to.”

“Hey, hey. Doll, it's ok,” Steve put a hand on your shoulder. You flinched at his touch. Sparks began to fly around you. Steve quickly moved his hand away and backed up. The sparks faded out.

“I don't w-want to hurt you…”

—

“Nat, what do you have on her?” Steve asked. Nat walked into the living room with a file in her hand.

She placed the file down and opened it up. Inside, there was very little, but enough to give them something.

“She never… had a name,” Natasha explained. “But they did label her. Project Y/N. Maybe we could call her that?”

“It's better than Soldier #82467,” Sam said from the couch.

“I agree,” Steve said. “How come Wanda never knew her?”

“Y/N said she killed everyone who tried to stop her?” Natasha pointed to a paragraph in the file. “They put her in solitary confinement for the past few months.”

“Do you think we can help her?” Clint asked. He always had a place in his heart for kids.

“We already have,” Tony said. He entered the room with Bruce. You trailed behind Bruce meekly.

“Hi, Y/N,” the redhead said. She gave you a tight-lipped smile.

“Is that my name?” you asked her. She nodded. You liked it.

“It's not perfect, but we gave her a cuff that can stop her powers from emerging when she gets stressed.”

“Can she use them otherwise?” Wanda asked. The rest of the Avengers had walked into the room to meet you

“Yeah, with practice I think,” Bruce said.

“What can she do, exactly?” Rhodey asked.

“It appears she gained her abilities from the mind stone as well,” Vision thought aloud. “I believe her powers were given to her recently. Definitely later than Wanda.”

“I've had them for about five months,” you told everyone. “I shoot sparks and I can create heat and fires. And I can move things—without touching them.”

“I know a man who is well versed in the Mystical Arts. His name is Stephen Strange. Perhaps he could help Y/N harness her abilities,” Thor suggested.

“Thor, that's a good—” The alarm blared throughout the tower. It startled you and sparks began to fly around the room. Part of Thor's cape almost set on fire.

“Like I said, it's a work in progress,” Tony yelled over the alarm.

“Suit up, Avengers!” Rhodey called out.

“Hey hey! We should call this chick Sparky!” Sam laughed at his own joke. Everyone glared at him.

You laughed quietly. Yeah, you liked the Avengers.

—

[One Year Later]

A lot had happened in a year: Steve found Bucky, the Avengers met Ant-Man, Wakanda had opened itself to the world, and you were succeeding in your training with Dr. Strange.

Steve and Tony were very protective of you and kind of acted like your dads—you even took Tony’s last name and he and Steve signed on to be your official guardians. Nat and Wanda were like big sisters to you and you told them everything. Bucky, Clint, and Sam were the “cool” uncles that you hung out with to get away with stuff and pull pranks. Rhodey taught you how to drive and told you funny stories about Tony. Scott taught you magic tricks and you were friends with his daughter, Cassie. You often helped Bruce in the lab with his research and he definitely taught you some sciency things. And you always helped Thor out because you were the only one who could help keep Loki under control; he had a soft spot for you. You also liked to help Vision in the kitchen. You made some mean cookies.

“Friday, where's Tony?” you asked, getting up from bed.

“Mr. Stark is on the bottom floor.”

You threw on a pair of loose shorts and a tank top and went downstairs to the foyer.

You walked to the main door to see Tony with a boy. He looked around your age. He had short, brown hair and a matching set of eyes.

“Sparky!” Tony called you over. You rolled your eyes at the nickname. You cannot believe that stuck. Sam sucks so much, you thought.

“Hi, Tony.” The boy looked at you and you returned his gaze with yours. He swallowed deeply. Your eyes widened.

SPARKS. 

Your eyes widened.

“Peter, this is my daughter. Well, technically she’s Steve’s too, but she has my last name, so she’s like 60% my daughter. And drop the staring, Parker. She's off limits.” Tony gripped Peter's shoulder playfully. He blushed, still looking at you.

“Hi, Peter. I'm Y/N,” you squeaked. You smiled nervously at him. You didn't have much contact with people outside of the Avengers and Cassie was really the only person you knew who was close to your age.

“I-I'm Pe— I'm P-Peter. Oh wait, you knew that…” he stuttered. He closed his mouth and bit his lip. You thought it was cute and you lightly giggled.

“I said she's off limits, Parker,” Tony almost growled. You felt the embarrassment rise to your cheeks and suddenly you felt panic. There was something about that kid that threw you off.

“I have to go,” you mumbled quickly before scurrying away.

Peter frowned at your early leave. He gulped. Stupid, Peter thought. God, why can’t you just talk like a normal person?

“She's just a little shy…” Tony sighed. “Y/N doesn’t really know any people around her age. She’s fifteen, like you.”

“I-I didn't know you-you had a daughter,” Peter inquired. He thought you were really pretty and you didn't really look like Tony.

“She's not my actual daughter. I took her in,” Tony paused. “Do you remember Sokovia?”

—

It had been a couple of days since you saw Peter. Even though you ran away from him, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. You didn’t really understand why and when you went to talk to Nat about it, she just smiled and said that you had a “crush on him.” You didn’t know what that meant though. She said it meant you liked him.

You did like Peter, you didn’t like him the same way you did the Avengers. The Avengers were your family, but he wasn’t like that to you. It was a different kind of like. You regretted running away from Peter before you could really soak up his features. His brown eyes that had looked straight into yours. It made your stomach feel weird but in a good way. His lips were… nice, too.

You decided not to talk to your “dads” about it. It didn’t seem like something a person would ask their father figures about.

Summer was ending. Tony knew it was about time you’d be around people your age. Sure, the Avengers were good company and they were your family, but you needed to make connections on your own. You had lived with them for a year now, and Tony knew you were adjusting to your new life well.  

You needed to go to school.

Of course, he knew you’d be just fine education-wise. Before they gave you powers, you were training to be a spy for HYDRA, so you were given a rich education. Tony and Bruce would often teach you about science and math as well, so you were definitely well off there. Making friends was the challenge—but Tony knew a certain high schooler with spider-powers and a large knowledge on pop culture who could help her out.

“School? Tony, are you sure? She’s barely been here a year. And she doesn’t even have her powers fully under control,” Steve argued. He walked around the kitchen counter to get a mug from the cabinet.

“Yes, I think she’s ready. She’s gotta make some friends, Rogers. And what could go wrong? It’s high school,” Tony shot back. “I just want her to have some friends her age. I mean, we may have to leave her behind one day. This isn’t safe work.” Tony frowned at the thought of leaving Y/N if something were to happen to him. She was his daughter.

“You know she’s just as much mine as she is yours. I get a say in this,” Steve countered. “I mean, I’m just worried for her.”

There was a long moment of silence. Steve looked down at his coffee in contemplation. Tony came closer to him before finally saying, “Do you remember when we found Y/N?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” he answered. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“And do you remember what you said to me when I called her ‘Soldier?’” Tony continued.

Steve realized where Tony was coming from. “I said, ‘She’s just a kid, not a soldier,’” he recited, like lines from a play. Steve sighed. “You’re right.”

“I know I am. We have to give her a chance to have some sort of childhood. Let her go to school,” Tony pleaded. His eyes grew with hope. Steve knew he couldn’t say no.

“Fine, but I want someone to look over her. She doesn’t know how to interact with people her age and I don’t want her to burn the school down,” Steve urged.

“I already have someone. You know the kid that stole your shield?” Tony laughed at the memory. Steve groaned.

“So we’re going to Queens?”

—

Peter had finished making his way around patrolling the streets of Queens as Spider-Man. He didn’t have much action today—just a couple of petty thefts. But for once, he was actually glad about the lack of opportunity. It meant he could swing around, daydreaming about her. Y/N Stark. Damn, she was pretty, he thought. Granted, his turned focus almost caused him to crash into a pole, but it was worth it. He hoped he would be able to see her again. Maybe next time Mr. Stark needed him, she would be there.

Turns out, Mr. Stark needed him right now.

“May?” Peter opened the door and walked into his apartment.

His aunt was on the couch. She turned to face him, “Hey baby. How’s Ned?”

Peter tossed his keys into the bowl next to the door. “Ned? Oh, uh. Ned—Ned is good. He’s fine. Hey, did you see that crazy car outside…?”

Tony Stark and Captain America were here. In his apartment. Two Avengers. At the same time. I mean, Mr. Stark had come by once, but he was here again—with Steve Rogers.

“M-Mr. Stark? Wh-What are you doing here? Uh, Ca-Captain,” Peter stuttered.

“Relax, alright? You should be used to this by now,” Tony said as he sat up from the couch.

“Tony Stark was talking to me about his daughter, Y/N,” May smiled at Peter and walked over to him. She gave him a hug, before quickly retreating. “Honey, you need a shower.”

Peter nodded silently and continued to stare at Steve freaking Rogers.

Steve, who was standing in the corner of the room, also walked over to Peter. He swallowed hard. “Hello, Mr. Parker.”

“Uh, hi-hi, sir.”

“Peter, I’m gonna hand it to you straight. We want Y/N to go to Midtown High,” Tony started. Peter zoned out every word after that. Y/N was going to school with him. He would be able to see her every day.

“Pete? Peter, are you even listening to me?” Tony asked, annoyed. Peter snapped out of his thoughts.

“What? Oh, yes, sir. I-I was listening.”

“Great, I thought you were drooling over my-our daughter,” Tony smirked. Steve glared at Peter.

“So, your Aunt has so graciously allowed Y/N to stay here for the school year,” Steve said, dropping the glare to thank his aunt.

Peter glanced at May, giving her a look of surprise. May smiled overly sweetly at him. Like she knew something he didn’t.

“Yeah, what, with the Avengers moving upstate and all, we wouldn’t be able to drive her down her every day and Midtown is a great school,” Tony added innocently.

Steve’s face darkened as he came closer to Peter. He went full-on dad mode, “Son, we want you to help her out. Now, she’s new to all this, like Stark told you, and we don’t want her to freak out. We’re giving you this responsibility. Do you think you can handle it?”

Peter nodded vigorously, “Yes. Yes, sir, Captain America. Yeah.”

“See? What’d I tell you, Rogers? He’s a good kid. He’ll watch after her,” Tony cheerfully patted a frowning Steve.

Tony turned back to Peter and his face too, darkened for a moment. Peter almost didn’t catch it. “No funny business, okay? We don’t want grandkids just yet.”

Peter blushed bright red. “Nope, no funny business. Got it.”

And with that, the two men exited the small apartment after thanking his aunt one last time.

May closed the door behind them and faced Peter. She smiled wickedly, “So, is she cute?”

“Wh-What?” Peter half-laughed to cover up his blush. “N-No, no. Well, I mean she’s not—not pretty, well I mean she’s beautiful, but not in a weird way! I-I mean. Wait, like she-she—”

“Okay, okay, baby. I get it. You love her.” May left him to process and walked into the kitchen.

“What? Wait—May!”

—

You looked out of the window of the car. You’d never been this far out into New York before. “Happy, are we there yet?”

“No, not yet,” he answered bluntly.

“Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers are calling you, Miss,” Friday announced. You answered the call and your dads came onto the holo-screen.

“Hi, doll,” Steve waved at you. “How’s it going?”

“Well, the traffic is pretty bad, but we’re almost there,” Happy answered for you.

“Happy, what did I tell you about answering someone else’s questions?” Tony snapped at him.

“If someone calls me honey, sweetheart, or doll, it’s not for me,” Happy repeated.

“Anyways, we want you to know that Peter is a good kid, okay? He’ll help you around school. You have all the same classes as him, except one. So, he can show you around the school and help you make friends.”

“Yeah, I know,” you tried you sound annoyed, but you were teeming with excitement.

“If he tries anything, you tell us so I can—”

You interrupted Steve, “Hey hey hey, I get it. I get it. You know, you should warm up to him, dad.”

“I know, I just—” Steve sighed. “I just want you to be safe, baby.”

“I love you, dad. I love you, other dad,” you said, waving goodbye to them.

“Wait, am I ‘other dad?’ Y/N—” You hung up before Tony could finish.

Finally, you arrived at Peter’s apartment. Happy walked you up and left your bags with you, before leaving.

You hesitated to knock. Your hands shook with anxiety. You took a deep breath and slowly knocked.

A woman opened the door.

“Hey, you must be Y/N. I’m Peter’s aunt. You can call me May,” she told you. She shook your hand gently. “Let me help with your bags, honey.”

“Oh ok. Thanks, May.” You walked into the apartment and looked around. It was small, but it felt homey.

May placed your bags down near the couch and walked into the kitchen. “Oh sorry. Peter’s not here right now. He’ll be back tonight.” You nodded and sat at the dinner table. You were slightly disappointed, but still, you would see him tonight.

“I just ordered some pizza, so if you’re hungry, you can eat that,” May reminded.

Later, May had to run out for work but promised that Peter would be there soon. She already set up a small mattress for you next to the couch and taught you how to use the shower. So, you sat and waited for Peter to come while you ate a piece of pizza.

After two slices, you already felt pretty full, so you threw the plate into the sink, and got ready to take a shower.

—

Peter swung from the building across his apartment. He landed quietly on the fire escape in front of his room. Crime fighting took a little longer than expected today.

He felt pretty beat up on his side. Luckily, May wouldn't be able to see the damage there. It was definitely going to bruise.

He peeked inside the apartment to check if May was there. He heard the water running and assumed she was in the shower.

He crept into his room and slowly closed the door. He took his suit off and let it fall to the floor. Before he changed, he checked out his side. Yep, it was definitely going to bruise. It looked like someone colored his entire right side with a purple magic marker.

He slowly picked up his suit and winced at the pain of bending down. He had to stand still for a moment to bear the pain.

The door suddenly opened. In a panic, Peter threw his suit into his closet. It was Y/N, with nothing but a flimsy towel covering herself. And he was in nothing but his boxers. 

“Oh, sorry!” you squeaked out. Were you supposed to leave? Did you want to leave? “I-I just heard noise s-so I thought I wouldn't make s-sure N-no one broke in or-or some-something.”

You blushed at the sight of his half-naked body. There went that feeling again. The one that felt weird but amazing all at the same time.

“I-It's Okay. I thought you were May. God, I'm so stupid. I thought you weren't coming u-until later! And I-I just got home so I figured I'd change and…” If Peter was panicking before, he didn't know what this was. His cheeks burned. You looked really hot. Even though your hair was wet and you were wrapped in a towel, you were still really pretty. He once again realized he was in his boxers and tried to shift certain parts.

Suddenly, you realized you were staring at his body and quickly retreated, “I should go.” You turned on your heel and headed for the door.

When he heard the door close, Peter quietly groaned and collapsed onto his bed.

“Why can't anything go right? It's only day one and you're already messing up,” he mumbled into his pillow.

Slowly, he sat back up and ran a hand through his hair and over his face. “Mr. Stark said, ‘No funny business, Peter.’ So no funny business, ok? She's… just your roommate/friend… Your super pretty roommate.”

—

School didn't start for another week, so it gave you a chance to get to know Peter.

At first, he avoided you like the plague. You tried to get to know the boy, but he always made an excuse to leave. It upset you. You had started to think he didn’t like you the way you liked him.

But eventually, he warmed up and started to speak to you, and… smile. He had a nice smile. It made your cheeks hot and the fluttery feeling would come back.

He made you laugh, more than Clint or even Sam. He showed you a bunch of new things too: memes, vines, old movies (you liked Star Wars a lot), and The Office.

You met his friends, Ned and MJ. They were really nice to you. MJ even drew a picture of you. You were “hanging out,” as Peter called it, with them and at one point you had stepped out to go to the bathroom. When you came back, you overheard them telling Peter something that he strongly denied.

“No! I don’t. She… doesn’t like me like that,” Peter argued.

“Yes! She totally does. And you do too,” Ned pushed.

“Dude, you’re a bad liar,” MJ scoffed.

School started the next day and Peter suggested a good distraction for your anxious nerves. Tonight, you were watching Alien. And though you used to live in a place full of nothing of fear, you were still scared. Come on! The alien ate people!! It was freaky.

After a long stretch of silence, the alien popped out of nowhere and started to chase the people in the movie.

“Ah!” you yelped. You jumped and dug your face into Peter’s chest. He was just glad you couldn’t see his face. He was so flustered, he forgot how to breathe.

Finally, he managed to croak out, “A-Are you scared?”

“A little,” you whimpered. “I thought this was supposed to be a comedy.”

“I told you it was scary, Y/N,” he laughed. You continued to hide your face in his chest. Carefully, he placed his hand on your hair and began to pet it to calm you down.

A couple of sparks flew around you and Peter noticed it. “Hey, hey. It’s ok, Y/N. We can watch something else if you want. I don’t mind.”

Slowly, you lifted your head to meet your eyes with his. Your face was really close to his. Peter stared back at you in uncertainty. His eyes dilated and his mouth was tight-lipped. Your heart thumped in your chest and you felt the urge to close the small space in between you. You knew what a crush was now.

Suddenly, the door flew open. Peter jumped away from you and you sat back in your spot. It was May.

“What’re you two doing?” she asked.

“We were watching a movie,” Peter explained quickly.

“Really? It seemed like something else,” she chuckled.

“No! It wasn’t anything!” Peter yelled and retreated into the kitchen.

“What does she mean?” you asked, puzzled.

“Well—”

“No! Nothing, it’s nothing, Y/N,” Peter interrupted his aunt from the fridge.

“Ok, well I guess I’ll just let you two finish,” May said nonchalantly. She turned to Peter, “Don’t have too much fun, baby. You know what Mr. Rogers said.”

“I know! I know, May,” Peter sighed. Oh, that’s what she meant, you thought.

“I’m going to go to bed,” you blurted. Peter looked up at you from the fridge.

He frowned. “Oh ok, that’s fine. Um, I’ll turn the TV off.”

He switched the TV off and turned to his room. Before he went in, he turned to you and softly said, “Night, Y/N.”

“Night, Petey.” He gave you a small smile and entered his room.

—

You took a shower and changed into a thin white t-shirt and sweatpants. You tried to sleep, but your nerves got the better of you. You were really nervous.

After several hours, you gave up and crept into Peter’s room. “Peter?” you whispered softly. No answer.

“Peter,” you tried again as you closed the door and approached his bed. He looked really peaceful asleep. You hated to wake him up, but you needed to see his big, brown eyes again.

You slightly shook him until he woke up.

“Huh? What? Y/N?” Peter rubbed his tired eyes and sat up. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Like two. I couldn’t sleep,” you told him. You played with the hem of your shirt nervously. “I-I’m nervous about school.”

“Hey, it’s ok. School isn’t so bad. Kids’ll like you,” he assured. You placed your head on his shoulder and pouted.

“I-I don’t know. I’ve never gone to school before. I don’t know what to do,” you fretted.

“It’s easy,” he said. “I’ll help you out. You know, with finding your classes, homework, checking out books, all that.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled. You hesitated before saying, “Can I sleep here?” Peter could barely hear you.

“What?”

“Can I sleep here? Just tonight?”

“Um, yeah. Sure,” he breathed. Peter knew it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but he wanted to be near you just as much as you wanted to be near him. Mr. Stark’s gonna kill me, but it’s worth it, he thought.

You climbed into bed with him and nuzzled into his body. He was warm.

“Night, Petey,” you yawned. You closed your eyes and you were out like a light. Peter, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep anymore. You were so close to him. You were sleeping right next to him. You were touching him.

Peter thought about you for the rest of the night. Not only were you beautiful, but you were smart, nice, funny, and dorky. He loved every bit of you. He knew there were sparks the first time he met you and with each minute, his affections only grew.

He dreaded the morning to come when you would both have to get up.

—

School wasn’t so bad. You had all your periods with Peter, except fourth period. So, you had some time to cope with that.

First period AP European History was fun. You liked learning about the history of Europe. You would often glance over at Peter and sometimes he would glance at you. You don’t even remember what the teacher said the homework was because you were too busy focusing on the piece of hair that stuck out on Peter’s head.

Second period Honors Humanities was too easy. You already read most of the literature the teacher said you were going to read. Lord of the Flies, Macbeth, The Odyssey, The Great Gatsby, Great Expectations. Done and done.

Third period Honors Pre-calc was incredibly boring. You already knew stuff like that up to the math of radioactive gamma rays and neutron stars. So, you spent the whole period messing with Peter using your powers. You rolled his pencil across his desk and untied his shoelace. He rolled his eyes playfully at you and made an ‘I’m going to get you back’ face at you.

Fourth period was when you had to leave Peter. He was in Spanish 5 while you were in AP French. Your fear subsided, however. You had grown used to other kids and French was easy. After all, you already knew that amongst seven other languages fluently. So it was a breeze.

Trying to find Peter at lunch was difficult and you tried to focus on controlling your stress so sparks wouldn’t fly everywhere. After about ten minutes of wandering around the school trying to find the cafeteria, you finally bumped into Ned and MJ, who led you to Peter. You opened your lunch to find a note that Tony had slipped into it somehow.

We love you, baby. -TS and SR

You smiled at the small note. You looked over at Peter to see him chewing on a PB&J sandwich. He was so cute.

“Subtle,” MJ whispered to you.

“What do you mean?” you asked nervously.

“Don’t worry. He likes you too. Trust me,” she winked at you. He liked you too?

After lunch, you departed from Ned and MJ and walked to PE. You were in deep thought the entire time. Peter liked you?

Finally, you made it to the gym. The teacher just let you do whatever you wanted for the first day, so Peter asked if you wanted to walk around with him, which you quickly agreed to.

“So, how was French?” he started.

“Facile,” you answered, smiling.

“Easy?” he asked. You nodded. A gust of wind flew towards you and you shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“Um, a little. But I’ll be fine,” you said. You brought your arms up to hug yourself for warmth.

“Here,” Peter slid his sweatshirt off. “Take this.”

You blushed. “No, it���s fine. Then you’ll be cold.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Take it,” he assured. Hesitantly, you took the sweatshirt and slipped it over your body. It smelled like him.

“Thanks,” you mumbled. There was Peter’s smile again.

After gym, you had AP Chem. Once again, easy A. For you and Peter. You guys even got to be lab partners. You messed around with each other while the teacher talked out how H2O and O2 yielded H2O2.

Finally, the day was over and you sat next to Peter on the bus. Ned allowed it. He sat with MJ. You were still wearing Peter’s sweatshirt and embraced the warmth it gave you. 

—

Later, you were finishing up chem homework, when you heard a crash in Peter’s room. You ran in to see Peter in a red suit. He slid his mask off to reveal cuts and bruises all over his face.

“Oh my God, Peter what happened? What are you doing?” you sat him on the bed and examined his wounds.

“I-I was um…”

“Are you that Spider-Man guy?” you questioned him, shocked. “Is that why you were at Avengers Tower the other day with my dad?”

“Yeah,” he winced when you touched one of his cuts. You muttered a small ‘sorry.’

“Oh my god. My dad never told me,” you gasped.

“Yeah, he didn’t want you to know. I’m so screwed,” Peter said through gritted teeth.

“Let me help you, Pete. Should I—Should I get May?” you asked.

“No, May doesn’t know.”

“She doesn’t? Oh ok, well um… Do you have a first aid kit?” you asked in a panic. He was pretty beat up.

“Yeah, under the sink in the bathroom.” He lied on the bed and groaned.

You got the kit from the bathroom and proceeded to clean the cuts on his face.

“Ok, we’re done with your face,” you said, placing the cotton ball down. “Now take off your suit.”

“No, it’s ok. I got it, Y/N.”

“Peter, it’s fine. I got it,” you urged. You gave him your best puppy dog face and he couldn’t resist.

“Fine.” He slipped his suit off and looked away from you. You tried to ignore his toned chest and stomach and placed bandage wrap on his torso.

“Got beat up pretty bad, huh? Tough bad guys?” you asked to distract him.

“Uh not really. I got kind of distracted,” he laughed. Your hand slipped and he hissed in pain.

“Sorry, uh go on.”

“I um…” If you’re going to tell her, I guess now would be the time, he thought. “I was thinking about you,” he continued.

You dropped the wrap and opened your mouth slightly in shock. “What do you mean?”

“Well—”

“Kids, I’m home!” May opened the door. Yours and Peter’s eyes widened. He threw his suit out of sight and quickly slipped on some clothes.

May entered the room. “Pete, what happened to your face?”

“He fell!” you blurted out. “We were running during gym and he slid face-first onto the floor.”

You and Peter laughed nervously. “Yeah, I uh, fell.”

“Ok, be more careful baby,” May closed the door.

—

You ate dinner in awkward silence with May and Peter. You stared at your food the entire time. Peter glanced every now and again at you, but you refused to make eye contact with him. Did you not like him back? Great, he thought.

Peter laid in his bed wide awake. He couldn’t stop thinking about you and how he had completely screwed up your friendship. He needed to fix this. He got up from bed and walked into the living room.

He saw you, still in his sweatshirt, sleeping. He tripped over the couch and fell onto it.

“Oof!” You quickly sat up at the noise and sent sparks through your hands.

“It’s me! It’s just me!” Peter whispered loudly. You lowered your hand and sighed.

“Peter you scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“What are you doing here?”

“I-I um…”

“Peter… do you… like me?” you closed your eyes shut in embarrassment.

“I-I uh…” Peter blushed for probably the hundredth time this week.

You frowned. “I get it if you don’t.”

“What? No, Y/N I do like you! I like you a lot. Ever since I first met you actually. Even though you ran away and all but—”

“I like you too,” you smiled widely.

“I didn’t tell you because your dads said I couldn’t be with you,” Peter pouted at your fathers’s warnings.

“I don’t care what they say. I want you,” you whispered.

“I want you too.”

Your faces were really close. You were unsure of what to do next, but before you could decide, Peter closed the distance between the two of you.

Wanda had told you what kissing was but you never expected it to be this great.

His lips were soft and moved carefully as if he was scared of rejection. You pushed back a little and placed your hands on his face. He wrapped his arms around your waist and deepened the kiss.

Peter never wanted it to stop. He quickly ended it for a breath of air but crashed his lips back onto yours. His hands moved up your waist and into your hair. You wrapped your arms around his neck in reply.

“Go out with me,” he said, releasing you from his grasp.

“Like-Like on a date?”

“Yeah, we could go out and eat dinner and take a walk around Central Park or Coney Island and ride the Ferris Wheel or—”

“Yes,” you breathed.

“R-Really?” Peter was surprised you agreed.

You nodded in reply and kissed him again.

—

On Saturday, Happy drove you and Peter to the Avengers complex to visit. The Avengers greeted the both of you.

“Man of Spiders! Lady Y/N. It is wonderful to see you both,” Thor greeted.

“Sparky, eh how’s it going?” Sam asked.

“Hello, guys!” Wanda waved at you both.

You greeted all of the Avengers and lastly your dads.

“Hi, peanut. How was school?” Tony asked, giving you a hug.

“It was great. Peter really helped and he introduced me to his friends.

“Oh, that’s awesome, sweetheart.” Tony let go and turned to Peter.

“Peter, did you go a good job?”

Peter swallowed. “Uh, yeah. I-I think so,” he sputtered nervously. You hadn’t told them you were dating yet. Only MJ, Ned, and May knew.

“You think so?” Steve questioned.

“I mean, yeah—yes, sir. I think so…”

“Dad, lay off, will you?” You pushed against his chest to get him to back away from Peter.

Nat came up to you to give you a hug, but before she did, she stared at you for a long moment before yelling out, “You kissed Peter, didn’t you?”

“Wh-What? No, I didn’t,” You were bright red. Shit, shit, shit.

“What?!” Tony and Steve yelled simultaneously. They stared at Peter.

“Parker, what was the one thing I told you not to do?!” Tony yelled.

“Uh, n-not to-to—”

“Not to hook up with our daughter!” Steve finished.

“But I—”

“You what!?” Tony screamed. “You did it anyway. I trusted you, Peter”

“I called you son…” Steve growled.

“Hey!” you yelled over the chaos. “I like him, ok? And he’s a nice guy. Come on, guys. Let him be.”

“But-But he—” Tony tried to defend.

“But nothing! He likes me and he’s nice and smart and he makes me laugh, ok? He’s good. You like him, don’t you?” You gave them your puppy dog sad face.

Steve and Tony softened. “Ok, fine,” Steve raised his arms in defeat. “But I’m watching you son.”

“Yes-Yes, sir,” Peter stuttered.

“But don’t kiss each other in front of me please,” Bucky added.

In spite, you smirked and pulled Peter to you by his shirt and gave him a quick peck.

Everyone groaned.

“My eyes!” Clint yelled.

“Oh boy,” Bruce turned to the face the other direction.

“Aw,” Wanda clasped her hands to her chest.

“Just—Just fucking… kill me,” Tony said.

You leaned over to Peter, who was sweating nervously at Steve, who glared at him angrily. “I think they like you.”

—

Tag List: @kitphi @loxbbg @weasleyisourjedi @sunnynightt @starlightfound @dennasaur @saturn-aka-six @peter-spider-parker-man @imbumkyung @thegloryofliterature @queenmadness @emilymarie0422 @tegan-eva @babebenhardy

[iwriteficsandmore]

How to Measure Love

Ho~ I’m not dead yet! I’ve come back with a vengeance! And a cute little oneshot for you all :) This idea came to me with reversed roles actually (you’ll know what I mean when you read it). I think I like how it came out better like this. It’s always great to write from Hawks’ perspective :3 Enjoy, peeps ♥

======== 

Hawks couldn't believe the awful dilemma he was in.

Ever since you came to work at his agency as recent two-year PR graduate, you'd swept everyone off their feet with your charm. It wasn't like you were trying to either. Hawks could spot a liar and superficial ass when he saw one, and after spending hours on end at work with you, he could tell you weren't that kind of person. Young and sweet, more like it, and quite the space cadet at times. It always amazed him how kind you could be and that it came from a genuine desire to help others. You should've been a hero—one that, unlike many he knew and heard of, would care more about the people that about herself. And he liked that about you. 

You were easy to talk to, easy and a pleasure to just be around with, and the way you worried in a way that wasn't pushy but sincerely caring was endearing. It seriously took less than the short months of you working at his agency for Hawks to fall for you.

But that wasn't the problem. Fraternizing wasn't something prohibited in his agency per se. All that he asked was that it didn't happen at the office and that it didn't interfere with their work. Otherwise it was a-okay with him. No, that wasn't the problem.

What actually was...

"That’s sweet." Hawks perked up at hearing one of his sidekick's words as they walked through the agency while heading out. 

Amber eyes caught sight of the large bouquet in your hands just freshly delivered by the look of things. Bright, colorful flowers brushed against your skin as you leaned in to take a deep inhale of their scent. The light tint of rose on your cheeks and the chirpy compliments and comments from the receptionists that must've gotten the gossip told him exactly who those were from. Your boyfriend.

"Ladies," Hawks couldn't keep from speaking up as they passed the PR office. All of them, yourself included, jumped a little at being busted fanning over the bouquet. 

"B-Boss?!"

Giving them all a tight-lipped smile, he eyed each and every one chidingly until he came to you. Though flustered, you couldn't quite put into a words any sort of excuse. 

"Lovely flowers, y/n," he complimented. "They'll need a vase if you want them to live long. I'd do that fast if I were you."

"A-Ah, yes, of course!"

You scamper off your seat, rounding your desk and dashing out of the office with the rest of the women. The smile left him as he watched your receding back and turned back to glare at the bouquet. 

"Boss, we're gonna be late for patrol!"

"Coming."

Hawks met the lucky bastard once. You had stayed behind at the office doing damage control on an absurdly and obviously fake tabloid. He'd done the same, needing to finish paperwork that he'd let pile up after weeks. Coincidentally both of you finished at the same time and met at the lobby. Hawks praised his good luck, fully intending to use the chance to the fullest. You were talking like nothing, settling into a calm that he loved, when he asked if he could take or walk you home. Like always, you grew a little flustered and stumbled on yours words.

For some reason, Hawks thought that you'd say yes.

"A-Actually, I'm getting picked-"

"Y/n!"

But hearing another man's voice call your name as he approached quickly shot that down and his hopes with it. Hawks' expression turned nonchalant at the way he'd so clumsily gotten to you and rubbed the back of his head.

"Sorry about the wait. Got out late from work too."

"It's alright," you interjected, a smiling coming to your lovely lips as you turned towards Hawks. "Hawks-san, this is my boyfriend. He's taking me home."

"Oh." Not wanting for you to see the way those words pained him, Hawks feigned a grin, shaking his hand when he offered it. "Well, guess you'll be fine getting home then. See you tomorrow."

It'd been the punch in the gut of a lifetime. He was in love with someone who already had somebody else. Fuck... What shit luck he had. Despite knowing this though, he couldn't help feeling the way he did about you. He knew how stupid it was to be in love for someone who couldn't reciprocate back. Being that what it may, Hawks wasn't one to just let go of things. He wouldn't interfere, but it would certainly take a while for him to fall out of love. Especially when you saw each other on the daily. 

Hawks was out on a walk—pouting about this exact thing after being reminded when your boyfriend sent you yet another bouquet to the office—when he saw it. It was a restaurant that he frequented because he liked their food and also because they kept a low profile regarding who they served. Hawks was on the other side of the street when he saw them come out. Your boyfriend—but it wasn't you who walked by his side. It wasn't you who he was chatting with a little too amicably. And it definitely wasn't you who he was kissing. 

He promised himself he wouldn't interfere. It was your love life. Not something he had any say in. But this? 

Fucker's got something coming.

Blood boiling, Hawks swooped down before the couple of them, his wings brandished off as he smirked lopsidedly at him. At recognizing him, your shit-excuse of a boyfriend blanched while the woman with him gawked in awe at the No.2 hero. Feigning a smile that he knew got through quite menacingly depending on who saw it, Hawks tilted his head to the side. 

"Well, hello there. Fancy meeting you here. On a date."

Fucker tried every excuse on the book, taking his arm off from the woman even. But it was all too little, too late. Hawks knew what he'd seen. And he knew exactly what he was.

"This isn't what it looks like."

"No?" Hawks chuckled, turning to the lady that had been accompanying the bastard with a candid smile. "Sweetheart, did you know that the man who just took you to dinner has a girlfriend?"

She exploded almost instantly. "What?!"

"Yep!" Amber eyes glinted with mischief and delight at seeing him squirm. "If I'm not wrong, they've been dating for five months already.”

"You!" She spun livid, red-faced at the news before hitting him a couple of times. "I fucking knew it! You've been cheating on me!"

Hawks felt that sink in heavily and saw red for a moment. You weren't his actual girlfriend. You were the ass's bit on the side. Fucking idiot. Though he enjoyed how pathetic the guy was trying to excuse himself when the lady left, Hawks' business wasn't with her. All he wanted was to leave one thing very clear.

"Look here, buddy," Hawks drawled, emphasizing acerbically the last word to make himself clear. "I don't care what you do with your life. You could go jump off a cliff and I'd be glad to watch. What I won't stand for is you two-timing y/n."

"Y/n? This is about her?"

"Yes, dumbass, it is. Now," Hawks unfurled his wings to their full span, stepping closer and grabbing the guy by the collar of his shirt. "You're going to go see her, tell her the truth, and fucking pray that I don't feel like hunting you down after you hurt her 'cause be-lieve-me," his feathers tensed, sharpening at the rabid rage coursing through him, "there won't be shit left of you when I do."

======

Hawks swore he blew a gasket the moment he saw the bouquet of roses on your desk the next day. By the content expression on your face it was than clear that the coward hadn't said a thing. Bastard. Hawks didn't know why he trusted he would. He didn't understand how the threat of obvious bodily harm by his hand didn't do the trick. But it hadn't. And you were still none the wiser of what the bastard was doing to you. Hawks avoided you the rest of the day. What he knew wasn't something for him to divulge, no matter how much he wanted to. No, this wasn't his place despite how much he wished it were. He almost went the whole day without talking to you—a torture in and of itself—when you caught him as he was just leaving his office.

"Hawks-san, can I have a moment to speak to you?" He almost declined. He'd been this close from saying no to you. "Please?" That utterly broke him.

He took you in to his office, offering you a seat which you deftly declined yourself with a wave of your hand and a smile. For once, he felt nervous. He couldn't tell what you wanted to talk about and that set his panic off. But when that usually cheerful demeanor of yours changed to a rather solemn one behind a tight-lipped smile, Hawks could tell what this was about almost instantly. 

"You ran into h/n yesterday, didn't you?"

It didn't really sound like a question. More like a suspicion that she wanted verified. And because Hawks wasn't one to hold back, he answered her truthfully.

"I did."

"You saw him coming out of a restaurant...with another woman?"

"Yeah."

"I see." You took a deep breath and wiped your face and tears away with the back of your hands. "Thank you for being honest with me."

"It's the least I can do," he replied. Silenced for a moment, Hawks tried to reach out to touch your shoulder, "Are you—"

"I knew he was cheating on me."

His fingers and feathers twitched at the sudden declaration and he stared at you befuddled. "You did?" You nodded still wiping tears that streamed down your face. 

"I-I guess I kind of suspected it—ever since we started dating, actually—that I wasn't really the only one he was seeing." A weird smile came to her lips even though her tears were still rolling down her reddened cheeks. "But I let it be. I told myself not to mind it. Because, really, he was the first to ask me out. I...I hadn't really gone out with anybody before that, not really. And he asked me out, you know? He's made me feel real special and I-I'm happy..." The moment you choked on your words as a sob broke from you lips, you trembled obviously not believing the blatant lie spilling from your lips.

"Y/n," Hawks spoke softly, and gently took your arm to lead you to seat down as he crouched before you to better look at you. "You can't tell me that like this and expect me to believe that you're really happy with someone who doesn't love you?"

"But he does love me. He always sends me flowers. He always texts me that he loves me. He always makes dinner for us at home."

Hawks didn't know who you were trying to convince anymore. 

"I don't want to be a downer but have you ever asked yourself why he never brings the flowers himself? Does he call you to say it too? Does he ever take you out in public anywhere?"

The questions seemed to only prove what they both already knew for a fact. And yet... 

"I thought it'd be fine if I just ignored it." She chuckled, but it sounded muffled behind her sobs. "Because I didn't want to confront him. I didn't want to lose him. No one's gonna love me like that—I don't deserve it."

Not true.

"That's not true." He didn't know what spurred him to speak. It didn't matter though. He wasn't going to keep quiet any longer. "I love you."

You scoffed at his response, the incredulous gesture sounding rather off putting coming from you. "No, you don't. You just feel bad for having been the one to unearth all this."

"You don't get to laugh at what I feel, much less tell me what it is." Hawks reached his hands up and held yours in his gently as his thumbs soothingly stroked the back of your hands. For once, those teary eyes gazed at your joined hands before lifting it up to meet amber eyes. "I love you, y/n. And I have ever since I met you." Finally, realization settled in your eyes. You shook your head over and over again despite the tint of red starting to color your cheeks. Hawks nodded his head trying to get it through yours. "But it doesn't matter who loves you and who doesn't. Not if you don't love yourself first."

"...w-what?"

"Don't ever think you don't deserve to be loved or to be happy. You do. Everybody does. Regardless of what shit life hits them with or what you think of yourself. Because none of it is true. You deserve more than that bastard or anybody can give you. Hell, I don't even know if I can give you what you deserve, but I'll be damned if I don't at least try." Hawks squeezed yours hands and you could feel just how true his words were from the intense yet adoring look he gave you. "But none of it will matter unless you care about yourself first, y/n. And you have to care enough to realize when something doesn't make you happy. Enough to kick that shit that doesn't make you happy out on the curb and care about yourself first. 'Cause I don't think anybody will love you as deeply or as sincerely as you will ever love yourself."

Your eyes wandered as his words sunk in. Hawks felt your fingers grip his hand tightly then. A smile came to your lips, a more sincere one than before as you broke his hold on your hands to wipe your face clean of dried tears. 

"Thank you, Hawks. I...I think I get what you mean to say."

"That's great to hear." A small, cautious smile spread across his face at hearing that. "Are you going home?" You nodded while still wiping away. "Let me walk you then. It's kind of late."

Hawks didn't know what to expect when he walked you home. You thanked him when you got to the front gate, bouquet of roses in your arms, before telling him you'd see him tomorrow. Giving you a wry smile, he dismissed himself and took flight but stopped only feet above where you wouldn't see him. Hawks waited with bated breath as you walked the length to your front steps and stopped. It was obvious how petrified you were to walk through that door and meet the one who obviously parked his car on the curb. Hawks was too. But relief settled through him and he smiled at you when you walked to the trash can, lifted the lid, and dumped the roses inside before walking into the house. 

Seeing you do that gave him hope. After that, he trusted that you would do what was right for yourself.  

===========

You called in sick the next day. Worried, Hawks called your home just in case but was relieved to here that you were fine, just taking the day off, and the weekend following that, to move out and get a small apartment. It gladdened him to hear that and joked around with you for a bit, saying that if you needed help to just give him a call and he'd go flying.

After that and as the days rolled by, Hawks could tell how you slowly returned to your former, cheery self. It was hard at first. No more flowers coming almost every other day got the receptionists at the front desk gossiping but it wasn't nothing he couldn't stop with a stern look and a mild offhand comment. You thanked him with a smile anytime that happened. As you took your time, Hawks did his best to simply go back to the way things used to be between you two. Just a simply employer-employee relationship. It was hard for him, to say the least. He'd confessed—poorly timed, yes, but did so all the same. And though he would've loved an answer, he knew that you came first. It didn't seem like that fact went over your head though. Hawks noticed from time to time just how flustered you would get around him, and that gave him a little bit of hope. Enough to wait around for as long as needed. Days became weeks which became months. Soon the end of the year came and Hawks threw a little party for all the employs of the agency. It wasn't anything much, just a little potluck for everyone where all those who went could bring something. Though you weren't up to it at first, he and some others, those who eventually found out about your break up, convinced you to join and spend the night having a little fun. 

It was barely ten when Hawks decided that it'd be a good time to go for the seventh beer. Though he wasn't much a drinker, he supposed that celebrating once a year like that wasn't too bad. You caught him mid-sip when you called out his name after having followed behind him. Choking a little from the startle, Hawks chuckled in an attempt to hide the clearing of his throat.

"Y/n? What's up?"

"Nothing, just wanted a little fresh air," you said, cupping your hands and covering your mouth a little to blow warm air into them. Puffs of white floated away each time and Hawks grinned before going back to drinking his beer. 

"Fresh is an understatement," he added. His wings unfurled behind him before one settle back and the other curled around you to keep the cold breeze from crashing too hard against your back. "Too much party for you?"

"Hardly." You chuckle taking a peek over your shoulder and through his feathers at the party still going on behind closed doors. "I'm having fun, actually. Just that they wanted to play some drinking game and I kind of have to drive home."

"Could always get a cab," he offered as he lowered the can from his lips and held it out before him for emphasis. 

"Okay, maybe I don't want to drink that much."

Coyly, you reached out and took the can of beer before Hawks knew it. Bringing it to your lips, you took a gulp of the bitter beverage and your face scrunched up a little at the taste before you gave it back. 

Hawks raised an eyebrow, sloshing the remaining beer around in the can. "What happened to 'I don't want to drink'?"

"I said 'much'. I don't want to drink much," you reiterated. That brought a chuckle out of him and you returned to the blissful quiet that he enjoyed about being with you, even now after a year of what happened. The calming talks, the chill silence, and just your presence was enough to put him completely at ease. And though it still ached a little, Hawks never could forget about you nor about the way you made him feel. 

"Um...Hawks-san?"

"Yeah?”

"I know it's been a long time and you probably don't remember but I want to thank you again. For what you did when I joined your agency."

Hawks knew perfectly well what you meant. Not a day went by that he didn't think of that and how strong you've been to let go and put yourself first. 

He raised his can, toasting to that. "No need to thank me. You did all the work, after all. I was just the cute cheerleader on the sidelines."

"No, you were more than that." Heavy as you were breathing, bigger and bigger puffs of white, cool air escaped your mouth. The nip in the air got reddened your face too, nipping at your cheekbones, ears, and tip of your nose. "You're the reason my life's been so much better. And I've been wanting to thank you everyday for that."

"You're a great PR agent, y/n," he chuckled, his own face starting to go a little numb from the cold. "That you keep outta trouble is more than enough."

"I don't mean as your PR agent, Hawks-san. I mean—oh, boy, how do I put this? I...think that what I want to say is...I like you, Hawks-san."

Hawks almost dropped the can of beer but held it tightly to avoid that travesty, denting the aluminum a bit. Laughing a little and feeling the warmth crawling over his face, Hawks instantly crouched down and wrapped his wings around him like a safety cocoon. Worried out of your mind, you kneel closer, crying out that you were sorry about surprising him like that. That just made him laugh a little more but he refused to unravel himself yet. 

It wasn't until your fingers poked deep enough through the feathery curtain and parted it that his amber eyes met yours. 

"Are you okay?" you asked timidly.

"Yeah," he mumbled, running his hand over and over through his hair and messing it up worse each time. In the end, his wings unfurled to reveal him as he crouched down and looked at you with a simple turn of his head. "It's just that I've been waiting such a long time to hear that that it took me by surprise."

"Really?" you perked up, curious. "Since when?"

"Since the day I confessed to you."

Your face turned bright red, this time it surely wasn't from the cold. Scooting to be as close as you could be to him, you waited as he sat back on the cold concrete before speaking.

"I'm sorry for making you wait so long for an answer."

"Don't be." Hawks chuckled before reaching his hand to cup your cheek. You didn't pull away as the warmth of it pooled against your cheek. Instead you savored it with a smile. "Not unless you intend to say that and leave it me hanging."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is if that confession means anything else. Like you wanting me to be your boyfriend, for example.”

"I-I—yes," you replied, after a momentary stumble, your eyes glinting briefly. "I-I'd love to be your girlfriend...Hawks. If you'd be okay with me."

Hawks chuckled before leaning in and bringing you closer by his hold on your cheek. Before you knew it, his lips brushed against yours. Barely even a whisper. But as he began to pull away you jumped forward again, stumbling into him and deepening the kiss at the same time. He laughed into your kiss but followed suit with your approach until you pulled back. Snorting a little, he kissed the tip of your cold nose before brushing his thumb over your cheek.  

"Believe me, there's no one I'd rather be with than you."

[starkerforlife6969]

Tony isn’t exactly surprised when Norman gets a much younger boyfriend.

The man isn’t hideous, and he’s rich, so really- there are lines of eager young men desperate to find a man like him.

Obviously, Tony is rich too. And much more handsome than Norman, but that’s all really besides the point.

The point is, even though Tony isn’t surprised by the fact Norman has a new young boy, he is surprised by the sight of him.

Peter Parker.

He’s almost obscenely pretty. Too pretty for his own good, really. With those fluffy chestnut curls and bright eyes. He’s small and slender and moves like a dancer and with the way he’s always clutching books to his chest and has a fucking backpack, Tony guesses he’s still in college.

Makes sense. College students are majorly in debt- they need rich men like Norman to help them out.

Except- it’s infuriating.

Norman and Tony are…not friends, exactly. But not enemies either. Cordial and beneficial to one another when the gain is mutual, and dismissive when there’s nothing of interest. It’s a relationship Tony likes a lot. They both live in one of New York’s tallest, most expensive, most luxurious apartment buildings. Tony has has the top floor penthouse, because of course, and it’s ten thousand square feet right on top of the world. Norman lives just below him. It’s a fact that gives him endless pleasure.

This all means that he’s had the pleasure of meeting Peter Parker.

He’d expected another snotty little brat because, why wouldn’t he? Everyone else Norman has ever fucked has been one, and how could someone so pretty and so young not be a little bitch?

Turns out, Norman’s struck gold. When he’s introduced to Peter, the boy waves happily, and babbles about how he’s read about Tony’s research into gene-technology and how he thinks that’s amazing. Norman grits his teeth, but Tony doesn’t notice because he’s too busy being drowned in earnest compliments from the young man.

And what’s worse is- Peter seems to genuinely like Norman. In a way that suggests that maybe he’d be with Norman without the money which is…mind boggling, really.

Tony’s string of lovers starts to pale in comparison to young Peter Parker.

“Mr Stark!” Peter greets, hurrying to the elevator where Tony’s holding the door. He’s starry eyed and breathless and flushed lovely and pink. He’s dressed in jeans that look like they’ve been painted on and a mesh top that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. He smells faintly of tequila and Tony tries not to laugh at how he has to squint at the buttons carefully before pressing floor 98. Once he’s accomplished it, he turns to face Tony with a little twirl. “Hi!”

“Peter,” Tony grins, already amused. “You had a good night, kid?”

“Oh, it was the best!” Peter sighs, leaning against the wall for support. “It was MJ’s birthday, you know? She’s the best.” He sniffles and rubs at his nose, trying to warm up and it’s the cutest thing Tony has ever seen. “But Norman says always be back by midnight, you know? Like Cinderella!”

Fucking Norman. He had to get to the princess first. Tony glances at his wrist. “You’re cutting it close.” He points out and Peter pouts.

“You don’t think he’ll be mad?” He asks, words slurring a little.

He looks like he’s been fucked nice and slow, a little dizzy and pliant and ripe for the taking. “No,” Tony says thoughtfully, taking him all in in that delicious picture that he makes. “I don’t think he’ll be mad.” Not as soon as he sees you.

“Good!” Peter beams, before hiccuping. “What about you, Mr Stark? Did-did you have a good night?”

“I spent most of it working.”

The boy nods, like this is what he thought. “You work so hard. You’re amazing.”

Tony’s cock twitches. “I am pretty fantastic.” 

“The best,” Peter agrees whole-heartedly. “I wanna be just like you when I’m older,”

Tony wants to press up against him and take.

The elevator doors open and Peter stumbles in surprise, before realising this is his floor. He waves to Tony and hops off like a bunny into the woods.

Still. Tony is a man who does work hard, and he doesn’t have the time to spend lusting after his not-quite-friend’s lover. So, a few weeks pass and everything’s fine. Tony has sex with a few young, eager brunets but none of them smell as sweet as Peter and he ends most nights unsatisfied.

The first inkling that there might be trouble in paradise comes on a weekend. 

It’s a Saturday, and he’s sitting in the lobby waiting for Happy to pick him up when Peter comes in from the bright afternoon sunshine.

Tony’s taken immediately by the sight of him. He’s in black leggings and white boots, with an oversized white sweater. He’s gorgeous. Everything’s expensive and very clearly a gift from Norman, but- but Peter’s crying. He’s got his phone pressed to his ear and he keeps rubbing harshly at his face like he’s ashamed anyone might see him sobbing. “You- you said you’d be there, though,” he insists, voice hitching and Tony wants to get to his feet and come over.

Peter listens to the other person on the phone, and it has to be Norman, doesn’t it?

“I know, I know you’re busy b-but you promised.” He says, crying earnestly now, as he gets to the elevator and presses the button. He hasn’t noticed Tony and his shoulders shake with silent tears. But Tony’s noticed him. “But Norman…you…I waited for you, and this is the third time and…and…”

It is Norman then. Fucking Norman. Whatever he says on the other side of the line makes Peter quieten down, and then the elevator opens and Tony watches as he disappears from view.

He knows then that he’s in a bit of trouble. Because he may be a busy man, but he’s also a smart man, and he knows the way he felt seeing Peter cry…it’s a little more than lust he’s feeling then. He must like the boy, at least a little.

Fuck.

It seems that fate likes to torment him a little though, because he runs into Peter in the elevator more and more often. Each time, Peter showers him with compliments and talks about his classes and Tony falls a little harder with every conversation.

It’s one such day when Tony’s been riding the elevator a few times- for no reason at all, you can quote him on that- when Peter gets in. He’s leaving floor 98 and he looks surprised to see Tony, hurriedly wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Oh-oh! H-hi, Mr Stark,” he says quietly, shuffling inside and clutching a heavy rucksack.

Oh. “Hey, Peter,” he murmurs, equally gentle. “Did you and Norman have a fight?”

Peter swallows hard and nods once. “I think maybe- maybe we should just have some time apart.”

Tony shouldn’t ask. He knows he shouldn’t ask, but it slips out in desperate hope anyway. “What happened?” He prods.

Peter looks like he’s gonna burst into tears and he hides his face behind his hands. “He-I- I must’ve been doing something wrong. I tried- I tried so hard, but I guess I wasn’t-I just-“ he cries, tears streaming down his red cheeks that Tony can see through his fingers. “He- there was someone else and-“

Tony sees red. Norman fucking cheated? Cheated on- on Peter? That’s the most moronic thing Tony’s ever heard. He says as much, with such ferocity that Peter blinks up at him in bewilderment but Tony barrels on. “That son-of-a-bitch won’t ever find anyone as beautiful, as loving and as sweet as you, kid. He’s made the biggest mistake of his life.”

Peter wipes his tears, torn between flushing with the praise and crying again. “No, I just- I wasn’t good enough and-“

Tony pushes the emergency stop and the gears crank to a sudden stop. Peter squeaks in alarm and watches as Tony comes forward and crowds him into the corner of the elevator. He towers over the boy and his voice is a low, sincere timbre. “He doesn’t deserve you.” He says, in a low husky voice, and Peter shivers. It’s enough to make Tony duck his head a little, and let his ears ghost over the shell of Peter’s ears. “You deserve someone better for you. Better than Norman. Someone like...someone like me.”

Goosebumps fly along his neck and Peter blinks up at him owlishly, eyes dark with lust but hesitation. “Mr Stark,” he breathes, “I...I’d be lying if I said I didn't...t-think about you sometimes, but...- Norman and I- we haven’t even really properly broken up, Mr Stark, I don’t…I don’t know if…”

Tony shuts him up. It’s a rough, passionate kiss and the kid melts into him like he’s wanted this for years. Tony wouldn’t be surprised. Peter’s been awe-struck since the second he saw Tony in the flesh, and Tony’s been the same way. How do you resist such beauty and kindness in the body of someone who utterly adores you? The kid tastes like chocolate and tea and Tony nips hard at his bottom lip and Peter mewls submissively.

When they pull away for air, a voice is asking them questions from the panel and Tony ignores them for Peter. “Mr Stark,” Peter gulps, sucking on his bottom lip like he can’t get enough of Tony, and that makes him so fucking hard, “Norman can’t-he can’t know, and-“

“Send us back up, Jerry,” Tony says to the intercom. “Floor 99.” After a moment the elevator starts moving again, and Peter’s staring up at him in wonder and Tony smirks. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He growls, “he never has to know we started before the two of you broke up officially.” Christ, the kid is cute. Like he’s still in high school. Tony’s more than prepared to burn the bridge. 

But Peter is a goody-two-shoes right down to his soul and he insists on at least calling Norman to say that their little break should be more permanent. Tony lets him, handing him the phone on the condition that Peter does it while stuffed full of his cock.

Really, it’s an offer the kid can’t refuse.

[in-tua-deep]

Inktober day two: Guns

Prompt list by @totallyevan​, here ;3c

me, realizing I have consistently forgotten to put my work on tumblr and that a bunch of drabbles have been rotting in my google docs (though admittedly only up to 4th bc my weekend was hectic af - I’ll try play catch up with the others but HERE WE GO)

His hands are sticky. Sticky and wet and slippery. He wants desperately to wipe his hands on his shirt, on a towel, on anything - but then he’d have to put down the gun that is pointed shakily at the man who has his arm wrapped around Klaus’s neck.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was just supposed to be a dumb outing with his idiot brother so that he would shut up about waffles while he was trying to work. He’d gotten Klaus to promise to not bother him in his room for an entire week if he just went with him to the hole in the wall diner that Klaus insisted was the best in the world.

Who the fuck robbed a shitty diner?

It had been three guys, and Five had noticed them from the moment they entered, seeing the glint of sunlight on gunmetal. His first immediate thought was that it was the Commission, because who else would show up in this random place at a time that just happens to be when Five is present? And he assumes that the Commission doesn’t want too much collateral damage - they waited for the tow truck driver to leave and Agnes to be in the back room before confronting him. 

It’s only three guys, not the massive hit squad that invaded the concert hall. There was to be some measure of subtlety if they don’t want to draw too much attention to themselves.

But he assumes wrong. 

The lead guy swing his gun up and shoots at the ceiling, making everyone panic. Five reacts automatically, grabbing Klaus and bodily shoving him down under the table. Klaus gives a cry of surprise, and pain where he smacks forehead and elbows against the table and seat, but Five doesn’t care about that right now.  He just reacts.

He jumps to the lead goon, and grabs the gun to wrench up and away. The butt of the gun slams into the guy’s face, bone crunching and blood flying. Five broke his nose. The guy stumbles away. Five doesn’t have time to address that before the second guy is on him.

The rifle Five has in his hands is big and dramatic, but not exactly handy for close quarter combat. To be fair, no guns are handy for close quarter combat, which was exactly why Five generally preferred to fight that way. But it’s at least handy as a weird shaped baton which Five slams into the stomach of the second guys and makes him double over.

The first guy recovered and Five bring up the rifle again to slam it into the guy’s face for a second time, making him stumble backwards with both hands over his face with a shout. With the extra room it’s easier to bring up the gun and shoot the second guy in the leg.

The first guy gets his hands on the gun and pulls, and Five doesn’t bother to try and overpower him. The dude is big and muscular, and Five is a scrawny teen. He’s well aware of his strengths and weaknesses. He fights smarter, not harder.

The guy stumbles back, not expecting the lack of resistance. Five takes this wonderful opportunity to grab one of the little diner forks that fell to the floor in the initial panic of the men entering. In Five’s opinion it’s a handier weapon that the gun - more versatile. 

Five surges forward and lashes out, burying the fork into the leader’s shoulder. It has the added bonus of the guy dropping the gun with a howl, hand going to the fork and wrenching it out. Weaponized, the guy lurches towards Five.

And Five? He jumps. He snags another fork off a nearby table and pops up behind the guy and buries a second fork in the guy’s junction between shoulder and neck and twists before stooping and scooping up the gun again.

He points it at the two and they raise their hands in surrender, but then he hears a cough behind him and remembers that there were three guys.

Five turns, and the third guy has his arm wrapped around Klaus’s neck, a handgun pointed at Five’s brother’s temple with a hand that shakes.

“D-drop the gun!” The new guy shouts, voice cracking in his nervousness, “Or I shoot this guy!”

Five’s hands are covered in blood. It would be so easy to let the rifle slip from his fingers. The leader is crouched down with his two stab wounds and blood streaming down his face from a twice broken nose, the second guy is on the floor in a puddle of blood pressing his hands against the hole that Five put in his thigh.

The third guy’s hands shake, and Five watches the pointed finger twitch against the trigger with more attention than he’s given anything else today. 

They’re amateurs. They’re three goons who are complete idiots for trying to rob a tiny diner in broad daylight. They don’t know what they’re doing.

Five would have preferred professionals. He knows how the Commission operates. He knows how professionals work, what they know their best options to be, what they’re likely to do next. These guys, Five can’t predict. 

Five’s fingers tighten around the gun, and he doesn’t drop it. 

“What?” Five calls back, arching an eyebrow. The tried and true method of being a brat. “Why would I drop my weapon? Why don’t you?”

“I- I’ll shoot this guy! You were sitting with him!” The guy sputters, looking very uncertain. Mercifully, Klaus stays silent. Whether that’s thanks to genuine intelligence or because the guy’s arm around Klaus’s neck is making it difficult to breathe is up for debate. 

“You have one hostage.” Five says, nodding to Klaus, “I have two.” He gestures with the rifle towards the two goons who flinch away. “And both of these idiots are in need of medical attention, but if you drop the gun and don’t fuck with anyone else, then I don’t care what happens to you guys and I’ll stop attacking.”

“I have more that one hostage! I have the rest of the diner! I can just start shooting!” The idiot argues, taking the gun from Klaus’s temple to wave in the air to punctuate his point. It makes Five relax at least a tiny bit.

“A hostage is a person I care about saving.” Five tells the man bluntly, “There’s only one of those in here.”

Silence follows that statement. Some civilians are looking at him in shock, but honestly Five doesn’t care about them. He can’t care about them. If he looks too closely at people, he starts remembering bodies and trying to match faces to corpses. If he looks too closely, he starts thinking about the innocents he killed and the families and the bystanders and everything else he keeps locked inside of a little box in his heart.

He cares about seven whole people in the universe, and those people are his siblings and his mother. 

It’s quick after that. The guy reads Five’s sincerity in his eyes, his lack of regard for the lives of the men behind him. Five only refrained from killing them because he was pretty sure they weren’t Commission agents and he didn’t want to have to deal with another one of Luther’s ‘murder is bad’ lectures. He surrenders, dropping the gun to the floor with a clatter and running over to his fellow robbers, pressing his hands against the wounds to keep pressure on. 

Five doesn’t have time to wait for the sirens he can hear approaching. He hands his gun to the nearest civilian and jumps next to his brother.

“Come on Klaus,” He says urgently, tugging his brother’s elbow to steer them towards the back door. After seeing Five fight two adult men and stab one with forks, no one stops them. 

Klaus follows easily. Way too easily. They make it all the way out the door before Klaus seems to reboot and bursts out with a loud, “You care about me!”

A quick glance reveals that Klaus is making the sappiest face Five has ever seen. He has to nip this in the bud. “No. I just don’t want to have to explain to Diego about how your idiocy finally got you murdered.”

“You said you care about me!” Klaus crows loudly, making Five hiss because quite frankly he’s still covered in blood and the only reason he isn’t just chain jumping home is because that would mean abandoning Klaus. “You said I was the only person you cared about in the diner!”

“I care about Mom’s disappointed face.” Five shoots back, dragging Klaus down another alley. “Though I’m caring less and less the more you open your mouth.”

“Hold up hold up!” Klaus cries, digging in his heels and bringing them both to a stop. He gives Five a critical once over, pursing his lips at the state of his brother. He looks like, well, like he’s been in a fight to the death with two armed robbers. “We need to do something about this if we don’t want to be stopped on the way home.”

Five scowls darkly. He really should just ditch Klaus and jump home, it’s the simplest and easiest solution. But for some reason, he can’t quite bring himself to let go of Klaus’s elbow that he’d been using to drag his taller sibling around by. 

He startles badly when something brushes against his face, before realizing it’s Klaus scrubbing one of the sleeves on his black jacket over the blood splatter on Five’s cheek. Klaus hushes him, scrubbing harder.

It makes Five pull away, baring his teeth as he jumps and reappears a few feet away. He gets a certain amount of satisfaction watching Klaus almost overbalance - that’s what he gets for treating Five like a child. 

Klaus huffs like Five is the one being unreasonable here. 

Five is really giving some serious consideration to just jumping home by himself when Klaus starts stripping in the middle of the alley. Five gives his brother a face that clearly indicates his question of what the fuck. 

This face becomes even more pronounced when Klaus thrusts his jacket out in Five’s direction. 

After a solid minute of Five and Klaus staring at each other, Klaus sighs deeply. “Wear the jacket. It’s big enough to cover your shirt and hands which, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your entire torso kind of looks like you just auditioned for a shitty slasher film.”

Five can’t… exactly argue with that reasoning. He scowls, and snatches the jacket away and shrugging it on. It fits okay around the shoulders - Klaus is a skinny bastard - but it’s way too long and the sleeves go well past his hands. This is what they need, yes, but it makes Five feel like a little kid playing dress up which he’s not exactly appreciative of. He can’t even hike the sleeves up because, as Klaus so gracefully pointed out, his hands are covered in blood. 

He deals with this by shoving his hands in the pockets, extra sleeve length and all, and vividly picturing stabbing Klaus in the face when he coos over his smaller brother. 

“I hate you so much.” Five informs his brother, “Let’s just go.”

“Aw,” Klaus clasps his hands together and presses them to his cheek, gazing at Five like he just proclaimed his love for puppies. “I love you, too.”