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teenageheartthrob · 2 years

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An Unconventional Guide to Happiness- Part 4 (Platonic Avengers x Reader, Loki x Reader)

Series Summary: The trials and tribulations of Y/N L/N in the life of a hero, with a super family.

Chapter Summary: Clint comes to calm your nerves after a mysterious night (flashback to come)

Category: fluff, angst

Ship: Loki Laufeyson x reader (eventual), Avengers x reader (platonic)

Trigger Warnings: One swear word and big brother Clint vibes, very wholesome :)

Word Count: 1.9 k

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The sound of waves slowly crashing against the shore was normally a gentle reminder of your mortality, it reminded you of the good things life could bring. The current morning especially should have been one of those times, as you watched an over 40s yoga class stumbling their way through stretches, fighting against the wind.

With your anger now dealt with, you didn’t know what to feel exactly. Scared? Sad? Certainly not grateful.

You were not prepared to be grateful in a world where Andrew Kingston roamed just yet.

Your thoughts drifted once more to the God, your God, as the morning light guided your eyes to close.

Initially, you had tried to repress the guilt, but now that you were alone, with no direction or purpose, the feelings were slowly stirring inside you again.

It was your fault, or at least that’s how you perceived it.

You could, and should have, dealt with Andy yourself, it wasn’t like you didn’t have the strength. But Loki…he stepped in.

Maybe he thought you were weak. The Avengers were in enough hot water with the press as it was, he probably just wanted it dealt with quickly.

Yeah, that’s why he stepped in.

As you contemplated how in all the nine realms you were going to make it up to your best friend- wait, was he anymore? You had put him in the hospital after all- the presence you had been sensing behind you for the last minute, came closer.

They were a friendly, the friendliest in fact. Didn’t warrant moving, you decided.

“Knew I’d find you here,” Clint said, sitting against the palm tree next to your own.

“Oh really?” You retorted.

“Mmhm, you like the water.” His smirk was so tactile you could feel it without even touching him. Unconsciously, your fingers attempted to shake off the shadow of an emotion.

Smug bastard, of course he’d know that. The small man-made beach was one of your only sanctuaries in the busy city. You had naively assumed no one knew about this one, but of course he knew. He always did.

“When did I tell you that?”

You winced, finally opening your eyes to the light- covered beach in front of you. A coffee cup came into view as Clint extended his arm, careful to only make contact with the cup, not you directly. “You didn’t have to.”

“Thanks for the coffee,” you accepted.

The yoga class was still going strong 15 minutes on, most had outlasted your predictions.

“No problem, kid. Home?”

You shook your head, maybe a little too quickly. Clint’s underlying concern became more evident.

“Loki’s awake,” the archer persisted, “want to go see him?”

Pausing, you took a shaky breath and thought it over. While doing so, your hands fiddled with the cup they held, the burn it omitted somehow soothed your raw wounds.

He wouldn’t want to see you. Because of you he damn near broke every bone in his body. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but his healing powers aside, he had to be in a lot of pain.

It would be weeks before he was cleared for missions and you knew how restless he could get hanging around the compound. His ever-ticking mind craved more than endless pages of a book or trivial television. It ached for strategy, any chance to show his prowess. Within a week he would be driving you and Thor crazy.

Thor…

Stupidly, selfishly, you hadn’t even considered him. He would be more angry than Loki, you hurt his brother, who he’d already lost so many times before.

If Loki truly was mad, the raven-haired God would likely ignore you, treat you as though you didn’t exist. That, you thought, you could handle.

Thor’s anger was more…outward, expressive. There was a good chance he would beat you to a pulp.

You swallowed cautiously, hoping to lubricate your still-aching throat. Hours of yelling and crying had taken its toll.

“What am I doing here, Clint?”

“Running away from guilt, I suppose,” the man next to you answered, “any normal person would.”

“Since when have *we* ever been normal?” you huffed under your breath, although it was still about 100 decibels too loud for the archer to miss. No response came, not that you expected one really, he would be the first to admit that your life was far from conventional. “Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change our lives for anything, we all love what we do. But Loki is laying in a hospital bed and its not even because of something that happened in the field.” Letting your head fall in shame, you continued muttering. “Just can’t believe I was so stupid. Sometimes I wonder if the job is worth it I guess.”

Your life-long friend sat more to attention, hesitantly shifting an inch closer to you. “You know this wasn’t your fault, right?”

“I know, just needed someone to blame.” You weren’t sure if that was the truth or not. You figured it was equally the fault of you and Andrew Kingston, the question was who was more responsible?

The yoga class was packing up, apparently surrendering to the elements. On the not so distant shore, a woman dressed head to toe in hot pink tried desperately to save her matching matt from the water. You silently chuckled as she was unsuccessful.

You turned, with what was likely your 500th sigh of the day, to look at Clint. Your absolute best friend, your family. He had obviously been waiting for a vulnerable moment such as this.

Stealth training comes in handy outside of the field sometimes too.

“Come on, you have to go see him, Y/N.” You had barely opened your mouth to protest before he spoke again. “He keeps asking for you, you know?”

Your mouth snapped shut. Your fears were confirmed, at least in your mind. The God was pissed.

You wondered, for a brief moment, why that thought felt like a jagged knife in your gut.

The archer stood and dusted himself off, knowing full well that the sand would remain on his clothes no matter how much he tried to prevent it. “Here,” he said, reaching for your un-drunk cup of coffee, “give me that. We’ll get you a new one when we get back to the compound. Something cold.”

“What? Wh-“

“Your hands,” Clint called back, already having begun to walk away, “you’re getting those checked out when we get there by the way. No arguments.”

Damn him.

You stood to follow him, avoiding dusting yourself off for fear of more salt and sand getting trapped in your openly wounded palms. “Oooh, big brother Clint voice,” you teased, “don’t hear much of that these days.”

“You’ll end my stealth career if you keep giving me reasons to use it,” he hit back.

“I am your career, I’m a full time job.”

“Don’t I know it,” he huffed sarcastically, wrapping a strong, supportive arm around your shoulders.

Clint planted a kiss on your temple as he gently guided you both towards what you could only assume to be the direction of a waiting car.

Now caught up to the blond man, you smiled to yourself softly. Normal, it felt normal. Clint’s warmth wasn’t stained with any worry or anger, you knew you were safe. Things in that moment felt good almost, until the image of your best friend unconscious in your lap crept back into your mind.

Where was Wanda when you needed her? Ordinarily you could go to Loki for that sort of thing- taking the bad thoughts and feelings away, helping share the load.

But somehow you had a feeling that might not be welcome any more.

—-

“How is everyone?” You dared to ask over the sound of the usual New York traffic.

It was a vague question. What it actually meant was ‘is everyone mad at me and when am I being kicked out?’ But you were hoping Clint took it as ‘is everyone well?’

He answered a third way instead.

“Steve, Tony and Barnes are in a meeting with Fury but they’ll be back soon. Although, Cap did ask me to make sure you gave him a call when you were up to it, he sounds worried. I haven’t seen much of Tony but I can bet he’s the same.”

More guilt washed over you. You shouldn’t have just left like that, you knew how Steve and Bucky were with these kinds of things.

And Tony…God, you hated disappointing him.

“Thor has visited him every hour or so. Both seem okay, all things considered.”

“Clint,” you pressed.

The archer sighed, wisely admitting defeat early, and nodded to the driver in the front of the car. He waited until the partition had risen to continue.

“Everyone is shaken to say the least, this sort of thing doesn’t tend to happen outside of the field. Loki is awake, but he’s annoying everybody,” the blond refrained from adding a sarcastic ‘like usual.’ “All he’s done, from the minute he woke up, is ask for you, like I told you. Cho almost considered putting him in restraints after he tried to stage an escape attempt.”

“Shit,” you turned away. Clint hadn’t seen you cry in a long time, and you weren’t about to let him now.

On one hand you felt oddly touched by the fact that Loki wanted to see you that badly, on the other, you figured he probably wanted to see you so he could do to you what Kingston did to him. “It’ll be fine, he’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Easy for you to say, it’s my fault, Clint.” You cursed your mouth for betraying you.

He made a point of looking at you, blue eyes staring deep into your soul as if he was trying to peel back the layers like you could- trying to find what you were really feeling.

“Y/N, you’re overthinking it. Loki was protecting you. He knew what he was doing and what the consequences would be. He kept you safe, that’s all he cares about, I promise. That doesn’t mean that what happened was your fault.”

“Okay. Fine.” You figured it was just easier to agree, at least verbally. You knew your mind would be going back and forth on what it really thought for a good while.

Maybe on of your scheduled recovery periods away from everyone would be a good idea. Although, you didn’t know how long you could truly avoid the Odinson and Laufeyson wrath for. Especially as neither of the brothers seemed to believe in using doors.

“Okay then. Good.”

Your heart sank to your feet as you felt the familiar right turn into the driveway of the compound. You knew you were going to have to face things sooner or later, but it had been nice to run away from everything for a while.

Just as you were planning how to get away this time, Clint took your hand gently in his own.

Since you were little, you had a system. When talking was too much or it was just awkward to do so, one of you would squeeze the other’s hand three times. It always let you know you had each other’s back.

Clint squeezed your hand as you clambered out of the standard SHEILD issue vehicle and you knew that he meant what those squeezes symbolised.

‘I love you.’

You realised then that no matter what happened with Loki, at least you’d always have one person in your corner - and Clint didn’t plan on going anywhere.

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Part 5 soon, flashback about the night coming in part 6!

Taglist: @huntress-artemiss

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couldyouspeakmyname · 3 years

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Shishigumi and the reader who has adopted children

You know I'm a sucker for blended families

-Maeve

Ibuki

Already is kind of a dad to the rest of the Shishigumi and Louis

While Ibuki is initially really nervous about adopting a child, as soon as they hold them, all his fears melt away.

If they’re an older child, he’ll let them call him by his name if that’s more comfortable. He doesn’t have to be called “dad” to be a parental figure.

Ibuki is very supportive of his child, and has a lot of patience.

Ibuki may actually be prone to adopting a child out of the baby stage. He may even adopt an older child who just needs a home (even if they’re almost of legal age to live on their own).

Ibuki would be great with troubled kids. He has the patience of a saint, and has seen a lot of bad in the world, and been a lot of that bad.

Ibuki allows the child to adjust at their own pace, and never pushes them to fit or meet a standard,

Ibuki cooks for them, and listens when they talk.

Ibuki wants them to be comfortable, always.

He enrolls them in the best school he can, and goes to every major event.

He allows them to style their own room, even if he doesn’t always understand what they like.

He’s adamant that at least three nights a week you all have a family dinner.

He tries his best to help with homework or any problems they may have.

Free

Free is freaked out at the idea of adopting a kid. It probably takes a few years for him to be comfortable with the idea.

Honestly? He’s just worried he’s going to be a terrible father. He’s already kind of a menace, he’s not even sure why you’re still with him.

Then again, Louis turned out great and Free likes to think he had a hand in that.

After some time he finally comes around to the idea. Why not? He can do this.

When Free and you adopt a child, it’s probably going to be an infant or a younger child.

It only takes a few hours before Free is a doting father figure, and labels your new child as ‘His’.

Free loves playing games with his kid. If they’re a toddler when you two adopt them, he’s probably going to go crazy at the toy store with them (who needs ten nerf guns?). Free had it rough growing up, he wants his kid to have the childhood he didn’t get to have.

Free isn’t great at homework, but he tries.

Free teaches them self defense early on, just to make sure they can protect themselves when he isn’t around

That dad that plays any game his kid comes up with, and makes forts out of blankets and pillows.

Dolph

Dolph is actually on board with the idea of adoption

I could see Dolph adopting an older kid, maybe even a pre-teen or teenager. They’re more difficult than a younger child, but Dolph is okay with that. He’s patient, and knows how wild kids can be. He was in a gang, there’s not much trouble a kid could cause that would come anywhere near the trouble he dealt with in the gang

Dolph is big on education, keeping his child in school and having them graduate is important.

Dolph is calm and collected, and he listens and gives advice where it’s needed.

If he did adopt an older kid, he’s okay with working with a phycologist. Sometimes you just have to talk without worrying about getting in trouble.

Dolph wants his kid to always feel safe and secure. They will always have a room and a place to come home to.

If they’re worried about someone taking their stuff, Dolph will install a lock on their door. This way they can lock the door and have peace of mind. It is their room. Dolph isn’t going to take things from them.

Same thing with food. If they’re more comfortable keeping snacks and need a mini fridge so they know they wont go hungry, he’ll do what he has to to make them feel secure

Helps with homework and attends school events.

Doesn’t hold his kid to unfairly high standards. If they get a ‘C’, he’s fine with that, as long as they gave it their all.

He’s strict, and has rules. Don’t be out late, don’t do drugs, have dinner with the parents at least twice a week, homework before video games. It’s basic rules, but he’s ridged about them. In a way, that gives his child structure.

They don’t have to call him dad, but if they do it makes him all emotional

Makes them ask you before they do something

“Dad can I-”

“Go ask Y/N”

Agata

Agata would probably do best adopting a small child or a baby

He has a lot of anxiety, and he’d do better parenting a kid from the beginning

Agata raises his child with his whole heart. It doesn’t matter that they were adopted, there’s no question that Agata would die for his child.

Agata puts the needs of his child above his own, without question.

Agata is honest when his kid asks if he’s adopted. Agata isn’t going to hide that from them. He will answer any questions they have, and let them know that you don’t have to be blood related to love someone

Agata is that ‘cool’ dad that plays video games with his kid. Agata lets them win.

Agata also beats any levels they get stuck on.

Agata doesn’t like the PTA, but will go to all school events, and is there for all milestones

Agata tries his best to make sure his child is confident in themselves, and knows that Agata will always be there to back them up

Agata is kind of a softie, you’re going to have to be the rule enforcer

Not to say Agata can’t get strict, he can, but he doesn’t want to

Agata will always make sure his child knows their home is a safe place to go to

If his child ever wants to know their biological parents, Agata will help them.

Miguel

Age doesn’t matter for Miguel. He’s willing to take any kid that needs him, and is a good fit for you two

He quickly establishes a healthy lifestyle. He wants them to live a long time, and fuel their body properly

Cooking may actually be how he bonds with them initially, if they’re older. If they’re really little, he’ll bake cookies with them

Miguel is at all school events, and may even be part of the PTA

Miguel may be pretty quiet, but he’s not one to hold back praise when a child does something good. He’s big on positive reinforcement

Rarely raises his voice. Instead, he talks everything out.

He’s very patient, and quickly learns his adopted child’s personality, and adjusts accordingly

That big beefy dad that’s having tea/playing pretend with his child

He can and will switch his child out of a class if a teacher is unfair. A lot of adopted children may have a hard time adjusting, and not all teachers know how to handle that. If they can’t, Miguel will find someone who does.

Miguel is going to be overprotective of his child. He chose to adopt his child, and it’s his job as a father to make sure his child thrives. He’s not going to allow anyone to drag his kid down the path Miguel himself once walked.

Miguel is that dad that doesn’t talk a lot, but you can talk about anything with. It doesn’t matter what it is, he’s going to listen.

Sabu

Sabu doesn’t care about age when he adopts a kid. He would be prone to adopting a child that’s mute or deaf, or a child with another disability.

I have a headcanon that Sabu doesn’t talk much, but knows sign language.

He’s also very quiet and patient, and not much phases him. He’s also very flexible, and is willing to make big changes if that’s what his child needs

Sabu is also very involved with schooling, even if most of the staff find him unnerving. It doesn’t take long for them to warm up to him though. Sabu has a good heart, even if he makes a bad first impression.

Sabu helps with homework, and is fine with taking breaks and coming back if his child becomes frustrated.

He will totally get a side car for his motorcycle

If the kid he adopts doesn’t know sign language, Sabu teaches them.

Sabu loves for his child to be passionate about their hobbies.

Sabu likes it when his child expresses themselves, even if it’s not always traditionally.

If Sabu has a kid, and they want to do his mane, he’ll let them. He doesn’t even mind going out in public with it if his child is particularly proud of it.

Never is afraid of telling his child he loves them, or that he’s proud of them.

Jinma

Jinma would do better adopting a child that was a smidge older.

He does a lot of research before adoption, and tries to find information on what to do, what you two need, and problems that may come up

If they are older, Jinma is going to get them a psychologist if they need one. If they’ve been in the system for a while, they may need a third party to talk to

Jinma is also going to make sure his child has no siblings out there. If they do, he’s going to do his best to reunite them. If they’re not adopted yet, expect Jinma to try and adopt them as well.

Jinma is big on school, so he tries to learn what kind of schooling works best for his child. Are they a tactile learner? A reader? Once he knows, he works in that learning preference for homework.

Jinma is great at communicating with his adopted child, even if they aren’t a great talker.

Jinma doesn’t need his child to call him dad, but if they do, he’ll be thrilled.

Dope

Dope could adopt any age of child and be happy

Dope is great at reading body language, so it’s easy for him to understand what is child is saying, even if they don’t want to talk initially.

Dope is also very big on schooling, but he tries to find a school his child is comfortable with.

If his child was close with their foster parents, Dope is fine keeping them in their lives if they’re also okay with it.

Dope reads to his kid every night. He will also never say ‘no’ if they want books from a store (but they have to be paperback)

Dope is the dad who will le their kid crawl into bed if they have a bad dream. He also gets up so you can sleep.

Dope finds the best way to communicate with his kid, and loves spending time with them.

Dope is what teachers fear. Parent teach night involves Dope trying to figure out lesson plans, accuracies in education, and making sure his child is set up to succeed. He’s both a pain in the ass for the teacher, and a blessing, since he will always be there if they need chaperones or any other volunteers.

Hino

Hino would rather adopt a child that’s younger, but they don’t have to be a baby (he’s fine if they are though)

Hino puts all his love into his child. It doesn’t matter that they’re adopted, they’re his

Hino loves styling his child, but is fine when they pick out their own outfits (even if it hurts his inner fashionista)

Loves doing family activities with all of you together

If they have a nightmare, and need dad to be there, he’s going to fall asleep in their room

That dad that has waaayyyy too many pictures of his child. He screensaver is you and your child.

Hino is always there for any event, but avoids the PTA.

That being said, he will volunteer for events, and weaponize his good looks.

Builds up his child’s self-esteem. No matter what species they are, they’re beautiful. Not only that, but they’re smart and capable. Hino wants them to know there’s so much more besides looks.

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, sub!jungkook, dom!reader, pegging, anal play, rimming, multiple orgasms, crying during sex, jk being a good good boy, dom!namjoon, sub!reader, bath sex, ageplay/DDlg, fingering, unprotected sex, pet names, spanking, creampie, aftercare in both cases

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and jk’s ass

DAY EIGHTEEN

All things considered; you were rather lucky to be sharing a room with Yoongi when you wake up that morning.

The second consciousness returns to you, it brings a feeling of nausea so abrupt that you’re careening off the bed and rushing to bed over the toilet without a second’s thought, body running on survival mode.

You’re not sure what wakes Yoongi - the sudden absence of pressure and heat against him, or the sound of you throwing up all the food and alcohol you’d consumed last night – but it takes mere moments before you feel him gently caressing your trembling body, lifting your tangled hair back off your face.

“Just let it out,” he coos softly as you bend over miserably, the sour taste on your tongue making your stomach turn again, “you’ll feel better after, I promise. That’s it.”

The moment you finally have nothing left to empty out, you collapse sideways onto the cool bathroom tile, hand curling over your stomach. Yoongi gets up to flush the toilet and gets out a spare toothbrush from under his sink, pressing it into your hand already prepped with toothpaste. “I’m sorry,” you mumble lowly, nose running slightly as you sniffle. “I think I drank too much. That green apple soju fucking sucks, too.”

The doctor has the good graces to smile at your attempt of lightening the mood, but it’s strained, waiting for you to begin brushing the acrid leftovers from your mouth before speaking. “You’d better have a light breakfast, okay? Some toast and maybe a cup of herbal tea to settle your stomach. Can you stand? I’ll get you some fresh clothes from your room while you take a shower here.”

Your heart warms at his endearing bedside manner. “I’ll be fine, Yoongi.”

“It’s non-negotiable, I’m afraid,” Yoongi says with a mock sigh. “Come on; you can wash your hair, too. Feeling nice and clean will help.”

Sniffing one last time, you give him an agreeing nod and hunker up on your knees, before standing. God, but why do you still feel so nauseous? That fucking soju. Yoongi must see the discomfort on your face, because he gives your shoulder a squeeze. “Not to worry, I’m sure I have something here you can take which will make you feel better. You aren’t the first person to not handle their liquor in the villa.”

You give him a questioning frown, your throat feeling raw as you clear it lightly. “What do you mean? Everyone seemed okay yesterday.”

“Hoseok texted me,” Yoongi answers with a shrug. “I didn’t see it ‘til after you fell asleep, but apparently poor Tae was curled up with a hot water bottle last night feeling rather sorry for himself. I think he got a little trigger-happy on his Sprite and soju mixers.”

Your brows furrow in concern, your own condition forgotten. “Is he alright?” You mentally kick yourself for not being more attentive to him. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel excluded now that he was voted out.

“He’s fine, I’m sure. Hoseokie and Jimin apparently actually spent the night in the bunk room with him, because both refused to leave. Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”

“Holy shit,” you muse. “If you weren’t so busy filling me like a cream puff maybe we could’ve witnessed that.”

Yoongi’s mouth gapes at your jibe, and you let out a hiccupping giggle when he rushes you, jabbing at your sides. “You little shit! That’s how you repay me after yesterday?”

You chuckle, feeling significantly more cheerful than when you woke up. “I gotta keep you humble, Doctor Min.”

His shoulders jump with a fond huff. “You’re impossible,” he gives in with a begrudging smile. “Now go; shower! I’ll be back.”

By the time you’re downstairs, enjoying some lightly buttered toast and an aromatic peachy-tasting tea - laughing with Taehyung who has slunk downstairs like a viscous goop, slumped on the table sucking on a vitamin table - any concerns or worries about your brief vomiting spell have entirely left your mind.

Jungkook is antsy.

He cycles madly between intense eye-contact and complete avoidance of your existence, looking for all intents and purposes like a deer in headlights. You imagine it’s because he wants to do his prompt today, and you certainly could dispel the awkward tension by just asking him if he wants to go upstairs or texting him to dig a little, but where would the fun in that be? You much prefer cuddling with Taehyung and a chunky blanket, pretending to watch The Voice of Korea while you really watch Jungkook squirm instead.

Taehyung sighs wistfully as a contestant finishes with a belted high note, all four judges slamming down their buttons and giving the cameras big reactions once they turn and catch a glimpse of the singer. “I wish I could be on the show,” the masseuse says with another slow sigh.

You grin, poking him in the cheek with a single finger. “Is our puppy a good singer, huh? Do you reckon you’d win?”

“What?” Taehyung asks distractedly, his eyes locked to the screen. “No, I wanna sit in those big chairs and spin around. It’d be so fun.”

Your surprised laugh makes Jungkook jump in his seat, even as he sits on the opposite couch to the two of you and glares intensely at the pages of a comic book he’d stolen from someone, spending far too long on one page to actually be reading it.

Hoseok, who sits completely silently next to Jungkook - extremely strange for the normally bubbly man - is even more suspicious. Every few seconds, he shoves his phone under Jungkook’s nose, before pulling it away and typing furiously.

You had no doubt in your mind that he was giving the youngest contestant salacious tips, instructions, or both, judging by the way Jungkook’s cheeks get hotter with every message.

A lazy day after the drunken entertainment from the day before, the four of you had chosen to collapse onto the couch and stay there, flicking between channels as you idly enjoyed each other’s company. Namjoon had texted the groupchat and put a note on his door warning people that he was studying for an exam for a summer course he’d signed up for. This was the first you’d heard of said course, but his messages had contained several exclamation points, so you knew it was serious.

Jimin was also making the most of his privacy. The only glimpse you’d seen of him at all today was while you and Taehyung were cleaning your dishes. He’d rushed down in a fluffy white bathrobe, covering his face with his sleeve, bemoaning the drinking that had done serious damage to his clear skin. When he dropped his sleeve to bundle some ice into a paper towel, it looked fine to you, albeit pinker in the cheeks and forehead than his bare face had been before, but he swore the two of you to silence and determined he was going to lock himself into his room until he no longer looked like “an evil stepmother.”

Jin and Yoongi were nowhere to be found, though most of the house were almost certain they’d become something akin to fuckbuddies considering how often they disappeared together, and how rampant and shameless their sexual tension was whenever they cooked together for the rest of you.

It had taken a while for Taehyung to bounce back from his hangover, Hoseok fussing over him like a child as Tae clung to you for some tactile comfort. Spending a day by yourself hadn’t really been an option when you’d been cuddling with him for hours, but you were far happier spending some quality time with the masseuse.

It takes no more than three new contestants on the TV show to have their moment in front of the judges for Jungkook to break. Hoseok’s given up on the phone messages, instead whispering directly Jungkook’s ear as the boy clutches the open comic book in front of his lap so hard his knuckles go white.

Laughing at the flustered camboy, Hoseok loses all tact and stops damping his voice, his natural level loud enough that you can make it out over the garishly aggressive appliance store advertisement on the TV. “Come on, Kookie, it’ll be great!” he insists, Jungkook cringing at the volume. “Switching things up will help your chances for fan favourite too, and surely you’ve done-”

Jungkook stands up abruptly, comic book still propped up in front of his crotch as his cheeks and neck go bright red. “If you like pegging so much, why don’t you do it, then?” he blurts with a cry, before the realisation of what he said aloud hits him. Choking on air, he just about trips back onto the couch in his haste to leave, stomping upstairs like a wronged teenager.

Everyone goes silent, a cheery female voice announcing that Subway’s quality is higher than ever being the only sound in the room. Mouth open, you blink over to Hoseok. “Should I… go check on him?”

“Uh- Yeah, maybe,” he admits, a slight pained look of guilt flickering across his face before he brightens up. “But it’s dangerous; you should take a strap with you.”

You pause halfway through standing up, Taehyung letting go of you and curling deeper into the pile of blankets. “Have you no shame, Hoseok? You humiliated the poor kid!”

Hoseok grins broadly. “He only reacted that much because he liked the idea,” he protests, before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “And what about you, princess? Do you like the idea?”

You swallow, straightening up fully. “I haven’t really thought about it until now, I guess,” you offer up slowly. “I’m not- I’m not opposed.” But even as you say that, you begin to picture it. Jungkook on all fours in front of you, or perhaps spread out on his back, brows furrowed in pleasure, clingy and whiny. Though it was certainly new ground to you, most things were these days, and you’ve started craving fresh experiences, feeling more alive and excited about sex than you’ve ever really felt before.

A lightly huffed laugh leaves Hoseok’s lips. “I’d say you’re a little more than ambivalent, judging by that look on your face. Go upstairs now, princess; Jungkook’s ass needs you.”

You scoff, patting Taehyung’s cheek goodbye before leaving the way the maknae left earlier. Upstairs, Jungkook’s door is open the slightest sliver. A shy invitation.

You knock anyway, calling out his name. When his sullen voice invites you in, you slip inside and shut the door behind you. With his head hanging, shoulders slumped, poor Jungkook looks miserable. “Oh, Gukkie, baby, you’re okay,” you soothe, rushing to his side.

Folding his hands cutely over his crotch, he keeps his head down, but nuzzles against your stomach when you pull him into an embrace, running your hands through the long, heavy black locks of his hair. “‘M sorry,” he murmurs, lifting a single hand to ball his fist in the fabric of your shirt.

Your heart warms at the little action even as it aches for his sadness. “What are you sorry for? You don’t have to be sorry.”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you can just about hear the pout. “Embarrassed,” he explains shortly. “You probably think it’s gross.”

“Of course I don’t,” you deny in a soft yet firm voice, still stroking his hair. “Baby, if you want me to do it for you, I will.”

He looks up suddenly, chin propped up on your stomach. “Really?” he asks in hope, eyes glittering like entire galaxies.

You shrug. “I mean, I haven’t used a strap-on before, so it probably won’t be very good, but I wanna try if it’s something that would make you happy, you know?”

Jungkook’s mouth parts sweetly, before he lets out a dejected breath. “I don’t know,” he says with a sigh, letting his head drop off you again. “I still feel really embarrassed. Hobi-hyung was te-teasing me so much.”

You wince at the way his voice hitches and wobbles, like he’s on the verge of tears. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” you coo. “I think he was just trying to encourage you. But if he made you uncomfortable, I can go down there right now and-”

As you start to shift away, a hand shoots out and latches onto your wrist, snagging you in place. “No,” Jungkook interrupts quickly, before turning sullen again, lifting up his head so that you can just barely see his eyes, gleaming with unshed tears. “Can you just stay with me?”

Reaching forward to cup his cheek and bring his gaze up, you send him your warmest smile. “I’ll stay,” you promise, “want me to help cheer you up? I don’t like seeing my Gukkie so sad.”

His bottom lip quivers as he nods, fingers tightening around your wrist, tugging you back to his side. “Yes, please,” he asks politely, voice still so hesitant as his gaze drops like he’s too shy to meet yours, face pressing into your palm. “Want you to make me feel better.”

Your breath hitches when his eyes dart up, just for a second, and reveal a glimmer that isn’t tears so much as mischief. You realise quickly that perhaps Jungkook is pulling on your heartstrings intentionally, luring you in just like he did the day after the fight, when everyone in the house bent over backwards to give him what he wanted. But you aren’t mad; truth be told, every second that passes, you grow more excited about what’s to come. “Of course I will,” you reply warmly. “Can I give you a kiss, baby?”

One thing you aren’t prepared for as you carefully straddle his lap and press your lips against his is just how differently he kisses when he’s in this submissive frame of mind. You’d associated Jungkook with hunger, fierce passion and need. This Jungkook was needy, but in a very different way. Lips parted, he tilts his chin and lets you take over, his fingers curling tightly in the fabric of your shirt, his long hair tickling against your cheeks.

And unlike the more dominant Jungkook that would kiss you until you couldn’t breathe, the camboy now seems impatient, hips shifting under you and whines leaving his throat as he breaks apart, lips swollen. “Will you fuck me, Y/n? I need you.”

Sucking in a breath, you’re nodding before you’ve even really processed his words. “How do I, uh, what should I-”

“The stuff’s in my nightstand drawer,” Jungkook offers up in explanation. The young man bites his lip, looking positively delectable. In a starch-white t-shirt that simultaneously swamps his figure but exposes his delicate collarbones with the v-neck, and his long locks tucked behind his ears, no imagination is required to see how easily he fits into this subby persona. Even as he’s physically much larger than you, and there’s no hiding his thick thighs and broad shoulders, his expression and posture alone convey plenty. “But, um… Could you- could you help prepare me first? I can if you’re uncomfortable, you know. No pressure.”

“I can,” you assure quickly, standing up when he wriggles meaningfully beneath you. “I mean, I want to. Is it, you know…?” You trail off, watching Jungkook scoot himself back so that his feet don’t quite touch the floor. He tilts his head in confusion. “Clean?” you hiss softly, cheeks flaming.

Jungkook freezes, eyes wide and mouth parted in a small o. “I- Yeah, it’s, uh, clean, I-”

“Sorry,” you grimace, “that totally ruined the mood, didn’t it? I’m new to this.”

“You don’t have to, honestly,” Jungkook says with a small voice, fiddling with the loose threads in the rips of his jeans. “I can do it.”

You’re really fucking this up, huh? “No, no, I want to, it’s fine!”

“I swear, I won’t be offended if it weirds you out-”

Without a pause to think, your lips are moving. “Pants off, Gukkie, I’m going to finger you,” you announce in a firm voice, chin jutting forward in your determination.

You hadn’t even intended to use it as power play, more so just insisting what you were okay with, but his reaction is undeniable. Jungkook visibly melts at your command, eyelids fluttering for a moment and shoulders going lax. Even his socked feet turn inwards, the complete posture of submission. The image of it sends heat through you, and you feel alive with it.

“Th-thank you,” Jungkook stutters, chest hitching. “How do you want me?”

Even though you don’t know the least about fingering or prepping, you’re quickly growing addicted to the way he responds to your authority, so you make a split second decision. “All fours, baby. And clothes off for me.”

Jungkook bites down a whine - how you wish he wouldn’t muffle himself - but obeys quickly, stripping all the way down to his socks, toeing them off hastily before getting on his knees. Clearly a position he’s used to, the camboy wastes no time in presenting himself, upper torso flat against the bed and back arched up to expose himself. With a cheek pressed against the mattress to look back at you, his hair slips over and covers his face.

Before he has the chance to huff, you reach forward and tuck it back behind his ear, tapping your finger once on his nose to make him scrunch it, a toothy grin on his face. “Y/n!” he protests with a hiccupy giggle.

“What?” you ask innocently. “I’m just trying to help out, baby. Can I ask you a favour?”

Jungkook’s grinning so widely that his eyes crinkle. “You’re the dom, Y/n, you don’t need to ask favours, you know?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right,” you muse. It’s so easy to forget that the control is yours, especially when you’re a bit out of your depth. Resolving yourself to be more authoritative, you clear your throat and school your expression. “Mouth open, Gukkie.”

Following your command so quickly that there’s an audible sound, Jungkook braces himself up a little with his forearms so that he can face you better with his jaw wide open and tongue lolled out on his bottom lip.

When you place your first two fingers of your dominant hand on that pretty pink tongue, you don’t even have to command him to suck before he’s wrapping his lips around them and hollowing his cheeks, blinking up at you for approval.

You try and use the past couple weeks of dirty talk from the guys to inspire you when talking to Jungkook, using your other hand to comb the hair back from his face again. “That’s it, baby,” you croon, “nice and wet; soak them for me. What a good boy.”

Keening under your praise, still bent over on his knees, Jungkook swirls his tongue and salivates over your digits diligently. It feels strange; the hot wet cavern, the muscle covering every inch of your skin. Your stomach flips in arousal when you begin to tug your fingers out and he pulls off them with a pop, drool on his chin and pupils blown wide.

“Alright, Gukkie, stay there,” you indicate, holding your spit-slicked fingers aloft as you get on the bed behind him. Cock dangling hard between his legs, he’s hunkered down, heels pressed against his upper thighs. You could easily reach him from here, but there’s something rising within you, an urge to play with him a little rougher.

He jumps and lets out a surprised cry when you rain down your other palm on his asscheek in a swift spank, head falling back to the mattress.

“Did I say you could lie down? Ass up, Gukkie,” you spit sharply, satisfaction curling around your ribs as he lifts his hips without delay, back arching beautifully to present himself once again. A roughly hand-shaped pink flush on his otherwise unblemished skin makes you bite your lip. “Colour?”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, fingers fisting the sheets. You fear the worst for a second, but it seems like it just took him a second to comprehend you, because just as soon as the worry rises, he lets out a cute gasp of realisation and spreads his knees further. “Green, so green.”

“Good boy,” you praise, relief clear in your voice. “A single hair out of position without my permission and there’ll be more where that came from.” Though you secretly admit spanking the responsive boy feels good in some odd way, you’d feel a lot better knowing when he’d intentionally stepped out of line, and so giving him a specific avenue assuages some of your potential guilt over the impact play. He seems to understand too, nodding his head sweetly and visibly flexing this thighs to keep steady.

This isn’t usually an angle you’re used to seeing on a guy, but as you gently circle the tight muscle of his rim, you marvel at how Jungkook still makes it look good. Entirely free of hair, ass, thighs and back thick and sculpted, it’s clear the visual is an important thing, especially in his line of work.

You can feel his body go slightly stiff when he holds his breath, but the slightest pressure makes him tremble, his eyes loosely shut as he focuses on pure sensation. Wary of the spit drying off your fingers too soon, you swiftly but smoothly slide your first finger all the way inside of him. There’s resistance up until the first knuckle as he clenches, but once you reach a certain point it’s like his body is letting you in. So tight that you can feel his walls flex, it’s an odd sensation to get used to, but you know from experience that the first intrusion feels odd to receive, too, and that only building up stimulation helps get past it.

For that reason, you don’t pause much before you begin fucking your one finger into him, using your other hand to grasp the flesh of his ass and part him. “Doing so well, baby,” you compliment when Jungkook lets out a guttural, drawn-out whine. Minutely, you feel his hips rock, seeking stimulation in the right place. You know he’s probably aching for his prostate to be touched, but you haven’t the slightest clue on where to find it.

Instead, your next best option is external. Once you draw your first finger out and start to stretch his rim on two, you reach around and under him, hand wrapping around his cock.

Startled, Jungkook goes iron-tight around your two fingers and cries out. You freeze, worried you’ve done something wrong, but he rocks himself back, burying your fingers deeper inside him.

Even in your uncertainty on how to proceed, you know one thing: he’s actively chosen to move out of place.

This time when you drop his length and come back up to spank him, he moans, face going lax and dopey. “Fu-fuck, please,” he breathes, “I’m sorry, I need more.”

“You need more?” you ask, soothing a palm over the reddened skin. “I didn’t realise you were in any position to be making demands, baby.”

Jungkook swallows heavily. “Please give me more, I can take it, please.”

“That’s more like it,” you state proudly, before cringing at how cheesy the words sound to your own ears. Although taking control is fun, you don’t feel as at ease with a filthy tongue like you were used to the others being. Jungkook however, unable to see your reaction, just makes a needy noise in his throat, hotly anticipating your next move.

As you start to move your fingers again, however, they don’t glide like they did before. Unlike a proper lubricant, his saliva has evaporated away, and the dry friction certainly can’t be pleasant.

He’d said the supplies were in his nightstand, but that’s well out of your arm span, so, thinking quickly and not wanting Jungkook to feel uncomfortable, you pull your fingers out gingerly, bend down and spit directly onto his winking hole, some of it disappearing inside as the rest runs down to his balls.

Since he insisted he could take it, you hook three fingers inside him, his hole stretching around you as he groans. There’s so much pressure on your fingers as you plunge inside, the friction aided by your saliva, and you can feel the way he tries to relax himself, clenching periodically.

As much as the spit helped, you become paranoid that it’ll dry out again as you stretch him on your fingers. Still too far from the lube, the thought occurs to you that you could keep him wetter if you just used your mouth.

The thought isn’t entirely unappealing to you. Sure, he doesn’t have the same nerves that make you feel so good when someone goes down on you, but you’re sure he’d enjoy it, and you’re reassured that he’d cleaned himself.

The second your tongue traces his rim, pressing between the tight ring and your knuckles, Jungkook gasps, before letting out a moan so high and keening that you practically salivate.

With your free hand inching around to grip his thigh and steady yourself, you press your chin between his ass cheeks and lap at him, fingers speeding up now that they’re better lubricated.

His hips won’t stay still, but you can’t blame him. From the constant trail of cries and whimpers, there’s no doubt Jungkook is extremely sensitive. Slowly, the thought of stretching him out for a purpose leaves your mind, and you begin to take your time with him, enjoying the feeling and sound of him falling apart from your touch.

You could get used to this; the meaty thighs trembling, the heaving breaths, the moans of your name on his tongue. At one point, your middle finger grazes a slightly protruding spot inside him, a different texture to the rest of his walls. The second it does, he jumps like he’s been electrocuted. Aha.

“Oh, fuck, feels s-so good, please do that again, fuck,” Jungkook babbles hopelessly. Your grip on his thigh quickly morphs from steadying yourself to holding him steady, as he jerks with every repeated stroke of your finger against his prostate.

Unable to respond verbally, you stiffen your tongue and push it deeper inside him as your fingers speed up, all corkscrewing directly towards that sensitive spot.

So noisy that he buries his own face in the blankets, rocking back desperately onto your face and fingers, Jungkook’s pleading and praises are garbled, one long stream of need until he finally lets out one loud, sharp cry and paints the mattress white.

Lifting yourself up to watch him cum, you speed up your fingers to ride him through it, devouring the sight of his red, untouched cock twitching and shooting ropes of cum as his whole body shudders with it.

There’s the undeniable warmth of pride in your chest at watching him cum so beautifully, at hearing and seeing the pleasure you’ve given him. You’d give anything to make him cum at your hands over and over, and in the back of your mind you marvel at how so many things the guys did to you when they dommed you make sense now.

Slowly, he comes back down from his high, chest heaving rhythmically as he catches his breath, going slack. You guide him to roll over onto his back, avoiding the puddle of quickly-cooling cum, and sit beside him brushing back the hair that clings to his sweaty face.

A dopey smile puffing up his cheeks, and eyes hazy, he blinks up at you. “That was so good,” he breathes.

Keeping your voice sweet, you raise a brow. “Do you think we’re done just because you came, Gukkie? I don’t think so.”

His smile falters, eyes regaining some of their clarity. “I- Oh, you didn’t- Do you want me to...?” he trails off, eyes falling down to between your legs, still fully clothed.

Though you’d love for him to make you cum - truth be told, your nerves feel like they’re working doubletime right now, and you know it wouldn’t take much - you shake your head, standing up off the bed. Jungkook whines and sits up slightly as you pull away, but freezes once you begin to undress in front of him.

Unbuttoning your shirt, you feel his eyes follow your movements hungrily. “I never even gave you permission to cum, baby,” you point out. “I also didn’t ask you not to, so I won’t punish you. But you did ask for me to fuck you and make you feel better.” The fabric of your shirt falling to the floor, you leave your bra on and slip off your pants instead. “So I don’t care how sensitive you are or how many times you cum, I’m going to fuck you until you feel so good you cry. Is that understood?”

Where such vulgarity came from you don’t know, but it triggers the right reaction, Jungkook going limp against the bed, grabby hands flexing at the sheets as he nods as quick as he can, one drifting dangerously close to his still half-hard cock. “Please, I wan’ it. Yes.”

“Wait patiently, then,” you command in a cutting tone, discarding your underwear without ceremony, “and no touching.”

He lets out a quiet huff, leg kicking out and hand slipping under his back to stop temptation. You would laugh at the bratty display - or perhaps even punish him for the attitude - but you’re too focused on stepping into the black harness of the strap-on you got from Jungkook’s nightstand, working out how to tighten the straps and sit it right.

It takes you a moment to get right, but it’s surprisingly comfortable once you get it into place - which probably is the point. Though it’s odd feeling weight extending from your pelvis, the dildo is supported by a leather belt-like strap that runs around your waist. Right on the outer line of each hip, adjacent straps run down, under the curve of your ass and connect to the central one that sits between your legs like panties, albeit narrow and stiffer than fabric.

You’d seen ones with a second dildo facing inwards to go inside the wearer as they fucked someone else, but this didn’t have one, so instead your only stimulation was the slight heat when the leather would drag against your swollen clit. Happy to forgo your own pleasure for the sake of pleasuring Jungkook, you reach in the nightstand drawer again to pull out the lube.

Unlike Hoseok’s travel-sized bottle, the base of the drawer is littered with sample size packets of multiple brands. Mixed in with foil condom packets, you spy oil-based lubes, water-based ones, some scented, self-heating, even one that claims to be strawberry flavoured. Reaching for a basic water-based one, you rip it open and use it to slick up the dildo.

Jungkook watches you raptly, hips wiggling against the bed either in impatience or the effort it takes not to touch himself. Hyper-aware of the appendage that dangles in front of you, and how slippery your hands currently are, you imagine hunkering on the bed without using your hands probably isn’t a very sexy look, so instead you stand to the side of the mattress and instruct him to come to you.

He does so with obvious enthusiasm and anticipation. The earlier haze of his orgasm dissipating, his eyes are alert and his lips are stretched in an unconscious grin. Splayed out on his back, legs dangling on either side of your hips, Jungkook looks so content to hand over his dominance to you that your heart swells slightly at the sentiment of it.

Clearly Jungkook isn’t feeling as soft as you. On the contrary, his cock looks so hard it must be physically hurting him, the tip weeping precum onto his belly as he arches his back to entice you. “Please, Y/n,” he whines, hitching a foot up onto the edge of the mattress to bare himself more fully. “Gukkie needs it.”

Though it’s more your own hesitation rather than any desire to make him beg for it, you can’t deny that the sweet entreating voice is music to your ears and core, and pushing aside all worries you find yourself guiding his opposite leg up with a slippery hand, before lining your synthetic cock against Jungkook’s rim.

Immediately, before you even enter him, he keens, and although you can’t literally feel him rocking back towards it, you watch it catch on the muscle and begin to slip inside, and the resistance can be felt as a pressure against your pelvis where the base of the dildo is fastened.

“De-deeper,” Jungkook makes out with a gasp, his fingers reaching up to clutch at your wrist, and you push past the resistance to drive the dildo inside him, slowly but smoothly. His breath hitches, back lifting off the bed as his body tries to process the intrusion, and instinctively - a word you wouldn’t typically associate with domming - you grip onto his waist to hold him still.

Though your palms and fingers are still slick with lube, you manage to keep them steady on his skin by slightly digging your nails in. Jungkook’s mouth parts in a gulped moan, and you feel the pressure in front of your crotch suddenly increase as he stiffens.

“Green?” you check in quickly, so quick to fear the worst.

Jungkook is even quicker to dispel your worries. “Green, fuck, harder, please,” he babbles, shifting as much as he can under you to spread his legs wider in invitation.

You let out a breath of relief but pair it with a snapped thrust to mask it as exertion. Jungkook lets out a cry of pleasure that sounds more like a hiccup, his body rocking on the bed with the force of it.

It’s hard to tell how intense or rough your thrusts are when all you have is his response and the feeling of the leather base pressing against you to go off, so once you start to fuck him in earnest, you’re sure to pay close attention to him.

Not that you’d otherwise be apathetic by any means. Whether his beautiful reactions are a skill learnt from camming or he began camming because of his reactions, you don’t know, but you think watching him like this could never get old.

His hair’s splayed back on the pale grey duvet like a dark halo, red hot streaks highlighting just how long the strands have gotten. His eyes, when he manages to open them, glitter like constellations and plead like puppy eyes. Though he has the bone definition of a god, gravity works against the strong lines and puffs up his cheeks instead, making him look small and sweet.

With lips so pretty and swollen, he pouts and whines and pleads, teeth poking out to nibble at the pinked flesh when the dildo hits his prostate and he muffles a whine.

It takes a surprisingly little amount of time to find a rhythm. Though you’re certainly inexperienced in the art of fucking someone else, it’s really a very natural motion to make your hips rock up against him. Albeit tiring, you find yourself able to pick up the pace until he’s writhing under your hands, his own nails scratching at the meat of his thighs with the restraint it takes not to touch himself.

Taking mercy on the poor thing, you lift one knee up on the bed to give yourself sufficient momentum to drop one of your hands from pinning him down and wrap it instead around his cock, doing your best to time your strokes together.

Jungkook lets out a low keen and goes stiff, back in a violent arch. “Fu-uck,” he cries, and his face would almost look scrunched up in pain if you didn’t know better, the poor camboy overwhelmed by finally being touched there.

“Does that feel good, Gukkie? Am I fucking you good?”

He nods hastily, bottom lip trembling as your thrusts don’t let up for a second. “Suh-so good to Gukkie,” he confirms in a wobbly voice, “please fuck Gukkie harder!”

Quickly tiring, you don’t know if you even can, but you engage your core like it’s a workout and speed up your hips, the insistent rub of the leather over your pussy lips and clit actually beginning to tighten a coil of pleasure low in your belly.

“Yes,” Jungkook wails when he feels the dildo spearing him quicker and quicker. You use your thumb to press at his slit, dripping precum in obscene amounts as he sobs and bucks between your hand and your fake cock.

Once his thighs start to tremble violently and he can’t seem to take in a full breath, you know he’s close. Steeling yourself for the final lap, you ignore the rub of the leather and the pressure of the dildo base against your pelvis, and focus fully on Jungkook and bringing him to a second powerful orgasm.

“Are you close, baby? I wanna see you cum again,” you request, punctuating it with a squeeze of his cock to make him cry out.

Such a polite boy, he composes himself enough to answer. “Baby’s so close,” he whines. “Gukkie can cum?”

You smile fondly even with gritted teeth from exertion, glad his eyes are scrunched shut with pleasure so he can’t see you melt for him. “Gukkie can cum, baby.”

You make good on your promise for him to feel so good he cries when he reaches that high shortly after receiving permission. Tears spilling over his cheeks, his moan comes out strangled but stuttered and airy at the same time, almost like he’s giggling at the feeling that overcomes him. Barely anything comes out of his cock, already milked from the first orgasm, but his body is wracked with sensation and his lips are stretched in a dopey grin, struggling to catch his breath.

If you were a meaner - or fitter - dom perhaps you’d fuck him past the point of oversensitivity, but as it is, you quite happily come to a stop buried deep inside him, lazily stroking his cock as it softens until he hisses at the contact.

Using the duvet to wipe away the last of the lube and cum off your hands, you lean forward and cup this cheeks to brush the tears away and press a kiss to the button of his nose.

He shivers happily, lashes fluttering, and lets out a hum. “Thank you for taking care of Gukkie,” he whispers, before wincing slightly and correcting- “taking care of me. Sorry, I tend to do that when I’m-”

“You don’t have to explain,” you reply easily, kissing each of his cheeks in turn, tasting the salt of his tears as he giggles again at the tickling feeling. “Did you enjoy it, baby?”

Jungkook lets out a breathless chuckle, chest still heaving. “Fuck, like you wouldn’t believe,” he jibes, throwing a hand over his eyes and heated cheeks when you pull away. “But really; thank you.”

You slip the dildo out of him carefully, hearing him make a low noise in his throat as his hole flutters, empty. Rubbing his thigh comfortingly with one hand - if you knew one thing from being on the show, it was that you needed to shower Jungkook in aftercare now - you unfasten the strap-on carefully with your other. “You don’t have to thank me. I had fun too.”

The crook of his elbow lifts just slightly to expose the glint of his eyes, disbelieving. “You did?”

You beam warmly. “Definitely. You’re so fun to play with, Gukkie,” you praise, “plus, I feel like getting a new perspective has been really enlightening, you know?”

“Ah,” he muses, “entertaining and educational. I’m glad my ass served you well.”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of your throat; the quip a clear sign that Jungkook is returning from that hazy, contented plane of subspace you’ve grown used to. “Better put that on your CV.”

Jungkook sits up, affronted. Two fat drops of cum run down his stomach, quickly drying out once they spread over his skin. “My ass has been listed on my CV as a skill for years, Y/n, I’m not an amateur.”

“Oh, a professional ass man,” you tease, sighing at the release of pressure once the strap-on harness falls off your hips and to the ground, leaving your lower half bare. “Is that why you got on the show, huh?”

The camboy pouts. “I got on for many reasons,” he insists, “I’m very qualified, you know.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” you return immediately, and pause. “Fuck. We were meant to be bantering but I’ve just been complimenting you, haven’t I?”

He nods like it was intentional. “Yet another one of my skills.”

“You’re impossible,” you sigh, but even when he convinces you to join him in the shower, the conversation between you flows without a hitch, and your fondness for the boy only grows.

In retrospect, you probably could’ve worked out Namjoon’s prompt based on how he treats you that dinner.

Subtlety isn’t his strong suit, but you’re so hungry from earlier that you barely notice the signs. It’s not uncommon for the guys to pile food on your plate, but Namjoon’s repeated insistence of feeding you directly perhaps should’ve been the first flag.

The way he fills your glass of water for you, ruffles your hair, continuously calls you little… Yeah, you blame Yoongi’s delicious fish cutlet and rice meal for not paying enough attention.

Luckily for you - or perhaps for him - an opening appears when you’re cleaning up the table with Taehyung and accidentally fumble a small dish of dipping sauce all over your hands and front.

Immediately, Namjoon as at your side, taking the ceramics out of your hand and tsking gently. “Oh, love, that’s no good,” he coos in a low timbre, “you’ve gotten yourself all dirty.”

You could just offer to go rinse your hands off in the sink and change shirts, but you’re wired up from fucking Jungkook without your own release - the camboy was so chipper at dinner that everyone had surely cottoned on - and so a better idea comes to mind. “It’s running down my sleeve,” you offer with a faux pout, “I’ll probably need a shower to get it all off. Care to join me?”

Namjoon’s brows lift as he surreptitiously ensures no one else is in earshot. With a hand on the small of your back, he leans in and presses his lips against your ear. “How about Daddy gives you a bath, baby girl?”

You suck in a breath, nerves alighting. Oh. You can work with this. Straightening up, you latch onto his shirt sleeve near the cuff and soften your eyes. “Only if you take one with me,” you bargain, “I’m only little, Daddy.”

He pulls back quickly, and were it not for the hot flares of lust in his eyes, it would almost seem like he’d been shocked. “Go to your bedroom then, love,” he instructs, “and no running on the stairs.”

Of course you aren’t really an impulsive child but, as it is, his command is actually difficult to follow. The urge to clamber up them as fast as you can, knowing you’re finally going to get fucked good, is hard to suppress.

You manage, however, and soon enough Namjoon’s in the bathroom with you, filling the tub. As you wait, toes wiggling against the cool tile in excitement, he unbuttons his cuff and rolls up the sleeve.

“Okay, clothes off, kitten,” he instructs, hunkering over the edge of the tub to dip a hand in up to the forearm, checking the temperature and stirring up the water, “it’s just about ready.”

You obey, tossing your clothes in a growing pile in the corner. Though it’s no bubble bath, he has drizzled some body wash in to give it a comforting scent, floral and sleepy like ylang ylang. When he pulls his arm out, there’s a ring of suds, and spots of water have already gotten onto his shirt. “You’ve gotta hop in too, Daddy,” you point out, smirking when Namjoon visibly falters at the title.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he confirms, shucking off his shirt and pants, “get in first, kitten, it’s all ready.”

The water is divine, a blooming heat that seeps down to your bones, warming you to the core. You immediately see your skin start to pinken, but the water isn’t unbearably hot, and it’s a pleasant flush.

The heat below contrasts with the cool air on your upper back and shoulders, causing you to shiver, but before you can complain you feel the water level rise, Namjoon’s arms wrapping around you from behind.

As you let him lean you back against his chest, you feel his hardness, but neither of you feel the need to comment on it. This is a porn show, and you’re going to fuck soon, sure, but for now there’s nothing better than a hot bath.

“Give me your hand, let’s clean this sticky sauce up, huh?” It isn’t until Namjoon begins to soap up a loofah and delicately scrub away at the black trails of dipping sauce that have run down your arms that you realise just how fantastic this prompt is. If you played your cards right, Namjoon would take care of you and pamper you all evening, fuck you silly, and then presumably put you to bed like a good Daddy. Holding your hands out obediently, you’re quite content to oblige.

“Sit up, kitten,” the academic commands softly with a press to your shoulder. Once the skin of your arms is unmarred again, Namjoon dips the loofah in the chest-level water, pulls it out dripping suds and water, and laves it over your back, making you sigh at the warmth. “Feels nice, hm?”

Your lips stretch in a lazy smile as you recall asking that very question yourself just earlier today. As much as you had fun domming Jungkook, and wouldn’t be averse to switching things up - quite literally - again, there’s no denying that your soul really sings when you’re the one being taken care of, played with, and pleasured. “Really nice, Daddy.”

The loofah gets dipped again, this time sliding over your chest and stomach. Letting your eyes slip shut at the relaxing treatment, Namjoon’s low timbre washes over you just like the aromatic suds of body wash. “I’m glad,” he coos, “I like taking care of you. You’re too little to do it all yourself, aren’t you? Need Daddy’s help?”

“Too little,” you parrot sleepily, “need Daddy.” With every word, with every touch of his large hands on you, you truly begin to feel little. Curling your toes against the base of the tub, you make a low noise in your throat and lean back against his chest again, head lolling back over his shoulder. “Will you give me a kiss, Daddy?”

He smiles at your entreating plea and wide eyes, eyes like crescent moons as he dips his head and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “All better now?” he checks as he sits the sopping loofah on the side of the bath.

You bite your lip and shake your head. “I’m not all clean yet, Daddy.”

“You aren’t?” he asks with mock surprise, dimple deepening and brows lifting. “Well, that’s no good, is my kitten still dirty somewhere?”

With a single decisive nod, you grab his hand and lead it down until the tips of his fingers brush your folds. “Daddy didn’t clean here, ‘s still dirty.”

You let out a blissful sigh when he cups you, middle finger curling up to barely dip inside you. Namjoon grins. “In here?” Rather than wait for your answer, he smoothly pushes it deeper, massaging at your inner walls. “Alright, kitten, just close your eyes and let Daddy finish cleaning you up.”

A smile graces your lips as your eyes flutter shut again, head comfy in the crook of his neck and shoulder. You could get used to this.

He doesn’t tease you, but nor does he fingerfuck you with intensity or vigor. It’s methodical and diligent, like he really is cleaning you out. One finger quickly becomes two, and his other arm winds around your waist on the other side to roll your sensitive clit, making you moan softly.

Raring to go from unfulfilled pleasure that morning, your nerves go into overdrive, a building wave growing quickly in your belly. When Namjoon adds a third finger, crooking them inside you thoroughly to stroke your g-spot, it takes less than a minute for you to fall apart, thighs clenching tight around his hands.

He works you through it, only stopping when you whimper from oversensitivity, but that doesn’t stop you from whimpering unhappily again when he pulls his fingers out and you’re left empty.

“You’re all clean now, kitten,” Namjoon states, running his palms over your inner thighs to relax them. “Time to get out.”

You sit up suddenly with a pout. “But Daddy!”

Narrowing his brows, you don’t miss the slight twitch of Namjoon’s lips at your sudden outburst. “No buts,” he reproaches, “I don’t want you pruning up.”

You huff, scowling when he deftly tugs out the plug and the water level steadily sinks. “You haven’t even fucked me yet, Da-mmf!”

Namjoon sends you a cutting glare, his strong hand cupped over your mouth. “I should wash your mouth out with soap for using that language, little one,” he warns, “now out of the bath.”

You whine behind his hand, but once he drops it you obey and scramble out of the quickly-draining tub. Your body feels heavier without the buoyancy of water, and you’re dripping onto the bathmat like a drowned rat, but Namjoon pays it no mind, getting out himself with powerful thighs and a heavy cock dangling between them, passing you a towel wordlessly.

You dry yourself off, pout never leaving your face. He’s really just gonna stay hard like that and not fuck you? “Daddy…”

“One more protest and I’m taking you over my knee,” Namjoon says with a sharp tone. “I thought my kitten was better behaved than this.”

You open and close your mouth, unsure how you can get what you want without using vulgar words. Then again, perhaps making him punish you would rile him up enough to fuck you, and you certainly weren’t against some spanking. Sucking a breath in to establish some resolve, you stomp your foot on the bathmat. “You’re so mean, Daddy!”

Namjoon gapes at you, the way you’re bundled in a towel from your chin to your knees, scowling at him. “You want it, don’t you?” he mutters quietly, receiving a small nod in return. Relaxing for a moment, he slips easily back into that position of authority. “That’s it,” he spits, taking you firmly by the wrist and leading you - still naked himself - into your bedroom, “I gave you plenty of warnings but you still won’t listen.”

You squeak as he rips the towel from you and tugs you onto his lap on the edge of the bed. Adjusting you so that your crotch is right above his aching erection, his legs are so long that your toes barely brush on the carpet, all your balance resting on him. This had been the roughest he’d ever been with you, or at least the most domineering, and your mind whirls with how much he’s coming into his element with this prompt.

He gives you no warning before he’s laying his hands on your ass, small pats to warm up the skin before a sudden, stinging strike laces your nerves. You cry out, wriggling in his grip, but he uses one broad hand to link your wrists together in the small of your back, your face pressed onto the mattress as you’re held up fully by him.

He’s carefully merciless, spanking you hard enough that it burns, tears pricking your eyes and lip swollen from when you bite it, but whenever your cries of pain and pleasure turn too much to genuine discomfort, you notice he gives you an extra second of reprieve and swaps out to lighter hits.

“Apologise to Daddy,” he commands gruffly as you sob beneath him, swatting you without pause.

You sniff and swallow before you can compose yourself enough to reply in a wobbly cry, knees buckling and trembling. “Suh-sorry, Daddy, I’m so sorry, I learnt my lesson, ple-ease!”

You could cry when you feel his hand land on you one last time, soft and soothing the stinging flesh. Namjoon shifts, and then you feel light kisses being pressed all the way from your reddened ass up your spine, making you shiver. “Thank you, kitten,” he murmurs in your ear, and gently sits you up, lying you on the mattress.

You hiss when you feel the fabric scratch at your skin, but it’s cool and soothing if you stay still, so you take deep breaths and feel your heart slowly return to normal, Namjoon running his fingers over your now-dry body.

Blinking up at him with what you hope are sweet puppy-dog eyes, you call his name softly to bring his attention to your face. “Are you really not gonna, you know…?”

He grins fondly at your attempt to evade the word fuck, silver hair flopping over his brow as he leans over you. “You took your punishment so well kitten, I think you deserve a reward, hm? Some special time with Daddy?”

You light up, sucking on your lower lip as you spread your legs to bare yourself shamelessly, hooking one foot around his waist so he’s between them. “Extra special time with Daddy,” you insist in a small voice, lip curling now that you’re finally going to get what you want.

With a light laugh, Namjoon centres himself so that he’s facing you head-on, your legs comfortably resting aside his hips. Stroking himself a few times, he taps his hard length against your already-swollen pussy lips. “Relax for me, kitten,” he guides, and you keen as you feel him begin to push inside you.

You try to stop yourself from clenching around him, but it’s been a while since you’ve fucked him, and as usual the biggest cock in the house takes getting used to. “So big, Daddy,” you breathe with a groan, brows pinched together at the stretch.

“You can take it, kitten, you’re doing so well for me,” Namjoon promises, holding you steady and open with a hand hooking your knee up high by his chest.

By the time he’s bottomed out, hips flush against your still-stinging ass, you feel so deliciously full that you can’t breathe. You lay back, eyes scrunched, and focus entirely on the feeling of his girth stretching you open.

“Feels good?” Namjoon checks in, and you nod, wriggling your hips against him to indicate he can move. “Hold on tight, then.”

Even though it’s barely been a day since you were last fucked, it feels like so much longer, and having Namjoon fill you up over and over is so satisfying on a deep level, that you don’t bother muffling your moans, letting yourself clutch at his arms and enjoy the ride.

While Namjoon certainly isn’t the most lithe or experienced member, his cock is a force of nature in and of itself, and this time, with the heat of desperation and the excitement of your altered dynamic getting to him, he fucks you without holding back.

If he’s like this on his third time, you think, he’ll be a beast before the show ends, but then the head of his cock strikes right against your g-spot, and the thought shatters as a cry is ripped from your throat.

“Oh! Daddy, yes, right there!”

He obliges you by adjusting his hips so that every stroke rubs against you just right, and your mind melts, colours and sounds and sensation blurring together in one full note of all-encompassing pleasure.

You cum without warning, not expecting it yourself, and Namjoon curses lowly in his throat as you clench around him. The orgasm is powerful enough to leave you shuddering hopelessly on the bed before going fully slack, drained.

Warm, fuzzy tingles settle in your fingers and toes and chest in the aftermath as Namjoon fucks you through it, not taking long himself to spill inside you. He drops your leg to the side and leans in, pressing slightly ticklish kisses to your neck and collarbone, hands on either side of your chest to keep his weight off you.

“So good to me,” he breathes out lowly, nuzzling your chin up to give him a better angle to sweetly kiss you on the lips, languid and unhurried as he slowly comes down from his own high.

This time when he pulls out of you and you’re left empty again, you don’t complain, too thoroughly fucked to do anything but let out a contented sigh. Namjoon cleans you up, apologising when oversensitivity makes you twitch at the slightest contact, and then washes up himself.

Just as you feel your mind lifting out of that mental space of feeling little, sitting up a bit on his bed and trying to work out if you’d be able to make it to your dresser to put on some pyjamas, Namjoon returns and does it for you, helping you slip into a baggy t-shirt that you like to use as a nightie.

“Are you going to stay?” you ask softly as he lowers the hem over your head, arms slotting through the holes.

“Do you want me to?” Namjoon counters with an edge of hesitation, scratching lightly at his opposite arm, still naked.

You nod, patting the bed beside you. “If you don’t mind.”

Namjoon gathers his clothes and slips them on, not really appropriate for sleeping. Once he sees your look of confusion, he tilts his head towards your bedroom door. “I’m just going to duck out for some comfier clothes for sleeping, are you going to be alright for a moment?”

By the time he’s come back, you’ve already quickly brushed your teeth - hobbling to and from your bathroom like a newborn deer - and slipped under the covers, getting comfortable. Namjoon returns in grey striped pyjama pants and a white shirt, but he has something in his hands.

“You might think it’s silly,” he offers by way of explanation, the mattress springs squeaking as he gets on beside you, “but I like reading before bed, and I thought maybe you’d find it calming.”

With a dubious smile, you look at the book in his hands. It has the clean edges of a cared-for book, with the creases in the spine of a well-read one. On the cover, golden embossed stars and swooping font read The Little Prince. “You want me to read it?”

Namjoon returns your smile, warm and dimpled. “I want to read to you.”

The two of you cuddle together without words, one of his arms wrapped around your back as you lean on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Propping the small novel up on his stomach, he peers over your head to read.

“Once when I was six years old,” he begins, “I saw a magnificent picture in a book called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing.” He pauses, tapping you twice on the crown of your head to indicate you should look. “In the book it said…”

As he recites the novel aloud, you feel more than hear his voice, a low rumble in your ear like a rushing river or a slow-moving thunderstorm. It’s soothing, lulling you into sleep. His voice wraps around every word like a hug, enunciating each syllable with such care and colour and love, and always pausing when there were photos, even when your eyes slip shut and you begin to drift off.

Slowly, everything fades away. All sound is reduced to that regular heartbeat and warm rumble; all sensations are narrowed down to just the heat of his skin where it meets yours, his fingers lazily swirling patterns on your scalp. All thoughts simplify, the last six words in your brain, I could get used to this, before they wink out to nothing at all, and you sleep.

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petalshields · 3 years

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[ ELLIOT KNIGHT, HE/HIM, CIS MAN ] — [ SABER WINSLOWE ] is a child of [ EPIONE ] with the power of [ PAIN SUPPRESSION + PATHOKINESIS ] . they were born in [ 1993 ] and have been in nemean lion since [ 2008 ] . with the change, they [ GRADUATED FROM ] the [ MEDICAL ] role which makes sense since they’re usually [ COUNSELING + READING + TRYING TO FEEL SOMETHING ] . if you’d like to meet them try the [ SUN ] building . — garnet / she/her / kst / 18+ / @nlupdates

it’s garnet ya’ll already know the vibes. this long as hell but bear with me.

Saber’s pinterest is here!

BIOGRAPHY!

saber did not grow up knowing the people he called his Ma and Pa were not his biological parents. Ma and Pa lived in a red barn hidden acres deep in rural New Haven, Kentucky and they prayed every night for a child that they couldn’t seem to conceive. one night, a woman appeared with her three-year-old son in tow, explaining that his father died in a tragic accident. the winslowes welcomed him inside and the woman disappeared into thin air. it wasn’t until the boy, who told them his name was saber, was fed, bathed, and asleep that they questioned where the woman came from. unbeknownst to them, it was the goddess of recovery epione, who just lost one of her mortal lovers and decided that saber could be the answer to the winslowe couple’s prayers.

starting he was around nine-years-old, saber bounced from foster home to foster home. he was taken from his doting parents who weren’t at all neglectful nor inattentive, but a concerned doctor reported the frequency of his hospital visits and the severity of his injuries. as a rambunctious lad who was always too curious, saber collected injuries the way other kids his age might’ve collected bugs. it did not help that he appeared to have an exceedingly high pain tolerance, and he wasn’t aware that a part of his body was wounded until someone pointed it out or he fell forward because his leg was broken.

while his parents were being investigated, at around the age of twelve, saber was placed in a particularly volatile household. its chaos could be felt the moment that he stepped inside. nonetheless, saber always had the gift of being a calming presence to those around him. even at his young age, he sympathized with others and always helped those in need, but he noticed that emotions could change quickly if he touched them. he could place two fingers on someone’s pulse and the heart of a mourning person would no longer thud under his fingertips, their sorrow drying on their cheeks. saber had the same effect on his aggressive foster family, who he would touch on the shoulder, elbow, or hand to calm them down. they’d always shake him off, but their mood visibly shifted, and saber would watch them walk away from the battle they’d almost started. he couldn’t relate to such extreme displays of emotion — while he wasn’t without empathy, he did not feel deeply for himself.

emotions became a puzzle that he wanted to solve, and saber poured over books about the topic to better understand his foster family. it was his obsession and he began to absorb random facts about how the brain functioned. this led saber into reading more, curiosity becoming less physical and tactile and more intellectual, using a flashlight under his covers at night to consume more knowledge.

when saber was thirteen, going on fourteen in a few days, he was claimed by epione sending a garter snake into his box-sized front lawn. saber, who was outside at the time, bent down to examine the creature, and when he looked up, there was a woman that he’d never seen before standing with his social worker. His social worker introduced him to his mother and explained that he’d be going with them to a new place, giving him time to pack his suitcase with his things. he did as he was told, waving goodbye to his foster family. they grumbled about having one less mouth to feed.

in the car, saber couldn’t stop looking at his mother, who was so familiar yet a stranger, and it was then that his social worker told him about his godly heritage. that because he’d been claimed by his mother, he was in danger, so he had to go somewhere he could be kept safe. that somewhere was nemean lion.

saber was a little awkward at first, but he found his strides, excelling in his training. he stayed in the standard track for the first year before switching to medical. many thought that he could have been a hero because of his bravery and his inability to feel pain, but he chose to follow his passion in trying to crack the brain. he received basic medical training, but by the time he was eighteen, he remained on campus for a little bit longer to study psychology.

at nemean lion, saber became close with another boy, another demigod. saber never had a crush before and he didn’t feel the clichés. the affinity that he felt towards the other boy was chosen rather than felt — he chose to speak with him for hours, he chose to go on dates with him, and he chose to kiss him back. in addition, saber also vowed to never change the other boy’s emotions with his ability — it was nice to have something that flourished organically without manipulation on his part.

homophobia tw: saber and his boyfriend married immediately after graduation and he brought his new husband back to meet Ma and Pa. the aging couple was set in their ways, and though they tried, they did not approve of saber marrying someone so quickly. when saber asked them if they would have approved if he did the same with a woman, he found their answer in their hesitance. his husband stormed out and saber filed behind him. “why didn’t you say anything?” his husband spat at him. saber didn’t say anything in response, understanding the reason for the reproach, that perhaps he should have said something, but he also logically understood that their bigotry wasn’t his problem. he touched his husband’s cheek, absorbing the pain and anger, something he swore he’d never do to his husband. but he did, and for the remainder of their time together, he didn’t forgive himself for it.

saber and his husband had a few honeymoon years before the marriage unraveled, but saber wasn’t aware of the unraveling. he came home one night to find his husband packing his bags, claiming that he no longer felt that spark between them and he hadn’t for a while now. saber simply responded that he didn’t notice, withholding that he felt the distance between them increase but couldn’t do anything about it, didn’t know what to do. he didn’t want to use his power to fabricate contentment, even love, where there was little to none. his husband said “you never notice, because you don’t know how to care.” it was an act of caring, however, that saber let him go find whatever would make him happy. shortly after, the divorce papers were filed, and his last name legally changed back to winslowe.

saber owns his own private practice, and he services both humans and demigods. the whole point of his character is that he’s telling other people how to get their lives together while his own is a hot mess, and he can be a bit of a hypocrite. but it be like that!

WANTED CONNECTIONS!

CLIENTS: everybody needs a lil therapy

EX-HUBBY: i’ll probably put a wanted connection in for this, but if you think that your muse could have been married to Saber....i just think we could have that conversation.

SOCRATIC CIRCLE: ezra stokes and sila demir zerhouni are part of this little group, where they get together and discuss intellectual stuff over coffee. if you think your muse would be interested in joining them, let me know!

MENTEES: the mind’s just as important as the body, and i imagine saber has a lot of insight that’s useful for other medical track kids. however it doesn’t have to be restricted to just the med kids, let him be ur dad friend.

CONFIDANT: someone who saber can hit up and be like “so do you feel nothing or is it just me” u feel me??

OLD FRIENDS/LIKE SIBLINGS: saber tries to be a good person and he really values his connections, so he maintains his friendships. he definitely got his shit rocked by his husband suddenly divorcing him so he really wants to figure out how to have relationships that mean something to other people.

ANYTHING: hit my line babes

#not this length #it took me three months to write this lKJDSLAF #nlintro #saber

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 3 years

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One + One is Two

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: Please listen to Sam Cooke’s (What A) Wonderful World while you read this, or at least during the last scene. It was the brain child of this story & will make your heart happy, I promise! Word Count: 7K Warnings: There’s a tiny bit of smut in here, but it’s me writing, so when is that not the case? Summary:

Dissatisfied with his life as a book publisher in Seattle, Peter heads across the country to take a teaching job in High Rock, North Carolina. The town is beautiful and the new job is everything he could want - yet, true contentment comes when a saucy drama teacher sits down next to him at a staff meeting.

Much cuteness ensues.

Or, the one where Tony serenades Peter & we all go awe.

Read on AO3 here.

For the first time since his own high school days, Peter felt nervous.

Moving to the small little town of High Rock was one of the best decisions of his life – Peter knew that without having to exist in the masses of it for very long. While Seattle was gorgeous, and home to many, many book publishing agencies, it didn’t feel like home. And after almost ten years in the business, editing and selecting the next newest best seller just didn’t do it for him, anymore.

Instead, Peter found himself drawn to both a new career and a brand-new place.

When Peter first started college, he initially wanted to be a teacher; the education department at Columbia ranked amongst some of the best in the nation. After a bit of writing success, however, Peter changed his tune and started down the publishing career track, instead. He let himself get lost in the mess of creative writing and editing, his love for the art quickly taking on another shape. And for a time, it worked – honing in on different skills brought about a different love for the subject as a whole.

Things started to change when Peter took a step back and really looked at where he was. Though successful in his career, Peter spent most of his time making everyone else’s writing better, and no time on his own. The apartment he lived in since graduating college was gorgeous, yet it never screamed home the way he wanted it to. The social scene and foodie experience were great but lacking the sense of fulfillment that little pleasures like that should bring.

The perfect opportunity to change things up came in the form of a call from a friend he hadn’t seen since leaving Nag’s Head so many years ago. Ned, now the principal of a high school in High Rock, needed an English teacher – and was willing to look past the immediate lack of credentials. It didn’t take but a beat of silence for Peter to say yes – the decision made before he could think about it.

How natural it felt – that said something.

In the time between uprooting his life in Seattle to moving back to North Carolina, Peter took care of the certifications he needed and brushed up on teaching theory. His head was so stuck in the literary world that every step away, back towards his original passions, made his heart pound with excitement; a feeling so foreign, Peter almost didn’t recognize it.

Life in Seattle was great but being in High Rock was amazing – for the price of his apartment’s rent, Peter found a three-bedroom house with three times the space. The town resided around a lake, and to really drive that delicacy home, the weather was good enough to visit whenever the fancy struck. The everyday flow of life was different – a change of pace that Peter appreciated from the very second he walked into it.

Now, finally on the cusp of what could be considered to be his “dream job”, Peter felt nervous. Not the bad kind of nervous, where his stomach felt like it could drop out his ass at any minute. It was the kind, instead, that made his palms sweat with sweet apprehension – like the start of something totally new.

The reality of his fresh start didn’t truly set in until he pulled up to High Rock High School and parked in his employee parking spot a week before the start of school. The rest of the parking lot was relatively empty at the moment, but soon, all of the spaces would be occupied – taken up by young minds that Peter now had the opportunity to shape. It felt so real as he walked through the front doors and anxiously navigated himself to his perfectly decorated classroom. He pulled in a long breath and let the potential of what could be settle over him.

He took his time reacquainting himself with the room he put together a few weeks ago when the teachers were allowed access during summer break. After a lot of thought, Peter meticulously used his calligraphy skills to make hangable quotes from the books he couldn’t wait to cover throughout the year. His desk, though smaller than what he was used to, stood proudly in the corner he made for himself – the bookshelves he brought from Seattle set up along the walls were already stuffed to the gills with books and resources.

For the first time in what felt like ten years, Peter felt a sense of home that settled him – his chest finally loosening after such a long time.

That settled feeling followed him all the way into the cafeteria, where the first ever staff meeting of his career was set to take place. In the book world, meetings with clients and supervisors were always stuffy, filled with sucking up and holding back little truths that would change the interaction if known. Transparency wasn’t anywhere close to the name of the game.

Not knowing what to expect from these, Peter felt the apprehension start to creep back in.

Might be a good thing, Peter thought – nerves kept him on his toes and in this new start, he wanted to put his best foot forward. Never having taught before, Peter wasn’t sure what that actually looked, but the best intentions were there.

Taking a seat at the big circle of tables already decked out in coffee fixings and donuts, Peter let his eyes roam around. Despite being more than ten years removed from high school, the lunchroom looked exactly like he pictured the one he spent so much time in during his school days. The old smell of large pan pizza and disinfectant even seemed the same. The familiarity of it, despite the newness of the space, brought that feeling of comfort rushing back.

Suddenly, the smell of woody outdoors and musk and man filled his nostrils. Turning his head in the direction of the smell, Peter was surprised to see the seat next to him now occupied. The man (though Adonis would be more fitting) sat up straight with a warm and welcoming smile on his face.

It took Peter a second to register the fact that social protocol usually demanded something from him at this moment in time. His attempt to pull in a deep, calming breath was thwarted when the exhale brought in that delectable scent. Feeling his cheeks pinken, Peter ducked his head, the lack of eye contact just enough to get his shit back under control.

“Uh – hi! I’m Peter. Peter Parker,” Peter finally said in greeting, his hand moving into the space between them. If things weren’t awkward enough, Peter’s nerves were back through the roof – though this time, they brought a sort of warmth that could easily be intoxicating.

A warm hand slipped into his own, the man’s grip tight without being too overbearing; eerily right in the sense that their joint contact didn’t feel forced at all. “Hey there, Peter Parker. I’m Tony Stark – resident drama teacher.” He pulled his hand away from Peter’s to gesture at himself.

Not completely out of his mind with surprise any longer, Peter took the rest of Tony, resident drama teacher, in. His goatee, while not entirely thick, was styled within an inch of its life – the edges were sharp, and the corners came together in a severe angle at the start of his jaw. A waistcoat sat over a dark salmon colored shirt that was delightfully finished with a black striped bow tie. Peter wasn’t sure what shouted drama teacher about the ensemble, but he nodded anyway – he enjoyed the open invitation to take more of Tony in without the whole thing feeling a bit creepy.

“Dramatic,” Peter finally added, the free-range movement of his eyes probably too much without at least a little continuation of the conversation. “It’s English for me – I’ll have the junior and senior AP kids.”

Tony’s nose scrunched up adorably, his face suggestive in its emotional expression – dramatic, after all. He shifted a little closer, the space between their seats not much now that they sat shoulder to shoulder. If he really tried, Peter could feel the warmth of Tony’s arm drift just barely under the surface of his skin.

Briefly, he wondered what the warmth would be like if that skin was bare.

Then, Tony’s melodic voice pulled him from his inappropriate thoughts. He bumped their shoulders, a smile on his face. “If you’ve got the juniors, that means we’ll get to work together pretty closely. We do a stage rendition of Hamlet to take the Shakespeare out of good ole Willie’s work. It seems to help with the comprehension.”

Face lighting up, Peter felt his heart thump a little harder – his love of Shakespeare was what brought about the English passion to begin with. The fact that he already had reason to spend time with the enigma of a man next him barely even registered. “I love that. His plays are meant for the stage, after all.”

“They are – and totally accessible to modernization. If you’re on board, we can put together something fun and educational.” Tony’s lips were pulled into a smirk, Peter’s lack of verbal and emotional filter giving away so much more than he truly wanted.

Blushing, Peter brought his hands together, lacing his fingers for the tactile distraction of the movement. It took him a second to hold back the blurt, his brain working overtime to process the words Tony said and respond accordingly. Just because he was now in a high school, didn’t mean he needed to act like one of its inhabitants.

“As long as you don’t expect me to be in it, I think it’ll be great.”

Tony laughed at that, the already adorable nose scrunch making its way back onto his gorgeous face. He ducked his shoulder into Peter’s again, that same smirk on his face. “What you don’t like to make a fool of yourself?” Tony asked as he pushed back from the table to get up.

“Speaking of,” Tony trailed off, the man now completely out of his seat and making his way to the front of the cafeteria that was now quite occupied with his fellow teachers and administrators alike.

With wide eyes, Peter watched as Tony stood in the middle of three other middle-aged teachers, their shirts and bowties noticeably coordinated now that he was paying attention. As if waiting for Tony’s arrival, the room went silent. With a few well-timed snaps, a cluster of voices started in what could only be described as a jazzy barbershop quartet version of the school’s fight song.

Peter watched in awe, his eyes glued to Tony – the moves he brought to the table were fancy and smooth, completely in sync with the subpar performers around him. They didn’t matter, that was easy to see. Tony drew everyone’s attention, his big personality and undeniable talent noticed by just about everyone in the room. Despite these people probably having seen this little song and dance before, they still watched with rapt attention.

Unable to stop himself, Peter clapped when the cacophony of voices came to an end. He got up from his chair with little finesse, his body way ahead of the heavy thing that existed between his shoulders. The rest of the room looked at him oddly for a second, then added to the applause.

In terms of first impressions, Peter was totally winning.

Thankfully, the rest of the meeting went without a hitch. Peter got a couple of minutes to introduce himself and talk a little bit about his previous experience. He knew he brought an interesting perspective to the table, both as a teacher and someone interested in making the student’s lives as easy and enriched as possible. When it came time to sign up for volunteer chaperone opportunities, Peter cleverly put himself in a couple he thought might attract Tony’s attention, too.

Because, for some reason, Peter’s brain decided that Tony Stark needed to be in his life in some way. Though he forced himself to not name the way he wanted it to be, Peter understood all too well what a crush felt like. There was a lot of time between his last flame and the surge of that old familiar feeling rushing within him – and despite barely knowing him, Peter knew potential when he saw it.

Of course, his next chance to see Tony outside of the classroom setting didn’t come until several weeks into school. Decked out in his new High Rock gear, Peter tried not to look out of place at the gates of the football stadium where he signed himself up to take tickets for the first half of the game. Some of the students that recognized him waved and tried to make small talk – an art that Peter hadn’t fine-tuned in quite some time. Everyone else cast him a sidelong glance and went about their way.

An internal groan radiated through him – it felt silly to be so frustrated about these young kids not liking him, and yet… most of his thoughts revolved around bridging the gap he knew existed. Not for the first time, Peter figured the skill was one he would’ve learned in the education program he so carelessly threw away. Book dealers and authors were a stuffy sort – the extent of wanted conversation existed within the bounds of how good (or sometimes, how shitty) their latest piece was. And profits – always profits.

“If you just relax, they’ll be way more receptive.”

Turning to find the source of the words, Peter didn’t even try to stop the smile on his face from blooming when he realized who it was. A sudden gratefulness settled over him – in his many attempts to dress for the evening, Peter put on his newest (and nicest) jeans. They were both comfortable and fit him like a glove. The secret of his crush wasn’t much of a secret – why try to hide anything else (especially his nicest assets)?

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Stark – you ooze cool from your pores,” Peter remarked, his eyebrows waggling cheesily. “In all seriousness, I’m trying. The shift in mindset has been a challenge. Kids want realness and that sort of thing would’ve landed me on my ass not too long ago.”

The low sound of Tony’s laugh rang in Peter’s ears, the octave of it so rich in its depths that a shudder ran down his spine. He wondered, not for the first time, how the musicality translated to other more melodic things.

“None of that Mr. Stark shit from you, Peter Parker – it’s bad enough the kids call me that. I’m just a regular, single gent outside of the classroom.” As he spoke, Tony narrowed the space down between them, their shoulders once again within brushing distance. “Why don’t you try not trying? I’ve taken a peek in your classroom during a lecture or two – you know your shit and have passion for it. Let a little more of that seep into the everyday stuff and you’ll have them eating out of the palm of your hand.”

“Is that what you do? Let all of the bubbliness pour out until they can do nothing but admire the hell out of you?”

Peter pulled his bottom lip between his teeth to stop the sound that threatened to fall from his lips when Tony laughed again – it shouldn’t be legal, being that goddamn adorable all the time.

“That’s exactly what I do. I enjoy every second of my job and let people see that. Being genuine goes a long way, Pete.”

Sucking in a breath, Peter felt those words hit him square in the gut. Were there truer words in existence?

“In an attempt to be genuine, would you possibly be interested in a drink later?” Feeling his eyes bulge at the words that effortlessly came out of his mouth, Peter tried to backtrack. “I mean – I – “

Tony cut off the splutter with a hand on Peter’s shoulder, his touch that same warmth he remembered. “I’d love to. I wasn’t sure you were going to finally pull the trigger – I planned to ask you out myself if you didn’t soon.”

Peter’s cheeks flushed, the heat of them burning so hot he had to be as red as a tomato. Between the flame and the stretch of his lips, Peter wasn’t sure he’d see the end of the night with all of his face intact – smiling his way to an early death.

After that, the rest of the game flew by in a whirlwind of easy conversation, student monitoring, and one too many hot dogs. At one point, Peter bought them both another just to see Tony open his mouth – the literal thirst he felt towards the drama teacher something Peter wasn’t sure existed before meeting Tony Stark. There was just something about his lips…

By the time the last two minutes of the fourth quarter were ticking down, Peter was more than ready to get the hell out of dodge. The thought of having his students witness his awkward mating dance made his skin crawl. He loved being back in the high school atmosphere – that time of adolescence was an exciting one. At the same time, the wagging gums of the gossip mongers were hard to get used to. There were things he knew about some of the kids that passed through his door that no other human should know, let alone the simple, unsuspecting English teacher.

When the game clock finally dwindled down, Tony bumped into his shoulder. Realizing that was Tony’s way of drawing his attention, Peter looked over at him. Tony stood casually against the fence, both hands in the deep pockets of his jacket.

“Let’s get the hell out of here before there’s a huge sea of teens heading right for us. If they spot us, it’ll be ages before we’re in the clear,” Tony remarked, his right hand slipping out of the pocket to grip onto Peter’s elbow, instead.

It didn’t take anything more than that to kick Peter into gear. He allowed himself to relax into the touch and walked with sure steps towards the exit. Now that his duties were done for the evening, Peter felt a different sort of contentment wash over him – the rest of the night was for himself, and if things went really well, a slice of Tony Stark, too.

“There’s a nice wine bar about twenty minutes outside of High Rock’s city limits that’s got a great chardonnay – want to follow me?” Tony asked as they approached the parking lot, his hands already tossing his keys around the ring over and over.

The man’s inability to stay put was easily one of the things that Peter felt immediately attracted to. There was a reason for it, and he couldn’t wait to find out.

“Yes, please. For such a small town, it’s surprisingly difficult to navigate.”

“They do that on purpose. Small towns, I mean. It discourages the infiltration of outsiders.” Tony shot him a look, the mirth in his eyes hard to decipher. If it weren’t for the telling smirk on his lips, Peter never would’ve gotten the joke.

“You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?” Peter asked, affection lacing his voice. “And a transplant too, isn’t that right?”

“The nicest asshole you’ll ever know.” He looked up; surprise evident on his face. “Very clever, Peter Parker – doing your homework. I grew up on the upper east side in New York and went through Tisch’s theater program. Thought I’d be a star.”

Peter chuckled at that – the entirety of the school idolized Tony. It wasn’t the biggest stage to be the center of attention of, but stardom wasn’t something that Tony lacked. “You are. I’ve looked in your door while you were teaching, too, y’know. Every person in your class watches you with this look of awe in their eyes. That’s star power, my friend.”

“Do I smell a bias?” Tony joked back quickly, the words covering up the flash of unnamed emotion the man refused to let settle across his features. “If my campy spiel is enough to rope you in, I can’t be too upset.”

Not giving a shit about revealing too much of himself the same way Tony did, Peter let the beaming smile play along the seam of his lips. His cheeks were pinching with overuse, burning and a little tingly. It felt great – enjoying life and someone else in it so much.

“Bias or not, it’s the truth.”

Tony threw his hands up in concession, the earnest way Peter spoke obviously too much for him. His cheeks were a little red, and the tiniest bit of blush on cheeks was unmistakable. It was unfair really; how attractive someone could make just about any emotion seem. Shy and demure, or rambunctious and fiery – Tony owned them all. Peter had to work very hard to stop from admitting that outright. Instead, he ducked his head and let out an overwhelmed breath.

Getting to the winery felt a little like floating on air – Spotify hit all the right jams and before Peter knew it, they were parking in front of a rustic looking building. There was outdoor seating with people milling about, the soft orange of the light such a good marketing technique; one look and Peter immediately felt at home.

To order, they had to walk into the storefront that opened into a small bar area. The chalkboard leaned up against the wall held the menu with a vast expanse of wines that would be overwhelming if he wasn’t going to parrot Tony’s order. A few people milled about waiting for their drinks, and in the mellow atmosphere, soft music played to top it all off.

Peter took a moment to soak it in – an aura of atmosphere that was everything he didn’t know he wanted settled in, the beautiful man next to him really driving it home.

They waited for a few minutes to order, the two of them chatting back and forth about the game and their excitement for the weekend. Tony leaned into Peter while he talked, a whiff of delectable cologne wafted into Peter’s nostrils with every press of his body. The whole thing was intoxicating, the head-spin almost like he was already drunk – high on the rightness of all the things.

With a glass of wine each, Tony led them back out towards the scattered seating outside. They took a seat in a couple of chairs that sat at the edge of the little fireplace in the middle of the setup. Though the night wasn’t too cold, the warmth was welcome – the flicker of flames casting Tony’s skin in a golden hue not hurting, either.

“So, tell me a bit more about you, Pete – what brought you to High Rock?” Tony asked after a couple of long sips of wine, the silence and overall mood hovering between them so much more than enough.

Peter stuck his nose in his wine and took a deep breath, thinking for a moment about how to express himself. “A lot of things,” he said softly, his eyes roving across the flames of the fire in front of them before meeting Tony’s gaze. “I think I got caught up in the excitement of being young and veered off the path I truly wanted. I was happy enough for a long time that it didn’t really matter, either. And then one day, I blinked and dissatisfaction with just about everything in my life was there, plain as day in front of me. When Ned offered me this job out of the blue, it just felt right.”

Tony watched him while he spoke, his eyes trained first on lips around words, then on the expressions flitting across Peter’s face. It felt a little unnerving, being so seen by someone, but Tony simply smiled at him, a small smile on his face. “Wanderlust. I know what that’s like. All I wanted to do was be on Broadway – then all of the sudden, working sixteen hours a day just to be broke in the chorus wasn’t all that fun, anymore. I spread open a map of North Carolina, closed my eyes, and picked a place at random. I love High Rock – it was the best decision of my life.”

“I like it here, too. And I like teaching. I like being able to sift through the books I loved so much growing up, watching the kids learn how to love them, too. It’s… it’s really nice.”

The conversation went on like that for a while. Tony told him horror stories of his first couple years or teaching, and some of the better times in his stage experience. In return, Peter described some of the worst plotlines ever put in front of him, and the story behind the long scar that took up residence on the back of his right hand.

While he regaled Tony of his epic adventure with a printing press, the older man reached over, his fingertip running along the length of the sensitive skin. Peter came to an abrupt stop, his brain emptying of everything other than the sensory experience of warm skin and gentle exploration.

There was a second where Peter thought he might not ever catch his breath again – the adrenaline pumping through him from such a small thing shouldn’t have been so exciting. The idea that someone, anyone, could make him feel like that, so caught up and overwhelming, it should’ve been scary. Instead, it felt exhilarating. Like he didn’t have the patience to see what happened next, he just wanted.

“Since being genuine is the name of the game, I’m going to admit that I wouldn’t be opposed to getting out of here and continuing this at my place… or yours,” Peter admitted, his previous train of thought completely out the window. Whatever they were talking about before didn’t matter – not when the firelight made Tony’s eyes look like molten amber in the dark of the night.

Tony’s gentle laugh pulled a chuckle out of Peter, the air suddenly filled with a tranquil sort of tension that would only get better the longer they nursed it. Peter felt that in his very bones.

Without saying anything, Tony tucked his wine glass back and tipped the rest of the wine into his mouth, his lips shining with the excess when he pulled away. Peter felt his tongue dip out, the tip running along his bottom lip the same way he wanted to do to Tony. The wine was magnificent and had the capacity to only get better off of Tony’s kissable skin. It took every ounce of power within him to stop Peter from closing the distance.

Have some self-control, Peter Parker.

“I’ve got some wine that will piggy-back nicely off of what we just drank,” Tony said as he stood, his movement beautiful relaxed. The offer was nice, but they both knew another glass of wine wasn’t what the rest of the night would entail.

Getting up himself, Peter shot Tony a saucy grin, the soreness in his cheeks reminding him just how good their time spent together was and certainly seemed like it was going to be.

“Lead the way.”

Surprisingly, Peter’s impatience was easily overridden by Tony the second they were through his front door. Peter didn’t get any time to take in the place, his entire being instead focused on the warm chest and plump lips pressing against his own. Trim hips were in the palms of his hand, and nothing else mattered.

Peter didn’t really know Tony all that well, but what he did know was that Tony did everything with his entire being. Dancing, teaching, even having a simple conversation, Tony focused on the task; and kissing wasn’t any different. His long fingers took up residence in the length of hair at the back of Peter’s neck. His lips, both soft and slightly chapped, pressed confidently against Peter’s with gusto – he took and gave, his head turning to deepen the kiss when tongues slid together in a sensuous dance.

They took their time shifting from surface to surface during the journey from the front door to Tony’s bedroom. The impatience of a quick fumble dulled considerably when a few things registered – Tony’s touch was magical, their bodies fit together seamlessly, and when combined it all felt like something Peter never felt before (and didn’t want to ever not feel again). Something in the way things played out so easily between them said this wouldn’t be the only time like this, tangled up and caught.

By the time Peter pushed Tony back against the bed, boxer briefs were the only thing separating bare skin. Settling between spread legs that were lithe and clenching with muscle, Peter filled all of Tony’s empty spaces with his body – their chests pressed together and when Tony wrapped his legs around Peter’s hips, there was no telling where one ended and the other began.

Peter kissed a path down Tony’s jaw and neck, across the span of a surprisingly hairy chest, and further along the length of his toned stomach – the slightest swell of a belly right along the edge of the soft waistband a lovely contradiction. Tony painted a gorgeous picture and the smallest “imperfection” played in contrast so deliciously.

Hooking his fingers under the waistband of Tony’s underwear, Peter glanced up to catch the lust filled, hazel glance. Tony answered the look with a nod of his head, his mouth opening in a silent moan when Peter finally removed the last barrier. He made quick work of his own drawers in an attempt to finally knew what Tony truly felt like.

The first brush of Tony’s warm skin against his own brought Peter’s hips forward, a soft gasp falling from his lips when cock brushed against cock. The level of excitement spoke for itself when the slide was easy, both heads already leaky with pre-come. Peter ducked his head in Tony’s neck to avoid embarrassing himself – it felt too good and the edge felt so close already.

“What do you want?” Peter asked, his lips pressing against the moist skin of Tony’s neck as their hips rolled together. He used his free hand to hike the muscular thigh higher around his hip, the move making the angle even better than before. “You feel so good, Tony. Tell me what you want – I’ll give you anything.”

His words brought a groan from deep within Tony’s chest – Peter felt it before it sounded in the space between them. He felt Tony reach up to grip his bicep, the man’s fingers digging in tight.

“God, you’re better at this than I imagined. Your words feel like liquid fire against my skin. I want you, Pete – anything and everything.” Tony finished his words with a kiss against the side of Peter’s head, his lips just barely brushing the shell of Peter’s ear. “We have time for that, though. Tonight – I think you should fuck me.”

Peter pulled back then, his hips stalling for a second. Their eyes locked and for a second, his heart felt like it was stuttering through its cycle, systole and diastole suddenly out of sync – was there anything sexier? Drawing his lower lip to stop any rogue words from falling out before the time was right, Peter nodded, his cock throbbing at the very idea.

With a quick kiss on the lips and a fumble with the bedside table, Tony shifted onto his stomach, arranging himself in a glorious position. His legs were spread and every time he leaned forward on his forearms, Peter watched Tony’s hole fluttering, the muscle clenching and unclenching with every move.

Unable to decide whether he wanted to dive in face first or just get prep over and done with, Tony made the decision for him – the lube hit Peter square in the chest when Tony tossed it at him.

“Please, Pete.”

The words were directive enough. Peter flipped open the cap and poured a good amount into the palm of his hand. He let the slick warm up before letting a little drip down Tony’s ass cheeks, the lube sliding across his twitching hole enticingly. Using his thumb to spread it around, Peter forced himself to take a deep breath before pressing the tip of his point finger in. He was met with no resistance, so he slipped forward until the webbing of his finger stopped him.

That same rhythm went on as Peter entered a second, and then finally a third finger in, each new digit loosening Tony considerably with every push and pull, in and out. His skin was covered with sweat and every moan Tony made let Peter think he could cum without ever having touched himself. Things were intimate, each touch like making memory. If they went on like this forever, Peter could die happy.

“Okay, okay – I need you to fuck me. I could cum just from your fingers and I planned on pulling you over with me.” Tony panted out, the words a little muffled by Tony’s forearms, where the man was leaning heavily.

Understanding the sentiment, Peter slipped his fingers out carefully. He immediately wrapped them around his own cock, spreading the excess lube around. While he tried to piece himself together enough not to come upon first touch, Tony fumbled in the bedside drawer again, a condom hitting his knee a second later. His skin flushed and with shaky movements, Peter picked up the foil packet, ripped the edge with his teeth, and quickly got the damn thing down his length.

With a little more lube, Peter was finally pressed against Tony’s entrance, the muscle giving way without much of a push. He made himself slide into Tony’s tightness with one steady stroke – if he pulled back at all, the whole thing would be over. When he was finally seated fully, Peter came to an abrupt halt. Breaths were hard to come by, his entire being on fire. The few seconds Tony needed to adjust gave Peter a second to lean his forehead against Tony’s back and simply breath.

Tony clenched his hole around Peter in invitation, the pulse of the muscle there immediately dragging Peter’s hips forward. A loud groan echoed around the room, neither knowing (or caring) who the noise belonged to. It felt too good, and as Peter set up a steady rhythm, both men got lost amongst the haze.

Peter’s body took over, the neurons in his brain operating on fight or flight. Long fingers dug into Tony’s hips; his grip tight. There’d be bruises there later, Peter using the touch to pull Tony back against him. Thrust after thrust, the tip of his cock brushed more frequently against a sensitive prostate, and once Peter knew where that pleasure center was, he didn’t let up.

As the end drew near, Peter changed his approach. Plastering himself over Tony’s back, his hips slowed down a little, and with a better grip, Peter thrust in deeply, his arms around the trim chest pulling Tony back hard. Now, every thrust hit Tony’s prostate dead on – the sounds coming out of the man’s mouth magnifying the feeling for them both. The helpless groan of pleasure-pain was delicious – Tony clenched with each dead-on hit, the grip so fucking tight around him.

A soft groan of Peter’s name was the only warning he got before Tony was cumming; the flutter and tightness pulling Peter right along with him. Peter shouted his surprise and pulled Tony as tightly against him as he possibly could. The world felt like it was melting around him – that little death fucking earth shattering.

When he finally came to, Peter felt Tony’s hands petting over him, his touch providing a tactile support that helped to ground him and prolong the sensitive pleasure. He loosened his grip up a little but didn’t let go until the need to dispose of the condom became too necessary to postpone. A pathetic little groan slipped from his lips when he pulled out, Peter’s body already missing the connection.

They cleaned up before the stickiness of their skin made the next morning more crusty than necessary, then fell back into bed – the two of them avoiding the wet spot instead of changing the sheets like any normal people would. Peter felt his limbs start to give up on him, the soft mattress and warm man promising a sweet sort of sleep that couldn’t be resisted.

Settling in with Tony wrapped up behind him, Peter let himself fall asleep – the future bright in front of him.

----

Things developed between them so easily after that. Being with Tony felt like getting to hang out with his best friend every day, and without any hesitation from the man, they spent practically all their time together. The fact that it felt like nothing but the best things changed in his life said a lot – he introduced a whole ass person into his space and time without any problems. Most people took years to find the sort of comfort that existed between him and Tony.

Because of all the time they spent together, it didn’t take long for the secret to get out. When Mr. Parker started to spend all of his lunch hours in Mr. Stark’s office, the rumors started. By the time Peter finally just pulled Tony into a kiss before they split up in the morning to shut everyone up, the ideas the students came up with were hilarious. Many people speculated that they’d been married for years, their sense of ease together too perfect to be as new as it truly was.

When Peter got to High Rock, he wasn’t looking for love. The idea of a change included a new job and a new place to explore, not a person who he suddenly couldn’t live without. Though he didn’t set out for it, love found him all the same.

Around Valentine’s Day, Peter felt the itch to finally tell Tony what they both already knew. Despite spending almost every available second together, the words were never said, even though the feeling was so transcendent it was stupidly hard to miss. They had the sort of connection that didn’t need a name – and once the genie was out of the bottle, Peter wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop saying the words he felt so wholeheartedly.

On one hand, he wanted the whole thing to be special. A night where they wine and dined, talked into the early hours of the morning, and then, when they were sated and close to passing out from marathon love making, he’d press the words into Tony’s skin. It fell into the dramatic category that Peter knew Tony would absolutely appreciate. Yet, the feeling existed between them from the very get go – did putting a name to that feeling really matter all that much?

The answer came a couple of weeks later. They were in the heart of AP test preparation, so he had after hour study sessions on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. After taking Tony’s advice and relaxing a little, students actively paid more attention to his class and the seats were almost always full during his get-togethers.

They made great work on some of the imagery that encompassed the Scarlet Letter, and Peter left his classroom more than satisfied. The thought of simply walking down the hall to see his favorite person didn’t hurt his mood, either. Tony sometimes spent the couple of hours after school in his classroom waiting, and today was one of those days.

For the first time since the end of the holiday school musical, Peter heard music playing in Tony’s classroom. They were in the depths of play season, so Tony’s mind was usually elsewhere. Yet, the closer he got to the door, the louder the music became. The smooth sounds of one of his favorite Sam Cooke songs picked up the pace of his steps – the dopamine of good music and Tony spurring him on.

What he found when he walked in the door was so much better.

Down to his white shirt and black waistcoat, Tony was counting out steps as he sang along with the music. Instead of Sam Cooke’s voice, Tony sang the cheesy lyrics with amazing clarity. The last time they listened to this song, Peter was dumbfounded by the deepness of his voice – and now was no exception.

He must’ve been in the zone, because Tony didn’t acknowledge him at first. The music played and a well-practiced dance followed. Peter watched with rapt attention, the whole thing the best thing he’d ever seen. By the time Tony noticed him, Peter was closing the space between them, his voice echoing the last round of the chorus.

A look of surprise passed across Tony’s face, his years of experience not letting it show anywhere else. He smiled at Peter, dancing into his arms until they were chest to chest – finishing the song looking into each other’s eyes.

Delightful red flush covered Tony’s cheeks when the music stopped, his eyes still wide with surprise and delight. “You weren’t supposed to see this yet,” Tony admitted, a sheepish look on his face.

“I’m glad I did. I love watching you like this. In your element.” Peter gripped Tony’s face in his hands then, fingers digging into the long hair at his temples. Even if he wanted to, Tony couldn’t break the eye contact between them. “And gosh – I love you. So much, I almost can’t stand it.”

Tony’s eyes roamed over his face for a second, the honey-hazel glance obviously taking in the genuineness in his words. When he found his answer, he leaned forward, taking Peter’s lips in a passionate kiss. He didn’t linger, however – their eyes locking again just seconds later.

“I love you too, Pete. It’s so easy and being with you – it finally feels like I’m right where I should be.”

Grinning, Peter brushed their noses together, his lips ghosting over Tony’s lightly.

“We both are.”

#starker #peter parker/tony stark #starker fanfic #starker fanfiction #bobbie writes #one + one is two

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novantinuum · 4 years

Link

Fandom: Steven Universe

Pairing: Steven/Connie

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 2.6K~

Summary: In which Connie’s subconscious, innocent touch helps Steven realize just how nice the sensation of gentle fingertips gliding across the surface of one’s gem can be. (Just a bunch of teen romance fluff, + first kiss)

This is set like... a few weeks before Steven leaves Beach City. I imagine he’s been recovering from what happened in I Am My Monster for at least 6 months by this point.

His days aren’t always great- there’s a lot of ups and downs- but thankfully, today is a markedly pleasant one.

_____

His house is still for once. Impossibly so. No Diamond business, no new arrivals to Earth, no disgruntled Gems kicking down his front door. No more battles, beyond his own internal ones. Admittedly, a part of him is happy for the peace and quiet. He’s appreciative of the way all his family and friends rallied around him in support months back after... erm- after his breakdown, but every guy needs some space eventually.

‘Some space’ never has to mean alone, of course.

Steven sneaks a doe-eyed glance at the girl flopped next to him on the living room couch, her mind lost in the pages of her own fantasy world. It’s a new series, something about a human accidentally falling into the world of the fae. (It’s only been like, half an hour, and she’s almost a hundred pages in already!) A pliable smile teases his lips as he watches her eyes flicker back and forth, digesting each passage with a voracious hunger. Sighing in content, he turns his attention back to his own book, externally making as if he’s busy exploring the world of fiction to hide the sappy fact that instead he’s been thinking about her all along. Honestly? He adores quiet days like these. Even if they’re not doing anything special, it’s just nice to get to spend time alone together. It’s a comfortable together.

Connie shifts, instinctively curling closer, her free arm slung against his side. With a soft hum of content he leans into her welcomed embrace, trying his best (and— caught in her innocently bewitching presence— failing abysmally) to focus on the wandering lines of text.

Everything is peaceful.

No hard knocks, no frenzied phone calls, no family disruptions. The domestic warp hasn’t even activated once this whole lazy afternoon. In recent days, he’s pretty sure that’s a record.

At long last, his house is still... and yet in a flash, his hormone riddled teenage mind— ever foolish— is everything but.

Because Connie’s touch is tickling him.

It’s subconscious, almost imperceptible at first. At some point her free hand has roved so that it’s no longer pressed against his side, but against his midriff— which is currently exposed, his shirt bunched up at the waist from all his slouching. Teasingly, her fingertips dance upon the facets of his gem with the pinpoint expertise of a prima ballerina, encoding an endless rhythm directly into the sum of his being, the feather-light contact sending vibrations almost too faint to notice coursing through his hard light veins. But not too faint for him. Not now, not while host to this kind of silence. Not when the girl draped on the couch next to him unknowingly commands every shard of his attention with the slightest twitch of her index finger.

It’s taking all his willpower not to squirm at this ticklish contact right now. It’s so... weird when other people touch his gem. It’s certainly not something he’s used to.

(Steven promptly buries the memory of the last time someone touched it, refusing to let old terrors tarnish an otherwise pleasurable encounter. He can feel the pink threatening to rise in his cheeks, that instinctual rush of panic he’s grown so numb to over the past months rearing its ugly head. It’s so, so hard to wrestle away from its thrall sometimes, but thankfully his therapist has been teaching him ways to mitigate these sorta reactions. His eyes clamp shut as he breathes deep through his nose and focuses on the tangible, on what he knows: the plump, lumpy cushions of the couch under him, the slight scent of garlic and cumin in the air from the lunch he cooked a few hours ago, the rhythmic crashing of waves outside the house. The warmth of his best friend by his side—)

Tap, taptaptap, tap, taptaptap...

His cheeks bloom a human red as her lulling rhythm continues.

Like he said, it’s obviously subconscious. It has to be, right? It would certainly make sense. From his observations, Connie’s always been a tactile thinker. It’s part of what made her such a quick study in sword fighting. Whenever her mind is alight, those beautiful neurons firing back and forth like a firework display, her body is in motion. Sometimes it’s her foot, tapping impatiently into the dirt as she parses through memory to find the precise words to say. Or it’s like how she memorizes facts for tests easier if she’s jogging, listening to audio recordings of the test materials she made herself. And then there’s times like now, when Connie is reading. When her fingers tap and glide with an almost impish touch across the diamond gemstone in his belly’s center as her eyes— by all appearances entirely disconnected from both her hand’s motion and his reaction— skim effortlessly across the unfolding tale on her page. Her hands... oh, those hands... calloused, warm, digits lithe and curious in their movement. They’re always shifting, always tapping, always twitching to some identifiable rhythm. Is this just another example of her sway towards more kinetic-based thinking? Or... is it something else? A silent yearning that extends its roots from the heart into object reality, innocently unaware of the power of its call?

Stars, Steven thinks, mustering with all his strength to ignore his burning face, so maybe I’ve been thinking a little too much about her lately...

Eventually, it all becomes a bit too overwhelming to handle. If this continues in silence any longer, well... well, heck. He doesn’t even want to imagine what embarrassing things could happen. Mustering up all his courage, he flips his book shut and drops it on the cushion beside him.

“Um, Connie? By the way? That’s kinda ticklish,” he squeaks out, voice high and reedy.

Upon his words, she notices where her fingers are subconsciously tapping and immediately pulls her hand away, her cheeks flushing dark. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she says, quickly tossing her book aside and shifting upright on the couch. “I didn’t mean to goose ya’! I wasn’t even thinking abo—“

“No, it’s okay!” he interjects with an open hand. “I’m fine, really, I am. I- it’s not like, uh- It isn’t like a bother, and- well, it just—“

Burning up with such a ferocity that he’s about one impulsive decision away from high tailing it out of this fraught social situation and dunking his glowing pink head right into the Atlantic, he forces himself to hush before he says something super stupid and humiliating in front of his best friend in the whole world that he’ll regret and replay in his dreams forever and ever for the rest of his days.

Okay, Steven, stop running your mouth like a lovesick fool for one second and think. How can you say this in a way that doesn’t sound entirely stupid and/or weird?

Watching him closely, curiosity written across every vibrant feature, Connie inclines her head ever so slight, a subtle, wordless gesture— one only a Jam Bud could understand— for him to keep going.

The phantom sensation of her fingers tapping against crystal rushes through his nerves like the physical analogue to a bad ear worm. He reaches up to itch at the side of his neck, unable to fully stifle his nervous laughter.

“Honestly, it uh- it actually felt pretty nice?”

“What, me touching your gem?”

“Yeah,” he manages to croak out, voice cracking like it hadn’t since he was freshly fifteen.

She isn’t able to fully stifle her giggle at this, pressing her hand tight to her mouth far too late.

His heart nearly plummets at the sound of her teasing laughter, the constant thrumming of his hard light veins steadily quickening as a flood of energy pulses just below the surface. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything, he knew it was far too much after every other recent misstep he’s made in their relationship! Why couldn’t he have just kept his trap shut?

“Aw, geeze,” he says, voice thick and his every muscle ready to bolt, “this is so embarrassing—“

“No, no! I shouldn’t have laughed, it’s okay!” she jumps in, pressing her hand to his shoulder to help ground him “It’s just bodies, Steven. It’s not weird. It’s just how skin-to-skin contact works. It’s supposed to feel good, because we’re meant to be social creatures, y’know?”

He hums softly in agreement, taking the offered moment to ease himself down from brink of panic. He focuses intently on the weight of her hand, resting feather-light against him. It’s a small gesture, but a powerful one. More than anything, more than words alone could say, it’s a promise. A reaffirmation, moment by moment. I’m here. We’re here. It’s a truth even the sobering reality of shared trauma can’t hope to erase: that even when the going’s tough, they have each other.

Connie brushes a stray stand of hair behind her ear then, shifting on the couch. Perhaps out of a sum of bashfulness, her eyes drift, not quite able to meet his.

“I- it’s silly, but I guess I never considered that you could even feel sensation through your gem,” she admits.

“Really? But you’ve had a gem before. Well, shared a gem,” he corrects himself, though in the end it’s all semantics.

“Well, sure, but when we’re Stevonnie, they don’t tend to think about stuff like that, because you’re used to it, and I’ve never thought about it. It’s simply... normal for them, I guess.”

“Hahah, yeah. It’s always been that way for me,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I never crawled like a normal kid, d’ya know? Dad says I always used to move around by scooting on my butt. When I tried crawling my gem would scrape against the floor, and apparently? I hated it.”

She laughs for real this time, (with him, not at him), her voice ringing true and beautiful and clear like a bell. His heart swells with joy.

And then...

Connie’s lithe fingers reach towards his midsection, hesitantly at first, before— in careful consideration of boundaries— pausing in their voyage entirely.

Her eyes lock with his, her shy expression wholly giving up the chase on what her request will be before she ever shifts her tongue to ask in words. “Is it okay if-?”

“Always,” he says, gently leading her hand under the hem of his shirt and towards the gemstone at his core.

He can’t help his sharp inhale when he feels her fingertips dance across his facets once more. Even when he knows what’s coming, knows to expect this contact, it’s funny. Not funny in a ‘haha’ way, funny in an ‘I’m not used to this’ way. After all, he’s never exactly made a habit of touching his own gem beyond periodic cleaning, and (almost) no one else has ever had a purpose to. It’s for this reason that a small traumatized segment of his mind still can’t help but spiral in panic about the mere concept of any external being brushing against this treasure, this tangible half of his very essence. Given the nightmares he’s been through, he’d have every right to deny her touch. But with Connie... beyond everything else, allowing her in this way is the greatest show of vulnerability he knows how to give.

It’s his proof to her that in this moment, he trusts her implicitly, without question.

Gracefully, she traces her finger around the edge of his gem, lines each individual facet in turn. It’s ticklish at first, much like before, but as she grows more confident in her gentle exploration he finds himself relaxing under her touch. He feels warm, a faint buzz of content flooding his system through his hard light veins. With her, he feels safe.

“It really is beautiful, you know that?” she says, a peaceful expression settling across her features. “Your gem.”

“Nah, you’re beautiful...” he murmurs bashfully, cheeks flushing.

“So are you,” she replies in swift measure, eyes soft with endless adoration.

His fluttering heart extends its gossamer wings and soars. If it weren’t for her nestled at his side, lithe fingers running across each facet in even measure, her tactile presence tethering him like an anchor to this present reality, he’s pretty sure he’d have floated halfway to the ceiling by now.

Daringly, his gaze locks with hers. He swears his heart’s beating its own drum solo within his chest, but this time it’s not because of fear, not at all.

It’s the feeling of freedom.

His fingers loop around a stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of her eyes. That seems to happen a lot, he’s noticed. As delicate as he can manage, he hooks it back over her ear.

“Can I...?” he whispers, his warm breath brushing against her lips.

She replies in wordless affirmation, leaning forward to close the narrow gap between them. Hooded eyes drift shut. Her hand still rests on his gem as they finally move to cross that final barrier, that fuzzy, oft indistinguishable line drawn between childhood sweethearts and could-be couple, and kiss.

Well, attempt to, anyways.

To be fair, despite his schmaltzy roots, Steven only has movies and books to pull from as an example.

Their noses bump against each other’s at first. Both giggling, they tilt their heads to compensate and then mash their lips together, reveling in every ridiculous moment of their joint inexperience. It’s definitely sloppy, and he doesn’t have a clue where he’s supposed to put his hands or how long is too long, or how he’s supposed to move his mouth against hers, or— stars, did he even remember to brush his teeth this morning?? He sure hopes so— but because it’s with Connie all of that doesn’t matter. It’s perfect in every way.

“OoooOOOoo, looks like loverboy’s finally gettin’ some!”

He and Connie startle at the interruption, pulling apart from each other with equally flushed faces to match eyes with their surprise visitor.

It’s Amethyst, leaning against the kitchen table with a downright roguish smirk, probably thinking she’s the funniest Gem that’s ever emerged. Of course, who else would it be? (Though, which entrance did she come in from? When did she sneak past them? Were they really so involved with each other that they just... failed to notice??)

“Crude,” he says, brows creased with faint annoyance.

In return, she cups her cheeks and serves him the most ridiculous, schmaltzy expression she can muster. “Sap!”

Connie stifles a laugh at her exaggerated antics, but on his side he can’t help but be salty that her interruption yanked the two of them away from the blissful throes of blossoming teenage romance.

“Oh, get outta here, you,” he chimes back, and playfully tosses one of the couch’s pillow straight towards her face. “Shoo!”

The quartz Gem catches it out of midair and grins, no stranger to tests of reflex these days. Adopting a fake posh voice, she fires back her retort. “Your wish is my command, Sir Sappington...”

Tucking the pillow under her arm, she turns on her heels and skips up and over the warp pad’s platform, stalking towards her room with a victorious air. She doesn’t even try to mask her lovingly teasing snickers as the door splits in two at her command and she crosses the barrier into the temple’s dimension warping interior. The last they hear from her before the passageway shuts is an overly triumphant ‘whoop.’ Steven can’t help but raise a scandalized brow at this. What, were the Gems hosting a betting pool about him and Connie, or something?

But thankfully, in time, the beach house grows peaceful again. They’re alone together, and together they’re content.

“Geeze, sorry about that,” he says bashfully, scratching at the nape of his neck. “You know how Amethyst is, heh heh.”

Connie smirks with loving, mischievous intent, comfortably cuddling up against his shoulder. “She’s kinda right, though...”

“About?”

“You can be pretty sappy sometimes,” she says fondly, and tilts her head so she can smooch his cheek. “Just one of the many reasons I love you.”

____

Notes:

So, given that I’ve also written a fic wherein Steven wakes up feeling a hand against his gem and has a panic attack, a word of explanation with my headcanons-

Ultimately, I imagine there’s a very stark difference between a trusted individual like Connie touching his gem when he’s fully alert and it’s just them, alone, safe... and him waking up and being groggy enough to not immediately realize who it is next to him.

In the end though, I just hope Steven would be able to reclaim a once-terrifying experience (someone else touching his gem) as something that is also able to be loving and comforting when it’s done with consent.

#su #su future #steven universe #connie maheswaran #connverse #su fanfiction #steven/connie #amethyst #my writing stuff

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Note

Autistic max? I’m all in -🦖

yes!! Max being on the spectrum is one of my favorite headcanons! Here’s a bit of my thoughts and hcs for you anon! <3

okay so first i wanna talk a little about where this hc came from! this idea was born in my head for a multitude of reasons, but the general summary is this:

-she misses a lot of social+emotional cues! she didn’t pick up on just how annoyed Mike was with her in the gym and kept pushing until El intervened, she didn’t detect any of Lucas’ panic or frustration when he was explaining the upside down to her until he touches her, and when el is jealous and just not interested in meeting her, she seems to be completely unfazed by that until she walks away. also every scene she has with Billy, he’s very shut off and she seems to be confused about what she’s expected to say, missing that he’s angry until he’s lashing out, and idk to me it just seems like she doesn’t really have a grasp on understanding others’ emotions!

-similarly, she only seems to react in the face of immediate danger, as if she’s a lot of the time unaware of how bad things truly are around her. like when she’s helping to find dart without even knowing what’s going on, driving a whole muscle car and going down into the tunnels without a hint of fear, seeming barely concerned when the mindflayer was about to drop through the ceiling. it’s almost like she has trouble fully processing the consequences of certain things, which could also explain why she sneaks out even though she probably knows what Neil is like and the fact that it could potentially put her in danger.

-the way she dresses just screams tactile sensitivity! she doesn’t ever wear anything flowy, any scratchy materials, and even at the snowball, where we see Susan fussing over her, she’s still dressed for comfort. what young girl with a mother clearly interested in making her pretty is going to get away with wearing jeans to a school dance if she doesn’t have sensory issues?

-also, whenever she gets upset she seems to shut down. like she almost never talks to Billy after he yells at her unless it’s necessary, when her and Lucas are talking on top of the bus it definitely seems like she’s struggling to voice her feelings or put words to her emotions, when Billy’s in the sauna, after he’s activated she starts turning in on herself, and after his death she’s just sitting in his room. like maybe she doesn’t really understand her own emotions that well either.

I’m not really viewing any of this as like, solid evidence or anything btw, these are just some things I’ve noticed about her as an autistic girl her age and living in a very similar situation that I think are neat and relatable!

onto the stuff I literally made up because I love her!

-Susan gives me autism mommy vibes. Like, making it her identity that she has a child with autism, and at times that can get super frustrating for Max because she hates being her mom’s little trophy daughter, gossiped about at all the potlucks so people feel sorry for her. Her absolute least favorite thing is “She’s such a handful.” and when Susan pulls the I’m so lonely because of taking care of you card to make her feel bad. Especially because she doesn’t feel very taken care of, once she’d hit a certain age her mother decided she’d be alright without all that “kid stuff” and basically tossed her into the world on her on. (hence why she’s Billys responsibility)

-In the 80s (and still now if we’re being entirely honest) it was very normal to just throw a casual r slur into conversation and it kills Max every time her friends say it, especially Mike because she thinks he’s being mean and doesn’t like her. She doesn’t know how to explain to them that that hurts her feelings because she doesn’t even know how to bring it up that she’s autistic. Billy tells her once to try to cheer her up that he could beat them up for her but she cries even harder because that’s what she doesn’t want, is for them to think she’s overreacting. He feels bad and tries to make up for it bringing it up with some of the moms of the group and asking that they tell their kids to stop using that word ever.

-In California she was in special ed classes, but Hawkins Middle deems that not necessary for someone of her “functioning level” (yuck) and she gets landed in coed instead. It might’ve been alright if that was how she started her education, but she was already used to classes of four or five kids like her, and she just cannot learn in that new environment. So she does really, really bad in school her first year in Hawkins. She feels kind of self conscious around her friends because they’re all so smart and her grades make her feel stupid even though it’s not her fault, and that’s why she kinda drifts towards being close with El because she struggles with learning things too.

-Smells are probably her worst overstimulation triggers. Things like cigarette smoke, fresh brewed coffee, her moms perfume, cooking and baking smells, the automatic air freshener thing, candles. Pretty much anything stronger than the smell of water is just overwhelming for her, especially if there’s something else already working her up, because then a whiff of something too strong can put her straight into a meltdown. Billy decides to quit smoking for her (he’ll never admit that, he’s adamant that it was because it was messing with his lung capacity and he’s trying to work out) and he also does things like buy Susan a new, less offensive perfume for her birthday and open windows to get stuffy air out of the house. They never really talk about what that does for her but like, that’s part of how they start getting closer, is when he starts making little accommodations for her like that.

-In addition to smells, there are very specific sounds she can’t stand. It’s not all loud noises, some of them like the rev of Billy’s car or a bass guitar at an outdoor amphitheater are some of her favorites, but the ones she doesn’t like, she really hates. Things like styrofoam, dishes hitting off of each other, something scratching against ice that builds up in the freezer, TV static, the toaster popping up or the oven beeping, and people who can’t chew with their mouths closed (looking at you Billy, keep that gum in your mouth please) all make her feel gross. She’ll try to physically shake off the way those sounds make her feel but sometimes they’re just too much and she shuts down for a while until she gets to hear something else. In that case usually really quiet music or someone talking to her quietly can reel her back in.

-Her interests vary a lot! The longest she’s ever held one special interest was a Miss Piggy phase! Susan liked that she was showing interest in a feminine character because of a lot of her si’s were tomboyish, but Max liked Piggy because she knew karate and punched people who laughed at her or tried to make her feel bad about herself! She has all sorts of Piggy collectibles, like toys, bed sheets, posters, books, mugs and watches! Otherwise her interests and fixations tend to come and go pretty quickly, like one week she could want to know everything there is to know about pro skaters, and the next she’s into the history of circuses! She liked cars for a little while and Billy was really excited to indulge in that and let her get familiar with the camaro, but she shifted to video games pretty soon after and he had to let it drop.

-Another interest that’s also pretty constant for her is nature! Not only for the sensory experience of it, listening to leaves rustle and birds chirp and water rush, but also all the knowledge about it. She can identify any type of flower, grass, tree, critter, or fungus! When she’s melting down and needs to be away from the house, she asks Billy to take her to the state park so she can just sit and be quiet and calm down on a fallen tree or a swing set somewhere. They do have some woods behind their house but she’s too afraid to venture out there and prefers to be out with her brother anyways.

-Stims! She’ll fiddle with zippers and buttons and loose threads constantly to the point that they buy her three or four of the same jackets and shirts for when she inevitably breaks them. She also chews on sleeves and hoodie strings a lot. Other tactile stims she favors are string tricks and braiding and tieing knots! Braiding her and Billy’s hair is something she’ll do anytime she needs to feel grounded, and she has a whole bunch of those little wooden boards that kids use to learn how to tie their shoes to tie knots with. She also always has a pocketful of yarn, and her favorite thing to make with them is a spider web or a star!

-Sort of related to her fascination with string is that her shoelaces never ever match, she has like a whole drawer in her room full of different ones to change them out! (and she has Miss Piggy Bow Biters to put on them!)

-She’s also a very verbal stimmer at times! Giggles for days with Max, if she’s excited, happy, nervous, whatever, she’s giggling. Humming and mimicking too, like if she hears a sound she likes she’ll try to make it, whether it be part of a song or something she hears outside. But if she is sad she’ll get as quiet as a mouse.

Idk these are just like my sort of canon compliant hcs I guess? Like what I feel would be true for her in the timeline and storyline of the show!

#answered #anonymous #max mayfield #hcs under the cut because I’m long winded lol #thank you lovely anon for giving me the opportunity to ramble about this <3 #I could go on about this for eons #I actually have three fics planned out centered around Max’s autism #it just feels nice to project onto a character I relate to on so many levels #hope you like tho anon!#also always happy to share more!#<3

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anachilles · 4 years

Text

» somewhere in the crowd, there’s you ♪ julie/luke [ juke ]

If they weren’t already dead Julie swore she would kill them. Luke especially.

Actually no, that wasn’t fair. This time she couldn’t completely blame them for what was admittedly a dumb decision on her own part. But see it from her perspective - the boys hadn’t seen the Mamma Mia movies. They didn’t even know of their existence. That had to be remedied.

TL;DR - The boys are introduced to the Mamma Mia Cinematic Universe. Alex spectates, Julie sings ABBA, Luke falls further in love, and Reggie ends up reliving the horror of high school math class. Also BROT4 couch cuddles.

link to read on AO3: [x]

taglist: @wokealex @blueruby31

If they weren’t already dead Julie swore she would kill them. Luke especially.

Actually, no, that wasn’t fair. This time she couldn’t completely blame them for what was admittedly a dumb decision on her own part.

But see it from her perspective - the boys hadn’t seen the Mamma Mia movies. Didn’t even know of their existence. They had just been finishing up a group jam session when she’d made some off-hand joke about them hitting the big-time and having their music turned into a movie-musical series “like ABBA”. Reggie’s face had lit up and he immediately jumped on it, “Wait, they made a movie out of ABBA music?”

“Multiple movies?!” Alex had cut in, looking disbelieving but nonetheless delightfully intrigued.

Luke snorted with laughter, throwing his hands up as he turned to look at Julie. “That’s it - I know what we’re doing tonight” he exclaimed, and pointed at her “Do you have them on ta-”

He catches himself before he can finish the word ‘tape’, but Julie’s eyes still narrow, her own smile now challenging. The boys really weren’t that bad at picking up the basics of modern technology, but slip-of-the-tongues still happened and Julie loved to tease them about it. Luke most of all just because he always dogged the other two the most about it when they did it. Also, perhaps a little bit, because he was kind of cute when he got all defensive.

“On what, now?”

Luke floundered for a second, and Alex and Reggie traded a look between them. Suddenly though, a lightbulb dinged above his head and his expression turned smug.

“DVD! Do you have them on DVD”

Julie laughed, making what was meant to be a loud ‘buzzer’ sound. “Wrong answer! Not the most up-to-date form of media storage, but nonetheless thank-you for playing”. Her expression softened though when she heard Alex and Reggie hound him a little behind her, “However, we do have them on DVD because my dad likes having physical copies of stuff”.

She was about to leave to go grab them from the house, only the time on her phone caught her attention and her heart sank.

“Hey guys, I can go get them for you but I don’t think I can stay the whole way through both. I’ve got school tomorrow.”

All three boys erupted in protestations, Luke’s notably the loudest of all, though on Alex’s suggestion she conceded to stay for at least the first one, then they’d pick up the second one tomorrow or something.

Honestly, it hadn’t taken nearly as much convincing as it should have.

She just really needed to physically be there to witness the three of them watching Meryl Streep jump off a pier to the tune of ‘Dancing Queen’ and Pierce Brosnan absolutely butcher ‘The Winner Takes it All’ for the very first time. Also, talking to them about the movies had made her realise it had been way too long since she’d last watched them herself, and they always made her feel so light and happy. As silly as it may sound, the care-free, sunshiney tone but with genuine moments in them had helped carry her through some really dark days. Since then, they’d always been comforting to return to.

So that’s how she ended up squished on the beat-up old studio couch with three ghost boys from the 90’s, having the absolute pleasure of seeing them react to ‘Mamma Mia’ for the very first time. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, and required Reggie to be sitting with one leg straddled over the arm of the couch and the rest of him pretty much glued to Luke’s side, but they made it work.

Although just as she was getting herself comfy in her spot between Alex and Luke, something niggled at the back of her mind. Something she forgot to do? Maybe? She wracked her brain for a couple of minutes, but her attention quickly and all-too-easily drifted to the screen as the opening chords of ‘Honey, Honey’ sounded, like some sort of siren call, and she couldn’t help but mouth along to the words. She knew them pretty much by heart.

What certainly didn’t help with her cognitive functioning however, is when during ‘Money, Money, Money…’ she felt Luke shift where he was pretty much flush against her side and his arm stretch out behind her neck. His hand settled somewhere near her shoulder; teasingly close but not quite touching it. Her heart rate kicked up a notch, but she was determined to keep her eyes on the screen in front of her, daring not to look his way or even let on that she noticed.

The boys were touchy-feely and generally very physically affectionate with each other, she knew that just from generally being around them these past couple of months. Julie had always found it really sweet and endearing, how unashamedly tactile they were with each other, but at the same time couldn’t help but feel left out as her own friendships with all of them got deeper and she grew closer to them all. Now that they were corporeal, at least to her, suddenly she’d become privy to all that as well.

Now she couldn’t imagine not being able to do stuff like hold their hands during band circles, or not knowing the utter warmth of Alex’s hugs (it was undisputed that he gives the best ones) when he noticed she’d had a tough day at school, or even what it felt like to not have Reggie gleefully grab her hands, or arm, or shoulders when he got super excited about something.

She’d already been falling hard for Luke before when she couldn’t physically feel him under her fingertips. For all intents and purposes wasn’t fully there there, but now? When she’d felt the brush of his body behind her when he’d lean over her shoulder to look at sheet music, or his thigh press up against her leg as they shared a piano stool during their little lyric brainstorming sessions? When they could high-five, lean into each other’s side, playfully shove each other when one thinks the other is being annoying, grab each other’s hands and dance around the room in celebration when they manage to book another gig? All those little moments they could have now added layers to what she already felt.

However, even if she felt something between them, that spark, and her gut told her Luke possibly felt so too, Julie also couldn’t deny that that kind of affection wasn’t any different to the kind he showed towards Alex and Reggie too. Plus, she didn’t really know how ghosts felt about having relationships, especially with the living, or if Luke would even want to go there. So she tried not to read too much into what kind of felt like Luke pulling that old “arm around shoulder whilst distracted by the movie” move.

So although she never really could forget how close he was, Julie let herself become immersed back in the movie. Her life was generally good, labels and certainty or not, she was happy. The happiness of the movie fed into that. The boys seemed to be having a hoot with it as well, if how much Alex especially was grooving in his seat was any indication.

Julie’s not quite sure what possessed her to say it in the moment, or what she expected to transpire when she did, but when they got to the ‘Super Trouper’ scene coming straight off of the, uh, heaviness of ‘Lay All Your Love on Me’ (during which Luke went weirdly quiet for some reason, prompting Alex and Reggie to share a fleeting look over the top of both his and Julie’s heads) and the opening chords sounded she blurted out

“Oh, this used to be my karaoke song when I was a kid”.

Luke’s eyes immediately went wide and she knew she was in trouble. He quickly urged Reggie to grab the remote and pause the movie, ignoring Alex’s soft “Hey, I was watching that!”, before turning his attention fully towards her.

“Well now you have to do the routine; get on up there and show us what you’re made of!”

Julie’s jaw hung open a little and she wasn’t sure whether she could really be annoyed at anyone but herself for practically handing this to him on a silver platter.

“No! I really don’t…” she tried to argue, though his mischievous smile was infectious and damn her lips threatened to twitch into a smile too. “It’s been years! And anyway, I only bust it out for audiences that are deserving of it”.

Luke met her with a challenging gaze. “Bet it’s cause you don’t know the words” he said, turning to Reggie, his tone dripping in antagonism. “Hey, did you hear that the great Julie Molina won’t perform because she doesn’t know all of the words to Super Trouper by ABBA?”. Reggie’s eyebrows shot up and he immediately played along. “Y’know what? I actually did hear that somewhere. Huh…”.

Julie shot a withering look at Alex, a wordless “Can you do anything?” shining in her eyes, but he has the nerve to just shrug (!) with a silent, smiling “I’ll allow it”.

She could’ve got them to drop it if she really had wanted them to, she knew that. Maybe Julie from three months ago would have. Actually, no, that version of herself definitely would have made them drop it; the darkness shrouding her life day-in, day-out smothering any semblance of silly, carefree happiness and convincing her that simply having fun just wasn’t for her.

But she didn’t feel like that anymore.

Julie pulled herself to her feet, eyes fixed with new determination. She crossed the room to the open space, taking a stance mirroring that of the one they’d paused Meryl Streep in and fixed Luke with a playful glare, even though she was addressing Reggie.

“Unpause the movie”.

The performance was one for the history books, if she did say so herself. The boys watched on in amazement as she remembered every word, near enough every step and dance move (the big sleeve shimmy was an interesting one though with sweater sleeves nowhere near dramatic enough to match Donna’s) and personally she thought she sold it.

About halfway through Alex snuck a glance at Luke by his side, and realised karma must be having a slow night given how fast it was paying the other boy back, because he was undeniably staring at Julie with what was clearly pure, open adoration.

“‘Cause somewhere in the crowd, there’s yooooou” she finished with a flourish, heart thumping, and lowered her arm to point at all three of them in turn, but finishing ultimately on Luke even though he was sat in the middle. His face scrunched up with a cheesy smile and he let out a loud whoop of appreciation, kicking off the round of applause before the other boys joined in, Reggie coming in clutch with the standing ovation and everything.

Julie felt breathless but joyful as she flung herself back into her seat, and Luke leaned forward to grab her soda, handing it to her with what looked like contrition.

“I guess I stand corrected, huh?” he said, defeated, but not entirely sorry to be so.

She shrugged, taking a sip of the drink. “I guess you are. It’s a good look on you”.

Luke snorted with laughter and they laughed together for a brief second, an apparent blush rising to sit on his cheeks (Could ghosts blush? How did that even work?).

Before the situation could get weird or questionable though, he turned back towards the movie, but slowly. Like he wasn’t quite ready to leave this moment just yet; like he wanted to stay looking at her just a bit longer. Julie just nudged him and settled back in, trying to go about it in such a way that would implore him to put his arm back around her like he had before.

It didn’t come until the scene where Bill confesses to Sophie that he thinks he’s her father, but eventually that now familiar weight settled behind her head again, setting off a whole herd of butterflies in her stomach.

The first movie came to an end, and things wouldn’t have been awful if she’d just called it a night there and gone to bed. But she was having so much fun and they were all so comfy, and the boys seemed very excited for the prospect of a half-prequel-half-sequel.

“Surely they’ve already used all the good ABBA songs in the first one though, right?” Reggie argued, causing Alex to swing round to look at him, scandalised.

“Are you insinuating that there’s a bad ABBA song?”

While they hashed it out in the background, Luke backing Reggie up just to get a rise out of Alex, Julie acted on impulse and jumped up, running towards the garage window. All the lights in the house were out, meaning her dad was already in bed and everything. As long as she was super quiet sneaking back in and remembered to bypass that squeaky floorboard on the stairs, he never had to know.

“Alright; Here We Go Again - let’s do this”.

Turns out Julie had kind of underestimated how late it was and how long the day had been. She could feel herself getting tired around the ‘Waterloo’ mark, eyelids growing heavier and heavier as she gradually sunk lower and relaxed deeper into the couch. By the time young Donna makes it to the Kalokairi her head had come to rest in the crook Luke’s neck, his flannel soft under her cheek as his cheek leans against the top of her head. Maybe it was a testament to how sleepy she was, but she couldn’t bring herself to move away. The posture felt natural.

She was so comfortable, surrounded by warmth and the soothing hum of the old second-hand TV they’d bought at a garage sale and moved into the garage, she was right on the verge of dozing off… when a realisation crashed into her mind, seemingly out of nowhere.

Julie shot up poker-straight, suddenly very awake. “Oh, crap!”

The three boys startled, most of all Luke when her movement meant he almost fell face-first into the couch cushion.

“What is it?!”

She groaned and fell forward into her hands. “I have a math test tomorrow. And I was going to study for it before bed tonight.”

So that’s how she ends up with Reggie hanging uselessly over her shoulder in the middle of math class, the exchange that came after the realisation still ringing in her ears.

“Hey, hey! It’s fine. Take Reggie - believe it or not, he was good at math” Luke offered up hurriedly.

Reggie himself looked a little stricken. “Yeah, 25 years ago, dude!”.

“Do the rules of math go out-of-date, or…?” Alex teased, though still placed a comforting hand on Julie’s back.

“No, Alex, they don’t - so relax, you’ll be fine, man! You can’t make the situation any worse by trying”

“Don’t give him that challenge, Luke”.

Though admittedly she loved him just for actually turning up and trying, he was staring down at the test with as much confusion as she was. Apparently math had changed over the course of 25 years. They exchange a mutually panicked look. Clearly, neither of them knew shit. Instead, Reggie just runs up to the front of the room and peeps on Mrs Ford’s answer sheet, Julie’s hopeful eyes following him as he dodges around desks and backpacks lying on the floor.

“Are you sure?” she mumbles to him under her breath when he gets back. Apparently not quite low enough though, when the guy next to her turns to give her a funny look, and she has to make a show of furrowing her eyebrows and counting on her fingers, muttering appropriately as she goes.

Julie can feel Flynn’s discerning gaze from across the room and she knows she knows there’s some ghost-like foolery happening. It’s a mess. She’s a mess.

Eventually the bell sounds and signals an end to the ordeal, and Julie takes out her (locked) phone to genuinely thank Reggie for his help all the same.

“Ehhh I’m not sure how much help I was, but you’re welcome” he says, laughter coloured with self-deprecation.

Julie smiles genuinely, and she would’ve nudged him if she wouldn’t have been nudging thin air in public. “Hey, I think we got about three quarters of those answers down and that’s 75% more than I would’ve gotten without you”.

Reggie looks pleased, and stands up a little straighter as he walks alongside her. “Do you mind if I hang out here for a while, by the way?”

Julie’s a little taken aback. “I mean, sure, but why would you want to? It’s just school”.

Reggie shrugs, and there’s something unreadable in his eyes. It’s weird for him; he’s generally such an open book. “I don’t know. I never graduated, we were still going when we… y’know…” he trails off, eyes scanning the halls and the throngs of students laughing and chatting together at their lockers, going about their normal day. “Kind of miss it”.

“Well, you obviously have free reign to look around wherever you want. If you want me to show you anywhere in particular, just let me know. I’m meeting Flynn for lunch now though, so that might not be as fun for you...”

The way he says it makes something ache in Julie’s chest, and she wishes she could give him a hug. With the boys so real now, and so immersed and predominant in her life, it was getting easier and easier to somewhat forget that they were actually dead and had both led and left lives behind. Being reminded of that was starting to hit her that little bit harder.

Reggie nods sincerely, mirroring her slight chuckle. “Thanks, Julie”.

Approaching the cafeteria, Julie sees Flynn in the distance, and is about to put her phone away when she suddenly stops in her tracks, and keeps it held to her face.

“By the way…” she smirks. “If Alex or Luke ask, I scored a 95 and it was all down to you”.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #juke #julie molina #luke patterson #jatp fanfiction #mine #my writing

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mihidecet · 4 years

Text

I see You

I’m back on my bs yall. This is meant to be a companion piece to this so if you’re in the mood for some pure and extremely shameless comfort maybe check it out?

I somehow ended up writing 3.8K of Manburg family dynamics, set in an alternate universe where none of the extremely messed us stuff of the canon happened. ((we could have had it all))

Once again do not take this as ship content!! Let’s normalize platonic cuddling and being close with your friends without it being sexual!! Pretty pretty please!!

Contrary to popular belief, Schlatt is not that dense when it comes to feelings.

His ignorance of other people's emotions is a willing act of defiance. Defiance towards whom, you may find yourself asking?

… Anyway.

Schlatt does notice things. Stuff happening around him. And he does remember them.

He knows Tubbo takes his morning tea with two spoonfuls of honey, and a slice of bread with any marmalade on it except raspberry, which as it turns out he doesn't like. Schlatt stops providing raspberry marmalade, but it never really gets questioned.

He knows Fundy will get scraped up while exploring during the day, and will always forget to bandage himself up properly, so he makes sure to mention it in passing to whoever is near him at the end of the day - just to know that people will check up on the kid. He doesn't need to go himself, Fundy would never allow him to take care of him directly, and he's not going to subject either of them to that situation.

Most of all, he notices Quackity - with him being the Vice President, they're around each other a lot.

Quackity is a bright light in the cabinet.

While Tubbo is a warm late afternoon glow and Fundy is burning fire, Quackity is sunshine by the seaside on a midday spring day.

Quackity likes coffee, but only if it's been drowned with sugar. He likes singing, humming tunes to himself as he works or while he cooks - he does it for everyone, whenever he has the time to, and he is one of the best cooks there are. He likes to debate, bringing up topics to talk about during slow times, engaging Tubbo into verbal spars. He makes sure that Fundy has eaten at least three times per day, and that he's gone to sleep at a decent time.

He smiles to himself whenever he finishes a document. Ruffles Tubbo's hair. Touches Fundy's shoulder to stop him to ask him how he's doing. Taps Schlatt's shoulder to catch his attention.

Quackity is a very tactile person.

Schlatt remembers him hugging people, throwing arms around shoulders, laughing out loud with tears at the corners of his eyes.

So it's no wonder that a couple of months into their presidency, with work and paperwork occupying most of their days, Quackity is both overly stressed and constantly fidgeting.

It comes to a point when Schlatt catches him visibly reaching out to people and then backing away, awkward and embarrassed, mumbling excuses before making a joke of being lost in his mind due to work.

That cannot continue. It simply cannot.

Schlatt finishes his paperwork an hour early that night, then he takes a swig from one of his already opened bottles for good luck and gets to work.

The trip from his study to Quackity's is almost too long - it gives him almost enough time to change his mind, almost enough time to chicken out and just plan something else, maybe unleash Tubbo on him. But before he can formulate the idea in his mind, he's standing in front of the oak door and his hand is already raised to knock.

Too late to back down. A part of him reasons, despite the fact that it isn't.

"Come in." Quackity's voice answers after he raps his knuckles against the wood.

The room inside is dimly lit: the only source of light is a small table lamp that shines a beacon on Quackity’s documents as his pen flies on the paper sheet, the man’s slightly hunched back straightening when he notices him entering, a small tired smile appearing on his face.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, his head tilting lightly to the side - then bending further, one hand coming up to rub at his neck with a slightly pained expression. Schlatt advances, crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging while Quackity seemingly discovers more and more sore spots along his back.

"I finished my paperwork, I figured I'd stop by."

"Oh, cool. -” he replies with one final satisfied grunt “- I'm almost done with this."

Schlatt nods absentmindedly, gesturing vaguely with a hand towards a nearby armchair: "You mind?" There’s a moment of confused silence as Quackity looks at him as if he’s grown a second set of horns, a mixture of surprise, amusement and incredulity overcoming his features, then he shakes his head and chuckles to himself. To be fair, any other night he’d have flung himself on his bed the instant his paperwork had been done. Still, Quackity recovers quickly, nodding towards him and swiftly resuming his work.

It’s hard not to fall asleep with the sound of his friend’s pen running over paper calming his nerves, the dimness surrounding them and the comfiness of the armchair under him. He remembers when Quackity had brought it in, slightly old looking and covered in a transparent sheet of plastic: he’d called it a lifetime occasion, found in a yard sale, and Schlatt had doubted its usefulness - after all, they had a couch in the livingroom and multiple chairs for each of their desks.

And yet, there hasn’t yet been a day when the armchair wasn’t occupied by someone. When the days are cold, Tubbo can often be found curled up in it with a mug of hot chocolate and a blanket safely tucked around his shoulders - by whom should be quite obvious. And sometimes, when the nights are too long and sleep avoids Fundy, he retreats there, silently, and turns the armchair so that he can keep a watchful eye over Quackity as he works - that is, until sleep finds him, comforted by the knowledge that they’re all safe and alive.

There’s a small bookshelf next to the armchair, filled with tomes both bought, found and written - some in English, most in Spanish. Quackity is nothing but fond and proud of his collection, and while Schlatt’s not going to tell anyone, he has read plenty of poems from the books that looked the most used. He’s aware that his Spanish isn’t the best, but it helps with keeping his knowledge fresh.

His eyes catch on a thin book that he doesn’t remember seeing before - its title along the spine is a mesh of letters, with way too many consonants, and definitely in a language he doesn’t know. Picking it up, he figures it will help with his task of not falling asleep as he waits, but alas, as on the spine, the whole book is filled with too many long words - is that a whole line of just one? Who made this up?

He starts flipping back to the incipit, in hope of at least finding the author’s name. When he reaches it, though, what catches his attention first isn’t the name itself - Goethe, ah, that’s it, German - but a hand-penned inscription just below.

“Hey Da Dumbass, I heard you like poetry in foreign languages. Try and read this. Fundy.”

Thankfully, the sound of a satisfied grunt reaches his ears and unknots the tightness in his throat and distracts him from the warmth spreading in his chest.

Behind him, Quackity - he calls him dad - stretches his arms behind his back and sighs.

"Alright, this one's done! -” he starts, smiling proudly to himself before shooting a somewhat guilty look towards the rest of the documents piled up on his desk “- You know, you don't have to wait for me, I figured since it's not so late I could get a bit of stuff done ahead of time-" Schlatt levels him with an unimpressed stare, then claps the book closed and places it back in its original place before standing up and making his way towards his still sitting friend.

"Alright, that's it." Quackity looks visibly confused, even a bit worried, as he leans back into his chair, but Schlatt is a man on a mission: he won’t be swayed by it, this is supposed to be an intervention. He stops once he’s close, standing up right next to Quackity, and his friend looks nervously up at him, a high pitched self conscious chuckle escaping him.

"Wh-what- what's up?" Schlatt gives him a quick look just to confirm his theory, but he knows him. And most importantly, he knows himself, he knows he can manage it.

"You, in a moment-" He quips, bending down and quickly scooping the shorter man up, one arm under his legs while the other supports his back and then-

"Wait, hold on- hold on I-” Quackity starts to protest, but by then Schlatt already has a secure hold on him, so up they go, followed by a yelp by Quackity himself as he is quite suddenly hoisted up into Schlatt’s arms, one hand reaching out and wrapping around the taller man’s shirt with a vice-like grip as he splutters, eyes wide as saucers.

“HOLY SHIT-! HOW IN THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT?!"

And to be completely fair, Schlatt is not one to back down from the chance to boast at this type of thing, so he simply shrugs and squeezes him closer with a self satisfied smirk: "I told you I lift, you dumbass."

"I- I- put me down." Quackity gapes, seemingly still wrapping his head around the sudden switch in situation; the way he leans into the hold is probably unconscious, but it does confirm his theory that his vice president, his closest friend, is in desperate need of being on the receiving end of some care and comfort. And he knows, deep inside himself, that he’s not the best candidate for the job, but if nobody’s going to do it then he is for sure going to.

"I will in a moment. You need sleep." He replies, tone firm but not loud, reaching out with a hand to turn off the desk lamp - inwardly thanking the low light coming from the torches in the corridor for allowing him not to make a fool of himself by immediately tripping on his feet.

"I- alright, but I can get to my room on my own!" Quackity protests, sounding flustered, and Schlatt has a moment of hesitation as the sudden fear of having overstepped a boundary hits him. Maybe he shouldn't have done this. Shit, fuck, he's screwed this, hasn't he?

But as he pauses for a moment to look down at Quackity, to asses the situation, he realises that the man is actually clutching at him, and his head is resting under his chin - the soft fabric of the beanie pushing against his cheek the moment he bends his head to look down. Schlatt lets out a steadying breath: he can do this.

"I know you can. I don't mind doing this, though." He states, firmly but not unlindly, voice softening, and he holds him close again - one armed as he reaches out to close the corridor's door. A huff of breath warms a spot over his chest.

"I- you're such a fucking showoff, dude." He murmurs, accepting the situation with what sounds like a small smile on his face.

It takes him a minute, but soon he's opening the door of Quackity's bedroom. The shorter man, who had been slowly relaxing overtime, leaning more and more into his chest, startles as if waking up from sleeping and tenses up.

"Alright, now you can drop me off." He comments, but Schlatt is a bit more preoccupied with losing himself inside his own mind as he thinks about what to do next, so Quackity stays up - it's not like he's gonna wriggle around and risk falling on his ass on the ground. After a moment, he looks down at where Q's hand is clutching at his shirt, and at where his head is still pressed against his chest. A part of him is enjoying this too, and isn't really ready to let go, but still, this isn't about him. It's about what Quackity wants.

So he forces his anxieties down, swallows around the knot in his throat and tries.

"What- what if I didn't yet, though." Quackity is silent for a moment after that, but his hand doesn't unclench, so he counts it as a good thing.

"You're not making any sense, man."

Schlatt is stood in the middle of the room, holding Quackity up, keeping him close, and he feels like he's balancing multiple instincts wanting to drag him in any direction - anywhere else other than here, right now, when stuff is so confusing and worrisome and he's constantly scared of scaring Quackity off with something weird.

But yet again, he keeps it down, keeps it quiet. For his friend.

"I've been seeing how stressed you are. Is this helping? Please be honest." If he had a free hand, he would be running it through his hair, a nervous habit he's been picking back up. Yet, his arms are starting to feel the strain of holding a body up, so he's not going to risk letting him fall to the ground. After what seems like an eternity, another sigh in the form of a warm puff of breath hits his chest as Quackity concedes.

"... A bit …"

Good, he can't help but think. Communication is key in these situations. In all situations really, but he appreciates the fact that Q is opening up and letting him know he is alright with being held like this. Spurred on by this, he ponders his next words perhaps a bit too little.

"Is it the caring or the touching?"

Quackity visibly flinches at the wordings, leaning back a little - pushing more strain on Schlatt's right arm - to stare at him with a sarcastic frown.

"Shit, man, you are such a wordsmith-"

Too quick, too many variables lost to the moment, and Schlatt is swept up in the frenzy of the situation - he has never, ever been good at smoothing out situations.

"Will you just answer-"

"It's both! Geeze, are you happy now?!" Quackity's embarrassed outburst manages to at the same time shut him up and quieten the anxious voices in his head - so he was right, Quackity did like this, and he didn't mind it. Now if that wasn't a win in his book … he sighs, squeezing him close.

"Yeah, kinda. See, it wasn't hard. You little bitch." He comments, tone way too fond for him to be taken seriously ever again, but he figures he's allowed to be a bit soft - it's late, they're tired, and they're the only ones in the room.

Schlatt decides he's not going to subject himself to the mortifying ordeal of starting to lose strength in his arms - he has a reputation to uphold - so he quickly makes his way to the large bed, turns and sits down, inwardly relieved that he's managed to get this far. His nerves still haven't betrayed him. Yet. At least Quackity isn't launching himself on the other side of the room the moment he has a chance not to fall on the ground if he moves the wrong way.

"What are you doing?" Quackity asks, sounding genuinely confused as he looks up at him with furrowed brows, so now it's Schlatt's turn to splutter indignantly, the arm under Q's legs sneaking up to wave confusedly in the air.

"I'm about to murder you is what I'm doing- what does it look like?! I'm trying to comfort you!"

A moment of silence follows, during which Schlatt stares awkwardly at Quackity's shocked face. Then Q's eyes soften and he starts chuckling, shaking his head for a moment before he lets it fall back down against his collarbone, sneaking an arm around his waist.

"Feeling real fucking comforted, for sure." He comments, humour loud in his voice as he squirms around for a moment trying to find a comfortable position, quieting a moment later and letting out a small sigh.

"I am going to throw you into the river." Schlatt answers, bringing the hand that was holding his back up to the nape of his neck, fingers dipping under his beanie to lightly scratch at his scalp, pressing his friend's forehead against his neck.

When Quackity answers a moment later, his voice is but a murmur.

"I thought you were here to comfort me?"

"Shut up and be comforted, then, you dumbass." He huffs out, but there's a smile on his face despite the way he tries to seem angry. He is still way too soft to be taken seriously, and he'll be mad about it later, when Quackity will keep making coffee for the both of them, but then he'll lean into him while Schlatt's making eggs for Fundy, and he'll call him soft when he remembers to add the herbs the young fox hybrid picked himself; not to mention how he'll suddenly realise who had been bringing Tubbo back to his room after the kid had fallen asleep on the couch.

But still, it's worth it, as he slowly grabs the hand that is still gripping his shirt, gently pressing against his fingers until he lets go; he places it back on Quackity's lap, rubbing what he hopes are comforting circles into his wrist - he knows how bad it can get when you spend all day writing, and knows his intuition payed off when his friend's shoulders relax even further.

To be quite honest, Quackity hadn't even realised his writing hand had been hurting.

A joke threatens to rise in Q's throat, a way to diffuse the situation, a mechanism born from ages of repressing wholesomeness because that's the type of things that get you in trouble, because feelings get treated as a weakness, but he squashes it down, closing his eyes with a sigh as he lets himself enjoy the moment.

The warmth of a hug that is truly meant, the comforting weight of Schlatt's head against the top of his, the blissful peace that he associates with having his hair played with - It's been a while since he had the chance to do this, to feel this.

He could fall asleep like this, he thinks, eyes closing on their own and body melting into the sensation, and he finds himself floating, suspended - but also grounded, tethered by the points of contact between their bodies.

He feels- he feels like he did when Fundy tried to teach him German, him stumbling over the words while the other laughed with him; or like all the times Tubbo brought him outside in the garden, guiding him through the steps needed to take care of his beloved pets.

He feels at home.

And after a moment, he feels Schlatt relax too, his movements less precise, less rithmic, his shoulders sagging a bit as they lean more into each other instead of just Quackity against him - and doesn't that feel poignant, he thinks, but not pointing it out loud feels like a better choice.

He feels before he hears the low timbre of Schlatt's voice, unusually quiet due to a mix of tiredness and the silent atmosphere surrounding them.

"I'm gonna lie back. That alright with you?"

It takes a moment for Quackity to realise that he is asking for permission. He wants to nod, but that would jostle their heads. So he hums in what hopes is a notably affirmative way, and just to be sure his message is correctly interpreted, he turns his palm upward, fingers wrapping around the taller man's wrist, and squeezes.

He feels a chuckle vibrate through the chest under his cheek; again, quiet, toned down, but this time it also feels like he's trying not to move too much - and that right there makes him want to never stop smiling, especially whenever Schlatt pretends he doesn't care. Because if there is one thing Quackity knows is that he cares so much, despite the fact that he still pretends he doesn't know how a doctor found their way to Fundy's room after he scraped his knee, the poor medic armed as if somebody had just lost an arm.

Schlatt thinks he's so good at hiding his feelings, and then he stops buying a specific type of marmalade because Tubbo joked about it tasting funny. He is nothing but a dork, and this has just done nothing more than confirm his suspicions.

The hand in his hair gently cups his head as Schlatt leans back until he's laying on the bed, and Quackity has to swallow back a knot in his throat at the pure, unaltered sweetness with which he is being treated - like he's fragile, but not in a bad, diminishing way: like you would treat a fancy ancient vase, or a masterpiece.

Quackity squeezes his eyes, feeling himself get watery, and focuses on the fact that like this, he's not that comfortable anymore. There's no need for his legs to be both over his friend's body, so he shuffles back until he's more curled up against his side, half laying on his chest, head still tucked under his chin - by god how perfectly safe he feels with that soft pressure against his temple.

Schlatt lets him wriggle around, the hand in his hair never moving, and once he stills his other one moves back to his own chest, where Quackity's hand rests against his heart, and his fingers gently wrap around his.

"This alright?" Comes a murmur from above him and Quackity's fingers squeeze automatically in response, finding himself unable to verbalise an answer at first.

"Thank you." He breathes out a moment later, after he's able to reign in his emotions just enough for him to find his voice again.

"Don't- don't thank me." Comes Schlatt's instant response, the fingers in his hair halting for a moment as he pauses, seemingly deep in thought. When he speaks again, his tone is once again slow and hushed, and his fingers are once more rubbing slow circles against his scalp.

"You can come to me for this. Anytime you want. I want you to know that you can count on me."

And oh, alright, Quackity thinks, eyes widening for a moment - he has to hurry and squeeze them shut before he starts tearing up, fighting against the way emotions squeeze at his chest; pure unadulterated joy at the knowledge that this is true, this is good and this is his. His small, dumb, weird family, made of mostly jagged pieces that somehow fit so well together. Quackity clutches at the fingers wrapped around his, squeezing maybe just a bit too tight, throat thick and feelings running, and then he simply nods into his friend's collarbone.

Schlatt just squeezes back - and that's just how they are, two dumbass friends holding onto each other, doing their best.

Minutes later, he falls asleep, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of his friend's chest and the gentle feeling of being held.

#my writing #quackity #jschlatt #dream smp au #we're back with some good ol comfort #I do hope you'll enjoy

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thronesofshadows · 3 years

Text

Salt Bridges (pt. 1) || Nicole & Evelyn

TIMING: A couple weeks before Christmas LOCATION: Al’s Diner PARTIES: @nicsalazar and @thronesofshadows SUMMARY: Nicole and Evelyn go out for dinner and find out they might have a little more in common than they previously realized.

Seated in the most secluded spot she could find, Nicole’s fingers picked at the extra hair tie on her wrist, looking up every time the door opened and the wrong person walked inside the diner. She was never early to any kind of appointments. Being early meant second guessing everything she thought she knew. Questioning whether she had made it to the right place, on the right day or at the right time. Worrying about plans getting cancelled and not getting the corresponding text. Going back to recheck the information multiple times, though she had done it a hundred times before. She was always five minutes late to everything, perfectly calculated, to avoid that. She had to be early for this one, however. Against her better judgement she had invited Evelyn to a diner. A very loud one, it seemed. She couldn’t shake the feeling that food had been a bad idea. The worst kind of activity to do with someone she had only met once. The pauses, awkward silences, the sounds, the mess. Terrible, just terrible. She breathed out, forcing herself to not go there. Pointless to dwell on it when she was already sitting there, fifteen minutes earlier than they had agreed on, going over the menu for the tenth time. Besides, Evelyn had to be the nicest person she had met so far, she probably wouldn’t care. She wanted to spend time with her, right? No? She had never been to Al’s diner before, but she quickly understood the popularity. The smell was driving her insane. When Evelyn walked through the door, her frown finally relaxed. She sighed and offered a shy smile, keeping her gaze on the woman until she spotted her. She averted her eyes down to the menu as she approached.

Nicole was unlike anyone Evelyn had ever met. She didn’t usually eat, and Al’s was certainly not her usual sort of place, but if that was where Nicole felt most at home, she would agree. Though it seemed a bit contrary to what she knew about Nicole. She hardly minded. She could easily get a salad here and pick at it, let Nicole talk about whatever she needed to - or wanted to. She’d arrived a couple minutes early. The buzzing of the diner would have been overwhelming if she concentrated too much on it, and she was more than a bit puzzled about why Nicole had chosen such a place. Perhaps she had a certain craving for a burger. Regardless, Evelyn adjusted the skirt of her dress and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her head before she pushed the door open. Nicole was already there, she realized, gaze focusing in on the other woman. She made her way over to the booth, one in a far back corner that wasn’t right in the middle of everything. Okay, that made more sense given what she knew about Nicole. “Apologies for keeping you waiting.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow, nodding at the menu. “What looks good?”

She shook her head dismissively, eyes darting to the clock behind the register when Evelyn apologized. “Hey...uh, think you’re right on time, I just— ” she trailed off, unsure where she was going with that sentence. She just needed some extra preparation. Her fingers drummed on the menu, waiting for Evelyn to get comfortable in her seat. Fortunately for Nicole, the table provided enough space between them. She would’ve hated having to worry over the woman stepping into her personal space for the entire evening. Her biggest concern was the eye contact, almost impossible to avoid when Evelyn was sitting in front of her. Out in a diner, really? Bad idea. Terrible idea. Should’ve asked her for a walk instead. She cleared her throat to keep those thoughts at bay, giving the other woman a strained smile. “What looks...good?”, the repetition only served to buy herself more time to think. She lifted her eyebrows, seemingly forgetting everything she had read a minute ago. “I’ve...never been here before—first time” she couldn't recall who had recommended the diner to her, but they had clearly made a lasting impression for her to come up with it on the spot. By the smell of it, the burgers definitely won. And the fries. The chicken too. She couldn’t hate the waffles either, despite the milk. “Gonna take a wild guess here...but I think the burgers are kinda their thing” she let out a chuckle and pointed at a particular picture hanging on the wall, displaying a monstrous looking burger. “Would you eat that one?”

“I am often early, but it pleases me to see that you are, too.” Evelyn couldn’t help but smile again. There was something about being around Nicole that made her feel calm and at peace with herself. Evelyn often considered herself a fairly calm person, but there were people, whether she wished to admit it or not, who brought about a feeling of even greater calm, and Nicole already seemed to be one of those people. Even if she was human, she was a delightful partner in conversation, even if Evelyn could tell that this didn’t always come so easily for her. Furthermore, despite the fact that it had taken a good amount of persuasion, she was willing to let Evelyn dote on her and purchase things for her, which was always a plus in Evelyn’s book. “I cannot say that I am an expert on any of this,” she flipped through the menu, glossy painted nails tapping against the plastic. “Well, it is a popular place in town, or so the rumors say - it is often filled up from what I can tell.” She crossed her legs. “Well, I do think that is how diners go. I - well, no, not unless it is vegetarian, but I fully endorse you trying it. After all, is there not the cliché of when in Rome - and I am well-aware that we are not in Rome, and that I explain my jokes too much but I say go for it. I think I may get a salad.”

“About that…” her laugh was strained and nervous, but felt the need to explain. “I just— had to make sure I got a booth I wouldn’t...” pick up too many things. “Get overwhelmed by— Sorry to disappoint but, I’m not— I’m not usually...this punctual” it felt strange being honest about it, and though her eyes darted everywhere in the room to avoid looking at Evelyn, she preferred it. Nicole was sure the other woman didn’t need the explanation, but seemed to be the way things were meant to flow between them. She glanced down at the menu again, but her brain was fixed on Evelyn’s tapping, distracting her. Most of the time she was capable of tuning out things like that, anxious thoughts occupying her brain enough to ignore sensory stimuli. Being so out of her comfort zone appeared to be affecting her in different ways. She tried her best not to pay close attention to Evelyn. Felt like intruding. The words pulled her back to focus. She assumed vegetarian options existed, but Al’s wouldn’t be the place to get them. “No, it’s...salad might be the better option”. Could she eat that burger? Yes, she was certainly capable of finishing that. Wouldn’t be pretty at all, however. She had a healthy appetite, and blamed it on being part-animal. “The…” she glanced at her with narrowed eyes, repeating some words under her breath. Cliché of Rome? What was she talking about? Sounded familiar, but she couldn’t recall what the saying meant. “I— I don’t…” Her smile was sheepish, but she was saved by the waiter approaching to take their order. She nodded to Evelyn. “I think she’s...her mind’s made up.”

“Of course. Do not worry, even if you are only punctual this time, that is still more than enough.” Evelyn grinned. “Remember, this is all about whatever works best as a distraction for you, and if this is working, then I shall certainly not fault you for that.” Had she been a more tactile person, and had she assumed Nicole was, too, Evelyn might have reached out to offer a hand to the other woman, but things being what they were, she instead held back. Not yet, and maybe not ever, but she enjoyed Nicole’s company regardless of anything else, and for now, that was what mattered most of all. “Salads are usually nice, and even if it is not of the highest quality, I did not come here for the food, solely.” Especially because I do not actually need human food in order to survive, though it was not as though she could tell that to Nicole. Not now, at least - perhaps, if they continued to get along as well as they had thus far, she would be able to be more open, but not yet. “Sorry, it is a cliché. When you are somewhere, you might as well do what is customary. Or something to that degree.” She shrugged, glancing up at the waiter. “I have. I would love a Greek salad and just water to drink.” She flipped her menu shut and let Nicole order, watching as the waiter walked away before focusing back on the other woman. “So, how is this for a distraction so far?”

“Right, yeah—“ Nicole let out a nervous breath, a thankful half-smile reached her lips. It was slightly overwhelming that Evelyn always knew the right thing to say. Almost too understanding. She wondered if that had come with all the training she experienced as a kid. A fleeting, less logical thought followed. Could she—? Maybe she was capable of reading minds. Crazy, sure. She had seen weirder things in her life, though. Shaking her head, she frowned at the absurdity. People just happened to be good sometimes, she reminded herself. “Yeah—- wouldn’t pay for a restaurant salad, really…” Maybe being an ex model had something to do with her concern for healthy eating, but if Evelyn wanted salad, then she’d pay for it. “Good thing you aren’t though… cause this one’s on me, okay?” quirking an eyebrow, she raised a finger at her. She had to remind her, just in case. Yes, she had invited Evelyn for more than food. It was strange. When they talked online, she knew exactly why she had needed her company. But now, everything seemed incredibly hazy. Something about...bones and pens? Why would she need to talk to Evelyn about that? She watched in silence as the woman placed her order, her pulse racing at the thought of going next. She asked for a beer first. That would put her into a chattier mood. Then she tripped over her words to order a chicken sandwich, after she was assured it came with a portion of fries. Would she eat that? She wasn’t sure, but at least the hard part was done. “I— uh...never been more distracted in my life” it was the truth, at least. Whether it was a good thing or not it remained to be seen. How long could the food take to be ready, 15-20 minutes? That was a lot of time to fill with conversation. She could get through it. “Thank you, by the way—for coming,” she lifted her eyebrows as she met the other woman’s gaze, surprised by her own voice. “Gonna owe you...a couple guitar shows.”

Everything with Nicole felt strange and new, even if the overall pattern of their conversation was hardly anything abnormal. Evelyn shrugged. “Some are good, maybe this will be one of those cases.” Not that she entirely minded either way. Human food was human food in the end, and though she certainly preferred that which tasted better, it never served to nourish her in the way that nightmares did. “Okay. Only because you did permit me to purchase that guitar for you and because I find myself rather fond of your company.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow. She enjoyed the time she had spent with Nicole so far as well as the conversations that they had, and so she saw no reason to do anything other than agree to spend more time with the other woman. “It is okay. Sometimes we find ourselves more keen to be distracted than others, and this is no fault of yours. There was a time a bit ago when I found myself unable to sleep for a long while and I know my focus was less than ideal.” She offered a shrug at the other woman’s remark. “Of course. I find your company enjoyable, and I have been looking forward to spending more time with you ever since we have met.”

Nicole nodded, despite being suspicious of the diner’s ability to deliver a decent salad. Though if Evelyn wanted to order something else after, she wouldn’t have a problem with that. “Good” her hand tapped the table with finality, as if her words settled their agreement. Her eyes stayed fixed on the table, struggling to shake the awkwardness off. She didn’t understand why Evelyn liked her company. A woman like her was likely to know people far more interesting than her. Better conversationalists too. But she was trying not to second guess herself too much. Unable to find the right words, she moved onto the next topic. “Was that— were you under stress or…?” She understood the connection between lack of sleep and lack of focus, but it was often triggered by something. “Never been too good at sleeping” her gaze lifted slightly at the admission, focusing on Evelyn’s shoulder. Her leg bounced under the table. For the longest time, she was haunted by the thought of going to bed and not waking up again, her body transforming in her sleep. “Guess... I was bound to end up with issues” it would’ve been easier to see a specialist, she reminded herself, though that would imply she was willing to get better. Her nerves caused her to laugh again, as Evelyn repeated she was good company. She was genuinely puzzled as to why. What had she offered that one time that seemed to go over well with Evelyn? Maybe she could keep doing that, with other people. Did people give each other feedback like that? Deep down she knew there was no magic formula. Maybe Evelyn was just trying to be nice. Embarrassed, heat rose to her cheek. “That’s...yeah— I think I...I do good with...bossy people. Not that— you’re...” she noticed the waiter approach, and she breathed out in relief “it’s not...not a bad thing”.

Evelyn sighed for a small moment, though it was evident that it was not out of frustration but merely out of relief in the comfort and ease that Nicole’s company provided. “Of course.” She watched Nicole’s fingers drumming against the table. “In a manner of speaking.” She didn’t wish to go into it with too much detail; didn’t want to risk explaining seeing giant eyes - Nicole didn’t deserve having to deal with that. “Luckily I was able to work through it, and that is all behind me.” Other things weren’t, other odd sleep behaviors weighed heavily on her mind - because she wasn’t supposed to have faults with her sleep, if anything she was supposed to be the one in control, particularly the negative ones that had seemingly overrun the town. “Oh? That is the case with a number of people. Even when you were a child?” She looked over to Nicole, though there was not a speck of judgement present on her face. “Well, I do not think this guarantees issues. Sleep is incredibly complex, you should not fault yourself for anything.” She bit her lip to hold back a laugh at Nicole’s next comment. “You can call my bossy. I am well-aware I can be, though I think that the tutors I had as a child preferred strong-willed.” She fought away the urge to roll her eyes. Evelyn watched the waiter come back over, dropping off their drinks and a few tabletop condiments - including salt. Evelyn grabbed her drink quickly. Salt wasn’t even a proper condiment, though she supposed many people liked to have it on top of their dishes. “Well, so far so good, I think.” She nodded. “How are you finding it?”

“I’m glad it’s in the past,” she nodded. The fact that Evelyn had managed to work through her sleeping issues gave Nicole some sort of comfort. Maybe it would pass, maybe she just had to be patient. “Light sleeper” she raised her hand, as if she was taking the blame on something. “Noises and...I’m—sensitive to it,” she shrugged, debating whether to continue or not. “It got worse after…” no, she should’ve stopped. Being a light sleeper was one thing, nightmares were something entirely different. “Bad stuff happened” the tight smile she gave after her words felt odd, but she didn’t Evelyn to feel uncomfortable. She was used to bad sleep anyway. Wasn’t so bad. “Strong-willed, huh?” she repeated, her eyebrows rising as she broke into a smile. “Yeah, you terrorized those tutors, I bet” she pressed her lips together, trying to suppress her grin. Although she felt for the adults in charge, she found the thought of a spoiled little girl bossing tutors around very entertaining. Why did a kid need so much tutoring anyway? She should’ve been playing free outside. Regardless, bossy was good in her mind. She needed bossy in her life. She was never inclined to take the lead on anything. Someone willing to push a little was a change she welcomed. She leaned back in her seat, letting the waiter place the condiments and the drinks. She shook her head when he offered to pour it in a glass. The bottle was fine. Without even realizing, her hand ghosted over the table before reaching for the salt shaker. Instinctively, she slid it to the end of the table, towards Evelyn. Then she rearranged the rest of the containers. She often had salt in her meals, she even favored that type of food, but she didn’t want to risk the chance of an accident in public. Her distraction meant she had lost track of their conversation. She looked up at the question, eyes widening. “How am I— finding what? oh...” she glanced down at the beer in her hand. She lifted it, sending Evelyn a questioning look.

“I am as well, as the case may be.” Evelyn looked over at Nicole with a kind expression. She didn’t wish to lie to someone who may well have been human, but explaining that her sleep expertise went beyond just being a childhood (and still) bookworm with too much time on her hands. Anything beyond that was too much, she knew that - even though she also knew that keeping the truth of what she was hidden away could only serve to cause trouble. She chose not to focus on that right now, and instead focused onto the woman across from her. She found that Nicole was someone incredibly grounding to be around, and she didn’t know why. Instead of getting all done up about it, she’d decided to ignore that and focus on how pleasant it felt. Even though the idea of having friends was still a relatively foreign and odd concept to Evelyn, she didn’t think to question it with a select few people - not Nicole, and certainly not Miriam - to a degree. Others too - Deirdre for one, even Lydia, before everything (and she chose to not think about all the what ifs) - things she never would have expected years ago when she’d been shut into her home, accompanied only by her nannies, tutors, and housekeepers. “You are permitted to be sensitive to noises - not that, well, obviously I am unable to control that - not that I would, if I could, I think people controlling whatever it is someone is dealing with is unjust, but I am sorry that you have that. It is no bad thing, we are all different.” Her gaze softened again. “Bad things? You do not have to expand, but should you wish to, I am able to listen. I am even quite alright at it, most times.” She sucked on her lip for a moment. “I think they used that in lieu of any number of other words they might have preferred to use were my father not their main source of income.” She scrunched up her face. She watched Nicole play with - rearrange - the salt and felt her shoulders tense up just slightly as she pushed it over towards her. Evelyn took it, careful not to touch any of it too much, and pushed it with the tip of one nail away from them, back to where the waiter had first placed it down. “Yes, that.” She nodded. “Though it may not be the quality that you could have if you came to my bar, I hope it suffices.”

Nicole’s eyebrows rose again, surprised to see the woman string a sentence with less eloquence than usual. Rambling didn’t seem to be her thing, but she had definitely over explained something that seemed obvious. Her eyes narrowed, finally looking at her face. “I know,” she said simply with a subtle smile, her voice small but calm. Had she been braver, she would’ve asked if she had issues with control. But she didn’t want to risk upsetting her if that was the case. Her eyes darted outside, a break she needed from the current conversation. When Evelyn offered an ear, she almost smiled. Her kindness wasn’t surprising. Or the way Nicole’s eyes began to tear up. She got rid of them, blinking quickly. God that was embarrassing. For once, the idea of sharing part of her story wasn’t terrifying. Time. It was the one thing she needed. The one thing stopping her from speaking to her. It seemed unquestionable that with time, Evelyn would be able to coax the truth out of her.

“I know” even smaller the second time. Nicole shook her head. “We all got baggage, no?” she said instead. She doubted anyone living in a town like White Crest was completely normal. The way she spoke about her tutoring sounded a lot less amusing than what she had pictured first. She frowned. “Was that… did you rebel against them? Or just— you being a kid”. With an apprehensive look, she noticed the way Evelyn moved the salt again. Maybe she was very particular about condiment placement? It was a little too close to the edge for her liking, though. If anyone were to run and— No. She was too paranoid, what were the chances of that even happening? She let the saltshaker where it was. They would be fine. Moving it again would look odd. “I’ve had a lot worse, trust me” the taste had never mattered much to her. Not when it used to be about getting drunk above everything. Tilting the bottle, she took a gulp. Yes, not great, she confirmed with a grimace. “I think I’d like some of that quality alcohol, though” She’d have to save for that. “How’s your...water? Sure it’s fancier at your place too”.

Nicole’s response remained simple - which was to be expected, it was how she was, Evelyn had learned. Though not for any sort of negative reason, nor any lessening respect. She did respect and care for Nicole a great deal, regardless of whether or not that was something typical of her. “I know - and yes, I suppose that we do. Though it is all different, and I sometimes do not see any point in focusing on such things.” She figured that she could leave things be for now, but if they talked again, she might poke a bit more - as she was rather curious but she knew that Nicole was someone who seemed to be a bit shy, at least when compared to Evelyn. She liked her too, and so she didn’t want to stress her out, at least not more than she already did. It was one thing to persuade Nicole to permit her to purchase a guitar, but this was something else entirely. “No, not especially, I simply did my own thing sometimes and so I think mostly being a child, but I also do not know quite what is typical for children, given that I grew up mostly on my own.” She took another sip of her water. She watched Nicole eye the salt and for a moment she wanted to ask her if she, too, was a mara. She didn’t, because maybe she wasn’t and was just curious about Evelyn’s constant movements. “Well that is good. You should come by sometime, and perhaps I will find nice beer and we can enjoy that.” She grinned. “I can make exceptions for those whose company I enjoy. Especially if it is at my place and not my bar, though I do not feel bad about giving you a more reasonable price than I do for most of my clients.” She grinned. “It is fancier, but I have always loved the fancier things in life.”

A half grin reached Nicole’s lips. She had to admire Evelyn’s uncomplicated mindset. She would’ve achieved a lot more had she moved on from all her traumas, she mused. “Not much of a dweller?” She wanted to make sure she was understanding her words right. She took another swig of her beer. “What’s your secret? Cause I’ve...I’ve tried telling myself— shit’s in the past and all that...” she frowned, unsure whether she wanted to go down that road or not. “Can’t get it through my skull, though” she shook her head, her fingers tracing the bottle before drinking again. She probably should’ve waited until the food had arrived, but the anxiety wanted her to keep her hands busy. Her expression turned serious as Evelyn expanded more on her childhood. “Typical children stuff, like...just— not behaving the way adults want cause...cause— they’re not wired that way yet. That’s pretty typical, I think” there was a lot of wrong in the way kids were treated, but she wasn’t sure how to put her thought into words. “As an older sister— I’m allowed to say, kids are really annoying, though” she quipped to lighten the mood, but didn’t feel right. Joking rarely did. “Don’t think there was anything wrong with you, trust me” she added calmly, offering a sympathetic smile. She entertained herself holding the beer by its neck and swinging it idly, an inch over the table. “Now that I’m...officially invited, yes. Booze is one way to lure me in” tasting actual decent alcohol did sound like something she’d enjoy. “Uh, isn’t— the bar your place?” She let out a chuckle, eyebrows furrowed. “C’mon, all water’s the same!” she knew it wasn’t true, but she was curious about what counted as fancy water. Looking past Evelyn’s shoulder, the waiter came into view. She wondered if the plates he was carrying belonged to them.

“Not if it is something I wish to not dwell upon, yes.” Evelyn paused for a moment. “I mean - yes, you are correct. If something is unsavory, I do not wish to put my focus into it. I see little reason to.” Which she knew made her seem overly detached sometimes, but that was better than letting emotions overwhelm her completely. “Years of practice?” She shrugged. “I do not know, I think being alone much of my childhood allowed me to be alone with my thoughts, and I have never thought that getting too done up does anyone any good.” She took another sip of her water - she didn’t know why she kept telling Nicole so many things, but she also found that she didn’t always mind. “I guess so. It may be typical, but I have no proper experience with children outside of reading about them - I can imagine you might find them annoying.” She pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I do trust you, though I do not know. That remains to be seen, for some.” She gave an off-handed shrug. “Yes, please come, and I have found that alcohol is the way to get many people interested. I can promise my selection is some of the best you’ll find here.” She giggled, the sound causing her to blink a few times extra. Perhaps there was something particularly special about Nicole. “You may say that, but there is a difference, sometimes.” She turned to see what Nicole was looking at, the waiter making their way over with the plates of food, and Evelyn watched as they placed them on the table, though as they turned to go, their elbow knocked against the salt, causing it to fall onto the ground and break, salt spreading out in front of their booth. Shoot. The waiter hadn’t noticed and before Evelyn could call out they’d disappeared back into the kitchen. Evelyn eyed the salt warily, scooting further away from it. “What a mess, right?” She bit her lip. “I - I have - I am unsure if I am able to clean this up.”

Nicole managed to conceal her disappointment when Evelyn mentioned the years of practice. If it were up to her, she’d want to be done dwelling right in that moment. It was up to her, she reminded herself. Getting out of her head seemed to be a theme in her life lately. Like Evelyn, she had been alone with her own thoughts for too long, but it had the opposite effect. She let out a tired sigh at that, but didn’t say anything. From the first time they had met, it was obvious there was more to Evelyn than what she presented. The things she said always left her more curious. Confused too. She was about to ask what remained to be seen according to her, but it was all interrupted by the waiter bringing their plates. She was surprised at how quick the food had come. The conversation hadn’t been torture at all. At her alcohol comment, she raised an eyebrow. “Alright, I’m sure that’s not biased at all”. She smiled, eyeing her salad with amusement.Before she could say a word, things went awry.

She tried to reach for the saltshaker, fingertips barely missing the container. Despite her quick reflexes, it slipped from her fingers all the same, shattering on the floor. Nicole winced at the sound, her heart rate jumping immediately. She could sense the heads turning in their direction. “Fu—Shit!” shit, shit, shit. That’s why she had moved it in the first place. Shifting slightly, she checked under the table if the salt had extended to their shoes. Despite the initial scare, there was a minor relief when she saw her boots were clean. Had it fallen differently, she would’ve had to give Evelyn an extremely awkward explanation as to why she couldn’t move or get up. If only her chest could get the message that there was no imminent danger, though. “It’s— it’s fine. I’m...I’m sure we can get the—” she trailed off, eyes fixed on the salt. She tried to think for a moment, but everything around her was distracting her. Was it her own scared heart racing in her ears, or— she glanced at Evelyn then, noticing her shying away. She frowned. Was she worried about the mess? It was bad sure, but they’d get someone to clean, no? Her own worries slipped to the back of her mind, concerned eyes focusing on the woman. Maybe, like her, noises freaked Evelyn out too. “What’s… are you— did the sound freak you out?” It’s okay, it’s just—” she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. It wasn’t just salt. Not to her, at least. But why would Evelyn share the same worries? “You’re unsure if...what?”

Evelyn couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at Nicole’s comment, finding herself glad that Nicole was smiling - whether or not it was entirely due to her remark or something else she wasn’t entirely sure, but she did know that she liked when Nicole was happy - which was odd, given that they hardly knew one another but it was also an unavoidable fact. Before they could say anything more, the salt had broken and she looked curiously at Nicole, regarding her reaction with a certain level of confusion. Maybe she was just very into things being clean and orderly, which this was distinctly… not. Nicole was panicking though - although Evelyn couldn’t directly sense it, she knew enough about how people behaved when they panicked that she could understand what was going on. “A bit?” Evelyn pursed her lips. “I mean, I like music for ballet to be loud sometimes, but suddenly…” her voice trailed off. “A bit startling. I suppose.” Nicole was still asking her things and she knew that she needed to come up with a further explanation, and soon. “If I can clean this up.” She repeated. “I mean, I am plenty able to clean just … not this. I have sensitive skin and it sometimes acts up.” Even she knew that that sounded ridiculous. “Could you walk over and get the waiter, maybe?”

Nicole was hardly an expert on human emotions, but for a second their eyes met she believed her own fear was mirrored in Evelyn’s eyes. It made everything much more confusing. What were the odds of— no, she put that thought to rest when the woman confirmed she had been scared by the sound, that made sense. Glass breaking was never nice to hear. “It’s fine...it’s okay” she repeated, shaking her head. Evelyn didn’t look like something who did extreme emotions. Even startled, she seemed to try and keep it together. On the edge of the table, her hand opened and closed a few times while she hesitated over reaching out to comfort her or not. “Yeah, yes— it was kinda loud but…” her fingers dug into her palm as her hand clenched into a fist. The moment had passed. Her eyes landed on the food they had both clearly forgotten about. Didn’t matter, she wasn’t hungry anymore. “What, you’re allergic to... salt?” eyes narrowed, tilting her head. Her chest stirred again. There was a sensation inside her, heavy and uncomfortable in the pit of her stomach. And when her eyes met Evelyn's again, something in her told her she couldn’t trust her. She leaned back, attempting to put some distance between them. She clenched her jaw. Whatever she was feeling, it didn’t belong to her. She liked Evelyn, she was nice. She had to forget about that cold distrust building within her because she heard a question. “Can I— ” she licked her lips nervously, eyes back on the salt. She could, technically. But Evelyn would find it incredibly odd if she circled around the pile instead of just skipping through it like any normal person unaffected by salt would. “But you— you’re closer to the… you’re closer to the kitchen” she reasoned.

She’d never run into this sort of problem in public before. Of course, there had been the time - when she was little - when one of her cooks (sillyannoyingridiculousawful she remembered thinking, after the fact) had spilled some while making some sort of dish for a party. Evelyn had been sat up on a stool, eyes wide, hair spilling over her shoulders when it had happened and she’d hopped off, eager to find a way to help the cook clean up, finding herself unable to move. She hadn’t truly understood what was going on, except that she’d started screaming at such a high pitch that one of her nannies had come running - and her father too, eventually. He’d brushed away the salt and all of a sudden she’d been able to move again. She’d grown up a great deal since then, a great deal that meant she didn’t react in such an extreme way any more but it didn’t mean that she couldn’t feel her body tense up, at least slightly - at least as much as she’d found herself able to. “I - yes.” She blinked rapidly -- too much for what was normal, but all of this was a reminder of how very much not normal she was and she took in a breath, because Nicole was good and there was no way she was a hunter (though she’d been so very wrong about that before, hadn’t she?). She looked over to Nicole for a moment, watching the other woman push herself away. She didn’t know what she was planning and she could feel her own throat growing dry. “I - no. I cannot. It - you spend time outdoors,” she began, knowing that that excuse was certainly unimpressive. “I -” she began again, pulling her lower lip in. “I cannot go past it.” She finally settled on, not daring to look at Nicole. “I will not be able to move.” If she was out to hurt her, then she would already have figured it out. “It - I have been this way for as long as I can remember.” If Nicole was completely normal, then she might think Evelyn was losing her mind, but some small part of her hoped that Nicole would just understand it all without any undesirable consequences. If not - well, the small amount of time that they had known one another had been lovely.

“What?” Nicole had to laugh at the excuse Evelyn gave. It was nervous and out of place, but in any other moment she would’ve found the humor in it. Her laugh died in her throat only a moment later. The woman’s next words didn’t sound real. Her expression morphed from nervous to puzzled in a beat, before registering the meaning. She had never been too bright, but there was no other way to interpret what Evelyn was saying, right? Ghost, spirits, they couldn’t move through salt, she recalled an exorcist’s words a few months back. But Evelyn didn’t look like a ghost. Her heart was drumming so loudly in her ears it was hard to form coherent thoughts. There was so much she didn’t know. There was another explanation, right? Something she was missing. Instead, she was jumping to conclusions. Because— It couldn’t be. Was that the reason they had connected so quickly? Her chest heaved, eyebrows furrowed so tightly, she believed the lines would stay there forever. Just briefly, she allowed herself to consider— After years by herself, had she finally found someone like her? No. She was grasping at straws. There was nothing else to draw that conclusion from, except for the salt. That could mean anything. It seemed a waiter had walked past the table and spotted the mess, muttering something about cleaning it in a second, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the woman. The salt was forgotten. She didn’t care about it anymore. It was nothing. Just a catalyst for something much bigger. She leaned forward, eyes studying her intensely. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, a clue, a tell, anything from the woman to would give away that they were more alike than she had initially thought.

“Evelyn,” Nicole called gently, despite how uncomfortable she felt using people’s names. Too personal. There was so much she wanted to ask, so many thoughts jumbled together. She was on the brink of possibly finding someone like her. The first one since— really? Was she gonna cry already? She let out a shaky breath. “I’m— what do you mean you can’t cross salt. Look— look at me,” she kept her voice as even as possible, but the words rushed out of her mouth, pushing and demanding. She didn’t want to sound angry — far from it, she only needed confirmation— but she doubted she had the nuance in her tone to not startle Evelyn. “You’re not...are you— are... are you—” she clenched her fist, frustrated. And when she thought she wouldn’t let it out, it came a whisper. Hopeful, curious, charged. “Are you not... human?”

Nicole was laughing and it didn’t seem to be right at Evelyn, at least not as far as she could tell. Except she wasn’t reacting to what Evelyn had said - at least not entirely, and she took a sip of water -- too much, filling up her mouth so much so that she could just focus on that and not whatever was going on with Nicole. Don’tbeahunterdon’tbea - she forced those thoughts out of her mind, because if she were one, Evelyn would have to find a way to deal with that but she didn’t believe that Nicole was. Her disposition was far too gentle, too nervous, too kind to be one. “What?” Evelyn’s eyes grew wide, jolted entirely out of her thoughts, though she found that she didn’t mind Nicole actually using her name - was this was it was like to have would-be friends? - she shook her head. “I - I -” Look at me. She did. Looked over to Nicole, avoiding direct eye contact but taking in her kind eyes, the way that her hair flowed over her shoulders. “I - no. Not human.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she tried to process everything. Her tone had changed and Evelyn could feel her own expression shift to one that was far more calm than it had been just moments ago -- the waiter not returning the furthest thing from her mind right now. “Are - are you not, either?” Was she a mara? That could have explained while Evelyn found herself drawn to her - she knew that Nicole wasn’t a ghost - Evelyn knew that she couldn't see ghosts, no matter how much she might have wished to (but then again, with what Nadia and Deirdre had told her she wasn’t quite as sold on those any longer). That didn’t mean there wasn’t another species out there that had some of the same difficulties as Evelyn did. “I - can - I - I am a mara.” She bit her lip, sighed gently. “I hope that is okay.” Her voice got quieter then, nails tapping on the side of her water glass.

Silence hung over them as Nicole took everything in. For once, she couldn’t tell whether it was uncomfortable or not. It was just silence, she had too much to process to care about social cues. She had rehearsed for the evening dozens of times in her mind. Prepared as much as one could. Went over every scenario she could create, from decent, to bad, to terrible to disaster. Evelyn revealing she was not human due to a broken salt shaker hadn’t been in the cards. It was a struggle to figure out how to take the revelation. They should’ve learned about one another with time, when they had trusted each other enough to say the words without fear. Not in a loud dinner because of a preventable accident. She wasn’t human, Evelyn’s words confirmed. Her heart skipped a beat. Excitement? Was she like her, then? She didn't get the chance to ask. “I— am I? Uh...I—” she held her breath at the question. That was new, had she been too obvious? It had always been easy to conceal her otherness from the world, pass for human, stifle the animal so it was nothing but a dull ache in her chest. She had never told anyone before. Then again, no one had asked so plainly either. She didn’t fancy her chances lying, not when she never had a good poker face. It all showed in her eyes, she had been told. And Evelyn didn't deserve lies anyway, not after her unprompted honesty. Maybe she’d read her mind, somehow. Maybe she wouldn’t have to say it.

The woman continued talking, and the pressure in Nicole’s chest was too heavy to ignore. Was it disappointment? A Mara. She didn’t know that word. They weren't the same, then. She was something else entirely. A different creature? She had new questions. “I don’t—I’m not sure what...what’s that”. Evelyn’s last words made her throat tighten. She swallowed hard against the knot, blinking away the tears she knew had to be gathering in her eyes already. Was it okay? How many times had the woman asked that and gotten a negative response? How many times would Nicole have to do that if she ever felt brave enough to be honest? Unsure on what to say, she settled for what she would’ve liked to hear instead. “That’s— that’s okay. Of course, why wouldn’t—” she mumbled, lingering on the hand tapping against the glass before her eyes flicked back up, bright and understanding. She wanted to reach out and offer some comfort, but her limbs didn’t receive the message. “You’re good, please don’t think— I’m not scared, or anything”.

She let the moment hang between them, quiet and though Evelyn liked to consider herself someone who knew how to use her words well, she felt at a loss for them - for just now, she hoped, though she was not entirely sure. She certainly knew that she hadn’t gone into this evening expecting for her friend - for whatever Nicole was - to find out that she wasn’t human. This was supposed to have just been a nice outing. Something normal for Nicole, something that made her feel comfortable. She couldn’t help but feel her mind flash back to the night with Alain, when something else entirely normal and supposedly benign had outed her as not-human. Thankfully, Nicole hadn’t left her yet and Evelyn breathed a small sigh of relief.

She was stammering though and Evelyn pressed her hands against her thighs for a moment, willing any calm energy to concentrate then and now - to focus and not freak out about whatever Nicole’s eventual response would be once she was able form complete sentences. She’d give her time though - that much she more than deserved, having something like this just suddenly dropped on her. “I - it is okay. I do not expect you to know.” She pressed her thighs against one another, taking in another deep breath. “I - I feed on fear.” Her voice was so quiet now, she wondered if Nicole could hear. “I - I promise I do not feed on fr - those I - people I like. Trust. You. I have not and shall not ever do that. I am a living nightmare, I suppose. That is likely the best manner of phrasing.” She shook her head. “You do not have to be scared of me. I - I am not bad.” She didn’t know why she felt such a desperate need to insist upon this, rather than to just leave things as they were - to state it more assuredly. “Thank you. Not everyone responds well, is all.”

If Nicole thought further explanation would clear things out, she was wrong. Evelyn’s words didn't make sense. “What is—” What exactly did she mean by feeding? How could anyone feed on fear? Impossible. She eyed the untouched salad then, swallowing all the questions she wanted to ask. “What...” referring to herself as a living nightmare didn’t help either. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to understand, she focused instead on how the woman acted. Someone who was trying her best to stay calm, whose words weren’t exactly the most coherent. Too familiar. Despite learning she was a creature who fed on fear —whatever that meant—, Evelyn had never looked more human to her. Her breath grew shallow as her throat tightened. How could she judge her for something she didn’t ask for? It wasn’t right. They lived in a cruel world, scared, persecuted, ashamed —in her case— of what they were. None of it was right. It hurt to hear Evelyn defend her nature to her. She looked down to hide her face, tears were threatening to spill. Great, had she upgraded to crying for others too? Worst of all, she didn’t know the right thing to say. Evelyn was baring secrets and she didn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with it. There were more barriers between them than just the table.

“I’m not scared of you” Nicole repeated, voice low but firm. “I don’t understand…I don’t get anything of what you’re saying, but listen—” she licked her lips as her mind went blank. Where was she going with that? She was about to find out. “You’re—” she looked at Evelyn again, heat rising to her cheeks as it often did when she was ashamed of being honest. “For some reason, the first person I thought of when I needed to talk... was you,” the reason they were at the diner, the catalyst for all the events that led Evelyn to reveal she wasn't human. New information could change opinions, sure, but she was talking to the woman who bought a guitar for her the first hour they met. There was hardly anything that could change her mind about the kind of person she was. “And you came. You said yes! To meet a— You don’t think I already know you’re not bad?”. She swallowed, getting her thoughts together. She had a lot of questions. Some that could wait until Evelyn felt safe enough with her, but there was one she couldn’t keep inside. “What did you mean by...how can anyone feed on fear? that’s not—it’s...it’s not— you can’t eat that”.

Nicole was doing a number of false starts and reformulations and Evelyn wished, if for only just a moment, to take back everything that she’d said. It was too much, maybe. Even if Nicole wasn’t getting up and leaving it could just as easily be all too much to expect her to understand. As much as it frustrated Evelyn when people didn’t seem to understand, she also couldn’t expect them to - though she figured that was more her father’s words getting to her - they often stayed away but seemed to have a tendency to reappear in moments of doubt - they had, shortly after she’d broken up with Alain and she found that they were reappearing now, much to what would have been her dismay if she’d let it.

Instead, she refocused on Nicole, who seemed to have found her own voice again and Evelyn let out her breath. “Good.” She replied. “You needn’t be scared.” Since when am I supposed to sound like my tutors from when I was a child? She mused for a moment. Nicole’s next words made her bite her lip softly, gaze growing soft, and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of the stirring of emotions that ran through her body, then. She imagined for a moment that this must have been what it would have been like to have had a friend (that word was alright to use, she figured, because that was the only way she could describe Nicole) as a child, having someone who wanted to come and talk to her and not because of her money. At least, she figured as much, given how much Nicole seemed to actively push away her offers of aid for any number of things. “I know, but I just - some see those who are not human - and they push away, they think that this changes things, even though it was not. I know of plenty of proper humans who have done more harm than anyone who is not human has ever done.” Her hands found her glass of water again and she took in another sip, Nicole’s next question not a surprise. “It - well, it is the way my body processes things. Truly, there are times when I do not understand it myself, but I just know that I - well, I can touch someone and create nightmares and that provides sustenance. Perhaps it is like how plants can take in sunlight and change it to nutrients?” She shrugged. “I am able to eat normal food too, I just need to feed on nightmares in order to survive.” Another sip of water - “I can explain further, best as I can, if you would like.”

Nicole considered the woman’s words for a second. She didn’t agree with it, but it made sense. She understood Evelyn because she wasn’t human either. She could relate. But had she been human, with no knowledge of the strange creatures that walked among them, she would have reacted differently to the revelation. She would’ve thought the woman was crazy. “That’s pretty dumb of them” to push away someone because they were different. Though, if she was being understanding with Evelyn, who could be dangerous to others, why couldn’t ignorant humans receive the same treatment? Maybe with more knowledge, their minds could be changed. The moral dilemma gave her a headache. “But I guess— guess we can’t be too hard on—on...people ” she shot a quick glance at the woman, catching herself before she could say humans.

Nicole’s eyes narrowed at the way Evelyn explained feeding, the plant analogy helping to better visualize it. It sounded terrifying and fascinating at the same time. To have the ability to unleash that sort of terror at her fingertips. It brought on more questions, but it was hard to articulate any. More than anything, it helped her understand why Evelyn had tried to reassure her she wasn’t bad. How scary were those nightmares? Could people die because of the distress? After what felt like eternity for Nicole, the waiter rushed to their side, endless apologies spilling out of his mouth. She didn’t care, she understood. The diner was full and busy, the staff not big enough to cover it. She eyed him briefly as he swept the remains of glass and salt. Only then, the pressure in her chest eased, her heart slowing down. It had to be a relief for Evelyn as well. “Yes, please—” a shy smile pulled at the side of her face. She glanced down to Evelyn’s hands, following every unintentional move. “So just… you touch someone and— does it depend on…” she paused, grabbing her beer again. She toyed with it instead of drinking.“The worse the nightmare is, the— your meal is it….meatier? or—” she cringed at her wording. She had to sound stupid.

“It may be dumb, but it also cannot be helped, sometimes.” She knew that was why, despite everything, she still felt some level of sympathy toward her father. He should have acted better with everything, but in the end he was just scared. Evelyn knew his position and title meant nearly everything to him. So much so that he stayed married to her mother even when he knew what she was. So much so that he kept aspects of his life - so many aspects - secret. Made Evelyn play human - because being anything other than perfectly normal was frowned upon. Nicole’s words were a breath of fresh air and it made things feel at least a little bit okay. She shrugged. “I guess not.” Try living with this for years, try finding out what you are and having answers and being shut down. Try being so alone in the middle of a party thrown just for you. Though she knew that there was no way that Nicole meant any of what she’d say in any sort of negative way, Evelyn couldn’t help the desperate and uncomfortable feelings that rolled throughout her whole body.

The waiter arrived finally and had Evelyn been younger, more prone to her snobbery (though she knew that she certainly held a good bit of that now, still), she would have scoffed, asked why they had taken so long. She didn’t, now. She offered them a small smile, as if to say It does not matter. As if to entirely avoid that something so simple could so easily render her helpless. Turn her into a child again, too-long hair and bright eyes, melting down in the house’s kitchen. At least this hadn’t turned into that. At least she was safe. “I have to concentrate.” She murmured, fingers brushing along the tabletop. “I - well, they are fulfilling on different levels. I am unsure entirely, but I do find a certain satisfaction in ones that are worse, I suppose. It creates more fear which is - well, that is the essence of what I need.” Thankfully nobody else was paying them any attention. “How about we get out of here? My bar is open whenever I please, and I can tell you more there.”

“That is…” Nicole should’ve been scared, right? A person was telling her she was capable of causing people nightmares at will in order to survive. That was unlike anything she had seen in town. She should’ve been scared, because she generally had common sense. But each new bit of information she learned, only made her more curious. Only made her wonder what else was out there, hiding in plain sight. “That’s kinda cool. Shit— I mean I wouldn’t like to be the...but—” she had believed Evelyn when she said she wasn’t bad, but that sort of power in different hands—it had to be dangerous. “Oh” she was surprised by Evelyn’s suggestion to leave. Neither of them had even touched the food yet, but she couldn’t blame the woman for wanting to get as far away as possible from the diner. She looked down at her plate as she pondered. They weren’t exactly in the right place to have that sort of personal conversation, she figured. As loud as the diner was, she had to assume there were others like her among them, with keen ears. Who might not take Evelyn’s revelation as well as she had. For their safety, it was probably the best idea to follow the woman’s suggestion.

Nicole found that she didn’t mind going either. She was drained already from being surrounded by so many people. Trying to tune out noises and smells was a struggle. She still couldn’t figure out why she had chosen Al’s to meet in the first place. Bad idea from beginning to end. She glanced at the now clean floor. They were allowed to leave now, so why not? She tried to push down the guilt over the disastrous evening. She couldn’t have known. It wasn’t her fault. “Uh— sure. Yeah, that sounds— why not?” it took everything in her to fight the urge to call it a day, and just go home, avoiding more social interaction. Deep down is what she wanted, but what she wanted wasn’t always what she needed. “Let me just...” she bit the inside of her cheek, awkwardly waiting to be noticed by the waiter to ask for the check. “I could really use a drink— a real one, after all...this. So, let’s— let’s go”.

#wickedswriting #c nicole #chatzy #salt bridges #// mary is a gem #part 2 coming in a few minutes because we wrote too much #but i love this and i love nicole so much

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florvinhara · 3 years

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my detectives (part 1)

kjahfjhsj i can have a little infodumping... as a treat... anyway this was originally gonna be 1 post but then i got carried away so part 1 in the series of me ranting abt my detectives!

Kira Isabella Song

Romances N, F, or M

Age: 25 at the start of book 1, currently 26

Birthday: February 7

Star sign: Aquarius sun, Taurus moon, Scorpio rising

Height: 5’7”

Hair: Short, ash blonde, a little longer than chin length

Eyes: dark brown

Race/ethnicity: Korean-American

Other appearance details: Several beauty marks on face and body. a few subtle scars on face/legs from falling out of trees, etc. fingers are callused from band practice and left hand fingers are a little crooked from being broken.

Languages: English, Spanish, a few basic phrases in some other languages

Stats:

Charming/Intimidating

Impulsive/Cautious

Sarcastic/Genuine

Friendly/Stoic

Easygoing/Stubborn

Heart/Mind (equal)

Optimist/Pessimist

Team player/Independent

Primary skills: Science & combat

Strengths: Trustworthy, strong, courageous, calm under pressure, compassionate, thorough, clever, good intuition, self-sufficient, sure of herself

Weaknesses: Petty, caustic, distrustful, secretive, lackadaisical, insubordinate, emotionally unintelligent, can be disdainful, uncommunicative, contrary

Personal:

overall body language is casual and unbothered, lowkey her posture is kind of yikes RIP but she has a very fluid way of moving

her voice is smooth and somewhat low in pitch, very even in tone

Loud and/or jumbled sounds sometimes overwhelm her; she usually has noise cancelling headphones with her just in case

Rebellious as a teenager; she started skipping school and getting into fights, did some graffiti and one time she stole a street sign that she may or may not still have

When she wasn’t breaking rules, etc. she was taking boxing lessons, chilling in the library, going on runs, or playing bass guitar in her band

Wanted to get out of Wayhaven as soon as possible after college but was arrested after she came back because she was selling fake IDs and stole a car; absolutely did not want to be law enforcement but Rebecca and the captain essentially made her

The deal was that she would work at the station for 5 years and if she did well/stayed out of trouble she could then quit- she's 3 years into it

deep down if she wasnt a detective she would want to be a paramedic

She shares a lot of mannerisms with Rebecca and they’re way more similar than she’d like to admit

Birds FREAK her out seriously; she’ll deny that she’s afraid of them but she’ll cross the street to get away from them, also hates crowded places and deep water

Scary resting face and has a habit of just... eerily staring at people who are bothering her until they get spooked, but she's not actually that angry or grouchy, she's really just Vibing u know? she's not gonna correct anyone's impression though or they might start like... Talking to her :/

Loves any book/movie/show with a secret society or spy element and stories about a Hero and their Journey, also loves angsty philosophy books; her favorite movies are cheesy but feel-good (The Mummy, Pacific Rim, anything with big CGI monsters)

Doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth but would kill someone for strong coffee; if she’s really tired you can catch her drinking it cold straight from the pot with a straw

Emo/pop punk teen and she definitely cried when MCR broke up, she also listens to a lot of Dixie Chicks, Johnny Cash, Dottie West, Patsy Cline, etc

She’s been drawing since she was a kid- mainly works with charcoal and sometimes pastels. her sketchbooks are like her diaries and she’s never shown them to Anyone Ever

In her spare time, she still plays some guitar, draws, or reads; her library is extensive because she keeps every book she’s ever read or intends to read (it’s one of the few things she’ll drop real money on)

Very tactile person and fussy about textures, she prefers ultra soft blankets/pillows and her bed is basically a nest

Practical, efficient, frugal- she doesn’t necessarily find joy in cooking or anything but she can do it well enough, quick showers, uses cheap soap/shampoo, cuts her own hair

Her hands get super dry/chapped in the winter and it hurts very much :(

Never yells; when she gets angry she’s very cold & will Not hold back; every word is designed to hurt bc she’s purposefully poking at things she knows are sore spots

At the start of the books, she’s kind of... sleepwalking through life? like, she was in a not-great place mentally for most of her teens and didn’t really have a plan for the future but law enforcement was definitely not it? She isn’t feeling super passionate about what she’s doing and it kind of sucks to not have joy in purpose :( luckily that’s changing and is gonna be a significant part of her journey through the series!

Her apartment is cluttered but clean and she knows where everything is, if someone moved one of her things she would not be able to find it and it would bother her until she located it

She’s not stubborn exactly? Like she’ll concede an argument if it’s not super important to her and has no problem with losing or backing down in many cases; she’s pretty open minded in that respect, but if something is central to her values then she will Die before she backs down

On that note she’s overall a very logical person but when it comes down to it she'll follow her heart/first instinct

Does not care about rules or procedures At All, she'll follow them if it suits her end goal but otherwise... nope

Lowkey she… did not care about the reveal? it was a surprise but not her first priority in the moment- she kind of already thought UB was sketchy and didn’t trust them, so mainly she was pissed off that Rebecca had sent them to babysit her instead of actually help solve the murders

Speaking of Rebecca their relationship is kind of yikes. Kira isn’t exactly mad that Rebecca was gone so often, but she does think that she kind of forfeited her parenting rights and was annoyed that Rebecca was interfering with her life; first by getting her on the force and then by dropping UB on her. So now it’s Very Awkward between them because Kira doesn’t want to be like… mean but honestly what is there to say?? They’re trying but neither of them like to share personal information so it’s rough

On the subject of sharing, she just… genuinely doesn’t like to open up. Like, it doesn’t come naturally and in her mind it’s just… nobody else’s business what she’s feeling/what’s going on in her life

Genuinely does not realize that people care about her unless they openly tell her lmao... sad hours but at this point in the story she honestly doesnt think that any of UB cares abt her beyond their job besides the one she's dating :(

"Everyone should be allowed to feel things and rely on the support of the people around them, their emotions are Valid. not me though, this is my personal problem and as such its dumb so i have to get over it alone"

Her primary love language is acts of service, she wants the people she loves to have everything they might need; she’s Soft and really just wants snuggles but also she does not want to address it out loud

Her way of asking for affection is to just... stand/sit there and occasionally glance at the person... hovers like a sad ghost until she gets a hug... literally like 🥺👉👈 sjdhdkn Clown girl

She’s sarcastic and makes a lot of snarky comments, but generally she’s pretty honest unless she doesn’t want to talk about something (in which case she’ll brush it off and deflect or change subjects) which is why it annoys her so much when people are willfully dishonest or conniving

Pretty adaptable and capable of rolling with the punches but she generally dislikes surprises and being the center of attention

genuinely she's pretty chill! and a Huge enabler of chaos as well, like unless it's specifically bothering her she's gonna let it happen and mostly she thinks it's pretty funny to watch from the sidelines

in short she's basically like a feral cat who stares suspiciously at everyone from a distance until they successfully pspspsps their way into her heart and then she would die for them <3 but if she's mad she will make direct eye contact while shoving glasses off the counter

ahdgsksg ok last one i swear she Cannot Sit Properly, always has to be some flavor of lounging or leaning or sitting twisted into a pretzel

#my eternal love for u if u made it thru this whole post <3 #lowkey these are gonna double as my writing notes which are currently scattered between 5 million notes on my phone #ANYWAY #twc

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des-draws · 4 years

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1-A autistic hcs!

Alright it’s already past midnight here but. I’m still posting this.

Back in my 1-A pride hcs post I also mentioned my autistic hcs, and said I might elaborate on them in April. But because I am a master of procrastination, of course I left it for last minute.

But either way, here you go; over 3k of projection and infodumping. I’m gonna leave an AO3 link in the replies if it’s easier for you to read there.

(general tw for some mentions of ableism, and specifically tw for ableism/child abuse/ende*vor in the very first bulletpoint)

Todoroki

Ende*vor absolutely refused to believe that there could be something “wrong” with the one supposed to surpass All Might, and so he ignored any and all traits Todoroki would show, punished him for the ones he couldn’t ignore, and chalked up the meltdowns he caused him to Todoroki being a brat.

As such, Todoroki spent a lot of his life masking and hiding and suppressing himself.

Thankfully, much like with everything else, after moving to the dorms he’s starting to unlearn all that internalized shit and instead accept himself for who he is- including indulging in suppressed stims, special interests and other autistic behaviours in a safe, accepting environment.

He’s found that cold soba is apparently a samefood for him- he knew he liked it enough to eat it all the time without getting bored of it (not that he actually does, since with their hero training a balanced, diverse diet is important), but he didn’t know there was a word for that.

Monotone voice and trouble with facial expressions, you know how it goes. He actually tries to use the “correct” tone and make the “correct” expression, if only so that the people he’s supposed to protect don’t think of him as “aloof”, but he gets easily tired of going back to the masking. He cares, he cares so much, this is just not one of the ways of showing it that comes to him naturally.

Can people please stop talking in metaphors and idioms around him and expect him to know the translation to everything. Thank you.

He’s reluctantly letting himself indulge in his recently discovered special interest on a certain manga series; he’s been buying the volumes, and at some point Sero found him reading one and they started bonding over it. Now Todoroki goes to Sero when he feels like infodumping- though, he has to be careful not to spoil anything. Sero is a way behind since he doesn’t go through the volumes like someone’s chasing him. He has, however, helped Todoroki make a blog where he can infodump about it, spoilers and all. He’s quickly becoming “fandom famous”, Sero says- and even though Todoroki’s not sure what that means yet, he’s very happy to see others as into the series as he is.

Iida gives him stim and fidget toys all the time- Todoroki is reluctant to keep them as the other says, since he could buy them himself, but Iida insists. Todoroki especially likes the tangles. He’s building himself quite the collection.

He’s also invested in some high-quality sound-cancelling headphones. Long overdue, but better late than never.

Favorite stim: TBA, although clenching his fists around his thumbs is something he’s always done- even before he had a name for it, or knew why it was so comforting.

Midoriya

His special interests are Quirks and All Might (the Hero Persona™ rather then the person)! He can infodump about different quirks and theories on how to use them and “what if x quirk exists how would that work” for hours. He’s spent entire evenings arguing on forums about which of All Might’s hero outfits was most efficient and useful for what was needed. Inko, on more than one occasion, had to lure him out of his room with the promise of a rare comic book so he would eat something.

On that same vein, he is appalled by some of his classmates’ hero costumes. He’s too polite to be that crass about it out loud, but in his brain he’s always going “what in the everloving fuck is this???? Who let a teenager go into battle naked???? Did she just go ‘oh yea give me a pair of gloves and boots and I’m set’ and they let her??? Who agreed to this?? Nothing tracking her vitals, nothing keeping her warm in fucking December????? This is just irresponsible”

So you can imagine the rants he goes into when one of them does ask him for advice on how to update their costume.

He likes visual stims a lot- you know that thing where you shut your eyes and wave a bright phone screen in front of them? He loves that

Having trouble emotionally regulating means lots of crying. Not a bad thing, just. A thing. That a lot of people don’t expect when they first meet him.

Inko has always tried her best to accommodate him, but there’s only so much to do when they’re just getting by. He’s very understanding though. She gets into making DIY stim toys for him, and as he grows up he joins in and it’s a very pleasant pastime for the two of them (to the point that he’d rather keep them as mementos of the time spent together than use them for stimming).

Favorite stim: Hand-flapping and back-and-forth rocking!! Classic and good!

Iida

No volume control we die like men (he’s trying to work on it but a lot of the time he’s louder than he realizes. His friends never fault him for it tough.)

Always loved putting his toys in a line- lines are neat! Don’t you see how tidy everything looks now? This is fun! Unfortunately, kids his age didn’t have the same opinion and just chalked it up to him being a “neat freak”.

The kind to separate his food into sections. He had to get used to eating with company in school, since no one wanted to sit with him during lunchtime before, lest they be subjected to his “bizarre eating habits”.

His family is, thankfully, very supportive and accommodating. They were a little worried when he moved into the dorms, but he reassured them that his classmates are just as accepting and understanding. And besides, he’s not the only “out” neurodivergent kid around anymore!

Has copied the language habits of his parents around Important Customers and never stopped. No one in his family talks quite as formally as he does in casual settings, but hey, better to be too formal than too informal and be considered rude, right?

Owns quite the collection of stim toys. Cubes, squishies, tangles, slime, kinetic sand- you name it, he has it! It’s not so much for himself, since he has a few favorites and sticks to them, but keeps the rest more so for anyone else that might need them.

He’s partial to the fidget pen- he likes fidget cubes too, but they’re usually a little small for his hands and harder to work with.

Doesn’t use memes quite right, but is always eager to learn where they originated from. Kaminari (always good-heartedly) never misses an opportunity to explain them to him, and gets so proud when one of Iida’s attempts lands.

He was kind of worried he’d look out of place on stage in the Cultural Festival, but with his friends reassuring him it’s alright, not only did he go out there, but had lots of fun as well!

Very routine focused. He loses half an hour of sleep and he’s already thinking about re-structuring his entire schedule.

Orange juice is a samefood. That boy need his orang juice

Special interest in the mechanics that go into hero costumes and quirk-assisting gadgets. It’s why he was so eager to accept help from Hatsume during the sports festival (he has mixed feelings about this one), and he’s sure they would work well together if only she stopped trying to make him a test subject.

It’s also something he and Midoriya can spend hours going back and forth about. Iida doesn’t usually lose track of time, but he can’t help it when such an interesting conversation is happening!

Screw “quiet hands”. In this house we wave our hands around intensely enough to almost smack someone (“but not actually smack them!! Always be aware of your surroundings!!”)

Favorite stim: Believe it or not, running! The wind resistance, the stomp of his feet, is all Very Good!!

Kirishima

He used to chew stuff a lot- first as a way to get used to his new, sharper teeth, and then because he just liked how very stimmy it is! But he’d also chew stuff that’s not really supposed to be put your mouth so his moms helped him find healthier stim alternatives, since actual chewelry were either a) not stimmy enough, b) wrong texture or c) destroyed too quickly and he’d just go back to chewing unhealthy stuff.

Since he’s grown enough to not go through chewelry at a breakneck pace, he keeps a couple at hand for when he’s studying- helps him focus! He was kinda embarrassed to bring one to his and Bakugou’s study sessions at first, but after Bakugou admitted that he’s also autistic he started keeping one on his person during them- assuring the other that he’s taking proper care of washing it and everything.

He used to bite on his hands as well- still does when he's under extreme stress (imagine summer camp/AFO showing up at Kamino levels of stress) even though he's grown out of it for the most part.

Hyper-Empathy Station. Makes him good with people (and animals) but leaves him exhausted more often than not.

“Hey don’t you get tired of sticking your hair up like that every d-” “It’s routine bro you can’t just quit it that would be chaos”

Whether he wears it up or not, his hair always seems to be a very good tactile stim, both for him and, surprisingly, Bakugou. When it’s up, the pointy spikes are very satisfying to run one’s hands over, just rough enough to slightly scratch the palm, but just light enough to not completely bring them down. When it’s down, Bakugou doesn’t miss an opportunity to touch it, which works for Kirishima too, since having people run their fingers through his hair is very relaxing to him.

He Cannot handle kinetic sand and most slimes. It either feels grainy and dry or too wet and sticky. The crunchy sound sand makes when it’s cut is like nails on a chalkboard in his head. It’s just not for him.

Gullible. Please be nice to him he just wants to believe in the good in everyone

Special interest on Crimson Riot!! I mean, come on; basing his hero persona on him, naming himself after him? Turning to interviews of his in moments of doubt and uncertainty, finding comfort in media about him? Yeah

Has a couple Comfort Sweaters™ and a single comfort plushie- a shark one, the first gift his Ma got him when she met his mom. It’s been patched and stitched up dozens of times, and barely holds itself together, which is why he never takes it out of its safe place in the closet unless he’s seriously in need for some comfort and has already exhausted all other options.

Bro, We Are Autistic . Its Ok To Stim Around Me . Im Ur Best Friend . I Love You . ... Bro, We Are Infodump ing Now . . No Dont Stop Bro .. Bro ...

Favorite stim: Bumping his hardened fists together!! Sometimes he’ll simply rub his hardened knuckles back and forth together- it’s more discreet, and while not as satisfactory, still good for emotional regulation.

Bakugou

Branded a problem child early on, Bakugou had the majority of his meltdowns called “tantrums” instead. So he decided that if everyone treats him like a brat, he might as well be one.

Even before he started losing his hearing, he had some auditory processing issues- which is why he hates hates hates when Midoriya mutters (and similarly, why he didn’t immediately turn his back to Kirishima- the guy talks loud and clear like 95% of the time. Bakugou can appreciate that, even if he won’t say it).

Face blindness is inconvenient as all hell, which is why he gives people ridiculous nicknames: connecting names to faces is difficult enough, and at the beginning he doesn’t really care to try and memorize them anyway, so he just finds a prominent characteristic to remember each of them by.

[Insert Smart Guy Meme] “You can’t be deceived by fake politeness and sarcastic compliments if you react aggressively to everything people say to you”

Loves his routine and having everything planned. If you drag him into something out of nowhere and disrupt his schedule he will be mad at you for a week minimum (something his friends found out the hard way)

Prolonged human interaction is absolutely exhausting, more than any quirk training exercise, and he gets cranky at the speed of light when he reaches his limit. As time goes on he does find a few people (first Kirishima and then progressively the rest of the Bakusquad) that aren’t as exhausting for him to be around for longer and longer. He still needs his alone time, but now he knows that he can recharge around them as well, if he feels like having company.

Drumming is Very Good stim-wise. So is spicy food, which is why he likes it so much.

Pressure stims are The Worst for him- weighted blankets, tight vests, anything at all that might constrict him in any way? He Will react like cats do to cucumbers. The only exception is that once in a while, when he’s exhausted but can’t seem to ground himself enough to drift off, he’ll ask Kirishima to just. Lie on him, also like cats do, just until he falls asleep.

This is a No Socks Zone. These foot prisons are absolute sensory hell, and with how sweaty he gets it’s only made worse.

How Can People Talk About Emotions While Simultaneously Looking Each Other In The Eye This Feels Disgusting I Will Blow Something Up: an autobiography

Favorite stim: Tiny explosions popping in his palms. Sure, grand light shows are fine and all but small ones, just big enough to feel through the roughed-up skin of his palms have a certain calming effect. Sucks that people immediately jump to assuming he’s threatening them when he’s just trying to cool down.

Tsuyu

Very blunt. She doesn’t mean to be rude, but sometimes it comes across like it when she’s only trying to be honest and offer advice.

Raptor hands 24/7. what an icon

Has trouble with physical contact in the sense that she’s??? not really sure how to do it??? She offers hugs and hands to hold left and right but it always feels like she’s just. doing it. Like how one would tie a loose shoelace or button up a shirt. It’s not like she hates it, but her nonchalance when someone does hug her makes people assume she’s being cold- which is not the case at all! She’s just offering comfort in a way she knows other people will understand even if it’s not really doing much for her.

Jelly is a samefood! She likes sour apple jelly the best

Kind of a black-and-white mind. She’s working on seeing the world in shades of grey though, since she saw how her Absolute thinking can impact her friends.

Low/no empathy. She hates that to some people’s eyes that automatically makes her a bad person. Kindness is a choice, one that she doesn’t need empathy to make every day.

Favorite stim: Her near constant kero-kero-ing is very much a vocal stim, as well as echolalia!

Yaomomo

Makes her own stim toys using DIYs rather than her quirk, and is very eager to make any personalized ones for her friends!

She also likes experimenting with what kinds of textures she can make using her quirk.

Has a semi-popular account where she uploads videos of her playing with slime and kinetic sand regularly.

Much like Iida, she adopted the more formal ways of speaking from her parents and house staff and has trouble toning it down (not that anyone faults her for it).

Very picky about who touches her. She genuinely does not want to come off as the Snobbish Rich Girl but sometimes when someone touches her with no warning or consent she feels like crawling out of her skin

In the exact same vein, she was extremely hesitant to admit that the futons at the training camp drove her up the wall with that hellish texture. She didn’t want to be the nitpicky one and make a new one using her quirk, either. If anything good came out of the disaster that was the training camp, it was that she didn’t have to sleep on it another night, she thinks (and then feels terrible about it).

Her special interest is tea! Like, actual tea that you drink. Just look at how she lights up when she gets an opportunity to talk about it, or make some for others!! It’s also a samefood for her- she tries to be diverse, but there are a couple with juuust the right combination of smell and taste that she will always go back to.

Sometimes she won’t even drink any- just the process of making it is extremely comforting.

Favorite stim: Double-sided sequins! Tactile-visual stim combo!

Koda

Largely nonverbal. Talking to people is too stressful 99% of the time. Animals are way better listeners anyway.

No volume control we die like men part 2 (but it’s the complete opposite from Iida, in that he can never seem to raise his voice enough)

Likes his peace and quiet, and can easily go into sensory overload if one too many sounds are happening at once. He wants to invest in some headgear for his hero costume that helps him tune out distracting sounds so he can focus on matters at hand while still being able to hear and help those in need.

A plushie hoarder if I ever saw one. His room is the Ultimate Comfort Corner.

Favorite stim: Humming to himself. Reluctant to do it in the presence of others, but increasingly comfortable around friends.

Aizawa

Samefoods with those juice pouches he always keeps around

Permanently exhausted due to having to interact with people

Talks in a monotone and has trouble making expressions

His sleeping bag is very good pressure stim. It’s also very hard for him to replace it, because it has to be Just Right, so by the time he does find one that is Just Right, the old one is practically falling apart.

The only reason he’ll sleep in a bed is if Mic is there to share it with him. Otherwise it’s too cold and exposed and weighted blankets can only do so much.

He kinda misses the time before he got top surgery for the sole reason that binders offered a very comforting pressure stim. However, he acknowledges that it’s for the best he got it, since a lot of the time he’d bind for longer than it’s safe. He was lucky to still have the option of getting surgery.

(this has been a safe binding psa, please don’t do what he did)

He does however, tend to wear a tight, though still breathable undershirt at near all times.

As much as he complains about Mic’s mustache, he actually likes it. He tried to kiss Mic once when he shaved it for the first time in forever and instantly went “yea no. This isn’t working. Feels wrong and bad, Put It Back™”. Didn’t kiss him again until it grew back.

Everything Happens So Much

He talks back to cats. Like, actually meows back at them. Very good echolalia, makes Mic’s day to walk into a scene like this

Favorite stim: Petting cats! The fur of different breeds offers a variety in texture and when they start purring a very good auditory stim is added to the mix! And when they sit on him and add a pressure stim? Cats are the whole package!!

That’s all (for now?) Thanks for reading!! Hope you had a nice Autism Acceptance Month!!!

#autistic headcanon #autism acceptence month #bnha headcanons #aizawa shouta #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #midoriya izuku #todoroki shouto #iida tenya #asui tsuyu #yaoyorozu momo #kouda kouji #des writes sometimes

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singledarkshade · 3 years

Text

Settling In And New Grandpa

Summary: Rory and Amy are now full-time parents to Jonas. They introduce him to Brian and soon find the little boy they've taken in is going to keep them on their toes. Sequel to Foster Parents. Author’s Notes: Really happy to have finished another story in this little universe.

Hope you enjoy. *********************************************

Rory Williams woke up slowly and glanced at his alarm clock finding he had about ten minutes before it would start squealing at him to get up. That was if he was able to move since he was currently pinned by Amy cuddled up against his back and Jonas sleeping against his chest, with his constant companion the toy dog called Gideon tucked between them.

Gently he pressed back towards Amy, who murmured before turning over freeing him then he wrapped his arms around Jonas and rolled, tucking Jonas next to Amy. Sliding out of bed, Rory fixed the covers over them both and taking a moment to admire how lucky he was before turning the alarm off he headed in for his shower.

It was now a full month since they’d taken in Jonas permanently after the discovery his father was dead. The little boy had taken the news hard but thankfully, even though there had been a few tearful tantrums, he turned to them for comfort. When they discovered that there was no grave that they could take Jonas to, Amy bought a small tree which they then planted in the back garden in honour of his dad. Rory noticed that Jonas would often sit by it and talk to his dad whenever he was really down but would always come back inside and hug them.

Now they were going to introduce Jonas to Brian, Rory’s dad was returning from his latest trip which would give the little boy a grandfather. Rory was going to pick Brian up at the airport after work and explain everything before letting him meet the little boy.

Rory jumped when he left the bathroom to find Jonas sitting with his toy dog at the top of the stairs.

“Morning,” Rory said, “What are you doing up so early?”

Jonas shrugged, “Are you going to work?”

Rory nodded, “I am but I’ve got the next four days off so I was thinking we could do something fun.”

Jonas shrugged again, “Okay.”

“Do you want some breakfast?” Rory asked.

Shaking his head, Jonas stood and wandered back into the bedroom. He climbed back in beside Amy and cuddled her closing his eyes once more.

Rory smiled before he headed downstairs for a quick breakfast.

Brian Williams didn’t know how he had spent so much of his life without exploring the world when it was so wonderful. Walking out the doors to the arrival lounge, Brian smiled to see his son standing waiting for him.

“Rory,” Brian hugged his son happily, “I didn’t expect you to pick me up.”

“Well, you’ve been gone for over a month,” Rory said, “I thought you’d want to see a familiar face. And,” he shrugged, “I have something to talk to you about.”

Concern filled Brian, “Is Amy…”

“She’s okay,” Rory told him.

“And you two are still together?”

Rory chuckled, “Yeah, we’ve not split again. It’s something else. Come on, let’s get to the car and I’ll explain.”

As his son grabbed his bags, Brian followed him to the car intrigued. They reached the car quite quickly and Rory got them out of the airport car park onto the main roads.

“So,” Rory said, “An odd thing happened about a month ago, not long after you left.”

“What was it?”

Rory let out a soft laugh, “I found a little boy in the hospital room I was working in, who it turns out is a distant relative of ours.”

“I don’t know of any…” Brian started.

“He’s not from our time,” Rory cut him off, “At least we don’t think so. Amy and I took him in while UNIT tried to find his family. His dad apparently looked like me, which is why he trusted me at first I guess.”

“Did you find his father?” Brian asked.

Rory nodded, “Unfortunately, it turns out he died about a year ago. So, Amy and I have taken him in.”

“Rory,” Brian whispered, “Is this permanent?”

He nodded, “Yes. And I wanted you to meet him tonight. To be his grandpa.”

Brian smiled at his son, “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

Amy watched Jonas as he read his book, Gideon the toy dog tucked beside him.

“Hey,” she sat by his side, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Jonas put his book down and pulled Gideon close, “Am I in trouble?”

“No,” she told him, “Of course not. We’re having a guest for dinner, Rory’s dad is back from his trip so he is picking Brian up from the airport then bringing him to join us for dinner.”

“Is he nice?” Jonas asked softly.

Amy grinned and hugged the little boy, “Brian is really nice. He’s funny and he’s been travelling a lot lately so has lots of good stories to tell. And he is going to love you. He’s going to be just like a grandpa.”

“I never had a grandpa,” Jonas whispered, “Only grandma, but I wasn’t able to see her often.”

“Brian lives close to us,” Amy smiled, “You will see him lots, and lots.”

Jonas smiled sweetly, he slowly leaned into Amy who hugged him. He was still a little nervous about giving them hugs but was learning quickly that they were always happy to hug him, just like his parents always were.

“Is Rory making dinner when he gets home?” Jonas asked.

Amy chuckled, “He left food for me to heat up. Now you read some more, and I’ll get dinner ready.”

Jonas grinned and picked up his book again, but Amy saw he was surreptitiously watching out the window for Rory to pull up. She just hoped Jonas liked Brian and Brian took Jonas as part of the family.

Rory pulled up in front of the house after they’d dropped Brian’s bags off. He hoped this went well. Rory’s relationship with his dad when he was a kid hadn’t been good. After the death of his wife, Brian had taken a job in London leaving Rory to live with his grandmother in Leadworth, so he didn’t have any more upheavals in his life. This unfortunately put a barrier between them, and resentment built in Rory feeling he’d been abandoned, even though Brian had visited as much as possible. It didn’t help that Brian hadn’t been able to make the wedding, he broke his leg the day before but thankfully they’d moved past all that.

“Dad,” Rory said softly, “Jonas is nervous around new people. Go slow when you meet him. I know you want to welcome him to the family, but don’t push him. Okay?”

Brian rested his hand on Rory’s shoulder, “It’s alright. I understand.”

Smiling Rory headed inside, with Brian following on. He knew Amy had told Jonas about their guest so wasn’t surprised the little boy hadn’t come running to greet him, as he usually did.

Instead the small head poked round the living room door, Rory moved to the boy and crouched to hug him hello. Jonas was very tactile, he liked to be reminded they were there and he was safe.

“Did you have a good day?” Rory asked softly.

Jonas nodded, his eyes focussed on Brian who was standing at the front door keeping back for the moment.

“I finished my book,” Jonas said softly.

Rory smiled, “Already? We’ll have to get you some more, but first I want you to meet someone.” Turning he wrapped his arm around Jonas’ shoulders and moved him forward slightly, “Jonas, this is my dad. Brian Williams.”

“Hello, sir,” Jonas whispered, pressing tightly against Rory’s leg.

Brian crouched and smiled, “It’s wonderful to meet you, young man. Rory has told me all about you and I hope we become friends.”

Jonas mused for a moment before whispering, “Amy said you’ll be my grandpa.”

Brian gave a soft nod, “I would be honoured but,” he smiled, “Only if you want me to be.”

Rory gently patted Jonas’ shoulder, “Why don’t you help Amy set the table while I put my coat away?”

Jonas nodded and headed into the kitchen where Amy was fixing dinner. Rory hung his and his dad’s coats in the hall cupboard before turning to Brian.

“What?” Rory asked at the smile on his father’s face.

Brian wiped a tear from his eye, “He looks so much like you did at that age.”

Rory smiled surprised when Jonas appeared again. The little boy walked over to Brian nervously asking, “Do you want to see what I built?”

Brian nodded and followed the little boy into the living room where they’d set up a table for him to use. It had a small robot and mechanical car sitting there which Jonas had just finished.

Rory watched them for a few moments before heading into the kitchen where Amy was fixing dinner.

“Hey,” she smiled and gave him a quick kiss, “Where’s Brian?”

“Jonas is showing him what he built,” Rory smiled relieved.

Amy wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again, “That’s good. Go join them, it’ll make Jonas feel more comfortable.”

Rory kissed her again.

Dinner went well.

Brian told them stories about his latest travels, which Jonas was fascinated by. Rory and Amy shared a smile at how quickly the little boy had taken to Brian, shown by the fact Gideon the toy dog had been left in the other room.

After dinner as they sat in the living room, Rory watched as Jonas shyly showed Brian more of his books. Soon though the boy was sitting tucked between Rory and Amy with Gideon held tightly to him.

“I think it’s time for someone to go to bed,” Rory said, “Say goodnight, Jonas.”

Jonas sighed and slid off the couch. Turning to Amy he gave her a hug before moving to Brian.

“Goodnight,” the little boy said softly.

“Goodnight, Jonas,” Brian smiled at him.

Jonas stared at him for several minutes before adding, “I hope you come back soon,” he paused for a moment before finishing, “Grandpa.”

Rory watched tears fill his dad’s eyes and wiped his own when Brian hugged the little boy.

“Of course I will,” Brian promised, “We are going to have lots of fun together.”

Smiling at Brian, Jonas took Rory’s hand to head upstairs to get ready for bed.

*********************************************

Jonas woke up the next morning and found his toy dog on the floor. Picking her up, Jonas hugged the dog tightly.

“I wish you were really Gideon,” he sighed, “Because I miss you.” He gently rubbed his cheek against the soft fur, “My Gideon always made me feel safe when I woke up and would play games with me.”

Jonas heard Rory and Amy moving about outside his room and closed his eyes.

“Gideon,” he whispered to the dog, “If you can hear me, Daddy always said you knew everything he did. So, can you tell him that I’m okay with Rory and Amy. They’re looking after me and even gave me a grandpa.”

Kissing the toy dog Jonas opened his eyes again and slid out of his bed. Wandering downstairs, he found Rory and Amy in the kitchen.

“Morning,” Amy kissed the top of his head, before asking, “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Rice Crispies please,” Jonas said with a smile.

Rory grinned, “Coming right up.”

Jonas slid onto what had become his seat since he started living here and smiled up when Rory placed a bowl with his breakfast on the table.

“Thank you,” Jonas said.

Rory ruffled his hair, “You’re welcome.”

Amy and Rory both sat on either side of Jonas as they ate their own breakfasts. They didn’t eat breakfast together when Rory worked because he was usually up first so Jonas liked these days.

It had been a little strange at first because Rory looked like his daddy but after the shock and confusion Jonas saw they were different. He’d thought about it and found it was comfortable to have a reminder of his daddy. His friend Matt had older brothers who were twins and he decided to think of Rory as Daddy’s twin brother.

“I believe,” Rory said once they finished their breakfast, “That I promised we’d do something fun since I’m not working today.”

Jonas nodded.

Amy smiled, “I thought about this,” she handed the little boy a colourful leaflet, “The science centre has all sorts of fun things to see and do.”

Jonas opened the pamphlet and grinned at all the exciting things at the science centre.

“So,” Rory asked, “Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” Jonas said decisively.

Amy grinned before saying, “Well, first we need to get dressed and ready to go out.”

Bouncing off his chair Jonas made sure to grab Gideon and headed upstairs to get dressed.

They jumped in the car and Rory drove to the science centre as Amy talked with Jonas about what he wanted to do when they got there.

Reaching the science centre, Jonas bounced but held onto their hands as they walked towards the entrance. Rory could feel the little boy tighten his grip as suddenly there were a lot of people.

“Come on,” Rory said to Jonas, “We’re with you the whole time. But,” he crouched down, “If something happens and you get lost then I want you to speak to one of the staff members, tell them our names and they’ll call for us. We will be there instantly. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jonas nodded.

With Amy taking his other hand, the three of them headed to the door.

Jonas laughed as he watched Amy’s hair stand on end when she touched the plasma glass balls. Rory smiled to hear the free laughter of the boy, it was a wonderful sound.

“Okay,” Amy pulled her hand off the ball, “Where to next?”

“How about the planet exhibition?” Rory suggested, “We could look at the stars.”

Jonas nodded, “I love the stars.”

“Me too,” Amy hugged him, “Come on. There is a map we get to follow.”

Taking Jonas’ hand, Amy led him over to the wall which showed a rocket getting ready to leave Earth. The pictures continued showing the rocket leaving the atmosphere and then gave facts about rockets, stars and planets. Rory watched Amy and Jonas bounce from section to section reading every little bit together. Reaching the entrance to the small theatre which showed the astronomy show, Jonas suddenly stalled.

“What’s wrong?” Rory asked seeing tears in the boy’s eyes.

Jonas shook his head, unable to say whatever was going through his head. Rory glanced around and saw one of the ‘quiet rooms’ the centre had. He handed Amy the guidebook before he scooped Jonas up into his arms and took him into the other room.

The young woman in charge of the room gave him a quick nod as he found a small booth. Placing Jonas on the couch, Rory knelt in front of the crying boy.

“Tell me what’s wrong?” Rory asked softly, wiping the tears from Jonas’ cheeks.

“Mummy and Daddy used to tell me about the stars,” Jonas whispered, wiping his eyes as he tried to stop crying, “I’m sorry, I...”

“Hey,” Rory stopped the boy from continuing, “What’s our one big rule?”

He could see the woman in charge of the room looking annoyed, obviously assuming Rory was about to give Jonas into trouble for being upset. A smile softened her face when Jonas finally replied.

“That I never have to be sorry for missing my mummy and daddy,” Jonas sniffed.

Rory stroked the little boy’s cheek, “I know how much it hurts. I lost my mummy when I was about your age, and I still miss her some days. I wish I could show her who I am now.”

Nodding Jonas whispered, “I think your mummy would be happy who you are.”

Smiling, Rory hugged the little boy, “And I know your mummy and daddy are so proud of how you’re dealing with everything. I know it’s scary coming to a new place and being in a new home with two new people is hard but you’re doing so well.”

Jonas threw his arms around Rory’s neck hugging him tightly as Rory hugged him back. After a few minutes, Rory pulled back and pulled out a hankie, wiping the little boy’s eyes then nose.

“Okay,” Rory said, “Do you want to go back to the star show, go see another part of the centre or go home?”

Jonas bit his lip for a moment before he said, “Amy wanted to see the stars. I want to show her them.”

Offering his hand, Rory stalled when the woman who was in charge of the room appeared, her badge telling them she was called Millie, and she was carrying a large box.

“I thought someone deserved a lollipop,” Millie winked at Jonas, before adding, “If he’s allergic to anything, or sugar free, we have ones he’ll be able to have.”

Rory smiled, “He’s not allergic to anything.”

Millie nodded and pulled out a slightly smaller box before crouching to offer the sweets. Jonas slowly took a purple lollipop, “Thank you.”

“Without even being prompted,” Millie sighed, “Now that is special. I’m not supposed to but take another one.”

Jonas turned to Rory before saying, “Will I take it for Amy?”

Smiling Rory replied, “She will love that.”

Grinning Jonas took an orange lollipop for Amy before they thanked Millie and headed back out to rejoin Amy.

Amy watched Rory and Jonas go through the gift shop while the little boy studied everything for sale. She’d been stunned when they’d returned from the quiet room and Jonas presented her with a lollipop. It was strange being parents suddenly, she’d been ready when she held her daughter but that had been stolen from them and suddenly here was a child that needed a family.

Jonas was a wonderful boy and Amy knew that he had a special bond with Rory, the resemblance Rory bore to Jonas’ own father rather than making things awkward seemed to comfort the boy. He was also very smart, which meant that keeping up with him was going to be hard, but they were doing their best.

She knew that they needed to contact both the Doctor and River to let them know about the addition to their family but right now Brian had been enough. Thinking about it Amy decided to send them both a small note at some point to tell them not to appear in the house at all.

“Amy,” Jonas called excitedly, “Look at this.”

Crouching down Amy saw Jonas was holding a kit with different crystals as well as a bag filled with glowing stars.

“I thought we could get both,” Rory said softly, “One as a toy and one to decorate his room.”

Amy tried to look stern but nodded after a moment, “We’ll get to make and name our own star system on your ceiling.”

Jonas grinned and let Amy take them from him so she could place them in the basket. Rory then led Jonas over to where the t-shirts and sweatshirts emblazoned with the logo and they chose one for each of them.

“I’m surprised you didn’t get a telescope,” Amy murmured in Rory’s ear as they waited in the queue to pay.

Rory shrugged, “I thought about it, but it might be a bit too much just now.”

Amy kissed him quickly, “For now.”

*********************************************

Jonas opened his notebook and chewed on the pen. If he had a problem, then Daddy had always said working through it like this was the best thing to do. So, he made a few drawings and tried to remember everything his mummy would teach him. Once he finished Jonas pulled out the robotics kits Rory and Amy had given him, along with the tablet and the bag of crystals from the science centre.

They had spent the afternoon the day after the science centre putting the stars up, he and Amy designed the perfect star constellation he called Miranda. Amy had hugged him tightly when he cried a little for his mummy.

Hugging Amy, a small idea formed, and Jonas wondered if he should do it but after he talked with his toy dog, Jonas decided it was a good idea.

It didn’t take Jonas long, his mummy always said Jonas was just like his Daddy when it came to making things. Searching through the bag of crystals, Jonas found the only one that would accept a charge from the special crystal in the watch he’d been given by his mummy before they left the house. Hoping Jonas connected the tablet to his small machine and sent out the signal using the wi-fi network, altered the way his daddy had taught him.

Waiting Jonas clapped his hands when a reply came and a familiar blue hologram appeared on the screen.

“Master Hunter?” Gideon asked her usual calm voice filled with astonishment.

Jonas grinned, happy it had worked, “Hi, Gideon.”

“Master Hunter, where are you?” Gideon demanded, “Who are you with? How did you contact me?”

“I’m with Rory and Amy,” Jonas told her with a smile, “Rory has…” he frowned for a second before saying slowly while he remembered, “D…N…A that means he’s mine and Daddy’s family. They’re looking after me now.”

Gideon’s form altered to her human face, “Then you know…”

“Daddy and Mummy are together,” Jonas whispered sadly, “Watching over me.”

“Oh, Jonas,” Gideon sighed, “I am so sorry I was not with you. But I need you to tell me where you are.”

Rory checked the time and decided to check if Jonas wanted some lunch. He’d been in his room all morning doing one of his kits, and Rory was a little concerned but anytime he checked on him, Jonas was working away happily.

“Hey, kiddo,” Rory knocked one the door and opened it, “Do you want some…” he trailed off as he found Jonas standing in front of a strange contraption with the tablet in the centre which currently had a woman on it.

“Master Hunter,” a woman’s voice came, “Who is this?”

Jonas spun and looked up at Rory guilt on his face, before he turned back to the woman on the screen, “This is Rory, Gideon,” Jonas turned to Rory, “This is Gideon. She looked after my Daddy on his ship.”

Taking a slow breath because he didn’t want to say anything he’d regret, Rory crouched down so he was face to face with the little boy.

“You should have talked to us first before contacting someone we don’t know,” Rory said softly.

Jonas dropped his head, “I didn’t know if you would say yes, and I didn’t know it would work and I wanted Gideon to know I’m safe and with you and Amy….”

“Master Hunter,” Gideon spoke up before the boy could continue, “Can you let me speak with Rory alone?”

Rory nodded when Jonas looked at him questioningly, “Why don’t you go ask Amy to join us?”

Jonas disappeared and Rory sat down on the carpet, his back against the wall so he could see Gideon properly.

“Jonas advised your DNA proves you are related to Captain Hunter,” Gideon spoke up the moment the door closed, “You look a great deal like him.”

Rory nodded, “It was the first thing Jonas said to me. Who are you?”

Gideon tilted her head in surprise at the sudden question but also the tone, and Rory knew the Centurion came through in his voice.

“I am Gideon,” she introduced herself, “I am the Artificial Intelligence for the Waverider, Captain Hunter’s ship. Since his passing, I continue to work with the team he left with me. Now, perhaps you can return the favour and tell me who you are?”

At her question, Rory remained silent for a moment and looking at the set up in front of him knew Gideon could find them easily. Jonas had obviously been shown how to contact his father’s ship and it would allow the man to locate his son if need be.

Quickly Rory explained how he had found Jonas and how they had taken the boy in permanently.

“I can only thank you, Mr Williams,” Gideon said softly, “Captain Hunter believed Jonas to have perished with his mother. It devastated him but if Rip knew Jonas was alive then he would have pulled apart heaven and earth to find him. I am grateful that Jonas was found by you and your wife.”

The door opened and Rory looked up to see Amy being pulled in by Jonas, wanting her to meet Gideon too. Sliding down the wall to join Rory, Amy stared at the woman on the screen catching Jonas pulling him to sit on her lap.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Williams,” Gideon said.

“You too,” Amy replied, a little bemused.

Gideon looked at Jonas, “My dear Master Hunter, we will remain in contact in a better way. Now I know where Mr and Mrs Williams live, I will send a proper communicator.”

Rory nodded as he hugged Amy and Jonas close to him, “Thank you, Gideon.”

Gideon gave a soft nod, smiling at them before she disappeared.

Amy held Jonas close as the screen went blank.

“I’m sorry,” Jonas whispered, “I know you’re mad.”

Rory and Amy swapped a look before Rory said, “We’re not mad. We’re disappointed you didn’t trust us to tell us that you wanted to talk to Gideon.”

“You can always, always talk to us Jonas,” Amy added, “We are here for you. And it’s clear Gideon is important to you. You even named your toy dog after her.”

Leaning against Amy, Jonas sighed, “Gideon was Daddy’s best friend. He always said she knew everything, and I thought maybe…she…she…”

“That she might know where your daddy is,” Rory whispered sadly.

Jonas nodded.

“Oh baby,” Amy hugged him tighter.

“Mummy used to say Daddy always came back,” Jonas told them, “And Gideon always brought him home.”

Rory closed his eyes for a moment, seeing tears fill Amy’s, finally managing to say, “Okay. We understand but from now on we need you to promise that you will always talk to us before you do anything.”

Jonas turned so he was looking at both Amy and Rory, nodding, “I promise.”

“Pinkie promise,” Amy held out her pinkie finger to the little boy.

With a smile, Jonas hooked his pinkie with Amy’s, “Pinkie promise.”

Rory kissed the top of the little boy’s head before saying, “How about we have some lunch?”

*********************************************

Jonas was fast asleep finally.

Rory wrapped his arm around Amy as they looked down at the little boy they’d taken in.

“He is so smart,” Rory breathed softly, “We’re going to have to be on our toes with him.”

Amy nodded, “Though, at least after today we know we have some backup he trusts.”

“An artificial intelligence helping raise the little boy we fostered who fell through time,” Rory noted, laughing as he drew her out the room, “For our lives, that makes complete sense.”

#fic #crossover #doctor who #rory williams #amy pond #brian williams #legends of tomorrow #jonas hunter #gideon

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