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purityoflust · 3 years

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The Smile [Jeff The Killer X Victim!Reader] [PART 2]

Jeff the killer X Victim!

WARNING: Yandere. That's it. Yandere.

I finally decided how I would write part 2 to The Smile, which is my first and most popular post on my account so far. Anyone new who has come to read this, check out my other posts as well if you'd like. I'll post more like this. I also have a Quotev account with more fanfictions.

9/12/20, 3/4 days after the top part: God, AFTER SO LONG, I FINALLY DID IT! Took me days! I'm so sorry if this is a bit lazy, it is a tiny bit rushed by the end but how would you guys feel about a detailed part 3? I'll probably go as far as a part 3 or part 4 for the final part.

The vibrations in your brain felt warm and numbing - almost like when you have a horrible migraine and you can finally feel it subsiding with your eyes closed and your fingers gently holding down onto your eyelids as if you're holding your eyes into place to prevent them from bursting out of your skull. Upon waking up you can feel cold air settling into your skin. You haven't been awake 3 minutes and you already know what you're resting on; an extremely uncomfortable metal table. You've only seen them in movies but this was real.

The sound of a singsong voice just slightly echoing through what seemed like a moderately empty room. You groaned softly as you turned your head to your right, very slowly opening your eyes. Your vision blurred in and out, which, you wanted to rub to clear it out but as you went to lift your wrists, you felt pressure around them.

Something was holding your arms down. This catches your attention, blinking multiple times while turning your head back up straight and attempting to sit up. You were hardly successful with that, struggling while grunting under your breath to pull your hands from under what seemed to be a thick rope. As you pulled harder, you sucked in your stomach out of habit before immediately coming to a halt and choking up in pain.

This whole time you were ignoring the voice that was singing eerily nearby, "You and me, always forever~"

The voice was of a male. Scratchy, shaky. Familiar.

Familiar.

You could feel a string of your heart pop out of place as your breath stopped. That's when you knew something was wrong, but it just doesn't add up. You gulp while your eyeballs vigorously glance around to see where the source was coming from, only to see a figure in a corner. It was doubled over and it was sitting down on a simple wooden chair. Doubling over a...table? An average male figure, nothing unique. Although, the clothing style was unusual. At least what was on the clothes. He wore a fluffy white hoodie and what seemed to be black pants and black-and-white converse. The problem wasn't the outfit, no. His hoodie was spotted and had patterns upon patterns of darkened and more fresh-looking blood splatter. He had long black hair down to his shoulders. And luckily, his back was facing you.

You were dumbfounded. How did you get here, why are you restrained, and why is there a blood covered man near you? Is that even blood? Maybe it's paint or a design? Some people do wear clothes that have different kinds of blood splatter designs on them. Hm. Or he's an actual murderer about to gut you like a fish.

You wanted to speak. You wanted to speak so badly but you just couldn't. As you parted your lips, your throat went dry while your gaze stayed locked onto the bloody male that sat before you. The singing made you shiver as you tried so hard to remember where you could have heard or seen him. Why can't you remember?

The male then turned around to look at you. His singing had come to a gentle halt. Your mouth closed as he did so, your throat going completely dry and your whole body feeling like an ice cube. You were greeted with cold blue eyes. They looked hungry and bloodthirsty, yet they held a warm affection as they looked into your traumatized eyes. It was almost comforting until you saw the rest of his face. His skin was snow white and his lips looked dry. That's when more attention is drawn to his lower jaw. He's smiling. Too big for a normal person.

That's when you realize. He has a large smile carved into his cheeks going from ear to ear while his own lips were curled within a smile as well. And that's when it hits you.

And it hits you hard.

The memories of hours prior start brutally crashing into you, flooding back into your numb brain. All of the realization replaced itself with agonizing anxiety, your heart starting to race at speeds that felt impossible. You could pass out, but something inside you kept you awake. Something about him and about this whole situation was making you dizzy. The male slowly stands and turns his body all the way to face you. He seemed deranged, yet, he had a very relaxed stance and body language.

Uncomfortable silence loomed in the air.

He kept staring at you before slowly taking steps forward. You watch him carefully as your head feels like it's spinning, which you could notice your vision blurring a little bit here and there. The silence is suddenly disturbed with the male speaking up again, choking up in giggles. "Oh my sweet Y/N, you're awake~" He cooed, now standing over you. He leaned himself down and reached his hand to your cheek, gently brushing your skin with his surprisingly soft thumb. He leaned his face closer to yours. The smell of booze, blood, & smoke overwhelmed your nostrils. Yet it didn't seem to bother you that much.

His touch almost kind of made you feel...at ease. Your heart slowed itself and your breathing went back to pace. You felt fine, somewhat, but something in your stomach was still sore. The more you stare at him, the more memories come flooding back. The more memories flooding back, the easier you fit the puzzles together.

"M-my...stomach..--" You stutter out painfully.

In response to this, the male turned his head over to your abdomen and gently rested his other hand onto your bandaged stomach, applying very gentle pressure on it as to not hurt you. It was still slightly painful, causing you to groan under your breath.

"Oh, this...I'm sorry, my sweet butterfly. I had to make sure you wouldn't get away, and you didn't! Don't worry, Jack patched you up, so you'll be just fine!"

You remember now. You remember it all. The chase, your friend, the salty kiss before what you thought was your demise.

You naturally wondered as well; who's Jack?

"Wh-.." You weakly force air out of your throat again to speak, "why am I..tied-?"

"Oh, so you wouldn't be able to get away. I knew you would run away, or struggles, so I had to make sure you wouldn't do that!"

He was right. You would run away and struggle to get out of whatever the hell kind of place you're in. Well, knowing what he looks like. He DID stab you, after all. Who knows what this sicko wants.

He lifts his hand from your stomach and turns back to you, gently placing both of his hands at each side of your face. "You're so beautiful, Y/N. So sweet and so innocent. I couldn't keep letting the others eat you up like candy. You're mine and only mine. I need to protect you."

"Wh-who- are you?" You weren't really all too scared for some strange reason now. You were pretty calm. Probably from all of the energy this is draining.

"His name is Jeff." A deep and gruff voice cuts in.

The both of you turn your heads to the door of the room where a tall figure in all black stood. He was about 6"4 wearing heavy boots, black jeans, and a black hoodie. His hair was a dark brown though while he wore a mask. The mask was a dark blue with black goo oozing from the eyesockets. He was pretty intimidating even just by standing idly like a character waiting to be loaded in.

"And I'm Jack." He continued, "I'm the one who took care of your wound."

Jack stepped closer, soon standing at the other side of the table. He stood at the left as Jeff stood at the right.

"He wouldn't stop insisting I help."

You just blink, unknowing of what to respond with. He pursed his lips under his dark mask, in his own thought for a moment while staring down at you. You seemed calm enough, and your still pretty fresh injury was gonna hold you back anyway.

"[P]-[Pronoun]'s gonna-!" He attempts to blurt out, only to be stopped by you.

"I won't."

You were untied at your wrists and ankles, allowing yourself to pull your legs up and rest your feet at the top of the table, propping your knees up. It made your stomach feel weird, but it felt kind of nose and felt like it was easing the pain. You wrapped your arms around your knees, looking around the room more. "What is this place?" You ask.

"It's a medical room."

"Huh.." You shrug it off. Your anxiety levels had died down and the more you actually think about it, this isn't the worst thing that's happened. Your life has been pretty fucked up and you have damaged relationships everywhere. Honestly, being around new people and being far away from others sounds not too bad right now. Not like anyone would care anyway.

The next few hours, you're introduced to everyone else at the Mansion. They've been so...unique and honestly, you're surprised some people and beings like them even exist. They were all equally surprised with how little fear you showed.

You actually got along with most of them.

The others have taken a liking to you and hope you hang around longer. Alone in the living room, you, Jeff, Jack, and others sit at the couches and chairs in the living room, chatting away and getting to know them as they get to know you.

You feel Jeff wrap his arms around you and place a gentle kiss on your forehead, making your heart skip a beat.

You found out Jeff has been stalking you for months at a time. Watching your every move, eliminating anyone in the way. Huh, no wonder so many people in your life kept disappearing. You...couldn't bring yourself to be upset or scared, let alone even sad. You felt kind of at ease.

And far from uncomfortable. Someone loved you. Maybe more than they should, but they love you.

You didn't even feel upset at the fact Jeff had murdered that friend earlier. I mean, you just met the guy, so he wasn't even a 'friend'? So you paid no mind to it.

If anything, you really liked the thrill of someone being obsessed with you. A serial killer being so infatuated with you. He could be so protective of you and get rid of anyone you asked him to! There's is an advantage here. You knew he could snap and probably kill you intentionally or unintentionally, but you didn't mind. You really had no one else, technically speaking. No one that really cared. Not as much as he did.

Maybe he isn't so bad.

#Jeff the killer x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #part two #part 2 #yandere #male yandere #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x you #gender neutral #jeff the killer x you #jeff the killer x y/n #small series

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itsybitsyspiderling · 5 years

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the reality of a nightmare

find it here on ao3 !

Summary: Peter has a bad dream about Tony. And then it starts to come true. Kind of.

Word Count: 5.7k

“Hey. Kid. Yoo-hoo. Earth to Web-Head. Web-Slingin’ Slasher. You awake?”

Peter had fallen asleep in Tony’s workshop again. By this point, the kid had lost count exactly how many times he’d done so. He was up to his waist in midterms and projects, and May had taken extra shifts at work, so when he wasn’t out Spider-Man-ing, he was covering the list of chores she left for him in the meantime. He even fixed up a few dinners for her so she had something in the fridge when she got home at an ungodly hour. Peter’s brain was running eight miles a minute, and he wasn’t sleeping.

He stirred, humming and rubbing at his eyes as he straightened his posture. “Mhm. Yeah. Totally.” As Peter adjusted his vision, his eyes fell to the slick surface of the workbench below where a small puddle of drool sat. Yuck. Gross. He wiped at his chin.

Tony stood behind his desk with a few dozen holograms surrounding him. He raised an eyebrow at Peter. “This is gonna sound gratuitous coming from me, but have you considered sleep? It’s this newfangled thing everyone’s ravin’ about. They’re awake all day and then go to bed at night. You should try it. Works wonders.”

Peter sniffed and nodded. He didn’t even feel tired, but sleeping was so much easier than staying awake. “Not for me,” he said. “Don’t like it anyway. The dreams are never good. There’s better stuff I could be doing.”

“Now that’s a red flag,” Tony muttered, and the holograms disappeared before him. He slowly meandered over toward Peter. “You good, then? School going okay? Grades fine? You can tell me if there’s something bothering you, Pete. Pretty sure we’ve established that the walls-down-protocol has been in effect since last November.”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine,” Peter said, and truly, he meant it. He felt fine, his grades were fine… all he wanted was for life to slow down a little. “Just got no time to breathe, s’all. Ready for summer.”

Tony nodded. “Sure. Yeah, actually, that reminds me––start thinkin’ about places to go for your sixteenth birthday. Any place. And don’t say Disney World.”

“Mister Stark, it’s just that I haven’t been there before, and––”

“A nightmare is what it is. It’s my worst nightmare,” Tony said. “Crowds and crying babies and water rides.” He shivered. “I couldn’t imagine any place else closer to Hell. Speaking of things that are hell, I dry-cleaned your suit. And repaired it. How many times have you gotten stabbed exactly?”

Peter chuckled dryly. He didn’t have the energy to work on whatever the hell he had been working on. If he squinted, it looked like some ugly prototype for a new web-shooter. “Just a few times. Maybe six. Dunno. Thanks though. It was getting smelly.”

“Yeah, welcome to the wonderful world of sweat and smelling bad,” said Tony as he returned back to his spot behind the desk. “You’re gonna love it. I’ll buy you a twelve-pack of deodorant next time I’m out.”

“I use deodorant, Mister Stark.”

“Extra strength. Clinical. Ten dollar entrance fee from now on if you don’t come in smelling like fresh daisies.”

Peter rolled his eyes and smiled. “Sure,” he mumbled, setting his head down onto his arms before shutting his eyes, “start paying me then.”

“Okay, now you've crossed a line.”

Peter laughed, and for a few moments, he felt calm and at ease. He let the machines and Tony’s occasional swears lull him into a light sleep. After that, Peter soon became conscious of his sub-conscience. He was dreaming.

And it was a good dream for a while.

It was sharp and clear. Tony was there doing what Tony did best. He worked on his suits and hummed along to the music blasting through the speakers, and Peter was there tinkering away at his own suit. It resembled a comfortable pattern that they had fallen into over the past few months. It was nice.

When dream-Peter looked at Tony, however, the older man wasn’t as at peace. His expression twisted as he read over a message on his computer screens. From a distance, Peter couldn’t read it, but he knew the message wasn’t good. There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere, and Tony was uncomfortable.

“What’s that?” dream-Peter asked.

Almost as if he had clicked a switch, Tony’s face broke out into a smile. “Nothing,” he answered. “Just junk. Happy’s gotten on the chain mail trend. Dancing cats and ‘you-will-die-in-ten-days’ kind of stuff.”

Peter nodded, accepting the straightforward answer. But somewhere, the truth floated in his mind, weaving in between prefrontal decisions and hippocampus memories. Something was wrong, but in his dreams, he wasn’t aware enough to take notice.

The workshop faded into the kitchen, and now, Tony was in the midst of preparing some pasta dish that Peter couldn’t identify. Meanwhile, he sat at the counter with a few sheets of illegible homework problems below. They didn’t share moments like this often––usually, Peter was too busy with school and evenings on patrol, and Tony spent more days out of town than in. It was special when he invited the kid over for a nice home-cooked dinner. It felt surreal. Not everyone had the opportunity to eat Tony Stark’s subpar cooking.

In the dream, none of that mattered.

“––well, when the guy tried to stab me,” Peter began on a tangent, “I was kinda expecting it, so I dodged and said something like ‘whoa buddy, that’s not nice. You gotta work on your aim.’ And then wham! He stabbed me. And then you showed up, punched the guy, and yelled at me for… ”

From his spot behind the stove, Tony had stopped stirring the pot of pasta to glance at his phone. He looked troubled. It was the same expression from the workshop.

Peter totally forgot what he had been talking about. “You okay, Mister Stark?”

He shook his head, still a bit mentally distanced from having read something odd. “Yeah. Fine. I keep getting these weird messages.”

“From Happy?”

Tony shook his head again. “No. I think someone’s just trying to scare me.”

“It doesn’t bother you that you’re getting them?” Peter asked, to which Tony simply shrugged. “Are they death threats? Are you receiving death threats?”

Tony chuckled. “No, no, God––I’ve received a shit ton of death threats in my life, but this––no. They’re just weird. I’m not bothered. Look who you’re talking to. I’m Iron Man. They don’t scare me.”

Again, Peter accepted the answer, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it just wasn’t right. He didn’t like that Tony found humor in something that would terrify Peter. He didn’t like that he was stuck in a dream where he could do nothing about it.

After that, when things became hazy and Peter wasn’t sure where he was next, the pieces of the puzzle slowly came into place. The news broke that Tony had gone missing. Televisions in windows and big, gaudy screens in Times Square dedicated their minutes to the billionaire’s disappearance. Peter couldn’t go home and he couldn’t go to school. He couldn’t walk down the street without seeing the reports plastering his mentor’s face everywhere. And worst of all, Peter saw this coming, but it was a dream. He had to let it all unfold. He was stuck.

He didn’t know how or why, but the next thing he knew, he was staring at a reel of security footage dated from hours before. Tony was there, locked in some dark room with blood dripping from his forehead while three other men surrounded him. All Peter could do was watch from the monitors in the workshop as they tortured and beat Tony senseless. And Peter couldn’t react. He couldn’t hear anything, but he knew that the men––the evil, diabolic men––were using Tony’s relationship with Peter to their advantage. He just knew.

Tony didn’t have a lot of weak spots, but his Achilles’ heel was his friends and family.

When Peter finally made it to Tony, the dream felt more real than it had before. The hallway was empty and eerily silent, and Peter could paint every detail with his eyes closed. He wasn’t sure how he got there. The room that Tony was in was cold. It was lifeless. Dried blood was splattered across the floor, and as hard as Peter searched, he couldn’t hear a heartbeat. No breaths, not even a blink of an eye.

For those few moments, he believed that they had taken Tony elsewhere. But then Peter turned a corner, and the wreckage of an Iron Man suit stared back at him.

Peter felt to his knees, anger seeping down to his fists while his chest filled with a heavy sadness. He couldn’t tell if he was crying. The image of Tony, beaten skull and blood-soaked skin, was enough to make Peter heave. The men had been merciless. Tony was dead. Murdered. Gone.

And while Peter’s stomach sank further and further, heart lurching with each breath, he crawled over and tossed himself around Tony’s waist. It seemed as though the limp body held him back.

The dream became hazy again, solid shapes fading into nothing while Peter’s terror only grew. He swore, as the colors turned to gray, that a voice cut through the waning REM and said to Peter, “I’m sorry for giving up on you.”

____

Someone was nudging Peter’s shoulder.

His body jolted awake, and he gathered himself quickly, eyes adjusting to the low light in the workshop. The sun had set a long time ago, but he hadn’t been awake to see it. His heart hurt in his chest, and the more conscious he became, the more he felt the erratic beating against his rib cage. To his right, Tony stood, gaze confused and lingering while he pressed his hand on Peter’s shoulder blade.

“You okay?” he asked, slowly retracting his hand. “You’ve been mumbling in your sleep for about an hour, kiddo. You’re as white as a sheet. Maybe you weren’t kidding when you said you have bad dreams, yeah?”

Peter stared straight ahead. He felt numb and in shock, not to mention slightly dehydrated as he evened out his breathing. He remembered everything. The entire dream. God, it felt so real. And he felt warm. Like a fever had struck him without warning. He blinked over at his mentor. “Tony?”

“Tony?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Since when was that a thing? What happened to ‘Mister Stark’?”

Peter blinked again. “S-sorry,” he whispered, shifting in his chair while he pushed back the vertigo that crept up.

Tony walked over toward his desk, but he didn’t hesitate to occasionally look back over at Peter in concern. The confusion never quite left. “Jesus, Pete. Did you physically go somewhere else for three hours? You’re lookin’ at me all weird. Relax your eyes. You’re freaking me out.”

“Oh, sorry.” Peter did his best to loosen whatever muscles were tense. But that was the problem––his entire body was tense. It felt like that one time he volunteered to receive acupuncture when a lady came into his health class freshman year. It didn’t hurt, but he was an idiot to think his fear of needles would be cured over a few pricks in his forehead and thumbs.

He didn’t want to tell Tony about his bad dream. Peter hardly wanted to call it a nightmare. He just couldn’t shake the images out of his head. Tony laying there, a corpse, with broken parts and ghostly apologies. It didn’t make sense––Tony was Iron Man. Iron Man could fight. He never lost. He never died.

But why did Peter sit back and let him die?

He had known it the entire dream: something was wrong. And he didn’t do anything. He saw his mentor beaten and bruised and bleeding until there was nothing left to give. Peter could almost feel his body still curled up against Tony’s side, desperate to hear a heartbeat muffled by the thick metal suit. Nothing. There was nothing. And it was because Peter had been too late.

His hand shook as he raised it to wipe a tear. He tried to keep the action subtle, but he couldn’t hold back the sniff and the small whimper that refused to be contained. The weight of the dream finally set in. Peter had broken his own heart.

“Whoa, kiddo,” Tony mumbled. He dropped what he had in his hands and made his way over, quickly plopping himself down in a stool so he could wrap an arm around Peter’s shoulders.

Peter let himself break. He fell against Tony, sobs wracking through him all wet and strained while a burning ache grew in his chest. “I-I let you die,” he cried out. “I let you die. I’m––I’m sorry, M-Mister Stark.”

“Pete,” whispered Tony, voice low and comforting. He kissed the top of Peter’s head. “What’re you talking about? I’m right here. I’m alive. Okay? It’s okay.”

Peter shook his head against Tony’s chest. “N-no,” he said. His tears were hot on his cheeks. “Dream. In my dream.” He could hardly breathe between words. “Y-you were gone. They––these people––they took you and––”

“But they didn’t, Peter, I’m right here.”

“I just let them kill you!” Peter shouted, pulling away from Tony just to collapse against the desk. He wrapped his arms around his head and breathed in deep.

The workshop was quiet for a moment. Distant technology whirred and buzzed, but the unsettling atmosphere was louder. Peter had never yelled like that, not in front of Tony. After a few seconds, Tony placed a hand back on Peter’s shoulder.

“I can’t erase your bad dreams, kiddo,” the man said. “I would if I could. Hell, I could figure out a way if you wanted me to. But for now, the dream is in the past. It was scary––it made you upset. And I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that. Dreams tend to find the worst things to dwell on. Believe me, I know. Good thing is, Pete, I’m still here. I’m right here. Not dead. See?”

Peter peered over at Tony from over his arm.

“You’re gonna forget about it in a few hours anyway,” said Tony. “Dreams are like my entire life pre-2005. They’re there but then poof––gone from memory like that. Tell you what, though, we’ll get some ice cream and Twizzlers and eat until Happy comes to find us drowning in food comas. How’s that sound?”

Peter cracked a smile. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay, good.” Tony grinned, standing up. “No dreams about death from here on out. All right? You got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

____

Tony was wrong.

Peter couldn’t say that to his face, of course, but it didn’t make it any less true. Tony was wrong. Peter remembered every vivid detail of the dream, all the way down from the clothes the man was wearing and up to the words he said. Even Peter’s worst nightmares never stuck like that. He couldn’t unsee any of it. Tony lying there. Tony, dead.

Tony not even giving a shit that people wanted to kill him.

The thing that upset Peter the most was just that. The dream wasn’t some fantasy where he rode dragons and summoned an army of spiders. The dream was something that, if he were honest, had the possibility of happening. He knew that Tony would ignore messages like that. Peter knew that Tony would scoff and shove them off because he was Iron Man. And Iron Man never lost.

Every time Peter tried to talk about his dream, the older man was always half-preoccupied with another obscure project. He cut in between with hums and “yeah”’s, absent-minded responses while Peter was haunted by the dream.

After a week, Peter realized that Tony’s lack of attention most likely meant a lack of interest. The kid kept his mouth shut from then on out.

But for some reason, that wasn’t what Tony wanted either.

“Incoming call from Tony Stark,” Karen said one evening.

Peter was out in the suit, but there wasn’t much activity for the night. For over an hour, he had been up on a roof and using his webbing as a jump rope up when Karen cut in.

“What?” Peter asked breathlessly. “Why’s he––?”

Tony’s face popped up in the heads-up display, a small smile decorating his features while a knot formed in Peter’s stomach. He still saw the Tony from his dream, even nearly a week later. Dreams never stayed around that long. They never stuck like that.

“Word to the wise, kiddo, don’t leave your homework sittin’ around if you don’t want me to correct it,” the man said, holding up a handful of papers. “What’s with all the stuff you left behind, huh? Since when did you journal?”

“I just––I dunno,” Peter said and shrugged. “I’ve got feelings and… yeah. It’s just easier to write it all down instead of––wait, Mister Stark, did you––you didn’t read my journal, did you?”

Tony appeared briefly offended. “What? No. That’s a serious invasion of privacy. I’d never do that. Besides, if you wrote anything about that dream you’ve been chatterin’ on about for the past week––”

“You were listening?” Peter sat down on the ledge of the roof and looked over at the street below.

“Pete, you didn’t give me the chance to not listen,” Tony said. “Granted, I usually don’t listen, so, you’ve got a point.”

“It just didn’t seem like you wanted t’hear about it,” Peter mumbled, shrugging once again, “that’s all. I just—I can’t stop thinking about it. The dream. It scared me.”

Tony frowned. His eyebrows furrowed and wrinkles deepened on his forehead, meanwhile, Peter was dreading the fact that, now, Tony was listening.

Peter sighed. “I just can’t stop seeing you a-and––”

“Pete,” Tony said. “I know. I’m sorry. I can’t get it out of your head. I wish I could.” He was quiet for a moment, and Peter could see the thoughts running through his head. “Why don’t you go home and tell May you’ll be spending the night up here? ‘Kay? I’ll get in a car. Me instead of Happy this time. I hear he’s been babbling on about his old boxing days again; you wouldn’t last a minute. Swing on home and get some stuff together.”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter mumbled, sniffing as he blinked away a few tears. “Sure. Thanks, Mister Stark.”

“Of course, kiddo,” Tony replied. “And, don’t worry about me, all right? I’m alive. I’m breathing––to many, many people’s dismay.”

Peter chuckled. “Okay.”

Tony smiled, too. “See you in an hour. Stark out.”

Once the phone call was over, Peter shook his head and tried to wipe the grin off his face. Tony was right. He was there. He was alive. All the dream had been was just a dream.

____

A month later.

____

“That’s––huh. Well, you don’t see that every day.”

Peter sat up and took out an earbud. “See what?” he asked. Music continued to play lowly into one ear.

Tony stood at his desk, rubbing his chin while he stared at his array of computer screens and holograms. Peter could only see a reversed image of a few things, but he had never been good at reading things backward. It wasn’t a trait he picked up in elementary school when the rest of his classmates did.

“Uh, nothing,” Tony muttered, waving his hands to make whatever it was disappear. “No big deal. Just observing. Doesn’t matter. What’re you working on?”

“Just some homew—”

“Can I help?” he asked fervently as he made his way over.

Peter took out the other earbud. “Sure. It’s on oscillations and gravitation. Physics stuff.”

Tony sat down and slid the paper in front of him. He looked over the homework, eyes rapidly reading over every word, equation, graph, etc., before he reached over for the pencil in Peter’s grip. “Easy. Just use the values as Jacobi elliptic integrals.”

Peter watched, eyebrows raised, as Tony scribbled messily on the sheet. “I’m not sure that’s––”

“Shh, working,” the man said and held up a finger. As he did so, however, the gesture trembled. He kept his jaw clenched while he wrote a variety of illegible functions.

So, Peter kept watching. He didn’t care about homework though. He watched Tony’s actions, thoroughly observing every nervous tick or coping habit. Every nail bite, deep breath, forehead rub, and so on.

“You okay, Mister Stark?” Peter asked after a moment.

Tony blinked, barely glancing over as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Hm. Yeah––what?”

Peter almost laughed, but something felt off. Tony was off. “Are you okay? You seem… I don’t know. Weird.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. He set down the pencil. “Oh, yeah. Totally. I’m great. You okay?”

“Yeah…” Peter cracked a small smile. “I’m good. What you were talking about earlier––you sure it was just nothin’? You look all pale. And sweaty.”

“Sweaty?” Tony laughed, but even that sounded nervous. “I’m fine, Pete. Don’t worry about me. Worry about how physics is a joke and how no high school student should ever have to endure his crap. Jesus Christ.” He looked back over the sheet, flipped it over, and rolled his eyes. “Your little brain must hurt having to look at that. How the hell do you do this and be Spider-Man? I couldn’t even run a company and––”

“Mister Stark.”

“Yeah?”

Peter didn’t want to forget about what was bothering his mentor, but there wasn’t a conversation at hand. Tony wasn’t going to crack; he was going to keep avoiding it until he grew frustrated at Peter. And then, there would be uncomfortable silence for an hour or two before Tony decided to apologize and finally assure Peter that he was, in fact, okay. But Peter knew better. He knew there was something, but he needed to face the facts. He wouldn’t get the truth.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Thanks for––uh, doing my homework.”

Tony smiled and slapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Anytime. Don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Yeah, well, next time I’ll be sure to,” Peter said with a laugh. He picked up his pencil and looked over the homework as Tony walked away. Nothing was legible. Nothing was right. But, with Tony, something was clearly wrong.

Peter kept noticing the shift in behavior over the course of the next week. Little changes like occasional tics and habits––all summoned by a quick glance at a phone or a watch. Peter wondered if it had something to do with Pepper or Rhodey, or maybe the company’s stock had taken a tumble and Tony was nervous he’d go bankrupt. He was high strung at all hours, and it seemed to be triggered by something he read or received.

The nervous mannerisms made Peter nervous. His senses nagged at him, prickling at the back of his neck whenever Tony acted weird. It was getting worse and worse, and Peter couldn’t handle it anymore.

He had Happy drive him up to the compound after school without telling Tony. The weather was getting warmer and spring had started to show itself, but Peter couldn’t enjoy it if there was something wrong with someone he cared about. Tony was Tony. Tony was Iron Man. He hid his emotions fairly well, yet he wasn’t doing a great job around Peter.

The sun was setting outside as Peter walked through the compound. It was empty and cold, but most of the life was tucked away in Tony’s workshop. Yet, as Peter strolled, an unsettling feeling crept up, one that felt vaguely familiar.

“FRIDAY?” Peter asked into the air.

“Hello, Peter.”

“Hey––uh, is Tony––Mister Stark––is he here?”

“He isn’t,” replied the AI. “Would you like me to alert the Boss that you’ve arrived?”

“Sure,” Peter said, rubbing at his sleeve as he stepped down the corridor to the workshop. “Where is he?”

“I haven’t received any activity regarding his location.”

“Oh, okay.”

“The last check-in was four hours ago in Queens,” she said.

Peter furrowed his brows and he opened the door to the workshop. The room lit up around him. “He’s in Queens? Where?”

“JFK International Airport.”

“Fri, you could’ve just told me he was on a plane,” said Peter, stepping around a few strewn tools before sitting at his usual workbench. It felt weird to be there alone––it felt like he wasn’t supposed to be there at all.

“Boss doesn’t have any upcoming scheduled flights.”

“Huh, okay. Weird.” Peter slumped down against the table, arms surrounding his head while he rested his chin on them. He faced Tony’s desk, blinking up at Post-It Note doodles taped up to the backs of monitors. Most of them were done by Peter when he was bored, but DUM-E and U had contributed to a few.

“Hey, Fri?” Peter mumbled, bring his hand up to his cheek. “Does Mister Stark ever design things for me and not tell me about them?”

“It’s possible,” the AI said. “He has a few files that have not been opened in a while. Would you like to view them?”

Peter instantly sat up. His hands slammed against the table, and the sound echoed throughout the workshop. “I can do that? They’re not––he doesn’t have them locked up or encrypted, or anything?”

“Of all people to keep secrets from, Peter, Boss wouldn’t keep them from you.”

Peter smiled. He rapped his knuckles against the table before letting the stool slide out from under him. Excitement filled his chest as he rushed over to Tony’s desk, fingers quick to access the server and tap into whatever files the man had on Peter.

And for hours, he sat there scrolling through design after design, idea after idea until FRIDAY announced that Peter had eaten out all of the popcorn left in the compound. He couldn’t believe that Tony had done all of this for him––he couldn’t believe that he was even sitting there at Tony’s desk and eating up all of his food. It all felt surreal.

“Hey––uh, Fri?” Peter asked, sipping at some soda he found in the kitchen. “What’s this?”

Peter’s finger was pointed at an odd amalgamation of numbers and letters slotting through the screen.

“The system is rebooting,” she said.

“Oh.” He nodded and sat back against the chair. “Why?”

“I’m not sure,” the AI replied. “It’s possible its last reboot triggered an automatic update.”

He leaned forward, watching the numbers slowly fade away until the monitor turned back. And then it came back to life. On the middle screen, a small message sat lonely in the center. Peter squinted so he could read it.

Subject Acquired. Mission Accomplished. Good luck.

“F-FRIDAY?” stuttered Peter. The message disappeared. The monitor returned back to the way it had been before. “What was that?” Peter’s voice cracked as he spoke.

“I don’t know, Peter,” she said, and even she sounded scared. “I can’t track its origin.”

“Where’s Tony?” he asked. “Fri, where is he?”

“His last location is still JFK International Airport.”

Peter stood, hands shaking as flashes of his old dream filled his head. His skin pricked, and optimistically, he believed he knew exactly where to go. But he was just hopeful. Hopeful that Tony hadn’t moved since he was last tracked. Hopeful to find him in one piece. Hopeful to find him alive.

Peter clicked his web-shooters into place and sighed. “Well, then, got any suits for me ‘round here, Fri?”

____

Tony was going to kill him. If he wasn’t already dead, he was going to kill Peter.

Peter wasn’t sure how to get to JFK any other way than using one of the Iron Man suits. He needed something quick, something that would get him there in a matter of minutes. As air traffic control cut into the suit’s communications, Peter searched for anything that would prove out of the ordinary. He landed on a bit of unused tarmac and winced as planes roared by in the distance.

“Search the hangars, Fri, search anywhere,” Peter gasped out, tired from pushing down the panic threatening to rise in his chest. Plus, he had on his suit underneath Tony’s; it was getting hot in there. “How am I––how am I supposed to find him with an airport full of people?”

“There is a supposedly unoccupied hangar across from terminal seven,” the AI said. “You are within a distance for me to pick up on an odd heat signature emitting from the building. I would say that is your best bet.”

Peter nodded, breathing hard while the repulsors ignited beneath his hands and feet. He soared into the air as FRIDAY directed him to the hangar, and finally, he could see what she was talking about. Through the suit’s thermal imaging, he could see that the building was empty except for an odd––almost blob-like––anomaly in a corner. Peter dove down and landed onto the adjacent road as quietly as possible.

“Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead,” he whispered to himself. “Dammit, Tony, I have school tomorrow. Please don’t be dead.”

Peter tried to hide it from FRIDAY, but truly, he was terrified. His stupid dream was coming true. And he hadn’t recognized the signs. Tony’s behavior, the messages, and now, he was missing. This wasn’t fair. He couldn’t be dead.

“Is he in a suit, Fri?” Peter asked lowly.

“If he is, all functions have been powered down or removed,” she said. “I’m not receiving anything.”

Peter nearly broke, expression crumbling for a moment as he snuck in through a door. “Please don’t be fucking dead,” he muttered and stepped into the hangar.

It was large, empty, and cold. It reminded him of the compound.

Peter stepped out of the Iron Man suit. As comforting as it was to have FRIDAY with him, the suit’s technology was hindering his ability to hear for a heartbeat. He stood, unmoving and quiet as he listened for a sound. Any sound. A single breath would suffice.

And somewhere, faint as could be, was a slow heartbeat.

“Mister Stark?” Peter found himself shouting into the dark, and he didn’t care if he was yelling it to no one or someone unfamiliar. He didn’t care if the entire airport knew he was there.

He heard a small gasp along with winces of pain. Peter was quick on his feet, dodging boxes and other obstacles. The hangar had been abandoned and used for storage––a great place to hide a famous superhero that no one would know how to find.

“I’m––I’m coming! Shit.” Peter stubbed his toe.

The heartbeat was drowned out by his pants and the rush of wind as he ran. God, why were hangars so big?

Oh, right. Airplanes. Duh.

Peter wanted to believe he was dreaming, but instead, he kept running and following his instincts.

“Mister Stark?” he called out again as he slowed. He glanced around, looking beyond the boxes and the mounds of crap the airport had stored in there. There was even a giant dumpster full of odd things like busted microwaves and broken chairs.

“Yeah, Pete, I’m here,” the man breathed out from behind.

Peter turned and rushed over to where Tony was propped against a stack of wooden pallets. His helmet had been removed, and portions of the suit had been damaged. There were large gashes on any inch of exposed skin, including a rigid cut along the man’s cheek. But he was alive. He was bleeding and bruised, but he was alive.

“Nanotech’s gonna need a bit more work,” he said, grunting while he lifted himself higher into a sitting position. “Jesus. Fuck.”

Peter crouched beside Tony, eyes examining over every wound and bloodstain on his mentor’s skin. He set a hand on his back and another on his arm, and Tony looked up at him with a smile.

“It was an ambush,” Tony mumbled through a busted lip. “Fucking embarrassing.”

Peter shook his head.

“Some guys who’d gotten their hands on old Chitauri stuff from 2012.” Tony shifted his shoulder and groaned. “Shit. That stings. They––they reminded me of the dude you fought. The one with the wings. That Vulture guy.”

Peter bit his lip to keep from tearing up. Tony was alive. The dream hadn’t come true after all.

“They got away,” Tony whispered, turning his head so Peter couldn’t see the emotion in his features. “I-I let them get away.”

“We’ll get them,” Peter said, “one day. We’ll get them. Together. Okay? You’re just covered in blood. So, we should probably get you help or somethin’.”

Tony nodded, chuckling. “Yeah. Help. I’d like that. Know how to cauterize?”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Uh, Karen?” he said to his AI, voice cracking. “Let’s get some medics down here. Now.”

Tony continued to laugh. “Relax. I did some myself.” After a moment, his laughter settled, and he set a hand over Peter’s. “You did good, kid. Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“Why’re you sorry, Mister Stark? You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Nah, I’ve got lots to be sorry for,” said Tony. “You’re just being modest. Sorry for letting this happen. Sorry for not letting you in on what was happening. They warned me, and I didn’t listen.”

“You’re good at that,” Peter muttered and smiled. “The not-listening thing.”

“I told you, I totally listen to everything you say.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Start having good dreams from now on,” said Tony. “Dreams where I retire and you go to college, and we all live happily ever after. That’s your job. Stop dreaming about me dying. Now I know this shit can come true.”

Peter laughed. “I’ll try.”

“Good kid.” Tony patted Peter’s cheek. “How’d you know to come here? How’d you even get here?”

“FRIDAY had a location, so I just followed instincts and stuff after that,” Peter answered. “Plus, I totally didn’t take one of your suits. Not at all.”

“You totally didn’t what?”

“Uh. Nothing. I told you. You totally won’t find that I took one of your suits.”

“You’re dead, Parker.”

30 notes · View notes

chalcid · 4 years

Text

6: Tea and Roses

It was Thursday afternoon. I sat on the window seat in the living room. Sunlight streamed from the window.

Tilly approached me carefully "What are you up to?"

I didn't answer. I could feel my mother, from another room, giving me the "that was rude look."

Tilly answered her own question "Nothing much?"

Truth be told, I was searching the digital libraries for information on powerful demon spells but I nodded anyways "Yeah, not doing too much."

"Okay, well, I'm going to pick up my kids, and I was wondering if you would come with me," Tilly asked.

I glanced at my phone, and then back at Tilly "I'd really rather not."

"Please," Tilly said.

I could feel the heat of my mother's gaze in the other room. Say yes. Be polite, Merika.

"Okay," I said, "I guess I'll come with."

Tilly's house was near the center of the island. It was an uncomfortably long drive. But finally, we pulled up in front of a wooden house, painted yellow, with a door sloppily attached.

Tilly knocked and the door swung open

On the other side of the door was a man with an impressive red beard "Ah. Tilly," he turned and shouted over his shoulder "Kids, your mother is here!

He turned back to us "Who's this?"

"Hi," I said awkwardly "I'm Merika. The... the, uh... You must be Tilly's husband?"

"Merika," Tilly's husband said "My son talks about you. I must admit, I thought you were just an imaginary friend."

"Oh?" I said.

"I mean, he thinks you're some kind of superhero," he rambled "Said you find lost treasures and everything."

I started to reply, but was cut off as the kids ran up to Tilly and hugged her quickly.

Lawrence, the ten-year-old boy, handed me two newspaper clips. "I cut these out for you," he told me.

I glanced at them. They were a small piece of every time I made the news this week apparently.

Kev, who was eight, let go of her mother and returned to her book.

"Did you guys have any homework," Tilly said, getting in the car "I hope you finished it all"

"Oh, I didn't do any yet" Lawrence said

"I told you you needed to turn off the cartoons," Kev muttered.

"But the huge lizards," Lawrence said. "Daxald says that he's too old for cartoons, so I gotta watch them all before I turn twelve. Merika, are there really big lizards in the Beyond?"

"Maybe," I said absently.

The rest of the ride home dissolved into more chatter about lizards, but I wasn't paying attention.

I stepped inside the house and set my newspaper clippings on the counter. Kev and Tilly headed for the living room, passing my mother briefly and exchanging icy yet civil nods.

Lawrence looked up at me through his mud-splattered glasses. "Dad said he and Mom are getting a divorce."

"Yeah, mine too," I said "Did they not talk about it with you?"

Lawrence shook his head solemnly. "Not until this morning. Do you think we'll all live here in this big house? You and Kev and me and Mom and Leo? "

He looked so hopeful. I didn't know how to tell him that Dad was going to move out with Tilly in a couple of months and we would likely never see each other after that.

"This is Mom's house," I said "My mom, not yours. Your mom and my dad will likely get their own big house, but no worries. I'm sure it will be just as cool."

"And you'll live there, too?" Lawrence pestered.

I was interrupted by a ceremonious knock on the door. I raced to get it, but Tilly was there. The door opened.

"I baked bread," Uncle Decimus said stiffly, shoving a basket of bread into Tilly's arms "As a gesture of non-hostility."

"Thank you," Tilly glanced down at the basket, bewildered.

"And Merika, this came by for you," Uncle Decimus passed me an envelope.

I ripped open the envelope. Inside was a pink piece of stationery with bold calligraphy.

"You're invited - Today at two - Tea Party..." I trailed off "Okay, anyone willing to give me a ride to the west part of the island? I've got to head toward Fragaria Tower."

It was difficult to say how old Fragaria Tower was. Legend says that Lord Beaurose had it dissambled when they were evacuating Mariveyia, brought over brick by brick, and reassembled when we got here. As a result, it stood out like a coral reef in a saltwater swamp.

"Do you want me to come in with you," Mom asked.

"Mom, I'm fine," I said. "This isn't my first tea party at Fragaria Tower."

"I'll pick you up in an hour," she replied.

"Bye, Mom."

She drove off alarmingly quick for someone who made a point of always obeying speed limits. I walked up to the door and knocked.

A twenty year old women answered the door and I did a double take "Eranthia invited me over... do I have the wrong address?"

She sighed "Do you think you have the wrong address?"

I glanced at the iconic tower "Point taken. I just wasn't aware that..."

She spared me the embarrassment of asking if she was my friend's stepmom "I'm Mr. Beaurose's assistant. Eranthia's in the tea room. The other one already arrive."

"Thank you, Mr. Beaurose's assistant ma'am," I replied awkwardly

She reached for my coat, and I reflexively jumped out of her reach, wrapping it around me a little tighter.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "It's my prized possession. I'll just..."

Like the horribly impolite person my mother would be ashamed to admit she took part in raising I am, I darted off to the tea room and took my spot at the small round table.

Edonia smiled politely at me "Hi, Merika. Glad you could make it."

Eranthia sat across from me, a grey blazer over her ruffled pink skirt. She sipped a cup of tea. My eyes darted from her to the harp in the corner.

Eranthia, like Edonia, was a string instrumental. Their families were pretty close. Edonia is a violinist, which is impressive, but Eranthia was a harpist. That's super rare. I think there are only sixteen people on Ilcodeux who have any kind of harp ability, and Eranthia and her teacher are the only two people I've heard of who've mastered it.

I feel really out of place with them sometimes, and it doesn't help that they're both so much larger than life that they don't even know how to person.

The tea tasted like flowers, which was strange, but not bad.

"Did you finish reading those articles?" Edonia asked me politely.

I choked on my tea "Um... yeah? About that. They sort of... burnt to a crisp?"

Edonia sighed "I can't say I'm surprised."

That felt better.

"I did talk to Deyanira, though, and she said that sometimes really powerful spells can mess up shark migration patterns," I said.

"I checked out a book for her the other day," Edonia snapped her fingers "Something about sharks?"

"Yeah, I saw her book, too. I don't want to assume the worst in her, but..." I trailed off. "I should stop this before it turns into trouble"

"You're troubling the stop by not waiting your turn " Eranthia offered, pulling a white queen chess piece from her pocket and studying it absently "Remember Acwellan?"

Hearing her name, Acwellan poked her head out of her teapot. Fortunately, that one wasn't the one our tea was poured from. I found the teapot in the Crystal Reef six months ago, not realizing that it had a tiny monster guardian.

"You're point? That situation was the opposite of this one and I learned from it. I figured out she was there pretty quickly, but I didn't deal with it until she magically flooded my bathroom and I had to clean it all up by hand. I had no magic for two days, and now she's yours."

"Your solution cost you a friend," Eranthia said confidently. "You responded too harshly. All Acwellan wanted was attention."

"I guess you're right," I replied reluctantly "But I'm not sure feeding Water Demons little cake crumbs and petting their heads is going to prevent a... prevent a, um... You know a lot about weird, powerful magics. What could it be?"

"The three most likely things off the top of my head are" Eranthia paused to sip her tea "Summoning some sea monster, making a volcano explode, or," she paused, and glanced at Edonia "Taking the barrier down."

Edonia flinched. We pretended not to notice.

"This cake is excellent," I said quickly. "Strawberries ?"

"Raspberries, actually," Eranthia said, returning the chess piece to her pocket. "It's my favorite. Would you like the recipe?"

"Oh, no thank you, I can't cook," I said politely.

"Don't any of your parents cook?" Eranthia asked. "You have three, don't you? Four?"

"Just Mom and Dad," I said irritably "Plus Tilly and Uncle Decimus, but they don't count. Actually, Uncle Decimus likes cooking. He's no good, but maybe he'd appreciate the recipe."

"Come with me, and I'll copy it," Eranthia declared. She stood up, brushed off her fabulous pink skirt, and picked up Acwellan's teapot. The little sea monster grabbed a lock of her strawberry blond hair and gnawed at it.

"I've actually been trying to get you alone for a bit now," Eranthia admitted.

"Why did you invite Edonia then?"

"I wanted to talk to her, too," Eranthia paused "But not about this. She's scared of the Outside, and the barrier falling, and the pearls, just like everyone else."

"So..." I stopped. Don't make any assumptions "Look, I'm just trying to get through my next few weeks of being confined to land, the divorce, and Tilly's kids."

"And aren't you bored of all that?" Eranthia prodded "This is a chance to change the world, Merika. Don't you want to see what's beyond Ilcodeux?"

"Yes, more than anything, but..." I gestured at her father's desk. "The people in charge won't like that. And the destruction of the barrier isn't exactly something I could hide."

"Of course. But let's speak hypothetically here," Eranthia said. She pulled a yellowed piece of paper from her pocket "There are three ways the barrier could come down. First, it could fall on its own -"

"- In, like, twenty years, so we really don't need to be worrying about all this now -"

" - A liberal estimate, but yes, it's not going down anytime soon. The second is if a demon with royal blood magically takes them down. And the third is the pearls."

"Okay, so it's out of our hands unless we decide to break a few laws or find a would-be demon princess," I said "Thanks for the tea and cake and all, but I don't think I'm up to any of that."

"Of course," Eranthia said "I just thought it might interest you to know that I know where the pink pearl is," she paused for the suitably dramatic time period before grinning widely. "It's somewhere here. A magical artifact, in my own home."

Of course. Eranthia's father was a key player in the government of Ilcodeux. Of course, the pink pearl was hidden in Fragaria Tower. Why would they trust a key to sabotaging the island to anyone less than a polician.

Eranthia handed me the piece of paper "There's the recipe. The riddle is on the back."

"Thanks, I guess."

"When you change your mind about the pink pearl, come and talk to me about it," Eranthia said "For now, let's not mess with magic we don't understand."

Oh, how I loved messing with magic I didn't understand.

We returned to the tea table.

"There you are," Edonia said "You were gone for so long I actually bothered to check my phone. And lo and behold. A text from Pacifinos yesterday about someone you're going on a date with," she raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"I'm not going on a date with Casey," I replied "We're going to build a boat together."

"Sounds like a date to me," Edonia said.

"You could sail away to paradise," Eranthia declared dramatically "Steal away in the middle of the night to find someplace to be alone together forever, just the two of you."

"Guys, stop," I said "That doesn't sound romantic, being alone with one and only one person for the rest of your life. No friends? Or family."

"You don't like family."

"I don't like my bad family. That doesn't mean I want to cut all ties with... that would be... just Uncle Decimus. Maybe Mom if I feel gracious. Or Tilly, although she's technically not family-"

"Quit changing the subject," Eranthia said "When's your date?"

"Not a date."

"Fine. Boat-building session."

"It's Saturday," I said.

Eranthia looked down at her lap, and gently scratched the scales on Ackwellan's head "Don't take what I said... about sailing away and leaving all of us behind... don't take it too seriously."

"I won't."

#writing #wip disappear

0 notes

kiryuva · 7 years

Text

Uncertainty - Part II

『 Note: Once again, I made this so much longer than I intended! It started well in my head, but I struggled and tripped up so many times. This also inspired a separate piece, so I promise to do better come next time around. I’ve been practicing writing and have a long way to go, but I have to start somewhere. Anyways! Be sure to read part one here! 』

“Here I am, rambling, when I should be silent.” You whispered, lowering your head slightly as your hands rested in your lap. What you tried to ignore, were your fingers trembling. You couldn’t focus, and forcing yourself to be at peace was not going to help. You mind kept racing and you knew yourself better than to try to keep your calm facade while troubled. “My apologies, Genji.”

Both you and Genji were sitting side by side, the soft wind dancing around your figures as you sat in lotus position. Looking ahead to the wilderness around you, you lowered your eyelids and exhaled through your nose. You sat in a shaded area in the center of cherry blossom trees, miles away from the bustling city. The quiet was always your preference, as it allowed you to feely think without any distractions. Today, however, you were accompanied by a particular person to relish in the quiet scenery. Following your initial meeting with Zenyatta, you managed to convince the Omnic through facial expressions — and just your general connection of him throughout the years — to assist you in finding a calm area to meditate with his student. It might seem carefree to some, but for you, this was overwhelming.

It wasn’t until you sat down, later, that you realized Zenyatta was nowhere to be found. He had left you alone with him. You wanted to scream, but you knew that would not only concern Genji, but make you look all the more ridiculous. Exhaling once again, you decided that you would address it later, as something more occupied your thoughts.

You turned to Genji, but only for a moment. You knew it was rude to stare, and while not exactly knowing the fullest extent of his backstory, you respected him enough not to be that person about his appearance.

What made matters worse, was that Genji was very quiet. Granted he was polite and respectable to those he favoured, but he was not the one to always engage in conversation. The only times you would refer to him as “talkative” would be through his interactions with his master; otherwise, he was silent. He carried himself well in that regard, and always watched. It drew you to him, his silence, and your curiosity did always get the better of you.

“You seem nervous.” His sudden voice broke you from your distracted trance. Blinking, you smiled meekly as a response. “What seems to be on your mind?”

You is what you wanted to say, but you knew better than to make yourself look even more awkward than you already did. “It’s just… A person has been troubling me. “ You cursed yourself inwardly for simply letting yourself admit that, because now it became that kind of conversation, and with your crush, no less. Following those words, you held up your hands defensively. “N-Not in a life-threatening way, of course. I’m not in a life or death kind of situation…”

While it was a bit windy, the weather was nice enough to distract you. Genji did not rush your speaking, and remained still as you attempted to explain yourself. Soft, pink petals floated to the ground from nearby cherry blossom trees as you fiddled with your clothes. Your [colour] eyes couldn’t help but follow their every pattern as you would occasionally stammer in-between words. It was very important for you not to meet his stare.

“I wanted to seek meditation to come to terms with that. How I should… Distract myself from it, or at the very least…” You watched as he tilted his head, as if intrigued. You then added, “I wanted to… I wanted to meditate with you in private because I wanted to hear your take on it. H-How would you go about it?”

The entire time you spoke, you felt his gaze through his green visor, but refused to make direct eye contact. It was a strong, attentive look, and it made you flustered. The fact that you not only were in close proximity to him, but having his eyes on you made your heart beat faster. You shyly looked at separate parts of him and would then redirect your attention to your surroundings. It only made your face hotter, and you did your best not to seem too obvious.

“That is quite the predicament,” he sighed, letting a petal land in his cybernetic hand, “one that I wish I could assist you with, though I may not have the answers. Have you confronted this person?”

“Absolutely not,” you quickly responded, shaking your head, “if anything, I’d make myself a bigger fool than I already have. Or, well, would. It’s… Complicated.”

“How so?” The younger Shimada was intrigued.

“Trying to speak to someone you admire is… Frustrating. Concerning. Stressful,” you released yourself from your former position. You brought your knees to your chest and hated how you couldn’t look directly at him. “Especially when you…”

“Ah.” Genji pieced it together, releasing a small noise. Little did you know that in his younger years Genji had many times where he chased frivolous pursuits. Lifting his head, he looked to the collection of cherry blossom petals and watched as they swayed in the direction of the wind. You glanced over at him, and he noticed, albeit subtly.

You swallowed, beating yourself up as to why you didn’t tell him — haven’t told him yet. Of course, it would be weird, you thought, you’re always a mess around him and neither of you have obligation to one another. For you to tell him your feelings would be strange. You shook your head again, playing the different scenarios through your mind and trying to find a reasoning as to your situation.

“I know I may not be the best for this,” He consoled, “I’m sure Master is much more suited.” He heard you laugh, almost a defeated laugh and focused on your movements as he continued, “Though I wouldn’t mind being support for you.” He paused for just a moment before adding, “You seemed very flustered earlier when speaking together. I wondered if you were uncomfortable around me.”

Your eyes widened at his statement and you faced him. “N-No, no, I promise, that was not it at all. If I were uncomfortable, I would’ve told you, and Zenyatta. You don’t think I’m uncomfortable around you all the time, do you? I mean, from the times you are here. I mean, I don’t…” Yet again you were rambling. He saw how embarrassed you were, how red your cheeks were. Gosh, you hated how much of a mess you were. “I just…” You turned away and mumbled something underneath your breath.

“If anything, I wondered if I made you uncomfortable. You’re always distant, so I hesitated on asking. I sought Zenyatta, and…“

“For the amount of years you have known me, you should’ve known I would be willing to listen. You’re very nice to be around,” Nodding, he detached his swords from his person, the sound of metal clinging through your ears, and placed them next to him.

What Zenyatta said was true. You had affection towards the ninja, and hated how not only obvious you felt you were, but embarrassed you were on the subject. There was silence, and you wished you could’ve removed yourself from the situation. Did he find offense to what you said, you wonder? Self-doubt began to splatter across the walls of your mind, and you were unsure of what to do. Breathing, and rubbing your hands together, you began to calm yourself.

“I’m sorry, Genji,” you whispered, “this must just be odd for you.”

“Not at all.” The entire time he was simply observing you. He kept his hands on his lap, lowering his eyelids underneath his visor. Your motions were interesting to him. “I’m more concerned with how you are feeling. After all, you did request I be at your side today.”

“Just forget it,” you shrugged, exhaling. This was not the way you wanted to go about things, nor present yourself. I apologize. This was a silly idea to do,” You turn to him with another weak smile, a defeated smile. After this, you felt you had no chance. You gave up on yourself, and Genji sensed that. He remained quiet, narrowing his eyes as you began to tremble. You began to retreat into yourself, but did your best to keep a calm composure.

“Hopefully, one day, he — they may…” You began to guess, not caring you let the pronoun slip, “… I don’t know.” You removed your hands from around your knees and placed them on the grass beside you. “… Maybe return how I feel. How much I… li-” A slight smile tugged at your lips, signaling yourself to stop, and you closed your eyes. Part of you felt better releasing your inner feelings to the cyborg, though it was bittersweet. Why was this so upsetting and conflicting for you? Regardless, you concluded the topic became mundane and decided to drop it.

“Perhaps so.”

A sudden coolness engulfed you, or at least the right side of your body. It was in sync with the strong gust of wind that travelled from you to the many cherry blossom trees surrounding you both. It put you at ease, as if the winds swept you in a calming embrace. You felt water build at the corners of your eyes, but would be damned if you let them fall.

Slowly opening your eyes, you soon pieced together why you felt the chill through your spine. A flush of crimson painted your cheeks, and you didn’t dare to look to your left. You shyly turned your head away, goosebumps tingling from one arm to the other. Genji’s steel hand covered yours, his body much closer to yours than you remember, and focusing solely on you. You remained still, making sure you weren’t hallucinating and steadied your breathing. How you hadn’t fainted from the amount of blood rushing to your face was astounding. His grip became slightly firm, but not too rough; just enough to know he was there.

“Genji?” you questioned hesitantly, looking to your hands together, then finally up to him.

While you couldn’t see it, he smiled underneath his faceplate. A low, playful chuckle came from him before he spoke, “You would be surprised.”

#overwatch drabble #genji shimada x reader #genji x reader #overwatch x reader #overwatch imagines #fluff

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