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francis-ford-kofola · 2 years

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A Dismal Bathroom

Fandom: The Sorcerer's Apprentice (2010)

Pairing: Maxim Horvath / gn!reader

Characters: Maxim Horvath, Drake Stone, gn!reader

Summary: A stranger approaches you in a public bathroom and taunts you with some incoherent insults. Soon you find out that this stranger is not just a simple bully but a henchman of your enemy and your secret crush, Maxim Horvath.

Rating: T

Warnings: suggestive, canon typical threats

Word count: 1372

A/N: Yes, this is the infamous bathroom scene set in a different context and rewritten as a reader insert fanfic (reader exchanges places with poor Dave). It is meant partly as a joke but well, someone had to do it. The dialogue is taken directly from the movie, with whole four words changed for better dramatic effect (excluding names).

Many thanks to my beloved @antifiction for their support and for checking my grammar errors ❤️

*****

“So, you're the one.”

You froze in the middle of your movement, hastily stopped your humming mid-verse and turned over to the guy who was by all accounts talking to you. After all, there was nobody else in the bathroom. “Excuse me?” you shifted uncomfortably, hoping he would not comment on the fact that you were singing and dancing in front of the public bathroom mirror just a few moments ago.

The man, with a goatee and hair dyed blonde, dressed in a fancy black coat and combat boots with heels higher than most stilettos had, was leaning against the wall and staring at you with judgment. “Prime Merlinean, eh? You don't look like much.” He glanced off the wall and slowly started approaching you, heels clicking with every step. Who was this emo-looking stranger and why was he trying to pick a fight with you?

“I don't actually know what you're talking about,” you said.

“Cool. Makes this easy,” sneered the guy. He kicked something and activated the dryer on the other side of the bathroom. “Can't have anyone hearing your girly cries, right?”

“I don't actually know who you are.”

The guy looked surprised, even offended. “Really, you don't recognize me?”

“Are you in Depeche Mode?”

Suddenly he grabbed you by your collar and slammed you against the wall, lifting you at least a foot up. You let out a surprised yelp. Really? Does he hate Depeche Mode that much?

“What do you weigh, like a buck 20?” he mocked. He let go of you and you braced yourself for a fall, but nothing happened. You stayed a foot above the floor with no visible forces holding you in place.

“Whoa! What the...” So this guy was a sorcerer just like you were – or rather, let’s be honest, better than you were. But at least he looked just like a simple bully and not like someone who would actually try to murder you, unlike the one in China Town. Maybe, just maybe, if you played it cool and did what he said, he would let you go. “This is high school all over again.”

He took a few steps away and almost nonchalantly snapped his fingers, breaking the spell that was holding you pinned to the wall. You fell down on all fours and quickly sprang up to your feet.

“All right, I tell you what,” the guy said. “Hit me with your best shot, your most powerful spell.” He spread his arms mockingly.

“Okay…” Why was he doing this, you thought? Did he just like the power, or was he maybe working for…him?

“Get the ring out. Put it on. Very good.”

“Okay.” You wiggled your fingers a bit and tried to concentrate, even though your thoughts were wandering to your enemy, Maxim Horvath. Not again. You pushed these thoughts away and tried to visualize a surge of force hitting the guy who was standing in front of you, and shoving him across the bathroom. You weren’t sure if you weren’t just imagining it, but you thought you felt the power in your hands like a strange warm shiver. You concentrated further, trying not to think about the weirdly handsome face of Horvath but instead on the stranger in front of you. When you felt you’ve done enough, you released your spell at him with all your force.

“Ow!” The guy cowered in pain. Then he smirked. “No, I'm joking.”

You felt a sting of disappointment. “Nothing is happening.”

“Have you cleared your mind?”

No. But to be fair, your mind hadn’t been clear since you had met Maxim Horvath and since he had sent that pack of wolves after you. Good times. “Yeah, I'm pretty sure.”

“That's nerves and it's the pressure,” the guy nodded.

“I got nothing happening. I'm new at this.”

“The ring's on. Take the ring off. Take off the ring. Take it off.”

“Yeah, it doesn't help me...” you did what he said.

“Enough, you idiot." A commanding voice coming from outside cut your conversation off. You recognized it immediately. It was Maxim Horvath, your enemy and the man you spent most of your time thinking about. “Watch the door,” he said to the stranger. Then he entered the room, walking swiftly towards you, making your heart beat in frenzy. “You.”

In a moment of panic, you threw yourself towards the bathroom door and started to run. But after a few steps, you felt your legs struggling in vain. Horvath was dragging you back towards himself with a magic spell.

“Hello, (Y/N),” he said with a mocking politeness when you ended up right next to him.

“Hi,” you nodded back.

“So, (Y/N).” For a fleeting moment you thought how strange it was that two of the last four words he had said had been your name. But you certainly weren’t complaning – him saying your name was like music to your ears.

“Oh man,” you exhaled.

He cornered you against the wall, his body standing only inches away from yours. You gasped.

“I'm going to do it,” he said. “Oh, yes, right here in this dismal bathroom. It's not very classy, but there you go.” You felt blood rushing to your cheeks. You couldn’t deny the attraction you felt towards this man. But come on, had your crush been that obvious? “But before we get to that unpleasantness, you're going to tell me where the Grimhold is. Where is she?” Wait, you thought, what was this supposed to mean? All of the scenarios running through your head, including him taking you against the wall, over the wash-basin, or in one of the bathroom stalls, seemed quite pleasant. And why was he talking about the Grimhold using the feminine gender?

“She?”

“He hasn't told you, has he? The truth about who's inside the doll? Sweetheart, you've put your faith in the wrong man.” You had no idea what he was talking about, but it didn’t matter, not when he was standing so close to you that you could almost feel his breath on your face, and not when he was making you indirect propositions like this. He paused for a moment and you noticed he was looking at your lips. You shifted a little and his gaze returned to your eyes again, with a certain fervor. “Tell me, have you ever been in love?”

“I… Yeah.”

“You're in love right now. I can see it in your eyes.” You opened your mouth to speak and averted your gaze, feeling your cheeks getting hotter and hotter. “No, no, no, no. Don't deny it.” He raised his walking stick and gently tilted your cheek back. “I wonder what would happen if you lost them.”

What did he mean by this, you thought. Didn’t he know that you were in love with, well... him? It was strange to admit this to yourself, especially since you were currently being pinned to the wall and the man that you loved was threatening you.

“Shut up,” you said to him with a newly found courage.

He raised his walking stick again, this time to shush you. “You'd be no better than the rest of us. Where is the Grimhold?”

“I don't know,” you squirmed.

“Oh (Y/N), you really are the most dreadful liar.” He stepped back for a moment.

You lost it. So this man finds you in this dreary gender-neutral bathroom, sends his henchman away to have some privacy with you, corners you against the wall and gives you a speech full of thinly-veiled innuendos, all just to find some information about a magical doll? You felt a wave of disappointment washing over you – then, you decided you need to take matters into your own hands.

You took a little step forward. He looked at you, head to toe, then glanced back into your eyes and smashed his lips into yours. Oh yes. You kissed him back, placing both hands on the sides of his head, pulling him closer. He pinned you against the wall, pressing his body onto yours. A small moan escaped your lips. He accepted the invitation and slid his tongue into your mouth.

You knew then that you certainly hadn’t put your faith in the wrong man.

#maxim horvath x reader #alfred molina x reader #reader insert #maxim horvath #alfred molina #the sorcerer's apprentice #i hope this hasn't been done before #the scene is filled with tension to the point it's almost a meme #my fics

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antifictionsfiction · 2 years

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Worth the Free Admission - Part 2/5

Part 1 / Part 3 / Part 4

Fandom: Children’s Theater Critic with Alfred Molina

Pairing: Arthur H. Cartwright x gn!reader

Rating: T

Chapter summary: Cartwright takes you up on your offer and shows up to a rehearsal. For some reason he seems significantly less self-assured than when you first met him.

Warnings/tags: age difference, insecurity, mutual pining

Chapter word count: 1644

A/N: Once again, major thanks to my friend B. (@scorsesedepalmafan ) for support and creating and providing the lovely gif! ❤ And a special shout-out to my friend Anna (@castanierprosper ) 😊

Even after persuading yourself over and over that you wouldn’t take Cartwright’s upcoming visit into account when preparing for the class, your notebook was overflowing with detailed notes. Your planning seemed to cover every minute of the usual two-hour class and then some. Even as you were waiting for Cartwright to arrive in the rehearsal room, you were speed-reading through all twenty pages – again. You were sitting on the edge of the small stage at the far end of the room, surrounded by scattered papers, pencils and paper clips. You had some cleaning up to do before the kids came and made an even bigger mess of your own chaos.

A knock on the door – far too polite to signal Cartwright’s arrival to you right away – finally drew your attention away from the notes. Just as you invited the interrupter in, the door flew open, apparently by accident. The large man you would recognize anywhere now took a leap and reached for it to prevent it from slamming into the wall. With Cartwright’s long limbs coming into play, the whole situation looked exceptionally comical. As if to complete the gag, Cartwright then proceeded to adjust his glasses that had gone askew with his sudden movement, and blurted out an apologetic greeting. You observed he had remembered not only your last name, but also the first. And you had thought you were the only one who had set out to impress today.

“Mr. Cartwright, a pleasure to see you again,” you got up from the stage and walked up to him with an extended hand ready to shake. You were yet to decide whether your words were just a pleasantry or not. Cartwright, on the other hand, appeared genuinely pleased, once he got over the shock of his own entrance.

“I am not interrupting your work, am I?” he asked, pointing to the open notebook and pages of your latest script spread across the stage.

“Well, you are about thirty minutes early,” you chuckled. Of course ‘on time’ meant ‘unnecessarily early’ in his language. Well, at least you didn’t have to clean up all on your own, “But no. I was just going over my notes for today’s class.”

“Ah, I see you do take advice. May I take a look?”

You ignored the condescending subtext of his remark, knowing there would be many other opportunities to get defensive later. Instead, you led him over to your makeshift working space and handed him the notebook after checking it was open on the right page, vary of the more personal nature of some of the entries. Cartwright flipped through the pages, with a satisfied nod or a hum every now and then.

“Yes, this is very good. I have to say I’m impressed by your planning skills. Of course, my guess would be your lesson plans work significantly better on paper than in practice, much like your play. But we can build on this.” He handed you the notebook back, looking at you with certain expectation. Was this a compliment? Was it constructive criticism? Was it just criticism? What you knew for sure was that it was a prompt for you to take charge of your own goddamn work.

“Right. First we need to get the space ready for rehearsing. I’d really appreciate your help, can you bring out those boxes over there, please?” you directed him towards a tall shelf rack with a couple of boxes placed on the top shelf, well out of your reach. Cartwright didn’t even need a chair. You were almost beginning to believe inviting him here was a smart idea.

---

Cartwright had responded to your offer to join the kids in the warmups with a resolute ‘no’, and now he was occupying your favorite chair while you were physically engaging in the exercises. You had underestimated his ability to comment even on the most basic of warmups, but here he was virtually dissecting six-year-old Andy’s take on a walk through the forest.

“Are you wearing shoes? Are the soles of your socks made of steel? If you are walking barefoot, where’s the discomfort? Where’s the pain? You need to make a creative choice and follow it with an action!” The boy had slowed down, walking in a circle in uncertain wobbly steps, trying to follow instructions he couldn’t decipher. You gave Cartwright a quick ‘let me take care of it’ look and took over again.

“The forest floor is full of rocks, crunchy leaves and protruding roots, how does it feel? Is it easy to walk on?” you asked.

“No!” the kids echoed.

“Well, then maybe making careful steps and rising your knees higher will help,” you suggested and observed the focus in the kids’ faces as they took more deliberate steps, some of them even going as far as wincing in pain from stepping on a particularly sharp imaginary rock or root. You praised them all, and even Cartwright seemed satisfied with the progress - not that it was his accomplishment, even if he most likely thought otherwise.

At first you found it quite easy to deflect his pompous input just by overlooking it and carrying on the way you usually would. However, coming into the second half of the class, you could tell he was getting restless. Something about the way he hunched in the chair sent an image of a big, neglected dog into your brain and suddenly you almost felt guilty for ignoring him.

“Mr. Cartwright, are you sure you don’t want to join us? We’re going to move onto some improv skits now, it would be wonderful if you could contribute with some ideas,” you offered him your hand with a smile. He gaped at you in disbelief for a few seconds before getting his words out.

“No! I couldn’t- I can give you my thoughts on the performance, I- I’m not an expert-“ You cut him off mid-sentence, by leaning in a little and lowering your voice.

“Mr. Cartwright, they’re children, remember? They’ll eat up any crazy idea they hear, especially if it’s coming from me. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they love yours, too. Alright?”

“Alright,” he gave a sheepish nod, taking your hand and following you to the stage.

God, his hand was so comfortingly large and warm, heating up your own – and you couldn’t explain where that thought had come from for the life of you. You quickly dropped said hand to avoid the possibility of any further thoughts of this kind emerging. You cleared your throat both to get the kids’ attention and end the moment of odd tension you had accidentally created. If you had the courage to sneak a look at Cartwright, you would see the rather prominent blush spread all the way up to where the rim of his glasses rested on his cheekbones.

“Do we have to play with him?” asked Ollie, pointing at Cartwright. It was an innocent and understandable question, given Ollie’s experience. But it didn’t exactly work in favor of your pursuit of peace. You could feel the critic tense behind you without needing to look at him. You hoped the other kids wouldn’t join in, because the idea of defending Cartwright against a gang of annoyed children somehow terrified you more than defending the kids against Cartwright had.

“Ollie, come here for a minute,” you pulled him towards you and Cartwright and stepped away from the stage to get a shadow of privacy. Humiliating the boy in front of the rest of the class would never be on the menu again.

“I know you didn’t mean it, but what you just said didn’t make Mr. Cartwright feel great. Is that right Mr. Cartwright?” you raised your brows, signaling to Cartwright to clarify his feelings. He didn’t.

“I erm-“

“But he was so mean to me and he hates how I play,” sniffled Ollie. So he had taken something from Cartwright’s critique after all, something you would have to tackle in the future.

“He doesn’t hate your acting, Ollie. I think you both said ugly things to each other, but you can still be friends if you apologize to each other, hm? Mr. Cartwright?”

Although Cartwright had taken off his specs, there was a glassy shine to his eyes, not nearly as though he was on the verge of tears, but something was going on inside his head.

“Yes, I apologize, dear boy. Despite the obvious shortcomings of your perform-“ He didn’t get to finish his sentence again as you jabbed your elbow into his side with enough force to throw him off. He shot you an alarmed glance but got the point of your little message.

“I apologize, Ollie,” he corrected himself. You touched Ollie’s upper back, urging him to take his turn apologizing.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cartwright,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the ground.

“Call me Arthur.” Cartwright smiled and grasped Ollie’s tiny hand in his massive one, “Everyone, you can call me Arthur,” he called out to the class, obviously having taken note that the class called you by your first name too. The kids all started giggling and shouting Cartwright’s name like a mantra, all while pulling him into the midst of their miniature crowd. Cartwright’s attempts to free himself from their clutches fell flat, but you could tell he wasn’t using even a snippet of his true strength. Above all, he appeared to be relieved by the sudden change in their attitude towards him.

“Alright, release Arthur so that he can help you come up with new characters for this little story we’ll be playing!”

Your order was met with ten excited yesses and squeals and the kids plopped down onto the stage, waiting for further instructions from you. You and Cartwright joined them on the ground, and before you went on to explain the next task, you noticed him watching you with a slight grateful smile.

#arthur h. cartwright x reader #worth the free admission #alfred molina x reader #alfred molina fanfiction #arthur h cartwright x reader #alfred molina #funny or die #gender neutral reader #rated t

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dearlawdimasimp · 2 years

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Alfred Molina/Willem Dafoe Masterlist

Legend:

♠ - oneshot ♣ - prompts

🥰 - comfort 🤪 - crack

💞 - fluff

Otto Octavius

` Dear boy - 💞♠

Pairnings: Otto Octavius x currently masc presenting!reader

Warnings: language(cussing), grammar, no use of y/n, implied that reader's pronouns change and that only at this point of time where the story takes place they use he/him pronouns while being in a workplace and in a relationship with Dr. Octavius(idk if this is a warning but if you guys think it isn't i'll gladly edit this out), possibly ooc Otto, not beta'd or whatevs and a self-indulgent mess (let me know if there are anything else i missed!!)

Summary: A small look into the life of a queer reader who is in a relationship with the Dr. Otto Octavius.

` Doc Green..Ock?? - 🤪♠

Pairings: Otto Octavius x gn!reader x Norman Osborn

Warnings: few cusses, grammar, use of "dude" once but mostly gender neutral, no use of y/n..i think

Summary: A small spark of creativity could make a flame of..interesting events..

` Our Darling - 🥰♠

Pairings: Otto Octavius x gn!reader x Norman Osborn

Warnings: i think..none? but uhm..this does talk about depressing stuff- OH and there might be grammar errors, english isn't my first language lmao😭 AND this was not edited, beta'd whatever so im literally just posting this blindly kahdhs 💀

Summary: It was one of those days, where the bed was much more comfortable than anything else and you just feel numb and the two scientists, Norman and Otto, helps you feel better

Alfred Molina

` MCU Actor!Reader - 🤪♣

imagine: short!silk!actor!reader x Alfred Molina(platonic or romantic..idk)

Maxim Horvath

` MCU Sorcerer/Magician!Reader - 🤪♣

random thought: MCU!sorcerer/magician!Reader x Maxim Horvath 👀

#G•writes #G's•masterlist #G's•Alfred Molina masterlist #otto octavius x reader #maxim horvath x reader #alfred molina x reader #doc ock x reader #otto octavious x oc x norman osborn #otto octavious x reader x norman osborn #doc ock x oc x green goblin #doc ock x reader x green goblin #mcu x reader #mcu actor!reader #sorceror/magician!reader

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latenightartist-author · 2 years

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I can't imagine how concerned alfred molina would be if he looked himself up on tumblr. Probably happy because of all the body positive love for him but also a little concerned when he sees things like "doc ock x reader" or "maxim horvath x reader"

I feel like he would sit there and just wonder if his fans are okay

#alfred molina x reader #marvel #disney #the avengers #alfred molina #maxim horvath

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fanwritersposts · 2 years

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Welcome to my account

This account is where I write my stories and this here is my masterlist and requests you can make.

Masterlist

Request are open

Rules

The rules here are important and if you break or say something in the request that is involved in the won't write list, then it will be ignored or blocked.

Things I'll write:

Angst/Hurt & Comfort

Mentions of alcohol or drugs in the past

Mentions of cheating in the past

AU(Alternate Universe)

OC insert

Headcanons

Long stories(up to 3-10 part story)

One-shot stories

Things I won't write:

Polygamy

NSFW

Abusive relationship

Cheating/affairs

Smut

Rape or sexual harassment

Yandere

Fat phobic and homophobic mentions

Any offensive or hateful comments

These are the kind of characters I will write about if you make a request, Alfred Molina Characters(definitely focused on) and Doctor Octopus variants(I just thought why not do that also). I'll update the list when I see more movies with Alfred Molina in it.

Alfred Molina Characters

Otto Octavius/Doc Ock (Spider-Man 2 & No Way Home)

Maxim Horvath (Sorcerer's Apprentice)

Rahad Jackson (Boogie Nights)

Roger Stephenson (Roger and Val Just got in)

Randall Pepperidge (Pink Panther )

Edy Rodriguez (Nothing like the holidays)

Jim Bussey (The Water Man)

Satipo (Indiana Jones raiders of the lost ark)

Stephen Arden (Species)

Snidely K. Whiplash (Dudley do right)

Sheikh Amar (Prince of Persia)

Manuel Aringarosa (Da Vinci Code)

Diego Rivera (Frida)

Boris Plots (Undertaking Betty/Plot of view)

Hugh Weldon (Pete's Meteor)

Harding Hooten (Monday Morning)

Ben Weeks (Normal Hearts)

Ricardo Morales (Law & Order LA)

Jimmy Stiles (Ladies man)

Cliff Gray (Orchids)

Paul Weller (Breakable You)

Dr. Edelweiss (Angie Tribeca)

Doc Ock Characters

Raimi Doc Ock(just a reminder)

TSSM Doc Ock

USM Doc Ock

PS4 Doc Ock

Share your requests here in this post

#alfred molina #doc ock #otto octavius #maxim horvath #rahad jackson #ricardo morales #Manual Aringarosa #Harding Hooten #Stephen Arden #Jim Bussey #Randall Pepperidge #alfred molina x reader #hugh weldon #dr edelweiss #boris plots

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metalheadfreak1 · 1 year

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Chapter 9!!!

Oh I hadn’t forgotten. Trust me.

#comte x reader #comte de reynaud #chocolat #chocolat fan fic #chocolat 2000 #alfred molina fic #alfred molina x reader

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jay-cosplay-bin · 12 days

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Not related to the topic but somewhat linked. There was this writer that usually uses 2 pictures before they start writing. They have written for Alfred Molina and Dan Aykroyd and many others and i want to try and find thier work again does anyone know their account?

#alfred molina #alfred molina x reader #doc ock #doctor octopus x reader

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plush4bunny · 2 months

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"You rush, still out of sight, to see what the commotion is. Dread fills you when you see Oswald tied down to a chair and with blood marring his face. You don't even care to contemplate which of the two of you slipped and made the boys get wind of your relationship because your first worry is that Cobblepot is tied down and clearly anxious and angry, a step away from another panic attack by how his arms tug at the bindings."

scene from @chrism02's 18th chapter in their titillating Molina fancasted Oswald Cobblepot x reader fanfic called "Botch up"

#alfred molina #fancast #oswald cobblepot #oswald cobblepot x reader #chrism02's Oswald Cobblepot #the penguin batman #batman the animated series #btas #the new batman adventures #tnba #gotham rogues #batman villains #fanart #dc fanart #character design #illustration #digital drawing #illustrator #artists on tumblr

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myveryownfanfiction · 4 months

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18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery (thanks for the idea), @cassieuncaged, @freddiefredfive, @writingkitten, @iobsessoverfictionalmen, @verysmolnerd, @ghostlypie

warnings: menstruation, swearing

I woke with a groan. I tried rolling onto my stomach, pressing my hips into the mattress to try to alleviate the pain. I groaned as I was ripped from the last visages of sleep. Otto appeared in the doorway and the actuators moved towards me.

“what wrong?” Otto asked, concern dripping from his voice. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah.” I groaned. “Just my period trying to kill me.” Otto came over and sat down next to me. Gently brushing away my hair, Otto leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don’t have anything here for you except for some painkillers.” Otto murmured. I nodded.

“I can go home.” I offered. “Might be better anyway. First day is always the worst.”

“it’s fine.” Otto tried to assure me. “I can go shopping. It’s no big deal. Let me take care of you darling.” I nodded and Otto got up to grab the painkillers for me. I sat up slowly before taking them. Otto helped me lay back down once I was done and kissed me softly.

“still hurts like a son of a bitch.” I groaned as I maneuvered into a slightly more comfortable position.

“I’m sure it does sweetheart.” Otto said, brushing my hair back again. “I’ll be back before you know it.” Otto kissed my head again and stood up. “Love you.”

“love you too.” I said before he left the apartment. I drifted in and out of sleep while waiting for him to come back. Before I knew it, Otto was climbing back into bed with me. The actuators wrapped around me gently as Otto kissed my shoulder. “Hey.”

“hi.” He murmured. “I got pads for you. And a heating pad. The actuators kept giving me suggestions so there’s a lot of candy in there too. And a couple plushies. And a blanket.” Otto listed off. I laughed and went to turn around in his arms with flos help. “And a new travel mug I thought you would like. And some more plushies.” I kissed him and cupped his cheek.

“you’re really sweet you know that Otto?” I asked. Otto blushed. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” I snuggled into Otto’s side. He held me and whispered sweet nothings to me as I slowly drifted off again.

#otto octavius #otto octavius x reader #otto octavius fanfic #Otto Octavius fanfiction #Otto octavius imagine #Alfred molina #alfred Molina x reader #Alfred Molina fanfic #alfred Molina fanfiction #alfred Molina imagine #monthly series

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dainty-fingertips · 2 years

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I looove your work about Otto! Would you maybe consider doing something where the reader works for him as a practice for university or something and is severely touch starved and lonely? And whenever someone touches her, she jumps and Otto thinks it's because she doesn't want to be touched but in reality she just feels worse afterwards and doesn't want people to know? And one evening she sees someone get hugged by him (maybe an old friend or something) and just breaks down because she's in love with him but can't imagine him returning her feelings? With a happy ending, please?

Okay, so that's a bit much and I totally get when you don't want to do that..

Thank you anyways so much for providing great content to us! Have a wonderful week! :)

see little openers and closers like that make me tear up :,) this ended up being like three times as long as any of my other oneshots so I hope you enjoy it, friend!!

Patience as a Virtue ||otto octavius x fem.touch-starved.reader

word count: 3464

summary: Two lucky students from MIT are selected for in-person training with renowned Oscorp scientist, Dr. Otto Octavius. Peter Parker, and Yn Ln. Yn is a woman who is rather selective in her affections and often doesn't show her love in physical ways, which has caused her to be a bit of a loner her entire life. Working with doctor Octavius seems to have opened up something she never knew was inside of her before, however...

trigger warnings: crying, but with comfort

“Yep, thanks.” She gave Gwen a soft pat on the shoulder, but the blonde didn’t catch the discomfort in her words. Gwen took her arms from around her and waved softly as she walked away. “See you next week!” She called, jogging out of the foyer of MIT. An uneasy sigh slipped past Yn’s lips and she slipped her binder into her bookbag. Gwen Stacy had been tutoring her on calculus for the past month or so, and the two had become relatively close. Gwen was a hugger; Yn was not. Zipping the bag and sliding it over her shoulder, she nodded at the janitor who had begun to mop the floors. The gesture was returned and followed by a slightly hoarse “Safe travels.”, To which she replied “As always.” No clue how it happened, but at some point, her and the lanky old janitor had become buddies, too. Apparently he had overheard her conversation with Dr Connors about assisting Otto Octavius in his lab for credits, and he came to her after she left mentioning how he used to work for him.

The janitor worked for Otto about 10 years ago as an assistant scientist before he retired and began doing simple janitorial work at the school. He told her that Otto was a wonderful employer in a variety of ways, including his kindness. He cared fully about his assistants and was the best in his field, so she should have no trouble with him. Oh, how right he’d been. She had never looked forward to something quite as much as she looked forward to going to his lab on the weekends. In fact, she even had her own Oscorp ID badge that she carried around thanks to him. It wasn’t a very long walk from MIT to the Oscorp tower, only a couple of blocks following the flow of pedestrians. It bordered on being stormy, with a rumbling sky overcast and monochrome; but she felt anything but dreary. Her heart pumped excitedly at the thought of the doctor. How would he greet her today? Would he make her coffee like last week? Coffee from him tasted better than any café in Manhattan.

Entering the elevator inside Oscorp tower, she began her slow journey to the fourth floor to go see Otto. She turned and looked at herself in the reflective walls inside the elevator, using her fingers to thumb her hair into the best possible position. Her outfit was unwrinkled, and with her hair in place, she was able to make sure that she looked her best upon entering the lab. The doors opened and she stepped out onto the white tile, turning left to approach the double doors to Octavius’s lab. She pushed them open and noticed the usual bustling of technicians and murmur of the mathematicians, and the humble figure of doctor Octavius hunched over his desk with a paper cup half full of a Jamaican blend. Cream and sugar, she’d learned he liked. She weaved through the other scientists and approached the doctor, setting her bag down at her feet. He seemed to hear her before she even said a word, because he quickly smiled up at her and stood up.

“You should have sent me a text! I could have met you outside with an umbrella!” Were his immediate words. He pulled her hand into a warm shake. “You aren’t cold, are you?” He asked. She shook her head assuringly and grabbed his hand in response. Handshakes were something she didn’t quite mind so much, especially not the doctor’s. He never prolonged them for more than a couple of seconds. “I’m just fine, doctor. And it isn’t raining yet.” She laughed softly. Otto looked at her strangely and turned his head to the window. It had begun to drizzle when she had entered the elevator, apparently. “Well, it wasn’t when I was outside.” She corrected, shrugging lightly. “I’m just glad you aren’t wet. You can get quite sick in the rain.” He sighed, motioning for her to follow him. “Did you have Connors today?” He asked her, fetching her lab coat for her. She shook her head, taking off her school-branded sweatshirt, leaving her in a t shirt. “No, I don’t have him on Fridays.” Otto tutted disappointedly and swiftly approached the resident laboratory Keurig to brew her a cup.

“What a shame. How’s he doing?” He inquired. She leaned against the counter, buttoning her coat. “He seems to be doing just fine. Says Parker and I are his best students.” Though the statement was made passively and nonchalant, Otto couldn’t help but grin at her and bring attention to it. “Out of your class, or just that period? Makes sense, since the two of you were selected.” He asked her, tilting his head forward slightly. “Oh, ah… I’m not sure. He didn’t specify,” She replied back, slightly embarrassed. “I’m not surprised Parker was grouped with you. He’s a brilliant boy. I just wish he had your work ethic.” He chuckled, quickly adding a “Don’t tell him I said that.” before he got himself in trouble.

She smiled softly, a blush biting at her cheeks. “It’s our secret, and thank you for the compliment.”

The two of them chatted aimlessly at anything and everything, but nothing all the same. It was very domestic conversation for a relationship like theirs. Otto discussed simple home-life things as well as what progress they’d made that week, and she talked about her classes and friends. It surprised her how invested he always seemed in such mundane things, like her hobbies; however simple or complex they may be, Otto was a nuclear physicist. His lab work was infinitely more interesting than her simple college-life interests. But this, she had considered, was probably one of the reasons she found herself so attracted to him. A man with his status and schedule always made sure to take time to talk shop with her before they began their work? That fact alone will do wonders for anyone’s self esteem.

Otto’s kindness had touched her on more than one occasion, and as a result, she found herself gaining an affection for the doctor like she’d never had with anyone else. He handed her the cup he’d brewed for her and they walked back to his desk as their conversation dwindled down to a comfortable close, and from the grave rose a new one. One about work and science, chemistry and physics; their specialized fields. Peter quickly walked in the door, definitely wet but not quite soaked. He had probably ran here. Otto and Yn waved at him, and the doctor excused himself for a moment to go greet him. While he and Peter were chatting, grabbing coats, and brewing coffee, Yn began to set up the evenings tests they had agreed on the week before.

The night came quickly, faster than either she or Otto would have liked. Peter’s aunt was waiting for him at home, and so he never could stay for very long; tonight, though, he decided to stay back and help clean up. Those two were always the last in the lab with Octavius, and most of the time it was only Yn; the doctor was always accompanied during closing, either way. She and the doctor were making the smallest of adjustments as Peter pushed in chairs and organized papers. “Thank you for staying late tonight, my boy.” Otto said, standing upright and turning to face him. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to leave a busy lady to do all the work?” He continued teasingly, earning a comically unamused look from her and a bashful stutter from Peter.

“I-I’m sorry, doc. It’s just, my aunt May, you know…” Otto chuckled softly and approached him with Yn when they finished. “I’m only teasing, my boy. Yn here is more than capable.” His simple praises made her heart grow a bit lighter each time. He smiled down at her before looking back at Peter, and then back at her, and then back at Peter. He seemed conflicted. “...You know what? I think the two of you should get together for a nice dinner some time.” The two students panicked and she and Peter both frantically refuted the suggestion. “We’re just friends! Acquaintances! We only met because of this lab deal!” And again the doctor only grinned, patting Peter on the shoulder. He almost seemed... excited. If Yn’s head could explode, it probably would have. She so badly wanted to say something clever, something witty to get back at him; but she only stood and covered her eyes with one of her hands. She wanted to go out for a nice dinner with Otto, not Peter!

“Alright, alright. Let’s go, you two.” He said, motioning to the door, shoving aside his sudden bout of joy at the news she didn’t feel that way about Peter. The lab had since emptied out and so Peter and Yn had ease walking to the coat lockers without worrying about bumping shoulders with an ornery technician. “Sorry about that…” Peter mumbled quietly to her. She only shook her head with an awkward grin. “It’s not your fault, don’t worry.” He laughed dryly and licked his lips, looking down at the floor. “Ah, if you… if you would, uh, if you WOULD like to go out to dinner with me some time,” her throat tightened. “I’m sorry, Peter.” She responded, hanging her lab coat up. He sighed and nodded, dropping the topic. “Thanks for the offer, though.” She offered a sympathetic smile and the two of them made their way back to Otto, who had already hung his coat up before them. He noticed Peter’s dejected expression, and looked at him with eyes that read sympathy.

The three of them left the building and got in the elevator, slowly descending the lower part of the tower before exiting into the foyer. The all stepped into the luxuriously decorated lobby of the Oscorp tower, illuminated by a glass chandelier and several warm lights overhead. She and Otto And Peter (the doctor acting unknowingly as a buffer between them to prevent awkward contact) walked to the door, when suddenly a thought struck Yn; she had left her sweatshirt in the lab. “Oh, shoot. Hey, doctor Octavius?” She quickly said, stopping. He turned to look at her curiously. “Yes?” He inquired. “I left my sweatshirt in the lab. Can I go and grab it?” She asked him, relishing the gorgeously curious wide eyes of the doctor. “Of course. One moment, I’ll go with you.” He stated, turning to Peter.

Their conversation quieted down, and she took that as a silent ask for her to go wait by the elevator. She turned and made her way to the leftmost elevator, the one they’d come from, and she watched the interaction play out. Otto in his soft maroon turtleneck talking to Peter, who looked just as lost as you were. In the glimmering light from the chandelier, his dark hair caught a light that almost made it seem like he were glowing. She finally was able to admire him from a distance without him noticing, and he truly was the most handsome man she had ever had the pleasure of being around. And she got to work for him, how lucky was she? She noticed his arm reach into his back pocket and grab an envelope that he handed to Peter.

At first, Peter tried to decline it, but Otto insisted. He took Peter’s hand and placed the envelope in it himself. Whatever the doctor was saying seemed to really surprise Peter. Surprise him enough to take it and stare at the envelope in disbelief. Otto smiled softly at him, said something she couldn’t hear, and Peter replied with something she couldn’t hear either. But from reading his lips, it looked like a “Thank you.”, and she watched as Peter received a hug from him. Peter hugged back, tightly grasping the envelope in his hand. She then realized in that moment that the envelope probably contained money. Rent, maybe? She also realized something else, then, too. That she was very much touch-starved and she was very much in love with Otto Octavius.

The more she watched them, the lonelier she felt. She felt chills travel up from her feet through her legs and torso and all the way to her face, and she began to breath a bit heavier. She quickly pressed the button on the elevator and she went to the lab herself to grab her sweatshirt. She saw herself in the reflection of the elevator mirror and covered her mouth and she felt hot tears begin to fall. Never in her life had she wanted to be hugged before. Never had she had a desire to be touched. But now, she didn’t know what to think. She passed the second floor. A hug from the doctor would be so fulfilling. It would be so warm and so assuring, she knew she could sit in his embrace for hours if given the chance. She wiped her eyes, but the tears didn’t stop. She passed the third floor. It wouldn’t be forced or uncomfortable, too long or too short, and maybe they’d even kiss. She reached the fourth floor. A kiss from doctor Octavius…

She opened the lab and stumbled inside, bleary-eyed and trying her best to breath. There was no way, she concluded, that the doctor could love her, too. She was 20, he had at least 30 years on her. That didn’t bother her, but it might bother him. She wanted to love him. She wanted to hold him in her arms and have him smile down at her like he always did and tuck her hair behind her ears while he told her how much he loved her, too. Her sweatshirt was folded on the counter by the coat locker. She grabbed it, but she couldn’t bring herself to put it on. She tucked it into her chest with one arm and she covered her mouth with the other and continued to sob into her hand. God, how badly could one person desire to be held?

It wasn’t selfish. It couldn’t have been. She had barely ever been hugged because she pushed it away. But now she wanted it! She needed to be in somebodies arms, and it needed to be the doctor’s. And if this was selfish, than by God, she would let herself be selfish.

The door opened.

“Yn?” Otto called to her. She quickly sniffled and wiped her face. It was dark, so hopefully he wouldn’t be able to tell. “Hey, doctor. I went ahead a-and… and I came and got it.” She said, straining her voice to try and sound as normal as she could. “Yn, are you crying?” He asked frantically, turning on the front lights by the lockers. She was walking toward him with puffy eyes. “N-Nah, no I’m fine.” She strained an uneasy chuckle into the air. Otto quickly met her where she stood, placing a concerned hand on her shoulder. “Dear, what’s happened?” He insisted. He caught how she shivered into his touch, and so he quickly removed his hand; he’d forgotten she didn’t like physical contact.

However, he also caught her lingering gaze on his hand before tears began to fall again. “D-Doctor, this is going to b-be really weird,” she sniffed again, dropping her sweatshirt from her shaking fingers. “B-But can you give me a hug?” He realized then. He and Peter hugging must have triggered this. He picked up her sweatshirt from the floor of his lab, looked at her with sad eyes and a tight, pitying smile, and slowly pulled her into an embrace. She gripped the fabric of his sweater and began sobbing all over again. He was so big and warm, he felt like a blanket with arms and body heat and fingers that softly rubbed her back and a voice that whispered soft nothings to her that told her she was alright. He was more than a blanket. He was more than a pillow she would hold close at night. He was a person, and she was finally able to hug him. She was finally able to be held in someone’s arms without discomfort.

“Doc…Doctor, I-I’m so sorry--” She choked out, pulling her face from being buried in his sweater; but Otto put a finger to her lips and told her no. “Don’t apologize, my dear.” He said, moving his arms to hold both her shoulders. “What caused the sudden change?” He asked, just to be sure he wasn’t assuming things. She sniffled again, bringing her hand to her face to wipe her eyes again. “I think… I think seeing you and Peter being such good friends for so long. A-And I think tonight, when you both hugged, it just… I realized how lonely I was. Not just physically. Romantically and emotionally.” She swallowed thickly. “You and Peter and… and Gwen sort-of and the janitor, Mr… God, I can’t even remember his name.” She laughed weakly. “You four are the only people I can say I’m friends with. I wish… I wish I could have had this epiphany in high school, so I could've maybe had a boyfriend. I know, I’m a sad excuse for someone my age.”

Otto shook his head again and pulled her into another embrace, this one without her crying as much. She was mostly just recovering, now. “You’re only 20, my dear. You’re no excuse for anything. I have to say, I’m honored I was able to help you.” He said, placing a firm hand on her upper back and the other on her lower. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “If only you knew.” She mumbled, closing her eyes tightly before opening them again and blinking away the last of her tears. “Knew what?” He asked. “How much you’ve actually helped me.” She cleared her throat, not moving an inch. “If it wasn’t weird, I’d say that…” she caught her tongue, but it was already too late. Otto waited a moment, and pressed on though he was a victim of what he was sure was wishful thinking. “Say that what, dear?” He asked. She couldn’t see it, but he was smiling softly. He had a hopeful glimmer in his deep brown eyes.

“...”

“You aren’t going to scare me away if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“... I’d say that I liked you.”

To save face she downplayed her true feelings slightly. She knew very well the answer she was going to get, but tonight already hadn’t gone according to plan. Why not go ahead and get this one out of the- “Oh, thank God.” He breathed shakily, holding her a bit tighter. “...What?” She asked, looking over at his head. He pulled away from her , holding her shoulders again with amber cheeks and a relieved smile on his lips. “I do too.” He crowed, looking down at his feet in embarrassment. “Y-You do?” She repeated, voice near inaudible. “I didn’t want to be weird.” He laughed. “Doctor, I…” She couldn’t think of words to say to convey the somersaults her heart was doing. Her chest tightened and her eyes flickered back and forth between his.

“You look like you don’t believe me.” He mused, looking back up at her with a small embarrassed grin. “I-I… I mean, part of me does.” She responded, looking away in near-complete disbelief. “...Doctor, do you… mean that?” She insisted. He moved his hand to gently tug her chin back to face him, leading her to look back into his slightly lidded eyes. “Do you want me to prove it to you?” Her words got caught in her throat. She couldn’t formulate a response as her cheeks nearly caught fire. Instead, she decided to be brave. She leaned up to him slowly, hesitantly, cautiously. This was uncharted territory. The doctor smiled down at her and leaned her to meet her in the middle, their lips pressing together with the tenderness of tulips.

First kiss at 20… better late than never, right?

Otto kept his hands on her shoulders the entire time. The kiss didn’t last but only for a mere 3 or 4 seconds, but the poor girl looked like she was going to pass out. A kiss from doctor Octavius… it still seemed so outlandish, so unreal. “Are you okay?” He asked her, raising one hand to cup her warm cheek. “I’m… I’m great, doctor.” Otto smiled in relief, carefully placing another kiss to her forehead. “You may call me Otto, dear.” He told her in sappy confidence. Maybe, just maybe, a nice dinner with the doctor wouldn’t be too outlandish of a request, after all. She smiled up at him a real, genuine smile. One that only Otto could bring out. “I thought my luck had peaked when I got selected for this program.” She laughed, sniffling one last time. “Fate holds hidden luck for us all. We must simply be patient enough to receive it.” He sighed, happily stroking her cheek with his thumb and fighting back tears of his own.

“Patience has always been a virtue of mine.” She mentioned with a grin.

“I think you’ve taught me how to make it one of mine, as well.” He replied, smiling equally as wide.

#doctor octopus x reader #doc ock x reader #x reader #doctor octopus #marvel x reader #otto octavius #alfred molina #doc ock #otto octavius x reader #raimi spider man #god i love dilfs #alfred molina x reader #alfred molina marry me #my red flag is proofreading my work after i upload it #I JUST REALIZED ITS 3:12 AM OMFG BYE GOOD NIGHT

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sour-patch-simp · 7 months

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Aggressively shoves this art at u

#its otto but between ur legs #lowkey i feel like i cant get his face right but at least i tried #fuck i love him sm you dont understand #doc ock #otto octavius #doctor octopus #alfred molina #doc ock x you #doctor otto octavius #otto octavius x reader #otto octavius x y/n #spiderman #my art

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antifictionsfiction · 2 years

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Worth the Free Admission - Part 4/5

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Fandom: Children’s Theater Critic with Alfred Molina

Pairing: Arthur H. Cartwright x gn!reader

Rating: T

Chapter summary: An evening spent in Arthur’s apartment leads to a series of (maybe not so) unexpected discoveries.

Warnings/tags: mention of weight/self image issues, a brief mention of fat shaming, age difference, insecurity, mutual pining, tension

Chapter word count: 4953

A/N: As always, the gif was created by @scorsesedepalmafan - thank you so much ❤ And many thanks to @castanierprosper for helping me resolve some plot issues 😁

Once Arthur put his self-doubt aside for a while, the work was starting to pick up pace the way you had envisioned. The two of you had managed to solve the issue with the third act in two evenings, snuffing out your creative block like it had never been there in the first place.

After the second evening spent brainstorming in your apartment, you had mutually agreed on making this a regular course of action after the lessons. Your initial question regarding Arthur’s presence at the performance back in December was clarified when you found out he lived in a nearby town, less than a forty-minute drive away. That made your afternoons extending into evenings manageable for him, though you would be lying if you claimed you weren’t curious about his home and lifestyle. Both were still something of a mystery to you, not that it had never occurred to you to ask.

Although he had been inquiring about your own life plenty lately, he would usually brush off your questions with highly unsatisfying answers, telling you there was hardly any dimension to his life beyond his work. You had made it your mission to coax him to take off this whole complex mask for good. The man you were getting to know had far too many layers, far too much emotion, and conversations with him were far too stimulating for someone who should spend every waking hour absorbed in work.

You figured the time had come for you to try to open him up some more about a month after your impromptu shared emotional moment (that Arthur hadn’t mentioned once since, as was to be expected). He had missed one rehearsal due to his imperative presence at a children’s theatre festival in Cleveland, and you used this as an opportunity to invite yourself over to his place. He had done the same thing to you after all.

He accepted your arguments such as the playful reproach that 2:0 still wasn’t an altogether balanced ratio of hospitality or the fact that he would have to drive back home anyway. Not only did he not fret at your request, it was him who suggested you come with him in his car and stay the night in his guest bedroom instead of driving back in your beaten-down old car after dark. He even promised to give you a lift back to work the next day. Not once in your life had you planned a sleepover with a fifty-something children’s theatre critic you used to dislike immensely. But truth be told, you had fantasized about it a couple times over the past month.

You couldn’t recall feeling as safe with any driver as you felt with Arthur. He played an Arvo Pärt symphony on the built-in car speakers and told you little anecdotes from the Cleveland festival, while you made sure to check out the view outside your window occasionally, instead of ogling him the entire time like a madman.

The source of your infatuation with him was hard to place, all you knew was that each time you met him you found yourself drawn to a new detail, no matter how small. At the current rate you would soon find the way his hand moved when he wrote down some notes attractive. Or maybe you had gotten to this stage already, you thought, watching him in strange fascination as he fought to unlock his front door momentarily, pushing into it with his shoulder.

His apartment on the second floor of a large family house fulfilled your expectations to a certain degree – Arthur wasn’t wealthy, but he was clearly making enough to afford a full set of sturdy wooden furniture, an extensive library and a cosy office. He showed you the office with pride, the cut-outs of his printed reviews covering the walls, the vintage typewriter, the meticulously sorted collection of plays filling a dedicated separate bookshelf.

“What’s your impression? Of the office,” Arthur asked as you scanned the reviews behind glass frames, with all the bold titles and Arthur’s name printed below in an equally bold lettering.

“I see all those years of hard work you’ve put into this,” you replied earnestly, turning to face him again. There was bewilderment behind his smile, his eyelids fluttering.

“I thought you were opposed to my work,” he said quietly.

“Arthur, you know that’s not what my objections were about. I respect what you do, I always have.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you – for being frank with me, I feel like nobody else has ever been, not after I gained some recognition at least. Everybody’s so afraid of the critic,” he shook his head, gesturing towards some of the most raging reviews on display.

“And rightfully so, I was so terrified of what you had written about our play that I never even found the courage to look it up. The review wasn’t one for display then, I guess?” your tone was light. You believed you had gotten over it to the degree where reading the review wouldn’t hurt your feelings too badly. You even hoped Arthur would lay it onto you right now, produce his stash of reviews and then you could both laugh about it and how far you’d come.

“I never published it.”

“Oh. I get it, nobody even knows about my class, why would anyone bother reading a review of our play?” You had to admit you were actually relieved and you didn’t question Arthur’s decision, knowing how busy he was. But he wasn’t done yet. He opened a desk drawer and took out a thick leather-bound notebook. Then he sat heavily on the edge of a divan that stood opposite the wall of reviews, the most bougie piece of furniture in the entire apartment, and asked you to take a seat next to him. You did, trying to cover the pleasant shudder when your leg brushed his as you were sitting down.

The divan wasn’t small in itself, but it wasn’t made to accommodate two people, especially when one of them was Arthur. Even fully seated, your leg was near-fully pressed against his, even when you brought your knees together. Arthur didn’t remain unaffected by the sudden closeness either, he shifted in his seat and fidgeted with his glasses hanging from his breast pocket. Nevertheless, he didn’t do anything to widen the gap between you, even though his legs certainly didn’t need to rest so far apart.

“No, take a look at this,” Arthur’s voice felt a little breathy as he leafed through the notebook. He stopped on an entry dated December 20th 2012 – the page was almost empty, except for three short, almost illegible notes.

“This is all I wrote about your play. I meant to publish a review, they would have gladly printed it, debuts tend to be popular. But when I sat down to write that night, I thought about what you’ve told me.” He wasn’t looking at you, instead he was tracing the words on the page with his finger mindlessly, “And I was full on convinced you were just bitter because I hated the performance, but then again, you had invited me to watch your rehearsals, be part of the process…” His eyes finally lifted up to you and now you were the one to look away, the proximity becoming too apparent with your faces just over a foot away from each other.

“What I want to say is… Please, look at me,” he asked softly and you willed your gaze to settle back on him.

“I thought about the process, about what you’d said about learning from each other. God, I didn’t want to believe I had something to learn from you even for a second. But what I write has weight, it can start a career or end it, and I just couldn’t- do that to you before seeing you learn. Blame my ego for that, but I believed I could ‘make’ you, that there was so much I could teach you. Turns out it was the other way around all along. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this - so happy I was wrong,” he reached out and cradled your hands resting in your lap in his, stroking them with his thumbs almost tenderly.

“Arthur, I don’t know what to say.” You were so overwhelmed by his confession and the sensations of his skin touching yours, of his comforting body heat, the way his gaze was undoubtedly fixed on your lips now.

“I don’t know what I was hoping you would say. I just… wanted you to know. That I value what you’ve done for me.”

“Arthur.” God, you hated how pleading that sounded, but then again, that’s what you were doing. Asking for a confirmation that you weren’t just stuck in your head and reading his signals wrong, that he wanted you to make a move. Just a few words, that’s all it would take for you to pour all your affection, all the yearning into a kiss, an embrace, anything that would allow you to hold him close to you and forget about professionality or authority or age.

Despite your doubts, you were almost sure what he wanted with his softened gaze and flushed cheeks. You tilted your head upwards and allowed your eyes to close, giving him the clearest of hints. You heard a sharp inhale as he gave your hands folded in your lap an awkward pat and stood up abruptly. When you opened your eyes, confused, he was already turned away from you, rummaging through his table drawers again.

You called his name for the second time, finding it impossible to disguise the disappointment and embarrassment. Had you really fallen for your own fantasies so deeply that you projected them onto him? But since he didn’t turn around all the way to look at you when you spoke to him and the deep blush still hadn’t retreated from his face, the tension had been far from imaginary. Before you got the chance to ask him what he was doing, he hurried to give you an explanation that was far from satisfactory:

“I just remembered I’ve written extensive notes for the final scene, and I have some revisions I need to consult with you. Ah, there we go,” he stood up with a thick file in his hand, passing it over to you with a smile, though his eyes struggled to meet yours. You muttered a feeble ‘thanks’ and waited for him to go on.

“You are welcome to take the revisions or leave them, of course. But I believe they might help strengthen the weakest points. I’ve forgotten to write this down, but I also might suggest substituting some of Emily’s lines with physical actions. Anything to disrupt the flat, beige drudgery of her line delivery. But let’s sit down and go over all the fine details in the living room. There’s more, uhm… More space there.” His speech felt unusually rushed, nothing like the firm, composed way of speaking you associated him with. The same could be said about his hasty exit, as if he was afraid any hesitation would lead to you asking questions he wasn’t up to answering. Questions that were hanging in the thick air between the two of you, even as you trailed after Arthur into the living room.

He seemed to relax somewhat once you started working through his notes, though you couldn’t help but worry all the progress you had made with him had just been shattered by your idealistic misinterpretation.

---

As you lied in the smallest bed that could still be sold as a double, a thought kept popping into your head: you shouldn’t have stayed. It had been part politeness, part hope that had kept you here. Instead of leaving, you had let yourself suffer through a dinner with Arthur. Not that the food or the conversation was unpleasant in any way, in fact Arthur had surprised you with his culinary skill. It was the painful mutual reluctance to address the elephant in the room that had made the evening almost unbearable for you.

It baffled you that Arthur hadn’t been the one to politely ask you to leave earlier. If you weren’t so upset with yourself for your speculations, you would wonder if he was purposely trying to keep you there – cooking for you, coming up with witty jokes and engaging topics for conversation. Oh but you did overthink it in the end, of course you couldn’t help it. Not with the way Arthur would narrowly avoid mentioning what had happened (or rather not happened) between the two of you, just to look at you with a silent plea in his large eyes as if begging you to say something for him. But you had been too perplexed and, yes, humiliated to even attempt to resolve the situation.

You rolled over onto your other side, for what felt like the hundredth time since you went to bed. One look at your phone on the bedside table revealed to you just how bad your ruminating was this time, the clock read 12:30. You were pretty sure you’d said goodnight to Arthur before eleven.

You took a sip from the glass of water Arthur had sent you to the guest bedroom with. You turned again and found the new position absolutely irritating. You laid flat on your back which made you uncomfortably hyper-aware of your entire body. With a sigh, you took another sip and turned the bedside lamp on, determined to use your sleeplessness for something more productive than mulling over issues you wouldn’t solve now anyway.

The guest bedroom connected straight to the living room, and you assumed Arthur’s bedroom was behind the door at the far end of the apartment. You weren’t worried about waking him up when you decided to borrow a book from his collection to read. But as you opened the door, you weren’t met with a dark room as you’d expected. The room was illuminated by a large floor lamp beside an armchair Arthur was sitting in, writing in a notebook.

He heard the creak of the opening door and lifted his head, looking almost embarrassed to be caught still awake. He closed the notebook and held it in his lap, covering it with his broad hands. You couldn’t help but smile at the child-like reaction; not with malice, but that odd affection you had developed for nearly all the quirks in his behavior. His earlier rejection had changed nothing about that.

“I see I’m not the only one who can’t sleep,” you said. Arthur let out a shaky breath and put the notebook aside.

“No. I’m expecting to stay up at least a couple more hours. Is there anything I can do for you?” The tension in his expression gave way to a soft smile, as he stood up and headed to the adjoining kitchen.

“No, thank you- Can I borrow one of your books though?” you asked.

“Oh of course, take a look, pick anything that strikes your fancy. I’ll just make us both some tea, I always find chamomile helps me relax when I have to stay up late, writing. Turns this rusty machine off,” he tapped his temple with his fingers and chuckled at his own little joke.

“Thank you, Arthur. And be kind to it, the machine’s a hard worker,” you replied, examining the vast selection of books lining almost the entire length of one wall.

“That’s true, it could use a vacation.” You weren’t looking at him, but you could hear the smile in his voice. Another thought crossed your mind – maybe you two were simply made to be friends, nothing more. Maybe Arthur had instinctively felt this and had in fact preserved your relationship by bottoming out.

“Let me know if you get lost in them,” he said, referring to the bookshelves in front of you, “I tried to sort the books alphabetically, hopefully that will help.”

You had never visited a home with a library this well organized, but Arthur wasn’t wrong: you could easily spend hours going over every single book on the shelves. Even if the idea of diving straight into the task tempted you, you decided to grab something at random, going for the section closest to you. The Stranger, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Night at the Circus – even the first couple of shelves displayed Arthur’s taste for classics as well as modern literature and many works you didn’t recognize.

You were about to reach for an Angela Carter novel your friend had recently recommended to you when your eyes fell one shelf lower briefly, catching a glimpse of a familiar name. You had to try harder to locate the book for the second time, but when your initial suspicion was confirmed, you didn’t have to think twice about your choice for tonight’s reading.

“Arthur?” You almost ran the distance to where Arthur was placing the lid over a delicate teapot, waving the paperback in front of his face, “First Class, Last Seat by Arthur Cartwright? Is that just a coincidence or…”

Had Arthur been pouring the tea at that moment, he would’ve inevitably spilled it all over his kitchen counter from the way he jolted at the sight of the book. He yanked it out of your hand with force bordering on aggressive, in turn startling you. Instantly realizing he’d overdone it, he reached over the counter and gave your still outstretched hand a gentle apologetic squeeze.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do- whatever that was. I feel a little thrown off balance today and, well, I haven’t touched this,” he patted the minimalistic white-and-blue cover of the book, “in years. I certainly wasn’t expecting you to come across it. But… take a look for yourself.”

He offered you the book back, rubbing his hands together anxiously as you opened it. On the inside of the cover a second Arthur was looking straight at you: barely a wrinkle on a face that appeared just a tad slimmer than that of the man behind the counter, smooth if a little thinning dark hair reaching just below his ears, a handsome black button-down shirt and that endearing toothy smile. You looked back at him standing in front of you; he hadn’t changed all that much, in your opinion.

“Well, you’ve always been attractive, I can see that. But why haven’t you mentioned this before? See how excited I am?” you teased him lightly, though behind the playful tone, the words were all true.

“You really aren’t helping my situation,” he laughed, but the breathless edge to his voice was giving him away. “Alright, I suppose I should tell you about the play. Yes, it is a play. But let me pour the tea first, I really need to calm my nerves if I’m about to get into this.”

You helped him carry the matching cups to the seating area, as his hands were visibly shaking. You let him take his armchair and you pulled a chair in close to him.

“God, I don’t even know where to begin. Today’s been like a therapy session, well almost. You better stop me in time or I might just tell you everything there is to tell.” He gulped down a half of the cup at once and didn’t even seem to flinch at the temperature.

“Why don’t you start with the play? How old were you when you wrote it? Twenty?” you asked.

“No, no. I was older than you are, nearing thirty. Are you sure you want me to go on? This is ultimately a failure story, I’d never bother anyone with it, let alone someone as talented and optimistic as you. You don’t need to keep hearing stories like this,” he sighed, staring at the cover of his play.

“I’m not sitting here with you at one am to listen to success stories. I just want to learn more about you, if you’ll let me. Please, Arthur.” You stroked his knee to comfort him, a daring gesture given today’s events. But he let the touch ground him, and finally nodded, covering your hand with his as he began his story:

“I want to say this is the only play I’ve ever written, but that wouldn’t be exactly accurate. I’ve written and tried to publish a novel and numerous short stories, and I already had two finished plays under my belt when I started writing First Class, Last Seat. Nothing came of any of it – I’m not a patient man, especially not with people. I just couldn’t stomach the thought of anyone changing my vision, I found it disrespectful to my work. Well, then things seemed to take a different turn when I let my friend read the new manuscript and he liked it so much he ended up handing it over to another friend of his who was an aspiring theatre director.”

“And you let him interfere with your vision?”

Arthur let out a weak little laugh at your question, shaking his head.

“I didn’t have to, he didn’t force me to change a thing. But how I wished he had later on. He was so insecure and eager to jump at any opportunity to direct – I admit, I really believed in this play, and so did my friend and poor Steve, the director. It isn’t a bad play, it’s fast-paced and funny, as funny as I could get in my late twenties, anyway. But it obviously wasn’t brilliant enough to make up for the most idiotic decision I’ve made in my entire career. Call it stubbornness or vanity or whatever you will, I came to the conclusion that the main character had so much of me written all over him that no one but me could do a good enough job playing him. So, I persuaded Steve to cast me as the lead,” he paused and took a long, thoughtful sip of his tea.

“You’re an actor?” So how come you were so shy to join the kids at the rehearsal, you almost wanted to add before stopping yourself. If you’d managed to learn something about Arthur, it was about his carefully covered-up insecurity. You didn’t need to ask and you knew better than to push him to admit it before he revealed more of himself at his own pace.

“Of course not. I’m not and never have been. I just deluded myself, thinking a few successful high school performances made me qualified for a professional acting job. Not only did I have no training, I also failed to realize that I’d put on quite a few pounds since high school and nobody was going to fall to the feet of a pudgy balding newcomer, not in New York.” He crossed his arms over his chest, as if trying to shield himself from any possible judgment, reliving his past insecurities in his mind.

“Arthur, don’t be so harsh on yourself. You’re a beautiful man and I definitely wouldn’t describe you as pudgy,” you protested gently. His furrowed brows softened at your concern, and he reached out to take your hand again.

“I appreciate it dear, but whatever euphemism you’re going to use won’t change anything about the way I look. I’m simply being self-aware. No, I did a decent job considering my lack of experience, but I underestimated my stage presence as a whole. To this day I don’t know why Steve didn’t replace me at some point, all I know is he should have. Maybe he would’ve saved at least his career. There was a review…” Arthur opened the book in the middle where it was bookmarked by a yellowed newspaper cut-out. He unfolded it and skimmed the page with obvious discomfort, even wincing at one point.

“You don’t need to show me, it’s alright,” you tried to comfort him, rubbing his knuckles with your thumb reassuringly. He freed his hand from your grasp and held the newspaper closer to his face, squinting before putting his glasses on.

“No, you need to hear this. I’ll read the best part for you: Cartwright’s troubling struggle to construct half-decent dialogue becomes even more apparent with his underwhelming delivery of his very own lines. “Supported” by Leigh’s flavorless direction, the production feels like Cartwright’s vanity project, a horrid misjudgment for the ambitious actor-playwright. Any potential the lead role holds is suffocated by Cartwright’s hopeless lack of charisma as the neurotic yet charming travelling professor. As a distraction from the second-hand embarrassment, I imagined myself in a Stanley Kubrick film, having my eyes forced wide open as I watched the heavyset lead seduce a fellow passenger. Want me to go on?” While Arthur’s voice sounded unnaturally calm given the circumstances, you noticed the flush in his cheeks and the nervous grip his fingers had on the piece of paper.

“This is- disgusting. Who wrote it? Why have you kept it?”

Arthur shrugged and folded the article, placing it back into the book.

“Oh you’ve never heard of him, I suppose. A critic well-known at that time, died ten years later. I met him once, a real arse, but people listened to what he had to say. So, I was done, just like that. The production was taken down after the premiere, and I never put myself out there again, not like this at least. Imagine, we were just a couple of young men trying to create something, to get serious about something we’d been doing for years, and this guy shut us down with a single article.”

“I had no idea, I’m so sorry, Arthur. Just- why did you decide to become a critic yourself, of all things?” you asked with genuine interest. You would imagine Arthur would come to hate all critique after an experience this traumatizing.

“I wanted to do better. Do it right,” he murmured, looking down at the book in his lap, “Which means, technically speaking, even my success turns out to be a failure. But at this point, I don’t know how to do anything else. Please, tell me honestly, how can you still stand me?” he looked at you with pleading eyes, a hint of sadness in his features. You took a deep breath, taking a second to consider what being truly honest would mean for your relationship.

“I like you. That’s it. I mean, I’m sure you’ve noticed, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier. You don’t have to do anything about it, but I need you to understand I don’t need to stand you, I like being with you. I just like you.” You almost surprised yourself with how easily the words came out. Maybe Arthur’s unusual openness helped, but you suddenly didn’t see the point of avoiding the obvious any longer.

“You- I don’t-“ Arthur looked panicked, struggling to form a sentence. You stood up, placing a hand on his shoulder, almost eye to eye with him still sitting down.

“It’s okay, I’m not looking for an answer. I appreciate what you’ve told me today, but I won’t pry any more information out of you, don’t worry,” you smiled, not adding how badly you wished he would say something, either to affirm or reject you. At least you could go to bed knowing you weren’t bottling it all up any longer.

“I’ll go read for a while now, alright? Goodnight.” You bent down slightly and placed a ghost of a kiss on his cheek that felt hot even though you barely touched it.

You returned for the Carter novel you’d picked out before discovering Arthur’s play and headed back to the bedroom. The sound of your name stopped you in your tracks.

“Can I- would you mind if I read to you?”

“What?” you turned back to Arthur, who was blushing profusely as he stood in the middle of the room, frozen on his way to you.

“No, forget it. I didn’t mean to- I just thought it could help us both fall asleep faster. But it’s a stupid idea I don’t know why-“

“I’d love that. Please,” you smiled, your heartrate speeding up. Arthur stared at you for a few seconds as if he couldn’t believe you hadn’t brushed him off with a polite rejection – ironic, considering your confession a couple minutes ago, you should be the only one worrying about such things. You waited for him to get out of the trance and follow you, letting him lie down on the bed before joining him.

The size of the bed meant you had to lie quite close to him, but you dared to snuggle up even closer, draping your arm over his torso.

“Is this alright?” you whispered. Arthur let out a shuddering exhale before nodding and getting more comfortable, shifting to turn towards you slightly. He opened the book and began to read, keeping his voice low to allow you to slowly drift asleep. You wished you could stay up as long as possible and listen to his soothing voice, but the exhaustion from today’s emotional rollercoaster was quickly catching up with you.

Twenty minutes later, Arthur closed the book, listening to your slow, even breathing. He reached over you to turn off the bedside lamp, determined to leave and attempt to go to sleep himself. However, feeling you still cuddled up to him, he allowed himself a few more minutes by your side, holding you carefully as not to disturb your sleep. Focused on his thumb stroking up and down your side, he barely noticed his eyelids were getting heavy and his breathing was slowing down to match yours.

#worth the free admission #arthur h. cartwright x reader #alfred molina fanfiction #alfred molina x reader #arthur h cartwright x reader #children's theatre critic #funny or die #alfred molina #rated t #gender neutral reader

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