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losingmymindtonight · 5 years

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Whump: Hostage

AN: Y’all I mean it when I say that this one is long. It’s over 11k. So, if you’d rather read it on the AO3, I’m linking it right here.

Just a little housekeeping before we proceed! This is set post-Endgame, but with a few tweaks to pieces that I didn’t like, because this is fanfiction and I can do that. For one, Tony’s alive. Steve did not go back to Peggy. Bruce is not... that weird Hulk/Bruce thing.

This is technically a continuation of my last bingo square, which was AU: TV/Movie! You don’t need to have read that for this to make sense, but it would definitely help! If you haven’t read that other fic, just know that May died sometime after Endgame and Tony adopted Peter.

There’s a little ‘bonus scene’ at the end of this, from Natasha’s POV. It’s my version of an end credit scene, I guess. If I’m being honest, I don’t even know why it’s there, but it is.

This boy is long, and some parts are edited a lot better than others. Did I mention that this thing is 11k yet? Because it is, and I think I’ve gone insane.

EDIT: I’m a dumbass and I forgot to mention that this one is based off of a West Wing episode, just like the last square. If you’re a West Wing fan and it feels familiar, that’s why!

WARNINGS: kidnapping, mentions of date-rape drugs (but no sexual assault, just a brief mention near the end, and not in reference to something that actually occurred), non-consensual drug use, a couple mentions of alcohol, lots and lots of ruminations on a missing persons case, discussions of death (I don’t think there’s anything too graphic, but it’s there).

“Suma cum laude from Columbia. Columbia, Rhodey. Did you know that their acceptance rate is 5.1%? That’s the second most selective college in the Ivy League.”

Rhodey didn’t look nearly as impressed as Tony thought was appropriate. He just took a sip from his whiskey, tone dripping with sarcasm. “So you’ve told me.”

“That’s more selective than MIT.” He gestured with his own glass, although his was filled with some of Morgan’s apple juice. “Their acceptance rate is 7.9%. That’s a 2.8% difference.”

“Yes, Tones. I, too, am capable of basic math. Even though I did graduate from MIT, which is obviously the inferior institution here.”

He glared. “Yeah, well, did you know that Peter graduated on a 4.0 GPA? You know how hard it is to graduate on a 4.0 GPA at an Ivy League school?”

“I don’t know. Probably about as hard as graduating on a 4.0 GPA at MIT. Which I did, by the way.”

“Are you ever gonna let that one go? I’m the visionary of a generation, but I got one B in an English class and my best friend does a mutiny.”

“Yeah, well, your son managed to make an A in English.”

“He did, didn’t he?” He grinned, still drunk on the memory of Peter in his cap and gown, leaning down so that Morgan could adjust the tassel. “I think he made a 99 in that course, too. He’s smarter than you and me, Rhodey. I’ve been telling you that for years.”

Rhodey held up a hand, stalling him. “I’m sorry, you remember the exact number?”

“Of course he remembers the number, Rhodey,” Pepper sighed, slumping down at Tony’s side with a glass of wine in her hand. “He used to pin the screenshots from Canvas up in his office.”

Used to? He thought, a little incredulous. He still had them there.

“Listen,” he griped, “there are worse crimes than a father being proud of his child. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Sure,” Rhodey said, not even trying to conceal his amusement. “By the way, I thought that his security detail did a good job of blending in today. If I didn’t personally know all of them, I wouldn’t’ve suspected a thing.”

Tony snorted. “Let me tell you something: when it’s your kid, you don’t want them to blend in. You want them carrying a sign that says, I’m carrying a loaded gun and the safety’s off.” He swirled a finger around the rim of his glass. “But, yeah. I think Peter even managed to forget about them for most of it, which was the goal.”

“His speech was lovely as well,” Pepper interjected. “Very polished. He’s grown up a lot.”

A dagger of nostalgia pierced through him. “Oh, don’t remind me. I swear that I was coaching him through his first awkward date just a couple of days ago. What the hell is he doing going off to California all alone? It’s ridiculous.”

Rhodey snorted. “Sorry, I don’t get it. Are you proud of him or are you trying to lock him in the house and never let him out? I’m just trying to make sure that we’re all on the same page here.”

A chime from Rhodey’s phone interrupted the conversation. The man glanced down at the screen, expression darkening at whatever it was that he found there, and then quickly excused himself.

Tony didn’t really think anything of it. Rhodey got a lot of calls and texts that weren’t pleasant. It came with the territory of being such a high-ranking Colonel in the military. Nobody on Earth would call that a relaxing job. Plus, he still flew the occasional mission as War Machine. Not every superhero was quite as ready to leap into retirement as Tony had been.

Minutes trickled past with Rhodey out of the room, and Tony and Pepper found themselves constantly circling back to their favorite topic: their kids. They (well, it was mostly him, but Pep joined in occasionally) reminisced and complained, in the pride-struck kind of way, about the bittersweet upheaval that the upcoming months would bring to their lives. It was nice. It was quiet. It was a taste of the peace that he’d fought for through all those years as Iron Man.

Isn't that the mission? Isn't that why we fight? So we can end the fight? So we get to go home?

He’d ended the fight, and the endgame had been so much better than he could’ve ever imagined. When he’d said that to Steve, he hadn’t even had a home. His home had been the Avengers, even if he wasn’t ready to admit that to himself. But after Thanos, after hanging up the armor and looking into a future, a real future, he’d built a home. He’d built a home out of a dozen scattered bricks: the scarred shambles of his and Pepper’s baggage-laden love affair, a pregnancy test that was never meant to be positive, and a frightened, orphaned teenager with nowhere left to go. He’d taken those foundations, and he’d built and built and built until they were sheltered. Until they were home.

The pain of letting Peter leave, of releasing his grip and watching him run off to California to be his own person, to build his own home, his own life, was such a new, privileged kind of pain. It hurt, but in a gentle way. In the way that good things sometimes ached in the beginning, before they settled into a normalcy.

Tony had just decided that he’d be happy to live through a hundred moments of Peter graduating college (just so long as he could feel this proud with each repetition) when Rhodey surged back into the room, chest heaving.

He knew, somehow. He knew from the moment he saw the look on his best friend’s face. He knew even before Happy, who was not supposed to be here, who was supposed to be with Peter at some graduation party in the city, came barreling in at his heels. He knew.

Maybe it was a father’s intuition, maybe it was just paranoia, but he knew, and that knowing was the absolute worst thing in the world.

Everything froze.

“Rhodey?” He set his glass down on the coffee table, half-rose from the couch, wanting to ask but desperately not wanting to hear the answer that came after the asking. “What’s-”

“Tony, it’s Peter.”

The world had broken into color and chaos. The drinks had been cleared away, the coffee table in the living room swiped clean. Pepper was in the kitchen, babbling on the phone to about a dozen different people at SI, trying to organize whatever and whoever she could. The team was on their way: the new and the old. He’d spoken to Steve for a stunted 30 seconds, had pulled himself out of his adrenaline just long enough to process his promise of I’ll be there in an hour before hitting End Call.

He was sitting on the floor, now, back pressed against the couch, clutching the TV remote in his left hand for no reason other than to be holding something.

“Is Morgan still in her room?” He whispered, because that was… that was all he had left. God, he couldn’t live without one of them, how would he possibly survive losing them both?

“Yeah, Tony.” Happy seemed hesitant, like he wasn’t sure how much information he was meant to be revealing. “Pepper checked on her. We’re letting her sleep.”

“Okay. Okay.” He closed his eyes. Tried to steady himself on a home-grown foundation that had just lost one of its most vital supports. “Okay. Tell me everything.”

Rhodey knelt beside him, hand heavy on his shoulder. “Tony, are you sure that you shouldn’t-

“Yes, I’m sure,” he snarled, although he wasn’t really sure what he was sure about. He wanted his child back? Yeah… Yeah. He was sure about that. He was sure about regretting the fact that he’d ever let Peter leave his sight. “Now, will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?”

Happy sighed, pushing the coffee table out of the way and joining Rhodey on his knees in front of him. It was funny, in a horrible, morbid, stomach-twisting sort of way. Three of the most high-powered men in the country were kneeling on the floor, falling to pieces because a single kid was missing.

“He was with his friends, at a club,” Happy started slowly. “We had two of his guards in there with him, blending in and keeping their distance, and a group of six more stationed on the outside. He got up to go to the bathroom. One of the guards followed, the other stuck by his friends so they could have eyes on him when he came back. We don’t really know what the hell happened after that. As far as the guards saw, he never came out of the bathroom. One of them went in after about ten minutes, checked all the stalls. His phone was on the floor, but he wasn’t there, so they raised the alarm. We scanned the perimeter, and found skid marks and one of the external guards down by the kitchen’s loading area-”

Tony hated panic, hated situations that threw him in the deep end like this. He wasn’t used to being slow, to being one step behind everyone else, but that’s exactly what this was. He was handicapped, stuck in molasses because this was his child. There was nothing… There was no way that the word efficiency could slot into the haze settling over him.

“What, uh,” he shook his head, trying to clear it, to knock his thoughts into something orderly and complete, “what do you mean, one of the guards was down?”

“They’re dead, Tony,” Happy breathed, and even though his own turmoil, Tony could see the pain on the man’s face. “Whoever took Peter shot them in the head. By the time we got to the scene, there was nothing we could do.”

Peter’s never going to forgive himself for that.

He didn’t even have the presence of mind to feel guilt over the fact that his only concern was for Peter. The guard… he’d feel bad about that later. He’d compartmentalize it, because it was selfish and horrible and very unheroic, but nobody mattered more than Peter. Nobody mattered more than his kid.

“Why… Why didn’t he hit his panic button?”

“That’s the question.” Happy scrubbed a hand down the front of his face. Every inch of him looked tired, like he’d been running on empty for weeks and weeks and weeks, except it hadn’t been weeks. It had only been a few hours since Peter had been taken, only a few minutes since Tony had been told, but it felt like… it felt like decades. “We found it out in the alley, a few feet away from where we think the getaway car must’ve been parked. He never pushed it.”

“He didn’t push it?”

“No.”

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Sure, Peter could be a brat about security sometimes, but he did use the resources he was given. He’d hit the panic button multiple times before. Why didn’t he do it now? Why?

He shook his head again, swallowed hard past the lump growing in his throat. “So… So he knew them. He must’ve.”

“Or… Tony, you know I don’t wanna be the person to break this to you, but he was drunk. He’d already had about half a bottle of champagne and a few shots by the time he was taken. One of the guards said he was stumbling when he got up to go to the bathroom, and his friends told us that he seemed pretty wasted.”

That shouldn’t have mattered. Peter was… he was 22, for god’s sake. He’d just graduated valedictorian from Columbia. The kid was allowed to drink some champagne, to get a little-

“Wait, no.” He ran a few numbers through his head, cold and ice and dread sprouting up in his lungs as they refused to compute. “That… he was stumbling?”

“Yeah. That’s what one of his detail said, at least.”

“No, that… that doesn’t make sense, Hap. He… He shouldn’t’ve been that out of it already. His… His metabolism. It’d take more than some champagne and a few shots to get him that drunk. He’d need… He’d need something else.”

Realization snapped over Happy’s face, and he lunged to his feet, kicked the leg of the coffee table irritably when it got in his way. “Fuck. Shit. Why didn’t I think of that? They drugged him. They must’ve.”

Rhodey rubbed Tony’s shoulder, his calm presence the only anchor in wave after wave of helplessness, failure, fear. “Then they were inside the club. Or they had someone helping them.”

Happy was nodding restlessly, already working furiously on his phone. “I’m gonna call the guys on the scene, tell them to detain the bartender and anybody else who might’ve had access to the kid’s drink. And I’ll have someone get his glass and that bottle of champagne for testing.”

“You go,” Rhodey said, slipping forward to settle down at Tony’s side. “I’ll stay here. Hold down the fort.”

“Got it.”

Happy was rushing for the door. Tony could still hear Pepper talking in the kitchen. The team must’ve been most of the way to the cabin by now, scrambling over themselves because this was… it was all too much. Too awful to comprehend. Tony’s brain couldn’t process it. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that Peter just… wasn’t going to come home. Wasn’t going to walk through the front door, a little tipsy and a little unbalanced but fine. Safe and loved and present. Ready to fly off to California at the end of the summer and leave a very, very proud Tony behind.

“Happy?” He called out, voice rough. The man went stock-still in the doorway, just barely turning to let him know that he had his attention. “Call me as soon as you know anything? Even if… Even if it’s bad. Just… please. Call me.”

That’s my baby, he thought, chest constricting at the bone-crushing loss of it all, if he’s dead… if he’s… if he’s never coming home, then I need to know. I need to know.

“I will, Tony. I promise.”

The Avengers blew into the cabin like a choreographed hurricane.

Tony had rarely had a chance to admire their efficiency from afar. He was usually on the outskirts of the disasters, working alongside them. But now he was the disaster. He was ground zero.

Rhodey brief them on what they knew so far, and the living room was quickly transformed from a haven of fireplace and colorful throws and family movie nights into a control room. The only thing that wasn’t touched was the couch Tony was leaning against. He didn’t even realize that it was because of him until Steve sat down on the carpet, brow furrowed in concern as he set a cautious hand on his knee.

“Tony, I want you to let Bruce examine you.”

He scoffed at the suggestion, bitterness rolling over him so suddenly that he felt swamped by it.

“And I want my child back,” he snarled. “Guess tonight’s just gonna be full of disappointments for all of us, huh?”

“Tony.”

“Don’t even start with me, Rogers.” He didn’t know why he was being so cruel to Steve. The man didn’t deserve it. He was just… the closest target. The easiest thing to despise. “I’m just not in the mood.”

“Tones,” Rhodey whispered, dropping down pacifyingly between him and Steve, “listen to me. You know that your heart’s weaker after the Snap. If I’m hauling your ass to a hospital, I’m not looking for your kid. We’ve gotta prioritize, here.”

Even in this state, Tony was clever enough to know when he was being manipulated.

Luckily for Rhodey, he was just too goddamn tired to care.

“Fine,” he growled. “What the fuck ever. Just do it.”

Rhodey was right, unfortunately. He didn’t have time for a heart attack right now, didn’t have time for his body to be anything but functional. After they brought Peter home, well… then it didn’t really matter anymore.

He blinked up at the ceiling, ignoring Bruce as he tugged out his arm, clipped something onto his finger.

Bring him home, he prayed, although to who, he didn’t really know, please, just bring him home to me.

Apparently, his blood pressure was high.

Everyone seemed pretty damn concerned about it, which was just… honestly, it was hilarious.

Did they think it wouldn’t be high? His child was off god-knows-where with god-knows-who, probably drugged and confused and afraid and desperately in need of his father, and Tony was supposed to be calming down for the sake of his blood pressure?

His blood pressure could go screw itself, for all he cared.

Of course, nobody else seemed to share his viewpoint. They all fussed over him. Pepper tried to get him to do some bullshit breathing exercises, while Bruce called Cho and bickered with her about medication and preventative measures.

He really didn’t know how to explain to everyone that there was only one cure, and it was his child, safe in his arms.

Until that happened, there wasn’t a drug or a pill or a yoga technique in the world that could save him.

Happy burst into the room without any ceremony.

“I’ve got the results from Peter’s drinks.”

Tony staggered upright, shoving Clint’s hands away as the man tried to steady him. He felt breakable, like a single touch might send cracks down his spine, into his bones and down through the ground. Like one wrong move might split him apart.

“And?”

Happy winced. Physically winced, like the words he was about to say weighed a thousand tons. “They found gamma hydroxy butyrate, more commonly known as-”

“GHB,” Tony finished, and he was surprised by how numb he felt at the news. It should’ve terrified him. At the very least, he should’ve felt something. Instead, he just stared at it clinically, chemical formulas and sterile facts filling his head in place of the things he just couldn’t think about. The things he didn’t want to face. “It’s degreasing solvent mixed with drain cleaner.”

God. Drain cleaner. Someone… Someone had given his kid drain cleaner.

“Exactly,” Happy said, voice small and unsure. “And in low doses-”

“In low doses,” he breathed, “it’s a date-rape drug.”

Pain streaked across his old bodyguard’s face: a cocktail of guilt and terror and shame. “Yeah, Tony. It’s… It’s a date-rape drug.”

He swallowed. “That’s, uh, that’s why he was stumbling. Why he didn’t hit the panic button.”

Happy nodded. “Yeah. From the looks of the doses, it was probably meant to knock him out, but with his metabolism…”

Tony finished the sentence in his head. With his metabolism, it probably just made him feel awful, sick, confused. He probably wondered what the hell was happening to him. He probably wanted me.

“He was awake when they took him,” Tony whispered, nauseous. God, he was awake when they took him.

“That’s our best guess. And, uh, Tony…. Listen, I don’t really know if I should be telling you this, but-”

“Tell me,” he ordered, voice somehow sharp and resigned all at once. He… He had to hear it. He had to hear everything. It didn’t matter if it gave him nightmares for the rest of his life, didn’t matter if it was the worst thing he’d ever heard.

It was the only link to Peter that he had.

Happy was silent for a few seconds, then let out a defeated breath. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Peter’s phone. Tony knew it was his because of the case: pink and green and godawful to look at. The kid had only bought it because Morgan had liked it so much.

“We’ve gotten all we can from this, so I thought I’d give it back.” He handed it over, and Tony slid his fingers over the case, borderline reverent. He could still imagine it in Peter’s hands, or charging on his bedside table, or getting tossed onto the couch in favor of playing a boardgame with Morgan. Tiny, insignificant snippets of life, and yet they mattered so much. They’d mattered so much. “We think he was using it when they grabbed him.”

He tilted the phone to the light, watched his reflection warp in the glass screen. “What was he doing?”

“He was texting you.”

Something icy gripped his chest. When he finally managed to force words up his throat, his voice came out hoarse.

“What’d he say?”

Happy just gestured at the phone, expression pinched. “Bathroom didn’t have any service, so none of them sent, but it’s all still there. We didn’t delete anything. D’you know his passcode?”

“Yeah,” he said. Peter just doesn’t think that I do.

“Okay. Well, I’m… I’m gonna get back to work. I’ll come back if we find anything.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to read it, Tony.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Alright.”

He heard rather than saw Happy move away, just barely caught him murmuring, “don’t let him spiral,” to Rhodey before he left.

Sure enough, Rhodey was right beside him within a few seconds, voice lowered in a guise of privacy, despite the fact that the room was still packed with Avengers, all pretending not to watch but definitely watching.

“Tony, it’s late,” he whispered. “Don’t do this now. Get some rest, and you can face it in the morning, if you really have to.”

“No,” he said, more forceful than he’d intended, but then again, Rhodey just didn’t understand. He was holding his child’s last words in his hands. How could he not read them? What kind of father would he be if he didn’t? “No. I need to do this now.”

He left the living room before anyone could stop him.

Happy’s car was already gone by the time he got to the front porch. He briefly considered settling down in one of the rocking chairs, or the porch swing, but every one of them carried a dozen memories of Peter, of summer days and fall nights and laughter and warmth and the kid’s head pressing heavy on his shoulder and he just couldn’t. He couldn’t face them.

He sat on the floor, back pressed up against the cabin, knees drawn to his chest.

He unlocked Peter’s phone. The brightness was up, but it automatically adjusted after a second or two. He opened the messages app, clicked his contact icon, and read.

hey tony? i thimk i fucked up (ERROR: not delivered)

i feel super super gross (ERROR: not delivered)

:( (ERROR: not delivered)

plz dont be mad i didnt mean to grt thsi drunk (ERROR: not delivered)

ugh fuck batgroom service (ERROR: not delivered)

i just kinda wish u were here to yell at me rn (ERROR: not delivered)

The front porch was nice at sunrise.

He’d spent so many hours out here, with Morgan and Peter. Both of them tended to be up early: Morgan because she was a child, Peter because he carried things that no child ever should. He’d sit with them, curled up under one of the afghans Pepper liked to buy from pop-up markets, and watch the sky become an oil painting.

That’d be a pretty smoothie, Morgan would say, pointing at the horizon, and Peter would laugh like she was the funniest thing in the world.

And what would it taste like, Mo?

Like a smoothie!

He heard the door swing open to his left, and while he knew it wasn’t Peter, a tiny part of him wanted to keeping pretending.

“Tones?”

Rhodey. Right. Of course it was Rhodey. Who else would come out here this early, ready to pick his ass up off the floor?

“Did you find anything?” He rasped, still staring out at the lake, watching the daylight step into the clouds, wishing he was watching Peter instead.

“Not yet.”

He just barely inclined his head in response. The answer should’ve hurt him, should’ve stung or panged or something, but it didn’t. After a while, pain just become pain. There wasn’t a scale anymore, wasn’t any room for additions or levels. There was just pain. Pain, and a family missing child. That’s all Tony had.

“I need you to tell me something,” he whispered, then swallowed. His throat scratched, dry and hot, “and I need you to be honest with me when you answer.”

Rhodey sat down beside him, leg braces glowing gently in the yellow-red dawn. “I can do that,” he responded, solemn.

“Do you… Do you think he’s already dead?”

Rhodey’s answer came immediately. “No.”

“Are you lying?”

“If I thought he was dead, I’d tell you.”

“Do you promise?” He balled up a fist, resisted to urge to slam it through the nearest object. “If you… If we reach a point where you think he’s dead, do you promise to tell me?”

He knew he was asking a lot. He could tell, because Rhodey’s breath caught, and he paused. Considered.

“Yeah, Tony,” Rhodey murmured, with all the enthusiasm of someone bartering away their soul. “I promise.”

“Good.” It wasn’t, but it felt like the right thing to say. “This is… This is bad, Rhodey.”

“Yeah, Tony, I know.”

He dropped his head into his hands, strained and exhausting and defeated. Peter was all it took, and Iron Man was down, decimated, conquered.

“If… If they show me a picture of him alive,” he whispered, and he knew he was saying something awful, admitting something dark and frightening, “and then they tell me to aim missiles at… at some hospital full of refugees on the Syrian border, they’re counting on the fact that a father would-”

“But you wouldn’t.”

His head snapped back up, and he nearly laughed at the conviction in Rhodey’s voice. God, had everyone really forgotten who he truly was? The heroism of Iron Man was an act. It was a stage curtain, drawn down to hide the monster underneath. Tony Stark was not a good man. He was certainly not a selfless one.

Yet he was so good at pretending that even his best friend believed the ruse.

He turned to stare at Rhodey, voice low. “I might.”

And that might be the most important thing I’ve ever said to you.

The corner of Rhodey’s mouth quirked up, like some part of this was actually amusing to him. “There are people around you who won’t let you.”

He couldn’t possibly be this good at deception. Had Rhodey actually forgotten? Had he forgotten that Tony hadn’t always been an Avenger, that the Merchant of Death was still a title that haunted him? Somedays, he was almost certain that he was more Merchant of Death than he was Iron Man. More a war-profiteer than he was an idol.

“What about a picture?” He said, because he didn’t know how to stop. He’d never known how to stop. “They’ve got a knife to his throat, and they tell me to send a Jericho missile to a bunker in Afghanistan?”

Rhodey shook his head. “You shouldn’t think of images like that.”

This time, he did laugh. Rhodey flinched, concern etched in every inch of his face, because yeah, Tony probably looked like he was losing his mind. And wasn’t he? His child was missing. There was no sanity to this.

“All I can think of are images like that.”

“Tony…”

“I know it's a strange time to bring this up,” he said, and he knew it was abrupt, but nothing seemed quite so linear anymore, “but I forecasted this once. I made up a scary story a few years ago for Peter so that he’d take his protection seriously, and I… and I went too far. And I scared him.” He let out a breath, years-harbored shame rising in his chest. “And he cried. And this… this was the story.”

“Tony-”

“I’m supposed to keep him safe.” His shoulders jerked, his breath hitched. He bit his knuckles to hold back a sob, ribs creaking under the strain of keeping it in. “That’s… fuck, Rhodey, that’s my only job. I’m supposed to keep him safe.”

“You can’t protect him from everything.” There was a pause, hesitant. “The world doesn’t stop spinning just because he’s your child. He’s gotta find his way just like everybody else, and you were letting him do that.”

He wished it was as easy as that, as straightforward and simple to navigate, but it wasn’t. Once again, they’d found their way back to the same frustration he’d been helping Peter cope with for years: being a Stark was not normal. Nothing around them would ever be normal. Sure, the world didn’t stop spinning, but they had to operate differently inside of it, just because of Tony and his curse of a last name.

The money was nice. The fame was even pleasant, every once in a while. It certainly had been when he was young. But now? God, Tony just wanted quiet. He didn’t want this for his children. He’d give anything to drop off the radar, live in some middle-class neighborhood, buy a lawnmower, argue with Pepper about school districts.

“But they took him because he’s my child,” he pushed. They took him because they know it’ll break me. “This… This wouldn’t’ve happened to another kid, Rhodey. You know that.”

“Maybe not, but it did happen, and that’s what you’ve got to work with. Now, come inside,” Rhodey ordered, slicing a knife down on the conversation, as if ending the words could end the horrors still playing through Tony’s head. “Come inside, sit with your wife, and let us fix this.”

There is no fixing this. This will never be fixed.

But instead of staying that, he just did as he was told, and hoped that the next few hours wouldn’t bring him doing something awful in Peter’s name.

It was such a pure name, washed clean by kid who carried it. It didn’t deserve to be sullied by Tony’s true nature, by the darkness he dragged behind him like a chain.

God knows that enough had already been sacrificed on that altar.

It was daylight, and there were reporters outside.

Happy and his guys were keeping them back. Apparently, they’d released details of Peter’s kidnapping to the press in the hope that someone might’ve seen something, that they’d come forward with information. In these kinds of cases, one detail, one first person account, could be the difference between life and death.

They’d set up a hotline, and the team was already chasing a few leads, but the reporters were chasing the story, the sensationalism of it all, and Tony hated it.

His child wasn’t a headline. His child was a child. A living, breathing, precious person. Something be cradled and adored and protected. Not something be exploited for a melodramatic hook.

Pepper and Steve would talk about it in tense, hushed tones. A couple of the Avengers had gone out to talk to the gathered press, just once or twice, but Tony didn’t have a clue what they were saying.

What did other parents do when this sort of thing happened? When their child was taken from them? He remembered a few high-profile kidnappings, all distant and wobbly in his head. What did they do? Did they print flyers? Did they give interviews? Did they beg?

Wait. Wait. That’s… That’s exactly what parents did.

They begged. They pleaded. They told the kidnappers that they’d do whatever they wanted, as long as they got their baby back.

He staggered to his feet, a little wobbly but emotions finally hardening into something tangible, something he could focus on.

There were only a few things on Earth that Tony Stark was willing to swallow his pride for, and this… this was one of them. His children would always be one of them.

He was going to beg.

He only made it about four steps towards the cabin’s door before the team noticed. There were a solid few seconds of scattered glances, a rapid exchange of responsibilities, until Natasha stood and took the lead.

“Tony?” She grabbed at his arm, expression somehow soft and fierce all at once. “Tony, what are you doing?”

“I’m gonna make a direct appeal.”

The whole room went silent. He made the mistake of glancing at Clint’s face, and the raw pity there made him want to scream.

“Tony,” Nat said, voice quiet, coaxing, lowered like he was stupid, “you can’t.”

“I’m his father,” he choked out, because at the end of the day, that was the only thing that mattered, the only explanation that he should ever have to give. “I-I don’t even know why I’ve waited this long. I-”

And then Steve was there, reaching for his other arm, voice as calm and solid as it always was.

“Come on, Tony, let’s think this through-”

“Get away from me,” he snapped.

“Tony-”

“I’m going to make a direct appeal,” he repeated, and even he knew that he sounded like a broken record, but he just… all he could see was Peter. The stupid grin on his face earlier that day, when Morgan had barreled into his chest and he’d scooped her up off the ground, spinning her like she was the one who just graduated, like she was the most valuable thing he’d ever held. “I don’t know why I waited this long.”

Nat sounded a little desperate now, pulling hard at his sleeve, warning. “Tony, I know that you’ve convinced yourself that you’re doing what’s right, but you’re not thinking straight-”

And then there was Pepper.

She planted herself between him and the door, firm and solid and Tony knew, he knew that he wasn’t getting past her. He knew it from the moment he saw the look on her face: devastated and loving and calm.

“Stop it, Tony,” she said, soft and kind.

He grabbed for her, taking fistfuls of her shirt and clinging. He felt like a little kid, confused and lost and alone. He was navigating whitewater rapids without a map or a paddle. He couldn’t… He couldn’t do this. People weren’t built to survive this kind of thing. It wasn’t possible.

“I… I have to make a direct-”

“No,” she murmured, cutting him off. “No, Tony, Natasha’s right. You can’t.”

“Why not?”

He had meant for the question to be abrasive, angry, but it just came out broken.

“It can be seen as negotiating with the people who took him,” Pepper said, not apologizing, not pulling punches, “and if their goal is to destabilize us, or Stark Industries, or the Avengers, then they're going to see you and know that they're succeeding.” She let out a breath, composure cracking just a little, just at the corners. “You… You can’t make a direct appeal.”

He knew she was right. He’d known she was right long before he’d even made the choice to do it.

It still felt like he’d been torn in two.

He sank to the floor. He was vaguely aware of Natasha grabbing his elbow, guiding him down so he didn’t hurt himself. She pushed him up against the wall, then stepped away, gave him the room he needed to crumble.

“Honey,” Pepper whispered, voice hitching, hands tracing down his face. He didn’t know when she’d joined him on the floor, but he… he was so glad she was there. He was so glad that someone was still there. “Honey, I…”

“I’ve seen other fathers do it,” he croaked. “Before. In… In other kidnappings. I’ve seen other fathers do it.”

“I know.”

“I thought… I just thought that, that maybe if I tried, then I would’ve… then I would’ve done something.”

“I know.”

“I can’t stand not doing something. I have to be doing something.”

“I know that, too.”

His eyes jerked up, meeting hers in a clash of long-harbored panic. “Pep… What if he’s…”

“He’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re not other fathers,” she said gently, a sad smile on her face. “Other fathers make direct appeals because that’s all they can do. They’re going to want to negotiate, Tony.”

“I… I can’t negotiate, Pep. Not… Not for him. How could I?”

“I know that. That’s why I’m going to do it.”

He blinked. That was… a good idea. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. Pepper had never, ever lost a deal that mattered. Ever. She had a spotless track record. And while she loved Peter, she wasn’t as shredded by this as he was. Her head was still above the water, at least for now.

Pepper had joked, once, a little bitterly, that Peter was all Tony’s kid, she just helped out with the details. He knew that wasn’t entirely true, of course. She’d stepped up for Peter in ways that had mattered beyond her comprehension, but she wasn’t entirely wrong, either. Peter had been his kid long before he’d been Pepper’s. And that changed dynamics. It had to.

“You have to bring him home.”

“We will, Tony,” Pepper said, and Tony wished with everything he had that he could drown himself in her belief, her faith. “We’re going to do everything we can to bring him back to you.”

He tried to ignore the fact that, as promises went, she’d just given him a pretty unstable one.

Tony was still sitting on the floor, staring blankly into nothing, when the alert chimed in.

He didn’t think anything of it, at first, and he supposed that he’d been doing a lot of that tonight. Staring past the obvious, overlooking the signs because ignorance was so blessed and calm compared to knowing.

But then Natasha’s face went hard, and she was waving for Steve, and then he was waving for Rhodey, and then he was waving for Pepper, and Tony realized that something had just gone very, very wrong.

He staggered upright, making a beeline for the rapidly growing group huddled around Natasha’s laptop. He couldn’t see past their shoulders, couldn’t even hear what they were saying, because so many voices were intersecting and overlapping in every other beat, and it was enough to make him want to scream.

“Is it Peter?” He snapped, and Steve swung to face him, face a mixture of pity and concern.

“Tony…”

That was all the answer he’d needed. It was Peter, then. Hell, what else would it be?

Something else had happened to Peter. Somewhere in his gut, he knew it was bad. Awful. Nothing that he wanted to see.

And yet he knew that he had to.

He tried to push past Steve’s restraining hand, craning his neck to catch of glimpse of the screen. “What is it?”

“It’s a ransom note,” Natasha said, forever to the point. He’d never appreciated that personality trait more than he did in that exact moment.

“And they sent a picture,” Steve added.

The world snapped to a halt. He felt hysterical. Unhinged. And Steve… Steve didn’t understand. None of them did, except maybe Clint. He was a father and he’d been torn away from his child. He just… He just wanted him back, even if it was in the form of a picture. Even if it was through a ransom note.

“Is it of Peter?!” He tried to lunge forward again, and failed. Damn Steve’s super strength. He wished he had the suit. “The… The picture. Is the picture of Peter?”

“Yeah, Tony, it is, but you have to understand-”

“Let me see,” he snarled. “He’s my kid. It’s for me. So let me see it.”

To his surprise, the group all exchanged glances, different people in varying degrees of sympathetic pain, and parted.

The image had obviously been taken with a polaroid camera, and then scanned or faxed alongside the handwritten ransom note. The quality was bad, but it was clear enough to show details. It… It wasn’t grainy enough to spare him.

Peter was tied to a chair, a dirty gag shoved into his mouth, digging into his cheeks. The kidnappers had tossed a newspaper into his lap, proof of life with the date clearly shown, but that wasn’t what caught Tony’s attention. No, it was Peter’s face that ached, somewhere deep in his gut. If he was a spiritual man, he would’ve said that it ached in his soul.

He knew his kid. Knew his eyes like he’d never known anything else. And that photo? It was wrong. Peter wasn’t just scared: he was drugged out of his mind. In fact, it was the general lack of fear in the kid’s gaze that disturbed him the most. He looked too incoherent for any emotion other than exhaustion.

He’d seen Peter high before, always after Spider-Man related injuries, but it’d never been like this. It had always been monitored, consensual, safe, and nothing they’d given him had ever made him vacant. He was usually just sleepy or giggly or both. He’d… He’d never looked so detached.

It made Tony want to hold him, shield him, but now he couldn’t do either of those things and it hurt.

“Oh, god,” he gasped, panic attack smacking right into him without warning, without a single chance to batten down the hatches. “Fuck.”

The world tilt-a-whirled. He felt Rhodey grab him, push and pull and tug him until he was sitting on the couch. His head was shoved between his knees, and conversations pinged around above him without any of the words computing. All he could hearseethink was Peter, Peter, Peter.

If I was a better father, none of this would’ve ever happened.

Eventually, someone grabbed his shoulders, hauled him upright, and it took him a full minute to realize it was Rhodey.

“Tony,” the Colonel said, and he sounded serious, like whatever he was saying was final, no arguments allow. “I’m going to call Bruce, alright?”

Yes. Yes. Bruce… Bruce would be good now. He’d heard them whispering about sedating him earlier, off in corners and hallways, when they thought he was too absorbed in his grief to notice. At the time, the thought had made his heart race, terror and revulsion making him paranoid. He couldn’t check out. He couldn’t. What use would he be to Peter like that?

Now, he’d lunge for just about anything that would take this feeling away. That would let him pull back from the grainy images of Peter’s eyes: glassy, unfocused, afraid and confused and lacking in that spark that would lull Tony into moments of forgetfulness. Moments when he’d genuinely have to remind himself that Morgan was the one with his DNA, not Peter.

“Tell him,” he gasped, eyes squeezed shut against the things he didn’t want to see, the photo that he’d never be able to forget, “tell him that I want whatever it is that Peter got.”

He didn’t know how long he slept for, but he knew that when he woke up, he woke up groggy. Groggy enough that, for a shamefully calm half hour, he forgot that Peter was missing.

And then he remembered, and he lost his child all over again.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. must’ve alerted Pepper when his heartrate spiked, because she slipped into the room within two minutes. She sat beside him, hand resting on his hip through their comforter. Her eyes were red, but she smiled like it was just another Tuesday, like their entire world wasn’t crumbling down around their feet, and he envied her. He envied her the composure. The ability to catalogue the things that were important and the things that weren’t.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey.”

“I thought you’d sleep longer than this.”

He pursed his lips, ignored the implicit suggestion in the words. “Anything new?”

“No.”

He nodded, took in the disappointment slowly, wondered how long he could survive living in limbo. There were thousands upon thousands of unsolved missing persons cases in the United States alone. Every hour that crawled by lessened their chances of bringing Peter home alive, or even bringing him home at all. How could Tony possibly be one of those parents, the ones who spent the rest of their heartbeats agonizing over their child’s loss?

Are they still alive, hidden somewhere out in the world, vulnerable and unprotected? Are they dead? Which option is better: knowing that they’re alive, and suffering, or dead and free? Oh, god. What was it like, at the end? Were they afraid? Did they cry? Did they call out for their dad, because he was the one person who was always meant to save them?

Tony hadn’t been there for the start of Peter’s life. And now it might be over, Peter might be gone, and he hadn’t even been there for that, too. Couldn’t even say if it had happened.

“What time is it?” He asked, just to distract himself. Besides, every hour marked a dwindling statistic. Tony needed to know if they stood a chance, if there was still even a sliver of hope, and someone must’ve closed the curtains after he’d gone to bed, so he couldn’t quite see if there was daylight or darkness behind them.

“7:30.”

“Oh,” he whispered. That was later than he’d thought. The graph in his head nosedived. “Bruce gave me something.”

Pepper’s face twitched, eyes bleeding sympathy. “I know. I’m so sorry, honey.”

“They gave… They gave Peter something, too,” he choked out, “and… and he said that it made him feel sick and I wasn’t there to take care of him.”

Pepper’s blink lasted a good few seconds longer than it should’ve, as if watching Tony crumble was too much for her to watch, but the rest of her stayed steady. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He swallowed, trying to stamp down the perpetual helplessness that had taken residence in his gut, replace it with something else, something he could hold.

“How’s Morgan?”

“She’s okay. She’s been asking to see you.”

“I wanna see her.”

“In a minute.” Pepper slid her hand through his hair, voice soft, the kind of tone she used with Morgan or Peter when they were upset. “Try to relax a little first.”

“I had a dream,” he blurted. He knew that this was probably the opposite of what Pepper meant by relaxing, but he couldn’t help it. “I was in Peter’s bedroom, but it was… it was before. Right after May died. Remember… Remember how he wouldn’t get out of bed?”

For a split second, Pepper’s face flashed from composure to devastation, but it was so brief that it was easy to imagine that it had never happened at all. “Of course I remember. He wouldn’t get up, so you used to go in there and sit with him.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, and he smiled despite himself. He treasured those memories just as much as he wished they’d never happened. Helping Peter grieve for May was an ongoing tragedy, and one of the hardest things he’d ever had to watch, but once the initial aftershocks ended, Tony had gained a second child. “He’d curled up in my lap, and I was holding him. We didn’t… We weren’t even talking. I was just holding him.”

He swallowed, breath hitching. He met Pepper’s eyes, trying desperately to convey something that just wasn’t possible to capture in words. A loss, a fear, a weakening hope.

“Pep,” he whispered, hoarse and crackling, “Pep, I was holding him, but then I woke up and he wasn’t there.”

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t apologize, or promise that they’d get him back.

She just reached out and took his hand.

It was just past 11:00 when Rhodey pushed into the bedroom.

For a split second, Tony assumed the worst. But then,

“We found him,” Rhodey breathed. Beside him, Pepper gasped, like she couldn’t believe it. “Happy got a lead and, well, it doesn’t really matter. But we’ve got him, Tones. Steve’s got him.”

The flight from New York to Calverton, Virginia took an hour. They left Morgan back at the cabin, with Clint’s wife. Tony half considered bringing her, but he didn’t know what shape Peter would be in, physically or mentally. And he… he didn’t want to frighten her, although he supposed that was a moot point after the last 48 hours.

When this was all over, Tony promised himself that he’d apologize to both his children, for lots of different things.

For now, he just wanted Peter. He wanted to hold him, like in his dream but real. He wanted a moment that he couldn’t wake up from.

He mostly ignored Rhodey’s explanation of how they’d tracked the kidnappers down. It was complicated and had something to do with a gas station and a random college kid who’d seen Peter’s picture on the news. Happenstance, really. They’d gotten lucky.

“Is he alright?” Pepper asked, and Tony was glad that someone rational was thinking of the important things. “Did they hurt him?”

“The medics think that he may have a clavicle fracture,” Rhodey said. Tony could feel his eyes on him even though he was staring at his feet. “His kidnappers set off some tear gas and stun grenades when the team went it, so he’s got some irritation and ringing in his ears. No sign of sexual assault, but he’s still pretty out of it. They’re running a tox screen to make sure we’re not in danger of any overdoses.”

Tony looked up. He flexed his hands out in front of him, wincing when his wrists popped. “Is he asking for me?”

“Yeah. Steve said that that’s pretty much the only thing he’s said, too. Asked where you were a couple times and checked out.”

Tony bit his lip. Peter had been drugged, beaten, surrounded by doctors he didn’t know and thrown right into the chaos of a crime scene, and yet he’d still looked up at strangers and asked for him.

“Does he know I’m coming?”

“The medics told him.” Rhodey reached across the seats and grabbed his elbow as they started to descend, engines whining. “Hey, look at me. You sure you’re good to do this?”

He blinked, barely even processing the words.

What kind of question is that?

“This,” he started, quiet enough that there was no way Rhodey would’ve heard him if they didn’t have headsets, “is my job.”

“If he sees you upset, it’s gonna make him even more upset.”

“He won’t see me upset.”

Rhodey groaned, and it kind of hurt that nobody seemed to believe he was capable of parenting his own goddamn kid, no matter what emotional state he was in. “Tony, you’re-”

“Very good at this,” he finished, cutting off whatever Rhodey actually meant to say. He imagined he wouldn’t’ve liked it much, anyway. “I’m very good at this.”

“I know you are, Tony, but this has been a rough-”

“He won’t know I’m upset,” he snarled, voice dangerous, and it felt so good to have a purpose. To have something to curl over and protect. “He won’t.”

Rhodey sighed, defeated. He didn’t look like he believed him, but Tony didn’t really care. “Alright. Just be careful, okay? Don’t go overboard.”

Overboard. Of course he was gonna go overboard. He was gonna go overboard with absolutely everything for the rest of Peter’s life.

He didn’t bother walking when the helicopter landed. He just bolted, weaving through police and paramedics and FBI agents and what felt like a thousand other pointless uniforms. Pepper and Rhodey both tailed him, not missing a beat.

Nobody had told him where Peter was, and it was pitch black outside, midnight having only recently come and gone. The only light came from the dozens of different emergency signals spread out across the field, blue and red and yellow and every other color of the rainbow, all blinking at their own dizzying frequencies. There was no logical way that he should’ve been able to find his kid in that chaos, and yet his feet just took him there, like they’d walked this path a million times, even though he wasn’t sure that he’d ever been within a hundred miles of Calverton before.

He saw the security before he saw his kid. There were about ten guards holding a perimeter around the solitary ambulance, and Tony made a mental note to give Happy a goddamn raise once this was all over.

And then there was Peter, and every single mental note he’d ever made evaporated into thin air.

He was slouched over on the back of the ambulance, orange shock blanket folded over his shoulders. He was bloody, bruised. There was dirt and ash all over his face, but none of that mattered at all because he was still the most beautiful, wonderful, breathtaking thing Tony had ever seen.

“Peter!” His voice broke with the force of the shout. “Peter!”

Despite everything, Peter recognized him right away. His head turned towards the sound, and his arms lifted up, fingers curling weakly in the air.

“Tony?”

“Here,” he gasped, skidding to a stop in front of the kid. “I’m right here, Pete. I’m right here.”

He grabbed Peter’s face between his hands, dragged the pads of his thumbs along the curve of his cheekbones, brushing away tear-smudged grime, and all his anguish evaporated. Gone. He knew it’d return, at some point, probably in the folds of night, far away from where anyone but Pepper could see it, but for now he was calm, capable. He felt in control, because that was the only thing he was allowed to be. Because that was exactly what Peter needed him to be.

He’d meant what he’d said to Rhodey. He was good at this.

“Hey there, buddy,” he whispered. He sniffed hard against the tears building in his throat, but he was grinning so wide that his cheeks ached. “You really got yourself into a mess this time, huh?”

“He’s been a little too close to unresponsive for our tastes,” one of the medics offered, and he glanced up to her. She had a sympathetic smile on her face, soft and kind, “but we were hoping that having dad here might help.”

He nodded, hoping that his expression conveyed the thanks he didn’t have the breath to voice, and turned his attention back to Peter. “Hey, hey,” he cooed, shifting Peter’s face a little, trying to get a reaction. “You with me, squirt?”

Peter looked dazed, pupils blown so wide that Tony could barely find any brown in his eyes at all, but there was recognition there, too. Drowsy and subdued, but recognition all the same.

“‘M with you,” he slurred, blinking hard. “I don’ feel very good.”

“I know, squirt. We’re gonna fix that, okay?”

Peter nodded, then slumped forward into his chest, nose digging into the crook of his neck. “‘M sorry. Didn’… Didn’ mean it.”

Tony had expected the apology, but it still felt like a slap in the face. “Shh, shh. None of this was your fault, kiddo.”

I’m sorry I didn’t do enough to protect you.

“‘M so glad you’re here,” Peter mumbled, and Tony wondered if he even knew that he was talking. “Kept asking for you. They said you w’re coming.”

Tony could feel each one of Peter’s breaths on his skin, warm and slow and relaxed. He’d heard about hostage victims being keyed-up on release, jumpy and paranoid, and just here his kid was: practically dozing off in his arms, murmuring apologies and sermons of faith, easy and relaxed just because Tony was here. Because Tony was holding him.

“Of course I was coming,” he managed to choke out. “I’ll always come for you, Pete. I’m always gonna come for you.”

“Mm. I know. Always got me.”

He’d never deserve this. Never. He could spend the rest of his life devoted to charity, to selflessness, and yet there would never come a day when he would deserve his children.

It should’ve been a disheartening thought, but it wasn’t. It was humbling. It made him feel grateful.

He found the gaze of the nurse who’d first spoken to him, fingers threading slowly through Peter’s hair. “Can I take him?”

“Of course,” she said. “But he’ll need x-rays to confirm that fracture, and fluids, and I wouldn’t let him go unmonitored until his tox screens start coming back clear. You have someone back at base who can do all that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then he’s all yours.”

He wrapped the shock blanket more firmly around Peter’s shoulders, dreaming of the moment he could tear it off, burn it, and replace it with one of the red fleece ones Pepper had brought back from a conference in Colorado at the end of Peter’s senior year. He couldn’t wait until they could finally peel off the layers of this night and replace them with new memories, with new things, with good, peaceful, mundane things.

“I’m gonna take you home now, Pete,” he whispered, fisting his hand desperately in the back of the kid’s shirt. “We’re gonna go home.”

Peter slept straight through the helicopter ride back to New York, legs stretched over Tony’s lap like a cat. He woke up just long enough for Tony to guide him to his bedroom (Tony had to coach him up the stairs like it was his first encounter with the concept), but he was out again as soon as he reached his bed. Cho and Bruce both assured him that there was nothing to be concerned about, that his body was just burning off the drugs, but it didn’t stop him from laying Peter against his chest and keeping a finger on his pulse.

Cho and Bruce must’ve sensed that he wanted nothing more than to be left alone with his kid, because they rushed through the process of converting Peter’s bedroom into a makeshift hospital suite. Peter roused a little when Cho placed his IV, but only enough to make a mild noise of displeasure and bury himself more firmly into Tony’s arms. Otherwise, Peter seemed perfectly content to let Tony deal with the world for him.

That was fine. That was more than fine, actually. It was exactly what he’d been wanting to do for days.

Pepper wandered in and out of the room, spreading her time between them and Morgan. Bruce popped in to give him the tox screen results, but he left almost as soon as he came. He didn’t know what the rest of the team was doing, but he knew that Rhodey had stayed behind in Calverton, with Happy.

The longer he spent unwinding, the more he wished he’d asked better questions.

He didn’t have a clue what had actually happened to Peter, didn’t know if his kidnappers were captured or dead, or if they’d escaped. He didn’t know anything.

Steve knocked on the doorframe after a few hours of pointless wondering, shifting nervously on his feet. It was as if Tony had put an impassable barrier around Peter’s bed, the kind that no one could see but everyone could feel. Nobody was brave enough to touch it.

“You can come it,” he said, amused. “I don’t bite.”

Steve took two steps forward, then stopped, clearly having no intention of moving any farther. “I don’t mean to intrude-”

He rolled his eyes. “What do you need, Steve?”

“The press is clamoring for a statement,” Steve said, after a brief moment of hesitation, “preferably in person.”

Tony pushed some of Peter’s hair back from his forehead, forcing himself to ignore the tiny cuts and bruises littering the kid’s face. “Giving a statement would involve leaving this room.”

Steve just nodded. “I understand.” He gestured in Peter’s direction, stiff and unsure, like he was treading on ice. “How is he?”

Tony smiled. He really didn’t know why everyone seemed so determined to dance around the topic of Peter, especially now that he was home. It wasn’t a touchy subject, it was Tony’s favorite subject.

“He’s sleeping, safe and sound.”

“I’m glad.”

“They ran a tox screen,” he offered. “He’s got GBH and ecstasy and a couple other pretty nasty things in his system. Cho’s confident that the fluids should help him metabolize it. F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirmed that he’s got a small fracture in his collarbone, but his healing should take care of it pretty quickly once his body recalibrates.” He smiled, eyes never leaving Peter’s face. “He’ll be back to playing Mario Kart with Morgan in no time.”

“Good.” Steve walked around to his side of the bed, steps slow and measured. “Do you want me to give you the details of everything now, or later?”

“Give me the essentials. Are they dead?”

“Yeah.” Relief shot through him. “Clint got two with his arrows. The other one was sleeping when we came in. He tried to grab a weapon, but Nat got to him first. Sam found Peter locked in a closet in the back bedroom.”

The rage he felt at the detail conflicted with the tenderness that rose with every second he spent with his children. In the end, he set the anger aside. He didn’t need it, right now. It wouldn’t made Peter heal faster.

“You sure there were only three?”

“We’re looking into it, but we’re nearly positive.”

He dipped his head in Peter’s direction. “How was he when you found him?”

Darkness swooped over Steve’s face, and his voice went hard. “Not great.” A pause. “You think he’ll be alright?”

“Without a doubt,” he said, and he meant it. “He’s a tough kid, and he’s got a good therapist. Pretty sure there isn’t anything he can’t tackle and come out the winner.”

“And what about you?” Steve asked, as sincere as Tony had ever heard him. “Will you be alright?”

He smoothed his palm down Peter’s back, and thought back to his dream. He’d imagined the whole thing wrong, he realized. The joy he’d felt then hadn’t captured even a single fraction of the joy he was feeling now.

“Of course I’ll be alright,” he said, like it was obvious. “I’ve got the best family in the world.”

Natasha had never been in Peter’s room before. Then again, she’d very rarely been the cabin, either. Tony had gone out of his way to keep his family shielded from everyone, even the team.

After everything they’d been through, she had a hard time blaming him for that.

Tony and Peter were both asleep when she poked her head through the door. She guessed that it was probably the first time either of them had had any real rest in days. Even unconscious, Tony had placed himself between Peter and the door, arms wrapped tightly around the kid, as if someone was going to try to steal him when he wasn’t looking.

Bruce and Cho had turned the bedroom into a makeshift hospital room, monitors and an IV pole tucked up in a corner, but it didn’t change the cozy atmosphere. A few framed sci-fi posters littered the walls, but there were family pictures as well: everything from photobooth strips to professional portraits.

For a brief few seconds, she let herself wonder what it would’ve been like to grow up in a place that felt like a home.

Pepper ended up catching her attention before the thoughts could go too far. She was the only other person in the room, and, unlike Tony and Peter, she was actually awake. She beckoned for her to come in, posture as relaxed as Natasha had ever seen it.

“Hey,” Pepper greeted, voice just above a whisper. “Are you here for Tony?”

“I am.”

“Can it wait?”

Her eyes flickered up to the pair curled around each other on the bed, and she made her decision without a hint of hesitation. “I’ll make it wait.”

Pepper shot her a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. How are they?”

Pepper leaned forward in her chair, and brushed the back of Peter’s hand gently. It was a mother’s touch, kind and adoring. She tried not to stare.

“Peter’s still pretty out of it, but he’s been talking to Tony, so that’s a step in the right direction. It might take a while for his metabolism to clear out all the shit they pumped into him, but his vitals are holding steady.”

“Did the tox screen come back?”

Pepper sighed. “It did. It’s a miracle Tony didn’t have an aneurism when Cho read it to us. They gave him GHB and ecstasy, among a few other things, but there’s nothing we can do about it except wait.”

That certainly wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. She hadn’t said it out loud, but she’d been prepping herself for the possibility that by the time they found the kid, they’d have already OD’d him.

She’d seen those kinds of bodies before, and they weren’t pretty. She wasn’t sure how Tony’s would’ve handled it.

Speaking of which…

“And how’s Tony?”

Pepper’s face softened even more at the mention of her husband. She reached out to adjust his shirt, tone warm. “His baby’s back, so all’s right with the world again. At least for now.” She let out an exhausted breath. “And after everything that’s happened, I’ll take for now.”

She wondered if Pepper had slept since Peter’s graduation. The more she analyzed the past few days, the more she came to the conclusion that she hadn’t.

“I doubt Peter’ll be allowed out of his sight for the next few weeks.”

“Weeks?” Pepper snorted, a rare slip of her polish. Natasha guessed that she saw it more than the boys did. “Oh, Peter’s going to have Tony following him around for the next decade at least. It’ll be sweet for a while, because at first he’ll actually enjoy the coddling, but then both of them are going to make my life a living hell.”

Natasha just smiled. There wasn’t even a hint of genuine aggravation in Pepper’s voice: just relief. “You can’t wait, can you?”

Pepper’s face lit up. “God, Nat, I’ve never been more ecstatic over the thought of the two of them snipping at each other in my life.”

She laughed, careful not to disturb either of Pepper’s charges, then took a cautious step towards the door. As much as she enjoyed Pepper’s company, there were still a million things to be done. She’d handle the paperwork, and she’d let the parents handle the kid.

She wasn’t really qualified for the gushy stuff.

“I’ll let you spend some time with your family.”

“Actually, Nat, before you go…” Pepper paused, chewing on the words, “just, well, thank you. People are never able to forget that Peter’s Tony’s child, but they tend to overlook that he’s mine now, too. He’s been mine for nearly six years. And I know that I’ll never love him like Tony does, but… but I still love him, and I’m still grateful.”

“I’m just doing my job,” she said, smile tight.

“It’s a good job, Nat.”

She backed the rest of the way into the hall. “Yeah, it is.”

The door clicked shut, and she just barely inclined her head to the security guard that was stationed outside of it. They’d be a common presence around here, for a while, at least until Stark re-found that tenuous balance between keeping his kids safe and letting them live.

She’d been worried about Peter, before. If there was anyone in the world who understood trauma, understood what it could do to your soul, it was Natasha Romanoff, but she knew now that Peter Parker had something that she’d never had.

He had people who gave a shit. People who’d make sure that he was fine.

She wondered if he knew how lucky he had it.

#wooo it's a monster #me: my irondadbingo is going to be short little ficlets!#also me: *writes 11k words*#help #irondad #irondadbingo #tony & peter #tony stark #peter parker #losingmymindtonight writes

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wintaer-bear · 3 years

Text

goldilocks and the three bears of truth

jimin’s in love with you, but like... not that in love with you. or conversely, men that have all the audacity but none of the emotional intelligence!

“No, no, no. Please don’t do that,” Taehyung hushes as he brings his more than big enough hands to your cheeks. You raise your gaze to meet his and his heart hits the floor. He knew you were upset, that much was obvious, what with you throwing the entire contents of the buffet table at him and ruining his Versace tux. He knew you were upset - that was fair. But never did it dawn on him that you were going to cry! It wasn’t fair that you were so pretty when he was trying to break up with you. “Please don’t cry.”

His words mean nothing... all men do is lie and you cry anyway, unmatched foundation leaving tear tracks down your face.

“Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?” You’ve never put on make up before, let alone own a bottle of Fenty, but you were too shy to ask the MUA at Sephora if they had some more opened samples in the back because like hell were you going to pay $35 for the entire bottle. You were desperate that much was true, what with Taehyung springing on prom at the last minute because turns out he was grounded but not like grounded grounded, but you were too smart to be both broke and desperate. You just picked the sample shade one lighter and hoped no one would notice. How were you supposed to know to blend all the way down to the neck? And what was it the mean girls said? Something about flashback?

"Why did you ask me to prom if you didn’t actually want me to come with you? Better yet, why did you ask me to be your girlfriend? You’re mean Taehyung! Just like the rest of your piss for brain friends. Mean!” You’re tearing off your own gas station corsage and slinging it at him. You wish it made you feel better, but it doesn’t. You just wanted him to hurt like you were hurting.

You should have known better. Should have seen it coming. Taehyung was everything your dad told you stay away from. He was head of the art club and missed homeroom too often, but he never got in trouble for it because, we’ll he could smile he way through anything. Your guarded heart included. He literally, got along with everyone, was nice to everyone. You just happened to sit next to him one day.

“__,” he says weakly, picking up the half torn flowers from the pavement. “I... It’s not like that. I didn’t ask -”

The boy in the shiny sequin dress jacket stops himself because while he knew he was a class A jerk, he wasn’t going to kick someone while they were down. Taehyung wasn’t about to dig himself a deeper grave with the sheriff’s daughter by telling you that he didn’t actually ask you to prom... he had just briefly mentioned that his parents hadn’t grounded for selling the entire contents of their wine cellar when they found out all the proceeds were going towards the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

“Save it,” you say sniffling and grabbing the what’s left of the corsage from his hands and ripping what feels like your entire heart into pieces, what’s left of it anyway. “I don’t care. Jimin was right. You are a Gemini.”

“I don’t know what that means” he says with vehemence, “but I’ve never been to the gym in my entire life and Jimin’s an asshole so -”

"He's my best friend." You deadpan and cross you arms around your chest. He could break your heart but you wouldn't give him the power to break your carefully forged friendship with Jimin.

"And obviously in love with you so take everything he says about with me a grain a salt."

“Yeah, and you’re a Black Moon Lilith in Gemini and that alone trumps all your good traits. You’re basically 90% fickle with a dash of cunning, but I didn’t know cunning was just the elongated word of cunt.” You emphasize the last words, mostly because you’re hurt, but also because you’re angry and you’re not sure when you’ll get another chance to tell Kim Taehyung off again. “I mean... do you even like me? You haven’t even done as much as hold my hand since you’ve asked me out.”

“I just asked you out on Monday!”

“Oh come on, Taehyung,” you drag, angry and finding all the hurtful words in your vocabulary. “It’s not like you’re shy! I’ve seen your tongue down so many girls throats you’d think its the cure to lung cancer.”

“That’s different,” he winces. “And not fair.”

“Not fair?” You repeat, suddenly realizing this was all going in circles. You’ve liked Taehyung for the better of...like, forever. He was so perfect. Almost. He gets the endings of movies wrong and forgets his car keys too often, but Taehyung had a nice smile and ate all his veggies, was a little weird when it came to public speaking but who isn’t? Taehyung was every girl’s dream and... and avoided you like the plague up until you grew tits your senior year because no one wants to bone the sheriff’s daughter.

No, you were never invited to keg parties or homecomings. Not even your own best gal pals like to hang out with you in broad day light. You had to learn the status quo on your own so shave an eagle and call it bald, you about had a conniption when Taehyung sat down next to you in AP Bio.

“I like your hair clips,” he said causally. At this point, you weren't even sure he knew you existed. He sits and sports that grin you’ve been familiar with since grade school. The “I’m not in trouble you are” look. “They match your scrunchie.”

And by the end of the period you wonder how it escalated so quickly. Taehyung turned from being your lab mate to your soulmate in less than 90 minutes and you weren’t even mad about it. He was comfortable, he was warm and it was so easy to smile in front of him.

“Not fair?” You say again. “Mules are doomed to be both the genesis and the doom of their hybrid lineage because they're born sterile. That's unfair. No Taehyung this," you point back and forth between the three feet of air between you two "isn't unfair. This is the result of you doing what you do best and acting on a whim instead of examining if there’s going to be repercussions or if you'll hurt someone along the way. I was fine on my own! I had a plan and if you weren't going to be part of it, the least you could of done was to stay out of my way." You run out of air and you hate it because it gives him exactly one second to come back with a counter argument.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

And you believe him. Because Taehyung wouldn't be dumb enough to ask you to prom on purpose or mean enough to invite you just to overhear him talking about breaking up with you because "you were just too much."

"No one ever means to hurt anyone, Taehyung. Doesn't make the hurt any less," you breathe. You want to hurt him too. Why does he get to walk away unscathed? "Or the perpetrator any less guilty. You're a bad guy Taehyung,” you bite you lower lip to refrain from crying, but it comes out in sobs anyway. “And I hope someone breaks your heart."

You break away and immediately feel the lost of warmth. You didn't realize how close he was to you until he wasn't.

"You okay?" Jimin asks as you slam his passenger door shut. You don’t know how he knew to come get you. You had expected him to be on the other side of town doing God knows what at this hour, but somehow Jimin always knew.

He leaves the car in park and turns to you when you don't immediately respond.

"I’m fine," you say, going to turn on the radio. He immediately switches it off.

"Like just bombed your math test but your 6.0 GPA is still salvageable fine or ___ circa second grade with a blister on her hand doing the monkey bars fine?"

"For the the last time I beat you fair and square but I see you’re still eating my dust a decade later with that tone Park."

"Also for the last time. I let you win because you cried when the blister popped on bar three. I practically carried you on my back the rest of the way."

"Did not."

"I still have the scar on forehead where you stepped on me." He pulls back his hair and shoves said forehead in your face.

"The floor was lava." You shrug.

“Yeah, so is Kim Taehyung, but we’re not ready to talk about that are we?”

It wasn’t a secret that Jimin wasn’t fond of Taehyung. They just ran with different crowds. Always have. Where as Taehyung was president of the art club and volunteering at parks and recreations, Jimin was deciding whether or not to smoke the last ounce of weed he had in his back pocket or to sell it for profit so he could buy a an extra dessert for lunch tomorrow.

“Just as ready as you are to talk about the court summoning I found in hidden in your glove compartment.”

Jimin sends you a look and if you didn’t know him for the last decade, you’d miss the sliver of shock written on his otherwise impenetrable and cocky face. Jimin gives a low whistle.

“You could have just said no, but I see I don’t need to worry. 2021 Bitchy ___ is here to put up the walls and save the day. No need for niceties then,” he pins you with a look as he turns the ignition and does that thing boys do where they reverse the car all passively aggressively and hot. “I fucking told you so. I told you Taehyung was out for one thing and one thing only. He’s nothing but a player and -”

“I do not put up walls!” You interrupt and it catches Jimin off guard, he was ready for his Taehyung hating dissertation, to be the best friend you needed and to talk shit about your ex. Jimin was already in the drive thru line to order one of everything off the dollar menu. He was not, however, prepared for whatever the hell this was.

You’re crying, uncontrollably so, and rubbing your eyes with your palms in his seat. It’s ruining your make up but Jimin has never seen you any more beautiful. He’s never seen you so vulnerable as you hiccup to keep the sadness from escaping your very breath.

“And I’m not bitchy. I’m not sorry I don’t have mommy issues and feel the need to please everyone in her absence. I’m especially not sorry that I’m way too smart to get conned into losing my virginity because I think I’m in love. I’m not. But why can’t I be? Hmm?” And Jimin thinks it’s question for him before you continue.

“Why can’t Taehyung come to me if he’s got a problem with me? If he thought I was,” you air quote, “too much,” end air quote, “then why hang out with me?” You turn you back against the window so you can face Jimin head on, and Jimin wonders why the line is so backed up tonight of all nights. “Why even talk to me in the first place? What? Was I not what he was expecting? Am I too opinionated? Too loud? Too... god, I don’t know? Myself?”

"What?” Jimin says flabbergasted, and takes his yes off the car halted in from of him to make sure he’s hearing this right. Jimin can’t say you were the type run on emotions, but you have also never had a chance to react to such... turbulence. You’ve always been so reserved and in control, a defense mechanism he’s sure you’ve developed over time as the black sheep of the town. He knew you were dumb but he didn’t know you were dumb enough to think it was your fault that Kim Taehyung didn’t like you.

“Tell me the truth Jimin,” you deadpan. “Am I...,” and you struggle to get out the last part without crying. “Too much?”

“Yes,” he thinks. Completely, utterly, and without a doubt, you were too much.

You were too good for Taehyung. And too kind. And too pretty. In the winters, you were too warm and your cookies were too soft, your shampoo smelled too clean. You were too good at Catan... and you were...god... too perfect.

Jimin didn’t mean to fall in love with you. Just like he didn’t mean to kiss you the way he is now. Desperately and fervently, like it’s his first time kissing to put someone’s clothes on instead of off. But he doesn’t know how else to stop your thoughts from wandering. He doesn’t know how else to bring you back to the light where you belong. He didn’t want to see you cry. Jimin didn’t like it when you were hurt. But he especially didn’t like that you thought any less of yourself because of a boy.

Jimin takes it upon himself when you don’t immediately pull away and he wishes he would have just taken you home because now his plans were ruined.

There was a plan. Jimin had a plan.

You were going to go away to college and he was going to get a trade job. You’d come back to visit your dad for the holidays and Jimin would by default pick you up from the airport. He was a patient man. He had it all planned out. The two of you would skip the petty fights that came with individuals growing together and out pacing one another. It was easier that way. The two of you would just meet each other at the end. Jimin wasn’t willing to risk losing you in finding himself in these next few years.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Jimin didn’t want to rush it. He didn’t want to spook you with how much he wanted this, wanted you. Jimin knew. Whether it be ten years from now or several heartbreaks later, Jimin knew he’d accept you any way you came to him. But never in a 100 years he think you’d come like this. Broken and inconsolable in tears.

“I -” he starts to lie. “I’m high.”

“Men,” you scoff. “Men have all the audacity but none of the emotional intelligence. Jimin, your court summon is for a urine analysis so you really expect me to believe you’d shoot up and get high right before they’re about to break that beeper on your ankle? Even I know you’re not that desperate for a fix.”

He wishes you were right. You were the hardest drug he’s had and he’s wished he just stay clean because it physically hurt him to see how intangible you are right now. Even in your elaborate scheme to get another man to fall in love with you tonight, Jimin couldn’t help but want you more. You were exactly who you needed to be and he wanted nothing more than to protect that.

“I’ll ask you one more time,” you say with patience you’ve all but scraped up off the floor. “Jimin, do. you. like. me? Like, like like me?”

It wouldn’t be lie if he said no. He doesn’t just like you. Jimin is dumbfoundedly in love with you. He’s so deep in your pussy-sand without actually being in your pants that he wouldn’t know his left from his right.

Jimin debates with himself whether it’s worth the physical distance that awaits him if he denies you or if it’s worth the psychological and emotional damage that will come in confirming your suspicion. You were too good for him, that much was evident, but how was he going to make you believe that?

“___, I-”

“Welcome to McDonald’s, may I take your order?”

“Yeah, I’d like a large order of FACTS please,” you spit out.

“Sure, a order or fries. What else can I do for you?”

“Maybe a double quarter pounder with a side of truth?”

“I’m sorry, did you say juice?”

You don’t mean to take it out on the employee behind the window. She was just at the wrong place at the wrong time when then you realize it’s HER workplace and perhaps you’re making it awkward but you were so hurt, and so confused, and you needed someone to take it out on and Jimin wasn’t helping, what with wallowing in his silence.

“$6.78 at the window.”

Jimin doesn’t know how to fix it. The entire drive back to your house and he can’t come up with the right words to say. He fucked up and he’s so so so scared to lose you.

#drafts #jimin drafts #bts drafts #park jimin

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amintyworld · 5 years

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Inconveniences - Sanders Sides Oneshot

A/N: This is for @an-agender-disaster 's Sanders Sides Fic Contest. Please go check them out, and if you like this fic go and give it a vote! Love all of you! -Minty

Summary: Roman sacrifices everything to save a stranger.

TW: Cursing, Bullying, Fighting, Blood, Pressure, Yelling, Caps, abuse of power

----------

Logan and Virgil were best friends. A fact that seemed unbelievable to the students of Sanders High. One was dark, mysterious, paranoid to flinch at a single touch. The other? A classical nerd who memorized more facts than a search engine.

The two outcasts were known throughout their grade for their so to say 'weirdness'. Virgil, though desperately trying to fit in, was a natural outcast. He was extremely awkward, especially in social interaction, a fact that the more popular students quickly took notice of. Logan was what Virgil called 'naturally smart'. The 16 year old could recite 150 digits of pi and the entire table of elements without breaking a sweat. It was no doubt the two would eventually found a friendship, a strong one at that.

They didn't have many friends, but...they had each other. And really, when bullying becomes a daily issue, a friend is all you need.

"So Specs," Virgil asked as they were walking through the hall toward their next class, "what was the probability again?"

Logan pushed his glasses that started to slide down his nose as he processed the question, remembering almost instantly. He smiled for the first time that week, facing his friend as he answered. "Of us meeting?" Virgil nodded. "That's nearly impossible odds, Virgil."

"Impossible odds…" Virgil breathed, listening to his friend rant about probability, and percentages. He sat down, sighing, closing his eyes briefly, just to relax. Virgil wouldn't admit it, but he loved just to sit and listen to his best friend explain any topic, there was some kind of comfort to it that Virgil couldn't explain.

For a small amount of time that day, Virgil wasn't nervous, or anxious. All the possibilities of what could go wrong stopped running through his mind.

"Impossible...odds…"

He was just a regular high school student.

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

"GO ROMAN, GO, GO, GO, ROMAN!" Patton cheered from the sidelines. He was early for his cheer practice afterschool, so he figured he could fit in extra practice. He and Roman had been best friends since middle school, when Roman was the new kid, he'd recently moved from New York. Since then, they'd been practically inseparable.

Coach blew his whistle, and Roman ran back to the benches nearby, chugging water and running his hands through his sweaty hair. Coach gave him a stern look. "Take a break, Prince." Roman just nodded, catching his breath. Coach turned quickly, "Demenga! Sub for Prince! Come on, you pansies, on the field, NOW!"

Roman grabbed a second water bottle and sat down on the bleachers next to Patton. "Hey, you alright, Ro?" Patton asked. "You look… horrible."

"Well, despite what my father believes, I'm not made for football." Roman sighed. Patton gave him a sympathetic smile.

"You could always quit, I'm sure your father would-"

"You know what he'd say." Roman said. "Either UCLA, or nothing."

"I know," Patton said defeatedly. "I just hate to see you so... miserable."

"Well," Roman smiled. "Not completely miserable. I get to see you practice, at least. Who knew you had such a talent with pom-poms?"

Patton smiled. "I wouldn't have known if it weren't for you joining the team, Ro."

"Please Patton," Roman joked, smiling at his cheery friend. "You'd be a cheerleader anyway, it was only about making it official."

"You know me too well, Roman. How's Remus doing, by the way?"

"Absolutely loving his biochemistry classes," Roman said, wrinkling his nose at the thought. "...maybe a little TOO much." He shivered, wishing he could erase all the grotesque things Remus had sent him via text since the start of the year.

"But Roman, it's so cool! Look at it twitch!" Remus insisted when he shared a video of a rat dissection that nearly made Roman hurl.

He'd never admit it, but he wished he was the younger twin. Free to pursue anything he pleased, instead of having your entire life planned out for you from the first moment of your existence. God, how he craved to reprise his spark for Theater, one that his father tried so badly to put out completely, though Roman never truly lost the passion.

As he put it, it was in his blood.

Patton's parents, or parent, rather, were completely different from Roman's. Almost as full of sunshine as Patton himself, Mr. Foster was quite a role model for the young boy. 'Superdad' handled two jobs and three kids without breaking a sweat, and he was more than happy to let Roman into their close-knit family.

He showed Roman all of his kids' baby photos, smiling and cooing over how tiny baby Patton was, making Patton flush with embarrassment: "Daaaaaad!"

Patton, you could say, was the second parent of the family, cooking meals, helping with homework, keeping an eye on his younger siblings while maintaining a 3.5 GPA.

"I'm gonna go wash up, Dad will be here soon anyway, and he hates when I'm not exactly on time, you know." Roman said, grabbing his duffel and heading to the showers. "Be back in a few, Pat!"

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

"OH MY GOD, STOP IT!" Virgil screamed, trying to restrain the stronger teen as he easily slammed his best friend's face into the concrete wall. Richard turned, throwing Logan to the floor, his face busted and bleeding, his glasses snapped in half on the ground.

"What exactly are you going to do to stop me, Scaredy Cat?" Richard said, a smirk spreading across his lips.

"I...I'm...I'm gonna...I…"

Within seconds, his body was slammed on the concrete wall. He let out a scream of pain, Richard clamping his hand over Virgil's mouth quickly, nearly gagging him, Virgil struggling to breathe. "You're gonna do WHAT?" Richard said. "You are WEAK. You are POWERLESS. You...you're NOTHING, nothing but a wimpy dimpy Scaredy Cat." With that, he dropped Virgil onto the dirt, but he knew he wasn't going to get up.

He'd done his damage just right.

Tears fell from Virgil's eyes as the words cut him like a knife. He was right. He couldn't do anything, he couldn't even save his best friend. His hands gripped the dirt as tears fell, soaking the ground underneath him.

How absolutely PATHETIC was he?!

Richard laughed at the pain visible on their faces. "You two are nothing but a bunch of losers. Do you know what we do, with losers?" He couldn't help laughing as he asked. His father the mayor, Richard was power-hungry from the start. He ruled this school, this town, and no one, absolutely NO ONE, was going to say otherwise.

As King, he had a duty to himself, and to everyone, to put these… these pigs, right in their place.

Virgil's heart nearly dropped. He knew what was coming next. Worse, he knew he couldn't fight back. He looked at Logan, who fell unconscious, bleeding. No one was around. No one ever was around when he did this.

"We… we kill losers."

Richard grabbed Virgil by the neck, Virgil no match for his size, lifting him off the ground, against the wall. He grinned, squeezing his neck. "Fat pig…" He breathed, sending chills down Virgil's spine. Virgil clenched his eyes tight, fearing he would cry if he opened them. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He didn't deserve to get what he wanted. He felt his hot breath on his face, his mouth getting closer.

The world began to spin, almost getting darker. He started to choke in his grasp, gasping for air, for any breath. He didn't say a word, didn't fight back. He knew he'd just wind up back here, with his world dizzing, just like Richard wanted.

"Richard, what are you DOING?!"

Richard quickly dropped him, Virgil's world slowly coming back to focus, breathing heavily to get air back into his lungs.

"Ah, my old friend! I thought you had practice." Richard said, maybe a little too cheery.

"It's nearly over…" Roman trailed off, looking at the two students on the floor, then back to Richard. "What are you… you… you hurt them…"

Richard set a hardened glare on Roman. "It would be in your best interests, Roman, to not get in the way of the King." He smirked. "I'm sure your father would love to know all about your movie stash."

Roman's eyes widened. "How did you know about-!?"

His movies, hidden underneath his bed - the only thing left of the old days. Days when there wasn't a legacy, there wasn't football. When his father didn't care what he did, and… he was, well, happy. Happy to just have Roman.

Before, well… Roman went to high school.

"I have my ways. Now, back off, Prince. Let your King do his work."

Roman gulped, hesitating. He knew Richard picked on them, but this was too far. He made up his mind quickly, silently saying goodbye to all his DVDs. He raised his fists, getting into a defensive position almost instantly. "I...I won't let you hurt them."

Richard sighed. "Shame you had to turn on your people, Roman. You better believe that now, you're just like them. You're a weirdo, an outcast."

"You have no right to just go around saying whatever you want-"

Richard's face turned bright red with anger. "I OWN YOU."

Silence fell. Roman slowly walked over. Richard looked to him, something indescribable in his eyes. "You don't own me. At least, not anymore."

Roman stepped back as the sting of sliced flesh zipped through his body. He looked down, and there, clear as day, was a thin, bloodred line that ripped his football practice shirt straight across the middle. He knew what was going to happen when he got home, but at this point - Roman didn't care. His instincts from New York kicked in as he tackled Richard to the ground, holding the hand clutching the knife firmly behind his back. "Drop it." He growled, and the small pocket knife fell to the ground with a small clink.

Roman kicked it a good ten feet away before dragging Richard up from the ground, leaning close to his ear, making sure the next words out of his mouth stuck. "Don't you DARE even so much as think about hurting another person, or I won't be so nice next time." He growled angrily. He let the boy go, pushing him away, and Richard looked back for a moment, mostly in shock, before seemingly shoving his hands in his pockets and trudging toward the road.

Roman sighed, the adrenaline wearing off, realizing what he'd done. His father will kill him, disown him, if he isn't expelled from school first and kicked from the team.

But you know what? Roman thought, rushing back to find Patton (who was a certified first aid), Eff it.

#my writing #fic contest #sander sides #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides angst #sanders sides fic #sanders sides au #sanders sides high school au

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suttonfm · 5 years

Text

greetings , angels , i’m back AGAIN with a second muse , the lovely sutton marie attwood ! i have so much muse for sutton , seeing as she is a character i have been itching to bring to life for a long time ! i’m very excited for you all to read more about her , so without further ado , please take a gander below the cut , & for plotting purposes , make sure you give this post a big phat LIKE if you would like me to message / im you . enjoy reading about my presh ballerina :’ ))

𝓶𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

⋆ ╰ another year at hollingsworth , another year of the big six rivalry . i hear that SUTTON ATTWOOD is ensuring KAPPA KAPPA DELTA gets a solid pledge class and stays at the top of the ranks . oh , you’re not familiar with HER ? SUTTON is the BRIDGET SATTERLEE look alike from BOSTON , MASSACHUSETTS . apart of PC ‘16 , she is majoring in PERFORMING ARTS and has plans to JOIN THE BOSTON BALLET after undergrad . it makes sense they pledged their house , their BENEVOLENT & DOCILE attributes make them perfect matches . however , their SUBMISSIVE & NAIVE attributes keep their name alive on greek rank . if you don’t catch them dancing to GET WELL SOON - ARIANA GRANDE at a fraternity band party this year , you’ll be sure to catch them nursing their morning hangover at THE KAPPA HOUSE . cheers to another wild semester !

𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓼𝓽𝓾𝓭𝔂

𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤 & 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤

so ! sutton has a wide array of things she likes : long walks in the park , puppies that are learning how to run , freshly sharpened number two pencils , the smell of an old book , baby clips , leather mary janes , dainty jewelry , bubble baths , pink or creme roses , daffodils , heart - shaped lollipops . she dislikes cursing , mean - spirited people , drinking alcohol / doing drugs , vulgarity / explicit conversation . she also hates having to walk alone at night , when she misses church , & all red meat .

if you want a lil’ more of her general aesthetic , click HERE for her pinterest board , loves !

𝕞𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪

lovely lil’ sutton .... where do i even start JSLDKAJSDLKJ ok so ... she’s . angelic vibes all 2019 , ok ? she’s wholesome , pure of heart , & overall , is one of the kindest people that anyone at hollingsworth will come across . her overall demeanor is docile , quiet , the girl usually keeping to herself , opting to stay quiet when facing confrontation or a new , strange situation . her voice is a lil deeper , not so much pealing bells , but something with a bit of a rasp , accented by the bostonian lilt to everything she says . she’s irish - catholic , her family being very devoted to their faith , & passing that on to her ... she’s always wearing her cross , & making sure her general attire is conservative enough for the lord ( lordt salkdjad ) . i’m talking tights , white ruffled socks , the whole nine : / she’s also ! very smart , well - read , writing poems & reading old novels . currently , she plays the piano , & is on hollingsworth’s dance team ! she’s very disciplined as a lifetime ballerina , her life revolving around the entire process . she’s devoted , loyal , kind , & overall just ! a lil angel ; _ ; so pls love her : (

𝓶𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

sutton attwood was born the youngest of four children , to her mother marie , and her father , alexander . marie and alexander had been married for the last twenty - seven years , having kids in their younger years , happily in love , ready to start a family . after her three siblings were born , there was a long gap until her own arrival , an accident that her parents had no reason to expect . but she came anyway , arriving into the attwood family , lungs aching as she cried & cried .

as a young girl , sutton was very well - behaved , but also very sensitive . she was careful to mind her manners , knowing the consequence of having her elbows on the table , or neglecting to fold her napkin across her lap . her parents had high standards & expectations , strict rules that they enforced to ensure their daughter stayed within the mold of the rest , the two of them scared that , with sutton being the anomaly , she may have the tendency to try to break from the restraints they had confined the rest of their kids in .

for most of her adolescence , the girl was extremely confined , repressed ; she had no way of exhibiting her freedom , expression , or creativity , except for one thing -- ballet . she had started as soon as she could walk , her parents having her join on the premonition it would be a good outlet for her , a way to teach her the discipline they were sure she would need . little did they know she would end up loving ballet , naturally poised for such a difficult art form , her grace & athleticism preceding her wildest dreams as she continued to train & train , changing dance companies over the years as she became better & better .

being raised irish - catholic , she has a strict church schedule , attending mass every saturday with her whole family , & sometimes during the week to help her church organize youth groups , bible study , & activities of the same ilk . being heavily involved in the church only served to reinforce her parents warnings , the people around her sure to remind her that if she were to sin , she was damned to an eternity of suffering . with that in mind , sutton always navigated the world as carefully as she could . her overall mindset was to stay out of trouble , avoiding temptation as she came across it . her will power is something that she praises herself for , being able to resist drugs , sex , & alcohol her entire life .

due to her kind demeanor , she has the tendency to be taken advantage of , her niceness taken as weakness over the years as people took the chance to belittle or berate her , but despite it , her exterior has never hardened , the girl’s heart forever warn & displayed on her sleeve .

since coming to hollingsworth , the girl has done her best to maintain her pristine image , her reputation untainted by the things a college experience may promise to tarnish . but somehow , she’s sidestepped trouble up until now -- senior year . as a kappa , she has the intention only to maintain her house’s top spot , her competitive nature from dancing making it so that her kindness isn’t always necessarily extended to the members of other sororities , but a part of her can’t help but still smile in other girl’s directions , happy to have them as a friend instead of an enemy . the cutthroat mentality of kappa house is overwhelming , but with chaise as president , sutton is even more nervous to see what happens .

with the promise of new experiences on the horizon , sutton intends to keep up the good work . to maintain her 4.0 gpa , to keep her virginity & promise to god intact , & to continue dancing without having any drama . whose gonna tell her .....

𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼

tbh ! i want her BEST FRIEND , one - sides friendship ( i . e . sutton bothering them & always being nice , inevitably driving them crazy ) , her CRUSH ( this is a big one bcos ... well ... v*rgin or what not jlkjlajskdjaldaj but yes could be mutual / one - sided ) , someone she tutors bcos she’s a smart gal ! her confidant , her ex - best friend ( maybe dropped her bcos when they came into the college they were both wholesome & they gave into the whole greek lifestyle , losing themselves / sutton along the way :/ ) um ! i can’t think of anything else rn but u know me ... lets go off chem <3 ok , that’s all for now , folks !

#╰ ❥ disconnected so sometimes i feel frozen . / 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼 .#rank:intro #!!!!!!!!!!!!#pls come plot w your girl : /#i tried to make it shorter than the first one so it's not just all word vom so <3 ily

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chocoholicannanymous · 5 years

Text

If the Spit Hits the Fan Pt VI (Glee)

Have another chunk of WIP. It’s...going. Somewhat.

Follows pt I, pt II, pt III, pt IV and pt v.

Going back to school the next week isn't exactly a joy. Being thrown into a bigger role with practically no preparation had meant skimping on schoolwork in order to manage, meaning he's got some catching up to do now. Only he's also got the final days of campaigning for class president to do. And trying to be supportive when it comes to his dad's campaign.

He kind of wishes he had it in him to just bow out of the election. With Tony on his resume Kurt doesn't need it to pad his application any longer, and it's quite honestly more of a hassle than it's worth. However, it's not who he is. Kurt Hummel doesn't back down just because things are difficult, and this isn't going to be the first time. Of course, he might have, under other circumstances but not this time. Rachel's already withdrawn, meaning his opponents are down to Rick the Stick and Brittany. Which...no.

Brittany's a dear, but Kurt doesn't see her as a viable candidate. Not just because she shouldn't even be allowed to run, what with her GPA and everything, but because she's just running to make Santana happy. She wouldn't know what to do should she win.

And yet, all of the reasons why she isn't a good choice withstanding, Brittany's still the better option. Having someone clueless and probably useless is better than someone who's definitely useless, a bully and who knows how to use any and all position to treat others like shit.

Neither is a truly good option though, and so Kurt's hanging in there even though he'd rather not.

He wins. Only he doesn't. And that's not even the worst part.

“You want to suspend me? Not only are you taking senior class president away from me, but you want to suspend me as well? No.”

Kurt glares at Mr Figgins and Mr Schue – and why is he here anyway? – and raises a hand when they begin talking.

“I didn't cheat. So why should I be the one punished here?”

“We have witness to you sharing your plan.”

“Oh my god. I made a joke. I was worrying that beating the candidate who promised to walk around topless if she won – and I'm still waiting for an official reaction to that, by the way – and made a stupid joke about stuffing the ballot boxes. Like John F Kennedy.

“But that was all it was, a joke. This? Wasn't me. It's clear someone decided to sabotage the election.”

“Please.” Mr Schue. Why can't he just shut up and stop pretending like he cares? “Are we supposed to believe someone else stuffed the ballot boxes with your name, as a sabotage?”

A part of Kurt wants to just let them do this, to lie down and let them walk all over him, and then go home and cry. Call Sebastian – since no one else is likely to believe him – and complain about how unfair all of this is. But.

He couldn't fight being passed over for Tony. He couldn't fight Blaine disappearing. This he can fight.

Not to mention that a suspension for cheating won't not going to look good on his college applications.

“It wouldn't be the first time an election has been sabotaged to get to me. Sure, this isn't prom queen, but still. It's been done before, and whoever was behind that saw that the school would do nothing.

“Plus, it doesn't have to be about me. My father is running for congress, and if I were to be suspended for cheating it would reflect badly on him. It's not exactly hard to come up with reasons why a gay-friendly, arts-friendly congressman wouldn't be popular with certain people. And it's not like it would be the first sabotage there, would it? Just look at what happened to Santana Lopez.”

Kurt might not be that eager for class president any longer, but if this is about sabotaging his dad then he's not going to let it happen.

“Kurt,” and it's Mr Schue's I'm-disappointed-in-you voice. “I understand that you're upset, but trying to blame Sue for your actions is–”

“Again, no. Stop. I never said that. I never mentioned names. I do find it interesting that the first thing on your mind was coach Sylvester though, but that's on you. Me, I'm not willing to judge without proof.

“Mr Figgins. I expect to hear the results of your investigation during our next meeting.”

“Our next meeting? Mr Hummel, I think you have misunderstood things. There will be no more meetings. There is only this one, to inform you of your suspension.”

“Considering that the school's rules clearly state that a parent is to be present for all meetings regarding suspensions and expulsions, I'm fairly sure that we need to have at least one more meeting. My father is, after all, not present.”

There's some hemming and hawing, since apparently Mr Figgins doesn't think Burt Hummel's presence is necessary. Kurt disagrees. Just because he's a legal adult doesn't change the rules.

“Well, your father clearly didn't feel the need to be here, so I see no point in rearranging things just to please your sudden desire to follow the rules.”

And that...that's not okay.

“Mr Figgins. Stop. My father is in a closed meeting, and has been all day. I sincerely doubt you managed to get through to him, as it's emergencies only. Therefor it's not a question of him not 'feeling the need' but instead of him not being informed. If you push through this without his presence he'll be very upset.”

It's very pleasing to see Mr Figgins pale and start to stutter. It's clear that Burt Hummel's threats regarding the Defying Gravity diva-off is still alive and well in the man's head.

The next day is not fun. Kurt spends too much of it being told that he needs to confess and take his punishment. First there's Mr Schue, of course. Then Santana, who's upset on Brittany's behalf, and Rachel, who has switched to bitch-mode again, and even Mercedes.

Kurt stops listening to anyone outside of his teachers before lunch, and spends his free time hiding out in the library, either doing homework or texting Sebastian. (And the irony, it burns.)

It takes two days, and a very angry phonecall from his dad, for the meeting to happen.

Mr Schue's not present this time, for which Kurt's thankful. It might not be as good for Mr Figgins though, as it means he's the sole target of Burt Hummel's fury.

The man spouts a lot of bullshit, is basically trying to bully Kurt into confessing to something he's already said he didn't do, and doesn't even seem to realize that he's only making things worse. He also admits to not having investigated the extra ballots. It's clear that in Mr Figgins' mind there is no need to find another culprit when Kurt exists.

Of course, he tries to frame it differently, but that's what he's saying.

Even if it gets them nowhere Kurt still gets the pleasure of hearing his dad verbally nail the man to the wall. And then, after pointing out all the things Kurt mentioned the day before along with a few others, he goes for the throat.

“What was the final count?”

“I'm sorry?”

“What. Was. The. Final. Count? How many votes for each candidate?”

Mr Figgins hems and haws, but Burt Hummel isn't backing down. He just stares at the principal until what's left of the man's spine crumbles and he starts mumbling.

“Could you repeat that? In a volume meant for humans, this time.”

“Mr Nelson received about 50 votes, while Miss Pierce received almost 200.”

“And Kurt?”

“We're not –”

“How many votes did Kurt get? Exactly.”

The answer is 512. 512! That's... Even if he disregards the fake votes, that's still a lot more that Kurt'd ever dared to believe.

“Mhm. And how many fake votes did you say there were again?”

Oh. There are about 500 seniors at McKinley, give or take, and close to 800 ballots. Even if they round it up to 600 and claim all the false votes had Kurt's name on them there were still over 300 votes for him. He won. He should be senior class president.

“So what you're saying is that my son got the most votes, even if you remove all the fake ones, and instead of congratulating him or even redoing the election you want to take that away from him and suspend him? Is that how you run this school, Figgins?”

Listening to his dad Kurt feels his own rage responding. He tries to hold it back, but when Mr Figgins tries to come up with some kind of answer as to why this was the school's response he snaps.

“It's obvious isn't it? I ran on an anti-bullying platform. If I win then that's the students saying McKinley do have a problem with bullying, regardless of what Mr Figgins and the rest of the faculty like to claim.”

Kurt knows he sounds much too bitter, but he's had it. Mr Figgins has spent three years protecting the bullies instead of Kurt. It ends here though. If that means letting his father use – or even abuse – his new power, then Kurt will take it. Happily even.

It's too late to save his time at McKinley. This is to save his future – and that of everyone coming after him.

He can hear his dad gear up to hand Mr Figgins his ass, and as satisfying as it'd be in a way Kurt doesn't have the energy for it. He's beyond done.

“Here's what's going to happen. You, Mr Figgins, will tell the faculty and everyone else who asks that I'm innocent. I don't care how you explain the stuffed ballot boxes, or your lack of an investigation, as long as you make it clear that you had no grounds for accusing me. You will also write a letter stating the same, right now, and sign it for me.”

“And why exactly would I do any such thing?”

“Because if you don't I'm going to sue. Not just the school, but you personally. Starting with defamation of character. But, since my dad taught me that if you're going to do something you should do it properly, I won't stop there. If you force me to sue I will make sure to bring up every time this administration has failed me. And that's a lot, Mr Figgins.

“You might think you can get away with doing nothing, but this is the kind of case that the ACLU does pursue. And if they don't I just so happens to have an in with the State's Attorney. Not to mention that unlike you I have this little thing called proof.”

Even such a miserable little cockroach as Jacob ben Israel has his uses, and this is one. Before agreeing to come back to McKinley Kurt made copies of every video Jacob had posted of bullying, and he's kept it up afterwards. By now there are a lot of them. Considering the amount that shows faculty members ignoring it... Yeah, he's got enough for McKinley to be in serious trouble.

Judging by Mr Figgins' facial expression he knows it as well.

“Also, if you do this I will gracefully bow out.2

Once the letter is written and signed Kurt makes Mr Figgins read it to him before taking it – making sure it gets on the recording he's secretly making on his phone, since he wouldn't be the least surprised to find Mr Figgins breaking their agreement.

“And how am I to know that the two of you won't continue this, this witch-hunt against the school?”

A witch-hunt. From Kurt's side. It'd be a great joke if it wasn't such an absolute reverse of what's been going on since he first entered McKinley. Kurt'd laugh, really, only he's afraid he'd choke on the bitterness.

“First of all, because unlike you I keep my word. Second, because I won't be here. I had a very interesting talk with headmaster Barnes over at Dalton the other day,” and wow, Mr Figgins' face turns an amazing shade of purple, “and he offered me a place there. Apparently he's rather upset with you – something about repeatedly ensuring him that bullying is no longer an issue at McKinley?”

Since one of those reassurances had been right after junior prom Mr Figgins has every reason to look like he's going to stroke out. Having been caught lying to another educator doesn't look good, especially not when said educator has friends on the school board.

“I've decided to accept the offer, seeing as it's once again been proved that no one at McKinley is ever going to try and treat me fairly.”

In the end Kurt walks out feeling rather pleased with the talk.

As he walks from Mr Figgins' office to the choir room the speaker system comes alive and announces that while there's been some irregularities Brittany Pierce is McKinley's new senior class president. Not a word about Kurt. He'll have to deal with that later – provided, of course, that his dad didn't hear it.

He's early, as classes don't let out for another 10 minutes. That time, Kurt decides, is best spent listening to music and steeling himself. The rest of the group won't be pleased to hear he's leaving, even if they haven't exactly made him feel welcome lately. Chances are Santana and Brittany will show up too, to gloat – at least in Santana's case – meaning things can get really ugly.

They do. One of these days, Kurt thinks, I'd really like to be wrong about something unpleasant.

He allows them a couple of minutes before slamming his hand into the chair next to him. The sound silences the others and he rises to tell them what's what.

“It's really interesting to see how this group, my so-called friends and the teacher who always talks about being there for us, decided to throw all kind of support out the window. You of all people should remember how I've been treated here. For instance, you were all there when I ended up prom queen because someone decided they just couldn't stand not being able to bully me.

“And yet now that another election's been sabotaged not a single one of you stops to think that maybe this wasn't something I did but instead something that was done to me.

“To think that I would have said you were my best friends.”

There are quite a few guilty-looking faces, but also a few stubborn ones. Santana is among the latter.

“Yeah? Well, we all remember how you said winning this was important to you, so you could get into a school full of Berrys. In my book you're one to talk, ruining Brit's glory like that.”

Rachel is visibly torn between nodding along and being upset over Santana's barbed remark, and Kurt's just...done.

“Don't worry, Santana. I won't be ruining anything for anyone. Not anymore. I'm done. I've been offered to come back to Dalton, and things being what they are I accepted. As of,” he checks the clock, “27 minutes ago I'm no longer a student at McKinley.

“I just wanted to say goodbye.”

He doesn't want to argue, and so he grabs his bag and walks to the door. Still, he can't resist giving Santana a taste of her own medicine and stops to whisper in her ear, making sure to keep his voice low enough that none of the others can hear.

“Brittany's so-called glory? That's on my expense. Whoever stuffed the ballot boxes didn't change the fact that I still got more votes than Brittany and Rick the Stick together. I don't know who did it, or why, but frankly? You are one of the people with the strongest motive. And if I find out it was you then you're going to learn exactly what 'ruining' means.”

He's going to treasure that stricken look on Santana's face for quite some time.

#chocoholic fics #kurt hummel #kurt fic #a wild sebastian appears #though not exactly in this part #anti-lighthousefucker #not edited or beta read #meant for an episode revamp fic #possibly even a season revamp #mckinley is a trash-heap #in 2019 we finish our wips

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areiton · 6 years

Note

(1)Cause you're (rightfully) grumpy about people's purity wank I've got a question that might distract you and which I desperately hope you have an answer to: I mostly read steter fic so far. Now i wanted to get into sterek but ... I seem to be too picky?? I'd like to read sth not totally au (Erica and Boyd being alive is fine for example), with not too much ooc-ness, with Peter NOT being the villain and with Derek's abusive past 'relationships' and Stiles self-destructiveness actually adressed

(2) and I can’t seem to find sth that really … catches me. There are so many amazing steter fics out there (yes, I very definetely talking about your fics too) and I’m sure there are equally amazing sterek fics, but …. yeah. I’m obviously not able to find them. So - help??? Please??

~*~

Oh, friend. You are my favorite. This is the kind of ask Iadooooore. Ok, you ready? Cuz this list is LOOOOONG. (big thanks to@bloody-bee-tee for helping me find fics for this list.) Not everything fitsall your criteria, but all of them fit some.

**Are especially good for dealing with Derek and/or Stiles healing.

Patterns of Intention by drunktuesdays:

Derek looked likethe stuff of his deepest fantasies. His shirt was rumpled where Stiles had hishands in it, and he was breathing hard as well, chest heaving. His eyes—hiseyes were glazed over and he looked stunned, like he’d been—like Stiles had—

“No,” Stiles said,blood draining from his face. The word was croaky and felt like it had to bewrenched out of his chest. “God, no.”

Paper Skin and Glass Bones byhushlittlewolf:

Derek can’t takethis. He can’t take this joking, concerned boy that has the evidence of Derek’sshortcomings carved into his skin.

The one where Dereknever paid attention to how much Stiles got hurt…until he sees Stilesshirtless and notices all the scars.

**Carry You Home byCastielific:

“Derek letshimself fall on his back, breath short, heart beating fast. He can feel theWolf in him, purring in satisfaction and contentment. Asking for more. It wantshim to turn and touch, to never stop touching. Instead, Derek squeezes hishands into fists and closes his eyes, trying to push it back, this need, thisinstinct screaming for his mate. For Stiles.”

Title inspired bythis Firefly quote: “When you can’t run anymore, you crawl, and when you can’tcrawl, when you can’t do that, you find someone to carry you”

Trust Fall byStoney:

Stiles is fairlycertain that a case could be made for every bad thing in his life coming backto Peter Hale. This time it’s pissing off a powerful witch, who retaliated byswapping Stiles and Derek a la Freaky Friday, because sure. Thatmakes sense. Um, there are GPAs on the line, not to mention the whole thingwhere his dad wants to shoot Derek on sight. Except who he sees as Derek isactually Stiles, and Stiles did not sign up for filicide.

Great. Wait…does this mean he’s the Alpha until they figurethis out? Holy. Shit.****

Derek had stood in front of the bathroom mirror for a fewminutes trying to control the panic as he saw himself as Stiles. As the loudmouthed human friend of the pack. He was going to kill Peter. He was going tokill the witch, then he was going to kill Peter. Maybe even resurrect him againjust to kill him all over.

They were going to have to play this cool. They would have tostay calm and focused. Which is of course why the universe threw him into thissituation with someone who physically couldn’t be calm and focused.

Of course.

Stilinski’s Home for WaywardWolves by owlpostagain:

“At least yourpuppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them tobe well-mannered.”   

“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly.   

Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges,abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up andall but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, andsure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock ducttaped to the vinyl siding:   

DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

—

Or, in which StilesStilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school andaccidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

How Derek Met His Smallest Fan by purleduvet:

Derek is standing inthe fruits and vegetables aisle, trying to decide between two very nice lookingwatermelons, when someone small crashes into his legs.

Derek comes back toBeacon Hills after years of being gone and meets Stiles and his kid at thesupermarket.

Make it Feel Like Home by redeyedwrath:

Maybe it would’vebeen different if things had never happened. Maybe it would’ve been different ifhe hadn’t persuaded Scott to go search in the woods. Maybe it would’ve beendifferent if he hadn’t been so stubborn. Maybe it would’ve been different if heand Scott had never met.

Maybe it would’ve been different, would’ve beenbetter, if he hadn’t been born in the first place.

He tightens his fingers on the steering wheel untilthey turn an ugly, bloodless color. The only good thing, in his opinion, that’dcome out of all of this, had been meeting Derek. Derek, who’d been an assholebut turned out to be the most loyal, kindest person Stiles knows.

He resists the urge to drive off the road and screaminto his palms. Beause Derek had left, and now he’s alone.

Or, an AU where Stiles runs away to find himself but finds Derekinstead.

Misfire bymothlights, unpossible: (this one has less than fantastic Peter, buthe isn’t actively bad, and it’s amazing)

“The debt must berepaid,” she says, and it has the weight of a vow. Thewords resonate through him, ringing through his ribcage and the bones of hisjaw, and Stiles loses his breath and maybe his grip on reality because shedraws herself upright and where there had once stood a supermodel-level MILFnow there is Galadriel’s much hotter older sister, a Presence of unmistakablepower in their ordinary, smells-vaguely-of-Thai-takeout hallway.

“Oh shit,” Stilessays.

And You Say You’re Alone by taelynhawker:

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter’suntimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derektry to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles dealswith the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he andScott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, andthat includes Stiles.

The Art of Dying Well by kinneas:

Yousaid we’re friends.“

"Whoa, way to holdwhat a guy says in the heat of the moment against him,” Stiles repliesautomatically, but… that’s not what he wants to say, not at all, not to thequiet contemplation that is Derek Hale on his living room sofa. So he adds,“I guess, yeah.”

Derek doesn’t speak fora long moment. “Then it’s inevitable.”

“Wow,”Stiles whistles, “you are the biggest downer.”

Gracious in Defeatby yodasyoyo:

Stiles needs to getaway from Beacon Hills after the end of his senior year. Derek offers to lethim stay with him in São Paulo, and they finally act on the tension that hasalways simmered between them.

The thing is, whenit’s time to go home- Stiles doesn’t want to leave.

Crash Landers by gyzym:

In which Stiles learns to Stalk That Stalk.(Or, how to accidentally woo your unfriendly neighborhood alpha in roughly fivehundred handwritten steps.)

**Not Quite Lost (Not QuiteFound) by alocalband:

A year after thenogitsune is defeated, Derek is living a quiet life in the mountains above asmall town in Colorado.

Then Stiles showsup.

The Darkness Inside by isthatbloodonhisshirt:

The sheriff watchedhim for a moment, then he sighed and turned slightly. He reached out to open acabinet door beside him, and pulled out a shelf. It was on a track, so itrolled out of the cabinet fairly easily, and held a small CCTV. Derek frownedand inched his chair to the side a little bit so he could get a better angle.

He was looking at a teenager, or someone at least young enoughto be the same age as Scott. He was sitting on a bed in what looked to be alarger room, the area he was in surrounded by four glass walls, with his legscrossed and head tilted.

He was also staring directly into the camera, as if he knewsomeone was watching. A creepy smile slowly slid onto the teen’s face, and heheld up one hand, wiggling his fingers in a slow, eery wave.

Derek felt his mouth run dry. He didn’t know who this kid was,but he didn’t like him.

“Who is that?” he asked quietly.

“That,” said thesheriff, “is my son.”

***Bravery is a Loaded Gun byLiviKate:

“No, I’m notasexual, Stiles,” Derek said shortly.

The teen’s heart sank in his chest, his palms going clammy andhis neck prickling with the familiar feeling of rejection.

“So then it’s,” Stiles swallowed, throat clogging, unable togive voice to the facts he would much rather ignore. The silence grew betweenthem, growing tense the longer it was left. For the first time in years, Stilescouldn’t speak. The weight of inadequacy held down his typical stream ofuseless banter. What does one say in this sort of situation? ‘I’m sorry youdon’t find me attractive?’

In which the boys speak in half sentences and have two totallydifferent conversations. What they can agree on, eventually, is that they loveeach other. And that Derek should jerk off more.

Warm shadows bystilinskisparkles:

“Fine,” Stiles spitsback, “We’ll die together, it’ll be dandy.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Derek snaps, “I’ll get some peaceand quiet for once.”

Stiles grinssuddenly, blindingly. There’s blood on his teeth, and his eyes are dark anddesperate as he looks up at Derek, but he’s never looked more stupidly,infuriatingly beautiful.

Give Me Back My Bones (maybe thenwe’ll talk) by kariye:

Derek meets Stiles on a Wednesday. He comes infor his usual cup of coffee and somehow walks out with hot chocolate, cinnamonon the top, and no idea what just happened there.

Romancing the Sourwolf. (OrStiles Stilinski’s Foolproof Guide to Getting Your Man) by lucyinthesoupwithcrutons:

The 15 year plan for Lydia was clearly thewrong way to go; Stiles won’t be making the same mistake with Derek. He decidesto do his homework this time.

Throw Me to the Wolves by skoosiepants:

He feels thephysical embodiment of devastated, his already too strung-out mindstruggling to wall up all the hurt, the rejection—he takes a deep shudderingbreath and looks down at the shredded skin on his arms, at the sluggish waythey’re weakly healing.

There is nothing, nothing he wants more than tohave Derek sweep in and make everything all better. He should have known,though, that something like that would never happen to him.

OR -

Stiles accidentallygets bitten, and everything goes to hell.

***SharingFood by aussiebee:

“Sharing foodwith another human being is an intimate act that should not be indulged inlightly.” ― M.F.K. Fisher

Derek is pretty muchabsorbed into the Stilinski family, one meal at a time.

Derek Hale’s No-Good, Very BadDay by Mackem:

Derek hides from his day.

***Start Small, Like Oak Treesby SmallBirds:

The months following Allison’s death havepassed Stiles by in a haze of monotony. He sleepwalks through days that seem tolose their color, an unwilling passenger in a body he no longer trusts.Eventually, he thinks, he’ll just fade away. He isn’t sure anyone would notice.Then, during a spur of the moment grocery run, he stumbles upon Derek Haleattempting to console a lost child, and for the first time in recent memory theworld doesn’t seem so awful.He’s not sure what he’d been expecting when he eventuallyconvinces Derek to move into the Stilinski’s spare bedroom, but a newfoundpassion for weeding and topsoil certainly isn’t it.

A Quiet Night (Not in theCards) by Delightful_I_Am:

“Derek fucking Hale!”

The shout rang through the bar and for a long moment nobodymoved. It was like something out of a movie. Everything just stopped; the musiccut off; one of the servers had frozen mid-pour. Grady would have laughed if heweren’t holding his breath. The kid straightened his shirt, a glimpse ofstomach showing the curling edges of a tattoo on his hip, and strode towardwhere Hale was sitting in the dark corner. As one, every supe in the placeturned to see Hale’s reaction; the last person to try to confront Hale in herehad left with a broken hand and a whispered threat that the next time Halewould rip their throat out. With his teeth.Unsurprisingly, Hale’s face was set in its usual glower, although it seemed abit softer around the eyes. It took Grady a second to realise Hale knew the kid.

The blood blooms clean in you,ruby by m_leigh:

“You don’tremember, anymore, where exactly you were when you found out that she was dead.You remember almost everything else about her dying, though.”

Stiles Stilinski hasalways been the person who will do what other people don’t want to. It’s hard,though, when your friends keep trying to protect you. Post-S2.

***Tide pullsfrom the moon by paintedrecs:

When Derek leftBeacon Hills, finally ripping the tether free and remembering how to breathe,how to live again, it was Stiles who came after him. Stiles, who showed up athis door with blazing eyes, looking like he wanted to punch him in the face,but wrapping his arms around him instead, making him grunt in surprise at theraw strength of his embrace.

“You asshole,”Stiles said, slapping him heartily on the back as he extricated himself, hisvoice rough under his bright smile. “You couldn’t have made yourself harder tofind, could you?”

Homing Mechanisms by SmallBirds:

Magnetoreception:The sense which allows an organism to detect a magnetic field to perceivedirection, altitude or location. How birds find their way home.

–

Stiles returns toBeacon Hills after four years at Stanford, only to find out that Derek hasmoved back into town. He brings him a housewarming gift. Derek makes food.Things escalate from there.

Parallax by uraneia:

Parallax: noun. Theeffect whereby the position or direction of an object appears to differ whenviewed from different positions, e.g., through the viewfinder and the lens of acamera.

With the pack (and Stiles) starting college, Derek is bored. Heneeds a hobby–or a job. Which is how he comes to model for Alpha Studios.

He just neverthought Stiles would end up working there too.

Occam’s Razorby MissAnnThropic:

When Stiles goes to sleep, he’s ajunior in high school. He wakes up in a world where he’s twenty-four andmarried to Derek Hale. Stiles just can’t seem to catch a break.

Readalso: Stepping Off the Razor’sEdge which is a lot of healing for both our boys and beautiful.

The Truth Is by BulletBlaze:

“Well, you should get going then-”“You could come around some time-”A pause.“Wait, what?”A blush bloomed across Derek’s cheeks, barely visible overthe top of his beard. He shrugged again.“If you wanted to. You could stop by while I’m fixing it up.Help me with some things. If you wanted to.”“You already said that,” Stiles, the idiot, mumbled indisbelief.Derek’s blush grew a shade darker.

There’s a martyr in my bedtonight but it’s alright by crossroadwrite:

It’s a beautiful afternoon, and Derek is standing at a dusty gasstation, staring helplessly at the destroyed remains of the last thing hissister left him.

(OR: In which Derekexpects nothing from life, but with a little help from the Stilinskis getseverything.)

#ask arei #arei answers #vive-lanuit #arei reads too much #sterek fic recs

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anna-catherine-bruno · 5 years

Text

Mental Illness & Following Jesus

It was one of my goals in 2019 to be more open. It was also one of my goals to get back to making these blog posts. So in light of Bell Let’s Talk, I’ve decided to do just those two things.

I’m not sure exactly where to start, but I know I cannot be the only Christian who is confused and tired by the way many believers approach mental health. I tend to get two overarching reactions when talking about mental health (as I do quite often as a psych undergrad student); one response entails speculation of dark powers driving the mental health issues in the people who have them, which usually comes with comments about praying for their problems, or demons, to go away. The other reactions tend to be ones of disbelief that it's really an illness, getting comments like “they just need to shake it off.” And even though as a Christian I do believe in an enemy at work, and I do believe in the power of prayer, I've come to realize that mental health, just like physical health, is not necessarily something we all will live without. I’m also very aware, and pleased to know, that people, Christian or not, are becoming more informed of what’s the deal behind mental health, and doing what they can to break the stigma. And to that, I say thank you! But this blog is being posted for those still on the fence. This isn’t a post to start a theological debate about mental health or argue whether a Christian should be healthy and prosperous all the time if they just have enough faith. This is to share my journey with mental health, as a Christian, and to share how good God is in all my messiness.

So to start, let me tell you about my imperfect self. A part of me who I just opened up about to my fiancé, my family, and some of my friends in the last two years, because before that it was regularly suggested to me to “just be thankful”, “pray for God to take it away” and not to share my struggles when sharing my story, because people will think I’m “looking for attention”.

P.S.: I still have a loud voice inside me telling me people will think I’m looking for attention, but I have a louder voice telling me I can’t hold back what God has done for me in my life.

My mental struggles, as far as I can remember, started when I was about 11. I dealt with the (sadly) common struggles most 11-year-olds deal with. Body issues. My body was beginning to change out of my lanky child figure, and I have pretty heartbreaking memories of being a young girl, not yet in high school, pinching my fat and bawling my eyes out alone in my basement on a weekly basis. Fast forward to age 15, being in high school, starting to take an interest in pimpled ridden, voice cracked, hormone surged 15-year-old boys. Something in me switched at that age. I went from being sad about my chub to obsessing over taking control over it. Hence, the bulimia started. Purging was something I planned to do only temporarily until the weight came off. The sad part of an eating disorder is the weight really isn’t the problem. At 16 I weighed 125 pounds at 5 foot 6 and was obsessed with losing more weight. The goal was always 99 pounds, and I only got to 117. So, year 16 and 17 of my life was P90X and purging on a daily basis.

We’ll come back to the eating disorder later because at 17 another wave hit me. Anxiety. It’s funny because all my life I would say “wow I’m feeling so anxious right now” or “that gives me so much anxiety” lightly until the anxiety actually came. It started in grade 11, I lost a lot of my high school friends (a lot of whom I’ve reconnected with and love more than ever today, thank God). I would cry almost every night thinking about my next day at school and the feelings of loneliness. I would often find myself in the girls' washroom hyperventilating. The anxiety carried into every aspect of my life, often manifesting into full-blown panic attacks; curled up in a ball, on the ground, seemingly out of nowhere, unable to catch my breath, sometimes for up to 15 minutes. After a pretty rough breakup, things got exponentially worse. For about 6 months I was getting about 2-3 hours of sleep a day, a great side effect of anxiety called insomnia, and I felt like I was drowning in fears, hopelessness and thoughts of suicide.

It was when I was 17 I first started seeing a psychologist. Fast forward another two years, and I’m doing better. I’ve learned how to manage the panic attacks, I dealt with the anxiety, and I was sleeping much better. What I didn’t know at nineteen, and which I know now, is I was still dealing with what I’ve been dealing with from the beginning. Depression. It’s kind of weird, but as I write that word, I have a smile on my face. We’ll get to why in a second.

At 19, as many of you know, and the reason this blog even exists, I went to L.A. to serve with Youth with a Mission Los Angeles. While I was there I shared my testimony countless times, often talking about anxiety, but avoiding depression and especially avoiding my past with an eating disorder, mostly because I became very close with girls who had eating disorders, and I got it into my mind that because I wasn’t institutionalized for it, it wasn’t really a problem and I shouldn’t bring it up. It was in Barcelona that year that I gave my life to Christ (yes, I was raised in the church. No, I didn’t know Jesus until I was 20). I came back for the summer, started dating my now fiancé, and went back for another few months where I grew so much more in my faith. It was some of the best times of my life.

I really believed everything that was ever wrong with me, everything messy in my life, was behind me. After growing so much in that year, surrounded by amazing people who were growing beside me, I felt free. The kicker is that I came home, started studying psychology (typical, a girl with mental issues goes on to study mental issues, isn’t that most of our stories?), and my “messy past” caught up to me eventually.

This past year I really faced my mental health, afraid, but head first. I realized a few things. One was that I have control issues. Many people who know and love me know that I get really, unwarrantedly upset if I get a grade below A. Sometimes they laugh until they see or hear how much I obsessed and beat myself up for not getting a perfect score. I work really hard to get the grades I do, and it’s looking like I’m going to graduate with somewhere between a 3.9-4.0 GPA, but I also have had a 2-year struggle of hating myself and ripping myself apart for not being absolutely perfect in everything I do. This mentality led to me trying to gain control and be “perfect” in other areas of my life. Yes, you guessed it, the purging began. At the beginning of 2018, I found myself back into my high school habits, and thank God I have a fiancé who was always there to listen and help me through it this time around. The depression also continued and still continues, although it comes more in waves nowadays and not a constant tug.

So, where am I going with this? I really hope you’ve read until this far because all this background story is just noise compared to the real point I’m trying to make. This year, despite my battle with mental illness, has been one of the best years of my life, and I can tell you why in five words: Christ is enough for me. Yes, you might have heard the song, but those words have never rung truer in my life. Maybe you’ve walked into a church that told you if you pray enough and if you believe enough, all your problems, physical, mental, financial, will go away. I know for a fact that isn’t true. We live in a really, really messed up, fallen world. We’re riddled with diseases, heartbreak, selfishness, pride, and battles we have to face every day. But one thing I know to be absolutely true is in the face of it all, Christ is enough. This year, learning to lean into the grace of God more and more each day, I discovered the awesome truth that I’m never going to be perfect, and it’s in my imperfections, my depression, my anxiety, that God gets to be glorified. I get to wake up knowing that there is a perfect God who has a plan for me. In the midst of my depression, I don’t feel hopeless anymore, because I know God will use me to reach and empathize with others struggling on a whole other level. When I’m feeling most anxious, my nervous system on fire, not able to sleep because I’m thinking of life and marriage and grad school, I’m also feeling the most peace I’ve ever felt, knowing that God is so much bigger than the battle in front of me. I realized this year, something I spoke about to so many women while in L.A., Mexico, Switzerland and Spain, that the goal was never to be perfect, the goal was never to be illness free. If it happens that I don’t have to deal with depression or anxiety one day, amen! But until then, the healing, peaceful, protective, full power of Christ is enough to carry me through. It’s in my weakness that God can shine, can be given the glory for why I wake up every day with a purpose, a light, and with hope. What I’m trying to say is summarized pretty well in the word of God, as it always is:

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. - 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I’m really not that great without Christ. I’m broken, I’m selfish, I fear, I fret, I want complete control. It’s only through knowing, seeking, loving and following Christ that I can live free, in my flawed body and spirit, I can trust in God’s promise that his power will be made perfect in my weakness and I can rest easy knowing God has such an incredible plan for my life.

It’s been on my heart to share this part of me for 3 years now, and I hope someone out there reading this is affected by my words. Maybe you’re dealing with mental illness, and you’ve been scared to open up about it to your family, friends or church. To you, I say that God’s perfection can’t be made whole if we’re too scared to show our weakness. A fundamental element of believing in Jesus is admitting we’re broken, and still believing He is so so good. If you’re someone who doesn’t deal with mental illness (first of all, thank you, Jesus, for that, cause that’s awesome and becoming more and more rare), maybe my words broke down a bit of the stigma around this topic. I hope you exit this page rethinking the way you see things like depression and anxiety. I’m not trying to make a point that we shouldn’t pray for healing in these areas, because I believe God can give us healing, but just as there are people who are bound to wheelchairs, who will never walk again, and who still praise and give glory to God, I believe we should open up about what binds our minds, even if we can never “shake it off” and still praise and give glory to God. We should be looking forward to the day we are united with Him, in our new bodies and mind, but until then allowing ourselves to be made perfect through His perfection, and not through striving for our own.

As a last note, because I know some will worry, through opening up to my family and diving deep with God into the body image issues behind it, I have been able to fight a good fight against my eating disorder, and I’ve been doing much better the last 8 months. My anxiety comes and goes, but that’s something I’ve been able to manage the best, thanks to lots of prayers, some cardio and good old deep breathing techniques! And the depression comes and goes in waves, but I’m no longer hopeless, which is a huge step forward.

I wish everyone reading this the absolute best, and know that I’m always here to talk (as a friend, as someone who’s been there, and as someone who happens to be studying this stuff and knows quite a bit on mental health, not just Jesus, haha). And I'm always open to talk about Christ if this is your first time reading about Jesus in this way. I'm an open book.

Thanks for listening, Anna.

Links

List of listening services in Quebec & Canada

List of suicide prevention lines worldwide

Online, anonymous emotional support

The only thing that really keeps me going

#mentalhealth #testimony #Jesus #bellletstalk

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nevermindthewind · 7 years

Note

Two different waurel prompts (or you can tie them together if you want): waurel find out the gender of the baby/waurel can't decide on a baby name

Laurel couldn’t seem to catch a break.

Everyday there was something due or something she was responsible for. Midterms were only a week away and she was determined to raise her horrendous GPA, which meant when she wasn’t in class she was studying. When she wasn’t studying she was at the ADA office, making copies and getting coffee. And when she wasn’t working she was sleeping, her newest addition having sucked up any of her remaining energy. Normally she thrived on the chaos, on the ups and downs that came with the world of law. But as she drove back to their apartment after a day of outlines and note cards, all she wanted was to crawl into bed and stay there for the next year.

Or at least until midterms were over.

Once she got home she dragged herself up the stairs, feeling a slight pang of disappointment as she saw that Wes’ bike was not in it’s usual spot. He had mentioned something about staying late at work, but still, she would’ve thought he’d be home by now. She unlocked the door and upon entering the apartment immediately stepped out of her heels and discarded her blazer before padding over to their dresser. She began to undress as gracefully as she could, although truth be told nothing about her was graceful these days, her growing belly making everything a bit more difficult. After a solid five minutes of peeling herself out of her suit she changed into a pair of clean boxers and his old Ohio State hoodie, relishing the worn, cozy fabric on her skin.

Realistically, she knew she should finish her outline. However that didn’t seem to stop her from crawling into bed.

A little power nap wouldn’t hurt, right?

At that exact moment she felt a kick, as if they baby could see right through her bullshit.

Laurel merely let out a small laugh as she pulled the sheets up to her chin.

It’ll be fine. Fifteen minutes, tops.

She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

–

Sometime later she was woken up by someone sitting beside her on the bed.

“Hey sleepyhead.”

Laurel opened her eyes the tiniest bit just as Wes laid down beside her and pulled her close.

“Hi,” she yawned. “When’d you get here?”

He planted a kiss on the back of her head as she scooted closer to him and wrapped his arms around her little bump, exhaustion making her even more affectionate.

“Like ten minutes ago? I would’ve let you sleep but we need to get going.”

She turned her head so she was facing him.

“Where are we going?”

He looked down, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“The doctor,” he replied, as if it was obvious. “Our appointment is in twenty minutes.” When Laurel’s face didn’t change, he kept going,

“We get to find out the sex of the baby?”

Suddenly she remembered; she knew there was a reason why she had told Michaela why they couldn’t study until later that night.

“Right,” she said, cringing as she brought her hand to her forehead. “God, I can’t believe I forgot.”

“It’s okay,” he assured her with a smile. “I’m glad you got a nap in, though. Feeling better?”

Laurel nodded, still not quite awake. “Yeah I am,” she replied. As she pulled herself into a sitting position an impish grin began creeping onto her face. “You ready to pay up?”

“Not a chance,” he replied with a shake of his head.

Wes had been calling the baby a girl since the first ultrasound, while Laurel was certain it was a boy. They both had become so convinced they were right that a couple a weeks ago Wes had actually bet her ten dollars it was a girl. Now they both were taking every chance to mess with each other. If she was being honest, she’d be happy either way…

…but her competitive side really wanted it to be a boy.

“Your money’s mine, Gibbins,” she taunted.

–

Thirty minutes later they were in an examination room, watching the doctor run the wand over Laurel’s growing belly.

After a couple seconds the screen went from black to filled with the image of their baby, the little peanut that now looked less like a peanut and more like an actual human child, their child. Laurel immediately grabbed Wes’ hand as a smile creeped onto her face.

“Hey baby,” she whispered.

She still couldn’t quite get over it, the fact that they two of them were actually doing this. It was so, well, normal, and after almost two years of non-stop chaos, normal seemed too good to be true. But as terrified as they both were of something going wrong and of repeating the same mistakes their parents made, each time Laurel saw that swirling image on the screen she felt calm, grounded. It was a kind of peace she’d never felt before.

“Do you two want to know the sex?” the doctor asked, interrupting Laurel’s inner dialogue.

“Yes,” they said at the same time, eagerness echoing through their voices.

Dr. Nelson chuckled to herself.

“Give me one second,” she said as she continued to make notes on her chart.

“Last chance to change your mind,” said Wes, smiling down at her.

Laurel shot him a look and raised her eyebrows. “Nice try.”

“Alright,” said Dr. Nelson, pulling her eyes away from the screen and turning to face the anxious couple. Laurel felt Wes squeeze her hand, reminding her to breathe.

“Congratulations,” the doctor said, “It’s a girl.”

“Oh my god,” gasped Laurel, bringing her free hand to her mouth. “Oh my god!”

She was too thrilled to even be mad she lost the bet. Her gaze moved from the screen to Wes, who looked just as excited as she felt.

“A girl!” he exclaimed, leaning down to kiss her. She raised her head to meet him, cupping the back of his neck in her hand as their lips touched.

As she pulled back and looked into Wes’ eyes, Laurel’s mind flooded with images: Wes carrying a little girl with dark curls on his shoulders, Laurel and that same girl finger painting pictures for Wes for Father’s Day, the three of them on her favorite beach in Mexico making sandcastles and jumping over the waves. A few months ago she’d never dreamed of having kids. Kids required stability, which was something Laurel could never imagine for herself, let alone for a child.

Now as she layed there watching Wes watch their baby, their daughter, on the screen, it was all she could think about. All she wanted.

“I love you,” said Wes, turning back to her, his dimples in full force in a smile wider than she’d ever seen. He leaned down to kiss her once again, but stopped inches from her face.

“But you owe me ten dollars.”

Laurel let out a laugh and squeezed his hand.

“Totally worth it.”

#waurel #waurel fanfic #Wes Gibbins #laurel castillo #wes x laurel #wessel

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probablythevaria · 7 years

Text

It Happened So Suddenly (D96)

((This is unusual for this blog, but I was asked to share a work I did for someone a while back since they didn’t have many ways to get the work, so you guys can enjoy it too. I don’t notmally post my shipping works here, but it will always be rare. ♥ Anyway this is TYL Dino and Chrome since they based this off a post I made for them a while back!))

Distress marked the very beginning of her doorway. A trail left of clothes unwashed because she didn't quite know how, and dust drifting by from the weeks of the weakness.

The unfaltering, dismal, pains that made her swell on the ideas of escape. Though she had one escape as it was just waiting by the bed inside a bag tucked between the shelves of bland books she could never read. They were never meant for her anyhow.

Her binders lay wide open with the pages messily marked, and the papers scattered themselves over the bed by her legs hardly moving like her breathing chest just even with the devoid ceiling. Nothing but gross white and grey.

Nothing here but the barren taste of hollow charity she was given as everything swallowed her at once with demand. For her to be social, for her to be successful, for her to be the perfect daughter they always dreamed of with that amazing GPA and test scores they could all brag about.

Chrome Dokuro was thrust into immense anxiety before she could have ever objected to the massive pile-up of essays and homework glaring at her even when her head pressed hard into her pillows and covers. There were no options of running away presented to her, no chances to find little loopholes in her education everyone seemed more keen on than herself.

There were too many who cared about him. Too much noise before the final alarm by the bed where mussed, blond, hair turned over underneath the layers of heavy blankets tangling a muscular form in their grasp.

Groans filled with agony, the weak pull of sitting up when all he wanted to do was flop back down and forget college ever happened with a stroke to messy locks. Studying made him ache, made his head throb by morning worse than any hangover he'd crawled out of. And the swarm of his homework under the bed had toppled out of his satchel by then. The opened case spilled out all over the floor as his arm fell off the edge of the mattress just to feel around for the blaring sound of his clock truly forcing Dino Cavallone out of his warm bed.

"Dino, do you need a ride?" Was the first words he heard that morning. The shouting, the hushed panic of thundering steps of men just dying to be the best assistant they could be before 10 am.

He was hardly able to stand, but everyone else was already gathered by the door waiting to see his exhausted face again. To see the dark circles and that less than pretty boy glow he emitted before 12 in the noon time. Dino loved college, but what he loved more was a serious break in the monotony.

Chrome couldn't remember all the fairy tales she had read, but this wasn't exactly one of them. It was on the tip of her tongue the entire time; her mind harping to their story since day one when it was like she sat there dreaming. Shyness through her eyes away from his form in the study hall nervously because if he saw her staring then it was all over.

She never thought about him that way before until it was all coming down to chance.

The chance that he so happened to be in the same place almost all the time, the coincidence that he just so happened to be handsome, and the reasonably possible way that he always knew the right thing to say after stumbling over his own legs and plowing straight into the tiled floors so clumsily and without a care.

To be honest, she never saw anyone that way. Dino was just foolishly similar to the same pains she thought she could feel too. His eyes would droop before class. His only breakfast was whatever he could stuff in his mouth before he was hounded about making his way out of the brilliantly red car by the school's campus Chrome people watched daily.

His books were crammed with papers, and his hands teeming with restless trembling that came when one student breathed word of a quiz he was certain he would fail.

It was, frankly, something she had never before laid eyes on. The concept that someone so different could be so alike to her.

When he waited next to her, he liked to talk, his idle stance by the shaded wall so simple that she couldn't find meaning in why he'd be so close. The garden nearby flowing with stones and clear water, roses peaking out between tall posts that had strewn themselves over the lawn so vast that Dino could have waited anywhere else before his classes.

But he chose to see her instead.

"It doesn't seem like you got any sleep either," His voice made a point to chuckle slightly as he formed out a small yawn, his back leaning further to the stone wall as his guest looked up to him from her smaller shape on the green. "I can't afford another test failed though."

She wanted to offer him so much because her heart said she should. Coffee for his sleeplessness, notes for the tests he'd missed tossing and turning, an apology because she was just standing in his way of the blotchy shade while the sun started to creep along his back.

But her nerves refused to stop leaping out of her skin. It was like Chrome were stuck on one line- and saying sorry again and again seemed so silly while she fidgeted in a small blush faced away from his mocha eyes.

Loose curls fumbled over the face that was slowly sinking back into that sleepy gaze he tried to force away even when it was all just forged from rolling straight out of bed. She could sense his playful nature seeking to come out as he snickered when she glanced at him holding back a powerful yawn where he stretched out tall along the stones.

"I don't mean to bother you if I am,"

"No...not at all,"

Dino noted the immediate response as though he had gotten the reaction he had wished for. Her speech was relaxing, her tension fading with subtle steps toward bells in the distance like it tolled for them to follow upon a path leading away. Her skirt ruffled, legs moving slowly as he found it mildly difficult to realize how he stared for so long uselessly when his voice never called after her.

She was something different. A break in the loud voices and the early wake-up calls- the demanding and the coddling all escaping his mind as he fell hard to his soul for the thoughts preying on his brain thudding against his skull.

God, he was a mess, but he was melting over the slightest of things. Things like how he'd grown to feel as though the break he wanted were walking away from him in a shy duck toward her class without a word, but slender fingers offered merely a wave of closure that he jumped at.

Though there was no need for a kiss, he imagined her lips to be so soft. And there was no reason to believe they were meant to be, but Dino wondered restlessly if her hobbies were like his own- what they could share and discuss no matter where they were.

They could stay home, go for dinner- his eyes shut suddenly as he leaned into the breeze caressing his skin softly. And she was gone. Her body pale, but nowhere among the peachy earth simply devoid of further students, he took interest in as he hurried along, unable to forget the mere words she said.

Her heart was a tower, built up with walls. The walls unlike the books forming a barrier where they could speak alone among the hollow room where voices echoed. Her trembling lip like the fluttering pages turning as he leaned in, his chin touching the table as he laughed until the tint of red returned to her cheeks. If he felt so warmly, then so shall she. Her stomach turned to knots where the room seemed silent and listening. The eyes of all watching and yet obscured by the hard covers- her walls hiding how she toyed with the hem of her skirt where he could not see.

He liked what she did. His opinions light and so gentle like the way he spoke to her with a grin causing shivers along her back.

If he wasn't supposed to be so close then why did he lean that way- his eyes locked to hers energetically as his leg bounced as though he too could stumble and fall at any moment?

Wealthy, but rich in good looks. Poor in his combat, until he was frothing mad and determined the way she'd seen, but he was a gentle giant with his face beginning to blush as Chrome managed to form such a kind conversation. The friend he'd sought among the endless hours of monotonous work, but never found among strangers and students.

"I always wanted to learn more about you," He breathed so gently behind the books still covering their speech. "You're quiet, so I never heard anything about you."

"I-I'm just myself."

Words around her caught her eyes; the flashing phrases of textbooks and notes alike that surrounded her making her hallucinate things like "affection," "tenderness," -

"Then I like you,"

Her face was timid at the response- her body recoiling with a small gasp Dino replied to in an urgent raise of his hands and brows.

"N-Not like that yet- o-or anything!" He spoke as though he were falling apart at the thought of romance so soon. His brain scrambling for better words as Chrome started to leave, but only so he could not see how she blushed so madly. How her ears, neck, and shoulders spread with the dusky pink as she escaped and told him they would see each other again.

They did. They saw each other often, whether it be the looks they shared in the hallways when she had yet to face the truths- the truths that she blushed endlessly at his face. All the times they shared out on the greens just trying to keep up that same, energetic, pace he had with all the bumps and the bruises she treated with a shy smile.

The moments together she adored so much it gave her chest a tightness impossible to shake. Like the shake of her head, her hands, her body that learned the cold was no match for sharing in his jacket loaned to her and on the hook just waiting for him in her lonely apartment spiced with little touches now.

His notes spilled on her desk. The clutter that made home a little more home. His hair tie when hers was misplaced and nowhere to be found as shaggy locks fell loose and brought about that timid nature all over again.

It was every detail. Everything. It all meant the very world to her when Chrome Dokuro sat alone just gazing at her books that didn't bring about the same, little, grin she gave when he appeared over the pages looming like a shadow and in baggy tees, jeans- it all was as carefree as his self.

That's why she liked him.

But it wasn't a game of guessing reasons why, not a list of excuses to find the courage to just speak to him like he was more than the friend she always wanted- not another journal to express the feeling of happiness that pounded out of her chest and lips when he asked her to lunch a hundred times- but the notion that all these things built up into the one time it all mattered more than any moment they ever shared.

When his voice was draped in a veil of shyness. The loop of his hand over his mouth just to muffle the way he coughed nervously and shivered like he was facing a summer cold across the table.

He'd asked her to lunch a hundred times or more, but not with his hand crossing the border of wooden planks to skin. Smooth knuckles that jolted faintly when they were warmed by his hold- eyes flustered yet fixated on the dust of blossoming pink Dino didn't want to hide until her face was stirred up with shock.

"I-I-" Where were his big boy words now? The proud, dauntless, attractive- the point is, Dino Cavallone without a single thing to say as he watched Chrome Dokuro fidget in her seat and still master that wondrous smile.

While his courage could falter, her rose up. Maybe it was him. Maybe he gave her the reason to light up like that- glowing as his hand latched to hers tightly and didn't wish to let go when he finally managed the words he felt he should say.

"If you want to go somewhere after class today," Dino tried, trailing a bit as her head tilted, violet locks dripping along her neckline. Delicate fingers lacing slowly around his in the caress of a gentle breeze somewhat like her expression.

Light, breathless, the elegance of nature itself as she held back that timid gaze. "I would love to take you."

"That sounds...wonderful- b-but you don't need to do that!" Chrome insisted, her voice faltering as she suddenly reiterated again. "I would love to go."

"I-If you want to."

"I wanted to learn more about you," Dino wanted to say, but he didn't. But he learned so much about her. The way she smiled, her radiance, her tastes- how she cringed at spicy foods, but laughed when she was cherry red.

Her hand held everything she passed- grazing railing, lamp posts, stands, and his hand that sweat when it pressed between her knuckles softly. He learned that she adored sweets, but wasn't picky.

She couldn't blow a bubble with her gum, but it was cute to watch her try, and cuter to see her try and dance in the shaky movements he provided in the corner of the park to faded radio music straight out of his cell.

He was a clutz, she knew- stumbling over heart, words, and steps when clashing with her calmness. That innocent gaze shattering his tough guy act when they learned the moves together, slowly, getting better with the days and the minutes passing until it all came to the moment blurred in time.

Frozen. Clockwork paused just to have her forehead leaned to his in a bend so he could see those deep eyes through wispy bangs. Arm around her, embraced in his warmth with the jacket she adorned in both their scents. Fur-topped, tickling her nose as she buried it into him sweetly and watched him melt into the feeling.

If there had been a time, that was it. To repeat what circled in his head- harping at him, singing out like a siren's call as Dino muffled his voice into her hair.

"I wanted to learn more about you," He breathed nervously, heart thudding hard even against Chrome's fragile form. "And I love every single thing."

His lips moved to her cheek, hands feathering through the intricate touch of her bangs that fell right back into place when she gaped. Lost in the bliss of his warm lips touching to her skin and leaving that gentle peck.

The affectionate graze of his palms rubbing past her neck as he didn't want to let go. Dino Cavallone smiling so hard that she slammed herself back into his hold and wouldn't let go. Not until he walked her home. Not until he was at her door, and not until he said he would get to see her again.

Because he would always have so much more to learn.

#khr #Dino Cavallone #chrome dokuro #fan fiction #D96

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fancycollectionfury-blog1 · 6 years

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