#it's so fucking strange that someone with a massive amount of connections to fire is a cryo user
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Given the Alberich Clan’s whole deal of “lead lives as those who blaze like fire, rather than those who wallow in the embers” and all of the other weird connections between Kaeya’s past/Khaenriah and fire, it’s really funny that Kaeya ended up with a Cryo vision.
#genshin impact#kaeya alberich#kaeya#alberich clan#khaenri'ah#but not funny haha#funny weird#like#it's so fucking strange that someone with a massive amount of connections to fire is a cryo user#my immediate thought was that this was to symbolize Kaeya choosing to leave Khaenri'ah and the Alberich clan behind#but idk#it could also be just celestia being assholes#which tracks#they are famous for being assholes#it could also be that Kaeya in that moment was just 'wait fuck I don't actually wanna die rn'#and cryo would have been the most effective for that ambition#and I could ALSO be overthinking things#I am the champion of overthinking minor gameplay decisions
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Fire Meet Gasoline - Chapter 1: Disturbia
*gif by @buckypascal
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Personal Assistant Fem!Reader
Fic Summary: Months after filming Cliff Beasts 6, Dieter is in a massive slump. Dieter’s agent hires him a personal assistant to make him get his shit together. This is an “I can make him worse” trope
Read on A03
Spotify Playlist
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Chapter Summary: Dieter meets his new PA, you
Word Count: 4300
Chapter Rating: E, 18+, Lemon
Chapter Warnings: Drug use, alcohol consumption, cussing, masturbation, Dieter being a slut, voyeurism
A/N: Hello all, I am back with another chapter 1 to add to the Masterlist LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I did NOT expect to feel the need to write for this character but I am the 2% that enjoyed the movie and I AM IN LOVE WITH HIM! I don’t feel comfortable writing all of P’s characters, so I’m really excited to meet this one. Because if there’s anything I know, it’s how to write a broken mess of a man with a drug problem. This will NOT be Fix You, there will be no “I can fix him.” This is going to be a full dumpster fire. I’m excited to throw you into it. I hope you enjoy! <3 Monica
*Also, go check out this fanart by @beskarberry bc it absolutely inspired a scene. Dividers by @firefly-graphics
That fucking noise again.
His hand shot out from beneath the pile of twisted and sweat soiled sheets, groping blind as it bangs against every surface of the nightstand except the top.
“God fucking dammit, shut the fuck UP.” His palm finally connects with the flat square of his phone, fingertips lifting and pressing to find the “dismiss call” button, but ultimately knocks the device onto the floor.
With a snarl, he turns and flips back into the bed facing the opposite direction, yanking the blanket back over his head as the caller eventually gives up.
For 2 minutes. And then it rings again. And then multiple text messages. And 5 more calls.
He picks up the phone. “WHAT?!”
“Fucking finally Bravo, what the fuck! I’ve been calling you all day!”
“Well I’ve been sleeping all day.”
“And yesterday?”
“No, I was smoking crack yesterday.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!”
“Yea. It was just coke.”
“Dieter, it’s been months. You need to get back out there, get your shit together, read some scripts, do some auditions. I don’t want the agency to give up on you and drop you.”
Dieter sighs, scrubbing his dried sweat sticky forehead.
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“Well I do. We’re hiring you a PA.”
You really, honestly, didn’t think they were serious.
Only one month into the shutdown of the country and you were laid off and unable to claim unemployment, the offices were backed up on requests and there was no one to answer the damn phones.
Oh, and you lived paycheck to paycheck.
Your resume is all over the place. Side jobs while in college turning into actual jobs that just carried through to where you are now. You’ve gained an incredible amount of knowledge and experience in just about everything, but never just enough to firmly set you in an actual career. If asked, you guess you would say you were most confident in your time management, organization, and determination.
Which is what made you apply to an incredibly ambiguous job posting calling for someone with your exact strengths. You fully expected to not be selected, or for the job to be a scam. No company name, no location, but an incredibly good salary promise considering there was nothing else on the damn ad other than what they were looking for.
So here you are, in some unexpected bigwig office in Los Angeles, after three very vague and strange zoom interviews discussing your skills to various different people. None of which were sitting before you today.
But hey, they flew you out to LA free of charge, on a private plane, in the middle of a pandemic, so how can you complain?
“My assistants were very impressed with you.” Says the man in front of you, who looks eerily like Tony Stark.
“Oh, thank you! I’m really excited to be here. I’ve…never been to LA before. Thank you so much for covering the travel.”
He waves his hand, not to dismiss you, but as if he just didn’t have the time to spend with small talk. “I’m going to get right into it. My client needs a personal assistant. Someone smart, someone who isn’t easily frustrated, someone who can get a very chaotic person in line, get him functional and in the right head game. A go-getter. We’ve had some struggles finding the right person.”
“Oh, okay. Yes, I’m very confident I would be able to help someone stay on track.”
He cuts you off before you can continue with your strengths. “The reason you are here is because you already have been cleared and approved for the job, but I need to give you more details because this…is an odd situation.”
“COVID has made everything strange. I’m sure I can handle it.”
“Alright, well, the client is a big name actor who is kind of…difficult. He’s not very great at managing his schedule or motivating himself, so we would need you to be able to give him that push. Due to COVID, you would be staying in his house after a quarantine period, but there’s a guest house that will be yours so you don’t have to feel uncomfortable. And both of you are fully vaccinated. Pretty much anything he needs, I would need you to do. Getting him up, doing his laundry, making him attend his appointments as well as keeping his schedule, responding to his emails, being on-call for me twenty four seven because he never answers his phone, basically being his mother. Is that workable for you?”
For this pay? I’ll take anything. “Yes. I am absolutely positive I can do this. If I can manage an entire team of seasonal high schoolers, I can handle one man.”
“Great. Well, go ahead and enjoy the weekend here, and we will be in touch shortly to coordinate your move.”
“I will, thank you! I’m really excited to start!” You stand up with a smile, ‘Mr. Stark’ nods at you and you turn to exit the office. He calls out to you before you exit.
“Oh, and one more thing. It’s completely harmless, but you need to be comfortable being mildly sexually harassed on a daily basis. He won’t touch you, but he is very annoying. Okay?”
You nod absently, not really taking in the statement until you are escorted out of the building and into the town car back to your hotel.
Who the fuck is this job for?
It took about two weeks. Two weeks to fly back home, send your rent information to your new employer, pack up your necessary shit, and make the journey back to LA.
The house was beautiful, a modern styled home set in the foothills with an open floor plan, several patios, a pretty garden area featuring a pool and hot tub, and further back into the garden, the little bungalow guest cottage that would be your new home.
Mr. Bravo wasn’t there, he had been shooting a short film for a fashion company and quarantining himself, so you and firm associates who came with you had plenty of time to get you settled without interruption, all while social distancing. Your quarantine had already been spent bored out of your mind in a hotel, you were excited to be around people and nature again.
The guest house was out back but still maintained its own privacy, tucked behind a few trees and large bushes. Wooden steps carved into a slope led up to the dark blue cottage, a picnic table with padded seating at the front entrance. It was small, but nice, a loft style cottage with a seating area, kitchen, and dining nook, with a ladder up to another floor that housed the loft with a bed and large flat screen TV.
After making sure you were comfortable, the other employees bid you farewell and let you know your formal meeting would be tomorrow, and that ‘Mr. Stark’, Bravo’s agent, would be present to make sure it went smoothly.
Part of you was incredibly nervous. It was a risk to take a job away from home, working in the same space as someone you’d never met before, despite reassurances that if you needed to back out for any reason, you would be helped immediately. It made you remember that you weren’t the first attempt to get this man a PA, and it made you worry that maybe you’d bitten off more than you could chew.
But you also didn’t have many other options. This was the first job you’d gotten after months of searching, defaulting on bills, and putting off your landlord. And now, suddenly, all of it was taken care of, and you were making almost double what you had been before you lost your job. You had to give this a real shot. You would. You shoved off all other concerns, content to binge watch true crime documentaries on Netflix late into the night until you finally fell asleep.
He arrived home at two in the morning under strict directions “to leave her alone until tomorrow’s meeting.”
No problem there. Dieter didn’t even want a damn PA, didn’t need one. He functioned on his own just fine, thank you very much. Sometimes. Occasionally. He threw his bags on the floor of the foyer, not bothering to even move them out of the way before heading up to bed.
He left you alone until the next morning.
His agent had threatened to drop him again if he didn’t get up for this meeting, so Dieter woke up surprisingly early and groggily padded down to the kitchen for coffee. While it brewed, he turned, leaning against the counters as he looked out over the back yard. And saw you.
You were having coffee too, resting in one of the lounge chairs by the pool in the soft morning light, the fairy lights he’d strung over the yard on mushrooms that one time were lit, obviously by you, and they twinkled warm light against your skin as the sun continued to rise through the sky. You were wrapped in a large Mexican style blanket he forgot he had, your head tilted up to the sky, eyes closed, a soft smile on your face. Two little feet poked out of the bottom of the blanket and the toes curved over the side of the chair cushion.
Coffee brewed, he filled a mug and quietly tiptoed out the sliding door, around the corner of the house, and sliding into a chair near you without you noticing. He arranged himself carefully, pulling his robe open a little to expose his upper chest and his legs and thighs, bending one leg at the knee before demanding your attention.
“Hey there beautiful, you here for me?”
You startle, thankful that you’d already finished most of the coffee in your cup before it splashes over the side of the rim and onto the grass as you turn abruptly around to see a completely disheveled older man in a bathrobe and not much else, posing on a chair like he’s some kind of porn star. A bad porn star.
“What the fuck…?!”
He peers over his sunglasses and raises an eyebrow, blatantly sweeping his eyes up and down your form, now revealed more when you’d jerked out of the blanket in surprise. His agent did a damn good job this time, you were smoking hot in his opinion, and he looked over your pajamas appreciatively before you pulled the blanket back around your shoulders.
You sigh. “Good morning Mr. Bravo.”
He grins, getting up from his chair to slide in one adjacent to you, his robe hanging open to let you know which kind of underwear he preferred. You prayed to whatever was up there that it had a button closure.
“Good morning to me! You must be my sugar baby.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yea, I requested my agent find me a baby.”
You pause, furrowing your brow as you replay the interviews in your head. Did—wait. No. Fuck this guy. Your expression rolls into a glare. “Very funny. I’m your new personal assistant.”
“Boo, that’s disappointing. Listen, I’m not sure what David told you but I don’t really need you.”
You scoff. “That’s not what I heard. I heard you can barely get your lazy ass out of bed, so I'm here to help you do that and get your shit together. Got it?”
He blinks at you rapidly, not expecting such dominance from you. It kinda turned him on. Actually, it turned him on a lot. Perfect.
“I’ve been able to grow a career without one of you, I don’t need one now, so here’s how it’s gonna work baby cakes: I’m the boss, so if you stay out of my way, you’ll get your paycheck and I won’t make your life miserable. Now let’s get down to business. Do you want to have sex later?”
You scoff and roll your eyes. “Please. How old are you? Can you even get it up?”
“Do you want to try and see?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’m your boss.”
You open your mouth to retort, but another voice cuts you off.
“No, I’m her boss. And for now, she’s your boss.”
You heave a sigh, thankful that ‘Mr. Stark’ had the foresight to arrive early. He sighs, ripping his sunglasses and mask off dramatically and glares at Dieter. “I thought I told you to leave her alone.”
Dieter pouts. “You can’t just plant a hot chick in my house and not expect me to check her out.”
“It’s fine.” You interrupt. “Just getting to know each other. I didn’t realize you’d be here early, I’m sorry for my state of dress. Let me go put on actual clothes.”
“You can wear sweatpants everyday for all I care, as long as you get this man to be more responsible.”
You nod, wrapping the blanket around you more as you get up and head to your cottage, empty mug in one hand. You turn before entering the house, looking back at the two men to see ‘Mr. Stark’ ushering Dieter back into the house talking sternly to him.
He is old. And weird, and incredibly inappropriate, but for some inexplicable reason to you he’s still attractive. A brown mop of unruly curls peppered with white and chestnut brown streaks. A smattering of facial hair that is so patchy you can’t tell if it’s laziness or if he just can’t grow it. Warm golden skin with not too much hair, freckles and moles peppering his neck and behind his ears. Thick, healthy thighs and the swell of a tummy that is simply softened from age, not necessarily bad health. And that shit-eating grin, god dammit did that grin feel like a ray of sunshine. It almost made you forget about the bullshit coming out of those pouty lips.
At least he would be pleasing to look at while he solicited you. It could have been Jon Lovitz.
You dress quickly and head back into the main house. Dieter is still in his robe and boxers and lounging on the couch with his feet up, not caring one bit how far up his underwear you might be able to see. You sit on the opposite couch next to ‘Mr. Stark’, going over expectations, sharing passwords, signing paperwork, and finally receiving a schedule book that has seen less and less activity over the past six months.
You’re given a brief tour of the house proper, as well as alarm codes, Wifi passwords, lists of Dieter’s favorite foods and shops in the area, as well as numerous phone numbers to call ‘should you have any issue at all’, ‘Mr. Stark’ assures you, sliding a glare to Dieter who is stuffing his face with Cheetos.
Finally, after ensuring you are comfortable and understanding the expectations, ‘Mr. Stark’ leaves, and you are once again alone with Dieter Bravo.
But surprisingly, he leaves you alone, grabbing a massive handle of vodka and heading back up to the Master Bedroom or god knows where on the upper floor. You take the opportunity to look through the house once more, taking more time in each nook and cranny as you acquaint yourself further to your new home. He has three additional guest rooms on the upper floor with another seating area, a secret movie theater, the most well-stocked bar you’ve ever seen leading out to the patio area you were in before, which is your favorite part of the home. A medium sized pool surrounded by tiki torches with a sectioned off hot tub, framed by lush, green plants and bushes hiding a tall wooden fence.
You should have brought a swimsuit.
There are potted plants on the tiling, a pair of trees tucked back further towards your cottage with those fairy lights you turned on last night hanging on them. It’s here where you stop, settling back into one of the lounge chairs as you look over your notes and planner once more. You head into your cottage and grab your laptop and another notebook, compiling everything into your own daily guideline for him, link up to the Wifi, browse his email, and finally set everything aside, logging onto Tumblr to fuck around while you soak up the sun.
Curious, you type his name into the search bar on Tumblr to see what comes up, and you’re surprised to find a much different perception of him than what you saw through Google. He was good to fans, lots of accounts had pics with him that they’d clearly interrupted him for. You’d read the exact opposite, that he was kind of a dick. His most recent movie, Cliff Beasts 6, had been an absolute flop, but he still seemed to have a solid fanbase. You browsed through interviews, gifsets, thirst posts, and even the hate posts, trying to formulate a better idea of the man through fandom’s eyes.
He’d been loved. But he’d fallen off the face of the planet.
Why?
He didn’t intend to watch you, but once he started, he couldn't stop.
You weren’t what he’d expected. He’d expected another doe-eyed simp who over-coddled him, or another overly professional type who would be scared off by his constant sexual needling. Young men who were too confused about their sexualities to be able to handle him and their own feelings. It’d become a game to him. How fast can I get them to quit?
But not once had he been met with someone like you. You, who had immediately clapped back at him, taking his intimidation tactics and shoving them right up his ass when you sassed the shit out of him and told him exactly what you thought about him.
And it set him on fire. Not the mischief in your eyes, not your soft looking lips, not your skin glowing under the sun, not the hint of your bra-less tits he’d seen when the blanket fell off your shoulders, not the neon green toenail polish, not the little hints of cellulite on your thighs. Well, those things definitely helped, but it was you. You were fascinating. It terrified him. So he drank.
He made himself scarce as you wandered his home, his breath hitching when you wandered near his bedroom but you didn’t enter. When you went back downstairs he moved out to the patio, watching you as you wandered around the perimeter of the pool before gathering your things and sitting back down, biting your lip occasionally as you did whatever you were doing.
Fuck. This didn’t work out too well for him last time.
He has to get rid of you.
He should go back inside, but he doesn’t, he keeps staring and eventually you must feel his eyes on you because you look up, meeting his eyes with absolutely no hint of fear in them. And you smile at him. God fucking DAMMIT.
“Hi.” You call up to him.
He waves back. “Hi.”
You set down your laptop, shifting in the lounge chair so you’re facing his direction. “Have you thought about dinner Mr. Bravo? I would like to go to the store tomorrow to get some things for you cause you only have junk food here, but I could order out for something?” you pull your phone out and wave it at him slightly.
He calls back down, leaning against the railing of the upper patio. “Oh…you…you don’t have to do that. Grocery shop for me I mean.”
“It’s my job to make your life and career easier. It’s helpful to have better nutrition, you know. If you eat like shit, you feel like shit. And I happen to really enjoy cooking.”
That grabs his attention, and he sets the vodka down on the patio wood and sails down the stairs and out the door to the lounge chair you’re sitting sideways on. You look up at him like you’ve known him forever, scooting a little so he can sit beside you. You hand him your phone. “Here. I pulled up Doordash and entered all my info so no one will know it’s you. Do you want to scroll through the options?”
He takes the phone gingerly, fingertips grazing yours and it’s like electricity running through his finger pads, up his fingers and spreading in his palms before shooting up his arm and right to his heart.
He refocuses as you continue to look at him with a soft smile, eventually choosing a restaurant. He feels like his heart might stop when you lean in towards him while you scroll through the menu together and make your selections. You smell so good, sweet and like tropical fruits with a hint of musk to it from the heat of the sun. He finds himself zoning out again until he realizes you’re about to pay for the food with your own debit card.
“Hey, no, no!” He slaps it out of your hand dramatically like it had poison on it, and you turn slowly to glare at him in response.
“Dude, what the fuck?!”
“Sorry, sorry. You’re not using your own money to get me food. Gimme.” He takes the phone from you and puts in his card information, handing back your phone afterwards before reaching into his robe pocket. “Here.”
He presses another card into your hands. “This is a card you can use for whatever you need that David funds from mine. If you have to buy me shit, use this I guess.”
“Thank you.”
He grunts, apparently diving back into another mood as he abruptly heaves himself off the chair and stalks back into the house.
The food arrives and you eat separately, and you decide to head back to your cottage early. But you can’t sleep. After tossing and turning for at least an hour, you get back up and stare out into the backyard for a while.
The hot tub looked amazing.
You slide your gaze up to where the master bedroom is, the almost wall to wall windows were dark and he’d clearly gone to sleep.
You undress quickly, sifting through your things for a bralette that would serve as a bathing suit top with the already serviceable panties you had on. You tiptoed quietly across the lawn, toeing the tub to make sure it was warm before slowly wading into it fully, heaving a sigh at the way the heat relaxed your muscles and quieted your thoughts.
Dieter fucking Bravo. Dieter Bravo who won an Oscar. Dieter Bravo who’d recently had an embarrassing breakup. Dieter Bravo who just walked out of his room and is watching you blatantly in the dim lighting of the patio lights. You meet his eyes and stand up, feeling the warm water dripping down your body as you turn to scramble out of the tub.
“It’s okay. Use it.” You can barely hear his voice but it still sounds like he’s saying it right in your ear. Your heart pounds with excitement and you don’t know why, but it keeps you from moving either direction. Your nipples pebble in the breeze and you’re suddenly aware that your underwear might be see-through as you stand in the light, confirming it when you meet his eyes once more. His hand is palming his crotch. He pauses.
You don’t know why the fuck you say it, you just do. “Keep going.”
He tilts his head, and you see the light from a cigarette or a bowl flare up at his lips briefly before his hand moves back down to his crotch. He doesn’t break eye contact as he pulls his boxers down enough to pull his cock out, you can barely see it as he rests the waistband underneath his balls.
Your lips part. Your nerves are all firing at once and adrenaline is pumping through your veins and it feels good and you don’t want it to stop. It’s wrong. It’s wrong, and it’s weird, and you shouldn’t encourage it. But you like it.
He starts stroking himself, slowly at first and even though you can only see the silhouettes of him outlined by the backyard lights, you can still see the movement of his hand, the way he’s gripping the banister with one hand, slightly hunched over it as he fucks into his fist.
He’s whispering under his breath and it carries to you with the breeze. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” but you aren’t because the fact that you have this grown man jacking himself off to the sight of you in your soaked through underwear makes you feel so fucking alive and powerful in a way you’ve never felt before.
You don’t look away for one second.
He speeds up, his mouth opening as his breaths come quicker, heavier, until you can hear them from where you are. It makes heat swirl in your tummy, negating any of the chill you might feel from being in the open air. You step forward and lick your lips.
He openly moans, pinching his eyes shut as he strokes himself faster and faster, whimpers and curses and pleas to just stay. There. Until he releases a broken sob, throwing his head back as he comes onto his hand and all over the patio floor.
When his breathing evens out and he looks back down, the backyard is empty, like you hadn’t even been there at all.
You don’t think you’ve ever run so fast as you fly through the door and close it as quickly and silently as possible, pressing your back against the wood of the wall beside it while you drip all over the floor.
What the fuck did you just do?
Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this or any others!
#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo#the bubble fanfic#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedrostories#my writing
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Beyond the Walls, Chapter 1: Seeking Shelter (Of the Emotional and Physical Kind)
*does a little dance*
As I slowly work through chapter 5 of Between the Walls, I decided to give into the immense urge and create a oneshot/bonus content spin off called Beyond the Walls! Prepare for fluff! Hurt and comfort! And an eventual Hermitcraft crossover because I will generate the content I wish to see in the world!
Word count: 2128
Summary: Not long after settling in with Techno, Tommy discovers an unfortunate side effect of being a borrower in a tundra environment. The unbearable cold.
Tommy had a problem.
Well, it would be more accurate to say that Tommy had many problems. He lived with someone who could very easily kill him. He still needed to find a way to reunite with Tubbo and get back to Borrowton. He had no idea how to get back to his old home, if he could even call it that, and still needed to come up with a plan to get to his friend.
And, perhaps the worst problem of all, he didn’t have a proper source of heat.
Despite living pretty close to the fireplace that Technoblade had made the borrower could not actually create his own source of heat, unless he wanted to risk accidentally burning everything down. If that did end up happening he knew for a fact he would get kicked out with barely a moment’s notice for lowering Techno’s “property value”, or whatever that meant. This left him relying on the fireplace in the corner of the main room as his source of heat to fight off the chill of the tundra.
Unfortunately for him, there were times where the fire went out and that chill started to sneak in again.
Technoblade was, understandably, not at all bothered by these moments. He was either outside doing… something, or was perfectly fine thanks to his fancy cape, layers of clothing, and the immense amount of heat he seemed to produce.
The hybrid was like a living furnace, while Tommy was the exact opposite.
He got cold easily, really easily, and had always hated it when it snowed at Borrowton. He had many memories of huddling with Tubbo around their furnace, wrapped in many layers of blankets, and still shivering. Now that he was stuck here with his pathetic collection of resources, primarily things he had snagged from the hybrid’s chest, and no real way to keep himself warm. Sure, he had stolen some wool and used that to make a nest, as well as wrapping himself in the too thin blanket that he had been given while being exiled, but it failed horribly and he still felt cold.
Which was why Tommy was currently staring at Techno, sleeping away in his warm bed, and thinking about what he should do.
The fireplace was out, he had no means to light the giant furnaces in the main room or the flimsy furnace he had made for himself, and he did not dare risk trying to light a fire in his own home, so that left him with one option. An option that could easily lead to his death and put him in one of the most embarrassing situations he had ever been in.
Getting closer to Techno and stealing some of his body heat.
… Just thinking about his stupid idea filled him with a mixture of dread and shame. He had no problem with physical contact, he had hugged Tubbo many times and gotten an equal amount of hugs from his friend in return, but this was different. This was him putting himself in danger, exposing not just a physical vulnerability that could result in him getting crushed, but an emotional vulnerability too.
These worries filled his mind as he got closer and closer to Techno’s bed. Several times he froze when the hybrid shifted in his sleep, fearing that he was on the verge of waking up. Every creak of the floor and natural groan of the house left the borrower cringing. He felt scared, but the promise of warmth kept him moving. After climbing up the bedpost connected to the headboard of the bed, he found himself standing in front of Techno’s face.
There was, thankfully, space between them, but the borrower still froze as the reality of what he was about to do dawned on him. He quietly wondered to himself when he would get used to being around someone so… so incomprehensibly massive.
Slowly, Tommy crept across the bed and approached the slumbering hybrid. The soft surface dipped beneath him with every step he took, and he could feel each exhale, the warm breath ruffling his hair. Anxiety built up in him. At this point he had not physically been close to Techno all that often and he was still more than a little intimidated by his presence. And if the hybrid ended up waking up while he was nearby…
He didn’t want to think about what might happen, the teasing or what retribution might look like if he ended up angering Techno.
However, he needed to do this. He needed to get at least one good night’s sleep instead of the sporadic naps he usually had. He was tired, cold, and more stressed than he would like to admit.
And so very, very lonely.
Once he reached the edge of the blanket he slipped under it, heart stuttering in his chest as his perspective shifted. After laying down, and seeing how much more Techno’s still form loomed over him, he curled up while deliberately facing away from the hybrid, and tried to sleep.
This… this was better. The blanket was nice and heavy, locking in the heat around him, but it failed to generate its own warmth and just resulted in the borrower continuing to tremble thanks to the cold.
It sucked!
He let out a frustrated growl as he tried, and failed, to dramatically fling the heavy blanket off him. All he ended up doing was slapping at the bulky fabric before squirming out from under it. Feeling colder than ever now that he was back out in the open air, he promptly wrapped his arms around himself and tried to ignore the chattering of his teeth as he continued shivering.
Shivering, until another gust of warm air rolled over him.
Technoblade.
…
Ooooooh noooooo.
Absolutely not! There was no way in hell he was going to try getting any closer to him than he had to be! Besides, the thought of… of cuddling someone other than Tubbo was absolutely humiliating! He would rather spend the rest of the night dealing with the cold than resort to such a desperate measure.
However, another gust of warm air quickly had him changing his mind.
For once in his life, Tommy carefully took his time as he got closer and closer to his target. The tension that left his hands trembling and shoulders rigid started to fade as the heat radiated by Techno started to sink into him. Reluctance replaced by an eagerness that begged him to get as close as possible, the borrower paused and weighed his options. He could, of course, just lay down beside the hybrid, but that left him open to being crushed if Techno rolled over in his sleep. Using the pillow would probably result in a similar fate, or him being immediately seen and getting in trouble.
But then he noticed where one of Techno’s hands was.
Curled up close to the hybrid’s chest, yet still having more than enough space for someone his size to lay there, it was the only spot where Tommy didn’t see himself getting crushed or caught instantly.
Which was pretty iconic all things considered.
He was hesitant, who wouldn’t be, at the thought of essentially sitting in Techno’s hand and trying to get some decent sleep, but the choice was looking more and more tempting as he thought about how warm and cozy it would be. Besides, he had to be a heavy sleeper, right?! None of his nighttime tunneling had ever seemed to disturb the hybrid while he slept, so surely he wouldn’t notice anything!
Plan now firmly in mind, Tommy set out to complete his mission. Still being as careful as he could make himself be, he slipped over Techno’s forearm. Landing in the open space and partially trapped by the arm behind him and the chest in front of him, the borrower was relieved to realize this would function as the perfect escape route in case anything happened.
As long as Techno didn’t move, of course.
Now feeling more comfortable and confident, he crept towards the hand in front of him. He stared at it, eyes narrowing as he tried to think of the best way to execute his plan. There was the obvious option of climbing into the partially open hand, but just thinking about it made him feel so weird.
Just… fuck!
This whole thing was so weird! Weird and foreign and a situation he never thought he would find himself in, and it left his stomach feeling like it was doing flips! He felt so nervous, full of energy, and strangely excited at the same time. The anticipation fueled by adrenaline left him frozen in place, legs practically vibrating as he struggled to both move and not move. And there he stayed, frozen in place by his own buzzing anxiety, until a loud snore that startled him resulted in him stumbling both literally and figuratively into Techno’s clutches.
Unfortunately, this was the moment where things started to go wrong.
A quiet, fearful whine escaped Tommy as everything around him moved, Techno once again shifting in his sleep. The hand behind him was pressed against his back, forcing him closer to the hybrid’s chest and nearly cutting off his escape route in the process. Shadows closed in around him, encasing him in darkness. Finally, he heard what would have been a quiet rumbling noise were it not for the fact that he was basically being cradled against Techno’s chest. The sheer volume of the sound was something he could feel in his lungs-
“What the fuck.” He quietly whispered to himself, unable to see how one of Techno’s ears flicked in response to the noise. For a moment, he contemplated making a break for it and sprinting back to the walls, getting away before the hybrid woke up. He was too vulnerable here, his choices were limited if something went horribly wrong, so many things could go wrong, he could die-
And yet, he felt so warm.
Tension slowly seeping out of him, Tommy let out a sigh and clung to the expansive shirt in front of him. His eyes shut and he listened to Techno’s steady breathing and the slow pounding of his heart. Even the hand behind him, something that could easily kill him, seemed to be nothing more than a protective barrier hiding him from the rest of the world as it was, very gently, pressed against him.
Despite all the anxiety and fear that had previously bubbled up in him, he felt… safe.
Truly and genuinely safe for the first time since he had been exiled.
So, it was no surprise when he quickly found himself falling asleep. He did not fight the welcoming embrace of oblivion as it engulfed him, nor did he stir when the hand cradling him shifted. A thumb was pressed against his back and slow circles were traced into it. It was a soothing gesture, something that caused the sleeping borrower to smile in his sleep as he listened to the gentle rumbling that acted as a lullaby.
For the first night since arriving at the cabin, Tommy found himself getting a good night’s rest.
Hours later, the light of the afternoon sun shone through the windows, one of the beams hitting Technoblade in the face. He let out annoyed huff and slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the bright light. For a moment he contemplated on whether he should try and fall back asleep, retirement was not all that exciting and he could afford to sleep away a few days, but ultimately decided not to. Just before getting up, he glanced down at the hand cupped against his chest, seeing-
Nothing.
It was empty.
An amused snort escaped him and he shook his head. His hearing told him enough about where Tommy was, hidden under the bed based on the sounds of his panicked yet muffled cursing, but he ultimately chose to ignore the borrower. As Techno sat up, stretched, and got ready to start the day, Tommy sprinted towards the hidden hole in the wall and ducked inside, hoping that his quest for warmth during the night had gone unnoticed.
It was a hope that died when, as the night drew closer and the cold grew stronger, he noticed Techno adding more logs to the fire than he usually did. His hope died further when the hybrid smirked at him and spoke.
“Don’t want it getting too cold at night.”
Coincidently, this was the greatest amount of regret that Tommy had ever experienced in his life. Regret that would only be surpassed by a decision he would make at some point in the future.
But that is a tale for another time.
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I’m legally obligated to allude to angst every time I write! Please bear with me as my scatterbrained self navigates how to best write these oneshots without spiraling into spoilers for the main fic, or just going total Hermitcraft as the urge is immense.
#my story#fanfiction#dream smp#dream smp fic#sleeby bois inc#sleepy bois inc fic#borrower au#dsmp tommy#dsmp techno#borrower!tommy#fluff#y'all can have pure fluff just this once
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The Call
Later in life, he’ll understand it was the void that spoke to him. Right now though, it screams in Dick’s ears.
When he was younger, maybe between the age of five or six, he heard it. The particular wording wasn’t exactly correct, he never actually heard anything, there was no sound or noise to hear, but he understood it.
It was a call. A command. And whenever it surfaced, it was loud and it was in his face until he listened and did whatever it asked of him.
When he first heard it, he was with his parents, practicing for their next performance. It was normal and peaceful. But when he mounted the bars and was reaching out to grasp the swinging rope before him, it spoke and tugged gently.
Stop.
At the time, he hadn’t known what it was. It was soft, quiet even, but it had startled him enough to the point where his grip slackened, and he was falling. The feel of air rushing past you, whistling in your ear like a taunt as the world laughed; the first time you feel it, you never forget it.
He was lucky. It was only a practice and the safety net had caught him before gravity had had its way with him. His parents had been frantic, leaping down to help him and reassure themselves. It had been scary seeing a Grayson fall. Graysons flew, toyed with the idea of plummeting like it was merely a myth. To see one shot down, so suddenly, so quickly, and so young, it was horrifying.
Dick did not perform that night.
When his parents died, flashes of red, yellow, and green, it whispered again. It tickled against his ears, brushed against his hair, as he looked down at the brokenness of their bodies, displayed and framed with pools of black against the sawdust.
Follow.
It had only been a whisper, just a breath, and he had dismissed it. The shrieks of the crowd below, the shouts of the ringmaster demanding for everyone to remain calm, his fellow performers stock still like statues. It was easy to dismiss a whisper when there was chaos. When the police came and the sirens ceased their wailing, everything was silent and weightless, like the world had forgotten what noise was.
When the social worker told him that he could not continue traveling with the circus and was instead to remain in Gotham, be “placed” in an orphanage like he was some object, some discarded thing that needed to be relocated, he was angry. He was upset. He was baffled. He was ten.
In those few months he spent with the other dozens of “placed” children, Dick Grayson was a lot of things, but none of them what he wanted to be. There was an endless buzz deep within his bones, a steady thrum in his head that would not dissipate no matter how many nights he snuck out or how many purse snatchers and petty thieves he beat with his fists. The kids he roomed with, ate with, shared a bathroom with, knew he was a circus freak. That he was some weirdo who could perform tricks on command like a dog. That the people who he had once called family were all thousands of miles away from Gotham and buried in some nameless cemetery with plain gravestones.
One day, as he lay in his rotted mattress, the nagging, ceaseless, ever present urge to flee covering his entire being, another social worker came by and told him he was going to be taken away by Bruce Wayne. That the man had offered, in a generous and beautiful display of sympathy and desire to help, to take the ten year old in as his ward. That he better behave and thank the man when he came to pick him up and smile for the cameras when they flashed in his face.
Dick was confused. He was desperate. He was grateful to be rescued from the looming and smelly walls. Mostly, though, he was indifferent.
Arriving at the Wayne Mansion was overwhelming and scary. It was absurdly large, immaculately clean, and much too empty. Most of his first week getting “settled”, because that’s what you have to do when you relocate and get removed, you must settle for what you have, was spent with the singular butler. Dick found it impressive that the older man was in charge of maintaining every detail in the massive home, but he soon saw reason for it.
Bruce was never there. He was always working, always away, and too busy to properly help “settle” his new ward, of which he had yet to explain. Why? Why him? Why this random orphaned boy out of the other hundreds of more pitiable kids?
Alfred tried his best to explain it to him, that Bruce saw himself in Dick because they had both become orphaned at such a young age, and god, didn’t that sting? To be reminded in such a stark manner? To be told his sole purpose in occupying space in the Wayne household was because of a mutual trauma?
And then one night, it makes sense. He discovers the secret to Bruce Wayne and his near constant absence. And he wants in.
When it comes time, after three days of convincing, a week of searching and preparing, and two days staking out, Dick is ready. The mask he wears hides his eyes, hides the fury, the hatred, the absolute glee he feels as his fist drives into the man who took everything from him. Over and over again, and he thinks he’s smiling when he pauses for a moment to truly look into the bloody and disfigured face he’s beating.
Do it.
It had been months since he’d last heard it, last felt it, but he thinks he’s ready to listen. No more startling, no more ignoring. In fact, he might even embrace it.
There’s a batarang in his hand before he’s even processed it all, reeling back his arm to deliver the final blow, to avenge his parents, avenge the life that could’ve been his but was instead snatched from underneath him all because of some stupid money. Some fucking paper bills.
Do it.
“Robin, that’s enough.”
The weapon falls out of his grasp as if he’d been burned by it, getting up and off the unconscious man. The gloves he’s wearing are dripping, his skin hot from the red that splatters his front. Beneath the dock lighting, it almost looks black.
It begins yelling at him, pushing against his mind for every step he takes away from the misshapen body tied to the lamp post. It goes away eventually, its screams fading away into the background as days pass by. The endless thrum in him stops, the buzzing static in his bones melting away as he realizes how tired he is.
How awfully tired and done he is.
He holes himself in his much too large room, coming out only to eat and prove he is alive. For two weeks, he keeps the same routine. He tells nothing of his thoughts from that night, nor wishes to. Alfred attempts to keep him company, assuring the ten year old that he has someone to talk to, but his lips are sealed and his head is wailing.
Finally, he emerges, and after awkward greetings, apologies, and long suffering sighs, he gets to work. Training under the Batman, becoming yet another symbol to Gotham in the form of a bird his mother loved, it keeps his head on straight. For the first time in a long time, Dick is strangely optimistic and happy.
Alfred tells him that his smiles brighten both his and Bruce’s day, even if the latter says nothing of it. He learns that Bruce, even out of the cowl and under the name Wayne, is still a very stoic and quiet man, even cold at times. But Dick reminds himself that by letting him become Robin, by letting him work by his side and live in his home, this was the billionaire’s way of showing he cared. On the good days, when Dick could get the reserved man to smile or even chuckle a tiny bit, he was a ball of light and energy, doubling down on his efforts to keep Alfred and Bruce happy with him.
Because if they grew tired of him, or his presence no longer brought joy, what would they do with him? Under a legal obligation and public image, Bruce couldn’t get rid of him so soon, but there were worse things. Like taking Robin away. Taking his only connection, his only outlet, away. Letting the buzz and the ache return.
The day he debuted officially as Batman’s sidekick, his new partner, Robin, was one of the happiest days Dick thinks he’s ever had. It’s a slow night, a slow patrol, but it’s amazing. Everything he could have ever dreamed of. When they come to rest, perched on some high rise skyscraper looking over the dingy city, Dick breathes in the smog and smiles. Next to him, Batman stands, silent and brooding, but even Robin knows that he is satisfied as well. Below them, down, down, down below, there is the city life. The homeless, the hookers, the drug dealers, the thieves, the ordinary civilians. From where they perch, the people look like ants. So tiny and minuscule.
He’s seen this view before. Seen it in his trial runs through the city. Seen it from lower buildings. The air is thinner and just that amount colder, the wind is whistling in his ears, brushing against his hair, laughing. Taunting.
The longer he stares downward, the longer his eyes remain trained on the perhaps only dozen people below, the longer he allows the call to beckon him, the harder his heart beats. The louder the wind screams in his ears.
You never forget it after the first time.
Jump.
It’s the first time it has echoed so loudly, so demandingly.
Batman turns his head to stare at the boy, watching as his feet shuffle and his back hunches. There’s a strong gust, powerful enough to make his cape billow wildly, and suddenly, Robin is leaping.
Robin is plummeting.
There are no second thoughts as he fires his grapple hook, jumping down after the boy who falls so serenely. The wind bites at his face, Gotham is cold tonight, and as he yanks at the boy’s arm, securing him stiffly to his side, Batman feels his stomach churn. He hadn’t thought of this outcome.
Later, when they return to the Manor, Dick goes straight to his room, shutting the door and locking it. Bruce stays in the cave, troubled, unsure, and mildly terrified.
“I was just playing around, B. It was no big deal.”
“What you just did was reckless and unnecessary.”
“I was gonna catch myself.”
“Were you?”
Bruce still isn’t sure what exactly had happened. The boy hadn’t shown any alarming tendencies before. Red flags all but absent. Even after consulting Alfred, both adults were stumped. Dick was happy, right?
What bothered him the most was that Robin hadn’t even reached for his grapple. There was no fear. No thrill. Nothing in his actions or posture or face that would indicate he jumped for the fun of it.
He leaped and did nothing.
He just fell.
Dick gets “suspended” for three weeks after. Bruce never said anything, never implied a suspension or anything of the sort, but Dick knew. He stays in the Manor with Alfred, goes to school, and is quite normal. He never attended a proper school whilst traveling with the circus, and he can’t say he likes the atmosphere.
He knows he’s been forgiven when Bruce joins them for dinner, asking what he’d learned that day and investing actual thought into the conversation. When they go out for patrol, and god, does it feel good to be out again, Robin stays close to Batman and Batman keeps an eye on Robin. All goes well and nothing big happens. It’s a good night.
As time passes on, and Gotham finally learns of their new hero, all thoughts of Robin’s leap vanish. Even the villains note how chipper the smaller vigilante is beside the ever dark and stoic Bat. There are always comments about his age, speculations on why a child would be strung along for the ride. Batman ignores them and Robin sticks out his tongue. Simple.
Months pass and Dick realizes that Batman doesn’t do holidays. Bruce Wayne hosts galas and attends them, but Batman does not. When Christmas Eve arrives, and with it the seventh gala of the month, Dick tries his best to remain collected. As Bruce Wayne’s ward, he has to maintain an image, but there is an empty feeling inside when Christmas morning comes and there is no real festive cheer. A simple breakfast and a normal day accompany it, and even Christmas dinner is no more than a nice ham and some plum pudding.
Dick cries that night. He’s never missed his parents more.
Spring arrives, and so does March 20th. Honestly, Dick hadn’t been paying attention, a small part of him perhaps even ignoring the date existed, but he’s forced to reckon with it when Alfred delivers him breakfast in bed and a small card that reads Happy Birthday.
He is eleven now. It is his first birthday, ever, where he has not been woken up by a hug pile and loud, borderline obnoxious singing from his parents. When Alfred leaves to let Dick get dressed, because “I’m taking you out shopping for a nice suit; Master Bruce has a pleasant dinner planned,” , he takes extra long in the shower, begging the hot water to do something about the numbness that’s closing in. He does not cry, he’s promised himself not to do that anymore, but he feels hollow.
Dick isn’t sure he likes his birthday anymore. It doesn’t feel the same. Not with the lavish presents, the fancy food, the primness of other rich people wishing him well and congratulations.
He wants his parents.
He wants them to smother him and take too many pictures.
He wants to laugh and complain when his face gets shoved into a slice of cake.
He wants to hold them tightly and tell them he loves them.
Instead, Dick says thank you and smiles brightly.
Later that night, when they’re back in the Manor, safe from the flashing cameras and intrusive questions,
“What’s it like to be the ward of a billionaire?”
“What were birthdays like in the circus?”
“Is it hard adjusting to normal life?”
Dick climbs out of his window and sits on the roof. Even as far away from the city as they are, light pollution steals the stars away. The sky is cloudy, the moon hidden, and Dick has never felt so small. So alone. The world is vast, larger than even he can stretch his imagination, and somewhere out there, Haly’s Circus was traveling, performing.
They must be thinking of him, right? At least one of them must remember him. He grew up in the circus, grew up around “strange” people, people he called family. He loved them, so they had to have loved him back, right? At least, once in a while, be thinking of him.
Or maybe. Maybe, he was just another act. Another stage performance. Dazzling, flashy, and brief. Time ran out, the clock struck twelve, and the show was over. Curtains close, they say goodbye, and that’s it.
The Graysons were never supposed to be permanent.
He teeters, four stories above the ground below, and breathes. Balancing at the tip of some outdated and strangely well fit spike, Dick feels the wind come and brush against his face. Is this what he’ll always think of when the air gets cold? Of cheering crowds and brightly colored outfits? The cheers turning into screams of horror, sawdust becoming saturated with a red so black it looks like some blank and open void?
Fly.
I’m scared to, he thinks. The horizon ahead of him is endless, boundless, but the ground beneath him, just barely sixty feet away, is so close. An abrupt stop.
Fly.
When he tries to breathe in again, his lungs spasm and a short and quiet hiccup escapes instead. For the first time, Dick is scared of flying. Scared of what will happen if he falls. Scared that there will be nothing waiting for him except something cold and hard, left in another unmarked graveyard.
Scared that no one will care if he falls.
But, it keeps telling him to go. To jump. To leap. To take flight. It’s loud and annoying and it won’t leave him alone.
He shuffles a bit, keeping his eyes fixed on the Gotham city lights. They become blurry, too obscured in his tears, and that scares him even more to think that if he falls, he won’t have the comfort of light to guide him.
Fly.
The suit he wore to dinner is starchy against his skin, the feel of pressed fabric and metal buttons stark. He feels out of place, even by himself where no is to judge him except the sky and the open air. The jacket is too thick, too warm, and he thinks that if he were to take it off, peel back the heavy layer and throw it away, he thinks he might actually be able to do it.
Actually fly.
“Dick?”
Fly.
The breeze plays with his hair, untied shoelaces and unkempt tie fluttering. They tease him in their effortless play. How tangibly wonderful must it be to play with the wind, forgetting gravity altogether?
There’s a shadow behind him, the moon peeking out and casting a soft glow upon the moor. It’s a heavy but solid presence, the shadow that stands behind him, and somehow, he can feel the concern emanating off of them. Sometimes, he forgets that Bruce is still fairly young. Only twenty six.
Fly.
“I’m scared,” Dick says aloud, still teetering, still balancing, still deciding. Still only eleven himself.
Fly.
“What are you scared of?”
It’s genuine, nothing mocking or patronizing, but Dick struggles to come up with an answer. Bruce is close behind him, maybe only a few feet away, tense and ready to make a grab for him. Ready to leap and snatch him out of the air again.
Fly.
Dick wishes it would shut up. Wishes the thing would go away, out of his mind, away from his head. It always sounds so nice when he’s by himself, when there’s no one else around, and it's just whispering into his ear. Speaking of reassurance and comfort. When there are others, when more people arrive, it gets so angry. So loud. Demanding. He doesn’t like it. He hates it. It never leaves him alone.
He wants it to die. He wants it to shrivel up and never come back. He wants to…
“I’m scared of flying,” Dick finally answers, stumbling away from the edge and back onto the roof. “I don’t want to fly. I don’t want- I can’t fly anymore.”
Bruce’s arms wrap around him, secure and tight and grounding. They hold him in place, even as the wind still laughs in his ear, whisking away leaves and letting them drift gently as if to say, This is what you’re missing out on.
“That’s okay,” Bruce rumbles, voice deep and perhaps somber. “You don’t have to fly if you don’t want to.”
Fly.
“I don’t. I don’t want to.”
And Bruce nods like he understands what Dick is talking about, like he understands the sudden fright of flight. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t and is merely humoring Dick. It doesn’t matter much though, the security of his hold enough to stabilize and keep him attached to the roof.
Enough to make him stop shaking out of fear of accidentally flying.
Enough to quell the screams.
#Dick Grayson#Bruce Wayne#Robin#Batman#hurt/comfort#Alfred Pennyworth#dick grayson is robin#hurt dick grayson#ptsd#protective bruce wayne#dick grayson needs a hug#young dick grayson#depression#tragedy#angst#fanfic#ao3#i am a disaster for attention#this is already posted on ao3 but imma post it here too for reasons listed before#DC#fanfiction#my fic
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Stella and the Wolf - Chapter 6
You can read it here on AO3, or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here.
The way Stiles figures it, the Alpha is the heart of the problem. As long as the Alpha is out there wanting both Derek and Scott to turn into mindless killing machines, that makes the Argents a problem too. Maybe they’ll back off when the Alpha is out of the picture? Although the amount of times Derek has been shot or stabbed, that’s a big maybe. There’s not a lot of love lost there, clearly. But the Alpha is still the biggest problem. And Stiles has no idea who it is.
He keeps circling back around to Deaton, Scott’s boss at the vet clinic, because Deaton is developing this habit of just kind of being in the vicinity when werewolf shit goes down. And when he talks, he’s always saying more than his words, even if Stiles doesn’t know exactly what he’s saying. He knows something, that’s for sure.
Except…
Except Scott works with Deaton three afternoons a week, and every Saturday. So if Deaton is really the Alpha, why hasn’t he taken the opportunity to get Scott to do his evil bidding or exert his mind control or whatever the fuck it is that Alphas do, when Scott is right there? Deaton is shady as fuck, basically, but him being the Alpha doesn’t quite add up.
Stiles has always loved solving puzzles, but when literally every person in town is a potential suspect? It’s not as easy as Law and Order makes it look, is all he’s saying. Despite his best efforts, Stiles is not going to solve this in forty-five minutes plus ad breaks.
He needs to know more about the Alpha’s victims. The bus driver, and the two guys drinking in the woods… Because if the Alpha is batshit insane, why haven’t there been more killings? Why isn’t he out there in broad daylight tearing people apart?
So maybe there’s a pattern, right?
Maybe there’s an actual motive.
He really needs to get a look at Dad’s reports.
Unfortunately, Dad knows better than to bring that stuff home, and has ever since Stiles was nine, helped himself to some light reading, and then asked Dad over dinner what carnal abuse was.
So now Dad’s files stay at work, and Stiles is pretty sure the laptop he brings home is password protected to NSA levels. Which leaves him with no choice—he needs to get to Dad’s files at the station, and copy them.
Stella, of course, is happy to help. For all that she’s a tattletale whenever Stiles is keeping secrets from her, all he needs to do to buy her undying loyalty is to make her an accomplice.
“You got this, Batgirl?” he asks when they pull up at the Sheriff’s Department.
She gives him the thumbs up. “Got it!”
Nobody has ever accused Stiles of stealthiness, or even subtlety, so lucky he’s got Stella to act as a distraction. She barrels into the station talking a mile a minute—she gets that from him—and straight into the bullpen, where she finds Dad and a few of the deputies, and proceeds to spin a tale about how mean one of the boys was at school today, and how he pulled her hair. Her outrage is palpable, and she adds the icing to the cake by announcing, “And Mrs. Svensen, she was the teacher on playground duty, said that he must have done it because he likes me. But I don’t like it when he pulls my hair! It’s not fair!”
Stiles slips away into the file room.
He finds the files on the recent killings, and photographs the pages using his phone. Even the autopsy reports, although they make his stomach churn. He does the same to Laura Hale’s file—stopping once and freezing when he hears footsteps passing—and then, more on instinct than anything else, looks for the file on the Hale house fire.
It’s huge.
Three massive folders stuffed with papers, and there’s no way Stiles will be able to copy it all.
Not in the few minutes he has left, anyway.
He doesn’t allow himself a moment to second-guess what is probably a monumentally stupid thing to do. Just unzips his backpack, shoves the file inside, and zips it up again.
By the time he gets back to the bullpen, Tara is showing Stella how to stomp on a guy’s foot and knee him in the balls in one smooth movement.
It’s sort of hot, but that’s Tara all over.
“Want to be my guinea pig, Stiles?” she asks him with a smile, fingers hooked into the utility belt hanging off her hips, and Stiles tries very hard not to think about what it would feel like with her hands touching him. Like, he’s pretty sure it’d be worth getting kneed in the balls.
He feels his face burn. “Um… I… um. What?”
“Back to work everyone!” Dad says suddenly, putting a hand on Stiles’s shoulder and steering him firmly away from his humiliating inability to speak in actual sentences right now. “So, what did you two drop in for anyway?”
Stella skips alongside them. “Stiles is taking me to the hospital, but I wanted to see you first.”
“The hospital?”
“My Reading in the Community program!”
“Oh, right,” Dad says. He looks at his watch. “What time does that finish?”
“Five,” Stiles says. Now he’s out of Tara’s sight he can apparently remember how to use his words. “I figured I’d drop her off then go to Scott’s and do some homework before I go back and collect her.”
He’s actually intending to sit in his Jeep in the parking lot and photograph the entire Hale house fire file, but why muddy the waters with truth? Then he can hopefully return it to the station before Dad notices it’s even gone. Not that Dad will notice, right? The Hale house fire was years ago. Why would anyone want to look at the file today suddenly?
Stiles ignores the snarky little voice in his head that reminds him that the obvious connection is Laura Hale, because come on, Dad’s probably already made that connection, and probably already looked over the Hale fire file again recently, and the chances that he needs to do it again in the hour that Stella is at the hospital at miniscule at best, right?
Totally.
This is fine.
Stiles is not going to get busted.
This is fine.
“Sounds good, kid,” Dad says. “I’ll see you both at home for dinner.”
Stiles and Stella escape back into the sunlight.
***
There are four other little kids waiting at the hospital with their moms when Stiles turns up. It’s always a little awkward. Stiles is pretty bad at mom talk. Usually he just slinks to the edge of a space and plays games on his phone until he can escape, but this is a pretty small crowd and it’s hard to get lost in it. Stiles figures most of Stella’s school friends know her deal, but they don’t necessarily tell their parents, because there’s always at least someone who looks at him like ‘Why is this kid here at this thing?’
And Stiles really doesn’t like explaining his life story to strangers.
He’s saved from having to do it today when Stella’s teacher arrives. “Okay, we’re all here! Let’s go and read. Parents, you can pick your kids up from here at five!”
She saves a special smile for Stiles.
Stiles likes Mrs. Lucas, but it’s weird. She’s middle-aged, and it’s weird that she was actually his teacher in elementary school too, and the one big memory he has of her is the time he had a meltdown in class because his mom was going to die, and she took him outside and hugged him and didn’t even complain that he got snot all over her blouse. It’s awkward because he sometimes wonders if that’s her one prevailing memory of him as well, and he always feels like a little kid playing dress-up when he has to interact with her for Stella’s school stuff as like Dad’s proxy.
He smiles and waves as Mrs. Lucas ushers the kids into the hospital, and then dodges the other parents and hurries back to the parking lot.
He’s got an hour to photograph every page of the Hale house fire.
He sets his alarm on his phone and gets to work.
***
“I thought you were going home after the hospital,” Dad says when Stiles and Stella turn up at the station again.
Stella bursts into tears.
She’s not pretending this time.
Stiles watches, hollow-eyed, as Dad pulls her into a hug.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Dad says, rubbing her back and looking at Stiles. “It’s okay, baby girl.”
“She got a coma patient,” Stiles says, his throat aching. “Mrs. Lucas said she was fine with it, but then we got to the car and this happened.”
Dad presses his mouth into a thin line for a moment. “Okay. You don’t need to go back next time, Stella.”
She draws back, tear-stained and affronted. “No! I want to!”
“You want to?” Dad asks, brows raising.
“Mrs. McCall says that it’s not like being asleep. He can still hear me read, so I’m going to do it again.” Her grim determination wavers. “It just makes me sad.”
Dad looks at Stiles, helpless.
Stiles shrugs. “I um, I need the bathroom.”
He’s feeling pretty close to a breakdown himself, after skimming through the Hale house fire file. He’d known, in the abstract, how bad it was. He’d even dealt with the autopsy photographs okay, since none of them looked like actual people as long as he didn’t study them too hard. But it was the other photographs that felt like a stab in the guts. Cora Hale’s yearbook photo. Talia and James Hale with their arms around one another, laughing. Patrick Hale in a little league uniform. Eight of them in total. Eight real people whose lives had been cut short in that fire.
That fire that Derek said had been started by hunters.
By the Argents.
Stiles had looked at the file and felt a chill to the core at the thought of that happening to Scott and Melissa. Happening to someone just because there are werewolves in the family.
He shuffles down the corridor toward the bathroom, taking a quick detour to replace the files in the file room.
He thinks of Derek again as he closes the door and makes his escape.
Thinks of everything that he’s lost.
Scrubs at his face before he returns to Dad and Stella, but it’s okay if Dad thinks he’s been crying too. He knows how Stiles feels when Stella gets hurt.
Dad ends up clocking out early from work.
They get pizza for dinner, because nobody feels like cooking.
They eat on the couch, Stella sandwiched in the middle.
Everything feels strange and fragile, like an itch under his skin, and Stiles hates it.
It’s not fair.
Nothing in the world is far.
Later that night when Stella and Dad are both asleep in their rooms, Stiles eases his bedroom window open, grabs the keys to the Jeep, and climbs out into the night.
Because nothing in the world is fair, and Derek shouldn’t be out there alone.
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Jackpot | Sehun
◇ Link to Masterlist
◇ Genre: What Happens In Vegas! AU, More Love/Hate (oops)
◇ Summary: A night of drunken fun in Vegas leads to you accidentally getting married to a tall, smirky stranger named Oh Sehun. Things get even more complicated when you hit a $2 million jackpot—neither of you can keep your share of the money unless you try and make the marriage work.
◇ Word Count: 4.7k
“Promise me you aren’t going to think about anything this weekend,” said your best friend Nat sternly, blocking the way into your hotel room with her outstretched arm. You rolled your eyes.
“I’m serious, Y/N. We didn’t come all the way to Vegas to have you be uptight and stressed out. We’re here to have fun, got it?” You laughed at the desperation in her voice. “Okay, okay Nat. Promise. No thinking about work, no thinking about him,” you said.
Nat sighed in relief, handing you the room pass with a wink. “Then let’s go get ready for a wild night.”
“I’m taking the shower first,” you called, striding into the bathroom. You undressed and stepped into the hot shower with a sigh, letting the water wash away your worries.
You had a lot of worries.
The biggest one was, probably, that your boyfriend of a year had cheated on you, a fact you had found out just last week. On top of that, your boss was being a complete asshole at work, and had relentlessly piled work up on your already tired shoulders. You had no time to even breathe.
Nat had noticed that you were basically on the verge of a nervous meltdown, and so had insisted on taking this spontaneous trip to Vegas for the weekend to lift your spirits. And you were determined to let your hair down, for just once.
You were pulled from your thoughts as you heard Nat scream. “Shit, Nat, what’s wrong?” you yelled, hurriedly wrapping a towel around your body.
You burst out of the bathroom, brandishing your curling iron as a weapon. Your mouth dropped as you saw Nat tackling a man onto the bed. “What the hell?”
You nearly jumped out of your skin as you heard someone approach you from behind. It was another man, and this time, you screamed, pushing him away. “For fucks’ sake. Leave him alone, what are you doing?” he yelled at Nat.
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in our room?” you said defensively, pulling your towel tighter around yourself.
“Your room? This is ours!” he said, running his hand through his hair. Nat crossed her arms across her chest. “Why the fuck would the hotel give us the same room?” “I don’t know, lady. But I think I’m going to go find out before you murder me,” the shorter man said, rolling his eyes, scrambling off the bed from Nat’s wrath.
Turns out, your hotel had somehow double booked your room. But with some sweet-talking—courtesy of the taller guy—the manager agreed to let you stay in the penthouse suite as an apology. He even handed you VIP passes to all of the city’s hot spots.
The tall, dark-haired man smirked at your evident awe. “You girls are welcome. Thanks to us, you are now about to have the night of your lives.”
As you soon found out, his name was Sehun, while his shorter friend was called Junmyeon.
They seemed like a whole bunch of trouble and bad decisions. Which was, frankly, just what you needed. Plus, who would be stupid enough to give up those free VIP passes?
And so that night, you and Nat found yourselves having the time of your lives with two strangers you’d met just that afternoon.
You were chauffeured to casino after casino in a sleek black limo, had dinner in a Michelin star restaurant—and got more drunk than you ever had in your entire life.
You hadn’t meant to. Really. But you hadn’t anticipated Oh Sehun.
“What are you doing in Vegas?” you asked him. “I got fired,” he replied, throwing back his head as he swallowed a shot. “What about you?”
“My boyfriend cheated on me,” you said, shrugging, staring out at the view in front of you. Rooftop access at one of the city’s most luxurious hotels was now something to tick off your bucket list. All thanks to a room mishap.
“Okay, we’re going to need more drinks,” said Sehun, and waved over a waiter. You grinned back as he clinked his glass to yours. Over the course of the next few hours to found yourself pouring out all of your stress to him, while he did the same, telling you nearly his entire life story.
Oh Sehun was almost the complete opposite of you. He was arrogant, irresponsible, and seemed to think he had no faults.
You, on the other hand, were dedicated, hard-working, and (even though you never admitted it) uptight as hell. It was strange how quickly you opened up to a stranger who was so different from you.
The night was a blur of loud music, money, and alcohol. You let loose, letting the pulsing music in the club flow through your veins, along with the ridiculous amount of alcohol you’d consumed. You found yourself pressed up against Sehun on more than a few occasions, his flushed face dangerously close to yours.
“You know,” you yelled over the pounding bass. “It’s funny how connected I feel to you, even though we like, just met.” Sehun grinned. “Don’t get me wrong,” you continued, linking your arms around his neck to pull him closer. “You’re probably the last person on the planet whom I would ever sleep with.”
Sehun’s eyes were dark as he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “The feeling’s mutual.” “Good,” you said loudly, but the breath hitched in your throat as his hands found your hips, your bodies moving together against the rhythm.
And then he was laughing, and you were laughing, and he was too close to you for you to be able to think straight. His lips met yours, and as you tasted the alcohol on his breath, you let go of the last bit of sobriety and let the night envelope you with its madness.
You woke up with your head throbbing. You groaned and turned over, clutching the duvet closer. You realized with a start that you were completely naked.
The previous night’s events flooded through your muddled mind, and you bit your lip as you remembered tumbling onto the bed with Sehun.
“Shit,” you muttered. You sat up and pushed your hair back. Something cool touched your cheek as your fingers brushed past your face. You did a double take as you took in the ring sitting gold and pretty on your finger.
The ring.
“No no no. Oh god please no. This is not happening.” Oh but it was. Because as you glanced at the mirror in front of the bed, you read the post-it note stuck on it.
Morning, wifey. We’re at the buffet - Sehun
Fuck.
“Was there any part of the night that you thought, ‘Hey, it’s probably a bad idea to let my drunk best friend marry a random guy?’” you hissed at Nat as you made your way to the table where Sehun and Junmyeon were. Nat just shrugged. “I threw up on Junmyeon. I had no idea what was happening.”
Worst best friend ever.
“I’m-uh-gonna go get some coffee,“ you said, making eye contact with Sehun as you neared the table.
He caught the hint, and followed you as you made your way instead to one of the lottery machines casually placed right outside the breakfast buffet. “What even is this city,” you muttered, pulling out a quarter from your wallet.
“Good morning,” said Sehun nonchalantly. You smiled thinly. “Last night was…something,” he started. “You can say that again,” you said awkwardly. “You’re a lot of fun,” said Sehun. “I mean…the sex was—“
“Um, I’d rather not,” you cut him off, your face burning. “Right,” said Sehun clearing his throat. “Of course, we now have a tiny little problem of these rings..”
“Yeah, it’s hard to forget,” you said. “We need a divorce.”
For a moment Sehun just stared at you. “Did you just dump me?” You laughed awkwardly. “Well, we obviously hardly know each other—”
“No, no. Of course. Thank god you said it first,” said Sehun, looking relieved. You were slightly taken aback. “Junmyeon says we need an annulment, not a divorce,” he continued.
You felt strangely annoyed. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”
Sehun let out a breath. “Phew. I’m glad that’s out of the way. Bullet dodged huh?” You raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, look, I’m sorry. But you just seem like the type of girl who’s looking for a serious relationship, and I’m not…I’m definitely not that guy,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
You stared at him, your annoyance now flaring up.
“No offense, but you seem like a lot of work—” he broke off at the look on your face. “Ah, marriage is an outdated concept, right?” he said awkwardly.
“Yeah, so is immaturity,” you said, snorting. “Pull it together, dude. No wonder you got fired. No one wants an employee who runs away from the slightest problem.”
Sehun stared at you. “Excuse me? And this is coming from a basically robotic woman, who had to come all the way to Vegas and marry a stranger to realize what a mess her life is?”
You gaped at him. “You know what? I’ll send you a fucking email about the annulment. Have a nice day, asshole.”
“You too,” said Sehun, flicking the quarter out of your fingers. “Hey, we’ll always have Vegas right?” he said, and pushed the coin into the machine, pressing down the lever.
“That was mine,” you said scowling, and turned away to storm off. You stopped in your tracks as a loud buzz went off, accompanied by a horn sounding. You whipped around, only to see everyone cheering and yelling, because someone had just won the jackpot money from the machine.
$2,000,000.
It took a minute for you process what was happening, until Sehun threw his hands up and yelled. “Holy fuck! I’m rich! I’m fucking rich!”
You stared as everyone surrounded him, cheering and congratulating him on his win, and the hotel manager handed him a massive cheque.
Junmyeon and Nat walked over to see what the commotion was about, and their jaws dropped as they saw Sehun standing there with his huge cheque, and equally huge smile on his face.
“That was my quarter,” you said in a daze.
You pushed your way through the throng of people and grabbed the corner of the cheque. Sehun dismissed you with a wave. “I’m the one who pulled the lever. So the money’s mine.”
“Not so fast, baby,” you said, smiling sweetly. “We’re married now, remember? What’s yours is mine.”
You felt a sense of triumph as Sehun’s face dropped with the realization.
“What a lovely way to celebrate our first day of marriage, hm?”
“This is ridiculous,” muttered Sehun as the two of you exited the court back home a week later. It was by some strange coincidence that Sehun lived in the same town as you.
“Yeah, well, we don’t have a choice, do we? It’s either this and a million dollars each, or nothing,” you said, sighing.
The judge had ruled that the two of you had to co-exist and attempt to make the ‘marriage’ work for 6 months before you could finalize the divorce. If either of you didn’t co-operate for that amount of time, the money would be tied up in litigation.
Sehun snorted. “We have to live together? And go to weekly counseling sessions? I can’t believe this is happening.”
You rolled your eyes. “This is obviously worse for me. I can’t imagine what your apartment is like.” “At least I have one. Where’s yours, I wonder? Oh, right, you lived with your cheating boyfriend. Sorry,” said Sehun meanly.
“6 months,” you said under your breath as you walked away. “I can do this.”
“See you tomorrow, wifey,” called Sehun sarcastically from behind you.
Just as you’d expected, Sehun’s apartment was a mess. His dirty laundry was lying pretty much everywhere, the bathroom looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks, and the refrigerator was stuffed with disgusting junk food.
“I can’t do this,” you moaned, as Nat helped you bring in your stuff. “Think about the 1 million dollars,” she reminded you.
Sehun sauntered out of his room, yawning. “Make yourself at home, sweetheart.”
“This is a pig sty,” you said. It’s one thing if you like a guy and have to put up with stuff like this. But you, I don’t care for. So clean up.”
“Hey, if you have a problem with it, you clean up,” he said shrugging.
So the rest of the day with was spent with you using anti-bacterial wipes and sprays, trying to make the place as accommodating as you possibly could. By the end of the evening, you were exhausted, and all you wanted to do was get a good night’s sleep. You washed up and made your way to where Sehun was lounging in the living room.
“Which one of us is taking the couch?” you asked tiredly. Sehun glanced up at you. “I don’t mind. You can use the bedroom,” he said. “Thanks,” you said awkwardly. “Sweet dreams, then.”
And just like that, the first day co-existence was over. You weren’t sure how many more you could take.
Sure enough, after one week of living together, you were pretty sure you were going to go insane.
Sehun did absolutely nothing the entire day, and seemingly was making no effort to even try and find another job. His logic was that in 6 months, he would be 1 million dollars richer and so didn’t need to work.
But you were still working your ass off at your job, and it pissed you off to come back to a messy apartment with Sehun lying about doing just about jackshit.
And when you told him so, he got annoyed and told you to mind your own business. There was no point in trying to talk to him about anything.
But the two of you put on the biggest show of your lives when you had to visit the marriage counselor. You held hands sweetly, called each other lovable nicknames, and tried your best to make it look like you were in love.
If the counselor thought it looked fake as hell, she didn’t say it.
“You know, if one of you cheated on the other or something, won’t the innocent person get to keep all the money?” asked Nat a few weeks later.
You nearly choked on your coffee. “What did you just say?”
“I mean, think about it. The person who fucks up and ruins the marriage doesn’t get the money. If you could get Sehun to somehow ‘cheat’ on you…”
A lightbulb went off in your head. “Nat, I think you’re onto something here.” Nat smiled smugly. “What say we throw a little party?”
And so the following weekend, without telling Sehun, you invited a bunch—or not really bunch, more like all the girls you knew—over to the apartment. “Remember girls,” you whispered. “Do and try anything to get into his pants. I doubt it’ll be too difficult.”
You felt a little guilty for tricking him like this. But you’d had enough.
And so it was with some sort of sickening satisfaction that you observed Sehun get surrounded by girls as soon as he appeared. He gaped at you. “What the fuck?”
“I just wanted to throw a party,” you said innocently. “I hope that’s okay.”
Sehun went red as a girl ran her hand down his chest. “I know what you’re trying to do,” he said, smiling. “And let me tell you, two can play at this game.”
You feigned ignorance and shrugged. “Have fun!”
But a half hour later, you realized you had underestimated him. Because not only did he manage to avoid making out with even one girl, but he also invited over his own friends.
His very hot friends.
Junmyeon was there, and so were a few others you’d never met. “Whoa, Sehun, this is your wife?” said one of them. “Dude, why the hell are you getting a divorce? She’s hot!”
You went red. Sehun coughed. “Shut up, Baekhyun,” said Junmyeon, smacking the guy who’d spoken in the arm.
This was going to be a long night.
It seemed as though Sehun had instructed his friends to do quite the opposite of what you’d asked your friends to do. Except for Baekhyun, the others avoided you every time you tried to talk to one of them.
You took an angry sip of your beer when the tall, cute one called Chanyeol politely excused himself out of a conversation with you. You locked eyes with Sehun from across the room and he smirked.
The party just got wilder and wilder. Soon enough, the music was blaring loud enough for you to get a headache, and you stumbled into the bathroom for some quiet.
To your surprise, Sehun was sitting there on the closed toilet seat. He raised his eyebrow as you came in.
“Tired already?”
“Not at all,” you lied. “But you must be. This must be so hard for you. Not being able to sleep with any of those girls even though you’re dying to? Go ahead, Sehun. Why don’t you just give in?”
Sehun laughed. “Do you really think I’m dumb enough to cheat on you?”
“I think it’s only a matter of time,” you replied. “Well, you’re wrong,” he said. “I can manage fine without chicks.”
You snorted. “Yeah, okay.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said, standing up and walking over to you. “I’m a married man. And I am not screwing this thing up.” He was suddenly too close.
You stared up at him, unnerved at his proximity to you. His nose was almost touching yours. “Neither am I, Sehun,” you whispered. “I’m gonna go till the end of this.”
“Till death do us apart,” he said, his voice low. Your heart hammered in your chest.
“Not unless I kill you first.”
After that, it was war. The both of you tried everything possible to sabotage the other.
Sehun shut your alarm off one day, and you couldn’t wake up in time for work. You fumed as you pulled the clothes over yourself in a hurry, not even realizing that Sehun walked right in on you changing.
“Nice grandma panties,” he observed. You threw a pillow at him.
“What happened to the lace ones you wore in Vegas? Those were nice,” he continued, unbothered by your rage.
“I’m saving those for a husband who isn’t a complete jerk,” you snapped. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be extremely late to work thanks to you.”
“You’re welcome!” he called as you rushed out of the house.
As payback, you decided not to remind Sehun about the meeting with the counselor the next weekend. You sat there smugly as she shook her head at his ‘irresponsibility’.
Sehun looked ready to murder when you went back home. “Real mature, Y/N.” You just shrugged. “Hey, it isn’t my job to remind you. If you really wanted to work on this marriage, you would’ve been there.”
The look on his face was worth everything.
But as the weeks went by, strangely enough, it soon began to feel more like fun than an annoyance. You felt as if you were going crazy.
Because now you were getting used to him. You were just so used to having Sehun around all the time, that a small part of you was dreading when he would no longer be.
You felt as though you would miss him, even his stupid pranks. He’d become some sort of a frenemy to you. Some nights, you’d just sit there and argue on the couch about what movie to watch, and he’d steal all your popcorn. Or you’d make a meal together, fighting but laughing all the while about what ingredients to use.
Once, when you were doubled up in pain from period cramps, he actually went out and got you some painkillers and a tub of ice cream, even though he grumbled about it all the while.
The gesture touched you in a way you’d never imagined. But you were careful not to let Sehun know. There was no point, what with just a few months left of this arrangement. You would be going your two separate ways, each with a million dollars, and would never look back.
You hated to admit to yourself that it was going to hurt.
“It’s your birthday, babes. We’re going out,” said Nat, pulling you out of bed. You groaned. “I think I’ve had enough of your crazy ideas. I hope you realize that the last time I went out to party I got drunk and got married.”
“Sehun, would you please convince your wife to have a little fun on her birthday?” Nat called, ignoring you. Sehun appeared in the doorway. “I didn’t know it was your birthday,” he said. You rolled your eyes. “And the best husband award goes to..”
Sehun shrugged. “I know a great nightclub. Let’s go. You, me, Nat and Junmyeon. It’ll be like Vegas all over again.”
You bit your lip. “That’s exactly what I don’t want it to be like.”
But later that night, you were being dragged along anyway, in a tight black dress you hadn’t worn in ages. You must’ve imagined the way Sehun looked at you, his ears going slightly red at the tips.
You were frankly tired of loud music and alcohol. And so you sat at the bar while Nat when crazy on the dance floor, pulling Junmyeon along with her.
To your surprise, Sehun sat with you. “I don’t like this song,” he said simply. You hid a smile. When had he suddenly got so considerate?
You stirred your mocktail. “Weird, isn’t it? In a month or so we won’t be married anymore.” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them.
Sehun was silent for a few minutes, and you almost wished you hadn’t said anything.
“Yeah, weird. But we can keep in touch,” he said finally. You nodded awkwardly. “I guess.”
You suddenly felt as though a heavy weight was settling over your chest. The flashing lights and music ringing in your ears were all at once overwhelming.
You stood up abruptly. “I’m gonna go get some air.” You didn’t wait to hear his response, quickly making your way out of the club, pushing through the crowd of people.
Once outside, you took a couple of deep breaths. You had to pull it together. There was no way in hell you were suddenly getting feelings for Sehun. You were not going to let it happen.
“Y/N?”
You turned at the mention of your name. And felt your whole body freeze.
It was him. The man you’d vowed never to see ever again. The man you’d wasted a year of your life with, only to have him break your heart. You automatically took a step back.
He held his arms up defensively. “I just want to talk.” “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” you spat. “You don’t get to fuck other girls and then expect me believe anything you say.”
“Whoa. It was one girl. And it was an accident. You know that. I was stressed out, drunk—”
You gaped at him. “So? I’ve been stressed too, asshole. That didn’t mean I cheated on you. You’re pathetic.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I just-I saw you here and everything came back to me. Seeing you looking so good, it just—I want you back,” he said, taking a step towards you, grabbing your hand.
You tried to snatch away from his grip. “Let go of me.”
“Not until you let me make it up to you,” he said, pulling you closer. You shoved him in the chest, but he didn’t budge. You felt sudden fear wash over you. You just wanted to get away from him and his disgusting touch.
And then suddenly, he was being pulled away from you by someone strong, stumbling backward. Your eyes widened as you saw who it was. “What the fuck are you doing?” asked Sehun calmly, looking at him levelly in the eye.
Your ex-boyfriend roughly pulled his arm away. “Why the fuck do you care?” he sneered. “Did he hurt you?” asked Sehun, looking at you. You shook your head, swallowing.
Your ex stared at you. “Who is this guy, Y/N?” Before you could reply, Sehun spoke. “I’m her husband,” he said, smiling. “So you better get the fuck away from her.”
He gaped at Sehun. And then at you. And then he laughed. “This is a joke, right? You’re telling me you left me and then immediately found this guy to fuck and marry? Shit, Y/N. I underestimated you. I didn’t think you were such a slu—”
He was cut off by Sehun punching him square in the jaw. “Oh my god, Sehun, stop!” you yelled, grabbing him to pull him back. Your ex-boyfriend’s eyes were alive in rage as he swung forward, aiming for Sehun’s face, but he ducked in time.
Just then, as if a godsend, Junmyeon ran out of the club, panting. “Hey, hey! Break it up, man,” he said, quickly stepping between the two men. Sehun’s face was calm, like it always was, but you could see the silent fury in his eyes.
Your ex spat on the ground, his lip bleeding. “You’re fucking crazy. All of you.” “Get lost,” you said in a low voice. “I mean it. I don’t want to ever see you again.”
And then you were pulling Sehun with you and walking away, Junmyeon following behind.
You winced as Sehun slammed the door of the apartment shut. “What a fucking asshole,” he muttered, throwing himself onto the couch.
“Thanks for sticking up for me back there,” you said, awkwardly sitting down next to him. He rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to thank me. It was just my first instinct. To protect you.”
You felt a blush creep up onto your cheeks. To your astonishment, Sehun also went red, as if he was surprised at his words.
“Look, I know this is probably going to sound really strange, but I don’t think I want this divorce any more,” he blurted.
You stared at him in shock. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I think I want to stay married. To you,” he said, turning away in embarrassment. “But why?” you asked, bewildered. Was there a chance...?
“I like you, okay?” said Sehun abruptly. “I like annoying you, and I like fighting with you, and I like sitting here doing nothing with you. This sounds cheesy as fuck, but it’s true. Yo-you make me happy. Even though I know I probably don’t show it at all.”
You started to smile. “I don’t want the divorce either. I want to try and make this work. Our marriage is probably the most unconventional and crazy thing that has ever happened in my incredibly boring life so far. I never realized how much I needed someone like you, Sehun.”
He started to laugh. “I seriously did not think it would come to this. What the hell do we tell the court now?”
“That we somehow fell in love over 6 months and decided to stay together?” you suggested. Sehun raised an eyebrow. “Did you just say the L-word?”
“Maybe,” you said, feeling dangerous as you scooted closer to him. He tilted his head slightly, his lips inches from yours.
“I don’t know how long I’ve held back,” he murmured, and then his lips were on yours, and your heart was alive.
When you pulled away from the kiss, breathless, you felt as though every nerve in your body was on fire. “Well, what do you want to do with 2 million dollars?” you asked, dazed. Sehun smirked. “Late honeymoon?” You giggled. “We really won the jackpot, didn’t we?”
“I know I did,” said Sehun. “I won you.”
You burst out laughing. “Dude, if you don’t stop being so sappy I might have to re-think that divorce.”
Sehun just grinned.
“I guess what happens in Vegas doesn’t really stay in Vegas, does it?”
A/N: I really really hoped you liked it as much as I loved writing it! Seriously, this was so much fun to imagine! Please do send me your thoughts :)
#exo#exo scenario#exo scenarios#exo fanfiction#sehun scenario#sehun scenarios#sehun fanfiction#exo reactions#sehun imagine#kpop scenarios#kpop fanfiction#baekhyun scenarios#yixing scenarios#chanyeol scenarios#suho scenarios#chen scenarios#kai scenarios#kyungso scenarios#xiumin scenarios#exo fluff#exo au#sehun fluff#oh sehun#oh sehun scenarios#kpop reactions
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By Phil de Semlyen. on November 10 2017
Q&A (Rob’s quotes in bold)
Q: The film’s directed by the Safdie brothers. I heard you spotted a picture from one of their other films online and basically cold-called them, then they wrote this film for you. Is that true?
‘It’s weird, Josh [Safdie] talked about this earlier: “I looked at the photo you were talking about and it was just a photo of an actress’s face!” It was from their film “Heaven Knows What” and I just had this feeling about it, so I sent them a couple of emails saying I was down to do anything.’
‘Good Time’ is set in a very specific New York world. Did you dive deep into that?
‘I spent a whole day in character. I’d never done anything like that before. Benny [Safdie, who plays his brother] and I spent a day in Yonkers, hanging out in Dunkin’ Donuts and meeting people he knew. We went to a couple of prisons too.’
Were there any ‘Twilight’ fans among the inmates?
‘There was one. We’d been there for five or six hours and no one had any idea who I was, but as we were leaving via this elevator full of inmates,
I could feel this guy staring at me. I went, “What?” and he just looks at me and goes, [puts on a broad Queens accent] “Fuckin’ ‘Twilight’!” [laughs]. Suddenly everyone in this elevator is staring at me. I’m literally going: “I don’t know what he’s talking about.” It was terrifying.’
There must have been some weird on-set moments, too. There’s a scene where a dye pack explodes in your car, for instance.
‘I had really bad bronchitis – it was freezing in New York at the time – and I basically breathed in an enormous amount of red paint. What I was spitting out for about three weeks afterwards was just insane.’
The feel of the film reminds me of those ’70s classics like ‘The French Connection’ – filming out on the city streets but not necessarily with all the relevant paperwork…
‘We filmed a robbery scene but we didn’t have permission to shoot outside the bank, only inside. We had masks on and there were cops everywhere. It looked like we were actually robbing a bank. I sent Josh this video a few days ago of a guy who’d been filming a scene like the one in “Good Time” and the police had shot at him.’
What made you want to get into acting in the first place?
‘I joined this little amateur theatre company in Barnes, I think specifically because I fancied this girl. I’d had no interest in acting until then but one audition broke the seal. It was so scary: I hadn’t sung, danced or acted in front of anyone, and suddenly I was doing all three in this audition for “Guys and Dolls”. I wanted the Frank Sinatra part. I think I got cast as a Cuban dancer [laughs].’
Was that a formative experience?
‘A lot of people there took it extraordinarily seriously and I wasn’t really accepted into that group, so that was massively formative. [Puts on petulant voice] “I’m a fucking outsider!” I went to America before quite a few of my peers for the same reason: I didn’t feel like I fitted in with the English theatre crowd. Also, I got fired from a play and got pissed off with everybody.’
Your career kicked off with two huge franchises, ‘Harry Potter’ and ‘Twilight’, but you haven’t gone back down the blockbuster route. If there was a part in, say, ‘Star Wars’, would you take it?
‘Sure, yes. I love those movies and everyone wants those parts. I feel like it’s quite a helpful thing for a career to be consistent. If you go: I’m going to do something really crazy, but then do something really conservative, I don’t think it really works. It’s taken a long time but now people are going, “Oh, you do quite oddball things.”’
Has your relationship with ‘Twilight’ changed
over the years?
‘I mean, kind of. I feel like I’ve always had the
same answer. It was fun and it’s not like I signed up on an eight-picture deal, I knew it was finite.
I had to be 17, there were only four books and there weren’t going to be any more. The only time it felt negative was when people were waiting outside my house a few years ago.’
Do you still get ‘R-Patz’ shouted at you?
‘That’s the one thing: why some people end up with a moniker and some don’t. It’s really unfair that I ended up with a moniker [laughs].’
‘Harry Potter and the Cursed Child’ is on at the moment in London. Have you seen it?
‘I haven’t yet, but I really want to. It is strange for me because that feels like a lifetime ago.’
Your old character plays a big part in it.
Do you feel at all possessive of Cedric Diggory?
‘Not really. Even with “Twilight”, I’d be curious if someone else played it. It was so nice to be a part of it. That, more than anything, changed my life. It’s the reason I didn’t go to university.’
‘Harry Potter’ stopped you from going to uni?
‘It went so far over schedule, I couldn’t go. It was supposed to be four months, but it ended up being ten or 11. I’d turn up to set every day but not work for weeks at a time [because he wasn’t needed for filming]. I was 17 and I was the only person who wasn’t in school. I’d just hang about.’
Does London still feel like home to you?
‘I split my time between here and LA, but London is still my favourite city. I don’t think I could stay in the same place for more than six months, though. I don’t have any nesting instinct.’
Can you walk around town easily?
‘I’m always walking around everywhere – although I walk like a maniac. I cycle everywhere in London, which I really miss when I’m in LA.’
What are your cultural haunts?
‘I’m completely out of touch, it’s terrible. I used to get so panicky in public areas, and I’m only just starting to get over it. I went to Tate Modern for the first time three months ago – the Giacometti exhibition, which was incredible.
Do you find it hard to take holidays?
‘That’s the other weird thing about acting: you’re constantly worried about being unemployed.’
Hollywood knows how to throw a party.
Do you enjoy that side of the job?
‘It’s fun. Performers get nervous about people seeing their true selves, so they either hide away or perform at all times. It’s fascinating to go to a party with people who’ve all decided to be “on”. The Met Ball… oh my God! Everything is dialled up to 15.’
Doesn’t part of you fancy sitting in the corner
and having a quiet pint?
‘You just have to commit to it. That one's tough, though.’
‘Good Time’ has got some Oscar buzz, so there may be a few more big bashes ahead…
‘Even when we were doing this movie, I had no idea what was going to happen with it – it was so tiny. It’s been one of the craziest journeys.’
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Tony flew through the portal with a warhead in his hands.
He let go, and he wasn't scared.
Hello, something whispered, thousands, millions, infinite voices speaking as one, around him and inside him and part of him. Hello.
Tony thought that he probably should be scared, considering the circumstances. The portal was closing behind him, he could see the lack of light, the ring of fire from the nuke was roaring towards him, and there was a voice speaking to him.
He wasn't, though. The voice felt familiar, comforting, even. Hi? He thought back, and felt a rush of delight, as bright and warm as a star.
Because it was a star, he realised. He was speaking to the stars.
Welcome home. They said, their happiness and love as big as them, bigger, stretching across the universe.
And Tony wanted. He wanted to stay here, in the stars, where he belonged. I can’t stay. He whispered, and it was sorrowful, an apology, because they needed him down there, Pepper and Rhodey and JARVIS and his bots, they needed him and he needed them and he couldn't leave them, not even for the stars. I have to go back.
The stars understood. We will see you. They said, as they nudged him, wrapped him in starlight and carried him back towards the portal. We will miss you, Ours. They whispered back, and the title, theirs, was more than a title, it was his name, his history, his elemental makeup, all contained in a single word, a word that meant everything, meant brother and father and child and creator and family.
The sheer force, the sheer scope and immensity of that single word was enough to knock him out, and Tony fell.
“Please tell me nobody kissed me.” Was the first thing he gasped out when he woke up, back on earth, back where he didn't quite belong, blue sky above him and hard ground below him and gravity.
Except now he understood. He could see. The universe was in his head and all around him and he could feel it all. He didn't even feel the need to explore this new piece of him because it’d always been there, just hidden, unknown.
There was relief on Rogers’s face, for just a split second, before it was replaced with shock and a little bit of horror, and he nearly scrambled backwards. “What?” Tony said, and tried to lift his head, which was really hard considering the armour was still unpowered.
He didn't feel very hurt. Or, at least not the amount of hurt that would have Rogers looking like that. “Your- your eyes.” He stammered, and Tony squinted at him, before turning to the Hulk, who sniffed him.
Tony blinked. “I really don’t know what to say to that. And Cap, I know my vision isn't exactly 20/20, but there’s no call for rudeness.” He said, and tried to push himself to his feet.
It did not work. He glanced around at Rogers, and Thor, who Tony hadn't noticed before but was wearing a slightly awestruck expression. “Little help, here?” He asked, exasperated. “And, where the hell is my faceplate?” He asked, after Thor had helped him to his feet. Once he was standing, movement was easy, which he was grateful for as he turned to look for it.
Thor handed him the piece of metal, and all Tony could do was stare at it. ‘What the fuck did you do?” He said, incredulous and a little offended. “Did you- Did you rip this off!?” He exclaimed and looked up to Thor’s sheepish expression.
“I apologise, Stjarna Faðir,” Thor said, gravely as if he had done more than break an easily fixable piece of metal. The title didn't translate, or it couldn't, the meaning, like the word the stars had used far too massive to have meaning in anything other than it’s native tongue.
The base-code of the universe.
Creator of Stars. Creator of Us. The stars translated, and Tony could tell they were pleased with the title. Tony grimaced, he’d never been one for elaborate titles and patted Thor on his meaty bicep. Jesus, that thing was huge. “Nope. That won’t do. Just Tony’s fine.” He said, and missed Thor’s reaction as he looked down and thumped the reactor, which had somehow lost the connection to the suit, twice in rapid succession, and grinned in relief as the suit powered up. He looked around, at Thor, twirling his hammer, A gift, the stars explained, and all at once Tony could see it, see that hammer being forged in the heart of one of his siblings, see it becoming one. At Steve, still looking him in the eye, expression still that strange mixture of shock and fear, at the Hulk, who was poking at one of the fallen Chitauri, and at Natasha, who had appeared next to Tony at some point.
Hadn't she been on the roof…?
She looked visibly shocked when she saw him, but schooled her expression quickly, saying something quickly into her comm. She nudged Steve, who’s shock finally seemed to wear off, transforming into worry, and then careful blankness, looking towards the tower, eyes narrowed. “We still have something else to deal with.” He said, and Tony sighed.
He really wanted to have some Shwarma.
As soon as Loki had been apprehended, they all sagged in relief, having been controlling their various injuries through pure force of will for at least a half an hour. Natasha was the only one who still looked mildly put together, but Tony suspected that was more agent training than anything else. She looked at all of them, assessing. “We’re going to medical.” She said, carefully avoiding Tony’s gaze, seriously, what was with that?
Tony thought of refusing for a second, and then he moved and one of the bent portions of the armour pressed painfully into his ribs, and he reconsidered. “And then Shawarma?” He asked hopefully.
No one responded.
They walked to the New York SHIELD base in silence, flanked by agents. Thor and Hulk taking up the rear, Clint and Steve leaning heavily on each other, Tony, and then Natasha in the lead, picking over rubble with strained grace. Tony sped up slightly, falling into step beside her. “Ok, what’s going on?” He asked when her expression twisted slightly, glancing at his eyes and then away as if she couldn't look directly at him.
She looked at him, like she was seeing into him, assessing and suspicious, then sighed. She spun, wrenched a wing mirror off a car and held it up to him.
Tony blinked.
His eyes were jet-black and filled with stars, like someone had poured the universe into his skull.
Exactly like someone had poured the universe into his skull. “Huh.” Was all he said, and as he watched, there was a bright flare somewhere in the depths. A supernova.
He could feel it, the energy and life and power, a star’s death and a nebula’s birth. He blinked, and he could see it, the gamma-ray burst and the flare, reflected in his eyes. He looked back to Natasha, who was watching him warily, but she didn't look surprised. “You don’t seem all that shocked,” she said, and they continued walking.
“Neither do you.” Tony countered and stopped to blast a car out of the way. They were getting to the edge of the battleground, and without a word, Natasha passed him a pair of sunglasses.
“How do you feel?” She asked, carefully neutral, and Tony could imagine that same blank mask on her face as she faced off the Hulk. She seemed less... something, though, now that she couldn't see his eyes.
Tony snorted. “How do you think I feel?” He asked. ‘I feel like I’ve been thrown out a window, eaten by a space monster, and caught by the Hulk. Thanks for that, by the way-” He said, walking backwards for a second to shoot the big green guy a finger gun, before spinning back to face forwards. “-I feel like I have more bruises than I can count and at least one cracked rib.” He finished and glanced at her, serious. “But that’s not what you’re asking, are you. You’re asking if I’m having any unusual megalomaniac urges. You’re asking if I’m a threat.” He said, quiet enough that he was sure only she heard him.
She chuckled. “Stark, don’t kid yourself. You’ve always been a threat.” She said, and quirked an eyebrow at him. “With or without whatever you’ve got now. But yes, that is what I’m asking.”
Tony thought about it. Thought about millions of galaxies swirling in his head, each one with millions of stars and how he could feel all of them. All the power and vision that should’ve been far too much for any mind to handle, but wasn't. That just felt right. “I feel,” He started, searching for words. “I feel the same.” Natasha looked at him in disbelief. “I know, I know. But, I do. I am the same. All of this-” He gestured, the action woefully inadequate to describe the sheer magnitude of everything he could see. “-It’s been there the whole time. It’s just, now I can understand it.” He explained.
Natasha nodded, his answer apparently adequate, and they put their discussion on pause as they entered the SHIELD building.
Apparently, having space for eyes was ground for being hustled off into the bowels of SHIELD by an army of warry medics and scientists.
Who could’ve guessed.
Tony stuck out his arm as yet another doctor person took a worrying amount of blood from him.
He was humouring them, and they knew it. Even without the Armour, because he’d gotten JARVIS to fly it back to the tower rather than leave it with SHIELD, nothing was going to stop him from walking out.
And, if he was being honest with himself, he did want to be sure that he wasn't going to die from radiation poisoning or something.
Another scientist shone a penlight in his eye, and just to be a dick, he let the accretion disk from Sagittarius A shine back. The scientist blinked and swore, covering his eyes, and Tony grinned. “Don’t blind my scientists, Stark.” A gruff voice said from behind him, and Tony turned on his stool, smiling sharply.
“So, Nicky. What’s the deal with trying to nuke Manhattan, Huh?” He bit out coolly, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring.
Fury held up his hands in surrender. “Not my idea, not my authorization.” He said. “You’ll have to take it up with the WSC.”
Tony snorted and hopped off the stool. “I’ll be sure to do that. Did you want anything? Because I’m going to go. Collect my team, maybe. Get some Shwarma.” He said, and Fury raised an eyebrow at him. “I am not staying. Your vampires have already got like a gallon of my blood, that should keep ‘em happy.” He said and shouldered past one of the vampires in question to get out the door.
“Stark.” Fury called, stopping him just inside the doors. “Coulson’s alive.”
Tony physically turned to give him his best look. “I know. I have the entire fucking universe in my head. You better have told the others first.” He said shortly. Of course, it was really JARVIS who’d told him, but there was no reason he couldn't let Fury think he knew everything.
Fury held his gaze with a surprising amount of steadiness. “They know. Natasha will have a packet for you in the morning.” Tony nodded in acceptance and left.
He found Bruce first, looking very uncomfortable sitting on his own in a small medical room, wearing SHIELD standard clothes that were both too big and too small for him. Tony waltzed in like he owned the place, sunglasses perched proudly on his nose, and Bruce blinked in surprise as Tony walked right past him towards the cabinets, because SHIELD had been too busy admiring his eyes to actually get around to treating him.
Which meant he had to do it himself. And if he could get Bruce on his side while doing it, all the better. “So, do you remember anything when you’re-” He started, rolling up his pant leg to get at a shallow cut on his shin, one of many where the dented armour had squeezed tightly enough to draw blood.
“Not really.” Bruce replied, the words short as if it was physically painful to say them. Tony nodded, sensing that Bruce had more to say, and was rewarded when he started talking. “Why are you here!? You- you saw him. I thought you were just naive, but you’re still here! Why-”
Tony cut off the barrage of confused and frustrated words. “Look, what do you remember?” He asked, and looked up from the third cut to Bruce, who was staring at him with open bafflement.
He shook his head. “I genuinely do not understand you.” He said flatly, and Tony grinned.
“Join the club, Green-Bean.” He said, and nudged Bruce when he just continued to stare at him.
Bruce attempted a smile of his own, unpracticed and shy. “Space whales? There were space whales, right?” He asked.
Tony nodded, gleefully. “Yep. Nothing else?” Tony asked, and when Bruce shook his head, Tony turned to look at the room. “JARVIS?” Tony asked, and one of the screens on the far wall obediently lit up. Bruce jumped, and Tony grinned at him. “JARVIS. My AI. You are so deep in SHIELD’s systems, aren't’ you buddy?” Tony directed the last part at JARVIS.
“I still do not believe that the Director will take this breach of security lying down, Sir.” JARVIS responded, sounding both disapproving and amused.
“Yeah, well, Fury can go suck a dick,” Tony responded cheerfully. “Bring up that video, you know the one.” He ordered, and a grainy, shaky cell-phone video appeared on the screen. Tony turned to Bruce. “You don’t know why I’m not afraid of you. This-” He gestured at the screen, and it started playing “-is why.”
Bruce seemed to war with himself, seeming both not to watch and not willing to miss any second as the video played. For the first couple seconds, it was focused on Rogers, slinging his shield and staring up at the portal. And then there was shouting, and pointing, and the camera jerked to follow his path up the side of the tower, and into the portal. “Was that a nuke!?” Bruce asked, and turned to Tony, then back to the screen, then back to Tony. “How are you alive!?” Tony just nodded back at the footage, which Bruce turned back to, muttering under his breath about “Goddamn idiot, of course, he’s not afraid of me after a stunt like that.”
Tony nudged him, kind of wishing he had popcorn. “Shhhh. This is my favourite part.” He said, and Bruce watched in stupefied silence as Tony fell from the closing portal, and the Hulk caught him. The footage closed. “I’m not afraid of you. Or him.” Tony emphasised. “He, you, saved my life.”
Bruce was still staring at the now empty screen. Tony hopped off the counter and went to put what was left of the bandages back. “Did the nuke- did it damage your vision?” Bruce asked, a horrible non-sequitur, but Tony would take it.
“Nah. Just sporting a spectacular pair of black eyes,” Tony said, laughing slightly at his own joke, and turned around. “So, Shawarma? You in?”
Bruce ignored the last part, and leaned closer. “There’s no bruising. You don’t have-”
Tony tilted his head, grinning, and let the sunglasses fall low on his nose. Bruce’s expression was magnificent. Just for his hopefully future science-buddy, he flashed through nebulae, supernovae, newborn stars and old white dwarfs. “I know, right?” He said, and made his way towards the door, pushing the sunglasses back up.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but they weren't like that before,” Bruce said faintly and shook his head. “Shawarma? They’ll let me leave?” He asked, far too hopefully.
Tony gave him a gleeful look. “Buddy, If you’re with me, they’re gonna be too scared to try and stop you.” Bruce did not look comforted by that. Tony rolled his eyes. “Don’t sweat it. C’mon. We’ve gotta get the rest of the team.”
Steve, Natasha, and Clint were patching each other up when Tony and Bruce found them. Steve took one look at his eyes, even behind the glasses, and looked away hastily. Natasha positioned herself slightly further in front of Clint, who mostly just looked confused. Tony marched right up, and stuck out his hand. “Tony Stark. I don’t think we’ve officially met. Aside from, you know, as a flying taxi service.” He said.
Clint looked at his face, at his outstretched hand, and back to his face. He had the same “what the fuck is this asshole doing” look as Bruce, but eventually, he shrugged, and shook. Tony counted that as a victory.
He spun around, back to Natasha, who still seemed suspicious of him, and Steve, who wouldn't meet his eyes. “Great. Who’s ready for Shawarma?” He asked.
Clint looked at Natasha, and they appeared to have an entire conversation with their eyebrows alone. “You weren’t joking.” Clint said, looking both gleeful and confused. It was a common reaction.
“Birdie,” Tony started, serious as death. “I never joke about food. So? Who’s in? And where’s our resident god?” He asked, pointing out the obvious lack of big, blonde, and beefy, the second.
“Guarding his “brother.” Clint said, and even though he didn't physically make the air quotes, Tony could hear them just fine.
There was a beat of silence, and Clint shrugged and hopped off the table. “I’ll never turn down free food. Nat?” He asked, and Natasha rolled her eyes.
“If it means keeping you two out of trouble.” She answered easily, and turned the full weight of her gaze on Tony. “You still-”
“Yes, my eyes are still windows into the infinite void of space.” He said, exasperated. “For now, just assume that if I’m still wearing the sunglasses, they’re still spacey.” He said. Natasha didn't look all that impressed.
Clint looked very confused. “This is some sort of in-joke, right?” He asked,
Tony grinned, not answering, and turned towards the door. “I’ll get Thor, meet me outside, ok? Ok.”
He didn't wait for an answer.
They all met just outside SHIELD, Thor following Tony obediently after leaving Mjolnir to guard Loki. It was… a little weird to have the god of thunder following him around like a puppy. Though, Tony could see the resemblance between him and a golden retriever.
The walk to the Shawarma place was short, and since the menu was mostly destroyed, what they ate was completely up to fate.
Fate, and the man making it who was going about it like it was any other day. Tony respected the hell out of that dude.
He could still see the stars, their centres and layers and how they worked, the whispers exchanged between them, the praise and joy in the ones that did carry life, or civilisation, of which there was a lot more than Tony would’ve thought, from supergiants to brown dwarfs and everything in between. Pulsars and quasars and neutron stars. There was so much…
Someone tapped him on his shoulder. “Yes what?” Tony said eloquently, muffled around the bite of shawarma he’d forgotten he’d had in his mouth. looking around for the person who’d been probably trying to get his attention for the past couple minutes.
Bruce was looking at him, concerned. “Are you ok?” He asked.
This time, Tony chewed and swallowed before talking. “Yeah, I’m fine. Did you want something?” He asked. Bruce glanced down at Tony’s less than half-eaten shawarma, and Tony shoved it over. Bruce started to protest, and Tony waved him off. “It’s fine, I’m not hungry.”
Bruce shot him a grateful look, and wolfed down the wrap-sandwich thing quicker than Tony would’ve thought humanly possible. There was silence, except for the sound of chewing and noisy slurping at straws, and the quiet swish-swish of the store owner and his broom. It was… kinda nice, being around people. “I,” He said, breaking the silence and drawing everyone’s eyes to his. Or, in the general direction of his face, “Have a great idea.”
Natasha raised her eyebrows at him.
He glared at her. “You shush. It’s a great idea. Perfect, even.”
She still didn't look like she believed him, but everyone else seemed interested.
“Ok, first things first. Where the hell do you all live?” He asked, though it was rhetorical. Clint and Natasha lived in the SHIELD barracks, Steve had an apartment that he spent less time in than various gyms, destroying punching bags, Bruce had just got to New York, he’d either be at SHIELD or at some seedy motel, and Thor…
He actually didn't know about Thor. “Anyway,” He continued, when he realised that they were all looking at him expectantly, “Come live in the Tower. It’ll be great. Bruce-” He pointed at the man in question, who looked halfway to napsville, “-more lab space and funding than you’ll know what to do with. Clint-” He pointed at him, “-State of the art firing range that you don’t have to sign up for timeslots, and can use whenever the hell you want.” He paused. “And free food. Thor-”
“Aye, Lord Anthony?” Thor said cheerfully, looking ridiculously pleased with his food, while Bruce and Clint seemed to be actually considering it.
Tony blinked for a second at the title. “Ok, first of all, Tony. My name is Tony. Do you got that?”
“Aye, Anthony.” Thor said, smiling serenely.
Tony sighed. “That is the least formal you’re gonna get, isn't it. Now, Foster, right? She’s your… I don’t even know, but you like her, she likes space, I’ve got space, will you move in if I can get her here?” He asked, though, by the way Thor was positively beaming, it wasn't a question that needed answering.
He dug his phone out of his pocket, and JARVIS pre-empted his command and dialled Jane Foster.
It was picked up the the third ring. “Hello, Darcy, Jane Foster’s intern, at your service.” A youngish sounding woman answered in the flattest tone Tony had ever heard. “Unless you’re SHIELD. If you’re SHIELD, you can shove this phone, yes, the one you’re using, up your ass. I STILL HAVEN'T GOTTEN MY IPOD BACK YOU BASTARDS-” The girl yelled, and Tony had to hold the phone away from his ear.
He liked Darcy. “Yeah, not SHIELD. Can I speak to Dr Foster?”
There was silence, and then he had to hold the phone away again as Darcy called for Foster. Thor leaned over, and grinning, whispered loudly, “The lady Darcy is a valiant fighter, who has bested me in single combat. She is a worthy friend.”
Tony blinked. That was certainly a story he was going to have to get later, but for now, Foster was on the phone. “Hello?” She said, rather distractedly, the words muffled, presumably from holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder. “I’m on a bit of a limited time-frame here, I’m sure you’ve heard so, did you want anything?”
“Lab space and funding.” He said, there was stunned silence.
“We don’t exactly have an abundance of either, and I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you better explain yourself or I’m going to have up and go back to trying to figure out how a wormhole opened in New York!” Foster snapped.
Tony grinned. “Oh, I’m sorry. Tony Stark, here, and I meant lab space and funding for you.”
There was the sound of crashing and yelling, and the next time someone spoke, it was Darcy. “What’s the catch.” She said, so deadly serious that Tony could totally believe she’d taken out Thor.
“No catch. Recent events make me think that having a wormhole expert on hand might be a good idea, I want the best, and Dr. Foster is the best.” He said. Darcy made a suspicious humming sound, nearly drowning out Foster’s questions. “No catch.” He repeated. “Though, I will admit to having ulterior motives. I’m trying to get everyone in one place, and I’m going to be completely honest, I’m using Foster as bait for Thor.”
There was a small thud, possibly the phone being dropped, and Darcy and Foster began arguing in hushed voices. Apparently, he was on speaker phone now. “Two conditions.” Foster said. “One, SHIELD gets nothing.” She bit out.
“Done.” Tony said easily.
“Two, Darcy comes with me.”
“Done. They’ll be people over to pack up your stuff, plane tickets for whenever you can get to the airport, and I’ll send you a floor plan so you can pick your labs and rooms. You wanna talk to Thor?” Tony glanced at Thor, who was nodding his head so vigorously Tony was honestly afraid he was going to get whiplash. “He wants to talk to you.”
There was a very high-pitched noise sound of agreement, and Tony tossed the phone to Thor, who caught it and moved to the side of the room, talking as loudly and gesturing as wildly as he would’ve if Foster would’ve been standing there.
He looked back at Clint who shrugged. “I’m in if Nat’s in.” He said, and that was good enough for Tony.
He turned to Bruce, who looked sheepish, grateful, and terrified in equal measure. “I don’t know-”
Tony held out his hands and shook his head. “Ok, stop. If you’re worried about the big guy, I’ve got Thor. If anyone can contain him, not that I think he’ll need containing, it’s him.” Tony said. Bruce nodded tentatively, and Tony whooped.
Natasha was looking at him expectantly. “And you.” Tony said, and grinned. “Fury’s probably going to order someone to do it anyway, so you can stick around to make sure I don’t blow up the sun or whatever the hell he thinks I’m likely to do.” He waited, a split second while Natasha thought about it, and then she nodded.
An agreement.
“Can you?” Steve asked, interrupting Tony’s moment of victory. “Blow up the sun, I mean.” He elaborated.
Tony thought about that for a second. “Is it a possibility? Yeah.” He said. At everyone’s alarmed looks, except for Thor, who was still talking loudly and excitedly with Jane, he realised that might have been a little alarming, and backtracked. “Would I? Hell no. I live here, and the sun is, you know, pretty critical for life.”
No one seemed any more reassured at that.
Tony rolled his eyes. “Jesus, If I wanted to pull a Loki and take over the planet, I’d’ve done it already. I’m no less capable of taking over the world than I was yesterday, and no more willing to do it. I gave away my own company because I hated being in charge of it. I do not want to have to be in charge of the world.” He paused. “And, even if I did want to, blowing up the sun would kill everybody, and they’re be no one left to rule over, and even if I limited it to a massive solar flare to knock out electronics, why would I do that!?” He continued, getting louder and louder, irrationally angry at how terrible they thought his “take over the world” attempt would be. “I’m the tech guy. That is what I am known for. Though, I could shield my stuff beforehand…” He trailed off, lost in thought for a moment.
“Okayyyy,” Clint said, smiling weakly and snapping Tony out of his thoughts. “You’re not taking over the world, right?”
Tony frowned. They’d just been discussing that, hadn't they? “No. Even if I did, I wouldn't want it. I’d probably give it to Pepper.” He said, and heard Natasha mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, “That poor woman.”
“Great!” Clint said, and clapped once, hard and sudden. “What about Steve.”
Steve was… looking a little lost, and a lot concerned. Tony beamed at him. “Well, the team leader’s gotta go where the team goes, right Cap?” Tony said, and for a second, he’d actually forgotten their rocky start, in lieu of the relief that’d been on his face when he woke up.
But, Steve smiled, just a little bit. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
And then just like that, Tony had invited a team of superheroes to live in his house.
Awesome.
When they walked back out into the city, it was dark out. Tony took lead, by some unspoken agreement, and they began walking back to the tower.
Halfway back, Natasha nudged Tony, who was still sporting his sunglasses. “Look up.” She hissed, and Tony knew a threat when he heard one.
He looked up.
“Woah.” He said, and behind them, the rest of the team also turned their heads up. The stars were blazing, nearly as bright as they were inside his mind’s eye, nearly as bright as they had been inside the portal, so bright that the milky way stretched above them.
Which, that the majority of New York still had power, should not have been possible, considering the light pollution. “Can you turn them down?” She hissed. “The civilians are freaking out.”
Tony considered that, and slowly, so slowly it was near imperceptible, the stars dimmed. They were still brighter than they should’ve been, more constellations visible than normal in the foggy, bright New York nighttime.
Tony grinned at Natasha, who shook her head. “Бог помог нам всем.” She whispered.
Gods can not help you. We are more. The stars replied, quietly amused at Natasha’s plea. Tony agreed with both sentiments.
God help them all, indeed.
There were delicious, delicious smells coming from what was apparently now the common kitchen, but Tony ignored them, and the man creating them, and bee-lined for the coffee machine.
“Hey, Stark.” Someone called, and Tony grunted, not currently awake enough to engage in any conversation that involved coherent words on his part. The voice chuckled. “Infinite power, and he can’t function without coffee.” Clint, Tony had ingested enough computer who he was talking to, said.
Tony flipped him the bird without looking and made a second cup.
Once that was done, he turned around and surveyed the motley crew camped out in his kitchen. Clint was perched on top of a cabinet, eating mini wheats directly out of the box, wearing atrocious purple pyjamas. Bruce was cooking… Well, Tony didn't know what it was, but it smelled really good, and there was a dark-haired girl sitting at the island, clutching a mug of coffee like it was a lifeline.
For now, he ignored the girl, and turned to Bruce. “No.” He said, offended but mostly horrified. “Banner, what the hell!?” He asked, and Bruce looked up, hunching in on himself a little and opening his mouth to start what was probably an apology. Clint was watching with narrowed eyes, but Tony only cared about the fact that Bruce was still wearing the shitty SHIELD clothes he’d been given yesterday. “C’mon, Buddy, you are making my heart hurt, and I don’t need that.” Tony looked up at the ceiling helplessly. “JARVIS, did you tell the good doctor that he could get clothes? Like, literally anything that would be more comfortable than those? Did you sleep like that?” He asked, and now Bruce looked less like he wanted to crawl away to some forest in India, and more sheepish.
“I, I kinda, well, crashed.” He explained, hand rubbing the back of his neck.
Clint snorted. “Yeah, on the nearest soft surface. Which happened to be the carpet.” He said, and Tony gave Bruce a look he wasn't sure translated with the state his eyes were in.
His response was interrupted by the girl at the table. “Holy shit dude! What happened to your eyes?” Darcy, that was definitely Darcy’s voice, shouted.
Tony looked at her, expression flat. “Space.” He said, completely deadpan, and turned to try and snag a delicious-looking ball thing from one of Bruce’s pans.
His hand had barely brushed the thing when a wooden spoon smacked the back of his hand. He recoiled, clutching his hand, and shot a wounded look at Bruce. “They’re not done. You can have some when they’re done.” Bruce said patiently as if he was explaining it to a small child.
Yeah, well if childishness was what Bruce expected, he’d get it. Tony stuck his tongue out at him, and dug in the fridge.
It was, unsurprisingly, not well-stocked. He had no idea what Bruce was using to work his magic, but if it was actual magic, Tony was willing look the other way.
Finding nothing he particularly wanted to eat, he closed the fridge and turned to the pantry, shaking out a couple tylenols into his hand and swallowing them dry because even having near-infinite power did not stop him from feeling like he’d been run over by a bus. Repeatedly. Without the armor.
He took a seat at the island, where Darcy was surveying him with narrowed eyes. “That is freaky. Like, sci-fi/horror freaky. You look like the main antagonist on a Doctor Who episode.” Darcy said, not seeming at all freaked out. She tilted her head. “Actually, with the whole-” She gestured, a movement that Tony had no idea how to decipher. “-Thing, you’ve got the Cyberman impression down pat.”
Tony made an offended noise. “Are you seriously comparing my technological marvel to a clunky piece of prop-department shit held onto a person by metallic duct-tape and hope?” He exclaimed, looking at Darcy with disbelief.
She considered that, and nodded. “Yes, that does appear to be what I’m doing.”
Tony opened his mouth for what he was sure would’ve been a scathing reply, but Bruce dropped a plate in food in front of him, another by Darcy, and reached up to pass one to Clint. Tony gave up the conversation in deference to inhaling the food on his plate.
Turned out staying up half the night trying to create a new star makes you a little bit hungry.
He had done it though, gathered together hydrogen and dust, parts of a nebula, a stellar nursery, until there was a tiny, newborn proto-star shining back at him.
A small woman entered, wearing flannel pajamas that were way too big for her, and yawned as she navigated her way towards the coffee maker. She patted Darcy on the head as she passed, and Tony decided she must be Foster.
She didn't seem to notice him as she made herself coffee, or anyone but Darcy, for that matter, and she blinked owlishly when she turned back around and noticed that she was not alone. She flushed, embarrassed, and stammered, glancing around the room. “I didn't know anyone else was here, thank you so much, Mr Stark-” She met his eyes, and stopped dead.
Yeah, this conversation was going to have to happen a lot.
She narrowed her eyes, a look Tony was very familiar with, scared but only a little, buried underneath burning curiosity, and took a step forwards. “Is that… Messier 13?” She asked.
Tony had to think about that for a second, from earth to the cluster of stars, the angle and distance. After all, the stars didn't name themselves, or at least, not in a way that at all translated to English or any language on any planet. “Yep.”
“How-” She started, and stopped when Thor walked into the room, his presence like a freight train, loud and bright and far too chipper for the ass-crack of dawn, and Tony let his forehead thunk onto the countertop with a groan. From somewhere in the room, he heard Thor laugh. “There is no indignity in feeling battles past, Anthony!”
It didn't really help. Tony groaned, again. “More of me is bruises than not.” He admitted, and Thor laughed again.
Coffee. Coffee could fix this.
He was halfway through the cup when he realised that coffee was not supposed to have crunchy bits in it. He looked down at his coffee, and the mini wheats floating in it. He looked up at Clint. Back at the coffee.
Tony shrugged, and downed it. Pepper was always telling him he needed more fiber anyways, and he sure as hell wasn't going to waste coffee because there happened to be cereal in it.
Clint gave him a grudgingly impressed look from his spot on top of the cabinet.
Wait.
“Why the hell are you on top of the cabinet?” Tony asked, narrowing his eyes.
Natasha breezed into the room, dropping a large imposing-looking file in front of him with a bang. “It’s his thing. Don’t question it too much.” She said, somehow looking graceful even as she sat on the counter underneath and to the right of Clint, whispering up to him in what sounded like Russian.
Bruce passed food to Foster and Thor, the later who dug in with abandon, the former pelting Bruce with scientific questions that Tony listened in on with half an ear. After they were both finished eating, they left, presumably to check out their new labs. Darcy pulled Thor away soon after, and Tony was left with Clint and Natasha.
Clint hopped down, feet near soundless on the landing, and left.
Just him and Natasha, then. “Did you know that there are 1.15709618424 stars in the observable universe?” He said, not looking up, because that’s what they’d agreed. A wordless, between-the-lines promise, but a promise nonetheless. He smiled a little. “1.15710483924, now. Because every second, light from farther away can reach us. The universe, the universe as you know it, is growing.” He said, and shot her a look.
Her face was a blank mask, but there was fear there, in her eyes. Fear of him. “I know, because I can feel all of them. You don’t- you can’t understand what that’s like. Human minds were never designed for that. You know that the sun is massive, but you don’t understand.” He said, and she did look afraid. Tony sighed. “Look. I am voluntarily telling you what I’m capable of. I’m not- this isn't a threat. I’m not-”
“Human.” Natasha interrupted, and caught off guard, Tony blinked. “Human minds can’t comprehend it. But you can.”
“But I can.” Tony agreed. “I don’t know how, really, my brain should’ve melted by now, but I can.” He took a deep breath. He knew how terrifying this must be to her, must be to everyone who knew, but he had one last card to play. “I can’t hurt the earth.” He said, and she frowned, the tiniest furrow between her brow. “I can’t,” He repeated, “Because they won’t let me. The stars won’t let me use them to hurt their children.”
She blinked at him. “You say that like they care. Like they’re capable of caring.” She accused.
Tony spread his hands. “Because they do. Every one of them that holds life, they love it, and they’re so proud of it.” He said. “And they don’t understand death the same way we do, because they don’t die, they just… don’t, even when they go supernova or collapse into a black hole, it’s not death, they’re not ceasing in any way.” He took a deep breath, needing her to understand. “But they know what death is. They’ve seen civilisations die, and they will do anything in their power to stop theirs from dying. From being killed.”
“Even if that threat is you.” She said, and Tony could see it, see that she understood, that even if he did try to burn the world, he couldn't.
“I think, yes. Even if it’s me.” He said, and Natasha hopped off the counter and breezed by him.
She tapped the file. “Read it.” She said, and she was gone.
But Tony wasn't alone.
Tony closed the file with a final-sounding thud. “Fury’s really quite scared of me, Isn't he?” He asked, amused.
“Sir, I think he is rather terrified of you.” JARVIS answered.
Tony laughed, warm and bright as a sun, and let the stars shine out of his eyes. “As he should be, J. As they should be.”
#rowanwhispers#tony stark#TONY STARK CONTROLS SPACE#so this turned out to be more the stars are a sentient-hive-mind that happens to be attatched to Tony than tony can control space#but whatever#HOPE U GUYS LIKE IT 100 FOLLOWERES WHOOT WHOOT
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