Buck is more nervous when Brendon meets Bobby and Athena, than he was when Brendon met his parents. (Which that went horribly because Buck found out about the whole Daniel thing from an Oncologist at PTMC and the first time Brendon met the Buckleys was while they were dealing with that).
It’s the first time Brendon flies out with him to LA. They stay at a hotel, which is weird for Buck in the first city that he called home. But it works out, and ends up being nicer than the couch surfing he’s done in the past when visiting.
Brendon is calm about most of it. He’s nervous in that he knows Bobby and Athena mean the world to Evan. But any one has to be better than the Buckleys. He also didn’t get the Shark nickname for nothing. He’s confident in who he is and knows himself.
Which, it’s good that Brendon is calm. Because Buck is freaking the fuck out. Bobby has never really approved of any one that Buck dated in the past. Everyone in Pittsburgh had already kind of known both he and Brendon before they started dating. They’d also quietly gotten together during Covid. So it had kind of just been a thing that got mentioned and everyone moved on from.
But this was different. Brendon was meeting his family. And they were on vacation, so Park the Shark was not the forefront. Sure, Buck knew that who Brendon was when he worked was the same person as his boyfriend. But it was different. He had a professional front he put on. It lurked beneath the surface, that sometimes came out when the occasion called for it. But Brendon was much looser outside of the hospital. All his sharp edges softened, to include his hair that wasn’t gelled back from his face. His smiles were more free, though his dry humor and sarcastic quips weren’t far beneath the surface.
All of it, Buck was very much in love with and he couldn’t wait to introduce his boyfriend and first serious relationship since Abby. But he was also scared because he wanted his family to approve.
- -
Meeting Bobby goes well. Of course it does.
“Hey Buck, it’s good to see you,” Bobby said with an easy smile, and immediately pulled him into a hug. Buck sunk into the hug and squeezed tightly.
It’d taken a long time, therapy, and several video calls for them to work through everything. But their relationship was better for it. To Buck’s surprise, they seemed to have more of a father/son relationship than when Buck worked at the 118.
“Hey Pops,” Buck said with a grin. Then he stepped back and hesitated slightly, but Brendon was already reaching a hand out.
“Th-this is my boyfriend, Brendon,” Buck said, nervously.
“Brendon Park,” the man said, while firmly shaking Bobby’s hand.
“It’s nice to finally meet you without a screen between us,” Bobby said, “but, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to dinner.”
Buck easily followed Bobby into the familiar house, grasping Brendon’s hand and tugging him down the stairs after them.
Athena stood up from the chair she was sitting in, and Buck let go of his boyfriend’s hand to greet Athena.
“Hey ‘Thena,” Buck said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
“Hey Baby, you look good. Pittsburgh still treating you alright?” She asked, critically giving him an up and down, before she moved beyond him to start studying Brendon.
“Yeah, still not a fan of the cold. I forgot how cold it is there,” he shuddered, “but it’s good and the transfer to pediatrics has been a nice change of pace.”
“It’s nice to see him actually sit down, take breaks, and eat a meal,” Brendon spoke up, stepping up beside him, one hand resting on Buck’s hip. “This is for you.” He said, using his other hand to give Athena a bottle of wine.
“You did your homework,” she said. Her gaze was assessing as she took in everything about the man, from the way he held himself to the way he orbited around Buck.
“My Ma taught me well. She’d have sent some of her canned tomatoes if she were feeling better,” he said.
“That’s what you bring if you’re trying to impress Bobby,” Athena said with a knowing look. Buck blushed when her eyes cut to him. “Buck, will you go get some glasses for us?” She asked.
Buck gave his boyfriend an apologetic look as he abandoned them, but Brendon only smirked. He did like a good challenge. Just not a puzzle.
Bobby grinned when Buck entered the kitchen.
“Athena giving him an interrogation?” He asked.
“Seems like it… maybe I should go back,” he said, already looking back over his shoulder.
“Why don’t you pour the wine, let it breathe, and then go rescue your boyfriend,” Bobby said, already directing Buck into the kitchen and handing him a cutting board and knife. Bobby took the wine from him and set it up.
“Is this a new cutting board?” Buck asked, looking at it closely.
“May said they were supposed to be anti-scratch. I think she’s been watching too many TikToks,” Bobby said, joining him back at the stove.
“Most plastic boards are made from polypropylene,” Buck said, and then began to talk about the properties of polypropylene and why it was one of the options recommended for cutting boards.
Bobby smiled fondly while Buck talked. When he noticed he blushed and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Sorry, got carried away,” he said, moving back to the wine.
“It’s good to see you with energy again,” Bobby said. Reaching out to squeeze Buck’s shoulder. Buck smiled sadly. Covid had been hard. It had been especially hard on the first responders and medical field.
“It’s nice to have the energy to have interests again,” Buck murmured, before grabbing the wine glasses and disappearing back into the living room.
Athena and Brendon were talking about cars, of all things. Buck knew Brendon loved working on cars, it was how they became friends, after all. But to hear Athena talking about them threw Buck for a loop.
“I know a thing or two about cars,” Athena said raising her brows at Buck, “more than you, I’d guess.” She’s said to Buck pointedly. Brendon groaned.
“Don’t get me started on his Jeep,” he sighed, accepting the glass of wine from Buck.
“Hey, she’s still running just fine,” Buck said, handing the other glass off to Athena.
“That’s because you live with your mechanic,” Athena said, “I’ve seen you working on that Jeep. She’s still moving because of that man over there.” She’s nodded at Brendon, who was smirking into his glass of wine. The traitor.
“Hey Buck! Did you still want to learn how to make soufflés?” Bobby called from the kitchen, Buck eagerly took a step to the kitchen, before remembering Brendon. His boyfriend only smiley and reached a hand out to squeeze Buck’s.
“Go, I’m good here,” he said.
“You sure? I don’t mind,” Buck said.
“Go Baby, you’ve been looking up recipes for weeks,” Brendon said. Buck doesn’t need to be told twice.
“Here, butter the ramekins. Well. Don’t miss a spot,” Bobby said, pointing him to where he’d set up the ingredients, “they can sit while we finish up the rest of dinner. We’ll put them in the oven later. Do you and Brendon have anywhere to be later?”
“No, I think we can stay for awhile,” Buck said with a grin, feeling at ease knowing that Brendon was getting along with Athena, and he’d get to know Bobby more over dinner.
“Great, we’ll put them in the oven when we’re ready,” Bobby said. “We need to keep an eye on them to time when we take them out, but we don’t want to baby sit them or open the oven too soon.”
The rest of dinner went well. When they were all sitting around with coffee, eating the successful soufflés, Buck smiled. Brendon’s hand was on his thigh as he and Bobby talked about figure skating. Buck had been surprised to find how into figure skating Brendon was. The man enjoyed watching most sports. He also appreciated sports like figure skating and gymnastics that required effort, dedication, determination, and strength. Clearly Bobby enjoyed having someone to talk to about it as well.
Athena smiled at Buck over her coffee cup and he asked her about May and Harry. He was planning to take them out for dinner while they were in town, but he liked getting the down low from Athena first.
They stayed later than they meant to but Buck left feeling content. This meeting of the parents had been everything he had hoped for. The whole Daniel thing aside, meeting the Buckleys was never going to go well. But it had been a shit show.
This had not been. Bobby and Athena had been welcoming. Buck was sure Athena had given Brendon a thorough investigation, but when he passed, they had been nothing but warm.
They said good byes with hugs and Bobby made sure they promised to send some of Brendon’s mom’s tomatoes when she was feeling up to it.
- -
Meeting the rest of the 118 goes alright. Maddie and Chimney have them over for dinner. Things are a little awkward from the previous times they’ve met, when they both made separate stops in Pittsburgh, when Maddie had gone to Boston for her PPD. But Buck enjoys the time with his family, and loves getting to see Jee. Brendon is more Park the Shark, but he softens seeing Jee.
Chris meets Brendon before Eddie, having a day with Buck while the 118 is working. Chris thinks it’s hilarious that his nickname is Park the Shark. He makes Buck and Brendon take him to the aquarium and insists that Brendon needs a Shark keychain from the gift shop.
Bobby hosts a family dinner at his house. Buck is not at all surprised the Brendon mostly just hangs out with Bobby and talks about grilling. Especially not after Maddie and Chimney make their announcement that baby number two is on the way. He appreciates the way Brendon immediately makes his way to Buck, and holds him from behind while Buck watches the celebration. He’s happy for his sister and the life she’s created, but he’s already assessing the risks of her going through PPD again. But, he boxes Nurse Buck away and goes to congratulate his sister.
By the end of the night, Buck is satisfied that his family and boyfriend have finally met in person.
The day before the leave, Buck shows up at the 118 to cook dinner for everyone. Bobby offers to help, but Brendon is willingly there as Buck’s souchef. Brendon talks more with Eddie and Hen. Eddie asks about his workout routine and they bond over Muay Thai. Hen asks about med school, which has Buck side eyeing her wondering about those questions. But with a job to do, and actual topics to discuss, not just people trying to make small talk, or sharing inside jokes, Brendon relaxes. The second dinner with everyone goes much better.
- -
They leave LA and Buck is surprised by how relaxed he feels. He knows the 118 don’t completely understand why he won’t just come back to LA. But they’re still his family, and it means a lot to him that they’ve finally met his boyfriend in person. It also feels like closure, in a way. He doesn’t feel a longing to be back in LA.
He also doesn’t feel like a ghost in his old life when he visits. Instead, he’s looking forward to getting back to his life in Pittsburgh with Brendon. He’s looking forward to seeing his patients, getting back to their trivia karaoke, double dates with Lev and Aster, pretending to make Donato work for a baked good from Buck, trading with Emily on who has to take the toddler patients and bartering with Trixie for the older ones. He’s looking forward to poking his head into the ED, for Dana and Robby to banish him back to PEDS, but only after he’s gotten all the news from Perlah and Princess, made plans with Matteo or Donnie, and checked on how Emma is doing.
He’s looking forward to all of it. But most of all, he’s just looking forward to the life he and Brendon have created together. Buck smiles happily as he and Brendon lean their heads together, watching the lights of LA fade below them, as they fly home to Pittsburgh.
One of my fics that has a special place in my heart, is my Sterek fanfic 'Summoning a demon'. It all started with the fun little idea of Stiles summoning a demon (Derek) to help him beat a video game and things unfurled from there. It's fun, it's fluffy and it has the growing friendship (and more?) between a human and a demon who is sometimes a hellhound.
The story's been sitting in my WIPs for almost two years, patiently waiting for me to add another chapter.
And now I did!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: Sy takes care of his girl after she tests positive for Covid. (Told from Sy’s POV)
Pairing: Sy x reader
Word Count: 675
Warnings: fluff, reader has Covid
A/N: This story was inspired by a little drabble I wrote for my beautiful bestie @cavillsthighs. I added a bit here and there and decided to post it.
Disclaimer: FEEL FREE TO REBLOG IF YOU LIKE THE STORY! Writers live off reblogs! Do not copy any portion of my material to claim as your own. Do not repost my work, or any portions of my work on any site and claim it as your own. Like all my other fics, this was written on my phone and not beta’d.
***
Covid.
Stupid fucking covid. Two years in and she catches stupid fucking covid.
She just wanted to go on one trip. Now she’s in the bed coughing her head off, and trying to keep her fever from spiking again. I feel like the best thing I can do is make soup for her, and get her medicine and tissues when she needs them.
She didn’t want me to stay here but I insisted. Unlike everything else, she couldn’t do this one on her own. I'd already been exposed anyway; there was no way I was leaving her alone during this.
Drying my hands on the dish towel I looked around to make sure everything was done. Trash taken out, dishes washed, dinner warming in the crockpot. Only need to dry the laundry and I’ll be done. I could hear her coughing from my place in the kitchen.
“Sy?” Her hoarse voice broke my heart.
“I’m comin, doll,” I grabbed another bottle of water and headed to the bedroom.
My beautiful love. Normally she was bigger than life. Independent, strong, happy go lucky, but right now she looked so small and helpless. She’s bundled up in her favorite blanket, watching that show she’s been obsessing over. Aika had set up camp at the foot of the bed.
“What’d you need sweetheart?” I can’t stop my brows furrowing in concern.
“You,” she asked softly.
This simple request melted my heart. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for this woman. It’s my honor to be the one she calls for; the one that she wants to hold her when she needs comfort. I should probably tell her that. Putting the cold bottle down on the nightstand, I kicked off my shoes, and pulled my shirt over my head. She watched me the entire time.
“Aika, come,” I called for her to get down. Being a good girl she hopped down immediately finding her bed by the dresser.
Climbing under the cool sheets I could feel her warmth. Her fever was breaking but still stubbornly hanging on. Seeing her smile despite all the bad shit going through her body right now let me know I was doing something right.
“C’mere darlin.” I said softly.
She immediately wrapped her arms around my torso. Her legs tangling with mine never failed to make my heart skip a beat. She laid her head over my heart.
For a moment everything was still, quiet. The soft hum from the fridge down the hall played in my ear. The tinkling sound of the decorations she had hung on the wall moving with the ac almost made me want to drift off. It was peaceful. For a moment. She coughed again, groaned and buried her face in the blanket over my stomach.
When she moved back I ran my fingers through her hair. I began to think how lucky I was to be here with her. I’d been worried about her since she came home. We thought it was the jet lag making her tired; maybe it was her allergies making her cough. As soon as she asked to take that Covid test I knew something was really wrong.
I pulled her closer to me without a second thought. I want to be as close as I can to her right now. I told her I didn’t care if I got it and I meant it. In fact if I could I’d take it from her, go through it for her I would in a heartbeat.
Her fingers skimmed over my chest, playing with my hair. She laid a soft kiss over my heart. I could stay in this moment, if only she felt better. Snuggling deeper into me she unknowingly made me feel on top of the world. Who do all these cuddles benefit here - me or her? I placed a kiss on top of her head.
“I love you,” I whispered against her warm scalp.
Either way, all I know is if serotonin could cure Covid she’d be over it by now.
The Great Bi Awakening has over 600 kudos and 20,000 hits so I decided to celebrate by commissioning a few pieces of art from my friend EvanesDust!
She is a digital artist AND writes a mean Sterek so check her out on Tumblr and AO3. Check out Part 2 of the date here!
EvanesDust was inspired to draw this moment from Chapter 14 (Peter Buys Things for Stiles and Stiles and Derek Go on a Date):
By far the best moment was when he’d been talking about something between dinner and dessert (who knows what) and he’d unknowingly touched his lower lip with his index finger. Derek actually stopped breathing for a moment and went completely still. So Stiles just barely moved his finger, stroking his lower lip, and he may have imagined it, but he was pretty sure that Derek whimpered.
Thank you so much to all the readers; more art and Chapter 30 are coming very soon (and Chapter 30 might just be very spicy)!
Exhausted from his first day in New York City, Tony ducks into a bar just looking for a beer to decompress. In addition to the much-needed drink, he meets a crew of New Yorkers that just might shape the rest of his time in the so-called 'greatest city in the world'.
Read on Ao3
Fluff and humour; young Tony Stark; bar fic; references to COVID-19
Word Count: ~2700
–
“Head upstairs if you’re here to eat! Here to drink, take a seat!”
Tony froze with one foot on wood and one on pavement.
The bartender looked over at him and lifted his chin. There were two other men at the bar; even though it wasn’t that late and the neighbourhood was busy, the apparent intimacy and dim light of the pub made Tony uneasy.
“In or out, kid!” The bartender called, “You’re letting the bugs in.”
The door was propped open, so that was not true.
“Let him be, Stevie!” One of the men at the bar waved at Tony, “Come in, kid, he’s just upset you didn’t like his rhyme.”
Stevie — who did not look one bit like a Stevie, with stormy eyes and a thick beard, at least six feet tall — glowered at his friend, “It’s a good rhyme.”
The men at the bar were seated halfway down, watching a baseball game. Tony climbed into the barstool closest to the door.
Stevie held his hand out, “Proof of vaccination?”
“Oh,” Tony fumbled into his pocket, showing the white cardstock to a cursory glance. The bartender nodded, “Alright, kid, what’ll it be?”
“Guinness,” Tony grunted.
“Wanna open a tab?”
Tony thought about the whirlwind of his first day in New York: hours of meeting and dozens of handshakes and hundreds of notes. All with a crisp shirt and stiff tie strangling his neck.
He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and slapped down a credit card.
“Please.”
The bartender laughed and traded the card for a beer, shooting Tony a thumbs-up.
From the middle of the bar, the other patron pushed his glass toward Steve and indicated for a refill. Then he called, “What’s your name, kid?” He was black and lanky, the guy next to him didn’t turn away from the TV.
Tony hesitated over the fear of name recognition, and in turn the arrogance that accompanied such a concern. He drummed his fingers on the aged lines scraped into the bar and said, “Anthony.”
“Anthony,” The bartender was the one who answered, “Well I’m Steven and this is Samuel and James.”
James snorted, “I’m James, now, am I?"
“Well if he’s gonna be Anthony,”
“Can it, Steve.” James jerked his chin at Tony, “It’s Bucky and Sam.”
Tony took a sip of his beer and nodded, awkwardly raising his glass in Bucky’s direction almost like a toast.
The movement reminded Tony of the blue Piaget shimmering on his wrist, and he tucked his hands into his lap to pull it off and stuff it in his pocket.
“So Anthony, you live around here or just visiting?”
Tony took a sip of his beer and — thinking better of dropping the word Malibu right now — he said, “I’m from LA,”
“Los Angeles, huh. You a Lakers fan?”
Before Tony could say no — until last year he’d thought Shaquille O’Neal was a famous recording artist, and he knew even less about other LA sports — there was movement in the door to the pub.
Steve raised his voice “Lang! We got another Cali boy in town!” Steve waved in a guy with wavy black hair and a tilt on the edge of his lips. He was dressed almost identically to Tony — black t-shirt, faded blue jeans, albeit Lang’s sneakers were threadbare in comparison to Tony’s.
“Oh yeah, what part of California you from?” Lang jumped into the seat right next to Tony and clapped him on the back, “M’names’s Scott.”
“His name’s Anthony!” Sam enunciated from down the bar, “And Scott’s got a record, kid, so if you’re gonna hide the watch then put it in your other pocket.”
Tony’s face flooded with heat, but he didn’t get to defend himself or try and splutter out “I wasn’t trying to hide it!” Because Scott was pointing at Steve already.
“Get me what the kid’s having. How long till you go back to LA, buddy?”
“Uhh, well, I just moved here last week. So… probably won’t go back till the holidays, to see my Mom.”
“O-ho, new in town and sticking around, huh?” Scott took a sip of his beer and made a face, “This is boring. Steve, two of something interesting. Dealer’s choice,” Scott pointed at Tony, “I’ll cover the kid’s.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen his watch,” Bucky snorted.
“Leave him alone, Buck!” Steve reached for several bottles of liquor, the light behind the bar shifted with the movement of glass bottles, fragmenting into rainbow and then shards of yellow and green.
Sam nudged Bucky, “You want a fancy watch? Maybe Parker will get you for Secret Santa.”
“Hey where is Parker?” Tony started and turned around, feeling guilty because he wasn’t expecting to hear a female voice here. But there was a woman swaying down the steps from the restaurant upstairs. She must be a waitress, Tony thought, based on her black outfit and the apron around her waist, it made her dyed red hair much more prominent as it fell around her shoulders. Her eyes flashed in the low light of the bar, and she passed Steve a stack of white tickets.
She blinked owlish eyes at Tony and her painted lips curved into a smile, “I’m Natasha,” She said and winked, “Welcome to Steve’s little slice of paradise, don’t let the boys get to you.”
Natasha put a hand on the back of Tony’s neck, making him jump, and gently scratched. It sort of reminded him of his mother, and he couldn’t decide if that was comforting or unsettling. Steve reviewed the drink orders she’d given him and muttered something about bachelorette parties before grabbing a bottle of watermelon schnapps.
“Hey,” Natasha’s voice cut through the drone of white noise from the game on TV, “Anyone gonna answer me about Parker?”
“Hey, Parker’s a big kid now. He’s probably still at work.” Sam shrugged.
“Poor bastard,” Scott pouted and batted his eyelashes at Tony, “I’d hate that. I mean who wants to be at work at ten o’clock on a Friday!”
“Can’t imagine.” Steve deadpanned from behind the bar, and Tony barely contained his laugh.
Scott nudged Tony, “Parker waited tables up here for years. Probably about your age. When did he first show up, Steve, twenty-fifteen?”
“Something like that.” Steve shrugged, “What do you think, Buck, when did we meet Pete?”
Bucky hummed over the question, not quite paying attention. The light of the TV reflected the green of Yankee Stadium onto his cheeks, it made his blue eyes paler.
Finally he said, “Peter started working in fifteen. But I think we knew him before then.”
Steve put five drinks on a platter and pushed it toward Natasha, who swept them up with a kiss blown at Tony before heading back to the stairs. Steve put two martini glasses down in front of Tony and Scott.
“Pumpkin espresso,” he said shortly, “That interesting enough for you, Lang?”
Scott took a sip. Tony did too, and thought it was too sweet and that espresso was the wrong flavor for night-time, but he didn’t want to say the wrong thing.
Steve glanced at the door of the pub and whistled, “Well look what the cat dragged in,”
The others turned. Bucky chortled and lifted his drink in salute, “Speak of the devil.”
Scott reached to grasp Tony’s shoulder, lifting his voice to address everyone, “Ladies and gents, esteemed guests — all the way from Queens. Please welcome —”
“More like all the way from Wall Street,” A distinctly New-York-accent answered, “I just got off work.”
Tony blinked at the young man who’d just walked in, and suddenly he felt silly sitting at the bar in a t-shirt with a beer and a pumpkin espresso martini in front of him. The boy who entered had tousled brown hair the color of dark chocolate — and perhaps just as rich. His eyes were whisky, his complexion fair and porcelain, cheekbones sharp. He must have changed since leaving Wall Street — but then again Tony had done the same — as he was wearing tight black slacks and a lapel striped shirt. The collar of his peacoat was popped up, his eyebrows lifted delicately when he caught sight of Tony.
“Who’s our new friend?”
He didn’t move from the doorway, but Steve poured a shot of liquor and slid it in the boy’s direction anyway.
“This is Anthony.” Scott said, “Anthony, this is Peter. He’s an investment banker.”
Peter scowled and finally walked in, jerking his chin at Steve in thanks as he picked up the shot glass, “I’m not an investment banker, Scott. I’m an investment data analyst.”
Sam shot back, “In the financial district. You’re basically an investment banker.”
“No I’m—”
Bucky interrupted this time, “Third vote for investment banker. That’s what you do, Parker.”
Peter sighed and downed his shot. Tony uncertainly took a drink from his beer, trying desperately to remember if this Peter was one of the hands he’d shaken or new faces he’d met today.
“So how’s the country’s fake money looking, Parker?”
Peter leaned back against the bar as Steve refilled his glass. He picked it up, his gaze settled intently on Tony for a few seconds, but then he answered Steve’s question, “What can I say? Apparently pandemics are good for business.”
“Maybe your business.” Steve grunted, and Peter laughed.
“Yeah, my business.” He conceded, “Though I think we’re on the verge of a shake-up. Howard Stark’s son flew into town this week, they’re all ready for him to take over the company. Take the training wheels off or some bullshit like that,” Peter’s glass nearly slammed onto the bar again, Steve refilled it without a word.
No one said anything. Tony wondered if Steve had noticed the last name on his credit card.
Then Scott said, “Who’s Howard Stark?”
Bucky answered, “Don’t you know, Lang? He plays for the Nets!”
“Hey fuck off Barnes!”
Peter laughed.
Tony smiled.
Bucky drawled, “Is this going to affect anyone’s fake money?”
“Nah, not such that it matters.” Peter shrugged, “It’s just interesting is all.” Then he looked at Tony again, “Anthony, what brings you to New York?”
Before Tony could answer, the bar launched into a chorus,
“New York, New York, big city of dreams! And everything in New York ain’t always what it seems! You might get fooled if—”
“Wow, I need to be way drunker for this,” Peter downed another shot. Bucky, Sam, and Steve’s off-key singing shattered into laughter.
“Well you gotta sing it with us, Queens.” Steve winked at Tony, “Parker sings pretty as a lark.”
“Peter!” Natasha was back, and she hopped down the last few steps as she hurried to wrap an arm around Peter’s waist, “Welcome home, Pete. How’re they treating you downtown?”
“Ehh, they pay me too much for me to complain about it.” Peter sighed, “I miss you guys.”
“You never know, love, the next audition might’ve been your big break.” Nat drew her arm across his back too. Peter’s smile was bitter, storied.
“That’s the thing about those auditions,” he sighed. He picked up his shot glass again but just swirled the contents instead of drinking, “It’s always maybe this one but never that one.”
Scott announced with disturbing confidence, “I bet you could be that Orgasm kid in the Greek show.”
Silence.
Sam whispered something to Bucky. Steve sighed and massaged his forehead.
Peter groaned and put his elbows on the bar, burying his face in his hands, “Scott please. You’ve been coming to this bar for fifteen years. We are a block from Broadway — it’s Orpheus in the musical Hadestown.”
“Can’t keep up with these things,” Scott shrugged.
Peter lifted his head with a dramatic groan, his cheeks were flushed pretty pink. Maybe from the warmth inside the bar, or maybe from the drink spreading through him. “Look, I like that show as much as the next guy. But I threw in the towel. Sold out,” Peter tugged on his peacoat for show; Tony caught glimpse of a watch shimmering on his left wrist just past the sleeves, “I wouldn’t deserve the role. They gotta give those parts to the kids still waiting tables, paying their dues for it.”
Steve's voice was soft, “Nothing wrong with growing up, Pete.”
Peter’s smile was wan, “Yeah, I just wish I knew the difference between growing up and giving up.”
“Either way,” Scott coughed and reached to drink from Tony’s glass — Tony realized suddenly that Scott’s was empty — “What are you doing here on a Friday night, Parker? Hanging out with a bunch of old farts.”
“I’m pre-gaming, Scott.” Peter checked his watch; a Cartier. “I actually do have a party to get to,”
“Pre-gaming by paying Steve before going to the party with an open bar… that makes sense,” Sam remarked.
“Oh but you guys’ll like this,” Peter chuckled, “Parties in Brooklyn,”
“Brooklyn!” Steve exclaimed, passing another round of drinks to Natasha.
“Queens is going to Brooklyn?” Bucky crowed, “Better watch your back, Parker.”
“Har-har,” Peter’s gaze swivelled to Tony again. "You drink shots?"
"Uh, sometimes." Tony swallowed.
"Oh yeah? What do you like?"
Tony's mind raced. He scrambled for something that he knew he'd be able to keep down if it came to that, something he'd drunk before, and —
"Tequila,"
The whole bar laughed.
"Tequila," Peter snorted, "Go hard or go home, I guess."
"Well," Tony smirked, "Lots of good and bad memories with tequila, you know. Balances out."
Steve grinned, "And sometimes no memories at all."
"Yeah that's if you're lucky!" Bucky chortled.
"Alrighty Stevie, let's get two tequila shots." Peter pointed to himself and Tony, who hoped his blush wasn't too visible in the dark bar.
They drank them fast. Tony reached too quickly for the relief of the lime wedge.
Peter was already moving on by the time Tony's stomach had settled around the burn. The boy waved a lighter, “You smoke, Anthony?”
Tony hesitated long enough that Peter rolled his eyes, “Please don’t say smoke what.”
“No!” Tony gasped, cheeks turning red again, “No, I do smoke. And I — and I smoke whatever. I just… not often.”
The smell was hard to get out of clothes and hair and nails, it always seemed to linger too long. Wasn’t very professional.
“Well,” Peter downed another shot and then passed a credit card to Steve, “I’m gonna step out to smoke and then head to this party. Don’t suppose you wanna join me?”
From down the bar, Bucky gasped, “Peter and Anthony, sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-!”
Sam hit him. Bucky quieted when Steve passed him another drink.
“Anthony?” Peter was taking his card back from Steve and heading toward the door, “You coming?”
Tony thought about the fact that this kid didn’t like him. This boy had toiled for years at a minimum wage job trying to make it as an artist before going to work in finance. Now here was Tony, inheriting a business from his dad without so much as lifting a finger. Clearly it rubbed Peter the wrong way.
And Peter didn’t even know who he was, simply because he didn’t know what Tony Stark looked like. Wasn’t expecting the Stark Industries heir to be sitting in his old haunt in the theatre district on a Friday night.
“Well, someone’s gotta watch your back in Brooklyn, right?” Tony hopped off the barstool and Steve walked to the register to close his tab.
“That’s a good man!” Scott called after Tony when he took his card back, “Make sure Peter stays in one piece tonight, Anthony!”
“See you next week, Parker!”
Out on the sidewalk, Peter passed Tony a hand-rolled cigarette and opened Uber on his phone. They lit up in silence, Tony stuffed his hands into his pockets and grumbled,
“This is as cold as it gets in New York, right?”
Peter snorted, “It’s not even forty degrees, man. You got way worse than this to look forward to.”
Then he grinned at Tony, and he looked young. “Anthony…” Peter trailed off, looking like he’d eaten something sour. Then he cocked his head to the side, “Little much, huh. Mind if I call you Tony?”
Tony swallowed. Not long from now — maybe next week, maybe next month — Peter was going to put two-and-two together. But just for a moment it was nice to stand here with someone who didn’t know him because of Howard or SI. Who just thought he was a cute guy at the bar worth bringing to a party in Brooklyn.
“Yeah, Tony’s fine.”
Peter nodded and lifted his cigarette to his lips, “Welcome to New York, Tony. Greatest city in the world, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Additional Tags: 12 Days of Christmas, 12 Days of Tropemas, Coffee Shops, Modern Era, Post-Canon, First Kiss, Reincarnation, Light Angst
Summary:
A collection of Christmas ficlets and drabbles, for MFBC server's 12 Days of Tropemas prompts!
Chapter Summary:
Trope 1: Coffee Shop AU
Merlin likes working in the coffee shop during December, with all the Christmas spirit, at yet he's never been one to believe in Christmas miracles. But maybe Arthur showing up is one, or maybe it's destiny, or perhaps it's just luck.
Merlin enjoys working in December, perhaps more so than any other time of year. The weekends are just as bad as those in summer, and the tourists aren’t any fewer than usual, but there’s something about it, anyway, that makes it just a little bit better. Perhaps it’s the warmth of the coffee shop in contrast to the cold of the outdoors, the comfortable lull of people chattering and the tinkling of bells from the speakers, or the homey smell of cinnamon coffee and gingerbread. Or perhaps it’s the fuzzy Christmas sweaters they’re asked to wear, the tinsel and lights hanging over the large windows of the shop, or the magic that shines in the air like snowflakes.
There aren’t many who can use magic, anymore, took Merlin quite a good few years before he managed to harness his own, but that doesn’t mean there’s any less of it in the world. Or that it’s any less beautiful. Christmas seems to be the time when there’s most, when it’s particularly potent, and it makes the world feel a little more like it used to, makes Merlin feel a little more like he used to, way back when.
Merlin smiles behind his mask at the customers who enter the shop. He knows he can’t get sick, but it feels like common curtesy to wear one anyway; if everyone else has to suffer through the pandemic, then the least he can do is be supportive. He only wish his healing magic were stronger so he could get rid of this horrible virus, but he supposes sprinkling people’s coffee with protective spells will have to do.
It’s a particularly slow day, and besides the two new costumers who just settled down at a corner table in the back of the coffee shop, there’s only really a few small groups sitting around the shop. Which means Merlin’s mind has time to wander, which is never much of a good thing, in his opinion. But he supposes maybe it’s necessary. He does have a lifetime to process and understand and remember and mourn, and even five years after he woke up on his 18th birthday with memories of another life, it’s still a lot to take in. A lot to miss.
He tries to distract himself from the low ache in his chest by wiping down surfaces and restocking food, but it doesn’t really do much. He can’t stop himself from thinking about it, about him, about how he’d love a specific pastry, or how he’d probably like coffee but be partial to tea, how he’d adore the lights strung up along the streets of London like magic. About how all of them deserved to experience this, not just Christmas, but all of it.
The bell above the door tinkles and Caitlin takes the till, greeting the guests warmly. Merlin settles behind the espresso machine, preparing the drinks as they’re ordered, and hums along to the Christmas song playing quietly over the speakers.
“Just a cup of the Christmas tea, please,” a man says, and Merlin’s world stops for a singular moment. Suddenly he’s not in a coffee shop in London; he’s in a castle far away, hundreds and hundreds of years ago, in a forest; on a battlefield; by a lake.
His eyes dart up, and even with the mask the man is wearing it’s undeniable, because even if Merlin’s memories are a thousand and a half years old, they’re bright and clear, and Merlin remembers his face as if he’d seen it yesterday.
He barely notices the gasp that leaves him, and only notices that he’s dropped the cup in his hand when it shatters against the floor.
Everyone turns, startled, to look at Merlin, but Merlin only has eyes for the man, for Arthur, and his world spins when their gazes meet. Arthur’s eyes are startlingly blue. They take Merlin’s breath away, and he has to avert his eyes.
“Sorry, he mumbles, crouching down on the floor to pick up the broken pieces of the cup, and resolutely stays there until the group of friends have sat down in one of the booths.
Caitlin gives him a weird look. “You alright?”
Merlin grins at her behind his mask. “Yeah, fine. Sorry.”
She waves him off, handing him the dustpan and brush. “Don’t worry about it, it happens. Help me with the final drinks, will you? I’m going to bring over the cakes.”
Merlin nods and throws the ceramic pieces in the bin, before washing his hands and turning back to the espresso machine. He does not let his eyes wander to the new group of guests, does not let himself stare, certainly does not let himself run over and pull Arthur into a bone-crushing hug the way he wants to. Because what if Arthur doesn’t remember? What if Merlin’s the only one who does? How could he possibly begin to explain without sounding mad? And so he hides behind his mask when he brings the group their drinks, keeps his gaze lowered, and scurries back to the safety of the counter as quickly as he can, because it’s a little bit terrifying. He never really expected Arthur to be back, and he’s not sure what he’ll do, now that he is, if he doesn’t remember.
If he was doubting his own memories, if he for some reason wasn’t absolutely certain that it is Arthur, his magic makes it abundantly clear that he hasn’t gotten it wrong. It simmers underneath his skin, reaching out for the magic he can feel within Arthur, the magic that screams the Once and Future King. Arthur probably can’t use it, might not even feel it, but Merlin can, though it’s only barely a flame in comparison to Merlin’s roaring fire. It exists like a blanket around Arthur, a warm protection ebbing and flowing. Merlin can’t be sure, but it feels a little bit like his own magic, and while he doesn’t remember imbuing Arthur with his magic all those years ago, he might have, in his grief. He’s kind of grateful for it now, because now that he’s felt it he thinks he could feel it anywhere. He thinks he’ll always be able to pick it out, from a crowd of thousands, across miles and miles.
“You should ask for his number.”
“Sorry?” Merlin asks, startled.
“The blond one,” Caitlin says, nodding towards the table where Arthur sits. “He’s cute.”
Merlin’s cheeks grow warm. “Uhm..”
“He is the reason you’re acting all nervous, isn’t he?” she asks with a grin.
Merlin rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe.”
“Then go ask him for his number! What’s the worst that could happen?”
Arthur could not remember. Or he could remember and hate Merlin (but no, that’s not fair to Arthur, and Merlin knows that’s not true).
But then, would Merlin really be able to go on with his life as if nothing’s happened, now that he knows Arthur is here too? Even if Arthur doesn’t remember, could Merlin really continue on without him? The obvious and glaring answer is no, of course he can’t.
He nods and smiles at her. “Okay, yeah. I will.” And he really plans to, even though his heart is beating three times its normal speed and his hands are sweaty. But once he’s actually managed to gather up the nerves – he knows every part of Arthur, has seen him in all possible moods and tempers, has been with him through his highs and his lows; how different could this Arthur really be? – and slips out from the backroom where he’s been restocking their latest delivery, the table where Arthur sat is empty.
His shoulders slump in disappointment.
Caitlin gives him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I would’ve called for you when they left but I had customers.”
He waves her off. “It’s alright. I’m sure I’ll bump into him again,” he says with a smile. The magic is still there, tugging him in Arthur’s direction. He’ll find him.
The rest of the afternoon is just as slow as lunch was, and Merlin sends Caitlin home a little early while he closes up. There’s not much to do, and Merlin relishes in the time alone to let his running mind have some time to process the sudden and wonderful change that’s happened. He grins to himself as he gets changed and turns off the lights, leaving the twinkling fairy lights to shine in the window. His magic is swirling inside him, pulling at him to go outside, to find Arthur.
It’s dark outside when he steps into the cold evening air and pulls off his face mask. He stuffs it into his pocket, watching his breath fog in front of him, and fishes out his keys. He locks up and double checks the handle, and then he just kind of stares into the dark shop for a moment with a small smile.
“Did you really think you could hide from me?”
Merlin startles so badly he drops his keys, jerking his head to the side with wide eyes.
Arthur stands there, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, wearing a warm coat and a dark blue scarf that does wonders for the colour of his eyes. Seeing him without the mask causes another trip back in time, and for a moment Merlin is back in Arthur’s chambers, a thousand and some years ago.
Merlin’s magic flickers happily inside him, pulling him towards Arthur. He stubbornly stays where he is.
“Sorry?”
Arthur rolls his eyes and takes a step closer, leaning his shoulder against the shop window. “I’ve known you for almost a decade Merlin, don’t think I don’t know when you’re trying to avoid me. And I know you remember me too,” he says, and Merlin’s eyes are wide and suddenly very wet.
“Arthur?”
Arthur grins, soft and vulnerable and just as teary. “Who else would it be, you idiot?”
Merlin laughs, loud and happy and light. “You’re right. No one else could be such an ass.”
Arthur rolls his eyes at him again, but he’s still smiling, wide and happy too.
Arthur smiles at him softly, standing up and closing the remaining distance between them. He runs his fingers across Merlin’s cheeks. “Me too. Since before I could remember you.”
And Merlin can’t help it, can’t stop his magic and his emotions from pulling him forward, to place his hands on Arthur’s cheeks and kiss him the way he never dared to in their last life. It tastes a little like salt and a little like the Christmas tea Arthur had earlier.
Arthur grins at him when he pulls back. “Maybe I should come back to life more often.”
“No, you should stay alive. I don’t want you to leave,” Merlin says, tucking his hands underneath Arthur’s scarf, placing them against Arthur’s neck.
Arthur’s grin turns soft. “Don’t worry. I have no plans to. Not again.”
Merlin grins and kisses him again. He never much believed in Christmas miracles, but perhaps this is one. Or maybe it’s density, or perhaps it’s just luck.
He pulls away when he feels something cold on his nose.
Arthur laughs and looks up at the sky. A snowflake lands on his cheek.
“Did you do this?” he asks, looking back down at Merlin with amusement and fondness in his eyes.
Merlin chuckles, wiping at his own wet and cold cheeks. “I might’ve.” The way his magic simmers happily under his skin, he wouldn’t be much surprised.
Arthur kisses him again. “You’re a disaster.”
Merlin laughs. “I know. Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologise. I meant what I said, all those years ago,” Arthur says, running warm thumbs over Merlin’s cheekbones. “I want you to be you, disaster or not.”
Merlin grins at him, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck. “And I want you to always be you, dollophead or not.”
Arthur laughs and pulls him into yet another kiss, and Merlin thinks that this is the best Christmas gift he could have ever gotten.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Glee
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Characters: Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Tina Cohen-Chang, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez
Additional Tags: Actor Blaine Anderson, Broadway Star Blaine Anderson, Costume Designer Kurt, Pining
Summary:
Blaine resents covid. It delayed his broadway debut and closed the theaters. But mostly, it pisses him off that every time he sees Kurt, he has a mask covering his face. Will he finally get to see him unmasked.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 4/?
Fandom: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Characters: Christine Daaé, Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Nadir Khan, Other Character Tags to Be Added
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, COVID19
Summary:
Based on a prompt:
Erik is a successful film score composer, but no one knows him. Fronted by the much more palatable Nadir Kanan, his real identity remains a secret and the man himself remains a hermit.
...until a pandemic comes along and ushers in an era of masks.
