#Stark Legacy AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amethystarachnid · 17 days ago

Note

Hey! If your taking requests, I love your work so much and I had an idea I would really love to see how you execute it.

So it would be with Tony Stark, and if its okay Male!Reader, but not romantic, the reader is a teen who is a product of some old fling Tony had and after being poorly taken care of by his mom (whatever that inclines you to write, abuse, bad boyfriend, alcoholism etc.) She dumps him off at stark tower with a note and what little belongings the reader has and his birth certificate to Tony for him to take care of. And the rest of what happens from there is up to you! Basically heavy on the found family troupe, and a little angst with some good fluff. The reader can be from 16-18 still in high school. He has Tony's sarcastic humor and smarts, but he nodes his intelligence because his mom never really helped him appreciate it, basically one of those kids that gets straight A's without seemingly trying and looking kind of stupid, the reader is quiet and a bit cold but that's because of how he was raised, and isn't one to share how he's feeling. If you can do this I'd be so thankful, if not its completely understandable, I hope I gave you enough creative liberty to make it fun, I know it'll be great if you do write it! Again I love your fics so much and I can't wait to read more of what you have!!💜☺

LEGACY

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x male!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: platonic!, a lot of angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: literally what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of abusive household and rader feeling like people keep abandoning him

ᯓ★ Thank you so much for your request and for liking my work! <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Your whole life, you’ve never known stability. The cramped apartments, the ever-shifting walls painted in hues of desperation, are as familiar to you as your own skin. You’re seventeen now, but you still feel like you’re stuck in this never-ending carousel of uncertainty and survival. Your mom—who’s always been more into herself than anyone else—has a way of shoving her problems under the rug, sweeping you along with the mess until you’re barely holding it together.

Her boyfriend—if you could even call him that—is the latest problem. Travis is the kind of guy who doesn’t need to say much to make his point clear. It’s in the way he takes up space, fills every room with his presence, making himself the center of your lives as if it’s his right. He started coming around when you were fourteen, and it’s only gotten worse. You know he hates you, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. To him, you’re a nuisance, some extra baggage he never asked for, and he’s got no problem reminding you of that. Your sarcasm and quick wit, the things that make you, you, are just more reasons for him to snap, roll his eyes, or call you ungrateful.

Your mom’s always been…complicated. You’ve known that since you were little, watching her go from one relationship to another, always searching for some kind of validation she never seems to find. She calls herself a free spirit, but it’s like she’s just drifting, lost in a fog of her own making. She can be fun, sure, when things are good. There were even moments when you thought she really loved you. But as time went on, you learned to read the signs: the distant glances, the subtle irritations, the way she avoids looking at you for too long, as if you’re some kind of mirror she doesn’t want to face.

It’s your intelligence that bugs her the most, you think. You see through her, every lie, every excuse, every careless decision. And she knows it. It’s like looking into a warped mirror—she can see pieces of herself in you, but you’re everything she’s never been: sharp, observant, with a mind that doesn’t let things slide. And it grates on her.

The fights get worse as you grow older, each one escalating faster than the last. Your sarcasm is your armor, your way of dealing with the endless cycle of disappointment. But every quip, every clever retort, only makes her angrier. You can tell she hates that she can’t control you, can’t manipulate you the way she does with everyone else in her life. She calls you difficult, a burden, a mistake she should’ve never had. You don’t let it show, but each word leaves a scar, another reminder that you’re on your own.

Then one day, it’s too much. Travis and your mom are fighting—again. It’s loud, voices echoing in the small apartment, and you’re in your room, trying to block it out like usual. But this time, you hear your name. You’ve been in this situation enough to know that’s never a good sign. So, you stay quiet, waiting, listening.

“You know he’s not even mine, right?” Travis snaps, his voice dripping with frustration. “Why do I have to put up with this kid? He’s not my responsibility!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Your mom’s voice is strained, like she’s barely holding on herself. “I’ve tried—God, I’ve tried—but he’s just…he’s too much. I can’t handle it anymore.”

There’s a pause, and for a second, you think maybe she’ll say something else, something that makes it sound like she cares. But the words never come.

“Then get rid of him,” Travis says, so bluntly that it leaves a chill in the air. “You’ve got the kid’s birth certificate. Drop him off at his real dad’s. He’s rich, isn’t he? Let him deal with the brat.”

You don’t move. You barely breathe. But deep down, you already know this is it. There’s no fighting it this time, no clever comment to deflect what’s happening. She’s made her choice, and it’s not you.

The next morning, she’s silent as she hands you an envelope. There’s no apology, no excuse, just a look that tells you she’s already gone, checked out of whatever shred of motherhood she once claimed to have. You don’t even ask where you’re going; you know the answer as soon as you see the address on the piece of paper.

Stark Tower.

It feels like a final act of cruelty, really. The man she’s always refused to talk about, the one figure in your life who’s only ever been a name, and now he’s your last option. Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, Avenger. And, apparently, your father.

You stand outside Stark Tower with a single bag of your things and that stupid piece of paper—the birth certificate that’s somehow supposed to mean you’re his problem now. You feel like you’re stuck in some cosmic joke, a punchline to a story you didn’t even know you were a part of. There’s no going back, though. That’s clear enough.

So, you take a deep breath, adjust your bag on your shoulder, and walk through the doors.

Tony doesn’t even get a chance to process it at first. One moment he’s sipping coffee in his lab, deep in the flow of something unnecessarily complex that’s keeping his mind busy, and the next, Pepper is calling him down to the lobby. She sounds irritated, stressed—like maybe it’s his fault, which Tony wouldn’t be surprised by, honestly. He heads down, muttering about "another hero here to tell me how to do my job."

Then he sees you.

You’re leaning against the glass wall, wearing an expression that’s somehow familiar yet entirely alien to him. It’s not hard to recognize the mix of defiance and exhaustion in your eyes; he’s spent years perfecting that look himself. But the shock doesn’t really hit until you hand him the birth certificate. Your name and his, right there in black and white, unavoidably real.

For once in his life, Tony Stark is speechless.

“Seventeen years,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “And now you’re here because…?”

You shrug, clearly unimpressed. “Mom didn’t want me anymore, and apparently, you’re my dad. So… here I am. Congratulations.”

You’re blunt, almost cruel in the way you say it, like you don’t expect anything from him and don’t care if you get it. But he can’t look away from you. For the first time in a long time, he’s out of his depth. He’s had seventeen years to know this was possible, maybe even inevitable, but standing in front of you, he realizes he’s never prepared himself for this. He’s never thought about what it would mean to actually be a father.

Yet here you are, standing in front of him with your mother’s words still hanging over you, and he can see the weight you carry in the way your shoulders are always tense, the way your eyes don’t quite meet his.

“Well, kid,” he says after a beat, plastering on his most confident smile, “looks like you’ve officially joined the Stark family. There’s no going back now.”

Over the next few days, Tony throws himself into fatherhood with all the enthusiasm of someone tackling a new, challenging invention. He’s reading parenting books, taking advice from anyone who’ll give it, and trying desperately to crack the code of how to be a “cool dad.” He lets you explore Stark Tower freely, offers you access to his entire workshop, and even builds you a custom tablet, “Stark-style,” he brags, with enough advanced tech to impress even the most skeptical teenager.

He talks to you about science, testing your knowledge and realizing with a mix of pride and horror that you’re nearly as sharp as he was at seventeen. He tries to make jokes, throwing out sarcastic one-liners he assumes will win you over. Sometimes, he even manages to get a smirk out of you. But that’s as far as it ever goes.

Every attempt he makes is met with your icy wall, a defense mechanism built after years of disappointment and neglect. You listen, nod occasionally, but never laugh or even show interest. The most he ever gets out of you is a dry, deadpan “cool,” which is enough to keep him going but never enough to satisfy him.

Tony tries not to take it personally, but it’s hard. You’re right there, his kid, yet you’re worlds away, keeping him at arm’s length as if he’s just another adult you can’t trust. He catches glimpses of the sarcasm, the intelligence, but it’s wrapped up in layers of resentment and guarded detachment. You’re always cool, always distant, and he knows why, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

One evening, he sits you down with a grin, tossing a shiny, compact device into your hands. It’s sleek, metallic—one of his newer designs.

“Mini reactor prototype. You’d be the first to use it.” He says it with pride, like he’s giving you something no one else in the world could get.

You look at it for a moment, then at him. “Cool,” you say again, but your voice is flat, unimpressed. You set it on the table between you without another glance.

Tony’s grin falters, and he lets out a frustrated laugh. “You’re a tough crowd, you know that?”

You just shrug, giving him that practiced blank stare he’s come to know well. He’s finally reaching his breaking point. “Y’know, I’m trying here,” he says, exasperated. “I’m trying to… I don’t know, connect. Be… whatever it is you need me to be. But you’re acting like I’m just another stranger.”

You pause, considering him for a moment, and something shifts in your expression—like maybe, for just a second, you see his effort. But then your face goes neutral again, back to that familiar shield.

“Maybe that’s because you are,” you reply, voice quiet, almost too soft for him to hear.

Tony feels the blow, but he hides it with a forced chuckle. “Fair enough,” he says, though there’s a sting in his voice. “I can’t change the past, but… I’m here now. I’m not gonna just… walk away.”

The words linger between you, both of you knowing the weight they carry. You’ve heard promises like this before. You’ve heard them from your mother, from people who were supposed to care, and each one of those promises had turned hollow, leaving you more alone than before. So, when Tony looks at you with genuine sincerity, with a hope that you’ll give him a chance, all you can do is nod, burying any flicker of vulnerability.

As the weeks go on, Tony keeps trying. He brings you into the lab with him, walks you through his latest projects, even lets you experiment with some of the tech yourself. He drags you to burger joints at midnight, tries to coax out stories about school, hobbies, anything. Sometimes you let your guard slip, offering a sarcastic remark, a comment that makes him laugh—but the moment always passes too quickly, and you’re back behind that wall before he can push any further.

He’s persistent, though, and there’s a part of you that almost wants to give in, that wants to believe him. But your trust is a muscle you haven’t used in so long, it feels impossible to start now. So, you keep him at bay, deflecting his kindness, giving him just enough to satisfy his efforts without letting him in.

Tony doesn’t quit, though. He keeps showing up, every day, every night, and for the first time in your life, you don’t feel like someone’s just waiting for the moment they can leave.

Every morning, Tony insists on driving you to school, and it’s nothing short of a spectacle. He shows up outside Stark Tower in one of his many luxury cars, honking loudly, practically begging for attention. It’s become a routine, one you can’t escape no matter how many times you roll your eyes or tell him he doesn’t have to do it. He’s always got some snarky excuse, saying things like, “It’s my job as a dad,” or “I just want to see the kid off,” as if anyone believes he actually cares about high school protocol.

And everyone notices. Whispers trail behind you as you walk the halls, classmates you’ve known for years suddenly gawking at you like you’re a different person. They don’t know you as you anymore; they know you as Tony Stark’s kid. It’s suffocating. You’ve spent your entire life trying to stay unnoticed, to blend into the background. Now, no matter where you go, everyone’s waiting for you to crack a joke like him, to show off some kind of Stark-level genius.

Only one person seems to still see you, really see you—your best friend, Sam. You’ve known him since middle school, back when everything was simpler, when no one knew or cared who your dad was. He’s the only one who doesn’t treat you any differently now, the only person you actually trust enough to talk to about any of this.

One afternoon, you’re sitting outside on the bleachers with Sam, trying to ignore the fact that Tony’s car is already parked by the curb, waiting for you. The other students eye it like some exotic animal they don’t quite understand, but you keep your head down, just hoping the day will end without any more awkward questions or judgmental stares.

Sam nudges you. “So, uh… you still giving the old man the cold shoulder, huh?”

You sigh, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not giving him the cold shoulder. I’m just… keeping my distance.”

He rolls his eyes. “Dude, I see you with him every morning. The man looks like he’s about to recite the Gettysburg Address just to get a smile out of you. And you’re over here acting like he doesn’t exist.”

You shift uncomfortably, crossing your arms. “He’s only doing it because he feels obligated, Sam. It’s Tony Stark. He doesn’t actually care about me.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You really believe that? You think he’s the kind of guy who’d waste his time on someone he doesn’t care about?”

You don’t answer, but you can feel Sam’s eyes on you, cutting through all your defenses. He’s always been able to read you better than anyone, and right now, that’s the last thing you want.

“He’s trying, Y/N,” Sam continues, his voice softer. “Like, really trying. And I get it. I get that you’ve been burned, but… maybe give him a chance? Just talk to him. It’s not like he’s gonna run off if you tell him what’s going on.”

You look away, jaw clenched as you try to shake off the knot of emotion tightening in your chest. You don’t want to admit that Sam might be right. Letting someone in, giving someone a chance—that’s always been a dangerous game, one you’re not sure you can afford to play again.

That night, you’re lying awake in your room, staring at the ceiling, Sam’s words playing on a loop in your mind. The silence around you feels heavy, pressing down on you, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you owe Tony more than you’ve been giving him. You’ve seen his effort, the way he tries to connect with you, even when you push him away. He’s there, every day, waiting for you, and no one has ever done that before.

Something shifts in you, a kind of tired resignation, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you get up and head downstairs to his workshop.

Tony’s hunched over a table, tinkering with some gadget, and he barely notices you at first. It’s only when you clear your throat that he looks up, surprise flickering across his face before he masks it with a smile.

“Hey, kid,” he says, setting down his tools. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling the weight of what you’re about to say. “Yeah, I just… I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He raises an eyebrow, a mixture of curiosity and concern on his face. He gestures to a nearby chair. “Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

You sit, staring at your hands as you try to find the right words. For a long time, there’s only silence between you, the air thick with tension. Finally, you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to speak.

“I know I’ve been… difficult,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I know you’re trying. It’s just… it’s not easy for me.”

Tony watches you intently, not interrupting, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen it. You look down, focusing on your hands, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

“When I was a kid, my mom was all I had. I thought… I thought she cared about me, even if she didn’t always show it. But she changed, especially after she started seeing this guy. Travis. He wasn’t… he wasn’t a good person, Tony. He… he made sure I knew I wasn’t wanted.” Your voice breaks slightly, but you push through it, feeling the old wounds tear open. “He told me I was a burden, that I was just in the way. And my mom, she… she just let it happen. She barely even looked at me by the end.”

Tony’s face darkens, his jaw clenched as he listens, but he stays silent, letting you continue.

“I learned not to trust people,” you say, voice wavering. “Every time I thought someone would stick around, they didn’t. So I stopped… I stopped letting people in. I told myself it was easier that way.”

You look up at him, and for the first time, there’s no mask, no shield—just raw vulnerability, something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in years.

“And then I showed up here,” you say, your voice barely a whisper now. “And you… you keep trying. You keep showing up, every day, like you actually care. And it’s… it’s confusing, okay? Because part of me wants to believe it, but the other part…” You trail off, wiping away a tear that slips down your cheek.

Tony doesn’t hesitate. He reaches over, placing a hand on your shoulder, grounding you, letting you know he’s there. “Y/N,” he says softly, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t change what you went through. I can’t go back and fix it, as much as I wish I could. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s something in his eyes that you’ve never seen before—a fierce, unwavering resolve that feels almost foreign. You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words sink in, feeling the tiniest flicker of hope spark to life.

“It’s not easy for me,” you murmur. “It’s… it’s hard for me to trust people. And I know I’m not the easiest person to be around. But… I want to try. I want to believe you. I just… I need you to be patient with me. I need you to not give up on me.”

Tony nods, his hand still resting on your shoulder, steady and reassuring. “Hey,” he says, his voice breaking a little. “I’m not giving up on you, kid. Not now, not ever. You’re my son, and I’m here for the long haul. However long it takes, okay?”

The words settle around you, a warmth you haven’t felt in years. You don’t have to say anything; he seems to understand, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he lets go. And in that moment, something in you softens, just a little, like maybe you can let him in.

For the first time, you allow yourself to believe him, to believe that maybe he really won’t walk away. And even though the walls around your heart don’t come down all at once, you feel them start to crack, piece by piece, letting a little light seep in.

After that night, things start to change. It’s slow, gradual, like thawing ice, but there’s a noticeable shift between you and Tony. You’re still guarded, still wary of letting him all the way in, but he doesn’t push. He just keeps showing up, every day, every night, just like he promised. And slowly, piece by piece, you let him in.

The first time you ask to work on something together, Tony practically beams. You’re sitting at the kitchen counter with your physics homework in front of you—normally a breeze, something you’d get done in a few minutes. But today, you’ve left a few problems untouched, hoping he’ll notice.

Sure enough, Tony glances over your shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “Need a hand with that?” he asks, and there’s a careful lightness to his voice, like he’s trying to keep things casual, so he doesn’t scare you off.

You shrug, trying to act indifferent. “Sure, if you’ve got time,” you say, even though both of you know you could solve this on your own without breaking a sweat. But Tony doesn’t call you out on it. He just grabs a chair, pulls it over, and sits down next to you, leaning in to look at your work.

For the next hour, the two of you go over formulas and theories, his explanations coming with a few sarcastic quips and exaggerated hand gestures. Every so often, he goes off on a tangent, telling you stories about his own time in high school or sharing a strange fact he thinks will help you remember a concept. You listen, half-smiling at his antics, and eventually even throw in a few of your own sarcastic comments. You can tell he’s trying not to make a big deal out of it, but there’s a spark in his eyes that tells you he’s thrilled to be here, helping you, no matter how small the reason.

As the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in Tony’s workshop. It becomes your safe space, the place where you don’t feel like you have to hide or put up walls. Tony lets you explore, handing you tools and explaining how they work, guiding you through his more complicated inventions. It’s like learning a new language, one he’s eager to teach you, and he’s a surprisingly patient teacher.

One afternoon, he’s working on a new suit upgrade, and you’re watching, silently impressed by how smoothly he moves, how every action is precise and practiced. You’re deep in thought when he glances over at you, smirking.

“Thinking of joining the family business?” he jokes, tossing you a wrench. “If you’re interested, I could always use an extra pair of hands.”

You catch the wrench, feeling a rare, genuine smile tug at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe I will,” you say, feeling a rush of warmth that’s unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

He shows you how to tighten a piece of armor plating, explaining each step with a casual ease that you find yourself getting lost in. There’s something oddly comforting about the way he talks, like he’s sharing a secret only the two of you understand. And as you work, side by side, you realize that you actually look forward to these moments, the quiet companionship that comes from working together on something you both enjoy.

One evening, you catch yourself staring at your chemistry textbook, pages open to a particularly dull section on thermodynamics. Normally, you’d power through it on your own, but tonight, you feel the familiar tug of loneliness creeping in, and before you know it, you’re on your feet, heading down to Tony’s lab.

When you reach the doorway, he looks up, surprised, then quickly wipes the expression off his face and pretends to be engrossed in his latest project. “What’s up?” he asks, as casually as he can manage.

You hold up the textbook, pretending to be annoyed. “This stuff is terrible. Thought maybe you could explain it better than my teacher does.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, I’m honored to know you think so highly of my teaching skills.” He gestures for you to sit down, and as you do, he starts flipping through the pages of your book. “Thermodynamics, huh? You sure you’re not just here for the riveting conversation?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But you both know the truth, and there’s an unspoken understanding between you as he dives into the material. He doesn’t just lecture; he makes it a story, breaking down each concept with analogies, acting out scenarios, and throwing in enough jokes to keep you both entertained. You throw in questions just to keep him talking, just so you don’t have to go back to your empty room just yet.

And somewhere along the way, you realize you’re not just learning about science. You’re learning about him—about his quirks, his sense of humor, the way he lights up when he’s talking about things he’s passionate about. He’s not just Tony Stark, billionaire genius, Iron Man. He’s… Tony, your dad, someone who, against all odds, actually seems to care about you.

Over time, you both fall into a rhythm. Tony starts waiting for you in the mornings, holding out a cup of coffee or hot chocolate, claiming he needs company on his drive to work. You never say it, but you look forward to those mornings, the way he fills the car with stories about his latest projects or about old college pranks he pulled that make you laugh in spite of yourself.

One day, you’re both hunched over a set of schematics in his lab, tossing ideas back and forth as you brainstorm a new design for a stabilizer that could potentially improve flight control in his suits. You’re getting so into it that you forget to be guarded, throwing out suggestions, bouncing thoughts off each other in rapid-fire succession.

At one point, Tony stops, leaning back in his chair to look at you with a smirk. “You know,” he says, a touch of pride in his voice, “you’re pretty damn good at this. Got that Stark brain for sure.”

You feel a warmth spread through you, and for the first time, you don’t brush it off. “Maybe,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “But I guess it helps when you have a good teacher.”

Tony chuckles, but there’s a glimmer of emotion in his eyes, something raw and unguarded. “Yeah, well… you’re not a bad student either.”

There’s a moment of silence as the two of you look at each other, an understanding passing between you that doesn’t need words. You know he’s trying, and somehow, that knowledge makes the walls around your heart crumble just a little bit more.

A few days later, you’re working on homework in the living room when Tony walks in, holding a set of blueprints he’s obviously excited about. But when he sees you bent over your books, he pauses, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Hey, need some help?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You look up, raising an eyebrow back at him. “With calculus? Pretty sure I’ve got this covered.”

He shrugs, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I was quite the calculus prodigy back in the day.”

“Oh, yeah?” You smirk, half-teasing. “Care to prove it?”

Tony grins, and before you know it, he’s pulled up a chair, leaning over your work with the same intensity he brings to his inventions. You pretend to need help with a few problems, and he’s more than happy to guide you through them, throwing in jokes and sarcastic comments the whole way. Every so often, he nudges your shoulder, grinning like he’s just scored a victory when he catches you smiling.

Eventually, he lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I think we’ve both learned a lot today,” he says, stretching dramatically.

“Yeah,” you reply, smirking. “Like the fact that you’re worse at calculus than I am.”

Tony gapes, clutching his chest in mock hurt. “Unbelievable. Betrayed by my own son. This is a new low.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, and for the first time, it feels easy. Comfortable. Like maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to keep fighting him off.

“Hey,” Tony says, his tone shifting to something softer. “Thanks for letting me in. I know it wasn’t easy.”

You meet his gaze, feeling that familiar vulnerability creeping in, but this time, you don’t shy away. “Thanks for not giving up,” you reply quietly. “I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with.”

Tony chuckles, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “Nah, you’re a piece of cake. Besides, I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

You smile, a real one this time, feeling a warmth settle in your chest. For the first time, you allow yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay.

It’s supposed to be a routine mission. Just another intel-gathering run, in and out, with minimal risk. Tony had waved it off as no big deal before he left, throwing you a smirk and saying, “Just another day in the office.” But that was hours ago. And now, as you sit in the dim glow of the living room, watching the news report blaring on the screen, dread twists deep in your gut.

You watch the shaky footage of Iron Man fighting, and this time, it’s different. He’s outnumbered, missiles tearing through the air, beams of energy slicing through the smoke and chaos. The news anchor’s voice breaks as they report the intensity of the fight, how Iron Man was last seen plunging out of the sky after a heavy hit. For a terrifying moment, you catch a glimpse of him falling, his suit battered, smoking, before the feed cuts out entirely.

Your heart stops, and a painful tightness fills your chest. The hours that follow are a blur of pacing, every second dragging longer than the last. You’re used to him going out on missions, used to the danger that comes with being Tony Stark’s son. But this… this is different. This isn’t the usual playful bravado, the usual cocky promises that he’ll be home for dinner. This is life or death, and for the first time, you’re faced with the horrifying thought that he might not make it back.

After what feels like an eternity, the front door finally opens. You spin around, heart pounding, and there he is, looking worse for wear but alive. He’s moving a bit stiffly, his armor scratched and dented, his face smudged with dirt and a few new cuts. But he’s here.

Before he can say a word, you rush toward him, the flood of relief hitting you so hard that you barely register the fact that you’re moving, throwing yourself into his arms. Your grip is tight, like if you let go, he’ll disappear. You don’t even realize you’re trembling until you feel his arms close around you, holding you just as tightly.

“Hey, hey,” Tony says, his voice soft, touched with surprise but warm. “I’m okay, kid. I’m here.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears, and he’s looking at you with an expression so full of gentle understanding that it makes you feel like a kid again, vulnerable and desperate. Without thinking, the word slips out, raw and unguarded.

“Dad…” you whisper, voice breaking slightly, “don’t ever… don’t ever do that again. I thought… I thought I was going to lose you.”

Tony’s face softens, his own eyes welling up. He’s silent for a moment, as if he’s savoring the word, the weight of it finally hitting home. His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, his grip firm but gentle, grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. But I’m here, okay? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod, the tears slipping down your cheeks now, and Tony pulls you in again, holding you tightly, his hand running gently over your back. It’s the first time you’ve let yourself fully embrace him, the first time you’ve allowed yourself to lean into his strength, to accept the warmth he’s been trying so hard to offer. And as you stand there, held in his arms, a sense of peace settles over you, soft and comforting, melting the last of your walls away.

After a long moment, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, a tear slipping down his own cheek as he smiles, eyes bright. “You called me ‘Dad,’” he says softly, his voice full of wonder, as if he’s just received the greatest gift in the world.

You give a small, watery smile, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah, well… don’t get used to it,” you mumble, but there’s no heat behind the words, only affection, only gratitude.

He chuckles, pulling you back into a hug, and you feel his hand rest on the back of your head, his grip firm and reassuring. “I’m already used to it,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m not letting you go, kid. Not ever.”

In that moment, you realize that this is what home feels like—right here, safe in his arms, with nothing left to fear.

I'll never get tired of familyman!Tony I swear.

58 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 6 months ago

Text

lonely in gorgeous – ryomen sukuna.

In that small moment, you allowed yourself to indulge in a bit of nostalgia, thinking about the paths you both had taken. You hoped he was happy and successful, thriving in the world he had always been so passionate about. And though you doubted you would ever hear from him again, you couldn't help but wonder if he ever thought about you, if he ever missed the days when you were his muse, and he was your world.

GENRE: alternate universe - fashion au!

WARNING/S: alternate universe - canon convergence, modern au, fashion au!, rated 18 and above, age gap (reader is in 20s and sukuna is in his 30s), explicit content, smut, p to v sex, flirting, romance, humor, strangers to lovers, lovers to strangers, break up, time skip (ten years later);

LISTEN: lonely in gorgeous by tommy february6

NOTE: this is probably my second favorite so far. because i keep thinking of hiromi and sukuna throughout but modern au??? i loved this a lot because its based on paradise kiss, which i think is one of the stories i loved in a long time. it makes me wanna rewatch paradise kiss. i'm very happy with this one. i hope you enjoy it as much as i do <3333

masterlist

kayu's playlist — side 700;

IT STARTED OUT IN A WAY YOU DIDN’T EXPECT. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, casting long shadows across the grassy expanse of the park. You sat on the bench, surrounded by the cacophony of rustling leaves and distant chatter, the weight of your textbooks heavy on your lap. Each page seemed to blur together, the words melding into an incomprehensible jumble as exhaustion gnawed at the edges of your mind.

As you stared at the pages before you, the thought of continuing down this path weighed heavily on your shoulders. This degree, chosen by your mother, felt more like a burden than a choice. It was her dream, her unfinished journey that you were expected to fulfill. Yet, with each passing day, the realization grew stronger within you that it wasn't your dream at all. It was a legacy you were expected to carry, a path laid out for you by someone else's ambitions.

The thought left you feeling adrift, caught between the expectations of others and the yearning for something more. The park, with its tranquil beauty, offered a brief respite from the chaos of your thoughts. Here, amidst the gentle sway of the trees and the soft rustle of leaves, you found a fleeting sense of peace, a momentary escape from the pressures of academia and familial expectations.

The figure at the nearby table commanded attention, his presence as enigmatic as it was compelling. Ryomen Sukuna, renowned fashion designer, his reputation preceded him like a shadow cast by the setting sun. His tall, imposing frame was a stark contrast to the tranquil surroundings of the park, yet there was an undeniable magnetism to his presence.

As he sat hunched over his sketchbook, his expression was one of intense concentration, his fingers moving deftly across the page in a frenzied dance. The lines he etched upon the paper seemed to materialize effortlessly, each stroke a testament to his skill and creativity. But beneath the surface, there was a simmering frustration, a sense of discontent that lingered like a shadow in the corners of his mind.

For Sukuna, the park had become an unlikely refuge, a sanctuary of sorts where he could retreat from the relentless demands of his craft. Here, amidst the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of city life, he sought solace in the simplicity of nature, hoping to unearth the spark of inspiration that had eluded him for so long.

Intrigued by the sight of you, Ryomen Sukuna couldn't tear his gaze away. The exhaustion etched into your features, mingled with an unmistakable determination, spoke volumes to him, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. With a sense of curiosity piqued by the contrast of your presence against the backdrop of the park, he found himself compelled to approach you.

With confident strides, he closed the distance between you, his sketchpad clutched in one hand as though it were a precious treasure. There was a magnetic pull in his demeanor, an air of authority and intrigue that seemed to precede him like a gentle breeze, stirring the stillness of the evening air.

As he neared, his gaze never wavered from you, his eyes scanning your form with a keen sense of observation. It was as though he were studying a masterpiece, seeking to unravel the secrets hidden within the intricate tapestry of your being. And when he finally reached your side, there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a tension that crackled between you like electricity waiting to ignite.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a mix of curiosity and determination. You looked up, startled by the sudden interruption. “Would you like to model for me?”

Confused, you furrowed your brows. “Model? I’m not a model. I’m just a student.”

Sukuna’s eyes glinted with a hint of amusement. “Doesn’t matter. I want you to be my model.”

You stared at him, still trying to process the odd request. “But… Why me?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know yet. But there’s something about you. I can’t explain it. Just think about it.”

Your mind buzzed with confusion as you watched Ryomen Sukuna retreat, leaving you to grapple with the unexpected encounter. His enigmatic demeanor left you feeling both intrigued and bewildered, as though you had stumbled into a world of mysteries waiting to be unraveled.

His simple yet cryptic words lingered in the air, echoing in your mind like an elusive melody. "There's something about you," he had said, a statement that sparked a flurry of questions within you. What did he see in you that prompted such a request? What hidden depths did he perceive beneath the surface of your tired facade?

As you held his business card in your hand, its sleek surface cool against your skin, you couldn't help but feel a surge of curiosity stirring within you. What harm could come from entertaining the idea, if only for a moment? With a sense of hesitancy tinged with intrigue, you tucked the card into your pocket, a silent promise to explore the mysterious invitation further.

The sun hung low in the sky as you made your way back to the park, the familiar sight of Ryomen Sukuna sketching under the shade of a tree drawing you closer. With each step, your heart quickened, a mixture of apprehension and excitement swirling within you.

As you approached him, Sukuna glanced up from his sketchpad, a small smile gracing his lips. "Back again, I see," he remarked, his voice smooth and confident.

You nodded, unable to suppress the curiosity that burned within you. "I couldn't stay away," you admitted, your tone tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

Sukuna's gaze softened, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I thought as much," he replied, his attention returning to his sketch. "Have you given any more thought to my offer?"

You hesitated, the memory of his cryptic request still fresh in your mind. "I'm not sure I understand what you see in me," you confessed, your voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and self-doubt.

Sukuna looked up, his gaze meeting yours with a piercing intensity. "Sometimes, it's not about understanding," he replied cryptically. "It's about embracing the unknown. You won’t be able to live a life like this without embracing what makes life so hard, you know.”

“Why do you keep asking me?” you demanded of him. “I’m just a burnt out college student. What do I have to offer?”

Sukuna looked up from his sketchpad, his expression serious. “Because you’re my muse.”

The words hung in the air, and you felt a strange thrill at the idea. Despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself agreeing to his request.

"I suppose……I could give it a try." you finally conceded, a hint of uncertainty still lingering in your voice. “What do I have to lose at this point?”

Sukuna's smile widened, a spark of satisfaction flickering in his eyes. "Excellent." he replied, a note of excitement creeping into his tone. "Trust me, you won't regret it."

“I hope not.”

“Little muse, you should pose on the other side.” He says to you. “I need to get your hair right for this one.”

You nodded at him. You couldn’t help but ponder at his words for a moment, the weight of their meaning sinking in. He called you his muse. He needed you as his muse. You didn’t know why you agreed, but you knew you really had nothing to lose. And this gives you something to do, other than being miserable about your college life.

There was something about Sukuna, you couldn’t point it out even if you tried. But you knew that there was an air of mystery surrounding Sukuna that both intrigued and unnerved you. But despite your reservations, you found yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Because it was quite easy to see for you.

You think he was about to change your life.

And little did you know, you were right.

The following weeks were quite a hurricane storm. You were quite the spectator to Sukuna’s creativity. Everything about how he worked was something you had never seen before. He was always so full of passion, everything about it was electric. His energy was infectious, and you found yourself caught up in his world.

You posed for him in various outfits he made each and every week, each one more daring and unconventional than the last. Despite his notorious reputation, Sukuna was surprisingly patient with you. He encouraged you, challenged you, and celebrated your progress.

At first, it was hard adjusting to it all. You didn’t know if you actually had it in you to pull these clothes off. But he kept talking to you about each and every story the dress made and more and more, each piece of clothing he made for you to try and model in was clothes that slowly became your friend.

He pushed you out of your comfort zone, and you discovered slowly but surely, you came to realize that there was passion in you too, as much as there was the bounty of potential and confidence that was just waiting to be nurtured and waiting to blossom.

The connection between you two grew stronger, and you began to understand why he had chosen you. Your exhaustion and determination, your raw, unpolished presence, was exactly what he needed to reignite his creativity. One evening, after a particularly intense session, you found yourself sitting beside him over glasses of wine, watching the city lights flicker in the distance.

As you sat beside Sukuna, watching him sketch with newfound clarity, you couldn't help but feel a sense of validation wash over you. You watch him pour another glass on your glass and then his.

"I think I'm starting to get it," you admitted, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

Sukuna glanced up from his sketchpad, a pleased smile gracing his lips. "Told you, little muse." he replied, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "There's something about you that's just... captivating."

“Oh don’t flatter me that way.”

His words echoed in the dimly lit room, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the soft hum of conversation. Sukuna's eyes held a glimmer of sincerity as he spoke, his grin genuine as he savored the moment.

"You've brought something back to life in me," he repeated, his voice carrying a weight of truth. It was a confession, raw and unguarded, revealing a vulnerability that belied his usual stoic demeanor. “I’m thankful.”

As you watched him, a warmth spread through your chest, your heart swelling with a mixture of pride and affection. To know that you had played a part in rekindling Sukuna's passion, in breathing life into his creativity, filled you with a sense of purpose unlike anything you had ever felt before.

You chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. "Well, I'm glad I could help," you said, sincerity lacing your tone. "And who knows, maybe this could be the start of something great."

Sukuna's gaze softened, a glimmer of gratitude shining in his eyes. "I have a feeling it will be," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Well, it already is, if I’m being honest.”

“Why me, really?” you asked softly as you take in the image of him. “Why did you choose me?”

Sukuna turned to you, his eyes reflecting the lights of the city. “Because you’re real. You’re not polished or perfect, and that’s what makes you beautiful. You remind me that inspiration can come from the most unexpected places.”

His words touched you deeply, and you realized that this experience had changed you. You were no longer just a burnt-out college student. You had become a muse, a source of inspiration, and in turn, you had found your own spark of creativity and passion. You were his muse, you were the essence of his wonder. As you looked at Sukuna, you could see he was looking at you.

In that moment, as Sukuna's gaze met yours, you felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you. It was as if the air between you crackled with an unspoken understanding, a shared connection that transcended words.

Without a word, Sukuna reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in closer. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that burned brighter with each passing second.

And then, his lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with unspoken promises, a silent vow to cherish each other and the bond you shared. In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace, the world around you fading into the background.

As you pulled away, breathless and flushed, you locked eyes with Sukuna once more, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. In that simple gesture, you both knew that this was just the beginning of something extraordinary, a journey filled with endless possibilities and boundless love.

"Wow," you whispered, your heart racing as you gazed into Sukuna's eyes. "I never knew..."

Sukuna's smirk was tinged with affection as he brushed his thumb lightly over your cheek. "You never knew what, my dear muse?"

"That you could make me feel this way," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "That you could make me feel... alive."

Sukuna's expression softened, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings for you. "You've brought out something in me that I thought was lost forever," he confessed. "And for that, I'll always be grateful, little muse.”

You could feel yourself echo in the shade of scarlet as you leaned in to press another gentle kiss to his lips, savoring the warmth and intimacy of the moment. He kissed you back, his hands encroaching against your jaw as he pulled you closer to him. In Sukuna's embrace, you felt a sense of belonging, a sense of completeness that you had never experienced before.

As you pulled away, a smile graced Sukuna's lips, his gaze filled with warmth and adoration. "Shall we continue to inspire each other, my dear muse?" he murmured, his voice low and husky.

With a nod and a smile, you intertwined your fingers with his, knowing that together, you were destined to create something truly extraordinary.

When you look at him, the city lights seem dull.

Ryomen Sukuna was brighter than everything else.

And you fell in love with everything in him more.

IT WAS ALL AN INTENSE WHIRLWIND. At every turn, Sukuna flaunted your presence, introducing you to his acquaintances and peers as his muse, the source of his inspiration. Your relationship with him flourished amidst the glamorous backdrop of high-profile parties and events, where you were the center of attention, admired for your natural allure and captivating presence.

In the eyes of Sukuna, you were not just a model or a companion; you were the embodiment of his artistic vision, the muse who breathed life into his designs and fueled his creativity. Together, you navigated the intricacies of the fashion world, of his world as you basked in the spotlight and forging a bond that transcended mere admiration.

As your connection with Sukuna deepened, the lines between your worlds began to blur. He used his extensive network to secure opportunities for you, arranging magazine features where you modeled the clothes he had painstakingly crafted. With each photoshoot and editorial spread, you became the living embodiment of his artistic vision, seamlessly blending into the world he had created.

As your career flourished under his guidance, you found yourself spending more and more time in Sukuna's presence. He became not just your mentor, but your confidant and companion, guiding you through the intricacies of the fashion industry with unwavering support and encouragement.

With Sukuna's help, you acquired your own manager and began to take on more jobs, each one bringing you further into the spotlight. You reveled in the attention, basking in the glow of success that seemed to follow wherever you went.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the lines between both of your lives blurred almost imperceptibly. What began as occasional visits to his apartment soon transformed into a routine, with more nights spent in his space than in your own college dorm.

His apartment became a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you could escape the pressures and expectations of the outside world and simply be yourself. The familiar surroundings, infused with Sukuna's presence, offered a sense of comfort and security that you found nowhere else.

In Sukuna's world, time seemed to slow down, allowing you to savor each moment spent together. Whether it was cooking dinner together in the cozy kitchen, lounging on the couch as you watched movies late into the night, or simply sharing quiet conversations in the dim glow of lamplight, every experience felt like a precious gift.

And as you became more deeply entwined in Sukuna's life, you found yourself embracing aspects of his world that were once foreign to you. You attended glamorous parties and events by his side, proudly adorned with everything he made to fit only you. You enjoyed standing beside him as he spoke to other fashion connoisseurs, while you ended up mingling with fashion elites and modeling industry insiders who passed around their business cards to you one after the other.

But amidst the glitz and glamor, there were moments of vulnerability and intimacy that bound you together even more tightly. You realized that not everyone saw this part of the world Ryomen Sukuna orbited. You enjoyed his company, you enjoyed watching him pick apart fabrics all day.

You’ve seen him be frustrated with his work each and every day. You’ve seen him rush to you with delight when he thinks that it’s perfect enough for you to wear. In that whole two years, you found yourself sharing your hopes and dreams, your fears and insecurities, laying bare your soul in a way you never thought possible.

In the midst of the glamor and passion, there were also moments of turmoil and discord that tested the strength of your relationship. Arguments erupted over trivial matters, escalating into heated exchanges that left you both feeling wounded and raw. Tears were shed, words were spoken in anger, and the once serene sanctuary of Sukuna's apartment became a battleground for your conflicting emotions.

At times, it felt as though your lover was a tempestuous storm, his moods shifting unpredictably from blazing intensity to icy detachment. His affectionate gestures were often overshadowed by moments of aloofness, leaving you feeling bewildered and uncertain of where you stood in his heart.

But Sukuna was a complicated man, and his feelings for you were just as complex. He could be warm and affectionate one moment, then distant and cold the next. His hot-and-cold behavior left you confused and exasperated. There were times he seemed to take pleasure in toying with your emotions, pushing your boundaries, and testing your naivete.

In the midst of these turbulent emotions, Sukuna's behavior sometimes bordered on manipulative. He had a knack for using subtle tactics to exert control over you, whether it was through guilt-tripping, emotional manipulation, or even resorting to underhanded methods like calling your friends to inquire about your whereabouts without your knowledge.

These manipulative tendencies only added to the strain on your relationship, fostering a sense of distrust and resentment that simmered beneath the surface. Despite your love for Sukuna, there were moments when you questioned whether the tumultuous nature of your connection was worth the emotional toll it took on you.

Yet, even in the midst of the storm, there were moments of tenderness and vulnerability that reminded you why you fell in love with Sukuna in the first place. In the quiet moments of reconciliation, when apologies were whispered and forgiveness granted, you found solace in the depths of your shared connection, clinging to the hope that love would ultimately prevail over the trials and tribulations that threatened to tear you apart.

Leaving behind the familiarity of your college dorms for the sanctuary of Sukuna's apartment marked a significant turning point in your life. Graduation loomed on the horizon, a milestone that signified the culmination of years of hard work and dedication. Yet, amidst the celebrations and anticipation of what lay ahead, it was the quiet moments spent in Sukuna's arms that held the greatest allure.

With each passing day, your bond with Sukuna deepened, weaving itself into the very fabric of your existence. His apartment, once a temporary escape from the demands of college life, had now become your sanctuary, a refuge from the chaos of the outside world. Within its walls, you found solace and strength, a sense of belonging that transcended words.

The allure of Sukuna's presence was undeniable, you needed him. You knew there was no one else. You wanted him, all his ugly and dirty. In all his magnetic charm drawing you ever closer with each passing moment. In his arms, you found respite from the uncertainties and anxieties that plagued your mind, basking in the warmth of his affection and the reassurance of his love. You burned for him, as you always do.

Ryomen Sukuna could only smirk as you clenched around him. He was trying to be careful with you, it was your first time after all. He could see the way your face scrunched as he kissed you all over, trying to distract you from the pain. He lets himself coo at you as he gives your forehead a small kiss.

"There, there," he cooed softly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "Just relax, sweetheart. I'll take care of you."

His words were like a balm to your nerves, calming you as you adjusted to the sensation. You nodded, allowing yourself to relax into his touch as the initial discomfort began to fade.

"I trust you.” you whispered, meeting his gaze with a mixture of vulnerability and affection.

“I know you do, baby.”

His harsh thrusts could only really make your head spin. You held tight to him, moaning against his shoulder, tears falling from your face. His throat let out low growls one after another as he pushes through the depths of you with each and every bottoming down into you. He feels like he is molding into you, as much as he’s molding you into him.

“Yer so good f’r me, aren’t you?” He groans against you, his body enveloping all around you, the sweat of you melting against his skin. “Go ‘n baby, keep making those sounds f’r me.”

You could feel overwhelmed as he changed your position, your belly resting on the bed, his cock still inside you. You felt your body rattle as much as the bed did as l his huge cock effortlessly bullies deep into your hole with vigorous excitement. You could not stop feeling your insides be like they’re on fire. You could feel yourself squeeze around him tightly.

His strong calloused hands wander below your chest, holding onto you the way he does with his fabrics — a sense of desire for the things that are beautiful. Soon enough, you could feel them strongly encroach against the will of your hips, fingers leaving imprints as they pressed hard against your skin. You could only squirm under his intense gaze.

You couldn’t even focus anymore as drool fell from your lips. You cry as you shake and shake against his touch. His rough kisses hurt, but you didn’t care. You let him paint his lips all over your body, those brutally vain beauty of lips touching every sensitive part of you. He grins as he watches you lose all sense. He watches you apart from him.

“My little muse, uh, y’r so good f’r me, aren’t you?” He says against your ear, letting out a moan. “I’ll make a good dress f’r you, a sequenced one? No, no, it’s going to be the same color of your skin. I’ll feast on it. I’m pretty sure. But I’m the only one who gets to see it. I’m the only one that gets to see you that way.”

“Y–yeah,” You mewl against him, lost in everything but pleasure. ‘’kuna, I’m feeling something, it’s tooooooo good.”

“I know, baby. I can feel you, hm? I can feel you tightening up f’r me.” He leans forward, his body pressed against the small of your back. He thrusts, causing you to moan harshly. “Y’r about to come, hm? Give it to me, hm? Be my good little muse.”

Sukuna grabbed you by the hair, pulling you towards him with a fierce intensity. His lips crashed into yours, a passionate kiss that left you breathless as he pressed your bodies tightly together. You moaned into the kiss, your voice vibrating against his mouth as Sukuna trailed his lips down your neck, leaving a trail of bites and marks in his wake.

He pushed more into you as his head rested on the side of your neck with a predatory grace. His hips ground against yours, eliciting a gasp from your lips. The room filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing,tears pouring more and more as both of you closed the gates to pleasure

Sukuna's movements quickened, driven by a surge of pleasure and desire.. His mouth descended upon your collarbone, and neck — his free hand reaches breast, pinching it tightly as you cried. His tongue tracing patterns that sent shivers down your spine. You cried out, the mix of pain and pleasure overwhelming your senses as he marked you with his teeth.

The feeling of his warmth enveloping you was intoxicating, your eyes fluttering shut as you both lost yourselves in the sensation of being together. His thrusts grew harder and faster, each movement driving you both closer to the edge. You felt like your body was shutting down, with how cruelly deep he was getting into you.

Ryomen Sukuna felt like he belonged inside of you. Here, in your arms, he was exactly where he wanted to be—lost in the embrace of someone he loved, sharing a connection that was raw, passionate, and undeniably real.

Your bodies moved together in a rhythm as old as time, each thrust bringing them closer to the peak of ecstasy. Sukuna's movements were swift as he moved you back on your back, arms pulling your legs upwards to him as he drilled his hips.

You screamed in pleasure as you finally came, head pushing against the nook of the pillows. But Sukuna was still waiting to get there. He kept pushing and pushing, as though he were driven by a primal need, a hunger that could only be sated by the touch of your skin, the sound of your voice, the taste of your lips.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as pleasure washed over you in waves. Every sensation was heightened, every touch electrifying as you surrendered yourself to the moment. The intensity of your connection was overwhelming, consuming you both in a fiery blaze of passion.

"I love you." you gasped, your voice strained with pleasure as Sukuna's movements quickened.

"I love you too," Sukuna whispered hoarsely, his breath hot against your ear. "More than anything in this world."

With each word, his thrusts grew more urgent, driving you both towards the edge of ecstasy. The air was thick with passion as you clung to each other, lost in a whirlwind of desire.

As the intensity reached its peak, you locked eyes, sharing a moment of perfect understanding. And in that moment, as you surrender yourself completely to each other, you knew that your love would endure, forever and always.

Nothing was coherent anymore, all you could see was the stars as everything between you blurred until there was nothing left but the two of you. Nothing existed between the two of you but being lost in a world of pleasure and desire. Time seemed to stand still as you soared to new heights, your bodies intertwined in a dance of ecstasy.

And as you finally reached the pinnacle of your passion, Sukuna's name tumbled from your lips in a breathless cry, a testament to the depth of your desire for him. In that moment, you knew that nothing else mattered—only the two of you, bound together by an unbreakable bond that transcended time and space.

The realization that your love story with Sukuna had reached its final chapter weighed heavily on your heart as you sat across from him in the dimly lit restaurant. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows over the table, a poignant reminder of the fleeting nature of love and life itself.

You couldn't bear to see Sukuna sacrifice his dreams for the sake of your relationship. As much as you longed to hold onto him, to keep him by your side, you knew deep down that it wasn't fair to ask him to give up his ambitions for you. His talent deserved to be showcased on a global stage, and you couldn't stand in the way of his success, no matter how much it pained you to let him go.

With a heavy heart, you realized that sometimes, even the most beautiful love stories must come to an end. It was a bittersweet truth that echoed in the depths of your soul, a reminder that life was filled with moments of joy and sorrow, of love and loss.

As you gazed into Sukuna's eyes, you knew that it was time to say goodbye. It was a decision born out of love, a selfless act of letting go for the sake of both your happiness. And though it tore you apart inside, you found solace in the knowledge that you were setting him free to chase his dreams, even if it meant facing the pain of being apart.

“When were you going to tell me that you got an offer from Paris?”

As Sukuna's gaze lingered on you, his eyes held a depth of emotion that was difficult to decipher. It was a stark contrast to the man you had come to know so intimately, whose every thought and feeling had once been an open book to you. But now, as you sat across from him, you found yourself unable to read the nuances of his expression.

Your boyfriend had always been someone whose walls had gradually come down over time, allowing you to glimpse the vulnerability and truth behind his stoic facade. Yet, on this matter, his demeanor remained inscrutable, his thoughts veiled behind a mask of contemplation.

It was a disconcerting realization, to be faced with the uncertainty of Sukuna's intentions and emotions, especially in a moment as pivotal as this. You longed to understand his inner turmoil, to find some semblance of clarity amidst the swirling emotions that threatened to engulf you both.

But as you watched him take a sip of his wine, the silence between you stretching taut with unspoken words, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settle over you. Sukuna's unreadable expression left you feeling adrift, uncertain of where you stood in his heart and what the future held for your relationship.

"Why bring it up now?" he countered, his voice low and measured. "Would it have changed anything?"

You hesitated, grappling with the conflicting emotions swirling within you. On one hand, you understood Sukuna's desire to protect you from unnecessary worries and uncertainties. On the other hand, you couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.

"I guess I just wish you had been more open with me," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "We've been through so much together, Sukuna. I thought we could share everything."

Sukuna's expression softened, a trace of regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmured, reaching across the table to gently grasp your hand. "I didn't mean to keep it from you. I just... I wanted to figure things out first, before I said anything."

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly at his words. Despite the hurt and confusion that lingered between you, there was an underlying sense of understanding and acceptance that anchored you to each other.

"I know," you replied, offering him a small, sad tentative smile. "I just wish we could have talked about it sooner."

“I don’t plan on taking it.”

“Why not?”

“I’m planning to stay here and be with you.” He admits to you. “I already have a name for myself here.”

“But you would make a bigger name for yourself, if you go out into the world.”

Sukuna's gaze softened as he reached across the table to cup your face gently in his hand. "I don't need a bigger name," he said earnestly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Not if it means being apart from you."

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words, touched by his unwavering devotion. "But Sukuna, I don't want to hold you back from your dreams," you replied, your voice tinged with concern.

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours. "You could never hold me back, baby.” he said softly. "Being with you is the greatest dream I could ever imagine."

"Are you sure?” You mumble at him.

“I am. I wouldn’t say this to you if I wasn’t.”

“But what if you resent me?” You whisper to him. “What ended up deciding I ruined your life? I won’t do that to you.”

Sukuna's heart clenched at the sight of your distress, his own emotions swirling in turmoil. He watched as you bit your lower lip, a telltale sign of your efforts to hold back tears. In that moment, he felt a wave of guilt wash over him, knowing that his decision was causing you such pain.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I never wanted to hurt you."

You shook your head slightly, a silent acknowledgment of his apology. But the hurt in your eyes remained, a silent testament to the depth of your pain.

"It's okay," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be okay."

But Sukuna knew that the road ahead would be anything but easy for you. And as he reached out to gently wipe away a tear from your cheek, he silently vowed to do everything in his power to ease your pain, even if it meant walking away from the one person he loved more than anything in the world.

He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "You’re letting me go, aren’t you?”

“I can’t join you in Paris.” You mumble to him as you purse your lips at him. “You know that.”

“That’s why I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you.”

“But at the cost of your dreams? Sukuna, this is not good for you.”

“I know what’s good for me, and it's you.” His intense gaze burned you. “I’m not leaving you. Baby, I’m nothing without you. I can’t just leave you—”

Your eyes shone with bitter tears pouring down. “I can’t let you leave your dreams because of me. Not when you told me to follow my dreams no matter what.”

“But its not going to hinder me.”

“Those are easy words to say.” You whisper to him. “But one day, I know you’ll look at me and you’ll wake up and not feel happy anymore.”

“I love you.”

As Sukuna's words sank in, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness in your chest. You knew deep down that he was right—that staying together might ultimately lead to resentment and regret. But the thought of being apart from him was almost unbearable.

"I love you too, more than anything." you murmured, squeezing his hand gently. "But maybe...maybe it's time for us to part ways."

Sukuna's expression mirrored your own conflicted emotions, his gaze soft yet troubled. “We don’t have to do this.”

“It’s not going to make us happy.”

“But we’d be together.”

“But that’s not fair.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, weighted with the sorrow of an impending farewell. Sukuna's heart ached at the thought of letting you go, the idea of a life without you seeming almost unbearable. He longed to hold onto you, to defy the inevitable and cling to the love you shared.

"We don't have to do this," he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand tightened around yours, as if seeking reassurance in the warmth of your touch. "We can find a way to make it work. We can fight for us."

Your heart clenched at his words, torn between the love you felt for Sukuna and the harsh reality of your situation. You knew that as much as you wanted to stay, to fight for your relationship, there were forces at play beyond your control.

With a trembling breath, you leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to Sukuna's lips, savoring the bittersweet taste of goodbye. It was a kiss filled with all the love and longing that had defined your relationship, a silent farewell to the life you had built together.

As you pulled away, tears glistened in your eyes, reflecting the pain of your decision. "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I love you, but I have to go."

With one last lingering look, you turned and walked away, each step a painful reminder of the love you were leaving behind. Sukuna watched you go, his heart heavy with sorrow, knowing that this was the right choice even as it tore him apart inside.

Leaving Sukuna's apartment that night was one of the hardest things you had ever done. As you gathered your belongings and made your way to the door, each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the gravity of your decision. It was a choice born out of love and sacrifice, a painful acknowledgment that staying by his side would only serve to hinder both of your paths forward.

In the days that followed, you found yourself grappling with a profound sense of loss and longing. The absence of Sukuna's presence in your life left a void that seemed impossible to fill, a gaping emptiness that echoed with the memories of your time together. Yet, despite the ache in your heart, you knew that staying away was the only way to truly move forward.

You avoided places where you knew Sukuna frequented, unwilling to risk the temptation of running into him and reopening old wounds. The thought of seeing him again filled you with a mixture of longing and fear, knowing that even the briefest encounter could reignite the flame of your feelings for him.

Deep down, you knew that if you allowed yourself to see him again, you would be drawn back into his orbit, unable to resist the pull of his magnetic presence. But you also knew that returning to him would only perpetuate the cycle of heartache and uncertainty that had plagued your relationship from the start.

And so, you made a conscious decision to stay away, to give yourself the space and time to heal. It was a choice driven by a desire for self-preservation, a recognition that true love sometimes means letting go, even when every fiber of your being longs to hold on.

Your manager told you when he was leaving.

You booked a shoot that same day, to keep busy.

Because you knew you would cry your eyes out.

You knew you’d go to the airport and see him off.

You didn’t want to break your hearts even more.

YOU THINK YOU’LL NEVER GET OVER HIM. Years later, you stood at the pinnacle of your career, having fulfilled your dream of becoming a successful model. Your name was well-known in the fashion world, and as you neared the age of retirement from modeling, you smoothly transitioned into acting, where you were already making a significant impact.

Sukuna lingered in your thoughts like a haunting melody, an ever-present refrain that played in the background of your daily life. Despite the passage of time and the distance that now separated you, his presence continued to echo through the corridors of your mind, a constant reminder of the love you had shared and the dreams you had once dared to chase together.

In the quiet moments of solitude, his memory would surface like a ghost from the past, flooding your thoughts with bittersweet nostalgia. You would find yourself reminiscing about the moments you had shared, the laughter and tears, the whispered confessions and stolen kisses. Each memory was etched into the fabric of your being, an indelible mark that refused to fade with time.

Even amidst the hustle and bustle of your busy life, Sukuna's presence lingered like a shadow, casting a subtle but palpable weight upon your heart. His absence was a constant ache, a void that no amount of success or distraction could ever hope to fill. You would catch yourself reaching for your phone to text him, only to remember that he was no longer there to answer.

Each morning, you carefully selected an outfit from the collection of clothes Sukuna had designed for you. He left them to you to find in his apartment, one he also left you. He left the letter saying that he wants you to continue using it until the lease is up. That everything he had was always going to be for you — it was always going to be with the thought of you.

Each and everyday, you knew that there was always a happy feeling in you when you wore them. You still feel like you had a connection with him through the fabric and cuts that had once been a part of his creative vision. His presence was woven into the very threads you wore, a constant reminder of the man who had once called you his muse. Somehow, you think, this was the only way that you could still love him — even when you both aren’t together anymore.

You often wondered where Sukuna was now, how he was thriving in the ever-evolving fashion world. Sometimes, when nostalgia struck, you would visit the store of his fashion house in Tokyo, browsing through the latest collections. Each piece you bought reminded you of him, a tangible connection to the past that you cherished dearly.

Despite your lingering feelings, you hadn't heard from Sukuna since he left for Paris. From what you heard from your mutual friends, he still keeps up to date with you. He buys your magazines, he watches your interviews, your shows. When you heard it, you could feel your heart break over and over. He still looks after you, from afar.

You didn't expect him to call you now. That’s just not his style. Even back then when you were dating. But you think that he understands. You look at your ring, that butterfly ring that he made you. You purse your lips as you feel how it still fits after all this time. How it fits so much better than your engagement ring.

You didn’t know how it happened, but it just did. You don’t think that he’ll ever measure how Ryomen Sukuna shaped your life. How Sukuna had loved you. But you couldn’t expect anything less. But life had moved on, and so had you, or so you told yourself. You were getting married in a couple of months. To a man that has become a stability in your life for the longest of times.

Yet, there were moments when the memories would flood back—the nights spent at glamorous parties, the intimate conversations, and the way he had looked at you as if you were his entire world. The warmth in the way he said your name, the tenderness of his fingertips against your own. Those memories were bittersweet, a blend of happiness and longing that you carried with you.

You were going to see a show in the Paris Opera while you both were on your honeymoon in France. Your fiance procured them for you. He’d always known that you liked opera. But you’ve never said out loud how and why. Because you knew that if you told him that you cling to him because of your first great love, you knew it wouldn’t be fair to him.

Still, you were going to go enjoy the show. He told you it was a romantic drama with comedy in the middle. But you knew that you probably wouldn’t be able to focus on enjoying the show as well as you want to. After all, it would be hard. You would be looking at those familiar passionate stitches and threads, knowing they were specifically made by request of the Paris Opera by the one you had loved the most — Ryomen Sukuna.

You think that this was the only ending.

But perhaps if there would be another one,

In all the alternate universes, all the next lives;

You’d wish that you and Sukuna were happy.

You’d wish you both would end up together.

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novaursa · 2 months ago

Text

Of Gods and Men (resurgence)

This is Dune/GOT/HOTD/FAB/ASOIAF crossover AU that you've voted for. If you always wanted to see House Targaryen in space, I got you. Please note how some of the lore of both universes is bent to blend in both worlds. This is my original idea that I've been cooking for at least two years. Be gentle with my work, and enjoy the ride.

- Summary: House Targaryen survives their ancient exile after being overthrown by House Corrino and the Bene Gesserit. Fleeing to the unknown planet Albiron, the Targaryens build a hidden civilization powered by drakaon crystals, reviving their dragons and creating advanced technology. Millennia later, whispers of their survival begin to surface as the Bene Gesserit confront a mysterious Red Woman on Arrakis, who warns of a coming Prince That Was Promised destined to challenge their control. The Targaryens secretly prepare to return, ready to reclaim their legacy.

- Paring: reader!Daenys Targaryen/Leto Atredies

- Note: For more details about House Targaryen and their technology, please check out the masterlist.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous chapter: the gift

- Next part: hope

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The massive Targaryen starship, named Aegon's Flame, descended through the blood-red atmosphere of Albiron, its sleek black hull glistening as it approached the primary city, Val Anogar. The city was a marvel of Targaryen architecture, built around the towering, dormant volcano that had given birth to the land itself. At its center stood the largest pyramid on the planet, the seat of House Targaryen—a symbol of their dominance and enduring legacy.

The city's pyramids stretched toward the sky, connected by intricate networks of bridges and pathways that hovered above the jungle below. The rich mineral atmosphere bathed everything in hues of dark amber, and the bloody bodies of water reflected the light from the ship as it made its descent onto one of the many landing platforms scattered around the base of the pyramid.

As the Aegon's Flame touched down with a soft hum, the ramp extended, and you and your brother, Aelor, stepped out into the familiar warmth of your homeworld. The air, thick with the scent of rich foliage and volcanic minerals, was a welcome change after the cold and unforgiving landscape of Arctis. You took a deep breath, letting the air fill your lungs as the towering pyramids of Val Anogar loomed around you.

Waiting at the foot of the ramp was your father, Dragonlord Aenys Targaryen, his regal figure standing tall in his black and red armor. Beside him stood your twin, Maelor, and your mother, Aella, Aenys' sister-wife. Aenys’ presence was commanding, his pale blond hair falling past his shoulders, and his piercing violet eyes fixed on you and Aelor as you approached.

"Welcome home," Aenys said, his voice deep and authoritative as his eyes swept over you and your brother, studying your expressions carefully.

Maelor, always the more reserved of the two of you, gave a subtle nod of acknowledgment, his own lilac eyes flicking between you and Aelor. Beside him, Aella stood quietly, her face as beautiful and serene as ever, though there was a hint of curiosity in her gaze.

"Father," you said, bowing your head slightly in respect. "We bring news from Arctis."

Aenys' eyes sharpened with interest as he motioned for you both to follow him. Together, you, Aelor, Maelor, and Aella walked toward one of the grand halls within the pyramid, its walls adorned with carvings and tapestries depicting the ancient conquests of your House. The cool stone beneath your feet was a stark contrast to the volcanic heat that emanated from deep within the pyramid.

Once inside the private chamber, Aenys took his seat on the high-backed chair, his eyes never leaving you and Aelor. "Tell me everything."

Aelor spoke first, his voice steady and composed. "The mission to Arctis was successful. The Harkonnen base has been destroyed, and their forces scattered. However, we were not alone in this effort. We fought alongside House Atreides."

At this, Aenys raised an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued. "Atreides? I did not expect to hear that name."

You stepped forward, adding to Aelor’s report. "Yes, father. Duke Leto Atreides proved to be a valuable ally. His forces fought with precision and honor. Together, we eliminated the Harkonnens, and the orbital strike we initiated ensured their defeat."

Aenys sat back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrest as he considered this. "The Atreides have always been honorable… but also cautious. For them to ally with us so easily is unexpected."

Aelor nodded in agreement. "It was a temporary alliance, but effective. The Duke, however, is a man of interest. He did not inquire too deeply into our affairs, but he is no fool. He understands that our presence on Arctis was significant."

Aenys’ eyes flickered with something unreadable, a mix of pride and concern. "And what of the Atreides? Did they ask about our technology?"

You shook your head. "Not directly, though they were curious. I left them with a… gift of goodwill, to ensure their cooperation in the future. A token, nothing more."

Aella, who had remained silent until now, spoke softly, her voice filled with quiet strength. "It seems House Atreides may be a useful ally for now. But we must tread carefully. The Imperium is full of vipers."

Aenys nodded, his gaze shifting between you and Aella. "Indeed. We must remain cautious, especially now that the Targaryen name has resurfaced in the galaxy."

At that, Maelor stepped forward, his voice calm but resolute. "Father, if our presence is now known, the other Houses will take notice. It’s only a matter of time before the Emperor himself becomes involved."

Aenys’ expression darkened slightly at the mention of the Emperor, his eyes narrowing. "Let him notice. We are not the weaklings he believes us to be."

There was a brief silence before Aenys rose from his seat, his eyes fixed on you and Aelor once more. "Our starships will be ready to depart soon. You both did well, but now we must prepare for what comes next. Ready your dragons for transport. We leave when the time is right."

You nodded, stepping forward. "Vexiae is already boarded and ready, father. She just needs time to recover from Arctis’ harsh climate."

Aenys’ gaze softened slightly, a rare moment of affection crossing his features. "Good. Rest, both of you. We have much to prepare for. The galaxy will soon know that the dragons of Val Anogar still burn bright."

With that, the council ended, and you and Aelor turned to leave the grand hall. The weight of what was to come hung over you both, but for now, there was comfort in being home—within the ancient walls of Val Anogar, surrounded by the heat of the dormant volcano and the legacy of your ancestors.

The dragons would fly again.

The waves outside Duke Leto Atreides' study crashed against the shores of Caladan, a sound that usually brought him peace but now only deepened his contemplation. Alone in the dimly lit room, Leto sat behind his heavy wooden desk, his fingers lightly drumming against its surface. The room was filled with ancient tapestries and books, the warmth of the past surrounding him, but his thoughts were elsewhere—far away, as they so often were ever since the encounter on Arctis.

He had sent his official report to the Emperor about the skirmish with the Harkonnens, carefully leaving out the most crucial details. And yet, no response had come. No inquiry, no reprimand. The silence from the Imperial throne left a bitter taste in Leto's mouth. It was unlike the Emperor to ignore something of such significance, and Leto couldn't help but feel that this silence was more ominous than any direct accusation would have been.

The dragon egg, the gift left to him by Daenys Targaryen, was safely locked away under strict guard. Only a select few even knew of its existence. It was a symbol of something far greater than just the Targaryens' return. It represented a link to a power long thought extinct, a legacy that could either strengthen or destroy House Atreides.

Leto’s thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of the door opening. He didn’t turn immediately, but he knew who it was. He could sense Jessica’s presence even before she spoke. There was an unspoken tension between them, one that had grown since his return from Arctis.

“You lied to me,” Jessica’s voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—an edge of betrayal.

Leto remained still, staring at the papers on his desk as though they held answers to the questions he couldn’t voice. He had known this moment would come, but he had hoped it would be later. He had hoped to find the right words, but now, faced with Jessica’s calm fury, those words seemed impossible to grasp.

“You never lied to me before, Leto,” Jessica continued, stepping further into the room. Her voice softened, but the hurt was still there, laced with suspicion. “But ever since you returned from that frozen planet, you’ve been… different. And now I know why. You’ve hidden things from me. You’ve hidden the truth.”

Leto’s fingers stilled on the desk, his shoulders tightening, but he still did not face her. He knew, with certainty, that the Bene Gesserit and the Emperor were already aware of much more than they let on. Whether by Harkonnen whispers or some other hand, the knowledge of what had transpired on Arctis had spread.

“You encountered something on Arctis,” Jessica pressed, her voice lowering to a careful tone. “What did you find there, Leto? What has been weighing on your mind so heavily?”

Leto finally turned to face her, his expression unreadable, his eyes shadowed with the burden of half-truths and decisions he had yet to fully reconcile. “We fought the Harkonnens,” he said simply, his voice calm, but there was a tension in his words. “They had established a base on a planet that falls under Atreides jurisdiction. Nothing more.”

Jessica’s face tightened, her frustration clear. Leto could see the shift in her eyes, the subtle tightening of her jaw, the way she held herself perfectly still. She had trained for years to read these signs in others, and now, even without her training, she could sense the lie in Leto’s words.

“You’re still not telling me everything,” Jessica said quietly, but there was steel in her voice. “I know you, Leto. I know when you’re keeping something from me. And I know that you encountered the Targaryens on Arctis. You allied with them. Why?”

Leto’s gaze flickered for a brief moment, but he refused to budge. “I made the decisions necessary to protect our House.”

“And yet you refuse to tell me the truth,” Jessica said, her tone accusatory but controlled. “You’ve never hidden things from me before. Why are they different? Why do they deserve your loyalty, so much so that you obscure the truth from me?”

Leto’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He couldn’t explain it, not even to himself. The Targaryens had been more than just an ancient power—they had been a revelation, a living link to something far older and far more dangerous than the politics of the Imperium. And Daenys… she had left an impression on him that he couldn’t quite shake.

Jessica took a step closer, her voice softer now, but no less urgent. “You know what this could mean for our House, for our family. You know the dangers. And yet you hide this from me?”

Leto’s silence was answer enough, and Jessica’s frustration bubbled to the surface. “The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam will be arriving in two weeks,” she said sharply, her tone firm now. “She is coming to test Paul.”

The mention of Paul made Leto’s eyes flicker with concern, but still, he said nothing. His thoughts were elsewhere—still with the dragon egg locked away, still with the memory of Daenys and the weight of the alliance that had been formed in the cold of Arctis.

Jessica turned to leave, her movements brisk. But before she stepped out of the room, she cast one final glance back at Leto. “The Bene Gesserit are watching, Leto. And so is the Emperor. Whatever game you are playing with the Targaryens… I hope you know what you’re doing.”

And with that, she was gone, the door closing softly behind her, leaving Leto alone once more with his thoughts.

He stood in the silence for a long moment, his thoughts drifting back to the locked vault where the dragon egg was hidden. His mind swirled with the implications of what had transpired, with the choices he had made—and the ones he had yet to make.

His fingers lightly traced the surface of his desk as he whispered into the quiet, “What have we started?”

But even as the words left his lips, he knew that the answer to that question was far more dangerous than he had anticipated.

The air in Duke Leto Atreides' study was calm, the soft sounds of the sea outside filling the silence as Gurney Halleck and the Duke spoke quietly. Gurney, as always, had a warmth about him, even when discussing matters of importance. His baliset sat on the desk beside him, and for a moment, Leto allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile at the familiar presence of his trusted friend.

It had been several days since his last conversation with Jessica, but the weight of her words still lingered in the back of his mind. The Reverend Mother was due to arrive soon, and the tension between the Bene Gesserit and the events on Arctis gnawed at him, ever-present.

As Gurney continued talking about troop movements and preparations, the door to the study opened, and Thufir Hawat stepped inside, his usual stack of daily reports in hand. Hawat’s face was calm, but Leto could always detect the subtle intensity behind his Mentat’s eyes.

“My Lord,” Hawat began, his voice even as he placed the reports on Leto’s desk. “The daily reports, as always. But there’s something else that may be of interest.”

Leto looked up from his conversation with Gurney, intrigued. “Go on, Thufir.”

Hawat’s eyes flicked between Gurney and Leto before he continued. “There have been whispers circulating in the Landsraad. Rumors that Arrakis may soon be taken from the Harkonnens.”

The room fell into a brief silence, the weight of Hawat’s words sinking in. Leto’s brow furrowed in confusion and interest. “Arrakis? Taken from the Harkonnens?” He leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping thoughtfully on the arm of his chair. “Does this have something to do with their invasion of our territory on Arctis? Or the events there?”

Hawat gave a small shake of his head. “It’s unclear. These are only whispers for now—rumors that have yet to solidify into anything concrete. But I will continue to keep an ear to the ground. If there is truth to these whispers, it could change much.”

Leto sat back in his chair, his mind working through the possibilities. Arrakis, the source of spice—the most valuable substance in the known universe. If the Harkonnens were to lose it, it would be a crippling blow to their power. But why? What had sparked such rumors?

“I want to know if there is any movement on this,” Leto said firmly. “Arrakis falling into the hands of another House would change the balance of power in the Imperium. And if the Emperor is involved…”

Hawat nodded, his expression sharp. “I will keep you informed, my Lord.”

Before they could delve further into the matter, Gurney broke the silence, his tone lighter but carrying a hint of nostalgia. “You know,” Gurney said, shifting in his chair, “that Targaryen lass—she never had a chance to sing for us after the battle.”

Leto’s expression changed ever so slightly, a subtle shift that only those close to him would notice. His gaze flicked away for a moment, as though the mention of Daenys Targaryen had pulled his thoughts somewhere else, somewhere far from the reports and politics of Caladan. It wasn’t the first time Gurney had brought her up in conversation, and each time, Leto’s response had been the same—a brief pause, a distant look.

Hawat, ever the observant Mentat, caught the shift immediately. He had noticed it before, the subtle changes in the Duke’s demeanor whenever the Targaryens were mentioned, particularly the young woman who had fought at his side. There was something there, something that had become a habit for the Duke—a habit of quiet reflection, of thinking of what had passed on Arctis and of what had been left unsaid.

Gurney, seemingly oblivious to the deeper implications, chuckled softly. “I suppose it was too much to ask for a song after everything. But still, I can’t help but wonder what the voice of a dragon sounds like.”

Leto’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Perhaps another time, Gurney,” he said softly, though there was a weight to his words that hinted at more than just the missed opportunity for music.

Hawat, standing quietly at the edge of the room, made a mental note of the exchange, just as he had done all the other times before. The Duke’s mind was often elsewhere these days—drifting back to Arctis, to the Targaryens, to the dragon egg locked away under strict guard. It was not unlike Leto to carry the burdens of his House, but this… this was different. There was something personal about it, something deeper.

But for now, Hawat said nothing, filing the observation away for future consideration. There were more pressing matters at hand—Arrakis, the Emperor, and the Bene Gesserit’s looming visit. The time for reflection would come later.

Leto rose from his chair, his expression hardening once more as he looked over the reports in front of him. “We’ll keep an eye on these whispers about Arrakis. But for now, we focus on the task at hand. The Emperor has been silent for too long, and that silence is more dangerous than any accusation.”

Gurney nodded, his playful demeanor fading as the weight of their responsibilities returned. “Aye, my Lord. We’ll be ready.”

Hawat bowed his head slightly, his sharp eyes still flickering with the thoughts he did not speak aloud. “I will ensure we remain vigilant.”

The thick, acrid air of Giedi Prime hung heavy in the dimly lit chambers of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. The stench of industry and decay permeated the fortress as the Baron sat at his massive desk, the weight of his corpulent form causing the chair to creak under the strain. Before him stood his Mentat, Piter De Vries, the cunning and cruel man who served as the Baron’s most trusted advisor. Beside him, Feyd-Rautha leaned casually against the wall, his eyes gleaming with barely concealed malice.

The moment had come—one the Baron had been expecting, but not quite so soon.

Piter stepped forward, a small, intricately designed cylinder in his hand, embossed with the sigil of House Corrino. He placed it carefully on the desk before the Baron, his expression a mask of cold efficiency. “A message from the Emperor, my Lord,” Piter said, his voice smooth and calculating.

Baron Vladimir Harkonnen scowled, his bloated fingers grasping the cylinder with surprising speed. With a flick of his wrist, the seal broke, and the message unfurled in front of him, displaying the imperial writ in cold, precise words.

As the Baron read, his face darkened with fury. His beady eyes narrowed, and the veins in his forehead pulsed with barely contained rage. Feyd, watching from the side, could already see the shift in his uncle’s demeanor. The message was not what they had hoped.

Finally, with a low growl, the Baron slammed his fist onto the desk, causing the cylinder to roll onto the floor with a metallic clatter. Feyd straightened, intrigued by the sudden display of anger.

“The Emperor,” the Baron hissed, his voice trembling with anger, “has seen fit to remove House Harkonnen as the stewards of Arrakis.”

Feyd raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smile. “Remove us? He’s giving Arrakis to House Atreides?”

The Baron’s eyes flicked to his nephew, the fury in them unmistakable. “Yes, Feyd. To House Atreides.”

For a moment, there was silence in the room, save for the faint hum of machinery in the distance. Piter De Vries, ever observant, stepped forward cautiously. “This was the plan, my Lord, was it not? To lure the Atreides to Arrakis, to make them overconfident, and then strike?”

“Yes,” the Baron snapped, his voice sharp with impatience. “That was the plan. But it’s happening too soon.” His beady eyes narrowed, the wheels of his mind turning with increasing speed. “Something has accelerated the Emperor’s timeline.”

Piter tilted his head, his sharp mind already calculating the possibilities. “Perhaps the events on Arctis?” he suggested. “Our reports of Duke Leto aiding the Targaryens have reached the Emperor. It would make sense that Shaddam sees both Houses as a growing threat.”

The mention of the Targaryens made the Baron’s expression darken even further. The ancient, forgotten House had reappeared far too soon, disrupting their carefully laid plans. The Emperor’s sudden decision to strip House Harkonnen of Arrakis and hand it to the Atreides was not just a trap—it was a reaction born out of fear.

“The Emperor is afraid,” the Baron muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Shaddam feels threatened. He knows House Atreides is gaining power, and now, with Targaryens at their side, he fears they will grow too strong.”

Feyd smirked. “So, he hopes to deal with the Atreides first, before the dragons become a bigger problem.”

The Baron leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he considered the situation. “Yes,” he growled, his mind working through the Emperor’s plan. “Shaddam wants them out of the way. He needs one threat removed before the other arrives.”

Piter nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place. “Arrakis is the bait. He gives it to Duke Leto, hoping to weaken both Houses in the process. If we fail, the Atreides will grow stronger. But if we succeed… the Targaryens may become his next target.”

The Baron’s face twisted into a sinister smile. “Shaddam is playing a dangerous game. But so are we.”

Feyd chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Then we play along, Uncle. We let the Atreides take Arrakis, and when the time is right…”

The Baron’s smile widened, his bloated form shifting with barely contained glee. “Yes, Feyd. We crush them. And when the dust settles, we’ll be the ones standing.”

The tension in the room dissipated slightly, though the lingering threat of the Targaryens remained like a shadow over their plans. The Baron knew that they had to tread carefully, for the dragons were no mere legends—they were a living, breathing force that could change the balance of power in the Imperium forever.

But for now, they would focus on the task at hand: Arrakis.

And the fall of House Atreides.

The Baron’s laugh echoed through the chamber, dark and malevolent, as he leaned forward in his chair, already plotting his next move.

“Prepare the forces, Piter,” the Baron ordered, his voice low and dangerous. “The game is in motion.”

As Piter bowed and left the room, Feyd stepped closer to the Baron, his grin never fading. “Do you think the Atreides will see this coming?”

The Baron’s eyes gleamed with malice. “It doesn’t matter if they do, Feyd. By the time they realize what’s happening, it will be too late.”

Outside, the industrial machines of Giedi Prime continued their endless work, the smoke rising into the darkened sky.

The Landsraad summit was held on the neutral planet of Sardalon, a world known for its vast halls and towering spires that stretched toward the sky like the fingers of ancient gods. The great assembly chamber, where the most powerful Houses of the Imperium gathered, was packed with delegates and dignitaries, all murmuring amongst themselves in low, hushed tones. Duke Leto Atreides stood among them, his posture tall and composed, though his mind was far from at ease.

The whispers of the Atreides' impending stewardship of Arrakis weighed heavily on him. While there had been no official word yet from the Emperor, the rumors were swirling through the ranks of the Landsraad. Leto knew it was only a matter of time before a formal announcement was made, and the eyes of the Imperium would turn to his House. The Harkonnens would not take this loss lightly, and the political storm that followed would be fierce.

Beside him, as always, was Thufir Hawat, his sharp eyes scanning the room, assessing every conversation and movement. The Mentat could feel the tension in the air. Every House present seemed to be watching Leto with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, waiting for the inevitable confirmation that the Atreides would soon control the most valuable planet in the universe.

Leto’s own thoughts were interrupted as he noticed the Emperor Shaddam IV himself seated at the head of the chamber. Despite his regal composure, there was something unsettling about the way Shaddam held himself today. He was fidgeting, his eyes darting toward the entrance of the hall as if expecting something—or someone.

Leto’s gaze narrowed as one of Shaddam’s commanders rushed to his side, leaning in close to whisper something urgent in the Emperor’s ear. Whatever the message was, it made Shaddam’s face drain of color. The Emperor shot to his feet, alarm flashing across his features.

A ripple of silence washed over the summit as the grand doors at the far end of the hall began to open slowly. The noise of conversation ceased entirely as all eyes turned toward the entrance. Leto felt his heart skip a beat, an inexplicable sense of foreboding settling over him.

Through the open doors, a party stepped forward, dressed in colors that made Leto’s blood run cold. Black and red, the unmistakable colors of House Targaryen, emblazoned with their three-headed dragon sigil. The sight of it seemed to suck the air from the room, and Leto could feel the collective intake of breath from the gathered Houses as they recoiled in shock and surprise.

At the head of the Targaryen delegation was a figure Leto did not recognize but immediately presumed to be the patriarch of the family. His presence was commanding, his silver hair flowing over his shoulders, and his face a mixture of regal authority and barely concealed disdain. He walked with purpose, his steps echoing through the now-silent chamber, and behind him followed two others—Aelor, the young man Leto had met on Arctis, and another younger man who bore a striking resemblance to Daenys. And then, there was her. Daenys herself—you, the Targaryen woman who had left a mark on Leto's mind, stood beside her family, her face calm but unreadable, her eyes sharp as she surveyed the gathered nobility.

Behind them came a full delegation of Targaryen attendants, all dressed in the black and red of their House, each one carrying themselves with the same air of quiet power that the Targaryens had always been known for.

Leto’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the Targaryens approach the center of the hall. He hadn’t expected this—not here, not now. Beside him, Hawat stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation, no doubt calculating the political ramifications of the Targaryens’ sudden appearance.

The silence in the room was broken by Emperor Shaddam, who, unable to contain his anger and confusion, shouted across the hall. “What is the meaning of this?” His voice echoed off the stone walls, his composure shattered by the sudden, unexpected arrival of the long-lost dragons.

The Targaryen patriarch didn’t falter. His gaze, cold and unyielding, fixed on Shaddam as he strode forward with deliberate steps. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but carried a weight that silenced even the Emperor.

“The seat of House Targaryen on these gatherings,” he began, his tone firm and unwavering, “has been empty for far too long.”

A murmur rippled through the chamber, the gathered Houses exchanging stunned glances. No one had expected this. The Targaryens had been thought extinct, their power diminished after their long exile beyond the reach of the Imperium. And now, here they were, standing in the very heart of the Imperium’s political structure, reclaiming their place.

Leto’s mind raced as he processed what was happening. The Targaryens were no longer hiding in the shadows—they had returned, and they were making their presence known in the most public and dramatic way possible. The implications of this were staggering.

He glanced at Hawat, who remained as still as ever, though Leto could tell from the slight tightening of his lips that the Mentat was already calculating every possible outcome of this development. “This complicates things,” Hawat murmured, his voice low so that only Leto could hear.

Leto nodded, his gaze still fixed on the Targaryen patriarch as he stood before Shaddam. “Indeed it does.”

The Emperor, now visibly shaken, glared at the Targaryens, but it was clear he had been caught off guard. His mouth opened as if to speak, but he seemed unsure of what to say. The authority he usually wielded so effortlessly seemed to falter in the face of the Targaryens’ return.

The Targaryen patriarch held Shaddam’s gaze for a long moment before continuing, “House Targaryen demands that its rightful place in the Landsraad be restored.”

The anomasity in the room was palpable, and Leto could feel the eyes of every noble in the chamber turning toward Shaddam, waiting for his response.

Leto’s heart pounded in his chest. This was no ordinary political maneuver.

You stood beside your father, Aenys Targaryen, watching him as he strode with measured steps toward Emperor Shaddam IV. The suspense in the air was oppressive, almost suffocating, as every pair of eyes in the room fixated on your family. It was clear that your father relished the effect of his presence—the ancient House Targaryen, thought to be long dead, had come to stake its claim in the heart of the Imperium.

The hall was vast, lined with banners of the great Houses of the Landsraad, but the air felt stifling, and beneath the stony silence, you could feel the panic rippling among the assembled nobles. This was not how they expected the summit to go. Not with dragons in the room.

Your father’s presence dominated the space as he approached the Emperor. His pale blond hair, much like your own, seemed to catch the light as he moved, his armor glinting with the red and black sigil of House Targaryen. Shaddam’s expression was unreadable at first, his shock barely concealed. But as the Emperor’s guards reacted, moving to step forward, your father remained unimpressed, his expression one of almost casual disdain.

You could see it in his eyes—he saw the Emperor’s guards as nothing more than posturing lions just like the Corrino sigil. They could roar, but in the presence of dragons, what use was a roar?

"Speak like a man, Shaddam, if you have something to say." Your father’s voice cut through the silence, deep and unwavering. He wasn’t here for pleasantries, and the challenge in his tone was unmistakable.

The guards hesitated, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons, but they knew better than to act rashly in the middle of the Landsraad chamber. Shaddam, for a moment, seemed to struggle to find his voice, his composure cracking under the weight of your father’s commanding presence. You could sense it—the Emperor’s fear. It wasn’t something he wore openly, but in the way his fingers trembled just slightly at his side.

Finally, Shaddam spoke, his voice colder than before, but the edge of uncertainty remained. "Your House was not invited, Aenys. The seat of House Targaryen was removed from this council long ago."

Your father scoffed, the sound reverberating through the chamber. He looked around the room, his eyes sweeping over the gathered nobles, as if to gauge the reactions of the assembled Houses. You could feel the unease growing, like a living thing crawling beneath the surface.

"Removed," your father repeated, his voice laced with sarcasm. "But that was long ago, wasn’t it? And yet, here we are. The dragons are not so easily erased, Shaddam."

You felt a surge of pride, your heart pounding in your chest as your father’s words echoed through the hall. He had spent decades preparing for this moment—waiting for the right time to reveal your House to the Imperium once more. And now, here you were, standing before the Emperor himself, reclaiming the seat that had been taken from you.

"We are staying," your father declared, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. Without waiting for a response from Shaddam, he turned and gestured for your family to follow him toward the available seating in the chamber.

As you moved, your brother Aelor leaned in, his voice low but laced with a hint of amusement. "The Duke of Atreides is here," he murmured, his eyes flicking toward the far side of the room where Duke Leto Atreides stood with his entourage.

Your gaze followed Aelor’s, and sure enough, there was Leto, his face a mask of composure, though his eyes were focused sharply on your family. His presence stirred something in you, a memory of Arctis, of the battles fought side by side. You had left him with a token of goodwill—the dragon egg. And though your paths had diverged since that moment, you couldn’t deny the quiet connection that still lingered.

Your twin, Maelor, caught your gaze, his expression unreadable. He had always been the more observant of the two of you, and as his eyes flicked toward Leto, you could tell he was studying the Duke carefully.

"Interesting," Maelor mused, his tone soft but thoughtful. "There’s more to him than meets the eye. His House is… rising. You can feel it."

You didn’t respond, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Maelor was right. House Atreides was on the brink of something momentous—just as your own House had returned from the shadows.

The nobles around you whispered among themselves as your family took their seats, the weight of your presence still hanging over the chamber like a storm cloud. The Landsraad summit, meant to be another ordinary meeting of the Imperium’s elite, had been irrevocably changed. The dragons had returned, and the balance of power was shifting.

The Landsraad chamber had erupted into a low murmur of voices, the once still and solemn atmosphere shattered by the arrival of House Targaryen. Emperor Shaddam IV remained rooted to his spot, his face frozen in shock and frustration. The neutral ground of the Landsraad summit had tied his hands—he couldn’t act against the Targaryens here, not in this hall, where every noble House was watching. The weight of indecision hung heavy in the room, as none of the gathered Houses knew how to react to the sudden return of the dragons.

At the far side of the chamber, Duke Leto Atreides stood with Thufir Hawat and the rest of his delegation. The low hum of conversation around them did little to ease the intent gnawing at Leto’s mind. His fingers absentmindedly twisted the ancestral signet ring on his finger, the red hawk in flight carved into the metal catching the light of the hall. It was a nervous habit, one he didn’t even realize he was doing, but Hawat noticed.

“You’re fidgeting, my Lord,” Hawat said quietly, his sharp eyes catching the subtle movement. “That’s never a good sign.”

Leto’s gaze flickered toward Hawat, but his thoughts were elsewhere—focused on the Targaryen patriarch, Aenys Targaryen, who had just taken his seat. The tension between them had yet to break, and Leto felt a pull, a quiet sense of urgency that he couldn’t ignore.

“I need to speak with them,” Leto said, his voice low but firm.

Hawat’s brow furrowed in concern. “My Lord, approaching them now will only draw the Emperor’s gaze even more toward us. You know how dangerous that could be. The Targaryens may be a powerful ally, but Shaddam will not take kindly to you aligning yourself openly with them, especially after what we’ve heard about Arrakis.”

Leto nodded, fully aware of the consequences. The Emperor’s sudden decision to strip the Harkonnens of Arrakis and give the planet to House Atreides had already set events in motion that could lead to disaster. Any further association with the Targaryens would only amplify the tension.

“I know,” Leto said quietly. “But this is something I have to do. I can’t explain it, Thufir, but there’s something here that goes beyond the politics of the moment. I must speak with them.”

Hawat observed the Duke for a long moment, calculating the risks, the possibilities. He could see the determination in Leto’s eyes, the quiet resolve that had driven him to make decisions like this in the past. Leto was a careful man, but when his mind was set, there was no stopping him.

“Very well,” Hawat said with a sigh. “But be cautious. The other Houses are watching, and so is the Emperor.”

Leto gave a small nod of thanks before stepping forward, his heart pounding in his chest. The crowd in the chamber parted nervously as he made his way toward the Targaryen delegation, his tall frame cutting a path through the sea of nobles. He could feel the weight of their stares, the curiosity and unease that rippled through the room as they watched the Duke of Atreides approach the dragons.

Hawat and the rest of Leto’s delegation followed closely behind, their expressions tense but professional. As they neared the Targaryens, Leto stopped for a moment, his breath catching in his throat as Aenys Targaryen locked eyes with him.

For a brief moment, time seemed to still. The patriarch’s gaze was powerful, sharp, and calculating. His silver hair gleamed in the light, and his presence commanded respect. But there was something more—something in his eyes that radiated both power and ancient wisdom. Leto felt a flicker of fear, a primal instinct that warned him of the danger of approaching this man, but alongside that fear was an undeniable respect.

Leto took a deep breath and continued forward, his resolve firm. When he finally reached the Targaryens, he bowed slightly, his hand resting over his chest. “Duke Leto Atreides of Caladan,” he said, his voice steady. “It is an honor.”

Aenys studied Leto for a moment before nodding in acknowledgment. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and calm, but there was an underlying strength that made it clear why he was the head of his House. “I know who you are, Duke Leto. My children speak highly of you. They tell me that you were of great assistance on Arctis.”

Leto’s breath caught slightly at the mention of Arctis. His mind immediately went to the battles they had fought there, the Harkonnen forces, and the alliance that had formed in the cold of that frozen planet. He felt Aelor’s eyes on him, and then… you. He couldn’t help it—his gaze flicked to you for just a moment, catching your eyes before he quickly refocused on Aenys.

“It was my honor to fight alongside your House, Lord Aenys,” Leto said, his voice quieter now, more personal. “The Harkonnens are a plague on the Imperium, and it was… refreshing to have allies that fight with such skill and honor.”

Aenys’s expression softened slightly, though his face remained unreadable. “Your House, too, fought with honor. I thank you for that.” He paused, glancing at his son Aelor, then at you, his daughter. “They speak highly of you, Duke Leto. Both of them.”

Leto resisted the urge to glance again at you, though he could feel the intensity of your presence beside your father. The weight of your House was felt, and it was not lost on him that you had left an indelible mark on him since Arctis.

Aenys took a step closer, his voice lowering slightly so that only those nearby could hear. “But you should know, Duke, that the game we play is far more dangerous than any skirmish on a frozen planet. The Emperor watches us all, and the power that we wield is a threat to him.”

Leto nodded slowly, his gaze steady. “I know, Lord Aenys. But some things… must be done, regardless of the consequences.”

Aenys’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “Perhaps you and I are not so different, after all.”

The room around them was still heavy, the nobles whispering among themselves, unsure of what to make of this exchange. The Emperor’s gaze was surely upon them, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. Leto had made his move, and the path before him was clearer than ever.

As Aenys stepped back, Leto caught one last glance from you. Your eyes met his for just a moment, and in that brief exchange, something unspoken passed between you. An understanding, perhaps. Or maybe something more.

As Duke Leto Atreides and his delegation stepped back from the encounter with House Targaryen, the uncertainty in the Landsraad chamber remained visible. The murmur of voices swirled around them, carrying a mixture of curiosity, confusion, and thinly veiled anxiety. The unexpected return of the Targaryens had left everyone off balance, but Leto felt a different kind of unease creeping up his spine. He had just crossed an invisible line by speaking openly with the Targaryens, and he knew the Emperor’s gaze would be on him even more sharply now.

As Leto moved through the throngs of nobles, he caught sight of two figures cutting a path toward him through the crowd. Serus and Xyla, representatives of House Ix, moved with a quiet confidence, their expressions guarded but their interest unmistakable. Leto had dealt with the Ixians before—they were known for their technological prowess and their inscrutable nature. But their presence here, at this moment, sent a ripple of unease through him.

Serus reached Leto first, offering a polite nod, his smile thin and enigmatic. “Duke Leto,” he said, his voice smooth. “It seems we find ourselves with… common friends these days.”

Beside him, Xyla offered a smile of her own, though it was as calculated as her brother’s. “Yes, we couldn’t help but notice your conversation with Lord Aenys. The Targaryens are quite an intriguing family, wouldn’t you agree?”

Leto studied the two of them carefully, his expression guarded. The Ixians had always been skilled in the art of speaking without saying much at all, and their sudden approach was far from accidental. “They are… certainly not what one expects,” Leto replied, keeping his tone neutral. “But I don’t believe that’s what you’ve come to discuss.”

Xyla’s smile widened ever so slightly, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “You’re right, Duke. We are always open to mutually beneficial exchanges. Should you ever find yourself interested in a… deeper conversation about matters that concern us all, House Ix would be more than willing to accommodate.”

Serus inclined his head, adding, “The Emperor’s attention is rarely focused on any one thing for long, after all. Discretion can be valuable in times like these.”

With that, the two of them turned and drifted back into the crowd, leaving Leto with more questions than answers. The offer was clear enough—House Ix was offering to be a potential ally, or at least a partner in whatever schemes might unfold in the shadows. But there was something unnerving about the way they had delivered the message, a sense that the Ixians saw far more than they let on.

Leto exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the sense of unease. He turned to Hawat, who had remained close by, ever the watchful guardian. “They make it sound like they want to be friends,” Leto murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But somehow, that only leaves me feeling more exposed than before.”

Hawat’s expression tightened into a knowing smirk, but he said nothing about the Ixians. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his voice low and deliberate. “If you truly wish to speak with the Targaryens under less scrutinizing conditions, my Lord, it would be best to do so on their departure from this planet. Less chance of prying ears and curious eyes.”

Leto nodded slowly, his mind already turning over the possibilities. If he could arrange a private meeting with Aenys and his children—especially you—he might gain some insight into what the Targaryens truly wanted, and why they had chosen now to reveal themselves. But there was also risk in such a meeting, a risk he could not ignore.

Before he could dwell on it further, Leto allowed his gaze to drift back across the room, seeking out you one last time. You stood beside your brother Aelor, your expression composed but your presence as striking as ever amidst the sea of noble delegates. Leto couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of anticipation, a connection that tugged at him despite the chasm of your circumstances.

As he turned back to face Hawat, he caught the faintest hint of amusement in the Mentat’s eyes, a rare crack in his usually stony demeanor. Hawat, of course, had noticed the direction of his thoughts, but the old man said nothing. He merely raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk still lingering at the edges of his lips.

Leto straightened his shoulders, casting off the moment of vulnerability. “Make the necessary preparations, Thufir. If we are to speak with the Targaryens again, we will do so on our terms.”

Hawat nodded, his smirk fading back into his usual stern expression. “As you command, my Lord.”

And with that, the Duke of House Atreides turned his focus back to the gathering around him, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his mind. He knew that whatever path lay ahead, it would be one fraught with danger and intrigue. But as he thought again of the Targaryens, of the dragons that had returned to the Landsraad, he couldn’t help but feel that this was a risk worth taking.

The docking bay of Sardalon’s spaceport was a cavernous expanse, its ceilings stretching high above the bustling activity of noble delegations and the mechanized whirring of starships. The air was filled with the low hum of engines, the clanking of cargo being loaded, and the murmurs of dignitaries exchanging parting words before they left the neutral world behind.

Duke Leto Atreides moved through the bay with his delegation, Thufir Hawat close at his side, ever watchful of the surroundings. As they walked, Leto’s gaze caught sight of a starship that stood out among the more familiar crafts of the Landsraad nobles. The sleek, black hull of the Targaryen starship, Aegon's Flame, gleamed under the harsh lights of the docking bay, its design unlike anything else in the Imperium. It was a vessel of shadow and flame, a stark reminder of the ancient power that the Targaryens represented.

The presence of the Targaryen ship had clearly made an impression. Nobles either stared at it in thinly veiled fascination or kept their distance, their expressions tinged with fear. Whispers spread through the bay, the tension from the summit still lingering in the air like the aftershock of a thunderstorm.

As Leto’s gaze moved across the scene, he spotted you—Daenys Targaryen—standing near the boarding ramp of the ship, your family gathered around you. Aenys was deep in conversation with Aelor and Maelor, giving them last-minute instructions before their departure. Your brothers turned and ascended the ramp, disappearing into the shadows of the ship, followed closely by other members of the Targaryen delegation.

Just then, as if sensing his presence, you turned and met Leto’s gaze from across the bay. Your expression shifted, curiosity mingling with recognition, and you raised a hand to halt your father, who paused mid-sentence, his eyes following your line of sight.

Leto took a deep breath, glancing at Hawat. The Mentat’s gaze was steady, offering a subtle nod—his way of signaling that everything had been arranged as planned. Hawat had made contact with the Targaryens earlier, ensuring that this meeting would occur away from prying eyes. Leto, needing to avoid attracting too much attention, adjusted his pace and approached separately from his delegation, weaving through the bustling nobles and workers.

As he neared, you remained by your father’s side, your expression still guarded but curious. Aenys, ever the formidable presence, turned to face Leto fully, his pale eyes narrowing with interest as the Duke of Atreides came to a stop before you both.

“Duke Leto,” Aenys greeted him, his voice a deep, measured tone that carried easily above the noise of the bay. “You approach us again. I take it you have something of importance to discuss before we depart?”

Leto inclined his head respectfully, catching his breath as he took in the sight of the Targaryen patriarch and his daughter standing before him. The presence of Aenys was as commanding as ever, but he could feel your eyes on him as well, watchful and discerning.

“Lord Aenys,” Leto replied, his voice steady. “Lady Daenys. I apologize for the abrupt approach, but there is much that remains unsaid between our Houses, and little time to speak of it here. I would ask for a few moments of your time before you depart.”

Aenys studied Leto for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Behind him, the Aegon’s Flame loomed like a shadowed sentinel, its ramp still extended as if waiting. The nobles in the bay continued to cast curious glances toward the encounter, their whispers rising as they tried to discern what business the Atreides Duke might have with the newly returned dragons.

Finally, Aenys gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Very well, Duke Leto,” he said, his voice carrying a note of curiosity. “Speak, then. What is it that weighs so heavily on your mind?”

Leto hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing at you briefly. There was a flicker of something in your gaze—something unspoken but not unfriendly. Then, he turned his attention fully to Aenys, gathering his thoughts before speaking.

“I came to speak of what lies ahead,” Leto began, his voice low, but with a sense of urgency. “We find ourselves in a time of shifting alliances and dangerous currents. The Emperor may believe he holds the power, but I sense that both our Houses see the truth of the matter—that House Atreides and House Targaryen have become… focal points in a larger game.”

Aenys’s expression remained impassive, but his eyes gleamed with a sharp intelligence. “The Emperor is a creature of fear, Duke Leto. He fears your House because you have gained the respect of many. And now, with Arrakis to be transferred to your stewardship, his fear only grows. But you are right—there is more at play than the Emperor wishes to admit.”

Leto nodded, encouraged by Aenys’s willingness to engage. He took a step closer, his voice dropping to ensure that only you and Aenys could hear. “What happened on Arctis—the alliance that formed there—was more than just a temporary arrangement. I believe there is potential for something greater. House Atreides is on the brink of new responsibilities, and we cannot face what is to come alone.”

Aenys regarded him with a thoughtful expression, his fingers tapping lightly against the edge of his cloak. You stood beside him, your presence a steady reminder of the battles fought on Arctis, the shared struggle that had forged an unspoken bond between your House and the Atreides.

“Your House faces a dangerous path, Duke Leto,” Aenys said finally, his tone contemplative. “As do we. But alliances are forged through trust and necessity, and it remains to be seen whether our goals align. Why should I believe that the ambitions of House Atreides are not like those of every other House, seeking power and advantage in the shadows of this Imperium?”

Leto hesitated, then glanced at you again, as if seeking some hint of your thoughts. The brief look you exchanged seemed to hold a world of unspoken questions, but he turned back to Aenys with a steadiness that belied the uncertainty of the moment.

“Because,” Leto said, his voice quiet but firm, “I believe that your House, like mine, understands the need for honor in the face of treachery. And in these times, I think that understanding is worth more than any crown or title.”

Aenys considered this, his expression softening slightly as he measured Leto’s sincerity. Then, he glanced at you, a silent question in his eyes that you understood without words.

You nodded subtly, a decision forming in your mind, though you kept your face calm and controlled. The encounter might be brief, but it was clear that the Duke’s words had left an impression, and that this was not the last time your Houses would cross paths.

Aenys turned back to Leto, giving a slight incline of his head. “Very well, Duke Leto. When the time comes, let us see if your House holds true to its word. Until then, we have much to prepare for, and you have much to consider on Caladan.”

Leto bowed slightly, sensing that the conversation was coming to an end. “Thank you, Lord Aenys. Until we meet again.”

With that, Aenys turned back toward the ramp, signaling for you to follow. But just before you did, you caught Leto’s gaze one last time, offering a slight, enigmatic smile that lingered in his thoughts long after you had disappeared into the shadows of the Aegon’s Flame.

As Leto rejoined his delegation, Hawat met his gaze with a raised eyebrow, his expression a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “You made quite the impression, my Lord. I trust it was worth the risk?”

Leto let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his mind still turning over the words exchanged, the possibilities that lay ahead. “It was, Thufir. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it with our eyes open.”

The ramp of the Targaryen starship retracted, and Leto watched as the Aegon’s Flame began to rise from the docking bay, disappearing into the skies above Sardalon. He couldn’t help but feel that this was only the beginning—that the threads of fate were weaving a new tapestry, one that would bind House Atreides and House Targaryen in ways neither could yet foresee.

...

The booming hum of suspensors cut through the noise of the bustling docking bay, a sound that had become all too familiar over the years. It was the sound of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, a presence that few could mistake or ignore. The hair on the back of Duke Leto Atreides' neck stood on end as the deep, sneering voice of the Baron echoed through the cavernous space, stopping Leto in his tracks as he made his way back to the Atreides starship.

Hawat, ever alert, stiffened beside Leto, his hand instinctively moving to the knife hidden beneath his cloak. The Atreides soldiers, stationed around their Duke, tensed, ready to defend him. But Leto held up a hand, signaling them to stand down, even as his own pulse quickened. The Baron might have approached alone, without his usual retinue of Harkonnen brutes, but his presence was no less dangerous.

Baron Vladimir Harkonnen drifted closer, his bulk supported by the gravity-defying suspensors, a twisted smile spreading across his face as he took in the sight of Leto and his men. His beady eyes gleamed with something like amusement, as if the entire situation was one of his private jokes.

“Well, well, Duke Leto,” the Baron’s voice rumbled, thick with mockery. “You and the Targaryens certainly know how to put on a show, don’t you? Not unlike what you pulled on that frozen ice ball, Arctis. Quite the performance, indeed.”

Leto turned to face the Baron fully, his expression carefully neutral. He would not give the Harkonnen the satisfaction of seeing his irritation. “Baron,” he greeted curtly, his tone cold. “If you have something to say, then say it. I have no time for games.”

The Baron chuckled, a low, menacing sound that reverberated through the air. He drifted closer, until the distance between them was uncomfortably short, and Leto could smell the metallic scent of the Harkonnen’s suspensor mechanisms. Hawat shifted slightly, ready to intervene if necessary, but he kept his stance carefully measured.

“What I want?” The Baron’s voice dropped, adopting a more sinister tone as he leaned forward slightly, his shadow looming over Leto despite the suspensors that buoyed his mass. “What I want, Duke, is to remind you that you are playing a very dangerous game, one that could see your House burned to ashes if you’re not careful.”

Leto’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice even. “You come to me with warnings, Baron, but I see no reason to heed them. Your House has already lost much, and you’re clinging to what little remains of your power. What could you possibly threaten me with now?”

The Baron’s smile widened, revealing yellowed teeth. He glanced over Leto’s shoulder, toward the distant Targaryen starship that was slowly ascending into the sky, its sleek form disappearing into the red-hued atmosphere of Sardalon.

“Oh, I have my ways, Duke. You may have the favor of the Emperor for now, but that could change in an instant. And as for your new friends, the Targaryens…” His eyes gleamed with malice. “I couldn’t help but notice the way you steal glances at the Dragonlord’s daughter.”

Leto’s face remained impassive, but he felt a sudden surge of anger, a cold knot tightening in his chest at the Baron’s insinuations. He forced himself to stay calm, refusing to let the Harkonnen’s words rattle him.

Baron Harkonnen continued, his voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Oh, I’ve seen that look before, Duke. It’s always the same with men like you, always thinking they can charm their way into places they don’t belong. But I’d be careful if I were you, hmm? Feyd-Rautha has a… particular interest in that girl. He’s a persistent sort, my nephew.”

Leto’s expression darkened, his gaze locking with the Baron’s, but he refused to take the bait. “If your nephew wishes to challenge the Targaryens, he’s welcome to try,” he said evenly. “But I imagine he’ll find dragons far less forgiving than you, Baron.”

The Baron’s smile faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered, letting out another oily laugh. “Such bravado, Duke Leto. But remember, the Imperium is not kind to those who step out of line. And neither am I.”

Without waiting for a response, the Baron drifted back, his laughter lingering in the air like a dark cloud as he turned and floated away, his suspensors carrying him back toward the shadows of the docking bay. Leto watched him go, his fists clenching at his sides, every fiber of his being resisting the urge to draw his blade.

Behind him, Hawat moved closer, his voice low and urgent. “My Lord, the Baron is growing desperate. He wouldn’t have approached you like this unless he felt cornered. But we must tread carefully. He knows about your interest in the Targaryen girl, and he will use that against you.”

Leto took a deep breath, letting the tension bleed out of his shoulders as he forced himself to focus. “I know, Thufir. But I won’t let him intimidate me. Not now, not ever.”

Hawat nodded, though his gaze remained watchful, his mind clearly racing with the implications of the Baron’s words. “We should leave this place, my Lord. The Targaryens have departed, and the longer we remain here, the more attention we draw.”

Leto spared one last glance toward the skies where the Aegon’s Flame had disappeared, and then turned back to his own starship. The encounter with the Baron left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he knew that the game they were playing was far from over.

As he boarded the Atreides starship with his delegation, his thoughts lingered on the Targaryens—on Aenys, on you, and the storm that was brewing within the Imperium. Whatever came next, he would face it head-on, just as he always had. And he would not let the shadows of the Harkonnens or the threats of the Emperor dictate his path.

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fluffysucker · 6 months ago

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There's nothing like this

Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU) Boxer/Biker! Bucky Barnes x Chef! Reader Part of the Miss Americana & The heartbreak Prince. AKA Bucky and his princess ALL ONESHOTS CAN BE READ AS STAND-ALONE

Bucky looks at you and your relationship

Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me.

Been sitting on this one for a while now.Anyway hope you look it.

HEAVILY based on Hozier's song 'Two sweet'. Because look at me and tell this song isn't so Bucky and his princess.

Main Masterlist

It was absurd. It was unusual. It was odd. It was unconventional. It was everything but normal.

However, it made perfect sense for both of them.

He was focused. He was determined. He was in the ring. He held his hands up near his face, calculating his next steps carefully. If he played it right, the fight was his with the least effort.

And he did. Because right now, he was the legend. The icon. The unbeatable. He was James Barnes. He was, as many like to call him, the Winter Soldier.

The opposite man never stood a chance to begin with. He knew it. Everybody knew it. It's a sad day in any player's life when they are paired with Barnes.

His legacy was unequal. His reputation preceded him. His demeanor spoke loudly. His appearance made it clear. His strong body and physique. His toned muscles. His broad shoulders. His long hair. His cold stare.

Everything about him prompted fear to the hearts of all players who sought this game as a profession.

He was untouchable. He was unconquerable. He was the Winter Soldier. He was James Barnes.

Winning this fight in record time with a final blow from his left arm, which the opponent wouldn't recover from, wasn't what was abnormal about this.

The abnormality came from the girl in the pink dress and bright makeup who sat in the first row and cheered for Barnes like her life was dependent on it.

Finally, you were able to get to this place in your relationship where Bucky was okay with you watching him fight.

You thought you had lost your hearing when Bucky told you that you could come and watch for the first time. You were playfully nagging him about it like you usually did whenever he had fights coming up. You never expected him to give in and agree this time. It took you a couple of seconds to react. Only regaining composure when he offered to take it back. Over your dead body. You had been waiting for this long enough.

Bucky couldn't understand how or why someone would get this happy and excited to watch a boxing match. Especially someone like you. Someone so sweet and adorable.

Your excited squeals and up-and-down jumping in the kitchen of his apartment once he told you left him surprised in a pleasant way.

You really did love him so much that you wanted to risk being in such a place only to support him. Not that he would let anything happen to you. Never in a million years. But a person like you could never belong to places like these. And you were smart enough to know that.

But you didn't care. You had been asking for this for a long time. You meant every word you said. You wanted to support him, be there for him, and cheer for him. You wanted it.

You wanted to be a part of every aspect of Bucky's life. Because you loved everything about him.

And letting you come and watch him felt like a great victory and a big step forward. All your patience and understanding paid off.

And you continued. Letting Bucky decide whenever you could join. Let him have one of the guys pick you up and drop you off. Let him assign another one to stay with you.

It made you laugh inside. One of them would show up at your restaurant's door at the agreed-upon time and take you to the Stark property. Then, once you reached inside, another would be waiting for you to accompany you the whole time you were here. Most of the time, it was either Steve or Sam. Given that Bucky trusted them the most and you were closest to them,.

The whole thing felt very funny to you. You felt like a child being handed around from one to the other. But you were okay with it. You knew that was the only way for Bucky to let you come here. So you didn't mind. Whatever would put his mind at ease and would allow you to support your boyfriend. You were fine with it.

Bucky always made sure he planned it right. He made sure you arrived at the right time when you were able to watch his full fight from the start, but nothing before it. You were here only for him, and it should stay like this. He didn't like the idea of you seeing other messy, brutal fights. That was also why he made sure he brought you to fights that were easy. He knew he was winning. Fights that he came out of with barely a scratch.

Of course, you noticed this pattern of choices. But you didn't bring it. And you wouldn't. At least for now.

However, the most important thing for Bucky was making sure someone stayed with you at all times until you left. If Sam or Steve were unavailable to do this job for any reason, you weren't coming. It wasn't up to debate.

He knew the people who frequented Stark Property. They would eat you alive. Your lovability and tenderness would draw them to you like a deer in a wolf den. And they wouldn't be kind. And Bucky couldn't have this. If anyone said something to you, let alone tried to lay a hand on you, Bucky would burn the whole place down. No hesitation. No thoughts. Everybody would be in great danger.

Just like he was untouchable, you were too. And even more.

Knowing so, Sam and Steve took their assignments seriously. Because while both men loved you and cared for you, they were aware of Bucky's nature. It was no joke to him. God forbid he turn around mid-fight and see you sitting alone. They wouldn't hear the end of it. There were very few things the three men considered to be a threat to their long and strong friendship; this was one of them.

So today, after the referee announced him the winner, he turned to the crowd that was applauding him. His eyes immediately caught you. Standing in between Yelena and Sam in your puff-sleeved, heart-shaped neckline, filled with rose-flower pink dress, matching your shiny pinkish makeup. Your hair braided at the top and rest falling freely on your back. The necklace with his initials resting on the pit of your neck. You were cheering for him like he won the world's most prestigious prize.

Bucky was trying to fight his smile and not break character. You looked unbelievably cute. With your happy smile, bright eyes, and nonstop clapping, it was all for him. You did it for him.

Everybody was cheering for James Barnes or the Winter Soldier, while you were cheering for Bucky.

And he was so grateful.

Bucky left the ring, only throwing a wink at you on his way inside. While Bucky didn't show much affection towards you in here, everyone connected the dots.

You were the boxer's girl. And you held that with pride

Once Bucky was inside, some of the guys came out, making you all head out to the bar to continue the night there.

You were in the middle of a conversation with Wanda when you felt the familiar, strong arms wrap around your waist.

"Hey, princess." Bucky whispered in your ear as he pulled you close to his chest, laying soft kisses on your exposed neck.

You smiled at Wanda, who took this as her cue to give you two spaces. Because in here with the people he mostly trusted, Bucky wasn't shy about giving you all his attention and affection. In other words, it gets sickeningly sweet and loving.

"Hey, babe." You turned around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck while his hands tightened around your waist.

"You were so great in there." You said this as you gave his lips a little peck.

"You liked it?" Bucky asked as he kept giving you small kisses.

"Yes, I wanted to shout at everyone to look at how strong my boyfriend is." You were laughing as you tried to speak between his kisses.

"I think they already know." Bucky couldn't help himself when he buried his face in your neck, kissing it softly.

"Well, they need to hear it from me." You felt the vibration of his laugh on your neck.

You moved a bit so he could look at you. You wanted to say this to his face.

"I'm so proud of you." You were looking into his eyes as you said it.

The playful smile on Bucky's face turned into something genuine. The care and love you gave after the fights touched him immensely. Nobody ever treated him like that. So gently. It was puzzling how, after watching a fight like this, you still chose to love him so sweetly.

It was an active choice you kept making. He didn't understand why, but he would never complain.

He leaned forward to capture your lips and kiss you softly yet passionately. He wanted to stay like this forever.

As the night went on, you and Bucky separated, travelling to different circles of people. But that didn't mean Bucky didn't keep his eyes off you.

Which was what led to where he was now.

Bucky was sitting in one of the booths, observing you. The back booth gave him the opportunity to see everything.

You were standing with his friends. People who were so different from you yet here you were, getting along greatly with all of them. You were talking to all of them, laughing, and sharing jokes.

Bucky couldn't help the smile on his face when he saw you struggling to give Clint an opinion about the dish he made and presented to you.

But you being you. You managed to find something nice to say about the barely edible food, making Clint's smile bigger than the sky.

You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate.

The rest of you like you're the TSA.

Bucky kept watching you. He watched as you listened carefully to Peter's stories, and how you interacted and was fully invested. He watched as Pepper stole you to ask about a cake recipe for Morgan, which you happily provided.

Then he watched as you rejoined Natasha at the bar, picking up where you left off in the conversation with her.

It wasn't just the colors you wore that made you stand out. It was everything.

I wish that I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong

You know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain

Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape

Bucky couldn't take his eyes off you. How you listened to everyone. How you treated everyone. How swiftly you got along with everyone. How compassionate and accepting you were. How sweet you were.

And you were all his.

Bucky kept looking at you as you were walking towards him.

"I brought you another one." You said this as you put the two cups on the table. His neat whisky and your raspberry martini.

Before you could sit down, Bucky pulled you to himself, ushering for you to sit on his lap. You gladly did.

His arms came around your waist, and yours around his shoulders. Your floral scent evaded his senses. It was the opposite of his. Strong scent like the woods and black coffee.

Your pink dress clashed with his all-black outfit. You felt too bright for the dark spot he was sitting in.

Everything about the two of you didn't make any sense. Not even in the slightest. You were the polar opposite.

You were nice. He was stiff. You were friendly. He was feared. You were understanding. He was strict. You were smiley. He was sullen. You were vulnerable. He was a closed book.

You were everything he wasn't. He was everything you weren't.

There was nothing like this.

And somehow, that made you perfect.

You brought lights he had never seen in his life before. You created happiness he never thought of. You led him to feelings he didn't know existed. You gave him love, which he always claimed he was unworthy of.

You changed his life. You turned his life upside down. In the best way possible.

Bucky wished there were enough words in the world to tell you how much he loved you. Bucky wished there were enough ways he could express his gratitude for you. Bucky wished there were enough time to show you how much he cherished you.

Bucky wished that one day you would ever comprehend how your sweetness saved him. How you were everything to him

"You're too sweet for me." Bucky spoke slowly as he kissed you.

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ronearoundblindly · 1 year ago

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The Stark Legacy (19)

Delight, part of Book II: Mind (see previous or series)

Summary: The compound deals with everyday challenges alongside holiday struggles.

Warnings for canon-level language and discussion of drugs and abuse. Rated Teen, 15+ ONLY, please.

CHAPTER NINETEEN—December 2038

“Ok, guys,” Peter Parker started energetically, “I gotta get back to decorate the tree tonight, so here’s what I got so far.”

“Go ahead,” Steve allowed.

“Bad batch of drugs is killing kidnapped homeless people, and now some of the same drug has been interspersed in huge illegal shipments around the world,” Peter rambled.

“Why didn’t we catch this earlier?” Bucky was given exactly the time it took to walk from the quinjet to the conference room to settle in. After yesterday’s all-nighter and a long flight, he was in a sharp mood.

“I found out when I ran into two kids who were experimented on,” Peter said.

“Romanoff and Thor got very little out of the drug’s creator,” Steve added. “We’ve had this professor in custody for a while,” he continued, sliding a file over to Bucky, “and he’s a full-blown nut job, with too many connections. It’s been a joke trying to track all the crime this guy might be involved in.”

“Seriously,” Bucky mumbled, “I’ve been sunning myself instead of helping with this?”

“Buck, we’ve got dozens of agents,” Steve snapped. He had rested no better than his friend. “T’Challa needed you more than us.”

Bucky scanned the file. “You have to be joking. D-Lite?”

“Yup.” Peter checked his watch.

“That sounds like an off-brand soda.”

Steve sighed in frustration. “Parker has two informants, Tandy and Tyrone, was it? They told us where the experiments took place, past tense, and now we are trying to help them control…whatever it was that triggered in them by this heroin substitute.”

“Whoever it doesn’t change, it kills flat out.” Peter’s face sank, remembering the stories he’d heard from his young recruits. “And it gets a little weirder because the survivors said that Professor Marshall was helped by a demon.”

“What the hell—”

“Yup. Basically. Named despair, at least that’s what Marshall called him, it, whatever.” Peter looked at his watch again and punched in something on the table’s comms. “And that’s it for me, so Natasha can go from here. Bye.” He bolted to the door, yelling a “Merry Christmas” to everyone on his path out.

Steve leaned over. “He told me earlier that Christmas is the only time his teenager isn’t a ‘total douche,’ his words, so he’s a bit excited to go home.”

Nat’s face popped up in familiar blue.

“Boys, I’m sending you new info that we’ve gathered, but,” Nat paused, “this is a mess. Only a fraction of these shipments have been tampered with, and there is no way to test all of it. We’ve got to destroy everything we find. You can imagine how many friends we’ve made.”

“And the other doctor affiliated with Marshall?” Steve sorted a few windows on his tablet.

“Clint was tracking Dorcas until the trail went cold. It’s like he actually disappeared into the ocean. We asked King Namor to keep a guard up just in case. The Sub-Mariner said he’d heard a legend of D’Spayre,” Nat cleared her throat, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but according to Atlantian lore, the demon D’Spayre was created from the fear their ancestors experienced when the whole kingdom sunk into the ocean. Hell of a bedtime story.”

“Well, the devil attacked us last year, so…” Bucky was going to need some time to absorb all this, line the players up on the field in his mind. “Alright, let’s get more details from Clint. Fresh eyes can’t hurt.”

“He’s states-side now,” Nat clarified.

Bucky looked at Steve. His friend shrugged. “And Sharon is waiting for me at the house,” Steve said, tentatively, “her rule when I came back. Home for the holidays unless…you know, disaster.”

“Guess it’s just me, Doc, and Wilson,” Bucky grumbled. “When does Stark get back?”

Nat pursed her holographic lips. “Gamora and Rocket send us subspace messages, but Tony’s been out of range for weeks. There’s a whole other problem…I’ll have to…we don’t know much, so I’d like us to wait for Stark to brief us. We’ve got enough to handle now.”

“Fine,” Steve allowed again, “keep us posted.” Nat’s form vanished.

Bucky leaned farther back in the conference room chair, sorting through what he’d just heard and known for a while.

“I think I liked being lower on the totem pole,” he said tightly. “There was a lot less to worry about. Go here, kill this guy. Go there, one more. Chill out and do nothing for a few months—”

“Buck,” his oldest friend interrupted, leaning forward with hands intertwined, “maybe you shouldn’t joyfully reminisce about single kills, yeah?”

Bucky swallowed inside his clenched jaw.

“For right now, I need you and Sam to work together,” Steve continued.

“She’s in Wakanda,” he replied quickly.

“Actually, both of them. Big Sam seems to respond well to Lil’Sam, and I think she can help him focus during training.”

“I should have just brought her with me,” Bucky mumbled.

Steve sat up. “Wait. So who…”

It only occurred to Bucky as Steve trailed off. No one had invited Samantha home. No one had even thought to do so just in case. All the pieces moved on the chess board and swiveled right past her. Her only remaining family was zipping through space somewhere. Clint hadn’t known he’d be back until the last minute. Natasha was flying around constantly. Bruce—

As if summoned by the thought, Banner pressed the door open with his back and looked up from his tablet. “Hey, gang, can we talk about Sam?” Bruce looked up over his glasses, unaware of his timeliness.

Steve’s expression said it all. “Shit.”

Samuel Wilson shoveled food into his mouth as if he were starving. A few people wandered in and out of the kitchen while Bucky looked on, mortified.

“You’re gonna get sick, buddy,” Bucky said as if he too would be sick.

“I’m in training, man. I lost so much muscle mass—it’s a bitch to put back on.” Sam gulped from the huge water bottle he carried everywhere.

“Glad to see your mood improved after sleep.”

“Bite me,” Falcon coughed between fork-fulls.

He ignored that rousing invitation. “You seemed to respond well to Samantha,” Bucky started.

“Lil’ Sam,” the hungry, hungry hippo corrected.

“—so I thought she could help us out the next few flights. What do you think?”

“Whatever.” Sam continued to eat. Bruce had warned Bucky not to expect much real interaction from Wilson. After waking up, the onslaught of high brain activity had plateaued, and his personality was still recovering, if it was coming back at all. Wilson’s moods still jumped around, and his focus was erratic. Bruce had suggested trying some unconventional, new methods of acclimating Falcon back into the team. This was as good of an idea as any other.

To Bucky’s surprise, Samantha jumped at the chance to help, and he could she her projection sitting on the disc in the yard as he and Falcon approached. He was even more surprised when Little Sam took the reins right away.

“Tell you what, Big Sam,” she started, smiling, an odd thing to see for the first time on a projection. It seemed foreign somehow. “You beat me at cards, and you can skip flying today. Deal?”

Wilson perked up immediately. He stood straighter. He smirked. He bounced in his step, what he’d several times described to Bucky as ‘swagger.’ “You’re on. That’s what I’m talking about. See?” He glared at Bucky, “not everything has to be serious.”

Samantha dealt cards onto her platform, scooting off to lean only her face and arms into the projection, and Falcon took off his flight pack and curled up in front of the circle like a kid with a new toy. Bucky watched for a few minutes. Wilson stayed excited, fun, sarcastic, and competitive, but even when Samantha had a good hand that beat his, Wilson playful congratulated her. He never got cranky; he never snapped at her. Bucky left them outside, keeping a watchful eye from just inside the building. He couldn’t tell who was winning the entire time because they both seemed so genuinely excited for each other. The two Sams clearly joked and chided each other, talked animatedly, and finally, both threw up their hands in shock.

Samantha did a small victory dance while Wilson pressed his comm. “Alright, Barnes, it’s flight time. Fair and square.”

The whole practice was derailed by Samantha’s intermittent challenges for Falcon to fly in a certain way or pattern, once was hands flat by his sides like Iron Man launching, another was a figure eight, but Bucky didn’t mind as soon as he figured out what she was doing. He never caught her eye to confirm, but Samantha deliberately asked Wilson questions during flight, rehashed old memories, and left small details for Wilson to correct. Bucky suspected she was testing him, yet Wilson became his old self for the first time in half a year.

Sixty minutes became ninety. Ninety minutes became three hours, and still, Falcon flew strong. He’d successfully flown by a neural link alone twice without noticing because Samantha suggested he show off his dance moves. After a particularly fluid, in-flight Bruno Mars impression, Bucky clapped for Falcon’s achievement, assuming Samantha was equally impressed. When he turned to look, however, she wasn’t on the platform anymore. He could only see a combat boot on its side at the circle's edge.

“Sam,” he called, “did you trip?”

The foot did not move.

“Samantha,” Bucky tried with more urgency, “are you okay? Say something. We can’t see you.”

There was a quiet moan, and the foot dragged off out of view. “Ow…”

“Seriously, are you alright?”

“Lil’ Sam, come on. What’s up?” Wilson sauntered up. “You still got two left feet?” Bucky could hear the calm tone, but Wilson’s face showed only concern. They stood looking into thin air, helpless, unable to even reach out a hand.

Finally, a hand stuck itself into their view and gave a shaky thumbs up. A strained chuckle vibrated through the speakers. “I—I—just I need to eat is all.” Her voice was too quiet.

“What the hell? How long has it been since you ate?” Bucky put his hand to his forehead, demanding, “go into my place and eat something. You fainted.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll go lie down too.”

“I’ll send someone to check on you,” Bucky added.

“No,” Samantha said, leaning into the circle, her face stern, “I’m not built like you guys. I’ll just rest and see you tomorrow.” She switched off the platform from Wakanda.

“What’s wrong with Lil’ Sam?” Wilson stopped immediately in front of Bucky, so close Bucky could feel his breath. “Is she sick? Why didn’t she come home? She should be here.” The anger rose quickly in his voice.

Bucky raised his arms defensively without touching Sam. “Honestly, I don’t know. I wasn’t told to bring her back, and—” He stopped, himself a little hurt by the reality. “No one…” Wanted her home? That was a cruel way to put what seemed like a simple oversight. Asked her home? Did a Stark actually need to be asked to do anything? She could feasibly do whatever the hell she wanted, and did from what he saw. Remembered her? Bucky had to admit that he repeatedly forgot about Sam until he found a use for her today. “You’ll see her tomorrow, Sam. I’ll make sure of it. She’s fine. I’m looking after her.”

Falcon stormed off, knocking him against the shoulder hard as he passed. “You better,” he hissed and mumbled about food on his way inside. The quick turn of his friend’s dark mood shocked Bucky. They’d been doing so well.

Bucky thought back to years ago when Wilson had been so ashamed of falling out of touch with Samantha. How close had they really been? He flicked back through the recording of their card game.

“—I definitely taught you how to bluff better than that—”

“—when you trained me to beat Nate with that trick shot before his basketball tryouts? He was pissed for weeks—I studied all the birds around the farm. I was gonna tell you all about them on your next visit—”

“—I should have taught you a good punch for those kids who called you that—”

It reminded Bucky of all the fellow soldiers at Lehigh who took over parenting him after his father’s accident. He had pieces of friendship and advice from everyone, but he remembered how sometimes the niceties only made him feel his loss more deeply. No single person could replace his father, and the more and more support he got, the more alone he felt when no one was around. His own father had died though; how did Sam feel knowing her father was still alive but took no part in raising her?

Bucky had always understood Stark’s perspective, perhaps because he felt so deeply responsible for how Tony became the man he was. Tony lost his parents to violent, evil forces, and after a period of burying his head in a bottle, he worked constantly to stop that from happening to anyone else. It was a full-time, all-time, forever job that only grew bigger and more complicated as the years went on. Now Earth needed two super soldiers, demigods, aliens, lab accidents, young drug-created recruits, and a veritable army of Inhumans running whole departments in every region just to keep evil at bay. Giving up on that to raise just one child alone, without her mother, the love of his own life, was such a foreign skill set, why wouldn’t he have outsourced it?

After all the pain he put those he assassinated through, Bucky would never choose to be tortured by reliving what he’d done to their families. He would admit it, go through it for their benefit if he must, but if he didn’t have to, he would hide in a shitty apartment in Romania. Which is exactly what he did once. So Bucky had never blamed Tony for living separately from his daughter. Bucky shoved his head in the sand, hoping the world would heal and move forward without him; Tony dove head-first into protecting the whole world and hoped his daughter would be safer for it.

She was safer, in a way, but Samantha wasn’t really Tony’s kid anymore. She wasn’t really anyone’s kid entirely, and even though the responsibility had been spread thin over a dozen or so people over the years, no one, in particular, claimed her. Big Sam and Little Sam had obviously started a friendship that looked like family, but it died somewhere over the last decade. Bucky stood mesmerized by the ease at which the Sams picked up interacting with each other; he’d never seen Samantha so comfortable, friendly even. It was a little unnerving, like watching a stage performance before the curtain closed.

The footage paused when a message from Samantha popped up on his tablet. “Big Sam counts cards without knowing it. Can be distracted from doing it, but is capable of complex cognitive tasks he could not previously do. Tell Bruce.”

So, she really was testing him. Smart girl.

[Chapter 20: Nourish]

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x oc #tony stark's daughter #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu au #alternate universe #endgame au #slow build #slow burn #action/adventure #the stark legacy #series #epic tale #tony stark angst #tony stark fanfiction #sam wilson steve rogers peter parker #avengers fanfiction

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raventreehall · 2 months ago

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ok just came up with an AU where the starks visit jon on the wall:

- rickon is the only one allowed to bring his direwolf (w/o war the starks are more willing to leave them behind sometimes) bc he goes absolutely insane when separated from shaggydog and shaggydog also gets murderous. shaggydog pulling up and scaring the bejeezus out of everyone, like there's another one???

- they go up the winch cage, wind howling, all kind of like why am i doing this again. but everyone is awed once they get on top of the wall and see the land stretching out in front of them endlessly

- cat thinks about alysanne and wonders if a lady of winterfell has ever been to the wall before or if she's the first in 8000 years. also how this wall protects the entirety of westeros, riverrun and king's landing and dorne... and remembers childhood stories about the others, kind of shuddering but also tells herself she's being silly. she's the most existential about it all.

- ned is also thinking some of these thoughts, about the starks and their legacy, lots of thoughts about previous kings beyond the wall vs starks and worrying if he'll be the next lord of winterfell to fight one—or if robb will, or his sons, etc etc.

- benjen reminds bran that he was named after bran the builder ❤️ bran blurts out asking if the others are real, the only one to actually say it even though they're all thinking it, and robb laughs and tells him not to be so childish but jon says even if they are, the wall and the watch will protect them (taking his newfound Duty and Purpose very seriously)

- back on the ground, jon introduces his sibs to his friends. nw boys kind of awkward bc they're aware they're standing in front of nobles and the literal heir to winterfell. pyp tries to flirt with sansa and jon is like she's literally my sister and also a highborn lady wtf are u doing (his classism is so beautiful). she also talks to sam and politely tells him she thinks it's very brave that he chose to join the night's watch. cue him blushing bright red and jon's like ughh you too?

- if satin is there sansa can develop a crush on him, she thinks he's so prettyyyy. cat ned are like oh ok honey (to themselves: this dude is literally gay). arya thinks he looks like a girl

- bran really wants to go to the nightfort (oh my sweet summer child) and starts yapping on about the stories wondering if they're true and sam tells him that he's read a lot about the nightfort actually... and they have a nice little geek out session that's NICE bc they're not hungry tired traumitized and in grave danger

- catelyn's watching from afar and she's like why tf is there a tarly here??? when sam's away from jon she asks him about it and gets him to tell her the whole sad story. she's horrified that anyone could treat their child like that

- oh yeah also theon meets a guy who is ironborn which is v rare in the watch, says he took the black after the greyjoy rebellion and wow to see lord balon's son here is crazy, they're in the same position really, imprisoned far away from home. theon is like uh i'm not a prisoner and also weren't u supposed to die rather than get caught #loser (i'm making this bit of ironbore lore up but it feels right). cue sad look from ironborn guy and theon comes away from the interaction feeling weird but he doesn't really know why

- robb fights with swords with grenn, then asks jon if he wants to try, see if the nw training programme has improved his sword skills haha. cat is hearing kill bill sirens and jon is also having a bastard moment where he's like i can't be seen showing up my trueborn brother and also, secondly, what if i lose and embarrass myself in front of my friends 😑 so he suggests archery instead which he knows they're both shit at and it's a nice fun brotherly moment and also funny bc THEON comes out on top like woah ok hostage don't get ahead of urself now...

- they get served dinner which is just boiled shit and ned cat and robb are very polite about it and pretend that it tastes really good. sansa kind of pushing food around her plate and arya straight up says she's not eating it bc it's gross (robb elbows her in the stomach to shut up, jon across the room secretly smiling bc well she's right). rickon really likes it actually, bran feeds him some from off his plate

- sansa is excited to meet a bunch of 'knights' (she heard someone call them the black knights of the wall) and see the beautiful order that protects them from the evil things beyond the wall but upon arrival is disillusioned, she thinks everything is grimy and mean and certainly no one looks like a knight, how could this be where uncle benjen lives... but then a singer in the mess hall sings brave danny flint for them and she's like wow showstopping beautiful amazing incredible. cut to someone telling her that the singer actually murdered three people and that's why he's at the wall. sansa: oh :///. singer: but i did it because i was protecting my little sister from being attacked! sansa: omg true knight confirmed <33

- arya meanwhile already thinking about disguising herself as a boy and joining the night's watch she's like wow what happened to danny flint was so sad but i could defff do that and not be caught i bet, rip to brave danny flint but i'm different. and she imagines up a whole scenario about how that would mean she could still be with jon and they'd go riding in the haunted forest and they'd practice swordfighting together and and :((

- at some point some ratty night's watch guy shows up like 🫡 lord stark it's an honor to serve you, i fucking hate wildlings and i love killing em and making sure they never get over the wall because they're trying to TAKE OVER westeros and steal our WOMEN!!! u know we're really just trying to prevent another bael the bard right lord stark nudge nudge. but ned is suddenly disassociating, having his 'promise me ned' ptsd moment. also another weird guy looks at sansa and laughs like ummmmm stay away from her

- they don't meet maester aemon (mutual preference—aemon is kind of wary about meeting robert's bff and also remembers the rhaegar and lyanna stuff, ned also doesn't want to meet him for the same reason 😈) but when jon mentions there's a targaryen at the wall arya and bran are like WHERE

- when they leave all the brothers are kind of cheering ned and they start cheering robb too as the next lord of winterfell. robb is beaming v happy about all this but it's cat's turn to feel uncomfortable watching a group of criminals call her son's name, something feels eerie about it and she wonders about the meaning of the wall and if there will in fact be a war with the wildlings

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slexenskee · 1 year ago

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The Continuation of Satoru Supremacy

Am I just going to slot this poor boy into every fandom? Signs are pointing to yes at this point lol. Ok so I've had either a JJK/HOTD and JJK/GOT crossover rumbling around my brain for ages now and its gotten to a boiling point lol. The JJK/GOT would probably be Satoru/Robb Stark and the JJK/HOTD probably Satoru/Aegon II. I have them pretty fleshed out in my head ngl.

THE PROBLEM is that I love his name, Satoru, and it literally makes no sense to have him reincarnate into ASOIAF works and somehow end up with that name, which means I would need to change it, and I don't know wtf to change it to.

Literally grasping at straws rn lol. I lowkey like Soren since it sounds Valyrian enough and also I feel like Satoru would be over the moon about it because he'd share a name with one of his favorite Fire Emblem characters.

Anyway the HOTD one would be a isekai/reincarnation AU with Satoru as Daemon and Rheanyra's surprise brothel baby that Rheanyra had to get shotgun-wedding'd to Leanor for 😅 so yeah Satoru is once again causing chaos and problems for other people just by existing... this time before he was even born! He's also called the Radiant Prince and also still the Honored One because he's basically a god and everyone in HOTD is going to damn well know it.

WIP:

In this life, as in his last, his birth was heralded with reverence and veneration, and wrought with untenable legacy.

He was the firstborn son of the Realm’s Delight, lovely and fair and every bit as preternaturally beautiful as his mother. He was said to have his grandmother’s Arryn blue eyes, the king’s tousled white curls, his mother’s smile, and the very birthright of his great Valyrian heritage etched into his very existence; from his heavenly features, to his dragon, to the very name bestowed upon him.

For days on end the whole realm celebrated his birth as a magnificent affair; bells tolled long into the night, nobles spilled from the four corners of Westeros bearing gifts of abundance and splendor, the smallfolk celebrated en masse along the streets of King’s Landing.

They called him a blessed child, a perfect child, a glorious new heir for the throne.

Upon his very birth the Princess Rheanys was said to have looked into his heavenly eyes and pronounced him a gift from the gods of old Valyria. Those same eyes, a precious, celestial blue resembling the late Queen Aemma, were said to have reduced his grandfather the King to tears from the moment he opened them. Lord Velaryon had named them a mark of the gods’ favor; such a curious, mystifying color, never settling no matter the lighting, as mercurial as a tempest sea.

Just the mere sight of such a marvelous child, a mortal so obviously marked by the gods, so destined for greatness, could easily quell the rumors beginning long before his birth.

Such derelict hearsay would never grace the ears of such a divine prince, of course. But he heard it anyway.

They rushed the wedding, they said.

The princess was meant to start her royal procession to select her prince consort, but instead was married to the Velaryon heir within a moon’s turn. (The King had to appease the Velaryon’s somehow, after the way he snubbed their pure Valyrian heiress for his Hightower bride.)

The babe came early— so suspiciously early. (The Princess Rheanyra was so young, of course she would have difficulty carrying to term. Didn’t you see him? The babe was born so small!)

And he looks every bit a Targaryen, not a speck of Velaryon to be seen on him. (But of course the blood of Aegon the Conqueror would run strong within the royal line— and the Princess Rheanys is his paternal grandmother, such features run on both sides. Why, look at Queen Alicent's children! Do they look Hightower to you?)

The Rogue Prince dotes on him, shockingly so. He perhaps even reconciled with his brother just to remain near the young prince. (The Rogue Prince has always remained stoutly devoted to his family, no matter his unsavory reputation, his loyalty to the throne is unquestioned. That he is just as devoted to his brother’s heir as he is to his brother is merely filial piety.)

No matter the rumors swirling around him, it only took a single glance from his blessed blue eyes to halt the whispers in their tracks.

His divine beauty and grace, his mystical eyes, his magnificent dragon— such pedestrian slander seemed silly and absurd in the face of them.

To question the legitimacy of the Radiant Prince, the Honored One… no mere mortal could possibly be capable of uttering such blasphemy.

#fic WIP #Gojo Satoru once again reincarnated against his will into other fandoms #Casually over powered Gojo strikes again #Gojo Satoru as a targaryen

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sash-au · 2 years ago

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Morgan: So how old are you? 3? Legacy: I'm 13 Morgan: Cool. I don't know anything about kids

#sash au quote #morgan stark-potts #legacy carter

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eddie-brii · 15 days ago

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So, I blame @dipperscavern for this. I was minding my own business and found the post about a firefighter au. I, as a paramedic and firefighter in RL, had to fulfill the now moral obligation to write this. AKA I wanted to picture Cregan Stark in a FD uniform and Bunker gear.

This is only a TEASER for a fic I'm calling Sirens and Hearts of Fire for right now. It will be a first responder Cregan Stark x first responder reader. I have a lot more to add until I'm done and, honestly? I'm already coming up with so many head cannons for this au!

Side note: if anyone has questions about what something means, please go ahead and message me. I will happily answer it. 😊

Please enjoy.

“Medic Short Shit! Please report for duty!” was shouted by a deep, northern accent across the fire bay.

“Shut the fuck up, Lieutenant Stark! Not everyone can be as tall as a fucking tree!” She shouted back from the back of the squad. She heard laughter ring out from the guys in the day room and had to roll her eyes.

She knew she was late to the morning meeting but the check off was almost done. When joining the Winterfell Fire Department two years ago after job opportunities dried up in the Stormlands she hadn’t quite pictured being this comfortable. Most of the major FDs were fully staffed and openings were fought over by a few dozen applicants. It was better just to relocate since she didn’t have any roots set down in Storm’s End. It was interesting to say the least. Most of the people she worked with were legacy fire with founding members in their family lines. The Starks, Velaryons and Targaryens being the most noted with five generations of firefighting.

She quickly checked the last cabinet and marked off in the book that it had everything it needed before putting away the binder by the airway seat. She huffed as she got out of the squad and hurried over to the meeting. Cregan and Jace were waiting at the door to the crew area of the station with a half grin on the latter’s face.

“Finally decided to join us, L.T. Spitfire?” Jace said, using the nickname the department had given her. He was clearly enjoying irritating her this early in the morning before coffee.

“Maybe if someone whose name starts with a J and ends with an Ace didn’t steal Luke away when he was supposed to be checking off the back up squad, truck check wouldn’t have taken so long. Besides, we both know Baela had a rough night on the Medic and there was a lot to restock.” She huffed as she moved passed them. She heard Cregan chuckle as she did, ignoring the shiver that wanted to go through her body at the sound. Cregan Stark was what every woman dreamed of when they thought about Firefighters. Strong, handsome, looked wonderful in and out of bunker gear. And he was entirely off limits in her opinion. Especially after she was told his longtime girlfriend, Arra, died in a car accident.

From what Baela had said they were going through EMT-basic class together when it happened. Cregan responded to the scene with the others on the engine and had been nearly inconsolable with she had been a DOA. He took close to a year off from the job as he tried to piece himself back together. His father and other department members finally managed to get him to come back not long before she joined. Needless to say, the crush which she developed on him went unspoken after she heard that, despite Baela swearing up and down it might be time to say something.

She waved to Chief Stark as she entered the kitchen and went to the coffee maker, pouring some into her favorite mug while ignoring the chuckles of the other crew members around the room.

“Squads up to par, Lieutenant?” Rickon asked, unbothered by her lateness to the group. She gave a thumbs up as she took her first drink of caffeine, the dark liquid already helping her perk up. She sat down next to Luke and Ben, the former giving her an apologetic look with a sheepish smile for leaving her by herself this morning. Ben was practically glued to his own mug as he looked over cardiac rhythms on his phone, trying to memorize them. Both had their books on the table for paramedic class. It was clearly leaving the two younger men haggard, and it was only going to get worse.

Chief clearing his throat tore her attention away from the guys and the chatter through the room quieted as everyone listened to assignments for the shift.

“Alright, now that everyone’s here let’s get started. Seat assignments are up on the board along with upcoming trainings. We need to wash the trucks today and keep an eye on them throughout the next few months before it gets too cold. Make sure they look good while we can.” Chief said. As he went through the morning debrief, he paused for a moment as he looked over some paperwork next to him.

“Pyke FD has also reached about having us join them for an open water rescue training in the coming months. Speak to Manderly if you’ve got questions or want to volunteer. We’d like to see a good level of participation as this is a good opportunity for the department.” At the chief’s words she blanched, she could almost hear the underline expectations for them to sign up for it. She remembered the last time they had to deal with Pyke and their members, one in particular coming to mind.

“I swear, if fucking Greyjoy starts his shit again…” she muttered under her breath, earning a few chuckles from around the room. She heard a displeased grunt from somewhere behind her but choose to ignore it. Chief shot her a look before shaking his head, continuing over some vehicle maintenance before finally dismissing the meeting and retreating to his office.

She sighed as drank her coffee, scrolling on her phone and barely paying attention to the different conversations that now filled the space as the crew started making breakfast. Mormont manning the stove while the others set out plates and silverware. She was finally brought out of it when Ben tapped her shoulder, a confused look on his face as he held out his phone.

“This is a second-degree heart block Mobitz type II, right?” He asked, the poor guy looked ready to pull his hair out at this point. She took pity on him, taking the phone and watching the rhythm before she answered.

“Yeah, you’re right. I think you’re finally getting the hang of cardiology, Ben.” The shy firefighter almost looked ready to let out a whoop, clearly happy he was getting over his biggest hurdle in class. Luke joined in the conversation, asking questions along with Ben about the hiccups he was having and asking about IV medications. After a while they were interrupted by Cregan and Jace sitting across from the trio, both setting down plates of food for everyone. Before long the rest of the crew had sat down to eat. Most of the conversation revolved around sports, new tools, and plans for the summer while they had good weather. She didn’t pay much attention to it while she ate, still annoyed at the idea of dealing with Dalton. She didn’t notice anyone trying to speak to her until a hand was smacked down on the table across from her.

“Earth to Spitfire, come in Spitfire,” Jace said dramatically while he leaned back.

“What, your highness?” she huffed when she came back to the conversation around her. She couldn’t help but notice that Cregan seemed on edge with whatever Jace had been talking about, his brows knitted together as he looked back and forth between them.

“So how are going to deal with Greyjoy this time around? I doubt he’s going to just give up after you told him off last time,” Jace pointed out before taking a bite of bacon. It was at this point Cregan set down his coffee mug, giving the brunet an exasperated look before he spoke.

“Chief said it’s voluntary, she doesn’t have to go if she doesn’t want to.” He said firmly, clearly as annoyed about the idea of seeing the Ironborn again as much as she was.

“Oh come on, Lt, you know when your dad says something about participation it always means he wants as many people to go as possible. I’ve already checked and it’s not our unit day so he will want to see us there,” Luke added in before he finished off his breakfast. He got up to take his and Ben’s dishes to the sink.

“I second that. You know he’s going to want to have as many of us there as possible. Plus, I don’t like the idea of not being there if something happens one of you guys. You know the Iron Isles are short on medics right now. Not ideal,” she reasoned. As much as she disliked the idea, she wasn’t going to possibly leave her guys without proper care.

“Be that as it may, I don’t think he’s going to blame you if you opt out of this one. He wasn’t exactly happy with how Dalton acted either after I told him. As an officer at Pyke, that was completely unprofessional of him.” Cregan’s argument made her stop mid-bite. She put her fork down as she tried to keep her sudden irritation down.

“What the hell do you mean you told chief?” she said as she narrowed for eyes at him.

“Easy Spitfire, it’s not what you think. It needed to be reported since it was at a training. Chief Blacktyde was grateful that we informed him of the misconduct of one of his officers and said he would handle it.” Cregan tried to calm her down before she went off on him, his hands raised slightly and an amused smirk tugging at his lips. She tried not to huff as she picked up her fork again and shoved some eggs in her mouth. She eyed him as she chewed before she swallowed her food down.

“While you have a point, it still would have been nice to know you told your dad about it,” she said begrudgingly, still annoyed but seeing his point. “Although, that means there should be no issue with me going to the training then, should there?” It was now Cregan’s turn to look irritated as she countered him. She hid her grin by taking another drink of her coffee when all he did was grunt in response. She noticed Jace giving Cregan a look that the lieutenant deliberately ignored while he continued eating. She didn’t think much of it at the time.

She finished off her coffee and breakfast before getting up to hand off the dishes to Locke at the sink. She nodded to the squad crew members that had finished their food as well, getting them up to get the trucks washed for the day.

As she went out into the bay and started heading towards the premiere squad, Luke and Darry went to fill the buckets. Ben grabbed the brushes as she pulled the truck out. Luke started to hose down the squad, wetting down the bright blue apparatus before two of them started scrubbing. Ben went to pull out the back up to be cleaned as well, the older truck a slightly darker shade of blue with an older department logo on the side. She still wasn’t quite used to the different colors they used in the North compared to the Stormlands, the southern region using different shades of yellow for their emergency vehicles. At least it wasn’t the green that the Reach had. She still couldn’t believe the lime green the Oldtown FD used for theirs.

The engine and rescue crews came out not too long after them, pulling out and getting started on their respective trucks. Soon the smell of car soap filled the air as the occasional shout was heard when someone accidently got sprayed with hose. She was silently cursing as she tried to scrub the bugs off of the top front of the squad. The splatter almost seeming baked on as her arms started to ache from the angle she had to hold the brush. She heard the sound of boots coming up behind but didn’t pay it any mind until she was suddenly lifted up onto someone’s shoulder.

“Cregan! Put me down!” She said as she tried to avoid hitting him with the handle of the brush for flailing. She found herself gripping his other shoulder with one hand as her torso was half leaned over his head to keep her balance. Once she was steady, she looked down at him like he was crazy.

“You looked like you needed some added height, Medic Short Shit,” he said with a chuckle, clearly unaffected by her weight.

“Don’t you have your own truck to wash?!” she said, trying to sound irate but didn’t quite succeed as a mix of panic and a touch of something else pitted in her belly. She sent a pleading look to the other guys but several of them held up their hands in surrender as they tried to keep from laughing at her predicament. She mouthed “traitor” to them as she kept a death grip on Cregan underneath her.

“It’s already done if you haven’t noticed. Now get to scrubbing, Luke needs to hose off the soap soon,” he said before readjusting his hold on her legs, securing her enough to make her loosen her hold on him. She grumbled as she carefully straitened up, beginning to clean the bug splatter off again as she slowly relaxed on his shoulder.

After she gotten off what she could, Cregan stepped back from the truck as Luke got to work. She passed off the brush to Darry before Stark slowly lowered her down. She breathed a sigh of relief as her feet finally touched the ground again and sagged back into Cregan as his arm came around her midsection to keep her steady.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” He was grinning down at her, still find her reacting amusing.

“You know I don’t do roofs for a reason…,” she muttered. She wasn’t nearly as irritated as his hand on her hip distracted her but she wasn’t going to let him see that. Before he could say anything, Bolton took that opportunity to open his mouth.

“Hey lieutenant, you think you can stop flirting long enough to help get the bay swept out while it’s quiet?” At his words a collective groan came from everyone.

“Damnit Bolton! You know what that word does!” Locke said as he started to rush relaying hose.

“What? It’s not like it actu-,“ Bolton was cut off as the tones dropped for their station.

“Station 1, Station 1, need a squad to respond to 248 Arrow St for a male with chest pain. Time out 0823,” came across the station loudspeaker. Luke, Darry, and her already getting into the squad before the dispatcher finished.

#hotd #cregan stark #cregan x reader #hotd cregan #jace velaryon #lucerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon #luke velaryon #benjicot blackwood #rickon stark #random characters #Fire department AU #hotd fire department au

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bittenbyyou · 1 year ago

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Inferior Flames (2)

MCU!AU | MCU!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader | MCU!Spider-Man x Stark!Reader

genre: angst, some comedy, e2l (rivals to lovers really)

description: Your father asks you for another favor: keep an eye on Peter. Yup, this definitely can’t go wrong considering you two aren’t even friends.

word count: 7.4k

warnings: OC has superpowers, OC is a temporary Avenger, references to Spider-Man: Homecoming, MJ, Betty, and Ned are here, fake IDs, clubbing, fight scenes/battle scenes, muscle “enhancers” (dr*gs), burn wounds (nothing too graphic), angst, mentions of death, tension

a/n: Part 2 was highly requested! Please let me know what you think, it really motivates me and all writers. :)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“Mom said you needed me?”

“Yup. I need another favor, Firefly.”

You stepped into your father’s workshop, admiring the random contraptions cluttered on the work tables.

“If you want me to build something,” —you picked up a bizarre piece of machinery— “hard pass.”

Tony set down the soldering iron and swiftly plucked the metal from your sticky fingers. A pout formed on your lips when your beloved toy was taken away. “Yeah, no. Last time you nearly blew up the compound.”

“Sorry that I can’t carry on your legacy, pops,” you said, only half-joking. He put down the device and immediately wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into an affectionate side hug.

“I don’t expect you to, Flameling.” He gave you a smooch on the top of your head. “It’s too much work and your mom’s got it. I would never pressure you to do something you don’t want to.”

You embraced him tightly, closing your eyes to savor the moment. A mix of emotions swirled within you, and the weight of potentially letting him down added heaviness to your heart. His words meant a lot to you and gave you the assurance he would love you no matter what.

“You pressured me to beat Peter,” you joked, breaking the tension. He let you go but kept you at arm’s length, an amused smile spread across his face.

“I think deep down you enjoyed beating the arachnid.”

“Eh. I do hate spiders.”

A mischievous smirk spread across his lips, and you couldn't help but catch a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “Well, don’t hate them too much. I’m going to need you to get close to one. The Spiderling to be exact.”

You pushed him off you, shaking your head and firmly crossing your arms in front of your chest, forming an ‘x” shape as a gesture of refusal. “No.”

Your father put on an innocent facade, lifting both of his palms upward as if to say, ‘What?’

“Whatever you want me to do with Peter, I refuse. He hates me.”

“Oh, he does not hate you,” your old man assured, waving his hands sideways in a dismissive manner. “The Avengers and I will be out of town for a while. Your mom’s also busy with her business meetings abroad, but I know the authorities will be okay handling things here with Spider-Man’s help.”

“But…?” You pulled up a nearby swivel chair, anticipating this conversation would take longer than expected. Your father copied your actions and sat across from you.

“I want you to keep an eye on him. Stay close by. You know, just in case he needs help. Be friends.”

“Friends? He’s depressed every time he sees me. All because he thinks I’m an Avenger, which I’m not. If people found out I have powers, I can’t live a normal life.”

“Pfft, you’re my daughter. Your life will never be normal.” You didn’t laugh at his remark, so he leaned back in the chair and let out a ‘hmm’ sound. “You’re not happy. Is that it?”

“I am happy. I love being here. But if people find out I have powers let alone that I’m your daughter, I can’t go to a normal school.”

He started listing reasons to counteract your statement and used his fingers to keep track.

“1) No one’s going to find out you’re my daughter unless you want them to. 2) You have a suit.” Leaning in closer, he playfully flicked his fingers against the shiny metal bracelet adorning your wrist, creating a delightful tinkling sound that danced through the air. “3) I need you near Peter. 4) If all else fails, you can get your GED.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, putting two and two together. “Wait… is that why Peter’s in so many of my classes? Did you do that?”

Tony simply shrugged. “Coincidence.”

“Dad, I’m not an Avenger. Stop trying to make me one.”

“I’m not. I’m basically asking you to babysit. But I am curious…” His voice took on a more grave tone. “What’s the real reason why you don’t want to be an Avenger? Don’t say school. Don’t say normal life. What is it?”

You casted your gaze downward, your hands fidgeting in your lap while your leg anxiously tapped the ground. The softening of your father’s gaze mirrored the festering guilt within his heart as he saw the evident disappointment on your face. Yes, he may be your father, but there was still so much he didn’t know about you.

“Hey. Don’t worry about it,” he said, patting your thigh. You looked up to see him getting up out of his chair. “But I am asking you to help Spider-Boy. So will you? How’s school?”

“It’s good. The American TV shows you made me watch were pretty accurate. Except the kids actually look like kids and not adults. Most of them are nice with the exception of some jerks. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“See? You’re perfect for the job. Who else would be mighty enough to tackle the horrors of high school?”

You let out a laugh. “Alright, I’ll do it. But you promise me you’ll come back safe from the mission.”

“You know I break promises often.”

“Promise me you’ll try to come back.”

“That I can do.”

You hopped out of your chair and hugged your father again. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Firefly. Remember, don't do anything I would do, and definitely don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

It’s been a few weeks since you kept your word about leaving Peter alone. Now were you successful? You’d say about 80% of the time. It’s not like you were completely off his radar as much as you’d try to be.

Chemistry

“Peter, you got a 99 on your chemistry test. Congratulations.” Peter held the test paper in his hands, a proud smile gracing his features. The teacher walked past him and handed your test to you next. “And you got a 100, Ms. [Y/N]. Impressive.”

You saw Peter's intense grip on his test paper, causing it to crinkle right before your eyes.

Gym

“Does she smell nice? I bet she smells nice.” Ned lent his support to Peter by resting his hands at the juncture of Peter's thighs and the undersides of his knees, providing the stability needed for him to execute each sit-up with precision.

“Shut up.”

“Do you know if she has a boyfriend?”

“Shh.”

“Can I help you beat her?”

“What?”

“I’ll be your guy in the chair telling you where to go. Like where to find the most dangerous criminals. I’d be better than K.A.R.E.N. That way Mr. Stark has to recognize your talent and realize his mistake. You can beat her.”

“Ned, no, shut up.” Peter was speeding up his reps without realizing it, annoyance laced in his tone. “I don’t need to beat her.”

“Looking good, Parker,” Coach Wilson said, pointing a finger at him. Peter immediately slowed down, easing himself down onto the mat with an expression of exertion etched across his face. “You too, [Y/N]. Look at her go!”

“Thanks Coach!” you exclaimed from afar.

Peter's gaze shifted to his left while Ned looked to the right, catching sight of you perched atop the climbing ropes suspended from the ceiling. Flash, who was on the rope beside you, pointed an accusatory finger at you for cheating, suggesting that you started climbing before he did and demanded a rematch. Peter and Ned gave each other a knowing glance.

“You/I need to beat her,” the boys chorused.

Pre-Calculus

Peter’s mind raced as he calculated and strategized, determined to outpace his opponent, which in this case was you. Both of you gripped the marker tightly as you two meticulously scribbled numbers, your hands dancing across the whiteboard.

There was an electric energy in the air, a palpable tension as you and him worked through the problem. Occasionally, a competitive glare would be exchanged, fueled by the desire to come out on top. As the final calculations fell into place, a triumphant grin from Peter marked the completion of his work.

“Done!” he cried, slamming the marker down into its holder. You continued working diligently, unable to leave a problem unfinished.

The teacher took a look at the board and shook her head. “Nope. [Y/N]?”

Peter’s face contorted with a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and a touch of disappointment as the realization of the incorrect math answer settled in.

You got your final answer and set your marker down. “Is this right?”

“Excellent work!” your teacher praised you. “Can you explain why Peter’s answer was incorrect?”

You pointed at the error in his work on the board, giving him a shy smile. “Um… you forgot to factor the 6. Here.”

“Thanks,” Peter grumbled.

“See Parker, being the fastest isn’t always the best if you are wrong,” Flash called out from the back of the class. Everyone (including the teacher) rolled their eyes at his hypocritical remark, but it affected Peter more than he’d like to admit.

So yeah, you’ve done an excellent job leaving Peter alone. However, with your dad’s latest request, you weren’t sure how to keep an eye on him now without being creepy.

“What’s your deal, [Y/N]?”

You looked over at the other end of the cafeteria table to see MJ staring at you. Despite her poker face, the intensity of her narrowed eyes left you feeling exposed, as if she possessed the power to unravel your defenses layer by layer.

“Didn’t see you there, MJ…” you said, taking a sip of your water bottle. “I don’t understand your question.”

“You’re staring at Parker. Like, a lot.”

Your eyes darted over to the table that was on the opposite end of the cafeteria from you, hoping MJ’s voice didn’t carry far enough for Peter to hear. Once you saw milk shooting out of Ned’s nostrils and Peter laughing his head off, you let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m not,” you lied. “Are you into him or something?” MJ scooted down until she was seated across from you, effectively blocking Peter’s face with her own.

“I’m not obsessed with him; I’m just very observant. If you’re not staring at him, you have no problem sitting with him, right?”

“No!” you shrieked. “Okay, I was staring.”

“I know,” she said, smirking at your easy confession. “You like him?”

“No. I mean, he’s cute, but it’s not like that. Why do you even care?”

“You’re my friend. Aren’t friends supposed to talk about their crushes or whatever?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused at the declaration. “We’re friends?”

“You’re the only girl that isn’t tone deaf our section. Or are we only friends in choir class?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I’m honored.”

“Good. Now that we got that out of the way, what are you going to do about Parker?”

“I’m not going to do anything.”

“Aren’t you two friends? Ned announced that pretty clearly on your first day here.”

You groaned while taking a bite of your food, swallowing before replying, “We’re more so… acquaintances. Maybe even rivals.”

“Oh?” MJ leaned forward, curiosity brightening her features. “I love rivalry. Spill.”

“Uh…” You had to come up with something on the fly. “Well, you know how he has the Stark internship?”

“Yeah. He leaves a lot because of it. Dude’s always busy.”

“I might’ve gotten it too. Might’ve even taken it away from him in a way.”

MJ clasped her gaping mouth with her hand, shocked. “No way!”

“Keep it down,” you urged, seeing some students in your vicinity glaring at you both.

“Sorry, but I’m confused. Can’t Mr. Stark have both of you as interns?”

“I mean, he didn’t kick Peter out. It’s more like I got assigned a higher position than him.”

“So he feels inferior.”

“I suppose…”

“Has he been mean to you?”

“No!” you said with your hands up. “Never.”

“Hmm…” MJ said while rubbing her chin in thought. “I’m going to ask again. Why were you staring at him then?”

You bit your lip. “I want to be his friend, but he sorta hates me? I guess.”

She clapped her hands together. “Got it. Get up. Come with me.”

“MJ no,” you hissed, flailing your hands around for her to stop moving.

“Trust me.”

Reluctant, you grabbed your lunch box and followed her, your heart rate beating so loudly like it was battering around in your chest wanting to pop out.

“Sup losers,” MJ said, taking the seat in front of Ned. You sat next to her, which meant you were in front of Peter. He pressed his lips together tightly, the silent sign of unease not escaping your observant gaze. “[Y/N] has no friends, so we’ll be sitting here from now on.”

“MJ,” you said through gritted teeth. “I have you.”

“I’m sorry, was I hallucinating when you said you wanted to be friends with Parker or…?”

“MJ!”

“Of course we’ll be friends,” Ned said happily. Peter grabbed Ned by wrapping an arm around his shoulder, facing away from you and MJ to whisper-yell at him in private.

“What are you doing?”

“Keep your friends close and enemies closer. She can’t be as perfect as she seems.”

Peter groaned. “Dude, even her lunch is better than mine. How can she even beat me at lunch?”

“... Because you can’t cook.”

The death glare Peter shot him shut him up real quick. The two of them turned around the same time you and MJ were done talking. He gave you his brightest smile, hands placed on the table with his fingers intertwined like this was a business meeting.

“Yup. We’d love to be friends,” Peter said. Ned copied his body language and smiled just as brightly.

“With no ulterior motives,” he added. Peter stomped on his best friend’s foot beneath the table. “Ow!”

“Shut up,” he said in a low voice. You smiled to yourself and high-fived MJ under the table.

Having lunch with you was bearable for the most part. Sometimes MJ would probe him about the Stark Internship and feelings of inferiority would resurface, but at least you didn’t rub it in Peter’s face. You even offered to share your food with him, which he had to admit was delicious. Especially those orange chocolate cookies, ugh. He hated how tasty they were.

Meanwhile, keeping an eye on Peter proved to be easier than you had thought. He usually went straight home after school or sometimes stopped at his favorite food spot to get some gummy worms and a sandwich. If there was crime going on, it’d be the typical theft or car chase. Nothing you had to personally get involved in.

However, you noticed an unusual pattern in Peter’s behavior a week later and the AI your father gifted you, D.A.W.N (Digital Assistant with Navigational Intelligence) aided in helping you figure out what was going on. You rarely used the AI unless you deemed it to be necessary, wanting to give Peter some privacy because come on, you were already invading it.

You put on the glasses and pressed a button on the side of the frames.

“D.A.W.N, what’s Peter doing with Betty Brant?” you said quietly to yourself while sitting on the football field. The AI zoomed in on Betty and Peter sitting far too close to each other on the bleachers.

“You sound jealous,” your AI remarked.

“Can you focus?”

“Certainly. It appears Betty has given Peter a false identification card in exchange for some money.”

“What on earth would Peter need a fake ID for? Is he trying to get alcohol?”

“Would you like me to replay a conversation he and Ned had two days ago? A fake ID was mentioned.”

“What? Why didn’t you say anything, D.A.W.N?”

“You told me not to invade his privacy too much. This conversation took place when they were in the boys’ bathroom.”

You sighed. “I meant unless he’s doing something dangerous. I’m definitely telling Dad you need an upgrade. Please replay the conversation.”

“Ned, guess what?”

“What?”

“I caught this thug destroying city property for no reason and he kept on shouting ‘I’m the best! I’m the champion!’ over and over. He was jacked, like even more than Captain America.”

“No way!”

“Yeah, he definitely was on something because those muscles looked unnatural. I got him to confess that there's an illegal fighting ring going on at this club on the other side of town. Everyone there uses muscle enhancers and it’s killing them. I gotta go take them down before it gets more out of hand.”

“But dude, you’re not old enough. You would need a fake ID.”

“Shoot. Do you know how I would get one?”

“Leave it to me, your guy in the chair at your service.”

“Conversation over,” D.A.W.N stated.

“Oh my god, he’s crazy! D.A.W.N?”

“Yes?”

“Find me the nearest clothing store. I’m going to need a new outfit.”

Peter kept checking the time on his watch every five minutes, unable to contain his excitement. This mission would be huge because no one knew about it except him. Of course he cared about the innocent lives of people being under the influence and wanting to save them, naturally. But getting credit on something you knew nothing about was the cherry on top.

Once it hit midnight, he opened his window and snuck out, shooting one of his webs at the nearest building. Swinging allowed him to get to the other side of town in no time and he landed in a dark alleyway to fix his hair back into place, making sure his clothes weren’t too wrinkled.

When he stepped out of the alleyway and made it to the entrance of the club, he noticed there wasn’t a line. The only people outside were two bouncers adorned in black suits. He gulped, singing words of encouragement under his breath.

“Spider-Man, Spider-Man, will he die tonight, yes he might. No, no that’s not right. I can do this.”

Just as he was about to talk to the bouncers, you tapped on his shoulder from behind. He whipped around, his eyes widening to the size of marbles.

“[Y/N]? Whoa, what—you look gorg—what are you doing here?!”

You gave him a once over in his outfit, trying your best not to ogle. He wore a slim-fitting, black button-down shirt that accentuated his lean physique. His shirt was tucked into a pair of dark wash jeans that hugged his frame comfortably paired with black leather boots. His sleeves were rolled up slightly, giving off a laid-back vibe but all you could see were the veins on his forearms. And his hair? Styled with a casual yet intentional tousled look, making his stupidly handsome face more handsome.

If his goal was to look slightly older, he accomplished it and you had to try your best not to drool.

“What am I doing here? What about you? You shouldn’t be here!” You leaned in closer, causing his breath to hitch and whispered, “I know about the enhancers.”

Peter leaned back and stared at you, taking in your outfit first and words second. You had chosen a form-fitting sleeveless black jumpsuit paired with a cropped leather jacket in a fiery red shade, symbolizing your powers. For footwear you opted for ankle boots in stiletto heels, which were a pain to wear, but you’d manage. You also did your makeup, making sure to not overdo it and still show off your natural features.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter bluffed once he snapped out of his daze. He pivoted on his heels, coming face to face with the bouncers whose figures resembled towering boulders but with scowls on their faces. “Hey fellas, I know what you’re thinking. This baby face fools a ton of people, but you’re smart enough to know I’m 18, right?”

The men gave a skeptical look to one another, his lie painfully obvious, but before they could apprehend Peter, he whipped out his fake ID from his pocket and showed it to them.

“We good now?” he asked them, fluttering his eyelashes innocently. While they didn't appear entirely convinced, a sigh escaped them as they motioned for him to proceed. “Thank you. And oh, the girl behind me? She’s basically my stalker and is super crazy obsessed with me.”

“What?!” you shrieked, hands on your hips and fuming.

“Yeah, she’s kinda in love with me, but I don’t date minors,” he teased, sticking his tongue out a bit at you, relishing in your ire. “She’s a feisty one, so keep an eye on her for me?”

The bouncers apprehended each of your arms, which triggered your fight or flight response. With precision, you targeted specific acupuncture points on their shoulders and chest using your index and middle fingers. Instantly, a wave of paralysis surged through their body, rendering them immobile. They staggered and ultimately collapsed to the ground. Peter blew a small raspberry from his lips.

“Oof… sorry fellas. Told ya she was feisty.” Peter flashed you a mischievous grin before entering the club, not bothering to hold the door open for you. As you stepped into the club's chaotic atmosphere, your senses were immediately overwhelmed by a cascade of stimulation.

“I’m not in love with you!” you said, shouting over the blaring music.

“What did you say?!”

“I said I’m not in love with you!”

“I can’t hear you, the music’s too loud!”

Peter left your side and dived into the dense crowd. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, hating how the place reeked of weed and smoke. It was difficult to navigate through the swarm of sweaty bodies and just as you were about to be engulfed fully, Peter reached out and firmly clasped your hand, swiftly pulling you into his embrace. Time seemed to slow down in that moment, each passing second passing feeling like eternity, as he delicately guided your arms to rest around his neck while his hands gently found their place on your waist.

“Bodyguards,” he whispered, his voice serious and husky. “They’re looking at us. Gotta blend in.”

“Right. Blending in… oh boy.” His cologne had your head swimming. You stared into his eyes while swaying to the music, gulping from the intensity of his longing gaze. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I should be saying that to you.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Isn’t that what Avengers do? Dangerous things?”

You scoffed at the audacity of this boy. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“How did you even know I’d be here?”

“... Mr. Stark told me to keep an eye on you while he’s out of town.”

Peter poked his tongue against his cheek in disbelief. “So he doesn’t trust me.”

“He just wants to make sure you’re not in over your head.”

“Yeah. By babysitting me through you. And here I thought you wanted to be friends.”

“I do…” you said earnestly.

“So you were stalking me.”

“Not like I enjoyed it.”

“How do you think I feel?”

“Probably betrayed. Now can we please get out of here? I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“You can leave. I’m staying. There are people dying because of those enhancers and I’m going to put a stop to it.” He let go of your waist once y’all reached the bar, where it was barely quieter than the rest of the club.

“Ugh,” you groaned. “Do you even have a plan?”

“Pfft. Yeah. Of course. Um…” His eyes settled on an unoccupied beer glass, thinking of ways to create a diversion. His plan was to shoot a web at the glass and propel it at a random dude’s head. However, the webbing took an unexpected turn, adhering onto an innocent woman’s shirt instead. “Uh oh…” Once Peter pulled on the web, the shirt was ripped off, leaving the girl’s boyfriend seething with anger, misdirecting his fury towards the nearest male presence. The unfortunate consequence led to a brawl.

Peter watched in horror and awe as the whole club erupted into chaos. But hey, at least the bodyguards were occupied. He ran to the back of the club and you followed along.

You both ended up in a dimly lit hallway, walking side by side in matching tandem. You let out a couple of chortles, trying your best to contain your laughter.

“Don’t say it,” Peter warned.

“Is your aim always that bad?” you teased.

“I was distracted.”

“By what, the woman’s breasts? At least ask a girl out before you start taking her clothes off. If you’ve ever made it that far, that is.”

Peter’s cheeks reddened. “I’ve asked girls out before.”

“Was that before or after the stripping started?”

“What, are you jealous?”

“No. I don’t date perverts.”

“And I don’t date stalkers.”

You two exchanged friendly smiles before laughing out loud. At the end of the hallway was a door, but you intercepted before Peter could open it, placing your hand on top of his.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“We should go back.”

“Why? We’re so close.”

“What are you going to do exactly? If there really is an illegal fighting ring here, how will you find the goods?”

“Easy. You participate in the illegal fighting while I find them.”

“What?!”

“Listen, I want to prove to Mr. Stark I’m ready for more. This is it. Something bigger than petty bicycle thieves or bank robberies. And you’re stronger than I am. I’m sure you can handle it.”

“And what if I can’t?”

He held you by the shoulders. “Look at me. You can. You’re… pretty incredible. Annoyingly incredible, actually.”

His voice was sincere, eyes shimmering with sweetness. “Had to add in the annoying part, huh?”

“I could’ve left out the incredible part.”

“Then you’d be calling me pretty.”

“You are pretty.” You blinked twice, wondering if you were the only one who heard what he said. When Peter’s face switched to one of realization (which was quite adorable), he let out an awkward cough later. “So will you help me?”

“You’re going to do this even if I say no.”

“Yup. And you’re the one who said it. Mr. Stark wants you to keep an eye on me.”

Peter gave you a toothy grin as he opened the door. Unlike him, you didn’t have a Spider Sense, but your gut was screaming for you to go back. However, he already entered and you knew you had to follow. You tapped on your metal bracelet in a specific way to activate your suit and helmet, letting the magical material envelope your body.

As you entered, boisterous shouts and jeers from a large crowd of people confirmed that you had found the right location. Their hands were gripping wads of cash, flailing it about like lightsticks at a K-Pop concert, all while a chaotic brawl unfurled at the heart of the room.

Once you ventured deeper into the scene, you got a better glimpse at the two challengers, who were almost as big as the Hulk, going at each other relentlessly. Their grunts were arrogant and feral, their eyes blazed with a rage that wasn’t human.

“Okay Peter… what do I do exactly?” When he didn’t reply, you did a full 360 to confirm he was indeed absent. “I’m going to kill him.”

With the ding of the bell, the brawl had finally come to an end as one challenger collapsed onto the floor. An employee rushed out to drag the loser’s body out of the ring. Up on the second floor was an announcer who had a microphone headset. His upbeat voice boomed throughout the room when he said, “Our undefeated champion!!! Will the next challenger be able to defeat him? Is there anyone out there daring enough to fight him?!”

“Me!” you called out, launching yourself into the fighting ring with a front flip and landing gracefully. Murmurs from the crowd were heard as confusion spread. You ignored remarks about your gender, using it to fuel your determination to show off your skills.

The announcer tilted his head in confusion. “And who are you, Miss?”

“You can call me Ember.”

An employee rushed over to the announcer, whispering something in his ear. You noticed him nodding in understanding and flashing you a huge grin. “Alrighty! We’re going to have Ember challenge our unbeatable champion tonight!”

You got into a low forward lunge, extending your arm to the side with your palm facing out. One second later, your trusty kung fu spear appeared out of nowhere. If the club didn’t allow weapons, they didn’t say anything. You figured they cared too much about the hype of betting on blood to do something about it.

“Begin!” The bell dinged and you immediately went on the offensive, giving it all you got.

Meanwhile, Peter ditched his prior outfit so he was only in his suit and mask. He found a vent he could sneak into, navigating his way to finding a hidden room. Through the slits of the vent cover, he spotted a tall man wearing some form of mystical clothing that glowed purple. And the dude had a cape, so Peter inferred that had to be the big bossman.

There were some bodyguards with the tall man, so Peter waited patiently for you to do your part before he could intervene. He spotted the silver briefcase on the table and noticed glass vials inside containing a powder of sorts.

“Boss. Ember defeated the champion,” one of the henchmen informed. The boss grinned like he expected that outcome.

“Excellent. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.”

What? Ember? Is that [Y/N]? Does she know this guy? Peter thought to himself. He had to put his questions on hold because now with the boss gone, he could easily take down the remaining guards and snag the briefcase. Carefully lifting the vent cover, he crawled around on the ceiling, strategically ensnaring each henchmen with intricate webs, one by one. Every move carried purpose and he made sure to time it right to ensure nearby men remained oblivious to his presence. It wasn’t until there was one man left that Peter used a web to descend into the room upside-down.

“Hey man.” The guard whipped around and Peter waved hi. “I’ll be taking that.”

He launched a web at the briefcase and yanked it hard, resulting in it slamming right into the last guy’s face, effectively knocking him unconscious. Peter landed rightside up and held the briefcase close.

“That was easier than expected.”

It was then he heard people screaming outside when he dashed out to see the commotion. At this point, the crowd of people had diminished and there in the middle of the ring was a girl in a shiny red suit and helmet similar to that of a Power Ranger. Peter sensed it was you, but his sixth sense was more focused on the threat before you. The tall man from earlier transformed into his true self, which was a man with three dragon heads.

“You’re all grown up now, Ember.”

You pointed your spear at him, prepared to slice him in half. “You ate that man.”

“Yes. And I’m about to devour you next.”

“No, you won’t. That’d be a stupid move on your part.”

The man’s snarl echoed through the air as his three heads snapped toward you, moving in a sinuous and serpentine pattern. You took a defensive stance, twirling your spear with a propeller-like motion to keep your distance from his elongated necks. In that moment, your helmet opened partially and you took a deep breath, feeling the flames ignite in your lungs. You held your spear steady and unleashed a mighty blast of fire, causing the man to cry out in pain from the scorching attack. However, the fire soon dissipated, revealing that the cunning dragon heads had managed to swallow your fire. They were prepared to unleash your own flames back upon you until Peter reacted, swinging into action, his grip tightening around your body as he swiftly whisked you away from the clutches of the menacing demon.

“Spider-Man,” you breathed, stunned by his perfect timing.

“I got you.”

You quickly took notice of the briefcase. “No. Take the case somewhere safe. He’s mine.”

You wriggled free from Peter’s grasp, propelling yourself backward towards the villain, determined to finish the fierce battle. The sharpness in your words, dripping with venom, unsettled him. As he landed near the exit, he made a choice to disregard your request.

Carelessly discarding the briefcase, his attention was immediately drawn to the sight of you suspended in a mesmerizing electrical orb, hovering midair.

“Oh Ember… it’s cute you think you can defeat me,” the man taunted. You stabbed the orb repeatedly but to no avail. Each poke only unleashed a surge of electricity throughout your body, making you scream in pain. Seizing the opportunity, Spider-Man executed a flying super kick at one of the dragon’s heads. The blow infuriated the creature, causing it to release its grip on you and you crashed heavily onto the ground with a resounding thud.

“Ow…”

You pushed yourself off the ground to see Peter effortlessly swinging around, pretty much playing a game of tetherball with the dragon—except Peter was the ball in this unconventional match.

"Hey Mr. Dragon, three heads are better than one, but not when they're all after me!"

“Spider-Man, be careful!” you warned.

As Peter swung around the 3 headed dragon, narrowly avoiding its fiery breath, one of the heads caught him off-guard with a lightning-fast swipe. The impact sent him crashing into a nearby wall, leaving him momentarily disoriented and with a throbbing pain in his side. You rushed over and kneeled on the ground by his side.

“I told you to go!”

“Well, you know,” he said, groaning from trying to sit up. “I have a habit of sticking around.”

The man was growing impatient. His three heads parted their jaws wide, erupting with vivid purple flames as he launched a devastating attack toward both of you. Peter reacted quickly and shielded your body with his own, hugging you in a protective embrace. The searing pain coursed through your bodies, but as the initial shock subsided, you summoned the strength to put up a temporary barrier shield. Peter’s weight pressed upon you as he collapsed and you knew that retreating was necessary.

You watched as the man withdrew his three dragon heads, assuming his original face once more. “You know what I want, Ember. Give me the pearl.”

“Never.”

With a commanding gesture, you used your hands to bend the earth, causing chunks of concrete to rise from the ground. You hurled the makeshift projectiles at the man with precision. In that fleeting moment, you seized the opportunity to carry Peter to safety. You initially believed he had lost consciousness, but he had enough strength to shoot a web to secure the briefcase, ensuring the mission wasn’t for nothing.

“Are you the Avatar?” he joked in a weak voice.

“Shut up and let’s get out of here.”

You carried Peter back to the Avengers Compound, where there was a dedicated medical facility. However, you were aware whatever was causing Peter pain wasn’t something that could be solved by science. You laid him on his stomach on a medical bed, examining the burn marks all over his back. The heat singed his suit, leaving a patch of reddened skin and irritation. Tender patches of skin glistened with a subtle sheen, evidence of the residual heat that had seared his flesh.

“Well, I guess my superpower is now officially 'Extra Crispy Spider-Man.' I should probably trademark that before KFC steals it.”

You had half a mind to press your thumb on his burn wounds. “How can you be joking at a time like this?! You’re lucky it’s not more severe.”

You began rummaging through various drawers to find an ointment until Peter interjected with, “But you can heal me. Right?”

You slammed the drawers shut, taking in deep breaths to calm yourself down. He’s right. You could. You hoped you could.

“You idiot. I can only heal minor wounds. These flames aren’t normal,” you informed him. “But I’ll try.”

You extended your hand over Peter’s back, channeling all your energy into a healing aura. The radiant glow from your palm casted a spotlight-like illumination on his injured area. With precise movements, you guided the healing energy around to alleviate his pain. Unfortunately, it only healed a part of the pain and required further care. Not that Peter could tell, he was too busy ahh-ing at the temporary respite.

“That feels nice.”

“It’s not enough, I have to use something else. Wait here while I find it.”

You ran to your designated room at the compound, unlocking your safe to grab a black velvet box. With it in hand, you hurriedly made your way back to Peter.

“What’s that?”

“Something to heal you with.” You opened the box to reveal a luminous pearl the size of a large marble. With it in your palm, you could amplify your powers and fully heal his back.

“What does that do—oh—OH!—Oh, that’s nice.” He melted into the mattress of the bed and shut his eyes in bliss at the cooling sensation of your healing powers. With the treatment complete, you delicately returned the shimmering pearl to its designated box, taking a moment to regain your composure by sitting down. Peter, now revitalized, got up and instinctively reached back, his hand grazing over the spot where his injury used to be, a look of relief evident on his face. “It even fixed my suit! Wow. What is that?”

“It’s mine,” was all you said, holding it close to your chest.

“Right. Well, thanks, I feel so much better. Oh my god, that was so amazing!” he exclaimed, taking off his mask. “I fought a 3-headed dragon and secured the enhancers. Mr. Stark is going to flip out when I tell him.”

Your helmet vanished with the snap of your fingers. “Peter…”

The boy kept pacing around the room, rambling nonstop. It was as if he had never been injured at all. “You were all like ahhh with your fire breathing and then he slurped it all up like,” —he demonstrated a sucking motion as if he was sipping from a straw—“You’re lucky I was there.”

“Peter look—”

“That was the best mission ever. I get the credit though. Oh, we have to hunt him down and come up with a plan to catch him! We’d probably need a sword, right?”

“Peter!” you shouted, fists clenched. He finally stopped pacing around and stared at you with curious eyes.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you leave when I told you to?”

“That’s a weird way of saying ‘thanks for saving my life Peter’, but okay. Um… I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

His smile was so sweet, yet it pained you greatly. “I could’ve handled it. It was reckless of us to even be there tonight. What’s worse is you got hurt. ”

“Yeah… but you healed me. We did it,” he said, lifting up the briefcase from where he had left it. “I’m fine. We make a pretty good team.”

“No. No we don’t,” you countered. “You got hurt and next time it could be worse. I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t risk it.”

You held your head in your hands, hunched over in the chair.

“You’re grounded. Mr. Stark was right, you’re not ready to be an Avenger.”

He lowered the briefcase and let out a half-hearted laugh. “What?”

You stood up, mustering enough strength to continue. “This mission was too reckless.”

“I don’t understand. The mission was a success. Are you really so against me being an Avenger? Are you threatened by me?”

You let out a frustrated groan. “Will you get it through your head that this isn’t about some competition?”

“It sure doesn’t feel that way to me. You’re already an Avenger and that’s all I want right now. Were you sent to watch me or sabotage my chances?”

Your face twisted into one of hurt. “No!”

“Then why are you being like this?” he asked, pointing his hand at you with his palm facing upward. “God, it must be nice being all perfect. Sorry that I’m not, but that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve a chance.”

“I’m not as perfect as you think I am.”

“Yeah. Because I saved your life.”

“I didn’t ask you to save me! You should’ve left!”

“What, do you have a death wish?!”

“No! But I don’t need you to go after him. Stay down. You did great tonight, yes. But it stops here.”

“It’s because you want the credit, huh? I guess me getting the enhancers is one thing but stopping the big boss man is another. Of course. Little Ms. Perfect has to have it all.”

You winced at the impact of his words, feeling a sharp pang of hurt. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I just wanted to be like you,” he said, desperate and sincere. His defeat was palpable, and witnessing it shattered your heart."

“Why?” you breathed. “You don’t want to be like me.”

“Because you have it all. You’re strong. Your powers are far better than anything I can do. I mean, I have to make my own webs. You are your own webs. Which doesn’t make sense, but you know what I mean.”

“Peter…”

“You’re smart,” he continued. “You can cook. You treat others well. Mr. Stark is clearly impressed by you. I’m so jealous and I know I shouldn’t be. But I am. Everyday when I see you, I understand more and more why Mr. Stark chose you. And it hurts. You’re so perfect.”

“Please stop. I’m not perfect.”

“You are.”

You turned your back towards him. “Stop.”

“Why? Why should I? It’s true!”

“Because I’m not an Avenger!” you confessed, hanging your head low while resting your hands on the medical bed.

“What do you mean? Mr. Stark said—”

“It was a test. He asked me to beat you in our battle so that you’d stop asking about becoming an Avenger. Just until he feels like you’re ready.”

Surprise washes over him as the realization sinks in, followed by a hint of disappointment and perhaps a touch of betrayal.

“Wow… Mr. Stark really went the extra mile this time. And you agreed to it?”

“Yeah… I did.”

“But if you’re not an Avenger, who are you?” You didn’t know if you should tell him the truth. Peter thought about what the dragon man said to you, how his flames were similar to yours except they were purple while yours were red. “Wait… that guy back there called you ‘Ember.’ Like he knew you. Are you related to him? Is he… your father?”

You spun around to face him, battling your desire to shout at him. “He’s not my father. He killed my birth parents when they sacrificed themselves to save me.”

Realization hit Peter like a tidal wave. This was personal for you. And he said quite possibly the worst thing he could’ve at this point.

“[Y/N]... I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten hurt tonight. I can’t deal with anyone sacrificing themselves for me. Not like this.”

“I wasn’t going to let you get burned to a crisp.”

“And I can’t stand the thought of losing you!”

You two stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. “... or losing anyone. I can’t stand the thought of someone dying for me. Not again,” you added quietly.

Peter reached his hand out towards you, but you shied away. “[Y/N], please. Tell me what’s going on.”

“You’ve done enough. Just leave me alone. And don’t go after him or I promise I will tell Mr. Stark to never consider you for the team.”

“Okay,” he said, retracting his hand back. “But I’d do it all over again.”

“Do what?” you asked, captivated by the sincerity in his eyes.

"I would save you," he declared, his voice filled with unwavering determination. "As many times as it took.”

“I know. Because you’re Spider-Man.”

With a heavy heart, Peter reluctantly put on his mask and silently made his way out of the compound.

Extra a/n: If anyone’s curious, OC’s powers are based on a drama I watched when I was little called The Red Kid (2005) as well as the villain. I also based this chapter Dekaranger episode 26.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are appreciated so, so much! Hope you love this couple as much as I do. ₍˶ˆ꒳ˆ˶₎✼:♡*ﾟ✿

Tagging: @elicheel | @mininjageek |

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #mcu peter parker #mcu spiderman #peter parker mcu #peter parker x you #peter parker e2l #peter parker x oc #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman x reader #stark!reader #avenger!reader #tom holland peter parker #inferior flames #my writing

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