#petey should win everything

[seedlessmuffins]

hundred for the alien

[bow-of-aros]

Day Sixteen: Cackle

Summary: Steph wants to know if Peter, Ruth, and Richie want to come over to her place, but Ruth and Richie have decided to be pains in the ass so Peter doesn't think they should be allowed to.

They don't exactly take too kindly to that :)

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Guys. GUYS. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!!!!!! I literally went crazy writing this fic why haven't I written them before?????? They're so precious and I just alsdj;kflasjkdsajdp you know?? Anyway, I hope that y'all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it <33

-

Peter was hanging out with Ruth and Richie at Richie’s after school.

Well, technically, they were supposed to be studying for the biology test at the end of the week, but it was only Monday, and none of them were that nervous about it.

And, the call of Super Smash Bros was just too strong to resist.

After winning his third game in a row, and subsequently performing his third victory dance, his friends started getting really competitive, which was a little terrifying considering the baseline level of Ruth’s competitiveness on any given day.

“Come on, Peter!” Ruth whined after a Smash Attack sent her flying off the platform, “When the hell did you get good at this? What happened to little Petey Pie who used to jump into the void all the time?”

Peter dodged an attack from Richie, floating up into the air just to slam back down, “He got sick of his friends kicking his ass all the time and decided to do some ass-kicking of his own. HA! Take that, fucker!”

The screen flashed as Ruth and Richie groaned, proclaiming Peter as the victor once more.

“You are not playing as your main next time! You can be, like, Doctor Mario or something.” Richie was already setting up the next game thanks to his eternal claim as player one.

I’m the best of you! And you’re the best of me! And together we are free—

“Hey Steph! What’s up?”

Peter ignored the way Richie gagged at the sound of his ringtone and how Ruth’s eyes lit up at Steph’s name, pressing his phone against his ear with his shoulder in order to select Steve from the collection of avatars before either of his friends could get to it.

“Oh, nothing much!” Steph’s voice came through a little tinny, and Peter wouldn’t be surprised if he was on speaker while she did some chores around the house.

“I was just wondering if you had anything planned tomorrow night.”

As Steph was talking, Ruth was doing her level best to crawl across Peter’s lap and put her ear up to his phone despite his attempts to elbow her away.

“Lemme hear!” Ruth hissed.

Peter just stuck his tongue out and redoubled his efforts.

“Uh, no, not really!” His phone jostled as Richie tried to wedge it out from under his ear and Peter had to snatch it back, “Why do you ask?”

“Are you doing alright over there, Pete?” Steph’s voice was tinged with amusement as though she could see the human pretzel that Ruth and Richie were dragging him into.

“Yeah! Everything’s fine!” Peter swatted Richie’s prying hands while attempting to use his feet to keep Ruth away, “What were you gonna ask?”

He could hear something rustle as Steph picked her phone up, turning it off of speaker mode and holding it up to her ear.

He could also hear the overlapping “Come onnnnnnn,” and “We just wanna say hi!” from his friends as Richie tried once again to worm his fingers around Peter’s phone.

“Ah!” And wriggling right against his neck.

Silence echoed as Ruth and Richie exchanged evil looks.

Aw fuck.

“—if you three would want to hang out at my place?” Peter had missed the first half of that sentence due to the now-sporadic squeezes at his knees and more purposeful scratching at his neck, but he was sure that he could make an educated guess.

“I, uh, I don’t know if they can mAKE ihit.”

He’d nearly gotten through the whole sentence without cracking, but then Ruth had started spidering her fingers in the soft spot behind his knees which she knew was unfair, and a small squeak had broken through.

Peter did his best to seal his lips shut as Steph said, “Aw, are you sure? My dad will be out and I can order all of us pizza.”

“Mhm!”

You see, Peter would feel bad about lying to Steph on a regular day. But, considering that his friends had decided to be conniving assholes today, he figured that she would forgive him just this once.

“Are you sure that you’re alright? You sound kinda…nervous.”

Steph sounded genuinely concerned, so Peter kicked Ruth back into the couch and threw an elbow into Richie’s gut so that he could scramble to his feet, trying to subtly catch his breath.

“Yeah, sorry!” They were both already up and after him, so Peter had to dodge grabbing hands as he said, “It’s just that I think Ruth and Richie are too busy being annoying little brats to hang out tomorrow night!”

Twin gasps echoed through the room as both Ruth and Richie’s jaws dropped in indignation.

“How dare you—”

“Spankoffski get your lying ass over here!”

Peter dove out of the way just in time to hear Steph’s “Ohhhhhhhh,” of realization before she broke out into laughter.

“You really had me worried for a second there, Pete!” Richie caught him around the waist and started the not-so-difficult process of wrestling him to the ground, “Maybe you can come over and they can join when they learn to behave!”

It seemed like Ruth heard that last part as she let out an affronted “HEY!”

“Yeah, I think that would be bEST—Wait! Richie nononono shihihihit!”

Ruth managed to pry his phone out of his hands as Richie went straight for the kill, drawing out frantic cackles with ruthless clawing at his ribs.

“Hey, Steph!” Ruth said cheerfully as a sudden jump to Peter’s upper ribs startled a shriek out of him before falling back into hysterics.

“This is for playing the same overpowered character in Smash Bros! SMASH ATTACK!” Richie cried as he vibrated a hand into his victim’s stomach, prompting him to curl up in hopeless defense.

Meanwhile, Ruth was still talking to Steph, “Oh, we would love to come over to hang out! But,” she added, cutting Peter a sly glance, “we don’t want to intrude if Peter doesn’t want us there!”

She stood there for a moment, nodding to whatever Steph was saying, “Of course! Here, you can ask him yourself!”

And then she hit a button on his phone and Steph’s voice rang out, “Hey Pete! So, I was just talking to Ruth and I wanted to double-check if you were totally sure about them not being able to make it tomorrow night.”

“Steheheheph! Hehehehelp!” Was all he could get out in between fits of laughter.

His friends broke out into giggles as Steph said, “I can’t do much for you right now, but if you bring Ruth and Richie over I could help you out with some well-earned revenge! How does that sound?”

Peter could feel Richie’s fingers falter at the threat and see the faint blush rising on Ruth’s face through the tears that had begun to form in his eyes.

“Okay! Deal! They can come!” He took advantage of Richie’s moment of hesitation to get out his response and quickly rolled away, popping up to snatch his phone back out of Ruth’s hands.

“See you tomorrow! Love you! Bye!” And he hung up the phone to the sound of Steph’s laughter before whirling around to his so-called friends.

Peter flung one choice finger out at Ruth, “Fuck you!”

And then the other at Richie, “Fuck you more!”

They just grinned at him as he slumped back down on the couch and reached for his controller, “I think I deserve to kick your asses for a bit now.”

The groans that they let out were undermined by the way they both picked up their own remotes before sitting on either side of him. Richie leaned against Peter while Ruth dropped her head on his shoulder, and the warmth seeped through to his very core.

Well, Peter thought as Richie hit play, there are definitely worse ways to spend an evening than with my two best friends.

Now to kick. Their. Asses.

[starry-hughes]

I need petey to have a revenge game or games… or for the rest of the series 😂 bc I can just tell he blames himself & knows he’s not been playing well… & all the freaking petey haters just couldn’t wait to express her emotions on twitter 🙄 like yes, I understand he missed 2 shots that should of been goals, but he’s still getting used to playoff hockey… he probably feels very nervous and wants to do everything he can to help the team win… but he just needs to take it slow and get his confidence back

im hoping he has a big game when i see him friday

[oumaheroes]

Christmas Drabble (6)

Summary: Time is running out and Alfred might have some regrets

Word Count: 965

Characters: America, Sealand

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5

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‘An hour!’

‘Yes, an hour. Or, thereabouts.’ On the other end of the line, Alfred could almost see England sense that something was amiss, ‘Is that a problem?’

‘Oh nah, course not. It’s just me and Petey home at the moment, Matt went off to collect the sweet summer children from the airport.’

‘…what?’

‘Dude. Come on, you watched Game of Thrones. And you know, you can use context?’ Alfred tutted, ‘You disappoint me.’

‘Yes yes, alright, I get it. But Matthew’s only just gone to get them now? They landed about 5 hours ago.’

‘Oh, no he went ages ago.’ Come to think of it, that was kinda strange, they should all be back by now, ‘Might be traffic, I’ll give him a call.’

‘Yes, please do.’ England paused, ‘Is everything else alright?’

‘Yeah, totally fine here. Speaking of though, why didn’t you pick Jack and Alex up?’

‘Right, I’ll let you go and set off. Stick the kettle on in about 50 minutes.’

America grinned, happy that whatever had happened to England was embarrassing enough to cause him to so willingly give up an investigation into potential misbehaviour, ‘Sure. Coffee, yeah?’

‘Alfred…’

‘Bye! Drive safe!’ Placing down the phone as gently as a man in a full blown panic could, America then sprinted back to Sealand, feeble antiques in the hallway teetering dangerously as he went, ‘Pete! Pops is back in an hour.’

Sealand’s horrified face reappeared from around a pile of wrapping paper, ‘What?!’ He looked about at the carnage that had been until that morning the pristine guest living room- unwrapped presents spread out in a large pile, paper all over the place and, horrifically everywhere you’d want it not to be, glitter, ‘We can’t do all this in an hour!’

‘That’s what a quitter would say.’ America threw himself onto his knees and began sorting presents into piles. They’d started by opening their own ones but had then quickly moved on to exploring everyone else’s. In particular, America had wanted to see what Canada had got and Sealand had been curiously intent on breaking into Falkland’s gifts. (That was something America needed to remember to dig into later.)

It had been oddly hard to stop opening things after that.

‘We’re fucked,’ Sealand lamented after about half an hour of stressful rewrapping, passing America a newly squashed knitted hat to go in the steadily forming ‘Canada’ pile. America had an embarrassingly English urge to tell him off for cursing that he had to swallow down with some force, ‘There’s no way we can get this done before Dad gets back. We might as well just accept it.’

‘Hell no. We don’t accept defeat. We just need to redo the system. How about I take over the wrapping, you smooth the paper out ready and try to match it up, and then start cleaning.’

Sealand shook his head mournfully, ‘He’ll still know. The wrapping’s all different and if we do it as carefully as he does, we’ll never get it done in time.’

America poked him in the side, ‘A negative nelly won’t win us the war, soldier. It doesn’t matter if Lord Grumpington knows, we just need to do it before everyone else gets here and knows that we peeked. The old man will blame the wrapping on Uncle Alistair to keep up appearances and everything will be fine.’

Sealand still looked unsure but dutifully began to gather up the paper and smooth it out ready for America to wrap with before forming present piles for each person that still needed saving. Once this was finished, he placed their battered and cackhanded first rewrapped attempts back under the tree and America got to work again, very thankful they’d been careful enough not to tear the paper too much.

‘Right, now you get the sofa cushions picked up.’

Sealand stood, ‘We need to hoover them first. There’s glitter everywhere.’

‘I’m going to kill Jack. Who the hell puts glitter in a PS5 game box.’

‘Didn’t you do it to him first, with the-‘

‘Priorities,’ America quickly spoke over him, ‘fix the sofa. The old folk will come rushing in, desperate for their tea and coffee and I can distract them whilst you vacuum. They’re not gonna see the glitter straight away.’

Sealand gave him an unimpressed look, ‘But they’ll hear the hoover.’

‘We’ll tell him we’re doing a nice thing for him!’

‘That’s stupid.’

‘You’re stupid,’ Sealand stepped around him and America tried to grab for him, ‘Come on, seriously. The vacuum can wait.’

‘No, we should do that first.’

‘Dude, don’t make me have to pull a Matt and get uncool and serious on you.’

Sealand scoffed, pulling himself free, and jumped up onto the sofa to get away from him when America lunged for him. America tried grabbing him again, aiming for the waist this time to haul him off, but Sealand once more avoided him, ducking under his arm to jump onto the arm of the opposite sofa.

Many things happened at once.

Sealand made the jump cleanly enough but must have overestimated the force needed to get there. As he landed, the wooden supports of the arm cracked cleanly in half, throwing Sealand hard and awkwardly to the ground. At the same time, as America clumsily jerked forwards in an attempt to catch him, his foot caught on the wire of the fairy lights draped around the tree. The whole thing toppled instantly, pulled down right of top of the whole mess.

‘Peter!’ Alfred pushed the tree aside and scrambled over to him, ‘You dead?’

‘No,’ with a wince Sealand sat up, cradling his shoulder. He gingerly took his hand away and America stared in horror at his very dislocated arm, ‘but we might be soon.’

‘Ah shit.’

Part 7

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AN:

When you’re struggling to write something, the logical and not at all silly thing to do is to write something else. I will not regret this decision, nope not at all.

[spiltscribbles]

Worth It

~Notes: Oof, I know I have so many prompts in my inbox and I appreciate them so much! But I wanted to write something after dinner in dedication and a gift to the lovely Remus-John-Lupin!!!!!!!<3<3<3 I love you RJ and I appreciate you and your friendship so fucking much, so this is just a strange little gift from me to you in thanks for how kind you’ve always been to me since I joined this crazy fandom, ILY and you’re my favorite slag!!!!

.-

Sirius silently reminds himself that he in fact likes Lily, he thinks she’s a total knock out and is happy that his brother is finally getting to date the girl of his dreams. He likes her damn it,! And one does not commit battery to folks that they like.

Assured that his pure irritation won’t bleed through his words, Sirius tries again in his most charming of inflections. “All I want is his number.”

“No,” she repeats, casually steadfast while poking at her salad— Not even bothering to flick her gaze up at an increasingly irate Sirius.

“Why are you being so fucking difficult!”

“Why are you still bitching about this,” she counters, finally giving him her undivided attention, even if it’s her glaring at him like she’d like to skewer Sirius on a stick.

“Hey guys, let’s chill.” James tries to mediate, laughing awkwardly between the pair of them, hand raised in concession and glasses going a bit skewed.

They promptly ignore him.

“I like him. What is so difficult to understand Evans? Aren’t you like supposed to be some brainiac or some shit?”

“It’s been like two months Black,” she says pointedly, grip on her fork tightening while her mouth curls unpleasantly. “That’s way past your ordinary infatuations, so why the hell do you still even care.”

Sirius bares his teeth, pinning her with a glower that once made an old school yard bully of Regulus’s actually piss his pants. So of course Lily doesn’t even flinch. “He’s cute.”

“You’re a dog.”

“You’re being a total ass.”

“And you’re a bastard.”

“But you love me though.”

“Just barely.”

“So you’ll give me Remus’s number?”

“Dream on.” she says with a lofty sniff and haughty flip of the hair, discarding her barely eaten lunch before swaggering over to where a group of her friends from the STEM club are sat, including Alice Flores and Dorcas Meadowes. 

“Guess you’re back to square one Pads.” James says, unhelpful as fuck, so Sirius only flips him off before snatching back his calculus homework from a pitiful looking Peter.

“Fuck this.”

.-

Sirius thinks of himself as a reasonable sort of guy.

He isn’t one for holding grudges or obsessing over perceived slights. He’s brilliant whether he’s playing linebacker on the field or taking a exam in class.

For fuck’s sake, Sirius  can be plumped down in any and all social situations without warning, and can have the room eating out the palm of his hand within the first five minutes.

In layman’s terms, he’s decent and driven and downright charismatic. Mix this all together, and well Sirius thinks he’s a pretty fantastic fucking package— if he does say so himself. He can have his pick of the lot, truly. Especially when walking down the halls flocked by his best friend turned second brother on one end and little Petey, who’s a great hype man, on the other. So its only poetic justice that the one person who’s been able to swallow up all his attention is the one person who doesn’t even give him a second glance most days.

And that’s fucking ridiculous.

This is ridiculous! He is fucking ridiculous! No, record scratch. Remus fucking Lupin is the most ridiculous part of this all!

Remus lupin with his delightfully disheveled hair the color of gold and his crooked grin that’s everything darling in the world, and his big doe eyes that sometimes flare with green specs when he’s especially passionate in class or when he’s chatting with Lily in the halls. Remus lupin who’s only just moved here to Murray Hill from a small town in southern Illinois and who toppled Sirius’s world upside-down while he was at it. 

The first time they met was completely on accident.

It was the week before classes began, and Sirius had only just come back from his family trip to their villa in Rome, and he was only meant to meet James at the coffee shop that Lily was working at now. They were suppose to head to the city and go out drinking to celebrate the start of their senior year.  Sirius was suppose to find a nice, college aged girl to fuck because he’s given up on the boring lot that infests Hogwarts these days. It was suppose to be easy and fun and he was suppose to stay stringless and unattached as ever.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, Sirius walked into the Howling Moon  and was met by the sight of the most lovely, most gorgeous boy he’s ever met. Hand to God, it felt like one of those slow motion moments in a Romantic Comedy when the disgruntled, wayward lead first sets their eyes on that love interest— the one to out shine all others, the one  who turns everything inside out and makes it all glitter gold.

“Hey there,” Remus had grinned like the fucking sun, slipping the pen from his ear and hand poised over the cups lining the counter. “What can I get ya?”

“Oh, erm— Yeah. Just a caramel macchiato, iced.”Sirius’s ordinarily smooth baritone almost fucking cracked while ordering, and Remus’s beautiful eyes had glittered.

“Would’ve taken you for a dark roast sort of guy.” He said, and Sirius swears that it was playful and flirtatious and a little mischievous too. 

Sirius was in love.

“I’ve been known to partake in sweets, you know, if they catch my eye,” he replied, eyes lingering meaningfully up and down Remus’s slighter frame.

“What a come on,” Remus had laughed, head thrown back to show off his long neck and Sirius was so fucking gobsmacked at how it quite literally sounded like all the most splendid instruments woven together.

He had ducked his head, so unordinary bashful but so beyond pleased. “What can I say beautiful, you bring it out of me.”

“”Cute.” Remus had chuckled, cheeks going a fetching red and scribbling down the order. “Definitely one of the more interesting one liners I’ve gotten today.”

Sirius ignored the flare of jealousy over that, considering that he hasn’t gotten to even kiss him yet, and he should probably take this slow if he doesn’t want to screw it up. “Has anyone of those bastards mentioned how your eyes put the brownies on sale to shame?”

“No one as hot as you if I’m being honest,” Remus retorted, ringing him up and sinking his teeth into his plump bottom lip. And fuck, Sirius knew he was in trouble from then on.

They had talked for over half an hour about nothing at all in that tiny bistro while Remus was busy exchanging the coffee pots for a fresh batch and rearranging the baked goods, and it was amazing.

 Sirius has always been someone who couldn’t sit still, who had to be fluttering all over the place to feel like he was actually headed somewhere, like he was getting something finished. But for the first time in too long, just sitting there, still and silent and besotted while Remus chatted about his hometown and moving half way across the country and his eccentric mother— Well Sirius felt completely balanced, completely calm. He felt like just as long as Remus was their chatting with him and smiling in that beguiling way of his, that Sirius could actually breathe without pressure. Like he knew what it meant to have a center.

So of course, right when he decided that he was going to snatch him up— to ask him out on a date before anyone else from their shitty class filled with degenerates and dick heads could— Lily of all people  had swaggered in, and gave him a caustic sort of glower that plainly said, keep the fuck away.

Ordinarily Sirius would’ve completely ignored her warning, would’ve unashamedly and excitedly chased after the cutest fucking boy he’s ever laid his eyes on with an absurd sort of zeal. But he under estimated just how much sway Lily was able to cater with Remus in the few weeks they worked with one another before he had met him. So instead of starting off the year with a brand new, insanely pretty boyfriend wrapped around one arm, Sirius has just spent the past nine weeks pining like a fucking love sick loser. Like he was starring in some cheesy John Hughes movie from the damn 80s!

And this will not do, this is not all right, not okay at all.

Sirius needs to figure out a way to get close to Remus, and outside of Lily’s overbearing claws. Something that only Remus likes, that Sirius can partake in to prove himself worthy.

As he promenades down the hall towards his free period, Sirius creates a mental check list of the things he knows Remus enjoys.

Remus enjoys poetry, and Sirius knows that he’s part of the school’s award winning Forensics team. But they meet during the football practices so Sirius couldn’t even try to impress him in that arena until the spring. He also knows that Remus likes history, that he’s going to end up majoring in classics in University, but Sirius really doubts his ability to memorize the Iliad in the matter of a few hours— He’s good, but not that good.

“Jesus fuck is this hard,” he mutters nastily to himself, tugging at the ends of his dark hair before ramming straight into a display outside the southern wing of their preparatory school’s building.

He winces, not so much for the throbbing in his toes, but because of Marlene’s snappish attitude when he makes it so that the table shakes.

“Keep your head out your ass Black,” she scolds before going back to filing her nails. And Sirius is about to snipe right back at her— That is until he catches on the bright poster adorned with small rainbows and the words, GSA FOOD DRIVE spelt out in large lettering.

And oh!

“Eureka!”

“Pardon?” Marlene asks, nose wrinkled indelicately as she eyes him like he’s about to puke on her brand new Doc Martens again like last weekend. Holy shit, she should really get over it by now.

But Sirius is smart enough and tactful enough not to mention his thoughts on the matter, only smiles down at her with pure elation. “Marls, what if I said I had a brilliant idea to help our lovely GSA.”

“I’d accuse you to only doing it to try and get in Lupin’s pants since he’s our new VP.”

Sirius grapples for his chest, feigning indignant. “You pain me my old friend.”

Marlene snorts. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“That’s neither here nor there.”

“So are your chances with Lupin.”

“You’re a sick fuck McKinnon.”

“What do you want from me you gnat.”

“Let me help with the fundraiser.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll tell Lily to get Meadowes to notice you?”

Marlene glares at him now. “We’ve been fucking for like a month you prick.”

“Oh— Erm, then for some of that good old Bi unity?”

Marlene suddenly looks so very shrewd and Sirius hates how every fucking woman in his life could eat him whole for breakfast. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine, what the fuck do you want.”

“You cover Fabian’s costs for the goods  when we go to that rave for 2KBABY in January.”

“Eh, didn’t you guys use to fuck?”

“Yes. But I don’t see the connection?”

“He won’t even give you a discount on the good shit?”

“Oh he does,” she leers, blue eyes glinting wickedly in the hallway light. “But I’d rather see you pay full price for’m.”

Sirius glares down at her, and repeats himself.  “You. Are. A. Sick. Fuck.”

Marlene just lies back in her seat and returns to manicuring her nails. “Well if cheekbones isn’t worth the bother?”

“Fine,” Sirius all but growls out. “But we do this my way.”

“Scout’s honor handsome,” she absolutely beams, and Sirius reminds himself that this is all for Remus and that’s worth it at the end of the day.

.-

It’s a week later, right before Thanksgiving break hits, and Sirius is sat in front of the cafeteria, smirking at the line of mostly pink faced girls and a few others amongst their midst, who have all queued up in front of him. A dollar in each of their hands, though he does see that a few have fives and even tens or more, and he doesn’t know how to subtly tell them that all he’s promising is a quick peck of his lips, and absolutely no other groping— including of his legendary ass or admittedly perfect abs.

“You’re just really enjoying yourself, aren’t you.” James hisses besides him after the latest girl— a blonde sophomore who’s decked out in Lulu Lemon for their only non uniform day of the week— scurries off. “Just a ego trip.”

“Jealous Jamie darling?” Sirius boasts, tipping back on his chair while Marlene collects the cash from the next five in line so that they can clammer closer towards him.

“I can’t believe all of them want to kiss you,” Peter marvels, round eyes completely in aw. 

“I can’t believe you think this is how to get Remus’s attention,” Lily interjects huffily, lips set in a moody pout while perched on James’s lap to Sirius’s left.

“I bet you would’ve been in line if you weren’t dating Jamie here.” Sirius counters, smug as all get out, and laughing when all Lily deigns as a adequate response is her middle finger.

Sirius is on cloud nine. He can’t believe he didn’t think of this sooner! Remus loves all this shit, from the club to the charity. This is perfect! This basically guarantees that he’ll finally get a good smooch on him. And once their lips finally  touch, Remus will surely feel the swarm of butterflies in his gut just like in those Harleyquin romance novels his cousin Narcissa would always read with a dreamy look on her face during their various Family vacations.

“You’re not gonna get him this way.”

“He’s not gonna know what hit’m Evans,” Sirius retorts, completely self assured.

.-

One should never bet against Lily Marie Evans.

Sirius knows this now. But he still hates it with the passion of a thousand burning suns.

By the end of the lunch hour, Sirius’s earned over sixty bucks to the GSA’s fundraiser fund, and absolutely zero potential boyfriends who look like golden angels and make Sirius’s knees weak.

“I told you,” Lily says in that sing-song sort of voice that is so not appreciated right now. “Remus is not the type to kiss you in front of a huge crowd and after like a bunch of others. That’s not his style.”

Sirius is moody as all get out, and he’s irritated that he’s just wasted five dozen perfectly fine kisses on folks who aren’t Remus, so he doesn’t bother to hide his irritation when he gripes back at her, “Then tell me what the fuck is his style.”

Miraculously, that actually proved enough to get Lily to slow down her stroll, and cock her head curiously at him. “You actually care.”

“What the fuck have I been trying to tell you Evans!” He nearly shouts.

“I just thought— You know. That it was a game.”

Sirius’s face goes stoney, and he juts his chin away from her. “It’s not always a fucking game, all right. It’s not a game with him— I like him. I like Remus.”

“Oh,” Lily says very quietly, her face pulled in a thousand different directions before settling on something akin to solemn. “You should go to the music room for your free period today.”

Sirius quirks a brow at her, frowning while he asks, “Why?”

“Just trust me S,” she says, reaching over her hand to squeeze his forearm.

Sirius watches her walk off, hand in hand with James, and he feels a strange twisting to his heart when he imagines a very similar image— only with him and Remus and punctuated by plenty of kisses to the cheek, and jawline and lips too.

.-

The music room is towards the back of the school, in a separate building along with the theatre and main auditorium.

The early autumnal chill lashes against Sirius’s face while he makes the track to the room, continuously chanting to himself that he actually trusts Lily and this is gonna be worth it if there’s a merciful God up there.

Once Sirius clammers in doors, he rubs his cold hands together, and shakes out his hair. 

The first thing he hears is the soft strumming of a guitar, and finds himself in front of the music room after following its melodic toon. 

Through the window he can spot the form of Remus bent over the instrument, his thick curls getting in his eyes and his steady hands plucking a few chords as he sits cross legged atop the piano.

Sirius feels his heart lodging in his throat at the sight of him, so beautiful and perfect and warm looking in that scarlet sweater. And he knows in his bones that this is some sort of unspoken blessing that Lily’s given him, so with a deep breath, Sirius opens the door and strolls in.

Remus starts slightly, going flushed once his eyes catch on Sirius’s own.

“Oh Sirius,” he greets, the corners of his mouth tipping into a smile that doesn’t ring true. “You pulled away from the haram?”

“That’s a bit much? Calling them a haram,” Sirius says cooly, hitching up besides him and swinging his long legs. “I just did it to help you.”

“Oh— Yeah,” Remus nods. “The GSA appreciates all the help we can get.”  His words are quiet, and he’s rinsing a hand through his curls, so Sirius can tell that he’s a bit nervous. And it’s impossibly cute, but also not on. He doubts that he’ll ever get his kiss if Remus won’t even look at him in the eyes.

Gingerly, Sirius sets the pad of his pointer finger beneath Remus’s chin, lifting his gaze upwards. “Not the GSA— Though I appreciate the club’s work and your part in that.”

“Oh,” Remus says again, lips pursed and his throat pulsing when he swallows down. “Then—“

“I did it for you Remus,” Sirius repeats heatedly. “I did it because I’ve been mad for you since ever meeting you in August, and I can’t get your fucking face or name or lips or ass out of my head. And I thought that if maybe I pulled a dumb stunt like that, you would actually kiss me along with the lot of those idiots who can’t even hold a candle to you.”

“M—My ass?” Remus questions, voice going pitchy and face bright with emotion. 

Sirius laughs, booming and bombastic. “You have the best ass I’ve ever seen Remus Lupin and it’s really obscene.”

Remus shoulder checks him, looking down and then back up through his lashes at Sirius and it’s a sight Sirius wish he can keep with him for the rest of his days.

“So you thought I’d want our first kiss to happen after you’ve just made out with half the school?” 

Sirius grimaces, bending down so that their lips are only inches apart. “Listen, I can be a complete dumb ass on occasion.”

“Don’t forget arrogant.”

“Okay, fair.”

“And brash too.”

“Right.”

“Also you tend—“

Sirius places a soft hand over Remus’s supple lips, glaring teasingly at the other boy, who’s grinning like the cat who’s caught the canary, his eyes teeming with laughter. 

Remus Lupin is going to be the death of  him, Sirius knows it.

“Listen Lupin, I’d like a shred of self respect here, so I can actually muster up the courage to ask you out on a proper date already.”

Remus perks at that, so Sirius moves his grasp.

 “You wanna ask me out?”

“Depends…. You wanna continue that little rant until I’m blue balled and  gutless.”

“Hmm,” Remus inches closer, setting his hand over Sirius’s on the piano. “Nah, I think I’d rather do this.”

He leans forwards and Sirius barely has enough time to gather his bearings when he feels Remus’s mouth over his own and it’s literally every starlit promise and sugar burnt secret and sunlit afternoon all rolled into one. And Sirius feels his heart thud an uneven staccato when he grabs for either end of Remus’s waistline and plunges his tongue into his own and he lets himself get lost in the overwhelming feeling of it all.

[nugnthopkns]

it all pours out after dark

word count: 5.8k

warnings: insinuated!fem reader, cursing, mentions of alcohol (but no consumption), expressions of self doubt

recommended listening: the knife | maggie rogers

series masterpost: here

a/n: first installment of hiiapl!! very excited about what’s to come. here is some bffs/roommates to lovers with petey :))

Elias’s friendship was a welcome surprise.

You hadn’t expected much when you met the Swede – after all, you were serving at the annual Canucks charity gala and he was the rookie poised to win the Calder trophy. There were a million other things you would have rather done than spend a Saturday evening walking around in sky high stilettos and passing out flutes of champagne, but the catering company paid generously, and you needed to come up with the funds for your next tuition installment. Vancouver may be beautiful, but it’s incredibly expensive.

So you spent the night with a kilowatt smile plastered on your face, staying silent in the background and making sure no one’s glasses were ever empty. You were barely legal to handle alcohol, freshly nineteen and waiting for an opportunity to experience the city’s nightlife for yourself. There was no way you should be regulating the alcohol consumption of adults but you were doing it anyways. The tips were very generous, more than you should have probably been receiving, but you accepted them with a smile because the athletes making millions could certainly afford it.

No one paid you any attention, but you didn’t mind. The night was beginning to wear on you and the event didn’t plan on stopping for another couple of hours. You debated on what to do with your tray while you tried to work out the knots that were forming in feet from standing for so long.

“Let me hold that for you,” a gentle voice sounded from behind you.

When you turned around you were face to face with Elias Pettersson. “That won’t be necessary,” you stated, tone kind but firm. If your supervisor caught you, you would have been fired immediately.

He didn’t take no for an answer. “Please,” he urged, thick accent ringing out in the space between you. “Your feet are going to cramp. Take your shoes off for two minutes.” The English was broken, but you appreciated the sentiment. He really wanted to help.

After a little more insisting from the blonde you agreed, and he diligently stood watch to ensure you wouldn’t get in trouble. It was a relief to be out of the torturous constraint of your shoes for a few moments, and you thanked him profusely.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, a small smile on his face. Shouting erupted from some other players then, looking for him.

“You better get back before they miss you too much.” You nodded in the direction of the voices, to which he begrudgingly agreed. Elias handed you back the tray of champagne flutes before taking one for himself.

He was about to fade into the crowd when he turned to face you again. “I never caught your name,” he stated.

“It’s Y/N.”

“Elias.”

With that he disappeared into the throng of people. You never expected to hear from him again, chalking it up to a kind interaction with a stranger, but a day later he had messaged you on Instagram after searching through the countless profiles that shared your name and were located in the general Vancouver area. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you, and you became fast friends.

☼☼☼☼

That first meeting was nearly four years ago, and countless memories had been made since then. You treasure your friendship with Elias, and truthfully it’s the one you hold closest to your heart. This could be because over the years you’ve developed a small crush on the lanky blonde, but it’s a secret you’ll take to the grave. No one knows of your true feelings for Elias, and no one ever will.

“E? I’m home,” you shout into the quiet apartment, wondering if he’s home from morning skate yet.

After you completed your undergraduate degree and your lease ended, Elias insisted you move into his spare bedroom. The offer was too tempting to resist – you got to live with your best friend and continue your education in a city you adore. Moving your stuff had been a bit of a pain, but your life fit seamlessly into Elias’s. The two of you worked well as roommates, and over the past few months the space began to reflect not just Elias, but you as well. Hair ties were randomly thrown on counters and the bookshelves began to fill.

You’re setting the few groceries you picked up from the local market on the counter when he comes down the hall.

“Hi sunshine,” Elias says softly, voice riddled with sleep. He must have returned home earlier than you thought and had a quick nap.

You smile at the nickname. Elias had gifted it to you early in your friendship when you were in a terrible mood. He had meant it sarcastically at first, but it stuck. Now he hardly calls you by your name.

“How was practice?”

“Really tough,” he admits, moving behind you to place the apples in the fridge. “Coach is being hard on us because we aren’t performing well.”

You frown but hold your tongue. Your degree in sports psychology tells you that isn’t the way to improve players’ morale, but Elias doesn’t like it when you lecture him on what the Canucks staff are doing wrong. He knows things aren’t perfect within the organization and hopes desperately the situation will improve when they start winning again.

The two of you put the rest of the food away in comfortable silence and then unwind by watching numerous episodes of House. You had recently decided to give the medical drama a rewatch, and Elias’s interest was piqued by the snarky physician who always saves the day. It’s become your favourite way to relax and it seems that both of you need it today.

“How does Wilson do it?”

You’re perplexed. “Do what?”

“Put up with House,” Elias sighs. “He’s an asshole.”

Laughter tumbles from your lips. “The same way I deal with you, grumpy.”

“No,” he scoffs, tossing a pillow in your general direction. “You’re House and I’m Wilson, sunshine. Being an asshole is how you got that nickname in the first place.”

You couldn’t argue with Elias’s point – he was right. Between the two of you, you’re the one most likely to be snarky with your anger and he’s more likely to shut himself off from the rest of the world. “Fuck off,” you giggle. 

When Elias crawls on top of you and drops his weight you don’t flinch. You’ve become accustomed to his casual yet spontaneous displays of physical touch, and by now the two of you can frequently be found with your limbs tangled together. 

The rest of your afternoon passes in the blink of an eye. You fall asleep a few episodes in, and you assume Elias did as well because when you wake up his body is still pressed against yours. Once your eyes adjust to being awake, you notice it’s well into the evening. Your stomach rumbles and you decide you have to get up. 

“E,” you say softly, not wanting to completely disrupt his rest. The season is off to a rougher start than everyone hoped for, and he hasn’t been sleeping well. 

There’s no response from the boy on top of you so you try again, voice a decibel or two louder. “Elias, please let me up. I’ve gotta start dinner.”

“Mhmm,” Elias murmurs, not opening his eyes. “Or you could just stay here. You’re so warm.”

You roll your eyes. “Dude, we’ve got to eat. Come on.”

He doesn’t move. In fact, he presses more weight on you, effectively trapping you on the couch. “We can just order food in a bit,” Elias suggests. “Please just stay and nap a bit longer.”

That’s all it takes to convince you, and you let your eyes flutter shut again. In the comfort of your best friend sleep comes easy, and neither of you move far from the couch for the rest of the night. 

The next few days are incredibly busy, and you don’t see Elias much. School is heating up and you’re struggling to stay afloat. In an effort to get the team to put up a few wins, the Canucks organization is holding extra practices and development workshops in between games, so Elias is barely home. When he is he’s exhausted and spends most of his free time in his room, chatting with friends at home or playing video games. 

You do your best to not let the distance bother you, but not being able to have a conversation that lasts more than fifteen minutes before one of you is running out the door is wearing you down. You miss your best friend. 

Elias is set to go out with some of the younger guys on the team this evening, and though he invited you, you’re in a graduate student society meeting until well after they’re supposed to be leaving. He deserves the time to unwind, but a part of you is jealous he actually gets it. Both of you have been running around like chickens with your heads cut off and it seems like Elias can finally slow down. You on the other hand cannot. 

Approximately twelve million things go wrong throughout the course of the day. First, you left your lunch and wallet at home, leaving you unable to eat. Then your advisor was late to your meeting and insisted it was your fault. To top everything off, the graduate student society dismissed your proposal for more funding into public outreach programs. You really, really wanted to be at home.

The door to the apartment is unlocked upon your arrival home, which you find strange. Elias isn’t one to forget to lock it on his way out the door. Brock was terrible about remembering that sort of thing, so you assume he was the last one out. You open it with a sigh and kick off your sneakers. It has been a long day, and you’re looking forward to opening the bottle of wine you picked up with groceries last week.

It doesn’t dawn on you that Elias’s shoes are still by the door or that the living room light is on. You’re so preoccupied with getting comfortable you don’t realize you aren’t alone until you hear a voice from down the hall. 

“Rough day sunshine?”

Elias is standing at the end of the hallway, staring at you intently. It’s as if he can sense the tension rolling off your shoulders. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I thought you were going out with the guys?”

He just shrugs. “Didn’t really feel like it. Besides, I knew you were having an off day because you didn’t text me on your lunch break so I wanted to be here for you.”

You nearly tear up from his words. Elias is a lot of things, and kindhearted is certainly one of them. “Go have a shower,” he insists, “And I’ll start dinner.”

“Thanks E.”

A hand comes up to ruffle your hair on his way by. “Don’t mention it.”

The two of you spend the night tucked against each other, eating pasta and telling stories. You never make it to the fridge to get that bottle of wine, but you don’t mind because during your shower Elias made hot chocolate for you both. Conversation flows into the early morning, and by the time you head to bed you can’t remember why you were upset in the first place. 

☼☼☼☼

The season drags on. The Canucks still aren’t playing well, and it’s beginning to wear on Elias. He’s spending more time in his room, reviewing tape and tweaking his workout regime to achieve maximum results. You worry he’s beginning to isolate himself and that it won’t be good for his mental health. 

“Do you want to go hiking tomorrow?” you ask him at dinner. The team has a rare day off, and the coaching staff want them to decompress before leaving on a long road trip. 

Elias shrugs, not looking up at you as he continues to cut his vegetables. “Not really sunshine. I have some clips I need to watch.”

You sigh loud enough to make him feel bad, and his eyes meet yours. “E, you need a break. Let’s go to that trail you like and just relax for a while. I’ll pack a lunch and we can just go slow.”

Whether or not he’s just appeasing you or genuinely wants to go you aren’t sure, but Elias agrees. He places a hand on your shoulder in silent thanks before loading his plate into the dishwasher and retreating to his bedroom. You take it as a victory, however small, and are glad he didn’t completely shut down the idea. The rest of the night is quiet, with you finishing a book and falling asleep on the couch. 

Neither of you are quick to rise in the morning but it doesn’t matter. There’s no timeline for your upcoming adventure so long as you’re back before dark. You make it to the kitchen before Elias and take it upon yourself to make breakfast for the two of you. It’s nothing fancy, just oatmeal, but your best friend appreciates it when he finally makes an appearance. Elias looks like he slept for a maximum of three hours, and you have half a mind to tell him you’ll take a rain cheque, but you know he needs a change of pace. 

The two of you chat idly throughout the meal but it isn’t tense or awkward. Neither of you are completely awake, and both like time to reflect in the morning. It’s nearly an hour later when you meet Elias at the door. You grab your keys, much to his surprise. 

“What?” you shrug.

Elias cocks a brow in your direction. “You hate driving on the highway.”

He’s right – you have no issues navigating the traffic riddled streets of Vancouver, but as soon as you get out of the city and onto the freeway you freeze up. 

“Gotta get over my fear at some point. Come on superstar.”

There’s no complaint from Elias, and you suspect he’s secretly relieved. Driving isn’t his strong suit either but you know he does it so you don’t have to. The ride is quiet, and once you hit the city limits the car feels lighter, as though Elias left all his stress behind. Some lo-fi playlist trickles through the speakers as you get closer to your destination. It isn’t your kind of music, or Elias’s for that matter, and you’re pretty sure Brock gave him the link. The parking lot is empty when you arrive, and you back into a spot with ease. 

Usually Elias would comment on your driving quirk, teasing you because ‘no one under the age of sixty-five backs into a parking space’, but he’s quiet. You wonder if he even noticed. Nerves about the possibility of a far-away look in Elias’s eyes subside when he scrambles to get out of the car. 

“First one to the top wins,” he shouts, metres ahead of you as you double check to make sure the car is locked. You let out a full laugh but don’t try to catch up – he’s going to win anyway so you might as well enjoy yourself. 

The hike does wonder for Elias. Just being outside, in the fresh air that doesn’t hold any expectation of who he should be, is enough to lighten his mood considerably. You trail behind him the entire time, allowing yourself to marvel at his beauty from afar. The longer you live with Elias, the harder it’s becoming to mask your feelings. A couple of times he pauses to wait for you to catch up, and once at the top of the small summit he lifts you into the air in triumph.

“Alright E, put me down,” you giggle, squirming out of his grip. He obliges and places you back onto the rocky surface as though his previous act was the easiest thing in the world. 

The two of you marvel at the view from the top of the mountain for a bit longer before making the trek back down to the car. Halfway down the trail you fall behind significantly, exhausted from not only hiking up a mountain, but worrying about Elias and stressing over some school deadlines that are rapidly approaching. Elias slows his steps so you can catch up, and insists you jump up to piggy-back the rest of the way. You try to protest but he isn’t having it. Eventually you give in and doze off with your face tucked into the crook of his neck. 

You let Elias drive home, too worn out to think about the traffic you’ll inevitably hit. When you get home you allow him to tuck you into bed, and don’t tease him when presses a kiss to the crown of your head. 

The road trip both flies by and drags on. At home, you're busy with school, work, and taking care of Brock’s dogs. Coolie and Milo have become a welcome responsibility, and truthfully you love having them around. They make the absence of Elias less apparent. Each night you curl up on the couch, a dog on either side, and watch the game intently. The Canucks seem to be on the up, winning the first three games with ease. It’s like something has clicked between them and on-ice communication is no longer a problem. However, that changes quickly, and they lose the entire back half of the trip. 

You do your best to comfort Elias from afar – sending him periodic text messages of encouragement, random memes you find on instagram, and calling after every game. The streak of misfortune is getting to him, and it’s beginning to affect his play. He adds only one point the entire trip, an assist that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things since they were blown out of the water. When you talk to him it’s easy to hear how upset he is, and you imagine he’s hearing a lot worse than what you’re telling him from the coaching staff. It makes your blood boil – how they’re treating him – but you’re helpless. Nothing you can say will undo the potential damage. 

The Canucks get back late, and you’re tucked into bed with the dogs, nearly asleep. You’ll return Brock’ pets in the morning. If you hadn’t had a disastrous meeting with your advisor you would’ve met them at the airport, seeing as it’s Friday and you often don’t go to bed until well into the morning, but your body is thoroughly exhausted. 

You don’t hear the door open and are only alerted to a new presence because the dogs perk their ears. Footsteps echo through the silent apartment, and you think you can hear Elias grumbling in Swedish. He makes no attempt to find you so you assume he thinks you’re sleeping. You should be. Up until three minutes ago you were on the verge of sleep, but now you wait with baited breath to see if you can hear any indicators to Elias’s mood. 

A door closes and seconds later the shower turns on, so you assume he’s feeling alright. Most certainly not great, but well enough to maintain his normal routine. You don’t try to move, knowing you’ll talk to him in the morning, and finally allow yourself to commit to sleep. There’s a few minutes of bliss where you’re almost unconscious, but your slumber is disrupted by a quiet knock at your door.

“Sunshine?”

Elias’s voice sounds like a different type of exhaustion that you’ve never heard, and you know right then that you won’t deny him entry to your room.

“I’m awake E,” you mumble, praying he can hear you because you spoke so softly. The door creaks open and you can just make out his facial features in the dark.

Standing tentatively in the doorway, Elias looks at you with tear-rimmed eyes. “Y/N, I think I’m going to get benched.”

☼☼☼☼

His suspicions were, unfortunately, right. The decision to bench Elias had apparently been made on the plane ride home, but he wasn’t informed until the team meeting after practice the next morning. You knew something bad had happened because when he came home there was no conversation. He slipped through the door like a ghost and disappeared into his room. You knew better than to go after him right away – Elias is the type of person who needs to process his emotions alone before sharing them with others.

You busy yourself with editing the chunk of your thesis proposal that has occupied your brain for the past few weeks. It’s getting closer to the end of your first year of graduate school, and you need to get approval for your topic soon. You hope to research the effects of locker room speech on athletes’ mental health. The focus group will be the Vancouver Whitecaps, and you’re excited to work with them. Your advisor has some personal connections and pulled a few strings to get you the gig and you’re extremely thankful.

An hour or two passes before Elias pads his way into the main living area. Wordlessly he flops onto the couch and holds his arms up in the air. You can read Elias like a book – you know he wants you to stop working and lie on top of him. The action brings him comfort, which he desperately needs in this moment, so you don’t have an issue with it. On your way over you grab a banana from the fruit bowl and offer it to him. He takes it, but sets it gently on the coffee table.

Once you’re settled, Elias wraps his arms around your body, holding you to him like he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers otherwise. You absentmindedly trace patterns on his forearms for a while, letting the silence soothe him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

It’s a shot in the dark, you know, but you try anyway. Elias doesn’t answer, instead asking you what you did while he was gone. You indulge him, knowing it’s the only way to take his mind off the heartache, and narrate the menial chores you did in painstaking detail. It seems to help, and eventually Elias brings his own anecdotes into the conversation, telling you something dumb Brock had whispered in his ear at practice.

Eventually Elias has to get ready to go to the rink. Though he isn’t playing he’s expected to be there, dressed sharply and watching from the press box. You help him as best you can – ironing his favourite tie and filling his lucky mug with just the right amount of coffee.

He gives you a short hug in thanks before bending down to tie his dress shoes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” you ask. “I can easily get a press pass and we could sit together.”

Elias shakes his head. “You have work to get done. I’ll be fine sunshine,” he says, doing his best to convince himself along with you that everything will be alright.

You watch him open the door and gingerly blow him a kiss as he turns to wave goodbye. It’s a silly ritual the two of you started a few years ago, before you’d moved in with Elias. He insisted you spend time with him before each home game, which meant you wound up cooking dinner and making sure he drank enough water. To annoy him you started blowing him kisses as he left, and the tradition continued once his place became yours. Elias catches it with his left hand and blows one back.

Not much work gets done while Elias is gone. You’re too worried about him to focus on your proposal and end up with your eyes glued to the television as you watch the game. The Canucks desperately need a win, something you hope they can get so your best friend can be put back into the lineup. Your eyes zero on Elias every time the camera pans to him sitting in the rafters, and your heart breaks each time you see the defeated look in his eyes. It seems to have worsened since he left home.

The game does not go well for the Canucks. It’s as if the team isn’t communicating with one another on the ice, and a lot of passes don’t connect. Shots aren’t on goal either – you know Elias is fuming from within the press box. He feels responsible for the team’s deterioration even though he isn’t playing. You watch the rest of the game with furrowed brows and think of ways you could support Elias. 

After sharing a space with him for almost an entire trip around the sun, you know Elias doesn’t like ‘grand’ gestures. He’ll hate if you draw him a bath, and besides, that’s not something roommates or best friends do for each other. That’s strictly reserved for romantic partners – something you’re sure you will never be to Elias. Ordering food is out of the question because he refuses to eat after nine-thirty, and sure it’ll be past ten before he walks through the door. You settle on warming up his favourite blanket in the dryer and making the both of you a cup of tea. If he wants to take them into his room to spend time alone and decompress that will be okay with you. 

Your phone chimes from its resting place on the kitchen counter. Wondering if it’s a friend wanting an explanation to Elias’s absence from the game, you grumble on your way to the device. The notification is from Elias himself, and you open it with baited breath. You know he’s devastated and pray he’s only letting you know he’s on his way home, not sharing bad news. 

Heading out now. Probably going to get stuck in traffic, got any sad song recommendations?

The message makes your heart break, but you respond with a playlist link that features your favourite songs to cry to. A short message is tacked on to the end to let him know you’re always ready to support him. 

Hopefully this fits the mood. I’m here for you. 

Elias’s response fills you with a small bit of hope. 

I know.

You set your plan into motion, and finish pouring the boiling tea into your favourite mugs as the door opens. 

“Hey,” you say tentatively, not sure what Elias’s mood will be like now that he doesn’t have to have his guard up. “I made you a cup of tea and there’s a blanket in the dryer that should still be pretty warm.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles, but it doesn’t make his words any less sincere. You can tell Elias is drained in every sense of the word by looking at him, and you decide you aren’t going to push him to talk tonight. The communication can come a bit later. 

The blonde trudges down the hallway to the small room where you keep the laundry and reappears moments later wrapped in the plush navy blanket you had prepared for him. Elias doesn’t even bother to change, too exhausted to get out of his suit. You blow some of the steam away from his mug before picking it up and padding over to where he’s sitting on the couch. Elias takes the mug gratefully, and tries to smile at you in thanks. It comes out more like a grimace. 

It’s silent as the two of you sit side by side, staring out the large window at Vancouver’s skyline. The absence of noise isn’t as unsettling as you feared but it still puts you on edge. You can tell Elias’s emotions are beginning to boil over, and you aren’t sure what to do about it. 

“It’s my fault,” he says, voice small and fragile. 

When you turn your head to see him, you’re met with two ice blue eyes brimming with tears. Your heart breaks for what feels like the hundredth time that night. “Elias, listen to me,” you urge, grasping his hands in yours. “The game wasn’t your fault. You not being on the ice did not cause the team to lose.”

Elias scoffs and rolls his eyes. For a split-second, hurt seeps into your bones, but you dispel it because you know he’s upset and didn’t mean to be so abrasive. 

“Not the game!” he shouts, anger clearly winning the mental battle of what emotion to present. “The entire fucking season. We’ve played like shit all year and it’s my fucking fault.”

“Elias,” you say as calmly as possible, knowing it’s important for one of you to be rational. “You’ve consistently put up points all season, and you’re only going through a short dry spell. You pick up the slack where needed and try your hardest to succeed. You’re a damn good teammate and the best hockey player I know. Please don’t be so hard on yourself.”

It’s then he breaks, collapsing into your wide open arms and sobbing. You hold him close to your chest, afraid that if you let him go he’ll disappear in front of your eyes. The sounds of his ragged breathing and your gentle encouragement bounce off the walls until all you can focus on is his heart rate returning to something in the ballpark of normal. Elias cries for an unknown amount of time and you don’t even bother to calculate it. He needed to let everything go – hopefully he can now turn the page on the past couple of months. 

When he seems like he’ll respond again, you speak. “I know they put a lot of pressure on you, and I know that you’re a professional athlete, but what they’re doing to you isn’t right. E, you don’t deserve to feel like this, regardless of how you’re playing or where the team is in the standings.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” Elias hiccups. “Everything has become a lot lately, and it keeps piling up. It’s affecting my play, and I just want the team to be successful. I want to be successful.”

You wrap your arms around him tighter and card your hands through his hair. “You are successful, and don’t you dare let anyone tell you otherwise. I’m always available to talk, but if you’d like I can book you an appointment at the clinic and you can talk to someone who’s actually qualified.”

“You’re so close to being fully qualified,” he encourages, always wanting to make sure you matter too. “But that would be really nice. Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

That phrase had first confused Elias when you first directed it towards him, but he now understands it’s your way of saying ‘Of course. I’d do anything for you’. You rarely use the phrase with anyone else, and it makes him feel special inside. 

Eventually you untangle your limbs from Elias’s, getting up to refill your mugs and insisting he change into clothing that’s more comfortable. He’s gone a lot longer from the couch than you are, and you begin to worry he won’t be reappearing. The creaking of a hinge wrangles you free from your thoughts. Elias pads back into the living room, dressed in a pair of ridiculously patterned pyjamas you had bought him two Christmases ago. 

“Hey,” he practically whispers. “Can I tell you something?”

You do your best to keep the alarm you feel from appearing on your face. After the conversation you just had, his mind could be going in a million different directions. “Always,” you reply, volume matching his. 

“If it weren’t for you, I don’t know if I’d still be playing hockey.” You make a sound of protest, but Elias doesn’t let you form it into a thought. “I’m dead serious. The night we met? I was a wreck. Sure, I was in the middle of a rookie season most players dream of, but I was so miserable. I cried every night on the way home from the rink and felt completely alone. You were the first person in Vancouver that didn’t expect anything of me, that still doesn’t. I’m so fucking thankful for you. I love you.”

Tears flow freely from your eyes and you raise the sleeve of your sweater to wipe them away. Elias isn’t one for heartfelt confessions – that’s much more your style. He shows his appreciation through random acts of kindness, so you deeply treasure his words. 

“I love you too E.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand,” he insists. “I really love you. I don’t mean it platonically, and I never have.”

You’re sufficiently shocked. “Don’t say something you don’t mean,” you mumble, pushing off the couch to go hide in your room. 

It’s Elias’s turn to grab your hand. His grip is gentle but still firm enough to let you know he isn’t going to drop the conversation. 

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?”

“Because,” you sigh, “You’re Elias fucking Pettersson. You’re the star centre of an NHL team and there’s a million other people better suited for you than me! Sure, I might be head over heels for you but we aren’t on the same level. I’m your best friend E, and that’s okay. I can live with that. What I can’t live with is you letting emotion get the better of you and confessing something that isn’t true. You’re grateful for my support, and I think we should just leave it at that.”

He shakes his head fervently. “This isn’t a spur of the moment decision Y/N,” Elias says. “I’ve been debating telling you for months, but the season kind of derailed my plans and got in the way. I love you.”

Before you can process the gravity of his words, Elias is pressing his lips to yours in an effort to show just how sincere he is. You falter for a split-second, shocked that this isn’t a dream – your best friend, who you’ve had a crush on for years, is in love with you and you’re in the process of kissing him – but you recover quickly. Kissing Elias feels like a long awaited homecoming. It’s as though you’ve found true peace, and nothing will ever be as good as your lips connecting. You lose yourself in him quite easily, and only focus to your surroundings when he pulls away to look in your eyes.

“So,” Elias sheepishly tucks a misplaced strand of hair behind your ear. “Think I could take you out, like on an actual date?”

You beam at him, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to his lips. “That can most certainly be arranged.”

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales @kiedhara @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo​ if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

all my focus on you

summary: all of your focus is on Jake, and yet you can’t see that he loves you.

warnings: mentions of injury

word count: 3.2k

note from the writer: this is the first thing I've posted in months and I really like how it turned out. let me know what you think! also I didn’t edit it so sorry ahead of time.

“Who’s Tuna?”

You had heard the nickname tossed around a lot. At least, you were pretty sure it was a nickname. You were new to the world of hockey, having only really paid attention to the sport in the past few months as a result of your roommate, Jess, dating professional player Brock Boeser. Through him, you had met Elias, Quinn, Thatcher, Troy, and a whole assortment of others. But, Tuna still remained a mystery to you. Apparently, he was going to be joining your group out to the bar that night.

“You’ll like him.” Brock declared, giving you the same response he always did whenever you asked, while Elias’ smile turned the special kind of mischievous that only he could ever pull off. You didn’t have the chance to question how he could have been so certain, because Jess called your name and insisted that you start getting ready to go.

You’d never, not once in a million years, admit it that Brock was right.

You did like ‘Tuna’. A lot more than you probably should have. He was fun and outgoing from the moment Brock introduced you to him at the bar. Your heart stopped in your chest when you realized that Tuna was Jake Virtanen, your secret hockey crush. When Jess started seeing Brock, she showed you the entire Canucks roster. Jake’s piercing blue eyes struck out to you from the moment you saw his picture, but other than a ‘oh he’s cute’ and a mental note of his name and number, you kept quiet.

Now, he was standing before you, handing extended for you to shake with a dazzling smile that nearly made you forget your own name.

“I’m Jake.” He said brightly, and you offered your own smile in return as you slipped your hand into his meekly. Your face warmed at his touch, and if you possessed the ability to look away from Jake, you would have seen the shit-eating grin Brock wore. But you couldn’t, and instead you saw the way Jake’s gaze stayed on you, his own cheeks turning red. “What’re you drinking? I’m buying tonight.”

And thus, an amazing friendship grew. Which, for whatever reason, Brock seemed to loathe.

He was insistent that there was something more between you and Jake, which you vehemently denied, and each time your cheeks would burn brightly. It wasn’t as if you didn’t want anything more with Jake, in the few months that you had gotten to know him, he had become one of your closest friends and the person you told everything too.

And your secret hockey crush turned into full blown feelings. Most of your time was spent with him, even if you felt nothing but butterflies in your stomach whenever he was near. Only a few short months after meeting him, you couldn’t imagine your life without him. He was a constant presence in your life, as sure as you were that the sun would rise, you knew that Jake would be there for you.

With a schedule as crazy as a professional athlete’s, you jumped on any opportunity to spend time with Jake and any of the guys on the team, who all quickly became good friends of yours, along with their partners. Currently, you were at a diner, getting a quick lunch with Jake, Petey, and Brock, the two blondes sharing a side of the booth opposite of you.

Jake was in the middle of animatedly telling a story, and you watched with your undivided attention. Well, nearly undivided, since he had swung an arm around your shoulders shortly after sitting down and the simple contact had your heart beating like crazy. Petey had sent you no less than three shit-eating grins, and Brock was openly chuckling at how flustered you were. You were just thankful Jake was as oblivious as he was.

“You’re coming to the game tonight, right?” Jake asked, jostling you with the arm that was around his shouler to get your attention as soon as he finished his story. You nodded, taking a sip of your drink to cover up the fact that you had been openly staring at him as he spoke. “Perfect. Alright, I’ve got to run. I’m supposed to meet with my nutritionist.”

There was a chorus of ‘goodbyes’ as he tossed some cash on the table, enough to cover both his bill and yours, since he always insisted on paying for you. Before he could slide out of the booth, though, he pressed a quick kiss to your temple, an innocent act that had your heart doing cartwheels. You avoided Petey and Brock’s gazes, trying to will the heat in your cheeks away. It was only when the bell chimed on the door signalling that Jake had left, did someone speak up.

“Oh, come on!” Brock groaned, and you shot him a curious look. He ignored you, turning to face Elias, who was grinning in amusement. “I’m just going to tell her. It’s painful at this point.”

“Tell me what?” You question, nerves seeping into you, watching Elias shrug and grin wider. Instantly, your mind thought about the worst, like someone was getting traded or something similar, but nothing could have prepared you for what Brock said next.

“Jake is in love with you.”

“What? No, he’s not.” You spluttered, eyes wide and cheeks warm. Brock rolled his eyes at you, a scoff leaving his lips as if he thought his teammate’s apparent affection was obvious.

“He talks about you all the time.” Petey offered, and you fell silent. Elias wasn’t one to mess around with something like that. Sure, he made sly comments that had you laughing everytime, but this was different.

“He thinks you could never like him back, so we have to listen to him complain about it.” Brock’s tone was serious, but you could hear the subtle chirp. You pursed your lips, dropping your focus onto your plate to avoid meeting either of their gazes.

“You guys are ridiculous.” You settled on saying, though just because you dropped the conversation, it didn’t mean that you stopped thinking about it.

Even hours later as you were walking through the doors of the arena, you were still thinking about it. Though, you were quickly distracted as Jess led you through the crowd to find your seats and watch warm-ups.

Despite your inner turmoil, the Virtanen jersey felt right on your shoulders, now a regular part of your wardrobe. When Jake had found out that you had no idea about hockey, he had bought you the number eighteen Canucks sweater, along with tickets to just about every home game, claiming you were his good luck charm. When he gave you his jersey, he stated that it was to make your hockey experience complete—thought now you weren’t so sure.

Brock’s words from earlier in the day were still bouncing in your head. You had a hard time believing they were true, but then you thought over nearly every interaction you had with Jake. They all had a common theme—Jake was always looking at you with a softness to his eyes that you had, at the time, chaked up to his friendliness. Now, thinking back, you recognized the look. It was the same look you gave him.

A look of utter adoration and total love.

You settled into your seat to watch the game with a wide smile on your face, borderline giddy with the conclusion you had come to. You decided that after the game, when you would be going back to Jake’s for a movie night and a sleepover, a tradition that had been established after celebrating a win too hard one night and you spent the night at his place, and at the following brunch it was decided his guest room would be yours after any home games. Though, if you played your cards right, you wouldn’t be sleeping in the guest room.

Your happiness only lasted until halfway through the first period, and quickly dread formed in the pit of your stomach. The game was back and forth, neither team able to keep possession of the puck for very long. Petey scored first, and you cheered loudly, but clamped your mouth shut when a player on the opposite team—you couldn’t see a name on his jersey, and even so, you didn’t pay attention to any hockey team outside of Vancouver—started shoving Jake. Of course, Jake was running his mouth and shoving back, and it was only when a ref skated between the two players did you let out a breath of relief you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Apparently, Jake pissed off the other team a lot more than you originally thought.

You would have sworn he was being targeted. Everytime he was on the ice, it seemed, that an opposing player would check him into the boards. He wad getting hit hard from all angles, he got tripped twice but only drew a penalty on one—and if you screamed bullshit! at the ref, then who would have blamed you—and got into a fight late in the second after an opposing player shoved into Thatcher.

It was the third period when things really went awry.

It was the final minutes of the period, Vancouver up by one, thanks to Bo’s goal at the end of the second. The Canucks were fighting to hold on, maybe score an extra point to cement their victory, while the other team was getting desperate. And they were playing dirty, too.

You didn’t really register the gasp that fell from your lips as some unknown opponent slammed Jake into the boards, head on, with clear intent to injure him. You did remember jumping to your feet, as if that would make everything better.

Jess, who you hadn’t really acknowledged was sitting next to you in your stress, gripped your arm tightly. You watched in horror as Jake stayed down, hands holding his head as the athletic trainer jogged across the ice with the assistance of Troy Stetcher. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Jake, but if you could, you would have seen Brock looking worriedly from his injured teammate to where he knew you were in the stands.

It felt like years later when Jake finally stood, and while leaning heavily on his trainer and Troy, he went down the tunnel. You sat down stifly into your seat, leg bouncing in nerves and fingers tapping an unknown pattern as you anxiously waited for the game to be over so you could check on Jake.

Five minute major, game misconduct.

Good, you thought, but you kept your mouth clamped shut as nausea swirl in your stomach. Distantly, you heard Jess say that the opposing player was most likely going to get fined for his actions. You knew hockey was a hard hitting sport, but that was terrible. You had seen Jake hurt before, blocked shots, highsticks, and the sorts—but not once had it taken him that long to get back up.

You couldn’t focus on the rest of the game, you were pretty sure that at some point Quinn had scored, but eventually Jess was leading you down to the tunnel where had to meet the other players. Holly, Bo’s wife, had tried to assure you that Jake would be fine the moment she saw you.

“He’s got a thick skull.” She tried to lighten the mood, but all you could muster was a weak smile and a laugh that sounded forced and foriegn to even your own ears. You listened to the other wives and girlfriends of players chatter about who knows what—certainly not you, you were staring at the door you knew the boys emerged from—for minutes. The girls knew you, how you were always around Jake, acting like a couple but not once taking that extra step, so they knew how stressed you were, waiting for the verdict.

Elias was the first one to exit the room, heading straight to you with a tiny, reassuring, smile on his face. Your arms were crossed tightly across your body, an indicator of just how uncomfortable you were in the moment.

“He’s fine. He’ll be out in a few minutes.” He told you quietly. Though it helped calmed you slightly, you couldn’t get the imagine of him laying on the ice out of your head. You nodded your head in thanks, before he patted your shoulder comfortingly and departed. Quinn was next out, shooting you a pitiful smile. Tanev, Toffoli, and Edler all came out before finally, the brunette you had been waiting for emerged with Brock at his side.

He looked terrible, his tie was loose around his neck, hair a mess from the quick post-game shower he had just taken. His shoulders were slumped, and he looked so tired that your heart clenched in your chest.

“How are you?” You asked quietly once he stopped before you. Jess and Brock left to give you some privacy, but you didn’t notice in the slightest. Your focus was on Jake—like it always was.

“A little beat up, nothing I can’t handle.” He waved off his injured like it was nothing. You pouted for a moment, knowing he was playing down the severity of it. He seemed to sense your disbelief, because he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest. You sank into the embrace, reciprocating the hug with a deep sigh.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again.” You threatened into the fabric of his suit, wrapping your arms tiger around his middle. He chuckled lowly, holding you just as tight in return. Your heart was thundering in your chest, your stomach a lightning storm of nerves.

“I’ll try not to.” He assured you quietly, dropping a kiss to top of your head. You thought back to your decision before the game, how you were going to confront both his feelings and yours, and decided that it could wait just a little bit longer.

“Come on, let’s get you home.” You mumbled, pulling away sightly. He nodded and you, and you were pleasantly surprised as he slipped his hand into yours, threading your fingers together, as you headed in the direction of his car.

You insisted on driving, and Jake only protested slightly. The ride was quiet, and you could tell something was bothering him, but chose to stay quiet and let him come to you when he was ready. Or at least until you got back to his home. Instead, you listened to his music play softly from the car as you weaved through the streets of Vancouver, taking the familiar path to Jake’s place.

When you finally arrived, he slipped into his bedroom to change into something more comfortable, and you made yourself comfortable on his couch. When he returned, he was in a Canucks hoodie and pair of grey sweats, and instead of sitting next to you on the couch, he laid across it so his head was in your lap. Instantly, your hand threaded though his hair and you scratched at his scalp, something you knew he loved. His eyes fluttered shut at the action, and he hummed contentedly.

“You scared me tonight.” You said softly after a moment. You tried to will away the tears that welled up in your eyes, remembering how it felt to see him laying on the ice, injured. It tore you in two, you had never felt more sick to your stomach at a sight than you did when he was down.

“I know.” He sighed queitly in response. Not trusting yourself to keep your voice steady, you chose not to respond right away. He reached a hand up, grabbing yours out of his hair and pressing a kiss to your palm, before threading your fingers through his and resting it on his chest.

And then, you couldn’t stop the words from tumbling past your lips—

“I love you too much to see you get hurt like that.” You hated how your voice cracked, and most of all you hated how you confessed your feelings. You wanted to do so during a happy moment, one shared with smiles and he’d tell you he felt the same, but no, you were holding back tears on his couch as he tensed, your words registering.

“What?” He questioned, sitting up abruptly. You would have thought that you had screwed everything up, if it weren’t for the near-death grip he had on your hand. Still, you couldn’t meet his gaze, and instead focused on the coffee table. Gently, with his free hand, he cupped your jaw, turning so you were facing him. It was then that you realized that you were crying, silent tear tracks running down your cheeks that he brushed away carefully as he studied your face intently. “What did you just say?”

“I love you.” You choked out, voice tight. “And I’m new to the hockey thing, so I’m not used to seeing hits like that and I—”

Your ramblings were cut short as Jake surged forward, connecting your lips to his. It took you a moment to react, but your free hand eventually moved to the back of his neck, your other still gripped in yours. The kiss wasn’t heated, but loaded with so much passion and emotion it made your head swirl. Months of casual flirting and innocent touches built to this moment, and you would be lying if you said you were aware of how long you actually were pressed against him.

Eventually, he did pull back, a wide and dopey grin on his face. You smiled just as brightly, the hand on the back of his neck toying slightly with the strands of hair there. Chasing your lips for a few quick pecks that your readily complied with.

“I love you, too.” He hummed, seemingly unable to tear his focus from you. You didn’t mind, not one bit, considering he had you attention from the moment you had met.

“I know.” You grinned, watching as his brows pull together in confusion, a silent question and urge for you to elaborate. With a giggle, you explained. “Brock told me.”

“Of course he did.” Jake groaned, tipping his head back. You chuckled at his dramatics, looking at him with the same fond look you always did. Only this time, you didn’t have to worry about him finding out. Your hand moved from behind his head to his jaw, thumb brushing across his cheekbone. You smiled as he brought his attenton back to you, and you leaned forward to press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. “You know, he’s been trying to set me up with you this entire time.”

“Yeah, he told me that I’d like you the night we met. He and Petey were planning this.” You explained, watching as he lifted your joined hands and kissed the back of yours, a barking laugh leaving him as you finished your sentence.

“Was he right?” He asked cheekily, swinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest so he could cuddle you. You admired him with a soft smile, watching as he grabbed the remote on the couch beside him to put on a movie. Never in a millions years would you admit that Brock was right, but you with the way Jake was smiling, you decided to make an acception.

“Definitely.”

[fa-headhoncho]

Fuck Iron Man

platonic!Peter Parker x Reader, platonic!Tony Stark x reader

Prompt: Literally this tiktok

Word Count: 979??

Reader: Gender neutral

Warning: underage drinking

Author's Note: I saw this tiktok and thought this would be so fucking funny if it was Tony instead so here it is.

Masterlist

=====

Walking into the large suburban house is like taking a step into a cliche high school movie. The music was blaring, the bass vibrating through your entire body, the smell of sweat and Axe spray overloading your nose, and the pulsing LED lights almost blind you. Every kid you’ve seen in the hallway all cramped into the house of John Jonah Jameson III, aka the son of the most hated publisher of the Daily Bugle. His parents were away on some trip and, of course, the teenage boy jumped at the opportunity to throw the “best party that Midtown High will ever see”.

“I don’t think we should be here, (Y/N).” You hear Peter mutter from behind you, reaching out and tugging you like a child fearing losing their parent in a crowd.

“Come on, Peter.” You sigh out, turning around to face him. He was hunched into himself, a nervous expression on his face as he takes in the unfamiliar environment. “Relax a bit, one night of fun won’t hurt you.”

“But this guy’s dad literally hates my guts, what if--”

You shake your head at him, resting your hands on his shoulders to cut off the rambling before he gets the chance to start it. The brunette freezes on the spot, staring back at you with his eyes wide and his mouth open, “No, this guy’s dad hates our Spider-friend, not you.” You correct, “All they know is we’re two completely normal teenagers who don’t have superhero alter-egos attending a completely normal high school party.”

Peter lets out a sigh and nods, his body visibly relaxing at your words. A smile appears on your face at the action. “Now,” You pull your hands away and start leading him down the hallway, “let’s see if our friend’s spidey senses will win us a game of beer pong.” You suggest with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

=====

As the night went on, the group of teenagers migrated to the basement of the home. The nicely decorated family room was transformed into a mini dance club; the couches were pushed against the wall, the table that once held endless files of documents was covered by varieties of alcohol, and the surround sound was blasting Mr. Brightside for the fifth time that night.

The bodies bumping against each other go unnoticed as you scream the chorus with your classmates. You don’t even notice your beverage being splashed onto you every time you jumped. Your mind was empty, only fuzzy thoughts bounced around as all your worries disappeared with every sip of Budlight you took.

“(Y/N), (Y/N)!” You barely hear your name being called until someone appears in front of you. Their hand grabs your arm, trying to ground you back into reality. You blink your eyes, trying to get rid of the black spots that dance around your vision before you focus on the person.

“Oh, hi Petey!” You let out a giggle, finally recognizing the brunette. His worried expression goes completely over your head as you stare back at him. His mouth moves but you can’t hear anything come out. You squint your eyes and try to read his lips but all you can make out through your hazy state is;

“Something… something… Mr. Stark.”

Your ears perk up at the mention of your boss. Furrowing your eyebrows, you try to piece together why he was bringing the old man up. That guy was a buzz kill, always dragging you off to last-minute missions and taking up all your free time. “The price you have to pay to be a hero”, his words echo through your head.

Now appalled at the idea of the man ruining the one night you’ve gotten off in months, you shout out the first thing that comes to mind. “Yo, fuck Iron Man!” You scream out with the confidence of someone who wasn’t grateful for the hero to take them in and give them everything they asked for.

It’s as if the music has stopped and everyone had heard you. From a distance, you can hear someone echo your words. Then, it was like the group has come to an unspoken agreement, everyone starts yelling “Fuck Iron Man!” at the top of their little underage lungs.

A sense of gratification washes over you, proud that you started such a strong movement in the basement of drunk teenagers. Peter’s eyes widen as he watches you make your way over to the coffee table in the front of the room.

You stand with your back straight, fist raised in the air while the other holds a red plastic cup. You lead your new militia, chanting “Fuck Iron Man” with your full chest. Not even noticing the music has indeed stopped and people’s focus has shifted to the staircase.

Thinking they were waiting for you to say some choice words, you start your heartfelt speech. “For months, I’ve been holed up in the tower, doing Tony Stark’s dirty work! (L/N) do this, (L/N) do that, (L/N) have you completed your twenty missing assignments. No, I have a life! I’m still young! The old man has me on a leash, now look at me now, Tin-Can! I’m livin’ the dream!”

No one responds which causes your shoulders to drop. You were expecting cheers of agreement and excitement. Confused, you follow their gaze to the bottom of the staircase and your heart drops out of your ass.

All the alcohol in your blood stream seemed to evaporate as you see the Iron Man standing there. He had just heard about a hundred teenagers shouting profanities against him followed by his trainee’s revolutionary speech... he was astonished.

You gulp at his stance, knowing it too well. He had his arms acrossed his chest with one lazily holding his glasses to his lips, nibbling at the arm of it.

Oh, you were fucked.

“Mr. Stark, sir, I—“

“No, no, continue. Don’t stop on my accord.” His cocky voice sends shivers down your spine, “Tell me how you really feel.”

[marvel-sluts]

Christmas with the avengers

pairing: avengers x teen!reader, Peter Parker x reader.

warnings: maybe some swearing?

summary: your first Christmas with both the avengers and with Peter, what could possibly go wrong?

a/n: merry Christmas everyone! this is absolute shit but I wanted to write something Christmassy, I hope you all like it!

******************

you hadn't been part of the avengers long when you started dating Peter, causing this to be your first Christmas with the both of them.

you get dressed in the matching Christmas jumpers you and Peter both had, because apparently it was tradition in the avengers tower to wear Christmas jumpers on Christmas day, so you had both agreed to wear the matching jumpers. (see gif)

you pulled on a pair of jeans and tied your hair up in a ponytail, with a small peice tinsel wrapped around your hairband. you did light makeup with f/c (fave colour) of eyeshadow.

you walk out of your room in the avengers tower and bump into Thor and Loki, heading to the kitchen.

"hello lady y/n, you look ravishing. I love your jumper." Thor said smiling at you.

"thanks Thor, you look good too." you say smiling at him.

"I like the tinsel" Loki muttered to you on the way past. you and him had become quite close over the past few months you have spent at the tower, but it still shocked you that he would say something like that with Thor around. normally he was a lot quieter in the shadow of his older brother.

"thanks loki." you say cheerfully, getting into the lift with them.

when the three of you get to the living room and kitchen you go your separate ways. Thor to the kitchen, no doubt to raid the cupboards of poptarts and you and Loki to the living room. you take a seat next to your boyfriend and smile at him.

"you look amazing" Peter says, looking at you lovingly.

"so do you." you say giggling.

"I know" he said, pretending to do a hair flick. but failing miserably and accidentally hitting himself in the face.

you laugh at him, and he looks at you with those puppy dog eyes that you can never resist. "sorry love" you say before kissing his cheek where he hit himself.

both of you head to the kitchen and after collectively deciding on cereal for breakfast, you go back into the living room with bowls full.

just as you both sat down on the sofa at your previous spots, Tony came in with Morgan trailing behind him, also wearing matching Christmas jumpers. "Merry Christmas everyone!" he says, sitting next to Steve and Bucky on the sofa.

Morgan runs over to you and attemps to scramble onto your lap. after realising what she was trying to do you help her get up and she sits on you happily.

Morgan had begun to like you in the short time you had been here, you were good with kids and would often play with her causing you two to become immediate friends. she was your little partner in crime and the pair of you would often adopt Loki to help prank Tony and Steve.

"I know its Christmas but there is a lot to get done, Pepper, Wanda and Bucky are on cooking duty first and then we will rotate, check this peice of paper that was kindly provided by Bruce for the timetable. everything else should have been done already."

"I can't wait to see what I got from Santa!" Morgan squealed excitedly, eyeing the pile of presents under the tree.

"I'm offended" you say dramatically, "are you not exited to see what I got you?" you asked laughing.

"yep, I'm exited for all the presents!" she said before getting off of your lap and running into the kitchen to 'help' with the cooking.

after half an hour of chatting and crimes cookies Nat decided she was bored.

"who wants to play Christmas games?" she shouts holding up a box. you glance at the box before bursting out laughing.

"o-deer! really?" Sam said, laughing at what happened last time you played it.

"do you remember Rhodes last time, he looked like he was going to take off." Scott said laughing.

"erm, excuse me. but who won?" Rhodes said pointing to himself. "this guy, so don't get ahead of yourselves." he said.

"I personally think I'm gonna win this time" you say sticking your tongue out at Rhodes.

"not gonna happen doll" Bucky called from the kitchen.

"just watch me win" you say.

everyone comes in from the kitchen and takes a break from cooking to play.

you all take turns having the antlers and throwing the hoops, when both you and Peter had finished you both collapsed on the sofa. he put his arm around you and you nestled your face in his chest, breathing in his warm sent.

after Nat announced that the winner was Wanda (everyone thinks she used her powers, although she swears that she didn't) you changed around kitchen duty, next up it was you, Peter and Steve.

Vision had mysteriously disappeared from the cooking rota, despite the fact that Wanda had been helping his cooking skills he couldn't seem to get any better.

you got started on the brussel sprouts, how anyone could eat them was beyond you but apparently some people *cough* Sam *cough* liked them.

Peter had gotten started on the stuffing, making the mixture and rolling it into balls. whenever he would walk past u he would kiss you on the forehead, or whatever part of you that was facing him at the time. Steve was watching this behaviour and wasn't sure to find it cute or disgusting.

Steve was getting busy with the mashed potatoes and checking on the turkey every once in a while.

a gasp echoed through the kitchen as you burnt your hand on the oven attempting to check on the turkey per Steve's request.

"what happe-" pete asked trailing off when he say u nursing your hurt hand, "oh baby, are you okay? did you burn it? don't worry it will be okay. I'll get some ice for it" he said, completely freaking out.

you watching him frantically searching for some ice for a minute before saying "don't worry petey, it's fine. it's only a burn. and it doesn't hurt that badly" you say giggling at how concerned he was.

"but what if it gets infected? or if it swells up?" he asked finally managing to find some ice and putting it on your hand.

"honestly, you kids." Steve says rolling his eyes and chuckling. "are you sure you are alright y/n?" he asks, his eyebrows knitting in concern.

"yeah I'm sure" you say, smiling up at him.

"okay" he says checking on the turkey himself.

you checked the clock "our shift ended five minutes ago! those little fuckers didn't tell us!" you say taking off the apron. you go into the living room and find Morgan and Loki laughing on the sofa.

"I'm truly sorry Lady y/n, it was my shift next and I didn't want to do it." Loki said, smirking at you.

"your not sorry" you say.

"no, your right, I'm not" he said, grinning again.

you roll your eyes and resume your earlier position on the sofa, Peter sitting next to you.

"secret santa!" came a shout from the doorway, you looked up to see that it was Tony. he was carrying the secret santa presents in his arms and Clint and Rhodes were behind him also carrying armfuls of presents.

Morgan jumped up from her seat next to Bruce squealing excitedly.

"don't we have to wait for our special guests to get here?" Pepper asked eyeing Tony.

"oops I forgot, yes we do" Tony said putting down the presents bashfully.

"what special guests?" you ask, having not heard about this at all.

"you will see" Tony said, with a shit eating grin.

about ten minutes later a knock was heard at the door.

Vision gets up to answer it and you soon here a shout from the doorway.

"do not fear, Christmas is saved. for the overrated king of wakanda and his amazing and beautiful genuis sister is here!"

"SHURI!" you and Peter both yell in unison.

"it is I" she said flicking her hair (and actually succeeding) before running to hug the two of you.

"not that anyone has noticed but I'm also here" Doctor Strange says from the doorway.

Tony and Bruce look up from talking to T'Challa and go over to shake hands with Strange.

"presents now?" Morgan asks, tugging on Tony's trouser leg.

"yes sweetie, go over and open some of them." Tony says. patting her on her head and sending her on her way.

everyone gathers around the tree and watches Morgan open her presents from santa. when she has finished you give her a wrapped package with some art supplies in. she jumps up and hugs you with a massive grin on her face.

then someone (you guess Scott but your not sure) yells secret santa.

everyone gets the presents they had gotten for their secret santa, you had gotten Thor and after asking for help from Peter you ended up making him something. when it was time for you to give thor his present you presented a wrapped up package. it was a knitted jumper with tiny hammers and lightning bolts on it.

he opened the present with a massive grin on his face and pulled you into a bone crushing hug.

"thanks you Lady y/n, I couldn't have asked for anything better."

"your welcome Thor" you said, smiling up at him.

when everyone was done with the secret santa, you had received a few scented bath bombs and a silver snake ring from Natasha, some people trickled out to go and help in the kitchen.

you handed Peter a package wrapped in red paper, "here you go Petey" you say.

he takes it and opens it, you had given him a watch with the millennium falcon on the inside of it.

"thanks baby, I love it!" he says hugging you tightly and kissing you square on the lips. "you will get yours tonight" he says with a grin.

not even five minutes had passed when a yell was heard from the kitchen.

"you idiot, you were meant to take out the turkey while we were opening the presents!" Sam yelled.

"well its not my fault that the timer didn't go off!" Clint yelled back.

"FRIDAY, did you set the timer like I asked you to?" Sam asked.

"you never asked me to set a timer sir" FRIDAY replied.

"shit" Sam muttered kicking the table in frustration.

after a few minutes of chaos Steve managed to find a ham in the back of the fridge, everyone decided that the ham was the best thing to have so you cooked it up and it didn't get burnt.

everyone gathered around the table, the food was delicious, and you almost couldn't tell that there wasn't a turkey.

"hey Bucky, could you pass me the potatoes please?" you asked. piling your plate high with good food.

once everyone was done eating you all sat in the living room and put on a Christmas movie.

you and Peter wanted to watch the muppets Christmas Carol but you both were outvoted and you ended up watching the Nightmare before Christmas.

Tony got the movie set up and you curled into Peter. an hour later when the movie was finished you were still in the same position, you were very happy next to Peter with him stroking your hair lovingly. you buried your head further into his chest until you had to upstairs to bed.

Peter offered to carry you and you glad fully accepted, completely worn out from the chaos filled day.

when you had both gotten up to your bedroom he presented a wrapped up gift from his pocket.

"I'm not done with you yet y/n" he says with a grin on his face.

you open the package and inside find a box. upon opening it you find a beautiful silver heart locket. you open up the locket to find that Peter had already put a picture inside, it was a picture of you and him on Valentines day, on the date that he had set up for the two of you.

"omg, Pete I absolutely love it!" you say with a massive grin on your face, "can you put it on me?" you ask.

"turn around" he says, taking the necklace from you and clasping it up. "all done"

he spins you around and you land in his arms, he kisses you passionately and you kiss back just as fiercely. the kiss was filled with passion and promises.

that night you fall asleep in his arms, with a massive grin on your face.

you couldn't have wished for a better Christmas, even if it did include burnt turkey.

[shipskicksandgiggles]

Well apparently my brain doesn’t know how to sleep anymore so here I am again. I have to be up in like 6 hours for an opening shift but oh well!

School is finally over but finals week had been absolute hell! Peter of course was passing his classes with flying colors but he was too much of a perfectionist to not work himself to the bone studying for finals and making sure that he’d score well on the tests. This is of course meant a whole lot of all nighters and far more coffee than one person should probably consume is such a short span of time but Peter had survived the week and done well on his exams so he was calling it a win his books.

He had made it home from his last day of school when his exhaustion finally caught up with him and he was certain that he would fall asleep within the next few minutes whether he made it to his bed or now. He tosses his backpack toward the couch but doesn’t bother to look and see if it reached his target, instead he sleepily stumbles down the hall toward his bedroom.

He finally makes it to the door and uses what feels like the last of his energy to push the door open and is shocked to find his room lit up with a soft glow of fairy lights. He lets out a tired and confused hum before he finally spots Harley curled up in a soft looking pair of pajamas in the middle of a very cozy looking blanket nest.

“Hey darlin’, I know you’re probably dead tired so why don’t you get changed and then come snuggle up? I know my last finals were yesterday but I feel like we both deserve some cuddles and a good long nap. You certainly do after how hard you’ve worked.” Harley says and smiles warmly at Peter.

Peter smiles tiredly at Harley and begins the process of shucking off the clothes he’d worn to school and replacing them with his softest pair of pajamas, yes that includes his hello kitty pajama pants. Harley does his best to contain a soft laugh when he watches Peter get stuck in his shirt for just a moment before he finally manages to pull the collar down over his messy curls.

Harley smiles at Peter and holds his arms out invitingly which is all it took for Peter to crawl into bed. The pair settles down in each others arms and situates the blankets around them to optimize both comfort and warmth.

Once they’ve settled down, Harley presses a gentle kiss to Peter’s forehead. Peter struggles to open his heavy eyelids and tilt his head to look up at his boyfriend but manages to do so. Harley smiles warmly but gathers Peter closer with a quiet hum.

“Stop fightin’ sleep Petey, I know you’re exhausted. I’ll still be here for cuddles when you wake up. We both deserve a Disney marathon after all the studying we did this week but first we need to catch up on sleep. So shut those eyes for me sweet heart.” Harley coos, his southern accent getting heavier and his words growing more slurred as he drifts closer to falling asleep.

Peter simply lets out a content sigh and tucks his head against Harley’s chest before finally allowing himself to drift off and just barely manages to catch Harley asking Friday to switch off the fairy lights before Harley also succumbs to sleep. -🌸

babe. BABE.

I got home from work like an hour ago and I’m dead on my feet but this is incredible I love. I love everything you write dude holy shit. I’m literally yelling I’m ajshshs they’re so cute I want to scream

also why can I picture Harley burning a really mild incense (or candle or something) before Peter gets home just to add to that cozy vibe he set up. maybe some soft music. idk just. Him yknow?

also this has househusband Harley Keener vibes??? in ways I cannot explain but I love it so

[spine-buster]

crumbs of svea/elias from elias's brothers wedding for my agonies? set the scene, anything (if you want!!!!)

oh GOODNESS

Okay so we are not going going to discuss how this seems like a bit of a surprise wedding (bc I feel like Fanny would have posted a pic of an engagement ring or wedding planning or something) even though they're having a nice reception which just goes to show ONCE AGAIN how my writing may be cursed bc of course Svea and Elias have a surprise wedding THIS SAME YEAR CANONICALLY!!!!!)

BUT ANYWAYS

Emil and Fanny see Elias and Svea get married in Vancouver and they're all like "Hey we should do that too" so they get planning

And what better year than right after the Vaxjo Lakers win the Swedish League?

So Fanny gets planning

Elias and Svea are not in Sweden for two weeks before Emil and Fanny are like "hey btw we're getting married"

So Svea cries, naturally

So does Elias

And Svea goes to Stockholm to buy a dress because this is her brother and sister-in-law's wedding

She makes Elias buy a new suit

"No, you cannot wear your bucket hat to your brother's wedding"

The day of the wedding everything is beautiful -- the flowers, the weather, everything

Fanny and Emil get married and Elias cries again

When taking all of the professional photographs Svea is of course included in the "family shots" and that's when it sort of hits her "Oh my God, I'm a Pettersson"

Everybody dances the night away

Svea saves a dance for Torbjorn

There may be more alcohol consumed at the wedding than after Vaxjo won the championship (doubtful)

Petey, drunk, breaks out the bucket hat

[fantasticstoryteller]

New Amsterdam Chapter 35

Peter put the slime in a clear acrylic box before piping music into it. Maybe, if he adjusted the formula just a little bit, it could reconstitute after exploding. Maybe it could be made into some kind of new, flashy speaker. Something like a lava lamp, but better.

He needed to do something to take his mind off his conversation with Wade the night before. They were dating?! And Peter was the one who asked if they could! He couldn't believe he’d been so bold—but Wade had said yes.

And Peter had utterly destroyed the dinner he’d set out to cook, so they’d had to order food. He hadn’t even known that meatballs could explode. At least Wade was entertained. The other man had laughed so hard he’d almost retched into his mask. So—a maybe win?

“Peter, what is that?” asked Dr. Stacey as she peered over his shoulder.

“Slime. It always explodes when the beat gets too fast, so I’m trying to make it pull itself back together.”

“Huh.” They watched as it vibrated quickly. “Is that what got me the other day?”

Peter ducked his head nervously. “It’s easy to clean.”

The slime in the box exploded, dripping down the ceiling and the sides. “Why don’t you try making it so that it doesn’t explode in the first place?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Because then it wouldn't be water soluble,” Peter explained.

“Huh.” He turned to see Dr. Stacey staring at the cube. “By the way, security let me know that you have visitors.”

“Wade?” Peter was confused. Usually Wade arrived at the entrance to the lab with security behind looking confused. He’d never known Wade to actually wait—anywhere, come to think of it.

“As long as he’s not getting blood in my lab, I don’t care.”

That sounded—really specific, and wasn’t a story Peter had heard before. Should he ask? Was it socially acceptable to ask? Was it better to pretend he hadn’t heard the comment?

“And your visitor is still waiting.” She sounded slightly upset.

“Right! Thanks, Dr. Stacey!” Peter hung his lab coat up and went to flee the lab.

“They’re in the first floor cafeteria!” Dr. Stacey called to him as he left.

He nodded briefly before heading to the elevator. He kept expecting his new ID not to work, or for the alarm to sound trumpeting that he was an intruder, or something like that. He was still surprised every time his ID worked.

The first floor cafeteria was where the general public could waltz in, gawk at the Tower, get something to eat, and then waltz back out again. It didn’t make sense for Wade, who always burst in on Peter while he was working, to politely inform security to ask for Peter. Not the least because, although he was usually manic and over-the-top with a Devil-may-care attitude, Wade was not fond of being in with the general public.

At no point during his conversation with Dr. Stacey did it occur to him that it might not be Wade waiting for him. Despite the fact that she’d said visitors and mentioned “them,” he thought he knew who would be there, in the cafeteria. He was surprised.

Pleasantly, though. He couldn't imagine what had brought them to the Tower, but he was always happy to see his friends. “Harry! MJ!” Peter called as he made his way over to the table they were sitting at. He wasn’t surprised that the table was getting covert glances from other employees. After all, Harry was the heir apparent to Oscorp. They smiled back at him while he took a seat at the table—which was laden with food from the cafeteria.

“Peter!” greeted Harry. He was paler than normal, and stayed in his seat. He was clearly having a bad day.

MJ jumped up and hugged him. “Hey,” she said fondly before ruffling his hair like the little brother she’d always seen him as.

“Hey,” said Peter shyly. He looked at Harry. “What brings the two of you here?”

“We heard about your semi-promotion,” Harry said. “Thought we’d come, congratulate you, and feed you lunch while we’re here.”

“So, have you made anything exciting?” asked MJ as she pushed some of the food towards Peter.

Peter absently ate as he explained about the slime. He didn’t talk about Dr. Stacey’s project, because he was pretty sure that was confidential information, but his slime was no such thing. He didn’t get into the technical terms of what he was doing, but explained the general broad strokes.

By the time he was finished the curiosity had worn off and their table was no longer under scrutiny. “What brings you two here?” he asked quietly.

Harry smiled. “You think we can’t just want to help you celebrate your promotion?” he teased. At Peter’s pointed look he sighed. “You’re right. We have news.” He reached over the table to grab MJ’s hand. “We’re going to be going to Paris.” He smiled at her before meeting Peter’s eyes with determination. “Permanently,” he added.

Permanently? Permanently meant— “Harry,” Peter started.

MJ reached over and grabbed one of Peter’s hands, getting his attention. “Peter,” she said softly, “I’m pregnant.”

For one bright, shining moment, Peter was thrilled. She was pregnant? His two friends in love were going to have a baby? That was awesome! Excellent! Exciting!

And then ice water flooded his veins as he stared at them numbly. If Norman knew—if he found out—

They nodded. “We wanted you to be the first to know,” Harry said.

“I—I—there are no words,” Peter admitted to his friends. They got up from the table, hugged him, and then they left and Peter stumbled off. There was a place in the stairwell that was isolated from the rest of it. Peter thought that maybe it had started out as being an entrance to a floor, but the idea was scrapped for some reason.

If Harry was going to Paris, he wouldn't be in range of his father’s phone. He wouldn't be able to receive the ten digit code that was keeping him alive. He would die. Harry would die.

Harry would die, so that his child would have a chance to live in peace without Norman breathing down its neck.

“Peter? What’s wrong?” Peter looked up and saw Wade, in full Deadpool costume, standing in front of him. He quickly sat down next to Peter and reached out to touch the smaller man’s back. “You okay?” he asked.

No. Nothing was okay. Peter wasn’t certain if anything would be okay again. He flung himself into Wade’s chest and just sobbed. All the tears he’d held back for years. Wade simply wrapped his arms around Peter, and let him cry.

When the sobs finally trailed off he found himself mostly in Wade’s lap, and not minding a bit. “What happened?” asked Wade. “Who do I need to kill?”

“It’s not something that can be fixed by killing someone,” Peter said softly, his voice scratchy from crying so hard.

“You don’t know that.”

“My best friend is going to die.” The statement came out flat, unemotional, almost like Peter didn’t care—but he did care. He only had two friends; Harry and MJ, and Harry was going to die. “And he’s going to die because his father’s a lying, manipulative, son-of-a-bitch who should have been drowned at birth!” snarled Peter.

“Okay. How?”

For the first time, since the beginning, Peter began to tell the story. “Harry was born with a weak heart,” Peter said softly. “We all knew it was a matter of time. Then, then Norman—Norman said he had an idea. It was experimental, and it might not work, but it was a product that his company was producing. So he put Harry under anesthesia and operated to give him this shiny new, experimental heart. That’s what he told us, after the fact.”

“So, he got a doctor to work on his kid?” hazarded Wade.

Peter chuckled darkly. “I don’t think there was a real doctor with him,” he said grimly. “See, the fake heart has a fatal flaw—if Norman doesn’t send the right ten-digit code after a certain amount of time—it stops working. Harry starts to die. It’s almost happened a few times,” Peter admitted thinking of the last time, of watching Norman casually pour himself a drink as his son gasped in pain after his heart almost stopped.

“Whoa.” Wade was silent for a moment as his hand made soothing circles on Peter’s back. “That’s why you didn’t want your own lab?” he hazarded.

Peter was slightly surprised that Wade knew about it. He didn’t think that would be the kind of thing that Deadpool would be interested in. “If Norman ordered me to use my position to sabotage something, I’d do it,” Peter said firmly, “to protect Harry.”

Wade was silent for a moment. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “I’m not normally an advocate of this sort of thing, but why didn’t you tell someone?”

“What good would that do?” asked Peter wearily.

“Well you—might be able to get help?” Wade sounded uncertain, unsure.

“There are only four people who know what happened to Harry. That would be Norman, Harry, MJ, and me. MJ is an actress with a budding fashion line. She has absolutely no scientific background, the lowest scores in science that was possible while still managing to graduate high school, and is known for being a little bit of drama queen. If she says anything, everyone will assume she’s making it up for attention.”

Peter paused, debating how to phrase the next part. “Then, there’s Harry. And Harry—isn’t much better. The only reason he passed high school at all was because I was tutoring him. Again, no scientific background and I seriously doubt there’s proof.

“Then there’s me. I have a scientific background, I have enough medical knowledge that I can prove what I know—but I work for Stark, Norman’s biggest competitor. If I say anything, Norman will just play the wounded bird, claim that I’ve been brainwashed by Stark, and do everything in his power to make Stark look like a rampaging egomaniac who desperately needs to have someone controlling him so that he doesn’t destroy the world.” Peter spread his hands. “There’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing any of us can do. And Harry’s about to go overseas, to go and live in a country that Norman has no intention of ever visiting while he waits to die.”

Wade hugged him closer as more tears leaked down his face. “Don’t you worry Petey-Pie, I know someone to talk to.” Peter looked at him in disbelief, and Wade chuckled. “Don’t worry; it’s not Stark.”

[poepoe-thebunny]

Hamnoir Headcanons Volume II:

1) Both of them still do journalism/photography as an actual job, and sometimes will park themselves at a table together to write and type out articles while munching on take out.

2) Noir still has to wear a pair of regular glasses. Ham absolutely swoons at the sight of them, and finds it adorable when he sees Noir with his hair all mussed and glasses askew in the mornings.

3) Depending on the universe and circumstances (fighting a magic user etc) Noir can actually gain color. It's usually temporary, and sort of looks like it's "bleeding" into his black and white everything. They're more splats of color than anything else. Ham likes to smooch random colorful spots into his face.

4) Noir struggles with asthma, and while it has improved since the bite, he still keeps on top of it. The others hook him up with an inhaler, and Ham keeps his backup in his magical-invisible-pocket-endless-storage cartoon pocket.

5) Noir has been known to turn things like cleaning or laundry into a jam session. What begins with humming to himself can lead to cranking up the radio and air guitaring. Ham has walked in on this several times, and thought he was hallucinating the first time he saw it. After a moment's pause, Ham will proceed to join Noir in a badly sung but enjoyable duet just for fun.

6) Ham's more casual names for Noir include variations of "Pete" or "Petey/Petey my boy". However when he's fed up or feels Noir is being stubborn he plants his hands on his little porkey hips and busts out a "Peter Benjamin Parker". It's occasionally prefaced by "I don't think so," or "Absolutely not." Noir has learned it's a tone he can't win against.

7) They cuddle a lot. In many positions. Sometimes Noir sleeps on his back with Ham curled up on his chest. Sometimes Noir is the little spoon and just wraps around Ham in a way that shouldn't be physically possible. They enjoy it either way.

8) Ham's zany cartoon logic makes him pretty strong when fighting opponents from other dimensions, since it's a mixed bag of tricks they don't know about. Once after a VERY LONG DAY at work, Ham saw Noir get thrown into a wall and just had enough. He walked up to the Villain Of The Week, calmly pulled out a cartoonishly large hammer, and went to town. There were sound effects. Noir probably should not have enjoyed the sight as much as he did.

[themadlostgirl]

What If

Hey everybody! Been a while. I got this request forever ago and I’ve missed writing for this fandom so I figured why not? Might write some more in the future if the need hits my fancy. Hope this turned out well!

Prompt: Y/N is an anxious overthinker and Felix and Peter are there to help still her mind.

Requested by: anon

Warnings: none

~~~

I had a problem. I always had a problem. My mind would not let me relax for any elongated period of time so I couldn’t have a problem. It started when I was young and learned to use my foresight to predict if something good or bad would happen in any and every given scenario. At first it helped and I was not scared to do anything because I was able to tell when it would work and when it wouldn’t.

The only problem with stopping to think everything through first is that once you get into the habit of it you cannot stop. Every day since I was a child my brain has been filled with horrifying ‘what if’ scenarios. What if I do this and it works out? What if I do this and I get punished? Spontaneity is not my friend.

The only time I can remember doing something without overthinking it to death is when I took a boy’s hand and let him pull me into a different world. Now, here I was, a Lost Girl on Neverland. And for a few blessed hours my mind was at peace. There were no rules, no responsibilities, no worries about my actions. Then, like it always did, my brain kicked into gear and planted the doubt in my chest.

Suddenly my head was overflowing with worries about what I had done. Should I have gone with this Peter Pan character? What do I even know about this place he’s taking me? What do I know about him? How can I be sure that nothing bad will happen to me here? How do I know everything won’t turn out worse? Can I even survive here? Why did I come here without thinking about it? Am I stupid?

I stewed in my thoughts for a long time before one of the Lost Boys came up to me and asked if I was breathing. He was a taller boy with a long scar across his face. “Sorry,” I mumbled, “Lost in thought. Questioning if I should have even come here.”

“You got here like three hours ago.” The boy looked down at me, “How can you be so unsure that fast?”

“It’s what I do best.” I sighed. “So um...what’s your name?”

“Felix. You?”

“Y/N.”

“Well then, Y/N,” Felix lightly kicked my shin, “How about you spend a full day on this island before you go worrying about whether or not you should be here. Cause, I’m afraid to tell ya, no one leaves without Pan’s permission and he doesn’t give it that often, if ever. So, whether you like it or not you’re stuck here.”

“Stuck...” The word struck down deep in my core. Oh no. No. No. No. No. No! I can’t be stuck here! What if I need to leave? What if someone tries to hurt me? What if--

“Hey, girly,” Felix knocked me on top of my head, “What’s wrong with you? You got unnaturally quiet all of the sudden.”

“Sorry.” I muttered and shot to my feet. “I can’t be here right now.” I took off into the jungle. I ran until my lungs burned and legs ached. I hunkered down against a tree for the night and accepted the fact that I would have to wait for sheer exhaustion to render me into unconsciousness because there was no way my head was going to let me rest with this new information.

“Wow,” Felix came puffing up behind me, “You are a lot faster than I thought.”

“What are you--”

“Well you just ran off into a jungle that you have never been in before. I wasn’t going to let you wander out here in the dangerous dead of night alone on your first day. Besides, you seemed really shaken by the news.” He sat down next to me, “I understand it can be hard to digest but it looked like your soul had left your body and you got all quiet and twitchy.”

“It was nice of you to be concerned but I am fine. I was a little worried but I will get over it once I’ve had some time to think.” Lies.

“If you’re sure.” He looked me up and down like he didn’t entirely believe me. “Come on. It is safer back at camp.”

And so the days went. Every day like all the days before I questioned everything I did. Especially when I realized that some of the boys on the island had extremely short tempers. One wrong move and I’d be beaten to a pulp. Joy!

The only thing that seemed to keep me sane was Felix coming up and giving me a quick tap or jab to hurtle me back to the present. He didn’t say much about it but once he had my attention he’d tell me to name five things I could see at that very moment. I figured it was some kind of game and quickly rattled off what I could see. Once I had he nodded and continued on with his day as normal. He was a strange sort but I was thankful for whenever he came around to pull me out of my funks.

One day while training with the others I had a rare moment of relief as my mind was preoccupied with focusing on parrying my opponent. My opponent being the leader of these feral teenagers, Peter Pan himself.

“Come now, Y/N,” Peter mocked, “I know you have to do better than that. This is just sad.”

“I can do better!” I laughed as I successfully blocked his one attack and got on the offensive long enough to knock him to the ground. “And I believe the win is mine, Petey.” I teased.

“Petey?” His eyebrows shot high up on his forehead. “Feeling cocky now are we?”

The courage seeped out of me all at once. What had I done? Why was I teasing him? This boy could kill me a wave of his magic hand and I was calling him Petey. What if he was angry now? I’ve seen how he punishes the boys when they get out of line. What if decides to use me as his latest example? How could I be so stupid?

“Y/N,” a hand touched my shoulder and I jumped back with a yelp stumbling over my own feet and landing hard on the ground. Peter stood above me eyes wide with confusion. “Are you alright?”

“No--I mean--yes--I am...” I stammered as I scrambled back to my feet. “I didn’t mean to call you that. I’m sorry. I’m gonna go now.”

“Wait.” Peter followed after me. “I’m not angry about the tease. My ego is not so fragile as to be broken by one nickname. You grow a thick skin living here.”

“Well, I just thought--”

“It is alright.” He assured me. “Actually, something I’ve noticed far more often with you is that you get this twitchy silent episodes a couples times every day. Felix noticed too but he said every time he’s tried to bring it up you dodge around the question. What is going on with that?”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about. I start thinking about something and it gets hard, near impossible, to get me to stop thinking about it.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Everything.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

“Is that what happened back there?” Peter pointed back towards the training grounds.

“Yes.”

“You cannot worry about every little thing like that. Not everything you do is going to end horribly.”

“I don’t know that and that is exactly what is terrifying. If I don’t think about the repercussions then I end up doing stupid stuff that could get me killed. Like teasing you or following the wrong tracks while hunting or exploring off the paths around the island or--”

“Stop.” Peter silenced me. “Tell me you are not that paranoid.”

“I--I--”

“Shush, deep breath, look at me and count to ten.” He placed his hands on my shoulders. The touch grounded me to the present and I slowly counted as my breathing evened out again.

“Better?” he asked once I had calmed down. I nodded. “Good. Clearly this is more than just personal paranoia. Your mind for whatever reason cannot stop from spiraling into these episodes of manic worry. Yes? Then all that needs to be done is to train your brain to steer away from such thoughts.”

“I’ve tried but I can’t.”

“Maybe on your own.” Peter held out a hand. I stared at it for a moment before taking it. A cuff appeared on my wrist that hadn’t been there before. “This is magically imbued. Whenever you start asking yourself a bunch of dumb questions it’ll alert you with a small magical shock. When that happens I want you to take a moment to breathe and focus on the real issue. If you are spiraling even further and can’t focus then find me or Felix. We’ll help get your mind off it.”

“Why do you care?” I asked. “I’ve been like this my entire life and no one has ever looked at me enough to even notice let alone care.”

“You’re a Lost Girl.” he tapped the cuff on my wrist. “You’re family now. We notice things.”

“Family...” The word was foreign yet comforting on my tongue. Now that was a thought I could get used to.

[wrestlingisfake]

Impact Fake Rankings, 5/9/2021

Men's singles division - babyfaces

Rich Swann

Trey Miguel

Eddie Edwards

Matt Cardona

Josh Alexander (Impact X champion)

TJP/Manik

Willie Mack

Jake Something

Petey Williams

Fallah Bahh

Men's singles division - heels

Kenny Omega (Impact world champion, AEW men's world champion, AAA mega champion)

Moose

Sami Callihan

Chris Bey

Ace Austin

Brian Myers

El Phantasmo

W. Morrissey

Rohit Raju

Mahabali Shera

Unranked: Hernandez, Johnny Swinger, Madman Fulton, VSK

(Wrestlers who are not listed on the official Impact website roster are noted in italics.)

The key story in Impact is that AEW's Kenny Omega has captured the Impact world title from Rich Swann, so all the top men in the company are looking to win it back. Moose vs. Callihan vs. Miguel vs. Cardona vs. Bey vs. Chris Sabin is booked for May 15 to determine Omega's first challenger.

Where the Omega storyline is headed is anyone's guess.

Whereas AAA doesn't give a crap if their champions do jobs in other promotions, AEW is supposed to have a policy against that sort of thing. So in theory Omega can't lose the Impact title, or even get pinned to set up a title match, until he stops being the AEW champion. In reality, though, I think something's got to give, although I don't expect it to happen anytime soon.

Right now no man on the Impact roster feels like a rising star worthy of beating Kenny-by-god-Omega in an interpromotional title match. So Impact's to priority is to make that star, and they should probably take their time with it. Moose feels like an early favorite for this role. Swann, Miguel, or Edwards could do it, but it'll take more work to build them up. I can imagine Alexander, Austin, or Something in that spot someday, but to get it done in 2021 will be a massive undertaking.

Meanwhile, TJP vs. Williams vs. Austin vs. Phantasmo vs. Raju vs. Acey Romero is set for May 13 to decide who will challenge Josh Alexander for the X title. I would guess that Phantasmo, on loan from New Japan Pro Wrestling, will end up in that title match.

Men's tag team division - babyfaces

FinJuice - David Finlay & Juice Robinson (Impact men's tag team champions)

Beer Guns - Chris Sabin & James Storm

Crazzy Steve & Black Taurus

Men's tag team division - heels

The Good Brothers - Doc Gallows & Karl Anderson

Violent By Design - Rhino & Deaner & Joe Doering

It's kind of crazy how everyone's so worked up about Kenny Omega and Jon Moxley busting through forbidden doors that "NJPW team holds Impact tag title" is just kind of a footnote. If I was Don Callis, my strategy here would be for FinJuice to keep the belts long enough to defend them on New Japan shows, and maybe even lose the title to another New Japan team. Picture this: Tama Tonga and Tanga Loa beat FinJuice in the summer, to set up the Guerillas of Destiny vs. the Good Brothers at the Tokyo Dome.

Of course, that leaves most of Impact's in-house tag teams waiting around for something to do. I'd give them title shots now and then, but otherwise I'd keep them busy in various tournaments and such to determine top contenders. Of course to do tournaments and such you need more teams, which would create an excuse to introduce new teams and have them stick around for more than a one-off. Then after Impact gets their belts back, they'll have a big strong tag division to fight over them.

Now, watch them not do any of that, because lol TNA.

Women's singles division - babyfaces

Taylor Wilde

Rosemary

Jessicka Havok

Alisha Edwards

Women's singles division - heels

Deonna Purrazzo (Impact women's champion)

Tenille Dashwood

Susan/Su Yung/Susie

Kimber Lee

Just having eight active women puts Impact way ahead of any one brand of WWE. Obviously, if you combined the rosters of Raw, Smackdown, NXT, and NXT UK, you could blow Impact out of the water in terms of depth and talent. But WWE's never going to do that, are they?

Women's tag team division - babyfaces

Jordynne Grace & Rachael Ellering (Impact women's tag team champions)

Women's tag team division - heels

Fire and Flava - Kiera Hogan & Tasha Steelz

Unfortunately the revival of Impact's women's tag title went about the way I expected, and we've just got two teams endlessly fighting over the belts. Once one team wins the feud, I expect the other to drift apart just as a new one emerges to take its place. It's no way to run a tag division, but sadly it's the state of the art in women's wrestling.

No matches in 30 days: Acey Romero, John E. Bravo, Kaleb with a K/Suicide, Larry D, ODB, Raj Singh, Shawn Daivari, Tommy Dreamer

Romero is set to appear in an X division match next week. Although the X division is sort of meant for cruiserweights, there's officially no weight limit. But the fact they left Willie Mack out of the match in favor of the biggest, chonkiest guy on the roster feels like a rib. What this means for Romero's team with Larry D remains to be seen.

It's been 18 moths since Raj Singh wrestled a match. A year ago that wasn't unusual, as a lot of US-based wrestlers were sidelined by the pandemic and/or travel restrictions. Almost all of them have since managed to come in and work at least a few dates. Anyway, this is your occasional reminder that Raj Singh still exists, at least on paper.

Inactive

Alex Shelley (awaiting COVID-19 vaccination)

Eric Young (leg - ACL tear)

Heath Miller (hip/abdomen - adductor tear, multiple hernias)

Shelley's situation is unusual in that he's decided to stop wrestling for fear of passing COVID from the arena to his physical therapy patients. I would think he's been fully inoculated by now, but I wouldn't blame him if he believes that's not enough to guarantee his patients' safety. Only Shelley really knows when he'll be comfortable returning to the ring.

Young is expected to be out for at least six months. Heath's situation really sucks, because he got hurt in October and it took six months just to find a surgeon who could fix everything in one operation. I can't begin to guess what his recovery time will look like, but I wouldn't count on seeing him in action for a good long while.

[lotusthekat]

Oh, take me back to the start

Fandom: Marvel (MCU)

Rating: T

Relationships: Peter & Tony, Peter & Ben & May

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark; MINOR ROLES - Ben Parker, May Parker

Summary: He looks… well, Peter doesn’t want to say old, because that wouldn’t be nice – and he knows that the media can be awfully deceiving most of the time, but… the hero still looks like he’s seen years of tragedy, and he stares at the Parker family as if they were all ghosts in front of him.

Given the loose hug, Peter leaves May’s and Ben’s arms and takes a few steps towards the hero. He can’t help feeling a little ache at the growing glassy light in his eyes.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter calls him. “Why are you crying?”

Word count: 2.167

AO3 / Fanfiction

A/N: So yeah, I ressurrected this concept from last year because I’m not over Irondad. ;-; I know this idea is far from new, but I couldn’t resist giving it a try. It’s suffered a lot of changes since then, so I hope this turned out okay.

Enjoy!

TRIGGER WARNINGS - implied character death and grief/mourning

--

At this point in his life, Peter should probably always prepare for the worst whenever he goes out. Today was supposed to be him, Aunt May, and Uncle Ben spending time together in Manhattan, but next thing he knew, a huge wormhole opened the sky, and thousands of aliens started attacking. All Peter would see then were explosions, dirt and people running for their lives.

He and his remaining family follow the panicking rest while aliens fly from above, blowing up buildings and cars and everything else in their way. Peter only runs, hand holding tightly onto May’s. The ten-year-old boy hasn’t seen this much chaos since the Stark Expo – and obviously this one wins in terms of disaster. He never thought he’d see an alien invasion so soon in his life.

Peter doesn’t know for how long he’s been running or where they’re running to. He, his aunt, and his uncle flee to the safest place they might find; they do change the route when they’re almost caught a couple times, but they never stop running, for anything at all.

The brown-haired boy finally looks back, blurring dirt taking over the city. There are way less people running along with them, and he can only hope that others found safe hiding spots. Yet suddenly, there are multiple explosions from the smog and Peter feels his hand releasing May’s – he distantly hears her yell his name, but there are countless laser shootings and Peter miraculously escapes and hides behind an alley.

His legs have given out, and he coughs as he’s breathed so much of the destruction. The invasion is far from ending, though it seems to grow distant from there. Panting, he waits for everything to quiet down so he can find May and Ben. He clutches his Iron Man t-shirt and shuts his teary eyes; he hopes, prays that they’re okay wherever they are. He can’t lose his family again.

After what feels like hours, Peter peeks outside the alley. He finds only a few people rushing away now, and not many aliens surround the area… until he sees a flying object that isn’t one of the invaders – and instead, his brown eyes are filled with hope upon finding the hero that is in his current t-shirt.

Iron Man faces the aliens and shoots them with powerful, blinding blasts. He takes maybe a dozen of them in seconds, Peter watching in complete awe. He almost loudly cheers on his hero, when he gasps at the sudden, painful blow Iron Man takes.

Two of the aliens have knocked him down with the thing they’re flying on, and before he can stand, another one on the ground starts shooting lasers at him. Three enemies surround him, and while Iron Man kills one of them, he takes another blow and remains on the ground.

No, no, no, get up! Peter wants to scream, as he sees the hero in danger. He- He needs help but there’s no one else to aid him. Iron Man is alone.

… but not if he can stop them!

He should maybe consider that that’s the opposite of what May and Ben have taught him; yet in the span of maybe five seconds, Peter has left the alley, grabbed the nearest rock he could find and quickly throws it at one of the aliens.

“Hey! Over here!!” The boy yells, waving his arms frenetically to draw their attention.

It’s at this moment that he realizes his mistake, because the aliens growl at him and run towards him with an outstanding speed.

“… Oh jeez.”

Peter wastes no time to turn around and dash the fastest he can, somehow dodging the lasers from behind him. He knows they’re getting closer and he’s definitely dead when a stronger shooting wave shakes the ground. Peter yelps as he trips, only able to brace himself for the incoming.

It then comes to him that he hears nothing from the aliens again. No, he takes notice of metallic footsteps rushing to him, and when Peter realizes, he’s helped to his feet by careful hands.

“Kid, you alright?” Iron Man asks, the boy almost squeaking at how close he is.

Peter blinks for a good couple of seconds before he lets out a dumbfounded, “Y-Yeah…”

Oh man, oh man… It’s Iron Man, and he’s so cool. His suit is as breathtaking as he’s always known. Except… it looks different from his last one? It doesn’t look like the same saturated heavy red and yellow gold metal, and the suit itself is more adjusted to the hero’s body – thus more efficient in battle and flight. It’s worth remembering that his weapons did seem flashier and more laser-like when he fought the aliens earlier… but hey, it’s Tony Stark, he could make flying cars a thing in the 2010s and Peter would believe it.

He’s never been this close to Iron Man; the time at the Stark Expo couldn’t possibly compete. It’s only Peter and his hero right now (… and the alien corpses on the ground, but they’re dead anyway).

Iron Man checks over him again and sighs in what sounds to be relief.

“Please, don’t ever buy fights with aliens after school,” The man scolds him. “Leave that to the pros, you got it?”

“O-Okay,” He replies. Though, he considers before defying, “B-But you were in trouble… I had to do something.”

As he can’t see the face behind the suit of armor, Peter does find it strange that Iron Man… doesn’t reply for the next minutes. Before anything is done, though, the hero scoffs lightheartedly.

“You’re crazy, kiddo.” He ruffles his hair. “But I'll give it, that was a nice shot.”

Peter beams. Nice work, kid.

Iron Man looks around. Thankfully, no other aliens on sight.

“Were you with someone?” The man inquires.

Peter’s red-and-gold-colored fantasy ends with a punch in the gut. How could he forget about his only family?

“Oh no! I-I’ve gotta find my—”

He shuts up when voices are heard somewhere.

“…eter?”

The boy turns around immediately, searching for it. He sees someone coming… he adjusts his glasses and realizes, it’s two people coming this way. Peter’s eyes widen as soon as he recognizes his aunt’s worried expression and his uncle’s running steps.

“Peter!” May’s and Ben’s faces light up. Despite the dirt and the tear stains, they’re not hurt.

“Aunt May! Uncle Ben!” Peter runs towards them.

“Oh, Peter, baby, are you hurt?” May checks over him, and once she finds no wounds, she crushes him in a hug and plants multiple kisses on his cheek and his hair. “Oh, thank goodness,” She whispers, crying tears of relief.

“We’re so glad you’re alright, Petey.” Ben hugs them both tightly.

“Of course I’m okay, Iron Man saved me!”

Peter snuggles against them, safe and relieved in their arms… but for some reason, they’ve grown very quiet. Once Peter looks up, they’re both startled by something; and when the boy follows their gaze, he’s also shocked by what he sees.

Iron Man’s faceplate is gone, and they see the man behind the suit. He looks… well, Peter doesn’t want to say old, because that wouldn’t be nice – and he knows that the media can be awfully deceiving most of the time, but… the hero still looks like he’s seen years of tragedy, and he stares at the Parker family as if they were all ghosts in front of him.

Given the loose hug, Peter leaves May’s and Ben’s arms and takes a few steps towards the hero. He can’t help feeling a little ache at the growing glassy light in his eyes.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter calls him. “Why are you crying?”

Almost as if turning a switch, Mr. Stark blinks and brings a hand to his face, only then realizing he’s actually crying.

“I—” He swallows. “I-I’m not crying, I just- caught something in my eye,” He tries- struggles to joke, yet more tears well up in his eyes and Mr. Stark’s voice breaks, and then he’s practically unable to hold them back.

Peter looks up at him, confused as to what brought this. He briefly glances at May and Ben, who are as lost as he is, and haven’t moved from where they stand. Looking back at the hero, he knows Mr. Stark is avoiding them.

Now that they’re closer, it’s clear how exhausted the man is. His dark eyes are mournful, guilty and really, really sad. Peter knows that look all too well, so he never expected to find it in Mr. Stark’s face.

Peter is young and he knows it. He’s nothing more than an almost eleven-year-old boy, yet he’s witnessed things many haven’t at his age. He’s learned so much and lost so much. He’s not quite sure what Mr. Stark could have lost – or maybe who he’s lost, but what he knows is that this pain is an old friend of his. Peter gets it.

Mr. Stark has covered his mouth to muffle his pained sounds, and he can’t bring himself to look at Peter. The boy has taken a few more brave steps, and he plans what he’ll do next; maybe already having something in mind. A part of him is telling him that he’s crazy, that he shouldn’t do this because it’s Tony Stark and sure, maybe he’s saved the boy’s life twice by now, but Peter is still a stranger, a weird kid from Queens. On the other hand, seeing Mr. Stark in such a state, so hopeless and hurt… it then comes to him that maybe he’s not that much of a mystery. Tony Stark isn’t a cold and indifferent entity. He’s a man inside a suit of armor. A human man that has done so much and has probably seen so much as a result. It’s… kind of crazy how often people forget that.

Still rather hesitantly (obviously), Peter wraps his arms around Mr. Stark’s waist and presses himself against the suit. It’s cold and polished on the outside, and the fanboy part of him is going wild. Thankfully, Peter puts it to rest for a bit because it’s no priority.

Mr. Stark has gone deadly silent and stiff, though he doesn’t reject the approach, so Peter hugs him a little tighter. It’s… surprisingly comfortable.

“It’s okay,” Peter whispers to him. “It’s gonna be okay, Mr. Stark.”

For once, the hero’s arms slowly rise, and they touch Peter like he’s made of glass at first. They’re shaking and they grow tighter within time. The boy feels the tears falling on his hair, as well as quiet sobs. Peter doesn’t look up at all and focuses on offering his presence.

Eventually, everything around them is quiet. So quiet, that Peter almost forgets that they’re in the middle of an alien invasion. When he lets go, Mr. Stark is already looking at him with an unreadable expression. Peter isn’t sure what to make of it, but he finds himself smiling sympathetically, nonetheless.

The hero opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He looks away again, regretful. Hesitant.

“Hey, you don’t have to worry, Mr. Stark,” Peter reassures him. “You’ll know what to do, ‘cause you’re Iron Man, and you can do anything.”

The tables seem to have turned – Mr. Stark is the one whose eyes sparkle with hope. He makes a noise that sounds like a laugh, and the tears that roll down his face are now of joy.

“Thanks… Peter,” He says, quiet and grateful.

Peter’s grin widens. May and Ben walk up to them, and they’re smiling also.

“Thank you for saving our Peter,” Uncle Ben tells Mr. Stark, placing both hands on Peter’s shoulders. “We know you’re going to save us all.”

The kid realizes the look of surprise that Mr. Stark gives his uncle, though it’s quickly replaced by a kind smile and a nod.

“I will.”

Finally, his faceplate returns. Iron Man turns around and steps away so he will fly away from there. At the same time Peter doesn’t want him to leave, he knows what he must do.

“W-Well, uh, see you around, Mr. Stark!” Peter exclaims before he’s gone.

There’s a beat and then the hero is looking at him again. Peter doesn’t see his face, but he knows he’s smiling.

“See ya, kid,” Iron Man replies, and Peter might as well cry.

The man flies away, clearing up the dirt and revealing the sky. They watch him go and save the world.

“You really are amazing, Pete,” Uncle Ben says, patting his back. “You inspired your own hero to stand back up.”

Peter blinks in realization. Again, his fanboy side is going crazy (oh my god I really just hugged Iron Man and he listened to me and he smiled at me oh my god I have to tell Ned ), yet the boy can only grin at the sky with admiration, Iron Man gone to the battle.

“Yeah… I guess I did.”