#r: echoes of the spring

[crowholtz]

"Do not hide yourself from me, Drathir Ne Amin. I see you now, as I always have, as I always will."

Rahadin and my dusk elven pc Ksenia at their favorite rendezvous spot in the Luna River, thousands of years ago before everything went wrong.

I commissioned this amazingly gorgeous piece from @artmadval . She ate this and left no crumbs. The bg, the showing off of their cultural tattoos, just so pretty.

(the quote includes his term of endearment for her in the dusk elven language, meaning Moonlight Upon the Water)

[spocks-kaathyra]

the emh is like a little kitty cat to me

[cursedyuri]

WILL YOU SHUFFLE ME, SPREAD ME APART?

summary: in the slums of zaun, you’ve carved out a life for yourself which not many would envy. you spend your nights in the arms of strangers, trading coin for hasty touches and labored breaths. and since such a line of work isn’t always enough to keep yourself fed and clothed, you have a second service to offer: fortune telling. 

or... two times vi comes knocking, and a third time you let her in.

18+ only! smut below. cw for fingering (r! receiving), cunnilingus, mentions of sex work, brief mentions of blood. 7k words.

The heels of your boots click against damp cobblestone, wet thumps echoing through the dingy alleyway leading to Babette’s brothel. It’s a particularly humid night, even despite the chill in the air - the humidity makes it worse, you think. It feels like the cold is seeping into the very marrow of your bones. 

You pull your cloth coat tighter over your torso, thankful when you rap on the brothel’s wooden door and are allowed in almost instantly. One step through the threshold, and the biting cold melts like early-spring snow. The air is thick here, too, but warm and smoky. Tobacco stings sweet in your nose, a cocktail of too-strong perfumes mixing with ribbons of incense that linger suspended midair. It’s an intoxicating kind of smell, one that makes weak women and weaker men feel more inclined to spend their hard-earned coin on a night with a stranger. 

Part of you is hoping none will choose you tonight. It’s not that you’re opposed to it - gods know you’d be in the wrong line of work if you were. Rather, you’ve got plans to eat the meager dinner you’ve purchased for yourself, sip some red wine, and rifle through your cards for answers about what’s been going on topside lately. You’ve heard murmurs of an attack, rebellion… You’re not exactly sure what to believe, so as you often do, you look to the cards for clarity. 

The deck sits idly by a thicket of half-burnt herbs on your desk, stacked precariously where you’d last used them. You shed your coat and hang it on a brass hook by the desk, then slide into the seat in front of it. Still thawing, you sink into the velvet cushion and reach into your knapsack for the paper-wrapped sandwich inside, also procuring an unmarked bottle of wine from beside it. You’re wiping an iron goblet clean with the fabric of your tiered skirt when a familiar voice calls your name from the doorway. It’s one of the other workers here, Nina. She’s been here just about as long as you.

“You might hate me,” she says, a preface that makes your lips turn downward in a frown. 

You grunt, uncorking your wine and pouring a hearty serving into your goblet. By the sounds of it, you’ll need the liquid courage. “I just sat down, you know.”

Nina’s delicate brows pull together; maybe she’s feeling apologetic, or maybe she’s just laying it on thick so you’ll take a job before you’ve even had dinner. 

“I thought so, but… I think you’ll like her, peach.” She pauses for a beat. “And if you take her, I may have some chocolate I’d consider parting with.”

“Bribery,” you say, a grin pulling at your lips as you roll your eyes at Nina’s offer. “But fine. Send her in.”

“Will do, peach,” Nina practically squeals, disappearing from your doorway just as quickly as she’d come. 

Cursing under your breath, you take a swig of wine and turn to the tarnished mirror behind your desk, examining yourself. By some stroke of luck, you’d had the sense to put on a layer of makeup before you’d gone out earlier. Blemishes are covered, your eyes are rimmed with kohl, and a smear of rouge emphasizes the pouty shape of your lips. That’s all you ever need, paired with the eye-catching swell of your breasts against the low-cut linen of your blouse. This will be easy enough.

You’ve drained half the wine in your cup by the time your client knocks at the open door. You turn your head to greet her and, before you can get a word out, the door slams closed with a heavy thud. At first, you gawk at the client because of her notable entrance - but then, you gawk because Nina was right. You like her.

This girl looks like the undercity chewed her up, spit her out, then chewed her up again. She’s all sharp edges and leather and lipstick, black makeup smeared from her eyes to her cheeks. Her hair’s black, too, though you can see patches of red exposed from an uneven dye job and a few heavy-handed washes. She’s certainly achieved the menacing look she’s sought out, and though it’s a mighty contrast to her pale complexion and piercing blue eyes, it somehow works for her - she’s the kind of girl you wouldn’t mind getting dirty for. 

“Good evening,” you say, because it’s all you can seem to think of to break the silence. “Would you like a drink?”

The client surveys you up and down with those icy blue eyes, working her jaw. She nods. “What do you have?”

“Wine, whiskey, gin,” you tell her, gesturing to the makeshift bar cart beside a loveseat at the entrance of your suite. Different colored liquors fill antique, mismatched bottles at different levels. The client glances over at them, steps up to the cart and surveys that, too. Then she turns to you, gestures to your goblet.

“I’ll have what you’re having.” 

You nod. “Wine it is, then. Have a seat, I’ll bring it to you.” 

She obliges, lowering herself onto the plum fabric of the loveseat. Her legs are spread just so - enough to make it obvious that this woman is used to taking up space, and unafraid of what that kind of confidence might imply. Your eyes linger on her parted knees, but not long enough to get caught. After you fill up a goblet for her and refill your own, you glide across the room to hand her the drink. She accepts it with a nod of thanks, her fingertips brushing against yours in the process. You take a seat beside her.

“What’s your name?” You regard her behind fluttering lashes, sipping from your freshly filled goblet. The wine is sweet on your tongue, bitter around the edges. You can already feel it loosening your muscles, relaxing your inhibitions. Piquing your curiosity, even. 

The client takes a swig from her own drink and says, “Vi.” 

Vi. Her name is tattooed on her cheekbone, you muse, gaze sweeping over her face once again. There’s a silver hoop pierced through her nose, a scar etched into her upper lip. A healing bruise on her left jaw catches your eye, blooming faint shades of purple, yellow, and green. You’re afflicted with an urge to reach out and touch it - to touch her. But when she catches your gaze with those steely eyes of hers, you’re frozen. Like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar, your cheeks flush hot. Vi seems amused by your appraisal, cracks a smile that looks somehow natural on her war-torn face. 

She cuts through the tension like a spearhead, one hand reaching forward to readjust the sleeve of your blouse, which had fallen down your shoulder. Her fingertips are cold and calloused, but the touch fills you with uncharacteristic warmth. “What’s your name?” 

You tell her and she repeats it, that sultry voice curling around every syllable of your name as if she were tasting it. 

However intoxicating Vi’s voice might be, it dawns on you again what she’s doing here. She’d paid for your time, paid to sip your wine and touch you with those split-knuckled hands of hers. You have the sense to wonder why - a woman like Vi should have no trouble warming her bed for free, yet here she is.

“Well, Vi,” you say, pausing briefly for another sip of wine, “how do you want me?”

If your straightforwardness bothers her, she doesn’t show it. She brushes dark locks of her out of her eye-line, seemingly considering your answer. Then: “I heard you tell fortunes.”

You quirk a brow at her. “I—yes. Is that what you want?”

Something flashes in her eyes. “Among other things.”

“It’s extra for that,” you clarify. “The fortune-telling, I mean.”

“I have enough.”

And that settles it. You uncross your legs, stand up and move to retrieve your deck of cards from the desk. There’s a table in front of the loveseat where Vi still sits, and that’s where you lay out an ornate silk cloth to spread the cards upon. You gather the thicket of herbs from your desk, too, along with a match. Vi watches you set fire to the sprigs, a stream of smoke billowing upwards and filling the air with a sweet, earthy scent. 

“What questions do you have?” You ask, settling down upon a floor pillow on the opposite side of the table from Vi. After you set down your goblet of wine, you pick up the deck and begin to shuffle; the fluttering sounds of cards fills the silence before Vi can answer.

“Do I need to ask questions?”

“No, I guess not,” you respond, shoulders shrugging. “I can just see what the cards say about you.”

Vi nods her assent, tossing her head back to finish what’s left of her wine. One by one, cards fly out from the deck as you shuffle, some upright, some inverted. When you’ve circulated through the deck once or twice with no other cards presenting themselves, you stop. 

“Five of cups,” you read aloud. The card’s illustration depicts a figure in a black cloak, turned away, three emptied cups at her feet. Behind her are two upright cups, unnoticed. “Loss. Mourning.”

Vi inhales sharply through her nose, and when you look up at her, she’s white-knuckled with her hand around the stem of her now-empty goblet. You lift your brows in a wordless question - should you continue? 

She nods.

“Something didn’t work out as you’d planned it, and you’re too stubborn to let go. Instead, you lament the loss and let it hold you hostage.” 

There’s a sound like Vi humming, a quiet acknowledgement of your words as you move to the next card. 

“Four of wands, reversed - this tells me you’ve been separated from loved ones. This is what didn’t work out as planned, maybe?” 

When you look at Vi this time, she’s leaning forward in her seat, forearms braced against her strong thighs. 

“Maybe,” she echoes. “What else is there?”

You show her the next card, another inverted one. The illustration depicts a man in ornate clothing, a flower plucked between his fingers as he prances confidently towards the edge of a cliff. “The fool, reversed.” 

“That’s me?” Vi asks. “The fool?” 

“Hm, not always. But with the other cards… You are the fool, Vi, I’m sorry to say it.” You hope she catches the tinge of playfulness in your tone, serious as the reading feels. Heavy as the tension feels.

“Well,” she starts, “the cards don’t lie, I guess.”

You hum in agreement. “The fool, reversed this way, tells me that you’re reckless. Lacking caution, you’ve opened yourself up to betrayal.” 

“Fuck’s sake.” Vi laughs without humor, tries to drink the last crimson drops of the wine in her goblet. “Can I get some more?”

You move to get up and fetch her the bottle, but she waves a hand to dismiss you. She’s up and across the room in a flash, refilling her cup and taking a swig before she’s even made it back to the loveseat. 

“But…” You hold up her final card - judgement. The art depicts an angel blaring into a trumpet from the heavens, the humans below rejoicing. Her eyes assessing the card, Vi looks to you for an explanation.

“Judgement tells us that renewal and transformation is possible,” you finish

“Renewal, transformation... Right. What’s the catch?”

Smart woman, you think. There’s always a catch. 

“You have to be willing to let go of what’s held you stagnant. Accept what’s behind you and focus on what’s ahead, because wallowing in misfortune does you no good.”

That seems to resonate, because Vi’s expression turns shadowy, thoughtful. She drinks again, her lips nearly purple from the wine. You take a moment to drink from your own cup, ready to ask Vi if she wants you to undress yourself, or if she’s the kind of client who wants to do it for you. 

Instead, you’re stunned into silence when she polishes off her drink, slams the cup down onto the table, and stands. Her jaw is locked again, tense. 

“Vi?” Your brows lift in question. 

“Thank you,” she says. She moves towards the door, then stops when she seems to remember something. One bandaged hand digs into her jacket pocket, emerging with a handful of coin. She places it on the nearest surface, a small table with a lamp glowing atop it, and only glances back towards you before she vanishes out the door. 

There’s a draft in the room, suddenly. You curl into bed, pull the covers over your goosebump-afflicted skin, and think.

The days following Vi’s visit dawn bleak and cold as ever. Nina asks about your client the following morning, and you let her bask in the satisfaction that you had liked her, but you politely break the news that she’d been nothing particularly special - a white lie to keep the questions at bay. You’re not one to run your mouth; besides, rumors spread through Babette’s brothel like wildfire. 

Some of the latest rumors? There’s a man with magical abilities lurking in the shadows of Zaun, with a touch that heals the sick. There’s a blue-haired revolutionary forming a significant following in the undercity, those of whom claim she’ll free them from Piltover’s brutality. You’re not sure what to believe, but there must be some truth to the rumors, because your cards sense something afoot: the tower, ten of swords, ace of cups. 

Still, business continues as usual. Degenerates and saints alike seek your company, and you need the money to survive, so your bed is always warm. 

Because you’ve had dozens of clients over the years who visit and never return, you don’t expect to see Vi again. Still, your mind keeps returning to her - you wonder why she’d stormed out so suddenly, why she’d paid you for sex without laying a finger on you. The curiosity lingers in the back of your mind, but you counter it with reality: she’d probably chickened out. Heard something too striking in her reading and couldn’t follow through, but decided to pay for your time anyway. At most, it was a kind gesture. 

So why can’t you stop thinking about her? 

Weeks pass, and your routine continues. Tonight’s another late night, and you’re relaxing after several clients in a row. You’d bathed in water treated with salts and oils, the scents still clinging to your skin as you rub salve into your aching muscles. The last few clients had been rough - twisting your limbs, working you into positions that tested your flexibility and endurance as they used their tongues, fingers, and other appendages to chase their pleasure through your body. None of them had made you come, though, so in the momentary solitude of the bath, you’d slipped your hand between your legs until your release pulsated through your tired frame. Now, you’re feeling pleasantly warm and at ease, perfumed and ready if there may be a late-night visitor. You’d be grateful for the extra money, if you’re being honest.

When there’s a steady knock at the door, you saunter over to answer it in nothing but your lingerie, lacy black and surprisingly comfortable. Who knows? They might pay extra for such ease of access - and a nice presentation. 

The flirty smile on your lips disappears when you realize who’s on the other side of the door. 

“Gods—Vi?” You try not to express your shock, schooling your features to the best of your ability. Vi, however, turns a pretty shade of pink when she takes in the sight of you: tits pushed together and decorated in delicate lace, the soft hair over your sex barely obscured with thin fabric. Your thighs are plush and glowy with moisture, hips hugged beautifully by the high-waisted panties that match your elaborate bra. 

Vi’s throat bobs with a hard swallow. “I’m… Sorry to interrupt.”

“You weren’t interrupting,” you assure her, opening the door all the way to allow her entry. You try to ignore the way her gaze first moves to the empty bed, something like relief washing over her features before she turns back to you. The door shuts with a soft click. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I thought you were a client.”

After wrapping yourself in the first robe you find by your bedside, you move to the bar cart to pour Vi a drink. She scoffs, an almost-laugh that’s low and soft. “Well, I am a client.”

As the wine sloshes into her goblet, you fix her with an admonishing look. “A client looking for sex, Vi.” 

That shuts her up. Her cheeks are still pink, you notice, as you take in her appearance: most of the dye has faded out of her hair, leaving it a patchy canvas of black, maroon, and fuschia. She’s still sporting a cut and a bruise here and there, but more wounds are covered with bandages than last time. Notably, she’s not drenched in black paint, though there is a ring of liner around her eyes. 

“Thanks,” Vi says when you hand her a cup of wine. She shoots back a mouthful and moves to the loveseat, lowering herself into the same spot as last time.

“So?” You arch a brow at her. “Here for another reading, I take it?”

She nods. “Yeah, sweetheart. If that’s okay.”

“I thought I scared you away last time,” you reply with a smirk. There’s a hint of truth to the statement, though, teasing as you might be - you hadn’t expected to see her back so soon, if at all. 

“Oh, you did,” she admits. “But things have changed, and now… I’m curious what you have to say. I could use some advice.”

“Your wish is my command.” 

Just as it was last time, Vi’s attention is honed in on you. You shuffle the cards with expert precision, and she watches the way your hands dance over the deck, fingers grazing the careful illustrations of each card with easy familiarity. This time, five cards leap from the deck: seven of cups, the chariot, eight of wands, four of wands, eight of pentacles. It’s a story unfolding beneath your fingertips, all the more interesting when you think back to Vi’s last reading.

“You’ve made progress,” you tell her. “But the hard work isn’t over. You’re prone to wishful thinking, which is a good thing, sometimes, because your determination is a powerful force.” 

Glancing up at Vi, you offer her an encouraging smile. “When you fight, I get the sense that you almost always win.”

Vi snorts, wiping a burgundy smear of wine from her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’s what the cards say?”

“Not exactly, but, well… I’ve gathered some things for myself.” You hold up the chariot card. “This one tells me you need an ironclad will to move forward. One I don’t doubt you have.”

Is it just your imagination, or does Vi turn pink again?

“And these,” you say, holding up the two cards from the wand suit, “show me fire. Creation, destruction, volatility. You’re dealing with something that can be useful or detrimental, depending on how you proceed.”

Vi’s eyes are alight, not unlike the fire you’ve just discussed. What you wouldn’t give to know how her life aligns with these cards - what fire is she playing with? What challenges is she facing?

“And the last one?” Vi’s voice cuts through your internal musings as she gestures to the final card on the table. You pick it up and show it to her - the eight of pentacles, depicting a man hard at work, hammer in hand.

“It’s very much in line with the others,” you explain. “Diligence, focus, hard work.”

She hums, nodding. “Got it. So, any chance there's a card that’ll tell me what I should do?”

Her tone drips with sarcasm, but you can tell there’s a glimmer of sincerity in the question - and in those pale blue eyes, swirling with emotion. 

You press your lips into a firm line, setting the eight of pentacles card down. “I wish I could tell you exactly what you want to hear, Vi,” you say honestly. “But that’s not how the cards work.”

“Yeah,” Vi responds, voice bitter around the edges; somber. “I figured as much. Thank you, uh, for the reading.”

In the silence that follows, you imagine a braver version of yourself: one that isn’t too hesitant to ask questions. One that would feel comfortable offering a listening ear to this riot of a woman, whose scars and bruises tell you just as much as the cards you’ve splayed out for her. You wonder where she goes after she leaves here, if that home holds a family, friends, a lover. But all you can do is wonder. You don’t go sniffing for information - like the brothel dweller you are, information finds you. And if it doesn’t, perhaps it’s better to wonder.

Vi rises from the loveseat, readjusting one of the tattered blankets strewn across its surface. She finishes the remainder of her wine and, gently, sets it on the table. 

She says, “I’ve gotta go.”

Her hand dips into her jacket pocket and emerges with far too much coin, which she sets out on the table for you.

“That’s too much,” you counter with a furrowed brow. “We didn’t—you only had your cards read.”

You reach forward to collect the extra cash, ready to push it back into Vi’s palm, but she backs away with her hands in her pockets. 

“Nah, sweetheart,” she replies, ambling towards the door and prying it open. “Keep the change.”

The next time you see Vi, her knuckles are bleeding. 

It’s been weeks, maybe even months, and you’re surprised to find her at your door again, much less in her current state: battered and bruised, her knuckles raw and red. Her shoulders sag, that proud, confident air about her entirely deflated. She’s a shell of the woman you’d first met months ago; all that brazen confidence she’d once had has burnt down to dying embers. 

When she looks at you, her eyes are forlorn, watery. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Oh, Vi…” You open the door further, ushering her in with a gentle hand at the small of her back. 

Inside, you pour her a drink - water, this time - and instruct her to lie down on the bed, draping a thin blanket over her frame. 

“You’re hurt,” you say pointedly, gesturing to her bleeding knuckles. “Can I help?”

Vi’s expression doesn’t change; her eyes are distant, her skin so pale it’s almost grey. But she nods her assent, so you get to work - you swipe a wet cloth over her knuckles to clear away the blood, then cautiously apply a salve to her wounds. Through it all, Vi hardly even winces, a fact that doesn’t exactly surprise you. Even now, with her brazen confidence stripped away to the bone, she’s tougher than most. It’s an attribute that runs through her to the core. 

“Don’t you want to ask what happened?” Vi asks, suddenly. Her voice is raw, and to avoid looking her in the eye, you focus on wrapping her knuckles with layers of soft gauze. “Wanna know how I fucked up this time?”

You frown. “I’m not one to pry.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause before Vi speaks again. “That’s what’s different about you,” she says. “Everyone else just… Wants something from me.”

Brows knitting together, you fix Vi with a look that you hope reads less as pitying and more as understanding. You’re certainly familiar with catering to other’s desires over your own; it’s been this way for longer than you can remember. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, genuinely. Finished dressing her wounds, you let go of her hands, still kneeling at the side of the bed. You stand up with the intention of refilling Vi’s water, but as you reach for the cup, she catches your wrist in one bandaged hand. 

“All those times I saw you,” she starts, “when I had you read my cards… You never asked about my life.”

You nod, wrist burning from her touch. 

“Why? You never wondered?”

“It’s not my job to wonder.” You swallow. “Just to give people what they want.”

Vi’s gaze is intense, holding you in a trance. You’re frozen there, standing at the side of the bed, entirely in her grasp. “But do you ever get what you want?”

Do you?

You’d been working for Babette for years, longer than most - and before that, even as a child, you’d always understood that bending to the will of others is the easiest way to move through life. You can slip through the cracks that way, get enough coin or food or clothing to live another day. You wanted that, you suppose. To live. 

But you’re not sure that’s what Vi’s talking about.

“I have enough,” you say. “There’s not much I want.”

Vi nods. “But there’s something.” 

You smooth your free hand over hers, and she lets go of your wrist. “I’ll get you some water.”

As you refill her cup, you feel her eyes on you, and your mind races. Why does she care about what you want? You’re a stranger to her, a fortune teller living on scraps in an undercity brothel. First, she’d paid you for sex she’d never had, and now she’s in your bed, asking you questions you barely had the wherewithal to ask yourself. Gods, this woman is something else. You wish you could read her mind - crack open that beautiful skull of hers, sift through her thoughts, learn what had led her to you not once, not twice, but three times. You wish you could know everything about her, read her like your favorite book with its pages dog-eared, its cover well-worn.

Maybe that’s what you want, after all.

Returning to the bedside, you hand Vi her cup and stand by as she takes a long drink, then sets it on the nightstand. Her hair has grown a few inches since the first time you’d met her, you muse, and you like it this way - long locks of pink-crimson fall in jagged layers just past her shoulders, her bangs framing her face nicely. You wonder what it would feel like to reach out and run your fingers through that hair, to brush it free of knots, to hold the back of her head in your palm. 

“It’s late,” Vi says, interrupting your train of thought. “I should go - you should get some rest.”

She peels back the blanket you’d settled over her, sitting up. You hesitate, then reach forward to touch her forearm. “You can stay, I don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t want to keep you up,” Vi says, “or… Keep away any business.”

Something in your chest tightens. “You won’t.”

“I shouldn’t—”

“I want you to stay,” you interrupt. “You need rest, too.”

Vi’s mouth hangs open for a moment, stormy blue eyes assessing you. Then, she settles back into bed, pulling the blanket up over her chest again. There’s a long pause, only the muffled sounds of laughter and salacious moans from other rooms filling the silence. You’re debating setting yourself up on the loveseat when Vi murmurs a quiet hey to capture your attention, then pats the space beside her in bed.

There are candles still burning on desks and tables and dressers throughout the room, lamps shining in shades of yellow and orange. You’ll lie down for only a moment, you tell yourself, long enough for Vi to doze off. Then you’d turn off the lights, blow out the candles, maybe sneak off to find a client looking for a fortune teller. You sense that Vi needs someone beside her for now, though, so you climb into bed, wrapping your frame in a velvety purple blanket. 

Once you’ve settled in next to her, Vi turns on her side to face you. Her lips, rosebud pink, are chapped, and you watch her moisten them with a swipe of her tongue.

“Thank you,” she says, voice hushed. “For letting me stay here.”

I didn’t know where else to go.

You turn over to face her, too, the corners of your lips pulling upwards. “Of course. I’m glad you’re okay, Vi.”

There’s a softness in Vi’s expression, now - one that you hadn’t seen before. The tough facade has melted away, as has the hurt, the pain. All that’s left is her rounded, wide eyes, her relaxed jaw, the curve of her lips. You catch yourself staring too long, and when you look up again, Vi’s already watching you.

She raises a bandaged hand to your face, where it hovers an inch away. Her expression asks for permission, and when you lean into her touch, Vi’s hand cups your cheek with a gentleness you’d never think her capable of. Not with those scars, not with the cuts and bruises that have become a permanent fixture on her skin. Her thumb skates over your cheekbone, and the touch feels electric.

“You’re beautiful, you know.”

Your breath hitches; you hope she doesn’t notice.

“I’m sure you hear that a lot,” Vi adds. And it’s true, you do. 

You hesitate. Then: “Not from anyone who matters.” 

Vi smiles - it’s a soft kind of smile, one that you wish you could take a photo of, frame it and hang it on the wall to return to when you need a reminder of the warmth in this moment. Her hand leaves your cheek and travels down to your arm, then finding your hand beneath the blankets. Your eyes feel heavy, suddenly - so must hers, because she doesn’t speak again. You fall asleep next to her, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, her hand warm and heavy in yours.

When you wake up again, the room is a dark, inky blue. 

You sit upright, back straight, memories of the night before slowly filtering into your mind. Half-expecting an empty space where Vi had once been, you glance to the side, finding her sleeping figure curled under the blankets. Chest tightening, you look down at her in the black dark, eyes straining. 

Her eyes open, lashes fluttering, and you gasp.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Did I wake you up?”

“I’m a light sleeper,” she murmurs back to you. One of her arms snakes around your waist, encouraging you to lie back, and you oblige. You’re closer than you were when you fell asleep, Vi’s steady breaths tickling at your shoulder. 

You’re suddenly very aware of her skin on yours; your shirt has ridden up your stomach in your sleep, and Vi’s arm, wrapped around you, burns against you. Your stomach is warm with something delicious, something dangerous.

It doesn’t help when Vi pulls you closer, palm opening against the flesh of your hip. You’re frozen for a moment, wondering if she’s still sleeping, somehow. 

“Vi?”

“Hm?” You feel her draw back, as if waiting for you to turn over, so you do. Eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, you peer up at her. 

“I think I know what I want.” 

Vi’s quiet, her gaze steady on you. You’re about to take it back, whisper never mind and turn to sleep again, when she brings her hand back up to your cheek, cupping it in her hand the same way she had the night before. 

“Tell me,” she whispers in the dark.

“I…” You hesitate. “I want you to touch me.”

There’s a long pause, Vi’s eyes flickering over your face, analyzing your expression. Your body is tense with anticipation, and when she finally, finally leans in to press her lips to yours, the tension seeps out of every muscle.

Like everything about her, Vi’s kiss is different - her touch is different. She holds your face as her lips move against yours, soft and wet and sweet, thumb stroking the soft skin of your cheek as her tongue traces the part of your lips. You open your mouth for her, let her lick into you to deepen the kiss. 

It’s been a long, long time since you’ve been kissed like this. You’ve grown accustomed to hasty, messy kisses, foul breath and rough touches, far too many clients eager to skip past the kissing and get to the fucking. But Vi tastes like heaven as she takes her time with you, tongue soft as it pushes against yours. Every kiss leaves you aching for more, the warmth in your lower belly growing hotter with each smack of your lips against Vi’s. You pull back, catching your breath, and Vi peers at you with bleary eyes. 

“You okay?” She asks, thumb still stroking at your cheek. You nod and pull her in for another kiss, drawing a soft moan from the bottom of her throat - one that goes straight to your cunt. 

You’re not sure how long you continue like that, trapped in a heated kiss, bodies moving closer with every languid sigh and pleading moan. But eventually, the layers of clothing between you is a burden you can no longer bear. You pull back to work your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor before Vi tugs you close for another searing kiss. Your hands slip beneath the thin fabric of her tank, and she shivers, a full-body chill that makes you flush impossibly hotter. Once her shirt is discarded, too, Vi gently pushes you to lie flat on your back, climbing over you in nothing but a thin pair of shorts. You realize through the haze of lust clouding your mind that she must’ve woken up before you - she’d turned the lights off, taken off the stiff pair of pants she’d arrived in the night before. 

Hovering over you in the dark, Vi’s an absolute dream. Tattoos decorate her pale complexion, inked into her arms, her shoulders, her neck - you’d already noticed that she’s heavily inked, but it’s more striking when she’s half-naked like this. You don’t have much time to look, though, because Vi leans over to tuck her face into your neck, warm lips latching to the sensitive skin and littering kisses in an imprecise path. You keen high in your throat, leaning the opposite way to grant her more access, your hands finding purchase on her narrow hips. When you dig your nails into her skin, hissing as she parts her lips over your neck and sucks, her hips buck forward, grinding her thinly-clothed heat over your pelvis. You nearly see stars.

There’s always been a cold draft in your room, in the brothel, and in Zaun as a whole. But here, now, you’re on fire. You lift your hips and push Vi down against your pelvis again, encouraging her to find that friction again, and she emits a muffled moan against your neck when she does. It’s heavenly, that sound - you want to hear it again and again and again, until it’s forever etched into your memory. 

“Gods, Vi,” you gasp, her teeth scraping against your neck. She works her way further south, leaving kisses and bites in her wake, until she reaches the peaks of your breasts.

“You’re so pretty, fuck,” she murmurs, dazed. Both hands cup your tits and squeeze, her thumbs playing with the buds of your nipples until they’ve hardened from her touch. She then leans over to take one nipple into her mouth, moaning around the flesh as if she’d been dying for this. Her tongue draws wet circles over the sensitive bud, her cheeks hollowing out when she sucks at it until you’re gasping and writhing. You need her further down, where your cunt throbs and gushes in anticipation, but she takes her time with your other tit before she even considers undressing you further. 

Still straddling your waist, Vi sits up and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She flashes you a wicked smile, eyes twinkling, and lifts her hips to reach for the waistband of your shorts.

“This okay, pretty girl?” 

You nod, biting your lip. Pretty girl.

Vi rolls your shorts down your thighs, pulls them off with ease and sets them to the side. Your panties are next - a simple, cotton pair that wasn’t anything flashy - and she tosses those to the edge of the bed, too distracted by the sight of your naked body to care much about where they landed. 

Typically, you weren’t shy about your body. In your line of work, you couldn’t be shy - you had to know your features and work them to your benefit. But with Vi eyeing you like you’re a meal and she’s a woman starved, your stomach flutters with excitement and, somewhere, a glimmer of insecurity. The need to impress her. 

And gods, does she seem impressed. She curses under her breath, her rough hands smoothing over the curves of your body, squeezing your hips and your thighs and your ass, licking her lips like she’s parched. You realize, as she settles her hands on your knees and works them apart for you, that she’d taken off her bandages, too. The thought evaporates as quickly as it had come, though, because now Vi’s settling between your spread legs, peppering kisses along the inside of your thigh.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” she tells you between kisses. “You gonna let me eat you out, sweetheart?”

The question sends another cascade of butterflies through your stomach. You take in a deep breath, enjoying the sight of Vi between your legs, looking up at you with pleading eyes. You might die if she doesn’t make you come soon.

A whispered “please” from your lips is all Vi needs - her mouth is on you in a moment, tongue splitting through your folds, warm and firm and wet. She licks at you languidly, takes her time spreading your arousal from your hole up to your clit. You’re drenched, you just know it, and Vi moans as if to confirm your suspicions, lapping up your wetness with every flick of her tongue. Just like she’d taken her time with her mouth on your tits, she takes her time with your cunt, sucking on the swollen bead of your clit until you’re whining her name between sharp breaths. It’s all you can manage to say, your hand tangled in her scarlet locks of hair, tugging at her scalp each time she circles your clit with her tongue. After she’s worked you up enough, you’re suddenly so empty - you need more, and you tell her as much, chest heaving.

“Vi, I need—fuck, I need your fingers,” you cry out.

She answers with a gratified hum, and the vibrations have your eyes rolling back into your skull.

Just as you’d asked, though, Vi swipes a finger through your wetness; there’s hardly any resistance when she sinks the digit into your entrance, groaning again at the feeling of your walls around her. 

“So wet for me,” she comments, grinning. “This what you needed?”

You nod, face twisting with pleasure. Vi just chuckles under her breath, working her fingers up to a steady pace. Once she has you moaning again, all high-pitched and needy, she latches her mouth back onto your clit, and you’re gone. You come hard, clamping down on Vi’s fingers and tossing your head back, eyes squeezed shut through every wave of pleasure - it’s only once you’ve come to that you finally open your eyes again, gazing down at Vi starry-eyed.

“Can I be honest, sweetheart?” She sits up on her heels, licking her lips. “That was hot.”

“You think so?” You ask, reaching out for her. She moves closer and kisses you, lets you taste yourself on her lips. 

You pull back only to murmur, under your breath, “I’m not done with you, Vi.”

You’ve had sex with plenty of women in your lifetime, but few have made a real effort to make you come - and none have done it so fast. You’re determined to return the favor. So, with a pointed glance, you instruct Vi to lie back on the pillows, plucking one from behind her to set under her hips.

Vi had called you beautiful, but she’s utterly divine. All sharp edges and lean muscle, she’s a vision, and you’re almost convinced you’re dreaming as your hands smooth over the tattoos inked into her arms. You imagine yourself tracing each of those tattoos with your mouth, sucking bruises into the dark ink - but you’d do that later. Right now, all you want is to bury your face in the patch of red hair between her legs, lose yourself in the taste of her arousal.

Vi’s vocal, you conclude, because as you prod your tongue inside of her, nose bumping against her clit, she won’t shut up. 

“That’s it, fuck, you’re so good,” Vi moans, sitting up enough to allow her to watch as you lap at her pink cunt. An endless chorus of praises and curses leave her lips, punctuated with wanton moans. She’s needy, too - before long, she’s gripping a fistful of your hair and directing you with it, tugging you closer, to the side, to the other side, as she grinds her cunt down against your mouth. You revel in the way she’s using you, pleased when her stomach tenses and your name spills from her lips, warning you of her impending orgasm. She rides it out on your face, and when you finally pull back, you’re wet with her from nose to chin. 

“You’re way too good at that,” Vi tells you when you crawl up beside her, rubbing the wetness off your nose. 

“You’re just as good,” you respond. You move to lie down beside Vi, but when you see her frown, you arch a brow at her.

“Hm?”

“Sweetheart,” she coos, “I’m not done with you.”

She pulls you into her lap, lets you straddle the toned muscle of her pelvis. And after you’ve ground your pussy against her until you’re shaking with another release, she’s still not done. It’s a long night.

At the table in the corner of your bedroom, your deck of tarot cards lies spread face-down. There’s one card upright, though: two of cups.

[nanaslutt]

Throat training with Gojo Satoru

Contains: fem reader, established relationship, finger sucking, lots of cum/spit talk, cum eating, throat fucking, oral (m!r), leg humping, so much dirty talk, Gojo talks you through it, multiple orgasms

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

"Alright, pretty girl." Gojo's voice echoed into your ears, his hand caressing the side of your cheek. "You gotta tap my thigh twice if it's too much, kay?" He instructed, resulting in a nod from you, your head nuzzling into his warm hand. "Good girl, such a good girl doin' this all for me." Satoru praised, his other hand coming down to cradle your head as he pet your face like a cat, making you feel so attended to.

Gojo sat on the couch, his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward to pamper you. Your knees were resting on the floor underneath him, sitting between his spread thighs, your hands absentmindedly reaching into his sweats and boxers to try and pull out his cock. "Anything for you Toru, wanna make you feel good." You said, your eyes keeping contact with his intimidating ones, his smile growing at your words.

"You always make me feel good pretty, dont need you to hurt your throat to get me off y'know." He giggled as he kept his hands on your face while leaning back a bit, raising his hips off the couch so you could pull his sweats and boxers down, his heavy cock springing out of the confines of the fabric and slapping his abdomen.

"I know, but I wanna be able to take you without gagging." You said, pouting at him embarrassed. Gojo released your face from his hands, opting to interlace his fingers with yours as it rested on his thigh, your other hand other grabbing ahold of the base of his cock and stroking it slowly. "It's gonna take some getting used to." He giggled, "You might not get it at first because I'm just soooooo big, but don't let that turn you off~" the cocky white-haired man teased, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"It's not gonna be your dick that turns me off…" you whispered under your breath, scoffing at his confident tone. You couldn't say much else though, he was right, his cock was huge and you were never able to take it without gagging and having to pause every couple of seconds. This time though, you were determined, you would take things slow and let Gojo work open your throat for him, you would become his perfect cocksleeve.

Gojo leaned forward again, and with two fingers he pinched your chin, his eyes zeroing in on your plush lips. "Hmm?" Gojo mused, scrunching his eyebrows at you like he didn't hear what your retort. His thumb ran over the bottom of your lip, the feeling instantly making any smart remarks you had in your brain fall out the side of your ear, your brain melting with the small touch of his thumb.

Gojo's jaw dropped in a small o as he watched yours do the same, making way for his thumb. "Atta girl.." Gojo mumbled, smiling when your lips wrapped around his thumb instinctually and began sucking, the warm appendage rolling around his digit.

His cock twitched in your hand, which weakly and in no particular rhythm kept stroking his cock, slowly smearing the wetness from his pre-cum over the length of his cock. Gojo tipped his head back, his jaw opening more as he pressed his thumb as far as it could go into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue when he hit the back of your throat.

He felt you moan around his fingers, your face briefly scrunching in uncomfortability when his finger started to make you feel like you were going to gag if he moved it. "Look at me, pretty girl." He instructed, immediately your eyes were on his, your breathing slowly picking up as he thrust his thumb back and forth, getting you used to feeling something in your mouth.

"Breath through your nose, keep your throat open for me." He instructed, nodding at his own words. You nodded around him, taking deep breaths in through your nose when his thumb trusted towards the back of your throat, making his thumb so deep in your mouth feel more manageable. "It's easier already right?" Gojo giggled, his cock throbbing as he watched you gain more confidence, your head bobbing forward to meet his thrusts.

You kept your eyes on him, moaning around his finger when you saw the proud look in his eyes. He smiled before slowing his thrusts, waiting for you to finish your sucking before he stuck his tongue out slightly, silently telling you to do the same. You did as you saw,you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, releasing his thumb.

Gojo admired the sheen of your saliva covering his finger before he pressed his middle and ring fingers together and slapped them teasingly against your tongue as he did with his cock, creating lewd 'plp' noises to emanate into the room. You whined while he played with your tongue, his fingers pressing down on it and rubbing near the tip of your tongue before he broke the silence.

"Think you wanna try something a little longer?" He asked, referring to the two digits he currently had pressed agaisnt your tongue. You nodded, feeling the saliva pool in your mouth as you waited for him to sink them deeper into your mouth--giving you the go-ahead to start sucking on them how you wanted to.

Now that you weren't so preoccupied with something in your mouth, you took the opportunity to use that spare brainpower to stroke Gojo's cock more coherently, speeding up your thrusts and jerking him off more steadily. "Fuck.." He groaned, pressing his fingers into your throat, his eyes fluttering at the stimulation your hand brought him.

"You'll get that soon, promise sweet thing. Start with my fingers first.. don't forget to breathe." He said with a smile. Your nails dug into his thigh when he slid his fingers to the back of your throat, your lips wrapping around them as you welcome the feeling of him poking and prodding inside your mouth, further readying you for his cock.

Gojo shook his head in disbelief at how eager you were as he picked up the thrusting of his fingers, keeping his movements shallow at first, not wanting to push you too far too fast. He took a sharp inhale through his teeth, his eyes darting down to watch you stroke his cock, a thick bead of precum pearling out from his tip and sliding down the length of his cock, immediately getting swiped up by your fingers.

"Oooh fuck you're doing so good baby~ Almost feels like you're sucking my cock for real." Satoru giggled, watching you work on him with a slacked jaw, feeling his face heat up at all of the attention you were giving him. He could tell you were focusing hard, you really wanted to impress him and so far you were doing an amazing job.

You moaned around his fingers, wrapping your tongue around them the same way you did to his dick as you bobbed your head to meet him, trying to get him to give you the rest of his fingers, as he was still holding back, keeping a couple of inches out of your mouth.

"You want more, huh? You wanna feel me in your throat 's that it? 's that why you're being so needy?" Gojo asked, tilting his head at you. You pressed your thighs together at his words, feeling the knot in your belly tie itself tighter from his teasing. You nodded, trying to speak out a 'yes, please' around his fingers, which he heard loud and clear.

"Then who am I to deny my baby?" Gojo said with a smile, pressing his fingers to the hilt inside your mouth. The digits pressed down on your tongue, trying to stay away from your uvula. He knew this would be unavoidable when he finally fed you his cock, but it was the least he could do to keep you comfortable right now.

He kept his fingers still in your throat, watching your eyes scrunch shut at the feeling of him, trying to breathe deeply through your nose to keep your gag reflex at bay--which proved to be working. "Good girl, keep breathing for me," Gojo instructed, his other hand wrapping around yours on his cock, aiding you in stroking him.

It really did feel like his dick was in your throat, the feeling sending shivers down his spine. He finally pulled back his fingers from your throat before he set a faster pace, fucking the entirety of his digits into your mouth, still trying to be mindful to not batter the back of your throat too much. "Takin' them so well, so fucking well." He praised, making you whine around them.

Tears had started to form in your eyes, threatening to spill the more his fingers hit the back of your throat, "Keep lickin' around them f'me, feels so good when you do that." He moaned, feeling his orgasm already start to approach from the show you were putting on combined with the way he was jerking himself off using your hand.

He picked up on how you were squirming underneath him, your thighs rubbing against one another as you sat on your heel, trying to relieve yourself in some way. "Oh fuck baby, you feelin' neglected down there? Hmm?" He asked, watching you rock back and forth on your heel. You nodded, continuing to roll your tongue over his fingers like he told you to.

"Shit, sorry pretty girl, didn't know this would turn you on so much." Gojo cooed. "Spread your legs f', me, let me help out my pretty girlfriend." You did as you were told, getting off of your heel you sat fully back on your knees, spreading them apart as you closed your eyes and bobbed on his fingers, trying to keep up the pace of your hand on his cock as he jerked himself off.

Gojo slid one of his legs between yours, his clothed foot placing itself between your legs, his shin pressing against your clit and giving you the relief you needed. You moaned loudly when you felt his touch, your hand abandoning the hold on his knee to wrap around his leg, pulling him firmly against you as you humped against his leg for relief like some dog.

"Oh fuck, you like that? 's that feel good?" Gojo cooed, biting his lip as he watched you get off on his shin. You nodded, his fingers being jolted around in your mouth when you did so, making you gag slightly as they hit the top of your mouth. The tears that had welled up in your eyes finally spilled over your red cheeks, dripping off the side of your face. "Careful baby, don't h-hurt yourself." Gojo cooed, feeling his cock throb at the sight of you crying on his dick.

"Shit.. this is so fucking hot." He said out loud to himself, matching the pace of his hand on himself with his fingers in your throat. His movements over his dick began getting sloppy as he approached his orgasm, his abs clenching in tandem. He quickly released your hand that was helping him jerk himself off, "Move your hand for me baby, I- I'm gonna cum soon." He instructed.

You jerked your hand back quickly, joining it with your other as you wrapped it around his shin, humping his leg faster now that you had better leverage. A wet patch was starting to form on his grey sweats from how much you were leaking through your panties, but you couldn't find it in yourself to be embarrassed when it felt as good as it did.

Gojo jerked himself off with vigor, his jaw slack and his pretty cerulean eyes rolling back in his head as he got closer and closer, his fingers in your mouth becoming sloppy as he slowly lost control of his body.

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth suddenly, using the same hand he grabbed your jaw, tipping your head up at him. "Oh fuck, you're so fucking pretty baby, so pretty." Gojo groaned, admiring your pretty face as he worked himself up to his high. You giggled as you looked up at him with a smile on your face, your tongue sticking out for him as you waited for him to cum--you already knew what he wnated. Cumming on your face was Gojo's favorite thing in the world.

Gojo made sure his feet were firmly on the ground before he stood on shaky legs, jerking his cock off right over your mouth. His shin pressed harder against your clit from the new angle, making your eyes roll back in your head. "Keep using my leg pretty girl, get yourself off on me." He moaned, rubbing the tip of his leaky cock against your tongue while he jerked the rest of his length off.

"It's coming baby- fuck it's coming- gonna give you my cock after this kay? So make sure you s-swallow everything." He moaned--little did you know you wouldn't really have a choice. Gojo's head tipped back as his hand stilled over himself, his jaw going slack as his orgasm crashed over him.

You felt the first rope of his hot cum shoot into the back of your mouth, the spurts of his thick cum releasing one after another into your mouth. He moaned shamelessly as his body shook and jerked with his high, his legs shaking with the intensity of his orgasm. You moaned with him, Gojo was so sexy when he came, it made the fire in your stomach grow hotter, your clit throbbing at the sight.

Before you could even close your lips to swallow what he gave you, his cock was pressing into your mouth, making your eyes shoot open in alarm. You knew he said he was going to give you his cock after he came, but so soon? He wasn't even finished cumming and he was already feeding his cock into your mouth.

Gojo's refractory period for how quickly he could bounce back after he came was impressive, it must have something to do with his reverse cursed technique. He could cum over and over again without having to take a break, it was actually scary. He usually only stopped when he was shooting blanks, never from his own exhaustion.

"Fuck- take it, baby, take my cock.." He grits through his teeth, forcing the cum he just released inside your mouth, down your throat with his massive girth. Your fingers dug into his calf, the tears streaming down your face more frequently as he thrust his hips to the hilt inside your mouth. "You wanted this, so fucking breathe, breathe baby." He groaned, his chin dropping down to watch you struggle around his cock.

Both of his hands came down to cradle the side of your head as he looked at you fondly. The sides of your lips were leaking his seed, your eyes were swollen and red from your crying, your mouth was squished and stretched agaisnt his pelvis, your hair was all messed up, and he thought you were the prettiest little thing he'd ever seen.

"You feel me in there?" He asked, his still hard cock snugly in your throat. You whined around him, trying to breathe slowly and steadily through the adrenaline coursing through your veins from the unexpected action. "You feel me in your throat?" Gojo teased, pressing his hips against your face harder, making his cock go deeper if that was even possible.

"You're not even gagging baby, look how good you're taking it." He added, encouraging you. You felt a wave of pleasure rush over you from his words, combined with how proud he looked. Nothing got you off more than when Gojo was proud of you. You whimpered against him, the sound sending vibrations through his cock, making him inhale sharply through his teeth.

"You ready to get facefucked, huh? You gonna take my cock like a perfect little cocksleve? Gonna Swallow my fucking load again?" Gojo groaned, his arousal being extremely evident in his words. You did your best to nod around him, his cock cutting off your airflow when you nodded. He smiled, his thumbs wiping away your tears before he covered the entire sides of your head and pulled his hips back, thrusting them against your face.

"Fuck- oh fuck this feels so much better than when you sucked on my fingers." He groaned, pulling your head toward him to meet his thrusts halfway, your nose being smooshed against the trimmed white hairs on his pelvis each time he bullied his dick into your mouth.

Your eyes were scrunched tightly together, new tears slipped out of the cracks to slide down your cheeks as he used your mouth to get him off. You were somehow still able to grind your cunt on his shin, your thighs starting to burn from the angle at which you were getting yourself off.

Gojo's cock was so deep inside your throat that you didnt even know it was possible to take him like this, you had no idea how you weren't a choking and coughing mess. All that prep and Gojo's advice was really paying off. Of course, you gagged and choked every so often, but it was nowhere near how often you used to do so before.

You winces and whined when he fucked his hips a little too hard against you, his pelvis hitting your nose a little too hard, making your teeth scrape against his cock lightly when you pulled back a little. Nothing that hurt him, just something he noticed. "Fuck-" Gojo giggled through a groan, "Sorry baby, went too hard just then." He apologized, caressing your wet cheek as an apology, his hips not letting up in the slightest.

He saw your lips curl up around him as you tried to smile, your efforts not going far with his cock in your mouth. "I love you so much baby, you're doing so good for me, so so good." He praised, making your face heat up more. Your eyes rolled back when you found a particularly good angle to get yourself off on against his shin, his muscle pushing right where you needed him most.

He felt your moaning pick up around him, the vibrations coming more frequently as you got closer and closer to cumming. "You about to cum pretty girl?" Gojo asked, already knowing. You nodded around him, your eyes fluttering as you did your best to look at him. Drool spilled out sloppily around your lips, dripping down between the two of you, creating quite a mess.

The squelching from your mouth only aided in the arousal you felt, your orgasm creeping faster and faster up on you. "Yeahhh, cum on my leg baby, cum all over my fucking leg," Gojo begged, stilling his cock inside your throat so you could focus on getting off. The lack of oxygen from him being so deep in you was making you dizzy. You couldn't differentiate whether the little black dots that clouded your vision were from your orgasm or the asphyxiation.

You rode your orgasm out on his thigh, your moans going straight to Gojo's balls. Your body jerked and spasmed on his thigh, barely registering his words talking you through it as your orgasm clouded your senses. "Atta girl, fuck, I can feel it, can feel ur cunt twitching.. that's so hot," Satoru whined, watching you come undone from just a little humping.

When your eyes fell back into their rightful place in their sockets, Gojo picked up his hips again, taking advantage of your post-orgasm haze to be a little rougher with you. your hands came to hold his wrists that held your face, your fingers digging into his pale skin as he fucked your face with reckless abandon.

You felt your throat start to ache, you knew it was going to be sore as hell for days after this, but god was every second of this worth it. "I'm sorry, s-sorry I'm so close, keep breathing, just a little more I promise… Fuck-" Gojo groaned. You could feel his cock twitch inside your throat, his thrusting becoming rougher and less rhythmic, a telltale sign he was going to cum.

"Yesss-yes baby ohmygod, Cuming- I'm cumming-" His words were cut off by a drawn-out groan. His hips thrust against your face with each rope of cum he spilled into your mouth. You felt his groans reverberate through your body with how loud they were. Gojo's body jerked and shook with the intensity of his high, his body curling into itself and over your head as he came.

He felt your head against his pelvis tightly, keeping you flush against him as he made sure you swallowed every last drop of his cum. You felt his body jerk every time you drank up his cum, your mouth milking him of everything he was worth.

"Fuuuuuck…" Gojo groaned one last time before he pulled his spent cock out of your mouth, the softening appendage hanging between the two of you as he still held your face, strings of saliva connecting from his cock to your lips, your entire chin coated in cum and spit. You coughed into your arm, getting the spit out of your throat before he spoke, "Show me." You stuck out your tongue for Satoru and showed him how you swallowed all of his seed.

"You're so fucking greedy, god, my good little girl." Gojo smiled. You smiled at him dumbly, a cockdrunk look plastered on your face as your body sat tiredly on the floor looking up at him. Gojo tucked his wet cock into his pants and pulled up his boxers before he leaned down and scooped you up from underneath your arms.

You wrapped your legs around his body, sitting on top of him as he placed the two of you down on the couch, sitting back against the cushion. "God…" He mumbled into your hair, his cock still throbbing in his pants as his body tried to recover. "You said it." You replied, your voice sounding almost unrecognizable from how hoarse it was.

Gojo pulled back, looking into your eyes with raised eyebrows. "Fuck, your voice." He said, his hand coming to rub at your throat. "It's okay." You whispered, smiling at him. "Shit, I feel bad but that's also kinda hot…" Gojo said, sucking in air through his teeth. You softly smacked his shoulder, shaking your head as you tried to suppress a smile.

"Sorry sorry… I'll do anything you want to make it up to you." He said, laughing as he wrapped his arms around your body, dipping his head down to kiss your battered throat. "Tea." You whispered without a second thought. "I'll handpick the leaves myself." He replied, making you giggle as he assaulted your neck with kisses.

[distantdarlings]

SORE LOSER // t. nott

RATING: R / 3.6K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Gender Neutral Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* After tossing and turning for hours, you decided to take advantage of one of your Prefect privileges, which is the gorgeous Prefect’s bathroom. It seems, though, that someone else had the exact same idea.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (P in gn!Reader), gender neutral reader, fingering (gn!receiving), slight voyeurism, Dom!Theo, Sub!Reader, sex in bath, spanking, Theo is slightly rough, language, not fully proof-read. (Lmk if I missed any!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

ME&U - Zeke Bleu, Midnight Moon.

- - -

Between the day you had and the evening you’d failed to make relaxing for yourself, you would have assumed you’d be ready to pass out. But for some reason, you could not fall asleep.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying here, tossing and turning amongst the golden silk sheets, but you knew it had to have been a while.

The quiet breathing of your dorm mates beyond the canopy curtains, had slowly transformed into calculated, deep inhales and little snores. You knew that you were the only one left awake, and for some reason that made you feel even less confident you’d ever get to sleep, simply because of how focused you currently were on the little sounds they made.

The whole room was too quiet and the cold stone walls seemed to amplify every single breath that was taken in and bed spring that creaked. It was maddening.

You rolled to your left side and shut your eyes, the change in position was comfortable and gave you a bit of hope until the student to your right let out an echoing snort and a few nonsensical murmurs.

At that moment, you huffed and yanked your duvet back, feeling the cold air scrape along your exposed skin. You pulled the canopy curtains aside and let your feet hang over the bed. With a whispered summoning charm, your slippers whizzed to your feet. You stood and made your way to the foot of your bed.

Your shaking fingers gripped the heavy lip of your clothing trunk. The old wood creaked against its hinges as you slowly eased it open, wincing at the interrupting sound.

Hopefully, it wasn’t loud enough to wake any of your dorm mates. You plucked your soft robe off of the hook fixed to one of the bed’s posts and slipped it over your shoulders.

Quickly, you selected a change of clothes, toiletries, and a towel, before easing the trunk lid back down.

You shuffled over to the dormitory entrance and slipped through the heavy door. You supposed if anything would make you sleepy, it’d be a nice, warm bath. If that didn’t do it, you may resort to knocking yourself out.

Once outside the dorm, you readjusted everything stacked in your arms and held your breath. A second passed before your body felt as if it was sucked into a tube.

Whooshing sounds echoed all around you, and your arms struggled to keep all of your supplies clutched together. Just as it felt as though you were about to drop your things, your feet landed on solid stone ground. Your legs wobbled just slightly as you gathered your bearings, recognizing the gorgeous stained glass shimmers that belonged to the Prefect’s bathroom.

As your eyes adjusted to the change in lighting, you noticed that the grand pool had already been filled to the brim with steaming, bubbly water. With a sigh, you smiled and set your stuff down one one of the benches lining the water.

It never failed that the castle read your mind and prepared exactly what you wanted. You had previously thought that the only part of the castle that could read one’s mind was the Room of Requirement, but you soon discovered other areas of the castle could also do it.

With a deep sigh, you worked the knot of your robe loose and let the heavy material slide off your arms. It hit the floor with a muffled thump. Next, you tugged the old tee shirt over your head. The cold air swirled around your exposed breasts, coaxing your nipples up and forward.

You slipped your bottoms down your legs. Colored moonlight shone across your thighs and hands.

Just as your bottoms hit your ankles, you stepped out of your slippers and the thin fabric puddled atop them.

Even though you could wash them, the thought of your underwear touching the bare bathroom floor was too much for you to handle. You stifled a gag at the thought.

Turning, you slipped strands of hair behind your ears and walked to the edge of the pool. The tile was cold and biting beneath your feet, but the water was warm and inviting. Even from the rim, you could feel its heat radiating up.

Settling a toe into the water, you could feel the heat spread across your feet and up. Chills erupted along your whole body as the warmth combated against your cold skin.

You sank the rest of your body down the stairs, each inch submerging more of your aching muscles.

Once you settled all the way down, and sat on the edge of the tile that jutted out near your hips, you closed your eyes. The warm water ringed around your neck, soothing every bit of your body.

You couldn’t help but let a slight moan slip between your lips as your skin heated up.

You could already feel the pain and insomnia alleviating.

Your fingers wiggled aimlessly in the black emptiness, their weightlessness easing your mind. If you picked your feet up, the pool was just deep enough that you’d float.

A thought passed briefly before your eye. You gasped and opened your eyes.

For a moment, it felt as though someone might be here. The feeling creeped up your spine and niggled in the base of your skull.

You glanced around, the tips of your damp hair gliding across your neck. The light from the grand windows was just enough to cast glares across your eyes as it reflected off the water. It was near impossible for you to see anything at the opposite end of the pool clearly. It all just seemed to disappear into the dark.

Trying to ignore the feeling, you murmured a locking spell, hearing the door’s lock clunk into place. If someone had been in here, you would not have been able to just walk in. They would have locked it. Surely.

You shook those thoughts away and turned to reach for your things laid out across the bench. You selected some hair oil and body wash—the same you’d used since you were a child—and set them just at the edge of the pool.

The water splashed gently as you wet your hair and face. The only sound was the soft pattering of the water and your breathing.

As you lathered the oils into your hair, your eyes shut and you thought of the stressors that had thrown themselves at you earlier today.

Not only had you spilled your tea all over your bottoms (and were late to class because of it), you’d actually gotten something wrong in your class today. And that wasn’t even the most frustrating part of it. Everybody got things wrong in class from time to time, but no one had ever gotten a fact wrong in the middle of a debate with the only asshole in Hogwarts that had ever managed to upstage you. And to make matters even worse, it was a debate on Astrological matters, which was your best fucking class.

It was humiliating. You could still see the way that bloody Theodore Nott had smirked when he realized you’d misspoken. He knew he’d gotten you cornered, and you’d known you were screwed.

How pathetic.

You rinsed your soapy hair out, wringing the excess bubbles from the strands and watching them pool around you in the water.

“I haven’t gotten a show like this in a while—”

A scream left you as shock splattered across your body. You turned anxiously, trying to find the source of the voice, while simultaneously trying to cover your naked body.

Finally, your eyes landed on a figure in the darkness, hidden by the rays from the window.

“Who’s there?” you demanded, covering your body beneath the water.

Then he walked into the light and you recognized the very boy you were trying to ignore. Theodore Nott.

Your eyes betrayed your mind and glanced down, tracing the tight muscles that ran along his entire body. Quidditch would do that to a boy, you supposed.

“Hey, Hufflepuff,” he whispered, edging closer.

“No, Nott,” you said, holding a finger out. “You stay back… Cover your eyes and I’ll get out and leave.”

He was now standing a few feet from you. You could see the details in his unfortunately gorgeous face. A deep smirk was drawn across his lips. The light behind him illuminated him like a god. You swallowed nervously.

“What if I don’t want to cover my eyes? Or want you to leave?” he asked, cocking his head to the slide slightly.

With every word, he slid slowly closer, the soapy water trailed over his naked stomach. Even at your full height, the water consumed most of your chest. You hadn’t remembered him being this tall.

He stopped just before you, your head directed upwards just to look him in the eye. The moonlight carved into one of your eyes, painting your skin in reds and greens and blues.

One of his fingers slowly came up to trace the lines of the patterns the stained glass cast on your cheek. Then you were stepping back away from him.

“Uh, Nott, that’s not a good idea,” you shuddered, looking away from him. You pulled some of the bubbles closer to your chest to conceal yourself.

Standing naked in a relatively small body of water with your notorious academic rival wasn’t exactly the greatest idea. The thought of his hands being so close to your exposed body was making you nervous.

He was gorgeous—that much was obvious. Given the chance, you’d likely sleep with him but—

Given the chance, you’d likely sleep with him. Was this your chance? Merlin, you were pathetic.

“Why not? Call me Theo, by the way,” he said, walking back over to you.

“Erm, alright, Theo…this isn’t a good idea.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“Well…,” you started. You couldn’t lie—it was hard to think of a reason why the two of you couldn’t do something, besides the whole rival thing. “Because you’re a Slytherin.”

You almost rolled your eyes at what you’d blurted out. Because you’re a Slytherin. What, were you five years old? You refrained from slapping a hand to your face.

He chuckled a bit and placed an arm to the right of your head, caging you against the wall of the pool even more. Your hands shook beneath the water.

“Because I’m a Slytherin? Isn’t that a reason to want to fuck me?”

Heat shot to your abdomen, but it wasn’t from the water surrounding the two of you.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” you laughed nervously. His other arm went beside the left side of your head. He had now completely caged you in.

You could hardly believe how he was behaving. You didn’t think he’d even noticed except when you were in the middle of one of your heated class debates.

Then, he not only noticed you, but he saw you as well. His eyes looked through you and into you. His lips formed every word so perfectly as he pushed and fought for the win, and, damn it, if it wasn’t one of the sexiest things you’d ever seen.

Those debates always had you panting and with your hands between your legs. All except for today. You’d never lost before.

You win every time, you feel the tension between his desperation to overcome you, you fuck yourself beneath your sheets. You lose, he feels the tension, he fucks you? Was that how this worked?

“Come on, Hufflepuff,” he whispered, face so close to yours. “You know you want to. I know you feel it when we debate. The way your eyes always flicker down to my lips, the way your cheeks flush. That’s not just nerves from a debate. No…” He leaned down beside your cheek, lips gently caressing your ear. “It’s lust.”

He pulled back and watched the changes in your eyes. Fear was keeping you from slamming your lips into his, but desire was urging you to take him right there. You were frozen.

The back of his index finger stroked the outside of your arm. It traced slowly up the curve of your elbow, then your bicep, then your shoulder. It stopped when he reached your collarbone.

At that point, his hand turned and pressed its palm between your clavicles. His hand was so large, the tips of his finger spanned up to the top of your throat.

The heat from his skin was ten-thousand times hotter than the water. Your eyes fluttered.

“Say you want it,” he whispered. Your eyes opened again.

Could you even say yes to this? After years of pining after him, would there even be a point? A quick fuck and then the two of you never talked again? That didn’t sound good to you.

Still, the pulsing between your thighs was almost too much to bear. Between the light cutting across your skin, the hot water, and his skin on yours, you found it impossible to even move your lips enough to form words.

Desperate for more of him, you ignored all of your doubts and nodded your head.

Without another moment, the hand on your chest cupped your jawline and pulled your lips to his.

His lips were hot and wanting—angry, almost. His tongue pried your lips open with a cruelty that was unmatched. Your shaking fingers lingered on the edge of his naked chest as he kissed you open. You wanted so badly to touch him, but—

You gasped. His hands roughly grabbed yours and pressed them flat against his chest. He must have sensed your hesitation to touch him.

He pressed your body even farther against the edge of the pool as his lips detached from yours and attached to your neck.

You’re gasping and your stomach is broiling and heat is building between your legs and everything in you feels like it’s engorging.

With a gained moment of confidence, your fingers rose to curl in his damp hair. Your fingernails scraped gently over his scalp, to which he replied with a sighing moan against your skin. His hot breath blown against you made chills erupt down your arms.

His fingertips traced down your sides, eliciting flames with their trail. You shuddered beneath his body which controlled your every move.

Once they’d reached the top of your thighs, he pulled away from your neck and placed his forehead against yours. Panting against your lips, his body smelled lightly of his toothpaste and the heat between the two of you.

“Can I?” he breathed.

“C-can you what?” you stuttered, fingers holding onto his shoulders like a vice. The water was warm around you.

“Can I fuck you?” He didn’t linger on the question. He just asked. His confidence was like a drug. His nose brushed yours as his fingers slipped toward the inside of your thigh, teasing farther and farther, until you let out a stifled whimper and nodded your head frantically.

Then he was sinking his hand between your wet thighs and grasping you within his palms. You gasped beneath the pressure of his large hand. The pure size of him covered the entirety of your core far better than yours ever could.

The amount of nights you’d spent imagining this happening with Theo was lengthy, but you’d never imagined how much bigger he truly was.

Your eyes clenched tightly at the sensation. Your lips mouthed his name silently, your fingers scraped down his back. He groaned against your lips at the sensation, the pain urging him on.

“Turn around,” he demanded. He released your sex and grasped your waist roughly.

The speed with which he turned you around and leaned you over the rim of the pool had your head spinning. The cold tile pressed against your bare chest and stomach, the shocking sensation blurring your eyes.

The edge of the pool bit into your hip bones as he raised your ass out of the water and balanced you against it.

You placed your hands down to try and rearrange yourself when Theo grabbed them and pulled them behind you. They were held tightly against your tailbone, clutched meanly in just one of his hands.

You groaned at the sensation, the tile rubbing against your sensitive nipples and core. Fuck. Between the heat of the water still covering your legs and the freezing tile, your heart was racing.

“You’d better be loud for me, baby,” Theo said, free hand tracing down the line of your ass. “Want all of the school to hear who’s fucking you so well, okay?”

One finger breached your entrance suddenly, the sudden feeling causing your body to jolt forward away from the boy behind you.

“Fuck, Theo,” you moaned.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled. “Let me hear you.”

He worked you open gently, surprisingly letting you adjust to every inch of his lengthy finger before he added a second, then a third finger.

Once he felt you were stretched enough, he hummed approvingly.

“Breathe for me, darling,” he whispered. “Gonna hurt just a little bit…”

Then he was pressing himself against your entrance as anticipation swirled in your stomach. Your cheek pressed against the cold bathroom tile.

When he pushed into you, your fists clenched so tightly, your fingernails bit sharply into your palms. You were sure blood was pooling across your fingers.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re so fucking tight. You ever been stretched like this?”

You moaned loudly as he slowly worked himself out, then pressed himself back into you. Every inch of his length was tracing every inch of your insides, claiming your body as his.

His free hand came down hard against your ass. You yelped loudly at the sensation, the sound echoing throughout the bathroom.

“Answer my fucking question,” he demanded, hand around your wrists squeezing tighter.

“No! No…never,” you moaned louder.

“All those fucking debates,” he growled, beginning to pound into you harder. “Always giving me that fucking smirk when you win. It got to the point where I wanted you to win so you would give me that smirk and turn to the rest of the class and bow. I could always get the perfect view of your ass. Merlin, I wanted to bend you over the fucking desk and show everyone what a bitch you are.”

You groaned at his filthy words.

“You may have won those fucking debates, but I’ve won this fucking body. You’re mine.”

“Theo,” you whined shamelessly, your finish building up rapidly within your lower stomach. Your shoulders were beginning to cramp from where Theo was holding you so tightly.

“Yeah, baby? That feel good?” he teased. “Always wanted to make you feel…so…good…”

Every last word was punctuated by a particularly sharp thrust.

The sloshing of the water between the two of you splashed up around your hips, coating you in its warmth. Every sensation was building and beginning to become too much.

It wasn’t long before your hands were clenching again and your hips started to shift. You were so close and Theo knew it.

“Fuck, I can feel you tightening around me,” he groaned. His voice was cracking slightly with every few words. His fucked out rasp echoed off the walls, traveling around and crashing into your ears.

The sound alone was enough to push you over the edge, but the hot stripe that he leaned down and licked along the length of your back finished you.

You came hard. Your stomach clenched as your eyes rolled upwards.

Your orgasm slipped into the water between the two of you.

The sensation of your finish clenching around Theo had his thrusts becoming more desperate and disorganized. He only lasted a few more strokes before he was cumming shamelessly inside of you.

He released your arms and laid across your back, groaning deeply as he finished himself off, pulling himself out and then pushing back in. He pumped you full of his cum a few more times until the sticky sensation was rippling overstimulation through him.

“Fuck, that was perfect,” he groaned against your wet spine. He placed an open-mouthed kiss against your flesh there, his tongue curling against you.

You moaned sleepily, only half-present as he pulled himself off of you. He helped you slide comfortably off the edge of the pool and settle your cold top half into the warm water.

You sighed comfortably and looked up at him.

“I had no idea you were such a sore loser,” you teased.

He smirked, a small chuckle coming from between his lips. He leaned across you and selected your hair oil from where it still stood on the tile, long forgotten about.

He poured a bit into his hands before turning back to your tired body. His fingers slid against your scalp, lathering the product into your dampened strands. Fuck, his fingers weren’t just good inside of you… Your eyes slipped shut as he washed your hair so gently.

His lips pressed softly against the shell of your ear. “The only one around here who’s going to be sore is you, baby.”

- - -

Tag List: @lilymurphy03 , @mypolicemanharryyy , @angelfrombeneth , @clairesjointshurt , @bunbunbl0gs , @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303 , @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw , @yhiiil , @xxrougefangxx , @thatblackthorn , @robinyx , @starsval , @jolly4holly , @blvebanisters , @chgrch , @ilovehotmenandwoman , @smutnyrobocikwrakiecie , @synicaljah , @abaker74

[milkbobatyun]

dark sunrise

pairing: yandere!sunday x reader

genre: angstober, events, yandere

summary: the sun rises again, but are you still who you are?

word count: 746

C O N T E N T W A R N I N G : yandere behaviour, manipulation, fear, stockholm syndrome

a/n: my attempt at writing about stockholm syndrome. if you or someone you know has experienced or is experiencing this, please do seek the right professional help. i will make it clear that IN NO WAY am i romanticising this, just thought it would fit in well with the scenario.

the golden sun’s warm rays smiled upon your face through the glass, refracting rays of rainbows across the room.

the breeze blew in from the open windows, its cool fingers twisting through your hair, dancing carelessly through the curtains of your bedposts.

every day, you wished you could be as free as the wind, blowing along without a care in the world. yet here you were, entrapped on the bed, the fracture in your ankle anchoring you down, reliant on sunday to meet your daily needs.

need water? simply a word and he would have it by your side, feeding it to you sip by sip. you didn’t need to lift a finger. wanted some comfort food? sunday was already ordering the maids to inform the chef. he knew you so well, he had everything arranged before you even opened your mouth.

sunday was trying to curry your favour and manipulate you. sunday was understanding of you, he knew you like the palm of his hand.

like a bird courting its mate, sunday brought you many little gifts and trinkets. a shiny necklace today, a multifaceted jewel the next.

it amused you to see his wings flap up with excitement and anticipation as he watched your every little reaction. somehow, in the shimmering light of sun that haloed his figure, he seemed more like an angel sent from above than a devil of your nightmares. perhaps sunday wasn’t truly evil, just misunderstood.

sunday’s comforting smile and hold warmed your heart, making it flutter in your chest. but for an instant, you caught something more twisted behind his eyes, something that made your blood run cold.

wait. something wasn’t right. that isn’t true, sunday was keeping you away from your loved ones. your heart was warmed by his thoughtful gifts, but underneath, something ominous gnawed at your consciousness. a faint whisper echoed in your mind: you need to escape. without a second thought, you squashed the vexing voice, casting it to the back of your mind

sunday was evil sunday was your god, your saviour.

in a state of boredom, when your injuries allowed you, you began to explore through your bedroom, shuffling through drawers and reading your old diaries.

you were scandalised to find a passage you had written in your earlier days, the words squiggling and shaking across the page like worms,.

someone please come and save me soon. i’m scared. my arm still hurts from yesterday when he twisted it because i didn’t follow his instructions, my cheek still swollen from when he slapped me for talking to a bystander. i’m struggling to conceal the bruises on my neck from—

the words on the page merge into one large ink blot that soaks into the page. fear and anxiety had rendered your writing useless, your clumsiness spilling over onto the page in the form of black ink.

you were horrified by what you had written early in your days of captivity misunderstood days, when you were still learning to be obedient. ripping out the page, shame flushed through you.

how dare you think such thoughts? wishing to be free? rebellious. sunday was doing these things for your own good. he cared for you.

bringing the page up to the candle, you watched the paper wither and smoulder away, hiding the evidence of your criminal thoughts.

the moon shone its milky light into the room, watching over you as you slept peacefully, dreaming of a warm spring where you sat under the shade of a tree, surrounded by blooming flowers, cradled in sunday’s warmth.

sunday was a wolf in a sheep’s clothing. sunday is misunderstood, that’s how he expresses his love for me.

the crimson sun rose, its scarlet light spilling across the manor that held you captive kept you safe from the dangerous world, like an ocean of blood. you stared mindlessly out the window, forehead leaning on the cool glass.

you knew it was all wrong, upside down and back to front. the gifts, the isolation, yet every time that thought came close to bursting from its cage, you quashed down the rebellious thoughts of leaving. sunday’s gentle touch kept you in the palm of his hand, a prisoner in a golden cage. how could you doubt, even for a minute, that sunday was causing you harm? sunday was dangerous, you needed to leave as soon as possible. sunday understands and cares for me more than anyone else. sunday was warm, like home.

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[whimsicaldoxy]

𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

pairing: fred weasley x reader

summary: you give fred a cassette player for his (belated) birthday—and george gets a gift, too.

notes: muggleborn!reader, no use of y/n, established friendship, fluff, you and fred listen to bowie together, george likes to show up at the wrong time, this might be my fav one from my drafts

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

It was a warm afternoon when you found yourself standing on the doorstep of the Burrow, a small package clutched in your hands. The brown paper was crinkled from being wrapped hastily, but the excitement in your chest made up for the imperfect wrapping.

Everyone was gathering at the Burrow for the summer—Harry, Hermione, and of course, you.

You had been waiting for this moment since April. Fred and George’s birthdays had come and gone during the school year, and you’d had to hold off on giving Fred his gift. It was something that didn’t quite fit in the wizarding world, something Muggle-made that you knew would make him raise an eyebrow and ask questions.

You had thought about getting him something magical, of course, but that seemed too predictable. Fred, with his mischievous grin and endless energy, deserved something that was completely unexpected.

You took a deep breath and knocked on the door, listening to the sound of scurrying feet from within.

“Oi, who’s at the door?” came George’s voice from the other side.

Before you could even answer, the door swung open to reveal George standing in the doorway, a smirk on his face. “Ah, it’s you. What’s the surprise, then? Come to pull some prank on us?”

You couldn’t help but grin at George’s teasing. “No prank this time, promise,” you said, holding up the small wrapped package. “I come baring gifts.”

“Oh, a present, is it? Hope there’s something for me.” George’s eyes lit up with interest, but he quickly stepped aside, pulling the door open wider.

“There might be,” You laughed as you stepped inside, walking through the warm and winding rooms of the Burrow. The Weasley family was as lively as ever, and you loved every moment of it. You could hear Fred’s voice floating from the kitchen, his loud laugh echoing as he bantered.

“Frederick!” You called out as you entered the room.

Fred turned around, his mischievous grin spreading across his face when he saw you. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favourite birthday-present-delaying friend,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with the usual prankster gleam. “What took you so long, eh?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I had to wait until summer. I couldn’t give you this at school,” you said, holding out the small package. “It’s… a bit of a Muggle thing.”

Fred raised an eyebrow and eagerly took the gift. “A Muggle thing?” he repeated, clearly intrigued. “Wait, it’s not going to explode is it?”

You laughed. “No, nothing like that. But you’ll see.”

Fred carefully unwrapped the gift, his eyes narrowing as he uncovered the small, sleek device inside. “What in Merlin’s name is this?” he asked, turning Muggle contraption over in his hands. He looked at it with obvious confusion, but also a bit of fascination.

“It’s a portable cassette player,” you explained, a grin tugging at your lips as you tried not to laugh.

Fred blinked, staring at it now with complete confusion. “A what now?”

You laughed, taking the player from him. “It’s a Muggle device. You can play music on it anywhere.”

Fred’s eyes widened as he took the cassette player back from you, turning it over in his hands. “Wait, wait, wait. So, this plays music? Like, magically? How does it work?”

“No magic involved, actually,” you said, smiling at his bewilderment. “It’s all Muggle technology. You put in the cassette, press play, and voilà—instant music.”

Fred started pressing buttons on the player as though it might suddenly spring to life in front of him. “So… how do you get the music onto these, then? Do I have to cast some kind of spell or—”

“No spells required,” you said with a laugh. “You just record music onto the cassettes. I made you a mixtape to start you off.”

Fred paused and looked up at you, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “A mixtape, huh? What’s on it?”

You handed him the cassette with a smile. “A little something I thought you’d enjoy. You’ll see.”

You turned to George, who had been watching the exchange with interest.

“So,” George began, raising an eyebrow, “I take it my turn’s next?”

You grinned, having anticipated this exact reaction. “Couldn’t leave you out, could I?” you said, reaching into your tote bag.

George’s eyes lit up with mock anticipation. “Excellent. What Muggle contraption have you brought to boggle my mind and win my undying affection?”

With a flourish, you pulled out a round package from your tote bag, handing it to George. He opened the paper swiftly, revealing a smooth black sphere with a little window on one side. He held it up for all to see, furrowing his brow as he inspected it.

“Ta-da! A Magic 8-Ball!” you said.

“A Magic 8-Ball?” George repeated, his tone dripping with skepticism. “Looks more like a shiny Quaffle to me. What’s it do? Explode? Curse you with bad luck if you throw it at someone?”

“Nothing like that,” you said, holding back a laugh. “It’s a Muggle… uh, fortune-telling device. You ask it a question, shake it, and it gives you an answer.”

George stared at you, blinking. Then he threw his head back and laughed. “Wait, wait—this thing’s supposed to tell the future? Without magic?”

“Exactly,” you said, smiling wildly. “Here, give it a go.”

You handed the Magic 8-Ball to George, who turned it over in his hands, squinting at the little window on the bottom. “Right,” he said, his tone still dripping with mock seriousness. “Let’s see if this Muggle marvel can outwit a Weasley. O’ wise and mysterious ball,” he intoned, holding it up dramatically, “will my brother Fred ever stop being a complete prat?”

He shook the ball vigorously, and the little triangular answer floated into view: ‘Don’t count on it.’

Fred, who had been half-listening, looked up from his cassette player with a mock-offended gasp. “Oi! What’s that supposed to mean?”

George grinned, holding up the ball. “See? It knows you already.”

─── 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ───

The evening at the Burrow had mellowed into a warm, cozy hum. Dinner had been a chaotic affair as usual, with Mrs Weasley fussing over everyone’s plates, Mr Weasley excitedly asking you questions about the cassette player, and the twins making an endless stream of jokes. Harry and Ron had been enthralled in an intense game of Wizard’s Chess, with Hermione and Ginny supervising closely. Now, most of the family had drifted off to their own corners of the house. The living room was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth, and you and Fred were sat in front of the well-worn sofa, on comfy cushions scattered on the floor.

Fred had been inspecting the cassette player all day, pressing buttons and turning it over like he expected it to sprout wings and fly. Now, he was finally ready to give your mixtape a proper listen.

“All right,” Fred said, pulling the player onto his lap and looking over at you with a mischievous grin. “Let’s see what kind of musical wizardry you’ve conjured up for me.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Just press play, and let the magic—well, the Muggle magic—do the rest.”

Fred flipped your gifted cassette over, examining the words written in your neat, tidy handwriting.

For Fred ♡

1. STUCK IN THE MIDDLE WITH YOU - STEALERS WHEEL

2. BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY - QUEEN

3. REBEL REBEL - DAVID BOWIE

4. GO YOUR OWN WAY - FLEETWOOD MAC

5. ALL THE YOUNG DUDES - MOTT THE HOOPLE

6. RIGHT DOWN THE LINE - GERRY RAFFERTY

7. PIANO MAN - BILLY JOEL

8. HEROES - DAVID BOWIE

“They’re songs that I grew up listening to,” you said, watching Fred as he read the track list. “My Dad’s favourites, and also mine.”

Fred inserted the tape, the satisfying click of it locking into place sounding louder in the quiet room. He pressed the play button, and for a moment, there was only silence, followed by the scratchy hiss of the tape starting up.

You sit and listen to each song, taking in the lyrics, feeling the rhythm.

And as the final song began to play, Fred turned to you, his eyes locking with yours.

I, I will be king

And you, you will be queen

Without a word, he stood up, extending his hand towards you. “Come on,” he said, his voice playful. “We’ve got to dance to this one, don’t you think?”

“Dance?” You blinked, unsure if you were hearing him correctly.

He nodded, still holding out his hand, a look in his eyes that made your stomach flutter. “Yeah, why not? How can you not dance to something like this?”

You laughed, a bit hesitant but swept up in the moment. “I’m not much of a dancer,” you teased, but there was something in Fred’s gaze that made you want to join him.

“Neither am I,” Fred shot back with a wink. “But I’m sure we can manage.”

With a soft chuckle, you placed your hand in his, and he pulled you up from the cushions, and before you knew it, he had twirled you around, your laughter filling the room.

You stumbled a bit but caught yourself, Fred steadying you with a chuckle of his own. “See? We’re practically pros already,” he teased, his voice warm with amusement. “Let’s see how well you really dance.”

He pulled you in again, this time swaying slightly to the rhythm, still laughing as the song played on, the music dancing between you both. Fred moved effortlessly, his carefree nature taking over, but there was something else in the way he looked at you—a softness, a warmth. The way his eyes lingered on yours, the way he smiled as if he were seeing you in a completely new light. It wasn’t like the teasing, mischievous glances you were used to. This was… different. Nice.

And I, I’ll drink all the time

Cause we’re lovers, and that is a fact

For a moment, the world seemed to fade away. There was just you, Fred, and the music, swirling around you both like the most natural thing in the world. You felt your heart beat faster, the connection between you deepening in a way that made everything else feel distant and unimportant.

Yes, we’re lovers, and that is that

Though nothing, will keep us together

Fred leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping, suddenly more serious than before. “You know,” he began, his breath brushing against your ear, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to—”

But before he could finish, there was a loud crash from the kitchen, followed by a loud shout of, “Oi! Who broke my broomstick?” George’s voice rang through the house, cutting through the moment like a knife.

Fred groaned, pulling away and looking toward the noise with an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” he muttered, clearly annoyed at the interruption. He shot you an apologetic look.

But before you could compose yourself, in walked George, his eyes scanning the scene with a mischievous glint. “What’s going on here then?” he asked, his tone full of curiosity, his gaze flicking between you and Fred.

You immediately felt a bit flustered, fumbling for words. “Uh, nothing. We were just—well, just listening to music,” you said, your voice betraying a slight nervousness.

George raised an eyebrow, grinning knowingly. “Right, music. You sure about that? Looks like you two were dancing to me.”

You could feel your cheeks redden, but Fred jumped in before you could say anything more. “It’s nothing, George. Just messing about,” he said, his voice light but with an edge of annoyance at the interruption.

George leaned against the doorframe, still grinning. “Messing about, huh? It looked more like you two were about to start practicing for a Ball.”

Fred rolled his eyes, though there was a slight flush to his cheeks. “We weren’t doing anything like that,” he said, a little too quickly. “We were just… you know, dancing a bit. No big deal.”

George’s grin only grew wider, clearly enjoying the teasing. “No big deal, huh? Sure, sure. You two looked like you were in your own little world there. Was it a slow dance, or—?”

Fred groaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Merlin, George! You’ve got the worst timing. We were about to—” He stopped himself suddenly, realizing he’d almost said more than he’d intended.

You could see Fred trying to recover, but George was already on the case. “You were about to what?” George asked, his voice dripping with teasing curiosity. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging. What’s all this about dancing and moments?”

Fred let out a frustrated sigh, but the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile. “You’re a real pain, you know that?”

George looked as if he was enjoying every second of it. “Oh, I know. Just don’t mind me. You two go ahead and finish whatever moment you were having before I showed up.”

Fred gave George a playful shove toward the kitchen. “Right, get out of here. Go break something or prank Percy or something, would you?”

George put his hands up in mock surrender, though the grin on his face remained. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you two alone. But don’t forget—I saw everything.”

With that, George turned and disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving you and Fred alone again. You both stood there for a moment, the awkwardness lingering in the air.

Fred rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours for a second before he looked up with that familiar grin. “Well, that went well, didn’t it?”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a smile. “Oh, absolutely. Nothing says ‘good time’ like being interrupted by your twin brother in the middle of a perfectly fine dance.”

Fred’s grin grew wider, though there was a hint of something else behind it. He looked almost… a bit sheepish. “Yeah, I was this close to telling you something,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, his eyes flicking over to you for a split second before he looked away.

You blinked, trying to hide the sudden flutter in your chest. “What were you going to say?”

Fred chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Oh, you know… nothing important.” But even as he said it, you could tell there was more to it. The way he shifted his weight and avoided your gaze said otherwise.

You frowned a little, stepping closer to him. “Fred, come on. You can’t just leave me hanging like that.”

He laughed softly, clearly torn between his usual playful nature and the moment’s strange vulnerability. “I wasn’t going to say anything, really. Just that… well, it’s nothing. Forget about it.”

You studied him, trying to read the subtle way he was acting—like he was holding something back. Something he wanted to say but couldn’t quite get out.

You had hoped, just for a moment, that Fred might finally say the thing that had been on your mind for so long—that he felt the same way you did. But now, with the silence stretching between you, you weren’t so sure.

“Fred,” you said again, this time your tone gentler. “You don’t have to pretend. If you were going to say something, I want to hear it.”

Fred hesitated for a moment, clearly conflicted.

Finally, he looked back at you, his expression softening. “It’s just…” He paused again, then sighed. “I was just going to say that… I’m glad you’re here. You know, hanging out with us. I mean, it’s not like I don’t appreciate everyone else, but…” He trailed off, looking for the right words.

You tilted your head, a soft smile forming on your lips. “But?”

Fred looked at you for a moment, the playful spark in his eyes returning. “But it’s nice having you around. I’ve always liked hanging out with you.” He paused and, as if he realized how simple that sounded, added quickly, “In case you didn’t know.”

You laughed, feeling a warmth spread through you. “I know, Fred,” you said, your heart swelling just a bit. “I’ve always liked hanging out with you, too.”

There was a brief silence between you both, one that seemed to stretch just long enough to feel like something more. Fred seemed to realize something, his eyes widening for a moment as though he’d said more than he intended. Then the tape clicked, indicating the end of the mix.

“Right, well,” he said, rubbing his neck again, his tone a little sheepish. “Guess that’s it then. I just wanted to say thanks… for everything. For the mixtape, for the dance, for being, well… you.”

You blinked, feeling your chest tighten. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Fred,” you said softly.

“Well, I guess that’s enough sentimentality for one night,” Fred said with a wink, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “Before George gets any more ideas about ‘moments,’ right?”

You laughed lightly, but a small part of you still wondered if he meant to say something more, the slightest hint of disappointment hidden behind your smile. “Right—yeah. Can’t have George getting the wrong idea, can we?”

Fred’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, though you almost missed it. It was gone so quickly, replaced by the same easygoing grin he always wore. “Yeah,” he said, his voice light.

You felt the unspoken words hanging between you, your chest tight with the quiet yearning. But Fred was already moving toward the kitchen, shrugging off any possibility of lingering conversation. “I’ll just go make sure he doesn’t turn the kitchen upside down,” he called over his shoulder as he left.

You’d hoped for more, for him to say the one thing that had been circling your thoughts for so long. But in that quiet moment between you two, Fred had danced around it—just as he always did.

[urhoneycombwitch]

I've been thinking non-stop lately about like cocky soft dom Eddie and how he'd just be so teasing all the time 🫠😮‍💨

Could you write about virgin/inexperienced reader making out with him for the first time and getting overwhelmed and accidentally finishing while grinding on his thigh? And he's just a teeny bit mean about it?? (but not actually mean because he's a sweetheart)

foreword: sure can. here’s a quickie for u <3

cw: soft dom!Eddie, w a teasing edge to him, inexperienced!R, thigh grinding, coming in pants (R), R referred to w/ pet names, one “good girl” usage

___

You didn’t know it could feel like this.

Sex has always been… mediocre, in the past. Only one previous partner (before Eddie) really put in any effort, and even then, you just assumed sex wasn’t your forte. Did more for the other person rather than provide any true pleasure on your end.

But with Eddie? Jesus, all it took these days was a stiff breeze and a glimpse of his handsome profile. Or the silver hoops walking up the curve of his ear. Or his fingers splayed around a mug. Really any part of him had the potential to speak to the heartbeat between your legs.

A heartbeat that was currently reaching critical mass levels of pounding, pressed against the solid weight of Eddie’s thigh. You’re both stretched out on the living room couch, forgotten movie on mute in the background; his arm around your waist supports the rocking movement of your hips, while his other hand rests warm at your neck.

By the feel of it, you’ve soaked through your own layers of underwear and denim onto Eddie’s tented jeans- and by the sound of it, Eddie is painfully turned on.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He pauses kissing you breathless for a moment, pulling away just slightly to look down at you, black pupils lust-blown. “Y’okay?”

He’s sweet to check in but honestly, if his tongue isn’t in your mouth in the next five seconds you’re gonna lose it. As a response, you lift one of your hands from where they’re bunched in his t-shirt to the back of his head, pulling his face towards your own.

Eddie makes a small noise of surprise (you’re rarely so pushy and it’s doing insane things to his chemical makeup. And his current, intense boner.) but gets with the program quickly, licking back into your mouth, gripping tighter at your hip, thumb of the hand near your face slipping just under your jaw.

Your heart rate rivals his own, thudding under the pad of his finger, nearly-painful at the apex of your thighs; he bites at your bottom lip, which zings straight to your clit, and you let out a watery gasp, half his name and half desperation- “Eddie-”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I got you,” he murmurs against your lips, slotting his thigh further up, changing the angle to better assist the movement of your hips. “Go on. Make yourself feel good.”

A rare occasion where you don’t need to be told twice, his words brand you with heat, and your climbing adrenaline makes the decision for you- hips jolting forward, a slick drag of your clit through all those layers, soft moan spilling out.

Eddie’s there with a rejoinder, a soft noise of his own, hand at your hip seeking the bare strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up, moulding the plush skin with a possessive grip- “That’s it, baby. Yes. Good girl. Fuck, you’re so hot…”

He buries encouragements into the crown of your hair. Good girl rings with an echo in your mind as your pelvis moves on instinct, gunning for the build-up that’s happening far quicker than it ever has before.

With stunning, sudden clarity, you feel the drop-off approaching, stomach clenching in anticipation, coiled spring of pleasure moments away from unraveling; in a haze, your fingers (in his shirt, his hair) spasm, pulling Eddie as close as possible to yourself.

All your senses are overtaken by the spice of his cologne, the soft frizz of his hair at your cheek, the salt-sweet taste of his neck between your teeth. Above you, Eddie groans, hand at the back of your neck tightening in tandem with yours.

“I’m gonna-” there’s barely any time left to warn him but you do your best, voice shaking, hips stuttering- “Oh, shit, Eddie- I’m gonna-”

“Do it.” In stark comparison, his voice is steady, smooth and deep at your ear. “C’mon. Know you can do it for me. Come.”

And like a neat party trick, your body responds, pleasure crescendoing until your whole body is writhing from it; you bite down hard into the column of Eddie’s neck, and he sings your praises while you come harder than you ever have before on your boyfriend’s thigh.

Sense returns to you patchily, like trying to tune a radio to the right frequency. You become aware of the wet mess of your thighs, Eddie’s hand stroking rhythmically down your back, his chest heaving unnaturally beneath your ear- almost worrying, until you realize he’s laughing.

“Oh, please, don’t,” you whine, embarrassment unfurling easily as you make a futile attempt at hiding in Eddie’s neck.

He’s quick to reassure, wrapping both arms around you in a comforting hug, still laughing a bit like he can’t help it- “Sorry, sorry- I promise I’m not making fun. That was just… that was stupid hot, baby.”

A puff of your irritated breath hits the cooling hickey you’d unintentionally marked his neck with.

Eddie rests his chin atop your head, swelled with fondness and pride- “If I knew you could come untouched we would’ve been dry humping a whole lot sooner.”

Equal parts flustered and in love, you join in his giggles this time.

[swampstew]

You Picked Dare

Summary: Why the hell would you play truth or dare with a bunch of pirates? Warnings: nsfw but mostly language and suggestive content, no actual smut, Kid Pirates being the Kid Pirates. Killer x Female reader x Kid

Inspired by the mega awesome @magnuspirate who did this delighful tease of two hunky hunks hunking around

Dare.

Dare. 

Dare.

Your bold statement had come out smug and confident, echoing in your head with a twinge of regret.

The Dare was to go into the hot springs and take a photo – of Killer and your Captain. Damn the others for knowing your kryptonite.

There was an opt-out option – to clean the communal bathrooms for a month. No fucking way.

As you walked through the island you took nervous hits of your blunt to ease the butterflies in your stomach. All you had to do was take a picture. There were no restrictions, you could be seen or hidden, as long as you got a photo of them that was all you needed to escape this torturous dare disguised as a group bonding activity.

Fuck the crew! You loved them but also fuck them. You were gonna get them back.

About a hundred yards away from the hot spring you took a final drag and snuffed out the remaining blunt. Giving yourself an internal pep talk as you took each step.

‘Position self behind a bush. Snap a picture. Sneak away and then run like the devil’s on my heels.’

Picturing your devil of a captain, your stomach coiled with anxiousness. Oh how you wished you could light up the roach.

Creeping between the foliage, you could hear Kid and Killer talking to each other in relaxed conversation. They didn’t appear to notice you, silently cursing as you realized they were still too far to take a photo.

Tip toeing on the patches of grass, you could make out their conversation more clearly.

“Ya ever think about sleeping with someone on the crew?” Kid suddenly asked Killer. You nearly fell over yourself when you heard the statement.

“Once in a while, rarely act on it though. You?” Killer mused.

“All the time.”

“Horn dog,” Killer scoffed.

“Can ya blame me? All our girls are hot as fuck.”

“Yeah, but I also see most of them as sisters…”

“You’re so pure,” Kid laughed. “Yeah they’re family, but they’re also not. I’m not saying I’d do anything about it either but it’s tempting some times.”

You felt as if you weren’t breathing, skillfully crawling around the shrubs eager to hear and see more, as silent as the dead. One breath and they were sure to discover you.

“Ahh is this about Y/N again?”

Time stopped. Your heart stopped. You didn’t dare move.

“Could be,” there was a tilt in Kid’s voice. “Don’t pretend you don’t think about her and what it could be like.”

“You’re being vulgar, which isn’t surprising, but what do you expect me to say? ‘Sure Kid I’ll bow out from another person of interest to give you the advantage as your friend.’” Killer legitimately sounded a little mad. Well like, personal hurt mad, not crazy mad which he was every single second.

“I’m a man with needs too. And I LIKE her.”

You wished to be a small lizard so you could watch them argue about you. Maybe the blunt was laced with something – wouldn’t put it past your crew to be honest.

Low growling preceded a laugh, and you could hear the sound of water splashing. Oh to the gods to be a fish in that spring.

“Alright fair enough. Would it make you feel better if we do it together? It’d be her choice who she’d choose no matter what, no hurt fee fees over it. Maybe if we come at her with a multi-partner thing, 50/50 she agrees?”

“Kid!”

“60/40?”

“Stop it.”

“Damn 10/90?”

More splashing of water, waves of it crashing over your coverage and wetting your clothes. Practicing your breathing exercises, you mentally pumped yourself up to get it over with. One snap and bam, you’re gone.

“What if we show her our dicks first?”

“KID!”

“Whadd’ya say Y/N? Wanna check the goods before you sample them?” Kid couldn’t hold back his laughter.

Gods be damned. They all sucked.

Gathering the last ounce of dignity and lighting your roach, you jumped out from behind the foliage with your camera, looking to the side as you snapped the picture. Whether is was worthy enough to pass was no longer your priority.

“IT WAS A DARE!!!!” you screeched as your turned on your heel and bolted. You poor thing, you didn’t make it past 1 yard.

“Oh you’re not going anywhere, Y/N,” Kid taunted as Killer wrapped his arms around you and picked you up. His towel becoming loose and distressed from your struggling. Bringing you back to the hot spring.

Taking the camera, Kid tossed it in the water with the smuggest face a motherfucker could make.

“We showed you ours, now we dare you to show yours.”

[swaqcenix]

༻ Sweet like Honey | Natasha Romanoff ༺

Natasha romanoff x fem!reader

≿━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━≾

Summary: You and Natasha had been 'secretly' dating for the matter of a month. Both of you were heading to a meeting at the compound but.. nether you nor her could go 2 hours without any steamy time first.. so a specific detour has to be taken, even if it is in the car.

Warnings: 18+, smut mainly with fluff at beginning, daddy kink, choking, edging, teasing, top!natasha, bottom!reader, public sex, car sex, strap on (r receiving), fingering (n to r), oral (r to n), spanking, dirty talk, degrading, back scratching/marking, praising, mentions of past wanda x reader

Pairings: Natasha x fem!avenger reader

Word count: 3.8K

AN: I'm a whore and got hella carried away writing this, fr..

≿━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━≾

"That was Tony on the phone detka," her voice echoed through the safe house you were staying at.

In reality it might as well be your shared home designed for sneaking around without your colleagues noticing. There was no set rules on dating other avengers, you were fucking convinced there was things going on with other avengers and you and Wanda had... something in the past.

Simply the matter of the fact was you at Natasha were still deciding when the right time to let your relationship known. Besides, the idea of tin man and capsicle mocking you both consistently would drive you insane.

"What does he want," you grumbled turning to face her.

Her hair was straightened, flowing down her cheeks and stopping short by her shoulders. You'd always complimented Nat on her hair.

Her warm shade of red hue locks glistened constantly especially when hit by the sunlight that illuminated her skin. It was no secret to the older woman you drooled after her and she used it constantly in her favour with teasing you.

"Meeting at the compound in 30 minutes. He wants us there ASAP, apparently it's not negotiable and were required to be there," irritation showing in her face.

Walking over to her, your feet padded along the floorboards as you crossed the room to be in arms reach of your girlfriend. Her eyes were closed and her forehead scrunched up in annoyance, but not directed towards you.

As you approached the redhead, you knew what to do to calm her down, wanting to release some of the tension in her body and smiled softly before cupping her cheeks. You felt her instantly relax against your touch, but her face was still contorted into a tense mould.

Lifting one of your hands away from cupping her cheeks, you lifted your thumb placing it in the crease between her eyebrows kneading and massaging it softly. Your mouth move to place a chase but meaningful kiss on her nose and another on her forehead watching her whole body melt into your embrace.

Nat tried to keep a hard exterior around everyone and everything that was in her surroundings, but when it came to you it melted. All that hard exterior faded away and she became putty in your hands entirely, no judgment no black widow just Natalia Romanoff.

Her eyes opened slowly and you were greeted with eyes emerald green shining at you with such emotion. Her eyes were the sweet hue spring of clover flecks of strength and kinds of green that comes with summer and spring. Her eyes reminded you of everything she was, home.

"Thank you," she whispered afraid to break whatever was between you, the air and the tension.

"For what love?"

"For simply finding me and also for bringing me back to reality," she chuckled at the last part bringing you to laugh with her.

You rested your forehead against her own smiling softly looking into her eyes. You felt her melt into the embrace and wrap her arms around your body, pulling you closer in. The older woman was about to say something before a ping from her phone interrupted her train of thoughts.

Reaching into her back pocket, Natasha hesitantly pulled away from you earning a whine from you in protest. Instead she used her free hand to clasp in your own and you were more than happy after that.

"We have to go detka, everyone's making their way there now," she explained and you huffed in retaliation.

Knowing there was no point in arguing you simply mumbled an okay, still being disappointed that the moment was ruined. Nat moved forward into your proximity before kissing you on the head, it was chaise but earned her a satisfied hum as you felt lighter from that.

You both headed outside your safe house, (shared home) towards Natasha's car. The older woman owned a Black Corvette Stingray and a Motorcycle. However you both decided to opt for the car rather than the usual motorcycle ride this time.

Clambering into the car, Natasha put it in gear and drove off heading towards the compound. On the journey, your girlfriend kept glancing over at you her signature smirk painted upon her face. You giggled shaking your head lightly and let your mind wander.

It was around half-way there when you had a lightbulb moment and a mischievous thought entered your mind. You despised these meetings and they tended to last 2 hours with Tony or steve debating like some old married couple on what mission was next.

You really wanted to avoid majority of the meeting so what was better than turning the redhead next to you so on so much that she'd have to pull over and fuck you senseless. You let out a cheeky chuckle at the thought, earning a glance and a confused look from Natasha.

You simply inched your hand over to her thigh and placed it there innocently. You felt her body go rigid and her face contort into realisation of what you were trying to do. She turned to look at you before pulling her focus back to the road.

"Malyshka.." Her tone had warning in it as your hand inched towards her core.

"Hmm?" you voice was a picture of innocence and you felt her legs shake in response.

"Don't."

"What if I want to?" You loved teasing her like this.

"We have a meeting," she tried to reason but you knew she was trying to convince herself more than you.

"You know you want to, this is always better than a meeting," you hand came into contact with her clothed pussy earning a short gasp from Nat.

"You're going to face consequences for this," she said through gritted teeth.

You watched as her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Smirking at the reaction you were getting you leaned over to whisper sultry in her ear, feeling her shiver due to your close proximity.

"What will you do to me... daddy?" Your voice was hoarse in her ear as you bite her earlobe before licking the outer shell of it and leaning back in your seat.

You watched the moment your girlfriend snapped and she started to speed down an alleyway, turning away from the direction of the compound. Her once green emerald eyes had darkened, turning an almost charcoal colour that was making your skin crawl in anticipation.

"Wh-where are we," you were cut off by her hand landing on your leg, dangerously close to your core as she dug her fingers into your skin as a warning.

"Don't talk. You wanna act like a whore, hm? Daddy will show you what it's like to be one," her voice was raspy and filled with determination.

She pulled over into an empty isolated area and turned to look at you, indicating for you to get into the backseat. You both clambered over as she put the car into parked and the moment your back hit the seat, her hands wrapped around your throat causing you to gasp.

"You wanna be fucked huh? You wanted me that bad you had to tease me just to miss the meeting?" She had authority in her tone as she positioned herself above you.

"I.. I need you," you urged as heat traveled to your core and you felt yourself desperate for the older woman.

"Sluts like you don't get to decide when you get what you want, instead you need to ask nicely now and maybe just maybe I'll give you what you want malyshka," she stated and you almost whimpered.

"Please fuck me daddy, ruin me. Completely use me," you whimpered pathetically desperate to get rid of the aching sensation that had now become painful.

"Strip, now," she ordered and you followed like an obedient puppy too scared to face the consequences of disobeying her.

You discarded yourself of your top and ridded your pants from your legs so you were just sat there in your panties and bra. The smirk Natasha sent your way sent another heat to your pussy and you knew instantly you were dripping.

Natasha moved forward and grabbed your body angling it so you were now sat in between her legs facing the front towards the front-view mirror. Her hands moved towards your breasts groping them and manhandling them through your bra.

Your moans slipped past your mouth instantly and Natasha used the opportunity to slip her fingers inside your mouth as the other hand unclasped your bra and threw it to the side.

"Please Nat," you urged earning a slap to your inner thigh sending wetness straight to where you wanted her the most.

"That's not my name is it now my sweet girl?" She whispered into your ear and you realised your slip up.

"I need you daddy," you breathed out squirming in between her legs.

Her fingers ghosted down towards your aching core and cupped it lightly. Looking into the rear-view mirror you saw what a desperate whore you looked like and Natasha smirked at your realisation. She began to rub slow circles on your clit and you moaned loudly.

"Now I'm going to ruin this pussy, but you don't cum until I say, understand slut?" She bit your earlobe and you let out a whorish moan in response.

"Yes daddy," you body was aching for more and you didn't know how long you'd hold off.

You felt a tear and nearly lost it when you saw she'd literally ripped your underwear off, but didn't have time to even ponder about it. Her fingers instantly slipped between your folds, teasing you endlessly and dipping back up to your mouth.

"Open for daddy now," she commanded and your lips instantly parted as she allowed you to taste yourself.

You sucked on her fingers for a few moments before her hand dipped back down to your pussy and you found yourself almost screaming when she began rubbing mercilessly. Her talented fingers were rubbing circles in a pace that was ferocious and without any sign of slowing down as her other hand wrapped around your neck to ground you.

"See this is what you've met me do you whore. You made daddy travel away from the compound and fuck you senseless. It won't even be just the one round. No, no daddy will do as many rounds as it takes until you cannot walk anymore," she stated as she rubbed faster.

You were on the edge and whimpered, your pussy tightening ready to reach it's climax. Natasha felt and sensed you were close so instantly pulled away and you whined from the loss of contact.

"No, I said I decide when you get what you want, now turn your head towards me and be a good girl," you complied instantly as she began kissing you with an intense passion.

Her fingers went back down towards your pussy once more and this time slipped into your folds and began to pump in and out at a steady pace. You gasped into your girlfriends mouth and your tongues colliding kissing with ferocity.

You felt them speed up, before Natasha began to pound and thrust into you at an animalistic pace. You groaned into her mouth and she pulled back slightly, dragging your bottom lip with her making you feel even more turned on.

"Please.. Please let me cum, I'm so close daddy. I'll do anything," you whined and she let out a bone-chilling laugh.

"You can hold it for me, printsessa. You're doing such a good job, such a good girl for me," she whispered sweet praise that was only making you worse.

Your slick juices covered your thighs and you weren't sure how long you'd last. Suddenly you felt her fingers tighten around your throat as she somehow picked up the pace even faster, pounding into you with a speed you didn't think possible. Turning your head to face the rear-view mirror she forced you to watch yourselves in the mirror making you see what she was doing to you.

"Watch yourself in the mirror you slut, look at how much of a mess you are. Couldn't even wait till after the meeting hmm? What would they all think of you knowing you had me take you in an empty part of town, fucking you mercilessly in my car," she whispered dirtily and you moaned.

"Wanda couldn't fuck you like this, only I can right?" She pinched your clit hard and you used all will power to hold in your cum.

"No daddy no no, nobody can fuck me like this only you. Always you. Please please let me cum, let me drench your fingers," you begged and just let the words spew from your lips desperately chasing your high.

"Look in the mirror go on look in for me," and you did just as she asked listening to the sloshing sounds of how wet you were made you flush.

"Cum for daddy while watching me fuck you in the mirror, cum over my fingers like the good girl I know you are," she demanded and just on command you let out a chant of her name while drenching her fingers.

Natasha didn't slow down her pace, driving you into an insane over-stimulation as she kept thrusting into allowing you to ride your high. Her hand drew out of your pussy and you unconsciously whined at the loss of contact.

However the feeling drifted away when you watched her bring her hand to her lips moaning and sucking away your sweet juices bit by bit.

"You taste sweet like honey, all for daddy," she husked out and you flushed under her words.

Suddenly you were placed onto the seat next to you as the redhead rid herself of her own clothes.

You watched as she spread open her legs and raised her eyebrow at you with a pointed look. Instantly you understood what she was asking you to do and you moved your body to angle it so you were facing and kneeling between the older woman's legs.

"You're going to make me squirt in your mouth and your reward will be a lovely thick strap on okay sweet girl?" She said although it was again more of a demand.

She smirked at your eagerness and pulled off her underwear watching you as you eagerly moved forward. Your lips latched onto her pussy, licking through her folds like candy.

Her hands instantly threaded through your hair simultaneously pulling you closer as your mouth made all kinds of fowl sounds while sucking and licking her pussy.

"God you know how to eat me out just right don't you, such a good girl," her voice was raspy.

Her words went straight to your core drenching you once more and spurred you on further. You took her clit between your lips and pulled slightly before entering her entirely with her tongue.

The moans and gasps Natasha was making above you was music to your ears and all you wanted to do was please her. So with that you thrusted 2 fingers within her without warning and stopped moving your tongue allowing the older woman to ride your tongue herself.

"Holy shit, don't stop such a good fucking girl for me.. right there detka, right there," she mewled out causing you to hum against her clit.

"You taste so good daddy," you mumbled against her thrusting hard with your fingers as Natasha's hips bucked against your tongue.

The stimulation of your fingers and tongue mixed with the vibration of your voice sent the redhead spiralling into her orgasm as she cried out loud enough for people to hear miles away, making you grateful you were in an isolated area. She squirted all over your fingers and tongue, her juices spilling down your face and you lapped them up as well as you were able.

Suddenly, you have no idea how Natasha did this but you found yourself back in the front seat as she placed you back there moving her own seat further back. You watched her open the front compartment and pull out a strap-on, heat rushing to your face instantly.

Natasha attached it to her hips, making sure the straps were secure and the size was adjusted correctly on her before turning to you with a smirk that somehow twisted your insides making you extremely horny. Her finger made a come hither motion and you instantly followed her order's clambering over the car seat's making sure to be careful of the car gears and sat on her lap.

The strap filled you up instantly and you let our a whorish moan prepared to move, but earned a slap to your ass instead. Your cheeks flushed red once more as you felt a wave of wetness run down your leg and onto her thigh.

"You move when I tell you to move slut. Be good for daddy or I'll have to spank you 12 times," she scolded and you whimpered at that.

"Oh you'd like that wouldn't you? Being spanked and ruined by daddy's hands, you'd love to be manhandled like the fucking dirty slut you are, hm?" Her words spurring you on in way's you didn't know possible.

Suddenly you felt a hand slap your ass once more and you jolted forward at the feeling. The jolt affected Natasha too as the strap rubbed against her own pussy causing the older woman to groan in response.

"You will answer me like a good girl," she stated lifting your chin so you'd look her in the eyes.

"Yes daddy, I love when you s-spank me," you were short of breathe and mind fuzzy from how turned on you were.

"You'll count how many spanks you get and when and only when I'm finished can you bounce on my cock understand?" She questioned and you nodded until she raised an eyebrow and you realised she wanted a verbal response.

"Yes- Yes I understand daddy," you responded quickly and she hummed before smirking.

A slap landed on your ass and you jolted forward once more causing both of you to groan.

"One..."

Another slap, and then another. You bucked forward each time the stimulation affecting you both in all the right ways.

"Two... Three.."

By the time she got to 13 you were in almost tears of desperation needing to move to get some stimulation. When you felt the slaps stop you looked at her and she nodded her head.

"You can move on my cock now, go on take it all detka," she granted you permission and you didn't waste anytime.

You began to ride her cock instantly, feeling the strap slip in and out of you puffy lips and you groaned at the sensation. Your lips locked with Natasha and suddenly she angled her hips upwards, thrusting with you to chase her own high.

Moans were lost in each others mouths as your tongues collided with the others. You angled forward so the strap would rub against her own core and she began to pant, desperate to cum herself. You found yourself pulling away sucking a nipple into your mouth and groping her other one.

"Oh fuck- fuck," Your girlfriend began to thrust into you at an even more ferocious pace and you let out a deep grunt to this.

Suddenly you felt a squirt of wetness hit you and drip down through to your thighs. Looking down you watched as Natasha's back was arched as she once again squirted, the sight of it allowing you to follow suit squirting all over Natasha's strap clawing at her back. Your nails were likely to leave indents in her back as you scratched at it and she moaned feeling herself ride through her high, loving that you were marking her.

As you slowed down your pace and came to a halt your head rested against her shoulder trying to calm your breathing down. Natasha's hands came to wrap around your form holding you close. You loved your girlfriends aftercare and hummed softly in response and she whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

A sudden exhaustion overwhelmed you and you felt your eyes drooping slightly. Your body weight was completely on Natasha now as you slumped against her and her voice was the last thing you heard as you felt the world slowly silence while falling asleep in her embrace.

You were awoken by Natasha what felt like hours later but was probably only 20-30 minutes. She slowly placed her hand on your shoulder squeezing slightly before kissing your forehead whispering your name.

"Detka, were at the compound," she whispered slightly.

Adjusting to your surroundings you rubbed the sleep away from your eyes to be met with your girlfriend looking at you with adoration. You noticed she'd dressed you and managed to strap you back into your original seat while cleaning herself up. God she really was a fucking good agent that was for sure.

"Did we miss the meeting?" Your voice was still filled with sleep and she chuckled shaking her head at you.

"Come on, let's go inside," her voice laced with love and you felt yourself melt at her tone.

You both clambered out the car, heading inside as she wrapped an arm around you. You looked in confusion as your relationship was not out yet, but you weren't about to complain or bring it up. If Natasha wanted it, well was ready for it to be in the open then you'd be more than willing to do so as you were completely ready for that.

As you entered the main sitting room the other avengers turned to look at you both and Sam scoffed rolling his eyes. Steve's eyebrows shot up at the hold Natasha had on you but the redhead didn't back down. Instead she pulled you closer resting her head on your own making you almost blush entirely.

"You took your time Romanoff," Sam teased and you felt like they all knew.

Wanda's eyes glanced into your own and you felt yourself move closer to Nat out of habbit. The redhead held you more closer at that knowledge and smirked in the direction of Tony.

"We had a meeting, an important one too. What the hell were you doing having some sort of sex retreat?" He bluntly stated and your cheeks heated up as memories flooded back of events that only just occurred.

Just as you were about to answer though Natasha butt in and answered for you. And oh boy did she give them an answer even you didn't see coming.

"Yes actually. 3 rounds. My girlfriend is extremely good.. If I roll my tongue around enough I can still taste her," she deadpanned and the whole room stilled as she glared at Wanda who's jaw dropped open.

She guided you out of the room and you turned back just to see Steve passing Bucky and Sam money and you internally rolled your eyes.

"Come on malyshka," Natasha interrupted your train of thought.

"I want you to make a mess on my thigh, besides we won't be missed for 2 hours since we missed before we should take advantage of that," her words were for your ears only.

[crowholtz]

Rahadin and my dusk elf pc Ksenia, before the massacre all those years ago. They were very in love, even if it was a bit forbidden...

Art by lovely @deadbeatcleric over on the bird site.

[dearharriet]

Whatever; Steve Harrington 🌓

summary: they say you’ll meet every person in your life twice. the second time you meet steve, you’re in college, and he’s very different from what you remember.

word count: 3.2K

warnings: fem!r, mentions + content of previous bullying, ex-bully!steve, alcohol consumption, some unresolved emotions, angst, hurt/comfort

a/n: i swear im alive i’m just stupidly busy. hope y’all like this one xxx

You circled back to Steve so quickly that a lick of embarrassment flamed at your cheeks, but really, you couldn’t have stopped it. His presence was fascinating, and like a passerby can’t look away from a car accident, you couldn’t resist inspecting Steve.

The house was very dark and humid, crowded with people that went to your university, and people who didn’t. Steve, for example, who had appeared—now for a second time—seemingly out of nowhere. Two weeks ago you’d spotted him at a party across town that a scene band threw, but he’d disappeared before you could talk to him. Tonight, he wasn’t so lucky.

To your relief, he received your sudden presence very gracefully, almost sheepishly. He was bowing his head and his broad shoulders shrunk together carefully. You wanted to say something very bold, something to grab his attention like fancy meeting you here, but the totality of your unfamiliarity made you hesitate.

“Where’ve you been?” you shouted instead, hugging your chest to feign casualness. It sounded, you realized, like you were inquiring as to where he’d been five minutes ago, not indefinitely post-graduation. Steve didn’t seem to mind.

“Hawkins,” he replied, matter-of-fact. “You?”

“Hawkins?” you repeated, ignoring his courtesy. “That’s not like you.” In truth, you probably knew very little about what would be like him and what would not, so you tacked on, “Not to be presumptuous or anything, sorry.”

In school, you and Steve saw very much of each other yet spoke next to never. In the spring of your sophomore year, Tommy Hagan’s father made him walk about the neighborhood and offer to mow lawns for money—something about growing hair on his chest, forming a sense of responsibility—and your mother had just broken her wrist, so she gave him a five dollar bill every Saturday for three months to help out. Tommy was awful at it, and he loathed you, and when you returned to school in September he’d dragged Carol and Steve with him into his loathing.

One day, you couldn’t recall what date—or even what month—but you remembered the three of them had come to find you after classes were done after you’d stayed late. You missed a question on some test, or there was something about a project, whatever. You knew it was late because the halls were empty, and your recollection of that relied heavily on the memory of Carol’s chilling laugh echoing down them, which you never forgot.

“God, Tommy, you’re sadistic.”

They prowled closer, just around the bend. Tommy and Carol were chortling and you could imagine them hanging all over each other the way that they often did. Steve cut in abrasively, something frenetic in his tone.

“I’m telling you, she’s not here, man.”

Steve’s voice bounced down the corridor and sounded back, like radar pinging around and around, detecting movement.

“Relax, Harrington, what’s the rush?”

“Rachel’s waitin’ on me, that’s what,” Steve replied. “And I still gotta drop you two assholes off.”

“Your gal-pal can wait, Steve,” Carol sneered, and you thought her voice was edged with something sharper than exasperation. “Besides, this’ll be fun.”

They turned the corner, and you realized then that it was likely you they were looking for, and it was suddenly too late to turn and hide. You froze, bag heavy on your shoulder and damp starting to form on your brow.

“Ah-ha! Just the girl we wanted to see,” Tommy sang, his voice already lilting meanly. You took a step back, wondering if they’d really chase you if you bolted. Carol had heeled boots on, and you were certain Tommy and Steve wouldn’t hunt down a girl no matter how twisted they were. A guy, sure, but you?

It didn’t matter, because you didn’t run, which you could only blame on yourself and your tendency to petrify under pressure. Anything you chose seemed the worst option, which made the logical solution to do nothing.

“She looks about ready to run,” Carol peered as they came closer, which was very astute for her, all things considered.

“Yeah, maybe.” Tommy grinned. “You wanna play, goodie-two-shoes? Me ‘n Steve’ll give you a head start.”

In retrospect, the roles of Tommy and Carol and Steve, and even you, are played by their fully grown versions. Of course you all looked very young, sounded very young—being fifteen at the time—but it all comes back as if it happened yesterday. It’s warped by everything that happened after.

“Yeah, why don’t you just get it over with, save us all a little time?” Steve picked, his expression almost bored.

You pressed your lips together. Carol stepped behind you, prodding at your bag, and you recoiled, backing closer to the lockers.

“Nah, she’s too chicken-shit,” she hissed, and then ripped your bag from your arms. When you lunged for her, Tommy pushed you back into the metal wall of lockers, and your shoulder blade landed hard on a dial-lock.

“Jesus H Christ, Tommy,” Steve laughed awkwardly, “could you have pushed her any harder?”

“Whatever, man,” Tommy waved him off, watching as Carol dug through your satchel. “You’re soft.”

Steve’s features tightened then, all of a sudden like a switch had been flipped. He took his hand out of his hair and strode over to Carol, taking your bag and emptying its contents onto the linoleum. Notebooks and pens, highlighters and, embarrassingly, a heap of pads, all washed over the floor. Carol had your journal in her hands and Steve took that too, discarding it with everything else.

“I’m fuckin’ tired of this shit,” he muttered, “let’s go.”

“Boo,” Carol complained, “what a wet blanket.”

“Yeah, why don’t you stay here with the teachers’ pet,” Tommy gibed, gesturing at you, “since you both love being L-A-M-E.”

He spelled the word out, holding a backwards L on his forehead that Carol copied.

“Yeah, and who’s gonna drive you home, Tommy?” Steve challenged. Tommy clenched his jaw, rolling his eyes petulantly. Carol’s hip popped as she dropped her hand, lips smacking. “That's what I thought.”

Steve brushed past them then, properly regal and entitled, and they followed him begrudgingly, swapping resentful glances until you couldn’t see them anymore.

In the minutes it took to gather your things back into your bag, you couldn’t resist the cloudy thought that Steve dumping your bag felt like a mercy. In the company of many rabider dogs, his offense was almost magnanimous, and, despite it being your things, felt more targeted at Tommy and Carol than at you. On your way home you decided that that was stupid, and that you were likely feeding into a fantasy that would eventually hurt you.

It wasn’t until after graduation that you realized they were bullying you. At the time it obviously hadn’t felt friendly, but you’d been so fictile then that you assumed most of the blame. When your mind changed, the word bullying alone felt too childish to bear, so you decided it was fine and that you were over it.

Standing before you at the party, Steve was folded in on himself. The memory juxtaposed so coarsely against how he looked now.

“Not like me?” he repeated.

“I just mean,” you continued, “I would’ve thought you’d go to school. Here in Chicago, maybe. I don't know. Indi, at the least.”

He shook his head, cradling his damp beer can closer.

“Yeah, well, I'm not smart like you,” he answered. “I didn’t really get accepted anywhere.”

Steve’s cheeks pinked with embarrassment, but he didn’t look all that dejected. You were sure that was the nicest thing he’d ever said to you, and the added element of self-depreciation threw you off-kilter.

“You still talk with Carol and Tommy and stuff?” It wasn’t much of a question, but Steve looked profoundly confused.

“What? No, I um—“ He licked his lips, looking down. “They ditched me when Hargrove came into town. You don’t remember?”

“Oh,” you said. “No, I must’ve missed that.”

“Yeah, that’s uh. S’ probably for the best. You shouldn’t have been caught up with us anyways.” It sounded like an apology, though not direct enough for you to accept in any way.

“Well it’s not like I never saw Tommy H. and Carol again,” you said, admittedly sour. “I figured you were off with Nancy or whatever. Where is she anyways?”

“Nancy?” You nodded. Shrugging, Steve said, “I wouldn’t know. We broke up in 1984.”

“Oh,” you jolted , “sorry about that.”

“Nah, don’t be.” He looked very sorry about it himself, like he was still wishing it away.

“Well, I am. I always thought you two would get married or something. She seemed like she knew how to keep you in line.”

Steve smiled softly, vaguely.

“Yeah, Nancy’s like that.”

His sentence ended there and didn’t pick back up, and you felt terribly anxious about what to say next. As often as you denied it, you did want to see people from school again, if only to show them they didn’t win. You wanted to happen upon Steve The Hair Harrington, or Tommy H. or Carol Perkins or anyone at all just to affirm that, yes, you were doing significantly better than they expected you to. You wore shoes with heels and makeup and you were just like them, only you could writhe in shameless glory because you were never a prick.

“So what do you do? No school?”

Steve leaned closer then, apprehensive as he brought his mouth to your ear.

“D’you wanna talk outside?” He asked, and then pulled back to gauge your expression. “I can’t hear very well,” he explained, some level of shame coloring him. You nodded tolerantly, following him out to the porch.

It was clear and cold in the Chicago suburbs, like a freshly opened bottle of coke, and you could see Orion’s Belt. You had on a white leather jacket that kept you just warm enough.

“You seem to like it better here,” Steve observed. Your earlier question stood forgotten from the journey outside.

“In a way,” you agreed.

“People are nicer?”

You pinched your brows thoughtfully.

“I wouldn’t say nicer, no.” Fiddling with your jewelry, you looked at the sky. “People have been rude to me here before, but it’s…it isn’t like Hawkins.” You swallowed a freezing breath, wondering if Steve was really standing next to you. “I can leave at any time if it gets to be too much. Or, like, tell them to fuck off if I wanted to. In high school I just had to sit there and take it, and then come back the next day for more.”

Blowing out a stiff laugh, you looked back to Steve. His eyes were downcast, face crumpled, and it looked like he would eat his own mouth before he said a word in response. It was painfully silent, so silent that the wind and your racing heart played a spoilt song together at Steve’s inattentive audience.

Your face felt warm with humiliation. Conversation had grown on you, or so you thought, enough that you wouldn’t become carried away into overzealous speeches to people who didn’t care. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, frowning.

“Do you like Chicago?” You asked Steve, and it turned brittle in the air, like a wisp of ash from a fire.

“I’m so sorry,” his aggrieved response came, and it carved your chest open to hear, in a way. It was something you imagined, a moment you craved, a fantasy you knew would never occur. Now that it had, you felt a million miles away, like he’d said some magic word and hypnotized you, stealing your present mind and leaving you cavernous and vulnerable.

“It’s really okay, Steve,” you said hoarsely. “We were kids, and you were as stuck as I was.”

“I was not,” he sternly denied.

“Sure you were,” you insisted, “it was eat or be eaten. I can’t blame you for not wanting to be picked on.”

“Because I would have died from being unliked,” he retorted sarcastically. You gave him a look as if to say that’s not fair, but you knew he was right. It would have been a different kind of unlike for him. If he’d forfeited his social standing, all of the cruelty and indifference he got would have been directly his decision, and his courage would have been gratifying enough to sustain him.

“Well,” you stammered persistently, “I still think you’re okay. I forgive you.”

“Look, I’m—“ Steve huffed, scrubbing at his hair anxiously. “I’m not trying to fish for compliments. Really. I just have this terrible feeling that you convinced yourself that it’s okay, what all happened in school. But it’s not okay. It’s not.”

He looked into your eyes hotly, a wild turn to his features, and you felt oddly nauseous. You looked at your shoes to avoid his stare, slim heeled boots that all the pretty girls wore in school, and you wondered how you’d feel about those girls if you’d never slipped them on, never had a guy take you home because you looked so good in them.

“What do you want me to do, then?” you asked.

Steve was silent for a moment.

“Whatever you feel,” he replied, “what I want is besides the point.”

“Not to me,” you mumbled, and then regretted it instantly. You pulled your jacket tight around you and shivered, said: “I don’t know what to do.”

A tear tracked hot and shameful down your cheek, dancing with the porch light and the stars and Steve’s eyes. You felt like the whole world was watching you flounder and choke like a fish on a dock. You sucked in, and air stole down your throat in three distinct parts, stuttering and painful.

Steve reached for you then, taking your arm into his grip and crushing you to his chest. Through teary eyes you could spy into the house where the party still thundered. It looked shockingly vibrant and warm inside, a world away from your moment with Steve on the frigid veranda. He was holding your head gently and rubbing at your back, and you could only think of how much you’d been craving this. How you’d yearned over intellectual conversations and counseling sessions for something as real as this moment, here, with Steve. He knew you better than anyone inside, anyone in Chicago, even, and you could not fathom how that had happened.

Pressing into him, you sniffled pitifully and hid your face.

“Sorry for crying,” you said, “I really didn’t want to.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Steve said, for the second time that night. You liked the way he said it, with a soft sternness that left no room for argument. He even went on further to say: “It’s okay if you want to cry some more.”

You rubbed his sleek jacket between your fingers and looked at him.

“You won’t tell anyone?”

Steve laughed, and you knew then that he wouldn’t, like you knew he wasn’t laughing at your expense.

“Who am I gonna tell?” he asked genuinely. You thought about it.

“Tommy or…” Steve shook his head. “No, right, you said that.”

You pretended to think some more, but you had nothing. You said, “I don’t know,” and then expected Steve to give you a name, like you were playing a guessing game and you’d lost. Instead, he drew his arms tighter around your shoulders, so that your chin was trapped on his chest as you looked up at him.

“I won’t tell a soul if that’s what you want,” he admitted, a shiny frond of his hair escaping the fray to sway between you two. “I think I’d do whatever you asked, actually.”

He seemed very affronted by that fact, as if he was only discovering it as he told you, right then.

“Would you—” You licked your lips. Looked at Steve’s. Asked: “Would you kiss me?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, “‘course.”

He kissed you then, acerbic ale transferring from his lips to yours. The stray hair caught between your foreheads, doing what your noses could not and flattening. Steve’s hands held you firmly, at the back of your neck and on your upper arm, and it made you shudder. He was kissing you dizzy—not nearly the first you’d ever had, but certainly the first that felt worthwhile, the first that felt good and right and deserved.

As you pulled away shyly, Steve kept his eyes closed, his jaw working and his breath uneven.

“Steve?” you called.

“Hm?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Steve hummed negatively, tapping his forehead back onto yours and finally blinking his eyes open.

“No, sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be sorry.” You smiled, and Steve grinned knowingly, like he could tell he’d be hearing that a hundred times a week from then on. You asked him what he was thinking and he fiddled with your jacket collar nervously.

“Just about you. In Chicago and everything. Where that puts us.” Steve scrunched his face in a sort of wince like that might upset you. “I mean, not that there has to be an us at all—if that’s not what you want, or if I’m getting ahead of myself.”

He says the last bit like a question, like a request. Like: Please say I’m not getting ahead of myself?

“No, I wouldn’t say you are,” you assured him. “I didn’t even think about the distance. Does it bother you?”

“Yeah,” Steve said without hesitation, but a small abashed smile played on his lips. “But I meant what I said, whatever you say goes. Whatever you want me to do.”

You looked him over, from the tallest strand of his styled hair down to where your chests met, taking in his moles and the fibers of his shirt.

“Do you have anyone at home that you’d miss?” you asked, and Steve’s face said everything, even as he shook his head stubbornly.

“Baby, whatever you want. Ask me to move up and I will.”

Smiling, you kissed him curiously, the feeling so novel and thrilling. His responding squeeze on your arm shot through you to your very center.

“I still have my family in Hawkins,” you told him dazedly. “I go home every holiday. We can visit. And it’s only a year and half before I graduate, and then we can figure something new out.”

Steve smiled dryly, perhaps anticipating a different answer, but ultimately you knew it’d be best not to rush anything. You were content, all of the excitement and adrenaline seeping from your body and making you feel soft around the edges. You shivered a touch, and Steve rocked you both to and fro.

“Do you wanna go back inside,” he asked, his mouth on your hairline. You shook your head, stuffing your face in the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“Can we stay here just a little longer?” you pleaded.

“‘Course we can,” Steve granted, soothing his fingers through your hair. “Whatever you want.”

+

thank u for reading xx

masterlist

[angstywaifu]

Means to an End - Garrick Tavis x Reader

Propt by @fw-gt - “You can do anything you want to me, beat me, torture me, skin me alive. But I’ll never let you take her from me.” A/N: This fic is from Garrick's POV, so I hope you like it. This one is just pure angry protective Garrick. Enjoy.

It was meant to be simple. Well as simple as you could get for rescuing Violet from Varrish. Who from what we knew had her locked in one of the interrogation cells under the college. Varrish who was now dead. Good riddance I say. I had never had much to do with him, but he had a reputation for handling things in an unconventional way. And the way Violet had been when Xaden had led her up those stairs was proof. But she wasn’t his only victim.

As General Sorrengail turned to me, sadness in her eyes…. I knew. Every part of me knew. Chradh in my head confirming after speaking to her dragon. She was missing. And no one knew where due to this, concoction they had made up with to dull the connection between rider and dragon. She had been missing since the day Violet had been taken. No one had seen her after she had gone to bed. But with Varrish dead, we had no way to figure out where she had been taken. She could be anywhere. Xaden looks concerned as I pace back and forth trying to rack my brain as to where he could have taken her. We had searched the other cells top to bottom trying to find her. But there was no sign or even trace of her. And Violet was adamant that she had never heard or even seen her while down there. Varrish not mentioning her once

Xaden reaches out and grasps my shoulder. I go to shrug it off but he clamps down and forces me to stop and look at him. “What about Melgren or Aetos? Would they have her somewhere?”

Dain clears his throat from where he stands next to Violet. “There might be somewhere they could have taken her.”

Xaden tries to hold me back as I storm over to Dain, grabbing the front of his uniform and pinning him to the wall. His eyes go wide with fear as I glare down at him. “Where. Is. She?” I sneer, emphasising each word

”T-there’s a tower, at the end of the administration building closest to the riders quadrant. Down the bottom, there’s a door that leads underground. There’s more interrogation cells down there.” He gulps nervously as he looks to Violet and Xaden for help. “That’s the only place I could think he would take her. He was working closely with my father.”

I shove him back against the wall, his head smacking against the brick before I storm off in the direction of the tower. No one tries to stop me. Xaden letting me go. He knows there’s no point in stopping me. If anything he will make sure Violet is safe and follow after me, or send someone else. Luck must by on my side, all the corridors are empty. Not a single cadet around as I make my way over to the tower Dain speaks of. I descend the stairs, each step echoing off the walls as I make my way further and further down. At the bottom I almost think Dain has lead me here as a joke, there's no door. But my eye catches the dim glow of a light around the edge of the brick. A secret door. I push on it and it opens with ease. Almost too easily.

Keep alert. I will send word to Xaden to send someone. Chradh says to me.

I send acknowledgment through the bond before continuing through the door and descending down another set of stairs. It is easy to tell that this has been used very recently. Fresh foot springs and drag marks can be seen in the dust coating the floor. They dragged someone down here. As I descend further down the stairs, the light gets brighter and brighter. I finally descend into an open room, much like the one the RSC interrogation chambers are in. 2 cells are on the far side of the room, both are completely empty. Empty bar the blood caking the floor of one of them. I can see from here the blood isn’t old, the torches reflecting the slight glean of fresh blood. I go to reach for my sword when a voice from the doorway on the other side of the room stops me.

”Had a feeling I’d be seeing you Tavis.” Drawls Colonel Aetos as he leans against the doorway, his eyes focused on me.

”Where is she? What do you want with her?” I demand.

He merely chuckles as he steps into the room as he starts to pace towards me. It’s then I notice the blood on his hands. Fresh blood. Very fresh.

He stops, leaning against the table. ”Oh you naive boy. It’s not her I want. I don’t need anything from her. She’s just a means to an end. It’s you we want, and you’ve come right to us.”

My blood runs cold. They’d used her to get to me. To get me here, right where they wanted me. They’d taken her and done gods knows what to her to get to me. I look over to the cell with the blood and pray its just a set up. She’s fine. If they knew she knew nothing then there was no point in hurting her. Not yet anyway.

They’re on their way. Keep him distracted. Chradh tells me.

“What do you want from me?”

”Information of course. We know what you and that Riorson boy are up to.”

"I will never tell you anything.”

He smiles at me, a smile that sends a shiver down my spine. “Oh I know. You are a hard one to crack. But luckily in the brief moment Varrish met you, he saw all he needed to see. And now I have my way to make you tell me everything.”

As if on queue two guards walk through the door, a limp figure hanging between them that they throw to the ground in a kneeling position. They rip the bag from their head, and I swear my heart stops beating. My eyes go wide.

“So what’s it going to be Tavis?”

I can feel the muscles in my face twitching as I look up and glare at him. “You can do anything you want to me, beat me, torture me, skin me alive. But I’ll never let you lay another hand on her.”

“That’s the thing though Tavis. No matter how much I beat you or torture you. You won’t tell me anything.” I gulp as he smiles at me. A smile that would send anyone else cowering. “But if I do any of those things to her. You’ll tell me whatever I need to know.”

The two guards either side of her march forward. I quickly grab the sword from my back, swiftly blocking their strikes. The sounds of our swords clashing echo off the walls of the chamber. One of the guards lunges to grab me, but I side step them and grab on of the daggers on my belt, stabbing it into the side of their neck. They rip it out, spraying me in their blood as they fall to the floor. The other turns and looks at me in horror as their friend dies on the floor next to me. As I do this I notice Aetos is no longer leaning against the table. He must have snuck out while I was fighting. I go to lunge for him as shadows swarm the room, blinding the last guard. I turn around to see Xaden run into the room.

“Grab her and go. I’ll take care of the rest.” He tells me as he walks towards them.

I nod before I rush over to her and scoop her up in my arms. She goes to protest but one look from me and she merely nods in agreement as I stand and carry her up the stairs. No one would lay another hand on her if I had anything to say about it. As we get to the top of the stairs I hear the vague sounds of screaming down below.

[angel-of-the-moons]

First off I'm really happy to see someone's still writing for MK11. It feels like everyone's dropped the game for the new one. So thank you. Second I would like to request MK11 Hanzo x fem reader fluff where reader found out she was pregnant and is really worried about telling Hanzo.

MK 11 is near and dear to me because it's what got me back into the franchise back when it first came out. At first I loved D'Vorah but then I got attached to Hanzo and Kuai's dynamics and then when Mileena came back? Ugh! Love!

Blossom

Hanzo x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: A little angst, fluff, pregnancy stuff! (Maybe an implied age gap between Reader and Hanzo but nothing specific, though Reader is definitely over 20)

Divider by @/saradika-graphics

Your nerves were eating themselves alive, feeling frayed at the edges as you plucked the edges of your sleeves in your anxiety.

How were you going to tell him? Ugh!

You could have sworn it was a safe day for you, when you were with him last... week? A few weeks ago? By the Elder Gods, how far were you along? The flimsy pieces of plastic you got at the store when you ventured into town on a "girl's trip" with Sonya couldn't predict that...

Sonya patted your back, the older woman smiling in sympathy, "Hey, I know how you feel. Cassie wasn't planned at all. Trust me, kid."

"I... It's just..." Your voice trembled almost as much as your hands holding the pregnancy test did. "What if he... what if he doesn't want it? After losing his wife and son, I... what if he doesn't want this--want us anymore--because he's afraid?"

"You sound like you already made up your mind about keeping the baby..." Sonya murmured softly.

You nodded, lifting your gaze to meet hers. You were sitting in the bathroom in she and Johnny's hotel suite--they were in Japan for some film shoot--your voices echoed softly off the tile walls and floor.

"I did. Is it... bad that I want this?" You asked her, chewing your bottom lip.

"No, no. no. Listen--" Sonya took the test from your hand carefully and laid it on the counter, before taking your hands in hers. "You're perfectly capable of making a decision like this. And... On the off-chance that Hanzo doesn't want this... Johnny and I will help you out. You deserve that."

"R-Really?" You asked her as your voice began to quiver. "You... You'd do that?"

"Hell yeah I would. You're one of the best operatives we have. A good fighter, great defender of Earthrealm. And... you're going to be a great mom. I'd be a major bitch if I just kicked you out after doing this with you without helping in some way."

"Think you mean General." You sniffled, smiling at her; your eyes misty with emotion. You never expected in your military career that the Sonya Blade would be one of your biggest supporters in this kind of event in your life. But... here you were.

Sonya grinned. "Damn straight. Now... if you need to, think about it before you spring it on him. Rehearse what you have to say before telling him if you gotta, okay?"

"How did... you tell Johnny about..."

"Oh, I threw the pregnancy tests at his big fat head and said "Congrats, you knocked me up, jackass"." She chuckled nostalgically.

"You did?" You gasped.

Sonya turned to you with a grin. "Yep. Shithead started crying right on the spot."

She cuffed you on the shoulder whilst you shared a laugh.

"Go and get a good night's rest, honey. You're gonna need it."

It had been nearly two days since your talk with Sonya. You had rehearsed in your head every night since over and over and over until the wee hours of the morning what Hanzo might say, and what you in turn would say to him.

But imagining the scenarios was enitrely different than putting them into action yourself...

You and Hanzo had been walking through the Fire Gardens, watching the Sakura blossoms shake and fall loose around you in a mix of velvety pink and white. It was beautiful, and a scene you normally would find very relaxing--if it weren't for the heavy iron blanket hanging in the air--the tension was so thick you weren't surprised Hanzo picked up on it.

"Something is bothering you." He said softly, his warm palm squeezing yours as you walked.

"...yeah." You answered truthfully, squeezing back.

Hanzo tugged your hand up to his chest, bringing your slow, leisurely walk to a halt. His deep, thoughtful eyes affixed their gaze to yours, imploring you. "Speak to me, my love. Please."

You felt your heart patter in your ribcage anxiously as his request hung in the air. Long, agonizing minutes stretched on for what felt like hours.

"Hanzo..." You managed to get out, despite your tongue feeling like sandpaper.

"I'm pregnant."

And with those two simple words... it was like the universe around you came to a floundering halt.

"...What?" He whispered, dropping your hand and taking a step back.

The absence of his touch filled you with fear, made you grow cold. Were your fears right? Did Hanzo not want this? You? The baby?

"You're... pregnant?" He whispered, his voice so soft you could just barely hear it over the branches in the trees creaking in the early summer breeze.

You nod, swallowing at the stone lodged in your throat, "Yeah..."

Once more the agonizing silence swallowed you both, the yawning chasm of anxiety etching itself deeper inside of you with every second that ticked by.

As you opened your mouth to speak, Hanzo closed the gap between you, crushing your body against his in a fierce, caging hug. His arms felt like the steel jaws of a bear trap as he held you, nearly squeezing the air from your lungs as he buried his face in your hair.

The silence still stretched on, however this time, you realized, it was not because Hanzo was upset or angry--but because he was crying.

His body trembled only slightly, his muscles straining to hold you without crushing you any more than he already was.

"Hanzo?" You whispered, your hope soaring even just a tiny bit.

"I love you." He croaked, his voice so rough it made you want to cry, "I love you more than life. I lost everything I loved... Quan-Chi turned me into a soulless, undead slave... I never thought I would be so happy again, as long as I lived. And... And then I found you."

He pulled back, one of his hands cupping your cheek; his thumb sweeping away one of the fat tears that tumbled down your cheek. His eyes were glassy and full of his own tears, but he had the warmest smile you'd ever seen on anyone.

"I love you so much, my fire lily. My heart." He rasped, his lips quivering even the slightest bit.

"Have you... decided what you want to--"

"I want to keep the baby, Hanzo." You blurted, your heart pounding and your blood rushing in your ears.

He sighed, his eyes soft and loving as he looked at you. "I... I am not surprised you have already made up your mind. You have always been so sure and confident. It is one of the many reasons why I adore you."

You smiled back, "I... I want this, Hanzo. I want our baby. I want... I want you with us, too." You licked your bottom lip.

"If you want us."

Hanzo responded to you by pulling you close and kissing you until your breath left your body; his tongue twisting and dancing with yours before brushing your lips as he pulled away, leaving you almost dazed and light-headed.

"I would let Kuai Liang freeze me to a block of ice and leave me on a desolate mountain to be eaten by wild animals before I let anything tear the two of you away from me." He said resolutely, his eyes steely and adamant.

Your body sagged with relief--literally--and you found yourself supported by Hanzo's strong embrace, your legs feeling like jelly and nearly giving out beneath you. Hanzo chuckled fondly as he rubbed your back to help soothe you.

Your name left his lips like a reverent prayer--and you lifted your head to look at him, tears now freely falling down your face as you smiled gleefully, "I--I was so scared.... Af-after what happened to you before, I... I was scared..."

"That out of fear for losing the two of you, I would run? Send you away for your safety?" He chuckled, as if the very notion was ridiculously insane.

"Never. It would take armageddon for something as cowardly as that. And maybe not even then."

You sniffed and hiccup, your mind a whirl of emotions as you began to break down once again, letting Hanzo hold you as he soothed you, spoke to you, and said the most romantic things you'd only read about in books.

He was happy. He wanted you and the baby. He was excited about having a family once again.

Hanzo Hasashi would once again get to feel the joy of seeing his child enter the world, getting to hold them; hearing their sweet cries as air filled their lungs.

He would get to be a father--and hopefully husband--once again.

[ifeelgeek]

Parte 1

Aerandir All the remains Anima Pneuma Arcanum Arcanum Legio Asteria Avada Kedavra Blessing in disguise Blinding dreams Boku no hero academia Brave new word Centuries City noitre Coming harvest Counting stars Cracked vultures Cronicas vampiricas Crown of winter Days gone Dc New frontier Detrás de las colinas Devilish Devis advocate ( Semiprivado ) Diamond city Dissendium Dixinmortal Draconifors Dragon ball r Dream of spring Echoe of survival Enjoy the silence Eternal spirit gods Ethereal cosmos Fate loe Fight for freedom Forgotten crossroads Fragments of the mask Genshin impact Godess of delirium God save the king Harajuku noir Harrold harrison Harry potter head Higanbana Himitsu no pettoakademi Homenum revelio Hotel s y l Imperio rpg Into the graveyard Jujutsu kaisen Jujutsu kaisen my special z Kaelkoth Kasiopea valerian

¡Feliz año nuevo a todos ellos y sus comunidades!

Ir a leer parte 2

[andystanberg]

Workplace Health and Safety [IronDad & Spiderson]

Word Count: 17,618 AO3 Link Summary:

Post-Homecoming, Aunt May makes Tony officialise Peter's internship with Stark Industries. However, Tony is deathly afraid of getting close to the kid.

It happens, anyway.

(Five times Tony Stark fucked up as a mentor, and one time he learnt how to be a dad.)

-

Heads up, the kid’s in a bad mood.

Tony scoffed at Happy’s text, hunched over his workbench to continue his latest Peter Project. Yeah, teenagers were perpetually moody (or so he had been told by various parents at various galas over the years), but this kid? His kid?

Peter always had a wise crack up his sleeve and a thousand too-long tales about his day that never really had a point. And he had just come back from school, on a Wednesday.

Tony was sure he’d soon be hearing all about how Señor Tomas snapped at him for not being able to roll his r’s, how APUSH after lunch was the worst when that old drone Mrs Crath couldn’t change her tone to save her life, and how Academic Decathlon was not the same this year without that Lisa, Liv, Liz or whatever girl.

Although, wasn’t Peter into that MJ girl now? Since Spring, the Liz mentions have been steadily replaced with wistful sighs over how cool his new friend MJ was.

Maybe the kid had worked up the nerve to ask her out and got rejected? That would certainly warrant some teenage blues.

Tony’s musing was cut short by the ding of the elevator, which echoed throughout the quiet of his lab. Before Peter, he always had music blasting in the lab, but since the kid’s internship had become official at May’s insistence, Tony always ensured he could hear the kid’s arrival on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. The only other sound was Dum-E’s quiet whirring towards the elevator doors. Tony suspected Dum-E liked the kid more than him.

The first time Peter came up to the labs by himself, after being issued all his security clearances, Tony had been so engrossed in his work and the music had been so deafening that he hadn’t noticed when the kid arrived. Peter, being too awkward to say anything, had simply started working at his designated bench on some homework from school. An hour later and Tony almost had a heart attack when he turned around, ready to yell at FRIDAY to call Peter to berate him for his tardiness, only to find the kid peacefully working away.

“Hey Dum-E,” he heard Peter quietly whisper to his robot friend as he entered.

“Hey, kid! Great timing – I have a new project for you.”

The kid walked in and dumped his backpack on the ground. Literally just right in front of the elevator.

“Woah, not cool, Pete. What if someone comes up here and trips over that? Throw it on the couch.”

“No one but us comes up here,” Peter muttered. Still, he picked it up and tossed it to the ratty couch pressed up against the wall, to the right of the now dim elevator.

“It’s about maintaining a standard. Workplace health and safety, huh, you ever heard of that?”

He frowned. Tony’s taunting didn’t seem to register. Instead, Peter came around to the other side of his workbench, eyebrows furrowed as he took in the mess Tony was tinkering with, and Dum-E following him from a respectable distance.

Normal Peter would have already sprung off a hundred and one questions about the project, trying to guess what this tiny circuit board, a jumble of wires, and bullet-proofing was meant to be. But this Peter just glanced at it, and then his eyes trailed off elsewhere, not saying a word.

Alright, maybe Happy was right.

“I’m trying to improve your suit,” Tony offered. “Of course, there’s that new one – that you turned down, might I remind you – but after your little fight with that eagle guy-“

“Vulture.”

“Yeah, don’t interrupt me when I’m talking, Underoos. Anyway, when that hawk thing kicked your butt-“

“He was a vulture, and I won!”

Peter was finally looking at him, and Tony laughed. Trust a teenager’s pride to win out against sullenness. Oh, he should share that tip with May – though, was it rude to assume he now knew more about parenting Peter than she did? Probably. He’d ask Pepper about this later.

“Sure, kid. What was the final count again? Three broken ribs or four? Anyway,” he waved a hand, taking delight in the indignation on Peter’s face, “I realised your suit’s too light weight if you’re going to be joining the big leagues.”

“I like my suit lightweight. Easier to swing in, and besides, I don’t need all that beefing because I actually have superpowers, unlike some people who are just old and rich.”

There was that Peter smile.

“Old and rich? Me being old and rich saved your ass from drowning, last I recall!”

“Wouldn’t need saving if your suit had deployed that parachute correctly!”

“Details, details.” He had already fixed that in the new designs anyway. Tony brought up the hologram screen on his workbench and ushered Peter around to join him on his side. “I know you want to keep it light, but we also need to give you some real protection, Pete. Your aunt made it very clear that she’d have my head if something happened to you, and I can’t let you run around Queens getting shot at. What if a bullet actually hit you? Then you’d be sorry you didn’t let this old rich man upgrade your suit!”

Peter laughed. “I’ve had like, ten bullets actually hit me, so I think I’ll be fine.” He leaned into the screen, examining the hasty ideas Tony had scribbled down, and some potential designs for the upgrade.

Tony stared in open-mouthed horror. “Please tell me that’s some youth slang.” Peter shot him a guilty look back. “Ten? Bullets?! How come this is the first I’m hearing about this? I’ve seen your medical records, kid, and I didn’t see anything about it then!”

“Well, you see,” Peter began, hands up in a placating manner, “I can’t exactly go to the hospital when it happens. With the no health insurance.” Tony’s face must have twisted more into anger, because Peter hastily added, “And mutated DNA! Super healing, can’t explain that, can I?”

Tony took a deep breath in. He pinched his nose. “So, how, exactly, did you manage to remove them?” A gut instinct screamed that he wouldn’t like Peter’s answer.

“Um, I didn’t- uh, never got a chance to. They’re all, you know, just chilling like villains… in there.” Peter’s hand gestured to his body.

Tony was going to have a heart attack. This was it. Helen kept trying to warn him- had told him to avoid unnecessary stress, said that his blood pressure was abnormally high especially for someone without a fully functioning heart, and here he was with a kid hell-bent on sending Tony to an early grave.

“But it’s not that bad Mr Stark! They’re not like, in any vital organs or anything, just the stupid ones. And you can’t even see any scarring!”

“Kid, I’m afraid to ask, but what organs do you consider the ‘stupid’ ones?”

“You know, like, the kidney-“

“Wrong.”

“Really?” Tony hated how genuinely shocked Peter looked. “Oh man, but I thought since there’s two of them…”

“We’ve got to get you to med bay. I can’t believe you. You’re supposed to be responsible!”

“It’s really not that bad, Mr Stark. The last time I got shot was months ago, No immediate danger, see?” The kid had the audacity to do a flip as if that would prove his point. Dum-E extended its robotic arm, giving Peter what looked like a high-five, of all things. “Can we at least work on the bullet-proofing for a little bit?”

“No!”

Peter turned those big baby-doe brown eyes on him.

“No,” Tony said again, extending a finger out.

“But then you’ll have to tell Aunt May, and she’ll want me straight home, and then you’re leaving my suit as is so the next time I get shot it’ll really be your fault.”

Tony cursed. When did his kid get so good at manipulation? He was spending too much time around Happy, that big softy. Tony knows all about the McDonald’s ice cream trips between school and here.

“Fine. But only for two hours. Your last hour will be spent in the med-bay, getting X-Rays.”

“What if the radiation makes me more spider-like?”

“I guess we’ll have to deal with it.”

Tony fended off Peter’s follow-up questions about radioactivity and the possibility of spiders in the med-bay getting mutated and going on a biting spree. Gradually, Peter fell into silence and began concentrating on the task.

They were testing different materials for flexibility, strength, and conductivity. Nothing worked well on all three parameters, and it was beginning to get frustrating.

“Let’s turn on the radio,” Tony suggested, noticing the kid flagging at the lack of progress.

The old metal box on his workbench crackled to life – something Peter teased him mercilessly for, because who had a radio in the age of phones, even though the kid’s phone was basically a brick – and jumped right into the middle of a news segment.

“-preliminary hearing tomorrow for his alleged attempt at stealing a plane from Avengers Tower, which crashed into Coney Island. It’s unclear whether Spiderman, a local vigilante who witnesses reported seeing falling out of the sky with the jet, was trying to help or stop the attempt.”

“Unclear?” Peter squawked. “I wrote a note!”

“It’s been reported that Toomes – known as the Vulture – has been offered a plea deal if he reveals the identity of Spiderman, who the state is considering prosecuting for charges of damaging city property, hijacking a plane, and attempted terrorism.”

Nothing new then, Tony mused as he switched the radio to something with actual music. They had been running that story all day. He had already investigated the plea deal claim himself to ensure it held no merit (and he didn’t bribe any government officials to make it so, although he would be donating to several of their kids’ schools out of the goodness of his heart). These reporters needed to get better at their jobs.

And as far as villains went, this was the best First Bad Guy a superhero mentor could ask for. The Vulture had been too preoccupied with stealing Tony’s tech to finish killing Peter (which, obviously, thank God and all that nonsense, Tony was petrified when Happy had called him in and he’d found Peter in the state that he was in – although that hadn’t stopped him from trying to make that point about a good First Bad Guy to the kid’s aunt when she inevitably found out).

Peter looked faint beside him. “C’mon, kid, they can’t charge you with shit if they don’t know who you are. And as if that eagle guy knew who you were.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve been pretty good at keeping your little secret, I’ll give you that. I’m, uh, proud of you, Underoos.” Peter got quiet at that. Had he gone too far? Wasn’t praise good for kids? Or was that just babies? “I mean, it can’t be that hard. I wouldn’t pay you if you were the type to let these things slip to the villain of the week.”

“You don’t pay me, Mr Stark,” Peter muttered before going back to running conductivity tests on various materials.

Hmm. Well, he’d have to speak to someone about that. Who even officialised all this internship nonsense anyway? He’d throw in health insurance, too.

“I’ll speak to the head of HR and get that changed. Really, you should have said something. You do alright work around here.” Then, uncomfortable at how sentimental he was becoming, Tony said, “Though when I was your age, I was building real rockets, not messing around with toys.”  

The kid got all quiet again. These mood swings were going to kill Tony. How many months did puberty take, anyway? Five? Six?

Normal Peter would have pointed out that Tony was the one who built all these so-called toys. Where the fuck was Normal Peter?

Maybe he was being too harsh. The kid saw stars in Tony’s eyes or something, so he changed tactics again. “Kid, seriously though, listen.”

When Peter still didn’t look at him, Tony sighed. This got Peter’s attention. He looked annoyed. Almost angry.

“I am proud of you, obviously. You know that. I see a lot of myself in you. More than that, I want you to be better. I think you will be better. My dad never-“

“I’m so sick of hearing about your dad!” Peter exclaimed suddenly, throwing his materials down. Of course, super kid, super powers, and the table indented enough that Tony’s glasses – his special glasses that he designed himself with FRIDAY installed – flung in the air, onto the ground, cracking. Then, the piece of steel Peter had been messing with (and he should’ve known something was wrong because Normal Peter would never have even experimented with steel for this project, knowing its absolutely shit thermal conductivity) slid off the now off-kilter table and crushed the remains of his glasses.

Tony watched as Peter’s head whipped from the glasses, to Tony, then back to the glasses. Dum-E followed those movements in an almost comical, if not equally infuriating, manner.

“Mr Stark, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- I’ll pay for new ones, I’m really sorry-“

“Great, that’ll be five thousand dollars’ worth of time and materials.”

“Five thousand! Mr Stark, I didn’t mean-“

“Oh, you’re so grounded, kiddo!”

At that, Peter looked angry again. Dum-E rolled towards him. “You can’t ground me!”

“I can. I am.” Dum-E spun around to Tony.

Peter stared back in a challenge. “It was an accident. An accident. You’re punishing me for an accident?”

“You screwed up!”

Peter rolled his eyes. “It was an accident-“

 “You should know better. Clearly, I was wrong,” Tony said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Dum-E rolled back and forth between the two, whirring unhappily.

“Why couldn’t you just leave me alone? Today I just wanted to come in, do my work-“

“Oh, so this is my fault?”

“- but of course, you couldn’t just stop talking and leave me alone-“

“Now you know how I feel, kid.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“I’ll stop calling you that when you stop acting-“

Dum-E, reaching a new level of distress, flung its arm around in a circle. It knocked Peter’s steel, which was attached to all its wires and electrical source, onto the ground. From the table behind, Dum-E’s arm swept a vial of white foaming liquid onto the ground, too, and instantly, the mixture began to spark before fully igniting. An inferno roared around Dum-E, and Tony suddenly remembered that the kid had been messing with flammable webs.

(“In case we’re teamed up, and your laser beams can set my webs on fire, and then I’d have, like, flame webs, Mr Stark!”)

Tony, being the responsible adult, ran towards the fire extinguisher and fire blanket in the corner of his lab. God, that kid was really going to kill him. First, he’d melt his robot, and then he’d give Tony a heart attack. Just perfect.

He was gearing up to yell at the kid some more when he turned back to the fire.

Peter was standing in the middle of the damned thing, picking up Dum-E, and screaming like all hell.

“Peter!”

Tony barely had enough sense to keep a grip on the fire extinguisher as he ran over to his kid. When he got closer, he could see Peter’s arms already blistering, then re-blistering as the heat continued to scorch him because he wouldn’t let go of that stupid robot.

He aimed the nozzle at Peter, letting the foam spray everywhere to dampen the flames. Peter was still screaming and still, stupidly, carrying the robot. He flung Dum-E to the other side of the room and immediately dropped to the ground, as if that was all he had strength for. Tony’s heart stopped.

He grabbed the fire blanket and ran in, ignoring the still scorching heat as he wrapped his kid up, picked him up, and started running like never before to the elevator.

“FRIDAY, med-bay! Now!”

Oh, god, the kid, his kid, was still screaming. “It hurts, Mr Stark, Mr Stark, please-“

One peak showed the damage all up his forearms, trying to heal themselves but only making the issue worse as his skin blistered even though his arms were still hot to the touch, opening wounds all over again as his kid kept screaming.

He was trying to pry the doors open before they had even arrived at the floor, and he stumbled out into the med-bay wild-eyed. “Help! Helen- someone- help me! My kid needs help!”

Why didn’t he become a doctor like his mother wanted? Why didn’t he have any first-aid knowledge? Wasn’t that a workplace health and safety thing? Why the fuck didn’t he have first-aid training?

All these thoughts raced through Tony’s head at rapid speed as he carefully set his kid down on a spare bed. He yanked open draws, pulling at rolls of gauze, but it seemed wrong to put that on without treating the burns first. How do you even treat burns?

And all the while, Peter was screaming.

That brought Helen running, and she quickly took over with the calm of a practised professional. She forced Tony into a seat away from the bed, but the curtains separating them couldn’t block out Peter’s agony.

Tony had fucked up so bad. The kid’s aunt was going to kill Tony. He wanted to kill him.

Burying his head in his hands, Tony stayed like that until Helen had gotten Peter as treated as possible for the time being. She made Tony apply some burn cream to his arms (where he had grabbed Peter’s burning body) before allowing him in to see the kid.

He looked terrible—almost head-to-toe wrapped in white, like some awful mummy costume that was only scaring Tony.

“Kid, what were you thinking?” Tony said, devastated as he dropped beside Peter. He went to take his hand but decided against it. Were fifth-degree burns a thing?

Peter, who had been staring at the ceiling, let his eyes fall on Tony’s face. “I had to save Dum-E,” he rasped.

Some vocal damage, too, then. Perfect.

“Pete. Dum-E can save himself. I had to program fire procedures into him ages ago. I can’t believe I’m going to have to program you, too.”

Peter barely smiled at that. “I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

Tony had to screw his eyes shut for a moment. Deep breath, Tony. “Peter. You’re my responsibility. You’re not allowed to get hurt. You’re my kid.”

“Stop calling me that, please,” Peter said weakly. The kid stared resolutely down at his hands.

“Oh,” was the intelligent response Tony managed to muster up. “Of course. Sorry.”

God, what kind of moron would do that? Of course, the kid didn’t want to be seen as his kid. Tony was probably disrespecting Peter’s parents, or his aunt, or… Or maybe Peter just didn’t want Tony saying that. Which was fine. Tony did just get him severely burnt. He wouldn’t trust himself with anyone’s kid either.

His nose was itchy, his eyes burning. “Um, I’ll just- I have to call your Aunt May. Inform your legal guardian, and everything.”

He frowned at the reminder of paperwork hell he’d have to go through now that he was sure the kid was alive. Two separate incident reports, at least, and since this definitely qualified as ‘grievous bodily harm’, he’d have to immediately alert Peter’s legal guardian (already doing), Peter’s head of department (which was, luckily, himself), and the head of Stark Industries’ Workplace Health and Safety (which was, unluckily, not him).

The latter posed a problem. Some normal manager couldn’t know about Peter’s injuries because when they inevitably healed themselves, that would be far more difficult to explain.  Did WHS fall into Pepper’s responsibilities? Did a CEO count as a head of department?

After he informed Peter’s Aunt May, he argued that point with Pepper until she made up a new role for herself, specifically as Peter’s head WHS officer. It felt good to argue with someone who wasn’t Peter, even though Pepper was more worried than mad.

“I fucked up today. I’m a failure of a mentor. Do you think I’m turning into my dad, Pep?”

“I didn’t know your dad, Tony,” Pepper said. “I’m sure you and the kid will patch things up.”

“Patch things up? We never fight. You know that. I didn’t say we had a fight. Why would we? The kid loves me. Did he tell you about the argument?”

“Tony.”

“Got to go, love you.” Tony hung up the phone as he stared down death herself.

“Where is Peter?” Aunt May demanded, stalking up to him in her blue scrubs. “What have you done with my kid?”

Which, ouch. Salt in the open wound much.

“Hey, nice of you to swing by! Did you guys meet on the web? Just hang here for a bit while I round up your friends, okay?”

“Tony, does the kid ever shut up?” Steve said over his comms.

Tony had been anxiously hovering two blocks away from Spiderman, making FRIDAY look through the walls separating them to keep an eye on his kid as Peter swung around fighting bad guys with those awful jokes of his.

He told himself it was because the kid’s aunt had threatened to kill him if he didn’t return Peter safely to her from now on, and not because he was also worried about a repeat of the lab incident. That was several months ago now, and although Peter had been cleared for a week after the accident, Tony hadn’t let him patrol.

He kept reminding the kid that he was grounded. It hurt that Peter was starting to resent him for it, but Tony knew it would hurt more if the kid died. So, he’d let the resentment simmer, and Peter hadn’t talked to him for three weeks. Big deal. They were fighting aliens, and Peter was here too because he couldn’t take no for an answer. But, for whatever reason, Peter had amped up the hating-Tony-for-no-reason vibe.

“Aw, Captain Rogers, I thought you loved my jokes!” Peter called out over the comms. “Unlike Iron Man. Iron Man is just some rich old guy who hates fun. Like Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“What happened to ‘Mr Stark’?” Steve asked.

Tony tsked. “Yeah, real mature, Underoos. Unfortunately, my Christmas ghosts haven’t visited yet, so I’m not feeling particularly charitable. One more joke like that and you’re getting benched.”

“Woof, someone’s getting touchy,” muttered someone that sounded an awful lot like Peter, the kid he just told off.

“Alright, that’s it.” He started steering towards Peter’s location. Peter must have spotted him, because seconds later the comms crackled again.

“C’mon, it’s not my bedtime yet!”

The little shit swung out of reach, and before Tony could chase after him, the remaining purple aliens on their hoverboards dove for Tony.

“Kid, when I get out of this-“

“What, you’ll ground me?” Peter mocked.

“Sheesh, I’m sensing some family tension over there,” Clint said.

“Or, wait, you won’t come to my birthday party?” Came the next snarky remark.

Although Tony had already felt a pit in his stomach form.

“Oh, you forgot about that, huh?”

No one seemed to miss the venom in Peter’s voice. Tony was scouring his memories. Had he been invited? The kid hadn’t texted in weeks. He remembered, vaguely, being told something by his aunt, like once.

Shit, the kid was sixteen now? And he’d missed it?

“Must have been a big one, Tony,” Steve said.

“Yeah, like his tenth,” Clint chimed in.

“Yeah, it was a big one,” Peter huffed.

Tony’s mouth was moving before his brain could stop himself or, better yet, obliterate himself. “Hard to feel welcomed to a party when you don’t talk to me for three weeks, kid. Let alone finding out from someone else.”

“Oh ho ho,” Peter laughed bitterly, “that justifies it.”

Steve, ever the negotiator, tried to intervene. Which was real rich, considering the whole Civil War thing was entirely his fault. “Tony, maybe you should apologise. It sounds like it was pretty important to, uh, Spiderman.”

And maybe that big dumb soldier had a point, but Tony was so full of anger and hurt and his kid didn’t want to be his kid. Yet, when he tried to put distance between them, he was the bad guy.

“Oh, as if you wanted me there. You hate my guts these days!”

“I hate your guts? I’m the ‘screw-up’!”

“I never called you that.”

“But you said it!”

“You screwed up!”

“I didn’t even know you guys were close,” said Clint, the awkwardness dripping from his words at the silence that followed.

Shit. Tony reeled his head in. The rest of the Avengers team (were they still technically a team?) didn’t know Peter’s identity yet. As if Tony would trust those buffoons to protect a secret so precious. However, if they knew Tony knew Spiderman beyond the mask, they’d be sure to interrogate him. Or trail the kid, and raid his school. Or whatever murderous traitorous bastards did these days.

“We’re not close,” Tony lied.

“If you guys are finished squabbling,” Natasha said in a cool drawl next, “we’ve got action in the three-storey walk-ups to the east.”

“On it,” Peter said, then came the tell-tale click of the comm being turned off.

“Underoos, you better not have-“

“He can’t hear you, Tony,” Natasha said. “And we need you to head north. Some of the bigger guys are converging on the Empire State Building.”

Tony stared after the retreating red heatform of Peter and cursed, turning off the thermal vision. He would track that spider down later and… do something. Report him to May. Or ask May for advice on how to reconnect with a teenager. Or… he’d think of something when it got to that point!

Turning, he directed himself towards the Empire State. It was safer for the kid to be in the east anyway. What if this building came down? Anyone in the immediate area would certainly die. Surely there were people working inside who hadn’t yet escaped.

“Steve, report. How is the evacuation effort going?”

“Not as swiftly as we’d like. One hundred civilians are still in the tower, elevators are down, and it’s difficult convincing people to walk down eighty flights of stairs when explosions are going off every few seconds.”

“Well, do they know that the explosions are only going to get closer if they don’t start moving?” Tony snapped.

“Don’t take your argument with your kid out on me.”

“He’s not my kid.”

Clint sighed. “There goes one theory. Though, it’d be real cold to miss your kid’s birthday. Did you at least get him a present?”

“I told you, we’re not close. Spidey doesn’t need presents.” He had, in fact, planned out a present. He was going to give Peter a Stark phone, one that they had been messing with the coding for together during quiet hours in their internship. Tony had fed the kid some lie about an unnamed superhero needing a durable but private phone for patrols (who patrolled except Peter?). From memory, Peter hadn’t questioned it and had excitedly chattered about all his troubles with a phone (from it being too bright, to too loud, to too loseable-). “You know what? Why don’t you focus on taking out aliens so innocent people don’t die today, Clint?”

“That was a bit harsh,” Steve said.

“Yeah, not really a safe workplace environment,” Clint muttered.

Tony briefly considered playing the Civil War card when an explosion knocked him sideways. His suit quickly righted itself, and he found that some of the hoverboard guys had followed him. They were grosser looking the closer he got, with nasty little scowls and small heads on their big bulging bodies. He blasted them off their boards and grinned to himself. Little bastards.

“What do these guys want, anyway? A tour of New York City's tallest buildings?”

He was half expecting Peter to chime in with, “Actually, Mr Stark, the Empire State isn’t even in the top five!”

Of course, no sound from the spider came.

“Wreak death and destruction?” Clint guessed. “Isn’t that always their M.O.?”

Tony was collecting a large amount of bombs the alien bastards were dropping as they flew around the city, so he supposed Clint must be right. As long as they didn’t blow the newly repurchased Stark Tower, all would be well. That damn thing had cost him more than it was worth, especially when he had plans of retirement soon, but he needed to be close to the kid to monitor his progress.

And step in as a real mentor. Happy had done a terrible job, clearly.

“FRIDAY, do you know how long until these things are set to detonate?” He held up one of the purple globes for FRIDAY to scan.

“Judging by their pulses, approximately thirty minutes.”

Tony sighed. He really was getting too old for this. “Excellent.”

Relaying that information to the team, they began working double time. Clint’s arrows sailed overhead in rapid succession, clearing out the alien guys while Tony blasted their ship to pieces. He finished dumping its remains in the Hudson River while Natasha, Steve, and his unmanned suits collected the bombs FRIDAY’s scanner, now knowing what to look for, revealed. The group worked from West to East in record time.

They weren’t quite sure what to do with the bombs, and so far, dumping it in the river was their only viable option, with just a minute left to go. So off to the East River they went.

Hopefully the city wouldn’t be too angry with them, although Tony had little faith that anyone but him (and his distant acquaintance, the perfectly adult-aged Spidey) would stick around to deal with the consequences. So, what, they blow up some fish? Less important than the Empire State Building, surely.

“Boss, incoming,” FRIDAY’s voice alerted. One of the aliens was flying towards them full-speed, half-dissolved webs hanging off him.

Oh, Tony was not looking forward to the scolding he’d have to hand down later. He could understand – maybe – saving human lives when you could, even if they were straight up villains. But aliens? Really, kid?

With all their hands full of the tiny purple bombs, none of them could block the attack, but as suited up as Tony was, he really didn’t care. This guy would just bump into him and away, like an unfortunate bug splatter across your car windshield.

But he didn’t account for the alien to reach for one of the bombs out of Tony’s arms, and drop it straight below them.

Natasha and Clint had just deposed their loads in the river, and Clint had already let an arrow loose straight into the alien’s grotesque, elongated neck. The bomb seemed to be heading for a building top with just a bunch of aliens webbed onto it, damn kid, but he asked FRIDAY to double-check to be sure.

“No pure human lifeforms remain in the vicinity, Boss.”

“Great, job done.” He’d turned to give the all clear signal – again, some old brick buildings or the Empire State Building, the city can choose – when FRIDAY’s voice chimed on again.

“To be clear, Spiderman’s mutated human lifeform is resting in the building.”

Tony dove.

He didn’t look at the count down in the corner of his vision. He knew what it said. He knew what it meant. But he could see Peter’s tiny red heat-form in there, on the bottom floor, lying out casually as if nothing in the world could be going wrong right now.

His desperate voice ripped out of his throat. “Kid, Underoos, you have to get out of there-“

“Spiderman is not connected to the communication system at present, Boss.”

These explosions were larger than the tiny ones that had been popping off earlier in the fight. He distantly registered the spray of water from the East River, the boom ringing in his ears, but all he could focus on was the roof of the building his kid was in shattering. The windows blew, then the building sides buckled, and then it caved in.

All on top of his kid.

He landed on the ground, stepping over rubble, trying to get FRIDAY’s thermal vision to pick up his kid.

“Boss, the rock layers are too thick.”

Tony ignored it. He knew where his kid had been. He’d start there. He started carefully hauling off pieces of building, but each piece he moved sent more cascading down on top of where Peter had been.

“Kid? Kid, I’m coming, just stay there, I’ve got you,” Tony said, words spewing out of him even though he knew Peter wouldn’t be able to hear him, even if he- if he was-

Natasha and Clint had made their way over from the river. They both looked as worried as Tony felt.

He killed his kid. His boy.

“The surrounding buildings need to be reinforced before any of the rubble can be moved,” FRIDAY instructed.

“My kid can’t breathe in there,” Tony snapped back. “We don’t have time.”

“Any further movement risks more damage, which could harm Spiderman. I advise reinforcing these points first, and then slowly excavating from the top.”

“We don’t have time!”

Then he heard a click in his ear.

“Guys,” Peter’s voice came, very strained over the comms, “guys, I might, uh, I might need some help if someone’s free.”

“Underoos!” Tony could almost cry from relief. “Are you okay? Talk to me, kid.”

There was a long pause, and Tony feared Peter had lost connection or had passed out or-

“I’m okay, but I don’t know how long I can hold this up.”

“Hold what up? The building?”

“Yeah.” Another pause. “Mr Stark?”

He was holding up the building? God, this kid was something else. They’d have to do some strength tests at some point, find out his limit. Tony flew to the building supports FRIDAY had identified, and got his mini drones to help lift them up.

“It’s okay, kid, we’re going to get you out. Can you breathe okay in there?”

“It’s not like this is my first time getting a building dropped on me.”

What?

“What?”

“Vulture guy,” Peter explained, his voice quiet and his breaths sounding raggedy and loud in Tony’s ears. “Before he went to steal your stuff. Dropped a warehouse on me. That sucked. Didn’t have m’suit at the time, ‘cause you took it. Thought I was going to die.”

Natasha and Clint shot Tony a sharp glare. He deserved that.

“No one’s dying today, kid.”

He relayed some orders to Natasha and Clint, and finally Steve rocked up on scene. Seriously, the Empire State building wasn’t that far, and the man was a supersoldier.

Putting aside his animosity, Tony made Steve help him lift the debris, carefully moving according to FRIDAY’s words.

“Mr Stark?” came Peter’s small voice again after a few minutes of silent work.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Can you talk to me? For a bit? ‘M just struggling to, uh, keep awake, and everything.”

Peter was definitely hurt. He must be. The way he was breathing, the way his voice got quieter and quieter, his speech more slurred…

Tony didn’t want to think about the extent of his injuries. He focused on the work at hand.

“Of course. Cap and I are starting to lift the most of it now. All the surrounding buildings should be fine, so it’s just a matter of digging you out in a way that we don’t send more debris down on you. You’ll be okay. We’ll get you out, we’ll patch you up, and we can-“

Tony stopped himself. They can… what? Watch movies? Get ice cream? That was something you did with your kid. Which Peter wasn’t.

“Can you visit me in med-bay this time?” Peter asked. Then, quieter, “I missed you.”

“I- uh, sure.”

Steve shot him a look. You don’t visit him? He mouthed.

Yeah, Tony was a screw-up. He knew that. “Kid, listen, I’m really sorry about this whole past few months. I want you to know that.”

“I know, Mr Stark.”

“No, but, I messed up. I failed you and I’m sorry.” He didn’t care that the others were listening in. All that mattered was that Peter was on the other end of the line, and he was hurt, and it was Tony’s fault, and if he died today the last thing they did together would be to argue. And that would kill Tony.

Another long pause. Peter’s breathing picked up, and Tony heard a groan of pain. “I’m really hurt you didn’t come to my birthday,” Peter just managed to get out. “I know it’s stupid, I know-“ another groan of pain- “I know you said we aren’t close, but-“ Peter cried out.

“Kid, it’s okay, stop moving,” Tony said. It was hard to focus when his kid was hurt, his head clouding with the emergency of the situation. “That was stupid of me to say. I’ll make it up to you.”

The pile of rubble, now considerably smaller, began shifting by itself. Tony and Steve fell to the ground and just barely got out the way of falling buildings pieces when another large push gave way to Peter, his arms outstretched as he threw the last of the debris off himself, and then promptly collapsed where he stood.

Thank god the kid still had his suit and mask on, because the tell-tale buzz of news helicopters had begun to converge on their location. Now that the imminent threat of alien invasion was over, the news vultures would be fighting to get the best shot of the tentatively reunited Avengers.

Tony flew over to Peter. His suit was torn in several places, but his chest was rising and falling – albeit quickly. He wouldn’t be able to check his head until they were safely back at the tower so Tony scanned the rest of his body. His heart twisted when he saw the big metal rod impaling Peter’s right leg, the blood soaking the crimson fabric into a deep wine red.

He blasted the metal rod off from the concrete beam it had been attached to, picked up his kid rod-and-all, and made a beeline for the tower. Whether Steve and the rest followed was none of his concern. Mission completed. The only thing that remotely mattered now was Peter.

The med-bay was up and running, anticipating his return, and Helen quickly took Peter into one of the private rooms. He let the other doctors check him out while Helen worked, even humoured their requests to bandage various superficial wounds, but brushed them off when, after an hour, Helen finally came out and said he could see Spiderman.

The door clicked shut behind him and Tony stood awkwardly over Peter’s bed. The kid looked so small out of that suit. His head and leg were wrapped in thick gauze, and although Helen had wiped the dust and blood off his hands and minor injuries, the kid was in desperate need of a shower. His curls were flat on his pale forehead, and his eyes barely focused in on Tony.

They had kind of made up, but would Peter remember that? He was almost certainly concussed. And maybe he’d only forgiven him in the heat of battle.

Tony had fucked up again today. There was no forgiving that.

“Hey, Mr Stark,” the kid said, weakly smiling up at Tony, “d’ya think we could get ice cream?”

Now that Peter and Tony were back on talking terms, Tony’s life was a lot calmer. He finally gave the kid his new phone, although Peter had vehemently tried to reject it on the grounds that it was too expensive of a gift. Their Saturday internship, which on the books was scheduled for six hours, became three hours of messing around in the lab and three hours of movies.

(“Mr Stark, have you seen that super old movie with that weird looking alien?”

“E.T.? That’s not that old, kid. I was like, twelve, when it came out.”

“Exactly.”)

Aunt May had been informed of both building incidents (it seemed like neither knew about the first) and was incredibly pissed that first, Tony had taken Peter’s only means of protection against the Vulture who had been deliberately targeting Peter, and second, that Tony had let Peter work on his own.

For any future world missions, Peter was to be buddied or benched.

Their Mondays and Wednesdays continued as usual, bar random fires. The kid had returned to his normal, happy self. He even dared to ask if Ned and his new ‘friend’ (“She’s just a friend, Mr Stark!”), MJ, could come visit the tower sometime. Tony, not wanting to upset their newfound balance by denying his kid something, made Aunt May talk to Peter about the implications of MJ being near his spider tech.

That woman was a lifesaver.

Today was a Wednesday, and Tony was out on a walk with Pepper, passing time until he could finally see the kid again.

“I mean, he’s just so great, Pep, you really should meet him.”

Pepper wore an amused smile. “I know, Tony, I keep asking to meet him. He’s a good influence on you.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “Talking to him makes me think that I could be a dad. Isn’t that crazy? Like, I barely keep that kid alive and here I am thinking that makes me worthy of fatherhood. But he’s just so great.”

“I don’t think it’s crazy. You’d be a great dad.”

“Really?” He caught Pepper’s eye. She seemed serious as she kept walking through the park. “Because, you know, I had this dream. And it was crazy realistic. Scary, honestly. Like dream-walking. Peter told me about dream-walking, the kid watches some crazy stuff online. Hey, Pep, slow down, slow down.”

“You’re totally rambling. You lost me.”

“You know how you’re having a dream, and in the dream, you got to pee.”

“Yeah.”

He proceeded to tell her about the dream he had last night, the one with their baby girl Morgan. Although Pepper confirmed she wasn’t pregnant, Tony was only a little disappointed because it was a Wednesday, and he still got to see his kid that very afternoon.

“And, I need this thing in my chest because what if the kid needed me?”

“Imaginary Morgan?”

“No,” Tony waved a hand, “I mean, yes, if we had a Morgan. But we don’t. I mean the kid. My kid.”

Pepper nodded in understanding. “Peter.”

“Yeah! He can’t just be swinging out there with no one to watch his back. What if a building collapses on him?”

“Buildings don’t just fall down, Tony.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Before he could argue his point further, another fucking alien invasion started in New York City. If he did have a kid, they were moving, that was for certain. Would this cut into his internship time with Peter? He had better wrap this up quick.

Just as the alien of the week geared up to punch him, his kid came swinging into the scene. Didn’t he have school today?

“Kid, where’d you come from?”

“Field trip to MOMA!”

Then they were in the heart of the city, and that stupid wizard was getting sucked up into a spaceship and so was his kid. So then they were in space. And then a planet, and then they were fighting another alien with a stupid glove.

And his kid was doing brilliantly, of course. But Tony was worried sick. He didn’t trust these random other aliens, who were apparently working on their side, led by that Lord guy.

Thanos got the glove, fucked off to Earth, so then, with no working way home, Peter and Tony began to help up their new tentative allies.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Peter said, approaching Mantis. “How does your, um, power work? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I touch and I feel. I can try it on you?” said Mantis, her weird alien antennas bobbing towards him.

“Woah, stay away from my kid,” Tony said, stepping towards them.

She already had her hands on him. “You feel excited, curious. And disappointed. Thanos is very hard to beat. You did a good job, Peter.”

“Of course he did.” Tony watched the exchange unhappily. He didn’t trust this woman for a moment, and he wasn’t going to take his eyes off this kid.

“You feel very happy. Like he is your father.”

Tony’s head whipped to Peter, who avoided his gaze as he stepped backwards from Mantis. “He’s not my dad.”

Mantis cocked her head, as if she didn’t really understand what Peter was saying. Honestly, Tony was surprised aliens could speak English, so maybe she had misunderstood Peter’s thoughts.

“Is that how you see me, Peter?” He asked, smile on his face as if he didn’t care what the answer was. As if this was a joke. His heart pounded in his chest.

“No,” Peter said, still not looking at him. Tony frowned.

“That is a lie!” Mantis said. She was back beside Star Lord.

Tony didn’t say anything else for a moment. This day had been a lot. He was exhausted and it was making him emotional. They hadn’t taken down the big bad guy, but the majority of the Avengers were on Earth, which was apparently where Thor was heading. If this ragtag alien pirate crew had managed to almost take him down, he was sure Earth would finish the job.

His only job now was to get Peter home safely.

Everyone tensed up.

“Something is happening,” Mantis said, moments before she disappeared.

Tony looked for Peter instantly, but the kid seemed fine. Just shocked, and confused.

But then one by one, their companions disappeared. Tony held out hope that it was confined to the alien-adjacent people up until the Doc also began to disintegrate.

“There was no other way,” he said, and then he was ash.

“Mr Stark?” Came an unsteady voice from behind him.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening.

Tony felt like this forsaken planet they were on had stopped moving, the breath punched out of his lungs as he turned around to his kid, slowly wobbling towards him.

“I don’t feel so good.”

The kid looked at his hands, and then back at Tony.

“You’re alright,” he said. Because of course Peter was fine. Peter was- Peter was his kid.

He was fine. His suit had every upgrade imaginable, to fend off every possible injury. They’d go home and they’d laugh about this. The kid would tell him how cool it was to go to space, even if it had been entirely against Tony’s orders.

He’d get Peter ice cream, and then he’d scold him, and Peter wouldn’t listen because he was a kid, and kids don’t listen. And- and Tony would ground him again. For good this time. Because he’d be fine, obviously, but Tony was so scared right now and he felt like his soul was dying and Helen would get mad at him. His cardiograms!

“I don’t- I don’t know what’s happening,” his kid said, stumbling towards him until he was falling into Tony’s arms.

Tony gripped him with all his might. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. Nothing was happening. They were just… hanging out. On a planet. Where everything was fine.

“I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go.”

And still, Tony had nothing to say. Because his kid was fine. He could feel parts of his kid – his fucking kid – disintegrating underneath his hands but his kid was fine. They had ice cream waiting for them. He’d even let Peter force him into a Star Wars marathon. He wouldn’t even complain, he wouldn’t, he swore, because he’d do anything for his kid to be alright.

They dropped to the floor, Peter’s legs giving out. Tony laid Peter on his back, not letting go of his boy even as his panicked whispers gave way to silence, even as the arm that had been clinging to Tony’s shirt falls away into nothing.

And the kid looked at him. Even though it must have hurt. Even though he must have been so scared. The kid looked right at Tony.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. And then he was gone.

Tony’s hand fell to the ground, clenching dust that had once been Peter. But that couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be real. Peter was always fine.

The blue woman said something behind him. Tony didn’t care. He didn’t listen. Whatever she had to say wouldn’t matter. The world had ended.

He sat there, clutching his hand. Was the dirt streaked on it from Earth? From Peter?

Peter.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the dust to take him too. And he found he wasn’t even scared. He just sat there, waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and the dust never came.

And he was just stuck here, on this planet with a blue woman, without his kid.

Tony fixed things, of course.

Once he finally pulled his head out of his ass, he shook off the five-year long stupor and fixed things. He brought back his kid, introduced him to his other kid, spent months in hospital, lost an arm, built himself a new one, the usual.

The kid and his aunt had nowhere to go once they came back from what people were now referring to as ‘the Blip’, as if his kid hadn’t died in front of him, as if Tony hadn’t spent five years grieving, as if it was all just a silly little blip.

Tony had taken them in, moving Pepper and Morgan back into the city because that was Peter’s home, and he had two kids now. Pepper was angry, but understanding, and Morgan…

Well, she loved Peter.

Who wouldn’t?

He kept meaning to find Peter and his aunt a new apartment, but with the city suddenly overwhelmed with double the residents, space was scarce. And, well, it was nice to have the kid around.

Anytime Tony got that awful, tight, fearful feeling in his chest, he’d look up, and Peter would be playing Mario Kart with Morgan (and letting her win), or he’d be quietly studying at the table for when schools reopened, or he’d be looking for Tony with that awful, tight, fearful look on his face too.

Aunt May had started a charity to help clothe, feed, and rehome the blipped, and Tony poured copious amounts of money in as anonymous donations. He was fairly certain she knew who was doing it, but she never asked, and Tony never brought it up.

The kid’s friends had, and he couldn’t believe he was saying this, thankfully blipped with him, so they were the same age. He couldn’t imagine his kid coming back and finding out his friends had graduated, gone to college, and moved on.

Tony would never have moved on, at least.

He hadn’t gotten around to signing the paperwork to end Peter’s internship during the five years (he refused to read anything further on those papers than Reason: Employee death), so he was grateful he didn’t have to mess around with security clearances for Peter.

School went back, Peter and May found a place and moved out, and Tony spoiled his little baby Morgan (seriously, how was she growing up so fast?) to keep his mind off the gaping hole from his other kid no longer being within eyesight every second of every day.

There were more large scale attacks – Peter’s identity got revealed in one, but they dealt with it – and then Peter got rejected from MIT.

He was away with Morgan and Pepper when that happened, and he almost flew back when he saw the news about Spiderman fighting some robot-octopus-guy until he watched Peter win, and he thought that was that for the weekend.

And then he got the call from Ned and MJ.

“Um, Mr Stark, sir?” Ned said over the phone. Peter must have given him the number at some point, which was wildly irresponsible. Although, Ned had hacked into Happy’s phone before, so perhaps that was it.

Either way, it must have been important.

“Yeah, what is it? I’ve got an angry five year old waiting to make an igloo when all I have to work with is mush, so speak quickly.”

“Is Peter with you?” MJ asked, worried.

Tony was already sending for one of his suits, signalling to Pepper to get Morgan inside. “No, he’s not with me. We’re in Canada. Have you lost him?”

“We can’t find him,” Ned confirmed. “Peter was trying to get that Doctor Strange guy to do a spell and make people forget his secret identity, but it backfired, and now there are people from different dimensions trying to fight him, and his apartment blew up, and-“

“What?”

“It’s on the news,” Ned said.

Tony immediately got FRIDAY to pull the footage. Oh, no, kid.

They were replaying the scene – police converging on a burning building, blurry body cam footage showing Peter in his suit holding a woman –

His aunt. Oh, god.

And then Peter ran.

“Do you have any idea where he might be?” MJ cut in, impatient.

“No, he’s- he’s not with me. I’m coming back, hold on.”

Ned ended the call. He spun around to Pepper, who was holding onto Morgan and her pink snow jacket, and he was sure he was as pale and as unsteady as he felt, because she already knew.

“What’s happening with Peter?”

“I have to- Pep, I have to go. I have to find him.”

Pepper nodded, and Tony stepped outside into the waiting suit. It flew him down in record time, but it was still too slow, because it had been hours since May had died, and no one knew where his kid was. FRIDAY played the news over his suit speakers, listening as the police manhunt for Peter spread further into the city.

Tony checked his tower first – maybe Peter would be in his old room? But no, it was still made up for him, untouched. Tony cursed and flew off again. He was about to check the school when the skies began ripping open.

Figures made of light peered in through the rips in their universe’s fabric, reaching arms out. Tony followed their gaze to the Statute of Liberty, where Peter was conversing with Doctor Strange. Wasn’t Stephen the one who had gotten them all into this mess? God damn wizards.

He flew over in time to catch the end of the argument.

“-make everyone forget me! That would work, wouldn’t it?”

“No,” Tony’s voice cut in as he dropped beside the pair. “Are you kidding? Someone mind filling me in?”

Stephen grunted, holding a glowing magical cube in his hands. “These beings are from other universes, searching for Peter Parker. It’s going to rip apart our reality as we know it.”

“Well, why don’t we make other universes forget about this Peter Parker? And keep it so everyone who knew before Mysterio still knows.”

“It’s a complicated spell to pull off while our universe is dying.”

“Thought you were a grand wizard, or something,” Tony retorted, staring him down.

“Mr Stark, it’s fine, really-“

Tony held up a hand. “Shut it, kid. The adults are talking.”

“Mr Stark, this will fix it.”

“I’m not losing you again, Peter. Five years without you was hell, and I’m not going to pay that price twice.”

Peter snapped his mouth shut. Tony looked back to Stephen.

“We’re trying this. We try everything first before we resort to that, got it?”

The wizard must have grown a soft spot for Peter (who can resist?), because his gaze flickered to the boy before he nodded. He began weaving, the strain taking a noticeable toll on the wizard, as Tony pulled Peter into his arms and flew him down to the ground, then stepped out of the suit to hold him properly.

Peter fought him for all of two seconds, before his arms went limp beside him and he began to shudder.

It felt eerily similar to that planet, so Tony gripped his kid tighter. “I got you, Pete. You’re alright. Everything’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“Aunt May- she’s-“

“I know,” Tony said, ignoring the tears he felt burning into his shirt. “It’s okay, kid. It’ll be okay.”

“I screwed up. This is all my fault. I just wanted-“

“It’s not your fault,” Tony said firmly.

“You don’t know what I did,” Peter tried to protest, but Tony shook his head, his non-prosthetic hand pressing the back of Peter’s head into his chest again.

“You can tell me all about it when we get home, but I know enough. It’s not your fault. You were just trying to fix things. I can’t fault you for that. It’s okay, it’s okay.” Tony pressed a kiss to his hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. I should have come home as soon as I saw you fighting that damn octopus-“

“He was actually pretty nice,” Peter said. He laughed weakly, before sobbing again. “Aunt May- she, uh, she really liked him.”

Oh, how much had he missed in those two days? How had Tony screwed the pooch this badly?

At least he was here now.

He brought Peter back to the tower that night. He pulled the couch out and he held Peter while he cried himself into exhaustion. The kid had lost so much, all over again. He remembered the feeling, the soul-crushing, whirlpool feeling of so much grief.

“Your room’s still made up, if you want,” Tony said when the kid stopped crying and began to stare blankly at the ceiling, if only to get the kid to react and avoid the horrible numbness for a second longer.

“You kept my room?” Peter whispered, his eyes turning to Tony, although his head stayed put.

“Yeah, kid. You were always welcome to stay, you know.”

Peter nodded, then closed his eyes with the effort. “Can I sleep out here tonight?”

“Of course. Let me get you some blankets and pillows.”

When Tony returned, Peter’s breathing had evened out. Hopefully the kid wouldn’t dream tonight. He carefully tucked the blanket around Peter, and gently lifted his head to place a pillow underneath. He lingered for a moment, before turning to make his way back to his room.

A hand shot out to grip Tony’s shirt.

“Can you stay here? For a bit?” Peter asked, grip unrelenting. He looked so young and scared.

“Sure thing, kid.” Tony settled down next to Peter, back propped up against the couch, arm carding through Peter’s hair as he slowly and uneasily fell back into a slumber.

Only when he was sure that the kid was in a deeper sleep this time, Tony carefully used his left arm to twist his prosthetic out of place and set it on the floor beside them. Those tiny movements still caused Peter’s face to pinch, although he didn’t wake.

When Tony went back to carding through his hair, Peter’s face smoothed out.

The world forgot Peter Parker was Spiderman, which was fine and dandy until it came to explaining why a 17-year-old from Queens was frequently sighted with the Tony Stark, saviour of the world, ender of the Blip, et cetera.  Pepper and Tony spread the news that he was Tony’s personal intern, which was technically true.

Peter had been living with the Starks since Aunt May’s passing. Tony was happy that Morgan had accepted Peter moving back in with all the care of a six year old (“Peter’s gonna play Mario with me again!”), and even happier that Pepper had readily signed on to the guardianship papers. They were co-guardians of Peter, officially, until he turned eighteen in six months.

And then they were sending him off to MIT.

Now that the admissions team had forgotten about his controversial Spiderman antics, they had readily accepted Peter. Offered a scholarship, too, which Tony made sure to celebrate. Peter hadn’t wanted to make a big deal out of it, but when he came home from the last few days of school to Tony, Pepper and Morgan presenting him a homemade (and sloppily iced) cake, Tony hadn’t missed the way his eyes had teared up.

(“Seriously, Mr and Mrs Stark, you didn’t have to do this for me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, kid. This was all Morgan’s idea.”

“And call us Tony and Pepper, Peter.”)

Tony had considered buying a place in Massachusetts, but Pepper had been against the idea of moving again, at least for a few more years. Peter had also adamantly protested, saying he needed to learn how to be an adult on his own.

The kid didn’t seem to understand that he had already grown up more than he needed to; that out of everyone, Peter deserved someone looking out for him, too.

Later that week, Tony, Pepper, and Morgan were dressed in sunglasses, hats, and large jackets as they made their way to Peter’s graduation ceremony incognito. He had told them they didn’t have to come if they didn’t want to, “but it could be nice- if, you know, if you guys are free.”

“I bought an apartment in Boston,” Tony confessed to Pepper as Happy drove them. “In case the kid needs it.”

“Tony,” Pepper admonished, shaking her head. She was smiling at him, though, so she wasn’t angry. “You don’t have to worry so much. He’ll be fine.”

Tony shrugged and avoided her gaze. “It’s just a precaution. What if his roommate is evil? I don’t want him out on the streets.”

“Tony.”

“I mean, obviously, the kid is going to keep Spidermanning. And he needs somewhere safe to go, right? What if he got hurt on patrol or something? You know how much he hates the hospital.”

“Tony.”

 “What, you think I should get a private doctor for him, too?” Tony turned back to her. Pepper grabbed his hand. Under her gaze, he acquiesced. “He’s our kid, Pep.”

She rolled her eyes, but her tone was affectionate as she spoke. “Which is why I know he’ll be fine. He has an overbearing dad looking out for him.”

Tony shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket. “Don’t- don’t, um, say that stuff in front of him.”

“Who, Pete?” Pepper laughed, but she cut herself short at Tony’s glance. “Oh, come on, Tony. You’re telling me you’re not like his father at this point?”

“Peter- Peter doesn’t see me like that.”

“And what are you basing this off?” A pause. Pepper sighed. “That argument from like, seven years ago?”

“It was two years ago to him,” Tony reminded her, his head buried in his hands.

“Morgan, tell your Dad he’s being a silly-head,” Pepper whispered to their daughter, who lit up at the opportunity.

“Dad, you’re a silly-head!”

Tony chuckled. “Don’t you start, little miss.”

Happy pulled up to Midtown School of Science and Technology and fought his way into a car park. Their family bundled together and kept their heads down as they quickly walked inside, finding a place at the back to avoid attention, even though Tony desperately wanted to be right by the stage. Once inside the hall, Tony took his time looking around.

They’d never been to Peter’s school during the few months they’d been his guardians. Tony had been afraid of another media circus and wanted to respect the kid’s privacy as much as possible, just like he did with Morgan. But his graduation? No way was Tony missing that.

The hall was decorated with gold and silver streamers and a sparkly banner that read “Class of 2025”.

Tony teared up at the opening speeches, even though they were the boring, same-old recycled stuff from teachers who droned on and on.

“And, now, Midtown’s very own Peter Parker, for his valedictory speech.”

“That’s Petey!” Morgan exclaimed, jumping up in her seat. A couple heads spun around to them, and Pepper quickly got her to sit down.

Tony was clapping so loud his hands hurt, his eyes glued to the stage. Peter hadn’t told him about this. God, of course, his kid was a genius after all. He looked great in his robes, and the gold valedictorian stole draped around his shoulders was just the cherry on top.

“Tell me you’re filming this,” he whispered to Happy, who was seated to the right of him. When he didn’t get a response, he looked over to see Happy with his phone out already, his eyes equally as misty as his own. “You big softy.”

Happy sniffled.

“Thank you for this great honour, Mr Harrington,” Peter began, and a hush settled over the crowd. “As many of you know, the majority of our class was blipped. It wasn’t easy for us to adjust to our new classmates, our new world, but I know it was equally difficult for our teachers to catch us up to the new curriculum. Especially because some of us weren’t caught up on the old one, either.” That drew laughs from the crowd.

Peter’s speech continued, Tony hooked on every word as he drew in the sight of his kid, who was clearly nervous but settling in the more he spoke.

“That’s our kid, Pep,” Tony whispered as the speech wrapped up. He fought the urge to stand in his seat as Peter went to sit with his classmates. “I wish his aunt could see this. She’d be so proud.”

When Peter crossed the stage again to collect his diploma, Tony did stand up and clap. At least most of the other parents were also clapping and cheering, so they blended right in.

Happy and the Starks darted back to their car just as the ceremony wrapped up, and it took another half an hour until Peter joined them.

“Sorry, Mr Stark,” Peter began as he opened the car door, “Ned’s Lola was there and-“

Tony wrapped him in a hug. “I’m so proud of you, kid.”

Peter returned it. “I’m not a kid anymore,” he mumbled into Tony’s shirt. Tony just laughed, and ushered him in the back.

“What do you want to eat?” Happy’s gruff voice came from the driver seat.

“Me?” Peter looked around at Pepper and Tony, who nodded. “Oh, I’m fine with whatever. You guys don’t have to go out of your way for me.”

“Come on, Underoos, it’s your night. We’re celebrating you.”

Peter hesitated just a second before tentatively suggesting, “Thai? There’s a place in Queens that Aunt May and I used to go to.”

“Thai sounds great.”

It was such a good night. Tony should’ve known the next day would be shit.

He was in the penthouse, idly switching through TV channels as he waited for Peter to come back. He’d taken Morgan out to get sandwiches and it was taking longer than usual for them to return. Tony didn’t think much of it – Peter had probably taken Morgan to get ice cream, too. His little girl had Peter wrapped around her finger.

His fingers paused over the TV remote when Peter’s face flashed across the screen. The kid looked angry, and he had a hand out to prevent the reporters from getting closer to him; the other hand reached behind his back where Tony could just spy the pink ruffles from Morgan’s dressing peaking out.

The footage cut to a young, blonde woman holding a microphone standing out front of Joe’s Gelati. “People are speculating that Peter Parker, a seventeen-year-old graduate from Midtown School of Science and Technology, is actually the secret son of billionaire Tony Stark after a video from his graduation has gone viral.”

The footage changed again. It was obviously taken on someone’s phone, the film shaky and blurry as it zoomed in on Tony, in his glasses and hat, among a sea of people in a dark hall.

“Is that Tony Stark?” Said a boy’s voice from behind the camera. “Woah, that’s Pepper and their daughter too.” Sure enough, the phone turned to catch their whole family, even Happy, sitting down at Peter’s graduation.

The dingy speakers barely caught the announcement, “And now, Midtown’s very own Peter Parker, for his valedictory speech.”

The camera caught Morgan standing up and pointing at Peter. Then, it flipped to the stage to show Peter walking on for his valedictory speech. It then turned back to Tony, who was obviously tearful, clapping, and smiling.

The footage cut back to the reporter outside the ice cream shop. “We’re currently live outside Joe’s Gelati in Manhattan where Peter Parker has been spotted buying ice cream.”

The next shot was inside the ice cream shop. The crowd of reporters and paparazzi had swelled, bright lights flashing as Peter tried to block his eyes from it while simultaneously shielding Morgan. The poor kid looked frazzled from all the lights and the noise, holding onto Morgan’s hand as he tried pushing through the crowd to the outside. Morgan looked angry too, especially when two cones were knocked out of her hand, and it seemed like she was about to start yelling when Peter scooped her up in her arms and shoved outside.

“It’s okay,” Tony could just barely make out the words over all the shouts, “I’ll buy you another one, Morgy.”

“Peter! Peter!” one man yelled as he walked in front of the pair, shoving a microphone in his face. “Did your dad buy you into MIT?”

Peter’s frown intensified, pushing Morgan’s head further into his shoulder as he tried to brush past. Another reporter blocked his path. Morgan peaked out from Peter’s chest, scowling.

“Morgan! Why have your parents kept your brother a secret?”

Morgan stuck her tongue out at the man as Peter pushed his camera away from her.

“Leave her alone, man, she’s only six.”

Someone reached out to grab the arm Peter was using to hold Morgan. Peter’s other hand shoved him away, and the man fell backwards with a grunt.

On-screen, Tony watched as Peter’s anger twisted into panic. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry-“

“Did you get your dad’s anger issues, Peter?” Came the next question from a snarky TMZ woman who shoved yet another microphone into Peter’s face.

“He’s not my dad!” Peter exclaimed, frustrated, just as Happy’s big build appeared in frame, blocking his two kids from the camera.

“Show’s over people,” his gruff voice called out as he led the two into his black car.

Thankfully, once his kids were out of sight, the news quickly moved to their next segment. Tony got up from the couch and paced in front of the elevator to the penthouse. Pepper joined him.

Someone had already reported the segment to her, as she was on the phone to what Tony assumed to be a lawyer.

“An assault charge would be ridiculous. Yes, I know they might go that route just so they can get their little story, but Peter’s a minor, the proceedings would be private anyway. Well, just have that counter-lawsuit ready in case they get any ideas.” Like him, she paced back in forth in front the elevator until it dinged.

The unhappy trio walked inside. Peter was still carrying Morgan, and Happy had his arm on his back.

“See, look, there’s Mummy and Daddy, everything’s okay now,” Peter whispered to Morgan as he gently set her down. Morgan held onto his hand though, still scowling even though her trembling form gave away her fear.

“I don’t like those people, Peter,” she said, stepping closer to him as Pepper rushed over to check her over.

Peter carefully pried her grip off him. “I know, Momo. But you’ve got your mum and dad here. They’ll look after you.”

He gave her a weak smile, ruffled her hair, and then brushed past Tony, face back to stormy.

Tony looked to Happy, who shrugged. “He’s probably just shaken up from everything. Give him some time, Tony.”

Not liking this, Tony knelt down to Morgan too. “You okay, Morgy?”

Morgan shook her head. “They were really mean to Petey. They said some mean stuff about you, too.”

“But are you hurt, Bambina?”

“He kept me safe.” Then, after considering for a moment, her lip wobbled. “I dropped our ice cream. Is Peter mad at me?”

Tony looked in the direction of Peter’s closed bedroom door. “It’s like Uncle Happy said. He’s just shaken.”

Morgan looked doubtful. Tony didn’t believe himself either.

Pepper laid a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t we go watch a movie? Anything you want.”

Morgan’s eyes sparkled. “Frozen?”

“Sure, my love,” Pepper said as she lead Morgan into the next room. She shot a look back at Tony, and jerked her head towards Peter’s room. ‘Talk to him,’ she mouthed.

Tony’s hands sweated. He straightened up, and looked at Happy. “You heard the woman. Go talk to him.”

Happy rolled his eyes. “Don’t put this off. You’ll regret it.” And then he went back inside the elevator.

Tony knew they were both right. He had to put Peter first and make this right somehow, but…

It was Tony that had caused this situation, ultimately. Peter knew that. Had basically said as much on live television. He wasn’t fit to be a father of any sort, and here he was with two amazing kids that he kept screwing up.

He knocked on Peter’s door. The kid didn’t respond, so he slowly twisted the knob and let himself inside.

The room was pitch-black, so it took some time for Tony’s old eyes to adjust. It was also silent in here, the soundproofing blocking out the opening Frozen song and Morgan’s excited squeals. It seemed that she had already forgotten about the afternoon’s events.

“Pete? You got a minute?”

“Go away,” came a muffled voice from the bed. Peter had heaped the blankets over himself and curled into a ball.

Tony’s mouth thinned. “Kid, I think we should talk about this. Don’t you?”

“I don’t want to talk right now.”

Tony approached the bed. He sat down, and put a hand on top of the Peter-blanket lump. The lump shrugged his hand off. “Peter, seriously,” he sighed, “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Tony reigned back in the firey response that leapt to his throat. Now was about Peter, he reminded himself. Even if Peter hated his guts, he’d try to make amends with his kid somehow. “What do you need then?”

“I want to move out.”

What? Where did that even come from? Did Peter really hate living with him so much?

“Well, too bad,” Tony huffed, standing up. “You’re seventeen, and like it or not, we’re your guardians.”

“I never asked for that.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. He turned his back to the bed. “What other choice did I have? Let you sleep on the streets?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I’ve yet to see any proof of that.”

“Believe it or not, Mr Stark, I did just fine before I met you.”

“If you call running around in those red pyjamas of yours, getting shot at with no one to watch your back, doing ‘just fine’,” Tony mocked, “then sure, kid.”

Peter’s voice, which had been icily calm for most of the conversation, suddenly turned angry. “I’m trying to do you a favour here! Morgan-”

“I don’t need any favours from you. I get that you don’t want me to be your dad or guardian or whatever, and if I could change that for you, kid, I would. But you’re stuck with me, because somebody has to be responsible for you since you’ve proven incapable of being responsible for yourself.”

Peter went silent.

Tony screwed his eyes shut. Now he’d stepped in it. How did they even get here? He had just wanted to check if Peter was okay.

He stepped towards the door, then paused. “Morgan thinks you’re mad at her. She’s watching Frozen, if you want to join us.”

There, an olive branch. He’d asked Peter to join him in family movie night.

He cast another guilty look behind him, and seeing the unmoving lump, sighed and opened the door.

Peter stared at his hands. They couldn’t stop shaking. His mind just kept replaying him shoving that man.

He’d never lost control like that, not since he got a grip on his powers anyway. He knew he was dangerous from almost the instant he’d woken up after that spiderbite, when he had ripped his bedroom door in his aunt and uncle’s flat off its hinges.

He had spent weeks practising how to pull his punches. He knew better than anyone what he was capable of, and even up against the worst of humanity, he knew he was worse.  Which was why he made the web fluid, made sure that he was only detaining the bad guys, made sure he was never the executioner.

Tonight could’ve been so much worse. He could’ve seriously hurt that man. He could’ve hurt Morgan.

And that was the worst part. Sweet, little Morgan, who saw stars in his eyes. What if he lost his control around her? Or Pepper, or Happy, or Tony?

Tony was right. He was incapable of being responsible for himself. Which was why he had to leave the Starks’. He’d already overstayed his welcome, he knew that, he’d known that for weeks. What kind of family wanted to take in some random kid?

He knew Tony felt obligated to shelter him. Had taken his generosity anyway, because Tony was right, ultimately. What other choice did he have?

But the more Peter mulled it over, the more his conviction grew. He would be moving out come September anyway. Why not bump it up a few months? He would learn how to take care of himself. He didn’t want- he didn’t need Tony looking after him anymore.

Not when it caused him so much trouble. Not when his issues were reflected on Tony. His anger was his own. His anger had been simmering in him since he was a little kid being told his parents weren’t coming back, since Uncle Ben had died, since Aunt May…

And lately?

It had felt like it reached a boiling point. Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s deaths were his fault. No matter how much he tried to deny it, he knew the truth. He was a curse, and he had to protect Morgan from that by any means possible.

It was better for everyone if they forgot about him. Ned, MJ… He had hurt them, too, that last battle with the Green Goblin and Doc Ock. MJ had almost died, and that was on him. He knew what the right move was: sever ties with the Starks, go to MIT, let Ned and MJ make their own college friends, watch them move on.

Spiderman was simply incompatible with relationships.

But he was so tired.

He shook the blankets off his head and stared at his closed bedroom door. He could picture the scene behind it as clearly as day—Mrs Stark on the couch holding Morgan, who would be croaking along with the Frozen soundtrack. Mr Stark would sit next to them, one arm around Pepper and one arm stretched out over the couch back, a space next to him reserved especially for Peter. 

His chest ached at the image, and his eyes burned with hot, angry tears. It was selfish to want this family as much as he did. But, god, he wanted it so badly.

The tight feeling in his chest made him sit up on the edge of the bed, one hand splayed over his heart in an attempt to ease the awful sinking feeling. He wasn’t cut out for family, he reminded himself, but even as he did, Peter was getting to his feet.

With a deep breath, he opened the door.

The lights were off, which was normal for movie night, and he could hear the movie playing in the next room. But he couldn’t hear their voices, which wasn’t normal. Especially when Anna was singing ‘Love is an Open Door’.

He paused, the feeling in his chest sharpening into a sense of dread. The hair on his arms raised, and Peter instinctively jumped up to the ceiling, pressing himself against it as he strained his ears further.

Closing his eyes, he could make out Pepper and Morgan’s rapid heartbeats further into the penthouse. Morgan’s room, he realised.

Focusing again, he could also make out Tony’s voice from the other side of the penthouse, by the elevators, as well as ten heartbeats surrounding him.

“Come back in an hour; it’s movie night,” he heard Tony quip. His voice was steady, but strained.

Peter crawled his way over, moving silently. Tony was standing in the kitchen, bowl of popcorn in his hands, as the ten people dressed in black pointed guns at him.

Peter cursed mentally. He didn’t have his webshooters on him.

“No sudden movements, Stark,” one of them said – a tall blonde woman, who wore a mask on the top half of her face. Then, to two of her companions, she said, “Go get that woman and the kid. We need something to ensure compliance.”

Peter scuttled back towards Morgan’s room. The door was shut, and he could hear their heartbeats huddling in the far corner. Likely under Morgan’s bed, he guessed as he dropped to the ground. He raised his hand down on the door handle, knocking it off. He felt bad as Morgan let out a small scream at the noise, but it was quickly cut off. Pepper must have put her hand over her mouth.

Before Peter could jump back up to ceiling, the two men converged on him with guns drawn.

“Hands up, kid,” the bigger one said.

Peter did as he was told, eyeing them both. He could maybe fight them, but then what? Someone would hear, and then they might hurt Mr Stark.

“I didn’t think the rumours were actually true,” the other man muttered, going in with handcuffs. “Why’d Stark hide you, huh?”

Peter let him cuff his hands. He could get out of them if needed, but if they were going to take someone, it was best if it was him. Peter watched warily as they approached the door. They tried pushing it, then shoulder-barging it, but it didn’t budge.

“Security’s probably already on their way,” Peter said. “You guys should just call it quits and head home, don’t you think?”

The big man drove the butt of his gun into Peter’s stomach.

The smaller man, frustrated, turned away. “Let’s just take this one. The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

They shoved him back to the entrance, and the woman frowned.

“Where’s the other two?”

“Locked in a room, boss,” Big Guy said, shoving Peter into the crowd of guns with Tony, who was also now handcuffed. The popcorn was strewn over the floor, glass shattered, and Peter winced as little shards embedded themselves in his bare feet. They were going to suck to pick out once the skin healed over them.

At the woman’s sharp look, Small Guy jumped in. “We tried to open it, but the door handle’s broken and it’s too sturdy to kick down.”

Tony shot Peter a look. He shrugged.

“Whatever,” the woman said after considering for a moment. “Bring ‘em to the roof.”

The twelve of them packed into the elevator, Peter and Tony side by side.

“You should’ve stayed in your room,” Tony whispered. “I had this handled.”

“Sure you did,” Peter retorted, nodding down at Tony’s cuffed hands. Tony gestured to Peter’s own bound hands.

Petty old man. At least Peter could break out of his handcuffs if he wanted to. The gun barrel pressed into Tony’s side reminded him why that would be a bad idea.

They were marched out to the roof, where two helicopters waited for them. The group split in half, and they began shoving Peter to one and Tony to the other.

Panic gripped Peter. Being taken to a second location was bad enough, but if they were split up?

“Peter?” Tony called out to him, violently shrugging off the hands grabbing him.

Peter bucked against his own captors, elbowing someone viciously. “Keep us together!” He cried out. “I’m not going with you unless we’re taken together!”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, little Stark,” said the blonde woman, who shoved him backwards. Peter watched as another woman, this one smaller than the ring leader, shoved Tony to the ground. His head hit the concrete, and he groaned out.

“Get off him!” Peter yelled, watching as the other woman dragged Tony back up and to the second helicopter. Tony wobbled, and there was blood dripping down his head. “Leave him alone!”

He shattered his handcuffs, sent two punches flying, and raced towards Tony. A shot rang out, and Peter buckled.

“Kid!” he heard Tony’s voice scream, and even though his leg was on fire, he pushed himself to his feet and managed to stumble two more steps towards Tony before a second shot sent him back to the ground.

Both legs now screamed at him, and his spider-sense was going haywire. He barely managed to lift his head up to watch as they strapped Tony in, and the first helicopter lifted off. He reached out towards it, even knowing it was futile.

The blonde woman appeared in front of his swimming vision, her smile twisted and nasty. “Don’t worry, little Stark,” she said, “you’ll see him soon enough.”

She then raised the butt of her gun and drove it into Peter’s head, sending the world black.

He woke up in an empty room, bound with literal chains to a chair. His head hurt like all hell, and the fluorescent lights only made things worse. Squinting through the bright, Peter began to make out his surroundings. The floor was bare concrete, and the walls seemed to be tin. There were dust markings on the floor where it looked like shelves had once been.

So he was in a storeroom? Great.

He tested out the chains, but found he was unable to move at all. They were tight against his skin, and Peter could already feel burning pain where the metal had cut into him. His feet and legs were still killing him. At least they had bandaged the two bullet holes for him – one on each leg. The bandages had splotches of red where he’d been shot, but it didn’t look like he’d lost that much more blood. His skin had probably healed over them already.

That was, what? Twelve bullets now? They’d never gotten around to removing the others, as surgery had presented too much of a risk. They hadn’t known how much anaesthetic to use, for one thing, and they were also concerned about the risk of him starting to heal over while they were digging around inside him.

“Hello?” Peter called out.

When it became clear that no one was coming, he screwed his eyes shut and tried to listen out for Tony.

He found him soon enough, jabbering away as the man was.

“Don’t tell me you believe the tabloids! He’s just an intern, you know that, right? Just some lowly intern. A coffee runner, really. You should just let the kid go. Do you know how many forms I’d have to fill out because of this? I don’t even think there is a ‘my intern got kidnapped’ workplace health and safety report. I’ll have to draft that up myself, send it to his WHS officer to get it approved, and you bet there’ll be glaring errors with it. So then I’ll have to do it all again-“

“Do you ever shut up?”

That must be the blonde woman. There was a dull thud, and then Tony groaned in pain. Peter grimaced.

“What intern takes two bullets for his boss?” There was the small guy that had handcuffed Peter.

“An idiotic one,” Tony scoffed. “Which is what he is. An idiotic intern. You’d be doing me a favour by sending the kid home. Saves me from firing him, right? And then I can focus on your little project.”

“He broke through metal handcuffs,” said the woman.

“Adrenaline,” Tony answered quickly. “Makes you do crazy things. Like mothers lifting cars off their babies.”

“Or sons continuing to run with a bullet in their leg?”

“Maybe you just have crap bullets.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe we better test our guns on the little Stark, see which ones work best.”

Tony fell silent. Peter strained his ears. He could just barely make out the sound of metal on metal. Was he making something?

His mind raced through the possibilities. Tony wouldn’t. Would he?

Was he making a weapon? A suit? Something else?

Well, whatever it was, it couldn’t be trusted in the hands of these obvious villains. Peter strained against his bindings again, grunting as the newly formed skin on his legs ripped open with the movement. He slumped back against his chair, panting.

He had to think. If they were using Peter as collateral – which was ridiculous, really, since he wasn’t actually Tony’s son and Tony wouldn’t risk the lives of thousands just to save Peter – then they’d have to keep him alive, right?

His moved his legs again, letting the bullet wounds tear open even further, biting back a scream. Blood began to seep into the bandages again.

“Help!” he called out. “It hurts, it hurts!”

He became aware of two people outside his room, who whispered to each other. So that was four bad guys, total. That was nothing, Peter thought.

“Should we get the boss?”

“Please, someone, I need help!” For added effect, he even curled his toes, igniting several little fires in his feet as the glass ripped through again. He glanced down, and felt woozy at the amount of blood he’d managed to wring out of his lower body.

“You go,” grunted one to the other.

Peter settled down, and knelt his sweating head back against the cool metal of the chair as he waited. His head started swimming again, and he couldn’t keep his concentration enough to listen to what was happening in the next room.

He must have slipped back into unconsciousness, because he jumped awake as the door banged open. There was the blonde woman, who looked positively annoyed now. She came in with some bandages, which she wrapped tightly around Peter’s feet.

He meant to kick out, hopefully knock her unconscious, but he couldn’t get his legs to move. Everything hurt so much, even more so as her deft bandaging pressed the glass deeper into him.

Then she was dragging his chair, the awful scraping sound splitting Peter’s head open.

It felt like eternity, and all he could do was shut his eyes and try to block out the sounds. When they stopped, Peter forced himself to look around. The blonde woman was standing next to a bench of assorted tools and metal scraps, and there was…

“Mr Stark?” He couldn’t get his eyes to focus, which was bad. Maybe he’d under-estimated his blood loss.

“Perhaps you need incentive,” the blonde woman said to Tony. Peter wasn’t sure if he had progressed to hallucination, or if Tony really did look that pale. “I’m surprised little Stark has survived as long as he has. Every minute you spend fucking around,” she seethed, “is another minute he goes without treatment. Every two hours that pass? We put another bullet in him. Hopefully somewhere non-lethal, but, I’ve never been a good shot.”

She shoved Tony back to the bench. His hands were shaking as he picked up the tools.

“It takes longer than two hours to build what you’re asking.”

The blonde woman strode over to Peter and drove her gun into the wound on his left leg, sending his vision back to pure white. He was screaming, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t hear himself. Everything was focused on the awful burning fire spreading throughout his body, all his senses just screaming pain, pain, pain.

Peter clawed back his control bit by bit when the woman relented, forcing himself to focus on nothing but drawing in another breath, and then another, and then another. His voice was raw, and his head hurt, and he was crying. He felt someone touch his hands, and he tensed, bracing himself for the next round of pain, but it never came.

“-ete? Kid, you with me?” Tony’s hand came up to touch his face, and Peter leant into it, his eyes still shut.

He didn’t want to look at Tony. He didn’t want Tony to see him like this, either. He wanted to go home.

“It’s okay, Bambino, everything’s okay.”

There was that lie again. But Peter let it comfort him, forced himself to believe it even though it wasn’t okay, everything hurt.

He couldn’t let Tony build whatever it was they wanted him to build, so he had to be okay. What was a little torture? He’d heal. He always did.

Peter cut off a sob, forced it down, and opened his eyes to look at Tony. The man looked relieved to see that, his eyebrows unfurrowing just a fraction. Peter took in a deep breath. He could do this. He’d be fine.

“’M ‘kay,” he whispered.

Tony shook his head, his good hand coming away from Peter’s face all red and bloodied. Was that Peter’s blood? He squinted at it, but couldn’t make sense of it.

“I’ll get you out of this, okay?” Tony said, gripping his hands again. “No matter what it takes.”

“No,” Peter croaked out. “No, no.” He had a point to make, Peter was sure of it, but he couldn’t grasp the words. “Don’t do it,” he begged, looking up at Tony. The blonde woman was eyeing them.

Tony hugged him, pressing a quick kiss to his hair. It shouldn’t have felt as nice as it did. Tony did that to Morgan. Peter wasn’t Morgan.

Then, he felt something drop down the back of his shirt, where Tony’s arms were draped. He only just managed to catch it with his bound hands.

Tony pulled back, gave him a look, and then went back to his workstation.

Peter forced his throbbing head to focus. The blonde woman was supervising Tony, and no one else was watching Peter. Couldn’t be too much fun, watching a kid bleed out.

His hands fumbled around the object. A screwdriver.

So that had been why Tony hugged him. To give him a chance to free himself, so he could free the both of them. Peter glanced around again, and he carefully used his hands to feel the new cuffs he was in. There was a screw, he thought, on either end of the cuff, but he couldn’t exactly look to confirm.

He began to fiddle with the screwdriver, painstakingly trying – and failing – to get it into position. He kept his eyes forward, scanning to make sure no one noticed what he was doing.

Tony was hunched over the workbench, screwing metal together, connecting wires, and testing fuses. He was going fast- faster than usual, perspiration beading on his wrinkled forehead.

Shouldn’t Tony be buying time? Go slow so Peter could break free and get them out of here?

Every now and then, Tony would glance at something behind Peter, before his eyes would drop to Peter and his frown would deepen, his movements hastening. Peter painstakingly drew his head back, and spied a clock above him.

He didn’t get it at first. Was he waiting for something?

A long stretch of time passed, and Tony’s hands had seriously begun shaking. Peter had just managed to loosen both screws when the blonde woman tsked, and began walking towards Peter. Tony threw down his tools and raced between them, his back to Peter.

“I’m almost done,” he begged, hands out as she kept approaching. “Please, just give me another hour.”

The woman drew her gun.

“Stand aside, Stark. Can’t promise I’ll be as gentle with you as I will with the little one.”

Still, Tony didn’t move, and Peter realised what was happening. Two hours had gone by, and his punishment was due.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, voice still hoarse from his earlier screaming, “I’ll be okay.”

It would hurt, sure, but Tony was a normal human. A bullet like that could kill him. Peter would be fine. He could take it. He would.

“Shut it, kid,” Tony said, and he kept standing in front of him, infuriatingly.

“Listen to your son,” the woman mocked, staring down at Tony as she pulled the safety on her gun. “Last chance, Stark.”

Peter tugged at his handcuffs again, which slipped off now that the screws had come undone. He held it to prevent it from clattering to the floor, and slipped it underneath himself.

With his hands free, he tried tugging on the chains behind him, but any pull only constricted them tighter around himself, digging into his skin and his bullet wound, making his teeth grit to keep him from crying out.

“Mr Stark, move aside, please,” he pleaded. The woman’s hand twitched on the trigger, and Peter’s head exploded again with the sheer sense of danger, danger, danger.

Both hands gripping the chain now, he yanked, and he felt it break before he heard it. Everything seemed to move in slow motion then.

He jumped to his feet, chains still falling off him as he grabbed Tony and hauled them to the ground. He felt the bullet whiz over the top of his head, felt the burning fire licking at his feet and legs, and felt the gripping sense of move, move, move.

With Tony still in his arms, he jumped, legs almost buckling beneath him as his thighs protested, warm blood dribbling down his body, as he caught the ceiling with one hand. Another bullet, where they’d both been just a second ago.

The blonde woman gaped at them, then snapped her mouth shut as she readied her gun again, aiming up. Peter dropped, placing Tony down before he hauled himself towards her. Peter’s spidey sense wouldn’t shut up, but he couldn’t stop moving. The gun went off again between them as Peter tackled her. They wrestled for the gun, and if Peter wasn’t so woozy it’d be no contest, normally.

The woman jabbed a knee into his stomach, which shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, but there was that whiteness again as all his other senses just shut off and all he could think was it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

He sensed danger again, and his head screamed at him to move, but he couldn’t because everything just hurt so much. Another shot rang out, and Peter tensed, expecting to get hit again, but nothing hurt as much as his stomach and his legs.

Tony, he thought, and he forced his eyes open. Blurrily, he could make out two forms fighting each other above him, but even that was too much and his eyes closed on their own.

He fought against everything in his body to stay awake, to pay attention, but the best he could do was listen to the bits he caught in between passing out.

More gunshots, people running, nothing. Then people touching him, saying things to him, then nothing. A jet, monitors beeping, panicked orders, nothing.

Peter couldn’t tell if it was the fourth or the hundredth time he had tried to wake himself up when he could finally hear Tony’s voice.

“I don’t need treatment right now. Focus on my kid!”

And Peter wondered if that meant they were home, and if Morgan was nearby, and if she’d gotten hurt after all, when unconsciousness took him again.

Some undeterminable time later, he drifted back to the realm of the living, feeling someone grip his hand. Sensing no immediate danger, he kept his eyes shut, worried that when they saw him awake again, they’d shoot him another time just for fun. Slowly, he tuned in to each of his senses.

He was lying down, and he was no longer bound, which was a huge improvement. More than that, the bed he was in was soft, his aching muscles sinking into them. There was something in his nose, and his legs and stomach still hurt but the pain was duller than the previous sharp fire that had seemed to consume his whole body. There were wires in his arms – I.Vs, his mind supplied – and a soft beeping sound reflecting his heartbeat.

And the hand clutching his was calloused, but it held him so tenderly.

Peter peeled his eyes open, and groaned at the bright white beaming down on him.

“Pete?” he heard the person behind him say, and then the hand was gone. Peter groaned, grasping for it but unable to find it. The lights dimmed, and he heard quick footsteps approaching his side, and then Tony had grabbed his hand again. “You with me, Peter?”

Tony never called him that. He must be shaken up, Peter thought, as he blinked back his vision.

He looked shaken up. Huh. He was wearing different clothes to the warehouse, and he wasn’t wearing his prosthetic. Peter spied white gauze peaking out from Tony’s shirt, and he reached up a hand to pull the shirt away from the collarbone.

He was frowning, but he couldn’t form the question.

Tony chuckled, and shook him off. “What’s a bullet, right, kid?”

Oh. He got shot? When had that happened? He vaguely remembered being on the ground, waiting for the woman to shoot him again. Had Tony blocked it?

“I think I win the getting shot competition, Mr Stark,” he managed to rasp out. “One to thirteen. You’re behind, old man.”

Tony grimaced.

“What happened, anyway?” Peter asked, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to piece things together. Then, remembering what he heard earlier, he asked, “Is Morgan okay?”

“What?” Tony’s forehead creased, and he laughed again. “The only thing wrong with Morgan is that she’s worried sick about you, Pete. Thank you. For keeping her and Pepper safe.”

Peter nodded. “Of course.”

“But don’t you ever do that shit again.” Tony’s face became serious, and he shifted closer to the bed. “I’m the one that takes the bullets, kid. Got it?”

So he had taken the fourth bullet meant for Peter. Peter shook his head. “You have a kid, Mr Stark. I wasn’t going to let them kill you.”

“You’re my kid, too.”

The statement stunned Peter into silence. Tony looked down at the ground, hand still gripping Peter’s.

“I- I know that you don’t see me like that, but there’s no changing that you are my kid, Pete. I accepted that a long time ago, and I’ve also accepted that when push comes to shove, I’ll die for my kids. You and Morgan both.”

Peter blinked back tears. “I don’t want that,” he said before he knew what he was doing. Tony’s face fell, but Peter pushed himself to continue. “I don’t need anyone else to die for me, Mr Stark. My parents, Uncle Ben, Aunt May… I can’t go on like that. I need- I need someone to live. I don’t want to lose anyone else. I don’t want to lose you.”

Even just saying it felt like a jinx. Peter half expected Tony to drop dead on the spot, just so the universe could spite him. But Tony kept breathing, and so did Peter, and the world didn’t end just because he admitted Tony was important to him.

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, kid,” Tony said gruffly. And then, having apparently reached his limit for emotional conversations, Tony climbed into the hospital bed with Peter, draping his good arm around Peter’s shoulders. “But you’re banned from getting shot ever again.”

“Not sure how you plan to enforce that one.”

“Copious amounts of bubble wrap.”

Peter wanted to quip back, but the door was opening and in came Pepper. Morgan peaked out from behind her, teary eyed.

“Petey?” She called out, still clutching Pepper.

“It’s less scary than it looks,” he was quick to assure her, offering her a smile. Morgan returned it with more tears as she ran toward him.

Peter scooped her up, ignoring the twinge in his stomach as he shifted, letting Morgan sit by his head.

“I missed you,” she confessed, pressing a blubbering kiss to his cheek. “Please don’t leave again.”

“Seconded,” Pepper said

Peter looked at them both, a funny feeling forming in his throat. It was one thing to want a family. He was no stranger to that. He’d been left wanting most of his life.

But to be equally as wanted?

He looked back to Tony, who smiled. “Sorry, kid. You’re stuck watching Frozen with us three forever.”

Peter sniffled, and then he was crying. He tucked his head into Tony’s chest, who looked alarmed.

“Dad! You made Petey cry!”

“I’m sorry, kid, I didn’t know you hated Frozen that much! We can watch something else! Anything, your pick!”

And Peter knew he’d choose those three bullets again, a hundred times over, if it meant being here with his family.