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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Note

Hi bb congrats on 3k followers 🥺 you deserve it!! How about a smutty/angst blurb with nat, bucky, and reader being in a relationship and right now it’s going bad because something(idk what could happen it’s up to you) happened leaving bucky and nat at odds with reader trying to figure out how to get them to love each other again

Also you aren’t dumb 😡 it was an honest mistake bub

𝐼𝑁𝑉𝐴𝐿𝐼𝐷𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁

Summary: based on the request

Pairing: BuckyNat x reader

Warnings: 18+, polyamory, angst, arguing, swearing, blame, smut, threesome, oral (male -> female & female -> female), face sitting, fingering, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, p in v sex, cum eating, talking of death

Word Count: 4617

Masterlist Link

Caught in the crossfire yet again, a worry condoned your face into a suitable expression; one of agony as you listened to the pair of your beloveds argue in your shared home. Their raised voices made it sound as though you were entrapped in a war zone, the attacks were consistent, and adjacently brutal, as they passed through your ears, succumbing terror to your being as you feared of what was to be of the three of you. The idea of such an ending was expected, all had been good, up until a few weeks back, coming home to one another had been a haven, now for them it were a dragging chore. Once, they had valued one another’s presence, hugging you in the warm embrace of peacefulness, it had been somewhat of a dream. Despite all the words and judgemental thoughts that you were shunned with in public, nothing became a barrier in the triangular relationship that you were involved in. It wasn’t a flaw in the mechanical works of your emotions to break you apart, it was simply normal for you to endure, but this, their constant screeching at one another had not been.

Glass infrastructure; a vase plummeting against the wall made you jump, shocked by the violence that they were presenting in the household. That vase had been a housewarming gift from Steve, whom seemed to be the centre of their problem. Bucky was angry with Natasha for her constant flirting with his best friend, he wasn’t appreciative of how often, even when you were all tucked up in your king sized bed, that she would be on her phone, texting the blonde for hours on end, making the man on one side of you grunt at the woman on your other. Nat scoffed at Bucky’s derelict behaviour, crossing her arms over her chest as she passed judgement onto his destructive action. “That was such a necessary thing for you to do Barnes, if I were you, I’d clean it up before your ratty little cat steps on a shard.” Alpine was seated on your lap, nuzzling his pink nose into your stomach as though he were trying to escape away from the midst of the argument and the brief mention that he was given. Lightly, you stroked comfortingly over his soft white ears, imagining that would mute the sound out from passing through them.

“You are such a bitch Natalia!” He knew that she didn’t like to be called that, a scowl frustratedly pulled at her face, as her emerald eyes pointed a squint in his direction. “Why do you have to be like this, a pathetic whore for attention from any man or woman that gives you the time of day? Steve didn’t ask for you to constantly fondle his arms at Tony’s parties, he tells me everything. Like how you have an inclination to flirt with him and offer to go away with him on a fucking road trip. All these secrets are mounting up, and I am getting sick of it. Why can’t you be more like y/n?” His voice sincerely cracked, making your eyes widen from the mention that stringed you into their serious and painful bickering. That was certainly the wrong thing for him to have said, Nat took a step of disbelief back, frowning at him as he kicked the pieces of broken porcelain about with his foot. Tears began to build up in Natasha’s eyes, making you recoil with Alpine in your arms, and stand, carrying the little fella out of the room as you entered the shared bedroom and slammed the door shut.

To topple the wavering current that was overflowing the house like the events of a tsunami, you swiftly locked the door from the inside, a reassurance that they could not enter and that you’d be left alone, and hopefully in a somewhat surrounding of peace, even if that be for the limit of a few minutes. Bucky huffed, gripping his scruff in the palm of his hand as he shook his head at Natasha, tensing his nostrils as he glared at her. “Now look what you did.” He blamed her, though if he were to comprehend an accurate fault, the dismal accountability of all things that had urged you to leave and trap yourself away with the precious feline was a balance on both of their parts. At his childish and metaphorical finger pointing, Natalia as he had called her, crossed her arms over her chest, taking a few steps back as she were ridiculed by the circumstances that he proposed upon her. “It’s so rich of you to cluster a web as disgraceful as this, Black Widow, it is clear that you were trained in the red room, a habitat for the sinners that deter the prospect of having serum running through their obsolete veins.”

The condemned usage of her heroic title belittled her, though she remained standing strong against one of her lovers, whilst the other, which was informally you, were cloaked away in the dense atmosphere that was once filled with the notion and ambience of intimacy and endearment, but was now stifling under the thumb of hoisted reverence. Natasha knew, and was concerned for your well being, aware that you’d be tearing profusely up at all of which you had witnessed; it was no pretty sight, you had for a long time evened out the ground for her and Bucky, but it seemed that your attempts at validation were no longer enough. They were falling out of love, leaving you in the middle of their poisonous and collapsing feud, of which made you substantially torn between both counterparts. Nat opted for biting her lip, and screwing her fists into balls of restraint, as she whipped her back into Bucky’s sight, and headed towards the master bedroom, rapping her knuckles against the door, halting your movements of running your fingers through Alpine’s snowy locks.

Each time you combed your hand through his soft coat, small strands slid from the outer layer of his shell, coating your leggings in small follicles that promptly stood out. It was a coping mechanism for the ravenous banging that obstructed the other side of the door; it was driving you mad, and admittedly it’d be a lie if you were to say that you weren’t tempted to unlock your barrier of security, but you had to remain strong and stand your ground against their unchivalrous bullshit, that was until they had the means to sort their transgressive mess out on their own. You had no intent on being pulled in by the strings, being controlled and manipulated like a puppet, dangling from the hands of an opposing man and woman whom were supposed to adore one another as much as they did you. Alpine’s staring was getting too much, it was as though he were judging you with his moonstone blue eyes for your ignorance of every singe thing outside of the room. Bucky stepped behind Natasha, his demeanour infuriating her all the same, but she continued to hold her ground steady, adamant to not step down from her position.

“If she doesn’t want to see me, then you’re definitely not going to sway her judgement and conception of opening the door.” Bucky squinted at her, taking offence from her words, without so much of an ounce of concern, pushing her out of the way, and tapping his scarred knuckles against the door, earning a similar lack of response, causing Nat to become smug with his deflation of confidence. Just hearing them bicker was driving you mad; Alpine, though considered to be formally owned by Bucky, one of the lovers whose words were torturing you, was the only source of comfort that you were reviling in. You hugged him to your chest, stroking the side of your face alongside the surface of his coat, as you tried to compel regents of coaxed calmness. They were toxic for one another, as had recently been revealed, but they still strived towards one of their selfish desires; and that was you. No longer did they have a hook line and sinker to reel you in, you were standing your turf as you awaited for their insistent bickering failed to cease.

“Y/n, doll, open the door.” Bucky made his attempt, speaking through the barrier and still not gaining a response from you. It was moulding his voice into a muffle as he tried again, but groaned simultaneously. To say Natasha was not impressed with his failure at getting through to you came as no surprise to her, she couldn’t quite blame you fit not wanting to talk or respond to him; she wasn’t keen on that entailment either. And it was definitely because she was majorly pissed at him, he had gotten so far up his own ass and it was irritating. He was feeling severe pity for himself, and whilst it was sometimes understandable why he was feeling so, it was not fair for him to take thus emotional charge out on Natasha. But the treatment went both ways, she was picking at him on purpose, trying to irritate him to the point where he would feel invalidated, and that she was the target of his cold brashness. You couldn’t quite your finger on why it spurred into such a terrible environment to inhabit in, however to your own dismay, it had, and it now basically mirrored hell with the torture that you endured through your cowering ears.

“Y/n honey, can you please open the door for me?” Natasha’s voice came across as sweet and collected, and could deceive anyone whom didn’t know the problematic endorsement into thinking that there was nothing wrong out in the hallway. But you knew, far too well for your own liking that that the pair of them were struggling to feel an ounce of remorse for one another, let alone love, which left that as a far fetch in their pessimistic eye lines. They loved you, and only you, congregating your three person relationship into nothing more than an accepted love triangle, and they seemed to be temporarily stable with it (if that is how it could be recorded), however, you were anything but pleased with the end result. You had tried to help make things work between the pair, but everything that yo put into action only appeared to drive a deeper wedge in the middle of them, and make a piece off them crack and wasn’t you to themselves, greedily so.

“Yeah, cause she’d sure open it for just you. I’m the golden ticket here, we all know she prefers new, and for good reason. At least every time that she wants to see me, I’m not busy with work or kissing Fury’s ass because I have a constant fear of having my intentions misinterpreted for being pardoned after all the crimes that I have committed. Half thee time you’re not even around, I’m sure she thinks that you go out of your way to avoid her, and even I don’t appreciate that fact. That’s why she clings onto me like I’m her last hope, and the reason as to why she wants us to move closer to the Wilsons; so she’s not as lonely as she currently is. I bought a cat because i knew that she is by herself half the time, what’d you do, install cameras so you can ensure she’s safe? Safe isn’t the word for that if you’re going to make sure that she’s watched in her own home, she waned time away from the compound after everything that we have been through,yet you still make her feel like its following her to eve bleak corner of this home.”

“More like you’re the golden ass here because that’s all you’ve been since Steve decided to give up the shield and pass it to Sam. Anyone’d think that you’re jealous Barnes, and that you want to be Captain America. Spoiler alert; no matter what title that you frame yourself by, or decide who you are that day, you will never carry that shield or don the helmet of true patriarchy, you don’t know how this day and age works. You will never lose the looks from people that you have stolen from, to some of them, the White Wolf is just a pathetic charade, in their eyes, you will always be the Winter Soldier.” Her words were like venom, causing discourse that diverged through the household, splitting the members apart and diminishing their morals. Though you still held onto your own strong, despite their perpendicular quarrels that formed enemy lines against ione anther. You were the white flag, wishing to prohibit a truce for the potential future that you shared together, but they were clearly still deciding on that matter. It was exhausting to endure really, even as you arm constantly waved the blank canvas in their faves as though you ere fine to start all over with each other, and you were if only things could work out; that was your largest concern, minus the fact that you often worried that they may murder one another in their slumber and you’d awaken to bloody sheets and a possessive one partner.

“You want to go there Romanoff? At least I never was prepared to sacrifice my life so that I could save the universe. But you’re back, and that’s one of the many times that you have fucked with my girl’s head. You wonder why she no longer wants to save the world - it’s because you’ve ruined it for her, one second she’s in mourning from your selfish actions, the next she’s relieved that you’re alive. That is one apparent difference between us, I am prepared to give up all this superhero bullshit up, yet you’re not. And it doesn’t just fuck with her, I’m victim to it too, and you’re not even just oblivious to how I feel - you’re ignorant. Please just get a grip Nat, and choose a priority, because this is not fair any more, and I am almost done here.” She analysed him, and you could hear his voice crack through the sternly closed door. Water pooled in his baby blues, but he ensured that no tears escaped, even as he sadly with conflict looked on at her.

“At least I didn’t kill Tony’s parents. Or y/n’s.” It was affirmative that she wanted the attention that was brought to her other commitment to dissipate, but Bucky wouldn’t release it, he was like a dog tugging on a rope. He was relentless as he verbally tore into her, and made her feel conflicted about the life that she wanted. In theory, that was the worst thing that she could have switched the pointed focus to, and you picked Alpine off from your lap, and set him on the bed. With silent footsteps, that you had no doubt that Bucky had picked up on with his enhanced senses, though he remained silent and said nothing of your movement, as he stared Natasha down, tensing his jaw as he ran through his brain of what to say. He was trying not to burst, he absolutely resented being reminded of all the things that he had been coerced into doing by HYDRA, and the fact that you were listening in made the situation that bit more vivid. Of course you knew of the murders that he had made upon your bloodline, however it was rather obvious why it was not brought up often, and yet, Natasha just couldn’t let that one slide. It had taken much time for you to warm back up to Bucky after you had discovered the crime that had taken a toll on your quality of a life as a child, but eventually you had been able to look past the things that he had done as a brain washed assassin and see the real him.

“Are you shitting me?! That’s what you bring up, right now of all times. She’s never gonna open that damned door if you keep running your mouth like you’re a fucking god, privileged to say what you want without consequences. The subject is consequences is why I’m so fucking done with you, one day I’m going to wake up to a call that says you’re dead, and that’ll be on you. And then it’ll be left to me to break the news to y/n. Stop acting like being an avenger is your only purpose, and if it is, I’d leave, that level of premature emotions in a relationship when you have a preference of being somewhere else with us is thoroughly not needed. You think I’m being a dick, sure, whatever, but at least I’m not lying to you or y/n, or my godforsaken self for that matter.” His hands made destructive gestures as he spoke, it was overall emphasis on how she was frustrating him - in other terms she had turned him into a time bomb, and he had blown. He had congregated into a mass of flame and debris, of which he was depositing within the walls, his clear anger throwing Natasha off and causing her breath to hitch as she took a step back, and braced her fingers against the wall, gulping as she became unsure of what else to say as a retort.

Your head felt like it was about to split in two, the existing lanes were overlapping; you pressed your ear to the door to confirm that strangely, for once in a long time, there was evaluated silence on the other side. For just a second you turned back, and watched as Alpine climbed onto the window sill, choosing to slip beneath the blinds so that he’d get a better view of the traffic outside. Taking a breath, you put your hand upon the doorknob, feeling the cold metal hiss against your warm skin, curling your palm around it until your slid your other hand to the lock, and pushed the fine bolt to the side, deciding to give into your own hopeful whim and open the door. The sight you were met with were the pair of them staring at one another, it almost resonated as a glare, but something else was dictating behind their adamant eyes. To soothe the commitment that they had made, of not being together but standing their in uptight silence, you walked to stand right between them so that you could snap and break their eye line. And it worked, bringing a light furrow to Bucky’s brow, and apologies of words to catch in Natasha’s throat.

“Is it over now?” It wasn’t your intent to make your voice sound as meek as it had come across, but it had, and it made Natasha feel figuratively worse about the entire ordeal. She was worried that you would call her out on the calamity that she was facing, though you did not; there was no point beginning another argument, more so when everything was now out in the open, and nothing was secluded from speech. Nat smiled at you, and raised her hand, stroking your cheek as Bucky watched with tender eyes, finally calming down. She nodded to answer your enquiry, enforcing you to sigh in utmost relief. Natasha pulled you closer, and pressed her lips against your own, as to silence the possible next words that could leave your mouth. You melted into her calm course of collision that you had moulded into, humming contently into the cavern of her wordless canal, a hand trailed over your back, it was firm and you could feel each nimble detail of vibranium that was etched into the rare metal through the material of your shirt. "Can we go to bed?" A substitutional pout made its way onto your lips as Bucky pulled you to the side, swiftly.

But instead of walking away like you feared he would, he cupped the redhead's face, and slunk his lips atop of hers, arising a wide smile upon your cheeks, finally seeing them finding solace in each other’s company. Nat pushed Bucky back to you after a minute as she backwards dragged you into the room, the super soldier picking you up as he carried you through the walls and threw you on the bed. Your body bounced for a moment, until it settled atop of the sheets, and Nat crawled towards the head of the bed, looking down at your face with her emerald eyes, engorging in the sight of your blown pupils that were directed towards her. Her hands cupped the roundness of your cheeks, descending her face lower as she purchased her lips upon your own, humming into the coven of your mouth as you reached up, tangling your hands within her red hair that she had cut above the shoulder again.

Your hips jolted on their own instinct as Bucky tore your leggings along with your panties off from your body, the cold air attacking and biting at your legs and beyond as you tried to get used to the drop in temperature below. Nat’s hands descended from your face and began to grope at your tits, leaving you in a blissful wonder, as Bucky’s warm breath hit the insides of your thighs, the contrast of his hands stroking up your legs being one of extraordinary anticipation. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t already straddled his face and set the pace yourself, though you allowed him to continue as you made out with Nat.

To provoke him into doing something more, you waggled your hips in his face, only to earn a vibranium grip on either side, holding you down and restricting you from teasing him. “I’m sorry doll.” He spoke, feeling terrible that you had heard him taunt and pry at your other third with such spite. “We’re sorry baby girl, to each other and you.” Natasha removed her lips from your own as she ogled down at you, her feline like eyes causing you to hitch your breath in your chest. She was so beautiful, each part of her was absolutely stunning, little did you know though that she was thinking the exact same about you.

“Quit teasing her Buck, give our girl what she wants.” She commanded him, and delightfully he had no hesitancy nor quarrel against her words. He ushered his face closer to your crevice of instance, nestling it towards the natural heat that radiated from your pussy, brushing the tip of his nose against your clit as his tongue darted out from the oyster of his mouth, travelling up your slit as he confided his lips around your pearl, heavily suckling upon it as yo cause your back to lurch upwards and your hands coil in the sheets below you. Nat ran her thumb over your mouth, sinking it into your mouth as you suckled upon it, your lids fluttering shut from the combination of sensations that collided through your body.

“Taste so fucking good doll, you’re addictive.” Bucky’s lips brushed against your cunt, as he raised his vibranium fingers towards your entrance, sinking one solidified length into you, as your walls clamped down on the metal. Moans ripples out from your throat as he added another one and lowered his head once more, sucking on either side of your labia, his searing blue eyes gazing into your own that were heavily lidded and struggling to remain open in the long run. “So tight, can’t wait to get my cock in here and stretch it all open so that I can go again and again.”

“Why wait?” Nat asked, aiding you in sitting up as she pulled your shirt up over your head, and then began to undress herself also. “You could just fuck her now, get your pretty prick into her puffy little pussy until she creams all over you. Just thinking about that is getting me wet, do you want to eat me out baby girl?” She enquired as she licked her lips, tugging the last garment that was on her body down that were her panties. A breath staggered out from your throat as Bucky pulled away, pressing one last kiss onto your slit as he began to remove each article of clothing that covered his flawless body.

“Yes please Natty.” As soon as those words beckoned out of your mouth, the redhead held her hands onto the bed frame, and moved to sit on your face. You were enamoured to see the sight of her cunt above you, it made you salivate from the way her flower was splayed as her clit poked out, undoubtedly aroused as she descended it down onto your face, and quickly you began to eat her out, sliding your tongue up and down her cunt, until you reached her entrance and fucked get with your wet muscle. Though your pace faltered as you felt Bucky’s tip prying at your own entrance, sinking in and making you moan against Nat’s wet cunt.

“Shit you’re so fantastic with that mouth of yours, imma ride your face for a moment baby, and I know that you can handle that.” Natasha spoke, raising up and down in the air so that your tongue was penetrating her more and less as she controlled the pace. Once Bucky had settled inside of your walls, his hands clasped onto your hips as to use them as leverage to fuck deeper into you with discretion, making the bed shake as the triad of you went at it like touch deprived animals. “I’ll forgive Bucky for anything if this is what I get.” His hand slapped her ass at that, causing her to press further down onto your face, and you to moan at the flavour of her landing on your tongue.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum all over your sexy face.” The pitch of her voice got higher as you doubled your efforts, grasping onto her ass cheeks to hold her against your face as your tongue traced every inch of her insides, her wetness spreading along your cheeks and splashing around your lips. Your own sounds vibrates against her mound as Bucky fucked into you, grunts coming from behind Nat’s overlooking silhouette, his flesh hand trailing down and pinching at your clit as Natasha orgasmed upon your face. You tried to clean up the mess that she made but she got too sensitive and crawled off from your face, laying down beside you as she watched your other lover fuck into you.

Her lips pressed kisses over your neck as Bucky couldn’t help but ram his length further into you, causing you to orgasm as he pulled out and stroked at his cock, finishing on the bottom of your belly as he held his head back in continuum relief. “Holy fuck.” He breathed, crawling into the bed beside you as Nat took up hearth on your other side, resting his head into the cushion as he caught his breath. Nat’s fingers ran through the cum on your stomach, collecting it on the pads as he raised it to your lips, smirking as you bobbed your head hungrily on your fingers despite your dazed senses.

“We sure do all make a good team.” Nat admitted, turning your face to hers to press a kiss against your lips, delving her tongue into your mouth as she pulled away and rested her head against your breasts. “And I love you.” Bucky repeated the words, leaving you to be the only one to say it back, and you didn’t hesitate to do so.

Bucky Tags; @tylard-blog1 @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @kaitieskidmore1

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poedamneron01 · 3 years

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hello fellow kenny simp hehe🧎🏻‍♀️ may i request a dom!kenny smut? the scenarios up to you <3 thank you :)

LET ME HELP YOU

I had this thought the other day, and now that you requested it I am actually going to post it 😌Summary: reader is sexually frustrated while travelling so much between Japan and the US, decides to try and get laid but it doesn’t help her, she talks to the boys about it (they are all really close, its normal for adults to do this shit gtfo), Kenny offers to help when they are alone. I AM SORRY THIS IS SO BAD!

DOM!KENNY OMEGA X F!WRESTLER!READER

TW: 18+ ONLY! smut, smut and more smut!

Kenny Masterlist

You and the guys were meeting in Kenny’s room to sign some things for the NJPW shop before the show started tomorrow. You wouldn’t lie, you were so sexually frustrated that you had been moody and you were afraid to take it out on them so you tried your best to distance yourself. As you made your way to Kenny’s room, you ran into Marty who as always was smiling wider than the Cheshire cat “Hey Y/N.” He waved and you forced a smile onto your face “Hey Marty.” You hugged him quickly and continued your way over to Kenny’s room. “So how was last night?” Marty asked with a smirk and wiggled his eyebrows. Last night you had attempted at taking a guy home, but to no avail, you went home alone. You knocked on Kenny’s door and turned to look over at Marty with a sigh “I went home, alone.” You frowned dramatically and Marty giggled to himself “It’s so annoying though!” You exclaimed frustratedly and the door was pulled open “I am so lonely, it’s been months!” You walked in without a second glance at whoever opened the door, stomping over and flopping onto the bed with a huff. “Well hello to you to Y/N!” Matt called from the door and you felt the bed dip beside you “What’s so annoying anyways?” Matt asked as him and Marty walked in and sat on the bed “I believe itty bitty Y/N is sexually frustrated.” Marty teased and you flipped him off “I thought you went home last night with a guy?” Kenny asked confused and you perched yourself up onto your elbows, meeting his gaze from where he sat by the window in nothing but his shorts. You couldn’t help but look down at his bare chest, looking so toned and muscly, you felt your underwear flood with a pool of wetness “U-Uh, well not exactly.” You sheepishly admitted, tearing your eyes reluctantly away from Kenny as Nick and Matt choked on their laughter “Assholes.” You muttered and sat up some more, avoiding Kenny’s gaze as it burned into the side of your face.

A couple hours had passed and you guys had signed hundreds and hundreds of items. What didn’t help was that Kenny had sat next to you, his strong, muscular leg grazing yours send jolts to your core. “I-I’m not feeling the best guys, I’m going to go lay down for a bit.” You left the group without a second glance, practically running back to your room. Once you made your way back to your room, you slammed the door shut and slipped off your shoes before jumping onto your bed, your eyes closing in the process. You could not get Kenny out of your mind, wondering what his fingers would feel like on your skin, squeezing your ass as he pounded into you. Your hand slipped past the waist of your yoga pants, and delved into your panties. You moaned softly as your brain continued to play images that only fuelled your need for a release. You moved your index finger and middle finger through your folds, spreading your slick. You let out a loud moan as you began rubbing your clit roughly, chasing the release you needed so badly. That familiar feeling built up in the pit of your stomach, your body feeling like it was on cloud nine as your fingers worked your swollen and throbbing clit. You were nearly there, so close, you let out a loud moan, almost a yell, before a knock at the door interrupted you. Your eyes snapped open and you pulled your hand out of your pants “Y/N?” A voice called and you cried in frustration, pushing yourself up off your bed and over to the door, yanking it open “Listen, I am trying to sleep-” a pair of lips cut you off, roughly moving against yours. The door shutting brought you back to reality, pulling back from the person and opening your eyes “Kenny?” You asked in shock and he reached out, grabbing your hips “Let me help you Y/N.” He whispered and you closed your eyes while taking a deep breath, feeling him delve into the crook of your neck, placing wet and sloppy kisses. You let out a quiet whimper, feeling him smirk against your skin “How about it Y/N?” He asked and walked you both to the edge of the bed, your calfs coming into contact with your bed “I seen the way you looked at me, when every time we touched you would jump.” You let out a moan as he kissed your throat, biting it gently. You fell back onto the bed, opening your eyes and looking up at Kenny “Please,” you began “I need it, please.” You begged in a pathetic tone and Kenny chuckled, crawling onto the bed as you yanked and pulled your clothes off. His large hands ran over your soft skin, causing you to shiver and squirm with need. His hand moved down to your core, hand cupping your mound and you moved your hips desperately “Tell me how bad you need it Y/N.” He huffed in your ear as he moved his hand back and trailed his fingers through your soaking wet folds. “Please Kenny, I need it so bad, I need you to fill me, fuck me so hard, please!” You exclaimed and Kenny grinned, bringing his mouth down to yours in a hard kiss as he pulled his shorts down, freeing his throbbing cock. He spread your legs and knelt between them, his hand pumping his cock a few times and spreading the pre cum over the tip. Kenny pulled back and pulled your head up roughly, bringing his hand up and under your mouth “Spit.” He demanded and you did, eyes flicking down to his hard cock and you felt your pussy clench. He was fucking huge. He spread your spit across his shaft and leaned forward, rubbing the head of his cock through your folders, where you let out a moan. Without any warning he plunged into your pussy and you both gasped “Oh my god.” You whimpered and Kenny groaned “God Y/N, you’re so tight, gonna stretch you out till you’re gaping.” You reached out and wrapped your arms around Kenny’s neck as he began to move at a steady pace. “God you fill me up so well.” You muttered, unwrapping your arms to claw your nails down his back. “I want you to scream my name.”

He grunted as his hips continued to thrust at a wild pace, cock pumping in and out of your soaking pussy faster now, the sound of skin on skin and your moans filled the room. You looked down at Kenny’s cock disappearing into you, and the tip of his cock hit your g-spot and your back arched off the bed “Oh god right there Kenny!” Your eyes slammed shut as the coil in the pit of your stomach became tighter and tighter “Cum for me Y/N.” He rasped out, picking up the pace and hitting that spot over and over again. “Oh god.” You cried, hands holding on for dear life around Kenny’s strong shoulders as you felt yourself come undone with a harsh snap. You gasped, and Kenny felt his release coming fast, his hand held your leg up and around his waist as your orgasm tore through your body. “There you go.” Kenny mumbled as he watched your body shake underneath him, your pussy clenching around him had him falter his pace slightly. He felt his balls tighten and cock twitch as your pussy milked him. You lay beneath Kenny, eyes screwed shut, chest falling and rising heavily as you came down from your high. Kenny pulled out and jerked himself off a couple of times as spurts of cum littered your stomach. You were coming down from your high, head feeling airy and empty as your body still lightly shook. Kenny fell beside you, where your chest’s moved up and down rapidly as you both came down from your highs. You felt Kenny move, hearing his heavy footsteps walk around your hotel room, probably leaving, you thought to yourself with what thoughts you could gather. “Here.” His gentle voice filled the now silent room, causing your eyes to open as Kenny began wiping your stomach clean. You sat up as he finished, tossing the hand towel on the ground beside the bed “Thank you Kenny.” You bit your lip to hide the smile from making it’s way up onto your lips, he went to respond before a knock interrupted you both. Your eyes widened and Kenny looked at the door “Y/N open up!” It was Marty. “Shit.” You slipped on your underwear and the first shirt you could find, which was huge? You opened the door making sure you were only in view “Hey Y/N I- wait is someone in there?” He asked with a grin and you nodded, pursing your lips “Yeah, they are sleeping.” You spoke softly, and Kenny had to hide his face in the pillows to not give away it was him “Is that Kenny’s shirt?” He asked pointing down at the top you wore and you felt your blood run cold. You don’t remember Kenny wearing a shirt when he barged into your room? “Uh, this was a spare he gave me last time we were here.” You cooly responded and he nodded “Alright, well, have fun you saucy minx.” He winked and left you alone. “Come back here you saucy minx.” Kenny called in the worst British accent you had ever heard, making you smile and let out a laugh, before you made your way back over to lay beside him.

#kenny omega x reader #kenny omega imagines #kenny omega #kenny omega smut #being the elite #the young bucks #the elite #nick jackson #matt jackson #marty scurll #aew imagines #aew chicago #aewedit #aew wrestling #aew all out #aew

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captain039 · 3 years

Text

PART 6 Secrets of mutation

Logan(wolverine) x reader

Warnings: Age gap, student/teacher, AOB, trauma, swearing, sexual, intimate, a little forceful, heats, smut, unprotected sex, lil kinky, angst, jealousy

Xmen X new mutants

Previous chapter <-

When you awoke for the second time that day, you groaned and shuffled stomach demanding more food. You reached around and felt no Logan by you making you sigh. You sat up slowly, stretched and went to the bathroom.

You went to the toilet before going to the kitchen again, you rummaged through the cupboards and fridge before huffing, you wanted a big dinner meal. You sat by the table and leant against it sighing when you heard footsteps. You hoped they passed but you saw Jean stop in the entrance way. You tensed avoiding eye contact as she sat across from you.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

“I’m ok?” You shrugged. Aching still and overly warm, what else did she expect?

“Good, after your heat is over we can five you some medicine if you wish” she said and you nodded.

“Are you mad at me?” You asked like a little kid.

“No, I’m not mad at you” she chuckled softly.

“I know Logan is, overly nice to you, I’m not um- I’m sure he’ll just go back to normal after everything is done” you nodded embarrassed.

“He’s just being… nice?” The hole you were digging got deeper and deeper as you spoke.

“Logan doesn’t do nice, if he’s doing something it’s for reason” you avoided her eyes as she spoke and nodded.

“Right” you mumbled.

“Protective then? This will go away after I’m done with my heat, he’ll call me kid and leave me with my friends” you tried convincing yourself more than her for some reason.

“Pressure maybe?” You questioned.

“I wasn’t pressured to do anything” you jumped at the sound of his voice. You looked to him, raised eyebrow and a white plastic bag in his hand. He sat by you taking out a takeaway meal and sliding it to you. You looked at it confused as he got his own out and handed you a fork also. You thanked him softly and opened the lid and began eating.

“I’ll leave you two to enjoy your meal” Jean said and walked off. Logan huffed beside you and you tensed slightly.

“Thanks for bringing me food” you whispered and he nodded not speaking. Did he hear the whole conversation? It was he just not in a talking mood.

You were getting fidgety under the silence, you had finished your meal and sat up to put it in the bin.

“Im gonna-“ you gestured out the door and nodded as you left quickly.

You rubbed your arms looking to the ground before you ran into someone.

You apologised before seeing the guy from the other day, the one you stabbed, lightly, with your claws.

“Cat girl” he said a grin on his face. You took a step back slightly.

“You’ve got sharp claws I’ll give you that” he was taunting you, stepping forward when you stepped back. You felt your claws come out and kept your hands hidden if he tried anything.

“At least you smell good too” his grin went almost evil and you striked. Something in your mind clicked, you snarled at him his stomach slashed open. You kicked him to the ground before someone grabbed you.

“Easy” you froze at the sound of Logan. Your mind coming back, you frowned seeing the kid on the floor holding his stomach.

“Jesus! You need to lock her! Crazy cat!” The boy yelled as you began to shake.

“What-“ you muttered as Jean and the Professor came.

“I didn’t mean too” you said as others came to help.

You bolted out the back door ignoring calls. You changed into your cat self and ran outside the house borders and into the woodland area.

You ran quickly, jumping over logs and rocks before finding a suitable cave to collapse in. You panted paws aching, muscles spasming as you caught your breath. You don’t know how long you ran, you couldn’t see or hear any form of school from here. You curled up in the corner knowing you’d be warmer with fur. You let your tail rest over your eyes as you tried to cry somehow.

Morning came, sun shining brightly into your eyes, you must’ve changed in the night, shivering and naked in a cold cave.

You sighed sitting up as you rubbed your arms and hugged your knees. You had a layer of cold sweat covering your body, your heat peeking up again. You cursed at the cramps and aches in your body and leant against the cold rock.

The sun had warmed you up eventually, you had sore eyes from crying and sticky face. Sighing you didn’t bother moving, didn’t want to move, you wondered how long it would take for you to die out here.

You frowned though hearing footsteps, you listened in, it was only one person, familiar rhythm and heaviness.

Looking around you saw his figure, should’ve figured he’d follow, but you thought he wouldn’t. As he came closer he spotted you, in the corner of the cave shivering. He came closer, you saw clothes and blankets in his hand. He handed you the clothes without any words and you shuffled awkwardly to put them on. Leaning back against the rock you sighed as he laid a blanket over you and sat by you.

You stared outside, wondering what snapped inside you.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him” you mumbled.

“I know” he sighed running a hand down his face.

“I wasn’t in control” you added.

“I know” he huffed and you frowned.

“What do you mean you know?” You questioned.

“I mean-“ he sighed.

“The Professor said there’s something still inside you and your friends, some sort of injection that controls your mutant side when your emotions are high” you froze at his words and wondered why the Professor never told you this.

“The Professor thought it would go away, seems it didn’t, somewhere they’re finding a way to control your mind and we can’t find out why” you stared at the ground processing his words.

“With your current state and that dick head pushing, they took over from you” you didn’t know what to think, how the hell could they do that?

“Charles thinks it’s another mutant doing it, but we don’t know” you only nodded turning your head away from him as you tried to process it again. Someone was in your head, controlling you? Is that why you lashed out the very first time? Was the overdose so you didn’t know someone was in your head. You shuddered a bit holding the blanket closer.

“Is there like, a cage or something you can put me in?” You mumbled and he raised an eyebrow.

“Why do you need a cage?” He questioned.

“So I don’t lash out again and loose control” you said biting your cheek.

“You don’t need a cage” he sighed.

“Well something then? A secret room? something I can’t get out of” you felt your heart quicken and tried to calm down invade ‘they’ took over.

“You stay with me” he said finally.

“With you? What if I scratch you to shreds?!” You snapped glaring at him.

“You can’t” he scoffed a little smiling.

“It’s not funny Logan, this is serious, there’s someone in my head controlling me!” You looked away and stared at the ground again.

“I wasn’t laughing at the situation” he said firmly.

“Calm down” you frowned looking to him at the change of his voice, an alpha tone. You took deep breaths and looked away again sighing.

“Fuck!” You yelled hands fisted. Logan was giving you a firm look as he pulled you into his lap.

“I said clam down” he whispered and you felt shivers again. You leant against his chest listening to his heartbeat and sighed. Your heat must be ending thankfully, having him hold you was enough to dull the aches. You stayed like that for a while, you tucked under his chin with the blanket around your body, his hand gently rubbing up and down your back.

“Logan” you called softly and he hummed.

“What is this?” His hand stopped at your question and sighed quietly. You sat up, resting against his thighs as you looked to him.

“Everyone I’ve loved ends up hurt or dead” he sighed and you frowned.

“I’m a soldier born and made to kill and protect, not love” he mumbled and you felt your heart break. Your shoulders sagged a little.

“Just protective” you whispered getting off his lap.

“We should go back” you said standing up as you began to walk away.

“Y/n” he sighed following you silently.

Next Chapter ->

#x reader #marvel #fanfic #aob #hugh jackman x reader #xmen #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #the new mutants

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toointofiction · 3 years

Text

How The Queen of Elfhame Learned to Deal with Insufferable Idiots

Hey, cuties!! I have been thinking of writing this little one-shot for a while now and I finally did. Check it out on the link below or keep reading and let me know what you think.

Pairing: Jurdan; Cardan x Jude

Genre: Romance

Rating: Explicit/Mature

Summary: Jude is pissed off and with no other way to let off steam, Cardan comes up with a creative and very effective idea.

Jude is pissed. She’s about two seconds away from running someone through with her sword. Or maybe severing their head from their shoulders. Or arranging a public mass execution. Anything sounds good at the moment. How is it that the entirety of her Living Council consists of idiots recklessly testing her patience? She can practically feel her sword-hand itching and twitching in anticipation. Is it too much to ask for a little competence? Sometimes it’s as if their sole purpose is to enrage her to the point where the only coherent thoughts she has, are homicidal ones.

Fuming, Jude stalks back to her bedchambers, Cardan effortlessly matching her pace. He has an amused look on his handsome face, stealing glances at her every now and then. As if none of what just happened had any sort of effect on him. He should not be having this much fun at her expense. Especially, right now. He is putting his life in danger. Her King seems to think that just because she loves him, he is somehow safe from her wrath. Which may or may not be true, Jude thinks.

She cannot count the times Cardan angered her. More often than those idiots. She seems to recall the time he thought to confront a vicious troll all on his own, with no proper training, protection, or backup. In the middle of the night. She also remembers finding him on the ground, bleeding, and dizzy from iron poisoning. She had been absolutely furious then. She told herself that as soon as he healed, he would get an earful. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to yell at him. She scolded him, of course. What he did was completely idiotic, but her anger faded quickly. All she felt was relief that he was okay. That the injuries he sustained weren’t serious or life-threatening. Still, it needed about a whole week for the iron to leave his system. The same cannot be said for her Living Council, however. She still wants to kill them, and she doubts her anger will fade any time soon.

Normally, when Jude is this angry, she takes it out on training with the Court of Shadows. To her misfortune, however, she sent them all on a mission two days ago. Just my luck. Jude signs audibly and raises her hand to her temple which feels just about ready to crack open from unrelenting pressure. She must start making some serious personnel changes, otherwise, they’ll soon have to rename it the Dead Council. She also needs to find a way to let go of her anger somehow, before she does something drastic and irreversible. Her King isn’t too keen on the way she likes to solve problems. Even if that way is more than called for sometimes. It’s at that moment that she feels Cardan’s slender arm wrap around her waist, and his lips graze the top of her head.

“Come on, I can help you relax.”

“Nothing can help me relax, now.”

“Don’t start making assumptions just yet,” he responds. His eyes shine in amusement, a small, mischievous smile grazes his lips.

With one arm still around her waist, he uses the other to open the door to their bedchamber and guide her through. As she walks ahead of him and slumps on the bed, she hears him whisper to the guards outside not to allow anyone to disturb them. What is he up to? Jude didn’t have to wonder for long. Cardan appears in front of her, that mischievous smile still on his lips, places his hands on her shoulders, and pushes her back on the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“I told you, I’ll help you relax.”

With that, he leans down and gives her a deep, long kiss. Just way he knows she likes it. She feels his hands on her knees, dragging the material of her dress up. Higher and higher until he has to stop and pull the whole thing off her. As soon as the dress is off, he is back to kissing her lips, her neck, right between her breasts. She can feel his hand moving from her ribs to her breast, squeezing lightly, playing with her nipple. The other, he guides right between her legs, squeezing her once before he gently, torturously stroking her, making her legs twitch. Jude lets out an involuntary moan. She can feel him grinning against her skin. Smug bastard. Before she can even muster a word, he pushed a finger inside of her, making her thoughts scatter away from her, another moan, a very loud one, escapes her lips.

“Okay, fine,” she breaths out. “This is relaxing.”

“I told you.”

His mouth moves to one breast as he pushes another finger inside her. She arches her back, squeezing his hand between her thighs. She tangles her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, feeling his groan deep into her core. She’s not going to last long. He seems to realise this. His hand moves frantically between her thighs, his thumb pressing on her clit. He abandons her breast and gives her another deep kiss as she falls over the edge. Her climax hits her hard. Cardan keeps on kissing her, swallowing her scream. He enjoys making her lose all control. She knows this and it should probably annoy her a little bit. But how could it, when losing control feels so damn good.

She tries to catch her breath after the last of her orgasm fades away. Cardan doesn’t let her, though. He never does. He guides his lips between her breasts again, over her belly, until she feels him between her thighs, still sensitive from the last orgasm. He gives her a gentle kiss that sends shocks through her body, before he starts to feast on her, aggressive and wild. Jude feels another climax coming. Her muscles tense, her eyes locked on her husband, her King as he drives her over the edge again. She wraps her legs around Cardan’s head like an unbreakable collar, pushes both hands into his hair, gripping him in place. If he stops right now, she’s going to be angry again. A few short moments pass, and she falls over the edge again. She moans loudly, knows that the guards outside can definitely hear her, but she doesn’t care. Not when Cardan’s mouth is still on her, helping her ride out her orgasm.

A few moments pass by, as Jude tries to catch her breath. Cardan lets her this time. He rises up the length of her body, that smug expression still on his face. He kisses her once more and she tastes herself in his mouth. He lays next to her, wraps an arm around her limp body, and pulls her to him.

“I guess I don’t have to train my anger away, anymore.”

“Glad to hear it,” Cardan says, dropping a kiss at the top of her head.

A thought pops up inside Jude’s head, and she can feel her mouth stretching into a wicked smile. She turns to face Cardan, “I should probably reciprocate now, right?”

Cardan grins like a Cheshire cat and with a slap on her ass he responds, “I guess you should.”

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let-them-read-fics · 3 years

Text

BP Headcanon / One Shot: Raising A Kid With Lisa

Requested By Anon: Lisa / Reader while they're raising a kid

Quote Requested By @ssamssamu: "I knew I did from that first moment we met. It was… not love at first sight exactly, but- familiarity. Like: oh, hello, it’s you. It’s going to be you."

Pairing: Lisa x Fem!Reader

Warnings / Misc. -- Fluff, Slight Angst, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: This one's kinda long, guys 😳 I hope you enjoy, though. Thank you for the requests!

PS ~ Your child is female in this

♡ Happy Reading ♡

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Dear lord... 🛐🤰

Let's get started

First off: milf

Second off: you'd either come home to find her, your child, and your 5 cats passed out, or chaotically playing with one another

WHEN YOU'RE NEW PARENTS:

If you give birth, she's literally the most supportive wife ever

Getting you any and everything you need, no matter the time of day or night

"Lis?" You ask into the darkness, voice coming out rough as it slips past your sleepy lips. Her soft snoring is cut off in an instant as she wakes up, ready to help.

"I'm here, my love." She yawns, quickly stretching before reaching forward to take your hand into her own.

"Can you get me some ice chips?" You wince, hating to make her trek all the way down the hall when she was comfortable and sleeping so well.

"On it, baby." She stands and brushes her lips against your forehead, reassuring you that she doesn't mind the task.

"Thank you; I love you," you call after her as she walks towards the door. She turns to you just as she reaches it, pressing a kiss to her fingers before holding a finger heart up for you.

"I love you more."

----

"Here you go," she says, helping you sit up in the hospital bed. "I got you a little water with it, just like you like." She raises the cup for you, tilting it so that the cool liquid can slide towards your lips, soothing your dry mouth. The styrofoam squeaks lightly, momentarily accompanying the sound of the beeping monitor that's keeping track of your vitals.

You gently push the cup away after you're satisfied, wrapping your arms around her waist as she puts it on the bedside table. She cuddles you back, kissing the top of your head.

"Thanks again, babe. I don't know what I'd do without you." You mumble against her, still exhausted from all that you went through earlier today. She crouches down beside you, taking your hands within her own as she looks up into your eyes.

"You've made me the happiest woman in the world, Y/N/N; I have you and our cute little baby girl now. I think that's more than a fair trade for getting ice chips at 3 in the morning."

You laugh, leaning forward to rest your forehead against hers.

"We did pretty good, didn't we?" You ask after a moment, gazing over at the clear bin your daughter is laying in, resting peacefully.

"We sure did." Lisa says, feeling tears prick at her eyes. She raises a hand to your cheek, cupping the soft skin as she looks at you tenderly.

If she gives birth, you'd do everything for her as well and take good care of her as she recovers

She'd try to be a bit more independent, though, just because that's how she is

She secretly loves when you surprise her with just what she wanted, but was too shy / stubborn to ask for

You come back into the bedroom with a pint of ice cream and two spoons in hand, clad in one of her oversized shirts.

"I got your favorite," you smile, saddling up next to her on the bed. She sits up with a shy grin, feeling beyond lucky to have someone like you.

"Thank you baby," she says, taking a scoop of the sweet treat as you stick it out to her. She sighs as the flavor coats her tongue, reminding her of all the reasons it's her favorite.

"You know," she starts after a minute, grabbing your attention mid-bite. "You taste even better than this."

She smirks as you nearly choke on the ice cream, coughing a bit as it trails an icy path down your throat.

"Yah, jagi! Are you trying to kill me?"

She doesn't want to feel like a nuisance

You reassure her that she isn't at all, and eventually she listens to you

Lets you help her more and cater to her needs

Repays you in the form of cuddles and millions of sweet kisses

As soon as she can safely take care of herself, she's back to normal (aka, being a crackhead)

If you adopt or have a donor, oh boy

That child is spoiled the moment you lay eyes on it

Raising her as your own

You agree to tell her about her past when she's older, if she wants that

Constant reassurance of your love for her

Telling her how proud you are of her

---

She'd be teaching your kid dance moves before she could even walk

"Lis, baby, she literally just bent her knee."

"I don't know what you're talking about. She was definitely practicing the move I taught her last night."

Almost always making a mess when she feeds her (though that's not entirely Lisa's fault... babies are messy)

Seriously, both of them completely covered in baby food and milk when you walk in

Lisa asking if she can buy a hazmat suit for when it's her time on diaper duty

Pouting when you say no

She decides to wear goggles, gloves, and a face mask instead

Singing softly to your daughter as she rocks her to sleep

Sometimes falling asleep in your rocking chair with your baby in her arms

And you find them and just 🥺

WHEN YOUR DAUGHTER IS A TODDLER & UP:

Visiting Lisa's family and your own when you can

Very wholesome memories being made with them

Food fights

She is 110% down to act silly and do anything your kid wants

You unlock the front door of your shared home, tiredly rubbing your neck after a long day of work. The sound of one of your daughter's favorite movies playing on the living room TV brings a smile to your face, and you quickly set your things on the kitchen table before joining them.

Upon stepping foot into the room, you comically narrow your eyes.

"What are you wearing?" You ask both of them as an amused smile grows on your lips.

Lisa turns to you now, appearing to have been so invested in the movie that she hadn't even heard you come home. You start to wonder if maybe she was the one who wanted to watch the movie all along.

A tin foil hat rests atop her head, matching the adorable, mini-sized version that your daughter is modeling. Lisa's grin widens cutely as she looks you up and down, happy to finally have you back home.

"Here mama, we made one for you, too!" Your daughter says excitedly, giggling as she hops up and runs towards you, cap in hand. You crouch down so she can put it on you, feeling your heart melt at the happy look in her eyes; she's proud of herself, and so are you.

"Thank you baby, it fits just right." You praise, lifting her into your arms as Lisa stands up and approaches you.

"We missed you, lovey." She presses her lips to yours, humming against them when you bring a hand to her hip to pull her even closer. You pull away before you can get too invested and scar your child for life, opting instead to cuddle into the cozy embrace that Lisa offers to the two of you.

The warm material of her sweater brushes against your skin as she brings her arms around both of you, protecting you from the slightly chilly air of the room.

"You know, I still have no idea what the hat's for..." you smirk, feeling your daughter raise her head from where it previously came to rest against your shoulder. She scoffs, sounding offended that you don't know the answer.

"It's to protect us from aliens. Duh," she rolls her eyes, making you and Lisa chuckle. Clearly Jennie has been giving her some sass lessons lately.

"My most sincere apologizes, princess," you bow your head in mock shame, doing your best to conceal your smile.

"Let's go sit back down. I wanna hold my girls," Lisa declares softly, kissing your temple as you go to agree.

The three of you make your way back to the couch, snuggling up close as Lisa presses play.

Very affectionate

Constantly squishing your cheeks and gushing about how cute you are (she does the same thing to your daughter too)

Spoils her (and you) rotten

Matching onesies

Matching outfits, totally coordinated (usually Celine or some other designer brand)

Pillow / blanket forts

"Queen Y/N, requesting entrance." You announce with a smile, hands full of snacks for the three of you as you sit back on your knees in waiting.

From inside, you hear Lisa say, "Your Highness, there's a guest at the door. Would you like to see her?"

Your daughter's faux royal voice almost makes you crack up. "Oh, alright. Open up." She commands, sounding British.

Lisa parts the front two blankets, doing her best to conceal her grin as she locks eyes with you.

"SNACKS!" Your daughter shrieks, completely breaking character.

"No no no! Wait--" She eagerly rushes over to you, knocking you over in the heat of the moment. Your mom skills kick in and allow you to angle the bowls correctly and keep most of the food in, though a few stray pieces of popcorn fall out and land in your hair.

"Oops... sorry mommy," your daughter says, snickering softly.

Lisa leans over you, peering down at where you now lay on your back. She smirks as she picks some of the popcorn out of your hair.

If you're preparing a meal for the three of you, they'd turn on some music and come hang in the kitchen with you

Dance battles everywhere

Lisa doesn't always let your daughter win, either, and it makes your little girl all the more competitive

Taking your daughter to street markets to introduce her to new foods and develop her palate

Betting on what foods she'll like more

Lisa getting sulky when she loses, and never shutting up about it when she wins

PICTURES PICTURES PICTURES

Lisa's always taking pictures of you all to add to your family photo book

More like photo books

Seriously so many pictures. She just can't get enough of how cute her little unit is

Taking trips to local cat cafés to let the gang play

Lisa convincing you to let her get another cat

"Pleaaaase?" She draws the word out, wrapping her arms around your waist. You glance over to where your daughter is surrounded by a sea of fluff balls, almost unable to be seen. She's laughing her head off, filling the room with her cute giggles as the kitties brush against her.

"Just one more. Last one." Lisa says, gathering your attention again.

"You said that last time," you quip.

"I mean it this time."

"I feel like that's a lie..."

"If you let me get this cat, there'll be a reward for you later." She husks the last part out, letting her fingers trail to the back of your neck to rest there. She leans forward to press a kiss to your cheek, then your jawline, smiling against your skin when she feels your heart beat a little faster.

"Fine, Lisa. But this is the last one," you point a finger at her, pushing her back slightly.

"Thank you, my love. You won't regret it." She smirks, head held high as she slaps your butt and goes to the crate to pick her cat of choice.

Roadtrips

Sightseeing and exploring

Teaching your daughter how to take good pictures, too

"My little prodigy" - Lisa (🥺🥲)

You and your daughter go to Lisa's performances anytime you're able

Cheering the girls on, fully decked out in BP merch

"BLACKPINK IS THE REVOLUTION!" Your daughter screams, bonking her light stick against her head wildly. From the vantage point of your front row seat, you lock eyes with Lisa before glancing down at the little human with an amused smile. Lisa laughs when she notices her, leaving only the backing track to play for a second. She giggles again and points to you before picking back up with the song, a wide smile on her lips.

The other members look down and laugh, too, clapping for her.

Your baby has too much energy for her own good -- something she definitely got from your wife.

Visiting the girls often

They always love to see both of you

Jennie makes food for her and spoils her with lazy days, Jisoo teaches her how to play video games and be more of a crackhead, and Rosé teaches her to paint and sing (and also speak with an Australian accent)

"Nœř"

They all have a secret handshake with her, different for each member

Which you think is absolutely adorable

They always take such good care of her

Always showing up for her school recitals and performances

When you pack your daughter's lunch, Lisa will usually sneak extra sweets into her bag, thinking you don't notice. You do, but you'd never tell her that. Seeing her think she's actually being sneaky is cute

Your Relationship With Lisa

Playful banter

She still makes time for you

Likes to be connected in some way as often as possible. Holding hands or pinkies, back hugs, kisses, gentle caresses, cuddling, etc. -- anything she can do to constantly remind you of her love.

You both always look forward to date nights

You drop your daughter off so the girls can watch her, or you call a sitter

Lisa takes you wherever you wanna go

Some past places: the park (to stargaze), the roller rink, fancy restaurants, art museums / galleries, couples dance classes (when you want to practice a new style and have an excuse to dance the night away together), or even just the couch

Sometimes both of you are too exhausted to go out, so you opt to stay in instead

Other times she wants to get all fancied up and see how gorgeous you look in your outfit of choice

She loves to show you off

"Damn, baby. How do you get hotter every time I see you?"

You look over at her with an incredulous expression, still clad in your oversized shirt with you hair pulled back.

"I haven't even gotten ready yet..."

"Still sexy," she coos, coming up behind you to give you a hug. You settle back into her arms, sighing softly when she trails soft kisses along your shoulder, towards your neck.

"I have to shower," you inform her, releasing the words gently. Part of you knows you'll be late for your reservation if you let her continue, but you can't find it in yourself to care. You've been aching for her touch lately, both of you caught up with the stressors of life. But she's here now, letting her hands roam to the places she knows they shouldn't be.

"Lis..."

"You know," she pecks the mark she just finished making on your neck, feeling satisfied as it darkens before her eyes, "I'm in need of a shower, too." Her fingertips flirt with the waistband of your panties, dipping underneath the material to caress your skin.

"Didn't you get in a couple hours ago?" You ask, furrowing your brows in genuine curiosity.

She laughs at that, letting her head fall against your shoulder as she stills her movements.

"Y/N, can't you just go along with it? Jeez, let me flirt with you."

Both of you chuckle together now, giggles mixing together as they fill the air of the room.

"Alright, alright. Go ahead."

"You look-- No, you know what? Let's just get in. I'll show you instead."

One of the best showers of your life ;)

You somehow managed to make it to your reservation on time

Lisa had to help you walk, though

Cause, ya know

Wöbbĺý łəğ§

Flirted like crazy at dinner

But was also very romantic

As a plane blinks by in the distance, merely a speck on its journey across the dusky sky, Lisa ponders on what her life would've been like, had she not met you. That lonely looking plane symbolizes what she'd probably be doing right now: flying somewhere for tour or brand deals. Every flash of its lights is like a call out to the universe, searching for something it doesn't yet have. It reminds her of how she felt before she met you -- like something was missing.

"I love you, Y/N/N, so much," she says out of the blue, looking over to you. "I'm lucky to call you mine." She says sincerely, gazing into your eyes with a big smile. You turn her into a lovesick, giddy teenager just by being yourself. One look from you is capable of sending her falling all over again.

Her fingers intertwine with your own, hands resting on the table.

"I'm so proud of us. There's no one I'd rather grow old with." You bring her wrist to your lips, kissing it tenderly. Her heart melts at the action, and she cups your cheek in her palm.

She takes you to the park after dinner, right back to the place you met

It leads to a big sentimental talk about when you fell for one another and realized you were in love

You take a bite of the froyo you got as desert on the way here, looking over to her as she begins explaining.

"I knew I did from that first moment we met. It was… not love at first sight exactly, but- familiarity. Like: oh, hello, it’s you. It’s going to be you."

She looks so sweet after she says it that you almost melt right then and there. You put the container down on the bench beside you before turning back to her. Curiosity shines in her doe eyes as she waits on your answer.

"Oddly enough, it was the same for me," you start, feeling your cheeks tug up into a smile as the memories come flooding back. "As soon as I made you laugh that first time -- when I saw your face light up after I told that stupid joke -- I knew it was you. I never knew what I was missing until I met you."

She cups your cheek, rubbing the pad of her thumb across it as tears begin to well up in her eyes. Years ago, when both of you happened to be in this very spot at the same time, you had no idea what life had in store for you. She had no idea that when she accidently bumped into a complete stranger, that that person would become her world.

She wouldn't feel complete without you, and neither would you without her. The life you've created has taken sacrifices and courage, but you know you'll always have one another no matter what. She makes the hard days bearable, and the good days unforgettable. She's your reason, just as you're hers.

"I love you--"

Both of you say the phrase at the same time, laughing when you realize it. It's a sweet moment, plucked straight out of a romcom.

She leans forward after a few seconds to kiss your lips, reclaiming them for her own.

Holding hands as you walk through the city

Not wanting the night to end

You stop in a couple other thrift shops and take some pictures together before deciding to go home

You catch up on some movies / Netflix / trashy TV that you've been wanting to watch together, finally having enough time to do so

She holds you close, snuggling up against you and not letting you go

Fights

Of course, they're inevitable

Never fun

You both communicate well, though, so they don't happen too often

But when they do, they usually start over little things, your annoyance only heightened by the stress you're constantly under

It's tough on Lisa, being an idol on top of everything else, and it's tough on you to have to raise your daughter alone sometimes

You don't fight in front of her (your child), and you don't say things to attack each other's character. Sometimes you just get loud because you're frustrated and trying to get the other to understand things from your point of view

You usually take time to cool down and then come back together later, once you've had time to think and reflect

After putting your daughter to bed, Lisa comes to your shared bedroom.

"Y/N/N, baby, I'm sorry. Please open up, I need to see you." She says quietly, resting her forehead against the door. She's beyond disappointed in herself, baffled by the fact she could treat you in such a way.

You look over to it, weighing your options as you toy with your wedding ring out of habit. This was a particularly nasty fight, and you hated every second of it; the anger in her eyes broke your heart.

She hears shuffling from inside, and she stands up straight. When you open the door and lean against it, eyes red and cheeks puffy from crying, her heart sinks. It's not surprising that her words hurt you so much, but knowing that she caused you pain in any way is almost too much to bear.

She purses her lips as she gathers her thoughts, and you momentarily look down to the floor, scuffing your foot to busy yourself.

"I never should've said any of that to you. Work has just been stressing me out lately with the comeback and all, and I took it out on you. I was wrong," she says, fresh tears spilling out of her eyes. She quickly wipes them away, not wanting the moment to be about her. She knows if she breaks down in front of you right now, you'll be forgiving her in an instant and wrapping her in the embrace that she's been in dire need of all evening.

That's exactly why she doesn't give in; now isn't the time to be selfish. She sniffles, willing the tears away as she finds the words she wants to say to you. She has to make things right.

"You're everything I've ever wanted, and I treated you like that? I'm ashamed of myself, Y/N. I'm not asking you to forget about this; I just want you to know how sorry I am."

You let a shaky breath out as you look into her eyes, deciding on what to do. You can tell she's being genuine; her fear of losing you is real, and she's doing everything she can to prove how guilty she feels.

You drop your hand from the knob and step through the threshold of the door, wrapping your arms around her neck. The second you do, her tears finally begin spilling out again. Your hair tickles her nose as she nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck, securing her arms around your waist like her life depends on it. You cry together, letting out all of your stress and frustrations while muttering out strained apologies and I love yous.

"I forgive you, Lisa." She sobs a bit harder at that, and you feel her lip tremble. You stay like that until you both calm down, your sniffles fading to hitched breaths every now and then.

"Come on, let's go take a bath."

She decides to take over, wanting to make it up to you. She has you sit down and relax while she lights some candles and fills the tub with your favorite scents and oils

She comes back out into the bedroom to get you as the tub fills up

She carries you back to the bathroom, cradling you lovingly in her arms

You get in and cuddle, massaging the pain and tension away from each others shoulders

Very soft way to end such a stressful day

She reassures you that she'll be better for you and that she never wants to lose you or jeopardize what you have

You believe her, and to this day she's never been like that again

You still argue from time to time, but you both listen more and stop things before they can escalate

When All Is Said & Done

At the end of the day, Lisa always makes sure you know how happy you make her and how much she loves her life with the both of you

Even though things get hard sometimes, you wouldn't want to do it with anyone else

One day, when your daughter is away at school, Lisa and you are snuggled up on the couch, watching some TV

"Y/N/N?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Let's make another baby."

273 notes · View notes

offbrandhange · 4 years

Note

hi! are you accepting requests? if so can i request a fic where levi and the reader are secretly seeing each other and their little interactions spark up the interest of hange, so hange tells the rest of the levi squad and they all try to find out whether theyre dating or not? thank you!!

Yes, I am!!! Tysm for this idea I had so much fun writing it!!!

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: ~1.4K

a/n -- I really hope this isn’t bad HHHHHHH

The mess hall was rowdy as always for a Friday night; all different regiments and ranks joined together—just to drunkenly blow off steam.

At the higher-ups’ table, a loud thud was heard; Hange had slammed down their beer-filled mug, laughing as they slightly splashed it on the man in front of them.

“Sorry,” They hummed cheerfully, despite knowing it was likely they would get berated for getting beer on him; He scolded them every chance he got.

Hange smiled stupidly while waiting for harsh words, but there were none. The man said nothing, his eyes completely elsewhere. He had no idea there was an ale stain on his white cravat.

“Levi?” Hange blurted in confusion, hiccuping while they did so.

It was beyond uncommon for Levi to be spaced out and uncaring about a mess. He hated anything he deemed unclean—and he was picky about it, too.

Hange was knowingly alarmed by their colleague’s strange behavior, and so, they curiously turned their head to see what he was staring at.

His eyes were locked on a cadet belonging to the Scout regiment—one that Hange scarcely recognized as someone often around the Titan shifter, Eren Jaeger.

“That’s odd,” Hange murmured to themself, lifting the beer to their mouth to sip.“Wonder if this’ll work.”

Mischievously, Hange ran their hand on the underside of the wooden table, getting a good heap of dust and dirt to stick to their palm. Afterward, Hange lifted themselves from their seat, leaned over the table, and softly flattened their hand on the top of Levi’s head; he didn’t move an inch.

A booming “Woah,” escaped their lips, and in the typical Hange way, it caught everyone at the table’s attention—everyone except for Levi.

“Hange,” their co-worker called, a member of Levi’s squad; it was Petra. “What’s wrong?”

“He didn’t even flinch—I touched him with dusty hands!” Hange exclaimed, making dramatic gestures in disbelief.

Petra raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Levi, who was now not only wearing a stained cravat; but also dust particles covering his usually impeccably shiny raven hair.

Hange let out another scream in amazement; once again catching everyone’s attention—but not just those at the table. This time, the cadet noticed as well.

You began your strides over towards Levi—leaving behind your other members of the scouts. The closer you came towards him, the more his face began to change from pale to pink.

Hange watched in disbelief as you smiled at the short man, who now met your eyes with a softened gaze.

You reached to his cravat; pinching the corner lightly to look at the stain Hange’s beer left. “Oh,” you scrunched your eyebrow. You weren’t sure why he hadn’t been freaking out over the stain. “Do you want me to wash this for you? It’s dirty.” You asked, pulling your hand back.

Levi’s gaze diverted from yours as his face changed from blushing pink to cherry red, practically ripping off his cravat to hand to you. “Sure.” He quickly replied.

Both Petra and Hange stared in shock. The usually strict, grumpy, short-tempered Levi was completely gone. Instead, he was now a wide-eyed, innocent virgin—who seemed to have not known what a woman was.

As you walked out of the mess hall with Levi’s cravat—to presumably wash—his focus was finally back to normal.

“What?” He growled, meeting Hange and Petra’s bewildered eyes with his violent ones.

They paused for a moment, saying nothing, until Hange deftly answered, “You got dust on your head.”

Levi’s eyes widened, and he immediately started swatting at his head, disgusted by all the particles surrounding him.

“I need a shower.” He stated, rising from his seat, speed walking awkwardly out of the mess hall. It was clear he was very close to freaking out--grime was one of the only tame things in life that scared him.

After he left, Petra and Hange both silently sat, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“Is Captain....dating?” Petra questioned, turning to look at Hange.

“Levi? Dating? No way.” Hange answered, not completely convinced of their own conviction.

There was another long silence between Petra and Hange—and then Hange opened their mouth to speak.

“We’re definitely investigating, right?”

“What? Isn’t that an invasion of his privacy? I don’t think he would like it—“ Petra pleaded, but it was to no avail—Hange had already risen from their seat.

“Get the rest of Levi squad, then meet me outside of his office.”

Petra sighed as she watched Hange leave the room; She was not too keen on snooping in on Levi’s personal life—mostly because she valued his opinion of her—and did not want to lose his trust.

Hange, however, was giggling to themselves, bouncing as they walked to Levi’s office.

The walk didn’t take long, since his room was relatively close to the mess hall; but picking the lock certainly would. Once they arrived at Levi’s door, Hange pulled a hairpin from the bird’s nest that rested atop their head—poking and prodding at the lock best as they could.

When the lock had broken, Hange turned to see that Petra and the rest of the Levi squad were standing beside them.

“Good, you’re here.”

“Is Captain Levi really dating? He doesn’t seem like the type to get involved with others.” Eld questioned.

Oluo scoffed before he replied. “Of course not—he’s way too busy.”

Petra rolled her eyes. “Like you’d know.”

“Of course I would—are you implying I don’t know what it’s like to be busy? My kill count—“ Oluo stopped, accidentally biting his tongue.

Gunther just sighed and made his way into the room; the rest following along.

Hange and the Levi squad searched for what seemed like forever; they looked for anything they could find—a love letter, gifts, anything out of the ordinary that their Captain would not normally have—but they found nothing.

Eventually, Gunther sighed and slammed the desk drawer shut. “This is pointless.”

“And an invasion of privacy,” Petra added, sounding slightly annoyed.

Hange was starting to tire themselves—pushing up their glasses and rubbing their eyes, they spoke. “Fine, let’s call it a night; we can try and pair them up tomorrow during training and see then.”

Everyone left the room, dragging their feet. Their mission failed, and everyone was beyond tired; They certainly weren’t going to stay up any later than they already had.

Goodbyes were exchanged, and they headed their separate ways; Hange specifically towards their dorm.

And that’s when they turned the corner—and saw Levi talking with you in the deserted hall.

Hange hid, pushing their glasses back down to see clearer. Excited, they screamed internally.

Levi stood with the straightest posture possible; you could tell he was nervous. His hair was pushed back out of his face, still wet from his shower, with a towel draped around his neck.

You handed him his cravat, teasing him for getting it dirty. It was exactly what you expected to see from two lovers.

Once you leaned in to kiss Levi on the cheek, Hange jumped out from the corner, revealing themselves.

“HOLY SHIT! YOU ARE DATING!” Hange screamed, standing strangely, pointing at you and Levi.

The short man went flying as he threw himself away from you—he was now flat against the wall, with an expression that mimicked a frightened cat.

Slightly spooked yourself, you turned to look at Hange. “Oh. Squad Leader Hange.”

“ARE YOU DATING?” Hange screamed down the hall—you could hear an angry cadet in their room yell back, “shut up.”

Levi peeled himself off the wall, walking down towards Hange angrily—you followed.

“What is this.” He sneered, glaring at his colleague.

“ARE. YOU. DATING.” Hange repeated, putting a lengthy amount of space between their words.

Levi turned bright pink again—and said nothing. Annoyed, you sighed and spoke for him. “Yes, we are.”

“HOLY SHIT!” Hange yelled, dragging out the o.

“Keep your mouth shut, four eyes.” Levi spat, returning to his typical grumpy demeanor.

You pat him on the shoulder, resting your hand there to represent a small, “be nice.” His face grew even more in color; instantly melting at your touch.

“Don’t go around telling people,” you said, trying to clarify what he meant. “I don’t want others to think I’m getting special privileges.”

Hange sucked in a long breath, trying to calm themselves. “Sure, sure, yep, yep, yep. I got you.” They smiled politely, beginning to walk off.

You and Levi watched as they turned to corner—and all of a sudden you heard them scream.

“PETRA!”

Levi charged after Hange—and you muttered to yourself, “oh my god” before following along.

It was going to be a long night.

263 notes · View notes

mellointheory · 3 years

Text

inhaling smoke, i just awoke pt. 2

Red is curled up on his couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a rapidly cooling styrofoam cup of instant noodles clasped between his hands. He ate about half of it before he got distracted by the tv, and the rest served better as a heat source, honestly. It was criminal how cold his apartment was; he was wearing his earmuffs inside, for God’s sake.

There’s a knock on the door and he looks up, setting the cup of cold, soggy noodles on the coffee table. He gets up, still swathed in his blanket, and shuffles across the floor to open the front door. Antfrost is standing there, wearing the same thick green coat from earlier that day, with a long shape that looks suspiciously like a firearm strapped to his back underneath it.

“Are you ready?” He asks.

“I’m always ready.” Red pulls his blanket off and balls it up, chucking it back over at the couch. He picks up his baseball bat, giving it a quick once over to check the coat of red and white paint, then slots it into the straps on his back. His bag is sitting next to the door, the velvet pockets lining the inside carefully packed with the pots that he’d chosen. The sedatives Antfrost had requested, swirl pale yellow in their black cushioning. He’s brought some additional ones just in case; shimmering harsh pinks and purples and blues in the shadows of his bag. Antfrost peers inside his bag and nods in approval.

“How far away is it?” Red asks, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. Antfrost leans against the door while Red locks it, his face peering out of the depths of his green hood. His eyes do glow a little, soft blue light that Red would probably have to get very, very close to have reach him. He adds that to the bucket list.

“It’s close enough to walk; we should have time. And I don’t want to get there until after the doors close.” Antfrost turns and starts walking. His tail is tucked away again, safe from the cold that bites at Red’s hands and face when he follows.

“Can I call you Ant?” He asks. “Antfrost is kinda long, you know.”

Ant shrugs. “I guess I don’t mind.”

“Fantastic. Okay, and what’s your plan then?” Red shoves his hands into his pockets as they reach the street. It’s snowing again. Flakes land in his hair and on his shoulders and melt when they touch his skin.

“They close the doors after everyone’s finished betting.” Red can tell from the bitterness and focus in Ant’s voice that this wasn’t a spontaneous thing; he’s been planning this for a long time. “It’s a warehouse that they took over and repurposed. There’s still catwalks on the ceiling and ways to get in from above. I can drop the gas you made and knock them all out and steal the chimeras.”

“That seems like a solid plan.” Red agrees. “What were you planning before you got me to make this for you, though?”

Ant taps his waist. “I was gonna try to get them with the tranq darts I have, but this will be a lot more effective.”

Red shudders at the thought. “You know tranq darts aren’t immediate, right? They take time to work into your bloodstream.”

Ant is silent. Red quickens his pace to catch up--he has longer legs than him, but the cat hybrid moves with more speed and lightness than he does--and looks the man in the eyes. Ant is only about half a head shorter than him, but the hybrid has his shoulders hunched and is looking down so Red has to lean over a bit.

“You knew that, didn’t you?” He repeats.

Antfrost squints up one eye gingerly. “Maybe….?”

“Jesus, you’re lucky you found me.” Red straightens up and continues walking.

“Well, I’m not sure about that yet,” Antfrost mumbles. Red chuckles.

He can tell when they’re getting close to the chimera fights, because he can hear the cheering. Antfrost pushes his hood back as they approach, his head craned up to scan the side of the warehouse. His ears twitch, little flakes of snow falling on the soft fur and standing out against the dark brown in the harsh lights of the warehouse.

“There’s a ladder over there.” Ant points up, bounding lightly over to the rungs. As he runs his tail untucks from wherever it was hidden away, furling out behind him. It swishes in Red’s face when he mounts the ladder after the hybrid, almost brushing his skin. He wrinkles his nose, eyes crossing when he tries to focus on it.

The snow on top of the warehouse is undisturbed except for Ant’s footprints in it. Red follows the hybrid across the roof to the mouth of a heating vent that arcs from the concrete. The metal tube channels sound and warm air up from the warehouse inside; one of them welcome and the other not. He can hear cheering, and snarling. Ant’s ears flatten back against his skull at the sound and his tail begins whipping around like an angry snake. There’s a quiet growl that Red half thinks is coming from the hybrid’s throat.

“What now?” Red asks, partially to distract Ant from whatever rage is welling up inside his little catboy heart.

“Inside.” Ant ducks over and clambers inside the mouth of the vent. Red glances down inside before he follows. It’s a short drop that Ant somehow managed to make silently, then the thing levels out. He adjusts the bag slung over his back and eases himself down inside as slowly as possible. Nevertheless there’s a quiet clang as his boots hit the metal, and Antfrost hisses a quick shush at him. Red drops to his hands and knees and starts crawling down the vent after the hybrid.

“There’ve been far nicer reasons for me to get on my knees for someone,” he whispers. His voice echoes a little against the metal walls. It’s dark in the vent, and he can only barely see the movement of Ant’s tail in front of him. It’s a pity, just a couple more degrees of visibility and he’d see something much more pleasant to look at.

“This is a little bit more important than sucking dick,” Antfrost’s voice wafts back at him.

“Agree to disagree.” Red says. The noise of the cheering below them is now too loud for him to hear what Ant says in reply.

Antfrost’s back drops down from Red’s view and he sees the vent has opened up. When he looks out he finds a catwalk spanning the ceiling of the warehouse, with Antfrost already crouched on top of it. Below them is a throng of the cheering, shouting audience surrounding a ring in the center of the floor made out of concrete barriers. Two chimeras are fighting in the ring, a blur of blood and fur and scales. Red has a strong stomach for gore, but that doesn’t mean he finds it at all pleasant to see what the things are doing to each other.

He lands on the catwalk next to Antfrost. The hybrid jumps, then shakes himself.

“Give me the sedative,” Ant whispers, holding out his hand. His eyes are focused on the ring below.

Red reaches into his bag and pulls out one of the glass bottles; luminous pale yellow liquid swirling behind the glass. He reaches to put it in Ant’s palm, then pauses.

“What’s your tolerance level?” He asks.

“What?”

“Chemical tolerance. You’re a hybrid--it’s definitely been documented for you.” Hybrids are treated like second class citizens; shuffled around to keep more survivable areas of the city habitable for normal humans. Most hybrids have their chemical tolerance marked down somewhere so the government knows what areas they can dump them in without having them immediately die. Red has unusually high tolerance for a human, which is part of why he chose this line of work.

“I don’t know, seven?” Ant whispers back.

“It’s on a scale of one to a hundred, idiot.” Red reaches into his bag and fumbles around for a mask. There’s a screech from the creatures below.

“Red, they’re dying.” Ant says, trying to snatch the bottle out of Red’s hand. Red relents and shoves it into the hybrid’s palm. He pulls out the other two bottles he’s prepared, waiting as Ant arches back his arm to throw.

It’s a work of art, his aim. The first bottle lands directly in the thick of the audience and shatters, the liquid inside turning to gas the second air touches it. It balloons outward, clogging the air with thick yellow mist. Antfrost grabs the second bottle and hurls it so it breaks directly in front of the double doors that serve as the exit. The people down below are panicking; it’s like stepping on an anthill.

Red is good at his craft. A few seconds, and they’re already collapsing. Antfrost throws the last bottle; ensuring the entire warehouse floor is coated with heavy yellow fog. There are hybrids and cyborgs, here and there, who are only momentarily confused by the attack from above, whose systems are too resilient to the gas and are now gathering their bearings. One of them looks up and sees them.

Antfrost tackles Red to the catwalk. It shakes when they hit the metal and he’s momentarily stunned, to stunned to even protest. He still hasn’t gained his breath back when one of the cyborgs on the floor opens fire, bullets punching into the railing and barely missing them. Ant leaps off Red, whipping a crossbow out from under his coat. He aims down below, pulling the trigger. Red is still on his back trying to reinflate his lungs, and he can’t see if Ant managed to hit any of his targets.

A bullet strikes uncomfortably close to his head and he rolls upright, charging across the catwalk with one hand shoved into his bag. He fumbles for a bottle, then stumbles as something severs one of the wires from which the catwalk is hung. There’s the screech of metal and they plummet.

The good news: most of the onlookers collapsed near the edges of the room, not in the center where they fall, and the only casualties are two of the four hostiles still on their feet. The bad news: there are still two people trying to kill them.

Red Red struggles to his feet, yanking his baseball bat out from the straps on his back. Antfrost glances over at him, just for a moment, then leaps backwards as the cyborg swings a fist at him.

Red doesn’t have time to spare concern for Ant, because there’s a hybrid with claws and fangs and a nasty grin on her face charging at him. She has three arrows bristling from her shoulder, and she’s unsteady on her feet. He sidesteps, grips his bat firmly in both hands, and slams it into her shin. She collapses, lashing out at him with a clawed hand. He hops backwards on one foot to avoid her, stomps the tip of the bat to the ground to stabilize himself. She lurches forward, dragging herself with her good side, and sinks her claws into his calf. Red’s first reaction is, he must admit, a dumb one. He tears himself away and is rewarded with claws ripping through the muscle of his leg. Fucking Christ it hurts.

He falls just out of the reach of the hybrid. She has too much tranquilizer in her bloodstream to get up again and she’s already going under. Red tries to reach for his black bag only to realize he dropped it when the catwalk fell.

Catwalk.

Cat.

Antfrost.

He snaps his head up to see Ant dangling from the grip of the cyborg. The hybrid snarls, his hands wound around the arm at his throat. His claws are fully extended and scrabbling against the black metal.

Red screams the first thing he can think of as loud as possible.

“HEY, CUM SLUT.”

The cyborg whips his head towards Red, glowing yellow eyes narrowing. His grip loosens in his momentary distraction, and Ant thrashes forward, sinking his teeth into the man’s shoulder, where metal meets flesh. Red wonders what he has to do to get the catboy to bite him like that.

The cyborg hisses a swear and slams Antfrost to the concrete. Red panics and grabs the fallen baseball bat on the ground next to him. He hurls it towards the fallen hybrid.

A brown-furred hand snaps up and snatches the bat out of the air. Ant rolls backwards, dodging a punch from the cyborg, and leaps to his feet. He bends his knees, grips the bat, and swings.

Red painted that bat months ago in red-and-white stripes out of paint he mixed himself. It was combined with a little chemical mixture that turned acidic when it moved at a fast enough velocity. Red had never been able to swing it fast enough to get those decorative stripes to transform into something that could burn through whatever it hit in milliseconds

.Antfrost, on the other hand, can.

The bat sheers straight through both of the cyborgs legs, eating through the metal like it was butter. The cyborg hits the ground, his legs severed at the knee.

Ant gives an incredulous look at the bat in his hand, then lowers it and bounds over to Red.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“Claws.” Red says brightly, trying to ignore the warmth seeping from his leg and the burn of the gashes through his muscle. He likes pain sometimes, in certain circumstances, but these are not the type of circumstances he tends to enjoy.

“Do you have a painkiller in your bag?” Antfrost drops to his knees next to Red.

He screws up his face. “Something like that.”

Ant turns and leaps over a few inert bodies, grabbing Red’s bag from the wreckage of the fallen catwalk and bring it over. He puts it down and latches his hands under Red’s arms, pulling him into a sitting position.

Red unzips the bag and pulls out a small vial that shimmers a tantalizing blue.

“You know, they say never get high off your own supply,” he says wryly as he uncaps it, “but this is an exception.”

It tastes like melon milk and fizzes a little as it goes down. Damn, he really is a good producer. The lady who ran the pharmacy he worked at couldn’t make one of these taste good for the life of her.

The pain in his leg fades and he relaxes. Antfrost has climbed into the ring and is picking up the two sedated chimeras, carrying them carefully to the empty cages next to the ring and laying them down inside. He takes the cages outside through a small door labeled Exit, and through a rising haze of uncanny calmness, Red wonders if he’s just leaving. He would be concerned about it, but even with his high tolerance the drink he took is getting to him. He doesn’t feel high or buzzed, just calm.

Ant runs back inside, empty handed this time, and comes over to Red. He bends down to look him in the eyes.

“Are you—were your eyes always that…shiny?” Ant asks.

“Yeah, it’s from exposure.” Red replies. He stares back into Antfrost’s eyes: large blue wells, with his pupils widened in the low light.

“All the chimeras are loaded into a truck out back. Can I carry you?”

“You can pick me up any day, Ant.” Red tells him.

The hybrid slides his arms under Res’s back and legs and heaves him up, walking carefully to the door. His arms are warm and his fur is soft where it brushes against Red’s skin.

Antfrost helps him climb into the passenger’s seat, then runs around the front of the truck to sit behind the wheel. He starts it with the keys still in the ignition and spins the wheel, pulling out from behind the warehouse.

Their section of the city is already near the outskirts, and the drive probably doesn’t take long. Probably. Red’s thoughts wander as Ant drives, thinking about animals and chimeras and acid paint. He snaps back to reality when they’ve officially left the city. It’s easy to tell, because outside is a wasteland of hills and trash.

Ant pulls over on the side of the road and stops the truck.

“Can you walk?”

Red glances down at his leg thoughtfully. The effect of his mixture is wearing off, and it stings slightly, but he nods anyway.

They unload the cages one at a time, driving a little way in between each one. The chimeras run as soon as Ant opens the cages, smart enough to head for the hills.

The last one they unload is the larger of the two that were in the ring when they broke in. It’s still sedated, so Ant leaves the door wide open and then sits on the ramp of the truck to wait for it to wake up.

Red climbs up beside him, shivering a little at the cold night air. “What about the other one?”

Antfrost casts a glance back into the truck. “It’s not doing so good. Too hurt to let out.”

Red looks at the cage with the aforementioned creature. It’s some kind of cat creature with horns and spikes on its back, its shoulder torn open in the fight. It sleeps fitfully.

“Are you sure they’ll survive out here?” He asks.

Ant rests his chin in his hands, hunching his shoulders. “I mean, I did.”

“You lived out here?”

Ant nods. “I’m not actually from Hypixel City. I lived out here until some people came promising opportunities and riches. It was bullshit. I was barely any different from them.” He nods at the still sleeping chimeras in their cages.

“They made you fight?”Ant nods. “For a while. Then Bad came and got me out.”

Red stares at Ant’s ears and the velvet-soft fur on them, the pads on the palms of his hands, the twitch of his nose. He sneezes, rubbing at his whiskers with one hand. Red wonders about the kind of madman who looks at the catboy sitting next to him and forces him to fight in a pit for entertainment.

“I’m cold.” Antfrost says suddenly. Red deliberates for a second, then scoots over and wraps a hand around the hybrid’s shoulders.

“What about you?” Ant asks, staring at the open cage on the ground and the sleeping chimera inside.

“What about my past? Well, nowhere near as bad as you.” Red laughs at the thought of comparing their childhoods. “I have unusually high tolerance for a human, so i started working for a pharmacist. Maybe I accidentally mixed something wrong and blew up the area.”

Ant gives him a sideways look. “Maybe?”

“Maybe.”

The hybrid chuckles, letting his head rest on Red’s shoulder. “Thanks for doing this, Red.”

“For you? Anything.” The words are bold, but he’s not in the mood to hold back his thoughts at the moment.

Ant doesn’t reply, but there’s an unmistakable rumble in his chest that Red immediately identifies as a purr. They sit there for a long time, under the moon in a wasteland, waiting for a creature to wake up and leave its cage.

They talk, about colors and toxins and friendships and names. They sit there until the chimera wakes up slowly, stretching its limbs, and scrambles out of its cage as fast as possible.

And in a toxic wasteland under a yellow moon, sitting on a stolen truck, Red kisses the love of his life for the first time.

Three years later and he wakes up to the chill of a winter morning.

Antfrost is lying next to him, curled around him to soak up as much heat as possible. Red moves to get up, but his boyfriend mumbles something in protest and somehow wiggles even closer to him. Red relents and lies back down, wrapping his arms around the hybrid.

And, finally, his hands aren’t cold.

#velvetiscake #antfrost #ppcrew cyberpunk #mello writes #long post

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darker-soft-starker · 4 years

Photo

High School AU Part 8 (1...7)

---

16.k

---

The silence that follows Tony’s exit only lasts for a single, deafening heartbeat.

In the seconds that follow the aftermath, silent and struck with confusion at the lightning-quick turn of events, Peter doesn’t remember getting to his feet and excusing himself. He just remembers that the moment he decides to act feels impossibly longer than it should, punctuated only by the harsh slam of the front door.

Ed, understandably, seems suspended in the moment, torn between his guests and, well, his other guest. Without thinking, Peter stands and doesn’t bother to excuse himself before leaving the table and following the trail of fire that Tony left behind.

“Pete,” someone calls behind him.

“Stay here, I got this,” he turns for a moment, hands held up placatingly, before jogging through the living room, out the front door. Outside it’s bitterly cold, the snappish, freezing winds whipping at his face, his bare arms.

Stark is stomping furiously towards his car when Peter spots him, a shadowy figure against the dying sunlight. He sets into a jog to catch up.

“Tony,” he yells through chattering teeth. “Wait!”

“Fuck off,” Tony snaps without looking back, hands balled into fists as he heads to his car.

“Where are you going,” he rushes to catch up with him. “What are you even doing here?”

“You don’t have to worry about me ruining your little Hallmark family moment, Parker,” Tony pulls out his keys. “I’m getting the fuck outta here.”

“Wait,” he stresses, legs moving faster, not understanding what exactly is happening. “Tony, wait.”

He makes the mistake of getting between Tony and the driver's side door in a thoughtless effort to keep him from leaving, one that seems to backfire rather spectacularly when Tony gets inches away from his face, seething. This close, his fury is palpable, and he suddenly seems taller, larger, coming at Peter like a tempest, swift and devastating.

“Move.”

Face set in a snarl, he looks angrier than Peter has ever seen him. “Tony, wait for just a second --”

He flinches when two palms slam down on the car on either side of him and Tony is suddenly towering over him, his eyes dark and unrecognisable.

“I said get out of the way.”

“Calm down, can we just talk --”

“You have three goddamn seconds before I --”

“Before what? What are you going to do,” he juts out his chin defiantly, even though his hands are trembling. “You going to hit me, huh?” With courage he doesn’t really feel, he stands up taller, until they're nose to nose and he can feel his warm breath on his face. “Go on, asshole. Do it.”

The provocation gives Tony pause. His lips purse and his gaze flickers between fury and uncertainty. He doesn’t move his arms from where they have caged Peter in, but Peter can see the opening he’s created, as if Tony were a ticking bomb with seconds left before zero and he has once chance to cut the right wire.

Adrenaline racing through his veins, his circles Tony’s wrists with his fingers, pressing gently, intent on pushing him back or comforting him or something. But Tony doesn’t budge at all, he just stares Peter down until the offensive anger visibly bleeds into defensiveness. Tony dips his chin for just a second before meeting his eyes again, and it’s like watching a portcullis slam down behind them. In that moment, he feels any camaraderie they developed quickly vanished in a puff of smoke.

“I’ll stay out of your way if that’s what you want, but just don’t be a fucking idiot. Ed was really looking forward to seeing you.”

“It’s Jarvis, not Ed, you braindead asshole,” Tony says finally, voice hoarse. “And stop holding my hands, I’m not your fucking prom date.”

Immediately Peter takes his hands away and Tony steps back, hands still balled into fists, albeit lowered at his sides; so it’s come to this again. Peter nods shakily, putting his hands up in surrender.

“I don’t know how you know them,” or what happened to you, Peter says, softly, as if not to spook him, chest heaving. “But you shouldn’t drive off. It’s late and you’re angry.”

“Yeah, because you’re here.”

He swallows around that particular sting.

“I told you about Margaret and May. Look, just come inside, okay? I’ll stay out of your way.”

The other boy still looks uncertain, but his anger is draining out of him fast, the rigid line of his shoulders slumping, arms crossing over his chest in a last ditch to protect himself from whatever phantoms Tony is seeing in Peter.

A little heartbroken by the sight, Peter croaks out, “Please.”

Tony’s face falls before the impassive, drawn expression returns.

“I’m - I wasn’t going to hit you. I’m not like that.”

“I know.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold.”

“You’re - I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, just -” he sighs, dipping his gaze to meet Tony’s. “Let’s go in. Foods still warm.”

Tony keeps his stare affixed to the ground for a long moment that has Peter waiting with bated breath, still outwardly appearing unsure and on edge, like the slightest misstep would startle him into racing off like the other day.

“Did Peggy make her pecan pie?” he then asks, very quietly, as soft spoken as Peter has ever heard him, arms unravelling to tuck his hands into his jean pockets.

“Yeah,” he smiles encouragingly when Tony finally looks at him. “It’s good, right?”

“The best.”

“So, you coming?”

“Okay…” he says, exhaling through his nose. “I’ll stay for pie.”

“I can’t think of a better reason to be here.”

“The company does leave much to be desired,” Tony nods agreeably, but there is no heat or sting in his words.

Their sides brush on the way in and Peter thinks, backwards and forwards, push and pull.

“Peter?”

He pauses before the front door, startled by the use of his first name.

“Yeah?”

For a second it looks like Tony is going to apologise again. But in the end he shakes his head, face closing off.

“Forget it. Let’s go in.”

----

Inside, Ed and Tony exchange some hushed words in the living room, while the remaining occupants talk idly about the spread, as if perfectly cooked green beans were the most interesting thing of the night.

When Tony re-enters with Jarvis, his demeanour a still a touch skittish, eyes low, but no longer appearing like he’s bracing for a fight. No one mentions the theatrics, and, like it was a deleted scene in real life, welcome him in. There’s a flimsy attempt to cover the awkwardness that lingers, everyone still clearly a little rattled, but May is the first to rise to give Tony a hug.

Margaret makes a big show of bringing in a spare chair and providing Tony a plate with a veritable pyramid of steaming meat and sides, taking his face in her hands and kissing his cheek.

And Peter sits there, awkwardly sipping his water far too frequently to be considered normal, trying to appear as unassuming as possible, and staring at the print of Caillebotte’s Rainy Day on the opposing wall, as if it were the most fascinating thing this night.

With a similar air of queer ineptitude, Tony seats himself at the table, settling in tightly next to Jarvis. As soon as he is seated, Friday immediately startles him by leaping upon his lap, tail flicking his face.

“You brought the literal embodiment of bad luck to the lake house,” Tony says. “That explains everything.”

It’s enough to break the air of tension in the room as the adults laugh and Tony breaks out into the first genuine smile of the night, dropping his fork so he can scratch Friday under her chin.

“Well, this is such a surprise,” May comments lightly, though looks genuinely pleased to see the other boy. “How do you guys know each other?”

Tony and Ed speak at the same time.

“They used to work with my dad,” says Tony.

“Tony works afternoons at the garage,” says Ed.

A beat of silence follows.

“They used to work for my dad and we kept in touch. Jarvis lets me work for him after school,” Tony corrects.

Peter blinks, a little floored by this revelation, mind rapidly connecting the dots. Not only did they know each other, but Tony had a job?

Torn between being confused and oddly delighted, he recalls suddenly each and every time that Tony was antsy to leave after school, about his ‘priorities’, he was just trying to get to work. Like a real job with money and taxes and responsibility. Holy shit.

Without voicing it, he queries what on earth a trust fund baby like Tony is doing working a blue collar job, certainly not for a lack of money, and certainly not because it was a quaint after-school activity.

But then Peter takes stock of his face - recalling all the injuries he has ever seen him with and he suddenly understands.

At once he feels very ashamed, and very sick.

From the corner of his eye he assesses Tony, eating slowly with one hand. Indulging Friday with the other, and Peter comes to understand that he’s either assumed too much about Tony or, given all the evidence, assumed too little.

“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” Jarvis tops up his glass of wine, peering curiously between the boys.

May explains, when neither of them speak up. “They go to school together. They’re friends.”

She utters the last part with marked uncertainty, evidently the scene from earlier still on her mind. Peter understands. Tony’s anger and fear play over in his mind too, not just from this evening. With a sinking heart he recalls the night at the party, remembers drunkenly accusing Tony of getting into fights on purpose, that he would openly indulge in being violence. And Tony, nonchalant, not reacting at all like Peter would have. Took him home and took care of him.

He feels like the biggest piece of shit in the world.

Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite.

“I didn’t know you had a job,” Peter says delicately, swallowing down the bile in his throat. “That’s cool.”

Tony shrugs, sneaking Friday tiny cat-size morsels of food from his plate, getting flicked in the face with her tail as a reward. He doesn’t offer anything other than forced, casual nonchalance, despite seeming so tightly spun he could snap without a moment's notice.

“Peter said you were good with cars, that you restored yours,” May mentions, salting her potatoes, missing the surprised look Tony sends the both of them. “Makes sense.”

“He’s a natural,” Ed beams proudly at his employee. “An absolute genius.”

“Told you,” Tony looks up from under his lashes and smirks at Peter, addressing him directly. Genius, he mouths, pointing at himself with his knife like an idiot.

Which is apt when Peter mouths back the word idiot at him.

“That’s perfect,” May says, clapping her nephew on the shoulder, shaking him a little as if to rouse some enthusiasm. “Maybe you can diagnose the Volvo. You’re staying for the weekend, right, Tony?”

“Oh, no I’m not - I don’t want to intrude on -”

“Nonsense, you didn’t come all this way for one meal and I’m not having you drive back in the dark,” Margaret cuts in, her voice stern, her eyes knowing. “Stay the weekend, darling.”

“You’re having family time.”

“Stay,” May reaches over from where she sits opposite Tony, briefly gripping over his hands with hers. “It’s no bother to us, right, Pete?”

The entire table falls silent and the weight of several stares fall heavily on him, almost oppressively, but he’s only looking at Tony, trying to gauge his reaction. He’s met with an air of casual indifference, but the line of his lips is thin, and he’s stopped stroking a disgruntled Friday.

Risking a sonic boom, Peter kicks him under the table, testing his reaction. He smiles when Tony’s expression goes from cautious to irate, eyes finally flickering with something more familiar, and he deservedly gets kicked sharply on his shin in return.

It hurts, but also floods him with relief.

“Fine by me.”

As if he was ever going to say anything else.

----

After dinner May and Peter corral their hosts into relaxing by the fire while they attend to the clean up, hushing any protests to the contrary with tried-and-true Parker stubbornness. Once they were sure the hosts were situated in front of the old TV they’d set to disposing of the scraps and cleaning the plates by hand. This, at least, feels like something familiar, something he knows how to do without fear of stepping on a landmine.

They work efficiently like they do at home, May scrubbing and Peter drying and returning the cutlery and dishes to their rightful place. It’s the least they can do for the hospitality they’ve been provided.

“It’s such a weird coincidence,” May says lightly, passing him a freshly washed gravy boat. Peter accepts, swapping to the drier end of his kitchen towel and swiping away at the porcelain. “Tony, I mean.”

“I know.” He shakes his head, a huff emitting from his nose, echoing the same sentiment. “Small freakin’ world, right?”

“Do you think he’s okay? With the whole,” she gestures to her face worriedly with a soapy hand. “You know, at home? Should I call somebody?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “He doesn’t tell me those kinds of things.”

“I just mean, I thought - You were - you’re, y’know...”

He accepts a dripping plate, still hot from the running water. It scalds his fingertips upon contact and he nearly drops it before securing his grip, lowering it to the sink. “I’m what?”

“Y'know,” she hedges, voice deliberately light in a way that puts Peter on edge. “Dating.”

“What?” He hisses, staring at her. “No, we are not dating. Why would you even think that?”

“It would be okay if you were, you can tell me --”

“We’re not,” he pauses his drying to look her in the eye, mortification surely written all over his face, heard in the suddenness in which he stacks the plates. “We don’t even like each other like that. That’s not what this is.”

“I’m just saying if it was, it would be okay with me -” “- oh my god, you did this with Ned, stop -”

“- it’s just you two seem awfully close.”

“We’re not close. It’s not a thing.”

“Well, no need to sneak if it was.”

“It isn’t.”

“Okay,” she turns off the tap, shaking her hands over the sink to rid the excess water. “I just never know. You’re awful good at keeping secrets these days.”

“Wonder where I learned that from,” he mutters, hastily drying the last plate, placing it back in its cabinet a little roughly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he gives his best try at a smile, wiping his hands on his jeans and backing out of the kitchen. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay, just getting some fresh air.”

She stops him, gently grabbing him by the sweater.

“Just let him know he’s welcome, okay. I think he needs to hear it from you.”

----

It was a gentle stomp out the front door that brought him to the porch, a willingness to find calm in the stillness of the night, in the serenity of their surrounds, the chirp of crickets, the opportunity to see the stars, bright, crisp and speckled, like paint splatters against black paper, an inverse connect-the-dots.

A lot of people tell Peter the stars make them feel small, reminding them that they are just tiny specks in a gargantuan, ever-sprawling universe. But for him it’s the opposite, when he’s lucky enough to have a view of the night sky like this, he feels bigger, connected to the universe that he knows is alway there but often forgets. It’s a moment to marvel at the stars dying before him and revere them light years too late.

Perched on the top step and illuminated under the porch light, Tony has a burning cigarette between his fingers and, judging by the headphones over his ears, hasn’t noticed Peter’s presence. He’s not looking up at the stars like Peter has been, instead he stares out at the inky lake.

The yellow light does nothing to improve the discolouration on Tony’s skin, casting shadows over the contours of his face, he tries to not stare as he sits on the step beside him, careful and slow as to not spook the other boy.

They sit in relative silence together, Peter peering up at the round full moon as he digests the day, this arduously long day. It seems terribly wild that it was only twelve hours ago he was sharing pretzels with May and resigning himself to a delightfully boring, uneventful weekend with his aunt and people that he used to know, playing scrabble and skipping stones on the lake.

That was the plan, of course, before Tony blustered in like the thunderstorm that he is, and always has been since Peter met him.

Loud, dark, hard to ignore.

Tony slips his headphones down to cradle the back of his neck and takes a drag before speaking.

“You want?” He offers the cigarette, face impassive. “You look tense.”

Peter takes the offered cigarette, staring at the lit end, the pale wisps of smoke that curl from the end. Maybe it’s the guilt swirling in his gut that makes him do it, desperate for a distraction, or maybe it’s wanting to wipe away the morose contemplation etched on Tony’s face.

Instead of bringing it to his mouth, he stubs it out on the concrete, feeling satisfied when Tony makes an indignant noise.

“Those are expensive, you know.”

Peter shrugs, popping the stub into Tony’s makeshift ashtray. “Maybe you should stop smoking. You’re going to look like a leather bag by the time you’re thirty.”

He fishes another smoke from his pocket, lighting it and taking a deep drag.

“Wrong,” Tony tilts his head and exhales towards the sky. “I’m going to age like fine wine, princess.”

“You’re going to have emphysema before college,” Peter mutters, pulling the sleeves of his sweater over his hands to keep them warm, tucking his arms to his chest. It’s so cold out here and yet, at a glance and in only a shirt, Tony doesn’t even seem remotely perturbed by the biting winds.

It’s because he’s hellspawn, it’s the only reasonable explanation.

“This is fucking weird,” Tony says after a moment, “I don’t like it.”

Peter nods agreeably.

“Yep, even in New York. Six degrees of separation. Could have connected the dots if you’d mentioned your job earlier.”

“Would have, but it’s not exactly any of your business.”

Right. Because they’re not friends. They aren’t anything.

“I didn’t lie,” he says, “in there. I think it’s cool.”

“I’ll head out in the morning,” Tony offers, in lieu of responding to Peter’s faint adulations.

“Don’t be dumb,” he sighs, a little frustrated. “I don’t care that you’re here. Might be nice to have someone around my age, actually.”

“What, you think we’re gonna sing Kumbaya by the lake and tell each other ghost stories at night, or something? Thanks, but I’d rather jerk off with a potato peeler.”

“I’m not saying that. I told you I’d stay out of your way, if that’s what you really want.”

It’s disappointing to even have to say it. He thought they were getting along.

“You don’t gotta do that, it’s fine,” Tony flicks his ashes onto the steps. “Just leave me the rest of the pie and we’ll call it payment for putting up with your ass. But I draw the line at hymns by the fireside.”

Not the pie. Anything but the pie.

Peter opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it quickly, eyeing the other boy as he puts out the cigarette in the ashtray. It’s a small price to pay, isn’t it really, for all of the time Tony has fed him, to absolve some of the guilt he’s carrying like a stone. And for respite, as he himself has had a long, topsy-turvy kind of a day - but undoubtedly not as onerous and difficult as Tony’s must have been. And a small price to pay to keep him here, safe.

For Margaret and Ed’s peace of mind, of course.

Also, because the mental image he’s conjured of Tony sadly eating pie all by himself is deeply amusing.

And maybe to soothe the weird ache in his chest, too.

“You really got a sweet tooth, don’t you,” he states, silently agreeing to the deal.

Tony sighs.

“You should see me on Halloween.”

----

When they head back inside only Peggy and his aunt are still awake, though looking far closer to the verge of sleep, blearily watching a Charmed rerun, bottles of beers and mixers littering the coffee table. They perk up, however, when both boys enter the living room, and maybe it’s roaring fire, or the near darkness inside, but Peter suddenly feels as tired as they appear, warm and weary all at once, like a plug has been pulled unceremoniously from the base of his spine.

Knuckling his eyes like a small child, Tony looks much the same.

“Bed time,” May croaks, her back audibly cracking upon standing. “Come on, boys.”

Peter politely averts his gaze when May draws Tony into a hug, pretends not to hear how happy she is that Tony is staying. He extends that particular pretence when his counterpart stands stock still, hands reluctantly returning the embrace seconds too late to be natural.

While May washes up, Margaret leads them to the last room at the end of the hall. It occurs to him very quickly, that he hadn’t quite factored in the math when he implored Tony to stay the weekend. Their approach turns trepidatious when he realizes that there are only three bedrooms in this house and five people; a couple, an adult, and two teenagers.

The hinges squeak horridly when Margaret opens the guest room door, revealing a double bed, a dated quilt and a musky smell revealing the extent of the rooms disuse.

“If Peter doesn’t mind you sharing,” she says, gesturing to the bed that Peter had already dumped his stuff on earlier, “or one of you can sleep on the sofa, but you’ll have to share the bathroom. There are spare blankets in the closet.”

Peter’s heart pounds as they’re left alone in the room, staring at the bed, experiencing the sort of breath-stealing trepidation one he imagines might have when the roller-coaster you’re on gets stuck mid-way through a loop.

“I can...” he clears his throat roughly, gesturing to the living room. “I wouldn’t want to make you - unless you want to sh- ”

“I’ll take the sofa, we can alternate,” Tony says with finality, already backing away, duffel slung over his shoulder.

Peter, blissfully glad that Tony cut him off before he could embarrass himself by suggesting something foolish like sharing a bed, says, “Okay, yeah.”

As a rare act of partisanship he locates the blankets and helps set up the couch, giving him one of the spare pillows from the bed.

While Tony uses the adjacent ensuite to brush his teeth and empty his toiletries, Peter waits, sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching the material between his fingers, listening to the tap water run and waiting his turn. It’s not a large bathroom and brushing their teeth together would be weird, too intimate, even though he and Ned or he and Bucky did it all the time. He and Tony aren’t friends, in fact, Peter doesn’t know where their boundaries lie anymore, especially after tonight. He supposes, for a start, that he isn’t supposed to feel electricity around friends and frenemies.

Because maybe their elbows would brush as they crowded the sink and maybe they’d meet eyes in the mirror and maybe Peter might like that and, yeah, it would be super weird for them.

When Tony emerges he’s dressed only in his shirt and boxers, jeans slung over his arm, the glow of the bathroom light on the back of his head like a fiery halo. Somehow, seeing his bare legs for the first time, the curve of his calves, his naked feet, somehow was a lot more intimate than the idea of sharing a bathroom.

“So you do have something under all that denim,” he swallows, then cringes.

“You gonna cream yourself at the sight of skin or something, Parker?” he asks on a yawn. “Hmm?”

“No. You’re just...so pasty.”

“Whatever you say. Anyway, I’m out.”

Peter calls his name without thinking and Tony pauses in the doorway, the muscles in his back tensing for a moment, as if bracing for a fight, before relaxing again.

“I,” he says, unsure what he wanted to say. Settles for, “I’m glad you’re here.”

The look that Tony sends him over his shoulder is quick, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of gratefulness, and in Peter’s imagination, reciprocated fondness. That is until Tony taps on the door frame and opens his big mouth again.

“Night, Parker, I shall rid you of my pasty legs. Try not to get the sheets sticky thinking about my bare ankles.”

Asshole.

----

“You’re up late, kid,” May says the next morning, peering amusedly at his bleary-eyes and morning-induced disgruntlement over the rim of her coffee cup.

“Couldn’t sleep, his voice is hoarse with sleep, pouring himself his own cup of coffee and sitting beside her. “I kept hearing this clicking and beeping all night. You didn’t hear it?”

She shakes her head. “Was out like a light. Maybe someone was up watching TV.”

“Yeah, maybe. Where is everyone?”

“Peggy’s and Jarvis are in Syracuse.”

“Black Friday?” Peter wonders, recalling the hauls of gifts in his younger years whenever the couple would return from their hectic, discount driven ventures.

“Yep.”

“And Tony?”

“Out front, working on the car.”

“You really put him up to work?” He asks, leaning against the counter, bringing the cup to his mouth to hide his disapproving slope of his lips. “He’s on vacation.”

May holds her free hand up in defence.

“Don’t blame me. He offered and I turned him down. He’s stubborn, that one.”

“I’m very aware of that.”

“Once you’ve finished your coffee, be a darling and take out some water for him, won’t you? I would, but,” she winces, shifting on her seat. “my back’s killing me.”

“You okay?”

“Fine,” she waves her fingers at him dismissively. “Just slept funny.”

“Do you need anything?”

She pats his cheek, smiling from ear to ear. “Maybe another biscotti, bubby, if it’s not too much trouble. Love you.”

There’s something to be read in the way that she doesn't meet his eyes to follow her statement. In his heart he knows May, knows that she is still lying despite his attempts to have adult discussions with her, in the frank and embarrassing way he’s had to open up to her when he was younger and felt frighteningly not himself - except he’s nearing adulthood now. And maybe that’s the kind of transparency he seeks from her, because that’s what adults do, don’t they, they bring down the curtain when it comes to serious things.

And of course he brings her another biscotti, and while he’s up, he does as requested, filling a glass of water in the squeaky kitchen sink and takes a muesli bar from the pantry, pocketing another one for himself.

It’s chocolate covered. Not his favorite, more of a yogurt covered oats-bar fan, but it’s the least Peter could do for Tony’s free labour.

Outside it’s chilly, fog hangs low over the lake and frost clings to the grass in tiny ice crystals. There is a family kayaking out of The Narrows, a far away blur of bright boats and hi-vis life jackets, paddles parting through the still water like hot knives into butter.

Taking a moment to breathe in the clean air, Peter marvels at just how quiet it is, compared to the city. No traffic noises, no subway nearby and no neighbours creating all kinds of racket at ungodly hours. The only apt words that Peter can think of to describe it is: still. Nothing changes here. Or everything changes here and the houses and the lake and the trees have the good grace to stay the same while the rest of the world is in constant metamorphosis.

Peter likes it here, mostly as a novelty thing, and even more so for the company. But he’s a city kid through-and-through, loves the people, the awe of the tourists, the near helter-skelter way of life. It was a reflection of the orderly chaos in his own mind.

Here, there is nowhere to run from his thoughts.

Tony is bent over the open hood of the car, an old boom box by his feet playing Don McLean, a socket wrench in hand, twisting away at the insides of the car. He looks alive, happy. In his element with his hands smeared with rust and oil, dexterous fingers at ease with the tool in his hands.

Here, there is nowhere to run from his feelings.

Because there it is again, Peter pauses, struck by the rudeness in which it blooms; that feeling from the other day.

Not butterflies. More like pushing down on a bruise.

An exquisite ache.

It radiates through his whole body, his sternum the epicentre. Without thinking, he rubs at his chest, as if it might make the ache go away, but it doesn’t. It’s always been there, locked up in a little cage behind his ribs, set free these last few weeks.

Tony turns as he’s approaching, twisting the wrench in his hand like a cowboy with a pistol.

“If it isn’t Sleeping Cootie,” he greets. “He wakes.”

His mood seems to be greatly improved from the night before, seemingly back to his usual self. Whether that’s a good night's sleep, or their surroundings or getting his hands dirty, Peter’s not sure, but he’s not complaining.

“Here,” he says, just loud enough to be heard over the radio, holding out the water and the muesli bar.

He accepts with muttered thanks and drains the whole glass back, sticking the bar in his back pocket. Peter, for some silly reason, doesn’t stop looking at Tony’s bottom lip the entire time.

The ache ebbs and flows, the closer he gets, and when he boldly presses their sides together, it’s almost completely gone and unbearably worse at the same time. And so he lingers, for a moment that stretches far longer than a passing interest in the innards of a Volvo.

Tony seems to notice.

“You know anything about cars?” he asks, pinching Peter’s side, smiling cheekily when he squirms, ticklish. “No?” he asks, dodging Peter’s protesting arms and pinching him again.

“A bit,” he elbows Tony back, their hands settling close enough on the mouth of the hood that their fingers brush. “Not much.”

“Stick around then, cotton-tail. Let me teach you a thing about radiators.”

----

Peter knows a lot about robotics. He knows a lot about computers. Cars, albeit a different species, aren’t all that different. He knows the basics.

But watching Tony explain in-depth the specific parts needed for specific models, the tools that are necessary, it’s another thing. It’s more than just soldering and nuts, bolts and pliers. Each model and make is like knowing a person. A Ford from a Peugeot, from a rear wheel to an auto transmission. It was like being a veterinarian, for big machines.

And so Peter watched as Tony explained that morning, and well into the afternoon, as enraptured as he’d ever seen him in what is evidently a deep love, flanked by the autumn trees and yellowing grades of sunlight. A memory he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

He shows Peter the track of water through their radiator, the leak, the speed of water versus engine output. They will need a new replacement part, he says, he can probably do it for free with Jarvis’ approval, which is so guaranteed, he assures, it’s called a discount, hello, Tony had said, but they will have to order the part in because this car is ancient and no one should drive these deathtraps -

“But in the meantime, we can put in some Chem-i-Weld, that should get plug up the leak long enough to you to the garage and we can replace it -”

Peter just nods, allowing Tony to manipulate his hands to drip coolant into the narrow opening of the radiator, the bright-green fluid dripping into the grass below when some spills over the steel mouth in their haste.

At some point Margaret and Ed return with their purchases, bringing them lunch from the diner they’d stopped at. Ed hangs around for a bit, listening to Tony’s assessment of the vehicle’s ails, nodding and immediately agreeing to the free repairs without needing to hear a pitch.

It wasn’t all that bad, he guessed, even when Tony deliberately smeared engine oil on Peter’s cheek and Peter punched his arm in retaliation.

It was kinda fun.

And maybe Peter didn’t mind so much that their shoulders brushed, when he once would have shuddered.

And maybe he didn’t squirm when Tony put his hand on the small of his back when he was pointing something out, but leaned into it.

In all honesty, it’s one of the best days he’s had in a long while. He tries not to read in too much that some of his best days lately were the ones where Tony was in it.

But of course, nothing is impermanent, and even good days go bad.

----

Some time mid afternoon, Tony heads out to an auto store in town, keen on doing a full oil change on the car, which was completely unnecessary, Peter had argued, and was told to shut the fuck up in return.

Which, fine. He could afford Tony the distraction he was in clear need of.

He heads inside then, hungry and a bit sweaty and wanting to check in on May. He feels a bit bad for having left her to her own devices all day.

It doesn’t take long to find her, she’s in the living room, fast asleep and snoring on the sofa. Margaret sits beside her on the armchair reading a newspaper, glasses perched upon her nose, bags of her purchases by her feet.

He reaches over to gently retrieve the glasses from Mays face without waking, placing them on the table. Knowing his aunt she’d probably flail in her sleep and smack herself in the face and break them. She’s done it before.

So has he.

“Poor thing has been through the gamut, hasn’t she,” Margaret mutters, without looking up. “I keep telling her to get on stronger medication.”

“For what,” he slowly rises. “What does she need medication for?”

She stares at him. “Her pain, darling.”

“What pain?”

Margaret swallows. “She hasn’t spoken about it with you.”

“No,” Peter says, “but I know something is wrong. I’ve asked. She won’t tell me.”

She sighs, dropping the newspaper to rub tiredly at the bridge of her nose, her glasses nudging up with the motion. “Right. Of course she wouldn’t. Look, Peter, it’s not my business to say, but she’s okay. Don’t fret. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“If there was nothing to worry about, why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“For the same reason you keep things from her.”

“I don't --” he stops himself. “She doesn’t think I can handle it, does she.”

“Darling, you know that’s not why.”

No, he doesn’t know that. What he knows is that May always has his prescription filled every month, always two days before he’s due to run out of meds. He knows that when things start to go south for him she cries when she thinks he’s asleep.

But he voices none of this, says instead, “I’m just gonna get some fresh air. Do you need anything?”

She doesn’t, and he can’t get out there quick enough.

----

Once, when Peter was thirteen, some jerks in his class found out that he did gymnastics. They teased him all day, called him a fruit, a fairy. That it was no wonder Piggy Parker was queer. Which wasn’t untrue, he was indeed very queer, but it wasn’t because he did gymnastics and they didn’t need to shove him against a locker for it or call him a pussy.

That was the first time that Flash ever stood up for him.

And it was the day he first thought about quitting gymnastics.

Not because he didn’t like it. But because of the way Ben looked when he picked Peter up that day, how his face twisted when he saw Peter’s black eye through the rear view mirror. And then the way he spoke to May in low tones later that night when she had gotten home from work when they thought he was sleeping.

He was good at gymnastics, and he thought he loved it. But nothing was worse than the feeling he’d had that day, something monstrously dark and twisted in words like burden and shame.

He’d always been an anxious kid. He’ll never really know if it was the result of losing his parents young, the fear of abandonment, or if that’s just the way he naturally was. There were the panic attacks, the social anxiety, the waking up in the middle of the night so sure the world was ending.

And now this.

He didn’t want any more pity or coddling.

The next day, on the way to school, he told Ben that he didn’t want to do gymnastics anymore. He didn’t have to tell him why. Ben already seemed to put two and two together. They argued about it. Ben said he was giving in and giving up and it doesn’t seem like he ever told May about how Peter wanted to quit because of that day, she never brought it up and he never told her.

But none more so than the day Ben died. The vehicle that would later become known as the May-Mobile was at a mechanic somewhere, something else had gone wrong with it, once again. So, keen to get Peter to gymnastics, despite his vehement protestations, Ben had borrowed a car from his work colleague, just for the afternoon.

The front passenger seatbelt hadn’t been working, it kept getting stuck and couldn’t be buckled properly, so Peter had been sitting in the backseat. At the time he was tight lipped, giving one word answers, arms crossed petulantly over his chest. He wasn’t being taken seriously. Again. He was so mad that day, he hated everyone. Wished everyone would just leave him alone.

Then they were at a stop light.

Having gently tolerated Peter’s childish indignation the entire ride, Ben had turned around in his seat, one hand on the wheel, the other steadying himself on the passenger seat to implore with Peter.

To tell Peter to just give it a shot, just keep going with it, that he shouldn’t give up what he loved for anyone --

If he hadn’t been looking away from the road, maybe he would have seen the drunk driver that crossed traffic before it plowed head-on into their car. He might have been able to avoid it.

If he hadn’t been such an ungrateful, insolent child, Ben probably would have swerved and survived.

Peter never told May about the arguing. That Ben’s death was his fault.

She had enough on her shoulders. It was enough that he knew - and it was his to live with.

So in a weird way, he kinda gets it.

Doesn’t make the jackhammering of his heart ease any though. If anything, the air in the house starts to get thinner, the occupants more intrusive to a cohesive stream of thought, even if they aren’t in the same room.

Spying his sneakers by the door, he slips them on, too eager to get out to bother with socks. foregoing socks and taking a run by the lake.

He has blisters by the time the house has disappeared in the distance, but he doesn’t stop. Not when Tony drives past him, looking at him with surprise through the window, not when he feels blood slipping down his heels, not until he’s out of breath and his feet can’t carry him anymore. Even then, the thought of going back inside makes his stomach curdle.

It’s not even that he’s mad. He isn’t.

It’s just that everything in his head, the catastrophe of it all, is too big, and the house is too small to contain it. The thought of stepping foot inside has him feeling claustrophobic.

So he walks along the dock and sits, hoping the outdoors will swallow his thoughts.

----

There was something about this lake at this time of year. The leaves of the trees flanking the water, ruddy and ocherous, the way the water was so still as if it were straight out of that Monet painting, Morning on the... something or other, he can’t remember. But if Peter sat down long enough and stayed still it felt like he became a part of the canvas. If he didn’t move he could stay, etched forever in the sublime tranquility.

But something always moved, even if he didn’t. A bird. The light sprinkle of rain rippling across the lake. Tony settling down next to him on the dock, jostling him when their shoulders brush.

“You look like a sulking pomeranian,” Tony says, apropos of nothing.

“Well, I’ve been called worse, I guess,” he says quietly, digging deep to find amusement in the comparison despite the maelstrom of thoughts, the heaviness in his chest.

Tony nudges his side. “Spill. Tell me what’s earned your scorn today.”

“You remember the letter? The one from the hospital?”

He feels, more than he sees Tony stiffen beside him, the mockery gone from his voice when he answers. “Yeah. What ended up coming from that?”

“Nothing. May insists she’s fine. Peggy knows something but won’t tell me what, but says it’s fine.”

“Could it be possible,” Tony says dryly, “that everything is fine?”

“If it was, then why wouldn’t they tell me?”

“Don’t know, princess.”

“I just wish they’d tell me so I can stop,” he points to his head and makes an explosion noise, “you know.”

“Adults,” Tony shrugs. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. Well, at least according to state law.”

He looks over to the bruising on the boy's neck, chest going tight at the sight. It must have really hurt. It must have been scary.

“You seem to know a bit about that,” he hedges.

“I guess,” Tony looks down at his hands. “Doing my best to live without one particular adult.”

Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite.

He clears his throat, willing his nerves to settle before he says the next part, the memories of the previous night at the forefront of his mind. “I know we’re not,” he gestures between them, “y’know, and I’m not your favorite person, but If you need a place to stay, you can always stay with us.”

Stark is quiet for a long minute as he looks out to the lake.

“Thanks, but I don’t need any handouts. I can take care of myself.”

“Not saying you can’t. Is that why you work at the garage? And take money to help others cheat?”

“You know about that, huh,” Tony grins wryly, but it quickly fades, voice getting darker. “Yeah. Been saving up. And now I don’t have to ask anyone for anything.”

“You know that’s not a bad thing, right. You can ask for help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“But do you want it?”

“Just leave it,” Tony says as gentle as he’s ever heard him, as if Peter were the one who needed comforting. “I made it this far. I know what I’m doing.”

Peter twists his lips, wants to be defiant and try to give this guy hope from where it had clearly and literally been beaten out of him. But it’s not right to insert himself like he knows anything more about the situation than the glaringly obvious. Like it was with Bucky, all he can do is be there, if someone wants him there.

“I’m sorry.”

“If you’re heading into a pity party, Parker, I’m going to stop you there.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he shakes his head. “I’m sorry I just assumed that you were just some rich asshole, that you were an angry kid. That you were violent.”

“I am angry,” Tony interrupts. “I am violent.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. You don’t know me.”

Peter scoffs, shifting on the dock until his knee nudges Tony’s thigh, a small point of contact meant to keep them both grounded. He releases a breath when Tony doesn’t move.

“I know that you drove me home while I was drunk and paid for my meals when you didn’t even like me. I know you could have hurt me when you hated me, but you didn’t. You made sure I had a ride when it was raining.”

“No need to get all starry-eyed,” Tony shakes his head. “I’d clock Rogers’ stupid fucking face again if he wasn’t too chicken shit to come near me. I’m not a saint.”

“No,” Peter bumps their shoulders together. “But you are a sucker. And angry, violent people just aren’t suckers.”

“Says who.”

“Science.”

“That’s some pretty questionable science, Elle Woods.”

“How about you shut up and take my word for it?”

Tony exhales, shaking his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

They sit quiet and unmoving for a while, becoming still with the scenery again, becoming surreal with it, sitting long enough for the moment to process, and for Peter’s heart to stop beating so fast. But something always moves.

By the time Tony moves to light another cigarette the kayaking family are back, tiny patches of yellow in the far distance. The sun has started to get low, taking the precious few degrees of warmth with it.

This time when Tony offers his cigarette, Peter doesn’t turn him down.

“Aren’t you afraid of getting my cooties,” Peter asks dryly, accepting the cigarette, placing the filter between his fingers, inspecting it. He’s never smoked before, never thought about it, never wanted to. May would lose her damn mind if she ever got whiff of nicotine on him.

“Terrified,” Tony nods seriously. “But, in the common interest of getting you to unclench, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“I am unclenched,” Peter mutters, bringing the cigarette to his lips, right where Tony’s lips were before and inhaling.

Tony’s only response is to lean back on his hands to leer at his ass, no doubt to evaluate that claim, his eyebrows raised dubiously in Peter's direction when he straightens.

There’s only a split second for heat to curl pleasantly in his stomach before he inhales too quickly, smoke seizing the breath out his chest. The other boy laughs, whacking Peter on the back as he catches his breath, taking the cigarette back from his fingers.

Despite himself, a little embarrassed, Peter laughs as well, vowing not to take up that particular habit, not even when he wanted Tony to look at him like that.

“Alright, toots,” Tony says loudly, and without warning reaches over to tug the brim of Peter’s cap over his eyes. “Enough feelings for one day, I’m starting to break out in hives. Let me show you how to do an oil change.”

----

They head back to the Volvo then, Peter’s stomach growling which he ignores, his feet aching. He’s sure that these shoes must be ruined now, the blood from his heels tacky, sticking to the fabric of the insides of the sneakers. He just should have worn socks, for fucks sake.

“I hit him first,” Tony says suddenly, breaking him from his thought. “I’m not a victim. I hit him first.”

His throat is immeasurably dry when he goes to answer, even though he’s not sure of what to say. He swallows and tries to buy himself time to find the words, to be the person that a kid like Tony might need.

“He shouldn’t… he shouldn’t have hit you back.”

“Yes, he should,” Tony’s voice is like gravel. “You don’t get to hit people and not get what’s coming to you.”

He gets the acute sense that Tony isn’t talking about himself and, for once, he wisely doesn’t prod him on it, can see in the tautness of his body that he’s wound so tight the barest brush could have him snap.

“Why’d you hit him?”

“He was talking shit about my mom. He wouldn’t stop.”

“Where is your mom?”

“Cliffside.”

“Where’s that?”

From the corner of his vision he observes his profile. Tony’s lips twist derisively.

“Malibu.”

Tony is quick to change the subject from there, though the conversation is light, the gravel never really leaves his voice much as he explains the relatively simple, if not tedious ways to do a complete oil change on the car.

While Peter’s sure he’s never really going to need to know, he let’s Tony gravitate to other easy repairs, apparently while he was getting oil he’d bought a new air filter as well, and also new brake pads, but without a ramp or a hoist, the pads couldn’t be changed, but keep them in the back seat and he’ll change them when he fits in the new radiator.

Peter lets him talk and talk and talk until his voice grows hoarse and the buzzing swarm of thoughts in his head go quiet.

----

“What are you smiling about,” Jarvis asks later when Peter enters the kitchen, keen to help out with dinner. A lasagna, if the minced meat and flat pasta sheets are a sign of what's to come. He washes his hands free of all the dirt and oil before putting them to culinary use.

“Nothin’,” he treads over, taking the wooden spoon over by the sizzling pan, homemade marinara sauce underway. He dips a pinky in, tasting it. It’s far too acidic, verging on metallic, like as if it came straight from a can. “Needs sugar,” he says, scrunching his nose.

Ed leans over to taste, humming with agreement before pausing midway, sniffing his hair.

“You smell like cigarettes and grease. What on earth have you been doing all day.”

“Tony taught me how to do an oil change,” he says, spooning in a touch of sugar into the sauce.

“Did he? He’s a good lad, that one.”

Momentarily distracted by the sound of daughter, Peter pauses to sneak a glance into the adjacent living room where Tony is regaling May with some story, his expression open and comical, his gestures exaggerated and broad. She’s laughing though, snorting through her nose, which catches Tony by such surprise it sends him off too. Then, the ache is back, sharp and unexpected.

It’s like the pain he sometimes gets in his right humerus, the pain he always gets on a rainy day. He broke his arm when he was eight, falling from the still rings during gymnastics training. The ache isn’t so bad.

Peter declines to respond, lest it get back to his protege, but silently agrees.

----

Tony, it would appear, does not hold the same reservations as Peter when it comes to domestic tasks, like brushing their teeth together, if the way he barrels right on in, shoving Peter a bit when he reaches for his toothbrush, is any indication?

“Don’t you knock, asshole? What if I’d been naked?” Peter asks around the toothbrush in his mouth, a little disgruntled by the constant jostling as Tony vigorously brushes his teeth, nearly elbowing Peter in the head.

“Why would you brush your teeth naked?” Tony gives him an odd look. “Weirdo.”

“That’s not what I -” he starts, stopping himself with an annoyed, minty huff. “Nevermind. You’re such a dick.”

As he suspected, it is oddly intimate - for him anyway - the heat of Tony’s side pressed against his, their bare arms brushing. Peter pointedly looks away from the mirror and gets a rush of self consciousness, and a little vulnerability, as he rinses and spits. Wiping his mouth free of any lingering suds, he makes the mistake of looking into the mirror. There, Tony addresses his reflection.

“You done yet? I need some quality time with the crapper.”

Peter scrunches his face up, shoving Tony out of the way so he can exit, the boys snickering following behind him as he heads to the sofa for his turn that night. Friday vacates her spot on the sofa, as if sensing his need for rest, leaping on the armchair with a disgruntled purr.

It’s pretty lumpy and smells faintly like mothballs and a bit like May’s perfume. He turns on his side, body exhausted after the long day. Body exhausted, yes, but as standard, his brain doesn’t know how or when to click off. The house is too quiet.

He takes his phone out and texts Nat and MJ and asks them about their weekends, hoping desperately for an opening in which he can talk about his own.

They’re two of his most reasonable friends. While the laughter and mockery he receives isn’t entirely uncalled for, and eventually subsides over the course of the next hours, he values their opinion almost above all of their bloated circle of friends, classmates and teammates.

Call me if you need an out, MJ texts as a bookend to their conversation sometime near midnight. Seriously. My cousin Drew is here and he keeps talking about his anal fissure.

Say the word if you want a rescue, I know how to hotwire Yelena’s bike, is what Natasha sends.

He loves his friends.

He closes his eyes, thinks of Tony the next room over, and drifts, drifts away.

----

He wakes while it’s still dark, not remembering having fallen asleep.

There’s an ache in his neck, and a blanket over his shoulders that he didn’t put there himself. Odd. But then, maybe he did, he doesn’t remember falling asleep either.

Before sleep again tugs him under, he hears a faint click, clack.

----

On Saturday, Tony wakes up to the sound of Northern Cardinals tapping at his bedroom window and the occasional chirp, and quite immediately regrets not bringing ear plugs or having an extra pillow to suffocate himself with.

For some reason everyone says the red bird has a lovely song.

Tony thinks they sound like squeaky toys being stepped on.

Consciousness is a horrible thing, and as soon as his brain becomes aware that he is, in fact, conscious, there’s no going back. Because now he’s all too aware of how unfamiliar the mattress underneath him is, the scratchiness of the sheets that bind his legs and how badly he needs to pee.

It’s with his eyes half cocked that he stumbles over to the adjacent bathroom, waking incrementally. He shivers as his bare feet hit against the tiles and relieves himself, groaning deep in relief, heading into the shower after.

Lucky for him, the water is blissfully hot and lasts long enough for him to wash and to soothe his aching lower back, compounded by sleeping on the sofa the night before and being bent over the hood of a car for hours yesterday.

Once out he wraps a towel around his waist and brushes his teeth, wincing when the cut on his lip stretches a little bit with the motion. Once done, he slaps his face with cold water to wake up a little more and prays to any deity listening that someone has put on a pot of coffee for him to guzzle.

Yes, he thinks, inspecting the fading bruises around his neck, refusing to think about how they got there. What’s important is caffeine, mother-fucker. The life source. Piping hot, right down the gullet. That’s what the doctor ordered. The doctor, being Tony.

He’s so distracted by the idea that, as he turns to leave, he doesn’t notice the bathroom door being opened and walks straight into a tired looking Peter Parker.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry - “ Peter immediately apologizes, clutching a towel and a change of clothes, “I didn’t realize you were -”

It’s when Peter’s eyes not-so-subtly rove over his body that Tony quickly remembers, hair dripping droplets down his neck, that he’s half-naked and covered in a towel.

His hands fly to cover his stomach and his nipples and he gasps, pretending to be scandalised for being caught in such a state of dishabille.

“Buy me dinner first, hornbag,” he chides disapprovingly, deeply amused when Peter stumbles back, gaze averted to the ground, mumbling more apologies. Tony can’t tell if he’s shy or just exceedingly polite, but his cheeks are blooming pink and he looks as if he’s trying to melt through the floor. It’s funny.

Clearly a virgin.

“I’m just gonna...” he trails off, squeezing past Tony to get into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Tony places his hands on his hips and grins to himself.

Great start to the day.

----

Despite the rough, splenetic start to the weekend and the shit-show that he knows he has to go back to tomorrow, Tony is actually, surprisingly, in rather high spirits. He’s not a dweller, so, that helps.

And it’s the location. The great outdoors and all that garbage, as people say.

Maybe it’s the company as well. Parker excluded, of course.

And it’s definitely assisted the hot brew of coffee in his hands.

“You complete me,” Tony whispers over the rim of his mug, taking another sip. It’s hot, almost scalding the roof of his mouth, but it’s so freaking good, his desire positively carnal. “Hell fucking yeah, baby. Get in me, that’s it, just slide on inside.”

Jarvis, across the table, blinks at him. “Are you quite alright there, Anthony? Do you two need a moment alone?”

Tony shakes his head, taking a bigger sip.

“No, we don’t mind people watching.”

Friday enters the kitchen then, and upon spotting Tony, hurries over on her delicate paws to rub her head against his calves, her purr rumbling as she weaves through his legs like an infinity sign. He indulges her then, leaning down to scratch her tiny face with his free hand.

“Hi, stinky,” he greets, delighted when she butts her head against his palm.

Pets were the best. Not that he has any.

“Don’t feed her,” Jarvis warns, “I already gave her breakfast.”

“Sure,” Tony lies, already sneaking her a sliver of bacon from his plate.

What. He’s helpless against big, water eyes. It’s not his fault.

Speaking of, Prissy Parker is taking forever in the bathroom. By time he comes out, hair gelled perfectly into submission even though it’s mostly hidden under a Mets cap - of course this loser goes for the fucking Mets - Tony’s already on his third cup of coffee and is silently working on his ability to disassociate on command after having heard more anecdotes about May and Peggy’s college life than he ever cared to know.

“Long shower,” he whistles as Peter heads for the near depleted coffee pot. “Took my advice about not getting the sheets sticky, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, punching Tony in he arm as he passes.

Jarvis, who had been enjoying his tea, looks up in mild alarm.

“Gee, he’s so sensitive,” he leans in to whisper.

Peter’s eyes flash over to him as he waits for a new pot to boil, a flare of anger that Tony is all too familiar with. The fire in his eyes reminds him of when they first met, when Tony turned down his offer of friendship, a brilliant, flawless augury of many moments to come.

But Tony can see the heat for what it is, just a front.

Because he knows, it’s all a mirage, isn’t it. Both of them. It makes him think of how their sides brushed yesterday while working on the car, something that would have incensed the both of them in another life, would have had them flinching as if they’d been burned. Disgusted with themselves. Each other.

Sometimes still are.

But Tony knows; a flame manifests and scorches in resoundingly different ways.

What a fucking world, he thinks, that fire and singe. He sips his scalding hot coffee again, locking eyes with Peter.

The smirk around the rim of his cup is sidelong and gleeful. What a fucking world indeed.

----

Tony doesn’t know why he does it. Doesn’t know why he does anything, really, barring the gratification he gets from succumbing to his impulses.

Maybe that’s why he does it.

Or maybe it’s because of the terse conversation he overheard between May and Peter after lunch that day. Something about pain and medication, Tony doesn’t know, he wasn’t meaning to pay attention. They were on the porch and their voices drifted in through the open door. He really was too busy kicking Peggy’s ass playing Super Smash on the dusty old Gamecube to pay attention to it.

But what he does know is that May came inside and went to go lie down in her room after and Peter didn’t come back in.

It wasn’t until he went out for a cigarette some hours later that he spotted Peter, sitting by the docks, much like he had been yesterday. He stares for a moment, trying to reconcile the figure hunched over on the dock with the person he knows Peter to be.

For all of Tony’s memories are worth, Peter has always been this annoying larger-than-life figure. But, emphasis on the annoying. From the moment they met, Tony had pegged him to be some old-money, football playing degenerate like everyone else on his team.

The moment he tried to befriend Tony two years back was jarring, infuriating, because the kid was new and had clearly sniffed out the influence where he could smell it. He’d had Barnes and Rogers on either side and although Tony wasn’t at the top of the social pyramid, his familial connections had him in the upper echelon of the so-called food chain.

That’s what he thought it was, back then.

He didn’t need to think about disdainfully slapping away Peter’s literal and metaphorical hand of friendship, it was obvious to him what value he was after and it had nothing to do with Tony.

But, the assignment taught him in many ways that his impulses and his own assumptions were categorically erroneous in this instance.

Because he didn’t have enough data to base his hypothesis on, then, just a petty first impression. How was he to know that the torn jeans and ratty hoodie weren’t a fashion statement. How was he to know that Peter was genuine, when his smile looked as practiced as everyone else's.

He’s not proud to admit that it took a real peek into his life to know that Peter wasn’t who Tony thought he was.

Turns out he really was larger than life. Tall and strong. Handsome, even with his dorky glasses and signature scowl. Super smart and modest and what Tony had thought was pandering was really just Peter giving away love like it was for free. Everything Tony wasn’t.

But right now, at the edge of that pier, Peter looked small. Scattered. Like a short gust of wind could knock him over.

Tony didn’t like that much.

And maybe that’s why he does it.

Maybe that’s what convinces him, half-burned cigarette tucked between his pursed lips, to shed his jeans and sunglasses right there on the porch, despite the frigid air. It’s the impulse, and he hasn’t ever been real good in saying no to those.

It’s definitely the urgent impulse that convinces him to set off into a run, leaping over the stairs and sprinting for the dock. Perhaps that’s what convinces him to hurdle himself over Peter’s hunched figure and cannonballs directly into the lake, knees clutched to his chest.

It’s worth it, to hear Peter shriek in surprise as the water splashes over him until he can’t hear anything.

And the look of outright indignation when Tony resurfaces?

Bliss.

“Asshole,” is all Peter says, wiping his phone free of water. He tugs his cap further over his eyes, and directs his attention back to his phone as if Tony had not just executed a perfect dive into a dirty, rotten lake.

That is not acceptable, Tony thinks.

He swims for a bit, gliding on his back, and staring at the sky. The clouds are grey and swollen, lingering overhead and threatening a deluge of something unpleasant.

“You think it’ll snow?” Tony asks, moments later.

Sullenly, Peter shrugs, attention focused on his phone.

Larger than life Peter may be, he’s still inexorable when he wants to be.

Not that he’s ever been particularly chatty with Tony even on his best days, but it’s hard to miss how he’s been growing steadily more quiet this entire weekend, giving clipped, one-word answers. And Tony’s pretty sure that the fidgety fingers and the restless legs have a lot less to do with him and more to do with whatever existential crisis a sixteen year old might have, or perhaps with his ailing aunt.

Tony tries not to take notice for all of about four seconds before he gives in. In the peak of the noon sun, Peter has abandoned his sweater, donned in only a graphic tee and jeans, slouched so low that his spine almost looks like a sagging crescent, the sleeves of his shirt riding up on his remarkably toned arms.

Oh, I do declare, Tony thinks amusedly, fanning himself in his mind.

Anyway.

Priorities.

“What’s up with you, hmm?” Tony presses, wading closer. “What's gotten stuck up that bubble-butt of yours?”

“Nothing,” says Peter, tapping away at his phone, not even acknowledging Tony’s backhanded compliment. “What are you so happy about?”

“Your misery.”

“I really hate you,” Peter mutters without feeling, putting his phone away to stare moodily out at the lake.

Well, that will just not do.

“C’mon now, chin up, frog-face. You look like you’re about two seconds away from needing to breathe into a paper bag.”

Tony’s probably not far off the mark. He saw the half empty bottle of Klonopin with Parker's name on it stashed in the bathroom cupboard. You learn something new every day with this guy.

Not that pharmaceuticals were a personality trait.

But, well.

Moving on.

“Don’t call me that.”

“You really do have your panties in a twist, don’t you,” Tony says, mostly to himself. Peter doesn’t even bristle like a snooty cat like he usually does. Just stares forlornly to the distance like he was in some indie film. It’s weird. “You know, someone who pulled one off recently isn’t usually this tense.”

Finally, Peter’s attention is firmly on him.

“I’m not tense and I pulled one off just fine.”

“Oh, did you,” Tony teases, enjoying how pink Peter’s complexion suddenly turns. “How saucy. Did you think of me and my pasty skin, hmm?” he prompts. “It was the sight of my perky breasts, wasn’t it, you little perv.”

“No,” Peter adjusts his cap, cherry-cheeked. “You’re weirdly bent on when and where I jerk it and I’m the perv?”

“I’m not bent. I just think you’re uptight and need to relax. Ergo, penis-colada.”

“I am very relaxed. Ergo, you are an idiot.”

“Oh, precious,” Tony flicks water up at him. “Come on, be honest.”

“What,” he says defensively. “If I’m uptight it’s because you deliberately wind me up.”

“In a sexy way?”

“In a ‘I’m going to disembowel you and feed you to Friday’ way.”

“We’ve talked about your sweet nothings,” he tuts. “Terrible. Zero out of ten. My dick just shrivelled in on itself to seek shelter. Look.”

He holds up a single pinky finger and wriggles it.

It has one of the possible intended effects when Peter laughs through his nose, the tight line of his shoulders easing. And this, this is what Tony has found in recent days that earns him a great deal of satisfaction - winding Peter up just the right amount when warranted, and getting him to uncoil when it’s not Tony that’s done the winding.

“C’mon, stop being such a buzzkill,” Tony implores. “We’re not at school. Could you stop being chronically constipated for a minute and have some fun.”

Peter looks at him suspiciously.

“And what happens when we go back to school?”

Well, he hasn’t considered that yet, and doesn’t really want to.

Instead, he makes a show of scanning their surroundings and appearing contrite, peering up at him through his eyelashes. He watches as Peter’s defensiveness gives way to curiosity, the tautness in his arms melting as Tony swims closer, beckoning with one hand as if he had a secret to tell.

“Don’t tell anybody,” Tony whispers, hands sneaking up to grip at Peter’s wrists, “but here’s the plan. I think we should --”

“Tony, no,” Peter realizes a second too late, already pulling on his hold, voice raised with barely restrained laughter. “Do not, stop, stop - don’t you fucking dare - ”

Then he pulls, Peter shrieks loudly before he hits the water.

“Tony!“

----

Peter emerges from the water furious, a scowl that could rival the mythical scorned, cheated out of their fate, water dripping from his eyelashes, his perfect hair a sodden mess over his face, snorting lake water inelegantly from his nose.

For his troubles, Tony gets an angry splash of gross lake water in his mouth and hands pressing down on his shoulders, pulling him under.

And Tony gets the uproar, because this lake is really not made for swimming. It’s dirty and more suited to kayaking than it is accidentally inhaling the water in any orifices, but Tony is nearly seventeen and if he wants to play around in scum and dubious bodies of water, that’s his decision, poor or otherwise.

He’s close enough to the lake floor that he can plant his feet on the rocks and thrust upward, thwarting Parker's half-hearted attempts to drown him, laughing at Peter’s put-off expression even as he fights to catch his breath.

“You are the fucking worst, I could kill you right now,” Peter says, low, with what Tony guesses is supposed to be a menacing expression as he wipes his glasses free of water with his abandoned sweater. It’s quite adorable.

He spreads his arms wide and grins.

“Do your best, baby.”

----

There’s a lot of things that Tony would never have thought he would say.

Like, for example, that peanut butter and cottage cheese on toast were a good combination.

Or that The Black Parade was the modern incarnation of Bohemian Rhapsody.

Or that Peter Parker looked strikingly handsome, wet and sputtering after being unwillingly pulled into a dirty body of water, and that having a water fight with him would constitute as a good time.

And it’s not that Tony hasn’t ever thought that he wasn’t attractive. Of course he was, with a body and a face like his, sprung to life as if it came carved from marble, it was undeniable to anyone with functional vision. But while Tony lumped him and his dumbfuck teammates and friends in one category, it never struck him just so.

“You didn’t answer my question about school,” Peter says during a truce, wading in the water, seemingly content with his new habitat.

“What, my dear, was the question?” Tony blinks, eyelashes laden with droplets, genuinely having forgotten. “Be precise.”

“What happens when we go back? Do we just... ignore each other like before?”

Tony places a hand on his own chest. “I never ignored you.”

“You were an asshole to me.”

“And you were such an angel to me,” he rolls his eyes. “What’s your point. You wanna hold hands in public or something?”

“No,” Peter flushes. “I don't know, just act like we don’t actively despise each other?”

“Don’t we? Are we friends now?”

“No.”

“You crushin’ on me?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“You don’t hate me,” Peter breathes, swimming closer. “And I don’t hate you. You know what, yes, actually. Let’s hang out. Come to the game next week. It’s against Aldrige.”

“Football?” Tony huffs amusedly, locking his eyes with Peters. “You think the path to reconciliation is in me watching a game I don’t even like played by the future, festering dregs of our society? Think again, dollface.”

“I think you think too much,” Peter says before splashing him in the face with freezing lake water.

“And I think I have better things to do on a Thursday night.”

“Like what,” Peter swims closer until they’re nearly nose to nose.

“Becoming one with my bed, cutting my toenails, crying myself to sleep,” Tony ticks off his fingers. “Literally anything that isn’t sport. If I wanted to watch a bunch of repressed angry dudes jump all over each other and hump grass I could just watch porn.”

“So, I’ll see you there?” Peter grins in that cheeky-cherub way of his.

“Are you even going to play?” Tony tries, his will faltering.

Peter had taken the brace off his wrist over the weekend, but that didn’t mean he was done being benched.

“I’ll get cleared next week. Just don’t rub one out in the bleachers if the grass humping becomes too much for you. They frown upon that.”

“For the record,” Tony says flatly, “I dislike you very, very intensely. Especially right now.”

“Feeling’s mutual, bub.”

Neither of them move, and somehow they’ve managed to gravitate disconcertingly close to one another during their back-and-forth. The fire is back in Peter’s eyes, utterly magnetic and a gust of unexpected want barrels into his body.

Tony wants so excruciatingly in that moment to bridge the gap, wants with his whole body, whether it’s to dunk him under the water or to pin him to the dock, kiss the cocky out of him. Wrap his arms around him and keep his lips and body warm from the freezing water.

God, wouldn’t they be something. All push and pull.

The want just keeps building like a score reaching crescendo until he can feel it like a suffocating pressure, right to his very fingertips, in his nails, and it just makes him want to reach out and do things he has no permission to do, even when they’re so close that he can feel Peter’s breath on his face, even though Peter’s eyes have gone dark and heated, so all that’s left to do is -

Peter’s outraged squawk when Tony splashes him again is terribly satisfying.

Not as satisfying as kissing him might be, he imagines.

But it will do.

----

Tony has learned a lot about Peter since the time they started working on their assignment, but nothing near the information he’s managed to accrue over the course of this weekend. How his nose scrunches when he sneezes, that he’s allergic to nickel, that he’s the worst type of human being: read, a morning person.

Peter fucking Parker. Really?

This guy wears punny shirts and hums the Star Wars theme as he’s studying, Tony’s been on the unfortunate receiving end of it so he really, truly has to ask himself. This dweeb?

Yeah, his heart beats in response. This fucking dweeb. What are ya gonna do about it?

If he had a Magic-8 Ball to shake it would likely land on some ambiguous and unhelpful advice.

Who the fuck knows?

----

They’re saved the disgrace of having to walk back dripping wet and half frozen into the house - while they have been dilly-dallying the day away in a cold, dirty lake, the adults have set up a bonfire between the porch and the dock, largely without their notice.

By dusk Tony is starving and accepts his pyramid-like stack of food graciously as he settles in a rickety wicker chair by the fire, diving into his helping of steak, corn on the cob and potato salad. Jarvis heartily offers a boat of mint-flavored gravy which Tony declines because he hates mint in anything that isn’t gum and even then cinnamon is clearly the superior alternative.

Once dinner is finished the marshmallows and crackers are distributed - and Tony is shit, he means shit, okay, at getting the marshmallows right, too bored to keep an eye on it, but Parker does it right nearly every time. He passes his best around the fire and keeps the few horribly charred ones to himself and that used to be something that Tony would want to sneer at him for.

Goody-two-shoes.

Now, it just makes Tony want to watch him.

Beside him, Peter shivers as the warmth of the flame starts to burn some of the chill from his skin, their clothes slowly starting to dry. It makes him think back to how May had tutted fondly at their wet appearances after they had emerged from the lake, flocking to the fire like overgrown human moths, running back into the house and emerging soon after with towels for them both, tugging Tony’s around his shoulders playfully like a scarf.

She’d been so… patient. And warm. The reprimand never came, not from anyone, despite Tony's expectations.

Now, he stares at the bonfire, idly listening to the faint music and yelling from a party at the other side of the lake, finally allowing himself to relax.

You can never be surprised by someone's actions in the heat of the moment if you’ve already tested their limits beforehand. That’s what people were. Full of variables, yes, but predictable once you knew how they responded to particular stimuli. It wasn’t a perfect methodology by any means, but at the very least Tony could count on knowing what might earn him a fist to the face with most people. Or a flinch.

It’s the first proper Thanksgiving he’s had since he stayed with the Potts two years ago. Rhodey and his parents always go to Minnesota each year to see family and last year Tony’s mom came up from California, and, well, wasn’t that was a fucking disaster.

So this? This is one of the nicest nights he’s had in a very long time.

Nobody expects him to be proper, to sit upright, to only be seen or heard if he was being useful. He wasn’t being useful. He was getting the seat wet underneath him and he planned on convincing Peggy to let him have a beer and he’s sure his unexpected presence was akin to a meteor collision on this otherwise quaint family weekend.

But no one looked at him like he should be punished, or like he was an outsider. It was like he was supposed to be there all along.

His own mom, as much as he adores her, wouldn’t be caught dead in this scene.

But still, Tony might call her later and tell her about it.

They stay out there for a while, Jarvis’ boom-box playing Cold Chisel on some local radio station, but it's just slightly not tuned right and the noise is a bit pixelated.

It’s a long time before he draws his eyes from the fire. The adults are laughing about something and Peter is on his phone again, though his features are much lighter than earlier in the day.

“Your hair is curly,” Tony observes, they’re both dry now. “Huh. I didn’t know that.”

Peter’s hand flies to his hair, running his fingers through it, chip dipped in what Tony can construe as a self-conscious habit, his low laugh short and void of genuine amusement.

“Hah, yeah,” he tugs a lock in front of his brow, pulling it straight before releasing it. “You can see why I don’t walk around like this all the time.”

“No, I don’t,” Tony says, not understanding.

Peter looks at him oddly.

“I should head to bed,” he says eventually. “We have to leave early in the morning.”

Tony doesn’t want to be out here alone and he doesn’t want this weekend to end so he nods, stands and follows him inside.

It’s good timing then. It doesn’t snow, but the sky does finally split open and it rains.

----

At first observation it seems everyone has already gone to bed. Save for the TV playing Jeopardy the house is quiet, dark and still. However both stop dead in the living room, pausing when Jarvis, asleep on the sofa, snores loudly.

They stare, transfixed, as he mumbles answers to the game show in his sleep.

Friday is curled on his chest, looking very pleased with herself.

“Right. Well, I can just,” Tony gestures to the floor after a moment, as it’s his turn for the already appropriated sofa, “the carpet is fine.”

It won’t be a comfortable night, but it can’t be any worse than the time he camped out in the cramped backseat of his car after a fight with his father.

“We can share,” Peter rolls his eyes, already heading to the room. “The bed’s pretty big, so. As long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

Tony follows with an air of casual disinterest and aims for puerile with his next words, just for the small thrill of winding Peter up.

“I’m going to tell everyone at school you propositioned me to get into your bed.”

“Shut the fuck up or sleep on the floor,” is all Peter says before he locks himself in the bathroom. Tony grins to himself.

Success.

They settle very awkwardly on either side of the bed after they’ve both had the opportunity to piss and brush their teeth, looking around each other but not really meeting eyes, flinching any time their skin nearly touches. Yes, the bed is fairly big if you’re a teenage kid and the sole occupant, but, as it were, the bed looked impossibly small now, as if it had shrunken overnight

Well, no time like the present is there. Tony’s the first to move, pulling back the sheets and climbing in. Peter’s quick to follow suit, lowering himself gingerly, shuffling awkwardly until they’re both settled on their sides, facing away from each other.

“You better keep to your side. I swear to god,” Peter says in the darkness, “if your butt or any other part of you touches me...”

“And sully my reputation as a perfect gentleman? Please.” Tony fakes a yawn. “We both know you’re the sexual deviant here.”

“You’re a moron.”

Tony smiles in the darkness.

----

It’s been twenty minutes of rigid backs, carefully measured breathing and staring at walls, glaring evidence that neither of them are asleep or even close to it.

“Can you hear that noise?” Peter whispers. “That clicking noise?” He imitates whatever his freakishly good hearing is picking up, sounding like a vaguely predatory, foot-high dinosaur, but Tony knows what he must be referring to, even though his own hearing doesn’t pick it up - or is so used to it by now it doesn’t even register.

Tony’s eyes widen as he thinks of his bot, stashed in his duffle in the closet, the zip slightly open so he can ‘breathe’.

“Nope,” he says. “Don’t hear anything.”

----

An hour later, both still very much in the same place they were before with added sighs of annoyance and the occasional cough. Sleep isn’t coming any time soon. Sleep and Tony have had regular disagreements for as long as he’s known it.

“You wanna watch Gordon Ramsay yell at people?” Tony says, turning onto his back.

“Okay.”

After fishing out his laptop, Tony has to very carefully open an entirely new window to stream an episode of Kitchen Nightmares, lest Peter see the thousand and one tabs Tony has open on his main window. Some of them benign, like google results of what does fremdschämen mean, others a little more embarrassing like the numerous PornHub tabs and the YouTube playlists of questionable reality TV shows.

Best to avoid that situation completely.

----

“It’s fuckin’ raw,” Tony does his best impression of the accent an indeterminate time later, the laptop stowed away, the room pitch-black save for the strip of light under the door and warm, sleep finally tugging him down to its dark depths.

“I’m shutting it down,” Peter imitates with vigour, laughing softly to himself.

Tony closes his eyes and allows the sandman to do his work.

----

When he wakes he notices three things.

One, is the sound of the kettle boiling, a screech of noise as it hits crescendo. The second is that it’s very cold, the heat of the fireplace not quite sufficient to reach the guest room, the snappy, waspish wind against the window a sign of the conditions outside.

The third is the warm huff of Peter’s breath on Tony’s face.

And that leads to the observation that they’ve drifted closer to each other through the night, facing one another, faces inches apart. This close, like earlier in the lake, Tony can count Peter’s eyelashes, the stipple of pale freckles upon his nose. His face is lax with sleep and his lips are parted slightly.

He’s snoring, just slightly.

Also, he fell asleep wearing his glasses.

It definitely is not endearing.

The bedside alarm clock says it’s only just past five, which would explain the tired ache around his eyes, and why Peter is dead to the world, motion behind his closed eyelids as if he was in a dream.

For some reason, the only thought that accompanies the sudden swell of emotion in his chest is, Toto, I've a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.

There’s a warm looking flush dusted over Peter’s cheeks, and of course there is, Tony thinks, he’s gone and stolen all the blankets through the night, leaving Tony little more than a pitiful square to cover his torso. That’s why he’s shivering.

Shit-head, Tony thinks, sliding closer under the comforter, hoping to share some of Peter’s heat, desperate to go back to sleep.

Except sleep doesn’t come, it never does.

Not when Peter unconsciously shifts closer, sighing softly as his bare legs brush Tony’s, not when he gravitates like a planet in orbit, close enough that they’re sharing a pillow, lips smacking drunkenly on their combined body heat.

Not when Peter wakes some moments later, eyes opening confusedly before dimming with fondness, like maybe that was what more or less than what he had expected. The thing that annoys Tony is that he doesn’t know which - they’re so close their breath mingles, and their toes and knees brush under the blankets and it’s more intimate than friendly - so which is it, he wonders; more, or less?

“Hey,” Peter says, shifting closer until Tony can feel the soft brush of Peter’s hair against his forehead. “Morning.”

Tony’s betting on more. Peter is braver than Tony is - and this - this is.

His stomach drops, courage slipping from his grasp.

“Do you know what really annoys me about you?” Tony whispers in lieu of returning his greeting, his voice shaky and easily blamed on the lack of sleep. “What really annoys the shit out of me?”

“What,” Peter queries softly, eyes still closed.

“This,” Tony extends a finger to flatten the hairs of Peter’s ridiculous wayward eyebrow, stupidly captivated by the way that Peter leans into the touch ever so subtly, like a cat being pet.

He feels the huff of laughter over his lips before he hears it.

“My eyebrow?”

“Yes,” Tony mumbles, stroking over the hairs again to ensure they remain flat, like a normal eyebrow should be. “Why is it always like that.”

“Not sure,” his bed companion hums, careless and minute, slurred with sleep enough that Tony might not have caught if he weren’t already studying the lines of his face. “Maybe it just likes to annoy you.”

“It’s very successful in annoying me. As is every other part of you. You’re infuriating.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

To steel himself he takes a deep breath, drawing on his remaining reserves of courage as he breathes out, encouraged ever so slightly by the way Peter hasn’t yet flinched away.

Tony allows his finger to trail from Peter’s eyebrow down the slope of his nose, his skin sleep-warm and smooth. Then his finger moves to trace the curve of Peter’s cheekbone, and that’s when Peter’s eyes open.

His stare errs on soft, curious and Tony doesn’t know why he’s doing it, except that the need to touch is too great, feels drawn to him, like this is the perfect state of being, intertwined and silent. And that the way Peter shifts closer to him until their foreheads touch means maybe he feels that way too.

Curiously, always pushing boundaries, his finger trails from his cheek, to gently stroke his philtrum, and then down to the soft bow of his upper lip.

“This weird?”

“A bit.”

Ever so gently, he traces the curve of his lips, sighing when Peter’s hands come to clutch his shirt, not flinching, not looking away.

“Do you like it?”

Peter just nods, shifting even closer until the tips of their noses touch.

“Can I -” he asks, cutting himself off, letting go of Tony’s shirt to raise one of his hands until one of his fingers touch the apex of his shoulder, stroking down over his arms, the bump of his elbow and down the sharp slope of his forearm, resting at the underside of Tony’s wrist where his pulse beats fast and fierce.

They remain like that, the moment sweet and gentle in a way the two of them rarely were. Courage builds at the same time that his fear escalates, like standing at the precipice, sick with nerves but elated at the prospect of taking the leap.

He wants to lean in so badly and capture those lips with his own. Wants to climb over Peter’s body and press him down. To bite that full lower lip, to cradle his hips with his thighs and pin him down, make him gasp, beautiful and breathtaking.

“Tony,” Peter whispers, pressing his lips against his thumb. He thinks he will move it and lean in and replace it with his own lips.

But before he can there is a loud knock at the closed door.

They still, lips the barest width apart.

It’s May.

“Pete?” She raises her worried voice through the wood. “Time to wake up, kiddo. We gotta go soon.”

“Okay,” Peter calls back, still staring at Tony. After the footsteps retreat from he inhales deeply before letting the breath go and taking his hand away from Tony’s.

Neither of them move for a moment, Tony’s thumb still resting on Peter's plump lower lip, their gazes heated and locked, but then, Peter’s hand slowly slides up from his wrist, feather-light, to rest over Tony’s hand, clasping around it.

At this moment, their only point of contact were their touching foreheads, their hands and Tony’s finger on Peter's lips, but his whole body felt as if it were floating, buoyant, like being grounded and suspended in the air at the same time.

Underneath Tony’s thumb, the lips stretch into a resigned smile.

“I gotta go.”

For a moment he doesn’t let go and wishes that the universe would go his way, just for once, wishes that time would do him this one favour and stretch these seconds interminably, hit the breaks, play itself out like the movies where everything pauses.

If it did, he would shift, slide his nose against Peter’s and wait for him to give Tony a sign, or for Peter to bridge the distance. But time doesn’t work that way and the universe rarely indulges him such hedonistic impulses.

As it was, in real life, his finger drifts to stroke the sharp line of Peter’s jaw until it reaches his chin then, down his throat, just for a second he lets his touch linger, not knowing when or if he will get this chance again.

“Tony,” Peter whispers, soft.

Conceding the moment to the whims of time, Tony pulls away then, shoving down the floaty feelings. A mocking grimace crosses his face as he decides to go for push, instead of pull.

“If you lift up that blanket and hotbox me I’m going to break your nose.”

And just like that, the moment broke.

Peter snorts before sitting up, swinging his legs off the bed. “Your dirty talk needs work,” he mocks.

“You shouldn’t fart the bed, honey,” he leans up, resting on his elbow. “How’s that?”

As has become the impulse of the day Tony sneaks his free hand from under the comforter and pinches Peter’s side where he knows he’s sensitive. As predicted, Peter squirms and bats away at Tony’s offending hand and takes grip of his wrist, laughing breathily.

“I’m going to tell everyone at school to call you Farty Parker.”

Peter squeezes his wrist, thumb stroking the underside, his expression, Tony might dare say, indulgent.

“No, you’re not. You wouldn’t do that to me.”

No, he wouldn’t.

Well, maybe he’ll tell Rhodey. Then he’ll look at Peter with judgement and Peter will know what Tony told him and it will be hilarious.

Tony watches while he gets to his feet and reaches his arms over his head, back cracking with the effort. Neither of them say a thing when makes no effort to hide the way he stares appreciatively at the sliver of skin that gets exposed when his shirt rides up before he saunters to the bathroom.

He stays in the bed and listens to the sound of the shower running, the creak of the old plumbing, replaying the last few minutes in his mind. Tony was going to kiss Peter.

And Peter was going to let him.

Tony’s lips stretch to capacity.

“What are you smiling about, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, when he returns. Something soft hits Tony in the face.

“Nothing, Mr. Parker,” he says, clutching what appears to be a forest-green hoodie, one he knows he’s seen Peter wear before, and often. It’s the same one Tony pulled the strings on to annoy Peter those weeks ago. “What’s this?”

“Collateral,” Peter replies, towelling dressed in a white shirt and jeans he slings a duffel over his shoulder, looking like James Dean, eyes roving Tony up and down. “Until I give back your jacket.”

Tony manfully waits until Peter leaves the room to bring it to his nose and breathe in.

Fuck.

----

“You come over whenever you want, sweetie,” May hugs Tony at the open front door, kissing his cheek again. “You’re welcome at any time, remember, I mean it.”

“Thanks,” he hugs her back, warmth blooming in his chest, giving her a grateful smile when she releases him.

Peter walks back slowly towards the car, waving a hand and visibly softening when he gets a wave in return. “See you tomorrow,” Peter calls back, adjusting his cap and biting his bottom lip, managing to make it sound like a promise. Cute tells, Tony thinks, those are the variables he can work with.

“So,” Jarvis says once they’ve driven off, a knowing look on his face, “that the guy?”

“Don’t look so smug.”

“I’m not smug, Anthony, I’m English.”

Tony sighs. He can’t really argue with that, can he.

What a weekend, he thinks, throwing an arm around Peggy and Jarvis, steering them to the kitchen for coffee. What a world.

For once, he can’t wait until tomorrow.

---

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers@starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen, @chaos-with-a-pen, @notnormallaura, @portiamarie02, @bloodymisanthropist, @ser-no-tonin, @staticwhispersinthedark

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #iron spider #starker high school au

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skyriderwednesday · 3 years

Text

Agathea

On a quiet Friday afternoon, Vimes spots Drumknott walking down the street with a plant.

(G rated, HC: Drumknott has a cat, 1335 words)

Also on AO3

Vimes was used to all sorts of unusual sights walking the streets of Ankh-Morpork. He had to be, considering that the background level of 'normal' here matched other places' standards for 'out of the ordinary'. 'Out of the ordinary' in Ankh-Morpork trended toward 'highly unusual' before ever making it to 'mildly curious'. 'Mildly curious' was however exactly the classification appropriate on a quiet Friday afternoon (itself an oddity) for quiet little Rufus Drumknott walking towards him carrying a potted plant. Vimes waited until the distance between them was polite for acquaintances before catching his attention. He leaned against a cart that didn't seem to have any intention of moving soon. "Afternoon," he called. The young man lifted his focus from the smooth, even paving stones and came to a conscientious stop a little across from him, giving a wide passage to any other users of the street -- though presently there wasn't anyone else around. "Good afternoon, Commander Vimes," he said levelly, holding the plant a little protectively in both hands. "What're you taking a plant for a walk for?" Vimes asked in good humour. "I've just bought it," Drumknott said, a little affronted at the suggestion that he would carry a small pot of ornamental ivy around the city on a whim. "I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it, just asking that's all." Vimes straightened his helmet. "Gonna go on your desk is it?" "No," Drumknott examined the plant for a moment and delicately plucked off a wilting leaf. "It's going to be put on a shelf." Vimes nodded broadly. "Mind your cat doesn't get to it then, they love to chew on plants." Drumknott tilted down his head and looked at him under the brow of his glasses. "It isn't intended for my chambers." Vimes thought hard for a few moments and stopped leaning on the cart. "...I thought even the official birthday wasn't until next month..." A less professional man would have covered his eyes, or at least rolled them. Rufus Drumknott was both extremely professional and holding a potted plant. His expression barely altered. "You haven't forgotten an occasion, commander," he said patiently. "There is simply an empty shelf in his lordship's living quarters that requires an occupant." "Oh," Vimes said, slightly relieved. "So he asked you to get him a plant then?" Drumknott was quiet for a moment, studying the plant and its dark purple arrow-shaped leaves. "No..." he replied slowly. "He did not." "Well," Vimes said, trying to sound reassuring, "I'm sure he'll like it. He uses that mug you got him." Drumknott flushed a little and very carefully shifted the pot into one hand to push his glasses back up his nose. "Thank you. I hope that you are right." "Alright," Vimes said, feeling that he was a little too far away to properly end the conversation but also that closing the distance now would be awkward, "I'll see you later." Drumknott resumed holding the pot in both hands and nodded. "Yes," he said. "Have a good evening, Commander Vimes." Vimes creased slightly in almost a smile. "You too, hope his lordship likes his plant." Drumknott faltered a moment as if his plans for the conversation had been altered, then proceeded with them anyway. "Yes," he said, "good evening." He returned his focus to the paving stones and carried on his way up the street. Vimes watched after him for a few moments, then felt for a split second like he was being watched. Anyway... he shook the feeling off and carried on his own way in the opposite direction.

---

"Ah, there you are Drumknott," Vetinari said as Rufus opened the office door. "I had wondered where you were." He stopped on the threshold and held the plant low against himself. "I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you, sir." Vetinari paused in tapping excess ink from his pen. "Hm? Oh, no,” he said. “No inconvenience, I had merely noticed your absence." Rufus relaxed a little and moved truly inside the office, pushing the door closed with his foot. "I had mentioned that I was going out sir," he said, noting that the teapot on the desk was still in the position where he had left it and the cup was still upside-down in its saucer. "Had you? I apologise, I must not have been paying attention." Vetinari looked up over his reading glasses. "What is it you have there?" he asked, craning his head a little. Rufus walked over gently and placed the plant on the desk. Vetinari put down his pen and removed his glasses to look at it properly. "It's an Agatean Ivy, sir. I thought you might like it in your rooms." Vetinari lifted one of the nearer leaves with a fingertip, carefully tilting it into and out of the light. "It is certainly a striking colour," he said. "Is it permanent?" Rufus recalled what the plant shop owner had said to him. "The leaves are light green when they first appear, sir. The purple develops as they mature." Vetinari nodded lightly. "Well, it is a beautiful plant," he said, gently smoothing his beard. "I only worry for its need for light." The only natural light that entered Vetinari's rooms did so via his bedroom. The plant was intended for the sitting room, the most seldom used and therefore dimmest lit. Rufus of course had thought of that. "The Agatean Ivy naturally prefers dark environments, sir," he said. "It should do quite well in occasional lamp light." "Ah," Vetinari said. "You have considered this. I should also expect it requires very little water?" Lack of water had been the demise of the last occupant of the gap on the shelf. Rufus nodded, "A gentle mist once a week shall suffice, sir, though it will not suffer from overwatering." And the time before that, there had been too much water. Vetinari lightened. "I see," he said with a smile others would not have noticed. "Well, I thank you very much, Mr Drumknott. It shall make a fine addition to my living space." "You are very welcome sir," Rufus said. "Now, I did bring you tea before I left, sir, but I should think that it is now cold." The light changed in Vetinari's eyes as he finally and belatedly noticed the teapot. "Ah, so you did. I regret that it entirely failed my notice." Rufus nodded inevitably. "Should you like that we instate the plant and take tea in your rooms, sir?" Vetinari looked from the forgotten teapot to the plant, then up at Rufus. He picked up his pen from the desk and applied his signature to the bottom of the page before him through mere knowledge of where it was meant to be and scarcely watching his hand as he did so. Then he returned the pen to the inkwell. Rufus did not comment upon this. He merely removed the pen from the inkwell, wiped its tip on the adjacent cloth and placed it into its rest. Vetinari didn't comment on being corrected either. "Yes," he said, gently clapping his hands to his knees. "I think I shall." Rufus took the freshly signed sheet and placed it neatly upon the pile of completed documents that had accumulated in the time since he had left. "Very good, sir." Vetinari raised his reading glasses back onto his nose and studied the plant. "I think she shall require a name, don't you?" "As long as it is not after me, sir," Rufus said. Vetinari hummed in amusement. "She is an Agatean Ivy, you said?" "Yes sir." "Then I think 'Agathea' will be suitable." Rufus felt out the name on his tongue. Ag-ah-thee-uh. Older and more elegant than simply 'Agatha', less on the nose than calling the plant 'Agatea'. He smiled. "Yes sir, that fits her nicely." Vetinari smiled a more perceptible smile to match. "Then we shall put Agathea in her pride of place, and we shall take tea that is not so cruelly forgotten

about." "Splendid, sir."

#discworld #discworld fic #rufus drumknott #sam vimes #havelock vetinari #a plant! a plant for his lordship #that hopefully won't be dead in six months #look he trained as an assassin #keeping things alive isn't his strong suit #look i'm cross-posting again what's wrong with me?

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let-it-show · 3 years

Text

Safe and Sound

Hello hello! This here little ficlet was written for wonderful @junglekiing who had been looking for writing of their Tiger!Elsa AU that would also be FLUFF. Here we have Anna and Elsa in a moment to themselves, and Elsa makes it clear how happy she is. ------- Every single day Anna learned something about the friend she had taken home with her from the woods. Hybrids were uncommon in Arendelle, even if a handful were known to live and work in the kingdoms. Those individuals were part of the community and as much as they intrigued Anna, she could never get herself to approach them and ask them a deluge of questions. She had so many! But, well, she also was always teaching herself to squish her excitement aside to avoid being rude, and so she tried to stick to the books so could find about them. The books never prepared her for Elsa.

Since returning to the castle with her and inviting her to stay, Anna's curiosity was constantly through the royal roof. Everything the part human, part tiger woman did was fascinating, even when it shouldn't be. Elsa licking a cut on her hand instead of cleaning it like a normal person? What! That was so strange but she liked it. Elsa helping her wash dishes even with those bizarre part human and part cat hands? She had to take it in!

On a particular day, Elsa had lounged on the library couch in the sun with Anna and closed her eyes.

That in itself wasn't unusual. Elsa was still adjusting from a nocturnal life to time her own schedule with Anna's. She'd been stuck to her side since that day they returned from the woods, and Anna had no complaints there. She was reading one of her favorite stories during some afternoon downtime and Elsa loved to just exist with her. She couldn't read herself, not yet.

Elsa's head was leaned against the back of the couch, the rough pads of her feet - her paws - whatever - against Anna's thigh where there was a split in her green dress. Her tail dangled over the front of the couch and the end of it twitched every now and then. A pillow was held in her arms, both hands digging in as though she were kneading. Elsa was clad in an elegant, sparkly blue dress she'd made herself with her own powers.

Because of course she had powers, weird icy ones. Anna had no idea if that was normal, but it sure was their little secret and drew her to Elsa even more.

Anna sighed with contentment and set her hand on the top of Elsa's foot. "Sleepy thing," she said quietly, smiling.

Then she startled as her words were quickly followed by a soft response. "I'm not asleep. I'm quite awake, thank you."

"O-oh! Sorry! I'm used to you drifting off...this must mean you're making it through the day better, then!" That would be great! Anna had been able to coax Elsa into snuggling with her, something the blonde had been terrified of at first because she didn't want to hurt Anna. When no harm had come, Elsa was eager to curl up with her. Anna wasn't sure what they were, yet, but she knew she wanted to sleep through a whole night being held by her. "You're not tired at all?"

"No," Elsa answered gently. "Just...safe."

Anna blinked and lowered the book she had been reading. She turned to look at Elsa, her eyes still closed. "Safe?"

"Safe," Elsa repeated, then opening one eye to look back at Anna. "We big cats only close our eyes and truly relax when we feel very, very safe."

"But you sleep in the day all the time!" Anna blurted, before covering her mouth with her hand. "I mean, I'm not judging or something-"

Elsa laughed. The sound felt just plain GOOD. It tickled her heart with warmth. "I know. I know. That's where you have to remember I'm not all cat, and I know I need to rest and sleep no matter what. But rarely have I ever allowed myself to relax, like this."

"Oh." Anna lowered her hand from her mouth, feeling a bit silly.

"It feels wonderful," Elsa murmured, and that one eye closed again. "It feels...like the weight of the world has slipped away, and I can simply be."

"I love when I feel like that." Anna didn't feel like that too frequently as she was Queen, but she handled the stress well enough to be able to relax.

For a moment, silence hung in the air. "I have not felt like this is many, many years. I was on my own for a long time when you found me, Anna."

Anna had learned snippets of Elsa's past here and there. She knew she had left her family for some reason, and sometimes caught that she was outcasted. At the same time, she had also picked up hints that-that Elsa herself held some sort of powerful position in her family. In her herd...no, that didn't seem right in her head, did tigers even have herds? What would a group of tigers be called anyway? A stripey surprise?

Her thoughts were distracted when Elsa spoke again. "I never....never thought it could be like this again, either."

"Elsa!" Anna's heart felt like it exploded, or imploded, or whatever. "Why? Did you really think you'd always be alone in the northern forest?" Anna had completely closed her book, Elsa's soft, fuzzy foot gripped in one hand.

"Well...yes."

At that answer, Anna swallowed and made an immediate and very firm decision. "You'll never be alone again! Elsa, I swear, as long as I am alive and Queen, and those two are the same because I think I only stop being Queen when I'm dead, UNLESS- nevermind, I don't know where I'm going - I swear you will always be a part of this castle. Of this family. This...family of you and me and that snowman you made a couple of weeks ago who keeps popping into the kitchen unannounced, which reminds me, the staff who know about you are family-"

Something swatted Anna's ankles. "Anna, Anna hush, I get it." Elsa lightly got her with her tail one more time. "I'm honored you would trust me so much and accept me and I...well...I..." Elsa opened both eyes again, the striking blues rendering Anna speechless. "...Thank you, for everything, for your patience and kindness. I love...I love...being here," Elsa said and as the last two words came out, she seemed to lose a little steam.

Behind a locked door in her mind there was more struggling to come out and even someone as bubbleheaded as Anna could see that. As much as she wanted to draw it all out at once, Anna knew she couldn't force anything. And she wouldn't.

"I love having you here, Elsa. Always felt a little empty before, and now...um...well, it doesn't."

"Hmm. 'It' meaning the castle?" Elsa asked her, releasing her pillow with one hand and reaching toward Anna. The fingers on her other hand dug into the pillow in a hastened rhythm, almost excited.

"Meaning...a lot of things..." The castle, her heart, her life, and time as a whole. Elsa felt like the piece Anna often felt was missing, though the tail was a surprise. The ice was...also a surprise. Anna took Elsa's hand, her cooling fur always kind of blowing her mind.

Elsa pulled slowly, drawing Anna down with her on the roomy couch. The sunlight danced on the cold glitter of her blue dress, making her strange friend even more beautiful than she usually was. That was an amazing task; Elsa was absolutely stunning.

Both women shifted as Anna laid her head on the pillow Elsa held, resting just below her chin. Elsa adjusted briefly to kiss the top of Anna's forehead and Anna felt tingles all over her body. She wanted more, she almost ached for more, wanting to kiss Elsa in honest. She had kissed her on the lips a couple of times and it was chaste, but set off sparks. However Anna was patient.

Elsa's arms wrapped around her and casually started undoing her elegant, regal bun. Anna didn't stop her. She never really like wearing it; it was a little tight. Some viewed her double braids as childish, though.

Elsa thought they were cute and would bat at them.

"I've never felt safer than I do right now," Elsa whispered, and Anna smiled.

"Good. You're safe. And...you'll always be safe. I-I know how to use a sword." Anna immediately felt silly. Why did she say that!?

"And I can use ice. May we never actually have to use our skills in such a way, but I'll always make sure you're safe as well."

Somehow Anna hadn't know how much she needed to hear that. She had no idea until it went right to her heart. She had never really been concerned about being protected and kept safe, but hearing such words from the person she clearly adored, well...

She didn't know what to say. Elsa had that effect. No one else was quite so successful at leaving Anna speechless, but Elsa could do it without any effort. Anna didn't even want to respond and not in a bad way. She felt good. She felt like that need to push words, to comment, to ramble, it was soothed. Not every thought needed to be voiced, and not every moment even needed a thought.

"I'll always keep you safe," Elsa told her again, her fingers stroking her hair, the very tips of her claws like heaven against her scalp.

Anna closed her eyes. Just like Elsa, she felt safer than she ever had before.

#Frozen AU #Elsanna #ficlet #Tiger!Elsa #Anna

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cheri-translates · 4 years

Text

[CN] S2 Gavin and MC in Chapter 9 - Part One

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from Season 2 🍒

I’m focusing on Gavin and MC, not the plot (because the latter requires extensive time and effort that I can’t spare :’>). So I won’t be explaining certain plot points as I’m unsure of them myself

Do read Ch 2 before proceeding! Otherwise you’ll be completely lost from the very beginning:

MC is in her office looking out for trending topics in the news, and she starts thinking about what Grey Rhino does:

At present, Gray Rhino is one of the most active anti-Evol groups. Its members are found all over the world, and consist of tens of thousands of people.

Most of the members are normal civilians or Evol victims, and are extremely against the existence of Evol. Every member seems to have a snake-shaped tattoo on their body.

From what I understand, they have a hand in the “Small Syringes”, the missing plane and the train incident from not too long ago.

One of her subordinates from Black Swan, Zehn, gives her a call

She’s tasked him to take note of Gray Rhino’s operations, because she thinks they’re going to act again

But he brings her news of STF instead: Apparently, STF has a new commander, but he’s a mystery since he hasn’t made a public appearance

MC: Maybe he’s a shrewd old man.

MC sighs and decides that she needs to investigate into the commander of STF

At this moment, impatient knocks are at the door. Even before I make a sound, Minor has already pushed the door open, rushing to me with extreme anxiousness.

I frantically hang up, turning my head and glowering at Minor.

MC: Why did you barge into my office?

Minor creases his brows, gesturing at the phone in his hand, mouthing some words to me.

Minor: It’s-- Bro-- Gavin--

MC: Gavin?

The words subconsciously leave my lips, and my tone is slightly surprised.

MC: Why did Gavin give you a call to look for me?

A voice drifts from the phone in Minor’s hand.

Gavin: Because your phone line was busy.

I was just having a discussion with my subordinate from Black Swan on how to fish for information regarding the commander of STF...

Feeling a little guilty, I hurriedly take the phone.

MC: Looking for me so urgently - is something wrong?

For a while, there’s silence at the other end of the line.

I wait quietly for Gavin to speak. After a moment, his voice returns.

Gavin: MC, has... anything happened to you lately?

This question is very abrupt, and I find it slightly odd. Thinking that Gavin is asking about the “Small Syringes” incident, I respond.

MC: Nothing’s wrong. I occasionally get strange harassment calls... but the rumours of the company being involved in prohibited drugs are slowly clearing up. As of now, work has returned to normal. Come to think of it, Captain Gavin deserves much thanks for helping me clear up the rumours.

I laugh, adding that last line.

After a soft “oh”, Gavin doesn’t continue.

The silence in the air spreads to both ends of the line. Minor, being incredibly tactful, leaves the room. Before closing the door, he mouths a “Boss, all the best”.

I think of the earlier information received. After hesitating for a moment, I test the waters with a question.

MC: Gavin, it’s been a while since we were in contact. How have you been?

Gavin: I was executing a mission.

Gavin’s breathing is very soft, drifting through the phone and into the receiver.

I can even imagine how he looks, pinching his phone with slight force, his right hand subconsciously tapping lightly on the desk.

The gloomy weather is filled with large, dark clouds. The first rainfall of winter, which has been brewing for a very long time, finally starts pattering down.

The synchronised rustling of rain can be heard over the phone. I lift my head to look out the window, and speak to Gavin softly.

MC: It’s raining.

Gavin: Mm.

The thick sound of rain mucks up a memory, and I continue, thinking aloud.

MC: Rainfall in winter is the coldest... When you’re on missions these days, take note of the weather. When you head out, check the weather forecast, remember to bring an umbrella, and don’t catch a cold.

Gavin once again makes a sound of acknowledgement.

Gavin: Got it.

Another wave of silence hangs on the other end of the line. Just as I hesitate on whether to say goodbye, Gavin suddenly speaks.

Gavin: MC, I need your help with something.

Holding the STF-issued provisional visitor pass, a special officer leads me to the reception room.

Collaborative filming between the STF and [MC’s Company Name] has been shelved temporarily due to the gradually increasing amount of work. Other than the “Small Syringes” incident, it’s been a very long time since I came to the STF.

Special Officer: Miss MC, this is the place.

When the door is pushed open, a familiar voice drifts from inside.

Tang Chao: Yo, it’s you again. If you visit a few more times, I’ll be familiar with you. Your name’s MC, right?

Eli: Is that how you should speak to a lady?

Tang Chao: I’m just establishing good relations early. We’ll probably have many chances to meet in the future.

Aside from Eli whom I’m familiar with, I recognise the youth who doesn’t have a filter over his mouth. He’s Tang Chao, Gavin’s colleague, and the one who pretended to interrogate me the last time.

MC: Special Officer Tang, it’s been a long time.

Gavin: Tang Chao! Who allowed you to be here?

With a “bang”, the door is pushed open with force. Gavin strides into the room with a dark expression, placing files on the table with a thud.

It’s been a long time since I've seen Gavin, and I can’t help but take several looks at him.

Gavin is wearing everyday clothes, and in his deep eyes are the coolness and resoluteness that I'm familiar with.

My gaze remains unmoving, and I vaguely spot a white bandage near his sleeve.

MC: Gavin, are you injured?

Gavin: No.

Tang Chao: He’s lying.

Gavin: ...

MC: ...

Tang Chao grabs the files on the table, whipping his head around to greet him before running out into the corridor swiftly.

Eli: I can’t help much by staying here. The two of you can talk.

The reception room, which was in a state of chaos earlier, suddenly sinks into quietness.

I remain standing in place, somewhat at a loss. Gavin, feeling uneasy, turns his head to the side, releasing a soft cough.

Gavin: They talk too much. Let’s go straight to the main topic.

Gavin plays down on the topic of his injuries, but I know that even if I were to ask, he would only keep it hidden.

I sigh inwardly.

MC: You haven't told me what you needed my help with.

Gavin: We met a witness who has special circumstances, and we need your Evol to read his memories.

MC: Special circumstances? Is his memory impaired? Or did he lose part of his memory from fright?

Gavin shakes his head, and only signals that I should follow him.

In the interrogation room, Gavin briefly explains the situation: the incident happened at a station, and the victim died from a bullet

The witness is an elderly man who is blind

I tug on Gavin’s sleeve, and can’t help but voice the doubts in my heart.

MC: Gavin, since this witness is a blind man, how am I supposed to read his memories?

Gavin: Memories aren’t just images. Sounds, scents, and even touch are parts of memories.

MC: I think I understand what you mean. If footsteps are heard, it could confirm the time when the suspect appeared. If a unique scent is stored in the memory, it could also be a lead to cracking the case.

Gavin nods lightly.

Gavin: That’s why I requested for you to come.

He tells her not to be stressed about it

Unfortunately, MC doesn’t get anything out of reading the witness’ memories

MC: I’m sorry, I don’t have much of a clue.

Gavin nods lightly, and doesn’t say anything. This causes me to feel a little embarrassed.

Even though the case has nothing to do with me, I couldn’t be of any help to him.

Thinking about how he’s been handling Evol cases which come one after another, he must be facing an incredible amount of stress.

Walking out the doors of the interrogation room, Tang Chao happens to pass by.

Tang Chao: You’re going off just like that?

Gavin: ...

Tang Chao: Let’s head to the canteen for a meal. There are chicken drumsticks today.

Gavin blatantly ignores Tang Chao, who had extended an enthusiastic invitation. He turns towards me.

Gavin: I'll send you home. Don’t worry about today’s matter.

Seeing him like this, he’s probably planning to focus wholeheartedly on investigating and not intend to have a proper meal...

Sighing inwardly, I pat my hands and make a wilful decision.

MC: Gavin, you haven’t given me my remuneration. How about this. I’ll treat you to a meal, then you can conveniently send me home.

Gavin: No thanks.

MC: ...

Seeing the awkward expression on my face from being rejected, Gavin seems to be in a great mood, and the corners of his lips lift a tiny bit.

Gavin: I’ll send you home, and conveniently accompany you to a meal.

MC: ...eh?

Gavin: Why are you in a daze? Let’s go.

By the time we walk out of STF, the rain has already stopped. It isn’t time to eat yet, and neither of us are very hungry. We simply head to a nearby snack street to find something random to eat.

The road is flanked on both sides with various snack shops, numerous coloured billboards tightly packed together. In this late afternoon drawing close to evening, business is bustling, and people are walking to and fro.

It is the season where autumn ends and winter begins, and the fragrance of roasted chestnuts is in the air. My mind still ponders on the case from earlier.

MC: Gavin, aren’t there any other witnesses in that case?

Gavin: The crime occurred when the station was most desolate. There weren’t other commuters on the platform.

MC: Since the location of the crime is in a place like the station, aren’t there any surveillance cameras nearby?

Gavin: On the day of the incident, all the surveillance cameras nearby were broken.

While speaking, a large white cat holding a Dragon Li cat in its mouth leaps past us lithely, and Gavin slow down his footsteps.

MC: Looks like it’s a premeditated crime.

I have no other ideas after this, and I decide to ask whatever I can think of.

MC: After the murderer committed the crime, what would have been the first thing he’d have done?

Gavin: Get rid of the murder weapon.

Gavin says this casually. Standing before the roasted chestnut stall, the smile on the boss’ face instantly freezes.

I take the freshly prepared roasted chestnuts, hurriedly pulling Gavin away.

At this moment, I realise on hindsight that Gavin had silently footed the bill, and I had accepted it just like that.

Gavin turns his head and sees me rooted in my original spot. His eyes are caged in the tender glow of sunset.

Gavin: What’s wrong?

MC: Gavin, is there anything you want to eat?

At first, he shakes his head. In the end, he seems to notice the downward tugging at the corners of my lips, and can only struggle in front of the oden noodle shop for a while.

Gavin: One serving of fishballs.

MC: Two servings. And add a serving of fish tofu, chicken wings, chikuwa... please add more chilli.

MC: You have to eat more.

While we’re eating and walking, a clear “bang” suddenly resounds from behind us.

With my mind filled with the shooting incident, I’m so scared that I shift half a step backwards.

Gavin: It’s a shooting game.

Meeting Gavin’s teasing gaze, I laugh awkwardly, and an idea surfaces in my mind.

MC: I know! Let’s go and play that! Since we can’t escape from the topic of “shooting”, we might even get some inspiration from the game.

Gavin: ...that’s going a little far.

Despite what he says, Gavin still accompanies me, walking towards the stall. Seeing that there’s business, the owner immediately calls out to us in a lively manner.

I hold the gun, weigh it in my hand, and look at the target set up in front of me.

Gavin glances at me in surprise, and asks suddenly.

Gavin: You’ve learnt shooting?

MC: Mm, an incredible friend taught me.

Gavin: Which friend?

MC: ...the one who taught me self-defence. He’s very skilled, and is a very nice person too.

Gavin turns his head to the side, looking utterly disinterested, as though he doesn’t believe my big words.

After greeting the stall owner, I hold up the gun and adjust my posture. Settling on the target, I squint with my right eye, pulling the trigger confidently.

Bang--

Brimming with confidence, I look at the target, but realise that I’ve barely hit the 7th ring.

Gavin: Looks like his teaching wasn’t that great.

[Note] If you aren't familiar with Gavin’s dates: S1 Gavin taught MC how to shoot in his Rehearsal Date! So he’s basically insulting himself LOL

In a great mood, Gavin watches the faraway target. Unwilling to lose, I fire several bullets, but the results hover around the 6th and 7th rings.

MC: ...it’s been a long time since I practised, so I’m a little rusty.

After saying this, peals of laughter drift from behind me.

I turn my head, and see a high school couple playing the shooting game too.

Girl: Dear, your shooting skills are really good!

Boy: Dear, wait for me to get the biggest and cutest doll for you.

Once the girl hears the boy’s words, she laughs even more.

A wave of melancholy strikes my heart. Just as I think of setting the gun down, I hear Gavin’s voice at my ear.

Gavin: You’re putting too much weight in front.

Suddenly, a familiar warmth presses against my back. Scorching breaths are at the roof of my head. He holds my hand, resting the butt of the rifle on my shoulder.

MC: !

Gavin: Are you ready?

Gavin rests the first pad of his forefinger over mine, applying pressure on the trigger, not leaving a single gap.

I can feel the calluses as he covers the back of my hand with his, and the heart that’s about to leap out of my chest.

I don’t know if it’s the lingering warmth from sunset, or the temperature of Gavin’s body which is causing my face to feel heated.

Bang--!

The bullet slices through the air, hitting the centre of the target with precision.

Gavin: Do you remember the gist of the action?

I nod with force, the scorching warmth of our skin being pressed together causing the temperature of my face to rise.

Under Gavin’s close guidance, the subsequent eight shots all hit the bullseye.

His eyebrows arch upwards slightly, and he chuckles.

Gavin: Do you still want to try?

Seeing that Gavin is hitting the target with every shot, the stall owner seems to get a fright, and immediately waves his hands.

Stall owner: I’m about to close the stall. You should pick a prize quickly.

Gavin: That one then.

Gavin points at the largest pink bunny plush on the counter. Then, he pauses, tossing me a questioning glance.

MC: Gavin, I want that prize.

I point at a golden coloured ginkgo keychain in the glass cabinet.

Stall owner: Miss, the one you chose is a third-rate prize. It’s of little value.

MC: It’s all right. I like it.

I hold up that ginkgo keychain, the fine leaf made of golden wire reflecting a dazzling light under the sun.

MC: It’d definitely look really nice on a bag!

I turn my head excitedly, and can’t help but flaunt it off to Gavin.

The autumn wind is somewhat gentle. The corners of Gavin’s lips are hooked upwards. His eyes, which are watching me, are flourishing with an amber light.

Gavin: Mm, looks really nice.

[Note] Screaming because it’s left ambiguous in Chinese on whether he’s referring to the ginkgo keychain... or her smile 👀

Right after walking out of the snack street, raindrops patter down.

MC: It’s raining again.

I retrieve my umbrella, and Gavin takes it from me naturally. The transparent umbrella is held steadily above my head.

Gavin: It’s getting late. I’ll send you home. Don’t worry about today’s matter. It has nothing to do with you.

Fine rain continuously slides off the umbrella. Gavin matches my pace, walking forward slowly.

Everything in the rain brings with it a certain hazy and humid quality, reminiscent of an image frequently featured in movies.

Gavin: Where’s your bracelet? Why aren’t you wearing it?

MC: The weather has been too damp these days. I was afraid wearing it out would affect its condition.

Gavin: ...oh.

I lift my head, and see a mother and daughter afar off, getting caught in the rain.

I exchange a glance with Gavin. We reach a tacit understanding, and he nods.

We walk over to the mother and daughter, and give the umbrella to them.

MC: This umbrella is for the both of you.

Mother: How could I take it!

With my persuasion, the mother and daughter finally accept this kindness, and repeatedly thank Gavin and I.

I take out an unimportant document from my bag and use it to cover my forehead. Just as I prepare to share a few sheets with Gavin, a shadow suddenly shrouds the top of my head.

--It’s Gavin’s jacket.

MC: No need. It’s just a little rain, it’d be fine.

Gavin: Didn't you say that rainfall in winter is the coldest?

Not allowing for any protests, Gavin holds the jacket over our heads, ensuring that I wouldn’t get caught in the rain.

Gavin: Let’s go. The journey isn’t long. I’ll send you home. Oh yes, don’t leave the house over the next few days. Especially at night.

His expression is incredibly serious, and even a little stern.

MC: Got it.

Gavin’s jacket covers my head. I breathe in, inhaling his unique scent.

But the jacket doesn’t seem to be large enough, and isn’t sufficient for two people to walk while standing side by side. After a moment of thinking, I stagger slightly, standing in front of Gavin.

I lift my head, looking at Gavin’s clean lower jaw and amber coloured eyes.

MC: We’ll walk like this?

A touch of red surfaces on Gavin’s cheeks. He doesn’t lower his head to look at me. Shifting his gaze elsewhere, he feigns coldness in his voice.

Gavin: Mm.

The large jacket covers and carves out a small and narrow world. The sound of rain pattering on the jacket is slightly gloomy, blending with the scent of rain, and the delicate, faint fragrance in the air.

I take a deep breath, looking towards the street.

MC: Gavin, look. The wintersweet flowers are blooming.

[Trivia] In the language of flowers, the wintersweet symbolises independence, perseverance, fortitude, faithfulness, and a loving, noble heart :>

Behind me, Gavin halts in his steps, and peels open a corner of the jacket slightly.

I can’t see his gaze, and can only feel his drawn out breathing and the warmth of his skin through his shirt.

The yellow wintersweet flowers emit a subtle fragrance. In a manner which isn’t overly resplendent or bright, they add a warm lustre to this world.

Gavin: Mm, looks really nice.

His voice is clear and bright. In this indistinct, misty rain, it seems to indicate the direction that I should proceed towards.

In many moments, it’s always been the case.

The red light across the street seems to be exceptionally lengthy, and doesn’t change for a long time.

The waiting time is a little long, and I can’t help but enter a slight trance.

When I was fifteen years old, the rain was just like this.

Seventeen year old Gavin crossed the curtain of rain, and the school jacket he placed on me had carried the scent of an inexperienced youth.

That youthful scent which forever pauses on that rainy day has been breathed back to life in my memory, entwining with the scent of the man that is presently twirling around the tip of my nose.

Like a certain miraculous overlapping.

MC: The rain seems to be getting heavier.

The white shirt which has been caught in the rain is slightly soaked. I seem to see his slim back through the shirt, which has turned half-transparent from being drenched in the rain.

That clean and cool scent, just like the refreshing breeze coursing through this rain, descends on my heart.

The green man lights up, and the passers-by next to us walk across hurriedly. Perhaps this rain wouldn’t stop even after a while.

I summon my courage, and simply grab onto Gavin’s hand, pulling him into a run.

Across the streets, across the pelting rain, across the sea of memories, and walking into a junction belonging to us.

The rain pours even harder, creating flowers of water on the ground, as though urging me to hasten my footsteps.

Urging me to take his hand and walk forward quickly--

Part two: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #this is so so SO much better than I imagined T-T

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