#that excruciating tear jerking guilt and loss

[agooddaytowhy]

You ever have an album, or song so tied to memories of someone from your past, its so emotion inducing as to be unlistenable, except when you need to feel 'Something'? Anything.

Here's one of mine. And i cannot recommend this masterpiece more.

[shotsbyshae]

Eyes Closed

Warnings: 18+ Smut, Angst

Words: 1.5k

Pairing: Steve x Witch!Reader, Bucky x Witch!Reader

Summary: Steve’s just trying to keep a promise he made to his best friend.

Song: Eyes Closed by Halsey

Now if I keep my eyes closed, he looks just like you.

Two Years Ago

“Promise me,” his words are almost desperate as he watches you slowly approaching with Shuri. “Promise, if anything happens, you’ll watch out for her.”

“I promise Buck,” Steve glances over at his friend sincerely. “Why don’t you tell her how you feel?”

He gives a quick shake of his head, “I can’t – I can’t risk losing her.”

“Shuri is going to give us new coms,” you say with enthusiasm as you get closer to the two men. “They’re smaller, not as noticeable, and have a broader ranger.”

“You’re welcome,” the princess smirks.

“Thank you,” Steve replies as she walks past him to her table full of gadgets.

“Ready for a mission?” Your joy is infectious, and Barnes laughs a little as you bounce eagerly from one foot to the other.

Bucky looks past you to Steve, “Did Sam give her coffee again?”

Rogers just gives him a shrug of his shoulders, “I saw nothing.”

You and Bucky start out of the lab, discussing what is considered an acceptable amount of coffee, while Steve waits for Shuri to gather the coms. She turns and hands him the box, watching as the two of you leave.

“There’s nothing more dangerous than that,” the princess comments with a knowing smile.

“What?”

“A witch and her wolf.”

Present Day

You stare at the man standing in front of you, his eyes are full of the same sadness yours carry. Those eyes, they’re almost the same blue as Bucky’s, and it pains you everytime you see him. You can’t believe it’s been over a year since you lost him. Barnes had been there for you while you mourned the loss of your best friend. He was the reason you were still here – still alive – but Thanos had taken him from you.

Life isn’t fair, it’s cruel and sadistic.  

“Stop coming to check on me!” You yell at the man before you.

“I was just in the neighborhood,” Steve replies calmly.

“What the fuck ever,” the words are callous and cold.  

“Please,” he begins, his eyes soft, “just come to a meeting, I promise –”

“What! Promise to bring them back?!” Your voice rises again, as you shake your head in frustration, “You can keep your meetings. If you had listened to Tony –”

You throw the water bottle in your hand across the room angrily before you turn away from him, wrapping your hands around the back of your neck. The pain is unbearable somedays and Steve’s presence is only accentuating it today.

Steve’s voice is firmer when he speaks this time, “I’m sorry, but you can’t keep doing this.”

You turn on your heel sharply, eyes narrowing at him, “Who’s going to stop me?”

Steve tilts his head at you, almost challenging, and you inhale sharply before flinging a wooden chair with your hand across the room at him. The man throws his arms up to deflect the oncoming assault and the chair splinters into pieces upon hitting his forearms. You’re stronger than you were before, all the rage and grief inside you helping to emphasize your powers.

“I promised him I’d always watch out for you,” Steve says in a pleading tone, remembering his words to Bucky that day at the compound. “I won’t fight you.”

“Tough,” it comes out like a snarl.

You fling another chair at him, which he blocks again, and you rush him before he can realize it, connecting your right fist with his jaw. The pain in your knuckles is excruciating but you don’t let it show as you wait for his reaction. He doesn’t swing back, only looks down at your small frame with hooded eyes. You shove his chest, frustration growing in his refusal to participate in this fight. A maddening scream escapes your lips as you pound both fists into him again, this time he envelopes you in his arms in an attempt to subdue you. Tears burn your eyes and Steve thinks he has the situation under control. Your heartrate increases as you close your eyes tightly and use everything inside of you to fling the two of you off your feet and onto the ground, sending both of you rolling across the floor. Steve starts to get back to his feet, but a force stronger than he’s ever felt before stops him, and he’s stuck on his knees as his arms are stretched out beside him, muscles taunt from the strain of him trying to pull free from the invisible force.

His tone is almost a warning, “This isn’t you.”

“Don’t act like you know me Rogers,” you seethe as you walk over to him, grabbing a fistful of his hair and jerking his head back to stare at him, rearing back with your right arm, ready to land another punch to his perfect face. He flicks his blue eyes up at you and they stop you cold, for a moment you can see Buck and you feel all the guilt pouring over you. So many things left unsaid, so many chances left untaken. You are the queen of not accepting what is right in front of you – Bucky was everything to you – and you didn’t realize it until it was too late. You hate yourself for several things and now you’re taking that hatred out on the man in front of you – a man who misses Bucky just as much as you do. It was no more his fault than it was yours. You could have been there by Tony’s side helping him in the fight, you might could have made a difference, but you didn’t want to play hero and look where that left you – alone.

You drop your right hand as a tear falls down your cheek and your lips begin to tremble. You stare at him for a second longer, burning the image of those deep blue eyes into your mind and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly as you envision Bucky’s longer, shaggier hair, and the dark beard he’d had the last time you had saw him. You can see him smiling, the way he would when he would watch you do the simplest things, like make homemade margaritas or when you’d sit perched on the sink to paint your toenails. He had been in love with you, for a lot longer than you had probably known, but you were far too damaged to accept it. You lean your forehead against the man in front of you as you drop to your knees, releasing the control you have over his body. You relax the grip you have on his hair as you inhale, and for a moment, you swear you can smell Bucky, an enticing mix of amber, vanilla, and leather. You realize Steve has kept his forehead against yours, following you as you settle on your knees in front of him. He’s almost a head taller than you in this position, but he’s ducked down to keep his forehead flush with yours.

His breath burns your face as you feel his hand brush against the side of your cheek, pushing your hair behind your ear, then resting it gently on the base of your neck. The heat emanating from his palm sends a shiver down your spine as your hand moves to his forearm instinctively. The touch of his skin against yours ignites a fire in the deepest, darkest part of you. His other hand moves lightly to your waist, and he leans back for a moment, staring down at you – as if asking permission. You swallow the lump in your throat as you run your tongue across your bottom lip quickly before glancing up at him. Your eyes connect with his for only a moment before his lips crash onto yours hard – much rougher than you would have imagined him capable of – his tongue exploring your mouth. It’s almost animalistic the way the two of you aggressively claw for one another – trying to devour each other. Clumsily divesting each other of your clothes, desperate for more. The emptiness inside you suddenly starving for the one thing Steve can give you. It sure as hell isn’t love. It’s anger, longing, and need – not for each other – but for those you lost. He takes you there on the oriental rug in your living room – long, slow strokes filling you. You cling to his shoulders, burying your face in his chest as the wave of ecstasy shatters you, and you let out an almost whimpering moan against his skin. You feel the growl start in his chest, as his hands grasp you in a primal way, sending you over the edge again as he finds his release.

It’s quick, passionate, and raw, but most of all – it feels wrong. The two of you share small glances of shame while you get dressed. Steve watches as you adjust your top, his words barely audible, “I’m sorry.”

You flick your eyes up at him, “Don’t be. We’re both adults.”

“But I am,” Steve remarks somberly. “He loved you, you know.”

“I know.”

Part 2

[bluejayblueskies]

shattered glass

Part 28 of Whumptober 2020

Fandom: The Magnus Archives Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood Tags: Whump, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Eye Trauma, Blood/Gore, Hurt/Comfort

Read on Ao3

Jonah’s dead, when the dust finally clears and the eyes on Jon’s skin finally wink closed and he reduces, once again, from the Archivist to Jonathan Sims—or, at least, as close as he can get anymore. Jonah’s eyes—eyes that have stolen so many bodies that didn’t belong to them and that have, for so long, watched suffering with sickening indifference—are now reduced to ash, crumbling under the gaze of the monster they created. Jon thinks he should probably be more surprised when the dust settles on a world unchanged, that he Knows has not noticed the loss of such a small man as Jonah Magnus. But he always knew, in the end. That killing Jonah wouldn’t change anything. But it had felt…

 It had felt like a final retribution for everything lost. For Sasha, and Tim, and a world full of those who had had even less of a choice in their transformation and consumption than Jon.

 Martin, at least, will be glad to finally see Jonah dead, Jon thinks as he sighs and turns away from the broken man who thought himself a king. Martin, who was used by Jonah just as much as he had been. Martin, who had sacrificed so much to bring about every step on their way here, every small victory dwarfed by immeasurable pain and loss. Martin, who…

 Who is slumped against the wall, blood running in twin trickles from the corners of his eyes, and who is lying very, very still.

 “Oh, god,” Jon says, and his voice cracks around the words. Then, he’s kneeling on the ground, one hand pressed against Martin’s face and the other against the side of his neck, feeling desperately for a pulse. “Oh, god, Martin, I- I didn’t—”

 A heartbeat flutters against Jon’s fingers, faint but there. Relief floods through him, nearly eliciting a giddy laugh before it’s overshadowed almost immediately by guilt.

 “I did this,” he says, barely audible to his own ears. When… when had it been? When he’d compelled every last half-truth out of Jonah, and the foundations of the Panopticon had started to tremble under their weight? When he’d begun to incant, knowing that in this place of fear, favor and fortune and loyalty meant nothing to that which only wished to witness a world suffer? When the room had begun to crumble and fracture under the strain of a thousand eyes, and he had begun to fracture as well, his body becoming a mirror for that which looked upon him and through him and burned the Sight out of a man who thought himself immortal and protected, up here in his ivory tower.

 How long had Martin been here, hurting and broken and alone because of Jon, before he’d finally thought to look?

 It makes Jon sick to think of it. He allows himself one more moment of nauseating guilt before he pushes it all down, deep within, and focuses on the heartbeat.

 “It… it’s okay,” Jon says, even as it’s not, even as a thumb gently pushes one of Martin’s eyelids up to reveal nothing but slick red. His hand jerks away like’s he’s been burned. “It… it’s going to be—”

 A slight intake of breath is the only warning Jon gets before Martin coughs, once, a wet and broken sound that has terror curling in Jon’s stomach again, heavy and ice cold.

 “Martin!” Jon says, and his hand goes to support the back of Martin’s head even as the cough subsides into ragged breathing, hindered by the rattle of liquid in lungs. “God, Martin, I- I’m so sorry, I- can you, can you breathe? It- it’s okay, I- I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.”

 Martin’s eyelids twitch, like they’re trying very hard to open but are glued in place, and it seems to take Martin several agonizing tries before he manages to say, in a hoarse voice barely louder than a whisper, “Jon?”

 “Yes, I- I’m here.” Jon tries to stay calm, tries to smile reassuringly, even though Martin won’t be able to see it. That thought shatters through his resolve like a bullet through glass, and a small, hitched sob escapes him.

 Martin’s forehead crumples in concern, and he moves as if to sit up, but the effort draws a small cry of pain from him. “No, don’t- just, just don’t move,” Jon says, at the same time as Martin says, “Is- what’s going on?”

 It’s quiet for a moment, an excruciating silence that coats Jon’s tongue with acid the longer he fails to fill it. Then, in the manner of someone who is preparing themselves for a tragedy they already know has befallen them, Martin says, “My… my eyes. They’re- they’re gone, aren’t they. That’s why I- why I can’t—”

 He breaks off, breaths beginning to come in labored bursts, and Jon brings a hand to Martin’s cheek again and tries, despite the lack of it within himself, to restore calm to an increasingly panicked man. The guilt emerges yet again, sharper and more cutting than before, and Jon can’t quite keep it from his voice when he says, “Yes. I… I just, I didn’t… I turned around and you were…”

 A small, hiccupping laugh turns abruptly into another cough. “Of- of course,” Martin says, once the coughs have subsided. “I- I looked, of course I looked, I- I wanted to see the, the moment that smug look was—” He coughs again, and Jon’s hand rubs large, soothing circles on his back. “Knew I shouldn’t have,” Martin croaks. “Stupid. But… but when I saw the, the fear in his face, it- well, it didn’t make it worth it, but… you know.” He takes a moment to breathe, to let some of the tension leave his chest. “He’s… he’s dead?”

 “Yes,” Jon says quietly. Then, because it feels necessary: “But, Martin, you should- you should know that the world, it’s- it’s not—”

 “It’s not any better?” The small frown that finds its way to Martin’s lips is unsurprised. “Yeah, I- I know. I‘ve known for a while, actually. You’re- you’re not as subtle as you think you are, Jon. All those hints, about how removing one person from the equation doesn’t change anything—yeah, I- I got it.”

 “Martin, I- I’m so sorry.” Jon looks at the ground, his stomach twisting. “I wasn’t careful enough, I- I hurt you—”

 “No, Jon, it’s not your fault,” Martin says, conviction giving strength to his voice.

 “But I did hurt you,” Jon says. “Accident or not, it- it was my doing.”

 Martin draws in a shuddering breath, and slowly raises a hand, skimming it up Jon’s arm until it comes to rest on the side of his neck, fingers pushing into the hair at the base of his scalp and a thumb brushing lightly against his jawline. “Maybe,” Martin says, in a voice that leaves no room for protest. “Maybe not. Either way, I- I won’t let you blame yourself for this. That’s not- that’s not going to help.”

 “Martin,” Jon says in a voice just shy of breaking, “tell me what you want me to do. Tell- tell me how to help.”

 Martin’s eyelids twitch again, a long-ingrained instinct still making itself known, and a ripple of pain flashes across Martin’s face. His breath hitches in his chest, and the fingers carding through Jon’s hair curl and stiffen as they’re overcome with a wave of agony that Jon knows, despite Martin’s protestations, is his burden to bear. In a voice tight with pain, Martin says, “Just- just hold me? Please? Just- just for a bit.”

 “Oh, Martin,” Jon says, and he folds Martin into his arms. He grips the back of Martin’s jacket tightly, and Martin buries his face in the crook of Jon’s neck, and they both breathe in the scent of iron and salt.

 Martin’s chest is shaking slightly, and though Jon can’t feel the wet slide of tears against his neck, he knows that Martin’s crying. “It… it hurts,” Martin says, barely more than a whisper, like a secret told only to himself.

 Jon holds Martin tighter, and tries very hard not to Know what it feels like to have sight removed by that which craves it. The memory of melted nerves as that which was not meant to do so observes all that has ever been in the space of a blink comes to him anyway, in a prickle, in a shudder, in a screaming wave of agony and terror and pleading for respite that carves a deep, aching hole within him.

 “I know,” he says, and wishes so desperately it were a lie.

[howlnikiforov]

Trespass

Chapter Seventeen: Calm Down

Pairing: Hyungwon x Reader

Word Count: 2088

Summary: You would think that one would be able to trust their soulmate, be able to love them unconditionally, and know them better than yourself. But that isn’t always the case. Who was H.One, and why did the universe think you could be soulmates?

WARNINGS: Mentions of death . Note that from here on out, things will be pretty gruesome

Trespass Masterlist

Something in his gut was telling him that he shouldn’t leave, that he should stay behind and let the boys do all the work. He figured it was because this meeting would be dangerous, and he’d get hurt. While he did get hurt, it wasn’t a major injury, and it wasn’t anywhere near his arm. His arm was throbbing in excruciating pain, blinding him from anything going on around him. You were in extreme danger, you weren’t answering your phone, and the men he assigned to watch over you weren’t responding. Something was happening to you, and Hyungwon was two hours away, helpless.

You see, Hyungwon had an important arms deal, and he needed everyone to be there. It was far too important to back out on, and far too vital to mess up. He was supplying a possible ally with tools they needed to defeat their enemy. If they succeeded, he’d have another ally, and if they failed, then they failed and Hyungwon wouldn’t lose anything.

There had been some fighting involved because the other group’s nemesis had learned of their transactions and tried to stop it. It was during this fight that Hyungwon’s arm began to rapidly grow in pain. He thought it was because he had been shot, but once everything was said and done, he discovered that the only wound he had was a small cut on his leg. The burning pain was the danger meter alerting him that something was wrong, something was happening to you.

He stopped everything when he realized you were in danger. He finished up the trade as quickly as he could, then bolted out the doors. He didn’t bother to stay and help clean the mess of dead bodies on the ground, nor did he bother telling his team what was going on.

He wasted no time in getting into the car and stepping on the gas. He never stopped trying to call you, never stopped praying you’d pick up. He knew that Kihyun would be able to tie up the loose ends, and that they’d all be able to fit in the van now that it was empty, so he wasn’t worried about his team. He didn’t concern himself with what the potential ally thought of him.

He nearly crashed a couple times on the way back. He was going a hundred miles per hour, and ignored every stop. He swerved in and out of lanes, and almost hit a pedestrian once or twice. When he came to an intersection with a red light, he very nearly rear ended a few people, and barely avoided the oncoming traffic. He was driving in blind fear.

The throbbing was unrelenting, and his vision started to fade out. But he pushed through, he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. If he was too late in getting to you...he didn’t want to finish that thought.

The first place he decided to check was your apartment. You told him you were at home, safe. What changed after you sent that text? Did someone break into your apartment? Did you go out to the store and attacked? His mind raced with all the possibilities, each one getting worse by the second.

He came to a screeching halt just outside your apartment building. He dashed inside, taking the stairs two at time. He paused just outside your door, finding it was cracked open. His worry spiked as he pushed into the apartment only to be met with nothing. He flipped the switch to the kitchen light, giving his eyes a second to adjust.

On the counter was a piece of paper neatly folded. He hesitant reached for it, carefully undoing the folds. On it was a messy script; it took him a minute to decipher the words, but when he did, his heart dropped to his stomach.

“You wouldn’t stop playing with my soulmate, so I took her from your grasp. I’ve been watching you two, and you wouldn’t stop. Matters had to be taken into my own hands. I gave you time, I had patience, but that’s over now.”

He knew immediately that Youngjae had something to do with this. That crazy psychopath had always bothered you, but this was too far. This was on a whole other level of cruelty. He fell to his knees, clutching his arm to his chest. The paper slowly fell through the air, nearly forgotten about as the aches worsened.

The pain in his arm was a punishment, he realized. It was the universe’s way of torturing him because he let you be in danger, he deserved all this pain and more. Except, he couldn’t take it anymore; the searing pain too much to bear. The agony continued to grow until his vision began to blur and darken. Was it ever this bad for you? He hoped, he prayed that you had never had to experience pain like this because of him. He thought he’d pass out, but it seemed the universe would not grant him that release.

You were taken from him, simply because you were his soulmate. Simply because someone else couldn’t handle the idea that you weren’t meant to be with them. He vowed to reap revenge on Youngjae, to ensure that he would regret ever doing this.

The two guards he had assigned to keep an eye on you would surely suffer the consequences. He would have no mercy for them when deciding their fate. If they were lucky, it’d be death.

For the first time, Hyungwon hated the fact that Sohyun had basically moved out to be with Seokjin. If she had been here, maybe this would have never happened. Maybe you would’ve been in his arms. There was no point in dwelling on the what if’s. He needed to find you. He needed to get to you as soon as he could. He couldn’t waste time on pointless things.

He tried to get up, tried to get on his feet, but he couldn’t find balance, and ended up on the floor. He rolled onto his back, tears stinging behind his eyes. Would the pain ever go away? What would it take to make it stop?

He wasn’t sure how long he had been rolling on the ground, wailing and howling, when his team showed up. Wonho and Shownu helped him sit up, while Minhyuk and Jooheon picked up the paper. They read it aloud, for everyone to hear. They all began to understand their leaders behavior, and why he was in such a vulnerable state. They had never seen him so broken, so anguished.

None of them could truly sympathize with him, because none of them knew the pain of their soulmate being taken. None of them knew the misery of being without their soulmate, especially after their bond solidified.

The only thing they could do for him was get him home and start the investigation. Hours had passed, which meant you could be anywhere in the country, or even out of the country if Youngjae was extreme enough.

No one would put it past him, though. He was stupid enough to kidnap a mafia leader’s soulmate. No one was foolish enough to do that. Not even YG would knowingly kidnap the soulmate of his enemies. The first, and last, time someone did that, World War III nearly broke out less than a year after the second one ended. Since then, it was unanimously decided, unofficially, to never do that again. Except, Hyungwon was prepared to start another World war if that’s what it took to get you back.

Shownu and Wonho practically carried the stumbling Hyungwon out to his car. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t concentrate, he couldn’t feel anything besides loss and agony. They helped him into the back, laying him down across the seats, so he didn’t have to sit up. Shownu got in the driver’s seat, and Wonho into the passengers. The rest of the group followed in the van.

Upon their arrival to the house, Shownu carried Hyungwon upstairs to his room and helped him get into bed. Kihyun later brought in tea and medicine to try and help ease the pain. No one was sure it would work, but it was worth a shot. Changkyun brought in a heating pad, hoping that the heat would help ease the cramps.

They all left him to grieve alone, knowing someone would lose a head if they bothered him more than necessary. Changkyun started tracking your phone, only to find that it was useless. Clearly Youngjae had separated you from your phone, because the tracker showed that it was just around the block from your apartment.

Kihyun sent out men to scope the area and look for any clues to what happened. The CCTV cameras weren’t working around the time of the incident, so they were of no help. There wasn’t a lot of evidence they could get. As much as they hated to admit it, it was a clean kidnapping. No evidence, no leads, nothing. But of course, that wouldn’t stop them.

Hyungwon got very little sleep that night. Every time he’d be able to escape into nothingness, he’d jolt awake. And each time, he’d pray that it was all just a nightmare, that you’d be beside him if he reached over. But of course, it was real, and you weren’t there.

Eventually, he just said fuck it. He suffer through the torment, and while he was at it he’d start finding you. The first thing he had to do was take care of the two men that were supposed to watch you. After some slight digging, Jooheon had found out that the two had been paid to leave you. It only gave Hyungwon another reason to get rid of them.

He had Minhyuk take him to an empty warehouse, where a multitude of men waited, the two sinners anxiously waiting in the middle. Hyungwon didn’t show his weakness, didn’t show his pain. He was enraged, and he let that show.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” He asked the two men, completely calm and collected.

Immediately, they dropped to their knees and began to beg for mercy. Apologies came left and right, and they kept talking about how they had families to provide for and the typical guilt trips.

“If you had to provide for your family, you should’ve asked me, your boss. Instead, you go and take YG’s money. Yes, we know the money was from him, and not Youngjae.” Hyungwon jerked his head up, signaling to two other men standing off to the side to come up. They each had a gallon container of gasoline in their hands.

“But not only are you disloyal, you let the one thing that should never have happened, happen. If the world falls apart, it’ll be on you. Red Rose is missing, all because you wanted money. I’ve thought about your punishment, and I’ve decided that while it would be best to torture, I don’t want to see your faces ever again.” With a flick of his hand, the two men were hoisted up and tied to chairs. The gasoline was then poured onto them, dousing them in the substance. Another gallon was brought out to pour a line from Hyungwon’s feet to the chairs, and the excess being used to soak the two traitors more. “So, you’ll be going in the most painful way possible. Please understand that this is me, giving you the smallest amount of mercy, that you do not deserve.” Everyone in the warehouse filed out, leaving Hyungwon with his two victims. He took out a box of matches and lit one, dropping it to the ground. It caught the gasoline trail, and quickly began to move along it. Hyungwon turned on his heel and walked away, not once looking back as he listened to their hollers and begs. He didn’t care how much they pleaded, they needed to be taken care of, and this was the best way to do it.

The moment he was out of the building, and in the car with Minhyuk, he let himself feel the throb in his arm. The pain had gone down marginally, but it didn’t make much of a difference. They say being burned alive is the worst pain in the world. That wasn’t true. Hyungwon has been burned before, and that didn’t compare to the agony he was in now.

He hoped he could find you soon, both for your sake and for his.

[victimofthemusic]

Five Times Tony Stark Was a Good Dad (And One Time He Wasn’t)

So, I’m obsessed with the whole idea that Peter is Tony’s unofficial son and it’s only supported by Tony’s appearance in Spider-Man Homecoming, so I came up with this series, which is in the works and also posted on my AO3 account. If you like it or have any suggestions as to where I should take this, please don’t hesitate to let me know! Also, forgive any spelling errors or mistakes, I finished this at three in the morning one night and I was too lazy to go back and fix them. Enjoy!

Read Part 2 here

~~~~~~

Tony swore when he was twelve years old that he would never be a father. He remembered that moment clearly, like it had just happened a day ago, not well over thirty years ago. He was in his room, his father still screaming in a drunken rage at his mother over something Tony did, his anger and disappointment following Tony down the hallway of their New York penthouse apartment. He remembered sitting on the cold tile floor of his room, head rest against the heavy wooden door that was doing nothing to muffle his father’s harsh words.

His father was angry, Tony had gotten kicked out of his third private school on the East Coast, the letter expulsion still clutched in his father’s harsh grasp. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen his father this furious before and Tony knew that the only thing that saved him from taking a glass full of scotch to the face was his mother’s presence in the room. Maria Stark might’ve been docile about a lot of things, but Howard taking his rage out on Tony physically, that would never fly in this house hold.

Tears of anger and embarrassment welled in Tony’s eyes and he wiped them away furiously, refusing to waste anymore energy on that man that he was forced to acknowledge as his father. No matter what Tony did, it was never enough to please Howard Stark. He made his first prototype of an arch reactor at the age of six, Howard wanted it by age five. Tony skipped three grades, Howard wanted him to skip four. Tony, despite his age, was offered a spot at MIT and if Howard had it his way? He would've been there a year ago. No matter how much Tony achieved, how many goals he surpassed, he always came up short in Howard’s eyes. Being the constant source of Howard’s disappointment and ire made Tony wonder if he would ever succeed in his father’s eyes, if his dad would ever clap him on the back and say “I’m proud of you, son.”

He wondered, some nights, when he’d lie awake in his too big bed in his too big room in his too big house, if his father had ever wanted children, had wanted Tony.

The thought crossed his mid countless of times, until it latched onto his cerebral cortex and sat there, like the worst form of cancer that had no possible cure.

And while Tony sat there, head resting tiredly against the warm wood, Howard’s voice still echoing down the long hallway, that cancer spread until it proved fatal.

He never wanted his children to feel like this.

Unwanted

Worthless

A complete and utter failure.

Tony was self-aware enough to know that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, that human nature was a pattern and patterns were destined to repeat themselves, without fail. Anger and rage and disappointment were the only form of affection Tony was used to getting to his father. His father was a cold man, always keeping Tony at a distance that no matter how hard he tried, Tony could never quite breach.

And Tony knew, no matter how hard he tried, he would always end up like his father.

~~~~~~~

Peter Parker came into his life unexpectedly and despite popular opinion, unplanned. He’d been keep tabs on the Spider-Kid since the kid popped up on his radar a few months ago, clad in that god awful homemade leotard/hoodie contraption and flying around Queens on his webs with all the grace of a child learning to walk for the first time. Tony never planned to actually meet the kid behind the mask or reaching out to the flying kid in his homemade costume, but when the Avengers disbanded and the only family Tony had ever known was decreasing in numbers, he needed back up.

Looking back, his intentions were purely selfish and it shamed him to admit, when he dropped the kid back off in his sketchy neighborhood in Queens with the new suit he’d made him, he never had any intention of keeping in contact with the kid.

To absolve himself from the guilt, he appointed Happy as his chaperone and threw himself into creating new legs for Rhodey, another way to attempting to soothe ache of guilt that had settled along with the shrapnel, in his battered heart.

He underestimated Peter, who was pushy and persistent and finally, after three months, Happy threw his phone at Tony and told him to call the kid. That night, Tony, with a glass of scotch in hand, filtered through the hundreds of voicemails Peter had left Happy—anecdotes of his daily patrols, everything from helping old ladies cross the street, stopping bike thieves to getting cats out of trees. Each story was told with excruciating detail, in that excited ramble the kid got whenever he was particularly enthused about something and warmth settled around Tony’s heart, fond amusement making his lips curl into his first genuine smile in months.

It took Tony another week to reach out to the kid, but he did and that’s how he found himself, in one of his more flashier cars, sitting outside of Peter’s school. He ignored the gawking, the stunned stares and the whispers of the students filtering out of the school, his eyes scanning the crowd before they landed on a familiar head of messy hair.

Peter was talking excitedly to the chubby, dark haired Asian kid by his side, who was nodding along to everything Peter said with a look of pure wonder on his face and Tony wondered briefly if his little friend knew that his BFF moonlighted as a super-hero in spandex at night.

Another kid appeared by Peter’s side and Tony watched as Peter visibly tensed and tried to skirt around the kid, but the kid threw a hand out and stopped Peter in his tracks.

The cocky grin that appeared on the kid’s face was all too familiar to Tony and before he could even second guess himself, he was out of his car and walking towards the three boys, ignoring the murmurs coming from the crowd.

“—when are you gonna stop lying about your internship with Tony Stark, Penis Parker? There’s no way someone like Tony Stark would ever take on a charity case like you—“

Peter looked up when he heard the murmuring crowd fall to a hush and his gaze landed on Tony. The amount of surprise in the kid’s features made Tony’s gut clench that in no way had to do with the greasy cheeseburger he ate on the way over here.

“M-Mr. Stark, what, uh, what are you doing here?” Peter stammered, flicking his gaze back to would be bully in front of him.

“Yeah, Parker, like I’m gonna fall for that—“

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” Tony interrupted, smirking in satisfaction when the kid that was giving Peter a hard time, froze, turning his disbelieving eyes on to Tony.

“Y-You-You’re Tony Stark.” He said faintly, his voice shaking.

Tony smirked, “Astute observation and you are?”

The kid gulped, his adams apple bobbing harshly, “F-Flash Thompson.”

“Makes sense,” Tony said with a nod of his head, looking the kid up and down, “I’d bully someone too, if my parents named me after the lamest superhero to ever grace the pages of a comic book, overcompensation and all that,” Tony said thoughtfully, “especially with your perceived fixation on the male genitalia. Tell me, did it take you a while to come up with something that juvenile or did you have someone equally as childish think it up for you? Because I would think someone with—and I’m assuming here, so correct me if my deductive reasoning skills are off—a high level of intelligence would come up with something a little bit more creative than ‘Penis Parker’.”

By the time Tony was done, the crowd around him was snickering and the kid in front of him looked like he wanted nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow him whole, if such things were possible.

Tony smiled, but there was nothing nice about, “Now, if I ever catch wind of you so much as looking in Peter’s direction again and trust me, kid, I’ve got my ways, I have no issue siccing my AI on all your school records and wreaking havoc on your future plans for any Ivy League schools, you reading me kid?”

Flash nodded so vigorously he resembled a bobble head, “Y-Yes, Sir.”

Tony smiled, this one much more kind than the last, “Good, I’m glad we could reach an understanding, now running along so I can talk to my intern here without your sorry excuse for cologne clouding my senses, seriously kid less is more.”

Flash tucked his proverbial tail between his legs and pushed through the crowd of people that were now openly laughing, losing interest in Tony in favor of chasing after Flash to mock him.

Tony shouldn't feel as proud as he did, but he knew what it was like to be bullied and he’d be damned if his kid—ahem, someone like Peter had to deal with someone as childish as Flash Thompson every day and it was within his power to do something about it. Like kid didn’t already have enough to deal with as it was.

He turned back to see a dumbfounded Peter and his equally as flabbergasted friend.

“That was—” Peter began, but seemed to be at a loss for words, shaking his head in disbelief.

His friend, however, didn’t seem to have that particular problem.

“—AWESOME!” His friend said excitedly, “oh man did you see Flash’s face? Dude, this is greatest thing to ever happen to me. Tony Stark just verbally assaulted Flash, Jesus dude, how is this your life? If you ever want to trade, even if it’s just for a day, I’m totally down—“

“Ned.” Peter muttered, elbowing him roughly, giving a rough jerk of his head in Tony’s direction. He flicked his apologetic gaze over to Tony, who simply rolled his eyes, but he couldn't deny the amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Ned followed his gaze and flushed, “Right, sorry.”

Peter closed his eyes for a moment and Tony could see the kid physically trying to fight off his embarrassment and couldn't help but chuckle.

Peter’s eyes snapped open at the sound and the surprise and confusion from earlier was back, “Mr. Stark, what are you doing here? At my school? Is everything okay? Is there a—“ Peter glanced around in a sad attempt at nonchalance and lowered his voice to an equally as sad attempt at a whisper, “—mission?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows in a manner that was making Tony wonder if the kid had a weird twitch he’d never noticed before.

Tony glanced over at Ned quickly, going back to his original curiosity of how much the kid actually knew about his arachnid friend here, but Ned seemed to catch on to Tony’s unasked question.

“Don’t worry Mr. Stark, sir, I’m Peter’s Guy In The Chair.” Ned answered helpfully, giving him a bright smile.

Tony glanced back over at Peter with a raised eyebrow, who simply muttered “dude” in an exasperated tone, shaking his head before returning his attention to Tony, “Ned knows.”

“Oh, well, in that case, no, there is no…mission,” Tony said in a mock whisper, making Peter flush, “I’m working on a new Iron Man suit and I need to pick your brain for some ideas on upgrades, figured I’d swing by and pick you up from school today.”

Peter’s eyes widened and Ned seemed torn between fainting or peeing himself from excitement.

“You get to touch the Iron Man suit?!” He squeaked, turning his wide-eyed gaze over to Peter, who only gave Ned a look, who bit his lip sheepishly, but looked like he was ready to explode from the level of his enthusiasm.

Peter ignored him, “I was supposed to help Ned finish the lego Death Star today, we were supposed to do it yesterday, but I uh, kinda got caught up on patrol.” Peter gave Tony a guilty shrug of his shoulders.

“So let me get this straight,” Tony said slowly, “you’re turning down quality time in my personal lab to build a lego Death Star with Ned over here?”

Peter’s eyes had lit up at the mentions of Tony’s lab, but with quick glance at a wide eyed Ned, who seemed to be stuck on the fact that Tony Stark said his name, his excitement dimmed. But Peter was loyal, almost to a fault, and nodded resolutely.

Tony, seemingly at a loss for words, just stood there, shellshocked at being told no, by a fifteen year old kid at that. A small part of Tony, the one that was actually looking forward to hanging out with the kid, was slightly hurt at the rejection.

Ned, who’d been watching the entire scene with wide eyes, was more observant than he looked and seemed to sense Peter’s indecision and Tony’s disappointment, because he gave his friend a bright smile, “Dude, we can finish the Death Star anytime and besides, my mom wanted me home tonight to help her with something, so I’m booked, raincheck?” He offered.

Peter glanced at Ned then at Tony and then back to Ned, “Um, sure Ned, no problem.”

Ned gave him a smile and then turning his attention back to Tony, his friendly smiled turned a bit more to the manic grin that most people wore in Tony’s presence, “It was really nice to meet you Mr. Stark.”

He offered Peter a fist bump, who returned it, before he started walking down the side walk, towards, what Tony assumed, was home.

Turning his attention back to the kid, he gave him a smile, “Good good, now we should probably be on our way if we want to avoid traffic. Now, as far as suit upgrades go, I was thinking of up-ing the suit’s repulsers a bit—hey, kid, you coming?” Tony asked from his position on the driver’s side, raising an eyebrow at Peter, who was still standing on the side walk. Tony followed his gaze and saw Ned still making his way down the sidewalk and chancing a glance back at Peter, who was still watching him with big, guilty eyes, he sighed.

The things I do for you, kid, Tony thought to himself.

“Hey, Ned,” Tony shouted, making the kid pause and turn around, looking to Peter, who was watching Tony with the beginnings of a smile, then back to Tony curiously, “would you like to join us? There’s plenty of room in the lab for three people.”

Even from a few yards away, Tony could see the kid’s eyes widen in surprise before he hustled his way back to an equally excited Peter, who shot him a grateful look.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.” He said quietly, giving him a bright smile.

And Tony couldn’t help but smile back, “You’re welcome, kiddo,” eyeing a panting Ned warily, “make sure he doesn't do anything…weird, okay? I don’t mind opening my lab to him but there was something in his eyes when I was talking about the Iron Man suit that made me decidedly uncomfortable.”

Peter gave a breathy laugh, “Don’t worry, Mr. Stark, Ned’s cool.”

Ned, who had come to a slightly sweaty stop in from them, looked up at Tony with wide eyes, “Can I try on the Iron Man helmet?”

“Dude.”

~~~~~~~~~

Tony spent the majority of their time in lab just watching Peter and Ned run around like kids in a candy store—picking things up, playing with the robots—DUM-E taking a special liking to Peter, who, Tony was pleased to see, treated him like a human, thanking him when he brought them water from the stocked fridge and smiling when DUM-E beeped happily in return—and played with all the gadgets laying around.

Tony, albeit wearily, let them try on one of the Iron Man helmets from one of his earlier models and explained to them how the suit worked, both of them hanging on to his every word. He showed them the blue prints for his newest model, listening to their suggestions and even writing a few them down to look into later.

Ned, Tony found out, was rather intelligent with computers. He gave him one of his old security systems and watched with genuine interest as the kid hacked into the the files with ease and recoded the entire system in a matter of minutes.

When Tony looked it over, he let out a grunt of an approval, “Nice work, kid.”

Ned all but fainted at Tony’s praise.

The hours slipped by and F.R.I.D.A.Y. being the helpful AI that she is, had ordered pizzas without Tony even having to ask and had them sent to the kitchen, alerting them when they had arrived. Tony led them up to the kitchen, watching with thinly veiled amusement as they both took in every new surrounding with the same amount of interest they had shown in the lab.

Tony continued to observe them as they tore into the pizza like they hadn't eaten in days and taking a quick glance at the clock, he realized with a flash of guilt, that they had been down in the lab for over four hours and the last time they had probably eaten something would've been well over seven or eight hours ago.

It was nice, Tony deiced, listening to their mindless chatter and what was especially nice, was seeing how at ease Peter was with his friend, looking like a true fifteen year old with his friend over to his house on a school night, like he didn’t have super powers, like he didn’t dress up in tight spandex and web his way through Queens and fight crime at night while trying to balance a normal life.

The thought nagged at Tony for the rest of dinner and as he rode silently with them in the backseat while Happy drove them all to Ned’s apartment first, who still looked like he couldn't believe today was real, thanking Tony breathlessly for the best day of his life and telling Peter he’d see him tomorrow at school.

Peter watched his friend with a small, amused smile and when they got to Peter’s apartment building, Tony glanced over at the kid, the smile still had yet to leave his face.

“Alright kid, this is your stop,” Tony said, making a move to undo his seatbelt, but the kid’s hesitant voice made him pause.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter said softly, clearing his throat, “I uh, just wanted to thank you, you know for well, everything,” the kid breathed, smiling up at him so sincerely that it made Tony’s chest ache in the best sort of way, “today was amazing and I really appreciate you inviting Ned along with us, he really looks up to you, you know? And I haven't really been able to spend much time with him since, y’know, the whole Spider-Man thing.”

The kid paused before continuing on in a softer voice, “And about Flash, I really, really don’t know how to thank you for that,” he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed, “it’s kind of funny, in a way, I’m a sort of super-hero and I can’t even stand up to a bully—“

Tony’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest at the kid’s self-deprecation, “Look, kid, I’m no stranger to bullies,” he began, sighing heavily, “I had my fair share of them when I was in school and even in college. I learned that while you may no be able to physically fight someone, you can always fight them with words and sometimes, words can hurt more than your fists. All I did was give that Flash kid a taste of his own medicine and hopefully, got him off your case.”

Peter was silent for a moment, considering Tony’s words before giving him another appreciative smile, “I don’t think Flash will be messing with me anytime soon, but still, thank you,” Peter’s smile turned shy, “you’re the first adult, other than May, to stand up for me and I really appreciate it, so thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“Call me Tony,” Tony offered after a beat of silence, unsure of how to respond to such a statement.

Whatever he was trying to say, the kid got, because he smiled brightly and Tony, suddenly feeling awkward at the unusual sentimental moment, busied himself with unbuckling his seatbelt, ignoring the warmth in his chest.

He reached around the kid to open the door for him and Peter, rather than getting out, just like last time, he reached up and wrapped his arms around Tony, thinking he was hugging him

“This um, wasn't a hug,” Tony began awkwardly, “I’m just getting the door for you.”

However, before the kid could pull away, Tony wrapped his arms around him and gave him a quick, but firm squeeze.

Peter gave him another smile before wishing Tony and Happy a goodnight,  getting out of the car and making his way up towards his apartment. Tony debated on his next move, mulling it over quickly and before the kid could get too far, he found himself making a snap decision and rolling down he window.

“Hey, Underoos,” Tony started, slightly unsure when the kid turned around and looked at Tony with hopeful eyes.

“Same time, same place tomorrow?” He said after a moment of silence, the kid’s answering grin melting away any self doubt before it could begin.

“Sure Mr.Stark—Tony,” Peter stuttered excitedly, “sounds great!”

Tony watched the kid go with a satisfied smiled, so caught up in his happy little pseudo-family moment that he almost didn’t hear his phone ring.

Not even bothering to glance at the caller I.D., he answered it with a smooth, “Stark.”

“Tony?! What the hell we’re you thinking going to a school and threatening a minor, A MINOR—“

Shit.

~~~~~

Should I continue? Please let me know :)