#you have to wonder what sort of weight he is putting on Parker being his friend

[of-a-toast-and-tea]

"I'm not sneering," retorted Peter indignantly. "I can't imagine why anybody should want to marry my sister, but you're a friend of mine and a damn good sort, and you've my good word for what it's worth. Besides—dash it all, man!—to put it on the lowest grounds, do look what it might have been! A Socialist Conchy of neither bowels nor breeding, or a card-sharping dark horse with a mysterious past! Mother and Jerry must have got to the point when they'd welcome a decent, God-fearing plumber, let alone a policeman. Only thing I'm afraid of is that Mary, havin' such beastly bad taste in blokes, won't know how to appreciate a really decent fellow like you, old son."

-Clouds of Witness, Dorothy L. Sayers

[noshitbarnes]

Anti-Hero: Chapter 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Summary: After being experimented on as a young child and given abilities, Daniela has become a highly skilled member of the Avengers, and has even been assigned to mentor Peter Parker. Little does she know that the happiness she’s been able to find will become threatened by the very people who started her on her path long ago.

Warnings: language, Bucky being a tease, Daniela being a jerk

Word Count: 3,124

Notes: I don't have anything to add, if you want to be added to my tag list just let me know!

Anti-Hero Masterlist

"This is my room?" Peter stares wide eyed at the room before him, "It's huge,” he runs inside and jumps on the bed, bouncing slightly, "this is super comfy.”

The room was simple, but classy, definitely on point with Tony's style. The walls were a medium gray, tan wood floors, and there was a small skylight above the bed. There was a king sized bed with the headboard against the farthest wall, it was complete with blue and gray sheets and some various pillows. A large rug was set on the floor at the foot of the bed, it was grey and had a weird blue and white type pattern. There was also a desk that was set against the same wall as the bed with a computer and some files. A dresser, bookstand, TV stand with a TV, and various plants were also placed around the room. There was also a connecting bathroom, which came with every room.

Peter's had his own room before, so this wasn't really shocking to him, it was more the fact that it was so big, he's never had a king sized bed before, or his own bathroom. He smiles up at the ceiling with closed eyes and runs his hands over the soft comforter. Maybe this whole Avenger thing wouldn't be as strenuous as he thought.

Daniela shakes her head, watching the smile form on his face, soon a small smile grew on her own. While she watches him, her mind starts to wonder, thinking about what their future might hold. His safety was now her responsibility and she felt that weight on her shoulders, but she's been in charge of others before, so it wasn't a new feeling. She just felt more responsible for Peter, probably because he was so young.

Daniela leans against the doorframe, "Yeah, typical Avenger package. You get your own room, bathroom, health benefits, your own suit, special tech, whole bunch of other stuff that I won't bore you with, Tony can do that.”

Peter opens his eyes and lifts his head up high enough so he can look at her, "And you're across the hall?”

"Yeah," she puts her hands in her pockets, "but that doesn't mean you can just burst into my room whenever. I'm your mentor, which means I'm here to help, but we still need some sort of boundaries, ok?” Peter nods and she pushes away from the door, "Alright, now listen,” she walks over to his desk and waves him over. He jumps off the bed and sits down at the desk, "just cause you're staying here doesn't mean you get to slack off of your college stuff, alright?" Peter nods, "The laptop is yours and Tony's already set up for facial recognition, so you just have to open it."

Peter opens the laptop, "How did he already set it up?" as soon as the screen turns on, the camera turns on, and then unlocks once it sees Peters face.

Daniela shrugs, "I don't know, I honestly just don't ask anymore."

Peter smiles at the laptop, "That's so cool, he's already got all the apps and stuff on here that I use for school.”

Daniela shifts her weight to one foot while crossing her arms, "Yeah, he's annoyingly knowledgable like that," it grows silent for a moment, then she feels eyes on her, "I should also warn you that leaving your door open can invite unwanted visitors."

"You knew I was here didn't you?”

Peter jumps a bit at the new voice and Daniela slowly turns around, meeting the soldiers gaze, “Another fair warning, Barnes likes to scare the newbies,” Bucky smirks slightly while leaning against Peter's bedroom wall, hands in his pockets, not taking his eyes off her, "happened to me a lot when I first got here.”

When Daniela first got to the Avengers compound, she was quiet and shy, kept to herself mostly, rarely left her room unless it was to get coffee and sit under her favorite tree. She's never been good around a lot of new people, it’s something she’s tried to work on to no avail. It took her months to really get use to the compound and feel comfortable with her new teammates. Everyone was a little cautious of her, they didn’t know the extent of her powers, so they sorta walked on eggshells when training her. However, Bucky was different, he never once treated her like she was fragile, he treated her as he would treat any other solider. 

"You were such a good sport though,” Bucky says, “after a few days, I couldn't sneak up on you anymore,” he chuckles lightly and turns his gaze to Peter, "she being nice to you now?”

Peter stands up from the desk beaming at Daniela and elbows her side, “She's always nice to me,” she smiles at him then sticks her tongue out at Bucky playfully.

"She is,” Bucky crosses his arms and looks Daniela over, "then what was that back on the jet?”

"A momentary lapse in my temper,” she narrows her eyes at him, “happens sometimes.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, "Maybe you need a way to relieve your pent-up frustration." 

"Why do you think I spar with Steve?" she smiles innocently, "He's a challenge for me.”

He narrows his eyes, "I trained you first, don't forget that.”

"You guys don't train together anymore?" Peter jumps in. 

“It’s, um, been a while,” Bucky smirks teasingly, his eyes showing a bit of mischief.

Daniela places her arm around Peter's shoulders— which earns a glare from Bucky, “I’ll let you in on a secret, Parker,” Peter nods while looking at the floor blushing ever so slightly, “I out grew him, needed more of a challenge.”

Daniela knows how to push everyone's buttons, it was one of her hidden talents, for some reason, she got a real kick out of it. She tried not to take it too far, but shit happens. Bucky rarely ever got mad at her anymore, so sometimes she actually tried to piss him off. Apparently today was going to be one of those days.

Bucky scoffs and pushes off from the wall with his foot, "You think you're so funny.”

Daniela smiles innocently back at the soldier, “Well, because I am,” Peter chuckles next to her, “see he thinks so too.”

Bucky only rolls his eyes, "Don't let her fool you, kid, she's not as tough as she lets on.”

"Bitch, please,” Daniela takes her arm off of Peter’s shoulders, "last time we spared," she points down to his right leg, "I gave you that scar. Ya know, the one that refuses to heal even with your stupid ass serum. It may have been unintentional and out of rage, but I still did it.”

Bucky continues to scowl down at her, "That doesn't mean you're tough, just means I let my guard down, for once.”

Unfortunately for Daniela, Bucky also knew how to piss her off, he enjoyed it too. The way she got all serious and her voice dropped slightly, it stirred something in him, he just didn't know what that meant. It’s not that they didn’t like each other, they were the best of friends, but sometimes their fights would escalate and they wouldn't speak to each other for a few days.

She takes a couple steps toward him, “You are testing my patience, Barnes.”

He in turn, takes a step forward, testing the waters of her temper, then looks down at her, and smirks challengingly, "Now that doesn't sound like me.”

He was so close, she could feel the heat radiating off him, which made her breath hitch slightly in her throat, but she continued to glare up at him anyway, ”It's you to a fucking T.”

Peter looks back and forth between the two soldiers, wondering if they were actually pissed off at each other or if this was just normal. He doesn’t know much about either of them really, they never talk about their personal life. Although, he does know that Daniela was a Sergeant in the Marines and Bucky was the same, but in the Army, and that they were both not the age they looked, other than that he’s pretty clueless. He also knows little about their life outside the team, but he has picked up on little things about their personality. Such as, Bucky doesn’t sleep much, he can tell that by the small dark circles under his eyes and they’re bloodshot almost constantly. He also seems to be extremely loyal to everyone on the team, and he’s even picked up on what topics to not talk about, like his life before and during Hydra. Daniela is freakishly similar, probably because of the whole military background and definitely some trauma. Daniela does differ though, the most prominent being that she actually has conversations with him. Over these past few months, Peter has noticed that Daniela has an awful temper, he’s seen it first hand, and he’s still not sure what pisses her off. As he’s watching the two argue, he’s not sure how Bucky is still standing and if it’ll stay that way.

Bucky lightly tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth and then opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by FRIDAY, "Sorry to interrupt, but Captain Rogers is wondering when you all will be joining them in the conference room?”

Still glaring at Bucky, Daniela answers her, "He said 15 minutes.”

"And it's been 20," FRIDAY answered.

“Shit," she shakes her head, "come on, Peter.”

**********

The three walk into the conference room to find the team all sitting around the table, clearly waiting on them.

"Nice of you all to finally join us,” Steve says crossing his arms, scowling at Daniela as she makes her way to a chair beside Rhodes.

"Sorry, Captain," she glares at Bucky, "Barnes delayed us,” Bucky chuckles as they take their seats around the table.

Rhodes sighs from beside her, “Please tell me there wasn’t another fight,” he looks across the table at Bucky, “I thought you guys were getting along again?”

Daniela chuckles and Rhodes look back to her, “Sorry, Dad.”

Everyone laughs lightly and Rhodes shakes his head, “I’m just trying to keep the peace around here.”

James Rhodes is one of the few people in the compound that is capable of calming everyone down at a moments notice and it's sorta weird, like it's his superpower. Usually, there's that one person who refuses to calm down, but when Rhodes enters the room, everyone stops acting crazy, he just has that presence about him. He's everyone's confidant, knows everyones secrets— but never leads on that he knows— and would give the shirt off his back for a friend.

“Really?” Clint says from across the table, “Where were you then last week when Wilson and Barnes started fighting over Pictionary? Could’a used ya.” There are various groans from around the table, remembering that horrible night.

The team tries to get together at least once every other week to either play a game or watch a movie. Each time, a different person picks a game or movie and the rest of them have to suffer through it. Most of the time there aren’t any incidents, but every once in a while certain people get too competitive. Most of the time it’s one of the boys, they’re all stubborn and occasionally things get out of hand.

Wanda stares at the wall and speaks, “Well, at least I know never to pick that again.”

Steve sighs and then looks to Peter, "Alright, Parker," he said standing up and approaching the head of the table, "since you're gonna be full time with us from now on, we need to brief you on what we really do around here,” he crosses his arms and furrows his brows together, "right now, we do mostly hostage situations, take out the remaining Hydra bases, bust arms dealers, and occasionally, SHIELD sends us out to do more specialized missions." 

"And the rare alien invasion,” Tony shrugs.

Steve turns to Tony and nods, “Um, right,” Steve then looks back to Peter and continues, "for now, Velikov and you are just gonna focus on training. We know you can handle yourself for the most part, be we just want to make sure that you'll be safe out there, so she's going to give you some refined training,” he then looks to Daniela, "you'll stay back on missions unless we absolutely need you.”

"Are you shittin' me?" Daniela leans forward and rests her hands on the table, "He'd be fine by himself while I'm gone. He doesn't need a constant babysitter.”

"He does for now,” Tony counters, "just until he gets use to the place," he stands up from his chair and walks over next to Steve, "we're not saying you're never going on missions, it's just temporary.”

Daniela takes a deep breath and sits back in her chair, “Fine,” she knew when to keep her mouth shut— well, sometimes anyway.

"That's it,” Natasha speaks up from across the table causing Daniela to look at her, "just like that and you agree with them?" She then turns her attention to Steve and Tony, "See, I think it's bullshit. We need her out there, at least I do, she covers my ass better than anyone.”

Daniela smirks down at the table. Natasha was right, Daniela had saved her ass countless times, along with the others. Not on pure luck, like Sam would have some believe, she was good at what she did, her powers usually came in handy. They made her reflexes a little faster and she seemed to always know when something wasn’t right. Although, that probably has something to do with her military training and the fact that she'd been fighting Hydra for so long.

“I’m with Nat,” Clint said from beside Natasha, “it just wouldn’t be the same without frosty.”

Daniela glares at Clint, “You’re hilarious, Barton.”

He smiles and looks to Tony, “You know that if we don’t have her, your ass would be on the line too, she covers all of us. It’s like she has a weird sixth sense of something.”

"Do you even realize that my suits can help? What do you think I made them for,” Tony glares at Clint, "to stand around and look pretty?”

Daniela tilts her head and looks at Tony, "Well obviously," she shrugs and crosses her arms, "but I thought you made them 'cause you were lonely,” Peter snickers next to her, which makes her turn to him and wink. 

Tony looks to Peter, which makes him fall silent, and then he focuses back on Daniela, "Don't start with me.” 

She looks back to him and rolls her eyes, “Anyway, if Cap doesn't want me there, I won't go. I'm not one to disobey direct orders.”

"Ok," Bucky— who so far had been extremely silent— leans forward in his chair, focusing on Daniela, "I know for a fact that that's bullshit.”

"From the Captain,” she leans forward in her chair, “and I disobeyed your orders one time, Barnes.”

“And if it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead,” he taps his metal fingers on the desk, narrowing his gaze at her.

It was still a touchy subject with the two of them, even though it happened a year ago. Daniela had already apologized and moved on, but Bucky isn't one to let things go so easily, especially when it has to do with someone's safety. He still felt responsible for her, even though she was no longer his trainee, he still cared about her deeply.

Daniela narrows her eyes at him and grits her teeth, “Thank you for the reminder.”

Bucky leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, but says nothing, not taking his eyes off her. It made Daniela uncomfortable, the way his eyes looked her over, like prey, but she didn't change her expression, she didn't want him to know how it affected her. He knew though, hearing her heart beat pick up, her breathing becoming uneven. He knew she was nervous, they hadn't had a serious fight in months, and he wanted to keep it that way. As much as he loved it when she got angry, it usually followed with them not speaking for days, and that he hated.

“Ok..." Steve says awkwardly, making Daniela look back to him, "look, Velikov, if we need you, you'll go. Just for now, focus on training the kid.”

“Can do,” she answers.

Tony rolls his eyes and turns to Peter, "Parker," Peter’s brows go up at the sound of his name, "you're gonna be with me today. You’ll start training with Daniela tomorrow morning.”

His face lit up into a big grin causing everyone else to let out a small chuckle, “Okay!"

"Velikov," Daniela looks from Peter to Steve and raises a brow, “you’ll do drills today.”

“Alright," she crosses her arms and leans back in her chair.

“With a slight change,” Steve grins and Daniela raises an eyebrow, "I think it's time you and Buck start training together again. You're getting a little rusty and he can help you better than I can.”

She raises a hand and points her index finger to the sky, “Um, formal protest.”

"Denied," Bucky says from across the table.

Without looking at him, she retorts, "Wasn't talking to you.”

Steve shakes his head, "He's still your superior, Velikov,” he puts both hands on the table, leaning in, and focusing on her, "we've talked about this. I don't need this from you.”

She puts her hand down and grits her teeth, “Yes, sir.”

"Alright then,” Steve stands back up and looks over the group, "nice talk everyone.”

Daniela wrinkles her nose in frustration as she stands up and turns to Peter, "I'll see you later, Parker,” she rests her hand on his shoulder, “be good to Tony, ok?”

He smiles and sets his hand over hers, ”I have to, Dani,” he chuckles and walks out the door, following Tony.

It's just Bucky and Daniela left in the room now, Bucky is the first to speak, "Alright, Velikov," she looks over and meets Bucky's gaze from across the table, "what's stuck up your ass today?”

Her eyebrows go up at his sudden forwardness, “Pardon?”

"You can't bullshit me," he walks around the table and stands in front of her, "something's going on in that pretty little head of yours. What is it?”

She chuckles slightly to hid the butterflies in her stomach, “Not sure I wanna talk about it right now,” she fixes her shirt, "can we just go and get this over with?”

[ohlooh]

So I wrote the fist chapter of my fanfic and I would really love some constructive criticism? It's a DC/Marvel crossover that focuses on Spider-man and Batfam. Basicaly Peter ends up in the body of a clone of Nightwing.

Chapter 1: Parker luck is a multiversal constant 

Peter was now certain, he must have royally pissed off some kind of vengeful deity at some point, this was getting absurd. 

His day started normal enough, or at least what passed as normal, when one was an illegal vigilante and double major university student. Sometimes he wondered if he bit off more than he could chew, mainly after a big case or during exams, but he loved his life, as lonely and stressful as it could be. At those times he missed being younger, back when he still had his aunt and uncle and Gwen and Henry and MJ, but he didn't let himself think about it for too long. Thankfully it seemed that today would be mostly calm.

Classes went well and he managed to stay awake for all of them, a real achievement, he didn't have money for lunch, but he made up for it with a free hotdog early on during patrol. This particular hotdog vender always gave him a dog for free, ever since he saved his cousin from the Vulture. Whoever said that crime fighting didn't have any benefits for you never tasted a free hotdog or got a childs drawing of them. Even the first few hours of patrol went well, with only petty crime. He didn't even need to call the cops for any of them. So of course good ol' Doc Ock had to go and ruin it.

In all honesty Peter didn't think Otto would show up, according to the gossip the doctor was quite ill. Peter always tried to keep up with his enemies, they were still part of his neighborhood and he protected everyone there, no matter who they were. Also knowing what the local costumed criminals were doing was just common sense for all vigilantes.According to rumors, Otto was dying, his body failing and deteriorating rapidly, his mind was sharp as ever though. 

Doc's solution was as unhinged as he is. Of course the only logical thing was to switch bodies with Spider-man. Why would The Doc Ock bother with developing a cure or medicine to manage the symptoms? That would be boring, plebeian even. No, knocking Peter out and stuffing him into a machine was clearly the best solution.

Not that knocking him out and taking jim to some sort of secret lair was unusual for Doc. In all honesty most of his villains do that at least once a mmonth. Waking up in a secret lab tied to a table and strapped to some evil looking machine also wasn't too out of the ordinary. Neither was the monologue. Really would it kill Otto to just shut up for once? 

Okay, so maybe Peter didn't pay as much attention as he should have, but in his defense, he had been a vigilante for more than a decade, he had been kidnapped, tortured, experimented on and put into Situations™ more times than he could count. After a while all the monologues became the same. Therefore, you really couldn't blame him for not realizing the teleportation multiverse watch (better name pending) would react with the machine so badly.

The watch glitched out just as Otto fired up the machine and then Peter fell. Calling it falling wasn't accurate  but he didn't have any other words to describe it. It didn't feel like teleportation, or portal, or even flying or swinging on his webs. It was fast and slow at the same time. He was surrounded by nothing and felt the weight of entire universes pushing him down. He felt like he was dreaming, not really all the way there, while being fully conscious. It lasted an eternity and just a second. And then he opened his eyes.

[arvinsescape]

Peter Parker smut when he walks in on the reader trying on lingerie in front of the mirror and she’s a little insecure about it but he loves it and he fits behind her and tells/shows her how much he loves every piece of it and her... so yeah big praise kink and mirror sex

A/N: Firstly, thank you so much for your patience! I loved this request, i did however pair it with another in my inbox because i thought they worked well together so I do hope you enjoy💕 Also Peter and Reader are aged up to over eighteen.

Warnings: Swearing, smut (Minors do not engage), fingering, fluffy sex.

Requests are currently closed.

Being a Tony Stark’s daughter had its disadvantages and one of those was that the world was always watching you. Every move you made was caught and of course every time you put on a little weight someone had something to say about it. You were normally incredibly confident but as of late people have been commenting on the slight bit of weight you’ve gained and it’s left you feeling more insecure than it usually does.

You’d bought a new lingerie set in hopes of surprising Peter but as soon as you put it on and looked in the mirror, you didn’t get that boost of confidence you usually did. It was like you could see all the horrible things everyone’s been saying about you. You felt ugly and out of place and it made tears brim in your eyes.

You poked at your stomach and wondered if maybe you had gained too much weight. You felt a few tears slip down your cheeks as you furiously wiped them away. You wanted to get dressed again, you suddenly felt like a stranger in your own skin. Just as you were about to grab your dressing gown, Peter walked through the door and his jaw dropped when he saw you. Fuck, you couldn’t even tell if it was in a good way.

“Well hi.” Peter smirked as he regained himself, you looked stunning. He took in your teary eyes and instantly looked concerned as he made his way over to you. “What’s wrong?” He asked as he took your face into his hands, he hated to see you upset, it made his heart ache when you cried.

“Do you still find me attractive?” You asked, your insecurities getting the better of you and he furrowed his brows as he looked at you. He thought it was a ridiculous question, of course he found you attractive, he loved you more than anything. You bit your lip as you tried to look away from him but his grip on your face tightened slightly, keeping you in place so he could look you in the eyes.

“I find you the most attractive woman on the planet.” He spoke honestly, he was confused as to where this had come from, usually you were such a positive and confident person. It was rare that he would see this look of insecurity in your eyes and he was going to do everything he could to help with the feelings. “Where’s this coming from?” He asked, brows still furrowed in concern.

“I’ve gained a little weight.” You spoke quietly. Peter’s heart plummeted through the centre of the earth at your words, he loved you so much and he couldn’t understand why people refused to see you the way he did. He knew you struggled with the comments that people made, it was the consequence of being a Stark, everyone felt the need to comment on everything you did. He furrowed his brows again in thought as he turned you around so you were facing the mirror as he stood behind you.

“I don’t think you have.” He spoke honestly as he placed his chin on your shoulder and locked eyes with you through the mirror. “So what if you have, you’re still beautiful to me.” He spoke again and you smiled. He never missed an opportunity to tell you how much he loved you and your body and he always made you feel positive during your most insecure moments. He moved his hands around your waist and placed his hands on your stomach as you leant back into him.

“I love everything about you, I love your brain and the way it ticks, how smart you are. I love your hair.” He said as he moved one hand to play with the ends of your hair as you smiled, eyes still connected in the mirror. “I love your pretty face.” He said as he ran the back of his hand down your cheek. “I love your stomach, makes a very nice pillow for my head.” He grinned as you returned it, rubbing both his hands over your stomach as he pulled you closer to him. “Baby I could go on forever, I love everything about you, I can’t find a single flaw in you.” He said as he kissed your cheek.

“And I really really love this on you.” He said as he played with the strap of your bra. “You’re absolutely fucking stunning to me.” He whispered into your ear and it restored every piece of confidence in you, it didn’t matter what the world thought because Peter Parker loved you for who you were. You were so lucky to have him, he was supportive and loving and he always made you feel special and loved even on your down days.

“I love these.” He said as he grabbed your breasts in his hands and you smiled at him again as he kissed your neck, he was yet to break your eye contact. He slowly kissed across your shoulder blade as he took the strap of your bra between his teeth and moved it across your shoulder until it fell down your arm of it’s own accord. Kissing back along your shoulders as he did the same to the other side.

He moved his hands around your back as he unclipped the bra, letting it fall to the floor. He placed his hands back on your breasts as he rolled his fingers over your nipples as you whimpered throwing your head back onto his shoulder. “Fucking perfect.” He said as he kissed up your neck and took your earlobe between his teeth as you felt yourself growing wet.

He moved one hand down to the waistband of your underwear as he played with the band of it. “Always make such pretty noises for me.” He said as you moaned. “I want you to watch how pretty you look.” He spoke into your ear again and your eyes snapped back to the mirror as you caught his eye. He moved his hand slowly into your underwear as he continued to roll your nipple, you moaned as his hand cupped your heat. “Always so wet for me, so fucking perfect the way your body responds to me.”

He pulled away completely for a second as he removed your underwear and then resumed his original position. “Such a perfect body.” He whispered into the skin of your shoulder as he collected your wetness with his finger and you couldn’t help but watch him as his eyes grew darker with lust. He moved his fingers up to your clit and rubbed slow circles into it as he whispered everything he loved about you into your shoulder as you maintained eye contact.

It was sweet, loving and hot all at the same time and you realised that you were so lucky to have someone like him, he was so in love with you and you never doubted that for a second. He continued his pace on your clit as he continued to play with your nipple, he didn’t know how he got so lucky to have found you, you were perfect in his eyes.

He sped up his movements on your clit and you felt yourself getting closer to your orgasm as you moaned. “Your face is so pretty when you come. You look so perfect.” He said as he started lightly biting along your neck and shoulder, all pulling you closer to your orgasm. “I love you so so much.” He spoke again and you felt yourself fall into oblivion as your orgasm washed over you as he whispered sweet nothings into your shoulder blade as he rubbed your clit through your high.

When you were finished he wrapped his arms around your waist again as he squeezed you close to him and kissed your cheek. “I really do love you, you know that. Please don’t pay attention to those fuckwits who don’t know you.” He spoke and you turned your face to kiss him, you loved him so much.

You slowly turned in his arms as you kissed each other feverishly, he backed you onto the bed and  the backs of your knees came into contact with the edge of the bed before you were expecting it to and you would have fallen backwards if Peter didn’t have such good reflexes to steady you in his arms. You giggled lightly as he let out a breathy laugh. You removed his shirt as you admired his toned body, he looked like something that had been carved by a God. He was perfect and he was yours.

You unbuttoned his jeans as you pushed them down his legs, followed by his boxers until he awkwardly stepped out of them causing you both to giggle. He moved you onto the bed gently as he crawled on top of you, you took his hard length into your hand and pumped it a few times as he moaned before taking over and guiding himself into you.

You both sighed in pleasure as he entered you and he moved one of his hands to stroke it down your cheek as he gazed into your eyes, god he was so in love with you. You smiled up at him as you reached up to run a hand through his hair and he closed his eyes in content, he loved it when you played with his hair, it comforted him made him feel as  safe as he made you feel.

He looked down at you asking for silent permission to move and of course, you granted it. With a slight nod he slowly removed himself from you before slowly making his way back in, pace slow and passionate. He grabbed your hand as he interlocked your fingers pinning them next to your head as you both moaned. He felt so lucky to have you and he wanted to have you for the rest of his life. He knew he was going to marry you, you’d been together for almost three years. You were the love of his life and he yours.

Every time he rolled his hips against yours his pelvis made contact with your clit causing you to moan louder and inch closer towards your second orgasm. You clenched around him as you felt yourself getting nearer and he moaned as you squeezed around him. He picked up his pace a little to chase your highs. You moved your free hand down to your clit as you rubbed it to bring yourself closer, Peter’s eyes still hadn’t left yours and it was an intense sort of pleasure, it felt so intimate and it was so full of love.

You both came together at some point as you were looking into each other’s eyes and he rode you through your orgasms as he rolled you on top of him, still inside you. “I love you baby.” He said as he stroked your hair and he meant it, he was so in love with you. “So much, I would never want anyone else. You’re my perfect little angel.” He spoke again and although, yes it was cheesy, it filled you with an enormous amount of love and confidence, a massive difference to how you felt before he walked through the door.

[amoristt]

Don't Go | Peter Parker

anon: how about a peter parker scenario where the reader is also an avenger and dies from the thanos snap instead of peter, so they turn to dust in his arms? GIMME THE ANGST PLZ

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)! it also helps motivate me!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

c/w: death ment, endgame spoilers

want to support me? heres my kofi!

-

For a brave moment, there was calmness. The distant sound of fire, the seldom silence of a raging war. The sky displays a brilliance of red, yellows, golds over the heads of what remains of Peter’s little team as he helps Tony to his feet. Mantis assists Quill, his arm slung loosely around her shoulder, and then, Peter see’s you congregate into the regrouping. You’re dirty, your outfit looking a little worse for wear. He’s seen you in better shape but at that moment all he can think about is how happy he is to see you there. Standing, breathing.

Seeing you alive.

There’s still light in your eyes when you find his gaze and smile.

Yes, in that moment, even miles away from the finish line, Peter feels his heart swell. In that moment it felt that the war had been won- that the worst of it was finally over.

He’s about to open his mouth, remark about the events having unfolded, ask a hopeful, is it over, but he’s stopped.

Mantis’s eyes unfocus. She stares into the vibrant, dangerous sky, “Something's happening.” She says suddenly.

Peter’s brows knit in confusion, but then- he feels it too. A sharp shot of electricity running down his spine that brings the hairs on his arms to a stand. His spider sense is thrust into full gear as he turns, looks for something, anything, but there is… Nothing. Nothing is happening. If anything, the world was almost too silent, trepidation making his breath halt in his throat.

In the span of a simple, yet devastating second, it all begins.

Mantis is gone. In the blink of an eye, not a single other sentence uttered than a warning. Peter stops in his tracks. Then, he see’s Drax peer down to his hands. Without saying a word, in just a few quiet moments, the man dissipates into ash. From where he once stood, there is nothing. There was no howl of agony, there were no words, there was no time to process. No pile of ash or any evidence he’d been there at all. Peter’s chest tightens. His spider sense wreaks havoc on his nerves, bringing his stomach to an unrelenting churn.

Quill, now forced to stand on his own, looks to Tony. His team gone right before his eyes.

Tony’s eyes light up in fear. “Steady, Quill,” he rushes, but it’s too late.

“Oh man…” Quill knows it's over. And he, just as his friends, fades into nothing. Little ashes that were once the being of Peter Quill flutter into the air before fading entirely.

Peter’s mind is racing now. This can’t be happening, how could it be happening?

“Tony,” Dr. Strange calls. “There was no other way.”

Peter can’t watch anymore. Instead, he finds you. He doesn’t need to see it to know that Dr. Strange is gone. The silence, the way you cover your mouth and shake your head fervently, whispering to yourself in denial, mind overtaken with sudden grief, with fear. He wishes he could take it all away from you. Tears are drawing in your once lit eyes.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter starts frantically, turning to Tony and ignoring that empty space that once was Dr. Strange. He’s terrified to the core, mind racing. Who would be next? Tony? Himself? You? He take’s a trembling step towards his mentor, begging for answers. His stomach is in knots. “What do we do?”

He needs something, anything. It feels like the world is ending before his very eyes.

Tony turns to answer him, but he stops. He’s stuck looking at something else, his expression falling. Peter follows his line of sight, and he’s stricken with dread.

Your hands at your chest, staring into your palms, the gentlest stream of brown dust eating away at your skin. “They’re numb,” you whisper, and Peter feels like the floor was torn out from under him. His heart sinks into the lowest pits of his stomach when you look up at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

Not you.

As you lose your footing, falling victim to the effects overtaking your body, Peter launches from his place to catch you before you could collapse onto the dirt. He follows you down, cradles you in his arms, eyes searching for anything he could do to fix it. Anything he could do to save you.

It couldn't be you.

“Peter.” You begin, and you touch his face. He swallows a lump in his throat. You appeared so fearful, and yet, at a sort of peace. Of course you knew exactly what was happening. So did he.

“You can’t,” Peter wheezes. He shakes as he keeps you in his hold. “You can’t leave me.”

He watches in anguish as your expression softens, your eyes unfocusing. Staring into the bright sky ahead of you. There’s nothing he can do to keep you here, with him. Your arms fade into nothing, infectiously spreading to your chest. He feels the weight of you lighten in his arms.

“You’re okay,” You whisper. “You’ll be okay.”

For what short time he can, Peter pulls you into his chest. He clutches you to himself like nothing else, unaccepting, unprepared. He can’t accept it- not like you had so quickly. He can’t. He doesn’t want to.

Clutched against him, he feels the shape of you in his arms, and then, all at once, you’re gone. Emptiness from where you once lay and the absence of you sends him collapsing into the dirt with nothing to keep him supported any longer. The dirt is cold, hard,. unwelcoming. He doesn't even bother to look to see if maybe, somehow, you remained. He knew better. You were gone.

Peter doesn't cry out, or wail into the nothingness or grasp at the dirt you’d faded into. Teeth sinking into his lower lip, he just shakes, he sucks in breaths that hurt his aching lungs and tightens his hands into harsh fists. There’s a touch on his shoulder but he ignores it. He’s lost in himself, lost in you. Lost in wondering so suddenly how he’s supposed to carry on without you.

He hadn't even gotten to say goodbye.

“He did it.” Nebula whispers, sorrow dripping from each word. A miserable confirmation.

Tears sting his eyes, squeezed shut, wishing it was all just a dream. Wishing he could glance up, and you’d just be there still. Why did it have to be you? All your fighting, all your work, making it to the very end side by side with him and for what? There was nothing of you left- nothing for him to remind himself that you’d even been there at all save for your goodbye, the softness of your eyes. The way you touched his face and told him he’d be okay.

“Hey,” A touch breaches his scrambled thoughts once more. Tony kneels beside him, crestfallen. “You gotta get up kid,” but Peter can’t. He doesn’t want to- not just yet. He doesn’t want to move and see that you really are gone.

The touch turns into a soft grip, a small tug. Tony tries again, a crack in his voice. “You gotta get up, Peter.”

Eyes wet, blurry with fat tears, holding the worst of his lamenting cries within the confines of his chest, he brings himself to look up. The loss of you stings him all over again. The loss of everyone stings him, fills him with desolation. Fill him with hopelessness.

They hadn’t won. They’d lost everything.

He can’t meet Tony’s gaze. The world had rolled, crashed in and folded onto everyone. All he could think about was you, the feeling of you. The hauntingness of remembering your words so rushed and the sight of you eroding into nothingness. He can’t handle it. He drops his head all over again and let’s tears soak into the dirt underneath him.

He can’t handle the thought of you gone now, and gone forever. All your plans, desolated. The thought of you never getting to see the end of the war, let alone another day. The realization that he’d never get to spend another with you.

The pure, raw, mercilessness of having you in his arms one moment, and gone the next.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

The Nightwing Suit

There are some absolutely incredible artists out here on tumblr, and seeing their fanart makes me cry tears of joy. Dick Grayson, one of my personal favs, is always a wonderful contender for fanart. His innate grace and agility and flexibility translate beautifully on the artistic spectrum. Bottom line: I love all the Nightwing fanart. However, there is something I want to address with his suit. I’ve been an aerialist ever since I was 7 years old, and I’ve taken gymnastics since I was 3. Now, I specialize in Lyra, while Dick obviously specializes in Trapeze, but when it comes to costume, we’ve got many very important similarities.

DON’TS

When it comes to aerial, we want as much mobility and flexibility as possible. So here are some things that absolutely will not be on his suit.

1. Shoulder Pads. I will scream it from the rooftops if I have to. The Nightwing suit WILL NOT have shoulder pads!! Red Hood? Definitely. Red Robin? Those shoulder pads are important for bo staff strength and support. Robin? Damian probably doesn’t need them, but they won’t hurt. Nightwing? No way. To me, one of the most important parts of my body when practicing and performing are my shoulders. They pull me into hangs and holds, let me rotate myself around, and basically support the rest of my body. This is partially due to user preference: I prefer arm-based stunts and hangs rather than leg based. But it honestly doesn’t matter that much. Nightwing will absolutely need 100% use of his shoulders. Him being able to freely rotate them can be the difference between life and death with his style of fighting. Shoulder pads will just hamper that flexibility. I will admit that shoulder pads look badass, but in this one hero’s scenario? Shouldr pads are a no-go.

2. Sleek Arm Braces. Nightwing, while being well recognized as a solo hero, does often work with a team. And on a team, he isn’t the type to huff angrily and say he can do this by himself. Emotionally? Yes, of course. Physically, and in a fight? He takes all the help he can get, with absolutely no would to his pride. When performing his flips and tricks and such, the other partner will grab hold of him by usually his hands or his arms. I’m just going to straight up say: catching someone by their hands is a Bad Idea. You will not believe the speed we travel when we go through the air, and catching by the hands will lead to dislocations and pain. For a few stunts it’s okay, mainly for the visual aspect of a performance. But when it’s life and death combat? Hands are a last ditch effort if you can’t catch someone by the arms. Because that’s what really counts. The forearms. When Dick is fighting with someone, and that other person has the strength to catch him/throw him from a drop or a flip, they will catch him by the forearms. If Dick’s wearing sleek ‘n sexy arm braces, he’s going to slip right out of their grip. I prefer to keep my forearms bare, but in regards to protective armor, the fabric around the arms better have a grip.

3. Extra Fabric. This one is a given. However, I want to get into the specifics. When you’re in the air, momentum is your most powerful ally, and if there’s anything opposing or hindering that momentum, that spells trouble. Extra fabric can sometimes be good, such as around the legs. Not too much, obviously, but wearing loose or baggy pants while fighting with Nightwing’s fighting style works (as long as you can, you know, actually fight in them and not trip over the extra cloth). Around the middle? Nuh-uh, nope. Anything looping around your waist, hips, or rib cage is a liability if it’s not skin tight. The belt that Robin often wears is okay, as long as it’s wrapped pretty tight around him and doesn’t move. For the kind of stunts that Dick pulls off on a daily basis? I don’t think anything but a skintight bodysuit will help. For arms, extra fabric is ~okay~ but not preferable. And anything strapped to his back, as long as it’s securely in place, will actually help his momentum (so his escrima sticks or any other weapon/item you want to put in there is fine). Nothing around the neck, at ALL. That one issue in Batman where Dick wears a scarf is hot as hell, and sort of makes sense because they’re in the desert. But on missions, at the speed Nightwing fights and flies through the air, anything around his neck will choke him. This entire section definitely wasn’t an excuse to say you should just keep Dick in a skintight outfit, nope, not at all.

4. Spandex. While we’re on the subject of skintight outfits, I just want to point something out that isn’t necessarily important or anything. It’s just a general preference for me. I prefer costumes with a little weight on them. The adrenaline rush is intense for some of my more advanced stunts, and those are things that I bet Dick would consider basic. I prefer something with a little substance/weight/texture to it. Nothing too serious, and nothing too restricting, just something to keep me grounded and focused. We all know how much Dick likes being in the air, but I’m willing to bet he also needs a little extra touch to keep his head in the game. So if you’re designing a serious Nightwing suit, not for crack or fun headcanons or anything, I would steer clear from the spandex, gauze, and showy-light-gossamer fabrics. They do provide extra mobility and flexibility, but that’s because they’re one drop away from naked.

5. Joints. Okay this may seem a little contradictory based on the last point, but around the joints, especially hips and shoulders, the protective padding needs to ease up. It’s one of the hardest areas on the body to injure, after all, even for a professional. And second, I know I’m sounding like I’m repeating the obvious, but flexibility is of utmost importance. If the fabric doesn’t bend with Nightwing, then there’s no point. It can’t chafe, it can’t grind against itself, it can’t break. The material around major joints needs to be malleable.

Dos

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s talk about what you can absolutely add to Nightwing’s costume to give it either a little pizzazz, or just your own personal touch.

1. Boots. Yes yes yes, boots are an absolute must! And it’s not just me thinking thigh-high boots are cool. Coming out of a big drop and other major stunts requires rolling on your back and then onto your feet. But Nightwing doesn’t fight with the one-hit-and-done style. (That’s more Jason’s thing. He plants himself like a tree and puts power behind a punch, kinda like Bruce, which is why boots-especially boot soles- are important for them.) Nightwing gets in a punch and flips away, then bounces back and gets in a kick and flips away, then bounces back and gets in another kick and flips away. You see where I’m going with this. Dick is constantly on the move, constantly on the verge of flipping back. The main way he does this is with his feet: landing lightly on the balls of his feet to absorb momentum before using that to hit back. Boots with fricion-specific soles are important, he cannot slide or skid. Also, ones that go higher up aren’t bad either: extra support is always welcome. As long as they don’t cover his knees and allow for ankle flexibility, they’re good to go. They may even help stop ankle dislocation. Anything you want to add to the boots? Go ahead. As long as it’s not gauzy ribbon or something too extra, or something that can easily get caught in something else, it’s good to go. In my performances, I like to cover my shins with something, it can range from simple high socks or performance boots to go with my costume. I particularly like Damian’s long lace up boots, especially in Super Sons. It’s a cute outfit, and it won’t hinder his fighting at all. As long as Dick double knots, he can wear those, and any other variants of boots.

2. Gloves. I’m not actually sure if Dick has ever been called “Fingerstripes” in canon, but I’ve seen it in fanon plenty of times. Regardless, it’s one of my favorite nicknames for him, and it does have a basis. The stripes on his gloves are an awesome artistic choice, and useful too. Assuming they have a different texture than the rest of his gloves, those fingerstripes could help with grip. Grip is one of the most important tools an aerialist can have. I have had grown men look at me with shock when they shake my hand because of my firm grip (and the calluses, ugh). I firmly believe that Dick Grayson has one of the strongest grips in the DC non-meta world, and I bet you he surpasses even a good amount of metas. Having a good, no-slip grip is essential, even if you’re just swinging from the surface for a second, or if the surface is another partner’s hand. Gloves, once again as long as they’re not too restricting, would be awesome with helping with that.

3. Wrist Braces. I said before that Dick can’t have arm braces because of the whole partner-grip thing. But with the amount of force and pressure Dick exerts on his hands on a daily basis, dislocations and sprains should be as common as a bruise. Hell, I’m sitting here typing this and my left wrist is sprained. Fanfic writers, here’s a helpful tip: you can write Dick with a sprained or dislocated or just a plain sore wrist anytime at all, and having him rub his hands with a grimace, rubbing lotion onto them, or doing wrist exercises in his free time is a go-to for if you need anything filler. Or, you know, it could even be part of the plot. Wrist braces help with this, they keep the joints in place and add a little extra stability to his movements. As long as they’re not interfering with wrist mobility, wrist braces are a very very good idea. When you think how long, think about the length of Peter Parker’s handmade web shooters. Long enough to be there, but not immediately noticeable. Also, make sure the material is something cloth, wrap, or gauze based. Anything too hard could scrape against the skin, cause cuts and bruises, and even cut off circulation. Unless it’s armor, it’s not comfortable or easy to do aerial maneuvers with.

4. Back Harness. To be honest, I have no idea what the official name for this piece of equipment even is. But the thing that holds Nightwing’s escrima sticks to his back. The thing that holds Deadpool’s katanas (in the movies, not the comics). The back-strap-harness thingy. That’s a go-for-it when it comes to costumes. Not only does it look badass and hot when it’s on your costume and you draw your weapons from it seamlessly like a boss, it’s practical and doesn’t interfere with your fighting at all. As I said, a majority of Nightwing’s moves rely on momentum. The back harness thingy won’t harm that at all. As long as it’s strapped to your back, unmoving and steady, it stays out of the way and may actually help you with your momentum. Drawing weapons from it is easy and seamless, and one of the quickest moves you can perfect, aside from drawing your weapon from thigh/calf holsters. But as I said before, Dick would probably stick to the back because, once again, momentum.

Okay this got much longer than I thought it would. But regardless, I hope this helps if you’re ever drawing or writing about the Nightwing suit and need specifics. Or hell, if you’re a cosplayer and need some information on how to make an accurate costume, here you go. Now I need to take a breather and chill, because while I considered myself a pretty recreational comic reader and not much of an analyzer, I had no idea how much I picked up about Dick’s individual fighting style and how that fits in with my own aerial experiences.

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Let Me Get Close To You

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: This is my fic for my @starkerfestivals summer BINGO “wrong number” square. I sat down to write this a couple of days ago & just couldn’t stop - I hope you guys enjoy the cute little verse I created (that I’ll more than likely revisit soon!!). Here’s my bingo card  - if you see something on there you might want written, shoot me a message!!!  Word Count: 7K Warnings: There’s a tiny bit of smut in here, but it’s me writing, so when is that not the case? Summary: 

Stuck with the worst professor for Nuclear Science, Peter tries to vent his frustrations to Ned - only to send a desperate text message to Tony Stark, instead. When an immediate spark and so many things in common make it easy for Peter to fall further for the elegant genius, what’s the worst that could really happen? 

Or: the one where Peter texts the wrong number & romance ensues.

Read on AO3 here. 

---- 

Fuming from a frustrating Nuclear Science class, Peter maturely stomped his way out of the engineering building. They were only two weeks into the semester and the old man already had Peter on edge. His major revolved around the class and his ability to get the most out of the information. The dinosaur that stood at the front of the lecture hall every day hadn’t had an original thought since the 90s and refused to see when others did. Much like every old white man, Dr. Milner’s ideas were the be all end all of a science that changed by the millisecond.

Still pretty new to campus after a late sophomore year transfer, Peter didn’t have many people to turn to that weren’t his nerdy and standoffish teammates on the Academic Decathlon team – most of those guys lived in a world a couple steps from the norm, happily keeping to themselves. Though Peter existed there eighty percent of the time, his need to be social and fill a space in the real world made it impossible to commit to that sort of isolation fully. Straddling the line made it difficult to exist on either side – Peter’s favorite pieces of himself were what kept people away, no matter the lifestyle.

With his mind so heavy with all sorts of negativity, Peter suddenly found himself homesick; he spent so much of his life trying to escape the streets of New York – so far from home now, Peter missed them desperately. Thinking about his tangible connection to his favorite urban wasteland, Peter pulled his phone out and hastily typed in Ned’s new number.

Peter Parker [1:23PM]: Hi, I hate it here. Peter Parker [1:24PM]: Dr. Milner is out to get free thinkers. I may not survive the next fourteen weeks.

Peter already felt a little better after typing the words – the mere ability to get one of his many worries off his chest did wonders. Until his phone pinged with a new text message notification, of course.

Nimble fingers pulled the phone from his pocket, his eyes carelessly looking over the screen as it unlocked. Expecting to see Ned’s name there, Peter almost threw the phone to the ground when Siri’s suggestion registered.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:26PM]: Hi stranger! I think this was meant for someone else, but I too think Dr. Milner is out to squash any new idea that doesn’t fit the mold. In his forty-year career, he hasn’t changed a bit.

Another text message was below it, but Peter forced himself to stop reading – his heart felt like it might beat out of his chest already, too much excitement at once couldn’t be good. Out of all the numbers he could’ve accidentally typed, Tony Stark, New York’s genius and resident beauty, Peter’s secret (though not so much) crush, ended up on the other side of the line. The unbelievability of the idea made Peter consider a well thought out prank. Then again, how did any of his fellow classmates know Tony Stark’s personal number?

Sucking in a deep breath, Peter made himself look at the second text message waiting unread.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:27PM]: I’m not sure how you got this number, but I sincerely hope you make it out alive. If you’re in Milner’s class, you’re on the Nuclear track, which means you must be smart. Trust me, the world needs your future contributions, whatever they might be.

Peter gripped the phone a little harder after reading through the second message over and over again. He let his eyes take in each of the words, wondering, if it really was Tony Stark, how anyone ever survived talking to him. In so few sentences, Peter already felt discombobulated, both more confident and turned around than just seconds before. Aside from his infatuation with the man, Peter understood Tony Stark’s contributions to the technology community and the world at large more than most.

It took him a few minutes to convince himself to text back – every time he tried to type something, his fingers froze just centimeters above the screen. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many questions he wanted to ask to make sure he wasn’t getting catfished. Instead, Peter took the direct route, his courage obviously all or nothing in the face of something as big as an accidental interaction with Tony Stark.

Peter Parker [1:35PM]: Holy crap – excuse me for the bluntness, but is this really Tony Stark? Siri doesn’t often get things wrong, especially since I souped her up. But I’m sure you can understand the apprehension. Peter Parker [1:37PM]: Would you be up for answering a few questions just to make sure?

The tip of his finger tapped against the screen impatiently after he hit the send button, his nerves and the not-so-subtle excitement were barely contained under the surface of his skin. He couldn’t remember a time where feeling alive was so prominent.

A smile slipped across his lips when, a moment later, three consecutive texts vibrated Peter’s phone in succession.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:40PM]: You souped up Siri? Steve Jobs is probably turning over in his grave right now. Maybe – Tony Stark [1:41PM]: I think I’m the one that should be asking the questions, don’t you think? How did you even get this number, Peter Parker? It’s a private line. Maybe – Tony Stark [1:42PM]: I am, though – Tony Stark, I mean.

Peter Parker [1:45PM]: Reconfiguring tech is kind of my thing. I used to dumpster dive in high school – you’d be surprised by the cool pieces of technology people put in their trash. Peter Parker [1:46PM]: Oh, bringing out the big guns – I’m happy to see Siri without my latest addition works for others, too. Peter Parker [1:47PM]: It was an accident, sending those first texts to you. My friend in New York just started a new job that came with a paid phone. I still haven’t saved the number. You are one off from him. Peter Parker [1:48PM]: Alright, Tony Stark. Tell me what campus I’m on.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:53PM]: I’m not surprised by anything human beings do, especially in New York City. Throwing out a perfectly good iPod is certainly not the weirdest thing I’ve heard of. Did you make anything interesting in your trash conversion adventures? Maybe – Tony Stark [1:54PM]: You talk a big game, Mr. Parker. Can you walk the walk, too? Maybe – Tony Stark [1:55PM]: He must be on my payroll, then. The bank of numbers my employees have come from my personal network. Maybe – Tony Stark [1:57PM]: That’s an easy one. You’re at MIT – Milner was there when I was a student. The only thing that’s probably different between then and now is the amount of hair the old bag has.

Peter Parker [2:01PM]: You’re not wrong, Mr. Stark. I made things that helped me be self-sufficient. I grew up really poor and couldn’t afford the things everyone else had – so I figured out how all the tech worked and made my own. I’ve been using a ten-year-old iPhone for ages. Peter Parker [2:03PM]: You bet. Are you challenging me? Peter Parker [2:04PM]: He is, actually. He started in an entry level position two weeks ago. Peter Parker [2:06PM]: It’s gross, isn’t it? I’m glad we’ve moved past projectors in the classroom – the hair on his hand would make for a distracting shadow. Peter Parker [2:07PM]: Okay, okay. I think I’m convinced. One more test, though – send me a picture.

Maybe – Tony Stark [2:14PM]: Oh boy, none of that Mr. Stark shit. As far as you’re concerned, I’m Tony. Only Tony. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:15PM]: You made your own. That’s – impressive. I’m impressed and more than a little curious. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:17PM]: Challenging you, no. Enticing you, yes. I’m visiting Cambridge to do a guest lecture series next week. Come see what Stark Industries is up to – I’d love to hear what you think. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:18PM]: It was as bad as you think. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:20PM]: Okay, Peter Parker. [IMAGE ATTACHED]

A gasp of shock left Peter’s mouth when he opened the last text to find a smirking Tony Stark looking right at him. To prove the time and date, Tony held up the New York Times, his free hand pointing to the headline Peter read on his phone earlier that morning. After the shock of actually talking to Tony Stark wore off, Peter let himself take in the picture and all of its details.

Tony’s desk was largely visible in the shot – pens and stacks of paper littered the surface, a few rogue pieces of tech ready to be fiddled with acted as paper weights and grungy aesthetic. The man himself was breath taking – his glasses were a deep violet, offset beautifully by the crisp white shirt and black waistcoat covering Tony’s upper body. A light purple tie was loosely knotted at his throat, as if he fiddled with it while working just to keep his hands busy.

Without much thought, Peter saved the photo and added Tony to his contacts before replying – there was no reason not to trust the man, the spark in his shiny hazel eyes seemed to genuine and real to even question.

Peter Parker [2:25PM]: Only Tony, got it. Peter Parker [2:26PM]: Curiosity is good – keeps you fresh and on your toes. Peter Parker [2:27PM]: Oh, I see. You want a chance to impress me. I like that. Not sure what my opinion is going to do for you, but I’ll be happy to share it. Peter Parker [2:29PM]: Gross. Peter Parker [2:30PM]: I’m – you’re… Wow. You really are Tony Stark.

Tony Stark [2:37PM]: I think you’ll have no problems keeping me on my toes, Peter. Tony Stark [2:38PM]: I have a feeling your opinion is one that I’ll be very interested in. You’ve been nothing but blunt this entire conversation, I know I’m getting the real deal stuff. Tony Stark [2:40PM]: I am. I really am Tony Stark. Tony Stark [2:41PM]: It’s your turn, Peter Parker. What face belongs to that beautiful brain of yours?

Forcing himself to breath, Peter looked around the room for the best spot to return the favor. The bed was a hard no, he didn’t want to send the wrong vibe to a person who could easily have whomever they wanted. His desk was small, but meticulously organized – his study materials open and ready for a night of reviewing the only thing obscuring the surface. It was obvious Tony appreciated his brain, it seemed pertinent to take advantage.

After a few attempts, Peter found the perfect angle to catch the light in his eyes, making them shine brightly in the camera. He thanked the clothing gods that he chose a well fitted three-button Henley in his haste to get out the door that morning. The feeling of satisfaction was new, but not unwelcome – he wanted to send Tony the photo; for once, he knew it would impress.

Peter Parker [2:55PM]: Keeping implies longevity. Are you planning on sticking around? Peter Parker [2:56PM]: My brain to mouth filter runs at less than 10% at all times. It has brought me more trouble than shutting up ever would. Peter Parker [2:27PM]: You’re gorgeous. Violet is a nice color on you. Peter Parker [2:29PM]: What do you think? [IMAGE ATTACHED]

Tony Stark [ 2:37PM]: Yes. I think that’s the answer to that question. You’ve presented a puzzle I want to solve. Tony Stark [2:38PM]: Shutting up never got anyone anywhere. The noise we create is what shapes us. Tony Stark [2:40PM]: Thank you – I have a lot of it in my wardrobe. Tony Stark [2:44PM]: & you called me gorgeous; Peter Parker, you’re a stunner.

Peter Parker [2:51PM]: You’re a scientist, you do that for a living. What makes me so different? Peter Parker [2:52PM]: That’s a refreshing opinion. I like the way you think, Only Tony. Peter Parker [2:54PM]: That honestly doesn’t surprise me. Peter Parker [2:55PM]: Do you tell the person who made you blush that you’re blushing? I don’t remember that standard operating procedure.

Tony Stark [3:01PM]: My intrigue is of a personal nature only – the puzzle you pose is of a different sort. Usually, I think and think and think until I solve whatever the problem is. With you, I want to gather all the clues and take it apart piece by piece. Tony Stark [3:02PM]: That’s a little heavy for only knowing each other a couple of hours, but when you know, you know. Tony Stark [3:03PM]: Not usually, but I have a feeling you’re an exception to a lot of things, Peter Parker.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, Peter continued to exchange flirty text messages back and forth with Tony – the mood stayed open and easy as the time passed. The older man helped Peter get through Nuclear Dynamics and three hours of decathlon practice. For all the brains Tony had, Peter was surprised to find humor and a bit of insecurity, too. Tony let himself go on tangents and make dad jokes that were a step away from being obscene.

That trend continued for the rest of the week and well into the weekend. By the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, Peter knew Tony’s schedule, half the newest late-night discoveries, and the way Mr. Sweet Tooth took his sugary coffee. Though a line of attraction and want existed, Peter was happy to know Tony as a person without the ability to act on the obvious tension between them. And while he appreciated the wholistic way they were coming to know each other, Peter couldn’t wait to see Tony throughout the week, either.

The older man seemed to share his sentiment – the shrill notification of a text message received pulled Peter out of his thoughts.

Tony Stark [7:30PM]: Hey, Pete! I present at 5:30 tomorrow afternoon. Want to grab something to eat afterwards? Tony Stark [7:31PM]: I’m impatient to get back to Hogan’s and thought you might appreciate his culinary prowess.

Peter Parker [7:35PM]: Tony – this is the fourth time you’ve reminded me about your presentation. I’ll be there. For dinner, too. Peter Parker [7:36PM]: Culinary prowess; if it merits that title, I’m sure it’ll be worth it.

Tony Stark [7:42PM]: I know – I just get some performance anxiety. It helps to remind myself that you’re going to be there. Tony Stark [7:43PM]: It is. Hap is an old friend of mine. He left MIT to go make his restaurant dreams happen and has been stupidly happy ever since.

Peter Parker [7:47PM]: I get it – I’ll gladly be your security blanket, Tony. Peter Parker [7:48PM]: Something tells me there’s more to that story, but I’m sure you’ll tell me one day. I’m excited to try it. Should I look up the menu beforehand, or let it be a surprise?

Tony Stark [7:55PM]: I like the sound of that. I’ve pictured having you in my arms often. Tony Stark [7:57PM]: There’s always more to the story, Pete. Let it be a surprise! In fact, I’ll order for you to make sure you get the whole newbie experience.

Peter Parker [8:05PM]: I’ll boldly say you can have me in your arms as often as you like. Peter Parker [8:06PM]: The newbie experience – there hasn’t been a time in my life where that’s been a good thing. Peter Parker [8:07PM]: Yet. Surprisingly – I trust you.

The next day went by quickly – Peter took a quiz in Nuclear Science and dug into his other two classes to keep his mind focused on anything other than Tony’s imminent presence. His last class was a core history class, so he gladly tucked into the reading the professor let them loose to do. The chime of his alarm broke through Peter’s fog a couple pages from the end of his assignment. Though he liked to be ahead, Peter gladly took the extra few minutes to get himself together before heading to MIT’s presentation hall.

Decked out in his finest pair of black jeans, a blue denim short-sleeve button down, and solid black high-top Converse on his feet, Peter walked the few minutes it took to get back onto campus from his small apartment. Unsurprisingly, a line was formed out the door of students hoping to get into the presentation last minute. Tony told him earlier in the week that they waited to advertise his appearance until the a few hours before to stop the masses from flocking. To Peter, the time restriction seemed to only make it worse.

In Tony’s excitement to have Peter there, the older man set aside a ticket for him – instead of joining the line like he might’ve without Tony’s insistence, Peter walked straight into the cool auditorium, snagging a seat at the end of a row located dead center in the auditorium. The vantage point was perfect – Peter wouldn’t have any trouble catching Tony’s eye as he spoke. Grinning at his access to such a simple pleasure, Peter relaxed back into the seat, passing the time until Tony took the stage by watching the crowd flood in around him.

It wasn’t long before the lights were dimming and a sweaty, high ranking alumnus gave Tony Stark a mediocre welcome onto the stage. The crowd broke out into a cheer that more than made up for the old man’s subpar words. Tony timed his entrance perfectly; he walked out as the energy rose, the shift in the crowd’s tension working to enhance everyone’s excitement. Peter found himself glued to the man, who until that moment, existed entirely on the other side of the phone – he didn’t want to miss a single second of full-body absorption.

A black suit coat sat snuggly on Tony’s shoulders, a singular button keeping the sides closed. His dark hair was elegantly styled, the bed-head look enhancing the easy-going style Peter knew Tony strived for. The facial hair Peter came to truly appreciate over the last few days of texting drew attention to his sharp cheekbones. Tony seemed genuinely happy to be there if the beaming smile on his face said anything at all. With a few claps and the corniest joke, the older man got the crowd under control, proceeding onto his speech with an effortless transition.

As expected, Peter found himself interested from the very beginning. Tony’s new work on energy and its uses amongst transportation and city overhaul was ingenious – when things got up and running, New York’s power grid would run completely on sustainable energy. So many thoughts flashed across the front of Peter’s mind – he wondered if Tony would let him take a look at the blueprints. He might not have much to contribute, yet Peter understood the opportunity for learning and development when it presented itself.

By the end of Tony’s presentation, Peter was overjoyed to know that he wouldn’t need to feign interest in the topics Tony brought to the table. For a while, Stark Industries went through a slump of working on weapons and junky tech Peter found in the trash more often than he ever wanted to admit. It felt good to be excited about something new coming from the company – Tony Stark was the smartest person in his field, anything less than almost perfect just didn’t do the man and his ideas justice.

After fielding a lot more questions than Peter expected, Tony headed off the stage with a roar of applause – the genius wasn’t a household name for nothing. Smiling at the thought, Peter pulled his phone out; he got to see behind the curtain more than others – he felt a sudden surge of gratefulness at the fact. Every person around him would do anything for the privilege; taking that for granted just wouldn’t do.

Peter Parker [6:45PM]: You’re an incredible public speaker, Tony. Peter Parker [6:46PM]: Thanks for making me come!

Tony Stark [6:49PM]: How inappropriate of me is it to say that this isn’t the only time I plan to make you come?

Peter Parker [6:55PM]: Very, but it’s appreciated, nonetheless. I’ll meet you over by the Engineering building whenever you’re done trying to outrun your fans.

Tony Stark [7:00PM]: You’re fucking hilarious. I’ll meet you there in five.

True to his word, Tony snuck up behind Peter a few minutes later – soft palms that gave way to well-earned callouses pressed against Peter’s cheeks as Tony covered his eyes. The mere fact that Tony was there at all was surprise enough; the touches and softly whispered “Hello, Pete,” in his ear felt like more than enough to cause a coronary.

Shaking his head to clear it, Peter turned in Tony’s arms, a huge grin playing across his lips. With the way they were standing now, Peter’s chest was pressed delightfully against Tony’s – he felt each and every one of Tony’s inhales of oxygen and exhales of carbon dioxide that brought Peter’s attention to the firm muscles pressing and pulling the man’s abdomen. His breath caught when Tony palmed his cheek, their mouths mere inches apart. Despite not actually knowing each other, Peter felt comfortable in Tony’s embrace.

“Hey, Tony,” Peter finally replied after allowing his breath to mingle with Tony’s. As they stood there pressed together, neither could decipher where one started and the other began. The thought made his grin grow a little wider, the courage inside of him pulsing a little more boldly with life. “You were amazing up there.”

Tony remained perfectly still; his limbs seemingly frozen in a clench to keep Peter close to him. His grip was firm, both the hand on Peter’s hip and his late day stubbled cheek. Like the man himself, Tony’s touch left something behind that kept Peter on the hook, always seeking more. He half expected for Tony to lean in and slot their lips together – his deepest desires and tangible wants were starting to collide in such close proximity.

Instead, Peter’s smile was returned with quirked cheeks and bright hazel eyes. “You weren’t too bored?” Tony asked, his voice soft in the small space between them. His thumb swiped constantly across Peter’s cheek, the obvious need to move apparent, even in such an intimate situation.

Chuckling lightly, Peter shook his head. “So far from bored. My thesis research is all about sustainable energy – you had me interested from the very beginning,” Peter replied almost immediately, not caring that his excitement clearly shone through in the pitch of his voice. The way he was leaning into Tony’s touch, Peter didn’t have much of a chance to disguise his truth, anyway.

“You’re so much smarter than you give yourself credit for – I can tell already.” Tony’s words were mumbled almost as if the older man was embarrassed to say them – to hand out such a compliment to someone other than himself. And yet – Tony’s hesitation made the statement mean so much more; the rarity of such kind words (despite being spoken so softly) did nothing but make Peter want to melt into Tony even further.

Before things could get too mushy or physical, Peter took a large step out of Tony’s arms – begrudgingly, the need for space was prominent if they ever wanted the night to continue. Never mind the fact that paparazzi were constantly hounding and following Tony wherever the man went. Though he was deemed an appropriate companion at the time, Peter was more than sure the public would not agree.

With that thought in mind, Peter shot Tony a shy smile – “I’m pretty famished. Want to show me what Hogan’s is all about?”

They spent the ten-minute walk talking about the presentation – Tony grilled Peter about a few of the technical parts, while Peter drooled a little bit over the projected uses of Tony’s new energy storage and production. Like two nerdy peas in a pod, neither could help themselves – geeking out and talking about something they were both interested in made the rest of the world melt away. Peter might’ve kept on his tangent if it weren’t for a tall, thickly built man clearing his throat.

Looking up at the noise, Peter realized they’d walked a few blocks already and were standing in the lobby of a well-maintained hole in the wall that radiated the most delicious smells. Grease and cheese and freshly dropped French fries hit his senses all at once – there was no doubt that whatever they were about to consume would be more than delicious.

Peter was seconds away from wiping drool from his chin when Tony broke out into action. He took the couple of steps between their current position and the hostess stand to wrap who could only be Happy in a firm, breathtaking hug. “Happy, my man. It’s so good to see you,” Tony exclaimed as he stepped away, an adorable look in his eyes. “I’ve been talking this place up to Peter here, thought I’d cash in on your good will.”

Suddenly, all eyes were on Peter – Tony looked at him like something he couldn’t wait to deconstruct, while Happy tilted his head curiously, as if the one glance would tell him all he needed to know about Peter Parker. Unwillingly to stand there like an animal on display, Peter broke through the weird with a soft laugh and a light wave.

“Nice to meet you, Happy. Tony’s been selling me on your food for days now. I can’t wait to try it,” Peter said, his shoulders rolling back to help him stand a little taller. Though he had nothing to prove to the total stranger in front of him, Peter couldn’t help but want to make a good impression – Happy obviously meant something to Tony; their comradery and easy affection said that without much effort.

There was a moment where all three guys seemed to look between each other – Peter watched with bated breath as Tony and Happy carried on a silent conversation with just a few blinks and forehead crinkles. By the time Peter understood what was happening, Happy stepped a little closer to him, his big hand reaching out for what could only be a handshake. Without hesitating, Peter took it – for whatever reason, the handshake felt monumental; like with the one touch, he beat the level boss and gained access to the next one.

“Good to meet you, too. Tony’s good about that sort of advertisement – we probably wouldn’t have made it without his ugly mug around at the beginning,” Happy replied. “You guys know what you want? I’ll get it on the grill personally.”

At that point, Tony stepped back into the spotlight and grabbed the reins – he ordered everything at rapid fire speed, like the menu existed as a hard copy in Tony’s mind. Considering the warmth of the older man’s welcome and Happy’s cryptic words, Peter didn’t doubt that Tony was a regular – more than likely a founding customer, even.

It took no time at all for their food to come out to the small table in the corner Tony led him to. The tray was piled with an abundance of food – cheese steaks, fries, burgers, even a couple of desserts littered the table as Tony unpacked their haul. Peter’s eyes were wide, his mouth watering with a want that only Zap’s Bodega could illicit before. “This – it all looks amazing,” Peter babbled, his stomach both hungry and overwhelmed by everything in front of him.

“Just wait until you taste it. Happy used to crank out these cheesesteaks on the little hot plate we had in our dorm room. They were excellent, but the addition of the flattop has made them unbeatable.”

Unable to decide what smelled the best, Peter grabbed whatever was nearest to him. His fingers wrapped around the greasy paper of the aforementioned cheesesteak, his mouth watering even more. “So, you and Happy were roommates at MIT?” Peter asked around a large bite, the food in his mouth muffling some of the words. It really was good – worth looking like a pig in front of the most beautiful man alive.

“Hap and I go way back. His father worked security at Stark Industries – he was on my dad’s personal protection team for most of my life. When Happy’s mom died and the need for babysitting became a thing, Happy started to spend the evenings with me after school. In a lot of ways, he’s the only family I’ve ever had. When he first opened up this place, I was young and just looking for some investment that would piss my dad off. I knew Happy had talent, but neither of us thought this place would blow up the way it did.” Tony looked up then, a vulnerability in his eyes. “We’ve been in business together ever since.”

Smiling encouragingly, Peter nodded in Tony’s direction – their closeness, Tony’s unwavering advertisement and protectiveness, even some of the food names he could see on the menu; it all made sense. After taking another bite of the cheesesteak, Peter chewed slowly before responding. “There’s always more to the story, right?” he questioned cheekily. “It sounds like your gamble worked out for you – I didn’t look at the menu, but I did Google Hogan’s; there’s ten locations within a 300-mile radius.”

A snort had Peter looking up, his eyebrows quirked. “I should’ve known,” Tony said through a laugh. “Your generation is all about instant gratification.”

Their eyes locked then, Tony’s words and their meaning sitting in the space between them. Peter forced himself not to blink – he wanted to memorize the rich hazel color that barely ringed a growing pupil. Hunger and want and something unrecognizable existed in Tony’s glance; when it was all over and Tony moved on, Peter desperately wanted to remember the genuine rawness he drew out of one of the world’s greatest minds.

“Or just impatience,” Peter countered. He drew his eyes away, needing to break the glance to stop himself from propelling himself across the table and tackle Tony to the ground. Though it looked as if Happy kept the place spick and span, Peter didn’t want to think about Tony’s expensive suit on any other floor aside from his own.

They attempted to pull the small talk back to something a little tamer, but the road of the rest of the evening had already been paved. It became harder to focus on anything other than the thick press of Tony’s thigh against his own under the table. As the minutes passed, Peter noticed Tony staring, and after a while, the older man just never stopped. Every time he looked up, Peter caught hazel eyes taking him in – undressing him button by button with the sheer want in his eyes. A red blush took up permanent residence on Peter’s cheeks and neck, the color following him out of the restaurant and out onto the street where Tony took his hand without hesitation.

Before his mom passed away, Peter remembered a softly mumbled conversation laying across both his parents early, early in the morning. His dad’s big fingers were wrapped so neatly around his mother’s, the embrace tight, despite the hour. Peter reached out to touch the unbreakable seam, his eyes wide with wonder. “They fit,” Peter whispered softly, his finger running reverently over their joint fingers.

His mother pulled him close then, her lips finding that special place on his cheek. “One day, Petey, you’ll find that perfect person whose hands will fit yours just the way your father’s fit mine.”

A warmth settled in Peter’s chest as he slid his hand into Tony’s, their fingers interlacing perfectly with ease. The immaculate fit of Tony’s hand pressing against his own made him snuggle in further – whatever happened between them after this, Peter would forever know how easily he and Tony Stark fit together.

Giving Tony’s fingers a squeeze at the thought, Peter looked up, breaking the silence – “Do you want to see my apartment? I’m sure it’s not nearly as fancy as the hotel you’re staying at, but I’ve got Netflix and a really comfortable couch.”

Tony took a few long strides to answer, his face a little pensive. “I’d love to see your apartment, Pete,” Tony replied easily. They came to a stop at the crosswalk – Tony used his momentum to pull Peter close to his chest while they waited out the light. “I don’t care about fancy. You’ll be there.”

While Peter had lots of things to reply, his words were cut off by slightly chapped lips eagerly pressing against his own. It took Peter a second to recognize what in the glorious hell was happening – when the reality of the situation finally registered, Peter surged forward, tilting his head to not only return the kiss, but deepen it.

Both of Peter’s hands found their way around Tony’s neck to keep him close – he felt like he might pass out from the sheer goodness of Tony surrounding him without the grounding touch. He was far from a virgin, but none of his previous encounters knocked him off his feet in such a way that made Peter feel like a fumbling newbie.

Sipping from each other’s mouths, Peter was surprised by a strange and unrecognizable voice coming from behind them – “the light’s changed, fellas.”

It took an obscene amount of effort to pull away – though the stranger’s words made his face burn with embarrassment, Peter was reluctant to step out of Tony’s embrace and the tantalizing press of warm lips against his own. Regardless of his trepidation, Peter reluctantly moved back.

He made sure to slip his hand into Tony’s before they set off again.

“I’m just another couple of blocks away,” Peter reassured, a hungry smirk on his face. Tony returned the look, their stride all of the sudden lengthening. Their walk turned from a leisurely stroll to a brisk half-run. If it weren’t for the want raging through Peter’s veins, he might’ve found the change hilarious. In all of their time together, Tony never expressed impatience – he always seemed calm, cool, and collected. Yet, in the face of heat and need and the promise of bare skin, Tony let that mask drop.

Happy to know a new something about Tony, Peter reveled in the pent-up silence that carried them back to his apartment. Snagging a ground floor unit close to the entrance, they luckily didn’t have to wait for an elevator or awkwardly pretend that they weren’t about to push the other against the wall and start ravaging whatever pieces of skin they could find. Instead, Peter impatiently pulled Tony behind him as they walked between building 1 and 2 with eager steps.

After some fumbling and a set of dropped keys, Peter finally got his door open and Tony through it. Without missing a beat, Tony pushed him back against the newly closed front door, their lips harshly joining. Groaning at the contact and suddenness of it all, Peter pulled Tony in – any space left between them was unacceptable now that they were in a private space where wandering eyes and clicking cameras couldn’t see. Their obvious passion was too much for the public eye; Peter so desperately wanted to keep Tony to himself – devouring him in a safe space was only the first step.

As Tony traced his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, Peter fumbled his hands down the older man’s chest until he could pull the crisp button-down from well-tailored pants. The second he was able, Peter shoved his hands under the soft fabric, his palms greedily pressing into Tony’s hairy chest. A groan left his mouth – the chest hair under his fingers was soft and teasing. Peter was caught between the urge to tug at the strands and lay his head gently against them just to feel the texture against his skin.

Tony made the decision for him – large hands were suddenly on Peter’s waist, his feet coming up off the ground with little effort. Unable to keep his hands where they were, Peter broke the kiss with a groan and shifted until he could wrap his legs around Tony’s hips. Peter panted for breath while his lips were still free as Tony navigated through the room blindly. Another soft moan left Peter’s lips when his back hit the pliable leather of his couch.

Where just moments before they were standing chest to chest, Peter now had the full weight of Tony against him. The older man fit seamlessly between his splayed thighs, their hips lining up in a way that made Peter’s cock pulse against the confines of his tight jeans. With a bit of shifting, their groins were matched – Tony’s thick cock felt sinful against Peter’s. If his impending orgasm was already upon him, Peter wondered what it’d be like when their clothes hit the floor and he really got to taste what Tony had to offer.

Like he was reading his mind, Tony made quick work of the buttons on Peter’s shirt. Calloused hands dragged up and down Peter’s bare chest as he pushed the navy fabric to the side – his skin was practically hairless, the only exception being a small trail of it leading down to the v of his jeans. Tony let his fingers play through that small amount of hair, his fingers teasing as they got closer to the one spot that Peter wanted him to be the most.

Deciding to take his mind off of the heat in his belly and the closeness of his orgasm, Peter returned the favor. His hands were shaky as he passed button after button through their holes. With a gasp, Peter spread the sides of Tony’s shirt to get the maximum impact of the older man’s torso. He liked what he felt before, but the view was something else – Tony’s chest was chiseled and cut, his pecs and abs straining with effort. Peter noticed throbbing veins and a few scars in his perusal; the evidence of Tony’s life and the way he lived it made Peter pull the man a little closer. Tony Stark drove him absolutely mad – every new thing he learned contributed to the insanity even more.

Before he could get lost in the thought, Tony’s lips were skating along his cheek, only to stop and caress the outer shell of Peter’s ear. “You feel amazing, Pete,” Tony babbled, his tongue peeking out to join in on the fun. “I want to taste you, feel your cock pulse against my tongue. You’re so fucking hard and I can’t fucking wait. Is that okay?”

Peter pulled back then, a soft grin pulling at his lips. In all of his sexual encounters, Peter couldn’t recall someone caring about him so thoroughly, let alone stopping to ask how he felt. Both hands came up to grip Tony’s cheeks until the older man was looking right at him. Through the haze of arousal, Peter recognized that warm spark in Tony’s eye – it was the look in that first picture that kept Peter coming back for more.

“It’s perfect, Tony. I’ll take anything you want to give me,” Peter said breathlessly. He leaned up for a kiss to drive the words home.

Tony looked genuinely happy when Peter pulled away – his cheeks were flushed with obvious arousal, his lips quirked in a saucy smile. Without saying anything, Tony nodded his head and travelled slowly down the length of Peter’s body. Nimble fingers made quick work of the button and zipper of his jeans before Peter could think or even draw his next breath.

Sturdy hands didn’t hesitate to pull at the waistband of Peter’s boxers – his flushed cock was already leaking as it came to rest casually against the firm abs of Peter’s chest. Tony’s calloused fingers immediately wrapped around the length, giving a tight squeeze to the base. The sheer feeling of his crush’s hands on him was almost enough for Peter to jump straight over the edge. Catching Tony’s eyes and biting down on his bottom lip was his only saving grace – the knowing look in beautiful hazel eyes pulled a chuckle from Peter’s chest, the noise distraction enough.

“Okay?” Tony asked again, the words were spoken with his mouth hovering just inches from the pulsing flesh of Peter’s cock. He could feel Tony’s breath against his sensitive skin, everything about the situation making it hard to articulate or think or exist as anything other than a melted puddle of goo against broken-in leather.

Peter took a couple of deep breaths before nodding vigorously. He felt a red flush travel even further down his neck and torso, arousal and embarrassment mixing together to create the ultimate aphrodisiac. He finally found his voice, muttering a choked off “yes” before the motor function of speaking left him once more.

After a heartbeat and then another where neither man moved, Tony gripped the sharp bones of Peter’s hips, pushing his lower body down against the cushions. They shared another look as Tony lowered his head, his pink tongue poking out to lick lightly against the leaky head of Peter’s cock. Hazel eyes stayed on him – Tony continued to lap along his sensitive skin, all while killing Peter slowly with the heat and want reflecting back. By the time Tony had all of Peter in his mouth, Peter was seconds away from being undone.

It’d been so long, and he’d wanted Tony since he understood what attraction was. Being pinned down by the person he desired longer than some of his friendships did nothing but magnify everything that was happening. His skin felt like it was on fire under Tony’s touch – the suction around his cock felt like it was coming from all angles, everywhere, all at once. Unable to stop himself, Peter moaned, panted, and shamelessly shouted Tony’s name as the blissful seconds passed.

The telling zip of a zipper being pushed down, and Tony’s hasty shift told Peter that Tony was similarly affected. He picked up his head to watch Tony suck his cock down while his right hand moved at the same pace – while he took Peter’s cock into his throat, Tony was stroking his own erection with sure strokes. As if the heat around him wasn’t enough, the beautiful visual of Tony taking his own pleasure pushed him those last couple of steps over the edge.

Bubbling heat in his belly boiled over. Peter frantically reached down to grip Tony’s shoulder, his mouth wordlessly shaping around warning words. “I’m – I’m… fuck, Tony. I’m going to cum,” Peter finally managed to gasp out. There was just enough time for Tony to pull away, to let Peter’s pleasure splatter on the blood warm skin of Peter’s stomach. Yet, Tony held fast, instead – he redoubled his efforts, his lips tightening and throat relaxing in invitation.

Unable to stop himself, Peter let go – his hips thrust up into Tony’s enticing heat, the man’s name dripping from his lips as pulse after pulse of cum left his body. Tony moaned around him, swallowing easily without pulling his mouth away or stopping his ministrations. The suction continued until Peter was reaching down halfheartedly to push at Tony’s soft curls.

While he caught his breath, Tony crawled up Peter’s body, a self-satisfied smirk on his red cheeks. Peter grinned at him, happiness and satiation rolling off of him in waves. Without thought, Peter pulled Tony tightly to him, their lips finding each other like opposite poles of magnets drawn together by the sheer force of nature. Tony shared Peter’s taste with him, his talented tongue thrusting into Peter’s mouth with a shared groan between them. It was all so hot; Peter felt his spent cock already starting to come back to life.

With that thought in mind, Peter started to reach down to help Tony finish achieving his own pleasure; yet his hand was batted away with affectionate finesse. Peter shifted until he could meet the honey hazels he was already addicted to, a question in his eye.

“There’s no need,” Tony mumbled, his face tucking into the skin of Peter’s neck. “You’re so sexy, I couldn’t help but touch myself. The way you look in the throes of pleasure – it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

“Holy shit.”

Tony chuckled at the awe in Peter’s voice. “My sentiment exactly.”

For a while, they stayed stretched out on Peter’ couch, exchanging kisses and greedy touches on all the bare skin either could reach. Without so much adrenaline coursing through his system, Peter felt himself melting even further into the comfy cushions below him. After a jaw breaking yawn, Peter reached up to cup Tony’s cheek, pulling the man’s attention towards him.

“Want to stay over?” Peter asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. Though they were spent and wrapped up in each other, Peter wasn’t sure where Tony stood. There was a big difference between the type of intimacy physical touch and sleeping next to another human being required. The last few days, Peter fell asleep with Tony’s messages open on the bed next to him – actually sleeping side by side, in person, that was a whole new step for them.

Tilting his head to the side, Tony shot Peter a tender smile before nodding and leaning down to press their lips together.

“Yeah, Pete – I want to stay.”

[capstoverogers]

A Soul for a Soul

Tryna break into the wlw Marvel tumblr fic world; consider this grief-ridden multi-chapter fic my resume ;)

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff/Black!Reader, Eventual Carol Danvers/Black!Reader

Genre: Grief, Angst, Romance

Summary: You thought you were used to the struggle. Between growing up as an orphan in Oakland before elbowing your way through the ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D., you were sure nothing could faze you.

But then you lose the love of your life and for the first time ever, you’re not sure how to move forward.

Notes: In this world, Peter Parker survived the Snap and S.H.I.E.L.D. still exists, just underground. Also features an OC with pyrokinetic abilities who’s the Reader’s best friend.

Chapter One - Hope

Word Count: 3,666

Warnings: Cursing, Allusions to Sex, Very Slight Ant-Man Slander, but Out of Love

In a lot of ways, the past five years had been quiet.

You’d grown up in Oakland, gone to college in Washington D.C., then lived and worked in New York ever since. You didn’t like quiet.

The biggest cities had lost their bustle, and it was one of the many reasons why you resented Thanos.

That and for taking the little bit of family you’d ever had. And the two men who were the closest things you had had to living brothers. And your absolute best friend in the world.

You coped in the way you always had - through work and through perspective. With Agents Fury and Hill gone in the snap, along with half of S.H.I.E.L.D. that had been underground after its public fall, you had moved through the ranks overnight (and you had been pretty high up there to begin with), taking over a great bulk of the remaining operations of the covert agency. Those first couple of years, you were in D.C. during the week days, watching as a fractured government slowly tried to repair itself while dispatching any leftover agents to take care of the chaos that had arisen in the aftermath. You’d go home to a pathetic one-bedroom apartment in the city most nights, it often being too late to commute to where you really wanted to be, get a few hours of sleep, then do it all over again.

It was all right. Kept you distracted. Made you feel purposeful.

It was the weekends, though, you found your truest solace. You’d put off all your responsibilities except in case of an emergency, take a quinjet up north to the Avengers compound, spend Saturday and Sunday with the woman you loved. Most of the time, you’d have the entire compound to yourselves. Maybe you didn’t like the quiet, but you loved it when it was quiet when you were with her.

After a few years, though, there was less for everyone to do as slowly, society started to move on. It was a blessing, you supposed, though sometimes it felt like a curse. You had never done well with idle hands.

It was slow enough that you could work remotely, at least, leaving your little D.C. apartment behind to take up permanent residence in upstate New York, except for emergencies. Natasha’s bedroom became y’all’s bedroom. You started to see just how broken she was, felt like a terrible partner for not realizing it sooner. She’d been able to mask it well when she’d only see you on weekends and through holograms. Now that you were together all the time, her walls couldn’t stay up for long.

Like the Avengers always had, she kept the weight of the entire world on her shoulders. Far be it from you to convince her that she didn’t need to do that, but you at least wanted her to know that she could share that burden with you. To get her to realize that became your greatest mission.

And you never failed missions.

By the time you reached the five year mark, the two of you had fallen into the sort of routine you could see yourselves doing for the rest of your lives, if this really had to be the rest of your lives (you think both of you, deep down, had hope that it wasn’t, that something more could be done, which is why you two had tried your hardest to not stop working ever since half of the world disappeared before your eyes). Together you both kept watch over a broken world - Natasha by keeping in touch with the remaining Avengers and your new friends from space as you continued to run S.H.I.E.L.D. from the compound. Occasionally you’d go out for an actual mission, finding that you got cabin fever if you stayed put too long.

Natasha would never come with you, though. She was waiting for the right one, she told you. But you think she was just scared of what would happened if she took her eyes away from the world for even just one second. She’d let you carry a little bit of that weight with her, finally, but far from it all.

She was completely open with you, though, for the first time in the seven years you’d been together (dating a former assassin came with a huge set of emotional intimacy issues, but there was no one else you’d rather work through that with). And when you two realized that wow, you’d been together for seven years, you decided that you all could use a bright spot in this darker world.

So you had a bittersweet wedding. Peter Parker was your “man of honor”, Steve Rogers was hers. Tony presided at his beautiful cabin home with his daughter Morgan as the flower girl and Rocket - much to his outward chagrin though you suspected he secretly loved it - was your ring bearer with the vibranium wedding bands that Okoye had brought for you from Wakanda. You’d even gotten Thor out of his desolate mancave on New Asgard for the night, with the promise of all the beer he could drink.

It was hard not to think of all the people who should’ve been celebrating with you, but you’d at least found the burst of happiness that you could. Moments like that reminded you two that you still had to keep fighting, even if you didn’t quite know what for all the time.

About a month later, you left for a quick mission. You were gone for three days and came back to a bustle unlike any you’d seen at the Compound in years. There was a space ship parked out front, but more surprising was the sight of Tony’s Audi convertible.

Nat’s eyes looked the brightest you’d seen them in awhile, all pretenses shattered as she greeted you with an excited smile that was surprisingly adorable.

“So this is what you do when I’m gone?” You teased, wrapping your arms around her distractedly as you took in the energy around you. God, you had missed this sort of noise. “Throw parties?”

“You caught me,” she gave back, eyes twinkling before she wrapped her arms around you tightly, but in a way that didn’t feel desperate. It reminded you of how she’d hugged you throughout your wedding day. You let yourself fall completely into her embrace, burying your face into her neck and inhaling deeply. It had only been a few days, but you’d missed her so much. How you used to spend all week without her, you had no idea. “I think we found a way to reverse the snap.”

You yanked your head up so quickly that you almost gave yourself whiplash, playfully glaring when Natasha laughed. Her eyes were so warm with hope, though, that that was soon all you could focus on.

“What?!”

She nodded excitedly, squeezing your hips. Your mind immediately started reeling, unable to keep from imagining what this meant, who you’d be able to see again.

“How?!”

Natasha’s lips curled up into a little smirk, eyes still twinkling.

“Time travel.”

Wait.

“What?!”

-----

The compound was chaotic in the wonderful way that you cherished. Thor’s booming voice and Tony’s wisecracks and Steve’s voice of reason and Rhodey’s deadpan and Bruce’s reverberating Hulk-heavy footsteps and Rocket’s quips and Clint’s snark and Natasha’s sarcasm and laugh and sass and just everything about her that had been buried beneath the rubble of the last five years, coming out now more than in just moments. None of you slept as you all plotted, planned, built; a certain energizing spark taking over all of you in this renewed sense of purpose.

There was only enough of these “Pym particles” for ten people to do this time heist, though, which meant you were the odd one out.

“Maybe when you get powers, we’ll reconsider it,” Tony quipped when you complained, chuckling when you rolled your eyes.

“I could beat you up if you didn’t have that suit,” you gave back, smirking.

“She could,” Natasha echoed before he could get a word in, shooting you a grin as she came up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist.

Tony dramatically clutched at his chest.

“I’m offended you don’t think I’m more than my suit, Romanoff.” He paused. “Or is it (Y/L/N) now? Romanoff-(Y/L/N)?”

“Natasha and (Y/N) Widow, actually,” you joked, grinning as a laugh rippled through the Avengers. “Though I’m surprised you didn’t take Pepper’s last name, Tony. We all know she’s really the one running the show.”

You gave him your most dastardly grin as Rocket gave you a fist bump, Thor - perpetually buzzed - howled and Scott and Steve exchanged amused looks.

“See, this is why you’re not coming with us,” Tony said, pointing at you though he couldn’t quite hide his hint of a grin. “Today’s youth, so disrespectful!”

You let that go. You were in your 30s, but Tony always had a hard time not seeing you as that 22 year old first-year S.H.I.E.L.D. recruit he’d met over a decade ago.

So you chuckled, turning in Natasha’s arms in time to catch her fondly rolling her eyes.

“I will say, I’m gonna miss this banter on our mission.”

You wrapped your arms around her waist, as hers moved to your shoulder pulling her closer to you.

“Let me come with you and we won’t have to miss nothin’,” you said lowly, smirking at the way she eyed you.

“You know there’s no one I’d rather by my side,” she admitted softly, letting her fingers massage the back of your neck. You hummed pleasantly, letting your eyes flutter shut as your forehead fell against hers, “But I also like the idea of you here, safe.”

You sighed, not meaning for your breath to hit her lips, but enjoying the feel of her tensing against you nonetheless.

“I might not be a super solider or some guy with …ant powers…” you grinned when Natasha chuckled, “but I can hold my own, Nat.”

“I know you can,” she murmured. “But I’d rather know I’m coming back to you than be worried about you out there.”

You opened your eyes, found them staring into earnest and soft green irises. You could see how important this was for her, doing something that felt tangible after spending so much time and energy over the years to keep the world going, never losing hope even when no one else believed.

This mission would always mean more to her than it ever would for you.

So you nodded, craning your head to place a kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back.”

She smiled, “I know.”

“Get a room, why don’t ya!”

“Shut up, Rocket.”

Hours before they were set to leave back in time, you got a call from Peter Parker saying he desperately needed you to pick him up as soon as possible from Central America, which was strange because the last time you’d checked, you’d sent him on an undercover mission to check out some disturbances in Europe (as the only Avenger whose true identity was still secret, he was most ideal to send on these sorts of things).

It did sound urgent, though, so you quickly headed to your room to change into something more extraction appropriate, unsurprised to hear the door open a few minutes later.

“Oh good,” Natasha’s voice purred playfully behind you as you pulled off the shirt you’d been lounging in. “I was hoping I’d catch you before you got all your mission clothes on.”

You chuckled as you turned to face her, then faltered. Though there was a coy smirk playing at her plump lips, her eyes told an entirely different story. You motioned for her to come closer, trying to keep the spirit high.

“Quickie before I leave?” You joked, sitting back on the bed as she came to stand in between your legs. She laughed, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes as they flickered over you before she gently placed her palm on your cheek.

“Will you be back before we go?” She asked softly.

You shook my head, your frowns matching.

“Even if it is just a pick-up and go, the round trip will take four hours.”

“I’ll see if we can wait on you.”

As much as you wanted that, you found yourself shaking your head again.

“I don’t want anything to throw y’all off,” you told her, covering the hand on your face with your own. “This is too important.”

She nodded; if there was anything you both understood, it was that some things were more important than the two of you. The fate of the world was definitely one of those things, and all the lives that hung in balance. It’s what made you heroes, before anything else.

It’s also what made you and Natasha fit together so well. You understood each other in ways that no one else could.

“I’ll see you when you get back, though,” you assured with a soft smile, grasping at her waist to pull her into your lap. She straddled you like it was second nature, though it didn’t necessary feel immediately sexual. You just liked that she was close. “After you’ve gotten that stone and you’re about to bring everybody back.”

She grinned, “You really think we can do it, huh?”

“You can do anything, Nat. You’re my fucking hero. There’s no one I trust more to save all of us.” You let my fingertips trace gently down her cheek as her eyes softened lovingly. “Don’t tell Rocket or Tony I said that. They’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“Nope. Been recording this conversation the entire time. Gonna share it with everyone.”

You laughed as she grinned slyly.

“I hate you,” you mumbled, your thumb grazing against her bottom lip.

“I love you,” she gently pressed a kiss against the pad of your thumb. “Don’t tell anyone how soft you make me, though.”

“Oh, they already know,” you teased quietly, relishing in the way she made your heart feel. You were so close to telling Peter to find his own ride, not wanting this moment to end, but you knew you and Natasha would have to pull away eventually.

Still, you could make it stretch as long as possible.

“Yeah,” Nat agreed softly, pressing her forehead against yours. “But I like to pretend that they don’t.”

You chuckled as she grinned cheekily.

“I love you too, by the way,” you murmured, as if she didn’t already know. “So fucking much.”

Your thumb drifted from her lip, down to her chin, and forever in tune, she quickly erased the distance between you before you could pull her closer. Seven years, and you had yet to find anything as incredible as kissing her.

Except maybe when after just a few seconds, she pushed you back onto the bed, hovering over you with a twinkling smirk.

“Change your mind about that quickie?” You said playfully, biting your lip at her husky, soft laugh.

“Don’t you have to give a certain spider a ride?” She teased, as if she wasn’t the one who’d pressed her chest delicately against yours.

“There’s another spider that I’d rather give a different kind of ride right now…” Your fingers drifted down to the hem of her pants, but she was off of you before you could start to shimmy them down. You pouted ridiculously as she stood up, earning a laugh.

“We’ll have our own celebration in here when we’re both back,” she said coyly with a wink.

“Good, because we’ve only fucked once since I’ve gotten back from my mission, and it’s making me irritable.”

She chuckled as she grabbed ahold of your hands, effortlessly pulling you up off the bed and back into her arms.

“I love you,” she said again, pressing her lips against yours for a long moment. The words felt more weighted than they usually did, in the way they seemed to seep into your skin, take ahold of your chest and clench your heart. You could feel that this moment was important.

“I love you, too, Nat.”

On your way out, you were intercepted by Clint, who gave you a wry grin as he glanced down to your left hand.

“So I heard you and Nat got hitched,” he said, his eyes a soft contrast to his casual tone. “Wish I could’ve been there.”

“Me too,” you said honestly. Clint and you had never been particularly close, but he was still family, and he meant so much to Natasha. “Steve had to be Nat’s best man, and it was disaster.”

Steve had actually been great, but you knew Clint would get a kick out of the idea of Captain America stiff by the altar, uncomfortable in the face of any kind of public display of affection, as far from the truth it actually was. There was something appreciative in his eyes as he laughed.

“Well, I got dibs when you guys renew your vows.”

You nodded fervently, “Definitely. Maybe once y’all bring everyone back, we’ll do a bigger wedding. I mean, Nat would hate that - “

You paused, then burst out laughing because Clint had said the same thing at the exact same time as you had, and it made you kind of regretful that you hadn’t thought to bond with him more before Thanos had snapped his fingers. But you supposed there was time for that.

Your and Clint’s laughter faded, and both of you hovered there for a moment. Before it could get too awkward, you gave him a soft smile.

“Take care of my girl, Barton.” He and Nat were paired up for the time heist, after all.

He nodded, corner of his lips curling up into a smile that you knew was sincere for him.

“She’s probably gonna be the one having to take care of me,” he joked, but then his eyes softened. “You know I’ll do everything I can to have her back.”

“I know.”

Still, you felt a little uneasy as you headed towards the hangar where the quinjets were kept. You didn’t like being away from home base while they were out on missions. It had always been like that, even before you were with Nat. The fact that she was your wife now intensified it. You really wanted to be there when she got back.

But alas, duty called.

-----

You were thrust into battle without a moment’s notice, when Doctor Strange’s portal appeared in the back of the quinjet just seconds after you had yanked Peter out of the Mexican rainforest as he ran from a bunch of cartel guys, wielding assault rifles and screaming “gringo!” at him.

He was in the middle of an adorable, earnest, apologetic ramble (one that would always be so Peter, even if he was less boy and more man these days) after you’d playfully accused him of being racist because he made you rescue his “white ass.” He’d be trying to tell you that he’d deviated from the mission you’d given him because he’d heard rumors of something akin to the power of an Infinity Stone buried deep in Central America. He knew you’d never authorize him to go after a rumor, so he took matters into his own hands (also very Peter, and it would be hypocritical for you to fault him for that), hoping to find a power source that could maybe reverse the damage that Thanos had done.

Not that it was necessary now. The Avengers had done it. Nat had done. Everyone was back, but apparently somehow that meant a resurgence of Thanos had come with them.

There were no time for questions, though, even though you had so many as you found myself in the rubbled remains of your home with an alien army before you and a homegrown one behind you. There was no time for proper reunions, even though you managed the quickest one when you came across your best friend Zoey on the battlefield - body engulfed in the trademark flames that defined her alter ego "The Flame" - and you two clicked right into place as you set her up perfectly to sizzle one of Thanos’s goons to ash, like no time had ever passed.

You guessed for her, though, no time really had passed.

There was a quick grin and nod before chaos descended again, and you were separated into different parts of the battle. There was a glimpse of T’Challa, carrying an Iron Man glove full of jewels - the Infinity Stones, you realized - across the leveled field - and Sam soaring above you, and Bucky firing shots into the enemy relentlessly, but there was no time to focus on any of this.

There was no time for you to find Natasha in the cacophony, as you forced yourself to focus fully on the battle in front of you. When you all had finished off Thanos once and for all, then you could hold her in your arms until the end of time if you wanted. But first you all had to make sure there was still a world for everyone to still live in.

There wasn’t even time to properly celebrate, as Thanos and his entire army dissipated into dust in the perfect full circle, when Tony slumped over, eyes glazed, his light gone. There was Peter’s full weight against you suddenly, his wet eyes drenching your neck, then Steve’s strong arms around both of you. like an anchor.  You couldn’t help but think that Steve’s gesture was more than just a comfort gesture because everyone had just lost the man who had brought you all together, who meant so much to each of you in different ways.

You didn’t want to confront what else it could mean, though.

[kookicat]

To Bid Goodbye to the Past

The cell is dark and damp, walls running with fetid water that pools on the floor and yet the dark-haired man lounges on the thin wooden bench like it's a throne. He's unkempt; greasy hair slicked back from his face, dark stubble on his sunken cheeks, wrists poking out from the too short sleeves of the jumpsuit he's wearing. 

The jail is buried deep underground and the artificial light flickers, casting a sickly yellow glow over everything. Wonder if they ever turn it off? Eliot thinks as he stares in silence at the caged man. I bet they don't. This is where the monsters live. Better to keep the lights on, so you know where they are. 

For anyone else, Eliot would feel pity. Outrage, even, because he's spent enough time in cells just like it to know how fucking miserable it is. But for Damien Moreau, all he can feel is a tired sort of revulsion. They won, beat the other man and yet Eliot knows that the job isn't over. Even behind bars, Moreau is too much of a risk to leave alive. Some gullible or desperate or naive fool will come along and the man will get a phone, will get time outside, will get a visit to the hospital and all hell will break loose again. 

Eliot can't bear the thought of Moreau coming after his people. Can't bear the thought of being out in the world, thinking that he's safe, that he finally managed to leave his past behind and seeing Moreau. He's spent enough nights waking up in a cold sweat because of the man, doesn't want to spend any more trying to shake off a nightmare in which Moreau plays a starring role.

He stops, two feet away from the steel bars, keeping his hands loose in front of him even though they ache to feel the comforting weight of the gun he's carrying, tucked snuggly unto a holster in the small of his back. 

"Hello, Eliot," Moreau says, and Eliot has to fight off a shudder, because they're back to first names and there's something too damn intimate about that. 

"Moreau," he says, damn glad that all the time he's spent around Sophie lets him keep the shake out of his voice. He sounds bored, if anything, and the flash of annoyance on Moreau's face is worth the effort it's costing him not to take a step back. 

He can't pinpoint exactly when his life started to go to hell, can't look at one single moment and say there, that's when the first bit of my soul was ripped away, but he knows for damn sure the process only sped up in Moreau's employ. The worst thing I ever did was for you, Eliot thinks, and tries not to remember the wrecked car with a child seat that absolutely should not have been there. It's no good because the emotions are churning inside of him and he knows if he lets one tiny hint of it show, Moreau will use it against him. He blinks long, once, and focuses on the anger, because right now that's the safest emotion he has. 

"Are you here to kill me?" Moreau asks, a thread of arrogant amusement in his voice, and leans back in a way that, in other circumstances, would have been a blatant invitation. 

"Yes," Eliot says and draws the gun. It's a beautiful weapon- a SIG Sauer P220 Combat- and a gift from Quinn, who has his own reasons for wanting Moreau dead. 

"Do your precious team know you're here?" Moreau asks, and straightens, keeping a wary eye on the gun even as he pokes at Eliot's defences, trying to find a hole. 

There isn't one, because that's what being part of a team does, fills in the gaps. He's learned a lot from them; Sophie taught him about emotional strength, Parker how to leap without worrying about the consequences, Nate just how important family is, even if that family is bound by something other than blood, Hardison just how much of weapon kindness can be, if it's wielded correctly and he plans to use that now. 

"Yes," he says softly, even though they don't, because while they'd probably understand, it wasn't a risk he wanted to take and pulls the cheap burner phone from his pocket. "One call. Say your goodbyes." 

Moreau catches the phone, one handed, and tosses it back. "You know I have no one to call," he says, and stands, which is what Eliot wanted. 

Could put one in his gut and walk away, Eliot thinks, because there's something darkly appealing about leaving the man to suffer, but the person who could do that died under the team's influence and he knows nothing but a clean kill will do. "Then maybe you shouldn't have been such a bastard," he says and closes his finger gently around the trigger. The shot is deafening, bouncing off the walls and Eliot makes the noise worse by firing again. 

Moreau staggers backwards, one hand lifting in disbelief to touch the blood pouring from his chest before he crumples backwards onto the narrow wooden bench. They are fatal wounds and yet Eliot knows the fear in him won't go away until the man is on his way to hell. He fires again, ears ringing from the sound and finds even with all of his training, even with just how much he doesn't like guns, he can't get his finger off the trigger. The gun clicks, clip empty and Eliot blows out a shuddering sigh of relief that feels disturbingly close to a sob. Seven shots, at close range, make a hell of a mess and Eliot knows there's no way Damien Moreau will ever bother them again. It takes him two tries to holster the gun; he's shaking, adrenaline racing through him, the relief so heavy and profound that it's almost unbearable. Part of him wants to be ashamed of what he's just done, because he made promises to himself that he's just broken six ways to Sunday - no more guns, no more killing- but he just can't find it in himself to feel bad in any way. They're safe again, because even with all of the team's skills, Damien Moreau was too big a threat to leave alive. 

"Rot in hell, you motherfucker," he says and walks away without looking back.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32544466/chapters/80724325

Full fic here (the second part is on here but man, I can't find it)

[maneaterwithtail]

SpaceBattles Poster Hangwind on why He-Man isn't the main character and why matters and how

Now, in the time of this thread being down, I have had several more thoughts. Starfox5 tagging you in so you can respond if you want to. I felt dissatisfied with those arguing that He-Man was a main character despite his death but I couldn't quite figure out how to put what I was feeling into words. It wasn't until I read a Spiderman fanfiction that it struck me. He-Man isn't really a character for most of this, even a supporting one. Instead, he is an event. He's Uncle Ben. Think about it. Spiderman, Peter Parker, is always referencing Uncle Ben. He's always quoting him, wondering what he would do, wishing he were there. He's always having flashbacks in cartoon terms. But does that make the Spiderman comics "all about Uncle Ben"? Of course not! And there's actually a very specific reason for that: it isn't who Uncle Ben was that is important, so much as how he died. In fact, Uncle Ben's profile has undergone multiple different revisions over the years without truly affecting the core story of Spiderman simply because he isn't actually a character, he's a set piece. The true value is in the inciting event and the lingering effects of his death. Same thing with He-Man. He went from a main character to a background event in the show. He had part of an episode of actual agency, then he just became another set piece. And right when it looked like he might be about to regain said agency, Smith had Skeletor at least look like he was removing it again. Now, let's take the Spiderman comparison further. With Uncle Ben, Peter took the death as a lesson and became a better person. He became more caring, more involved, more heroic than he was before. A tragedy turned to good. If we had gotten that sort of journey from Teela, I would still be upset about Smith's bullshit bait and switch, but I could at least have enjoyed it on its own merits. But they couldn't even get that right. Instead, Teela takes He-Man's death and did the exact opposite, making things worse for everyone around her. Instead of stepping up and showing what she was made of, she stepped away. I suppose that shows what she was made of, yes, but it's brown and smelly. We didn't get Spiderman. We got someone emotionally immature, narcissistic, bitterly holding onto a grudge for years, utterly convinced of her own righteousness, and so tunneled in on her own perspective that she literally had to have Andra drag her into saving the world. It says a lot that she was objectively worse at that point than fricking EVIL-Lynne. But you know what? There is a person just like that in Spiderman. I just wasn't expecting the origin story of J Jonah Jameson in He-Man. And certainly not with Teela! Seriously, the parallels are ridiculous. Both are self-centered, bitter, entitled problems who honestly can't understand why they shouldn't have the right to extremely dangerous secrets. despite the fact that the secret getting out causes problems and gets people killed. And that is the thing that I think Starfox5 doesn't get. I don't hate OG Teela. I actually really liked her in most of her incarnations. She's an interesting character, acting as both a straight man to a fairly wild cast as well as having the core of the brash and wild warrior in herself. She was the up and comer, the warrior that both wants to get stuck in while also needing to be reliable to do her job. Frankly, I'm not surprised that Teela became the Man-At-Arms. That was a fairly natural advancement for the character, even if I would have preferred a couple of episodes of "show, don't tell". Honestly, I'm not sure that they even told us in particular what event lead to her being promoted? I hate THIS VERSION of Teela because it destroys and perverts her character. That steadiness? She walked away when things went wrong. The passion and brash nature that used to be a great driver for her personality are now used as a poison for her personality. I am DEEPLY unimpressed with them not actually using He-Man but...maybe he got off easily? Because what they

did to Teela was outright painful. Honestly, it comes from a place of not really getting the core concept of He-Man, an intensely and unapologetically positive show. Ultimately, in order to use Teela in the future, I honestly think that her character is going to have to utterly ignore this show's existence. And that's a problem. XXX Split for shift in topic XXX Now, talking about the future. I don't trust Kevin when he says that "there is going to be so much He-Man" in the next five episodes. I suspect that it is going to end with Adam being permanently de-powered, Teela as the Sorceress, and Andra as the new Champion. Partially because I wouldn't trust Kevin at this point if he said "Grass is green". Notably, while he has said several times that there are going to have a big fight in episode seven, he has been suspiciously silent about things after that. This sets off every instinct I have, given the way he used essentially a single episode to make it look like He-Man was actually central to the story. Yeah, I have no faith in them. BUT! For the purposes of argumentation, let's say that the second half of the season is great and exactly what we expect. That actually leads to two problems: First is that the first five episodes have no real reason to exist. They basically end up as the unwanted extra bits, like the bone of a steak. You kind of resent paying for that dead weight. Except in this case, they handed us a massive steaming bone with barely any (man) meat on it, then told us "Don't worry, the next course will definitely be better! You just have to pay again for it!" It is hilarious to see various people both on the forum and not that absolutely rail against big businesses on a regular basis defending predatory practices from big toy and streaming corporations. But there is a worse problem. And that is what an excellent back half of the season will do to Teela's character. One of the showrunners, Wood I think, mentioned that his vision for this series was breaking the characters down to see what makes them heroic. And if suddenly Teela pulls her shit together and returns to being a tolerable, good, or even great character, that makes the answer...Adam. Yup. Apparently, she isn't much of a hero on her own, needing to be dragged into saving the world kicking and screaming. But when Adam is around, hey hero time! That's just not where I think the character should go or how she has been designed. There are ways to do MOTU without He-Man right. First, you need to actually advertise it that way and not have literally every piece of merchandise, most of the trailers, and the FUCKING DIRECTOR focusing on He-Man. Think about a novel; if I picked one up with an obvious Clancy-esque cover, a summary that sounds like a technothriller, and has been put in the Action section, I am going to be pissed if it turns out to be a Kenyon novel. Even though I actually enjoy some of her stuff, it isn't what I wanted when I bought it. Second, you cannot have Teela be a narcissistic deserter. She should have been a hero and commander, holding the kingdom together and forging new ways of doing things even as all the various magics, both war and utility, slowly failed. Seriously, there is so MUCH more that could have been done there. This? This is ultimately very pretty trash.

[thoseofgreatambition]

DEAR GEORGE || SLYTHERIN’S DREAMS

chapter 1 || ten miles farther

chapter 2 || gred and feorge

chapter 3 || diagon alley

description: you go on a date with george. though-- it’s not really a date if no one did the asking, it? 

a/n: thanks for all the love for this series so far! this is one of my favorite chapters in this story so far, it’s about 15 pages in my document! i hope y’all enjoy it just as much! feedback please! reblogging and telling me what you think makes my lil bean heart go beat beat beat real quick

taglist: @harrysweasleys @geeksareunique @insearchofnewdreams @notstandingstill-imlyinginwait @lumos-barnes @thatfuckingliardavidtennant @slytherinqween @xinyourdreamsx @skiving-snackboxess @wildfire-whizbangs @dwarfwizard-from-panem @diary-of-an-onliner @answer-the-sirens @woakiees @black-widow-fangirl @theheirofnightandday @summerstardust @whysoseriouspadfoot @chocok22 @myhopesareanchoredinyou @siriusblackisme @illusivedaydreamer @zeeneee @writingwitchly @wolfpotter12 @obsessedwithrandomthings @carolinesbookworld @shadowsinger11 @pit-and-the-pen @summer-writes @peachesandpinks @ickle-ronniekins @gweaslvy @alpinewinchester @parker-potters @deafgirltingz @utahjoerdis @highly-acidic @feffffffy @stuckindilemma

“Good afternoon Georgie!” Fred’s voice was quite chipper as he marched into Weasley’s Wizard Wheeze’s. He hurried through the door the best he could, eager to sit down. His thumb brushed across the silver handle of his cane as he sat down atop an overturned shelf. Fred sat down the small bag of potion ingredients he’d just bought, “Guess who I ran into?”

George was halfway up a ladder, using his wand to repair the shelving around the shop. With a little flick of his wrist the ladder could roll around, making him quite mobile without too much effort. After they had gone into hiding the shop had basically been ransacked, half of their shelves had been torn off the wall, most of their inventory had been destroyed or burnt. It was hard coming back to that. George was happy that they were finally able to start rebuilding.

Many people had joked about the twins being able to read each other’s minds, and when it came to most things George had a good idea of what Fred was thinking. However, as he looked over his shoulder and into the grinning face of his twin, George found he hadn’t the foggiest idea of who Fred was talking about.

It appeared it was time to start guessing.

George turned back towards the shelves and focused his attention on that instead of the smirk on Fred’s face “Mum?”

“No.”

“Dad?”

“No.”

“Ickle Ronnikins?”

“You’re awful at this mate—“

A rather large piece of shelving lifted itself up off the floor and soared upwards back to where it belonged near the ceiling. “Give me a hint then, is it someone in the family?” That would narrow it down by quite a bit, if George’s calculations were correct they were related to about a quarter of the people in Wizarding England.

Or at least it felt like it sometimes.

“No one in the family, but someone we know from school.”

A glance over his shoulder showed that Fred still had a shit eating grin on his face, and George had a feeling that this wouldn’t be an easy game.

“Angie?”

“Nope.”

“Lee?”

“Nuh-uh.”

The twins bantered back and forth for a few more minutes, before George finally let out a hefty sigh and climbed down the ladder. The tall man leaned back against the wall, arms crossed as he took the time to closely inspect his brother’s posture and demeanor. Who could Fred have seen that would make him want to tease him like this?

Now that George wasn’t focusing on the shelves, and instead on the situation at hand, the answer seemed quite obvious. “Gwen.”

“Correct! So proud of you George, though we ought to spend more time together, especially since it took you so long to guess.” Fred reached into his coat’s pocket and withdrew the letter Gwen had given him. He held the piece of parchment in between his middle finger and pointer finger and outstretched his hand towards his twin. “Here is your prize.”

George plucked the letter out of Fred’s hand and unfolded it. He hadn’t expected a response so soon, much less delivered by Fred. The first thing he noticed was that the writing was surprisingly messy, especially compared to what he remembered Gwen’s writing being like.

He read through the letter silently, unable to mask the smile that came to his face.

It was comforting to hear that Gwen understood his mixed feelings, or at the very least, didn’t judge him for having them. The weight in his chest seemed to decrease just the smallest bit.

“She’s moving into Diagon Alley?” George looked towards the building catty corner to them. A used bookstore was there before, though the shop had stood empty since before the war. The idea of some more life being breathed into the alley was quite nice, especially when that life involved an old friend running a shop right next door.

Fred leveraged himself up off of the shelf and leaned on his cane, “Apparently so—won’t that be fun? Having the Birdie right next door. It’ll make your letters go back and forth much faster.”

Birdie? “You’re going to have to explain that one, Mate.”

“She delivered a letter to me. Gwen is an owl. Owls are birds. Thus,” Fred gestured grandly with his cane, “She is ‘Birdie’. You can give her your own pet name if you would like, Georgie. It ought to make writing those letters a bit more interesting. A nice story for the grandkids later on.”

The tip of George’s ear turned pink at his brother’s teasing tone, and he scowled at Fred from above the letter, “Don’t you have to go put away those ingredients?”

“Maybe we can get Birdie to deliver it, eh?” Fred let out a throaty laugh as he walked off with the potion ingredients, leaving his little brother behind in the halfway rebuilt shop to read the rest of the letter in peace.

George walked towards the windows in front of the shop to take a better look at where the Apothecary would soon be. He and Fred had found their shop during their seventh year at Hogwarts, and had spent a long time searching for it. There had been months of planning out inventory, business models, George could even remember a whole week dedicated to figuring out what to name the place.

He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have missed all of that. The shop felt like it was theirs because they’d worked so hard for it.

It hadn’t changed the fact that he’d been terrified the entire time. Leaving Hogwarts had been the right choice, and opening the shop was what he and Fred were meant to do. It was a good sense of fear, the kind that drove the two of them to work as hard as they could to prove themselves to everyone they knew. To prove everyone wrong.

George knew very well the sort of fear Gwen was talking about, and he also knew very well that the feelings she had were not going to get in the way of her opening the store.

Nothing got in the way of a Slytherin’s dreams, after all.  

Carefully, he folded the letter back up, taking care to make tight creases before putting the paper into his back pocket. He’d have to start looking for a place to store her letters if they were going to talk every day. They’d start to pile up quicker than he’d realize.

______

“You getting ready for your date with Birdie?”

George looked past himself in the mirror, at the grinning face of his twin behind him. Ever since he’d said Gwen was coming into London and they were going to grab a drink it was all he’d been hearing. “It’s not a date.”

“So you’re just friends then?” Fred didn’t expect a response, and only laughed as George rolled his eyes and smiled.

Was this what Ron felt like when he started going after Hermione? George wondered. It was much less amusing when you weren’t the one doing the teasing.

He’d have to remember that.

“We’re just friends.”

Fred waved his hand, as if George’s words weren’t important. Gwen and his brother had been exchanging letters every day for almost a month now, and even Fred had begun to see the pattern.

George would write a letter before he went to bed, and send it off with Peeves. Gwen would get the letter and would respond by lunch at the latest. How did Fred know that she responded by lunch? Because it took an owl at least five hours to fly from Wales to London, and the latest that Gwen’s letters had come in had been about six in the evening. If Gwen happened to be in London then she’d pop in to visit and hand off her letter as she left.

If it was Fred, he’d simply sit down and talk about whatever was in the letter instead of passing it on, but the pair seemed to have this whole system worked out, and Fred didn’t see a huge need to alter it.

He was glad that she’d finally moved to London, all of this flying too and from Wales had left the twins without an owl about half the time. If that hadn’t been the case he’d probably have been forced to buy his own owl.

George ran a hand through his hair, fingertips brushing over where his ear used to be. He was actually very excited to see Gwen face to face and get to talk to her. They hadn’t gotten a proper chance to sit down and have a conversation since the night of the reunion, and it all seemed long overdue. He shrugged on a jacket over his jumper as he looked back towards Fred. “And you’re sure you don’t need me tonight?”

“I’ll be fine, George.” Fred sat atop his brother’s bed with a grin, waving off his twin’s concern like a gnat that was buzzing around his face. “Go have fun with Gwen, don’t worry about me.”

Really, George wasn’t sure why he bothered asking. He knew that Fred’s answer would always be that everything would be alright, just as well as he knew that no matter what Fred said, he’d still be nervous the whole time he was gone.

At least they’d only be down the street if something went wrong.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but if you need me we’ll just be at the Leaky Cauldron.” A glance back to mirror showed Fred behind him rolling his eyes.

“You do know you sound like Mum, right?”

Shit. He’d always thought he’d end up more like his father than his mother. “Noted. Sorry ‘bout that.” George threw a grin over his shoulder to Fred, “I’ll see you later Freddie.”

George trudged downstairs through the shop to the streets of Diagon Alley. If he was younger and a bit more impatient, he’d probably have apparated to Gwen’s doorstep. It was just a thirty second walk though, and it wasn’t as if George could get lost on his way. He knocked swiftly on the shop’s door three times, about to knock a fourth when the door popped open to show Gwen on the other side.

“Hey George!” her voice was quite chipper, as she tugged on her coat before giving her friend a brief hug. Gwen eyed his shop about thirty feet away before grinning at him, “I hope the walk wasn’t too hard on you.”

He patted her back once before releasing her from the hug, George’s hands resting in his jacket pockets, “It’s a long walk Gwen, I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say. I should have knicked Fred’s cane before I left.” Grinning down at his friend as they began the short walk towards the Leaky Cauldron, “How are you settling in? I still haven’t seen your new flat.”

“Ah—it’s going alright.” She’d moved in yesterday, and it all still seemed quite foreign. Normally Gwen woke up with her mother knocking on the door early in the morning, her father making breakfast downstairs. They’d all discuss their plans for the day and what needed to be done for the shop before getting ready for the day ahead. For the first time she could remember, she’d woken up to the sound of an alarm clock, and had breakfast in complete silence. “It’s a little strange. I’m used to living with my parents, so being alone is kind of weird.”

George nodded, thinking back to the first day he and Fred had in their new flat. Surprisingly, the pair had spent most of the day in silence. They’d always been the loudest of the bunch back at the Burrow, and they’d always been closest to each other, but it wasn’t until they woke up without their parents nearby and their siblings no where near that the enormity of their choices really sunk in for Fred and George. “It was the same for us, you’ll get used to it quicker than you’d think.”

“That’s good to hear, it’ll be fun having you and Fred as neighbors at least.” It wasn’t as if she was totally alone, she’d have the boys right across the street after all. Gwen’s hands found themselves in her pockets as she began to walk down the street towards the Leaky Cauldron with George. “How’s your sleep? Is the potion still working for you?”

He’d been taking it for about a month now, and if he still didn’t have any problems with it, she’d keep him on it.

George grinned, running a hand through his hair. Briefly he wished he’d brought a scarf, it was evening in October, and quite cold. “I’m sleeping better than I have in a while. Like I was before the war.”

Everyone around him had seemed to notice the difference in him. The dark purple shadows under his eyes had gone away, along with the bags. His skin seemed less dull, and there was more pep in his step. Even George himself had noticed a change, his mood had increased quite a bit.

He hadn’t realized how anxious he’d been until he’d started sleeping better. Things that had bothered him before weren’t so worrisome.

Going places without Fred was easy again.

George glanced back towards his shop with a nervous glance.

Well, easier.

“My moods a lot better too. I didn’t realize how worn out I was until I started getting more sleep. The potion’s doing a lot of good I think.” He paused for a moment, as he thought about it. “The letters are helping the most though I think. You were right, getting out all of my thoughts is doing a lot of good. I’m feeling less anxious now.”

He’d been writing to more than just Gwen. He’d sent all of his family letters, with the exception of Fred. It seemed to be having a positive impact on his relationships. His mother had been delighted to receive a letter first for once. Usually it was Molly that had to initiate things.

George looked back down at the brunette walking beside him, and upon realizing he’d gotten quite serious without meaning to, gave her a playful nudge. “Thanks for the tip, Birdie.”

Gwen let out a small huff of a laugh, giving George a light shove in return. “Is that nickname sticking? Fred seemed quite pleased to think of it. You might not be able to steal it.”

“Bah, I can think of a better one if you give me some time.”

“Is that so, Weasley?” as they approached the pub, Gwen readied herself to open the door only to be beaten to the punch by George, “Why thank you.”

She always forgot that one of the defining characteristics of Gryffindors was chivalry.

George held open the door with a long arm, standing aside to let Gwen in. “After you, madam.

On a Tuesday night like tonight, the pub usually wasn’t that busy. The cold usually drove a few more people in, but with the Alley so abandoned and those going to Hogwarts already gone, there wasn’t much business. To someone who hadn’t been before, they might think that the pub wasn’t very popular. There were maybe ten people and one bartender lazily wiping up the counter of the bartop. Gwen removed her coat and hung it on the coat rack, briefly wondering how long it would take for things to go back to normal after the war.

“Pretty quiet tonight, huh?” George seemed to be reading her thoughts, the young man speaking softly as he removed his coat as well. He cocked a red eyebrow, “Well, at least service ought to be quick.”

Gwen let out a snort of laughter, “That’s good. It’s what I was worried about.”

George was right about service. The night of the reunion, when things were incredibly crowded, they’d had to wait several minutes to get their drinks, but tonight both were served immediately.

“How is setting up the shop going?” he took a sip of his firewhiskey, grinning as the familiar burn trickled down his throat. George took a seat at the table next to the fireplace, pushing out Gwen’s chair across from him with his foot, smiling all the while.

Gwen chuckled as she sat down, taking care not to spill her scotch. If she had work tomorrow she would have stuck to mead, but all she was doing tomorrow was labeling potions and inventory. A few heavier drinks wouldn’t hurt her. It wasn’t as if she’d get trashed or anything. “It’s… interesting.” She laughed at George’s knowing smile, his silence prompting her to keep talking. “It’s a big shop, I don’t know if you went inside of it while it was still… well, whatever it was before the war.”

“A used bookstore. I went in once, it’s really quite something.” Not quite as big as his and Fred’s shop, but still substantial.

She nodded, and took a sip of her drink, “Well, I hired on Victoria to help me in the shop, and we’ve been stocking up for the past week and a half. So I’ve basically been living in the shop’s basement working over a cauldron.” Gwen laughed, as she motioned around the room. “It’s good to get out.”

“I’ll have to drag you out of there more often then.” His trademark grin was plastered onto his face, “Do you know when you’ll be able to open shop?”

It had taken him and Fred months to create enough inventory for their shop the first time around. Hell, it was taking months to create enough inventory this time around. Less time than before, thankfully. This time at least they’d come up with most of their product ideas already. It wasn’t as if they had to think of all their inventory again.

Gwen gazed into the fire thoughtfully, sipping on her drink. “We’re hoping next weekend.” She could see George’s eyes bug out as he choked a bit on his drink. With a great deal of amusement, Gwen conjured up a handkerchief and passed it to George to mop up his mess. “We’re pretty far along, I’d say about two thirds of the way? My Ma and Dad are coming over in the evenings starting tomorrow, and between the four of us we ought to be able to get everything finished sooner rather than later.”

His ear was quite pink in embarrassment. Silently, George took the handkerchief and dabbed at the spilled whiskey that now found its home all over his jumper. Next weekend? He’d been guessing another month out. He dabbed at his nose, scrunching his face a bit at the burning in his nostrils. Damned firewhiskey.

George supposed he shouldn’t be all that surprised, nothing got in the way of Gwendolyn and her dream. Once the burning in his nose went away, he spoke “That’s wonderful, Love.”

“Love?” Gwen shook her head, “Not as good as Birdie. Come up with something original, Gred. C’mon.”

He folded up the handkerchief as nicely as he could before sliding it back to Gwen’s side of the table. “So hard to please.” George was silent for a moment, before he continued. “Dearie?”

“That’s what my Ma calls me. Are you my Ma now?”

“Only if you ask nicely enough.” Though that was a good point, his mother called him the same thing. “Do you have any other nicknames? What am I working with here. C’mon Hughes.”

Other nicknames? “My dad used to call me Gwendy. Well he still does sometimes.”

“Gwendy?”

Immediately Gwen regretted telling him that bit of information. She was talking to George Weasley after all. She took a large drink of her scotch, “Sod off.”

George leaned back in his chair, unable to wipe the look of amusement off of his face. This was far too perfect. “Aw, c’mon Gwendy! Don’t be so mean.”

“That’s what my Dad calls me. You’re not my Dad now are you?”

He almost said ‘Only if you ask nicely enough.’ Only to shake his head. Nope. Not appropriate. “Fine, I’ll think about something else. Dearling?”

Gwen paused, looking at George across from her above the rim of her scotch glass. He seemed almost flustered. “Dearling?”

“I meant ‘Darling’.” George didn’t need a mirror to know his ear was bright red at the moment. Dearling sounded far too sappy, something that obnoxious teenagers would call each other in the halls of Hogwarts—

“Dearling it is.”

George’s head snapped up, unable to hide the look of embarrassment. “Really? Dearling you like?” he rubbed his chin between his thumb and his pointer finger.

How had they gone from light flirting to him wishing he hadn’t spoken so quickly? It really was a marvelous transition.

“It’s cute and I’ve never heard it before.” Gwen grinned widely at him, “It’s the best thing you’ve come up with all night Weasley.”

“Fine—Dearling it is. But,” he pointed a long finger in her direction, brown eyes wide to establish eye contact, as he spoke in a tone that fell somewhere between serious and completely joking. “You have to come up with your own nickname for me. None of the ‘Weasley’ or ‘Gred’ nonsense. It has to be just as good as ‘Dearling’.”

Gwen leant back in her chair, one hand holding her glass of scotch and the other tapping her fingers on the edge of the table. Finally, she reached out her free hand to shake his in a firm grasp. “Deal. You’ll have to give me some time though, not all of us are blessed with your sharp wit.”

His eyes flicked down as he felt the cold touch of a ring press against his hand. It seemed to be a family seal of some kind, one of those rings that could be used to press wax. Gwen’s nails were cut short like his own, and painted some sort of purple color he couldn’t tell whether or not it was light or dark in the dim light of the pub. The paint was chipped, probably from working around the shop so much to set everything up, George thought.

It didn’t take much longer for him to realize he’d been staring at her hands for far too long.

“Sorry.” George laughed a bit nervously, before taking a rather large swig of his whiskey. There wasn’t much of an excuse for all of this, he wasn’t anywhere near drunk, and he’d barely just finished his first whiskey. He tried to glare at her the best she could, as Gwen stifled a laugh and rather poorly tried to cover it up with a cough. He released her hand and leant forward towards the table and rested his shoulders on the top. “Having fun?”

With a bright grin she nodded, it was quite amusing to see one of the legendary Weasley twins getting flustered like this. “I am actually. Last time I saw you like this you were trying to ask out that Hufflepuff girl a year below us.”

George’s eyebrows crinkled in confusion, before the realization hit him. “That was Fred. He wanted to take Katherine McGraff to Hogsmeade. Unlike him I stay cool under pressure.”

“Cool under pressure?”

He nodded, with a smile. “Cool under pressure.”

“So that time you got so nervous in Charms you accidentally set Lee’s robes on fire, that was cool under pressure?”

“That was—“ he pressed his fist to his mouth to try and stifle a laugh, “That was the first class I ever had, in our first year. Anyone would get nervous then.” After a moment’s thought, he got a wicked grin on his face, “What about the time in potions you melted a hole through your cauldron, little miss Apothecary?”

“Hey! That was…” she thought of a few seconds, before shrugging with a chuckle. “Okay yeah that one was my bad. I put in too many crushed beetles, and turned it too many times with my wand.”

He let out a small snort of laughter, as he stood up to grab his next round. “It’s alright, Snape’s reaction was amazing. The star pupil nearly ruining the potion floor.” He glanced towards the barkeeper before looking back towards Gwen. “Want me to grab your next round? I’m heading up there.”

“Sure! Thank you, I’ll get the one after.” She finished her scotch as she watched him walk towards the bar.

Honestly, she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d expected this night to go. Gwen knew going in that it wasn’t a date, and still didn’t consider it to be one. After all, when they’d come up with the idea of grabbing a drink in their letters, the words “Will you go on a date with me?” were absent. Any form of them were absent.

She also wouldn’t say she was the closest person in the world to George. That title obviously went to Fred, and there were many people in between her and the number one spot she was sure. However, she did feel like she knew him pretty well after all their years of school and how much they had been writing recently.

Gwen doubted he thought this was a date either.

They were definitely flirting though, and Gwen wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it. On one hand, she enjoyed it, there was a spark, and asking him out on a proper date would probably be well received if she was reading him right.

On the other hand, she’d heard from the grapevine about the string of flings he had the first few months after the war, and found herself a bit wary. While she wasn’t inexperienced, Gwen had never considered herself a shag and split kind of girl.

Granted, that was about eight months prior, and Victoria said his behavior had evened out since then. She tied her hair up in a ponytail with the hair-tie on her wrist. As he walked back, Gwen decided to ponder the matter later. “Thank you kindly Sir!”

He gave her a cheeky grin, as he set down her drink in front of her before sitting down. “Anything for a lady.”

“Have you finished those candies you told me about yet? The ones to help kids in school?”

George’s face lit up at the topic, he was actually quite proud of this line of products. “They’re great! I think we’ve fine tuned the recipe, what we’re doing now is testing them out on other people.” He sipped on his drink, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. “I think it’ll be easy to get people to volunteer this time around, seeing as the candies do something good, instead of causing unstoppable vomiting.”

“I think you might be onto something there, George. If you need test subjects though, I’m willing to help. Do you need me to just eat the candy? Or is there something else I have to do as well?”

Yes! Exactly what he’d hoped her reaction would be. “That would be greatly appreciated, thank you.” He tapped his fingers on his glass as he thought. “Well, you’d need to take two candies. One while you’re not doing anything in particular, maybe on a day off? We’d like to know what happens if someone accidentally takes one at the wrong time. It just made Fred and I want to work, but we’re trying to make sure that’s the same across the board. The other time, would be while you were working. Both times I’ll need you to take a note of when you took it, how you feel each hour it’s in your system, and when it wears off.”

For a moment, he paused before continuing. “And any side effects, obviously. I don’t think there ought to be any though? This batch seems pretty perfect.”

That sounded quite a bit more intensive than Gwen thought it would be. However, the next few days would require a lot of concentration, and a boost sounded amazing. “Want me to just write you when I’ve got all of my notes?”

“Or you can just come over and visit.” He traced his finger on the rim of his glass, smiling at her from across the table. “We are neighbors, you know. Besides, Fred’d be happy to have someone else to tease. He’s running out of jokes for Ron.”

Gwen leant forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I feel like being teased by Fred isn’t as fun as you think it sounds.”

George shrugged with a laugh, “It’s fun for me.”

A swift look at his pocket watch showed that it was just a bit past midnight as the pair walked out of the Leaky Cauldron.  “This was fun, we need to do it again sometime.” He paused for just a moment as the wall of cold air hit him once he opened the door for Gwen.

Perhaps a warmer coat would have been smart.  

“Does next week sound good?” Briefly she considered tacking on, ‘we can go on a date’ before dismissing the thought. It was too soon for that. “You, Fred, Victoria and I can all go out.”

That was not an invitation to a date, and George wasn’t sure whether he was disappointed or not. He stared down at her for a moment as she passed through the door, eyeing her dark brown hair before she looked over her shoulder at him, waiting for a response. “That sounds great. We’ll all be working across the street from each other, I get the feeling we’ll be going out a lot.”

Gwen’s breath came out of her mouth like smoke in the frigid air, and she found herself walking closer to George on the way back than she had on the way over. He was warm, at least.

George crooked his elbow, his hands shoved into his coat pockets as he invited her to link arms with him. “May I escort you home, Dearling?”

Her laugh was just a tad too loud, as it echoed through the empty alley street. Gwen was quick to silence herself, embarrassed to have broken the quiet. “That sounds wonderful, thank you Mr. Weasley.” She looped her right arm with his left, and perched her free hand atop his arm, eager to get some relief from the cold.

George quirked an eyebrow in amusement, looking down at her once more. It was a bit hard to see her face given their height difference, but he could tell her cheeks were pink from the drinks she had, and her nose was getting red from the cold. “Gettin’ chilly down there?”

“It’s freezing.” Gwen was exaggerating a bit, though it didn’t feel like it. That fall was turning out to be uncharacteristically cold. Her mother had said something about Muggle science and weather systems, but Gwen hadn’t understood any of it. All she knew was it was going to be colder than usual. She picked up her pace, gently tugging her companion along with her. “C’mon, let’s walk faster.”

Part of this was probably on her, she’d chosen a rather thin coat that night.

George laughed, a booming sort of sound that only really came when someone had had a little bit too much to drink, and the world became just a tad funnier than it was before. Gwen tried to shush him, as they finally came across a few older witches and wizards going about their business late at night. Most likely other shopkeepers who wouldn’t take kindly to a noisy disruption just past midnight on a Wednesday morning.

The pair trudged down the alley for the few blocks between their shops and the pub. George withdrew his free hand from his pocket and rested it atop Gwen’s. “Blimey your hands are cold!”

“What were you expecting?” she grinned a bit at the contact. She hadn’t done much flirting in a while, and tonight was a pleasant disruption to that pattern. As they arrived at the square between their two shops, Gwen looked back up to the immobile statue in front of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. “Is that supposed to be you or Fred?”

“Hmm?” George followed her gaze and cracked a smile at the giant man smiling in front of his shop. “Well, before the war it was me—Fred’ll tell you different. Don’t listen to him. Now though, I guess it’s Fred.”

They paused in the middle of the square, Gwen watching as George’s face contorted into deep thought. She wondered if she’d touched on a nerve by making him think about losing his ear. It was hard to be sure, they hadn’t talked much about him losing it. She was about to apologize when she finally heard him speak.

“If I lop its ear off it’ll be me though. Maybe I ought to try that.”

Gwen rolled her eyes, making a move to untangle her arms from his only to find his grip quite firm. “George?”

“I said I would escort you home.” He walked her the last ten feet to her doorstep with a grin as he let her go. “A gentleman never breaks a promise.”

“Well I’m glad you were there for the last bit, it’s a rather sketchy part of the alley.” Gwen dug her key out of her pocket, wiggling the rusted piece of metal into the lock before she opened the door. She stepped up into the store, able to finally look him square in the eye given the different levels they were standing on. There were a few rather long moments of silence, as she took in the redness of his ear and his nose. “Thanks for the fun night George. Try and get some sleep, alright? I’ll see you soon.”

“I had fun too.” He shoved his hands back into his pockets, finding them rather cold without Gwen. George took a step backwards as he realized he was staring in silence for just a bit too long. “I’ll write you tonight. G’night Dearling.”

With that he apparated to his flat, leaving Gwen standing on her stoop, staring into space thoughtfully for a moment before she went inside. “Night George.”

_____

“How’d your date with Birdie go?”

George groaned, he’d hoped that Fred would be in bed at this point so the teasing could be saved for the morning when he was sober.

No such luck.

“It wasn’t a date.” He swiftly unbuttoned his coat, before hanging it up on the rack.

Fred stared at him curiously from the couch, surrounded by a surprising amount of product notes and potions manuals, “What makes it not a date?”

“’ts not like we’re fourth years and ‘hanging out’ means a date. One of us has to do a proper job asking the other out.” George made his way towards the kitchen, intent on grabbing some sort of snack before he wrote Gwen’s letter and went to bed. A glance towards his twin showed Fred looking towards him in amusement.

“So when are you going to ask her out?”

George focused his attention back at their pantry, before grabbing a few scones their mother had dropped off. “Soon, maybe? We had a really good time. It was great talking to her, time flew by really quick.” He didn’t even bother to hide the grin on his face as he thought about their walk home. It’d been rather nice to have someone to walk with like that, and the romantic in him was eager to do it again.

They were going to date! Fred suddenly cursed the fact he hadn’t made a bet with anyone about this. He could have made some good money on this. Maybe he could still get Ron in on it. “Good for you Mate.” There was a pause, as Fred fiddled with the edge of his sleeve, wondering how to phrase what he was thinking gently before giving up on it. George usually knew what he was thinking anyways, Fred doubted he’d be surprised. “Go slow with this one, alright?”

Yeah, he’d known Fred was going to bring that up. George wasn’t annoyed at Fred for mentioning it, though it wasn’t something he was keen to discuss at length. “This is different.” Gwen was a longtime friend, not someone he barely knew. If things went south their friendship could be damaged. He wasn’t about to rush headfirst like he would have about a year ago.

After the war, he was alone. Sure, he had his family, and Fred turned out to be alright, but George had found himself painfully aware that if Fred had died he would have been without any sort of close companion. His whole family could have died in the battle—and where would he be? Completely alone.

George’s throat contracted as he felt the familiar sense of anxiousness crawl up from his stomach to his chest.

“Everything’s alright.” Fred moved to grab his cane so he could make his way over to George, familiar with these episodes of anxiety his twin had developed after the war. George would start staring into space, his jaw would clench, and Fred could see the vein in his neck start to bulge as he became more pale. “Things are better now, everyone is safe.”

He spoke softly, as George seemed to snap out of it. Fred attempted to get up off the couch, only to fall back into the cushions. The seat was too low and his back was too sore for him to get up by himself. Instead, he moved his papers and patted the spot next to him. “C’mon, take your potion quick and sit down with me.”

Things didn’t feel alright, or at least George didn’t feel alright. George clenched and unclenched his hands, suddenly feeling very foolish for getting upset over nothing.

At least Fred didn’t find him foolish for it. No one seemed to.

“Thank you.” His voice came out quieter than he thought it would, as his throat still felt quite tight. George set the scones on the end table by the couch before trotting back to the kitchen to take his sleeping potion and brew his tea.

This was a good day. He reminded himself. It can still end on a good note. George focused on breathing deeply as Fred began to talk about their new products they were about to sell. He knew what Fred was doing, he was trying to distract him.

George was glad for it, the tactic almost always worked.

The weight on his chest was mostly gone by the time he’d taken his potion and sat down on the couch next to his brother. George dipped a scone in tea, chewing thoughtfully before he spoke, “Gwen agreed to test out the concentrating candies for us. I’ll send some along with my letter tonight.”

“You’re sending a letter?” Fred didn’t bother to contain his surprise. “You just spent the whole night together. You’ve still got more to say?”

George shrugged, as he conjured up a parchment and quill. He nabbed one of the larger books littered about and used it as a makeshift desk to write on. “’ts what I do before I go to bed.”

“You fancy her.” It wasn’t a question, but a firm fact. Fred found his doubts about whether or not this would turn into a fling suddenly quelled. No idiot would stay up an extra hour after spending a whole night with someone if they just wanted a fling.

Once again, George felt his ears turn red. “A little, now shut up. I need to write.”

Dear Dearling,

George squeezed his eyes shut, finding himself quite aware of how drunk he was now that he was trying to focus on writing. This would be a rather short letter.

I had a lot of fun tonight. We ought to make this a weekly thing. I bet it’ll get even more fun as the alley starts to liven up again.

I’m really glad you moved in here. You’ll bring a bit more life in.

Those whiskeys are hitting me a bit stronger than I thought they would. I’m eating scones right now to try and help soak up the alcohol a bit. Did you know your tea tastes good with my Mum’s scones? It’s nice.

I’ll send the candies along with this letter. If they work well let me know. I’d like to be of some help with you setting up your shop.

I’m proud of you I’m excited for you for opening up your shop so quick. I know how hard it is. I think you’ll do good. You’ve already got two patients. Me and Fred. He’s been looking to switch to a new healer for a while—his is a prat. Has him on too many potions we think. I’ve gotta buy a new sleeping potion from you in the next few days, can I bring Fred along? You can take a look at him.

If you don’t mind seeing some patients before you open, that is.

Let me know, alright?

George paused for about half a minute, his quill leaving a rather unsightly blotch on the paper as he nodded off. Shocked awake as his head jerked down, George continued to write his letter.

Sorry about that. I’m falling asleep.

This isn’t much of a letter, I’ll make the next one long for you.

G’night

--George

With that, George set the book down on the coffee table, the letter resting on top of it. The quill was set to rest away from the pair, to avoid more splotches. With his letter finished, George leant back into the couch. His brown eyes closed and the younger of the twins let out a long sigh. Maybe he could just close his eyes for a moment before going to bed.

Fred rolled his eyes as he felt George’s weight on his shoulder. Frankly, he was surprised the git had lasted long enough to finish his letter. “C’mon mate, wake up.”

With no response from George, Fred began to entertain his options. He could prank his brother somehow—this was about a good of an opportunity as he could ever get. He could levitate George back to the younger’s bedroom, though Fred doubted he could do that without George ending up with a rather serious bump on his head. The third option was for Fred to get up off the couch, gather up all his papers and books, and throw a blanket over his brother.

He supposed he’d be a good brother and go with the third choice.

A quick flick of his wand was all that was needed for the papers and books to sort themselves neatly. Fred grabbed his cane and leveraged himself off of the couch, silently gritting his teeth in pain. George flopped over with a groan, not waking up as he now laid awkwardly on the couch.

Fred grabbed one of the warmer blankets that laid around and draped it carefully over his brother. “G’night Georgie.” He kept his voice soft, though he doubted George would wake up even if he shouted at him.

With that done, he picked up the letter from the table. Gwen and George had worked out a rhythm with their letter writing, and while Fred didn’t particularly get it, he didn’t want to disrupt it. He could mail it for George this time around.

Unable to stop himself, Fred scanned through the letter, not noting much of interest besides the ‘Dear Dearling’ and the scratched out ‘I’m proud of you.’ He filed the nickname away for later, and plucked the quill from off the table to scratch a note at the end of the letter.

Seeing Gwen as a healer was interesting, George was right, his was a huge prat. It’d be nice to have one right across the way.

P.S

Hello there Birdie, it’s Fred! George passed out after writing his letter so I’m sending it along with Peeves. I set in the candies with it, thanks for helping us out. I hope the sap wasn’t too much for you tonight.

Make sure to write back quick, George gets antsy if your letter comes late. He’s a worrier, that one.

I’ll come in with George as a patient. My guy is a useless fuck. I think you’ll work out better.

All the best,

Forge.

With that, Fred folded up the letter and slid it into an envelope along with several of the concentrating candies. He awoke Peeves, who seemed rather disgruntled to have his sleep interrupted. Fred cooed as the bird began to hoot in a rather upset manner, “I know, I know. You can fly to Gwen and go back to sleep. She’s not far. You’ll sleep over there, get some treats and be back in the morning.”

Fred opened a window and watched as Peeves flew into the darkness. As he closed it back up, the elder twin turned his attention back to his brother with a small sigh. They’d be able to start up the shop soon, in a month, they were sure.

Maybe things would get a bit closer to normal by then. One last flick of his wand turned off all the lights in their living room. As quietly as he could, Fred limped his way to his room and went to bed.

It’ll be interesting to see how this all plays out.

[hold-me-sickfics]

Alright y’all, I’m proud to introduce you to some of my new OCs! There are more coming, but these are the first😊💖💜 I want to thank @thatoneemokpop-02 and @bt20-whump for proofreading and inspiration. You two are awesome 💜💖💙 so... here goes 😊

TW: food, strip club mention, alcohol, emeto, tiny heartbreak, lots of fluffy cuteness (I think that’s all but if you see any I missed please let me know and I will fix them!)

“Parker, what is the point of coming to the library if you are not going to study?” Cody only looked up from his laptop for a moment before refocusing on his screen.

“I’m trying to help my poor, clueless friend find a date to the smart people formal.” Parker was spinning his fidget spinner at speeds unheard of by mankind.

Cody rolled his eyes, stealing just one more glance to his left.

Parker noticed.

“Dude, why will you not just go talk to her?” Parker could definitely have been heard from across the room.

“Talk to who? I wasn’t looking at anyone.” Cody blushed, his cheeks involuntarily rising in a smile to meet the rims of his glasses.

“Sure. So you were totally not just checking Brooklyn out. Of course not, so you won’t mind if I just go on over there and-”

“Wait! Wait.”

Parker smirked.

“Maybe I was. It’s not important.”

“Are you kidding? Look when you meet the chick that makes you… well… I won’t say it for your sake but if Maverick was here I would. Anyways, that means you gotta shoot your shot. It’s like basketball.”

“Parker I hate sports. We’ve been over this.”

“All because one frisbee hit your glasses yeah yeah…” Parker looked over at Brooklyn. She looked like Cody’s type. He had to get Cody to at least attempt it.

“What if you ask for her snap?”

“I’m not doing that.” Cody shut his laptop. “And another thing. It looks sleazy to just walk up to a girl and ask for her snap okay? You really should try a new method.”

Parker had his idea.

“Oh… you know what? You’re right. What should I do instead?”

“I don’t know, maybe… talk to her? Like at least get on some sort of “friend” level before you ask. It just looks better.”

“Uh huh…” Parker was getting ready to help Cody in a slightly less than orthodox way. “So to talk to her, you’d need a reason right?”

Cody looked over at her, hoping she wouldn’t catch him.

“Yeah… some sort of reason I guess.”

“Okay, don’t kill me.”

Parker got up, and started to walk over to Brooklyn’s table. She was there alone, seemingly very involved in her studies.

“Pardon me ma’am. My name’s Parker, and I was wondering if you like pineapple on pizza?”

Brooklyn blushed.

“I don’t exactly think it’s my thing… although pepperoni is pretty good.” She smiled.

“Awesome. So now that I’ve been established as the crazy person you have in common, Cody?” Parker called back to his previous seat. Cody had his face hidden in a book. He peeked out, throwing the book aside and doing his best to act “chill” as Parker had called it.

“Hi Brooklyn, I apologize for this… i don’t really know what to call him actually. I’m Cody. The-” he partially glared at Parker “more sane one.”

“It’s nice to meet you Cody, and Parker.” She bit her lip, and Cody felt his entire body go stiff. Parker could tell he had to save the day once again.

“So, you’re a hot girl. Have a date to the smart people dinner thing yet?”

“You mean the Academic Formal?”

“Yeah, love the bigger words. They really suit ya.”

“Let me just- one second.” Cody practically pulled Parker over to the side.

“You’re an idiot.”

“But I’m good at it, thank you.” Parker winked, and then went back to Brooklyn.

“Here’s the thing, my main man Cody here doesn’t have a date yet, and I thought you two would make a really cute couple so here’s his snap.”

Cody felt dizzy. Had Parker really just done that? This was the last time he was ever disclosing feelings to him. Actually, come to think of it, this is not the first time he’s said that.

Parker laid on his classic *Dean Winchester* smile, and then came back over to Cody.

“I’m literally planning your demise as we speak.”

------ time skip to 5:00 pm, in Parker’s dorm room------

“Ah I did good today. I found love for the little guy. I’m proud of myself and that means-”

“Do not touch the ice cream Parker I swear I will hurt you.”

Parker jumped.

“Maverick you aren’t supposed to be home yet!”

“And you aren’t supposed to touch my ice cream. So, even.” Maverick took the container away from Parker.

“Now, you wanna explain to me why Cody is trying to recruit me to kill you?”

“Not really.”

“Should I have him explain it?”

“Probably not… how about you just eat your ice cream hm? That would end well for all of us.”

Maverick rolled his eyes. He knew Parker must have really done something bad this time.

*buzz* *buzz*

Parker’s phone went off.

5:23 pm Cody: “ Why did you have to butt in?”

5:24 pm Parker: “ Because you couldn’t do it yourself.”

5:26 pm Cody: “Yeah and if you hadn’t done it, I could still be admiring her from afar and just getting silently and unrightfully irritated when she found another date.”

5:34 pm Parker: “Andddddd where’s the fun in that?”

5:37 pm Cody: “THE FACT THAT IT IS SAFE YOU NIMROD!”

5:43 pm Parker: “It’s still funny that you won’t cuss.”

5:45 pm Cody: “She just snapped me! What do I do? Parker I am scared.” “Parker?” “Parker!”

6:00 pm Parker: “Sorry, Maverick let me have ice cream and I forgot to text back.”

6:02 pm Cody: “ *facepalm* you are no help.”

6:15 pm Parker: “Well, what did it say?”

6:17 pm Cody: “I’m scared to look.”

6:18 pm Parker: “Dude, I’ll tell you what it says. Ready?” “ Hi”

6:20 pm Cody: “SHE WROTE BACK “HI” WHAT DO I SAY???????”

6:21 pm Parker: “You’re sure they invited you to the smart people thing right? Like it wasn’t a mix up?”

6:22 pm Cody: “Parker yes they invited me. I’m so dang smart that I have no idea how to… “my people skills are rusty.””

6:24 pm Parker: “Dude if you don’t stop with the references I am going to send you to a psych ward.”

6:25 pm Cody: “Noted. Okay, I am going to respond.”

6:30 pm Parker: “Good now text me when you have an actual conversation rolling aight?”

Parker put his phone in his pocket and went back to his ice cream cone. At 7:00, he got another text.

7:00 pm Cody: “She… um… she told me she’s going with someone else.”

Now Parker felt bad. The poor kid got rejected, and unlike himself, who bounces back and just moves on, he knew Cody had a tendency to get attached. Ah well, no use crying over spilled milk.

7:01 pm Parker: “Who?”

7:03 pm Cody: “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad she found someone she wants to go with. Well, I’m gonna go on to sleep so I can study some more tomorrow. Night Park.”

7:04 pm Parker: “Sorry dude. Night Cody.”

Now he felt really really bad. He thought for a bit, and then, an idea hit him.

7:23 pm Parker: “I am on my way. Do not do anything stupid like buying more books. You cannot keep any more in your room. There is officially no more space.”

Parker was going to do the one thing he knew cured heartbreak. They were both 21…

When Parker got there, he found Cody halfway through a bag of popcorn watching a romcom.

“Dude… I get that you’re sad but this is just straight tragic.”

Cody sniffled, holding the blanket up to his nose.

“Shush this is all I have now.”

“Nope, not gonna happen. Come on.” Parker picked Cody up and placed him on his feet.

“Why can you not let me cry in peace?”

“Because it’s not how I roll. Now, we’re getting you dressed, and then we’re going to a strip club.”

“But.. but I don’t-”

“Trust me, you’ll get the hang of it.”

Parker had considered inviting Maverick, but he was kinda the rule-stickler type. His grandparents had raised him to be pretty straight-laced.

---- time skip to driving to the club-----

“I really think this is a bad idea.” Cody looked down at his navy button-up and his black pants and dress shoes.

“You’ll be fine. Look, I’ve done this hundreds of times.”

“Hundreds??”

“Eh, okay maybe tens, but same thing.”

They pulled into the parking lot, and the one thing that went through Cody’s mind is that this was not going to end well.

----- time skip to 3:28 am-----

“Wowwww she was-s right in ma face! Did you see?”

“Yes I saw.” Cody pulled his friend up from the floor of the club.

“Ohh no! Iss time to go ba-back now?”

“It is. Maverick is probably worried about you.”

“Pshhhhhhhh nahhhhh… m’ fin”

“You’re fine?”

“Yeash I’m fineeeeee”

“And here I was thinking I was a lightweight. Alright, out we go.”

“BYE BRITTNEEEEEEEEEE!” Parker’s head lolled to the side as he let Cody handle most of his body weight.

They stumbled to the car, somehow making it in a decent amount of time. Cody opened the passenger side door, and helped Parker slide in.

“Thank you *burp* you’re my bestesetest of frans. I luv you mann.”

Even Cody had to laugh.

“I love you too. Now, in the car. We’re putting your seatbelt on.”

“NO! NO I WON’T BE TAKEN AGAIN! I CAN’T GO BACK *hiccup*”

“Tell it to the judge bub.”

Parker heard the seatbelt click into place and immediately started bawling.

“I *hiccup* am s-so sorry-yee. I did not mean to *hiccup* tell the *hiccup* panda to go *hiccup* f-”

“Okay that’s enough bud. Sleep. We’re headed home.”

“I c-can’t f-feel my eyeballs *hiccup*”

“You aren’t supposed to feel them. They’re just there.”

“BUT HOW DO I KNOW THEY ARE NOT STOLEN????”

Cody took a deep breath and looked down at the clock in the dashboard. They’d be home in ten minutes, maybe less if Parker didn’t stop blubbering. He’d already called Maverick, who had assured Cody he would take care of their drunk friend, but Cody had decided maybe it would be nice to take care of Parker instead of being on his own tonight. Despite everything that happened that night, he still wanted some company.

“Oh jolly good young fellow wherefore art the d- oh! Look at the grass! It’s so green!”

“It’s brown bub. It’s winter.” Cody smiled, pulling into the parking place that he’d been assigned.

Cody smiled, pulling into the parking place that he’d been assigned.

“Welp… I’m bout to turn it *hiccup* green…”

Cody looked over to see Parker’s cheeks puffed out and his chest rolling forward in a heave.

“Hang on! Hang on-” He jumped out of the car and opened the door on Parker’s side. It was just in time. Pure alcohol mixed with some sort of greenish jello shot coated the ground. It splattered onto Cody’s pants, but he didn’t care.

“There ya go. You’re doing great.” He awkwardly rubbed Parker’s back as the boy gagged again, turning to face the grass below once more.

“M’ overdid *gag* it…” Parker started to cry from the exertion.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about that now. Cody’s gotcha.”

Another bout of liquid spattered on the ground, some of it dripping down Parker’s chin. Cody had some napkins put away in the glove compartment, so he reached in and grabbed a couple.

“I *hiccup* unhghh…”

“You done Park?”

“Yeah…”

As if his body were trying to prove that it would not be controlled, he heaved up another round of clear, bubbly liquid.

“M’ done now.”

“Okay, up we go.” Cody wiped Parker’s mouth before slowly helping him up. His friend looked so pitiful, his hair so tousled and sweaty, his skin so pale… he hated to see him feeling so bad, but he had done it to himself.

“Alright, now… we’re going upstairs to my dorm room. If you need to puke, here’s a bag. Tell me to stop walking if we need to.”

Cody knew that was too much information, but it was worth a shot.

By some miracle, they made it to Cody’s room. Cody scanned his entry card, and then helped Parker onto the bed.

He sat next to him, rubbing his arm. Parker was curled up in a tiny half-asleep ball.

*buzz-buzz*

4:35 am Maverick: “Hey, you guys okay? How much did he drink?”

4:37 am Cody: “More than he should have… hey listen um… I was wondering… do you happen to know who’s going to the dinner with Brooklyn? She told me she was going with someone but didn’t say who.”

4:46 am Maverick: “You’re gonna flip out if I tell you.”

As much as that text intrigued him, Parker had partially woken up and had just puked all over himself and the bed.

Cody put his phone on the bedside table and then held Parker up so he wouldn’t choke if he puked again. Which, he did.

“Hnnngh… I feel like s***.”

“I know. You look like crap too.”

“Hhuuurrrrrrrkkk!” A thick, sludgy liquid came up.. It was sort of white and yellow… oh wait. Yeah, Cody would never look at french fries the same after tonight.

“That’s it. Get it up. I’ll fix the bed later.” Cody knew he couldn’t move him yet, so it was just best to get everything out.

After a few more empty, dry retches, Parker was finally done for the moment. Cody made the decision to take him to the bathroom and let him sit next to the toilet while he got some of his extra clothes to put on him.

He heard loud retching, almost obnoxious, from the bathroom. He just took a breath and went on looking for the clothes, knowing that more than likely Parker wouldn’t be done for a while, and probably didn’t register that he was there anyways.

“C-Cody?” A weak whimper filled the silence. Cody was shocked, but immediately grabbed a pair of boxers (which admittedly he felt weird about), pajama pants and a t-shirt, and then went to the bathroom.

He found Cody in a puddle of puke, tears streaming down his face.

“Don feel *hiccup* good…”

Cody felt his heart break.

“It’s okay. I know you don’t feel good. I promise it’ll be over soon.” He had to lie. The poor thing in this confused, overly dazed state couldn’t take the truth that he’d more than likely be puking for the next two days after how much he drank.

Cody got down next to Parker, putting a hand on Parker’s back. His shirt was damp with sweat and vomit. Cody rubbed up and down on his side, watching as Parker curled himself around the toilet.

“You’re gonna be okay Park.”

“S-sorry…” For a moment, Parker almost sounded sober…

“It’s alright, I can clean it up. You’re good.”

“No… the *hiccup* chick…”

Cody had been trying to forget about that.

“It’s not a big deal, really.”

“If I didn’t feel *hiccup* like I was gonna *hiccup* throw my guts up *hiccup* I’d have tried harder…” Parker turned his head back toward the water and puked up a thick stream of alcohol and whatever other fried foods he’d gotten into.

Cody felt bad. He knew Parker had tried, but he felt worse that Parker was sitting here puking and still thinking about that. He was sick. He didn’t need to be worried about that.

“Let’s um… talk about it when you’re sober hm?” Cody smiled sheepishly.

Parker nodded, his mouth opening slightly before gagging again.

“I’m gonna go get the bed ready. Can you stay here for a bit?”

“Mhmmm…” Parker spit a stringy line of saliva into the toilet.

Cody went out, and took the bedspread and pillowcases off. He tried to get as much of the puke off as he could, but hopefully the washing machine could do most of the work. He didn’t have another comforter, so he had to find his best throw blanket and go with that.

He finished making the bed, and then went back to the bathroom.

“Park?”

The boy was asleep on the toilet seat. Cody could feel his heartstrings being pulled one by one. He wet a washcloth and then sat down next to Parker, leaning him back slowly onto his shoulder. Cody then softly wiped his face, noting how sick he looked. Usually Parker was all crazy plans and bold ideas and loud things. It was far different to see him this way. So quiet, weak, and… helpless really.

He continued to clean Parker up, and then got him into fresh clothes. Then he helped him to the bed, and laid him down. This time, he’d put a bucket next to him. Not that it would really make much difference since Parker was probably too drunk to notice it. He pulled the blanket up to Parker’s shoulders, and then went back to the bathroom, cleaning up the rest of the mess.

When he finished, he went back to the couch and fell asleep. He knew he’d need the rest for Parker’s hangover the next morning. Thank goodness today was a Friday so they wouldn’t have school tomorrow.

(Part 2 coming soon!)

[whothehellisyn]

Cat and Mouse | Ch. 7

Series Masterlist

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Dark!Mysterio x Reader

Chapter Warnings: unreality, paranoia, wet dreams, minor gaslighting (moved objects), sleep paralysis

AN: you know the typical warnings, and we’re almost caught up to my current writing!

It’s been two weeks since Quentin left, and it’s been three days since you’ve slept. You can feel the exhaustion affecting your body and your mind, as you’re much clumsier now. Earlier you dropped a glass again, and just now you hip-checked the kitchen counter because you miscalculated how far you were from it.

“Fuck!” You groan, rubbing your hip. “God, I’m so fucking tired.”

“Maybe you’ll pass out eventually, and just collapse and force-sleep.” You say. It’s a hopeful thought. “Maybe if we’re lucky, it’ll happen later on tonight.” You nod to yourself and go back to perusing the kitchen for lunch.

“Damn, I need to go to the store soon.” You note, wondering if you should make a list. “Wait...” Oh yeah. You can’t do that.

“Is there enough for this week?” You ask. You start to do some mental calculations, counting up the cans and boxes.

“Maybe? If you’re careful.” You decide. “No more snacks, just the meals.”

Making conversation with yourself has become second nature now, and you don’t hesitate to ask yourself things that don’t matter. Over dinner, you explain to yourself wether you believe in fairies or not. You pretended to give a tutorial on cooking as you prepared your meal. You’ve started to feel more and more tired throughout the day, but in the middle of cleaning up your dishes it starts to really hit you.

Even as you wash your plate you can feel your eyes trying to close. Your body begins to settle into a sort of lull as the sink runs, the white noise is so comforting and soft...

The metallic clang of the plate slipping from your fingers and landing in the sink makes you jump, snapping awake.

“I’m way too tired to be handling breakable items.” You mumble. You know you have to shower before you try to get some sleep, but it’s so tempting to just go to bed dirty.

“Don’t be gross,” You chastise yourself, “You stink.”

You start the shower again and begin to get undressed. Just before you go to get into the shower, you hear the big metal door clanging shut. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you peek out of the bathroom and look for Quentin. Nobody is in the suite, but there’s brown paper bags on the kitchen table. You go to them and discover that they’re groceries, a mix of fresh foods and shelf items.

t occurs to you that this means you’re being punished for the long run. Then you start to think more about this delivery. Apart from your short bathroom breaks, this was the first time all day you’ve been out of the main area longer than a few minutes. How could he have known you needed food and also when you’d be occupied long enough to deliver food without you being able to see him?

You tighten the towel around your body and look around the tops of the walls. He’s got to be watching you somehow.

You search around for fifteen minutes before you realize you’ve left the water on.

“Shit, shit, shit!” You say, running to the bathroom. You feel the water and luckily it’s still warm. You shrug off the towel and rush to get clean. Hopefully he doesn’t have cameras in the bathroom.

Wether it was the grocery delivery or the shower, that sleepiness from earlier is gone much to your chagrin. You lie on the floor, on the verge of tears from frustration. God, you’re so fucking tired.

“I just want to sleep!” You whine, covering your eyes with your arm. “I don’t want to sleep in the bed.” You add, as if to stop yourself from suggesting it.

But maybe you have to, even if you don’t want to. You sit up quietly and sneak over to the bed to avoid your own will from realizing what you’re doing.

The bedsheets are so soft, have they always been? They don’t even smell like Quentin anymore, thank god for that. You use the blanket you’ve been sleeping with onto of the bedspread and curl up in the comfort of the mattress.

You don’t even remember falling asleep.

You dream that you’re in SHIELD headquarters and Peter Parker has dyed his hair green on accident. Director Fury’s eyepatch keeps changing eyes but he doesn’t seem to notice. He asks you if you’re allergic to tomatoes and that he wants to know because he just learned how to make spaghetti.

Your neighbor Madeline announces to the three of you that she is now the new head of SHIELD and puts Director Fury in a mason jar. You get put in a coffee mug and she makes Peter dye his hair purple before putting him in a Tupperware. Apparently Director Madison has a fascination with putting people in containers.

It starts storming inside the headquarters, and little fishes and seaweeds drop from the clouds and onto everyone. “It’s a hurricane!” Director Fury yells, dumping you out of the mug. “We have to take cover.”

You obey, and hide next to Peter Parker underneath a desk. He has an octopus on his head, but you try not to stare. He’s about to tell you something when–

You wake up still exhausted, but feeling much better than before. What a weird dream.

You half expected Quentin to be in bed next to you, but you’re still alone. You go to unpack the groceries from last night but they’re already put away. Another quiet visit.

“That’s kinda of rude, don’t you think?” You ask.

“Personally I think it’s incredibly fucking rude, but what do I know?” You reply.

“No, no,I definitely agree with you.” You say, opening the fridge to look for where everything has been put. “Especially because butter,” you grab a knob out of the box, “goes outside the fridge!” You tear off the paper and drop it onto a plate.

“Of course he’d put all the butter in the fridge, the fucking bastard.” You say jokingly. “He’s the exact type to not understand the needs of butter.”

You chuckle for a few seconds before you go quiet. You’re really laughing at something you told yourself, huh? That’s not what normal people do. Maybe you’re going crazy.

“You’re not crazy, dumbass.” You say in an obvious tone. “Social conventions are bullshit, everyone talks to themselves at least a little.”

You feel the need to add to your defense, “At least you’re not seeing stuff.”

Two more days pass and you start to feel more paranoid about the surveillance that surely is required for these quiet visits of Quentin’s. You’ve also been incredibly bored and anxious to do literally anything since day three, and now you’re getting tired of talking to yourself. Which is pretty fucking bad because you don’t have have anybody else at this point.

You’re eating a bowl of soup for lunch when you notice the bathroom door is closed. That’s weird, you think. it was definitely open a few seconds ago, you just came from the bathroom not ten minutes before. Setting the bowl down on the kitchen counter, you approach the bathroom door and let it swing open.

The bathroom is empty. You were certain you hadn’t closed it, but maybe you did and just didn’t realize it. The days all blend together now anyways, it’s not unreasonable to have done it without noticing.

You go back to your soup, picking it up off the table where you left it.

But you didn’t leave it there. You left it on the counter, didn’t you?

The metal door hasn’t opened since the groceries were delivered and put away last week. You’re certain of it. You even started showering with the bathroom door open so you’d be able to hear it.

You abandon the soup and start opening up cabinets. You open up every single cupboard, the pantry, the linen closet in the bathroom, you even open up all the drawers. You tuck the bed skirt up under the mattress so you can see under the bed. You find nothing but...

Something is in here with you. You don’t know if it’s Quentin, or a drone, or both, but there’s no fucking way you would think you placed the bowl on the counter unless you really did. You’re not sure how to proceed with this information.

You go to put the leftover soup in the fridge, and on the middle shelf at your eye-level is the plate with the butter on it. You calmly take it out and place it back on the counter.

“Like I said, a fucking bastard.” You say quietly.

You crawl into bed that night wary of your surroundings. Nothing has been moved since lunch, but you can’t shake the feeling that something else has changed. It’s something unconscious, you think. Like if the walls were suddenly two shades lighter than they were yesterday. There’s no way for you to prove something is different but you can sense it all the same.

You get underneath your trusty blanket and lie in the darkness. You want to fall asleep, even if it means that whatever is in here has the chance to do something. You can dream if you sleep, you can go be somewhere else and “talk” to people.

You are dreaming, but it’s a sea of images and sounds and sights. It feels like home and nowhere simultaneously, which was fine. You feel something crawling all over you, and when you look down, your body is covered in thick vines that have wrapped around your limbs.

You wake up flailing, inches down the bed from where you fell asleep. The covers are thrown off, your pajamas slouching down towards your left foot as if something had grabbed it to yank you off the bed.

These sort of peripheral out-of-sight visuals continue. Sometimes you feel breath on the back of your neck that belongs to no one, or feel the looming presence of a person inches away from you until you turn around to face an empty room. You know he has illusion technology, you know it must be him, but it feels so small and minuscule compared to what he’d usually do.

Maybe he’s trying to make you feel crazy, so you’ll run into his arms afraid you’re insane. Maybe you’re trying to make you feel crazy, accidentally.

You sleep again, this time waking up to sleep paralysis. You’ve never had it before now, at least that you can remember. You had dreamt of a weight on your chest, and something choking you with just enough pressure to make you lightheaded. You hallucinate that a rotting corpse is straddling and strangling you as you lie immobile, and when the paralysis leaves you you sob with relief.

Days melt again and sleep comes rarely. The times you do fall asleep you’re always jarred awake, that feeling of falling taking over. You fall asleep anxiously, your heart pounding slowly as if it’s preparing itself for more terror.

You step out of the shower one morning and in passing notice your obscured reflection in the bathroom mirror. Full of steam, your body is a blurry mass of flesh tone within its confines, but what catches your eye is a large, dark object directly behind you.

Breathing shallowly, you pick up a hand towel and slowly make your way to the surface of the mirror, before swiping quickly as if it startle the thing behind you first.

As you swipe away the steam, the visage disappears instantaneously. Whatever was behind you is no more. Paranoia begins to rear its head.

The night terrors and sleep paralysis are awful, the peripheral hallucinations as well, but nothing mentally prepares you for the dream you have.

It’s easy to write off the rest of these moments as Quentin’s doing, after all, he’s a master manipulator.

You’re running through the maze again. It’s still as dimly lit and damp as it was the day he forced you through it, but this time something has changed within you.

Quentin catches you with ease, just like last time. But when he grins, you grin back and catch his lips with a very open kiss, tongues working into each others’ mouths. You wanted him to catch you.

His Mysterio clones pin you to the wall and you moan, legs opening wide for the Quentin as they grab your arms. You’re not wearing panties, and Quentin groans approvingly as he kneels on the ground and buries his face in your sex, hiking your gown up past your hips. He rips the side seams, leaving you naked before the three men. The clones, rid of their helmets, bite at your neck and take turns kissing you messily.

Everywhere you look, everything you feel, is Quentin Beck. The two clones lean to kiss you at the same time, Quentin fucking you with his tongue as he eats you out. You get close and closer to climaxing when he pulls away suddenly and looks up at you, dragging his tongue against your clitoris torturingly slow.

“Fuck, please,” you gasped. “Please, I don’t want to cum yet.” Quentin slows his pace even more, his tongue hot and wet against you. The mysterios begin to tease your nipples with their fingers as they suck on your neck, one dipping down to use his mouth. You whine and squirm against them and the pleasure.

“I want you to fuck me, please.” You beg, stomach tightening from the impending orgasm.

Almost excitedly, Quentin pulls back and tugs his suit off, though his clones haven’t stopped their pace at all as if to keep you on edge. They’ve raised you further up the wall, Quentin nestling between your legs like he was made to be there.

He pushes into you and your entire body thrums with how good it feels. How good he feels.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good sweetheart.” He groans. He sets an unrelenting pace, quick and hard.

You’ve devolved into a series of pleases and fucks and yeses, alternating between those words as he rubs your clit with one hand and grabs your hip with the other. His clones are whispering things to you, Quentin too.

“You gorgeous little thing, you’re ours and nobody else’s.” one says. “You’re such a good girl for us, sweetheart.”

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard they’ll have to carry you back, all fucked out from my cock.” Quentin says, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you baby?”

You nod, your entire body stimulated from the three of them. It would feel good to be spoiled that way, to be carried back and tucked in and away from everything else.

Quentin’s breathing has become ragged, his head resting in the crook of your neck as he thrusts harder and harder into you until he cums, your own orgasm following suit as the feeling of his release inside you pushes you over the edge.

You wake up sweating, underwear damp and proof of what had just transpired.

The one place Quentin couldn’t hurt you, and there he was, fucking you inside it. A wet dream to betray your hatred.

You know it’s impossible for him to know what just happened but you still feel ashamed and confused.

The shower water is hot, borderline unbearable, and you roughly wash your arousal out of yourself with your fingers. It did not happen. It couldn’t have happened. It will not have happened.

Various excerpts of the four of you play in your head every idle moment you afford your brain. It lurks behind every thought you process as if to remind you that it came from within your mind.

You push it away as much as you can, try to ignore the sinking feeling. Somewhere Carl Jung is preaching to a dead choir about wish fulfillment. Plenty of people have dreams about the things that happen to them, and it gets jumbled up and spit back out in their sleep as something contorted and wrong. You’re just processing the awfulness of this all, that’s all. Your brain is trying to make sense of this betrayal in the only way it knows how.

But it also makes sense considering what you and Quentin were, before. You can still remember how soft the first kiss between you two was, something tentative and sweet. He cupped your face that first time, stroking your cheek with his thumb like he was trying to remind himself you were real.

You’d fallen asleep in his arms, once. There was even an inkling of a future with him in your mind. Maybe that’s why you lash out so much. It’s true that what he has done is evil, but to be truthful you’re more scared and disgusted by yourself.

After everything, part of you wants to love him, the real him. Because he has to be in there somewhere, doesn’t he? You want to salvage this awful, terrible thing even after he tortured you. You wonder what there is to say about it. Perhaps it’s just you clinging to what little reality there is left, even if that reality is a false one.

The water has run cold. You turn the knobs to shut off the flow and wrap yourself in a towel. There’s a lot to think about. You dress silently, and say nothing as you stare at the television for a while.

“I’m not sure how much of this isolation I can take.” You whisper suddenly. “We’ve gone full to circle to having… that sort of dream after everything that’s occurred.” You say even quieter, “What if I’m starting to need someone?”

You look up from your seat on the bed at the television. “I think you’ll be okay.” You try to say reassuringly. “The nightmares aren’t so bad that you can’t sleep afterwards, you still have an appetite...” You trail off.

You nod, and bite your lip as tears start to fall. You have those things, for now. But even trying to be hopeful about things working out somehow just hurts in the end.

[flowerbinniee]

et sanguinem flos petalis [i] - peter parker

title:  et sanguinem flos petalis

summary:  first loves are never easy, especially when they have the power to kill you.

pairing: one-sided peter x reader, peter x mj

word count: 1765

warning(s):  swearing, blood, dying character, angst, one-sided love, the hanahaki au that no one asked for

a/n: here’s the first part, guys! hope you enjoy.

“No,” you murmur in horror as your friends stare at the bloodied rose petals in your palm. Not here. Why did it have to be here?

“Y-Y/N? Are those rose petals?” Betty asks, her eyes wider than Brad’s basketball. “Wh-Why are you… coughing up rose petals?” You’ve reached the point of no return, my little petal. You have no choice now.

“I-I…” You scrambled for some sort of excuse, a lie, but there wasn’t one. The voice in your head was right: you don’t have a choice. You have to face it. “There’s this disease. It’s called, uh, Hanahaki—”

Realization washes over MJ, and her shoulders slump. “Who is it?”

The sting of tears burns the back of your eyes as more petals and droplets of blood fell to the tile floor beneath your shoes. “M-MJ, please under-understand that I d-didn’t want y-you to find out this way… I-I never—” Your apology dies on your lips as you meet her eyes. Flames of rage were rampant behind the dark brown irises.

“Would you rather us find out after you were already dead? Because you were too much of a coward to face me? Face him?” Her words tore at your heart, but she was right. You are a fucking coward.

Another suffocating cough sends more petals into the open air between the two of you. “There are o-other options,” you tell her as blood drips down your chin. “I-I wouldn’t have to die.”

“That surgery isn’t always successful, Y/N! And you’d have no capacity for any kind of romantic love or any memory of him when you woke up. Do you really want to put him through that?”

“H-He’s got you,” you weakly defended. “He’ll be okay.”

A low growl rouses from her throat, and she clenches her fists by her side. “God, I want to fucking punch you. You really want to keep it from him, don’t you? You would rather have him watch you die than tell him you’re so in love with him that it’s literally killing you.”

“There’s no other way.”

“Yes, there is!” She shouts, gaining the attention of some people around you. One of which includes a certain brunette. “Tell him, Y/N! Tell Peter, or I will.”

“Tell me what?” Of fucking course.

“Peter,” you murmur, eyes locked on his form. “H-Hey.” You feel him search your face until he spots your bloodied chin.

“Holy shit, Y/N, you’re bleeding! What happened?” Those innocent doe eyes reflect concern for your well-being, and you want to hate him for it. But you can’t. He cups your jaw in his hand and swipes at the blood with his thumb. “Are you okay?”

You nod. “Yeah, Pete. Of course. I just coughed a little too hard, I guess.” You avoid eye contact with MJ over her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“I’ll say,” his little laugh stirs up the flowers in your stomach.

“She’s lying. She’s nowhere near fine.” Peter whips his head around to face his girlfriend, eyebrows raised.

“MJ,” you protested. She shakes her head.

“Y/N, I told you to tell him, or I would.” She focuses her attention on Peter. “Do you remember that disease I told you about, Hanahaki?” He takes a moment to think before nodding.

“That’s the one where the victims cough up flower petals until they die, right?” He watches the stoic, angry girl reach down and scoop the handful of bloody rose petals from the floor, showing them to him. He stares at them in the same unsettling horror that Betty did when she first saw them. He slowly turns to face you again. “That’s what she wanted you to tell me?”

Not having the courage to look at him, you stare at the droplets of your blood that spattered across the floor.

“B-But that’s for people who have an unrequited love—“ He cuts himself as he continues to stare at you. “Who is it?”

“Peter,” you say. His expression turns stony as you evade the question.

“Tell me who it is, Y/N.”

“Knowing is only going to make you feel worse,” you try to tell him.

“I get enough of that bullshit from Fury! Tell me who it is; tell me who is literally causing you to die,” his fists clench just like MJ’s did, and fear presses down on your heart like the weight of the roses growing inside of you.

“Y-You.”

;

Things between you, Peter, and MJ become reasonably tense after the incident at the airport. Peter hasn’t spoken to either of you in almost two weeks. And you were too embarrassed to speak to them because you were so afraid that their knowledge of your feelings would destroy their relationship. They deserve happiness, they deserve each other.

Your new, depressing normal shatters fifteen days after your secrets are bared. A firm knock at your bedroom window lures you away from the AP Biology homework you’d been slaving over. Flipping the latch and shaving the pane up, you’re greeted by overly familiar brown curls and doe eyes.

“Peter,” you breathe. “What are you…” His mouth presses itself into a hard line, and his shaking head interrupts you.

“We,” he gulps down the growing lump in his throat, “We need to talk.”

“Yeah.” You move away from your window to allow him to crawl into your bedroom.

“I want to try to save you from this,” he starts. “I don’t want my best friend to die.”

“Peter, no.” You wring your hands together. “The only ways I can be saved is the surgery or—”

“Or if your love becomes requited.” He finishes your sentence softly, “I know.”

“So, unless you magically convinced Tony to fund my surgery, there’s no way out for me.” You sit back at your desk, your eyes never leaving Peter’s form.

He tilts his head up for his eyes to meet yours, bites his lip, and slumps his shoulders. “What if you didn’t have to have the surgery?”

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, you continue to eye the brunette web-slinger. “Peter—“

“What if I… learned to love you?”

Anger from the pit of your stomach sparks and catches like hellfire and brimstone. “Get out.”

His innocent eyes that damned to this in the first place blow wide, and his face tightens with confusion. “Y/N—“

“If you even think that I would let you not only ruin your relationship with MJ and disrespect my feelings like that, you are sorely mistaken, Peter Benjamin Parker.”

“I’m trying to save you, to keep you from dying like some c-caged animal!” He protests. “I don’t want to watch one of the people I care about most waste away when there’s something I can do.”

“I don’t want to watch the boy I’ve loved practically all of my life kill himself trying to save me from the inevitable. Peter, I’m going to die either from this or some other circumstance.” Sighing long through your nose, you hang your head into your hands. “I want you to love me, more than anything. But I want you to love me because you want to. I don’t want this to be an obligation for you.”

When you pick your head up again, Peter is closer to you than he was five minutes ago. He’s kneeling in front of you and gripping a leg of your chair. His free hand slowly reaches for the left side of your jaw, and he brushes the pad of his thumb across the length of your cheekbone. “I just want to help you, Y/N.”

“I know, Pete, but I don’t think you can this time.” He purses his lips and pushes them into a tight frown. He stills for a moment, and you’re afraid to touch him in fear of breaking him. Surging forward after the moment of hesitation is over, Peter gently pulls your face down to his and presses your lips together.

You always wondered what it would be like to kiss Peter; what his lips would feel like, what they would taste like. It’s not what you thought it would be. His lips are soft, sweet, and supple. The lingering taste of his spearmint gum bleeds into your mouth and tingles your senses. But there’s no affection or love in the kiss. There’s desperation, anger, anguish, pity in your kiss. You didn’t want your first kiss with your best friend, the boy you’ve loved since you were six, to be because you were dying. Seconds bleed into hours as the two of you sit there, lips pressed together. Suddenly, as if his lips had burned you, you pull away from Peter.

“Why did you do that?” Your voice is so soft, breathy. Chest heaving and cheeks flushing, Peter lifts a shoulder wordlessly. “Because I wanted to.”

;

The news of Peter and MJ’s demise as a couple spreads through your little friend group like wildfire. The news doesn’t surprise you, but it does upset you. What does surprise you after your kiss with Peter is MJ’s attitude about it. She doesn’t throw a temper tantrum, doesn’t scream or curse at you, doesn’t avoid you like a resurgence of the Bubonic Plague. In fact, she comes up to you during her free period the Monday after the ordeal.

“Hey,” she says as she looks unenthusiastically at her fingernails.

“H-Hey,” you smile sadly at her. “I’m, uh, guessing Peter told you.”

She nods once. “He did.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you lamely confess.

“His superhero complex is extremely irritating,” she sighs and balances her chin on the heel of her palm.

“You can say that again.”

“But I think you should let him try.” She peers down at you. “Let him try to love you.”

“No,” you shake your head. “I already explained to him that if he loved me, I didn’t want it to be out of obligation.”

“But what if it works? What if it saves you?”

Your silence on the subject reveals your reluctance. MJ then places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I want to see my best friend live.”

Deep in your subconscious, you knew that you wanted to live, too. You wanted more than anything to not die at sixteen. Even if it’s selfish, there was a part of you that wanted Peter to love you despite his new sense of obligation to you. If it could save you, you would love him as if you didn’t have a care in the world.

If it could save you, you would love Peter Parker as if he loved you back.

[starkerforlife6969]

Single Dad Baker Peter x Lawyer Tony

There was a misconception about divorce lawyers when Tony was at law school.

His classmates at Harvard sneered at him whenever he took it as an elect, semester after semester. They thought that the money was in corporate, that the prestige was in finance, that the fame was in criminal.

Family law, they sniffed, was for silly little things.

Tony hadn’t given them any credit then, and he doesn’t give them any credit now.

Ask anyone. He’s the most renowned divorce lawyer in the country. He’s one of the wealthiest men in the state. He’s on more retainers than plastic on teenager’s teeth. Rich heiresses and paranoid old men, wealthy immigrants and not-so-idealistic trust-fund students know better than to enter into the law-binding contract that is marriage without Tony Stark ready and waiting in the wings to come and save them some day from utter devastation.

Sure, Tony doesn’t believe in love, how can he? With everything he’s seen? But he does believe in loss. He’s seen wholesome people lose their homes, seen kids torn apart by separation, seen ruthless, vindictive jerks - men and women- tear their partner to shreds for reign over the holiday home. For custody. For triumph.

Tony wears his tailored suits, and lives in his penthouse apartment looking over the city, he drinks expensive coffee and he sleeps on a thousand-thread cotton sheets, but he knows that the only thing a partner is good for, is one night.

Repeats? No thank you. But here’s his card. One day, when you make the mistake of falling in love (a temporary state) and divorce arrives (inevitable. Horrible) he’ll show up on his steed (a Bentley) and his sword and shield (a fountain pen and a stack of papers) and he’ll win.

Oh he’s saved tech-tycoons 50% of their business. They’ve repaid him with a few percent here and there, stakes and shares in stocks and bonds, and he has more money than he knows what to do with.

You’d have to be out of your mind to think he’d ever kiss someone on the lips and put a diamond on their finger, just to see them take half of it away in a few meagre years.

No thank you.

* Tony comes back to New York after a month long holiday in India (what do you mean he networked and picked up a few new clients? Royalty looks ever so good on the old resumé, not that he’s needed one to get a job for a long, long time), there’s a new bakery around the corner from his penthouse.

He squints at it, trying to decide whether or not he’ll venture in tomorrow morning.

It’s called The Parker Place. It’s painted a sweet lavender, and there’s a chalkboard sign outside that says: We serve hot drinks too! with a smiley face and a heart. It’s nice and neat and-

“That’s been there for the better part of a year, dipshit. Nice tan.”

Oh. Maybe he should spend a little more time exploring his city. Tony turns with a smile. “Nat. You’re looking well.”

She is, but then again, she always does. Her hair’s pinned up today, and her pencil skirt and blazer are some sort of silky material that he wants to reach out and touch. But her stilettos are weapons, and he still has a bruise on his calf from when tried something. “I’m sure.” She rolls her eyes, “taking on your workload for a month didn’t have any impact on me at all. Not like I have my own case load.”

He hums around his smile, and nods at the bakery. “Any good? They serve coffee?”

“Pretty good,” she says noncommittally. “Though, I rate according to convenience and this is a little out of my way…”

“Why are you here? Not that I don’t appreciate the welcome party.”

She doesn’t give anything away- she has a brilliant poker face, like everyone in this game- but he’s known her for too long now. Over pizza and late nights studying for finals and Mock Trials with hang overs- “Rumlow called. Wants to hire you.”

Tony blinks in surprise. “I’m Kate’s retainer, she hired me years ago.”

“Rumlow’s offering triple. Fury wants you to switch.”

Tony scoffs at that. “I’m Kate’s. Besides, I can’t drop her without-“

“Fury can get you cause, Tony. Kate’s been taking Class B-“

“She has to,” Tony snaps, “married to that thing. Fury’s not my boss, Nat.”

The red-head looks bemused. “Technically-“

“I’m not dropping Kate. I want to put Rumlow in the ground. it’s about time they get divorced, he’s a fuckin’-“

“I know.” Nat cuts him off, softer. She shakes her head a little. “You’re a real softie, you know that?”

He bristles a little in offence. “I’m a shark.”

“Every other time you follow the money, but when you see a good person you go all warm-hearted and soft.”

Tony flips her the bird and heads into the lobby. He can feel the weight of her stare on the back of his neck and decides to be especially vicious when it comes to destroying Rumlow. He wants blood. He’s a shark, not a softie.

*

The sight that greets him when he steps into The Parker Place on Monday morning is so fucking cute he nearly melts on the spot.

And then he catches himself, and he scowls and puts on his air of casual, charming, charismatic. His default setting.

Besides, it’s not that cute. It’s just a very handsome man with fucking fluffy Disney curls and big eyes at the counter, covered in flour, with a young girl- just as covered- with the same brown hair and adorable laugh, and they’re mixing a bowl of what smells like heaven.

It’s not cute. Not even when the man reaches over to smear chocolate on the little girl’s nose and she tries in vain to lick it off.

Not cute at all.

Instead, he busies himself with looking around the place. It’s nice. Airy and inviting. There are shelves of cupcake decorations and cake stands on one side, freshly made loaves of bread on the other. Behind fancy glass cases are doughnuts bursting with cream and an assortment of toffee pastries.

It smells phenomenal. There are sheets of freshly rolled dough on baking sheets ready to be slotted into the many ovens behind the counter. For now, though, the ovens billow out the delicious scent of vanilla and sugar.

There’s muffins, croissants and cake all lit up in display perches, chocolate sprinkles, vanilla sponges and sugar dusted cream-filled puffs. The small, silver bell above the door gives way to the sound and scent of happiness, sugar, and home-spun food.

Tony doesn’t even know where to look.

He’s the only person in the shop this early, and he glances up at the chalkboard propped against the wall and reads the drinks options in handwritten cursive.

Caley Coffee! Tina Tea! Hannah Hot chocolate!

Tony’s not so sure those are brands.

“Oh! God! I’m so sorry!” Comes an effusive voice, and Tony is suddenly wondering whether it’s the little girl responsible for all those exclamation marks.

Still, he can’t help but smile through his shark facade when the beautiful young man wipes his hands against the front of his blue apron and hops up behind the counter. Is he here all alone? No way he’s able to manage this workload. “It’s fine,” he nods, feeling a little off his game. He wants to be suave. Wants to wink and do a little flirting, because this gorgeous slip of a thing would be divine for a night-

But the man’s daughter is still avidly mixing the huge purple bowl dotted with flowers, and Tony doesn’t feel right flirting in front of a kid. Not to mention, the man’s probably taken. There’s no wedding ring, but the man’s covered in four. He probably removed it.

Not that marriage is a huge obstacle, anyway. They always crumble.

But Tony’s not about to violate one. “I’ll have a-uh- a Caley Coffee.” He says as he steps up to the counter.

His breath catches for a second. The man, up close, is even more attractive than Tony first realised. He’s not attractive, he’s beautiful. It’s a sort of beauty Tony’s never seen before, outside of twilight era, Hollywood movies. Fading starlets, a type of beauty he thought might have died out a long time ago, along with the black-and-white pictures his mom used to watch.

His eyes are honey, and his lips: strawberry. There’s a sprinkling of freckles across his nose, and his skin is like smooth cream.

He’s positively edible.

“Oh yeah,” the man blushes- fuck. That blush. Tony watches it hungrily. “Sorry about that, Hannah names all the drinks because she says everyone deserves a name.”

Tony can’t help but crack a smile. “Sounds like a smart girl.”

Hannah looks up from her bowl and beams. “I am a smart girl!”

“You’re just smart,” the man chuckles, effortlessly making the coffee without even having to look as he adds milk and sugar and creamer- all things Tony hasn’t asked for, but he’s not about to stop the man now. “Girl or not, you know that, baby.”

“Yeah, I know,” she nods, “I’m smart!”

Tony could watch them all day.

“So, are you new around here?” The man asks, handing Tony his coffee and ringing it up. It’s cheaper than Tony thought, so he pulls out a few extra bills to put into the tip jar.

Tania the tip jar, according to the label.

“No, no, I’ve been away. I live just around the corner.”

“Must do something fancy,” the man teases, taking the money. “Suit like that.”

Tony tries not to preen. “Lawyer.”

“Oh god, Hannah-Montana,” the man whispers, aghast, and the brunette’s head snaps up immediately, already giggling at her father’s antics. “An actual shark has walked in here and you didn’t warn me!”

“A shark!” She squeals, looking at Tony with enormous honey eyes, “you’re a lawyer! Lawyers are sharks in snappy suits, and they snap snap snap and give law suits!”

Tony’s cheeks ache a little, from how hard he’s smiling.

“You’d be amazed at the sorts of things they have in story books now,” the man teases apologetically. “I hope you have a good day, Sir!”

He can’t help it. It slips out. “Tony.”

The man goes that lovely pink again and nods shyly. “Peter Parker.”

* There are a few reasons Tony can’t get The Parker Place out of his head.

For one, that coffee was goddamn fantastic. Sweet and high quality roast, an exotic, but homey flavour- he’s craving more.

Second, Peter Parker.

Maybe even Hannah, a little.

He never thought being a shark could make a kid laugh, but hey…he hadn’t hated it.

It’s only the first in a series of blows today, but Rumlow buckles like a baby calf. Kate stares at Tony; tears of hope and gratitude in her eyes, and Tony ignores Natasha’s knowing look from the back of the court room, and wraps the woman up in a hug.

Divorce cases rarely see the inside of a courtroom when Tony’s working them. It’s normally huge meeting rooms in sleek offices, with glass tables and leather seats and gorgeous views.

It’s elegant, and sometimes there are vases full of honeysuckle on the table and it doesn’t look like a place where people sign their love away.

Tony knows better, of course.

* When he goes into The Parker Place on Tuesday morning, it’s to get some coffee. Definitely not to try and find out whether or not Peter’s attached.

When he steps inside, however, Peter and Hannah aren’t there. Instead is a friendly looking guy in a Hawaiian shirt with a huge grin. “How can I help you today, Sir?” He beams, and Tony wonders whether this bakery has some sort of magic power. Everyone here is obscenely happy.

There are a few other customers milling about, considering the different cakes in the case, and he orders his coffee, trying not to feel the sense of longing that permeates deep into his core.

The coffee’s still excellent though.

* Stane isn’t a great lawyer, but he gets under Tony’s skin. Rumlow did a smart thing hiring him.

As he heads home on Tuesday evening, a light drizzle hanging over New York, he’s surprised to see the lights in The Parker Place shining brightly; a radiant gold in the otherwise murky, lightless street.

He’s drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

Inside, everything’s spick and span. The counters gleaming and wiped down, and Tony can see Peter fiddling with something on a baking tray.

Tony opens the door. The bell dings, and Peter looks up.

“Tony,” Peter sighs happily, “I hoped we’d make a repeat customer out of you! But it’s always hard to tell, you know? There are so many places just like this in New York.”

“Your coffee was amazing.” Tony manages, and it’s not as subtle as he’d have liked, but it makes Peter blush again.

“Thank you, please- um- sit, I’ll be with you in a second, I’m just trying to finish these scones before tomorrow.”

Tony sits on the pale blue wooden chair and feels all the stress of the day leave him. He watches as Peter squirts gooey filling into each puffed shell; watching as they fatten up happily, and he tries for the love of god, not to get an erection. He clears his throat, “so where’s Hannah?”

“In bed, thank goodness,” Peter laughs, and Tony takes him in- there’s a few dark circles under his eyes, his hair’s a little frizzy and his sleeves are starting to come down. It’s the end of a long day. He gestures to the ceiling, “and I’ll be able to hear if she gets out of bed. Thin floors.”

Tony glances up in surprise. “I didn’t realise you lived- above.”

“It’s a nice little apartment,” Peter nods, dusting the scones with flour or sugar. “It was a big risk moving here- I had to sell the house, but…” he nods, a content smile on his face. “It was the right thing to do. We’re- we’re doing okay.”

Tony wants so much he aches. “Hannah’s mom…”

“Oh no, it’s-“ Peter huffs out a small, sad laugh, “it’s complicated.”

Tony wants to brush the sadness away. Wants to feel Peter’s cheek under his palm. “I’m a smart guy,” he offers.

“Well my- my parents died when I was really young, I don’t even- remember them, but my Aunt took me in. She raised me, and then a few years ago, she…she fell in love. They had Hannah, but-“ Peter turns, sliding the tray into the fridge and hiding his face. “They passed away, and- now Hannah’s mine.”

The sense of loss hangs heavy in the air, and when Peter turns around- he’s smiling again, like everything’s okay.

“We’re happy,” Peter whispers, “it was- hard, but we’re…” he gestures to the shop and the pastries and the smiley faces drawn on the chalkboard. “She’s my little girl, and we’re gonna be okay.”

Screw one night, Tony thinks, speechless. What about the rest of our lives?

* “Well what are you doing, little miss?” Tony grins, sitting opposite Hannah as she scrunches her face up over homework.

She looks up at him, eager for the distraction. “Daddy said if I finished all my homework, I could have a peanut butter cupcake.” She pouts, looking down at her work. “But this is hard. Mr Lo made it look easy, but it’s not.”

Tony clucks sympathetically, before looking over her little work sheet. He shakes his head fondly. “You are damn smart, sweetheart. Every single one you’ve answered is right.”

She perks up at that, looking down at her work with surprise and renewed enthusiasm. “Really?”

“Ya huh.”

She races through the last few, and bar one silly mistake, finishes it all. She scampers off into the kitchen, and returns triumphant, with a peanut butter cupcake in one hand, and a mini pancake in the other.

Tony takes the pancake eagerly and they both chew in contented silence for a moments. “You always such a nerd?” He asks conversationally, and she giggles.

“Daddy says we’re equals pequels.”

Tony hums thoughtfully around his delicious mouthful. “How’s that?”

Hannah licks all the icing off her cupcake. “It means- if I don’t do homework, daddy can put me on the naughty step. And if daddy says a bad word, I can put him on the naughty step. We’re a demo-cacy. And and, if daddy knows more, I should listen to him as much as I can, like with boring stuff like-“ she looks a little sulky, “playing with fire, but if I know more- daddy tries to listen to me! Like, on how pirates speak, or or what flavours taste best in a cheesecake!”

Tony chuckles. “That’s quite a modern take on parenting. I approve.”

He looks up when the last rush of customers leaves, and finally Peter’s free. He’s covered in edible glitter and a light sheen of sweat, and there are a few diced rose petals still on his fingertips as he comes over and ruffles Hannah’s hair. “Hannah-Banana, eating that peanut butter cupcake, I can only assume…?”

“All finished, daddy-doughnut!” She chirps, and Peter kisses her with sticky lips.

Then he looks at Tony, a little shyer, a little braver. “I’m closing up soon, Tony, maybe…you could come up? For tea? And danishes?”

* “I’ve put on at least five pounds since meeting you.” Tony grumbles, squinting at himself in the mirror, even as he takes a huge bite of one of Peter’s raspberry cream danishes. The flavour bursts across his tongue, and Peter laughs, coming around with a tray of tea.

“You’re as dashing as ever, Tony, and I think you know it.” He teases, as the two of them sit down.

Tony watches Peter take a long, deep sip, the smell of jasmine tea in the air, and he wants.

“I don’t…” Tony croaks, when Peter meets his eyes, and everything is there; exposed, between them. “Love is…”

“Very real,” Peter promises, gesturing to Hannah’s bedroom.

Tony sighs. “That’s a different kind of love, Peter. That loves never goes away. Romantic love…it fades. Always.”

“Okay,” Peter murmurs, his honey eyes sad, “I wouldn’t know anyway, right? I’ve never had it.”

“Me neither,” Tony whispers.

*

On a sunny Saturday morning, Tony pinches his nose and looks through the annulment contract, Peter’s slicing peaches, and Hannah’s playing with a complex looking forest set.

“Have some eclairs, Tony,” Peter urges sweetly, setting down a heaped tray. “You worry too much, you’ll win like you do every other time.”

“I don’t know,” Tony sighs, reaching for the chocolate coated deliciousness. “Both of them are vicious- they’re tearing each other apart.”

Peter brings over another plate- this time, topped with gooey, chocolate chip cookies. Hannah comes racing over to grab three. “I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be solved with a bit of sugar and some maple syrup.”

Tony feels reluctantly fond. “Peter, property division is a little more refined than that.”

But of course, as he chews, he wonders.

* Susan and David pause when they walk into the meeting room in the sleek office building among the New York sky rises.

Tony grins winningly. “I hope you don’t mind,” he says as he beckons them in, “it was a colleague’s birthday and there were left over cookies.”

“It’s not- a problem.” Susan chokes, as the two of them enter the room. She sits down stiffly, eyes on the heaped stack. The room smells of melted chocolate. “We actually-“ she gestures to David awkwardly, “we met in a cooking class.”

David nods, looking anywhere but Susan. “First week was desserts.”

Susan stares at her nails. “I burnt mine so badly, but David, he…”

“Swapped ‘em. She was so worried the teacher wouldn’t like her, like we were kids.” His laugh is wet.

The two people in this room are human. The ones who were in here last week, fighting for custody over the house and the dog and the garden shed tools- those were animals. Tony gestures for them to sit, and as soon as they do, David bursts into tears.

“Have the fucking house,” he whispers, so quiet Tony almost doesn’t hear it.

Susan wipes her black, mascara-coloured tears. “He’s your dog.”

*

“Daddy told you,” Hannah laughs, decorating her cupcake with blueberries. Tony hoists her into his arms and tickles her till she cries mercy.

Peter comes out of the kitchen, covered in custard and bread crumbs, and Tony crosses the bakery floor-

And kisses him.

* Peter’s skin tastes like sugar- it never fades, but Tony’s always had a bit of a sweet tooth.

They fit together, slot in a way Tony never expected.

He loves Hannah fiercely, is overwhelmingly protective, and understands his work a little better now. Love is strong, but it’s balanced on life and circumstance, which is weak and flimsy. Sometimes love falls and cracks.

“I love you,” Tony whispers, as he and Peter snuggle in bed. They’re in Tony’s apartment- they’ve just christened his kitchen- baking wise, and Hannah is fast asleep in one of the guest rooms.

Tony’s childproofed the shit out of this place. He can feel Peter’s smile curve along his shoulder, “love you too,” he says, muffled.

But Tony means it more than that.

So, the next day he comes in, and hands Peter the annulment.

Peter looks down at his hands- covered in clumps of dough- “as romantic as legal documents are, handsome, I’m-“

“I’ve signed it already.” Tony breathes, “if we ever divorced- you’d get half my money- I’d be entitled to nothing. I wouldn’t take anything from you. It’s all yours.”

Peter blinks. “Tony, we haven’t even-“

“We will,” Tony blurts, feeling unhinged and desperate, “I’ll end up baking you some disgusting cupcake, but you’ll eat it because you’re too lovely to decline, and then you’ll find the ring I put into it, and we’ll get married and then life will fuck us, Petey, and then we’ll divorce and-“

“Oh Tony, Tony,” Peter cries, rushing around the counter to gather the older man into his arms. He gets raw dough all over Tony, but Tony doesn’t care. Just leans into Peter’s embrace as the younger man peppers his face with kisses. “You’re such a romantic skeptic, I can’t deal with you. I love you, and I will love that proposal, you glorious man.”

Tony gazes down at him, tears in his eyes, “but what happens when-“

“When life tries to fuck us?” Peter whispers, twining their fingers together, and he smiles. “We’ll fuck it right back. I promise.”

From anyone else, Tony wouldn’t believe it.

Right here, he does.

* “Bet you never thought you’d see the day, huh?” Tony mutters, adjusting his bowtie.

Hannah’s in a frilly white dress, tossing rose petals into the air.

“Actually,” Nat grins, fixing his bowtie for him, “I saw it coming a mile away.”

* He loses his fear somewhere along the way.

Between school runs and tantrums, between the highs and lows of Peter’s business as customers come and go. He loses his fear somewhere along their cotton anniversary. Somewhere around Peter burning casserole for his special birthday surprise dinner and the fantastic make up sex on Egyptian threads.

He loses his fear even when faced with the never-ending line of couples wanting to hire him. For the gold diggers and the sunset clauses and the genuine destructions of love.

He loses his fear because he comes home every night to Peter. To Hannah.

Peter crawls onto his lap in the middle of Aladdin and stretches out against him like a cat. “Let’s go on holiday,” he says around a yawn, “I always wanted to go to France.”

“I’ve gone a few times,” Tony hums, carding his fingers through Peter’s hair, “I’ll take us. You like the sound of that, Hannah?”

She gives him a thumbs up, eyes on the movie.

He’s gonna see her grow up, Tony realises. He’s going to drive her to college with Peter, sit at her High School graduation and cheer embarrassingly loudly.

He’s going to go grey and Peter will find him even sexier than he already does. Peter’s going to get better and better and better at baking.

Tony’s going to spend the rest of his life this happy. This in love.

The truth hits him, and the fear leaves. It evaporates.

He’s home.

“You love me,” he breathes, alight with certainty, and Peter snorts.

“Only a lot.”

“I will never divorce you.” He vows, speaking of a future certainty that he always warns his clients against. Breaking every rule he’s ever known. He was trembling at their wedding- even though he loved Peter with everything, he was still so scared of the transience of their love-

Now he knows.

“Good, good,” Peter says around another yawn, “I’ll never divorce you either. You’re my Tony.”

His Tony.

It’s all he ever wants to be.

Hannah notices the cuddling and leaps onto the couch with them, and Tony holds them close and is content.

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

You Slow It Down

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: M (Mature) Word Count: ~3.6K Notes: This is my Secret Santa gift to @sideeyedkinks for the @starkerfestivals fic exchange! I enjoyed making the prompt fit into the inner workings of my head and hope I did it justice!  Warnings: There be some NSFW stuff, but that’s about it!  Prompt: Tony fully expects that Peter, being a tech-y Gen Z, will prefer texting to phone calls. But whenever Peter initiates contact, it's a phone call. Summary:

Instead of continuing with his journey as Iron-Man, Tony Stark takes a couple of steps back in hopes of finding himself. After 5 years of living harmoniously with the world around him and the position he created for himself within the Avenger organization, Tony literally bumps into the start of the rest of his life. It's funny how life works - the best things always come when they're least expected.

Or, the one where Tony is obsessed with Christmas trees (& Peter Parker, too).

Read it on AO3 here. 

After the debacle with Killian and what felt like an ultimatum from Pepper, Tony took a huge step back from everything; his relationship and the Iron Man suit included. Of course, he didn’t pull his support away from Avenger business or leave them high and dry – consulting specifically with their tech and only their tech became his main gig. When the weight of the world was on his shoulders, sometimes his decision-making processes weren’t up to par – there were too many things that shadowed his vision; too many things that inhabited his head that the world shouldn’t see.

With every step away from the active duty stuff, the better things seemed to be. It started with sleep. Before, Tony would toss and turn; his head filled to the brim with ideas and visions – not so good times past. Little by little, Tony found himself sleeping through the night, his slumber the best he could remember in all of his grown-up years. And the lack of anxiety – Tony’s constant companion for so many years – it felt like a sweet release from the tomb he didn’t know he let himself fall into. Everyday things started to feel good again – including the work that he let himself drift from when he thought the world depended on him and him alone.

Before he knew it, five years were behind him – five years filled with successful technology advances, big rehabilitation in the city, and lots of actual enjoyment of his life. Tony allowed himself to actually get to know Happy; the man was a bundle of ideas, his take on security and the inner most running of Stark Industries both beneficial and fun to kick around when they found the time. Despite still having his toe in the world saving pool, Tony removed himself from it enough to make a place for his wants and needs that wasn’t riddled with grief and the terrifying idea of letting everyone down.

In his enjoyment, Tony found himself getting into the holiday spirit as the city turned from the hum-drum busy-ness to a gorgeous winter wonderland. In all the years of living in New York, the decorations never stood out; until he looked, of course – then, he couldn’t stand to look away.

Which is how he found himself standing in front of the lit-up tree at Rockefeller Center, the multicolored lights and unique ornaments covering the tree making his heart race, the feeling new each time he stood in front of the towering spruce. Tony was so wrapped up in the beauty before him that he didn’t realize he’d taken a few steps backward until he was full body colliding with what could only be another human being – his breath leaving him upon impact.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry – “ the lump of human murmured, his hands on Tony’s biceps before he could catch a look at his tackler turned savior.

Tony took a second to register a couple of things while the words sunk in – the first was that the body now pressed against his own was warm and what could only be described as firm. The second, and most important, was the way the other person’s hands felt in their grip against the upper part of his arm. Almost like he’d fallen asleep on the limbs, both arms were tingling, the place of contact on fire from the rightness of the touch. A shuddered breath left his lips before Tony could even think to respond.

“It was probably my fault. I’ve been staring at the fucking tree for who knows how long – I tend to wonder when I’m hyper focused like that.” Tony finally felt steady enough on his feet to take in the person standing in front of him smiling a gorgeously embarrassed grin.

“I was doing the same thing. Ever since I left for Cambridge, coming back and seeing the tree is more important than it used to be.” The man – the beautiful, young man stepped back then, his hand lingering on Tony’s arm for a second longer before dropping down into the space between them, a bigger grin on his face. “I can’t really say I’m mad about the collision, it kind of seems fated that we meet like this.” He stopped for a moment, taking more of Tony in – and then – “I’m Peter.”

Tucking his bottom lip between his teeth to stop the mega-watt smile from overtaking his face, Tony ducked his head and returned the handshake, his hand tingling all the while. “Maybe you’re right – you’re a fellow tree lover after all. I’m Tony – Tony Stark.” For a second, he held his breath, not sure what kind of reaction he was going to get from the handsome stranger.

As if reading his mind, Peter gave his hand a squeeze, cheeks blooming with a delightful red. “I know – I’m studying Engineering at MIT; you’re kind of a legend.”

A soft laugh left Tony’s lips at that, the breath he’d been holding slipping out with relief. Regardless of what the kid actually knew about him, Tony appreciated the tact – he felt his pride swell with the compliment. His time at MIT was treasured, despite what the rags told the public about it.

“An engineer, huh? How are the new labs? I heard they were starting to finally integrate the holoscreen technology.”

From there, the conversation just took off. Peter gushed about the leaps his research was taking now that the available technology was up to par. Despite being only 21, Peter was a semester from graduating – his hunger for achievement and knowledge apparent in every word out of his mouth. It was easy – talking to someone that showed genuine interest in all the pieces of Tony; not just the techy brilliance or his time in the suit. They walked around the tree a couple of times before making their way to a coffee shop where they occupied the table until very close to closing time.

His eyes still sparkling with the thrill of meeting someone he instantly liked, Tony bucked up some confidence and invited Peter back to the penthouse with him. “I know we just met, but I like you. Want to come back to my place?” Their bodies migrated closer and closer throughout the night, his hand finally wrapping around Peter’s as he spoke.

He felt a spark of hope slip down his spine when Peter shifted his hand just enough to tie their fingers together, the fit nice, just right down to the thread of the inside of each digit. Peter’s hand felt like it was on fire, the heat warming him up down to the very core.

“I think I’d like that,” Peter finally replied, his voice warm and a touch deeper, the idea obviously appealing to him in some fashion.

Tony didn’t give any opportunity for either of them to talk themselves out of it. He urged Peter up and to the curb with a squeeze on his hand, their steps steady as they navigated through the crowd on the sidewalk to where Tony parked his car – their hands only parting when Peter settled safely into the passenger seat.

Luckily, the drive back didn’t take long – the silence in the car was comfortable yet tinged with a sort of lust that encompassed everything. It felt good – to feel a nice kind of apprehension. There was a part of him that reveled at the novelty of the feeling. In all his years, Tony hadn’t felt anything like this – a burning desire that was consuming.

They didn’t let the dam break until the elevator dinged as they arrived in the foyer of Tony’s penthouse, the nearness to each other in the elevator car more than enough to sustain the need. And yet, the second the door opened, Peter’s arms were grabbing Tony’s hips, their lips sealing together without wasting a beat.

As quickly as possible when sealed from lip to toe, Tony steered them back towards his bedroom, the pair stopping every time a hard surface came into their periphery. Tony had to stop himself from letting Peter press him against the wall to take him right then and there. A gasp of success sounded when they finally tumbled into the bedroom, Tony breaking their connection to suck in a breath and do the dirty work of undressing.

Peter’s eyes watched him closely as he shrugged off his jacket, his scarf and hat hitting the floor with it. His fingers were cold, but still nimble enough to steadily undo the buttons of the warm flannel he put on in preparation of being out in the cold. His torso was completely bare by the time Peter blinked and started to disrobe himself.

Without much hesitation on either part, Tony and Peter met in the middle of the bed once the layers of clothing were coating the bedroom floor. Tony’s back pressed to against the mattress as Peter settled over him, the limbs that still spoke of youth covering him completely.

Long fingers ran through his graying hair, Peter’s eyes roaming over his face unblinkingly, as if trying to memorize his features. Tony let him have his fill as his own hands wandered over bare skin, the smoothness of it a perfect addition to the hard muscle residing just under the surface.

“You’re beautiful,” Peter mumbled, each word loud in the soft quiet surrounding them. His eyes were earnest, as if he needed Tony to know how real the words were. “You have the craziest eyes.”

Before Tony could even think to respond, Peter was in action – the quick shift in tone almost too much for the moment. Yet, Tony didn’t even want to stop the moan from slipping out of his lips when Peter let their groins settle together, the shift of their cocks together delicious in the ‘need more’ kind of way. Tony let his fingers grip Peter’s skin a little tighter, the thought of leaving a mark on him adding to it all.

The lack of shyness from the younger man didn’t surprise Tony one bit. The way he spoke of his interests told Tony that there was a deep passion residing in Peter’s belly – the extent of it translating to this aspect of his existence, too. Exploring lips made a trail from the side of Tony’s neck to the junction of his thigh before pressing against the warmth of his dick, making his entire body jump from each passing stimulus.

Tony was just cognizant enough to reach out behind him, his hand fumbling over the bedside table until he could grasp the drawer and pull out the necessary supplies. He thrust them in Peter’s direction his eyes lingering on the ceiling in hopes of not embarrassing himself by coming too soon. On top of the long stint between the last connection with another human being, Tony felt a fire that burned hot – hotter than ever before. There wouldn’t be much need to even touch him once Peter really got going.

The softness of Peter’s touch made it easy for Tony to forget the discomfort of being stretched open again, this particular act one he hadn’t partaken in for quite a while. The slick slide of too much lube and knowledgeable fingers made the usually awkward process an easy escape; nothing else existed but Peter, the weight of his body, and touch of his hands – a touch that felt like it was everywhere all at once.

His patience wearing thing, Tony let his hand drift to Peter’s shoulder, his fingers pressing desperately into his skin. “I’m ready. Please – you need to fuck me.”

The breathiness of his voice usually would’ve caused a surge of anxiety, but the look on Peter’s face at the words didn’t allow any negative feeling to sink in. His stomach tightened as a beaming smile answered him – Peter shifted with an energy that spoke of excitement and anticipation, both feelings that Tony didn’t realize could be so damn enjoyable.

Peter gripped the back of his thigh tightly with his free hand as the other shifted a now condom covered cock, the length glistening with the sheen of lube in the small amount of lamplight. Tony forced himself to relax with every inch that Peter pressed inside of him – the feeling of being stretched by someone that touched more than just his physical body overwhelming; their connection ran deep, Tony could feel it even after such a short time together.

The luscious feeling of Peter bottoming out pulled a moan from Tony’s chest, his hands shifting in an attempt to pull the other’s weight over top of him. Getting the hint, Peter prompted Tony to wrap his legs around his waist, then let his upper body fall forward, his arms cradling Tony’s head, the ripple of his firm stomach brushing against an already leaky dick between them.

With the shift in position, Peter slipped even deeper, the head of his cock pressing smoothly against Tony’s prostate without even a single move of either of their hips. His eyes glazed over; the fingers now buried in Peter’s hair gripping in an attempt to stay in the moment.

“You feel amazing. The sort of full that shouldn’t be possible,” Tony mumbled through a few panted breaths, his stomach and lower half finally relaxing to a point where Peter felt like he could move. Slim hips shifted, the swivel of them driving the contact with his prostate a few ticks further up the pleasure meter.

Their lips were once against sealed together as Peter started to set a solid rhythm, the push and pull between them in sync, their bodies moving in a way that was too easy to bring the end rushing towards them both before either of them were ready. Tony clung to every one of Peter’s movements, the long muscles shifting under his hands, the warm skin covered in sweat to the point where their movements were so easy because of it.

The friction of the slick slide of the skin of Peter’s stomach against his erection with every thrust pulled Tony’s orgasm from him, the feeling of it suddenly hitting him a surprise in its own right. The tightening of his ass around Peter’s length inside him was enough to pull the other over the edge with him, Tony feeling the stuttering thrust just seconds after his stomach tightened and the world shattered for a few blissful moments.

Burying his face in Tony’s neck, Peter let his breath brush against the skin there, the comedown between them just as sweet as the raucous coupling moments earlier. Tony held him closely, the ache in his legs from sustaining the same position not enough to override the utter bliss of a good orgasm and a gorgeous man pressed against him.

----

For the remainder of the days between their meeting and Christmas, Tony and Peter stayed wrapped up in each other. They shared a multitude of takeaway, lots of sex, and time in the lab that Tony introduced Peter to when he finally felt like it was right to get out of bed; it’d been a long time since an attractive and totally youthful person shared the luxury of his Egyptian cotton sheets.

It was easy to pass the holiday with Peter where they snuggled by the fire with the tall tree in their view. They exchanged last minute gifts in the form of physical contact and time spent together – both figuring out just how enjoyable it could be to have a person around that just seemed to get it.

Tony wanted the time to stop so he could keep Peter forever, but it flew by them instead; before he was ready, they were heading into the last day of the younger man’s break. In their isolated time spent together, it was easy to forget that each had lives existing outside the creature comforts of his penthouse and the small bodega across the street. The last few hours before Peter was meant to be on the train back to Cambridge were agonizing, both anticipating the distance already, despite the physical need to rotate within each other’s orbit at all times.

“It’s not goodbye, Tony,” Peter mumbled into Tony’s stubbled neck, his lips caressing the skin there.

His fingers were toying with the small hairs at the back of Tony’s head, the soft comfort of the touch enough to keep him from being too sad about the situation. Leaning into the touch, Tony nodded, his nose brushing against the swell of Peter’s cheek.

“I know – I’m just going to miss you. I probably won’t catch a break until you’re due back for spring break, so I’m trying to soak you in before I don’t see you for a while.” Tony punctuated the words by breathing in a deep breath, his chest tight with the long drawn in pull of oxygen.

Peter pulled him into a swift hug before either of them could say anything else. They already talked about the end of the semester, the time where Tony could actually have Peter to himself without disrupting both of their lives. The promise of more was tantalizing, more than enough to get him through, but a tease all the same. Tony returned the embrace, his fingers digging into the jacket Peter nabbed from his closet.

They shared a brief kiss before separating completely, Tony flashing him a soft smile. “Go – you’ll miss your train if I let myself keep you here any longer.” Tony brushed his fingers over Peter’s cheek, the touch more than enough to say the words he couldn’t get out. “Let me know when you get in.”

There wasn’t any hesitation in Peter’s movements as he got out of the car, his eyes catching Tony’s as he turned back briefly, the obvious need to completely turn around apparent in every minute movement. He shot a quick wave over his shoulder, Tony grinning before returning the gesture.

Getting home from the train station, Tony let himself get lost in his work, the hope of distracting himself from Peter’s absence obvious in the way he tried to bury his being completely. He must’ve been successful because the next conscious thought he could recall came from the ringing of his phone, the cheesy ringtone he set for Peter’s calls sounding around the lab. Quirking a brow, Tony wondered about the phone call – most people Peter’s age were all about texting. He expected to have most of their conversations over the easy to send messages.

Unable to suppress a smile, Tony swiped his finger across the phone to answer the call, his tone rich with the affection he felt. “I take it you made it in okay?” Tony questioned in a way of greeting, the awkwardness he usually felt over the phone vanishing.

Peter laughed, the sound settling low in Tony’s belly. He missed the heck out of everything about him already; the thought making his gut clench.

“I did – I slept the entire way on the train; I was home before I could blink, it felt like.”

And so, things went – Tony worked on the tech on his to-do list in between phone calls with Peter when his boyfriend had a spare minute between all of the crazy academic things he was currently pursuing. When the ringtone for a call came in, Tony let a small smile slip across his lips – every time the action surprising him. He didn’t know if it was just Peter, the man unique in his own right, or if it was a necessity now that they knew and understood the connection between them. Tony liked the sound of Peter’s voice and hoped the feeling was mutual.

When they were finally able to meet for spring break, it was like no time at all had passed between them. There wasn’t much better than seeing each other in person, but the familiar pitch and sound of Peter’s voice felt like a constant companion – enough of a connection to feel like they weren’t so far apart, after all.

And when the time came for Peter to come back home for real, Tony waited impatiently for the phone to ring, his being totally in tuned with the shrill sound of the ringtone that was now so damn familiar. He felt his face splitting into a wide grin when it eventually did go off, his body already in motion – this was the last time he needed to go to the train station to pick his best friend up.

The words “turn around” stopped him dead in his tracks, the echo of them making him look up, his limbs moving before Tony even knew what he was doing.

Peter stood there with the phone pressed against his cheek, the key Tony gave him during his last trip dangling from the other hand. Without a second thought, Peter hung up the phone, the thing falling from his hands with the force in which he moved across the room towards Tony.

Long arms were pulling him into a hug within seconds, Peter’s hands digging under Tony’s shirt without any further preamble. Returning the hug, Tony let himself bury his nose in Peter’s neck, his smile tickling the fine hairs there.

“Welcome home, Petey.”