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pastanest · 1 year

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requested by: @bri-sonat - surpriiiiise!! 💗

Brienne of Tarth x she/her!reader

A Story To Be Told

Closing the door to her quarters as quietly as she can, Brienne of Tarth inhales a shaky breath, the façade of her strong and stoic expression only falling in the safety of her bedroom, when she is finally alone. Away from the teasing, prejudiced eyes of the young boys that snickered amongst themselves from the moment she had entered the hall, and are no doubt still picking her to pieces like the vultures they are, long after she has escaped their scrutiny. At least, she has escaped their physical reach, but their insults flew around her mind near constantly without their persistent reminders and reiterations. It has not long been her 12th name day, and Brienne knows she is already a beast more than she is a girl, but oh, how she wishes she could be just that.

She stands at her window, looking out at the highborn ladies on the arms of their men as they leave the hall; all floating gowns, gracious smiles, sparkling eyes, small and dainty hands that cling to the arms of their protectors, the ones to lay their cloaks on the ground, save a lady dare get traces of dirt on the hem of her gown. Resting the side of her face against the wall beside the window, Brienne feels her chin wobble, as it has throughout the evening, but she does not fight it this time, she is too exhausted. Slow, steady and hot tears roll down her porcelain cheeks, wishing she was just a girl. If she was just slightly taller than the rest, slightly broader, slightly less feminine, she would be able to forgive herself, she believes that wholeheartedly. If she were anything less than the monstrous ogre she sees in every reflection, perhaps she could even wear a dress, she wonders.

Looking up at the stars that twinkle above her, she feels they are taunting her. How dare such beautiful things be one of the only objects that she cannot physically reach to hold in her large hands, she scolds them. Taking a deep breath, she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Gods, I must ask you a question. Why would you make me a girl, to then withhold me from every experience that would reinforce the belief I am one? Why is it that every pretty thing is something I am not allowed to touch? Did I do something in a past life to make me undeserving of the wonders of feeling like a woman?” Brienne pleads, her words whispered but desperate for an answer, an inkling of an explanation. Opening her eyes, she looks to the stars again. “Do I have another purpose? And if that is so, what purpose can possibly be worth this constant ridicule? Must I exist like this?” Briene’s tears are faster now, more frantic as she hurries to wipe her eyes and shake her head.

If the Gods are up there, they are as out of reach as everything that is to be a woman is to her. Why would they bother to listen to her, when mere mortals do not bother to wonder if she is even capable of feeling?

Continuing to wipe her eyes, Brienne stumbles to her bed and falls into it, smother herself under her blankets and pillows, burying herself as deep as she can there and hoping she will simply disappear. What would they address her as at her wake, she wonders, the beast that dared to live?

The tears that soak through her pillow that night are ones she remembers all too well, having cried them countless times before and knowing she would continue to cry them for as long as she lives. That night, though, something is different.

Brienne wakes to a voice that she has never heard before, a woman’s voice, calling out to her in a song, stirring her from a peaceful slumber.

“Can you hear me say your name, forever?”

But when she opens her eyes, Brienne is not in her bed. Much to her complete disbelief, she is clad in shining silver armor, the limbs at her sides and hanging from the stool she sits on, longer than she remembers them being. She sits in a tavern that she does not recognise, and as she looks around, she sees countless men with indistinguishable sigils on their clothes, all of them faceless. Before she has time to consider such a frightening concept, her eyes are pulled to the centre of the room, straight ahead, by the voice of an angel.

“Can you see me longing for you, forever?”

The candles strewn about the room cast a gentle, golden glow against your skin as you sit atop a table, singing beside another faceless man, playing an unfamiliar tune on a vielle.

Your eyes are closed, your expression focussed, a soft frown on your features as you sing. You are the most beautiful and ethereal creature that she has ever seen, Brienne’s heart leaps and bounds in her chest.

And then, your eyes open, immediately locking with hers from across the room. A beaming grin overtakes your face, and then you sing the next line, eyes sparkling more than any star had dared to try.

“Would you let me touch your soul, forever?”

With the force of the strongest blow to the gut Brienne has ever known, she quite suddenly realizes that you are singing to her. Out of every person you have ever known, you have dedicated this song, for whatever reason, to Brienne of Tarth.

Despite not being able to see the faces of the men in her peripheral vision, Brienne somehow knows that they are smiling, their expressions anything but malicious, for what she’s certain is the first time in her life.

Standing from the table, you walk to Brienne and take her hands in your much smaller ones. Without hesitation or fear, you lean in and place the softest kiss on her lips, shocking Brienne’s body into stunned rigidity, her eyes closed from the emotional weight of such a gesture, in front of such a crowd.

And as she drifts into the darkness that she had arrived in, your voice floats alongside her, until it disappears entirely.

“Can you feel me longing for you, forever?”

Brienne wakes with a gasp, sitting upright in her bed and panting heavily, wide eyes darting around the room and breathing a sigh of relief to find that she is a young girl, back in her quarters. Had that situation continued, she does not know she would have survived.

Naturally, she does not tell anyone of the dream. Instead, she intends to keep it as a secret that she will take to the grave, because she is certain she will be trying to understand it for the rest of her life. For such an impactful, detailed and strange dream to have been brought to her after she asked the Gods a question of her purpose, she cannot believe in such a coincidence, but she is too skeptical to wholeheartedly believe the opposite. That leaves the conclusion that there must have been a reason for such a dream, and that conclusion only brings about further questions, much to Brienne’s frustration. Still, the armor that she had been wearing in that dream gives her a place to start.

Having been forced to deny all forms of stereotypically feminine interests, attire and ways of life, Brienne is not surprised to find how comfortable she feels when training and improving her strength. Unfortunately, being rejected as a woman and forced into the training of knighthood does force her into an entirely different world ruled by men and their criticisms, but this time, their judgements were different. They were simply of the view that they were better than her and that such a fact was obvious. Of course, their assumption was correct, but only to begin with. In this world of men, Brienne makes it her mission to best each and every one. If she is not to be accepted as a woman, or in the role of a man, then she will do her absolute best to be stronger and smarter than every man she faces in battle, with each victory won being a personal award won against the worlds of men, which have always judged her the harshest.

Her training has seen her through the remainder of her childhood and into her first years of adulthood now, and while she still thinks of the dream, she is less focussed on its meaning now. While she is no closer to discovering who you are, or where the tavern was that she had seen you, she has settled with the conclusion that perhaps the dream was solely meant as a metaphorical guide to the path of knighthood, whether this is her true purpose, above all else. With a moral code as strong as hers, and strength that often outmatches the men that choose to test her, Brienne is satisfied with this purpose.

Casting her gaze skyward, Brienne feels the smallest smile tug at her face at the sunshine that seemingly leads her on the path her horse walks towards the south of her homeland, her first mission away from Evenfall Hall, as tasked by her father. She is to reach a small town and ensure its safety in the face of some thieves that have been ravaging particular families in the region. By no means is it a dangerous or particularly exciting request, but Brienne is more than happy to take it in her stride and defend this new place with her life, if it is asked of her.

Little stone houses greet her as her horse rides through the gates, and she reigns him towards the stables that she spots ahead of her. Many stop their conversations to watch her in awe, any armored person arriving on horseback is a sight to behold, but a woman? And one as tall as Brienne of Tarth? Naturally, news of her stature and ability had reached the south of the small island of Tarth, but none had seen her, save for the townsfolk that surround Evenfall Hall.

Dismounting from her horse, Brienne ties him safely within the stable and thanks him for his service with a pat to his side, before she begins her march around the town. In 30 minutes, she has mentally mapped out each street, and started to enquire with the locals about the thieves. Nodding along with every word, she absorbs as much information as she can and retains it, then moves to talk to the next person. Within a day, she has spoken to almost everyone in the town.

Retiring for the evening, Brienne makes her way to the local inn, sitting opposite a tavern. Though she hears music being played from within, she is too tired to venture inside, and instead continues her exhausted strides to the inn.

Acting on instinct, she awakes at dawn and takes her first patrol of the town, finding no disturbances or damaged buildings since the previous evening and considers her first day a success. Brienne stations herself at the market that day, having gained some insight from the locals that there are pickpockets who frequent it. Despite watching everyone that passes through the market carefully, there are a pair of eyes that she misses from within the tavern window at the end of the street. Not a criminal's eyes, by any means. Perhaps that is why Brienne fails to acknowledge them.

Having slept well the night before, Brienne patrols the town a few more times, until the late hours of the evening, to ensure the families she sees have not been bothered by any strange happenings. She recognises one of the mothers of a family to be the owner of a fruit stall that she was guarding at the market that day, and stops to ask her how the business has been recently.

“Thieves don’t bother themselves with the fruits of my labor, pardon the pun!” The mother laughs, Brienne chuckling with her.

Wishing her a safe night, Brienne tries to take her leave, but the mother grabs her arm.

“If you do get the chance, Lady Knight, you must come to the tavern for an evening! I think you would very much like the entertainment.” She giggles, and Brienne does not quite understand why.

“Thank you, I appreciate the invitation. Perhaps, when I am sure the thieves will not strike, I will pay it a visit.” Brienne nods at her gratefully, and with that, continues her final patrol before retiring for the night.

Seven days have passed since her arrival, and there has not been the slightest whisper of an attempt at thieving. Perhaps her presence has scared them off, Brienne often remarks to herself in a backhanded compliment. Despite the lack of happenings, the townsfolk have kept her quite busy, often stopping her on her patrols to talk to her, and more often not ending their conversations with further invitations to the tavern. Brienne thinks it is very kind, but that their persistence lends itself to the size of the town and lack of other forms of entertainment. The tavern is all they have, after all, they are likely to think its entertainment a gift from the Gods if they have nothing to compare it to. The more they ask, the less appealing the idea becomes to Brienne, not wanting her arrival to be a spectacle or - Gods be good - part of the entertainment. She is here to do a job, after all, not amuse the locals. She has had quite enough of being the punchline.

With another day’s lack of work completed, Brienne begins the same path she walks each and every evening to the inn. Having slept as well as she has each and every night here, and not having had to perform much in the form of physical labor - save for helping the townsfolk when they have needed assistance lifting or moving heavy objects, which she has had more than enough time to help with - she is not as tired as she has been on previous days. In fact, Brienne would go as far as to say she feels that she is on full alert and would not miss a trick, so if a thief was considering testing her this night, they would be making a sorrowful mistake.

As she walks towards the doors of the inn, the sound of chanting from within the tavern reaches her ears.

“SING OF THE LADY KNIGHT!”

Brienne stops dead in her tracks, slowly turning on her heel and straining to hear their chants, which are disordered now. Surely, they cant have been-

“LADY KNIGHT!”

Her eyes widen. Without hesitation, Brienne marches hurriedly to the tavern, but does not set foot inside. Instead, she stands beside an open window, out of sight from those within, but closer to hear the exact details of whatever is occurring.

“Alright, alright, another song for our magnificent Lady Knight, it is!”

That voice is…familiar, Brienne thinks. Frantically recalling every face and voice she has come to know in this town, she cannot match any of them to the words she just heard. Peaking around the window ever so slightly, Brienne’s eyes scan the inside of the tavern, recognising many of the townsfolk seated within, but there is one face that she has known longer than all the rest.

The candles strewn about the room cast a gentle, golden glow against your skin as you sit atop a table, singing beside another faceless man, playing a tune on a vielle that Brienne recognises by the first chord. Your eyes are closed, your expression focussed, a soft frown on your features as you part your lips. Brienne’s heart leaps, bounds and stops in her chest as she slams her armored back against the wall of the building, breathing heavily. It cant be, she thinks, there is no possible way that the Gods knew you would be here, the location of her very first mission, it cannot be you, she must be getting confu-

“Can you hear me say your name, forever?”

Gods be good, Brienne slowly lowers herself to the ground, her back still pressed to the wall of the building. And there she stays, in a state of shock, for the rest of the night. Song after song, reference after reference of things you have seen her do, questions of whether you saw her yesterday doing this or that, put to you by the crowd sitting around you, and you answering with “Yes, of course I did” every single time. Having never before felt the admiration of another, Brienne does not know how to lift herself from where she sits, perfectly in earshot of such genuine confessions.

That is, until the tavern closes for the night and the townsfolk begin to file out of the building. Quite suddenly, Brienne is scrambling to her feet and standing to attention, trying - and failing - to act as though she had been on patrol all night and just happened to be here, now. But as person after person exits the tavern, many of them stop to smile knowingly at the armored woman, giggling amongst themselves, but with no malicious intent. For the first time in her life, Brienne finds herself the topic of conversation for a nice reason.

Holding the hilt of her sword for comfort, Brienne waits and paces, long after the last of the crowd have left the building, because you still have not left yet and she cannot decide whether she is emotionally stable enough to speak to you tonight or if she is willing to try and survive the agony of waiting until tomorrow, so is stuck in a pacing equilibrium as she weighs the positives and negatives of both possibilities.

“Oh, Gods!”

Somehow, your exclamation of surprise is enough to make the towering, knightly woman jump in her skin, her armor rattling in a way that she knows will plague her mind while she screams into her pillow from the humiliation. Turning to face you, Brienne clears her throat.

“Good evening. I am Brienne of Tarth.”

Gulping nervously, you nod up at her. “Hello, my name is (Y/N), and…I know.”

Brienne wishes the ground to swallow her whole in that moment. Of course you knew that, you were singing about her no more than ten minutes ago! Now that you are in front of her, though, Brienne is actually allowing herself to take in the image of you. So much smaller than her, so much shyer than you were in the dream, than your voice had made you seem. There is a book that you hold to your chest with both arms, as though afraid someone will try to take it from you. Any thief caught by Brienne attempting to do such a thing would surely suffer.

“Sorry, I- please tell me you have not heard me tonight.” Your eyes are darting everywhere, returning to Brienne’s fleetingly, too bashful to hold her gaze.

“I did.” She answers you matter-of-factly, and you could have dropped dead.

“Oh, Gods, I am so sorry, Lady Brienne, I- if I’d have known, I never would have- please, do not think poorly of me, I only meant-”

“Thank you.” Brienne interrupts your rambling, her voice softer as she sees you crumble before her.

Now, your eyes cannot leave hers, they are wide with confusion and curiosity, searching hers for an explanation. “What?”

A soft, shy smile makes its way to Brienne’s face. “Thank you. Nobody has ever said such…kind things to me before, let alone sung them to a crowd.”

You frown at that. “I cannot understand why I am the first, you are the most beautiful and ethereal woman I have ever-” Your jaw drops at your own admission. “I’m sorry!”

And Brienne laughs, a hearty laugh accompanied by rosy cheeks. “Thank you, again. I must ask that you stop apologizing for your kindness.”

Relaxing slightly, you chuckle. “Thank you, I’ll try. I just do not want to make you uncomfortable. After all, few would react well to the news that someone you have never spoken to has written and performed songs about you.”

Glancing around the town, now silent save for the conversation between the two of you, Brienne nods at you. “May I walk you home, my Lady?”

Your jaw drops again. “R-Really? Why?”

Brienne already cannot resist smiling at the way you look up at her. “It is my duty to ensure all under my protection are safe, and yet somehow, we have not been introduced until today. I feel I must make amends with you for my negligence, starting immediately.”

Sensing the playful tone but serious reasoning behind Brienne’s words, you smile.

“Though I have been purposefully avoiding you to also avoid my own crippling embarrassment, I will never fail to take you up on such an offer, Lady Knight.” Your eyes widen. “L-Lady Brienne!”

Laughing at you endearingly, Brienne holds her arm out to you, and the moment you loop yours through it, she begins to walk in the direction of the stone houses.

“I am no lady, nor am I a knight.” She corrects you gently as you walk.

Sighing deeply, you rest your head against her arm. “To me, you are both and more.”

#brienne of tarth #brienne x reader #brienne of tarth x reader #brienne of tarth imagine #game of thrones #x reader #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon

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tofautisawa · 4 months

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I'm REALLY curious on what you mean by TLG giving ass backwards treatment to Jasiri and her pack

I like Jasiri, don't get me wrong. It's nice to have a hyena character in The Lion King franchise that isn't just a stupid cackling villain. She has a cute design, and I always enjoyed the episodes she appeared it. Don't Judge A Hyena By It's Spots being one of my top favorite episodes of season 1.

However, she is only "good" by the narrative because she and her clan live by the Pride Land's specific "Circle Of Life" ideology. A ideology that in my opinion, doesn't benefit her, her clan, or her species AT ALL. She and spotted hyenas in general are still subjected to living in a barren wasteland with little to no resources. (The Lion Guard even one ups this by saying even TERMITES don't live in the Outlands just to get the Aardwolves to come back. Continuity be damned.) They only got one water source to call their own. They live near an active volcano with open lava pits that one can easily fall into ( and one that she and the cubs nearly died in). There is absolutely no bitterness from any innocent hyenas, and they basically just accepted that this is how they must live. Jasiri can sing Kwetu Ni Kwetu all she wants, the melody will go real great with the sound of her homies sizzling at the bottom of a lava pit next to Ushari.

It's actually really bad that Makucha ( a reoccurring villain) is subjected to live in a much better environment filled with prey, water, and plenty of vegetation where even the zebras are happier.

And I say subjected because I never got the vibe that these animals live where they do out of their own volition, more like they are assigned. Aside from the hyenas not being allowed in the Pride Lands, I never got that vibe from the movies. It really makes me wish Fuli's quote from the pilot about "Always the Lions lording over the Pride Lands" was expanded on and explored. Anyways.... The show also never really addresses what she even eats, because I doubt much prey ventures into the out lands. BUT DON'T WORRY- Jasiri states that hyenas are clean up crews and eat what lions leave behind. Further reinforcing that outdated belief that spotted hyenas are primarily scavengers (which Ono even states in a later episode because he has to be the "educational mouthpiece" even when he's blatantly wrong). I can appreciate the show trying to show the benefits of scavengers- but it really should have been saved for animals like the vultures. So the show couldn't even make her and her clan respectable hunters that only hunt specifically what they need ( Probably because there is nothing TO hunt and whenever Janja is shown hunting on his own damn lands, he is stopped but I digress). I can't even help but wonder how she even CAN scavenge if all the lions live in the Pride Lands, and the alarm is sounded whenever a hyena sets a toe within Pride Land territory- unless the lions are just dumping corpses into the Outlands. This is probably why they had the show outright lie to you and pretend that Aardwolves are no way related to Spotted Hyenas because they can't have the children asking why they are allowed in the pride lands and not a friend of our protagonists, Jasiri.

Also, The hyenas specifically are only treated as "good" the very second they don't hunt for food and instead scavenge, and ONLY scavenge. (Not by their own choice) Compare this to Fuli who has been shown hunting, and it's treated as a bad thing that her hunts got interrupted and she doesn't get to eat. BUT WHATEVER, YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO THINK ABOUT IT MUCH! LOOK AT THE FUNNY HONEY BADGER!!!

I honestly wouldn't even be complaining about any of this if it turned out Jasiri secretly lived in a oasis within or in the outskirts of the Outlands, or even the Backlands where she had access to prey or even later got a better land for her own in the end.

Keep in mind, this is all just my opinion. And you are free to disagree with me. And it's been a hot minute since I watched The Lion Guard so my details might be off here and there. Just don't try to pull the whole "It's a preschool show" argument, because that really doesn't matter to me.

#ask #off topic ask #long post

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isittherightword · 7 months

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Leaving for me wasn't a simple thing. I truly felt I was nothing outside of my identity as a doctor and a surgeon. I didn't have anything else- I had literally been on the path to being a physician since highschool when I was admitted to a guaranteed medical school program. I firmly believe no one under the age of 25 should ever decide to be a doctor. You don't know who you are and what you want and what it really means to sacrifice all of your youth. And if you decide young, by the time you realize you've committed to something that would erase your youth and eject you on the other side, weary, wrinkled, lonely, and empty save for a scalpel in hand cutting and sewing peoples organs, you'll have come to far and find it difficult to walk away. For me, walking away was a form of dying. Part of me died when I left Boston, or was killed in the struggle of the exorcism.

Since then I've lived in a bit of a state of purgatory, somewhere between life and spiritual death. On a psycho-spiritual quest to recover the pieces of my shattered soul.

By the time I left I had little will to carry on. I had lost everything. Many of my friends abandoned me because the violence of my deprogramming was a threat to the system of belief they had invested so much in. I found myself prey to a variety of vultures who circled my exposed and weakened flesh just to take a bite out of it to make themselves feel better. I came to California broken in a way that not a lot of people live through. I know this because any time I hear about a doctor committing suicide, I shrug, and think, wryly, good for them. The alternative of simply dying is to spiritually die and spend years searching for shards my glass heart splintered in every corner, knowing that my soul will never truly be the same after the rupture. To me, in many ways, dying sounds simpler. Why not reset and just start again, or fade into nothing? Why not rupture your body to mirror the rupture of your soul? It's definitive. It's simple.

Rebuilding for me has been complicated and taken a lot of effort and energy. I voraciously read books on toxic shame, inner child healing, narcissistic abuse, mothers who can't love. I spent a lot of time near the ocean, burned a lot of sage, lit candles, pulled tarot cards, made offerings. I've danced, screamed, sang, painted, planted, watered, fertilized, harvested, drove, miles and miles and miles. At some point in the journey, someone told me about Kintsugi- the Japanese pottery technique of resealing shattered pottery with precious gold. I learned there could be beauty in gathering the shards of my soul and sealing them back together, piece by piece.

In the back of my mind though, for a long time, I waited for a strong wind to blow me over the edge. The work is exhausting, painful, and truly, endless. Healing is a spiral that goes around and around and around. You're never really done. I always knew that I wouldn't be able to sustain another rupture like I did in 2018, when I was left body burned, flesh torn, shivering, naked and afraid on the shores of Northern California. I waited for a strong wind to blow, knock me over, break me, and force me to face starting again or giving up, knowing what my answer would be. "Ask me again, universe" I secretly begged. This time maybe I would allow the waves to pull me under.

The thing is the wind came, and the waves came. But what I rebuilt, as small as it was, was sturdier than the Tower of Babel that came before it. that tower had been astounding and illustrious, but devoid of solid foundation. I found myself, however small, building something with deeper roots and a real foundation, anchoring into what really is solid ground. I did the work, and in that way it was intentional, but I always was skeptical of that process. "Is this really working or will it all turn to ash in my hands like the last time?" I write this in past tense, but this is and was my present until recently. The truth is, building my internal system to be strong outside of what people saw me as, as opposed to fully defining myself and my worth through my accomplishments and through the eyes of my parents, who I never was and never will be enough for.

It's 11:11 💜 angels as always, reminding me they are with me.

After my big wedding, during which my darling dog went blind in her right eye, my maid of honor behaved in a truly unhinged manner, I got covid, and my mother, and more importantly, my father, disappointed me for the last time-- I confessed to my husband about my secret waiting for a strong wind to blow me into oblivion. I confessed because, at last, I realized I had built enough that even if the wind came, there was enough there to sustain me. Even if it it ripped open my windows and tore down my walls, the foundation would still stand I would be able to rebuild. Despite all the bullshit I still had a beautiful, perfect, incredible day where I laughed and loved and felt surrounded by love and experienced real joy. You can see it in the photos. It was, truly, the happiest day of my life.

It took a while to wade through the post wedding depression, nevertheless. Depression is unrelenting and unfair. It will leave for months, even years at a time, but then strike me down with the force of a high speed train. I burst again, but each time into less and less pieces. That's where my hope comes from. I've been shattered and sealed in gold and titanium, infinite cracks and infinite seals. Soon perhaps I won't shatter when the storms come. But even if I do, I know my shards can always be sealed back together and I'll never again start from nothing.

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fifthtire06 · 2 years

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bandvein6 · 2 years

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bangtangalicious · 3 years

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fuck me forever | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: smut fuckboy!jungkook bestfriend!jungkook fwb!au college!au

summary: You’re busy studying but kookie wants to play. Really bad.

warnings: sexual coercion, whiny jungkook...like really whiny. he is OBSESSED with reader’s tits, toxic behavior, manipulation, begging, body worship. a lot of body worship, praise kink, dirty talk, potentially dubcon(?) idk jungkook is being super problematic in this but its subtle, unprotected sex, lots of cursing

word count: 2k

It had been a busy weekend, filled with late night study sessions, numerous coffee runs, and barely any time to breathe. You reclined on the living room couch of your apartment, typing away busily on your laptop, back against the armrest and legs out in front of you. Your feet rested comfortably in the lap of your best friend, Jeon Jungkook, who absentmindedly was caressing up and down your calves. You didn’t mind. Jungkook and you were quite touchy with one another when it was just the two of you. He was like that though. The campus fuckboy. You knew that neither of you were in a place to be in a proper relationship, and that was perfectly okay with you.

Jungkook sighed, placing his own computer away. “Let’s take a break” He whined. You ignored him, too engrossed in finishing your assignment. If you had looked up you would have seen him pouting like a baby. He slowly slid under your arms so that he was laying on top of you as you continued to work, his head fitting perfectly in the crook of your neck. His arms wrapped around you tightly as he nuzzled his face into you and then turned to see what you were working on.

“Take a break y/n”

You chuckled.

“I’m on a roll right now Kook. Don’t interrupt me” Jungkook sighed. He knew there was no convincing you. He continued to remain cuddled up against you as more time passed. He began getting impatient, eager for your attention to fall on him.

“You’ve been working so hard” He mumbled into you softly. “I’m really proud of you” This made you smile. It wasn’t something you heard often, so you couldn’t help but feel elated at his words. You stopped typing so that your hand could gently run through Jungkook’s hair as you stared at the screen in front of you.

“Thanks Kook” You took a deep breath before returning to your grind.

Jungkook pressed his lips ever so slightly against your collar, barely leaving a kiss. It tickled, sending almost a shock through your body. His lips were soft and wet, and felt scorching against your exposed skin.

“I know you’re busy, but can I play with your tits?”

You weren’t sure you had heard him right.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me” You felt him smirk against you. “Please, I won’t do anything I just wanna squeeze them”

You sighed. You reasoned that it wouldn’t pose as too much of a distraction for you, and if it would keep him occupied until you finished, you were willing to indulge him.

“Okay” Not a second was waisted before Jungkook’s hand left your waist and harshly groped your breast, the fabric of your shirt crumpling with his touch. He moans softly, so softly that he didn’t think you heard him. But you did. You definitely did.

He props himself up so that he can use both his hands to massage your breasts, laying across you. You peer over his shoulder, attempting to continue focusing. He drags the collar of your shirt down the center of your neck with his finger, watching as the fabric reveals your cleavage slowly, before allowing him access to your bra. He keeps your shirt pulled down as he traces the lacey detail. His hands become softer now, as he uses his thumbs to rub circles on your nipples. He wants nothing more than to suck them. He wants you to suffocate him with them. He wants to feel them squashed around his dick as he pounds into you.

He instead slips his hands under the bra to feel the hot plump skin beneath them. He lets out much louder moan, not even caring that you heard it. He began playing with them roughly again, squeezing them tight, allowing his fingers to stretch and really get a handful of you. He moved them around, wanting to feel something more. His movements were almost painful, but you tried not to pay attention. What broke you was when you glanced down to see his big doe eyes peering up at you from between them, hands tight around your chest like he was holding on for his life, his eyes blasted with lust and yearning.

“Having fun?” You choked slightly as you spoke as his ministrations continued, trying to appear unaffected. He chuckled.

“I love them so much, fuck you have the best tits y/n. I think about them all the time”

“I always took you for more of an ass guy”

Jungkook finally stopped, getting up to put your laptop away. You didn’t try to stop him. You knew you weren’t going to be able to work now. He then dove back into you, this time his hands finding their way behind you and harshly kneading your ass, pushing you up into him slightly. You felt his hardening length press into your stomach ever so slightly, making your heart race. He began licking the top of your chest.

“I love them both.” He groaned, the vibration of his voice in your chest making your legs twitch. “You’re so perfect. You’re so fucking perfect oh my god” He latched his mouth onto your breast over the fabric of your bra, using his teeth and tongue to get around the fabric so he could suckle you directly.

Now it was your turn to moan, heat pooling between your legs as you unconsciously bucked your hips. His tongue was running rampant against you, the hot sensation driving you insane. He opened his mouth even wider, pulling more of you into his mouth and sucking harshly. His other hand snaked down your body to find your shorts, beginning to pull them down.

With a pop, he left your breast, making you whine at the sudden hit of cold air on your nipples. He helped you undress quickly, then sat upright for a moment, just staring down at you, his eyes moving over your naked body like a vulture. He licked his lips.

“I wanna fuck you” He exhaled.

“Really, I couldn’t tell” Your sarcasm wasn’t cute to him. Not right now. And that only made you want to tease him more. Still fully clothed, he lowers himself back onto you and looks you straight in the eye, face hovering barely inches fro yours.

“Please y/n. Please. Fuck. This is all I want. I don’t want to do anything else. Fuck studying, fuck everything, I just wanna fuck you. Over and over and over again until I can’t anymore. I want to die buried in your sweet sweet pussy. I want you to ride my cock forever” He was panting almost feverishly. His words, while turning you on, were somewhat concerning, but you knew he was probably just really horny.

“Jungkook…not now…I really need to finish my paper. You said you would just play with my tits” You did want to fuck him. But the logical part of your brain was telling you to save rewards for when you deserved them, and right now, you had other things you needed to take care of that were more important than Jungkook’s raging hormones.

Jungkook looked like he was either about to start crying or punch something. His jaw clenched at your refusal, knowing that he had to listen but wanting you so incredibly bad.

“Okay” He exhaled backing away. “Yeah, um” His chest was heaving and you could see sweat forming at his forehead. He tried to look anywhere but at you. He swallowed, trying to get his heart rate to calm down.

But he just couldn’t do it. He pulled his shirt off and wrapped his arms around you again. “Please. Can I just…I’ll be super fast, can I just…a little?” His sentences were incoherent. It was turning you on how bad he wanted you. “Five minutes? Pleaseeee” He whined. You sighed, looking at the boy in front of you. His toned muscles not helping your decision making.

“Y/n I might actually die. Like I will explode if I don’t get to shove myself inside of you right now. Please please please”

You say nothing, moaning slightly as Jungkook kicks off his sweats so you can feel the direct contact of his tip against your wet folds.

“Baby…fuck…you’re so wet baby, I know you want to. I…I’ll be quick okay. Just let me get off this one time”

“Jungkook” You moan again as his hand guides his tip to make circles in your clit.

Something in him snaps, and the next thing you know his hand is around your neck and his dick is entering you.

“Jungkook! What the fuck!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry” Jungkook was panting. He filled you up completely until he was flush against you. He stilled for a moment, fearfully looking in your eyes for a reaction.

“I’m not a fucking toy you can’t just put your dick inside me because you’re feeling horny” You snapped at him.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry…I just…” He really didn’t have anything to say. You realized then that you were wrong. To him, you were like a toy. Someone there to pound into when he felt the need.

And somehow.

You kinda liked that.

You pushed his hair behind his ear and cupped his cheek softly. His eyes widened as you kissed him softly.

“It’s okay. Take your time. Fuck me as long as you want to”

“A…are you sure?”

You nodded, and to make sure he believed you, you pulled his face down in between your breasts. He groaned, gripping your ass again and starting to move in and out of you slowly. He made sure to savor every second he was in your dripping cunt.

“Do you know” He exhales, “do you even know how fucking HOT you are? Do you know what you do to me?” The obscene sounds of his slow grinding filled the room, harmonizing with both of your soft moans. Your nails scratched against his back as you tilted your head back, basking in the feeling of the way his cock goes in and out and in and out. Jungkook reaches back up to cover your mouth with his. Kissing you tenderly, like he had all the time in the world.

He breaks away just to gaze at you, stilling his movements. You furrow your brows in confusion. His thumb traces the side of your face as his eyes gleam with adoration.

“I love seeing you like this y/n” He carefully slides out to sit up, kneeling above your body, gazing at your every crevice. “How did I get so lucky” He whispered more to himself than anything.

He stokes himself with one hand while the other finds your clit, driving you to your edge. “I’m gonna cum on your tits. I’m gonna cum all over you because you’re mine. Fucking goddess, you’re the hottest girl in the world. I could just” He lets out an aggressive moan, his hands moving faster, “So fucking pretty. So fucking hot holy shit” He’s going as fast as he can now, words falling apart as he whines towards his release, “So fuck pretty fuck all mine” Just when you think he’s about to cum all over you he shoves himself back into you thrusting furiously.

“Jungkook!” You scream. You weren’t on the pill, and he very much did not have a condom on. “Stop”

“No…no…fuck…you’re so hot. You’re so hot y/n please please. I…I love you…please I need you so bad. Let me please…say it…tell me its okay. tell me you want my cum”

You were so shocked and confused, but his thrusting was preventing you from thinking clearly.

Just give in You think to yourself. You’ll like it more if you stop fucking thinking so much

As if he hears your thoughts, he slows down to a stop and looks at you. “If you really want me to pull out I will” His eyes looked so sincere that you couldn’t possibly deny him. You shook your head.

“You’re right…it’s okay…it’s probably fine”

Jungkook paused, as if a realization just hit him and his demeanor shifted entirely.

“Are you sure?”

You nod.

“Do you like it? Do you feel good?”

You nod. He strokes your face again, tracing your lips before biting him with his own. “Mmm” He moans into your mouth loudly as he hands push your legs up around his waist. “So fucking sweet. I can’t get enough of you” He starts making small thrusts, but forceful ones. It hurt but it felt so good at the same time. He doesn’t leave your lips for a second, as he continued to moan dirty things straight into you.

“You feel so good. So damn good. You don’t even know how many guys would kill for this. Best.” His thrusts get harsher with every word, “Pussy. I’ve. Ever. Fucked. My. Sexy. Little. Whore. All. Mine. Could. Fuck you. Forever.” His words speed up hectically, his body losing control as both of you arrive at your peaks, “FUCK, baby baby baby” He kisses your lips with a smack, “Say it’s mine baby. Say it’s only for me. Only I can fuck you like this.” He cries out in ecstasy. Seeing him so fucked out and gone turns you on and you feel your orgasm wash over you, pussy clenching down tightly, causing him to yelp. “Oh my godddd” You finally notice the way your bead is creaking loudly under Jungkook’s loud moans. His cum shoots inside you, filling you up in a way you had never experienced before. He drops down onto you, his arms on either side of your head and his face in your neck, softly nibbling.

“That was so good” He can barely even get his words out through his heavy breaths. His cock is still inside you, “You’re incredible” He kisses you again, softly, adoringly.

“Kook?”

“Mmhm” He answers between kisses.

“Do you like me?”

“Of course I do baby” He murmurs, clearly not taking much mind to your questions.

“No like, you kept saying I’m yours and things like that” He pauses to look at you.

“You are mine” He kisses your forehead, “I care about you. You know that. But I’m not proud of who I am. And I can’t drag you down with me. God, I would fuck you forever and ever if I could y/n. I would love you, I...I do...but I can’t. I’m pathetic. You deserve better” He sighed. Your heart wrenched. Looking at the boy in front of you now, those comforting eyes who were always there. Your heart swelled with emotion as you realized that maybe there was something more here.

“Do it” You barely whispered, causing Jungkook to tremble at the tone of your voice.

“What..?”

“Fuck me again. And again. Until we can’t stand”

masterlist

#jungkooksmut #bts smut #jungkook smut #bangtan smut #btssmutcentral #jungkook x y/n #bangtansmutcentral #this is a mess #jungkook fanfic #jungkook oneshot #jungkook imagine

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stark-tony · 3 years

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underrated irondad and spiderson fic recs part 1

Men's Synch 3m Platform by loudestfandomsoftheworld

summary: or 5 times Peter Parker goes dumpster diving, and one time he does something else... " “You took my nephew dumpster diving?” Ben asked incredulously.

His wife stood tall with a toddler strapped to her chest, tugging at one end of a couch with all her might. “I did not,”

“Twash!” Peter yelled."

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

do you even remember what the world looks like? by iron_spider

summary: Tony’s heart has been working on overdrive since this whole thing started. Friday has a countdown clock plastered on the heads up display, but it feels like hieroglyphics to him at this point, like some ancient language he could never master.

Because when Peter Parker is missing, things start losing their meaning real quick.

“Should be around here,” Rhodey says on the com. May is still on the other line, listening in, because once a certain amount of time goes by without word from Peter, things move into Extremely Worried Aunt territory. They’re already in Tony Is Panicking territory, and when both of those territories overlap it’s never a good time for anybody.

Time? What the hell is time? His mind is blanking numbers out entirely. Minutes are seconds are hours are years.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Empty Casket by Jen27ny

summary: After the Vulture, Tony should have known better.

He should have listened to Peter.

But he didn’t.

And now, Peter is dead.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Patient #2252 by TheSoulOfAStrawberry

summary: When a warehouse comes down on Spider-Man’s head and leaves him with a brain injury, Queens social worker Bianca Browne and Dr Grace Li of NY-Presbytarian Hospital find themselves racing the NYPD to uncover Spidey’s identity and get him help before he can be charged with a litany of crimes.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: police brutality

That's why they call me mr. fahrenheit by SparrowFlight246

summary: Peter’s on fire.

He wakes up fast, and before he even gets the chance to feel the pain, the aches, the dizziness, he feels the heat. It’s all encompassing, a raging inferno blooming from within him and burning him up from the inside out, and god, it—

—god, it hurts.

Peter gets whammied by a 24-hour superbug, and Tony’s left to keep him alive until tomorrow morning.

It sounds a hell of a lot easier than it ends up being.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

not like megatron by iron_spider

summary: “Hi! This is Peter Parker, I can’t get to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll call you back later! Hopefully not too much later, but don’t get your hopes up!”

Tony knows that message by heart. He’s heard it hundreds of times, in a greyer world, and it sends shivers down his spine as he climbs into the car.

He doesn’t think about that place. That half-world. No way, that’s done, that’s over, that’s history.“Hey, kid, don’t you know it’s bad etiquette to go and disappear on your birthday? Not allowed, really, really bad vibes from the universe. What’s going on with your suit? I wasn’t watching. Nope. Just got an alert. What’s going on? Uh, call me back.” He clears his throat and hangs up like a moron, driving out into the street.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: none

Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater by frostysunflowers

summary: ''Dying.''

''You’re not dying.''

''Totally am.'

'''God, I hope not, otherwise May will skin me alive.''

A weekend visit to the cabin doesn't go according to plan.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, humor

warnings: none

an irondad's misguided approach to homesickness by livingtheobsessedlife

summary: Peter mentions it once. Once. That he’s maybe kinda sorta vaguely somewhat homesick. MIT is no Queens, that’s all really. All in all, Pete’s having a great time at college. Really, truly.

The thing is that Tony’s never really taken the whole ‘only mentioning it once’ thing all that well. Not when it comes to Peter at least.

This time is no exception.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

you held your pride like you should have held me by searchingforstars

summary: “I had to take the risk!” Peter snaps. “I saved your life.”

Tony’s stare hardens. “Yeah, and nearly ended your goddamn own. This isn’t a trade-off. It wasn’t your call to make.”

“You would have done the same thing to protect me,” Peter points out. Tony just seethes at the statement.

“I don’t care about what you think I would have done. You are not me. And I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself."

or, as the timer ticked down, Peter knew his only option was to take things into his own hands. He just didn’t expect Tony to be mad at him for saving his life.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

always on duty by parkrstark

summary: Peter manages to convince Tony to take him to a gala, but when Tony is hurt, he realizes that it's just as dangerous to be Tony Stark as it is to be Iron Man.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, humor

warnings: none

Out of Left Field by blondsak, seekrest

summary: Even if Tony didn’t end up becoming a big fan of the Mets, Peter knew they’d still have a great time at the game. And the fact that Tony wanted to go with Peter badly enough to make it clear that he should buy a pair of tickets as a birthday gift?

Peter shakes his head fondly.

Maybe for once the month of May was going to work out for him after all.

pairings: spideychelle

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

three weeks, two days, seven hours by crowkag

summary: It was a mess. A real mess. Peter had been gone for three weeks, two days, and seven hours, taken right out from under their noses.

And Tony was laying on the floor.

(AKA “you’ll always get there first”, but from Tony’s POV.)

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings:

for as long as i live and as long as i love (i will never not think about you) by searchingforstars

summary: When Tony first started to forget things, Peter thought maybe it was just age. People’s memories fade as they get older, right? Minds get weaker. It’s just natural.

But Tony has arguably the sharpest mind of the 21st century. Peter should have realised that it was never going to be just getting weaker. It was never going to be just age.

No - not when the sharpest mind of the 21st century also happened to come into contact with the deadliest amount of gamma radiation known to man five years ago.

or, Tony’s sacrifice is still haunting them five years later. Peter has to come to terms with the fact that Tony’s memory is fading.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

a dream is a wish by floweryfran

summary: Tony seems to panic for a moment, shifting his weight foot to foot, before spitting out in one mouthful, “I have a business trip in Florida right before your spring break and I talked to May and she says I can bring you to Disney for the week once it’s done ahhh.” He then breathes, grins plastically, and holds his hands out, like, I’m Tony Stark, hold your applause.

Peter runs the words through his head no less than three times to make sure he had understood them properly. “Disney—you and me—spring break?” he repeats.

Tony nods, hair flopping. “I mean, like, don’t feel obligated to say yes, but I thought it would be fun since May says you’ve never gone and she would’ve been working for your whole break anyway, y’know, at least this way we won’t be worrying about you sitting home alone for hours doing G-d only knows what—building accidental robot armies or something, or, worse, becoming a couch potato and forgetting every bit of knowledge I’ve ever carefully placed in that rat trap you call a brain—”

“Tony,” Peter says, waving his hands to shut Tony up. Something warm sits in the core of his chest, hovering. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, yeah, for sure, let’s—Disney. Let’s go. Wow.”

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Of birthday cake and millennium falcons by frostysunflowers

summary: "You still haven’t answered my question," MJ says, taking another sip of her juice.

"Isn’t it obvious?" Tony replies, scratching at one of the scars on his neck with the end of a screwdriver. "It’s Ben’s birthday."

"And Ben’s birthday warrants a…" MJ waves a hand vaguely, "what the hell is that thing anyway?"

Tony has no self control when it comes to birthday parties and his grandson.

pairings: spideychelle

tags: fluff

warnings: none

what i have, i give to you by aatticsaltt

summary: Tony would give everything to Peter Parker, if he asked for it. When May calls telling Tony she thinks Peter isn't feeling well, he drops everything to go check up on his favorite spider kid.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Smile! by aatticsaltt

summary: Taking Peter to Disney World was one of Tony's better ideas.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

and when it's hard, i'll place your head into my hands by hopeless_hope

summary: “Tony,” Pepper sing-songs to get his attention. “Your mother hen is showing.”

“What?” he snaps indignantly. “I am not a mother hen. This is just... concern. Of the average kind. Perfectly normal.”

“Of course,” Pepper humors him, and he shoots her a dirty look as he types out a quick text to Peter.

It's been five days since Tony's heard from Peter, who's away at college, and Tony is not coping well. (Neither is Peter.)

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: none

Of Wally-Crawly Harnesses and Over-Enthusiastic Hat-Bestowing Capabilities by TheOceanIsMyInkwell

summary: Tony raises a brow at him in triumph, then sniffs and rubs the side of his nose. “Besides, think of it this way. Now you got a bullet-proof neck.”

“Nobody would even shoot a sad-looking orphan bundled like a spring roll in Red Heart yarn,” Peter points out. “That’s just low.”

“Excuse me, young buck, I resent the implication that I would let Red Heart come within an inch of your skin.”

“You’re insufferable,” Peter says flatly. “I hate you.”

“And just for that, I think this calls for those wool socks I was working on,” Tony says brightly.

“No--no, wait--”

“It’s time to learn that your consequences have actions, Parker--”

“Wait, wait, I love your knitting, I think it’s super healthy and fulfilling and honestly the best thing that’s ever happened to you since you retired!” Peter hollers at the man’s figure as it retreats quickly down the hallway. -- After Peter faints into hibernation because he can't thermoregulate, Tony isn't taking anymore chances. Out come the wool skeins and the knitting needles.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

how do you sandwich!? by killerqueenwrites

summary: “Why are you buttering toast before you toast it?

”“I’m not toasting this.”

“Then what are you doing?” Peter demands.

“I’m making a sandwich.”

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

What I Can't Live Without by aatticsaltt

summary: Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown. Heavy lies the heart of the father who has to watch his son bow beneath the weight of the world.

or: When Peter calls Happy needing a ride out of the Netherlands, it's Tony who comes to the rescue.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Tales from Quarantine by just_a_hungry_author

summary: Peter, Morgan, and Tony are all stuck inside during the Coronavirus quarantine. Morgan learns to play Monopoly, Tony struggles to help with 1st grade math, and a prank war ensues.

God, this is the longest two weeks ever.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

if we have each other by ftmpeter

summary: "Do you ever just, like, feel like you’re upside down?"

"You are upside down, Pete."

"Sounds fake."

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

What Happens in the Blanket Fort Stays in the Blanket Fort by TheOceanIsMyInkwell

summary: “Well, I was gonna discuss with May some legal particulars about changes to my will that involve you,” Tony drawls, “but looks like I’ll just have to change my plans.”

There’s a beat. And then a yodel: “I’m just a poor boy, I need--”

“If not for this goddamn quarantine, I’d be there in a flash to shut you up myself, Spidey-Tighties.”

“You made these ‘tights’.”

“Funsie-onesie.”

“Mr. Stark.”

“Cooty-footies.”

“Mr. Stark. I’m begging you. What does that even mean.” -- Tony comes over to keep Peter company during the quarantine while the kid waits for May to come home from work at the hospital. Bants are had. Feelings are spilled. And maybe, just maybe, a hug or two is shared.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

On his Shoulders by snarkymuch

summary: “Please, please,” Tony begged, “Keep breathing, kid. Don’t do this to me. You can’t leave me like this.” The morning started like any other for Tony. He kissed Pepper good morning and sipped his coffee. He scanned his emails and chatted with Pepper about the vacation they were always planning but never took. The calm should have been a warning, as the storm always followed.

Peter and Tony get trapped in a building collapse and Peter is gravely injured.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

coronapocalypse by peterstank

summary: “This whole quarantine thing shouldn’t even apply to me.”

“Uh, I beg to differ, it’s very serious,” replies Tony’s voice, slightly muffled like he’s got his phone pressed between his shoulder and chin. “We’re all on lockdown, which means no leaving your place unless it’s for emergencies.”

“And what qualifies as an emergency?”

There’s a pause.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not in your apartment?”

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

Little White Lies by snarkymuch

summary: Peter gets injured and tries to treat it himself, hiding it from Tony, but he can't keep it hidden forever.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Peter Parker and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Semester by just_a_hungry_author

summary: "So tell me, Kid." Tony said, patting the space next to him. "What's been going on?"

"Nothing's been going on." Peter denied, but he sat down anyway.

"Pete, don't bottle your emotions up. Only I'm allowed to do that."

When Peter again didn't smile at his joke, Tony continued. "I know you're stressed, Bud. But tell me why so I can help you."

"It's nothing you can help." Peter mumbled.

"Can I at least try?"

"I've just been having a bad week."

OR: Peter’s been having a rough time at college, Tony tries to jump in and help. 3000 words of pure fluff.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Windy Webs by silentsaebyeok

summary: And that was it. He was officially an idiot. Peter didn’t mean to be dramatic, but this was one of the most embarrassing things to ever happen to him, even if there was no one around to witness the fall of the century. -- Peter goes web-slinging in dangerous weather and gets seriously injured. It doesn't help that he has to spend the whole summer living with the consequences.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Peter gets the chickenpox by snarkymuch

summary: Peter and Morgan both catch the chickenpox. Morgan's case is mild, but Peter's is severe. Tony takes care of them both.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: none

#irondad and spiderson #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #my fic recs #police brutality tw

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milstrim · 3 years

Text

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 3: You Oughta Know

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

Tony dropped down onto the grass near an empty playground just by the water, laying Spidey on the ground gently before breaking his way out of the suit. The mechanic kneeled beside the teenager, grabbing his wrist and tearing the webshooter off of it. He pressed two fingers against the boy's wrist, sighing in relief when he could make out a surprisingly strong pulse. The relief only lasted for a moment before he moved onto the fact that the kid still wasn't moving.

Hesitating for only a moment, he reached for the mask.

A hand shot up just as his fingers brushed against the fabric, slapping his own hand away sloppily. Tony didn't mind, only letting out a sigh and sinking back onto his knees in relief as Spidey sat up, coughing so hard his whole body shook. The kid tore his mask up to his nose to throw up mouthfuls of murky water before settling back onto his elbows and pulling the mask back down harshly. Tony resisted the urge to pat the kid on his back, instead keeping his hands wrung and watching the vigilante sharply.

He coughed, "Uh, hey, Mr. Stark."

"Hey, kid." Tony offered him a smile. "Jeez, I leave you alone for one day and you almost drown. I think you're more danger prone than me, if that's possible."

"Yeah, you'd be surprised," Spidey said, sitting up farther before freezing and turning to regard Tony suspiciously. "How did you find me? Did you put a tracker on me or something?"

"No. No, kid, I didn't, I promise. My AI's been keeping an eye out for you, and she seemed to think you were in trouble."

"You're spying on me?"

"No, not--I'm not spying on you, kid," Tony rushed to assure. He paused and then conceded with the decency to shrug in embarrassment. "Okay, sorta maybe. Yeah. I'm kinda spying on you, but I also just saved your life, so."

"I had it," Spidey muttered, but it was ruined by another cough. Tony raised an eyebrow at him. "I did! At least, until that vulture guy showed up."

"Vulture guy?"

In a flurry of words, Spider-Man explained, and Tony was happy to listen. He was happy to hear anything the kid was willing to say to him, even if it began with him stalking out a weapons deal and ended with a man with metal wings grabbing him out of the air.

"--and then he just, he just, like, swooped down like a monster and he picked me up and, uh, he took me up, like, a thousand feet and just dropped me!"

Tony shook his head, wishing desperately he could see beyond the suit at any injuries the kid may have as he reattached his webshooter. He did seem okay though, if a little thin, if the way the soaked suit practically hung off of him was anything to go by.

"What were you thinking?" Tony asked, unable to keep the scornful fear from his voice.

"The guy with the wings is obviously the source of the weapons that I've been seeing. I gotta take him down!"

"Take him down now, huh? Steady, Crockett, there are people who handle this sort of thing."

"The Avengers?"

"No. No, no. This is a little below their pay grade," Tony explained. Spidey's eyes narrowed at him. "Look, forget the flying vulture guy, please."

"What? No! He's putting weapons out on the street, my street, I've gotta keep looking for him."

Tony pursed his lip, resisting the urge to argue further and wrap this kid up in bubble wrap. He relented, for the time being. "Fine. I won't stop you."

"Not like you could anyway."

"You're meaner than I remember."

"Yeah, well, get used to it I guess."

"Does that mean I get to hang out with my soulmate from now on? Possibly know their name?"

Spidey froze, staring past Tony in a tired manner. He slumped down onto the grass dramatically. "What time is it?"

"You're not gonna run out on me or anything are you? Or if you do, can you at least leave something behind for me? Like, a boot maybe?"

"Are you calling me Cinderella?"

"Sure. Cinder-kid. Cinder-whatever-your-name-is."

Spider-Man turned his head to glare at his persistent fishing. "I'm surprised you don't already know."

"I've got a list. Twenty-eight kids so far."

"I'm not a kid," he mumbled. Tony smirked.

"Nice try. I know your birthday." Spider-Man groaned. "Still no name?"

A moment. "Ben."

"There's no Ben on the list," Tony answered immediately.

"What, you just have that memorized?" When Tony didn't answer, save for the raise of an eyebrow, the kid groaned again. "If I tell you my name will you please tell me the time?"

Tony checked his watch. "8:17."

A very long, very tense moment before finally, "Peter."

"There's no Peter on the list either."

"Then your list sucks." Tony stared at him. "I'm not lying, you just need to be better at being a detective."

After a moment, Tony accepted it, though he didn't completely believe it. "Fine. Nice to meet you, Peter. I'm Tony."

"Yeah, I knew that."

"Are you always this mean or are you just in a bad mood?"

Peter ducked his head guiltily. "Sorry. Just kinda hungry. I didn't--uh, I didn't eat dinner. Yet."

"I can fix that," Tony said, holding out a hand. Peter stared at it for a moment before hesitantly taking it and allowing for Tony to pull him up. Both of them glanced at where their shadows switched. Peter tensed before tearing his hand away and shoving it in his pocket. Tony tried to not let his hurt show.

Peter let out a groan of annoyance, distracting Tony from where he'd been staring at the switched shadows to look at the kid, who had pulled out a phone as wet as it was cracked. The billionaire grimaced just looking at it.

"Yikes. If you need to call your parents, I have my phone with me."

Spidey winced. "No, uh, it's fine. Just, ah, I left my friend at a party, he's probably wondering where I'm at."

"Okay. If you're sure," Tony said. Peter nodded. "So, dinner?"

"I'm okay, Mr. Stark. I've got to get back to the party. My friend's mom is picking us up in an hour."

"Then, can we talk?" Peter dug his boot into the ground in such a childish manner it physically hurt. He clearly didn't want to talk, but that didn't stop Tony. "Here and now would be preferable."

"About what?" the kid rasped.

"A few things. The fact that we're soulmates, why you got involved in this, why you run around as a vigilante in the first place--"

"--I literally told you last night--"

"--and why you ran away yesterday," Tony finished, ignoring him.

"I have a curfew."

"What's your curfew?"

"Ten," Spidey muttered.

"So you were already late. If you'd waited a little bit longer I probably could've explained to your parents why you were late."

Spidey's head shot up, eyes narrowing. "That I was out being a vigilante?"

"That you were meeting your soulmate."

"Oh. That." The boot scuffed against the ground again, and Tony tried not to let his sullen voice get to him. "I don't think he would've cared."

That sounded horribly wrong to Tony's ears. He asked incredulously, "Your dad wouldn't have cared that you met your soulmate?"

"He's not my dad."

Oh.

"Who do you live with then?"

"Group home," Peter answered with a shrug. "Our curfew has no exceptions, so."

Tony hesitated. "Peter, can you take off your mask?"

"Why?"

"I mean, why not? I already know your name and birthday. I can find you pretty easily."

"I'm okay, Mr. Stark. I'm good. Besides, I should be getting back to my friend, so."

Peter moved to walk away, but Tony grabbed his arm hastily, desperate for this not to be how his first real meeting with his soulmate to go. Peter flinched immediately, and the mechanic let go as the kid stumbled back. That horrible suspicion in his chest only grew.

"Sorry," Tony apologized as Peter continued to stare at him. This wasn't going how he had envisioned at all. Soulmate meetings were usually thought of with an air of overwhelming happiness, maybe a few shed tears and a lot of hugs. But all Tony had was a first name, a smattering of depressing facts, and the knowledge that this kid didn't want anything to do with him. "Not an Iron Man fan, huh?"

Peter shrugged, but Tony noted it as a small victory that the tension leaked out of his small frame. "Thor's actually my favorite, so."

"Well, as long as it isn't Mr. America, then I'm good." There was an awkward silence only broken by the mechanical whir of Spidey's goggles as he glanced to the side, clearly searching for an escape. Tony bit down a sigh. "Go back to your party, kid. I'll see you around?"

"Sure. See you around, Mr. Stark."

Well, he didn't sound completely miserable about it, so Tony counted it as a win. He watched as the kid swung off of the trees back towards the neighborhood, a hint of hope warring with his hurt. Only once the hood slipped off of his shadow did the mechanic start moving again, stepping into the suit, which lit up as he fired into the sky.

"Okay, Fri. Find me a kid named Peter born on August tenth, 2001 with all the earlier guidelines."

"There isn't one, sir."

Tony thought for a moment. "Oh! Remove siblings as a statistic, look for one in a group home instead."

"One match."

"Save it to the file. I'll check it out when I get home."

---

Toomes stared at the retreating figure of the Iron Man suit, his mask highlighting the flying hunk of metal before he turned away to stare at the playground where he and Spider-Man had been talking. Peter, apparently. Stark's soulmate.

He'd have to be careful, very careful, about how he played this.

Adrian had been set on flying away immediately after dropping the vigilante so that he could chew out Brice for being so reckless, but the sight of the Iron Man suit dipping under the water had stopped him. What the hell was the billionaire doing near his house? It had made him wary enough for him to dive down and perch a football field's length away, allowing for his helmet to pick up on the two's conversation.

That decision had probably been one of the best ones of his entire life. The kid was clearly very insistent to go after him and his business, while Stark not so much, but that didn't stop the fact that Peter was clearly desperate to take him down and had Iron Man even more clearly wrapped around his little finger. That was dangerous, and it was bad for business.

After checking once more that Iron Man was no longer nearby, he shot back up into the air towards his warehouse as he made a note to put Mason u[ to finding out who this Peter-kid was and he searched through multiple names in his personnel, looking for the best to keep an eye on the kid. No one was going to mess with his business. With his family.

---

"Alright," Tony said as he entered the lab through the window, stepping out from his suit and back over to his desk. He grimaced at where the web fluid had exploded over the desk while he'd been gone. Hopefully that would fizzle out in an hour or two. "What have you got for me, Fri?"

A screen popped up immediately, and Tony was shown his first true glimpse of his soulmate's face. His heart tugged both at the adorableness of the kid pictured in front of him and the fact that he was seeing the kid for the first time through a screen. He shook it aside, taking in the kid in front of him.

Peter.

The yearbook photo left the smile hilariously forced but no less adorable, especially with the way the kid's eyes read embarrassment and boredom in only a way a teen's could. His hair was tamed down generously for picture day, but a few stray curls forced their way loose. Somehow, he was exactly what Tony had imagined.

"Okay. Full life synopsis. Let's go," he ordered the AI.

"Peter Benjamin Parker was born on August tenth, 2001, to Mary and Richard Parker, both head researchers at Oscorp before their deaths in 2006 in a plane crash. Guardianship was transferred to Richard's brother and sister-in-law, Ben and May Parker. They were killed during a mugging six months ago."

"Yikes, kid. Not a super easy time for you, huh?" Tony glanced at the picture of the kid again. "Where does he live now?"

"At the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys under the guardianship of Andrew Fowler."

"Pull up his file. Any records of abuse or illegal activities?"

"Fowler has two DUI's from when he was nineteen and twenty-three, but nothing else. Nothing unusual about him, boss."

Tony hummed, crossing his arms and pursing his lips. After all of Peter's little flinches and shakes, he was still skeptical, but with nothing to prove, he left it alone. For now.

"Mr. Parker does, however, have a record."

His head turned. "He does?"

"He does." Multiple files were shoved in his face. "Nothing serious, sir, but he has multiple accounts of sneaking out and degenerate behavior. Smoking, loitering, and two misdemeanors."

Tony hesitated for a moment, but shrugged it off. He was a kid who'd had a rough life, and, really, Tony had done some similar shit when he was the kid's age, and the sneaking out could be easily waved off by Peter's vigilante actions. He moved on.

"How's the suit coming along?"

"Trials are finished and ready for 3D printing. All that's left is the fluid, boss."

Tony glanced at the table still completely covered with the white formula. He grimaced. "We'll deal with that later. Go ahead and print the suit, and I'm gonna need a couple of things before we completely shut down for the night."

---

I, Peter thought, am an idiot.

After returning to the party, he had changed back into his regular clothes and managed to draw Ned out from the crowd, who had been more than a little confused at his dripping wet hair and slightly bruised face.

"Dude," Ned had asked. "What the hell happened? What happened to the plan?"

"Sorry," Peter had muttered. "There was some weapons dealers. They got the drop on me and dropped me in the lake. And, uh, I met Mr. Stark again."

Ned had gasped. "Really!? Oh, my gosh, is he here? Can I meet him?"

"No, he left, Ned. He saved me actually."

"This is the coolest! You're superhero buddies!" He'd gasped again. "Oh, my God! Are you Iron Man's sidekick?"

"What? No, Ned. I'm not his sidekick." I'm his soulmate, which was honestly worse. Peter would be a better sidekick than a soulmate. "It was probably just, like, a favor thing since I saved him yesterday."

"Super. Hero. Buddies."

There hadn't been any arguing with Ned, he'd been too excited. But, thankfully, the arrival of Iron Man had distracted his friend from going back to the party and they'd called his mom so they could leave early. Not ready to take anymore chances that night, he'd asked Mrs. Leeds to drop him off right at the group home. Mr. Fowler hadn't been there when Peter had tiptoed through the door, so he'd just slipped up the stairs and taken a hot shower, not even bothering to try and take something from the kitchen. He didn't have the heart for another strike.

His spider sense had been going off the entire time, just like it had when he'd been talking with Mr. Stark. It had prevented him from falling asleep that night, thankfully it had been a Friday. But the fact that his senses wouldn't calm down, even now on Saturday morning, was more than a little concerning. Was he dying? Maybe it was the lack of food? Or were his senses trying to warn him about Mr. Stark?

That was the worst thought of all, but it'd popped into his mind whenever he'd caught sight of his shadow while he was eating breakfast the next morning. Everyone in the group home was at the table to watch his nervous jitters as he tried not to look too starved while eating his cereal. Tim and Eric had glanced at him a lot, clearly desperate for him to play some games with them today. The other two younger boys, Aaron and Juan, were much more calm, staring down at the table in an attempt to not draw attention to themselves. Though Jeremiah was winning that competition.

Mr. Fowler sat at the head of the table, a plate of eggs and bacon sitting idly in front of him as he rifled through the mail with annoyed mutters. The man had a lot of junk mail--seriously, he had more magazine subscriptions than Peter could count--so the boys could usually tell when he finally stumbled across something he liked in the mail. His muttering would pause, the rifling would stop, and he would hum in approval before setting the piece of paper aside. This morning, he found something he clearly didn't care for.

Mr. Fowler's muttering paused, the rifling stopped, and Peter waited for the quiet hum, but instead there was a displeased grunt. Heads turned as the junk mail smacked onto the table and a vanilla letter stood out in Mr. Fowler's hands with large letters scrolled on the front of it. Peter's name sat scrawled on the corner.

"Who the heck is 'TS?'" Mr. Fowler asked, glancing at the letter again. "With no return address?"

Peter panicked, almost choking on his off-brand Cheerios as he searched for an excuse that wasn't as flimsy as a feather.

"It's, uh, a pen pal. Thing."

Sure. Not flimsy at all, Parker.

"A pen pal?"

Peter nodded. "Yep. Um, through--through school. It's new. And we deliver them, by ah, ourselves. I delivered mine yesterday, so, no return address?"

"Fun... What's their name?"

He took another bite of his food to stall, mumbling through the soggy cereal, "Tony."

"Tony...?"

"Smart." Mr. Fowler glanced at him. Idiot, idiot, idiot. "Yeah. Tony Smart. He goes to Bronx... Anyway can I have that letter please?"

With a grumble, Mr. Fowler tossed the letter on the table in front of Peter. He quickly pocketed it, finishing his cereal as fast as humanly possible and placing it in the dishwasher. He passed by the table, promising to help the other kids with their dishes and their homework, before walking out the door and sitting on the steps outside the small and rundown building, ignoring the way his senses were still going off.

Peter muttered confusions under his breath as he pulled the surprisingly thick letter out of his hoodie, turning it over in his hands once before finally ripping it open. There were four things inside. He grabbed the letter first, unfolding it to read the loose lettering scrawled inside.

Dear, Mr. Parker,

Letters aren't really my thing. I'm more of a talker, as you may have realized last night, so I've left a new Starkphone in the envelope to replace the one you broke last night. For talking. And whatever the hell teenagers do with phones too.

Peter blinked, narrowing his eyes and his chin dropping as he fished the phone out of the envelope. It was horribly expensive under his fingers and he immediately flushed as he thought about how much it must cost. He didn't think it was even on the market yet. He shook his head and blinked furiously, returning to the letter.

I've also included a Stark Industries badge that will get you into the tower for the next week or so until we move to the compound. You'll receive a new one once badges are printed for the Avengers Compound. My forehead of security will be very excited to be on the job. There's also a credit card connected to my account if you're ever in trouble or in the mood for something to eat. Of course, I don't know what your schedule is, but call me whenever, and you're always welcome in Casa de Stark.

-TS

P.S. Stop by the tower if you can today. I've got a surprise I think you'll like.

Go to the tower? Peter glanced around the street nervously. He guessed it couldn't hurt, as long as he got all his Saturday chores done first.

After a moment of hesitation, the teenager folded up the letter, stuffing it in his pocket before turning back to the rest of the contents in the envelope. Like Mr. Stark had said, there was a Stark Industries badge, with his embarrassing yearbook photo and his name printed in bold letters, and an ebony credit card that practically gleamed even in the weak light of the gray day.

"The hell..." he muttered, staring at it. He didn't even want to begin thinking about how much stuff he could buy with this thing. The thought made him nauseous, and he moved to stuff it in his pocket as well, when he paused. His pocket was a horrible place to put this thing. He didn't plan on using it, but he'd have an actual stroke if he managed to lose it, or worse, if someone stole it. Mr. Stark already didn't seem overwhelmingly thrilled to have a snotty kid as his soulmate, no need to disappoint him further.

Peter went back inside, placing the card in his thin leather wallet that he kept in his bag, clipping his badge to the backpack, and then stuffing the letter underneath his mattress. Before he went to move back downstairs, his stomach rumbled and his eyes strayed back to the card. Mr. Stark had said he could use it whenever...and it wasn't like snacks were going to drain his account or anything. He bit his lip, forcing himself to turn back around and down the stairs. He wasn't a charity case, and he wasn't going to just abuse Mr. Stark's money like that.

The teenager shook his head as he hurried back to the common floor to begin cleaning up the kitchen as he tried not to think about how hungry he was going to be tonight. Only breakfast was allowed when grounded at Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, so tonight was going to be so much worse without a school provided lunch. And falling asleep last night had been almost impossible thanks to the gnawing pain in the pit of his stomach. Whatever. He'd figure it out somehow.

Cleaning the kitchen didn't take very long, both him and Jeremiah burning through the dishes and putting away food in less than ten minutes while the younger kids sat silently at the table, trepidatious noses stuck in books, though they'd been allowed a moment of calm reprieve when Mr. Fowler had stumbled upstairs for a few minutes before plopping back downstairs into his usual seat. Once the two were done, Jeremiah went to take out the trash while Peter stepped over to Mr. Fowler, who was just finishing scribbling on a thin piece of paper.

"I expect the receipt as usual, Parker. Not a penny missing." The man thrust the list in his hand along with a wad of tightly wrapped cash that Peter accepted more than a little nervously. Mr. Fowler was very particular about his money. "And don't forget to check the eggs to make sure they're not broken."

"Yes, sir," Peter nodded.

"And take the others with you. I need a few hours of peace."

"Yes, sir," he said again.

He motioned for the children to grab their bags from the hooks by the door while Peter dashed up the stairs and back down again with his own. He never left home without it, and the kids needed something to hold their stuff. Not that he would mind carrying a couple of books, but they had to carry all the groceries back, so the more free hands the better.

The ragtag group bounced onto the cracked sidewalk, the kids waving goodbyes to Jeremiah as they headed off towards the nearest grocery story. There was some excited babble as they all crowded around Peter, words tumbling from prepubescent lips as they all finally got their chance to inform Peter of their very eventful week. Mr. Fowler was never very excited to have the kids talking all at once. It disturbed his constant hangovers.

"One at a time, one at a time," Peter said with a reluctant smile. The chatter died down. "Youngest first."

Eric grabbed Peter's hand in response, the nine year-old babbling away about something new he'd learned in class and something funny his friend had said on Monday that he'd been waiting all week to tell Peter. Next was Juan, who had similar tellings, but the teenager responded just enthusiastically as he did Eric until they went all the way through the stories and ended up at the cheap grocery store.

Peter stopped them before going inside. "Rules?"

"Don't touch anything," all four chorused, continuing down the list. 1. Don't touch anything. 2. Stay by Peter. And 3. Hold your buddy's hand the whole time. Once they'd repeated them all, Peter nodded and led them inside.

The teenager tried his best to get everything on Mr. Fowler's list quickly, but refused to not double check for the cheaper brands that Mr. Fowler was always so insistent he buy. It irked Peter off, especially since grocery money came from the state and not the man, but there wasn't anything Peter could do without getting another strike, so he grabbed the blandest cheerios and the most unhealthy oatmeal and placed them in the basket in annoyance, doing his best to avoid any aisle with some kind of bright sugar. He still caught the other kids looking at cookies and cartons of ice cream longingly though.

Finally, after an agonizingly long time, they were all checked out and laden with groceries as they headed down the sidewalk back to the group home. There was more chatter from the kids as they pointed at fluttering pigeons and scurrying rats. There was even a parrot at one point that Peter was sure someone was looking for. He'd check around online later and see if he could give someone a tip about the scarlet bird that's shit narrowly missed Eric.

All was going well until the chime of an ice cream truck began down the small neighborhood street. Feet stopped and heads turned as the bright pink vehicle stopped in front of a group of clamoring kids. Peter could practically feel their want for something other than the same breakfast and dinner they got every day. Their most interesting meal was usually their school lunches, which was honestly more pitiful than anything the teenager could ever dream of.

Peter bit his lip as he stared at the ice cream truck and then sighed, setting down his groceries and opening the pocket of his backpack where he'd placed his wallet earlier. The wallet that now had a shiny black card connected directly to a billionaire that could give these kids a fun morning for once.

The wallet that was nowhere to be seen.

"Fuck," Peter muttered.

Eric gasped, pointing at Peter who was now practically tearing apart his backpack looking for the thing, panic rising in his chest. "Peter said a bad word!"

"Shit," Juan said in response. There were some giggles from the older kids but Eric gasped again. Peter ignored them, strangling in a reluctant breath as his hands finally stilled after coming away with nothing.

How the hell had he lost it? He'd had it for barely an hour! Think, Parker, think. It had been in his bag, he knew that. He'd put it in the second lowest pocket of his backpack, which he'd left upstairs. All the boys had been at the table, and Jeremiah had been cleaning the kitchen with him the entire time. Had someone stolen it at the store? It was possible but unlikely, what with his spider sense and the fact that four kids who'd grown up in New York's foster system paying constant attention to him. So how could it have--

Peter paused, bringing his hands up to cover the bottom half of his face as he clenched his teeth harder than he remembered having ever done before. Mr. Fowler had gone upstairs. And Peter's story had been complete bullshit. He must have found his wallet and taken it upon seeing the shiny black card just perfectly poised for the taking.

His legs stiff with terror, Peter stuffed everything he'd taken out of his bag back into it haphazardly, zipping it shut so harshly the tab ripped completely off. He grunted, throwing the piece of plastic to the ground and clutching his groceries back in his hands before stomping off. The kids stumbled after him once they'd realized he'd begun to move.

"Peter!! Wait up!" Tim called.

Peter forced himself to pause for them, but continued on the moment they were caught up to him. He tried to calm himself, but he couldn't stop the way his face contorted and he seethed in fury. He didn't give two flying shits about the crumpled bills in his wallet the man had taken, or the few personal items he'd kept in the wallet from his late uncle, but he was horribly angry that the man had taken something that was barely even Peter's.

There was no way in hell the teenager was going to explain to Mr. Stark that the card had been stolen from him not even a day after he'd gotten it. There was no way in hell was Peter going to explain that he, an enhanced that had just touted last night that he could take on the flying vulture guy, that he couldn't stand up to his foster father. Mr. Stark dealt with aliens. Peter could deal with Mr. Fowler.

His steps faltered.

He could. He could do it.

As he later found out, he couldn't.

---

Peter crept up the stairs of the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, having already set all the groceries he'd had on the kitchen counter for the other kids to put away. He tried to keep the shaking from his fear, unsure if it stemmed from fear or anger, but he was largely unsuccessful as he stalked past the kids' rooms and approached the one at the end of the hall.

As far as Peter knew, no one had gone into Mr. Fowler's room before. There usually wasn't a point. The man kept such meticulous track of his belongings that it was impossible to take something without him noticing sooner or later, and, not only that, but Peter was used to the click of a lock sliding shut whenever the man left his room unattended or went to sleep for the night. It left the teenager facing the unknown as he finally stepped in front of the door that was, in that moment, bigger than anything he'd ever seen.

He took in a shaky breath. Maybe this was a bad idea. The ringing of fear trembling up and down his entire self told him so.

But the anger wasn't completely overridden by the fear, and Peter was full of bad ideas anyway, so he raised a fist and knocked rapidly. There was no response, so Peter knocked again, just as forceful as last time but now more hesitant.

With a horrifying shiver down his spine, the door swung open. Peter swallowed but refused to take the step back that he desperately wanted to as Mr. Fowler towered over him. The smell of alcohol wasn't any kind of freshly strong like it had been a couple of nights ago, which was the only thing reassuring about the moment.

"What do you want?" Mr. Fowler demanded.

"My wallet." He willed his voice not to break.

Mr. Fowler's eyes narrowed as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "What?"

"My wallet. You took it and I want it back."

"It's my house, so it's my wallet."

"No it's not! It was my uncle's!" he protested.

"Oh, and was this your uncle's too?" The shiny black card was pulled out his pocket as Mr. Fowler flashed him a toothy grin. Peter's hands twitched with the need to reach out for it, but he kept his fists balled at his side. "Lying to your foster father now, huh? That was a nice little letter under your bed, too. New sugar daddy or something?"

Peter blanched, but then his face turned ghostly white. His voice was a horrified whisper. "You took my letter?"

"Under your bed? Really? You didn't even try, son!" Mr. Fowler taunted, pulling out a piece of crumpled paper and forcing it into Peter's hands. He tore it open, but the paper was so wrinkled he could barely read it anymore. "So, Tony Stark? I don't know if you sucked his dick or something, but I'm sure this card has plenty for me to use if it's connected to his account."

"What? No! That doesn't belong--"

He was cut off by a hand tugging a fistful of his hair. Peter winced but refused to let out a yelped cry even as he was dragged into Mr. Fowler's room. It wasn't much, he realized as he peered through squinted eyes at the bedroom. It was somehow grimy and tidy at the same time, with dust and dirt covering just about every corner, but his belongings were neatly lined and organized on the desk and bedside table. The only other thing that screamed about Mr. Fowler's uncleanliness was the bottles littering the floor that Peter had to fight not to trip over, made only harder as the fist let go of his hair and slapped him into the nearest wall.

"Now listen here, you little shit," Mr. Fowler started, cornering the scrambling teenager as his voice boomed so loud that surely all the kids downstairs could hear him. "I clothe you and house you and feed you, and I will not tolerate your levels of disrespect when you do nothing but run around like the little ungrateful shit you are! Anything you earn while under my roof belongs to me!"

"No it doesn't!" Peter found the courage to shout back. Mr. Fowler blinked in scowled surprise. "And you barely do any of that shit! I had these clothes before I got here, and you barely feed me! You barely feed any of the kids down there!! What the hell is wrong--"

His face stung with the slap that met it.

He grit his teeth, blinking away angry tears. It didn't hurt, it didn't hurt. He was Spider-Man. Being dropped into a lake had hurt, this was nothing. He couldn't really be hurt while he had these powers. He couldn't.

"SHUT UP!!!"

Peter cowered.

"You know nothing about what you're talking about, son," Mr. Fowler breathed, stalking forward until his face was only inches from Peter's and there was nowhere left to run. He scrunched his nose and screwed up his eyes, holding his breath against the man's stale breath as he turned his face away to stare past the man's shoulder. "Whatever you think, this is my house, and I took you in after your last foster parent got sick of your teenage horseshit. Sneaking out wasn't tolerated there, just as much as disrespect isn't tolerated here. So I think that's another strike, don't you? Or a good enough recommendation could get you to a juvenile detention center instead."

"No, please--"

The hand was in his hair again, tearing him forward with a pained wince and forcing him through the door. When Peter smacked up against the wall, he realized it wasn't the door to the hallway.

Scrambling, he swung around just in time to see the door slam shut and then click with the eerie noise of a lock, leaving Peter in the dark closet that was full of nothing but the stench of dirty clothes piled around his feet and the clinking of dusty bottles. He swallowed, wishing desperately he didn't make such stupid decisions, that he'd just kept his head down and forgotten about it and--

"Stay nice and quiet, and you'll be let out soon," Mr. Fowler called before the sound of the door clicked shut and the groaning of wood told him that the man was walking away.

And Peter was horribly alone.

---

Tony glanced between the metal case sat on the table and the window displaying the New York night sky one last time before sighing and stepping off of the stool, Peter's shadow following him. He hadn't been Spider-Man all day, so Tony had no idea what could be holding him up. The kid hadn't texted at all either, though he was sure he'd at least set up the phone already.

Nervously, the billionaire tapped his fingers on the table, one of the last pieces of furniture that had yet to be packed on his floor. He'd delivered the letter himself, clearly addressed it to the kid and everything, but maybe he hadn't gotten it? Maybe it had been a little sketchy for a kid to get a letter with just initials on it and no return address. But he couldn't have gotten in trouble for anything like that, right? And Peter's foster father didn't have anything bad surrounding his name...

With a tired sigh, he asked his AI, "Anything?"

"Mr. Parker has still not entered the building."

"A few blocks out?"

"He does not appear on any security cameras." A moment. "It is past ten, sir. I do not think he is going to come."

"Keep an eye out for him, just in case." He continued to tap the table with a thoughtful hum. Just to double check. "Has the phone been activated?"

"Yes, sir. It started up this morning."

Okay, good, so he had gotten the letter.

"And the card?" he asked. His AI paused, and something hard settled in his stomach. "The card, Friday?"

"It has been in use multiple times since this morning." Tony blinked. That was something of a surprise, but he couldn't say he was disappointed. The kid looked like he could use a good meal or two. He took his jacket off, moving towards his bedroom.

"Great. Glad it's being put to use."

"Three hundred dollars have been spent on alcoholic beverages."

Tony froze where he stood, suspended in a feeling he couldn't even describe. Disappointment? Terror? Hurt? He stared down at the curly-haired shadow, eyes narrowing as he gaped at it. He hadn't exactly pegged the kid as someone who would buy boatloads of drinks, and he didn't even know if a fake ID would work for the kid. He looked all of twelve.

"Cut off the card until the next time I talk to him."

"Yes, sir."

"And track his phone. Where the hell is he right now?"

"His phone's location relays that he is in his foster home."

And that was that he supposed. The kid couldn't buy anymore alcohol and there wasn't anything Tony could do without talking to him directly.

Tony stepped into his bedroom, slipped into some old pajamas, and flopped onto bed with a twist in his gut. Something just felt wrong, and it was more than the kid buying alcohol that likely would barely affect him anyway.

His mind racing, Tony turned restlessly under the covers as the lights shut off around him. Peter's shadow disappeared, the room going with it, and when Tony blinked again, he found himself in complete darkness only broken by the shifting of clothes, the clink of bottles, and the sniffles of someone coming off of a breakdown.

He blinked back awake, sitting up and reaching for his phone. He scrolled through it until he found Peter's number and hit call. It rang. And rang. And rang.

"Hi, you've reached the voicemail of Peter Parker! I'm busy right now, I guess, so call me later, and yeah! Have a good day! Oh! And leave your message after the beep! BEEEP!!"

Tony didn't know whether to laugh or not.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

#friendly neighborhood exchange #tony stark #peter parker #Iron Man #spiderman #irondad #spiderson #irondad and spiderson #ironman fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #soulmate au #platonic soulmates #not st*rker

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angelaiswriting · 3 years

Text

Of Matches and Dates | Bandit x fem!reader

[video by rodnae productions from pexels]

✏️ Pairing: Bandit x fem!reader

✏️ Summary: with Valentine’s Day around the corner, Dominic’s friends have managed to convince him to download a dating app. (Not requested, but inspired by the lovely @kind-wolf as always)

✏️ A/N: this is just a lil something for Valentine’s day. I’m still working on my fluff skills :’) Domi’s dating profile is at the bottom of the fic: it took me forever to make but I’m so proud :’) enjoy 💛

✏️ Warnings: none :’)

✏️ Word-count: 5,274

OF MATCHES AND DATES

The club is packed — and Dominic is too tired to even care, for once. His back is burning, and there’s a nasty gash on his left thigh that a doctor has stitched up too tightly and that’s constantly making him ground his teeth every time the muscle tenses up.

He’s forgotten whose stupid idea it was to go out clubbing not even three hours after coming back from a mission on the other face of the Earth, but he does remember he’s there to be Eli’s wingman just in case his date dumps him last minute. It won’t happen, of course, but the kid still worries when it comes to a pretty lady he’s matched with on Matcher.

Matcher is the latest novelty at the base, or so that’s the impression he’s had ever since his jet landed not so long ago. Even Monika has signed up for an account — It’s great to pass time, Domi! You should download it, it’s free, or that’s what she said the second before tearing his phone from his hands to download it herself.

“Here, I brought you drink!” Alexsandr tears him from his musings — and the dull soreness still crawling underneath his skin — and unceremoniously slaps a shot of vodka on the small, high table he’s been leaning against. By the time the glass is halfway to his lips, Dominic has the time to notice half of its contents have sloshed out onto the metal surface of that dingy thing; he doesn’t care: he simply tilts his head back, lets the alcohol wash down his throat and prays it’ll numb everything to a low hum.

“Where is everyone else?” he asks, hissing when someone bumps into his back in passing. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt like every single muscle in his body felt so pulled and tight, but he’s already set up his mind to barge into Harry’s office the next morning and ask for — or demand — the longest leave he’s ever thought of asking.

Alex shrugs and quickly empties the shot he has in his right hand, for the one in his left is already empty. The bar is right behind them, though, so they both know they’ll be making back and forth more times than one would rather know. “Somewhere in there,” he replies, jutting his chin in the general direction of the mess of bodies behind Dominic’s back. “Adriano has a date, too, so he ditched us.”

“So did Elias, Monika and Seamus.” He turns around briefly, throws a look around to try and see if he can get a glimpse of the friends they’ve come here with, but miserably fails.

“Stupid dating apps, making men our age third-wheel like this.” Alexsandr groans something in Russian then, but it’s under his breath and Dominic would never be able to tell what that was with the noise in there — he also doesn’t speak Russian, he finds himself realizing a minute too late. “But I met the French at the bar, they rented out a VIP room for the night.”

“We should gatecrash it.”

Ten minutes later, eight of which spent downing one drink after the other in the vain attempt to outdrink each other, both men walk into the French’s VIP room behind Gustave Kateb, whose English has already started slurring into French when he doesn’t focus enough.

The French aren’t the only people there: Marius sends Dominic a pleading look as Lion fills his head with his usual bullshit, and a bunch of recruits who’ve somehow had the chance to hang around the more seasoned operators sit on the couch on the far left of the room and listen to what Y/N and Finka are enlightening them with. The two women turn around to greet them and although Dominic’s eyes trail down the plummeting neckline of Y/N’s shimmery top, he still has enough attention to spare to notice how the rookies hang from her lips as she keeps on talking.

Alexsandr’s exclamation of jubilee, however, tears him from the sight of the only one he’s had a crush on for a long time now and there’s nothing he can do to stop the other from dragging him towards the couch Montagne is sitting on with not one, not two, but three bottles of vodka on the low table in front of him.

“What do a Russian, a French and a German have in common?” Gilles asks, raising a shot glass and chuckling drunkenly as icy droplets of alcohol trail down the glass and onto the still-bruised skin between his right thumb and forefinger.

“Their hatred for this goddamn dating app?”

But Alex slaps him up the back of his head as he takes the shot their tipsy friend is handing him. “Alcohol!” he booms, making more than a couple of heads turn around before drinking his glass dry as though it didn’t contain but water.

They end up sitting together, Dominic to the right and Alexsandr to the left of Montagne, their knees pressing into each other’s as they joke and drink. They’re the only three in the room that have just come back from a mission abroad, and no one comes to bother them for a long time as they try to relax and let go. The topic of discussion, however, quickly shifts back to the fucking dating app.

Matcher seems to be all the rage, and it somehow manages to sneak its way into even the most unassuming conversations. Neither of them would by now be able to assert with utmost certainty if there truly is someone at the base that doesn’t use it — apart from the people that have spent the last two weeks on a mission, completely detached from the civilian world, that is.

“I’ve heard Blitz has already had something like fifteen dates so far, in less than three weeks at that!” Gilles’ English is softened and slurred out by his French, the same French that always comes back every time he goes beyond a certain threshold when it comes to drinking.

“Fifteen?!” Alexsandr almost cries out, comically counting on his fingers until he’s reached the right number, almost as though by doing that, he’ll be able to fully comprehend the extent of Elias’ adventures.

“He’s fucked with only seven of them, though,” adds Dominic, tipping down another shot before leaning back against his seat, spreading his arms on the backrest and letting his hands hang against the cool faux leather.

Yet again, Alex counts on his fingers — up to seven, and then up to fifteen, just to see how big the difference between the two is. “Christ,” is his only comment just before he takes a long sip straight from the bottle, long enough to finish the two fingers of liquid that remain in it.

“Monique made me download it,” and it takes them a minute to put two and two together and realize Gilles is talking about IQ in his frenchified English. “Snatched mon portable from my hands and gave it back with that fucking app on my home screen.”

Dominic scoffs, the French’s experience with his colleague hitting closer to home than he would have thought possible before today. “Did the same to me. If you had given her five minutes more, she would’ve created an account for you like she did mine.”

They’re curious, both the French and the Russian, and while Gilles is chill, Dominic knows Alexsandr is not going to let him live this down. So, their quick Show us! turns into some rearranging on their seats so that Dominic ends up finding himself trapped between his two friends, looming over him like some vultures.

“Since when do you like cooking dates?” asks Alex when the app opens on Dominic’s personal profile page.

“Monika chose everything, said ‘pussy’ isn’t respectable enough as an interest. Cooking dates apparently work better at getting women, or so she says.”

“You sure she didn’t want you to match up with her?”

“Don’t listen to Frenchie, show us who it makes you match with!” Alex’s hand is quick at shooting out, but Dominic is quicker, pulling his phone away so that his now pouting friend can’t get a hold of it.

“I’ll use it. I don’t want you messing up my app.”

“I thought you didn’t like the idea of having it.”

“And I don’t! I’m just bored!”

But he still touches the search icon, and the other two almost hold their breaths as they wait for the shitty reception inside the club to allow the page to fully load and replace the pulsating hearts of the logo to leave their place to profile pictures.

The first is a 37-year-old woman with curly ginger hair and eyes of two different colors — they’re both brown, but there’s some blue in the left one, as well.

“Pretty,” says Gilles just as Dominic reads what her profession is — florist. “Match with her.”

But Dom is good — and he tells them that, pushing their hands away from his phone to prevent them from doing things with his app. “Make your own account and stop bugging me about mine,” he replies as his fingers tap the bubble with the golden star icon — not a match, more like a ‘save for later’ and although he’s had plenty of one-night stands, ‘saving’ someone ‘for later’ makes him feel fifty different shades of dirty.

The second woman is South African, a bit too far away, but with his job, he could end up anywhere in the world. So, he saves Bea for later before Alex makes him change his search parameters so that the system would find people closer to his actual location.

There’s a barista he’s seen plenty of times at the pub he and Marius often go to. She’s pretty, on the tall side, with hair cut chin-level short and a tattoo that snakes its way up the side of her neck and that he now sees trails down deeper underneath the low-cut tank top she’s wearing in her profile picture. Matcher says her name is Andrea, so he can now put his curiosity to sleep and stop wondering how he should call her.

Alexsandr taps the two-heart button to match him up with her before he can stop him, and the three of them sit there for a long time — or so at least it seems, with the rest of the party blatantly ignoring them as operators come and go as they please — checking out women and deciding what to do with them. And really, it sounds so bad in Dom’s mind when he puts it into those words — they’re judging someone based on one picture and literally three other facts about them — but that’s still the truth of the thing. Some women end up in the starred ‘save for later’ section — which they’ve found out is much nicer than it seems and it’s just a way to still be able to chat without necessarily match yet —, some get skipped, and Andrea is still the only one in his matches — she still has to match back with him, and deep down Dominic can’t help but wonder how their next encounter at the pub is going to feel like.

It’s endless profiles later, when Montagne stands up to ‘go piss’ — or so he says, kicking finesse out of the window — that a familiar face pops up on the app.

Alex chuckles, almost choking on his hundredth vodka, taken by the surprise of such a sight. “Hey! But that’s —” He’s cut off when Dominic elbows him in his left side, where he knows Alex is bruised — there’s no need to yell Y/N’s name in a room full of people drinking, talking and — he notices when he quickly looks around to make sure no one is paying them any mind — making out in the love-seat in a corner.

Dominic should have expected it, really, Monika did tell him everyone and their mother has downloaded Matcher at the base, and that includes Y/N, but he’s still taken aback because he’s had a crush on her for the longest time now and while he has balls of steel and he’s known for it, he still has… problems approaching her when it doesn’t come to missions or training.

But by God, is she pretty! Both in-person and in that picture still floating on his screen. There’s a sunflower field behind her and she’s sporting trekking boots, camo shorts, and a white tank top on a dusty, Ukrainian road. He was there, when the picture was taken — seven months ago, during the last mission they had been deployed to together — with a bunch of other operators, of course. They had taken a couple of days off when things had been wrapped and some of them had stayed behind before finally coming back to Hereford.

And there she is, grinning at him from up close — technologically speaking, that is —, dog tags disappearing between her breasts under her tank top and her head tilted to the side, eyes almost squinting against the late-morning sun. There’s everything on her profile bubble — less than ten miles away, her age, her country of origin, and then that vague ‘police’ typed out next to the white icon of a briefcase, a description Monika’s put into his profile as well.

“So?” But Alex is distracted by Gilles coming back and sitting down once again next to Dominic, and he doesn’t continue.

“Found anyone interesting while I was gone?”

“Y/N,” is Alex’s unsolicited reply. “But this chicken won’t do shit about it.”

Dominic groans. “Why do you have to be so annoying? Jesus! There, matched her. You happy now?” he complains, tapping the match! bubble with the two hearts before he has much time to overthink. “It’ll make for a good laugh when she opens her app.”

They’re all bored anyway, and he’s known for — almost — always choosing the fun way of doing something. She will match him, send him a haha domi gotcha! great to see u on this app — all lowercase, often with that ‘u’ instead of ‘you’ — through the chat feature, and then they’ll be able to laugh it off during training. It could make for a nice sort of inside joke, he muses as he puts his phone away for the night and reaches for the bottle of vodka.

By the time his friends drag him back to the dance floor to try and loosen up their sore muscles, he’s received some matching requests and more than just ‘a few’ messages in his chat from so many different people that he feels his head is spinning.

It’s early morning already when he, Alex and Gilles wait for their Uber to come and pick them up, all of them with more drinks in their body than there is water. The other two have downloaded Matcher for shits and giggles and are now busy sorting through their recommended profiles.

They’ve all warmed up to it — they’ve all used other dating apps in the past, so one more is not a problem, even more when they’re easily bored and with fewer and fewer ideas on how to pass the time they spend between missions.

It’s only when Alexsandr complains that Why am I not getting hot operators too? with a comic pout on his face that Dominic’s phone goes off vibrating in the back pocket of his pants for the millionth time. He picks it out to finally delete the stupid app — too many notifications in too little time, and he’s too tired to be patient.

The notification message reads It’s a match! with an obnoxious sparkling heart emoji, though, and that suddenly turns his mood around and makes him curious. He hasn’t got a real, mutual match yet, just lots of stars that are probably enough to light up the night sky. So he unlocks his phone, opens the app, and after the rather-cheesy explosion of hearts going off on the screen, he finally sees who’s matched him back and the name both knocks the wind out of him and makes him laugh, all at the same time.

He brings it up to her the next day. It’s just after his training session, when he’s walking around the grounds of the Base to take his mind off of things and Y/N is leaving the armory facility. She waves at him, and he can’t but jog up to her to walk with her for a bit.

There’s some small talk, stuff about plans for this next stretch of time before a mission, catching up like friends or colleagues do, and then he drops it — Now that we’ve matched on that dating app, we should go on a date! He says it with a smile in his eyes and laughter in his voice, but it all fades into silence when he realizes that what he’s seeing on her face is confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

He frowns. Maybe she doesn’t remember it. “We matched on Matcher last night. I got your notification when I left the club.” It comes off as a question — what could have been an attempt at shooting his shot in a best-case scenario or something done out of fun in any other case, seems to be quickly turning around to bite him in the ass.

The look on her face is of utter mortification as she looks up at him, realization slowly and then quickly catching up on her like some avalanche. ‘Mortified’ is the last thing he would have thought to see on her face, and he’s taken aback, for once he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Maybe she doesn’t do older. Or she doesn’t do colleagues. Or maybe she sees him as a big brother — most of the recruits seem to somehow see him that way for the first months, despite him never doing anything to even remotely prompt that kind of behavior.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” she finally says, hiding her face behind her hands. “I was shit-faced last night. Lera and I were fucking around with my app since she says I always get the hot ones, I must’ve done it at that moment. I didn’t think I’d get people from the Base, I’m so sorry. Forget about that, please: I didn’t want to make things weird.”

He’s… bummed, there’s no other way to put it. It kind of stings his pride, in a way, but he sees where she’s coming from. He just… didn’t expect for her to not take it jokingly — after all, they are similar in that, and their sense of humor always makes them find the fun side in almost anything.

“Nah, don’t worry.”

But he’s still thinking about it three days later, and both Marius and Elias, and then Monika, Gilles and Alex as well, have tried to come up with a way to fix it — they don’t exactly know what needs fixing, it’s just a stupid dating app, but the look in Y/N’s eyes is still mortified every time Dominic crosses her path.

It’s only when he’s chilling with Lera and Elias on Wednesday night, discussing possible plans for Valentine’s day, coming up on Sunday, that the topic of Matcher and the apparently dramatic match with Y/N crawls its way into the conversation once more. It’s just the three of them in the lounge room, feet up on the coffee table or on the long part of the L-shaped couch, legs crossed at the ankles.

And for a moment it’s like going back to stupid high school crushes when Lera lets it slip that Y/N is simply too embarrassed to admit that she squealed and giggled like a teenager when she got Domi’s match request over the weekend. That that is the reason why she’s so mortified and she — Lera — is tired of trying to convince her that there’s nothing wrong in finding a colleague hot. Brunsmeier is a handsome man, I’d be surprised if the thought had never crossed your mind! — that’s how she recounts it, glancing at Dominic and shrugging her shoulders.

“She’s just afraid the truth might come out,” she says. “To which I’m not opposed, I’m tired of hearing her babble about it every time she starts doubting herself.”

At first, Dominic’s only reply is a pensive hum as he brings the almost-empty beer bottle to his lips for a sip. “I didn’t think she’d somehow take it personally. I would’ve expected her to joke about it, that’s why I was confused.”

They end up thinking of a plan — send her flowers and chocolates, with a note attached, and then show up at her and Lera’s shared dorm room to take her out on a Valentine’s date. His playful crush isn’t that much of a secret when it comes to his friends, after all: he does get drunk — eventually — and he does let his tongue loose — loose enough to hint at stuff he wouldn’t exactly boast while sober.

So, the next day, they put their plan into motion. A delivery man delivers Y/N the biggest bouquet of roses Dominic has managed to find on the website of a nearby flower shop at almost one in the morning, and it’s not only a surprise to her, but to all the operators and recruits that have stayed behind in the mess hall after breakfast as well.

They watch as she eyes the bouquet, lips parted, a frown of almost suspicion on her face — and from that table, Lera sends him a knowing smirk and a raise of an eyebrow that seems to tell him that she was not expecting such an obnoxious thing.

The exchange doesn’t miss Monika’s eye, and the operator is quick at putting two and two together. She slaps his bicep, and when he turns around to glare at her, almost intimidating her to shut her mouth, she smirks. “Look at you, who would’ve thought?” Her German is hushed, and it makes their fellow German colleagues chuckle, too. “Decided to make a move?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I told you that app wasn’t that bad!” she adds when Elias tells her how things have come to that.

The next day, Dominic makes sure Lera leaves his box of Swiss pralines on Y/N’s bed — and she promptly texts him back when her roommate and friend finds it after her monthly session in Harry’s office.

When Saturday comes around, Y/N’s confusion has taken the place of the mortified look in her eyes, and Lera has started trying to convince him to come forward before her friend would start thinking of some joke. Y/N’s not the type to get spooked out — a last-minute secret admirer just in time for Valentine’s day delivering gifts is the least dangerous thing she’s probably ever come across, but he knows it’s time to ask her out.

He finds her in the very lounge room Elias and Lera talked him into moving things forward. She’s sitting on the window bench, staring out at the park of the base and at the flour-like snowflakes coming down and twirling in the wind, before it turns into rain before nightfall.

“Hey,” she greets him before he has time to make a sound, seeing his reflection in the windowpane. “If you’re going to tease me for the ginormous bouquet I got the other day like everyone else did, please don’t.” She chuckles, though, and turns around when he sits at the other end of the bench.

“Nah, I won’t be childish this time.” There’s a grin on his face as he pulls his feet up and rests his arms on his bent knees, teasing her own leg with a foot for a moment just to make her laugh. “Have any clues on who the secret admirer is?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “I’m quite sure Lera knows who this is, but I haven’t been able to tear it out of her yet.”

It’s quiet for a while before Dominic starts saying Look, there’s something I— before he stops mid-sentence and looks up at her. She’s staring back at him almost expectantly, when someone dashes through the hall and distracts them for a moment.

“I’m sorry that match made you feel the way it did,” he says, “but I’m still glad I sent my request. And I know deep down you are too, you’re just afraid of things going the wrong way.” When she frowns, her lips parting, he scoots closed and lays a hand on her knee. “A little bird told me.”

“Yeah, a Russian one, maybe?” She covers her face with her hands, much like she did at the beginning of the week, before she sighs. “Lera likes to babble.”

“I don’t mind.” His hand gives her knee a gentle squeeze, and he waits for her to look at him again. “It finally gave me the excuse to ask you out on Valentine’s day. If you’re down for it, that is.”

On Sunday, he shows up at her door at half-past six, wearing fucking tux pants for once in his life. He’s cleaned up nice — trimmed his beard a bit, combed his hair back with some cream, stole a few drops of Alex’s perfume when he and Gilles made themselves at home in his room while he was getting ready. She’s begged him to skip the roses next time, and so he’s standing there with a bunch of wildflowers in one hand, wondering why the fuck there’s butterflies in his stomach.

She’s just as beautiful as ever when she opens the door, and Lera is nowhere to be found when she invites him in so that she can put his flowers in some water. Red dress, black coat, killer heels, painted lips — she almost takes his breath away.

“You’re stunning.” The honesty in his voice makes her stutter for a moment before he lets her give him a hug.

“You’re not any less,” she grins, pecking his cheek before following him outside and then to the garage level.

He makes her ride behind him on his bike, and the dinner at the overpriced fancy restaurant he’s managed to book last-minute passes in a flash. But even despite that, he doesn’t miss the way she warms up — and opens up — the more they chat: long gone is the mortification he knows she’s felt at the idea of possibly having made things awkward or of having given her crush on him away, and they actually find themselves getting to know each other better through tales from both missions and their civilian lives and childhood.

When they’re forced to leave the restaurant to leave their place to the second turn of patrons on such a busy February night, they walk around the center of the city arm in arm, both wrapped up tightly in their jackets and with their helmets in hand. They talk and talk, and the more they do, the more that faint shadow of embarrassment they felt throughout the week evaporates from their shoulders much like the condensation leaving their lips.

Neither of them is in the mood to return to Hereford just yet. It’s nice to be out and about, doing normal things, falling for what Dominic considers a well-thought-out marketing strategy — although he won’t lie by saying he’d rather be doing something else tonight, or spend time with someone else.

“I’m glad you matched me,” she suddenly confesses, the both of them hurrying up to cross the street before the traffic light turns red. “I would’ve never had the guts to. And I’m glad you did what you did and that we’re now here.”

He grins at her, pulling her closer into his side by wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Vodka is the best remedy against bullshitting instead of taking action,” he jokes, and she laughs.

He stares at her as she does, unable to keep in that chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m sure, Sanya always says the same bullshit,” she laughs, shaking her head before pointing at the bowling alley with her helmet, her other arm wrapped securely around his waist. “I don’t wanna go back yet. What do you think about some bowling?”

When they get back at the Base at around three in the morning, Dominic has a rip in the crotch of his pants and they’re both still giggling like kids at the memory of how comically loud the ripping sound seemed when he bent to throw his ball. They were joking around, in the bowling track further from the entrance, when it happened and she had to stand right behind him as he walked back to their booth, both of them laughing loudly, his cheeks burning red in an uncharacteristic moment of embarrassment.

“Bring me your pants when you wake up, I’ll fix them for you,” she chuckles, her hand still wrapped tightly in his.

“We should go bowling again,” he replies instead, looking down at her, now a bit shorter since she’s walking barefoot, her heels in his other hand. “With a proper attire this time, though.”

“Sure, why not?” Her excitement makes him smile, and even in the night lights always on throughout the Base during the night, he can see how her eyes seem to grin up at him. “I’d be ecstatic to watch you lose miserably a second time.”

“You only had luck!” But it’s not a real complaint — after all, he is shit at bowling, but he’s loved spending tonight with her and he’d be happy to replicate it more than just once. “And I let you win.”

“Of course.” Her chuckle is low now that they’re in the sleeping quarters.

And although they should go to bed and get ready for the day of training and simulations awaiting for them when they wake up, they still seem to linger, standing there, in front of the door of her dorm, still hand in hand, smiling at each other.

“Thank you for tonight,” she says eventually, taking a step closer to give him a quick good-night hug, and she grabs her heels when he hands them to her.

“Likewise. I really enjoyed it. We should do it again.” He puts the idea out there, but when she smiles sweetly at him all his doubts seem to sizzle and evaporate.

“We should,” she nods, her fingers playing with his.

“Just ring me up when you’re free from your Matcher dates,” he grins, winking at her, hinting at the quite numerous dates she told him she had since downloading the app.

“Nah, I’m deleting it. I got the one match that matters most, so there’s no reason in keeping on looking.” She balances herself by putting both hands on his shoulders and pecks the corner of his mouth. “Good night, Domi.”

When he opens the door of his room, still grinning, the last thing he’s expecting to find is some of his friends waiting around for him just to know how his date has gone.

“So?” Monika asks, standing up from where she’s been sitting in his desk chair, eyes tired and hair tousled.

“We brought vodka,” Alex grins, raising an almost empty bottle while Gilles points at the empty glasses on the nightstand. “We’ve been waiting for this day for too long!”

“Sorry, man,” Marius says from his bed, both eyes closed and ankles crossed.

“We couldn’t stop them and shooting them dead wasn’t an option,” is what Elias aads, and Dominic knows it’s going to be a long night. But when he’s done talking, he knows he’s deleting that goddamn app, too.

[credits: psd (mine) | dominic | random guy #1 | random guy #2]

Feedback is always welcome if you want to drop old me a line 💛

#dominic brunsmeier #r6s bandit #dominic brunsmeier x reader #r6s bandit x reader #r6s imagine #dominic brunsmeier imagine #r6s bandit imagine #rainbow six siege imagine #angelaiswriting

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

I've been thinking on this for ages, but I can't decide on a character, maybe Leonard Snart, Lan Wangji or Wei Wuxian. He saves, on purpose or by accident, a baby dragon. The dragon takes a shine to him and decides to hoard him. It's tiny, so the hoarding is really ineffective. It consists mainly on riding on shoulders and hissing at everyone. It's really cute.

Lan Wangji

“I like you! I’m going to keep you!” the tiny little dragon said, grinning widely. It was only large enough to fill two hands, black scales with red whiskers, and it had a mouth made for smiling.

“Get lost,” Lan Wangji said, walking faster; his uncle had explained regarding Wei Wuxian’s unusual cursed state so that he would be aware of it, but somehow his uncle had failed to mention how horribly cute Wei Wuxian’s little dragon form was.

“Lan Zhaaaaaan, you don’t meant that…!”

Wei Wuxian

“Her name is Chenqing,” Wei Wuxian said proudly, holding out his hands to show her off. “I found her wrapped around an old flute and I’m keeping her.”

The little serpentine dragon rolled around happily in his hands, lolling around and holding her little arms out in a big stretch. “Uh-uh,” she said, her voice a little kitten whisper, wrapping her tail around his wrist. “Mine!”

“Well, that’s new,” Jiang Cheng said faintly; a glance at Lan Wangji’s face revealed he also didn’t know exactly what to say. “But I suppose…congratulations are in order?”

Jiang Cheng

Zidian is his mother’s, long lithe and silver except when she’s sparking purple; she’s fiercely independent and hates anyone touching her but her master. Jiang Cheng loved to look at her as a child, the way she twisted around her mother’s hand like a bracelet, around her neck like a necklace, even around her ear, hissing a joke that only she can understand.

He’s wanted to have her in his hands since forever.

Not like this, though.

Nie Huaisang

“I found a little bird,” Nie Huaisang explained happily. “A little goldfinch! We only have eagles and vultures in Qinghe.”

“I can’t believe you brought it into the lecture,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Well, I couldn’t leave her behind! I found her right before I arrived.”

“Uh, Nie-gongzi?” Wei Wuxian, who was peeking under the cloth of the cage, said. “I don’t think this is a goldfinch.”

Wei Wuxian pulled off the cloth. The little gold-scaled dragon beamed at them from the perch, long whiskers waiving in the air.

“…yes?” Nie Huaisang says. “Is it a sparrow, then? I’m really not good with birds.”

Lan Xichen

Alone in seclusion, Lan Xichen wondered if he’d spent his entire life in service to others. To his uncle, who feared him becoming his father; to his brother, who he sought to protect; to his sworn brother, who betrayed him; to his sect, to their principles. They still meant everything to him, all of them – dead or alive – but…he was tired.

He lifted a finger to trace the head of the little dragon that had blown in through the window a few nights before – he should report it, a supernatural event like this, but…it’s not in the rules.

So he won’t.

He hasn’t yet named her, but he was going to. And then he would let her keep her the way she wanted to, nice and safe in her little hoard, for as long as she wanted him.

Nie Mingjue

Most of the time, Baxia was a saber, like all others in his sect. Like those in his ancestor’s shrine. Sometimes, though, she was something else.

“You’re mine,” she hissed in Nie Mingjue’s ear late at night, nestled deep in his soul. They’re bound together, sword and cultivator. “I won’t let you go, not in this lifetime.”

He rubbed his eyes and smiled despite himself. He didn’t smile often, his duties and dark future weighing him down, but his Baxia could do it; he sometimes thought that this was what it must be like to have a jealous wife. “Of course not. You’re my spiritual weapon; you’ll be by my side until I die, and then you’ll take your place in my tomb, with my ashes at your feet. Stop worrying so much.”

“I won’t let him take you this time,” she snarls. “Your head, your arms, your legs, your soul – they’re all mine. How dare he profane them!”

“Am I not supposed to be touching people anymore?” he chuckled, reaching back to run his fingers down her hilt; it turned into a tail and wrapped around his wrist, pinning him in place as if held down by a stronger man. “Baxia – if you just tell me who this ‘he’ is, I’ll avoid him, I promise.”

“No, he’s still necessary for now,” she said. “But when I tell you – strike true, no matter what the consequences. Do not allow your human compassion or etiquette overwhelm you. Promise me!”

“I promise,” he said, not for the first time, still as puzzled by it as he ever was. “I’ll listen to you. When the time comes, I’ll let you drink his blood to your heart’s content.”

Jin Guangyao

He’d always known there was a dragon inside Nie Mingjue, full of heat and fire and rage; he’d liked it, once upon a time, when it roared in his defense. It had been such a pity when it turned against him; he really hadn’t wanted to give him up, but he didn’t have a choice. He was backed into a corner – just like always.

He just hadn’t expected the man to turn into a literal dragon upon death.

Is this the real secret of the Nie? He wondered, backing up and reaching for his sword. Is this why they only bury their sabers, and never themselves?

The dragon curls around his neck, tight enough to choke.

“Are you going to kill me?” Jin Guangyao asked.

The dragon laughed with the sound like Nie Mingjue’s laugh, deep and sonorous and usually a little sarcastic.

“Only,” it murmured in his ear, “if you continue to misbehave, Meng Yao.”

Jin Ling

“Little Uncle got me a dog,” Jin Ling said, clutching Xiao Fairy to his chest. “So, Jiujiu, you’re getting me…a snake?”

“I’m getting you the opportunity to get a sna – to get a dragon. It’s not a snake. Stop calling it a snake.”

Jin Ling wasn’t really convinced. He squinted into the pool. “They look like snakes.”

“Of course they do, they’re flood dragons,” Jiang Cheng said irritably. “Those all look like water serpents when they’re swimming. Just…listen to me. Put the dog down – no, give it to me, yes, there’s a good puppy –”

Jin Ling coughed pointedly. “If this is all a scheme to steal pets from my dog…”

“It isn’t,” Jiang Cheng said, though his ears were suspiciously red. “Put your hand into the pool. If one of them likes you, they’ll claim you for their hoard and keep you for the rest of their lives. Give it a try. What can it hurt?”

Xiao Xingchen

Song Lan was the very first person he met when he came down off the mountain and, well, he was a bit over-excited about it – but luckily they hit it off very well, and it all worked out quite well for a few years. Song Lan was full of interesting ideas, like making their own sect based on friendship rather than blood; Xiao Xingchen liked it, but he liked Song Lan best of all.

Things went downhill, later, but as his shizun always said, it was cruel to keep a human that didn’t want to be kept any longer, so he gave him his eyes and left him alone, just as he’d asked, and hoped that one day Song Lan would come back to him. He had time, he could wait.

In the meantime, he met someone new – or rather, someone old, anew.

Xiao Xingchen decided to keep him, too.

Xue Yang

“I think I did something wrong,” Xue Yang announced to the air, though luckily nobody was around to hear him – his current employers at the Jin sect would be most unhappy if they heard, especially if they also heard that he has no idea what went wrong or how to fix it.

He looked down at what should be a repaired half piece of the Stygian Tiger Seal, but which is definitely a small black-and-grey dragon, staring right back at him.

After being locked in a staring match for a while (he loses, but he doesn’t think the dragon has eyelids so it doesn’t count), he tentatively reached out and rubbed it behind the ears.

It purred, then belched out a puff of pure yin resentful energy.

“…well, at least you still work, I guess?”

Wen Ning

“You’re mine,” the little dragon says, happily nuzzling up to him as it flops around in the dirt. “Mine, mine, mine!”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Wen Ning said, looking around all over to make sure nobody’s around. “All yours. Now, A-Yuan, please turn back before anyone sees you!”

“But…”

“A-Yuan! Please!”

Grumbling, the little dragon curled up into a ball and uncurled as a lovely bouncing little boy, and Wen Ning gave a sigh of relief. His sister hadn’t noticed the addition of an extra child to their group of refugees, assuming the way everyone else did that he’d been another Wen, someone’s child that got left behind or orphaned, and old granny had adopted him without so much as a word. He hadn’t known how to explain the truth.

But it was fine. He’d take care of A-Yuan, with the help of his sister and now Wei-gongzi, and no one would ever need to know.

Wen Qing

Wen Qing didn’t waste a lot of time worrying about things, and a dragon deciding to claim her wasn’t going to be the thing that messed up her day.

“Fine,” she said. “You can stay, but you have to earn your keep. How’s your memory? Can you take notes for me?”

The dragon nodded.

“I’ll be testing you,” she warned.

It nodded again, so she accepted it, put it in her sleeves, and went back to work.

Jiang Yanli

“I don’t need a dragon, though,” she said, quite appropriately in her mind. “I’m not much of a cultivator.”

The little dragon nuzzled her neck and picked up one of the melon seeds she’d been peeling with its jaws. “That’s okay,” it said. “I’m not much of a dragon. I mostly just like to eat and sleep.”

“Well, then,” she laughed. “In that case, I think we’ll get along.”

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way-too-short-formysoul-corazon · 3 years

Text

Well, here tis! Section one, Before.

“You are loved, keep your sunny days, everything’s alright,”

This is almost everything that I can remember about my childhood. The same fake hope encompassing every corridor, the sound soothing me only for a moment.

My name is Logan Slife, and this is my story.

So, let’s start from the beginning.

It all started when I was 11 years old. I was walking around, playing hide-and-seek with some of the other kids in the mansion of a building we all lived in. There were plenty of places to hide there, but I had chosen the closet that was always off-limits to us kids. And, let me tell you, that closet was crowded! There was a tall shelf and a lot of monitors all showing different areas of our city, Dema. Of course, my parent is one of the rulers of the city, so it never occured to me to mind. I hid under the desk with all the buttons on it, waited a few seconds, and heard my name being called over the loudspeakers:

“Savanna Keons, please report to the main hall immediately,”

The main hall is something comparable to a throne room of sorts. When you walk through the halls to the main hall, you can hear the head bishop, Nico, telling everyone that they are loved and stuff like that, the stuff I was used to hearing and overlooking.

I was often called in there to see my father, but was never allowed in without being called. As I was instructed, I reported to the room. The man at the door let me in, saying “Your father’s waiting for you, Savanna,”

When I walked in, my father got up from his throne. He put his hands on my shoulders, bent down, and said, “Hi, honey! Do you want to come on patrol with Daddy?”

“Yea!”, I replied.

So, I put on my red cloak and rode out with my father, the bishop of the fear of death.

While we were riding there, I saw the people of our city. They all looked so happy, but in a strange sort of way. They were all doing similar things. One group would be in a huddle texting on their phones and giggling, another group would be sitting on their porches listening to music.

Every now and then, I’d get a small glimpse of someone different. I couldn’t really describe it, but it was like one minute, there would be someone in army green with yellow tape on them, and the next minute, they’d be gone…

When we got to where we needed to be, someone was on their hands and knees, sobbing and begging for mercy,

“Please, sir, I won’t do it again, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Wait right here, Vanna, Daddy’s got work to do,” my father said as he dismounted from his horse.

“Ok, Daddy!” I exclaimed, not knowing the torture that came next.

My father walked over to the pleading person and kneeled in front of them, “Sorry, son, but your pleas won’t save you now.”

He got up from the kneeling position, pushed the person down, and then started kicking them until they could barely move. After that, my father picked him up and put him on the back of his horse, “Let’s go, Vanna”.

We rode off to where they take the people who’ve commited serious crimes and stopped. My father dropped the person off of the horse, I can still hear the crack of their arm when they hit the ground, and I shrank back at the gruesome sound.

As we were leaving, I heard the person scream and turned around to see them being pulled apart by hoards of vultures.

“Don’t worry about him, Vanna, he’ll be fine”.

“I don’t think I really want to go and ride today,”

“Why? What’s wrong, Vanna?”

“Well, my back hurts a little from the ride yesterday…”, I lied.

“Oh, Vanna, you should have told me! Just stay here and get some rest, ok?” Keons replied.

“Alright. Be safe!”

“There’s no need to worry about me, Vanna. As Nico says, everything is alright!”

“Ok…” I stated as I waved him goodbye.

Ok, so, what to do now… I thought while roaming the halls. Maybe I could go back into the control room and see if I can see any of those weird blurry people? So, I went into the control room and hoisted myself onto the panel, the one without all the buttons. I looked around for any sign of the funny guys i’d seen the previous day. I did see a couple of them, but they were always like ghosts. I decided that I would sneak out and go try to find one of these people on my own. So, very carefully not to trip an alarm, I went into the restrooms and softly jumped out the window, being careful to bend my knees when I landed.

After I was out, I saw what could only be described as having full control over a vast majority of people. And I saw one of the people with the tape, they were slightly clearer than they were when I was riding with my father. The people of our city had the strangest reaction to them. When they would come closer, the citizens would run inside and slam all of the doors and windows. Why would they have that reaction to them? They’re just people… Right?

I started to walk up to the man with the yellow tape on his shirt, but he seemed frightened. I was confused for a while before I realized that I was still wearing my cloak. I took the hood down and stuck my hand out towards him, but he just started backing up. I looked at him confused, I was just trying to make friends, but he ended up tripping on something and running away.

A few minutes later, my father came riding up behind me and asked, “What are you doing out here, Vanna? I thought your back hurt?”

“Well, it does, but I wanted to get some fresh air,” I stated, my heart pounding out of my chest.

Keons just looked at me, and said, “Ok, let’s not let that happen again, ok?”

“Ok”

So, I got up on the back of his horse and we rode back home.

After years of getting out of riding with my father, and hearing all of the terrible stories that he brought back from the slaughter, I decided that the time has come, this is it, and there’s no going back for me after this.

My sixteenth birthday.

So, on that day, I was allowed one wish, and that wish was to go outside, on my own, and “scout the area” for the rebels. My father thought it was a great idea, and that it’d show that I was worthy of taking his place as head bishop of death once he was retired.

They all thought that I was going to do this to prove myself.

I did this so that I could get out and help the yellow-striped people, the banditos, with their cause.

When they shown me out, they said their farewells and good lucks, and I just smirked back at them.

They were completely oblivious.

I was free.

The first thing I did when I got out was run towards the forest, I heard they liked it around there.

What if they don’t like me? What if they hate me?

I had to go, no matter what they thought of me. I had to get out, away from the torture that’s been happening, and help the people who really do the protecting.

As I was running, I saw people, seemingly snapped out of their usual dazes, staring at me, following me with their eyes. I put my hood up, hoping it would offer some comfort and protection.

As I neared the edge of the forest, I slowed and waved goodbye and made a hand signal to the drone that was following me to stay where it was, that I had everything under control. It went stationary, hovering in the sky as I took a deep breath and crossed the threshold into the forest.

Finally, freedom.

Finally, comfort.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, that’s it for now! It’ll take me a while to actually conceive and put together the next section... Til then, stay strong, and power to the local dreamer!

#holy shoot that's a whole lot of copying and pasting...#my wrist hurts...#tw bold #tw italics #tw implied death #Logan Slife Backsory #twenty one pilots #skeleton clique

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themidnight-ghost · 3 years

Text

Hellfire

I posted this on AO3 but decided it should be posted here... not really happy with this for my first work in the Pitch Perfect fandom… haha. Sorry if you read this shitshow - i feel for you. x ☁️

“Freedom!” Fat Amy screamed after crashing through the transparent ceiling and spraying her father with a fire extinguisher.

Amongst the chaos of glass and smoke, Chloe grabbed Emily’s hand protectively and reached for Beca,

“Chloe, jump!” Beca ushered the ginger towards away from the danger, “I’ll catch up to you!”

“I’m not leaving you!”

Chloe’s look of fear tugged at Beca’s heartstrings. Here she was, saving her friends and girlfriend from being kidnapped by Australians. It couldn’t get any better than this.

“I said I’d catch up!”

This time Emily interjected, “We’re not going anywhere!”

A couple of years ago, Beca wouldn’t care what Emily said. But now the girl had become part of their random, weird, nerdy family and even though Beca refused to admit it to anyone but Chloe, she’d become very fond of the legacy and had this maternal instinct to protect her.

______________

“I don’t know Chlo,” Beca was curled up in Choe’s arms, resting her head in the crook of Chloe’s neck whilst the taller girl threw her phone onto the duvet. “I just feel like she’s growing up too fast.”

Chloe ran her hands through her girlfriend’s hair, “You should be pleased; Emily is leading the Bellas!”

“I am, I just feel like we didn’t teach her enough.”

“Teach her enough about what?”

“The male species.”

Chloe scoffed at Beca’s statement.

“What would we know about men, babe?” She pressed a quick kiss to Beca’s forehead, “Besides, Benji’s a good dude, he’ll look after her.”

As if on cue, Fat Amy Winehouse appeared from behind the clothes rack.

“Oh my god, you guys are so cheesy. Get a room!”

“There’s 3 of us living in a New York apartment; we don’t have a room to spare.” Beca deadpanned.

“That’s what they all say.” Amy whispered, “And if we don’t have another room, why don’t you guys get second jobs?”

Chloe put a hand on Beca’s shoulder, “Why don’t you get a job?”

Amy strutted into their tiny kitchen, fixing her wig in the mirror before pulling a cookie from one of the tins.

“I’m too good for manual labour. They wouldn’t know what to do with all of this .” Amy gestured to herself obnoxiously, crumbs falling carelessly onto the floor.

“All of that?”

“What were you lesbians talking about anyway?” Amy changed the subject.

“Beca doesn’t feel like we taught Emily enough. She’s worried.”

“I would be too, Legacy’s like the dumbest kid I know.”

“She’s gonna be fine, Bec.” Chloe changed the subject swiftly, “besides, I think you’d be a pretty cool mom.”

Beca’s eyes widened, “We weren’t even talking about that!”

Amy and Chloe looked at Beca bluntly.

“Be real Beca, we all know you and Chloe are like her parents.” Beca put a finger up in objection, “And don’t even try to deny it! Remember when she went on that first date with Benji?” Amy lowered her voice and scowled, clearly mimicking Beca, “Be back before 10 and have fun. But not too much fun.”

“We weren’t that bad.” Beca looked up at Chloe, “Were we?”

“No, No. Of course not.” Chloe reassured herself.

________________

The fond memory was brief and quickly ended when fat Amy’s fire extinguisher started running out of smoke.

“I love you!” Beca pushed Chloe and Emily back and ran towards Amy, “We have to go!”

Beca grabbed Amy’s forearm and pulled her to the back of the Yacht, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders after seeing Emily and Chloe jump.

Unexpectedly, Beca felt her back being coated with heat, it was like being in an oven.

“What did you do?!” She screamed to Amy,

“I blew it up, bitch!”

Beca clutched Amy’s forearm with both hands as the force from the explosion pushed them over the side. Beca could feel the excess flames tugging at her shirt and scolding her shoulders.

“Emily?!” Chloe screamed once she broke the water,

“Chloe? Chloe, I'm here!”

Without thinking, Chloe swam over in Emily’s direction, snaking her hand around Emily’s back to keep her afloat.

The younger girl was trembling, “Where’s Beca?”

“I don’t-” Chloe turned to face the Yacht and screamed. The first thing she saw was Beca and Amy’s silhouettes against a raging ball of fire and flame. Beca seemed terrified, she flailed her arm around whilst clutching onto fat Amy, who somehow managed to collide with a boat before hitting the water. “Beca!”

Passing Emily to Aubrey, Chloe swam over to the crash site. Her heart jumped but immediately sank as Amy broke through the water barrier, leaving Beca missing.

“I REIGNED HELLFIRE!” Fat Amy screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Beca?”

“Jesus, Chloe. You’re ruining my moment.” Amy stopped when seeing Chloe’s face, “Beca hasn’t come back up?”

“She’s still down there.” Chloe trembled and pushed through the surface of the water like it was a ball pit, “Help me look!”

Amy scanned the horizon, “Chloe! Help me lift the boat!”

The best friend and the girlfriend swam towards the tiny wooden boat which Beca and Amy bought with them, and Chloe’s heart sank as she noticed a scorched section of cloth barely clutching the side.

Beca was never a strong swimmer, and Chloe didn’t know what she would do if they never found her. She figured she’d demand every ocean to be drained so they could locate any remains of a body. God knows how that would work, but Chloe Beale would make it happen.

“Beca?”

To Amy, Chloe sounded like a broken record, but that was understandable. However, the ginger was pretty useless when it came to lifting boats.

“Beca!”

Amy held the boat high enough for Chloe to pull a shaking and sputtering Beca into her arms.

“Are you alright?” Chloe held her girlfriend like her life depended on it and choked back a sob as Beca clutched her shirt.

“I could be better.”

Chloe pulled Beca closer, “I was so fucking worried.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before.” The smaller girl murmured.

“Well then, that proves something.”

Beca wiped the streaking tear from Chloe’s cheek and kissed her lightly, it wasn’t much, but it was meaningful. Beca probably didn’t have much breath left, and Chloe wasn’t the only worried one.

“Beca! Chloe!”

The pair looked in the shouting direction to see Emily breaking away from Aubrey’s hold before proceeding to swim over to them as the remaining yacht debris fell to a standstill.

Chloe and Beca parted, allowing Emily to swim into their hug,

“You really scared me,”

Chloe pulled her close, “Sorry, kiddo.”

The found family floated amongst the chaos. As the helicopters swirled like vultures above them, no words needed to be said, it was just them . And Chloe was so thankful for that.

#pitch perfect #pitch perfect 3 #pitch perfect fanfic #pitch perfect fanfiction #bechloe #bechloe fanfiction #bechloe fanfic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #emily junk #aubrey posen

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writers-blogck · 4 years

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The Cat and the Crow ( Tengu!Hinata Shoyo x Bakeneko!Reader )

Warning(s): This is based on the yokai universe for Haikyuu on Tumblr. That was where I got the decision to make Karasuno Tengu. :>

Title: The Cat and the Crow Pairing: Hinata Shoyo x Reader Fandom: Haikyuu! Word Count: 2,272

You stretched your limbs, tail curling toward the sunny sky. The rock you were lounging on was just the perfect temperature for a nap. The sun was high in the sky and there was just the right amount of clouds to keep it from getting too hot. It was a perfect day and you were prepared to take a perfect nap. It was rare that you got any time alone so you were going to enjoy it to the max. The promise of a nap without being interrupted.

As a Bakeneko, you were lazier than your counterpart, Nekomatas. Unlike your more violent mirror image, your kind didn't eat humans. Sure, you liked to mess with them at times and play pranks but your kind tried to stay as peaceful as possible. In the rare case that a Bakeneko kills a human, they still do not consume them. The Nekomata on the other hand were hunters and humans weren't safe from being on their list of prey.

You still were unable to understand why the colony of Nekomata took you in as one of their own. Normally, Nekomata and Bakeneko fight with each other, often due to the human issue. But Kuroo, the leader of the colony, had saved you when you were younger. A group of yokai hunters had killed your mother and were planning on giving you the same fate but multiple pairs of yellow eyes appeared in the dark night. Before you knew what happened, the humans were dead and you were being surrounded by other cat creatures. You wouldn't learn until you were older that you weren't the same type of creature as the pride.

The clan tried to feed you some human meat after one of their hunts but it must be engrained in Bakeneko's DNA to dislike the taste as you refused for no apparent reason. It had been a hard and frustrating time but in the end, they just decided to feed you other meat like fish and beef. Fish was your favorite, though birds were good too. You licked the small fangs in your mouth, wondering how long it would be until it was time to eat. That was one of the strict rules of the colony: you only eat when everyone eats. Everyone must be taken care of before you were allowed to eat. The exception to that rule was Kuroo. How many times had you seen him skip a meal because there wasn't enough? Perhaps you should try hunting on your own to help the pride. You weren't fully matured yet, still being called a kitten by the other members. You were the youngest member and you doubt that they will ever call you anything else. You were the baby.

A black feather fell from the sky, brushing against your nose which caused you to let out a sneeze. Your eyes opened, looking up at the top of the trees to see where the feather had come from. All you could see were the hint of talons disappearing in the green leaves but that was enough. Perfect, your prey was just being delivered to you. Maybe hunting wasn't as bad as the others made it seem.

You were on your feet and up the tree in less than a second, ready to track whatever this creature was. Perhaps it was a big bird like a vulture? You could take something like that on. Instinctively you flexed your claws as you thought about how the pride would be so proud of you if you brought back prey. It was a rare occasion that you were given hunting duty. You would prove that you were just as strong as the other members.

Leaping from branch to branch, your keen ears followed the sound of the creature in front of you. It was big, you could tell that without even seeing it. Twigs were breaking and leaves were torn from their stems as it moved forward with the grace of a drunk kappa. This wasn't even a fair fight as you landed on the tips of your feet, hands simply whispering against the bark before you were jumping to the next branch. The creature was panicking. You could smell the fear in the air, though there seemed to be another scent that you couldn't place.

With a final push of your legs, you pounced on the creature you were chasing. Two bodies crashed through the tree's canopy before landing hard against the soft grass. The first thing you noticed was that the creature you were on top of was much bigger than you had expected. Shaking your head to focus your vision, what you saw once you opened your eyes again was shocking, to say the least.

Your golden eyes the color of daffodils fell upon a mixture of orange and black. Messy orange curls that had leaves sticking from them. Black wings that were stretched awkwardly under its body. You could feel an athletic build under your hands which were pushing against the creature's chest. It....No, he was another yokai like yourself. Your nails pierced the fabric that covered the boy, not pushing hard enough to draw blood. You could hear the blood in your ears as you felt your fur begin to stand on end.

"H-Hey!" A squawk escaped his lips, bringing you back into the present. You had never seen someone like this before. Normally other yokai stayed away from your territory. It was at that moment that you began to realize you may have traveled a bit too far away from home. Everything seemed to begin to close in on you: all the different smells you hadn't noticed, the lack of any familiar sounds, the strong sense of being utterly and completely alone. A small whimper slipped past your lips as you scrambled off of the boy, leaving him even more confused than he had been moments before.

He would be lying if he said that he didn't think you were attractive. The fur of your ears and tail looked so tempting to touch and he had a passing thought of whether you purr or not if someone pets your hair. His wings puffed out to make him look larger than he actually was as he sat up. His ribs were sore and would most likely be bruised by the morning but there were more important things at hand. A moment ago, he had been pinned down to the ground by a vicious predator and now he was staring at a quivering form that was more like prey than anything else.

If it were any of the others in his own colony, you would be dead where you were sitting. Karasuno's Colony of Tengu were fiercely protective of their own and any sign of a threat would be taken seriously. The image of your skin stained a blood red flashed in Hinata's mind and it was at that moment that he knew he couldn't bring you back to the nest. Not only would he get in trouble for bringing someone to their hidden home but there would be a very high chance that he wouldn't even be able to explain the situation before one of the others had sliced your throat with their talons. Harsh, but Hinata just knew they were being protective. He was one of the younger members, just recently learning how to fly. He had been out practicing when you had caught sight of him.

"Are you okay?" Hinata slowly extended his hand out to you but halted his movements when he was met with sharp hissing. Your ears were pressed flat against your head and your tail was puffed out in fear. Normally he would be scared of anything threatening him but somehow, he could see how scared you were. Maybe it was because you seemed to be around the same age as him. Maybe it was because you were way too cute for your own good. He had no clue.

"Leave me alone!"

"Hey, you were the one that tackled me to the ground. It isn't very fair to be getting upset at me when all I was doing was passing by. You shouldn't even be here anyway. Don't you know that this forest is the territory of the Karasuno Clan?" Everyone knew that people who went into that forest didn't come out. The rumors were only proven true by the bodies of Yokai hunters strung up in the trees as harsh warnings to other humans and yokai alike. If you had been slinking around when you entered their territory than you could have missed the hanging corpses, but how could you miss the scent of death? Weren't cats supposed to have a strong sense of smell? What were you anyway?

The red-haired boy actively made his feathers go back to normal, sensing no threat at the moment. What would Sugawara do if he were here? Tanaka and Noya would just kill you...Daichi too. Even Suga's brown eyes had held malice toward creatures that accidentally stumbled into the woods. He was very protective of his family and he wasn't going to allow anyone the chance to hurt them.

"I...!" You started but closed your mouth when you realized you had nothing good to say. He was right, you were the one that pursued him. If you had been playing around with Kenma or Lev, this would be the part where they would bite at your skin - nipping the exposed flesh gently. Each and every member of the pride just had to remind you that you were the baby. You would always be the member who needed the most protection. You had howled in protest many times before but at this moment, you were starting to think they were right.

"I'm not going to hurt you...As long as you don't hurt me. My name is Hinata, I live here." The boy offered you a small smile and you felt your stomach leap in a way it had never done before. It was rare that you interacted with anyone outside of the pack, especially people around your age. Part of you wanted to let your guard down while another side of you knew that would be a terrible idea. How long would it take for the others to realize you were in trouble? They still thought you were just out relaxing somewhere. When would they decide that it was long enough and that you must be in trouble if you weren't home yet?

Hinata offered his hand slowly, eyes soft as the freshly laid snow. Seconds passed by as the two of you simply kept staring right into each other's eyes. Was this a trap for you to lower your guard so he could attack? Even if it was, what was your other plan? You were stuck in a foreign territory and had no information on how to get out. You needed to get out before any of the other Tengu members found you.

"Please, let me help you. I can lead you out of the forest safely and you can go back to your house. I know this forest like the back of my ow hand. I'll be able to get you out without any fuss. I just need you to trust me for a little bit and then we can go back to being enemies or whatever afterward. I'm sure this is all some type of accident. We all make mistakes, believe me. I can't even count how many mistakes I've made."

Your eyes moved from his own to glare at his hand. His nails were a bit long but nothing in comparison to your own. He had his talons to hunt with while your own kind relied on your claws. If this boy did decide to betray you, you doubt you could end up on top. As soon as he got you pinned down with those sharp talons, it would all be over.

"Fine..." Slowly you took the boy's hand with your own. It was surprisingly soft in comparison to the ones you were used to. If the two of you were meeting in better circumstances then perhaps you would study the grooves of his hands but now was not the time. For now, you had to keep your attention sharp around this crow-like Tengu. The sooner you were back with your pride, the better. You knew you would have a scolding waiting for you when you told the others what happened but you would prefer that to being alone in new territory.

But you weren't alone. You were trailing behind a ginger-haired boy who was holding your hand like a delicate lotus blossom. Was he afraid he was going to hurt you? The pride had told you stories about other yokai but this was nothing like any of them. They had said that yokai were dangerous creatures even to other yokai and would never pass up the chance of killing one another. Yet, in front of your stood a gracious bird who seemed to genuinely want to help. Subconsciously, you tightened your grip on his hand.

"Follow me. I promise I'll get you out of here in no time."

Hinata was growing to trust you, something you didn't understand. You may want to lower your walls a bit but that was how yokai always got caught. You had to keep your guard up and be ready for anything to happen. Still, it was nice to get to hold a cute boy's hand, if only for a little while.

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