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monsoonblooms12 · 3 years

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Detectives by Chance: Chapter 8- The Final Bow

Series Summary: It was supposed to be a usual weekend for the four. Coffee, fun, friends and love. But an unexpected case changed their lives in a way they had never imagined. A mystery - a murder - many secrets… Will Ethan, Pooja, Alexandra and Mark, be able to survive? Or will the circumstances twist and break their lives forever?

A/N: This is the end. The end of the first ever series, the first ever fanfics I ever wrote. It's melancholic you know? Bidding adieu to Open Heart and Detectives by Chance all at one? Anywho, I hope you enjoy this piece💕

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Rating: Teen (to be safe)

Warnings: Blood, Murder, Swear Words, Gun Violence

I would recommend reading the previous parts first, because I am sure this makes little sense without knowing what happened previously.

Read the previous chapters here!

The trail from the crumpled door to the back ground felt likes hours of navigating through the blazing desert, no one in sight.

The scarlet memoirs of the wounds that now covered her skin did not give her much relief either. Blood soaked into her shirt, colouring it red from cream at a steady rate. Lazy tracks formed as solitary drops slipped down to meet the ground.

Papers clutched with a death grip, her resolve did not waver. After all the goose chase she had done in the manor, she was sure she could do this. But then again, there was not much of a choice there.

Ethan's POV:

A hazy screen appeared before his orbs as they slowly, timidly, fluttered open, as if scared to look around. A blackness had spread around him, and his mind could not make out if it was a musty old dungeon or some place else.

Soft scents of the intoxicating vanilla and bluebell perfume gently let him know of their presence, and he sighed in relief.

Wherever he was, he was close to her.

And with that knowledge came a subtle sense of calm, a realization that as long as he was near her, he wouldn't mind even dying.

He just wanted her, his strength, with him.

He tried to get up, and the wince of pain came almost immediately. His legs ached due to the cramped position in the short space of wherever. As he managed to pull himself up from the sleeping position, a very faint jingle of keys could be heard in the background of his groans.

Then with a click, the front door flew open and he unclearly made out a thud of some kind of folder in the front passenger seat. Soon the driver's seat was occupied as well, and the engine was raved to life.

The scent of vanilla and bluebell grew strong and he knew it was her.

"Pooja?" He whispered so lightly that for a second he wondered if he had even spoken it aloud.

"Ethan! Oh thank fucking god you are- Ah!" She was cutoff mid sentence by a horrifying but muted shriek which had escaped as she tried to close the door.

"Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay!" Worry laced his tone as her other hand painfully completed the supposedly easy task.

"You are okay and I've everything we need to save Lex & Mark. That's all that matters, E."

"What about you?"

But her attention had already shifted to the driving the automobile. She had always been like that, too unconcerned about herself. As well as he knew her, he was sure she had been biting her lip a tad bit harder with every moment just to keep painful screams at bay.

"It doesn't matter."

A shrill roar suddenly invaded the eerie, uncomfortable silence of the abandoned area. The voice was human, but the intensity of the sound reminded them more of an enraged tiger trapped in a cage, ready to pounce at the chance of freedom.

Staying here for a second more could be a dangerous idea.

A slow pain spread though his forehead, an after-effect of whatever that was forcefully injected during his investigation of the murky place, too dishevelled to call it even an office, let alone a hospital. The ache became all-too-consuming, his struggle to keep his eyes open turning futile. The blackness grasped him steadily as consciousness bid adieu and the dangers of the world in front of him, at bay.

End of Ethan's POV

Pooja's clutch on the steering wheel was so hard that the fingernails that dug into its material left deep moon shaped indents, as a mark of their visit. The teeth pressed so deep into her lip that it had drawn blood. The gap of the missing tooth felt like an aftermath of the reckless rescue operations she had led at the building.

Why did her mind refused to cooperate with her now, when she had finally made her way out?

Another line of thought began to form, but before it spread it's being, a second horrifying scream broke through the audible silence like a dagger.

Sweat of hardwork was now the cold sweat of fear. A sense of great danger that lingered now completely flooded every chamber of her heart & she refused to stop.

Digging her teeth into her lips, tears streaming as every movement made her want to shriek and wail in agony, she revved the engine, turned the steering & fled out of there.

————————————

A rash drive followed. She sped through the roads, going straight without a turn until she was sure the they were not being followed.

A safe distance away, she stopped. Every moment was precious now, but she was done. She could not do this anymore.

Hell, she could not do anything anymore.

The left portion of her shirt that she wore was now soaked in scarlet, the stench of blood growing on her. She doubted that if she wasn't a doctor, she would have thrown up or passed out by now.

Pooja looked behind, the scarce daylight making it a difficult job to be done. She was quite sure that Ethan had been overcome by another bout of unconsciousness and the feeling of helplessness spread through her chest, forming a hollow through its path.

Her head felt light too. The injuries were starting to show effects, although the overwhelming sense of failure and danger had already numbed their pain.

Taking a deep breath, and another, and another, she tried to centre herself, though not to much avail.

Something she had realized was now, the necessity to keep moving was a need & not a want.

A slow kick on the gas pedal & she carried on her journey to the final destination.

————————————

At the police station, the unfolding of events occurred like a film sequence set on fast forward.

Pooja had barely made it there, an urgency ringing through her mind, a constant worry that she was late, too late. But thankfully, she wasn't.

Dragging her foot (her entire body, at this point) she entered and almost fell face down on the station floor.

Hastily handing over the evidence she had meticulously collected and suffered all the injuries for, she tried to explain what she had found.

Officers repeatedly asked her to calm down, but she refused. The three of them, Ethan, Alex and Mark, They were her family. They always mattered more than her. They always will.

At last, all she managed was to point a finger at her car, before her body gave up on the fight. A small smile of satisfaction decorated her tired, overworked features. It was a win. A well deserved one. A strange sense of pride, overwhelmed her as she slowly faded into unconsciousness.

————————————

It has been 36 hours since the ghastly raid of Miles's manor.

The evidence collected opened a lot of tied knots, the page from Miles's diary, even though muddy, serving priceless for the investigation. Almost everything got crystal clear from it.

Pooja underwent a major surgery, and was still under bedrest. Minor to Major, there were a plethora of injuries that needed to be treated. Recovery was going to take a long time but her response had been up to the mark.

As for Mark and Alex, the court deemed them not guilty for any of the charges made against them & they were released. The very instant they rushed to the hospital, tears streaming down endlessly both in gratitude & in worry.

Miles Danvers, as expected, was not found. The manor was investigated after the release of Mark & Alex, a big mistake, and nothing was left behind except a few beeping machines & broken furniture. The investigators now await Pooja's recovery for interrogation & to close the case as soon as possible because stories of a deranged murderer roaming around the dark streets doesn't exactly spark a rush of serotonin through the citizens.

Meanwhile in a dark, gloomy alleyway:

It had been seconds too long. The man's pace faltered at slightest sounds, fingers fidgeting the two ring that shone under whatever little light reached the area.

Why were they not here yet?

But his wait was cut off soon. Muffled footsteps echoed like, every step closer increasing their intensity. Even though he had been expecting them, his heart leapt up his throat, which tightened in fear.

He turned around, not being able to make out their faces. But at the time, he found it to be a blessing in disguise, because he was sure he would have thrown up from the fright of being the cause of their anger.

A hand extended out, the silver bracelet dangling from it gleaming in moonlight. It gripped the lapel of his coat, and a scared murmur escaped him without caution.

The person on the other side, let out a slow growl of rage, boiling blood coursing through their veins. The man's teeth chattered, the cold pressing against his skin even more as a chill ran down his spine.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, the touch of cold metal against his neck made him shudder.

It was... It was a gun.

"Thi..s, Th..., This w-was not what, w-what we plann-nned upon." He quietly muttered, shocked that sound still escaped through the dryness of his throat.

"What were you supposed to do?" The person, no, the man, That man, growled, the evil of his heart almost visible in the spoken words.

The man stood soundless. It took two hard knocks of the metal to make him speak.

"K-K-Kill"

"And what did you do? Let her escape with a bagful of evidence." The words were being hissed now, with so much intensity that the man was surprised that he hadn't peed his pants yet.

"And since" The gun was displaced and he let out a sigh of relief. "You did such wonderful work, you deserve to be rewarded."

And before the man could even process what just happened, a single shot pierced through the fog settling around, and hit right in the forehead.

Seconds later, his lifeless body met its origin & any sign of life in the alleyway seized to exist.

End Note: Open Heart ended and it feels unreal. I have had a weird, wonderful journey with it. I would have never come to tumblr, make edits or write fanfics if not for it. It is a series which many of us, me included, hold close to our heart.

Firstly, I would like to thank everyone who provided their precious thoughts over the past chapters of this series. I always have & always will hold Detectives by Chance close to my heart, because it has some of my earliest fanfics & it was the beginning of a wonderful journey for me. So if you took your time & have followed this story from the start, I am so very grateful for you. Thank you❤

With OH ending, many have chosen to continue in this fandom & some have decided to move on. Whatever your decision may be, I hope you be happy & have a good time ahead💕

Detectives by Chance gets a Bonus part, with no relation to the storyline, like not an epilogue, but something that will answer the lingering questions. As for if this is really the end of DbC or not, I will let you guys decide that😉

Tags (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed or if I forgot you):

Perma: @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @udishaman @aestheticartsx @twinkleallnight @schnitzelbutterfingers @sophxwithers @sweatyrysconnoisseur @nikki-2406 @choicesfanaf @trrfanaddict @starrystarrytrouble @gardeningourmet @parkbarks @mvalentine @lovablegranny @mercury84choices @helloayz

Open Heart (All fics and edit): @lucy-268 @maurine07 @bellcat2010

Ethan x Pooja (fics): @aleynareads @stygianflood @choicesaddict5 @mysticaurathings @jamespotterthefirst @ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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These People in This Room (Don't Shine Like You) (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

summary: Lawrence has just been crowned the winner of RuPaul’s Drag Race UK, and Ellie is right beside her. Just like she’s always been.

a/n: omg HIIIIII! here’s my entry to the fic challenge (will it be my only one? who can say). in a shocking turn of events this is not a drabble asdfghjk but would we have expected anything concise from me? this fic was inspired by Shine and Starstruck, both by Years and Years. they are very diamond chaney songs so pls do give them a little listen for full effect! standard procedure, she/her pronouns bc they’re in drag, u know the drill. this has taken me entirely too long to write but pls enjoy some diamond chaney from the night of the crowning! (pls also collectively pretend they had an actual dancefloor to celebrate on and not just a hotel room bc i had already started writing at the point Ellie posted her BTS. fic is just one big serving of pretend anyway xo)

***

It’s somewhere around midnight, the sun has set on Thursday and Friday has crept in, and Lawrence is sitting in a booth with the dancefloor flashing bright colours in front of her, only just daring to believe that this is her actual life.

There is not a single moment that seems real. Even being one of the top four took her essentially since filming stopped to come to terms with. But hearing her name being read out, hearing the other girls cheer for her and being able to do nothing but stare at the screen in disbelief with her hands over her mouth and sob like a baby…that’s not sunk in yet. Maybe it never will. She’s still feeling the after-effects from the way the shock and euphoria had kicked seven shades of shit out of her pulse, the way the serotonin had crashed over her like a wave and the absolute unbridled lack of control she’d had over any of her emotions.

When the cameras had been cut off and they’d been given the all-clear from the producers that they could hug each other, Lawrence had only managed to stand up from the chair, still in floods of tears as Bimini bundled their arms around her, Tayce had jostled them all with the way she’d jumped up and down and yelled in delight, and Ellie had looped her arms around her neck and murmured into her shoulder, words Lawrence couldn’t hear but felt the love from regardless.

It had to be Ellie, really, that crowned her. It was a full-circle moment. She still remembers the night they met for the first time; Dundee in 2016, some time in the early hours of the morning (she’d probably called it ‘bastard o’clock’ or something similar), coming out of the bar and being stopped by a boy in half-drag similar ages with her who spoke rapidly and excitedly and told her that he’d messaged her about starting drag and she’d replied to him. The way realisation had dawned on her and the way she’d been her usual loud and boisterous self to cover up the fact she’d actually been quite bashful about the fact they were meeting for the first time.

There was no alternative, not least because of everything they’ve been through together; the years leading up to this moment and the rollercoaster it’s all been. She’s glad that they’re on a high because they’ve seen each other at their lows (been the cause of each others’ too, sometimes) and pulled through only slightly scathed, but always stronger. The producer had asked Lawrence who she’d wanted and when she, still speechless, had pointed in Ellie’s direction, seeing the tears start to stream down her face had only made Lawrence’s start all over again. They’d hugged- just the two of them this time- and the way Ellie had immediately felt like a safe place in the crazy chaos of reality reminded Lawrence so much of when they had filmed. The way even just hearing Ellie’s voice would stop her feeling homesick, the way she was a living comfort blanket.

She’d never tell that to Ellie, of course, because she’d never hear the end of it if she did.

It’s been a couple of hours and Lawrence is expecting everything to suddenly sink in any minute now. Something will click like the last piece of a puzzle and she’ll finally accept that she’s won, that the whole thing isn’t a giant and premature April fools’ prank. She turns her phone over in her hand, wondering what all this nervous energy is doing to her body chemistry. She’s got messages from her family, her friends, Kiko, the girls she works with back home. Well…some of them. But apart from reading them and frantically replying, Lawrence hasn’t checked anything else; hasn’t opened Twitter or Instagram, where the notifications are piling up like pizza leaflets through a letterbox and are equally as unwanted. If she thinks about them she can feel her stomach twist, wrung out like a wet towel.

Forty thousand likes. The Team Bimini tweet had forty thousand likes. What did her own get? Eight thousand? Lawrence thinks about the sheer scale of forty thousand people, compares it to the population of towns in Scotland. Almost Airdrie. Just under Coatbridge. She imagines a whole town of people, angry and furious and disappointed, and all of them tweeting her to let her know exactly that. She remembers in high school when she thought the whole of Hermitage was against her. She wants to tell baby Lawrence that that was fucking small fry. A thousand kids? Try the sheer scale of Bimini’s fanbase. Her breath is shaky when she tries to breathe in, like her lungs have reduced in size. It reminds her of that time in school camp when they all had to jump from a pier for some unknown-fucking-reason, how freezing the water had been and how her chest felt tight as she gasped for air. Lawrence supposes it was character building in the sense that it prepared her exactly for how anxiety would make her feel later in life.

In for four. Hold for five. Out for six.

“There she is!”

An ever so slightly slurred and wobbly voice breaks Lawrence’s reverie, and when she looks up she sees Ellie approaching her, a little unsteady even in the flats she’s changed into with a glass of prosecco in each hand. It says a lot that even at the top of a helter-skelter of an anxiety spiral, Lawrence’s heart still gives a little swell when she sees her friend. Ellie has always been able to make her feel better. She feels an almost silly sense of relief that she’s here.

Lawrence takes one last little breath in before plastering a small smile to her face. “Awrite? Where’s Mumma Diamond?”

“In her room conked out. Just got back from putting her to bed, she couldn’t hack it. Letting down the family name, that one,” Ellie huffs, sliding into the booth and squashing up right beside Lawrence, even though there’s enough space for two metres distance even if they had still been under strict instructions from the BBC.

“Tayce?” Lawrence asks, gratefully accepting the prosecco glass and hurriedly downing a too-big gulp in an attempt to calm herself down.

“Facetiming A’whora. Of course.”

“Of course. Maybe a bottle and a half of prosecco is gonny be the love potion she never knew she needed.”

“Fuck, we can only hope,” Ellie grins, already laughing through her words. “If we’re gonna be touring with them I don’t wanna have to karate chop through five layers of sexual tension every time I have to walk past them.”

Lawrence chuckles, tired but humoured and unable to not make the so-obvious joke. “You couldny fight sleep.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’ll fight you in a minute!” Ellie nudges her with her shoulder and spills both of their prosecco from the glasses in their hands. The gesture is affectionate and out of place with the impending threat. “Where’s Bims? Thought they were with you.”

Lawrence shrugs. “Went out for a smoke with one of the runners about twenty minutes ago and never returned.”

“Good for them. Always thought there’s something inherently sexy about a winch in a back alley.”

“Well, you would know.”

“Eh, so would you!” Ellie cries, nothing short of incredulously offended. Her expression makes her look even more like a cartoon character than usual, and it’s entirely too endearing.

“Yeah, forgot that popular phrase. It takes two to winch in a back alley,” Lawrence jokes, but her heart isn’t in it. It’s too heavy and her ribcage feels like someone laced her into a corset and pulled it too tight. She’s hoping Ellie is too drunk to notice.

Ellie sips her prosecco with her eyes on her, then scrutinises her as she swallows it. She frowns, her nose wrinkling up as she prods Lawrence with an acrylic-nail finger. “What’s up?”

Fuck.

“The sky,” Lawrence says without conviction, and the raised eyebrow Ellie gives her in return is enough to unlock her. She deflates like a balloon and brings her phone up so Ellie can see it, turning it over in her hands. “Just…as happy as I am, and as much as this is all a dream come true…I keep psyching myself up to open any social media, and I can’t, because this one fucking brain cell of anxiety keeps telling me that everyone out there hates me and hates the fact I’ve won.”

Ellie’s face falls into a frown. She gently pries the phone out of her hands and places it on the table, takes one of Lawrence’s free hands in hers and rubs her thumb over her knuckles. “But all your other brain cells know that’s wrong.”

Lawrence sighs. “So why’s that one louder than all the rest?”

Ellie presses her lips together in a badly-suppressed smile. She’s giggling as she speaks. “Because you’ve only got two brain cells.”

Lawrence splutters a laugh, shoving Ellie with her free hand. The other is still laced together with hers. As the laughter dies down and the momentary serotonin wears off, Lawrence can feel her brow furrowing involuntarily. “Forty thousand people wanted Bimini to win, Ellie. Forty thousand. You know that’s like a whole town? That’s like the population of Coatbridge?”

“ Fuck Coatbridge!” Ellie exclaims, affronted, and her shock and insistence makes Lawrence snort all over again. “Okay, forty thousand people is a town but really, what’s that to the rest of the world? Think how tiny that is in the grand scheme of things, Lawrence! Honestly, give a fuck about what any bastard who wants to send you anything vile thinks of you! You’re so amazing! You won! Fuck everyone else!”

Lawrence wants to feel cheered up. The prosecco Ellie’s drunk is making her all the more animated and lively, giving her words a determination and a passion that her speech so rarely possesses most of the time. Ellie is calm, and she doesn’t get wound up easily. There’s something about the fact she’s growing this animated over getting Lawrence to believe in herself that warms her heart a little.

Then again…

“It’s not just that, though. There’s girls from home that haven’t even said well done. Girls I’ve always supported and couldn’t do enough for, and it’s like…really? You can’t be happy for me when I’ve actually managed to do the one thing I’ve wanted to do for years?”

“Well maybe they have said well done, and you’ve just not seen it because you’ve been hiding,” Ellie gestures matter-of-factly at her phone. It doesn’t convince her.

“They won’t have. You’ll know who I’m talking about, Ellie.”

Ellie sighs a little, clearly conceding that Lawrence is right. Her grip on her hand tightens a little, and when Lawrence looks up at her in response her blue eyes hold a glint of assurance.

“Well, even if they haven’t…fuck ‘em. Onwards and upwards, chick. You’ve got ten new sisters out of this who’re always going to know what it’s like, they’re gonna be here for you no matter what,” Ellie says comfortingly. Lawrence knows why she’s said ten and not eleven, but Ellie affirms this with another squeeze and a slightly shy smile. “And you’ve always got me. You’ve always had me.”

This is true. She’s always had Ellie. Before the show, doing gigs with her and hanging out with her and going to DragCon with her. On the show, always there to reassure her or pull her out of a negative spiral or just lean against her shoulder and squeeze her hand. And after the show. Whatever that might look like. Whatever that might be.

She supposes that neither of them know yet.

“C’mon,” Ellie says decisively, holding out a hand for her as the song changes. It’s some sort of Paolo Nutini dirge, and Lawrence has to laugh at how obviously whoever is in charge of the music has rushed to attempt to find something Scottish. Lawrence can only blink at Ellie’s outstretched hand.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Come on! ” Ellie laughs. Lawrence doesn’t know if she’s blushing or if it’s just the lights.

But she does know that she can’t leave Ellie hanging when she’s looking at her like that.

So Lawrence lets herself be dragged out to the dancefloor and pulled into a hug as Ellie sways them left to right ever-so-slightly out of time with the song, tipsy and full of affection given the way her arms are locked around Lawrence’s waist. It should feel stranger than it does. In reality, being held by Ellie feels as simple as just existing.

Or perhaps simpler than that, given the fact that Lawrence’s existence feels entirely surreal right now.

“You have to be in drag for half past se-ven,” Ellie sing-songs, bringing one of her arms out from around Lawrence’s waist and tapping her on the nose. Lawrence immediately misses it, so it’s a relief that it’s not gone for long.

“Because I wo-on,” Lawrence imitates back to her, and the way Ellie squeezes her waist in response and affirmation causes a smile and a blush to bloom on her face without her even being to control it. She rests her head against Ellie’s chest so she can’t have the satisfaction (ammunition) of seeing how she makes her feel.

It’s little moments like that that she needs right now. Anchors to keep her down on earth, to let her know that this isn’t just some really prolonged lucid dream and it’s all actually happening because currently reality is so absurdly ridiculous; she’s just won Drag Race and she’s slow-dancing with Ellie to the song that’s blasting through the speakers in the background, a parody of some American high school prom where she’s just been crowned the queen.

Moments like these- where Ellie’s holding her close as if she’s literally trying to protect her from the world- remind her that not everybody is against her. Not everybody hates her. Not everybody is wishing her a slow and painful death because Bimini didn’t win, least of all them. She knows that Ellie was never able to share what team she was on even though she hadn’t had a chance at the crown, but she didn’t have to. Not really. They’ve always been on each others’ team.

Ellie jolts Lawrence out of her daydream with the way her chest is shuddering, and Lawrence momentarily thinks she’s crying again before her soft giggle becomes audible over the music.

“What?” Lawrence tilts her head up, meeting Ellie’s scheming, smirking face.

“Can’t believe RuPaul Charles asked if you wanted to move to London, city of dreams, city of a thousand opportunities…” Ellie begins, Lawrence already laughing as she knows what the conclusion to her sentence will be. “…and you said, ‘yer awrite pal, am fine in Glesga wi the jakes an’ the Blue Lagoon chippy an’ the guy that stands on Buchanan Street and yells at everyone that they’re going to hell!’ ”

Lawrence would normally roll her eyes at Ellie’s impersonation of her accent, but she’s laughing too much at the joke that’s forming in her head to commit to it. “RuPaul asked if I wanted to move to London, and I said…”

The pair of them are almost giggling too much to get the punchline out, Ellie clocking on to how it’s going to end. In sync, the pair of them splutter out a “… NNNNAAW! ”

Giddy and happy, Lawrence rests her cheek against Ellie’s chest again. “London’s got junkies too, anyway.”

“This is gonna sound really selfish, but…don’t actually move to London,” Ellie’s voice murmurs from above her, and there’s something plaintive to it that makes Lawrence refrain from replying with a joke or a barb like she normally would. The way Ellie follows it up cements that fact. “It would probably be so good for you, but like…Glasgow would be lost without you, genuinely. And so would I.”

Lawrence can’t cry again tonight, even if it’s only because she thinks it’s physically impossible, so she just squeezes Ellie tight until she worries about her ability to breathe. “I’m not going anywhere, hen.”

Lawrence doesn’t even really know what they are, her and Ellie. They both still have Grindr and they talk about their hookups and raised hopes and broken hearts with each other like friends. But they’re not really just that. They’re affectionate, and they open up to each other with the same shared unspoken understanding of something Lawrence doesn’t understand. They hug for too long and cuddle up to each other when they’re together, and Lawrence can’t count the amount of times during filming that she’d find strength in the way Ellie would squeeze her hand without a word. They’ve woken up together too many times (why she’d felt the need to remind Ellie of that while the cameras were rolling, she’ll never know) and kissed each other more than that. Every time they say I love you they mean it, but they also mean a little bit more. There’s no butterflies or fast pulses or fluttering hearts- they’re past that stage. Everything is just natural and normal and easy.

She wonders if they’ll ever put a label on what they have. There’s a part of her that doesn’t ever want to.

“If we’re both still single by the time we’re forty,” Lawrence begins, leaning back to look at Ellie through her glazed, half-drunk half-tired eyes. “…we should just say ‘fuck it’ and get married.”

(She doesn’t even know if it’s a joke or not.)

Ellie laughs as if it is and nods as if it isn’t. “Drag wedding. We’d need to upstage Tayce and A’whora, though.”

Lawrence realises something. “I’ll turn forty two years before you.”

There’s a pause as the song starts to fade out, and it makes Ellie’s murmur seem louder than it is. “That’s okay. We don’t need to wait for me.”

The jolt her words give Lawrence’s heart and the way Ellie’s talking as if it’s an actual plan makes her think maybe it wasn’t really ever a joke after all. It’s ridiculous though, and it’s all theoretical, and it’s a totally hypothetical scenario, and they’re both drunk , for Christ’s sake. So Lawrence pulls out of Ellie’s arms and takes her hands in her own, the song that’s started playing more upbeat and the opening chords inciting some sort of hope and optimism in her heart for the future that’s unfolding for the pair of them.

“One more song then bed?” she suggests. Ellie raises her eyebrows as she looks down at her.

“Whose bed?”

“Shut the fuck up, Dirty Diamond,” Lawrence shoots back without missing a beat, and as the first lines of the song fill the room she leans back and begins to spin the pair of them in a circle, both of them laughing as if everything is as simple as just that room, and the music blaring out from the speakers, and the lights flashing above them drenching them in purple and pink.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #ellie diamond #lawrence chaney #ellie x lawrence #fic challenge #rare pair #uk2 #canon compliant #fluff #ortega #these people in this room (don’t shine like you)

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actualbird · 4 years

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nobody asked but here are my personal top five pat gill videos | a 2.1k word long post where i rank and review pat gill’s videos for just way too long.

Right around the tail end of April, 2020, I fell into the rabbit hole of my current obsession; Polygon Dot Com Video Content. As a consequence of this was being introduced to the phenomenon of Pat Gill. A dire consequence of that consequence was me slowly, deeply, irrevocably, finding myself attracted to this marionette of a man. So, I enjoy his content and I think he’s hot and that combined with the fact that some of my friends bully me over that latter fact has inspired me to do this: rank my personal favorite Pat Gill videos in a post that’s entirely too long.

Before I get straight into the rankings, I need to explain my process.

First, I needed to narrow my scope. Polygon has a lot of videos. Polygon has a lot of videos with Pat Gill in them. If I didn’t narrow my scope, I would either go bonkers yonkers or have a list that would be kilometric in length and thus miss the entire point of ranking altogether. So, for my sanity, I am excluding any videos that are a part of a Polygon video series. This means no Overboard, no Gill and Gilbert, no Video Game Theatre, etc. If I included these, I would cry. I do not want to cry over Polygon Dot Com Video Producer Pat Gill.

Second, I need a criteria. If I just ranked videos with no system, I would find myself endlessly rearranging my list based on whatever thought comes out on top in my mind at the given moment. I am a disorganized person, so I need rules. I have decided that I will rank Pat Gill videos using the EEEH criteria.

Entertainment. Do I smile, watching the video? Do I chortle? Am I filled with the embarrassing urge to show this video to my sister and derive glee from her laughing at the exact same moment I laughed? Entertainment is key.

Education. Did I come out of this video knowing something I originally did not know? More importantly, was I engaged in the learning process? I come from a family of teachers, so I have high standards when it comes to education. If I am to learn, I must learn well.

Exaltation. This is a bit of an oddball criteria, but it is important to me. The word “exalted” is defined as “elevated in rank, character, or status.” This criteria refers to how good it is at exalting, elevating, pulling me out of a depressive episode. That is to say I’ve been in a depressive episode for the past month and whether or not the video made me stop crying and brush my teeth is essential. Polygon video content has been integral to my serotonin production lately, and thus the video’s ability of acting as an audiovisual antidepressant for me factors into the rankings.

[BONUS POINTS] Hotness. How Hot Is Pat Gill In It? I felt bad, morally, ranking videos based on how good looking I thought Pat Gill was in it---because beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and all that, and people don’t exist to be beautiful, they just are, and I agree---so I’m relegating this criteria as a bonus point. Standard is 0, because he’s always hot in my mind, but he gets plus points if he is exemplary in the hotness department.

The maximum score for each of these criteria is 5 points, making the perfect score a 15, but because of the bonus points, a 20 is, hypothetically, possible.

With that out of the way, let me dive right into it.

5. The fastest interview ever with Ben Schwartz from Sonic the Hedgehog

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Entertainment: 5 Education: 2 Exaltation: 2 Hotness: +2 Total Score: 11

Pat Gill is a good interviewer, he’s engaging and fun and keeps the interview interesting, but this interview is particularly special because it seems that, and let me quote Youtube user AudreyN who left a comment on this video stating “ben schwartz consumed all seven chaos emeralds prior to this interview.” Pat Gill and Ben Schwartz’s dynamic is amazing, and by “dynamic” I do mean “Ben Schwartz absolutely just fucking dunking on Pat Gill for 14 entire minutes.” and it is glorious.

For Entertainment this scores a solid 5. Quite honestly the funniest interview I’ve ever watched in my entire life. Just the sheer beauty in the exchange [Pat] “You would use Sonic’s power to gaslight me?” [Ben] “Just you.” In terms of Education, I guess I did learn a bunch of things about the Sonic movie that I didn’t know before, but the avenue by which it was portrayed in was not exactly the most engaging, more like I was absorbing it via watching two experts discuss on a webinar. I would have given just 1 point to Education but I made it 2 because of the wonderful knowledge that Pat Gill can draw a pretty good Sonic in a few seconds. When it comes to Exaltation, I must admit that while this video got quite a few laughs out of me, it didn’t make me want to get out of bed and take a shower.

BONUS: Pat is +2 hot in it. His short hair makes him look very handsome. He’s a spiffy boy, in this video. Very, very good.

4. Pat Will Not Tweet at Nintendo This Week Because He is Resting at Home — PLEASE RETWEET, Episode 12

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Entertainment: 5 Education: 0 Exaltation: 5 Hotness: +1 Total Score: 11

I know I’m breaking a rule I set for myself a few paragraphs earlier by including an episode of Please Retweet, which counts as a video series, but this is my post and I can do whatever I want. More importantly, this video is so fucking funny to me, it feels like it would be a crime not to put it in this list.

Solid 5 out of 5 for entertainment. Pat Gill, alone in his apartment, drinking six cans of what I think is beer silently while the intro music plays. That scene in itself should win an Oscar. Sadly, a solid 0 for Education, because I learn nothing in this video except for the fact that Pat Gill is the type of person to put out a coaster and then just completely not use it. I quantify things as educational if I can maybe answer a trivia question with them, and unfortunately, this fact does not pass that test. In terms of Exaltation, seeing Pat Gill lie down on the floor next to his cat made me get out of bed to do the same with my dog, and with myself thusly out of my bed cocoon of sadness, I was able to actually complete tasks on the day I watched this video. Perfect 5.

BONUS: Pat is +1 hot in this because there’s something very beautiful about him being a little bit miserable. However, I do miss his beard when I watch this video. It is one of my favorite things about him, and it is not present here.

3. Pat and Simone Play Human: Fall Flat

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Entertainment: 5 Education: 1 Exaltation: 5 Hotness: 0 Total Score: 11

I very much enjoy Polygon’s gameplay streams. I often play them in the background while I’m doing other stuff like doodling or origami, but this stream is special. It is special because of the moment at 24:00 when Pat Gill, in game, swings a stereo into a glass window, shattering it, while saying, “Actually, y’know what? Let’s talk about trauma.” and then proceeds to tell a horrible and embarrassing story from his childhood where he had to do a rap about Ancient Egypt.

5 points for Entertainment. This is partly because of Pat’s tragic childhood story about the Egypt Rap (and, segue just to point out 33:22 the incredible moment where you can hear Pat’s feral panic when Simone finds the lyrics to the Egypt Rap) but also because Pat and Simone just talking to each other is so deeply entertaining to me in a very comfy way. I’m starved for human interaction, in this quarantime, okay. Let me enjoy listening to other people have conversations while playing video games. Education scores a 1 because, again, nothing in this video will let me answer a trivia question, however it does get 1 point and not a 0 because the Egypt Rap’s lyrics are in the comments and I did end up learning stuff about Ancient Egypt that I didn’t know. A perfect 5 for Exaltation because this video showed me that talking about trauma can actually be cathartic, given that you’re trashing a video game living room at the same time, and I think that message of not bottling up your experiences really helped me, in these trying times.

BONUS: Pat Gill is not visible for the entirety of this episode, so he scores the standard 0. I’m sure he was hot. We just couldn’t see him.

2. Why Bloodborne and Muppets are the same thing

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Entertainment: 4 Education: 4 Exaltation: 3 Hotness: +2 Total Score: 12

Ah yes, one of Pat’s “x is y because of z” videos. He’s made a number of these and they’re all very good but this one is my favorite among them and earns a spot on this list because 1) I think puppets are cool and 2) I fucking love monsters.

This video scores a 4 on Entertainment, just shy of perfect, because as funny as it is, it also gives me the vibe like I am being lectured by a professor who’s just a little bit off the shits. And we all know that lectures are supposed to be taken seriously. Which brings us to Education, which also scores a 4. I learned a lot in this video! Watching Pat Gill explain to me that children’s puppets and these horrifying viddy game monsters use the same character principles in different ways is not only very educational but is also explained in a streamline and easy to understand manner that I WISH some of the shitty professors at my old university could emulate. As for Exaltation, while this video did give me enough energy to have a meal, I did eventually end up back in bed for the night at 8pm crying myself to sleep, thinking “I’m like the slime scholar. Used to be a scholar. Now they’re slime.”

BONUS: Pat Gill is +2 hot here. He’s rockin that basic ass monochromatic aesthetic and I love his look dearly.

1. Preparing for Big Boy Season in Red Dead Redemption 2

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Entertainment: 5 Education: 3 Exaltation: 5 Hotness: +3 Total Score: 16

Here we are. My favorite non video series Pat Gill video. The video where Pat Gill tries to make Red Dead Redemption 2 protagonist, Arthur Morgan, large.

Perfect fucking 5 for Entertainment, which I’m sure many may find odd. Afterall, this video is told in a serious investigative tone reminiscent of Vox’s videos on current issues. But that’s the glory of it. The complete and utter ‘playing it straight and serious’ for a ridiculous issue in a video game. It is high tier comedy in a subtle, understated way that sings to my comedy loving heart in a melody so lovely, so wonderful, that it urged me to give this video 5 points for Entertainment. It scores 3 on Education, because I have never played Red Dead Redemption 2, nor will I ever, but now I know things about it. The information was also relayed to me in a very interesting style, via something like a crime procedural, and thus it was engaging for me to absorb all this new knowledge. Exaltation scores a perfect 5 because of this video’s beautiful end about existential smallness. No joke, but hearing Pat Gill say “Our bigness isn’t measured in pounds, but in the impact we have on the people with whom we shared the world.” deadass made me want to talk to my friends again after conversationally isolating myself for 3 days. Preparing for Big Boy Season has a special place in my heart. And there it will stay.

BONUS: Pat Gill is not visible for most of the video but he does appear for like 15 seconds in the middle of it, and guess what. He’s hot. +3 hotness. Good beardage, good hair, all in all, good Pat Gill.

So there you have it. My five favorite Pat Gill videos. If you read this whole thing, holy shit. You’re welcome, I guess.

#this is what im using my degree in creative writing for i guess #polygon #pat gill #pat gill thirst jail #patrick gill #nobody asked but

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starkergames · 4 years

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Title: New Years Artists: @lilsoshie (Sketch), @iammagicfishhook (Lineart), @marveling-marvelous (Color) Writer: @darker-soft-starker The years will change and people will change as much as they stay the same. Some changes though, Tony finds, he really doesn’t mind.

Fic below the cut

Some things never change.

Like, being riddled with nerves whilst attending big events.

Or, the little ticks he’s adopted to mitigate the uneasiness, like bouncing his leg up and down, firing off questions to anyone in earshot like, do you think they’ll have sushi at this thing, I have a craving.

Or Pepper singing along to whatever is playing on the car ride over, and Morgan answering his inane questions with things like, ew, sushi.

Some things do change, though.

Like, coming back to life after five years of being dead.

Or being delegated to the backseat next to his daughter, despite the honourable resurrection. Or having his wife remarry in the years following his death.

You know, typical resurrection things, like realizing that the entire world and everyone you knew has changed.

Tony’s got a thing about control. Always has. He likes to know, has to know, all of the variables. He thought he knew all of them before he snapped his fingers and prayed to the stones in his gauntlet.

Here’s the thing about infinity stones: they’re sentient. They like balance.

They’re also assholes with a perverted sense of symmetry.

Somehow, perfect balance and perfect symmetry translated into bringing Tony back to life after five years. Or, being suspended in the ether that was neither life, nor death, the holding cell between worlds.

That was the airy-fairy, hand-wavey way that Strange explained to him. Sparkles and mystery. But Tony doesn’t remember any of it. The not being alive. One moment his heart was giving out, the next he was clawing himself out of the earth.

That was pleasant.

Emerging dirty and naked to find he’d missed five years of his life was also a barrel of laughs. Missing five years of his daughters growth, finding out his wife had moved on? Hilarious. Best cosmic joke to have happened to him yet.

Though, Tony supposes this is how the recovered Snap victims felt, after. Chasing and chasing the years that were missed, feeling as if they will never be completely caught up.

But that was months ago, his resurrection. Reawakening. Whatever. Seven months and three and a half weeks, if he’s counting. He’d say he isn’t, but he definitely is.

He’d used the time mostly caught up on the life of his friends and family, shed his tears. He’s lamented Steve, grieved over Natasha all over again. Wondered why the divine equilibrium didn’t include her sacrifice.

But he’s learned to be okay. He’s living back at the re-built compound with Clint and Wanda and the old-new crowd of super-people that populate the place he used to call home.

He doesn’t don the suit, hasn’t since he came back, worried that the moment he activates the housing unit that it will all be over, and Morgan will lose her father for the second time.

He’s a consultant, now, for the new team. Financier. Benefactor. It’s very boring.

“You sure you want to go to this thing,” Tony says again, stretching his legs so his knees hit the driver's seat in front of him, where Peppers’ new husband sits. “You don’t want a quiet one at home? Ring in New Years with the llamas?”

“Morgan wants to go,” Pepper repeats, peering back to smile at her daughter. “Right, sweetpea?”

Beside Tony, Morgan looks up from her hand-held video game and nods vehemently, smiling brightly. Tony feels betrayed by her enthusiasm.

“Are they paying you to say that?” he leans in, whispering close to her ear. “You can tell me Morgasboard, name your price. I’ll beat it.”

His daughter flicks her gaze between her mother and Tony. She leans into her father and whispers loud enough for the entire car to hear, “Uncle Peter is going to be there. I haven’t seen him in forever.”

Tony sighs exaggeratedly, nodding along, even though he knows she saw him two weeks ago.

“Forever is a long time,” he agrees.

That was another change that Tony feels weird and wonderful about.

Somehow, in the time that he was six-feet-under, his former protege had become something akin to family to his daughter. Which, if he’s honest, in the years after the Snap, was the goal, the dream as he skipped through time with the Avengers, the proverbial what if that drove him to say yes that one, final time.

Happy families, he’d thought. What else could two wayward orphans hope for?

Tony’s at least glad that Peter got that part of the deal. That Morgan got Peter.

Even if Tony didn’t really have either, after.

“Uncle Peter could go back to the compound or the penthouse with us,” Tony offers, nudging his daughter. “You could ask DUM-E to be your new years kiss.”

“You have a speech scheduled, right, babe?” Peppers husband, Greg, cuts in. He was hired as CFO of SI three years ago and it was heart eyes at first sight, Tony is told. He watches as Greg frees one of his grubby hands from the steering wheel to reach across the console and squeeze her knee.

“Sure do,” Pepper smiles, snaking her hand down to clutch his, squeezing their fingers together.

Tony’s not jealous. No, really. He’s adjusted, he’s over it.

But he’s still Tony Stark, so he’s unapologetically petulant. And it’s Pepper, what kind of ex would he be if he didn’t properly field the prospects of the one woman he truly loved?

Feigning a stretch, he kicks his feet out again and jolts the driver's seat, delight welling up when Greg huffs irritatedly. Morgan giggles as if it’s some kind of game, and all the adults pretend that it is to please her.

The unimpressed stare from his ex-wife caught through the rear-view mirror does little to dampen his satisfaction.

It’s the little wins, Tony thinks, as they pull up to the building, paparazzi huddling around the rope barriers that flank the red carpet, flashes firing through the tinted windows as they come to a stop.

Just because some things change, doesn’t mean he has to.

It’s that mentality that gets him through the dreaded, interminable walk from the car to the ballroom entrance. This is old hat, he tells himself as he waves to the crowd. You could do this with your eyes closed. God, he used to be so good at pretending to care about this kind of crap.

Reporters brandish their network-issued microphones at him, at his family. Fans shoulder against security, all of them yelling out in a cacophony of noise he might call white were it not the sound of his own name, in all of its iterations.

Although he’d rather make a beeline straight to the ballroom he stops and greets a few fans, shakes a few hands, high-fives a few kids. After a slew of signings and selfies the comparatively calm interior of the ballroom is blissfully welcomed. The quartet supplying tunes in the far corner is a reprieve.

So is the way that Pepper clutches Greg’s hand and leads him away at the same time Morgan clutches Tony’s. She looks back and says, be good. Tony doesn’t know if she’s directing it to him or their daughter.

Socialites swan around them, but Tony just looks down at his daughter and smiles. He squeezes her tiny fingers.

“You wanna dance, Morgarita?”

Her serious expression turns gleeful as she drags him to the centre of the room to dance without a shred of shyness.

She’s a lot like she was before he died. Smart and mischievous, cute as a button. But she’s markedly different, caught in that pre-teen phase where she’s gaining modicums of independence. Tony’s getting used to not needing to make all her meals or do her hair for her. He kinda misses it.

Little things. It’s always the little things.

She’s taller now, too. That was a change, to have his daughters head rest against his chest when she hugs him. She’s too tall to be picked up, too proud when Tony offers. So she wraps her arms around his midsection and they sway together on the dancefloor.

Only a few couples are dancing. The night is still young. But, like anything in high society, it’s all smoke and mirrors.

Which means most guests are mingling, telling each other how beautiful and fabulous they are, filling the room with so much re-circulated pomp and hot air the room is practically a hotbox.

Of course it’s a business event as much as it is a philanthropic one, so not even Tony can avoid the inevitable schmoozing that comes along with it. When Morgans tired feet demand a break they seek out seats and snacks - and they too, are sought out.

To his ire, associates come and go like a conveyor belt to shake his hand, politicians and socialites thank him for reversing the Snap, the Blip, the Click, the Dusting, all of the stupid names and his daughter is sitting right there, growing more and more morose at each mention of the worst thing that ever happened to her.

So Tony looks down at his daughter, mid conversation with a senator and says, “Hey, sweet child of mine, wanna go to the dessert table?”

She perks up at that and is off like a rocket to the other side of the room where swathes of mouth-watering sweets are spread over an eighteen foot table.

Tony follows her beeline without saying goodbye to the senator, mentally rubbing his hands together at the grub. He’s sure he will pay for directing his daughter to a trove of sugar and hyperactivity. But desperate times.

Who is he kidding. He’s going to need all the sweet stimulation he can possibly consume to get through this shit-show himself.

When he catches up Morgan already has chocolate smeared on her lips. Fancy desserts perch daintily upon gold lined plates, on tiered stands. Thin streams of velvety, liquid chocolate trickle out of apex fountains, flakes of edible gold cover the setting.

She points excitedly with messy fingers to the ones she wants Tony to try. He should resist, right? He’s really isn’t supposed to eat dairy. That, along with his faulty levels of serotonin, was something the all powerful stones failed to fix. Which was really just plain lazy, if you ask him.

But he spies a flamboyant looking fruit-pastry and thinks, fuck it.

Then he sees a yellow-treat that makes his mouth water and thinks, I can work it off tomorrow.

He reaches over and crams an entire portugese egg tart in his mouth, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk. Morgan laughs, tipping her neck back in unbridled delight.

“Do it again!” she says, bouncing on her feet.

He does. And then again, and again.

Which is how Peter Parker finds him no more than ten minutes later.

“Mr. Stark!”

Tony nearly chokes in his haste to chew and swallow the pastry when Peter swans into view, dressed to the nines and grinning a mile wide. He hears Morgan gasp delightedly beside him, running off to catch up with the younger man while Tony tries not to quietly asphyxiate.

Swallowing roughly, Tony gives him a thumbs up.

Several feet away, Morgan throws her gangly arms around Peter. She buries her head into his chest, just like she does with Tony, brown hair cascading over her shoulders as she embraces him tightly. Peter settles his arms around her neck and leans down to kiss the crown of her head, whispering something to hear that Tony can’t hear.

There’s a weird pang somewhere behind his ribs at the sight.

He swipes his half-empty flute of champagne and downs the remainder in one gulp to cover it.

“Mr. Parker,” Tony greets, rocking on his feet when his daughter and former protege walk back to him hand-in-hand. “Didn’t know you owned a suit in your size.”

The younger man holds his free arm out, twisting it to test the fit. It’s a grey suit with a maroon dress-shirt, tailored to perfection. It looks new.

Peter smiles. The action has creases forming at the corners of his eyes; a small, subtle nod to the years Tony missed. Gone is all of his baby fat, his face angular and defined. He holds himself with more self-assuredness, even now.

He wouldn’t say it aloud, but Peter grew up handsome.

Worse, he grew up to be Tony’s type.

“Oh, this? I didn’t pick it - but it’s nice, right?”

“Yeah. You, uh,” Tony swallows roughly, eyeing the man from head to toe. “You look good. You clean up well, kid.”

Peter rubs the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly at the compliment.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark. You - you too. You look... good. Really good.”

Peter meets his gaze, his cheeks a furious shade of pink.

The motion of the room slows as he watches the sparkle reach Peter’s eyes. Everything in his peripherals becomes dull, unfocused. His own heartbeat jackrabbits against his chest and his sure his face is doing something without his permission.

Tony’s throat clicks when he swallows.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, stepping closer.

Now, Tony thinks, staring at Peter’s face, the earnest smile still tugging at his lips. Now is the time he would say something to curdle the mood.

Peter being a full-fledged, rent-paying adult adult is new. Being on an even footing with Tony as a person and a professional is new. There’s so much new about him that Tony still has to learn.

There’s plenty that has stayed the same. His soft-spoken, courteous nature, his ethics.

But Tony can read the unfamiliar in Peter’s posture as much as he does the carefully curated vocabulary, how he stops himself from stammering into subjects he might have stepped into, before. The barely-there lines of age around his eyes, the confident squaring of his shoulders.

And how Tony finds that his imperfect teeth compliment the ever-wayward hairs of his eyebrows - and how all of it, all of Peter, is now somehow charming, rather than awkward.

“How have you been, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shuffling forward

“Good,” Tony says, lips stretching onto the first genuine smile of the night. He’d try to tug those corners down, were it not for the infectious way Peter’s mouth does the same. “You?”

“Good, yeah. Super busy.”

“That’s good. Good to keep busy, as they say.”

“Yeah,” Peter nods. “It is good. Keeping busy. And how are you? -- Wait, shit, sorry, I already asked that.”

“This one keeps me going,” Tony tugs on a lock of Morgan's hair, taking mercy on him. “You been too busy to see the news about Spider-Man? I know you’re a fan.”

Peter steps closer again, clasping his hands behind his back, smiling coyly as those around them perk up in interest.

“Which news?”

“Taking down Kingpins empire. Fisk behind bars.”

“Oh, I think I heard something about that.”

Tony nods.

“What a guy. New York’s never looked cleaner. Although, take that from a guy who hasn’t seen the city for five years.”

“That’s some high praise,” Peter says, wringing his hands together as he nears.

“He’s a hero,” Tony looks to his daughter. With an affirmative nod of dark hair she concurs.

“I think he’s just a regular guy,” Peter huffs, snorting when Morgan giggles knowingly.

Before Tony can inch closer, maybe to do something impulsive like what his hands have been itching to do and grip the lapels of Peter’s suit jacket, the moment is broken by a nearby cry.

“Peter! There you are!”

Sweat beading along his receding hairline, a heavy arm slung over Peter’s shoulders, Otto Octavius swims into view, nodding politely at Tony and Morgan.

“You’re a slippery one, Parker,” he says, shaking Peter’s shoulders. “Been looking for you.”

“Otto, this is --”

“ -- Got some guys that want to meet you,” Octavius interrupts, thick fingers squeezing Peters bicep. He leans in and and whispers in a way Tony is sure is meant to be discreet, “They’re keen to meet the brains behind the project; come say hi.”

Another change Tony never counted on was the trajectory Peter’s life took after his passing.

Peter never went to MIT like Tony had dreamed for him. He went to Empire State University.

Pepper informed Tony that she in fact had reached out prior to his graduation and offered him a position. But Peter had declined. He hadn’t said why, but he’d chosen to work under Otto Octavius at Octavius Industries instead.

One thing that Tony learned in his short time back in the land of the living was that Otto was infamously proud of his new employee and favoured immensely.

It’s what Tony would have wanted for Peter, really. Doing what he loves, being given the respect his intellect and kind heart deserves. He seems to be happy and all grown up. As if Tony needs the reminder.

It’s just that Otto was always an insufferable do-gooder. Save the trees, save the bees. ALl noble notions that Tony agrees with - but Otto is like the human personification of a PETA ad. He’d never been a fan of Tony’s, even after he reformed, literally.

Still, do-gooder or not. There’s something about him. Something that Tony doesn’t like. Just a vibe he has. He’s got good instincts after all of these years and he knows he’s got a solid hunch. There’s something about that man, he knows it.

It’s got nothing to do with the proprietary hand Otto has on Peters shoulder, like the younger man is just a thing to show off. Or how Tony wanted to be the one doing that.

It’s got nothing to do with the way Peter’s suit perfectly fits his frame, or how the maroon and grey compliments his clear, milky skin.

It’s definitely not related to the way Tony’s heart beats just a little bit faster when Peter is in the room.

Yeah.

“Um, I’ll just be a minute,” Peter smiles apologetically at the Starks, eyes softening at Morgans pout. “I won’t be long, you owe me a dance little miss, remember?”

Tony waves dismissively at him, reaching for another flute of champagne from a passing waiters tray. He swallows another generous mouthful, bubbles burning on their way down.

With Morgan munching on a gold flaked cheesecake at his side, Tony watches as the young hero is led away. Otto’s hand on his back, guiding him to make nice with some university hacks. Five years ago Peter would have fumbled through these introductions. He would have gone bright red and blurted some weird factoid to make conversation.

But he’s polished now, Tony watches. Not perfect, but his posture says confident adult, not awkward teenager, like the last time he wore a suit around Tony. This suit really does fit him like a glove. His handshake looks strong, too. Firm.

Were Peter’s hands always that big?

Tony sips his champagne, observing the girth of his former mentee’s fingers. It’s not until he feels the burn of Morgans stare on the side of his face that he breaks his gaze.

“What,” he says.

She points a chocolate covered finger at his face.

“You know how I feel about people holding up one finger at me. If you’re gonna do it, it should be the middle one.”

“You like him.”

Tony huffs, rolling his eyes. “Of course I like him. He’s your Uncle Pete.”

“No, dad, you like like him. You want to be his boyfriend.”

“What -- I do not,” Tony says, casting her an incredulous stare.

“You do. You want to marry him,” she says, scrunching up her face and making kissy noises.

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“I --” he huffs, gesturing to the room at large as his words run away from him. “Do not. I’m the adult. You’re the child. I’m right, you’re wrong. Case closed.”

“Dad.”

“Fine, here,” he fishes out his wallet from his back pocket and slips a crumpled fifty out. He waves it in her face. “Take this and never speak about it again.”

“Can I speak about it to mom?”

He slips out another fifty and hands it to her.

“No.”

She smiles, neatly folding the notes and tucking it into her little bag. Tony stuffs another tart down his throat, knowing he’s been played.

She really is his kid.

----

It’s not that Tony doesn’t know.

He knows.

It’s familiar after decades of experience. That weird feeling he gets. The fluttering of his heart, the topsy-turvy motion in his stomach, were he any younger he might call them butterflies.

He just doesn’t get it.

There’s a lot of things that were jarring when he awoke, soil under his fingernails as he tore through the earth in the desperate search for oxygen. He remembers waking up, confused and naked, body restored to the moment before he snapped his fingers. He remembers stumbling onto a rebuilt compound, unable to speak, learning that the entire world had moved on and changed without him.

With FRIDAY as his guide Tony had seen all of the monuments and the altars in his name, fresh bouquets propped against them, even years after his death. The adoration and the glorification immortalised in murals and statues, in grants in his name, in tell-all books.

They’d even made a shitty movie about his life.

The actor who played him was too short and the woman who played Pepper wore a wig. It was funny. Not like, funny haha, but funny in that uncanny, meta photo-within-a-photo kind of way.

But when Peter had come to the compound that first time and they talked after they both finished crying -- it was different. And every time after, it was different.

It was… awkward. At first, they didn’t know how to be around each other, automatically falling into old molds of mentor and protege. It was almost immediately clear that their old roles weren’t going to work -- too much between them had altered to fit back into the old model.

They needed to recalibrate, and quickly.

Their dynamic did change. If Tony thought about it long enough, innocently enough, he might dare to call it a friendship.

He would, but there was that feeling in his chest. Beat, beat, bang.

It was a work in progress, to reconcile the flutter in his stomach with the Peter now, with the Peter that was, before. A man who had lost all his baby fat, who was old enough to have colourful stories and a wealth of life experience, who had remarkably broad shoulders looked damn good holding a wrench.

It was the hands.

They looked very dexterous. Capable.

But that didn’t stop him from spiraling into deep, existential pockets of despair as he wondered if the stones really thought it was best to revive him so he could actively thirst over someone he used to be responsible for.

Peter is barely fifteen years older than his daughter. He’s lost count how many real and missing years are between them now between death and the Snap. Five a piece.

He can’t tell his road-runner heart if that’s better or worse, though.

But, too high on the adrenaline of seeing Peter, he forgets to tell his body to stop, to remind his stupid heart that this one is not available.

----

Sometime after eleven the gala is in full swing. The mood perks right up in anticipation of the New Year.

Most of the remaining guests are pleasantly tipsy by this point, if not outright drunk. All of the stirring speeches have been made, Peppers included.

Tony tried to listen, however got distracted by - well, anything. But the effort was there. Something about giving and starting the year fresh, clean slates.

The relaxed atmosphere has more couples dancing on the floor. The Mayor and his wife stumble over each other, moguls and A-Listers mingle and take selfies against attractive backdrops.

Even Morgan grew tired of Tony’s ornery approach to the evening, departing with a kiss to his cheek to dance with her mother.

Tony forgets, sometimes. That people expect something of him, something more. Like his resurrection was divine intervention, and if the universe intended him to be here, surely it was for a purpose higher than acting like a morose old man, hiding in the corners of ballrooms.

It’s just. He doesn’t know where his place is anymore.

Norman Osborne stops by to crow about his latest achievements, his contract with the NYPD to provide surveillance towers all over the city. Tony’s seen them. They’re hard to miss.

“Design’s a little archaic, don’t you think? Not very discreet. A pettier man would say you were overcompensating for something.”

He’s not really paying attention as he’s speaking, too distracted by the debacle before him.

Harry Osborn and Peter dance together in the centre of the room, leaned in close to one another and snickering at what the other has said.

They look loose and comfortable around one another, as if they were old friends. Or something else.

Peter leans in close to Harry’s ear to whisper something, the flush on his face creeping down his neck. In one swift movement Tony throws back the rest of his champagne, wishing the liquid would drown him, stomach turning to cement.

Whatever Norman says in response goes unheard.

With the crowd dispersed, Peter catches Tony’s eye and waves exuberantly, nearly hitting Harry in the face.

Tony raises his glass, wincing.

At least some things stay the same.

“They roomed together at ESU,” Norman breaks Tony out of his musings.

Clearing his throat, Tony tries his best to appear indifferent. Why should he care? That’s right, he doesn’t. Not even remotely.

“I see.” Play it cool, he thinks. “They look close, are they —?”

Nailed it.

“No. They tried, but it didn’t work out. Harry’s engaged now.”

“Huh.”

“But Peter is always welcome in our home,” Norman drawls. “He’s like a second son, really. Wasn’t he your protege once?”

Osborn is so smarmy. All at once Tony remembers why he hates this man and his dumb, weathered face. His covetous tone makes Tony want to hurl, or send a suit to the nearest Oscorp building and play rain of fire.

“Good god, imagine if he was your son,” Tony says blithely. “As if you need another one of those to mess up.”

Norman huffs.

“You’re hardly the authority on raising well adjusted children, Stark.”

Ire spears up hot to his throat, but before Tony can deliver a withering reply, he’s interrupted by the arrival of Pepper and Greg.

Morgan trails behind, dragging a laughing Peter with her by hand. She weaves her thin body through the crowd, having pulled the man away from his dance wearing identical grins.

He watches his daughter cut through swathes of the elite in a trail of chiffon, delight clear in the laughter that follows her. Tiny heels clack against the polished ballroom floor, and Peter indulges her mischief, catching Tony’s eye and winking as they near him.

It’s the first time he’s seen his whole family look truly carefree since he came back.

And Tony is where he should be. An inscrutable mass against the beige, peeling wallpaper.

The look of distaste on Normans face as he walks away is enough to dampen some of his churlishness as his family form before him. Pepper makes small talk with Peter and Greg smiles awkwardly at a passing senator. Morgan dives for a profiterole before anyone can stop her.

For a moment Tony feels like he’s in a McDonalds playground instead of an upper-class charity event.

Pepper must have had a hand in choosing Morgans dress, Tony thinks, because it has pockets. And, watching her as the adults talk, she sneaks handfuls of tarts and truffles into the grooves of her dress. Tony wants to laugh, to wink at her conspiratorially at the same time he wants to tuck her into bed, new years or not.

Morgan beckons Peter closer to the sweets table. The younger of the two piling her favourite sampled sweets onto a napkin and thrusts them towards Peter, fervently requesting that he try them, they’re so good, Uncle Peter.

“Not everyone wants dessert for dinner, little miss,” Tony reminds her, swiping a napkin off the table and wiping the melted chocolate off the corner of her mouth.

“I’m not a baby, dad,” she complains, taking the napkin from him.

He forgets that too, sometimes.

Peter smiles between them, delicately plucking a single strawberry off one of the offered miniature flans and popping it into his mouth.

Lust spears through him so suddenly Tony sways on his feet. Fuck.

His daughter and ex-wife are right there.

“Mr. Stark. Would you - uh,” Peter breaks off to swallow audibly. “Would you like to dance?”

Otto is by the bar. Harry, by the French Ambassador. Tony is in his self-made corner of the room, nibbling on vol-au-vents and sashimi to pass the time.

He can smell Peter’s cologne and his sweat when he steps closer and sheepishly offers his hand and Tony’s entire damn body wants to just reach out and interlock their fingers, to pull Peter close and breathe him in. Never has Tony wanted to bury himself in another body before and not come back out, not like this.

Tony would consume all of what Peter had to give, if Peter let him. The offering look in Peter’s eyes say that he would let him.

“I… uh,” Tony begins, searching for a quip to cover his falter. Smiling at his companions, Tony smooths his hand down his tie, pretending the curious looks of concern are just the alcohol. “I need fresh air.”

“Tony --”

“Mr. Stark --”

He waves them off and smiles apologetically at Peter.

“-- I’ll just be a sec. Is it hot in here? Is anyone else hot? I’m like, sweating here, wow. It’s just pooling under the armpits. I’ll just be a minute, excuse me --”

The crowd parts for him like the red sea as he marches through it in search of the nearest door. But he’s never felt less powerful in his entire life.

Or lives, as it were.

----

Outside, the air is blissfully fresh and cold. The rooftop is far less crowded than indoors, only a few patrons lean against the railing, cigarette smoke curling up from their fingers, some in quiet conversation with another.

There’s a carefully constructed pyramid of wide, vintage wine glasses brimming with champagne. He’s careful not to topple the entire thing over when he goes to reach for one. Overheated, even as the winter wind nips at him, he takes his drink and finds a quiet corner to sulk in.

Perching upon a stone bench away far away from the others, Tony tips his head up at the starless sky and huffs.

What the hell does he think he’s doing?

The New York City skyline is alight before him in all its glory, but the memory of how Peter’s face dropped flashes across Tony’s mind on a loop. He looked taken aback. Hurt even.

Shame wells up low in Tony’s stomach and doggedly stays there.

It’s for the best. Right? It has to be for the best. Peter deserves the best and Tony is not that.

It’s not right for him to want to fit himself into Peter’s life when he seems to be happy and successful without Tony - there’s one thing he knows unequivocally about himself is that he would ruin that. Ruin Peter, one of the few good things he has left.

His heart doesn’t get the memo.

Because when he closes his eyes, all he imagines is the way Peter’s firm body would feel against his. What it would feel like to curl together on the sofa, in bed, under the sheets. How his curls would tickle the underside of Tony’s chin, and what it would be like to trace the lines that branch from his eyes when he smiles, or to stroke the narrow slope of his nose as he sleeps.

It’s wrong.

It’s wrong because Tony doesn’t fit there. Not there, nor in all of the places he used to. He’s not Iron Man or a businessman. He’s not a husband or a full-time father. He’s not even Peter Parker's mentor.

What he is, for all of his resurrected glory, is an afterthought. A spectre, hovering in the fringes of all of the places he used to be the centre of.

He smiles, raising his glass to the smoking couple as they nod politely at him.

It’s fine. He’s happy that everyone is happy.

But it’s been months. He ain't Jesus, but surely by now he’d find some sense of purpose.

“Mr. Stark?”

When Tony opens his eyes Peter stands before him, clutching a perspiring glass of wine.

Tony doesn’t want to notice, but he does anyway. The look of concern written on his face is unmistakable, even in the dim lighting of the rooftop, the nearby flamelight serves to deepen the frown lines on his young face.

“Are you alright, Mr. Stark? Sorry to follow you out here, you just seem kind of...”

“Surly?” Tony guess. “I’m fine, kid. Just had a few too many. Didn’t want to hurl all over the drapes. No need to worry.”

“I was gonna say overwhelmed, but yeah,” Peter says, shifting closer until Tony’s bent knees hit the top of Peter’s thighs - his stomach swoops, again. “I’m gonna worry anyway.”

“Yeah, well, happy New Year,” Tony says dryly, knocking their glasses together.

Peter taps his smart-watch with a finger.

“Still got five minutes before that. Can’t break into Auld Lang Syne yet, Mr. Stark.”

“We could if we were in Halifax,” Tony counters. The younger man tilts his head agreeably and Tony calls the easing of tension from Peter’s shoulders a win.

“Let’s stick to New York.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “You don’t have somewhere you’d rather be? You got four-something minutes.”

“Right here, actually, if that’s okay with you.”

Tony doesn’t know if that’s frankness or fiction, but he smiles all the same, patting the slab of stone he’s sat upon invitingly.

“Well, come aboard, Mr. Parker.”

Without pause, Peter hoists himself on the bench with a single hand, delicately balancing the glass of champagne with the other. He shuffles to get comfortable, swinging his legs as he settles.

The firelight catches onto the curve of Peter’s curls, slicked down into wilted tendrils from the sweat dotting his hairline.

His heart is positively thunderous in his chest. He raises his hand to soothe it and at once, sickeningly, painfully misses the comforting heat of the arc reactor.

“You wanna talk about it?” Peter asks, after a moment.

Tony smiles wryly, mostly to himself. Of course, there’s nothing that escapes Peters notice.

“Trust me, kid. There’s not much to say.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Peter says, fishing something out of his pocket and handing it to Tony “I, uh, thought you liked those. I took the last one.”

It’s a portugese egg tart, Tony notes, warmed slightly from Peter’s body heat. Fuck. He does like them. They’re his favourite.

Tony pretends like his heart isn’t swelling to the point where it feels it's going to burst and breaks the tart in two, passing over the other half to Peter.

“Thanks, kid. Try some.”

They eat their halves in relative silence, save for the sound of chewing and Peter’s shoes hitting the stone as he swings his legs. But the mood grows quieter, noticeably pensive after they finish eating. It makes Tony’s skin crawl.

“You know,” Peter says softly, as if raising his voice would shatter the moment, “you’re not the only one to come back to find years lost. To find the world different. I know it’s not easy. Especially on nights like this.”

Tony swallows roughly, chasing it with a mouthful of champagne.

“You seem to have managed well.”

Peter huffs. “Oh yeah, real well. God, you don’t even know how --” his voice breaks off, voice wet with emotion. He looks away, throat bobbing as he gathers himself. “You just -- you don’t know.”

The moment feels fraught with enough gravity that it would bring the moon down between them.

“Hey,” Tony chides, trying to diffuse the heavy emotion with what levity he could utter. “Come on now, it’s supposed to be me out here maudlin. Don’t steal my thunder, Charlotte's Web.”

“Sorry,” Peter says, cracking a smile. “I’ll try to pencil in sad hours for later.”

“Appreciated.”

A comfortable silence settles between them. A woman, visibly drunk, passes them and raises her glass to Tony, the liquid sloshing out from the glass and down her arm. She doesn’t seem to notice, smiling and stumbling away.

That would have been Tony ten years ago (in his lived years). On the weekends without Morgan, sometimes it still is.

“Got any resolutions, Mr. Stark?”

Tony snorts. “Shit, kid, I don’t know. Take Morgan to Saturn. Run for president, get back on the Cosmo’s Bachelor of the Year.”

“Most people just join a gym.”

“I didn’t come back to life to break my hip on a treadmill,” Tony says, offended. “What about you, Peter Rabbit?”

Peter takes a sip of his drink as he visibly deliberates. Wayward drops of champagne gather at the corner of his mouth before he scoops them with his tongue, eyes drifting to the glittering skyline.

“Yeah. I’m trying to get this guy that I’m into to take me seriously.”

Tony hums, stomach dropping.

“Some guy, huh?”

“Yeah. I’ve known him since I was fifteen and I’m like, super into him, but he still sees me as a child.”

His stomach swoops back up.

“Well,” Tony clears his throat, daring to hope, “this guy’s an idiot if he can’t see you for the man you are. You’re a catch.”

Peter shrugs, inching closer as he adjusts his balance. Their hands are nearly touching and Tony can feel the heat radiating from the man's body and he hates himself for it, just a little bit, he’s too old to feel like a kid with a crush again.

“He’s not an idiot. Well, he is, sometimes. Not all the time.”

“You sure this guy is good enough for you?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, looking out at the skyline again. “He’s just lost. I can wait.”

“What if he’s not right for you?” Tony says, throat closing unexpectedly. “What if he’s not worth the wait?”

Peter shuffles closer.

“He has been so far,” he says, bravely extending his pinkie so it curls atop Tony’s. In the cool night air the touch of skin against skin is scorching. “Worst case scenario has already happened. I’ve already lost him in the worst possible way. I could do without him calling me kid all the time though.”

“He makes no promises on that.”

“I thought as much.”

“You deserve better than lost, Pete,” Tony says around the lump in his throat. For a moment he can’t speak, the memories of electricity ripping through his body in a moment of love much like the feeling he has now. “You deserve the best.”

But Peter doesn’t say anything. He tugs on their linked pinkies to intertwine their fingers, resting them in the interstice of their pressed thighs. Tony doesn’t miss how Peter’s palms are damp against his, how they tremble ever so slightly. It’s grounding, to know Peter is as nervous as he is.

When he gets brave enough to stroke the back of Peters hand with his thumb some of the mired shame melts away.

“Deserve is subjective,” Peter says, squeezing Tony’s fingers. “And I decide he is the best.”

“What if he wants you back,” Tony whispers, shifting closer on the stone until their sides are entirely flush together. “But he has nothing to offer you. Doesn’t fit in with your life.”

“What about what I can offer him?” Peter clutches his hand tighter, raising it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on the back of Tony’s hand. “What if I'm there while he finds his way?”

“Pete.”

“You have time, Mr. Stark. You can figure the rest out as it comes to you.”

“And until then?”

“You go with the flow.”

“How?”

“Like this,” Peter whispers, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss.

Closing his eyes, Tony leans into it and lets himself fall. Peters lips feel soft, pillowy, the kiss chaste and unassuming. When Peter pulls back he looks dazed, which is silly, because that was a tease for Tony.

Eyes on the glistening bow of Peter’s lips, he wants to dive in and tug it between his teeth. So he does.

“That’s -- yeah,” Tony says, sliding their noses together, “Were you -- were you always this confident?”

“I’m not confident,” Peter replies, kissing him again, pulling back to exhale shakily against Tony’s lips. “Holy cow. That was, like, a super big risk for me. Wow. Did I fool you? Are you fooled?”

“Bamboozled,” Tony says, staring at Peter’s lips again. “Just to confirm, I’m the guy, right? Resolution guy?”

“Y-yeah. Yes.”

“Good,” Tony says, cupping his cheeks and kissing him again.

Fireworks bathe the couple in an electric array of neons, and crowds can be heard cheering from all around them. Tony pulls away to see Peter illuminated in brilliant colour, lips wet and swollen.

“Is this okay?” Peter reaches his free hand up to cup Tony’s cheek. “Is it weird? It’s a bit weird. Right?”

“It’s weird. But weird-different,” Tony amends. “Good different, right?”

“Right.”

“I should, maybe, keep kissing you to be sure.”

Peter’s answering grin against his lips vivifies the lights exploding around them.

To the soundtrack of waning fireworks, Tony gets lost in learning how Peter kisses, the shape of his lips, how the heat of his tongue feels against his own.

Struck suddenly by a memory Tony pulls away from Peter to groan.

“What?” Peter queries, flushed and panting. “What’s wrong?”

“I literally paid Morgan a hundred bucks to not tell you I was hot for you.”

Peter balks, staring at Tony as if he were stupid.

“Um, I have enhanced hearing, remember? And she told me, like, two months ago.”

Tony squints.

“That little brat.”

——

The knowing smiles when they walk back into the ballroom from their family is a little uncalled for. Morgan is asleep in Peppers lap so she isn’t even awake to crow about her victory.

But the way Otto splutters as his eyes dart between the bruise on Tony’s neck and their joined hands is deeply worth it.

“Happy New Year, Mr. Octavius!” Peter beams, swinging their hands together.

“And - and you. Mr. Parker.”

“Sorry to drop this on you last minute, would you mind if I get another ride home?”

“Well, I --”

“Let me compensate you for the cab,” Tony offers, dropping Peter’s hand to wind his arm around the younger man's waist, pulling their sides flush together. “It’s the least I can do. Don’t worry, Peter’s ride will be very enjoyable.”

“I take it you’re not coming back to the penthouse,” Pepper cuts in, sharing a look with Greg.

“Yeah,” Tony nods, already pulling Peter away. “When Morguna wakes up from her beauty sleep tell her she owes me a cut of the winnings, okay? Good. Happy New whatever.”

They stop by the dessert spread on their way out.

-----

Their taxi driver sends them scalding stares from the front seat.

It’s fine, Tony will compensate him generously in tips. Though, if he were the driver, he’d probably be pissed too.

For all of his stealthyness as Spider-Man, Peter is not quiet right now. He bucks into Tony’s touch, rubbing his crotch against Tony’s hand. He breaks their kiss to moans lewdly into Tony’s mouth, breath hot against his face.

“Oh god,” he exhales shakily, tugging on Tony’s tie to bring their lips together in a filthy kiss.

“Good?” Tony mumbles against his lips, grinding his palm down harder. Peter nods, tilting his head back to groan as Tony’s mouth latches onto his neck. The creamy skin is mottled with teeth marks and barely blooming hickies.

Tony sucks and and laves his tongue over the heated skin to hear how his breath hitches, those high ahh-ahh’s that fall breathlessly out of his mouth, to hear him moan --

“M-Mr. Stark!”

Tony winces, pulling back.

He sighs. “Kid, if we’re doing this, you really gotta call me Tony.”

In an instant Peter’s face turns stony, somehow looking stern despite his swollen lips and wrinkled shirt. He looks like a petulant pitbull.

“If we’re doing this you really gotta stop calling me ‘kid’, Tony.”

Tony undoes the first button of Peter’s dress shirt, then the second, parting the folds of fabric to get a view of his collarbones.

“I suppose I would be amenable to such amendments, Peter,” he nods, “on the condition that you let me take you on a date.”

As Tony snakes a hand over the curves of his clavicle, Peter’s deft fingers undo the knot of Tony’s tie until it lies loose from his neck.

“I would be amenable to that. Conditions accepted.”

“Fantastic.”

“Yeah. I’m going to kiss you again now.”

“Okay. Yeah. Good.”

-----

With a heavy arm slung around his midsection, Tony finds out what Peter’s body feels like curled around his body when he wakes up the next morning.

There are a lot of little discoveries on New Years Day.

Like the feeling of Peter’s morning wood pressed pleasantly against his ass. Or how Peter squints adorably as he wakes up, as if he were confused by his own consciousness, his bedhead a mad nest of curls. Or how much Tony doesn’t mind the humid exchange of morning breath.

“Do you always take your first dates to bed?” Peter queries over breakfast, the ghost of a teasing smile on his face.

“That was not a date,” Tony points his fork at him. Scrambled egg falls from the utensil onto the table. “And we didn’t even have sex. That’s misleading, mister.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Tony sniffs.

“You’ll find out when we have our first date, won’t you? Friday at seven. Yes or yes?”

Peter sips his coffee to hide his smile, but Tony still sees it.

“Yes.”

-----

They got their date.

Six months after the New Years festivities comes Morgans eleventh birthday.

Tony’s had a lot of dates with a lot of people, including Peter, but nothing quite trumps this.

It’s a double date. With his ex-wife and her new husband. Plus twelve other kids and their parents at a McDonalds.

All four are seated at a table, Peter to his side, squirming on the terrible, hard chairs while Pepper and Greg sit opposite. Several servings of burgers and fries lay cold between them. Mostly melted McFlurries ooze off the provided plastic spoon when disinterestedly stirred.

It’s terribly romantic.

Morgan wanted McDonalds with her friends for her birthday, and before the big move to middle school. It fell on date night.

The garishly decorated diner is alive with the sounds of yelling and laughing, kids and their siblings running after one another, pushing each other down slides and following each other through narrow, plastic tunnels.

Tony’s never really been a double date kinda guy, particularly when it involves the mother of his child and his new, twenty-something lover. It was stilted in the beginning, made more awkward by Tony’s foursome jokes, but Peter keeps the conversation afloat, dipping the congealed fries into Tony’s melted ice cream.

He rubs Tony’s lower back as he speaks. Soothing, grounding circles that inadvertently keep Tony in the present.

Peter likes being in constant contact, Tony found. Now that he has the permission. Whether its holding hands, a casual grip on Tonys knee, his thigh, his back.

It’s… actually nice. Maybe because he does it too.

It’s not always about comfort though, Tony concedes, as Peter’s hand dips a little lower, brushing over the swell of his ass.

They share a knowing look.

Tony knows now, what that odd twinkle in Peter’s eyes mean. That little pervert. He knows it in the way Peter bites his bottom lip, as if canary feathers are about to flutter out of his guilty mouth. He wants to lean over and kiss the look right off them.

Greg keeps a close eye on the playground, loafers tapping anxiously on the tiles when a kid pulls a daring move and nearly misses their landing.

He’s not the worst, Tony concedes, wearily assessing the other man. He cares for Morgan which is a plus. But he’s greying gracefully and is genuinely so nice and humble that Tony can’t help but test him every now and then. How earnest can he truly be with Tony stealing a fry here and there and knocking his knees ‘accidentally’.

The conversation turns to Morgans transition to middle school. Pepper thinks she’ll outgrow her peers in months and will pursue a more scientific-focused academic curriculum.

It’s one of those rare, transient moments of life that Tony’s here to witness. He’s getting used to feeling like everything is going to be okay, like maybe he wasn’t brought back just to be a part of another fight. But there’s a lingering anxiety, he just doesn’t know how to deal with without a solder or a suit to tinker on.

He’s working on it though.

“Should we manhandle her highness back in for the cake?” Tony asks, hand snaking down to squeeze Peter’s firm thigh.

Peter, not missing a beat, sends him a smirk that says I’ll manhandle you.

It’s only right that Tony tightens his grip on Peter’s thigh, smiling proudly to himself when Peters breath hitches.

A kid knocks into the back of Tony’s chair, screaming as they run towards the playground. Tony winces, the moment broken.

“Need I remind you two that we’re in a family establishment,” Pepper stresses.

“Yes,” Tony rolls his eyes, gesturing to the playground of rambunctious, screaming children. “How could I forget.”

“Tony.”

“You heard her, Pete, keep it safe for work. You’re making people uncomfortable,” Tony says, clamping down tighter on Peter's leg. Speaking to the couple, he gestures to Peter with his thumb. “Real horndog this one. Insatiable.”

“Me?” Peter says accusingly, jaw dropping.

Pepper raises an eyebrow cooly. “Please, Tony. Don’t think Morgan hasn’t told me about the time she walked in on you two. One time you told her you were checking each Peters temperature. With your long thermometer -- honestly, Tony. Try not to traumatise our child.”

Peter visibly colours at the mention.

“Wait,” Tony says. “That little -- I paid her twenty bucks not to tell you that.”

“So did I,” Peter frowns. “And I gave her the rest of my Reeses to seal the deal. Ah, crap.”

“You got played,” Greg snickers. Tony hates him again.

He nods at Pepper.

“She gets that from you.”

Pepper smiles, unbothered, looking every ounce the image of class as she raises her plastic cup of milkshake to them.

Tony sighs, not even mad.

Some things never change.

-- Thank you to our wonderful artists and writer who participated in the first Starker Games! <3 <3 <3 this is fabulous and we hope you enjoyed yourselves!

#Starker #starker games #starker fanart #PeterxTony #TonyxPeter #New Years

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siderealmyg · 4 years

Text

a small review for album of the year

interlude: shadow- the extended version of shadow is amazing. the guitar and yoongi's voice is soothing and just perfect. i remember to only listening to this song the entire day when the mv dropped and the extended version is 10x better.

filter- jimin wants me dead and i respect that. he has such a unique voice, i love it so much. when he deepens his voice, i ascend. im happy jimin knows he's that bitch! probably my favorite on the album, next to UGH!

my time- omg jungkook's voice is so heavenly. it's sound like it has improved so much since the last comeback. i love how the song has a magical feel to it just like euphoria did!

louder than bombs- the beat is dark, beautiful and amazing. the lyrics are painful and it kinda adds to the songs beauty. also namjoon said fuck anti lives, we stan!

ON- soty. when i first heard the 30 sec preview i was already blown away. jimin started the song and i again ascend. i love this song so much(just like every song on this album). the dance break. the vocals. the rap. the titties. how they hug each others at the end. spectacular.

UGH!- BITCH WHEN THE FIRST BEAT HIT!! the rap line really came to end careers with this one. i just know when they perform this on tour someone's gonna have to hold me down. the oriental trap beat giving ddaeng vibes. like they didnt have to go that fucking hard.

00:00(zero o'clock)- vocalists of the millennium. just like the boys said, i really connect with the lyrics of this song. the soft, mellow beat highlights their voices so well.

inner child- i think it's wonderful how tae dedicated this to his past self. he's grown so much and for him to look back and reassure his past self that things were hard but turned out okay and happy... bro i love him.

friends- we all know it was probably gonna be called "soulmate" but it probably would have ended up with the vmin xmas song and we don't want that. their friendship and bond is so pure and beautiful. it makes me happy they were able to find and have each other in their lives. nearly cried when i heard the "you are my soulmate" line.

moon- i love jinnie so much, the fact he dedicated a song to all of us makes me so soft. i love the airy and light feeling of the song. the simplicity allows seokjin's honey vocals to really shine. i can't wait to see this live, hopefully with the moon shining for us and jinnie.

respect- such a fun song, and im glad namgi had fun creating this song. but despite that, it still holds meaning. i feel like the carefree and lightheartedness adds to the question about respect. how it's used to commonly that no one really stops to think about it that much. idk what im saying pls ignore me.

We are Bulletproof: the Eternal- it was NOT what i was expecting at all. i truly love these boys with my whole heart. they really got me crying over being bulletproof. im so glad they fought for their dream and have all of us to help them reach it. im happy they're no longer afraid and have achieved so much.

outro: ego- certified serotonin producer. i can't listen to this song with smiling throughout the entire track. i saw someone on twt say how hobi gave a commonly negative word a positive connotation. the entire song is just hobi condensed into a track, like no one else could have pulled this of so perfectly.

ON ft. Sia- although it was pretty hard to hear her, i think Sia was the right pick for this song. seeing how songs about rising up and fighting back are her thing, it's a very good pick. wish i could hear her a bit more tho.

—okay and that's it for my poorly written and very repetitive review for Map of the Soul: 7! overall, i love the album and every track. all bops, no skips. hopefully i'll be able to purchase it soon or even win on of the giveaways i entered.

most importantly, please stream the mv!!!💜

↓↓↓↓↓↓↓

youtube

#bts #bts comeback #JUNGKOOK #jimin #TAEHYUNG #namjoon #seokjin #yoongi #HOSEOK #rm #suga #jhope #jin #v #bangtan #bangtan soyeondan #aoty🤠#i love it so much #map of the soul #map of the soul 7

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meganshinsou-tm · 5 years

Text

Vermilion. (m)

↳ chapter fourteen: it’s a date

❧ genre: pro-hero’s bakugou/kirishima, poly, happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: none

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

Bakugou groaned as he walked upstairs to his room and sat his bag by the end of the bed. He plopped down on the mattress and sighed. His mission went well and he was more than grateful to be home and get a day off the next day. It wasn’t like he’d be able to be lazy tough, tomorrow was the big date that you were looking forward to and the night that him and Kirishima would sit you down and ask you to be part of a relationship with them. The blonde smirked, he wasn’t nervous about the big talk, he was more nervous about the date. He actually put some thought into it with Kiri, something he’s never done for any other girl because he didn’t date. If it didn’t benefit his career, he didn’t bother. But then you came along and threw him all out of rotation, he didn’t lose sight of his dream but he wanted you to be a part of it, he wanted you to see him succeed and he wanted to see you succeed as well.

It was almost two in the morning, he knew you and Kirishima were probably asleep but it wasn’t going to stop him from bringing your ass to his bed. Eijirou had you to himself for two whole days and slept great with you next to him, Bakugou was having withdrawals. He missed your scent, your voice, your dumb perfect smile and laugh, your kisses and affection, even if he’d growl at them, but most of all your body next to his when you’d sleep together. He’d let his guard down when you shared a bed together, mostly because it was dark and just the two of you and you’d be too tired to register the out of character sweet coos he’d whisper to you.

It’s like he was a child who couldn’t sleep without their special stuffed animal, he suffered from PTSD here and there, having nightmares about being kidnapped as a teenager and choking on black sludge; but when you slept next to him and he could hold on to you, his serotonin levels were off the charts and he could sleep peacefully.

Katsuki sat up and decided to take a shower, where he’d soak under the heavy stream of warm water soothing his tired body. Once he was out, he pulled on a pair of briefs and made his way to Kirishima’s room to retrieve you. Bakugou quietly opened the door and shined his phone light to look for you. He saw a tuft of (h/c) hair peeking out of the covers as you were burrowed under them like a little fox. He sat the phone on the bed next to you and slowly pulled the covers down from your body as he placed a hand on your back. You sighed and groaned as you could feel the cool air hitting your thighs and legs. Katsuki smirked and scooped you up into his arms, cradling you to his chest before grabbing the phone and walked out.

Your face nuzzled into his bare and warm chest as you sleepily mumbled his name making his heart skip a beat.

“Stupid girl,” he thought to himself and kissed your head while he entered his room.

Bakugou pulled back the blanket on his bed and gently laid you down before joining in beside you, your legs instantly wrapped with his and you burrowed into the blankets and his chest once more, grunting as you did so and placing sleepy kisses on his skin. His arms wrapped around you as you cradled into him, he inhaled your scent and could feel his body relax and his mind ease, everything was right in the world at this moment.

“Mmm. Was good trip? Kick ass?” You mumbled deliriously.

The blonde chuckled and played with your hair, trying to lull you back to sleep, “Shut up and go back to bed princess. We’ll talk later, you’re gonna need a lot of rest for tomorrow!”

He smirked, thinking of where the next night might lead to.

You gave a small yawn before nudging under his chin with your nose, “Kiss me please?”

Katsuki rolled his eyes as if he weren’t dying to kiss you and lowered his face to yours, one of his hands lifted your chin to him and he placed a deep and sweet kiss on your soft lips. The both of you hummed as your lips melded together and moved, your bodies pressing closer. You missed him and he missed you just as much, once the kiss broke Bakugou traced from your cheek to your forehead with soft pecks as you nestled back into him.

“Goodnight Suki, I love you.”

Red eyes widened and he looked down on you, quickly falling back into a deep slumber, your hair still flowed through his fingers and now his skin seemed to tingle and his cheeks grew warm. Katsuki Bakugou has never loved a girl, and has never experienced a girl loving him, this feeling was foreign and it made him want to smile like an idiot for some reason but he contained himself. His arms wrapped tighter around you and he let out a sigh that made him feel like he was floating on air, “Tch, I-I love you too brat.”

“I swear to christ shitty girl, if you aren’t down here in ten seconds, this is off and we’re never taking you on another fucking date ever again!”

Bakugou yelled from downstairs leaning against the front door. Kiri chuckled as he slipped on his shoes and they both heard your feet running across the floor and down the stairs.

“You’re already setting me up for failure with just ten seconds Baka-gou!” You replied, walking down the stairs as you put on your shoes, nearly tripping and taking a tumble down them until both the men caught you.

“For fucks sake (Y/N) be careful,” the blonde growled gripping your elbow.

You apologized and fluttered your lashes as you looked at the ground, instantly he felt like shit for scolding you but he hated how careless you could be sometimes.

“‘S fucking fine, I just don’t feel like cleaning your brains out of the carpet. Are you ready?”

Katsuki asked as him and Kiri still held an elbow in each hand and walked you down the rest of the stairs. Your mood perked up again and you did a happy bounce.

“I don’t know, are you two ready to get your asses kicked?” You gleamed and kissed their cheeks before skipping towards the door.

They both examined you wearing a plain black oversized t-shirt that hit you just above the knee and red sneakers, a green slouchy beanie resting on your head. Like usual, you wore the slightest amount of makeup, maybe some mascara to make your lashes more dramatic and a red tint on your plump lips.

Kiri sighed as he gushed over how damn adorable you were, “Why are you so fucking cute mama?”

Katsuki chuckled as he thought the same thing but wouldn’t admit it. You grinned and took a quick look at your roommates, Bakugou wore a simple fitted v-neck shirt and dark fitted jeans, while Kiri wore a black button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and jeans as well. Like always they looked damn good, it made you wonder how you got so lucky to be courted by two of Japans most handsome heroes. You complimented them back, making them smirk pridefully. Both men stood at your left and right side, each placing a kiss to your cheek before taking your hands in theirs and leading you out the door.

The three of you entered the bowling alley, you were riding piggyback on Katsuki and Kirishima was right behind you, holding the end of your shirt down to make sure your ass wasn’t showing the whole time. You all got your bowling shoes and went to your assigned lane to drop them off and were quickly off again to look for a ball. You were so excited that the guys decided to take you bowling, it wasn’t something extravagant but it was something fun and cheesy, which you adored; you were determined to get the men fired up with a little friendly competition. Kirishima went and got some snacks and drinks for the three of you and Katsuki helped you pick out a bowling ball. You wanted a really glittery and shiny green one that was way too heavy for you and you tried to walk off with it, grunting, but Bakugou quickly took it from you with ease and shook his head.

“You can’t possibly play with this idiot, you’re gonna end up hurting yourself. Here, try this one!”

The blonde handed you a lighter one that was pink and you smiled as you mindlessly swung it towards him, almost nailing him right between the legs. He was somewhat prepared for it so he was quick to react and guard himself.

“I can tell I’m gonna end up regretting this idea later,” he growled and took your ball along with his and lead you back to the lane.

You looked around to see where Kiri was, finding that he was standing at the snack bar waiting on an order and saw you looking at him. He flashed you a goofy grin and waved, making you wave back with a smile. Sitting down next to Katsuki, you put on your shoes and he typed in the names for your game. You could hear him snickering which made you look up at the game screen to see what names he conjured up. In bold letters where Gremlin, Hard On and King Xplodo .

“I don’t fucking think so, move over asshole, I have the perfect name for you!”

The two of you fought, pushing each other’s faces and spewing curse words making a scene for the other bowling alley inhabitants to watch. Suddenly, you felt a hand on the top of your head pushing you away from the blonde, whose shoulder you had in your mouth as you tried to bite your way to victory. Kirishima was holding the both of you back, a hand on each of your heads as you both tried to still attack each other and push on the keyboard.

“You two are hopeless, I can’t leave you alone for five fucking minutes!” Kiri groaned.

“He’s trying to give us shitty names while he gets a cool one!” You pouted and kicked at Bakugou's shin.

The blonde chuckled and roughly squeezed your inner thigh, both tickling and hurting you.

“They’re not shitty, they’re just facts!”

Kirishima looked up at the screen with the names and laughed.

“Fam, this isn’t something that a little game of RPS can’t settle!”

You and Katsuki instantly stopped fighting and the three of you smiled.

After a heated RPS battle, Kirishima ended up winning. Kiri took the spot in front of the game panel and typed in his name which was obviously ‘Red’, he liked when you called him that and Katsuki seemed to call him that a lot too, short and straight to the point. For you he kept ‘Gremlin’, you scoffed and Bakugou chuckled after sticking his tongue out.

“Let me explain mama, it suits you honestly. You’re an endless pit when it comes to food, you get mad if we don’t feed you. But - you’re also short and extremely cute like Gizmo, I’m sure Bakugou thinks the same thing right?”

The red-head hinted at his friend, giving him a chance to give you a compliment. The blonde crossed his arms and looked at you, “Tch, whatever.”

You smirked and kissed Bakugou’s cheek, accepting the small victory. Kirishima smiled, all he had left was the name for his bro, he looked over at you and asked what it should be. Before you could suggest a name the blonde placed a hand over your mouth stopping you.

“I don’t think so, she didn’t win so she doesn’t get a say!”

You narrowed your eyes and licked his palm to make him remove it, but he only seemed to smirk and grip your face as he continued to rant to Kiri like nothing was wrong.

Two can play this game!

You continued to lick his palm, but this time it was slow kitten licks, keeping your eyes on Bakugou you used your quirk and spoke to Kirishima’s mind.

“Don’t look at me, act normal. I think Suki forgets about my telepathy.”

The red-head did as instructed and threw up his hands, forfeiting the fight with his friend as he turned back to the keypad and put a finger to his chin, acting like he was thinking. Bakugou turned his head to the side to stare at you, you softened your eyes to look more seductive as you hummed against his palm and nipped at the flesh, all while telling Kirishima what to type telepathically. Bakugou removed his hand and wiped it on your thigh, giving you a soft squeeze. You had to admit, you were just a tad bit turned on by the crimson eyed jerk and couldn’t hide your suddenly flustered look.

“Alright, done!”

Kirishima clapped as he hit the button to start the first game, solidifying the results. You and Bakugou looked up at the screen at the same time, a smile crossed your face before you and Kirishima were both laughing obnoxiously. Katsuki’s eye seemed to twitch and his hands started to spark. On the screen in bold letters read out his deemed name, ‘Kacchan’.

“You fucking assholes, I’ll kill you!!!”

It took awhile but Bakugou eventually got over the whole name situation for the duration of your bowling game. He had asked you in a rage where you even heard that because he’s never mentioned it around you.

“Uh – I did have All Might as a mentor smart one, so that means I spent a good amount of time with Izuku.”

Bakugou growled at the mere thought of you smiling and laughing with Deku, now more than ever he wanted the nerd dead.

The three of you paid for at least two full games, the first one wasn’t your best, you lost miserably. Bowling wasn’t where you shined really, but you still enjoyed it. Multiple times you’d cross the red line of the lane and slip on the waxed floor falling flat on your ass, Bakugou would laugh and Kiri would try to at least hide his laughter, each time going to help you back up.

“I won’t be shocked if I have a bruise on my ass later,” you whined and sulked back to your seat.

Before the next game started you offered to go get some more drinks and another snack, Bakugou complained how you would be going out for food after but you reminded him of how much food you could put away. They both settled for another beer each and whatever you were having to snack on, you kissed both their cheeks and skipped off towards the snack bar, leaving them to take their first turns for the next game.

“You’re Red Riot and Ground Zero aren’t you?”

A female’s voice was heard from behind the men, making them both turn around to see who was addressing them. Bakugou wasn’t one for fans, especially overly horny fan-girls. Kirishima on the other hand didn’t mind fans, he loved them, especially kids who seemed to admire him; he also got his fair share of drooling fan-girls as well. Before you he’d be a blushing mess but now he rather they just leave him alone.

The two men turned to see two girls about their own age, gushing over them. Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck and waved giving them a friendly greeting. Bakugou clicked his tongue and sat down in one of the seats, spreading his arms across the back of them. The girls made a face at his attitude and continued to talk to Kirishima.

“We’re big fans of you guys. I gotta admit, I’ve been crushing on you ever since you were a sidekick,” one of the girls cooed and bit her lip as she looked at Kiri, the other girl was drooling over how Bakugou ignored them, even if he was a prick he still had an affect on women. Kirishima nervously chuckled at the girls confession, his blonde-haired friend however was getting annoyed.

“Don’t you extras have somewhere else to be? We’re kind of busy right now,” Bakugou growled.

One of the girls smirked and walked to him, “You don’t look too busy to me handsome, how bout you two let us buy you a drink?”

Katsuki grit his teeth and glared at the stranger about to blow up on her until a familiar sound snapped him out of his rage.

“Hey guys, a little help please?” Your cheery voice made everyone turn back to see you walking up with drinks and snacks in hand.

“Oh, here mama let me help you,” Kirishima eagerly said and rushed to your side, quietly thanking you for finally showing back up.

Bakugou smirked and got up as well to brush past the girl in front of him and grabbed the other items out of your arms, leaving you empty handed except for a blue raspberry ICEE.

“I told you we’re going to eat after this but you still bought the whole fucking snack bar,” the blonde scolded.

“They had cheese fries Suki, fucking cheese fries!”

The two girls looked at the trio, bewildered, and Kirishima looked at them apologetically.

“I’m sorry ladies, but we’re both kind of on a date right now.”

One of the girls shrugged her shoulders, but the other made a face.

“Are you two gay together?”

Suddenly, cold blue ICEE was flying from your mouth and out of your nose as the girls assumption made you choke on the drink, making a mess. Bakugou looked at the two strangers disgusted and Kirishima cracked up as well. You held up your hand and apologized grabbing some napkins to clean yourself up.

Kirishima shook his head, “Uh – I’m sorry you’re misunderstanding me. We are on a date, the three of us,” he said as he motioned with his hand from him to you and Bakugou who was cleaning you up like a parent and a child.

You looked at the two girls who seemed to seethe with jealousy now making you chuckle.

“I know, I’m a lucky girl right?”

Bakugou smirked, knowing what you were trying to do, he wanted to play along as well so he licked off some ICEE that was still hanging from your lip, making your eyes widen as you playfully pushed him.

“Sorry, this is my favorite flavor. Want some Red, there’s still another spot right here,” the blonde asked as he dipped his finger into the treat and wiped it on your cheek, making you flinch from the freezing temperature of the substance.

“You bastard! This is my drink, stop wasting it!”

As the two of you fought, Kirishima kindly explained to the pair of girls their situation and they just nodded in disbelief and walked off. Kiri let out a relieved breath as they walked away and made his way over to you, possessively pulling you from Bakugou and licking the ICEE that was still on your cheek and dripping down your neck. Your body stiffened and you almost dropped the drink but you came back to your senses once his hot tongue left your skin.

“Sorry, I couldn’t let Baku-bro have all the fun,” his raspy and warm voice cooed in your ear after he kissed your cheek.

The two men grabbed their drinks and went back to their seats happily as if nothing happened and plopped down.

“It’s your turn princess!” Katsuki yelled over his shoulder.

You were frozen in shock or maybe a weird type of arousal? Whatever it was, it made you shudder and grip your drink even tighter as you looked at the two heroes and shook your head.

The game continued on without any further distractions or unwanted guests.

“You really suck at bowling, don’t you princess?”

Katsuki teased as you sat on his lap and he handed you your cheese fries after you failed to even knock one pin down. You went to get off of him with a pout but he grabbed your hips and pulled you back down.

“We can’t all be good at everything, well I can but you know what I mean.”

You scoffed and elbowed him in the chest, “I still have three more turns Kacchan!”

Bakugou rolled his eyes as you called him by that name all night, he was only used to Deku and sometimes Denki calling him by that name, he didn’t despise it or anything, he just wasn’t used to you saying it.

“You’re lucky I love you, or else I’d murder you for calling me that,” he lied with a growl and wrapped his arms around your waist.

You were taken back for a bit, he was actually being affectionate in public, like cheesy as your cheese fries and lovey dovey affectionate, not ‘I want to fuck you’ affectionate. When you told him you loved him the night before, once again Bakugou’s rough and prideful exterior was chipped away just a bit more. You were changing him in so many ways and he accepted it - very willingly too.

“I love you too Suki,” you softly said and offered him a fry which he gladly took.

Now that name, he could get used to. Bakugou cleared his throat and held you a little tighter, resting his chin on your shoulder as he spoke low. “I like you when you call me that. It’s better than that other stupid name.”

Your head turned to look down at a rare bashful Bakugou and smiled before placing a kiss to his soft blonde hair. “Well I like calling you that.”

Together the two of you watched Kiri take his turn, the bastard scored two strikes in a row. Once he was done, Katsuki patted your legs notifying you to get up so he could take his turn.

“Next time, I pick the date!” You stated as you got up letting Bakugou move and letting Kiri take his spot. He took a fry as well and kissed your arm.

“I would say let’s use our quirks but you would easily win, you can just make the pins fall down without even using the ball.”

Your head shook in agreement with him and explained how that wouldn’t even be fun for you because it would take no effort, in the middle of talking though, something popped into your head and made you zone you shut up and zone out. Kiri leaned forward so he could get a better look at your face and it made him jump back.

You wore a mischievous grin as you bit down on your tongue and giggled. Kiri knew that look, it’s the look you’d make when you were thinking of something dangerous or idiotic. Most of the time you did it on the job when you’d come up with these “awesome combos” for the three of you to try with your quirks that only ended up in disaster.

“Oh no mama, whatever you’re thinking stop it!” Kiri said nervously as he shook you.

“Come on Kiri, just hear me out, please! I have this genius idea, but it may result in us getting kicked out!”

He shook his head ‘no’, refusing to listen.

“Fine then, Bakugou will want to do it! Hey Su –“, Kiri’s hand cut you off quickly and you giggled. He agreed to listen to your idea before going to let Bakugou in on it knowing he probably would want to test it, no matter how crazy.

“Okay, so I’m thinking you activate your quirk and let Suki use his quirk to propel you down the lane. Basically, making you like a human bowling ball, it’s 100% harmless!”

The man under you was slack jawed and squinted his red eyes before turning his head towards his friend, “Hey Bakugou wanna try something?”

You looked around to make sure none of the bowling alley workers were watching the three of you and gave the two men a signal. They both walked up to the lane and Kirishima laid on the floor in a balled up position.

“Make sure you film this,” he called out to you.

You nodded with a thumbs up, pulling out your phone and getting it ready to record.

Bakugou stood beside his friend and grabbed him by his shirt and pants with both hands, “I’m not going to use my full power because I don’t feel like paying for damages!”

He told the red-head and let you know to start filming and to countdown from three. By now people in the lanes beside you started to watch exactly what it was the two pro heroes were about to do, taking their phones out as well. You started recorded and counted down loudly.

“Three,” Bakugou lifted Kiri from the ground and started to swing him back and forth.

“Two,” sparks started to escape his palms and Kirishima hardened his body as he laughed.

“One,” the blonde swung his friends body backwards one last time as he bared his teeth and aimed.

“Go!”

“Ahhhhh,” Bakugou yelled as he propelled Kirishima down the bowling lane with just enough force.

The red-headed human bowling ball flew down the waxy stretch of flooring and collided with the pins at the end of the lane and further into the pit where they were designated to be swooped into. The people watching cheered as Bakugou made an obvious strike and the two of you fell to your knees laughing uncontrollably. Tears were falling down your face until you heard a loud ‘hey’ and looked up to see some of the employees storming towards you.

“Oh shit guys we gotta run!”

You looked over to see Katsuki already to his feet and propelling himself down the lane to help get his friend out. To buy more time you used your quirk and piled up chairs to hold off the employees coming for you, still laughing. Turning around to see if Katsuki had Kirishima made you laugh even more as they both struggled to run back down the lane, slipping and sliding from the waxed surface.

“Grab our fucking shoes and lets go now!” Bakugou yelled as they finally made it past the red line of the lane.

You did as instructed and the three of you headed for the doors until Kirishima screamed for you to stop.

“What the fuck are we stopping for shitty hair?”

Eijirou shook his head in disbelief and pointed down to his feet, red eyes looking at you and Bakugou with a serious face, “We can’t steal their bowling shoes!”

#vermilion #bakugou x reader x kirishima #kirishima x reader x bakugou #katsuki bakugou x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #xreader #reader insert #polyamory #poly relationship

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