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drabblesandimagines · 3 months

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Dove (part seven)

Leon Kennedy x female reader (bodyguard trope and the slowest, slow burn I swear)

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven.

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A tense knot has formed right between Leon’s shoulder blades – can feel it pull when he tilts his head side to side, but it doesn’t seem to be loosening. Can’t even blame it on sleeping on the sofa cos he hasn’t laid down to sleep since the call with Hunnigan, stays sat up right. He’s athletic, he can jump up to his feet from horizontal but it’ll add a second or so to his reaction time and he’s not taking the risk.

He's on edge and he doesn’t like it. The ball of anxiety in his gut has saved his life more times than he can count, but it shouldn’t be necessary in this situation, should it? He’s set up in a safe house, literally off some beaten track in the middle of nowhere – location chosen and distributed by encrypted software so, technically, no-one in the DSO knows where he is either. It’s rigged up to the heavens with security measures - cameras, alarm systems, motion detector - explosion-proof windows, reinforced doors, all topped off with his favourite array of weapons in the duffel bag, currently resting by his still booted feet.

The objective of his mission hasn’t changed after the intel he’s received, that some foreign agency has had access to the CCTV feed for who knows how many hours before they were cut off. He should feel reassured that the quality of the footage was awful – it was only by how many times he’s encountered Lickers that he could even tell that’s what the creatures were when he’d be presented with the grainy images. He didn’t see the footage of you being rescued, but it would be a cruel kick in the gut to find that feed had been HD.

He lifts an arm – his left, keeping his right arm free, his accuracy is better by millimetres with his right – and rubs the knot, hoping to relieve the tension. It's not 100% confirmed they are looking or will be looking for you either, but why would anyone link up to the CCTV circuit if not to check on the outcome of their operation?

His immediate thought had been to up the frequency of his perimeter checks, one every two hours. He could do that at night, sure – military training taught him the correct and most efficient techniques to power nap – but in the day it would be harder without worrying you about what’s changed.

You wanted updates. Hell, you were entitled to updates. But he wants to give you good news, doesn’t wanna add to the weight on your shoulders with what could be nothing. It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, but in these sweet domestic moments the two of you have been sharing, he’s been pretending it’s something else – friends watching television, cooking a meal together – the sweet smiles the two of you exchange, but it’s all ripped apart the moment he has to do his checks. He can see the worry settle on your face then, a reminder of where you are with the flick of the safety off his gun and the twist of the lock as he goes outside to conduct surveillance.

Speaking of, his phone beeps for his next circuit on the building and he’s up on his feet in the blink of an eye. He pats his cargo pocket out of habit for the keys on the walk over to the garage door, but finds himself pausing outside your bedroom, his eyes focusing on the handle. You should still be pretty under with those sleeping pills – note to self, he’ll need to start weening you off them from now on, far too easy to get addicted. It wouldn’t hurt to just… check you were okay, would it?

No – that’s what you’re here, why he’s here – to protect you.

It would just be doing his job.

He presses down on the handle and slowly opens the door, breath caught in his throat. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark, the lamp in the living room not quite reaching as far as your bed, but eventually he can make out your face – as peaceful as he’s ever seen it.

You’re on your side. The position doesn’t look like it would be comfortable with your arm still strapped up in the sling, but it’s testimony to how well the sleeping pills are working. Your other arm is up by your face, hand clenched in a tight fist around something. He steps forward without thinking, curious what it could be.

Your fingers are gripped tightly around his watch.

And there’s a pain in his chest that feels like they’re gripped around his heart as well.

That settles it - he’s not gonna tell you about the hacked CCTV feed. He will tell you that Hunnigan hasn’t searched your place yet, that they’ve restarted the surveillance department – she’d asked him to ask you if you knew anything about the servers since they were appeared to be working from square one – but that was it.

Leon steps back with unnecessary caution, leaving the bedroom as silently as he entered and shuts the door with a soft click. He takes a deep breath, pats down his pockets again and heads out to circle the perimeter.

And, just like after you kissed his cheek, he does it twice.

You wake up after another peaceful and dreamless sleep, though it still takes a moment to remember where you are as you stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling. You wonder if tomorrow you’ll not experience that flicker of panic, just get up and accept that you’ll be picking today’s outfit out of a selection of clothes that you’re not sure if anyone’s worn before you.

You feel sore, as seems to be becoming the norm, but with unusually stiff fingers on your good hand. It seems you’ve clutched Leon’s watch all night. You’d fallen asleep quite quickly – all thanks to those sleeping pills – but you remember looking at it when you’d first got in the bed, the seconds ticking by lulling you to sleep. The fact that you’ve held it for so long reminds you of when you were a kid and snuggled up with a stuffed toy for comfort, except instead of something soft and cuddly, it’s what appears to be a top of line timepiece. There’s a lot of information contained on the face of the dial but there’s the time is the only one you really care about – 0906.

You get to your feet, raising your good arm to a grunt of protest as you try and run your fingers through your hair in lieu of a mirror. Huh, that pain’s new. Your hair is definitely due a wash now, but that’s an issue for later. You pull on a pair of sweatpants one-handed – you’ll be a pro soon, you’re sure of it – and put Leon’s watch in the pocket for safekeeping. It’d be difficult to try and navigate the door handle with it still gripped in your good hand and you’d hate to scratch it up.

You open the door cautiously – you hadn’t seen Leon asleep yet, but he must do at some point. Maybe you should offer to alternate the sofa and the bed? Though you have a feeling that he’s far too much of a gentleman to accept.

Or there’ll be something in the rules that prohibits that.

There’s no danger of waking him though - the agent in question is performing sit-ups in the middle of the living room floor, facing the other way. Muscular arms behind his head as he lets out little puffs of exertion at the exercise, alternating sides as he twists.

Wary that you don’t want to be caught staring, you shut the door with more force than necessary behind you and greet him with a smile when he looks over his shoulder.

“Morning, Leon.”

“Dove!” He doesn’t even sound out of breath. “Morning. Sleep okay?” He jumps up to his feet before taking a couple of steps over in your direction. There’s a grin on his face at the sight of you – makes you feel giddy.

“Yeah, thanks. How about you?”

“That’s good. Yeah, I slept fine.” He nods. It’s not a lie – he did sleep fine for the position he forced himself to maintain all night, despite the slight crick in his neck.

“Is that how you usually start your mornings?”

One of the arms you’d been admiring goes up to rub the back of his head again. “Kinda. I usually go for a run, but…”

“But you can’t leave me on my own.” You finish, smile dropping a little. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be - I’m not.” He drops his arm back down, casting an eye over a watch that’s not there. “Hey, you hungry? I can get breakfast started. Oatmeal again?”

“Sure.” You nod, fishing his watch out of your pocket and holding it out to him. “Thanks again for this. It was nice to wake up and know the time this morning.”

“Don’t mention it. You can, er, you know, keep it. If you like.” He can’t get the image of you fast asleep last night, clutching it close to your face. He knows it was most likely the sleeping pills meaning you’d just passed out with it in your hand more than anything deeper, but, hey, a guy can pretend.

“I’ll be okay, I can get the time off the TV during the day.” You hold it out again with insistence. “But maybe… maybe I could have it for the night again?”

“Deal.” Leon hastily agrees, his fingers brushing yours as he takes back the watch before fastening it around his wrist. “Breakfast coming right up.”

You take the opportunity to duck into the bathroom as he heads towards the kitchen – your heart warmed once more by the sight of the blob of toothpaste sat ready and waiting on your toothbrush.

“And, finally, oatmeal.” He places it down on the coffee table, alongside your coffee, a glass of water and your morning dose of painkillers.

“Thank you.” You lean forward to pick up the spoon, smiling back at the face that Leon’s drizzled in honey atop your breakfast again.

“Nah, pleasure’s all mine.” He calls over his shoulder as he picks up his own bowl from the kitchen. He hesitates for a second, before choosing to sit the other end of the sofa to you, rather than the opposite one.

“You know, I don’t get to do this very often. It’s nice.”

“Mm,” you swallow a spoonful of oatmeal. “Thought you said you’d been in lots of safe houses.”

“A fair amount. But, no, not that part. I mean, eating breakfast with someone.” “So…” You stir the spoon around the bowl, hoping it might prove a perfect segway into something you’d been wondering. “..there’s no-one at home for you?”

“Me?” He seems to scoff at the idea. “Nope.”

“Me neither.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He replies casually, before his blue eyes widen in alarm at how it might come across. “

“I mean, just by the fact that you hadn’t mentioned anyone at your apartment that morning and you hadn’t asked any of those sorta questions, you know, if they’d been told about what happened, where you are...”

He’s flustered, feels like he’s really putting his foot in his mouth this morning. He can take the lead in the interrogation of some of the world’s most despicable humans, for goodness’ sake, he should be able to talk to a pretty girl.

“Yeah, I figured.” You tease back and he swears he feels the weight lift off his shoulders.

The two of you eat in silence for a moment when curiosity gets the better of you. “So, you didn’t eat breakfast with the… others?”

“Nope.” His tone is firm as he recalls some of his previous charges. “Certainly didn’t make them it either. Trust me – they were nowhere near as nice or as deserving of my protection as you are, Dove.” The comment makes your head tingle.

“It’s all been people ‘realising’ how deep they’d sank but only grew a conscience to save their own skin. Hell, you might have even performed surveillance on some of them. A lot of criminals finally show backbone when they realise their time is running out.”

“Well, I’m glad to make a change – both for sharing breakfast and …safe house occupancy with.”

“A nice change,” he mumbles, but you still hear.

After breakfast, you go to shower and Leon sets himself to task with the dishes once again, says he did his last perimeter check before nine. Removing the sling proves trickier than yesterday – when you go to tug off the Velcro your opposite shoulder smarts with a similar pain of that morning, causing you to hiss through your teeth, something which the painkillers from breakfast don’t seem to have alleviated.

You step into the cubicle after undressing – the hot water immediately somewhat soothing on your bruised shoulders but you still struggle to get what you now deem as your good arm high enough to even entertain the possibility of washing your hair.

You try and avoid your reflection in the mirror when you dress, though you know you’ll have to confront your hair at some point. Unfortunately, you catch a glimpse – a greasy mop sat upon your head that makes your heart sink.

There must be a trick to it – other people must wash their hair one-handed all the time, but maybe they can lift an arm above their head. If you were home, you’d go to a salon, you think – an expensive you would deem necessary for your sanity.

A thought flashes across your mind – a ridiculous one. Leon is already doing so much for you, surely this would be completely over the line.

But you could… ask, couldn’t you? The worst he could do was say no, it would be awkward, and maybe there’s a hat in the duffel bag you’ve yet to discover.

You open the bathroom door, but don’t make to step over the threshold. Leon looks over from the sofa – dishes now drying in the rack besides the sink - and clocks your hesitation.

“Need a hand with the sling?”

Are you really going to ask him this?

You’ll break at some point - you know you will, so why not get it over with now? You’re a regimented two-day wash kinda girl and it’s day three. Not to be completely vain, but you’re covered with bruises and cuts, dressed in less than flattering clothes that aren’t yours and it would be nice to feel somewhat decent about something in your appearance.

Especially with the handsome company you’re keeping. Hell, Leon could be a model, a hair model too. There’d been shampoo and conditioner in the shower and you certainly hadn’t used it.

“Dove?” You’ve taken too long to reply again, getting stuck in your spiralling thoughts.

“I know this isn’t what you’re here for.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can think further.

“Okay…” Leon's eyebrow is raised, a curious smile now fixed on his lips as he gets to his feet.

“And say no, obviously. Please. Just… I’d like to wash my hair.” You drop your eyes then – maybe it’ll be easier if you talk to your feet rather staring into his kind eyes?

"Right."

“And I’d… You know, I’d go to a salon and get it done there if we weren’t… here.”

“You’d like me to help you wash your hair?” There’s a tone of amusement or maybe disbelief in his tone.

Hearing him say it aloud makes you doubt the entire exercise, your heart begin to pound at your stupidity. “Sorry. No, I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid to ask-“

“Hey, no, it makes sense.” He soothes, immediately wanting to ease your frustrations. “You can’t lift your arm above your head, right? My fault for not thinking about that.”

You look up then, seeing the sincerity on his face – like it truly was his fault that you couldn’t wash your own damn hair.

“I can do that, Dove. I don’t see why not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mm-hm. As you said, if you were anywhere else right now, you could go to a salon and whilst I can’t promise their quality, I seem to do all right with my own.” He shrugs. “You thinking over the sink?”

He doesn’t know why he asks – it’s hardly like you’re going to ask him to get in the shower with you.

Is it?

“I think so.” You look around the living area, though you’re well acquainted with what feels like every square inch of it now. “Though it might be a little awkward since we don’t have any chairs.”

He snaps his fingers. “Nah, there might be one in the garage, actually. Lemme check.”

He barely makes it into the garage when his cell vibrates in his pocket – one new message from Hunnigan.

Any server information for me?

Leon finds the folding chair nestled at the side of the washer and dryer and hesitates over the text back.

He’ll wash your hair – seeing how torn up you’d been about even asking him had made him feel awful - then he’ll give you the updates and ask about the servers.

He picks up the chair and tucks it under one arm, swiftly typing out a message on his cell and clicks send.

Not yet – Dove’s still asleep.

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Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

Part eight.

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you

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lripl · 1 year

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trouvelle · 4 years

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Messy

For DCMK Emogust — 28.08: Messy. @dcmkemogust20xx

Fandom: DCMK Characters: Kaito, Shinichi, Heiji Rating: G Genre/Tags: Kaito-centric, Superpowered Siblings!HeiKaiShin Summary: Kaito just wanted to put his superpowers to use at school. He didn’t expect the principal to call his parents, though.

The first time Kaito uses his super-speed at school, it's to put a tack on his least favorite teacher's chair. Keiji-sensei teaches fifth grade science and hates Kaito because he constantly plays with his classmates during the lesson. It's not Kaito's fault the man drones on like a lawn mower right after lunch period. Kaito's pretty good at the subject already anyway. He doesn't have to stay awake if he doesn't want to.

Keiji-sensei jumps about a mile high when he sits down on the tack, a high-pitched yelp ripped out of his throat. Kaito snort-giggles into his palm as the teacher finds the tack on his chair and glances suspiciously around the room. He tells Shinichi about it later, after school, when they're waiting in the courtyard for their parents to come pick them up.

Shinichi’s eyes go a little wide. The wind picks up around them. "Aren't you afraid you'll get caught?"

Kaito sends him an affronted look. "By what? His slow eyes? No one can see me if I run fast enough. It'll be fine."

After the third time this happens in two weeks, Keiji-sensei comes in one Monday morning armed with CCTV cameras for his classroom. Kaito almost sweats through his uniform when he does it again, but it turns out he's too fast for even cameras to clearly catch, so what’s displayed is only a blur. Keiji-sensei sits down after lunch slower and slower with each day that passes, but Kaito manages to slip a tack in between his pants and the chair every single time. The rest of the class starts waiting with bated breath, eyes glued to the front of the room. It's become a running joke around campus; ants in Keiji-sensei's pants, ants in Keiji-sensei's pants, all warbled in the hallway, in the auditorium, in the gym.

Despite the lack of evidence, Keiji-sensei zeroes in on him. Maybe it's because Kaito's in-class mischief has risen to an all-time high; he puts the tack on the chair and then curls up at his desk a minute after Keiji-sensei hits the roof. Metaphorically. Despite the lack of evidence, Keiji-sensei drags him to the principal's office a month after it begins, waving a video cassette tape around, demanding that the school contacts Kaito's parents. Says he won't rest until they're called in to correct this egregious error.

The principal, alarmed, makes the phone call. Kaito sits mulishly in a plush chair and swings his legs. His mother pushes in through the door, rushed and harried, and asks to know what's going on. Keiji-sensei plays back the tape. Kaito watches it, bored. Like he'd anticipated, there's nothing incriminating caught on tape at all. But—

"Look!" Keiji-sensei bellows, flecks of saliva flying everywhere as he pauses the video and rewinds. He plays it again. "Right there!"

The principal is growing increasingly impatient. "What are we supposed to be looking at?"

"Right before I sit down—he—Kaito moves." Kaito squints at the tiny screen, watches the five-second playback. Yeah. He moves alright. Just a tiny blur that indicates movement, but that's it. Keiji-sensei's really losing it.

The principal himself looks less than impressed. "I think we've seen enough." He peers down at Kaito, who's busy sending glances at his mother. Her face is smooth, placid, and reveals nothing. Keiji-sensei's still spitting accusations. "I'll handle this. Son, go home for the day with your mother."

In the parking lot, Kaito climbs into the back seat with his bag in his lap. Mother starts the car and catches his eye through the rearview mirror, still quiet. Then: "Is there anything you want to tell me, Kaito?"

Kaito sticks his jaw out. "Maybe."

"What is it?"

"But he doesn't have any proof," he grumbles, crossing his skinny arms over his chest. "He can't blame any of it on me."

"You know that's not what I'm talking about."

Kaito scowls. "I just don't—I don't like him."

Mother nods absently. "He does seem like quite an unpleasant man. But Kaito—"

"How come," Kaito blurts out, leaning forward in the idling car, "how come we have all these powers, these cool things we can do—what's the point of having super-speed if I can't even use it?" Kaito's frowning so hard now he's pretty sure he's giving himself a headache.

"Oh, honey."

His mother turns around in the front seat to look at him directly. She brushes a hand against his brow and sighs. "It's not that we don't want to."

Kaito closes his eyes and leans into her hand. "Then why don't you?"

"We aren't allowed to." He hears her swallow. "Technically, we aren't even supposed to use it at home. We aren't supposed to draw attention to ourselves—government orders. It's supposed to protect us."

"It just makes me feel like I'm sick," Kaito declares. "Like there's something wrong with me."

He opens her eyes when her other hand comes up to grab his face. She looks deadly serious, like when Dad comes home late from work with bruises on his torso from an altercation at work or when his youngest brother nearly burns down the house trying to make breakfast or something with his powers. "Listen to me, Kaito. There is nothing wrong with you. You hear me? Nothing."

Kaito's lip quavers. He thinks about Shinichi, and how he could turn invisible at will as well as erect powerful force fields. Heiji, and his explosive powers that enable him to burst into flames and set fire to anything he touches. Okay, on a second thought, his younger brother is too self-righteous, just like his powers, and their youngest does more damage than any good so far—he frickin’ blasts lasers out of his eyes even when he’s only mildly excited, he has a lot to learn. Kaito realizes that he is perfectly right in the middle.

Huh, they’re one messy set of siblings.

But still, it’s unfair that they couldn't do anything, even though they were special.

"Okay, Mom," he says. He lies out across the back seat of the car all the way home, the radio blaring something that leaves the bass thrumming in his chest, and watches the trees scrape the sky through the window as they pass.

#Kuroba Kaito #Kudo Shinichi #Hattori Heiji #DCMKEmogust2020 #Detective Conan #HeiShinKai brotp #The Incredibles AU if you will #but not necessarily so #they're just super adorable boys tryina handle their superpowers

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sharpeagle-tech · 2 months

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hopefulpersonacreation · 3 years

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powerzoneelectronics · 3 years

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s-horne · 5 years

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Hi!!! Can I ask for being Stony's 21 y/o son who is an avenger and also super smart like Tony?? Like, he is Tony's biological son but was adopted by Steve and he's like "gr8 I have two dads now"

25. Bittersweet (truth)

Peter had seen it coming a mile off. Though Tony liked to think he was slick and subtle, Peter knew his dad. He knew his moods, knew his routines, knew the things he loved and the things he despised. He even knew what Tony looked like when he found someone attractive – though God knows Peter wished he didn’t.

Peter knew how Tony acted when they were alone, when it was just the two of them and they could goof around and tease each other, and he knew how Tony acted when they were in public. The two personas were also very different to how Tony was when he was around someone that he liked, and Peter knew all of the versions up close and personally. Regardless of what the media thought was the truth, Peter knew intimately how diverse they all were.

With that in mind, even when it seemed as though the whole of SHIELD had done their best to hide what was happening right under his nose, Peter had proof that he wasn’t an idiot. He knew full well that his dad and Captain America – yes, the Captain America – had something going between them. It was obvious. It was there in every touch between them, in every glance that lingered just a little too long.

Peter had an apartment just a few blocks away from the Avengers Tower provided by SHIELD, but he still made a point of staying at his dad’s for one night a week. It was just their thing and Peter didn’t want to give it up. Even as an adult, he looked forward to spending that time with his dad and feeling like a little kid again. It had just been the two of them for so many years that there was no way either of them were prepared to go their separate ways. So, one night a week Peter and Tony did something together.

Most weeks, they just had a simple meal and a catch up. A simple meal and a catch up that was often attended by Steve.

Now, it wasn’t even unusual for one of the Avengers to eat at Tony’s place, or to spend time with Peter. But what was strange was for Tony to let someone else encroach on his special time with his son time and time again, week after week. The same time, the same person.

So no. Tony wasn’t subtle in the slightest and Peter was so over it.

“On your left, dad,” Peter said into the comms, eyes focused intently on the battle playing out in front of him. Recovering from a leg injury in their last fight, Peter had volunteered to be their eyes and ears from the Tower, hanging back and hacking into CCTV cameras with SHIELD agents.

“Thanks, Pete,” Tony replied, twisting out of the way in time and firing a repulsor behind him to the enemy. “How are we looking?”

“Not a hair out of place.” Peter tapped a few keys on his keyboard and focused in on where Captain America was fighting a horde of robots, his shield hacking them to pieces. “Handsome enough for Steve, don’t worry, dad.”

There was a string of spluttered expletives before Tony’s face suddenly appeared on the main screen in front on Peter.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Peter rolled his eyes as he turned to flick through his other computers, pausing for a moment to check the tension on Clint’s bow. It was looking like it might be a good idea for Peter to pull it in after the battle and check its performance.

“I’m not an idiot, you know. I do have eyes.”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, kid.” Tony paused to have a quick mid-air battle with a robot and Peter winced in sympathy when he received an armoured body to the face. Even behind the suit, that would have packed a punch. “Steve and – I mean, Cap – and I are just friends.”

The snort that Peter let out at that was almost violent and he shook his head at his dad, choosing to ignore his veiled protests for the time being, and focused instead on the rest of the team. “Whatever.”

“Oi! Don’t you ‘whatever’ me, young man. Who do you think made your suit?”

Peter pointed at Tony in warning, knowing that the cameras went both ways and that Tony had an eye on him always.

“Incoming behind you.” He waited patiently and, once the threat had been eliminated, continued. “You can admit it now, alright? You have to know I don’t care.”

“Kid,” Tony said, voice a little breathless as he dipped and dived, weaving in and out, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Wait, what?”

“Cap and I, we’re friends. Teammates, Pete. That’s all we are.”

Fingers froze over his keyboard as Peter stared at his dad, computers and battle forgotten for a moment. “You cannot be serious. I’ve been mentally calling him Pops since I was twelve.”

“What?” Tony’s voice was strangled and suddenly there was a mass explosion as Tony shot several repulsor beams at once. “Pete, kid, I don’t know where that’s come from, but–”

“Dad, tell me you’re joking. Please. Please tell me you aren’t serious.”

“I really don’t know what to tell you.” Tony paused to fight off another robot, protests interspersed with muttered curses. “This is the first I’ve ever heard of this.”

“I – are you… I don’t, don’t.” Peter was stumped. His fingers started tapping out commands and coordinates almost on autopilot as he sat in shock. There was another small explosion and the sounds of hand-to-hand combat filled his ears. It was a weird sort of symphony; one that would never sell out concert halls, but was oddly comforting to Peter all the same. “Okay. Maybe this isn’t the best time to have this conversation.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Natasha cut in over the comms, voice strained as she very clearly engaged in a fist fight. “Whilst we would all be ecstatic for those two to finally pull their heads out of their asses, we have bigger problems right now.”

“Roger that, Ms. Widow,” Peter said quickly, zooming a camera in on the street to see where the robots around her were coming from. “You’ve got a visitor to your left and about six, no, seven more coming up behind you.”

“No, wait,” Tony cut in again. “I want to talk about this now.”

“Dad, I don’t know what to tell you,” Peter said with a shrug. He narrowed his eyes at the screen in front of him again, focusing in on some clear markings adorning the chest of one of the robots. It looked familiar, almost as though they were a similar army to one the Avengers had seen before. “You haven’t been a single parent for a very long time. Steve has a room at yours, spends most nights there. He’s always there for our father-son night. He used to take me to school and get up with me when I had nightmares. You have to have seen this happening.”

There was a long silence from Tony. The only sounds coming over the comms were noises from the attacking robots as Tony fought them off with none of his usual witty comments and joking banter.

Peter was watching intently, zooming in as close as he could from every possible angle. He was now almost sure that they’d met them in a previous battle. As it was his job to come up with a way to take down the enemy quickly, Peter quickly made his sole focus on that task instead.

Peter was also experienced in the mystery that was his father, and he’d learnt from experience that the best thing to do was to let Tony work things through on his own for a bit. Peter decided to do just that and left Tony to stew.

“Okay. I think I’ve got it. Widow, you ready to shoot off if I send you the destination?”

“Send it over, Spiderbaby. I’ve got Hawkeye on my cover.”

“On it.” Peter bit his lip. “Dad?”

There was another long pause, almost shy, before: “you don’t mind?”

Peter smiled widely, fingers flying over the keys as his mind finally clicked onto the last piece of the puzzle needed to take down the enemy. “No, dad, I don’t mind. Two dads actually sounds pretty great to me.”

“Sounds good to me as well.”

Peter startled and let out a loud laugh when Tony cursed loudly at the sound of a new voice cutting in over the comms. “Yeah, Steve? You like that?”

“Yeah, Queens, I really do. Tony?”

There was a sigh and Peter waited with baited breath as he fired a couple of codes down to Clint and Natasha and watched them perform a sharp turn to find the new destination. Hopefully they would locate the source quickly and they could all move on to more pressing matters; namely getting Steve and Tony to stop being so goddamn oblivious.

“Yeah,” Tony’s voice finally came and Peter didn’t think he’d ever smiled so widely. “It sounds pretty damn good to me as well.”

#i don't know why i like this trope #with adult peter and oblivious tony and dad steve #but this literally isn't what you asked for in any way at all #and i suck at writing battles #i am sos sosso ss sos soo so sso os sorry #i wrote a thing #august in bloom #stony fic #stony fic rec #stevetony fic #stevetony fic rec #peter stark rogers #peter parker stark #superfamily fic #superfamily au #anon #anon prompt #tumblr ask backlog

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alvirakhanus · 6 years

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