#these tags will most likely be incoherent to anyone reading them huh?

[louwhose]

Reasons to watch Dwight in Shining Armor:

Medieval warrior princess and dorky modern guy

General goofiness

Chlodwig

It's free to watch

There's a kiss in the first episode 😘

I dunno literally why wouldn't you

#making this at 10:30 at night because I couldn’t sleep because I was brainrotting about this show again #but not posting it right now because I want to put in the link to go watch it #I dunno guys I've just been obsessed with this show since it came out and I need more people to talk about it with #so I made a list of its most appealing qualities (I think) for whoever might see it #dwight in shining armor #disa #these tags will most likely be incoherent to anyone reading them huh? #there's a reason I don’t normally compose posts when I'm supposed to be asleep #ok next day double checked this and it seems pretty okay still except for the rambling in the tags but eh whatever I'll leave 'em #for their comedic value

[there-must-be-a-lock]

wings & the way down - part 1

Spencer Reid x Derek Morgan

The Moreid high school AU! In which there will (eventually) be pining, misunderstandings, identity crises, and general teenage shenanigans. 

Word Count: ~1520 this chapter. 

Warnings: Awkward boys flirting awkwardly. 

A/N: Title from a Ray Bradbury quote: “If we listened to our intellect we'd never have a love affair... You've got to jump off the cliff all the time and build your wings on the way down.”

This is shaping up to be long. Oh boy. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in future installments! 

Thursday, January 2 - Spencer

“Checkmate.” 

“Yeah, I thought so.” Spencer examines the board and frowns before movement catches his eye.  

Gideon is pointing out where he went wrong, but Spencer isn’t paying attention any more. Losing to Gideon isn’t a particularly novel or interesting experience, and there’s something — someone — much more interesting walking into the park. Spencer crosses his legs, shifting on the bench to rest his elbows on his knees, and watches. 

It’s cold for Vegas, 60ish and breezy, but the guy is wearing short sleeves like this isn’t his usual January. New in town? But Spencer hasn’t seen anyone moving in. Visiting family for the holidays, maybe. He’s got the look of a newcomer: carefully cultivated confidence, studied swagger covering for the unease that always comes with foreign territory. 

There are other things, too, things that Spencer tries not to notice: biceps rippling under the short sleeves, long skilled fingers spinning a basketball idly as he walks, a bright white flash of a grin when he sees Spencer staring —

Spencer is staring. Crap. 

He looks down at the chessboard much too quickly — there’s no way it comes off as anything other than guilty. He glares daggers at his bishop as Gideon clears his own pieces away.

“Rematch tomorrow?” Spencer offers, trying to keep his eyes on the board. “School doesn’t start until next week.” 

“Can’t tomorrow, going up to the cabin. Call you when I get back.” 

“Sounds good.” 

Spencer sneaks a stealthy glance, only to see the guy grinning in his direction, and he averts his eyes again, blushing furiously.

Gideon barks over his shoulder, “See you soon, Doctor Reid.” 

The nickname makes Spencer smile at Gideon’s retreating back, but then he looks down at his lap and remembers he’s sitting criss-cross applesauce, wearing his fraying Converse and his mismatched socks — one covered with yellow dinosaurs, one argyle. He sighs to himself. Gideon treats him like an adult, but most people sure as hell don’t, and Spencer can’t exactly blame them. 

“You wanna shoot some hoops?” the stranger calls out, and Spencer doesn’t look up, because he’s obviously talking to someone else, except…“You in the Chucks! Pretty boy!” 

That makes Spencer look up fast, because he assumes it’s sarcastic; it’s the sort of stupid thing the jocks at school might yell, right before they ask him if he wears women’s underwear, or something. There’s no trace of malice on the guy’s face, though. His smile is so bright it’s hard to look at. 

Something warm and awful curls in Spencer’s stomach. 

“I don’t really — I don’t do hoops,” he mutters, averting his eyes again. 

The guy takes the seat opposite his, sprawling out, taking up space. Spencer hunches in on himself, poking at the beginnings of a hole on the faded knee of his favorite jeans. 

“I could teach you.” 

“Given my lack of hand-eye coordination, I really doubt that,” Spencer tells him, which gets a laugh; eyes sparkle, a dimple creases his cheek — he smiles with his whole face. 

“I’m Derek. Derek Morgan.” 

Spencer raises one hand in an awkward wave. “Spencer. I’m — Reid’s my — Spencer is me. That’s my name.” 

Yikes. 

“You from around here?” Derek asks, twirling the basketball on his fingertip, showing off casually. 

Spencer nods and then blurts out, “You’re not. Morgan — is that like the Morgans on Lake Road?” 

“Sure is. That’s my auntie and uncle. I’m staying with them for a bit.” 

“That’s roughly zero point three miles from my house,” Spencer tells him, but when Derek raises his eyebrows, he remembers that walking around aimlessly, memorizing the names on every mailbox because you can’t stand being at home, is not a normal childhood pastime. He continues hurriedly: “Where are you from?” 

“Chicago.” 

That makes sense. He’s cool in the way that Spencer would imagine people from big cities to be. He seems… jaded isn’t the right word for his smile, but experienced, maybe. Sophisticated. Comfortable in his own skin. Sure of himself. 

Everything Spencer is not, basically.

Also, Spencer is staring again. 

“Do you like it here?” he asks. “It must be… different.” 

“That’s an understatement. Toto, we are not on the South Side any more.” A shadow of sadness flickers over Derek’s expression for a moment, like a cloud across the sun, before he smiles again. “It’s good, getting a change of scenery. You know?” 

Spencer doesn’t know, because he’s never been farther away than California, but he says, “Yeah.” 

He tucks his hair behind his ears and then picks up his castle, turning it over in his hands just for something to do. 

“I’ve never actually played chess, but aren’t there supposed to be more pieces?” Derek asks. 

“Gideon likes to use his own pieces, I like to use mine,” Spencer tells him. It’s a sensory thing, for him; he likes the feel of the warm ivory, and Gideon prefers his own heavy stone set. 

“Gideon?” 

“Professor Gideon,” Spencer amends, wondering how to explain that. “I… took a class with him? At UNLV. That’s sort of how we met, but… we play chess.” 

That’s the short version, anyway. 

When Spencer decided to find a cure for schizophrenia, at the age of fifteen, he started by reading everything the local library had on the subject. When he was done there, he started sneaking into the college library. Gideon was the first person to realize Spencer wasn’t a student, but he didn’t call security; instead he offered to let Spencer audit one of his advanced psychology classes in the evenings. Spencer has taken all his classes by now, and Gideon jokes about him earning his Masters before he finishes high school. 

“Want to show me around the neighborhood?” Derek asks, and Spencer blinks at him for a second. 

“You were going to play basketball.” 

“Sure. But you said you don’t ‘do’ hoops.” Derek gestures at the empty court. “Nobody else to play with. Playing with myself gets boring.” He laughs at his own joke, and then his eyes sparkle, devilish, as he says, “I’d much rather play with you.” 

Spencer chokes on nothing, and somehow he makes things even worse by asking shrilly, “Are you flirting with me?”

Derek grimaces. “If I say yes, am I gonna get punched?” 

“Like it’d hurt you even if I did.” 

“Then yeah,” Derek says sheepishly. “I was flirting with you.” 

Spencer stutters for a few incoherent seconds before he recovers from that particular world-ending shock. Then all he can say is, “Oh.” 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. If I was wrong about — if you’re — do you?” 

He cannot possibly be asking what Spencer thinks he’s asking. 

“Do I — play for that team?” he ventures. Derek shrugs, and Spencer can barely breathe. It feels like he’s paralyzed for a second before he can croak, “That’s not — you’re not wrong.” 

“Just to be clear, we’re not talking about basketball any more.” Derek is grinning again. He has a really nice smile, and Spencer needs to stop staring already. 

“Yeah. We’re clear,” he manages. 

For a second they just smile at each other, and Spencer has this swooping sensation in his stomach like he just missed a step, except the disorienting moment of uncontrollable vertigo feels good. 

“Sorry. I’m not used to — this is new to me.” Derek seems almost bashful now, looking down as he starts to toss the basketball from one hand to another. “Being able to admit when I’m… flirting. With a guy, I mean.” 

“I’m not used to being flirted with,” Spencer counters. He clears his throat and adds, “I don’t mind it.” 

Derek doesn’t move his head, but his eyes flick to Spencer. His smile is hopeful and happy and more than a little shy.

“Anybody ever tell you you look good in pink?”

“Huh?” Spencer frowns down at his sweater, which is… yeah, still definitely blue. 

“You’re blushing.” 

“Oh.” He presses his palms to his feverish-hot cheeks. “That makes sense.” 

This doesn’t happen to Spencer. Flirting doesn’t happen to Spencer, let alone flirting with someone who looks like that. There’s a bubble of reckless exhilaration swelling in his chest, helium-light, threatening to lift him off his feet. 

“So, how about it?” Derek asks. “Want to show me around?” 

Spencer nods, way too eagerly. “I could do that.” 

And that’s when his phone rings. 

He knows what it means, before he even looks at the screen, and all that giddy excitement drains away at once. 

He pulls out his phone: Mom calling. He doesn’t pick up yet; he doesn’t want to have this conversation within earshot of Derek. 

“I have to go,” Spencer says miserably. He sweeps his chess pieces carelessly into his bag, slings it over his shoulder, and gives Derek a helpless shrug. “I just — really need to go. Can we — tomorrow? I’ll be here. Tomorrow. Same time.”

“No worries,” Derek says, with a rueful little half-smile. Spencer turns, starts running, and he almost misses it when Derek says, “See you tomorrow, pretty boy.” 

Spencer doesn’t let himself look back, but he smiles. 

He flips open his phone on the very last ring and says, “Hey, Mom. I’m on my way.” 

.

.

Part 2 is here! 

.

#criminal minds fic #spencer reid #derek morgan #Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid #moreid #moreid fic #cm #criminal minds

[alexandrablake]

about the blog!

please interact with this to tell me you read this!

thems sure some words, huh?

   ➵ i am a multi-multi-multi-shipper, like i have at some point (with a couple exceptions) probably shipped most couples (exhibit a: emily with...everyone)

   ➵ i don’t like labels! 

   ➵ i have a very, very poor memory. i tend to remember tiny, inconsequential things, and not big events

   ➵ i have a very strong habit of mimicking people i like, so if you see me suddenly pick up something (ie keysmash or an emoji i’m abusing) it’s probably from that! feel free to send me an ask and i’ll tell you who!

   ➵ i tend to call you guys terms of endearment. could be any of the following and more: mi amor, my love, babe, bub, babes, love, etc etc. if it makes you uncomfortable, tell me to stop!

 ➵ i like hanging out on y’all’s blogs because i like y’all. if i ever make you uncomfortable in any way or do something that i missed in the rules of your blog, just tell me and i will amend myself!

   ➵ techically i’m multifandom, but the majority of it will be criminal minds, 911 (lone star or normal), or law and order: svu.

other fandoms i talk about: mcu, veronica mars, harry potter (barely), taylor swift, percy jackson (on the occasion), b99, the good place, wonder woman, and more that i probably am forgetting.

 ➵ occasionally, you might see me incoherently babbling about something (most recently it was carrie underwood). feel free to fuel my fire or just ignore me. i’ll be back to normal in a bit.

    ➵ i operate on est, but really that doesn’t mean anything, i here at all hours and no hours. 

    ➵my name is pronounced “ee-vuh” but at this point i will probably respond to any variation of it

    ➵ i talk a lot. like a lot a lot. i don’t really talk to people irl, and as a result of this i developed this ramble-y style talk which is fun ! it extended to the internet which means that something i could say in six words is said in six paragraphs.

    ➵ although i personally ship most things, i know a lot of people don’t! therefore any ship thing will be tagged accordingly (ie with the ship name). i don’t really talk about most ships if not in reblogs (w/ the exception of morcia) so you should be safe from untagged rambles

   ➵ i bounce very quickly between things. this includes (but is not limited to): themes, projects, writing, my imposter syndrome, school work. one moment it is all i can think about, the next i simply could not be bothered to think about the thing.

     ➵ this is a safe space. hate will not be tolerated towards anyone. you want attention by getting blocked, come to me, baby, i gotchu.

    ➵ we don’t do racism, transphobia, antisemitism, homophobia, xenophobia, sexism, misogyny, ableism, or anything like that similar here. 

    ➵ i’d rather you keep it sfw

    ➵ if you don’t think criminal minds, or any other show like it, is copaganda and shouldn’t be treated as such, read this post and if you are still iffy on the matter please come talk to me and i will tell you about this.

now, in no way am i trying to take away from your likes! you cannot choose hyperfixations, but you still need to see when something is at fault with it.

    ➵ asks and anon is on! please send me stuff, i love talking, i just don’t initiate because i have mad amounts of anxiety 🧍‍♀️

    ➵ pms are open, but i am very slow to getting to these/ don't even get the notification for it in the first place, so take that into consideration!

     ➵i cross-post to my ao3 so there’s nothing there that’s not here, but it’s normally formatted better if you want to check that out. i may(???) be posting some multi stuff there but probably not 

   ➵ i don’t do well with great big blocks of text (this is ironic), my brain just kinda >>>>> over it and i just read the beginning and end. you can either bold important stuff, italicize it, break it up, anything. the main thing here is needing something to catch my eyes on.

    ➵ i am getting increasingly worse at reading tone in writing, so as a curtesy, if you see something that could be misinterpreted another way, if you could use tone indicators, i’d thank you!!

    ➵ tone indicators:

  /nbh, /gen = nobody here, just a general statement

➵ i try to be as kind and as accepting as possible, but i am pretty privileged. if anything i say is offensive in any way, please! tell me!!

#i’m looking the make a world record for the longest about me post on this platform #i think have a real chance for it #/j but wow this is excessive #it’s amazing how much i can talk but how little i can say #navigation

[the-yancied-piper]

twig.

Summary: Eric never seemed okay after his father visited. He also never wanted to talk about it. Yancy decides to find out why. 

Notes: AU in which Eric Derekson is at Happy Trails, probably due to some terrible shit his dad had him framed him for (*coughs* basically my brain needed an excuse to put Yancy and Eric in the same setting so they can be SIBLINGS and also SOFT)

Words: 2,267

Pairings: none, but Yancy has unofficially adopted Eric

Warnings: verbal abuse; implied abuse (including Yancy); yelling; cursing; mentions of death

Tag list: @dorks-in-fiction @thunderstruck-owl-gal @ambigiousgelpens @beth-bunkus @a-tempest-in-a-teapot @thegirlwhoescapedgallifrey19

AO3 link: Read it here!

                                                 *     *     *     *     *

                Third Sunday. Visitation Day. Most of the inmates had somebody to see. Some of them didn’t.

                Technically, Yancy didn’t need to be at a booth. He knew nobody was coming for him. And Gerald, the notoriously sympathetic prison guard, knew that technically the inmates weren’t allowed at a booth unless somebody was already there to talk to them. But Yancy had insisted that he thought someone might come today, I haven’t seen my aunt in ages, and youse can never be too sure, and Gerald knew in his heart that Yancy’s aunt wouldn’t come, and that just crushed his little heart even more. How could he say no?

                So Yancy sat in his booth, staring at the glass pane in front of him. The phone to his right hung on the wall, untouched. Gerald was too easy to exploit. He didn’t even have an aunt.

                Ignoring the odd feeling in his chest at the collective hum of his friends laughing into their phones, flirting with their partners, and the occasional “I love you too”s, Yancy sat and tried to listen to the conversation happening five feet to his left. 

                “—didn’t mean it, I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m really—please—please let me talk. I—“

                Eric’s thin voice quavered through the air, sounding as if it couldn’t quite get enough buoyancy to carry itself all the way to Yancy’s ears. He furrowed his brow. 

                Eric had only had a visitor twice since he’d arrived, but both those times, Yancy recalled, he’d gotten oddly quiet. After his first visit, he hadn’t wanted to look anyone in the eye. The second time, Yancy had casually asked who was visiting him and the kid nearly jumped out of his skin. He’d stammered out something about how happy he was to see his dad and gave a halting laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. Then he didn’t talk for three days. Yancy had filed that away in the ever-growing list of Things He Weren’t Too Sure He Liked About the Old Man. Now, he took note of the anxious voice in the adjacent booth.

                “I know, dad. I know. Please— I know it was my f—”  Eric kept halting, interrupted frequently by a crackly burst of static that rose and fell in pitch like a jagged line. His dad was yelling something, but Yancy couldn’t tell what. Furtively glancing around to make sure no eyes were on him, he carefully scooted his chair a few inches to the left.

                Eric’s sentences were incomplete and nearly incoherent, full of pleas and apologies. He seemed to be growing increasingly more breathless. Yancy could hear the wince in his voice every time that sharp burst came through the phone. He could just barely make out the words “disgrace” and “pathetic”. His fists clenched. He quietly moved another half foot, and the crackle took shape:

                “—day goes by where I don’t wonder where the hell I went wrong with you … never did a goddamn useful thing for me or ma … brothers would be ashamed to look at you and your … waste of time and energy, you ungrateful tard, no you let me talk … never listened to me, never could just fucking listen … your own fuckin’ fault you’re here, you piece of—”

                Eric’s halted breaths started to sound more like sobs, and Yancy decided he had heard just about enough. He shot up from his chair and started to move toward Eric when Gerald stepped in front of him.

                “Hey, where do you think you’re goin’? I don’t mean to be too stern, but visitations are one-on-one, personal business.”

                Yancy’s jaw twitched. “Don’tcha hear what’s happenin’? Look at Twig. Look at ‘im! He’s shakin’ like a… twig!” He pointed at Eric, whose reedy body was quaking with either fear or repressed sobs. It was hard to tell, but it didn’t matter. Yancy could see the man on the other side now, his face red and his mustached lip curled into a snarl.

                “I’m sorry, but you can’t just interrupt people’s precious time with their loved ones,” Gerald protested, putting an arm out. “That’s just not in our rules and it’s very rude, besides.”

                “Listen to what’s happenin’! Does he look like he’s enjoyin’ his ‘precious time’ with that asshole? Huh!?”

                “It’s not anybody’s business what people talk about in their private conversations—“

                “It’s my business, and that bastard ain’t makin’ nothing private. Twig. Twig! Four-Eyes!” Yancy shouted, trying to get Eric’s attention. The teen seemed paralyzed, transfixed on his dad’s furious face, his lips quivering but releasing no sound.

                “Hey now, keep your voice—hey—”

                “Eric!”

                Eric flinched and his head snapped to Yancy. “I—I, um,” he began to stammer, his eyes flitting back and forth between his tattooed friend and his father.

                “Yancy, you need to step back now,” Gerald said, getting visibly frustrated.

                “Eric, hang up that phone,” said Yancy. “Hang up.”

                “B-but, I—we’re—I can’t.”

                “Yes, you can.”

                “Yancy, step back.”

                “What’s he gonna do ta you? He can’t do nothin’. You hang up that phone.”

                “I…”

                “Yancy.”

                Mr. Derekson pounded his side of the glass with his fist and Eric jumped and whimpered. “Listen to me when I’m talking to you, you little…”

                Yancy felt a hand applying force to his chest and he slapped it away, marching forward. He snatched the phone from Eric’s white-knuckled grip and pressed it to his mouth, locking eyes with that bastard. “I’m the warden,” he growled through gritted teeth. “And your time is up.”

                “Wh— you can’t do that, I’m talking to my son—”

                Yancy slammed the phone into the receiver, still staring Eric’s father dead in the eye. His arm had protectively wrapped around Eric’s shoulder, and he gently squeezed it. “C’mon, Twig. C’mon.”

                Derek Derekson’s mouth worked uselessly for a few moments, and his tomato face turned even redder. Suddenly he began shouting expletives so loud, Yancy could hear him through the glass and he was certain the rest of the prisoners could too. He felt Eric trembling under his hand. “Hey. Let’s go. I know you got workin’ legs. Let’s go.”

                Eric tried to breathe, and got out of his chair. The two of them made to leave when they were halted by a distinctly not-Gerald prison guard with a stern expression.

                “You, sir, have violated Happy Trails’ visitation policy,” she said, pointing a finger in Yancy’s face, “and you hurt Gerald’s feelings. You are receiving an official reprimand—”

                “Hey, hey!” Yancy got in the guard’s face and pointed right back at her. “I violated nothin’, and youse ain’t givin’ me no reprimands, y’hear?”

                “Excuse me?”

                “You heard me,” Yancy yelled. “The only one violatin’ anything here is that fuckface violatin’ Twig’s sanity, and if any of youse had half a brain, that bastard would be in here and my lil’ bro would be out in the world livin’ a normal and happy life! You hear me? Fuck your reprimands. Let’s go, Twig.” He shouldered roughly past the guards, Eric in tow, ignoring the startled and curious heads that had turned in their direction.

                No words were exchanged on their way to the exercise yard. Yancy only heard Eric’s laboured breathing and thought of every way he could string Derek up from the rafters of a twenty-story apartment.

                The yard was mostly empty, save for two men speaking in hushed tones off to the side, and a few security guards dotting the perimeter. Many of the inmates were still having their visits, and those who weren’t opted to sleep in their cells. Yancy found a bench and sat Eric down. He saw tear tracks on the kid’s face and thought of Jimmy punching Derek through a brick wall. He kept his arm around his shoulder.

                They sat for an unspecified time while Eric breathed, and breathed. Yancy knew better than to keep track, or to try to force him to talk before he was ready.

                Sobs turned to gasps, and gasps to pants. Eventually, Eric let out a long, slow exhale. A deep breath, and another. He still trembled slightly, like a blade of grass just brushed by a breeze.

                “I’m—I’m sorry,” Eric said finally. “Sorry I didn’t hang up.”

                “Youse got nothin’ to be sorry about.” Yancy kept his voice soft. “I got a bit riled up in there, but it wasn’t ‘cause o’ you.” He turned to look at Eric’s face. “How you doin’?”

                Eric was silent for a few beats, his eyes fixed on nothing in the distance. “I don’t know.”

                “Hey. I told you I wouldn’t let nobody hurt you as long as you’re here. Remember that?”

                A few more beats. “Yeah.”

                “That includes your asshole dad. He don’t have to be in here to hurt you, and I don’t have to be out there to stop him from hurtin’ you. And… you don’t have to be out there either.”

                “H-huh?”

                “To stop him, I mean. You can hang up.”

                Eric opened his mouth to protest and Yancy squeezed his shoulder.

                “Yes, you can. That ain’t against no rules. You can always hang up. An’ if you can’t, just gimme a shout. I’ll hang up for you.”

                Eric took another deep breath. “Thank you.”

                “Don’ mention it.”

                They sat in silence. Yancy removed his arm and clasped his hands in front of him, absentmindedly tracing his tattoos and staring at the fence on the far end of the yard. He tried and failed not to think of what he’d heard Derek say, and the desperate way Eric fumbled to find words in the face of his rage. Pathetic. Waste of time and energy. Your own fuckin’ fault. Where had he heard those words before? he thought bitterly. He knew that rage. He knew that fear. He knew the way those words wormed their way into the deepest, most animal parts of the brain and coiled tightly around the ribs, the way they could poison a person from the inside out. He swallowed and calmed himself by thinking of Derek getting run over by a Jeep, repeatedly. The Jeep, in his mind’s eye, just happened to be situated around himself.

                “Hey, uh…” Yancy ventured after a few moments. “Your dad. He always talk to you like that?”

                Eric stared at his own hands. “Not—not all the time, but. Sometimes. A lot. Yeah.”

                Yancy nodded and ran a tongue along his teeth.

                “B-but,” Eric scrambled, “he’s not—we’re both.” A breath. “He lost everything too. Not just me. And I’m—I’m—he’s not in jail. I’m here. And he’s not. And everything’s really, really hard. B-because of me.”

                “Hey, now. Hey.” Yancy didn’t think anything was Eric’s fault for a damn second, and he blinked and saw his hands around that fat, veiny neck, squeezing—he blinked again, forcing himself to speak through the ringing in his ears. “You know what I think about all that.” 

                He didn’t, actually. Yancy had puzzled some pieces together and figured the kid’s narcissistic dad was to blame for most of what had happened to his family, but he’d refrained from shoving Eric into that reality. The first step was just trying to get him to see that he wasn’t as terrible and worthless as his dad had convinced him he was. He knew it would take more than his own opinion to change his mind, but hell. He had to do something.

                Eric cleared his throat. “Hey, um… when… you were yelling at security,” he ventured. “Did—I thought—it sounded like you said… brother...” He faltered.

                Fuck. Yancy felt himself tense. He had said that, hadn’t he?

                “L-little brother,” Eric supplied.

                “You, ah… you misheard.”

                “Oh.”

                Fuck. He scrambled to correct himself. “It was lil bro, if we’re gettin’ technical.” He turned to look at Eric, thin as a reed—twig. His Twig, who was currently blinking back tears. Yancy felt his brain fumble. He was supposed to make him feel at home, like family, and he was screwing it up. Your fault. Pathetic.

                “I miss my brothers so much,” Eric whispered, and Yancy’s brain shut up for a moment. Eric removed his glasses and pressed his fingers into his eyes. “I’ve never missed anyone so badly in my life.”

                Yancy swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat without permission. He watched Eric run a hand down his face and put his glasses back on.

                “But—Merrick was the nicest,” he continued. “I remember once… Sterick and Therick had put firecrackers in a dead mouse and set it off just to scare me. I got yelled at for it, cause they—they ran off, and there were bloodstains on my clean overalls, and… Merrick helped me clean up the mess. He never blamed me for anything, or blew up any rodents. He just helped me clean up. He washed my clothes for me. He swept up the barn. He did things like that a… a lot.”

                Eric looked at Yancy for the first time since they’d come outside. “You—you’re a lot like Merrick. I think you’d like him lots.”

                Yancy rubbed his neck and looked away, choosing to stare intently at a blade of grass. “Ah, I don’t… I don’t think I can match up to any o’ your brothers. Well. Some of ‘em, maybe. But,” he chuckled, “I’m just a regular scumbag lookin’ out for a lil’ twig who’d snap in two if someone weren’t watchin’ him.”

                A silence.

                Then a soft, “Thank you, Yance.”

                “Anytime, Twig.”

                And he meant it. 

#summary: my brain thought 'yancy and eric found family au' and went hog wild #yancy #eric derekson #ahwm #my writing #11 07 2019 #prison brothers au

[smol-and-grumpy]

Better Than Fiction

This fic is a re-post.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Summary: You were reading Dean Winchester fan fictions to pass the time. The fic is still very much on your mind when Jensen came home. So much that you let things slip out of your mouth that should have stayed inside.

Warnings: Smut (dirty talk, masturbation, daddy kink (?))

WC: 2228

Fiction is in italics.

She sits on the edge of the bed, her wetness sweeping onto the bed sheet, probably ruining it, but she couldn’t care less. Dean undresses himself before her very eyes and her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip at the sight. The dim light from the motel’s bedside lamp illuminates the room, bringing out the muscle in Dean’s perfect sculptured body when he finally turns to her, letting her see all of him. All of his adonis-like body that was covered with little scars and she loves each and everyone of them. Some of them, she helped patching up, some of them, were from her, from the time when she went dark and tried to kill him. But every time Dean would bring her back, his voice would soothe the way and guide her back from the darkness into light.

You let out an audible sigh, gripping tight at your phone as you felt a tingly sensation running down your spine and ending up at your core. The writer wasn’t wrong. You always felt speechless when you saw Jensen naked. He had less scars than Dean, but he’s not a hunter now, was he? He just played one on television.

He walks closer. Slowly making his way over to her. Too slowly for her liking but what can she do about it. Dean likes to take his time. Always had. He moves as if he’s the predator and she was his prey. And honestly, she’s more than ok with that. His chest heaving and sinking with every breath he takes. His eyes dark with lust and his lips curves into a smile that means nothing but trouble.

Oh, god, yes.

Your fingers scrolled down on your phone display, eager to read more. Jensen liked to take his time too, but only if said time is available. Normally it’s much quicker but only because they were both so turned on and honestly, the weekends when he’s home, time can be a real bitch and it’s more of a rush. You really can’t wait for the hiatus. Anticipating the slow love making that could drag on for days.

It shouldn’t surprise her anymore to find his body sprinkled with faint freckles. But it always does. It never ceases to amaze her and she always hoped that he’ll let her play connect the dots when they were done.

These writers really have wide imagination. But again, they ain’t wrong.

Dean cups her chin with his index finger and thumb to tilt her head up to be able to look into his beautiful emerald eyes. ‘You ready for Daddy, baby girl?’ He asks, his voice raspy and full of need. And she looks up to him, her eyes sparkling with want.

Fuck.

Daddy? Were you really going to go there? When you clicked on the fan fiction, you didn’t notice the Daddy Kink tag and now you’re too invested to get out. But do you really wanna get out, though? It was weird already, reading a fic about Dean. Well, not really weird but it’s actually Jensen who plays Dean and if he knew, he’d probably be mad. Or maybe he’d laugh at you. You don’t know but you really want to see where this is going. You bite down on your bottom lip, contemplating if you should carry on with what you started. “Oh fuck it,” You muttered to yourself as your thumb dragged the fan fiction to the next page.

‘Yes, Daddy,’ She swallows down the excess saliva that build up in her mouth. Dean’s cock is just inches from her face, the smell of precum intruding but so alluring, ‘I want you, I want my Daddy to fuck my face and then I want you to fuck me senseless…please,’

Oh boy, you were really going there, weren’t you?

You sat upright on the couch, your heart beating just a fraction faster than before and you could feel the stickiness dripping out of your core. Getting off the couch, you walked up to the bedroom, thinking about reading the rest in bed where you could do things to you, because this fan fiction is a whole other level.

‘That’s right,’ Dean grins his predatory grin, ‘tell me what you want me to do to you, baby girl. What you want Daddy to do to you,’ He waves his erection in front of her lips and moves a little closer, the precum smeared tip now grazing her lips, painting on it like lipstick with a liquid so sticky sweet, ‘Do you want Daddy’s cock? Want Daddy to fuck you good, plow that enormous dick into your tight little cunt, huh?’

Ok, but that almost made you giggle.

It was slightly too much dirty talk and Jensen would never say things like that, not that you wanted him to. And honestly, how do they know that Dean - well, Jensen - has a big dick? You wouldn’t use the word enormous, but yeah, it was big and it was glorious and just thinking about it made your skin prickle with anticipation. When will he be back? The flights got delayed and you’ve been waiting so long already and you don’t even know how you wound up looking for Supernatural fan fictions on the internet but here you were, adding fuel to your arousal that doesn’t seem to cease.

‘Open up, baby,’ Dean purrs and she did what she was told, opening up her mouth just enough for him to sink in the tip of his cock, the tang of precum salty weird but oh, so familiar on the tip of her tongue. She closes her lips around his head, sucking in all the precum she could, and Dean let out a growl of desperation. She opens up wider, enough for him to sink half of his cock into her wet, awaiting mouth, ‘yeah, that’s it, baby. Just like that, good girl. Always good for Daddy.’ She loves when he praises her, the praise sending arousal right to her core.

Of course she would be a good girl. Dammit. You got out of your pants and tossed them somewhere on the floor. Your panties followed suit and then you were lying there, clutching your phone in your one hand as the other one threaded through your slick, touching you where you wanted to be touched most, right in this moment.

“Babe, I’m home!”

The familiar rumbling bass of his voice came from downstairs, making you jolt up in bed. You tossed your phone next to you as you tried to scramble to your panties and jeans, putting them on before he would be here but it was too late. Damn him and his long legs and the way he always took three flights of stairs at a time.

The door swings open and a bearded, smiling Jensen was looking at you from underneath his cap. They wrapped up a little more than a week ago but he stayed behind to sort out some things with his apartment and honestly, this had been the longest you’ve been apart from him.

“What are you up to?” He came in and closed the door behind him as he dropped his cap onto the bed. You’ve had a hard time covering up your modesty, trying to act normal - well, as normal as you could with a bare crotch and the blush in your cheeks.

And Jensen knew, oh how he knew, because he was strolling over to your side of the bed with a stupid grin on his face.

“Babe, you couldn’t wait? Had to start the party without me?” He tried to sound disappointed but you knew that he wasn’t. Not in the slightest.

“I…uh…” Your brain worked overtime, trying to build up phrases that could get you out of this situation - or at least make it less embarrassing for you. You couldn’t tell him that you’ve read Dean fan fiction and it got you all hot and bothered, could you?

“I’m sorry, I was just… I’ve waited so long already,” You said, grinning as his hand caressed your legs. The touch was electrifying, making you weak in your knees and you were glad that you weren’t standing up.

Jensen moved you, scooting your ass close to the edge of the bed before he bent over you, his lips claiming your mouth as if it was his. It was, technically. Never been anybody else’s since he laid eyes on you. Never wanted to be anyone else’s.

“Fuck,” He growled low, the sound desperate and needy as he ground his clothed crotch into your soaking pussy, rubbing his erection against your wet heat and making you whimper something incoherent. What are words? They were too overrated, “I want to do so many things to you,” He kissed a trail down your jaw, “but I gotta be in you, feel your tight warmth, alright, baby?”

Was that a question you needed to answer? You didn’t know because you couldn’t.

Jensen’s shaking hands found his belt and undid it quickly, his fingers unbuttoning his pants hastily before he dragged the fabric of his jeans and underwear down, his leaking and very much big cock springing free, slapping wetly against his stomach.

He took his time to marvel at you, your dripping pussy glistening in the daylight that shone through the bedroom window. “I would love to taste that, but I’m going to do it later. Now? I just need to be inside of you.”

Fine by you, really.

Jensen fisted his hard cock, running it through your slick, coating the head of it with your juice before he lined up just at your entrance and sank in. Slowly at first until he was halfway in, making the both of you moan out. “So good,” He panted, pulling out again so that only the tip was still inside of you and you whimpered at the loss.

He looked you in the eye, smirking mischievously, before he pushed his hips forward, slamming home in one clean stroke, making you yelp and moan the word that should not be said aloud. “Ah..D-daddy…” It came out before you realized it and you quickly slammed your hands over your mouth, eyes wide agape as Jensen froze inside of you.

“What?” He asked, almost out of breath.

Your heart started to race and all the blood rushed up to your head.

“What?” You countered him, asking him the same question to distract him and you weren’t even sure if he heard it because your hands were still over your mouth.

“What did you just say?” Jensen was still inside of you, he lazily circled his hips just so he won’t get out of rhythm.

You knew that there’s no escape. He heard it and you will never be able to live this down. Oh, Jensen would make sure of that, alright. So the only rational thing to do is to remove your hands from your mouth and face the imminent embarrassment.

“I..uh…” You stammered, “I’m sorry, I read this Daddy Kink Dean fan fiction and I guess I couldn’t shake it off.”

He frowned at you at first because he told you before that he didn’t like for you to go snoop on the internet and read fan fictions. So, you were expecting that he would abort his mission and give you hell for doing it.

“Dean fan fiction? Really?” He asked, his movement completely stilled now.

“I’m sorry. In my defense, it wasn’t Jensen. It was Dean and he apparently likes to be called Daddy in that fan fiction and I was too invested to stop reading.” No matter what you would say, there’s no escape out of the hole you just dug yourself in.

Jensen said nothing for a whole minute and when he opened his mouth again, he started to chuckle, leaning down to kiss you. His tongue grazed at your teeth before he sucked in your bottom lip and opened up wider for him to claim your sweet mouth. He parted after, his forehead still resting on yours, “It’s ok. I didn’t know you’re into it.” He said gently, and then he stood upright, pulling at your top on the way up and twirled his fingers around your nipples, coaxing out moans that sounded a lot like ‘Daddy’ but you managed to bite on your tongue. He rested his hand on your thighs as he pushed them apart and up, almost folding you in half.

“I’m not!” You protested loudly.

“Really?” Jensen did the thing again, where he looked at you with raised eyebrows and that look in his eyes.

“Fuck…” You let out a frustrated groan, “..ok, yeah, maybe I do like it a little bit? Are you satisfied now?”

Jensen threw his head back and laughed out loud and it took him a moment to compose himself. He cleared his throat then, trying to speak but he was still laughing with tears in his eyes.

“I actually am satisfied with your confession, yes. Now, let’s see how many times Daddy can make you come, shall we, baby girl?” He winked and grinned devilishly, one of his hand cupped your pussy, thumbing at your nub before he pulled his dick out to just the tip again and slammed into you, making you choke out another “Daddy…”

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x reader #jensen ackles fic #jensen ackles fan fic #jensen ackles fan fiction #jensen ackles x you #jensen x you #jensen x y/n #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles smut #nathalie writes

[peteerrpaarkerr]

Day and Night (Peter Parker Soulmate AU) pt. 2

Summary: When Tony Stark first saw his newborn daughter’s soulmate marking, he was thrilled to know that she would get to experience a love like his and Pepper’s. However, 17 years later when Tony sees an identical tattoo on his daughter’s best friend/superhero protégé, Peter Parker, he vows to keep y/n safe by not allowing them to realize that their futures are intertwined.

Pairings: Peter Parker x y/n, Pepper x Tony (slight)

Warnings: None :)

Author’s Note: Wow, guys, I am overwhelmed by the response I’ve received from this fic! I can’t thank you enough for the nice messages and notes that y’all have left me! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy the next part!

Also, as I was writing this next chapter, I decided to change the focus up a bit. It will mainly be a Peter Parker x y/n fic, but I’m also going to add some development for Tony and Pepper. I hope you guys enjoy this!!

If you want to be tagged for this story, please message me!

Part One: https://peteerrpaarkerr.tumblr.com/post/185697917739/day-and-night-peter-parker-soulmate-au-pt-1

////////////////////////////////

“Uh, Mr. Stark? Is something wrong?” Peter asked, referring to Tony’s blank stare towards his upper back. Peter turned his head over shoulder to see Tony’s eyes trained on his soulmate tattoo: a dark grey, full moon. 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter said, his mouth turning upwards into a soft smile, “that’s just my soulmate tattoo. I think most everyone has one.” 

Tony’s eyes blinked rapidly as he focused in on Peter’s words, snapping back into reality. “Huh, interesting.” Tony mumbled quietly, stepping back from Peter and turning around to walk back to his computer station. 

Peter cocked his head to the left in confusion. Sure, his soulmate marking was in an odd spot, but the mark itself was normal. It couldn’t have been that weird to become speechless over. Then, a thought occurred to Peter. 

“Mr. Stark, have you seen someone with the same tattoo I have?” Peter questioned excitedly. Tony froze in his spot, thankful that he was facing the other direction, not where Peter could discern his fear. 

“No, I haven’t,” Tony deadpanned, “I just thought it looked unique, that’s all.” 

Peter’s shoulders slumped. He hadn’t had any luck in finding his soulmate like Ned and MJ had. MJ met her soulmate at the library while she was debating a topic with the librarian. She had (not so subtly) slammed her fist on the counter in protest, and her soulmate walked by and happened to see an identical bird on her wrist. Ned and Betty were sitting together on a flight to Venice when he noticed a small marking on her collarbone of a computer monitor, and the rest was history. 

Peter yearned to find his significant other like they had. However, at the same time, he was scared to let down his soulmate. He wasn’t sure if he would always be able to protect them with him being Spider-Man and all. He constantly had a target on his back, so he chose not to pursue seeking them out. To him, ignorance was bliss... at least, an impatient, terrifying bliss. 

A heavy silence controlled the room, the tension obvious between the two. Both were lost in their own thoughts regarding Peter’s soulmate marking. After a few painful minutes, Tony cleared his throat. “Alright, kid, I’ve got everything I need for now. You can go,” Tony stated, still not making eye contact with Peter. 

Peter slipped back on his shirt and walked out, hunched over in thought. Something was odd about the situation, but he couldn’t place what was different. 

Maybe Tony is just concerned about me meeting my soulmate, Peter thought. It’s a challenge to protect them with being Spider-Man and all. 

As soon as Peter left the room, Tony collapsed into his chair. 

He couldn’t process the fact that his only child, his y/n, had Peter Parker as her soulmate. The fact that Peter had been so close to y/n the past four years and that he had not bothered to check began to haunt him. 

He knew from the moment he met Peter that there was something special, something different about him, and now he was starting to realize it wasn’t just the spider bite. 

-----------

“And then Thor ripped the pancake out of Clint’s hand, but he looked ridiculous because he was wearing that pink apron you made me when I was 8!” 

Your mother’s laughter rang like church bells as you told her what went on in the kitchen that morning. You could picture her clutching her stomach while her head fell forward, shaking from each giggle. Her eyes would be sparkling and a smile would be plastered on her face. 

“I remember making that! We had a matching set… why didn’t he just wear the one that fit me?” Your mother inquired joyfully. 

“I don’t know, mom… he’s quite the character.” You sighed, lightly biting your lip, thrilled to be able to talk to her for the first time in 5 months. 

An awkward silence fixed itself into your conversation. You knew that it was painful for your mother to talk to you after all that had happened, but you couldn’t help yourself. It was your birthday after all and you missed her more than anything in the world. 

“Mom,” you mumbled, pausing for a second from uncertainty, “do you.. are you planning on coming home anytime soon?”

You could hear your mother take in a sharp breath, mumbling something incoherent. Your heart dropped when she didn’t answer immediately. 

“Sweetheart… you know the situation. I can’t come back right now. It’s not safe for me.” 

You let out a sigh in disappointment even though you already knew the answer would be “no”. This was the seventh time you had asked her to come home. You had begged, bargained, pleaded, cried even, but no form of persuasion worked. You hadn’t seen her in person in two years. 

“Y/n, I need to go, but I love you so much. I hope that I will be able to see you again someday.” Pepper said quietly. 

“I love you too, mom.” You replied, holding back sudden tears that tried to escape. You ended the call and laid back on your bed, recalling the past.

All that you remembered the last time you had seen your mom was when she walked into your room crying. She kneeled down on the floor next to your bed, her throat swollen and bruised, and she clasped your hands in her own. She called you “sweetheart”, something she always did when she discussed something disheartening with you, and she told you that she had fallen out of love with your father and that she had to leave. While you sat there in shock, unable to protest as your mind worked to comprehend what she had said, she gave you a firm hug, kissed you on the cheek, and walked out of the door. 

Over the course of the following months, you and Tony both were struggling to cope with the absence of your mom. Tony spent his days in the lab, making unnecessary adjustments to already perfect software and suits. Night after night you could find Tony in the Avengers Tower bar refusing to talk to anyone, until Bruce and Steve confronted him about his unhealthy habits. Slowly, the team began to bring back your dad through pep talks, bargains, and, in one case, a slap to the face (given by Natasha of course). He finally began to laugh again, and put his focus into you and the team. He was doing well. 

You, on the other hand, were not doing so well. You were terrified and confused about why your mom left. Luckily, however, Peter was there to comfort you. You spent days sulking around the Tower and school, and nights sobbing yourself to sleep. But Peter was there for all of it. He helped you with your classes, walked with you as you aimlessly do everything, and held you as you cried. It took you a few weeks to properly come back, but Peter told you how proud he was of you for being so strong every day. 

When you finally were back to as normal as you could be given your situation, you found yourself having dinner with the team and your dad, laughing because Bucky finally called out Steve on hypocritically saying “language” despite just having let out a string of cuss words. Steve’s faced was flush as he tried to utter out an excuse but everyone was howling with laughter. As everyone began to finish their dinner, F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke up, alerting Tony that there had been a security threat trying to penetrate the Tower. The team immediately jumped up from their seats and raced to put on their gear, and you ran into the lab to act as “the girl in the chair”.

You put on your headset, cracked your knuckles, and began relaying information to the team about the attacker’s whereabouts. After a short amount of time, the threat was 96% diminished, with only one more intruder running around the building. You checked the Tower map and saw that the last figure was near where Steve was stationed, so you began to alert him over the headset when all of a sudden, you were put in a chokehold and pulled out of your seat. 

You gasped and tugged at the attacker’s arms, realizing that you had made the mistake of not checking your own location. You couldn’t fight back as well as the other Avengers because even though you were trained, you didn’t have powers nor a suit to combat the attacker’s strength and weaponry. You just operated the systems. 

“Listen, lady,” a gruff voice yelled in your ear, “tell us where the plans are and we’ll let Stark, your dad, live.” He ripped off your fake intern lanyard, having known that it was a fake.

You let out a strangled cry, realizing that he knew your identity. Pepper and Tony had agreed when you were born to not let you be seen in public with them until you were old enough to pass as an intern or lab worker. This allowed for you to be kept safe and up until now, it had worked flawlessly.

The man holding you back began to threaten you when all of a sudden a gunshot was heard and you were dropped to the floor. You coughed, taking in huge breaths as you tried to make up for the oxygen you had lost. Bucky, who had shot the man, rushed over to you and picked you up onto your feet. You looked behind you at the computer, saw that the threats were 100% eliminated, and fell into his arms, passed out. 

A few days after everything had calmed down, your father sat you down to discuss further precautions. You told him how the agent knew you were his daughter and Tony immediately recoiled. You knew he had done everything in his power to keep you (and Pepper when she was there) safe, but it wasn’t always perfect. You immediately hugged your father and reassured him that the agent had probably made a lucky assumption, that no one else knew you were his daughter besides the team. 

However, as Tony hugged you back, you didn’t know that what he was most terrified of is that he was afraid he would lose you the same way he lost Pepper. 

But he wasn’t going to tell you how he actually lost her.

Your bedroom door opening brought you back to reality when an excited Peter walked in. “Y/n, do you want to go eat some thai food with Tony and I?” 

You smiled and nodded, heading out with Peter and forgetting your conversation with your mother. 

-------- 

You, Peter, and Tony sat around a table at your favorite Thai shop, quietly enjoying your dinner. The sounds of utensils clinking on dishware, light conversation from other customers, and the news station playing on the TV in the background added to the calm experience. 

“Thank you guys, this has been a pretty great birthday, and I just want to let you know that I appreciate this a lot! I know you both have been busy.” You exclaimed, subconsciously tugging at the fake intern lanyard around your neck.

“Of course, y/n! We wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Your dad replied, winking at you and nodding at Peter.

Your concentration on your food broke when you overheard the word “soulmate” being spoken by one of the newscasters. 

“-the rise of soulmate tattoos has increased with the new population of children being born. Rather than only four out of five people being born with a marking, we are now seeing that every nine out of ten people are lucky enough to share a tattoo with someone else out there.” 

You sat there watching the screen as the reporter presented numerical data over the story. They showed images of couples with matching tattoos and followed it up with the reporter showing their personal tattoo on their wrist and a wedding ring on their finger. You sighed, wishing that you had already found yours.

“I honestly thought I would’ve found my soulmate by now.” You stated, continuing to look at the TV screen. 

Tony choked on his water with wide eyes and dropped his fork onto the plate. Peter began patting Tony’s back as he tried to regain his composure, attempting to take in normal breaths. 

“You alright, dad?” You asked after Tony took a proper sip of his water. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” he replied hesitantly, leaving you to think nothing of the situation as you continued to pay attention to the news.

Peter, on the other hand, sensed something odd about the encounter, putting two-and-two together with the choking and “soulmate” mention. He noticed how Tony had reacted so strangely to seeing his soulmate tattoo earlier, and now his daughter mentioned the word and Tony flips out again. 

Not wanting to cause any trouble on your birthday, Peter kept his mouth shut. But he mentally told himself he would get to the bottom of it later.

--------

Peter and you walked along the streets of New York, reminiscing over your high school years and thinking about the future ahead. You were on your way to fill out your final forms for Empire State University since classes began in a few days. Peter and you, enrolling in similar majors, had the same 12 of 17 hours you both had elected to take your first semester. 

“Well, I’m going to be the professors’ favorite!” You exclaimed, smirking as you walked alongside Peter. “I’ll actually show up to class and be able to keep up my Avenger’s tasks.” 

Peter turned his head towards you, scoffing as he continued to walk. “Pfft, while I am doing actual Avengers work, and not just sitting in a chair taking orders, I’ll mentally prepare myself for studying for all of the classes that I’ll attend.” 

You swatted at Peter as he cheekily grinned. You both continued your banter back and forth as you got closer to campus before you heard a faint, yet familiar beep. 

Peter pulled you quickly to the side as your bracelets began beeping louder, signaling that an emergency was occurring. A hologram of Tony appeared and spoke out of the device. “Underoos, report back to Avenger’s tower immediately. Sunny Girl, keep walking to ESU and start Pete’s paperwork. There’s a quick H.Y.D.R.A. mess we’ve got to eliminate. He’ll be back before you finish yours.” 

“Alrighty, dad,” you replied, turning off the watch and looking at Peter. “Here, get in the alley. I’ll take your backpack when you leave.” 

Peter nodded quickly and you both walked to the closest alley. Peter handed his backpack to you and practically jumped into his suit. “I’ll see you in a few, y/n.” He said, touching the spider on the front of his suit to secure it. He gave you a fist bump and shot a web into the air, pulling himself into the New York skyline.

You continued walking towards campus alone, lost in thought as you wondered who Peter had to stop and thinking in depth about some of the tech you would develop when you arrived back at the tower. Unfortunately, you weren’t aware of the masked people lining the alley you were going to pass and the words whispered into the walkie talkie. 

“Spider-boy is out of the picture, continue with the deal. Get the Stark kid.” 

As you made your way past a few more streets, the ESU campus came into view and you grinned as you looked out. This was going to be you and Peter’s next adventure, and you could hardly contain your excitement for the opportunities that lay ahead. 

Before you crossed the last street heading into campus, a thick piece of cloth was shoved into your mouth and you were pulled by strong arms into the nearest alley. You tried to kick and scream, but before you realized what had occurred, a needle was jabbed into your arm and you quickly began to sink to the ground, darkness clouding your vision. 

//////////////

taglist: @eridanuswave @fandomfan315 @lcveyou3000 @cubedtriangle @asianravenpuff @adventurousbooknerd @ixchel-9275 @spidey-spooked

#peter parker #peter parker fic #peter parker soulmate #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker fandom #spiderman fic #spiderman #mcu #marvel fic #stark!reader #tony stark #pepper potts #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #y/n

[ayalaatreides]

Inori Does Something Reckless (Again)

Fandom: Nanbaka Rating: T Characters: Samon Gokuu, Inori Hakkai, Kiji Mitsuba, Kokoriki Daisen Pairing: Samon/Inori

It's late night at Nanba Prison, and Inori Hakkai is on his way to retrieve Samon Gokuu from a celebratory dinner at the Warden's tower. He figures it'll be a quiet trip back to Building 5. Just a nice, peaceful monorail ride across the prison, just him and his supervisor. Quiet, unremarkable, uneventful...

Yeah, right!

(Based on manga canon, takes place after the Enki jailbreak arc. So, if you haven't read the manga past where Season 2 of the anime ended, this proooobably isn't going to make a whole lot of sense :'D If you have not read the manga and you would like to do so, please visit when-will-i-sleep on tumblr for information on where to read it!)

Anyway, welcome to rarepair hell :3 Tagging @pinktatertots99​ because I KNOW she ships it. Also @deirdre-relatable​: not sure if you still ship this, but I’m tagging ya anyway :P

The call came in from Central at exactly 2:30am: a summons for someone, anyone, from Building 5 to come and collect one Supervisor Samon Gokuu from a certain celebratory function. Secretly, Inori Hakkai was a little relieved; with Samon out for the evening, he'd been left in charge of Building 5. Inori, being a simple man of simple ambitions which did not include real actual leadership duties, had been all too happy to hand things over to the Daisens.

"Keep an eye on the place, will ya? Hate to bail like this, but I gotta go bring the Supervisor back from Central. Can't be helped, ya know? Sorry!" Inori said, not remotely sorry at all.

"B-but, wouldn't it make more sense for one of us to go?" Kokoriki asked anxiously.

"Nah, you guys'll do fine! Good experience for ya, right?" Inori said, not missing a beat. Kokoriki uttered a whine but Inori was already out the office door and striding away down the hall. Tall as he was, his long steps took him quickly away from Kokoriki's protests, already fading to inaudibility behind him.

He wasn't wrong about that- the Daisens could use the solo experience if they wanted to move up the ranks someday. It wasn't his fault if letting them get a taste of leadership experience meant he got to slack off for a while, right?

Besides, from Central back to Building 5 was a monorail ride of at least thirty minutes, plus the time it'd take to get from the officers' dining room to the monorail station. Like hell was he going to hand over all that time with a certain someone to one of the Daisens.

Granted, he was on his way to retrieve one very tired and sleepy Supervisor. Booze had been involved, too, but the Supervisor was graced with an ironclad constitution and a rocket-like metabolism. Alcohol didn't stand a chance against the genetics of the Gokuu clan. He never stayed drunk for long, but he did get awfully tired. When removed from irritants, such as bald gorillas named Hajime, the Supervisor tended to conk out pretty quickly after drinking. The return trip across the prison was probably going to be a quiet and uneventful one. That was fine. That was enough.

It always was.

Inori watched Nanba's lights flash by in the dark as the monorail hummed along. His left shoulder ached a little where the prosthetic joined it, and the right shoulder ached from where that poor bastard Houzuki had impaled him. The scars and lost arm were a small price to pay. He'd done what he'd needed to do, even though his plan had failed. He couldn't have lived with himself if he hadn't at least tried. And it had all been worth it when he'd seen that confident look back where it belonged on the Supervisor's face.

It was Kiji, swaying on his feet and squinting blearily, who answered his knock when he arrived.

"Heya, Big Sis Kiji," Inori said with a wave. "I'm here to collect my supervisor."

"Ooh, good," Kiji sighed unsteadily, hand pressed daintily to contoured cheek. "He's been quite the troublemaker tonight!"

As he followed Kiji into the hall, there was a decidedly awkward air hanging over the place. The rest of the supervisors were all there, sitting around amidst scattered bottles and cups, the remnants of their celebratory dinner still on the table. A few of them were talking quietly amongst themselves, but most looked like they were ready to call it a night. The place had the tense air of a party that had stopped being fun very abruptly.

Kiji led him to a couch across the room. "He got into it with Hajime again and then he just... fell asleep right on his feet," he said, as delicately as he could muster in his inebriated state.

Sure enough, there was Samon, now stretched out facedown on the couch. Inori tsked and squatted down, patting the back of the orange-and-green hair.

"Ah, man... and this party was for him, too. Hey, Supervisor! You awake?" he asked. A muffled grumble answered him. Inori didn't let on that he was relieved; he'd been worried he'd have to carry Samon out of there. Not that he was opposed to such a plan in theory, but he wasn't interested in adding to Samon's current state of self-inflicted indignity. Not in front of his colleagues.

"C'mon, Supervisor, time to go," Inori said, shaking Samon's shoulder lightly. The grumbling got louder and grouchier as Samon pushed himself up on his elbows. He craned his head around and blinked owlishly at Inori, then mumbled something incoherent but vaguely questioning. Inori chuckled and said, "Yep, it's me. C'mon, now."

Inori got Samon to his feet and kept him upright with a hand around his bicep- he made sure that Samon was on his right side, away from the hard metal arm.

"Try to keep him out of trouble for a while, Inori," Kiji said amusedly.

"Hey now, Big Sis Kiji, you know I can't promise that," Inori jibed back. "I can make sure he sleeps this off, though."

"Good enough for now, I suppose," Kiji sighed.

Inori saluted with his free hand and shuffled Samon to the door. On his way out, he spotted Hajime slouched in an armchair. Their eyes met, and Hajime nodded once. Inori nodded back. He wasn't entirely sure where his Supervisor stood now with Building 13's infamous gorilla, but he was hopeful it'd sort itself out in time. Not that Building 5 needed Hajime's approval, of course, but it'd be nice for Samon to settle this grudge for good.

After a few minutes of slow and silent shuffling, Samon came to his senses a bit. "Where're we goin'?" he mumbled through a yawn.

"Back to Building 5, obviously!" Inori told him, clucking his tongue chidingly. "Jeez, Supervisor, they had this little party for your sake, you know? It was a welcome back party and all!"

"Didn't want it," Samon grumbled. "Not right. Aniki... should'a been here too... Inori, he's... Aniki is..." He stumbled and leaned heavily into Inori's side, grasping at his jacket. Inori glanced down at the top of Samon's bowed head, his good mood sobering. The Supervisor had been in a better state since that recent incident, but the pain of that day was still there. How could it not be? With everything that Samon had lost, with what he had seen in that hospital room...

Inori stopped walking.

"Why we stoppin'?" Samon slurred, head swinging from side to side as he looked around.

"The Central food court's not far from here. There's some places that're open all night," Inori said, an idea taking shape. "Let's go get you shaped up a little before we go back. It's already this late, right? Might as well stay up a little later." Plus, there was no need for their underlings to see the Supervisor in this state.

Since Samon was in no condition to pick anything, Inori hauled him to a 24-hour coffeeshop and ordered a decaf for each of them, along with a bunch of small scones. The cute girl at the register shot a concerned look at the slumped supervisor, then hurried off to make their coffees. She was nice enough to bring their coffee and scones to the booth where Inori had deposited Samon, scurrying away again after another worried glance.

Samon was slowly chewing through his second scone before he spoke up. "Got tired of being in charge tonight, Inori?" he said wryly, his voice a little hoarse.

Inori laughed. "Now what makes you say that, huh?"

"You could've sent someone else to get me," Samon pointed out.

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" Inori said. "Besides, I don't need to be in charge. Those Daisens, though, they're probably gonna move up the ranks someday. Gotta start learning sometime, right?"

"A deputy supervisor who hates supervising," Samon remarked. He sipped his coffee, then smirked slightly and added, "Sometimes I wonder why you're here, if it's that boring to you."

"I blame it on you, Supervisor. You're too much of a good influence," he remarked, giving a teasing salute with his coffee.

He wasn't entirely kidding; even he didn't quite know how he'd ended up as a deputy supervisor. His only goal had been to follow Samon as his subordinate; but Samon kept rising up the ranks, and Inori's choices had been to keep pace with him or be left behind and wind up someone else's subordinate. Obviously the second option wasn't acceptable so he'd managed to do the first, and he had no idea how he'd done it. He could only attribute it to Samon's uncanny ability to inspire people without even trying.

And now here he was, second in command of an entire building at the most advanced and highly classified maximum-security prison in the world. It was kind of ridiculous.

Once they'd finished their scones and coffee, Inori guided a more stable but still wobbling Samon to the monorail station. Every few steps, Inori heard another stifled yawn. Yep, that's the Supervisor, he thought bemusedly.

"Feeling better, Supervisor?" he asked as they waited.

"Yeah, a little... guess I needed that coffee, after all," Samon said. Even as he said it, he was swaying on his feet and squinting against the fluorescent lights of the station.

Inori chortled. "Maybe I should've gotten you another coffee, huh?"

"'m fine!" Samon protested, but a traitorous yawn tried to force its way through even as he said it.

They waited in silence for a moment, and then, so quietly that he almost didn't hear it: "Thanks for coming to get me."

Inori stared at the opposite wall of the station for a second, waiting for his lungs to remember how to breathe again. Well, shit, what was he supposed to say to that? None of the things he wanted to say, obviously. So he settled for, "Hey, it's my job to keep an eye on my supervisor, right?"

The monorail glided into the station, and Samon plunked himself onto the nearest bench seat and slouched down with his hand over his eyes. "Too bright in here," he groaned.

"Kinda brought that on yourself, Supervisor," Inori told him.

He settled into the seat next to Samon, arms stretched out across the backs of the seats- partly because it was comfortable, and partly because it put his right arm in a convenient location. The monorail hummed to life and glided smoothly out of the station, and its lights blinked into semi-darkness. Samon muttered in relief and laid his head back with his eyes closed, very nearly resting against Inori's arm. Convenient, indeed.

From the corner of his eye, Inori watched the passing lights reflect against Samon's hair. It was almost embarrassing, how warm and fuzzy the sight made him feel. When, he wondered, had he gotten so damn sentimental? When had he started feeling like this? It was improbable enough that Samon had managed to turn a reprobate mafia enforcer into a prison guard of more or less reputable character. Then again, maybe that was the secret behind it all. This was someone who had believed in him at his worst, and someone he could trust enough to believe in and follow loyally.

At some point, this sappy feeling had added itself to the mix, arriving so naturally and smoothly that he couldn't even pinpoint when it had happened. Obviously, he had no intention of doing anything about it. Just being there was enough.

"How's the arm?" Samon asked after a few minutes, apparently not having dozed off as Inori had assumed. His head was craned back to look up at Inori, eyes open- although, judging by his heavy eyelids, it looked like he was struggling a little in that department.

"You asked me that this morning, Supervisor. Still a little out of it, huh?" Inori said, bemused.

"I'm asking again, then."

"Well, now that it's healing up, I gotta say that it's pretty great," Inori said with a grin. He lifted his left arm off the seat back and wiggled his fingers, his glove and sleeve hiding the titanium-plated miracle of modern science beneath it.

Samon squinted blearily at it. After a pause, he said, "Can... can you... feel anything with it?"

"Sure can! A little, anyway. Doc Kazari called it, uh, biofeedback? Pretty fancy word, huh?" Inori said proudly.

"Biofeedback," Samon muttered. He stared at the hand for a few more seconds, then pulled his right glove off and held up his hand, fingers spread. "So, you could feel my hand with that?"

"Let's find out!" Inori said cheerfully. It was as good an excuse as any for physical contact. He didn't want to move his right arm from its premium location, so he tugged off his left glove with his teeth and let it fall into his lap, then reached over. He pressed the titanium fingertips against Samon's and, sure enough, he could feel it a little.

"'S not cold. I thought it'd feel cold," Samon mumbled. "Since it's metal and all..."

"The doc says it's like a cell phone, the parts inside heat it up or something like that," Inori said.

"What do you feel?" Samon asked, his eyes fixed on their fingertips.

"Not a whole lot. It's kinda like wearing a glove," he remarked. "Ah, well, better than nothing at all, right?"

"That doctor really is clever, I guess," Samon muttered. He kept his hand there for a few seconds longer before withdrawing it.

Inori sat back and flexed his new metal bicep. "Kinda makes me a cyborg now, right? Almost makes it worth losing the real one, huh?"

"The hell are you talking about? Obviously a real arm's better than a metal one," Samon retorted.

"Yeah, but this one'll sure make an impressive story to tell the ladies," Inori shot back with a grin. "Heroically sacrificing my arm to protect my building and my supervisor, huh? Not bad, right?"

Samon stared blankly at him. "You're gonna tell women about your arm getting cut off?" he asked, nose crinkling.

Well, when he put it like that... "N-not with all the gory details..." He paused, clearing his throat. "A-anyway, everyone knows battle scars are hot. Besides, the arm's super cool!"

"Ah, yeah, the arm really is an impressive piece of engineering," Samon agreed. Then he smirked and added, "Too bad about the boar attached to the other end of it-!"

"Hey," Inori chided, elbowing him lightly. Samon jabbed an elbow right back, chittering. Well, the supervisor wasn't the only one who could be a smartass! Smirking, Inori added, "Anyway, what're you talking about? They don't usually mind the rest of this."

"Oh? No? I guess you don't usually talk to them like you did to the Warden that one time," Samon jibed.

"Hmmm..." Inori tapped his fingertip against his chin, pretending to consider it, then shrugged and said, "Ya know, I might've been off my game that day. Guess I'm outta practice from hanging around a buzzkill like you, Supervisor-"

Samon made an indignant sound. "Who're you calling a buzzkill?!"

"And too bad, looks like it's contagious. Like I said, you're too much of a good influence on me!" Inori teased. "Anyway, you're not really one to talk, Supervisor. I don't see you going around charming anyone, especially with that temper of yours!"

That was a lie, he'd managed to charm at least one person with that ridiculous temper.

Samon flushed. "I could if I wanted to!" he protested.

"Funny, I don't remember ever seeing you take a night off for a date," Inori said, pretending to contemplate the matter carefully.

Samon slouched down in his seat, arms crossed. "I'm just focused on my job, that's all," he grumbled. "B-besides, where are all these ladies you're gonna chat up, anyway? It's not like there's a lot of women around here."

"Like I said, that's what I get for teaming up with a buzzkill. Moving to an isolated island didn't help, either," Inori said cheerfully. Of course, he didn't mind the absence of women now as much as he had when they'd first arrived at Nanba, because of various reasons that he was never going to discuss aloud.

Samon snickered. "What, did you have tons of girlfriends back on the mainland?"

"You might be surprised, Supervisor! I used to do pretty well for myself," Inori bragged. "See, unlike you, I know how to be charming when it counts!"

"I told you, I could too if I wanted to!" Samon protested.

"I don't think challenging someone to spar counts as charming," Inori teased.

Samon flushed. "It could be. Besides, you haven't known me forever, maybe you'd be surprised too!"

Well, this roasting match was quickly heading into perilous territory. Time to steer back to safety.

"Yeah, well, give it a shot with somebody and let me know how that works out for ya," Inori jibed.

Samon sulked a bit. "If there's s-someone I feel like trying it with." Then he smirked and said, "Like I'm gonna be shown up by someone who's only got empty boasts, anyway."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Supervisor," Inori chuckled.

Samon paused, and then his smirk grew into a sly grin. "Can you even kiss anyone with those tusks in the way?"

Well, that certainly threw the brakes on Inori's train of thought. Coming from anyone else, it'd sound like an innuendo. Coming from anyone else... except, was he seeing things in the dimly lit monorail car, or was the Supervisor's face a little flushed? It was probably the lingering alcohol. Inori had always been a lucky bastard, but he wasn't that lucky. No one had that much luck. However, just maybe...

Recovering, Inori chuckled. "Is that a challenge?" he taunted right back. Samon just crossed his arms, an aggravatingly smug look on his face. He hadn't denied it.

Inori did a quick mental tally of his options: on the one hand, this was probably just the Supervisor being a smartass, as usual. On the other hand, what if it was something else?

A smart guy would laugh it off and change the subject. A smart guy would not wonder if he was maybe being offered a chance. A smart guy would not let his thoughts wander into dangerously optimistic territory. However, Inori was in fact an idiot, and he'd be the first to admit it.

Well, there was only one way to find out; he'd just have to do a little provoking of his own, and see where it went. Sighing dramatically and shaking his head, he said, "Always the smartass, huh, Supervisor? Watch it with the challenges, you might get proven wrong one of these days!"

"Oh? You think so?" Samon said, with a level of smugness that honestly seemed disproportionate to his compact body size. It wasn't his imagination; Samon's face really was reddening. It could still be from the lingering alcohol; but on the other hand, there was a non-zero and slowly increasing chance that it wasn't. And that prospect was enough to make Inori's head spin like he was the one who'd been drinking.

"Like I said, I used to do pretty well, usually," Inori said smugly.

Samon chittered. "Oh? How, by talking forever till she got bored?"

No way. There's no way, Inori thought to himself. But, on the other hand...

"See, that's the problem with meatheads like you who just jump into things without thinking," Inori said, shaking his head. "There's no sense of subtlety with your type! You gotta ease into it, do it right."

"Do it right? How's that?" Samon echoed, the corners of his mouth curling in an expression that was more cat than monkey.

I might get punched for this, he told himself, and then he decided to do it anyway.

"Well, if you need an explanation..." He slid his right arm off the seat back and settled it casually around Samon's shoulders. Convenient, indeed! "See, first of all, you gotta draw 'em in real close... like this, maybe!" He curled his hand around Samon's shoulder and slid him closer on the bench seat, till their knees touched. Samon glanced sideways at the hand on his shoulder.

Inori did not get punched. Well, there was no sense in backing down when things were getting interesting.

"Then, you catch their eye, and make sure they're looking only at you. You gotta make sure they're paying attention, after all. Liiiike... this." He reached over with his left hand, mindful of its hard metal. Gently, ever so carefully, he hooked one fingertip under Samon's chin and tilted his head up. Samon met his eyes with a direct, intent gaze.

And there was still no punching going on. He felt like he was wandering off the edge of the map into strange, uncharted waters. Here might be monsters, but also maybe not.

"And?" Samon prompted quietly.

Inori almost froze up. Almost. His mouth suddenly felt dry, his pulse hammering in his ears. He couldn't possibly be this lucky. He'd been lucky enough surviving the incident in the underground cells and not getting fired or locked up for his involvement; surely he'd already used up a lifetime's worth of luck? There was no way anyone ought to have this much luck...

Well, this was definitely not the time to back down. "And then... you... you do somethin' to let 'em know you're serious about it. Like... this," he said, and he lightly brushed his thumb over Samon's lower lip. "Or... or this..." He traced his fingertips back along Samon's jaw and brushed a lock of hair back behind his ear. He was very proud of how steady his voice was.

Inori had to give credit to that doctor: this metal hand she'd given him had an impressive degree of delicacy to it.

Samon was leaning in now, eyes heavy-lidded. And Inori realized, all at once, that this really was happening. The one thing he'd always assumed to be impossible. Suddenly, the moment felt a lot more serious. Inori's breath caught as the weight of the situation hit him. He stared down at Samon's upturned face, wanting to commit the moment to memory: the flush across his cheeks, the slightly parted lips, the softness of his hair even against the barely-feeling metal hand...

"And?" Samon persisted, his voice low. "What's next?"

Inori snapped out of his thoughts, and grinned widely. "What's next, huh?" He slipped his right hand from Samon's shoulder, sliding it up the back of his neck and into his hair, cradling the back of his head. "That's obvious, isn't it?"

Inori leaned down, and their lips met softly. Samon inhaled sharply through his nose, then he scooted himself even closer. Inori held Samon's face gently and kissed him slowly, but his Supervisor was never one to do things at less than one hundred percent. Without breaking contact, Samon scrambled up onto his knees on the seat and leaned deeper into the kiss, arms flung firmly around Inori's neck, hands grasping fervently at his collar and then twisting his fingers into his hair.

Well, then, if his Supervisor insisted... Inori wrapped his arms around Samon's back, clutching him tightly, holding him as close as he could, letting out the feelings he'd hidden away even from himself.

His tusks were most certainly not in the way.

Inori was just about to pull Samon onto his lap and go in for a neck kiss, when the lights blinked into life and a calm mechanical voice announced the next monorail station. The two of them pulled back, startled by the interruption that they really should've seen coming.

Samon cleared his throat and sat back down, breathing hard. Inori let out a slow exhale and combed his fingers through his hair to straighten it. Someone could board at the next stop, after all, and Building 5 had a reputation to maintain.

The monorail hummed into the station; as luck would have it, the platform was deserted. They sat in silence till the lights blinked out and the monorail glided off once more.

Samon was smirking again. He lounged in his seat, crossing his arms with a smug, chittering cackle.

"Ya know, you could've just asked, Supervisor," Inori told him, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Yeah," Samon agreed. Then he looked up with an ear-to-ear smile. "But where's the fun in that?"

#nanbaka #samon gokuu #inori hakkai #nanbaka the numbers #samon x inori

[notobsessed-justobservant]

Mission Impossible

Pairing: Peter x Stark!Reader

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, the Avengers (mentioned), Vision (mentioned), Aunt May (mentioned), Daughter/Stark!Reader

Word count: 2,380

Summary: Peter wonders what his next mission from Mr. Stark will be, but he’s in for a surprise- it’s not a matter of what, it’s who.

Warnings: none, just fluff 

A/N: im alive! well, I've arrived, more like, cause no one in this fandom knows who the hell I am. Hi, I’m Luna, and I’m in love with peter parker. Usually, you can find me at @dean-the-smol-bean writing supernatural fanfic, but lately, my love for Marvel (and our favorite Avenger-in-training) has exploded, and it’s made me want to write for him (and possibly other Marvel characters) as well. So, here I am- can’t just start off easy am i? this is chapter one of what will be a who knows how long series. I hope you’re intrigued! anyways

PS- TYSM to my love @justawaywardwinchester for helping me edit my absolutely horrendous amount of spelling errors and generally get my life together even when it’s not her fandom. ♥️ u always

Send me an ask if you want to be added to the tag list!

   “Mr. Stark, thank you so much for bringing me in on this, I won’t let you down, I promise you won’t regret this-”

  “Yeah, yeah kid, whatever, listen, this is the most important mission I have ever put you on, okay, so don’t get too cocky. Keep your head straight and keep your eye on the prize.”

  Peter gulped, taking a deep breath as he trailed behind Tony eagerly. Ever since his help in defeating Thanos, Tony’s been putting a lot more faith in him, and to say it’s been amazing would be an understatement. Today, he’d called him in for a new mission- the third major one thus far. He wasn’t a full Avenger quite yet, he was still living with his aunt May,  ‘staying on the ground’, as he put it. However, each time Peter’s phone flashed the name of Happy Hogan or Tony Stark, he found himself practically jumping from his chair to answer it and fling himself into whatever battle was asked of him.

Which brings us to today.

  “Alright,  through these  doors is the thing most important to me, my most prized creation, the one thing that matters most to me in the entire world- you’re most crucial mission.”

  Peters' eyes went wide as Tony stretched out a hand, pushing open the double doors, a combination of excitement and fear fighting for dominance in the pit of his stomach.

  To his surprise, however, all he was met with was what looked like a classic New York studio apartment- a little out of place in the modern, high tech, Avengers compound, but not otherwise significant.

  He was quickly greeted by what felt like a hoard of animals- two gigantic Doberman pinschers came bounding forward, jumping upwards and attempting to lick at his face.

  “Whoa- wha-?” he smiled, laughing a bit as they sniffed him up and down, awkwardly petting them in return as they nearly pushed him over.

  “Hey, down boys! Down- down. Jesus, I am so sorry,”

  Suddenly, the dogs were off of him, and Peter chuckled, closing his eyes and wiping the slobber from his face as he responded to the unfamiliar voice.

  “It's cool! I love do-” halfway through his sentence, he opened his eyes, only to be halted in his tracks by the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He’d know your face anywhere- anyone would- you were Y/N Stark. But like most people, he’d never had the pleasure of seeing you in person- and god was it certainly a pleasure.  

  “-w-whoa-” he breathed out, and Tony turned, giving him a searing look, but neither of you seemed to notice as you ushered away your pets, and Peter watched every movement. You laughed, soft and sweet in his ears, unlike anything he’d ever heard before.

  “Well that’s good, but who doesn’t, I guess? I mean, if anything I’d take it as a compliment that they like you so much, they’re very picky.”  

  “Huh… yeah…”

  Peter seemed to be in a daze like he had been staring at the sun for too long and suddenly his vision had gone blurry. Tony glanced between the two of you, tapping his foot impatiently.

  “Anyways…” he interjected, and you turned to face the both of them, “so, Y/N, this is my new intern, also known as the ‘Spider-Man’” he waved his hands in a dramatic arching motion, emphasizing the name teasingly. In any other circumstance, Peter would have objected- ‘it’s just- just Spider-Man. Not the-‘ and no doubt he’d be muttering something about the dramatic speaking of his name, but today, that all just passed him by. Instead, he found his focus unyieldingly centered on you.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you Spider-Man. Tell me, does Spider-Man have a regular name? Or have you just been climbing up buildings and swinging through New York since birth?”

  Peters' eyes widened, snapping from his gaze realizing that the sweet sounds coming from your lips were directed at him.

  “Oh, uh, yeah, yes. I’m Peter-man- I mean Spider-Parker- shit- I mean-“

  You laughed, a sugary sound that dripped through the air like warm honey, making Peter feel as though he didn’t care if he was making a complete fool of himself if it meant he could hear that sound again.

  “Nice to meet you, Peter-man Spider-Parker. I’m Y/N Stark. Sorry, I don’t have a cool superhero name like you to insert between my boring person name,” you joked, and Peter found himself chuckling at you- the thought of having the last name ‘Stark’ and feeling anything but super practically baffling him. “And you’ve already met the dogs-” you turned, nodding your head towards the two, giant animals lying on the sofa behind you. “-Sirius and Remus.”

  Peters' eyes lit up, crinkling a bit at the corners as his lips fell into a lopsided smile.

  “You named your dog after the Marauders?”

  You snickered, nodding.

  “Well, half of them. But yes, I did. You read Harry Potter?” you inquire, and suddenly Tony feels as though you’ve forgotten he’s there.

  “Do I read Harry Pott- uh, yeah.” He said, incredulous. “Do you breathe air?”

  You giggled, and a grin spread across his face for making you laugh

  “Of course. It was a stupid question, what house are you?”

  “Hufflepuff! And my wand is 13 inches with unicorn hair core, what about yo-”

  “Alright, as… magical, as this conversation is, you and I have got some talking to do about your newest mission,” Tony raised his eyebrows at Peter, and he understood. “I just thought you two should meet. Sorry for the interruption, princess. How’s the project coming?”

  “Good. It’s definitely gonna need some more work- I just can’t get the background colors  right for some reason.”

  You frown, frustrated, and it’s at this moment that Peter registers your paint smattered shorts and oversized hoodie- the Stark Industries logo smeared with bright blue paint, splotches of varying colors splattered all across both its fabric and your skin. He’d been so taken aback by you that he’d nearly gotten tunnel vision, barely registering anything else.

  “Well, don’t worry kiddo, you’ll figure it out, you always do. I’m sure it’ll be beautiful.” He reached out, ruffling your hair a bit, your bun flopping from side to side. You scrunched up your face, half-annoyed, half-endeared, giggling.

  “Well, we’ll leave you to it. Parker?” he turned, pointing towards the doors they had entered through. Peter nodded excessively, glancing between his mentor and the girl in front of him.

  “Nice meeting you, Peter,” She said, and the most angelic smile graced her lips. He let out a shaky breath, nodding.

  “You too- nice meeting you too-”

  “Parker” Tony called after him, already out the door, and waiting.

  “Right, sorry.”

  “Now, Peter,” Tony began.

  They were back in the lab, and Peter was trying not to fidget too intensely as he sat awaiting his instruction. “Like I said before, through those doors was your most important mission.”

  Peter furrowed his brow, thinking about what Mr. Stark had told him just before he introduced him to you.

  “Oh yeah, what was that? You never actually got to show-” Tony raised his eyebrows, staring at him. He swore, for a kid genius, this boy could be incredibly slow sometimes. It took him a second, but Peters’ eyes went wide.

  “Oh- you meant-?”

  “There we go, good job kid, you got there.”

  “But how is she- my ‘mission’? What the hell does that even mean?”

  “It means,  that girl is the single most important thing to me in the whole world, and nothing- I mean capital ‘N’ Nothing can ever happen to her.” He got up from his seat across from Peter, turning to face the gigantic, wall-sized window overlooking lush, green, upstate New York. “And… as much as I’d like to say being Iron Man is all kicking ass and getting chicks… it’s not. Being a hero is dangerous, and it creates a lot of enemies. Enemies who would do anything to get what they want.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “So I need someone to protect her. Someone I can trust. High-level security team just won’t cut it and I can’t exactly have the entirety of the Avengers just trail her around. So, that’s where you come in.”

  Tony glanced over his shoulder at Peter, who straightened up, immediately, trying to hide his incredible excitement at the statement ‘someone I can trust’.

  Tony turned completely then, his stiff stance relaxing a bit, and Peter wondered if anything had happened to you before to bring on this high tension in Mr. Stark. He hoped not.

  “Plus, I think it’d be good if she had a little… friend, or whatever. Someone her age. Her only friends can’t be the super-human freakshow we call the Avengers and her dad, it’s just not right.”

  Peter chuckled, in awe of the idea of even living with all those people, let alone being friends with them.

  “Got that, kid?” Tony finished, and Peter nodded, straightening himself even more.   “Yes- yes sir, Mr. Stark sir. Of course.”

  Tony nodded, unbuttoning his suit jacket and slipping it off.

  “Good, now scram, I’ve got work to do and your anxious teenage-boy energy is messing with my space.” Peter pushed himself up to stand, mumbling an incoherent ‘s-sorry’, unsure if Mr. Stark was joking or not. He turned away, reaching for the doorknob.

  “Kid, wait,”

  Peter, stopped turning eagerly standing at attention.

  “Last thing and this is the most important thing… don’t fall in love with her. Or whatever.”

  Peters’ eyes went wide, and he nearly choked on his own tongue.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I saw your bubbly little interaction earlier. Any girl, kid, really, I’ll be your wingman. But not my daughter,”

  Peter stood there awkwardly, feeling somewhat like he was getting ‘the talk’ for some reason, unsure of what to say. “Capiche?” Tony continued, and Peter nodded, laughing nervously.

  “Yeah, yeah right. Of course sir. I would never.”

  Tony remained silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing into a piercing glare. Peter felt as though he were in the scope of a rifle, and the wielder was still debating whether or not he would pull the trigger.

  “Good,” Tony said, and Peter let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

  “Now scram. I mean it this time. Go do some homework or something- no spider-manning until you’ve finished all your school work alright?”

  “Yes sir, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “See you tomorrow, sport.”

  The door swung shut behind Peter, and he let out a long breath, feeling like he’d just stepped out of a long, intense interrogation. He shook that feeling off, tilting his chin up and squaring his shoulders as he made his way towards the front of the compound, where Happy would no doubt be waiting to give him a ride home. Just as he grabbed his backpack, someone called from behind him.  

“Hey, Peter!” That same, serene voice rang out through the quiet compound, and he found himself tripping a bit as he turned all too eager to face it.

  “Whoa! Easy there.” You laughed, catching him as he stumbled forward.

  Peter pushed himself off you immediately, and he could feel his face warming to a bright, beet red.

  “I am, so sorry oh my god-”

You only laughed, and he found himself melting like soft serve once again.   “Don’t worry about it, seriously. I’m a bit of a clutz myself, always bumping into things. It’s fine.”

  Peter stared at the floor, embarrassed, gripping the straps of his backpack so tightly he wondered if his super strength would tear them.

  “Me too. But, you could already tell that I guess.” He said with an impish smile, and you nodded.

  “Yeah, I kinda got that.” You teased, and he felt his ears go a shade darker. “But there’s gotta be something more to you than clumsiness, a cute smile, and a radioactive spider bite, Parker. My dad is super picky about who he lets meet me, so you’ve got something special in you, pretty boy.”

  Peter found his stomach doing somersaults at the term ‘pretty boy’. Maybe your father's charm was genetic.

  “I uh- I don’t know about that.” He stuttered, and you laughed.

  “I do. Watch, you can prove it to me. Lemme see your phone.”

  “What?”

  “Your phone! So I can give you my number and you can tell me all about how bland and boring you are. All I do all day is lay around the compound and try to get Vision to give me a straight answer as to whether he’ll die if he says ‘control, alt, delete’, so I’ve got plenty of time on my hands. He says that’s ridiculous but I still haven’t heard him say it so I’m not convinced.”

  Peter laughed, bright and genuine as he shook his head.

  “Alright. Here.”

  He reached into his backpack, pulling out his cracked iPhone, handing it to you. You took it, deft fingers tapping quickly across the screen as you entered in your name and number.

  You handed it back to him, and he glanced down at his screen to see you’d sent out a text.

  ‘Hi’

  “Now I have yours.” And as if on cue, the sound of R2-D2 beeped from her back pocket. Peter smiled at that. She pulled out her phone (it was a brand new the XS, which technically hadn’t even come out yet. He wasn’t surprised.) and showed him the screen. His number and the message ‘Hi’ flashed across her screen.

  “Perfect.” He grinned, and his own phone beeped.                                       

  May: Home soon? Trying a new recipe. Be ready for a scorched kitchen and takeout.

  He laughed, stuffing his phone into his back pocket, swinging his bag over his shoulder.

  “Well, I should really…” He began walking backward pointing toward the front doors.

  “Right yeah. I’ll text you?” she held up her phone, waving it.

  “Yeah, totally- yes. Yes please.”

  Please? Jesus Peter, how desperate can you get.

   She giggled, wiping a strand of hair out of her face, and he watched as a stripe of red paint smeared across her cheek as she did so.

  Oh, he was never going to be able to follow Mr. Starks rule.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker #tom holland #th #pp #tony stark #avengers #avengers compound #vision #iron man #iron dad #spider-man #sokovia accords #post civil war #post hoco #spider-man homecoming #sm:hc #reader insert #marvel #marvel x reader #dad!tony stark #dad!tony #dad!iron man #stark!reader #y/n stark #tony starks daughter!reader #daughter!reader #ch. 1

[shintorikhazumi]

Teachers and Brass Bands Prologue (a H!E fic)

Disclaimer: Don't own it… Hibike! Euphonium, that is. Don't own the Mikagura reference either, sorry.

A/N: So this is one of my OLDER works... like WAAAYYY older (2 years?) so quality could be lower than my usual. But I did say before that I might share this here, and well... WEll? Umm... Here it is! Though, I couldn’t rewrite it anymore, but I guess I’ll be taking a second journey with this...

This is my change of pace for now, and well... I’ll get back to Lwa once I catch up other fics. 

Now...

Warning for Quality drop and Horribleness?

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

@emutant I’m tagging you because of your page? hahahaha... do you like H!E? and you’ve been reblogging a lot of my chapters soo...

Teachers and Brass Bands

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Prologue: Teachers and Brass Bands

Music surrounding the halls with a feeling most unfamiliar, but very welcome all the same. Waves of euphoria washed over all the players as it gave way to a scene of serenity among the band members. They had just finished the piece. They were the favorites to win the competition. They had practiced harder than anyone, they claimed. They had the utmost confidence in their capabilities… so then, why? Why were the results so blindingly unreal?

Mikagura Gakuen: Silver

You didn't have to be Albert Einstein or Thomas Edison to know what it meant. The banner said it all. They had fallen into second place. The fire in their hearts, put out. Her passion for music- locked away. Why? They were the best in the whole nation, the school that won each and every year. An InterMusic university, so they said. Was it because she took the solos this year?

'You shouldn't have switched instruments, show-off.' A voice echoed in her head. An insult. Her pride had taken the best of her. 'If I kept playing the euph, would the results have been different?' She thought to herself.

"Oumae-san." A voice called her. She looked up, pulled out of her trance. She was the only one left seated in the massive hall, that was once filled with an audience. Everyone had already left, Kumiko had yet to recover from the shock and move forward.

"Taki…" she responded, still gripping her trumpet in her hand, acknowledging the man's presence.

"You know it's not your fault right?" Her sempai in college smiled at her, though it seemed to be an empty one, devoid of its usual uplifting powers.

"Yeah… I know." She responded. The older man just offered her another smile. This time though, it was full of pity and another indescribable emotion.

I don't.

I don't know.

I should've known.

"Oumae, geniuses are born to fail, stars are made to fall. Someday… you will too."

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

'Beep-beep-beep'

"Ugh…" The figure moved around, tossing and turning in bed trying to block out the annoying sounds of a beeping alarm clock. "What the hell." She covered her head with a pillow trying to drown out the sounds with the soft cushion. "Why the hell is my alarm on?" She mumbled to herself, gathering enough resolve to actually get up and get her alarm to shut up. Why is it on in the first place? Just as she was about to sink back into the realm of bliss, unusually fast sounds of footsteps approached her room.

"Oumae Kumiko!" The voice bellowed. All but throwing open her door resulting in it banging against the wall.

Due to human reflex, Kumiko found herself tightening her grip on the pillow that was covering her ears.

"Ugh… Shut up Nee-chan. Can't you see I'm trying to sleep?" Kumiko buried her head deep into the softness of her bed. She tried her best to ignore her sister's incoherent mumbling to herself.

"You told me to make sure to wake you up, remember? You're supposed to go out today. Something about meeting up with Taki again for some job he offered." Mamiko sighed out as she leaned against the doorframe of Kumiko's bedroom. Hearing all this and registering it in her half-conscious state, Kumiko immediately shot up from her bed and ran to the bathroom.

"Thanks! Love you!" She yelled at her elder sister as she shut the bathroom door behind her.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Sinking into the warm waters of the bath, she pondered on her dream last night.

'What the hell was that about? That was two years ago. Why am I thinking about it now?'

That year was her junior year, well senior, if you consider the fact that she graduated before her entire batch. She felt compelled to do so- or rather, she felt pressured by her anxiety. The reactions her class would have, especially those in the band, who along with her, had lost the competition- she was afraid of them. It was a huge failure to Kumiko. She felt that she could no longer show her face in school. Thus she resolved herself to study hard and take the senior's final exams, finishing early. How she got permission from the teachers to do that is a mystery in itself.

'Hah… I sure was desperate.' Kumiko laughed at her pathetic state before and even now.

Noboru Taki, her sempai who was two years her senior and Mamiko's classmate, had attended the competition to watch her after her invitation, despite knowing that he had work to do. It being his first year at his new job only served to add guilt to Kumiko's conscience. He reassured her that it was fine, though he wasn't that convincing.

"Ah… I forgot. I'm supposed to be there before 8:30 right?" Pulled out of her train of thoughts, Kumiko spared a quick glance at the bathroom clock.

'7:13' it read.

It was still quite early and she knew she shouldn't be excited, but she couldn't help but hurry up her morning rituals a bit. It wasn't like her but it wasn't every day that you were offered a job either.

'A job, huh? Question is… what job is he gonna give me?' Kumiko thought of all the possibilities of the job that she could have. Her eyes widened, her face contorting into one of sheer disgust, as her mind drifted to one particular job. "Taki… don't tell me you're gonna make me a janitor…" Imagining having to clean all those filthy stalls left by irresponsible and whatever teen-

'Oh right… I'm one too, aren't I? A teen that is, disregarding the irresponsible and whatever parts, i'm still a teen.' She sighed at herself.

Rechecking the clock, she noted that she had spent ten minutes lost in her thoughts and an extra five in actually cleaning up. Deciding that it was enough, she left the bath and changed into casual wear, though thinking on it, Taki might scold her. It's still a formal job after all. Changing into a short-sleeved white blouse and black fitting pants she decided to go with that and went to eat her breakfast, wisely choosing to steer clear from the hassle of being lectured by the music major.

"Morning hon." Her mother greeted, as she came waltzing down the stairs.

"Mornin'" She replied as she sat down and ate. Her mother handed her a neatly wrapped bento to which she complained. "Mom…" Her voice dragged. "I'm not a kid anymore."

"EH? Kumiko, thanks to you and your sister graduating too early, I don't get to enjoy being a mother of two highschool girls! You're sixteen for crying out loud!" Her mom whined.

'Right...'

Since they were small, Kumiko and Mamiko had been graced with astounding knowledge and talent. Their parents even wondered if they were their kids, which kinda hurt in a sense but... y'know. At the age of three and five, Kumiko and Mamiko, respectively, took a great interest in the euphonium- An odd choice, considering the instrument was not that popular, but still they insisted on learning it.

Their ever supportive parents, wanting their children to grow in... let's say more ways than one, agreed to it, and by the age of five, Kumiko had already entered primary school.

Geniuses not only in music, but in other areas of academics as well, both skipped many grades, entering college at the very young age of fourteen, Mamiko graduating at sixteen, skipping one year, but Kumiko taking only two years, graduated at fifteen.

'Come to think of it, I skipped six years of school. I hardly remember what school life was like.' Kumiko sighed, taking the bento from her overjoyed mother's hands, Mamiko doing the same as she sat down for breakfast.

Mamiko had taken a course in the entertainment and music industry and was currently a famous composer and performer. Kumiko though, was won over by the concept of lounging on the couch and relaxing everyday rather than working, thus she was still jobless despite graduating last year. That is, until Taki had pulled her into his little world.

'I think i kind of regret that part though' She thought as she brought her dishes to the sink.

Kumiko bid her mother and sister farewell as she walked to the train station. She kept the little map Taki had given to her in case she got lost. 'I'm not totally hopeless with directions you know.' She huffed as she boarded the train going to her destination.

Kitauji Highschool.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

8:07am. That was the time she arrived. She was still early, she knew, but it didn't hurt to be a bit early right? She did promise Taki and he was a good friend, so much so that he would even give her a job offer at the school he worked at. Looking around the said school though, she observed something-

"Doesn't look like anything special." Kumiko said out loud. True, it was blunt and seemed a bit harsh, yet no one could deny that fact.

"Of all places, Taki, Why did you choose here?" She wondered. Noboru Taki was a man nothing short of gifted. Kumiko knew her friend had received one-to-many offers to teach at prestigious and cutting-edge schools, so it came as a huge surprise when Taki revealed to her his plans of teaching at one of those 'not-even-sure-if-this-school-exists' or 'never-heard-of-this-school' schools.

'Oh right. His father used to teach here.' Kumiko recalled the main reason her male compadre decided on this particular school.

Entering the gates, she tried to locate the administrative office. Walking for a bit, she reached a certain part of the school, not minding the stares she got from some students.

'What do you care? So what if I'm not wearing the required uniform? I don't even go to school here for crying out loud- wait… I don't GO to school anymore, well not for studying reasons that is.' She replied to those whispers around her, though only in her mind. She kept walking until-

A tune, a melody, a song.

Kumiko's highly trained ears picked up on a certain sound, something all too familiar to her, except the fact that they seemed to be insulting the composer by giving off a half-assed performance of could have been a great piece.

Approaching the small crowd of students situated in a seemingly wide area, Kumiko caught sight of what looked like the school's very own brass band. 'And all they'll ever win is brass too I guess. Maybe even lower.' Kumiko thought to herself. Honestly, why other people enjoyed it so much, she wished she could relate. She couldn't hear what they were hearing, and they certainly couldn't tell the difference between how good or how bad this performance was like she could.

Kumiko walked away from the crowd and went inside the main building, deciding that she'd rather not aggravate herself so early in the morning by listening to something that wasn't even worth anything in the actual competition. Finding a layout of the school inside, she located her target room and arrived there with ease. 'See Taki? I'm not hopeless with directions!' She smiled proudly to herself.

Standing by the huge mahogany door, Kumiko knocked soundly with the words 'Excuse me' and being replied with a 'come in', she pushed open the door.

Upon opening it, she was greeted by the pleasant sight of her friend standing beside a man, who Kumiko assumed was the chairman of the school.

"Ah! You must be Oumae-kun. Please come in and have seat." The jolly- Kumiko thought he was a jolly type of guy- man coaxed. "Noboru-kun has been telling me a lot about you." He smiled. He seemed to be eyeing Kumiko from head to toe, the poor girl squirming under his gaze. The man seemed to have taken notice of her uncomfortable state and apologized.

"Sorry. Actually seeing you in person, it confirms the information Taki has been telling me." He explained. "Not that I don't believe in him, it's just... well anyway, thank you for accepting this job. We've been a bit short on staff, but with your talent, as Taki described, you might be a great help to us." Kumiko listened, though she couldn't avoid opening her mouth.

"Sir, I don't really get what you're saying. And what information? Can you please elaborate?" Kumiko sighed. She didn't understand a thing. The man turned to Taki and asked a few more questions, ignoring Kumiko's curiousness before returning his attention to Kumiko and looking at her once more.

"Still… you are quite young aren't you, Oumae-kun?" He said. Kumiko raised a brow at that. She was expecting it. Many had already questioned her about her age, but it was still difficult to get used to.

'Oh so that's what he was having a hard time in asking. Not that I mind.' Kumiko thought. "Yes sir. Sixteen to be exact, well turning sixteen."

"Oh? So technically, you would've been a freshman if not for your genius?"

"I guess so, sir." Kumiko replied. 'Genius?'

"Hmmm… well, I guess that's all Oumae-kun-"

"Huh?"

"-and Taki will be the one responsible in showing you around and briefing you on your job."

With those words Kumiko stepped out with Taki, still overwhelmed by the whole situation that just occurred. The lack of information was gnawing at her and she turned to the person who held the answers.

"Sorry about that. It's just that… everyone in the staff found it hard to believe that a sixteen year old girl would be working with us." He smiled at her sheepishly.

"What exactly do you have planned for me, Taki?" Kumiko asked out of genuine curiosity.

"Well, you see… I'm the music teacher here, but someone had to take a maternity leave so I had to cover for her, though maybe you would like to do that? Or would you prefer covering my subject instead?" Taki asked her.

"I'm going to teach?"

"well for a while, yeah."

"Without a license?"

"It will only be temporary, unless you're going to take an exam for one, we wouldn't mind in the slightest."

"Anyway, do you want to cover for her or for me?"

Kumiko weighed her options. 'Hmmm… teach a music class or another class? I do love music, but I can't decide yet till I know what the other one is.'

"What class are you covering for this teacher currently?" She asked.

"English." He responded as the bell rung, resounding around the entirety of the school.

"Heh… can't we like… do it alternate? I kinda want to try doing both." Kumiko said honestly, interested in this proposition and the mere mention of having at least a bit of experience in teaching.

"Not a bad suggestion. I'll tell the chairman, but for now, maybe you should go around the school. Don't forget to come to the teacher's lounge at two-thirty. I'm taking you somewhere." Taki said, seriously pondering the offer, then acting as if he had his own little proposition later.

"Huh?"

"You'll know later." And with that he left her to enter one of the many classrooms.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Kumiko had spent the whole day roaming around and more or less found zero entertainment in the campus. It was about five-past-two and Kumiko decided that that was enough sightseeing for now. Heading back to locate the teacher's lounge as she was instructed by Taki, she bumped into someone.

"Sorry."

"Excuse me."

Kumiko thought she was dreaming. She probably was, but who cares? Standing before her was a beauty. A real one. One with onyx hair and eyes the color of- I don't know actually, but Kumiko was entranced as the figure stared right back at her before averting her gaze and bowing before running off to wherever.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Kumiko found Taki waiting for her and they started heading off to wherever he was planning on taking her, but her mind was still on the girl she had just bumped into. 'Who was that? Will I see her again.' Her mind was plagued with these thoughts until-

"Ouch! What the- Taki!" Kumiko whined as she rubbed her reddening forehead. "I know I wasn't paying attention, but did you have to flick my forehead so hard?" She gave him a glare.

"Sorry, sorry." He replied chuckling.

"You don't sound sorry at all." Kumiko huffed, small tear droplets forming at the corners of her eyes.

"Sorry. It was the only way i could think without having to raise my voice, but as I was saying… we're here." He pointed to a door. It was a music room and students seemed to be in it. Bustling about, preparing their BRASS instruments.

"No… No, no... no, no, no...NOoooo NO way Taki. This was not part of my job description." She looked at him like she was being forced to a death sentence, stepping away from the door.

"You had one?" He asked thoughtfully.

"Taki! You know me! I'm fine with teaching music class or whatever, but I am most certainly NOT going to be affiliated with any band, ESPECIALLY one composed of many brass instruments." Kumiko stated.

"Some are woodwinds though…"

"I don't really care! Anyway I'm not gonna do whatever you wanna ask me." she said turning around.

"But I haven't even asked." Kumiko began to walk away, but felt a strong hand gripping her arm. She looked at Taki, his expression darkened.

"Kumiko… don't you think…" Taki looked into her eyes sincerely. "That it's time to face the music? You're a talented musician. Why not use it? You'll be amazed what these kids can do- I think." Taki said. Kumiko looked at him as if he was joking, though knowing him, he might as well be.

"I know what they can do, I heard them this morning and I am not impressed in the slightest." Kumiko replied firmly recalling the performance that morning.

After pondering on something, Taki snapped his fingers. "Well, there is someone who might catch your interest though." He said. "Please Kumiko. Just one session. That's all I ask. I wanted you to be my assistant in directing, but you don't seem ready for that yet, but please?" Taki almost looked desperate. He wanted to help her get over the past, but did she want to? Kumiko sighed. She's been sighing a lot lately.

"One session."

"Huh?"

"I'll watch one session. If I don't like it, I'm out." Kumiko turned to him saying this was a one time offer. Take it or leave it.

"Thanks!" Taki's demeanor brightened up considerably. "-but cut them some slack. Some are brand new to this, someone even bought a tuba mouthpiece saying she wanted to play the trumpet." Kumiko suppressed a laugh at this revelation. 'Brand new indeed.'

"Anyway, now that that's that, how 'bout I introduce you to the band?" Taki held on the doorknob. "Ready when you are, Kumiko." Taki said.

Kumiko nodded. "Alright Taki. Show me what you've got."

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

A/N: SO I finished it in under an hour before? Haha… please tell me how you liked it in the reviews please… if you could follow/favorite, it is much appreciated friend. Anyway, thanks for giving this junk a chance and see you again? As I said, forgive it if there are a lot of things it needs to improve on. This is me bringing back my past and well... hooo boy. Let’s just see and hope for the best.

~Shintori Khazumi

#h!e #hibike! euphonium #kumirei #kinda #TaBB #oumae kumiko #oumae mamiko #taki noboru #AU #my au #fanfic