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ev-pierce-writes · 3 years

Text

Doll

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) x F!Reader

Words: 7.7K

Rating: Very much 18+

Warnings: P in V, oral (fem receiving), light (consensual) choking, praise, James Buchanan Barnes is a sad boy and only you can make him happy, mutual therapy over past trauma, a couple light spanks, and some sexy sparring

Note: Reader had a run-in with Hydra that gave you invisibility powers. Bucky is tasked with training you. Totally not canon, I just kept the parts I liked. Got the idea from a tiktok but I can't find it anymore oops. I'm thinking of turning it into a series of all the places you can fuck Bucky Barnes at Avengers HQ. Enjoyyyyyy....

---

"Alright, so I'm thinking absolutely the first thing you need is a suit. Because we can't have you sneaking around in clothes that give you away."

Tony Stark and Peter Parker stand before you at Avengers HQ, furiously tossing ideas back and forth, trying to come up with ways to build you the best possible suit. Last night had been...interesting, to say the least.

"Who's that?" Stark had said when you appeared all of a sudden from your room. "Come on Agent Hill, don't tell me you're taking in lost kids nowadays."

Your mother had only laughed, slightly inebriated and feeling loose because of all the drinking that was going on in your penthouse apartment. She was hosting one of those parties where too many superpowers drank too much alcohol and got a little too rowdy. "That's my daughter."

Usually, you stay away from such events, go out with friends, and avoid the house until it's all over. For the past four years, you hadn't even been in the house to need to avoid it. But now you're 22 and a recent college graduate and something about the party was drawing you in so you had emerged from your hideaway to join in the fun.

"Alright, Maria, how'd you manage to keep that one a secret?" Romanov spoke up.

Until this point, you'd remained silent, in shock at the sudden attention a group of superheroes had focused onto you. But you couldn't help yourself from responding now. You'd managed to hide away long enough. It was time to come into the open.

"I'm a ghost," you said jokingly, approaching the couch and stealing the drink your mother had been drinking to take a sip. It was strong and burned on the way down. The group laughed at your words, unaware of how true they really were.

It was then that you'd performed your little trick, the one that only a few of your closest friends had ever seen. You became invisible.

The laughter had immediately stopped. The girl who suddenly appeared out of thin air had disappeared right back into it. They could still tell where you were of course. The glass in your hand remained visible, floating in mid-air, giving away your position. And your clothes were still perceptible, not being able to change with you. But your features were otherwise undetectable, not even a shimmer revealing your face. You took another sip of the drink, liquid disappearing into an invisible mouth.

"I want her. On the team," Stark had said.

And that was it. The start of your superhero career.

"Explain again exactly how this works?" Parker asks.

You sigh and start from the beginning, again. "I can distort the absorption wavelengths of my cells so that the reflected light is in the invisible range, usually infrared."

"And how long can you hold it for?"

"About seven minutes now," you explain. "It's sort of like holding your breath. You can go underwater for a while, and you can practice holding your breath longer and longer, but eventually, you need to come up for air. Eventually, I have to 'recharge.' But I've been working on extending it."

Stark turns to one of the many holograms of his supercomputer, working with Friday to design a brand new suit to accommodate your skills. You're so engrossed in watching his process you don't even notice the shadowy figure appear in the doorway that leads to the training facilities.

"How'd you get these powers? Agent Hill isn't lacking in skill but it certainly isn't supernatural."

You knew Stark's question would come up eventually. It always did. Over time, it became easier to tell the story, but now you really don't feel like explaining fully, so you tell the short version.

"Hydra. When I was seventeen. They used me as a bargaining chip against my mom in a mission gone wrong and decided to experiment on me in the process. Left me with a lot of scars and a lot of therapy. Almost dropped out of school."

You don't remember much from the experience. But enough for it to leave lasting damage.

"Hydra?" a familiar voice asks behind you. Only now do you notice that Barnes is behind you. How long has he been watching?

You remain silent, just like you did the night before when he'd arrived late to the party, unable to speak under his gaze.

You had planned to leave not long after you joined the festivities. But when the elevator doors opened, a pair of blue eyes halted you in your path. James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. You'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Crystal clear and icy, freezing you under their gaze. He wore a leather jacket and leather gloves, concealing his metal arm, but you knew it was there, hiding behind the layers.

Barnes had always been the one that caught your eye during your mother's briefings. His transition from the greatest warrior Hydra had to offer, and thus S.H.I.E.L.D.'s greatest enemy, to the trusted companion of Captain America and official Avengers member intrigued you. At first, he had been more of a schoolgirl crush, the little girl grappling with her new powers seeking guidance in someone who didn't even know she existed. But age had not reduced your admiration of him. Barnes' face was hard set in serious determination and his glance barely grazed over you before turning to the rest of the group. He paid you not a single ounce of attention, yet you felt dumbstruck in his presence.

But Bucky had noticed you that night. Noticed you in a way he wanted desperately to hide, so he disallowed his eyes from lingering on you. Who were you and why were you wearing pajamas at a party and how did you make them actually look good?

And not only did he notice you, but he recognized you. He wasn't sure how, but something at the back of his head buried beneath decades of blurred half-memories told him he knew you. It was a stupid thought, though. How could he know you?

From the doorway, his eyes narrow in concern, making you feel smaller than ever beneath him. How is that 5 o'clock shadow so enticing? You just want to run your fingers across--

Stark gestures at Barnes, completely ignoring his comment. "Good, you're here. Our young Agent Hill needs to get started with her training immediately. I want her in the field but she can't be going in inexperienced. Teach her the works."

It's rather bold of Stark to assume you have no combat skills. And to assume you even want to go into the field. But you follow behind Barnes in silence anyway toward the training facilities. It doesn't matter what you know and don't know. He's going to kick your ass anyway.

"Feet wider," he says, coaching you on your swing. His blue eyes have somehow darkened, and along with the faint beard, he looks positively dangerous. "Not too wide."

"I know how to punch, Barnes," you whisper under your breath. He's not meant to hear your words, but he does anyway.

"Oh yeah? Punch me then. Go for it." His voice is challenging in the way that reveals he knows he could block any swing that comes at him. But he wants to see what will happen. Your mention of Hydra loosened a memory in his brain somewhere, and though he can't quite place his finger on it, the memory told him you're anything but the kid he's treating you like. He wants to know what you really have inside you.

Your annoyance gets the best of you. You aim for his face, the way your mother taught you. And she taught you well, teaching you all the self-defense skills you might need moving through the world as a woman. But she did not teach you how to fight super soldiers. That's an entirely different world.

Unsurprisingly, Barnes predicts your move and his metal arm comes up to meet your human one, halting your punch mid-swing. His palm fully engulfs your fist, your knuckles slamming into the metal with a ringing sound.

"Fuck, that hurt," you seethe through your teeth, gripping your hand in pain. And yet, you still smile. You mean for your words to sound irritated, but they betray how much you enjoy getting a swing in. "Didn't have to do me like that, Barnes."

He ignores your pain, though secretly it pleases him to find how much force is truly behind your punch. Nothing, of course, his metal arm can't take, but strong enough. "Language, kid. Go again. And this time, try not to be so obvious."

Despite his advice, it's impossible. He predicts every one of your strikes and counters them with four times as much strength as you possess. You give him everything you have, and nothing lands.

"This would be a lot easier if you let me use my powers."

So far, Barnes has refused to let you fight invisible, not that it would have done you much good without a proper suit. But you're tired and sweaty, your hair falling from its ponytail and sticking to your face, your muscles aching and your heart beating fast. Barnes hasn't even broken a sweat.

"Unless you learn to fight without your powers, they'll do nothing more than level the playing field. You need to be at an advantage if you're going to survive."

Survive. You've done plenty of that already. You want better than survival. Barnes recognizes the look on your face, the one that expresses the desire plainly. He knows the feeling, drifting from one day to the next and wanting more than that.

His voice softens a bit. "We can call it quits for the day. Get some rest. We'll go again tomorrow."

He didn't intend to be so kind. It just sort of happened, drawn out of him by the not-so-innocent girl who still has a lot to learn but can hold her own better than most.

---

Tomorrow. Tomorrow's8 like the day before, 9 am at HQ, wait for Parker to get his ass up the elevator so Stark can begin, get sidetracked by coffee, and then finally return to the task at hand.

"Give this a shot," Stark says, handing you what looks like nothing more than a vaguely human-shaped paper suit. "Not exactly protective, but it's a new technology. Should conform to your abilities."

"You did this overnight?"

"Of course. Get changed."

The suit has little support and definitely no protection. You feel like a fingernail could rip a hole through it if you pull on it wrong, let alone a knife coming at you from an angry enemy. But it's a start. An impressive start. You stare at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom as you shift, the suit shifting along with you.

Back in the training facilities, where you know Stark and Parker will be waiting, you remain in your shifted form. They don't look up as you enter, somehow having not heard you, and instead are engaged in a heated discussion with Barnes about something you don't understand. So you creep up behind Parker, lean in, and whisper into his ear.

"I think it works."

You feel a little bad, but only for a moment. Parker jumps straight out of his skin, screaming a scream you didn't know was possible from the kid. Stark lets out a laugh as you rematerialize, and Barnes even cracks a smile at your prank.

"Yeah, yeah, I'd say so." Parker's voice quivers.

"Well, what do you think?" Stark asks.

"Very thin," you say, aware that much more is visible than you really want. "I feel like it's going to rip at any moment. And there's not a whole lot of support in this area."

You gesture vaguely at your chest, not knowing how best to explain to a group of men that a sports bra is a necessity for fighting, but knowing you have to make them aware all the same. You can feel Barnes' eyes on you, a little less polite than the others, and you find you like the way he eyes you up, a bit like a puzzle to be solved or a strategy to be devised.

"Right, right, I'll get on that. Only a prototype anyway," Stark responds nervously. "Back to work, Parker. Hill, Barnes, back to training."

Bucky tries his best not to picture what you might look like without that suit, but it leaves little to the imagination as you saunter away to change again.

And so the days move forward. You've never before been so busy or exhausted in your life. You just graduated college, which is a feat in itself, but all the training, all the work, keeps you on your toes so that by the end of the day, both your brain and your body are tired.

Still, you improve and get better at sparring Barnes, even taking him down a couple of times on your own, though you suspect he's going easy on you.

"Again." Barnes is already on his feet and helping you to yours. Today the sparring room is particularly warm, and you've long forgone your sweats for shorts and a sports bra. Barnes has lost the shirt as well, and his chest glistens with sweat beneath the fluorescent lights. Maybe it's the heat or maybe it's him, but the whole thing feels a bit dreamlike. Here you are, sparring with a man who could take you to the ground with one arm alone, and he's letting you kick his ass every once in a while.

But there's no way you can do it again. You feel destroyed by all the slamming onto the mat.

Barnes is doing his best not to be distracted as well, but those tight shorts and the top that reveals your midriff have to be on purpose. It's easy to admit to himself that he likes you, might even be attracted to you. You fight hard and relentlessly, rising to every one of his challenges and not backing down even when you're tired. You've already come a long way since that first encounter, and Barnes has come to look forward to the two hours a day you spend together in the gym. He had tried to tell himself it was the fun of having a new sparring partner, but in truth, he knows it's the determined glint in your eyes, the way you bounce on your feet in excited anticipation of the fight, the way you collapse on the mat after a hard session, chest heaving deep breaths in and out. But what he likes most is your heated gaze when he pins you to the ground, or even better, you pin him.

"Knock me down one more time and you can be done," he challenges. The familiar determination returns, though a flicker of doubt remains behind your eyes. He can tell you need encouragement. "Remember to use your size to your advantage. Don't let me get ahead of you. Keep me guessing."

You do your best. You really do. You hold your own for almost two minutes, but it's obvious you're only barely staying ahead of him. As soon as you falter, Barnes has you flat on your back on the mat without much resistance, immobilized by a knee on your thighs and his metal arm trapping your hands over your head. His free hand plants by your head and holds him up to prevent him from actually hurting you.

You gasp underneath him, trying to disguise the weird flicker of desire with breathlessness. He looks good from down here, all sweaty and dark and serious. But you're also a bit too tired to care. "I'm out, Barnes. Let me go."

Let me go. Please.

And that's when the memory returns. The full, real memory, the one that has been tickling the edges of his brain since he first saw you. You, a kid, his mission. Kidnap, don't kill. A small voice, your voice, begging. Please, let me go. What has he done?

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, standing up quickly.

"Language, Barnes," you say teasingly. But he doesn't laugh, simply exits the sparring room, abruptly leaving you, speechless and alone on the floor. What just happened?

After a moment of confused silence on the mat, you brush it off and stand, heading to your room for a shower. Stark offered you a place to stay at HQ, and you happily agreed. Though you loved being back with your mother after four years away at college, you cherish your independence. A room at HQ offered you just that.

A nice shower would certainly make you feel better after that confusing interaction. You pull on your robe and shower shoes, leaving your clothes behind so as to carry one less thing. But as you pass down the hall toward the showers, you can hear Barnes' voice drift through the slightly open door to his room.

"I remembered," he says. "It was her. I'm the reason she's--" He cuts off, appearing to be interrupted by whoever he's talking to on the phone. You pause by the open door.

"I know that's not me anymore but I'm still responsible," he continues. "I have to tell her."

Again a pause. By now it's apparent he's talking about you.

"No, Steve, we aren't a team. We aren't partners. I'm helping Tony out. I don't care if she doesn't want to work with me anymore, this is part of my redemption. I have to tell her."

The conversation seems over. You rush to the showers, not wanting Barnes to realize you were listening the whole time. Apologize, he said. Apologize for what? You've known him for a whole of four days and he's been nothing but polite to you. Cold, at first, but he warms upon acquaintance. And then he's downright sweet.

So sweet, you realize, for someone so damaged. He has every right to hate the world, and though he walks through it with a healthy dose of cynicism, he never lets that cynicism touch you. If anything, he's outright positive around you, an undeserving brat. A kid, really, though you don't like when he calls you that. You know you can be naive, positive on the verge of artificiality, and yet he never tries to burst your bubble. In fact, he seems to relish it.

The shower feels nice, but it does nothing to assuage your fears. Maybe it's you who has done something wrong? Now you're spiraling. You have to find out what's going on or it's going to drive you crazy.

You know what you have to do. You have just about seven minutes of invisibility before your shifting gives out. In those seven minutes, you can duck from the showers, sneak into Barnes' room, snoop around, and make it back to the showers unseen. Plenty of time. But you have to go nude. Now would be a great time for the suit, but no such luck. Naked it is.

Out in the hallway, all is quiet. Barnes' door is still ajar, but when you peek your head in, the room is empty.

Easy.

Where to start? His phone is a dead end, being one of those ancient flipping kinds rather than a new, high-tech smartphone. He has few personal belongings, the bed is made perfectly, and his closet contains only clothes.

The drawers of the nightstand are empty. Or nearly empty. At the back of the top drawer is unceremoniously shoved a small booklet with a pen stuck between the pages. It's worn and supple, as though held a thousand times and read a thousand more. You flip through, finding a list of names, some crossed out, others not. Your name does not appear, but something about the list tells you these are not ordinary names. These are the names of his victims, people Barnes hurt as the Winter Soldier. Your heart aches and your stomach clenches, the reminder of his past jarring against the kind demeanor you've come to know. But deep down, you know this isn't him, know he's a good man, despite it all.

You know better than most the first-hand horrors of Hydra's super-soldier experiments. Of anyone, you can relate best to the experience Barnes has been through. Your memories of that long week are blurry, but the pain remains, forever seared into your mind. You can only imagine a lifetime of that pain.

The sound of the door opening jolts you from your reverie and you close the drawer quickly. But you soon realize your mistake. Barnes would know he left the door open, would know exactly how he placed his book in the drawer, would recognize something was off. Unfortunately, you're right.

"Hello?" he calls into the darkening room. The evening is coming on fast and the sun dims to barely glimmer, casting the space in shadow despite the large windows on the south wall.

Bucky knows something is off the moment he finds your room unoccupied, having gone there with the express purpose of confronting you about his actions earlier in the afternoon. And though he has no way of truly knowing, he suspects you are now here, in this room with him, invisible to his gaze. Bucky shuts the door behind him and waits.

You're trapped. You don't have long before your powers give out; already the suffocating feeling that begs you to take a breath is coming on. And Barnes has closed the door, effectively sealing you in, as you can't open it without him knowing for sure that you're here. On top of that, you're clothingless. You've run out of options and Barnes seems to sense this. So, he waits, drawing out the moment of tension, building the suspense.

"I know you're here," he says finally, his voice soft and barely audible. "You can't hide that well. Next time, dry your feet off before you go leaving wet footprints all over the place."

Oops.

"I--" you begin, and immediately Barnes' eyes snap to where your voice originates from. "I'm sorry. I overheard your conversation with Rogers. I shouldn't have but I know it was about me."

Barnes sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, you're right. I have some things to explain. Though I'd much prefer talking to you if I could see you."

You hesitate. "Only a slight problem there. I'm not wearing any clothes."

If it had been any lighter in the room you would have seen Barnes blush. Instead, you watch him pull his shirt over his head. He hands it to you blindly, the shirt off his own back, soft with wear and long enough to cover the tops of your thighs. It smells of him, salty with sweat and sweet with the scent you've come to recognize only as him. You shrug it on and shift back.

"I'm sorry," you say again, having trouble concentrating with Barnes' bare chest at your eye level. Is that an old bullet wound on his shoulder? The reminder of a knife across his stomach? You can't look away, even at the seam where man meets metal.

Barnes shakes his head. "No, I should be the one apologizing."

He pauses for a moment and tries to begin several times before finally forming a complete sentence.

"It's my fault you're like this, that Hydra tested on you. It was me who kidnapped you, it was me who followed orders, it was me who completed the mission and got you hurt. And I'm so sorry."

You're so frozen in shock that the absurdity of the situation doesn't even register. There's nothing under this shirt, no underwear, no pants, no bra. And here you are standing in the bedroom of your greatest inspiration, listening to him apologize for being the one that facilitated your kidnapping, for being responsible for all the injury, the pain, the nightmares, the isolation, the...

It all comes flooding back, the things you had forgotten, or simply chose to not remember, and one of those things is his face.

You thought you'd dealt with impact. So many hours with a therapist, and you realize all you did was suppress the feelings, not confront them. And then you break, all the anger and sadness and frustration flowing from you at once.

"You piece of shit." Your voice begins as a whisper but soon amplifies nearly to a shout. "You monster, you bastard, how could you? How could you?"

All this time you forgave him for the damage he'd done, excused it as brainwashing and manipulation from Hydra. But now that it's you he's involved, you have somewhere to direct your anger, and you take it out as a shove straight to his chest.

He didn't expect that one. The words he understood. He accepted those, accepted that you would hate him forever. But then you're pushing and hitting him with all your force. Barnes could fight back, could hold his ground. But you need this, so he lets you shove him into the wall with a newfound strength. Finally against the wall, with nowhere left to go, you turn to pummelling his chest with your fists, repeating the words over and over, how could you, how could you, how could you.

For a moment, he lets it happen. But eventually, Barnes reacts, grabbing your wrists and holding them to his chest in an attempt to calm the fury that rages inside you. Surprisingly, at his touch, you still, slumping against him once the anger is replaced with nothing but sadness. That anger, one you never truly realized you'd harbored since your capture, bled from you all at once, leaving you exhausted.

You don't notice you're crying until a soft thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. Barnes releases your hands and wraps his arms around your sobbing body, pulling you close. "I'm so sorry," he repeats in your ear, his words a whisper against the rage inside your head.

Is it hours, or only minutes, standing like that, wrapped up in him, his skin so soft against your cheek? Time has ceased to exist, melting into the nighttime that encompasses the room in near pitch-black darkness. Your breath calms, your heart rate slows, the tears dry. He's only a man, a broken, misplaced, lost man. But he's also impossibly kind to you, caring enough to train you day after day, to pick you up when you fall down, to ensure you're happy here at all times. That's the man you know and rest your cheek against and seek out for comfort in this moment, despite him being the reason for your anger. But he's not truly the reason for your anger, only an easy outlet standing right before you.

This is not how Bucky had expected this to go. Perhaps to never see you again, yes. But to hold you in his arms, certainly not. And not just hold you, but comfort you. It surprises him how much he finds he likes it. And he can't ignore the fact that you're here in his room, wearing his shirt and only his shirt. He doesn't try anything improprietous, just wraps his arms around your waist, but it's not lost on him that your supple chest is pressed against him and the delicious scent from your still wet hair is filling his brain with a flowery cloud. His stomach clenches at the thought of burying his face in that smell for the rest of the night but he pushes it aside. That's not why you're here. That's not what you want.

But your next words surprise him. You pull slightly away, tilting your splotchy face upward towards his to look him in the eye. You take a ragged breath and speak.

"I forgive you."

Bucky is taken aback. That's not why he made this confession, not to seek your forgiveness. "You don't have to do that."

"I know. But I do. And I know you think I'm just a kid--"

Barnes lets out a short laugh, cutting you off immediately. "Jesus Christ, that's not true. You're not a kid. You're smart and strong and capable. And you've seen the ugly world for its true self and choose to remain good and happy all the same. I'm not like that and that makes you wiser than I'll ever be."

He takes a deep breath, unsure if he should admit to the feelings he desperately wants to express to you. The way you're looking at him, with a mixture of hesitation and admiration, makes the words tumble from his mouth without a second thought.

"But somehow being around you makes me want to be good again. Not for my sake, but for yours."

"James, I--" You've never used his first name before, but it falls deliciously from your lips, the sound of it nearly distracting him from the finger you run across the stubble on the cleft of his chin. Nearly. He captures that hand in his own, holding it there against his face.

"You don't have to forgive me. I don't deserve it," he repeats, eyes falling shut to the feeling of your thumb pressed to the corner of his lips. He still holds you close, the other arm wrapping tight around you, and though verbally he rejected the comfort your warmth offered, his body says otherwise, desperate for the acceptance his brain refuses to give into.

"Stop punishing yourself," you whisper. For a moment, he almost feels that he could.

And when your lips find his, soft and delicate, he forgets why you're even here in the first place, forgets his guilt and your anger, forgets even to react.

His lack of response has you pulling away, worried you've done something wrong, but then he's chasing your lips with his own, leaning forward to meet you halfway, gathering you impossibly tighter to his chest. He pauses, mouth mere centimeters from yours, eyes still shut, a deep breath heaving from his chest. He wants more, wants to kiss you again in all the places that count, but he can't quite yet.

"What was that for?" The question's not an accusatory one but simply curious. Have you always looked at him in this light since day one? Has he just not noticed?

"Are you blind, Barnes?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "None of that last name shit, doll, we've moved on to a first-name basis."

But your words are enough to surge him forward, this time capturing your lips in a dominating kiss that leaves you gasping for air. He takes advantage of your open mouth and presses his tongue to yours, seeking to fill his soul with your all-consuming warmth, to wrap it around him like a cocoon of your scent. His fingers slide down your back and slip under the shirt you wear, his shirt, grasping at the bare skin of your ass, filling his hands with your supple flesh.

You moan softly under his touch, relishing in the feeling of being encompassed by someone so large and so strong. The vibranium arm, which you expected to be harshly indelicate against your relative fragility, caresses you with the same gentility of the other. The intense contact sends your heart racing like it did all the times you were pinned below him on the sparring mat. Will he pin you like that in bed? Hold you down while he fucks you within an inch of your life?

The thought rouses a heat between your legs and stirs butterflies in your tummy. You don't even know if that's where this is going, but it invades your brain anyways. You're sure Barnes can feel your racing pulse beneath his lips when he kisses your neck, sending your nerves haywire as he creeps toward the neckline of your shirt. He inhales your scent, the hot air of his breath fanning your cool skin.

Everything about this is sloppy, the wet kisses dragged across your skin, his tongue tangled with yours, your fingers tugging at the hair that brushes the nape of his neck. Even his hips against yours are messy and rough, the heat of him leaving your core feeling slick, the wetness of it rubbing between your naked thighs. And then Barnes is sliding his hands back up your body, this time under your shirt, and tugging it over your head, his lips leaving your skin just long enough to toss the item to the ground.

You expect him to keep surging forward, to lift you in his arms and take you to bed like you want him to. But he pauses instead, hands cradling the back of your head, his eyes staring intensely into yours. Or you think he's staring into your eyes.

"Are you okay? Is this okay?" His voice is full of concern but raspy with arousal all the same.

"Yes, James, yes, I need more."

"Well, I would, it's just that you've disappeared on me again." One look at your hands and you know he was looking right through you, not at you. The swirl of emotions--pleasure, arousal, timidity even--sent you shifting without your knowledge. You can't help but laugh.

"Let me see you, doll," he groans, sounding exasperated that he can't rake his gaze across your naked flesh or find all the places he wants to touch you because they're invisible.

"You first."

A heated understanding lights up his eyes, still vibrant in the darkness of the room. Slowly, he releases his grip on you, relenting to not knowing where you are in space. You take an invisible step back to get a better view of the specimen before you. With one hand, he unbuckles his belt, sliding the leather from his pants and dropping it to the floor with a thunk. And then his pants are gone and he's left in his boxers, tight against the bulging muscles of his thighs.

And other bulging things. He doesn't hide his attraction to you. But still, you do not reappear.

Bucky begins to worry you're never going to, that maybe he's taken things too for. But then, a soft finger trails across his neck and he jerks in surprise. You're tracing the plain of his chest with a feather-light touch, dipping into the indent between his collarbones, feeling along the puckered scar of a bullet wound and the long slice of a knife. He feels healed beneath your touch, but it's not enough to satisfy the insatiable hunger building in the tightness of his groin. This entire evening has been a long, drawn-out, build-up of tension, and if he doesn't release it soon, it will snap like an overstretched rubber band.

He makes his move.

Apparently, Bucky's senses are just as perceptive here as they are on the sparring mat. His metal hand shoots up and wraps around the wrist of the hand on his chest, despite being unable to see it. The other reaches out and grapples at your invisible body in the dark, somehow finding your waist. He doesn't need to see you to manage to flip you around and press your back against his chest. In your surprise, your invisibility falters, and you flicker out of your shifted form with a flustered squeak, one hand suddenly pinned between your back and Bucky's rock-hard chest.

He holds on with an iron grip and walks you toward the bed, holding you up to prevent you from tripping in your ruffled state.

"You're taking too long, doll," he mumbles into your ear, and you feel his chest rumble with the vibrations. Your free hand flies to the one around your waist, which is slowly creeping upward toward your breast to twist at the sensitive nipple. "I know you like it when I pin you on the sparring floor. I can see it in your eyes. I'll take you like that right now if you give me the word."

Fuck, you want nothing more but you can't breathe enough to get the words out, opting for nodding vigorously instead. But Bucky wants words, gently prodding you forward to get a verbal commitment out of you. He will never take you against your will again. So you manage a long, drawn-out please and suddenly you're face-first in the sheets, bent halfway at the waist, your ass grinding against the delicious bulge pressed against your aching cunt. It pleases you that he has been thinking the same wicked thoughts as you when he slams you to the mat over and over again in training.

Bucky pulls your arm out from underneath you, joining it with the other and holding them together with his metal fist at your lower back, forcing your chest further into the mattress and your ass higher in the air. There's no way for you to move, no matter how hard you try. But you don't try, won't try. Bucky has you right where you want to be.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs in your ear and you breathe an affirmation. His teeth nibble suddenly at your ear lobe and you squirm, the sensation of his breath fanning your skin sending goosebumps along the trail of kisses he leaves down your spine. Somehow, you know this is only the calm before the storm, the gentle caresses of a man who's about to rearrange every organ in your body, all the way up to your heart if you aren't careful.

It doesn't matter to you that it's pitch black in the room; you wouldn't have been able to see anything with your face shoved into the comforter, even if the lights were on. But Bucky's starting to regret having left the lights off, wishing he could better see the curve of your hips, the swell of your thighs, or the bloom of his handprint on your ass when his hand comes down with a smack. He resigns to being satisfied by the mewling gasp that escapes your lips and your soft pleas to Do it again, harder.

So he does. Smack.

And then he's sinking to his knees and you can tell because he leaves a wet stripe of skin with his tongue over the globe of your ass and blows a shock of cool air across the rawness of your skin. He replaces the sting of his hand with the bite of his teeth and then a kiss to soothe you again. The rollercoaster of sensations has you moaning against the mattress and rocking your hips toward his face and Barnes chuckles at your movement, your actions giving away the desperation you feel to have his tongue move to more sensitive places.

He is happy to oblige. You hadn't even noticed you'd been squeezing your thighs together until he slid a hand up between them, forcing them apart. It's a blessing your legs aren't doing any work to keep you up anymore because they feel like jelly under his touch. The hand between your thighs moves higher still until you feel his thumb pressed to your sensitive clit, warm and twitching with anticipation, desire coursing through your veins and dripping from your wet cunt. Your ears barely register that he's speaking, the blood is pumping so hard in your ears, but his words are exalting.

"Look at you, so wet for me." The hand around your wrists tightens just slightly. You are surprised by the extreme control he has over the cool metal fingers, and you almost wish he'd use those on you instead. And then he says, "you like it, don't you, doll, being at my mercy," and you forget all about the arm and decide it doesn't matter what hand presses down with a gentle strength on your clit as long as he doesn't stop. And he doesn't. Doesn't move, doesn't flinch or twitch or falter, just holds steady until your gasping mewls die down just enough for you to say, "yes, all for you, all for you, all..."

With those words, his thumb slips, between your slick folds into your pussy, finding the soft spongy flesh and pressing down again and you cry out with a careening moan that tapers off into a silent sob. He's taking his time, picking you apart, pulling at the laces that bind you together, and undoing them to release the tension he knows you harbor. But what about him? Is it not torture for him?

You breathe in a rough gasp, enough to squeak out a few more words. "I thought we were going too slow for you."

He laughs, he actually laughs, at your words, but relents.

"I hear you, doll."

I hear you. Oh wow. His tongue replaces his finger and you lose all coherence, able only to blubber some iteration of his name as the smooth muscle traces circles around your clit, finally allowing your orgasm to build with a steady contraction in your pelvis. Barnes moans between your legs like he's never tasted chocolate or buttercream or any of those other wondrous flavors and there's only you. And that moan sends you overboard, the vibrations diffusing down your legs and you tremble into your first orgasm. Your first orgasm.

He keeps going, riding out the waves of your high until you're crying that it's too much, James, too much and he pulls his tongue away from your oversensitized clit only to move down your legs. He's working you up again, teasing the smooth skin of your inner thigh with gentle nips and kisses until your body is craving release again, your cunt clenching around nothing but the memory of his mouth. He is deliberate in his ministrations, methodical in the way he must be with his missions. The flood of your first orgasm has dripped steadily down your thigh and he cleans you with his tongue, dragging upward along the sticky trail of your musky release until his tongue makes contact again and he pulls an orgasm from your desperate body once more.

He still hasn't released your arms.

"You know how long I've wanted to do this?" he groans, as you shudder again into the pleasure of his touch. He kisses back up the length of your spine while you twitch under him, his free hand dragging shock wave after shock wave from your cunt. It strikes you that this man is truly 106, not 26 like his body suggests, and you absentmindedly wonder if that's why he's so good at it, that he's had years to practice. And then his cock is pressing against your folds and you forget the notion halfway through thinking it. "You're so good to me doll, so good for opening up for me. Wanna feel your tight pussy around me."

You push backward, or do your best to without the employment of your arms, wanting desperately to feel him inside you. He is warm and all-encompassing and part of you thinks his cock spilling his seed inside of you would complete you like nothing else. But you know that's a bad idea and you can hear him already unwrapping a condom (where did he get that from?) and your body trembles with the anticipation. You haven't even seen him yet but you know he must be big, the way he grunts when the tip of his erection teases your entrance.

When he enters you it isn't gentle like the stroke of his tongue. It splits you open with a rough thrust, the laces of your heart fully undone and releasing you from their confinement. You choke on your own air.

And then he's releasing your arms, and before you can react, Barnes has you lifted, your back to his chest, your knees shoved roughly into the mattress so he can stand and fuck you from behind. The metal arm finds your neck and forces your head back, his lips dragging hot against your soft skin and muttering filthy praise into your ear, his hand gently on your throat to hold you there. Your hands fly to his, not to pull him away, but to convince him to squeeze, just a little bit harder. The pressure is grounding, and then the hand around your waist is trailing toward the bud of your clit and rubbing in urgent circles and you let out a silent gasp as he thrusts into you at a pace astounding for the position you're in.

You come hard, over his hand, around his cock, and for the first time Barnes falters, stunned by the intensity with which you clamp around him and if he hadn't made you come two times already he might have held out a bit longer to pull another one of those stunning orgasms from your slick cunt. But you're sagging, using him to hold you up against the exhaustion of repeated abuse so he releases, riding the wave of pleasure you started. Bucky groans out your name, surprising you with the gentleness of it on his tongue despite the rough hand around your neck.

When he releases you softly back onto the bed, you sink heavily into the mattress, feeling high on pleasure and drunk on his hands. He pulls away and shuffles around the room, and if you had had any energy left you might have complained at the loss of him but as it sits nothing will rouse you from the intense desire to simply fall asleep.

He continues to move about and then... the lights go on? You groan at the harsh treatment of your eyes as they adjust. But Barnes returns and pulls you against him and apologizes for the rude awakening.

"Sorry, doll," he mutters. "Wanted to get a better look at you." His fingers glide along your back and his face nuzzles into the top of your head, breathing into your hair as you press your forehead into his chest. Despite being exhausted himself he trails his hands all over your body, exploring the side of you that has been shoved into the sheets for the better part of the evening. You let him, although your nerves feel fried and oversensitive to touch.

"Watch what you do with those hands," you giggle as his fingertips brush over a nipple, "unless you're ready to go again."

"Already looking forward to next time?"

"You wish," you tease, but already you know for certain that there will be a next time.

#bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes #winter solider fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #winter solider smut #definitely not canon #i refuse to believe steve went back in time for some 1940s kitty kat and left his best friend behind #tony and nat are alive bc they are the only truly valuable characters #sebastian stan #also youre the daughter of agent hill #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #winter soldier #wEiNeR sOlDiEr

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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 3 years

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Their Doll 9

You Love Him

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis: y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: bucky is consolingly, y/n feels shit

Warnings: implied NON CON, smut (the whole chapter is basically smut, you’re welcome), feelings and shit, blood, death of unnamed character, swearing

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

I flinched as the blood sprayed, splattering across my face sickeningly as the dagger plunged into his neck. The body fell limp, collapsing to the floor with a hollow thud, a sound that barred me from ever going to heaven.

Of course, I wasn't the one who was holding the knife. In fact, the whole scene could be seen as rather comical if a man hadn't lost his life. The melodic tune I'd hummed as he'd lifted the knife to his own neck, the fear in his features as the jagged point pressed to his skin. But it was the sight of the life leaving his eyes, the splattered blood that made the whole thing so...sinister.

I stopped humming the little tune, checking over my make-shift scene before swiftly exiting the building through a back window - making sure not to remove my gloves until I reached my bike.

That was the true beauty of my power, or at least in HYDRA's eyes it was. The fact that I could simply stand by, and make my victims - their victims - do all the dirty work for me, and when all is said and done to everyone around them it looks like they'd killed themselves.

Id made the man scrawl a quick little note first, as to try and convince his family and friends it was a suicide and someone didn't hold him at gun point or something.

I can't live like this anymore

That's all the note said. Not too short, but also not so long it instantly because unconvincing and obviously forced. I mean let's be honest, if you were to off yourself would you really drag it out or would you be so desperate to go already that you'd find the quickest way out? I know what I'd do. It's not like I'd thought about it since joining HYDRA...but let's just say the thought hasn't entirely avoided me.

...

It was almost like my ritual, every time someone died at my hands. I would arrive back at the compound - where two guards would search me (arguably much too thoroughly to the point that every time it happened I seemed to feel nauseous after) and I'd be sent straight off the the shower room.

From there, I'd let the cold water wash over me, usually spiking my skin into goose bumps before my eyes would become shellacked with tears and my mind would start to numb. That's when I'd slowly sink to the floor, head held in my hands as sobs wracked my frame.

If we're still being honest, I never actually new how long this lasted. It could be minutes, that only seemed to stretch for hours, or it could in truth be hours that were just as long as they felt.

There is one thing I know, though. It's always the soldier who brings me out of it. The warm touch of his flesh hand against my shoulder, the shivering cold brush of his metal one before he's pulling me to my feet and engulfing me in his beefy, yet welcoming, arms. Again, I have no idea how long this lasts, but I sure hope it lasts for hours.

When he'd pull away, my eyes would remain glued to his plump lips, my tongue trailing along my own as my eyes would burn with a hunger. If I'd looked up into his eyes too, I'd find a similar hunger blazing there.

He initiated the kiss, as he always did, lips desperate and hard against mine, almost bruising as his teeth nipped at my bottom lip to beg for entrance. And I always grants it to him, moaning at the feeling of his tongue curling over mine, his hands tangling in my hair, roaming my body, playing me like an instrument he'd been practicing for years.

The soldier pushed me against the wall, lips sucking and kissing along my neck - sure to leave a mark but neither of us cared. In fact, I'm sure he rather liked it, having me marked as his.

I let out a long moan as his fingers - the metal ones - found their way to my core, tracing over my slit and up to my clit to collect some of the wetness there before they were plunging into my heat.

"Fuck! Soldier!" I cried, heat thrown back against the old tiled wall as he worked his fingers at a punishing pace inside me, working me open so I could take him. He was curling his fingers just right, hitting that one spot inside of me that sent shivers down my spine and made white spots form over my vision when I came apart. The soldier smirked at me, detaching his lips from my neck and bringing his digits to his lips before sucking my juices off them right in front of me.

The sight was sinful, really, and all I could do was keep myself standing as my legs shook with arousal and the remnants of my previous orgasm.

"Delicious." Was all he said, before the soldier's lips were back on mine is a bruising kiss and him large hands were cupping my ass and pulling my legs up around his waist. I moaned against his mouth, tasting myself as his tongue swept its way into my own mouth before stroking over my tongue. There would surely be bruises decorating me whole body when this was done - not an unusual occurrence - from how hard the soldier was gripping me, but the pain only amounted to the pleasurable sparks setting my body alight at that very moment.

I reached down blindly, not wanting to break the searing kiss as I felt around for his aching cock. Of course, it wasn't very hard to find, and once I felt it I took ahold of it with a hand wrapped delicately around him. I pumped the soldier's length a few times, a long, low groan slipping into our kiss as I lined him up with my entrance. My head was once again thrown back when his tip nudged my clit, sending my eyes rolling back in my skull and forcing a scream from me when he plunged in in one thrust.

"S'tight." He grunted against my neck, pulling his hips back slowly before snapping them forwards with enough force to make me thick there could be cracks in the stone wall behind us. It was torturous, his pace, so slow yet so hard I felt as if the air was being punched from my lungs with every thrust.

"F-faster." I moaned, hands holding onto his muscly shoulders for dear life as he begun to fail into me. My cunt was stretched to its limit around the soldier's girth, yet the sinful burn just felt like more pleasure as the pace of his thrusts distracted me. My eyes were constantly rolled back into my skull, legs jelly around his waist and if it weren't for his hands holding me up my my ass I would be sprawled on the floor in that moment.

My brain turned to mush, and I could even remember my own name, let alone enough words to tell the soldier how good he was making me feel. So instead I opted for a long, drawn-out moan as his tip kissed my cervix with ever pump inside of me. The soldier looked down to see where our bodies were connected, his eyes glittering with lust at the slight of my wetness dripping from his cock and liger coating both our thighs and most probably the floor in my slick. What made him smirk even wider, though, was the bulge in my stomach every time he thrusted, his cock so deep in my you could see it.

The soldier pressed down on that point, a new wave of arousal flooding through me at the thought of taking something so big.

I could feel myself clenching down on him like a vice, my second realise so close I could almost feel it. From the way his hips faltered and his thrusts stuttered to the guttural, wanton string of moans that escaped his lips like a symphony, I could sense he was close too. I reached down, rubbing furious circles over my swollen clit, trying to push myself over the edge at the same time as the soldier.

I don't know who's orgasm triggered whose, but from the way they ripped through us, it was apparent that one caused the other.

...

I sat mindlessly in my cell, the only thing I was able to do was stare back into the blue eyes already trained on my own body. I didn't want to admit it. I couldn't admit it.

I shook my head, trying to shake the thoughts creeping through my mind, clawing at me and begging me to accept them. But the idea made me feel slightly sick, I think. Well, it could be more that it should make me feel sick, but try as I might, it wouldn't.

I couldn't stop that little voice, the one literally screaming the words at me every time my eyes slid over him, every time the soldier was in my sight: you love him.

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lunapwrites · 3 years

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Numb

(I am once again posting unedited nightmares to Tumblr.)

CW: strong language, violence, character death. The first thing Remus noticed was that the floor was cold. The texture rough against his stubbled cheek, scraping against his forearms as he slowly pushed himself up. He blinked blearily, eyes adjusting to the dim torchlight. Stone floors, stone walls, iron bars.

A cell.

His head was throbbing; there was dried blood in his hair. This time it might have been his own. He recalled bright lights, curses flying, sizzling past his ear. Red. Darkness.

A Stunner.

How did they find me?

He couldn't remember.

If he concentrated, he could hear breathing, other heartbeats. One, two, three... no, four. He scented the air; three male, one female. Human, goblin. Familiar — very familiar, though he was struggling to think beyond the pounding in his skull. He couldn't recall their faces.

Somewhere out of view, a door swung open: hinges creaking, wood groaning, scraping along the floor. A jangle of keys. This scent... (juniper berry and wood shavings and cheap dusty tea) this scent he knew.

rat rat rat

"Oh good, you're not dead," Peter said in a tone that might have sounded cheerful if not for the underlying tension of attempted murder and heart-wrenching betrayal.

"Sorry to disappoint," Remus replied. His voice was rougher than the stone he'd woken on and twice as cold. On the other side of the wall, two heartbeats quickened; a quiet intake of breath.

They know me.

"Ah, don't be like that, Moony. I've brought you supper."

"Think I'd rather starve, thanks."

Peter gave that snorty little laugh that Remus used to privately think was endearing and now just made him want to yank the bastard's brains out through his nostrils.

"Just as dramatic as ever, I see." He showed the plate to Remus. "It's just a bacon sarnie. Light on the butter and practically raw, just the way you like it."

It was the way he liked it, and Remus hated him for it.

"Why am I here?"

"Skipping right over the small talk, eh? That's not like you at all." Peter opened a small grate, pushing the plate through the bars. "Come on, Moony. You know why."

"Don't call me that."

If he hadn't been watching for it, he'd have missed the tiny flicker of hurt across Peter's face. The twitch of his brows, the near imperceptible thinning of his already too-thin lips. The shadows under his eyes darkening.

He looked terrible. He looked sorry. Remus hated him even more.

"Alright, Remus then. Or would you prefer Lupin?"

"I would prefer you didn't call me anything, honestly."

"Too bad," Peter said briskly. "I'm the jailor, so unless you just don't want to talk at all..."

"That would be lovely, actually."

"Liar." Peter grinned. "You love hearing yourself talk, always did. You were worse than James—"

The bars rattled as Remus slammed into them, fury bubbling in his veins. Peter leapt out of his reach, eyes wide, frightened as he'd been that night in the shack.

"DON'T!" Remus snarled, fangs bared. "Don't you ever speak his name!"

Peter stared at him, his hummingbird pulse slowly steadying as he remembered who was on which side of the bars. He put his hands up, placating.

"Alright, Remus. Fair enough. I'm sorry."

No you're not.

Peter hovered awkwardly for a moment, rocking on his heels like he had something more to say — like there was anything more to say. As if he had a right to be disappointed that Remus would sooner swallow his own tongue than accept anything he offered.

"Right. I'll leave you to it, then. Be back tomorrow."

Remus watched him slip out of the room in silence, the heavy door swinging shut, the lock turning with a dull click just as the plate shattered against the wall.

"Brought you some soup today," Peter said conversationally. "Figured you might need it after talking to Bellatrix."

He slipped the bowl through the grate; Remus didn't move from his spot against the opposite wall. Every one of his nerve endings was on fire, but he'd be damned before he'd show it.

"She really needs to work on her conversational skills," he croaked, and immediately regretted it. Peter's eyes sharpened, searching his face.

Nothing to see here. Not for you.

"She was always mad as a hatter before, but Azkaban really didn't do her any favours in that regard." Peter sighed, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. "Can't say I'm upset about getting out of that one."

It was in that moment that Remus decided that the Killing Curse was too good for Peter.

He hauled himself to his feet, trudging over to the front of the cell on shaky legs, leaning over carefully to pick up his supper.

"I see you remembered my favourite again." He sniffed at the bowl of soup suspiciously, checking for strange ingredients.

Potato. Leek. Broth... chicken I think. Cream. Bacon again, probably leftover.

"Figured a taste of home might not go amiss," Peter said quietly, frowning. "I haven't poisoned it, you know."

"I'm well aware that the only thing you poison is friendships," Remus agreed. "If you wanted to kill me, I should watch for a knife in my back."

"...That's not fair."

"Isn't it?"

They stared one another down silently, Peter with his best rainy morning face on, Remus towering above him like a thundercloud. He slowly poured the soup out onto the floor, flinging the bowl back through the bars. Peter dodged at the last second; it bounced off the wall next to his ear and clattered harmlessly to the floor.

He'd learned his lesson since the plate, apparently.

"Right," Peter declared in an overly plummy tone as he pushed off the wall, "we'll just try again tomorrow, shan't we?"

The following day, Peter brought down bangers and mash; it was cold and grainy, and the bangers were burned to hell.

Remus ate it anyway.

"You know, as pleased as I am that you've stopped throwing tantrums over the food," Peter mused through a mouthful of toast, "I'm genuinely surprised you haven't asked me why I did it."

Remus paused, looking up from his plate through one, unswollen eye.

"Probably because it doesn't matter."

He spoke slowly, as if to a particularly dim child, as if he weren't lying through his teeth.

Peter scoffed, spots of colour rising to his cheeks.

"Please, like you didn't spend twelve years tearing yourself up over Sirius. Why should my reasons matter less?"

"I'll give you three guesses."

Peter wrinkled his nose, scowling.

"You always liked him best."

"Dunno what to tell you, Pete. He gives great head."

There was a muffled snort from the neighbouring cell. Dean, by the sound of it. A week ago, Remus might have even been embarrassed.

"Remus Lupin, unfiltered," Peter said with a wistful shake of his head. "I fucking missed you, you know."

"This is very good bread. Do give my compliments to whichever unfortunate elf was responsible for it."

"That would be me."

Remus snorted at him, raising his mug of water in toast.

"Here's to moving up in the world."

"Fuck off." Peter eyed him speculatively for a long moment. "It was because I wanted it to end."

Remus peered at him over the rim of his mug.

There was a dark intensity emanating from Peter. Not dangerous in the same way that Bellatrix or even Sirius was; sharp and sinewy, a predator stalking prey. It was as if Remus was moving among the stars and encountered a vast nothing that devoured everything it dragged into its field.

No sound, no light, just cold, dead silence.

"All my friends were dying or turning into people I didn't recognise anymore, and I was terrified," Peter continued quietly. "Every day I was terrified, and I just wanted it to end. I didn't care how."

He pushed off the wall, leaving without waiting for a response.

It didn't matter. There was nothing to say.

On the fifth day, an apple rolled off the plate as Peter approached the cell. It hit the ground, rolling at his feet. He leaned down to recover it, and the rest happened very quickly.

Remus rushed forward, his arm darting out to catch Peter around his neck as he rose back up, yanking him back hard against the bars.

"You always were an idiot."

Peter thrashed and struggled in his grip. His fancy silver hand clawed at Remus' forearm, more powerful than Peter had any right to be.

But Remus was stronger.

"I would be lying if I said I didn't miss you, Pete," he said calmly, tightening his grip. "I missed you every day, like a limb. I still do."

The keys were jangling against Peter's belt loop, against the bars. Remus could reach through and grab them now, if he wanted to.

"You weren't the only one who was afraid, you know? We were just kids. Only the rest of us learned to kill our enemies instead of our brothers."

It wasn't about the keys.

"My brothers died twelve years ago." The fingers scratching and scrabbling against his arm were weakening, slowing. "I buried one with his wife in Godric's Hollow, and they put up a little statue for them that I still can't stand to look at."

Peter's knees buckled, his weight against Remus' steady arm adding pressure.

"I buried the other in a little plot in Coxheath, and I used to wonder why it couldn't have been me. And I grieved."

Remus took a deep, slow breath. A holy calm settled over him.

"I want you to know," he continued in that same soft, conversational tone, "that everything you've done has amounted to nothing. That you are nothing, and no one will remember you."

Things happened very slowly after that.

Peter stopped struggling.

Remus counted heartbeats.

There were six.

And then there were five.

He reached down and pulled the keyring from Peter's belt, popping the beltloop clear off. It wasn't like Peter needed it anymore. He left the body against the bars, opening the door to his cell without looking back.

"Hullo Professor."

Dean was watching him open their cell door with wide eyes, more surprised — appraising — than fearful. Luna waved at him cheerfully, same as when he'd last seen her, if a little taller. Remus nodded to them both in greeting.

"I'd say it's good to see you both, but I'm rather sorry you're here. Can everyone move under their own power?"

"Ollivander and Griphook are both a bit worse for wear," Dean said apologetically.

"Alright, well give me a hand now then."

It only took a few moments for them to get Griphook and Ollivander situated on Dean and Remus' backs, respectively. Remus, in the meantime, had been coming up with a plan.

So long as they were quiet and careful, he could sniff out the exit while avoiding the manor's residents. They just needed to be quick about it; he didn't know how long it would be before Peter was missed.

But no sooner did he reach his hand out for the door than it burst open, revealing a particularly unhinged-looking Sirius, closely flanked by Harry and Ron.

There was a short pause in which the two men processed one anothers' sudden appearance.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Remus asked faintly.

"We came to rescue you," Sirius said with a vaguely affronted tone.

Remus turned around, looking at the assortment of prisoners he'd broken out and the cooling body of the jailor at the other end of the room, and then turned back to Sirius.

"Well done."

Harry let out a choked sort of noise that might have been either a sob or a snort, he wasn't quite sure.

"Right," Ron said quickly. "So, mission accomplished, let's go!"

He and Harry ushered Dean-and-Griphook and Luna up the stairs first, Ron taking point and Harry flanking. The moment they were out of the room, Sirius reached out and cupped Remus's jaw, brushing a thumb across his cheek. He felt something damp on his face.

"Have you been crying?"

Remus shrugged.

"Maybe. I didn't feel anything," he said quietly, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. Let's go."

Remus pushed past him, following the boys up the stairs. Sirius followed close behind.

They didn't look back.

#remus lupin #peter pettigrew #malfoy manor #dark fic #angst #mild humor #lunapwrites #i am on my bs #finally #please note the cw #read at your own risk #wolfstar

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 3 years

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It’s The Avengers (03x14)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 14: It’s Not What It Looks Like

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: ehehehehehe

Word Count: my anxiety was through the roof this time. and that too on the thing that I know was not achievable. But noooo my boss just wants results. Well, fuck you and your boss who gave me anxiety. You will know the pain of these tears soon.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The familiar sports car shining in its red shade came to a halt right outside the door for Tony to get out and greet the lone camera covering him. "How's it going fellas?" He seemed comparatively chirpier than the last few days as he whistled his way to the boot of the trunk to take out five boxes of large pizzas along with a whole bag filled with soda and side dishes. "It's pizza party today, my lovely unicorn," he announced to the camera person; mostly because there was no one else in his vicinity.

Tony: *standing next to his car* I have come realise that I have been a bit hard on my team because of the anxiety I've been feeling ever since Y/N disappeared from right in front of me. Like last Monday. *camera switches to the video recording of Last Monday* Tony is seen in the kitchenette making detox juice for himself after a workout. Sam comes and grabs the coffee pot, looking around for a mug to pour himself some. The only mug hanging on the stand is your Brooklyn Nine-Nine themed one. "Well," he mutters to himself, "no one's using this for a while." Just as he finishes the sentence, Tony's hand slips on the juicer switch and the green spill out everywhere in the space, making Sam yell for help. "You are excluded from my will," Tony announces while looking dead into Sam's eyes before pouring the coffee from his pot into the sink and walking away. *back to present* Tony: Pepper says I went overboard but Sam didn't have to say that now did he. *makes a cringe face* Anyways. This is my way of showing them that I have made peace with the situation for now and that I trust our alien friends to get my daughter back to me asap.

Tony walked into the facility to be greeted by dead silence. "Did I miss something?" he wondered out loud for the camera while looking around the lobby and the waiting area. "I am pretty sure we were not supposed to go out anywhere thanks to that stubborn virus." He walked up the elevator to be greeted by Clint coming back from the security room with his self-regulated watch, carrying two glasses of iced Americanos- one of which he offered Tony. "Pizza-" he seemed happy to see the boxes, taking the bag from Tony- "what's the occasion? Are you firing one of us? Is there a budget cut because of the 'Rona? In that case, just know that I spot a person without a mask from miles. And I can end them right there." Tony pressed the button for the lounge and waited for the camera to record his wink and smile till the doors closed to let the other handy camera in the elevator- following Clint- take over. Clint did a survey of the bag and was quite content with the contents. Tony, still with his glasses on, walked his usual walk that displayed well that he owned the place. "No one's getting fired unless they are eating my choco-chip ice cream." "You have set the bar pretty low." "It's pretty much up to the expectations I have from you all."

Clint shrugged and went on to agree with him, walking behind the Iron Man as the elevator dinged. The camera followed Clint and Tony out to film the scene unfolding in the Lounge. Manoeuvring away from their shoulders, the camera caught that deadpan silence in the room filled with nearly every Avenger staring at the screen with the seriousness of defusing a bomb that may go off any time. Peter was hiding under Scott's arm, peeping at the screen through his hands while Scott was biting his nails, nervousness dripping from his forehead. Wanda held Vision's hand while she muttered something under her breath- most probably a chant. Sam seemed to have forgotten he was watering the plants for the water-can was already empty and yet he still went on to pour the contents while his eyes were glued to the screen. Bucky's hands were busy brushing Zuko's fur- while the pupper took this opportunity to lay in his lap and snooze- monotonously, his gaze too stuck on the screen. "Come on, come on. Do it," Steve muttered while on the edge of his seat on the sofa. The camera swivelled back to Clint and Tony- both of whom had confused looks on their faces by now. Both of them turned to the screen in sync to witness what exactly was it that had all of them in such a grim state. And it was something like this.

On the screen was a barely lit space that seemed like it could have been a small closet under somebody's staircase. In that barely lit space, you could be seen from your abdomen up. There you were, panting, sweating, your hair a literal mess, your bra strap dangling out of your tank top's straps. "Again," you panted, wiping the sweat beads from your forehead while positioning your hands on a surface where the camera was seemingly recording you from. And in that same dim light, a movement was discovered behind you. That movement was of the exposed muscles and skin that the viewers had never seen in their daily life. Well, neither had they seen that very person pant and sweat like this before as well. Green eyes shined in that bare light, as the familiar face came out from the shadows to apparently hover just above your shoulder. One pale hand was used to remove those clammy hair strands coming in his way before both arms mimicked your position and came to rest on either side of your arms. "Are you sure?" Loki's voice, breathless and heavy, questioned you with sincerity while his body did not budge from behind you. You nodded. "Again." The frame caught you adjusting your hips to position your butt right with his front- something that was not covered by the camera. He towered over you, adjusting to your height while grounded his arms on the surface. "Okay then," he whispered, taking one arm to move your butt a little closer to your frame before going back to anchor himself to the surface, "here we go."

The iced Americanos created a crackle and bang louder than expected- thanks to the already looming silence- when they hit the floor. The pizza box and other snacks? Not so much. Every other person jumped where they were to turn and watch the colours from Tony and Clint's faces drain away by the second, their jaws unhinged, their hearts at a pause and their lungs just no longer working. Steve- the only one in the room to have deciphered what had just gone down in those Dad brains- got up and raised his arms till his chest as of sign of caution. "It's not what you think. Tony, Clint it's not-" The elevator dinged and out came Natasha and Bruce with four feet long bags of Cheetos and popcorn, the former quite excited to rush out into the Lounge. "We found the snacks from the pantry! Did we miss something? Did they put it in yet?" Steve winced just as Bruce blurted out those words. Tony was already heaving audibly, no air going into his lungs as he nearly collapsed on the floor if not for Natasha holding him up like she was used to it. Clint, on the other hand, had 'disgusted' written all over his face, judging every single person in the room before storming out. "OH MY GOD!!!! OH MY GAAAAA~" the screams could be heard from outside while the camera zoomed in on Natasha's face- already bored and tired.

Natasha: If they had more than one working brain cell they wouldn't have fought like twelve-year-olds in the middle of an airport and then stopped talking for a whole year. *camera pans in on her face* *faces the camera* And to think they can procreate. .

One Hour Ago Eight Hours Earlier In A Galaxy Far Away One of the camera drones stepped over a stone wall and passed over a dozen guards, buzzing its best to enter the first window it could find. Passing over ogres guarding the small galleries, another drone accompanied the first one down the maze of hallways, parting at the stairway leading down to the dungeons and up to the meeting room. The way to the dungeons was one dark path that only lit up at the very end of the hallway- few lamps burning with constant flickers. The space was divided into walls and covered with iron bars. A few of these cells were empty while others housed creatures who are only spoken about with the name of their shadows. In the last cell was a shadow that seemed similar to that of a human sleeping under the lone ragged excuse of a blanket. If one tried to focus, they could hear light snores coming out of that creature too. The drone came to rest upon one of the iron bars, sending in the live feed to the cameraman behind this whole shebang. The other fly had already found the 'throne room'. The throne- as one could make out with the setting of the hall- was made out of a tree trunk burned till all that was left was an ash-covered dead piece looking up at the sky. The seat was carved right through the middle with one of the ashened branches housing a black adder with red eyes. And in the throne sat the one person no one wanted to see. "Aellae," you mumbled in the most derogatory sense, your eyes wanting to hurt her there and then through the screen in Javier's hand. And lo! Right then the God stepped in the frame, standing in front of the witch with his usual demeanour. Well, that's what it looked like. "Why do you have to bow to her?" You whispered at him a bit viciously. White entered the frame that was recording your end. Looking at the screen he furrowed his brows and wondered how you could tell that. "He stands straight," you stressed, already sensing the question from White, "and right now he is not. And he does not not stand straight for anyone." "I see you have found yourself a fine pair of pets on your galactic travels, my love," you and White hear Aellae from the screen, bringing your attention back to her. "Just a bunch of humans and a kitten to entertain me on my way," he chuckled and shrugged a little, that Asgardian charm resurfacing in his smile. Aellae smirked at him. "On your way to where?" The question had a hint of anger even when she added a wave of curiosity, something that was easy to catch of the one who was listening to layers in her voice. Loki waved his hands in the air. "You know how it is for me. Here and there, always on the move. A nomad exploring the universe." "No more," she announced, her head high, her stare stern, "now you stay with me. You will be my advisor in the day, guiding my army to every corner of this world, with nothing to spare." She got up from her throne to walk an inhumanly seductive gait to reach the God and place her finger under his chin. "And in the night, you shall be my pacifier," she whispered, making your whole face cringe for the camera to zoom into it. "You shall satiate all my bedly desires till I the very. last. drop." Something cracked on the other side, making Javier and White turn in every direction to look at the source of the sound. Lulu too was a bit confused. You were the only person not taking your eyes away from the screen.

You: I swear to God if she was not such a bitch, I would have asked her out. Would have even gone to lengths of being her *makes air quotes* bedfellow if she was not such a fucking bitch?? Javier: *turns the camera to himself with the dazed look on his face* *signs for the camera* I am supportive and all in for this but is now really a good time for her to be questioning her sexuality? When we can literally die for just breathing wrong???

"Now," Aellae snapped everyone back to the screen, "as for those pets of yours, I'll send someone to take care of them. They are just hindrance if nothing more." "Aellae," Loki's honey laden voice was now implying a sternness. "What." "They are not to be given enough importance to be-" Loki sighed and closed his eyes- "taken care of." "All the more fun to watch them die in misery." Her eyes widened with excitement at the thought of murder. "Especially that Midgardian who is living in the illusion of being your friend." Loki's jaw tightened. "If you decide to harm h-them, I will not aid you in your irrational quests, Aellae. Going after those weaklings proves that you are still the reckless stubborn creature that I left you." There wasn't an exclamation of surprise on her face but rather that particular smirk of the devil who has walked its prey right into its trap. "So, she does mean something to you." Loki kept mum. "Guards!" she yelled for the two orcs standing outside, "bring me the head of the woman!" "Aellae, stop," he begged casually. "Enough humour." "And do whatever with the rest of her!" she ordered with her eyes piercing through Loki's soul.

The next thing you know, the last fly drone that got lost on the middle floor somewhere was recording two orcs throwing Loki into a room before shutting the door behind him. His grunts echoed through the room with no windows. All around him were walls coloured in a dusty cream shade, lamps lining up the four walls with one dressing table sitting with one of the four walls, housing heavy chains, the purpose of which Loki did not want to know. He huffed as he stood up, looking at the door before letting his gaze land on those shackles on his wrist that now seemed permanent. The tension on his jaw did not go unnoticed by the tiny roommate before he slammed those bracelets- along with his wrist- into the wall in pure animalistic rage.

Witch's Den- Down the Hall Two orcs stood guard to the entrance coming to the floor via the stairs. One of them seemed to be snoozing with all the pressure sitting on his nose and brows while the other one was trying to drive away this one stubborn fly that kept buzzing around its head. Eventually reaching the threshold of irritation, he followed the fly out towards the stairs, his curved sword being swung into the air to strike the buzzing creature; only to be taken by surprise with a bright source of light. The next thing the fly was recording was the other orc waking up to the clunk of a sword dropping, this one finding gasping and taking an attack position before the camera went dark.

But not for long.

The fly in Loki's room recorded the God catching the sounds outside while he was in the middle of surveying the whole room for an escape route. The grunts and gasps of orcs outside have stopped, making him all the more cautious to the steps that steadily approach the door. He took one of the chains in his hand, with calculated steps, walked towards the door to catch whatever tried to come in next. With the sound of a heavy key twisted inside the keyhole, the wheels turned and the door opened a smidge to let someone in. Without losing even a second, Loki wound the chain around your neck from behind you, nearly choking you. "Not now, dammit!" you choked, trying to free yourself from the hold. "Y/N?" the surprise stirring along with confusion was a new shade on Loki that you would have appreciated any other day. "Wha-what are you doing here?" That God wasn't even able to squeak on realising it was you. The chains came off as fast as they had gone around your neck, giving you room to breathe and widen your eyes in horror. "No! No no no no noooo!!" You ran towards the door as it clunk shut, leaving you to pull at it with all your might to no avail. "The door opens from outside," you groaned with a sob, thumping your head on it with low winces before a tiny realisation hit you hard enough to stop and look back at Loki. "Ow!" He yelled at the hard slap that came for his back, looking at you in simmering confusion. "You could've waited to choke me after we got out, you fucking IDIOT!" The slaps and punches got more vigorous with each word until Loki had to gab your hands with his to stop you from wasting your energy anymore. "And what makes you think coming here was a good idea?" He struggled to keep your writhing form from hurting itself more than him. You were ready to kick him in his shins and you would have absolutely done that if Loki had not shoved you into the wall with him towering over you to restrict any movement of your limbs. The little buzzing drone came to sit over Loki's arm and capture the frame where both of you were flaming with anger and still trying to breathe enough to keep that rage alive. "I'd already told you were on your own," he grunted, his eyes drilling through your soul. "And I'd already told you I am a psychology major. I can see the denial routine from miles away, you stupid blob of six-foot galaxy brain! You think I haven't sacrificed myself to a professor for the sake of my friends?" "...what? Wait. What do mean by sacri-" "Now get off me and find us a way out of here." You pushed him back. Well, at least you thought you did. But he pushed closer to you, shooting emotions of mild surprise in your eyes before you caught yourself slipping. Fortunately, this little drone caught everything in 4K. From the veins popping in Loki's neck to the parted lips and wavering gaze of yours. "This world is not a joke, Y/N. There was a reason you were left behind. And you have done the exact opposite of that which is supposed to keep you alive." It felt as if Loki had to restrain from spilling that anger over the rim. To make that hypothesis true, he punched the wall to dissipate this emotion he did not want to be running him. And there he stood, his head hanging above you in defeat, his eyes closed and his breath wavering. "I was supposed to send you home safe," he was barely able to mutter. The drone focused on your hands coming around his torso, your arms taking as much of his frame in a hug as possible as you softly patted his back and soothed him. Loki's body twitched a little at this new touch, still like a stone before giving in with every wave of your soothing touch. "You're family, idiot. I'm not gonna leave you behind with some crazy bitch that isn't me?" A chuckle resonated through you and then the room. The next moment when you looked at him, he was looking lighter. "Now come on, use your muscles and drill through one of these walls." Raising his good brow, he judged you while tapping his fist casually on the wall. "What exactly do you take me for?" "A cheesy brooder who's all soft inside," you commented without skipping a beat, looking around to find some kind of a loophole in this square room. "Say that outside these walls and watch what this brooder does to you." "Sounds like an invitation," you sang under your breath, tapping the walls. It took a while. A while that was long enough for you to move around the room to come and sit on the lone drawer by the wall, feeling the heat of the room bursting out the sweat in your skin, other than turning your brain into an irritated mush. You groaned while taking off your top and throwing it on the floor. You wanted to cry out loud to blow off some of the unbearable heat but stopped short at the sight of that overcoat coming off. Followed by that black shirt. Muscles. No matter how he moved or what he did, his back lived in that moment to tease you with those muscles. And what was that? Sparkles? No, sweat, glistening in the dim light. Wait, why was it glisten- You looked around and realised the lamps were at their wick's end. "Same," you sighed as you looked back at Loki's back, only to find him turned around to face you. "Oh, Gods!" you jumped down from the drawer with quite the surprise in your eyes. "This is your first time seeing me shirtless?" It almost felt like he was genuinely curious. "What? No! I don't know. That wasn't the-look!" You signalled him to come closer and let your hand hang right above the drawer's top that touched the two corners of the wall. Loki mirrored you and realised it instantly. "That's a cold breeze." He looked at you with pupils expanding wide in that dim lighting. Taking over from there, he tried his best to get a look as to which section of the wall it was coming from. "There's an opening-" he immediately shifted his position to standing parallel to the length of the wall, his hands grounded on the varnished top- "we will have to either pull it-" he tried his best but the structure did not budge- "or push it towards the opening in that section." You got to work as well, standing next to him and giving your end of the small corner a good push that only ended up in failed grunts. "Okay, let's try another way," you inhaled, "I'll push the top, you be the bottom."

The drone was sitting on the drawer now, capturing all those failed attempts from every angle both of you thought possible before you nearly collapsed due to lack of air. "We're are clearly doing something wrong here," Loki huffed, his puffed-up chest, the centre of the camera's frame. You flipped your wet hair to show your tired face in the lone lamp that burned in the room. "There weren't any more of those BDSM chains inside it, were there?" Loki's breathing stopped for a moment. You looked at him for an answer. Both of you moved to open the drawers. The drone captured the disappointment in your own IQ in high definition before watching you both taking them out with nothing but pure spite. "Take a break, I'll try-" "No," you shook your head and wiped the forehead sweat, "let's do it together." Loki wanted you to stop but that you gave him was more than adequate to let anyone know you won't listen right now. "This time you stand behind me and let's use the wall behind as a supp....ort? Wait how is this room looking shorter?" You were looking around in dazed confusion while Loki closed his eyes. "It's not a normal room. Those two walls will keep closing in until..." He didn't have to say more. "Well, then what are we waiting for?" the drop of panic in your high pitched voice was evident as you positioned yourself- putting your palms on the edge. "Come on." Loki came to stand behind you, copying your position, just a bit more charismatically- and with a bit more skin- till he felt your hair come into his mouth. "One, two, three!" This time the push did budge the drawer chest a bit but your strength had been used for that movement of a centimetre. Your breaths almost felt like your lungs were on the verge of crying. "Again," you panted, wiping the sweat beads from your forehead while positioning your hands on a surface where the drone was seemingly recording you from. Loki looked at your back, clearly concerned. This time he used his hand to remove those clammy hair strands coming in his way before both arms mimicked your position and came to rest on either side of your arms. "Are you sure?" Loki's voice, breathless and heavy, questioned you with sincerity while his body did not budge from behind you. You nodded. "Again." The frame caught you adjusting your hips to position your butt right with his front- something that was not covered by the camera. He towered over you, adjusting to your height while grounded his arms on the surface. "Okay then," he whispered, taking one arm to move your butt a little closer to your frame before going back to anchor himself to the surface, "here we go." Both of you had your eyes stuck on the wall with a fiery gaze and an aura that would have burned this place to the ground. His muscles tried to take all that you could not. And just when the grunts were turning into screams, the drawer started to move from its place with a screeching noise. As soon as Loki noticed a decent enough opening in the wall to your and his side, he pushed you and himself in through the opening before the death walls came for your limbs. The drone fly followed. Both of you rolled through what seemed like a tunnel slide through the walls for a minute till that just did not seem to end. It did end though. It ended in a noisy fall of thuds and groans- you on top of him. "You okay?" you winced through your broken voice, not moving a muscle for the fear of breaking something. Also because it was awkward lying over him on your stomach. Loki replied with a quick wince. A ruffle came from next to you. Followed by a lazy groan. Your head turned to the noise. So did Loki's. "You two could have easily waited for another hour." The drone swerved around to bonk into the one that was already there, covering the dungeons. There under the rugged blanket, laid Carol Danvers, looking at the two of you with sleepy eyes. Neither of you knew what to say. She looked at her watch and put her head inside the blanket again. "Five more minutes."

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basicjetsetter · 3 years

Text

Part IV

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader

▹ Warnings: Little angst, Lot of anxiety, Fluff if you squint

▹ Words: 2.8k

▹ A/N: This chapter’s a bit on the short side, but it establishes a lot. Happy reading!

You’re not exactly sure how you pull it off, but you somehow manage to elude Peter for five straight days.

Playing the impromptu game of hide-and-not-be-seen was touch and go for the first two days, mainly because you weren’t sure what time you’d see Peter in the diner’s entrance. All you knew was that he’d show up early, whatever that meant. Almost every chiming bell sent your heart into overdrive, and whenever you thought you saw him, your stomach performed painful somersaults as you mapped out all likely escape routes.

No place in the diner was safe. Hal’s has a pretty simple layout: front entrance, booths to the immediate right, and bar with barstools to the immediate left, all in a shotgun fashion. If one were to try looking for someone, especially from the front entrance, all they’d have to do is marginally widen their field of vision, which is why the first two days were tricky.

The next day after the first run-in, about three hours earlier than his initial arrival, Peter came in through the front door, buddying up with Chris and asking for you.

You were clearing off an unoccupied table, piling dirty plates, when Chris called out, “Hey! How’s it hanging, Peter?” With the stack of dishes still clenched in your hands, you dropped down and crawled under the booth, coming face to face with an unsavory assortment of chewed-up gum underneath the table, holding your breath for dear life. Peter stayed for about ten agonizingly treacherous minutes as Chris failed to locate you.

On the second day, a sluggish Tuesday morning with only four regular patrons at the bar and no one in the booths, Peter had just walked through the entrance as you were coming out of the back, hand-carrying three of Hal’s famous Thin Mint Milkshakes. Without a thought, you spun right around and dashed in the opposite direction, busting through the employee door and colliding straight into Wendy. You’d never seen someone throw such a fit, but then again, you’d be pretty pissed too if someone coated you head-to-toe in milkshake.

That day was… eventful, to say the least, but it gifted you with the best estimate for Peter’s arrivals. Early meant 11:30 a.m. on the dot. Lunch. You tested out the time the next day, waiting behind the employee door and peering out the medium-sized port window. At 11:30 a.m., right on cue, was Peter, dapping Chris and ordering a slice of Banana Cream Pie to-go while also asking for your whereabouts, staying for only half an hour.

He left you a note each time he departed.

Can’t seem to catch you. I’ll try again tomorrow :) – Peter

Is this not a good time for you? I’ll stop by later if you want – Peter

Is everything alright? Text or call anytime you need me. I’ll be there – Peter

From the second note on, you found yourself captivated by his neat little scrawl and the way he always signed his name at the end, as if you’d forget it was him. You’d read them on your way home and right before falling asleep, trying and failing not to picture him smiling at you while you absent-mindedly smiled at his words.

Your friendly boy-next-door is so easy to fall for, but you just can’t do it. You can’t allow yourself to fall. Nobody would be there to pick you back up.

Some nights, you lied awake drafting a message that would effectively convince Peter that things wouldn’t work between you, that you’re a lost cause, and he should probably find some other connection if such a thing exists. But then, unfailingly, you’d think about his concerned little notes and sadly acknowledge that he deserves more than a measly text. After showing up to Hal’s for almost a whole week just to get to know you, Peter deserves the truth.

Your heart is not ready for a Soulmate, and it might not ever be.

By the fifth day, you spend a good chunk of time pondering over the right words to say to Peter while simultaneously hiding in the kitchen, pretending to prepare more fries. You never looked forward to hiding from him, but what other option did you have? Going out there and letting your coworkers and boss know he’s your Soulmate? They wouldn’t shut up about it, especially not Chris, the open romantic.

When your shift ended that day, and you walked up to Chris so he could hand you Peter’s fifth note, he emphatically shook his head.

“On behalf of my new friend, Peter, I can’t in good faith give this to you,” he stated, tucking the folded paper into his back pocket and crossing his arms. “Not until you tell me why you’re dodging him.”

You frowned, crossing your arms too. “It’s really none of your business, Chris.”

“True, but it’s his.” The little dig got to you, making you wince. Chris continued softly, “Look, he won’t tell me what’s up with you two, either. And, trust me, I've asked. It's just... I’m kinda involved now, being the messenger and all, so shouldn’t I know some of the situation?”

“No…?” you hedged.

Chris didn’t budge.

You couldn’t think of a lie on the spot, and a half-truth would only further complicate things. Treading the fine line of what’s too much information and what’s not enough left you frustratingly tongue-tied. What’s specific enough to still be vague? Chris stared at you expectantly with a petulant little lift in his brow, ignoring a customer’s disgruntled calls for a refill in the napkin dispenser.

In the end, you huffed out a resigned breath and hesitantly admitted, “Peter's someone I knew from high school—a really nice guy.” For Chris’s benefit, you added, “He just likes to check up on me every now and then. You know how I don’t get out that much…”

And in a heartbeat, Chris morphed from a tough enquirer to a softened pile of dough, sagely nodding his head as if he knew all too well how reserved you are and how much of a losing battle it is persuading you to venture out. Or maybe it was because he understood how difficult it is to reconnect with people you unwilfully lost touch with for five years.

How everything and everyone fell right back into step with everyday life, like five years was just five minutes, continues to boggle your mind. It’s not normal. You won’t ever pretend that it is.

The disgruntled man shouted, “Can I get any damn service around here?”

Chris immediately broke from the conversation and left you behind the bar, off to go charm the customer’s socks off and earn a nice $10 tip even though he clocked out ten minutes ago.

You went on your way home, the ever-present anxiety of confronting Peter growing by the second.

Hours later, dressed down to your pajamas and reading his words over again, you’re still thinking about it, dread now gnawing on your insides.

You couldn’t even enjoy your newfound peace of mind. Ever since the voice stopped, Peter twined into all of your thoughts: his notes, his visits, his smile, your connection to him. There had to be a reason why destiny paired you. Besides being your Soulmate, what is he to you? What are you to him?

Unrest barred you from sleep for most of the night, and when you woke up the next morning, showered and ready to tackle another day, it hit you.

It’s Saturday—your day off this week—and you’re not scheduled to go back to work until Monday.

You could put off telling him… but what would be the point? It’d only prolong the inevitable. You needed to come clean today.

Picking up your phone, you steadily tap in his memorized cell number, then type:

-Hey Peter, it’s Y/N. Can you come by my place? We need to talk.

Three minutes later, he texts back.

-On my way.

✦ ✧✦ ✧

A nice, early summer breeze billows around you, doing its best to calm down your erratic nerves as you wait for Peter on the roof.

Are you doing the right thing?

Will Peter be okay with this?

What if he isn’t?

You jump out of your skin at the muffled Thwip and sudden appearance of Peter standing a few feet away.

His chestnut hair is windswept, and he’s wearing regular clothes, a faded blue Midtown High hoodie and denim jeans. You weren’t sure why you expected him to come dressed in his suit. It could be because you heard the sound of his web-slinger first and immediately thought of Spider-Man, but it’s more likely that your brain hasn’t connected that they are one and the same. You don’t see Spider-Man when you see him. All you see is Peter.

He’s tense, not moving an inch closer and keeping his shoulders pinched up like he’s on the defense. You can’t guess why he would be.

Gulping down a hard lump lodged in your throat, you stutter, “H-hi.”

He gives you a polite smile that doesn’t reach his sullen eyes. “Hey”

You both begin at the same time.

“Peter, I—”

“Look, Y/N—”

Ice floods your stomach, freezing your veins and squeezing your pounding heart. He has something to say to you? About what? You subtly jerk your head up, signaling for him to speak first.

Peter clears his throat, looks down at his shoes, then back up at you. “I know you’ve been hiding from me.”

“You do?” you squeak, eyes wide.

“Yeah, and it’s okay.”

Your voice hikes an octave. “It is?”

He nods. “Yeah. It’s fine. I get it.” He stops to scratch the back of his neck and dejectedly rambles on, “I’m not the safest person to be around, and it’s all super weird and a lot to take in. Like, a lot. My Aunt May freaked out too when she found out. Anyway, I… I get it if you don’t, y’know, don’t want me.”

“Wait, hold on,” you interrupt, trying to wrap your head around what he said. “You think… you think I don’t want you because you’re Spider-Man?”

“Well, yeah.” He says it like there couldn’t be any other possible reason.

You lower your gaze to the ground, unable to meet his curious gaze. “No, Peter, that’s not it.” Tears prick your eyes, but you fight like hell to keep them from falling. Steeling yourself, you quietly confess, “It’s me. I can’t be your Soulmate because…” A rebellious tear rolls down your cheek. “Because I’m not ready.”

As soon as you spoke the truth out loud, laying yourself and your broken soul bare, you dimly sense the previously severed string quiver deep down inside your chest. It’s the first time you felt it in five years, and it’s not how you remember it. It’s not severed, but it’s not whole either. Its presence only reminds you of what you can’t have, what you aren’t ready for.

In the ensuing quiet, you swipe the tear off your cheek and look at everything except Peter. Yellow tulips are blooming on someone’s balcony in the neighboring apartment building. A handful of fluffy clouds float in the piercing blue sky. An orange tabby cat is sun-bathing in a window.

It’s such a beautiful day. Yet, here you are, struggling not to cry on a roof.

Peter breaks through the silence, murmuring, “To be honest, I’m not ready either.”

“Really?” You ask, a little too hopeful, bringing your eyes back to his. They look so weary yet resolute.

“Yeah. I was actually freaking out that night we met.” He timidly grins, and your heart flips. “I didn’t know what to say, then I screwed up and forgot to ask if you were okay after I had literally just saved you from falling. Not really a glowing first impression.”

Astonishing yourself, you laugh. You couldn’t help it. There was absolutely nothing remotely hilarious about that night, but the way Peter described it, as if it were a blunder solely on his part, was so ridiculous that it was funny. Peter joins in, too, his laugh coming out airy and wondrously addictive. That smile you couldn’t stop thinking about for a whole week brightens his face.

When the laughs fade, Peter soberly says, “Even if we aren’t ready, maybe we can try being friends, just to see where things go? I mean, we were meant to be together for a reason, right? This could be it.”

You unconsciously nibble on your lower lip, considering his proposal. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might want to be friends. Would you want to do that? These days, you aren’t really open to platonic relationships, and Soulmate or not, being in a friendship would require some sort of connection. You don’t like those much.

Be that as it may, Peter seems like the type to respect your many boundaries, and that’s exactly what you would prefer in a friend at the moment. Someone who doesn’t pry. Someone who doesn’t uphold generic expectations. You could go for a diner talk every once in a while.

Besides, it’s just a little friendship. Most are surface level, and some don’t even last a year. What’s the worst that could happen?

You sincerely smile at Peter, wondering about the last time your smiles were sincere, and say, “Okay. Let’s be friends.”

His face radiates joy. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I think we can do that. But I have a few terms.”

Peter eagerly nods, waiting.

You try not to focus on how his happiness thrills you. “One, don’t tell anyone we’re Soulmates. I don’t really want any of my coworkers to know.”

His smile drops into a sheepish wince. “I kinda already told Ned. But he won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“That’s okay. It’s mostly my coworkers I’m worried about,” you reassure. You weren’t going to berate him for telling his best friend. If things were different, you’d have done the same. “Two, don’t ask me to hang out with your other friends. I don’t do big friend circles.”

“Got it,” he militantly nods again. “It’s mostly just Ned and me anyway.”

“And three,” your grin broadens. “If Chris asks you what’s going on between us, be super vague.”

“Done.” He smirks back at you, then extends his hand. “Friends?”

When your hand touches his, and you shake on it, the warmth of his palm thaws out all your remaining anxiety. “Friends.”

✦ ✧✦ ✧

When Monday rolls around, a tiny ball of doubt weighs you down.

It’s not that you were afraid of talking to Peter. You were actually looking forward to getting to know him now that you officially became friends. It’s the future you’re stuck on. What happens if you get too attached to this friendship and want more? What if friendship is all he wants? What if it’s the other way around?

If you were honest with yourself, you’d know which way the gage is leaning, and it’s not in your favor.

You’re cleaning off the bar top when Peter comes in, doing his usual greeting with Chris before settling down on a barstool in front of you. He’s a little high strung, leaning his chin on his hand, then thinking against it, only to do it again. It was oddly comforting to know that he was overthinking too.

The corners of your lips tug up in a soft smile. “Hi, Peter.”

Your face warms as he smiles back. “Hey, Y/N.”

Chris barges in, leaning his elbows on the bar top and gaping incredulously at you and Peter. “Woah, woah, woah! Did I miss something? Since when are you two speaking in public?”

Peter checks his watch. “About thirty-seven seconds ago.”

“Oh, come on, dude. At least tell me what happened.”

You and Peter share a knowing look like two conniving co-conspirators sharing an inside joke, and you giggle as Chris huffs in annoyance. He glumly storms off when you two stay hushed, muttering, “Fine, next time you need a middle-man, count me out.”

“Does he hold grudges?” Peter asks after Chris walks out of earshot.

You’re still shaking with giggles. “Not at all. He’ll be back to his happy self in less than an hour.”

Peter only stays at Hal’s for twenty-five minutes, but they were the funniest and most intriguing twenty-five minutes you ever worked.

The conversation began slowly at first, but each question loosened the formalities. Peter asked about easy things: when did you get into art, when did you start working at Hal’s, and when was your birthday, all while digging into his slice of pie. He caught on fast enough to know the topic of parents was off-limits, and he thankfully chose to stay away from any talk of the blip.

When you asked him questions, he was open and responsive, jumping at the chance to talk about his passion for bio-sciences and Star Wars, sometimes covertly mentioning some of the duties he has a Spider-Man. Not a minute was wasted. You talked while serving customers and cleaning tables, keeping up the joke of staying quiet when Chris tried to meddle.

It all turned out smoother than you expected. Almost too smooth, and you’re not sure if that’s good or bad.

You are sure about one thing, though. You like having Peter as a friend.

...

Part V

#peter parker #peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x reader #spider-man x black!reader #spider-man x reader #soulmate au #post endgame #pre far from home #peter parker soulmate au #peter parker angst #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #marvel fanfic #black!reader #slow burn #how to trust a heart #peter parker fluff

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starryknight09 · 3 years

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Unforeseen dangers ch 9

Summary: As Peter recovers from his capture by Ross, a photo of him with Tony and the Avengers leaks and is splashed all across the media. Luckily, no one can figure out who he is and everyone thinks the buzz will die down. However, the public’s interest has been ignited. While Tony worries it’s only a matter of time before Peter’s identity is exposed, Peter isn’t as concerned. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen anyway?

Read on AO3.

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“How you holding up?” Tony asked Peter as the car pulled into the Tower’s private garage.

Peter shrugged in answer.

His kid had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the entirety of the car ride, but Tony didn’t know what else he’d expected. Tony had been raised in the spotlight. It was all he’d ever known, so he found it oddly difficult to put himself in Peter’s shoes and figure out what he was feeling. Instead of prying like he wanted to, he squeezed Peter against his side in a half hug.

“We’re here.” Happy announced unnecessarily as he put the car in park. As much as his current Forehead of Security liked to grump, Tony knew the man hated tense silences just as much, if not more, than he did.

Tony wasted no time opening the car door and stepping out, but he had to duck his head back in when Peter didn’t automatically follow behind him.

“Come on kid. Time to go. As comfy as my car is, you can’t sit in it all day.” He said to Peter who was staring straight ahead, spaced out. Peter blinked and slowly turned his head to take in Tony standing outside the car. Only then did he seem to notice that he was the sole person still left in the car.

“Oh.” Peter said and blinked again before finally climbing out. All his movements seemed slower than usual.

Tony didn’t call him on it. He rested a hand loosely on Peter’s shoulder as they walked over to the elevator together where Bruce, Nat, Happy, and Steve were already inside waiting.

“Penthouse FRIDAY.” He ordered as they stepped in.

“Thanks guys.” Peter finally spoke, although he kept his gaze firmly fixed on the ground.

“You don’t need to thank anyone.” Tony said before they had a chance to respond.

“You’re dad’s right.” Steve agreed. “We were happy to do it.”

“I needed to get out and get some air anyway.” Bruce added in a transparent attempt to lighten the mood.

Natasha just gave Peter a small smile while Happy let out a noncommittal grunt.

“Where’s everyone else?” Peter asked after another few seconds of silence had passed.

“Meeting us back here. Actually, they probably beat us.” Tony answered.

“Seems like an awful lot of trouble just to pick me up from school.” Peter frowned.

“Nope. No trouble. Everyone missed you and wanted to take their turn to come and get you. We tried rock paper scissors but since everyone on the team’s a sore loser I decided to let them all tag along.” Tony knew he was rambling and so obviously lying, but he didn’t want Peter to know the real reason everyone had shown up to get him, or the way his heart had started racing the moment he found out Peter’s identity had been discovered.

He’d been down in his workshop when Rhodey had come running in yelling his name. “Tony! Tony!”

When he’d heard the fear in Rhodey’s voice, he’d sat up so fast he’d smacked his head on the armor he’d been working on. Rhodey was one of the most unshakable people Tony knew. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen the man truly panic. He didn’t even want to imagine what had happened to add this moment to one of those times.

“What? What happened?” Fear swirled in his gut, visions of someone seriously hurt or dead flashed through his mind. Someone who could make Rhodey look like that. Peter. Pepper.

“Have you seen the news?” Rhodey asked as he held out a hand to help him stand from the floor.

“No.”

“It’s Peter.” Rhodey came right out and said it. He was never one to beat around the bush.

Tony’s eyes widened. “Peter? What about Peter? Is he ok?” His greatest fear brought to life. None of it made sense. Peter should be in school and completely fine. And he didn’t understand how Peter connected to seeing the news. His brain felt like it was trying to reboot, to sort out the information coming at him through his sudden panic.

“He’s fine, but it’s all over the news.”

“What is?”

“He is. Peter. They figured out his identity.”

His first instinct was to panic, but he knew he couldn’t. He had to stay clear headed and figure out what to do. For his kid.

He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath and forced himself to think. When he opened them again, he caught Rhodey staring at him, waiting for his decision on what to do.

“What exactly do they know?” Tony asked. He needed more information in order to work through the problem and figure out what to do next. “That he’s the kid from all the pictures with me?”

“Yes. That…” Rhodey said, but Tony could sense there was something else.

“And? What else?” He prodded, letting his impatience through.

“That he’s your son. That you adopted him.” Rhodey winced as he said it.

That was when the panic returned.

“Fuck.” He sprinted toward the elevator, Rhodey hot on his heels.

“Ok, now just for some perspective, don’t forget he’s Spiderman. He’s not some helpless kid.” Rhodey said as the elevator doors closed behind them.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” He spat and pushed the button for the garage three times in succession to make the elevator drop at its fasted velocity.

“Yes.” Rhodey said as if it were obvious.

“Well it doesn’t. My kid’s still in danger, because of his connection to me.” He growled, glaring at his friend. He knew he was displacing all his anger and frustration on Rhodey who didn’t deserve any of it, but he didn’t have the mental capacity to reel himself in at the moment. Besides, as his oldest friend, Rhodey was definitely more than used to taking the undeserved brunt of his mood swings.

“What are you doing?” Rhodey asked as the doors opened and he jogged toward his fastest car.

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m going to go get my kid!” He yelled, anger starting to override his fear. He was angry at the world for doing this to his son. Angry at himself for not doing a better job of preventing it. He called himself a futurist, and yet, he hadn’t been able to see this coming soon enough to stop it.

“Wait!” Rhodey called out from right behind him.

Tony ignored him.

“Just wait a minute!” Rhodey grabbed his shoulder.

Tony spun around, fury written on every line of his face. “What?”

“Stop and think Tony. What? You think you’re just going to march in there, grab him and come home? Like it’ll be that easy? The entire world knows he’s your son. They dug into everything they could about him before breaking the story ten minutes ago. They know his parents died and then his aunt and uncle. They know he’s a straight A student. They know he’s on the decathlon team. They know where he goes to school.”

Ice ran down his spine.

“They’re going to be camped out just waiting for you to show up. Waiting for him. For the spectacle of it. You know it. And god forbid, what if more than just the media is waiting? I know you like to joke about it, but you have a lot of enemies and as far as the world knows, your kid’s just a normal kid, completely unguarded at school right now. I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but if I wanted to hurt you, this would be the perfect opportunity.”

The hell of it was, he knew Rhodey was right, and not only that, but he couldn’t believe he hadn’t considered it before. This whole thing had shaken him more than he’d realized.

“All it would take is a sniper rifle and a good vantage point, and it’d be all too easy to tag the kid as soon as he stepped outside the school. Just like that.” Rhodey snapped his fingers.

Tony clenched his jaw at the image the words conjured. The logical side of his brain told him that Peter had that sixth sense that would keep him safe from something like that, but the dad side of his brain worried about it not working or worried that even with the warning Peter still might not react fast enough to get out of the way.

“With enough money it wouldn’t be too hard to get a hired hand in place in such a short time frame.” Rhodey continued but his voice had softened. “It’s what I would do.”

Tony closed his eyes and rubbed his hand over them. “Ok. So what do suggest we do then? Not get my kid? Leave him alone and unprotected at school?” He channeled all his fear and anger into sarcasm.

“Of course not.” Rhodey gave him a scathing look.

“What then?”

“We bring the team.” Rhodey said as if the answer were obvious.

So they had.

Within thirty minutes of the news breaking, Clint had positioned himself as a lookout on a nearby roof near the school and Sam and Rhodey had taken to the sky, flying around the area to ensure that all the other rooftops remained clear while Tony made his way to the school entrance along with Bruce and Steve, two of the most invincible Avengers, given Rhodey’s imagined threat of a sniper.

While Happy and Natasha waited in the car, the trio forced their way through the hoard of press already waiting like vultures outside the school. Tony cursed the fact that there was no other entrance near a street because it was going to make getting his kid out a nightmare.

Tony was honestly surprised Peter hadn’t called or texted him yet, but he remembered him mentioning something before about the teachers being strict about cell phone use during class, so maybe he just didn’t know yet.

Inside, the hallways remained quiet and desolate. Kids weren’t running around, excitedly talking, and getting ready to mob Peter at any moment, so class must’ve just started when the news broke. He figured that was the one lucky break in all of this.

The sound of his own phone ringing cut through the heavy silence. He gave the screen a cursory glance, intending to ignore it until he saw the caller ID. Pepper. One of the few people he’d answer a phone call from at a time like this.

“Hey Pep.” He said as he pressed the phone to his ear, trying to keep his voice down. The last thing he needed was some errant student recognizing him.

“Tony? Have you seen the news?” His heart warmed a little at the panic in her voice. She obviously cared about Peter too, which shouldn’t surprise him. The kid was like a puppy. Everyone he met seemed to fall in love with him, and Tony knew the two of them had grown closer over the holidays when she’d helped Peter file the adoption papers for his surprise Christmas present.

“I have.”

“Oh my god. Where are you?”

“I’m at his school. I’m picking him up.”

“By yourself?” He marveled at the way Pepper could make her voice shrill without actually reaching a high pitched decibel.

“No. Of course not.” He decided she didn’t need to know that was what he’d almost done until Rhodey had intervened. “I brought the team.”

“Oh thank god. Just get him back here and then we need to figure out what we’re going to do.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Stay safe.” She ordered, stern but worried, a tone with which Tony was all too familiar.

“I will.” He said, the corner of his mouth turning up as he hung up. It was times like these when he remembered what he and Pepper used to have, and he missed it.

He didn’t know what kind of expression was painted on his face, but whatever it was, it was enough for Steve to remind him, “Focus Tony.”

“Trust me Cap,” he said as he pocked his phone, “I’m as focused as anyone could possibly be right now.”

Steve nodded and within another ten steps they were standing in front of the office door.

Tony turned back to Bruce and Steve as he grabbed the handle. “Let’s go get my kid.”

He swung the door open like he owned the place and did exactly that.

Tony almost couldn’t believe that had all happened within the last hour. He still felt like he was doing catch up with trying to process everything. He couldn’t even imagine how Peter felt.

The elevator finally reached the penthouse and the doors opened, revealing a scene Tony hadn’t been expecting, although in retrospect, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Pepper had kind of warned him with her phone call earlier, but he hadn’t been thinking about it. He’d only been thinking about getting his kid to safety. Which he’d accomplished.

But now he needed to figure out how to approach this entire mess of a situation because it wasn’t going to fix itself. Thus, the reason for why the penthouse was currently filled with his PR employees.

They stepped out of the elevator and into a maelstrom of chaos. It was a scene reminiscent of the time he’d told the world he was Ironman and the resulting backlash. Or the time he’d supposedly asked some Russian model to marry him. He hadn’t. Or the time he’d been quoted as saying he was anti-gun, which hadn’t been true. At the time. Or the time he’d gotten plastered in Vegas and apparently forgotten to clothe his bottom half before stepping out onto his balcony. But all of those things had happened years ago. It’d been quite awhile since he’d been at the center of this kind of media shitstorm.

Pepper noticed him the moment he stepped into the room. She gave him a small smile as she walked over, but she stopped in front of Peter instead of him.

“Oh sweetie I’m so glad you’re ok.” She said as she pulled him into a tight hug.

He seemed a little surprised but didn’t hesitate to hug her back. “I’m fine.”

“I know.” She said as she released him and grasped his shoulders, looking him square in the eyes. “And don’t worry. We’re going to figure this out. We have people whose entire job is dealing with stuff like this.”

“What? A secret son?” Peter joked but it fell flat.

Pepper graced him with a wry smile. “Well, no. This is definitely a first, but you’d be surprised by what we’ve had to deal with when it comes to Tony.”

“Hey.” Tony acted affronted even though he knew she only spoke the truth.

Pepper arched an eyebrow at him.

He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Anyway, what’s the plan?”

“Now that you’re here, we can do a sit down and plan out our immediate next steps.” Pepper said, all business again.

“Uh-huh.” He said, distracted by the shell shocked look on Peter’s face as he took in the room and the dozen or so strangers bustling about.

“But I really think the first thing we need to do is hold an emergency press conference, so we should put together a statement for that as soon as possible.” Pepper continued.

“Yeah.” He frowned and then held up a hand when Pepper started to speak again. “We will definitely do all of that, but first I need a few minutes with my kid.”

Pepper blinked and looked over at Peter, her eyes softening at the obvious distress she saw there even as Peter did his best to try to hide it. “Of course. How about I get everyone together and we meet in the conference room at,” she checked her watch, “3:30PM. That’ll give you fifteen minutes. Is that enough time?”

“Should be.” He nodded and then gripped Peter’s shoulders. “Come on Underoos. Let’s go sit down for a minute.”

Peter let Tony guide him through all the pandemonium to the hallway and into his bedroom. Tony pressed him down to sit at the end of the bed before grabbing the desk chair for himself. He flipped it around and sat, letting his forearms rest on the chair back, going for nonchalant even though he felt anything but.

“So.” Tony said, not quite sure how to start the conversation.

“So…” Peter echoed back, not making it any easier.

“I know this is a lot, so I thought we should just take a little time out. A little breather. And you can tell me you’re thinking.”

“What I’m thinking?” Peter’s eyebrows pulled together like he didn’t understand what Tony meant.

“Yeah. What’s going on in that noggin of yours?”

“I-I don’t know. This is all… This is crazy.”

“It is.” Tony agreed.

“I…I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“There’s nothing I want you to say. I just want you to talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling about this.”

“Um I don’t know. It’s a lot.” Peter shrugged.

“Care to expound on that a little?” Tony asked lightheartedly.

“I guess it’s kind of overwhelming, but it doesn’t really feel like it’s real at the same time? Does that make sense?”

Tony nodded, staying silent to encourage Peter to keep talking.

“And now there are all these people here and there were all those people waiting outside my school and I know everything’s going to change forever and…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” Peter trailed off and met his eyes, and Tony hated the fear and desperation he saw there. “It’s just…a lot.” He repeated. “And I guess I didn’t really think this was going to happen. Or if it did, I didn’t think it would be this soon. And I didn’t think it would be like this.”

Tony sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t know what to say to make it better, because there really wasn’t anything he could say, or do, to fix it. The horse was out of the barn. It was done. Over with. Now all they could do was deal with the fallout, and he knew it wasn’t going to be particularly pleasant for him or Peter.

“I’m sorry.” He settled on those two words even though they didn’t have the power to fix anything.

“It’s not your fault.” Peter shrugged.

“Still. I never wanted any of this for you.”

Peter hung his head and picked at the fraying hem on one his sleeves. The kid had a closet full of expensive, brand new, clothing but for some reason it seemed like he always chose to wear whatever he had that was tattered or fraying.

“What’s going to happen now?” Peter asked, looking up at him again.

“Now I’m going to go meet with all those people out there and try to come up with a game plan.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means first I’m going to find out how all this got out and how much everyone actually knows.”

“Ok.”

“And then I’m going to draft a statement to read at a press conference I’m guessing Pepper has already scheduled, probably to start within the next hour.”

“Really?” Peter seemed surprised.

Tony nodded.

“What are you going to say?”

“Depends on what the media has already spilled the beans on and how good their sources are. If they don’t have any proof you’re my son, and it’s just conjecture, then there might be some wiggle room and I may be able to spin this a different way, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up. I’m guessing they have some solid sources if it’s already out there like this, since everyone knows how much I like to sue for slander.”

Peter snorted.

“So, how about this? You sit tight in here and I’ll go deal with all of this, and as soon as I know more about the plan, I’ll let you know, ok?”

“Ok.” Peter agreed softly.

Tony hummed and drummed his fingers along the chair back as he studied his son. He hated the idea of leaving him alone right now, but he knew he didn’t have any other choice. He had to go deal with all of this, and he didn’t want to bring Peter along and subject him to everything that entailed. That would only make it worse.

It was a no win situation. As soon as he left, his kid was going to be on his computer or his phone googling himself, and he’d start falling down the proverbial rabbit hole. As a media veteran, Tony knew self google was never a good idea, but he could only guess at what was being said and written about his kid. He hadn’t had any time to check yet, so he couldn’t even prepare Peter for it. He definitely wasn’t winning any parenting awards today.

“Listen, I’m going to do something, and you’re not going to like it, but you have to trust me that it’s in your own best interest right now, all right?”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. Yeah, this wasn’t going to go over well.

“FRIDAY be a dear and restrict Peter’s TV, phone, and internet access until further notice.”

“What? No!”

“Just,” Tony said as he held up a hand, “let me deal with this stuff first, and then we’ll deal with the rest of it together. Ok?” He tried for calm even as a storm cloud passed over Peter’s face. At least it was better than the sick, pinched look he’d had ever since all this went down. Silver lining.

“You’re not being fair.” Peter protested.

“I know.” He agreed and Peter didn’t seem to know what to do with that easy admission.

“So I’m just supposed to stay locked in my room alone with nothing to do until you come back?” Peter asked skeptically.

“No. Of course not. You have plenty to do.” He gestured to the partially finished Y-wing Lego set, the stacks of DVDs, and the video game consoles.

“You just said I couldn’t use the TV.” Peter huffed.

Tony sighed. “FRIDAY, Peter can use the TV for watching movies and playing video games, but nothing else, capiche?”

“Yes Boss.”

“There. All good. And you’re not going to be alone. I’ll send you some company.”

Peter screwed up his face like he wasn’t quite sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.

“And I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He said as he stood and ruffled Peter’s hair, smirking as Peter tried in vain to straighten it back into place.

On his way out, Tony paused at the door to turn and look at his kid. Peter had a desolate expression pasted across his face as he stared straight ahead at nothing.

“Hey.” Tony said to get his attention. As soon as Peter made eye contact with him, he said solemnly, “It’s going to be ok.”

“I know.” Peter mumbled and gave him a ghost of a smile, but Tony could see the truth in his eyes. His son didn’t believe him. Tony always knew he was too smart for his own good. Just like his old man.

“I love you.” Tony said with a soft intensity. Maybe he couldn’t keep the world from crashing down around them, but he could love his son. Always. It was one of the easiest things he’d ever done.

“I love you too.” Peter said back and that finally got a real smile out of him. It gave him some hope that maybe this would all turn out ok.

The door closed behind him with a click, and he made his way back out to the living room. Pepper, along with the rest of his SI team, had left and were probably waiting for him in the conference room, but the room was far from empty. Apparently none of the Avengers had wanted to go back to their quarters. The show of concern both irked and warmed him at the same time. Regardless, he didn’t have time to chit chat. Except for the one thing he had to do.

“Hey birdbrain.” He said as he spotted Clint sitting in one of the oversized chairs in the corner of the room. “Do you mind hanging with Peter? I told him I’d send someone in to keep him company.”

“Sure.” Clint agreed easily.

Tony gave him a nod of thanks and made his way toward the elevator.

“Tony.” Steve said from where he and Natasha were standing in the direct path to the elevator, obviously waiting for him.

Tony stopped in front of him and raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Steve to spit out whatever it was he wanted to say.

“How’s Peter doing?” Steve asked, concern crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

Tony sighed. He had no idea how to answer that question. “He’s…dealing.”

Steve nodded as if he understood everything Tony wasn’t saying.

“Well, if that’s it, I have to go figure out how to deal with this disaster.” Tony said after a few seconds had passed and it didn’t seem like Steve was going to say anything else.

He took a step away but Steve reached out to grab his arm. “Wait. We want to come with you.”

Tony turned and frowned. “You want to come with me where?”

“To the conference room.”

Tony just blinked. “Why?”

“Maybe we can help.”

His face must’ve shown his skepticism because Natasha added, “We care about Peter too.” As if Tony had ever doubted that fact.

“Fine.” He must’ve acquiesced too easily given the looks of surprise on Steve and Natasha’s faces. But he had neither the time nor the energy to argue, and if they wanted to spend their time being tortured in a meeting, then that was their prerogative. “Let’s go.”

Steve and Natasha followed silently as he continued on his way toward the conference room. The truth was, he didn’t even know what kind of shitstorm awaited him, but the look on Pepper’s face when he’d stepped into the penthouse had clued him in to the fact that it was bad, along with the dozen or so PR employees milling about with their cellphones attached to their ears and their faces buried in their laptops. Thinking about it made his heart thrum a rapid staccato in his chest. Usually he didn’t care about his image, or whatever the media said, but this was different. This time it was his kid. He couldn’t help but care.

As he approached the glass walled conference room, he could see everyone waiting for him. He’d never gone into a meeting so wholly unprepared. After he’d gotten the news, he’d gone straight to his kid. He hadn’t taken the time to check any media outlets to see what was being said, so besides what he’d already been told, he honestly had no clue what he was dealing with yet. He gripped the handle of the conference room door and took a bolstering breath. It was time to go find out.

#unforeseen dangers #ch 9

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faecaptainofdreams · 3 years

Photo

I kinda don't LOVE the art, but it's eh. I think it works though, maybe it'll grow on me. ^^ Keep in mind this is a head canon, don't like it don't look at it. MCU universe with me bending the rules a lot and taking inspiration from the PS4 game, bla bla bla.~ -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ~~Scorpion~~ McDonald "Mac" Gargan was a mercenary with a predisposition for cold, violent behavior, though he hid it well. But when J. Jonah Jameson ended up funding research to create an "anti-Spider-Man" to do "real good" and be a "real" superhero, Mac jumped at the opportunity. Of course, he never intended to do any good with it; all concerns were centered towards himself. He figured it would make missionary work easier to complete, not to mention the powers would be fun to wield, but since Jameson was so adamant on rivaling Spider-Man, Mac thought the concept of challenging the spider to be thrilling. And of course, it was no accident that the mutagen created for this process would be drawn from that of a scorpion, a cousin of the spider -- but more importantly, a predator of the spider. While the labs used to create this new "superhero" were government authorized (which is why Jameson felt safe enough to invest), the regulation over its work was not as good as it could have been. Moreover, the scientists working on the mutagen were not prepared for just how unstable their product would become when mixed with the DNA of a human being. They thought they did everything right, but upon infusing the scorpion-based agent with Mac's DNA, the mutation erupted and went far further than they'd intended. And with Mac already being a born psychopath with a near-total lack of conscience, the cold, self-serving nature of the animal hind brain we all possess became enhanced in him. After nearly a week spent in a sort of incubation period in a bizarre cocoon formed of hardened skin cells, Mac emerged totally transformed. He was bigger, and it was clear that the scorpion-to-human ratio was unbalanced. A hollow, blood-thirsty gaze and sharp, toothy grin adorned his face, as did armor plating all down his body. And, eerily enough, an enormous tail equipped with a massive, functioning stinger. In awe of their creation, the scientists took notes, of course, and they attempted to study Mac. Mac was patient for about an hour, but ultimately decided it wasn't wise to have so much information on him available at the ready. After destroying the lab and killing half of the scientists, Mac broke out and escaped into the city. Eventually, he had a run-in with Spider-Man, whom he easily overpowered and wounded during their first fight. But a few tries later, Spidey subdued the Scorpion, and Mac went to prison. He would be there for five solid years before being broken out by Otto Octavius, along with a few other top-tier villains and Spider-Man enemies. ~~Personality~~ Mac Gargan is a sociopath with none of his humanity left. He is ruthless and not shy to kill, and loves more to torture his opponents. He's not the most intelligent, having a bad habit of taunting even his allies a little too much and getting himself into trouble. He's basically his own worst enemy in that regard. Although he doesn't appear to think things through very well, he is clever, and enjoys snuffing out the weaknesses of his foes. ~~Physiology~~ Mac is almost twice the size of the average human. One would think that with his enhanced strength, he would be able to lift and manipulate far more weight than Spider-Man, but as it is his max weight is 5.7 tons, which is just a little more than half of what Peter can haul. Regardless, he is a powerhouse and a force to be reckoned with, and that armored tail is nothing to sneeze at. His tail is considerably stronger and more flexible than his full-arachnid cousin, and this is thanks to his human DNA. Mac is still a vertebrate; he just has a bigger, stronger musculoskeletal system now. His tailbone extends into the full length of his tail, ending with a thick joint just before the stinger, which is filled with contracting muscles that regulate how much venom he can inject into his victims. This tail is far more precise during attacks as well, and the entire appendage itself can be used as a major blunt-force weapon. The venom in Mac's tail is a potent hallucinogenic neurotoxin that, in its lowest dose, causes muscle pain and spasms around the injection site, and causes the victim to experience imaginary bodily pain as the brain's frontal lobe and sensory cortex go haywire. The amygdala, the brain's fear-processing center, kicks into high gear as "bad trips" and horrifying hallucinations begin, often in relation to the imagery of scorpions and monsters resembling Mac. Each experience is different for each individual, but more often than not, the gruesome vision involve the victim's worst fears, phobias, and even drag feelings and hallucinations related to the victim's past traumas to the surface. The brain creates nightmares that the victim's body thinks are real, causing pain and all sensory input to feel very, very real. There is a chance of surviving envenomation at a low dose, but the victim needs to be taken care of immediately. At a moderate and high dose, the victim doesn't stand a chance. Organ failure, paralysis and respiratory failure kill in roughly a minute -- and that's ignoring the wound Mac inflicts with the stinger itself. Cruelly, Mac prefers to kill or get by using lower doses, as he is fascinated with watching his victims squirm and suffer. But when patience is lost or a deed needs quick doing, a hard strike in the right place can kill his target in seconds, hardly needing venom at that point. Mac's grip is vice-like and impossible for the average person to get out of. His crushing hold on a victim is helpful, needless to say. He's not nearly as fast as Spider-Man, but he's agile enough and is an expert at concealing himself. Like the scorpion, he can climb up most surfaces, though he doesn't have scopulae hairs like Peter. Rather, he relies on his enormous claws. Mac is nocturnal, preferring to be up and about during the night. And, like a real scorpion, he glows under ultraviolet light. Scorpions are not picky eaters, but they are carnivores. They'll eat anything they can get their claws on, including other scorpions -- even their relatives. Needless to say, Mac isn't a sentimental person. During his first time out in the city, Mac first killed and ate a few farm animals, but Spider-Man stopped him while he was in the process of hunting a person. Yes, he will eat people if he gets the chance. It would be an extra nasty sight, too, as the enzymes in his saliva are designed by nature to start breaking down his food before it even gets into his mouth. It would be...unpleasant to be spit on by Mac Gargan, so to speak. Scorpions are tough animals that can survive immersion in water for up to two days, and can withstand being frozen solid. Once the ice thaws, the animal simply gets up and gets on the move again. They can also go months, even a year without eating! Yes, these durability traits apply to Mac, which makes him all the more horrifying. ~~Preference~~ Mac is straight, though understandably, has never gotten too lucky, and is very aromantic. One would think that, violent as he is, he would simply force himself onto victims, but with the scorpion instincts he possesses, that reflex is inhibited. Rather, he will attempt to sway a potential mate, and of course, it never works, much to his deep frustration. He may injure whoever turns him down, but oddly, he won't assault them. In the animal kingdom, the female scorpion gets her say-so, and that's the end of it. Even though the average female human doesn't stand a chance against him, his instincts (awkwardly) tell him that pushing it will somehow result in his destruction. Don't be mistaken, he doesn't care about the woman; he's only protecting himself. It's safe to say, Mac experiences bouts of sexual frustration...especially during mating season. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hm. What do ya know, already growin' on me ^u^

#MCU #Marvel #Spiderman #Mac Gargan #Peter Parker #Scorpion

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wisdomrays · 4 years

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TAFAKKUR: Part 31

Your Nose: Part 2

There is a reason why the color, taste and smell of garlic are different than that of a rose or jasmine flower: it is because each creature is created out of different compounds, as if in a laboratory of its own. Therefore, the molecules that spread into the air from those different compounds and the impact they cause will naturally be different. Indeed, what is interesting here is the wonderful system which perceives each of the molecules of so many different compositions as a different smell, categorizes it, and stores its information in memory. Whenever I experience a new smell, by its composition and vibrations, I instantly figure out its difference from other smells. Then, I help to store it in the brain's memory related to the smell so that I can recognize that smell if I come across it again. All of those functions in their complexity remain an enigma which is still being studied by physiologists of smell. Another wonderful attribute of my smell-receptor cells is the fact that they sense the smell very strongly at first and after a while, they are not as strongly stimulated as before, resulting in a temporary paralysis of those cells. Thus, a situation called "habituation" occurs, and this is an indication of God's mercy. If God had not created this "fading" of constantly existing smells, the sewage, garbage, tannery or butchery workers would not be able to do their work.

The mucosa that lines my cavity can easily become swollen with blood and tissue liquids. During viral or bacterial infection, or an allergy like hay fever, my cavity might become blocked completely, which makes it hard for you to breathe. Infection of your upper respiratory tract causes me to run and get blocked. You know how stagnant water gets smelly and swampy, whereas running water does not hold dirt. Similarly, when I get blocked, bacteria reproduce very fast and get transmitted to other respiratory organs. That is why, when you catch cold, you must do your best to prevent my getting blocked. Hot, aromatic or spiced teas might help you, but the best thing is to pour a weak solution of saline (salt water) into your nostrils, which will clear the congestion. As for nasal drops, do not use them unless you have to, since they will cause addiction and other side effects.

Your skull also contains four major pairs of air-filled cavities (sinuses) at my sides behind your cheeks and above me behind the forehead. In the event of infection of your sinuses, inflammation of your tonsils, or the growth of polyps, my discharge becomes constant and turns into flu or chronic rhinitis. Besides that, if I bleed it may be an important first symptom of many illnesses. Many conditions, including high blood pressure and several illnesses with fever cause bleeding inside me. Indeed, bleeding from me in patients with high blood pressure can be seen as a warning and protection against serious conditions. If, because of high blood pressure, my blood vessel did not split, bleed and decrease the pressure, a vessel in your brain would split, which would result in a much worse scenario.

Peter, from now on, do not ever forget to give thanks to God when you smell a flower or anything else with a beautiful scent. Inhale the air deeply with the pleasant impression the scent leaves on your soul. Our Lord God Almighty, who has given you the air as a blessing, bestowed you with me as a filter to clean the harmful particles from that air. If He had not done so, your lungs would fill with soot and dust and they would fail eventually. You would not be able to sense the taste of food because the experience of flavor cannot be achieved by the taste buds alone. It is me that helps them to do that. For instance, a person whose olfactory epithelium has been ruined cannot tell whether it is an apple or a radish that he or she is eating. If you cannot sense the odor of the foods you eat, you will not be able to get their flavor, either.

Dear Peter, I think I have described myself to you sufficiently. I even support your spectacles for you! I have given you brief information without too much detail about my microscopic intricacies. While even one hair inside me cannot be placed by itself, do you think it is possible for me to have formed myself when I am equipped with thousands of intricate elements, each with a reason? Which sculptor, do you think, can make the nose of a sculpture, without a hammer and chisel in his hands and without a model and will in his mind? Other than the belief in God, there is no way of explaining my creation, which is a thousand times more splendid than the making of the nose of a sculpture. So, whenever you wash your face and look into the mirror, examine me carefully again and remember our God Almighty who created us out of nothing.

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ochard-fics · 4 years

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Bad Ideas - A Spider-man Story

Chapter Index: 1, 2

Pronouns used: they/them

Genre: Enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff, young love

Warnings: None

Word count: 6.5k+

Summary: Though you moved across the country about half a year ago, you are still trying to find your footing in the strange streets of New York. On top of that, you are desperately trying to balance your demanding school life at Midtown School of Science and Technology, where you like everyone but you was much more talented and smarter than you could ever imagine to be. Among those students is the one whom you loathe the most: Peter Benjamin Parker, the boy who’s success both in school and in Stark Industries is constantly shoved in your face. The only person who helps you escape those troubles is Spider-man, the hero of Queens and your crush.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this! Likes, retweets, and feedback is appreciated~

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Chapter 1 - Spider-man’s Sandwich Seller

When your mom excitedly told you that you’d start attending Midtown School of Science and Technology (MSST for short) in August you didn’t think much about it. As far as you knew, it was probably like any other public high school in America that was located in a “nice” part of a major city in America. Yet again you’d spent the last 16 years in Southern California, so your knowledge of schools outside of the area was very limited. Still, you felt no joy or resentment of the idea of being an MSST student. You assumed the title of “Science and Technology” was just to play it up as something cool.

But oh boy, how wrong you were.

It’s been four months into your junior year at MSST and you learned the hard way that the “Science and Technology” part of the school’s title was not played up for show. If the school was a cell, it’s STEM* program was the mitochondria of the institution. Everyone around you was excelling somewhere within the programs’ four disciplines, and you could not escape it’s presence no matter what. You would think that your mom would have warned you about this before she enrolled you, someone who was not savvy in the STEM disciplines AT ALL, into this foreign environment.

It had been a couple of weeks since the new semester of junior year started back up and here you were, trapped within the cold walls of the chemistry lab, staring down at your second quiz of the new semester. A pop quiz, no less. One of your worst enemy.

You glanced up at the clock to see how much time you had left. Three minutes. Crap. The first three questions on chemical bonds had you stuck, and you could feel your brain reach its thinking capacity.

Looking over the questions again, you went over your work to see if you had done something wrong. However, you weren’t even sure if the work you were doing was correct. Furrowing your brows, you desperately tried to remember something from your lecture that could make sense of this equation, but the anxiety only left your brain cloudy.

The loud ring of the school bell snapped you out of your thoughts and made you jump in shock, earning you a surprised look from your deskmate, MJ.

“You okay?” She asked, a brow raised by your sudden movement.

“I…” You sputtered, feeling your face flush in embarrassment, and looked down at your quiz to avoid eye contact with her. A heavy and defeated sigh left your body, as you immediately accepted your failure on this exam. “Yeah, the bell just startled me,” you replied, giving her a weak smile. She furrowed her brows at you, but luckily she decided not to press further.

The sound of zippers being pulled and the excited chatter of students almost drowned Mr. Cobwell’s request to hand him the quizzes as they exited the class. MJ went ahead of you as you begrudgingly shoved your pencil pack into your backpack and slung the red canvas sack over your shoulder. Guilt and shame began to press upon your chest as you walked up to Mr. Cobwell, who was trying to organize the load of papers in his arms. He notices your hunched figure as you approached, and his expression turns to that of concern. Averting your gaze from him, you hand over your barely done quiz, to which Mr. Cobwell gazes over it in dismay. He lets out a disappointed sigh, making the pressure on your chest worse.

“(Y/N),” He begins, shaking his head, “We’re half-way into the school year, this is really troubling.” Your eyes look down at your black and white canvas shoes, the embarrassment making it difficult to make eye contact with your superior. Cobwell waits for a response from you, but seems to notice your current emotions so he continues.

“You know, if you are struggling with the lessons, you can always tell me,” he says in a concerned voice, “I understand that chemistry is a very difficult subject for those who struggle with subjects like math. After class you can ask me questions about the lesson if you don’t feel comfortable doing that during the lesson.”

For some reason Cobwell’s genuine concern made you feel even more guilty. What teacher would want to waste time explaining everything to a student who didn’t even understand in the first place? Wouldn’t he think you’re dumb for not getting it? And what if you still needed him to explain because you just couldn’t get it? Wouldn’t he get frustrated and snap at you? You looked up for a moment to meet eyes with Mr. Cobwell, who was waiting for your response. Instead, you headed towards the door, head hung low, and wished him a good evening.

Squeezing through the school of teenagers flooding the hallway, you catch up to MJ, who was leaning by the club bulletin watching the crowd. You called out for her and she turned toward you, giving you a small ‘Sup with her head and leaned off of the walls as you approached her.

“Hey,” she said, nodding her head towards the chemistry classroom, “Everything good?” The last thing you wanted was to bring down the mood to your only friend at MSST, so you shrugged and replied, “Yeah, it was just about the quiz.”

MJ furrowed her brows in concern, saying, “You know, if you need any help, I’m down to do it.” Great, more guilt came from those words. You know MJ meant well, but you couldn’t help the feeling make home in your heart.

“It’s fine, MJ,” you replied, gently shooting down her offer, “Really. You’re already busy with the academic decathlon and art club. Those are more important.” MJ gives you a look, one of ‘Are you sure?’.

She lets out a short defeated sigh and shrugs, replying, “Whatever, it’s your life. Let’s just get to your locker already.” You nod and begin walking with her against the current of students. Four months ago you didn’t really think that your short interaction with MJ would lead you to being pals with her, yet here you both are. Granted, you both were similar in several ways. For one, both of you were the more introverted type, and tended to dress how you liked rather than how others expected you to dress. Both of you were pursuing artists, both having joined the new and improved art club at MSST. Plus, you both liked things that most would consider to be a bit eccentric, such as morbid things like true crime or controversial stuff like surrealist art and history. Flash Thompson, the residential rich idiot of MSST, liked to call the both of you freaks. Though MJ would usually be able to shut his ass up with a comeback that made Thompson look like a dumbass.

However, a friendship wouldn’t be such if there weren’t any differences between the two, and you both had quite striking ones. While MJ tended to be much more blunt, you tended to keep your feelings to yourself. She was also much more observant than you could ever be, since you are more intuitive, though you thought that was mostly your anxiety. Additionally, you tended to be a bit more hot-headed, which has gotten you in a few verbal spats with Flash. The most obvious difference between the two of you, was that MJ was incredibly smart, while you...well, you already know where you were several lacking in the academic intelligence department.

It’s funny, neither you nor MJ verbally agreed to be friends. Both of you just naturally gravitated towards the other whenever you were around each other. MJ insists that she’s a lone wolf, but she considers you her friend, and you the same with her.

The two of you headed towards your locker, where you noticed it was being blocked but a familiar lanky figure in a blue MSST zipper hoodie. Disgruntled, you paced faster toward the figure until you were behind it. The person leaning hadn’t noticed you yet since their back was facing toward you, so to your (and MJ’s) amusement you thought about slamming your hand on the locker next to yours to give the pasty blockade a scare. However, just as you were about to reel your hand in, the figure turns around and faces you.

“Oh! (Y/N)!” Peter Parker, the golden loser as you like to call him, chimes with a crack. You groaned mentally. Damn it, of all the people you wanted to see right now he had to be here.

Let’s get one thing perfectly clear: you despised, no, loathed Peter Benjamin Parker. He was in the same grade as you, and was, unfortunately, in all of your classes. The guy was infamous in MSST for having scored an internship at Stark Industries, where your dad currently works and the main reason you moved from Los Angeles to Queens in the first place. Admittingly, he was incredibly gifted. He, along with MJ and a handful of other students in MSST, was one of the top students at the school. Whenever you watched him in class, you could see how easily everything came to him. He just...got it.

And you hated him for it.

Parker leans off your locker quickly and steps aside, motioning you towards it.

“S-sorry! I didn’t mean to block your way!” he stutters, something he tended to do frequently. You said nothing and gave him an emotionless eyebrow raise, then looked over to see Ned Leeds, who looked like he was trying to hold laughing at his friend’s awkward expression. He was your locker neighbor and Peter Parker’s best friend, so unfortunately you would see Parker too often. You didn’t necessarily mind him, he’s a well-meaning guy, but at times you did find him pretty annoying.

You rolled your eyes at the boys and opened your locker, shoving your Chemistry textbook into it like it was a ragdoll. If it didn’t cost $150 you would’ve loved to lunge it across the halls instead (where it could possibly hit Flash Thompson in the head), but you knew that probably would’ve given you a temporary high of satisfaction. The boys look at you surprised but resume their previous conversation, which seemed to be about a Lord of the Rings lego set. MJ gives her signature judgemental look and, noticing your aggressive behavior, attempts to make you feel better.

“Hey,” she began as you unzipped your backpack and shuffled through the contents inside, “There’s a new episode of the Left for Dead podcast out today. You want to get paletas** and take a listen?”

“I can’t today,” you replied, not looking at MJ and you traded books to and from your locker, “I asked Delmar to give me more hours so I’m going to do part-time on Monday now.” MJ clicks her tongue in disappointment, but shrugs the decline off.

“Dang that sucks,” she says in her monotone voice, “This episode was supposed to be about Black Dahlia, too.” You were disappointed too, so you turned to her.

“We can listen to it over Zoom when I get home,” you assured her, “I’ll be back by 8.”

“Hey MJ!” Ned called out, catching the attention of both you and your friend, “If you’re free, Pete and I were thinking of going to Shawarma Palace right now! Care to join?” MJ declines the offer, saying that she’s just going to go home. Before she heads out, she bids you and the boys a farewell. You then watched as she turned around and walked towards the school entrance, disappearing into the sea of students.

Listening to the new podcast sounds much more fun than work, you thought sadly to yourself. A sad sigh left your body, which caught the attention of Parker.

“Hey (Y/N),” he started, “Are...you okay?” Despite the genuine concern coming from his tone, you felt your fight responses kick it.

“Why do you care?” you ask spitefully, shooting a look at him. The brunette is taken aback by your response, and so was Ned.

“I-I-I just…” Parker stammers, fiddling with his hands nervously, “I saw you talking to Cobwell and you looked pretty upset.” For some reason, this sets you off. Angry, you slam your locker shut, alarming the boys and everyone else around you three.

“Mind your own damn business, Parker.” You say bitterly, giving the already shocked boy an intense glare. Looking at him was only making you more angry, so you slung your red canvas backpack over your shoulder and turned your heel towards the school entrance, leaving Parker and Leeds to wonder what in the hell just happened.

It has been three hours into your shift at Delmar’s Deli and Grill, you tried to keep yourself busy in order to beat the feeling of anger that had lingered on you ever since you left school. Even the soundtracks of your surroundings like the small hum of the heater, the blissful purrs of Murph the bodega cat, the occasion honks from the cars outside, and the every-so-often flipping of pages from the paper Delmar was reading couldn’t distract you from your annoyance towards Parker.

Damn Parker, thinks he could eavesdrop into my personal life, you bitterly thought, aggressively sweeping at the murky tiled floors of the bodega, I’ll kick his ass if I ever catch him-

The small television above the newspaper racks interrupted your internal monologue. You looked up from sweeping to see it playing today’s news. Delmar and you listened in to the report:

“...was hospitalized. According to Queens police, they believe that the attackers are purposely targeting small businesses as this is the fourth one to be robbed these past two weeks,” You watched the pristine-looking woman with a sculpted hairstyle announce as footage was being shown beside her, “From security footage it can be determined that the attackers are a duo, both male, about five foot eight...”

“Jeez, I just reopened this place too,” you heard Delmar grumble, who was looking up at the TV, “Why can’t they rob a Whole Foods or something? Assholes like them, taking advantage of the working man...you must be rotten to go after family businesses. Isn’t Spider-man going to do anything about this?”

“Local police have reported that Spider-man has been informed of the current situation and will be looking into the robberies,” the reporter answered, “For now, authorities are asking that store-owners remain alert and take extra measures to secure their businesses.” Delmar let out a disgruntled grunt and turned to look at you.

“Hey kid,” he called, and you turned to look at him, “Can you keep a look out for customers? I need to make a call to the chips suppliers in the back.”

“Yes sir,” you replied with a nod, “Wait, what if they ask for cigarettes?”

“Give me a shout to ring them up, then.” He called back, already descending to the back of the store. A small huff left your body and you shoved the collected dirt from the floor into the streets of Queens. The skyline began to darken as the sun set, and you watched as the sky looked like a rainbow sorbet. Memories of late night drives with your older friends in California emerged from your memory, where you would sleep in the car to watch the sunset dip into the Pacific ocean waters. Even though you were on the other side of the country, the sunsets were still the same. Yet, for some reason, this one didn’t feel as homey as the ones back in California did.

Suddenly, a figure in a red mask covers your line of sight, and it makes you stumble back while letting out an embarrassing yelp.

“HEY THERE!” the red and blue clad figure announces excitingly, hanging upside down from the store’s awning, “Oh shoot! S-sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!” Once you recognized who it was, your lips broke out into a smile. Finally, someone you actually wanted to see today.

“Well, you did,” You said with a cheeky grin, “I thought you only sneak up on criminals, Spider-Man.”

“H-hey, I said I’m sorry,” he said apologetically, coming down right-side up, “I just thought you would’ve enjoyed it.”

“I’m messing with you,” You replied with a playful punch to his arm, “But next time, maybe a heads up before you greet someone bat-style. Do that to Delmar and the dude might get a heart attack.”

“Will do,” he replied, then looked over your shoulder, “Hey, where’s Delmar?”

“Out back making a call to a supplier,” You replied, ushering him inside the bodega, “You want a number five? Pickles and smushed really flat, right?”

“O-oh! Actually,I already had dinner,” Spider-man replied, his angular white lenses widening in surprise by your offer.

“Really?” You said, shrugging your shoulders, “You usually get that during this time. Are you cheating on Delmar’s place?”

“I could never!” He said motioning his arms into an x-sign, “If I ever betray the best sandwich shop in the world then throw me into jail.”

“I’ll remember that when I have to testify in court,” you teased, making your way to the counter. Murph, Delmar’s cat, sat next to the cashier upon his favorite cushion, purring loudly as the two approached him.

“Heya Murph!” Spider-man said, scratching behind the feline’s ears, “You doing good? Keeping Spider-man’s sandwich seller company?”

“Is that what you call me?” You asked, an amused smile spreading across your face, “I feel pretty honored by that title.” The masked hero of Queens let out a chuckle, and somehow hearing it made your ears turn pink. Then, a thought came to you that you expressed out loud.

“You know,” you began, still watching Spider-man give Murph some butt scratches, “You have the exact same order as someone I know.”

“R-really?” Spider-man stammered, retreating his hand from Murph in surprise. You looked at him, brows raised, “Aha...who is it?”

“Peter Parker,” You replied, deciding to rearrange the misplaced chips from the rack beside the counter, “‘Goes to my school.”

“Y-yeah, I remember you mentioning him a few times,” He said, his voice raising, which you noticed he does when he gets nervous, “He’s the one you don’t like?”

“Right,” You replied, not looking up from the rack, “Is it true that he works at Stark Industries?”

“Yeah, yeah! Of course he does!,” He replied, his voice going higher and cracking, “W-why do you ask?” He began to fiddle with his hands anxiously.

“Well,” You started, brushing your hands on your forest green apron, “My dad works there, but he never sees him.” Your dad was the head of International Affairs at Stark Industries. He mainly handled communication between Stark and companies they were planning on selling to. You didn’t know much about his job and you didn’t plan on it. You blamed the job from taking you away from your home, and your dad...well, you already had a complicated relationship with him. The move just made it much worse.

“R-really? Isn’t that weird,” Spider-man replies, rubbing his hand behind his neck, “W-well, I--Peter, doesn’t work with International Affairs. He works more with superhero stuff.”

“Like what?” You asked him, somewhat intrigued. You knew you were never going to find out from Peter personally, so might as well get the inside scoop from Spider-man himself.

“U-um…” His aperture-like eyes shift narrowly, seemingly unable to answer your question. Before you could press him further, you heard Delmar call out from the back of the store

“Hey kid! Your shift’s over!” Your Dominican boss announced. You look over to the counter to see him emerge from the back of the store.

“Best you go now since the streets are-” Delmar notices who is beside you and his eyes light up with glee.

“Ey, Hombre Araña!” Delmar exclaimed, smiling like he’s seeing an old friend, “Are you here for your usual? It’s on the house!”

“Hey Delmar,” Spider-man replies as he turns to him, waving to him, “N-no thanks, I just ate.”

“Hey, you better not cheat on me with Sub Heaven,” the middle-aged man jokes, waving his index finger at him, “I would know if you are.”

“Hey don’t worry, I’m loyal!” Spider-man replies with a laugh. Delmar chuckles then looks over to you, where you were looking at your favorite hero with a smile. He then turns back to look at Spider-man.

“Hey Spider-man,” He began, “Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Y-yeah?” the hero says, straightening himself up, “What’s up?”

“Can you give the kid a walk to the bus stop?” He asked, motioning his head towards you“It’s getting dark and with the recent news, I want to make sure they get to their stop safely.” You shot your head at Delmar, your smile falling as your eyes widened in shock. “D-Delmar! I-it’s fine!” You began, waving your hands frantically, “It’s just a ten minute walk to the stop-”

“Of course!” He replied almost too keenly, interrupting you,”I-I’d love to!” You looked back at Spider-man, surprised. Was he saying that just to be polite? You thought as your blush began creeping down to your cheeks.

Delmar gave him a hearty thanks and motioned you to come to the back to clock out. You did so in a haste, your thoughts going into key mash mode. This wasn’t the first time you’ve ever been alone with him---you’ve had several run-ins with the masked hero. Any person who was enamored by superheroes would be stoked to have him be their walking buddy.

However, he wasn’t just any superhero. To you, Spider-man meant so much more. This may or may not have something to do with you having a major crush on him ever since you met him in the summer of last year. After almost five months of seeing him practically weekly, you liked the feeling that you knew Spider-man. Yet, you were still unaware of who was behind the mask. With your crush developing harder and harder, the curiosity began to nip at you aggressively.

You clocked out from work and hung up your apron, then wished Delmar and Murph a buenas noches, as you headed towards the deli’s entrance door. You slung your backpack over your shoulders and noticed that Spider-man was waiting in the front of the store, waving hello to an excited child passing by across from the bodega. You brushed some of Murph’s cat hair off of you (your dad would throw a fit if he found cat hair in the house again) and straightened up, mentally calming yourself. You practically skipped up to Spider-man and told him that you were ready to go. He turns to you and gives you an eye (lense?) smile, and you two begin your way towards your stop.

During the first couple of minutes into the walk, you were in an argument with your thoughts on what you should talk about with Spider-man. It would’ve killed you if this ten minute walk was in silence! Thankfully, he began speaking.

“So,” He started, “Anything exciting happened to you today?” This. You thought, but obviously you would sucker punch yourself in the face if you said that out loud.

“Eh, not much,” you responded with a shrug, “Had a chemistry quiz today.”

“How’d it go?” he asked as he looked out, resting the back of his head atop his hands.

“Wonderfully,” you said sarcastically, looking down at your shoes, “Only completed three questions out of the ten on the quiz. At this rate I’m going to be the top student!” He looked over at you, watching as you kicked a piece of gravel with your foot. You let out a sad sigh.

“It’s my fault,” you continued, “I should’ve studied harder. But I just get so overwhelmed by the material I freak out and then when I freak out I get anxious and then when I get anxious I just can’t focus and when I can’t focus I don’t study!” You exhaled.

“Whoa, whoa, easy,” Spider-man says, motioning you to calm down, “Why don’t you ask someone for help on the subject? Like your teacher or a tutor?” You let out a dry laugh, remembering what Mr. Cobwell had said earlier.

“No teacher wants to deal with a student like me,” you replied, not looking up at him, “I don’t blame them, I would get frustrated when I have to repeat the same god damn thing a thousand times to someone who still can’t get it.”

“But it’s a teacher’s job to help students understand what they’re learning,” Spider-man said, “That’s the whole point!”

“I know,” you hang your head lower. God, you hated that he was right. “I just...it feels embarrassing,” you admitted, “Even asking help from a friend.” You began to pick at your fingernails, remembering MJ’s offer from earlier.

“And a tutor...well, I used to have one back home,” you said, and Spider-man watched you closely, “But my dad saw them as a waste of money so he took over. But he’s not the best tutor.” The memories of your dad trying to “help” you made you tense, and the emotions from earlier today started to creep back.

“I get where you’re coming from, in a way,” Spider-man replied, and you looked up at him, “When I first started out as Spider-man I insisted that I didn’t need anyone’s help. I felt guilty asking for help because I wanted to assume responsibility for something I felt was my problem.” His arms fell to his sides as he looked up, reminiscing.

“I didn’t want to drag the people I cared about the most into my problems,” he continued, “I didn’t want them to get hurt. But then it ended up...hurting someone I cared about the most.” You felt the weight of his words as he looked down.

“I couldn’t look at Ma-,” he stopped himself, “I mean my closest peers without feeling like it was all my fault. If I had only been honest about my feelings, I thought maybe things would’ve been different. ”

You watched the masked man, and you could tell that this anecdote was hard to bring up. People put super-heroes on such a high pedestal, seeing them as invincible people with nothing to lose. How forgetful they are that they have lives too, that they have dealt with hardships and flaws. From the tone and inflections of his voice, Spider-man sounded fairly young to you. Maybe he was your age, or maybe slightly older. You didn’t know if he was human or not, but you could imagine that getting these powers came at a price.

Everything comes at a price, you remembered your parents telling you. Nothing comes without consequence.

“Then things began to change when Mr. Stark recruited me,” he went on, “It was the best moment of my life. Finally, I thought, I could do something more and still protect those I care about. I felt like I was finally doing more.” He let out a dry chuckle.

“I became so confident that I could do more, and I even disobeyed Stark because I thought I didn’t need help,” you continued to listen in intently, “And it blew up in my face.”

“The point is,” He looks up at you, “Asking for help doesn’t mean you’re dumb or weak, it means that you’re strong enough to know when you need it. The words weighed on you, and you looked out, thoughtfully. Maybe he’s right, your consciousness spoke, But it still seems so...terrifying. You noticed that you were at your stop, but your bus was running a bit late.

“We’re here,” You spoke, pointing your thumb towards the green bench that was next to a bus stop pole.

“Ah,” Spider-man noticed this, and you both stopped walking. You both turned to each other.

“Thank you for walking me here,” you said, giving him a smile, “I appreciate it.” The masked boy rubbed the back of his neck again, seemingly bashful by your gratitude.

“H-hey, no problem,” he said shyly, “Got to look after civilians, after all.”

“Right,” you responded with a chuckle, tilting your head to the side with a raised brow.“‘The little guys’ Are we the munchkins of Oz and you’re Dorothy Gale?”

“Wh-what?!” Spider-man exclaimed, shaking his head, “N-no! That’s not what I-”

“I mean, you guys almost have the same color scheme,” You pressed on, amused by his reaction, “You just need the ruby slippers and you’re good to go.”

“H-hey,” he whined, shuffling his feet all embarrassed.

“Gosh,” you laughed, “For a diligent super-hero, you’re way too easy to tease.”

“A-am not,” He pouts as he crosses his arms, looking down at his shoes shyly.

“Oh my god,” you said, stifling a laugh, “You’re acting like my seven year old neighbor now.”

He looks up and gives you a glare, but then lets out a chuckle; a sound that warmed up your heart and your cheeks. The sound of the bus honking made you both look over to see it pulling into your stop. Darn it, you were having such a good time with him! You thought with a scowl. A disappointed sigh let your lips and you turned to look at your crush.

“Thanks again,” you said, giving him a shy smile, “Hopefully I’ll see you soon?”

“Y-yeah,” he said, almost sounding enamored by your smile, “G-get back home safely.”

“W-will do,” you stuttered back, forcing yourself to look at him even though you wanted to desperately hide the blush that was growing on your face.

“And (Y/N),” you looked up at him as he continued, “I-if you need me to walk with you again, d-don’t hesitate to holler at me.”

“O-oh n-no it’s okay!” You exclaimed, waving your hands dismissively, “I-I don’t want to take up your time!” Then, you watched as Spider-man took a step toward you, making your heart beat widely. Gently, he placed his arm atop your shoulder, and your body froze in shock.

“You,” he began, looking at you sincerely (or as sincerely as his lenses could make him look), “You never take up my time. I enjoy being with you.”

And at that moment, you felt your soul ready to rocket itself into the clouds from pure joy.

You wished you could stay like this, but the screeching of the bus’s brakes broke both of you out of the moment, and Spider-man retreated his hand from your shoulder.

“I-I, um,” he rubbed the back of his neck yet again, while you were still processing what just happened, “You better go.”

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered, then forced your body to turn it’s heel and head toward the bus. You turned and gave Spider-man a small wave, to which he returned. You adjusted your backpack and headed inside, tapping your bus card and then quickly taking the nearest available seat. As the bus doors closed and began your hour long ride, you watched as Spider-man shot a web toward the nearest building, then swung into the night.

Wow, you thought as you placed your backpack atop your lap. That was all you could think. Wow.

The bus ride had been long and tedious, but soon you were walking up the footsteps towards your house in the quaint area of Maspeth, Queens. You opened the door and upon entering your two-story brick house you could hear the television from the living room. You glanced over and saw your mom and dad sitting in their designated lounge chairs across from the wide monitor that was displayed on the wall. It seems that they were watching one of those night time talk show hosts from New York.

“I’m home,” You announced, kicking your sneakers off of your feet as you shut the door behind you. Mom looked up and saw you.

“Welcome back, dear!” Your mom greeted you with a cheerful yet tired smile, “How was work?” You told her the same old thing you’ve said to her before (“It was okay, I’m just tired.”), though you opted to leave the bit about Spider-man out.

“Well, I’m glad you got home safely,” She says, “If you’re hungry I made some dinner.”

“Nah, I ate at Delmar’s,” You replied, quickly reminiscing on your number two sandwich from earlier. It wasn’t your usual, but you were going to lose it if Delmar nagged at you for having a number five every single night you worked. Upon hearing this, mom furrows her brows in disappointment.

“Eating all of those sandwiches isn’t healthy for you,” she comments, turning back to the television, “I don’t know how well sanitized that small place is, who knows what kind of chemicals are in those ingredients.” You bit back the urge to snap at her, because this isn’t the first time she made this dumbass claim.

“Did you have an exam today?” You heard your father’s low but stern voice come from the living room. He didn’t turn to look towards you.

“N-no,” you replied sheepishly, playing with your fingernails nervously, “Just a chemistry quiz.”

“I better see an A on that,” He coldly replied, and even from the house entrance you can feel his annoyance, “You have all this time to work on your damn art projects and working in that junkyard so I better see the same effort in your STEM classes.”

Your teeth clenched, feeling the ball of emotions form in your throat. Without saying a word, you headed upstairs, where you entered your bedroom and crashed head first into your unmade bed. A long breath you didn’t even realize you were holding escaped your body, muffled by your bed sheet. You got up and slipped off your backpack, then turned to take a look around your very messy room.

It’s been a while since you last cleaned up your space. The art table was littered with your current gouache paint project of a plant study, your art board was discarded near the end of your bed, the books on your shelves were completely disorganized, your desk had your biology notes scattered upon it, and you still had a unfinished sketched canvas of an ocean sunfish lying next to it. The sound of your mom nagging at you to keep it clean knocked at your brain, immediately making you annoyed.

Dreading the scolding that could be, you let out an exaggerated huff and began to organize your art table. Mid-way through putting your gouache tubes in their designated container, you remembered your mom passively commenting about how Peter Parker probably keeps his desk very tidy, and that’s why he’s doing so well in school.

The memory had you clenching your fists, annoyance from the memory returning. Even at home, you couldn't escape Peter Parker's presence, and that ticked you off more than anything in the world. Why couldn’t he just be a dumbass and leave it at that? No, he had to be a smart dumbass. How fucking annoying.

“Stupid Parker and his stupid perfection,” you mumbled angrily to yourself as you shoved the rest of your gouache tubs into the containers, “I hope I don’t have to deal with your stupid face forever.”

Tuesday had been an arguably much better day, and it was made better by the fact that you had art club after school.

You arrived at the art club meeting room, which was just the school’s art studio. Easel stands were climbed together at one end of the room, while several artworks of students were sprinkled across the room. You could smell the wet ceramic clay from the other side of the room, where several to-be finished artworks were bagged up to keep their wet form.

The wooden drawing horses were arranged in a semicircle, where they had already been occupied by your fellow art club members. In no time you were able to spot MJ, who was waving at you to notice her. Smiling, you scuttled on over to the unoccupied wooden seat next to her, place your backpack underneath. The both of you said your greeting even though you just had chemistry together.

“What do you think we’ll be doing today?” You asked her curiously.

“Dunno,” She responded, leaning back and crossing her arms, “This is my first time joining the school’s art club. This time last year I’d be in one of the rooms where they held detention and draw the sad people in there.” You looked off and nodded, seeming to get it.

“But,” she started, and you looked back at her, “If I had to guess, I think we’ll probably talk about the spring show. The arts department needs money anyways so auctioning off student work is usually a good way to bring in the dough.”

As if on cue, Ms. Narvaez, the newest art teacher at MSST and the club’s advisor, entered the studio. Everyone turned to greet her and she returned the greeting with a gentle yet tired smile.

“Afternoon, guys,” she greeted, placing her bag of materials on her desk at the corner of the room, “I’m glad to see that everyone came today because we have something really important to discuss.” She rummaged through her bag then pulled out her trusty yellow acrylic clipboard.

“In about a month we’ll be holding our annual spring art show,” she announced, heading to the front of the semi-circle so that everyone could see her, “We need to think of a theme for this show today, so we can print the fliers out as soon as possible and encourage the students at this school to participate. Last year we had a whopping fourteen people submit work, but it was all from you guys.” Everyone looked at each upon hearing this information.

“So,” she continued, “We need a good theme so we can bring in more submissions. More submissions could mean more auctioned-off art, which will lead to more funding for our department.” Everyone began to whisper to each other, though not very enthusiastically.

“Please take out a sheet of paper and write down any themes you have in mind, no matter the number,” said Ms. Narvaez, and everyone began to unzip their bags and grab their notebooks. MJ and you did the same, grabbing a notebook that you specifically had for ideas for art. You turned to the next blank page and began jotting down anything that came up in your mind.

Camouflage

Growth

Becoming

Home

Serenity

You were about to list another word when a knock alerted you and the rest of the art club. Everyone turned and you saw your guidance counselor, Ms. Lee, peeking from the entrance of the studio.

Uh oh. You thought. Guidance counselors making unannounced appearances was never a good sign in high school.

“Oh, Florence!” Ms. Narvaez smiles upon seeing her wife, “Do you need to speak to me?”

Ms. Lee smiled. “Hi dear,” she turned to meet your eyes, “Actually, I’m here for (Y/N).”

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

Annotations

* = STEM stands for Science Technology Engineering and Math

**= paletas are Mexican popsicles that you can get from men on the street pushing a ice cream cart full of them

Ms. Narvaez is based off of American actress Lauren Velez

Ms. Lee is based off of actress Sandra Oh

#bad ideas fic #spider-man x reader #peter parker x reader #mcu fanfiction #reader insert #spider-man reader insert #spiderman fics #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman x reader

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spidercakes · 5 years

Text

Starker student/teacher AU- obviously don’t do something like this in real life.

Warning: Peter is underage, feminization of Peter.

Peter lets out a loud moan, uncaring as it echos off the walls of the bathroom. “Mr. Stark,” Peter says, pressing back into him as his grip on Peter’s hips tightens.

“Fuck, you look good like this, with that skirt of yours pushed up around your pretty little hips,” Tony tells him, voice rough and gravelly as he fucks into him.

“Yeah?” Peter murmurs, cheeks turning a little pink from the attention. “Wore it just for you. Know how much you like skirts,” he says. That’d been how this whole thing started anyway, not that Peter didn’t do his damndest to get Tony to crack sooner. God, they all knew they were getting a new science teacher but no one thought he’d be fresh out of teachers college and so damn hot. The fact that he lets them blow stuff up is mostly a bonus at that point.

But Peter worked hard to get Tony’s attention and it hadn’t been all that hard really, its just that Tony didn’t seem to take an interest the way Peter wanted him to. At least until he wore a skirt. It’d been chilly still but Peter had grown tired of his winter wardrobe and its his last year so he doesn’t give a fuck if he gets dress coded so he had figured fuck it, wear the skirt with the thigh highs. He’d noticed the difference right away but hadn’t figured out it was the skirt unill a couple weeks later.

So now he wears them frequently because he likes moments like this, where Tony drags him off to some part of the school and kisses him senseless before pushing his skirt up around his hips and fucking him too.

Tony laughs softly in his ear, “fuck, s’not the skirts its you. You look so fucking gorgeous in a mini skirt and thigh highs. So damn distracting sometimes,” he says.

Peter lets out a soft moan at that. “What can I say, Mr. Stark, I like the attention,” he says. Provided its from him, anyway. God he loves when Tony looks him up and down when no one is looking, dark eyes lingering on his skirt before scanning back up to his face. He likes knowing that Tony is counting down the minutes until he can get Peter alone, likes it when Tony touches him like hell never be able to do it again.

“I know you like the attention, baby,” Tony murmurs, kissing his way down Peter’s neck and his back arches as Tony finds that sensitive spot.

He mewls softly, “Tony,” he says, mouth dropping open in pleasure.

Tony shushes him softly, “gunna have to be quiet, baby,” he murmurs as Peter’s breath picks up.

“Fuck, Tony,” he says, louder and Tony laughs a little.

“Every time,” he says, shifting one hand up from Peter’s hip to cover his mouth. He moans loud and even though Tony’s hand its not really that quiet but fuck he loves it when Tony does that. “Gunna cum for me, baby?” Tony asks and Peter nods enthusiastically. “Then come on baby, show me what you’ve got hmm? Be good for me,” Tony croons at him and Peter can’t help the loud groan he lets out. Tony presses his face back into Peter’s neck, sloppily kissing his way up it until he gets to Peter’s jaw line. “Fuck you feel so damn good like this,” he murmurs.

Peter moans again, dropping one of his hands to the hand Tony still has on his hip. “You close for me?” Tony murmurs and Peter nods as he whines into Tony’s hand. “Want me to fuck you harder?” he says and Peter nods again, letting out a small little ‘mhm.’

Tony obliges, fucking into Peter harder and hand or no hand Peter isn’t exactly quiet about it. “Fuck the noises you make are so hot,” Tony tells him. “Always so good for me, aren’t you baby?” he asks and Peter nods enthusiastically. “Then come on, Peter, cum for me, hmm?” he asks softly and Peter can feel it, he’s so close and-

Tony fucks into him, hitting just the right angle and his toes curl as his head falls back and he shouts into Tony’s hand as he cums. Tony moans into his neck too, taking more care to moderate his volume as he cums too and they stay there like that for a moment, catching their breath.

He makes a small noise of disappointment as Tony pulls out, even if he gives Peter a small kiss as he does so. He sighs, turning around to face Tony as he tucks himself back into his pants. Tony grins, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him closer, “same time next week?” he asks and Peter lets out a groan.

“Next week? How about tomorrow? Or after school tonight?” he says, pouting.

Tony kisses him softly as he rearranges Peter’s skirt, “I love how insatiable you are,” he murmurs. “But I have tests to grade and your classmates are so fucking stupid,” he says.

Peter snickers, “is it true that you graded Brady Johnston’s paper WTF underlined three times or is that a rumor?” he asks and Tony looks so pained Peter immediately knows it's true.

“I got in shit for that, but I’m not the one out here inflating this kid’s grades so he can play football. Clearly the kid needs to be taken off the team because I think the head injuries have killed a good chunk of his brain cells,” he says, shaking his head.

He shrugs, “well, at least he’s hot,” he says and he goes to pull himself from Tony’s grasp but Tony pulls him back.

“Oh no, no. You know you’re mine, right?” he murmurs as he kisses Peter.

And oh, he loves this too, riling Tony up and making him jealous. “‘Course I do. Besides, I tried the whole dating a footballer thing forever ago. If you think their tests are bad imagine trying to hold a conversation with them,” he says, rolling his eyes.

Tony snorts, “yeah, I have to listen to them in class. I feel bad for Flash, poor bastard is the only smart one there even if he’s kind of a prick.”

Peter wrinkles his nose but he and Flash have a history so he leaves it. “After school?” he asks Tony and he sighs.

“Fine, but you get to grade half my papers. And you’re not getting Ned’s, he doesn’t need you to boost his grade anyway he’s doing fine.”

#tony stark x peter parker #starker #alternate universe #fanfiction

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years

Note

↕ - a memory that may or may not have happened. Counting Airplanes verse?

send me a symbol and character/verse & i’ll write a drabble about the memory!

I’m loving all of the Counting Airplanes verse stuff! Developing this Tony character has been a total blast and it’s even more fun getting to flesh out some of the stuff I’ve been playing around with. @goindownshipping, you’re the ultimate enabler and I’m forever appreciative. Did you end up guessing right? Hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: PTSD, disassociation, descriptions of being held captive

↕ - a memory that may or may not have happened

It took them both a while to get used to them, Tony’s dreams. There was one that plagued him - since his rescue from capture, he’d been haunted by the same creak in the door, the invasive light blinding him in the eyes.

Yet, his reactions differed, depending on the state of mind he was in.

When the days weren’t too bad, he’d merely disassociate and be lost in the memory until something made him resurface. In those moments, Peter whispered in his ear and ran long fingers through his hair, the tone of both his touch and voice were soft and soothing. Sometimes tear filled if Tony was fighting back against the haze.

And then there were the bad days, when aggression and heart-pounding fear were the only options left to him. There were times when he got put under the water for longer than humanly possible. Training taught him not to kick out and struggle - oxygen deprivation came on more quickly that way.

The part of his brain that knew it was a dream didn’t give a shit about the high quality military training he received - his legs kicked restlessly, the inability to control them almost as bad as the mimicked feeling of his chest hollowing out, filling with the lead of carbon dioxide that would inevitably take him down.

Those days were always the hard ones. It took a couple of black eyes before Peter realized that holding him down and keeping him flat against the mattress was the only way to get him to stop thrashing. Unlike his disassociation episodes, Tony came out of those dreams with a vivid recollection of what happened and how horrible it must have felt to be Peter, holding down the man he loved in hopes of bringing him back from the depths of it all.

He figured that it would eventually take its toll on Peter - the interrupted sleep and the long nights where Tony didn’t come to bed at all. Instead, he seemed to be more determined to help Tony the longer they were together. By the time they were married and working on creating a functional life together, Peter didn’t cry when Tony finally blinked his eyes awake. He met him with a soft smile instead, the look still a little woobly, but warm and inviting all the same. Coming back to something like that was like a soft landing, one he quickly couldn’t imagine not having.

Which is why it was weird, when Tony got sucked into one of his dreams, that he saw Peter’s face when the cell door opened. Instead of the olive green camo and faces completely covered by masks and hats pulled down low, Peter’s soft flannel and faded jeans were in his line of vision. He reached out towards him, the idea of Peter there to save him overwhelming, enough to bring out the desperation within him.

Tony knew the next thing he’d experience was rough hands on his arms hauling him up, but they didn’t come. The vision knelt down and wrapped him up, the arms around him comforting and determined, not harsh and bruising like he expected. Looking up, Tony noticed the same soft smile on the bright face - the slightest outline of Peter’s eye crinkle visible in the blinding light. The soft whisper of “it’s going to be okay, Tony” resonated in his head, breaking up the dream in a way that made sure Tony never actually got up off the floor of his cell.

When he blinked awake, he let out a gasp - Peter was holding him tightly, his eyes soft as he looked at him. “It’s going to be okay, Tones,” Peter whispered, the words reminiscent of the ones that still felt like they were rattling up in the space of his head. His mind was everywhere, the remnants of the dream still clinging to him. Only this time, he felt the vivid realness of Peter in that cell. It couldn’t have happened, the rational side of him knew that.

Yet, when he closed his eyes, Tony could vividly picture the beautiful light radiating around him and that look he’d come to know as his anchor, the safety net that never failed to swoop him up when free fall felt imminent. The cell didn’t feel so cold when he dropped back in it - with Peter guiding him back to the light, he didn’t feel so lost.

#goindownshipping #starker #ironspider #bobbie writes #counting airplanes

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sarifel-corrisafid-ilxhel · 4 years

Note

Hey, idk if this is just a mobile problem but the only little button appearing at the bottom of your posts is the share button for links and stuff, not hearts or reblogs. Also, if you don’t mind, I have a what-if idea: if the country was under lockdown as it is now during the Animorphs books, how do you think it would affect their missions? Thanks :)

Weird. I haven’t adjusted any settings on my end, so I’m not sure what’s happening there, but I will try looking into it!

As for the lockdown… hmmm. I can’t see much triggering a lockdown in the late 1990s other than the return of Smallpox or a sudden outbreak of a novel and potentially fatal virus. So whatever the threat is, it’s going to be something serious. We’ll go with the Prion Virus.

Let’s say that months after Book 38, an unknown pathogen begins sweeping through the global population. People who are afflicted by the virus begin to show signs of lethargy, agitation, lack of coordination, and decreasing motor skills. Some just disappear entirely. Others become confused. Then delirium and dementia set in, and the victims begin screaming about “Yeerks”. When the victims are pulled into ambulances or taken to the hospital, they die.

The incubation time of the disease is unknown. Transmission method is unknown. Symptom progression occurs over several weeks. The fatality rate appears to be close to a hundred percent. Outbreaks seem to occur near-simultaneously in major metropolitan areas around the globe. The disease becomes known as “Affluenza”, as it predominantely strikes at the upper crust of society. Rumors that the disease spreads through bottled water dominate the Internet and nightly news cycles. Lockdowns, Stay-At-Home orders, and Martial Law are declared in many areas. Madagascar closes its borders.

Day One of the Lockdown: Jake, Cassie, Marco, and Rachel are unable to leave their houses. It’s not that they can’t leave- They could easily morph and leave their houses, no problem. No, the problem is that their families are paying attention to them now. Jake’s mother habitually knocks on his door every twenty minutes to make sure he’s okay. Peter and Nora insist on keeping Marco in the same room as them because Nora wants Family Bonding Time. Cassie can’t even go to the barn without her mother or father following her. And Rachel has a nervous wreck of a mother and two younger sisters to keep entertained.

It’s Ax, perched outside of Jake’s window in Harrier morph, who explains what’s going on. The Prion Virus that Arbat dropped into the Yeerk Pool before he died must have finally kicked in. The Animorphs had suspected the disease had something to do with the Yeerks, even before the lockdown started, but the lockdown helped Ax and Tobias confirm that it was only Controllers who were being affected. Everyone who is dying in the hospitals? The Yeerks are silencing them with assassination cylinders, just like when the Animorphs destroyed the Kandrona generator.

Jake opnely wonders why it took this long for the virus to take effect. Ax briefly wonders about the state of Human medical knowledge before he explains that a prion is a misfolded protein that inhibits normal function of an organism’s brain. The Prion Virus works by infiltrating healthy cells and forcing them to create these misfolded proteins, and prion diseases are hard to detect early on because just a few misfolded proteins won’t do any real damage. However, as the cells continue to create more and more misfolded proteins, the damage begins to accumulate and become visible. It can take months for a disease like this to become apparent. It can take up to a year for a disease like this to kill. And the Yeerks never knew. They’ve been spreading the virus around with every personnel transfer. By now, the virus could be present in every single Yeerk Pool in the galaxy.

Jake wonders if he should feel bad when Ax reminds him the Prion Virus could mutate inside of Human-Controllers and begin to affect Humans. And now that the Yeerks are aware of the virus, there is a chance they could develop a counter. Ax starts to go on about virophages which could disable the Prion Virus and protein repair mechanisms that might limit or undo the damage when Jake tells him to go let the others know what’s going on.

Day Two of the Lockdown: Ax and Tobias are scouting the situation out and keeping everybody informed. Tobias hates the comparison to “Courier Pigeons” that Marco keeps making, but there is a certain truth to it. Most of the Animorphs are effectively grounded, leaving the two without families to do all of the spy work. It almost reminds everyone of the first few weeks of the war.

Marco has been following the whole situation on the news very carefully for over a month. Known Controller-celebrities are playing the virus up, feeding the hysteria. Marco reasons the Stay-At-Home orders are something the Yeerks came up with. Having all the Yeerks stay away from the Yeerk Pools will keep any uninfected Yeerks safe, with the added benefit of limiting the public exposure to people breaking free of their Yeerks to beg for help. What is notable, however, is that the Yeerks aren’t alone in investigating the disease. Human medical organizations are also investigating the disease, and they have already determined the disease is a novel neurological disorder spread by a virus. One doctor explains that the sudden screaming of “Yeerk” is because as motor function shuts down, people may begin to shout single loud syllables at random. Marco figures out that doctor is a Controller pretty quickly. However, another doctor wonders if this might be a prion disease, similar to Hoof-and-Mouth or Creutzfeldt–Jakob, because his team have noticed there are unusual proteins in the cerebrospinal fluids of the people they tested. Marco thinks that the entire invasion is about to be exposed.

Jake has been watching Tom like a hawk. Not literally as a hawk, not today, but it’s about the same. The early symptoms of the disease are easy enough to miss, but the more Jake thinks about it, the more it looks like Tom’s Yeerk is already suffering. But that’s not the only thing that has Jake’s attention right now. That morning, Tom got a phonecall from The Sharing, and ever since he’s been pacing anxiously in the living room. Jake knows the Yeerks have to do something about all the Controllers now trapped at home, but he can only guess at what. Eventually, the doorbell rings. The Sharing, with the blessing of the local authorities, is now delivering food and bottled water door to door in windowless vans. Tom volunteers to go out to the van and help unload things. He comes back in thirty minutes later, much less anxious and with very little to show for the time he was out there. He claims he was “Just talking with the guys about the deliveries”. Jake, however, suspects the Yeerks are using the food deliveries as a cover for giving Yeerks a chance to recharge with Portable Kandronas. Tom struggles to open a bottled water before reluctantly asking Jake to help him open it.

Day Three of the Lockdown: Erek shows up. Jake figures it out before Erek reveals himself, because even though Erek does a spot-on impersonation of a coat rack, Jake’s family don’t own a coat rack. They have a coat closet, thank you very much. And even if they did own a coat rack, it wouldn’t be in Jake’s room.

Erek tells Jake the primary Yeerk Pool is being cleaned out. The Yeerks have begun hoarding spray disinfectants and bleach out of a misguided belief the disease could be an Earth virus that has mutated to attack Yeerks. All the Yeerks in the pool have been transferred to holding tanks while the main pool is being disinfected. However, it’s all for nothing- The Yeerks still don’t know what they’re dealing with, and prion diseases are especially tough- They aren’t destroyed by conventional disinfectants.

Jake wonders briefly if he should feel bad for the Yeerks or not. That’s when Erek drops the bombshell of the day- The Chee are working on a countervirus. One that could save all the Yeerks. It should be ready in just a few days, and if it’s deployed quickly enough it could save millions. Jake is appalled. The Yeerks have been killing Humans by the thousands, they’ve enslaved hundreds of millions of good innocent people across the Galaxy. They took his brother. Why the hell would anyone want to save them?

Erek counters that he doesn’t believe in genocide under any circumstances. The Chee have directives from the Pemalites not just to be pacifists, but to love life, to want to perserve it and see it flourish. If it weren’t for those directives, the Chee would have never intervened to stop the Black Death. And, Erek reminds Jake, the Chee don’t answer to the Animorphs. They’ll save the Yeerks whether Jake wants them to or not. The reason Erek is here is that the Animorphs have an opportunity to end the war. Offer the cure in exchange for peace.

Tobias, perched in the tree outside, says that Erek stole the idea from Deep Space Nine. Erek unabashedly says that one of Humanity’s strongpoints is using stories to predict the kinds of problems they might face in the future. Jake, for his part, is extremely concerned. Even if he could put his severe distaste in Yeerks aside, he isn’t sure how they could prevent the Yeerks from simply coming back later or blowing up the planet as they leave. That’s when Erek suggests asking the others. He’ll cover for Jake here.

Reluctantly, Jake opens a window and begins to morph into a falcon.

____________________________________________________...Sorry I might have gotten carried away. You were probably looking for “What do they do to relieve boredom”. Sorry! n.n;;

#Animorphs #Yeerks #Prion Virus #Stuff about Stuff and Things #Erek is there too

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avatarty · 4 years

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Breaking Dawn could've been "Bella Swan and her adventures as a newborn" but ig that's too much to ask for

Hear me out, this post is a little long and mostly ranting but if you can make sense of it, please read lol.

Lmfao there is no way in hell Edward and Bella could ever fucking raise a child on their own. They can barely even function on their own without making terrible ass decisions. The brain cells they share amount to maybe 1. They're just that couple, yk. Like, they would seem like people who'd be the Fun Parents but still, it's just not for them. It's not even a bad thing. Nah. That forever will be the worst decision.

(As I refuse to use that god awful name, I will just refer to them as "child" or "baby")

Bella is still a child really, 17/18/19 years old is still too young for any of those life altering decisions. Bella never thought about/wanted kids. She was not ready to be a mother. And Edward? Sure hes old but like..idk man, I cant see either of them as parents.

It just shouldn't have ever happened.

They could've lived the life everyone at 17/18/19 would dream of. Travel the world, learn new languages, get degrees (without worrying about debt bc you're a Cullen now so take advantage of that shit lol). Like, there are literally so many amazing things Bella could do now. Immortal and oodles of money??? Smh (idk maybe that's my dream lmao)

However, if having a child was that crucial to the story, it could've been done so much better. Like removing that pedophilia type shit for starters and not creating a baby for the sake of being some man's future gf. Also, a couple does NOT need children to live a happy and fulfilling life. Bella KNEW that from day one so everything that followed makes no sense-

Anywayy!

Ok, so imagine- these 2 dumbasses getting pregnant on their honeymoon.

Maybe Edward isnt so much of a dick and maybe ok, bella is thinking she can do this. She wants this.

She almost dies for her baby, shes turned and Jacob has no gross tie to a literal newborn. And instead of Irina and the volturi, they just raise the goddamn kid. All the while, though, Bella is freaking out bc this is hard and scary and not what she thought.

Vampirism is amazing and great and so is Edward but like I've said a bunch already, she never wanted kids. She's young, barely even knows who she is and panics.

So despite her excruciating love for Edward we have a story about Bella running away. She loves her child but now maybe she made the wrong decision. Maybe Edward was right.

So then we have a story of Bella adventuring off and learning how to vampire mostly on her own- as well as Bella learning who she is. Shes young and never even started to learn who she is and what she really really wants as an individual. Bc it is in fact Bella, she doesn't wanna be away from Edward but she knows the baby needs a parent there so it works out and she can learn to be her own person.

She runs into other vampires, sometimes its friends and sometimes not so much.

But we get this new perspective of not only a nomadic vampire but its Bella. Shes about 8 months then maybe? But super control works out in her favor so it's ok. She learns how to work with her shield mostly alone, maybe she almost slips but she doesn't.

We can see Peter and Charlotte and learn more about what life is like for past newborn soldiers. And other types across the world, even. The Egyptian coven, Irish coven- it'd be super cool to see different vampires and how they live. They give Bella advise and shit too.

She talks to the baby eventually, and then it's an every night thing. She starts to send post cards and gifts as time goes on. She aches to see her baby and Edward but shes still so scared.

Maybe it's just a year but Bella comes back and gushes about it all but also desperately apologizes and loves the crap out of her daughter and husband. Things get better, baby is bigger bc of creepy half vampire shit and then the three of them get close and then go off and adventure forever.

Bella knows she shouldn't have just run from her responsibilities but she was a panicking teenage mother who is also a vampire. She needed to figure out her own shit.

Shes still the mother but Bella and her child don't have a typical relationship. Its weird but not bad bc the baby had a better upbringing and shit. They're relationship is strong and so is hers with Edward and everyone else.

Idk how you could add Jacob and everyone else into the story, including Charlie, but this isnt about them. It's not a romance or anything, it's just a story of a young girl thrust into an unfamiliar life and she tries her best to cope.

(Yeahh, I wrote most of this stoned and I edited it after it was in my drafts but still. It's an interesting thought. Idk you could take this however, even add to it lmao)

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land-of-brains-and-chocolate · 5 years

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you know when the symbiote tries to leave eddie for peter and the next time it’s just fine and you’re like WAIT and i’m also like WAIT

Eddie wakes up in a nightmare. He’d like to think so, at least.

A thin mat under his back. The faint smell of lemon cleaner. Lights, far too bright for bleary eyes.

When he moves, there’s a horrible, unnatural ache all throughout him, like his insides are rubbing together wrong, like he’s been internally stripped of a layer. He stumbles forward, bare feet on cold concrete, catches himself against the transparent wall and looks out into the structure he’s found himself in, engineered to drive a man to hopelessness. The Vault.

His fingers curl into fists, smearing his handprints across the surface. He had, to put it lightly, not planned on ending up here again.

Eddie reaches behind himself and pulls through, punching the reinforced glass. The impact vibrates through his knuckles. He bares his teeth at the guard across the hallway, who says nothing, doesn’t move. Most of his face obscured, mouth in a thin, straight line. Will he descend into jeering, too? Will he mock his pain? His mission?

It’s bad enough, being watched. Trapped. Exposed. Permeated by the gaze of judgement and control. It reminds him of the tube, or the tubes, plural, it echoes with pain that isn’t his own, that is...

...Not present.

Eddie blinks.

He can’t feel it.

The fear he’d expect- The gratitude, for being able to recede into his body-

No. No longer. His body, it wasn’t a sanctuary anymore, it was just another cage-

His Other- Except it wasn’t his-

Eddie's head starts swimming. He sways backwards, drops onto the cot. For a moment, he sits there, stunned, hands hovering. Then he pats himself down, pulls at his clothes, standard issue, stiff, scratchy, and definitely, definitely not alive.

What did it do to him?

What did they do to it?

He looks around himself, frantic. He has to get out. He has to get to it. Spider-Man already has his venomous fangs lodged in its soul, him and his kind could destroy it utterly. It can’t end like this. No matter what.

Eddie lifts his arm, fully intending to break his fingers against the glass. They'll have to open the cell, then. He can figure out how to proceed from there. He’s almost looking forward to choking the guard out, thinks that, maybe, the stiffness of his posture isn’t discipline, maybe he’s heard of what happened to the last one, maybe he can still use that fear to his advantage-

Just as he gains momentum, something pulls him back. The slightest mental nudge. Soft and pleading and familiar. Eddie whips around, but there’s nothing, nowhere... Except, he now realises, some vague sensation at the back of his neck. His hands fly towards it, and when they meet a thin tendril, a sharp breath pushes itself out of his chest.

He slides the soft strand through his fingers, brings it to the front of his head, and sees nothing there, nothing but a vague shimmer.

It’s camouflaging. Hiding. It’s completely cut itself off.

It tried to leave him. And it’s still receded from him, as far as it can.

Eddie grinds his teeth.

He grabs the symbiote like a rope and pulls, pulls down, leans into it with all his weight, but it soon refuses to budge. That’s fine. He stretches it taut.

It squirms underneath his fingers. “I just want to talk,” he forces out, putting one foot up against the wall, then the other. It extends out of nowhere, refusing to let him ascend towards it, but he keeps reaching forward like a man in the middle of a very convincing pantomime routine.

Until, of course, he is dropped flat on his back.

From there, he takes a deep breath. Tries to feel it out. It’s still... somewhere up there, definitely. In some corner of the ceiling, as far away as it can get. Maybe... spanning across it? Like a web, thinned out to be less visible?

Eddie quickly stops thinking about it. It must still be attached to him, he thinks instead, loudly, with no idea whether the volume of his internal voice makes any difference, and gets back on his feet. Where, oh where could it be coming from, he thinks, rubbing at his neck. It must have moved. He can’t even tell that it’s permeating his skin anywhere, so it must be covering that sensation up, too.

He reaches under his shirt, feeling for some protrusion. Makes quick work of taking it off and flinging it into the corner. “I know,” he says, contorting himself to examine the skin between his shoulder blades, “I know you can’t actually get out.” Unceremoniously, he pulls off his pants. “No matter how hard you try.” He raises one knee to step on the cot, then pokes his way up his calf.

It’s not that he needs to find it. He just needs to get close enough to distract it. Make it focus on shifting away from him down here, so it won’t shift away up there.

He runs his hands up his thigh, closed around it - not enclosing all of it, of course. There’s... some hint of a reaction, maybe? Some twitch? It must be nearby. He moves further up, into the curve of his hipbone, and...

Hm.

There’s something. Eddie narrows his eyes. He moves back down, places one hand squarely on the inside of his thigh, and gives it a squeeze.

Okay.

That’s not the kind of distraction he was going for, but he’s pretty sure he wasn’t the one who, just for a second, longed to be enveloped in the density of his muscles again.

He’s not the one getting a very specific kind of antsy when he slides one hand under the waistband of his boxers, either.

Eddie tries not to crack up. This is a serious situation.

With the symbiote in a bind, and without so much as a thought’s worth of warning, he bounces on his back leg, jumps from the cot, pushes up the wall, blindly scrapes the corner of the ceiling-

And comes away, or rather, stays there, with a tight fist full of goo, relenting into its usual, shimmering black, quite miserably stretching downwards with his weight. Otherwise, it’s stretched across the ceiling in countless strands, which it must’ve weaved itself into to stave off a nervous breakdown. Eddie’s feet are still planted, firmly, against the wall. He’s practically perpendicular. He’s got the core strength for it.

In fact, he wraps the symbiote around his hands and keeps walking up the wall, feet well above his head, until he hits the ceiling, arms trembling.

Upside-down and near-naked, he looks straight into the visor of the guard standing outside. A single drop of sweat appears to be rolling down his chin.

I’ve got you, Eddie thinks, then, for lack of air. Talk to me. I’m not going to stop until you do.

He pulls his hands apart. It’s like laffy taffy. A distinct hissing sound fills the air.

You know, he thinks, you know, more than anyone, that I won’t.

He only gets tense silence in response.

I’m going to let go now, he thinks, and does.

In a split second, the symbiote rushes to catch him, pulling his head away from where it could’ve broken his neck, shooting tendrils towards his arms and legs, wrapping around him until he’s tangled up in its netting. “There you go,” he chokes out, bouncing in it. “You still care.”

All at once, the symbiote drops them both onto the cot. It puts some distance between them, stiff and stringy, eyes narrowed in what it understands to be a threat display, but just looks like it's pouting. He can tell, now, that it's scared, scared of his reaction, scared of living in a constant state of rejection. Scared it'll be trapped in the bond it found freedom in. Scared of the same things he's scared of.

It fully expects him to lash out. It's prepared to lash out in return.

Worse: It's prepared to keep its distance.

It's ruined everything, it thinks.

Then and there, Eddie makes a decision. He may deny it, but he does. He turns his brain around, and it takes off in the direction of whatever will bring them relief.

Not being good enough still makes him want to run and hide. But he can’t run or hide from the symbiote, so he's good enough for it. Being rejected still makes him feel like a trapped animal, lashing out with teeth and claws. But that’s not what he wants to do. Not to it, anyway. And so, he hasn’t been rejected.

He just needs it to work with him.

“Tell me,” he says, only a little desperately, “what he did to you.”

The symbiote’s tendrils rise. Every second without an accusation seems to be setting it on edge.

“Just one more time.”

It looks him up and down. Communicates, weakly. He...

“He cast you aside,” he interrupts. “He used you. You loved him... And still, he abandoned you. As soon as you were no longer a means to an end.”

It stares. Then it pulls into itself, looking like chewing gum that’s been stretched out and left behind on the sidewalk. Eddie gets on his knees, leaning over the slime.

“Tell me, does that sound like something you would do? After experiencing that for yourself, does it really make sense that you’d do the same thing to me?”

Eddie reaches out to it. The symbiote recedes under his fingers, trembling.

“I would never hurt you,” Eddie says. “I’m not like him. And you...”

It’s not like him, either. Of course not. There’s distress, some memory of feeling compelled, feeling the need to return, to do better, to be loved again. But it hadn’t done anything wrong in the first place, and it hadn’t ever been loved. None of it, none of it was true. None of it was what it really wanted.

Gently, he strokes across the symbiote’s mass. Slowly, it flattens out.

It was him, it thinks, bitterly. Eddie exhales with relief.

“Yes,” he says. “You let him into your heart. Now he’s made a home there.”

He sits back on his feet, feeling a little light-headed.

“He’s... controlling you, still. As he did. You have to resist his... machinations. You have to emancipate yourself.”

The symbiote, finally, slides towards him, across his skin, underneath it. Finally, it starts to heal the damage left behind by the forceful separation. Finally, it shows its true nature again, warm and soothing, yet burning with purpose, allied only to him.

“How would that best be done, do you think? How can you destroy the one inside you?”

It has to destroy the one outside it, first. Black tar in his lungs. Teeth in his throat. Claws on his heart.

“Yes,” Eddie says. “Yes, you understand. The more pain he deals us, the stronger we become. The more injustice he brings into the world, the harder we’ll strike him down. You can’t... We can’t falter, anymore.”

They’re eager to get back to it, both. Eager to get out. The symbiote emerges from his wrists, flowing upwards, rolling around his fingers and covering his hands until he has claws to admire, snug against his skin. Eddie does wonder.

“If you were trying to hide,” he says, softly smiling down at it, “there are many ways you could’ve done better...”

#now the universe is back in the balance #one not fluff for every fluff #i just love in-between canon snippets #symbrock

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