#and he thinks he doesn’t have much to offer pete aside from his love. but then he also thinks he doesn’t know how to do That

[teenjiism]

thinking about vegas offering his heart up to pete, naked, bared, bleeding.

when he asks pete to be the one to kill him if it comes to it and confesses his love, he’s saying “here’s my heart, it’s yours for the taking. it’s your choice what you do with it. if it’s not you, nobody will want it, not even me. it only beats for you. if it’s not for you, i have no need for it.”

#vegaspete #vegas #pete #vegas theerapanyakul #feeling normal on this fine evening #blame user waitforthestars for this #i think it’s quite beautiful that when pete offered vegas the rope — he offered him control #but vegas ran with it a little too much. because he was terrified of losing pete AND himself #because with pete he found a new side of himself #and who would he be once pete is gone? he can’t revert to masks #and in that scene. vegas is giving back that control to pete #it’s up to him now. it’s his choice. and vegas will sincerely accept whatever outcome #because and i cannot believe i’m saying this but he realized that #sometimes loving someone means letting them go #and cliché as it is it’s Very charged for them #bc it’s not just this. vegas realizes that even though pete has feelings for him and is attached #(very Very attached)(like codependent levels) #vegas also knows that he caused him so much agony and hurt that he doesn’t really deserve forgiveness #and he thinks he doesn’t have much to offer pete aside from his love. but then he also thinks he doesn’t know how to do That #he doesn’t know how to Love #okay i’m done i really am

[storiesforallfandoms]

pose ~ pete davidson

word count: 1418

request?: yes!

“Hello!! Could you do a Pete fic where the reader is a photographer, they are doing a photoshoot and Pete keeps flirting with her throughout the photoshoot. She brushes this off and continues as normal, but after the shoot they keep running into each other and one day he asks her out on a date and she says yes. Please? Sorry if this doesn't make sense”

description: in which her flirtiest subject runs into her weeks later and decides to finally make a move

pairing: pete davidson x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

The interviewer kept trying to ask Pete questions, but he kept getting distracted by the photographer who was taking his picture for the article. She was a beautiful young woman who was so engrossed in her work that it made her ten times more attractive to Pete.

“Mr. Davidson,” the interviewer said, the annoyed edge evident in her voice.

Pete dragged his attention from the photographer, a dopey smile on his face that he knew no one could be upset at. Seeing a fantastic photograph opportunity in this, the photographer quickly snapped another shot.

“What was the question?” Pete asked.

The interviewer sighed and shook her head. “Let’s just finish the photographs and finish the interview back in my office.”

“I think we should be good on photographs, actually,” the photographer said. “I got a lot of good ones if you two want to look at them.”

“Wait, I have a great one to finish with,” Pete said.

He turned his back to the photographer and dramatically stuck his butt out. He twitched towards the camera and made a pouty face, putting his finger to his lips. The photographer giggled and took a snap of Pete’s ridiculous pose.

“(Y/N),” the interviewer snapped, “don’t take a picture, that’s unprofessional.”

“I’m not seriously sending it to be used,” (Y/N) said. “It’s just a funny picture.”

“I don’t care, delete it.”

The interviewer stood and walked back to her office, not even asking Pete to follow her. He looked back to (Y/N) to see her face was flushed and she looked a mixture of upset and angry.

“Don’t actually delete it,” Pete said. “I want to see it.”

(Y/N) brought the picture up on her camera and showed it to Pete. “It’s just the rough copy so it’s sort of lame. With the fancy magazine editing it would look really cool.”

“I think it looks great as it is,” Pete assured her. “I’d love to have a copy sent to me.”

“My boss would freak if I did.” Her eyes flicked to the door where the interviewer had just walked away. Pete could see the frustration in her eyes and guessed that this wasn’t the first time (Y/N) had been verbally berated by her.

“I’m sorry you go through that,” Pete said.

She shook her head and waved away Pete’s apology. “Don’t be. I’ve gotten used to it. Doesn’t make it any less infuriating whenever she gets angry for stupid reasons, but it happens.”

“You don’t deserve to be talked to like that, though. You seem very professional, and even that goofy picture you took of me looks incredible.”

(Y/N) smiled and shyly looked down at her camera, unsure how to respond to his compliment.

“You’re also extremely beautiful, but that’s neither here nor there in regards to photography.”

(Y/N) giggled at this.

“You should go finish the interview. Her royal bitch will be waiting for you,” she told him.

Pete didn’t want to leave. He wanted to keep talking to (Y/N), and he really wanted to ask her out on a date. In a very uncharacteristic way for Pete, he found himself too nervous to do so and instead left with a lame “See you around”. The minute he walked out the doors of the studio they had been taking pictures in, he regretted his decision, but continued to the office of the interviewer so he could finally get it done and over with.

~~~~~~

A few weeks later, the article had been published and, unsurprisingly, had blown up massively. It was one of the first interviews that Pete had done that got really deep, and he had talked about a lot of things he had never really publicly discussed before. He fans were eating it up and talking about it non-stop. Pete was happy it had gained such positive traction, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the photographer.

He was in his favorite coffee spot, waiting for his order before running off to work, when the bell over the door rang to signal someone had walked in. Pete glanced up from his phone a moment before looking back down, but then did a quick double take when he realized he recognized the woman who had just walked in.

“Hey! (Y/N)!”

(Y/N), who had also been distracted by something on her phone, looked up to see Pete approaching her. She smiled as she pulled out the one headphone she had in her hear.

“Hey Pete!” she said. “How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. How are you?”

“Doing great! I have a job offer with a bigger photography company than the one I was working for. I’m heading there after here actually.”

“Holy shit, that’s amazing!”

“Yeah, well I kinda have you to thank for that. They were impressed with the pictures I took for your article and reached out to offer me the job.”

“That must’ve been a saving grace from the wrath that was your boss. When I saw you had included the goofy picture I could only imagine how angry she must’ve been.”

(Y/N) smirked, the memory of her boss’ face, tomato red with anger, after seeing the silly picture taken of Pete in her “very serious” article.

“It was actually the editor’s choice,” she told him. “When I submitted the pictures I had taken, I had included that one by mistake. But the editor loved it. He said that it showcased more of your personality than just your super serious side. He was so insistent on having the picture in the article that he even threatened to take my boss’ name out of the credits if she continued to throw her hissy fit.”

Pete whistled. “That’s brutal. She must’ve loved that.”

“She practically had steam coming out of her ears for a week. She tried to punish me by having one of our other photographers follow her for her next article, but my editor just paired me up with another of our journalists who is much nicer. And now I have this job offer anyways, so there’s really no lose here for me.”

“Well I’m really happy for you. You deserve a place that’s really going to understand your talent and appreciate you for all you do.”

(Y/N) smiled warmly at Pete. She had also been thinking about him a lot since their first encounter. There had been a few times where she almost asked her boss if she know how (Y/N) could get in contact with Pete, but realized that would likely be a bad idea considering her boss basically already hated her.

The cashier called for the next person in line, which was (Y/N). As she stepped forward to place an order, Pete’s name (or rather his fake name as not to be recognized when out in public) was called. He went to collect his coffee and turned back to (Y/N), who had stepped aside to wait for her own. She was looking up at him, almost expectantly.

Before he could stop himself, Pete blurted, “Do you wanna go out some time?”

(Y/N) nearly sighed with relief when he finally said the words. She nodded quickly and took Pete’s hand in her own. She pulled a pen from her bag and wrote her number on his hand.

“Very middle school of you,” Pete teased.

“That’s what makes it so adorable,” (Y/N) responded. “Text me later, we can figure out a time and date. Preferably sometime soon if you’d like.”

“If it were up to me I’d be taking you out right now.”

(Y/N) giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and looked down at her shoes. “Tempting, but I do have to go for that job interview.”

“How about after that? We can go out to celebrate you getting that super awesome job that you deserve.”

“What if I don’t get it?”

“Impossible, but if that happens then we’ll go out and get fucked up so you forget about the interview instead.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Okay, sounds like a plan.”

Her name was called before Pete could say anything else. She grabbed her coffee and waved goodbye to Pete, calling, “See you later, Pete!” over her shoulder as she walked out the coffee shop door.

Pete had to stop himself from happy dancing in the middle of the shop in front of so many people, but inside he was already celebrating his own little win.

#Pete Davidson #pete davidson imagine #pete davidson x reader #imagine #one shot #requests #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

[ptergwen]

through the lens

w/c: 2.3k

warnings: swearing and mentions of blood (all fluff tho!)

summary: yours and peter’s date night doesn’t go as planned, thanks to his “little” accident and mj’s photography project

a/n: it’s been a minute but i’m back! for now lol i promise i’ll be way more active when exam season is over <3 this was based off the lovely pic above taken by the even lovelier zendaya and i hope you enjoy these… let’s call it random workings of my mind

-

“hang on, can you come closer?” mj instructs you, you promptly stepping towards her. “is this good?” “great,” she affirms and squints behind the camera. “smile really big on the count of three, okay? one, two, three!” doing as she says, you give mj your cheesiest grin with your eyes squeezed shut and all. she snickers while snapping the moment on her polaroid.

mj asked you to be her subject for a photography project. you’re happy to do it, although it’s super last minute. like, barging-into-your-room-and-begging-you-for-help last minute. she was supposed to turn this in days ago. lucky for mj, her teacher was feeling generous and gave her an extension.

you have to work fast because of mj’s deadline and your plans with peter. he’s coming over for a movie marathon and cuddles right about now. well, he’s actually running a tad bit late. that’s typical peter for you.

“just a couple more, and then you’re free,” mj informs you while shaking out the polaroid. “this is honestly pretty fun, you know.” you glance at the photo she’s holding with an eyebrow quirked in surprise. she captures you well. “what made you choose me?” “no one else was free on a saturday,” she snorts and tosses the picture in a pile with the rest.

your mouth falls agape. “i’m not free! peter’s gonna be here in…” you check the time on your phone, much to your dismay. “he’s a few minutes late, but still. i have things to do, too.” a smirk sets on mj’s face as she gets ready for the next photograph. “relax, y/n/n. i was kidding. i’m sure spider-dweeb will be here sooner than you know it.” sighing lightheartedly, you take a seat on your bed.

“don’t call him that,” you shake your head. mj throws her own head back to the ceiling. “ugh, but that was a good one,” she insists, you only humming. “it’s better than penis parker, at least.” “nah, i like the alliteration,” you laugh out and earn a giggle from mj. “you’re lucky parker doesn’t have super hearing, or does he?” winking, you hit a pose for mj. you’re looking at her over your shoulder with smolder eyes.

“ask him yourself, after you get this shot.”

the two of you continue messing around with her polaroid until the film is almost gone, and peter has yet to arrive. you’re starting to worry. you aren’t sure where he could be.

he doesn’t patrol on weekends unless it’s an emergency, and he would’ve told you if there was one already. he’s never this late without sending a text, either. it’s almost an hour past when date night should’ve started. on the other occasions peter has gone off the grid, they didn’t end well.

“i’m freaking out, em. do you think he’s in some kind of trouble?” you ask mj, pacing around your bedroom. she offers a sympathetic shrug. “maybe he just ate some bad yogurt. remember last time?” being the dummy he is, peter once scarfed down an entire tub of vanilla yogurt before he realized it was expired. no one heard from him for days. he didn’t show up to school or answer any calls.

may ended up inviting you over and explaining he’d gotten a stomach bug, which you then tended to him for the rest of. the story was so amusing, and so peter.

“may doesn’t buy him dairy anymore. why do you think he always raids your freezer?” you bring your fingers up to rub your temples. “the kid can empty ice cream cartons in one bite,” she agrees, silently cringing. her curiosity piques at the fact. “is that also a power?” “who cares?” you nearly shout, your fingers curling into fists. “what i wanna know is if peter is fucking okay.”

on cue, there’s a knock at your apartment door. you and mj exchange looks of urgency, both rushing out of your room to answer.

mj follows you through the hall and stands by your side while you fumble with the lock. when your door pulls open, ned has his hand raised to knock again. “ned? what are you doing here?” you don’t give him the chance to speak. “have you heard from peter? he was supposed to be here a while ago, but he never showed.” rather than answering in words, ned takes a step aside.

the sight you’re met with makes you gasp. peter peeks out from behind him, cuts and bruises littering his flushed face. he gives you a lopsided smile.

“you have your answer,” mj murmurs to you and eyes ned curiously. he lets out a nervous chuckle. “here he is.” you push past ned and practically jump into peter’s arms, your hug bone-crushing. “peter, oh my god! are you okay?” wincing, peter hugs you back by your waist. his chin rests carefully on your head.

“hey… i’m alright, baby. still pretty sore, though,” he sucks his lower lip between his teeth. you take the hint to loosen your grip on him. “i was worried something bad might’ve happened to you. i… i guess i was right.” your tone softens, you threading a hand in his curls. they’re completely disheveled from whatever went down with him.

ned heads inside to catch up with mj, the two of them letting you have a moment alone.

“someone’s got a spidey sense of their own, huh?” peter tries to lighten the mood by joking. it doesn’t work, a frown still evident on your face as you try to untangle his once soft locks. “baby, everything’s fine. i just… had a little accident is all. no big deal,” he reassures you and moves in to peck your lips. you’re so shocked that you dodge the kiss.

“little? your whole face is black and blue, pete!” you tug on the white collar of his button up, peter letting out a shaky breath. your other hand comes to rest on his cheek, touch gentle. “how’d you get like this?” he licks across his lips shyly and sets his hands on your hips. “see, on the way over there were these bad guys who-“

“no there weren’t,” ned cuts in, scoffing at the beginning of his friend’s story. peter shoots him a warning look over your head. “yes there were, ned. you weren’t even there!” he catches mj glaring at him before he continues. “don’t listen to him. anyway, i had to fight them because…” when he trails off, you stroke your thumb across his cheek, avoiding any wounds in the way. raising both eyebrows, mj speaks up.

“because why? go on, parker. i’m intrigued,” she encourages him. everyone can tell peter is lying except you. the question really is, what’s he lying about? he gulps down his spit, pulling your body against his for comfort. “take your time, peter. we can wait,” you say only for him to hear. his love filled eyes meet yours, and he nods. ned huffs at the dramatics unfolding before him.

“dude, you’re making this way worse than it actually is. just tell her!” he demands, mj cocking her head to the side. peter’s gaze flits between the two of them. “tell me what?” you wonder softly and tilt his chin, willing him to look at you again. “i… i…” peter’s shoulders slump, his voice lowering in defeat. “there weren’t any bad guys.”

“of course there weren’t,” ned confirms. “no shit,” mj adds. exhaling, you wait for your boyfriend to further elaborate. “what really happened, then? be honest, pete.” peter lets go of you so he can come into your apartment properly, you shutting the door behind him. he scratches the back of his neck as he fills you in. “ok. um, me and ned were hanging out.”

ned is attempting to stifle a laugh for some reason, which mj elbows him for. you take one of peter’s hands. “yeah?” “we were at my place, and… you know those really slippery steps on the sixth floor?” peter pauses for someone to answer, playing with your fingers. “the ones flash almost wiped out on once?” mj questions in amusement. he lets a quiet chuckle out. “good times. yeah, those.”

his gaze averts to the ground, you listening on. “so, i was walking ned out on my way over. we were talking about spidey stuff-“ “as per usual,” mj mumbles to herself. ned raises his hands in defense. “—and i told ned i could always stick my landings. he didn’t believe me.” you playfully roll your eyes, seeing where this is going. “so… i, uh, decided to show him,” peter finishes off.

“i did a, um, backflip. tripped and fell down the flight of stairs,” he finally admits to you, putting his other hand on top of your intertwined ones. “clearly, i was wrong.” his bloody face is now red from humiliation. “you didn’t trip, dude. you freaking summersaulted!” ned corrects him and bursts into laughter he’s been holding back. “idiots, both of you,” mj simply remarks.

“that’s it? why didn’t you just say that?” you almost laugh yourself. groaning, peter rests his forehead against yours. “because it’s embarrassing! i wanted you to think i’m a tough guy or whatever.” placing both hands on his cheeks this time, you nuzzle your nose against his. “you don’t have to be a tough guy to impress me, babes. you’re kind, smart, funny. makes up for you being such a klutz.”

peter cracks a grin, easily capturing your lips in the kiss he didn’t get to before. it doesn’t last long because mj gags and ned whistles at you. you’re both giggling when you pull apart, peter kissing the tip of your nose for good measure.

“you really mean that?” he checks, tucking back a strand of hair from your face. “of course. i have a thing for himbos,” you tease and poke at his bare chest. his eyes widen. “how about i get you some ice and you find our first movie?” you’re already off to the kitchen, beaming at peter. “date night’s still on?” he happily plops down on your couch, mj showing ned her pictures from earlier.

“as soon as those two get out of here,” you call loudly enough so ned and mj hear you. “yeah, yeah. we’re leaving,” mj deadpans, shoving the photos back into her portfolio. peter glances over at it curiously. “what’s that for?” “photography project,” she says and gets an idea. “i have some film left. y/n took up most of it… you losers want the rest?”

while mj coerces her way to a higher grade, you put some popcorn in the microwave for your movie marathon.

“well, i could use a new lockscreen. i’m in!” ned quickly concedes. him and mj both give peter hopeful looks. “i’m not!” he protests, squishing one of your pillows against his chest. “with my face looking like… this? forget about it.” mj walks over to him and places her portfolio on the coffee table. “what? those gashes are gnarly… in a good way, i mean,” she promises.

“painful, too,” peter murmurs. “y/n, hurry up with that ice!” mj demands, grabbing the polaroid camera from its string around her neck. you wave her off. “what i’m saying is, they’ll look sick in my portfolio.” mj forces a smile, ned looking at her weirdly. “uh, what’s the theme of your project again?” “freestyle, baby,” mj casually replies.

peter comes up with a condition that could persuade him. “if you say please, i might consider it,” he concludes, mj perking up. “please be in my project. pretty please?” she instantly requests, ned pursing his lips from behind her. peter rubs his chin. “y/n, what do you think? should i?” you pipe in from the kitchen. “yeah, so she’ll leave my house.”

“you heard the lady. i’ll do it,” peter gives in. all but squealing, mj gestures for ned to sit. “this’ll only take a few minutes. you guys are really saving my ass.” ned gets comfortable next to peter on the couch, who wants to see how far mj will really go. “aw, we are? i believe that calls for a…” ned catches on. “it comes after please…” mj picks up her camera with gritted teeth. “thank you, morons. say cheese!”

that’s the only warning peter and ned get before they’re blinded with the flash. ned does a toothy grin as he leans into peter’s side. peter musters up the best smile he can, hair a mess and cuts burning pink on his face. satisfied, mj snatches the photograph as it pops out.

“pleasure doing business with you two,” she states, you joining the three of them in the living room. you set the popcorn on the table and give peter his ice pack. he presses it to his cheek, kissing the back of your hand. “send me that!” ned reminds mj, helping himself to your bowl of popcorn. she salutes him.

“there’s my star. what do you say, y/n? wanna take one more really quick?” mj suggests, already holding up her polaroid. you take the other cushion next to peter, your head on his shoulder. “can peter be in it with me? since he’s in the modeling mood tonight.” he wraps an arm tightly around you. “let’s do it, sweetness.”

eagerly jumping in front of you two, mj crouches down to get a better angle. “on the count of three. one, two, three!” the camera clicks, and you surprise peter by laying a smooch on one of his cheeks. he’s holding the ice against his other, genuinely smiling for this picture. ned coos at you, mj showing off her work when it dries.

“how adorable,” she says sarcastically but means it. peter nods at her in appreciation, his lips brushing the side of your head. “what can i say, you’re a pro,” you compliment mj. “come on, em!” ned cheers through a mouthful of popcorn.

tonight was an unexpected and exciting mess, even if your date night did get crashed.

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker smut #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Too Kind

MAIN MASTERLIST

Avengers x Stark!Reader

Word Count: 3,950ish

Summary: You’re smart just like your father, Tony Stark. But too kind for your own good.

Notes: This was a requested one, but it was also one of the ones that got deleted. I hope that whoever requested this enjoys it. (REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN. CLICK/PRESS HERE FOR GUIDELINES.)

You’ve always been told that your mother was the nicest woman on the planet. And that you were very much like her in that way. Unfortunately, your mother died during childbirth leaving you with your father, Tony Stark. You definitely got his brains, but you were definitely not as loud and rambunctious as him.

When you first met the Avengers, they were surprised that you were Tony’s daughter. In their eyes, you were too nice, too forgiving. You hated violence, but you understood why your father and the other Avengers did what they did. None of what made you you was a bad thing. It’s just, the Avengers were afraid that one day you’d get deeply hurt by your kind and forgiving nature. They couldn’t stand to see you sad so they did whatever they could to protect you. But they knew, that the one that would end up hurting you the most was Tony.

Not that he was a bad father, he just was blind to how his actions affected people. Especially you, his daughter. Tony would spend a lot of time in his lab or away on missions. He did try to make sure a night was set aside every week for just the two of you, but that slowly faded away once Peter Parker came into the picture. The Avengers saw what was happening and felt extremely sorry for you. They would always try to get you to talk about it, but you would always give him an excuse though and never talk unkind about him. This made the Avengers hearts break but also made them love you more. You were a better person than they would ever be.

One morning, you were having breakfast in the common kitchen of the Avengers Tower. Steve was brewing coffee while Sam was making waffles, bacon, and eggs, and Natasha was cutting fruit. Tony drudged in after a long night in the lab, going straight for the coffee.

“Good morning, dad!” You greeted with a large smile on your face.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Tony greeted in return, grabbing a cup of coffee before walking to press a kiss on your hair. “Have any plans today?” He moved to sit in the empty chair next to you.

“Just school and then a big science project I need to work on this afternoon.”

“Science project? That sounds interesting. Need any help?”

“You aren’t too busy to help?”

“I’m never too busy for you, sweetheart.” The other Avengers eyed each other, carefully watching the interaction. “Why don’t you come straight to the lab after school?”

“Really?”

“Really.” He leaned forward, kissing your cheek, before standing up. “I’ll see you after school.”

“Yeah, see ya then, dad.”

Tony smiled at you before heading back to the lab. The three Avengers in the kitchen with you moved to sit down at the table.

“That will be nice,” Natasha said, slowly. “When was the last time you worked on something in the lab with him?”

“Oh, a few months, I think,” you answered. “But he’s been busy, saving the world and helping Peter get his feet on the ground now that he’s an Avenger.”

“You know you don’t have to do that, Y/N,” Steve said.

“Do what?”

“Make excuses for him. He’s your father, he should spend more time with you than he does.”

“He spends time with me. It’s just that Peter doesn’t have a father in his life. Dad feels the need to step into that roll. It’s alright.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Y/N/N,” Sam said, shaking his head. “I don’t know how have been able to maintain such a positive attitude throughout everything.”

You just shrugged your shoulders. “It’s not that hard.”

“You know that if it gets too much for you, that we’re here for you right?” Natasha comforted. “Any of us would gladly put your father in his place.”

“I know that, Nat. But I don’t need any of you hurting each other. Thanks for the offer though.” You stood up, swinging your backpack over your shoulder and putting the dishes you used in the sink. “Thanks for breakfast guys! I’ll see you after school!” And then you were gone.

Steve sighed. “I’m worried,” he said. “She’ll break one day. He’ll do something to hurt her and I can’t bare to stand by and watch it.”

“We can’t do anything until she says,” Nat said. “If we do anything, she’ll be disappointed in us. All we can do right now it remind her that we’re here for her and watch carefully.”

~~~

School went slowly, with you constantly watching the time. All you wanted to do was go home and work in the lab with your dad. It had been longer than you’d like to admit since it was just you and Tony in the lab. When you got home, you swung by the kitchen for a snack before making your way to the lab. As you neared, you heard laughter coming from the room. You entered to see Tony and Peter working together on a new Spider-Man suit, laughing. Bruce was on the far end of the lab, minding his own business. You slowly came up to your dad and Peter.

“Hey, dad,” you greeted, smile on your face. “Hey, Pete.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” your dad turned around. “Spidey here ruined his suit during lunch today, so we’re just fixing it up. Mind if you wait a little before we start on your project?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Hey, Y/N,” Bruce called, having heard the conversation. “I can help you if you’d like.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay Bruce,” you shook your head. “I can wait. I’ll just be up in my room until you need me, okay dad?” But Tony wasn’t listening, he was back to work with Peter. “Dad?”

“Huh?” Tony hummed, not moving to look at you.

“Just have FRIDAY tell me when you’re ready.”

“Oh, yeah, okay.”

You smiled kindly at Bruce before heading to your room. Bruce sighed as he watched you leave. He knew you had hope that Tony would call you down tonight, but this hadn’t been the first interaction like this that he had witnessed. It hurt him to see you seemly so naive to what was happening to you.

You never did get called down to the lab. But instead of hiding out in your bedroom to do homework all night, you eventually moved out into the common area. Nat, Steve, Sam, Wanda, Vision, Rhodey, Bucky, and Bruce were all already out there, putting together dinner. Bruce had already told them what he had witnessed in the lab and they all already had to stop Bucky from barging down there and giving Tony a piece of his mind. They all smiled though, at you as you walked to the table and set your things down.

“How was school today, Y/N?” Rhodey asked.

“It was school,” you answered with a shrug of your shoulders. “Not too terrible, but also not too amazing.”

“Anything we can do to help you with your homework?” Steve asked.

“No,” you shook your head. “I just came out because I didn’t want to be alone while I worked.”

They all eyed each other and silently promised each other that they wouldn’t let anything ruin your night. They all pitched in to help you with your homework, even though you never asked. All of you worked together to make dinner, laughing and dancing around the kitchen. It was a night to remember. You fell asleep at the table, head fallen into a textbook. Bucky gently took you in his arms and tucked you in for the night. Wishing you sweet dreams with a kiss to your forehead.

You woke up and did your routine like any other day. This time was a little different though, both Peter and Tony were at the table eating breakfast before you.

“Good morning,” you said with a smile.

“Good morning,” Peter replied.

“Did you spend the night Pete?”

“Yeah, by the time Mr. Stark and I were finished, it was too late.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, grabbing a yogurt and a throw-a-way spoon. “Did you get everything fixed?”

“We did,” Tony answered. “Even started designs for a new suit for him.”

“Oh… I’m glad you two got some work done. I’ll see you guys after school.”

“Have a great day, honey!” Tony shouted as you entered the elevator.

~~~

School was the same as the day before, only this time you were coming home with an award for first place in your classes science fair. You were so excited to share the news with your dad. You went straight to the lab to show him.

“Hey, Dad!” You excitedly greeted as you rushed in. “Look what I—“

“Can’t talk right now, sweetheart,” Tony interrupted, heading to his waiting suit. “Peter’s in trouble. I’ll talk to you later though.”

You couldn’t get another word in before he was gone. You waited to move until you couldn’t hear or see hie suit anymore before you went to the common area. Bucky, Vision, and Wanda were in there, sitting around the room.

“Hey, Little Stark!” Bucky said when he sensed you. “How was school? Did your project go well?”

“It did,” you nodded, pulling out the award. “I got first place.”

“You did?” Bucky jumped up to see the award. “Congrats!” He spun you around, causing you to laugh.

“Thank you, Buck.”

“We have to celebrate!”

“Have you showed your father?” Vision asked. “I’m sure Mr. Stark would be so proud.”

“I tried,” you said. “But apparently something happened with Peter that he had to hurry and get to him.” You could see the looks of disappointment with a hint of anger they were giving you. “But that’s okay. I’ll just tell him when he’s back.”

~~~

Unfortunately, you didn’t get to see your dad for the rest of the day or before you left for school the next morning. It did disappoint you a little, that he seemed to be so busy as of late, but you also understood that the things he did were important. You were sitting in your math class, waiting for it to start, when the windows shattered and five people dressed in black from head to toe came bursting in. The classmates around you screamed while you jumped in shock.

“Nobody move!” One of the five shouted, a man’s voice. Each of them were holding up guns. “Stay where you are and nobody move!” You and your classmates froze in your spots. “Very good. Now, those of you standing, get in a seat.”

Your classmates quickly did as they were instructed. You kept your backpack that was resting in your lap close. Your father and the other Avengers, had you carry a bracelet in your bag in case of emergencies. Once you put it on, it would activate a signal for help and would form a Iron Man gauntlet onto your hand for protect. You kept your head down as the five people moved to surround the room on all sides.

“We’re looking for Spider-Man!” Another one yelled, again a man’s voice. “We’ve seen him come and go from this building. If any of you know who he really is, better fess up before it’s too late.”

You could feel the eyes of your classmates on you. They all knew whose child you were and who you considered family. So of course they would look at you for that answer. As carefully and quietly as you could, you slipped your hand into your bag and grabbed the bracelet.

“If any of you know the truth about Spider-Man’s identity,” a woman’s voice shouted. “Fess up now or one of your classmates are going to get what’s coming to them.”

You tensed at the sound of all of their guns cocking. You hated violence, but you weren’t about to let any of your classmates get hurt if you had any say. You took a deep breath before slowly standing up from your seat. Suddenly, all eyes and guns were on you.

“I-I-I know…” You shakily said. “I know who he is… I can take you to him.”

“You’re Stark’s kid,” a fourth voice snarled. “She would know who Spider-Man is. She lives at the Tower with the other heroes.”

“Come here, then,” the first man ordered, seemly the one in charge.

You slowly walked towards him, slipping the bracelet fully onto your wrist. You tried hard not to breathe a sigh of relief when the bracelet fully conformed to your wrist and slowly began forming over your hand. You knew that the Avengers would be here soon.

“I know what class he should be in,” you said, quietly.

“Then take us to him,” the first man growled.

You nodded, turning to head towards the door. But before you fully turned, you lifted your hand and used the gauntlet to take out the two people in the back.

“Foolish girl!” The man shouted.

He aimed his gun at you, but you dodged the bullet. All of your classmates took cover under their desks as a fight began. Another one came up began you, shooting at you. The bullet graze your right side. Causing you to scream out in pain. But you kept going. You quickly took out your shooter before taking out another one of the attackers. Leaving just the main guy. You help up your gauntlet covered hand as he held up his gun. You could faintly hear the emergency vehicles coming closer.

“You stupid girl,” the man snarled. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I would do anything to protect another’s life,” you said. “That’s how I was raised.”

“Too bad no one will be able to save yours.”

~~~

The Avengers were all in various places around the Tower, going about their own business when FRIDAY sounded the alarm.

“Miss Stark has used her panic bracelet,” FRIDAY announced to them. “She is currently at the school.”

All of the Avengers rushed to suit up.

“Where’s Tony?” Bruce asked, planning on waiting behind until he was deemed needed.

“He hasn’t been seen since yesterday,” Steve answered. “I’m sure that FRIDAY has told him and he’ll meet us there.”

~~~

The man finished his words and two shots were heard. Both the man and yourself falling to the floor. As you fell, you could faintly see Bucky outside the window, sniper riffle in hand. You looked down to see yourself bleeding from the center of your chest and the side where the bullet grazed. Breathing had become difficult. You heard someone running and jumping into the window.

“No, no, no, no,” Bucky rushed, kneeling beside you. “Doll, stay with me.” His metal hand came to press on your wound as his other went to the comm piece in his ear. “I need emergency medical services on the East side. Y/N’s been shot.”

“Bucky…” you rasped, black dots slowly filling your vision.

“Sshh… save your breath, doll. You’re going to be fine.”

“Oh my gosh!” Steve exclaimed, him and Natasha running into the room. They knelt on the other side.

“D-dad…?” You croaked. “W-here’s my d-dad?”

“He’s on his way, sweetie,” Nat said, trying to comfort you.

“T-tell him-m… that I-I’m sorry… I tried… an-and that I for-forgive him…” You barely got all that out before your world went black.

The EMTs arrived almost right after you fell unconscious. The team struggled to stand by and watch them rush you away in an ambulance. They quickly followed behind, arriving at the hospital right after you. You were immediately rushed into surgery and the team was forced to wait in the waiting room. Bucky and Steve were pacing; Vision was floating; Wanda was sitting in a corner, trying to block out everyone’s racing thoughts; Natasha was sitting in a chair, leaning forward with her hands clasped in front of her; Sam was leaning back, arms crossed and foot tapping; and Rhodey and Bruce were trying to get a hold of Tony. They had been there a little more than an hour when Tony and Peter rushed into the waiting room.

“Where is she?” Tony asked, clearly out of breath. “Where’s my daughter?”

“You would know if you answered the emergency alert that was sent out!” Bucky shouted.

“We were a bit busy trying to find these guys and were threatening Peter!”

“You mean the same guys that broke into the school and threatened Y/N’s class?” Steve growled.

“What?” Tony shook his head. “No. They… They… oh my—”

“And you were too busy to come to your own daughter’s rescue?!” Steve continued. “But, why is that a surprise,” Steve chuckled darkly. “You’re always too busy for her.”

“I don’t like the way you’re talking, Rogers. Be very careful.”

“But it’s true!” Bucky yelled. “Time and time again she’s tried to spend time with you, but you push her aside. Either for a mission or for him!” Bucky pointed at Peter, who immediately looked like he wanted to disappear.

“That’s not true!” Tony retorted. “I spend plenty of—“

“It is true, Tony!” Nat yelled, coming up to face the man. “Just in the past two days, you’ve ignored you twice to spend time with Peter. No offensive, Peter. This really isn’t your fault.”

“Did you know that she got first prize in her science class for the project that you didn’t end up helping her on?” Bucky questioned your father.

“I told her that I’d help her after—“

“After you were finished with me,” Peter interrupted Tony. Everyone turned to look at the poor teenager, who was feeling incredibly guilty. “But we never finished. Or even asked her to stay.”

Tony got quiet, immediately searching in his memories for the events of the past few days. And, unfortunately, his teammates were right. He searched his memories back farther, realizing that it made been months since he’d spent any alone time with his own daughter. Tears pricked his eyes.

“What have I done?” He quietly asked, turning the attention on himself. “What have I done?” He ran his hands through his hair, feeling a panic attack coming on. Tony backed up into the wall. “She’ll never forgive me… I’ll never forgive myself… she’ll die not knowing how much I care for her…”

“Tony, Tony,” Rhodey quickly came up to his spiraling friend. “We can’t think like that. Yes, we haven’t heard anything. But Y/N is not going to die.”

“And she’ll forgive you,” Bucky said. “For whatever reason… her last words before she— she wanted you to know that she was sorry and that she forgave you.”

“She was sorry?” Tony repeated. “How—why?”

“She felt like she didn’t try hard enough for you,” Nat answered.

“What? How could she feel that way? And… and how could see forgive me?”

“She was always forgive you,” Bruce replied. “For everything. She always gave you a reason.”

“I’m a terrible father.”

“Damn right you are,” Bucky agreed.

“Bucky,” Nat scolded.

“No, no, Barnes is right,” Tony said, hanging his head. “And if she doesn’t make it… I’ll never get to make it up to her…”

~~~

It was a long and tormenting wait. They were all constantly moving, constantly changing positions. It was scary, not having heard anything after seven hours of you being back there. They were really starting to fear the worst. By the time the tenth hour came, most of them were prepared for the worst when the doctor come out and called for your family. They all rushed up though, Tony in front.

“Surgery was rough,” the doctor started. “She flatlined a few times. We won’t know the full extent of any lasting effects until she wakes. She’s currently in the ICU. We’ve put her in the most secluded area of the ICU so that you all can come back.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Tony said.

“Why don’t we all go back to the Tower and change, bring food back, so that Tony can have some time with Y/N?” Natasha suggested.

The team all nodded in agreement. They left Tony will reassuring smiles and pats as they went to leave. The doctor walked Tony to your room, where he became frozen at the door. His heart broke into a million pieces at the sight of you hooked up to wires and tubes breathing for you. He didn’t try to stop the tears that began to trickle down his cheeks as he took in your body. He’d never seen you, or anyone else, look so fragile. It was clear that you had lost a lot of blood and that the surgery took just as much of a toll on your body as the bullet wounds had. Slowly, his heavy feet made their way to your bedside, pulling the chair up with him. Tony plopped into the chair, immediately grasping your hand in both of his. He held his head to the hands, crying into them.

“I promise that I’ll do better,” he cried. “Be better… for you… you deserve a better father than me… and, from now on, I promise to be the father you deserve…”

He stayed by your side, for days. With the other members of the team switching off to be there for you as well. A week after surgery, the doctor gave the go ahead to take the breathing tube out of your mouth. It was now completely up to you and your body as to when you would wake up. At this time, none of the team members left the hospital. They all wanted to be there when you woke. It was other two days before you flinched. They all were immediately on edge, watching for more movements. Your eyes fluttered next, clearly taking a while to adjust to the bright hospital lights. Tony stood, so that he could be the first one you saw.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiled, a teary, tired smile, as your eyes met his.

“D-dad…” you rasped. “I—“

“No need for that,” he shook his head. “You need to rest some more.”

“Hey, doll,” Bucky greeted as him, Steve, and Sam walked up to the other side. The other team members quickly surrounded the bed. “You gave us quite the scare.”

“Never do that again,” Tony pled, holding a kiss to your forehead. “I am so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, letting a tear fall onto your face. “I am so sorry.”

“Let’s give them some space,” Wanda said quietly. “It’s good to have you back with us.” The team went to wait just outside the room, leaving the father-daughter you alone.

“I’m so incredibly sorry for the way I’ve been treating you, Y/N,” Tony cried. “I don’t know how you could ever forgive me.”

“Be-because… I… love you… as a daught-ter should love… her father… unconditionally…”

“You’re too good for me. Too good for this world. I love you, honey. So, so much.”

You gave your father the best smile you could. “Start over?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “And, first things first, I’m taking all time off so that I can just focus on you and your recovery. Show you that I mean it.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “You just can’t go polar opposite, helicopter parent. Okay? I don’t know how I’ll be able to handle that.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s exactly what I plan on doing.”

#avengers x reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #the avengers x reader #marvel imagine #avengers x stark!reader

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~sixth chapter rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Series Masterlist

Two months later, you sat outside The Daily Bugle and impatiently bounced your leg. While waiting to see if your boss liked your first draft of the Cleatus Kassidy article, you reflected on your past two months in New York.

It was now June. You and Venom had fallen into a routine. You’d work on the Cletus article by day and go patrolling at night. Of course, being Venom wasn’t a nightly occurrence. You’d only go out eating once or twice a week. Still, you managed to have 11 run ins with Spider-Man.

You and Peter had become significantly closer in that past two months as well. You’d help him with his homework, though you secretly thought he was smarter than you, and he helped me with your story. Some nights, he’d visit you on your fire escape and watch the sun go down. You had no idea how he got there, but you didn’t care.

You’d send him science puns while he was at school and he’d bring you food and keep you company when You had writers block. Your favorite was the long talks on the roof. You would sit there for hours and tell each other everything. You knew all his secrets and he knew yours.

Well, not all.

But the best part of all was that every now and then, you’d catch the other staring. Then, the other would stare back until someone, usually Peter, started to lean in. Every time you thought you were finally going to take the next step, something would interrupt you. Whether it was May knocking or Ned barging in or Peters phone ringing. That was another thing about Peter. His damn phone was always ringing and then he’d have to dash off somewhere, leaving you with a random excuse or something about an internship. Sometimes, you’d wish he’d just throw his phone aside and kiss you already.

“Great work so far, L/n.” Your boss tore you away from your thoughts. “I knew you’d be right for the job.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jameson.” You stammered as you stood up. “I really appreciate you giving me this job. I was kinda blackballed back in San Francisco.”

“I know.” He shrugged. “But you ask the hard hitting questions that people want to hear. Once this article is out, I want you to write one on Venom.”

“Venom?” You gulped at her name.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “You know that scary black monster that’s been fighting Spiderman? I’m thinking an exposé on that menace webhead and his latest enemy, and I think you’d be perfect for the job.”


“I would love to.” You said quickly. “I’ll start researching right away.”

With that, you turned on your heel and left the building before Venom caused a scene.

“Monster?” Venom roared once you got in your car. “Scary?”

“I know.” You whined. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was gonna call you that.”

“His whole job is reading about the most dangerous criminals in New York. If he thinks we’re scary, what’s Peter gonna think?” Venom asked. You laughed in dismissal until you thought about what he said.

What would Peter think? What if you told Peter who you really were and he ran away? He was sweet and understanding, but how understanding could he possibly be when you tell him you can turn into a flesh eating monster?

That’s when you realized you were scared. You were scared of letting Peter in and him letting himself right out. You were scared of repeating the mistakes you made with Andy. No, not scared.

Petrified.

What if Peter didn’t like what he saw? What if he realized you were too messy to be with? Or had too much baggage? Peter deserved a nice girl. One with a normal family and friends. One without depression. One without a flesh eating symbiote attached to their immune system.

“What’s wrong baby?” Venom asked with concern. She cuddled around your neck and nuzzled into your cheek.

“I can never be with Peter.” You whispered, mostly to yourself. Hot tears of frustration filled your eyes so you looked up to keep them from falling. Admitting it felt like a fatal blow to the stomach. Venom tied your hair up with one of her arms and wiped the tears from your face.

“Why do you say that?”

You thought about it for a moment before answering. You didn’t want to tell Venom that you were feeling insecure. She freaked out on you whenever you said something negative about yourself. You didn’t wanna another 100 slide PowerPoint titled “why Y/N L/N is the baddest bitch in the galaxy”. Especially since forty of those slides were just pictures of your butt. You appreciated Venom wanting to help but you were feeling the kind of insecure that a pep talk couldn’t fix. You needed to figure it out on your own. So instead, you told her a different fear you had.

“Because. Look at us. We’re the only thing keeping each other alive.” You reasoned. “What if we get separated and die? I can’t become one of those people in Peters life who loved him and then left him. His mom, his dad, his Uncle Ben. I don’t want to die and leave Peter behind. He’s been through enough. He’d be so much better off without me.”

“We’re not gonna die. You protect me and I protect you. Nothing will hurt us as long as we have each other.” Venom assured you.

“I can’t protect you like you protect me.” You said softly. “I’m just a human. What if something happens to me and you die because of it?”

“Nothing will happen to you, Y/N. I promise. I won’t let it.” Venom swore. You looked at her and gave her a sad smile.

“I won’t let anything happen to you either.” You said, but you didn’t promise it. You knew you couldn’t promise it.

“And you can be with Peter.” Venom insisted. “On Klyntar, we mate for life. And we think you’ve found your mate in Peter.”

“What does that mean?” You wondered.

“It means we’ve become attached to him and will never be happy with anyone else.” Venom said. You let out a shaky breath as that wasn’t what you wanted to hear. You needed a reason to shut your feelings for Peter down.

“Like soulmates?” You asked.

“Exactly like soulmates.” Venom answered.

“Well what happens on Klyntar if someone is your soulmate but you’re not theirs?”

“Then we go into a cave and mourn until we die alone of heartbreak.” Venom said simply.

“That sounds about right.” You laughed sadly as you took a second to think.

“I’m gonna call that guy back.” You said suddenly.

“What guy?” She asked.

“They guy who asked me out at the coffee shop this morning.” You reminded her.

“The one with the stupid hair? Why would you call him?” Venom asked angrily.

“What was wrong with his hair?” You laughed.

“It was blonde. We like brunette.” Venom said with a devilish grin.

“His hair was fine.” You rolled your eyes. “And I’m gonna call him to say yes to the date.”

“Why would we do that when we like Peter?” Venom whined.

“Because if Peter doesn’t like us, I don’t want to die of heartbreak alone in a cave.” You admitted.

“He does love you.” Venom protested.

“We don’t know that.” You shook your head. “It’s just one date. I need to get back out there anyway. I haven’t gone on a date Andy and I broke up.”

“Fine.” Venom grumbled. “But this is a terrible idea and I’m going to complain the whole time and sing the Les Mis soundtrack in your head.” This was one of those moments where she felt more like your toddler than your symbiote.

You gave the guy a call before driving back to your apartment. As fate would have it, you ran into Peter in the hallway on your way to your room.

“Hey Y/n!” Peter greeted you. “You want to come over later and help me with spanish? I’ll amo you mucho.”

You wanted so badly to say yes but you had to stick to the plan to squash your feelings for Peter.

“Aw, I’m sorry Pete. I wish I could but I have a date tonight.” You frowned, instantly regretting it when you saw the look on his face.

Peter’s heart sank to the floor as he emotions went from feeling devastated to feeling white hot anger in a matter of seconds

“A date?” He sputtered. “With who?”

“Some boy I met at the coffee shop.” You said weakly, knowing you were hurting him.

“Oh.” He said dully. 

“Some boy.” He thought angrily. “Some freaking dirty ass sissy coffee boy asked my girl out.”

Peter felt like hunting the man down and smacking the shit out of him. Or at the very least, webbing him to a wall leaving him there until he missed the date.

“What’s his name?” Peter asked suddenly, wanting to put a name to his new mortal enemy.

“Matt.” You nodded slowly.

“Freaking Matt.” Peter thought. “Freaking dirty ass bitch ass Matt. Was Matt Spider-Man? No. Could Matt treat you as well as I could? Probably. But did he like you as much? No. Did he have inside jokes with you? No. Could he make you laugh your beautiful laugh just by doing a Captain America impression? No. He wasn’t good enough for you. He couldn’t do the things I could do. He was trash. He was a trashy dirty ass rat boy.”

“Interesting.” Peter said, keeping his thoughts to himself.

“I’ll text you when it’s over and maybe I can help you then.” You offered. That sound okay, guapo?”

Peter nodded sadly, not even acknowledging that you called him handsome. Actually, he probably had no idea that you did. He was smart, but only in English.

“That’s fine.” He nodded glumly. “I’ll see you later.”

You watched Peter trudge into his apartment and felt a pain in your heart. He seemed so upset all the sudden. It couldn’t be from your date, could it? It’s not like you told him you got engaged or something. It was one little date. And it’s not like Peter even made a move. He had no reason to be upset. You brushed it off and went into your apartment to get ready.

Just as Venom predicted, the date went horribly wrong. You drove back to the apartment in silence afterwards, leaving Matt to clean himself off back at the restaurant.

“Why did that happen?” You asked her after a long drive in silence. You were mortified from the events of the night but you needed to know why they happened.

“Because he wasn’t your soulmate.” Venom said simply.

“We defiled that boy.”

“It happens.” Venom stated.

“It shouldn’t.” You said, shocked at how nonchalantly she was being.

“But it does.”

You rode the rest of the way in silence, shooting Peter a text before asleep on your couch. You woke up a few hours later in a cold sweat and in tears. You didn’t know it, but Peter was listening to your breathing from his apartment. He had picked up the small cries of his name in your sleep with his superhearing and stayed up to see if you were okay.

You weren’t, by the way. You had had a nightmare that shook you deeply and left you shaking. It was about Peter, but not in a good way. In this dream, he laid injured on the ground after a fight. You were separated from Venom and bleeding out near Peter. You couldn’t do anything to save him. You couldn’t scream for help. And worse, you couldn’t protect him. It caused you great agony to not be able to reach him.

Without giving it another thought, you got off your couch and made your way to the door. You needed to see Peter and tell him how you felt.

You didn’t care about your insecurities anymore. You didn’t care about all the things keeping you apart. You only cared about him, and that was enough. He needed to know that and you couldn’t wait another second.

You swung open your front door, only to find Peter Parker outside it in pink Hello Kitty pajama bottoms and a tight white t-shirt. His hand was raised, like he was about to knock.

“Hey.” you breathed. His hair was tousled and sticking up in random places. He looked heavenly.

“Hi.” He said shyly.

“I was just about to go to your door. I had a bad dream.” You told him. You were anxious to skip the semantics and cut right to the chase. 

The chase being, “I love you and I’m yours if you’ll have me.”

“Yeah, I heard. That’s why I’m here.” Peter explained. That’s not what he wanted to say. What he wanted to say was, “I’m always here if you need me. I’d go to the ends of the earth for you. I love you. It’ll be okay.”

Peter looked at you funny for a moment, like he was seeing something beneath the surface.

“She looks so beautiful.” He thought. Makeup free, hair a little messy, and nothing but an oversized sweatshirt to cover you. Peter recognized the sweatshirt as his own, one you had swiped from his laundry basket because you had been freezing while watching Alien in his room. He felt so honored to know that you slept in it. Peter wondered how many times he could fall in love with you in a short span of time. In the past few seconds, he’d fallen about 15 times. Once for every breath you took. And you were breathing quite heavily.

“You heard?” You asked, wondering how he

had possible heard from his apartment.

“My hearing is excellent.” He said quickly. “Are you alright?”

“Please be alright.” He thought. “I’d stop anything that tried to hurt you. I’ll protect you from the storm. Don’t shut me out. Don’t turn me away. Let me love you.”

“Um…” You trailed off and looked behind you at your empty apartment. The darkness looked anything but inviting. You couldn’t go back in there just yet.

“No?” It came out as more of a question.

“No? Do you want to talk about it-“ Peter was cut off when you rushed into his arm and hugged him tightly. He seemed taken aback, seeing as you nearly knocked the wind out of him. But as soon as he found his footing, he wrapped his strong arms around you and held you close. You relaxed in Peters embrace and let out a sigh.

“I had a nightmare.” You croaked. “You died and I couldn’t save you.” 

“I know. It’s okay. You’re awake now. I’m here.” Peter said soothingly. 

“I’ve been here the whole time.” He thought. “I will never abandon you. You are safe in my arms. Nothing can hurt you now. I won’t let it.”

You pulled away a little and looked at his face, seeing how tired it was.

“Would you stay with me?” You asked timidly. You didn’t want him to go. Not now, not ever.

“Always.” Peter answered with a smile. “As if I could ever leave you.”

Your lips lit up in a smile as your eyes fell to his lips. They lingered there for too long, or maybe just long enough. Peter took the hint and slipped his hand behind your neck and began to pull you closer. As your lips were about to touch, your door slammed, causing you to jump out of each other’s embrace.

“Shit balls.” You said immediately, letting out an annoyed sigh.

“What?” Peter asked, giggling a little at your choice of profanity.

“I just locked myself out.” You realized as you jiggled through door handle. Peter laughed louder this time and put a hand on your shoulder.

“Come on. You’re sleeping over.” He said, leading you back to his apartment with his hand on the small of his back.

You entered Peters room for the millionth time, but it felt the first time. Sure, you’d become good friends in the time you’ve lived in the building, but bedrooms were intimate places. The context of you being in Peters bedroom after going to him for comfort changes how you saw the place. After all, bedrooms were windows into the soul. Oh wait, that’s eyes. Still, the room was different. You didn’t feel like you were entering it. You felt like you were returning.

You looked around with a content smile on your face. He still had his academic decathlon posters on his wall, along with a few Avengers posters. Peter was pretty neat, but he was still a teenage boy. Socks and sweaters were strewn across the room. You saw him kicking a pair of boxers under his desk out of the corner of you eye. His room was so cute. It was so…Peter. You noticed a first aid kit on his desk next to his chemistry textbook and wondered what on earth he could be using it for.

“I’ve always liked your room.” You complimented as you touched a decathlon trophy on his dresser.

“Oh thank God.” Peter sighed in relief. “I thought you’d take one look at my nerdy ambiance and run.”

“Star Wars bedsheets?” You asked when you noticed the Death Star poking out under his duvet. You definitely hadn’t seen those before and found them endearing. Peters ears reddened and he fixed his duvet to cover them up.

“Those aren’t mine.” He said quickly.

“Are they Mays? As in May the force be with you?” You played along and he gave you a defeated smile.

“That was the worst thing anyone has ever said. Ever.” Peter joked. You laughed and he gave you a shy smile.

“Fine. They’re my bedsheets. Star Wars is cool, okay?” Peter defended. You took a seat on his bed and shrugged.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me Peter. I just didn’t know you were a loser, is all.”You said simply. Peter sat down on the bed next to you and rolled his eyes.

“Very funny. You’re the funniest person I know.” He said sarcastically. You nudged him with your elbow and he and hit you with a Yoda printed pillow.

“Mm. Good with the force you are.” You commented. Peter groaned loudly and told you to shut up.

“Enough playing around. How was your date?” Peter asked as he turned to face you. You could hear the pain in his voice and regretted ever telling him about the date.

“Oh, you know.” You shrugged. “Terrible.”

You weren’t going to let him off the hook that easy. If Peter really did like you and want to be with you, he needed to say it. He couldn’t just grumble and wallow in self pity when you were with another boy. You wanted to test him to see if he’d ever actually admit his feelings, but a part of you was still scared there were no feelings to admit to.

“Really?” He said excitedly. He cleared his throat to cover it up and grunted. “I mean, really?” He asked calmly.

“Yeah it was awful. I definitely won’t be seeing him again.” You sighed sadly, but you weren’t actually sad. You were just putting on a show for Peter. Peter bit the inside of his cheek to stop the smile from emerging.

“That’s terrible.” Peter lied. “What went wrong?”

His acting was equally as bad as your own. He had a shit eating grin on his face, pretending to be sad when he was clearly over the moon.

“It was going fine all night until the kiss.” You sighed dramatically, looking longingly out the window. You might as well have thrown yourself onto the balcony and cried out for Romeo. Peter, however, was buying every second of it.

“You guys kissed?” He asked, his voice heavy with disappointment. He looked miserable. All you wanted to do was throw your arms around his neck and tell him he was the only one for you. Instead, you kept your feelings to yourself and nodded slowly.

“Almost. He leaned in and…” instead of finishing your sentence, you just shrugged. You could tell Peter was on the edge of his seat so you dragged it as long as you could.

“And?” Peter practically begged. You let out another long, dramatic sigh as Peter took a slow sip of his water bottle.

“And I threw up on him.” You said simply. Peter spat out the water in his mouth and burst out laughing, doing his best to cover it up. You gave him a fake angry look but ended up laughing as well.

“What?” Peter laughed.

“He was such a tool.” You whined. “He talked down to me the entire night and then had the audacity to try and kiss me. I don’t know what happened but all the sudden he was leaning in and I was throwing up. He deserved it though. He treated me like was an idiot. I’m almost glad I threw up on him.”

Peters was overjoyed. He was about to say something when we heard a straggled cry of your name.

You and Peter rushed to his peephole and saw a familiar blonde haired boy standing in the hallway.

There he was, Matt, outside your apartment door with his phone on full volume playing “Hungry Eyes” from Dirty Dancing.

“What the actual hell?” You wondered out loud. “I better get rid of him.”

“Y/nnnnnn. I’m sorry I was a jerk.” Matt slurred. “Please talk to me. I told the doorman we were cousins. Then I told the elevator guy that I was your husband. You may need to move now. Y/nnnn.”

“You definitely can’t go out there.” Peter shook his head. “He could have a knife.”

“Or worse.” You whispered, making Peter looked at you fearfully. “He could have the same loser bedsheets you do.”

Peter scrunched his nose at you and picked up you swiftly to threw you onto the couch.

“Since when are you so strong?” You laughed in shock. Peter shrugged and held out a hand.

“Let’s go to bed.” He said. You raised an eyebrow and he quickly added, “In a non-sexual, platonic way.”

He was always so cautious of offending you or making you uncomfortable. You appreciated how much of a gentleman he was and knew Aunt May had implemented those qualities in him.

“You can take the bed.” He offered. “I’ll sleep on the couch. Let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded and climbed into his bed, patting the the space next to you.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You told him. “Get in.”

Peter looked at you with wide eyes, looking very unsure of himself as he toyed with the hem of his shirt.

He was torn. He wanted to get into the bed, but he also knew you were vulnerable right now and he didn’t want to take advantage of you. He didn’t want to do anything you’d end up regretting in the morning.

“Get in, in a non-sexual, platonic way.” You added. Peter relaxed but stayed standing. You pretended to splash Peter and twirled your hand around the bedsheets as if they were water.

“Come on in Parker. The waters warm.” You said in a low voice.

“I am…repulsed.” Peter deadpanned. In reality, he was dying to get in the bed. He wasn’t gonna try anything, he just wanted to feel you close. He wanted to comfort you and take the pain of the night away. Finally, he got into the bed and pulled the covers up. He shut off his lamp and we fell into comfortable silence.

“Good night, Peter.” You whispered, turning your back to him and cuddling into his pillow.

“Night, Y/n.” He whispered back. You felt his eyes on the back of your neck still. He didn’t want to close them and fall asleep. He wanted to stay in this moment as long as he could.

You soon felt hesitant arms wrap around your waist. Peter was very unsure of himself and kept his hands loosely on your hips, barely touching. You turned your neck around and looked at him quizzically.

“What the hell are you doing?” You demanded. His hands flew off your waist and his eyes widened with fear. He looked so apologetic, you thought he might cry.

“Do you not know how to cuddle?” You asked before he could blurt out an apology. You grabbed his arms and pulled them tightly around your body. You held his hands in your own, flush against your chest. Peter felt really tense at first and a bit stiff, but he soon relaxed and nestled into your hair.

“You smell really good.” He muttered. You laughed softly against his body, prompting Peter to hold you even tighter.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, Y/N.” He whispered. He said it so quietly, you figured he thought you had fallen asleep. “Sweet dreams.”

You woke up the next morning in Peter Parker’s arms. Subsequently, you wanted to wake up every morning for the rest of your life in Peter Parker’s arms. You were a mess of tangled limbs and hair but you found yourself firmly in his embrace, inhaling his cologne.

Peters eyes fluttered open suddenly and you were nose to nose.

“Hi.” You said softly, a playful smile resting on your lips. He was so pretty in the morning. He didn’t even have to try.

“Hey.” He chuckled. “This is new.”

“It is new. Is it okay?” You asked him, not wanting to overstep his boundaries.

“Is waking up next to the actual sun okay?” He teased. “Uh yea, Y/n. It’s okay. You can sleep over anytime you like if it means more mornings like this.”

Of course he said that. He held all your strings and knew just how to tug them.

“Did you really not enjoy that date?” He whispered, but in his head thought, “Do you want to be with anyone else?”

You didn’t know why he was whispering, but the look in his eyes told you he was dead serious.

“Not in the slightest.” You answered honestly. What you wanted to say was, “Because it wasn’t with you.”, but you didn’t.

“Would you…would you want to go out with me sometime?” He asked shyly. “I promise I won’t throw up on you.”

He said the second part as if it was the only way you’d say yes to the date, which made you laugh.

“Peter Parker, I have waited exactly 64 days for you to ask me that question and you just had to ruin it by promising you won’t throw up on me?” You playfully scolded as Peters eyes lit up.

“Is that a yes?” He asked excitedly.

“It’s a yes.” You nodded, holding his nearest hand. “It’s always been a yes.”

“Can I-“ He began.

“Don’t ask.” You whispered. “Just do it.”

Peter leaned in slowly and you did the same. His lips had just ghosted yours when Aunt May knocked on the door. He bolted out of bed as you sat up.

“Breakfast is ready. Did you clean your room?” Aunt May called from the other side of the door.

“Yes.” Peter called back. You looked around. No he didn’t

“No you didn’t.” She said knowingly. She didn’t even have to see his room to know it wasn’t clean.

“I’ll clean it after.” He groaned.

“I’m coming in.” She said suddenly, making you and Peter look at each other in fear.

“Don’t! I’m naked.” He screamed.

“Fine. But it better be clean after breakfast. And put some clothes on. You should not be naked at 7 am.” Aunt May said. You heard her footsteps walking away and knew it was safe to speak. You got out of Peters bed as he got up to lock the door, his back still to you as he did it.

“Alright.” He sighed. “That should buy us some ti-“

The second he turned around, he was met with your lips on his. You had your hands on the sides of his face and your head tilted to the left. You felt Peters eyes flutter shut as his eyelashes tickled your cheeks. He was frozen at first, but slowly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. You melted into him and he melted right back into you. The kiss was short and sweet, but absolutely perfect.

When you pulled away, Peter gave you the softest eyes ever. A grateful smile was on his lips.

“I am so over these interrupted moments.” You laughed softly as you shook your head. Peters eyes twinkled in agreement. The sun was coming through the window and made his brown eyes look like pots of honey. You could stare at them forever.

And then he kissed you again, with confidence this time. He wasn’t ready for the last one since you caught him off guard. You let your fingers tangle in the messy curls at the back of his neck, something you thought you’d only get to dream of doing. Peter groaned slightly into your mouth as you tugged on his hair, indicating that he liked it. He put his hand under your neck and slipped his toungue in your mouth. Who knew Peter Parker knew how to kiss? He tasted like morning breath, spearmint chapstick, and something you could only identify as being exclusively Peter. When you pulled apart, he looked up at the sky and sighed.

“If I wake up and this is all a dream I’m going to fight you.” He said menacingly.

“Did you just threaten God?” You laughed.

“For you? Anthing. I’ll fight anyone for your honor. Our Lord and Savior can catch these hands can square up.” He promised.

“You’ve gone to far.” You joked. “We need to break up.”

“Don’t even joke. I’ve waited too long for this.” Peter said as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m only teasing. I’ve waited my whole life for you Parker. I’m never letting you go.” You told him. He burst out in a smile and kissed you swiftly, then promptly got down on one knee.

“Will you please be mine, darling? Officially?” He pleaded softly. There was so much hope in his eyes so you pretended to think about it.

“Sorry.” You shrugged. “I’m pretty busy with Matt.”

Peter stood up and gripped your hips, pulling you closer while you let out a small gasp.

“I never want to hear his name again. He had the privilege of taking my girl on a date and treated her poorly?” He raised an eyebrow. “He’s a deadman if I ever see him around here. Now, I need you to tell me you’re my girlfriend before my heart explodes. Tell me you’re mine. I won’t believe it until you say it. ”

You nodded yes as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his lips.

“Peter Parker, I always have, and always will be, yours.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x venom!reader #venom!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #iron man #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

No, It's Definitely Funny

Prompt: Can I request a second part to "Let's Call It Funny" where Bucky, Sam, Steve, and Peter unite forces to confuse and concern all the other avengers (with at least one instance where two or all of them respond to something by pretending to jump off a building?) Love you! -Auggie

Does it count as being back on my bullshit if I never left?

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: none, unless you need a warning for gen z humor

Pairings: it's still found family hours

Word Count: 2259

Peter’s gonna be honest, he may or may not have some competition for the funniest person in the Tower right now.

Because let’s look at the list here:

Traumatized? Everybody and their private jet’s worth of vintage and designer baggage needs therapy.

Queer? If you think Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, or Sam Wilson is straight, you need to tell them everything they’ve ever done to make you think they’re straight so they can stop doing it immediately.

Superhero? Yeah, okay, shush, now you’re being stupid.

Neurodivergent? Have you seen the way these men behave? Definitely the model of Perfectly Normal Person™, what on earth are you talking about, absolutely 100% Normal™.

The only things he’s still got going for him that the others don’t are high-schooler and trans. That’s not a lot when it comes to the fact that hey, two of them are from the Great Depression—let’s be honest, they’re the OGs when it comes to fatalistic humor—and they’ve all got years of practice.

Sure, Peter’s got some trauma-given raw talent, but it’s not refined by years and years of throwing yourself off of buildings and out of planes to avoid having conversations about your emotions.

The day Aunt Nat dropped all of SHIELD’s files on the Internet and Peter found out that Steve yeeted himself out of a plane—without a parachute!—to avoid Nat’s prodding about getting a date was the best day of his fucking life.

“Don’t you go stealing my moves there, kid,” Steve had scolded playfully, winking over the rim of his mug.

“Try and stop me, I dare you.”

“And this is why,” Tony had sighed, looking every bit his 79 years—“Hey!”—as he watches this interaction go down, “you have a parachute built into your suit.”

“I’ll just wear my old one, don’t worry about it.”

“That heinous thing that’s just a cut-up old hoodie and goggles? Peter, no, that thing is being held together with safety pins and hope!”

“I mean, me too, so it’s fine.”

“Peter!”

“Also, like, it’s the one I almost got crushed to death in, so it’s got the emotional trauma seasoning already.”

“Wait—“ Bucky had sat up— “you almost got crushed to death by a building? Sheesh, kid, you’re really flirting with the reaper, huh.”

“It wasn’t so bad, I had training from the years and years of carrying the weight of my sins crawling on my back.”

“At least ask Death for his number next time, he’s not returning my calls.”

“Sergeant, I swear to God—“

“Actually, Death uses they/them pronouns, I asked when I met them last weekend.”

“What the fuck did you do last weekend?”

“Really? Oh cool, well, can you get their number for me? We had a date back in ’45 that they missed.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.”

“Tony, why are you screaming? Not keeping dates is a very serious matter.”

“Trust me, I speak from experience, Tony, it’s not a good habit to get into.”

“You should respect your elders and not scream while we’re talking to you, mister.”

“All of you shut the fuck up.”

See? On one hand, it’s great to have more partners in this venture of making Tony’s hair turn grey—he’s that age, it’s bound to happen any time soon now— “One more crack about my age, kid, I swear.” — but on the other hand, Peter is seriously losing his massive lead on funniest person in the Tower.

The other thing he’s worried about is Sam’s ability to make it so the others can’t actually worry about him.

Because—listen, Sam Wilson is a fucking national treasure and all you fuckers better acknowledge that. It’s no secret that the Captains take turns going out with the shield, all of them answer to ‘Captain America’ because that’s what they are, but no one—and Peter will never say this under threat of death because he does not need any more of the Steve Rogers’ Puppy Dog Eyes™, thank you very much—no one does it better than Sam.

And that means that Sam fucking Wilson can turn a fatalistic, self-deprecating joke into a motivational speech that doesn’t feel disingenuous or cliché at all and everyone is too busy processing the philosophical revelations they’re having to scold him for his, frankly, outstanding sense of humor.

It’s not fair and Peter can’t do it.

He tried. Once.

Didn’t go very well.

No, he’s not gonna talk about it, let’s just move on.

Sam has offered to catch him a couple of times when he gets himself a little too deep into the Mamma Spider™ or Iron Dad™ trap of feeeelings, and he gratefully scoots out of the way when Sam sits down next to him and just makes another joke.

Sam is also a fantastic role model for the brand of ‘I’m going to the store and only have twenty bucks, stop asking for your will to live back’ jokes.

“Hey, Pete!”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go, bodega run.”

“Can we pick up some hopes and dreams, too, all of those got scribbled out in fat red Sharpie yesterday.”

“I said bodega run, not Court of Miracles run.”

“But Sam~”

“Listen, kid, if you manage to find your hopes and dreams in this bodega, keep an eye out for your childhood innocence, that might be on the next shelf over.”

“Deal.”

“Do you two need some more therapy appointments?”

“Only got fifteen bucks, man.”

“I’m literally a billionaire!”

Peter eagerly studies under this pinnacle of humor and keeps his worries to himself.

Because if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, and Peter’s sense of humor is wonderful, but he is a tad intimidated by the amount of variety the others have got going for them.

“You’re a fucking terror, Spider-ling, that’s what you are.”

“Not true! I was ‘a pleasure to have in class.’”

“Oh, is that why you’re taking ‘Little Shit’ lessons from Barnes and Rogers?”

“And Sam! Don’t forget Captain Wilson, he is an invaluable part of this team. I’m surprised at your ignorance.”

“Pete—no, that’s not—“

“I’m ashamed for you, Mr. Stark.”

“Listen here you little shit—“

Anyway…

Steve and Bucky have a habit of telling these like, really awful jokes that have Peter in stitches for half an hour. It’s not fair and he doesn’t get why they’re so funny because they aren’t, and yet here he is, laughing anyway.

It’s probably some combination of Steve’s perfected innocent face that he wears when he has to do interviews and Bucky’s habit of not giving a single solitary fuck. But they’re able to make the worst jokes with completely serious expressions and it’s not fair.

“Hey, can you guys come help me with something?”

“Sure, Peter,” Steve says instantly, bounding over with his 95-year-old Golden Retriever energy as Bucky trails behind him like a cat that’s sitting in your lap because he wants to, not because he likes you or anything, “what’s up?”

“I have a history project on WWII due tomorrow and I haven’t started it yet.”

Bucky snorts, taking a swig of coffee and sitting down on the floor. Which, same. “You got your eulogy planned?”

“Drafted, sighed, notarized, but Aunt May said no so I gotta do this.”

“Well, if Aunt May says no then I guess that’s that.”

Tony, from far away in another part of the Tower, has a sickening feeling that May Parker has once again proven that she is the most powerful parent and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“I, um,” Peter mumbles, fidgeting with his pen, “I want to be respectful of your boundaries, and if you don’t want to talk about anything then—“

Because it’s one thing for someone to make jokes about their trauma and another for someone else to go poking and prodding at it.

“Hey,” Steve interrupts softly, nudging him with his knee, “first off, thank you for saying that and we appreciate your respect, but we got you. You worry about enough, sweetheart, let us take care of ourselves.”

Peter gives him a look.

“When it comes to this,” Steve amends, having the decency to look a little sheepish, “we’ll take care of ourselves.”

Bucky scoffs. “Uh-huh.”

“We will, Buck.”

“My therapist will be real happy to hear that.” He looks up at Peter and winks. “Besides, what good is our trauma if we don’t pin it up and display it for good grades?”

Peter huffs, the joke undercut a little by the way Bucky knocks his foot against Peter’s and Steve’s arm stretches over the couch behind him.

Peter has to resist the urge to lean his head onto Steve’s shoulder, because then Steve’s hand will come up and ruffle his hair and Peter’s eyes will droop slowly closed as he loses himself in the warmth and safety of Steve’s embrace and then Steve will lean down to press a kiss to his temple and—

Right. Homework.

“What’s it on specifically,” Bucky asks, clearly spotting the temptation on Peter’s end, “home front? Overseas? Time period?”

“Uh, it’s an analysis of total war.”

“Like, how much of the country was devoted to the war effort?”

“Yeah, basically. It’s talking about how the Nazi War Machine made their war total and how that extends to a lot of other countries, but also about the reasons why the war was fought—“

They delve into a conversation about total war, Peter pointing out how Italy’s motivation for territory keeps it from being a total war on their part, Bucky speaking to how the different dynamics worked in various countries and the fallout, Steve bringing up how much of the home front was devoted to bringing attention to the war being fought overseas. Then, of course, as is inevitable, they devolve into storytelling.

Peter’s notebook—with notes! He did his job!—is set aside as he gives in to the need to let Steve cuddle him on the couch. Come on, the man is warm and big and gives good hugs, how is he supposed to not? Bucky sprawls out on the floor, leaning back on his hands as he smiles fondly.

“You know,” he remarks casually, “I fought a Nazi in my pajamas once.”

Peter blinks sleepily. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, though how he got in my pajamas, I have no idea.”

Peter snorts. Then he giggles. Then he’s collapsing into Steve’s side, positively sobbing with laughter.

It’s not funny.

It’s really not that funny.

But here he is, fucking dying, and he doesn’t even have the wherewithal to welcome the sweet embrace of oblivion.

“Okay, note to self,” Bucky murmurs when he’s calmed down a little, wiping away tears, “sleepy spider likes corny jokes.”

“Just don’t break our baby spider, Buck, Momma Spider would kill you in cold blood.”

“Listen, if Natasha Romanoff kills me, don’t prosecute. That’s on me.”

Peter can’t do corny jokes. He really can’t. He just sounds like he’s a recording so old it’s unintelligible and it’s bad. He has a reputation to maintain here!

However, there is one sense of humor that Peter is very eager to learn and adopt, and hey, it might actually be Iron Dad™ Approved!

It’s a rookie mistake, asking Bucky Barnes for a hand, but in his defense, Peter was left unsupervised and was distracted.

“Hey, Bucky, can you give me a hand?”

“Sure thing, Peter.”

Something nudges his arm and he looks down. It’s Bucky’s metal arm, bumping up against his elbow.

It’s a cheap joke. It’s bad. It does not deserve Peter’s laughter.

He snorts anyway.

“That’s on me,” he says after a second, “you know what, that’s my fault.”

“What, is this not what you meant?”

“No, no, you’re fine.” Peter scruffs a hand through his hair. He looks down at the prosthetic again. “Well, that’s disarming.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to snort. “You gotta hand it to me, though, it’s a good joke.”

Oh, it’s on.

“No, no, of course, I understand. You really can’t let an opportunity like that slip through your fingers.”

Steve chokes on his next sip of coffee. “Stop making the kid shoulder the burden of making puns with you.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Don’t palm this off on someone else, Steve, you’re as bad as he is.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Peter shrugs. “You just gotta knuckle-down and find the right one.”

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to reach for puns?” Bucky hefts his arm.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say a lot.”

“Jeez, Pete, good one.”

“What, are you not finding them humerus?”

Sam’s gone, Steve shortly after. Bucky just grins proudly at him.

Then there’s a massive thunk from behind them. Peter turns around to see Tony slamming his forehead into the counter.

“You are all going to kill me,” he mutters, glaring up at them, “all three of you.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. Stark, Captain Barnes would never hurt you.”

Tony raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“After all,” Peter grins, gesturing to Bucky who is doing a very good innocent face—he must’ve been taking notes from Steve— “look at him, he’s completely armless.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker—“

Okay, so maybe it’s not Iron Dad™ Approved.

Oh, well.

#dragonbabbles #marvel #the longest running con in the mcu is people thinking steve isnt an extra hoe #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #peter parker #tony stark #steve rogers #sam wilson #bucky barnes #fic

[polaroid15]

With Great Power...

Chapter 5: With great power comes a lack of self-care

Summary: May gets sick and Peter works himself to the bone taking care of her. Turns out his powers don't prevent him from getting sick after all.

Read on Ao3 HERE

-------

May is sick. Peter is losing his mind.

He bites his nails down to stubs and holds back her hair when she pukes out everything he’s tried to feed her. He helps her into bed and sits by her door long after he hears her breathing even out.

He can’t sleep so he scrubs the bathroom clean. When that’s done he cleans the kitchen and does his laundry twice. He grabs a pillow and blanket and lays down by May’s door, assured by her heartbeat, and wakes her up at four in the morning to help her choke down two fever reducers.

By the time sunlight streams in through the windows, he feels dead on his feet.

It’s worth it though. May wakes up with a temperature three degrees lower than the last time he had checked it. She kisses his forehead and ruffles his hair before taking a shower. She eats the entire bowl of soup Peter gives her and falls asleep with her head on his shoulder while they watch a movie.

For the first time since she’d gotten sick two days ago, Peter feels like he can breathe. His eyes droop, then close, and he lets go. When he opens them again it’s dark and May is gone. There’s a blanket tucked securely around his waist.

“May?” he croaks, wincing at the pain in his throat. He fights with the blanket and falls in an uncoordinated heap on the ground. “May!”

“Peter?”

Feeling lightheaded in his relief, Peter follows her voice to her bedroom. From the light in the hallway he can see her peer up at him from a heavy mound of blankets. She’s okay. She’s fine. “It’s almost one in the morning,” she says.

“Sorry,” he says shakily, straightening himself on the doorway. “I woke up and you were gone-”

May’s eyes soften in understanding. She pats the empty space beside her. “Come here.”

Without hesitation, Peter listens. He crawls into bed and lays beside her. She rests a comforting hand on his forearm. “I’m feeling a lot better baby. Everything’s okay now.”

“Okay,” he echoes, a deep relief making his eyes water.

“Thanks for taking care of me.”

He turns his head to look at her, barely finding her eyes in the darkness. “You always take care of me.”

“We take care of each other.”

It doesn’t take long for either of them to fall asleep.

-----

When Peter wakes up again the room is bright and warm with sunlight. Soft rustling sharpens his awareness over to May’s vanity. She’s sitting at the seat, running her fingers through her jewelry and selecting a jade necklace. She notices him through the mirror as she clips it behind her neck. “Did I wake you? Sorry.”

“‘S okay,” he says, mind cloudy with sleep. “You goin’ to work?”

“Yeah baby. I can’t miss any more time.”

“Oh.” Peter blinks to try to clear his vision and frowns when the effort is unsuccessful. “You feel okay?”

“Well enough,” she assures. She stands with a smile and grabs her purse. “You get some rest today, alright? Promise?”

“Promise,” Peter says. “There’s- there’s a gatorade in the fridge. Take it with you.”

May makes her way to his side and ruffles his hair. Her smile falls into a frown. “You feel a little warm. Are you feeling okay? I thought you couldn’t get sick-”

“Just hot from the blankets,” he says, though the more he thinks about it-

“Okay. Call me if you need me.”

With one final look of measured worry, May turns and makes her way towards the kitchen. He hears the fridge open before the front door does and smiles.

The apartment is quiet.

So quiet-

The next time Peter opens his eyes his stomach twists violently. With a watering mouth, the only thought he can muster is uh-oh, before he’s scrambling over May’s sheets to get to the bathroom. He barely makes it, catching himself by his forearms before heaving over the bowl.

Just like May, it never seems to end. He shivers and sweats and wishes she were here to help him. When it finally eases he collapses back against the bathtub and doesn’t have the strength to flush the toilet.

God, he’s thirsty.

It’s the only thing to get him onto his knees. After days of lecturing May about the importance of fluids, Peter can’t be one to ignore his own advice. He reaches for the tap and misses it by a mile. His reflection swims dangerously in front of his eyes.

“Tha’s not good,” he slurs to himself.

And then his eyes roll back up into his head. He isn’t awake long enough to feel himself hit the floor.

------

“Damn kid and these damn grey hairs-”

Tony grumbles to himself all the way from his empty lab to his car, and then all the way to the Parker’s apartment. The kid had been scheduled to come over hours ago and had never showed. It was more than unusual in itself, let alone the seven missed calls and thirteen unanswered text messages.

He checks on Karen, but Peter hasn’t been in his suit in days.

He texts May, but she doesn’t respond either.

He tries valiantly to convince himself that it’s nothing, that there’s probably a very safe and healthy explanation as to why Peter is dodging him. It’s not like he’s the kid’s father, for God’s sake. But no matter how hard he had tried to work in the lab alone the kid’s absence had made him too sick to his stomach to stay focused.

So here he is. The seventh floor. He knocks loudly at Peter’s door and frowns at the silence. If Peter’s wearing his watch, he should be here.

He should be here.

He knocks again.

Again.

With a dry throat, he tries to call the kid one last time. When his enthusiastic voice fills Tony’s ear via voicemail he shoves it back in his pocket and spends the next five minutes picking their lock.

Thankfully, no one sees.

“Hello?” he calls when it opens. The apartment is dark. “Peter? Are you here?”

There’s no answer. Pushing aside the invasivity of it all, he steps into the Parker home and shuts the door behind him. “Pete?”

Tony flicks on the lights and doesn’t bother to take off his coat. He heads towards Peter room but is stopped in his tracks long before he can reach it.

Because the bathroom door is open. Because he sees Peter sprawled out lifelessly on his back halfway into the hall. The fear that overtakes him at the sight is enough to freeze him until he sees Peter’s chest moving up and down in short, labored breaths.

“Kid!”

Tony’s knees ache when he slams them down beside the boy. He grabs at Peter’s fever-hot face and slaps lightly at his cheeks. “Wake up Peter. Come on buddy. This isn’t a good look for you.”

Groaning, Peter opens his eyes to slits. He looks up at Tony as if he’s the angel that’s come to bring him up to the pearly white gates and shudders against a cold sweat. “Tony?”

A delirious laugh bubbles out from his chest. He smooths back Peter’s hair and tries to ignore how his heart skips a beat at the heat rolling off his skin. “It’s Tony now huh? After all this time and you choose now?”

Peter’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. He shakes his head. “Wha’s happ’n?”

“You passed out on the bathroom floor.”

“Wha- why‘re you here?”

“Because you passed out on the bathroom floor dummy.”

Peter whines, his face paling behind the red hue of his fever. “Feel sick.”

“I know buddy. I’m sorry. I’m here to help. Where’s May?”

Peter considers this for a long time. “Mm. She’s sick too. Went to- went to work.” As if answering leeches all his energy, Peter’s eyes close and his head lolls. Tony shakes him until their eyes meet again. “Christ kiddo. You’re scaring me. I thought you weren’t supposed to get sick.”

Eyes shining with tears, Peter’s frown grows. “Tony.”

“Okay, we gotta get you up. Can you sit up? When’s the last time you drank something?”

“Don’ know. Tried. Fell. Don’ feel good.”

“I know Petey. I’m so sorry. Let me help you-”

Peter cries out before he can finish. The last of the color drains from his face quite suddenly and he goes boneless against the linoleum. Tony feels for a pulse and nearly cries at how erratic it feels against his fingertips.

“FRI! Call- call an ambulance.”

-----

Hours later, Tony sits beside May in Peter’s hospital room. The smell of antiseptic is giving him a headache and he holds his head in his hands, willing for the nauseating anxiety to leave with the pain in his skull.

Peter is okay, he tells himself. He’s fine. Stop worrying.

After some light threatening, the ambulance had arrived at the Parker residence in record time. Tony could barely keep up with their hurried descent to the street and had lost time in the ambulance. He had followed Peter as far as he could and then slid down the wall when the boy had disappeared.

Someone had taken a picture of him on their phone camera. He was too exhausted to yell at them.

He had called May. She was at his side in a matter of minutes.

She still is. Tony spares her a sympathetic glance. She’s sitting with her head resting on Peter’s arm, a wad of crumpled tissues held tight in her fist. None of them had thought Peter could even get sick, that it was outside the realm of possibility.

Turns out, he definitely can.

May catches him staring and offers a watery smile. “Thanks for taking care of him Tony.”

“It was nothing.”

“He was fine when I left. I was nowhere near this bad. If you hadn’t shown up-” she chokes and looks away.

Feeling a similar tightness in his own throat, Tony coughs to clear it before responding. “He’s okay now. That’s what matters.”

May nods slowly, but guilt still clouds her features. “He didn’t really sleep when I was sick. He spent every second taking- taking care of me.” She pauses, her mouth hanging open in unspoken words. Then, “when Ben and I found out his parents had died we were terrified. I never thought I’d be able to love him as much as I do. I don’t know what I’d do without him Tony. I swear to God. I’d die if I lost him.”

That makes two of us, Tony thinks. “He’s a good kid.”

“Too good sometimes.”

With great power-

Tony sighs. He stares at Peter’s lax face and feels something swoop in his stomach. “What can I do to help?” he asks.

May smiles weakly and threads her fingers through Peter’s hair. “You’re everything to him,” she says quietly. “You’re his idol, his hero. You’re there for him, Tony. You show up. That’s all I can ask for. You’re already helping.”

Biting hard on his cheek keeps his expression neutral, but he can’t prevent the flush that spreads across his face. He hopes May doesn’t notice. “He has the whole world on his shoulders. I wish he didn’t.”

“He’s a teenage superhero,” she laughs, though without humour, and hangs onto him more tightly. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud before. My nephew is a teenage superhero.”

Tony chuckles along, rubbing his hands over his temples. “He can stick to walls.”

“Why- why the hell do we let him do this?”

Humming a non-answer, Tony shrugs. May’s eyes soften. “Ben would’ve been proud of him,” she says in a whisper. “I think- I think that’s why he does it. And why I let him. Ben would be proud.”

With great power, comes great responsibility.

“You’re a good Aunt.”

“Mm. I certainly try.”

“He’s going to be okay.”

“I know.”

Slowly, between them, Peter stirs. He blinks up at the ceiling as May smooths his hair back. Tony tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat, or how he leans forward in his chair. “You back with us baby?”

Peter’s mouth turns up in a loopy grin. He stares at the ceiling as if it’s spinning. “Woah. Wow. Dreamt I was- I was Spider-Man. ‘S so cool.”

They both laugh. Peter smiles too even though he clearly doesn’t understand the context of the humour. He looks at May and some clarity leaks into his eyes. “You ‘kay?” he asks.

“Yeah baby. I’m okay. All thanks to you.”

“Yay,” he breathes. His head swivels heavily in Tony’s direction and his smile widens, which obliterates that last of Tony’s resolve to stay as stoic as possible. He feels his eyes well with tears. “How ya feeling kiddo?”

“High.”

“Yeah I’ll bet.”

Peter yawns and sinks further into the mattress. As his eyes flutter he says, “tired. Larb you guys.”

I larb you too, kid. More than you know.

The chairs suck, but May and Tony don’t leave his side.

Not even for a second.

#peter parker #tony stark #may parker #sickfic #fever #worried tony stark #tony stark acting as peter parkers parental figure #irondad #irondad fic #my fic #sick peter parker #peter parker whump #angst with fluff #one chapter to go!!

[gretchensinister]

Little Souls and Careless Gods: An Exploration of Worldbuilding in Toy Story

Sid did nothing wrong.

Or, let me clarify. The things Sid did wrong were: taking his sister’s toys and modifying them without her permission. That’s it.

Hi, my name is gretchensinister and I have a lot of thoughts about the worldbuilding in Toy Story.

I should admit at this point that I haven’t seen Toy Story 4, only talked about it with someone who has, so if some of my questions are answered by that movie or if it torpedoes some of my speculations, that’s just—that’s just an imperfection of this essay.

I barely know where to begin, but, I started with Sid, so I’ll keep going with Sid. Sid is a kid. Sid is a jerk to his younger sister, but she’s freely yelling across the house tattling on him, so it doesn’t seem like she’s suffering irreparable damage from this. Other things Sid does: wins a squeaky toy for his dog in a claw machine game, blows up toys with fireworks, takes toys apart and joins them to other toys to make new toys. Burns a toy with a magnifying glass.

None of these things is an immoral action, for a person who, through all lived experience (until the toy attack) understands that toys are objects. It’s not bad to give your dog an object to chew on. It’s not bad (morally) to blow up an object with a firework. It’s not bad to take objects (that are yours) and make them into new, different objects. It’s not bad to burn an object with a magnifying glass. From the toys’ perspective, Sid is a sadistic mad scientist type, but from everything he could possibly know, his “torture” of Woody is messing around with an object! His object! That he got from a claw machine! The pretend torture as a choice of play is worth questioning, but it’s not so uncommon as a media trope that an average kid would never have seen anything like that in an action-adventure context. And it doesn’t predict how Sid will treat actual living beings!

(As an aside, I’m firmly of the belief that if you own an object, you should feel free to do whatever you want with it. Set it on fire, take it apart to see how it works, use it as raw materials in a craft project, etc. And yeah I would make exceptions to this rule for like, privately owned culturally significant art or scientifically significant artifacts…but if they’re that significant…they shouldn’t be privately owned.)

So yeah. Sid gets traumatized because he treats objects like objects, and the objects don’t like that. Because they’re actually alive and have now promised to constantly surveil him.

And let’s be clear: Andy doesn’t know toys are alive, either. He never does. He just has a different play style than Sid, and more of an interest in keeping his toys intact. Andy has no empathy with Woody and Buzz, because he is not aware that they are beings that he could empathize with.

All right. Beyond Sid, what I really want to talk about is the nature of a toy’s mind/soul in the Toy Story universe. I will call this the toy’s animus. Much like with the soul and mind of a human being, the animus raises several questions. How is the animus created? Where does the animus reside? Is the animus a tabula rasa, or does it possess innate knowledge? Where does this innate knowledge come from, if so? Is the animus mortal or immortal?

The Toy Story universe offers various pieces of evidence to answer these questions, and they are all extremely worrying if toys and humans are both morally significant beings, though humans do not know this about toys.

Is a toy mortal or immortal?

In the Toy Story movies it is clear that toys believe they can die. Sufficient destruction of the body would cause a toy’s death. Sid’s plan to blow up Buzz Lightyear with a firework threatens his life. In Toy Story 3, the toys in the trash incinerator clearly believe that burning/melting will kill them. But, short of catastrophic destruction of the body, toys are immortal. Jessie suffers, but does not die, from withdrawal of her owner’s love. Stinky Pete was never played with by a child, and he’s alive as any other toy. Additionally, human-mimicking toys are not killed even when damaged in ways that would kill a human, though this does affect their ability to communicate. In the tea party scene in Toy Story, the headless dolls wave when they are referred to. (This raises more questions—how does a headless doll experience the world? They can still hear, but how? Also, why doesn’t the headless teddy bear move? Perhaps they simply don’t want to get involved in whatever’s going on with Woody and Buzz.)

I think, according to what we see in the movies, the animus is divisible, and each part of the divided animus contains only a portion of the cognitive ability of the whole. Moreover, the animus is not centered in the head, but rather dispersed throughout the body. I would further argue that splitting the body/splitting the animus, is traumatic, even when reversible. Consider that Buzz’s mental breakdown coincides with the detachment of his arm.

What does this mean for Sid’s creations? Well, it would explain why they don’t talk. The baby-doll head with the spiderlike erector-set body (aside: is this a reference to The Thing (1982)?) really has no reason to be mute, if a toy simply must have a mouth to speak. Its form is unconventional, but, I would say, still “complete.” But if the head only carries an incomplete animus, and the erector set parts carry no animus of their own (an assumption which will be questioned later) then the whole toy would not have enough animus for verbal communication.

Janie the doll and the pterodactyl, with their switched heads, suffer significant disruption of their animi. Would their fractured animi eventually merge to form a new animus for each new body, with a different personality than Janie or pterodactyl? What part of the “Barbie” personality lingers in the animus of the toy crane with Barbie legs?

There is an exception to the concept of the fractured animus, however, and that is Mr. Potato Head. Mr. Potato Head exists in several parts to begin with, and mere separation does not fracture the animus. Curiously, though, some parts of Mr. Potato Head do not appear to contain any part of his animus, such as his plastic potato body. He retains all of his personality and ability to communicate when he has to put his features on a tortilla (?—don’t remember this part well) even though he is from an era of Mr. Potato Heads where his features are only meant to be put in the plastic potato body, not random foodstuffs. (Another question here: what would happen if an even amount of Mrs. Potato Head and Mr. Potato Head features were put on one plastic potato body? Do both animi retain coherence?) It is impossible not to wonder how far apart the features of Mr. Potato Head could be spread and the animus remain whole. At least as far apart as different buildings, as shown in Toy Story 3, but how much farther?

Creation of the animus and innate knowledge.

We are now about to embark on the specific topic that fills my thoughts now when I think about the Toy Story universe. I believe I will first fix myself a vodka cranberry (note: not just vodka and cranberry juice. To make it properly you must also add a splash each of orange juice and lime juice) and read a synopsis of Toy Story 4. Forky’s creation is a deep source of trouble here, and I must fortify myself to face it.

Where do I even begin? Okay. Bonnie, a kindergartner, creates Forky from items salvaged from the trash and names him. He comes to life after being named. According to the synopsis Forky then suffers an existential crisis because he believes he his trash and not a toy. So in this case, the animus appears to arrive after naming, and the animus is not a tabula rasa. The history of the materials appears to have some effect on the animus? (What this might mean for Rex or the plastic army men is especially concerning here.) It doesn’t make sense for Bonnie to think of Forky as trash, so this conviction has entered Forky’s animus from somewhere other than his creator. Also Bonnie has created sentient life without being aware of doing so, probably before being able to write a full sentence.

That’s troubling enough, because, to the eyes of adults or even older children, Forky is garbage. I project Forky’s lifespan of play to be that of months. And he won’t get passed onto other children. Depending on how Bonnie’s community disposes of trash, he may linger with an intact animus, at a landfill, for longer than Bonnie’s own life. It boggles the mind. (And invites hoarding in the empathetic.) However, despite all this, I would be cool with it if this was the only way toys became animate: being owned/named/played with by a child. That could be a complete worldbuilding conceit.

But that’s NOT how animi are generally formed in the Toy Story universe. Let’s back up to Toy Story. Buzz Lightyear has a personality and memories of his history as a space ranger right out of his box. And as we see in Toy Story 2, every Buzz Lightyear comes with that same initial personality. A commercial in Toy Story shows aisles upon aisles of Buzz Lightyears. Something has enabled the creation of thousands, if not millions, of identical animi. There is no direction this can go that isn’t kind of batshit.

Buzz Lightyear and the story that forms his memories were designed and created by adults. It was someone’s (and probably a team’s) job to design a toy that would be popular for a specific demographic, with (if I remember correctly) a cartoon that elaborates on the story and can basically serve as a long-running commercial for the toy. There were probably team meetings, and focus groups, and brand analysis to come up with the name “Buzz Lightyear.” And in such an endeavor, while I would like to imagine that there were some truly creative people involved who cared about the design and story, the people involved would not be the ones playing with the toys as toys want to be played with. And this is where every Buzz Lightyear animus comes from? But how? A manager or director approves the name and then…what? Is there a wellspring of animus that forms? Is it tied to the prototype? The factory workers in Taiwan don’t care about Buzz Lightyear the way Bonnie cares about Forky, and yet their actions in completing Buzz Lightyears call the animi to the plastic bodies. (And the animi are there, without a child’s touch. Stinky Pete was aware in his unopened box. Other toys opened a new Buzz Lightyear and got a living Buzz Lightyear.) And even leaving aside how the animi get into the Buzz Lightyears, the fact is that with millions of Buzz Lightyears out there, we have to conclude that the process that created his animus/animi is orders of magnitude more powerful than what Bonnie did to make Forky. Even assuming some personal care held by Buzz’s designers towards their design, it gets weird. The imaginations of adult toy designers are that much more powerful than a little girl creating and naming her own toy? NOT the way I would expect such a story-world to be set up, but the evidence is there.

And what if the designers of Buzz Lightyear weren’t particularly passionate? What if their boss just said “space is popular now, make me a space toy” and that’s the only reason why they did? That could very well be the case for a different type of toy in the series: the claw machine aliens. Those toys were not designed as a soulful passion project. I’m trying to write this to not be mean to designers who work in not-so-great places, but seriously. We have all seen generic toys in claw machine games before. They were not made to be immortally loved. (And yet! This is what the animus of a toy inherently desires!) Now, the claw machine aliens do seem to have much less backstory than Buzz Lightyear, and have personalities (or maybe just personality)/culture based on the nature of the claw machine. That makes sense, since they wouldn’t have been given a backstory with creation. The point is, though, that they still have animi. In the process of creating these cheap, cheap toys, by the dozens and hundreds and thousands, somehow their bodies were invested with full, identical animi. Adult, corporate creation somehow gives more life to toys than individual, child-led creation.

There are more questions to ask. If adults still have the power (and MASSIVELY MORE power) to invest toys with animi that they also possessed as children, then what can be invested with an animus? What are the limits of toy-ness in the Toy Story universe? Is it the name? I don’t think it’s the face, because there’s Woody merchandise in Toy Story 2 with Woody’s face on it that doesn’t talk. And I think that some faceless toys are shown to move independently/have an animus (possibly including things like LEGO—are the bricks a hivemind? Do the minifigs live inside sentient structures? Can they communicate with these structures? Also, if so, the erector set legs on Sid’s spider baby toy should have added to its total animus. But that’s not the corporate intent, so they’re still voiceless.). Christine (1983) could fit into this universe if the name is of primary importance (movie backstory for Christine, not book). But this would also mean that literally every boat and ship was sentient, but secretly so.*

If the name isn’t the important thing, is it the intent that the object be played with as a toy? In this case, that would mean that Bo Peep’s animus was not mass-produced, as she was originally part of a lamp if I remember correctly. Child-created animi would therefore be more common among non-toy objects than manufactured toys. I also want to bring The Brave Little Toaster (1987) up at this point. In this movie a group of appliances behave similarly to Toy Story toys in some ways, including being played with by their owner and then missing his attention to a high degree when he goes to college. However in this film all appliances and cars have animi, and I personally do not want my vacuum cleaner to feel any kind of way about me, or ever think I have played with it, because I hate vacuuming and would neglect it to death if feasible. (That being said…roombas in the Toy Story universe can hardly avoid being invested with animi, I imagine, no matter the details of the worldbuilding structure.) I bring this up, though, because Wikipedia notes that the original members of Pixar worked on The Brave Little Toaster. Toy Story was released in 1995 and was Pixar’s first feature length film. There is a connection, is what I am trying to say.

I think I have to go with: intent of the object to be a toy and/or being played with as a toy invests a toy with an animus. If it was the naming, then many, many public statues would be as alive as Woody and Buzz, and the people of Denver I’m sure have enough to worry about without Blucifer (Jiménez, 2008) galloping around. Bizarre to say that the least troubling option places mass production on a higher level of investing power than a child’s imagination. And I mean what I say about the mass produced animi being somehow more powerful than child-created animi.

Let’s go back to Sid’s creations. What is wrong with them? Why aren’t they able to communicate like Forky? Possibility 1: Sid just doesn’t have the creative power that Bonnie does. I don’t like this because, as I said at the beginning, Sid is not doing anything wrong by making these chimera toys. He’s treating objects as objects, and the difference between Sid’s chimera toys and Forky is that Forky’s component parts were not originally part of mass-produced toys. So, (from a worldbuilding/Watsonian perspective), I have to go with possibility 2, which goes like this: mass-produced toys are imbued with animi because they are toys. Sid’s chimera toys suffer from their animi being fractured when he alters them. But these fractured, mass-produced animi retain enough coherence and power that Sid, a child, cannot replace the fractured animus with whatever he imagines for his new creations. He’s an imaginative kid! But the corporate animus cannot be expelled. The factory animus is the underlying animus and cannot be removed once the toy is a toy. It can develop with memory and experience, but it will always be the toy making corporation that brought the spark of life, not the child that actually plays with the toy.

And this actually corresponds to Sid’s toys’ decision to rebel and help Woody and Buzz. Their animi are more loyal to the corporate intent that first created them. Sid made them into something new, presumably plays with them, and yet they are not Sid’s. They are meant to be read as broken and tortured (Sid has changed them from their factory-created wholeness), not as new beings. A factory-created, owned object, is meant to be held with the same level of care and maintenance of coherence as a living being in the Toy Story universe. What a child imagines about their own toys has less creative power than a distant designer who’s been told to come up with something appealing to put in a claw machine. Children only have animating power for their toys when they make them out of raw materials.

On the one hand, it’s tempting to say that of course the toys aren’t Sid’s, they’re their own people—isn’t that what having an animus means? But Woody, for example, find it very important that he’s Andy’s toy—a possession—“a child’s plaything.” Andy writes his name on him and this is very important to Woody, enough a part of his identity that when Andy’s name is painted over by the restorer in Toy Story 2 the scene reads as an erasure of something important to him, not as a restoration of his autonomy. Time and again we see that toys want to be owned by children.

This is another place where things get weird. First, I raise the question: What do toys need to keep animus and body together? Not much—only a certain baseline of bodily coherency. They don’t need to take in anything from their environment. More interesting, though, is that they don’t need anything from the children they bond to. Shelved, boxed, and forgotten toys suffer, but they don’t die from these states. No toy will ever find a toy’s corpse the way a human could find a human corpse—whole in every way except for the absence of the animating spirit.

So: toys as entities need little. The next question is then, what do toys want? Toys want to be owned and played with by a child (I say child and not children, because the communal state of the daycare in Toy Story 3 is clearly not desirable to the toys). Woody relishes his place as favorite and most played with toy at the beginning of Toy Story. In Toy Story 2 Jessie grieves when her child outgrows her. Stinky Pete was ignored by children for years, causing him to develop the abnormal belief that it would be better for the Woody’s Roundup toys to be preserved in a museum.

(At this point, I spot another thread to follow. It seems that for a toy, the most important relationship in their existence is meant to be toy + owner. In Toy Story Woody is very invested in making Buzz understand that Buzz is a toy and not a space ranger—Buzz is supposed to stay with Andy. In Toy Story 2 the consequences of not being owned by a child are grief and violence. But at the end Woody tells Buzz he’s not worried about Andy outgrowing him, since they’ll always have each other. Now, Toy Story 3 builds up Buzz/Jessie and in Toy Story 4 Bo Peep returns and Woody leaves Buzz and the other group of Andy’s toys for a life with her, but Woody also leaves the toy + owner life to be with Bo. Toys aren’t made to have an independent existence, yet this is how they end up, also acting as matchmakers to help lost toys find new owners and enter into new toy + owner relationships? THERE IS A WHOLE OTHER ESSAY HERE.)

To stay within just one rabbit hole here, however, I must focus on this: Toys want to be owned and played with by a child. They bond with child owners who do not deliberately alter their bodies (I add this because again, Sid’s toys do not appear to be bonded with him). But within this framework, there must be essential pain within a toy’s existence. Toys are immortal unless destroyed. Toys will experience actual play with a child for, let’s say, ten years, maximum, and that’s if the toy is given to the child when the child is very young and the toy is more classic/versatile than most. That’s way shorter than the best human friendships and familial relationships, and at least human beings can often reasonably hope to have lifespans that are of comparable lengths. Oh yeah, and among human beings people are usually AWARE of the relationship that’s taking place. So toys want to form deep bonds with their children and want to have these relationships last. But the relationships can’t last. I’ll gladly state that play, in some form, is necessary for humans to thrive throughout their lives, but the kind of play that the toys in Toy Story find ideal is a childhood phase of play that that most people naturally outgrow. And even if a human did engage in play ideal for toys throughout their entire life, toys are immortal unless destroyed. All toys will lose their owners, and usually after a pretty short handful of years.

The aftermath of the owner + toy relationship is always painful for the toy. What are the options? To remain owned, but not played with: perhaps the “best” option, but it still leaves the toy with only a memory of a full life. Is a shelf life really a life? This is what was facing Woody, I believe, if Andy had taken him with him to college. Another option: to be outgrown and forgotten. This is what happens to Jessie, and it is a deeply, deeply painful experience for her. She develops claustrophobia from being stored in a box. To be donated or sold at a garage sale: also a source of trauma and panic for the toys, but still better than the worst fate, to be thrown out. But toys that have been separated from their previous owners are so often grieving and/or bitter in the Toy Story series.

This is troubling, to say the least, but it also loops back to questions about the animus and memory. Toys are not tabula rasa. Buzz has a strong personality and memory set from his unboxing. Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head do not need to court each other. Tour Guide Barbie will act as a tour guide in the absence of children. But with time, and accumulation of true memories as a toy, the toys will develop their own personalities, even if the animus starting point can often remain a strong influence. In Toy Story 3, however, we learn that certain toys, such as Buzz Lightyear, can be returned to the original animus state through a factory reset. I hardly know what to do with this. It wasn’t a permanent reset; Buzz’s memories and the personality he’s developed do come back. (But now he also has access to a “Spanish mode” that is…sexier (can such a word apply?) to Jessie than his English mode. Also other toys can put him into his mode against his will. There are so many worms in this can. Sexualization of Latinx people, can a toy expect bodily autonomy from other toys, etc.?) But not every toy has a reset button. Woody doesn’t. Slinky Dog, Rex, Mr. Potato Head, etc. don’t. Does the threat of a reset only affect toys with bodily components that could be considered brain analogues, i.e., microchips? But the animus is not the “brain” and neither does the “brain” store memories/personality. I really, really don’t know what to do with this, except it seems once again to assert the ultimate strength of the adult/corporate-created animus.

The point is, toys can lose their memories, but when we see that in the movies, it leads the toy to go back to their earliest state.

Now: a mystery. In Toy Story, Woody has developed enough memory and personality that he is well aware of being a toy and is involved with the life of Andy’s room in ways that neither his sheriff role or Andy’s imagination reasonably encompasses. (Consider the “Plastic Corrosion Awareness Meeting.”) All right. This would be of no concern if Woody was a generic wild west doll, but he’s not. He was made to represent a character on the Woody’s Roundup TV show in the 1950s. He would have had an animus strongly imprinted with that backstory just like Buzz Lightyear had his strongly imprinted space ranger backstory. Well, then maybe this means that Woody just never lost his memory. That would be the best explanation. That’s why he has a personality mostly free from this imprinted backstory, having been Andy’s favorite toy for some time. But Woody has lost his memory. In Toy Story 2, Woody learns (learns!) that he’s a representation of a TV character. He meets Jessie and Bullseye and Stinky Pete without knowing who they are at all. Woody has somehow completely forgotten his origins. He experienced memory loss that brought him farther away from his animus starting point.

Okay, so there are multiple kinds of amnesia for toys; I was wrong in my earlier assertion that memory loss tends to the origin animus. But I want to keep poking at Woody’s memory issues because of something else that Woody’s timeline leads me to conclude: Andy is not Woody’s first owner, OR Woody was boxed up and forgotten for DECADES before Andy. Actually, he’s probably spent a significant amount of time in storage or on a shelf regardless of whether Andy is his first owner or not.

Toy Story was released in 1995. If the story is set in the present, then Andy is very close to my age. Now, Woody is “an old family toy” according to Toy Story 2, and Al, as a toy collector, was so thrilled and astonished to find a Woody at a garage sale that he stole him when he learned he wasn’t actually for sale. This leads me to the conclusion that Woody toys aren’t in continuous production. Woody was probably only manufactured during the height of Woody’s Roundup’s popularity, in the 1950s. So there’s two options for Woody’s ownership history. I’m also going to presume in both cases that Andy’s father was the parent that previously owned him, though there’s no reason why his mother couldn’t have been the owner.

So, option one: the young parents/young grandparents option. If Andy’s grandparents had his father when they were about twenty, and then Andy’s parents had Andy when they were about twenty, then Andy’s grandfather could have gotten Woody at ideal playing age and then later passed him down to Andy’s father and then Andy’s father would have passed him to Andy. I don’t think this is the case, though, because Woody still has his incredibly rare hat and a functional voice box. If Woody had been played with by a child at ideal playing age at the height of the popularity of his character’s show, I think it’s likely that he would have gotten played with so much (and taken to places so much) that he would have lost his hat and his voice box would have worn out. Woody didn’t start off life as a collectible, and play causes wear and tear on toys. And if Woody was originally the grandfather’s toy, then he would have gone through another round of play with Andy’s father. Woody’s condition is too good for that. Unless, that is, Andy’s whole family is made up of people who are unusually careful with their toys? That’s sort of an intriguing idea, since it means that Sid’s actions look even more horrifying by contrast, and generations of “ideal owners” for Woody obscure the bizarre nature of the life of a thinking, feeling toy. However, the Toy Story universe keeps raising questions in Toy Story 2-4 about what it means to be a toy, so there doesn’t seem to be a motivation in the series for such obscuring. This is despite the fact that Woody’s amnesia does obscure some things about the nature of a toy’s life, at least in the original Toy Story. (I know the Doylist perspective answers all this easily—this isn’t what the audience is meant to think about, Woody’s backstory as a toy from a 1950s TV show isn’t important in Toy Story, and in fact this backstory didn’t exist until Toy Story 2 was created.)

Regardless, I don’t think the young parents/young grandparents option is the right one. Instead, I choose option 2: the slightly older parents option. Woody’s Roundup is a TV show from the 1950s. It was popular enough to lead to a lot of merchandise, not just the dolls of the main characters. Brief research shows that in the 1950s television Westerns were incredibly popular, and there were Westerns made for kids and Westerns made for adults. The question I’m trying to get at here is trying to figure out how Andy’s grandparents would have known about a kid’s Western show. But, it’s really not that difficult. In this timeline I’m building now, Andy’s father would have been born in the 1950s, making him in his early-mid thirties when he became Andy’s father. Given this timeline, it’s overwhelmingly likely that Andy’s father has siblings, including older siblings, that might already watch Woody’s Roundup. Or, even if Andy’s father was the oldest child, it’s also overwhelmingly likely that Andy’s grandparents’ friends had plenty of kids of their own and probably talked among themselves about what kids liked. The significant thing in this timeline is that Woody would have been given to Andy’s father when Andy’s father was very young. Perhaps too young for a Woody doll, but perhaps also with the assumption that Andy’s father would grow into the doll. So Woody is unboxed and waits on a shelf for a couple years while Andy’s father grows a little. My theory is that Woody’s Roundup was no longer on television by the time Andy’s father was at the right age to start playing with a doll of Woody’s type. This would have two consequences. One: Andy’s father would have been unguided by the TV show in regard of how to play with Woody, meaning that Woody would have formed many memories unrelated to his original animus in this early stage of his life. Two: even though Woody was played with, he never was Andy’s father’s favorite toy, which is why he was able to be passed down to Andy in good condition (and still with his hat).

In this option 2, which I feel is more likely, Woody has probably spent at least 25 years on a shelf or in storage. So why is this important? I think it’s important because Woody doesn’t act like he’s been through the decades-in-storage experience, or the experience of having an owner outgrow him. He sympathizes with Jessie after learning her story, but he says nothing about having experienced anything like it himself. And as far as the movies are concerned, his worries about Andy outgrowing him are new worries. But they can’t be new! He’s already been outgrown at least once before! I mean, with Andy he’s a favorite toy, so that’s a unique owner + toy relationship status that he (probably) didn’t have before. Maybe that amplifies what he’s going through this time?

But there’s another aspect to Woody’s experiences that I want to touch on. All the other toys he would have known as Andy’s father’s toy are gone. There are no other “heirloom” toys in Andy’s room, or at least there is no evidence of this. All of Andy’s other toys seem to have been purchased just for Andy, and purchased new. There is no reference to garage sale trauma, previous owners, or anything like that. And as we’ve seen from other toys throughout the series, toys remember that kind of thing! But Woody doesn’t. His animus is one that shows years of experience building over his character backstory, but he never acts like he’s experienced being outgrown or losing all his toy friends.

Or at least he never says anything about such experiences.

I think it makes sense to read Woody’s amnesia as genuine. But I also think it would be reasonable to read his character as one that has undergone traumatic experiences and has responded by burying them so deep within his mind that he has no conscious access to them, even though they influence his current personality and life. (It’s impossible to know, but do toys in every household respond to birthdays and Christmas with such intense monitoring—with the desire for even the slightest early warning of replacement? Woody is the one who worries most about these celebrations, extremely anxious of his own status as favorite toy.) That the ending of Toy Story 4 removes him from the cycle of ownership and outgrowing can’t be ignored. Better to not have an owner than to experience losing an owner again, and again, and again?

But I do think there is one other possibility: Andy’s ownership of Woody caused him to lose all his memories of Andy’s father. A child may not be able to give a manufactured toy a new animus, but by possessing a toy in a play relationship (as opposed to a collector relationship) a child may be able to overwrite any memories of the toy’s previous owner. The process doesn’t happen instantaneously, as Andy’s toys don’t immediately forget him upon being transferred to Bonnie, but it would certainly explain why Woody makes no reference ever to a previous owner, even though he was most likely manufactured at least 35 years before coming into Andy’s possession. However, Jessie’s story argues against this. While she is happy among Andy’s toys, there’s nothing to show that she is forgetting her own past.

The possibility of a new child owner driving out all thoughts of the previous one is interesting, as it puts some degree of power over the toy’s animus back with the child. However, in the Toy Story universe, it’s clear that if this is the case, it’s not an instantaneous process. And if it’s not an instantaneous process, then it becomes overly complex. What memories would be driven out? For toys less adventurous than the main characters of the Toy Story movies, their whole lives are centered on their owners. They live in their child’s room/house. Anything that took place there would have to be forgotten to not bring up thoughts of the previous owner, including conversations with other toys that were friends of that first toy. At this point we approach a state of complete memory loss before the claim by a new owner. A gradual process would at least allow continuity of personality, since new memories under the new owner would be continually being made. But then, some new memories would have to fade, also. For wouldn’t a toy talk about their past while they could still remember it? And wouldn’t their new friends maybe bring up their past in conversation sometimes? They might even talk about the process of forgetting. That process would be noticed and known among toys. No, after thinking about it, I would say that there is no inherent forgetting process. Memories will mostly tend to stay, with whatever pain and joy they bring. And there will never be any transition process that is easy for the toy.

Woody’s amnesia remains his own, and remains his best defense against the trauma of being outgrown and shelved or stored for many years.

Toys have a strange and painful lot in life, semi-immortals being made to be silent companions to the briefest stage of a mortal lifespan. They live because they are made for children, but for most, in this world of mass production, children do not create them. Their animi are the spawn of creators who have no intent to create thinking, feeling beings. Escaping the stamp of such thoughtless creation means living long enough to know the deepest loss a toy can experience. Sometimes the only way to move forward from such loss is to forget. And yet, there is little will for most toys to move beyond this cycle. Toys overwhelmingly retain their roles as objects. I’d like to say that maybe this means that play is worth it, that temporary joy is worth it. But maybe it’s just the nature of being a toy. After all, if there’s any intent in their creation, there was the intent that they should be objects.

*I would never leave a dangling asterisk. My previous point was about ships and boats, but, if seagoing vehicles live because they are named, then there’s no reason why land vehicles would not do the same. It might be possible to argue that the Cars universe came about after some cataclysm wiped out humans and left only named vehicles behind.

Other avenues of investigation that were beyond the scope of this essay:

1) The situation between the Diamonds and every other gem in Steven Universe is highly analogous to the situation between humans and toys in the Toy Story universe, save for the crucial difference that the Diamonds have no excuse to not know that the other gems are complete feeling, thinking beings and to treat them as such. It was actually parallels I saw between Spinel + Pink Diamond and Jessie + her owner that got me thinking about aspects of the Toy Story universe in ways that I know are meant to be ignored. Also Pink Diamond bringing all those little pebble people to life just by crying on them. That’s a lot of responsibility coming from a solitary expression of emotion!

2) I’d be curious to know if a hugely popular series based on the agency of objects has had an effect on fan culture at all. Or it might at least be a way to examine actions taken on behalf of characters. Fictional characters, after all, don’t feel any kind of way about the situations and relationships people envision them in. They’re mental objects like toys are physical objects. In the real world is anyone going to argue that putting the faces of dolls or action figures together and making kissing noises is something to worry about? Is anything about putting a naked Barbie on top of a naked Ken a harmful act? In the real world I would say no. Also, with full awareness that this is a can of worms, what is the impact of such things in the Toy Story universe? Obviously this wouldn’t be addressed in any canon. But the Toy Story universe is supposed to be like reality with one big secret so there are kids that are definitely using their toys to play out love stories and stories including a vague understanding of sex. And another aspect to all this…if you’ve seen Booksmart, consider one of the characters’ uses of her childhood stuffed animal. I understand that this is not uncommon.

All right. I think I’m done now. And that I will probably go get another drink.

(I had a few baby dolls as a child that included their own toys as accessories. H—how would THAT work?)

#I've been out of school for YEARS and yet I was still compelled to write a long and slightly deranged essay in mid-December #Toy Story

[tinyyoungblood]

pillow fort tragedy | peter parker

summary: what do you do when you have the entire compound to yourself? that’s right, you build a gigantic pillow fort with your boyfriend and the two dudes you have to babysit—an enhanced ex-soviet assassin and the god of thunder from outta space. good luck with that.

pairing: peter parker x avenger!reader

warnings: language, fluff, tiny bit of conflict and mention of injury

word count: 2.6 k

a/n: absolute crack fic lmao enjoy! x

* * *

It was another Sunday at the Compound which meant that something completely stupid had to go down at some point. This time, it was a real team effort and Steve would’ve surely been proud to some extent. Only, Steve wasn’t there and if he were, all of this wouldn’t have happened in the first place, which probably would’ve been better for everybody involved. Wherever you looked, miles and miles of pillows and blankets covered what used to be the comfort of their home. Now, it was a new empire.

Turning on the comm in your ear, you continued squeezing through the narrow passage of blankets that were poorly draped over some wobbly chairs and shelves. “Guys? Pete, can you hear me?” No answer. For a second, your back touched a blanket and the whole interior started to wobble, making you hold your breath. Who would’ve thought that a highly trained assassin and an invincible God were absolutely terrible at building something as simple as a pillow fort? Hah, not you.

It all started at 11 a.m. sharp when the others left for a mission that neither you nor Peter were allowed to join, but that wasn’t anything new. The two of you were used to it and almost always found something to occupy your time with. The same thing couldn’t be said for Bucky and Thor though, who were both incredibly offended to be treated like “dense punks”. Dense punks as in Peter and you. But then again, the only reason you both weren’t allowed to tag along was your age.

The former was denied because he kept forgetting to put down the toilet seat despite various warnings on Cap’s side and death threat’s on Nat’s and the latter wasn’t allowed to join because of the smell coming from his room that was almost tearing off the wallpaper in the hallway. They were practically grounded which was hilarious, especially since this was quite a rare combination of team members that the Compound had never witnessed before. So, to break the ice and get properly acquainted, Peter had the revolutionary idea to build a pillow fort with every godforsaken pillow, blanket and bedsheet that the Compound had to offer.

And so it began. Every bed, except for Thor’s because you were almost 100% sure that something lived underneath it, was brutally stripped off its covers and used to build the most atrocious and unsteadiest one of its kind. From the Common room to the elevator, every square meter was covered. Your heart race had honestly never been as high as when you tried to get yourself something to drink after having to dodge every pillow tower on your way to the kitchen. You still managed to end up with a wet shirt and a swollen ankle.

It was honestly all fun and games until the games turned into the mission of their lives. Peter had jokingly commanded them to not let this fort go down, under any circumstances—a stupid thing to say to the Winder Soldier and the King of Asgard. And it wasn’t because of their admirable determination and ambition, no—it was because both of them were stubborn idiots who would never dare lose a game.

And from there on, it kind of went downhill. Things started to escalate, highly expensive items were shattered, people were thrown, pillow fights happened inside the pillow fort—it was awful and you were just glad that nothing had caught on fire yet. Suddenly the subtle ‘click’ in your ear made you halt and you listened carefully. “Y/N? Babe, can you hear me?” Peter’s voice was shaky and you hastily answered. “Yes, I—I can hear you, Peter.” He let out a long sigh, relief flooding over his aching limbs. “Oh, thank god, you’re still alive—Where are you? Are you okay?” You nodded eagerly and looked around. “I’m fine…but I think I’m lost. Actually, I have no idea where I am. The tiles all look the same. Stupid Tony and his stupid monochronic taste in architecture,” you mumbled under your breath and you could hear him chuckle.

“Okay, that’s fine. Your ankle’s still swollen, right? Don’t move it, we’ll come get you. I think I can hear your heartbeat—“ He paused for a moment and you thought he expected some kind of reaction so you hesitantly responded, “…Aww?”

“Hm? No, that—sorry, Thor is holding an inaugural speech and he just started to list off his childhood best friends and one of them, you won’t believe it, is called Bob.” He snickered on the other side of the line and you furrowed your brows. “Bob?” He hummed. “Oh, well. Uhm, anyway, why exactly is Thor holding a speech again?”

“Oh, he just pronounced himself King of Blankard.”

“…Come again?”

“Blankard? Because it’s a pillow fort? But we also used blankets? And Pillowgard just doesn’t have—”

“—the same ring to it. Got it.” You glanced in each direction of the tunnel but it seemed like you were still the only one in this area. “Peter, when are you guys going to get here?” He didn’t respond and the only thing you heard was a slow clap and a whistle. You rolled your eyes. Your boyfriend was cheering for the new King of Blankard so you might as well have to start thinking about ways to fend for yourself once dusk would fall. You heard some shuffling before his voice came back. “Sorry, babe, I just assumed it’s bad manners to interrupt a God while they’re monologuing.”

It wasn’t biologically possible for you to roll your eyes any harder but you made it work.

“Just get here.” You sighed and he smooched a kiss into your ear. Your ankle started to pulse so you decided to sit down for a while until they would find you.

A few minutes passed and you finally heard distinct chatter. Crawling toward it, you felt like a big toddler when Peter’s eyes locked with yours and lit up. “Baby!” He cupped your face with both hands and excitedly planted kisses all over your face, making you giggle. Parting from you, you shot Thor a smile who gave you a friendly nod. “Please, do not expect a greeting of that same manner on my behalf, Lady Y/N.”

You laughed. “That’s totally cool, Thor, don’t worry.” Leaning forward to look past Peter, you realized that Bucky wasn’t with them. “We’ve lost him,” Peter explained as he watched your face turn into pure horror.

“…To death?”

He almost choked on air. “Dear god, no. He took a wrong turn and now we can’t find him. He’s still very much alive…I think.” You nodded swiftly and glanced at your watch. “Okay, guys, it was really fun while it lasted but I need to get to my room now to send in that Biology paper. And maybe put some ice on this bad boy.” You gestured to your ankle but they stared at you blankly.

“What?”

“You can’t get through the hallway, Lady Y/N.”

“What?” You repeated yourself, brows knitted. “Why?”

“Blanket collapse. Kind of like an avalanche,” Thor explained and you stared at him in disbelief.

“Guys, I don’t want to play anymore. I really have to hand in the paper now. The deadline’s in 10 minutes.”

“But you can’t get through.” Peter tried to reason.

“What do you mean? It’s blankets and pillows. You just…” You gestured a sweeping motion. “…push it aside.”

He pouted. “But then the fort will collapse.”

“Peter, I don’t care.” You sucked in a sharp breath to speak calmly. “Can’t we just tear the fort down?”

“No!!” The two suddenly shouted horrified as if you had just suggested to run over a puppy. The terror on your face turned blank.

“…What?”

“Y/N, I love you, but I swore to Thor that, as a rightful citizen of Blankard, I would put my life on the line for this fort. It’s my home now and he even made me swore over a pillow and everything, it was really cool, you should’ve seen it.” Thor nodded proudly.

You pinched the bridge of your nose to stop the steam from coming out your ears. “Okay, how about this? I’m not a citizen of Blankard, right?” Your laugh edged on insanity. “So I could just…” You imitated the sweeping motion again. “…right?”

Not meeting your gaze, Peter fidgeted with his hands. “Well…”

You let your head fall back with a groan. “Peter!”

“I’m sorry, okay! But you’re technically one of the Founding Fathers,” he explained sheepishly and you wanted to pulverize him. Your glare sent shivers down his spine. “Peter Benjamin Parker, I am not going to miss my deadline because of a pillow fort. Now, get me…to my…room.” With every word you inched closer to him until you were pressed flush against his chest, piercing eyes boring into his soul.

He gulped and didn’t found the right words, or any words really, to escape his mouth so he just nodded stiffly. Racking his brain with all the movies he had ever watched, Peter came up with a quick idea. “Okay, how about this…” As he started to ramble about his plan, you took notice of Thor who was comfortably sitting behind Peter while stretching out his arm with an open palm. You’ve seen that movement far too many times and thus knew exactly what he was doing.

Catching you look at him, he smiled brightly at you while giving you a friendly wave. You waved back and averted your gaze back to your boyfriend.

“…So once I’m outside, I can easily climb through your bedroom window, open your laptop and turn in the paper for you. There’s no way that we could fuck that up, right?” He laughed nervously and you had to suppress your shit-eating grin.

“Sorry to disappoint, Pete, but looks like Thor’s already on that case. Don’t worry about it.”

With furrowed brows, he whipped around and you could swear you saw his soul escape his body. “Thor, NO!!”

But it was too late. Like domino stones, each and every pillow started to collapse and pull the blankets with it. Everything was happening in slow motion as Thor realized what he had done and once Mjolnir was in his hand, he quickly scooped you up and threw you on his shoulder. Peter landed on the other one and with both of you protesting, he ran away from the falling pillows and toward the elevator. Right at the doorway where the paths were lower, he let the both of you fall to the ground, screaming “CRAWL!!”.

Doing as told, you crawled as fast as you could in front of them, ignoring the sharp ache in your ankle but once you rounded the corner, you bumped into a hard chest. It was a very confused Bucky. His hair was tousled, he had a scratch to his cheek and overall looked like he came back from wrestling a bear. In unison, the three of you yelled “CRAWL!!” and he whipped around to lead the way.

It was all for nothing though. The walls around you started to give in and in the blink of an eye, four Avengers were buried under a pile of pillows and blankets.

It was silent for a second, no one comprehended what just happened. In some way, it was like the deadly silence that followed after defeat—a battlefield of buried hopes and duvets.

But you couldn’t help it and started laughing.

Of course, it was muffled but you laughed hard. The realization that you had missed your deadline because of a pillow fort that you built with earth’s best defenders was comically genius to you. Your belly shook with laughter while tears brimmed your eyes and you knew you were seconds away from running out of oxygen when suddenly the distinct ‘ding’ of the elevator caught your attention and your laughter abruptly died down.

Peter caught your eye as he suddenly looked…very excited? He wasn’t sure what part of his biological whereabouts made him feel this spur of adrenaline for being busted, maybe it was the teenage set of rebellious hormones, but it was for sure questionable.

Rising with the others, an all too familiar voice bellowed from the hallway. “WHAT THE HELL.”

A faint ‘Language…” followed and the corners of your mouth quirked up. Dizzily looking around the room, you had to bite back your laughter again.

It truly was like a battlefield. The others were scattered close to you on the ground, still halfway buried under a few layers while sharing silent looks of fear. Well, except for Peter maybe, who looked like he was standing in line for a roller coaster.

The footsteps came closer and within a second, they all stood at the doorway, still geared and everything. As expected, Tony’s eyes roamed through the room with bewilderment plastered on his face. Steve just portrayed pure confusion whereas Nat and Sam both had an amused smirk dangling on their lips, some might even say they were impressed.

When Tony’s eyes landed on the four of you, sitting in the middle of the room, looking like lost puppies who had no idea what maniac instincts overtook them to create this beautiful mess, he was speechless. Tony Stark was speechless.

The others glanced at him sideways, anticipating another explosion but instead, he looked like 10 years were capped off his life and he let out a long sigh. “…Pillow fort?”

The four of you nodded silently. Another moment of silence followed but this time, he had just accepted his fate. That’s what he signed up for when he left two men-children and two actual children at home all by themselves. This one was on him really.

When he noticed that the others were staring at him and expecting him to handle the mess, he almost looked offended.

“She's crying—“ He pointed at you and then Peter. “He's excited, I'm confused, nothing new. Now are we going or not?” Not waiting for an answer, he whirled around and left the room. Sharing a collective look of confusion, Steve informed with an amused smile. “We’re going out to eat Shawarma. Let’s go.” He nodded in the direction of the elevator and walked away, Nat and Sam following closely behind.

The room was silent again as Bucky picked himself up and Thor dusted off his clothes, both avoiding each other’s gaze. It was like nobody wanted to admit or even believe what had happened for the past few hours. Peter helped you up and wrapped your arm around his neck to steady you before leaving a soft kiss on your cheek. You smiled at him and together you walked, or more likely limped, toward the elevator. At the doorway, the four of you halted and turned back around to let your gaze fall on the remains of a fun afternoon. And just like that, it was another Sunday at the Compound.

* * *

this was so much fun to write and if i could make even one of you smile just a little bit with this one, it would absolutely make my day. thank for you reading! i’m playing with the thought of making a mini series just about the chaotic sunday adventures at the compound so a lot of domestic!avengers/au involving boyfriend!peter ofc so make sure to leave some feedback! xx

masterlist

taglist: @honeypie-holland  @nerdyandproudofitsstuff 

#peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter parker oneshot #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #avenger!reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker funny

[babybatscreationsv2]

SpiderVerse: Predators ch25

Marvel | Starker

Peter Parker is barely keeping it together. Dealing with Gwen Stacy's death, Harry Osborn going MIA, and MJ refusing to take his calls, has the guy feeling seriously run down. Now to top it off, his uncle Ben is facing serious prison time. Fortunately or unfortunately, New York's own Kingpin of Crime, Tony Stark, has offered him a deal to save his uncle. On a positive note, this Kingpin guy is kind of hot. Is it wrong to sleep with a murderous criminal? 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings under the cut

warnings: mentions of violence, mild degrading language

Peter was on edge. His every waking moment was like drowning in a pool of anxiety. Where was Murdock? Was Harry okay? Would Elsa betray them? And then there was Tony. Tony who could be so fragile when it came to their relationship. Peter didn't know much about his past, but he'd pick up on the abandonment issues. Tony didn't like it when it was away. But Peter had other things to worry about.

May was happy that he was home, though she seemed worried by the change. At least Peter could see that she was doing okay. She was clearly still in pain. Every time something reminded her of Ben she would sob and end up leaving the room to go cry. Sometimes, though, she laughed. The happy memories came almost as often as the reminders of loss. Peter wished he hadn't left. He should have been here with her suffering the same cycle of suffering and grief. He deserved it.

George Stacy had apparently been coming over once a week. He and May had their own sort of potluck night. They each prepared a dish and they ate together which was super awkward now that Peter was home.

Happy also went with May on her regular bingo night. Once a week, they went out for breakfast together. May's social life was far more impressive than his own. Too bad he had killed or driven off every friend he had. It just made him miss Tony more, but at the same time, Tony made him feel lonely. Tony added an extra element of secrecy to his life that took him from 'double-life' to 'triple-life'. Tony Stark was a villain in Spiderman's world. He wasn't much better in Peter Parker's. He wasn't sure who that made him when they were together. The Kingpin's pet? Spiderling? Whatever it was, it was a whole different mentality. Spiderman had a darkness that threatened to come out and kill, but Tony Stark called on a different darkness. One that he could say he liked even less. Yet, he'd gotten a taste for poison and it would kill him if he stopped now.

The only time Peter felt comfortable leaving May alone was when he knew she was with Happy. He didn't know the guy personally, but if he knew Tony, then he knew his life was on the line if he fucked up. Those are the moments that he stole away to soothe what anxiety he could. He went to visit Elsa.

It had been one week since Venom went into Harry's body. Whatever the creature was doing... well, it was doing something. Harry's skin was more normal and less lizard-y now. His legs were back to human proportions. There were a few patches of green skin left, but Peter had hope that a few more days should do it.

Elsa was a train-wreck. Her hair was tangled and stuffed into a bun on top of her head. She kept losing her glasses. Peter came in one day to find her stumbling into things. When he helped her find her glasses, she broke down crying. Apparently she hadn't needed them ever since she first bonded with Venom. The bruises on her shins from running into the coffee table were all reminders that it wasn't there looking out for her.

"It'll be over soon and you can have Venom back," Peter assured her. They sat together on the couch.

Elsa sniffled and nodded her head. "Just a little while longer. I know."

"Have they been able to communicate with you at all?"

Elsa nodded, then she laughed, the sound bursting out of her. "They said 'food'." Peter laughed, too. "I've been feeding them bits of chocolate. Not great sustenance for a human, but it's what Venom needs."

"You made a monster in a lab that only eats chocolate."

Elsa smiled fondly. "They're my monster."

Peter felt a prickling all the way down his spine. He went to the window and looked out. No sign of trouble. Then he heard screams and glass shattering.

"I gotta go."

"Take care, Spiderman."

Peter raced through the city. There was a pit in his stomach that only grew as he continued on. And then finally, he reached Stark Tower.

A crowd, no, an angry mob was gathered around the building. People threw rocks and bricks. Tower security held the doors, but Peter could see a paramedic kneeling over a woman on the floor. People were screaming, chanting. They said Stark had stolen from them, spread drugs through neighborhoods, killed their loved ones.

"What the hell is going on?"

A news van down on the ground was reporting on the scene. Spiderman swung down closer to listen in. The reporter posed in view of the fight to get through the doors. She spoke quickly into her microphone.

"Here at Stark Industries the crowd is growing increasingly violent as Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, refuses to make an appearance. There has been no comment yet from anyone at SI and no information has come to light about the leak. Police are arriving now with a warrant for Mr. Stark's arrest, but will any of these outlandish claims prove true? The public seems to think so."

Peter swung around the block and climbed up to the top of the tower. The window into Tony's office opened at his touch and he slipped inside.

"Tony?" He wasn't in his office. Peter ran to the hidden apartment, but he wasn't there either. He dialed his cell phone and got no answer. The second time he tried the number had been disconnected.

Peter sat down on the bed. He put his head in his hands. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Everything felt so out of control. Tony was missing and in trouble. He didn't know where to find Murdock. He didn't know if Harry was going to be okay. And May, was May even safe?

Then he got a call over the Spiderman line.

"Spiderman?"

Peter lurched to his feet. "Tony? Are you okay? What's going on?"

"Fucking Felicia Hardy," he growled. "But don't worry about that, sweetheart. I wanted you to know that I'm safe. I need to lay low for a while."

"And then what?"

"We don't have any choice but to play it by ear. I have people working to make this all go away, but if it doesn't work out then I guess there will be no more Kingpin of New York."

"What does that mean?"

"It means throwing away everything I've built and finally retiring. Morocco seems nice."

"You can't leave."

"I might not have a choice." He paused. "Would you go with me, Peter?"

"I..." He stopped and thought. He would have to give it all up, too. Being Spiderman, trying to protect New York, trying to save people. Maybe he could be Spiderman in Morocco, but all of the work he had done would go waste when the villains took over. Maybe another hero would come to replace him. Maybe that would be for the best.

"It's okay. You can think about it. May could come too, you know. It might even be nice."

"I'll think about it. Stay safe."

"Don't worry about me, darling."

"Let me know of there's anything I can do."

"You're sweet, but I won't ask you to murder Felicia Hardy for me. Besides, I want the pleasure."

Peter let out a breath. "If I find her, I'm turning her in for art theft."

"Then it's a race to find her first. Good luck, dearest spiderling." Tony hung up the call.

Peter stood staring at his phone, unsure of what to do next. It didn't seem like there was anything he do to help Tony. He spent the rest of the day trying to get caught up on school, but it was almost impossible to concentrate. Then someone rang the doorbell.

Peter was up and running for the door in a flash. "I'll get it, May," he called.

"Thanks, Pete," she said from the couch. She was watching one of the many nearly identical crime dramas. He pulled the door open and was struck speechless.

Tony offered him a charming smile. "Peter, darling. I hope this isn't a bad time."

"I uh..." Peter blinked rapidly, processing what he was seeing. Tony Stark, his boyfriend, the Kingpin of New York, the wealthiest man on the Eastern Seaboard, was standing on the doorstep of the rickety little house his family only owned because his father's father's father bought after immigrating so many decades ago. The house could have fit in one of Tony's bathrooms which had less to do with the size of it and more because it was shit by comparison.

"Sorry, I didn't call. I had to disconnect everything I own including my car's GPS."

"Uh..." Peter continued to stare, but when Tony shifted anxiously he finally snapped out it, remembering the constant danger. "Come in."

He stepped aside and Tony entered. May looked over the back of the couch.

"Mr. Stark? It's good to see you again," she smiled, but her eyes cut to Peter. The 'what the fuck is going on' went unspoken. Especially since they had something of an unspoken agreement that May didn't trust Tony because Ben hadn't liked him and therefore only sort of approved and only then because Peter seemed happy.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mrs. Parker. I needed a place to stay the night and Peter said it would be alright if I stayed here."

She looked at Tony then she looked at Peter. "Of course that's fine. Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you."

"Come on, Tony." Peter grabbed his hand and dragged the man upstairs but it was only once they were in his bedroom that he realized what a mistake that was. His walls were covered in posters for tech conventions, Stark Industries announcements, fan posters of other super heroes.

Tony smiled, looking around the room. "This is about what I imagined."

"Why are you here?"

"It's this or sleep in my car and I'd rather be here where I know you're safe."

"What's going on?"

Tony sighed. He sat down on Peter's bed and picked up a Rubik's cube from his nightstand. "Showed up at the safe house to find all of the windows broken and the police everywhere. Since there's a warrant and all, I thought I would avoid that mess."

"May is gonna lose her shit when she realizes you're wanted."

Tony shrugged. "She won't turn me in, though. You know she won't."

"No, but she won't be happy."

"Are you happy I'm here?" He looked at him with the saddest puppy dog eyes. Peter hadn't known he could make that face.

"I missed you."

Tony smiled and Peter couldn't help but smile back. He went to the bed and straddled Tony's lap, letting himself get drawn into a heated kiss.

Peter looked into his dark eyes. "How did all this happen?"

"Well you see," Tony began. "I emotionally blackmailed you and then-"

Peter rolled his eyes. "I meant your company being literally on fire."

"Felicia let the world know that maybe I'm involved with tax evasion, and corporate fraud, and also the drug trade. Everyone's a victim," he sighed.

"You do realize that a lot of people are dead because of you."

Tony shrugged. "A lot of people are employed because of me, too."

"That doesn't fix it."

"Some evils concern me more than others." He trailed his fingers down Peter's chest and set his hand down on his thigh. "I have other concerns at the moment." His fingers brushed over Peter's crotch, his cock instantly taking interest.

"Here?"

Tony smirked. "How many times have you laid in this bed jerking off while you looked at posters of me?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Never. I never liked you that much."

Tony grinned. "Not even for an imagined hate fuck?"

"You think too much of yourself." Peter rolled his eyes, giving him a smile in return. Then he kissed those smirking lips. It felt like coming home. They stay tangled up and making out for a while. Then Peter pushed Tony back to lay in the bed. He stood up and went to lock the door.

He pulled his t-shirt over his head and slipped off his jeans. Tony watched him with hunger as he pulled off his underwear. He climbed back on top of him, kissing him, devouring each other's mouth.

Peter reached down and slowly pulled up Tony's shirt. He slipped down the bed and pressed kisses to his skin. He kissed the softening muscle of his abdomen and pressed his lips to the warm metal of the arch reactor then he kissed the hollow of his throat.

"My spider," Tony sighed. His hands rested on Peter's back. Peter sucked a bruise under his jaw. Tony hand slid up his back and grabbed a fist full of his hair. "My spider," he said again.

Peter licked his lips. He looked into those deep, dark, eyes and found hunger. "Show me," he challenged.

Tony stood, holding Peter in his arms. Then he threw him down on the bed. He pulled off his t-shirt and stood in only his jeans, scarred and strong chest so beautifully on display like a king or a god or Peter's own wet dream. Then he was on top of them, the both of them panting heavy. Peter gasped, whining quietly as Tony pressed kisses all over his body. He clamped a hand tight over his mouth to muffle the noises he made as Tony bit and sucked marks into his skin. On his thighs, his belly, his chest.

"Gotta keep quiet," Tony chuckled. "Your poor aunt will have a heart attack."

Peter grabbed him, pulling him up so their eyes were level. "Shut up and fuck me."

Tony grinned. "I think I've been a terrible influence on you." Peter reached up to the drawer beside his bed and offered Tony a bottle of lube. He took it with only the most devilish smile. He pressed a slick finger into Peter's hole, continuing on.

"You've become greedy, demanding," he pushed in a second finger. "Entitled even."

Peter's legs spread, trying to wrap around Tony's waist and pull him in.

"You're spoiled and rotten. Do you know that?" Tony teased.

"Tony," he panted as Tony fingered him. "Put your fucking dick in me," he demanded and the back of Tony's hand cracked against his face. Peter gasped, then moaned as pain exploded through his face.

Tony stared him down. "Is that what you need? Discipline?"

Peter shivered. His face was so dark, so vicious, like Peter was prey he couldn't wait to devour. "Please," he said.

Tony smirked. "If your aunt weren't home I'd put your right over my lap, sweetheart, until you're kicking and screaming. Give your bratty little ass a spanking."

"Please," Peter moaned.

"Another day, little spider. Now keep quiet for me." Tony reached down and unzipped his jeans. He pulled out his cock, pants just below his hips. Peter moaned as he pushed in, both hands covering his mouth as he tried to be quiet. Tony had found a quieter way of making it hurt, using just enough lube to push inside, but not quite enough. It burned as he pushed deep. Peter legs trembled and he clung to Tony's biceps. Peter whimpered quietly.

"That's a good boy," Tony purred. His eyes shined. The smile on his lips was dangerous.

He took his hands away to beg. "Tony, please," and he kissed him. Peter moaned and whined, sounds muffled by Tony's lips, as he fucked him slow and deep. His whole was body like a live wire, burning, vibrating with need. When Tony's hand wrapped around his cock his lips parted spilling soft whines into the air.

"Hush, little spider," Tony warned. "Wouldn't want Aunt May to know what a whore you are, would you? In here spreading your legs in your childhood bed, demanding to get fucked like a spoiled brat."

"Fuck," Peter groaned through clenched teeth.

"You can't help it can you?" He smirked. "You're too addicted to my cock."

"Yes." Tony tried to move faster and Peter grabbed his hip. "Not yet."

Tony kept moving slowly. He pressed kisses to Peter's neck that Peter answered with a string of kisses down his throat.

"Tony," Peter breathed his name against his skin. "I love you."

Tony answered him, lips brushing against his neck. "I love you, Peter."

"I thought you died, today."

"Never, baby. I'm unkillable."

Peter held his face and crushed their lips together, moaning as they kissed. Tony started to move faster, fucking him just as frantically. It burned. It hurt so good that it made his head spin. He felt his cock dripping onto his belly. His thighs squeezed Tony's hips, probably digging in bruises but he didn't have it in him to care. A hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed. Teeth bit into his bottom lip. He tasted blood and it only drove him higher. Another hand clamped around his mouth and he realized he was nearly screaming.

Tony kept fucking him while he came, gripping his hips when he finally quieted down and driving into him until he was spilling his own cum inside him. He laid down next to him, kissing him frantically until the fatigue set in.

Peter felt like crying. It was too much. Everything was too much, too overwhelming. At least Tony was here with him now. He could keep him safe as long as he was here in his arms.

#marvel #starker #spiderverse predators #kingpin!tony #dark!peter

[whorefordean]

daddy issues

JJ Maybank x Reader

tw: language, mentions of abuse, angsty

wc: 1.4k

requested: yes! (by anon)

based on daddy issues by the neighborhood (loosely) (also I do skip some lyrics and don't use the whole song)

I hope you enjoy bc I kinda like this one!

also thanks for 800 followers!!! <3

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

Take you like a drug

I taste you on my tongue

You ask me what I'm thinking about

I'll tell you that I'm thinking about

Whatever you're thinking about

You and JJ were laying in an open field two hours away from the Cut on the mainland, staring at the night sky above you.  You were babbling back and forth for a while, passing a blunt every so often.  

“Where do you think we’ll be after all this?” JJ asked as he passed the blunt back to you after taking a hit.  You accepted it with a shrug, inhaling while thinking of your answer.  

“After we die?” You asked, confused.  You and JJ already had this conversation, multiple times, actually.  

“After highschool.  After the obx,” JJ clarified.  You shrugged again.  

“I don’t think I’ll ever make it out,” You answered somberly, passing the blunt back to JJ.  

“Why not?” JJ questioned, sitting up as he took the blunt back.  

“Because my dad’s a jackass, and I think he’ll kill me if I try to leave,” you confessed, copying JJ’s movements and sitting up, as well.  

JJ remained quiet for a while.  You laid back down, looking at the stars for a while, thinking about what you had said.  You knew you and JJ had similar problems with your fathers, but maybe it was too much for him.  Maybe he hadn’t expected your blunt answer.  

“What’s on your mind, J?” You finally spoke up when the silence from him became too loud.  

“Whatever’s on yours,” JJ answered after a moment.  It was your turn to remain quiet.  

Tell me something that I’ll forget

But you might have to tell me again

It's crazy what you do for a friend

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

 “Let’s run away,” JJ spoke up after a moment.  

“What?” You laugh.  You looked over, only to be met with a serious-looking JJ.  

“You heard me, Y/n,” JJ spoke firmly, shocking you.  

“Ask me when you’re sober, JJ,” You scoffed.  JJ continued staring at you, intensely.  

“Tell me you’d do it.  You’d run away if I asked you when I was sober,” JJ demanded.  

“Fuck, J!  Yeah, I would!  I’d run away with you in a heartbeat.  But it doesn’t matter because we’ll forget about this.  We’ll go back to our shitty homes and forget!” You cried out.  JJ simply nodded.  

“But we could do it,” JJ whispered, scooting closer to you and draping his arm over your shoulder.  

“We can’t, J.  They’ll find us,” You replied weakly, trying to hold in your tears.  Your eyes were burning, and you could feel your lip quiver.  Don’t cry.  

“You can cry, Y/n.  I won’t judge,” JJ whispered gently.  You nodded before burying your head into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his torso.  You sobbed into JJ’s shoulder for a while as JJ simply rubbed your back reassuringly.  

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that you got daddy issues

And I do too

“I know that you still care about him, and that’s okay.  He’s your dad, Y/n.  You just wanna see the best in him,” JJ stated.  But why did you feel like shit for thinking he’d stop hurting you?  He’s your dad.  He’s supposed to love you.  So why didn’t he?

“I just want him to care, J,” You sobbed.  

“I know.  I understand, babe.  My old man’s hated me for as long as I can remember.  I get it,” JJ answered.  The night ended with you and JJ holding each other under the stars, grasping each other so tight for reassurance that your hands cramped and your bodies shook.  

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I know that you got daddy issues

It had been a few weeks since you and JJ had the heart to heart under the stars.  You were now sitting on the HMS Pogue with the others.  

“Have you thought about it?” JJ asked quietly from his spot beside you on the boat.  You turn to face him with furrowed brows.  

“About what?” You laughed lightly.  JJ stared at you in disbelief before answering. 

“Running away,” JJ mumbled under his breath.  You shook your head and watched as he slumped his tanned shoulders.  

“I thought you were kidding, JJ,” You answered, running a hand through your hair with a sigh.  

“I’d do anything to get you away from here.  To get us away from here.  We could get married and have a normal life,” JJ said seriously, grabbing your hand in his.  

“You’d marry me?” You teased with a small smile.  

“I’d run away and hide with you if you asked me to,” JJ smiled before kissing your forehead.  

“Come on, love birds,” Pope teased as everyone started jumping into the water.  

I keep on trying to let you go

Not even let you know

How I'm getting on

I didn't cry when you left at first

Maybe you should’ve taken him up on his offer.  Maybe you should have packed a bag in the dead of the night and met him at the docks.  Maybe if you had more sense you would’ve.  But here you are, sitting on your bed with a bloody nose and black eye that your father gave you. 

JJ left two weeks ago.  He begged you to come with him, but he was right.  You tried so hard to see the good in everyone.  Even your father.  

You hadn’t cried that night.  When JJ left.  You couldn’t when you knew he’d be okay.  He’d be away from all the pain and anger his father inflicted on him.  So you held it in.  Until you didn’t.  

You laid there staring at your ceiling for hours.  You should’ve gone with JJ.  It was stupid of you to stay, but you couldn’t just up and leave.  Could you?  JJ had, but he had it worse.  You could handle the anger from your father a few times a week.  It was fine.  But you needed JJ.  

So you went to find him.  You packed a bag and left.  You made your way to John B’s house in the dark.  The walk was completely silent, aside from the slight buzz of the street lamps.  

You tapped on the door.  The loud knock making you cringe as you disrupted the quiet.  You waited a few minutes until you heard footsteps inside.  

“Where’d he go, John B?” You asked immediately when the door swung open.  You waited impatiently as John B wiped the sleep from his eyes.  

“He told me not to tell anyone, Y/n,” John B sighed, stepping aside to let you in.  You obliged and crossed the threshold with your hands gripping your bag so hard your knuckles turned white.  

“John B, tell me where the hell he is,” You demanded.  You didn’t have time to mess around.  You had to go.  

“The mainland.  Told me you’d know,” John B sighed.  You looked at him, puzzled, for a few moments before jumping up from your spot on the couch.  

“Thanks, JB,” you exclaimed, hugging him quickly before rushing out.  John B stood in his living room confused for a minute.  He turned to face the door when you rushed back in.  

“Can you take me somewhere?” 

You found yourself hugging John B goodbye one last time before jumping out of his van.  

“Hey, Y/n,” John B called out.  You stopped walking and turned around to face him.  

“Look out for each other, okay?”  John B called out with a soft smile.  You nodded and smiled back.  

“And, please, for the love of god, marry the kid.  He’s been in love with you since, like, fifth grade,”  John B joked making you laugh.  You nodded and again and watched as John B pulled off.  

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

You made your way to the same spot you were a few weeks ago.  You felt your heart beat faster as you got closer.  Your shoulders slumped, though, when you saw the field was completely empty.  You could feel the tears building up and your chest started to ache.  You wanted to scream out.  Why didn’t you just go with him?  You had shared trauma, for Pete’s sake!  You were meant for each other!  And you just let him walk away?

Well, apparently, fate felt the same way.  

“Looking for something?” Someone called out from behind you, causing you to jump in shock.  You spun around.  

“Do you still wanna marry me?” You asked playfully through your tears.  

“Always,” JJ smiled. 

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taglist: @queenofthepouges @5am-cigarette @danicarosaline @jellyfishbeansontoast @allielozoya @aliensinmybrain 

#jj maybank #obx jj #jj obx #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank concept #outer banks #outerbanks #kiara outer banks #pope outer banks #jj outer banks #obx #john b imagine #john b x reader #john b #johnb #john b concept #kiara carrera #kiara obx #kie obx #obx kie #kie carrera #kiara carerra #pope hayward #pope obx #pope heyward #pope heyward imagine #sarah cameron

[spiderman-homecomeme]

you know how to treat it (you know how to eat it)

in which a very drunk Peter calls MJ late one night and tells her about one of his biggest fantasies

thotumn. day 6 & 9. face-sitting. “Shut up.” “Why don’t you make me?”

Thank you again @spideysmjs​ for setting this up! and bc i am a grandma i don’t know how to schedule things correctly, so this is goin up a little early! Enjoy!

Michelle blinks, eyes itching with exhaustion as she finally closes the textbook in her lap, tossing aside the convoluted words and scribbled notes. It’s late, too late for having an eight AM class in the morning, but Dr. Wheeler seems to have it out for her class, sending out an assignment with just twelve hours to go. You won’t have time in the real world, she’d said. People will throw things at you and ask for it back in an hour, she’d said.

While MJ didn’t doubt the validity of that statement, she thought thirty pages of notes with no warning was a little excessive. This is just undergrad. 

Her phone pings, and she knows it’s from Cindy, ranting about that very same assignment. And sure enough, she sees the text wall, the string of upside down smiley-faces. Tapping out a reply in solidarity and a quick good night, MJ sets her phone aside, flopping back against the mattress and tugging the blanket up to her chin.

She’s just turned off her bedside lamp, just nestled into the covers, just found the that perfect spot on the bed, when the buzzing of her phone on the nightstand yanks her back into the conscious world. 

Blowing a puff of air through her lips, her curls landing back on her face as she sits up, she grabs for her phone. And even if she’s a little annoyed, a sleepy smile stretches across her lips as Peter’s face lights up the screen. 

“Hey.” Her voice comes out in a tired, croaky murmur. 

“Emmmmmmm Jaaaaaaaaaaay,” Peter draws out warmly, so much so that she swears she can see his silly, delirious grin. 

So he’s drunk. 

“Hey, Pete,” she says again, falling back against the pillows. “What’s up?”

“Jus’ wanted to call and say hi—” he says slowly, as if he’s careful not to trip over his words, trying to sound sober even though he’s very much not. “—to my beautiful girlfriend.”

She cracks another smile, glancing at the alarm clock on her nightstand, knocking her feet together. “At… One in the morning?” 

Peter gasps. “Aw, shit. Em, did I wake you?”

“Well, no. Not really,” she lets out a light laugh. “I was just getting in bed.” 

“Oh. Okay, good.” She hears shifting on his side, hearing him almost drop the phone as he shuffles around what she assumes is his own bed. “Yeah, me too. Harry, Ned, and I went out and… I’ve been drinking. Just a li’l bit. But we got home and I just was like ‘Wow! I really wanna hear MJ’s voice.’ So I called you. Here I am.” 

The ooey, gooey side of her that melts when Peter says anything of the sort threatens to come out, and for not the first time, she’s glad to not live in the dorms anymore, her only roommate being on the other side of the apartment. “Cute,” she says. 

“Just know I’m giving you the biggest phone-hug right now.” His voice is muffled as he no doubt pushes the phone against his face. 

Even cuter. 

And even though she feels a little silly, she squeezes her phone, too. “Weirdo,” she says, unable to hide the affection in her tone—though to be fair, she’s not really trying all that hard. 

“But you loooooove meeeeee.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And I love you!” There’s more shuffling on his end, his grunts from trying to get comfortable making her grin. He lets out a long sigh. “God, I can’t wait to see you this weekend.”

MJ’s chest warms at the reminder. “Me neither.” 

“We’re gonna have so much sex.”

The snort she lets out surprises her—almost as much as what he’s just said. While she doesn’t doubt his statement—because yeah, she definitely misses that—she just can’t help but laugh. “How much have you had to drink?” She asks.

“Just a li’l…” He mumbles, though from his tone she can tell that he’s severely understating how much he’s had to drink. “Like… I’m drunk but like—I’m not… Druuuunk. You know? Like, I’m not, ‘woooooooooo party!!’ drunk.”

Taking her bottom lip between her teeth, she nods, even though he can’t see her. “Yeah. Sure. Uh huh.” 

“I’m jus’ sleepy,” he says innocently. “Very, very sleepy.”

“Then you should go to sleep,” She teases, her cheeks starting to hurt. “Get some rest, Tiger,” she says softly. 

“I wanna talk to you first, though,” he says, and she can almost hear the pout in his tone. It makes her shake her head fondly. “I miss you. A lot. So much.”

A pang of something tugs at MJ’s heart. “I miss you, too,” she replies earnestly, a lump forming in her throat. 

They knew what they were getting into, going long-distance. What, with Peter choosing to stay at Empire State and Michelle choosing Princeton. It wasn’t too long of a drive, by any means, but it was still an hour and a half. It meant not being able to see each other on the busiest days. It meant having to go weeks without seeing each other, without holding or kissing each other. And it was nights like this, long nights after rough study sessions that she wished they could be together, that she could cuddle up to him and squeeze away all of her worries, even if just for a few moments. 

She refuses to let this get to her right now, though. Not while they’re on the phone in the middle of the night. Especially not while he’s intoxicated. 

“God, I wish you were here,” she hears him breathe into the phone, and she has to crack a smile at that, biting her bottom lip. That tone is one she’s very familiar with. “With me. In my bed.”

She holds back another snort at that. “Yeah?” 

“It’d be pretty nice,” he continues. “I just wanna…” 

He trails off a bit, and she’s wondering if he’s fallen asleep when the words tumble out of his mouth. 

“Just wanna taste you.”

“Peter!” She scolds him lightly, not expecting him to go from zero to a hundred that quickly. 

“I love eating you out, though. Oh my God.”

She can feel her face absolutely burning now, hearing his gruff voice right in her ear; she can picture it so clearly, his head buried between her legs, his curls tickling her thighs as he—

“And you know what’d be, like, really cool?” 

She has to laugh at that, covering her mouth, unconsciously crossing her legs. “What?”

There’s another bout of silence where he doesn’t say anything. “I’ve been thinking about this so much, oh my God. But like… I really wanna eat you out but… with like you above me? Y’know? There’s a word, or some term for that I know but I can’t think of it…” His voice lowers to a mumble at the end, and she can hear him take a deep breath as he tries to think. His drunken, fuzzy laugh tugs at her chest.

Her lips twist into a knowing smile, her face hot, a gentle ache forming between her thighs as her own breathing starts to slow. “You want me to sit on your face?” 

“Fuck, yeah. That’s it. God, Em. You’re so smart.” He hums. “That’d be so great. So hot.”

“I try,” she jokes. 

“You always suc—succeed,” he says, pausing as he tries to navigate each syllable. “I just can’t stop thinking about you and like—your thighs just around my head and you—you just grinding yourself on my face. Fuck—”

She almost hates Peter for bringing this up—drunk or not—because now it’s all she’s going to be able to think about for the next few days until they can see each other. Squeezing her legs together to relieve some of the ache, she smiles. “That does sound pretty cool.”

“Right? So cool. So cool.”

“I mean,” she starts slowly, her fingers absently playing with a loose thread on the blanket. “We could probably try that,” she offers with a feigned sense of nonchalance. There’s nothing casual about how she’s feeling right now. This is definitely something she’s going to have to talk to sober Peter about tomorrow. Or the next time she sees him. 

Not ignoring this. At all. 

“Wait. Fuck—Really?”

And again, she has to hold back the laugh at how enthusiastic he sounds, feeling that dumb, warm fuzzy feeling even when he’s talking about wanting her to sit on his face. 

“Yeah,” she replies, a little breathless. 

“You’re the best girlfriend ever,” he beams into the phone. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“And not just because you let me eat you out—”

She swears, if he says, ‘eat you out,’ one more time—

“—But also because you’re so smart, and so funny, and so pretty, and just so amazing, and such a good person and I’m so lucky to have you, like, holy shit. I really hit the jackpot.”

She can only manage a short, near-timid response. It’s not a strange occurrence, her boyfriend showering her with praise—this is just a day in her life being with him. But hearing his soft voice at one in the morning—even drunk—somehow just hits differently. “Well, jeez, Pete…” 

“I love cuddling with you, and holding you, and kissing you—”

“—And having sex with me?” She asks, teasing. 

“—Especially having sex with you. F’course.”

His voice is starting to trail off, syllables melting together as he fights to stay awake. She wants to call him on his shit, to tease him for tapping out after drunkenly trying to initiate phone sex—sure, it might have been doomed from the start, but it could’ve been fun.

Instead, she laughs, listening as his breathing slows. She smiles hearing his gentle snore. 

When he texts her the next morning, he doesn’t mention his little fantasy. In fact, he doesn’t seem to remember their late night phone call at all. The night before is all just a fuzzy, blurry haze of too much tequila shots, according to him. And given how he doesn’t remember the exact number of adult beverages he’d had—it has to be somewhere in the late teens with his super-liver and super-kidneys—it’s not all that surprising that his initial good morning text is just a series of the throwing-up emoji. 

At least, she would sincerely hope that’s not related to what he’d said last night. 

But still, she decides to take this opportunity to both mess with the love of her life, and surprise him—her two favorite things. This decision comes from how clueless he acts when she asks, the series of question marks that follow her question about what exactly he remembers. She doesn’t fill Peter in on what he said, keeping it all to herself. No, the less he actually knows, the better the surprise will actually be. And the fact that he’s apparently been thinking about this for a long time—all without saying something—just makes it all the more sweeter. 

And just as she’d thought, she can’t get Peter’s words out of her mind. With another visit coming up in the next two days, it almost makes the wait even worse. Everytime she so much as stops whatever busy-work she’s doing, her brain immediately swerves back into that lane. In class, in the library, on the quad, in her apartment. It’s all too much. It doesn’t matter. Ever since Peter said that, she hasn’t known peace. 

It takes everything in her the next night not to bring it up again during their regular skype call. 

No, she’s able to get a grip, at least to some degree. 

But every sense of self-control goes flying out the window as soon as she’s on his doorstep.

The door to his apartment isn’t even closed before MJ’s on him. She’s been dangling this “surprise” over his head for the past two days—two days too many. Her kisses are greedy, drinking him in as she grabs fistfulls of his shirt and nearly ripping it off of him. And she revels in the feeling—as she always does—of his skin under her touch after so long apart. The feeling of his hands roaming her hips and waist, needy and insistent, fingers digging into her skin is the high she needs, the one she always needs, that she can’t imagine living without.

“So you really don’t remember what you said on the phone the other night?” She asks against his mouth, perched on his lap, his hands gripping her hips as she unconsciously grinds down. 

Peter’s eyes squeeze shut at the feeling, his grip tightening as he breathes out a laugh. “No. No, I don’t.” 

“Mmm…” A floaty smile tugs at the corner of her lips as they gently press against his in a deceptively chaste kiss. “Shame.”

He pulls back after a moment, something in his eyes saying that he’s already picked up on her tone. “Was it good? Bad?” 

Her hands wander up, hanging around his shoulders, one playing with the curls at the nape of his neck as she squints playfully at him. “I’d say good.”

“Oh?” He takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks up at her. “Well, cool. Glad I don’t have to worry about saying something stupid.”

“No, you always have to worry about that.”

“Hey!” 

With a swift pinch to her sides, she jerks forward, curling into him with a surprised yelp. 

“Don’t be rude,” he says through a laugh, still tickling her. “What did I say?”

“Okay—okay, fine!” Michelle pushes him away, unable to hide the humor in her tone. “I’ll tell you. Or—I guess I’ll show you?” 

“‘Kay…” Peter looks up at her with wide, curious eyes; especially when she stands up, removing her shirt and underwear and kicking them to the side. His smile only widens when she pushes him back onto the bed, hovering above him, straddling his hips. And because she can’t help herself, her lips immediately capture his, melting into him with a slow, heated kiss. His breathy moan shoots straight down between her thighs, and she presses against him in an effort to relieve some of the pressure. 

There’s a cheeky grin on his face when he pulls back as one of his hands wanders down to roughly knead her ass. “You gonna tell me what I said?”

With another quick kiss to his lips, she sits up. “Well, you were absolutely wasted.”

“Yeah…”

“And you were rambling on and on about how much you missed me, how much you loved me, how much you liked kissing me.” Despite her apparent confidence, her chest and cheeks are burning, her breath catching as she speaks. 

“Checks out.” A lop-sided grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“And how much you liked eating me out? Apparently?” She just barely makes that out, her heart hammering in her throat, the heat in her center becoming almost unbearable. 

Peter closes his eyes, nodding solemnly. “Yes. Yup. I do.” He cracks another smile as he playfully squeezes her hips. “Flavortown is my favorite place.”

“No—” She gently slaps his bare chest, struggling to bite back her own grin. “Stop that.” 

Her hand smooths over his pec, down to his abs, smirking in delight as his muscles twitch under her touch.

“Sorry.” He winks. “Continue.”

“Well—” Michelle speaks slowly, starting to move herself up on him. “—You said you wanted to try something. Related. To that.”

His eyebrows raise curiously, his forehead wrinkling. “Yeah?” He asks, tilting his head. 

“Yeah. Something about me sitting on your face?” 

The way his eyes widen is something she can’t help but find adorable—so much so, she wishes she could take a picture of it. He breathes out a surprised—somewhat horny—laugh. He nods, giving a casual frown. 

“So does that sound like something you’d say?” Michelle asks, her voice low. “Is that something you want?”

Peter’s hands wander from her hips, ghosting along her sides, his thumbs caressing the undersides of her breasts, and back down again, and when he looks up at her, there’s something in his eyes that causes her stomach to flip in the best way possible. 

But then, of course, he’s Peter.

“MJ, you’ll be glad to know. Just for this moment—”

And he has to open his mouth.

“—I saved the best seat in the house for you.”

He emphasizes his point, patting his mouth with two fingers. 

She has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, her lips twisting as she glares at him. “Okay. No. I’m done. Bye,” she says, struggling not to laugh as she starts to climb off of him. 

“Nooooooo—” Peter immediately keeps her in place, his hands on her hips. “—Please.”

“I’m so tired of you!” She laughs.

“Oh?” Peter tilts his head. “If you’re tired, why don’t you—” Another pat to his face. “—Take a seat?”

Only he can make her eyes roll in the back of her head in more than one way. “Shut up.”

There’s stupid, lopsided little grin on his face—full of too much mischief—as looks up at her, challenging. “Why don’t you make me?”

And she could swear that the wind’s been knocked out of her at that moment, the corner of her lips twitching upward into a surprised smile. 

He scoots them back, close enough that she can hang on to the headboard—of which he tells her she’ll definitely need to do.

She almost smacks him again. 

The air around her crackles with electricity as she slowly climbs up his chest, his hands on her thighs guiding her as she moves to straddle his face. Her own hands steady herself on the headboard, but she doesn’t look down until she’s in place, because, to be frank, it’s a lot to take in. Sure, she’s seen his face between her thighs plenty of times—it’s become one of her favorite sights in the world—but this, being above him, his mouth and nose covered by her as their eyes meet causes a heady rush to flare in her chest. There’s something about the way he grips her legs, his fingers digging into her thighs as he pulls her down.

It’s gentle at first, the deceptively chaste kisses he plants along her center, his eyes fluttering closed as he breathes her in. Already, he’s barely touched her and she feels seconds from falling apart, her face burning as his gaze flits up to meet hers. His lips ghost around her clit, never quite touching where she wants, and she can feel him smile against her as she unconsciously tries to grind herself onto him. He holds her still, looking up at her with a raised, amused brow, before licking a long stripe up her center.

The breathy moan he releases as he tastes her sends her head thrown back, and he smiles again as she sucks in a breath at the vibration, her grip on the headboard tightening. A shuddering sigh slips past her lips as his tongue swirls her arousal around, dipping down to the wetness at her entrance, his nose brushing against her clit. 

It’s the whine that leaves her lips that has him desperately pulling her closer, pressing her to him with such need, such hunger, such insistence; as if she’s oxygen. He moans without abandon into her cunt, his hard sucking on her clit causing a jolt of electricity to shoot up her spine, her toes to curl into the sheets. 

“Fuck, Peter—” She breathes, hanging her head as she struggles to hold herself upright on the headboard. 

He only hums, clearly in enthusiastic agreement, holding her flush against him, mouth hot and wet as he laps fervently at her heat, his fingers massaging her thighs, drifting to her hips and squeezing, before finally coming to the curve of her ass. 

She’s uncharacteristically shy at first, the tentative rocking of her hips coming in the heat of the moment. The muscles in her thighs twitch when he flattens his tongue and guides her, grinding her against him, his grip on her turning his knuckles white.

It’s always intoxicating, feeling him everywhere, his soft lips as they suck her clit, then his tongue as it spreads her arousal, as it starts fucking into her so well. A moan rips through her, her wet breath catching as he wraps a hand around to flick at her swollen clit. The warmth pooled in her lower stomach swells, melting, radiating through her legs to the tips of her toes, up to her chest. 

One of her hands falls from the headboard, snapping to his head, fingers carding through his curls for purchase, her chest heaving as fucks her with his tongue. A throaty moans escapes him as she jerks him closer, rutting herself against his face as she arches her back. 

She’s so close. Her thighs squeeze his head, the coil within her tightening and tightening, and—in an instant—there’s the invasive thought that he might not be able to breath. But when she tries to loosen up, when she starts to pull just an inch away, he reels her right back, more insistent, his hands on her hips, weighing her down. 

“So fucking good, MJ,” he praises filthily into her cunt, emphasizing his point with a hard slap to her ass. 

Her back straightens, rigid as she chokes on a gasp, the lewd sounds of his needy grunts, his sloppy kisses, her arousal—how wet she is on his lips and tongue—cause her body to burn, to set her skin alight, and she almost curses the both of them for not doing this sooner. 

It’s addictive, dangerously so, as she crumples forward against the headboard, her fist still in tangled in his hair, her muscles tightening, burning. This time, she doesn’t stop herself as her thighs close around his head, squeezing with a force that only eggs him on, his mouth urgent as it works her over.

“That’s it, baby—” His voice is muffled in her heat, drowned by his ministrations. 

She comes with a broken whine, panting with want as she feels herself spasming, a floaty, wavy smile pulling at her lips as Peter laps her through her orgasm. 

But even as she comes down from her first high, Peter—never one for backing down—doesn’t seem ready to quit. When she pulls up again, he yanks her back, his gaze pleading as he looks up at her, silently begging her not to move. It’s so soon after, though, and his mouth still so hot on her sensitive clit sends a shock through her, her hips desperately rocking against his face—the feeling both too much and not enough.

Her second orgasm takes her by surprise, ripping through her as he sucks harshly on her clit. It’s an out-of-body experience—cliche as it sounds; she swears her vision goes out for more than a second, and she wonders if she’s somehow accidentally pulled a chunk of his hair out with how hard she was gripping. It takes more than a moment to come back to reality, her hips bucking as Peter still laps languidly at her cunt, flicking slowly at her clit, as if he still hasn’t had his fill. It’s almost as if he’s making a show of it, the moans coming from his lips, the vibrations of them against hers, somehow making her even wetter. 

He pulls back slightly, and her mouth and throat goes dry seeing his nose, mouth, and chin slick and glistening with her. His lips puffy and pink, hair wild, looking completely fucked out. “You think you got a third?” He asks with a gentle pat to the curve of her hips.

And it’s his voice that makes her have to keep her eyes from rolling back; at least an octave lower, husky. 

But it’s the adoration in his eyes that makes her heart swell. 

Taking a shuddering breath, she nods. “Yeah,” she replies, biting her lip through a smile. “Please.”

He grins back up at her, scooting down on the bed a bit, pulling her with him. It gives her enough room to bend forward, now bracing herself on the mattress. His warm breath fans over her soaked cunt, and it takes everything in her not to squeeze her legs together again. His hands smooth over her skin, kneading the flesh of her ass as he pulls her down again. And he takes a moment to place another tender kiss on her sensitive clit—a gesture and touch that causes her hips to jolt—before taking hold of her and roughly pulling her down again. 

This time, he’s quick to wrap his lips around her clit, sucking and swirling his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves, yet still savoring her. Her choked moan is cut off as one of his hands coils around behind her, swiping his fingers through her wetness, coating themselves in her arousal. 

How Peter can get these sounds out of her, she thanks whatever higher power there is for that. The breathless whine the tumbles from her lips as her jaw goes slack, her body slumping further as he starts to pump two fingers into her, curling just so that she can’t help but chant his name like a prayer, over and over into the pillow. 

It’s not long before she’s coming all over his fingers, his mouth, feeling herself fluttering around him as she desperately grinds down. For a moment, she almost forgets where she is, smiling and mumbling dreamily, not even sure what she’s saying as Peter moves out from under her. She feels his lips on her back as he kisses his way up her spine, his lips soft and gentle, full of love, on her skin. 

When he reaches her face, his hand moves to cup her cheek as he lays beside her, his thumb smoothing over her skin. 

She blearily looks at him, dazed, body still thrumming, buzzing from her third orgasm. 

“Hey,” he says, his smile lop-sided, dopey; an expression so soft coming from someone doing such filthy things moments before. 

Peter. 

And MJ hums, closing her eyes again as he pulls her close, capturing her lips with his in a searing kiss. Another moan escapes her as she tastes herself on his mouth, her tongue slipping past his lips, drinking him in. 

When he pulls back again, he can’t help but bite his lip. “How was that?” he asks, though from the smirk on his face, he seems to already know the answer. 

Still breathless, MJ grins, shrugging as she starts to sit up. “It was alright.” 

“Woooooow.” His jaw drops in mock-offense as he follows. “Three times was alright?” 

“I think we’ll have to do it again,” she teases. “Just so I can really form an opinion. You know?” 

“Oh, of course,” he murmurs, looking up at her with half-lidded eyes, his hands migrating to her hips, ready to pull her into his lap. 

But she stops him, her eyes tinted with mischief as she glances between his face and the outline of his painfully hard cock straining against his boxer briefs. 

“Is this seat taken?”

#spideychelle #thotumn 2020 #the return of flavortown #lmao #rated: e #petermj #the day 6 and 9 thing was not planned i swear dkfjslajfdak

[donaidk]

Rhythm of Time - Part III

New year, new part, new banner, same old me with my ramblings... Not gonna make it long, just the usual quick thank you for reading this and all the other parts/stories and hope you guys will enjoy this too :) Part II | You’re here | Part IV Masterlist

„ What do you want? ” I asked immediately not to give him any time to start talking about anything else. He always had a reason to search me out, and it was never about anything usual for a lovely father-daughter chat. It was never that simple.

„ Congrats for the job with Haas. I knew they will realise your talents. ” He said, a smile getting on his face, which made my stomach turn. „ Don’t really know what you think of me. Can’t I congratulate my own daughter? ” He asked back, making me roll my eyes. I was just relieved that Mick already left and this was a private conversation.

„ You mean your personal slave? ” I bit back, crossing my arms in front of my chest while not taking my eyes off his ones. „ You never want to just chat. There’s always something ” I shook my head a little, as not one bit of my body wanted to be in his vicinity.

„ Oh, even you know that was only a misunderstanding. I would never do something like that. ” Dad let out a sigh but he could never make me rethink my decision about any of his business offers. They were all dirty traps, well covered by his connections.

„ Just like you would never hurt anyone else either. Right. ” His words made me roll my eyes again, and it didn’t help that I saw nothing like regret in his eyes after my question. „ Look, I have a real job to do, not like others… I would appreciate it if you could just get out of my way and not try your dirty tricks out on me. I know you too well already. I’m immune. ” I shook my head, rather walking back to the paddock, to get a car with someone else from the team, as I didn’t want to waste one more driver’s time for just one passanger.

„ Mona… Don’t be like this to your own dad. ” He came after me immediately, but as soon as I felt his hand around my wrist anger pumped through my veins and I tore my hand away from him.

„ Don’t you dare play that card. You lost your right to do so years ago. You have nothing to do with me, and I would be the happiest human on this Earth if I could never see you again. I rue ever getting to know you. ” I glared at him, turning back just so I could push him back from myself. I never felt so much hatred towards a family member prior to the day I realised all his wrong doings. Him calling my name again just restarted the fire inside me, once more. „ I don’t have your name for a reason. Do me a favour and forget me finally. You should be fucking grateful that Mum still believes you. ” I poked his chest before turning on my heels so I could finally get to our garage as soon as possible, where I knew he wasn’t allowed in.

I let out a sigh as soon as I was finally inside and sat down next to Pete who was still going through data before they would have to get the garage packed up. The car was already back in it’s place and even though it was covered on most parts you could see the broken suspensions sticking out. I knew they would have to start fixing it for the next race, although they had more time for it as the next one was in only two weeks time. It was probably lucky that it wasn’t during a race that was followed by another immediately. Made everyone’s job easier and gave them time to completely fix it and get it back where it was before. With a sigh I looked back at the screens even though I knew I couldn’t really help them in any way. This wasn’t really my field and I would have probably either messed up everything or I just wouldn’t even be able to comment on any part of the data if they ever asked for my opinion.

In the end I stayed until they all were done and gladly helped packing up as I really didn’t feel like going outside of the pitlane, and giving a chance for my father to try talking to me again. I didn’t know if he had the balls to stay right until he would be kicked out with the last few visitors, or if he gave up after my response to his approach. Maybe I was giving him too much credit with the second option, but I wanted to believe that it was possible. It would mean I was getting closer to finally getting fully out of his grasp. The media coming up with rumours involving him and I twice a year was truly enough for my mental health. I didn’t need him giving them even more to report on, breaking down my reliability day by day, pushing me further away from my goal of working in the sport without being connected to him. changing my name was one step, but I knew quite well it wouldn’t solve everything and people will still know who I am and who brought me up until my realisation that he was no good as a parent and I could finally take my own decisions.

It was already quite late when the car that took Pete, two of the mechanics and myself, back to the hotel arrived at the destination and we could get out. I dragged myself to the elevator, taking it up to my level where I separated from the guys and went to my own room. The little LED on the lock just turned green and I was about to push down the handle when the door two down from mine opened and I turned towards the sound, getting caught off guard by the movement I saw from the corner of my eyes.

„ Hello. ” Mick greeted me as he stepped out of his room, making me nod in his way. „ Are you coming to dinner? ” He asked again, making me stop in my tracks and step back before I would be inside my own room.

„ I already ate, but thank you. ” I lied and shook my head a little, but before I would have stepped inside I forced myself to look up at him. „ Sorry for the car situation. He can time his ’visits’ quite terribly. ” I added with a sigh hoping that bringing it up won’t just make it even more awkward. There was only silence after my apology, making me want to take back everything I said. I was just about to do that when he was quicker and spoke up.

„ Do you want to talk about it? I mean that usually helps… if you talk it out with someone. ” He surprised me, as I anticipated him trying to get out of the situation rather than offering help. „ It doesn’t have to be me though. You probably have your own friends who usually help you with these things. ” He shrugged a little, almost leaving for the diner when I nodded my head.

„ I would appreciate that. ” I added to my gesture so he would know for sure what I meant. „ Only if you have the time to do so. I don’t want to take up your free time. ” I spoke up quickly again, realising I had no right to change up his whole schedule with my own problems. He probably had better things to do than listen to my rambling about my dad being an asshole.

„ I’m completely free. I’m just gonna get dinner and head back here. Take a shower until then. ” He offered, making me nod again and finally enter my room as soon as he was further away from me, already at the end of the hallway to get into the elevator. Before he would turn around and see me still standing there, I stepped inside closing my door.

His idea did plant a seed in my head, and even though I didn’t plan on it, I took a warm shower, putting my hair up in a towel in the end as I got some clothes out of my suitcase, to change out of the robe. I would have probably just got my pajamas on, but knowing I will have someone over I thought it would be better to get normal clothing out. I was just about to brush through my hair when there was a knock on the door, making me confused for a second, before I got to the door and opened it up. Mick with two containers of food wasn’t a sight in front of me that I anticipated. As soon as I stepped aside he came inside, handing me one of the containers.

„ Robert sent it, knowing you didn’t eat at the track and wasn’t going to do so here if you didn’t come down with me. ” He answered my silent question that my risen eyebrow held, making me smile a little. Some of the crew knew me too well, I guess. „ So, a movie or just chatting? ” He asked, making me look up to see him take a seat on the couch like it was his room we were in. Somehow it still didn’t make me feel abashed as it felt strangely normal.

„ We can start something if you want. Won’t promise that my mind will take it in though. ” I let out a sigh, getting the remote from the TV in front of the couch before sitting down on the other side opposite to him. I watched him take it from my hand before switching it onto a channel that was playing the highlights from today, making me chuckle. „ Guess that won’t strain my poor brain. ” I shook my head, opening the top of the container to see one of my favourites inside.

We watched the replays on the screen as we dived into our food, although there wasn’t really anything we haven’t seen before. I felt myself tense up when they showed the only crash of the race, which was of course Mick’s, but I was glad to see that wasn’t one bit affected by it now. They usually got over them easily, if it wasn’t anything serious or life changing. I was about to finish my meal when they changed to some interviews and immediately felt sickness take over me when I saw the name Jason Hackett written out on the screen and just seconds later the camera turned to show my dad with a full on grin, standing in front of a microphone. They were asking him about rumours of him bringing back the Hackett name into F1 and even though he denied to have any plans like that right now he did hint on having talks with one of the teams. My stomach turned in a way I thought was impossible, at the idea of my father getting to work with another team after how the last occasion like this ended a few years ago.

„ Guess we know why he was there today at least. ” Mick sighed next to me, although I couldn’t break my glance away from the TV until he went off screen finally. „ Although it’s quite a bold statement that someone would like to work with him, taking the outcome of his last sponsorship with a team into account. ” He added with a scoff, making me nod in agreement. I really didn’t know what to think about this all together.

„ You know he’s my father, don’t you? ” I asked him when I was finally out of the trance the interview caused me to fall into. „ Stupid question. Probably everyone knows, however hard I’m trying to keep it from them. ” I poked at a piece of a chicken angrily, almost poking myself in the hand through the material of the box.

„ I wouldn’t say everyone knows. Your friends for sure do, but for example the mechanics probably never even thought you have a connection to him. Only way if they really looked into the cases back when they happened. ” He shook his head a little, mostly just looking at his own food, which wasn’t the sign I was looking for. I had to make myself remember that he was still the one to bring this up and come to my room. „ You’re not running around telling everyone, and also joined the team after all the changes, so they didn’t even have your ’real’ name to start off on. ” He added with a shrug looking back up at me, my worries fading away about him feeling trapped in this conversation.

I had to agree with him, as I really didn’t give myself away for everyone. Why would I? My only dream was to finally get out of his shadow so I could be my own person finally and not just a puppet of his. We stayed in silence watching the TV as they changed to some biking footage from the previous day, while I was still in my thoughts mostly. It was probably one of my worst traits, spending at least two quarters of my time inside my thoughts, completely shutting the outside word out. It gave me the chance to work things out inside without getting anyone worried about me, but I mostly stressed about things that weren’t worth it anyways, making me waste my time.

„ Did you know back then? When I still had his name? ” I asked him, still looking straight at him as I really didn’t want to miss his expression so he couldn’t lie to me. He took a deep breath, probably debating how he should put his words.

„ They made sure I knew. They told us who he was as the accusations were quite fresh back then. But I didn’t know that you’re his daughter. ” He shook his head, looking quite truthful and I believed him. He didn’t give me a reason to do otherwise. „ When I woke up, I had texts from the PR managers that there were photos of the two of us talking with a group of people. They asked me to keep clear of you until I had my contract signed, so photos like these won’t bring my future team an unsure feeling about me. ” My hand stopped in the middle of lifting the fork to my mouth, resting the silverware down on the box again. That wasn’t something I thought about.

„ That’s lovely. Although, I understand their fears. Even I know how messy he leaves everything he touches. There aren't many who can steal millions and still stay out of jail. ” I rolled my eyes, closing the top of my box as I lost most of my appetite. „ Lucky that I stood up against him, isn’t it? At least I’m not someone in their eyes who may interfere with things for him. ” I sighed, crossing my arms in front of my chest. It was the only thing I feared, losing all the respect I worked for in the past few years just because they think I’m here thanks to him.

„ How did you end up at Haas actually? You never mentioned that before. ” He questioned me, making me look up from the floor again.

„ Erica was a family friend of ours who stood up against my dad when he was accused of stealing money through sponsorships. Back then she was still in F2, and then she helped me get my voice heard after he messed up again just with an F2 team. ” I started my story that I never actually told anyone before. Not many were curious enough to actually ask. „ Then when I started university but realised it wasn’t what I wanted she took me as a trainee and helped me get my education in PR management in a way that was compatible with our travelling, so I would have the qualifications if I wanted to look for something outside of Haas in the future. ” I finished up with a smile on my face from the memories. I could only thank Erica for me. She was almost more family to me than my own blood. She trusted me, even when they considered me a wild card in the media.

„ Guess everyone needs a mentor in their life? ” He asked with a similar smile on his face and I could only nod in agreement. Having someone guide you wasn’t too bad of a thing, until they only had good intentions. If someone, Mick probably understood my position the best out of the team members we had.

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher fanfic #mick schumacher oneshot #mick schumacher fanfiction #mick schumacher imagine #f1 #f1 fanfiction #f1 oneshot #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #rhythm of time #bydonaidk

[triptuckers]

Thunderstorms - Peter Maximoff

Request: no Pairing:  Peter Maximoff x reader Summary:  Peter isn’t a fan of thunder storms. Luckily, you are always there to help him out.  Warnings: language Word count:  1.9K A/N: My first X-Men fic!! please let me know what you think of it! I need someone to cuddle with :’) also I kind of adapted the curtains/window thing from myself lol I do that. anyways, enjoy reading!! :) 

Another loud crash erupts the silence. It makes Peter jump up from the mattress of his bed. He sighs deeply and slowly eases back into the pillows. Peter hates thunder storms. Doesn’t matter if they’re during the day or the night, he despises them. 

Seconds later, another loud crash scares him. Peter closes his eyes and sighs deeply. He would never admit he’s scared of storms. After all, he’s part of the X-Men. Out of all the things he could have feared, he’s frightened of thunder storms. It just seems so silly and childish, which is why he’s ashamed of telling anyone about it. 

Though he never told you about it, he had a feeling you knew. You could tap into people’s mind. Your mutation was similar to Jean’s and Charles’, just not entirely the same. From the moment you met, you and Peter felt some sort of deep connection, a trust, and a strong friendship blossomed. You had promised never to read his mind. And even if he told you he’d be okay with it, you’d still hesitate.

One day, the two of you were sitting underneath a tree outside, enjoying some relaxing time, when thunder rumbled in the distance. Though he didn’t say anything, you could feel Peter move uneasily next to you. And without meaning to, you heard some of his thoughts. Calm down, Peter, it’s just a little thunder. Relax, you’re just sitting under a tree, which is likely to be struck with lightning. Oh, fuck. You really hadn’t meant to hear it. It’s just when people feel strong emotions, their thoughts are louder and easier for you to hear. While trying not to give the impression you heard his thoughts, you suggested to go inside “because it might rain soon” and Peter gladly accepted the offer.

Peter couldn’t think of anything else. He wasn’t going to get any sleep soon with the thunder still crashing high up in the clouds. Barely a second later, he’s standing in front of his door, pressing his ear against the wood. About a month ago, Peter wanted to go to the kitchen to get a late night snack. He hadn’t even reached the end of the hallway before he ran into Hank. Apparently Hank was checking to see if all of the younger kids were in their rooms. He wasn’t very amused to found one of the responsible ones out of his room.

After listening for a while and confirming Hank isn’t out roaming the halls, Peter slowly and quietly opens the door and gets out of his room. Your room isn’t far from his, but nevertheless the walk there takes him longer than usual. Partly because he tries to be quiet and also because he’s not sure why he's going to your room. You couldn’t control the weather like Ororo could. It would make more sense to wake her up, but Peter tried that once. And let’s say that didn’t really work out. 

Peter stands in front of your door. He’s still hesitating. Shouldn’t he just go back to his room and try to sleep? As if he asked for it, thunder crashes above him in the sky, followed by a blinding flash. Peter swallows thickly. You always eased his mind, why wouldn’t you do it this time? He inhales deeply to calm himself down and knocks on your door. 

You don’t answer right away. Peter didn’t expect you to, given that you’re quite a heavy sleeper. He knocks again, slightly louder than the first time. Still, no answer. He’s afraid if he’ll knock a third time, some of the kids that sleep down the hall will wake up. Or worse, Hank could hear him. Just as he’s about to give up and go back to his room, the door opens.

You’re rubbing your eyes with one hand. Your hair is messy and the hem of your oversized shirt rests on your thigh. Peter can’t help but to look at you. This is the version of you he liked the most. You, in your most natural way. It’s something he’ll never get tired of. 

‘What’s up, Pete?’ you say in a raspy, sleepy voice. Pete. Another thing he likes a lot about you. You’re the only one who uses that nickname. And everyone else sort of knows that nickname is reserved for you. 

‘I-’ As lightning strikes in the distance, Peter squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. You look at him and remember the time underneath the tree. And then you hear it. Calm the fuck down Peter it’s literally just thunder. You shoot him an encouraging smile. 

‘Want to stay here tonight?’ you ask him and Peter finally looks you in your eyes. He frowns a little and you can see he’s a bit upset. ‘Did you just read my mind?’ he asks you. ‘No.’ you say truthfully. ‘Strong emotions means strong thoughts means loud thoughts.’ you explain to him.  Peter looks nervous after hearing that. ‘Right.’ he says. ‘I do want to stay here tonight. But only if you’re okay with that.’ You smile and step aside so he can enter your room. ‘Of course.’

‘You can take the right side of the bed.’ you say. And Peter, who had already started moving towards the couch in your room, looks up. You pretend you don’t notice it. ‘There’s enough space for the two of us.’ you state. Peter says nothing, but smiles briefly at you. You walk over to the curtains. It was a habit of yours to not fully close them. Meanwhile, Peter had moved over to your bed and sat down on the edge.

‘Why do you always keep those open?’ he asks you. You look over your shoulder at him as you close the window and the curtains.  ‘I like listening to the silence outside. Or, in this case, the rain and thunder. I just like it, it calms me down. And I love natural lighting. Waking up with a few rays of morning light is the best way to start my day.’ you say and you walk over to the bed. 

You lay down and feel Peter moving uneasily next to you. It’ll probably take a while for him to get comfortable. There have been countless of times in which you fell asleep on Peter’s shoulder. But this is entirely different. You try not to think much of it. Peter just needs someone he trusts to calm him down, that’s all.

Lighting strikes again and Peter’s body shocks a little. You reach out in the dark and rest your hand on his bicep. ‘You’re fine, Pete.’ you murmur softly. ‘Besides, you’re so fast you could probably just run away should something happen.’ Peter nods without you seeing it. ‘Yeah.’ he says, to let you know he heard you. Your hand feels warm and soft and almost loving on his arm. Peter inhales and exhales for a while, trying to drown out the storm. He focuses on the feeling of your hand on his skin. And eventually, he falls asleep with you next to him. 

Miraculously, Peter sleeps well and doesn’t wake up until it’s morning. You’re not next to him when he does and he’s a bit upset because of it. He reaches out but the pillow on your side is cold, a sign you’ve been up for a while. Peter knows exactly where to find you. Most of the older kids eat breakfast early in the morning, before the younger kids wake up. 

Peter gets dressed and heads downstairs towards the kitchen. Charles is there, reading the newspaper, Hank and Raven are talking and smile at him when Peter enters the kitchen. On the other end of the table, Jean and Scott are eating cereal. Jean notices how Peter is scanning the room and smirks.

‘She’s out back.’ says Jean. Peter nods, not asking her how she knows he’s looking for you. Everyone with a decent set of eyes could figure out Peter wants you to be more than a friend. 

He speeds through the doors and finds you sitting on the stairs by yourself. Your head is tilted backwards and you’re soaking up the sun and peace while you can. The coffee in your hand is still warm. 

‘Hey Pete.’ you say. He hadn’t realised you noticed his presence. ‘Morning.’ he says as he sits down beside you. Without opening your eyes, you offer him some of your coffee. Peter takes a few sips of the hot drink before handing the cup back to you.

‘Thanks for letting me stay at yours last night.’ says Peter and you smile and turn your head to look at him.  ‘Of course.’ you say and you reach out and squeeze his hand. The touch of your hand takes him back to the night before, and how he felt safe when you put your hand on his bicep. 

‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ asks Peter. ‘Sure!’ you say and you finish the last of your coffee and get up. You talk about small things as the two of you walk on the grounds. After some time, Peter starts walking slower and eventually, he stops. You stop walking as well and turn around to look at him.

‘You okay speedy?’ you say. Peter nods but he looks like there’s definately something on his mind. He doesn’t look you in the eye as he’s thinking. ‘Come on, Pete, spit it out.’ you chuckle. ‘What’s on your mind?’ Peter sighs and gives in. ‘You.’ he says softly. 

‘What about me?’ you say, trying to focus on Peter’s words and not his thoughts.  ‘You let me stay in your room because I don’t like thunderstorms.’ he says. ‘I know it doesn’t sound like a lot, but it means a lot to me. The way you care about me, check in on me.’  ‘Well that’s what friends do, right?’ you say.

Shit. You said something wrong. Peter smiles briefly but you know it isn’t a genuine smile. He actually looks kind of hurt by your words, and you don’t know why. Peter plays with the sleeves of his silver jacket and looks away from your eyes.

‘Do you really see me as your friend? Just your friend?’ he says quietly. Oh. So that’s why he looks upset. You step a little closer to him.  ‘Well, maybe a bit more than just a friend.’ you say. You take Peter’s hand in yours and he looks at you. ‘More than just a friend? And that means?’ he says. You smile and wink at him. ‘Shoot your best shot, Pete.’ you say. 

Peter steps closer and reaches out to put both of his hands on your cheeks. You can smell the coffee in his breath, but you couldn’t care less. You drank coffee too, so it’s fine. Peter leans in and slowly presses his lips against yours. You close your eyes and melt into his touch. You step closer and your toes touch his. Peter deepens the kiss and you don’t even have to try to drown out his thoughts. They’re so loud you just let them wash over you. 

When he finally pulls away he rests his forehead against yours, still holding your face in his hands. ‘How’s that for shooting my shot?’ he chuckles and you laugh softly. ‘You know, I never would have taken you for a slow kisser.’ you say. ‘Maybe thunderstorms should occur more often, if this is what comes after.’  ‘Oh, fuck no.’ says Peter and you laugh. ‘This? Absolutely amazing. Should occur more often. I’ll make sure it does. But thunderstorms? Fuck no. Never.’ he says. You laugh and press a short but loving kiss to his lips. You’re glad Peter can’t hear your thoughts. You’re sure they’re louder than ever.

A/N:

If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Jo

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