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scoopsgf · 4 years

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can i get a good night’s sleep? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep?!

or: five times peter parker doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

my contribution to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! this is for @snarky-drabbles - I hope you enjoy it!

The first time is actually just the first in a while. Peter’s had problems sleeping ever since he was a little kid; it was just one issue of many that stacked up on top of each other, resulting in his personal belief that he must be the most difficult kid to look after on the planet.

Asthma meant hundreds of dollars spent on inhalers, covering what their shitty insurance didn’t. His poor eyesight was the same story and the bullies that used to break his glasses had never helped. But it wasn’t just physical crap, of course: he’s had anxiety for as long as he can remember.

There are cute side-effects like panic attacks and nausea, not to mention the constant sense of impending doom he’s been nursing since… well, birth, probably. When he was younger he’d worry about whether or not the taxi driver had enough gas in his car to get them where they needed to go, or maybe Ben would get shot at work (ironically enough, he’d never worried that Ben would get shot off-duty, and there is a teeny superstitious sliver of him that believes maybe if he had considered the possibility it never would have happened, like some kind of a reverse jinx or something).

One of the other cute things that comes along with it is insomnia.

So here he is, pacing in his kitchen at three in the morning because May isn’t home yet.

Her shift ended at two. She’s usually back within a half hour considering the hospital isn’t far, hence his agitation.

He’s tried calling and texting to no avail, and he keeps telling himself that everything is fine, that she probably just got held up; meanwhile his subconscious provides a great slideshow of mental images that speak to the opposite—her getting kidnapped because somehow someone links her to Spider-Man, her getting hit with a car, mugged, shot, slipping on black ice—and that’s actually not far-fetched considering it’s January, there’s a lot of it, and so he pulls out his phone and types, You didn’t slip on black ice and die did you? to May.

No little dots appear to signify that she’s typing. The message doesn’t even change from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’.

She has her read receipts on. She’s promised him. There’s no reason she’d change that, right? But maybe she accidentally switched them off when she was scrolling through her settings.

He calls her.

“Hi, this is May Parker, I’m unavailable at the moment but if you leave me a message I’ll get back to you as soon as—”

Peter hangs up with a dissatisfied grunt.

It’s only then that he realises, to his great dismay, that he’s paced all the way onto the ceiling.

In his shock he loses concentration and falls. “Ow, fuck.” He pulls his aching knee to his chest. It’ll no doubt be bruised soon. “God has forsaken me.”

He picks up his now cracked phone and texts Ned:

I just fell off the ceiling at 3 AM in the morning

Don’t ask me what I was doing on it

Every bone in my body is broken :(

No reply comes which is pretty typical; Ned probably passed out in front of his PC like, hours ago. Peter can picture it: the light of his computer screen casting a blue glow over everything in the room, his head probably tucked into his arms to muffle his snores (and there’s also probably a bowl of stale popcorn spilled across his floor at this point), his creepy mother lurking in the doorway—or worse, trying to find out how to snoop through his laptop while he’s out of it.

Peter could totally go swing down there and help the guy out. It would be something to do anyway.

But no. The door is too far. His suit… too much work. It’s definitely better to just stay here curled up under the table like a little turtle.

But wait—a blanket.

Is it worth the effort? Probably. Peter scans his immediate surroundings and, oh boy, Lady Fate is actually on his side tonight because there’s a gigantic purple fluffy one hanging off the couch and it only takes a little bit of physical exertion to yank it down and wrap it around his body.

He burrows deeper into it and scrolls through Instagram. MJ posted a picture of a banana today. Literally like, just a banana. No caption, no explanation on her story, nothing.

Peter double taps it and comments: i hope u asked before u took his jacket

No like. No reply. That makes sense. It is three in the fucking morning, after all.

No. Three thirty. It’s been an hour and a half.

What had May said once? That it was okay to call someone if she was two hours late?

Peter tries texting and calling one more time and then just sits there, staring at his home screen and watching the minutes pass. At exactly four AM after much deliberation and stomach churning, he calls someone else.

Three rings later: “I’m in Vienna right now so this better be good.”

Peter feels even more nauseous than before. “Oh,” he says. “I guess—never mind, then. Sorry.”

“Wait, wait, that was just for show and I’m greatly intrigued as to why you’re calling me so… early? Late? Anyway I’m out of the conference room now so lay it on me.”

Against his will, Peter’s lip quirks up. “Um, it’s kind of stupid—”

“Nothing is ever stupid,” Tony says. “Especially when it’s coming from the brain of a kid with an intelligence quotient of 260.”

He feels his cheeks heat up and then it all just comes tumbling out, “It’s really late and May was supposed to be off at two and home by two-thirty, but she’s not and I don’t know what to do. I tried calling and texting but she’s not replying and I know that I’m probably just building it up in my head but I can’t help freaking out because like, what if she got stabbed or slipped on black ice or—”

“Hey Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe.”

Tony’s voice has softened immeasurably. Something uncoils in Peter’s stomach. He flops onto his side and closes his eyes. “I’m breathing.”

“That’s good, kiddo. Now just hang on a sec, I’m gonna call the hospital.”

“What? Why?”

“Well she works there, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“And you haven’t tried calling them yet, correct?”

“...Correct.”

“Ergo,” Tony says.

“But I—”

“Yeah?”

Peter bites his lip and then he just blurts it: “I don’t want you to hang up.”

He feels like such a child but the thought of losing connection with Tony is literally making his heart palpitate and his palms sweat. He needs someone. He needs an adult.

“Well lucky for us both I have two phones.”

Peter cracks an eye. “You what?”

“I’m Tony Stark, don’t question it. Hang on, let me just—hello, hi, um, I need this room. No, it can’t wait. Yes the whole room. Yes locked. I don’t know, five minutes? Ten? An hour? No, I’m not joking. Thank you. Thanks. Yeah. Okay. Bye now.” Something slams shut—the door to the office Tony just stole, probably. “Okay, just a sec, I have the number for the reception desk she works at in my phone.”

Peter, for some reason, feels immeasurably comforted by that. He sits in silence gnawing on his lip while Tony has a somewhat muffled conversation he can’t hear the other side of. Then, “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay, well, they said she’s covering for someone and can’t get to the phone because a baby had to have emergency surgery so she’s literally in the OR as we speak. Pretty badass and not bad as far as excuses go. Now that you know she’s fine and not dead by ice, how about you get some shut-eye, okay kid?”

Peter swallows. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Tony.”

“No Mr. Stark this time, huh?”

“It’s too late for formalities.”

“I see,” Tony replies. “Sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

The line goes dead. Peter, slightly relieved but not fully consoled, rolls over to face the door. He doesn’t sleep at all that night and is still there when May comes home at six in the morning with bagels and apologies.

—

The anniversary of Ben’s death is always super weird.

This time it takes him a few minutes to remember what day it is: he’s in the middle of brushing his teeth and then it hits him like a train: oh, it’s been three years.

Then comes May. She usually tries to cook something for breakfast but like always it burns. He leaves the bathroom to the sound of the smoke alarm and fans a cookie sheet at the screeching little device while she swears up and down in Italian.

“It’s okay, May, really—”

“No, it’s not!” She snaps, tossing a batch of blackened cinnamon rolls into the trash. “I just want this day to be easy for you!”

Peter goes over to her and, after kicking the oven door shut with his foot, pulls her into his arms. May starts to cry even though she tries not to; sniffles turn into barely stifled sobs. He knows that it’s harder for her than it is for him. Ben was her husband and they’d been married for thirteen years when he died. Sometimes he still catches her looking to see if he’s laughing too when they watch TV, only to find an empty recliner.

“It’s okay for it to be a bad day,” he whispers. “You know that, right? I mean, I love you to pieces, May, but I don’t wanna see you bending over backwards for me.”

“But that’s my job, doofus.”

Peter pulls back. He’s an inch taller than her now. “No it’s not. We take care of each other, okay?”

Then comes school. Ned usually hovers nervously like an agitated gnat, too afraid to say anything, not sure if he should act normal or be sad in solidarity, which means it’s kind of Peter’s job to set the tone. As he’s putting his combination in for his locker he asks, “So did you beat that level of Obra Dinn last night?”

Ned, shoulders slumping with relief, starts to ramble on about how hard it was to do and how it took him like, thirty whole tries.

They go to class. Peter zones out. He doesn’t bother making more web fluid or ditching and he gets so inside his own head that Coach Wilson compliments him again during gym class. Peter deliberately slows down after that, even if it’s kind of irritating; being physically active actually helps work off his anger.

Because that’s what he is more than anything else: angry. At the mugger, yeah, but at himself more than anything else. It was his fault that they were out that night, anyway. It’s a wonder that May doesn’t hate his fucking guts.

When school is up Peter comes home to an empty house. He thinks about going on patrol but doesn’t really feel up to it, and then he feels bad for not wanting to do it because like, what if someone is dying?

So he puts on the suit and swings from rooftop to rooftop, but there’s no action today. Peter eventually settles on a fire escape with a burrito. A stray cat hops up after a while and, despite his matted fur and crazy eyes, Peter decides he has a kind of quiet dignity about him and names him Charles.

“Do you like beef?” He asks, holding some out for Charles to sniff. The cat yowls and, without any warning other than that, nearly chomps Peter’s fingers off to get the meat.

“Ow, jeez!” Peter shakes his wrist. “I was literally giving it to you for free, but go off I guess.”

Charles blinks his big brown marble eyes and then literally jumps off the fucking ledge. Peter leans over and watches him scamper across the street, somehow not getting hit by any traffic. Sometimes he thinks his spidey sense is more like feline sense in that way: he could probably manage the same thing with his eyes closed.

After a while the sun sets and all of the streetlights turn on. Peter does another patrol around the immediate vicinity but again, nothing. He stays out anyway though because he’d rather do his Chemistry homework behind a dumpster than sit alone in the apartment with nothing but the quiet for company. At least out and about there are sewer rats and mangy dogs and shady characters who actually just turn out to be skateboarders.

Peter is almost done with his assignment when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He looks up and finds Iron Man himself coming in for a landing. The suit drops with a barely audible clunk; it’s Mark 54, the sleekest and most lightweight model yet.

“Oh thank God,” says Tony’s voice, “you’re not dead.”

Peter frowns even though Tony can’t see it. “No,” he agrees slowly. “Why would I be dead? What are you doing here?”

“Well, your aunt called me in a panic at around four when she got home and you weren’t there, and then I checked the scanners and saw that you’d been here, completely stationary, for like five whole hours—needless to say I had a little bit of a heart attack and here I am, relieved and also mildly infuriated. Care to explain, young padawan?”

Peter opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Opens it again and, “It’s four AM?”

“Four fifteen,” Tony corrects.

“I didn’t even—I didn’t know! Shit, May’s totally gonna kill me, I might as well be dead—”

“Woah woah woah,” the faceplate lifts, “calm down, okay? No one is mad. Just, uh, concerned, I promise.”

Peter is still frantically packing up his school supplies and not really listening. He only stops when Tony gently touches him by lightly gripping his elbow. “Kid?”

Peter stares down at the older man’s hand. Behind the mask his eyes start to burn. “Ben died.”

“Pardon?”

“Ben died,” he repeats louder. “In this alley. Two years ago.”

All at once Tony’s face falls. He moves to sit by Peter on the grimy floor of the alley while the suit hovers nearby, a hollow shell, just the way Peter feels now.

“Kid,” Tony says, “take off the mask.”

“What? No, I’m in public—”

“No one’s around,” Tony says. “Just take it off, okay?”

Peter does, reluctantly peeling it back to reveal his tear-stained cheeks. Tony stares for a second and then, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Peter. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I—” he chokes. “I’m just so tired. I’m tired of having to watch May be strong for me when I can’t be strong back, and I’m tired of Ben not being around. I miss him and it—it’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not. It’s never fair. That’s why it hurts, kiddo. You’ve got all this love and no place to put it.”

Peter bites his lip to stop it from quivering and looks away, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I just feel pathetic.”

“Don’t,” Tony says firmly. “I felt the same way after my mom died and it… In some ways I don’t think the feeling ever actually went away, but uh, take it from someone who’s had a lot more time to process: no one is expecting anything from you, okay? And I can guarantee there’s not a single human that thinks two years is long enough to be perfectly fine again. You’re allowed to still be upset about this.”

And Peter is. He’s really, really fucking upset about it and so tired of holding it in. Tony pulls him against his chest when Peter starts to cry and it sort of seems like he’ll never be able to stop. There’s just so much, so much guilt and pain and all kinds of other bullshit that he refuses to lay on May.

So he lays it on Tony. And it’s surprisingly not horrible or awkward or even the end of the world.

“You good?” the older man asks, when Peter finally sobers up enough to wipe his cheeks dry and take a few steadying breaths.

“Yeah,” he says, voice ragged and awful-sounding. “Um, sorry. For freaking you and May out and ruining your shirt, I mean.”

“You know there’s this really snazzy invention called a washing machine—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Tony laughs and it makes Peter laugh too, and the tension between them just sort of dissipates. “Speaking of clothes,” Tony claps his hands together, “you got any to wear in that backpack?”

“Uh, jeans and a hoodie?”

“Fantastic, incredible. Throw them on, I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

“But what if someone sees?!”

“Let ’em. I’ll have Pep release a statement claiming you as my personal assistant or head intern or something.”

“That’s totally unrealistic.”

“Do I care? No. Just—okay? Up and at ’em, make haste, come on. What do you feel like, pancakes or waffles?”

They bicker about which is better the entire way to the little diner Tony choses, and Peter comes home full an hour later. May is fast asleep at the kitchen table. He kisses her forehead and starts on breakfast for her.

—

He’s thirty minutes into helping MJ study for her AP French test when she finally gets a question wrong. “‘Il n'est pas clair que’?” Peter queries, holding up the flash card.

“‘It’s not certain that’?”

He makes a pitying noise. “Close. ‘It’s not clear that’.”

“What’s not clear, exactly? That if I see one more word in French I’m gonna blow my brains out?”

Peter snorts. “No, actually it says more clarification is required on how much you like your boyfriend. Suggestions to improve that include: a hug, a kiss, both—”

“Neither?”

He pouts. “Mean.”

MJ rolls her eyes, but she kisses him first. She tastes like the Twizzlers they’ve been eating and her hands are in his hair and she laughs when he presses his lips to her cheeks and nose and forehead.

They somehow end up in an incredibly compromising position. “You know,” MJ muses, “I don’t think I’ve been studying the right kind of French.”

Peter, hovering over her (oops), nods in agreement. “This kind is definitely way better.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and he’s so consumed with this: her and him and the smell of her jasmine shampoo—that he almost doesn’t hear it.

Almost.

Peter rips away abruptly. “What was that?”

She groans. “God, you’re such a dog sometimes.”

He ignores her, sitting alert with his eyes narrowed at the window and, sure enough, there it is again: a faint, blood-curdling scream. “Someone’s being attacked or something. Maybe four blocks away tops.”

MJ squints. “Don’t tell me you can echolocate.”

“I—” Peter’s mouth snaps shut and then opens again. “I actually don’t know. Anyway, I gotta go.”

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek, throws on his jacket, and quickly ducks out her fire escape (which happens to be the same way that he came in). He slips the mask on and tosses his hood up; it’s raining in heavy, icy sheets and Peter is drenched within seconds of swinging. He remembers the first time he’d gone out during a storm; the webbing he’d made hadn’t held up because the chemical formula hadn’t accounted for the massive amounts of water-based reaction, so the biocables had evaporated as they left his shooters. Thankfully he hadn’t jumped first that day, otherwise he would be a Peter Pancake.

Another scream sounds. Peter follows it and winds up latched onto the side of a two-story brick building. There’s an incredibly dark alley below, but a quick flash of lightning tells him everything he needs to know: one man is trying to wrestle a woman down, while another is rifling through her purse. He’s also holding a gun.

“Oh, cute,” he mutters sarcastically.

Peter tries to time it right: he takes aim and shoots a web right at the weapon with the next bout of lightning, but to his immense misfortune, the armed mugger had already seen him and was aiming right back. The bullet hits Peter in the side.

“Ow,” he says, “that was uncalled for.”

He drops. His side is throbbing and hot but he ignores it in favour of disarming the guy who shot him. It’s a brief struggle but Peter ends up whacking the gun out of his hand and webbing it to the wall opposite. Then he knocks the guy out with a solid upper cross to the temple.

Peter rounds. The assailant has already fled, leaving the woman shivering but relatively unharmed.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asks.

“Me? That guy shot you!”

Peter looks down at his side which is now stained with blood. “Oh, yeah.”

He’d actually forgotten for half a second. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he’s starting to really feel it: a burning sensation in his abdomen, an aching that pulses from his stomach to his chest. Ah. Wonderful.

A little dazed, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Super healing. Are you good? You need me to call you a cab?”

“What? No, um—the police station is like, down the block, I can go get them.”

“Are you sure? Because I can totally do that—”

“I can handle myself,” she says sharply, bending down to pick up her purse and the discarded items within. “It’s just… there were two of them and there was a gun and—”

“I get it,” Peter says, his hand pressing harder into his side as the world grows blurrier around the edges. “You really don’t want me to at least walk you down?”

“I’ll take a taxi,” she says. “You just, um, get yourself fixed up, okay? And thanks.”

“Yeah, sure, anytime! But, y’know, preferably never again,” Peter says, and proceeds to swing away.

—

Tony doesn’t expect to get woken up at two AM after only just falling asleep five minutes before, but such is life; FRIDAY’s voice bleeds through the speakers above to inform him that Spider-Man is currently rifling through the Med-Bay and bleeding from a wound on his side.

Pepper looks at him. “You heard that too, right? That was real?”

“It was real.”

They both scramble out of bed. Tony takes the lead, throwing on his jacket as he runs toward the elevator. It’s times like these when every second stretches out into an eternity; it takes maybe five of them to get from their floor to the Med-Bay, but it feels like forever.

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

“I know, right?” Peter glances up. “Hey, Pepper.”

“Peter,” she returns. “Do you mind if I wash my hands and take a look at that?”

“If you want. It’s kinda gross, though.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

Through this exchange Tony was already washing up, and now he dons a pair of gloves and sits on the rolling stool. “Looks like it’s through and through,” he tells Pep over his shoulder. “Could you grab a couple suture kits and, uh, the stuff?”

Pepper makes a face. “The stuff?”

“You know,” Tony says, “The Good Stuff.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, that stuff.”

Tony feels around the area. “Do you know what kind of gun was used?”

“Looked like your standard nine mil,” Peter replies. His voice is growing a little slurred.

That’s good though, about the gun. Means there’s probably not any bullet fragments to worry about. Tony grabs a load of gauze and presses it against the wound. He checks Peter’s pulse while he’s at it and finds that it’s slowed considerably. “We’re gonna have to get you some blood, too. A neg, right?”

“Yuppers.”

Tony excuses that because after all, the kid is bleeding out on a table. Said kid actually starts to swing his legs back and forth and, yeah, that’s not gonna fly. “Do me a favour and lay back? I’m gonna put this towel right under you for now.”

Peter doesn’t have any arguments, or if he does, he doesn’t vocalise them. Pepper comes back in with the kits and drugs and, because she’s just smarter than him like that, bags of blood.

Tony grabs the vials first and loads up a syringe. Peter is pretty numb to all of it until the needle goes in. Then he frowns. “Why are you injecting me with alien blood?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s not alien blood, it’s a pain killer. A serious one at that, so you’re probably gonna feel a little out of it for a while, okay?”

Peter frowns. “Is it for Steve?”

Tony tenses, but it’s only for a second. “Yes,” he says, somewhat tightly.

“Ugh. What a turd, Mr. Stark. You’re giving me turd vitamins!” Tony scoffs while Pepper laughs. Peter notices. “See? She thinks I’m funny.”

“You’re not helping me here,” Tony says to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Here, have some thread.”

Tony sighs. “Just stay still for me, okay?”

Peter does. Pepper passes him various supplies and they work together to sew up both ends of the gunshot wound. By the time they’re done, Peter hasn’t moved once, but his eyes are open and he’s frowning.

“How do you feel?”

“Wired,” he says.

“Seriously? Bruce never said anything about the side-effects, but I figured they’d be like normal pain-killers; make you drowsy and all that.”

“No,” Peter sits up quickly and doesn’t even flinch. “I feel like I just got steroids or something. Are you—are you actually telling me that Captain America’s drugs are infused with a stimulant? What, so he can keep fighting even when he’s in the middle of dying?”

Tony blinks. “Well that was smart of dear Banner.”

“Yeah, or insane.” Peter flexes his hands. “I feel like I need to go for a run, or like, break something.”

“Let’s avoid that,” Tony says, pushing him back down. “You need to heal, not mess yourself up even more, understood?”

Peter stares. “Is it normal to see sounds?”

Pepper bursts out laughing again. “I’m sorry,” she says when Tony glares. “Really, I am, I promise. Peter, honey, how about we get you to a bedroom where you can rest up? We’ll call your aunt and explain everything.”

—

Everything is going fine until May asks, “How did you get to the Tower so quick, then?”

Peter blinks. “Hmm? Pardon?”

“If you were at Ned’s,” May says, “how’d you manage to swing all the way across town?”

Peter opens his mouth and closes it. “I, uh… well, funny story, um… I wasn’t actually at Ned’s?”

There’s a pause over the phone. Pepper, who’s holding it, raises an eyebrow. May says: “You told me you were going to Ned’s, Peter.”

His face feels hot. He hopes it isn’t red. Both Pepper and Tony—from the doorway with his hands stuffed in his sweatpant pockets—are staring. It’s almost as bad as if May were really here.

“Well I was going to Ned’s, but then I changed my mind and went somewhere else and oh—look at the time! I think we’re going through a tunnel—”

“Don’t even try to pull that crap! That’s it, I’m coming over there—”

“May,” Peter says, serious now, “you’re in the middle of a shift, there’s people dying. Just—I’m perfectly fine, I took my Captain America drugs and everything is gonna be okay.”

“But you lied to me.”

“No, I changed my mind.”

“And went where?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Peter.”

“May.”

She groans from the other end of the line and demands to speak to Pepper one on one. Tony’s fiancé grins and switches off speaker, before slipping out with a bright laugh to finish off the conversation. Tony stares expectantly. “So where were you?”

“Oh my god, not you too. You know, on second thought, I actually am completely exhausted and—”

“Uh, nope,” Tony flops down onto the bed. “Fess up.”

Peter sighs. He squirms down and covers his pillow with a head. “No.”

Tony joins him under it. “Tell me.”

Peter scowls. He rolls onto his side so they’re facing one another. “I was with my girlfriend.”

“Oooo—”

“Shush! It’s… it’s really not a big deal and I haven’t told May yet because MJ and I haven’t even really talked about it and it all happened super fast and—” he remembers to breathe, “I just… I always tell May everything, you know? But I kind of just felt like… this was something I had to figure out first on my own. Maybe it’s stupid, but I know she’s gonna be super hurt when she finds out it’s been a month and I haven’t said anything—”

“Kid,” Tony cuts in. “Calm down.”

“I’m calm,” Peter promises, because he is. He’s also just incredibly hyper and stressed.

“It’s a normal instinct to want to figure things out and define them before you start announcing them to the world. I get that. But you’re still a kid, Pete, and even if you don’t want people prying into your love life, we still need to know where you are in case something goes wrong.”

Peter harrumphs as he turns away. “There’s a tracker on my phone and my suit. It would be easier to find me than anything else.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “You got a point there.”

“I just wanted time.”

“I know.”

“But I really like her, okay? Like she’s so smart and she’s got this really dark sense of humour and she’s actually kind of terrifying sometimes—”

“Oh, the scary ones are always fun.”

They stay up talking through the night and, when the sun comes up, Pepper joins them with a tray of freshly made blueberry waffles. May arrives around the same time and, looking too tired to be mad, simply drops onto the bed with them and steals what’s left of his food.

—

Peter is on patrol when he hears it:

a soft, quiet yelping coming from somewhere down below the rooftop he’s perched on.

At first he figures he’s imagining things, but then his ears perk again. He leans over the building’s edge to find the source of the noise.

In the dark it’s hard to make anything out, so he climbs slowly down the side of the wall, squinting. There’s another yelp and a low whine, almost pained. Peter zeroes in on the sound and creeps toward a set of dumpsters; they’re so full of trash they’re overflowing, and it’s underneath a broken down cardboard box that he finds it...

A puppy.

Now, Peter is no liar. He’s wanted a dog since he was like, a fetus. The words ‘A dog’ have been on every birthday and Christmas list for as long as he can remember. It’s only recently, in the years since Ben’s death, that he’s pretty much given up—after all, May is so overworked and they can barely afford to feed themselves. How could they afford a pet?

But also…

This is the cutest dog he’s ever seen.

It’s tiny and fluffy and brown and has the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever seen.

Peter kind of just stands there staring like an idiot for a good few seconds and then slowly kneels down. “Um, hi,” he says, in the gentlest voice he can manage. The puppy, who can’t be older than a few weeks and looks completely starved and exhausted, whines in response.

Peter holds out his hand for the dog to sniff. It lifts its head lazily and leans forward, nose twitching and dry. “You need water, huh? Come on, I know a place.”

—

“Shelob,” Tony greets without looking up from whatever project he’s working on. “What can I do for you at… one in the fucking morning?”

“I need your help with something, but you have to promise you won’t get mad or make me get rid of him—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done now?”

“He was just so helpless and cold and small and…” Peter swallows and reveals the puppy, presently wrapped up in his hoodie. “Meet Nugget.”

Tony’s face is the epitome of Disappointed Dad. He stares, open-mouthed, and after a second his shoulders fall. “Well, fuck.”

Peter snuggles Nugget against his chest and steps closer, but then Tony holds up a hand to stop him. “Nah-ah! Not until that thing gets a flea bath!”

Hope sparks in Peter’s chest. “You mean we can keep him?”

“I mean there’s no way I’m getting near him until I know I won’t break out in hives.”

“That’s not how fleas work.”

“Do I care? No. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom.”

—

“Why do you have flea shampoo?”

Peter’s inquiry is made tentatively. They both have their hands in the sud-filled sink as they systematically wash Nugget’s fur.

“There was… an incident a while ago. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Peter stares. Blinks. “Okay. Well, I think he’s clean.”

Nugget barks as if in agreement, and so Peter and Tony lift him out of the basin and set him on a pile of no doubt expensive, fluffy white towels. Tony takes the lead after that. He’s surprisingly gentle and patient with the yapping, impatient puppy—even when Nugget tries to claw at him and shake himself dry, Tony never loses his cool.

A few minutes later they’re sitting on their stomachs watching Nugget stomp around on a blanket. There’s water in a bowl for him at one corner and a plate of chopped up chicken at another.

“I can’t take him home,” Peter says morosely after a few minutes. “May won’t let me keep him.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Where does she even think you are right now?”

“...In my bed.”

“Wow,” Tony says, deadpan. “Okay, well, I most certainly can’t keep him either.”

“What?! Why not?!”

Tony sighs. “I’m Iron Man, if you hadn’t noticed, kiddo—”

“Oh, what, so you’re too tough to look after him?”

“No, I’m too busy. I spend like, twenty-three out of twenty-four hours in a day in my shop and the rest of the time I’m on my knees apologising to Pepper and begging for forgiveness. There’s no time in-between to feed the pup, walk the pup—”

“I could come by,” Peter blurts. “Like, once a day, and I could make sure he’s eaten and play with him and stuff. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger—”

“Except to press ‘purchase’ on my shopping cart full of dog food—”

“Tony,” Peter cuts in, pleading, “please? I can’t just drop him off at some kennel so they can—” he covers the dog’s ears, “so they can euthanize him in a week when no one buys him. He deserves so much better, you know?”

Tony frowns, considering it, and Peter waits with his breath caught in his throat until, “God, fine.”

“Yes!”

“But! But! A pet is a serious responsibility, okay? You might as well be adopting a child—”

“What would you know about raising kids?” Peter asks, only jokingly, but Tony just stares and then, for some reason, smiles.

“You have to make sure he’s happy,” Tony says. “You have to be there for him in whatever way he needs, alright? I’ll set up a pen in the penthouse and you can make sure he works off his energy there, and if I have time I’ll even take you both to the park. And if he ever happens to pee on my carpet, I’m counting on you to clean it up.”

“Don’t you have, like, housekeepers for that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, but this is character building stuff.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll clean up the pee.”

They continue to iron out the details for a while and bicker over whether Nugget’s last name should be Parker or Stark, and it’s only when Pepper walks in—still in her pajamas, bleary eyed and complaining that they woke her up—that they both decide it should be ‘Potts’.

—

5. (+1)

It starts with a headache.

He’s bent over his desk studying for a Calc test when the throbbing begins. It’s not so bad at first, but after a half hour or so his vision is swimming and he keeps having to take breaks to massage his temples and close his eyes. The equations are all blending together and he can’t think straight anymore.

Peter decides to give up right around then. After all, if he’s not gonna retain any of the information, why bother?

May pokes and prods through dinner. Peter tries to fool her by acting like everything is normal and okay and even manages to make her laugh once or twice.

Inside, dread is coiling through his stomach like an irritated snake. He knows what’s coming next; after all, he doesn’t really get sick anymore, so what else could it be?

Peter tries to sleep but ends up tossing and turning for most of the night. He falls into some kind of half-conscious daze at around four in the morning and rouses about twenty minutes later, soaked with sweat and aching everywhere.

Feeling like he’s gonna vomit, Peter kicks off his blankets and strips the sheets off his bed. He takes his shirt off because the fabric is too abrasive against his skin and it’s like he can feel every fibre tickling against it, grating and chafing. He curls up into a tight ball and covers his ears with his hands to block out the now amplified sounds of the city: car alarms, dogs barking, music playing.

Normally Peter loves the way New York is never silent. Now, he just wishes everyone would shut the fuck up for once.

When he stumbles out of his room a little while later, May is already gone. She’d told him the night before that she had an early shift and for once he’s actually grateful. Haltingly, Peter gets ready for school. He’s already skipped three days this month and if he misses this Calc quiz he’s gonna fucking bomb the class.

May would kill him.

It’s better to suffer a little than die.

Brushing his teeth makes his head spin and the minute he wriggles into his clothes he feels like a caged animal about to claw his skin off. Everything takes so much longer than normal. He doesn’t eat because the mere thought of food makes the back of his throat sting with bile.

On the train, he closes his eyes and rests his head against the cool glass of the window, trying to tune out the constant screeching of the rails. One day, on God, he will make it a personal project to oil every fucking line in the subway.

At his fifth stop, an old lady boards and all the seats are taken.

Peter swallows thickly and stands. Black spots dance in his vision and he grabs onto the overhead bar—something he hasn’t actually needed to use since he was a little kid—and tries not to pass out.

He almost misses the stop to get to school, but slips out at the last second, millimetres away from getting his backpack caught in the doors. Peter is hot all over and lightheaded as he makes his way out of the station. It’s even hotter up above, what with summer coming now and all.

Peter is late and he doesn’t need his watch to tell; Flash’s car is already parked out front instead of zooming through the drop off to run him over (which, hey, silver lining), and the majority of the student body is already inside.

Peter has to stop multiple times on his way to Spanish just to breathe. By the time he gets there he’s at least ten minutes late for roll call.

“Mr. Parker,” his teacher greets, unimpressed. “So glad you could join us.”

Peter makes a noise and takes the proffered quiz. He wonders absently why some people choose to teach. What is it, like, some kind of power trip for them?

He has five minutes to finish the quiz but doesn’t make it past the first question. Ned volunteers to collect them and stops at Peter’s desk while Professor Scott outlines today’s lesson plan.

“Dude,” he whisper-hisses, “you look like complete shit. What on Earth are you doing here right now?”

“Test,” Peter mutters dully, resting his cheek on his hand and closing his eyes. “Here you go. Didn’t finish it.”

Ned takes it carefully, holding it with two fingers like it’s covered in disease. “Do you want me to get the nurse or something?”

Peter hums. “No. Just… headache.”

Slowly Ned backs away. “Um—”

“Mr. Leeds!” Professor Scott says, loudly. Ned jumps. “Is there a problem back there?”

Yes, Peter thinks. You’re the human version of nails on a fucking chalk board. Please, for the love of all that is holy, just start on the vocab.

Only he accidentally says all of that out loud.

The whole class is staring. Flash is slack-jawed. Betty Brant’s eyes are the size of small moons.

“Parker,” Scott grits out—and Peter has denominated him to just Scott now out of reciprocation and spite; “You just earned yourself a shiny new detention. I’d like you to take this slip to the principal’s office. Please.”

Oh, thank God. At least it’ll be quiet there.

Peter stands and brushes past Ned and it literally feels like flames of hell are licking against his skin. He almost vomits. This is decidedly not good.

He takes the paper. “Gladly, good sir.”

When he’s gone, there’s an outburst of muttering that his enhancements let him hear. It only makes the overload worse. Peter covers his ears with his hands again and, overcome with a sudden wave of vertigo, ducks into the bathroom.

He barely makes it to the toilet before emptying his stomach of last night’s food.

Peter sags against the wall, panting. He keeps his eyes closed and waits for the world to stop spinning. About ten minutes later, the smell of jasmine shampoo—normally welcome—causes him to lean over and retch again.

MJ pokes her head inside the unlocked stall. “Jesus,” she whispers. The second her hands touch his body he flinches and she immediately retracts them. “Fuck, sorry. Ned said you wigged out in Spanish. I looked for you in the Principal's office but you weren’t there and... What’s—what’s wrong? I thought you couldn’t even get sick.”

“Bad headache,” he mutters, spitting into the toilet. It’s easier than explaining about his freakish mutations and how they sometimes go completely haywire, leaving him on edge and nauseous and irritable.

MJ grabs him some toilet paper to wipe his mouth with. “Did you take anything?”

“Pain meds don’t work on me.”

“Does May know? You should have called in.”

“Couldn’t. Can’t miss my test.”

She sighs. “Your final is like fifty percent of your grade and you could pass it with your eyes closed. You can miss your test, you’re just afraid of getting anything lower than an A.”

Peter is silent. “You got me there.”

MJ’s hand twitches like she wants to touch him but knows she can’t. “You need to go home. Lie down, get some rest.”

“May is working,” Peter says, “and if I have to take the subway again right now I’ll die. I really will. It’s so—the smell and the noise and I can’t sit down and—”

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Just give it.”

She’s holding her hand out for it and giving him a no-nonsense expression that kind of reminds Peter of Pepper Potts on a rampage. He’s seen what happens to Tony when he crosses her, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over.

“Hold on.”

She stands and leaves. Peter closes his eyes again. He tunes out her conversation because if he doesn’t, he’s absolutely gonna vomit again and nobody wants that.

MJ slips back inside the stall. “Okay, solved. Do you still feel like you’re gonna vomit?”

Peter thinks about it. “No.”

“Good. We’re gonna go to the nurse, okay?”

“Oh boy.”

—

Tony Stark walks into Peter’s school and finds the hallways empty. The classroom doors are shut and the muted sounds of teachers lecturing are the only signs that anyone is here at all.

He finds Peter in the infirmary, sitting on the examination table with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes.

He’s at his side in an instant. “Kid?”

It’s surprise that gets Peter’s eyes open, but the little spider baby immediately regrets it. He flinches and sucks in a sharp breath. “Tony,” he whispers, like the name is all he can manage and the questions will have to wait for later.

Tony looks him over. There are no obvious injuries. The girl on the phone had said it was just a headache, but Tony is way more experienced with Peter’s brand of bullshit and knows there’s usually something else going on beneath the surface.

“I’m gonna go talk to the nurse and then get you out of here, okay?”

A nod.

It’s always a bad thing when he doesn’t argue. Peter Parker would start a fight about what kind of pizza to order, even if you suggest the kind he really wants, just to be a stubborn little shit about things.

Tony slips out of the exam room. The nurse looks up when he enters her office. “Oh my—Mr. Stark?!”

“Yes, hello,” Tony takes a cautious step forward as she stands. He doesn’t bother to sit. “I’m here to pick up the little gremlin in there.”

Her face flushes. “I didn’t know you’d been called, I—I figured I would just let him wait it out, you know? He didn’t want to be touched, so it was hard to figure out what was up and—so it’s real? About the internship?”

“Of course. Why would he lie?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Well… you know how kids can be.”

“Do I?”

She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that.

Tony sighs. “Look, Nurse—uh, Timms—Nurse Timms, can I please just sign the kid out and take him home? He’s clearly in pain here.”

She starts rifling through her desk for a form. “I mean, I can admit you to take him home, but I really suggest you talk with the principal first—Peter was given a detention before he was brought to my ward, see, and I was—” she shakes her head. “I thought he might be faking.”

Tony stares without blinking for a whole five seconds and then, “Detention? For what?”

“I heard he bad-mouthed a teacher or something. But to be fair, Professor Scott isn’t exactly what I’d call patient.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Tony takes the form she hands him to sign, “my kid doesn’t fake. He has a condition, see. Gets uh… overloaded. Sounds, smells, it can be too much for him. Probably why he snapped.”

“That… that makes sense.”

“Yes,” he says succinctly, and hands the paper back. “You’d know that if you bothered to ask. Anyway, I’ll be going. Thanks for the help, Nurse Times.”

“Uh, it’s—it’s Timms—”

The door shuts behind him.

—

MJ was forced to go back to class. She’d argued and protested but Nurse Timms was insistent. So, MJ had relented. She’d pressed the lightest of kisses on his forehead and it surprisingly hadn’t felt that bad, and then she’d gone.

Tony Stark had shown up about twenty minutes later and it’s just when Peter’s starting to think it was all just a vivid hallucination that the smell of coffee and motor oil fills his senses again. It’s overwhelming but not debilitating.

“Kiddo,” Tony whispers, “is it okay to touch you?”

Peter cracks an eye. Everything is bright but Tony’s suit is mercifully black, so he focuses on that. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna move.”

“Well I gotta get you outta here somehow.”

“But my detention—”

“I already got you out of it,” Tony says breezily. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Tony,” Peter says, cheeks flushing. “You can’t just bribe my principal into—”

“I didn’t bribe anyone. I just explained the situation and besides, Morita’s an old friend.”

Peter closes his eyes again as he frowns. “You’re friends with my principal?”

“I’m a benefactor for your school, too,” Tony says. “But don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.”

Something shifts in the air. Tony is sitting now. “Happy’s waiting outside,” he says, “but whenever you’re ready.”

Peter thinks about it for a few seconds and decides it’s gonna have to happen at some point, anyway. Might as well rip the band-aid off now. Slowly he takes a deep breath and manages to sit up with Tony’s help. The older man tries to avoid touching him as much as possible, but surprisingly enough the weight of his hand against Peter’s spine isn’t crushing or aggravating. It doesn’t hurt.

“Baby steps,” Tony says softly. “We’ll take you out the side door, okay?”

Even getting to the door is slow going but Tony doesn’t seem to mind. Right before they open it, Tony stops and pulls his sunglasses off. “Here, try these.”

Peter puts them on. He feels ridiculous because like, they work on Tony who was literally born in the seventies, but Peter really doesn’t dig the groovy shades. Regardless they’re better than nothing and even help a little.

The halls are empty again. Most of the students will be in the gym right about now, or the cafeteria for lunch. They don’t run into anybody on the way out and as soon as they’re in the back of the car, Peter sags against Tony’s side. He feels like he’s just run ten miles.

“Drive, Hogan,” Tony says, and then the partition glides up.

For a few seconds it’s almost completely quiet. Noise suppression tech, Peter realises, and he feels like he could cry from relief. For the first time in hours there’s just… nothing. No traffic, no dozens of students talking at once. The air conditioning unit is filtered, so he’s not being attacked with the smell of body odour and clashing perfume scents and Axe cologne. There’s just Tony and beautiful, amazing, showstopping silence.

Tony shifts a little. “Better?”

Peter nods, figuring it’s still probably not safe to speak.

“We’ll be there soon,” Tony says softly.

—

Peter doesn’t remember much after the car ride. He can vaguely recall protesting getting out of the Audi, and he remembers Tony assuring him that everything would be okay, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back in an utterly dark bedroom. The walls are insulated just like the car had been, so there’s just no sound, and the bed sheets probably have the highest thread count of all time.

Something shifts beside Peter and he realises Tony is there, feeling his forehead.

“What—?”

“Oh, hey,” Tony greets. “I think you might’ve blacked out there. All the noise hit you at once when we got out of the car and you just…”

“I fainted?”

Tony snorts softly. “Relax. It happens to the best of us. How do you feel, Webster?”

Peter hums. “Bad.”

“Let’s try a scale of one to ten.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “Ten.” Tony lets out a little grunt at that and so Peter elaborates, “It was at like, a twenty this morning, so.”

“Ah, I see.” Tony’s grip shifts to Peter’s wrist to measure his pulse. “This okay?”

“It’s fine.”

And it really is. He doesn’t feel like burning his skin off or anything. Tony’s hands are just warm.

“Any idea what brought this on?”

Peter shifts a little. “I uh… haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.” He swallows. “Like, at all.”

“And how long’s that been going on for?”

“I don’t know. On and off for a few weeks, I guess.”

“Jesus,” Tony sighs and pulls his hand away. He rakes it through his hair. “Kiddo, what have we said about communication? Does May know?”

“....No?”

There’s a long pause where Tony just kind of sits there thinking, like he wants to say whatever comes next carefully. He massages his temples and then: “Alright, scooch over.”

“What?”

“Make room for me.”

Peter blinks and then, tentatively, scoots over a little to allow Tony room to lie down. The older man does, arching his back a little and grunting in pain because he’s like, ancient. They’re not touching, but very slowly Peter starts inching closer again. Eventually he works up the courage to try resting his head on Tony’s chest, which is terrifying not only because it’s Tony Stark, but also because he’d rather not have his brain implode.

Nothing happens. “Your fabric softener must be like, super expensive,” he whispers, because this is actually better than the sheets.

Tony snorts. “I’ll ask Pep about it.”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise and before he knows it, his eyes are closing. For once they actually feel heavy, and the steady rhythm of Tony’s heart beat is soothing, dependable.

Tony’s hands brush lightly over Peter’s hair and then thread through it. “Too much?”

“No,” Peter promises. “Good.”

And so Tony’s fingers run through his curls over and over, gently, lightly. His thumb sweeps over Peter’s cheek once, too, and then he starts muttering in Italian.

Peter cracks an eye. “Are you telling me your grocery shopping list?”

Tony laughs a little. “My mom used to do it for me,” he says. “Something about just hearing her speak the language made me feel… relaxed, I guess. Didn’t matter what she was saying.”

Peter smiles and wraps an arm around Tony’s torso. “Tell me something else.”

“You wanna hear about the time I almost blew up a Chem lab?”

“Uh, duh.”

So Tony launches into it, speaking in a low voice and absently twisting one of Peter’s curls around his finger. It feels nice and the headache is fading fast.

Peter sleeps.

#marvel #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #my writing #friendly neighborhood fic exchange #may parker #pepper potts #michelle jones #spideychelle #pepperony #nugget the dog #insomnia

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whattheheehaw · 3 years

Note

Hi! I’m sorry you’re getting shitty anons about this and you’re probably sick of it so I apologise for asking this but I’m genuinely curious what made you start actively disliking zutara? Like, considering how much excellent and insightful content/meta you yourself used to make/write? I get that interests change over time and you’re totally valid!! the anons sending you hate over it are really dumb, but if you’d be ok with sharing, I’d be really interested in hearing why you’ve done almost a complete 180 on the ship? Was is just burnout/end of a hyper-obsession? Or was it some of us in the rest of the fandom that turned you off? Or was it even something about the ship/characters themselves that you changed your mind about? xx

In short, it was a combination of burnout, dissatisfaction with fandom, and disappointment in myself that caused my disinterest for Zvtara.

I got asks similar to this one a couple of times before, but I never gave a comprehensive answer, mainly because I didn't know how to articulate my reasons why I don't like it anymore. But now that I've been out of ZK fandom for a month and have had some time to reflect, I think I can give a much more thorough response. Beware, this is long and I heavily critique the Zvtara fandom, so if you're a ZK shipper, keep reading at your own risk.

My first minor annoyance with Zvtara is that the fandom has a tendency to idolize certain fics and creators. And while there’s certainly nothing inherently wrong about that, I feel like the Zvtara fandom does it to such an extent that it influences the type of content that content creators make in order to get recognition. And to illustrate my point, I’m going to talk about one of the most famous Zvtara fics of all time: Once Around The Sun by eleventy7.

Don’t get me wrong, I love OATS. I think it’s a great fanfic and I think the author devoted a lot of time and effort to make it such an excellent fic. The plot, the development of the characters and their relationships to one other, and the messages about family and love were all brilliantly written. I mean, there is a reason why it’s regarded as the “Zvtara Bible”. This one fanfic had such a profound impact upon the ZK fandom, and I think the biggest impact that came from it is the dramatic influx of post-war Zvtara AU fanfiction.

Because so many people kept reading OATS and recommending it to others, I think there was an overall interest in ZK fics that take place in a post-war setting. And I think that all of the high praise towards OATS made more fic writers start to write post-war fanfics because of this demand for post-war AU.* I normally wouldn't complain about it because more content is more content, but in my opinion, 99% of ZK post-war fics are the same fic but in different fonts.

Like, there's at least 3 of these elements in every ZK post-war fanfic:

Ambassador Katara

An assassination attempt (usually on Zuko's life)

A healing scene between Zuko and Katara (usually Katara heals Zuko)

Aang and/or Mai is pushed to the side or vilified to some extent in order to make ZK happen

A private journey between Zuko and Katara to facilitate #6

S L O W B U R N (that's not really slowburn and more like "I love you and I very much want to be vocal about my feelings but #7 is in this fic" but the love story takes up like 30 chapters so I guess it's a slowburn?)

Zuko's advisers don't want him to get married to Katara because ✨racism✨

Ursa is found

Azula is in the fic because a) she's going to get a healing arc ft. Zuko and Katara and thereby helps them get together or b) she's the villain and thereby helps them get together

ZK wedding happens in the FN

After reading multiple post-war fics back to back, I could tell that the format was pretty much the same across the board, which isn't very interesting for me to read. My only other fic options in the Zvtara tag on AO3 are canon divergence fics which almost always take place during The Crossroads of Destiny or after The Southern Raiders. And to some extent, those stories are pretty much the same too. There's nothing really new or creative going on in the ZK fandom fic-wise, and because of that, my interest in ZK fandom started to dwindle.

My second issue with Zvtara is that it's a very old ship from a very old show. Because there's been 10+ years since the end of A:TLA, every nuanced point about shipping and the show itself have been talked to death.** There's just nothing new to say. It's the same arguments being rehashed over and over again in the tag because there's no other interpretation one can come up with.

For example, there's so many people who talk about why Zvtara as depicted in The Southern Raiders is not toxic and that's great and all, but I (and most likely many others) have read those same points about five times already. And for some reason, each time this happens, people act like someone just discovered the lost city of Atlantis when they bring up their new-but-not-new argument in defense of Zvtara. Honestly, I'm ashamed to say that I'm not exempt from being part of the group of people that reiterate old arguments. I've done it with one of my posts about The Southern Raiders and I've done it again with my Zutara/Omashu parallels post.

There's no new content to really dissect and analyze (especially considering Zuko and Katara are rarely in the same panel in any of the post-war comics), and because of this, people are just restating points that someone else made several years ago.*** And even if someone did have a different interpretation of an episode, their ideas would most likely be shut down because for the past several years, the same interpretation has been recycled through the fandom repeatedly and people are resistant to new perspectives.

This brings me to the third thing that I dislike about Zvtara: the insistence that there can only be one way to interpret The Southern Raiders. For the longest time, I've read take after take that said if Katara decided to kill Yon Rha, it would be ok because that's her grief to deal with and if she thinks that's the best way to mete out justice, then good for her. And again, I'm ashamed to say that I perpetuated that idea in a few of my own posts. I have always thought that "Katara killing Yon Rha is ok" is just a bad take in general, but I didn't want to vocalize that opinion when so many people—so many of the nice mutuals that I made—all shared that same opinion. Taking down a popular opinion of your own ship is completely different from taking down a popular opinion of a ship that you dislike. The Zvtara fandom is the first fandom that I was actually active in and I wanted to fit in so badly with everyone else that I just parroted whatever other people said, even if I didn't agree with those sentiments.

This leads me to my final reason why I don't want to be a part of ZK fandom anymore. I think I established myself as a "meta" person pretty early on and because of that, I constantly felt pressured to come up with new takes on the ship. And when people started flooding my ask box with stuff like "Can you write a meta about your thoughts on the idea that 'Zuko only took Katara on that field trip in TSR because he wanted her to forgive him'?" and "What are your thoughts about antis saying Zuko and Katara are toxic because of TSR?", I realized that I don't need to come up with new takes. People just want me to paraphrase something that 10 other people said about the same exact topic, because if I said what I actually thought about the subject (i.e. there is some truth in what antis say about TSR and it's not as much of a "Zvtara episode" that most people make it out to be), I'd probably get ZK shippers in the replies telling me that I'm wrong because x, y, and z or "you shouldn't tag this as Zvtara".

And that was pretty much how my love for ZK turned into disinterest. I was and still am disappointed that I didn't stick to my personal opinions. For as much as I talk about herd mentality on Twitter, I certainly don't practice what I preach. In all honesty, the only reason why I held on so long to ZK fandom was because I had so many nice mutuals there and we all shared this collective distaste for antis. I think I started to become more anti-Zvkka and anti-Kataang than pro-Zvtara, which isn't what I wanted to do when I made this Tumblr blog.

The thing that made me joke about becoming anti-Zvtara was the fact that some ZK shippers just like to send shitty anons to people whom they've reblogged countless different metas from. Sending shitty anons to people in the first place is wrong, but sending them to people who tagged their posts correctly and did nothing wrong is just disgusting.

*I'm not a fic writer and can't speak for fic writers, but it definitely feels like a lot of ZK fic authors are pushing themselves to write the next OATS, and by doing so, they are proliferating the tag with post-war fics that have very similar aspects to OATS.

**I think that as more people point out the same nuanced points about Zvtara, it diminishes the actual significance of those points. Like, it's hard to explain but the more people talk about the subtleties of the ship, the more those parts become glaringly obvious and I become numb to their actual impact on the characters and the show.

***At this point, if someone wanted to make a new argument about Zvtara, I think they would have to look very closely at every little detail in every single one of their scenes together to find a crumb of new meta material. And speaking from experience, it's not very fun trying to make a mountain out of a molehill. Whenever I post a "meta" like that, I feel like I'm reaching to make a point that doesn't exist.

#anti zutara #anonymous #ask and ye shall receive

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 4 years

Text

NSFW Alphabet: Crosshair

A/N: Not officially a request, but I thought I’d better cover the whole Bad Batch while I’m at it. And as a reminder, remember to REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS!!! The tumblr tags are fickle at best and it’s the only real way to support creators on this hellsite.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s always stuck between wanting to keep your body against him, but at the same time not wanting to come across as needy. He’ll probably start kissing your shoulders and neck, before nipping at the skin and telling you to go take a shower. Once you do, he’ll try to play it cool like, “you can stick around if you want, not that I care either way”. But, he does. He does care.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes your waist. Odd, but true. It’s the natural place to put his hands when he pulls you close to him. He likes the way you shiver when he runs his fingers along your skin. Not to mention it’s the perfect place to grip you as his fucks you senseless.

For himself, he likes his legs. Yeah, they’re not as thick or muscular compared to regs, but they’re distinctly his. Plus even if he’s not any taller, it helps with the illusion that he is.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

His favorite place to cum is all over your chest and stomach. Seeing you a sweating, blissed out mess with his cum sticking to your skin is the single hottest image his mind can come up with. Second only to you hazily swiping his cum onto you finger and sucking with a moan.

You better be prepared if you do that because you won’t be able to walk the next day.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has an impressive collection of dirty holos you’ve sent to him while away on missions. He’s kept every single one. It’s gotten to the point where he just picks a random holo and that’s the fantasy he indulges in to get himself off until he can see you again.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Like the rest of the batch, he’s had a pretty healthy string of one night stands since leaving Kamino. He actually has the most notches on his bed post which he is not ashamed to bring up whenever Wrecker is getting just a little too cocky. So, he’s pretty experienced all things considered.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Taking you from behind and against a wall. That’s the popular image of him in the fandom and I’m ain’t here to dispute it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not funny, but he’s definitely a smug asshole who can’t help but comment on every sound you make.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps it pretty well groomed down there, almost complete shaven. Also, dark hair down below, if you’re curious.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It’s very rare for Crosshair to be emotional in bed. He uses sex more as a way to get rid of tension or get a solid hit of dopamine. Actually being open with someone is not something he’s comfortable with.

The most intimate he gets is when he feels he might lose you, either in the field or to another man. Then, he uses it as a way to assure himself you’re with him and his. In that case, it can get pretty intense.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jacks off often, before and after meeting you. He’s got a higher sex drive than his brothers and needs someway to work off the tension after a mission. He prefers doing it in the shower when he has the time, but he’ll honestly whip it out anyplace where he can get some privacy for fifteen minutes.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Let it be recorded that Crosshair is not only a Dom, but the only true Dom in entire Grand Army of the Republic. (With the exception of Commander Wolffe.)

Seriously, the man likes nothing more than pinning you down and using your body as his personally fuck toy. His ultimate fantasy is keeping you tied up in various positions, your body spread open and willing for him to use whenever the mood strikes him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere with a relatively flat surface. I cannot emphasize how much he does not care where he does it: bedroom, shower, locker room, bar bathroom, sparring room, between a couple of boulders out of view of the rest of the Bad Batch. He does not care.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

His ego...let me explain.

There are two ways to really get him going, but they both come down to how they effect his ego.

Number one, praise. If you compliment him on a shot, confirm that he did, in fact, beat Wrecker at something, or rasp a dirty promise in his ear that he’s the only man who has ever made you cum that hard; that’ll get him going more than anything.

Number two, jealously. If he sees another man actively flirting with you, he’ll all but sling you over his shoulder and carry you to the closest abandoned alley he can find to fuck you senseless. He doesn’t care if you were interested in the guy flirting with you or not, you’re his and he needs to remind himself and you of that.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Humiliation for him is a no go. There’s the more obvious stuff, like the idea of you putting him on a leash or something equally degrading just gets him frustrated, and not in a sexy way. But, more specifically verbal humiliation. He genuinely gets upset if you’re the one to say he’s not good enough for you in some capacity or compare him negatively to somebody else. That’ll kill the mood in seconds.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Much prefers receiving to giving. Seeing you on your knees with his cock in your mouth his heaven. And being able to cum all over your face and chest when he’s done? He’s in heaven.

That being said, he’s not bad at giving, he just ends up mostly using his fingers while he runs his mouth. He can’t help it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough, like all the time. He basically has no other mode. Now, whether it’s more intense with pent up emotions or a fun stress reliever depends on his mood. Either way, if you’re not a sweating, panting mess by the end of it he feels like he’s failed in some way.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yes. He’s going to say yes to quickies. Where ever and whenever is good for him. But, don’t think it’s really over when it’s over. He only considers it a preview of what he’s going to do to you once you actually get some time and a little more privacy.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s certainly willing to try different positions and kinks, but he’s not big on getting more toys in the mix. He’s more than happy to tie you up and spank you, but he’s not so keen on adding a paddle or something like that, if that makes any kind of sense. It’s about his body and what he can do to you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Just as good as every other clone, with a fantastic recovery time. A solid average of three rounds per night lasting as long as either of you can stand it.

That all being said, he’s in constant competition with himself on how long he can last and for how many rounds.

Current record for time is two hours before he came once with you cumming a total of five times. Current round total is him cumming five times in one night while you lost count of yours.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Surprisingly not his thing. He’s got some cuffs he uses on occasion with you, but not much else. Like I said, he’s in competition with himself, not him and a toy.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn’t tease often, but when he does, he’s an asshole. He’ll keep you pinned down, lazily rubbing the tip of his cock against your opening, never fully going in until you’re squirming and begging him to just fuck you already. Sometimes he will and sometimes, he’ll leave you hanging there. It all depends on his mood.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not especially. In the beginning he keeps it almost conversational, as he talks dirty into your ear. But, it all changes when he comes to the end. It’s like whatever control he had over his vocal cords gets shut off. He curses a lot combined with grunts and borederline feral growls as he rams his cock harder and deeper into you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Crosshair has a real jealously streak, especially when it comes to regs.

While he’s confident in his abilities, he’s aware more than Wrecker or even Tech that they’re basically a bunch of freaks the Republic likes to keep under wraps. A funny little lab experiment. While regs were made just as much as he was, they actually have a chance at being...well, normal after all is said and done. He’s not sure he’ll ever be normal. So, the fear of you realizing you’re dating an actual freak of nature weighs on him constantly.

He needs to remind himself that you’re with him, that you chose him and you’re not going to walk away. It drives him crazy that you make him feel that way, but it’s the truth.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Just as long as his clone brothers (a solid 8-inches), but not as thick. Not that he need that extra edge. His talent is precision after all.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I’d say he has the highest of the batch, actually getting agitated if he hasn’t had a good fuck in more than a few days. His hand can only do so much for him before he gets down right hostile.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I’d say it takes him a solid half-hour to finally fall asleep after sex. He’d never tell you, but he likes the feeling of you asleep in his arms. He’ll savor it for as long as he can.

#crosshair #crosshair x reader #clone force 99 #the bad batch #star wars #the clone wars #lemon

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bunsbunnybitch · 3 years

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

anon: i dont think i ever really post anything here, as in fanfics and so yeah, bc i postly at my wattpad in the same name, that is if i ever change it. so quick info: so like this is a project ive been wanting to do ( a blacklist x reader fanfic) and its still in the proccess, but its gonna be out in a rlly long time mosly bc my lazy ass cant do shit and im always procrastinating. and like i also made some plots of my own, change many shit in the timeline to match my own and i sometimes question myself why i make such a big fucking effort to create a goddam fic but then i realize that fanfics are the b a. n e of my existence noone: me: s o LiKe- anyways here is an excerp from the prologue (mind u this is a draft so it sucks ass but im too excited to share it so here ya go)

　❝ THE VILLAINNESS ❞

CURRENT DATE: 1993 //THE BAU CLASS LECTURE// TOPIC: The Missing Kids Case

THE lecture room dimmed and the students instantly tensed at the sound of heels clicking the floor. They were excited; some were appalled, either each of the fact that they happen to be sitting alone with the most known psychologist, or preferably the most mischievous asshole on the planet-from your perspective. As for you, you were positioned near the doorway of the lecture room, gazing down from the higher seats to the lower ones, leaning against the wall as you look classy in your dark academia aesthetic.

It consisted of a long charcoal woolen-coat, and amidst the color were small visible lighter grey hatches, adorned with polished black buttons; and beneath the facade was a black turtleneck shirt tucked into the hem of your gingerbread dress pants, a shade darker than your beige-colored boots. Your hair was styled classily, the 1930s being your sole inspiration, and on your eyes laid black shades that complimented your crimson red lipstick.

The addition to the current dark setting of the room made you a shadow to everyone, an illusion of doubt. Observing the brown-complexioned woman, a smile eased its way into your lips, as she plopped her purse onto the table. Plucking the remote control beside the wooden pen holder, she gave a quick glance around the room before turning the projector on with a click.

"On 1991, two years ago." She started, reverberating firmness and authority just off her tone. You crossed your arms in intrigue, ignoring the beeping vibration from your cell. That asshole, mind the profanity, will find you eventually. " It was a chilly day in December that seven teenagers were kidnapped from their homes. There were no leads-" She held up a finger, ticking off the points like grocery lists, while the heads of many students darted to their notepad, scribbling the information down. "-no evidence, no footprints, no DNA...no nothing. It was as if these children vanished into thin air, exploded into puffs of clouds, and disappeared."

"The locals speculated that this was some child trafficking related case, and thought that it was a bit not much of a problem to solve..." She sighed, crossing her arms, and leaned against the table with a tilt of her head"...they were wrong. It isn't."

There was a click and the slide shifted to another slide, the screen depicted the many faces of the children kidnapped on that day, along with the information on their files. Each of these files had 'missing' stamped on them with blood-red blocks of color, and on the front cover of the beige-colored file, was labeled as 'classified'. You squinted your eyes to gain a better look at it.

"Following the disappearance of these kids," She walked around the room, eyes scanning around the students meticulously like they were criminals, how ironic if you had to guess as one is inherently standing among them. ", their files were later erased from every database their names were embedded in. So, every known fact, every known thing, their background, their family were all erased. 3 months later. The FBI managed to only revive five. Those five children being: Brian Ferguson, Naomi Campell, Joan Whitaker, Henrey Amber, and Allen Jestein. The other two names were permanently erased. And as unfortunate as it seems, we too, without their names, couldn't help those two missing kids."

"We'll only wait for the time being, for them to turn themselves in, that is if they've ever escape the unsub..." She trailed, her look fell and it became somber. "....Or died instead."

Some of the students nodded and some resorted to their laptop again, typing the data furiously down onto their documents. You find it all quite amusing, to say the least.

"They were 17 at that time, very young, lively bright...and they have a life ahead of them." She said, an ounce of pity lacing her tone, but you knew it was all just for show. "However, their disappearances were only reported after Brian's school realized that one of their top-tier students, were missing from his classes. This raises some suspicion among the detectives and the police opted to stop by his home..."

She lowered her gaze and paused for dramatic effect. You shifted the weight to your other foot, once again, ignoring the beeping vibration from your cell. God, an FBI with morals.

"...only to be met with the gruesome image of his family brutally murdered, and his house ransacked." She pressed the remote to show the pictures; the students and you furrowed your brows. It was the young boy's living room, with the exception that the mess had looked liked it was done by the devil.

The wallpapers were partially torn apart, leaving slash-like marks on some of the walls; and on the floor were blood, splattered everywhere, handprints smudging the knob of the doors, on cabinets, the floors, and walls-as if the victims wanted to flee, but they are unable to do so. And they've met their doom. The bedroom was worse, and strictly speaking, it is where the bodies of his parents were laid. You've seen the picture and it was quite gruesome. To save the students their sanity, the woman only showed the kitchen, quickly pressing the button to pass all the grim pictures. She sighed and pressed another button to show various other kinds of rooms from different houses, all with the same vicious intention.

"This too also befell the other five children. Family murdered. House ransacked. Every file and paper burnt." She articulated, nodding along her words. "This act had drove the FBI into a pit of insanity, leading us to question that has been vexing our minds..."

You heard a bang, and the door of the lecture room slammed open from the other side. Sighing you rolled your eyes as police officers spilled into the room, pointing their guns at everyone while scouring the whole place.

"Poor trainees were scared shitless," You thought amusingly, reaching into your pocket to grab your cell.

A familiar blond agent stormed into the room and waved his hands around, presumably instructing the officers per his requests. The professor, obviously displeased by the situation, crossed her arms and trotted up to the man, conversing with him before trailing her eyes to the other entrance of the room. She caught yours, but at first didn't notice, it was when she did a once over that she straightened her back and raised her eyebrows questioningly. You tilted your chin and gave her a small smile, placing a finger against your lips. You dialed a number and placed the beeping phone against your ear, the woman still silent per your request. The man flinched as he felt his phone ringing and picked it up, brows furrowed with annoyance and resentment combined.

"How long did it take you to find me, Donald?" You spoke cooly, once again leaning against the frame. "Was it the chocolate chips or the fedora hat that you despised so much?"

And with that you shut the phone, disappearing amidst the shadow of the room. You heard a shout, and the pitter-patter of footsteps grew louder your way. Does yall like it ^^

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onyxiana-is-obsessed · 4 years

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The Big 3 Plus 1 | The Big 3 x Powerful!Reader

AN: This is platonic! I did another one that was romantic, but I’m posting this one instead.

Warnings: Mentions of depression; OP reader >.<

Length: 3.5k

Summary: You meet The Big 3 for the first time and it doesn’t go all that well because you know you’re better than them.

Name: (f/n) (l/n) Quirk: Energy Manipulation; user can control the energy in/around living and nonliving things Age: 17 Hero Name: (h/n)

(f/n) stood up and bowed to Nezu and then walked out of his office. She was supposed to meet the big three in a few days, how exciting. The big 3. The strongest hero students in Japan, destined to become top pro heroes when they graduated. Nezu thought she could work well together and maybe join the trio.

The girl was opposed to joining them, she was used to working alone and that's how she preferred it. With her quirk, it was quite hard to have allies around. Yes, like The Big 3, she worked hard over the years to get a handle on it, but unlike a normal quirk, hers was always evolving. Her abilities were sometimes too much, ever for her.

She pretended to be happy and excited to see them, but in reality, she didn't want to. She didn't care. She could be like Eraserhead. The pro-hero who works alone and isn't in front of the cameras the entire time. As the girl walked the hallways, she felt her quirk hit. She groaned as she leaned against the wall, her hand on her chest, her eyes shut tight. She took a few deep breaths and opened her eyes.

(F/c) energy surrounded her and started to fill up the area she was in. She gritted her teeth and breathed in and out as she felt the shivers hit. No matter how much she breathed, it felt like it wasn't enough. She needed just a bit more but she couldn't have it. Her hand moved to her throat where she felt her quirk tighten. She slid down to the ground and clenched her fist, continuing her breathing. She raised her arms and waved them around in a practiced manner and finally felt the pressure leave her chest.

It took a few moments, but everything returned to normal. At times like this, she wasn't even sure if what she dealt with was real or not. Nothing hurt, but during the "attack", everything hurt. Her whole body ached and cried out in pain and she could do nothing about it. However, when it ended, it was like it never happened. She calmed herself, before fixing her hair and uniform, even though nothing was out of place.

The girl continued to walk the corridor until she heard voices up ahead. A condescending smile made its way onto her face as she realized who they were. The big 3. Guess she was meeting them earlier than expected, if they even knew they were going to meet her. They were heading in the direction of Nezu's office, so maybe they didn't know yet. Either way, she was going to "introduce" herself.

They were busy talking to each other as she approached them, stopping, blocking them as well. Tamaki shied away while the other two looked at her with bright smiles.

"Wow, must be my lucky day. The Big 3. Japan's top hero students, considered to be at pro level already!" Her eyes traveled to Mirio. "One of them even a candidate for replacing All Might. It's an honor to meet you." Sarcasm dripped off of every word she spoke, but they ignored it. Mirio gave her a bright smile as he introduced himself.

"I'm Mirio Togata! It's really nice to meet you."

"I'm Nejire Hado! A pleasure to meet you!" The three looked at Tamaki who jumped a little, but they gave him a moment. (f/n) squinted as her piercing (e/c) traveled up and down his frame.

"I-I'm"

"Tamaki Amajiki." She finished in a sharp tone. "Suneater; quirk: manifest." His head was down as he stared at the ground. He heard her footsteps approach him and his eyes widened as he met her eyes. She had leaned in closer to see his face. "You're much more intimidating in your hero costume." Standing up straight, she looked at the trio again. "Nejire Hado; quirk: wave motion. Last but not least, Mirio Togata. Quirk: permeation."

"What's your name?" Mirio inquired with a smile, the two moving closer to the girl. She was silent, but they watched as she blinked once and her (e/c) were now glowing. It only lasted a second, because when she blinked again, it disappeared.

"I'm surprised. I thought The Big 3 would recognize their competition when they see it. Guess I gave you too much credit."

"There isn't any competition-" Nejire was cut off by the girl.

"You're right. I'm already better than all of you combined. Excuse me." With that, she pushed through Nejire and Tamaki, bumping into them roughly as she walked passed. The three turned and watched her with a frown. She walked with such confidence, her hips swaying as her (figure) figure retreated into the distance.

"She... who is she?" Nejire inquired.

"I don't know," Mirio responded slowly. The three stood there for another moment before they continued on their way, somewhat shaken by the girl they just met.

~**~ 3 Days Later ~**~

(f/n) was laying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her eyes were glowing a bright (e/c) as it scanned everything in her room. (Dark/light) (f/c) energy filled her room, swirling around. She raised her arm and watched as the energy moved closer and turned into a large ball around her hand. She blinked, her eyes returning to normal and everything disappeared, but she could still feel the energy everywhere.

She lowered her arm and felt the energy let go as she sat up with a sigh. Tomorrow she formally met The Big 3. She was supposed to hang around them and officially join their little group. What if she didn't want to? She didn't get that choice. What if she wanted to make friends? She didn't get that choice. What if she didn't want to be a pro-hero? She didn't get that choice.

Everything was predetermined for the girl and all she could do was follow like a leashed dog. Her quirk was already too much, even she couldn't handle it. There were times where she had accidentally used her quirk, unable to control it at a younger age. Things didn't go so well. So she was put through brutal training to be able to control it.

It helped quite a bit. Now she had a grasp on it and instead of quirk controlling her, she commanded it herself. However, every now and then, she had a slip-up. She'd lose control and the energy around her would start to suffocate everything. She wasn't pro hero material. She acted confident, but deep down inside, she was nothing like that at all. She was nothing.

This was her life, her destiny. She was to follow everyone else, bend to their rules, do as they say. She didn't matter, her opinions didn't matter, her choices didn't matter. No one wanted her, they wanted her quirk. It was the same with everyone. Hero, villain, or family. They just wanted her quirk.

That or they were too scared of it. Her quirk was nothing short of dangerous and no matter what, she'd always be feared to some degree. She could never be like All Might, someone who could put smiles on faces and relieve fear. No, she instilled fear, she was fear. No hero trembled yet, but when she'd be as powerful as the number 1 hero... then they'd fear her. Then she'd be punished for something she didn't even want in the first place.

The girl let out another audible sigh before she fell back on her bed and covered her face with her hands. Whatever... she'd just deal with it as she dealt with everything else.

~The Next Day~

The girl arrived in the classroom, where she was supposed to meet The Big 3. When she entered, she noticed it was empty. She sighed as she rolled her eyes and sat down in a desk.

"I must be early." She checked her phone and indeed she was early, by ten minutes. She sat there (playing games/reading/checking social) on her phone. After about twenty minutes of waiting, she let out and groan. "Can't even be on time." It had taken about five more minutes after that, but the door opened and in walked Nezu with the three behind them. Both Nejire and Mirio were chattering away but they both silenced immediately as they noticed the girl.

"This is (f/n) (l/n), (f/n), this is-"

"We've met actually." Her voice was as sweet as honey, but she was clearly disinterested. The three joined her as Aizawa entered the room not a moment later. He explained how the three would be talking to the new first years. (f/n) already didn't care, but once again, she was given a command and like the helpless puppy she was, she followed.

~**~

The four waited outside the classroom and entered when told. They faced the class and listened as Aizawa introduced them. He introduced the three as their title, but avoided talking about (f/n), the girl not caring in the slightest.

"Get to it. Introduce yourselves briefly. Let's start with Amajiki." (f/n) turned her head and looked at him as he looked up, his stare intense, freaking out the entire classroom. It was kind of impressive.

"It's no good." His voice came out, pulling the attention of his friends. "You three go. I just can't." (f/n) raised an eyebrow as she realized he was shaking. "Even if I try to imagine them like potatoes, I can see their human bodies. I know that they're still people. No words are coming out, my mind's blank, and my mouth is dry. I can't say anything. I wanna go home." He finished, turning around and facing the wall. (f/n)'s face blanked as she was no longer impressed but disappointed.

Nejire giggled and commented on how he needed to be a lion, not a kitten, then proceeded to introduce him as a kitten then herself. As she went on a tangent, (f/n) rolled her eyes and stepped in front of Tamaki, blocking his body from view.

Although a simple gesture, knowing that the class could no longer see Tamaki, consoled him. He was no longer shaking and he felt his anxiety melt away a little bit. Everyone had noticed, but were too busy with Nejire asking questions to bother asking (f/n).

However, Midoriya's voice broke through after Nejire finished talking and before Mirio could. He raised his hand and spoke.

"Um... who's she? Are you another member of The Big 3? Are you guys The Big 4?" Both Nejire and Mirio looked at (f/n) whose answer was unexpected to Aizawa and the three.

"No. I'm (f/n) (l/n), they're still the Big 3. I'm not a part of them." The first years gave an understanding nod and Mirio took over. It wasn't long after before Mirio challenged the first years to a fight, with Eraserhead saying:

"Do whatever you want."

~**~

Here they were, in the training room. Mirio standing across from the first years, stretching. As he did, Tamaki, from the wall, spoke up.

"Mirio, you're impossible. It would've been simple enough for us to just tell them. This is what it's like, it's what we've learned from it. Not everyone has your level of drive. Plus, think of how bad it would look if some of them can't recover after fighting you. No one wants to spend the next few years in a hospital bed." That caught everyone's attention, even (f/n)'s, who had already observed them.

The first years were overconfident but Nejire interrupted them with an excited squeal. She jumped up and pointed at (f/n).

"Why don't we see her fight?" They were all silent and Mirio looked at the (h/c) haired girl.

"Would you like to?"

"I don't care." She responded. It was decided, she would fight them, then Mirio. The girl walked towards the front and stared at everyone, placing her hands on her hips. The class examined her, some more than others. She had (h/l) (h/c) hair, (figure) figure, piercing (e/c) eyes, and a disinterested look on her face. The class prepped really quick and she spoke out. "Ready when you are." Even Tamaki turned around to watch the fight. They watched her blink and her eyes start glowing.

The class ran at her, but within seconds they were on the floor, immobile. No, not immobile, struggling. They were struggling to move but they couldn't. She hadn't even moved but her eyes were glowing brighter. The Big 3 watched with wide eyes as she waited for about three minutes and blinked. The glow from her eyes was gone, but she waved her hand and class 1-A breathed in relief.

"Done." She said, as she walked off to the side, signaling that Mirio could go next. The class stood up, the pain was gone. Well, it never hurt, they just couldn't move, it was as if she had placed a platform on them and pressed down. They weren't able to get up, but nothing hurt.

So Mirio was up next. The second he activated his quirk, his clothes fell off and (f/n) shut her eyes, but not before she caught sight of... mini Mirio. She groaned and stared at the floor, but kept an eye on the fight itself.

Safe to say, he wiped the floor with them. In the end, the group stood up and (f/n) heard a voice say:

"I wish I had (f/n)'s quirk! She lucked out." The girl turned to the group and spoke.

"As the wallflower over here said," She said gesturing to Tamaki behind her, "It's not my quirk you should be jealous of. It's our skills."

"Oh yeah?" She heard another voice. "What's so wrong with it?" Midoriya looked up and spoke as well, but in a more inquiring tone.

"Mine breaks my bones." She scoffed.

"I wish my quirk would break my bones. Mine tries to kill me." They all perked up, except Aizawa who was well aware of the girl's situation.

"What?"

"My quirk is Energy Manipulation. Everything has energy, living or dead. When I do this," She blinked and her eyes started to glow. "I can see it. It's all around us, but right now it's centered around all of you since you're all grouped together. I can control that energy, within you and around you. That's why you found it hard to get up, I was forcing you down. I can also do this." She held her arm out and they watched as energy started to surround it, (dark/light) (f/c) energy. She aimed it at the large rock formation and released it. They watched as it barreled towards the rock formation and completely obliterated it.

"That's amazing!" They complimented, but she shook her head as she blinked the glow in her eyes away.

"Not when you wake up in the middle of the night to your own energy suffocating you." She watched the impressed looks melt into those of horrors. "Sleep is dangerous for me, sometimes my own energy starts to crush my body or my insides. Other times, it tries to suffocate me when I'm awake. It's like tying a rope around my throat and choking me. I can't breathe, my body aches, and my quirk is activated by force.

After that, the energy surrounds me the way it just surrounded by hand. When it does that, I have no control over it and if it blows up, it'll kill me too. Also, when my eyes glow and I look at the energy, I can only do it for a short period of time. I mostly use it to see where the energy is residing for a second or two. If I stare too long, I risk losing my eyesight. I usually have to take time out of the day to physically control my own energy, moving it around and away from me. I do the same at night, I wake up multiple times every single night to make sure my own energy isn't trying to kill me."

"H-how do you handle it?" Someone asked.

"Practice. Years and years of brutal training allows me to stand here in front of you without killing myself or blowing up the school. You don't want my quirk. Hell, I don't want my quirk, I'm just stuck with it." Her pessimistic side was coming out but she didn't care too much for it. Once it was obvious she was done talking, Mirio added onto what she was saying, telling the class how difficult it was for him to master his quirk and how much work it took.

~**~

As (f/n) walked out of the class, she was stopped by the trio. She turned with an exasperated sigh and looked at them.

"Yes?"

"Thank you," Tamaki spoke out.

"For?" He was going to force his words out, but she interrupted him. "Oh, that. It's nothing." She then leaned in. "You know, you're cute. It'd be much better if I could see your face and your pretty eyes." He almost died right then and there. A ghost of a chuckle escaped her lips and she turned to leave when Mirio spoke up.

"I wanna spar with you!" She turned to face him and saw a bright smile and a determined look on his face. How could she say no?

"When?"

"Whenever."

"Sure." He expected to be turned down but wasn't, which gave him and the group hope of her maybe wanting to be friends with them.

"(l/n)?" Nejire started. "Will you join us?" She smiled.

"No, you're good as The Big 3. I don't mind hanging around you though. Color me impressed." Although they were a bit disappointed the trio wouldn't have another member, they were still happy to be friends with her. Tamaki, included. Just her small gesture of letting him hide behind her made him want to get to know her. No one had done that for him before, so why turn down a girl who did. One who didn't even seem to like him. He wanted to know more. They all did, all three of them wanted to get to know her. They wanted to get to know (h/n), but they also wanted to get to know (y/f/n), the girl with such an amazing quirk.

"We should all spar! Us against you!" The blue-haired girl cheered, causing (f/n) to laugh and shake her head. A smile suited her, they noted. This was the first time she laughed and they liked it, wanting to hear more of it.

"I already told you, I'm better than all of you combined." Mirio slung his arm around her shoulder with a laugh of his own; she made no effort to push him away.

"We'll see about that!"

"Oh yeah?" She challenged. "Don't forget, I can control all of you. Sounds fun though. I'm expecting a challenge, so don't disappoint."

"Oh, we won't!" Nejire added, skipping along next to Mirio. When Tamaki caught up, he was next to (f/n). The four went off to lunch together and all three of them knew she belonged with them, in their group. They weren't the only powerful students in Japan, because there was another one. One stronger than them.

~**~

The group did seem like they fit together well, but (f/n) refused to join them officially. Still, they were the best of friends after that. Everyone heard of the stories, The Big 3 plus 1. That's how she always introduced them.

"We're The Big 3 plus 1." She was quite close to the 3 and maybe it was them projecting a bit, but she watched as her ideas and morals morphed. At first, being number 1 hero wasn't her goal. Being a hero, in general, wasn't her goal, but now it was. She wanted to be a hero with her best friends, stand next to them and fight. So she did.

The number 1 pro-hero (h/n) and The Big 3, together, protected Japan from all villains, no matter how strong or dangerous. Their bond had only strengthened and when she looked back on the first day she met them, she regretted the way she introduced herself to them. However, she also used it as the day her life changed. When she met The Big 3.

#mha #bnha imagines #boku no hero imagines #mha imagines #mha nejire #mha tamaki #tamaki amajiki #tamaki amajiki x reader #nejire hado x reader #bnha #mirio togata #my hero academia mirio #bnha x reader #bnha mirio #mha mirio #mirio togata x reader

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addercharmer · 3 years

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Izumi had slept next to Keigo again, he had woken just after midnight with a scream and both Izumi and Nezu had raced their way into his room to find the boy curling up as small as possible under the desk in his room.

It took half an hour for the stoat to coax Keigo out and back into his bed, where the elder had shuffled around blankets and pillows until it felt more like a true nest.

Nezu then had Izumi climb into the base of the bed, Keigo had quickly snuggled into her side, Nezu then climbed into the nest and settled above their heads. They had all fallen back asleep and no other nightmares had woken them.

Izumi's inner alarm woke her and she groaned a little at the weight that was sprawled on her chest. A squeaking laugh from near her head had Izumi sighing at the fact that Nezu now would have photo evidence of them sleeping together.

"Morning dad." Izumi croaked out, then she started to wiggle her way out from the nestling.

"Bathroom, then we gotta talk." She tells him, there hadn't been any time the night before. Nezu had gotten an emergency call to do some analysis on a well known villain group of this time.

Izumi stumbled to the bathroom, she emptied her bladder and washed her hands, before making the snap decision to take a shower.

She didn't let herself linger under the spray no matter how much she wanted to, she washed her hair and put in the conditioner to soak in as she washed her body, then rinsed out the creamy substance.

Wrapping her hair and body in towels she then scurried to her room. Izumi had no plans to do anything today unless it involved her rosefinch so she pulled on a pair of black leggings and a lightweight sweater dress. She stopped in the bathroom long enough to grab a brush and hair ties, and hang her towels up to dry.

Skipping down the stairs Izumi was greeted with the mingling smell of coffee and tea, in the kitchen there were cereal boxes and a half liter of milk already on the table, along with bowls and spoons.

Izumi sat quickly and combined the cereal and milk into a bowl, she dug in with a hum of enjoyment at the sugary meal. Nezu slipped a large cup of coffee on the table by her elbow before taking his own seat.

"I didn't get to tell you, but some stuff happened at the mall." Izumi started the conversation after they had both finished their food.

"When we got the preening brushes I suggested we look at the ones for hawks and Keigo flinched pretty hard." Nezu's eyebrows scrunched a little and he let out a hum.

"The specialty stores for physical mutations had hardly anything for winged people, but when I was little originality my mom was friends with fashion designers...if you were okay with it I could try to make contact, they were family friends and I could maybe tell them that Inko is my sister, aunt Mitsuki never had the best memory, and if we could find and doctor some photos it would work as evidence." Izumi rambled, she was a little nervous about suggesting this, but at the same time she believed it could be good for the future if she could put herself in an older sibling or aunt role for some of her friends.

"Good idea, what would you say about wanting to get back in contact?" Nezu asked her.

Clearing her throat a little, Izumi thought carefully as she sipped her coffee.

"Aunt Mitsuki has always had a huge soft spot for kids, not that anyone could tell. Inko from what her medical history says had been in and out of rehab for the last four years, it's caused a lot of problems with her mental health. It would make sense to say that you adopted me after you found me bleeding from being bullied at a foster home, and not in Inko's care."

Izumi sighed deeply. "But that's more the in depth story, in reality I could simply explain I am Inko's sister trying to get in contact with Mitsuki because I remember she was into fashion and I need help with my newly adopted siblings wing mutation."

"Hmmm, good good." Nezu's tea cup clacks when it's put back on the table. "Let's go braid your hair and we can work more on the back story and get those photos ready." The stoat directs already moving to the living room.

Izumi followers close on his tail, sitting in front of him after putting the hair brush and ties on the couch. She's also pulling the coffee table and her laptop closer so she can find pictures as her dad works his magic on her hair.

"Lay out your life as Inko's sister." Nezu tells her as he starts running the brush through her hair.

"Well, I was a sickly child, I spent most of my early life in hospital. It wasn't until I was ten that I got better, I was back in my parents care for a year and a half before the accident that took their lives happened. I was quickly placed into foster care when Inko refused to take me in, five months later you found me and adopted me. Then we can just say the truth from there. My quirk developed under extreme stress, I had a lot of healing, I finished school within six months of living with you, I have several degrees, I am a fashion disaster, and now you are adopting a severely abused boy." As Izumi speaks she's hacking through Inko's computer, phone and cloud account for photos.

Nezu is finished braiding her hair into twin tails when there are feet thumping their way down the stairs. Nezu gets up and goes to help Keigo in the kitchen as Izumi starts doctoring the photos to include her.

She can hears dishes flatted as Nezu loads them into the dishwasher, then he's dragging a box into the kitchen, it's one of his case file boxes that he gets from the police force to help solve crimes.

It takes two hours for Izumi to doctor the photos, replace the originals with hers in both Mitsuki and Inko's devices and cloud account. When she's done Keigo is just sitting down next to her with his hair and wings still wet and a towel in his hand.

"Let me help rosefinch." She laughs lightly.

Gently she rubs the towel through her hair, it's not as thick as her own so it takes less time to get it only damp, with his wings she carefully runs it down in the same direction that his feather go, it takes time but soon they are only slightly damp as well.

"Give them a fluff and a shake for me." Izumi tell Keigo, she had looked up some care tips before she first went to bed last night.

Keigo follows her direction without any hesitation, when he's done he looks like a fluffy baby bird and Izumi falls a little more in love.

"Go get your oil and comb, I'll give you a preen before we figure out what to do today." Izumi drops the towel she had been using over Keigo's head and it earns her a laugh before the boy is sprinting away.

He's back faster than Izumi thought he would be, just before he sits again Keigo fluffs his wings and Izumi spots his hair fluffing up with the feathers, Izumi has to work hard to stop herself from laughing.

Once the oil is in her hands and the comb is sitting on the couch between them Keigo stretches his left wing out, Izumi opens the bottle noticing it's a light vanilla scent as she posts some out into a cupped hand.

Snapping the bottle shut again she puts it beside the comb and then runs her hands together.

Making her hands into loose claws she starts at the joint where wing meets skin, she takes her fingers through the feathers twice just to be sure she has them all coated before moving on to the rest with the same care. Izumi needs to recoat her hands with oil three more times before the whole wing is finished.

Next she picks up a wide toothed wooden comb and starts to drag it through the feathers again, realigning any with her free hand as she goes. Izumi does this twice before she and Keigo switch sides to do the right wing.

The longer Izumi presents Keigo's feathers the more relaxed he becomes, little chirps and coos leaving him.

"All done." Izumi tells Keigo, she hands him back the preening items and gets up herself to clean off her hands.

"Nee-chan, what are we going to do today?" Keigo asked Izumi from the stairs.

"What do you want to do?" Izumi asks right back, as she starts pulling out things to make sandwiches. "Lunch first though. You too dad."

Izumi quickly puts the sandwiches together and on one big plate. Keigo had come and grabbed smaller plates for each of them to use.

"Can we play a game after?" Keigo asks as he grabs a sandwich.

"What kind of game? I know my friends picked a few out, those should be in your room. But we can go outside too." Izumi eyes Nezu who still hadn't taken a sandwich, as he hits to reach for another paper Izumi taps his paw and pointed looks at the food.

"Really?" Keigo asks, sounding more excited about being outside than he had about playing a game.

"Mmmyep, I even know where the park is." Izumi tries to sweeten the deal, and with all the cyber stalking she has done on Endeavour she knows that Rei takes the kids there every Sunday afternoon.

Nezu must hear something in her voice that has his head snapping towards her, she lets her grin turn a little feral.

"Mmm dad will even come, I saw a family there, two children had ice quirks and one had a really powerful fire quirk, the fire user looks about your age." Nezu's answering toothy grin is enough for Izumi to know she was understood.

"I haven't been to the park since I was taken." Keigo says with a sad sniffle.

"Why don't we make it even better and I can invite my friends too, then you can meet Oboro and Nemuri." Izumi offers, she knows that it's going to be hard, Keigo had been deprived of so much that everything was going to be a new experience again.

"Shō-nii and Zashi-nii?" Keigo perks up a little, and Izumi is so happy that her little rosefinch liked them.

"Yep!" Izumi says back just as chipper. "I just have to message them and ask, dad has to clean up his papers and the dishes."

Mouse?Bear?Human?: My rosefinch hasn't been to the park since the commission took him, he would like to play with you all.

IBreakGlass: be there in under 2 hours gotta finish my chores ಥﭛಥ

FemFatale: shō and I will be there in 30

LoudAssCloud: u sure?

: I just mean what if were 2 much?

Mouse?Bear?Human?: He will be fine, he loves Zashi and Shō.

: He's already dubbed them Zashi-nii and Shō-nii, and I'm sure you will be Obo-nii soon enough.

LoudAssCloud: (　-_･) ︻デ═一 ▸

: (*ฅ́˘ฅ̀*) .｡.:*♡

: be there when I can

LoudAssCloud is offline.

#rewound #female midoriya izuku #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #shirakumo oboro #dad nedzu #kayama nemuri #takami keigo #time travel #bnha

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rcdfcxr · 3 years

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MOBILE RULES

( 001 ) first things first , my name is kay. i’m over twenty-five so please , if you are younger than 18 don’t approach me. asides from anything else , it makes me seriously uncomfortable to write with anyone too much younger than myself. not only that , but there will likely be dark themes on this blog and adult content so i’d rather the younger writers stay away from it. i will not follow for the following reasons : you support or condone , incest , csa , animal abuse , rape , non-con / dub-con. if you do not have an age on your blog anywhere. in regards to callout posts : if its a callout for a petty reason then please. i do not want to know. however if it’s to educate someone about a predator or threat i can deal with that. note : i do not participate in call out culture. in regards to your personal issues with another writer : i’m not interested. i make my own mind up about people and i’d appreciate it if you respected that. i believe in a lot of circumstances , people have the right to a second chance.

( 002 ) triggers i need tagged : clowns. i tag trigger warnings as tw : trigger. i tag all the main ones , though if you need something in particular tagging then please let me know. ( 003 ) ind. pri. sel. mutuals only. im not a follow for follow , if i don’t see our muses interacting then i won’t follow you back. if we are not mutuals then please don’t send me random starters as they will be ignored. if you think there might be a way for them to interact then approach me through the ims. for mutuals : you are more than welcome to send me starters , memes or turn my answered memes into threads without permission. blog is oc & crossover friendly. though if you are an oc please have an about page. thank u. ( 004 ) i use a lot of headcanons when developing muses. please keep this in mind when interacting with me. i also have use of a lot of different verses so have a look at those if you’re interested.

in regards to ships -- that’s not my first thing i’m after. i want to write stories , explore the different facets of their personality. i want to explore the friendships between them and everyone and find out what makes them tick. that doesn’t mean i’m not open for shipping though. i do love a good ship. im open to most combinations other than powerplay tropes (or younger characters). also i will not allow them to be used as smut fodder. i do write it , though i’m extremely selective with who i write it with. if im not comfortable , i will not write it and nor will i allow myself to be forced into it. in regards to the above point : toxic people. don’t come near me. just don’t.

i’m a very nice person , though if you begin to become toxic with me i’m not likely to simply sit by and let you make me feel bad for one thing or another. nor am i likely to keep my mouth shut , i will say something to you if you make me feel : uncomfortable. bad. guilty for things i shouldn’t feel guilty for. despite this : i am incredibly shy. ( 005 ) even if we’ve wrote together , i find it difficult to approach people sometimes. i have social anxiety so talking to people sometimes makes me anxious and nervous. i am the type that will tell myself i’m being annoying. so if i’ve not approached you , this is why. my discord & wire handles are available. i prefer writing multi-para / novella over single liners. though i might throw out a single liner to get interactions going every once in a while. i do format my posts using fancy text && colours , if this bothers you please tell me and i won’t use it in threads with you. i use icons. i don’t expect any of you to match my format , icons ect. how you write is your choice !

#mobile rules

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zanesgirlfriend · 5 years

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Strangers Don't Have Secrets | Jeff Wittek

Description: The reader gets into trouble at a club and Jeff saves the day.

Warnings: Intense language and a really gross slimey dude

Requested?: Yes, im going to combine a couple of requests here, if yall want different/more imagines with similar themes just lmk!

@simplespectres : Protective jeff maybe? Or drunk jeff confessing his feelings for you

@puppershnups : can I request just a super angsty Jeff imagine? Like go ahead and make me sob I love it.

@suzobawuzo : In love with your Jeff posts! How about something where he is jealous ab your friendship with someone (you might or might not be together yet) but it turns into a whole lot of fluff in the end?? THANKS <3

A/N: I know thats a lot of requests in one story but I figured i could make them fit pretty well. i also kinda based "the reader's" actions in this after effy from skins so if yall have seen that youll probably like this lol. Thank yall for requesting stuff, it means a lot :)

__________

Back again, at a club, on a Saturday night. The gang was all there, dancing and drinking as much as they could. Of course there was David, camera in hand, floating from group to group. There was also Y/N sitting at a bar, attempting to make the night go faster by talking to slimey men. Next there was what she considered to be "fuck-boy" territory. They stayed near the center of club, grinding and taking body shots off of eachother. Generally just trying to get as wasted as they could. Todd, Zane, Scott, and Jeff were generally part of this group. Most of them seemed to find a girl to dance near, except for Scott, as he was actually commited to a relationship. Y/N admired that about him.

She wanted to know if the boys ever wondered why she always went out with them, but never seemed to do anything. There were two reasons. One being that she could always be an extra Designated Driver, God-forbid something happen to David. The second reason being that she loved to watch. She wanted to study behavior, and know her friends more intimately than they thought she did.

She noticed how when nobody was talking to David, he became incredibly awkward. The way his smile fell off of his face, and how he curved his body to avoid touching people as he moved through the groups. She also noticed Jeff, and how he didn't like to dance. Counting all the times he would catch her eye, and then pretend he was looking at something else.

Recently she spent most of her time watching Jeff. Something about him being new to the group, and having a questionable past intrigued her.

"Is this seat taken?" A handsome stranger asked her.

"No, go ahead." She smiled. Out of all the men that usually talked to her, this one seemed the most sober. He sat in the chair next to hers, turning around to face away from the bar like she was.

"So are you here with anybody?" His breath tickled the side of her face as he leaned in. She noticed the very full beer in his hand, as if he'd just gotten there.

"Nope, just me." She lied, enjoying the mystery she created for this man to solve. She could tell the fact that she was alone got his attention by way of him immediately scooting closer to her.

"Well, let me keep you company." The man smiled, but something about his smile was off. It was as if he was too perfect. As if he was here to distract her from something bigger. She noticed this and immediately turned back towards the club, spotting all of her friends and checking to make sure they were okay.

"Sure." She tried to keep her answers short, not knowing what this man really wanted from her.

"Why don't I get you a drink?" He offered. This was a big red flag for her, but she wanted to really see what this man was after.

"Sure." She checked her phone for a second while the man talked to the bartender.

Hey can u make out with zane for a bit this dance floor is kinda dead

David had sent that text less than five minutes earlier. She decided that she wanted this mysterious man to get confused about her character, so she replied to David with

Sure, I'll be there in a min

"Here you go." The man handed her a martini. She hated martinis.

"I'll be right back. Keep an eye on me." She placed the drink on the bar and walked over to fuck-boy territory. David attempted to explain to her what he wanted her to do, but she looked over her shoulder at the man and decided to wing it.

She grabbed Zane's face, bringing their lips together, and slipping her tongue in his mouth. She could tell he was enjoying it. Everyone else in the group around them was yelling, shocked by the intense kiss. She pulled away, immediately looking back towards the man at the bar, a smirk on her face as he smiled.

"I'll see you guys later." She walked away. On the way out of the group, though, she noticed Jeff's face. He looked sadder than usual. She wish she'd known him well enough to be able to tell what he was thinking.

"Did you know those guys?" The man asked her as she returned to her seat at the bar, this time facing towards the bartender instead of the boys.

"No." She lied again.

"He looked like he enjoyed it." The man was very focused on her lips.

"Probably." She knew what the man would say next, hearing it verbatem in her head as he said it.

"Maybe I would enjoy it, too." He was very close to her now. Uncomfortably close.

"I don't think so." His hand landed on her thigh, a little too close to the hem of her skirt. Her sixth sense was tingling again, and she attempted to spin the bar stool to check on her friends. The man grabbed it though, stopping her from changing direction. "Where do you think you're going?" His breath was hot and sticky this time. His hand creeped closer to her skirt. She used the hand on her free side to reach for the small can of pepper spray in her bag, just in case things went wrong.

"Bro, back the fuck off of her." Jeff's voice immediately brought out a sigh of relief from y/n.

"And who the fuck are you?" The man spun around, keeping a grip on the girl.

"I'm her friend, now back the fuck off, she's obviously uncomfortable." Jeff's accent seemed intimidating, but not intimidating enough to scare the man away.

"I thought you came here alone?" The man was now angry with y/n.

"Strangers wouldn't be strangers without secrets." She spun her stool towards Jeff, admiring his firm stature for the first time.

"You gonna leave her alone now?" Jeff stepped closer to the two, sizing up the creepy man.

"You can't just come in here and ruin our moment, dude." The man stood up now. He had a few inches on Jeff.

"You didn't have a fucking moment, asshole. She wants nothing to do with you, fucking creep." The boys were really going at it now, so y/n texted David.

Bar. Now. Jeffs about to fight someone.

David gathered the rest of the boys and hurried to the bar as soon as he recieved the text. His camera was on, but he also didn't wanna escalate the situation even further.

The man was now really mad that Y/n had lied to him. "You fucking lied to me, you cunt!" He lunged towards her. Jeff jumped in front of him, protecting her, as the other boys tried to hold the man back.

She had dropped her mysterious persona at this point, genuinely terrified that someone would get hurt. She grabbed on to Jeff's arm, feeling him flex as adrenaline ran through his veins.

The boys underestimated this man's strength, for he managed to free his right arm, and land a right hook to Jeff's jaw. Blood dripped out of his mouth. Jeff was fuming now, not wanting anybody to take advantage of him, or embarass him in front of the girl he thought so highly of. Jeff slipped out of y/n's grip, punching the man in the nose.

Before things could escalate any more, security had arrived and helped separate the two bloody men. They also kicked the entire group out of the club. The man sat against a wall outside, trying to get the blood to stop pouring out of his nostrils. The gang walked back towards David's Tesla.

"What happened? Why were you fighting?" David asked as he pointed the camera towards y/n and Jeff. She was too embarassed to say anything, knowing it was all her fault.

"He was feeling her up, and she wasn't feelin' it. I wasn't gonna watch her go through that." Jeff spit blood onto the sidewalk as y/n linked her hand in his. She had a new affinity for him. Something about him protecting her just really turned her on.

"Jeff, stop being so nice, you make the rest of us look like dicks." Todd joked, causing everyone to laugh. Even y/n cracked a smile.

David dropped Jeff off at his apartment, and everyone "ooooooh'ed" as y/n got out with him. She thanked David for the ride and went inside with Jeff.

"You didn't have to do that for me, but thank you." She smiled.

"I couldn't stand seeing you with anybody else anymore. Especially after you made out with Zane." Jeff unlocked his door and held it open for her.

"Why do you care that I made out with Zane? It was just a bit." She questioned him as she looked around Jeff's apartment. She had never been here before.

"I gotta take Nerf for a walk, I'll be right back." Jeff ignored her question as a cute french bulldog ran out into the entryway.

"Answer my question." She demanded, watching Jeff hook up the dog on a leash.

"Be right back." He shut the door behind him as he left with the dog.

She spent most of her time alone thinking about how little she actually knows Jeff, and how what he did for her was a huge character development in her mind. The door opened, and Jeff entered with his dog.

"I care because I was supposed to be the one to make out with you." He said, pretending to be more focused on the dog than the girl. She looked at him quizzically.

"Then why did David tell me to make out with Zane?" She was very confused now.

"Well, that was just to get you to come near us, considering you always come to the club just to sit and watch us, which I don't understand at all." Jeff sat on the couch, y/n followed. She smiled at the fact that he really did wonder why she came. "But if you woulda listened to David, he was gonna tell you to make out with both of us." Jeff ran his hand through his hair, and leaned his elbow on the top of the couch.

"I'll tell you why I just sit and watch you later, but why did you wanna kiss me so bad?" She just wanted to understand him.

"Because, y/n, I fucking like you, okay?" He grabbed her hand. "I've been trying to show you that, but you always seem like you want nothing to do with me. Now I'm sittin' here like an asshole, pouring my heart out to you, when you probably don't even like me." He was talking faster now, his accent thickening as he spoke.

"If I wanted nothing to do with you I would've just gone home." She reasoned with him. Before he could speak again she closed the distance between them. Their lips locked together instantly, feeling like they were made to be together. His hands found her waist as she climbed into his lap.

"Tell me all of your secrets." She said to him as she pulled away.

"What?" He brushed a hair out of her face. Her eye contact was very intense as she looked at Jeff with a new lust in her eyes.

"Strangers wouldn't be strangers without secrets, and I don't wanna be strangers anymore."

#jeff wittek x reader #jeff wittek imagine #jeff wittek #vlog squad imagine #vlog squad #david #david x reader #david dobrik imagine #david dobrik #todd smith #toddy smith #scotty sire #scott sire #davids vlogs #zane hijazi #vlog squad imagines

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sergeanttpoliteness · 5 years

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➹embroidered hearts➹(ps4 peter parker x reader)

Requested by anon➝ hi! idk if you’re taking requests right now, but if you are, do you think you could write something for ps4 peter parker? maybe like a friends to lovers thing. thanks!

You just... really liked to disappear, huh? To vanish, slip from his fingers. Except that this time Peter found you, caught you before you left once again, which may have just been exactly what you needed.

word count: 2.7k

a/n: holy wowowow, this isn’t a false alarm, y’all-- i actually posted! i’m sososo happy i finally did, and i’m really sorry about how long it took me to do so. school drained all my motivation but exams just finished this friday so i decided to get this done once and for all. i’m shocked that i finally liked something i wrote this month, it’s progress (’: anyway, here’s something for 1 pretty boy whom i love very much, i hope the nonnie who requested it likes it! (: also i had a terrible allergy while editing this so if there are any mistakes pls know that it’s hard to write while sneezing every five seconds. hope this week is great for you bc u deserve it, ok, ily that’s it adios (last thing lol, expect some noir stuff next and that beter sequel eye emoji)

Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes since you told him you were going to the bathroom with a wavering smile, and you were nowhere to be seen. Peter set his empty glass of water on the table for the third time— God, he experienced a déjà vu that left him stumped and everything, and as he watched the crystal liquid stream from the pitcher, he could also sense his bladder protesting against all the suffering he kept putting it through. Nonetheless, he simply thanked the waiter for the refill, or else he was sure that if he didn’t continue drowning himself, the disquiet abounding in his system as a result of your unknown whereabouts would strangle him with its unnerving claws. Perhaps the entrance dish bombarded your stomach (if so, then he hoped you were alright), or the toilet devoured you and swallowed you down the drain. Two-year-old him never trusted the porcelain seat, after all (it... was an actual fear of his, actually). However, past all those justifications and silly fears, he knew something wasn’t right, for there existed no chance you’d simply vanish just like that after the anxiety for tonight nearly eroding you alive, and you wouldn’t surrender an opportunity for a promotion... right?

He scanned the party room, through the many dresses and tuxedos either standing by still or swaying together, awkwardness raining over and staining his skin when he recalled he was the last remaining person in the table after everyone else retired to chat with other fancy people. He surely didn’t fit in that category, neither was he acquainted with anyone — he wasn’t even invited, for crying out loud, rather you were the reason for his attendance; still, you weren’t there. He considered possibly checking the bathroom to make sure you seriously hadn’t died, because you weren’t answering any of his calls and... oh, no.

Your boss walked on stage and tapped the microphone, a muffled thud reverberating through the speakers. “Good evening, everyone! I’m glad the night’s been such a lovely one, I hope you’re all having a great time.” The man — Peter couldn’t remember his name, honestly — spoke, a charismatic grin that paraded his astonishing dental care on his face. Though no alluring smile impeded Peter from panicking further or his limbs from driving him out of his chair and into the tight space in between a cluster of intimidating guests, looking identical to a little kid who couldn’t find his parents at the supermarket.

“Where are you, Y/N?” He muttered to himself, a question he’d reiterated in his head far too often for the past seven months. A haze of amazement and disbelief encompassed his brain when you called him to ask to come as his date— all he could do was blink, his throat clogged up and his heart so unbelieving as if you died and had risen from your tomb, but you might as well have and he wouldn’t have even known, because it’s what it seemed following such a tediously long time of dead silence, of not seeing that lopsided grin of yours, of nothing. It should’ve pushed him away, if anything, although how could it? How could his stunned little heart let you go after you’d embroidered yourself into it, sewn the threads, a perennial string that led back to you, the first day you met? And yet you still gripped it closely, unwilling to detach as he desperately dialed your number again, his stomach diving faster down to the Earth’s core whilst your boss’ speech went on and a high-pitched beep rang in his ear. ‘The person you have called is unavailable right now...’ Not a good sign. No, most definitely not.

“However, I’d like to invite on stage a person who we appreciate greatly in the company,” ‘The person you have called is un—’ Peter hung up, over that goddamn message that always appears to torment him, and grimaced as your boss studied the crowd with proud eyes. “Please, a big round of applause for Y/N Y/L/N!”

The room exploded with sophisticated cheering, but it declined gracelessly, the clapping stuttering, fully ceasing when the moments dragged on and no one entered the spotlight. The leader squinted, visibly distressed, brows perplexed as he leaned closer to the lady beside him. “Y/N... did make it tonight, correct?” He whispered too loudly, gossip escalating in the audience. Peter bit his lip, stepping back closer to the exit door until a rough hand clutched his sleeve.

“Hey, you’re Y/L/N’s boyfriend, right?” An older man with fuming blue eyes and a bald spot questioned, spit flying but thankfully not anywhere near Peter who sputtered, chest warming up when his tongue failed him, became tangled in his mouth.

“Wha... n-no, we’re just friends—”

“I don’t care. Listen, if that idiot is not here right now then I’m gonna be in deep shit.”

Peter’s brows furrowed with anger, “Hey, shut up, man— Y/N’s not an idiot.” He snapped, but the guy barely flinched and rolled his eyes as he let go of the taller young man.

“Just do something!” He hissed, equally as bitter and prodding his chest before disappearing into the crowd.

Peter opened the double doors and sped down the hallway straight to the bathrooms with a sour mood; however, before he knocked, a figure outside the window captivated him and calmed his hammering heartbeat. It... couldn’t be you. Why would you be out there? He surveyed the area, and when he saw no sign of another person or any security cameras, he unfastened the window’s lock and slid it open.

Could he have gone outside like a normal human being? Yeah, sure, except that— first — where’s the fun in that, and second, he didn’t want to walk all the way to the other side of the building— it was an emergency, or at least that’s the excuse he’d use if anyone caught him as he landed softly on the grass. It was indeed you, he realized, sat on a bench, observing nothing in particular unless the building under construction across the street held any trace of beauty in your eyes. He stopped a few feet away from you, mouth twitching. “Is this seat taken?”

You almost jumped into space and out of orbit, your neck whipping around, large frightened eyes gradually lightening when they took him in. There it was. That lopsided grin, unchanging from when you were a sophomore in college apart from the darker under eye circles. And there was his own shy smile, too, accompanied by the blush that stained his face, like red wine spilled over a tablecloth. “Yes, actually, by my imaginary friend Pedro.” You patted the area beside you, on the supposed Pedro’s knee, and he sneaked his hands inside his blazer’s pockets, feigning disapproval.

“You exchanged me for a Pedro?”

“He’s a nice guy.” You giggled as he sat down next to you, your stare fixed on your lap. “Let me guess: I messed up the night and that’s why you’re looking for me.” You said, playfulness faltering and insecurity peeking its head in, and he noticed how it sculpted your expression and body language with its discouragement.

“Not exactly, no. I was still going to look for you, but a jerk who called you an idiot really needed me to do so.” He grumbled, irritation returning as a combo along with remembrance of the incident. You didn’t reach, though; you solely raised your eyebrows, unruffled, your friend more afflicted albeit he wasn’t the one who was called an idiot.

“A short guy that kinda looks like an odd mix between John Stamos and Danny Devito?” You queried. Peter rebuilt the man’s appearance in his head, and you had to laugh at his raw shock when he recognized the accuracy of your comparison. He... really did look like that, seriously, it’s the most bizarre combination you could think of. “Yeah, that’s Jonathan. We’re not exactly best pals.”

“I kinda figured that out, Stavito didn’t look so happy.” A smile flourished on his countenance as quickly as a match is set alight after you cackled, your hand flying up to your mouth to mute your laughter.

“Stavito? Man, now he’s gonna hate me even more because I’m never gonna stop using that one.” You shook your head, rubbing your crinkled eyes. He hummed, loosening his tie, wearing a crooked grin that you fathomed meant incoming pain for you—

“He’s gonna stab-ito you!”

Jesus Christ. You let out a drawn-out breath and picked up your legs, expression similar to a parent seeing their kid’s report card. “I hate you. This friendship’s on hold until further notice.”

“It was a great pun!”

“Was not.” You objected, although both of your bodies shook with hilarity. He looked at you, the moon painting silver strokes on your tranquil frame, the delight in him for just being by your side too much that his stare lingered; though not for long, for your attention strayed up to him and his eyes immediately shifted down to his hands, his leg restless, bustling.

“Why are you out here? We could’ve left if that’s what you wanted.” He said, brows knitted. You changed to a cross-legged position, rolling your lips.

“I originally was just going to take a five-minute stroll, but once I sat down here, I just couldn’t go back inside.” You confessed, shrugging. Gloom reemerged, drooping the corners of your lips, striking a spike of ice in your gut— the frost trickled up and down your body, goosebumps of sorrow growing over your skin. “I’m sorry I’m such a terrible friend. Jonathan’s right: I am an idiot.” You whispered.

He held in his breath, blank on what to say. “Why would you think that?”

You snorted, expression unamused. “They’re facts, Pete. Good friends don’t just… fall off the face of Earth without a warning.”

“I’m… sure you had your reasons.”

“They weren’t good reasons, though. I should’ve at least told you something. But I bet it was nice to get a break from me, huh?” You joked, hurt and self-doubt seeping through your voice.

He frowned, immediately denying with his head. “Why would I want to get a break from you? Y/N, we don’t even get to see each other that much. If anything, I…” He halted, gulping. “I-I want to see you more.” He admitted quietly.

Your bewilderment was dim but still present as you ran your hand up and down your arm. “You’re dumb. You could spend your time with people who are actually great but you want to spend it with me.”

“Yeah, well, if I am dumb so what? I still wouldn’t change my mind.” He argued, a line in between his brows. You sighed, sliding down the metal seat, your eyes shut as you tilted your head back.

“Peter, stop, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do, though. I mean, yeah, it… it hurt a bit,” Peter raised one shoulder, aware that it hurt more than just ‘a bit’. “I thought you decided to break contact, but it’s okay, really.”

“Give yourself some love, it’s not okay that I hurt you like that.” You momentarily put your hand on his, repentance etched on your features. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“We’re talking again, though, that’s all that matters.” He brushed you off, raising up to his feet. The guilt still held you, played with you like a doll, but the reassuring quirk of the corner of his mouth somewhat relieved it. “We should go back inside, don’t want you catching a cold or Stavito getting fired.”

“He’s not gonna get fired, he’s just way too over dramatic.” You grunted, showing your clear distaste for the John Stamos and Danny Devito love child. Peter lent out his hand but you blinked at it, chuckling uncomfortably. “Don’t you rather stay out a bit more? The sky looks great tonight— I can see a few more stars than usual.” You pointed at the dark blanket of nebulae and astral bodies. He glanced up, close to dropping to the ground to inspect the night sky until he heard the stifled music from the party.

“We can stargaze once the event’s over.” He promised, gesturing with his head to the building. It was then when he distinguished the dread in your eyes.

“...Are you sure you don’t want to do it now? What if it gets too cloudy?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Is everything alright? Why don’t you want to go back in there?”

You tried to utter another excuse, but you couldn’t. The ire at yourself made your hands tremble, set your mouth in a hard line as you were incapable of looking right at him, the humiliation far too much.

“I hate my job.”

Peter sat back down, staring at you, his expression sad. “You know, I spent the entirety of high school and started college with this idea of what I wanted my future to be like. But now that I did it, now that I’m actually there, I’m so… bored with everything. I don’t know what to do. Like, what am I supposed to do now? Go to work and what else? Because if that’s all there is to my life, I don’t know why I should even bother with it.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Peter what am I doing?” You scoffed, scowling. “Look at me: what the hell am I bringing to the world? You’ve got FEAST, and just got that job with Otto Octavius— you’re… so amazing and will do so many great things. The world needs you. I need you. We all do.” You mumbled, voice breaking.

His sight gravitated down to your lonely hand that rested so near to his, that had the string running from his heart encircled around its ring finger, beckoning him closer. His fingers reached out slowly, hesitantly, with great fear. But he wound up grazing your hand, and then he fully wrapped his own around it— around the artist that sewed a handiwork of untouchable adoration into him. “But what if I...” He began, struggling to come clean. “What if I...” He saw your anticipating gaze.

“I need you, too.” He whispered.

Your view averted down to your linked hands and then up at the boy unknowing that he, just like you had to him, had tailored a piece of himself in you long ago. You hugged him. Crumbled, snuggled deep into him, allowing yourself to accept that hand reaching out to you, to surrender to comfort. He hugged you back with as much gentleness and warmth, his chin on top of your head. “You should give yourself some love, too.” He murmured and you let out air through your nose, agreeing with him. “You’ll find your way because you’re incredible, alright? I just wish you could see that.”

Seven months weren’t eons, Peter acknowledged, but perhaps they could be; perhaps they were enough to view everything differently, past that veil that cloaked his eyes, past the doubt and uncertainty, because there was something distinctive in your familiar smile when you pulled away. Something unusual as you sat straight, your eyes drifting sideways to him. “I guess we can help each other with that self-love thing.” You suggested.

He got the hint in your voice, and all of a sudden, he figured out what that something was; but he didn’t want to accept the truth that crashed against him when he realized that it wasn’t new. No, it’d been there all along.

He could try to believe.

“Maybe we could, uh, we could go out for dinner some… some time. Get started with some good food, y’know…” His tone was quiet and he couldn’t have resembled better a nervous teenage boy asking his crush to dance on prom night as he wrinkled his nose in embarrassment.

You faked a cynical expression, despite already knowing the answer in your soul. “Some time?”

“Or never, if that’s what you prefer.” He laughed tensely, his eyes growing wide when he turned his head and cursed at himself internally. You smiled to yourself, moving a strand of hair out of your face.

“How about tonight?”

“Tonight? Like…” He checked his wristband, only to remember it wasn’t a watch. “...tonight? What about the event—”

“Forget the event,” You stood up, and now you were the one stretching out your hand to him. “C’mon, let’s look for some restaurants because why not, am I right?”

Peter clutched your hand, the contentment a welcomed compensation for all those months of not seeing you.

“Yeah, why not?”

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