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milstrim · 3 years

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Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 4: Uninvited

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

Peter didn't really wake up the next morning, because he hadn't really fallen asleep last night. He'd been incredibly tired, but his hair hadn't been able to lay flat and he hadn't been able to block out the overwhelmingly disgusting smell of Mr. Fowler's closet. He'd been it the entirety of the day and even throughout the night when Mr. Fowler stomped into the room and passed out on the bed. The lilting stumbles in his steps made Peter think he'd been drunk and had likely forgotten about the kid trapped in his closet.

So he hadn't really slept, but his eyes had been closed--the darkness of his eyes was better than that of the closet--until the door had finally swung open, allowing Peter his first full breath in almost a whole day. The dankness of Mr. Fowler's room was a thousand times better than the closet. An arm had grabbed his own, pulling him roughly to his feet and out of the closet. His legs had ached with the disuse, but he'd stumbled to his feet nonetheless.

"Are you going to talk back to me again, son?" Mr. Fowler had asked, a horrible pleasantness to his voice. Peter had shaken his head. Something had been shoved into his hands, and he'd fumbled only to realize it was his wallet. "There. The card doesn't work anymore, so you can have that piece of shit back. Now get out of here."

"O-okay. Thank you," he'd said, stumbling out of the room and into the bathroom that he'd been deprived of for almost twenty-four hours. Once he'd finished and washed his hands, he'd searched through his wallet.

His few crumpled bills had been taken, but the pictures stuffed inside had been left alone, and the black card had sat crammed in a pocket. He'd grabbed it with fumbling fingers, brows furrowing. It didn't work anymore? Had the man maxed it out? Peter had swallowed, a pit forming in his stomach as he thought about what the hell he'd bought to do that. Probably a lot of alcohol had been his guess.

He really, really hoped that Mr. Stark couldn't see his purchases.

After a quick shower, in which he'd had to sit down his vision had swam so much, he'd rushed out the door with his beaten up backpack swinging off of his shoulder. He knew he probably should have stayed to check on the other kids who'd had to listen to the fight last night and might need help with homework, but the teenager couldn't stand to be in that house for any longer. Everything smelled like Mr. Fowler's awful closet and he just needed to be out in the bright Sunday sun. He wanted to find just a little comfort in his shadow that he'd been deprived of the night before.

So he'd changed into his suit and swung around for most of the day, flipping for some overly excited middle schoolers and directing an old man from Ukraine visiting his son who lived in Harlem and ignoring the pain in his stomach. When there was a lull in the late afternoon, he strung a web between two buildings and just did as many daring flips and handstands as he could. It was a feeble attempt to distract himself from the events of the past few days.

Hits and threats from Mr. Fowler were nothing new, in fact, they were a staple in the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, but last night had been different. He'd never been trapped like that in the group home. He'd always had a lot of free reign as long as he operated within the curfew and got his chores done, but yesterday was like someone had flipped a switch on that, and he was still reeling from the terror.

Or that could be the hunger eating through his stomach. Peter stopped flipping on the web for a moment, instead laying down and balancing himself on the thin string as his stomach growled so hard he flinched. He wouldn't even be getting anything today. When did his grounding end again? He was pretty sure it was Thursday, but he wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Fowler extended it after last night. Maybe he could stop by Ned's and get a granola bar or something.

The teenager looked down at the ground to stare at Mr. Stark's shadow, blinking as he realized it was no longer clothed in normal attire, or a sharp business suit, but rather the larger outline of what he could now identify as the Iron Man armor. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what the man must be doing. Probably something really important.

Peter sighed, moving to sit up, when a sound made him pause. He cocked his head before finally turning in the direction of the mechanical whine to make out the Iron Man suit flying towards him.

Huh.

He tried to feign disinterest, laying back down on the web and placing his hands underneath his head as the suit landed on the nearest building rooftop and Mr. Stark stepped out, but Peter couldn't lie to himself about how excited he really was to see the man.

"Hey, Mr. Stark," he greeted from the web.

"Hey, kid."

"Um, thanks for the letter." Please don't ask about the card. Please don't ask about the card. "Are you sure about the phone, though? I mean, that thing looks like it could cost as much as a house."

"Keep it, kid, I gave it to you for a reason," Mr. Stark said, waving him off. Peter watched him warily as he sat down on the edge of the building, shuffling nervously. Peter smiled to see the man very clearly out of his element, as if he would let him fall anyway. "So, how's your day been?"

Peter shrugged. "Fine."

"No hangovers or anything?" Peter froze. "Can you even get drunk? Cap can't."

The teenager hesitated before answering. It was either 'I bought a bunch of adult stuff with your credit card' or 'My foster father bought a bunch of adult stuff with your credit card.' He wasn't sure which one was better, but there didn't seem to be much to win from lying, not that there was much to gain from telling the truth either.

"I don't know," Peter responded honestly as he sat up on the web to stare at the shadow on the ground. The imitation felt more comforting than the real thing at that moment.

"You don't know? You bought three hundred dollars of pure liquor."

"Three hundred--Oh, jeez. I'm really sorry, Mr. Stark."

Mr. Stark blinked at him for a second before his gaze softened.

"You didn't buy any of that stuff, did you?" Peter shook his head. "Who? Andrew Fowler?" A moment. A nod. "Okay, I'll just deactivate that card and give you a new one."

"No, it's fine, Mr. Stark," Peter said, pulling his wallet out of his hoodie pocket and showing him the black card. "He gave it back. I think he was annoyed that it was, like, maxed out or something."

"Well, it is most definitely not maxed out--there's a lot more than three hundred on that, kid--but I'm glad you got it back."

"Thanks."

There was a minute of awkward silence before Mr. Stark rolled his shoulders and sat up straighter.

"So, no tower yesterday?"

Peter suddenly remembered the little note at the end of his letter. He shrugged bashfully, mumbling, "Yeah, sorry, uh Mr--Mr. Fowler kept us pretty busy yesterday. Chore day, so."

"Wanna stop by now?"

Peter looked up at him in surprise. It was a wonder this man didn't hate him yet. The foster parents Peter had before Mr. Fowler had gotten sick of him pretty quickly, or just hadn't been very attached in the first place, while the majority of his teachers regarded him with either pity or disdain at his situation and record. As far as Mr. Stark knew, he had an accident-prone, snotty teenager as a soulmate whose favorite pass time was to be a juvenile delinquent.

And yet, the mechanic regarded him with a soft smile. A little strained, but welcoming nonetheless. It unfurled something in his chest.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Yeah!--I mean, sure sure, that'd be fun." Mr. Stark gave him an amused smile as the teenager stepped off of his web and onto the roof of the building. With a quick glance and a rare smile, Peter leaped off the roof, enjoying the way Mr. Stark yelped in surprise. Peter called, "Beat you there!!"

He did not, in fact, beat Mr. Stark to the tower. To be fair, the man was in a suit that flew faster than a jet and Peter was only propelled by physics and muscles.

The teenager watched from a short distance as the Iron Man suit paused in front of a higher point in the tower, faced him for a moment, and then dove through the window. He raised an eyebrow, but doubled down in catching up to the man, only barely managing to swing himself high enough so that he wouldn't have to crawl his way up more than a couple of stories.

Finally, just a few minutes later than Mr. Stark, he rolled through the window and landed hard on the floor just a little unsteadily, not that he cared in the slightest. There were much more interesting things to care about in that moment.

"Whoa..."

"You like it?" Mr. Stark called from across the lab. Peter nodded dumbly, staring, widemouthed, at the state of the art equipment decorating just about every inch of the room. There were cases of Iron Man armor lining the walls, robots rolling around--he managed a laugh at one with a dunce cap sweeping the ground with a broom inefficiently--and tables filled with projects Peter couldn't even begin to dream of. "You can take your mask off here, kid. No one's going to see you."

Mr. Stark's voice pulled him back to reality, drawing him further into the room hesitantly. He glanced at the man, but realized dimly that his spider sense had finally calmed down. This wasn't the danger he'd felt after being fished out of the lake, or the feeling that had been following him since, it was a normal calm mixed with just a hint of nerves.

He tugged his mask off.

Mr. Stark stared at him, a soft look on his face, before finally tearing his gaze away when Peter shuffled uncomfortably.

"Sorry, kid," he apologized. "Didn't mean to freak you out. Just..."

"Just what?"

"It's just nice to see you, Peter."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he just offered the billionaire a strained smile and stepped over to the desk the man was standing at. He felt more than a little out of place, but his curiosity overwhelmed his discomfort as he glanced over a shiny metal case held lightly in the billionaire's hands in interest. Mr. Stark tapped it when he caught the boy looking.

"This, kid," he said, sliding it over, "is for you."

Peter caught it effortlessly, his fingers light and hesitant as he glanced from it to Mr. Stark, his head down.

"I can't accept this, Mr. Stark. You already--"

Mr. Stark interrupted by reaching over and pressing something on the case. It sprang open, spooking Peter enough for him to take a step back but holding his attention as he caught sight of the bright red fabric. The eyes were what really caught his attention, looking unreasonably cool and intimidating. Peter mumbled, "This is the coolest thing I've ever seen."

Mr. Stark chuckled. "Good thing it's yours."

"It's--" He gaped at the man. "Mr. Stark, I really can't accept--"

"Too bad," he interrupted. "It's a gift and it's rude to turn down a gift. So, there's a bathroom right over there if you want to try it on. Give it a whirl?"

After a moment of hesitation, he closed the case, thanked Mr. Stark, and headed to the bathroom to change.

---

When Peter stepped out of the bathroom in the new suit, Tony couldn't help but frown. He covered it up as quickly as possible, but the sentiment still remained as his eyes roamed over the kid. He was muscular, sure, but he was so thin that it practically hurt. The teenager's ribs were practically there just for him to count and worry about. He filed it away for later as Peter turned to look at him, the mask's eyes narrowing.

"Looking good, hotshot," Tony said. "How's it feel?"

"It's awesome, Mr. Stark," Peter responded, his hands held out in front of him as he tapped the webshooters. "It smells like a new car!"

Tony couldn't help his laugh. "If you think that's cool, just wait. Friday, Babysitter Protocol."

"Babysitter--" Peter cut off with a confused yelp as his suit lit up blue, the AI in his suit supposedly greeting him. The kid cocked his head. "Oh, hi. Nice to meet you too."

Tony turned away, letting the kid and the AI get acquainted as he pulled out his phone and ordered a few pizzas. Five might be enough. Steve had always eaten a lot, and even if he didn't manage to burn through the best pizza in the city, the kid could definitely use leftovers. He entered the order and shifted back to observe the kid again.

"--uh, Liz? No, no, that's weird. How about Karen?" A moment as he waited for a response. "Fun. Nice. Cool, this is so cool."

Tony smiled, unable to tear his eyes away from the kid. His soulmate. His little shadow.

Peter turned to look at him after a few minutes, muttering a quick goodbye to the AI--Karen, he guessed--before tugging the mask off again. There was a hesitant smile tugging at his thin face. Much too thin. How many pizzas would it take to get the kid back to even a semi-healthy weight? Probably way too many.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Stark," Peter said. "I really can't thank you enough."

"Please, you can thank me by not thanking me. Pepper says my ego's already a little off of the charts." Peter laughed and Tony couldn't help his grin. "Wanna stay over for dinner? I ordered pizza."

Peter hesitated, but after a moment he answered, "Alright," which was so much better than the kid regarding him defensively or looking like he was constantly on the edge of running away again. And, as it turned out, Peter fit more easily into his life than he could have thought.

In barely thirty minutes, the kid was sat beside him at a desk filled with vials of web fluid and pieces of Iron Man armor, an old, frayed hoodie of Tony's slipped over the suit, and a stack of freshly baked pizza laid out in front of them. Peter sat in the chair next to him as the mechanic ran through the schematics of his suit, hanging on every single word.

"...most of the framing is between the protective layers of your suit, completely waterproof by the way, if you ever get yourself into another lake. You also have a parachute if you pass the three thousand feet threshold."

Peter glanced over his shoulder in surprise. "There's a parachute in this thing? How?"

Tony tapped his back where he knew the spider logo was. "A magician never reveals their secrets."

"Did you compress all the air out of it? Or build it into the wiring on the patch on my back somehow?"

"Both are true." He took a bite of pizza. "You're pretty smart, huh?"

Peter ducked his head with a shrug. "Sorta. I can figure out chemistry, but that's about it."

"I don't believe that for a second, but we'll stick with the modesty for now." Peter huffed out a laugh, spinning the hologram of his suit and staring at it in complete adoration. It dragged a smile onto Tony's face.

Peter had a sort of ruggedness to him, a desperate scrappiness, but it was embarrassingly easy to see that that wasn't all there was to the teenager. His rambles were fast and excited, his scarce smiles adorably bright and always lighting up his doe eyes. There was a kind of spark to Peter that Tony couldn't explain, and, though he was sorry that the kid was saddled with him, he couldn't have wished for a better soulmate.

Apparently, five pizzas ended up being a great number, because Peter ate everything Tony offered him. He was practically a human garbage disposal, though much more polite. Tony was glad that the kid was filling up, but it made him seriously question how much he was getting at that group home. After letting the kid get comfortable for about an hour, he voiced it.

"Do they feed you where you live, kid? I swear, you just put down over ten thousand calories."

Peter paused on the slice he was eating, swallowing before putting it back on the plate nervously, and Tony immediately regretted ever opening his big, fat mouth.

"Yeah. They--Mr. Fowler feeds us fine. Just, enhanced metabolism, so." He shrugged. It was said so nervously that it felt like an outright lie, but Tony left it alone.

"Okay. Good to know. Just make sure to use that card whenever you get hungry, kid. I'm not having my soulmate starve."

At his mention of being soulmates, Peter glanced over his shoulder to stare at their shadows. Right now they almost looked like their own shadows, mirror images of each other, but if you looked hard enough you could see the slight difference in hair texture and the distinctive widths of their shoulders.

"It must've been weird," Peter said. Tony glanced at him in confusion. "Not having a shadow. You didn't get one until I was born, right?"

"Oh. Yeah," Tony agreed. He swallowed as he admitted, "Thought I was broken for the longest time. It was the best day of my life when your tiny little baby shadow appeared at my feet... What about you? Always had a grown man following you around, huh?"

"That sounded creepy, Mr. Stark." Tony just grinned cheekily. "It was nice, actually, always having you there. Like--like a guardian or something."

"And now you've got the real thing." Peter rolled his eyes and Tony pointed at him. "Ah, there's that good ol' sass I was looking for. I was afraid I'd lost it."

"Uhuh. You're kinda weird, Mr. Stark."

"Right back at you, little shadow." Peter smiled at the nickname before glancing out the window where the sky was a deep russet red. "Time for you to head out?"

"Yeah. I've still got some homework to do."

The two stood up and walked over to the window. Peter moved to take the hoodie he'd been wearing off, but Tony stopped him. "Keep it. I've got plenty."

"Oh, thanks, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm so generous. Have fun with the suit, kid, I'll see you soon."

"When?"

Tony paused, looking over at the kid who had only just begun to pull the mask over his head, hopeful eyes staring at him. He desperately wanted to tell the kid he'd pick him up from school tomorrow so that they could hang out in the lab again, but he knew he genuinely didn't have any time. He'd been putting off packing for a few too many days.

"After we move. I'll pick you up from school on Friday. We can go explore the compound together. Sound good?"

Peter nodded. "Yep. Real good, Mr. Stark."

"You can call me Tony, Mr. Parker," he joked.

Peter pulled the mask down and jumped out the window with a call of. "See you Friday, Mr. Stark!"

Tony's shoulders shook with laughter.

---

Friday. Peter couldn't wait for Friday. With a burst of excitement and energy he hadn't had in a while, Peter flipped in the air and let out a WHOOO! only catching himself at the last second before flipping back up.

"Wow, this suit is so intuitive!" he exclaimed, shooting another web.

"I am glad you think so, Peter," Karen responded, shocking him so bad he nearly let go of his web. Oh, yeah, he'd forgotten he had an AI now. Man, Mr. Stark was so cool. "I am currently taking feedback for the suit's systems in case anything needs to be changed on Friday. Would you like to rate the suit's webshooters?"

"Oh, full eleven out of ten, Karen. It's great."

"Thank you for the feedback, Peter, I have sent a note to Mr. Stark."

"Oh." Peter blushed. "You didn't have to tell him that, Karen."

"Why not? He has asked for feedback."

"No, it's not--" He cut himself off, sighing as he flipped himself into a large arc. "I just don't want to bother him. He's already been so nice to me."

"Mr. Stark has asked for feedback, Peter."

"It's not the--it's not the feedback, Karen," he tried to explain.

"I do not understand."

He spluttered and then sighed, waving it off. "Whatever. It's fine, Karen, just forget it."

"Of course, Peter. Would you like me to show you the quickest route home?"

Peter hesitated. He did have a lot of homework to do, and Eric probably needed help with his reading, but he had to swallow down fear at the thought of being in the same room as Mr. Fowler again. It was irrational--it was so stupid--and Peter knew it, but he couldn't stop the way his hands seemed to shake and his entire body quail.

"Actually, let's take the scenic route. Really test out the suit, y'know?"

"Of course, Peter. Planning now."

A blue line appeared on screen, leading Peter back to the group home. He muttered, "So cool."

Spider-Man was only halfway back to the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, finally across the bridge and back into his home territory, when his spider sense went off again. He immediately glanced down at his shadow, which had lengthened as the sun set, for some kind of comfort or guidance. But of course, there wasn't one. It was just a shadow.

A little put off by the shiver that had run down his spine, he attached himself to the side of the building, staring out over the street. Nothing too out of the normal. People hurrying on the sidewalk, cars honking down the street, and shadows following along aimlessly.

"Karen. What's going on?"

"What do you mean, Peter?" the AI asked.

"It's just--there's something wrong. Maybe--" At a second shiver up his spine, Peter turned to look at where his senses were directing him at the ringing of a bell.

It was a small bodega, its door swung open as two men stepped inside in unreasonably thick coats for the warm weather. He narrowed his eyes, and the suit zoomed in with him, scanning the men before they disappeared through the door.

"What's the time, Karen?"

"7:30."

"Alright, we're good then. Plenty of time." He swung over to the bodega, attaching himself to the wall above the door, out of sight of the occupants inside. His senses had yet to calm down, so he assumed that he was right about this being a robbery. "Ready to test out the suit, Karry Berry?"

"I am always ready, Peter."

"Y'know, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

"Does that mean I should assign you a nickname too?"

"Definitely! Think about it for a moment and get back to me after we do this," Peter exclaimed in an excited mumble, straining his ears to hear whatever was going on inside. There was the tense calm of nothing for a moment, and then a shuffle and a squeak followed by a spike in his senses. He muttered to himself. "Finally."

He kept his ears strained on the actions going on inside, dropping down in front of the door quietly to watch what was happening. There was a teenager at the register, her hands fumbling with the register while the two men from earlier in their dark coats pointed shotguns at her. He could see tears streaming down the girl's face, clearly terrified.

Peter crept forward, picking up on the muttered conversation inside.

"--just open the register, keep it quiet," the closest man said in a raspy voice. "Hand everything over nice and quick."

"It's--it doesn't open," the girl cried. "It doesn't open unless a purchase is made and--"

The man flinched forward. "Do I look like I care? Just open it!"

Finally having heard enough, Peter placed his fingers against the door and pulled it open as quietly as possible.

Ding!

Peter froze. Heads turned. Curses flew.

The superhero darted forward as the gun pointed at him, firing a shot that missed him completely as he dove behind a grocery aisle of gummies and pregnancy tests. Bodegas really were something. Peter crouched down, muttering under his breath, "Fuck that stupid bell."

"Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark to your predicament?" Karen asked.

"What? No! I can deal with this, Karen, just watch."

"I like the new look," came the voice of the man that had shot at him. "New government sugar daddy or something?"

Peter blanched. "I really wish that that would stop being people's first assumption. People can be platonic y'know!"

There was a scoff and the sound of something warping. Peter's eyes narrowed, peeking around the grocery shelf and then immediately ducking back. The man, the one who hadn't shot at him, had pulled out a large and glowing weapon that looked incredibly similar to the one that had been at the ATM robbery. Man, he was getting really sick of those things.

The teenage girl had looked okay, shivering behind the desk and thankfully not making any moves to alert the police, as far as he could tell anyway. The last thing he needed was cops showing up in such a tense situation. And his first time using the new suit! That would be just plain embarrassing.

"Platonic or not, I don't give a shit," Normal Gun Man said. "A new look isn't going to change your situation. So either come out, or we shoot you."

"I don't know if you can shoot me while I'm back here soooo."

There was a click and a squeak. "Yeah? What about her?"

Okay. So that was a little different.

Without hesitation, Peter stepped out from behind the aisle shelf, his arms raised half-heartedly in the air. The two men had ski masks over their face--not quite as fun as the Avengers masks, but it'd do--but he could still see the honestly nervous smile of the man holding the gun. Clearly he hadn't expected the arrival of Queens favorite vigilante.

"Good to know that you can comply," Normal Gun Guy said. Alien Gun Guy had the weird blue gun pointed at Peter, but the shotgun was still directed at the worker. He chose his target.

"Not really."

With a flick, he webbed the shotgun and slammed it into the wall. There was a startled scream at the same moment his hairs stood on end. Peter only managed to jump forward before he was encased in a blue light that gave him quite possibly the worst headache of his entire life. He hated the feeling of that stupid thing. He didn't quite know what it was, but it felt like something out of The Incredibles. Like Syndrome and shit.

"Ugh! This thing is so weird!" Peter complained in a warped yell. Alien Gun Guy gave him a brutish look and then swung him through the window.

Peter grunted as he crashed through the window, wincing at the clinking shatter of glass that broke under him, but, surprisingly, none of the glass managed to grab at him and slice through his skin, even as he was shot across the street from the force of the alien weapon, only stopping when he thudded against the wall. He groaned as the air was forced out of him.

At least the suit had kept him from getting cut.

"Ugh... The hell." The teenager shook his head, forcing himself back to his feet, clinging to the wall for just a moment as he blinked out dizziness. Remembering himself, he turned back to the bodega across the street, panicking when his head pounded. That wasn't from being hit, that was his spider sense.

The men ran out of the door, hulking along a cash register and a handful of cigarette packs, but the teenage girl had yet to leave and his head only pounded harder. Spider-Man dashed across the road, leaping through the already broken window, his breath catching as he caught sight of the purple thing sitting on the ground in the middle of the bodega. It whined, louder and louder.

Bomb. Bomb!

Peter's head shot around so fast he physically winced, but he caught sight of the teenager behind the counter. Working on instinct, he jumped over the counter as the whine reached its apex, wrapping his arms around the girl and pushing himself between her and the bomb. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as possible, gritting his teeth.

The world shook and she let out a surprised cry into his shoulder but didn't let go. Peter barely managed to hold down a whimper of fear. Be brave, be a hero. Be brave, be a hero. He could do it. He was fine.

He was fine.

Peter blinked his eyes open, moving carefully to peer over the counter.

"Dammit," he muttered. The rest of the windows had shattered, and just about every product in the store had been knocked back and now littered the ground. A tile fell from the ceiling, making him tense his shoulders. They'd gotten away. Some hero he was.

"I have a nickname for you, Peter," Karen said in his ear. He frowned in annoyance. Well, he had told her to tell him once the situation was over.

"Great," he snapped, stepping over the counter, his boot crunching on the glass. "What is it?"

"Peter-butter!"

"...Okay that's actually pretty good."

---

After double checking that the cashier was alright, Peter had fled the scene, cursing himself for how bad it had gone. Nobody had died, but that wasn't really the standard he was looking for. If anything, he'd really just made everything worse. Stupid, Parker, stupid!

The teenager sighed, dipping into the dark alleyway where his backpack had been left earlier. He grabbed it from under the crate of boxes where he'd hidden it, pressing the spider emblem on his chest, allowing the suit to cascade off of him. Frustrated, Peter ripped the mask off and untangled himself from the fabric at his feet, stuffing the items in his faded blue bag and jumping back into his own clothes, and, after a moment of hesitation, slipped into the hoodie that Mr. Stark had given him.

He pulled the bag over his shoulder and buried his hands into his pockets as he stepped out of the alleyway and back onto the streets in the direction of the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys. His brows were furrowed and his face squished into a deep frown. He couldn't believe he'd been given a superhero suit by literally Iron Man and he'd screwed it up immediately. He chittered nervously at the thought of Mr. Stark seeing what had happened at the bodega and realizing just how shit of a superhero his soulmate was.

As he was debating the likely-hood of Mr. Stark taking the suit back and never talking to him again for his screw up, his phone buzzed. Hesitantly, Peter pulled it out to find two texts waiting for him. One from Ned and one from Mr. Stark.

He clicked on the one from Ned first. The text app opened up to show Peter a grainy picture of him in his new suit followed by Ned's message of 'Excuse me??? tf is this?? tell me everything rn or im going to die'

Peter smiled faintly, making a mental note to call his friend in a few minutes. With a deep breath, he clicked on Mr. Stark's message.

Mr. Stark: I saw the news. You okay?

Peter blinked. He wasn't mad? He chewed on his lip as he sent a response, 'All good. Sorry I freaked you out.'

Mr. Stark texted back almost immediately, 'No problem. Just glad you're good. Text ya later, kiddo.'

And that was that, Peter supposed. No...no nothing, really. He'd expected a lot more resistance or opposition from the billionaire, but he wasn't mad that he hadn't gotten any. He was about to call Ned when his phone buzzed again.

Mr. Stark: 'P.S. You can talk to and text Karen through your phone. Knock yourself out, Peter-butter.'

Well, that was embarrassing. But still kinda cool.

With a shake of his head, he finally dialed Ned's number. His friend only picked up after two rings with a breathless greeting.

"Yo, what the hell is up with that suit? Did Mr. Stark make it for you? Are you super hero buddies now!!? Officially his sidekick!!?"

Peter smiled, shaking his head in amusement as he stopped at a streetlight. "Yeah, Mr. Stark made it for me. It's cool right? It even has an AI!"

"It has an AI!!? Please, please, tell me you'll let me look at it."

"Duh. Yeah, you can look at it. We can go to your house after school." Peter thought for a moment, thinking of the alien weapons. He'd messed up today, probably disappointed Mr. Stark, but if he could take the whole operation down... "Besides, I need your help with something."

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

#friendly neighborhood exchange #peter parker #tony stark #Iron Man #spiderman #irondad #spiderson #irondad and spiderson #ironman fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #soulmate au #platonic soulmates #not st*rker

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silkylious · 4 years

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I Am in Love. Fuck. (Bakugo Katsuki x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Dancer!Bakugo Katsuki x Dancer!Reader Warnings: swearing and just some tooth-rotting fluff! Prompt(s): #35 “Oh shit... I am in love. Fuck.” + Dancer AU

A/N: Thank you so much @1-800-callmekatsuki for the request, this was super cute and fun to write. I hope you enjoy this! yall i know nothing about dancing so for any dancers out there please bear with me lmao

Squeaks of sneakers against the waxed floor echoed throughout the studio, overshadowed by the rhythm blasting from the speakers. Heavy puffs of air mingled with the surrounding noise to create a ruggedly enchanting symphony. Crimson irises peered at you as your hand delicately held him by the neck, moving up to caress his sharp jaw all while you kept up the movements of your feet and the saying of your hips. Katsuki's hands perched stop your waist guiding your motions, grip tightening as the song playing in the background built up to a final crescendo, preparing to support you for the finale of your dance number. As the last notes of the musical piece sounded through the closed space, you struck a final pose, surrendering your body to Katsuki's grasp. You stayed in that position for a second too long, your figure hanging with the help of his strength in an exaggerated dip, his pointy, upturned nose brushing against yours and his muscular arms holding you securely, saving you from an inevitable fall. Your lidded eyes bore into his soul, daring him to go further. He wouldn't give in to your teasing gaze so easily, though. With a painfully audible gulp, he pulled you upright, detaching his body from yours.

A sharp whistle crashed the tension between you two, followed by overly enthusiastic clapping.

“That was awesome, guys! You're totally gonna win the competition with this,” Kirishima hollered from the other side of the room, his keen stare watching with amusement as you and his best friend stiffly walked to your respective lockers. He found it infinitely humorous how you could have such palpable chemistry on the dance floor, then act like awkward middle schoolers once the music halted.

Your skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat; the choreography was exhausting, despite how effortless you and your dance partner made it seem. It surprised you when Katsuki approached you with this particular sequence, he wasn't one for sensuous moves (much less a pas de deux for that matter), and quite frankly you doubted he had it in him to be so intimate and flexible. But as usual, he surprised you with his adaptability, Katsuki really was a natural at many things. What was completely out of left field, however, was his intensity. It was just a duet, you knew that, but fuck did his eyes send you hurtling to other worldly stories with just his glare, the sensuality of his touches immersing you in a fictional forbidden love. The way his lips ghosted over your shoulder as you rocked with your back to his sculpted pectorals. He was doing it on purpose. And you'd be damned if you didn't play his game too, returning his lingering touches with just as much vigour, passion. The plastic bottle in your hand protested under the unnecessary pressure of your clutch, your bottom lip catching behind a row of teeth. Shit, he was getting to you–

“Oi, you're gonna spill water everywhere, dumbass,” Katsuki's gruff voice snapped you from your reverie, making the baby hairs on your neck stand at attention. He chugged his own water in one gulp before successfully throwing the plastic container into the recycling bin from a far. By the time you turned around, he had gotten alarmingly closer. “Overall, you’re not as shitty as last time. Your footing is still fucking abysmal, though. You call that a pirouette? My grandma could do better and she has arthritis.”

Of course he wouldn't let you celebrate, you were convinced he was physically incapable of giving non-backhanded compliments. You shook your head with a light chuckle, his creativity really shined through in his insults. They never really bothered you, you were aware that hidden beneath the layers of unwarranted cussing and borderline rude comments, lied genuine, constructive criticism. Grabbing a change of clothes, you slammed the locker before heading to the public bathroom for a quick rinse, barely sparing him a glance on the way there.

“Duly noted.”

Vermillion eyes observed the way your hips swayed gently as you walked, completely unaware of similarly colored eyes watching him with gleaming mirth. “You’re so whipped for her, dude.”

Previously relaxed features pulled taut in an agitated grimace. “No, the fuck I’m not.”

“Mhmm, sure. Keep telling yourself that, man.” Kirishima escaped the premises before he could experience his best friend’s wrath, a jubilant bounce in his step as he thought about his two friends. He was the common denominator between you two. That’s how you met, at one of Kirishima’s frat parties, and even though Bakugo wouldn’t ever say it out loud, an instant connection sparked between you two. The mutual love for dancing brought you together.

Thoughts of you fogged Katsuki’s mind for the rest of the day, practice that day had been exceptionally sensual, both of you getting progressively more daring. He fruitlessly tried to go about his day without having intrusive thoughts blocking his focus, but to no avail. He found himself aimlessly staring out the window, hyper-realistic sensations buzzing along his skin, it was almost like you were still there, still touching him. He sat there on his couch, trying (and failing), to elude any thought of you. He huffed at his inability to get you out of his head, he had one last resort to aid with his problem.

That damn porcupine wouldn’t stop reappearing in your mind, it was so surreal, the way he looked at you as you forfeited your body to him, his minty pants of air, his natural musk. All of it was too much to handle. Uncertainty stopped you from pursuing the man that had unknowingly snatched your heart, each session with him felt like a shot of fireball running down your throat. So sweet and addictive, yet the repercussions left you impaired. He was a drug to you, making you chase the gratifying high of his touches, but once the endorphins dissipated you were left to battle with the symptoms of withdrawal. Your plans of having a relaxing evening were thrown out the window, you needed anything but alone time to overthink, and you had the perfect getaway from visions plaguing you. Unbeknownst to both of you, you shared the exact same idea.

Drowned in the music provided by his ear buds, Katsuki failed to hear the sounds of someone else in the studio as he rounded the corner. The sight before him momentarily made his heart halt, only to beat twice as fast as his eyes raked over your twirling figure. Dim light peaked through the blinds, casting an elegant, pastel halo over your features. You looked so in your element here, so at peace. Your expression gentle, eyes soft and lips pulled into a preciously small smile, despite the strain pulling at your limbs, begging you to rest. Your body alone made the muscles in his heart clench and unclench rapidly, made his otherwise focused and composed mind a reeling, fiery mess. But what affected him the most, provoked an itching desire in him to be as close to you as humanly possible (a desire that he had refused to acknowledge) was the simple fact that you were doing pirouettes. He’d figured that your comeback to him earlier that day had been pure sarcasm. Seeing you take his advice, practicing all on your own, having the courage to fall and learn, failing and bouncing right back up again over and over until sweat dripped from your temples, all to make both him and yourself proud with the fruits of your labor, that’s what set him off.

“Oh shit... I am in love. Fuck.”

The date of the competition came faster than either of you could comprehend. The days preceding it were filled with hard work, sweat and augmenting tension. With his feelings for you finally recognized and accepted, Bakugo couldn’t help the pink tone frequenting his face whenever you went over the dance together, which he defensively dismissed as a byproduct of heat each time Kirishima brought it up, a knowing look in his eye. That last dip always made his stomach churn. When he was that close to your face, he had to restrain every atom in his body from doing something impulsive, but oh did his lips plead to mold with your own, did his fingers beg to tangle with yours. He’d never experienced anything like this, it was almost like all his body parts had a mind of their own, whenever he was by your side he consciously had to shun his whole being from twitching as it wished desperately to entwine with you in every way possible.

“This is it.” You said, more to yourself than to him, reminding yourself that this was the time to reap all the exertion and time you’d sowed. Your mind was slowly trickling into anxious territory, but a calloused hand interlacing with your own stopped you from straying too far. You gaped at the sudden act of reassurance, a familiar giddy feeling bubbling in your veins. He grinned at you. You grinned back.

“This is it.” He repeated, words coming out strong, resolute. His cadence conveying all the encouragement he didn't know how to voice, his hand anchoring you in what was here and now.

“And last but not least, please welcome our last competitors, Bakugo Katsuki and (last name) (name)!”

That was the cue for the both of you to emerge from backstage. As you took your starting positions, you inhaled and exhaled uniformly, Bakugo sending you a look of slight concern which you returned with a smirk, telepathically telling him let’s win this thing.

The music kicked in and you lost yourselves between the melodies. It was like Pavlov’s conditioning almost; as soon as your ears heard the starting notes, your bodies moved on their own, muscle memory taking the front seat and grabbing hold of the steering wheel. And yet it was anything but a blur. You saw everything in blinding clarity, minutes seemed to slow for your perception. The way he moved was etched into your brain in overwhelming detail. The dance was as amorous as can be. Your gaze remained attached to his throughout the whole number, only leaving when you twirled or turned around. This time around, you didn’t dance as mere partners, no you danced as lovers. There was no teasing involved, only unbridled adoration. Applause fell on deaf ears, anything that wasn’t him was mute and colorless to you, and vice versa. You danced like nobody was observing, like you were a married couple swaying around your kitchen.

The final notes brought you two back to reality, and through the unease in his gorgeous, crimson irises, you knew he had a decision to make. Your palm skimmed across the expanse of his neck, trailing the unblemished column before moving up to his jaw. With practiced ease, your feet skidded along the stage while your hips moved in tantalizing waves, his sweaty hands gripping at your waist tightly, a clear indication of his ongoing, internal debate. You gave him a last glare, one that ultimately made him settle on a choice he vowed to never regret, then your body slackened in his hold, his arms dipping you backwards in a closing pose, concluding the exhilarating choreography.

But he still had one more thing to do.

As his nose pushed up against yours, he made a final push, lowering his lids in preparation. His slightly chapped lips puckered against your soft ones, prompting your eyes to grow wide. Obnoxious cheering erupted, but neither of you could hear it. Shutting your eyes, you moved your lips in a sensuous rhythm against his own, not too dissimilar to the number you’d just performed, basking in the sensation that you’d daydreamed about during endless sleepless nights.

For once, Katsuki couldn’t give less of a shit about achieving an indisputable first place in a competition, because no matter the outcome of this dance, whether he swooped all the medals or not, he considered this to be the biggest win in his book.

#katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki #bakugo #mha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugo imagine

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leebrontide · 4 years

Text

A true, 30 year, tropetastic, queer love story. (Part 1)

Pls open the link if you'd like to read a 30 year, trope-tastic true queer romance featuring pining, instalove, swords, childhood-friends-to-lovers and a happy ending.

We THINK the story begins in 1991. We know it starts at theatre day-camp for kids, a summer when we were both in elementary school.

The earliest memories are vague- I remembered a super cool kid from the older class with dark eyes who I was desperate to eat lunch with every day.

It's taken us years to reconstruct the timeline. We have figured out I did go to her house outside of camp that first year, because I remember her bird that tried to bite me. We can only guess at years based on camp themes.

Because we were little kids. I was 7. So we lost touch.

But here's the thing- we kept going to the same camp. She was always in a class ahead of me, because I'm a year and a half younger.

And every year- apparently without remembering we'd met before? We became summer best friends. Drawn together over and over.

But, being disorganized kids in a world of lesser tech, every year, when camp ended, we lost phone numbers- we lived a good 30 minutes away from each other, so I have to imagine our parent's weren't exactly heartbroken at the loss. It was a lot of driving.

In 4th grade, when I was 9, I made a new best friend, named Meredith. My parents heartily recommended the summer theatre camp to hers, and she was sent with me, the next year.

She, was older than me, so she was in Ty's class. & having excellent taste, also made friends with her.

The three of us played together all summer.

Then came the fall, and the inevitable lost contact. I remember being sad about that much more clearly, that year.

BUT, the big change happened when I was 10.

Again, sent to camp. Again, my friend Meredith was there to.

At lunch, I found them playing together. I went to introduce myself to the obviously cool older girl.

For some reason I tried to shake her hand? Little weirdo.

Ty reacts to me the same way- oh hey! Cool new person! I want to be friends!

Meredith looks at us both like we're out of our minds.

"You know each other. We played all last summer."

And suddenly, the spell of childhood amnesia was broken.

I DID know her. We were FRIENDS.

We HAD BEEN FRIENDS for years.

She LIKED ME.

SHE LIKED ME.

(love with memory disabilities is a trip, folks. And her lil ADHD kid brain was struggling right alongside mine)

We were elated.

But that wasn't the last shock to my little 10 year old heart that 5 week summer camp would bring.

Meredith was, and is, a poet. Somehow she had a habit, at 11 years old, of making up poems about people's eyes.

Weird stuff. I remember a pair of green eyes being compared to a deep sea, were the bones of drunken drowned sailors floated.

Very Anne of Green Gables.

And- I remember this part with perfect clarity. She turned to me and said, do you know who has pretty eyes? Ty.

We were crossing the stage, Ty was carrying a box of props like 15 feet ahead of us.

I said "does she?"

And then, ever the romantic I screamed "HEY TY TURN AROUND I WANNA SEE SOMETHING!"

She did.

And for the first time, I looked into the dark eyes I'd been drawn to for all those years, and saw them anew.

There's a reason cupid's supposed to have arrows.

I swear to you that this is true. It felt like an actual blow to my chest. Like a physical blow.

I was stunned. My little heart was hammering out of control.

I have no idea what I said, or did, or looked like after that.

But I figured out pretty quickly what that was. It was not subtle, even to a prepubescent nearly 6th grader.

But I was a pragmatic little almost-6th-grader.

This was a crush. Middle schoolers have crushes.

And they're supposed to fade over time.

I don't remember if I was worried that my crush was on a girl. I just remember the certainty that this was just a child's crush, and therefor nothing that would last or cause problems.

And when fall came, I lost her number again.

But this time I was devastated.

But, this time a hero saved the day! Meredith, sweet, wonderful, more-organized-than-either-of-us Meredith, still had the number.

And this time, I held on to it.

We became year round besties.

For the first year of adoring her year-round, I didn't worry about my little crush. It'd go away in time.

By 7th grade, it started to be a problem.

We were having sleep overs, and I started to feel guilty about how much I wanted to look at her and cuddle her all the time.

I don't think I told anyone right away. But Meredith was always the smartest of us three.

She's the one who proposed we play "wedding". She presided over the ceremony herself, and her little sister was our wedding photographer.

Oddly, even though I didn't know about this photo till years later, this is a game both of us remember playing.

It meant... something.

Image

I started to feel guilty. We were having sleep overs, talking every day on the phone. I wanted to look at her all the time- I wanted to be with her all the time. I wanted to kiss her, and started to realize she might be bothered by that.

I never wanted to hide anything from her.

So, I confessed my love. I didn't think of this as being especially radical or brave, but in retrospect, I'm impressed by 12 year old Lee's behavior.

She smiled brightly, and said she loved me to!

As her best friend.

I clarified my position.

She repeated that she loved me as her very best friend.

And these feelings were a bit scary and BIG, so that was all good. She still wanted to hang out all the time. Life was good.

By 8th grade, I was starting to worry. The crush hadn't worn off yet. Everyone told me these things wore off.

But I was more in love with her than ever.

And when Meredith moved to Nashville, we got even closer.

We joined the MN sword club. Made new friends. In the way of these things, a whole lot of them turned out to be some evolving variety of queer. Friends started coming out.

I barely needed to, my crush was horrifyingly obvious to all our friends.

Image

I promised you swords. The swords don't feature prominently, but the club was a major connection for us for years, and this detail has always struck me.

I'm not an especially good fencer. Especially then. I was constructed out of raw spaghetti noodles and moved like creaky budget claymation most of the time. I was calculating, but slow.

She was fast, and brash, and more skilled than me. She eventually beat some nationally recognized fencers. We called her "fiery Tybalt" because we're a bunch of big ol nerds who wanted to sound smart. She eventually took her name from that nickname.

Even at only 5ft tall, she should have beaten me handily and reliably. She could hold her own against much better fencers.

But we actually got BANNED from sparring together, because we were so evenly matched we could never get enough points for a win.

My one and only expertise in fencing was knowing her. But she knew me just as well, so there was a stalemate.

Our friends laughed at us.

I confessed my love again in 8th grade.

And 9th.

10th.

11th.

I never wanted to lie to her. It was important to me that she knew what I was thinking and feeling, but it was also important that I not burden her with it.

She always gave me the same answer. She loved me. She loved me SO MUCH.

What a shame she was straight.

Now, readers, let me remind you we're looking at two queer kids in the 90s at this point.

There were pressures at play.

When I was in 11th grade, she left for college. And she was far enough away that long distance calls were expensive. I couldn't call her every day.

What I remember most about senior year was being depressed and lonely.

But also, that after years of my family despairing of my ever learning to type, and eventually getting me the (then very expensive) dragon speech-to-type program so I could type my homework and not fail school- my contact with her was suddenly all in text. AOL messenger.

People have commented at all my workplaces about my typing speed. I type 120 words per minute now.

Specifically because it was the only way to talk to her most days.

I went to college the following year. We both got boyfriends. Both nice boys who liked and admired us.

BOTH broke up with us because we so obviously preferred each other over them. To an embarrassing degree.

The boy I was dating- bless him he only lasted 3 months- specifically told me "if I go out with you any more I'm going to fall in love with you. And you're in love with her."

Slick bastard.

He was right tho.

I couldn't be mad at him.

But this is when I started to really panic.

It'd been 6 years. My first crush was still absolutely roaring. Nobody else came close to tempting me.

And nobody else wanted to, when it became obvious they couldn't compete with her.

And she was still my best friend, so of course I told her. I told her I was miserable, because I was going to be single forever because nobody else would want me, because I was so in love with her.

She felt bad. She loved me so much. So much she'd been dumped to.

Such a shame she was straight.

I wouldn't find out till much later that that conversation had started something on her side, that, for once, she knew to keep from me.

She spent the next 6 months in intense contemplation.

She DID prefer me to all the other boys (and girls) who were chasing her in college.

And there were a lot of them.

She did think I was pretty, and she did love me. And she did want to be with me forever.

She'd been as dedicated to me as I was to her through this whole time. As caring, as invested, as, frankly, obsessed. Everyone could see it.

But she wasn't straight. She was bi.

And ace.

We wouldn't learn that word for many more years. All she knew was that the story of falling in love didn't match the love she was feeling.

But then she realized- she'd never felt the feelings she was "supposed" to feel for her boyfriend, either. She was not more attracted to him than to me. And he was a good looking guy. A catch by most any standard.

And she also hadn't loved him.

But she did love me.

So, my sophomore year of college (her junior year), we were preparing our trip to the Renaissance festival. A bunch of her friends were driving into town for it, and we'd see each other again at last. (we'd been back at school like 2 weeks, so naturally were desperate to meet up)

I am still flabbergasted as the next series of events.

She asked me out. On AOL instant messenger. After over 7 years of my pining, and adoration. After 7 years of choosing the pain of being near her and not being able to kiss her, over the desolation of not having her beside me

She very logically explained her reasoning.

I had a meltdown.

My poor room mate walked into our room to find me crying and throwing things at the computer screen.

I was convinced she was offering to date me because she felt bad for me. Because she loved me and wanted me to stop hurting and feeling alone.

So I turned her down.

That, friends, was HARD. REALLY HARD.

Thankfully, she was having none of it. She insisted it only made sense for us to date. I tried to stay firm. I refused repeatedly, all in that damned AOL messenger.

We reached a compromise- one date, at the Ren Fest, as a test.

And if it failed we'd never speak of it again.

Because the prospect of dating and breaking up was terrifying to us both.

If we were going to be together, we'd be defacto engaged. Neither of us could tolerate breaking up.

The weekend came- my college friends all knew, and accompanied me, made sure I was decked out in the best fair garb we could cobble together.

She drove up with her friends- including the ex- who had no idea what was happening. She had on her finest cape & boots & a swishy dress.

We could not manage to be alone together. Like it was a proper rom-com ridiculousness. All damn day.

But at least we were together.

She came back to my dorm that night, to spend the night, and drive back the next day.

Shout out to my room mate who stayed at her boyfriend's house that night. Love you, Lindsay.

We finally managed to kiss.

She abruptly decided kissing wasn't some weird thing people only pretended to like because it was normal, and was in fact an amazing wonderful thing we should do frequently.

I don't actually remember us deciding that the experiment was successful, and we'd be a romantic couple from then on.

Pretty sure the kissing melted my brain.

It was not like kissing my old boyfriend at all.

She went back to college the next day.

I do remember, that, MORE THAN ONCE, I nervously asked my roomy if this had all really happened. I was truly and genuinely concerned that I'd dreamed or fantasized the whole thing. I'd done both enough times before.

I couldn't just ask outright so I'd say something like. "Hey did anything- important happen yesterday?"

And she'd look at me like I was speaking some alien language, and tell me I was dating Ty now.

I wandered around in a dream-like stupor for a WEEK.

This is a good place to stop for now. More tonight. I need to go snuggle my baby and help my wife with lunch. 💖

Popping in briefly for the next installment.

All our friends knew immediately. Some of them- the newer ones, were confused because they had assumed we were always dating, on account of how blatantly in love we were all the damn time.

We decided tho, to hold off on telling our families. We decided to date a year first, to show that it was serious, and that we meant it.

It was a good year, full of the kind of pining that is regularly rewarded by happy weekends and spring breaks and summers.

The next august, before we went back to school, we each sat down our own parents. Hers were sort of "yeah ok whatever." I was not there for that conversation.

I went to my favorite restaurant with my own parents, and told them I was seeing someone. Dad was enthused. Wanted to meet him.

Well. I said. You have.

Because it's Ty.

#gay love #gay romance #romance tropes #ace love #nonbinary romance #romance tropes tropes love #coming out day 2020

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imagineshiratorizawa · 7 years

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OHOHOHO THEN hcs for childhood rivals (is that a thing? children can have weird rivalries.... they fight over crayons....) to best friends to lovers trope for kawanishi and semi?

Taichi Kawanishi

ღIt all started when they were little. Their mom were friends and wanted their kids to be friends as well

ღA mistake because you were too loud for his tastes and he started ignoring you. That didn’t suit you well

ღYou fuking punched him and you started to fight, your moms had to come and separate you both lmao

ღAfter that well you both weren’t on good terms with each other

ღYou just couldn’t let it go and neither could him apparently

ღYou always, always had to fight aka one fight per year

ღAlso because you were always one-upping his scores and looking at him with a haughty look, (absolutely shameful)

ღAfter you graduated from middle school the fights cooled down a bit, honestly gave your mom a breather because you always came home with some sort of bruise on you courtesy of taichi (and taichi as well) and after the fights started lessening, your bruises did too

ღOn your last year of being middle schoolers you got paired up for a project (im just a walking cliche aren’t i?) and he dared you that you couldn’t get into shiratori because of that really fucking difficult exam

ღYou agreed to take it, if only to shut his mouth up (it wasn’t even your first school of choice you wanted to go to seijoh) (s/o wanted to be a seijoh whore)

ღYou both went on the same day to take the exam, glaring at each other thru it, it was a wonder how you both managed to complete it

ღThe next day taichi had volley tryouts and told you some kind of passive-agressive stuff like “sucks for you that you don’t get a chance to get in on a sports scholarship” idk maybe taichi thinks you won’t get in on grades and also doesn’t have the same chance to get in thru sports

ღ Anyway he told ya he thought he did good and to wait until next week for the scores and letters

ღWhen next week came you trotted up to taichi with a grin, practically shoving the paper down his throat as you showed him the score. You had passed and it was almost close to a perfect score

ღTaichi was shocked (not that he’d tell you) and showed you his score, which quite high, but did not come near yours

ღYou then asked about the tryouts and he told you he was accepted, which was a relief because his mother had been bugging him about it

ღYou congratulated him and told him “we should have a fight on our first year there hm? Just like old times where i would beat your ass~~”

ღSavage reader-chan

ღHe was shocked because he thought you wanted to go to seijoh but you shrugged and shook your head; “nah i wanna at least see what school shira is. If i don’t like it i could always change schools”

ღafter that you made changes and started to treat each other amicably and you couldve called yourselves friends

ღthey did indeed fight on the first day there and that like cemented it lmao

ღYou still kept teasing him and beating his own scores (you both were in advanced classes)

ღOn your second year the teasing toned down a bit, and you spent more time with him, going to all of his practices, games and away games too when you could.

ღHe had come to care for you and what better way to ask you to be his than on the last tournament of the year, the Interhigh spring high or interhigh lol i dont remember either thanks anyway i’ll use that then~~

ღYou were already up with the school but taichi texted you to meet him before the first game started. You did and met him outside in the hall.

ღHe gave you his jacket, before asking you out. There was a slight waver to his voice from the nervousness

ღYou were shocked and couldnt believe, after everything but you accepted with a cocky smirk, pulling him down for a smooch

Semi Eita

ღYou did not get off to a great start with semi

ღYou may have stolen a ball he was playing with and refused to give it back

ღYour first fight ever and it was versus a guy for a freakin’ ball

ღFrom then on you fuckers tried to fight each other everytime you saw each other

ღYou were always trying something to rile him up, always teasing him with a grin

ღYou were driving him crazy and not in a good way

ღThis continued up to highschool

ღWas he practicing volleyball? Gotta have a snide comment thrown his way every now and then. His unfashionable clothes? Another comment too

ღAnd then satori had to give you material to tease him more honestly

ღHonestly each time you walked into a room and he was there it was a pissing contest and a huge amount unresolved (sexual-) tension

ღIn your second year you stumbled upon semi angrily serving a ball into the court, just it missed by a lot and almost took your head off if you hadn’t moved in the nick of time

ღHe looked at you, looked right thru you really and his eyes were red and he was breathing heavy, mumbling a rough sorry as he went to pick another ball to serve

ღYou whistled at him, positioning yourself on the other court to attempt to receive his serves

ღHe nodded, serving just as hard as before

ღThe first serve you couldn’t properly receive, cursing at the sting but looking at him to do it again

ღThe afternoon was passed away in a flurry of volleyballs, curses and feet running on the court

ღAfter he ran out of balls he walked up to you, panting and stretching his shoulders out. You rubbed the sting off your arms, plopping down on the floor. He sat in front of you, hunched over

ღ“What happened semi? I’ve never seen you so pissed off, and thats something because that’s my job” “you know shirabu?” “the new kid on the team? Yeah what about him?” “He’s taking my spot… on the team.” “WHAT? But semi-sem-” “-dont call me that-” “you’re better than him!!” “I know… thanks y/n. You helped… alot.” “even if i’m your sexy rival~?” “I’ll disagree on the sexy part.” “Rude! I’m sexy and you know it~!” “Maybe you’re not so bad after all y/n.” “could say the same of you eita.”

ღAfter that there was less teasing coming from you and you soon both became friends

ღ“Semi-semi~” “don’t” “pick me up” “Why should I?” “Why shouldnt you?” “..fine” “yay~” “happy now?” “oooh~ the great semi-semi is picking me up with his strong manly arms~” swoon

ღOf course being friends didnt stop you making things a contest every single time

ღYou passed more time with him, satori, the team and other classmates were asking if you were dating

ღY/n looked into the Camera like in the office

ღ“Satori pls” “i mean you’ve been spending so much time with him~” “cut it we’ve been rivals since we were little” “true”

ღAnyway it wasn’t until your third year that you were like “yeah. I like Semi-Semi. Unfortunately.”

ღIt was on the spring tournament, before the first game that he pulled aside when you gave him the good luck charm. He took your face in his hands and drew you in for a deep kiss, leaving you breathless. (There was faint shouting in the background courtesy of the third years yelling “get it Semi-Semi/eita”)

ღHe moved back, embarrassed, but he tightly held one of your hands, a bashful smile tugging at his lips.

ღ“didn’t know you had it in you Semi-Semi” “s-shut up /////” “I’ll be cheering you on when you serve eita~!” “Thanks… babe.” “:3c” “what’s with that face?” “Nothing~”

ღEvery time it was his turn to switch in for the serves he looked up at you, waving and mouthing ‘good luck’

ღWhen Shiratorizawa Lost against kara you stood stunned and quietly slipped out of the bleachers To go stand near the exit.

ღSemi was one of the last to leave, spying you and lagging behind the others.

ღHe quickly took you in his arms, angry and frustrated, just like that day in your second year. You just held him saying nothing.

ღAfter a while hayato came looking for him since they had to leave, seeing both of you wrapped up.

ღ“You played great semi, and those service aces were spectacular.” “but we still couldn’t win” “but a team is of six people eita, you only couldn’t bring the team to victory and you know it.” “I know… you always know what to say” “I’ve known you my whole life eita of course I know.”

ღHe walked away, catching semi’s eyes and motion towards the bus.

ღEita nuzzled into your neck, pulling away and planting a smooch “after we get to school, get to the gym and wait outside. I’ll come get you because we have punishment to do” “what punishment?” “100 serves” “yikes” “yeah” “this is because of wakatoshi isn’t it?” “Yup” “whatever, I’ll be there, like always”

ღWhen he came and got you, he made you sit a little ways behind him on the serve line, with a lot of water bottles, his phone and jacket (which you wore.)

ღHe started, along with the others, to do the punishment, looking back at you every couple of serves.

ღWhen he was around the 50 mark he stopped and sat next to you, taking one of the bottles you offered and drinking from it.

ღYou moved and put your head on his shoulder, your hand squeezing his other hand.

#haikyuu!!#kawanishi taichi #semi eita #hcs #sfw #admin koru #with help of my beta reader!

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junker-town · 6 years

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Sorting the 9 (or so) teams that still have shots at the 2017 college football national title

No matter how the early top four looks, here are the nine remaining lanes to the Playoff.

1. There are basically nine (clusters of) national title contenders

As ridiculous as I think the weekly College Football Playoff rankings are in their ability to infuriate fans while providing no true insight into the future, I have to admit: I’m somewhat intrigued about 2017’s initial rankings unveil on Tuesday night. The main reason: I have no true idea what to expect.

We probably know who the top two will be. Georgia’s unbeaten record and road win over Notre Dame will probably give the Dawgs the No. 1 spot, and Alabama’s unbeaten record and general Bama-ness (read: cruel, somewhat selective dominance) should be enough to wrap up No. 2.

The No. 3 spot is perhaps most likely to go to Notre Dame, though there’s a case for plenty of others. And among those others, it’s almost impossible to figure out who will get No. 4. Clemson, I guess?

The pure uncertainty in this particularly uncertain season is interesting. But let’s not get confused: it still doesn’t tell us what’s on the horizon. For that, let’s take a quick look into the S&P+ crystal ball.

This week’s Football Study Hall stat profiles have been updated, and now that the CFP is officially a topic, the S&P+ win probabilities for each team become particularly noteworthy. No matter what kind of matchups the committee spit out tonight, realize that we’ve still got a month’s worth of nonsense to go.

Unbeaten P5 teams’ chances of winning out

Alabama 36%

Georgia 34%

Wisconsin 34%

Miami 17%

That there are only four unbeaten power conference teams remaining is noteworthy. Including mid-majors, we’re at only five overall, which means we’re a week ahead of schedule.

With only 5 unbeatens left, we're a whole weekend ahead of a typical CFB season's mayhem pacehttps://t.co/OnoFYELY2I http://pic.twitter.com/J5uIgfppqK

— SB Nation CFB (@SBNationCFB) October 29, 2017

If we are to remain a week ahead of schedule, either Alabama must lose to LSU (15 percent chance, per S&P+), Georgia to South Carolina (11 percent), Miami to Virginia Tech (44 percent), Wisconsin to Indiana (25 percent), or UCF to SMU (31 percent). Our odds of all five teams winning: only 22 percent. We’re in pretty good shape to trim the list in Week 10.

Since 12-0 Alabama and 12-0 Georgia would play each other in the SEC title game, we’re guaranteed only three unbeaten P5 teams at most. More likely, we’re looking at about one.

One-loss P5 teams’ chances of winning out

Ohio State 52%

Clemson 42%

Penn State 39%

Washington 34%

Oklahoma State 32%

TCU 25%

Notre Dame 18%

Virginia Tech 17%

Oklahoma 13%

The nine one-loss P5 teams all enter November thinking they have excellent “win out, and you’re in” shots.

There are clusters here, though. Clemson and Virginia Tech will play an elimination rematch in the ACC title game, if they both win out. Oklahoma still has to play both OSU and TCU (and perhaps OSU or TCU again, due to the ridiculous existence of a title game in a round-robin league).

As good as Notre Dame has looked, the Irish still have a lot of work to do. Of their four remaining games, three are against current S&P+ top 25 teams (No. 24 Wake Forest, at No. 14 Miami, at No. 19 Stanford), and a fourth is against Navy, whom the Irish have only beaten in six of the last 10 meetings.

Most of these teams control their own destinies. But to reach the Big Ten title game, Penn State would need Ohio State to lose twice, perhaps at Iowa (18 percent) and at Michigan (22 percent). Ohio State made the Playoff last year without a B1G title, but circumstances are different this time, in both ways. Penn State doesn’t have as strong an out-of-division schedule as Ohio State had last year, but the barrier for Playoff entry might be lower this year, too.

Of course, there’s another pool of potential one-loss teams.

Unbeaten P5 teams’ chances of finishing with one loss

(Odds of finishing with either zero or one loss in parentheses)

Georgia 46% (80%)

Alabama 45% (81%)

Wisconsin 42% (76%)

Miami 41% (58%)

Georgia, Alabama, and Wisconsin are likely to reach December with one loss at most. UGA and Bama would play each other, and odds are good that Wisconsin will face Ohio State in the Big Ten title game.

By the way, there’s one more contender worth mentioning.

The unbeaten G5 team’s chances of winning out

UCF 42%

The only way the committee is going to put a Group of 5 team in the CFP is if it almost literally has no other choice. It’s unfair, but it is what it is.

If UCF (which is up to No. 5 in S&P+, by the way) gets by SMU on Saturday, the Knights’ odds of reaching the AAC title game unbeaten rise to 61 percent. And if the decision is between an undefeated UCF and, say, a two-loss power conference team, Scott Frost’s Knights might have a chance.

This, then, is your pool of title contenders, no matter who ranks among the early top four

Alabama

Georgia

Ohio State or Wisconsin

Clemson, Virginia Tech, or Miami

Penn State

Washington

Oklahoma State, TCU, or Oklahoma

Notre Dame

UCF

This is going to be fun.

Fortune favors the Phoenix

Per Twitter, this was too incredible for me to not pass along.

After winning just 9 games in their last 4 years, with only 7 coming against FCS competition, Elon has incredibly started the season 7-1 and has vaulted into the FCS Top 10. The Phoenix has 7 wins over FCS opponents this year alone, including 4 against teams ranked in the FCS Top 25 when Elon beat them.

But what’s even more amazing is how Elon has done so under first-year head coach Curt Cignetti. After losing their season-opener at FBS Toledo by 34 points, the Phoenix has won 7 games in a row, and all by a single possession. Elon has won by 3, 2, 3, 6, 8, 1 and 5 points on the season, with scores in the 30s (36-33, 35-34) and a shutout (6-0).

The sheer unlikeliness of this accomplishment makes it noteworthy in and of itself. It's even more incredible that the Phoenix are doing this in the damn Colonial, maybe the strongest FCS conference.

Their victims have included four teams that were ranked at the time: No. 16 (at the time) Charleston Southern, No. 6 Richmond, No. 19 Albany, and No. 13 Villanova. And they still have No. 21 New Hampshire and No. 1 James Madison to go. The magic will almost certainly run out, but this is a run to celebrate.

Big Play Watch

Photo by Thearon W. Henderson/Getty Images

Arizona’s Khalil Tate

There are still 10 FBS offenses that haven’t generated more than four gains of 40-plus yards. You know, despite the fact that we are now entering November. That’s so crazy to me that I feel the need to shame them by naming them: Miami (Ohio), Middle Tennessee, Oregon State, Purdue, San Jose State, South Carolina, UTEP, Vanderbilt, Western Kentucky, and Wyoming.

There are some decent offenses in that bunch, but ... four huge gains is a really low bar.

It’s also the size of Arizona’s lead in the 40-plus category. The Wildcats now have 24 such gains, and no one else — not even Oklahoma State (20), Oklahoma (17), or Missouri (17) — can come particularly close.

Rich Rodriguez’s Wildcats are on an absolutely stupid run of offense. During their four-game winning streak — which has taken them to 6-2 overall and has kept them within a half-game of the Pac-12 South lead in advance of this week's trip to division leader USC — they have averaged 49 points per game and a staggering 9.4 yards per play.

The primary reason: quarterback Khalil Tate, who returned from injury against Colorado and has laid waste to every Pac-12 defense he’s seen since.

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Remember all those good stories we were reading about Washington State's competent defense earlier this year? Yeah, Tate torched the Cougars for 146 rushing yards (including an 82-yarder) and completed 10 of 17 passes for 275 yards and two more scores.

After trailing 23-14 at halftime, Wazzu surged ahead of the host in the third quarter, taking a 27-23 lead seven minutes in.

Arizona then proceeded to go on a 28-3 run. Tate had a 49-yard score. Mighty mite J.J. Taylor, a 5'6 freshman, ripped off a 79-yarder. And with 11 minutes left, Colin Schooler's 66-yard interception return (even their pick sixes are long) all but sealed the deal.

A month ago, we assumed Rodriguez was a couple of losses from getting fired. Now he’s got a sophomore who could end up in New York for the Heisman ceremony.

Gunner of the Year Watch

Glenn Andrews-USA TODAY Sports

Yes, I’m using this Deonta Moore picture again. It is wonderful.

Out of pure curiosity, I’ve been tracking special teams tackles this year. Maybe we’ll give a pretend award out to whoever has the most of them at the end. Winner of the award gets it named after him.

Your fake award watch list through nine weeks:

South Alabama’s golden-mouthed, shades-wearing Deonta Moore continues to lead the nation in special teams tackles with 11. He’s taken part in three kick returns (average return when he’s involved: eight yards) and 10 kick returns (18.8). The 5’10, 210-pounder also has 59 rushing yards and 18 receiving yards for a Jaguars team whose bowl hopes took a big hit with Saturday’s loss to Georgia State.

WMU’s Alex Grace moved back into the No. 2 spot in the ST tackles list with 9.5. He’s taken part in five punt returns (7.4 average) and six kick returns (17.8). As a backup linebacker, the junior also has a tackle for loss, a run stuff, and two forced fumbles.

Kansas’ Kyron Johnson is rising quickly. The freshman linebacker from Arlington (Tex.) is up to third in ST tackles with nine. He’s taken part in stopping four punt returns (11.0 average) and seven kick returns (28.1). His role has mostly been as a mess cleaner instead of a play-maker. I guess that makes sense, considering the team he plays for.

Maryland sophomore running back Jake Funk is on the rise as well. Not only is he tied for fourth with 8.5 ST tackles, he’s making them count: he’s taken part in stopping three punt returns (4.7 average) and six kick returns (18.5). He’s also got four rushing touchdowns and a touchdown reception. If Funk is involved, something good is happening.

This week’s new riser: UCLA’s Mo Osling III. The three-star freshman from Lancaster (Cal.) is up to eight ST tackles, and while he’s mainly a fire extinguisher on kick returns (he’s taken part in stopping six KRs that have averaged 24.7 yards), he’s made two stops on punt returns. The average of those two returns: zero yards.

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