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blainesebastian · 2 years ago

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bad day

words: 1,766 ship: austin butler x reader summary: ( @benhardysbaby5 requested) “soft!austin + hurt/comfort’ notes: definitely hope it provides a bit of comfort sweetheart! enjoy :) thanks for the request. (masterlist is here, request page is here) warnings: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylesmendeshearted, @rairaielv

It’s just one of those days.

You confuse two Fridays so when you wake up, you assume Austin will be there, but he’s out all day with his agent going over the nuts and bolts of a new film, obligations and the like. You stretch your arm across the cold sheets, searching for him, groaning when you come up empty. Pressing your face into his pillow, you breathe him in and fall back asleep. Which would be fine, except you don’t hear your alarm go off and you’re late to a brunch with your aunt.

A brunch in which you thought you’d have Austin to take some of the heat off yourself because your aunt is kinda nasty. It’s all passive aggressive, low-key kind of commentary about what you’re doing with your life and how your brother is already married, has one kid and is in the process of buying a new home. Your brother is slightly older than you are and has had his life mapped out since he was a teen, who cares if you’re still figuring things out? You’ve got time.

Then, if that’s not bad enough, you’re playing phone tag with your boyfriend. You know he’s busy and you don’t fault him for that, especially since he’ll be home tonight. It’s just, when you’re having a rough day, sometimes just hearing his voice is enough to completely turn it back around. Seems like that luck just isn’t in your favor.

Especially when things continue to go wrong—nothing catastrophic, nothing that’d ruin a typical person’s day. But when you’re already feeling tender from a terrible brunch out with your aunt, and missing your boyfriend, it just starts piling up. You went to buy some groceries to make Austin dinner, but the straps on the bag you brought broke when you had glass jars inside. They shattered on the floor, the only good thing is that Whole Foods employees were taking it easy on you, letting you switch things out, no mess, no fuss.

When you get back to your apartment, your cat has decided she wants to be a bitch today and shred one of the blankets on your couch, you catch your finger in the sliding glass door to your balcony replacing some succulents that have committed plant-a-cide, and your email pings with a notification that the birthday present you ordered Austin is on backorder.

You find yourself in the kitchen taking a deep breath and making yourself another cup of coffee (probably not the best for your nerves, but it’s often a comfort drink for you), “Keep it together,” You tell yourself, shaking your head lightly, “Just a bad day, not a bad life.”

It’s a mantra that sounds corny within itself but you can’t be about to cry just because the universe has decided to make you a punching bag today. Your feelings are valid, your frustration understandable but…it’s just one day, just one blip in your timeline, tomorrow will be better.

Straightening your shoulders, you steel yourself by grounding your feet into the kitchen floor. You’re gonna start over. You glance at the time and according to the last text you got from Austin, he should be home in about two hours. Perfect amount of time to make dinner, get your mind off the no-good-day.

Your mom taught you how to make this easy chicken parm dish that you can bake in the oven, so you set out to do just that. For a while, you fall into the simplicity of working with your hands, going through the motions of putting food together. You get the chicken in the oven, the pasta boiling on the stove—and then your phone rings.

It’s your aunt and God, you know better than to answer, and yet for some reason you swipe open and time completely disappears into a vortex. She wants to schedule another lunch or dinner with you and Austin, and you…unfortunately know what that means, asking unnecessary and ridiculous questions about your futures. The only thing that could complete the shame circle would be if your brother were to join with his perfect family.

There are plenty holidays set aside for that drama, you’re not about to let your aunt rope you into that—despite how many good intentions she might have.

A breath of relief leaves your mouth as you hear the front door open and you quickly end the call to greet your boyfriend. That’s cut far too short, however, when you hear the smoke alarm begin to blare in the kitchen. Your eyes widen, cutting the corner short and speeding towards the oven…

The oven which is now smoking as you turn it off, attempting to pull the chicken out. You forgot to turn the timer on when your aunt called. The noodles look like they’re about to hold a mutiny too, practically boiling over on the stove. Austin slips in behind you, reaching for the smoke alarm on the ceiling as he stands on a chair and you let out a slight yelp in the chaos as you set down the hot tray of chicken on the stove and graze the side of your hand.

“Fuck,” You snap, pulling your hand close as everything settles, your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

“Quite a welcome home,” Austin teases, sliding off his jean jacket, a soft black t-shirt underneath. He runs a hand through his hair as he puts down the smoke detector on the counter.

He reaches for your hand, gently turning it over in his grasp just to make sure the burn isn’t too bad but that’s not even the bulk of your concentration right now. You shake your head, staring at the blackened chicken with flares of annoyance and anger because…can’t one thing just go right today?

Your aunt really had to ruin two meals?

“Though this really pales in comparison to the time that you accidently set that oven mitt on fire, you remember that?”

And you realize that’s supposed to be a joke, you know you’re not the best set of hands in the kitchen, but you think the food you can make is at least decent. You’re a much better baker, ironically, just a tiny bit accident prone on today of all days. You turn a little and let out a sharp laugh because…the instance that Austin is mentioning was, in fact, a lot worse than this but…

With the combination of everything that’s added up throughout the day, the joke lands like a slap to the face. Your features scrunch up as your eyes sting with tears and you attempt to hide the reaction from Austin by lifting your hand up to run along the side of your face. But he knows you, can sense the emotion a mile away, your lower lip wobbling as you attempt to just leave the kitchen because…at this point it’s just embarrassing.

“Hey,” Austin gently clasps your elbow, tugging you closer, “Oh hey,” He shakes his head, wrapping his arms around your back, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth as he folds you into his chest. “M’sorry.”

You shake your head, tears fully flowing down your cheeks as you press your face into his shoulder. A jagged sob leaves your lips, arms slipping around his waist and squeezing like a lifeline,

“It’s n-not you,” You choke out, Austin shushing gently as he runs his fingers through your hair, “Just a bad day.”

You’re thankful that Austin doesn’t ask you to elaborate, just simply stands there in the kitchen and holds you, his hands working circles into your back and shoulders, occasionally slipping through your hair. You just let yourself cry, wind down, it helps—the feeling of his body against your own, firm and warm, the scent of his cologne and skin, the way he presses kisses into your hair until you’re visibly calmer.

Only then does he pull back, a soft smile on his face as he cups your cheek. He runs his thumb along your cheekbone, another kiss planted to your forehead. Sniffling, you wipe your hand along your other cheek before shaking your head,

“I’m sorry—can’t believe I just cried over the smoke alarm.”

Austin chuckles lightly, shrugging his one shoulder, “Least it wasn’t an oven mitt.”

You let out a wet laugh, though something completely more genuine, moving to press a kiss to his lips. He hums lightly, his arms once again winding around your waist, keeping you close. You pull back after a moment, resting your forehead along his nose and mouth, taking in a soft breath in which you’ve felt the calmest all day.

“Let me worry about dinner,” Austin offers, pulling back and motioning towards the living room. “Go curl up on the couch.”

You begin to shake your head, “No, you’ve been out working all day with your agent, all I did was a have a string of bad luck,” You smile a little, curling your hair around your ear, “Let me finish this.”

Austin shakes his head, pressing his hand along your lower back until you begin moving out of the kitchen. With a slightly dramatic eyeroll, but definitely touched at the sentiment, you walk into the living room and sit down on the couch. Posting yourself up in one of the corners, you wrap a blanket around yourself and watch as Austin saves dinner.

It really is hard to put into words how much in love with him you are.

Austin manages to salvage dinner and once that’s over with, you’re pretty sure you’ve changed from a solid into a liquid, practically melting into the corner of the couch. He puts a load of dishes into the dishwasher and comes into the living room with a cup of mint tea, passing the mug over to you. A soft hum leaves your lips, wrapping your hands around the heated ceramic. You take a soft breath in, Austin settling his arm along the back of the couch and your shoulders.

He presses a few circles into your shoulder, leaning down to press a kiss to the bridge of your nose. “You want to tell me about your bad day?”

A soft smile tugs the corners of your mouth, moving slightly to steal another kiss. Your legs rest on his lap, his other hand slipping down to clasp your thigh, “What bad day?”

Austin smiles, licking his lips as he cups your cheek and kisses you again.

Bad days definitely have the capability of turning right around when you’re with him.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler drabble #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things

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thepassionof-joanharrow · 2 years ago

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This is How We Walk on the Moon ~Chapter 4:| Matt Murdock x OFC

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OFC

Summary: Sura Harmon works for a nonprofit foundation in NYC and goes to Nelson and Murdock to find some lawyers for the foundation’s clients. Upon meeting Matt, he seems strangely familiar. Matt instantly recognizes Sura as someone he attempted to help while in his Daredevil suit just a week ago. As they continue to work together, Sura and Matt are drawn to each other more and more.

But little does Matt Murdock know that his new colleague Sura Harmon has just as many secrets as he does.

Warnings: Eventual smut, (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), swearing, discussion of trauma, death and mental illness, emotional angst, discussion of the blip/snap.

Word Count for Chapter 4: 2,452

A/N: This is an ongoing series and will have many chapters! Mostly Sura’s POV but will probably have some chapters be in Matt’s POV.

Also, aside from the prologue, each chapter will have a song to go with it. I highly encourage you to listen to the song to give you the vibe for some of the scenes in that chapter!

Today was when the rubber met the road. Sura was going to another meeting with Nelson and Murdock, but this time she was bringing one of the foundation’s clients with her. Brookes and Harmon had recently been helping Devin Marshall, a disabled widower whose landlord was using the building’s minor upgrade needs as a reason to kick them out.

Sura was outside of Nelson and Murdock’s building, waiting for the pop of Devin’s colorful hair to appear down the sidewalk.

Devin was in their fifties but maintained a youthful love of patterns and bright colors in their personal style. Sura smiled as she wondered what color their hair would be this time. Last time it was teal, but she had a feeling it would be different already.

She tried not to think in terms of favorites, as she was worried it would affect her work, but if she was being honest with herself, Devin was one of her current favorite clients. Not only did they have the shared history of being queer and being in long term relationships with women, but Devin was downright hilarious. They always infused every situation with a levity that was surprising from someone who had been through so much recently. Sura had no doubt that Devin would charm the pants off Matt and Foggy.

And I wouldn’t mind seeing Matt without pants… Sura thought to herself and let out a small laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

The sudden voice on her left made her jump.

“Oh god! Crap, Matt.” Sura breathed hard. “You scared me. I didn’t see you coming.” And then her face turned crimson, realizing what she had just been thinking.

What is wrong with me I’m like a hormonal teen again.

Matt chuckled and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.” He cocked his head at her. “You going to be okay?”

Sura’s heart was racing. “Yeah, sorry, no you’re fine. Haha, I just get scared easily. And when I have a sudden scare it takes me a minute to recover.” Was she recovering from the scare or from Matt’s hand on her shoulder?

“I can tell.” Matt grinned. “Again, I’m sorry. What were you doing waiting down here?”

“Oh uh, I’m waiting for the client we are meeting with today, Devin Marshall. I wanted to walk up with them but they are running a bit late I guess.”

“Ah” Matt shot his head towards the building’s entrance. “Well I’m going to go up, feel free to wait for them as long as you like. We’ll be ready whenever you all are.”

Sura was quiet for a moment as Matt started to head toward the door. She didn’t want to wait in the cold any longer. She wanted to walk up with Matt.

“Actually, I’ll come up with you.” Matt turned around to Sura as she spoke. “I’d like to get out of the cold and I’m sure Devin can find their way up okay. They have my number anyway in case.”

Matt smiled. “After you then.” He held open the door for her and they walked in.

During the walk up to the office, Sura was mostly silent. She wanted to say something, to strike up a conversation, but she wasn’t sure what to say.

I think that convo with Luce the other night has rattled my brain. You don’t have to ask him out if you don’t want to. But….I do want to get to know him better. No harm in that right?

As they walked and Sura thought, she noticed the way Matt smelled. It was interesting, he didn’t seem to be wearing any cologne. But he smelled good.

Very good. She thought. Like….warmth. Skin. Faint woody notes. And leather. And something sweet underneath it all that she couldn’t pinpoint. But it wasn’t overpowering, and if they hadn’t been alone in a small stairwell, she probably wouldn’t have caught all these details at all.

Matt interrupted her thoughts as they entered the hallway and he came up beside her. “So how long does it take you to get here? I hope its not too long of a commute given how many meetings we’ve been having.”

“Oh I live here!” Sura laughed and checked herself. “I mean, in Hell’s Kitchen.” “Oh really?” Matt turned his head to her. “Wow, that’s convenient!”

“Yeah its pretty nice. I usually just walk here.”

“How long have you lived in the neighborhood?”

“Uh, about 2 years?”

“Do you like it?”

“I do actually. I wasn’t sure at first. I’m used to living in the East Village. And I was in Chinatown right after college for a bit. But I’ve come to really love it.”

“That’s great. I’m glad you like it here.”

“What about you, where in the city do you live?”

They had already entered the office, but their conversation continued upon finding the reception area empty.

Matt smiled as he folded up his cane. “I live in the neighborhood as well. Always have. It’s home.”

“Oh that’s great! Doesn’t take you long to get to work. The foundation is still located in the Lower East Side so it takes me a bit longer to get into work these days.”

Sura looked around. Foggy was busy in his office, and Karen was not in today. Devin had texted to say that they were running late.

After a moment of silence while Matt and Sura hung up their coats, he continued asking her questions.

“So, you used to be the co-head of the foundation. You started it with Colin Brookes I believe? Why are you doing the grunt work now?”

Sura gave a brief sigh of concession. “You probably read about me and the past several years when you looked up the foundation.”

Matt acknowledged this. “I did.”

Sura gave a small smile, “So I suppose there is no point in ignoring it. I was blipped. And when I came back, my business partner had given the position to someone else. He had changed the legal documents and everything. I had been declared dead so…” she shrugged.

Matt leaned back on the receptionist’s desk and folded his arms. “That must have been quite a shock to come back to.”

“Yes, well…it was. Among many other things. I don’t blame Colin at all. He’s one of my best friends. He needed someone to help him run things, make decisions. And the person he promoted completely deserved it. Darby, she’s an angel. She’s perfect for the job”

“But you suddenly found yourself without a job”

“I did. I was without….anything. Almost.”

Sura looked at Matt, hardly believing that she was telling a lawyer these things. Talking about being blipped was something she reserved for her family, her close friends and her therapist. Bringing up the trauma of the past 3 years did not display the strength and competency that she wanted.

But the way Matt was listening to her, made her want to go on. She felt safe somehow.

She cleared her throat. “I was lucky in many ways. My family, they took me in right after I returned. No one else in my family was gone, immediate family anyway. So they could give me all the support I needed to reintegrate into the world. I stayed with them for about a year so I could get back on my feet. They live out in Red Hook, Brooklyn so it was a bit more quiet than here and I could adjust with a little bit of peace.”

Matt smiled at this, but then the door opened and Devin Marshall walked in.

“My dear!” Devin’s voice boomed. “I made it, two fucking train delays but I’m here and ready to do battle.”

Devin was round and short but they seemed much taller than they were with their bright purple pompadour and loud voice.

“Devin! Lovely to see you” Sura bent down a little to give Devin a warm hug. Devin squeezed her tight and kissed her cheek. She wasn’t usually this friendly with clients, but Devin was just this kind of person. Endearing to everyone and they had taken a special shine to Sura.

Sura motioned between Devin and Matt. “Devin Marshall, this is Matt Murdock. He’s going to be your lawyer.”

Matt held out a hand and Devin shook it but then pulled Matt in for a hug as well, kissing his cheek. Matt blushed a little and laughed. “It’s great to meet you Mr. Marshall…or Mrs. Marshall? I’m sorry…”

He trailed off, a bit of embarrassment in his tone.

Devin laughed “It’s okay love, you can just call me Devin! Or Darling Devin. Delightful Devin. Devastatingly handsome Devin.” They winked and Matt and Sura laughed. “But Mx. Marshall is good for more formal situations. And seeing as how we’ll be fighting the man in court together we might find ourselves in some I should say!”

Matt was beaming already. Sura smiled. She knew he would like Devin.

“Hah, yes I should say so.” Matt replied. “Well please take a seat in the conference room over there and I’ll be with you all as soon as I grab some coffee. Would you all like anything?”

After they all got coffee and tea, Foggy was ready and they all gathered around the table to discuss Devin’s case.

They all finished the meeting in tears from laughter. Devin had indeed charmed the pants off both Foggy and Matt, and Sura got a kick out of watching Matt laugh and grin so much. His smile was wide and warm and made Sura feel happier than she had remembered feeling in a while.

Sura walked Devin to the door. “I’m really optimistic about your case hun. I think we can win this.”

“I do too doll. We still on for brunch next Saturday?” Devin placed both hands on their walking cane and looked up at Sura. “Also, I really love the new freckles. It’s a new color right?”

Sura beamed. “Yes! I had Carmen do a bit more of a reddish brown this time. I’m glad you like it.”

After her teenage and young adult years of style exploration, Sura had settled on a look for herself that she felt drawn to. She couldn’t explain exactly why she saw herself looking this particular way, only that it felt the most her. So along with dying her hair black, she got cosmetic tattooed freckles over her prominent cheekbones and strong nose. They were designed to fade out gradually over a year, so she got them freshly done every January.

“And yes, we are good for Brunch. Rosemary’s?” Sura opened the door for Devin.

“Rosemary’s it is!”

Sura gave Devin a hug and watched them walk down the hallway. She knew from experience that Devin never accepted help walking down stairs, but she at least wanted to see that they started down the first couple steps okay.

After Devin left, Foggy said he was going to go to his office to familiarize himself with another case that the foundation would be bringing to the firm in the next week.

Sura found herself alone in the meeting room with Matt. Devin had left her in a good mood.

She smiled as she said: “So, Matt, what did you think of Devin?”

"They are something else aren't they? What a character." Matt returned the humor in her voice. "I really liked them. I don't think I've ever laughed that much in a client meeting before."

"Oh yeah, they are one of a kind. They are so full of life and energy. You'd never be able to tell that they lost their wife a year ago. Even when they talk about her, it's with so much joy." Sura replied, a little wistfulness in her voice.

“I noticed that.”

“I wish…” Sura stopped herself.

“You wish…?” Matt cajoled, a small smirk on his lips.

“Oh I…hah, I was just going to be sappy.” Sura thought she might as well just say it now. “I just wish I could have that type of attitude. About someone I’ve lost. Focusing more on the time you had with them then the fact that they are gone.”

Matt moved forward a bit on the table and took his glasses off. He faced Sura squarely and said: “I can understand that. I understand that very much.”

His eyes are wonderful. Sura thought as she looked into them. Like swirled caramel and molasses. I hope he leaves his glasses off.

“I wish I could have Devin’s attitude with a lot of things actually. They have not had the easiest life”

“Oh yeah?” Matt’s interest in the lives of his client made Sura’s stomach get warm.

She looked into his eyes again. “Yeah. They were diagnosed with MS when they were a teen. And then their parents didn’t take it well when they came out. They insisted that they stay in a Catholic girl’s school. And they experienced a lot of homophobia and transphobia there.”

Matt winced, then loosened his tie a bit. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Sura stopped herself from looking at the extra bit of exposed skin beneath Matt’s throat. “Yeah, typical Catholic nonsense. They are no longer religious, for understandable reasons. I’m there with them on that.”

Sura watched as Matt’s expression changed. A look came over his face that she couldn’t quite figure out. His brows knit together and his mouth pursed. But that look quickly morphed into something else when he chuckled sheepishly and ran a hand through his hair.

Sura couldn’t stop herself from swearing. “Oh fuck. Are you…you aren’t Catholic are you?”

Matt smiled wide at her, then brought a hand to his chin. His eyes shined with an amusement that made Sura smile despite her incredible embarrassment.

“Hey, its…its okay. Yeah, I am.”

“Oh fuck me.”

Matt laughed louder this time, louder than Sura had ever heard him laugh before.

“I’m so so sorry. And please pardon my French.” She had her hands covering her face in shame. I’m just going to crawl away now and never come here again.

Then as Matt kept laughing, she snapped her head up and looked him straight in the face. “Is my discomfort amusing to you?”

“Yes, yes it is.” God, his fucking smile. Sura could stare at it all day. And when there was so much mischievous mirth behind it, she wanted to bathe in it’s glow.

“Well I guess amusing you after I’ve offended you is my penance.”

Matt laughed a little then got serious. “But Sura, you didn’t offend me. I’m okay with it.” “Are you sure? That is so unprofessional of me. I usually try to stay away from talking about politics or religion in work environments. I don’t know why I slipped.”

“I’m positive.” Matt folded his hands on the table in front of him. “Look, I was raised Catholic. I’ve been around other Catholics my whole life. I know that a good majority of us can be terribly intolerant. And I’m not going to ‘Not all Catholics’ you.”

Sura smiled in relief. Then she laughed, throwing in some more curses and he grinned at her like a school boy.

#marvel daredevil #daredevil fanfic #daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fanfiction #MCU fic #daredevil fanfiction #mcu fanfiction

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bates--boy · 1 year ago

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Oh! Oh, so his plan is "shit", huh? Well, who gave a shit what the perpetually sad teen who desperately needed shots of Pediasure thinks about how to raise a child?

... Apparently Peter did, because nothing was stopping him from getting off that couch and walking out the door like he had wanted to when shit had hit the fan. He could go and continue to do what he knew was best for his child, instead of sitting here and letting his ears be filled with whole bunch of bullshit, his face probably flooding redder and redder by the minute. Except, there was the possibility that if he did walk out, there was no guarantee that Raivis wouldn't go blabbing to the whole wide world about his daughter. Probably not out of outward vindictiveness, but "c o n c e r n". (Yeah, fucking right.)

So, he sat there, hearing Raivis's plea for the child he knew nothing about, as well as the ways that Raivis used Peter's past to argue against him. (Yeah, so he's officially done with opening up to people.) And there was trying to ignore the churning of his stomach and the sour taste in his mouth forming because, dammit, Peter could not deny that for all the nonsense Raivis was feeding him and Peter hadn't want, there were some goddamn good points. He kept scowling at the coffee table and the dishware and food that littered it, waiting until Raivis was done with his tongue pressed into his cheek.

"Wow, Raivis," Peter said, feeling, of all things, a grin forming on his face. "That's quite a case you made there, but I also have a feeling that you don't know the lengths I can and will go to protect my kid."

Without looking at Raivis, Peter began to wring his hands and crack his knuckles. "I can forge her birth certificates and whatever else when the time comes." He was going to have to, anyway, so the documents would match their physical age and there wouldn't be any hiccups down the road; after that, he knew he would have to destroy the originals and whatever traces would connect her to Sealand. "And lies, secrecy, semantics, semantics, whatever. Fine, call what I'm doing 'lying', I don't give a rat's ass. I'll lie to her to keep her away from this shit." He'll gaslight, if he'd need to. Hell, he'll eternal sunshine his daughter if it came down to it.

...Okay, maybe he wouldn't do that, because that would take it too far, but he went on, "And I just have to get good at it, that's all. Which is a good thing that I'm a writer and she'd be a toddler. I can tell her... that we're test subjects for a longevity medicine or gene modification, and that's why we and her grandfathers stay young for so long while others don't." Again, meant to be a joke, and, again, something Peter stored in his head for later use.

The self-satisfied grin was gone as soon as it came, as Peter crossed his arms tightly across his chest. "And you say that I'm basing my decision to keep my daughter safe and happy on how I feel about my life? Well, no shit, I am; no shit, that I don't want her to experience what I've went through, on top of the mental disorder she's probably gotten from me and her ma. None of us popped into existence planning to go into war or getting involved in politics, and yet look where we ended up: going into war, some of y'all for hundreds of years, passed around from one sovereignty to the next.

"Unless you meant that Sadaf didn't have anything to worry about just because she's a capital of an abandoned war fort, which, yeah, I get it. Sealand's hardly a blip on the political radar, and no one thinks about the fort unless they're looking for gag gifts or an out-of-the-box topic to write their zany little listicles about. Sealand poses no threat, but that still hadn't stopped Arthur and his goddamn parliament from trying to destroy me, now didn't it? It didn't stop those Nazi-Lite weirdos from Germany and The Netherlands from tying me and my prince up while they staged a coup."

Both events were so long ago, but still felt so fresh in Peter's mind, because the bullshit felt like it didn't stop. "And despite all of that, and the fact that there's no longer anything to gain from ruling a busted up fort that's falling apart, my fucking idiot of a prince still plans on expanding Sealand!" Ah, shit, when did his leg start jiggling? When did he cross his arms so tightly that it felt like his ribs were going to pop? "All these renovations and additions to the fort, they won't do shit to give Sealand any political power, but you can bet your ass it would still draw some heat to us, 'cause if there's anything you can count on, it's Arthur being a power-hungry bully trying to get his kicks in any way he can." And, again, he was not going to put his daughter through that.

He inhaled sharply and dragged his hands down his face, hearing nothing in his head except Danger danger danger danger danger. She's in danger you're in danger you're both in danger. "She can grow to resent me all she wants in the slight chance that she finds all of this out," he said behind his hands, "but, sorry, I'm not going to reconsider shit."

"I have thought about it!" Peter shot back with more exasperation than he knew was necessary. "Like, I can tell her that she's still so small while everyone's getting bigger because she was born a preemie, and that's just what happens to them." Now, that was a joke. Or, it was meant to be a joke, but as Peter said it out loud, he considered it, and how long that lie would work for a gullible child until they outgrew the gullibility.

Peter took another sip, a swig this time, wishing that the damn tea would work to calm his nerves. Goddamn, did he wish he hadn't quit drinking; a long pull of whiskey would have been perfect now. "But seriously, you don't think I haven't thought about this?" Of course, he had; he broke his own heart every night imagining Sadaf watching her mother go gray, becoming too frail to take care of her daughter, crawling closer and closer to the grave as she became old enough to be Sadaf's grandmother. And her half-siblings; god, it was going to hurt to see his daughter, who'll probably be physically five or six, watch her sister and brother reach their thirties. But--

"I have. I really did, and it sucks. It's going to suck. But it's better than the alternative. She can't know about this existence or others like her--" except her family and, now, apparently, Raivis, "-- because you know how fucked up we all are? Almost none of us are stable! The ones even close to stable are my fathers and uncles, and they're going to give her more than enough of what she needs.

"And what she needs is to be happy." Finally, he looked back at Raivis. Once upon a time, Peter was terrified of mortality. Was terrified of becoming human, which seemed to come so easily for micronations, and all the issues that came with it, like becoming sick over and over and slowly fading away. Hutt River and Niko Republic, now wandering the earth as fragile and vulnerable, with no guarantee of waking up when he die. And he was still terrified. But there was an unshakeable resolve in his voice as he said, "Sadaf and I will become human soon. Sealand still has twenty, maybe thirty years tops before it finally falls apart, and that's if it doesn't dissolve before then. When she becomes human, I don't want Sadaf to spend the rest of her short life carrying the hell of being a geopolitical demigod like we have. "

The hell of dying of starvation and illnesses in his isolated little fort, only to wake up and do it all over again. To have his dreams crushed and his hard work ignored, his accomplishments mocked, and to be brushed aside unless they wanted a jester to perform for them or smile while they humiliated him. To be told that he would never be enough, he would never matter to Arthur, or anyone, in the way that Alfred or Matthew would, and still, still, he would have had to swallow his pride and beg Arthur for scraps to eat. He could be adopted by Berwald lifetimes over, and bask in the delight and warmth of Raivis' welcome and love, and he would still be that lonely, lost, feral little boy.

And though that despair came back to crush his soul, and though he was to the brink of tears, there was a hardness beyond the exhaustion Peter's eyes. "I don't know what I'll tell her when the time comes, but I know this: she's not going to know about this life. She's not going to know about her shitty bio family just like they don't need to know about her. She's going to have the happy childhood that I haven't had, and she's not going to grow up damaged like I have."

He drained the rest of his tea and set the cup on the table. "Besides, it's only going to be for the next twenty years; I think I can manage to keep up the ruse for that short time. After that, she can have all the normal connections she can make."

#ic #cryingyetcourageous #yeaaaah it was a bit much lol #he's been holding on to a lot over the years

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rachaelswrites · 3 years ago

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Heros Fall

Natasha Romanoff x Daughter!reader, Yelena Belova x Teen!reader

After your mom’s death, a surprise visitor comes and takes you in

Word Count: 1,356

A/N: Idk if the title fits (I might change it) but I hope you enjoy this! There are translations for the Russian at the bottom. Reader is about 15/16

Warnings: Possible Black Widow spoilers (if I forget any, please let me know)

Even over the sound of your laptop playing Moonraker, one of your mom’s favorite movies, you could hear the sound of a car pulling up outside the trailer. Since your mom died and the Avengers defeated Thanos, you couldn’t stand being in New York so you left and came here. It was where she told you could always go to feel safe, even if she wasn’t around. You hadn’t felt the same since she died so you hoped being here would do something but at times, it made you feel even emptier.

You slid out from the kitchen seats and walked over to the window. You spotted an unfamiliar car and groaned before going back to your seat and flopping down. Over the past few weeks, you had gotten a whole bunch of calls and texts from everyone including Clint, Sam, and even Fury. No one knew where you took off except Steve, but he was gone and couldn’t tell anyone. You didn’t respond to them because you knew they would try and guilt trip you back to coming. They wouldn’t understand how you were feeling. They all had someone to go home to after the Blip but you didn’t. You were alone.

You heard footsteps crunching on the frozen grass outside getting closer to the door so you rolled over onto your stomach and buried your face into the pillow next to you. Maybe if whoever was here saw you through the window, they’d leave you alone. The footsteps got louder and there was a sudden knock on the door. You waited until it happened again.

“Go away!” you shouted, throwing the pillow towards the door, “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Not even me?” you heard the voice say. There was a pause before it spoke again “Are you going to open the door for me or will I have to kick it down myself?”

“I’d like to see you try,” you responded, getting up and walking over to the door. A smile started to slowly creep onto your face, something that hadn’t happened in forever.

Before you were able to reach the door, it flew open, nearly ripping it off of it’s hinges. You looked up at the person with wide eyes, “Yelena!”

“What?” she asked, a small smirk on her face, “You said you wa-”

“I know what I said,” you replied, holding your hand up for her to stop, “I was about to get it for you.”

She stepped into the trailer and ruffled your hair before closing the door behind her. She glanced around the small trailer, spotting your bag untouched but your mom’s things scattered around the floor, “You’re hard to find маленькая обезьянка*,” she said before sitting down at the kitchen table.

“Kinda the whole point,” you said back, sitting across from her, “What are you doing here?” you asked.

“Looking for you,” she responded, “I hadn’t heard from you. I was worried.”

“Oh,” you said. You looked up at her and tried to keep your tears from falling. She was the first person who seemed to care, “Well as you can see, I’m fine,” you threw your hands up in the air to emphasize your point, “Totally a-okay,” you smiled weakly at her.

Yelena looked at you for a moment before scoffing, “You’re a shit liar. I thought Natasha would’ve taught you better.”

You laughed at her joke for a second before bursting into tears. It wasn’t her joke that upset you, it was the fact that it was the first time you had heard anyone say her name in weeks. Steve and Clint and everyone else was walking on eggshells around you and it would’ve been better if they hadn’t. You wished they would just talk to you about it instead of making you feel like you couldn’t. It was the first time you had cried since you initially learned the news.

Yelena immediately went around the table and pulled you into a hug, holding you as close to her as she could, “мне жаль, мне жаль*. I didn’t mean for you to cry обезьяна*.”

You shook your head before gently pushing her off of you, “It’s not that. It’s ju-just that I-I don’t understand. Everything is s-so confusing,” you said in between sobs. Yelena watched as you sat there, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your shirt. She didn’t realize how much you had been holding in so she wanted to give you the chance to let it all out so she let you continue on, “I don’t know why they didn’t do more. They said they were family but they did nothing for her and they did nothing for me! I was all alone and no one asked me how I was.”

“Y/n,” she said, grabbing a hold of your hand, “You’re not alone anymore. You have me!” she said in a cheerful voice, trying to make you smile a bit.

“Thanks,” you leaned forward to hug her again, “I really don’t want to be alone anymore. I can’t stop thinking about mama,” you said, looking up at your aunt, “I miss her so much.”

“I miss her too,” Yelena said, pulling away from you. She smoothed down your hair with her hands before cupping your face with her hands, “She’d be so proud of you. You know that right?”

You nodded, “She loved you too. Maybe even more than me.”

“Probably,” she replied, earning a quick slap to the shoulder from you, “What? I never talked back to her about my bedtime like you always did.”

You rolled her eyes at her. You loved (and missed) how her jokes always made you feel better about everything. Even if you were bleeding out, she’d always find some way to make you and your mom smile, “That might be true but you weren’t supposed to agree with me,” you said, “This is the time you make me feel better and say ‘no Y/n you’re wrong. Your mother loved you more than anything else in the whole entire world.’ Even if it’s true, you still lie,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“You’re silly обезьяна,” she said, standing up and going over to where your and your mom’s things were.

“Will you stop calling me that nickname?” you asked as you followed behind her.

“What? You don’t like it?”

You shrugged. It wasn’t that you hated the nickname, it's just that the last time she called you that was years ago and it felt too childish for you now. But in a way, it felt to have something that felt young to you. With the way you grew up, you never felt normal or like you had chances to experience things other kids your age did so you’d take anything you could, even if it was an embarrassing nickname.

“How long will it take for you to be ready?” she asked, eyes scanning over the bags and clothes laid out.

“Ready to what?” you asked.

“To leave,” she said, turning to face you, “You’re coming with me now.”

“I am? But what about everything here?”

“Take as much of her stuff as possible,” she saw the look on your face. One that seemed like it didn’t want to leave this behind, “I don’t want you being out here alone. This place isn’t going anywhere. You can come back whenever you want,” she tossed your bag at you, “Now hurry.”

“Okay okay,” you quickly shoved several of your mom’s things into the bag. You made sure to grab a few of her shirts and one of her sweatshirts. You also double checked that all the photos of the two of you were safely stowed in the smaller pocket, alongside the necklace she had given you. You haven’t had the spirit to wear it yourself so you stuffed it with the photos. Maybe someday you could wear it. You zipped up the bag and slung it over your shoulder.

“Ready?” she asked.

You nodded so she opened the door to the trailer and let you walk out first before she followed you out.

Translations:

*little monkey

*I’m sorry, I’m sorry

*monkey

Taglist

@ssebstann @peachyprincessss @emmy-writes-sometimes @dudele @prentisswrites @laura-naruto-fan1998 @multifamdomfan12 @aquariuslavenderhoney @vxidsti1es @waxingmoonwrites @benbarnesbussy @hallecarey1 @freds-slut

#x daughter!reader #x teen!reader #natasha romanoff #natasha and yelena #natasha romanov #natasha x daughter!reader #yelena black widow #yelena boleva #black widow #black widow spoilers #the avengers #mcu imagine #mcu fanfiction #marvel mcu #marvel fanfiction #marvel

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etakeh · 1 year ago

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OK SO the short version is: this wasn't meant for me. I might fit the target demographic, but sentimentality makes me want to vomit.

The ONLY things that got me through was Vadic and my inability to stop hate-watching so I could write this.

They should have called it "We're Getting the Band Back Together".

Is there such a thing as "fan service" for 50+ people? I was a teen when TNG came out, and this just feels pandering and sentimental.

The theme music seems like it's playing in a theater to a bunch of old fucks who cheer when it gets to *that part*.

They crammed in every tired trope they could.

This is a script designed to provoke an emotional response.

The whole "parent" theme is incredibly heavy-handed. I am a parent, and I have lost a child, and I still think it's over the top.

Instant Parent: just add adult child you had no knowledge of or interest in having until you knew about.

and then it squeezes in a generational schism for about 14 seconds, only to have the Olds regain control with barely a blip.

It does the thing that I hate about most action movies: doesn't matter who or what is destroyed in the effort to save one person. The needs of the few to save the one is somehow greater than saving the many. Spock would be...ugh.

And it's only for Picard and his kid. No one else merits extreme measures. I guess Beverly gets it a bit at the beginning, but then she's

mama bear. grr. oh wait, put that up in the "tropes" category.

Why did Raffi and Seven gotta go back to Star Fleet. Boo.

Worf's a joke. I mean, he's fine, but he's a running gag.

SO FURCKING TIRED OF THAT OLD FUCKER PICARD

yes I know that's the name of the show but damn

The renaming of the Titan. Why. It did pretty damned good as Titan.

The only good parts were Vadic and to a lesser degree Shaw. And that bit about swords being fun. That was pretty good.

I mean yay, they all get a payday. But.

I don't think I've given any spoilers here, but I have to say this:

They really should have let him die at the end, it's getting kind of pathetic.

bonus spoiler bitch: and of course his kid joins Starfleet as well. Oh an on an "accelerated track". and they joke about it's not nepotism. hmm.

FFS why did I finally convince myself to watch Picard Season Three: We're Getting the Band Back Together and It Still Sucks

spoilers I guess

Could have been a great story, but the trite "oh being a parent is hard" bullshit makes me want to punch them.

A lot of us lose a child, and we don't stop and weep about it every time we're on a starship in a fucking nebula about to be sucked into a gravity well, now do we.

No. We don't. We don't have the luxury.

Also Picard can take a flying fuck at a rolling donut. He's the epitome of the rich old white man who somehow is always right, despite all.

it's just gross.

#star trek #trek #picard #don't read this #I'm just spewing because I can and no one can stop me #but that doesn't mean you have to read it #just move along and let the old lady yell at nebulae

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darling-i-read-it · 4 years ago

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Back from the Blip

Sam Wilson x reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: some worry, slight spoilers for episode one of tfatws

Author’s Note: people! Appreciate sam wilson! And if you don’t, I will! Enjoy lol

Requested: by anon, For the Sam fic I've got a idea but they have two different options I can't decide on. So the idea is that you survived the snap and when you see Sam again he just finds its weird/funny how different you look because 5 years can change you a lot. The options I I can't decide over though is:1. Not being a romantic fic and before the snap you're like late teens so 18/19 and then you're mid 20s and Sam just being like last time I saw you you were a this annoying teen (like peter.) 2. Or it being romantic and you reunite and he's just amazed he's missed all this time with you. Totally fine if you don't want to do it. It's just been stuck in my head and I wanted to get it out 😂 And I saw your tag and people really do need to stop tagging Sam in Bucky fics it's so annoying.

Summary: the request

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director

(not my gif)

When everyone from the Blip returned, you were as surprised as the rest of the world. It was just another day, it was just another wake up. You had the day off. You slept in and were very surprised to find that there was someone in your apartment that wasn’t meant to be there.

They explained, through some tears and a couple of screams that this was their apartment. You had to explain back that it was not there you had bought it.

It was then you realized that they had been blipped and they were back. They were back, which meant, hopefully, that everyone else was back too.

When Sam came back he was confused. Just like everyone else in the world in the moment that people who had been long dead were just reappearing. It was explained to him what had happened and after the initial thought he needed to go find you. He needed to find his sister. He needed to see the people he loved, he needed to know what was going on.

The government managed to find your address and Sarah’s and he found her and her kids. He wanted to call you just to talk but he wasn’t sure if that was appropriate. You had sent him a text and tried to call the second you thought he might have come back but Sarah got to him first.

Standing in her home, he looked almost frightened. This wasn’t something that he had ever thought he would deal with. Obviously.

“And...and Y/N? I have to see her. I saw most of the Avengers but they haven’t told me where she is,” Sam said. Sarah looked at him, arms crossed.

“I see her for lunch every Wednesday,” she explained. “She’s got a new job, she’s got a new apartment.” Sarah took a deep breath, leaning against the kitchen counter. Her kids ran around but left the room just as quickly as they had entered it. “She’s finally dating again. It took her four years but…” Sam didn’t look at Sarah. For him, not a day had passed since he last saw you or Sarah. But his sister had grown so much, her kids even more so. He almost didn’t want to see you. What if you had changed so much he didn’t recognize you? The person he loved?

“Do you have her address?” he finally asked. Sarah nodded solemnly.

“I don't’ know if she’ll be there-”

“She’s been calling me. I can find her.” Sarah nodded, running her hand on her forehead exasperatedly.

Sam did find you. He went to the apartment that Sarah had given him but you were there. Instead he found you waiting at a park fountain across the street from your apartment. You were reading a book but as he watched he could tell that you weren't’ actually reading.

You did look different. Matured, refined. Your hair was different. Your style was changed. Not that much but you looked good. He found it was hard to approach you, scared that you might not want to see him. He knew that was irrational but regardless, his worry was there.

He didn’t mean for you to see him. In fact, he should have made sure you wouldn’t. He was kind of a spy afterall. But your eyes found him as you looked around when you were avoiding whatever book you were reading. You stood up quickly, closing the book quickly.

For a moment there was an undefined amount of worry in the air and then your face rose and you were walking over to him. He met you in the middle and wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate to hug you so he stood there, a small smile on his face.

“You look good,” he said when he wasn’t sure what else to say. There were tears brimming at your eyes. You looked down at your outfit.

“This old thing?” you asked, a small laugh escaping your lips. You looked back up at him and pursed your lips to hold back the emotion. You shook your head. “I...this must be so weird for you, I’m so sorry. Are you alright? How are you feeling?” you asked.

“Ay now, don’t go asking about me. How are you?” You gave him a look. You were in the middle of all these people, this crowd, and you felt like it was just you and Sam. The feeling was welcome.

“Surprised.” You thought about it. “Thankful. Really thankful.” You were silent a moment and shook your head again. “I’m sorry, can I hug you?” you asked a little awkwardly and he let out a sigh of relief.

“I thought you’d never ask.” You closed the space by hugging him tightly to you. He felt the same. He smelled the same.

You felt the same too. He was worried that you wouldn’t but you did.

After a moment you moved away but not far.

“What’s happened? In the last five years?” he asked and you let out a sigh that he knew all too well.

“So much Sam, you have no idea.”

“Well then you better start talking.” You smiled and felt safe again. He felt like something was right. Something was going right.

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson imagines #marvel imagines

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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 3 years ago

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elevator dinging noise to aLERT YOU TO A NEW CHAPTER, KIDDOS this is set in my BJ Deetz au. For context on that, you can start here, or just jump in, with the knowledge that you're robbing yourself of some pretty okay writing. tw for mentions of suicidal ideation and self harm

Of course something like this would happen, Lydia thinks, staring down at the linoleum of the hospital hallway. She’s sitting alone. Barbara and Adam are lying in hospital beds, in critical condition, and to see them, all she would have to do is stand, and enter the door to her left. She sits there. You’re being stupid. You’re being childish. Dead Mom didn’t even waste away in a hospital. Adam and Barbara need you. All you’re doing is sitting there, thinking about yourself, and two people are barely clinging to life, you miserable stupid freak LOSER. She uses the heel of her right boot to dig into a cut on the back of her left leg. She hears a noise, to her left, the door opening and closing, and her dad steps into the hallway. She can tell it’s him from the tired sigh, but her eyes never lift from the floor. “So?” she asks, voice raw. “They’re stable,” Charles says, not sounding nearly as hurt as he should. They’re family friends, and her dad sounds like he’s describing something of no consequence. The weather, maybe. Sports news. Not something serious, and important. He’s already pushed this down, in the same place in his chest where his pain over Dead Mom must live. She almost envies that skill. It’s like he can choose not to feel the hurt. All she can do is carry her broken heart around with her, and it cuts her hands and arms and leaves her raw and bleeding. Lydia picks at the hem of her dress.

“They said it was a stroke of luck we found them when we did,” Charles says, and then glances down at his phone. “I’ve got to make some calls. See about getting that floor replaced.” “Why?” “Because the house is in my name, Lydia. If someone goes in, takes a tumble through the floorboards, who do you think they’re suing, the comatose couple, or the New York real estate mogul?” “Oh,” she says, and then, “Adam would want the floorboards to be original. They spent all that time, sanding and polishing and shining the floors. We-” her voice breaks in a way she hates. “We were supposed to spend next summer there.”

A plan left over from before her life had gone to hell.

She turns to look at her dad, and blinks. He’s halfway down the hall, already on his phone. She can’t guarantee he even heard her. A nurse wheels someone in a wheelchair by her, and she winces, and turns her attention back to the floor. “Lydia?” she hears Delia call to her, and she focuses her pain into anger. “What?” she snaps, not looking up, not risking having to see someone else pass by her in the hall, on their way to death. “Do you want to come in, and see them?” Delia’s voice is very soft. “There’s no blood. It’s not scary.” “I’m not afraid of blood,” she says, the cuts in her skin aching. “I just.. Don’t want to see them laying there. Still.” As death, she thinks, but doesn’t finish.

“I won’t push you,” Delia says, clutching at the amethyst necklace around her neck. “But I think you might regret not coming in, and seeing them. I can step into the hall, give you a moment, if it’s.. Me, that’s keeping you away.” Lydia looks up, sees the hurt on the older woman’s features, and then sees her try and smile past it, as their eyes meet. “I bet they’d love to hear your voice, Lydia.”

Come on, come on, she chants to herself. Don’t leave them lying there, alone. Come on. It’s showtime. She steals herself, and stands. Delia steps aside, lets the teen move past her into the room, and Lydia takes in her two friends, laid out in blue hospital sheets, heads wrapped. Tubes are shoved everywhere, down noses and throats, hooked into arms. It’s a nightmare. She studies the heart monitors, listens to the steady sound of one heartbeat. At that, she nearly panics, until she realizes that she can only hear one noise, one blip, because the machines are sounding off together. Their hearts are beating in time with one another’s. That’s so them.

She stands between the two beds, looking from Barbara, to Adam, back and forth, studying their faces. Even though the Maitlands are still alive, it’s still like seeing Dead Mom, laying there, in her parent’s bed, stiff and cold. It makes her wince, makes bile rise up in the back of her throat. She powers through it. Both are twitching, mouths almost looking as though they’re struggling to form words, from within the depths of their unexpected, unwelcome slumber. Delia speaks, from outside the doorway. “The doctor says their brains are very active,” she says. “That’s good news. They’re both still in there. They just need to wake up.” “You’re not really in the hall,” Lydia points out, and Delia makes a little “oh!” noise, and ducks back out, but Lydia can tell she hasn’t gone far. Fine, whatever. The illusion of respect over her privacy is apparently as close as she can get. She reaches her hands out, takes Barbara’s, takes Adam’s, and holds them, for a long time, serving as a connection point for the two of them. “Please, please,” she begs, softly. “Please wake up, you guys. Please don’t go. How many times do I have to watch people leave?” she asks. Maybe this is what life is. You love people, love them so hard it makes you dizzy, leaves you breathless, and then they’re taken away, pointlessly, and you’re just expected to pretend that you’re alright, even when every part of you feels like it’s coming apart at the seams.

Barbara’s hand twitches in her’s, and she rubs her thumb over the top of it. finish reading over HERE

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice au #beetlelands #goldenbeetle #lydia deetz #charles deetz #my writing

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afictionaladventure16 · 4 years ago

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Some Kind of Miracle (Avengers x Teen!Fem!Reader) Pt. 1

Part 1 out of 3

Avengers Masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts and tendencies.

Word Count: 2,867

Author’s Note: If you have seen the episode Some Kind Of Miracle from Grey’s Anatomy, then you have an idea of how this fic will go. I kind of based it off of that episode. Since this will be in parts, if you have seen the episodes, please don’t spoil it for others! thank you!

Also, a big thank you to @snarky--starky for editing this for me!

Every mission felt the same. Not, the actual mission itself, but the feeling you had before it. The gut-wrenching nervousness usually went away after a couple of minutes, the feeling of satisfaction, easiness. That feeling when you knew everything was going to go well. You’d wake up with a smile on your face and an eagerness to start the day, to get the mission over with because you know the outcome. Well, no one ever knows the outcome, you just always had a good feeling about how an outcome would end up and so far, you’ve been right.

Today was different. Today, you could not shake off the feeling that this mission was different. An uncertain feeling that you have never had before. Staring at yourself in the mirror, it was as if you were slowly disappearing in front of your very own eyes. A hollowness crept up within you, a darkness that you have seen before. Felt before. Darkness that once had you lying in bed for weeks on end, covering any light that tried to pull you up. This darkness came with a friend, a darker friend that you could not recognize.

A small knock at your door drew you out of your thoughts. Bucky leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed, giving you a small smile. “How are you doing, kid?” His voice was softer than it usually was when he spoke to you. Almost cautious, as if he did not want to offend you or cross a boundary. You were still learning to trust him in certain areas.

“Fine,” you let out a soft sigh as you continued to tie up your combat boots. Bucky watched as your fingers turned white from how tightly you were holding the laces, he knew your mind was not in the right place. Especially with recent events. He needed to speak up, say something, something positive.

His mind wandered to what Steve would do in this situation. He missed Steve, wished he was there every day, helping him with you. Bucky always had a soft spot with you, ever since the day he met you at the airport. You followed Steve everywhere and as much as Steve opposed the idea of you fighting in the fight against Stark and his team, Steve knew you would not take no as an answer. You trusted him, mostly because he listened; he cared, he was there for you, he was the parent you never had and always wanted. Now Bucky has to gain that trust, so he could be what Steve was without replacing Steve. “About your mom,” Bucky began to say.

“Drop it,” you snarled as you gave Bucky a small glare. He crossed the invisible line, but he was too worried about you to care.

“Y/N, we have to talk about it,” he said softly.

“We don’t actually. You want to talk about it so you won’t feel as guilty about it, but I am perfectly fine not talking about it,” you stated as you got off your bed. You grabbed your gear from the bed, before walking towards Bucky. “So, please, just drop it,” you pleaded to him before walking out the room.

Bucky followed behind, “you’re wrong,” he stated as you both walked down the stairs into the common area. “I don’t want to talk about it because I don’t want to feel guilty about it anymore. I want to talk about it because I care about you and-”

“Just stop! I said to fucking drop it, so please, just drop it!” You yelled, causing the others to look over at both of you.

Sam let out a deep sigh, knowing what you were going through. He knew that having all these eyes on you while you were in a vulnerable position was not helping. He cleared his throat before speaking, “Alright, that’s enough.” He walked over to you and Barnes, his head turned slightly to the others, “Wanda, Peter, go ahead and wait for us on the quinjet. We’ll be there in a second.”

You crossed your arms as you watched Wanda and Peter make their way over to the elevator. Sam’s eyes never leaving you, “You don’t have to-”

“Save it, kid,” Sam said sternly. “Look, I need you both to be buddies again for a couple of hours, you can discuss whatever matters after the mission-”

“Sam-” Bucky began, but Sam quickly cut him off.

“But, right now is not the time.” Sam looked directly at Bucky. Bucky gave Sam a small nod, “I need both of your minds sharp for this mission, we can not afford any miscommunication because one person is mad at the other, am I clear?” you glanced over at Bucky, he gave Sam another nod. “I said, am I clear?” You knew Sam was directing it at you.

“Yes, sir,” you replied.

“Now, let’s go before Peter annoys the crap out of Wanda.” Sam walked towards the elevator, you and Bucky followed.

Once you all got on the quinjet, you avoided the empty seat next to Bucky and sat next to Peter. Peter glanced over at you before letting out a small sigh, “Everything okay?” You gave him a small nod. “Usually you only sit next to me when you are mad at Bucky,” he stated.

“Do you ever have a weird feeling that you are just going to disappear one day?”

Peter chuckled, he has felt it before, “Well, when the blip happened, it was as if I felt it before it affected me.”

You shook your head, “No, I mean-” you let out a deep breath. “Do you just get a strange feeling that something bad is going to happen… like it’s the end?”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows, “I mean, I’m Spiderman,” He quietly said. “I sense danger all the time. Aunt May likes to call it my Peter Tingle,” he chuckled as he shook his head at his Aunt’s nicknames for his super-human abilities. You remained quiet, feeling as if Peter was not understanding at all what you were trying to say, but you could not help but wonder if Peter can sense your darkness if he could sense that something was wrong; maybe the danger that lingered ahead and if he did, is he choosing to ignore it?

The ride only lasted a couple of hours. Sam landed the quinjet a couple of miles away from the building, far enough that those inside the building would not detect either of you. “Alright, here’s the plan,” Sam began to say. “Peter and Wanda will be going through the back entrance of the building. I will be dropping Y/N off on the roof-”

“I finally get to fly,” you joked, causing Peter to stifle a laugh.

Sam rolled his eyes before continuing, “After I drop off Y/N, I will be meeting Bucky at the front entrance. We are making sure we got every entrance of this building covered, Y/N will be our eyes and make sure no one gets out or in without us knowing.” Sam looked at his team, there were times where he still could not believe he had a team. Where he could not believe that he had a shield with so much history, a shield that he believes now holds so much more meaning.

“Aye-aye, Captain! C-Captain, sir? O-Or is Captain Sam better?” Peter rambled on as he nervously fidgeted with his fingers. Sam raised his eyebrows at the kid, even after being on so many missions with him, the kid is still a nervous wreck. “I-I’ll just shut up.”

Sam let out a chuckle. “Sam is just fine, Peter. We’ve been over this.” Peter nods, “Alright, go ahead and head on out, it’s going to take you guys a while to get there, in the meantime me and Y/N will keep watch and once you guys are in position we will head over.” You watched as the others began to make their way over to the building, Sam stood next to you. His eyes trailing around the wooded area, looking for foreign bodies. Sam was captain now. He could not let his team get injured because he was not paying attention, but his mind trailed back to you; he also could not let his team hurt inside, emotionally because he was not paying attention. Steve would have never done that, he would not let it slide. Steve talked through it, especially to you. He took you under his wing before the blip, before he time-traveled and stayed in the past. Before Bucky took you under his own wing. Sam felt like he could understand your pain in some way, getting left behind by almost everyone that felt like a parent.

“Do you want to talk about what happened back at the tower?” Sam glanced over at you for a second before glancing back over at the wooded area.

“Nothing to talk about,” you mumbled. Crossing your arms and leaning against one of the trees that was only inches away from you.

“Nothing to talk about? Y/N, you’re going to have to talk about your mot-”

“Not my mother,” you stated, glaring at Sam. Your eyes piercing into his, he got the hint. It is a touchy subject and as much as he hated it, you are not as close to him as you are with Bucky; but you were even pushing Bucky away.

Sam let out a deep sigh, “Alright.”

“We’re coming up to the building,” Bucky said through the comms.

“That was fast,” Sam commented.

“You have a boy who got bitten by a spider, a witch, and a super-soldier in your team. A couple miles is nothing to them, they can do it with ease,” you stated. You backed off the tree and checked your gear once more. The sickening feeling coming back to the pit of your stomach.

“Ready?” Sam asked as he straightened his posture. You gave him a small nod and before you knew it Sam was holding onto your waist and you were up in the sky. You looked down as you both passed trees down below. A large lake came into your view, what looked like a thin layer of ice in certain areas. That water had to be cold. Icy cold. “Whoa!” Sam exclaimed as a gust of wind slightly pushing him back causing him to lose grip of your waist, you let out a small yelp before Sam quickly grabbed your hand. “Shit,” He mumbled, “hold on, we’re almost there.”

You were barely hanging on to Sam’s hand. Giving the lake down below one more glance, you knew it would look like an accident. Everything would come to an end… the pain, the thoughts. All would end. You glanced back up at Sam, he was so focused on getting you to the roof of the building, he would not even notice your hand slowly slipping. He would not even notice if you just simply let go. Tears began to well up in your eyes, hoping it would not hurt. It felt like forever to make the decision, but it was only a second to act upon it. You let go.

Sam did not know what hit him, one second you were there and the next he was watching you fall into the lake. Your eyes widen as your body grew smaller and smaller until he no longer could see you and all he saw was water. “Y/N,” He yelled as he finally realized what just happened. Sam’s hand went directly to his ear as he hovered above the lake, “Y/N fell into the lake, I-I don’t know what happened, she must have slipped,” Sam began to ramble on as his eyes frantically searched for any sign of you.

“She can swim,” Bucky reassured Sam through the comms. Sam let out a relieved sigh.

“She can also hold her breath underwater for a long time, it’s like this secret talent of hers,” Peter added.

“Sam, I would say wait for her to resurface, but she can swim and we can’t waste anymore time out here. Y/N will have to meet up with us later. We need to get into that building,” Bucky informed him. Sam gave the lake one last glance, Bucky was right, they could not waste any more time on this mission.

“I’m only a minute away,” Sam informed his team before making his way back up in the air towards the building.

You began to see the light brighter as you struggled to swim to the surface. The iciness from the water was slowly stealing the heat from your body, making every movement ten times harder. You let out a gasp of air as you resurfaced, being met by only silence. Silence which was deafening, silence that could kill. You did not want silence because it only caused damage to your mind. Tears began to well up in your eyes, “Fuck” you muttered. Abandoned by almost every parent figure in your life and now you push away those who try to get an inch close to you. Your mother’s recent death, close to the death of Steve. Mourning over a man, who you never shared DNA with but still was more of a parent than your own mother.

Bucky knew you needed to talk about it and you knew it too. Talking got nowhere, talking felt like a waste of time and right now it felt like time was up. You slowly stopped kicking your feet back and forth against the water, your hands stopped swirling in motion to keep you afloat. Slowly letting the water devour you, the air inside your lungs, being squeezed out of you. Death isn’t supposed to hurt like this or so you thought. It will all be over soon, you thought to yourself as the light from the sun slowly began to drift away and you were soon succumbed by the familiarness of the darkness that has been lingering inside you for days, but now it controlled you physically.

“Fuck!” Sam yelled as he walked into the empty computer room.

“We’re too late?” Peter asked in a confused manner.

“They were somehow notified,” Wanda began to explain. “They had enough time to delete everything and leave no trace.”

“How could I have let this happen?” Sam gritted through his teeth. He stared into the dark screen of the computer in front of him, withholding everything inside him from smashing it with his fist.

“Sam, it isn’t your fault. It isn’t anyone’s fault, okay? Right now we have to figure out who our mole is before we try to find them again,” Bucky reassured Sam, placing a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam let out a soft sigh before giving him a nod.

Peter straightened up in his position, feeling the hairs on his arms lift up. “Have you guys come in contact with Y/N yet?” Peter asked.

“No,” Sam said softly. “She’s probably waiting for us outside.”

“Doesn’t sound like something Y/N would do,” Bucky stated. Sam rolled his eyes at Bucky.

“Something’s wrong,” Peter quickly said.

Wanda gave him a confused look, “Is it your Peter Tingle?” Earning a glare from Peter.

“I jus- ugh” Peter groaned as he held his hand up to his comm, “Y/N, you there?” Silence was met through the other end. Peter gave the others a worried look, “These are water-proof right?”

“100 percent,” Wanda commented.

“Y/N, doll, answer us,” Bucky tried.

“Something’s not right,” Peter stated. Bucky knew to trust Peter’s instincts, I mean, he sensed danger after all. Without giving it a second thought Bucky ran out of the building and towards the lake.

“Peter, I’m gonna need you to talk to that Karen girl and ask her for Y/N’s exact location!” Sam instructed Peter as they all ran out of the building. Peter frantically spoke to his A.I. eventually getting a location, but Bucky was already in the water.

Bucky swam up for air a couple of times before swimming back down, Peter attempted to give out the location to Bucky who frantically searched the water. But Bucky spotted something at the bottom of the lake. His eyes widened as you laid lifelessly at the bottom of the lake, he swam frantically towards you, thankful that the cold could not affect him the way it affected you. Once he had your body in his arms, he wasted no time bringing you to the shore of the lake. Bucky placed your body flat on the ground, his hands on your chest as he began to do compressions.

“I thought you said she could swim!” Sam exclaimed as he bent down to your body.

“She can,” Bucky muttered as he continued to do CPR. Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off you, hoping that any second you would let out a deep breath for air, spitting out water from your mouth and everything would be alright. But as he continued, his hope slowly slipped away from him. He shook his head to himself, he was not giving up, even if you had.

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starkerdestroyedmylifee · 4 years ago

Text

Thief

Peter tries not to feel the weight of his backpack as he makes his way up from the lab. He really does. But, it’s heavy.

‘Well, of course it is.’

Peter curses himself, popping up each step and hoping- praying- he doesn’t bump into anyone on the way. It’s still heavy, though. Even with his super-strength; heavy, and metal, and not his, because he really, really shouldn’t have it.

At all.

When the day had begun, Peter’d played the part of ‘devastated mentee’ to a T. His eyes had been puffy, exiting his aunt May’s car, rubbing his runny nose on the cuff of his suit.

No, not his suit.

Some store-bought thrift that didn’t quite fit his shoulders. A black jacket with fabrics frayed at the base, and dress-pants not quite long enough. Pepper had offered paying to get something tailored, but Peter’d declined quickly. It didn’t feel right, taking money from Mr. Stark’s fortune, even beyond the grave. They hadn’t known each other well enough. Which is odd, considering he’s currently attending said man’s funeral.

Peter tries not to linger on the fact that he’s technically (Technically meaning actually) stealing from Mr. Stark, and instead makes his way through the crowded living room. The majority of guests seem to be winding down now, what with Tony’s eulogy all said and done. Only soft, meditated tones, and consoling hands on shoulders, and Ms. Pepper Potts- smiling politely, but dead on her feet- striking up some conversation about sewage. He meets her gaze, and the weight of his backpack is bone-breaking.

She doesn’t walk over to him, thankfully. Of course, he’s just another kid wrapped up in her late husband’s antics. The invitation sent their way had been courteous at best, but worded as something that was supposed to happen, despite being a bit inappropriate. Peter’s a stranger, after all. And, what happens when you invite strangers into your house?

They steal your stuff.

Still, Ms. Potts nods his way. Soft; disinterested. Her gaze quickly slides over him, onto another guest far more deserving of her attention. Despite this, Peter’s back goes rigid for the few seconds spent on him. He holds his breath- freezes- before letting it out in relief.

‘This is horrible.’ Peter thinks to himself. ‘I’m literally going to hell for this.’

It doesn’t matter at this point. Not with his mind fogged in an overwhelming cloud of grief, or his eyes still stinging from such a heavy cry, or his throat burning from yet another wave of anguish. ‘No,’ he decides, tapping his aunt’s shoulder. ‘It doesn’t even matter at this point.’

He feigns a stomach ache, by which May thinks he’s playing sick to escape the depressing atmosphere of his idol’s funeral, and drives him home before Happy can so much as woo her to stay at his place.

Up the stairs.

Through the hallway.

Into his bedroom.

He shuts the door. Crumbles to pieces. Because-. Because, he finally starts realizing what he’s just done.

‘Oh, god. Oh god, this is so much worse than I thought it would be. This is- This is literally the worst idea I’ve ever had. Stupid, stupid, stupid!’

Peter can’t help his hands from shaking as he lifts the metal helmet out of his bag. It’s cold against his skin, which only makes his mouth go dry. Mr. Stark used to wear this. He used to wear this, and it’d been cold. Heavy and cold.

“...I really fucked up.” He says out loud, which only seems to solidify it.

Well, he can’t take it back now. Not if Pepper ends up noticing that it is gone. A monument. A goddamn trophy of Mr. Stark’s. One of his earliest models, with the classic red spray and golden faceplate. Christ, if he’d wanted it so badly, why didn’t he just buy a replica?

Because it wasn’t the same.

It isn’t the same.

But, damn it all, it’s also not his.

Peter had just wanted something to remember Mr. Stark by, and-. God, that helmet had called to him like a siren.

‘Mr. Stark would want you to have it.’ His brain had supplied.

Which-.

Uh.

No.

No, he would not want a literal child hanging onto his legacy like a fucking baseball card, instead of in a museum, or some well-maintained pedestal, or in a safe to be preserved for the next thousand years. Tony had been over the top like that. He liked to think his work was worth something. It was meant to adore.

The thought of Peter one day throwing it on top of his dirty laundry made him want to cry.

“Oh, god. Oh- Oh, shit. Okay, Peter. This is-. Oh, shit.” He tosses Mr. Stark’s helmet on the bed, and really does almost cry. A High-Tec, revolutionary piece of hardware, worn by Earth’s savior had just been thrown on his rumpled bedsheets, and goddamn fucking shit Peter is definitely- definitely- about to have a panic attack. He throws his arms up.

“That’s it.” Peter rambles sharply. “I’m screwed. I am so screwed, because I-. Oh my god, is it chipped? Of course it’s fucking chipped, Peter. It-. It’s Tony’s. Of course. Oh my god, I’m going to jail.” He peeks out the window, half-expecting to see cop cars at the entrance of his apartment complex. “Why did I do this?”

That’s the big question. Up until this point, Mr. Stark had only ever been an idol. Then a mentor. Then a father figure.

And, then-.

Okay, no. Peter is not going there. He paces around his room, onto his walls, the ceiling, hanging off his fingertips before plopping back onto his bare feet. He sighs, cursing, before making his inevitable journey back to the helmet.

Picking it up, his senses note a slight rise in temperature. It’s still cold, obviously. His room is well-heated though, unlike the lifeless cellar they’d had it cooped up in just hours before. Which makes Peter feel a little better about things- he smiles, tilting it this way and that. ‘Ha! A real home.’- before noticing a patch of crumbs on the helmet’s jaw from when he’d eaten Cheetos on the bed, wiped his fingers against the sheets, and seamlessly forgotten to throw them in the wash.

Peter almost faints.

Luckily, they’re easily wiped away by some bed-side tissues (Peter tries not to remember what he uses said tissues for. He’s already mortified by his poor treatment of it.) He sits on the bed with a huff, settling Mr. Stark’s tech in his lap like a pet. Peter runs his fingers over it apologetically, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Nothing feels like enough. He sighs, lowering his head.

“I bet you think this is pretty funny, huh?” Peter supplies, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, it’s not… It’s a little funny, but only because I know you’d probably have some quippy one-liner set up for me.” He falls onto his back, bringing the helmet to rest against his chest. Breathing out through his nose, he raises the metal mask just above him, so he can stare up at it. His bedroom light catches the surface of gleaming red, and Peter feels like a dirty slob just touching this rare treasure.

“Something like…” He pauses, thinking for a moment. “‘Oh, Peter. Looks like you’re a head of the game…’ That was really bad.” He chews his lip. “‘Sorry, kid. I want you to fill my shoes. This is a little much.’ God, no. That doesn’t sound like Mr. Stark at all.” Peter turns onto his side, letting the helmet lay against his pillow. They stare intimately at each other. ‘They’ being Peter and a lifeless curve of metal. He pulls the mask a bit closer.

“‘Woah there, Spiderman. At least buy dinner before you take it to bed.’” Peter turns his face into his pillow, groaning pitifully.

“Why are helmet jokes so hard?” He pauses, mulling his complaint over. “Okay, that one wasn’t bad.” Like that, Peter angles his face to check on the helmet, and looks to see its reaction. Which creeps him out, of course. Alright, so maybe there are even more implications to stealing his idol’s helmet then the fact he stole it. Maybe it’s just bad to have an inanimate object symbolic of Mr. Stark around him.

‘No shit.’ Peter thinks to himself, drawing a hand down his face.

Still…

He places a finger along the metal mask’s faceplate; feels the cool of its surface, the crisp curve of each indent. It’s nice. Really, really nice. Which is exactly why he has to pull away and face the wall of his room.

‘Nope. No chance. Time out, Peter.’

He closes his eyes, counting back from one hundred. He does it seven times. Eight. It doesn’t matter. Peter turns around to face it again, and does exactly what he’d been doing before. His fingers map out the metal slabs, just imagining what it must’ve been like inside.

‘It probably smells like him.’ Peter’s brain coos.

‘What? Like booze, and sweat, and morning breath? Is that what you’re tempting me with?’

‘Yes.’

It doesn’t smell like Mr. Stark, for the record. It smells sterile and lifeless and unworn, like someone went and purged it of everything Tony. Which, Peter assures himself, is completely, totally fine. It doesn’t bother him a bit.

Not one bit.

Not when he slips a hand inside and feels the strange padding used to cradle Mr. Stark’s head. Or when he pulls it out, not devastated to find the man hadn’t shed any hair. Nope. Not even a little. Because that would be weird, and a little obsessive. A lot obsessive. It’s not like Peter could clone Mr. Stark if he had any kind of DNA. It’s not like Peter wants to.

He checks his alarm clock, the same one still ticking five years after the blip; 10:47.

Not crazy late. On the contrary, it’d be amazingly early for the hyper-active teen to turn in just yet. That’s what he tells himself as he reaches over his night stand, tugging the string of his lamp light. The room goes dark and Peter tries (Read: fails miserably) to fall asleep. Looking his crime in the face anymore than he already has to is punishment enough, at least for today.

He tries to ease his muscles, but they just won’t let up. There’s a weight in his bed that he’s not used to, and it sets all his human nerves on edge, even with his Spidey-senses dormant. Peter should put it in the closet, but he can’t bear the image of allowing it to collect dust. On the contrary, the thought leaves him choked and wanting a glass of water he doesn’t have the energy to grab. The idea of mistreating anything Tony Stark-related has the young vigilante in shambles.

Which is why he soon finds himself rotating around to face the helmet in his bed. Even through darkness, he can make out a sharp outline of lunar beams streaming in through the window. It’s soothing. It’s reprimanding. Peter sniffs, blinking away what feels like an ocean of tears.

“I’m sorry…?” He offers shyly. His tone breaks, shoulders bunched, brow pinched with a grimace only offset by the flush of his cheeks. ‘At least here,’ Peter thinks to himself, ‘I can get some kind of closure.’

Which is exactly what leads him to kiss the metal armor.

Soft, across where he’s sure Tony’s lips would be located. It’s quick. Innocent, really. If things weren’t so different in the 21st century, people might mistake it for a platonic peck. Because Tony- brave, wise Tony- was like a father to him, in the only way he understood a father could be. It’d been so tender, after all. With those sweet, thin fingers caressing, not pulling, and palms that cradled, not smooshed. Nothing demanding. Nothing sexual. Just a good ol’ fashion kiss, which lasts no more than a few seconds.

Peter promises himself it isn’t anything else. It’s a platonic kiss on the lips. Which is a thing. It is, but other people might make it out to be something more. Someone like MJ would probably cackle her ass off if she knew he’d given the mask a kiss, as short as it is.

The few that follow after are a bit longer.

By the time Peter finishes, he’s relaxed in the worst way possible. He feels groggy, worn at the lips, and shitty as all hell because that last kiss had definitely been excessive.

And, okay.

Peter has a massive crush on Mr. Stark.

It’s terribly obvious. And tragic as shit, since the man is dead. Despite reminding himself, he can’t help but cling onto that damn feeling of metal on chapped, teenage lips. He feels sleepy, and he suddenly doesn’t want to be. It feels immensely inappropriate falling asleep next to a helmet he smooched to pieces.

Like sleeping next to Tony in Peter’s perverse, miserable fantasies.

Where Ms. Potts is away on business, and Mr. Stark is oh-so alone, and oh-so desperate for some kind of bodily touch. Where Peter is his sexy young intern, who has the confidence to wear feminine lingerie under his work clothes, and doesn’t mind brushing hips. They could make hot, passionate love in the lab for all he cares, and Mr. Stark would call him Baby, and Peter would call him Daddy, and it would hardly be funny to say in the moment, though he might snort when thinking over it later.

Best of all, Tony likes Peter best in his fantasies.

Parker is his favorite.

It’s only ever fantasy, though. Peter knows better than to indulge it.

In a conflicting fit between putting the helmet away, or pulling a sheet over top, or entertaining the notion of sneaking it back in place before anyone notices it’s gone, Peter decides to give the mask his bed while he sleeps on the floor. He’d much rather give Mr. Stark his best than chance disrespecting the man’s memory in favor of comfort. He obviously can’t be trusted, getting too close to Tony-related objects.

Laying on his bedroom floor twiddling his thumbs, Peter can’t help but wonder: What has my life come to?

#Starker #Peter x Tony #Tony/Peter #Fic #I don't know anymore guys #I miiiiight continue this??#Or maybe I'll just leave the babe to suffer

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starkexposition · 3 years ago

Text

The Bachelor: Tony Stark Edition

Forced myself against my will, at gunpoint, to update this. Here it finally is.

Chapter 2: Electric Boogaloo

Rating: Teen/Mature, it's from college!Peter Parker's perspective Pairings: Tony/Steve, Tony/Strange, Tony/literally everyone, Happy/May, Peter/MJ, Peter/Black Cat, many token ships eventually Summary: One man. Twelve contestants. Several weeks in paradise. All through the horrified eyes of one sticky, adopted son.

“Mr. Stark…”

Most people have normal dreams.

“Can you hear me?”

Nice ones.

“It’s Peter.”

Weird ones.

“Hey.”

Bad ones.

“We won.”

Ones you forget.

“Mr. Stark…”

Or in my case, ones you wish you’d forget.

“We won, Mr. Stark.”

They say when you dream about a person, it’s because they’re dreaming about you, too.

“We won—you did it, Mr. Stark. You did it.”

That never explained why I kept dreaming about him when he was gone.

“I’m sorry, Tony.”

It was never different. Never had a different ending—never even a nightmare. Just the same weak eyes followed by the same labored breaths, every single dream. And each time, the woman who believed in him most would sit with him, hand held to his heart, and promise to him that everything would be okay. And with that, the man who never sleeps would find the peace to finally rest.

There was nothing like it. I had already been through my fair share by then—whether it was the plane crash, or Uncle Ben, or the girl that I loved… Mr. Stark was different. There was no regret, or blame; it was only the mission. The worst part about it was struggling with the selfish feeling that something had been taken away from me, all while balancing the pride that I felt in what he did for the whole universe—and most importantly, for the family that was built around him.

To us, it was a sacrifice. To Iron Man, it was a responsibility.

I guess that must be the reason it kept replaying in my dreams. It didn’t need amending because of the good that it caused, but hell—it kept coming back like a nightmare.

Even after he came back, most sleeps would end the same way: with everyone around us taking a knee for him as the air grew quiet in his passing, Captain Rogers would rise to his feet, place a hand on my shoulder, and say through watered eyes and a weakened smile:

“It was all for you.”

And with Pepper’s blessing, Steve would step forward and pick Tony up from where he laid, carefully carrying him back as Pepper, Rhodey, and myself would slowly walk alongside them.

Some nights, if I got lucky, I’d wake up before Steve’s words.

But not last night.

My brain managed to string out every last excruciating detail of the dream it possibly could in an effort to stay asleep and ignore the sound of repulsors powering down to a low hum beside me. But as they hovered nearby, the stinky air of New York was blown through the ventilation of my suit, which, unfortunately, can be stinky enough to wake you when you become aware of it. A figure took the place of the city’s rising sun, casting a shadow that darkened the scene and gifted me with my daily post-dream reminder...

“You know if you prefer this for your room and board situation, I’d be happy to take up the bill.”

Tony Stark lives.

Which is great. Quality of life really did improve when he came back—for myself, and others, too. Being adopted by him, however, kind of spiced things up a bit. From mentor to parent meant that I was proving myself to him from a parental standpoint, and that consequently resulted in me becoming far more relaxed with him. ‘Cause he’s kind of stuck with me now, you know?

But even in times like this particular morning, when I had a curfew the night before and had to get back to the house upstate by a certain time and specifically did not do so in favor of fighting crime and flirting with a kleptomaniac in a leather suit, I still don’t think I couldn’t be grateful for that fact even when I am abruptly woken from my slumber on a rusty fire escape in New York by Iron Man.

There was always something about those slitted glowing eyes in the faceplate that managed to relay the disappointment behind it so well.

“How’d you find me?” I asked as I kicked my leg up onto the platform, letting my eyes settle on the ladders above.

“Same way I always find you—” Beep-beep, beep-beep! Karen pulled up a GPS screen in my lenses that pinpointed my location, with an additional flashing blip for where the Iron Man suit was just a few feet away. “Installed another tracking device in your suit.”

I pulled off my mask and sat up quickly. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he gestured to me, his tone dripping with annoyance. “I don’t have time to play hide-and-go-seek in the alleys and dumpsters of New York every time I need you.”

“I have a phone.”

“That you don’t answer.” Tony then tossed over my backpack that was webbed up on the dumpster below. “You know, you could be sleeping on a fire escape in Cambridge right now.”

“MIT doesn’t have MJ—” Oof. Too quick there, Pete. “Or-or Ned. Or May. Or… you?”

The face plate turned to stare at me with slitted eyes once again, Mr. Stark tilting his head. “I thought you broke up with MJ.”

Of course, he won’t ignore it.

“We broke up,” I corrected him, even though that was also technically wrong, but he definitely did not need to know that. “Besides, we’re fine. We’re friends.”

“When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“Last week,” I told him, pulling the mask over my face again.

Mr. Stark stayed silent, faceplate staring into my soul with those narrowed eyes as he waited for me.

“Okay, fine,” I sighed, swinging down from the escape, “a month ago.”

I shot a web to the wall of the building across from us, and like that, we were en route home.

“Ouch.” Naturally, Mr. Stark’s voice came in through the suit itself while he traveled closely behind me. “That bad, huh?”

“Not really,” I lied. “And I mean, we did try the whole friend thing. That’s not gone. It’s just that… well, sometimes when you break up, it makes it a lot harder to stay broken up when you try to be friends right away, you know?”

“So…” He paused for a moment, as we turned a corner to Avengers Mansion. “You’re not friends?”

I landed on the walkway and pushed my way inside. “I stressed her out too much. I’m just giving her space.”

Mr. Stark’s suit was entirely gone by the time he followed me into the kitchen of the mansion. Making a beeline to the coffee, he raised an eyebrow at me as he pulled the pot and two mugs for the both of us, fixing mine up with sugar before he poured. “That must be easy for you at least.”

“Never said it was.” I informed him as I rummaged around the refrigerator for something, anything with sustenance… Bingo. Pizza. The only consistency that truly exists within the Avengers is the ability to almost always find leftover pizza in the fridge. “But is that stuff ever really easy?”

“Well…” Tony’s voice raised suggestively as he circled around the counter and took a sip of his coffee. “It sure seems like it is now that you’ve got yourself a feline to keep you company.”

I came to a halt, cold pizza at my lips. “Seriously? I’m not talking about this with you.”

Tony cackled, sipping his coffee as he slipped from the kitchen to the elevator, finger pressed on the ‘open door’ button as he waited for me to gather my pizza and coffee to join him. Moments later, we were entering his workshop, which was remarkably as cluttered as I had seen it last. He walked through slowly, moving papers and hardware around to organize the place and put away his projects reluctantly, and each time he seemed lost in thought, staring at some weird looking, half-dismantled device, he would take a sip from his coffee before making his decision on what to do with whatever it was he was holding.

“All packed?” He asked as he pulled the mug from his lips, tossing something into the trash.

I gripped the mask in my hands and turned away from him to face one of the blueprints on the wall, pretending to read it. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Good,” he said. He stopped at the door to his office and looked at me with expectant eyes. “Well? Get dressed so we can go home.”

Before I could even turn away, the door to his office was shut behind him, the blue glow of his holograms flashing through the opaque glass of his office doors and windows. Whatever it was he was working on must not have required too much attention, as he was waiting impatiently for me by his car in the mansion’s garage only a few minutes later, toes tapping the ground while he leaned against the hideously orange supercar.

“Really?” I asked. “This one again?”

His eyes perked up over the rim of his glasses, eyebrows shooting up in offense. “Would you rather walk?”

I shook my head and walked over to the passengers side with Mr. Stark moving out of the way to the driver’s door. “I just think—” I got in, stuffing my bag by my feet, “—you could spice it up sometime. Maybe you could go red next. Or a matte black… now, that’d be nice. All electric, so smooth. Stealthy. It’d be great.”

Tony sat beside me, buckling his belt as he looked at me in disbelief again, “I’m sorry, can you even drive?”

I stared at him and waited for him to realize, but he just stared back. “I’m 19,” I reminded him.

“And?” He said as he started the car and drove closer to the garage door, allowing it to open automatically at his approach. “You never drive anywhere.”

His gaze looked past me then, encouraging mine to follow, and we both looked at the gray Audi that sat on the far right end of the mansion’s garage collecting dust. I looked back at Tony, ready to defend myself and my apparent preference for swinging as my primary mode of travel, but he just grinned and floored it, pulling us away from the mansion, the city, and to upstate New York.

* * *

Saturday nights at the Stark Residence meant one thing: family dinner. It wasn’t required, obviously, since most weekends I couldn’t make it home, and even if I could, I usually chose to not to, as I was 19, in college, had homework, Ned, and was constantly in an internalized battle of wanting to win my ex-girlfriend back and my unexplained desire to spend an unusual amount of time around one of my more recent torments in life:

Felicia Hardy.

And if I’m honest, I’ve probably spent more of my Saturday nights playing cat and mouse with Felicia than I have been doing homework or playing games with Ned. Only thing is, lately it has seemed more like she’s the cat and I’m the mouse—appropriate, since she is the Black Cat and all—despite that I have almost always been in pursuit of her. But my naivety always manages to lead me into falling for her traps and doing whatever it might be that she had planned for me—which, of course, almost always results in me failing to “catch” her.

What a shame.

Of course, that does exclude all of those nights where I did catch up to her. On the rooftops, quips and riddles, jabs and flirts, and the few times I got lucky enough for her to lift my mask up just enough to leave a…

How did I get started on Felicia again?

Right. Family dinners. Instead of seeing her. Just a prelude to the next few months. Did I even remember to say goodbye?

Sigh.

Anyway. Family dinners.

The only night of the week we managed to get (mostly) everyone together. Between Stark Industries and some Avengers work for Tony (remotely, of course, since the man really can’t help himself), Morgan in school and clubs, the vast Morgan Babysitting Unit (Rhodey, Maria Hill, Aunt May, and Happy mostly) trading off the rascal throughout the week, and of course, whatever Happy and May got up to in their free time (don’t remind me), Saturdays were usually the one time in the week that everyone tried their best to set aside for visiting with each other. You know, for Tony’s sake. While the ladies, including Tony’s new personal assistant, Charlotte, would split a bottle of wine as Happy and May cooked the meal together—Italiano, as they introduced it this particular time—the rest would buzz around the house, catching up on the week’s events and sharing laughs like a normal family would.

Normal.

Of course, with it being my first time home for dinner in a few months, most of the attention was on me during the meal—as Mr. Stark cleverly directed it to be, in an effort to avoid talking about the obvious circus that was set to begin the following day—with Rhodey and Maria mainly prying at me for school and hero related questions, but they were sure to cover every topic in the book, like the one I was hoping to avoid.

Girls.

Or, more specifically, MJ.

It took me going from my typical sarcasm to getting quiet and frustrated when the questions persisted for the conversation to finally fizzle out, bringing our dinner party to an end. Rhodey stood up from his seat beside me, resting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing it in understanding, as he grabbed his plate to leave. Everyone, apart from myself and May, began to disperse with him, heading to the kitchen with their empty plates.

I lifted a rogue spaghetti noodle above my face and caught it in my mouth between my tongue and teeth as Aunt May poured herself another glass of wine. She looked up at me as I practically inhaled the noodle, eyes slimming into an unamused look as she stared at me over the rim of her glass.

“This is our last dinner together for a while and you’re not even gonna use your manners?” She tilted her head, hair sliding down from her shoulder.

I made a face and shook my head, reaching for the spoon in the pan. “Not when it’s spaghetti night,” I shrugged in refusal, dumping a small second serving on my plate.

May eventually followed in suit, her eyes nervously checking up on me again and again. With a breath and returned eye contact, I braced myself for the inevitable questions—

“You’re all packed?”

“Yes.”

“Have your passport?”

“Yes.”

Her face fell and she leaned forward, brows furrowing in worry. “… Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course not,” I said. “It was my idea to begin with.”

She lowered her voice. “I mean for Tony.”

“Well, why not?”

Aunt May stared at me for a couple seconds, noodles sliding off her fork back onto the plate. “I don’t know, he just… you know, this is a lot of publicity for someone who, you know… was dead—”

“—in a coma—”

“—less than a year ago,” May let out a sigh, her shoulders sinking. “Do you have to get technical with me?”

I set my fork down and sat back in my seat, biting my lip in frustration. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Tony’s been back for, what? Seven months?” She crossed her arms.

“Publicly, yes, and it’s not like he really kept it much of a secret before that, anyway,” I said, crossing my arms back. “He’s been alive for almost two years. A lot can happen in two years. A person can grow.”

She let out another sigh of concern. “And you don’t think all of this is too much for him?”

“He’s two years old. Of course not,” I said, dropping another noodle into my mouth. “I was ready for that kind of attention when I was his age.”

“Peter…”

“Wasn’t I?”

“Peter.”

“Listen,” I sighed, “he agreed to it at his own risk. Besides, no matter what he does, publicity will follow. He knew this ahead of time. That’s why he waited until his rehab was over—he wanted to be ready. And if he says he’s ready…”

Her eyes looked over her glasses’ frames at me. “We both know he’s not ready.”

“You know, this might actually be good for him,” I offered. “A good way for him to kinda get back in it, you know? It’s like a nice, long vacation with a bunch of pretty people gawking over him. I honestly don’t see the problem with it.”

“A bunch of pretty people trying to use him for his money, maybe,” she started picking at her food again.

“That’s the life he always used to live, May. Which is why I think it could be good for him. Might teach him to have fun again—you know, center him,” I sat up in my chair again, picking up my fork and stuffing my face with more noodles. “Plus,” I said through chewing, “it’s good promotion.”

“Promotion for what?”

“I don’t know, really,” I swallowed my food at her look of distaste. “Something to do with clean something something. Something for the planet. Or something. He was talking about it with those fancy people from the network out at dinner the other night.”

“And you didn’t listen?”

I wound up more pasta and took another bite. “No, why would I?”

Aunt May stopped her movements and stared at me for a moment before continuing to scoop up the noodles. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’re gonna need for the trip?”

“Positive,” I smiled.

“Alright,” she let out a sigh, “if you say so.”

I smirked a bit, and took another bite full. “Are you sure you’re gonna make it that long without me?”

She took a small piece of a noodle from her plate and chucked it at me. “Zip it, you. I’ll be fine.”

I peeled the noodle from my cheek and looked at it. “Man, Aunt May… Nice aim—” And with that, I launched the noodle back at her.

By the time Morgan and I had finished clean up duty, with me washing the dishes and her wiping down the table with a cloth I gave her, the adults had migrated to the lounge with another bottle of wine, loud chatter and laughter filling up the air around them. Tony was off with Charlotte, going over a checklist with her to ensure that he had everything he needed for the trip before our departure in the morning. I stopped Morgan before she headed upstairs, holding a finger to my lip to keep her quiet as I pulled the freezer door open for her, and before we knew it, we were sneaking upstairs to our rooms with a popsicle in Morgan’s hand and snacks in my own.

The crinkling noise a bag of potato chips makes as you open it is one of the most satisfying noises in the world. Especially in the safety of your own home—unabashedly opening up a new bag without holding back to muffle any sounds. Just that sweet, sweet tearing noise as the smell of greased up, salty potatoes fills your nostrils and momentarily takes the place of that super sweet tub of Ben & Jerry’s beside you. One plus about upgrading to a king sized bed is finally having the room to keep your food beside you as you lie there—it’s a great way to be lonely without entirely feeling lonely. For the most part. Except when you remember that you’re eating an whole pint of ice cream entirely by yourself, because that’s when it starts to hit you that you’re actually, seriously doing this and you really shouldn’t be—

“Really, Pete?”

I looked up from my snacks as I pulled out an earbud, my eyes meeting the unamused eyes of my father. “What?” I asked.

He closed the door behind himself as he walked closer, crossing his arms. “We just picked those up for the flight tomorrow and you’re already eating them?”

“I was hungry,” I told him before grabbing another chip.

“You’re supposed to be getting everything ready,” he grumbled.

“I am,” I said, pointing the chip towards the half-zipped suitcase on the floor, with shirt sleeves and socks and pants sticking out the sides… Well. I tried. “Over there.”

His gaze followed my potato chip to the suitcase and he walked over to it, opening it up to see the jumbled mess of clothes that I neatly tossed into the suitcase from my closet—which, mind you, was already half packed from the last field trip we took in school a month ago. Clever, I know. I mean, half of the clothes were dirty anyway, and a lot of them I just grabbed from my floor… so really, most of them were at least a smidgen dirty. Probably, like, 90% of them were dirty. But none of that really mattered, you see, because we are staying in an actual house while we’re there, and real houses always have washers and dryers, right?

Right?

That didn’t quite matter any longer either, as my father’s eyes fell into that absolutely terrifying “disappointed” look that I was unfortunately seeing a lot of as of late. But just as he went to close it, his eyes widened at the sight of something else and he knelt down to tug on a piece of cloth.

A red piece of cloth. And blue. And black. That turned out to be more than just a piece of cloth. And that was suddenly being dangled in my face for a split second before it was folded over my father’s arm.

“No suit,” his stern voice rang through the room as he turned back towards the door.

My eyes widened as I jumped from my bed, almost knocking over my ice cream, and I followed him out. “What do you mean ‘no suit’? I can’t just go away for that long without it—”

He opened the door, looking back at me. “And is that seriously how you’re taking care of this thing?” He pushed through, lifting the suit to his nose. “God, Pete, it smells…”

“Dad,” I pleaded, “I can’t leave without it.”

“Seriously. When’s the last time you sent Hap to get this thing dry-cleaned?” He turned back to look in my room, pointing at the suitcase as the door swung shut. “By the way, pal, one half-assed packing job isn’t gonna cut it. We’ll be gone the whole summer. Pack accordingly.”

I stopped in the hall as he continued up it with the suit still slung around his arm. “Dad, please,” I begged.

He began walking backwards, a smirk plastered to his lips. “No can do, kiddo,” he said. “You’re not supposed to work while you’re on vacation.”

And with that, he was gone, spending the rest of his evening with the usual entourage before they headed out to Happy’s place for the night.

I didn’t notice myself falling asleep. I wasn’t planning on it either—I don’t think I ever even rested my head for a second. But there I was; it was one o’clock, N64 fan roaring, half-eaten pint of ice cream melting accompanied by an opened bag of potato chips, and I had fallen asleep, controller still in hand. I peeled myself out of bed slowly, grabbing the snacks and heading downstairs to put them away in their respective places. As I was sealing away the tub of ice cream in the freezer, I noticed the door to the workshop downstairs slightly propped open, a faint glow coming from it and the distant voice of FRIDAY.

Curiosity killed the cat, right? Wish me luck.

Ever-so-thankful for my powers, I creaked the door open quietly and jumped up to the ceiling, slowly crawling down the spiral staircase until I finally reached the workshop. Everything was dark and put away apart from the desk, where Tony sat in his rolling chair, staring up at the blue holograms projected around him.

As though his breath had been hitched in his lungs for a long while, Tony let out a sharp sigh as he let go of his frozen stature, leaning forward in his seat. “Alright FRIDAY,” he pulled a pen from his desk and started scribbling on a piece of paper, “run the scans.”

“Certainly, boss,” FRIDAY said, and the holograms began pulling up hundreds, thousands—hell, even millions of files of footage. “Scanning all known devices now.”

Tony sat back in his seat again, jaw clenched in fear as hopeful eyes watched the projections around him. A sigh escaped his lips as he watched FRIDAY sort through the files, hurt filling the contortions of his face and… That’s when I noticed him.

How had I missed him?

“Come on,” Tony prayed, his eyes daring to well up into tears. “Come on, Cap.”

As files were sorted, discarded or scanned again and again, the screen running through images and clips so fast it hardly even flashed with the changes, the files were compared to an image presented to the right of them, none of them matching up with with the familiar head of blond hair that was almost damn near waiting for a match.

Years later, and Tony Stark was still searching for Steve Rogers.

I guess it sort of came as a surprise to me. He didn’t talk about Cap very often. If he did, it was usually short lived—it was never really something he chose to dwell on. And anytime someone tried to bring him up, he never spoke of their time together like it had the weight that I knew it did—like they were just some old buddies back in the day, and that was it. With everything going on in his life, I guess I just assumed he was a bit forced to move on from it.

Then again, when Tony came back—which, mind you, will forever be the most shocking moment of my entire life—one of the first things he asked about was Steve. Just to know if where he was… if he was okay. I was the one who told him he was gone, that he had brought the stones home, and was never to return.

He gave me a small nod when I told him, eyes drifting away from me, as he forced out a quiet, “okay, then.”

And that was it. That was all he ever asked about him. After he quickly regained his composure, Pepper ushered him away to get him some nourishment until they both finally decided it was time to wake Morgan up to see him again after seven long months apart.

I always wondered if Captain Rogers would have stayed if he knew Tony was coming back.

I guess that was part of the tragedy, wasn’t it? How could anyone have known that by some miracle he would come back? I hadn’t, Pepper hadn’t, nor did Rhodey, or Morgan, or Happy. There was no way Captain Rogers would have predicted that, either. He, like the rest of us, altered his life accordingly.

But if he got the chance to see what I was seeing, would he come back?

“I’m sorry, boss,” FRIDAY said solemnly. “The scans were unsuccessful.”

I suppose we’d never know.

Tony sat still, defeat stealing whatever energy he had left in him, as he tried desperately to understand the holograms before him. He stared for what felt like ages, breathing through the frown on his lips, swallowing back his guts here and there whenever he needed it. Finally, his eyelashes fluttered as he looked away from what was before him, energy joining him once again to neaten his paperwork. “Well, then,” he forced out, “let’s wrap it up for a while, shall we?”

He stood from his desk, picking up a mug of cold coffee and bringing it to his lips as he turned and started walking away, papers still in hand. He walked to a cabinet, dropping the papers into a file as he slowly lowered the mug, swallowing back his thoughts with his coffee.

“Would you like me to keep an open scan going while you’re gone?” FRIDAY inquired.

Tony’s eyes broke from wherever they had drifted, running in my direction on their way to look at the hologram—

Uh oh.

I managed to scurry back right as his head stopped its movement, hiding out of sight before his eyes flickered back over in my direction.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Footsteps. “Let me know if you find anything on your radar.”

Goose bumps. Skin tingling. Danger. Danger. Danger. I don’t think I’ve ever crawled on a ceiling faster than I did, barely making it to the door in time to leave it cracked where it was before he noticed it. It was faster to go out through the porch and up through my window than it was to run through that maze of a house, and I still only made it just in time to get under the covers before my father cracked open my door to check if I was sleeping. The pixelated N64 screen and controller by my hand was seemingly convincing enough, as he turned out the rest of my lights and left me to sleep.

* * *

To be honest, I wasn’t the most excited person when I realized that being adopted by Tony Stark also meant moving off to some cabin in the deep woods of upstate New York. The whole farm life thing never exactly appealed to me the way it did others, I guess. I was perfectly fine with living just a block away from my favorite hoagie joint, a couple blocks down from my best friend, the same part of town as the girl I sorely wanted back, and you know, the same city as the college that I attended daily. The drives back and forth from campus whenever I actually did make my way home only started to get better when I was actually doing them on my own, but they were still painfully long when Ned wasn’t able to join me for a weekend. And when your only entertainment for an entire weekend (or even week) is a six-year-old who is particularly obsessed with outsmarting you, Happy Hogan, and a video game that you somehow manage to fall asleep to while playing pretty much every night as of late, life can get pretty lonely up in the boonies.

Still, there was something to be said about waking up surrounded by nature instead of the city.

You’d be surprised as to just how calming it is for the morning sun’s glow to slowly enter your room, birds chirping in the trees outside your windows, wind chimes twinkling as a soothing voice peacefully rings throughout the four walls of your room…

“Everybody was kung fu fighting—” I don’t think I could have slapped my alarm any faster.

I attempted at covering my head with a pillow to block out the light, but the disturbance of voices downstairs disrupted my Sunday morning a bit early again—although this time, the voices seemed to amount to more of a crowd.

Great.

“Peter, your father will be arriving at your door in fifteen seconds,” Karen warned, lights brightening in my room as I hopped from my bed, placing in my earbuds. Like clockwork, the door creaked open as I paced my room in an effort to make myself seem busy.

“Pete.”

I pulled an earbud from my ear and glanced up at my father before heading to my closet. “You know, you should try knocking sometime.”

Mr. Stark trailed into my room behind me nonchalantly, looking around at the mess spread across the room as he picked up notebooks from my bed and placed them on my desk. “You say that like your alarm didn’t go off two minutes ago.”

“So?” I picked up the notebooks and moved them to my pile of schoolwork. “You never know—I could have been changing.”

He stopped in his tracks, his gaze tracing up to mine with a single eyebrow cocked up in disbelief. “Really?”

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but pajamas before two on a weekend.” He forced back a smile. “Besides, my point stands, you weren’t doing anything embarrassing. Which, by the way—”

“—that’s not my point—”

“—what exactly was it that you were doing?” He turned on his heel, looking around my room. “And what is that smell? Garbage? Gym clothes? Dirty sheets?”

“Dad.”

“When’s the last time you changed your sheets?”

“Dad.”

“Can we get some windows open in here?”

“Of course,” Karen complied, the panel windows rotating open on command, the sound of the leaves following the breeze that filled the room.

“Much better,” he exhaled.

I collapsed on my bed again, then, placing the earbud back in my ear. “Do you always have to act like something died in here when you enter my room completely uninvited?”

“I’m saving your skin, you know. May is downstairs and if she smelled whatever’s going on in here, you’d have a much bigger problem on your hands.”

I jolted up in horror. “May? What is May still doing here—”

“I invited her,” he stated simply. “For Happy’s sake. Surprise.”

I scowled. “Don’t encourage them.”

“Which reminds me, where are your bags?”

“Bags?” My eyes then drifted to the very same suitcase from the night prior, just as untouched, half-full, and dirty as it was the last time my father told me to work on packing it.

My father followed my sight and immediately let out a sigh, his back to me, and I just knew the face that he was about to hit me with before he even managed to turn around. And then he did.

Here we go.

The look of unsurprised disbelief with a flavor of sheer, utter annoyance as his eyes rolled up to the ceiling.

Personally, this was my favorite look of disappointment from him. His “shocked” face that I always seem to get whenever I prove time and time again that he really should stop having any sort of faith in me being able to do anything that is not Avenger, homework, or video game. I mean, it’s only fair. To the both of us, really.

He finished his eye roll, those disappointed eyes falling to mine before he finally headed to the door. “Get dressed and be down in five. Say hi to the crew quickly and then please finish packing. We can’t be late for this.”

“We’re leaving today?”

“Seriously?” He was out the door in seconds, calling back, “How on earth are you more like me than I am like me these days?”

I jumped from my bed and grabbed a t-shirt that was folded on the top of my dresser, pulling it over my head as followed Mr. Stark down the hall, door clicking shut behind me. “How long until we leave?” I asked, catching up to him on the stairs.

“Around an hour.” He muttered, head tilting towards mine. “You definitely did not get dressed that quickly.”

“I’m not going in there alone,” I told him.

He halted about half-way down, looking me up and down in my sweatpants and Midtown gym shirt. His lips flattened into a line, the look of annoyance returning to his face. He then unbuttoned his suit jacket, turned, and shrugged. “Fine.” And as we finished our trek down the stairs, he expanded his arms grandly, cleared his throat, and projected an embarrassingly loud, “Everyone—Peter has finally decided to join us!”

Every pair of eyes in the room fell to mine.

… I brought this upon myself.

It was barely seconds before the only person from ABC that I actually recognized managed to catch my attention—and yes, there was, once again, a gray hair sitting intrusively on the blazer.

“Peter!” She exclaimed, peeling her way through the group to shake my hand. “Are you excited for the next few months?”

“Sure,” I offered, my eyes drifting from hers in search of Aunt May. I looked back at her, squinting a bit as I studied her face. “I’m sorry, I’m forgetting your name.”

“Nellie Freeman,” she reminded me. “I’m one of the producers for The Bachelor.”

“Uh huh,” I nodded my head. The whole bullshitting portion of this thing was already wearing on me, and I was only about… a sentence and a half into it. And it was obvious, as a rather awkward look of concern started to form on her face. “Look, I’m going to be honest with you, Ms. Freeman,” I sighed, slouching a bit. “I just rolled out of bed. I really just came down here for food before I get ready to leave.”

Nellie nodded then, stepping aside. “You should probably focus on that, Peter. And please, call me Nellie.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll find the chance to talk later, alright?” She said, clutching her mimosa close to her hair-intruding blazer.

I nodded, turning to make my way to the kitchen. “Okay, Ms. Freeman.”

And with that, I was free, and doing one of my favorite past times: rummaging the refrigerator for food. And as I rolled out each and every tray, drawer, compartment, searching high and low for just a little bit of cream cheese, I felt a very gentle tug at the hem of my shirt. I paused, raising my eyebrows to look down at the very soft, yet expectant face of a six-year-old, a small smile playing at her lips.

“Hi,” she said.

“Good Morgan,” I greeted her, stifling a laugh as she let out her usual giggle. “Staying out of trouble so far?”

“I need your help,” she said. She then waved for me to get close, so I did, crouching down and offering my ear to her. She cupped her hands, leaning close to whisper. “Can I have some of your root beer?” She asked, pulling back with an innocent look on her face.

“Maguna,” I sighed, turning towards her totally. “You do realize it’s still morning, right?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“And that our father is right on the other side of that wall?”

She nodded again. “Yes.”

I raised my eyebrows again, pointing in the direction of our living room. “And that if he catches me giving you root beer at seven in the morning without asking his permission, he’ll get very mad at me?”

“Yes,” she said, this time with a single, big nod.

“I don’t know, kiddo,” I told her, standing up and pulling a bottle of root beer from the fridge, “not sure if it’s worth the punishment.”

She tapped my arm this time, tugging at my shirt afterwards. “Please?”

“Hmm,” I looked between my sister and the bottle of root beer in my hands. “Are you ready to leave yet?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” I set the bottle on the counter, along with the bagels and cream cheese, closing the fridge and crouching back down to meet her height. “Go on up to my room, then. I’ll bring some up to you when I finish getting my breakfast and you can play Mario Kart while I pack.”

And for the last hour that we spent in our home for the time being, my sister and I kept sanctuary up in my room, with Morgan sprawled out on my bed, trying to make sense of an N64 controller as I coached her on how to take out Bowser as revenge for his ruthless attack on her Luigi. My bags were carelessly tossed together in a matter of minutes, suit staying tucked away underneath heaps of clothes, and my Playstation carefully wrapped (and hidden) in clothes in my second suitcase, zipped away until further notice. I had bravely ventured downstairs to grab the next round of root beers, and the two of us were able to stay far away from any parental units paroling the household for the remainder of the hour—shocking, since Morgan’s got quite the big mouth when it comes to video games.

Packing the vans for our departure to the airport wasn’t chaotic until the rest of the black-blazer-with-a-stray-strand-of-gray-hair-obtrusively-standing-out-and-distracting-me-once-again people from ABC arrived. It went from packing up the car for a nice family vacation to me pretty much being sent up to my room to pack yet another whole bag with all of the items on their list of things that I had to bring for my “wardrobe” that I didn’t know were “required” for my nice, lovely, family vacation. And then came the labeling of each and every bag—which, of course, followed their security check of each and every bag.

That’s right. They brought security for us.

I know.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure the ridiculousness of checking Iron Man for safety threats was the tipping point of my sanity, so by about eight o’clock, I was lying in the middle of the driveway and tossing a rock up into the cloudy sky. At some point, Mr. Stark’s hand suddenly reached out and caught it and he looked down at me with a tired smile.

“You ready?”

I raised my eyebrows and caught the rock as my father dropped it. “Did my background check already make it in?”

“Funny,” he rolled his eyes as he reached down to grab my hand, pulling me up. “You should be praying that they don’t find it.”

“What do you mean?” I laughed, picking my backpack up from the curb as I followed him up the driveway to the big, black, spy-like SUVs. “Peter Parker is as threatening as Happy when he falls asleep on the couch after Thanksgiving dinner.”

His hand rested on my back as he guided me to an open door in one of the SUVs. “Have you read your high school disciplinary record?”

“No. That’s your job,” I grinned at him as I climbed in and slid to the end, grabbing the buckle.

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark’s eyes widened at the thought as he got in his seat beside me. “And your poor Aunt May’s.”

“Well, she knows about the whole… you know… Spidey thing, now, so it’s fine,” I said, shrugging. “I’m sure it explains a lot.”

Happy’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Yeah,” he grumbled. “Wait until you can’t use that excuse this summer.”

My jaw fell only slightly as I let out a chuckle. “No, no—not an excuse. I won’t need it, anyway. No suit, no hero antics, no need for doing anything absolutely stupid.”

Happy’s eyes looked up again in the mirror as he stopped at the end of our driveway. “The suit isn’t what causes you to be stupid.”

And with another small, Pikachu gasp escaping my lips and laughter bellowing from Aunt May and the man beside me, the window rolled up slowly, separating him and May from myself, Morgan, and our dad for the rest of the ride to the city.

The car ride inbound was far more easy-going than the last long one we had heading outbound, on our way home from my grand, very belated ‘adoption party’, where this whole Bachelor thingy began. I was silent, overwhelmed, sort of regretting the amount of root beer that I had consumed.

I think, like, five glasses, maybe? Full glasses, too. Like the big ones, not the little scotch glasses. All five, sitting in my stomach over every pothole and rock we ran over.

“Come to think of it, Pete, I didn’t really see you much tonight. Was it the nerves? Too many people?”

I nodded assuringly. “Too many people. Definitely.”

He eyed me in suspicion and then let out a sigh. “Listen, Pete. Don’t let this whole… moving into a multi-billionaire’s million dollar lakeside New York mansion thing scare you into thinking you have to respect me any better.”

“I think,” I narrowed my eyes as I stared at him in confusion, “I think just saying that… does?”

“What I’m trying to say is now that I’m officially your father and you’re officially my son, that weird, politeness type of respect isn’t necessary anymore,” he went on, looking forward at the street as Happy drove their car back to their home. “If anything, you should respect me less.”

“I feel like this is a test,” I told him.

“It is and it isn’t,” he grinned to himself. “Just be a normal kid, alright? No more Mr. Starks, no more asking permission for every single little thing. Just ask permission sometimes, when it’s necessary. And don’t call me ‘dad’ while wearing your suit. That’s when you call me ‘Mr. Stark’. Got it?”

And that was it. I’ll be honest, the whole transition from “Mr. Stark” to “Dad” hasn’t exactly been easy, but I think I’ve got it down.

For the most part.

Happy took a sharp turn then, breaking my thoughts as we went off of our course to the airport. “Sorry,” he shouted from the front seat.

“Mr. Stark…?” I muttered, staring out the windows in confusion. I looked at him and he raised an eyebrow expectantly. I realized my mistake but refused to correct it, staring back at him with my own eyebrows raised expectantly as the SUV pulled to a stop in front of the mansion, film crews piling out of one of the vans ahead. “What’s going on?”

“Showtime—” was all he said, before jumping out of the vehicle and heading over to the makeup artists, who, of course, swarmed him.

It was going to be a long summer. And it was only April.

The beauty of college was that the summer typically began in May, anyway, and with some teeth-pulling trips home away from the hyperactive, crime-filled city, I was able to set aside blocks of time to get my work done early in an effort to finish my semester earlier than most. I must say—midterms and finals all within two weeks of each other were not exactly the highlight of my college career so far, but finishing the semester by the start of April in exchange for an extended summer was pretty worth it.

Apart from the makeup brushes that were suddenly advancing on my face.

“Wait—” I held up my hands in defense, waving the brushes away. “No, no—not me, not my thing. I’m fine with—you know,” I gestured toward my face, “this.”

“It’s for lighting,” one of the artists argued.

“And that,” I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, “is what editing is for. Tell Ms. Freeman I said that.”

Like clockwork, Nellie Freeman ran towards me, calling my name. “Peter!” She said, excitedly, “Go on over to your father. Share a laugh with him.”

Share a laugh?

I was guided over to where he was and before I knew it, cameras were pointed at us in all directions as Mr. Stark put an arm around me and looked at me to chat, pointing to me. “Are you ready?” He asked, charming smile flashing on his face.

“No,” I said, forcing a smile, trying hard not to look at the camera. “How long do I have to do this?”

“Entire summer,” his smile grew proud.

My face fell.

“Remember, this was all your idea,” he let out a laugh then, and it was apparently enough to satisfy the cameras.

Worst moment of my life.

So far.

As a small part of the crew followed me around the front of the mansion—which, I had inferred was for their introduction to the show, as they were filming numerous angles of the mansion itself, as well as our family by the gates out front, and even a small moment of Tony driving out of the garage in yet another hideously orange supercar—the sound of a small explosion a couple blocks over rumbled through the streets. Myself and the camera people with me, who happened to be closest to the noise, all turned in fear as cop cars zipped up the street towards whatever it was.

My heart pounded a bit as the adrenaline came through my body with my senses and I looked at the crew urgently, “You should probably go distract Iron Man before you lose camera time with him.”

They took my advice.

Barely a minute later, I was in my suit, swinging through the streets of New York City.

Standard bank robbery: getaway car at the corner of the block waiting in drive, hold up in the lobby of the bank, gunmen standing guard outside, and my favorite—two pyromaniacs blowing a hole in the alleyway wall to gain outside access to the vault.

Minutes later, the vault guys were webbed to the brick walls of the alley, the gunmen were knocked out and webbed up, the two guys holding up inside were webbed together in a nice, snug hug, and the getaway car was stopped mid movement by me mere seconds after I had webbed up its passengers to street lights in their escape.

A standard day in New York City for Spider-Man.

Man, I was going to miss it. Genuinely. It was a hobby as much as it was a passion and a responsibility. It had its perks, of course, but swinging through the city, stopping to fight whatever crime was impending, and then getting back into the air moments later just to return to whatever I was doing, or like in many cases, to the backpack I webbed up to a dumpster in an alleyway a block away from the mansion. I undressed from my suit as quickly as possible and got back in the clothes I was wearing before, stuffing the suit into my backpack—

Spider sense. Spider sense. Behind you, Peter—Peter. Peter. Peter.

I turned quickly to see an old bearded man standing at the end of the alleyway by the sidewalk, staring at me as I stuffed the spider suit into my backpack.

I felt my cheeks burning red as the man just watched. “It’s not what it looks like, I promise,” I smiled nervously. “I just found it in the dumpster. It’s probably—it’s probably not even real.”

The old man let out a chuckle, approaching me slowly. “It’s okay, Peter,” he said with a smile. “You don’t need to worry.”

I froze in that moment, movements halted as I registered the voice and the way it said my name—yes. My name.

My name?

“How did you…” I trailed off as the main presented a large pouch to me, reluctantly taking it from him. I stared at the pouch and then up to those old, tired, glistening eyes. “Are you one of the wizards?”

“No,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You might wanna grab a lab kit for that before you leave, by the way.”

And that was how my Breaking Bad career took off.

Kidding. Sort of. Hopefully. All that was in the bag from what I could tell was some old rusty gear and tech and a few pieces of paper to accompany the items. I looked up from the bag and back at the old man, who just watched with a pair of what seemed to be proud eyes.

I stared at him for a moment, trying to make sense of the familiarity in his eyes. “Who are you?”

The man’s face fell slightly for a moment and he placed a hand on my shoulder, dipping his head down a bit as he blinked slowly, lips curling into a smile once again. “You’ll see.”

The sound of repulsors taking off echoed through the streets, followed by the sound of flight, and both myself and the old man turned in its direction, looking up to the sky as Iron Man appeared over the rooftop.

He hovered there for a moment, silence dripping between us for a split second, before he finally let out a confused, “Pete?”

I widened my eyes. “I can explain,” I started, stepping towards him, “You see, I was helping this nice gentleman over here and—”

He flew passed me to where the man was, but as I turned around with him, the old man was gone.

Tony landed in his place, stepping towards the sidewalk slowly and looking around. “It doesn’t make sense…”

Okay, Peter. Time to be honest. I took a deep breath, “Well, to be honest, there was an explosion up the block, and it turned out to be a huge bank robbery, so I kind of had to step in and—”

“I said no suit.” He stated bluntly, but he was still distracted by our surroundings.

“I know. It’s just—it’s hard,” I confessed. “I’m sorry.”

Tony was silent in response; he was evidently listening to Friday as opposed to me, focusing in on whatever it was they were examining in the alleyway. Moments passed in silence, before he finally let out a sigh, “Alright, let’s go. We have a flight to catch.”

He lifted me from the ground, returning us to our group at the mansion a couple blocks over, cameras and all. The obligatory clips of the Iron Man suit removing itself from Tony that ABC insisted on filming bought me enough time to sneak into the mansion and snag one of the lab kits we had set aside for missions. I was able to slip it into the SUV by the time Tony finished with his numerous close-ups with the film crew.

The remainder of our morning once we actually arrived at the airport was just that. Cameras, interviews, weird filmed moments where we all chatted about absolutely nothing in an effort to seem like we were actually engaging in real conversations—then pause, break, and we were back to loading Mr. Stark’s private jets.

Yes. Jets. As in plural.

Because we weren’t going to fly with the ABC people, right? They had to be there waiting for us upon our arrival anyway.

Eyeroll.

It was only about eleven in the morning by the time we took off, but it felt like the day had been going on for hours already. The jet we were on, which was Mr. Stark’s newest of his hybrid engine class, had quarters for him, myself, and Morgan in the back, which were separated by the full bathrooms in between. It wasn’t long before I had passed out on my bed, the shades closing on the windows to leave me in a nice, quiet slumber…

“Pete, wake up,” My father’s voice called from the door to the cabin. I stirred a bit, covering my head with my pillow. “Shower quickly and get out here, we’re landing soon.”

Soon? Already? How long had I been asleep?

I sprung out of bed, heading to the bathrooms to shower in the circular full shower, washing up as fast as I could, before I dressed in some warm weather clothes and headed out to the cabin, natural sunlight blinding me a bit before I could see outside the windows at the…

Islands? Surrounded by turquoise… lagoons?

How long had I been asleep?

My father walked over to me, looking out the window alongside me with a grin on his face. “Welcome to Bora Bora, Peter.”

#the bachelor: tony stark edition #bachelor au #tony stark #peter parker #stevetony #stony #stony fic #stevetony fic #tony stark fic #endgame fix it #mine

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shhh-no-ones-home · 4 years ago

Text

noir 1/2 bucky barnes x vampire!reader

+++++++++

part 1 part 2

i had thought about making a part three with smut in it so if thats something you would like to see please let me know and ill finish it lol

Song: my name is human by highly suspect

tag list: @cynic-spirit

+++++++++

I sat at the table across from James and watched as he looked around nervously. We had already ordered drinks but not much conversation had gone on yet.

"This isn't really your scene is it?"

I asked and he finally looked at me, brows raised like I'd caught him off guard.

"Uh, my uh, last date didn't go so well."

He said and I nodded.

"I'll drink to that."

I raised my glass to him before taking a drink. He let out a short laugh before looking away again.

"So, James, why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself."

I said and he cleared his throat.

"Well for starters uh you can call me bucky, that's what my friends call me."

I nodded slowly, he seemed like he was reminiscing for a moment.

"Um I'm a hundred and six."

He said lightly and I laughed. He looked nervous again.

"If you're a hundred and six then so am I."

I quipped back and he seemed shocked.

"Right."

A nervous laugh. Cute. I took another drink.

"No seriously."

I said and he nodded.

"I'm not really one for mockery."

He said stoically and I shook my head.

"No, no, don't take it that way! I'm not either. I'm sorry it came off that way."

I said quickly and I could see him shift to rub his gloved hands together under the table.

"In all actuality 1917 was a pretty interesting year, if I'm doing my math correct."

He drew his brows.

"It was?"

He asked and I nodded.

"Well it's not every day America joins a world war, late to the party as usual but still. Don't get me wrong there was a lot that happened that year but that was probably the most memorable. My husband at the time was drafted that September."

He looked even more confused than he did earlier, his brows almost touching at this point if it weren't for the frown line between them.

"I know it's impolite to ask a woman her age but exactly how old are you?"

He asked quizzically and I looked up to think for a moment.

"Uh, this year on my actual birthday I will be two... Hundred and... Eight? I think?"

He laughed before taking a drink, finally smiling.

"Great."

He said before leaning over and pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

"This was fun."

He said, slapping a twenty on the table and moving to stand.

"Bucky wait!"

He paused and looked back at me.

"Can we talk... Somewhere a little more private?"

I asked and he sighed, looking to the ground.

"Fine."

I stood quickly to match him, grabbing my bag off the back of the chair and following him outside. When we made it out the door I saw him tense a little bit, glancing to me a few times as we lazed down the sidewalk.

"Are you cold?"

He asked, reaching for his jacket zipper and I stopped him.

"No, no, I'm perfect, thank you though. You probably need it more than me."

There was the confused look again.

"You're probably trying to figure me out aren't you?"

He sighed, half shaking his head as he looked to the ground ahead of us.

"I guess I'm just trying to figure out why you would lie to me? Forgive me for being blunt but that's at least how it seems, even after I told you I didn't like being mocked."

I laughed a little.

"Bucky I didn't lie to you. My situation is - complicated."

He looked over me again.

"I am two hundred and eight, that wasn't a lie. Or, at least I don't think it was, it's hard to remember after all these years the exact number. But I was born in 1815 in new York after my mother immigrated to the states. It was a rough childhood and an even rougher lifestyle growing into my teens."

We kept walking. He was listening intently but seemed like he still wasn't so sure about me.

"I was engaged to be married by my seventeenth birthday but the night before my wedding I was kidnapped."

He looked to me in surprise.

"I was placed as an indentured servant in a trading charter, seen by many of the soldiers stationed on the coast of the capitol. That went on for a while and when I had reached my twenty fifth birthday I had earned my freedom."

He motioned to a small cafe on the strip and I nodded, him holding the door as we stepped in, the warmth engulfing both of us.

"Do you want a drink?"

He asked and I nodded.

"How about I get this one."

I offered, ordering before him and paying after him. When we had gotten our drinks we took to a booth in the very back of the cafe.

"So, you were free..."

He started and I let out a short laugh.

"Nice to know you're listening."

I said and he raised his cup to me. I cleared my throat.

"I was free, finally. It felt like forever to get there. But by then I was seen as too old; too old to Mary, to have kids, to live a life on my own. Many assumed I was a widow at this point, even moving back to new York with as progressive as it was still didn't feel right. It didn't feel like home anymore. Until I met him."

He raised a brow and I smiled to myself.

"My first real love, the one who made me."

"No pressure."

He said and I laughed, taking his one hand in mine. His body tensed.

"Don't worry, he's been dead a while."

I said, letting him go and he nodded once.

"Right."

I side nodded.

"Well to make that long story short, he proposed to me after two weeks of courting, we got married the following spring, and on our honeymoon he revealed to me what he really was."

"A crime boss?"

Bucky said and I laughed, him finally loosening up a bit as he took another drink.

"I think that would've been easier to live with but no. And I ask that you please don't laugh at this next part but rather, hear me out."

He rested both his hands on either side of his cup and gave me his full attention.

"Cross my heart."

He said and I sighed.

"He revealed to me that he was undead, that he was a vampire of sorts."

When I looked to him he looked like he was going to crack.

"I'm serious."

I said light hearted, hitting his shoulder as he started laughing.

"He turned me before our trip back to the city."

He nodded, rubbing his eye as he settled down, the smile still prevalent on his features.

"Sure."

I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Now who's mocking who?"

I asked and he shook his head.

"It's just a little hard to believe is all. You seem like such a normal young woman. Maybe a history buff who digs this old man but still."

I snorted at his words, taking a drink.

"You are young in my eyes bucky, believe me."

He shook his head.

"Okay, this is what, 1840?"

"Forty two i think, but yeah."

He sent me a look.

"Let me just get back to the story okay?"

He held his hands up in defense.

"Please, by all means."

I playfully rolled my eyes.

"Thank you. Now we were home, I was a newby and was so hungry all the time. He was terrible at taming a new vampire and I did eat a few of our neighbors but we lived in a bad part of town so people didn't really question it much when residents went missing. But what I didn't realize is that we were being watched and one day when I came home from work I found my husband decapitated on our living room floor."

His eyes went wide.

"I cried like a maniac but when I had heard someone still in the apartment I attacked them. They told me they were assigned to kill me because I was too dangerous. I ended him and I've been on the run ever since. After that I was desperate to find new love again. I've had courtships over the years but the early 1900's were pretty rough. Every husband I ever had was drafted into a war that shouldn't have happened. And I don't fear for my life as much anymore since I've lived in almost every state in this stupid country,"

We both laughed a little at that.

"But I do think of it often. The later years, the eighties and nineties were much easier as far as life and lovers went but even then I couldn't stay with them long."

He seemed empathetic.

"Why not?"

"Well, many people don't employ the idea that you'll live longer than them, it's a losing game. And even those I was open with, they begged me to turn them but I always refused. It didn't seem worth it to put the hurt I felt onto anyone else. And I don't say this to scare you off bucky but I've lived, and I mean really lived. I had one husband murdered, three drafted and lost to war, and three divorces; two of which ended with my exs dying of natural causes shortly after getting into new relationships. One had a heart attack and the other passed during a surgery."

I paused, looking to the table as his eyes tried to study me.

"Ive heard about you, I've been to the Smithsonian exhibit and honestly it all seemed like a myth. But then your friend saw me and pushed you to ask me out I actually saw hope for the first time in a long time. It's not often I can find someone with as much... Uh, life experience."

He cleared his throat, looking away when I looked back up to him.

"I'm not perfect."

He said and I could feel my features soften.

"It's seems I've lived just as much but I don't know if I'd exactly call it living. I was an experiment, an assassin, and a broken man. I've got a troubled past and I'm trying to work through that. Hell I wasn't even sure I'd get through this date given how my last one went."

I half smiled at him, reaching for his hand again. He wasn't as hesitant as last time but was still tense as I took it away from his cup. I looked over his face before pulling the glove off, holding the cool metal against my palm and tracing the fingers of my other hand over it.

"I wasn't blipped, I saw the news, and I saw what was lost. And I think part of you got lost with it but at the end of the day you are trying to get better. You are a hero bucky, even if it doesn't feel like it."

I watched as his jaw clenched and tightened. Then he turned his hand over and held mine. It wasn't hard or uncomfortable but it was firm, like he meant it.

"I haven't had the luxury of opening up to many people in recent times but you feel different. And don't take this the wrong way but you do feel like home."

He said softly and I couldn't help the smile making its way to my lips.

"You wanna get out of here? Maybe go back to my place? The coffee is much better."

I joked and he smiled, intertwining our fingers.

"Yeah, I think id like that."

#wattpad #x reader #vampire!reader #bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #the winter soldier #white wolf #imagines #one shots #marvel #326

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lemonpeter · 4 years ago

Text

STARKER, by Peter B. Parker

Chapter 5: Wedding

A/N: because it comes up in this chapter: we took the artistic liberty of changing canon, so our May was not blipped.

and the big day is finally here!! our babies are getting MARRIED!! enjoy all the sap! <3 -bloo and bri 💕

Warnings: marriage, reference to canonical character death

Masterlist ao3

————

"So, Tony," Mary started, leaning against her husband on the couch, glass of wine in hand. "How long have you and Peter known each other?"

Everyone was gathered in the sitting area, having just finished a wonderful home cooked meal of pot roast, potatoes, and roasted veggies, prepared by Mary, May, and Peter. But most of the work had been done by the latter.

Tony smiled softly at the question, casting a glance at Peter, who was tucked into his own side. He took a small sip from his glass before speaking. "A few years. We met through my job, actually. I was in a bit of a tricky situation, and in my search for possible- solutions, I stumbled across some of Peter's work. And I was absolutely blown away."

The statement elicited a hum of pride from Ben as he raised his beer in the air. “That’s our Pete, ever the genius. He gets it from his uncle.” The grin on his face was easy and relaxed as he nudged his knee against May’s.

Peter snorted out a quiet laugh, gazing at his uncle and then landing his eyes on Tony. “I was just happy to help,” he said sweetly. And it wasn’t untrue. He had been beyond thrilled to go to Berlin with Tony. He’d been idolizing the man nearly a decade at that point.

How had that been less than three years ago? It felt like a lifetime had passed since the day they first met, when he walked into their tiny apartment to find Tony Stark sitting on his couch, winking at him.

Mary nodded, an easy smile on her lips. “That’s perfect.” She looked at Richard, holding onto his hand. The diamond on her wedding ring glinted in the light. “Sounds a bit like us, doesn’t it?”

Her husband laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead, his gaze fond. “It does, doesn’t it? But like father, like son, I guess.” He grinned at Peter.

The young man laughed, smiling sheepishly. He knew it was different, completely so, but he made no effort to correct the statement. He liked the idea that he and Tony were like his parents. That they were just another normal couple, living a normal life. One without extraordinary responsibility, risk, pain, and loss.

The life that they were meant to live, together.

Tony chuckled, hugging Peter closer to his body. He kissed the top of his fiancé’s head, nearly a mirrored action of how the younger man’s parents had acted. And- wasn’t that something? “Well, I’m just glad I found him when I did. He changed me, and my life, for the better and I couldn’t imagine living without him at this point.”

May snorted, covering it with a cough. It wouldn’t have fit the scene for her to laugh at something that was seemingly so random. Especially since she was the only person in the room other than Peter that knew that this Tony definitely wouldn’t be able to imagine life without Peter. Not without direction from her nephew’s fantasy, that is.

Hopefully Peter wouldn’t catch her slip up.

He didn’t seem to, just glancing over to her for a second before looking at his mom as she spoke again.

“Now, what’s the plan for the wedding? When is it going to be? Oh, a late-summer wedding would be so lovely. What are you thinking?” Mary asked, rambling excitedly, eyes wide as she looked over at Tony and Peter. “I can’t believe our boy is finally getting married!”

May wished that she could ignore the way her heart clenched at the words. There was no ‘finally’. Peter shouldn’t have been getting married. He was far too young. She hated the way that no one else there could understand how wrong it all was. She had to keep reminding herself that it wasn’t real.

“Oh, well,” Peter paused and looked at Tony, both apprehension and joy visible in his eyes. He flipped his hand over on his thigh, opening and closing his fist until his partner got the hint and clasped their hands together. “We want to do something soon since everyone is here. Maybe that’s a bit unorthodox but-“

“But so are we,” Tony joked lightly, nodding encouragingly at the younger man.

Peter’s cheeks flushed a soft pink as he laughed. “Well, there’s no denying that.” And it was okay to joke about it. Because none of his family would think there was anything out of the ordinary. They couldn’t. All they’d see and react to was their love. As they should. “But yeah, something...within a few days?” Maybe even less than that.

He wanted to have his dream wedding as soon as he finished what little planning was left.

And with his family surrounding him, everything was almost complete.

It was going to be perfect.

***

With his guest list prepared and everyone nearby, the ideal venue nailed down, and the other details listed out in his notebook, Peter could only think of one last thing that needed to be taken care of.

His vows.

Sure, it wasn’t mandatory for him to write his own. But he needed Tony to know just how strong his love was, and he wanted his words to be something personal rather than the generic cookie-cutter vows. He couldn’t let such a meaningful event go by without taking the opportunity to convey how much he truly loved the older man.

So Peter started on that last step, the words pouring out of him as he wrote them down. It felt as if he was putting his whole heart onto the paper, bearing it for all to see. Luckily, none of the people who would witness the fruits of his efforts would be judging him in any way.

No one other than himself, that was.

***

The night before the wedding found Peter puttering around the bedroom in one of Tony’s band t-shirts and a pair of pajama pants. He ran his hands through his already unruly hair, going down his mental checklist, when the older man walked in. “Hey T,” he sighed, smiling softly in his direction.

“You’re sure I can’t sleep in here tonight?” Tony pouted, sitting down on the edge of the bed. His overnight bag was on the floor by his feet, the garment bag containing his suit already out in the living room for him to grab on his way to one of the guest rooms. Where his soon-to-be husband was insisting he spend the night.

Peter chuckled under his breath and took a few steps so that he was standing in front of the other man. He draped his arms around Tony’s neck, looking down into his eyes. “I’m positive.” When the pout only deepened at his words, he rolled his eyes playfully. “It’s bad luck for you to see me before tomorrow, Tony! I’m serious- You are not to lay eyes on me until I’m making my way to the altar!”

“I don’t think that superstition counts if you’re not wearing a dress,” the sulky man pointed out, grumbling under his breath. He paused, frowning at Peter once more for good measure. “But fine,” he muttered after a moment, having accepted his fate when Peter’s expression didn’t change. “At least give me a kiss to hold me over, then?”

And who was Peter to say no to that?

He leaned down a little, closing the short distance between them as he pressed his lips to Tony’s quickly. Just a peck.

Of course, it couldn’t just stay a soft kiss with Tony. He was immediately trying to turn it into more, pulling Peter closer and nipping at his bottom lip enticingly.

Despite the way his stomach swooped at the sensation, the younger man pulled away, laughing softly. “No, no. That’s not going to work. Don’t even try that.”

Tony hummed, a slightly smug look on his face. He seemed to know just what kind of reaction he’d elicited. “Don’t try what? I can’t say I know what you mean, Pete...”

Peter laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re impossible. You know that?” He kissed the older man gently one more time before sitting down on the bed beside him. Letting his head lean to the side to rest his temple on Tony’s shoulder, he let out a deep breath, just enjoying the warmth of the innocent contact.

“It’s one of my best qualities,” Tony shot back playfully, his own head tilting to lean on the top of Peter’s. He slowly stood up after a moment, stretching his back and rotating his torso a few times. He cast a look in the teen’s direction. “But fine, I’m going now. To that cold, empty guest room. Where I’ll sleep all alone,” he said dramatically, throwing his head back slightly with a flourish. He bent over to scoop his bag up from the ground and took a step away from the bed.

Despite knowing that his partner was joking, Peter couldn’t help the way his chest grew tight. He didn’t want to actually go to sleep without Tony. Just the thought caused his heart to lurch with panic and made him want to cry. He didn’t want to be away from him at all, not even in their current situation. Traditions be damned. “Tony...”

Turning around, the taller man raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?” He caught the look in the other’s eyes and immediately turned around to face him, taking a small step closer. “Peter? What is it, what’s wrong, baby? Is it what I said? I’m just joking, Pete, it’s okay. I’m sor-”

Peter shook his head rapidly. He sniffed softly to try and lessen the stinging sensation in the back of his nose. “No, no don’t be sorry Tony, I know you’re kidding. But- Can you maybe…,” he trailed off, blinking a few times against the moisture that was building up. His eyes locked on Tony’s before darting away.

God, why was he so anxious and upset? Literally all he needed to do was tell Tony that he’d changed his mind.

“I just- Can you stay, maybe?” He chanced a look back at Tony, who was nodding with the expression of someone who had just been asked what they thought was a ridiculously easy question.

“Of course, babydoll,” Tony said, dropping the small duffel to the floor and pulling the young man into his arms. He pressed a kiss to the side of his head and squeezed him tight for a moment. “C’mon, let’s go to bed, we can cuddle for a while.” He smiled softly as they pulled away from each other, ducking down quickly to touch his lips to Peter’s. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

***

Everything went smoothly after that. The couple slept soundly, snuggled together all night long with Peter’s head pressed up against Tony’s chest.

And they stayed that way for a while after waking, whispering to each other in the morning light. The two didn’t separate until it was absolutely necessary and they needed to get ready, lest they be late to their own wedding.

Everyone made their way to the venue (although the rest of them would have believed they traveled by car, Peter knew that all he’d done was shift the scene) and settled in their appropriate areas to get ready.

It was getting close to starting time and no one had seen Peter yet. So May decided that it could be a good time for her to fully immerse herself in the illusion once again.

“Not getting cold feet, are you?” She asked gently as she stepped into the room that was serving as the 'bridal' suite. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight that greeted her.

Peter was standing in front of the full-length mirror, his back to the door. His hair was curled haphazardly on top of his head, effortlessly beautiful, a few pieces falling down into his face as he fussed with the white button-up and black vest he was putting on to go with his dark tailored trousers

She was suddenly struck with the memory of watching a much smaller boy get himself ready for a funeral, staring at himself in the too-large suit jacket that had been her husband’s just a few days prior.

Just a little boy playing dress up, trying to be a man.

Peter’s head jerked up at the sound of her voice, and she realized that her sudden appearance must not have fit exactly with his script for this scene.

He made eye contact with her in the mirror, finishing up the last button on his shirt. An excited yet nervous smile tugged at his lips. “What? Of course not.” The tone of his voice suggested that he thought it silly, the notion that he’d ever second guess marrying Tony. That it was a decision he would happily make without thinking at all.

And in her opinion, he kind of was.

The woman held back her reservations and gave him a gentle smile, coming to help with the tie that was hanging undone around his neck. “I’m glad to hear that, bubby.” At least, that’s what she was going to lead Peter to believe. She still didn’t approve, illusion or not.

It was only partially due to the fact that the other party involved was Tony Stark. Her dislike, bordering on apathy, for the man was no secret. He’d gotten her nephew, her baby, killed further away from home than she’d ever even imagined possible. But not before whisking him away on a covert mission to Germany, then abandoning him after burdening him with what was an absurd amount of responsibility for even a grown man. Peter had come clean about everything after he returned from the Blip.

She never forgot the way she felt when she saw the video of Peter being dragged into space by that creature, the panic of not being able to get in touch with him.

Nor the way Tony Stark had shown up on her doorstep, haggard and unkempt, after dodging her calls for weeks. How he wasn’t able to even look her in the eye as he confirmed what she already knew- That her baby wasn’t coming home, that he’d been taken away from her without the chance to say goodbye. The chance to tell him that he was enough, that he didn’t need to save the world to be worthy. That he was her world.

She’d come to a sort of peace about it all after the Blip was reversed. She never absolved Stark of the role he played in Peter’s death, but she was able to reconcile it with the fact that he sacrificed his own life to restore those of half of the world’s population.

With that, she believed that she’d never have to see him again. He was gone. And that was just fine with her.

Yet he was still haunting her. The very man who she felt was at fault for robbing her of five years with Peter was causing her nephew to break, to get lost in his own mind. The ass was dead, but he was still managing to screw things up.

Because even the near-peace she felt she had reached towards the man didn't mean she was okay him marrying, or even dating, her underage nephew. Sure, Peter was the age of consent in New York, but that was just a technicality. She kept having to remind herself that none of it was real, but rather an extremely detailed fantasy that she was experiencing secondhand.

She was definitely going to talk to Peter about the relationship once the whole thing was over. He had to know that none of it was possible in the real world.

Peter couldn’t let go. He’d already lost so much, she could see that he couldn’t bear to lose this too. Not at the moment. It was the one place he felt safe and happy, after not feeling either of those things for who knew how long.

And May was forced to watch helplessly from the side.

She could see that he was different. Even if what she saw wasn’t his physical body, there was a look in his eyes that broke her heart. It was almost wild as he frantically grasped at pieces of his reality, unhinged. But his eyes also held a dullness that she hadn’t seen in a long time. One she’d hoped to never see again.

The same look she’d seen on that newly orphaned little boy’s face on the way home from the service, in the faraway expression on the lanky teen that had lost yet another person he loved.

She had to keep reminding herself of the plan. She had to play along to the best of her abilities and keep Peter happy until she could convince him to shut the illusion down and come home.

Everything in her wanted to beg him to just give up this mess and come home to her already. She’d barely had him back before he was gone again, this time of his own accord. But she knew that she couldn’t. Not yet. She just had to play along.

Hopefully not for much longer.

The woman directed her attention back to Peter after pushing the thoughts away. “It’s about time to get this show on the road, isn’t it?” She didn’t want to give him away. Even if it was just for this fantasy of his. It felt like she was losing him entirely to the world he’d created in his mind.

Peter nodded slowly, hands fidgeting nervously with his clothes. “Yeah, almost. I should probably start...heading out there, huh? Although it’s not like things can start without me,” he joked softly.

May figured that much was definitely true. “Yeah, I guess you should. And I should too. I’ll be right there, bubby. Right next to Ben and your parents.” The words felt wrong to say. No matter how badly either of them wanted it, Mary and Richard were never going to be there to see him get married. Neither was her Ben.

But there they were anyways. Saving a seat for her.

She wasn’t sure if it was any better than sitting beside three empty seats, reserved for people incapable of occupying them.

***

There was an easy smile on Peter's face as he looked around, heart pounding. It was nearly time for it to really begin. Almost time to finally make his way down the aisle.

He was really going to marry the man of his dreams. He was gonna marry Tony Stark.

Then the scene began shifting, the walls slowly disappearing from around him.

His heart nearly stopped. He was worried that the whole thing was all falling apart, melting away right before his eyes. Panic bloomed in his chest. But he was still in control, evidenced by the small bouquet of flowers he thought into existence on a whim, so he didn’t understand what could possibly have been happening.

When the smoke (or pixels, technically) cleared and he could finally work out his surroundings again, he felt tears stinging his eyes as his breath caught in his throat.

It wasn’t the huge, extravagant venue from before. Not even close. Gone was the large ballroom, striking in its opulence. There was nothing grand or luxurious about what he saw now but it felt so much more like them. It was perfect.

All around Peter was a bright, plush green meadow dotted with pastel-colored wildflowers. Tall trees surrounded the perimeter of the clearing, separating them from the rest of the world. Sunlight shone through the foliage in scattered beams, casting everything in an ethereal glow. The air was sweet and calm, instantly calming his nerves.

Turning his head, he saw that he was standing on the porch of a small log cabin. May was standing in the entryway, watching him with wide eyes. It warmed his heart to see how emotional she was, how much she cared about him and his happiness.

And just a few yards away was the ceremony. Tony was already standing in front of the makeshift altar with Uncle Ben, eyes shining as he watched Peter. He smiled softly before biting his lip and winking, the actions at odds with the way he brought a hand up in a slight wave before clasping them both in front of him. His thumbs wrestled with each other, twiddling back and forth.

Peter recognized the gesture as something his lover did when he was feeling nervous about something and trying to hide it.

Too bad Peter knew most of his tells.

The young man smiled from the steps as he began descending them, stepping down into the lush grass in a few strides.

He caught movement out the corner of his eye and he watched as a small pastel yellow butterfly landed on the wildflower bouquet clutched in his left hand.

A soft laugh bubbled up from Peter’s chest. He just couldn’t help himself. He thought he’d had what he wanted, but what he ended up with was so much better than he could have imagined. It was absolutely magical.

He turned around slightly when he heard May come to stand beside him.

“You ready, baby?” Her eyes were shining wetly behind her glasses, the wind gently blowing the skirt of her lilac colored dress.

Nodding, Peter took a deep breath and clutched at his aunt’s hand. “I’m getting married, May,” he said quietly, awestruck and wide eyed as they started making their way to the altar, unable to help the teary smile on his face.

May sniffled and squeezed his hand. “Yeah, you are, bubby.” Her voice was soft, but he could hear the slight wobble she was trying to hide. “You make sure he treats you right, okay?”

“I know he will,” Peter assured her, turning to look at the older man as they walked, the song of the birds in the trees serving as the wedding march. “Tony would never do anything to hurt me.”

May just hummed softly in response, locking eyes with Ben as they reached the beginning of the trail of brightly colored petals leading up to the altar, which had the same blooms intertwined with the lattice of the thin sticks it was composed of. She choked out a wet laugh when the man just grinned and winked at her.

Peter felt something give in his chest at the interaction, struck by the familiarity, and he clutched the bouquet tighter in his hand when Tony’s eyes met his.

The teen didn’t look away once until he and May came to a stop in front of the two men.

His aunt pressed her lips to his cheek in a kiss, squeezing his hand one last time and taking the bouquet from him before going to sit down beside his parents, who were seated on a wooden bench a few feet away from them.

Ben took a small step forward to knock his elbow against Peter’s. “You ready, champ?” His eyes searched the boy’s as the younger nodded. “Great,” he said softly, grinning as he moved back to his spot, glancing at Tony before turning to his family.

“We’re gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of the two men standing in front of me, Peter and Tony. To celebrate their love. Which is something I’m fortunate enough to know a thing or two about, myself. My May, our love and the wonderful life I’ve been able to share with her, that’s the most special thing I’ve ever experienced, and I’m overjoyed that Peter has found his own soulmate.”

Peter sniffled, tears already stinging in his eyes, despite the fact that they’d just gotten started. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, fingers twitching restlessly.

“I’ll be reading some traditional vows, but first, Tony and Peter have some words they’d like to share with each other. You're up first, right Pete?” Ben turned his head toward the younger man.

The teen nodded at his uncle and looked down at his feet, taking a deep breath before lifting his head up and gazing deeply into the eyes of the man he was about to marry.

"Tony," he said, voice cracking. "I've spent hours trying to figure out what I wanted to say to you, but nothing I came up with seemed good enough. And I realized that nothing ever would be, and that all I could do was try my best to show you how much I love you. And that's just it, that's exactly what I'm going to spend the rest of our life doing. So I- Tony, I promise to always do my best, to be the best man that I can. Because you and your love are the best thing that will ever happen to me." He took a shaky breath, steeling himself for his next words. “And I know that nothing is stronger than our love for each other.”

The older man gazed at him, eyes alight with adoration. “I’ll be the first to admit that I never really believed in true love. Had I felt love, even been in love before? Yeah, of course. But none of that ever felt predestined, none of it felt like fate. None of that was inevitable.” He paused, swallowing thickly. “But then I met you, Pete. And you completely turned my world upside down. You changed everything.”

A soft sound slipped from Peter’s lips, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to prevent it from happening again. “Tony,” he said tearfully, the sound muffled by his palm.

His love just shook his head and shot him a wobbly smile. “It’s true, baby. You are what was always missing, that thing that I never knew I needed, but now know I cannot live without. And I’ll continue to do whatever is necessary to ensure that I never have to. You’ll never want for anything, physically or emotionally. I vow to give you all of me, everything that I am. Because you’re it for me, Peter.” The tears escaping his eyes did nothing to take away from the lopsided grin that overtook his face. “This right here...this is my endgame.”

Peter’s mouth was open before he could stop it. “I love you,” he blurted as he reached out to grab the older man’s hand, biting back a sob. “Tony I love you so much-,” he rushed out.

Tony chuckled, the hand Peter wasn’t holding moving up to cup his cheek and swipe away the tear that was rolling down his skin. “I love you too, baby.”

It was quiet, everyone touched as the love between the two of them was put on display.

“And I guess it’s my turn now.” Ben cleared his throat after a moment in an attempt to get rid of the lump that had formed there. “If you’ll take out the rings, please.” He waited as the men each pulled a thin gold band from their pockets. "Do you, Peter Benjamin Parker, take this man, Anthony Edward Stark, to be your lawfully wedded husband-"

"I do, you know I do," Peter choked out through his tears, unable to keep himself from interrupting yet again. He reached out for Tony’s hand and clumsily slid the metal onto his ring ringer. The chuckles that followed caused a red flush to take over his face, but he held fast to his statement. Of course he did, Tony was the most important person in his life. Getting to marry him and spend the rest of their days together was a dream come true. He wasn’t sorry about it at all.

His uncle just shook his head, smiling fondly at his excitement. "Alright, hold your horses, Pete- And do you, Anthony Edward Stark, take this man, Peter Benjamin Parker, to be your lawfully wedded husband?" He paused there, eyes shining as he playfully glanced at Tony as if he were going to interrupt as well.

Tony just bit back a smirk, eyes moving from Ben back to Peter. His hands squeezed at the younger man’s, and his eyes twinkled in the afternoon light that came through the trees.

Ben continued once it was clear that the man was going to keep quiet until it was his turn to speak. "To have and to hold from this day forward? To love and to cherish for better or worse, for richer or poorer, through sickness and in health, til death do you part?"

“I do,” Tony answered, not breaking his gaze at Peter as he spoke. Then he did look away, taking both of Peter’s hands in his to place the ring on his finger, running his thumb over it once it was in place.

“Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you Mr. and Mr. Stark. You may now kiss your husband.”

Their lips met before the sentence was even finished.

***

Peter laughed as he was lifted into the air, not fighting it as Tony grabbed him bridal-style and carried him into the cabin he had exited earlier. “What are you doing?” His giddiness was apparent in his voice.

“What? I’m carrying you over the threshold,” Tony told him with a grin. “It’s traditional. I was under the impression that you were all for traditions.” He carried his husband through the doorway, leaning down to kiss him gently.

They were officially husbands.

As their lips met, the scene began shifting again.

The soft, homey feel of the cabin slowly melted away, a more sophisticated room developing around them. It was almost like watching instant film develop, though much faster. The sounds of family and nature slowly ceased. All that mattered was Tony and their kiss. The way Tony’s slightly chapped lips were moving against his.

When they finally parted again and opened their eyes the setting was completely changed.

Tony didn’t seem to notice, carrying Peter over to the plush white bed and setting him down. His eyes drank in the way the teen looked in the evening light, bathed in the pinks and purples of the sunset outside. “I think this will be a wonder to sleep on tonight. As well as...other things,” he said suggestively.

Peter laughed, shaking his head as he glanced around the room. The bed was huge, a california king like the one in the penthouse, with crisp sheets and topped with a down comforter that swallowed him up like a cloud as he lay on top of it. Two of the walls were almost completely glass, reminding him of their bedroom and making him feel at home in the luxurious setting.

It was way nicer than anything he’d ever actually been in, except maybe for the hotel they’d stayed in on their ‘retreat’ to Berlin. But this time he wasn’t down the hall from Tony, they were sharing a room. Sharing a bed. And it was perfect. His blood thrummed in his veins. “Oh yeah? That’s some pretty big talk. You sound like you have plans.”

The older man hummed, crawling onto the bed with his husband after kicking his shoes off and leaving them to land on the plush dark gray carpet. “I just might. Would you be interested in hearing them?”

“Hmm. Perhaps I could be persuaded.” Peter stretched out on the bed, stroking one hand through Tony’s hair as the man leaned his forehead against his chest, pressing a kiss over his heart. “Of course I wanna know, I’m just teasing.” One of his hands came up to grab at Tony’s hair.

Tony nodded, a soft hum escaping his lips as he moved up closer in order to kiss Peter again. He shifted and nudged a knee between the young man’s thighs to support himself as he hovered over his body. The kiss deepened, mouths moving together sensually before they pulled apart to breathe, only to reconnect seconds later, neither of them wanting to part any time soon.

They could leave the talking and just do. Following the way they felt, using their bodies to communicate with each other, was so much better than talking it out, anyways. There was no second-guessing, no pausing to try and get the words right.

Their bodies stayed intertwined the rest of the night, the newlywed husbands hardly parting from each other once.

And nothing was going to break them apart.

Til death do us part, their vows claimed.

But not even death was strong enough to do such a thing.

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #Peter’s EDITH!verse #SbPBP #B&B write #May Parker #Mary and Richard Parker #tw marriage #starker fluff #for now anyways #family fluff

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rachaelswrites · 4 years ago

Text

Fatws: Rewrite

New World Order

Bucky Barnes x Daughter!reader, Sam Wilson x teen!reader

The sound of the TV playing was slowly starting to lull you to sleep. Despite not doing anything most days, you were still always tired. You and your dad were sitting on the small couch in the apartment, watching whatever trashy show was on that you found remotely interesting.

“Is this what people watch nowadays? I don’t even get this,” Bucky huffed.

You nodded and mumbled an, “I guess so.”

Bucky looked over at you with a frown, but smiled a bit seeing you starting to drift off. You were starting to lean onto his shoulder, “Go to sleep doll. It’s getting late,” he said. He knew you were tired when you didn’t return his earlier comment about the TV with a comment about his old age.

“I'm not tired dad. One more episode,” you said sitting up straighter.

“Yes you are. I can tell,” he argued back.

“Fine,” you stood up from the couch to move to the small bed area on the floor but Bucky stopped you.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Going to bed. You can have the couch so you can still watch TV. I’m fine on the floor,” you explained.

“No. You stay here,” he pulled you back to the couch and tossed a blanket to you, “I get the floor.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “Well maybe I want the floor.”

“Well you don’t get the floor. I’m your dad so I get to decide,” he stood up and kissed the top of your head before you could protest even more, “Don’t even think about trying to argue with me,” he grabbed his own blanket and laid down on the floor mat, “Cause it won’t work.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows and peered over the edge of the couch, “You sure about that?”

“Wanna give it a go?” he asked.

You just smirked and laid back down, pulling the blanket over your head. Bucky sighed, wishing you hadn’t inherited his sarcastic nature and rolled onto his side so he could still watch the TV and keep an eye on you. Despite there being no threat of violence for months, he still kept his protective ways. Soon enough, the sounds from the TV made him fall asleep shortly after you did.

~~~~~

A few hours after you two fell asleep, a sudden noise made you open your eyes. You had been trained to not make sudden moves if there was an intruder. You knew it would be better to pretend to be asleep than show you were awake and not a threat.

You slowly opened your eyes, hoping to sneak a peak of whatever was happening around you. Through your half open eyes, you saw your dad sitting up and breathing heavily. You knew the signs all too well, a nightmare. You watched as Bucky glanced over to you and you quickly shut your eyes again. You knew he would feel bad if he saw you were woken up by his nightmare. Bucky looked at you shifting in your sleep and was grateful he didn’t wake you. Most nights you at least would sit up and ask him if he was okay. He hated you worrying over him and waking up because of him. He should be the one comforting you about nightmares, not the other way around.

The two of you would consider you lucky. While under HYDRA, you were used as a spy. You weren’t around death as much as Bucky was and since you were younger and still impressionable, you weren’t tortured nearly as much as he was. Your nightmares were rare now, only happening once every few weeks but the last one was about a year ago. It was worse right after the Blip but Steve was there to help you through them. He taught you how to cope with everything. You remembered how he helped you and used those strategies for yourself. You had them under control.

~~~~~

The next morning Bucky was grouchy. It was the day of his court mandated therapy and he hated it. You had to go through it also, more on a voluntary basis than him, but you enjoyed your sessions much more. On top of his sarcasm, you also inherited your dad’s stubbornness. It wasn’t as bad as his, but it did cause some problems with your therapist.

~~~~~

You walked into Dr. Kingston’s office and sat down on the couch. He smiled at you and pulled out his notes from the last session. You liked Dr. Kingston. He didn’t push too much from you and after a few sessions, he learned how to tell when you had too much. This was one of the only opportunities you had to talk about everything. You didn’t bring it up around your dad and you had no one else to talk to. You didn’t have friends and you didn’t go to school. You didn’t mind having just your dad and your therapist though.

“How are you doing Y/n?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” you responded.

“Just okay? Did something happen since last week?”

“Not really,” you said, “Dad had a nightmare last night but it didn’t really bug me.”

“But it woke you up? Does he know you know?”

You bit your lip and didn’t answer. You didn’t want him to know because he would tell Bucky’s therapist and she would tell Bucky.

“Y/n,” he said again, in a more serious tone, “You know I don’t tell anyone what happens here. How many times have I told you that?”

“Almost every single week,” you mumbled, “But I’ve read that if the patient is a minor, parents can have access to their medical information, including therapy stuff. If I tell you, you write it down and my dad can look at it and he’ll know. I don’t want him to know.”

“Okay two things,” he said, “First, where did you hear that from?”

“I read it online,” you said.

“Where online? Cause there is more to it than that. I wasn’t even sure you knew what the internet was.”

“I do know what the internet is thank you very much and I don’t know where it was. Just some website,” you shrugged.

“For an ex-HYDRA soldier, you really don’t pay attention to close details.”

“HYDRA spy actually,” you corrected, “I was a spy not a soldier. I only had basic self-defense training, not the fancy stuff everyone else did.”

“Right,” he said, writing something down, “Spy. Not soldier.”

“You should really know that. I’ve been seeing you for months and you got that wrong. Good job doc,” you said sarcastically.

“Point aside. My second thing is, why don’t you want him to know? You two are close, considering everything. Why don’t you want him to know you know about his nightmares?”

You shrugged again, “I don’t want him to feel bad. He’s done so much for me and sacrificed a whole lot. You know,” you leaned a little closer to Dr. Kingston, “If he still wants to have me in his life, he has to do this. I know he hates this but he does it for me. I feel bad.”

“Why?”

You groaned, “I don’t know. That’s your job to figure out my feelings for me.”

“My job is to help you through everything that has happened to you. I can’t do my job if you don’t do yours,” Dr. Kingston explained.

“What’s my job then?”

“Tell me what you want. I can’t help you if I don’t know what you want to do. All this time and you haven't once mentioned anything about a goal.”

You stayed silent for a while. Your stubbornness was setting in and you didn’t want to answer him.

“Give me something Y/n,” he said, “Anything. It can be short-term or long-term. You remember those right?”

You did but you didn’t even nod your head. You ignored him. You checked the clock on the wall not so secretly and he followed your gaze.

“You have thirty seconds to answer or I have to put you down for another session this week. I don’t think your dad would want to sit in this building for another hour more than he has to.”

“Fine,” you said harshly, “I want to be normal. I want to wake up tomorrow morning and be normal. Not an ex-HYDRA spy and not the daughter of the Winter Soldier. Normal.”

“Well that’s impossible,” Dr. Kingston said.

You threw your hands up in frustration, “What the hell? You asked for my goal and I told you. Now you’re saying it’s impossible. That’s not right,” you went to stand up but he held his hand up.

“Sit down Y/n. Let me explain,” he waited for you to sit down before he explained, “You will never be normal and you need to start accepting that. You will never be like those girls at the school I know you’re registered for, but you’re not going to. You have a past that will follow you forever. I can help you find a new normal but you won’t be “normal,” normal. You understand?”

You nodded.

“And, even if you could be normal, change doesn’t happen overnight.”

“Yes it does,” you argued, “My whole life, change has happened overnight.”

“Give me some examples then,” he said, He had his pen and paper at the ready.

“Okay, Let’s see. In nineteen forty-two, my dad joined the army and one night he was here, the next he was gone. Then, he was alive one day and dead the next. Then, a few years later, he was alive again, and then dead. Then I got taken and I was turned into a monster. And every single time I woke up from cryo, the world was different. It would be twenty years later but for me, it was a single night’s sleep. For eighty freaking years, I went to cryo in one decade and woke up two later. For me, change happens overnight,” you ranted.

“You know you’re not a monster right? You did what you had to and what you were forced to do. No one thinks you’re a monster, Y/n.”

“That’s not the point. The point is, I’m not used to change taking so long and it’s driving me crazy. Each time we meet and I’m not my normal, I go crazy. I’m not used to this,” you said.

“I know that. And I know that it will take time for you to re-adjust to more slower changes. Change does take time and you will come out of it better.”

“How do you know that? Last time I changed, I was, you know.”

“I know you Y/n. I have faith that if you just listen to what I say and hold in there, you’ll be fine.”

You glanced at the clock and saw your time was up now, “Great chat doc. I’ll definitely give that whole “normal” thing a try,” you said as you rolled your eyes. You stood from the couch and stormed out of the room. You wiped the tears that were brimming in your eyes and before you reached your dad in the waiting room, cleared all signs of anger from your body.

~~~~~

It was a habit that both you and Bucky enjoyed. You two took time out of your day to walk the streets of the city. The last time the two of you were there at the same time, it was the forties and you were only five. The world was much different to you back then and it was different to Bucky also. New technology and new buildings overwhelmed him the first time he was back. During the Blip, you had gotten used to the more modern and urban setting but you experienced the world differently than you did when you were younger. When the Blip happened, you were ten and now you were fifteen. You had five years to learn and explore whereas Bucky didn’t. He relied upon you for help sometimes.

“They did what?” Bucky exclaimed, “And they were just allowed to?”

“Yup!” you said absentmindedly. You were looking up at the clouds that littered the sky and didn’t notice the person you almost ran into. Bucky had to pull you by the arm to get you out of the way.

“You need to pay more attention, doll,” he teased.

“And you need to-” you were cut off by Bucky’s hand in front of your face, telling you to be quiet. He heard a small argument in an alley nearby and walked over to it, you following behind.

It was Yori and some other person. You followed Bucky into the alley as he stepped between the two men, “Hey, Hey. What’s going on, Yori? I thought we were getting lunch.”

“Unique is putting his trash in my can,” Yori said.

“Trash is trash,” the other man, who you assumed was Unique, said.

Yori raised his hand, “And now it’s time for me to smack-” he was cut off by Bucky, who grabbed his hand and pulled it down. Unique stepped back and out of the way and into you.

“Watch it,” you mumbled under your breath. Bucky shot you a “be nice” look before taking Yori a few feet away, leaving you alone with Unique.

He stuck his hand out for you to shake but you ignored it, “I’m Unique by the way. Kinda like Monique but with a U. To be unique you know.”

“I don’t care,” you said. You ignored him until Bucky came back with a much calmer Yori. Bucky walked alongside Yori and made sure you were following before heading towards the Izzy’s for lunch.

~~~~~

You, your dad and Yori sat at the bar table in the restaurant, eating what you had ordered for lunch. You were minding your own business, letting the two adults talk about whatever they wanted until a particular phrase caught your attention.

“You should ask her out,” Yori said to your dad.

Bucky’s eyes went wide and he shook his head, “Mmm mnn. No.”

“C’mon. It’ll be fun,” you said.

“Stay out of this Y/n. You’re too young to have an opinion about dating,” he said back.

“Eighty is too young? Really?” you said. Bucky playfully smacked your arm. Before he could respond, Yori got the attention of the waitress.

“Excuse me. He would like to take you out on a date. Maybe bingo or pinochle.”

You tried your best to suppress your giggles, ignoring the evil glare your dad was giving you.

“I’m really sorry about him,” he said, motioning to the man next to you. In your efforts to suppress your laughter, you choked on your drink and spilled it on the counter, “And her,” he motioned towards you next.

“Why are you sorry?” she asked, handing you a rag to clean your mess up, “I’m game.”

“Really?” you asked in shock.

“Wow,” Bucky said.

“Tonight then?” Yori asked.

“Tonight is great,” she said, “Although maybe not pinochle.”

“Why? What’s wrong with pinochle?” Buck asked sarcastically.

“What even is pinochle?” you asked.

“Another time doll,” Bucky whispered to you.

“I have a shift,” the waitress said, “But if you want to come back here I should be done around ten.” she walked away, leaving the three of you alone again.

Bucky smiled at her awkwardly before looking at you two, “I can’t believe you did that.”

“Hey! I didn’t do anything dad. It was all him,” you said pointing at Yori.

“There’s a dance to these things. You gotta warm up. I haven't danced since nineteen forty-three. At least it feels like that,” your dad said.

Yori didn’t respond and was instead spacing out. Your dad took a sip of his drink before you nudged him and motioned in his direction. He was looking at the food on a plate nearby.

“Yori, what’s wrong?” you asked him.

He started speaking in Japanese. It wasn't your strongest language but from some words and his body language, you could tell he was talking about his son. It was a very sore topic for him and you and your dad knew why. He was killed and no one knew why or by who. Except you and Bucky.

When Bucky first met Yori, you were asking him all these questions about why him and why not someone closer to his own age. He told you what happened and his plans to make amends to everyone whose lives he ruined as the Winter Soldier.

You watched as the more Yori spoke, the more your dad’s face fell. His smile turned into a frown and his eyes grew softer. You knew it hurt him hearing how his actions as Winter Soldier affected other people.

Yori didn’t know you both knew about his son so he explained that he was working abroad and was killed. Bucky stared straight ahead while you watched him. You grabbed his hand from under the table and held it. Even though it was the metal one, he could still sense your presence. He squeezed your hand lightly, not wanting to hurt you but wanting you to know he appreciates what you’re doing.

~~~~~

After lunch, you parted ways with Yori and headed back to the apartment while he was off to run errands. Bucky was walking by your side, his arm slung around your shoulder. It was busier than it was before and he didn’t want to lose you in the crowds of people.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, looking up to face him.

He was staring straight ahead, helping to maneuver you through the people, “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because of what happened?”

“Because I’m going on a date? No I’m fine with that,” he responded.

“You know what I mean, dad. That whole situation,” you said, emphasizing the word “that.”

Bucky stopped and pulled you over to the side, near the wall of a building. He crouched down in front of you and moved some of the loose strands of hair from your face, “Y/n, I know you are such a sweet kid but I don’t need you to worry over me. I’m fine. Let me worry over you,” he said.

“But I can’t help it. I’ve spent my whole life worrying about you, Dad. Dr. Kingston says that change takes time so if you want me to stop, you have to give me time,” you said with a smug look on your face, “Cause I can totally do that if you want me to. You’re always telling me to listen to what he says.”

“Are you using your therapist's words in an argument against me?” he asked.

“Maybe,” you said, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. Cause if you’re not, they might take me away from you. They like rubbing that in our faces, you know.”

“I know that and I won’t let that happen Y/n. I promise,” he said, taking your shoulders in his hands, “If I’m not okay, I will tell you and you can find some way to cheer me up then. How about that?”

“Deal,” you shook him off of you and grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the apartment, “You have a date I have to get you ready for.

~~~~~

“I think she’s going to like it,” you said as Bucky walked into the living room with flowers. He wasn’t sure if she would like them or not.

“You think so? Not too old fashioned?” he asked.

“I mean, if a boy gave me flowers on the first date, I’d propose to him right then and there.” you said.

“Hey, remember what I said earlier? You’re too young,” he set the flowers down and started to put on his coat. It was almost ten and it was quicker if he were to walk over there rather than the subway.

“Right sorry,” you stood up from the couch and walked over to him, “But if it were to come up, is it up for debate?”

“Maybe,” he kissed the top of your head as he pulled you into a hug. He headed for the door, opening in it and stepping into the hallway, “Actually no. Not up for debate,” he closed the door before you could respond.

You huffed and turned to go back to the couch. You put on some random show to pass the time until he came home. You had fully intended to hear all about it when he came home.

~~~~~

You were expecting him to be gone for at least three hours but he came home in about half that time. He seemed visibly shaken and that was scary for you. He hardly ever showed when he was shaken. You stood up and took a step towards him, ‘Dad?” you asked.

“What?” he asked. It came out a bit too harsh and he realized it, “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Was it that bad?”

Bucky ran his hand down his face and sighed, “No. The date itself wasn’t bad,” he walked over to the couch and sat, motioning for you to follow. You sat down next to him and leaned your head on his shoulder, “Yori and his son came up.”

“Oh,” you sat back up and looked at him, “I understand. You don’t have to tell me anything else if you don’t want to,” you reached over and hugged him, burying your face in his neck. He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you back.

“Thank you doll,” he kissed the top of your head and patted your back, “I love you so much. I’m so glad you’re here with me.”

“I'm glad you’re here with me too dad. I love you.” You pulled away, but curled into his side and turned to the TV “Did she like the flowers?” you asked.

Bucky shifted his focus from the TV to you, “She thought they were old fashioned. But she liked them,” he wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

“Told you she would,” you rested your head on his shoulder and his head was resting on the top of yours. The two of you fell asleep like that within minutes.

Taglist

@sbsbrr14 @bonkybarnes107 @sapphireplums @xbuckyspetx

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes daughter #bucky barnes x daughter #bucky barnes x daughter!reader #bucky barnes x teen #bucky barnes x teen!reader #sam wilson #sam wilson x teen!reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #tfatws #fatws #falcon and the winter soldier #fatws: rewrite

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