#/ tony u lucky sob

[diam1nd]

im usually not one to jump on the canon coded comic pairings, but you gotta admit they ate w/ this art.

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

chapter five: fucking situations, circumstances, miscommunications

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

masterlist

PREVIOUS PART -- CHAPTER FOUR: WHO ELSE DECODES YOU?

warnings: language, mentions of sex (no smut), self deprecation, angst (!)

word count: 3.9k

Taglist: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10 @blackwidownat2814 @blackbirdwitch22 @laughterafter  @blackhawkfanatic @mcira @bxckybxrnes24 @rachellovesloki @toffeacademia @bean-bean2000 @lana525 @selella

A/N: im so sorry okay? but I promise, the fruits of patience are always sweet (is that right)! hope u enjoy, and don't worry only five more chapters until I stop torturing the pair to pine longingly... also phase one is complete, so I'll be taking a two week break before starting phase two: the falling rollout! stay tuned :)

It turns out you were wrong. You had been speaking to Nat — Wanda was off somewhere with Vision — and you talked her out of the notion that you were falling in love with Bucky. Because of course you aren’t…you can’t afford to. Falling in love made a mess of you, there’s no way it’s going to happen so soon.

When you first set foot in New York, it felt like a fresh start. Sure, you’d imagine if all went well, then a few years down the line you’d find yourself opening up again. Not doing it so soon, and certainly hadn’t imagined in your wildest dreams that it would be reciprocated.

You convince yourself you’ve imagined it. And of course, you did. Because in the night, Bucky had left you and your scheduled movie night last minute, to go out on the town with Steve. He had invited you, but you’d declined. Maybe you’ve weirded him out with admitting you’re more attracted to brunettes — maybe he’s figured it all out and is now trying to avoid you, to let you down gently. 

And when you’re just about to fall asleep after tormenting yourself with all the awkward ways he’s trying to avoid you, because he’s too nice to tell you — that’s when you hear it. Moaning and groaning of a man and woman through the wall, the hard and rough pounding of what can only be a bed frame against a surface, and the man is undoubtedly Bucky. You'd recognise his voice anywhere. Your heart sinks as you immediately walk out of your room, where you can hear everything, heading to the kitchen, unable to handle it. It feels like your insides will be spilled all over your front and the floor. Trying to get the images out of your mind of Bucky and another woman entangled…like that. Clutching at your chest, because your heart just burns and your eyes are full of water and everything’s blurry, shaky hands reaching for a glass of cold water to dissolve the lump in your throat.

Why are you upset? Bucky is a grown man, fully capable of making his own decisions and choosing the women he wants to sleep with. It’s not his fault he doesn’t choose you. So why does it make you so upset, that you’re quietly stifling your sobs in an empty, cold kitchen?

You feel like your heart has been ripped out — once again doomed to be romantically interested in the one who would rather choose an inanimate rock over you. Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but still. You don’t know how long you stand there, the only light a warm orange spilling over the black kitchen island, and think every single spark of hope in you away. The look of desire on his face…maybe it was platonic affection. You mistook it for something more, because you’ve never seen that look haunt anyone's features before. Maybe he looks like that at everyone.

And then you hear hurried footsteps, and the unmistakeable, juggernaut-like clack of women’s heels. You straighten, and she appears. Wrapped in a red dress, Bucky’s favourite shade, that accentuates every part of her so flawlessly, and her lipstick hasn’t even budged, despite the mess of her hair and other parts of her makeup. She offers you a soft smile as she passes, but you can’t help yourself. How has her lipstick not even smudged a little?

“Wow, you’re so pretty, oh my God. What lipstick do you use, and how the hell has it still not budged? Girl, I need the brand and name, like, right now.” You usher her over, to inspect her perfect lips more closely. Even the warm light makes her seem a million times more attractive, and you can’t help yourself.

You hold her face in your hands while she rattles off some obscure brand you’ve never heard of, making a mental note to search it up later. “It looks amazing,” you say, meeting her eyes, which are the most warm shade of brown. 

You know you can never hold a candle to the beauty of this woman, even at your very best, but you’d be damned if you didn’t tell her of her radiance.

“Thank you,” she blushes and straightens, pulling away from your hold. Her outfit is so amazing, you can’t even blame Bucky for being so taken with her. You’re right there with him.

“Flirting with my date, are you?” Comes Bucky’s voice from the doorway, and you both turn to look at him. Then you remember yourself, and your situation. She’s just had sex with Bucky, and here you are, complimenting her lipstick.

And in this moment, you dig to your lowest familiar, and compare yourself to her. It’s not a competition, you know better than to fight over a man, but even if there were…you would lose by a landslide. Objectively.

Absentmindedly, you touch your hair while glancing at hers, dark, perfectly curled locks swishing about her shoulders and touching her elbows, even at its messiest. You don’t know if you want to look like her, or to be with her, in this moment.

“No, no. I was just asking her about her lipstick, that’s all.” She hands you her phone, ignoring Bucky, and asks you to enter your number with a wink. You happily comply, and almost miss the way her face falls when she reads over your name, and glances over her shoulder at Bucky. 

Clearly, you’ve missed something. You don’t want to ask. “I’ll call you,” she gestures to you, leaving you with a kiss on the cheek. You blink several times, trying to process the events of the past hour or so.

You’ve never been more confused. How did you end up with Bucky’s date’s number? “You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you doll?” He’s got that signature smirk on his face, but you look away. Something about his messy hair and flushed cheeks seems a sight that isn’t reserved for you, but the lover who just left the compound.

“No, I— I was just complimenting her, I swear. She seems nice, though. Are you gonna see her again?” He joins you at the table, and up close you can see the slight sheen of sweat on his brow, and you hate the way the sight of it stirs something in your lower belly. You want him, so bad. You want to be the reason he emerges from his room flushed and you leave with messy hair like you just rolled out of bed. Alas, it isn’t in the cards for you. Fortune and romance have never been entangled lovers in the story of your life, and you shouldn’t expect anything different in this chapter of it. You take another cold sip, hoping to swallow the bitter realisations you've stumbled across tonight.

“Well, considering I don’t even know her name, and you got her number, I doubt it.” He laughs, hoping you’ll chuckle alongside him. You’re not in the mood to talk about his sex life, and you feel like you’re about to throw up because of it, yet again. Now knowing his type is a dark, sexy feminine energy, you can’t bear it anymore. You are the very antithesis of it all — light, and soft. Maybe he even finds you sweet. But you’re not the one, not the one he wants.

You may be the one he spills his secrets to, but you know you’ll never be the red-dress femme fatale he takes to bed, or into his heart.

“Are we still on for tomorrow?” You ask, sparing him a quick glance then returning to look at your hands that just look too wrong. Palms too wide, fingers too stubby. She had hands like a fucking nail polish model. Everything about you feels wrong and misshapen in this moment. Bucky’s wondering what he did to upset you. He’d overheard you talking to Natasha, explaining clear as day that you’re not attracted to him. He’s simply taken it as his sign to move on, to try and bury his heart that he’s laid in your chest, instead of letting it consume him. That's why he said yes to Steve, why he left you to go out. He didn't want either of you to stew in uncomfortable silence because he doesn't want to admit what he heard and how badly it hurt him. To confess would be to lose you, and so he buries it all deep down. Just like everything else.

But it’s a lot harder than expected, especially when he brings a girl home, for the first time in decades, but all he can think of is you. He’s manoeuvring her hips and imagining them to be yours, kissing her lips and pretending you’re the one gasping against his mouth. He ended up so wrapped in the fantasy, your name had slipped past his lips as he came, even though he tried to hide it in a murmur against her shoulder. But, of course she heard. She’d lectured him for a couple of minutes while throwing her clothes back on, about how he shouldn’t be fucking around if his heart is so set on one woman, that he says her name when lost in the throes of passion with another. Then, she’d spun on her heel and left, and he’d departed to find you. 

To tell you, he can’t do it anymore. Despite your feelings of romantic apathy when it comes to him, he can’t say the same. He is enamoured, infatuated, obsessed with you, and he can’t let you go. He can't bury his feelings when they just keep building up like waves and crashing over the grave of his heart -- he can't keep it to himself. Even if your words seal the vault closed forevermore, he needs to hear them. He was so ready to beg for one date. One chance, one kiss, one taste. Maybe not in the moment, seeing as you wouldn’t appreciate the taste of another woman’s wine on his lips. He wouldn’t either, if that night you’d gone on the date with Steve, he'd let his impulsive thoughts win just moments after you kissed another's mouth. He wonders how you kiss as he touches his own lips in thought -- would you let the other take charge and cover him in sweet pecks, or do you prefer to taste like passion and sin? These were the only thoughts circling his smitten mind as he searched for you longingly. 

And then he found you, illuminated so beautifully in the light of the kitchen island, and it occurs to him, just how there is no competition between you and other women. They could never hold a candle to you, to the radiant sun of your essence and your beauty.

The woman seems surprisingly smitten by you, with your eyes on her lips, and her giving you her number. He doesn't blame her for feeling that electric pull to you. He's right there with her.

He also didn’t miss the look she gave him over her shoulder, after reading your name. She knows, that it’s you. She won’t come back, she knows better than that. But he can’t tell you that that’s the reason he won’t be seeing her again, and you won’t even look at him. 

“Yeah, doll. Of course. I’m not bailing on you again.” He smiles, gently touching your cheek, and you pull away before his skin makes contact.

“Alright, I’ll see you then.” You turn around and walk out, the tears in your eyes dripping down your face and leaving a salty trail all the way to your door.

                                            ————————

In the night, you’d done a lot of thinking. And you’ve decided to let him go, to let him do what he wants. He’s not evil, he’s certainly not wicked. He just doesn’t want you. That’s not something to hold against him, how could it be? He doesn’t owe you romance just because you want it with him. You’ll cherish his friendship, his strictly platonic affection, but you’ll let any thought of a relationship with him go. 

You’ll be all the better for it. 

And so you stand in the communal living room, rechecking your Taylor Swift themed tote bag that you’ve kept everything you need. You had taught Bucky how to bake his favourite brownies the other day, so you packed a few of those in case he gets hungry. Your favourite crisps, drinks for the both of you. Headphones, a charger for your phone, a claw clip to tie up your hair if it gets too hot, car keys, wallet…

It’s sunny outside, so you’ve opted for a long, maxi summer dress in a dark dusty rose colour and covered in gorgeous flowers, golden hoops and necklace like always, and your hair falls over your back loose and natural with a small accent braid weaving through the strands. You’ve also kept the makeup light — blush, kohl and mascara, and a tinted lip balm. You feel oddly good about your appearance, when you’re not in front of anyone else. When there’s nobody else to compare yourself to, you allow yourself to feel pretty. You throw on a thin white cardigan, grab your tote bag and head over to Bucky’s room to collect him.

You two are going out today. And you plan on buying him a surplus of items, all because of the massively fat pay check you get given courtesy of Tony. You’ll also be taking the subway, something Bucky’s a bit afraid of, but—

You almost crash into Steve when you turn the corner, in your mind being preoccupied with making an itinerary of where you’re going. He catches you, grabbing you around the arms. The both of you are a little on edge, given the failed outing of a few nights ago, but you had let him down gently. You did tell him you want to stay friends, even as he looked embarrassed and laughed about it. You didn’t tell him about your crush on Bucky, having decided to keep it under strict lock and key after being consumed by the feeling of wanting to kiss Bucky instead. You knew, in that moment, that nothing would've made him feel worse. You meet Steve’s pale blue eyes, offering him an apologetic smile.

“Oh my God, Steve. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there. Did I hurt you?” He shakes his head, chuckling at your panic.

“No, no. I’m completely fine. Don’t worry, dear. You look good.” He compliments you fondly, eyeing you up and down once. You smile, forgetting the initial panic that surged through your system.

You take the compliment at face value. “Thank you, Steve. That’s really nice of you.”

“Where are you going today?” He asks in polite conversation. You’ve already talked about this, about where you’re off to. Maybe he forgot.

“Oh, Bucky and I are going downtown today! I was planning on getting him some new clothes, you know, his current closet seems a little out of date. We’ll probably be back by 7 at the latest, but it depends on how picky he is, you know him. Oh, and before I forget, Denise is in charge while I’m away. Mr Fury and Mr Stark haven’t told us that there’s any major missions today, so it’s mainly the barebones team, so if anything happens today, you report to her. I’d much prefer to enjoy my first day out in months, but in case of absolute emergencies, of course you can contact me, alright? You’re the most responsible one of the bunch, so I’m trusting you to spread the message for me.” You gently squeeze his arm in reassurance. 

“Yeah, will do. You have fun today, okay? I’ll try my best to make sure nobody gets in a housefire or something. You’re one of the hardest working people I know, dear. You deserve this. And trust me, if you’re the one picking out the outfits, you could put him in a hot pink suit bejewelled to high heaven and he’d wear it happily.” 

You mouth drops. “You know what, that’s an amazing idea, thank you.” He laughs at that, and you smile. You’ve always been treated by past-partners like you’re the most unfunny person on the planet, like your jokes are tolerated and not laughed at. So it always surprises you when people find you funny. You welcome it, but it feels strange nonetheless.

And then Bucky appears, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into him. “Ah, the prodigal super soldier emerges,” you say, hand wrapping around his back almost stiffly as you try to calm your aching heart at the sight.

You know this will haunt you, when you’re feeling down on yourself. You’ll clutch at your chest once again, feeling stupid at the fact you ever thought this Adonis of a man would ever look at you twice. Why would he?

But for now, his friendship is enough. It has to be.

“Uh huh. Should we go, doll?” He tilts his head extremely close to yours, and it takes every conscious muscle in your body to stop yourself from closing your eyes. No need to embarrass yourself.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” You turn to the other supersoldier in the room, currently being the one left out. “Bye Steve. Please tell everyone what I told you.” He nods.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” You smile and let Bucky lead you away, waving a quick goodbye over your shoulder.

“I wanted to ask, was last night awkward?” You try to ignore the comment as you both walk down the street, heading to his favourite bistro for breakfast. The sun is shining, the streets smell like something that isn’t piss, and you’re spending the day with your favourite person.

“Hm, no not really.” He stops the both of you at a busy intersection, pulling you into an alley, and pushing you against the wall. His arm is still secure around your waist so your back doesn’t crash too hard against the eroding brick and mortar, but unfortunately that means your hands end up on his…firm chest, and your thumbs can’t help but soothingly stroke from side to side. You can’t meet his eyes.

“Then why are you avoiding eye contact? Is there something I did wrong? Are you upset with me? Look at me, doll. Please.” His tone is pleading, borderline pathetic, but neither of you care. Your eyes meet his, and you try your best to not get lost in his eyes like sinking ships, so inviting that it takes everything in you to not jump.

To not kiss him. You crave to know what his lips taste like, but you shouldn’t. You keep trying to bury these intense feelings, and yet they keep building up like waves and crash over your grave, resurrecting you. And it feels amazing to be alive.

“I’m just…awkward about these kinda things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Sex. I mean, I heard you through the wall with Camille. And then, ten minutes later you were speaking to me like you weren’t just doing…all of that. It’s strange. I—“

“Do you think it’s bad? That I’m having sex?”

“I…what? No. No, no, Bucky, I’m not shaming you for having sex, God knows I should be the last one judging you for that…it’s just…I’m not used to that. People I’m close to... we all talk about it a while after...you know. I’m just not used to hearing you have sex and then seeing your face, like, ten minutes after. That’s all.” You smile then, touching his cheek as a way to assure him you’re telling the truth. Half of it, at least.

He leans into it so sweetly. “Okay. If that’s all, then… We should get going.” You nod, despite every bone in your body protesting moving away from this intimate moment. He feels the same, because every fear he’s ever had disappears at the warmth of your hand on his face. His eyes travel to your lips and you fix yourself, smoothing down your dress.

“You look absolutely beautiful in your outfit, by the way.” He silently adores you as you double check nothing’s been stolen from your bag, although you doubt someone is going to sneak between you two what with your hyper vigilance and Bucky’s enhanced senses.

You laugh. “You always think I look beautiful no matter what I wear. Even if I wore your sweatpants, you’d still say the same.” Smoke covers the both of you in a misty haze, but he swears he’s never seen you any clearer.

“Because you still look beautiful to me. You always do. Just accept the compliment, will you? You know you don’t have to work hard to deserve compliments, don’t you? They should be freely given.” He strokes your hair, admiring the tiny braid in between his fingers.

“I’m learning to.” You both smile at each other, and you let yourself feel the sweet swell of your heart, for once. Maybe that’s what will work. You just need to feel it all, and get it all out of your system. That’s how you end your crush on Bucky — feel until your reservoirs are empty, until you look over him one day and see nothing more than a good friend, a best friend even. It might takes years, it might even be next week. But this is your plan. 

“Now, should we go?” You extend your hand in a silent offering, to reconnect the bridge that you had temporarily abandoned in your moonlit insanity. He takes it, placing his metal hand firmly in your grasp and interlocking fingers. You notice how he’s wearing long sleeves and gloves, even in this peculiar hot day in November.  He must be boiling in that leather jacket.

For now, you lean into him, into his warmth even though you can feel yourself start to sweat, and you both walk hand in hand. To any outsider looking in, you two paint the picture of the perfect couple. You admire the red and orange leaves against a sky the colour of the eyes that are trained on you — memorising the curve of your nose and the pillow of your lips. In the bistro, you two sit comfortably close together, laughing silently over everything and nothing — like you’ve been dating for years.

The rest of the day goes by smoothly, the both of you laughing like everything’s funny. Like teenagers on the first date — giddy and carefree. Your phone doesn’t buzz once, and you love the feeling of Bucky’s hands on you. He always loves to touch you, whether it’s tracing your palms or leaning his chin on your shoulder in the subway because you’re on his lap in the only spare seat available. You love it too, never knowing someone would be so eager, so desperate to touch you and feel you so innocently.

You’ve always felt shunned — like you’re only worth touching for a partner’s sexual satisfaction, and other times you were made to be ignored and tolerated. But if even a friend can cherish you in this special, sacred way, you can’t help but imagine what a true, enamoured lover would do.

Both of you want it, can feel that your feelings could be something worth a forever and a half — but of course, misunderstandings have to get in the way.

They always do.

NEXT PART

[charmed-asylum]

Idk why but mixture of Lucky by Britney Spears and Olivia Pope from scandal comes to play as I read this.

It's time for make-up, perfect smile

It's you they're all waiting for

The beginning is perfect a perfect scene you see her this ideal image you hear her deep desire and the same ones who adore her wanting to fail and you see the one she loves eyes else where and by the way not on her. With scandal surrounding them

You force a smile on your face and nod politely. The reporters cannot know you’re about to throw up at the thought of smiling for six more years. …A quieter life. The end of his political career after six long years of having a public relationship. Children.

You whimper and choke out a sob, hearing Tony talk casually about his betrayal. You know your marriage got rocky lately, but this is no reason to lie to you. ALSO AGAIN TONY SUCKS

Way it continues this man using her like a prop and with a story like this TONY AND BUCKY IS A PERFECT MATCH besides ( Steve but we need some Ton Ton in our life’s too)

She's so lucky, she's a star

But she cry, cry, cries in her lonely heart, thinking

If there's nothing missing in my life

Then why do these tears come at night?

Can I be an ass whole to point Tony a dick like shit give her a kiss or something wanna look perfect but bitch about vantage points at an orphanage now u crazy . And how obvious he cheating on her now if this Tony from scandal and the person he cheating w his Karry Washington then find but no not this Pepper really. Or fact she does what ever he wants and he puts a girl like her in front of his wife : “Tons, hey,” you huff when Tony mutters into the phone. He wanted you to call him, only to tell you he must talk to Pepper first. “Fine, just call me if you’re done.”

I wonder if Bucky at this point is in love or is just tired of the bullshit Tony does to reader. Also way he is compare to other but will do anything for her and turns into a softy 🍨

A pair of steel-blue eyes watch Tony and you. Your bodyguard squares his jaw, watching your face contort in pain. He pushes off the wall to whisper something in the head of the security's ear……Bucky makes a face but doesn’t say a thing. He watches you button up your blouse and presses his lips into a thin line. Bucky would never tell you so, but he despises your husband and the way he treats you.

It’s cute they both have nicknames for each other and he takes care of her. Mrs. Senator and Dozer hehehe 🤭 and the way he so intimate: Tears roll down your face when Bucky brings you into his arm to let you cry into his chest.

I WANT KArma cat or no cat GET THEM BACK OR AT LEAST SCRATCH THE SHIT OUT OF THERE Eye and flesh

Election Time (1)

Summary: You thought he was your forever.

Pairing: Senator!Tony Stark x Wife!Reader, Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, language, wish for a child, betrayal, failed marriage, soft Bucky

Square filled for @buckybingo (expired): Square 7: Politics AU

You force a smile on your face and nod politely. The reporters cannot know you’re about to throw up at the thought of smiling for six more years.

Tony promised his last election campaign would be the last one. He lied, as so often. Over the years, Tony pledged to you so many things.

A quieter life. The end of his political career after six long years of having a public relationship. Children.

Your husband didn’t keep his promises, and you still didn’t get pregnant even after months of trying. The reassurance from your doctor that you’re healthy and fertile did nothing to help you keep your hopes high.

“What’s the secret of your happy marriage?” An ambitious young reporter asks. She was smiling at Tony like a love-sick puppy the whole time, and now she tries to land a punch.

Rumors about your possible infertility and Tony flirting with his election campaign manager Pepper Potts spread by Tony’s concurrent didn’t make your life easier.

“Love and devotion,” Tony answers before you get the chance to respond. “Honesty and support.” He says it without missing a beat. Ever the perfect politician—or liar—depends on if you are a reporter or his wife.

Again, you nod and smile like a perfectly trained dog. Tony grabs your hand, raising your arm with his to strike a winner pose. You wince because he forgot about the injury on your shoulder. The one you got because he wanted to try a new sex position, only to drop you.

A pair of steel-blue eyes watch Tony and you. Your bodyguard squares his jaw, watching your face contort in pain. He pushes off the wall to whisper something in the head of the security's ear.

“Senator, we should head out now,” Steve, the head of security, looks at Tony. “Sir, we are running late.”

“Right,” Tony clears his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he flashes everyone a stunning smile, “thank you for coming. I hope you vote for the right man in four weeks.”

Applause follows. It always does. Tony Stark is the kind of man drawing people in like the flame draws in the moth.

He finally drops his arm, releasing your hand. You struggle to keep a straight face and not wince again. Hiding your pain, you take deep breaths when someone holds out his hand. Bucky, your bodyguard, helps you down the tribune.

Tony is already chatting up Steve to make sure he checks every spot at the orphanage. As if anyone would try to attack your husband while he shakes the hands of some kids.

“Mrs. Senator,” Bucky chuckles when you make a face at his nickname for you. “Do you want to take the same car?”

“Not today. Tony wants to discuss his campaign with Pepper,” you shrug. It’s not unusual for you and Tony to drive in separate cars. “I can use the break, to be honest.”

“You shoulder,” Bucky softly says. He carefully touches your shoulder. “I’ve got something in the trunk to help you with that. It helps me with the scar tissue at my shoulder, too.”

“Always prepared, aren’t you?” you flash Bucky the first genuine smile. “Let’s go, Dozer.”

“That name again,” he laughs as he guides you out of the back of the building. Tony prefers to use the front entrance to bathe in applause and to give autographs. You are, as always, only an accessory to him. He forgot about you the moment he left the town.

Inside the car, you sigh deeply. It’s the first time you can breathe today. You close your eyes and take deep breaths while Bucky rubs pain gel into your skin. He kneads out the knots and kinks in your shoulders and neck.

“Hmm…you’ve got magic hands, Dozer.”

“I only ran through a door once, Y/N,” Bucky chides. “If I remember right, it was because you screamed.”

“It was a huge spider, Bucky,” you giggle when he grunts. “You threatened to shoot it.”

“I did shoot it,” he corrects while gently rubbing your skin. “You applauded and got me ice cream.”

“You saved me that day.” You smile to yourself. “And many more times since then. Not with your gun, but because you’re always there for me.”

“That’s my job.” He says, making it sound so nonchalantly. As if he doesn’t risk his life to protect you every day.

“Hmm,” you nod. “I should call Tony. He wanted to tell me which outfit to wear for the kids.”

Bucky makes a face but doesn’t say a thing. He watches you button up your blouse and presses his lips into a thin line. Bucky would never tell you so, but he despises your husband and the way he treats you.

“Tons, hey,” you huff when Tony mutters into the phone. He wanted you to call him, only to tell you he must talk to Pepper first. “Fine, just call me if you’re done.”

You drop your phone onto the seat and sigh deeply. Bucky grabs the phone to end the call when you hear Pepper’s voice. Tony must’ve forgotten to turn off the loudspeaker.

“So, are you still as happy as you pretend you are?” She asks, making you frown. How dare that woman ask your husband this kind of question? “Tony, look at me.”

“I’m just trying to keep up the façade until past the election. We are over for months, if not a year,” he casually says while your world shatters. Your eyes widen, and you press your hand to your mouth when you choke out a sob.

Bucky wants to end the call, but you shake your head. You opened Pandora’s box, and now you want to hear everything.

“I heard you’re trying for a baby.” She presses on, making you wince when Tony tells her he never planned on having a baby. It would only distract him from his goal to become president one day. “How did you not get her pregnant if you’re trying for a baby?” She huffs.

“I talked her doctor into prescribing her birth control, but to tell her that it’s vitamins,” Tony reveals. All those months you believed it was your fault you could not get pregnant. Now you know why you didn’t get pregnant. Tony manipulated your plans out of selfishness.

Tears roll down your face when Bucky brings you into his arm to let you cry into his chest. You whimper and choke out a sob, hearing Tony talk casually about his betrayal. You know your marriage got rocky lately, but this is no reason to lie to you.

Bucky ends the call. He doesn’t want you to

“Do you want to go home?” He asks lowly. “Y/N? Where do you want to go? I hope you don’t plan on attending that shitshow.”

“I… I don’t know,” you sniffle. “All I know is that I can’t go home. I can never go home again."

Tags in reblog.

[wint3rs]

TRAGEDY, loki.

(a/n: i wrote this bc it’s comforting to think about loki when i get anxious :( he’s my comfort character, not to mention the loki trailer just dropped <3 if u want to talk i’m always here! ur beautiful <3)

– summary : you are his universe

– warnings : y/n feels insecure... curse words, death, self-doubt, mentions of stabbing and dying

they knew you were struggling. ever since you got back to the quinjet, you were quiet. no sarcastic remarks, no checking up on anyone – you were too busy with your own thoughts. no matter how hard you tried to get those evil words out of you head, you couldn't.

the mission was successful, to say at least. it was a typical rescue mission. once again, HYDRA had a secret base in munich, they were trying to replicate their old formulas, but to their luck – the avengers were there to save the day. you, being the first mutant in the group, just happened to encounter the strongest guy.

after your encounter, no one knew exactly what happened. "good work, y/n." tony was the first one to speak to you. you only nodded in response, not throwing any shades at him. for a second, the iron man furrowed his eyebrows, but brushed it off. "are you okay?" natasha sat next to you. once again, you only nodded.

the team arrived at the headquarters, you immediately went to your room – not wanting to be bothered by anyone. "unlike your super friends, you are different. you were born like this, a mutant, do you think they're not afraid of you?" his voice was still haunting you. “look around, you’re the monster here. not me. you'll never be a hero.” that was his last words before you took his senses.

you were powerful. powerful enough to be recruited by the avengers, and powerful enough to attract the god of mischief himself, loki. his older brother thought it would be a good idea to make his brother an avenger – in training of course. and lucky for you, you were the one helping him.

little did you know, you grew closer to him. not as his trainer, as his lover. it didn’t surprise everyone that there was something between you two. he was cunning, and so were you. there was a knock on the door, and you expected to see him, but it was bruce instead. “y/n, uh, sorry to bother you. but we’re thinking about getting dinner, do you want to come?” you shook your head.

“thanks bruce, but i think i’ll just stay here, incase loki comes back earlier from training.” he smiled apologetically. “we’ll get you takeouts, okay? no objection. i hope you feel better soon.” he closed the door. you heard footsteps outside your room as you closed your eyes. 

maybe they were actually scared of you. maybe you don't deserve any of this. once you heard them leaving the floor, you silently walked outside and went to your secret place. an emergency staircase that led to the rooftop. no one uses it, so you figured that it would be a great place for you to just think.

thoughts like this rarely affect you, but when they do – it would take some time for you to get back into your usual self. you sighed in frustration, his words still repeating in your mind. "maybe i don't deserve any of this." you muttered to yourself, looking at the sky as if it was you friend.

"don't deserve what, darling?" his voice came from behind you. "loki." you avoided eye contact with him. and at that exact moment, he knew something was wrong. "darling?" the black haired god was walking to you, but you held your hand up, stopping him for a moment. "don't come near me."

loki's expression softened, which was a rare sight. you held a special place in his heart, like none other. "loki, stop." you lifted your arms, trying to cast a spell on him. "darling, you know it won't work for me." finally, you gave up on pushing him away.

you were sitting down on the concrete floor – trying your best not to cry. loki leaned on the wall opposite of you, silence filling the air. "do you want to talk about it darling?" you shook your head, still not making eye contact. "n- no." you stuttered. then again, only silence filled the air. "who do i have to stab?" he managed to let a chuckle out from you.

"you know i'm always here for you right, darling?" you nodded, slowly feeling his warm embrace around you. maybe talking to someone was the right thing to do. keeping it to yourself won't do you any good. "i know love, it's just..." you paused for a second. your sobs became louder and his embrace became tighter. "it's okay, love." loki brushed your hair with his fingers. "it's okay." he repeated.

"i'm a fucking tragedy." you sighed in frustration, eyes still not meeting his. "i didn't ask to be born like this, yet people still think i want this. my entire life is a tragedy, and i'm a monster in my own story. i don't want this loki, i don't even know if i want to be alive or not." he would always listen to you, no matter what it is or was – he was always there for you.

you let out your sobs, pouring everything out in front of him. "i- i'm sorry. i don't know, i- i don't deserve any of this. i'll never be a hero. people are afraid of me. i wish i was normal. i wish i wasn't like this." it was true that you sometimes wished you were like the normal civilians, but it was only a dream.

loki lifted your chin, his eyes were soft and caring. he was the god of mischief, but his eyes would never lie to you. "i've seen millions of stars before, aligning with the planets, meteor showers, full moons, all the beautiful cosmic ballads, i am as old as some of the stars – but nothing could compare to your beauty. darling, you are not a tragedy."

"you have your flaws, you have your insecurities, that's what makes you... well, you." he continued. "a thousand years i've been walking in these silly shoes and not even once i encountered someone as enchanting as you, it makes me sad that you think so low of yourself. every atom inside you came from above, that's why i love looking at the stars. they remind me of you."

with his words, you were left speechless. words couldn't describe how much you loved him. "loki..." you whispered. "i love you, darling. please don't ever say those things about yourself ever again. i would trade the universe for you." the black haired man smiled, giving you comfort. "i love you too." you hugged him, finally feeling better.

"now how about we go sightseeing tonight? i'll take you wherever you want to go, darling." you returned his smile and kissed him. "i'd be lost without you, loki."

[thehyperfixationspeedrunner]

U know what, fuck this episode of what if.

First T'challa (when his hand dropped my tears just started coming out);

Then Rhodey (wasn't expecting, I just started sobbing);

Then both of their funeral (cried like a baby);

Then TONY AGAIN (I was actually really lucky because until marvel, with the other fandoms, my favourite character ended up alive, but with marvel they not just killed him once bUT FOUR FUCKING TIMES)

And then war😐

The only thing that made me smile was wakandiens (don't know how to say) joking about americans and Pepper and Shuri having more than one brain cell.

[scoopsgf]

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

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

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

1. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He calls her.

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

Peter hangs up with a dissatisfied grunt.

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

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

He picks up his now cracked phone and texts Ned:

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

Don’t ask me what I was doing on it

Every bone in my body is broken :(

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

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

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

But wait—a blanket.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe.”

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

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

“What? Why?”

“Well she works there, right?”

“...Yeah.”

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

“...Correct.”

“Ergo,” Tony says.

“But I—”

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

Peter cracks an eye. “You what?”

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

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

“Yeah, I’m here.”

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

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

“No Mr. Stark this time, huh?”

“It’s too late for formalities.”

“I see,” Tony replies. “Sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

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

—

2. 

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

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

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

“It’s okay, May, really—”

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

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

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

“But that’s my job, doofus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Four fifteen,” Tony corrects.

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

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

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

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

“Pardon?”

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

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

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

“What? No, I’m in public—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god, shut up.”

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

“Uh, jeans and a hoodie?”

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

“But what if someone sees?!”

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

“That’s totally unrealistic.”

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

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

—

3. 

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

“‘It’s not certain that’?”

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

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

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

“Neither?”

He pouts. “Mean.”

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

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

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

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

Almost.

Peter rips away abruptly. “What was that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, cute,” he mutters sarcastically.

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

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

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

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

“You okay, ma’am?” he asks.

“Me? That guy shot you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“It was real.”

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

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

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

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

Pepper makes a face. “The stuff?”

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

Her eyes widen. “Oh, that stuff.”

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

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

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

“Yuppers.”

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

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

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

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

Peter frowns. “Is it for Steve?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you feel?”

“Wired,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

Peter blinks. “Hmm? Pardon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you lied to me.”

“No, I changed my mind.”

“And went where?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Peter.”

“May.”

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

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

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

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

Tony joins him under it. “Tell me.”

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

“Oooo—”

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

“Kid,” Tony cuts in. “Calm down.”

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

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

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

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

“I just wanted time.”

“I know.”

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

“Oh, the scary ones are always fun.”

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

—

4. 

Peter is on patrol when he hears it:

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

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

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

A puppy.

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

But also…

This is the cutest dog he’s ever seen.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not how fleas work.”

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

—

“Why do you have flea shampoo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...In my bed.”

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

“What?! Why not?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes!”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but this is character building stuff.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll clean up the pee.”

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

—

5. (+1)

It starts with a headache.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May would kill him.

It’s better to suffer a little than die.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter hums. “No. Just… headache.”

Slowly Ned backs away. “Um—”

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

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

Only he accidentally says all of that out loud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pain meds don’t work on me.”

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

“Couldn’t. Can’t miss my test.”

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

Peter is silent. “You got me there.”

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

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

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Just give it.”

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

“Hold on.”

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

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

Peter thinks about it. “No.”

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

“Oh boy.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

A nod.

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

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

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

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

“Of course. Why would he lie?”

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

“Do I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That… that makes sense.”

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

“Uh, it’s—it’s Timms—”

The door shuts behind him.

—

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

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

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

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

“Well I gotta get you outta here somehow.”

“But my detention—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tony shifts a little. “Better?”

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

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

—

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

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

“What—?”

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

“I fainted?”

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

Peter hums. “Bad.”

“Let’s try a scale of one to ten.”

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

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

“It’s fine.”

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

“Any idea what brought this on?”

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

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

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

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

“....No?”

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

“What?”

“Make room for me.”

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

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

Tony snorts. “I’ll ask Pep about it.”

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

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

“No,” Peter promises. “Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, duh.”

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

Peter sleeps. 

[letthefrogsbe]

remember when I was gonna write that parkner fic?

cool so I've decided I'm gonna, but because I cannot write for SHIT and I hate my writing every time I see it, ill just share my outline of what I have so far. its not coherent. sorry. 

Section one: aunt may dies. It’ll be like “it's been 3 months. 3 months since May was shot. 2 months and 3 weeks since she died.”

Something like that idc. Basically this section will base around peter living tony, because he’s not doing well, and he is only 17- which is not actually old enough to be on your own after something like this. Setting is established, with cameos from dr strange (who tony is dating and lives with (yeah bite me, this is my fanfiction i can make it what i want.) it will be made obvious that this takes place after endgame, which also means that tony is Not going to die. I’m not that mean lmao. The avengers are like largely together, there was not as much death in this as there was in endgame. Whatever. Everyone is very nice to peter because they know that for him its either this or him becoming a ward of the state so like.

Section two: harley gets kicked out. His mom finds out that he’s gay (from gossip sources idk) and kicks harley out. Im not going to write them having a big fight like in the moment, but harley will recount what happened somewhat to tony in this section, and then more to peter later in the story. Gay ppl trauma dump, we know this. Okay anywaysss so harley calls tony literally sobbing and like freezing fucking cold. IM SORRY IM BEING SO MEAN TO THEM I PROMISE THEY'LL GET A HAPPY ENDING. Okay. harley explains how his mom kicked him out. Tony asks why, harley says something like “she didn’t agree with my lifestyle choices” like bitterly. Tony is a good person in this (i know, im really taking some character liberties) and he’s in the mood for collecting strays apparently, so he has happy send over the quinjet. He can’t make it himself bc hes in fucking japan or something for the next few weeks,, but. Yeah! Tony also calls peter, who is presumably in bed and feeling depressed. “Hey pete. How ya feeling? Any better?’ ‘Not really, tony. Sorry.’ ‘you don’t have to be sorry-’ ‘damn tony you sound like my therapist.’ “sorry pete, but i do have something to tell you- you know harley?’ ‘only from what you’ve told me about him, but yea. He was the tennessee garage kid, right?’ ‘i mean. Yes. so- he’s gonna come stay with me for a while too- it might not be permanent but it will probably be a bit. He’s about your age, and he just has no where to go (just like u). He’s not going to stay in your room or anything, but with bruce and thor here, he will be in your apartment area.’ ‘okay tony.. Will i have to talk to him a bunch?’ ‘not if you don’t want to- i already warned him about you, so it should be okay. I wouldn’t worry so much pete- you guys are so similar in a lot of ways that i wanted to introduce you two long before he called me.’ ‘okay tony, i trust you. Thank you again for letting me stay with you :)’ (yeah that kind of got away from me)

Section 3: build up. this is a shorter section. Harley and peter are gonna meet in section 4. This section is harley’s jet ride (with an intuitive happy) and harley’s nerves about how he really isn’t worth this (i mean hes pretty intimidated tony sent a private jet just for him) and happy like reassures him. Hes still insecure though. Peter is also nervous bc what if harley doesn’t like him? What if he doesn’t like harley?? Tony did say they would get along, but peter hasn’t really been himself recently, so who knows? Yeah lots of that. I do want to emphasize though- peter is not completely unhealthily coping. Like he has a therapist and he has been reaching out to ned and mj, but its still an open wound for him. Obviously. He still has a sense of humor though, but its to cover these deep insecurities. Like the first month or so that he was with tony, he was reallllyyyy trying to not get close to him bc he sort of thinks he kills everyone around him. Like logically he knows this isn’t true, but he does really think the that non superheroes that he surrounds himself with are very at risk if they know about his spider-man-ness. The only people who know now are ned and mj (may knew too).

Section 4: the meeting of harley and peter. Keep in mind peter has been living in this apartment/area of stark tower for about 3 months now. He actually moved in while may was in the hospital because he couldn’t stand to be alone in the apartment when he knew why may wasn’t there. And um. Yeah. so peter is like comfortable in this space, basically. Also- the reason theyre in the same apartment is because stark tower was not really created with the idea of housing broken orphans in mind, so it only has a certain amount of residential space. Thor and bruce are currently staying there together (although no one really knows if theyre together, or if theyre just best bros who went through some extreme trauma together and are now inseparable. Hmmm wonder if thats gonna come up later) and theyre using one apartment, and happy lives there with his own apartment, and tony and stephen are currently sharing the penthouse, even though thats not public knowledge. Really only the people close to tony know that he’s dating stephen. So. this leaves just the one other 2 bedroom apartment for peter and harley. It has one bathroom, and the bedrooms are connected by a door but theyre pretty big so like. Theres a kitchen, a living room with a fancy ass tv, and a really pretty view (with a balcony bc <333). May died in march, peter got leave from the school in april, and it is now the middle of june btw. Tony is now peter’s official guardian (he was before may died anyways) and now has sole guardianship over him which he has fully accepted, even though peter and him both know that there are going to be times where he has to go out of town bc he does own a company after all. Times like right now. Harley is pretty nervous that tony isn’t going to be there to greet him and that he is going to have to like introduce himself to peter and everything. Cmon, theres no reason to feel like that, he’s the one intruding after all, he should at least be able to handle himself. (<--- harley’s thoughts). Yeah so theyre insecure super cool. A n y w a y s so peter was stressing about harley as he arrived, and so when harley walked in they were both complete bundles of nerves. Harley walks up but knocks. Peter actually jumps (bc spidey sense okay whatever) and goes to get the door. Oh my god these awkward teenagers i hate them so much (i love them). Peter kinda looks like shit, sorry king. He was a little bit crying earlier, then tony called and he switched into stressed out ball-of-anxiety mode. Distractions are good, its okay. Peter opens the door for harley and they like introduce each other all awkward (again sorry) and peter shows harley where he is staying. Harley doesnt really have muchhhh bc he was kicked out and all. He just has a suitcase full of clothes, his favorite blanket, his favorite stuffed animal (yeah whatever bc ofc he does) and his phone/charger. He sets all his stuff down at once. He thanks peter for letting him stay in his apartment and also said sorry. First thing peter noticed was harley’s accent. Stfu. peter asks why harley’s here- ok. Harleys had a long ass day. Too fucking long. He- he breaks down. He tells peter a lot. About how his mom found out that he was gay, and how she told him never to come back. Yikes. Anyways, this is establishing the beginning of their relationship as friends. Peter is there for him even though he doesn’t know him at all. Peter sees some of himself in harley in this moment, even though he’s not talking about himself yet. Eventually harley does ask about peter, and they really just get to know each other really quick. They have these deep scarring individual traumas, and neither has nearly recovered, but they find comfort in just knowing that theyre not alone in their suffering. At least for now. At least in this moment.

Section 5: the next day. Peter and harley spent that whole night talking about what they were going through. Peter said good night at around 5 am (there were no adults around they can do what they want to) and they both got good sleeps. In peter’s case, one of the first solid nights he’s had in a while. Harley was kept up a little longer after peter left, however, because he just couldn’t shut off his mind. It was really cathartic for him to just lay everything out there and for someone to just accept him. Peter told him he was bi, but he was.. Lucky. He had accepting people in his life. May was accepting. God, harley couldn’t fathom having lost everyone in his life, everyone he ever cared about, and still having the heart to sit and talk with the dumbass anxious gay kid who can’t go home anymore. His problems felt so small compared to peter’s, and all he could do was admire peter’s resilience and how he was seemingly able to bounce back from anything. God, peter was something. He couldn’t wait to get to know him more. With that thought circling in his head, he finally went to sleep at oh shit 6:30 am. Peter woke up around 1. Harley at 2. When harley woke up, peter was watching tv and eating cereal on the couch and he just sat down next to him. No words, just sleepy children being sleepy. They stayed like this for like an hour when someone knocked on their door. Enter stephen strange!!!!!!!!!!! Get excited people. Hes just coming in to check on them bc tony told him to, and he didn’t get the chance last night bc he was _busy_. K so now he’s here and hes awkward and he just wants to make sure these boys r okay bc theyve both been through too much recently, and it would be just the cherry on top if they didn’t get along. Him and harley had never actually met before so he like introduced himself and all that. Offered like if they needed anything he was there, and its only gonna be a few days until tony gets back (did i say a week earlier? Im retconning that bc i cannot find it in my writing so it is now retconned). Peter and harley just have to sort of explain to dr strange that theyre getting along gREAT and there is no need for concern….. And peter was even thinking about showing harley around the city a bit that night (something he had not yet told harley, but wanted to make it seem like he was doing well and not acting too depressed in front of Dr. Strange) so dr strange is like yeah !!!!!! do that, that sounds super fun petey !!!!!! and so now they have evening plans

ok ps I wrote this like 2 weeks ago and completely forgot I posted something on Tumblr about this fic idea, and so this is literally just how I talk to myself. was not gonna ever post this but then I decided to because I'm bored. there are more sections but I'm not gonna post them rn because this post is really fucking long already!!!!

[smutsonian]

A dark Thor x reader where he sees you a famous actress on Earth and gets obsessed with you and thinks that u would make a amazing Queen and first woos you then goes dark thor

Drabble about Thor obsessing over actress!reader

Warning/s: DARK THOR, obsession, smut, NONCON, breeding kink, nOT pRooFrEad, PLEASE BE WARNED

A/N: I really have a thing for making long drabbles ;/ 

——————

“You really like that show, huh?” Bruce says as he walks past Thor who’s watching the same show for a week and into the kitchen.

“What’s not to like? Y/N is fucking hot!” Tony laughs as he follows behind Bruce.

Thor growls at Tony before turning the television off. “Don’t speak about the lady like that!”

“Yikes. Someone’s a big fan. Ya’know, I can call her. I got her on my contacts.” Tony gives the god a side glance, smirking when he sees the god looking at him with a hopeful yet hard eyes.

“Is that true?” Thor stands up, walking towards the two scientist.

“Yeah, yeah. Met her at a gala once. A real sweetheart, I’ll tell you that.” Tony winks and pats Thor’s shoulder, laughing when the god glares at him.

“Don’t worry. I’ll set you two up! That’s what friends are for, right?”

—

“Hi, Mr. Thor! It’s really nice to meet you!” Y/N smiles at the tall man. Thor finds himself speechless as he finally sees her beautiful face in real life. He coughs a little bit before he finds his voice. “Just call me Thor, please. It’s nice to finally meet you too, Lady Y/N.”

Y/N feels her body warm-up at his words. There’s no denying that this god (literally) is very attractive. And is also a fucking hero! How lucky is she to catch his attention? Yeah, Tony wasn’t really subtle when he called her.

“Well… Can I buy you a drink?”

Then one thing led to another…

“Oh god!” Y/N moans as she reaches another high. She lost count of the orgasms that Thor gave her. He really is a god. Y/N sighs in satisfaction as she lays on her back, closing her eyes and falling into a deep, deep slumber.

“Yes, my love. You’ll be one soon.”

—

Y/n opens her eyes slowly as the sun pierces through the window, blinding her a little. Feeling a bit disoriented when she scans the place, she scrambles off the bed but a pair of big arms prevented her from moving away.

“Goodmorning, my queen.” Thor’s raspy voice says just beside her ear. Y/N’s heart’s thumps as she gets confused by the whole situation.

“Q-queen? Thor, what are you talking about? Where are we?” Y/N tries to pry herself away from him but he only tightens his hold on her. “Ssh, my queen. We’re on Asgard. You’re safe. You don’t have to worry about anything, my queen.” He runs his hand down her skin softly.

“Wh-Why do you keep calling me your queen? Please take me back to Earth. Take me home, please!” She begs as she shakes in his arms, tears streaming down her face.

“But this is your home. You are to be my queen. Last night was-”

“Last night was supposed to be a one-time thing!”

Y/N was harshly turned around to be met by a glaring Thor. “You think I’m one of those Midgardian men that you’ll bed for just a night?!” Thor’s voice booms around the room, startling and scaring Y/N.

Thor leans in and kisses her with force, moving a hand towards the back of her head and pulling her deeper into the kiss. Y/N tries to push him away but he retaliates with more force. Y/N bangs on his chest, pleading him to pull away for she’s close to losing air. 

“You are to be my queen.” He caresses her face and rips the silk sheet from her body, revealing her nakedness. He brings his hand down her cunt, cupping it hard. “This is mine. Not for a night but for as long as I live.” he inserts a finger, smiling at how it easily slipped in. “Even your body agrees with me, my queen.

He lifts one of her legs up and positioned his hard cock against her slit, running it up and down teasingly. Y/N couldn’t help the wetness that her traitorous body is making. She whimpers when he sticks the tip in, only to pull it back out again. “Just tell me what you want, my queen. I’ll do it as best as I can. Just say the word, my queen.” Thor groans silently as he does the same action again and again until Y/N is crying and shaking against him. “P-please!” she sobs.

“What is it you want, my queen? Tell me.”

“Please me, my king” swallowing her pride, Y/N gives in. Thor smiles genuinely and slams his hard cock in her wet cunt. He stayed in for a few seconds and started thrusting in and out at a fast pace. Grunting loudly, Thor moves to straddle her and spreads her thighs apart. He moves his hips harder and deeper, earning a loud whine from her. “Fuuck!”  

“You like this? I know you love this, my queen. Last night was the best night of my life but today, I’ll make sure to put a child in you.” he moans loudly as he starts to bang his hips against yours in a maddening pace, making you scream loudly. “I can feel it. I can feel your walls around me. Just let go and embrace my cock.” He holds your hips and slams it against him again and again.

“Ugghh” Your head tilts back as your body convulses against his, walls clenching around him. You came around his cock as your vision started to darken ever so slightly.

“Yes! Yes, my queen!” Thor thrusts one last time, forcing himself deep into you and holding himself in that position as his cock twitches and spurts white cum into your womb. He doesn’t pull out when he lays down beside you, moving you so your back is against his chest. He strokes your arm gently and kisses it softly.

“We’ll be a happy family, my queen. We belong together. We’re perfect for each other.”

___

taglist

General: @readermia @unlikelygalaxygiver @xoxabs88xox

[tonydadisbestdad]

I Hate Bullies

Dad!TonyxReader

Word Count: 2,480

Request by @shady80smusicsingercolor - avengers x stark!reader,where the reader is 16 ,and had bad day at school, like the mean girl decided to tell her ugly things ,like are u even good enough to be a stark,reader overhears ,cries,when they get home ,Steve is the first there but haven't notice those tears,but when the reader flinch,he saw them,and ask what happened at school,but the reader denied to answer,so he call the team,Tony ask what's wrong while the rest of team were worried,and told him eventually,team got furious,but calm down,Tony decided to pay the girl visit with the avengers at the end

A/N: If you’re being bullied please don’t be afraid to tell someone about it. You should never feel less because someone decides they want to make you feel less. You have value. You are loved. You are your own journey not anyone else's.

Sophomore year was really sucking, you were beginning to hate yourself for not letting your dad push you up several grades like he wanted. At least if you were getting bullied than you’d be closer to the end of school.

But alas, you wanted to stay with kids your own age because, being with a bunch of older kids was bound to get you bullied, right?

Turns out, no matter how old you were or how smart or even if you were famous, people were still mean.

You were sitting at your usual lunch table when Marissa, a popular girl in a few of your classes, came up to you. Her two best friends at her sides.

“Hi, Y/N,” she said, you could tell by the glint in her eyes that this was not going to end well for you.

You tried to ignore her, but that just made her annoyed.

“I heard a rumor that you have a crush on Cooper.” She said, examining her nails.

You didn’t want to play into her games but you found you needed to defend yourself more than letting her walk all over you. “It’s just a rumor. No need to worry about me trying to flirt with anyone let alone Cooper.” You rolled your eyes.

She glared at you. “Excuse me, freak? Are you insinuating there’s something wrong with Cooper?”

She twisted your words, making you sigh. You were sick of this happening everyday. Everyday she came to bother you. You couldn’t figure out why she couldn’t just leave you alone.

“You’d be lucky if Cooper even gave you the time of day. You have no personality, you think because you’re smart and have the world handed to you that you’re better than everyone and I’ve never seen someone as ugly as you. You are the most bland unattractive girl in this whole school. No one likes you. Why don’t you just leave already? I’m sure your precious daddy would be more than glad to pay off the school and let them bump you up enough to leave. It’s too bad your dad didn’t have a cuter kid. I’d be willing to be your step-mom if you weren’t so ugly to look at. It’d ruin family photos, you don’t even deserve to be Tony Stark’s kid.”

She was on a roll today. And you tried to ignore her, but you really couldn’t handle the attacks on your looks and the fact that she said you weren’t good enough to be a Stark. You weren’t exactly secure in yourself either.

“Oh, look, the ugly girl’s going to ugly cry,” one of Marissa’s friends said and fake boo-hooed.

You bit your cheek, to stop yourself. You wouldn’t cry in front of these bullies. Luckily enough the bell rang. You stood with your tray and went to move away from them the opposite way. Suddenly, there were hands on your back and with just enough force you were pushed forward and fell, straight onto the tray.

The trio laughed and finally left.

Tears filled your eyes as you sat up. Your shirt was completely ruined and you were going to be late for class. There were only two classes left. You decided it wasn’t worth it.

You went straight to your locker, pulled out your gym shirt and went to the bathroom to change into it. After that you went to the nurse with complaints that you’d thrown up in the bathroom during lunch and just managed to make it to her after changing your shirt that you’d asked for a bag for.

She let you rest in her office until the bell rang for the end of the day and you were practically running home.

You finally broke down in the elevator on your way upstairs.

To your dismay about halfway up the elevator stopped and quickly you were wiping your cheeks as Steve stepped on.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted, barely looking up from a report he was reading.

Flinching you quickly tried to gather yourself, you’d hoped he wouldn’t ask. “It was fine.”

Steve noticed you flinch and could tell by your inflection that fine did not mean it went well. He finally looked over at you and noticed your cheeks were damp.

Thanking your dad mentally for creating the high-speed elevator it reached the top quickly.

Steve had opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but the elevator dinging stopped him and you sprang from the machine. “Y/N, wait.” His hand fell on your shoulder to stop you. “What happened at school, doll?”

You refused to turn and look at him as your eyes welled with tears.

He could feel you shaking. “Hey,” he tried, but suddenly you were pulling from his grasp and running to your room. He was confused for sure and didn’t know what to do. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.” He called to the a.i.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers?” She answered.

“Call for an Avengers meeting, please.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

“Okay, now that everyone’s here,” Tony said, once the entire team had gathered in the meeting room. “What’s going on?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure what to do… or who would be the best option to ask for this mission, so I figured it’d be better to get everyone together. About 20 minutes ago, I got on the elevator and Y/N was just getting home from school. At first she seemed fine, but then I asked about school. She said it was fine but she’d flinched like it was a sore subject and when I asked she ignored me, started crying and ran away…”

The team was in an uproar, all asking questions that Steve couldn’t answer.

“You had to call a whole team meeting for this?” Tony asked, already getting up from his seat and heading for the door. “I can’t handle this, thanks. You should have told me 20 minutes ago when I met you here. I was the first one dammit.” He didn’t wait for a response from Steve before he was rushing to your room.

The team all decided to move to the living room, in order to catch Tony once he was finished speaking to you, to make sure you were alright.

Tony knocked on your bedroom door. He could hear your muffled sobs into your pillow and tsked. He knocked gently. “Sunshine, can I come in?”

You ignored him, as you tried to stop sobbing long enough so maybe he wouldn’t hear, but you knew he wasn’t going to grant you that wish.

Your door creaked open and shut again.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Tony asked, taking a seat on the opposite side of your bed.

You didn’t answer him and continued trying to stop crying.

It didn’t work.

The second your dad was pulling you into him your sobs started again in full force.

“Shhh, shshsh, baby it’s okay,” he whispered. Rocking you and stroking your hair. “It’s okay, daddy’s got you. We don’t need to talk until you’re ready, but I hope you can talk to me when you’re ready. I’m worried about you. Uncle Steve told me you ran away from him and were crying. He’s so worried about you he called the whole team together for a meeting.”

You groaned in embarrassment and pressed your face further into your dad's shoulder.

He stayed quiet after that but he continued to stroke your head and hold you close.

It felt like forever before you were finally pulling away from him, still sniffling.

He wiped at your face with his sleeve pulled over his hand.

You refused to look at him but you did finally work up the courage to speak. “I’m sorry I worried everyone…”

Your dad leaned and kissed your forehead. “No one likes it when you’re sad sweetheart. What happened at school today that you came home so upset, hm?”

You fought off the fresh wave of tears that threatened to come. “It-it’s dumb dad, I’m sorry you had to stop what you were doing to deal with me just being a cry baby…”

Tony tsked at you, “You know I don’t believe that for a second, baby. Something happened and I’ll wait for you to be ready to tell me but I don’t want anything happening to you so I’d like it if you could tell me soon, okay? I need to know this isn’t going to happen again.”

You nodded stiffly. You wanted to tell him, but at the same time you felt Marissa was going to keep this up now that she finally found something that bothered you so much. You swallowed thickly, deciding that you could get the message out loud and clear with a different question and topic. “Is it too late to bump me up a couple grades?”

Tony’s frown deepened. He knew right away what was wrong, and it had to do with your peers. Because you refused so hard to go forward due to you wanting to stay at the same grade level as the kids your age, so if you were asking to go forward, well that meant something happened that you wanted to get away from. Something happened that if he agreed, well it would take away the rest of your high school experience. “What boys ass do I need to kick?”

You looked up at your dad, finally, confused. “What?”

“I’m guessing that whatever happened was probably due to a guy. You’re trying to run away from your problems sweetheart and I don’t want that. So whose ass am I kicking?”

You let out the smallest of chuckles before shaking your head. “No, dad. There’s no guy whose ass you have to kick…”

“Oh,” he said, wishing he was right, because that would be an easy fix. Just threaten the kid to leave you alone or else. But if it wasn’t- “Is it a girl then?”

You hesitated, hoping that wouldn’t be his next question. You sighed in defeat. “Yeah… it’s Marissa again… I-“ tears welled again. “She just really got to me this time dad… normally I can just brush her off but… she was extra cruel today… her-her and her friends shoved me to the floor at lunch and I got food all over my shirt. And she-she called me ugly and like fine whatever I know I’m not beautiful but I don’t need that to be rubbed in my face and I don’t let you hand the world to me and I do all that I can for the less fortunate because I would rather them have a roof over their heads than me having some stupid designer bag like those girls do. And-and I didn’t ask to be a Stark. I-I know I’m lucky to be your daughter and I love you, but her-her telling me I don’t deserve to be your kid? It-it hit different… not to mention the crude joke she made after that and I-I just,” the sobs started leaving you as you came down from your rant.

Tony was silent for a few minutes as he held you. When he finally spoke he surprised you. “Y/N, if anything, every Stark that came before you didn’t deserve to have your name. You sweetheart, are everything I could have ever hoped for in my life. You do so much good. I might save the world from aliens but you really work close to home. You meet those that need help and you do everything you can to give them support. You’re so personal and you aren’t afraid to stand out to do that. You have taught me more good than I ever knew possible. You have given the Stark name real meaning and so much good. I’m beyond lucky that you’re my daughter. I never want you to listen to anyone that wants to tell you otherwise because you are the most incredible Stark there is. You are incredible, beautiful, so smart, and best of all you’re my kid and I am grateful everyday for having a light like you in my life. Don’t let some dumb jealous girl hurt you like this. I’m going to take care of this to make sure she leaves you alone. I never want you coming home crying like this again.”

You sobbed harder into your dad. Relief flooded you as he held you. Eventually you relax enough and fell asleep.

That was when Tony finally slipped a blanket over you, kissed your cheek, and left you to sleep away your stress.

When he returned to the team he was furious. He explained everything to them, to his surprise they were all still there, impatiently waiting for his return to find out how you were.

“We have so bratty little girls to go speak to the team.” Steve stated. Tony hadn’t seen him that angry since the airport battle years ago.

Marissa’s mother yelled at her to go answer the front door. She rolled her eyes and obeyed. When she opened the door to her surprise all the Avengers stood on her front porch and each and everyone of them looked pissed.

Tony didn’t even bother with the girl. He entered the house and found the girl's mother. He was going to tell her directly what happened. Meanwhile, it was Steve that dealt with talking to the girl.

All while the rest of the team stood watching the girl.

She looked like she was going to pee herself with how scared she was. But Steve offered his charming smile and she seemed to relax a little.

Nat smirked and Clint fist bumped her.

Meanwhile Bruce was trying to not Hulk out with Wanda and Vision keeping an eye on him.

Suddenly Steve started to speak as the girl's eyes widened at his low, angry voice. “We will never have this conversation again. So I’m saying this once. I don’t care how awful you think your life is, taking it out on others is disgusting and you should be ashamed of yourself. You will apologize to Y/N, and then you will never even look her way again. It’s not a well known fact, but I hate bullies. And you don’t want to be on Captain America’s bad side.”

Tears of fear fell from Marissa’s eyes.

Her mom and Tony entered the room. He didn’t even cast her a look. “Well Ma’am thank you for your time. We will let you speak with your daughter alone. Team?”

When your dad and the team got home they all hugged you and told you what happened. And the next day at school when Marissa came to apologize, you ignored her. Because you didn’t need to forgive her. She could feel bad about what she did, but she didn’t deserve your forgiveness. You just moved on because you were a Stark, you were better than that.

Tags: Wanna be tagged just ask!

@manchurian-barnes , @marrvelle-fics , @chloe-geoghegan1 an1, @buckysendoftheline, @karlitabi-rrito , @ximaginx @httpmcrvel, @esistmon, @peterparkerscamera

[moroslavklose]

sooooo for alex’s birthday i was writing her something but then ended up writing something totally different but i stumbled across an early draft of it and there was an alternate universe apos group chat that i thought was marginally amusing, so i decided to post a fragment of it here for about 1 of you people’s enjoyment

Leon: beer pong sounds good actually 

Leon: you 2 can face off me and sergi

Serge:   imay seem like a lghitweight due to my meotionally fragile personaltily

Serge: but i can ancxtually hold up so im DOwn for this challenge

Jerome: ok but a better challenge would be seeing how serge texts when he's drunk

Thomas: that shit would be like sanskrit

Manu: The ancient scriptures lmfao

Serge: yuroe lucky im not an emeitonal drunk :(

Serge: bc the shade on this team wil make me crry osne day

Leon: sergi don't clown you're definitely an emotionally unstable drunk

Serge: no iam not!!!

Serge: if u want emotiaonly unsatble, look at niklas!!!

Niklas: ???

Serge: noce you were drunk, saw jonas and started crying!!

Serge: THAT'S unstable!!!

Jonas:?? 

Julian D: Jonas I cry about you when I'm completely sober

Julian D: You're just that good of a human being

Niklas: Yeah I have no shame in crying over Jonas

Joshua: i cry about jonas every time i see him play

Julian B: every time i talk to him

Julian B: i cry afterwards

Jonas:  Hahaha because it was such a shit conversation right

Julian B: NO BECAUSE IT WAS BEAUTIFUL AND ENLIGHTENING

Jonas: Haha you're funny Julian

Julian B: it's LITERALLY not a joke!!!

Julian B: kai can attest to that!!

Kai: jule clung to me sobbing as though he had seen christ be reborn after talking to you

Kai: i feel really happy myself when i do!

Thomas: you feel more than happy

Thomas: you feel fulfilled

Thomas: seeing jonas feels better than scoring from an overhead kick

Thomas: i feel better when talking to jonas than i do watching manu make a save

Kai: OUCH thats brave

Manu: It's stupid.

Thomas: you raising your hand for offside after every goal conceded is stupid

Mats: Y I K E S  lmfao

Manu: That yikes should be directed at you, Hummels. It's your mistakes that lead to those goals being conceded.

Marco: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lg5WKsVnEA4

Mats: ok well now i'm crying

Julian B: not as much as i cry for jonas tho

Josh: we ALL cry for jonas

Jonas: AH guys shut up hahaha

Toni: Jonas with these weirdos I actually wouldn't doubt it

Toni: Speaking of emotionally unstable...

Julian D: Actually admiring Jonas is the key to world peace and ensuring stability for everyone, Kroos

Julian D: Being in his presence is like experiencing nirvana

Jonas: You guys loool

Niklas: NO JONAS

Julian B: WE MEAN IT 

Toni: See what I mean?

Toni: I'm surprised you don't have an ego with how much these people suck your dick

[fic-for-fic-sake]

Trying Hard To Be Good

Pairs: Bucky x reader

A/N: I’m a sucker for soft Bucky and I’ve also seen people requesting the reader having a panic attack or something and Bucky comforting them. Slight mention of violence but that’s all. 

Bubbly. If he could use one word to describe you that’s what it would be. Off the field you were bubbly. Always laughing and joking, making light hearted conversation with everyone you met. You seemed so innocent that all Bucky wanted to do was to protect you. That is, until he saw you on the field. He had never seen anything like it. How fierce you were, with seemingly superhuman strength as you ripped through enemy after enemy. A snarl was curled on your lips, a stark contrast to the genuine smile you would flash anytime someone made you laugh. You took out 20 enemies by yourself, Bucky had never seen anything like it before, it was incredible. 

You were caked in blood and grime and hardly seemed bothered by it. Once the mission was finished and you all made your way back to the quin jet you were flashing that genuine smile once more. It seemed more intense, your glistening teeth peeking out from the dirt and muck on your face. You were rustling through your gear bag, fingers digging through this and that until you found what you wanted. You produced several little packages from the bag and tossed one to each of your teammates. 

“What’s this?” Natasha asked, looking at the contents and raising an eyebrow. 

“Just a little care kit I made for you guys. You’re always asking if you can steal my face wipes or borrow my mouthwash after missions so I figured I’d make you your own.” You said with a little shrug as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

A chorus of ‘thank you’s’ erupted from everyone on the jet. Bucky felt his cheeks warm a little as he accepted his care kit, grateful to have something to clean himself off with until they got back to the compound. 

He studied you wistfully as you tied up your hair and wiped the blood and muck from your face and arms. He saw you joke with Nat and Sam and felt a soft pang of jealousy. He wished he could talk to you that easily, but every time he tried he got a little tongue tied. He wanted to get close to you, so close, but he knew he shouldn’t. He knew he was too damaged and all he would do was hurt you, and how could he? You were so innocent and pure and didn’t deserve to be screwed over by someone as messed up as him. So this is what he did, watched you from afar and never got too close. Fearing he would lose himself and say something he shouldn’t. 

Getting off of the jet, Bucky couldn’t help but overhear a conversation between you and Nat. 

“So you gonna go out again with him tonight?” Nat asked, voice low, so nobody would hear. But Bucky could hear, his enhanced hearing made sure of that. 

“I think so.” You said, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks and you lips parting into a smile that made Bucky’s knees weak. “He seemed really nice and like he wanted to get to know me better.” 

“Want me to help you get ready?” Natasha questioned, eyebrows wiggling, suggesting something Bucky didn’t like. He really wished his ears weren’t working right now. 

“Yeah! That would be great!” You exclaimed, throwing your arms around the redhead in an appreciative gesture. If anybody else tried that with her, Nat would kill them. But you weren’t anybody, you were you. You had the whole team, including Bucky, wrapped around your finger. 

Bucky was training, he had to. He had to do something to take his mind off of you on a date with some schmuck. Someone who probably had you flashing that adorable smile of yours, who garnered all of your attention. Lucky bastard and he probably didn’t even know it. Bucky was doing push ups, the only sound in the gym was his panting and the blood pumping in his own ears. Which is why he heard the sound of a slamming door. Of running feet,of soft whimpering sobs. He went to investigate, wondering who could be crying. He came into the living room, the darkness surrounding him as the sounds of sobbing got louder. But there was another sensation too, Bucky smelled you. Smelled the familiar floral scent of your shampoo and perfume Natasha insisted you wear before you went on your date, Japanese Cherry Blossom, your favorite. 

You were crying? But why? In all the time Bucky had known you he couldn’t recall a single time he had heard, let alone seen you shed a single tear. The only tears he could think of were the ones you got in the outer corner of your eyes from laughing so hard. Silently, he made his way around to study you in the soft city light that was caressing your face. Your hair was messed up, your eyes red and swollen from crying, dark traces of melted mascara ran down your cheeks and your lipstick had been smudged. You sat there, arms wrapped around your body, rocking yourself. An attempt to calm you down, but you didn’t need to do it alone. 

Without a second thought Bucky came over to you and wrapped his strong arms around you, making soft shushing sounds into your hair. He let you bury your head into his chest and held you close as continuous sobs wracked your body. 

“Shh, it’s okay it’s okay.” Bucky cajoled, leaving light kisses on your hair. “I’m here, what happened?’ He questioned gently. Not wanting to pry but letting you know he was here for you. 

“H-he stood me u-up.” You choked out, taking deep gulps of air into your lungs. Bucky’s heart wrenched inside his chest, hearing you like this wrecked him. 

“Who did sweetheart?” He murmured, smoothing your hair back down, holding you fast. 

“Conner. W-we were supposed to have dinner tonight and he stood me up.” You said, lifting your head to gaze into Bucky’s ocean blue eyes. They sparkled in the moonlight, imploring into your own. Why was he here? Why was he holding you like a lover? Why didn’t you want him to stop? 

“Did he say why?” Bucky asked, bringing his hands down to cup yours. He gently stroked your knuckles with his thumb, sending a slight shiver through your body. 

You looked away from Bucky, suddenly ashamed. You removed your hands from his, wringing them out. “He said he didn’t want to see me anymore. That I’m damaged goods.” You stated harshly, remembering Conner's voice ringing through the phone, ripping you apart. 

“What? That’s crazy.” Bucky said, a smile creeping on his lips, “Doll you’re the sweetest person I know. You couldn’t hurt a fly.” 

You breathed in a shaky breath through your teeth, let Bucky’s comment linger between you two more a moment. This was it, the moment you would shatter the illusion for him. You didn’t want to see his face when you did, couldn’t bear the downcast look he would probably give you. 

“You know that’s not true.” You said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I wasn’t made to be kind or sweet.” 

“Made?” Bucky questioned, his arms on your shoulder, he needed to see you. 

Reluctantly you turned so you were face to face with Bucky. His eyes were now studying you, unsure of what truth you might reveal to him. 

“When I was a child, I was taken from my home in Iran, away from my family, and moved to Afghanistan by a group called the Ten Rings.” You said with a certain detachment in your voice. 

“Why does that name sound familiar?” Bucky pondered, trying to search his mind for where he had heard the name before. 

“It’s the same group that took Tony Stark. He was imprisoned in that cave and he found me there too, imprisoned and full of serums. Toxins. The Ring said they would make me strong, make me a fighter, a weapon used for destruction and chaos. When Tony escaped, he came for me too. He took me home and raised me as his own, I was 12.” You finished, still hearing the ringing of explosions echoing the hall as Tony’s blasters pounded through concrete to find you. You could remember the sound of the chopper as Rhody picked the two of you up. Tony’s home being something that belonged in a movie. He took care of you, raised you, loved you. 

“But you’re not chaos, you could never be.” Bucky insists, taking your hands in his again, he needed you to realize that you weren’t the damaged one here. 

“Bucky, do you have any idea what it’s like to wage a war in your head everyday? My instinct is chaos, but I control it, keep it in check. Tony and Bruce help me, give me pills and routines, and dampening patches.” You say as you lift the hem of your shirt to show a large square like bandage covering some of your torso. “The only time I ever give in to my instinct is on the battlefield.” 

Bucky thought back to all those battles, superhuman strength, the look in your eyes, grimace on your face. You enjoyed it, enjoyed the battle. But he thought back to your words, about raging a war in your own head. 

“Of course I know what it’s like.” Bucky whispered as he brushed a stray piece of hair away from your eyes, “I fight myself every day. HYDRA programmed and reprogrammed me so much that every single day is a constant struggle. A fight between good and evil.” 

Your shoulders slumped in understanding and relief. Finally, you had someone you could talk to about this that really understood your burden. 

“I just get so tired, so exhausted from it.” You sighed, melting into his arms. 

“I know doll, I know.” Bucky said, stroking your back lightly. 

“How do you do it?” Your muffled voice rang out against Bucky’s chest. You could hear the flutter of his heart, picking up pace against your temple. 

“One day at a time.” Bucky answers honestly. 

“Do you think, maybe, we could help each other? So it’s not too hard?” You questioned, tear stained eyes exploring his own, looking for some type of reassurance. His eyes crinkled at the corners as a loose smile danced across his face. 

“Of course we can sweetheart, of course.” He replied, pulling you into his chest once more and placing gentle kisses against your hair. It was in that moment that Bucky Barnes realized he would do anything for you, and when he knew he had deeply, truly, fallen for you.

[somedayonbroadway]

Spiral Part 3

Fandom: Newsies

Characters: Racetrack Higgins, Jack Kelly, Katherine Plumber, Medda Larkin, Spot Conlon, Crutchie Morris, OC- Drake

Words: 8K+

It amazed Race how still his brother could be. His brother had never been so still in his life. His brother was known for not being able to sit still. Just like Race himself.

They understood each other so well. Jack understood him so well. Better than he'd ever known.

Maybe even better than he understood himself.

"Stop looking at him like that..." Charlie pleaded.

Rubbing at his damp cheeks, Race hardly even glanced up. "Like what?" he croaked out, looking back down at Jack who was laying flatly on the bed. His voice was harsh and watery. He hadn't meant for it to be.

"Like you're afraid he's not gonna make it." The words were spoken with such terror that Race could feel a sob stop in his throat. Charlie was only trying to convince himself that the young man on the bed was actually okay. That he'd be alright.

The truth was that they didn't know if Jack would be alright. He was just laying there, his eyes lazily closed and a tube placed down his throat, breathing for him.

Race didn't look back up at Charlie. He looked down at his hands. "What if he doesn't?" He knew he shouldn't have asked it. But he had to. Because if Jack didn't make it, it was his fault.

And everyone knew it.

The boy sitting on the opposite side of the bed looked over at Race with the most defensive, determined glare he'd ever seen. "Don't you dare, Antonio," he hissed. His little brother's heart stuttered only for a moment at his full name coming out of that boy's mouth. "Don't you dare give up on him like that—!" he shouted, shooting to his feet. Race flinched and sat up further in his seat, unprepared for his big brother to lash out.

Crutchie was supposed to be the calm one.

"Charlie… calm down, baby—," Medda tried, but the young man could not.

"Don't tell me ta calm down when he says somethin' stupid like that!" Charlie cried in something almost comparable to a whisper. The tears came fast for him. He couldn't stop them. His younger brother couldn't either.

Race felt a hand come down gently on his back. He let out a shaky breath as he hunched over and rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "I'm sorry..." he whimpered out, tears falling down and dropping onto his legs as he leaned over even further, trying to hide. Though, he wasn't sure if he was apologizing for scaring Charlie even further or creating this whole mess to begin with.

If Jack were awake, he would've taken Race's wrists in his hands and stopped him from tangling his fingers so tightly in his blond curls. But Jack wasn't awake. And Race needed something to ground him.

God knows Charlie couldn't. Not right then.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." He couldn't stop. He didn't know what else he could say. Not with Jack laying there so lifeless. So fragile.

"I'm so sorry, Jackie..."

If Jack were there he would've taken Race's wrists in his hands and stopped him from tangling his fingers so tightly in his blond curls. But Jack wasn't there and Race needed something to ground him.

He was practically running.

He couldn't be late. Not again.

Jack had offered to drive him. Crutchie had woken him up two hours ago. But he hadn't gotten up and Jack had more important things to worry about than taking him to school every morning and getting stuck in traffic on his way back.

He grasped at his messy curls with one hand, knowing one more tardy slip meant detention.

He was moving so quickly that the shoulder he bumped didn't register in his mind until he felt a splash of hot liquid on his shirt.

The boy froze, his eyes wide as he whirled around, apology already on his lips as he turned, only to be met with the most charming and beautiful grey eyes he'd ever seen in his life. He stuttered as the man turned to meet him, looking angry only for a split second before his gaze found Race, looking more and more like a lone deer caught in some headlights. That's when his tight jaw loosened just a bit and his lips curled into a sly smile.

"U-um… I… look… I… I'm so sorry! I'm… I just-" the boy tried, not truly knowing what thoughts were flying through his reeling brain. All he could register was this man. This beautiful person in front of him with thick, long brown hair, a perfect complexion and a blinding smile.

And then that laugh. That laugh that made Race want to laugh too. The one he'd hang on day in and day out for years to come. "You're lucky you're pretty, blondie. What's your name?"

Race's heart was beating so fast he was sure he would die. "Uhm," he squeaked, inwardly wincing as he cleared his throat. "It's Tony… Antonio... " he clarified, though he shook his head and couldn't stop his lips from continuing on without his brain. "Tony for short, but no one really calls me that because my brother really likes to, uh, he likes to give people names, like nicknames, an' when I w-was a little younga' he started callin' me Racetrack, but now everyone calls me 'Race' because I guess I'm a fast runner even though I never really liked runnin'-"

Again that laugh. That laugh sounded like bells. It was a beautiful sound that made Race blush and try to hide his embarrassed smile as the man took a small step closer to him. If he had to guess, Race would say this man was in college, or at least of that age group. "Well, Race," the stranger began, smiling down at him with such a perfect glint in his eye. The boy went a bit weak in the knees at the man's gaze. "It looks like you owe me another coffee," he laughed. "Where're you headed?"

It took a moment for the boy to remember. Where was he going? "Uh… Roosevelt… High School… Roosevelt High School…"

Nodding along, the man thought for a second. "Okay… why don't you meet me after at the coffee house just around the corner from that? You can buy me another coffee and maybe afterwards we can hang out and you can tell me why you're running so fast?"

This man was clearly older than him. Clearly out of high school, at the very least. But, Race could only dumbly nod his head, trying hard not to think about what his brothers would say.

"Okay, pretty boy…" the man grinned. "See you then…"

Then the man made to walk away. But it only just occurred to Race that he'd never gotten the man's name. "Wait!" he called, rushing back over to the beautiful stranger. "I… I never got your name…"

"Drake…"

Drake. Drake. Drake. Drake. Drake. It was all Race could see. It was all he could think about. Those grey eyes and that smile.

And that goddamn laugh.

A laugh he'd never hear again.

He curled up in a ball back in the waiting room, completely unsure of what to do with himself. He felt sick, like he could vomit any minute now. He felt angry, like punching a wall. He felt devastated and lost and confused and maybe it was his fault. Maybe something he'd done had changed the man he loved somehow. Maybe Drake would have been better if they would have never met.

One thing's for sure. Drake would still be alive if they'd never met.

The waiting room chairs were uncomfortable and confining but with the rigidness of the kid's whole body, he hardly noticed. He could hear himself trying to breath. It sounded like he was wheezing. He couldn't feel the oxygen trying to reach his lungs. He so desperately wanted to be with Jack, but he couldn't take Charlie lashing out at him again.

It wasn't Charlie's fault. Charlie had every right to be angry with him, to want him away from their big brother.

He just couldn't handle it.

He heard the door open and he tried to get control of himself as he untangled his body from his fetal position, looking up only to find that officer standing there, a cup of coffee in his hand and a sorry look on his face. Race sniffled and viciously wiped at his face with his sleeves, irritating his skin. His cheeks were red. The tears didn't stop. "Wh-what're you still doin' here?" he hiccuped.

Sighing and pulling up a chair across from the boy, Conlon shrugged. "Just wanted to ask you a few more questions… another officer is gonna be on his way a little later, just to try and put all of this together himself-"

"Put what together?" Race spat, shaking his head. "I told you everything," he insisted, his voice rising in volume and pitch as he just tried to understand for himself what was happening. "I killed my husband. There. Take me ta jail, I don't care! I killed him and this is all my fault n'-"

"You saved your brother's life," Sean interrupted, his voice almost emotionless. "You killed your husband to save your brother. You made a choice."

Tears spilled faster down his face as Race let his head fall into his hands. "I didn't mean to kill him… I just… I loved him… I was neva' gonna leave him… I…" he let the sobs fall, feeling the guilt rolling around inside of him. "I just needed a break..."

All Spot could offer the young man was a sad smile and a small cup of coffee.

And Race took it.

"Drake… it's beautiful…"

"Yeah…" the other boy sighed.

Race was gazing up at the stars.

Drake was looking at him.

For as long as Race could remember, he hadn't been able to see the stars. Not in New York.

But this wasn't New York.

Drake had taken him on a trip. It had been a couple months now. A couple of months of promising his brothers that they'd meet him eventually.

Race had given Albert a twenty to convince his family that he was staying at his place for the night.

"I… I'm in love with you…"

Race turned at that. "What?"

They were laying in the bed of Drake's old pick up truck, snuggled up in a blanket. But now Race was propped up on his elbow and he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. But Drake was looking at him like he was the most precious and fragile thing in the world, like if he made one wrong move, Race would just up and leave.

Race completely melted.

"I… Antonio, I'm so in love with you…" the man repeated, reaching to brush the boy's hair. Race couldn't take his eyes off of him.

He wished he could just stay in that moment for the rest of forever.

"I wanna be with you everyday… I wanna make you laugh everyday… I wanna see that beautiful smile everyday… I wanna spend the rest of my life with you…"

Those words made Race's heart stutter with excitement. And he felt tears in his eyes. "Drake… I... I love you too, baby."

The pure joy that sparked in the man's eyes was unlike anything Race had ever seen before. And before he could comprehend what was happening, Drake was up, scooping him up into his arms. The boy squealed and laughed, clinging to his boyfriend as Drake held him tightly.

"I promise I'll always take care of you, babe… I'll never hurt you… never… I promise…"

Race grinned and pecked his lover on the cheek. "I love you, Drake…"

The tears had slowed. At least, for now. And Race sat alone, an almost empty coffee cup in his hand as he fought to make his mind go blank. He sat more still than he'd ever sat in his life, focusing a bit too much on breathing and feeling his whole body wanting to give out on him.

He couldn't sleep. Not now. He was terrified of what might happen if he fell asleep.

So he took another sip of the coffee that was hardly warm anymore.

And he didn't look up when the door was pushed open.

"Racer…" someone sighed.

The boy still didn't look up. He bit his lip. He should be done crying by now. The tears had to run out eventually.

Within seconds, Race could see someone's shoes and the end of a metal crutch in front of him. And then his big brother was sitting in the ground at his feet. And Race's gaze didn't move. "Kid… I'm sorry. I didn't… this isn't your fault. It's not."

The younger man shook his head. "Ya know, Charlie… The worst part about this is that… it was… it is... it's all my fault n' you got every right ta hate me," the boy stated, his voice letting out as a squeak by the end of his sentence as he imagined a world without Charlie. Without Jack. Without his brothers.

It was no world he wanted to be apart of.

But Charlie's face softened immediately. "Tony… I couldn't neva' hate you, kid…"

Race didn't respond. He just looked down at his lap in shame, not knowing what else he could say. Because maybe Charlie didn't hate him. Maybe Jack would one day forgive him. But that wasn't the biggest problem.

The boy couldn't figure out how he'd ever be able to live with himself again.

"Hey… can ya look at me?"

Race shook his head, swallowing hard. And before he knew it, arms were around him and his head was tucked into the crook of his brother's neck. He sniffled and tried to relax into the embrace. The cup was taken from his hand and Charlie shushed him when he tried to protest. "You're okay. You're here with me an' we're okay," the older boy promised.

So Race closed his eyes, focusing on the steady breaths he could feel brush over his hair.

"Please, Jackie, just wait one minute and he'll be here-" Race begged as Jack rushed around the room, pulling his grey jacket over his shoulders and shoving his wallet in his back pocket.

"Racer, you know I'd love ta meet him, but I promised Kath I'd be over to work on illustrations a half hour ago n' she's freakin' out a little bit right now because we're supposed ta meet with an editor today, so I really don't have time ta wait, I'm sorry," Jack rambled as he grabbed his bag of art supplies, slinging it over his shoulders as Race pouted at him from his place in the middle of the living room. "I'm sorry, kid. But if you really like him, I'm sure I'll like him too," Jack stated, as he walked past his little brother and ruffled the boy's hair.

Race didn't make a move to stop him. Jack was finally doing what he'd always wanted to and today was the opportunity of a lifetime. He was about to open his mouth to concede when there was a knock at the door. And Race's pout melted into a smile. Before his brother managed to reach the front door, the kid was rushing to it, opening up just to jump into the arms of his boyfriend who only laughed and swept him up off the ground. "Hey, babe!"

"Hi, Racer," Drake chuckled, kissing him and then lowering him back down to the ground.

"Babe! This is my brother Jack! Jack, this is Drake," the youngest of them introduced with the sort of energy only he could possess. He turned back to his brother to see the young man offering him an amused smile as he sighed and held his hand out towards Drake.

"Hi, nice ta meet you," Jack greeted kindly. Race couldn't help but notice how professional he sounded. Jack was growing up fast. The boy couldn't help but miss the goofier side of his brother. It was still there. Just, not quite as often as it once had been.

But it was okay. Jack was still Jack. And he would never lose Jack.

"Nice to meet you, Jack. Race talks about you a lot," Drake smiled. Race grinned and wrapped an arm around his boyfriend's middle. Drake kissed his head and placed a hand on his shoulder. Jack's eyes flashed towards that hand, a look that the younger boy couldn't quite place rushing across his features for only a moment before Jack's eyes were back on him, as if he were making sure Race was okay.

Then the oldest boy smiled and nodded. "Could say the same thing about you," he joked. "Alright, Racer, I'll see ya tomorrow, okay?" he stated, moving to press a kiss to Race's hair. The arm around him tightened.

Jack seemed to notice. But he didn't say a thing.

"Bye, Jackie!" the boy shouted as the older boy made his way out the door.

Jack paused in the doorway, suddenly hesitant to leave. He turned back, sighing as he saw his brother grinning at him. And he managed a smile. "Love you, Racer."

"Love you, Jackie!"

"Tony… wake up, kiddo…"

Tony hummed, feeling reality crash back down on him as he opened his eyes. He was laid out over someone's lap. Charlie. Charlie was there.

And so was someone else.

"Hey, Tony… how ya doin', pal?"

David.

Tony didn't move. He closed his eyes again and sniffled, wishing he could just sleep forever. He'd never have to face this. His friends. His family. Once they all heard the full story, they'd never speak to him again.

God, Jack would never speak to him again.

"Antonio?"

"Katherine?"

Katherine. Race opened his eyes. And there she was. The closest thing he ever had to a sister. And Race let himself sit up and embrace her without even thinking about how much she'd hate him. There was just something about her. Something about that woman that made him feel safe and okay.

Katherine was Race's partner in crime. One of many. Definitely the most frequent.

She stumbled a bit at the force, but held him back even tighter. "Hey, my little prince…" she sighed, hugging him closely.

Race whimpered, tangling a hand in her hair as he looked past her shoulder to his big brother's best friend. Davey looked terrible. So Race reached out for the man. And Davey clasped his hand. Race pulled him forward just as Crutchie wrapped his arms around him and Katherine from behind. He didn't deserve these pure people.

But somehow he had them.

"I'm so sorry…" he apologized for what must've been the millionth time.

No one said anything. They just held him tighter than he was sure they ever had before. And all he could do was let them.

Race's knee bounced up and down rapidly as he stared down at the book open on his desk. He'd read the same page seven times now. And yet he had no idea what it said.

His pencil twisted around in his shaking hand. He was ready to scream. He blinked, trying to center himself.

Twelve hours left until finals week. It was his senior year. He had to focus. He had to do this.

He felt a hand trail over his shoulder. But he shrugged it off, feeling a shiver run down his spine involuntarily. "Babe, not now," he said, reaching up and taking a sip of the Gatorade that was sitting above his books and mess of papers.

They were alone in Medda's house. And Race loved that Drake wanted to be with him. But he had to focus right now

"Cmon, Love… take a… thirty minute break?" the man asked, leaning down to kiss and nibble at the base of Race's neck.

The boy relaxed beneath the touch a bit, but then moved out of it, shaking his head. "I don't have time, D… I gotta get this right. I'm barely holdin' a C in Trig right now," he stated, not even looking back at the young, beautiful man behind him.

But Drake pulled away from him and growled a bit in frustration. "Come on, seriously?" he grumbled. Race only turned to catch the young man crossing his arms over his chest. The pout on his lips was adorable and made Race's heart melt. But he shook his head and turned back to his books, pushing his classes up further on his face.

"Baby… you know I love you, but I really gotta focus right now." He felt butterflies rolling around in his stomach. He was nervous about these tests. If he didn't pass, he didn't graduate. If he didn't graduate, he'd never get anywhere in life and he'd be stuck working retail for the rest of his life.

"Tony, I'll make it fast," Drake promised.

Tony didn't answer. He just took a few more notes, clearly ignoring his boyfriend.

He tried to get into some kind of zone. Tried to focus. God knows he'd never been good at focus.

But when a hand grabbed the back of his chair and forcefully spun him around, Race gasped only for lips to come down harshly on his own. He sat stunned for a moment, his brain not fully able to comprehend what had just happened before he was automatically kissing those lips back.

It lasted for a good minute or two. But eventually, the younger boy had to pull away. "Drake, I said no," he whispered again, feeling a sort of guilt rise up in his chest.

But Drake didn't stop.

He kissed his boy again. And Race couldn't help himself. He kissed back. Just for a moment. A moment before his stubbornness kicked back in and he pulled away. "Drake, baby, I love you, but I really can't right now—" He was cut off by his own gasp when his lover forcefully pulled him up, passionately biting at his lip. The boy felt himself tense for a moment, not quite used to the roughness after all these years.

Then, without a word, Race was being carried over to his own bed. He felt something in his chest jump at the hunger in Drake's eyes. Though, he couldn't decipher whether it was fear or excitement.

Or maybe he didn't want to.

The man dropped him down onto the bed, moving to suck at his neck as his hands fiddled with Race jeans. "Drake, I can't—"

Drake cut him off with a rough kind of kiss and it was only at that moment that Race knew his wrists were pinned down by his boyfriend's hands.

Not quite sure why Drake wasn't listening to him, the boy stopped trying to speak and instead watched as Drake pulled away with a mischievous grin on his face. He must've seen the slight alarm in Race's eyes, because he softened merely seconds later. And he let go of the boy's wrists. "Hey… c'mon…" he coaxed, offering Race his perfect smile. "We can make it quick…" he promised, reaching up to caress his boy's face.

Race sighed. He glanced over at his desk full of work and books and then back at his pleading boyfriend. And he managed a strained smile. "Okay…"

Drake grinned.

"He's awake... you should go in, baby… he wants to see you…"

Race could hardly look up at his mother. He managed. Barely. Not without the nudge he got from his brother.

Charlie rubbed the younger boy's shoulder and Race looked up to him as the other man gave him an encouraging nod. He looked over to Katherine. She just offered him a sad, watery smile. "Go on, Tony…"

Tony sniffled, but reached up for his mother's outstretched hands. And he let her lead him into the hallway where she pressed a request button on the wall and waited for the doors to open towards her. Race's legs were shaking. But his mother held his hand.

The hallway felt long and narrow. The walls were closing in on him. He didn't know what he was going to say. He didn't know what to do to fix this.

Jack was hurt. Possibly dying.

And it was all his fault.

But his mother walked comfortably into the room where his brother was lying all alone, unable to move, unable to speak. There were slow tears falling down his face.

Nothing could have prepared the boy for the way those green eyes lit up when they found him standing like a lost puppy in the doorway. Then Jack reached for him, his hand shaking. It was clearly painful for him to move. A sob escaped Race's throat once again as he all but fell forward. He rushed to the man, taking his calloused hand in his own and bringing it up to the bridge of his nose. He didn't say anything. He just cried as Jack did. Medda's hand came down on his back just as he fell into the chair behind him.

As he held Jack's hand, the man relaxed and let his eyes fall shut. His fingers twitched and brushed over Race's cheek. The boy sniffled and helped his brother caress his cheek. "Jackie…" he breathed, holding the man's wrist and hand so carefully against his own skin.

Jack sighed and let his head lull to the side. But Race refused to let go of the man's hand as he began to drift out of consciousness once again.

Race stirred at the smell of bacon. He could vaguely hear someone moving around beside him. And he allowed himself a sleepy smile.

"Drake…" he sighed just as arms encircled his torso. He turned into the embrace and let his eyes open. A kiss was pressed to his forehead. "What're ya doin', Love?"

"I'm making my beautiful boyfriend breakfast. Is that a crime?" the man laughed, brushing at the boy's hair.

Race snorted and watched as Drake lay down beside him. The older man placed a hand on his hip. And Race just studied him.

He had no idea how the man was so handsome.

For a long while they just lay there, watching each other and laying with each other.

Drake reached forward to caress his cheek. And Race smiled. Drake seemed to melt. "Would you just marry me?" he whispered.

Race froze. "Wh… what?"

Drake sat up, still staring down at him. "Marry me. Please, Antonio… I… I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you… you're my everything, baby."

Still, the shock had not worn off. Race slowly sat up in Drake's bed. And he looked at the man like he'd grown two heads. "Are you serious?"

He barely finished his question before Drake had surged forward to capture his lips desperately in his own. "Antonio… I… love… you…" he muttered between the sloppy kisses. And then he pulled away. "I think I'd die without you, Tonio…" Those words. Those words were what made Race stop. He looked up at his man. He studied him finding nothing but the truth in his eyes. "I wanna fall asleep next to you every night and kiss you first thing every morning and make you breakfast in bed and goddamn it, you beautiful boy, I wanna spend the rest of my life with you."

Stunned didn't even begin to describe Race in that moment. He felt like he couldn't breathe. His mind was running much faster than it ever had before.

He loved Drake. He really did.

"We can go down to the courthouse tonight. We can go to Europe tomorrow for all I care. Babe… I wanna be yours and I want you to be mine…"

But he was only nineteen.

"Baby…" he began, unsure of how to continue when there was so much hope in those mesmerizing grey eyes. "I…"

Before he could continue, Drake reached back into the top drawer of his nightstand. He opened it.

And Race couldn't breathe.

"Antonio Isaac Higgins… will you marry me?"

It was happening so fast.

It was too real.

But Race found tears gathering in his eyes at the thought.

Someone loved him. Someone wanted to be with him forever. Someone was promising him everything and more with one simple question.

And all Race could say was, "Yes."

"Hey… Tony?"

It had been hours by now. Race was sure of it. Jack was in and out of it. Katherine sat on the other side of him, stroking his hair and shushing him when he whined every time he woke up. Crutchie was by the window, reading a book and gazing up at Jack every now and again when he remembered why he was trying to distract himself. Medda was down grabbing some coffee.

Tony looked up to the door to find Davey peaking in, gesturing for him to stand. The boy looked back down at his big brother, wiping at his nose before leaning down and kissing the man's cheek.

Following the man out of the room, Race found himself face to face with that cop again. And he froze, feeling a cold fear rise up in him. Spot seemed to sense that. And he shook his head. "Hey, you're not going to jail, okay? But I do need ta explain ta you what's gonna happen next…" the man stated, gesturing for Race to sit down in the waiting room.

He did. And Davey sat next to him.

"Okay… I know this is a tough time for you. But I need ta tell ya that you are gonna wanna get a lawyer," Spot advised, leaning towards him as he sat in his own chair. Race shook his head, about to argue, but Spot put up a hand. "I'm sure he'll tell ya the same thing I'm tellin' ya now. You didn't have time ta call for help. You did the only thing you could do ta save your brother. It's pretty straight forward. But you're still gonna have ta go in front of a jury and be exonerated—"

"But—"

"Race…" Davey called, his voice calm and light as he rubbed the boy's back. Race looked up at him. And Davey nodded at him, silently telling him that everything was going to be alright. Then the man turned back to Spot. "Thank you… is there anything else he needs to do?"

Spot sighed and thought for a moment before shrugging. "It might be helpful if he were able to write out a statement, just a recollection of what exactly happened. It's important that he recalls as much detail as possible."

They continued to talk about him, as if he weren't there. And Race couldn't help but let his mind wander.

"Drake, I wasn't flirting with him. He just asked a question. That's it!"

"You were practically throwing yourself at him!"

"I was not! I was just bein' polite—"

"He wanted to get in your pants and you were gonna welcome him in, weren't ya?!"

"Drake!" Race shouted, appalled at the accusation. He stood stunned in the middle of their living room. Drake was pacing in front of him. Tipsy and angry.

Not a great mix.

He'd been getting jealous lately. Apparently the ring around Race's finger did nothing to tell the man that he had promised Drake his future already. He could understand Drake wanting to protect him. But Race didn't understand why his husband was making such a big deal of this.

"You know what's worse, Tony?! You're practically asking for it! Wearing those stupid tight pants and your muscle shirt n'—"

"I came from the studio, D! What d'ya want me ta wear? A bag?" Race spat back, sarcasm dripping from his lips.

"I want you to stop drawing that kind of attention to yourself! You—"

"Drake, listen to yourself! I was wearing the same things I always wear! I wasn't flirting with anybody—"

Drake had walked Race home from the studio. They'd stopped to get a drink. Someone had asked Race about the band logo on his shirt.

It wasn't a big deal.

Drake seemed to feel differently.

Without warning, he grabbed a stray glass off the counter and turned, swinging hard.

The cup cracked and broke against the boy's skull.

Race didn't remember much after that.

He recalled feeling himself fall. Arms around him. The panicked voice of his husband above him. Sirens, bright lights, unfamiliar hands and voices.

But when he woke up, it wasn't Drake who was sitting beside him.

"Hey, kiddo…"

It was Jack.

"Jack?"

"Shhhhhh…" the man soothed. "You took a bad blow ta the head, Racer. Ya got a concussion…"

The boy looked around. A hospital. "Where's… where's Drake?"

Jack sighed and looked towards the door. "Buddy… look… can you be honest with me n' tell me what happened?"

Race gave him a subtle glare. "Where's my husband?" the boy asked again.

Jack looked like he was about to cry. And he shook his head. "He's just talkin' ta the doctor, Tony. But I really need ya ta tell me what happened…" he asked again.

Race reached up to feel his forehead. But Jack gently grasped his wrist. He held it gently and looked at his brother like he thought he might break. "Jack, it wasn't nothin'—"

The door opened, and in walked a guilt ridden Drake. The man rushed to his husband and embraced him. Race let him, only hardly flinching at the quick contact. "Oh baby… I'm so glad you're awake…"

Race wrapped his arms around the man's waist and relaxed into him. "It was just n' accident, Jack…" he explained quietly.

And Drake nodded. "Yeah, Tony was putting the dishes away and he didn't push one of our cups back far enough. It fell out and hit him on the head…"

Race squinted a bit in surprise. His husband had just lied. Flat out. And Race was quite certain Jack didn't believe a word of it.

But all he could do was nod.

And Jack sighed. "Okay… you need ta rest, kid. Mama's comin' down lata' n' Crutchie wants ta call ta make sure you's ok…"

Race nodded again and reached a hand out for his brother. Jack took it, refusing to look up at Drake.

The room was tense. And Race didn't know what to say. So he didn't say anything. And he tried to relax into the company of the two people he loved most in the world.

But it wasn't working.

"It looks like he's gonna pull through. We must've gotten to him just in time. He lost a lot of blood and is still very weak, but the tube can come out soon and he should be able to go home in a week or so if all goes well."

Race allowed himself the sweet sense of relief at the words of the nurse who had come to give them an update on his brother. He looked down at the man on the bed, still looking exhausted, but awake nonetheless. He nodded and let out a breath, watching as Katherine leaned down to kiss her man on the head. Jack smiled weakly and then closed his eyes again.

And Race felt like crying all over again.

"Um… when… when can the tube come out?" he asked, his voice cracking as he'd hardly used it in the past day.

The nurse paused, a sad smile on her face as she turned to him. "Hopefully tomorrow if he's a little stronger by then," she said before walking out of the room.

Race nodded and ran a hand through his mess of curls. Crutchie had finally gotten him to change his clothes. He still hadn't changed into them. He didn't want to move again. It was all too much.

"See, pal? Everything's gonna be okay," he promised. "Now, c'mon… ya gotta get outta those clothes okay?" The older boy stood with the help of his crutches.

Race shook his head. "I can do it myself, Charlie…" At that, the young man laying on the bed reached over to him, weakly holding his hand as drowsy green eyes looked up at him. Race felt himself beginning to break again. And he shook his head. "I… It's almost healed…" he said, earning sad look from Jack and a sigh from Crutchie.

But Crutchie nodded towards the door. "C'mon, pal… you're gonna be alright…"

For the first time in months, Race started to genuinely believe it.

Race was sitting on the subway. His was the next stop. He didn't want to get off.

He would rather sit here with these strangers than face his husband at that moment.

His studio wanted him to star in their next ballet. Him. It was huge. A huge deal.

But it meant long nights. It meant rehearsal for weeks straight and training for hours every day. It meant going a couple days without seeing Drake.

He wanted to do it.

Drake would not feel the same.

He thought about calling his mama. Maybe it would be worth it to just hear the excitement in her voice. She was always so happy for him when these things happened.

Drake hadn't wanted him to audition in the first place. But he had. And he hadn't told the other man.

He dreaded the conversation he was about to have.

So he sighed when his stop came. And he didn't make any move to stand.

Instead, he opened up his phone and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Hey, D…" Race muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "I… I gotta… um… I… I got it, babe… I got the lead…" he said, feeling the excitement rise in his chest as he said it. Of all the dancers in that studio, he'd gotten it. And that was exciting.

A scoff came on the other end of the line. "You're kidding right?"

"Drake… I know we said—"

"No, babe. No. I'm not doing that again. I hardly got to see you for two months last time. Tell them no."

Race could've sobbed right then and there. In the middle of the train. Surrounded by strangers.

He wanted this. He wanted to do this. It was important to him.

"D… It's a good show n'—"

"Antonio. No."

He swallowed hard. Without even arguing, he just hung up the phone in defeat and pulled his hood up over his head.

And he sat on the subway for an hour, not wanting to move.

Until someone walked in and grabbed his arm. Race didn't stop him.

"Tony, I can't believe you. After we talked about it you still just…"

Race tuned him out. He didn't want to listen. He knew what they'd talked about. He also knew he'd pleaded with his husband to understand how much he loved to dance.

But Drake didn't want him dancing in the studio. Not without him there.

"Are you even listening to me?!"

They were on the street. Almost home. And Drake still had a harsh grip on Race's wrist. He pulled the boy with him until they made it inside.

And before Race could even speak, he was thrown onto the couch.

"What the hell happened to you passing this one up?!" Drake demanded. "We talked about this! You said that—"

"I said I wanted to n' you didn't listen! They were holdin' auditions today, I just happened ta be there n' they asked me ta come in! Do you have any idea how big of 'n opportunity this is—"

The slap caught Race off guard.

It stung.

He willed himself to just go numb as he took off running.

It still hurt.

But now he sat, curled up in Charlie's old sweatshirt and sweatpants from college. He watched as Jack sat up on the bed, holding Katherine's hand as the nurse talked to them.

It was time for the tube to come out. Jack was strong enough to breathe on his own.

And Race could only sit and watch.

"Alright, Mr. Kelly-Larkin. Let's get this over with…" the young woman said, smiling at him as Jack winked at her.

The process was quick enough. And for a moment, Jack just sat there, remembering what it was like to breathe on his own. But then Crutchie laughed. "Alright, Jackie… say somethin'," he prompted, knowing his brother wanted to.

And Race leaned closer to the bed, waiting for the voice that always seemed to calm him.

Jack looked around and every person in that took until his eyes landed on Tony's own. And he managed a smile. "What, ya miss the sound a' my voice already?" he joked.

Katherine laughed. David rolled his eyes. Medda smiled and Crutchie grinned. Race just stared at him, almost like he was afraid his big brother would disappear. And Jack reached out for his hand.

Race took it without a second thought.

Race's cheek stung. He didn't know how he'd gotten here. It had been slow going. He hadn't truly seen it coming. Not even after all the signs.

Not after the charming smirks and the well placed words and sneaky hands. Not after the possessive behavior or outbursts.

He'd missed it somehow.

Maybe he just hadn't wanted to see it.

Drake had hit him again.

It wasn't so frequent. It wasn't like Drake went out of his way to make Race his punching bag. And… maybe it was just an accident. Drake hadn't meant it, after all. Not really. He never did. Something just took over. Something Drake couldn't control. And maybe Race shouldn't have been so loud and harsh towards him.

But it still hurt.

The hits. They still hurt. His ribs. They still hurt. His body was still sore for being thrown every which way. Into walls. Onto the bed. Even after he'd told Drake to stop.

He didn't know what he could do except get out of bed and pull some pants on.

It was one in the afternoon. Race had to get up.

Drake had been drunk. He hadn't meant it.

Part of him wanted to call someone. His brother. He wanted Jack. He wanted Jack to tell him it was okay to be scared. It was okay to want to leave. He wanted to tell Jack everything.

But the second Race reached over and clicked open his phone, still laying flat on his back on his bed, he saw the picture that was posted there on his lock screen.

Him and Drake. And damn, they looked so happy.

Crutchie had taken it. The day that Race had gotten married to the man. Both of them wore suits and they were standing just outside the courthouse, holding each other and grinning.

Drake hadn't wanted them to come. He'd said they didn't need anybody. But Race has insisted. His family was coming. Drake might have left his own behind. But Race couldn't.

He let his screen go dark again as the phone dropped down to his chest. He winced. Glancing over at his husband, he sniffled, watching as Drake slept much too peacefully. The younger man pushed the blankets off of himself and held his breath as he sat up on the edge of the bed, carefully swinging his legs over the side.

He took a deep breath and let out an airy grunt as he tried to stand. He ground his teeth together, trying to stay quiet.

Drake had been rough last night. Way too rough.

His wrists hurt from being held down. He'd tried to get away. He'd tried to lock himself in the bathroom. He hadn't made it in time.

The door was broken now.

Race held himself around the middle as he swallowed hard, choking back sobs. He didn't know what to do now. So he carefully got himself dressed before he pulled himself into the bathroom, not daring to turn the light on. He didn't want to wake Drake.

There was a bruise forming around his right cheek. His hair was a mess. He was terrified to lift up his shirt.

So he didn't. He just pulled his curls down and brushed through them with his fingers

It wasn't the first time. That's what made it so much worse.

It had built over time. The violence. The way Drake craved him. The way he had to have him.

He didn't know what to do.

He loved this man. He did. Drake was his everything. Drake made him so happy. Drake loved him. Drake wanted to buy him a house and start a family with him.

Drake was his family.

He washed his face. It was slow and agonizing to move. But he did it. And he felt a little better. A little more awake.

So he dragged his feet as he made his way into the kitchen. There was a pinch in his stomach. He was hungry.

Drake would be hungry too, when he woke up.

Race grabbed some vegetables from the fridge and a can of broth.

Soup sounded good.

His arms were still around himself as he moved. It hurt.

They were alone. At least, mostly. Charlie was asleep in the chair by the window. But Race knew there was no waking him at this point. And that was a good thing.

Jack was sketching lazily in one of his old art books. Kath had brought it to him only a moment ago before David had taken her to get something to eat. Medda was on the phone outside the door, talking to someone. Race didn't know who.

But he was here, with Jack. And he didn't know what to say.

So he didn't. He just watched his brother tiredly draw out outlines for Katherine's new book. But Jack could feel his eyes on him. It only took another moment. Another moment before Jack was placing his pad on the side of the bed along with the pencil. And he turned to look at the younger boy.

Race felt tears pricking at his eyes again. He was sure he should be fresh out of them. And yet, here they were, ready to fall all over again.

"It's okay, kiddo…" Jack promised. "It's okay ta be angry and scared and upset."

Race didn't know how his brother did it. How Jack read his mind so easily. But he sniffled and shrugged. "You were right, Jack… he… I was scared a' him… n' I don't know why… but I still loved him so damn much…" he whimpered, unsure of how he was supposed to feel. "N'... he nearly killed you because a' me… how 'm I supposed ta—"

"Okay, come here…" Jack coaxed, stretching out his left arm as much as he could without causing himself too much pain. Race did as he was told and he lay his head down carefully on his brother's chest. Jack placed a hand on his hair and thumbed at the boy's cheek. "Ya hear my heartbeat?" Jack asked. Race sniffled and nodded. "Just focus on that…"

The tears began to fall at that. Race closed his eyes and took in a shaky breath as he did so.

"You lost your husband, baby brother… you're allowed to be scared. But you saved my life, ya hear me?"

The boy let his brother tangle fingers in his hair. "I promised him I'd neva' hurt him…"

Jack looked heartbroken at the statement. He looked like he didn't know what to say. And Race allowed himself to fall apart again. "Oh kiddo… hey… you are gonna be okay… hey…"

"I-I thought…" Race hiccuped as he looked up at his big brother. The man who'd been a father to him for the past nine years. "I th-thought I was gonna lose you..." the boy admitted.

The hand in his hair brushed his curls. And Jack melted. "I'm right here, Tony… n' that's because of you… I ain't goin' nowhere… we're gonna get through this together, okay?"

There was so much sincerity in his brother's eyes. And all Race could do was believe him. "Okay…" he whispered. "I love you, Jackie…"

"I love you too, Racer… more than you could ever know…"

Race's life had never been perfect. In fact, it had been anything but.

But he had Jack. He had Charlie and Medda and Katherine and Davey and Jack.

He might never be able to accept what he'd done. But Jack would.

And maybe that would be enough.

Ohhhhhh this story. It was a time and a thrill to write even though it's so super sad.

Here is the original request:

1.) "You're okay. Breath. Just breath. Open your eyes. Come back. It's okay. It's over now. Your okay. Wake up. Please wake up. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. I love you so much. Come back."

2.) "hear my heartbeat? Just focus on that."

3.) Would you kill to save a life

4.) Race is the focus ( sorry Race)

5.) Drake

Again, thank you so much SinfullySimple for this beautiful request! Much love to you!

I hope you're all staying safe and healthy and not bored. This whole shut down is inconvenient for the lot of us and it's a little scary, not gonna lie. But I hope you guys are handling it well and using this time to relax and take a breath.

Thank you all so much for following this story! I love you all so much!

As always, thanks for reading! Make sure to tell me what you liked, what you didn't, what you'd change or what you'd improve by leaving me a review! Love ya, fansies!

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

chapter nine: truth, dare, spin bottles

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

masterlist

PREVIOUS PART -- CHAPTER EIGHT: TWENTY STITCHES IN A HOSPITAL ROOM

warnings: language, self-deprecation, negative thought and talk, fatshaming (past experience, not Bucky), alcohol consumption, mentions of injuries inflicted in ch8

word count: 3.9k

Taglist: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10 @blackwidownat2814 @blackbirdwitch22 @laughterafter  @blackhawkfanatic @mcira @bxckybxrnes24 @rachellovesloki @toffeacademia @bean-bean2000 @lana525 @selella

A/N: YAY this was an amazing chapter to write -- the last scene in this chapter was what I had in mind when I named this series! I love every single one of u who have reblogged, liked, commented. it means so much to me. also, the instance of fatshaming mentioned in this chapter is almost verbatim a very real experience that happened to me, so pls don't be horrible about it, its literal trauma I carry with me. anyways--enjoy! next chapter is the fluff filled, sexual tension at its peak, chapter that'll be the most coveted and awaited!

“Bucky!” You exclaim as quietly as you can, trying to not disturb Nat who’s just gotten some well earned sleep. The rest of the infirmary is empty, and you’re glad that means nobody is around to witness your incoming breakdown. The waterworks start again, flowing down your face in relief. He’s not dead, he’s not in a coma. He’s your Bucky and he’s safe and alive. 

“Hey doll, come on now. No need to cry, is there?” It kills him to watch you sob, and he raises a hand to brush those tears away, but winces. Something is restricting him, and then he looks down and remembers. The blood, the bullets, the metallic taste still coating his mouth.

“Yes there is! You almost died on me.” 

“How could I die when I have such a sweet woman trying her best to give me a praise kink?” He smiles then, and even though he looks tired as shit, you can tell he’s on the mend. The poison was potent but its effects were definitely reversible. 

You laugh at that, taking his vibranium hand that’s closest to you and pressing a kiss to it. “Well I had to stop you dying somehow. If I can turn you on, maybe you could focus on your raging boner instead of wanting to sleep, right?” You laugh again, wiping your tears as his hand cups your face, stroking your cheek in pure adoration.

“Did—Did I really have a boner, doll?”

“I’m not sure, love. I was a bit more focused on the gallons of blood you were losing.” His gaze travels down your form, and you know he’s checking for any injuries as you stroke the inside of his wrist in reassurance.

“I’m alright Buck.” Then he sees your hand, and the taste in his mouth sours as he remembers it’s origins.

“Your hand…I did that. I did that to you.” He retracts his hand, pulling himself away from you and into his most familiar mindset, where he’s convinced he’s a monster and a murderer. You have to pull him out again, you need him next to you.

“Bucky.” You keep your voice firm. “Bucky, no. You didn’t do this to me. It was necessary, the situation called for it. And I’m completely okay. I got it looked at, and it’s not that bad.”

“How many stitches?”

“Buck—.”

“How many stitches?” You can see him shake, horrified at what he’s done. But he hasn’t done anything wrong.

“Six.” His eyes water, and you try to wipe them away.

“No, don’t touch me. Doll, I hurt you, I’m a monster, please don’t touch me.” You know he’s not, you want to bring him back. Back to the Bucky you know, and love. Your heart aches at his words, knowing he’s depriving the both of you some much needed comfort.

“No, you’re not. Bucky, look at me. I love you. You’re my best friend. You were in pain, you needed to be stitched up, and based on the level of poisons in your system, you couldn’t have dealt with that level of pain, especially because of the antidote already kicking your ass. We didn’t have any towels or clean cloth for you, which is my fault, I should’ve checked it before we left. You’re not a monster, Buck. You never have been. You never will be, not to me. You’re not a monster.” His eyes soften and when you reach to dry his tears, he doesn’t stop you. All he needed was reassurance from you, and his resolve quickly crumbles.

You’re gentle, well aware of his vulnerability. You decide to change the topic, speaking in a much more hopeful voice.

“Once you’re better, me and Nat made plans for all of us to go out for drinks and celebrate, because we got what we needed. You did good, love. You just saved the entire nation from God knows what H— that organisation had up their sleeve. You’re a hero. Well, you always have been. But you’re a damn hero, Bucky, and I’m so damn proud of you.” He begins to sob and shake, and you hold his hand. “Would you like to go out with us?” He nods, and you smile.

“Come here, doll. You need to get some rest, you’ve been so busy tending to me, and crying.” He shuffles over with a smile, making room for you in his cot. And you can’t deny it, can’t deny the heavy exhaustion taking over your body at even the mention of sleep past his lips. “You’re my safe place, you know that? I couldn’t sleep a wink without knowing you were okay. I think this is why they don’t let us treat our loved ones back where I’m from. Because the sight of you broke me so bad I almost couldn’t do anything.” You curl into his side, eyes closing as one hand rests on his chest, the other tucked around your own middle. You head rests comfortably against where metal meets flesh, and you absentmindedly press a kiss to one of his scars there. His hand brushes across the bandages, and it feels like if you were to unwrap them, your hand would be good as new. This is what his golden touch does to you, and you’re sick of denying it. Maybe when you go out for drinks in a couple of days, you’ll make your move. Or at least, express your interest.

“You’re my safe place too. I hope you know that. And that there’s nobody else I would’ve let touch me anyway, especially if you weren’t there to oversee it.” His scent grounds you, and you missed being able to feel the vibrations of his chest when he speaks. You miss him like you’ve not seen him in years. 

You let out a breath, and let yourself fall into sleep, murmuring “I do.”

He holds you tighter, and follows suit.

                                            ————————

You wonder if this is a bad idea. When Nat was dismissed and Wanda had come back from a weekend trip with Vision, you had organised to go out for drinks. 

And you’ve decided that you’re going to try flirting tonight. With Bucky, and hope he’ll pick up what you’re putting down and either politely turn you away (likely) or finally make the move. And not a quick peck on the lips before he almost dies, a proper, sweeping off of your feet, romcom worthy kiss.

When you’d first arrived in New York, you’d decided to put your beaten, broken heart in a cage, and throw the key into the closest filthy river. And yet, Bucky has bended the metal bars with impressive strength and reached for it. He’s patched it up piece by painstaking piece, and made it good as new. You were content in your self-made captivity, the cage was once just fine, until it wasn’t. Until the winter sprung forth with freedom hues, and your heart was just out of one jail into another. 

But at least the warden is a sweetheart, keeping your heart healthy and well-kept. Your bars are his ribs, and at least you can see the daylight from in here. 

You’ve decided to up your going-out outfit to the next level. A black dress covered in deep red roses, just the shade Bucky likes, that shows off a good amount of your cleavage and emphasises the curves of your body in a way you don’t mind. You pair it with a leather jacket, and heavy, dark makeup. It’s a little experimental, but not out of your comfort zone. You used to wear eyeliner and dark lipstick all the time, on almost-dates and never-fun nights out. 

You’d stopped going all together, preferring to stay indoors, in your house, where no man can passively show you just how much prettier he finds your friends, or how much they’d prefer if you just lost a little weight. 

Safe to say, you haven’t experienced nights out in New York. And you can’t even get drunk at the moment, seeing as your hand is yet to heal. You’re just lucky it’s your non-dominant hand, so you were able to do this makeup look to yourself with a few tips and tricks from Nat. You smooth down the dress while adjusting the bangles on your wrist and the wolf emblem glinting against the very top of your breasts. You smile, dark red lips stretching back at you in the mirror.

You know once you step out of the house, and see almost any other woman who’s put a lot less effort into her appearance and somehow looks ten times better than you, you won’t feel pretty. Not even one bit. You’ll know, that even the way you look with the most effort is a million times uglier than anyone else at their worst.

But right now, you feel good. Pretty, even. You turn, watching Nat and Wanda watch you as they’ve already gotten ready and are waiting for you. Everyone in this room is aware of what your plans are.

“Alright, girls. Do I look good—I mean, do I look okay?” For a minute your past traumas flash before your eyes. 

Adjusting a necklace, turning to someone you love and trust, asking if you look good. They reply with “It’s okay, but it would be better if you reduced your volume.” Cruelly mentioning your weight, and then the whole night spent with tears streaming down your face and having to blame it on allergies. You swallow, even the mere thought of that experience almost making a large lump appear in your throat. Why are you thinking of that? It must be the nerves.

“Okay? Girl, you look drop-dead gorgeous. Hell, if you weren’t so down bad for Bucky, I would’ve asked you out in a heartbeat. Absolute heart-stealer.” Nat grins, eyeing you up and down. You know she’s just being nice, but it makes your heart swell all the same.

“Yeah, and if me and Vision weren’t so madly in love I would ask you to run away with me. Fuck, what are you doing later?” All the three of you laugh.

You have a history with having things like this said to you as a joke, but it’s never been so well-intended. While your self-esteem is mildly intact, you thank the both of them.

“Alright, I’ll see you guys there. Bucky’s taking me on his motorcycle.” You grab your maroon purse and head out to the front. Bucky’s dressed in all black, leaning against his motorcycle. Dear God, he looks so sexy. He’s typing something on his phone looking all angry, eyebrows furrowed. The moonlight paints him in the most glorious shades, of black and brown and glimmering gold. Home. That’s what he looks like, to you. Home. No longer a place thats an ocean and half a country away. This man, this super soldier, in whose presence you’ve felt like you belonged more in these past few months, than a lifetime over there.

Your chest fills with pride, and you can’t stop yourself.

“You showing off that metal arm tonight?” You skip the last few steps, stopping in front of him. You’re lucky you didn’t trip, it’s the first time you’ve worn heels in ages. Another memento of a time, of a version of you long gone.

He looks up from his phone, and his jaw goes slack. His eyes follow your figure up and down, mouth still hanging open.

“Doll—I, um, you—.” You put you hand on his shoulder, drawing his cerulean eyes up and straight on your lips. He licks his own, and everything flies out the window. A hot pressure ties itself to your lower belly, and you feel your face flush. 

You do have his attention after all.

You smile, looking up at him and grinning like a devil. He’s still at a loss for words, even as you squeeze his bicep. 

“Bucky…Should we get going or are you planning to stare at my mouth all night?” Your head tilts to the side, and it seems to snap him out of whatever daydreams he’s been conducting in his mind, so vivid they bring a pink glow to his cheeks.

“I—Yeah. Yes, let’s…let’s go. Where are we going?” You laugh at his stupor, walking over to his motorcycle and running your hands along the worn leather seat. For a moment, you think about all of the other girls that must have sat behind him, gripping onto him and pretending to be scares, when in reality they just want to cop a feel.

You wonder if you’re half as pretty as any of them, to him, at least. “This is an amazing bike, Buck. Incredibly sexy.” When you look up, you notice him watching you. You flash him your signature sweet smile, and he finally approaches the bike, putting his hands dangerously close to yours.

“Not nearly half as sexy as you. You look—Well, you can probably guess by my lack of words, but—You look gorgeous, doll. Truly. I—.”

“Thank you.” His demeanour finally cracks, a small smile appearing on his face when he realises you’re not fighting him. He wordlessly hands you a helmet, and clips it on for you, warm hands lingering under your chin. 

“Hold on tight, doll.” And then he zooms as fast as he can, with the wind blowing in your hair feeling incredible, even though you clutch onto his middle for dear life.

Your favourite part is when he stops at traffic lights to reach behind him and cheekily run his fingers along your knees and the very lower parts of your thighs, and somehow, you’ve never felt more wanted in your entire life.

Always a compliment or a cheeky joke on his tongue the entire way there— it makes your insides swirl, wondering if it truly can be that your feeling are the 10 to his 0.1.

God, you hope so. 

“Hey, Buck, can we talk tonight? After we come back?” You say to him, just as he’s unfastening your helmet and storing it back in his bike, not without admiring you shaking out your hair, running your fingers through it to tame the horrible case of helmet hair you’re sure you’re having.

“Yeah, sure doll. You don’t need to ask.” His voice is so soft, and you almost melt into a fucking puddle at his feet.

Great. That’s when you’ll make your move. You two are the last to arrive, as usual, and you casually slip your arms around one of Bucky’s, gripping him tightly to you like he’s your man, fingers intertwining undeniably. For the purpose of the illusion, your poor heart goes along with it. 

He visibly stiffens and so just before you walk into the dive bar, you stop him and lean in to whisper into his ear. You don’t mean for your voice to drop an octave with your volume, but it so happens. “Buck, darling. I can stop, if you want. All you have to do is say so, you know that, right?” You don’t miss the catch in his breath, the way his eyes flutter closed as he tries his best to retain his composure. 

“Please.” He turns his face toward you, and you don’t anticipate having your faces so close. You can see the golden flecks in his eyes, as pure as his soul and heart. You wonder where it is, knowing yours fully resides behind the bars of his ribcage. 

“Don’t stop,” he all but whispers and it takes a mountain’s worth of effort to conceal the moan slipping past your lips at his words. He’s done it on purpose, you’re sure.

The kiss has changed the fate of you and him, whether that be for worse or for better. You want him either way. 

You glance at his lips, and you notice how some of your lipstick has ended up just to the side of his ear from your sexual whispers. 

“Oh, sorry. My lipstick’s all—“

“Leave it. I want everyone in this bar to know who I’m with tonight.” His eyes find your lips again, no longer perfect from the smear decorating his face.

“You’re with me?”

“Always.” You want him. Desperately. To push him against the brick and mortar and kiss him like the world is ending tomorrow, and it makes your heart pick up. He notices, and you can feel the desire simmering in the air between the both of you. 

“Dear God guys, you can eyefuck each other later, now get in here.” Natasha’s voice distracts the both of you, heads whipping in comical synchronisation to stare at her bug-eyed, feeling caught by her crudeness. 

“We—I— We’re on our way.” You try and cover for the both of you, secretly dismayed by his dismissal of the notion. You try to not let your fears haunt the wonderful moment, even though they stand not too far off on the sidelines, waiting for the change of score so they can step into the limelight.

He didn’t let go of you the whole night. When everyone was a few drinks deep, he let his hand shift onto your thigh, staring at you like you might hate it. You’d grabbed his wrist and stroked the inside of it, knowing it’s his favourite way to be touched by you. 

And then the gang uses an empty beer bottle, spinning it on the tables in a juvenile game of truth or dare. You laugh at it, secretly holding Bucky’s hand under the table. You never got to play this game in school, too busy with work or studying and then getting to that sore age where it just feels So High School(derogatory).

But tonight, you are happy, free. Trying to access a version of you you’ve long discarded.

“Nurse!” Tony calls out, surprisingly sober despite being on his seventh bottle, whose neck is currently facing towards you. 

“Truth or Dare?” 

“Truth.”

“You like someone in this group, in this booth, don’t you?” You freeze. You can’t admit that, definitely not while holding that certain someone’s hand. “Well, it’s definitely not Steve.” Tony laughs, and you feel horrible for the poor blonde, now trying to hide his face in embarrassment. It seems alcohol opens old wounds when in Tony Stark’s system.

“Mr Stark.” Somehow, even fully sober you seem to have an air of confidence about you, mixing with your perfume. “That’s not very nice. How would you like it if someone made fun of when you used to hit on Ms Pepper and she rejected you? You know we’re all good friends here, there’s no need to be horrible to poor Steve, especially not just because he liked someone who doesn’t have the same feelings for him, but still cares deeply as a friend. It’s just not done, Mr Stark.”

You turn to Steve then, apology on the tip of your tongue. “Don’t worry about it, dear. Thank you for standing up for me.” He quickly touches your knee, careful to not let it linger seeing as he’s caught sight of your and Bucky’s intimate contact the second it began happening. “God, how’s she so respectful when telling me off?” Tony grumbles. Everyone’s eyes are on you, and you change the topic.

“I don’t want to complicate things right now, in front of anyone, so I won’t be answering. Dare.”

“Take three shots. I’ve heard you’re a drinker, and you haven’t touched a drop all night. Not fair, is it?” He leans back in his part of the booth, while you try your hardest to seem smaller, squashed between Steve and Bucky. 

You wonder how to answer without trying to seem like you’re chiding Bucky, because you truly do not blame him for your state. Thor replies for you, his voice booming.

“Can’t you see, the fair maiden has an injured hand, Stark. She should not be consuming any alcohol. Not a single drop.” You flash him a smile, even as you feel Bucky pulling away, and you just know the guilt is pulling him away. 

You quickly grab his hand tighter, keeping it on your thigh and making him meet your eye. 

Don’t blame yourself. You silently signal. 

I’ll try. He blinks back and you sigh, resting your chin on his shoulder for a split second in casual intimacy, and it makes him smile.

“Well yes. But also, Bucky’s not allowed to drink tonight either, so I thought I’d join him in solidarity.” It’s not a lie. One of the reasons you’ve been clinging to Bucky all night is to make sure he doesn’t drink alcohol. You know he’s a super soldier, you know you’d gotten him the antidote on time, and you’ve double checked his wounds at least twice in the past 24 hours just to know they’re nothing more than pink marks that’ll be gone by the time the sun rises tomorrow.

But you still worry. You still want to be safe, not wanting to take any risks. Nobody knows what level of poison will always remain in his bloodstream, what the knock on effects of machine produced antidotes are. 

You can’t take the chance. You just can’t. 

“That’s right. Me and my girl are going sober tonight. No shots for either of us.” 

He’s spoken several sentences, but you fixate on four words. Me and my girl. Is it correct grammar? No. But does it absolutely send your mind into a fritz? Absolutely.

“Ugh, all these rules and regulations. Fine then, I dare you to go up there and do some karaoke.” Your eyes widen. How the fuck do you get yourself out of this. “Look, sweetheart. It’s either that or you flirt with the bartender who’s been eyeing you all night.” He tilts his head behind you, and sure enough you’re being watched.

The bartender is not ugly, by any means— tall, brown hair and light eyes. But he’s not Bucky. So what’s the point? That man can stare all he wants, but he’ll never be the one to have you. Not as long as Bucky is next to you, in sickness or in health. 

“Go on, doll. You have an amazing singing voice.” 

“How do you—?”

He leans in to whisper in your ear, sending chills down your spine. “I hear everything you do in your room. When you think nobody’s awake to hear you, or nobody’s listening. I hear everything.” 

And all of a sudden, you’re out of your seat and being pushed to the small karaoke corner and all of the people at your booth get up to stand and hear you.

You know what song you’re going to sing. This isn’t how you planned it, but you suppose you’ll make the most of the situation.

You stand behind the mic stand, and your eyes find Bucky. 

They stay glued on him as you sing Guilty As Sin? By Taylor Swift, imagining all things you’ve never done with him. The way he touches you in your deepest desires, the way he kisses in your daily daydreams. It’s almost too much.

And then you see his face.

Lovestruck, lovelorn, lovesick.

All for you.

NEXT PART

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

WhatsApp?, Part 17. (Steve Rogers x reader)

Description: You’ve never been lucky with guys. You just wanted to catch someone’s eye, to be loved. One day, that’s about to turn completely - with one fake, completely imagined number a guy gave you.

A/N: We will be wrapping up soon, folks. Let's have two last chapters and were done!

Warnings: Reader being a paranoid silly dummydumdum and angst and angst and fluffiness. I have u guys, alright?

Word count: 3.1 K

Tagging: @missdictatorme, @songforhema, @mikariell95, @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

Read the rest here: Part One  Part Two  Part three  Part four  Part five  Part Six Part seven  Part eight  Part nine  Part ten  Part eleven  Part twelve  Part thirteen  Part fourteen  Part fifteen  Part sixteen

If you like to have your readings in order :):  H E R E  

Four months after the last chapter:

You sat on the toilette for what seemed like forever, in a complete shock, gasping for your dear breath. You felt as you were crying, sobbing, being a hot pile of mess. Pete was sitting next to your small cabin on the ground, hugging his knees, listening to your heartbreaking sobs.

You and Steve were together just for a few months, four and a half to be exact and you couldn't think of anything more perfect. When he was at home, he was literally the sweetest guy around.

He knew his way around with cooking and preparing just the best baths, nobody was able to make the bed like him. Every time he cleaned up the place, you couldn't recognize it. And you didn't know if he used some forties tricks when it was his turn doing the laundry, but it smelled so good every damn time he hung the clothes.

It was more than fair to say that Steve Rogers was living at your place basically. He moved his clothes there, so you could basically wear them as yours, he was buying the groceries and taking care of the flat.

Your relationship grew stronger and stronger, but with that, you needed to count on the paparazzi sniffing around your private life. They exposed you and Steve many times and you only giggled when you read the articles out loud to Steve when he was in the shower. Sometimes you were reading it with Peter when Steve was out of touch.

You were making fun of that, but Steve got fed up after a while. He was under the public microscope for a long time at that moment when your relationship started, so he talked with Tony (IT WAS TONY STARK HIMSELF, YOU LITERALLY FREAKED OUT WHEN STEVE SAID THAT IT'S JUST 'TONY') and Tony made some steps to keep the newest Avenger lovebirds out of the public eye.

Everything was awesome... Until that one evening.

How to put it right? Let's just say it how it was - you both absolutely loved sex, let's be honest here. Steve adored and loved your soul, but your body was just gorgeous for him. He was a boy from the eighties who didn't have a proper lovemaking session for seventy years, maybe even never.

So, naturally, when Steve got home after three weeks lasting mission, you took a day off at work, just to be with him at home all day, basically not leaving bed all day. That was maybe the day you just got... Pregnant.

Yep. That's right. A baby was inside growing inside of you and your heart was beating loudly at that moment. What the hell should you do? What were your options? Your brain couldn't exactly think when you were a crying mess sitting on the toilette.

Steve told you one time that the family man who lived in the forties died inside of him when he got out of the ice.

So you were worried that Steve will not take it too happily, even though you knew that you were seriously paranoid.

"Is everything ok out there? You're freaking me the hell out." - Pete knocked on your cab lightly, which actually reminded you of his presence. You weakly pulled yourself together, dried your cheeks and stood up. When you opened the cab, he almost jumped right into your face. - "You're not pregnant, right? That's why you're crying."

You didn't answer, just gave him the test and leaned your hands to the sink to watch your face in the mirror.

A mom. You'll be a mom. Was that even real? Were you even ready for that? You had a small bean inside of you. Your mind was splitting into two different people - one of them was optimistic and the second one was depressed like hell.

A strange warm feeling surrounded your heart and you smiled at yourself. Hormones were making you a bit crazy, like riding on a rollercoaster. The fear of telling him was sitting on the back of your head all the time, but for a moment you focused on happiness.

"You'll be a mom." - Peter whispered. He was in shock, but you could feel that happiness is written down in his voice. - "That's great! I will be his or her uncle and we will be best pals... Y/N, what's wrong?" - Peter asked worriedly and hugged you, nursing you slowly. His lips kissed your temple gently and his fingers smoothed your hair.

"I'm just so fucking afraid, Peter. What if he tells me that he doesn't want it anymore? He's at least a hundred years old. He doesn't have a much stable life, his job is dangerous and... I don't know." - You cried out to his shoulder and hugged him even tighter. You had a grip of a tiger or a bear that surprised Peter.

"Are you even listening to what you're saying, you weirdo?" - Peter took your face to his palms and smiled at you. A fifteen-year-old boy was nursing you because you were afraid of a baby. Your own baby. You were going to be a mom. You were acting like Ana in Fifty shades said, you had a little bean somewhere out there.

"Steve will be out of his mind when he's gonna find out. That man was designed by God to be a dad. Whether it will be a boy or a girl, you will be great parents. And May and I will be the best uncle and aunt duo." - He kissed your temple again, but someone interrupted you. It was Deena. She screamed, put her hand on her heart and closed the door with a loud bang. Then she opened the door again, looking at you, crying your eyes out and Peter, with his arms, circling around your shoulders. You both watched her, Peter with a big smile and you with your eyes hurting a bit.

"Okay, you two. I know you have a strangely friendly relationship, but this is fucking wild. What the fuck is going on?" - She just strode there, putting her hands on her hips, frowning at you and Pete. She had a primadonna attitude until Pete turned towards her with a pregnancy test in his palms.

"Oh my fucking God. You cheated on Steve with... Don't you fucking tell me." - She tried to tell a joke, but a small smile appeared on her lips. Her face was gentle all of a sudden as she watched the positive stick in her hands. You would never say that Deena could be a family type, but that situation totally wrecked her family-cold facade. She looked at you with a graceful smile, and ten hugged you. Then, she put her palm on your belly, slowly caressing you with his fingers.

"Hey, little baby. We know about you, honey. Oh my god, Y/N." - Deena looked into your face with a loving gaze. - "I think I'm gonna cry. Jesus fucking Christ, what have you done to me?" - She smiled and winked at you to get the tears away. - "Steve will be so happy. And Buck will probably cry. He's a sensitive pussy these days."

"But how the fuck am I supposed to tell him?" - You stared to the side, leaning your ass to the sink, watching both of them. - "I'm so afraid now."

"What are you thinking about, dummy?" - Deena looked at you with an ironic face, laughing. - "Just tell him. He's an honest man and he will most probably explode with euphoria. You know what? I have an idea." - Her palms held your shoulders, so she couldn't look away from her.

"You'll try it on Bucky, the whole telling thingy. Hell. He'll order you his fucking plum diet. Just be cool, you'll tell him, test it out. Buck will not tell Steve a single word if you ask him to. And now, get the fuck out. Both of you. I need to pee." - She smiled and kissed your cheek in a motherly mode. You could feel that she's so proud at that moment, so proud she couldn't even express it.

"Hey. Heads up. You'll do great. Wow. A baby. That's wonderful. In a few months, you'll be so big. Like, I mean, a big tummy, there will be a baby and I can chat with them." - Peter was so excited that it made you smile. Yeah. You'll be big. You'll be huge. Like a balloon. And you'll fart a lot. But that will be alright. Cause there will be a baby inside of you. - "You can't even guess how proud and happy I am."

"Yeah. Stop grinning so much, dummy. The whole office doesn't need to know that I'm pregnant the first day I found out that. So shush." - You shoved the little stick into the back pocket of your jeans and went there with a big smile.

Bucky was already in the office, leaning next to Val's shoulder and watched some video. Suzie watched you with her silent stare, feeling that something's off about you. But she just nodded and didn't ask. You loved that Suzie was the silent friend. She didn't ask unnecessary questions at all. But just as Suzie knew instantly that something happened, May could feel it in the air.

"Okay, you moron. Don't furrow at me like that and just tell me. What's wrong?" - May leaned her ass into your desk and looked at you with her motherly state. She had warm eyes and a kind smile, soothing the back of your head. But you just wiggled your head and decided on not telling her, not just now.

"You're like another child to me, baby. Just as protesting as Peter at the start of his puberty." - She leaned down and kissed your forehead. - "Remember that whatever happened, it's going to be good. When you feel like telling me, you'll. I larb you so, so much." - And then she left. You looked at Peter with a surprised face and he shrugged his shoulders. You were so glad that you may don't turn her NCIA attitude on just left it be. But then you saw Deena, looking like a little devil, leading Bucky to you. He looked really scared and surprised.

"Okay. She told me that you have something to tell me. And I'm not going to lie, I am a bit afraid what the hell is going on because she was deadly serious." - Buck said in a guessing tone. Deena frowned at him.

"Who the hell is some 'she', Mr. Burnes?" - She put her arms on her chest. Deena was just joking, but her face was deadly serious.

"She is my lovely girlfriend who is the best in the whole world, miss Green." - Bucky smiled, leaned onto her body, kissing her from her cheeks down to her collar bones, making her laugh. - "But let's talk, miss Y/L/N, soon to be Mrs. Rogers." - Bucky told you and take you away from the rest of your coworkers.

"That's not too far fetched." - You whispered back and Buck opened up his mouth with a surprise before turning his expression to a big smile.

"So that little jackass wants to marry you? I know that he's really in love with you, but this is a pleasant surprise." - He leaned into one of the windows, watching you nervously biting his lower lip.

"No! No! We're not having a wedding, Jesus. We're only for not even five months, Buck. You're crazy. I need to tell you something different." - You leaned next to him and put your head on Buck's shoulder.

"Okay. What's it, baby girl? You can tell me anything. I'm your and Steve's friend. I'm curious about what has happened." - Buck hugged your shoulder with his arms, bringing you closer to him. He was just the greatest friend, he made you feel safe and fooled to tell him almost everything. So you felt as you relaxed when the little, quiet sentence just got out of your lips.

"We're going to have a baby." - You whispered and looked at Buck with an innocent look.

"Doll, are you serious?" - He asked silently and his face leaned down to look at you.

"Yeah, my magical assistant Peter helped me to do three to four tests this morning. All of them were positive." - You smiled at Buck. His reaction nicely surprised you and made you feel sure about having a baby with Steve. Your emotions and hormones told you that it's going to be all right. Buck was a bit tougher Steve from what you could tell. And his reaction was like someone has lit up a fire inside of him, his smile felt warmer and lighter, his eyes shined with excitement. - "But I'm a bit worried about Steve's reaction. Like... He told he ain't that family man anymore. So..."

"Okay. So I'm an experiment. You think he's going to freak out, or that he'll be rude or he's going to pack his things and leave?" - Buck asked you honestly, he exhaled out loud, ending it with a giggle in the end. - "My pal would never. He'll be out of his mind, I swear in the name of God. It will make him love you even more. Hey. Let me tell the thing like this: every man, especially the two of us, want to have some small princess or a tough small pirate. It's a dream we think we can't reach. But you're the example of fulfilling that dream."

"What dream are you two talking about? Can I join the discussion?" - Steve's voice freaked the living hell out of you. Bucky felt how your body began to tremble, so he smoothed your back calmly. Steve took you to his arms and hugged you, kissing you tenderly on your lips, making you smile. - "You've been crying, sweetheart. Something's wrong?" He held you in his hug and you hugged him even tighter. Steve could sense that something's up, he could tell every time you cried or felt down. It was just like his sixth sense.

"I brought you some tea for your sickness, I heard that it helps a lot. Also, I have some food from the restaurant you like, some tomato soup and some lasagna." - He showed you a travel teacup and a bag in his hand, smiling excitedly. - "You told me that you will not have enough time today, so I took you something good to eat, doll. I will not let my girl starve, will I?" - Steve played with your hair and kissed the back of your head. Bucky disappeared in the meantime, leaving you two in a loving bliss moment.

"What would I do without my big guy, right?" - You tiptoed and kissed his lips. But then sickness took hold on your belly as you began to realize that you should tell him before you'll lose your courage completely. He wasn't blind, so he could do the math when the time came, seeing your growing belly and tired attitude. - "We, like you and me, have to talk. Right now and right here otherwise I would not tell you." - You left his side and left the bag on the floor under the window.

"Doll. Before you'll tell me anything else, just let me tell you that I love you and if you want to leave me..." - Steve played with your fingers and he looked like he's about to cry. You immediately took his face to your palm, shushing him with a passionate kiss.

"Shut up for a minute, you dummy. This is stressing me the hell out and I really want you to know." - You smoothed his wide shoulders with your nails and you still held him close. - "Especially when you and I need to go through all of this together."

"Is something wrong? Are you sick? What happened?" - Steve was smoothing your face with his thumbs gently and lovingly and his face was really looking like a lovesick puppy. Before he could guess any other option, you burst out.

"I'm pregnant. I'm... Pregnant." - You said twice, slowly and more scared for the second time. You couldn't even believe what you were telling him. Your face was pale and scared, you looked tired and sick. Steve just froze in one place, his mouth shut and his gaze was piercing through you, his arms around your shoulder.

"And are you... Sure? Like deadly sure? Seriously?" - Steve asked in a low, emotionless voice. You trembled in his arms, beginning to cry and your lower lip curled. You slowly nodded and first tear left your eye, falling down on your face.

"So... A baby. Wow." - Steve said with his expression slowly lighting up. - "We are going to have a baby." - All of a sudden, why you still cried, he was crying too with a sweet smile on his lips. He took you, carefully, at your waist, hugged you and carefully twirled you around. - "Y/N, I'm doing to be a dad." - He exclaimed with the happiness of a little boy.

"So you're not angry with me?" - You beeped quietly and looked at your boyfriend crying and you started to cry even more after that. You both stood there and cried like little children, hugging each other.

"Are you serious? Y/N, this is most probably the best day of my whole life." - Steve dropped on his knees, put his palms on your tummy and kissed it with a loving expression. Your fingers ran through his hair as he spoke directly to the baby. The tone of his voice was sweet and loving, he was mumbling and he held your waist in his hands.

How could you be so terrified? Why were you so paranoid? Steve took it the best way he actually could, he really was out of his mind completely, shining like a star. You loved to see him like that. A proud daddy-to-be. You could feel that he's happy, happier than ever before.

"Isn't it a bit too soon for you?" - You whispered after a long, sweet make our session. Steve was passionate and he was showing you all the love he had inside.

"It could happen a bit later, that's true. I'm amazed and surprised because this is a serious miracle. But I know you, you're my best girl, my loving and supporting girlfriend no matter what I decide to do. So we have two things on our list now, what do you say?" - He hummed in a pleased tone, being all-loving and caring for you.

"Two things?" - You opened your mouth, being surprised.

"First things first, we will prepare our home for this little angel." - He whispered and stole another kiss from you. - "But we can't bring him to a world where their parents aren't married. And I'm serious about that."

[that-yandere-life]

Requested by: @malina4ka

hey i know its lil bit stupid… but i got a request with yandere pete… when his girl is jealous, YEAH I KNOW THATS STUPID, but like shes jealous to mj bc he hang out with her n ned a lot bc they r friends n stuff.. i would be VERY grateful if u do it.. love ur blog! ♥

[Thank you so much for the request! This one was not stupid at all, I really enjoyed the scenario and it was different to any I have done before! I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it! <3 <3 <3]

First of all baby boy is so lost in you that he doesn’t even notice that you are jealous initially.

Realizes it when you start getting short with him whenever he would tell you he was hanging out with Ned and MJ.

Thought maybe you were just jealous that he was spending so much time with them lately.

Cuts back and spends that extra time with you.

Gives you extra affection if that’s even possible. If he is with you, he is on you like a sloth on a branch.

Things get better for a little while, until he needs to work with MJ on a project as partners.

Meaning he has to go to her house to work on it.

Tells you that he has to work on a project, but doesn’t tell you who he is working on it with not thinking it’s important.

When you get curious and asks, he doesn’t lie to you.

Gets worried because you stop texting him back.

Makes up an excuse to MJ about why he needs to leave, although at this point she is used to it.

Heads straight to where you are, his heart beating a mile a minute thinking something was terribly wrong his senses were going haywire.

When he finds you in the bedroom sobbing into your pillow he relaxes a little bit, mostly because you are physically unharmed.

Lays down on the bed and holds you from behind, pulling you close to his chest.

Tells you to talk to him when you want to, there is no pressure.

Turns you around kissing your tears away, pushing the hair out of your eyes.

Goes on about how beautiful you are, and how lucky he is to have you in his life.

That only makes you start sobbing again, and he is so confused on what is happening. He can tell he is the cause but he doesn’t know what he did.

You finally manage to squeak out an answer in between bouts of crying.

Peter is astounded to hear that you are jealous of MJ, his best friend MJ. Almost like a sister to him in a way.

Takes a deep breath before kissing your forehead with a reassuring smile.

“Babe, MJ is my best friend but no one can even compare to you. I don’t even see anyone else, you are the only one I think about day and night. You are my entire world, I would do anything for you.”

Nodding you could see that he was telling the truth by the look in his eyes.

Be prepared to be smothered in kisses all over until you laugh.

If you don’t laugh to that, guess who is getting tickled?

Would promise that you could go with him the next time he and MJ needed to get together for the project.

Also decides to include you in movie nights with MJ and Ned, unsure why he didn’t before hand.

Deep down he was sad that you would even question his love for you.

Maybe it was time to really show you his love.

Texting Tony he told him it was time.

Time for a present to be cashed in.

An apartment for the two of you, one that no one would know about unless Peter wanted them to.

If you wanted his love over anyone else, he was going to give it to you full strength.

You are his true obsession, he was never going to let you go.

And you never knew that you didn’t have a choice.

[areiton]

something better

Square: A3 - Free Space for @tonystarkbingo

Title: something better

Pairing: Rhodey/Tony Stark

Warnings: Drinking 

Summary: He never wanted to make weapons. He loved robots, loved creating, loved figuring out how to make things better. Destroying–that was never his goal.And then he met Rhodey.

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18326219

~*~ 

I saw young Americans killed by the very weapons I created to defend them and protect them. 

 ~*~

He never wanted to make weapons. He loved robots, loved creating, loved figuring out how to make things better. Destroying–that was never his goal.

And then he met Rhodey.

~*~

He built engines first.

To get his father’s attention, but also because he couldn’t not--there was a burning curiosity, to know how to make them work, how to make them better.

He made engines that could run on saline water, made engines that ran on ethanol, made engines better and cleaner and quieter and more powerful.

And it never did make his father proud, but when he rambled at Rhodey about it, his friend smiled, his eyes bright and fond and Tony felt like maybe he was doing something right.

~*~

He whispers about his bot to Rhodey in their little apartment in Cambridge, and Rhodey pets his hair and tells him he can create whatever he wants.

“It'll make the world better,” he says and Rhodey smiles at him.

“ You make the world better.”

~*~

“Why don’t you make weapons?” Rhodey asks, once. It’s right after their first, only, disastrous trip to the Stark family seat, and Howard’s dismissal of Tony’s prototype of his first bot. He laughed, and Maria stood by, pale faced and trembling as Howard called the plans dumb, a waste, a fool’s errand.

“Because I want to create,” Tony whispers, into his friend’s shoulder, warm and solid under his lips. “I don’t--I want to be better.”

“You already are,” Rhodey promises.

~*~

He names the bot DUM-E and he cries as it prods, gently, at his shoulder, gears whirring.

He promises himself and his bot, he’ll do better than Howard ever did.

~*~

“Why do you have to go?” Tony asks. He knows the answer, but he still asks.

He knew this was coming and it still hurts.

“I’ll be home before you know it. You won’t even miss me,” Rhodey promises.

Tony doesn’t argue. He knows the truth--he’ll miss Rhodey like an arm, a gaping hole in the chest.

He smiles, and says, “I’ll build you something pretty, ok?”

Rhodey smiles, presses a kiss to his forehead and takes his bag to answer the Air Force’s call.

~*~

He rebuilds a Roadster over the long summer without Rhodey, fills up his days with working on the engine and tinkering with DUM-E, and his empty evenings coding a project he can’t quite name yet. Obediah comes by and pokes around the workshop and Tony is glad, so glad that he hid the plans, that there’s nothing but a very pretty car for him to discover.

“You could be helping build SI, son,” Obei says and Tony swallows around his nausea.

He’s going to build something.

Something better.

~*~

Rhodey comes home, thinner than Tony has ever seen him, bright with something Tony doesn’t understand, but his smile is soft for Tony, and he listens as Tony talks talks talks, desperate and incessant, until Rhodey drags him close, pins him to the couch and covers him with his weight and whispers, “I’m home, sweetheart. I’m here.”

Rhodey doesn’t mention Tony’s tears, and Tony doesn’t mention the way Rhodey kisses them away, but it feels like something shifts between them.

~*~

Howard and Maria die, and the world doesn’t stop, and Tony--Tony hates it for that.

For refusing to come to a standstill with him and his grief that feels all encompassing, that feels like it will drown him.

Rhodey presses close, holds him when he sobs in his bed, keeps Obadiah and his endless demands at bay.

Tony thinks he wouldn’t survive, if it weren’t for Rhodey.

And then--when the world is dark and Rhodey is his only shining light--the Air Force calls and steals him away.

~*~

Tony is silent and furious, trembling where he leans against the doorjamb, watching Rhodey pack. They haven't argued, really--there has only been quaking anger and tense silence.

“I don't want to go,” Rhodey says, the night before he leaves.

“Then don't,” Tony says, almost begs, and Rhodey sighs.

Tony crawls in his lap and catches Rhodey's gasp with his lips, presses him into the couch, kisses him until Rhodey groans and grabs his hips and pulls him closer, rolls his hips up to grind into Tony.

Tony mewls and it makes something in Rhodey shift. Lighten the kiss and grip on his hips, petting at Tony until he slumps, trembling, in Rhodey's arms, tears wet against his throat.

“Don't leave me,” Tony whispers and Rhodey doesn't answer, can't answer, just tightens his grip on him and holds him through the night.

~*~

He's gone in the morning and Tony spends it trashing his newest bot, and crying, before he drinks himself sick.

~*~

When Rhodey comes home--Tony looks at him, a drunk, guilty smile on his lips. The apartment is trashed, pieces of a new bot mangled on the ground. There are bottles everywhere and most telling is the blonde girl passed out next to him.

Rhodey sighs.

He cleans Tony up, politely ushers his bedmate out and gets to work cleaning up the house.

When he finds Tony, slumped and sobbing, in the shower, he sighs and gently gathers him up, drying him and pulling him to bed.

“I'm sorry,” Tony whispers. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry.”

Rhodey kisses his hair and hums until Tony exhausts himself, slumps boneless in Rhodey's arms. And then he murmurs, gently. “People fuck up, Tones. But this is your chance to be better.”

~*~

They don't talk about it.

But Rhodey doesn't kiss him again. They step back into friendship that is good but not everything Tony wants.

He stops drinking, goes back to building and his classes and when Obadiah calls, he gives him control of SI.

“I'm not a weapons builder,” he says.

“I want to make SI into something great,” he says.

Rhodey smiles at him. “You will.”

~*~

Rhodey leaves and every time, Tony fights it, fights the urge to spiral into alcohol and meaningless sex. Every time, he retreats to his workshop and builds , with shaking hands and eyes blurry with tears, and the ache of something important and missing.

And every time, Rhodey comes home, worn and battered and beautiful, and his eyes are soft and warm and proud when he follows Tony and listens to everything he’s done, everything he’s made better, while Rhodey was gone.

~*~

“You could work for SI, you know. It doesn’t have to be the Air Force,” Tony says. It’s a familiar offer, and Rhodey rolls his eyes and steals Tony’s beer. “I can give you a whole department, platypus.”

“You don’t even want SI,” Rhodey says, softly and Tony blinks at him.

“I’d take it. For you. If you wanted me too--I’d do it, for you.”

Rhodey’s breath catches and he stares at Tony, his eyes wide and his heart pounding and Tony smiles, small and sweet. “I’d do anything for you, honeybear.”

Rhodey pulls him into a hug that feels desperate, and Tony hums, happily, snuggling close, says cheekily, “Is that a yes?”

Rhodey snorts.

~*~

When Rhodey gets orders for his first deployment--not a training mission, not flight school or officer school or any of the myriad of things that have pulled him away before, but a real deployment--Tony has a panic attack that terrifies them both, and leaves them shivering together in Tony’s bed. Rhodey holds him close, pets his hair and promises to come home.

Tony clings and blinks away his tears, and reminds himself--Rhodey has never lied.

Never once.

~*~

“Tony,” Rhodey whispers, and he pauses. He’s hesitant, because it’s been three years since his parents died and they kissed and he fucked up and nothing has changed since then--and everything has changed, since then.

“Tony,” Rhodey breathes, and pulls him into bed, and it’s bittersweet, because the morning looms closer with every passing moment.

But it’s good , too, and with every gentle kiss, every slow thrust and whispered promise, it’s even better.

~*~

“I’ll be home before you know it. You won’t even miss me,” Rhodey promises.

He smiles, and says, “I’ll build you something pretty, ok?”

~*~

The first deployment, Tony finishes the coding and JARVIS is born, better than any of his ‘bots, better than even Tony had hoped, and he thinks--this. This could make the world better.

This could make SI great.

JARVIS and his bots. They're his greatest creation.

~*~

Rhodey adores JARVIS, with the same whole hearted love he gave DUM-E and U and Butterfingers.

He watches Tony like he’s proud, like Tony is brilliant and fascinating and everything he could ever want, and Tony wonders--maybe it’s not about being better than Howard.

Maybe it’s about being good enough for Rhodey.

~*~

“You have to think about it, kid. Stark Industries is waiting for you to get your life together.”

“I don’t want to build weapons, Obie,” he says, earnest and ignores the way Obie’s face goes shuttered and judgmental.

“What do you want to do?”

Tony smiles. “I want to do something great.”

~*~

The board hates the arc reactor. Obie hates it. There is pushback on every level, and Tony hates that but he gets phone calls from Rhodey, scratchy and far away--he needs to work on more reliable communications, he notes absently--and he’s eager to listen, eager to hear what Tony is doing, endlessly supportive, and Tony flushes, brilliant and happy, and it’s enough.

To keep fighting the board, to keep fighting Obie, to keep fighting public opinion.

Rhodey’s voice has been the only one that mattered since he was fourteen.

It’s not going to change now.

~*~

When he is twenty one, the world stops.

It’s not the same kind of cold devastation that Howard and Maria’s deaths was.

This is a fucking bomb going off in his life, tearing through his dreams and his plans, setting every fear he’s ever hidden away alight. And it changes.

He sits next to Rhodey’s bedside, listens to the doctors talk about shrapnel and smart bombs and how lucky his best friend is, and he wants to scream.

He doesn’t.

He waits until they’re alone, when no one can see. He presses a kiss, dry and chaste, to Rhodey’s forehead and whispers, “I promise, this won’t happen again, sweetheart. I’ll make it better.”

~*~

Tony Stark never wanted to make weapons. He loved robots, loved creating, loved figuring out how to make things better. Destroying–that was never his goal.

And then he met Rhodey. Rhodey, who smiled gently and held him safe, and whispered that he could be better.

He fell in love and he was, he was better. He was great.

He never wanted to make weapons. He wanted to build a world that was better.

And then he fell in love and that love was threatened.

~*~

Tony Stark takes control of SI, amid much fanfare and speculation, and Obie’s critical, assessing smile, and in a few short years, he revolutionized the weapons industry.

He makes weapons smarter, stronger, deadlier, and every time he watches his bombs destroying something, he shoves the pain of a dream forgotten down, down, down.

Rhodey is safe.

Rhodey would be safe.

He will burn the world to ash, to keep Rhodey safe.

~*~

Sometimes, when he sits with his bots, and drinks away his guilt and regret, he let's himself miss Rhodey’s small, proud smile and the warmth of his arms.

~*~

He fights his way out of a cave, and out of the desert, and out of the weapons game.

And standing in his workshop in his suit, the love of his life staring at him--he sees it again.

The tiny smile that says-- Tony Stark built something great.

~*~

It takes him a long time, to realize--that smile doesn’t quite mean what he thought it did.

Rhodey whispers it in his ear, one night, and Tony shudders, tears pricking in his eyes, craning for a kiss he’s desperate for.

You are better. You are great .

You are your greatest creation, Tony.

~*~  I had my eyes opened. I came to realize that I had more to offer this world than just making things that blow up.