#Post endgame

[moonyvvamp]

Since what if gave me the confirmation that there is and can be a universe where everyone is gay and slowly healing, I'm taking the liberty to write it myself.

Starts after Endgame, Blackhill, Bishova, Agathario, ValCarol and Wanda x Darcy (just trust me on this) are some ships that I've started working into the fic so far. Everyone is on the long rocky road to satisfaction. It gets messy but no person left behind.

Plenty of the pet characters make an appearance. Alpine, Goose, Lucky, Liho and Jeff the Land Shark to name a few.

[urbaebarnes]

be mine

summary: you were convinced life would never be the same again after losing Nat, but your life's never the same after Bucky either

post endgame bucky barnes x fem avenger reader

warnings: grief, curse words, reader uses she/her pronouns, no use of y/n

i know people like flowers and everybody was so kind about it i couldn't wait to start writing this! this was also meant to be much shorter but here we are i guess

word count: 3.9k words

Grief was a scary thing. No matter who you were, realising that somebody is gone from your life is difficult. But it seemed to be double the blow for you and Bucky.

Natasha had been your lifeline, your only family. You came here with her, and part of you felt as though you left here with her too. It was supposed to be easy to understand, but no matter how many times people explained it to you, it didn’t quite make sense how everybody else got their families back and you just didn’t.

You figured Bucky must feel similar, the two of you never really ventured outside your designated people. He had Steve, and you had Nat. Sure, everybody else was still close, but they would never be able to fill the void that was left by the redhead assassin. Who were you supposed to run to after a good date- or a bad one at that?

It was fine, you tried to convince yourself, as everybody else moved out the compound, as everybody else moved on, you were stuck here.

The only other person who’d remained was Bucky, although that seemed to be partly down to the fact the government still wasn’t exactly sure what they were supposed to be paying him. It was a room, a bed, a constantly stocked kitchen. It made sense to stay.

After Bruce officially moved out, you were convinced you didn’t see Bucky for two weeks. He was good at being sneaky, you only ever caught glimpses of him, or often a still steaming mug of tea on the countertop when you’d abandoned your attempt to sleep and decided you wanted a glass of water. If you appeared in a room, he was gone before you could even open the door, only leaving a trail of proof behind him.

One day, it seemed to change. The solitude was starting to mess with your head a little, not like you weren’t used to it, but normally there was something, anything. An off hand comment, a morning or goodnight, the more time you spent around the compound, it felt like you were chasing ghosts. But seemingly, Barnes had gotten sick of dropping whatever he was doing and escaping.

It was late at night, or early in the morning - there never really was a cut off for that time - but either way, you were losing a race to sleep, constantly slipping from your fingers before your eyes opened, more awake than the last time. You’d grown to feel guilty about kicking Bucky out of every space you found yourself in, but you didn’t have it in yourself to sit in this room any longer, tracing every bump and scratch on the ceiling.

This time, however, it was different. As you pushed open the door, wiping your eyes as they adjusted to the dark and wandered down the corridor, you could hear scuffling from somewhere down the hallway, and by the time you got to the kitchen, Bucky was still there.

As you pushed the door open wider, Bucky seemed to notice you, freezing like a criminal caught in an act. His stance was almost laughable, leaning slightly forward, a pink mug in his metal hand. His hair was scooped into a small bun at the back of his head, and the light blue vest top seemed to match his wide eyes.

You gave him a faint smile, still feeling sluggish despite your lack of sleep. Bucky’s mouth opened and closed once, eyes shutting for a moment before opening on a loud exhale of breath, straightening his posture. 

His shoulders seemed to hunch, looking between the mug, a newspaper on the small circular table, open a few pages in. “I can go-”

You tried to ignore the ache in your chest that the first words he’d said to you was him offering to leave. “Bucky.” You cut him off, voice sharp but with no malice behind it, “It’s okay, I’m just getting a hot chocolate. Don’t leave because of me.” 

Your head tilted as he seemed to look shocked at your words, bun bouncing as he shook his head at you. “I don’t want to bother you.” He kept the mug clutched close to his chest, other hand reaching for the newspaper.

“You’re not bothering me, I won’t even talk, sit down and read your newspaper in peace.” You walked around to the hot chocolate machine, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he hesitantly sat back down, gazing over his shoulder at you until he caught your eye, quickly turning around.

You smiled softly to yourself, stirring around the drink with the teaspoon, keeping your eyes trained on the brown liquid. Part of you feared to look back up, scared to make him uncomfortable. Really, his presence was comforting, even if the only sound in the room was you stirring the drink and the rustling of paper as he flicked through the pages in his newspaper.

When you did turn around, he was squinting at the text on the page, pulling a face at whatever he was reading before moving along. You took a seat on the barstools, blowing on it as you pulled out your phone, scrolling through some news stories, a few unanswered emails from Sam. The warm taste of the hot chocolate slipping down your throat was almost as comforting as Bucky’s hums at the newspaper every now and again.

You sat like that in silence for god knows how long, even with the brightness turned down on your phone, the white light still illuminated your face as you ventured through your photos app, venturing years and years back. One picture in particular caught your eye, you and Nat just before you had to leave for Wakanda. She was pulling a stupid face at the camera, so normal and usual. You feared you’d never feel that carefree again.

At first, you figured you were imagining the feeling of eyes staring into the side of your head, but as you placed your phone down and picked up your cup, you glanced over to Bucky. His face flushed a little as he coughed, looking at the floor before looking back at you, lips slightly parted.

“You good?” You questioned, switching off your phone as you took a sip.

He nodded slowly, swallowing thickly before frowning, “Did you have another nightmare?” His voice was quiet- it was quiet earlier, but this was the most hesitant you’d ever seen Bucky Barnes. Your eyes must’ve shown your shock, how did he know about your nightmares anyway? He quickly licked his lips, sitting forward, “I’m not trying to be weird, it’s just I can hear you after you wake up sometimes… with the whole super-hearing-thing.”

You smiled slightly, shaking your head at his immediate nervousness, “No, didn’t get the chance tonight. Just couldn’t sleep is all. You?”

“Nightmare.” His eyes flicked from your face to around the room, biting the inside of his cheek.

You instantly regretted your question, seeing as he seemingly built walls around himself. “You wanna talk about it?” You already knew the answer, even before he shook his head, eyes refinding your face. 

You gazed down into the now empty cup, feeling more relaxed than you had in a while. “I’m gonna try and get some sleep.” You stand up, placing it down next to the sink. Your legs moved before you could fully register that you were walking all the way around the counters to walk past Bucky. It was the longer way, the much longer way, but you couldn’t help but slow down next to him, noticing the bags under his eyes. “You should too.” You whispered, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder for a moment before quickly retracting it.

His face froze as your thumb laid over his collarbone, but just as quick as the warmth of your hand appeared, it left as you walked out the room, the door closing softly behind you as he stared at the door.

Maybe this wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

[⭐]

After that night, it was as if you couldn’t stop seeing Bucky everywhere you went. The times where he’d once ran out of rooms to avoid an encounter seemed long gone by now.

It started with him making you a coffee in the morning, even if he wasn’t around. Then came the books that he’d leave alongside them, sometimes he wrote in the very margins, little things that made you laugh, or notes in the very first page giving you a brief description. You made a point of reading them when he was there, you noticed that he liked to watch you read them. Then, every night, before bed, you’d sit together in the kitchen.

“Do you ever look at something and just think of her?” He asked you one night. His eyes looked heavy, his back hunched as though he was carrying the weight of the world. “Natasha?”

You looked over sadly at him, his eyes trained on the Iron Man mug in his hands. “Everyday.” You whispered with a bittersweet smile. “I go to show her things sometimes, things she would’ve found funny and then it hits me.”

“I do that with Steve.” His voice was barely audible despite the fact there was nobody else here. They found themselves whispering lite that often, as though everybody else was asleep and they didn’t want to wake them up. There was never anybody there. “I guess now I show you the things I’d show him.”

You hummed at that, shoulder brushing with his. 

Eventually, your lives became so intertwined that it seemed like you were shadows of one another. It wasn’t always intentional, but you’d both just show up at the gym at the same time, or go on a walk at the same time. It made sense, as you’d grown closer, that your everyday activities just fit together.

The first time after getting closer to Bucky that Natasha’s death really hit was when you realised how handsome he actually was. Sure, he’d always been an attractive man, but something about how peaceful he looked on a night, watching you so intently as you tilted your head at his snarky comment written in his loopy handwriting. 

You looked up at him, knowing he was already watching, and found his smile so intoxicating you forgot all about the little note for just a second, too busy being far too infatuated with his grin. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to run to Natasha, curl up with your head in her lap as you rambled about how his upturned lips made your heart feel as though it was preparing to make its grand escape out of your chest.

But you couldn’t, so you feigned a smile that you hoped he didn’t notice was fake and made some excuse to use the bathroom in an attempt to avoid the swirl of emotions. By the time the words had left your mouth, you’d already shut the door, taking deep breaths as you splashed your face with water, “Fuck, come on. Pull yourself together.” You murmured, drying your face on the navy towel.

When you exited, you peeked your head out first, hoping your heart would grow used to the sight of him if you watched him a little longer, even though all that did was accentuate the dull ache left by the thought of Nat. Though you quickly came to the conclusion that time couldn’t make this go away.

A few weeks after that, Bucky slept in your room for the first time.

You were a light sleeper and though you’d woken up to Bucky moving around after a nightmare many times, this was different. He’s told you recently in the kitchen one night over a cup of steaming lemon and ginger tea about how bad his nightmares could get. He explained most of them were memories, but the really bad ones, the ones where he couldn’t differentiate the real from the fake, had subsided a little after Wakanda. He’d also said he screamed sometimes.

If this was what he meant, then it was much worse than how he’d described them.

It felt as though somebody had fished around your body and found your heart strings, then tugging sharply. He sounded scared, and in pain, and it took everything in you not to run to his bedside, so instead you sat there, attempting to quiet your own breaths in hope of hearing him moving in the now silence.

You couldn’t tell how long it had been, time seemed to blur as you stared at where you figured the door would be, everything hazy in the dark, but however long it had been, the relief you felt when you heard the three sharp knocks couldn’t be matched.

Springing out of bed, your toes curled at the feeling of the cold wooden floor before feeling your way along the wall, switching on the wall lamp, flooding the room with light on your way to the door. As your hand grazed the doorknob, he knocked again, this time quicker, more desperate.

You pulled at the door quickly, letting the light grace his face like the sun on a soldier back from war. “Bucky?” You whispered softly, seeing his distraught face, his eyes raking over your body, head jerking in small movements as you stood there.

“You’re…” He trailed off, placing his flesh hand over your heart. “You’re okay.” His eyes closed, nodding to himself as his head dropped. You wrapped your own hand over his, stroking your thumb over the back of his hand.

“I’m okay, you’re okay.” Your voice was gentle as you watched his chest begin to stop moving so violently, letting his shoulders relax, or drop, it didn’t look overly relaxing or comfortable.

He mumbled something, opening his eyes slowly before pulling away his hand, even though he pinned your thumb in between his pointer and middle finger. “I’m sorry, it was just… I had to make sure…”

You walked backwards, pushing the door open with your back, letting your arm stretch out, “Come on.” You whispered, pulling your arm slightly as he still clutched your thumb. Bucky’s mouth opened, standing dumbstruck for a moment before he nodded, walking closer, letting the door shut softly behind him. 

Even as you bent down beside your bed, he never let go of your thumb, and you never tried to pull it away. “What are you doing?” He questioned, voice still shaky but a hint of something else rearing its head, trying desperately to escape his tone.

Smiling, you tugged out a mattress, standing up and letting the arm that was stretched rest for a moment, he tilted his head curiously at it, “You want a blanket?”

Bucky was too stunned to speak, looking between you and your overly kind gesture, “I can’t, you shouldn’t have to-”

“When are you gonna start believing that I’m doing this because I want to, Bucky?” You questioned faintly, wrapping the rest of your fingers around his. “Lay down, please?”

Your eyes seemed to win him over, begging a pleading with him to just let you take care of him. That night was the best sleep he’d had in a while.

The only problem was that after that, he couldn’t do anything without you anymore, he couldn’t fall asleep in his own room, he couldn’t concentrate if you weren’t around. If he thought he was dependent before, this was another level- not that you seemed to mind. He’d just gravitated to that mattress in your room, the next night, he knocked again and you’d left it where it was, almost as though it was waiting for him.

From there, your relationship flourished, even if neither of you ever referred to it as a relationship, or anything really. You were just you and Bucky, there didn't have to be anything else. Despite what Clint suggested when he came to visit, or the raised eyebrows you’d received from Sam.

Sam had committed a full day of trying to get a picture of Bucky looking at you. He seemed to figure it would ignite something in you two, but it proved a harder task than originally thought out. After a full day of hiding his face with his hand whenever Sam would pull out his camera - partly to hide his pink cheeks from you - and pulling a stupid face at the camera, he’d managed to snap one.

You were both in the kitchen, Bucky sat across from you on the barstools as you yapped away, half expecting them both to zone out, but Bucky didn’t. The only time he’d zoned out when words were coming out of your pretty mouth was when you were standing a little too close for his own self control.

In the picture, he was leant forward, resting his tilted head on his wrist, nails grazing his lips as he stared up at you. The very corner of his lip could just be made out, the flash of pink pointing upwards as you didn’t notice him at all, looking down at the pan in your hand, mouth slightly apart. 

When Sam showed it to you, he swore he could trace the hearts in Bucky’s eyes, but you quickly dismissed the idea, shaking your head as he saved it to his favourites folder and murmuring something about how this would be shown at your wedding.

Sure, Bucky was everything, he was your everything, but you weren't about to ruin all of this just because you got selfish.

Sam, being the little shit he was, then tried to show Bucky, but he was even quicker to shove the phone away, insisting he delete it asap, despite the smirk on his face. 

The first time you were away on a mission felt like hell for Bucky. Whilst you could put on a brave face and spend three days in Germany, fighting alongside someone from S.W.O.R.D, his life was a mess without you.

It frightened him how much he seemed to depend on being able to see you while you were sleeping, or the fact that he couldn’t make anything but toast and pasta. Bucky wasn’t fully sure how he’d survived without you before. He’d already lost so many people and he didn’t think he could survive if you disappeared from his life too. You weren’t allowed a phone on the mission, so he couldn’t contact you, his only comfort was the small picture of you he kept in his wallet. 

It was stupid, but you were one of the few photos on his phone, and your face just looked too damn perfect not to fit in the small space. This way, every time he had to leave the house or got to the shops or be separated for the smallest amount of time, you were right there with him. It also helped him remember to bring his wallet- he couldn’t leave you in between the sofa cushions after all.

He’s been alerted of your arrival back an hour before your jet got back, and it seemed like the longest hour he’d ever known. Bucky sat on the bench, he stood up and paced in a circle, he leant against the wall, he sat on the ground, all within the space of ten minutes. But his dirty trousers were worth it as he spotted your face, a cut down your left cheek and a mark on your jaw.

But you were fine, and Bucky couldn’t care less about the agents who stopped and stared as he stepped forward and engulfed you in a hug. Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you froze before wrapping your arms back around him. The two of you were close, but this… this was different.

“I missed you, doll.” He murmured, squeezing you tightly as you hummed.

“Me too, Buck. Me too.” As you pulled apart, his hands cupped your face, careful to avoid the cut. His brows knitted together as he observed your face, eyes flickering around every part of you, only stopping as you let your hands rest on his shoulders. “What’s wrong?” He didn’t reply, just staring into your eyes, transfixed as people moved around you.

You took his head and led him inside to the compound, into the kitchen. Bucky could feel everything he’d ever felt rise to the very surface as you pushed his shoulders down so he’d sit in a chair as you set off, busying yourself around the kitchen as you tidied away his attempts at cooking something edible.

“I love you.”

The words were tumbling out of his mouth before he even had the chance to think or do anything to stop himself. It was stupid, so very very stupid, but you made Bucky a stupid man. He hadn’t even told you he liked you, he felt like he’d skipped through steps that were fairly detrimental to any stage of a relationship, and god he really wanted a relationship. He wanted to call you his and wrap his arms around your body from behind, pepper kisses on your neck-

Bucky was quickly pulled out of his fantasies by you, you could pull him out of anything with one glance, even your presence alone could calm down the waves of self hatred that reared their pathetic heads every now and again. But there you were, a pan in one hand, stopped mid stride as you stared at home with parted lips.

This had to be a bad thing, he thought, you looked like a deer caught in headlights and that didn’t often end well.

He was too busy wrapped up in his whirlwind of feelings to even notice your upturned lips, or the way you neared him, saying his name so softly. He didn’t register anything until your hands found his cheeks, he looked up at you, eyes wide with confusion as he took in your smiling figure. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think an-” His voice was a whisper, scared of losing you through his pure stupidity.

But all those thoughts were put to rest the moment your lips graced his, just a peck, a gentle brush of affection, but the moment he registered just what was happening, he wrapped his arms around your centre, pulling you in between his legs as you stood back up from bending down to his height. You let yourself be pulled in, his head resting against your body as he grinned to himself like a love drunk fool.

He stood up soon after, hands never moving from your back as he kept you flush against him, biting his lip as he looked at you as though you were the only thing in the world - maybe you were. “I had a plan in my head of how this was going to happen.” His words were strained, but the small chuckle that escaped his throat was enough to reassure any doubts in your mind. “But screw it, screw it all, just be mine, please be mine.”

His forehead rested against yours as he closed his eyes. The universe owed him this, it owed him his happy ending, and you yours.

After everything you’d lost in the past year, Bucky had made you smile, he’d made you laugh, he’d made you happy- something you weren’t even sure was possible after you snapped back, after you’d been told of what happened to Nat. But he helped. He didn’t try to fix everything, he didn’t try and bring a magic hammer and smash the broken parts of you back together, you grew together, you helped each other. You understand each other because even on your worst days, he was with you, and he would help, and love, and care.

“I’m yours.”

[midastouch013]

Turn Back Time

Summary: Based on Turn Back Time by Daniel Schulz

Warnings: Mentions of death, Dead!Nat, Minor violence, Post Endgame, No happy ending.

P.S: This hurt me to write

P.S.S : Also, how would you feel about doing a version of this, but it was just a breakup, not dead her.

---

The rumble of the Harley-Davidson Live Wire reverberated through the quiet street, the electric hum blending with the steady rhythm of your heart. It was her bike—the one you'd gifted her on your second anniversary. A sleek machine, made for freedom and adrenaline, but also for quiet moments like these.

You sat at the red light, staring blankly at the world around you. The evening chill nipped at your skin through your jacket, and the city lights blurred in your peripheral vision. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a memory stirred.

--

It was your second anniversary. She had been scheduled for an emergency mission that day, something she'd cursed under her breath when she realized it clashed with your plans. Still, Natasha being Natasha, you knew she'd feel bad if she didn't go, and so you didn't stop her, but sending her off with a "Come to the garage when you're done". And she did.

You’d waited for hours in the garage, the compound eerily quiet as everyone else had gone to bed. The Live Wire gleamed under the dim lights, freshly polished, your gift to her—a machine that matched her speed, her elegance, her fire. But as the clock ticked past dinner and well into the evening, your excitement had waned, replaced by worry.

When you heard those familiar steps you stood, your heart pounding as you saw her walking toward you, her steps slower than usual, her face shadowed with exhaustion. Her black suit was stained with dirt and faint traces of blood, but when her eyes met yours, a small smile tugged at her lips.

"You waited," she said softly, her voice tinged with disbelief.

You smirked, tossing her the helmet you’d been holding. "Of course. You think I'm going to let our anniversary slide just because you're fashionably late?"

She laughed softly, shaking her head as she walked toward you. Her hand rested briefly on your cheek before she pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

"I owe you big time," she murmured.

"You can start by getting on." You gestured to the bike, and her eyes widened.

"This is..." She trailed off, running her fingers along the handlebars.

"For you," you said simply, watching her reaction.

Her lips parted, eyes glimmering under the dim garage lights. "You’re serious?"

"Dead serious. But first, you’re going to sit behind me. I want to take you somewhere."

The memory blurred as you remembered her leaning into your back, her arms securely around your waist as you sped through the night. The streets were nearly empty, the wind whipping through your hair as laughter bubbled up from behind you.

When you’d reached the first red light, you didn’t even slow down. She’d leaned closer, her voice teasing in your ear. "That’s illegal, you know."

You’d grinned, your heart pounding as adrenaline coursed through you. "So is falling in love with a spy."

The night had stretched on, the two of you riding nowhere in particular, just basking in the freedom and each other’s presence. By the time you returned to the compound, the sun had begun to rise. You’d been late, reckless even, but you wouldn’t have changed a second of it.

--

The cemetery was quiet, the kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful but suffocating. You pulled up on the Harley, its hum cutting through the stillness. Killing the engine, you swung your leg over and stepped off, clutching the bouquet of red irises tightly in your hand. They were her favorite—soft, delicate flowers that somehow seemed so unlike her, yet made perfect sense.

Her grave was just a few steps away, but it felt like a mile. Each step was heavier than the last, grief curling around your chest like a vice. When you finally stopped in front of the headstone, the sight of her name carved into the stone stole the breath from your lungs. Natasha Romanoff.

You crouched, setting the flowers down carefully, brushing away a stray leaf that had fallen onto the base of the stone. Your fingers lingered there for a moment before you straightened, your throat tightening as the words left your lips.

“We used to run red lights and never look back,” you whispered, the weight of the memory pressing down on you. “We used to chase long nights. Nothing wrong with that.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and you didn’t bother wiping it away. Your voice cracked as you continued. “'Cause I loved you, and I lost my mind. And now, I try to leave it, oh, I try. But you still haunt me, no matter where I go.”

Your heart clenched as yesterday’s encounter replayed in your mind.

--

Yesterday, you’d walked into her favorite coffee shop, the one she always dragged you to despite your insistence that their tea was subpar. The smell of freshly ground beans filled the air as you stepped up to the counter, hands shoved deep into your pockets. And then you saw her—or at least, you thought you did.

Red hair, cut just like hers, swayed as the woman in front of you ordered. Your heart stopped, and for one excruciating second, you were certain it was her. You didn’t breathe, didn’t think, and u tapped her shoulder—

“Natasha?”

The woman turned and the illusion shattered. A stranger’s face looked back at you, startled by you. Your cheeks burned as you stammered an apology, backing away and leaving the shop without ordering.

You’d walked down the street aimlessly, hands buried in your jacket pockets, head bowed, the lump in your throat refusing to go away. The rest of the day passed in a fog, and now here you were, standing in front of her grave with her favorite flowers and an ache in your chest you couldn’t shake.

--

You let out a soft, bitter laugh as you glanced at the small container of lasagna you’d brought with you. “Yeah. I though you'd like a date."

“You hated my lasagna,” you murmured, the corner of your lips twitching upward in a faint, humorless smile. “But you came back for more.”

The memory of her teasing you played vividly in your mind.

--

It was the first time she stayed over. She’d stood in your tiny kitchen, arms crossed and a smirk tugging at her lips as she watched you served her the rather lovely looking piece of lasagna.

“This is terrible,” she’d said to damage the ego of yours when you had claimed to make a mean lasagna earlier. She’d wrinkled her nose dramatically, setting her fork down with a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

You’d rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

"This is horrible," she’d declared once more, her voice laced with mock seriousness. “Truly, the worst lasagna I’ve ever had.”

"Oh, screw you,” you’d shot back, rolling your eyes. “Go back to your fancy spy food then.”

She’d shrugged, trying to suppress a laugh. “It’s edible, at least.”

You’d mock-glared at her, muttering something under your breath about ungrateful assassins, but she’d just grinned and pulled you into a kiss, the taste of lasagna still on her lips.

But the very next day, she’d shown up at your apartment with an empty Tupperware container. “So, uh, I was thinking… maybe I could take some of that ‘terrible’ lasagna to go?”

“You mean the one you hated?”

“Exactly. Got any left?”

It had become a tradition after that, every other week. She never admitted it was her favorite, but you caught the way her face lit up every time you mentioned making it.

--

You closed your eyes, the laughter from that memory fading into the echo of another. “And then there was that night when I didn’t even have lasagna or anything to cook, but you wanted to, so you dragged me to your favorite grocery store.”

--

Her favorite grocery store. You still found that absurd. She’d grabbed a cart and immediately started tossing the most random assortment of items inside—marshmallows, soy sauce, canned peaches. You’d followed her with a bewildered look, questioning every choice she made.

“Trust me,” she’d said, her lips twitching with amusement. “I have a plan.”

She didn’t have a plan. By the time you reached the checkout, you were certain half the things in the cart weren’t even going to be used. She’d sent you on wild goose chases, making you circle the store in search of things that didn’t exist, claiming it was “good cardio.”.

The store clerk had given you a look that screamed off your rocker, when you'd asked him for canned brussel sprouts, and you’d playfully glared at her while she doubled over in laughter., when the man walked away muttering something about kids nowdays, when you were probably just a few year younger than him

“You’re impossible,” you’d muttered.

“And you love it,” she’d shot back, leaning in to kiss you softly. She made up for the chaos by still eating the lasagna, no matter how strange the ingredients were that night.

--

“You got me running circles in your favorite store,” you murmured now, your fingers brushing the irises. “And I lost you, and I lost my mind.”

--

You actually had lost it.

The day Clint came back without her.

You hadn’t believed it at first. You’d waited for her to walk in after him, your heart pounding in anticipation. But when he looked at you with tear-filled eyes, the truth hit you like a freight train.

You’d snapped.

“You left her?!” you’d screamed, shoving him back. He hadn’t fought back, guilt etched into every line of his face.

Steve had stepped in, trying to calm you down, but his words only made it worse. “You need to stop—”

“Don’t you dare tell me to stop!” you’d yelled, your voice raw with anguish.

And then you’d turned on Clint, your fist connecting with his jaw. You were ready to hit him again, to make him pay for leaving her, to take out all your pain and anger on him, but Tony had stepped in, pulling you away. He’d wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly as you broke down.

You’d sobbed against him, your grief spilling out in heaving, uncontrollable waves.

--

Now, you stared at her name, your voice a broken whisper. “And now, I try to leave it all behind. But I still see you, no matter where I go.”

--

Just this morning, you’d seen a blonde walking down the street, her face inexplicably morphing into Natasha’s for a fleeting second. You’d blinked, and her face was gone, leaving you shaken and hollow.

--

The picture was worn, its edges frayed from the number of times you’d taken it out, clinging to it like a lifeline. Wanda had taken it during one of those rare, blissful moments at the compound. You and Nat had been baking—well, trying to bake. The kitchen had ended up more like a battleground of flour and dough than anything resembling culinary success.

The memory unfolded vividly in your mind.

“You call this a cookie?” she’d teased, holding up your misshapen attempt.

“You’re one to talk, Miss Burnt-to-a-Crisp,” you’d fired back, smirking as you threw a handful of flour at her.

She’d retaliated instantly, laughing as she chased you around the kitchen with her own handful of flour, her laughter so pure and carefree it still echoed in your mind. And then, just as you’d both caught your breath, you’d pulled her under the mistletoe.

“Oh, real subtle,” she’d said, a playful glint in her eye.

“Can’t waste an opportunity,” you’d replied, leaning in to kiss her, the taste of laughter still fresh on your lips.

Wanda had snapped the photo just moments after the kiss. Both your faces had been smeared with flour, and your grins had been so wide they’d hurt. You hadn’t cared. You’d never felt more in love, more alive, than you had in that moment.

Now, standing in front of her grave, you gently rubbed your thumb over her part of the photo, your eyes misting over. She looked so happy, so effortlessly beautiful.

“If I could turn back time and make it all alright,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Only a piece of you and me will keep me warm all night. If I could turn back time and rewrite every line… If only I could, but baby, I can’t.”

Your legs gave out as the weight of it all crushed you, and you fell to your knees. The photo slipped from your fingers, landing softly on the grass as you wrapped your arms around the cold stone, holding it as though it were her.

The sobs tore from your chest, raw and guttural, as you screamed into the silence, your voice breaking with the force of your anguish.

“Why did you leave me?” you choked out, your forehead pressing against the stone. “Why did you have to go?”

You shouted her name, again and again, your cries reverberating through the stillness of the cemetery. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. She was supposed to be here. You were supposed to grow old together, to share more laughs, more kisses, more everything.

But she was gone.

And all you had left were memories and a photo, a cruel reminder of everything you’d lost.

You stayed there, clutching her grave like it was the only thing tethering you to this world, as the pain poured out of you in waves. And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself feel it all—the love, the loss, the unbearable ache of missing her.

So I'ma scream, shout, let it all out And scream and shout and let it all out for you, for you So I'ma scream, shout, let it all out And scream and shout and let it all out for you, for you

--

The cold of the stone seeped into your skin as you stayed on your knees, still clutching her headstone as though holding on tighter might somehow bring her back. You’d been sitting in silence for a while now, your sobs reduced to quiet sniffles. But the memories kept coming, relentless and vivid, dragging you back into the moments you couldn’t escape.

Your voice was hoarse as you began again, barely above a whisper. “A few days after we lost you... and Tony…” you paused, swallowing hard as the grief twisted in your chest. “After we beat Thanos, after we saved the world, it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt hollow without you.”

You pulled back slightly, sitting back on your heels as your gaze fell to the flowers you’d brought. “I couldn’t face anyone. Not Steve, not Bruce, not Clint…” You clenched your fists, the memory cutting through the fog of your grief. “So I went to a bar. Alone. It was the middle of the night, and I just wanted to forget, even if it was just for a little while.”

The scene played out in your mind like it had happened yesterday.

The bar had been dimly lit and nearly empty. You’d taken a seat in the corner, ordering drink after drink, trying to drown the ache in your chest. But it hadn’t worked. No amount of alcohol could fill the gaping hole she’d left behind.

By the time you were drunk, you’d pulled out your phone. Your fingers had hovered over her name in your contacts, and before you could think better of it, you’d hit call.

It had gone straight to voicemail.

Your voice cracked as you recited the words you’d said that night, the pain still fresh. “I hit you up like, ‘Hey, girl, can we talk right now?’ I know you’re far away, but… ‘Can we hang right now?’”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head at your own desperation. “I tried again. And again. But every time, it was the same. Straight to voicemail.”

You remembered slurring into your phone, your voice thick with tears and alcohol. “It’s me. I just… I just need to hear your voice. Please, Nat. I don’t know what to do without you.”

You’d hung up after the fifth attempt, throwing your phone onto the sticky bar counter in frustration. The bartender had looked at you with pity, but you didn’t care.

“I loved you, and I lost my mind,” you whispered again, your thumb absentmindedly brushing over the photo on the ground beside you. “And now I try to leave it all behind. But you still haunt me, no matter where I go.”

You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling shakily. “That night… I kept talking to you like you were still there. Like maybe, somehow, you’d hear me.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper as you repeated your drunken plea. “I know it’s getting late, girl, I don’t care right now. I tried to call you on the phone, but you don’t pick up.”

The weight of it all came crashing down again, and you looked up at the stone, tears streaming down your face. “I lost you, Nat. And I lost my mind. And now I’m trying to leave it… I’m trying so damn hard. But you… you still haunt me. No matter where I go.”

Your hands trembled as you reached for the photo again, holding it tightly to your chest. The image of her flour-covered, grinning face was a cruel reminder of everything you’d lost.

-

As you finally rose to your feet, feeling the weight of the moment, you took a deep breath. The grief, the pain, the endless ache in your chest—it was a part of you now, something you couldn’t outrun. As you stepped away from her grave, your mind replayed one final memory, a memory that cut deeper than all the rest.

Your last argument.

--

It had been after one of the most dangerous missions you’d ever been on. You’d almost died saving her, and despite everything, the first thing she’d done when you’d woken up in the medbay wasn’t to hold you or to tell you how grateful she was. It was to push you away.

“Tasha, what’s wrong?” you had asked, your voice weak but desperate to understand.

She had avoided your gaze, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes scanning the floor as if she couldn’t bear to meet yours.

“Maybe it’s a mistake,” she had muttered, barely above a whisper. “Maybe it’s a mistake if we let the clock break.”

You had frowned, completely confused. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

Her lips had tightened, and she had taken a deep breath before meeting your eyes. There was a coldness in her stare that hadn’t been there before, a defensive barrier she hadn’t needed with you. “We’ve been through so much, and I… I’m scared, okay?”

You had shaken your head, trying to wrap your mind around the words. “Scared? Scared of what? Us?”

She had nodded slightly, the hesitation in her voice more painful than you ever thought it would be. “I’ve been thinking about it. Everything in my mind… everything in my mind is telling me that it’s a mistake.”

The words had hit you like a punch to the gut.

“What the hell? No! You’re wrong, Nat. This—us—this isn’t a mistake. We’re solid. We’re gonna be okay.”

But she had shaken her head, her eyes welling with tears. “You don’t get it,” she had whispered. “I’m trying to protect you. I’m trying to keep you from getting hurt. If we keep going like this…” She couldn’t finish the thought. She didn’t want to.

You had pushed forward, your frustration and confusion bleeding into anger. “So you’re just gonna shut me out? After everything? After I almost died to save you?” Your voice had risen, your chest tightening with a mix of hurt and disbelief. “You don’t get to pull away from me, Natasha. I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together. Always.”

Her face had faltered then, the tightness in her features melting just enough for you to see the raw fear she was hiding.

“I know you think that. I know you believe that. But everything in my mind, everything in my mind is telling me…” Her voice had cracked as she choked out the last words, her tears spilling over as she struggled to admit what was hurting her most. “That it’s a mistake… and it ends in heartbreak.”

The silence between you had been suffocating. It hadn't been the first time she had ever admitted something so vulnerable, something so painfully real, yet this time it was different. You had stood there, frozen, trying to process her words. You had wanted to reach out, to hold her, to make her understand that none of that mattered, that you were stronger than fear.

You had taken a deep breath, your hands shaking as you had gotten off the bed and stepped closer to her, trying to close the gap that had formed between you both. “No. No, Nat. You’re not listening to me. You’re not the one who gets to decide what happens between us. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not. We’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna fight this together. You and me. Always.”

Her face had softened then, her breath shaky as she met your gaze, her shoulders sagging, finally giving in. “I don’t want to lose you.”

You had wrapped your arms around her, pulling her in close as you whispered, “You won’t. I’m here, Nat. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

She had clung to you, tears soaking your shirt, her face buried in your neck. You had held her tight, reassuring her over and over, “We’re gonna be okay. I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together. Forever, you hear me?”

And in that moment, the tension that had been hanging between you two slowly started to fade, replaced with the warmth of your embrace and the quiet certainty that, no matter what, you would find your way back to each other.

“Together.” She had whispered, her voice thick with emotion, and you had nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you.

You had pulled back slightly to look her in the eye. “Always.”

And with that, you both had finally breathed, both of you knowing that no matter what came next, you would face it together—united, strong, and ready for whatever the world threw at you.

--

And now, standing at her grave, you could only wish you had more time to make it all right. You could still feel her arms around you, the weight of her presence in your soul.

But she was gone, and you were left to pick up the pieces.

“Guess who got the heartbreak, Nat.” you whispered bitterly, the words more for yourself than for her.

And with a last look at the stone, at least for this week, you turned around, pocketing the picture of you too.

If you could turn back time and make it alright, you would, but you couldn't

---

.

[thedragondawn]

the one that didn't get away - Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Words: 780

Fluff, angst

A/N: This is a belated birthday gift for my dear @iosonoarina 💕💕

taglist: @iosonoarina @stefroutledge @blackwidow-3

taglist || ko-fi

War was over.

The Avengers had won. Well, Thanos was defeated and now it was time to mourn the losses and go back to the world that they had known before the snap. A world that part of Natasha didn’t believe would ever come back.

Now there was hope again. Hope that she would find you home, safe and sound and things would pick up from where you’d left them before Thanos had almost destroyed everything. Hope that she would find you home and that you’d still love her. 

Hope that everything will be okay.

**

“Banner, I’m fine, let me go.” Natasha insisted, wanting to be cleared so she could make it home to her apartment - a place where she’d barely slept as it felt like a haunted museum without you in it. A museum holding the memories you two had made, a museum reminding her of how empty her life was without you.

“You will come back for more testing tomorrow, you hit your head.” 

“My head is fine but yours won’t be if you keep me here.” 

“Fine, fine. Go.” Bruce lifted his arms in defeat.

Natasha stole the keys to one of Tony’s cars and drove off, speeding towards her old apartment. She had no phone on her and the closer she got to that apartment, the more her pulse raced.

Her heart stopped completely when she pulled up in front of the apartment building and saw you emerge from the door.

“Nat..” Nat saw you whisper and ran out of the car, wrapping her bruised body around yours. She started shaking as relief flooded every cell of her body.

“Любимая…” Natasha repeated over and over again as the two of you held each other in the middle of the sidewalk. She didn’t care that her body ached from the long battle, she didn’t care that there was so much that she still needed to do. No. There was you, solid and breathing in her arms. The scent of you enveloping her, your presence finally anchoring her home after so many years of drifting.

You cupped her face gently, scanning and making sure that she was whole, that she wasn’t a dream.

“What happened?” You asked but your question was silenced with a desperate kiss which you reciprocated just as passionately.

“It was a bad time.” Nat caressed your face gently, your heart breaking when you felt her hands shaking against your skin, touching you almost with a reverence.

“I’m here. We’ll handle it.” You reassured her before leading her back into the apartment.

**

Time went on. The two of you were almost inseparable and it came as a huge relief to you when Natasha announced that she will step back from the Avengers. There would be less shadows haunting you two. 

“You’re staring.” Yelena scolded her older sister as you were making tea in the kitchen of your apartment.

“Mind your own business.” Nat bit back playfully.

“You’re so in love, I could puke.” Yelena made a gagging face.

“You’ll find your person too.” Nat winked at her and then moved her gaze back to you.

“I can’t believe that you two made it.” Yelena commented.

“Why?” You asked, looking at your future sister-in-law. The two of you had grown closer in the months after endgame, and in your new home with Natasha, Yelena had her own room, which she joked was as if she was your pet.

“Because the world tried to tear you apart yet you resisted.” 

“No, Thanos tried to tear us apart, we finished his stupid grape face.” Nat argued. 

Her comment made the three of you laugh. There was still lingering darkness from the time of the snap and the final battle, but Nat frequented therapy and you knew that it would all work out.

“So, did you set a date for the big day?” Yelena looked at you and Nat all snuggled up on the couch.

“No, we are not rushing.” 

“Are you tempting fate?” Yelena teased petting your orange cat who plopped herself on the floor next to her.

“She is the one that didn’t get away. There’s no doubt about that.” Natasha smiled and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. She’d had other relationships before meeting you but her soul knew that she’d found home with you the moment she’d laid eyes on you and getting you back was something that she would have given up everything for.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” You teased, even though Natasha could see the tears shining in your eyes.

“Good.” Nat kissed you gently.

“Lord, save me.” Yelena muttered, bursting your little bubble and lightening the mood. 

[olsenmyolsen]

I'm Free Tonight

master list

dark master list

MCU Compliant (Female Reader X Carol Danvers)

Summary: A lovely stranger saves you from a boring Christmas Gala.

Word Count: 2.8K

Content: Just Fluff

"You alone?"

You looked up from your seat at the round table and saw the blue eyes of a blonde you'd never seen before.

She wore a beautiful maroon and blue dress with a gold chest piece. Your dress looked silly in comparison, no matter how much your girlfr- ex girlfriend(?) paid for it.

And she wasn't cheap.

An heiress, some would call her.

Others used the word bitch.

You tore your eyes away from the blonde and gestured to a woman at the bar. Clearly drunk and openly flirting with one of the groomsmen. "Supposed to be with her."

The blonde looked where you pointed, and the curiosity on her face turned into one of disappointment.

Followed by a smirk.

"Well, I'm Carol. Carol Danvers." The blon- Carol switched her champagne flute from her right to her left hand. She extended the right to you when you looked up to her.

"Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N." You shook her hand and were surprised to feel a tight grip. You quickly realized how strong Carol was as you checked out the definition and muscles on her arms. "May I?" Carol pointed to the seat to the left of you. "Go ahead." You said with a smile that Carol reciprocated.

Carol also chose this seat so you'd be facing away from the bitch that left you alone.

You turned away from the bar and towards Carol. "How do you know the couple hosting?" Carol asked. "I don't. My date does."

That made sense. Since Carol noticed you hours earlier, she couldn't figure out how you wound up at a place like this. Surrounded by people whose hands were never clean. Politicians and models. Wall Street bros and CEO's. You stuck out—a ray of innocence and good radiated from you. Kind hearted.

Carol knew it to be true when she saw how awful your date treated you.

"Ah," Carol said as she lifted the glass and took a sip of the golden bubbles. "I hope you don't mind me asking... Who is she? Your date?" Carol set her glass down and looked at you in the eyes. "Oh, her name is-"

"Oh no, I'm sorry." Carol stopped you as she reached a hand out to your arm. "I meant, who is she to you."

It felt like a trick question, like Carol knew the truth.

Carol kept her fingers resting on your arm while waiting for your eyes to meet hers. "She's..."

You sighed.

Carol patted your arm. "Think about it." She removed her touch from you, and you missed her warm fingers.

You watched as they wrapped around the glass of champagne. "If it makes you feel better, I'm not supposed to be here," Carol spoke up with a shrug.

"You're not?" Carol watched your forehead crease when you didn't believe her. "No. I'm here doing a favor for a friend." You looked around the room, and like Carol did with you earlier, you couldn't believe someone like her could be here. "What friend?" You asked, making Carol smile.

"The King of Asgard, Valkyrie." She said casually without hesitation.

"Oh!" You said, surprised and bewildered. "I still have yet to visit New Asgard.." You really have been meaning to, but it's not like money grows on trees for you. "I hear it's lovely."

"It is," Carol replies. "So.." Carol leans closer. "Are you done thinking about my question from earlier? What is she..." Carol gestures to the woman you came here with. "..to you. Because she sure as hell isn't your girlfriend."

You followed Carol's eyes and saw the woman kissing the neck of a man you wouldn't give the time of day.

You turned back and looked at Carol.

You sighed and put both arms on the table in a defeated position. "I was her date for tonight, but no, I've never met her until two days prior when I was introduced by her team. I was hired to help clean up her image, but..." You looked back. "Looks like that's not happening."

Carol hummed. "So you're an escort?"

"Blunt, but yes... that's one word for it." You replied. Carol leaned back into her chair and appreciated the honesty coming from you.

"How much did she pay you?"

You certainly weren't expecting that question, and you couldn't tell by the smirk Carol was hiding behind her glass if she was serious or not.

So you decided to forget about the girl you came with and play the game Carol was hopefully playing.

"Why? Think you can afford me?"

That made the blonde laugh. "I know I can." Her voice was lower as she spoke to you. "But I'm not looking to pay. I want you if you want to come along."

That made something in your stomach twirl.

"And where would we go?"

"Wherever you want. But hopefully far away from here."

You peeled your eyes away from the blonde and looked around the room. It was dreadful and boring. This was presented as a Christmas gala, but it was nothing more than a night to fuck and make business deals to everyone else but you.

You were here for a job, but you were clearly left to your own devices.

Until Carol showed up.

"Okay." You said as you turned back to the blonde and nodded. "Let's get out of here."

Carol's eyes lit up. She watched you stand up and down your glass of champagne before extending your hand to her. Carol did the same with her glass before taking your hand. "Thank you." She smiled as she rose to her feet. "No, thank you!"

Carol led you out of the grand mansion you couldn't for the life of you remember the name of and to the valet kiosk. Carol handed the greying man a ticket stub and wrapped her arm around you as you two waited for his return.

"Is this okay?" She asked, forcing you to look up to her eyes. "Me... touching you? Holding you?" You nodded. "It's great." Carol smiled. "Good to know."

Carol felt your skin become scattered with goosebumps. She thought it might've been from the cold wind in the air, but if asked, you would've been honest and told her it was because of her—the blonde with her hand moving up and down your arm.

She smiled.

You two stood in silence, accepting the comfort the other one brought when the valet pulled up in a black sports car that would never be in your tax bracket.

"What a beautiful car, Miss. Please enjoy your evening." The man said to Caol as he handed her the keys before scurrying away.

She simply smirked and moved her arm from around you to your arm closest to her. "Shall we?" You nodded and let Carol lead you to the passenger door. She opened it for you and let go of you as you entered.

She watched the slit of your dress rise as you sat down in the brown leather seat. Her eyes then traveled down to your legs and the heels that went perfectly with your dress. "Good?" She then asked. "Good." You replied before Carol smiled and closed the door.

You watched her move around the front of the car and slide into the driver's seat. The seat adjusted to her, and you watched the steering wheel move to compliment her. "Wow." Carol turned to your voice.

"Kind of a lot, right?" You shrugged and looked into her blue eyes. "It's kinda cool." You tried to be nonchalant, but you were in awe of everything, and Carol knew it.

Carol hit some buttons on the display in the middle and found a radio station playing a pop hit.

Olivia Rodrigo specifically.

The music was kept at a lower volume as Carol waited for you to buckle up. "Safety first, sweetheart." She said, making your stomach flip at the pet name. "Sorry." You mumbled as your cheeks grew red, and Carol buckled herself up before turning up the heat and placing the car in drive.

"You hungry?" Carol hadn't eaten any of the fancy shit the gala was offering. It was all themed around the holiday, and she knew for a fact that you hadn't had a single bite.

You wanted to lie, but with Carol asking in a honey-dripping tone, and one look at her made you nod. "Starving." You said.

However, food wasn't the first thing you were thinking about eating.

Carol smirked as if she could read your mind.

She removed her right hand from the steering wheel and placed it on your thigh as she kept her eyes on the road. The speed of the car picking up.

Her palms on your skin burned with waves of pleasure. "I'll find somewhere for us," Carol said, making you nod. Carol briefly looked over at you and smiled.

She was loving the game that was being played.

In addition, she loved the touch of you. The feeling of your goosebumps spreading across your body every time her fingers lifted up and down your soft, ample skin.

She was also enjoying you—your company.

Carol never got to do stuff like this.

But she was making the most of tonight.

"Is this still okay?" Carol asked as her hand moved slightly up your thigh. Pushing your dress up. "Yes." You said as you buried a moan in your throat.

"Do I feel good? My touch against your body?" Carol asked as she turned her head to you. She watched your side profile nod and swallow before you parted your pink lips. "You feel so good, Carol."

Her blue eyes found the road again.

"Good, sweetheart." Carol patted your thigh and kept you wanting more. "You're doing so well for me."

You whimpered upon hearing the praises of a woman you just met. "Ah, here we go," Carol said, making you do your best to focus on what was worth pulling off the side of the road.

Surprised, you looked at Carol as she put the car in park.

Carol turned to you.

"What's wrong?" She unbuckled her seatbelt and brought a hand up to your face. Moving a hair behind your ear. "You said you were starving." You leaned into her touch ever so slightly and nodded. "I am."

"Then let's eat." Carol smiled and removed her touch from you again as she climbed out of the car.

You kept your eyes on Carol as she closed the door. You watched her pass in front of the neon 24/7 Diner sign before she made it to your passenger door. She opened it and quickly helped you out. "It's somehow gotten colder. Come on." Her hand and fingers became intertwined with yours as she pulled you to the front of the restaurant.

You two seated yourselves in a booth once you entered like a bunch of giggly teenagers.

There was only the waitstaff and three other patrons inside. You and Carol were obviously dressed the best.

"This definitely beats the Gala," Carol said, making you look up from your menu with a smile. "It does."

Carol placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hand. "Tell me something," Carol said with a teasing smirk. "Are you enjoying how the night has gone?"

You dropped your menu onto the table. "I'm loving it. Thank you."

Carol shook her head. "No, thank you." Her leg rubbed up against yours in a gentle manner. "Now, what are you thinking about having?" Carol's eyes found the menu again, but you stared straight ahead.

Carol knew it.

"They don't have me on the menu." You brushed your leg higher against Carol. "Shame. Because I'd love a taste."

You were bold, and you didn't know where it was coming from, but tonight, with Carol, you felt free. You weren't being paid to be someone else. You felt like a new person. Or maybe it was just you being yourself? Regardless, you loved it.

After a waitress came by, you and Carol Danvers ordered cheeseburgers with a basket of fries and a shake, to split, obviously.

The food was wonderful, and the flirting mixed in with conversation was even better.

The highlight might have been when you showed Carol that you could, in fact, tie a cherry stem into a knot in your mouth. You held it between your teeth with pride as Carol smirked at you and, without warning, connected your lips together. Her tongue swiping the stem out of your mouth and into hers.

When she smiled a few seconds later, the knot was undone, and Carol couldn't help but wink at you.

You felt your stomach flip again.

"Whenever you're ready to leave, we can," Carol said to you, only to earn a nod.

Carol laughed at that and stood up as she placed a stack of uncounted bills from her clutch.

"Okay, so maybe you could afford me for the night." You said, taking Carols' hand as you slid out of the booth. "I told you." She smugly replied as she led you out of the diner.

The cold air catching you off guard, but your grip on Carols' hand remained strong. "Come on." She squeezed your hand and bit back a smile before you two ended up on the driver's side of the car.

Carol held the key in her other hand.

"What?" You asked as Carol looked at your eyes. "You're just beautiful." The blonde said, moving her body to be pressed up against yours.

You stumbled a step back as you found your back up against Carols car.

"Is this still okay?" Carols breath was shaky as she held her lips dangerously close to yours.

In the neon glow of the diner sign, you nodded. "Just kiss me again." Carol held in a moan as she did what you asked. The softness of her lips landed on yours.

You pulled her body closer.

Her hands found your hips and squeezed them, making you squeal in delight. "Fuck Carol!" You laughed into Carols mouth.

"Oh, you're such a pretty girl," Carol replied in a hushed tone as she pushed her front up against you more. Feeling the tremble in your legs and warmth from your pussy.

But the sweetest bit was the taste of chocolate on your lips.

"I want you." You moaned into Carols ear.

Carol couldn't be happier. "I want you too." She kissed your neck, jaw, and lips again.

You bit your lips and looked up at her. "Let's go then." You turned around and pressed your ass against Carol and made a gesture for the car keys, but Carol smiled before laughing. "Oh, no, baby. I don't think so."

You tilted your head as you were still catching your breath. "And why is that?" You opened the car door and waited for Carol's answer.

That's when you watched Carol's hand curl and close around the key. Suddenly, her hand began to glow bright and orange. You couldn't believe what you were seeing, and when she opened her hand again, the key was nothing but a pile.

You waited for an answer.

"Remember that story I told you? About the pilot?"

Carol tilted her hand, and you both watched the remnants of the key fall to the asphalt.

You looked up to Carol and thought back to the story she told you across the booth earlier. "So it was you? You have powers?" Carol nodded and made her hands glow again. "What about your car?" You asked honestly.

"The car and cash were never mine." The glow from her hands faded as she stepped into space between your legs. "It was your awful heiress of a date."

Carol touched the top of your head and ran her hand down the side of your face. "I think you and I had a better time than you would with her." She purrs as she kisses your cheek. "Don't you think?"

You nod and move your lips to brush hers. "I do." You find Carol's hands and hold them. "I can work with this."

"Are you sure?"

Carol asks, even though both want this.

"Yes."

Carol kisses you and pulls you close. "Hold on to me." You wrap your arms tightly around Carol's body, and slowly, you feel your feet leave the ground. "Keep your eyes on me," Carol said, and when you looked at her, you saw that her dress had changed into a suit.

One a superhero would wear.

"You brought us back..." You whispered into the space between the two of you. She heard you.

You watched as Carol glowed brighter, and the speed at which you two were flying increased.

_

You and Carol slept together that night, and you remember the feeling of warmth when you woke up next to her and a cat named Goose in the bed on her spaceship.

That was five months ago, and as you watch Carol fly down to a planet below, you can't help but smile.

You weren't alone.

dividers by @/benkeibear

[irondadfics]

Hi,

I am looking for an IronDad fic in which Peter thinks Tony dies in Endgame, hears his heart stop and dejectedly heads home. What he doesn't realise is that May has moved houses since the first snap and ends up lost.

Meanwhile Tony wakes from coma (he survived), gets angry at the other Avengers for losing his kid, when he saved the universe for him.

In the end they find Peter thanks to Strange and there's bit of whump, because Peter has been hurt and cold.

I was convinced that I had it saved, but apparently I don't or it might have been deleted and I am unable to find it (as I have a memory of a mosquito when it comes to names of fics and authors).

Thank you for doing something like this blog. Saving souls and drying tears of frustration! 😄 You are doing /insert a relevant deity or universal concept/'s work.

J.

hello, could this maybe be your fic?

We Forgot To Tell Peter by inkinmyheartandonthepage

In the chaos of Tony snapping the gauntlet, rushing him to the nearest hospital and the reality of having saved the universe, the Avengers forgot to actually tell Peter that Tony had survived. Now he's missing and nobody can find him to tell him that Tony survived.

[toastyeverlark]

- set after endgame battle, and nat is alive! romanogers drabble for ya :)

The fight had concluded, at long last. They won. Things were slowly falling back into place, though they would never be the same again.

Tony had agreed to let a few of them stay over at his place until they found somewhere to settle in. Morgan was the happiest with the decision - having ‘two-week uncles and aunties’ staying with them meant that she had more people to include in her tea parties.

The ‘two-week’ detail was especially emphasized by Tony, who hoped that they could get out of his hair in two weeks or less.

For Morgan’s tea party of the day, Steve had assumed the role of Mr Steve who likes strawberry cake and grape jam. It was Morgan’s favorite - everyone else got to change their roles but it was already Day 3 of Mr Strawberry Cake Grape Jam Steve.

“Mr Steve, here is your strawberry cake,” Morgan said importantly, setting down a plate with a strawberry cake plushie on top of it.

“Thank you, Morgan,” Steve smiled. “It’s exactly how I like it.”

”No, Mr Steve, you need to call me Missy Morgan,” frowned Morgan, who quickly moved on to Sam who was sitting at the other end of the table, awaiting instructions.

“How’s the cake?”

Steve turned to see Natasha, her arms crossed, leaning on the wall for support. She was smiling, trying not to laugh at the comically large rattan hat on his head that Morgan had definitely found in the garage.

“Actually Nat,” Steve got up as slowly as possible to avoid being noticed, “I think it’s your turn for tea.”

Morgan didn’t seem to care - she was busy reprimanding Sam for moving her teddy bear away and sitting in that spot instead.

Natasha poured a glass of water from the flask on the table and offered it to Steve.

“Something’s on your mind,” he took the glass and looked at her thoughtfully as she poured another one for herself.

“Are you really saying that? After all that’s happened?” she laughed.

“Yeah, sorry. Kinda hard to believe we fought some aliens just a few days ago. But then again, what’s new?”

Natasha rubbed her hip, where she had sustained an injury earlier.

“How’s your injury?”

She shook her head. “Nothing that can’t be healed in a couple days. What’s the plan for the stones?”

Steve took a long sip of the water. “I’m going to return them. Tony and the others are getting things ready.”

Natasha nodded, looking towards the lake outside the window.

“Why’d you ask if you already know what I’m going to do?”

She didn’t respond for a few moments, then looked at him, her eyes wet. “I guess I was just hoping that I would be wrong.”

Morgan had discovered his escape, and was already running over to get him back to the tea party.

“Nat,” Steve moved towards her, but she quickly walked off.

“Mr Steve?” Morgan pulled at his finger gently, to which he responded with a smile.

Natasha retreated to the guest room and sat on the edge of the bed, letting the tears run down her cheeks. She had always known what he was going to do. Steve had told her once, a long time ago, that if he ever had a chance to go back in time, he would choose to be with Peggy a thousand times over. Now that the opportunity presented itself so perfectly in front of him, it seemed almost foolish if he didn’t take it.

She didn’t know why her heart stung so much now that the moment came at last. It wasn’t supposed to.

Perhaps it was because of everything they had been through together, and she had held on to the little hope that he would choose her in the end. Stupid hope.

“Bad day?”

Natasha wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, “Didn’t know it was that obvious. What happened to the tea party?”

Sam made himself comfortable on the armchair next to the bed. “Oh you know, Steve’s doing all the work for me.”

Natasha smiled, and they sat in silence for a while.

“You should tell him.”

“And, just so we’re thinking about the same thing…”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

“Actually, Sam, I’m establishing communication here, in case you couldn’t tell.”

“Okay, genius. I’m telling you, you need to tell him how you feel about him. He needs to hear it from you. I’ve been Blipped for what, five years? I’ve been trying to say something about the two of you way before that, but no one ever listened.”

“So what if I do? It’s not going to change anything.”

Sam looked at her in exasperation. “Why do you keep thinking he doesn’t value you?”

“I know he values me,” Natasha sighed. “But it’s different from how he sees Peggy.”

“How do you know that? You’re here lecturing me about communication, but you can’t bring yourself to make this clear with him?”

She looked at him then, and his previously annoyed gaze softened.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Sam put up his hands to surrender, and got up. “I can’t force this, but I really needed you to hear it.”

Natasha nodded. “Thanks.”

He made his way awkwardly to the door, as if unsure whether he should leave her alone or not. “Feel free to join us at the tea party.”

“Maybe later.”

Then she was left alone to ponder about all the new questions in her head.

Natasha had wanted to stay in the house while the rest of them prepared the site for Steve and accompanied him there, but she knew she would regret it if she didn’t say goodbye. She decided that the pain of seeing him leave was more bearable than not getting to.

Sam seemed to know, because he intentionally popped by her room the day of.

“They’re heading down to the lake in a bit. I told Tony that I’ll be coming with Bucky.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“You coming with us?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I am.”

“Okay buddy, just remember, you have to return each stone to the exact moment it was taken. You’ve got all the time in the world, so just - be careful, okay?” Bruce reminded Steve for what seemed like the twentieth time that morning.

“Actually, I didn’t quite get that right, could you say it again?” Tony quipped, before getting elbowed by Bruce.

Steve made eye contact with Natasha then, and made his way over to her.

“See you in a minute,” he smiled.

“Eh, it’ll take less than that. He’ll be back in 5 seconds,” Tony chimed in.

“Yeah,” Natasha took a shaky breath, “I’ll see ya.”

There seemed to be a flood of tears fighting to break through. She had said her goodbyes, and so she decided that it was enough.

She finally let the tears roll down her cheeks when Bruce called Steve back to get ready, and made her way towards the lake, away from the group.

“She okay?” Bucky, who had noticed her leaving, nudged Sam.

“Just let her be.”

“Okay, go on Quantum, in 3, 2, 1. Returning in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.”

Natasha stooped by the lake, watching her reflection in the water, taking many shaky breaths as the tears continued flowing. She might have cried enough to fill up the lake if her body allowed it.

She wondered where he was at that moment in time. Probably happy and contented somewhere, having lived a beautiful life with the woman of his dreams. And there she was, crying over someone who had already lived his life and would not be part of hers ever again.

“That’s a lot of tears.”

Steve was standing beside her in the water’s reflection, and for a moment, she thought she was hallucinating.

“What is this, Romanoff, I’m gone for 5 seconds and you can’t recognise me?”

She lunged towards him so hard, he almost fell over in their embrace.

“You came back,” she sobbed into his chest, hugging him tighter than she had ever hugged anyone.

He stroked her hair comfortingly and kissed the top of her head.

“Can’t you be apart from me for 5 seconds even?” Steve teased.

“I thought you left,” she cried, “I know how much…Peggy means to you. I thought I was prepared for what you’d do when the time came, but I guess I never was. And I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

“Look at me, Nat,” Steve whispered. “I loved Peggy, and yes, there was a time in my life that I was certain I would live my life with her. But she was in my past, and even though I had the chance to redo everything, I don’t want to leave behind the present, because you’re in it.”

He gently placed his hands on the sides of her face. “I love you, Natasha Romanoff. And it’ll always be you.”

[trashblossomart]

Hi! I saw your post looking for request could you do Older Tony ((maybe how he looks now or even his Oppenheimer look) with Steve on the red carpet or an event. Please and thank you ❤️❤️❤️

Tony showing off Steve like actor men they worringly young wives.

Decided to go for a silverfox!tony approach because his vain ass could not handle a receeding hairline, hope you enjoy!

[eponastory]

Snippet from 'Sometimes, Maybe, It's Okay'

“So what are you going to do? Return the stones and then go have the picket fence life that everyone dreams about?” He's upset. He shouldn't be, but he is. He can't help but to stare out at the lake in front of them as they sit on the only bench left on the property. 

“Bucky, what’s so wrong with that?” Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He probably doesn't realize what his absence is going to do. 

“I get it. Better than anyone else you know, but what about everyone you leave behind? Who is going to pick up the shield, Steve, because it isn't going to be me and you know that.” He knows that he isn't the right person for the role. There is too much damage. 

“Sam.” Steve says with every bit of assurance in his voice. “It has to be Sam.” 

“You want Sam to take up the shield?” Somehow, Bucky isn't surprised by this and he honestly can't disagree. He isn't angry about it, not like he should be. “He’s a good man, Steve. I don't like him, but he is a good person if he went into this because of you.” He remembers his fight with Sam on the helicarrier before he went on the run. “He stuck his neck out for me when he didn't have to.” 

“Isn't that all that matters, Buck? Someone who will have your back?” Steve puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“I feel a promise coming on.” He mutters out with a scoff. “Please don't make me promise to look after his ass.” 

“Nah, I wouldn't do that.” The smile on Steve’s face says otherwise. “Not when you need to look out for yourself.” 

“Well, I can't promise to do that either.” He chuckles. “But I'll try.” 

“Here.” Steve pulls out a small brown notebook from inside his jacket. “A list of all the things you need to catch up on.” He holds it out to Bucky, who looks down at it as if it's something he shouldn't touch. “I'm pretty sure you'll add more to it.” 

Bucky takes it in his hands. “I think there is another list to put in here, actually.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Cap tells him. “That's why you need it more than I do.” 

I always wanted to know about the conversation that Steve had with Bucky before going back to the past. I came up with this on a whim, but I think it's probably accurate given the context of what Bucky says in FATWS to Sam.

[mydarlingjustbethere]

Peggy Carter’s Residence | 1948

The Day He Came Home

[joetavis]

Post-Endgame AU where Tony (and for good measure Nat) survives and Tony got a metal arm, because the snap destroyed his right arm.

Tony (in the bedroom with Steve): Soo, how hard is it for you not to think of Bucky when I jack you off now?

Steve (mortified): Ok. Get out.

Steve: The arm stays off during sex now!

Tony (putting his metal hand on Steve’s abs): You sure this doesn't awaken anything in ya’?

Steve: I hate you.

[musewrangler]

IT’S A CHEESEBURGER THING

For @fandomjumper247 who is craving fics while AO3 is off to war.

It's not very long, my dear, but I also love IronDad and SpiderSon so---

Set shortly after Endgame where Tony does NOT die. Obviously.

******

"Park your spandex wearing butt right there or so help me, Parker----!"

"Spandex butt," Morgan giggled, and Tony whirled on the five year old.

"Nope, hey. We don't repeat what Dad says when he's upset. You know the rules."

"He's upset all the time," Peter muttered and then quailed under the fierce glare from those brown eyes.

"Morgan!" Tony barked. "Get popsicles!"

"How many?" she asked, tilting her head in an exact imitation of her father. She knew how to negotiate, Peter thought.

"However many you want, Doodlebug. Go."

She trotted out happily as Tony advanced like a predator toward his prey and Peter sank reluctantly onto the sofa.

"What did I say? Hm? What did I say about pursuing this?"

The white scars on the right side of his face were like a lightning spread though the ear had been expertly repaired by the best plastic surgeon in the world. It frankly served to make him look cooler but Peter wasn't telling him that.

"Mr. Stark----" he began.

"Oh HELL no, you did not just 'Mr. Stark' me right now!" Tony snarled at him, poking a finger into his chest. Because he'd designed the suit, he knew exactly where to poke and it immediately retracted, leaving Peter wincing. Tony took this in and drew in a long inhale, like a growing tsunami.

"Friday! How many broken ribs?"

"Invasion of privacy," Peter tried and Tony raised both eyebrows in what Peter privately thought of as his 'Cap' look. It was the one he always gave Steve Rogers when he thought Cap was also pushing too hard.

"No privacy here. My house, my rules. Friday?"

"Seven, Boss."

"SEVEN," Tony repeated, but Peter was feeling it now and the adrenaline of his fight was wearing off. "I swear I am going to let Murdock hear about this," his mentor growled, as Dum-E rolled over with the medkit.

But he was gentle as he pushed Peter back against the cushions and got to work on the abrasions. Peter's spider enhanced healing would serve him well, but it still took time. Tony made him take super strong acetaminophen he'd worked on with Dr. Banner for super hero strength.

"Not much to do about the ribs," he said with real regret. "Which means you have to stay down, kid. Friday, let his Aunt May know, yeah?"

"On it, Boss."

Morgan returned with a very orange mouth and a blue popsicle in process.

"How many---?" Tony began and stopped. "Never mind. What I don't know I can't tell Mom."

"Seven," Morgan informed him helpfully, slurping on the blue one. "You can have some, Pete."

She came to lean over the back of the sofa and pat at his hair gently, already knowing that when he was here like this she had to touch carefully.

"That's okay, Morgs," he said, wincing a little as Tony swiped at the bruises on his face with an antibacterial wipe.

"Sorry," he said, but didn't sound it. It was the thing with Tony though, Peter thought drowsily as Ironman went hunting for the soft blanket, he was all bite even as he did everything possible to make sure the other person was safe and cared for.

Why they loved him after all. Peter and Pepper and Morgan. All of the Avengers.

Tony returned with the velvety soft grey blanket from Peter's room and tucked it around him. It was so warm and delicious.

"Mm, like a happy burrito," Peter slurred sleepily.

He could almost feel Tony's eyeroll.

"Cheeseburger," Morgan corrected. "They're better."

"And that's why your my favorite," Tony said immediately, removing the popsicle stick from her mouth. "All done. Crap, you're going to have such a sugar high."

He lifted his daughter into his arms and seated himself on the fat ottoman beside Peter's head.

"Can we get cheeseburgers?" Morgan asked.

Peter smiled at her.

"It's TWELVE---Nope. ONE FIFTEEN AM," Tony said with force. "And---" he paused.

"I could really put down some cheeseburgers, Mr. Stark," Peter said, the thought of them now making his stomach hurt even more.

There was a long silence.

"Cheeseburgers," Morgan whispered, touching her father's face gently.

Tony closed his eyes briefly and then ducked his head in defeat.

"Yeah okay, you two are awful. Friday, get us some cheeseburgers. Whatever's close and open." He glanced at Peter and pursed his lips in calculation. "Probably twenty."

Peter's mouth curled a little as Friday made the order. If Pepper had been here, no doubt he would be in the Stark's special medical wing of the penthouse they occupied when in the city. And well meaning as she was, Peter preferred Tony's way---the sofa, the blanket and the engineer's hand stroking Peter's curls as they waited for cheeseburgers and Morgan leaned on her father's shoulder, soothing herself by running her finger along one of the scars on his neck from the glove.

"Thanks, Mr. Stark," Peter murmured.

"Yeah, kid," Tony answered. "Still gonna pound Murdock for letting you get involved."

"I woulda anyway," Peter told him. "What we do."

Tony's hand stopped for a moment but then started to run through Peter's hair again.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly as Dum-E trundled in with a large Burger King bag, "it is."

[stonystark]

if it's still open — can i request some post-endgame grey-haired men in love? 💕

Oh hello! Yes it’s still open 🥰 I just haven’t gotten very many. This is a lovely prompt thank you so much for sending✨

More requests are welcome!! I love drawing Stony I just need some Inspiration sometimes 🫶

[eccentricgrace]

Toss and Turn || IronDad

summary: tony finds peter walking around the cabin, which is odd, because it is way past bedtime for spidery-teenagers.

tags: post-endgame au, tony stark lives!!, sleep-walking, fluff and humor, tony acting as peter parker's parental figure, hurt/comfort

wc: 2,516

cross-posted to wattpad by the same name!

Tony considered himself an "above-average" light sleeper. He never really stopped to consider how long he'd been like that. It was more of a gradual understanding that he came to, that if there was any kind of sound, even if it was one that his unconscious body made, he would rise up like a feral cat and start planning his defense.

Maybe it started after he was kidnapped, which was well over fifteen years ago now, but sometimes still seemed like yesterday, as most of his mistakes often did.

Maybe it started even younger, with shattered glass bottles and yelling that rattled through walls, or the smell of that damn cologne nearing, the sound of expensive shoes echoing on wooden tile, on asphalt, on carpet—

Nevertheless, he is a light sleeper. It's gotten better over the years, with less unfamiliar noises that would echo throughout the night. Owls yearlong, frogs in the spring, cicadas in the summer, the gentle creaks and groans of a house settling in its space, that had all become natural to him by about the first year they moved in.

Now he woke up to nightmares, first and foremost. His, of course, which dredge up acid from his stomach and tears from his eyes, and a cold sweat that sticks to his clothes and hair— but also Morgan's.

His daughter, who had nightmares about as often as any other kid (Tony researches religiously about anything that could possibly be out of the ordinary, anything he may have done wrong) sometimes woke from her nightmares with quiet tears— and Tony would subsequently wake to furniture being gently knocked around by a sleepy girl trying to get to mom and dad.

That's what he assumed to be happening tonight, when he gets woken up by a soft thud in the hallway.

Tony pushed himself out of bed, wincing at the pull it gave on his 'arm', all synthetic, but the connecting joint still in the long process healing. He glanced at Pepper, still fast asleep beside him, and let himself feel in love for a moment longer before he left the room.

He stepped quietly on the wooden panels of the floor, opening the door slowly as to not startle Morgan who would be on the other side. There's a darkness he has to squint through in the hallway, all shadows and grey splotchy objects of space where furniture should lay— but immediately he could tell that it was indeed not his daughter who had woken him up tonight.

Tony flicked the hallway lamp on. A dim, orange light cast over the scene. Peter's lanky figure is swaying silently on his feet, his head tilted downwards as he looked intensely at the floor.

"You alright?" Tony asked immediately, his voice groggy. He's already scanning the kid for injuries— a limp, maybe, or some kind of twisted limb— but nothing is sticking out in any odd places or swollen.

"Mh," Peter grunted. "Fixing it."

Tony blinked the sleep out of his eyes and made a face of displeasure as he looked over at Peter's late-night workings.

Peter didn't stay over at the cabin all the time. Maybe once or twice every few weeks, which is still far more than Tony imagined he could have had before, but still wasn't enough to settle that old, parental spark in his chest that cried out, as it had for so, so long, about missing him.

He was... adjusting still, to everything. Tony understood. The whole scenario in of itself was impossibly difficult from any end of it. Losing someone like that for five years, it drove Tony to an emptiness that he wouldn't wish on anyone except those who caused it. (And Thanos was gone. Killed twice over. It still never feels like enough.)

But for Peter, it was a different breed of horror. Different beast. He couldn't imagine how it would feel, thinking you've died, only to wake up missing a chunk of something as valuable as time. A chunk from everyone else's life gone, with you left to try and understand the pieces. Like a coma designed personally by Hell.

Simply put, it was difficult for him to be over here. Tony wasn't stupid, he knew that. He would look at the kid, sometimes, and just see something strayed. Lost, like he didn't know where he fit in. Pepper said it would take time before the teenager would feel like he belonged in the world again, and as much as Tony hated the honesty in it, Pepper was always right. He knew patience was the only medicine for this.

Being patient didn't stop him from worrying. Which is what he was doing now, of course: worrying if Peter had a nightmare, or if he couldn't sleep and was trying to distract himself with meaningless tasks around the house.

"Well, whatever you did worked wonders, I think it's fixed," Tony said gently, looking over the completely unchanged vase. "Mind telling me what you're doing out of bed? Whatever prompted this midnight excursion, huh?"

"It's," Peter started, his speech stilted. He frowned deeply with concentration, then looked up at Tony. "You're not leaving without me."

Tony paused. Carefully, he put one hand on Peter's shoulder, another staying at his chin to keep him from moving around. His mind full of concern as he took stock of Peter's dazed, distant, glassy-eyed expression, the way his eyelashes fluttered slowly, the sleepy turning of his cheeks. His pupils weren't crazy dilated, they weren't red or bloodshot any more than they usually were with Peter's unpredictable sleep schedule. Tony mentally crossed off drugs or alcohol, to an embarrassing bout of relief.

"No," he answered, tilting his head to the side. "I'm not leaving without you, kiddo. Why would you think that?"

Peter swayed again on his feet, tilting forward and looking a second away from swan diving. Tony's other arm shot up to steady him, immediately wincing from the pain that resulted from such a sharp movement.

"Mgh," Peter muttered. He dropped his head into Tony's chest with a thud, sweaty curls of hair pressed against a faded MIT shirt. He didn't answer the question, instead deciding to snuggle himself closer, lean his full weight against Tony's side until he was slumped over and making muffled sleepy sounds into Tony's shoulder.

Tony's hand came up to cradle the kid's head instinctively. He frowned, running his fingers through his hair and untangling the locks with a distracted diligence. A thought came to him. "Peter, are you awake right now?"

Peter pulled away from Tony and stumbled away with movements that weren't so different from a marionette on strings— clumsy, up-and-down steps, with the illusion that something as thin and slight as a string was all that held his weight.

He stopped at the end of the hallway, fully turned around, and stared at Tony with wide, expectant eyes.

Tony confirmed in his head that, yes, Peter was sleep-walking. He also confirmed that yes, he would be going on whatever adventure the sleeping teenager wanted him to apparently go on. He followed him down the hallway.

'Down the hallway' turned into 'down the stairs', which Peter was surprisingly graceful at navigating. Peter had stopped again, next to the fridge, and just stood there without making a sound.

Tony quietly took a seat at the counter as he watched, making sure Peter wouldn't be getting himself into any kind of danger, and smiled with amusement as Peter's eyes drifted closed, then opened again a few moments later.

Peter opened the fridge.

"Hm," Tony hummed. "You hungry?"

"Gotta." Peter reached in, then pulled out a bottle of yellow mustard, turning it over in his hands, and then walking back to the counter to drop it there. He went back to the open fridge, reached his hand in again. Pulled out a vanilla pudding cup, the ones Pep bought for the kids' snack times, and dropped it in the same place.

"Mustard and pudding, huh? That one of May's recipes?"

Peter ignored him  in favor of walking back to the fridge. He retrieved the entire jar of mayonnaise, then trudged over to the silverware jar. Tony hid a smile in the crook of his fingers.

Imagine his surprise when the kid dawdled back over to very solemnly hand him said mayonnaise jar, as well as a comically large spoon that Tony didn't even remember they had.

"Oh, for me?" Tony asked. He took the mayonnaise, setting it on the counter. "Thank you so much. How did you know this was my favourite?"

"Best," Peter responded. "Best at the job. I won. And... And taxes."

Tony put up a valiant effort not to chuckle. "You'll have to tell me all about that when you wake up, then."

Peter nodded seriously, his eyes half-lidded as he sat down next to Tony at the counter. He opened the bottle of mustard and turned it over, for some mysterious and unknown reason began to shake it, and then put it back down on its side.

He honestly should be studied in a lab, Tony thought. Nobody else's kid was as interesting as this. And if they were, then no they weren't. Tony just simply refused to believe it.

"I have to buy alligators," Peter mumbled, picking up the cup of vanilla pudding and fumbling clumsily with the wrapper.

Tony carefully plucked the pudding cup away from him and set it farther away. He didn't know too much about sleepwalking, so he figured it was better safe than sorry on whether or not Peter would or should even be able to eat it while still... asleep.

"Oh, really?" He asked. "Alligators?"

Peter stared offensively at his empty hands, and looked up at Tony with his mouth wide open and his nose screwed up in irritation.

"Oh, ok. Didn't like that," Tony noted. "Well, how about I promise you that when you wake up, you can have all the pudding you want."

Peter's eyebrows furrowed and he turned to his hands, still looking wildly offended at the apparent theft. His frown deepened. "No..."

Tony stared uselessly. After a moment, he patted Peter on the hand. "Sorry."

Peter grunted. Then he gasped. He stood abruptly, the chair squeaking against the tile. "Uh oh."

"Uh oh?" Tony's heart skipped a beat. He scans over the kid again, thinking maybe he missed something—

"I'm late," Peter said cryptically. "Gonna... got to go."

With that, he started at an alarmingly fast pace for the front door. Tony swore and slid as quickly out of the chair as he could, wincing as he did so.

He followed Peter down the hallway, and then Peter just— he was pacing back and forth, it seemed, whispering under his breath in a sleep-addled panic. He had grabbed a photo frame from the shelf set up at the entrance and was holding it in his hands.

Tony put a gentle hand on his elbow. "Hey, buddy," he tried. "How 'bout we get you back to bed?"

Peter jerked away from him, and Tony moved like he had hurt the kid by accident, his hands lurching back in alarm. Then Peter stalled, and swayed again on his feet. All that could be heard for a moment was the kid's quiet breathing.

Then, so quietly, he spoke. "Wait for me?"

Tony blinked rapidly as he processed the words. When he realized he was being asked a question directly, Peter's glassy eyes boring into his, he frowned. "Wait for what?"

Regardless, the answer was yes. Yes, always yes. Should anything happen, he would wait. Until both of their bodies have been reclaimed by the earth, Tony would still be there, waiting for his kid to come home to him. It's been proven, written in the stars with the destruction of alien ships and engine exhaust, that he would wait. Five years. Ten years. Ten hundred years. Forever.

Still, Peter's sleeping face looked so heartbroken now, and he whispered his next words just loud enough for Tony's old ears to catch them.

"For me to catch up."

It's so painfully innocent. He's pleading, he's desperate, even in his sleep.

Tony glanced down at the photo frame Peter still held in his hands— catching the glimpse of the two of them, five years younger, five years closer.

"Kid," Tony choked out.

Peter pressed the photo frame to his own chest, hugging it tight. He pulled away from Tony, slipping around him and trudging back up the stairs.

Tony's hand lay cold in the air, but after a brief moment of reining his tears back in, he followed Peter to the cabin's second floor.

The hallway was empty, but Peter's bedroom door was cracked open. Tony quietly pushed it open, and Peter was standing dazedly in the middle of it.

"Something new on the itinerary?" Tony asked hoarsely, his throat tight, his heart hurting.

Peter seemed to jump out of his skin, whipping his head around in alarm, and oh. This wasn't how asleep-Peter acted. He would know, as they've just been introduced fairly recently.

"Well, hello there. Good morning," Tony said, leaning against the doorframe. He made himself sound amused as possible.

"What is happening," Peter whispered loudly, his eyes wide. He still was hugging the damn photo to his chest. "Was I asleep standing up? Like a... like a horse?"

"Oh, you weren't just standing," Tony informed. Knowing now that Peter didn't seem to remember any of the events that happened while he slept, he gave him an easy smile. "You went on a whole rodeo, cowboy."

Peter's face went red, and he looked momentarily horrified. "What?"

"Yep. House-round trip, I'm afraid." Tony casually took the photo from him, and Peter, who was still dazed, let it go without hardly noticing. "You should get some actual rem sleep now. Maybe I'll invest in some bells around your door handle."

Peter hid his face in his hands and groaned. "That's so embarrassing. Please tell me you didn't get photos."

Tony smiled, running a hand through Peter's hair. "Hm, no, not this time. Next time for sure though. It's about time I started a new album, I think."

Peter leaned into the touch like moldable dough, which Tony took as his cue to gently guide him back to bed. They scuttled across the room, Peter noticeably more clumsily than him, and Tony lifted the covers.

(It seemed asleep-Peter either had the courtesy to make the bed after he got out of it, or, the more depressing possibility, awake-Peter had fallen asleep without getting into the bed at all.)

"Can we just—" Peter shook his head miserably. "—forget this? Ever happened? Like, all of it?"

"Hmm, let me think about it." Tony tapped his chin thoughtfully. "No."

He played it up like a joke, because that's what they're used to, the two of them. Banter, the back-and-forth, the easiness of it all. The photo frame burned in Tony's hand.

No, he wouldn't forget tonight. And tomorrow morning, once his kid has gotten a good eight hours, and a good meal, they'll talk about it. They'll keep talking about it until Tony is 100% sure that he gets it, the lengths he'd go for him, the hardships he'd endure to keep him safe— the time he'd lose for Peter to be safe and sound and himself, just the way he is.

That, he would wait for him.

But, he didn't have anything to wait for.

[yoooitsemmers]

ok but like imagine-

Tony leaving Peter a message to Peter like the one for Morgan and pepper at the end of endgame. And it’s about how proud of him Tony is. Tony, knowing Peter, repeats “it’s not your fault” because it’s Peter and Peter will somehow blame himself for everything. And Tony knows Peter so he knows that he’ll through himself into self destruction for the “greater good” so he tells him to take a break from spider-man. And Tony knows because Peter is so much like himself when he was younger, and that’s exactly what he’d do. He tells Peter not to loose sight of himself, to not become vengeful, because he knows what that’s like. He tells Peter that he loves him.

[lilydreaming13]

Were we confident that Steve informed Peggy that he was in the future when he went back in time to 1949? We think he told her everything, but it's unclear if he told her the complete truth or if he mentioned the word 'future' or the years '2011' and '2023.'