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rivalsispunk · 3 days ago

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Inappropriate (Chapter 4 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Series summary: Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), mention of male appendages (IYKYK), mention of female orgasm, pussy pronouns, smut smut SMUTTTT, jealous Declan, all the good stuff

Word count: 11.4k

Chapter summary: Happening across your boss pants down only spells the beginning for you and Declan, but neither of you are expecting a surprise visitor to muddy the waters.

A/N: Thank you all for being SO SO patient with this one. I could've easily released this chapter in two parts but didn't want to disrupt the flow of the story (*ahem* smut). This has had a brief edit in my hastiness to publish so any mistakes... Shhhhhh!

Chapter Four: Inappropriate

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t had an inappropriate thought or two about Declan O’Hara in the time you’ve been friends with Taggie, perhaps more frequently since he’d become your superior, but that had nothing on the unadulterated filth that had infiltrated your brain in the hours since leaving The Priory. You can barely recall fleeing down its staircase or the drive home, what unfolded at the forefront of your mind until a self-induced orgasme lulled you into a deep sleep. Now, you’re permanently marred with the visual of Declan — your best friend’s father, your boss — fucking his hand with your name on his lips. You should feel dirty. You should feel violated. You should feel the way you do when Tony Baddingham’s beady eyes drink you in across the office. Like you need a scalding hot shower and to scrub yourself down to the bone. But you don’t. You feel like somebody’s doused you in gasoline and lit a match, your whole body burnt to flames — and it’s exhilarating.

How many times has he done it?

Was that the first time?

And why do you want to watch him do it again?

“Did ya stay late last night?” Declan asks you the next day while you’re sifting through old newspapers in search for more dirt on Rupert, at your boss’ request. “Went straight up to bed once I got back, so didn’t hear ya leave.”

Liar, you think.

“Not too late. Eleven, maybe,” you respond, eyes glued haphazard clippings across your desk.

“Not that I would’ve heard you anyway,” he continues. “Not with the wailing guitar riffs at full volume on Taggie’s stereo.”

Only then do you flit your gaze up to look at the man on the other side of the office. Acting professional after that murky moment with Declan in the hot tub was one thing, but pretending you don’t know what your boss looks like with his pants dropped and cock in hand is a whole other kettle of fish. Under normal circumstances, you’d be awkward. Uncomfortable. But now it’s as if having his secret affection has allowed you the permission to challenge him.

“Do you have something against Bon Jovi, Declan?”

“Under normal circumstances, no,” he responds, lighting a cigarette. “But when it feels like Jon is in bed with me screaming in my ear while I’m trying to sleep, I’m inclined to think otherwise.”

Let alone when you’re dancing around all but naked to it.

“So, can we count you out of belting Livin’ On A Prayer at Bar Sinister tonight?” you chide, reminding Declan of the invite you’d all received from the Joneses. Smoke plumes from his lips as he rears back from a drag.

“Yep. I’ll not be going anyway. Got too much work to get done.” “You always have too much work to get done,” you tell him. “You have to take a break sometime.”

“That’s what sleeping is for,” he counters, a slight smirk rising from under his moustache.

“Oh, come on, Declan. It’s one night.” You’re staring at him all doe-eyed across the room and your innocence, faux or not, does the heavy lifting of your convincing. “Come to Sinister. It’ll be fun.”

It’ll be fun, you’d said, voice all but a whiney beg that zapped like a rod of lightning straight to his crotch. But Declan’s struggling to find the enjoyment in spending his evening watching a revolving door of men try their luck with you, in that impossibly short merlot-coloured dress that’s befitting of Bar Sinister’s name. First, it was Bas Baddingham; the younger, kinder, though no less leery half-brother of Tony. Declan had noticed the pair of you when he arrived, his attention magnetised to you the moment he walked through the door. Bas had you cooped up in the corner by the floor to ceiling wine racks, his frame bowing over you while you chatted.

Declan wasn’t prepared for the twist in his stomach, nor the prickle of heat that scaled his body until it reached his cheeks while he watched you giggle with Bas, eyes sparkling under his attention. It was almost as if he were a child watching someone play with his favourite toy, unwilling to let anybody else have a turn, even though he was well aware it wasn’t his to keep in the first place. You slung another one of your dazzling smiles Bas’ way, and it was enough to have Declan beelining for the bar to order a wine and a whiskey to keep his envy at bay. After a while, Bas was called away to assist with a kitchen catastrophe. He was quickly replaced with Rupert Campbell-Black, all smiles and slime as craned his neck to whisper in your ear. Whatever words he was imparting on you — undoubtedly dirty — saw you blush, a stunning flush of fuchsia flooding up your neck to your cheeks. This goes on for a while — too long, in Declan’s opinion — and every grin Rupert shoots your way, coupled with you staring up at him all starry-eyed like you’ve been touched by the hand of God, has Declan grinding his teeth to near-dust.

He’s too old for you, he thinks. Certainly not good enough. The journalist had already been forced to warn the former Olympian off Taggie. He ought to do the same for you. But who was he kidding? He has no claim over you. You’re not his daughter.

The idea has him downing his whiskey in one gulp.

No, you’re definitely not his daughter.

Filthy hypocritical git.

You felt Declan before you saw him, his gaze like daggers slicing into you as you spoke with Bas, then even more so when while you chatted to Rupert. In all honesty, you had no interest in either men, but you made sure to ramp up the flirty act, particularly with Rupert, because you knew how much Declan disliked him. You weren’t entirely sure why; perhaps you wanted to see whether it bothered him, or how much it bothered him, but you could never get a good enough look at him to gauge where his head was at. You weren’t even talking about yourself, save for Rupert once again trying to coax you into a dinner date. Instead, you’d geared the conversation towards your best friend, whom you knew had a burgeoning crush on her neighbour despite her failed attempts to deny it.

“Are you expecting someone?” Rupert asks partway through gushing over Taggie’s catering at a recent hunt. “Or am I just boring you?”

His question falls on deaf ears, and you scramble to make up for your rudeness. “Sorry, Rupert. What was that?”

“Your eyes have been darting around this bar like you’re watching a tennis match.”

“I’m not—”

“Trust me, you are. It’s not often that a woman can bear to take her eyes off of me,” Rupert peacocks, cheeky grin blooming at his shameless confession. “So, who’s the lucky sod?”

God, he’s nothing if not perceptive, you think, chewing the inside of your cheek. Finally, you clock Declan by the till, his eyes stuck on you while Lizzie Vereker chats animatedly at his side.

“So, are you going to tell me or are you going to make me guess?” Rupert tries again.

Turning your attention back to him, you make a show of laying a hand on the sleeve of his navy sports coat as you lie through your teeth. “It’s nobody. Nobody worth worrying about.”

“Are you trying to burn a hole through him?” Lizzie wonders aloud, cheeks already flushed from her half a glass of wine.

“He’s just… everywhere. It bothers me,” Declan tells her, not taking his eyes off you.

“Bothers you that he’s here, or bothers you that he’s here with her?” She looks at him quizzically before her sight slices to you.

“You know I can’t stand him, Lizzie. Sorry, I know he’s your friend but, God. Always lurking, trying to shag anything with a pulse. Even that might be too restrictive to the lengths he’ll go to.”

“She’s an adult, Declan. A strong-headed one, at that. She can make her own decisions.”

“Well, she’s making the wrong one with him. He's got all the charm of a burst hemorrhoid."

Lizzie swats Declan for his off-colour description. “And what do you suggest the right one to be, then?” She’s staring up at him, lips pursed like she knows something. Like she’s pried his skull open with a crowbar and all of his dirtiest thoughts about you have leaked all over Bar Sinister’s maroon carpet.

“Someone her own age,” Declan decides, as much as it pains him to admit. “Someone that’s not Rupert Campbell-Black.”

“Someone like Patrick?” Lizzie poses, and Declan’s head whips towards her at the mention of his son.

“Patrick? My Patrick?”

“It’s not that crazy an idea. He’s a perfectly lovely boy.”

“He’s also at university, Lizzie.” Far away from you.

“Was at university,” a familiar and all-too-missed voice sounds from behind the journalist, and he just about spills his Pinot Noir as he turns to greet his son.

“Patrick!” Declan pulls him into a hug, clapping a hand against his back. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I had a few days between exams. Thought I’d pay a visit.”

“Shouldn’t you be studying?”

“Come on, Dad. I’m here to have fun. You should try it sometime,” Patrick jests. There’s that word again. Fun. Despite your earlier promise, so far, Declan’s having anything but. “Hello, Lizzie,” Patrick leans down to drop a kiss to her cheek. “So, what are we talking about over here? Though with you Rutshire lot, I suppose the question should be who are we talking about?” he asks, taking the wine glass from his father’s hand and polishing off what’s left of the heady liquid.

Lizzie steals a quick look at Declan, who feigns disinterest. “We were just talking about that glorious young lady over there,” she tells Patrick, pointing with her wine in your direction. “Rather beautiful, is she not?”

Patrick’s eyes narrow as he spots you across the dim-lit room, still deep in conversation with Rupert. “Isn’t that Taggie’s friend? I remember meeting her at my birthday party. Rupert hasn’t eaten her alive yet?”

“Seems she’s one of the only women in this town that’s immune to his charms,” Lizzie conveys, and Declan wonders if they’re watching the same scene; Rupert laying it on thick and you seemingly lapping it up.

There’s a soft, almost curious tilt to Patrick’s head, lip pursed over as he watches the pair of you. “She might stand a chance after all,” he announces, then he’s away as quickly as he appeared, swerving through the crowd as he makes his way towards you.

Freddie is eight minutes through Meat Loaf’s Bat Out Of Hell and the whole bar is loving it. You can’t recall a time you’ve had this much fun out, your throat is stinging from how loud, how ferociously, you’re singing along with the electronics businessman. Freddie’s off-key and lack of rhythm is long forgotten under the haze of alcohol, and even Declan has slid off his broody perch to join the sing-a-long. Before the unmistakable first riff of the song blasted from the speakers, you’d spent the last half an hour chatting to Patrick, who’d surprised his family for a weekend home from university. You’d met him once before at the O’Hara’s most recent New Year’s Eve party. It’d also doubled as his twenty-first birthday, though you’d barely exchanged more than a hello and goodbye on the night and he was yet to venture back until this evening.

The only son of Declan and Maud, and it isn’t hard to see where the majority of his genes descend from. Hickory curls wisp every which way, nougat eyes flecked with black just like his father’s. While Patrick is far more idealistic than Declan, he’s just as foolhardy and exudes the same charm. He’s funny, too, much easier to joke with than his dad, you find, and though he can’t hear what his son is whispering to you over the roar of the crowd, the way you lean into him and laugh between lyrics grates on Declan. He silently curses Lizzie for setting Patrick’s sights on you. He knows — yes, knows — she was doing him a favour, in some roundabout way, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Especially when he has an unwilling front row seat with you standing between him and Patrick. To compete with Rupert and Bas was one thing, but his own son? Even if the whole thing was complete mental game, it wears on him, reminding him how fucking absurd his affection for you is.

The bar erupts in applause as Freddie wails along with the song’s final chord, his voice landing nowhere near the note Meat Loaf intended. Beside Declan, you cheer for the businessman while Patrick hollers in a way that’s more suited for a football match

“Right then, you randy bunch,” Freddie shouts, his cockney accent impossibly louder under the boom of the microphone. “Which one of yous dares to follow after the King of Karaoke?” The machine, some high-tech gadget flown in from Asia, fades into the next song, and the first couple of lyrics from Don’t Go Breaking My Heart appear on the screen.

“Oh, Daddy loves this song!” Taggie squeals from behind you, hands coming to shake Declan’s shoulders.

“What? No, I don’t,” he scoffs. “Where on earth did you get that idea?” “I’ve heard you singing it in the shower,” she says, shouldering her way between the two of you. “Both Elton and Kiki Dee’s parts.”

Declan playfully swats his daughter. “Oh, shut it, Tag. Can we have no secrets?” Their repartee makes you smile, even more to see Declan without that far-etched scowl he’s often sporting.

“Kiki Dee fan, hey, Dad?” Patrick teases, waggling his eyebrows.

“Not enough to get up there and sing it.”

Nobody else has jumped at the opportunity yet, and Freddie’s still trying to hype up the crowd to find a taker as the instrumental track rolls into the chorus.

“You’ll sing it with him, won’t you?” It takes you a second to realise that Taggie is talking to you. “You were saying on the way here that you wanted to step out of your comfort zone a bit more.”

You shake your head. That’s absolutely not what you were referring to.

“I meant professionally! Not…” you gesture haphazardly to the stage. You hadn’t mentally prepared to get up and perform. It also wasn’t exactly the activity you had in mind when you thought about you and Declan.

“Oh, go on, you two!” Taggie eggs you on, hopping with excitement.

“I’ll give you ten quid,” Patrick wagers, and Declan slices a dark look his way.

“Anyone?” Freddie is still trying, swinging the microphone around by its cable. Then, you feel a hot breath sluice over your cheek. The scent of whiskey emanating from Declan gives away the dangerous amount he’s consumed this evening, which could be why he drops his mouth to your ear.

“I’ll do it if you do it,” he murmurs, the deep timbre of his words racking through you. You rear backwards, nearly headbutting Taggie in the process.

“Are you joking? Two seconds ago you didn’t want to get up there either!”

Declan gives a half-hearted shrug as if to say why not. “It is a duet, after all.” His gaze holds yours and walks a fine line between pleading and defiant. There’s something in it now, a dare lurking beneath the surface, like he’s waiting for you to rise to the challenge. The look hits you sharp, suddenly; a flash of lightning tearing through the dark, and one final daring tilt of Declan’s head pushes your reservations aside.

“Okay, fine.” You snatch his glass from his hand and throw back the rest of the thick amber. A swell of pride burns through his chest, watching you pitch up the courage — even if it’s liquid — to get up on stage. “Freddie!” you shout towards the host. “Start it up again. We’re doing this.”

“Woohoo!” Freddie pumps a fist in the air, winding up the crowd until their cheering and applause hit deafening heights. Between the whiskey and the support of Taggie and Rutshire, you should be amped up enough to get through one measly song. But not even the heat blooming from where Declan’s hand rests on your back as he guides you on stage is enough to distract from the terror gnawing at you.

Despite the small set-up and there only being forty-odd people in the crowd, you might as well have been performing at Wembley. The relentless stage lights make it seem like you’re just metres from the sun and your heart is pumping a frantic, runaway rhythm that just won’t quiet. You blanch, surprised the microphone doesn’t slip from your clammy palm as Freddie passes it to you, the object a heavy weight in your hand. Just below you, Taggie pumps a thumbs up, and Patrick claps supportively. And then there’s Declan, standing beside you, his presence both grounding and electrifying as he leans in, voice low but steady as the intro to Don’t Go Breaking Your Heart starts back up again.

“Just breathe, love,” he tells you. “The worst that happens is we both end up looking like idiots.”

The first four bars pump out of the speakers, and you barely hear Declan apprehensively sing the first line because you’re too focussed on not regurgitating the cacio e pepe you’d consumed at dinner. You’re already a beat off when you murmur through your round of the lyrics, but Declan does a fine job at making up for your lack of stage presence. He’s side-stepping to the beat, putting his hips into it and clicking with his free hand. He’s still rigid in his movements, because he’ll be damned if performing for his peers this way is a regular occurrence, but it’s all he can do to get the attention off you, to calm your nerves without pulling you into a storage cupboard and fucking the anxiety out of you.

By the time the second chorus rolls around, you’ve loosened up enough to follow Declan’s lead, your feet no longer paralysed by fear. You move about the stage, pointing dramatically at Taggie and wiggling your body. The gesture is small, but swinging your hips in a circle has Declan stumbling over his words, his trousers tightening over his crotch.

Ooh-ooh, nobody knows it (nobody knows), the entire bar is singing along now, and Declan’s welcome for the distraction because the song is right. Nobody knows just how far gone he is for you, and this little love song performance isn’t helping anyone. Thankfully, the music begins fading out, signally the end of your time up on stage, and you clamber down the two rickety steps to resounding applause.

“See?” Taggie says when you return to your rightful place out of the spotlight. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You ignore your heart leaping at the base of your throat and ignore the urge to steal a glance at Declan, who’s made straight for the bar. Again.

“No, not all bad,” you give in, smiling between your friend and her brother.

You stay for one more drink and a few more songs, finally calling it a night once Charles coaxes half the broadcasting staffers into a Les Misérables sing-a-long. You and the O’Hara’s venture outside, the crisp night air pulling all of the hairs on your arms to their ends. While the four of you wait for a cab, Patrick sloughs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, an almost silent that’s better slipping into the darkness. Lighting a cigarette, Declan tries — tries — to mind his own business. But his ears prick up at the mention of you and dinner.

“What do you say?” Patrick is asking you, voice competing with the sound of tires on wet bitumen and the chorus resounding from inside Sinister. “Tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up?”

The words hang in the air. Simple. Loaded.

You feel Declan’s gaze like a weight on your shoulders. You should want to go on a date with Patrick, right? You’re supposed to; he’s smart, funny and, more to the point, not nearly two decades your senior. But all you can think about is how Declan’s attention makes your skin flush, how he’s standing right there, probably watching this all unfold. You swallow, pressure mounting as Patrick’s invitation still hangs between you. A few steps away, Declan shifts, just barely, but enough to catch your attention. When you glance back at him, he busies himself with his lighter, like its manufacture is the most fascinating thing in the world.

Would he even notice if you said yes to his son? Would he care at all?

You nod before you can second-guess yourself, your words tripping out like they’re not even yours. “Yeah, sure. Dinner sounds good.” Patrick beams brightly as a taxi pulls up to the curb. Declan’s unreadable as he stubs out his cigarette, while the energy pouring from Taggie is hard to miss.

“I’m so excited!” she whisper-shouts, her hands coming to wrap around your left arm as you approach the cab. “If this works out between you and Patrick, we’ll be sisters!”

Behind you, Declan pales at his daughter’s comment.

You and Patrick. Working out.

You and Taggie. Sisters.

The idea makes him sick.

“Is that thing broken?” Declan stabs a finger at the clock hanging in The Priory’s kitchen. He’s positive something is wrong with it. Every time he looks to the wall, the hands appear unmoving, perpetually stuck at eleven-fifteen.

“It’s working perfectly fine,” Taggie assures her father while kneading a mound of dough that would soon become dinner rolls for tomorrow’s black-tie event at the Baddinghams’. “I think the issue is you keep checking it every five seconds.” Declan shakes his head, boots scraping along the floor as he paces up and down the length of the room. “Daddy, can you stop for a moment? You’re making me motion sick.” “Patrick should’ve been home by now,” he says, ignoring his daughter while his eyes flick to the clock again.

“He’s on a date, for goodness sake,” Taggie says, and the reminder of his whereabouts — your whereabouts — feels like an infected scrape across his heart. “Just leave him be. He’ll be home when he’s home.”

Declan barks out a laugh. “Leave him be! Thanks, Taggie. That’s just grand parenting advice. I’ll try that one with you when you’ve got kids galavanting around God knows where at all hours of the night.”

“I’d hardly call eleven all hours of the night,” she counters, and the comment stops Declan at the head of the kitchen bench. She keeps stretching and folding the dough, almost unphased by her father’s agitation. Declan smiles, just for a second, recognising that Taggie’s become far more outspoken, less inward, since having you around. He’d be proud if the situation wasn’t so infuriating.

“I’m just—” he stares at a crack in the timber benchtop. “It’s just getting late and he has to drive back to school tomorrow.” It was a cheap excuse. Declan knew full well that Patrick would have no issues making the two-hour drive back to campus, even on little sleep. In truth, he could roll in at four AM and he’d not bat an eyelid.

But this isn’t really about Patrick, is it? No, it’s you. You, out there with his son, doing God knows what, God knows where. He could feel the weight of it— the resentment, the jealousy — settling deep in his chest. What if you’d kissed? Worse, what if you’d—No. His fingers tighten around the edge of the bench, knuckles coming up white. His mind deceives him again, and there you are, entwined in your bed sheets with Patrick, your laughter mixing with the sound of something more. The thought burns hot and quick through him, and the longer you’re out with Patrick, the harder it is to shake.

Then there’s the slam of a car door. The whine of hinges at the entrance to The Priory. Declan and Taggie both glance at each other before racing to the foyer to greet Patrick.

“Are you guys waiting up for me or something?” he chides, unravelling himself from his navy scarf.

“No,” Declan is all too quick to answer. Yes.

“So?” Taggie, flour marring her right cheek, is just about levitating with the way she’s bouncing on her feet. “How was it then?”

“Lovely,” Patrick says. “She’s really great. So intelligent.”

Yeah, I know, Declan dares to think.

“Did you kiss her goodnight?” Taggie wants to know, gazing up at her brother like a toddler waiting on a fairytale.

A quiet chuckle rumbles from Patrick as he slings his coat over the staircase bannister. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, my dear,” he muses, thumbing his sister’s chin.

“You know I’m going to find out from her anyway,” Taggie warns him.

“Then you’ll just have to wait until you see her tomorrow, won’t you?”

She rolls her eyes, and Declan’s stomach churns in a similar motion. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, but Patrick wasn’t usually one to play coy. The only reason for his self-effacement must be because he really likes you. And, as Declan trudges up to bed, throwing a tetchy goodnight over his shoulder to his children, he worries you likely feel the same.

The date was…fine. Patrick was twenty minutes late, but it was quickly made up for with the bouquet of roses, twice the size of his head, that he arrived alongside. After a quick peck to the cheek, he ushered you into the Clubman he’d borrowed from his father for the night. The car reeked of stale smoke and the leathery wood smell of Declan’s cologne. If you allowed yourself, you could almost hear the rasp of his voice and the sharp click of his lighter. Beside you, Patrick chatted away about his literature class at university while he navigated the quiet streets, completely unaware of how his father’s presence seemed to haunt every inch of this car. You bypassed Bar Sinister and town completely, ending up at Le Petit Chêne — The Little Oak — a small, family-owned French bistro fifteen minutes down the road. The food was delicious, the wine even better, but as the night wore on, you couldn’t help but compare Patrick to his father, even though you were well aware it wasn’t fair. Patrick had that same tapered jawline, those dark eyes, but where Declan’s gaze felt like a bolt of electricity, Patrick’s was softer, warmer. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes were like something familiar, comfortable, like you could just keep moving through the motions and never have to think too hard. But Declan... Declan made you feel every. Single. Glance.

Still, the comfortability and Patrick’s friendliness made it easy to lose track of time as you traded tales from your time at university and compared your favourite novels, arguing over the crux of Of Mice and Men — you find it majorly depressing, while Patrick thinks it signifies hope. You agreed, begrudgingly, to disagree, the squabble wrapping up as your date pulls up outside your flat.

“I had a really nice night,” he confessed when you reached your door.

“Yeah, me, too,” you responded, shrugging off his jacket he’d once again loaned you. “That restaurant was lovely. Thank you again for paying.” “You’re worth it.” Patrick shuffled from one foot to the other, the subtle movement signifying the first time you’d ever seen the eldest O’Hara child anywhere close to nervous. You knew what was coming next, with the way he looked up from your doormat with hopeful eyes, blush pinching at the apples of his cheeks. “Can I kiss you?”

You should want to kiss him, the young, likable man standing in front of you. Going against your better judgement, you said yes and tried to enjoy his soft lips against yours. His touch was gentle, one hand on your waist, the other cupping your cheek, but the spark that should ignite at having a handsome man like Patrick wanting you was missing. It didn’t help that you could still feel the ghost of Declan’s presence, like the heat from his stare was still burning into your skin. No hairs stood on end. No rush of warmth flooded your chest. Nothing like the way you felt when Declan’s gaze lingered on you just a little too long, or when your hands brushed, the way they had that night in the hot tub. The gnawing comparisons followed you into your flat once you and Patrick had said goodnight, and tucked themselves into bed beside you, marking the beginning of a long night of fractured sleep.

The next evening, you find yourself in a sea of black tuxedos and satin gowns, the clink of glasses and low murmurs of conversation filling the ballroom in the Baddingham manor as you celebrate Four Men Went To Mow dominating the winter ratings. Early that morning, Taggie called to hear details from your date with Patrick, revealing that her brother remained mum about the night you’d spent together. You kept it top-line, telling her it was fun and that there was a peck, which was met with squeals from the other end of the phone. Taggie then dished that Patrick had extended his stay in Rutshire and would be attending that night’s festivities, and whatever excitement you held for the party dissipated.

After your date, you’d expected Patrick to return to university, taking whatever fleeting attraction he held for you with him. You found comfort in that, knowing you wouldn’t have to let him down easy and that Taggie would stop prematurely planning your wedding to her brother. Yet, here he is, looking dashing in a three-piece tux and already the life of the party. So, you push any awkwardness aside and focus on the night ahead. Patrick told you he was definitely leaving tomorrow morning—no harm in enjoying his company tonight, right? You can smile, have a bit of fun, try not to think too much about it. The music plays, the conversation flows, and you laugh, genuinely, pretending for a moment that everything is simple. But through it all, you can feel Declan observing the pair of you across the grand hall. No matter the conversations he finds himself amongst, whether it be with board members about his show, or colleagues exchanging gossip about interoffice affairs, a portion of his attention is always attuned to you. He winces every time your laugh rises above the chatter and he’s desperate to know what words his son is crooning to justify such a heavenly sound. There was something in the way you looked at his son — a softness that went beyond polite attention. But who was he kidding? Why wouldn’t you be interested in Patrick? Lizzie was right. Patrick is the right choice, and judging by the smile pinching at your cheeks as you look up at him, a choice you’ve gladly already made.

After two rounds of canapes have made the rounds, Taggie manages to steal a few minutes away from the kitchen to join you and Daysee on the dancefloor for the YMCA, the three of you giggling between the iconic moves as you try to decide which of the Corinium men would be each of the Village People. Despite the low temperature outside, sweat slides down your spine and the hairs framing your face stick to your forehead. “I’m going to get some air!” you shout, gesturing to the doors in case your friends can’t hear you above the music. As the song fades into a Hall and Oates hit, you push through the throng of guests, ignoring the way Tony Baddingham’s eyes rinse over you in your baby blue dress as you pass by him and Freddie Jones in the corridor. When you step outside, the pulse of music and chatter drifts into the cool night, mingling with the quiet conversations and laughter of guests convening among the manicured hedges and flower beds. The air is thick with the scent of damp grass and the faintest trace of woodsmoke pumping from the manor’s chimneys and many roaring fireplaces.

Down the far end of the house, you spot Declan in the shadow of one of the sky-reaching pillars. He’s still, watching the party through the large windows, light from inside flickering softly across his face. It catches the curve of his cheek and the edge of his stubbly jaw in bursts, and battles with the glow of the cigarette he lifts to his lips. Smoke curls up into the night, and only when it shifts does he finally catch sight of you. He doesn’t say a word, just lets the silence stretch between you for a few moments until you ask him, “Are you hiding?”

“Just getting some fresh air,” he says, taking another drag.

“With lungs full of smoke?” you dare.

The cigarette tips towards the sky as Declan smirks. “Watch yourself.” You take the cheeky lilt in his voice as an invitation to join him, your heels echoing off the concrete pavers as you walk. “Are you having fun?” he wants to know when you fall into line beside him.

“Yeah, it’s a great party. I just hope Freddie hasn’t brought that bloody karaoke machine with him,” you say, only half serious.

“I’ll say,” Declan agrees, dark eyes still fixated on the window. Beyond it, Patrick is talking animatedly with a group of six or so guests gathered around him, all of them ogling the young scholar over their drinks like they’re the disciples to his Jesus. As if he’s just relayed the punchline to a joke, his onlookers throw their heads back with laughter, and the man to Patrick’s left claps him on the shoulder, unable to contain himself.

“People are just drawn to him, aren’t they?” Declan wonders out loud. He doesn’t mean it as a test, but he’s curious to see if you open up to him about the night before.

“It’s not hard to see why,” comes your answer, and it’s clear you’re keeping your cards as close to your chest as Patrick.

“He’s a good boy,” Declan forges on, nudging his chin in the direction of his firstborn.

“You told me that boys don’t know what they want.”

“Not my son. He’s known what he wants since he was in the womb."

“And what about you? Do you know what you want?” The question is playful and doesn’t probe in the way you wish you could ask, but it’s enough for Declan to debate answering.

What does he want?

You.

To not want you.

“He likes you a lot, you know," he pivots, as much as the facts pain him.

“Oh, yeah?”

Declan nods. “He was out here not long ago, banging on about your celestial light.” The phrase makes him chuckle while he shakes his cigarette, ash flickering from orange to grey as it drifts to the ground.

“Celestial light?" you scoff, breath turning to fog in the air. "You’re joking. I have about as much celestial light as a flickering lamp post.”

“Don’t do that.” Any amusement in Declan’s voice is gone with those three words.

“Do what?”

“Put yourself down. Make yourself small.”

“I don’t know what you’re—“

“Don’t you?" Declan presses, head quirked. You don't fool me, is what he means. "You don't have to do that with Patrick. Don't have to do that with me."

"And the rest of them? I'm not naive enough to think that I'm more than some young thing expected to keep quiet and look pretty. That's just the way it is. All those men in there," you nod towards the sprawling windows that separate you from the party. "They don't think anything of me. They just see me as —"

“Smart? Witty?” Declan interjects, trying to meet your eye as you toe a stray leaf that's blown onto the concrete. “Beautiful as you may be, you have a hell of a lot more going for you. Believe me.” He’s being earnest, you can hear it in the way his voice dips to barely a whisper. In this way, his words are intentional and just for you.

You abandon the leaf in favour of his face. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Be crazy not to."

"Declan..." You don't know where your sentence is going, or why you step towards him, but you do, the confession — as minor as it is — digging into you like a hook and Declan's eyes, pinned to you, reeling you in.

"So, how was your date then?" The question throws up a wall between you. An unscalable, Patrick-shaped wall. A red flush spreads over your chest and blooms up your neck. You don't want to talk about this. Not really. Not with him.

"Patrick didn't tell you?"

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, is what he said." There's a strangled edge to his voice, a frustration, like his son being cryptic was the most inconvenient thing in the world. "Did you —"

"There you are, Declan!" The voice has you skittering you across the pavement away from Declan, your heart tugging like you're still attached to him by that imaginary hook.

"For fuck’s sake," he mutters, snuffing his cigarette out under his dress shoe as Tony Baddingham saunters towards you, sly smile poisoning his lips.

"And here you are," he croons your name. "Never far from Declan, are you?"

"I told ya, Tony. She's my right hand man," your boss says, and you snuff the smile threatening to crack across your face at the thought that Declan’s talking about you, needing you. He’s trying to sound aloof, but he hates watching Tony sniff you out like a wolf stalking its prey — circling, picking up every subtle scent of your discomfort, eyes glowing with that predatory gleam.

"So, it would seem. I must admit, your show has taken quite a spectacular turn in the ratings since this one's come along," Tony continues, coming to stand beside you. His cool hand slides too comfortably around your bare shoulders, his fingers pressing into your skin with an air of ownership. You flinch and try to mask it with a forced smile, but Tony doesn't seem fazed, chuckling as he leans in closer, eyes trailing down the front of your chest. "This dress is something rather spectacular itself. How did you know blue is my favourite colour?"

"Lucky guess," you tell him, stiffening under the weight of his arm. Declan's jaw tightens, and while he's trying to stay composed, tension radiates from him in violent, crashing waves. Your eyes dart about as you shift uncomfortably — something that doesn't go unnoticed by Declan.

He digs into his pocket, retrieving a small, stainless steel case that he holds out to Tony. "Cigarette?"

"Ah, I told the lady of the house that I would try to quit," Tony explains, referring to his wife, Monica. "But I suppose one never killed anybody." It feels like a tonne has been sloughed off you when Lord Baddingam unravels himself from you, moving towards Declan to light up.

"Thank you," you mouth behind Tony's back, and Declan returns a wink that goes straight to your warm centre.

Inside the house, the party erupts in hoots and cheers as La Bamba starts over the speakers, and you catch sight of Daysee beckoning you back to the dancefloor from the other side of the glass. Tony begins rattling off competitor numbers and other industry secrets well above your pay grade, so you take the opportunity to slip back inside for another champagne, another dance.

Before too long, you’re swept into a conversation with Valerie and Lizzie — well, more Valerie, who is probing you for gossip from within the walls of Corinium. She’s a total fiend for a scandal. You’d heard through the grapevine that she’d told Monica Baddingham about her husband’s sordid rendezvous with Cameron Cook, and no doubt Valerie was well across the fact that Lizzie’s own husband was spending a great deal of time pants down in his dressing room with his co-host.

“Well, there’s got to be something,” Valerie whines when you tell her you tend to keep your nose out of other people’s business.

“Oh, leave her be,” Lizzie tells her before turning to you. “How are you, love? More to the point, how’s Patrick? I heard the two of you went on a date last night.”

Jeez, word travels fast around here, you think.

“You and Declan’s son?” Valerie clarifies, tweeting at the revelation. “Handsome boy, him. God, Declan’s genes are strong, aren’t they?”

The mention of Declan has you searching for him through the windows, and you catch him just in time to see him storm away from Tony, disappearing from view until he barges back into the party with a snarl contorting his mouth. Most of the guests are too drunk to notice him stalking through the ballroom, or swipe a glass of whiskey off the tray of a waiter in one brisk snatch he doesn’t even slow down for.

“Oh, God,” Lizzie mutters, turning away from Declan as he shoves past your trio, the sleek material of his jacket scraping across your upper arm.

You call after him to no avail before Lizzie touches your wrist lightly, shaking her head. “Leave him, darling.”

“Why?” you ask, searching her face for some shred of a clue. “Lizzie, what’s happened?”

“You didn’t hear it from me —”

“Oh, don’t start with that,” Valerie squawks, her cockney twang exacerbated by alcohol. “The whole bloody country’s already read about it in the paper this morning.”

“For God’s sake, read what?”

“Declan’s wife — Maud — well, she’s got some big flashy part in some famous play in the city,” Valerie is all too excited to tell you, while Lizzie takes far too much interest in the ice melting at the bottom of her empty glass. “Three month run if it all goes to plan, the article said.”

“At least,” Lizzie finally pipes up, crimson colouring her face immediately after. “Poor Declan.”

Yes, poor Declan.

Taggie and Patrick, who are dancing to a completely different song to the one that’s playing, are none the wiser that their father’s just come barrelling through here like a bull in a china shop. And, given that Taggie’s yet to mention anything about her estranged mother, your bet is that they have no idea about her new role, either. Your heart breaks for your best friend, for all of them, which is why you trail after Declan once Lizzie and Valerie have found another unsuspecting guest to pry information from.

The first few doors you try are no-gos: an office space that looks rather untouched, a sitting room decked out with floral upholstery complete with a couple you’ve never met going at it on a sofa, and an ornate guest bathroom. It’s not until the fifth door that you find Declan looking forlorn in the Baddingham’s library. He’s sprawled out in a dark armchair, tall frame filling it out. Legs spread like he’s waiting for someone to kneel between them.

“Hey,” you say quietly, closing the door softly behind you.

His voice is groggy with liquor when he responds, “Where’s Patrick?”

“Dancing with Taggie, I think. It’s nice seeing them together, I know she’s missed him,” you tell him, adding, “You’ve raised some good kids.”

Declan scoffs. “Dunno how. Workaholic father, absentee mother with a chronic wandering eye.”

Your stomach dips. “I heard about Maud. Are you okay?”

“So, everyone’s talking about it.” He sinks impossibly lower into the chair, its leather whining as he splays his arms out to his sides. The whiskey in his hand splashes over the edge of his glass with the movement. “Am I okay? What’s it look like to you?”

He looks like shit, inky hair disheveled from raking a frantic hand through it, but the frustration already emanating from him stops you from voicing it. The man just found out his wife has no intention of returning home anytime soon. The least you can do is give him some grace.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Declan snaps. “And I shouldn’t be discussing this with you. It’s…” he ponders on the right word before settling on, “Inappropriate.”

You drag your bottom lip between your teeth. “Because I’m Taggie’s friend?”

He laughs incredulously. “Yeah, because you’re Taggie’s friend. You’re my employee. You’re…” He gestures haphazardly in your direction.

“I’m…?” you prompt, taking a few trepid steps towards him.

Insatiable. Infallible. Interminable. Indomitable. How could he ever settle on just one?

“Insufferable,” Declan eventually mutters, chasing the confession with a slow swig of his drink.

It’s your turn to laugh now. “I’m insufferable? I’m not the one that’s stalked off to sulk and—” You stop, shake your head. “Actually, I’m not going to argue this with you. If you want to sit in here alone instead of spending time with people who actually care about you, people who are actually here, so be it.” After shooting Declan a pointed look, you stalk to the door, but there’s a buzz in your veins that knows you’re not ready to let up just yet, so you turn on your heel to face him again. “And I don’t need you telling me what is and isn’t appropriate. Your moral compass is far too gone for that.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Declan wants to know, sitting a little more upright in his seat.

“You’re kidding, right? I heard you, you know. The other night. Saying my name while you were touching yourself.” Declan’s whiskey glass freezes at his lips, black eyes locked on you. “Not very appropriate considering I’m Taggie’s friend. Your employee,” you confess, throwing his reasons for not opening up to you back in his face. Your chest heaves with shallow breaths, like spilling the secret of you watching Declan come undone has stolen every bit of viable air from your burning lungs. You half expect him to deny it, but his face is blank, and his silence is aggravating. Time, what feels like minutes, stretches between the two of you, gazes set on one another while you silently duel across the library.

“Nothing to say, Declan?” you press. “That’s a first.”

Leather ripples through the room as he stands, abandoning his glass on a side table before stalking towards you. He doesn’t stop until you’re toe to toe and your back presses into the cool wood of the door. Whiskey, aftershave and a lick of sweat consumes you as Declan regards you down his nose. “Like I said,” he croaks. “You’re insufferable.”

Your jaw unhinges as you go to bite back at him, to tell him that he’s the one making things unbearable, but then he tuts, jabbing his forefinger into his chest. “You’ve said enough. It’s my turn to speak.

“Hiring you is up there with the worst things I’ve ever done, and believe me, love, I’ve done a lot of shitty things. That night in the hot tub? Ruined me for all I’m worth. I can’t go to sleep without seeing you. Can’t go to work without wondering what it’d be like to bend you over the desk. Can’t bear to watch you bat those fucking eyes of yours at Rupert or Bas or Patrick. Then there’s Maud…” His eyes slip shut as he speaks, a small shake of his head revealing shame eroded in the space between his unruly eyebrows. “Every moment she pulls away from me is a moment that pushes me closer to you, and I hate it,” he confesses. “And seeing you with Patrick is fucking eating me alive, because what kind of man — what kind of married man — wishes the worst on his son over a woman that he has no claim over?”

“Is that what this is about? You’re jealous?”

“Jealous,” Declan repeats. He can only laugh. “Did you fuck him?”

You pull back, head softly ricocheting off the wood behind you. “Did I— you can’t be serious, Declan.” “Answer the question. Did. You. Fuck. Him?”

“Of course not!”

“No?” He sounds surprised, and you’re almost offended.

“No!” you spit. The thump of muffled music vibrates through the door, matching your heart trying to break free from your chest.

“Why not?”

“Declan, stop—”

“No, tell me,” he probes, hot breath fanning over your face. “Is it because he’s not smart enough for ya? Not manly enough?” You divert your gaze, blurred vision locking onto some benign object in the distance, because you don’t trust yourself to keep looking at Declan. You can’t tell what his angle is, whether he’s jealous at the attention you’re getting from other men, or annoyed that you’re not interested in his son. Eventually, he cocks his head to meet your sightline, finger coming to your chin to turn you to face him. “Tell me why you didn’t fuck him.”

“Because he’s not you!” It flies out of your mouth before you have the sense to stop it, breath catching in the back of your throat as you await Declan’s next move. The energy caught in the mere inches between you continues to crackle, but the fire burning under him seems to have subsided as his shoulders fall from their tense fixture, his suit jacket sagging with his muscles. He looks down at you with heavy eyelids. He’s tired. So fucking tired. Of pretending he doesn’t miss Maud, that he doesn’t want you. That of both those unspoken truths piled together makes him feel like a right failure as a husband, as a father, as a boss. He was already broken, and your admission was the final crack that made him shatter.

Shaky hands come to cover your mouth, a barrier to keep any more secrets from polluting the fragile silence that hangs heavy between you. Declan shuffles back, just a hairbreadth. He’s got his head viced, one hand through his hair and the other gripping his jaw. “Fucking hell.”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Even if it’s the truth?” He’s just barely looking at you, sheepish. Like he’s waiting for permission. Or a denial. The torture draining the colour from his face is making it hard to tell what’s going on in that gorgeous head of his.

“It’s not fair. On either of us.”

“You’re damn right it isn’t fair. None of this is fair.” He’s back at you, crowding you against the door, one large dress shoe pitched between your platform heels. You’re certain that if he took one deep breath, his belt buckle would make impressions on your stomach. You can see the indentations in his lips, the miniscule patch of dry skin at the corner. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? I’ve exercised more restraint in the last month than I’ve ever had to in my life. You’re fucking ruining me.”

The disclosure has thinned his voice to barely a whisper. Heat bubbles low in your stomach, the pull of wanting to close the gap between you warring with the consequence you know wait for you both if you give in. Still, the way he’s staring at you, with wounded eyes like twin black holes, how could you ever stand a chance?

It’s why you let another confession slip, for better or for worse.

“You think I don’t feel it, too?”

Declan reaches to tuck your hair behind your ear, his hand trailing back to caress your cheek. The minute he touches you, your whole body goes lax, completely pliable for him. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, and you can practically taste the liquor on his tongue. Black eyes zigzag across your features while his palm moves to cup your jaw, the pad of his thumb meeting the swell of your bottom lip.

“This okay?” You only nod because you don’t have the strength, the gall, to betray Taggie by vocalising how desperately you want her father to keep touching you in ways you’ve only dreamed about.

“Need to hear you say it,” he urges. “Gotta make sure you really want this.”

He has no fucking idea how much you do.

“Please,” is all you manage to muster before an animalistic growl scrapes up the back of his throat and Declan O’Hara is kissing you in a way that’s going to screw you up forever.

You’re folding like the world’s flimsiest house of cards the moment his mouth hits yours, all teeth and tongues, whiskey, tobacco and him. If it weren’t for him scooping an arm around your waist to hold you to him, you’d be in a heap on the floor. Declan’s faint grunts resonate around your tongue as his own explores your mouth with fervent jabs, only breaking the erratic rhythm to suck your lip so sensually it peels a whimper from you. His arm is scorching against the bare skin that sits above the low-cut back of your dress. His hips flex into yours, and you feel the cool metal of his belt through satin. Then you feel it. His hard length, constricted by his suit trousers, pressing to your stomach. Excitement and desire pulse through you, the feeling of his arousal against you intoxicating, knowing you’re the cause.

“Ya feel that, darlin’? Feel what you do to me?” Declan asks, each word heavy with need and muffled into your neck, tongue flickering over the salty skin there. Your hands twist into his curls while he sucks a kiss into your collarbone. It pulls blood to the surface, most likely noticeable, but you don’t care. Not when Declan branding you feels so fucking good. After a few good moments, he pulls back to take you in, his lips puffy from working over your decolletage. His eyes skim over your face, drinking in every detail — the pale lipstick smeared around your mouth, your glassy eyes, the pink flush staining your cheeks.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So fucked out for me already.” Any shame that previously coloured Declan’s features has evaporated, the pity drowning his eyes flushed out by incessant need. He kisses you again, though it’s not so much a kiss as it’s a collision, only slowing down his movements once he’s confident this isn’t one of his fleeting, filthy dreams. It’s been so long since another person has kissed you like this, touched you like this. It’s everything Patrick’s kiss wasn’t, intimate and intentional despite the roaring laughter and music on the other side of the wall.

Declan’s large hand leaves your hip and you immediately miss it as his fingers brush over the cool doorknob. They don’t linger, there’s no hesitation before the click of the lock vibrates through you. You don’t hear it, though. Not over your pulse thrumming in your ears. It’s a purposeful, unspoken decision to shut out everything but the heat building between you, then his hand is back at your waist, pinning you in place against the wood. The other grazes down your body until he reaches the hem of your dress, sliding it up your leg until he has it gathered in a pool of azure at your hip. Your breathing hitches at the feeling of his skin on your hip bone. Under the flood of material, Declan’s fingers find the waistband of your underwear, thumb trilling over the flimsy lace holding your thong together. Your breaths mingle, lips barely grazing while his mind runs ragged with thoughts of what colour the garment is. Black to match that sinful bra you wore to your interview? Red like the pair you were wearing in his dream last night? He hooks a finger under the elastic, pulling the panties away from your body then letting them go so they snap against your skin. You let out a sharp gasp at the sting but he’s already soothing it, one step ahead of what you’re needing.

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so fucking long,” he groans. His hand finds its way under the lace material again to glide over the bulb of your arse, kneading the flesh there.

“Declan,” you whine, jutting your hips into his, desperate for friction.

“What’s that, darlin’?” Even with your eyes clamped shut you know he’s smirking, relishing in your neediness. You arch forward again but he’s far stronger than you, his brawniness keeping you in place. “If you want something, all you gotta do is ask.”

“Please,” you sigh, following up with a strangled, “Touch me.”

Declan wastes no time in finding you bundle of nerves, but as soon as he’s there, it’s like time slows to an excruciating speed, his fingers featherlight over the thin material. You’re already soaked. Have been since he started berating you about how much him wanting you was fucking him up. Declan knows it too, groaning as he applies more pressure, your slick seeping around the pad of his finger.

“Christ, you’re wet,” he grunts. “Is all this f’me?” Your head cants incessantly, mind and heart and pussy chanting more, more, more. But it doesn’t come. He just holds his finger to you, steady, waiting, like a finger on the trigger of a gun. The only relief you’re getting is from you squirming under his touch, and even then, it’s just not hitting in the way you know Declan could if he would just. Move.

A chuckle rumbles in his chest and as sexy as it sounds on a regular day, under the circumstances, it almost has you seeing red. “Oh, there she is,” Declan says when you finally look at him. “Needy little thing, aren’t ya?” His eyes are glued to yours, half-lidded with a grin tugging under his moustache. It’s not a challenge. It’s a promise. He has you right where he wants you, and you can feel it in the air, thick with his quiet confidence. Your mouth goes slack when Declan removes his finger from the outside of your underwear, instead using it to push the material aside, granting himself full access to your swollen centre. Then it’s back to square one: unhurried, languid movements as he traces your folds. Up and around, not once sliding over your clit despite your unintelligible splutterings begging him to do so. Declan’s lips fall back over yours with a quiet, charged kiss as his hand comes to cup your mound completely, his tongue seeking purchase against your own. You stay like that for a moment, tongues battling each other, his hand covering your pussy like he already owns it. Every single one of your nerve endings is alight, every inch of your skin acutely aware of his presence as his moustache grazes your top lip, as his middle finger ever so slightly dips between your folds. Then finally, finally, he slides a thick finger into you and you clench around him, the unfiltered pleasure enough to never want to be without the feeling of him inside you again. You both moan, the sound disappearing into your kiss, your hand disappearing into his hair, holding him to you.

The hard peaks of your nipples create little blue buds against your dress, and they rub against Declan’s chest while he drags his finger from your body, in and out, in and out, each movement as deliciously slow as the last.

After a minute, he breaks your kiss, letting his forehead rest against your own. “You’re so tight,” he grits, adding another finger despite his observation. The new addition allows the palm of his hand to jut against your clit, and the friction almost has you levitating. “Oh, you like that, huh?” Declan teases, pushing into you harder, faster. The change in pace has you jerking like a live wire. Totally unhinged, the world feels like it’s spinning off its axis, more dangerously the longer he keeps that unforgiving pace. All this pent up frustration and teasing and longing bucks you closer to the edge, pins and needles edging their way from your toes up your body until—

Knock knock knock.

The door thumps into your back, scaring your orgasm away with it. Declan’s fingers freeze inside you, your clit pulsating against his palm, your eyes locked on one another as you will away the intrusion. The doorknob jostles next and all you can think is thank God Declan locked it when he did.

“‘S occupied!” he growls.

“Dad? Is that you?” Patrick.

The whites of your eyes blow out as you glare at Declan, panicked by the arrival of his son — your date, not twenty-four hours earlier — as you conjugate just mere inches away. Declan lifts his free hand to his lips, pressing a single finger into the supple flesh. Shh.

“Dad? Are you in here?” Patrick asks again, trying the door for a second time.

“Yeah, son. You alright?” Declan responds, and your eyes go impossibly wider at him answering while his fingers are still buried in your pussy. While his steely length presses into the crease between your thigh and crotch.

“Are you alright? You’ve been gone a while.”

Declan’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving a devilish smile in its wake. “Everything’s grand,” he drawls, fingers slipping out of you to stake claim on your clit. The subtle movement yanks a gasp from you, a mix of embarrassment and arousal pumping through you as Declan begins to trace circles there. You’re caught between wanting to disappear and wanting more as Declan keeps talking, Irish accent laden with lust. “Just needed a few minutes to myself. Needed to…” he pauses, licking a stripe up the side of your neck before latching his teeth onto your earlobe for a hair of a second, “Decompress.”

“Mmm,” you moan, too loudly, because Declan claps a hand over your mouth to keep any more desperate sounds slipping from under the door. There’s a moment pause, and you panic, thinking you’ve given the pair of you away, but then Patrick is chattering away again, asking after you.

“Have you seen her? Could’ve sworn she came down this way.”

“Nope,” Declan lies, picking up pace as he strums your clit, like he’s getting off on holding a conversation while trying to take you to the brink of no return. “Haven’t seen her.”

The knot in your stomach mounts again, your whole body buzzing at high frequency. Patrick says something else, a goodbye, you think, but for all you know he could be speaking gibberish, the rush of blood to your ears blocking out anything that’s not Declan.

The slight savour of sweat he’s worked up and how it tangoes with the cigarette smoke still lingering on his suit jacket.

How his mouth hangs slightly open, his tongue resting loosely against his bottom row of teeth, completely dumb for you.

The grunt wrapped in a sigh that pushes out of him when he plows two thickset fingers inside you again, and the matching moan you hum into the palm of his hand, the metal of his wedding ring cool against your upper lip.

“You’re making me crazy,” he says lowly. “Turnin’ me into someone who steals his son’s girl.” Your response comes out distorted, muffled against his skin. Declan’s hand slips from your mouth, finding its way to the nape of your neck and tangling its fingers into the frizzy hair there, the slight tension making your scalp tingle. “You got something to say, darlin’?”

“Not… his… girl,” you pant, words punctuated by Declan pumping his fingers impossibly deeper into your cunt.

“You’re damn right you’re not his girl.”

The subtext is clear. You’re not Patrick’s. You’re his. The feminist in you should balk at the insinuation but who are you kidding? Every stolen glance. Every car ride. Every solo orgasm you’ve yanked from yourself in the dead of night to the thought of him. Everything has led you to this.

Your mascara flakes over the apples of your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut, Declan’s fingers expertly twisting and careening until the coil in the pit of your stomach is wound so tight you think you’re going to crack in two.

“Fuck, Declan,” you mewl, gripping his biceps to keep yourself steady. “So close.”

“Look at me, love. Wanna see those pretty eyes when you come.”

You could’ve fallen apart at those words alone, but you do what Declan says, gaze fluttering to his face as the butt of his hand against your clit works in tandem with his fingers until there’s a sharp and sudden snap, breaking you apart in a violent burst.

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” your expletives are swaddled by his hand yet again, eyes pricking with tears as you chase your high. Even through the blur, you see Declan grinning down at you with pride, nodding, quietly egging you on.

“That’s it, darlin’. Good. Good girl,” he whispers, thumb at the back of your head stroking tiny circles while his opposite fingers slow down with your breathing. It’s only when you stop convulsing completely that he drops his hand from your face. Your feet scream in pain as you come back to yourself, the weight of digging your heels in to keep you upright making itself known. Meanwhile, Declan slips himself from you, gently rearranging your underwear over your folds and allowing the skirt of your dress to float back down your legs. He shuffles backwards, allowing you space to gather yourself, to ground yourself, breaths still shaky as you step away from the door you’d come to be far too intimate with. You don’t speak, not yet, just watch as Declan peers down at his right hand that’s glistening with your slick, then to his left hand, where his wedding band glints under the library’s chandelier.

“Are you—” okay, is what you intend to ask, but Declan cuts you off, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“I should go find Taggie and Patrick. Can’t have them hearing about their mum through some idle party gossip,” he says, voice steady but marred with a tinge of uncertainty, as if he’s trying to make sense of everything. He maneuvers around you awkwardly, all that cockiness from moments ago melted away. He pauses at the door, the heavy silence between you so palpable. His hand rests on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn it. “This was…” he trails off, eyes searching the room for the right word.

"Yeah," is all you can manage, because you can’t find the words either. For how he just made you feel like every single one of your synapses was on fire. For the way he's treating you now, all cool and distant, like he's casually asking you to grab him a coffee. Declan forces a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and nods. Just once, stiff. With one final glance, he slips out of sight, laughter and clinking glasses and whumping music replacing Declan in the room before the door clicks closed behind him. And almost immediately, you feel irrelevant and unsure of what to do next. At least, you think it best to let a few minutes pass before you leave the library, so you shuffle over to the large mirror hanging above the fireplace to take in your dishevelled form. You look utterly wrecked, all puffy lips and smudged mascara. All at the hands of Declan O’Hara.

Oh, God, you think, doing your best to wipe away the fallout of the last twenty minutes from your face. What have we done?

When you’re satisfied that you don’t look like…well, like your boss just plied an orgasm from you, you trace Declan’s footsteps and step back into the party, hoping to go unnoticed by the sparse guests mingling around you. Just when you think you’ve escaped unscathed, you catch Rupert’s eye at the end of the hallway — sharp, knowing. He tilts his glass of champagne towards you, slight smirk with the quiet gesture. It’s not a greeting, but an acknowledgement, and you wonder if he saw Declan leave the library, too.

If you got this far, thank you for reading!!!! Let me know in the comments what you think, and what you predict might happen next?!

Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview, Chapter 2: Beneath The Surface, Chapter 3: Driving Miss Crazy

#declan o’hara #declan o’hara imagine #declan o’hara smut #declan o’hara x you #rivals smut #declan o’hara x female #best friends dad!declan o’hara #boss!declan o’hara #declan o’hara x assistant!reader #declan o’hara x reader #declan o'hara #rivals imagine #rivals fan fic #rivals fanfiction #declan o'hara fanfiction #sexy jealous declan #filthy filthy irishman #aidan turner

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sycamorelibrary754 · 1 year ago

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We're a Family

Summary: You and Natasha are taking your first vacation since the birth of your 5-year-old daughter. While you and Natasha are off on a romantic getaway to Paris for your anniversary, how will your Avengers family handle watching your daughter for the weekend?

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Comfort, Romance

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Some mentions of grief.

A/N: Thank you so much for the positive feedback on Come Home to Me! I hope to keep writing as I feel inspired and have time. This story takes place after the events of Endgame. Tony survived defeating Thanos with the Snap, and Steve brought Natasha back after returning the Soul Stone to Vormir.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Natasha questioned for the third time that Friday morning as you gathered the last essentials for your 5-year-old daughter to take to the Avengers Compound. You and Nat were taking your first vacation together since your child's birth in celebration of your wedding anniversary. Understandably, your wife was struggling with the idea of leaving your daughter. It was all you could do to convince Natasha to drop her off at preschool, let alone leave her overnight.

“Love, we’ve talked about this. It’s only for the weekend. Mila is going to have a great time. Besides, there is nowhere safer for her than surrounded by Avengers. You trust them with your life,” you remind her reassuringly as you rub gentle circles on her back.

“Exactly. My life, not my child,” Nat muttered.

It had been five years since you gave birth to your and Natasha’s daughter. Your whole world changed from the moment you both laid eyes on her. Soon after, Nat transitioned into semi-retirement with guidance from Clint. She was still available for consultation and recruit training or if the situation was dire, but you and Mila are her number one priority now.

You heard little feet padding down the hall as your daughter entered your bedroom. Her red curls bounced up and down on her head. “I'm ready, Mommy and Mama!” Mila squealed.

“Oh, Moya Lyubov, you look so pretty! Did you dress yourself this morning?” Natasha asked, getting down to her level.

“Yes! I wanted to match Auntie Yelena!” as she showed off her mini black vest that Yelena made her for her last birthday, worn expertly over her pink tutu.

“Auntie Yelena is going to love it, sweetheart. You’re going to have so much fun with your aunts and uncles this weekend,” you said, hugging her tight.

After packing your luggage in the car, you drive to the compound. FRIDAY greets you as you exit the main elevator. “Good morning, Ms. Romanoff, Ms. Y/L/N.” The team is awaiting your arrival in the common room.”

“Thank you, FRIDAY,” you replied as Mila let go of Natasha’s hand and ran ahead of both of you, having been here several times already in her young life.

As you enter the room, you see Wanda and Vision in the kitchen, and the smell of freshly baked cookies wafts through the air. Peter and Kate are playing video games, Bucky and Sam are playing cards with Clint, and Steve is quietly reading Moby Dick.

“Little spider!” Yelena called out as she entered the room, and Mila ran into her arms.

“Auntie Yelena! Do you like my outfit? I got dressed all by myself!”

“I love it, malayshka. It's so much cooler than Mama’s outfit,” Yelena says as she side-eyes her older sister with a smile. “We are going to have so much fun this weekend.”

“Yeah, about that,” Natasha interrupted. “Mission briefing in five.”

Mission briefing?" you asked, confused. "Nat, we're going on vacation, not a stakeout.”

“Yes, but they have the most important mission of all, watching our daughter,” motioning to the group before you.

Your heart warms at how protective your wife was—the Black Widow. She was a woman who would run into a collapsing building or intercept an alien invasion without batting an eye, but the moment she became a mother, everything changed. She vowed to give Mila everything she never had as a child. To break the cycle of uncertainty and pain that the Red Room forced upon her. Truthfully, you were so proud of how far Natasha had come. From growing up believing love was for children to giving nothing but love to both of you.

The living room came alive with spirited debate as Tony and Bruce burst through the door. Their voices layered with excitement and frustration over their latest nanotech calculations. Pepper trailed closely behind, an amused smile playing on her lips.

“Hey, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, park it,” Natasha declared.

“Ah, Rushman, wonderful to see you as always,” Tony says, winking at Nat. She rolled her eyes in response as Tony and Bruce hugged you before sitting down, and Pepper picked up your daughter.

“Come on sweetie, do you want to go play with Morgan?” Pepper asked.

“Yay!” Mila cheered as they walk down the hall to Morgan’s room.

“Okay, here are some quick dos and don’ts for this weekend. No guns, no repulsor rays, no arrows, and no using our daughter as a beta test subject for any new experiments. When Thor gets here, no Asgardian beverages in front of our child. Mila’s bedtime is 7 pm, and she likes it if you do the characters' voices when you read her bedtime story. If she has trouble falling asleep, a lullaby usually does the trick. Got it?”

“Geez, this is almost as bad as Budapest,” Clint whispered to Kate.

“It’s going to be alright, Natasha,” Wanda reassured. “We’re a family. You know we would do anything for that little girl. Please, go and enjoy your anniversary. No one deserves some special alone time more than you two,” Wanda said, as she hands you a tin of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies for the trip.

You put your arm around Natasha and kiss her cheek. “Wanda is right, my love. Mila will be fine.”

Just as you complete the sentence, Mila runs back into the room. “Mommy, Mama! Morgan has Puss and Boots: The Last Wish, and we will watch it tonight before bedtime.”

“That sounds like so much fun, sweetheart! I know you will be a good girl for your aunts and uncles, and Mommy and Mama will see you on Sunday night, okay? We love you so much.” you said.

“Okay, Mommy. I love you!” She said as she hugged you so tight. Natasha knelt to kiss your daughter on the cheek and squeezed her hand three times. Their unique way of saying I love you. After one last hug and kiss, you walk to the Quinjet. Tony had offered one for easy and convenient travel.

*^~^*

By the time you arrive at your hotel in Paris, it’s almost dinner time. After sightseeing, you two enjoyed a gourmet candlelit dinner under the Parisian moon and a romantic stroll under the stars. When you returned to your room, you received a text message from Clint with a photo of your daughter asleep on her bed—lovingly cuddled under a blanket with Yelena.

“See, she’s okay,” you said lovingly as Natasha smiled at the picture of her little girl and her little sister.

As you lay in bed that night, you feel more grateful than ever to be here with the love of your life. Both of you had learned firsthand to never take anything for granted.

You were one of the lost souls left behind after the Blip. Struggling with the loss of your loved ones, you began attending Steve’s Brooklyn Support Group once a week. It was after one of those meetings that you were first introduced to the Black Widow.

Natasha hesitated at first to let anyone in. She was too scared to lose anyone else and was convinced that nothing should take away from her commitment to bring everyone back. However, she still found any excuse to attend Steve’s meetings. Whether that was to bring homemade peanut butter sandwiches for the snack table or shyly offering to give you a ride home.

You weren’t a hero or a super soldier. You didn’t remind Natasha of the guilt she carried over the last five years as the fallout from the Blip continued. You were just yourself, which Natasha loved the most about you. You began to visit her at the compound, and slowly but surely, the walls came down for both of you.

When she told you about the Time Heist, you didn’t want to hear it. You couldn’t comprehend the thought of losing Natasha, but you knew she believed in her heart that she owed it to everyone they had lost to try. When Clint returned from Vormir alone and dropped to his knees, so did you. Grief overtook you all over again.

As the Battle for Earth became inevitable, the team hid you in a safe house off the grid. Days went by and you lost track of time, stuck in your grief and unaware of what was happening. It wasn't until a knock on your door awoke you in the middle of the night that you dropped to your knees again. This time in shock at the sight of Natasha on your doorstep. Tears streaming down her face, she told you they had won. Tony defeated Thanos with the Snap, and Steve performed a miracle by bringing her back upon returning the Soul Stone to Vormir.

So much life has happened since then. You were married in a beautiful autumnal ceremony shortly after Nat returned and bought your house. Five years ago and twelve hours of labor later, you welcomed your daughter into the world that your wife sacrificed herself to save. You couldn’t believe how much you loved them both. Returning to the present moment, you gently move a strand of Natasha’s unbraided red hair away from her face. Her hands move effortlessly to the nape of your neck, and you lose yourself in her touch.

*^~^*

It’s Saturday morning back at the compound, and Mila is eating blueberry pancakes when Clint strolled in from his morning workout.

“Hey, squirt! Those pancakes look amazing. Did Auntie Wanda make those?” he asked, reaching for the extra plate of pancakes on the counter.

Before Mila can respond, the plate glides quickly away from him, enveloped in Wanda’s red magic. “Auntie Wanda did make those, but they’re only for adorable little girls named Mila. Is your name Mila?” Wanda said to Clint with a raised eyebrow.

“No,” Clint grumbled.

“Then make your breakfast, Hawkeye,” Wanda sighed, patting him on the back.

After breakfast, Sam and Bucky take Mila outside to play. Meanwhile, Steve is working on a mission report in his room when FRIDAY interrupts his concentration. “Mr. Rogers, I’m picking up an elevated heat signature from your shield just north of your location.” Steve looked curiously out the window to see Mila giggling as she slid across the grass. She is sitting on his overturned shield, pulled by a rope tied to the back of Red Wing.

“My shield is not a toy!” Steve yelled out the window.

“Oh, hey, Cap! It does make a great sled, doesn’t it?” Bucky answered, pretending not to hear what his best friend said, as Sam laughed out loud.

Steve shakes his head to hide his smile. You meant the world to him, having spent countless hours processing your grief together in that dark and dank recreation room in Brooklyn. He was honored when you and Natasha asked him to be Mila’s godfather. His shield was made from Vibranium, after all. If his goddaughter wanted to play with it, he knew no harm would be done.

That afternoon, Peter arrived at the compound to work on his newest suit upgrade with Tony. Mila is engrossed in coloring at the kitchen table with Auntie Kate when Peter walks in to get a soda.

“Hey Mila, what are you up to?”

“Coloring, do you want to help us?” Mila asked happily.

Peter nodded, and they got lost in her Disney Princess coloring book for the next twenty minutes. After adding pretty sparkles to Elsa’s Frozen dress, Mila noticed Peter’s Spider-Man suit sticking out of his bag.

“Pretty!” Mila said with wide eyes.

“You like it?” Peter asked.

“Yes, is this how you fly? Mama says you can fly!” Mila exclaimed.

“Something like that,” Peter chuckled and tousled her hair.

Down in the lab, Tony had been waiting for Peter to arrive for half an hour. Unusual, as his protege was typically annoyingly punctual. Running out of patience, Tony asks FRIDAY for Peter’s current location.

“Mr. Parker is in the kitchen with Ms. Bishop and the young Ms. Romanoff, sir.” Tony rolls his eyes as he trudged up the stairs.

“Hey Hawkette, have you seen Peter? He was supposed to — “

Tony stops as he sees Peter swinging from the ceiling with Mila on his back. Kate was too busy filming the spectacle on her phone to notice Tony standing there.

“Wee!! Faster, Uncle Peter!” Mila shouted as Peter’s web carried them across the room to the top of the bookcase.

Tony’s eyes follow the pair around the room. He put on his best poker face, “I won’t tell Romanoff or her better half, but if you break it, you pay for it. That includes the kid.” Tony warned.

“Sure thing, Mr. Stark,” Peter gives Tony a thumbs up.

“And for God’s sake, at least put some pillows down on the floor!” Tony hollered as he walked back to his lab.

*^~^*

You and Natasha took a Saturday evening cruise down the Seine River in the city of love. It was magical. When your phone alerted you to an incoming FaceTime from Carol, you had seen the Musée d’Orsay the Notre Dame Cathedral and had just reached the top of the Eiffel Tower. You swiped, her face appearing on the screen.

“Hey, you two, I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to be on Earth-616 tomorrow for a meeting with Fury and thought I’d drop in on my favorite couple. Wait, where are you?”

“Paris, for our anniversary! Our first vacation alone in over five years. Can you believe it?” you said giddily as Natasha put her arms around your waist and lovingly kissed your cheek.

“Wow, that’s wonderful! Where’s your little mini-me?” Carol asked.

“With the team if you’re going there anyway, could you just make sure that everything is good with Mila?” Natasha inquired.

“Of course. You know you never have to ask.”

“Thank you, Carol,” you gratefully respond. We’ll be back tomorrow evening, so I’m sure we’ll see you then.” Carol gave you a mock salute before you ended the call and put your phone back in your coat pocket.

“You look so beautiful, dorogaya. After all this time, I still can't believe you’re mine.” Nat waxed poetically as she removed her scarf and wrapped it around your neck. Natasha could not look more beautiful in the glow of the Eiffel Tower. You decided this is the perfect moment to give her your anniversary gift. You slowly hand her the red velvet box you had snuck into your satchel. Her green eyes went wide at the sight of it.

“Detka! We said no gifts this year. This trip is gift enough,” Nat facetiously scolded.

“I know, but I still wanted to do something special for you,” you said sheepishly.

Natasha opens the box, revealing a simple, delicate gold heart locket necklace. Upon opening the pendant, she is greeted by a candid photo of all three of you. Clint took one during your last visit with his family in Iowa. Nat was sitting on Clint’s front porch with a smiling Mila on her lap. You are leaning behind her with your arms wrapped lovingly around her neck. It quickly became one of your favorite photos of your small yet precious family.

“This is so beautiful, Moya Lyubov. Can you put it on me?”

You moved Natasha’s braid away from her neck and clasped the necklace in the back. The heart locket fell directly on top of her own heart. It looked perfect on her. You're not sure who leaned in first, but your lips met in a kiss that made your stomach flutter like it was the first time. You couldn’t be happier than you were at that moment.

*^~^*

The Sunday morning sun was slowly breaking through the compound windows. Yelena was pouring your daughter a bowl of Cheerios and singing along to the sound of American Pie from her phone when The God of Thunder entered through the Bifrost. Mila jumped and started to hide behind her Auntie Yelena but ran toward him when she realized only her Uncle Thor was materializing before them, leaving his trademark on Pepper’s Persian rug.

“Must you do that every time? You’re becoming more of a poser than my sister.” Yelena remarked.

“Of course,” Thor said nonchalantly. “It is the only entrance fit for the God of Thunder.”

He lifted Mila with one arm, “Odin’s Beard! You’ve gotten so big since I last saw you, Mila,” Thor declared

“I know! Did you bring me a present Uncle Thor?” Mila squealed.

“Yes! Now, let’s see here… Asgardian Ale, Mead, no… ah, here it is!” He handed the little girl a small snow globe set in gold with her name engraved elegantly on the base.

“Wow. Pretty snow globe….” Mila whispered.

“It is indeed,” Thor said, sitting cross-legged on the carpet before the little girl. “This is a special Asgardian snow globe. Look, see the rainbow bridge inside it?” He pointed. “Most importantly, Lady Mila, if you shake it, I shall be there in a flash. If ever you need me, I will be there.”

“Thank you, Uncle Thor!” Mila said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. I’m going to show it to my Teddy Bear!” Running to her bedroom.

“You spoil her, you know,” Yelena stated with a smirk, as she began to clean up the kitchen.

“I know, but she is such a grand example of goodness and joy in such a tiny human. She deserves the world.” Thor declared.

Carol arrived shortly after lunch. After a short meeting with Fury in the conference room regarding upcoming mission targets, she finds your daughter in the compound courtyard. She is wearing her vest to match her favorite auntie as Yelena demonstrates the newest tricks Fanny has learned.

“Roll over! Good girl, Fanny!” Yelena praised the dog. Mila takes a treat out of her vest pockets with her tiny hand and tosses it to the Akita.

“Well done, Mila! Before you go home tonight, I will show you what else you can hide inside those pockets,” winking at her niece.

“Fruits and veggies, right, Yelena?” Carol deadpanned as Mila ran over and jumped into Captain Marvel’s arms.

“Auntie Carol! When did you get here?” Your daughter giggled.

“Just a little bit ago. I talked to your Mommy and Mama last night. They miss you and can’t wait to see you when they get home tonight,” Carol shared before kissing your daughter on the cheek.

*^~^*

As the sun started to sink on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the ancient city of Paris, you found yourself immersed in the rich history of the Louvre museum. You had eagerly anticipated this moment, and after spending the afternoon exploring the countless treasures within the museum's walls, Natasha was determined to ensure you had the chance to lay eyes on the iconic Mona Lisa. As you weaved your way through the bustling crowd of tourists, Natasha's determined presence caused a path to effortlessly clear before you as she kindly asked them to move the fuck over.

You returned to your hotel and enjoyed a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries when Natasha’s phone dinged.

Carol: Hey, lovebirds. It's all good here. Mila is doing great and excited to see you when you return. However, you may want to check her vest pockets when you get home for some “special” presents courtesy of Auntie Yelena. 😘

Natasha giggled, showing you the text.

“The important thing is that they’re bonding,” placing a delicate kiss on her temple.

Following Wanda’s delicious Chicken Paprikash dinner, your daughter watched Frozen II. Vision attempted to explain the science behind snowflakes to her when Tony strolled into the lounge.

“Hey, kiddo, do you want to come to the lab with me and see the new suit modifications that the Jolly Green Giant and I are working on?”

“Yay!” Mila said excitedly, jumping up and down.

“Sir, Ms. Romanoff indicated there was to be no experimenting with young Ms. Mila while she is in our care.”

“Relax, chrome dome. We’re just looking at the new holographic mockup.” Picking up Mila and carried her to his lab.

*^~^*

After a few hours, Natasha gracefully guided the Quinjet to a smooth landing. As the engines powered down, she took a deep breath and gently reached across the console to grasp your hand. Together, you gazed out at the glittering lights of the team living quarters in the distance.

"Thank you for making our anniversary so wonderful," you said. "I love you so much. I know it was tough for you to leave Mila for three days, but not only did we have a beautiful anniversary, but our daughter got to spend meaningful time with her family, which she will always remember." You pressed a kiss to her knuckles as Natasha caressed your cheek.

You were right, dorogaya. This was perfect. I’m sorry I was so nervous about leaving her. I just never thought I would have my happily ever after. That little girl and you are my everything. It breaks my heart every time I leave either one of you.

“I know, my love,” you said quietly. “Now, let’s go get our daughter and go home.”

As you entered the compound, the air was filled with shouting and the excited barking of Fanny and Lucky. Natasha instinctively reached for her spare Widow Bites, but before she could react, both of you heard the unmistakable sound of your daughter's laughter. Following the noise, you entered the common room to find your daughter joyfully running through the compound. She was wearing her pajamas and had one of Tony’s Iron Man helmets perched on her head while clutching a can of whipped cream. Yelena and the rest of the team were in hot pursuit, with puffs of whipped cream trailing behind her as she raced through the room.

Kate skidded to a stop in front of both of you. “Oh, you guys are back. Awesome! Umm, we made ice cream sundaes for dessert. Mila enjoyed hers, as you can see”, Kate motioned, breathing heavily.

Mila took her last lap around the couch when she caught sight of you and Natasha.

“Mommy, Mama! You’re here!!” she squealed, running into Natasha’s arms.

“Hi, Moya Lyubov, we missed you so much!!” Natasha said as she wrapped Mila in a big hug before passing her to you to do the same.

“It looks like you had fun with your aunts and uncles this weekend,” removing the helmet and brush a red curl away from her eyes.

“I had so much fun, Mommy! I got to eat yummy food, ride a sled, fly, and Auntie Yelena helped me hide special treasures in my vest pockets. Oh, and I got a magic snow globe with my name on it!” Your daughter rambled happily.

Natasha looked at you slightly skeptical, wondering if your sweet little girl was exaggerating. With your family, you were never quite sure.

“Wow, that sounds amazing, kotyonok!” Are you ready to go home now?” Nat asked as Mila gives you her best puppy dog eyes.

“It’s okay sweetheart, we’ll come back and see everyone next weekend. Why don’t you go get your Teddy bear?” you suggested.

“I’ll help her with her things,” Yelena said, scooping up your daughter and walking to her bedroom.

“We can’t thank all of you enough for taking such good care of her. I know she would stay here forever if we let her.” You said as you move through the group hugging every one.

She is always welcome here, you two know that.” Wanda said, confident she was speaking for the entire team.

A short while later, Mila emerged with her unicorn backpack, followed by Yelena, carrying more bags than she had when you dropped her off. You couldn't help but shake your head, knowing the team had showered her with gifts. Natasha crouched down to Mila’s eye level, tenderly placing her hand on her back. “Can you say goodbye and thank you to all of your aunts and uncles, dorogaya?” she asked. Mila made her way around the room, hugging everyone. It warmed Natasha to witness her family showering your daughter with so much love and affection.

Mila drifted off to sleep only five minutes after being placed in her car seat. Upon returning home, Natasha carried her to her bed with the utmost care. She tenderly laid Mila down, ensuring she was tucked in snugly, and then, both of you gently kissed her forehead before quietly slipping out of the room. You decided to postpone the unpacking until the following day, feeling too exhausted from the long journey. In the bedroom, Natasha was sitting in bed, engrossed in a book with her reading glasses perched precariously on the edge of her nose. The day's fatigue faded as you turned off the bathroom light and joined her in bed.

“I couldn’t have asked for a more romantic anniversary, my love,” you admitted as you carefully removed her glasses from her face and gently kissed her lips. “But there is nowhere I would rather be than at home with you and our beautiful daughter.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Nat said, returning the kiss.

As Natasha drifted into slumber, her mind wandered back to the tumultuous path that had brought her to this moment. She couldn't escape the memories of her past—a life of manipulation in the Red Room with no autonomy and the unending pursuit to cleanse her conscience of the bloodstains it bore. But then came the shot that Clint didn't take and the chance that Fury did. Her deeply unconventional yet cherished family culminated in the arrival of you and your precious daughter. In these precious bonds, Natasha Romanoff found the strength to thrive and, at long last, find peace.

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ivvyela · 6 months ago

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imagine with me, if you will, a nwh potential fix-it involving none other than the multiverse saving duo deadpool and wolverine.

i know, i know - but please, let me cook.

wade and logan now jump across timelines to "fix" things aka travel the multiverse for funsies and deal with the consequences later and somehow end up in a universe where peter parker doesn't exist, but spider-man does. and wade, blessed with the power of "i know this for the plot", immediately knows that is bull. shit. and sure enough, they find one very depressed, very lonely, and very jaded peter parker.

after much annoyance, light stalking, and following spider-man while he's on patrol, they get peter to spill how he ended up in this situation. and after hearing everything, logan breaks the silence with a simple, yet effective: "shit, kid. that... shit."

"yeah, well... now you know, so you can, like, leave me alone."

"nope, not gonna happen." wade shakes his head and tactfully ignores logan's imploring look of what-the-fuck-are-you-getting-us-into-now "i take my job as marvel jesus very, very seriously, so frankly, this is my job to fix your sorry little life, buddy. and if flat-out telling them you exist didn't work, then - "

"oh, i actually... i never told them."

"...come again?"

"i tried to tell them, but i couldn't. so..."

"i'm sorry... your best friend and girlfriend were crying, telling you to come find them and remind them of you, and you chose not to?"

"they're happy and safe without me! i wasn't going to ruin - "

"oh my god. you sweet, self sacrificial, idiot spider-baby. okay! we can fix this! we're no tony stark, but consider us your pseudo daddies for the time being, kid. let's get you your life back."

which is how one very emotional and determined deadpool, followed by a stoic, nonchalant wolverine (who, in all honesty, probably should be completely against this, but once wade commits to something, he can't be talked out of it, and the sooner he gets his fix from this the sooner he can go home, so fuck it we ball), end up in a certain cafe, all up in a poor barista and her friend's face with a cut-out yearbook photo of some kid, yelling "LOOK AT HIM! LOOK AT THIS BOY! HE'S SO LONELY! LIKE A SMALL, FORLORN, VICTORIAN CHILD! REMEMBER HIM, GODDAMMIT!"

(their efforts result in two confused and scared teens, and getting kicked out of said cafe.)

peter practically begs them to just leave him alone, that this was his choice, and he's fine with it, but both wade and logan know a lie when they hear one. they both know what being alone can do to a person, and peter is just a kid who got dealt the shittiest cards in life and at this point, it just feels wrong to leave him here without trying to do something. and maybe they both have a small soft spot for the teen, so what?

and peter knows both men can see through his broody, teenage angst front he's been putting up since the spell, and he's tried so hard to hate the two of them, get them to hate him so they would leave, but they're not budging, so really, there's no point in trying to push them away, right?

and so, he lets them in. he learns that while logan is stoic and intense and kinda terrifying, he's also someone who just wants to do the right thing for the people he cares about. he's also lost people, and he blames himself, but he's come out on the other side. he would tell peter about his daughter, laura, who wouldn't let him wallow in self pity because she is good, better than he has ever been. he never saw himself as a father, but she's still around, so he must be doing alright.

and at first hearing it would result in a pang in his chest, memories of thai food after walking into a smoke-filled kitchen, assurances that things will work out when everything feels hopeless, a tombstone that can never convey everything she was, but now... it's nice to hear that logan still had someone after losing everyone.

so, peter listens to logan's stories. in return, peter tells logan all about his mom.

and wade was brash and loud and conceded and really, really annoying, but he's... no, that's it. he's all of those things, but in a weird way, it's like all those bad qualities merge together to make him a good guy. and yeah, he can walk away at any point, he has absolutely no obligation to help peter, but he does it anyway.

("nonono, don't you dare make me some selfless hero type, kid. i know for a fact that every deadpool has a peter. i'm doing this for the me in your world."

"you're... huh?"

"bottom line, i'm a selfish bastard. i'm doing this for me, 'kay?")

peter didn't fight it. he's had experience with seemingly self-absorbed, deflecting type heroes.

wade doesn't replace him, not even close, but... still.

maybe peter will never get back what he lost. but, for the first time, peter sees a light at the end of the tunnel. that, maybe, he can stop being just spider-man, and he can start being peter parker again, too.

(and if there's a barista talking to her friend about how it's weird that two guys would show up holding a photo of an odd customer from weeks ago, demanding they remember him, and despite not knowing him she felt something, and her friend couldn't help but agree, well... that's neither here nor there.)

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northoftheroad · 2 months ago

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Variations of Dick Grayson’s and Robin’s origin, part 2

Since DC can't stop publishing new versions and AU:s I’ve decided to start a new post instead of endless updating of my first post (see here).

Batman and Robin: Year One

Writer Mark Waid, art Chris Samnee. In # 1 (2024), Dick has come to live with Bruce, has started as Robin and helped to catch his parents’ killer in three weeks after the murder, according to Bruce’s thought bubble. Which must be a new record and indicates that Dick came to Wayne manor pretty much straight after the murder. (As he did in the original comics, but he had to train for some months before starting to fight crime.)

Batman: Justice Buster

A 32 chapter manga by Eiichi Shimizu and Tomohiro Shimoguchi (started publishing in English 2023). In this version, R.O.B.I.N. is the name Batman gives the AI he constructs to help him fight crime. It starts taking action by itself and decides human’s sense of justice is the problem.

Dick’s parents dies at the circus, as per usual, but he is taken from the circus by Sam Reynaud, the clown, who says it was murder. Sam is soon after murdered by Joe Chill, who murdered the Wayne’s and possibly also the Graysons. Chill uses drugs and some thingy for a hypnotic spell to get Dick to believe he is Sam. (For fun, he later tells Jason.)

Jason Todd is older than Dick, works as a private detective and is a vigilante called The Joker on the side. He lets Dick train to become a detective, looking to find the man who murdered his parents (the guy he’s unknowingly living with). Jason manages to weedle Batman into a partnership. Somewhat later, he is (apparently) killed by Chill, beaten by a crowbar. Chill says he’s going to take over the moniker Joker.

As I publish this post, the last chapters are still not published in English, so I can't say how the story will end.

Batman: Dark Ages

6 issues limited series (2024). Writer Mark Russel, art Michael Allred.

A limited series set in an alternate universe. Gotham's underground is run by False Face society which takes control of Wayne Enterprises after Thomas and Martha are murdered and use it to, for instance, spread drug addiction. Bruce has a very different road to becoming Batman; so has Dick to becoming Robin.

He's from a family of acrobats and is working for the Falcone crime family, as the only way to support himself and his parents. When he is part of kidnapping Jim Gordon he is shot, Batman takes him home but he escapes after a few days. By then, his parents are murdered by the Falcone's and he would have been too, if Batman hadn't turned up. Bruce makes him take an oath and he takes on the code name Robin (nothing is said about why Robin.) He later becomes Nightwing, working with Barbara as Batgirl. They marry and have a daughter that we see as Dr. Grayson with an old Bruce in the part of the story that takes place in the future (2030). Dick dies, in Nightwing suit, during a fight with the Joker. Batman tries to catch Dick when he and the Joker falls, but he gets hold of Joker.

Nightwing vol # 4, Tom Taylor’s run (#117)

Tom Taylor wrote Nightwing 2021-2024 and took the chance to tweak Dick’s origin. He gave Dick an older and previously unknown half-sister, Melinda Grayson-Lin, from a short relationship John had before his marriage to Mary. And he wrote that Tony Zucco had actually wanted to kill Dick, not his parents. How much of this will survive later writers remains to be seen.

#dick grayson #nightwing #robin #batman #batman and robin

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scarlethexelove · 6 months ago

Text

Not Supposed To Happen

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 2322

Warnings: A bit angsty, Fluff, Angry Wanda, Wanda blinded by anger, It all works out, Pregnancy, Really nothing much.

Pt 1, Pt 2

A/n: Ok so this is part 3 of Love Story and I actually split it into 2 parts so there will be a 4th to round it out. Wanda gets a little anxious and upset at reader. Also I know medically it's so wrong but we just going to blame it on the magic. That works right just blame it all on the magic. This is kind of shitty but whatever.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

The backyard of your house is filled with all your friends and family as you celebrate the twin’s 5th birthday. You can’t believe how big they have gotten. Everyday you look at Az and see a mini version of your wife running around. You watch as Peter is being chased by the twins in the yard. All the giggling and laughing coming from them. MJ is sitting in a chair in the shade as her hand sits on her pregnant belly. Steve, Thor, and Tony are all arguing over who is the best at grilling. Sam and Bucky are standing around drinking beer giving each other lovey dovey eyes.

You chuckle to yourself looking at them. You always thought that it would be Steve and Bucky who would end up together but when Steve got with Sharon you were happy for him nonetheless. Then it was Sam and Bucky pining over each other. Your eyes drift over to see Sharon with Pepper and Aunt May. You watched as Peggy (Steve and Sharon’s daughter) and Morgan joined in on chasing Peter around. You laughed as he got taken down when the two older girls joined in.

Carol, Valkyrie, Nat, and Maria all drinking and enjoying themselves. Nat had a strong arm wrapped around Maria while Valkyrie had one around Carol. You were happy to see everyone happy with someone. Even Bruce had a girlfriend but neither of them could make it to the party. You then felt arms wrap around your waist and an even bigger smile stretching across your face.

“How’s your leg today baby?” You were leaning on your cane that you have to use some days. After the accident it became clear that your leg would never be the same. Some days when it was hard to move and painful. There was severe nerve damage to your leg but you're happy to be alive and have your family with you. “It’s ok, not much pain, just some stiffness.” Wanda takes her left arm from your waist and snakes it down to your thigh and starts to massage your muscle. A small moan escaping your lips without you even noticing but Wanda does when you feel her smirking against the back of your neck.

“Will you two get a room?” Carol calls from the other side of the yard. Valkyrie slapping Carol against the head. “Kids, there are kids running around.” Carol tries to defend herself. “Sorry, not sorry.” Valkyrie chuckles holding her wife. You chuckle at their display. “It’s just about my leg so no room is needed.” You yell back.

“Do you ever regret it?” Wanda asks softly. “Regret what?” You question what she is asking “Having to retire from SHIELD?” A smile spreads across your face. “Never, I have you and our two beautiful babies. And besides Tony has me helping him when he can’t get through a firewall.” You turn around in her grasp to see her giving you loving eyes. “I love you so much Y/n.” Wanda smiles at you which you return. “I love you more.” You gently kiss your wife.

“Mommy!” You hear your daughter yelling for you. You turn back around to see Peter holding Az up high as she wiggles in his grasp. “Peter, I swear to god if you drop my daughter. Wanda won’t be the one you have to run from.” Peter gently sets her down. Az and Billy comes bounding over to you and your wife. You pick up Az in your arms and Wanda picks up Billy. “Uncle Peter said we are going to have a little cousin to play with soon.” Billy said happily as Wanda placed a kiss on his head. “Yeah, you are.” You reply looking between your wife and twins.

“Mommy, Mama, when can we have a younger brother or sister?” Az questions the both of you. You both look at each other with wide eyes. Neither of you had, had the conversation about other kids since you almost died twice around when the twins were born. “Well sweetheart your mommy and I will have to see about that one. We love both of you very much.” Billy folded his arms over his chest pouting a bit at your wife’s words. “I want a baby brother so I’m not the only boy. You asked what we want for our birthday. We want a baby brother or sister.” You're taken aback by what Billy just said but you can’t help but think of how great it would be to have another mini-me of Wanda running around. Billy looked like a spinning image of you when you were a kid. You pulled Wanda in close to you as you both held onto the twins.

“Foods ready!” Tony yells from the grill as the twins struggle to get out of both of your arms. You both set them down as they run towards the food. You hug onto Wanda and whisper in her ear. “I think maybe we should think about having another. I love seeing your mini-me running around all the time. Though it’s your turn this time.” Wanda chuckles as she kisses your cheek. “Well of course it is.”

Both of you know that it would have to be her no matter what. After giving birth to the twins, you were told your chance of having another baby was one in a million chance. The damage done was severe. Both of you smile, looking at everyone enjoying themselves as the party continues.

It’s been 8 months since the party. Wanda is out grocery shopping while the twins are at school. You on the other hand have your face in the toilet bowl throwing up. You were so out of it you never even heard the front door open or the footsteps coming to your bathroom. You hadn’t even heard your name being called out. “Y/n?” Nat’s head peaked into the bathroom as you looked up at your best friend.

“Natty? What are you doing here?” Nat comes over and crouches down next to you. Moving your hair out of the way and rubbing up and down your back. “Are you ok?” She asks with concern written all over her face. “I’m fine. Just been feeling sick the last few mornings is all.” Nat’s eyebrows furrow at your words. “Y/n could you be pregnant?” Nat joked at you. “Not really helping here.” You mumble. “Y/n/n is it only in the morning or other times of the day?” Her face is sympathetic. “Just in the morning. Why do you ask?” You lean your head against the toilet bowl. “Y/n when was your last period?”

You open your mouth to answer but quickly close it when you think back and realize how late you are. “It’s not possible.” You scramble away from the toilet as you run into your room and open the top drawer of your dresser. Nat is close behind you. “Ok gross didn’t need to see your sex drawer.” Nat grimaces. “Haha, not funny Nat.” You look through the draw and find the two vials. One completely full and the other mostly gone. When you flipped over and read the label.

“Well shit.” You breathe out the realization hits you. “What is it?” Nat asks you. “Wanda used the wrong one.” You turn to face her. “What?” You held up the two vials for Nat to see. One saying that it was fake and the other was the magical sperm for Wanda. “Oh.” Was all Nat could say when she realized what you meant.

You pull out your phone and nervously dial your wife. Hoping that she doesn’t think the worst before you can explain. “Hi baby, do you need something from the store?” Wanda’s voice comes over the phone. “Baby I need you to listen to me before you react ok.” Your voice is laced with anxiety. “Okay.” Wanda says hesitantly. “I need you to grab some pregnancy tests.”

“What they fuck do you mean pregnancy test?” Wanda’s voice is laced with venom. “Baby you said you would listen.” Wanda let out an angry huff. “I’m listening.” You could tell she was gritting her teeth. “You used the wrong one.” You try to explain. “I used the wrong one, right.” Wanda sounded angry, like she didn’t believe you. But before you could answer back you felt another wave of nausea hit you. You threw the phone at Nat as you ran into the bathroom. “Y/n Y/m/n Maximoff, I swear to god you better not – “ Nat cuts Wanda off on the phone. “Y/n would never. Now you need to calm down before you come back here but seriously bring some pregnancy test and maybe some Gatorade.” Nat quickly hangs up the phone as she rushes to your side.

Wanda leaves her cart in the middle of an aisle before running and grabbing some pregnancy test, some Gatorade and a pack of Oreos. She doesn’t want to be mad at you, but her thoughts are racing, not really listening to anything after you said pregnancy test. She checks out the few items before quickly driving home. Once she has gotten home, she rushes upstairs to find you and Nat in the bathroom.

Nat quickly stands placing a hand on Wanda’s shoulder seeing her fuming with rage. You look up with a weak smile, but it drops when you see your wife’s face. Nat grabs the bag and places it next to you as she pushes the angry Sokovian out of the bathroom. “Wanda, you need to calm down.” Nat’s voice raising. “I can’t believe it.” Wanda said her voice was laced with anger. Nat doesn’t want this to escalate; she pulls Wanda towards the dresser, opening the drawer and seeing the two vials you had shown her. She hands them to Wanda. “This is not her fault. If it is anyone's, it is yours.” Nat defended you knowing that you would never betray your wife in that way. Not with the things you have been through and what you two have been through together.

Wanda grips the vials in her hands and looks down at them. She looks at the almost empty one and reads the label. As she does, you're getting up from the toilet and standing in the doorway of your bathroom to your bedroom. “It was that night we got drunk.” Wanda looked up at you. You had a small smile on your face. You push off the doorframe and walk towards Wanda. “You wanted to have a little more fun than just drinking since Nat so kindly took the twins that night. You know how much I love it when you use the fake stuff and decide that night was a great night to use it.” You explained. “And I grabbed the wrong one.” Wanda said lowly looking down at the ground.

You were now in front of Wanda. You placed a finger under her chin and made her look you in the eye.“It was supposed to be your turn this time.” You chuckled. “But how. The doctor said it would almost be impossible.” Wanda’s eyes meeting yours. “Key work almost.” Nat added. Both of you shot her a look before she put her hands up in defense. “I guess you're just that good.” You place your forehead against hers as you look into her eyes.

Wanda smiles softly at you. “So, are we taking those tests or what?” She says as she pulls you back towards the bathroom. You see the bag on the floor and notice the Oreos sticking out. “Aww you remembered.” You can’t help the growing smile. “How could I? You almost killed Tony and Nat for eating the last of your Oreos when you were pregnant with the twins.” She chuckles. “To be fair you don’t mess with a pregnant woman.” You smirk. “I still have the scar from where you stabbed me with the fork.” Nat adds at the end. “I told you not to eat my Oreos.” You give her a quick quip. “And I learned an important lesson.” Nat raises an eyebrow. “Good now move out so I can pee on some sticks.” You pushed Wanda and Nat out of the bathroom.

A few minutes pass as you wait for the test results to be shown on the different pregnancy test that you took. The buzzer on your phone goes off when the results should be back. “I can’t look.” You bury your face into the crock of Wanda’s neck. She wraps her arms around you as one hand rubs up and down your back. “Everything is going to be ok detka.”

Wanda motioned for Nat to look at them as she held onto you. She moves over picking up the first test. The corners of her mouth twitching up into a smile. She looks at the next one as the smile spreads across her face. Wanda watches as Nat’s smile grows. “Well, it looks like you’re going to have to deal with another Maximoff running around soon.” Nat said excited for you two. You pull away from Wanda and grab the test out of Nat’s hand seeing a plus on the test.

“We’re having another baby?” You look at Wanda who just shakes her head yes. “Good thing two cause this little one is going to have a best friend.” Your face covered contorts with confusion. “What?” You turn around to face Nat. “Well, the reason I had come over here was to tell the both of you that Maria is pregnant. I wanted to tell you two first, but this makes it all the much better. Our kids can grow up being best friends.” You can’t help it when you burst into tears hearing those words. Both women wrapping you in a hug as your happy tears soak into Nat’s shirt.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #syd speaks #wanda fanfic #wanda marvel #wanda x you #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x y/n #wanda x r #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader fluff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader angst

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alotofpockets · 2 years ago

Text

Replaced | Part 1 | Natasha Romanoff

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Stark!Reader, and Tony Stark x Daughter!Reader

Story warnings: heart disease/failure, loss of a parent, absent father.

Story summary: Your father, Tony Stark, has been rather absent in the recent years of your life. What will happen when you show up at the Avengers Compound after you lose your mom?

Masterlist | Marvel masterlist | Words: 2.5K Part 1 | Part 2

Your parents split up when you were just two years old, therefore you didn't even remember them together. You've lived with just your mom ever since. At first you spend every summer at your dad's, but ever since he became Iron Man, that stopped. Your dad had claimed to not have enough time on his hands to keep you safe.

It's been about ten years since you've had sleepovers at your dad's in the summer. You had seen him every few months to catch up over dinner, but much more than that you hadn't seen of your dad. It sucks, because he was your dad and you want him in your life, but over the years it started to get more and more clear to you that being an entrepreneur and superhero was more important to him than being a father.

Over those years your mom had been your biggest form of support, she was always there for you and your needs. She was your mom and best friend in one, you could share everything with her. Sure, your dad made sure you and your mom had the money to live a good life, and so that your mom was able to keep her local book store running instead of having to get a better paying job. You were very grateful for that, because your mom absolutely loved that store. On your eighteenth birthday your mom asked you if you wanted to be the co-owner of the store. You had been working there as a side job ever since you started college. You were grateful for her offer, and gladly accepted it.

At college you studied business, something that clearly runs in the family. Everything you’ve learned in class, you got to put to use at the store. Once you were done with college, your mom had taught you about every aspect of the store, unbeknownst to you, making you ready to take over one day. It happened suddenly, one day everything was good, and the next day you were in an ambulance because your mother had collapsed. After hours of testing the doctor let you know that something was wrong with her heart. At first medication was enough to help your mom get through the day, but when those stopped working, she had to have surgery. She stayed at the hospital for a while to monitor everything. You spend as much time as you could by her side, while also keeping the store running. It was mentally and physically draining, but the store was your mom’s pride and joy, and you had every intention to keep it running for her. She got a bit better after the surgery, but gradually over the months she was declining in her health once again.

She ended up in the hospital once again, this time she was on 24-hour watches. When the doctors informed you that there wasn’t anything they could do for her anymore, you started talking about a DNR. Your mom had a long talk with you, stating that she left everything to you in the will. “Sweetheart, I know you have big dreams and I want you to follow them all. Please don’t let keeping the store get in the way of that. I love you, and I want you to live your life for you, okay sweetheart?” That evening you had cried in her arms as she signed the DNR form.

Your mom was in the hospital for another week when the day you had been dreading came. The day you got the call from the doctors saying that your mom wasn’t going to make it to the end of the day. You closed down the store and rushed to the hospital, wanting to spend her last moments together. The rest of the day you spent by her side, holding her hand, and telling her your favorite memories together. You had balled your eyes out as the heart monitor's beeping started slowing down, eventually dying down to a continuous beep. The doctor came in to turn off the machine, and sent his condolences your way, before leaving you to say your last goodbyes.

You didn't know where to go when you left the hospital, walking around aimlessly, until you found yourself at the Avengers Compound. You decided to ring the doorbell, since your subconscious led you here and you really needed to rehydrate. A woman's voice sounded over the intercom, "Avengers Compound, who is it?" You quickly wiped your tears as you saw a camera was pointing at your face, "Ehm, I'm Y/n Stark, I'm here to see my dad."

The voice stayed quiet for a moment, "Very funny, do you have ID to prove that?" You reached into your pocket and held your ID up to the camera. “One moment, I’ll be right with you.” A minute later the door was opened by the woman you knew from the news as Black Widow. “Hi, I’m Natasha. Sorry about that, you don’t want to know how many kids come up here claiming to be one of our kids, in hopes they can enter the building.” With a small voice you replied, “It’s okay. Is he here?” Natasha shook her head, “No, but I’ll let him know you’re here. Come on, I’ll walk you to the common room.” She led you to the couch and offered you a drink.

While Natasha walked to the kitchen to get you a glass of water, all the emotions that came with losing your mom came to the service. You put your feet up on the couch, bringing your legs to your chest. Your head leaning on your knees as tears start streaming down your face once again. Natasha walks back into the common room with the glass of water and notices your state, she takes a seat next to you on the couch. “Hey, what’s wrong? I know we just met, but no one should go through these kinds of emotions alone. May I hug you?” Without saying anything, you lean into Natasha. She was right, you had just met her, but you really needed the comfort. You felt Natasha’s arms wrap around your shoulders and hold you tight. “My mom.” You say with a shaky voice, “I just lost my mom.” You cry out. Natasha moves one of her hands to rub small circles on your back. Natasha knew what loss was and felt for the stranger in her arms. She wanted to bring you comfort, the way she wished she had gotten.

It wasn’t until later in the day, when you had calmed down, met some of the other Avengers, and settled down on the couch watching a movie with them that your dad got home. He didn’t even notice you there, so Natasha spoke up. “Tony, did you get my messages?” She said while moving her eyes between him and you. That’s when his eyes fell on you, “Oh, y/n, hi. What are you doing here?” It felt kind of awkward to be in the same room as your dad and it not being a restaurant. “Mom, she. She passed away earlier today.” You wipe away the tear that fell down your face quickly. “Oh, I’m sorry, y/n.” His phone rang before the conversation could continue, “I have to take this.” He stood up and walked away. Natasha gave you a sympathetic look, “Come on, I’ll get a room ready for you, and you can stay the night.”

You didn't sleep much that night, but who could blame you. Your mom just died, and your dad seemed to not give a shit about it or you. Reluctantly you got out of bed and put on the clothes Natasha laid out for you. Making your way to the kitchen, you were hoping that your dad would be there for you. Once you got to the kitchen though, your dad was getting ready to leave. "Ah good morning, y/n. I've got to pick up the kid, I'll be back later." And once again he was out the door.

Sitting down at the counter you stare blankly ahead of yourself. Wanda and Natasha find you in the kitchen after their morning work out. Wanda is the first to sense that something is wrong and approaches you. "Hey, y/n, how are you holding up?" Wanda had experienced her own loss with her parents and brother, all those feelings came back to the moment she heard that you had lost your mom. "Who's 'the kid' my dad is referring to?" Wanda takes no time in answering your question, only making you believe that your dad calls this person ‘kid’ all the time. "Peter Parker, or as you probably know him, Spider-Man." You divert your eyes once more. Moments later Natasha places a plate of food in front of you, "I'm no chef, but I hope it's good."

You all ate in silence, you were grateful for their comfort. "Hey, is there any way either one of you can bring me to the hospital? I need to figure out some things and sign some papers. I was going to ask my dad, but he's too busy." They both agreed to come with you, and even went into the hospital with you. You reached for Natasha's hand as the doctor spoke to you about the next steps.

After filling out all the necessary forms the doctor sent you on your way, since it had been a couple hours and it was around lunchtime now you asked the women, "Do you want to grab a quick bite? As a thank you for both of your support today." Wanda checks the time before saying, “I’m sorry, I’d love to, but I have to head back. I’ve got a few meetings this afternoon.” You look over to Natasha. "Yeah, let's do it. Only because I'm hungry though, not because you need to do this to thank us, I was happy to go with you." You both hugged Wanda goodby and headed to a nearby restaurant.

During lunch you spend the time getting to know each other better. She told you about her hobbies and what it was like to be an Avenger and you told her about your hobbies and the bookstore. "I have the rest of the day off, if you want to go by the store and make sure everything is settled there, since you left in a hurry yesterday." Natasha offered. "Are you sure? I'd really like that, but only if it's not too much trouble." Of course, it was no trouble at all, Natasha was enjoying getting to know you better.

At the store you spend some time on putting the money in the safe, which in your haste you didn’t even do, and some paperwork. Natasha was walking around the shop while you were finishing up. “It’s a wonderful place, y/n. You and your mom did an incredible job, I’m sure she is so proud of you for wanting to keep the store running.” You thanked her for her kindness before printing out a sign saying you would be closed for the next week.

Walking out of the store you got the sinking feeling that you were going to go home to an empty house. “Do you think I can stay at the Compound for another night?” You ask Natasha shyly. “Yeah, of course, do you want to grab some clothes before heading back?” At your front door you freeze with the keys in your hand, unable to unlock the door. “May I?” Natasha asks softly. You hand her the key and she opens the door for you. She takes your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, letting you know she’s there with you. After grabbing some clothes you make your way back to the Compound.

When you arrived back at the compound, you heard laughter coming from the common room. You recognized one of the voices to be the one of your dad, so you walked in. “Oh hey, kid, meet my daughter y/n.” Tony introduces you. “Y/n, this is Peter.” It was painful this morning hearing that your dad called another person ‘kid’, a nickname he used to call you, but the sight of this broke you even more. You turned on your heels and walked in the opposite direction. To your surprise your dad called after you, “Y/n, don’t leave.” That snaps something in you. “Don’t leave?” You ask, raising your voice slightly. “Isn’t that exactly like you did? You left me because you didn’t have time to keep me safe, and now I see you’ve just replaced me with another kid that you took under your wing. Why can you take care of him, but not of me?” Tony stood up. “Peter is different, he has powers, he can protect himself.”

“That’s bullshit, Natasha doesn’t have powers and she’s an Avenger, she can protect herself. And what about Clint, Yelena and Kate? Not to mention you yourself. They can all protect themselves. All you had to do was teach me how to protect myself, but instead you left.” You didn’t wait for a response and continued walking toward the room Natasha had let you stay in. “What was that all about?” Tony asks Natasha. “Man, I knew you could be oblivious, but seriously? She just lost her mom, the only person she has had to depend on. Wanda and I went to the hospital with her today to make arrangements, because you were too busy talking with Peter.” She turned to Peter, “No offense, Spider-Boy.” And with that Natasha followed you to the room.

“I’m so sorry about him.” She said as she walked into your room. You shrugged, “It’s fine, I don’t know why I expected more.” Natasha said down on the bed next to you. “Want to watch a movie, to get your mind off of everything?” You lifted the blanket for her to join you. About fifteen minutes into the movie, you lean into Natasha, Without a word, she wraps her arm around your shoulder. Not long after your eyes closed and you slept for the first time in weeks.

Your dad might not be there for you the way you wanted him to be, but you were glad you came here and got to meet Natasha. From the first time on that couch in the common room, you had felt a connection with her, a connection that had only grown stronger over the hours that you had known her. A connection that you knew was only going to continue growing.

Part 2

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow fic #natasha x reader #avengers x reader #the avengers #tony stark #tony stark x daughter!reader #stark reader #natasha romanoff x stark!reader

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amethystarachnid · 1 month ago

Note

I read your last Tony one-shot, and this “That said, I wouldn’t mind seeing Stark try to handle a teenage girl someday.” made me thing that this prompt Christmas Morning with the Kids is perfect for Tony 🤣 Tony + reader with a teenage girl and two little boys (or more, it’s up to you), Christmas morning, lots of love, I think it’s perfect ❤️

CHRISTMAS MORNING - part I

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.1k

ᯓ★ Summary: Life with a teenage daughter, twins boys and a toddler is always chaotic but on Christmas morning? Oh it is pure chaos.

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ Part II

ᯓ★ I merged the two requests because the second one didn't specify anything, hope you both like it! <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Tony’s warm body is pressed against your side, his arm slung lazily over your waist as you drift in and out of sleep. The glow of the early morning filters through the heavy curtains, and you nestle deeper into the cocoon of your shared blanket, trying to fend off the faint chill in the room. You know it’s Christmas morning, but a part of you is holding on to the luxurious laziness of waking up slowly, in no rush to face the chaos awaiting you downstairs.

That delusion is shattered within seconds.

There’s the distinct sound of heavy, rapid footsteps in the hallway, followed by a breathless, high-pitched “They’re still asleep!” in a stage whisper that echoes through the door.

Before you can even brace yourself, the door flies open, slamming against the wall with an unceremonious bang. Your seven-year-old twins, Alex and Howard, charge into the room like two pint-sized tornadoes, all gangly limbs and boundless energy.

“MOM! DAD! IT’S CHRISTMAS!” Alex shouts, his voice nearly cracking with excitement.

“Wake up! Santa came!” Howard adds, punctuating his declaration by leaping onto the bed with a war cry. He lands on Tony, who lets out a theatrical groan, his arm slipping off your waist.

“Oh, for the love of—” Tony grumbles, voice muffled by the pillow he’s shoved his face into. “Santa didn’t come. He texted me last night saying he was stuck in traffic. Maybe next year.”

“Liar!” Alex accuses, climbing up onto your side of the bed and flopping down against you with all the grace of a hyperactive puppy.

Meanwhile, Howard is enthusiastically bouncing on Tony’s back, yelling, “Dad, Dad, wake up! Mom, he’s not waking up! Should we pour water on him?”

“Do not pour water on me,” Tony warns without lifting his head. “Or I’m canceling Christmas forever.”

“Like you could cancel Christmas,” Cora’s sarcastic drawl cuts through the chaos as she appears in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with her arms crossed. Your teenage daughter looks impossibly cool for someone who’s been up this early, her messy curls tucked into a Santa hat and an expression that screams she’s simultaneously over it and secretly enjoying the spectacle.

“Thank you, Cora,” you sigh, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and trying to sit up. Alex clings to you like a koala, making it a near-impossible task.

“Don’t thank me. I’m just here for the fallout,” she says, smirking as Howard accidentally knees Tony in the ribs while attempting a dramatic reenactment of Santa’s sleigh taking off.

“Why do we have so many kids?” Tony mutters, finally rolling onto his back and catching Howard mid-bounce. He pulls the boy into a mock wrestling hold, trapping him with a grin that matches Howard’s exactly. “You! You’re under arrest for excessive energy on a federal holiday.”

Howard dissolves into a fit of giggles, his squirming waking Estelle, who’s tucked away in her crib at the corner of the room. A sleepy whine signals her arrival to the party, and you groan, trying to extricate yourself from Alex’s grasp.

“I’ve got her,” you tell Tony, nudging Alex off you gently and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The chill of the hardwood floor makes you shiver, and you hurriedly scoop Estelle up before she can fully wake and start wailing.

“Mama,” she mumbles sleepily, her chubby fists clutching the neckline of your sleep shirt. You press a kiss to her unruly curls, swaying slightly to soothe her.

“She’s up!” Alex declares like it’s the most exciting development of the morning.

“No kidding,” Tony says, finally managing to sit up. He ruffles Howard’s hair, the boy now sprawled across his lap. “Cora, tell me you brought coffee.”

“Do I look like a barista?” she fires back, though there’s a twinkle of amusement in her dark eyes. “You’ve got two legs. Use them.”

“Three, technically,” Tony quips, pointing to Estelle perched on your hip. “But she’s not a coffee-fetching age yet. That’s a two-year-old skill, right?”

You roll your eyes, bouncing Estelle lightly as she starts to babble nonsense into your neck. “Do you want coffee or not?”

“Desperately,” he says, throwing off the covers and scooping Howard up in one smooth motion. The boy squeals, kicking his legs as Tony spins him around like a sack of potatoes. “Alright, troops! Let’s move this operation downstairs. Santa won’t wait forever.”

“Santa already came,” Cora corrects him with an exaggerated sigh, leading the charge out of the room with a nonchalant wave over her shoulder.

Tony gives you a sheepish grin as you follow her with Estelle, Alex trailing close behind. “At least she’s consistent,” he says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Merry Christmas, by the way.”

“Merry Christmas,” you reply, nudging him playfully. “And for the record, I’m blaming you for the chaos genes in all of them.”

“Fair,” he admits with a wink. “But you love me anyway.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately,” he echoes with a chuckle, as the sounds of your children’s laughter and excitement fill the house.

You follow the stampede of your children down the staircase, Estelle still snug in your arms. Her tiny hands tug at the collar of your shirt as she mumbles sleepily, “Downstairs. ‘Telle pancakes.”

Tony, close behind you, catches that and grins. “Hear that? She wants pancakes. Girl’s got excellent taste already.”

“Wonder where she gets it from,” you reply dryly, shifting Estelle to your other hip as you step into the open living room. The sight before you makes your breath catch for a moment: the massive tree glistening with twinkling lights, the piles of colorfully wrapped presents spilling out from underneath, and the faint scent of pine mingling with the lingering warmth of the fireplace.

“Whoa!” Alex exclaims, his eyes wide as he takes in the sheer number of gifts. He and Howard make a beeline for the tree, their hands already itching to tear into the wrapping paper.

“Wait, wait, wait!” you shout, setting Estelle down and hurrying to intercept the twins. You plant yourself in front of the tree, arms outstretched like a referee. “No presents until after breakfast.”

“That’s child cruelty,” Howard protests, folding his arms in exaggerated indignation.

“Yeah!” Alex echoes, pouting. “We’ll starve!”

“You just ate a mountain of cookies last night,” you remind them, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Pretty sure you’ll survive until pancakes.”

“They’re growing boys,” Tony chimes in from the kitchen, his voice teasing. “You’re stunting their emotional development.”

You shoot him a mock glare as he saunters over to the stovetop, already pulling out the griddle pan and the ingredients for his signature pancakes. “I’m about to stunt your emotional development if you don’t back me up on this.”

Tony smirks, cracking an egg into the bowl with one hand. “Relax, honey. Pancakes are coming up. No one’s opening anything until we all eat as a family,” he says, enunciating the last word like he’s laying down the law.

“Fine,” Howard grumbles, flopping onto the couch in defeat. Alex follows, though his gaze keeps darting longingly back toward the tree.

Cora rolls her eyes as she plops into an armchair, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her oversized pajama pants. “You guys are so dramatic. They’re just presents.”

“That’s because you’re too cool to get excited about gifts anymore,” Alex retorts, sticking his tongue out at her.

“I’m plenty excited,” she says, deadpan, without looking up from her screen.

Meanwhile, Estelle toddles over to you, her little hands reaching up to tug on the hem of your pajama pants. “Mama! I help pancakes?”

You crouch down, brushing her messy curls out of her face. “You want to help Daddy make pancakes?”

“Yesss!” she chirps, her eyes lighting up.

“Alright,” you say, scooping her up and carrying her into the kitchen. “You’re on pancake duty, little miss.”

Tony looks up as you set Estelle on a chair beside the counter. “Ah, my sous-chef has arrived!” He grabs a small plastic whisk from the drawer and hands it to her. “Alright, Estelle. Stir the batter like this, okay?” He demonstrates with exaggerated movements, which she copies with gleeful determination.

“Mix-mix-mix!” Estelle chants, splashing a bit of batter onto the counter. You grab a paper towel to clean it up, grinning at the sight of Tony encouraging her with a dramatic chef’s commentary.

“You’ve got a natural talent, kiddo,” he tells her. “I see a future in Michelin-starred pancake artistry.”

“She’s two,” you remind him, though you’re laughing.

“Never too early to start thinking about college,” he quips, flipping the first pancake onto a waiting plate with a flourish.

“Where’s mine?” Alex calls from the living room, earning a chorus of similar demands from Howard.

“Patience is a virtue, boys!” Tony shouts back, stacking another golden pancake onto the growing pile.

You glance at the table and start setting out plates, silverware, and glasses. Cora, noticing the motion, sets her phone aside and starts helping without being asked. It’s a small thing, but it warms your heart—she might act too cool for her siblings, but she’s always got a quiet way of pitching in when it counts.

“Alright!” Tony announces, carrying a platter of pancakes to the table. “Breakfast is served! Everyone take a seat.”

Chaos ensues as Alex and Howard sprint to the table, their earlier frustration forgotten. Estelle claps her hands excitedly, repeating, “Pancakes! Pancakes!” as you carry her over to her high chair.

As everyone settles in, Tony winks at you. “Nothing like a Christmas breakfast to get the day started.”

“You mean nothing like a Christmas breakfast to delay the madness of unwrapping gifts,” you reply with a smirk, passing Estelle a small plate with a cut-up pancake.

She picks up a piece with her tiny fingers and holds it up proudly. “Big pancake!”

“Yes, baby, it’s a big pancake,” you say, kissing the top of her head.

The table buzzes with chatter and laughter as the kids dig into their food. Tony keeps up a steady stream of banter, teasing Cora about her phone addiction and making the twins giggle with ridiculous stories about “Santa’s Pancake Factory.” Estelle insists on feeding you a sticky, syrup-drenched bite, which you accept with an exaggerated “Mmm!” that makes her giggle uncontrollably.

“Alright,” Tony says as he leans back in his chair, sipping his coffee. “Breakfast conquered. What’s next?”

You glance toward the living room, where the tree and its mountain of presents beckon. “I think we all know what’s next.”

The moment the last fork clatters onto a plate, the twins leap from their chairs and sprint toward the tree like they’ve been shot out of cannons. Alex dives headfirst into the mountain of gifts, with Howard hot on his heels, their excitement almost tangible.

“Wait!” you call out, rushing to catch up. “We need to take turns so we can all see what everyone gets. No free-for-all!”

“Yes, Mom,” Howard groans, dragging out the word as though it’s the most tedious rule in existence.

Tony strolls into the living room, scooping Estelle out of her high chair on the way and balancing her on his hip. “Listen to your mom, guys,” he says with a mock-serious tone. “Otherwise, Santa’s gonna find out and revoke your gift privileges for next year.”

The boys freeze mid-motion, wide-eyed, clearly weighing whether their dad is serious. You suppress a laugh, knowing full well they’ll believe anything remotely Santa-related for at least a few more years.

“Okay, fine,” Alex concedes, settling cross-legged on the floor.

Cora takes her time getting comfortable in the armchair, her ever-present air of teenage coolness intact. Still, there’s a flicker of anticipation in her expression as she surveys the pile of gifts.

“Alright, Estelle, you’re up first,” you announce, crouching by the tree to grab a small box with her name on it.

Tony sets her down on the rug, where she plops onto her diapered bottom and claps her hands. “Mine!”

“Yes, this one’s yours,” you say, handing it to her. “Go ahead.”

With a focus that’s almost comical, Estelle tugs at the wrapping paper, tearing off little strips until the box underneath is finally revealed. She gasps audibly as she lifts the lid, her tiny face lighting up when she sees the stuffed unicorn nestled inside.

“Corn! Mine corn!” she exclaims, hugging the plush toy tightly to her chest.

“Unicorn,” Tony corrects gently, crouching beside her. “And yes, it’s yours, sweet pea.”

She beams up at him, her joy so pure that it tugs at your heart. “Thank you, Dada!”

“You’re welcome, princess,” he says, ruffling her curls.

The boys go next, and the room erupts into cheers and shouts of delight as they tear through their gifts. Alex nearly loses his mind over the LEGO Star Wars Millennium Falcon set he’s been asking for, while Howard can’t contain his excitement when he unwraps the shiny new electric scooter he’s been dreaming about.

“Oh man, this is the best Christmas ever!” Alex declares, holding up a Nerf gun almost as big as he is.

“Don’t shoot your brother,” you warn as Howard eyes the same toy in his pile.

“No promises,” Tony murmurs under his breath, earning a swat on the arm from you.

Cora watches the chaos with an amused smirk, opening her gifts with a calmness that stands in stark contrast to her brothers’ whirlwind energy. Her eyes light up when she unwraps the vintage vinyl record player you and Tony picked out, and she can’t suppress a grin when she finds the stack of classic rock albums tucked beside it.

“You guys actually remembered,” she says, her tone betraying the faintest hint of gratitude.

“Of course we remembered,” Tony says, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “I’m not that old yet.”

“You’re ancient,” Cora fires back, though the smile on her face takes the sting out of her words.

Once the kids have opened all their gifts and are busy playing with their new treasures, Tony reaches for the neatly wrapped box you prepared for him. He shoots you a look that’s equal parts curiosity and mischief as he tears into the paper.

Inside, he finds a sleek, custom leather jacket embossed with the Stark Industries logo and subtle accents that reflect his personal style. His eyes widen in surprise, and a genuine smile spreads across his face.

“This is amazing,” he says, running a hand over the soft leather. “You’ve got good taste, Mrs. Stark.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you reply, grinning as he pulls you into a quick kiss.

“Your turn,” he says, handing you a small box with a perfectly tied bow.

You open it carefully, your heart skipping a beat as you reveal a delicate gold bracelet adorned with tiny charms representing each member of your family—a star for Tony, a heart for you, and four miniature initials for the kids.

“Oh, Tony,” you whisper, your voice catching slightly. “It’s beautiful.”

“Just like you,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Merry Christmas, honey.”

Before the moment can grow too sentimental, Cora clears her throat loudly. “Okay, this is gross. Can we move on?”

You laugh, wiping at the corner of your eye. “Fine, fine. What’s next?”

Without answering, Cora reaches under the tree, pulling out two small, sloppily wrapped gifts that you hadn’t noticed before. She holds them out, one in each hand, looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

“These are…for you guys,” she says, glancing between you and Tony. “I got them with my own money, so they’re not, like, fancy or anything.”

For a moment, you’re stunned. Cora is notoriously tight-fisted with her allowance, and the thought of her spending it on something for you and Tony nearly undoes you.

“Sweetheart,” you say, your voice trembling slightly, “you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” she interrupts, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “Just…open them before I change my mind.”

Tony takes one of the gifts while you take the other. The wrapping is haphazard, with too much tape in some places and too little in others, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

You unwrap yours first, revealing a small, framed photo of the entire family taken during your summer vacation. The picture captures a rare, candid moment of pure joy, and your throat tightens as you trace your fingers over the glass.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

Tony opens his next, revealing a simple black mug with bold white letters that read: World’s Okayest Dad. He bursts out laughing, holding it up for everyone to see.

“This,” he says, his voice shaking with mirth, “is the greatest mug in the history of mugs.”

Cora rolls her eyes, but there’s a flicker of pride in her expression. “Glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it,” Tony says, setting the mug down and pulling her into a quick hug. “You’re the best, kid.”

You join the embrace, wrapping your arms around both of them. “Thank you, Cora. These are the best gifts we could’ve asked for.”

The boys glance over from where they’re playing with their new toys, looking momentarily confused by the group hug. Estelle toddles over and squeezes herself into the mix, her chubby arms wrapping around your leg.

“Family hug!” she declares, her voice bright and clear.

You look at Tony over the top of Cora’s head, your eyes meeting his in a silent exchange of love and gratitude. This, you realize, is what Christmas is all about—not the gifts, not the chaos, but the moments of connection that make your family feel whole.

“Alright,” Tony says after a moment, his voice a little hoarse. “Let’s not get too sappy. Who’s ready for round two of pancakes?”

“Me!” the boys shout in unison, and just like that, the room is alive with laughter again.

The afternoon sunlight streams through the living room windows as the kids scatter around the house, their post-gift-opening energy reaching chaotic levels. Estelle is napping in her crib, clutching her beloved new unicorn, while the boys are deeply engrossed in building the LEGO Millennium Falcon on the coffee table. Cora has disappeared into her usual spot on the armchair, headphones in, pretending to ignore her brothers while sneakily keeping an eye on them.

You’re nestled on the couch beside Tony, sipping hot cocoa and enjoying the rare moment of relative calm. He’s idly flipping through his phone, likely working on some project even though it’s Christmas. You nudge him with your elbow.

“No work today, remember?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m just checking emails,” he protests, flashing you a quick grin. “Not technically work.”

Before you can reply, the doorbell rings, breaking the peace. Cora’s head pops up from behind her headphones, and she springs to her feet with an uncharacteristic level of enthusiasm.

“I’ll get it!” she calls, already halfway to the door.

Tony narrows his eyes, watching her dart down the hallway. “That was suspiciously quick. What’s she up to?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” you reply, though you can’t help but feel a twinge of curiosity yourself.

Tony sets his phone down and follows Cora at a leisurely pace, with you trailing after him. When you round the corner, you see Cora standing at the door, holding a neatly wrapped package handed to her by a delivery man. She thanks him quickly and tries to retreat toward the stairs, but Tony steps in front of her like a human barricade.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, crossing his arms. “What’s in the box?”

“Nothing,” Cora says a little too quickly, clutching the package to her chest. “It’s just…a thing.”

“A thing?” Tony echoes, raising an eyebrow. “A mysterious, suspicious thing?”

“Dad, come on,” she groans, trying to sidestep him. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, but it is,” Tony insists, his playful tone belying the intense curiosity in his eyes. “You can’t just run off with a secret package on Christmas and expect me not to investigate.”

“Tony,” you say gently, though you’re equally intrigued. “Maybe we should let her—”

“No way,” he interrupts, looking more determined now. “Cora Stark, you unwrap that package right here, right now.”

Cora glances at you, her expression torn between exasperation and pleading. “Mom?”

You shrug, biting back a smile. “He’s not going to let it go.”

With a dramatic sigh, Cora slumps onto the nearest chair, placing the package on her lap. “Fine. But don’t freak out.”

Tony squats down in front of her, his eyes narrowing. “Why would I freak out? Should I be freaking out?”

Ignoring him, Cora carefully peels back the wrapping paper, revealing a simple white box. She hesitates for a moment before lifting the lid, revealing a small collection of thoughtful, handmade gifts—a beaded bracelet, a framed photo of the two of them at some school event, and a handwritten note.

“What is this?” Tony asks, frowning as he picks up the bracelet. “Did…did someone make this for you?”

Cora clears her throat, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks. “It’s from Ryan.”

“Ryan?” Tony repeats, the name dripping with suspicion. “Who’s Ryan?”

“A boy from school,” she says, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “We’ve been…you know, kind of dating.”

“Dating?” Tony’s voice jumps an octave, and he stares at you like you’ve just betrayed him. “You knew about this?”

“I knew,” you admit calmly, trying not to laugh at his reaction. “She told me a couple of weeks ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” he exclaims, his hands flying up in mock outrage. “I’m her father! I should know these things!”

“Maybe because you’d act exactly like this,” Cora mutters under her breath.

Tony ignores her, turning back to you with a mock-wounded expression. “Unbelievable. My own wife, conspiring against me.”

“Tony,” you say, laying a hand on his shoulder, “she’s fifteen. This is normal.”

“Normal?” he repeats, as though the word offends him. “Do you know what teenage boys are like? I used to be one.”

“Exactly,” you counter, giving him a pointed look. “Which means you should trust that Cora knows what she’s doing.”

“She doesn’t,” he insists, gesturing wildly. “She’s a kid! She—wait, is this the guy who came to the science fair? The one with the glasses?”

“Yes,” Cora says, rolling her eyes. “And he’s really sweet. He made me that bracelet and wrote me that note, so can you stop acting like he’s a supervillain?”

Tony narrows his eyes, clearly still skeptical, and picks up the note. As he reads it, his expression softens ever so slightly. “Huh,” he mutters, grudgingly. “His handwriting’s pretty neat.”

“See?” Cora says, her exasperation giving way to a tentative smile. “He’s a good guy.”

Tony grumbles something under his breath before straightening up and looking at you. “What’s the protocol here? Do I have to meet him? Give him a lecture about respecting my daughter?”

“I already gave him the lecture,” Cora says quickly, standing up and gathering her gifts. “You can meet him later. Maybe. If you behave.”

Tony snorts. “If I behave? Kid, I invented behaving.”

“That’s a lie, and we all know it,” you interject, patting his arm. “Why don’t you just take this as a chance to prove you’re the cool dad?”

“I am the cool dad,” Tony grumbles, but he doesn’t stop Cora as she heads toward the stairs, her gifts clutched protectively in her arms.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Tony collapses onto the couch dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not ready for this,” he declares, staring at the ceiling.

“She’s growing up,” you say, sitting beside him and leaning into his side. “It’s not a bad thing, Tony.”

“Yeah, but…a boyfriend?” He groans, rubbing his temples. “What happened to the days when her favorite person was me?”

“Those days haven’t gone away,” you assure him with a smile. “You’re just sharing the spotlight now.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “Fine. But if this Ryan kid so much as looks at her wrong—”

“You’ll what? Challenge him to a duel?” you tease.

“Maybe,” he mutters, grinning despite himself. “Or I’ll make him sit through my entire TED Talk catalog.”

“That’s cruel and unusual punishment,” you say, laughing. “But it might work.”

Tony chuckles, pulling you closer as the chaos of the afternoon swirls around you. For all his bluster, you know he wouldn’t trade these moments—or this family—for anything in the world.

I'm such a sucker for family men if you haven't already noticed

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m4rv3l-girl · 3 months ago

Note

I've Recently stumbled across your page and I am already in love with your writing! The way you capture the story and the characters amazes me! I've never done this before but I have a request if you have time to make it come alive✨️

Reader is Tony starks daughter and is dating bucky, her dad didn't agree and right before reader had a solo Misson, she argued with Tony about bucky and they left on bad terms, bucky said goodbye and waved off reader on thier Mission. It was only supposed to be a 3 day mission and then home again but reader goes missing, kidnapped by hydra or something and they keep her captive and torture her for information on thier winter solider and Tony and bucky work together despite thier differences to find you. After bucky did some digging he found an old hydra base and seen there was some recent activity and figured that was thier best shot, once they got to you, you was unresponsive and bucky carried you back to the quinjet, and Tony broke down apologising and praying for you to come back. You spend a few days in medbay with bucky and Tony by your side and when you awaken, Tony tells you he approves of bucky and couldn't be happier that you're with him because he loves and cares about you as much as he does🥹

Crossfire

Warnings: Angst. Violence. Kidnapping. Torture. Injury. Blood.

Y/N paced across the polished floors of the Avengers Compound, her mind a whirlwind of frustration and nerves.

The mission briefing echoed faintly in her memory—a quick in-and-out reconnaissance, a simple data retrieval from an abandoned HYDRA facility. Three days, tops. But the tension in the air between her and her father made it feel like she was walking into a battlezone before even stepping foot on the Quinjet.

"You’re distracted," Tony Stark said sharply, leaning against the counter with arms crossed. His tone carried the weight of the argument they had been having for the last twenty minutes. "And you know what happens when you're distracted out there? You make mistakes. Mistakes that could get you killed."

Y/N halted mid-stride, her shoulders squaring as she turned to face him. "I'm not distracted, Dad. I'm focused. You just don’t like the fact that I’m with Bucky."

Tony threw his hands up, his voice rising. "You’re damn right I don’t like it! The guy has a kill list longer than the history of Stark Industries. I’m supposed to be okay with my daughter dating a former HYDRA assassin?"

"Former," Y/N snapped, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "He’s not that person anymore, and you know it. You’ve worked with him, fought alongside him. He’s saved lives—your life."

Tony’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching. "That doesn’t erase what he’s done, Y/N. You’re too close to see the danger—"

"Danger?" she cut him off, incredulous. "You’re one to talk about danger, Dad. I grew up watching you suit up and put your life on the line every other day. And guess what? You weren’t perfect either. Bucky has done everything to make amends, and I love him. Why can’t you just accept that?"

The declaration hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Tony’s face softened for the briefest moment, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. But he quickly buried it under a defensive mask. "I’m not trying to stop you from living your life, Y/N. I’m trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what? From being happy?" Her voice cracked, a mix of anger and despair laced in her words. "I thought you’d understand by now that I don’t need you to protect me. I need you to trust me."

Tony opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of footsteps entering the room. Bucky Barnes stood in the doorway, his blue eyes flickering between Y/N and Tony, tension etched into every line of his face.

"Everything okay?" Bucky asked, his voice measured but tinged with concern.

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Peachy."

Tony shot Bucky a withering glare. "Great. Just in time for the part where I get ignored because you’re here."

Bucky didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he stepped closer to Y/N, his hand brushing hers. "You ready to go, Doll?"

Y/N nodded, her anger with her father momentarily eclipsed by the comfort Bucky’s presence brought her. She grabbed her duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder.

"You’re still not listening to me," Tony said, his voice strained as she moved toward the door.

Y/N paused, glancing back at him. "I heard you, Dad. But I’m still going."

The words hung heavy in the air, a finality that neither of them wanted but neither could avoid. Tony’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze dropping as though he’d already lost.

Bucky followed her out into the hangar, his metal arm brushing against her shoulder. "You good?" he asked quietly once they were out of earshot.

Y/N exhaled slowly, shaking her head. "Not really, but I will be. He’ll come around eventually. He has to."

Bucky frowned, his brows knitting together. "I’m sorry. I know this is hard."

Y/N stopped walking and turned to face him. "It’s not your fault, Bucky. He’ll see what I see in you someday." Her voice softened, her hand reaching up to rest against his chest. "And when he does, he’ll realize you’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me."

Bucky’s lips twitched into a small, grateful smile, but his eyes still held a trace of sadness. "I’ll wait as long as it takes, Doll."

The Quinjet engines roared to life behind them, signaling her departure. Bucky walked her the rest of the way in silence, his hand never leaving hers. At the base of the ramp, he stopped, his grip tightening just slightly.

"Come back to me," he murmured, his voice low and earnest.

"I always do," she replied, forcing a brave smile.

Bucky hesitated, then leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead, lingering just long enough to make her heart ache. He stepped back as the ramp began to close, his eyes locked on hers until the Quinjet doors sealed shut.

Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself as the jet lifted off. The mission awaited, and she had no idea it would be the hardest battle she’d ever face.

✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️

The Quinjet’s descent was smooth, its engines humming softly as it hovered over the outskirts of the abandoned HYDRA facility. Y/N sat strapped into her seat, her mind focused on the mission at hand. It was just a data retrieval—no direct confrontation expected, no heavy lifting. Simple. Yet she couldn’t shake the lingering weight of her argument with Tony, his voice still echoing in her head.

"You make mistakes when you’re distracted."

Shaking off the thought, Y/N tightened the straps of her tactical vest and tapped the comms in her ear. "Quinjet’s holding steady. I’m heading in now," she said, her voice calm and collected.

"Copy that," Natasha’s voice came through the comms. "We’ll be on standby if anything goes sideways. Keep your comm open."

"Always do," Y/N replied, grabbing her pack and stepping off the ramp.

The facility was quiet, overgrown with weeds and moss, the metallic structure dulled by time and abandonment. The surrounding trees swayed slightly in the wind, their shadows stretching ominously over the building’s rusted exterior. It looked like any other defunct HYDRA site—empty, unassuming, and forgotten. But Y/N knew better. HYDRA rarely left things without a reason.

She approached the entrance, her boots crunching softly against the gravel. Her fingers brushed over the keypad by the door. It was broken, wires spilling out like spilled guts. It took only a few moments of tinkering before the door groaned open, revealing a dimly lit corridor beyond.

"First door’s open," Y/N reported, stepping inside.

"Good. Be careful," Natasha replied.

The air inside was stale and cold, carrying the metallic tang of disuse. Y/N moved cautiously, her steps light but deliberate. The map of the facility played out in her mind as she advanced toward the central server room. It wasn’t far—just down a few turns and one floor below.

The first few corridors were uneventful, lined with old HYDRA propaganda and broken equipment. She paused briefly to inspect her surroundings, ensuring she wasn’t leaving tracks or triggering any dormant security systems.

"How’s it looking?" Natasha asked over comms.

"Quiet," Y/N replied. "Almost too quiet. I’m at the main staircase now, heading down to the server room."

Descending the steps, Y/N felt a chill creep up her spine. It wasn’t fear—not yet—but the kind of awareness that came from knowing she wasn’t truly alone. She tightened her grip on her weapon, her other hand brushing over her utility belt.

The server room door came into view, heavy and fortified with an old HYDRA insignia etched into its surface. It was locked, of course, but Y/N was prepared. Pulling a small device from her belt, she attached it to the door’s lock. The device beeped softly, hacking into the outdated system.

"Almost in," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone on the comms.

The lock clicked open with a satisfying hiss. Y/N pushed the door ajar and slipped inside, her eyes scanning the room quickly. Rows of servers stood like silent sentinels, their lights flickering faintly. Dust hung in the air, illuminated by the faint glow of the machinery.

"Made it to the server room. Starting the data download now," she reported, setting her pack down.

"Copy. Keep your eyes peeled," Natasha warned.

"Don’t worry, I’ve got this," Y/N replied, inserting a small drive into one of the servers.

The drive blinked to life, and data began to flow onto its storage. Y/N kept her weapon close, her gaze flickering between the server and the door. Every sound seemed amplified in the stillness—the hum of the servers, the soft beep of the download, the distant groan of the building’s aging infrastructure.

"Download at 30%," she said after a few minutes.

The process was uneventful, just as she’d hoped. At 70%, she allowed herself a small smile. This was exactly what she needed—a straightforward mission, no complications, no distractions. It would give her time to clear her head, to figure out how to talk to Tony when she got back.

The drive beeped again, signaling completion. Y/N pulled it free, tucking it securely into her belt pouch.

"Data’s secure. Heading back to the Quinjet," she said, rising to her feet.

"Good work," Natasha said. "Keep an eye out—something feels off about this one."

Y/N didn’t argue. She felt it too, that unsettling itch at the back of her mind. Her senses sharpened as she made her way back to the staircase, her steps even quieter now. The corridors seemed darker than before, the shadows longer and more sinister.

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard it—the faintest shuffle of movement behind her. Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat. Slowly, she turned, her weapon raised.

The staircase was empty, but the air felt heavier.

"Nat, I think I’ve got company," Y/N whispered into the comms.

"Do you see anything?" Natasha asked, her tone instantly alert.

"Not yet," Y/N replied, backing up the stairs.

She was almost at the top when a sharp noise echoed through the corridor—a clang of metal against metal. Y/N whirled around just as a shadow moved in the corner of her vision. Before she could react, a figure lunged at her from the side, slamming her against the wall.

Her weapon clattered to the ground as she struggled against the assailant, a HYDRA agent clad in tactical gear. She managed to drive her knee into his gut, sending him stumbling back, but more figures emerged from the shadows.

"Ambush!" Y/N shouted into the comms, adrenaline surging through her veins.

"Y/N, get out of there!" Natasha’s voice was sharp, but the words barely registered.

The agents swarmed her, their movements precise and coordinated. Y/N fought fiercely, her training kicking in as she blocked blows and struck back. She landed a punch that sent one agent reeling, then ducked under another’s swing, sweeping his legs out from under him.

But there were too many of them.

A sharp pain exploded at the base of her skull as one of the agents struck her from behind. Y/N’s vision blurred, her knees buckling. She tried to fight through it, but the world tilted violently, and darkness crept in at the edges of her sight.

"Y/N!" Natasha’s voice was frantic in her ear.

The last thing Y/N saw before the world went black was the HYDRA insignia on one of the agent’s uniforms.

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Consciousness crept back slowly.

Accompanied by the steady throb of her head and the unmistakable ache of her muscles pulled too tight.

Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing dim, flickering light. The air was stiff, carrying the sharp scent of metal and disinfectant. She tried to move, but her body was restrained. Her wrists burned where they chafed against something unyielding. As her senses sharpened, she realized she was tied to a chair, her arms pinned behind her and her legs strapped down tightly.

The room was sterile and barren, its walls an industrial gray with faint streaks of rust. A single lightbulb swung overhead, casting shifting shadows around the space. There was no window, no visible way out except for a heavy metal door directly in front of her.

Y/N tugged at her bindings experimentally, her breath hitching when the cuffs dug deeper into her skin. They were reinforced, leaving little room for maneuvering.

Her comms were gone, her weapons stripped away. She was completely alone.

Before she could test her restraints further, the door groaned open. Y/N’s eyes snapped up, her expression hardening as a HYDRA agent strolled in. He was tall and wiry, with sharp features and a smug grin that made her stomach turn. His uniform was pristine, adorned with the HYDRA insignia on the shoulder.

“Well, look who’s awake,” the man drawled, his voice smooth and dripping with false cheer. He carried a clipboard in one hand, tapping it lightly against his palm as he approached.

Y/N didn’t respond, keeping her face blank despite the fear roiling in her chest.

The man circled her slowly, his boots clicking against the floor. “Y/N Stark,” he mused, as if testing her name on his tongue. “Tony Stark’s pride and joy. And yet here you are, all alone, with no daddy or boyfriend to save you.”

She clenched her jaw but said nothing.

The agent chuckled. “Silent treatment, huh? That’s fine. I have all the time in the world.” He stopped in front of her, crouching so they were eye level. “You’re going to tell me everything I want to know. About Stark. About Barnes. About SHIELD.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a defiant smirk. “Go to hell.”

The agent’s smile didn’t waver. He straightened, setting his clipboard on a nearby table. “I was hoping you’d say that. It makes things more fun for me.”

He picked up a small device from the table—a thin rod with a glowing blue tip. Y/N recognized it instantly: a neural stimulator, HYDRA’s favorite tool for “persuasion.” It sent jolts of electricity directly into the nervous system, causing excruciating pain without leaving a mark.

Y/N forced herself to meet his gaze, refusing to show fear.

The agent tilted his head, studying her. “You know, I’ve always admired your kind. So loyal. So resilient. But everyone has a breaking point.”

He activated the device, the blue light intensifying. “Let’s find yours.”

Before she could brace herself, he pressed the rod against her side.

White-hot pain exploded through her body, stealing her breath. Her muscles seized involuntarily, and a strangled gasp escaped her lips. The pain was blinding, radiating from the point of contact and spreading like wildfire.

When he pulled the device away, Y/N slumped forward, her breathing ragged.

“Still with me?” the agent taunted, tapping the rod against his palm.

Y/N forced herself upright, glaring at him through the haze of pain. “Is that all you’ve got?” she rasped, her voice hoarse but defiant.

His smile faltered for a moment before he regained his composure. “Tough girl,” he said, almost admiringly. “But this is only the beginning.”

The next jolt was worse, targeting her thigh. The electricity tore through her muscles, leaving them trembling and weak. She bit down hard on her lip to stifle a scream, tasting blood.

“Tell me about the Winter Soldier,” the agent demanded, his tone sharp now. “Where is he? What does he know about HYDRA’s operations?”

Y/N spat blood onto the floor, her eyes blazing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sneered, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back. “Don’t play dumb with me, Stark. We know you’ve been cozying up to him. You think you can keep secrets from us?”

Her head throbbed where he pulled, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “You’re wasting your time,” she said through gritted teeth.

His grip tightened before he released her abruptly, sending her head lolling forward. “Fine,” he said coldly. “We’ll do this the hard way.”

The next hour was a blur of pain. The agent alternated between the neural stimulator and his fists, delivering calculated strikes to her ribs and abdomen. He peppered her with questions, each one more demanding than the last.

“Where is Barnes?” “What are Stark’s latest projects?” “What does SHIELD know about HYDRA’s current operations?”

Each time, Y/N’s answer was the same: silence or defiance.

Her body screamed in protest, every nerve on fire. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and her vision swam, but she held onto one thought with iron resolve: Don’t break.

By the time the agent stepped back, she was barely upright. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her head hanging limply.

“You’re stronger than I expected,” he admitted, wiping his brow. “But strength only lasts so long.”

Y/N lifted her head weakly, a faint smile playing on her cracked lips. “You’ll… have to try harder than that.”

His expression darkened, and he raised the neural stimulator again. But before he could use it, the door creaked open, and another agent entered.

“Enough,” the newcomer said firmly, glancing at Y/N with a mix of disdain and curiosity. “We need her alive.”

The first agent hesitated, his grip tightening on the device. “She hasn’t given us anything.”

“Then we’ll keep trying,” the newcomer replied. “But for now, she needs to recover. Dead subjects are useless to us.”

Reluctantly, the first agent set the device down. He leaned in close to Y/N, his breath hot against her ear. “You’re lucky,” he hissed. “But don’t think this is over.”

He stepped back, and the two agents exchanged a few hushed words before leaving the room. The door slammed shut, plunging Y/N back into oppressive silence.

She slumped in her chair, every inch of her body throbbing with pain. Her breathing was shallow, her head heavy. But deep inside, a flicker of hope remained.

Bucky will come for me, she thought. He always does.

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The morning after Y/N left for her mission dawned uneventfully in New York. Bucky Barnes sat in the Avengers Tower common room, staring at the cold coffee in his hand. He wasn’t much of a morning person, but sleeping last night had been nearly impossible. He’d spent most of the night going over his last conversation with Y/N.

Her kiss had lingered, both on his lips and in his memory, but her nervous energy had also left a knot in his chest. He’d tried to reassure her that she’d be fine, but deep down, Bucky hated every second she spent on solo missions. She was capable—he knew that better than anyone—but the fear of losing her gnawed at him constantly.

Still, he’d let her go. She’d hugged him tight and told him to trust her, and he’d kissed her temple, swallowing his protests. Now all he could do was wait.

Tony Stark walked into the room, his usual swagger missing. He had his tablet in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. His face was drawn, and though he wouldn’t admit it, the argument with Y/N before she left had taken its toll.

"Barnes," Tony greeted curtly, settling into a chair across the room.

“Stark,” Bucky replied, just as curt. The tension between them was palpable, but both men had agreed to coexist for Y/N’s sake.

Tony’s gaze flickered to Bucky’s untouched coffee. “What, no appetite for caffeine today? Don’t tell me you’re losing your edge.”

Bucky didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “Just not in the mood.”

Tony let out a low hum, tapping at his tablet. He wasn’t one to dwell on feelings, but the weight of their last argument sat heavy on his chest. He couldn’t shake the image of Y/N’s frustrated face, her voice cracking as she defended Bucky.

"She’ll be fine," Tony muttered, more to himself than Bucky.

Bucky’s gaze snapped to him. “You better hope so,” he said quietly. “Otherwise, you’re going to regret every word you said to her.”

Before Tony could fire back, FRIDAY’s voice interrupted.

“Mr. Stark, Sergeant Barnes, I’m detecting an irregularity with Miss Stark’s mission. Her comms have gone offline.”

Both men froze, the tension in the room morphing into something heavier.

“What do you mean ‘offline’?” Tony demanded, sitting upright.

“Miss Stark’s communicator went dark approximately seven minutes ago,” FRIDAY responded. “I’ve attempted to reestablish contact, but there’s no response.”

Bucky was already on his feet, his expression hardening. “Seven minutes? And you’re just telling us now?”

“I alerted you as soon as the anomaly was detected,” FRIDAY replied evenly.

Tony swiped at his tablet, pulling up the mission parameters and Y/N’s last known location. A map of Eastern Europe materialized on the screen, marked with a blinking red dot.

“She was in contact before this,” Tony said, his voice tight. “She reported everything was going according to plan. What the hell happened?”

Bucky stepped closer, peering over Tony’s shoulder. “Can you pinpoint her last known coordinates?”

“Already done,” FRIDAY replied. The map zoomed in on a dense forested area. “Her last transmission came from these coordinates. There’s no sign of further movement.”

“She could’ve lost the signal,” Tony reasoned, though his tone was far from confident.

“Or someone took her out,” Bucky said bluntly, his jaw clenched.

Tony shot him a glare. “Real helpful, Barnes.”

“It’s a possibility,” Bucky snapped. “I’m not going to sugarcoat this. If her comms went dark, something’s wrong.”

For a moment, neither man spoke. Then Tony turned to FRIDAY. “Initiate satellite surveillance of that area. I want eyes on the ground, now.”

“I’ve already started the process,” FRIDAY confirmed. “However, the forest cover in the region is dense, and visual clarity may be limited.”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides. He hated feeling powerless. The soldier in him wanted to grab a weapon and go, but without more intel, he’d be running blind.

“What about her tracker?” Bucky asked suddenly.

Tony frowned. “She wasn’t wearing a full tracker. Just the one embedded in her comms unit.”

“Of course she wasn’t,” Bucky muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

“Don’t start with me, Barnes,” Tony snapped. “She insisted on traveling light, and I didn’t exactly have time to argue after our—” He cut himself off, biting back the word argument.

Bucky turned on him, his blue eyes blazing. “You didn’t argue because you were too busy picking a fight with her about me. And now she’s out there, missing, and we’re wasting time because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

Tony slammed his tablet down on the table, standing to face Bucky. “Don’t you dare put this on me,” he hissed. “She’s an agent. She knew the risks.”

“She’s your daughter,” Bucky growled. “And you should’ve supported her instead of pushing her away.”

The room fell silent, both men breathing heavily as the weight of their words settled between them.

“Gentlemen,” FRIDAY interjected, “I suggest you put your differences aside. I’ve detected signs of unusual activity near Miss Stark’s last known location.”

Tony and Bucky immediately turned to the screen, their argument forgotten.

“What kind of activity?” Tony asked.

“Thermal imaging shows multiple heat signatures converging on the area shortly after Miss Stark’s comms went offline,” FRIDAY reported. “It’s possible she encountered hostiles.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “HYDRA?”

“There’s no confirmation yet,” FRIDAY replied.

Tony grabbed his tablet, his hands moving rapidly as he analyzed the data. “We’re wasting time sitting here. Get the quinjet ready,” he barked.

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice. He was already heading for the armory.

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The quinjet hummed as it cut through the sky, slicing through clouds with precision. Tony sat in the pilot’s seat, his knuckles white as he gripped the controls. Bucky sat beside him, silently scanning the mission data on a tablet.

Neither man spoke. The weight of their shared fear hung heavy in the air, but neither dared voice it.

“How far out are we?” Bucky asked finally, breaking the silence.

“Thirty minutes,” Tony replied, his voice clipped.

Bucky nodded, his gaze fixed on the screen. The thermal imaging showed nothing new, just the same cluster of heat signatures near Y/N’s last location.

“She’s strong,” Tony said suddenly, his tone almost defensive. “She’ll hold out.”

Bucky glanced at him. For a moment, he considered saying something comforting, but the words felt foreign on his tongue. Instead, he nodded. “Yeah. She will.”

But deep down, both men knew the truth: time was running out.

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When the quinjet landed, Bucky and Tony moved quickly, stepping into the dense forest with weapons drawn. FRIDAY’s guidance led them to Y/N’s last known coordinates, the eerie silence of the woods amplifying their unease.

The site was undisturbed, save for a few scuff marks in the dirt that hinted at a struggle. Bucky crouched, his fingers brushing against the ground.

“Tracks,” he muttered. “Boot prints. At least six people.”

Tony scanned the area with a handheld device, his jaw tightening. “They took her,” he said grimly. “We need to move.”

Bucky rose to his feet, his expression dark. “Let’s go.”

Together, they followed the trail deeper into the forest, their determination unwavering. Neither man said it aloud, but the same thought echoed in their minds: We’re coming for you, Y/N. Hold on.

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The sharp sting of fluorescent lights buzzed above Y/N’s head, piercing through the darkness she had come to find solace in.

Every time her mind threatened to pull her away, back to a place of quiet oblivion, another jolt of pain grounded her to the suffocating reality of the room.

It had been a full day, though it felt like weeks. Time had blurred, lost in the cycle of pain, silence, and interrogation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a drink of water. Her throat was dry, her lips cracked, and each shallow breath she took sent spikes of agony through her ribs. She was sure one, maybe two, were broken.

But she was alive.

That fact alone gave her the smallest sliver of defiance to hold onto, even as her body screamed at her to give up.

The metal chair she was tied to groaned softly as she shifted, her wrists raw from where the restraints dug into her skin. Her head hung low, strands of her hair matted with sweat and blood clinging to her face. She blinked slowly, trying to focus her vision, but the pounding ache in her skull made even that a monumental effort.

The door creaked open, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. She clenched her fists, summoning what little strength she had left to steel herself.

“Still breathing, I see,” a voice sneered.

The Hydra agent stepped into the room, his boots echoing ominously against the concrete floor. He was tall, with a thin, wiry frame that belied the strength he wielded. His cold, calculating eyes scanned her, searching for cracks in the armor she wore so stubbornly.

Y/N didn’t answer. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment.

“You’ve held up,” he said, circling her like a vulture.

“I always do.” She spat.

“You think you’re strong,” he whispered, his voice venomous. “But everyone breaks eventually. You will tell me what I want to know.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat burning. “Go to hell,” she rasped, her voice barely audible.

The agent smirked. “Ah, defiance. Admirable. But futile.”

He rose to his feet, pacing slowly. “Tell me about the Winter Soldier,” he demanded. “His weaknesses. His routines. Anything useful.”

Y/N lifted her head just enough to meet his gaze. Her lip curled into a faint smirk, though the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

The agent’s expression darkened. Without warning, he lashed out, his fist connecting with her cheek. Her head snapped to the side, stars exploding behind her eyelids.

“Wrong answer,” he said coldly.

Y/N tasted blood, metallic and bitter, pooling in her mouth. She spat it out, the crimson splatter landing on the floor between them.

“You’re going to regret that,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

The hours that followed were a blur of agony. The Hydra agent wasn’t particularly creative in his methods, but he was thorough. He punched, kicked, and struck her with calculated precision, targeting places that would hurt the most while leaving her alive enough to endure more.

Y/N bit down hard on her lip to stifle her cries, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream. She focused on one thing: staying silent. Every moment she resisted was a victory, a small act of rebellion against the monster before her.

Her mind drifted to Bucky. She clung to the memory of his voice, the warmth of his touch, the way his arms felt around her. She imagined him whispering reassurances, telling her to hold on, that he was coming for her.

“I’ll find you, Doll,” she could almost hear him say, his voice steady and sure. “Just hold on a little longer.”

It wasn’t real, but it was enough to keep her going.

Eventually, the Hydra agent grew frustrated. His fists were bloodied from the beating, and Y/N’s defiance had begun to grate on him.

“Why do you fight so hard for him?” he demanded, his voice filled with venom. “Do you think he’d do the same for you? He’s a monster. A killer. Do you really think you’re anything more than a distraction to him?”

Y/N’s head lolled forward, her vision swimming. She was too exhausted to lift her head, but she managed to rasp, “You don’t know him.”

The agent growled in frustration, slamming his fist into the wall. He turned to the guard stationed by the door. “Bring the electric setup,” he barked.

Y/N’s heart sank. She had endured physical pain, but the thought of being electrocuted sent a spike of fear through her. She closed her eyes, trying to summon the last dregs of her strength.

The minutes stretched into an eternity before the guard returned, wheeling in a cart with a sinister-looking device. The Hydra agent grinned wickedly as he connected the electrodes, his eyes gleaming with malice.

“This,” he said, holding up the wires, “is going to be much worse.”

Y/N’s breaths came in shallow pants. She refused to show fear, but the trembling in her body betrayed her.

The first shock hit her like a lightning bolt, her muscles seizing violently as pain tore through her. She bit down on her tongue, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth again.

“Talk!” the agent demanded, turning the dial higher.

Y/N shook her head weakly, tears streaming down her face. “Never,” she gasped.

The shocks came again and again, each one more excruciating than the last. Her vision blurred, her mind teetering on the edge of consciousness. She wanted to give up, to let the darkness take her, but the thought of Bucky and her father kept her hanging on.

“They’ll find me,” she whispered through cracked lips. “You won’t win.”

The agent sneered. “We’ll see about that.”

She didn’t know how much longer she could last, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet.

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The hum of the Quinjet’s engines was deafening in the silence between Tony and Bucky. It wasn’t the soothing kind of quiet, the type that offered peace. This was the kind of silence that screamed louder than words, thick with desperation, fear, and the unspoken truth neither man wanted to voice.

Time was slipping through their fingers.

Bucky sat rigid in his seat, his metal hand clenched so tightly around the edge of the table that the material groaned in protest. His flesh hand rested on his thigh, fingers twitching with barely restrained agitation. His sharp blue eyes were fixed on the holographic map in front of them, narrowing on the blinking red dot that marked the last location Y/N had been before her comms went dark.

"Why haven’t we heard anything yet?" Bucky growled, his voice low and edged with a dangerous kind of fury.

Tony stood at the console across from him, his jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth might crack. His fingers flew across the controls, pulling up every Hydra base within a 200-mile radius, cross-referencing them with known activity. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

"Don’t think for a second I’m not doing everything in my power," Tony snapped, though his tone lacked its usual bite. He was too worried, too consumed by the gnawing guilt threatening to consume him whole.

The argument they’d had—the words he’d thrown at her—played on an endless loop in his mind.

"You think I’m going to stand by and let him ruin you?" "You’re better off without him, Y/N." "I can’t protect you if you don’t listen to me!"

He had been wrong. He knew that now. Bucky wasn’t the enemy, not when the real danger was out there, holding his daughter captive.

"Her last ping was here," Tony said, jabbing a finger at the map. "A base Hydra abandoned years ago. But…"

"But it’s not abandoned anymore," Bucky finished, his voice cold and flat.

Tony nodded, swallowing hard. "Satellite scans picked up heat signatures. They’re faint, but they’re there. It’s our best lead."

Bucky pushed up from his chair, pacing like a caged animal. His hands flexed at his sides, the familiar rage simmering just beneath his skin. "If they hurt her—"

"They did," Tony interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. "You don’t take someone like her and leave them unharmed. We both know that."

The weight of the statement hit them both, a brutal reminder of the clock ticking down on Y/N’s life.

As the Quinjet drew closer to the coordinates, the tension in the cabin became suffocating. Tony adjusted his suit piece by piece, the arc reactor glowing faintly as he prepared for battle. Bucky was already geared up, his combat knife strapped to his thigh and his rifle slung over his shoulder.

They didn’t talk much. There wasn’t anything left to say.

The Quinjet’s navigation system beeped, and FRIDAY’s voice cut through the silence. "We’ll arrive at the designated coordinates in five minutes."

Bucky inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His mind raced with thoughts of Y/N—her laugh, her stubbornness, the way she always looked at him like he was more than his past. She had to be alive. She had to be.

"FRIDAY, scan for life signs as soon as we’re in range," Tony ordered, his voice firm but hollow.

"Already running scans, sir," the AI replied.

The Quinjet began its descent, the Hydra base looming in the distance like a jagged scar on the earth. The surrounding area was eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that made the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck stand up.

"This feels wrong," he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon.

Tony didn’t answer. He was already moving, the ramp lowering as the Quinjet touched down. Bucky followed without hesitation, his every sense on high alert.

The base was dilapidated, overgrown with weeds and rusted with age, but it was clearly operational. Lights flickered faintly in the windows, and the faint hum of machinery echoed from somewhere deep inside.

They moved quickly and quietly through the corridors, clearing rooms with precision. Every second that passed without finding her felt like a lifetime.

"Anything, FRIDAY?" Tony asked, his voice a strained whisper.

"One faint life sign detected below ground," the AI replied.

Bucky’s heart stopped. "Is it her?"

"Unknown, Sergeant Barnes. The readings are weak, likely due to interference."

Tony exchanged a look with Bucky, and for the first time, they were united in their fear. "Then we don’t have time to waste," Tony said.

The descent into the lower levels of the base was harrowing. The deeper they went, the darker and more oppressive the air became. Bucky’s grip on his rifle tightened, his knuckles white as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

When they reached the door to the room FRIDAY had identified, Tony hesitated. His hand hovered over the panel, his eyes darting to Bucky.

"You ready?" he asked.

Bucky didn’t answer. He simply nodded, his jaw set in determination.

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The room was cold, a damp chill seeping into Y/N's bones as if the very walls around her were trying to finish what her captors had started. Her head lolled to the side, resting against the edge of the chair. Each breath rattled in her chest, shallow and labored. She blinked sluggishly, the dim light overhead casting uneven shadows that seemed to mock her.

The Hydra agent who had come in earlier was gone now, his absence offering no relief. His tools of torment lay discarded on the table nearby: a scorched prod, frayed wires that still sparked faintly, and a bloodied rag he had carelessly tossed aside.

Her body bore the marks of his persistence, evidence of her refusal to give in. The electrical burns on her arms still throbbed, skin raw and blistered, and blood trickled down her temple from a cut that hadn’t stopped bleeding since he had struck her last.

She had screamed. She had cried. But she had not spoken.

"You’ll tell me what I want to know eventually," the agent had sneered earlier, his gloved hand tracing the edge of the prod. "Everyone breaks, little Stark. Even you."

Y/N had glared at him through swollen eyes, lips trembling but silent. Her defiance had earned her another jolt of electricity, the current tearing through her body with merciless efficiency.

She hadn't screamed that time.

Now, alone again, she wasn’t sure if her silence had been bravery or stupidity. It didn’t matter anymore. She was dying. She could feel it in the way her body was shutting down, each pulse of her heartbeat weaker than the last.

The faintest flicker of hope she’d clung to for the last day—Has it been a day?—was now extinguished. She had believed, foolishly, that someone would find her. That Bucky would find her. But the hours stretched on, the silence within the base mocking her.

No one was coming.

Her head tipped back, and a soft, bitter laugh escaped her cracked lips, though it hurt to even make the sound. The effort sent a sharp pain through her ribs, where she suspected at least one was broken.

"Guess this is it," she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible. Her throat felt like sandpaper, each word scraping against it painfully.

Her thoughts turned to Bucky, unbidden but inevitable. She pictured his face—those piercing blue eyes, the slight scrunch of his brow when he was worried. The way he always called her Doll with such affection it made her heart ache.

He had always been her safe place, her anchor. But now, she was adrift, sinking beneath the weight of her despair.

And Tony… her dad.

Tears pricked her eyes, blurring her vision. She thought of the last conversation they'd had, the fight that had sent her storming off. The words they’d exchanged burned as much as the wounds covering her body.

"You think you’re untouchable because you’re my daughter? Because you’re dating Barnes?" "You don’t trust me to handle myself, and that’s the problem."

She had been so angry, so sure of herself. But now, sitting here on the edge of death, she couldn’t even remember what she had said to him as her final words before the mission.

Would Tony regret them? Would he care?

A fresh wave of despair rolled over her, heavy and suffocating. She let her eyes slip closed, her body slumping further against the restraints.

She was so tired.

Time lost meaning in the haze of pain and exhaustion. Seconds blurred into minutes, minutes into hours. The only constants were the ache in her body and the pounding in her head, faint and unrelenting.

At some point, the Hydra agent had returned. His boots clicked against the floor as he approached, his silhouette looming over her. He said something, but the words were garbled, unintelligible.

He hit her again—she didn’t know where, only that it hurt. And then he left, muttering something about "usefulness" as he disappeared through the door.

She was alone again.

Y/N’s breaths came in shallow gasps, her lungs burning with every inhale. She tried to lift her head, but it felt too heavy, her strength long since drained.

She tilted her gaze upward, staring at the cracked ceiling. The faintest flicker of a thought crossed her mind—a desperate plea she hadn’t dared to voice before.

"If anyone’s out there… please."

The silence answered her.

It wasn’t until later—how much later, she couldn’t say—that she heard it.

At first, it was so faint she thought she was imagining it. A soft hum, low and soothing, cutting through the oppressive quiet of the room.

Her brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her bruised face. Was it her mind playing tricks on her? A final mercy before the end?

But then it grew louder, more distinct.

A voice.

Her heart stuttered in her chest, the faint rhythm skipping erratically. She strained to focus, to make sense of the sound.

"Doll…?…Y/N?..."

Her eyes fluttered open, wide despite the agony that coursed through her. That voice. She would recognize it anywhere.

"Bucky," she croaked, the name barely escaping her lips.

Her body trembled as she tried to move, to shift against the restraints holding her down. The pain was excruciating, but she didn’t care.

They were here.

She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did. Bucky had found her.

The faint hum of his voice was joined by another sound—a distant, rhythmic pounding. Footsteps.

Her breath hitched as tears spilled down her cheeks, cutting through the grime that covered her skin. "Bucky," she tried again, louder this time, though it came out as more of a rasp.

The footsteps grew closer, the sound echoing through the hallways like a beacon. She forced her head up, her neck protesting the movement, and fixed her gaze on the door.

Please…

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The door slid open with a groan, revealing a scene that made both men’s hearts drop.

Y/N was slumped in a chair in the center of the room, her head hanging low, her body battered and bruised. Her hands were tied behind her back, her wrists raw and bloody. The floor beneath her was stained crimson, a grim testament to what she had endured.

"Y/N!" Bucky’s voice broke as he rushed to her side, dropping his rifle and cupping her face gently in his hands.

Her skin was pale, her breaths shallow. She didn’t respond, her head lolling slightly as Bucky tried to rouse her.

"Come on, Doll," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Stay with me."

Tony stood frozen for a moment, his mind struggling to process the sight of his daughter in such a state. But then he was moving, fumbling with the restraints to free her.

"She’s alive," he said, his voice shaking. "Barely, but she’s alive."

Bucky didn’t let go of her, his thumb brushing softly over her cheek. "We’ve got you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "We’ve got you, Doll. You’re safe now."

Tony swallowed hard, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We need to get her out of here. Now."

Bucky nodded, scooping her up as gently as he could. She didn’t stir, her body limp in his arms.

"Hang on, Y/N," Tony whispered, his voice breaking. "Please, just hang on."

As they carried her back to the Quinjet, the weight of their failure pressed down on them both. They had found her, but the fight was far from over.

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The soft whir of the Quinjet engines filled the cabin as it raced back to the compound.

Bucky sat with Y/N cradled in his arms, his hand trembling as it brushed gently against her cheek. Her face was battered, her skin pale beneath the bruises and streaks of dried blood.

“You’re okay Doll, hang in there…” he whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke. “You’re almost there. Just hang on a little longer.”

Y/N’s head leaned against his chest, her breaths shallow but steady. She tried to respond, to offer him the comfort she knew he desperately needed, but her voice was a faint rasp.

Across the cabin, Tony sat hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands tangled in his hair. He stared at Y/N with an expression that Bucky had never seen on him before—raw, unfiltered anguish.

“She’s going to make it,” Tony muttered, as if saying it aloud would will it into existence. “She has to.”

Bucky didn’t reply, his focus entirely on Y/N. He could feel her heartbeat, faint but persistent, as if she were clinging to him with the last of her strength.

“Just a little longer,” he murmured again, pressing a kiss to her temple.

The Quinjet touched down at the compound, and a team of medics was already waiting. Bruce Banner, dressed in scrubs, stepped forward, his expression grim but focused.

“Let’s move her,” Bruce said firmly, directing the medics to carefully transfer Y/N onto a stretcher. Bucky reluctantly let her go, his hands lingering as if afraid she might disappear the moment he wasn’t holding her.

“I’m going with her,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Bruce nodded, sparing him a brief glance. “Fine, but let us do our job, Bucky.”

Tony followed behind them, his silence unnerving. He hadn’t spoken since they landed, his usual bravado replaced by a heavy, suffocating guilt.

In the medical bay, the atmosphere was tense as Bruce and his team worked on Y/N. Machines beeped steadily, monitoring her fragile vitals. Bucky stood at the edge of the room, his fists clenched as he watched them clean her wounds, set her broken rib, and stitch the gash on her temple.

Tony stood beside him, his gaze fixed on Y/N’s pale face. He finally broke the silence, his voice barely audible.

“This is my fault,” he said, his hands shaking. “If I hadn’t—if we hadn’t fought before she left…”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away from Y/N. “This isn’t about the fight,” he said quietly. “It’s about them. Hydra. Don’t lose focus now.”

Tony didn’t reply, but the guilt in his eyes remained.

After what felt like an eternity, Bruce stepped back, pulling off his gloves. “She’s stable for now,” he said, addressing both men. “The next 24 hours will be critical. She needs rest and observation, but she’s a fighter. If anyone can pull through this, it’s Y/N.”

Bucky nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

Hours later, the medical bay was quiet. Tony sat slumped in a chair by Y/N’s bedside, his head in his hands. Bucky was on the other side, his metal hand resting gently over hers.

“She always gets herself into trouble,” Tony muttered, breaking the silence. His voice was thick with emotion. “Just like her mom.”

Bucky glanced up at him, surprised by the vulnerability in Tony’s tone.

“She used to drive me crazy, you know,” Tony continued, his eyes glistening. “So damn stubborn. I see so much of her in Y/N.” He exhaled a shaky breath. “I was wrong about you, Barnes.”

Bucky blinked, caught off guard by the admission.

“You love her,” Tony said, his voice firm despite the tremor in it. “I see that now. And she… she loves you, too. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for her. Someone who’d protect her when I couldn’t.”

Bucky’s grip on Y/N’s hand tightened. “I’ll always protect her,” he said softly. “I swear.”

Tony nodded, his jaw tightening as he fought back tears.

It wasn’t until early the next morning that Y/N stirred. Her fingers twitched first, a faint movement that made Bucky’s breath catch.

“Doll?” he whispered, leaning closer.

Her eyelids fluttered, and she let out a soft groan. Slowly, her eyes opened, unfocused and glassy but undeniably alive.

“Bucky?” she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here, Doll.”

Tony was at her other side in an instant, his expression a mix of relief and overwhelming guilt. “Hey, kiddo,” he said softly. “You gave us a hell of a scare.”

Y/N’s gaze shifted to him, her brows furrowing slightly. “Dad?”

Tony nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, it’s me. I…” He hesitated, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. For everything. For the fight, for not trusting you… for not being there when you needed me. I…You picked a good one, Sweetie, I’m sorry, He’s..—”

“Stop,” she whispered, her lips curving into a faint smile despite the pain it caused. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Tony exhaled a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging as he reached for her hand.

Bucky leaned in closer, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. “You scared the hell out of me, Doll,” he said, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I thought I lost you.”

Her tired eyes met his, and she managed a small, teasing smile. “You’re stuck with me, Barnes.”

His lips twitched upward, a weak chuckle escaping him. “I’m so glad you came back to me,” he murmured, his voice trembling.

Y/N’s smile softened, her gaze steady despite her exhaustion.

“I always do.”

——————————————————————————————————

Thank you for taking the time to leave a request. Hope you enjoyed it, Hun! 🫶

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#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #marvel #Tony Starks daughter #Hydra

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mirrorball-leclerc · 10 months ago

Text

paint the town red - part thirteen

TONY, PLEASE DON'T KILL YOUR FIRST DRIVER

series masterlist

"LECLERC I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON'T OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW-" tony was cut off by hurried steps. the steps came to a stop at the front of the door, bianca and charles stood silent, hoping it was cause tony to go away. they prayed to every deity out there that it wasn’t a paparazzi or a hotel staff member.

"what on earth are you doing?" pepper potts' voice is heard asking tony. the couple on the other side of the door let out a breath they didn't know they had been holding in.

bianca and charles turned to frantically find a way out of their current predicament. they were trying to figure out what on earth they're supposed to do next. charles turns to look at bianca, "what do we do?"

"how am i supposed to know? i've never been in this position before? do i sneak out the window? what do i do?" bianca frantically asked.

"do not sneak out the window," charles said, "we're thirty stories up!"

"i got kidnapped by obadiah stane when i was a kid. i can easily get to my room from here," bianca paused for a moment, "and we are way higher than thirty stories."

"we don't have time to unpack that right now," charles said, "am i potentially going to die right now?" bianca shrugged, "what do you mean you don't know?!"

"LECLERC! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! OPEN THE DOOR!" tony shouted again.

"tony, calm down," pepper pleaded.

"CALM DOWN?! MY DRIVER HAS BEEN DEFILING MY BABY! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO JUST CALM DOWN?!"

"ooh," a different voice is heard saying, probably harley, "you're dead tony," that had definitely been harley.

pepper is heard chuckling, "did you just yell at me?"

"no, i-" tony cuts himself off, "pepper, that- he- my baby."

"she is a grown woman anthony," pepper tells him.

"but he's a whore," tony rebutts, "my baby deserves better than that."

the door to charles hotel room opens, bianca and charles stand on the other side, both shocked. the ferrari team, tony, and pepper stand opposite of them. carlos looks close to tears from laughter, harley is holding him up, truly the only reason carlos hasn't collapsed. sebastian looks like he would rather be anywhere else then there, while isaiah looks constipated, but that could just be the hangover.

"i am not a whore," charles argues.

"anyone who dates my daughter is a whore unless proven otherwise," tony says nonchalantly, his gaze set on pepper. realization dawns on him, he slowly turns to look at charles, the monegasque freezes, "you."

tony launches himself at charles, before sebastian jumps to grab him, isaiah helping him. bianca pushes charles behind her, carlos and harley being no help. peter is simply watching the situation with wide eyes, while pepper rushes to pull her phone out, calling someone.

"dad," bianca begins, "think very wisely about what you're about to do."

"oh, i am thinking," tony says, "i'm thinking that i should be asking f.r.i.d.a.y. to bring my suit. i'm about to murder that- that- twink!"

"twink?" charles questions, cocking his head to the side, "what is a twink?"

harley snorts, "tony, you can't go around calling people twinks."

"sure i can!" tony argues, "he's a twink whore who defiled my baby!"

the sound of the elevator opening is heard, several footsteps come running down the hallway. the sight of tony being held back by sebastian and isaiah send bucky and sam into a fit of laughter. steve smacks both of their heads, causing them to calm down. with them are also yelena, natasha, and joaquin.

"great!" tony says spotting steve and bucky, "bucky, can i borrow your metal arm?"

bucky stares at tony, before staring back down at his arm, “i’m afraid to say yes. what are you going to do with it?”

tony turned to glare at charles, who is still partially hidden by bianca, “i’m about to pulverize a twink.”

sam quickly realizes what’s going on, “LECLERC! IT’S LECLERC?! OH I JUST LOST SO MUCH MONEY!”

joaquin laughs loudly, “I JUST WON SO MUCH MONEY!”

“i’m not giving you my arm so you can kill your 1st driver. i have been apart of enough murders against my will, ferrari’s golden boy will not be added to that list. i already have a president on that list.”

“you people have a so many issues,” isaiah muttered, before pausing, processing what bucky had said, "you killed a president?" bucky winked at him and isaiah began wondering which president it could’ve been.

“do you maybe think, you’re overreacting tony?” steve questioned, “it’s charles. you like charles.”

“i liked him better when he wasn’t sleeping with my daughter!” tony shouted.

“who said we’re sleeping together?!” bianca questioned.

“harry!”

“you two were in the same hotel room,” sam pointed out. bianca glared at him, “because we were drunk samuel! people who are dating take care of each other!”

“i would never do anything-” charles began but was cut off by pepper glaring at her husband, “since when do you believe a thing an osborn says?”

“this is not something that should be happening in the middle of a hotel hallway,” sebastian said, “maybe we could head inside?”

“yelena stop giving everyone a play by play! put the phone away!” natasha scolded as they headed inside charles’ hotel room. yelena scoffed, “the people deserve to know.”

suddenly the elevator dinged, alerting them to the presence of more people arriving soon. everyone froze, waiting to see who it would be. clint, alex, kate, lando, max, america, scott, and george all ran out of the elevator.

“don’t kill him!” lando pleaded, “he is but a man in love!”

“kill him,” max argued, “that puts him out of contention!”

“i can’t believe you would stoop so low verstappen,” kate muttered.

“oh shut up,” max argued, “you said you would enjoy watching charles get beat up by an old man pushing 70.”

“HOW OLD DO YOU THINK I AM?!” tony shouted.

“old enough to live through the great depression?” america tried.

everyone stifled their laughter as tony made a sound of disapproval. tony turned to glare at charles, “i know you’re not laughing twink.”

“stop calling him a twink!” harley scolded the older man. tony rolled his eyes. bianca smiled politely at her dad, tony shook his head, “don’t give me that smile.”

“dad,” bianca tried, tony cut her off, “a driver? you just had to date a driver? you couldn’t go for an engineer or something? what about isaiah? he’s a great guy!”

“dad,” bianca tried again, tony once again ignored his daughter, "i mean seriously, anyone would've been better than my driver! you couldn't have picked like oscar? or logan? hell, i would've settled for max."

"i have a girlfriend," max pointed out. tony waved him off too, "or you could've gone for fernando. maybe jenson? or mick? or even lewis!"

"i'm pregnant!" bianca shouted. the room fell silent, before it exploded into a flurry of words and emotions, "i'm actually not but no will listen to me!"

"i'm about to die and you're making jokes?!" charles questioned, running around the room, being chased by tony, "i'm going to kill that monegasque twink!"

"why is he calling him a twink?" america asked, no one answered her question, being to occupied with trying to separate tony and charles. tony, who was currently trying to smother charles with a pillow while charles was trying to carefully throw tony off of him. carlos and harley were still in a corner of the room laughing as tears streamed down their faces.

"ANTHONY EDWARD STARK!" pepper shouted, causing the room to fall silent again, the only sound being carlos and harley's giggles. pepper marched towards tony, prying him off of charles, "you will leave that boy alone, sit down, and listen to what your daughter has to say," she turned to look at the crowd in the room, "as for the rest of you, all of you will get out!"

the small army that had been gathered in charles' hotel room quickly ran out, all of them pushing each other to try and get out of the room faster. pepper approached charles and helped him stand up, she quietly led him out of the room as tony sat on the couch.

charles stopped at the door turning around to stare at bianca, before turning to look at pepper, "will she be okay? he won't- he won't hate her, will he? for being with me?"

"oh," pepper quickly realised, "oh no, he won't hate her. tony's just- he has a flair for the dramatic. when it comes to any of his children he's quite over protective," she led charles out of the room without him realising it, "you should've seen him when he found out peter was dating mj."

the father and daughter duo sat quietly, one on the bed and the other on the couch. tony finally turned to look at his daughter, "why him? i don't mean why a driver, why charles? you could have anyone els-"

"i don't want anyone else," bianca cut her father off, "i'm happy with charles."

"bianca, it's charles."

"that's exactly why i want him, because it's charles!" bianca shouted at her father, "the same charles who texts me good morning and good night every day. the same charles who has memorized my coffee order, no matter how complicated it is. the same charles who begs for just a few more minutes of enzo’s cuddles with a giant pout on his face. the same charles who’s been asking me for weeks to tell you about us because he thinks i'm ashamed of him!"

“so why didn’t you?”

“because once i tell you that makes it real and when things are real people get hurt. i don’t want to get hurt, not again.”

“oh tesoro,” tony softly said, rushing to hug his daughter. bianca wrapped her hands around her father, crying as she told her father, “i don’t want to get hurt again.”

they sat there for what felt like hours, but was only minutes, "are you ashamed of him?" tony whispered.

"no dad, i think i love him."

"you think or you know?" tony questioned, "because if you think i'll give him crap for the longest time but if you know, i might learn to accept it. of course, i will give crap sometimes."

bianca looked up at her dad, eyes wide, tears falling from her eyes. tony swore she looked so much like the little girl she once was. the same little girl who cried when she accidentally crushed a worm or who cried watching marley and me. bianca always wore her heart on her sleeve but this it was difficult what she felt.

"oh," bianca whispered, "oh. dad i love him."

"and what are you going to do about it?"

"buy him a dog."

"what?" tony asked, "why would you get him a dog?"

"that's not important dad!"

"okay fine, get him the dog."

"dad," bianca said grabbing her dad's face, "i'm in love, be happier for me!"

"i'm happy for you, but i will pulverize that twink if he ever hurts you."

when i get my hands on you, you're fucking dead osborn.

is that a threat stark? i don't think daddy dearest would love to learn through the media that you're threatening me.

oh i bet you would just love that. but i know how to make you disappear osborn, you're own father would never even question it. don't fucking contact my father ever again.

maybe i should show charles what a psychotic bitch you are

that's psychotic to you? personally i would think it's the giant purple space man who loved shiny rocks but to each their own 🤷🏻‍♂️ - charles

you're both insane and you deserve each other.

bisous 😘 - charles

daniel ricciardo is he still alive? or did he get killed by tony stark?

lando norris as much as kate would've loved to see that, he's still alive.

max verstappen well as far as we know. when we left the room and he was still alive.

daniel ricciardo YOU PEOPLE JUST LEFT HIM THERE??

daniel ricciardo HE COULD GET PULVERIZED BY IRON MAN?

alex albon not pulverized but he did get called twink repeatedly. oscar piastri charles got called twink by tony stark? lando norris it was honestly hilarious.

charles leclerc i lived bitches!

charles leclerc thanks for having fucking confidence in me.

charles leclerc i can still hear you laughing carlos.

carlos sainz the highlight of my career

carlos sainz this was better than winning my home race.

george russell okay as hilarious as it was it wasn't that funny. carlos sainz george you don't get to have an opinion. shut up.

max verstappen it was pretty funny.

charles leclerc I ALMOST DIED BECAUSE OF IRON MAN!! STOP MAKING FUN OF ME ASSHOLES!

alex albon okay, twink, shut up. it was hilarious.

logan sargeant imagine getting beat up by a man in a coca cola suit.

lando norris why the hell does he get to make fun of the avengers?

logan sargeant I'M AMERICAN BITCHES!!

logan sargeant except for natasha and wanda. i'm actually terrified of them. and nick fury. they are very scary.

oscar piastri he gets special privileges because he's american.

daniel ricciardo i think the avengers might cry when logan gets a podium.

logan sargeant you bitches wish you could be supported by the avengers.

tony stark ALL OF YOU KNEW AND YOU SAID NOTHING??!!

peter parker i didn't know.

harley keener okay, in my defense, she said she would take my lab privileges away and you know how sacred those are to me.

isaiah atkins i just wanted to know how far those two would take it. same goes for seb.

carlos sainz it was funny to watch them scramble each times someone asked who they were dating.

ollie bearman harley kept dropping hints and i put the piece together

arthur leclerc i wanted to see my brother get pulverized by iron man.

sebastian vettel you told me, and i quote, ‘i don’t need her to tell me who it is, i’ll figure it out on my own. i’m a genius like that.’ so i didn’t tell you.

sebastian vettel you can only blame yourself for this anthony.

tony stark STOP! I CAN'T BE BLAMED FOR THIS SEBASTIAN!!

charles leclerc is this a safe space?

tony stark go away you twink.

isaiah atkins tony, you can't call him a twink.

tony stark i can in private. in public it's a different matter.

charles leclerc listen. i can deal with him calling me a twink.

bianca stark-potts father you will be nice to him or so help me i will tell mom.

ollie bearman does this make me their child??

arthur leclerc tony's going to kill him now because he's a grandpa.

harley keener tony, there had to be a reason enzo loved him so much.

tony stark I AM A GENIUS HOW THE HELL DID I NOT PUT THE PUZZLE PICES TOGETHER?

sebastian vettel clearly you're not as smart as you thought you were.

tony stark i can still fire you sebastian.

isaiah atkins do you know how many italians and tifosi you would piss off if that were to happen?

carlos sainz i'd quit.

charles leclerc so would i.

tony stark i could care less about you charles. bianca stark-potts dad. tony stark i mean, oh no charles, what would i do if my 1st driver left the team?

isaiah atkins i should've gone to mercedes when i had the chance.

peter parker I KNEW YOU WERE A BLOODY TRAITOR! YOU WOULD WORK FOR TORGER INSTEAD OF US?

isaiah atkins THIS PLACE IS HELL! T

isaiah atkins HE OWNER IS CONSTANTLY CALLING HIS 1ST DRIVER A TWINK! CARLOS IS ALWAYS FLIRTING WITH DEATH (NATASHA)

isaiah atkins AND CHARLES IS DATING BIANCA (SAID OWNER'S DAUGHTER)

isaiah atkins THIS IS HELL FOR ANY PR MANAGER!

joaquin torres PAY THE FUCK UP BITCHES!! I WAS SO RIGHT!!

sam wilson of course she had to go for the silly little monegasque man.

sam wilson YOU COULDN'T GO FOR THE AMERICAN OR A BRIT??

clint barton SHE'S DATING CHARLES?? WHY NOT FERNANDO??

queen shuri and how exactly did you people figure it out?

america chavez osborn told tony, who caused a scene at the hotel.

tony stark i did not cause a scene...

harley keener you called him a twink repeatedly. and threatened to bust out the suit to pulverize him.

scott lang honestly the signs were all there, it's on us if we didn't put them together.

bucky barnes the best part was when bianca nearly gave tony a heart attack by declaring that she was pregnant

tony stark that was not funny barnes

bianca stark-potts oh but the look on your face was hilarious.

america chavez i got excited i thought i was going to be a godmother.

wanda maximoff if anything i would be godmother.

peter parker well who gets to be godfather. it's me right?

kate bishop they have children what are you people talking about?

tony stark WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT BISHOP?

yelena belova she is clearly talking about enzo and oliver. they are bianca and charles children.

harley keener funny, ollie said the same thing earlier.

bianca stark-potts add anthony jr to the list.

joaquin torres wait, are you actually pregnant?

bianca stark-potts look it's anthony jr!

tony stark what kind of ugly rat is that?

natasha romanoff aww he's adorable. is he for charles?

peter parker should i be getting my girlfriend a dog?

wanda maximoff she's an mit college student living on campus. a dog is not a good idea. peter parker oh, maybe a snake or spider is a a better idea. carol danvers do we need to remind you of what happened the last time you were near a spider?

cassie lang OH CAN I GET A DOG??

hope van dyne NO! scott lang no freakin' way. cassie lang booo!!

harley keener please tell me you were able to convince charles to name the dog anthony jr.

bianca stark-potts i haven't given the puppy to him yet, but i will try my hardest to get him to name the puppy anthony jr just to piss off my dad.

tony stark this is why i'll never like your boyfriend

steve rogers he's leading the championship and he is part of the reason why ferrari is constructor's champion. cut the guy some slack.

yelena belova so who won the bet?

wanda maximoff joaquin.

joaquin torres ALL OF YOU THOUGHT I WAS CRAZY! BUT I WAS FUCKING RIGHT!!

sam wilson he's never going to let this go. ever.

bucky barnes oh good. and i have a mission with him next week. i'm going to suffer.

america chavez i just don't think it's unfair that i wasn't allowed to bet

riri williams you knew who it was! america chavez i still would've loved to win some money riri!

stephen strange this. this is my personal hell.

may parker so tony finally figured out who bianca was dating?

tony stark WAS THERE ANYONE WHO DIDN'T KNOW?!?!?!

happy hogan i didn't know james rhodes i didn't think she was dating charles. i was confident it was lando. peter parker i also didn't know.

may parker what gave it away was the monaco post.

tony stark HOW THE FUCK DID I NOT SEE IT COMING??

pepper potts tony, he's exactly her type. i don't know how you didn't see this coming from the start. tony stark I DIDN'T THINK IT WOULD HAPPEN!

bianca stark-potts dad, you said you would stop being so dramatic.

tony stark i said i wouldn't give charles anymore shit. i never agreed to stop being dramatic.

tony stark my oldest daughter is dating a driver. i'm allowed to be dramatic.

harley keener that was the highlight of my day. best choice i've ever made working for ferrari.

harley keener i've never seen tony turn that shade of red. it was glorious.

tony stark i'm telling nebula.

bianca stark-potts YOU ARE NOT TELLING YOU ASSASIN ALIEN DAUGHTER ABOUT MY BOYFRIEND! IT'S BAD ENOUGH NAT AND WANDA BROKE INTO HIS APARTMENT tony stark NATASHA KNEW BEFORE ME? THAT'S BETRAYAL BIANCA!

tony stark i can be a dick to him all i want and no one can complain.

pepper potts anthony stark, you will be nice to that boy or so help me.

pepper potts he's a good kid and it could literally be worse. so please. shut up about it already.

tony stark but pepper

pepper potts anthony, that boy was terrified you would be upset with bianca for dating him. as i said, he's a good kid, stop worrying.

may parker well, i managed to get time off for texas so i expect to meet the boy there.

james rhodes pepper's right, it could be worse, she could be back with harry.

happy hogan you do realize this is the exact reason she never told you.

tony stark all of you are against me.

bianca stark-potts you're so dramatic dad. this is why i didn't tell you in the first place.

i may have done something rash and i need your help.

once, again. i am not helping you hide harry's body if you've killed him. i wouldn't survive in jail.

he's still alive.

unfortunately.

okay, so what did you do? and does it involve anything illegal?

why do you automatically assume i did something illegal? i can do things legally!

well did you do something illegal? also, i’ve met harley

well between us harley is the idiot not me. he’s the one who decided it was a genius idea to send peter after the former us president.

bianca, what did you do?

i got another dog. he's so little that i'm afraid enzo might crush him.

mon chou, he's adorable but what does that have to do with me?

do you want him? if you can't then i'll give him to someone else or even morgan.

she's been asking dad for a dog. apparently the llamas aren't enough for her. it also doesn't help that kate has pizza dog.

kate named her dog pizza dog?

his name is lucky but he loves pizza so we call him pizza dog.

CAN I HAVE HIM?

okay, here's the truth, he was originally he was for you but i chickened out so i told you a lie.

oh mon dieu. i get a puppy??

oh i could seriously tell you i love you right about now.

do it.

i dare you.

i will. i swear.

liked by biancastark_potts, michellejones, cassie_lang and others

charles_leclerc the best present i could ever receive.

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username now who gave you that dog mr.eclair?

↳ username i think the better question is who's hand is that mr. eclair?

username HE'S A DOG DAD GUYS!!

maxverstappen1 cats are still better. make sure your girlfriend knows that.

↳ charles_leclerc she wants me to let you know that you're wrong. she's ready to fight you.

↳ maxverstappen1 tell her we'll settle this on the track in baku.

↳ harleykeener LMFAO!! YOU'RE GONNA LOSE VERSTAPPEN!! YOU SHOULD BE USED TO THAT BY NOW!!

username oh how cute 🥰

username charles leclerc becoming a dog dad in 2024 was not on my bingo card but it is so fucking adorable.

harryosborn hmm. seems familiar

↳ biancastark_potts i will fucking drop kick you osborn.

↳ peterparker i will tie you to the red bull garage. i learned that threat from isaiah!

↳ harleykeener i will send the cavalry after you bitch. fuck off.

cassie_lang oh do tell what is the adorable pooch's name.

↳ charles_leclerc undecided, it's all depending on how much i want to live.

↳ tonystark leclerc i swear to god.

landonorris you win the constructors championship and your girlfriend gets you a dog. it's not fair, i want a dog.

↳ alex_albon then go adopt one lando

↳ landonorris it's not the same alex.

michellejones i've been informed of what the calvary planned. i vote you name him leo anthony, to upset tony.

↳ charles_leclerc it's not like he can kill me without being the main suspect. leo anthony it is.

↳ joaquintorres THE CALVARY WINS!

↳ tonystark if charles goes missing, it wasn't me.

↳ pepperpotts anthony. behave.

↳ tonystark yes ma'am

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¡leclerc-s speaks! i love just randomly throwing in taylor swift references.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

#leclerc-s #paint the town red series #f1 instagram au #f1 x oc #f1 oc #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 #formula one #f1 fic #formula 1 fic #f1 x female oc #charles leclerc x female oc #marvel social media au #f1 x marvel crossover

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