#and also tony stark while we’re at it

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

three times

a/n: some time ago i asked you guys on a poll what dude you wanted in this story and you all chose bucky, so here it is! also, i partly blame you all for how unhinged it turned out... like you get maybe 6,69% of the blame for the push you gave me... the rest is just me being a hoe

summary: a tale of the three times a nurse was kidnapped by new york’s most notorious gang. 

warnings: dark!mob boss!bucky barnes x nurse!reader x doctor!peter parker, smut, dark content, noncon/dubcon, mob au, mobsters!steve rogers, clint barton, tony stark, scott lang, bruce banner, the gang is called the avengers, doctor!kate bishop, enemies to lovers, kidnapping, violence, weapons, blood, being drugged, alcohol consumption, possessiveness, kissing, clothed x completely naked, panty sniffing, dirty talk, manhandling, size kink, gaping, belly bulge, oral, fingering, fisting, pussyjob, in bucky's mind it's brat taming, dumbification, impact play, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, somno, bondage, mild knife play, mild gunplay, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cumplay

word count: 11.574

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You flinched jaggedly as the dark cloth bag was finally ripped off your head. Eyes immediately squinting, they still strained to take in the unfamiliar space you’d been dragged to. 

You were no longer in the hospital’s dark parking lot, nor were you in the black van you’d suddenly been tossed into, but instead, you found yourself in a dark living room. It was elegantly decorated, from the Persian rug to the dramatic, antique fireplace flicking behind the cluster of suit-clad criminals glaring down at you. 

“This her?” one of them grumbled. 

“Yep, one doctor as per your request,” the one who’d abducted you grinned, proudly planting a palm on his hip, “even choose a pretty one just for shits and giggles,” his starkly different mannerisms only made the others seem that much more intimidating. 

The broad-figured one with a shock of sandy hair then stepped closer to where you stood, “alright, here’s the thing, doc,” his head tilted slightly to get on your level as he spoke to you directly, “you’re gonna do exactly as we say and then everything will be alright, okay?” he stared in your eyes as you offered him a shaky nod, “okay,” he exhaled, “you got a name?”

“Y/n Y/l/n…” you uttered before hearing yourself try to correct, “but I–…”

“But what?” the same man croaked. 

“I-I’m not a doctor…”

“God damn it!” someone rumbled as everyone’s eyes flicked to the man who’d captured you, “we can’t fucking trust the new guy to do anything.”

“Well, she’s wearing scrubs,” he tried, frantically gesturing to your uniform, “I just thought–”

“You fucked up, Lang!” the first man who you’d heard speak barked loudly, “and now we’re not just gonna lose one of our brothers tonight, but also the head of the snake. Great fucking job,” a sharp click then caused your eyes to find the gun he yanked out, “and now she gotta die as well–”

“Wait!” you shrieked as both of your palms shot up in the air, “no! Please don’t kill me! I-I’m a nurse! I’m a nurse! I can help! Whoever’s hurt, I can help!”

Seemingly superior to the others present, the blonde one stared at you intensely for a while before exhaling a verdict, “shit… well, I guess it’s better than nothing…” his polished shoes then began to shuffle before he gestured to you, “come this way.” 

Hesitantly, you slowly shadowed him out of the living room, down a dim hallway, and into the chamber that bloomed at the bottom of the corridor. In the centre of the dark room, bathed by two glowing pendants, stood a large pool table, and upon the green felt, with colourful orbs haphazardly scatted all about, there laid a man, unconscious and bleeding. 

The brunette’s suit was sodden with crimson, though you couldn’t tell from here how much of it was his own. 

The gangster who was standing by the side and watching over the wounded individual glanced up at your arrival and asked his fellow men, “this the doctor?” 

“No, it’s a fucking stripper,” you twisted your neck at the sarcastic tone as the guy who’d only moments ago pulled a gun on you waltzed past you and entered the room as well, “yes, of course it is, Tony. How’s the boss?”

“Still alive,” he answered in a sigh and cast his glance back down upon the man on the pool table. 

Slowly stepping up, you carefully let your stare wash over the mobster, from the frazzled and blood-soaked attire to the metal-looking hand poking out one of the sleeves. 

“What happened?” you asked carefully. 

“Miss,” someone grumbled as they set a bag of supplies down beside you on the games table, “just fix him.” 

“If you wanna give your friend a better chance, then you give me as much information as possible about what happened to him,” you uttered as you found a pair of gloves and slipped them on. 

Letting out a sigh, the blonde fellow then said, “it was a shootout.”

Snatching up a pair of scissors, you began to snip in the man’s clothes, staring at the sleeve closest to you, “how many times was he shot?”

“I don’t know, he–… a lot of rounds went off,” he grunted, the events of the night weighting his broad shoulders down, “I wasn’t exactly counting.” 

Two bullets. That’s how many you found when his dress shirt was in tatters on the floor. One was lodged in his right arm four finger widths above his elbow, while the other had strayed a bit further north and buried itself in his bulky bicep. You also found other scrapes and scratches along his torso, assumingly from other bullets that hadn’t been as lucky as those two. 

The smallest of relieved sighs flowed from your lungs as you discovered that he wasn’t in a critical enough condition to be in need of a surgeon, at least not from what you could tell with the limited resources currently at your disposal. 

As you carefully set to work, first digging the bullets out before cleaning the wounds with saline, your lips slowly parted as you treaded a curved needle, “…so, not that I don’t love the change to my evening plans,” you didn’t dare shift your glance as you asked, “but don’t you have a regular guy for cleaning up these sorts of messes?” 

“We did… he died tonight, trying to stop that from happening,” the blonde man gestured to the injuries you began to stitch up. 

Blinking up to find his eye, you uttered sincerely, “I’m so sorry for your loss…” feeling yourself, even under such circumstances, uncontrollably slip into those compassionate parts of your profession. 

A slight scoff bubbled out of the gangster, taken aback by your unexpected gentleness, “yeah, me too. Banner was one hell of a guy…”

Once each of the wounds were sutured closed and you’d bandaged him up, you pushed yourself back from the pool table. 

“Alright,” you exhaled and glanced up at the criminals lurking in the shadows of the chamber, “I’m done.”

“Yeah?” one of them stepped up to get a better look, “he’s alright?”

“No, he’s not alright, he was shot multiple times and should be in a fucking hospital,” your eyes briefly fluttered shut as you heard yourself snap, “now, can I please go home?” 

Catching the eye of the blonde one, second in command, you watched as his jaw briefly clenched, the muscles dancing beneath his skin before he breathed, “no, you’re not done.”

“But I did exactly as you asked–”

“Like you said, he should be in a hospital right now, but we can’t have that happen, so instead, you’re gonna stay here till he’s out of the woods.” 

“What? I can’t–”

“You’re a nurse, right?” he croaked to shut you up, “so fucking do your job and nurse him back to health.”

Three whole days ended up passing by before Mr Barnes slowly began to regain consciousness. 

“Oh, you’re awake!” you snapped back into work mode, springing from your seat and leaning in over the bed which he’d previously been moved into. As the mobster instinctively began to sit up, his eyes barely open yet, you laid a soft palm upon his metal arm and uttered, “sir, please don’t move,” and watched as his clenched jaw almost silenced a groan, “one second, I’ll give you something for the pain,” before you shifted a moment to scavenge through the supplies you’d been given. Once the medicine was found, you exhaled slowly as you injected it, gently pressing down the plunger of the syringe, “there you go…” 

You let yourself suck in a deep breath before your sharp eyes washed over him, briefly assessing him as he woke, though as your gaze flickered up to meet his own, initially with the intent of checking his pupillary response, the manner he stared back at you caught you so of guard that a shiver trickled down your spine.  

“Sir, do you know what your name is?” you asked in a clear tone. 

“Mhm…” he hummed and continued to stare at you as if you were an angel, “Bucky…” 

“Bucky, great, that’s good,” you nodded, “and do you know where you are?”

His gaze didn’t shift away from your visage as he then murmured, “heaven…”

“No, I assure you, you’re not dead,” grasping the stethoscope draped around your neck, you shifted it into place to take a quick listen to his heart, “you almost were, a few times, but you aren’t.” 

As the steady thumping of his pulse filled your ears and seeped into your soul, his deep voice washed over you once again and layered atop the beat, “I’m guessing you had something to do with that?” 

Catching his unwavering eye a moment, you then averted yours and muttered, “I was just doing my job…” before retracting the stethoscope from his chest and casting your glance towards the door, “I should probably go tell the others that you’re awake.” 

TWO WEEKS LATER

“…and Mr Jensen in 401 is complaining of a headache, so you might wanna check that out as well.” 

“Alright, cool,” the doctor scribbled down the last of your words on the little notepad in his palm before his gaze flickered up to catch yours, “thank you so much, Y/n,” he flashed you a warm smile. 

Mirroring his expression, you hugged the charts in your grasp closer to your chest, “any time, Dr Parker.” 

“Peter, please,” his thumb extended to click the top of his blue pen before sliding it into the breast pocket of his white coat, “hey, I was gonna go grab a cup of coffee right now, do you wanna join?” he tried to keep his tone casual. 

Blinking back at him, your breath couldn’t help but get caught in your throat, “I–, uhm… I’d love to, but I get off in a little bit. Wednesdays are always just morning shifts for me.” 

“Oh, alright,” he nodded understandingly, though the gentle rejection still tainted his features slightly. 

“But another time,” you offered, successfully brightening his smile once more. 

“Yeah?” his elbow curled up to lean against the supportive railing that lined the hospital hallways. 

“Sure. I mean, I drink coffee, you drink coffee,” you awkwardly began to dig yourself into a hole, “the chances of us bumping into each other at the coffee cart are pretty high–” 

But your sentence was then cut short as Peter’s pager suddenly pinged in his pocket.

Fishing the small device out, his eyes flickered down to the small screen before he croaked, “oh, sorry. I gotta run.”

“Of course,” you swiftly waved a hand and watched as his feet began to shuffle into a run. 

“Talk later!” Peter called over his shoulder before he rounded a corner and disappeared into the maze of the hospital. 

Twisting around, your feet carried you the remaining distance towards the nurses’ station overlooking the ICU. As you laid the stack of files in your arms down on the counter, a familiar voice found your ears right before her visage popped into your periphery.

“Please tell me that that was what I think it was.” 

Your gaze stayed glued on the charts a moment longer as you ignored your friend’s prying, “hello to you too, Kate.”

When your head finally raised and you let her catch your eye, her wide ones questioned you before she expectantly poked once more, “well?”

“Well what?” you shrugged, though your feeble attempts at shutting the pending subject down failed as she shot you a glare, efficiently causing you to crumble with a sigh, “yes, he asked me out again–, or kinda. It was just coffee.”

“And you finally said yes?” she smiled keenly. 

Holding back your scoff, you simply uttered, “no,” before spinning on your heel. 

“Again?” she shuffled slightly to catch up to the pace you swiftly slipped into, “why not? He’s kind, he’s a doctor, he’s hot,” she listed off, counting on her fingers, “he’s literally perfect for you.”

“I know he is…” you tilted your head, almost with an air of shame, “he’s exactly the type of guy that I should be running after…” 

Though you liked him as a person and cared for him enough to call him your friend, those feelings you caught yourself forcing just hadn’t bubbled up yet. He was the kind of man that you deserved, that you should fall for, and certainly not the monster that still haunted you, that for some reason wouldn’t stop popping into your mind, especially at inappropriate times, like very late at night… 

“So then why aren’t you?” Kate asked as you entered the employee locker room.

And though thoughts of a gruff gangster caused your heart to swell, you still muttered, “I don’t know…” as an excuse before you popped open your locker and uttered, “hey… what do you know about mobsters here in the city?

“Other than the horror stories I’ve picked up in the ER, not too much,” she leaned against the row of cubbies beside your own as you dug out your bag and began to change out of your scrubs and back into the clothes you’d worn early this morning when the sun was still only a promise waiting to rise, “though I did grow up here, so I probably do know a bit more than you,” she acknowledged your move to the city only a few years prior, “why? Are you suddenly in the mood for a change in careers?”

Though the truth was on the tip of your tongue, you still found yourself obeying the commands the gangsters had sent you home with. Telling the cops was no use because they were all in their pockets, and confiding in a loved one also wasn’t a smart choice as that would only put them in danger. 

“Have you ever heard of someone called Bucky Barnes?” you asked, instinctively lowering your voice to a whisper. 

The ever light-hearted expression plastered upon Kate’s face fell at the recognition of that name, “yeah…”

“Really?” your brows rose, “what do you know about him?” 

“I mean, other than that he’s the supposed leader of the Avengers, not too much.”

“The Avengers?”

“Yeah, one of New York’s most notorious gangs,” she let out a breath, “from what little I know, they get up to a shit ton of stuff straight out of a De Niro movie or something, but their real money maker is cocaine… I mean, that’s why the head of the group is known as the winter soldier.” 

“How do you know about all this stuff?” you squinted back at her in slight amazement. 

“Went to med school with a few coke heads, might have dated one of them,” she blurted before shaking her head and getting back to the subject at hand, “anyways, Y/n, the point is, you don’t wanna mess with those types, trust me.” 

“I know,” you uttered quietly as you shrugged on your coat and pushed your locker closed, “I wasn’t planning on it, I was just curious…” 

As you dragged your foaming toothbrush over the last of your teeth, a loud knock suddenly rattled your front door, causing you to jump atop the pink bathmat in your tiny bathroom. 

Neck twisted out towards the entryway of your apartment, you briefly leaned over the sink to spit out the toothpaste slowly leaking out of your mouth, before your feet began to carry you towards the exit. 

One of your palms momentarily ran over the edge of your pyjama-clad arm as the night chill soaked through the cotton and made you yearn for the warmth of your bed. 

Though as you pulled on the handle, the haunting figures on the other side of the door caused your blood to freeze with recognition. Standing tall on the other side of the threshold, there stood two of the Avengers’ henchmen. 

“You need to come with us,” the one called Barton ordered coldly. Over the few days the gang had held you captive, you’d picked up on the names of many of the members, including the two that stood before you now. 

“What?” your chest rose and fell rapidly, “I–, please, I swear, I haven’t told a soul.”

Having them knock at your door was one thing, but even just the thought of criminals such as them knowing where you lived sent you into a spiral. 

“Yeah, we know you haven’t,” Scott put a hand on the doorframe, “that’s not why we’re here.” 

“What happened?” you murmured as you were led into one of the many sitting rooms in the mysterious manor they once again brought you to. In an armchair before you, half-empty glass of bourbon in metal hand and the sleeves rolled up on his blood-tainted shirt, there sat the big bad winter soldier himself, panting as he slowly sipped. 

Though when the sound of your voice filled the room, Bucky’s eyes only snapped up to yours for a moment before he shot a glare at his men.

“What is she doing here?” he grumbled lowly. 

“Boss, you busted your stitches,” Lang gestured tensely to the crimson slowly staining his crisp white shirt, “what else were we–”

Intersecting the conversation, the broad form of Steve stepped into the space between the gangsters and swiftly snuffed the pending argument out, “thank you, Barton, Lang,” he nodded to each of them, “you can go,” and you watched the pair that had brought you back exited the room. Shifting his weight, Bucky’s right hand man turned to you and offered you a polite smile, “Y/n, pleasure to see you again.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, not masking your disdain of the situation you’d been dragged into yet again, “I wish I could say the same…” before you shifted your eyes to the man in the chair, though still directed your question at Steve, “what do you need me to do?” 

As you shifted closer to the intimidating leader, ever drinking, surely to dull the pain, Rogers murmured as you kneeled down to assess, “I think it’s just the one on his shoulder that’s–”

“Yeah, I see it,” you cut him off, then glanced back over your shoulder at him, “do you still have that medical bag?”

“Yeah, one second,” he swiftly disappeared to fetch it, leaving you all alone with the feared mob boss. 

With the crackling fireplace off to the side as your only source of light, you cautiously raised your hands and asked, “do you mind taking this off?” motioning to the shirt he wore. 

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky sighed and sat down his glass before shrugging the item off. Though you’d stared at his bare chest for hours on end before, soaking in his reveal once again for some reason caused your heartbeat to pick up, though you swiftly averted your gaze in an attempt at staying professional. 

Not long passed before Rogers had returned with the supplies, and you’d commenced redoing his stitches. 

“So,” you murmured though your concentration, weaving his skin back together, “do I even wanna know how this happened?”

Blinking down at you, your face close to your work and therefore his skin, Bucky breathed, “probably not...” and as his stare only intensified over the next few stitches, his low timbre once again washed over you as the corners of his lips tugged into the slightest of smirks, “cute PJs, by the way…”

“Yeah, I didn’t exactly get a chance to change,” you felt your cheeks heat up. 

“Oh, I'm not complaining,” his gaze shifted to take in the way the cool night air had caused your nipples to become visible like pebbles beneath the thin stripy fabric, the comment making you shift tensely on your knees. 

Once the last of the knots were tied off and you’d snipped the end of the thread, you wrapped the wounds back up with clean bandages before placing the roll of gauze back into the medical bag. 

“Alright, uhm,” you shifted back, “you’re good now,” a slight winch shot through you as you watched him briefly test out his arm’s mobility, “just be careful, try not to use it too much.”

Catching your eye, he uttered softly, “thank you,” before shifting his gaze to the gangster by the door, “Rogers?” 

“Yes, boss?”

“See to it that she gets home safe.”

ONE MONTH LATER

“I’ve heard the risotto here is really good,” Peter noted as you both skimmed the menus resting on the tablecloth before you, the crystal chandeliers illuminating the restaurant cast a soft glow down upon the choices.  

“Yeah?” you briefly glanced up to catch the doctor’s eye, “well, maybe I should get that then,” you shrugged before shifting slightly in your seat, “hey,” you captured his gaze once more, “could you maybe order for me? I just need to–…” you trailed off, letting the thumb you discreetly pointed over your shoulder in the direction of the bathrooms fill out the rest of the sentence. 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” he nodded. 

“Great, thank you,” you smiled as you rose. The long, cobalt-blue, velvet dress you wore briefly swooshed around your legs before the soft click of your heels against the polished floors carried you through the maze of tables. 

It was the third date you’d ventured on with the kind doctor. The third one and yet you still didn’t have any feelings towards him. 

Stubbornly trying as you might, you still couldn’t get the poison out of your system and do the right thing. 

Once you exited the ladies’ room, and big breath of courage in your lungs as you pushed open the door, it all seeped out as you walked through the small hallway that connected the lavatories with the dining space, and you accidentally bumped into two figures that waited in the space. 

Unsure of who was to blame for the collision, you immediately just muttered, “oh, sorry–,” before you glanced up at the pair and your apology crumbled from your lips, your frame immediately freezing up at the recognition. 

“Listen to me. You are going to quietly walk back to your little date, tell him that you’re not feeling well and need to go home,” Stark kept his voice hushed as both he and the other gangster slowly cornered you, the other one grasping your arm to keep you in place, “and then you’re gonna come with us.”

Sucking in a breath, you then tilted your chin slightly, “and if I don’t?” 

“Then we won’t hesitate to make a scene,” Barton shifted the edge of his jacket out of the way to flash you the gun strapped beneath, “so you can either walk with us and safe a life or you can not only have a dying gangster’s blood on your hands, but also everyone in this fucking restaurant.”

With the clench of your jaw, you glared up at them and murmured, “...fine,” before you ripped your arm free and began to walk back into the dining area and the table where Peter still sat. 

Flashing you a smile as you neared, the doctor swiftly said, “so, I ordered this chardonnay that the waiter said was good. You drink wine, right?”

“I–, uhm…” your fingers clutched the back of the chair as you tried to appear as you had before, even though now you felt as if your hammering heart might spring straight out of your ribcage, “Peter, I’m really sorry, but I gotta go,” you briefly scrambled your brain before adding, “the hospital paged me. There was a big accident downtown.”

“Really?” he fished out his own beeper from his pocket and furrowed down at it, “I didn’t get paged, so it probably can’t be that bad.”

“Yeah, but nurses shortage, you know?” 

“Right,” he nodded, disappointment slightly polluting his understanding expression. 

“I'm really sorry,” you uttered as you picked up your small purse from the chair.

“No, it’s fine,” he shook his head gently, “hey, I get it,” he shrugged before waving a hand, “go.”

“Thank you,” you stood there a moment longer, unsure of how you should depart, “uhm… bye,” before you awkwardly shifted closer to his seat and leaned down to press a brief kiss to his cheek as you offered him a half-hearted hug. 

“Who is it this time?” you sighed as you were led into an elegant space, surely intended for parties judging by the long bar that stretched along the back wall. Glaring at the only man seated on one of the barstools, you asked impatiently, “is it you? Did you hurt yourself again?”

Glancing over his shoulder as you halted your stride halfway down the short steps, a smile appeared on Bucky’s face as he leaned a forearm against the bar top and bellowed, “Y/n! Come, have a drink with me,” he waved a hand for you to take the seat beside him. 

Standing your ground, you squinted back at him in confusion, “no, I can’t, I–, where’s the patient?” 

“The patient?” he echoed as if you were speaking a foreign language. 

“Yes,” you huffed, your annoyance simmering into a full-on boil, “the person who’s on death’s door, the reason why I, a medical professional, is here,” you placed your hands on your hips and asked once again, “is it you?”

“No, I’m phenomenal,” he pursed his lips as he snatched up the stout glass waiting for him on the marble counter, “never been better.”

“Okay, so who is it?”

Tearing his gaze away from you, he then uttered, “no one,” before raising the drink up to his lips. As your mouth parted and your glare nearly burned straight through him, the mobster casually added, “you look stunning, by the way,” before twisting in his seat to face you more, “I didn’t know they changed scrubs out with gowns.” 

“No, I–, I was on a date–,” you muttered faintly through your confusion, slightly shaking your head in an attempt to clear it before you raised a hand, “wait, excuse me, no one’s injured?” 

“No,” Barnes shook his head, “no one’s hurt or dying,” then added as if your reaction was a tad bit too dramatic for his taste, “you can relax, it’s fine.”

But instead, the opposite emotions roiled inside of you as you slowly ascended a single one of the remaining steps, “so you mean to tell me that your men threatened me, my date and a whole restaurant of people, then dragged me all the way out here again, for nothing?” you fumed.

“No, it wasn’t for nothing,” he shrugged, “they brought you back here because I told them to,” he kept his ocean eyes upon you as he once again repeated, “now, come drink with me.” 

“No, I don’t want a fucking drink,” you roared. 

But then, just as swiftly as you had raised your voice, Bucky’s steely hand dipped beneath his suit jacket and pulled out a gun.  

“I asked you nicely,” his stern tone rolled off his tongue slowly as he aimed the weapon upon you, “now sit your ass down and share a drink with me.” 

Carefully, you finally followed his orders and sat down at the bar beside him. 

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” he uttered as he sat the gun down beside his drink. Raising up a hand to the silent shadow behind the bar, a glass was soon slid across the counter, one Bukcy pushed closer towards you, “here,” he said as you stared down at the orange peel floating at the top. As you lifted up the cocktail, the gangster beside you raised his own to click yours, “cheers.”

You briefly toyed with the thought of just taking a sip, though opted instead to down it all, both out of the desperate hope that the alcohol would aid the strange evening, but also in an attempt to fast forward a tad closer to your longed-for departure, ripping the bandage off instead of nursing it all night long. 

Though as you sat the glass back down on the bar, the bottom clanged against the marble much more forcefully than you’d intended as the fingers you clutched it with began to tingle. Blinking heavily a few times, your hand accidentally knocked over the empty drink as a numbing sensation began to bloom within your chest and spread throughout your body. 

Trying to get up from your seat, you mumbled foggily, “what the hell?” though quickly stumbled as your legs felt like jelly beneath your velvet gown.

“Whoa, careful now, angel,” Bucky’s calm gaze trailed you chillingly as you tried to steady yourself. 

“The fuck did you do?” you panted as your wide eyes watched him raise from his seat. 

“It's okay,” he uttered softly, “it’s all gonna be okay,” before your world turned to black and you passed out into his arms. 

When you finally stirred, you were no longer at the bar, nor any other room you’d been in before. You were in a bedroom, situated on a spacious mattress and alongside countless fluffy maroon pillows. 

As you sat up, a low rustling found your ears and drew your vision down towards the coldness clinging around your ankle. Strung between the bottom corner of the bedframe and your own foot, there shined a chain, one that, try as you instinctively did, you couldn’t snap out of. 

But then, as the door to the room creaked open and caused your body to flinch, a plea swiftly flowed out of you as you watched Rogers step inside, balancing a small tray with a glass and a tall decanter of clear water. 

“Steve!” you crawled to the bottom of the bed, “I–… help me, please,” you begged, hearing tears thicken up your voice as they rolled down your cheeks, “you’re a good man, deep down I know you don’t wanna stand by and let this happen. Can you unlock me? Please? Help me get out of here.”

But just as you waited for Steve’s lips to part, you instead heard, “shh, don’t waste your breath, honey,” as in strolled Bucky, causing you to swiftly scramble as far back on the bed as the chain would allow. 

Sitting down in a chair just out of your reach, the fireplace opposing the bed, directly behind where he sat, clacked and lit up his spine as he settled into the seat and directed his cold gaze upon you.

“Glad to see you awake,” he uttered calmly.

“Fuck you!” you swiftly spat as you hugged your knees tightly to your chest. 

“And with all of your charms still intact,” he tilted his head, a light smirk blooming on his lips as your vulgar language hadn’t fazed him one bit. 

“Let me go,” you demanded. 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, my angel,” his burly arms folded across his chest, “this is for your own protection,” he briefly gestured to the chain, “we wouldn’t want you to do anything stupid or rash now, would we?” one of his eyebrows twitched, “I can’t let anything happen to you,” he uttered as you continued to stare daggers at him, “you need to be kept as safe as possible so you can keep on helping me the way that you have.”

“What? You want me to be your gang’s personal nurse?” you scoffed, “is this your sick and twisted way of offering me a job, because if so, no thanks!”

“Yeah, no, this isn’t a job offering, I’m not interested in those talents of yours,” he leaned further back in the seat before he began to explain, “you see, for the past few years, I’ve had a serious string of bad luck. Deals have fallen through, rats have been found, the feds have been snipping at our heels and countless of my men have lost their lives,” he listed off, “but, then I met you,” his eyes flickered up to capture your own, “and it all turned around,” he uttered, “I tell you, when you’re here, it’s fate herself is on my side and nothing whatsoever could go wrong. Like having you has made me a fucking god or something, that’s the level of power you’ve bestowed in me,” a faint smile tugged at his lips as those words rolled off his tongue, “so no, you can not leave. You have to stay right here where I can make sure you’re safe and sound. Although, just because you get to be kept safe, that doesn’t mean you’re free of any consequences if you step out of line… it also doesn’t mean that I’ll deny anyone of your beauty if it pleases them… so, I guess it’s more along the lines of you just staying alive under my watch.” 

In the blind rage his words threw you into, your fingers wrapped around the bedside lamp before you chucked it across the room. Though just before it could strike the gangster’s head, he casually ducked out of the way, the lamp instead smashing on the floor behind him as a chuckle began to rumble within his chest. 

“That’s cute,” he laughed lowly, “you’ve got some bite. It’ll get you in trouble, but it’s adorable.” 

“I'm not interested in being your good luck charm, you superstitious fuck!” you yelled as he got up from his seat. 

Huffing out a condescending grin, “give it some time, angel,” he fastened the button on his dark suit jacket before smoothing a palm down over the front, “the human psyche is much more fragile than you’d think and can get used to some surprising conditions,” he ignored the scream that desperately tore from your lungs and instead turned to Steve standing by the door and asked him calming, “Rogers, would you mind cleaning that up?” gesturing to the broken lamp on the floor, and as he received a small nod in return, he murmured, “thank you,” before exiting the room and leaving you to your fate. 

“Seriously?” Steve let out a laugh when he finally coaxed the truth out as to why you hadn’t been touching any of the food they’d brought you, “and here I thought you were just a picky eater.” 

“Well, you’ve already drugged me once so what’s stopping you from doing it again,” you explained, glaring down at the plate before you as he attempted to stifle his laughter. 

“I swear, cross my heart, your pasta is not poisoned.”

Continuing to squint down at the food, you kissed your teeth, “prove it.”

“Really?” his brows floated up, “alright,” he sighed as he sat down across from you. Dragging your plate closer, he twirled some of the spaghetti onto the fork before slipping it into his mouth, “see?” he chewed, “I’m fine, and so will you be when you get some food in that belly of yours.”

Pushing it back towards you, hesitantly, you picked up the fork and slowly began to eat. It had only been little things you’d consumed the past couple of days being here, things you could be certain weren’t tainted, like the odd apple and such. 

Though as you chewed and finally began to settle your stomach’s nauseating rumbling, tears began to stream down your cheeks. 

No matter how hard you tried to beg, none of the mobsters would help you, as their loyalty was just too hard for you to crack. 

“Hey…” your bloodshot eyes then flickered up to Rogers as he noticed your weeping, “it’ll get easier, I promise,” he attempted in a soft tone. 

“How?” you blinked back at him hopelessly, “I am being locked up in a room by a maniac as if I’m just some trinket for him to own.” 

Throwing a brief glance over his shoulder, he then leaned in a bit closer to cautiously advise you, “…there might be some things you could do to change your situation…”

“What?” a spark suddenly flickered within you, “I’d do anything.”

“…you might consider trying to get closer to Barnes…” his words remained hesitant, “…if he begins to care for you, then he might treat you differently…”

“Like, he’d let me go?” 

“I don’t know,” he exhaled, “but maybe it could get that chain off your ankle,” he gestured to your foot, “baby steps.” 

ONE MONTH LATER

“Here,” Steve croaked as he suddenly burst through the doors to your room, a big flat box in his arms which he tossed on the bed beside you. Peeking inside, a folded-up bundle of black fabric met your eye, “put it on,” he ordered hastily, “make yourself presentable.”

“Why?” you blinked up at him, your brows knitting gently together. 

“Because the boss requested it,” he answered impatiently. 

“What, he wants to play dress up with me now? Treat me like a doll?”

Over the past month, you had gone from being scared out of your mind, barely sleeping at night, horrified of what they might do to you, till the paralysing fear slowly began to melt away as not much happened at all, in fact so little that you grew bored in your imprisonment, thinking that the big bad gangsters were just all bark and no bite. Perhaps that was a dangerous confidence to develop, growing cocky in your restlessness, but you couldn’t help it. 

Letting out a low sigh, “just put it on,” Rogers’ head tilted before he said, “I’ll be outside, yell when you’re done.”

Popping the lid off all the way, you then slipped into the black gown waiting within. It was long and simple in its beauty as it hugged all of your curves like a second skin. 

Right before you called out to the mobster in the hallway, you leaned in closer to the mirror on the left side of the room. The dark storm clouds visible out the gothic windows that filled up the wall behind you blossomed in the reflection alongside you as you momentarily fussed with your hair to make it match the elegant dress better. 

Once Steve had entered the room once again, the very last thing you expected was what he did next. 

Walking straight up to you, without a word, he bent down and unlocked the chain binding you to the bedpost. At first, a wave of hope washed over you till it was drowned out by the unsettling notion as to where he would take you and just what plans were on the horizon. 

Grabbing you by the arm, he dragged you out of the room and down the dark hallway you’d only seen glimpses of before. You tried to ask him what was going on, though he didn’t offer you any clue in return, only remained silent as he hauled you through the maze-like manor till a wide set of steps found you, leading you down into a garage where a group of the other gangsters already stood beside the black car rolled up by the base of the stairs. 

Standing in the middle with an arm resting against the roof of the vehicle, Bucky’s gaze swiftly landed upon you as you ascended the stone steps. 

“Well,” the mob boss’ eyes roamed your form, “don’t you look pretty.”

Biting your tongue, you greeted him politely, “Mr Barnes.”

“Shall we go?” he cracked open one of the car doors. 

“Where?” you tried, though your question only caused him to breathe out a smile as he ignored it and instead commanded softly. 

“Get in the car, angel,” his metal arm rested atop the door. 

Riding in a different vehicle than you, it was Clint who slipped in behind the wheel of your car and drove you the silent route towards the mysterious destination. 

Though once the car came to a stop, the door to your left cracked open from the outside and there to greet you was an outstretched metal hand to help you exit. 

You didn’t recognise the building that loomed before you, though it was grand and opulent with large steps leading you and all the other arrivals up to what sounded like a party already buzzing on.

“So, you needed a date,” you exhaled as Barnes took your arm and began to lead you up the stairs, a cluster of his men shadowing behind you both. 

“No,” he cocked his head, “I didn’t need it...”

Casting your glance around at the other guests that passed, you asked, “what kinda party is this anyway? Let me guess, human trafficking auction?” you were completely serious, though still managed to make the gangster laugh gently. 

“It’s a wedding,” his chuckle finished billowing out of his lungs, “or a funeral,” he tilted his head, “I'm not quite sure.”

“How could you not be sure?” you shot him a glance as you reached the top of the steps and he dragged you inside the marbled halls, “there’s a pretty significant difference.”

“They all just kinda melt together at this point,” he sighed, “I have at least one of these a week I gotta show my face at, just out of respect.” 

Taking a look around, you uttered, “well, do you at least know who this funeral wedding is for?”

“No fucking clue,” he exhaled before following the signs and leading you into the venue’s ballroom.

Turns out it was a wedding for some couple you hadn’t yet spotted, though you’d already read their names a thousand times with all the stuff they were plastered upon. 

You stayed quiet and lingered by Bucky’s side as he shook some people’s hands and made some small talk before the two of you found yourselves seated at one of the many round tables in the hall. 

Blinking up at the floral centrepiece, your fingers fiddled with the white tablecloth as the hours rolled by. Soon, not only the complementary glass of champagne you’d been handed back when you arrived was sloshing in your belly, but also quite a bit more alcohol as you decided that was a good tool to make the evening more bearable. 

It however also came with the hindrance of boosting your cockiness as you eventually found yourself poking the bear. 

“You know for a big bad gangster,” you stared over at him, leaned back in the seat next to yours, “you’re actually not that scary up close,” you pursed your lips, causing a chuckle to rumble within his chest because of just how untrue that statement was, “smiling at everyone, being polite. Are you sure you really are the big bad winter solider? The king of New York with no heart and only an imagination for torture…”

“Well…” he huffed out a short laugh as he met your gaze, “don’t you have me just all figured out.”

“Some of your guys may have filled me in a bit,” you tilted your head. 

“Have they now?” he continued to look amused. 

“Yeah, well, a bit at least,” you seized your glass and took another sip.

As you placed the flute back down on the table and rested your cheek in a propped-up palm, your stare only intensified into a squint as Bucky’s eyes flickered back around the room.

But as his gaze fluttered back to notice your gawking, he muttered, “what?”

“Why aren’t you mean tonight?” you uttered through the haze fuzzing up your mind. 

Tongue flicking out to wet his lips, his eyes briefly dipped before he uttered, “do you want me to be mean?” a playful smirk twitched at the corner of his lip in a threat to appear. 

“Is it all just a lie?” you asked, the subtext of his previous words flowing directly over your dizzy head. 

“What?”

Squinting back at him, you then breathed, “there’s always a part of me that’s still scared, imagining what you might do to me… but now,” you slowly drew out, “I don’t think you’re actually ever gonna do anything,” you blindly decided, “that’s not really who you are, they’re all just empty threats…” 

“Hm…” he hummed, a slight smile blooming upon his lips as he stared back at you, “okay…” before he leaned in closer to utter, “and just what makes you think that I haven’t already?” your face immediately dropped as his words caused your frame to freeze up, “tell me, Y/n,” his breath fanned across your cheeks, “did you sleep well last night? Or the night before for that matter, or–, well, just during the time you’ve spent here with me?”

As your shock not only showed in your expression but also in your complete lack of speech, he simply grinned back at your stunned features before grabbing you by the hand and breaking the moment. 

“Come on,” he dragged you with him as he then stood up himself, “let’s dance.”

With an argument on the tip of your tongue, the appendage, just as the rest of you, still remained too dumbfounded for it to come to fruition. You didn’t manage to gather your wits once again till he had you on the middle of the floor, wide hand on your waist as you swayed to the music. 

As his hold slowly tightened and he brought you closer to his broad frame, your breath suddenly hitched as you blinked up into his eyes, the air between you growing thick. The hand that grasped your own near swallowed your palm in a dizzying contrast. Goosebumps began to erupt across your skin as you felt your heartbeat thump not only in your chest, but also much further south, a mortifying clue to the dark truth you hoped he didn’t somehow notice. 

Gliding his palm up the length of your spine, it came to rest between your shoulder blades as he then drew you in closer and your gaze fell to the band strumming over his shoulder. 

“Does the thought of me playing with you at night turn you on?” he whispered in your ear and continued to gently sway you to the music, “because if you want me to wake you, all you have to do is ask. Though my attempts so far at rubbing your luck off on me have been rather eventful, I’m still sure it would be better if you gave me a bit of a hand…” 

Tilting your head back to blink up at him, you thought you were gonna spit him in the face for making such an accusation, till your stare acted of its own accord and fluttered down to fixate on his lips. 

It almost felt as if they were calling for you, begging you closer like a stubborn magnet. But before you could close the short distance that kept you two apart, Barton appeared in your periphery and tapped his boss on the shoulder. 

As he leaned in to whisper in his ear, you couldn’t pick up on the words over the music, though watched as Bucky’s face swiftly grew hard. 

“What’s going on?” you asked as the secretive message came to an end and the mobster’s wide hands faded from your frame. 

Ignoring your question, Bucky instead cast his glance over your head at one of the men behind you and ordered sternly, “Stark? Get her home, now.”

“What’s happening?” you tried again, though without success as Tony dragged you away and the remaining gathered to converse in hushed tones.

Perhaps it was because of the chaos of whatever was happening, perhaps just a simple mistake, but when you returned back to the manor, the shackle wasn’t reunited with your ankle. 

Not willing to let that gift slip through your fingers, you soon grasped that opportunity tight and made an attempt at your escape. 

Sneaking down the many hallways, you successfully hid from a handful of gruff-looking men before you realised you couldn’t remember the path to the garage or any other way out of the labyrinth of a building that kept you swallowed in the dark. 

However, your mission turned into a swiftly sinking ship as soon as you rounded the wrong corner and crossed the threshold of the last room you should have entered. 

In the centre of the space stood two chairs, both with individuals strapped to them, though only one of them was still alive. Before the seated pair and with his back turned to your frozen-up form, there stood Bucky. Returned from the party and with both his jacket and tie torn off, his sleeves were rolled up though still tainted in small crimson flecks of the deed he’d just done. 

“Come on, Vladimir…” Barnes uttered as he kneeled down in front of the battered man still breathing, neither he nor the other members in the room haven noticed you in the doorway, “just give me what I want and we can wrap this up.”

Wheezing painfully through his broken nose, the man met Bucky’s steely gaze before fulfilling his request, “…I’m sorry…”

“Hm?” he leaned in pettily, “what was that?”

“I’m sorry,” the tied-up man repeated with a laboured huff.

“Okay, getting there,” he nodded, “what are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for killing Bruce…” the name rolled off Vladimir’s tongue like a crackle to a bonfire. 

“And?” Bucky fished. 

“For hurting you…” 

“See? That wasn’t so bad now,” Barnes straightened back up, “an apology, a life for the one you took from me, and now there’s just one last thing left to do, and then we’re even,” he then took one step back and conjured his gun. Aiming it at the Russian, barely a second passed before a shot deafened everyone’s ears and a bullet blasted through the tied-up man’s arm, mirroring the injuries Bucky himself had sustained. The loud blast and the bloodcurdling scream that tore from Vladimir, however, caught you so off guard that a shriek slipped from you as you flinched, revealing your presence as everybody’s eyes suddenly shifted to train on you. Glancing over his shoulder, Bucky grunted, “what are you doing out? What is she doing out?” he shot his glare in the direction of Steve off to the side, “Rogers? Get her back into bed.”

“Yes, boss,” his right-hand man swiftly nodded before catching up to you in two long steps and seizing your arm. 

And as you were dragged back to your doom, your eyes caught the tail end as Barnes let out a sigh and turned back around to face his victim, “now, where were we? Right! I believe the other one was right around here,” another gunshot echoed in the manor as he shot Vladimir’s arm once more, “and now, we can’t forget about the ones that only skimmed me, so get up and don’t fucking flinch, it’s on you if I hit your lung.”

The chain reunited with your ankle jingled as you twisted on the bed to cast your gaze out the window. Heavy rain hammered against the tall panes as the restless city twinkled through the darkness of the night. In the corner of the room, Steve watched up like a hawk as you continuously failed to find rest. 

But then, just as you thought you felt your heartbeat return to a normal rhythm, the double doors burst open and in paced Bucky. 

“Is she awake?” he huffed, though didn’t wait for an answer before he heatedly went on, “okay, great.”

As his rushed steps halted by the foot of your bed, the look in his eye caused your body to shudder.  

“Rogers?” he kept his cold stare glued on you as he uttered, “go wait outside.”

Though you silently pleaded with your eyes for the mobster to stay, it was no use as Steve swiftly shut the doors behind him. 

As the man before you then shifted, your wide eyes finally noticed the bundle of rope in his grasp as he began to unravel it. Scrambling back, you didn’t manage to crawl far away before Bucky caught the chain and yanked it hard enough to force your frame down towards him. Though your struggling finally fizzled out when the gangster pulled out his gun, the very gun he’d just ended a life with, and aimed it at your head to get you to comply. 

“You know,” he uttered gruffly like a pent-up bull, “I’ve been nice, I’ve been real well behaved, kept my manners intact, been a goddamn gentleman,” the heavy weapon in his hand tilted slightly to emphasise his words, “but evidently, that’s not what you need to learn your fucking place,” he fumed before letting out a low exhale, “that’s alright…”

“Bucky, please,” tears blurred your vision as you held up your palms, “I-I understand, I’m sorry, you don’t have to do this.” 

“Oh, but I do…” he sighed almost softly as he then kneeled down closer and let the tip of the cool barrel stroke your cheek, “…if you don’t break a horse, then she’ll never be tamed…” his eyes trailed after the line he drew before it flickered up to find your own, “now give me your hands,” he ordered and hesitantly, you shakily obeyed. 

Since you couldn’t stay in your place, he simply had to tie you down better. 

Unfurling the rope in his grasp, the mobster then fastened the cord around not only both of your wrists, but also your free ankle. After each of the tight knots were tied off, he yanked each appendage to the nearest corner of the bedframe, spreading your limbs till you looked like a starfish on the mattress. 

Taking a step back to admire his handiwork, his fingers then dipped down into his pocket before a slight furrow found his brow as his touch didn’t locate the item he fished for. Placing the heavy gun in his palm down on the fireplace mantel, he then closed the distance towards the exit and cracked open the door just a smidge. 

“Rogers?” he extended a hand through the sliver, “give me your knife,” to which a switchblade was swiftly placed in his palm, replacing his own which was still lodged deeply inside the corpse of the Russian in the other room. 

Slamming the door behind him, he then crossed the room and silently began to cut your clothes off. The black gown you still wore came off with only a few slices, though your underwear, that he took his time with, slowly grazing the blade over your goosebump-ridden flesh before nicking the cotton clinging tightly to your frame. 

Once you were bare before him, his feet shuffled back slightly as he let his stare soak up every millimetre of you. 

A hand floated up to tug on his tie and loosen it slightly from around the collar still dappled with the blood of his enemy. Folding closed the knife with a faint flourish, he then sank down into the armchair directly behind him. The tattered panties he’d sliced from you were still clutched tightly in his hand as his eyes stayed glued upon your frame. Bringing the fabric up to his nose, his blue eyes then fluttered closed for a second as he breathed deeply, letting the scent of you flood his senses. 

But as he stuffed the cotton down into his pocket and let his palm drift to somewhere else, your eyes grew even wider as you gasped, “what are you–”

“Just shut up, please,” he groaned, sounding like he was at his very last straw as he brashly began to rub himself through his pants, “just for one fucking second, don’t be a brat.”

Your jaw couldn’t help but hit the floor as he shamelessly pulled out his cock, letting the intimidating hardness spring free of its confines before he spit in his palm and enclosed his fist around the fat girth. You wanted to look away, you truly did, but you just couldn’t, a flaw he obviously noticed. 

“You’re unbelievable…” he chuckled as his fist silkily stroked up and down his cock, the mixture of his own spit and the precum beading at the tip caused a sloppy melody to fill the room at each and every twist, “I mean, me being into you, that’s one thing, that makes sense, you’re the closest thing to magic that I’ve ever experienced, so of course that’s enough to get me going, but you… you’re the very textbook definition of a good girl and here you are pining after–, how was it again you put it? A superstitious fuck?” 

Stunned at his accusation, you tried to tear your stare away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Really? Well, I didn’t take you for a fool, but hey,” he tilted his head, “some folks are just that disconnected to their own feelings.”

Blinking back at him, you scoffed faintly, “you’re crazy, I’m not–…” but you couldn’t even say it out loud as you, deep down, knew that it was a lie. 

“Oh yeah?” he cocked a brow, finding your flustered state amusing, “then why did you almost kiss me tonight?”

“I–…I was drunk.” 

Letting out a dark chuckle, “alright, sure,” he then rose from his seat and crawled up on the bed with you before he buried his face between your parted thighs, “if you despise me so much, then why are you so fucking wet?” his hot breath fanned across your core. 

“I’m not–,” you tried, though your attempt then fell short as he proved you wrong, reaching out his touch to tickle at your lightly and let the wet sounds of your arousal slosh into your soul. 

“Hm?” the broad pad of his thumb gently brushed over your glistening petals, making them part for him, “if this isn’t because deep down you want me, then why? I’d love to hear you try and explain your way out of this one…”

“I-I–…” your eyes fluttered as you tried to fight the feeling, “I don’t…” 

Laughing lightly through the scoff that then bubbled out of him, he averted his gaze and said, “okay, fine. You wanna play that game?” his eyes flickered back up to find yours, “if you need a bit of help in order to admit the truth, then that’s what you’ll get,” he uttered before suddenly stuffing two of his fingers inside of you. 

Craning his neck, he tilted down to catch a taste. You tried to hold back your moans as his digits caressed you, but the softness of his velvety tongue came as such a shock that a little squeak managed to slip out past your lips. 

“I mean, if it’s any consolation,” his stubbly chin glimmered with your essence as he retracted slightly to smirk, “I personally think it’s kinda cute that you have a crush on me like a little schoolgirl…” 

He then sent his palm down upon your pussy in a wet smack, before repeating the action a couple of times to echo the jolt it shot through your body. 

“Fuck…” he groaned in a low rumble, “you are so much more pretty awake…” he revealed casually, “sure, you make some cute noises in your sleep, but not like this,” you instinctually tried to stifle the uncontrollable whimpers that flowed from your lungs, “you should really be thanking me for all of the time and effort I’ve put into stretching this little hole of yours out,” his fingers continued to pump in and out of you, “if I hadn’t, well then you might just split in two when I finally get my cock in there.” 

And as he leaned down to lap you up once more, you curled your toes as you felt him push you closer to the edge. 

“Mr Barnes…” you attempted with an air of respect through your pants, “please don’t–…”

“Why? Because it makes you want to kiss me again?” he teasingly taunted you before continuing his persistent licks, bullying your clit into submission. 

And as he kept going, even as you gasped, “stop–, a-ah!” he still kept his lips locked around your puffy pearl long after a gush of squirt wept around his fingers, keeping his efforts up till your hips were bucking back in sensitivity. 

But when his kiss finally ceased, he let some of your juices, that had flooded into his mouth, trickle out past his lips and back down onto your pussy, “fuck…” his low groan nearly caused the whole room to rumble, “nasty little cunt…” before he slapped your throbbing core once more, watching as the last little trickle weakly leaked out and soaked the sheets below. 

Lifting himself up to hover above your constricted form, you then squirmed as you felt him nudge the bulbous tip of him against you. 

“Does the idea of liking, or even loving, someone like me scare you that much?” he uttered as he gathered up your slick and smeared it with his cock, “does it make you feel all wrong and icky inside that I of all people make you feel the way that you do?” 

All of the air in your lungs was then suddenly knocked clean out as he, with one long stroke, slipped all the way inside, before pulling right back out to tap the weight of him against your poor clit with the hold he had at his base. 

“You won’t spontaneously combust if you admit it out loud, you know…”

He repeated the motion, plugging you up completely before he denied your cunt the chance of getting used to the stretch. 

“I just wanna hear you say it…”

And on the next time he filled you up to the brim, this time his hips didn’t retract.

Reeling as you fought to comprehend the manner his girth split you open, you gasped weakly, “I can’t…”

“Hmm…” his eyes above you narrowed slightly before he pointed out, “that’s not a no,” and he began to move, “finally getting somewhere…”

The gangster was in no way gentle as he started to fuck your pussy, the selfish force of it caused your body to jostle every time his heavy balls tapped against your slick skin, thereby conducting a lewd beat each time he slammed into you. 

Lowing himself to get even closer to you, his nose ghosted against your own from the proximity. The gesture made you assume that he was about to press his lips to yours, though they never touched, even as your own instincts overwhelmed you and made you dizzily tilt up to try and close the gap, “nah-ah-ah,” he swiftly clicked his tongue and moved out of your reach, “admit the truth and then I’ll kiss you all you want.”

With his length still embedded deep within you, he sat back up. His fingers dented your hips as he grabbed onto them and then began to sink them harshly down against his own, lifting your frame entirely off of the mattress as he used you like a toy. 

“Oh god…” you whimpered as your eyes fluttered down to notice the faint bulge that appeared in your lower abdomen, the thrusting imprint of his size visibly showing just how deep he buried himself inside of you. 

Once he’d plopped your hips back down onto the bed, his hands then instead floated up to play with your tits, the rhythm he offered you causing them to jiggle in his palms. Though once he’d fiercely pinched your nipples and parted ways in a brief tap, his fingers then drifted further down south till his right hand found your puffy clit. 

Casting his glance down as he rubbed your pearl, a smirk appeared on his lip as he spotted the way your cream coated his girth. Sweeping down to smear his touch against it, what he did next caught you so off guard that you jostled wildly in your binds in an attempt to hit him for his audacity.

“Ahh!” you yelped as he stuffed two of his fingers in your pussy alongside his already overwhelming girth, “Buck, no, it’s too much!” 

But your squeak only caused him to chuckle as he stared down at the way your little hole struggled to take what he gave it, clinging around him so tightly that loud groans began to billow from him as he soon painted your insides white and pumped you full of his cum. 

With heavy breaths, he withdrew his dick, though let his digits stay inside your warmth. 

“Maybe in time you could become more than just my good luck charm…” he murmured as he flopped down to curl closer to your core, “would you like that?” he nipped at one of your thighs as his load slowly began to leak around his thick fingers, “does the idea of me falling down to my knees before you and declaring my undying love entice you, angel?” 

“You’ll just have to do better,” he continued as his digits began to twist within you, “let me mould you and make you perfect for me,” another one of his fingers was stuffed inside of you, causing your eyes to flutter, “just let go,” he breathed, “shut off your brain and let it become a leaky mess just like your pussy already is for me,” he worked another digit into your creamy cunt before grazing the last one against your stretched out opening, “you don’t need to think, you just need to do exactly as I tell you to and everything will be okay,” his tone was soft as his thumb curled close to the others and sank into your pussy with a pop, “just break for me, it’s okay,” your body was shaking beneath him as his entire fist slowly twisted within you, “you’ll be so much more perfect ruined…”

Tears were streaming down your face as you unravelled once more, trembling violently as your pussy clamped down around his wide hand so tightly that it was forced all the way out, a drizzle of your nectar once again spraying out at the intensity. 

“Alright!” you let out a sob, “alright… I–… I don’t understand it… but, I–…” you caught his eye and confessed, “ever since the moment I met you, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you… even when I fall asleep, it’s like you’re haunting me in my dreams…” a faint shake found your head as you blinked up at him through your blurry vision, “I don’t wanna feel this way. But–… I do.”

It seemed as though time stood still as Bucky stared down at you, an unreadable expression tinting his features before he finally shifted, slowly leaning down over you and inching closer before he finally pressed his lips to your own.

A faint whimper was muffled against his kiss as you felt the world crumble around you. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it now…” he breathed as he ended the soft peck, “say it again,” his hand slid over your jaw, “practice makes perfect.”

Blinking up into his eyes, you uttered from the bottom of your heart, “I am yours,” a single tear rolled down your cheek as you still trembled beneath him. 

“Damn right you are…” his lips tilted into a smile. 

Fishing out the borrowed switchblade that still rested within the gangster’s pocket, he then sliced through the ropes and constricted you. 

Tangling your arms around his neck as you sat up, you captured his lips once again and felt his touch slide down under your ass before he scooped you into his lap. Your sore pussy wept against his cock, once again throbbing and hard as a rock against your core. As your tongue danced against his own, you couldn’t help but scramble even closer, pressing your body impossibly close to his own as you grinded down against him. 

“You are mine,” he groaned as he manhandled your frame in his hold and sank you back down onto his fat dick, “you are my most prized possession,” your bodies met in sticky claps as the aftermath of the rough round moments before still oozed all over this one where passion crackled behind both of your own desperate efforts, “I will never let you go,” he blinked up into your eyes as you rode him, both of you clinging to each other as the end crept ever nearer, “always need you–,” his sentence was briefly broken up by a moan as you rolled your hips, your pussy gripping around him and squeezing him tightly, “need you by my side…” 

Once your synced-up orgasms had both shuddered your senses and you were sharing each other’s breath, your eyes remained locked as his throbbing cock stayed buried deep within you.

“So, what now?” your chest rose and fell as you whispered into the night, the pitter-patter of rain splashing against your windows once again catching your attention as it swept over and mingled with your laboured pants of breath.  

Not shifting his gaze, his eyes briefly scanned your own in search of any ounce of deception, before his fingers dipped down into his pocket and conjured a tiny key, “now,” and he stretched down to undo the chain at your ankle. The click of the lock felt like a gasp of real air was finally filling your depraved lungs, “I take you to my room,” and he manoeuvred you around to slink one arm in behind your knees while the other stayed fast at your spine. As he rose from the bed, he plucked you up with him as well, carrying you in his hold as he exited the bedroom. 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[mydearzero]

The Babysitter | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader - Chapter 5 | City Lights

Summary: You didn’t have any superpowers, nor were you even qualified for the position, yet somehow a mishap between Alexei and Yelena ends up in getting you a new job. Bob-sitter. 

Contents: No Y/N, fem!reader, college student!reader, themes of depression

Read it on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 4

1.9K words

It was nearing nightfall, and the team had yet to return from whatever it was they were doing. Bob also had yet to return from his bedroom. For a man who claimed to always be hungry, he was staying suspiciously far from the kitchen. You tried to coax him out twice, but knew not to push it. 

You were sitting on the couch watching a movie when you got a text from an unknown number:

We won’t be back tonight. Can you stay the night? There’s a free room next to Bob’s

It’s Ava btw

Yeah sure. Anything else? 

Not for now, we’ll keep you updated and let you know when we’ll be back. 

Well, you might as well get comfy and put on some sweatpants. Maybe have a shower while you were at it, too. You gathered the extra clothes you’d packed in case something like this were to happen and walked down the hallway, past Bob’s room. You contemplated knocking on the door, but due to your little mishap this afternoon you knew you didn’t have to knock, really. He’d probably heard you already. Your fist ghosted in front of the door, but before you could knock, it opened. 

“Ava texted me. You’re staying the night?” Bob asked, not addressing the fact he’d avoided you pretty much all day. You nodded and held up your clothes. 

“Was just about to go take a shower. You got any spare towels?” You looked him over now that you had the chance. His hands were noticeably shaking. You had to suppress the urge to just give him a hug and tell him it was all gonna be okay. 

“Yeah, there should be a few in the bathroom. I think we share one, assuming you’re next door?” 

“Ava said the room next to yours, so I’m guessing we’re neighbours, yeah,” you confirmed. You knew there was a bathroom for every 2 rooms. Rich people bullshit. Well, you could’ve had your own bathroom, that’d be even richer. 

“You can use some of my soap, if you want. Should all be there. Enough towels to go around, too.” Bob offered. You thanked him and made your way next door, checking out the bedroom before heading into the bathroom and locking both entrances. 

You turned the shower on and got undressed as you waited for the water to get warm. The shower was nicer than any one you’d been in before. You could get used to this. Probably Tony Stark’s doing while this was still his tower. 

The hot water took some of your worries with it, relaxing your muscles. You still couldn’t keep your mind from Bob and what had happened. The cut on your cheek stung when the warm water hit it directly, but other than that was completely fine. You understood his worries, but he couldn’t live in fear they’d happen or he’d never leave the house or talk to a soul again. Valentina also didn’t seem like a very intimidating threat. The team had her wrapped around their fingers, even if it was unwillingly. She couldn’t bribe you to sell out Bob to her grimy hands. 

You were appalled at the sight of the 3-in-1 body wash and shampoo Bob apparently settled on for his routine. Men. You’d have to take him shopping sometime soon and buy him some actual shampoo, conditioner and soap. It did smell nice, you had to give him that. Smelled like him. 

You turned the shower off and toweled yourself dry. You quickly got dressed and made your way back to what would be your bedroom for the night. A long sigh escaped your lips as you let yourself fall on the luxurious bed. Soft, but not too soft. Sturdy enough to support your back but more pillows than a girl could ever need. Good bed. 

Your mind wandered to Bob once more. He could likely hear you in the room, you realised. 

“Bob? I know you can hear me, so I’m gonna talk even if you don’t want to face me to hear it,” you tried. Worth a shot. You got no reply, not that you’d expected one. 

You sat up on the bed and gazed at the clock. 10 P.M. 

“I get that you’re afraid and that there’s parts of you I don’t understand yet. I also know there’s parts you’ll never let me see, but you can’t coop yourself up in your bedroom and just hope everything and everyone goes away until all eternity.” It felt strange, talking into an empty room. 

“I don’t have any intentions of hurting you, or handing you over to someone who might have such intentions. If I’m being realistic, I’m being paid to keep you company and I’m not really succeeding at that right now. So if you’ll just let me do my job and not get me fired, that’d be great.” 

You heard shuffling on the other side of your door, followed by a small, hesitant knock. You opened it in an instant, faced with a timid Bob. He was obviously feeling conflicted. 

“Can I come in?” He asked. You nodded and gestured for him to sit on the end of the bed. You joined him, pulling your legs up and facing him to let him talk. 

“It’s sweet, what you’re doing. Even if you’re being paid to do so. I just can’t see how this arrangement can work longtime. I appreciate that you’re keeping me company and I know what the team is trying to do. I know I need help, I just-” he looked at his hands, which up until now had been folded in his lap. They were still shaking. 

He took a deep breath before he continued. “I needed help even before all this. I’m not… I don’t wanna put everything on you right now. This team? These people? They’re trying to be the best people they can, despite their pasts. I know they’re trying their best for me, too, but I don’t deserve it.” 

You moved to put a comforting hand on his hunched shoulder, but he flinched away violently. You quickly put your hand back on your lap. “And you. You’re just a part of this all. I don’t need a babysitter. I don’t need someone on suicide watch.” He scoffed. Something was off. He was starting to sound different. He’d refused to look at you up until now. His expression was one you hadn’t seen from him before. You couldn’t place it. 

“And really, what are you gonna do? When it goes wrong, you can’t stop me. None of them can. It’s only a matter of time. I’m a walking time bomb and you’re only putting yourself in the area of detonation.” He got up off the bed and walked back to the hallway, slamming the door as he went. It fell off the hinges, wood splinters falling to the floor. 

You let out a shaky breath. Bob had scared you. This was not what you’d intended when you tried to coax him to talk to you. Was this what Yelena had talked about? Was this what happened when he was alone for too long? Was this why you were here in the first place? 

You tried to push the fear down as far as it would go and got off the bed. You stepped over the splintered door and looked down the hallway. Bob hadn’t gone into his room, the door still wide open. 

You walked back to the living room, with the penthouse windows overlooking the city. Bob was standing there, still as a statue, looking outside. You kept your distance, but you knew. You knew that he knew you were right behind him. 

You wanted to speak. Wanted to tell him it was all going to be okay. Ask him if he’d just go to bed and sleep it off. No sound left your lips. 

“Have you ever felt so empty you don’t think you’re actually feeling anything? Like you’re slowly being overtaken by a parasite that takes control and no matter what you do, your conscience gets sidelined by this being that’s hellbent on breaking you down bit by bit? Yet you know, logically, there’s no parasite. It’s all just… you. And the only way to make it stop, to finally make it quiet…” 

He didn’t have to finish for you to understand. You wish you knew what to say, how to make the pain go away. Wish you’d kept him distracted and engaged long enough to stop him from spiralling.

“Have you ever wondered about the meaning of life?” Bob finally turned around to look at you. His eyes… They were different. 

“Hasn’t everyone?” You finally answered. 

“There is none. An answer, I mean. Because there is no meaning to life. You get born, deal with the cards you’re dealt, live life and then you die. Your memory lives on for a couple of generations, if you’re lucky. But most of us? We’re like a nostalgic scent you pick up on a random afternoon; You know you remember the smell, but won’t ever remember what it is.” He rambled. He turned back to look out the window. He gazed at the cars passing, the lights in the buildings. 

“Nothing matters. Yet everything does. I just want it to stop,” his voice cracked. You felt tears well up in your eyes. He understood his feelings, yet the thought of them ever changing was inconceivable. 

He’d appeared angry before. What you were scared of initially was his anger. You knew now there was only one thing you had to fear. The darkness. The heartache. The hopelessness. 

Spiralling was easy. Climbing back up? That was the hard part. 

You walked into the kitchen and put on the kettle, pulling out two mugs and dropping teabags into them. You added an extra teaspoon of sugar into his before pouring the boiling water. He didn’t speak as you made the tea. 

You walked back into the living room and handed him a mug, joining him in gazing out the window. He took the mug and when you sat down on the cold floor, he joined you. 

You sat there in silence, looking out on the New York skyline, for what felt like hours. There was nothing you could say, nothing you could do that would solve what he was going through. 

He drank the tea when the temperature allowed it. You sipped your own and tried to find a constellation in the sky, but no stars were visible above the bright city. It was ironic, in a sense. All Bob had to do was find the stars to guide him home. But how could he do that when the sky was polluted with light? 

It was on the floor where he eventually fell asleep. You felt your own eyes drooping, too. You kept watch over him as he slept. He needed it. You grabbed a few pillows from the couch along with a blanket and made him as comfortable as you could without waking him up. 

Your tea had long gone cold when you placed your mug on the counter along with Bob’s. The loud city was somehow peaceful when you looked at it from this high up. You could understand why he sought it out as a place of solace. It could’ve been minutes or hours before the night finally took you, but you stayed right there by his side, on the floor.

CHAPTER 6

TAGLIST: @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @hopes-peak-akademy @rattheraddestrat @i-shall-abide @puer-aurea @kennywantskfc69 @spectacled-studies @hiddlebatchedloki @chimchoom @spidermiraculous-blog @s00ty-feet @28cnn @tinythebunni @softpia @roeroeroeyourboet @secretkittydreamland @cultish-corner @greenbean-4ever @t-rexs-world @thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth @ifilwtmfc @renren-006 @10ava01 @kawaii1369 @hawkinsavclub1983 @paleepeaches @lnmp89

[etheriaaly]

Haunted | Avengers x Reader

ANGST, FLUFF

Avengers x Reader (Platonic), Peter Parker x Reader (soon)

WARNINGS: Character death, cursing, stages of grief

Reader pronouns: They/them [GN! Reader]

Summary: Reader is a young 15 year old Avenger who has the powers and ability to reverse/rewind time. They saved countless lives using their time-rewinding powers but sadly, they were not able to turn back time before they died. Months later, a new Avenger recruit named Peter Parker came into view. Since he’s the youngest of them all, he was super protected and cared for by the Avengers, not wanting another death to come. Through an accident, Peter was able to see the ghost of [Y/N].

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

—

“Come on, Mr. Stark, pleaseeeeee.”  [Y/N] pleaded as they kept trailing behind Tony like a lost puppy.

“Get lost, kid,” Tony waved his hand in the air, walking towards the main lounge of the tower. “Also, didn’t I tell you to not call me Mr. Stark anymore?”

“[Y/N] bothering you again?” Steve asked, not looking up from the newspaper he’s reading. He’s sitting on the couch while Sam and Bucky are sitting near him and having their own little fight. 

“Mx. [L/N] over here won’t stop pestering me about us going on a vacation to Disneyland.” 

[Y/N] said, “We’ve been doing countless missions every day, saving the world, kicking Hydra’s ass. The Avengers definitely deserves a vacation break.” 

“Did someone say vacation?” Pietro suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the main lounge using his speed powers. “I’m up for that.”

[Y/N] grinned and placed their arms around Pietro’s shoulders, “See? Even speedster over here wants a vacation. Come on, Tony, I know everyone secretly wants a vacation.” 

A few minutes later, Vision, Wanda, Rhodey, Bruce and Natasha arrived at the main lounge. “What are you guys talking about?” Wanda asked. 

Thor answered Wanda’s question, “The young one wants a vacation.” 

Tony groaned and crashed into a nearby couch.

“[Y/N] is right, Stark. Most of us could really use a vacation here.” Bucky called out. Soon, everyone is now staring at Tony, pleading for a vacation that he will pay for. 

“Fine-” Before the billionaire finish his sentence, everyone cheered. Their little celebration about the upcoming vacation was halted when their red mission alarm in the Tower was activated. 

“Another mission? Seriously?” [Y/N] grunted as they all hurriedly prepared for their sudden mission.

"That's the life of being an Avenger, kid."

"Hey, I'm not complaining.”  [Y/N] shrugged. 

Once they finished mini preparing for their sudden mission, they all ran towards the Quinjet and went inside. It was a bit quiet until Steve spoke up. His hands on the tablet. 

He read aloud what was written on the mission file, “Fury said they found out another building of Hydra’s. We must sweep everything and find out if they have been keeping any information in there. 

[Y/N] checked the time in their left wrist watch, 2:45 PM. ‘It’s already been 5 minutes since we’re in this Quinjet?’ They mentally asked themselves, a bit forgetting that Wanda can hear other people’s thoughts or read minds. 

‘Don’t worry. Hopefully, this mission will be quick and we’re all just gonna chill in the living room.’ Wanda replied to her thoughts. The two of them gave each other a smile. 

“About the vacation-” Pietro suddenly mentioned. Tony groaned while others broke out into laughter. “I’m serious!” He put his hands up the air in defense then laughs as well. “When will we schedule it? I do hope it’s-”

Tony cut him off, “Let’s all talk about it later. Right after this mission. Only IF everyone get’s out alive.” 

“Ha-ha, Mr. Billionaire,” [Y/N] said, then giving him a smug look. “Did you forget you literally have a human time machine right here? If anyone dies later, I could just rewind and POOF! We’re all safe and sound.”

“We’re all gonna go back to the tower alive and in one piece.” Natasha stated. 

Bucky joined in, “Don’t be such a jinxter, Tony.”

The rest of the ride was either just goofing around, giving each other snarky comments, or Steve trying to stop them because they have a mission to focus on. 

∿

Everyone had arrived at the location where Hydra was doing experiments and planning evil plans. Everyone knows the drill and the mission already, sweep off Hydra guards in every floor, get information and stop the evil works. 

They’re all divided into 2 pairs per floor level. The Hydra building consists of 5 floors. Steve and Natasha on the first; Tony and Rhodey on the second; Thor and Bucky on the third; Pietro and Clint on the fourth; and Wanda and [Y/N] on the fifth floor. Sam volunteered to check the entire building perimeters outside because he wants to have a “bird’s eye view”. 

Meanwhile, Vision is just helping everyone by phasing through the floors back and forth. Then, Bruce is just at the Quinjet, waiting for everyone just in case they need the Hulk for later. Well, he mostly prefers to be there, he has some science stuff to finish anyways. 

After 10 minutes of taking down Hydra guards and agents, they’re all almost done checking every room for any useful information or stuff. Wanda and [Y/N] decided to split in order to finish looking into every room as soon as possible. 

[Y/N] had organized a movie night later and they want this mission to end so that they can start relaxing and hanging out.  [Y/N] doesn’t have that much powers except for some enhanced agility, fast reflexes and reversing time. Although, some may confuse her reversing time powers for time travelling, both are very much different from each other. 

They are about to check the last room, already assuming it’s the main room of the building due to how wide the doors are. 

“Going in the last room now.” [Y/N] said as everyone had been communicating through the earpiece. “Might need backup, just in case.”

Pietro said, “We’re coming to your floor now.” 

“Steve and I will catch up, there’s too many stairs.” 

[Y/N] tried to break-open the big doors but was immediately cut off when Wanda effortlessly opened it with a swish of her hands. “Thanks.” 

They both walked inside the room. An uneasy feeling appeared as their stomach gets twisted. Something doesn’t feel right. 

Wanda was examining the other side of the room while  [Y/N] ran towards the center as there is a note that was placed on the table. 

They picked it up and read it out loud, “Dear Avengers, if you are reading this. You have perfectly walked into Hydra’s best trap. Tick, tick, tick. Time is running. Goodbye forever.” This immediately caught everyone’s attention. 

[Y/N] was about to make a joke about the note on how amateur the note is. Like, Hydra doesn’t write those kind of notes but [Y/N] is guessing they hired a newbie to write that note. Luckily, they think it is not the best time to joke around when the building could blow up any minute now. 

[Y/N]’s eyes quickly glanced the item that was beside the note and then their eyes widened. “WE HAVE TO GO NOW!” 

It was a bomb. With only 10 seconds left until it explodes and destroys the entire building. They are pretty sure Hydra planted more around the area but wasn’t sure if there are more. 

Wanda and [Y/N] swiftly tried to escape as Pietro appeared in front of them, ready to get everyone out safely before the bomb goes out. 

They were all panicking and hurrying to get outside the building as soon as possible. 

5...

“SHIT. SHIT. EVERYONE OUT.” 

4...

3...

Pietro was about to grab Wanda and  [Y/N] first until a random Hydra agent appeared out of nowhere, pointing a gun towards them and shot Pietro at the shoulder. 

2...

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME-”

1...

The bomb went out and exploded, causing other hidden bombs around the building to slowly explode. It sounded like a loud shotgun that almost shattered  [Y/N] ‘s eardrum as they are the closest person to where the bomb is. 

They gave a quick glance of their left wrist watch to mentally note what time the bomb went out. This has been a thing for [Y/N] to take note of the time before and after using their rewinding time powers. 3:

“NOOO!” They shouted. They can feel themselves getting lifted up in the air as their hair levitates, getting ready for the entire body to be flown across the building floor. [Y/N] hurriedly pulled out their arms to rewind 15 minutes before it exploded. They chose 15 minutes because the Avengers have not yet arrived the Hydra area.

[Y/N] watched everything rewind but they stayed being lifted up in the air as they can still experience the exploded bomb effects. They watched their old self and Wanda examine the rooms and then slowly goes back to the staircase. 

With only rewinding back to 5 minutes, they can feel themselves gradually feel tired and drained as they can only usually go back in time seconds by seconds. 

But, they are determined to save their friends and family from Hydra’s unpredictable trap. Forcing themselves to go back 15 minutes. They can already feel blood coming out of their nose, this was the first time [Y/N] used their powers with great force. 

Finally, they were able to rewind 15 minutes before; thus, everything goes back to normal and they immediately gets thrown off across the floor. [Y/N] groaned. 

Not wanting to move for a while due to the pain of getting thrown to the ground and also because of the immense headache they are currently experiencing, they stayed lying on the floor for a short while. [Y/N] doesn't like how they have side effects of using the powers too much.

Now, they’re regretting they shouldn’t have used their powers hours ago. They used it to rewind several seconds out of pure boredom, and now they are facing the consequences of it. 

Feeling heavily drained, they casually lifted up their left arm to check what time it is in their wrist watch. 3:03 PM. They all left the Tower around 2:40 PM, it was around 20 minutes of traveling from the Avengers Tower to the Hydra base that was located. 

‘They should be arriving anytime soon.’  [Y/N] told themselves mentally. After resting their body on the floor for a few minutes, they managed to gain some remaining energy to stand up and walk towards the big room to diffuse the bomb.

Once they reached the main room, they grabbed unto the table for some support in case they accidentally stumble or fall.

[Y/N] stared at the ticking bomb. They have 12 minutes left until it explodes.

"What the fuck?" They muttered under their breathe. This is not a normal bomb. It's in Russian and the usual colors of green and red were replaced by pink and purple. What are they supposed to do now?

If only Natasha or Tony or Vision is here, then at least one of them can help diffuse the bomb.

[Y/N] limped around the room, looking for any sharp objects that could cut the wires. They can just rewind again if they accidentally cuts the wrong one. Well, if they can still rewind back in time.

“Fuck.” They cursed under their breath. Hydra is actually smart enough to make sure there’s no sharp objects around the room for the wires to get cut.  [Y/N] then searched around her suit pockets in case they actually hid a cutter or a small knife somewhere. 

Nothing. They groaned and carefully walked out of the room to find anything small or sharp in the hallways. Their eyes immediately saw the window and they smiled. They can just shoot or destroy the window and a shard of glass would be fine.

Forgetting that there are Hydra agents in the hallway, they all noticed them and went to shoot them.  Before [Y/N] swiftly moved their hand, they counted how many Hydra agents were in the floor. 

There are 5 agents. After [Y/N] rewinded time, they found themselves back in the room. Pulling out their gun again, they went to count how many bullets they have. 6 bullets. 

‘I better not miss then.’  

[Y/N] counted until 5 before they opened the door and shot all the Hydra agents carefully yet precisely. All the Hydra agents dropped dead on the floor, so much to [Y/N]'s dismay. [Y/N] never wanted to kill anyone, even if they're Hydra agents but they have no other choice as of the moment. 

They aimed at the window and shot it, causing it to break. They limped towards it to grab a shard of glass. Not wanting to waste any more time, they tired to ignore the pain in their body as they sped up.

∿

Meanwhile, the Avengers are gearing up in the quinjet as they are almost near the Hydra base. Some were still joking around and throwing comments about their vacation until Wanda swiftly scanned the room.

“Where’s [Y/N]?” Wanda asked. Everyone stopped talking. They stared at the seat of the quinjet that [Y/N] was seating on just a while ago. 

Natasha came into a realization ang gasped. “Something went wrong with this mission, [Y/N] rewinded.”

“Shit, shit, shit.” Tony muttered as he went to the pilot’s seat and sped up the quinjet. 

This wasn't the first time that [Y/N] rewinded back in time during a mission, Natasha knew it her all too well.

They have arrived earlier than expected in the Hydra base. The Quinjet was about to land on the ground until a window from the very top of the building smashed which caught the Avenger’s attention. The moment they landed, Sam and Vision were the first to go out of the Quinjet, immediately going inside the building through the smashed broken window. Pietro swiftly went inside the building too. 

The three of them went inside the room to see [Y/N] destroy a wire until it suddenly set off.  [Y/N] turned back to look at them and their eyes widened, quickly pulled out their hand to rewind again. 

∿

Okay, maybe the purple wire isn’t the correct one to diffuse. 'I'll try the other one.' They immediately cut off the pink one and it still exploded. Mentally groaning, they rewinded back in time for the last time.

They give up. The bomb sets off either way. And even if they want to go out of the building, they have no energy. Too tired from using her powers, too tired from the aftermath of using her powers, too tired from fighting. Too tired from everything.

[Y/N] walks towards the nearest wall and slid down, resting. They'll just hope the Avengers gets in here in time so that they can save her.

"Yeah. They'll come. Don't worry, [Y/N]." They tried to comfort themselves. There's only 3 minutes left until it sets off. Mentally pleading the Universe that the Avengers will appear to save them.

They started to sing Can't Fight This Feeling by REO Speedwagon. It may sound cliché or weird but for them, singing this specific song soothes them whenever they feel alone or scared. [Y/N] feels like it helps lighten the mood.

Other than that, it's also one of the Avengers favorite songs. So, whenever the song play, [Y/N] was immediately reminded of the Avengers and they just imagine their usual reactions: random dancing around the room or unsynchronized and out of tune singing.

[Y/N] cracked a smile and closed her eyes, still singing Can't Fight This Feeling but their voice was low and raspy. "'Cause I feel so secure when we're together."

"You give my life direction. You make everything so clear."

Suddenly they heard their earpiece let out a static noises until it became clear and silent. They continued to sing lazily, "And even as I wander. I'm keeping you in sight."

"You're the candle in the window." They suddenly heard Pietro sing. Their eyes opened up as their eyes perked as if they had regained energies but they're still low battery.

"Pietro-"

Bucky joined in the singing, "On a cold, dark winter's night."

Wanda and Natasha chimed in, "And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might."

And soon, the others joined in, creating a not-so-perfect harmony but it still gives [Y/N] happiness, "And I can't fight this feeling anymore!" 

Abruptly, Sam turned on the music and played the song but they all stopped singing as to let the song play. 

“You guys came.” 

“Of course we came Max Caulfield.” Tony remarked.

Wanda said, “We quickly noticed you used your time powers again the moment we saw that you were not in the Quinjet.”  

“We’re about to reach the perimeter, now-”

“DON’T!” [Y/N] suddenly screamed, then regretting it since it just took away another energy. “It’s a trap. Hydra, I...I tried so many times already but it’s still the same outcome. Just, please...hurry. I’m scared.”

10 seconds left. "You know, Hawaii sounds like a good place for a vacation."

"We're about to land, now just hold on, [Y/N]. We're coming for you, pumpkin." Clint said as [Y/N] started to tear up. It was a random habit of Clint to call them pumpkin, [Y/N] likes to think of him as one of their fatherly figures.

5 seconds left.

“I have scanned the premises. [Y/N] is in the top floor building.” Vision stated and immediately phased out of the Quinjet and flew towards the building. 

They have landed and quickly opened the door and scattered. Wanda used her powers for her to easily reach the top floor just like Vision did. 

“I love you guys.” 

Everyone halted as the building exploded. Their ears rang, some took cover as there would be flying debris or ashes coming towards them. Those who were near the building got thrown away as well. 

Wanda landed on her back and coughed. She horridly stared at the building that her best friend was in, tears forming in her eyes. 

Natasha ran up to Wanda’s side to help her up. 

Wanda croaked, “We’re too late.” 

∿

The Avengers just felt numbness and sadness for 6 months straight. Although some of them may not admit it, it was very well shown through their actions and how they cope.

The death really did a big impact in their lives. Especially when they're close with [Y/N]. [Y/N] was the only teen in the team that gives so much energy, life and mischief to their everyday lives.

But, now that they're gone. It seems like the light has been turned off and the energy in the compound is not the same anymore.

It's dull and quiet and no life.

Denial.

It was the first stage of grief. The death was unexpected and so sudden, it was a shock to everyone. They deny the death of the youngest Avenger. There are times one would roam the Tower and they can still feel the presence of [Y/N]. 

She had brought a lot of life, chaos, and happiness to the Tower that the Avengers enjoys very much. 

The Avengers grieved together and then on their own. 3 weeks after the death, they held a funeral for [Y/N]. After the funeral, they all went back to the Avengers Tower in silence. They all sat down in the main lounge, comforting each other with one’s presence. 

At first, it was silence. Slowly, they just randomly reminisce the memories they have with [Y/N] as if they didn’t die. It was denial once again. The Avengers cannot acknowledge the fact that [Y/N] had died, even though they just held a funeral for them hours ago.

Most of them acts like nothing happened. There would be a time where their day will continue as it normally would and they all act like as if [Y/N] is still alive.

Wanda would then be the number one person to pretend everything is fine and nothing ever happened. One specific time, Natasha passed by [Y/N]'s room and would hear Wanda talking as if she was actually talking to [Y/N].

Anger.

Oh boy, this one was the most chaotic stage that the Avengers had gone through. The Avengers did not handle this one very well. One line mistake and the entire room would be filled with angry shouts, comeback, sarcastic comments, and etc.

Small arguments and fights exists even before  [Y/N] ‘s death. Though, it was a friendly argument and everyone would resolve it easily. But this one is different. Their arguments would last for days causing one or the other to not talk for a long time. Usually when things like this happen,  [Y/N] would be the person to make peace. 

There was a time where Steve suggested that resuming training sessions as a team would help lessen the grieving process, but boy he was wrong. The Avengers would just randomly let our their anger out of nowhere during training session, thus will cause an argument. 

Anger is Hulk’s best friend. If Hulk’s anger is the worst, then you should be prepared when it comes to Hulk being angry about the death of his friend. Despite Hulk not liking most people,  [Y/N] was one of the few people that Hulk actually likes besides Natasha. He thinks of her as a friend and a cool tiny human. 

Everyone in the team seem to almost forgot about Bruce’s Hulk. So whenever they create a fight and Bruce gets to be a part of it, they are all doomed. Hulk was brought out and destroyed the entire floor. Thanks to Wanda, he was calmed down and prevented him from going out and wreck the city. 

Bargaining.

Wanda locked herself in her room for 2 weeks straight, blaming herself and pondering about all the things she could've done using her powers to save her best friend.

Some of the Avengers grief process of bargaining was mixed up together with anger. It was not a very good match. Especially when it comes to Tony and Steve.

A simple conversation can start with coffee and end up with blaming each other and going after each other's throats.

Depression.

Vision felt like it was a need for everyone to be left one or at least talk to someone, which is a therapist. Though, one time Bucky kept ignoring his therapist's calls and messages. It may feel like such a bore or a stupid idea for others, but they all kept going to therapy sessions. It helps ease the pain.

Months after [Y/N]'s death is still painful, especially when others decided to leave the Tower and go back to their usual lives, either drowning in work or spending time with their family to somehow forget the pain they are feeling.

Thor and Loki went off-world and back to Asgard. They just simply couldn't bear the haunted memories around the Avengers Tower and New York.

Clint returned to his family in the barn, but would occasionally be visited by Natasha.

At last, acceptance. The last and foremost stage of grief that was never overcome by the Avengers. They were all stuck at a loop beginning from denial to depression and again and again and again.

Wanda indulged herself in cooking as frequently as possible but would also lock herself in her room again.

Pietro still haven't pulled pranks in a long time and he's always out and would just return at night. stopped pulling pranks around the tower.

Tony and Bruce continues overworked themselves in the lab; Steve would often get caught looking at the photos and going to museums. Natasha indulged would with more missions and returned back to Ohio to spend time with her family.

Sam offered Bucky to come with him back to his hometown and Bucky went along with him. Rhodey went back to serving the military; while Vision felt sadness too, he made sure to comfort the others as he knows how this affected everyone very much. 

Some months after ignoring each other, they all decided to get back together and being away from one another actually gives more sorrow. The Avengers decided to heal together even though the wound may still be fresh. Healing takes time and a part of them knows that [Y/N] wouldn’t want them to mope around like this. 

As much as they want to reach the stage of acceptance, they can't. The wound is still fresh. It will take a long time to stitch it up.

6 months had passed. Still no progress. It is still very difficult to move on. But when Tony saw a video of Spiderman in YouTube, he decided that recruiting a new Avenger the same age as [Y/N] would help heal the pain and distract them from it. Plus, he thinks the kid has potential. 

Before tracking down where Spider-Man lives, Tony told everyone about it. However, some disagrees with this idea. 

“And how old again is this Peter Parker person?” Sam asked. 

“15.”

“You can’t be that serious, Tony. This Spider-guy is just a kid.” Steve argued.

“Oh yeah? And so was [Y/N].” Tony snapped back. "Come on, we need to give this kid a chance. Plus, they'd love to have them around."

Sam smiled. "They'd probably do. They're the same age, if they were here...they'd be best friends and partners in crime. I know it."

"This just sounds like we're replacing [Y/N]." Wanda said out loud, tears forming in her eyes. "It's just been months, it's way too early to replace her just like that, Stark."

Stark. Tony's face fell. It hasn't been a long time since Wanda called him by his last name. Well, at first they were on a last name basis until they all became close friends and decided to get rid of the last name basis and change to first name basis.

Tony replied, "No one is replacing [Y/N]. She's practically irreplaceable."

“Well, it feels like you are.” Wanda said with hurt in her voice as she stands up and leaves the room. 

Pietro stands up as well and turns to Tony, “You are right --  [Y/N] is irreplaceable. But, I agree with my sister.” With that, he speeds out of the room, possibly to go after his twin.

Tony sighs. He looks around at everyone again, waiting for their replies. “Come on guys, give this kid a chance. All those in favor?” He raises his own arm.

Natasha slowly raises her hands, then Sam, then Rhodey. 4 out of 12 agrees. 

“If I may,” Vision speaks up. Everyone’s attention shifted to him. “I understand that we are still in the process of grieving, and this act of letting in another teenager in the team unsettles most of us. But, I believe that we shouldn’t be consumed by our grief and continue on closing the door on anyone that may seem like a replacement for her.” 

He continues, “This Peter Parker is not a replacement, no one could ever replace our beloved [Y/N]. But I think we should give this boy a chance. We all have abilities, skills, and powers that serves for the purpose of goodness and helping mankind. This kid seems to be on the same path as us. And so does,  [Y/N]. I think we should give him a chance because we all know that they would too.”

Everyone was silent for now, contemplating on what Vision had just said. 

They all looked at each other, eyes communicating as they finally decided. 

“Okay,” Steve breaks the silence, speaking for everyone. “Let’s give this kid a chance.”

Tony grinned slightly, clasping his hands together. “I promise, you won’t regret this.”

∿

Author’s Note:

This has been on my drafts since 2021 and I finally decided to finish writing this. The remaining last part of this fic was finished by me now, but the rest were written by 15-year-old me, 4 years ago. So I’d like to apologize how badly written the death and the stages of grief was. Anyway, consider this as my somewhat comeback in writing fanfics since I haven’t been writing in so long. 

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Bad Idea (3)

Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary- Natasha proposes that the two of you become friends with benefits.

Warnings/Tags: Smut 18+ MDNI- Friends with Benefits, Jealousy, Drinking, Parties, Fingering , Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Feelings.

This is an old fic I found from my ao3 so the writing quality isn't that good, apologies but I don't have the time to improve it.

General Master List Ch1 | Ch2

“Alright folks I think a celebration is in order!” cheered Tony as you all started leaving the Quinjet after your latest mission. A few groaned in response as most people were tired after taking down a Hydra base but Tony persisted with his idea. “Come on guys,” he said while wrapping an arm around you causing you to raise an eyebrow, “Just a few drinks, maybe a game or two?” You rolled your eyes at the man as, despite being tired, you would never refuse the chance to drink and he knew that. After a few others agreed you also joined in and decided to go straight to your room so you could flop on your bed before the party.

A body joined you on the bed as you felt the bed dip with her weight before she settled straddling your back. A pair of hands worked over your back and you sighed into the sheets at the feeling of her hands working at the tense muscle.

“What? Does that feel good?” she teased while biting your earlobe earning a groan from you. You left out a muffled ‘Mhmm’ into the sheets earning a chuckle from the spy on top of you. The two of you stayed like that until you felt her peppering kisses along your neck and shoulder. You held onto the back of her thighs before flipping to two of you over so you could hover over her. Lips ghosted each other as you stared into her eyes with a soft smile.

“Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious to the effect you have on me?” you hummed out whilst scraping your teeth along her pulse point, a gasp leaving her lips at the feeling.

“Maybe,” she purred out while her hands found a place in your hair to tug your face back to hers. “What are you going to do about it?” Just as you were about to kiss her a loud knock at your door was heard.

“Y/N!” Shouted Tony and you groaned into her neck.

“What do you want Stark!” you shouted back as you had something much better to do then talk to Stark.

“Come on we’re starting the party so get your arse out of bed and get drunk with me!”

===

Two hours later and you were with the rest of the Avengers in the common area having a collection of shots or drinks that you would probably regret in the morning. You watched with wide eyes as Tony stood on top of the table and announced truth or dare. As it was Stark’s idea, it was his turn to go first. The night consisted of Tony giving Steve a lap dance, Clint strip teasing the group, Natasha having to take a shot of Asgardian liquor and Sam and Bucky switching clothes. You and Wanda were the only ones left so Tony once again got involved.

“I dare Wanda to straddle Y/n and whisper dirty things until the round is over,” he slurred out and your eyes widened. You looked over at Natasha to see a blank expression before your gaze switched to Wanda who was softly smiling at you. Wanda easily sat in your lap and your hands hesitantly went to her waist. You knew the agreement between you and Nat was strictly just meant to be sex but your feelings towards the spy made this feel so wrong.

“Wanda I-“

“I know,” she whispered softly into your ear. “I think you and Nat would be cute together,” she adds making you blush and to the others it seems Wanda is saying obscene thoughts.

“How?” you whisper back, moving so no one can hear what you’re saying.

“Does everyone forget I’m a mind reader?” she chuckles out into your ear making you blush again as well…you’ve definitely thought certain things about the spy near Wanda. “Also you might want to keep your thoughts quieter,” she teases and you groan in embarrassment earing a cheer from Tony as his thoughts are somewhere else. Once the round is finished, Wanda gets off your lap quickly and sends a wink your way for encouragement and you turn your gaze to Natasha who is refusing to look at you. After a few minutes you see her slip out of the room and swiftly follow after her.

“Nat,” you say while running up to her, your hands going to her waist.

“No,” she says with a hint of anger in her voice.

“You don’t need to be jealous Wanda was just-“

“I’m not jealous!” she snaps while turning around to face you, “Its just….you’re mine!” Her voice is shaky as you looks at you. Your eyes stay trained on hers as she carries on, “I know we agreed just sex but I fell for you. I couldn’t stop myself from loving you and I get that you don’t love me back-“

You cut her rambling off by crashing your lips to hers in a passionate kiss. You tried to put all of your feelings into the kiss and pushed her against the wall to continue it. Your hands cupped her cheeks as you pulled back to rest your foreheads togethers, both of you panting for breath.

“I love you Natasha,” you whisper against her lips. “I’ve loved you since the day I met you and I couldn’t stop myself falling for you,” you confessed and she pressed her lips back to yours. Your hands made their way to the bare skin of her thighs that her skirt reveals and slowly trail upwards. When you meet nothing but bare skin you moan into the kiss at the realization. “You’re n-not ,um, w-wearing anything under that, are you..?” You stutter out as this feels so much more intimate now you’ve both confessed your feelings.

“No,” she rasps out at the shell of your ear. “So take me to bed. Now.” Her tone is desperate and who are you to deny her when she needs you. You pull away from her and grab her hand before dragging her towards her room as this is one of the soundproof rooms in the building. As soon as you make it to her room, she pins you against the door and starts stripping you of your clothes. Your hands work at her shirt and bra as she bites marks into your neck and eventually the two of you make it to her bed. You push her onto it before climbing on top of her and pressing your lips to hers in another passionate kiss.

“Tell me what you want,” you husk out at her ear making her hips grind upwards into your abdomen, “Show me how good you can be, how submissive you can be for me.” A whimper escapes her at your words and as your hands tease her sensitive nipples before you take a breast into your mouth. Her hands tangle in your hair as usual and she tugs your head back to her face so she can kiss you. Her hands wrap around to play with the baby hairs of your neck while you pull her skirt down to reveal her bare, creamy skin. “You’re perfect,” you mumble against her lips causing a tint of red to appear on her cheeks.

“Please touch me,” she whispers before closing the gap between you. You remain kissing her, enjoying this new intimacy, while one hand trails south to reach her dripping core. A low moan is muffled by your mouth as you run a finger through her folds, collecting her wetness, before moving to circle her clit. Your kisses move to her jaw and neck when she starts moaning as you slip two fingers into her soaking cunt. “Fuck,” she groans out, eyes fluttering close at the feeling, while you continue leaving marks all over her body. You pump your fingers in and out of her at an increasing pace earning a string of moans to pour out of her mouth and her hips grind upwards in time with every thrust. You place one last kiss on her mouth before kissing down her toned stomach to reach where she desperately needs you. Whimpers echo around the room as you tease her by nipping at the skin of her inner thighs. “Please just fuck me,” she groans out while pushing your head towards her core and you happily oblige. You lick and suck at her clit causing her back to arch in pleasure as you drive her closer to climaxing. As you feel her walls tightening around your digits, you curl them making her come with a scream of your name. You work her through the orgasm and immediately send her into another one by brutally thrusting your fingers in and out while sucking on her clit. Once she has calmed down from her high, you work your way back up her body and reclaim her lips. Natasha moans at the taste of herself on your tongue and flips you both over so she’s straddling your waist. She grinds down onto your bare cunt, her clit perfectly rubbing against yours, making you cry out her name.

“Fuck Nat,” you moan as she continues to grind along your cunt. Your both moaning messes when you both start grinding at a faster pace and your head is throw back in pleasure when she grinds down harder. “Please I’m so close,” you rasp out as your hands help guide her hips as her legs have started to tremble.

“Holy shit,” she moans, mouth parted open as she looks down at you, “Come with me.” As soon as she says that you feel yourself coming undone beneath her and she instantly comes with you. You both lay there riding out your highs together before she falls forwards and buries her face in the crook of your neck.

“That was amazing,” you sigh out before kissing her hair and running feather light touches up and down her back. “I love you,” you whisper and she moves to face you.

“I love you too,” she murmurs in response before kissing you again.

[unfgvien]

daring desires

pairing - natasha x reader

summary - The team at Tony Stark's penthouse plays a game with Natasha, revealing deep secrets. Yn, introverted, shares her wildest mission experience. Natasha kisses Yn, leaving a sense of vulnerability and belonging.

word count - 2.2k

The living room of Tony Stark’s penthouse is a mess of discarded champagne flutes, half-eaten canapés, and the lingering scent of expensive perfume. The party, as always, has been a whirlwind of laughter, music, and the kind of decadence only Tony can orchestrate. Now, as the night winds down, the team has gathered on the plush sectional sofa, the air thick with the kind of camaraderie that comes from shared battles and late-night conversations. Tony, ever the instigator, claps his hands together with a grin that’s equal parts mischievous and charming. “Alright, folks, let’s end this night with a bang. Truth or dare. Who’s in?”

The suggestion is met with a mix of groans and eager nods. Clint Barton, lounging on the arm of the sofa, raises an eyebrow. “Truth or dare? Really, Tony? We’re not teenagers.”

“Age is just a number, Barton,” Tony retorts, already spinning an empty bottle on the coffee table. “Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve had a good old-fashioned game night. Who knows? Maybe we’ll uncover some deep, dark secrets.”

Natasha Romanoff, seated cross-legged on the sofa, smirks. “Or maybe we’ll just end up with Clint doing something ridiculous.”

Clint feigns offense, but the corner of his mouth twitches with amusement. “Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a man of many talents.”

Yn, perched on the edge of the sofa cushion, feels a flutter of nerves as the bottle spins. She’s never been one for games like this—too shy, too introverted. But she’s also curious, especially when she catches Natasha’s gaze lingering on her for just a moment too long. It’s a look she can’t quite decipher, but it sends a warm tingle down her spine. She tugs at the hem of her tight black dress, the fabric hugging her curves in a way that always makes her feel both confident and exposed. The rose tattoo on her right thigh, a recent addition, feels like a secret only she knows, a reminder of her independence and strength.

The bottle slows, its tip pointing directly at Steve Rogers. Tony grins. “Truth or dare, Cap?”

Steve sighs, running a hand through his blond hair. “Truth, I guess.”

“Alright, then,” Tony says, leaning forward. “What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you on a mission?”

Steve hesitates, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Well, there was this one time in Berlin…”

As Steve recounts his story, Yn can’t help but glance at Natasha again. The redhead is listening intently, her green eyes sparkling with amusement, but there’s something else there too—something Yn can’t quite name. It’s as if Natasha is studying her, analyzing her reactions, and it makes Yn’s heart race. She’s never been the center of attention like this, not in this way, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

The game continues, the bottle spinning and landing on one person after another. Clint is dared to serenade the group with a love song, his off-key rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” earning both laughter and applause. Wanda Maximoff, her eyes gleaming with mischief, chooses dare and is tasked with doing her best impression of Thor, complete with a makeshift hammer made from a cushion. The room erupts in laughter as she strikes a dramatic pose, her accent hilariously off.

When the bottle finally lands on Yn, her stomach twists with anxiety. She’s been dreading this moment, knowing her shyness would make her an easy target for teasing. Tony’s grin is almost predatory as he leans forward. “Truth or dare, Yn?”

She swallows hard, her glasses slipping slightly on her nose. “Truth,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the hum of conversation.

“Alright,” Tony says, his tone playful. “What’s the wildest thing you’ve ever done on one of your travels?”

Yn’s mind races. She’s traveled the world, seen things most people only dream of, but she’s always been cautious, always played it safe. Except for that one time in Paris… She bites her lip, debating whether to share the story. Finally, she takes a deep breath. “Well, there was this one time in Paris when I snuck into a private concert. It was One Direction, and I was determined to see them perform. I ended up climbing through a bathroom window and hiding in the catering area until the show started.”

The room erupts in laughter, and even Yn can’t help but smile. She glances at Natasha, expecting to see amusement in her eyes, but instead, she’s met with an intense, almost hungry look that makes her pulse quicken. Natasha’s lips curve into a small, knowing smile, and Yn feels her cheeks flush.

The game moves on, but Yn can’t shake the feeling of Natasha’s gaze on her. It’s like a physical presence, warm and insistent, and it makes her acutely aware of her body. She shifts on the sofa, crossing her legs and smoothing her dress over her thighs. The rose tattoo feels like a beacon, a secret invitation that only Natasha seems to notice.

When the bottle lands on Natasha, the room falls silent. Tony’s grin is smug. “Truth or dare, Nat?”

Natasha’s eyes flicker to Yn for just a moment before she turns back to Tony. “Dare,” she says, her voice steady.

“Alright,” Tony says, leaning back. “I dare you to kiss the person you find most intriguing in this room.”

The air seems to thicken, heavy with anticipation. Natasha’s gaze sweeps the room, lingering on each person before finally settling on Yn. Yn’s heart stops, then starts pounding so hard she’s sure everyone can hear it. She feels frozen, unable to move or speak, as Natasha rises gracefully from the sofa and takes a step toward her.

The room is silent, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant thump of music from another part of the penthouse. Natasha’s presence is overwhelming, her scent—a mix of lavender and something distinctly her—filling Yn’s senses. She’s never been this close to Natasha before, and she’s struck by how intense the redhead’s eyes are, how they seem to see right through her.

Natasha stops just inches away, her hand reaching out to gently tuck a strand of Yn’s hair behind her ear. “You’re blushing,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky.

Yn can’t find her voice, can only nod slightly, her breath coming in short gasps. Natasha’s fingers brush her cheek, sending shivers down her spine. Then, slowly, deliberately, Natasha leans in, her lips brushing Yn’s in a kiss that’s soft and tentative, yet electric.

The room erupts into a mix of gasps and cheers, but Yn is barely aware of it. All she can focus on is the feel of Natasha’s lips against hers, the warmth of her breath, the way her hand cups Yn’s cheek as if she’s precious. It’s a kiss that’s both gentle and demanding, a kiss that leaves Yn trembling and wanting more.

When Natasha pulls back, her eyes search Yn’s, and Yn sees something there—desire, curiosity, and maybe even a hint of vulnerability. Natasha’s lips curve into a small, satisfied smile. “Intriguing indeed,” she whispers before returning to her seat, leaving Yn reeling.

The game continues, but the atmosphere has shifted. Yn feels Natasha’s gaze on her constantly, a silent thread of tension connecting them. She’s hyperaware of her body, of the way her dress clings to her, of the way her heart still races from that kiss. She steals glances at Natasha, noticing the way the redhead’s eyes darken every time their gazes meet, the way her lips part slightly as if she’s about to speak but thinks better of it.

As the night wears on, the group begins to disperse. Clint and Wanda head to the kitchen in search of leftovers, while Steve and Tony engage in a heated debate about the best superhero landing techniques. Yn finds herself alone on the sofa, her mind still reeling from Natasha’s kiss. She’s just starting to process what happened when she feels a presence beside her.

Natasha sits down gracefully, her thigh brushing against Yn’s. “You okay?” she asks, her voice soft.

Yn nods, her throat dry. “Yeah, I… I just…”

Natasha’s hand reaches out, her fingers brushing Yn’s knuckles. “You didn’t have to like it,” she says, her tone gentle but firm. “It was just a dare.”

Yn shakes her head, her heart pounding. “I did like it,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I didn’t expect it.”

Natasha’s eyes search hers, and Yn sees the same intensity she felt during the kiss. “Neither did I,” Natasha murmurs. “But I’ve been watching you all night, Yn. There’s something about you… something that draws me in.”

Yn feels her cheeks flush again, her body warming under Natasha’s gaze. “I… I felt your eyes on me,” she confesses. “It made me nervous.”

Natasha’s lips curve into a small, knowing smile. “Good nervous or bad nervous?”

Yn bites her lip, her heart racing. “Both,” she admits.

Natasha’s hand moves to cup Yn’s cheek, her thumb brushing her jawline. “Do you want to know a secret, Yn?” she asks, her voice low and intimate.

Yn nods, unable to look away.

Natasha leans in, her breath ghosting over Yn’s lips. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you tonight,” she whispers. “There’s something about you… something that makes me want to know everything about you.”

Yn’s pulse quickens, her body humming with anticipation. She’s never felt this way before—this intense, overwhelming attraction. She’s always been the shy one, the observer, but with Natasha, she feels seen, desired.

Natasha’s lips brush hers again, softer this time, a promise of more. “Do you want to explore this, Yn?” she murmurs. “Or do you want to pretend it never happened?”

Yn’s heart pounds in her chest, her mind racing with possibilities. She’s always played it safe, always followed the rules, but with Natasha, she feels a pull she can’t ignore. She takes a deep breath, her hands reaching up to grasp Natasha’s wrists. “I want to explore it,” she says, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her.

Natasha’s eyes light up, her smile triumphant. “Good,” she says, her voice thick with desire. “Because I have no intention of letting you go.”

Their lips meet again, this time with more urgency, more hunger. Yn melts into the kiss, her hands tangling in Natasha’s hair as the redhead deepens the embrace. It’s a kiss that’s both tender and fierce, a kiss that speaks of unspoken desires and untapped passions.

As they pull apart, breathless and trembling, Natasha rests her forehead against Yn’s. “Come with me,” she whispers, her voice hoarse with need.

Yn nods, her heart pounding with anticipation. She follows Natasha out of the living room, down the hallway, and into one of the guest bedrooms. The room is dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood. Natasha closes the door behind them, her eyes never leaving Yn’s.

“Are you sure about this?” Natasha asks, her voice gentle but insistent.

Yn takes a deep breath, her hands trembling as she reaches for the zipper of her dress. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” she says, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her.

Natasha’s eyes darken with desire as she watches Yn slowly unzip her dress, the fabric sliding off her shoulders to pool at her feet. Yn stands before her in nothing but her lace bra and matching panties, her rose tattoo a vivid splash of color on her thigh. Natasha’s gaze lingers on the tattoo, her lips curving into a small, appreciative smile.

“You’re beautiful,” Natasha murmurs, her voice thick with want.

Yn feels her cheeks flush, her body warming under Natasha’s intense gaze. She’s never felt this exposed, this vulnerable, but with Natasha, it feels right. She takes a step forward, her hands reaching out to grasp Natasha’s hips. “Show me,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Natasha’s eyes flash with desire as she begins to unbutton her shirt, revealing the sleek lines of her black lace bra. Yn’s breath catches in her throat as Natasha’s hands move to the clasp of her bra, unhooking it with practiced ease. The fabric falls away, revealing her breasts, full and perfect, her nipples already tight with arousal.

Yn’s hands tremble as she reaches out to touch Natasha, her fingers brushing the soft skin of her stomach before moving up to cup her breasts. Natasha gasps softly, her head tilting back as Yn’s thumbs brush her nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through her body.

“You’re so beautiful,” Yn murmurs, her voice filled with awe.

Natasha’s hands grasp Yn’s hips, pulling her closer. “Touch me,” she commands, her voice low and husky. “Make me feel it.”

Yn nods, her heart pounding with anticipation. She lowers her head, her lips brushing Natasha’s neck as her hands move down to the waistband of her pants. Natasha’s breath hitches as Yn unbuttons her pants, sliding the zipper down with slow, deliberate movements. The fabric falls away, revealing her lace panties, already damp with desire.

Yn’s fingers tremble as she hooks her thumbs in the waistband of Natasha’s panties, sliding them down her legs. Natasha steps out of them, her body flushed and trembling with need. Yn’s gaze lingers on the sleek lines of her body, her eyes tracing the curves of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the tight bud of her clit.

DO NOT TRANSLATE, COPY PUBLISH OR EDIT MY WORKS, I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORKS BEING PUBLISHED ON ANY 3RD PARTY WEBSITE. © bunbun 2025 - 2027🖇️ ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[amethystarachnid]

I know it's very classic. Tony Stark x F!Reader. Office romance. Tony likes her and the reader is unaware of it. Tony gets very angry at a man who tries to flirt with the reader in the office and makes her uncomfortable, then informs him of his mistake. He drags his assistant to his room and while arguing, he lets it slip that he is in love with her.

OFFICE ROMANCE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

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

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance, rom-com

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.1k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): little spicy scenes at the end, nothing too explicit

ᯓ★ Part 2

ᯓ★ yeah I know the title sucks I didnt know what to name it lol

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

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

The elevator ride to Tony Stark’s office is uneventful—until the doors slide open, and you step right into chaos.

“Where is she? Where’s my assistant? Oh my God, I’m dying.”

Tony Stark is dramatically draped over his desk, one hand clutching his chest, the other extended toward the heavens like he’s in a Shakespearean tragedy. You barely have time to react before he twists his head toward the elevator, eyes locking onto yours with laser focus.

“There you are,” he groans. “Y/N, I think this is it. This is the end. You’re going to have to plan my funeral. Make it something classy, but also extravagant. Maybe fireworks? A Viking funeral? I don’t know, you decide.”

You sigh and step inside, the doors sliding shut behind you. “What is it this time, Mr. Stark?”

At the sound of his title, he frowns. “Really? We’re doing the ‘Mr. Stark’ thing today? Thought we were past that, sweetheart.”

You ignore him and set your bag down at your desk, flipping through the folders left for you overnight. Tony is still sprawled across his desk, his theatrics undeterred by your lack of concern.

“I’m serious,” he insists. “I might actually die this time.”

You finally look up at him, arms crossed. “Is it reactor-related, or are you just being dramatic?”

He gasps, placing a hand over his arc reactor. “I am never dramatic.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine, maybe I’m a little dramatic. But you were late this morning.”

You glance at the clock. “I was not late.”

“You were late to me,” he says, pointing accusingly. “Do you know what happens when you’re not here? Bad things. Boring things. Pepper makes me do paperwork, and Happy refuses to let me take the suit out for a spin at seven in the morning.”

Your lips twitch, but you suppress the smile. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. I didn’t realize my presence was so vital to your survival.”

He lifts his head, expression serious. “Y/N, I don’t think you understand. You are the glue holding my fragile existence together.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Without you, I am but a billionaire genius playboy philanthropist adrift, lost at sea, doomed to perish in the harsh, unforgiving corporate world.”

“You are so full of it,” you mutter, grabbing your tablet to check his schedule.

Tony watches you, chin propped up in one hand. He does this a lot—just looks at you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the room, even when you’re doing something as mundane as scheduling meetings and reading emails. But you don’t notice.

You never notice.

And it’s driving him insane.

Tony Stark is in love with you.

Painfully, ridiculously, stupidly in love with you. And he’s not subtle about it, either. At least, he doesn’t think he is. He finds reasons to keep you around, finds excuses to talk to you, makes up the dumbest emergencies just to get your attention—and yet, somehow, you remain oblivious.

It’s almost impressive, really.

But also aggravating.

Tony sighs, rubbing his hands down his face before dramatically throwing himself back in his chair. “Okay, what’s on the agenda today, darling?”

You scroll through your tablet. “You have a meeting with Pepper at ten—”

“Cancel it.”

“You cannot cancel on Pepper.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “What else?”

“You have a tech demonstration at two, a conference call with the board at four—”

“Cancel that too.”

You sigh. “Tony.”

“Oh, now it’s Tony?” He smirks. “See, I knew you liked me.”

“I tolerate you,” you correct, setting your tablet down. “And you are going to that board meeting, whether you like it or not.”

“Fine, but only if you’re there,” he says, pointing at you. “I refuse to suffer alone.”

You roll your eyes but nod. “I’ll be there.”

Tony grins, far too pleased with himself. He’s made you sit in on dozens of meetings that had nothing to do with your job, just because he likes having you there. He tells himself it’s because you keep him sane. That you make the long, boring hours more bearable.

But if he’s being honest, it’s just because he likes looking at you.

He likes the way your lips press together when you’re concentrating, the way your nose scrunches up when he says something stupid. He likes the way your eyes soften when you talk to him, even when you’re exasperated. He likes you. God, he likes you.

And yet, you remain completely, utterly unaware.

Tony watches as you type something into your tablet, your brows furrowed in concentration. He wonders what would happen if he just said it. If he just leaned across the desk, took your hands in his, and said—

“Mr. Stark?”

He snaps out of it. “Huh?”

“You okay? You spaced out.”

Tony clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. Fine. Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

You squint at him, suspicious. “Are you sure? You look kind of—”

“Handsome? Dashing? Devastatingly attractive?”

“I was going to say pained, but sure.”

Tony groans and leans back in his chair. “This is agony,” he mutters.

You blink. “What is?”

You. You are agony. Being around you, loving you, wanting you, and you not even noticing—it’s torture.

But of course, he doesn’t say that.

“Nothing,” he sighs. “Just this board meeting. Ugh, corporate politics. You have to sit next to me, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, amused. “Anything else?”

“Yes. I need coffee. Desperately.”

You snort but stand up, grabbing your purse. “I’ll be back in ten.”

Tony watches you go, his head hitting the desk as soon as the doors shut behind you.

He is so screwed.

The days pass like they always do—fast, chaotic, and filled with Tony Stark’s unique brand of dramatics.

Between meetings, tech demos, Stark Industries board nonsense, and the occasional explosion in his lab (which he always swears is intentional), you’ve settled into an odd routine with him.

A routine that involves not just work, but him.

It starts small.

At first, it’s just casual conversation in between scheduling his appointments and making sure he actually attends them. A random question here and there.

“Morning, sweetheart. How do you feel about pineapple on pizza?”

“It’s fine, I guess.”

“Wrong answer. Completely unacceptable. I might have to fire you.”

Then, it becomes a daily thing.

He asks about your coffee order, remembers the way you take it without you telling him twice. He learns your favorite snacks, stocks the office kitchen with them. He finds out you love old Hollywood movies, and suddenly, his TV has a list of black-and-white classics queued up.

You don’t think much of it.

Tony Stark is friendly. He’s nosy. He likes to know things. It makes sense that he’d ask about your life outside of work.

But to him, it’s everything.

Because these little details—the things you like, the way you laugh, the way you light up when you talk about something you’re passionate about—are what keep him grounded.

Sometimes, he even talks about himself, which is rare.

You don’t realize what a big deal it is at first. You’ve worked for him long enough to know he talks a lot, but usually, it’s about his inventions or some wild new idea he has.

But with you?

He tells you about his mom’s love for classical music, how she used to play records while she cooked. How his dad was cold but brilliant, how he spent his childhood trying to impress a man who never really saw him. How he went to MIT at fifteen and spent half his time pranking professors and the other half building things he wasn’t supposed to.

He tells you about Afghanistan one night, when it’s just the two of you in his office, the city lights glowing behind him.

About the cave, about the first arc reactor, about Yinsen and what he’d meant to him.

You listen.

You don’t pity him, don’t give him some empty platitude about how it must’ve been hard. You just listen.

And Tony—who has spent most of his life drowning out his own thoughts with distractions—thinks maybe you are the best thing that has ever happened to him.

He also thinks you might never notice how much you mean to him.

Which is why he’s completely blindsided when it happens.

It’s a normal day.

You’re at your desk, typing away, while Tony lounges on the couch with a blueprint in one hand and a screwdriver in the other, pretending to work while actually watching you.

Then Happy walks in.

“There’s a guy here to see you,” he tells Tony, looking unimpressed.

Tony doesn’t even look up. “Tell him I’m busy.”

“He says it’s urgent.”

Tony sighs, pushing himself up. “Fine, fine. Send him in.”

Happy steps aside, and the guy walks in.

You glance up, offering a polite smile before going back to your work.

The man is tall, well-dressed, and carries himself like he’s important—which immediately annoys Tony. He hates people who walk into his space acting like they own the place.

“Mr. Stark,” the man says, offering his hand. “Nathan Ellis. Big fan.”

Tony shakes his hand but looks bored already. “Uh-huh. What do you want?”

Nathan chuckles, like Tony just made a joke. “I had a business proposition I wanted to discuss with you. Something that could be mutually beneficial.”

Tony gestures lazily to you. “Talk to her. She handles all the boring stuff.”

You roll your eyes but give Nathan a professional smile. “What’s the proposition?”

But Nathan isn’t looking at you like a businessman pitching an idea. He’s looking at you like a man sizing up a woman, and Tony immediately hates him.

Nathan smirks. “You’re much prettier than I expected.”

You stiffen just a little, but you keep your composure. “That’s not really relevant,” you say, your tone still polite but firm. “What’s relevant is what you’re proposing.”

Nathan leans against your desk like he belongs there. “Can’t I compliment a beautiful woman?”

Tony sits up straight, his eyes narrowing.

You force a tight smile. “I’d prefer if we kept this professional.”

Nathan laughs, but it’s the kind of laugh that says he doesn’t really take you seriously. “Oh, come on. No need to be so serious, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Tony sees red.

That’s his word.

His fingers tighten around the screwdriver in his hand, but he stays quiet—for now—watching you, waiting to see if you want him to step in.

You shift uncomfortably, clearly trying to remain professional, but it’s obvious you’re not enjoying this.

Tony doesn’t give a damn about professionalism.

He stands up, moving toward you in a few easy strides before leaning down and planting his hands on your desk, effectively caging you in while staring Nathan down.

“You know,” Tony says, voice deceptively light, “I really don’t like it when people make my assistant uncomfortable.”

Nathan blinks, clearly not expecting that.

You glance up at Tony, eyes wide.

Tony doesn’t look at you. His attention is solely on Nathan, his jaw tight, his expression calm but dangerous.

Nathan chuckles nervously. “I was just making conversation.”

“Yeah? Well, here’s the thing,” Tony says, tilting his head. “She doesn’t want to have a conversation with you.”

Nathan raises his hands. “Didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

Tony smiles, but it’s not friendly. “Oh, buddy, you stepped on mine, and I really don’t like that.”

Nathan shifts uncomfortably.

Tony straightens, taking a step back—but then he leans down again, close enough that only Nathan can hear when he says, “If you ever talk to her like that again, I will ruin your entire life before breakfast.”

Nathan swallows.

Tony claps him on the shoulder, grinning. “Now, I think we’re done here.”

Nathan nods quickly, then turns and practically flees the office.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Tony turns to you, concern flickering across his face. “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just… guys like that make my skin crawl.”

Tony watches you for a moment, then surprises you by gently brushing his fingers over yours.

You glance down at your hands, startled.

It’s not much. Just the lightest touch. But it makes your heart stutter.

“Next time, just say the word,” Tony says softly. “I’ll handle it.”

You swallow, suddenly very aware of how close he is.

“I—uh—thank you,” you murmur.

Tony smirks, his fingers curling around yours for just a second before he lets go.

Then, just like that, he’s back to normal, plopping onto the couch and stretching like nothing happened.

But something did.

And for the first time, you wonder if you’ve been missing something this whole time.

In the days after the Nathan incident, something shifts.

You don’t know what it is exactly, but you feel it.

Maybe it’s the way Tony watches you a little too closely when he thinks you aren’t looking. Or the way you replay that moment in your head—his fingers brushing yours, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

Or maybe it’s the way you feel when you look at him now.

You’ve worked for Tony long enough to know he’s magnetic. People gravitate toward him, caught in his orbit like planets around the sun. You’ve always thought he was charming in an annoying way, a flirt by nature, someone who could talk his way into—or out of—anything.

But now, for the first time, you find yourself looking at him differently.

You start noticing things you never did before.

The way his eyes soften when he looks at you. The way he always saves the last bite of his favorite snacks for you. The way he makes excuses to keep you in his office longer, even when the work is done.

And it’s terrifying.

Because if this was anyone else—anyone—maybe you’d let yourself admit it. Maybe you’d let yourself fall.

But this is Tony Stark. Your boss.

And that means it’s impossible.

So, you bury it. You convince yourself you’re imagining things, that Tony is just Tony, and you’re reading into it too much.

Then Nathan Ellis comes back.

You’re at your desk, sorting through a ridiculous amount of emails when Happy walks in, looking unimpressed as always.

“Great,” he mutters. “He’s back.”

You look up, confused. “Who’s back?”

As if on cue, Nathan Ellis strolls in, his smarmy grin already making your stomach twist.

Tony is in the corner of the room, tinkering with something, but at the sound of Nathan’s voice, his hands still.

Nathan leans against your desk. “Miss Y/N,” he says smoothly. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot last time.”

You keep your expression polite but distant. “Did we?”

He laughs. “Look, I’m not here to talk business today.”

Tony doesn’t like that.

His fingers tighten around his wrench, his jaw clenching as he subtly shifts closer to listen.

Nathan continues, oblivious. “I was hoping to make it up to you. Dinner, maybe? There’s a great place downtown. My treat.”

You blink, caught off guard.

Your first instinct is to say no. You don’t like Nathan. He made you uncomfortable, and you have no interest in him.

But then—Tony.

You don’t look at him, but you feel his presence. You feel the weight of everything unspoken between you, the things you refuse to acknowledge.

So before you can think it through, you hear yourself say, “Sure.”

It’s a knee-jerk reaction, a way to prove—to yourself, to Tony, to whatever this thing is between you—that you can still be rational. That you don’t have feelings for Tony. That you can move on, be professional, keep your life normal.

But as soon as the word leaves your mouth, you regret it.

Nathan grins, clearly pleased. “Great. I’ll pick you up Friday at seven.”

You nod stiffly, and he finally leaves.

Silence lingers in the room.

You risk a glance at Tony.

He’s looking at his workbench, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say a word.

And that, somehow, makes you feel worse.

—

Friday rolls around faster than you expect.

You dread it.

The moment you wake up, you regret saying yes.

You don’t want to go out with Nathan.

But backing out now would make you look ridiculous, and you refuse to admit—to yourself or to anyone else—why you really don’t want to go.

So, you tell yourself you’ll go. One date. It’s not a big deal.

Then Tony ruins it.

The day is insane.

More meetings than usual, a sudden crisis with one of Stark Industries’ overseas contracts, a last-minute tech demo that Tony insists he needs you to be there for.

By the time you finally look at the clock, it’s almost nine.

Your stomach drops.

You completely forgot about the date.

You grab your phone, wincing when you see multiple missed calls and texts from Nathan, all of them getting progressively more annoyed.

Shit.

You stand abruptly, grabbing your bag.

Tony—who is lounging on the couch, looking suspiciously satisfied—raises an eyebrow. “Going somewhere?”

You glare at him. “Did you do this on purpose?”

He blinks, all mock innocence. “Do what?”

“This.” You gesture wildly at the stack of paperwork still on your desk, the mess of your day, the way you were so busy you lost track of time. “You knew I had plans tonight.”

Tony shrugs. “Did you?”

You want to scream.

“Tony.”

Something flickers in his expression when you say his name like that—low, almost dangerous.

You step closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You did do this on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but the smug look on his face tells you everything.

He did this.

He made sure you were too busy to leave, too busy to go on the date.

And for some reason, that makes your heart pound in a way you don’t want to analyze.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter.

Tony leans back, tilting his head at you. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a date.”

You gape at him. “That’s not the point!”

“Then what is the point?”

“The point is you manipulated me into missing it!”

He stands, stepping into your space, close enough that you have to crane your neck to keep looking at him.

And suddenly, the room feels too small.

“I didn’t manipulate anything,” he says, voice low. “I just gave you work. You’re the one who got so caught up in it you forgot about him.”

Your breath catches.

Because he’s right.

You were the one who didn’t check the time. The one who let yourself get wrapped up in Tony’s world.

And maybe—just maybe—it was because deep down, you didn’t want to go.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he wanted this. That he made sure it happened.

You shake your head, stepping back. “You don’t get to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Mess with my life like this. You don’t get to control who I see, Tony.”

He flinches.

For a second, you think he’s going to argue, make another joke, deflect like he always does.

But instead, he just watches you, something raw and unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

Then, he sighs. Runs a hand through his hair.

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “I don’t.”

The honesty in his voice catches you off guard.

It almost—almost—makes you soften.

But you’re still angry.

So without another word, you turn on your heel and leave.

Tony doesn’t stop you.

And the worst part?

A small, traitorous part of you wishes he had.

You don’t make it far.

You storm out of the office, heart pounding, anger bubbling in your chest so violently you can taste it. You don’t even know where you’re going—just away.

Away from Tony and his smug little I didn’t manipulate anything face. Away from the way he looked at you, like he wasn’t the least bit sorry. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Like he had every right to do it.

You make it to the elevator before you hear him behind you.

“Y/N.”

You don’t turn around.

“Y/N,” Tony repeats, voice sharp now, edged with something you don’t recognize.

You stab the elevator button. “Go away, Tony.”

“Yeah, see, that’s not gonna happen.”

You spin on your heel, glaring at him. “Oh, what now? You gonna kidnap me? Make sure I never leave this damn building?”

Tony sighs like you’re the one being difficult. “I just want to talk.”

“Oh, now you want to talk?” You laugh, crossing your arms. “Because when I was trying to talk about how you sabotaged my night, you had nothing to say.”

Tony clenches his jaw. “It wasn’t sabotage.”

“Oh, really?” You raise an eyebrow. “So it was just a coincidence that today of all days you gave me twice as much work as usual? That you suddenly needed me in meetings I normally don’t have to be in? That you—”

“I didn’t want you to go.”

The words come out quiet, almost too quiet to hear.

But you hear them.

And you freeze.

Tony exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. His gaze flickers away for a second, like he’s regretting saying it.

But then he looks back at you, and there’s something in his eyes—something real.

Something that makes your stomach flip.

You swallow hard. “Tony…”

He shakes his head. “Just—come back to the office. Please.”

You should say no. You should walk away.

But you don’t.

Because even though you’re furious, even though every rational part of your brain is screaming at you to be professional—to keep things normal—there’s a deeper, quieter part of you that wants to hear what he has to say.

So, you turn. Walk back.

And Tony follows.

—

The office feels different when you get back.

Quieter. Tense.

You lean against your desk, arms crossed, watching as Tony paces the room.

“Well?” you say finally.

Tony stops. Looks at you.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks… nervous.

Not the fake, exaggerated kind he puts on for show, but real nervous.

He exhales. “I don’t want you dating him.”

You scoff. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“I don’t want you dating anyone.”

Your breath catches.

Tony swallows hard. “Because I—” He hesitates, like he’s physically fighting the words. Then, finally, he just says it.

“Because I love you.”

Everything stops.

The air in the room shifts, like the world itself is holding its breath.

You stare at him, your brain struggling to process what just happened.

Tony looks like he wants to take it back, like he wants to shove the words back into his mouth and pretend they never happened.

But they did.

And suddenly, everything makes sense.

The way he looks at you. The way he knows you—your coffee order, your favorite movies, the way you feel about things before you even say them.

The way he brushed his fingers over yours that day, like it meant something.

The way he sabotaged your date—not because he was being petty, but because the thought of you with someone else made him want to burn the world down.

And, God—maybe you do love him.

Maybe you have for longer than you realized.

You exhale sharply, your heart slamming against your ribs.

“Say something,” Tony mutters.

You don’t.

You move.

Before you can second-guess yourself, before you can let all the rules and expectations stop you, you grab him by the collar of his stupidly expensive shirt and kiss him.

Tony freezes for half a second.

Then he melts.

His hands come up, one gripping your waist, the other tangling in your hair. He kisses you like he’s starving for it, like he’s been waiting for this—for you.

And maybe he has.

Maybe you both have.

When you finally pull back, you’re breathless.

Tony stares at you, lips parted, looking so completely wrecked that you almost laugh.

Almost.

Instead, you press your forehead against his, inhaling deeply.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

Tony chuckles, breath warm against your skin. “No, you don’t.”

You sigh, closing your eyes. “You could’ve just told me.”

“Yeah,” Tony murmurs. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You do laugh this time.

Because of course he’d say that.

Because of course it was always going to be this—messy, chaotic, inevitable.

And as Tony kisses you again—slow this time, like he never wants to stop—you know one thing for certain.

You’re never making it to another date with anyone ever again.

Tony kisses you like he’s making up for lost time. Like he’s wanted this for so long he doesn’t know how to hold back anymore. His hands grip your waist, fingers pressing into your skin through the fabric of your blouse as he pulls you closer, eliminating the last bit of space between you. You feel the edge of the desk dig into the small of your back, but you don’t care. Not when Tony’s mouth is on yours, not when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, not when his hand slides up your back, warm and firm and impossible to ignore.

You gasp against his lips, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt, and he groans in response. The sound sends a shiver down your spine, and suddenly you’re not thinking about where you are or what this means or how this is completely unprofessional. You’re only thinking about how much you want him. How much you’ve always wanted him, even when you didn’t want to admit it.

Tony shifts, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, and before you can process what’s happening, he lifts you onto the desk. You barely manage to let out a startled breath before he’s between your legs, pressing into you, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

You tilt your head back, your hands moving on their own, pushing his jacket off his shoulders, sliding over the hard planes of his chest. Tony lets out a low curse, his breath hot against your skin, and you know this is getting out of control. You know you should stop. But then his fingers graze the hem of your skirt, and your heart is pounding, and—

A knock on the door makes you both freeze.

Your eyes snap open, and Tony’s lips still against your throat. For a second, neither of you moves. Your breath is ragged, and Tony’s grip on your waist tightens like he’s physically stopping himself from ignoring the interruption.

“Tony?”

Happy’s voice is muffled through the door, but it’s enough to jolt you back to reality.

You push at Tony’s chest, and he steps back with obvious reluctance. His eyes are dark, his hair is a mess from your hands, and his lips are swollen. The sight of him like this, completely wrecked, makes something deep in your stomach tighten.

You shake yourself out of it, sliding off the desk as you smooth down your clothes. Tony watches you, chest rising and falling like he’s trying to get himself under control.

“Yeah, yeah,” he calls out, voice rough. “Give me a second.”

There’s a pause, then the sound of footsteps retreating.

You exhale, pressing your fingers to your temples.

“That was—”

Tony smirks. “Hot?”

You glare at him, but it lacks heat. “Unprofessional.”

Tony sighs dramatically. “Yeah, that too.”

You shake your head, trying to ignore the way your entire body is still buzzing. “We can’t do that at work.”

Tony’s smirk widens, and you realize what you just said a second too late.

“So you’re saying we can do it outside of work?”

You groan. “Not what I meant.”

Tony grins, stepping closer again. His fingers brush your wrist, light and teasing. “Come over after your shift.”

You bite your lip, considering.

Tony dips his head, voice dropping. “I’ll behave.”

You snort. “No, you won’t.”

Tony shrugs, completely unapologetic. “Yeah, okay, I won’t.”

You roll your eyes but don’t say no.

Tony notices.

—

You don’t talk about what this means. You don’t sit down and define your relationship, don’t have some long, serious conversation about what you are to each other now.

But you don’t need to.

Because it’s obvious in the way Tony kisses you when you show up at his penthouse after work. In the way he pulls you onto the couch, his hands sliding under your shirt, his mouth never leaving yours. In the way you spend the night tangled in his sheets, waking up to his arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

It’s obvious in the way he looks at you at work, in the way he always finds an excuse to touch you. A hand at the small of your back when he passes by, a brush of his fingers against yours when he hands you something, a teasing whisper against your ear that makes you shiver.

You try to be subtle.

You don’t want anyone thinking you’re only with him to climb the corporate ladder, and Tony—surprisingly—understands. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t announce it to the world, doesn’t make some grand declaration in the middle of a meeting.

But he also doesn’t hide it.

Not really.

Because the way he looks at you isn’t subtle. The way he finds any excuse to keep you in his office longer than necessary isn’t subtle. The way he calls you sweetheart in private and Miss Y/L/N in front of others with a smirk that says he knows exactly what he’s doing definitely isn’t subtle.

And then there are the stolen kisses.

The ones in the elevator when no one else is around. The ones in the hallway when he tugs you into a supply closet with a grin and a just real quick, I missed you. The ones at his penthouse when you show up after a long day and he greets you at the door with his hands already on your hips, pulling you inside like he’s been waiting for you all day.

Because he has.

You find yourself spending more nights at his place than your own. It starts slowly—one night, then two, then three. Then, before you know it, most of your stuff is at his penthouse, and you don’t even think about going home after work anymore.

Tony never says anything about it. He never asks you to stay.

But he doesn’t have to.

Because the way he holds you when you fall asleep says everything.

Because the way he presses a lazy kiss to your temple in the morning when he thinks you’re still asleep says everything.

Because the way he looks at you—like you’re the most important thing in the world—says everything.

Tony kisses you like he’s savoring every second. His hands rest on your waist, fingers pressing just enough to make you shiver. You’re sitting on his desk, legs wrapped loosely around his hips, completely lost in the moment. It’s a rare quiet afternoon in the office, just the two of you, and Tony has taken full advantage of it.

You hum against his lips as he trails his mouth down your jaw, then lower to your neck. His stubble grazes your skin, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. His lips are warm, soft, teasing as he lingers just beneath your ear. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Tony chuckles when he feels your breath hitch. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

You grab a fistful of his shirt. Tony responds with a slow, deliberate kiss to the side of your neck. His tongue flicks against your skin, followed by a light nip that makes you gasp. His mouth lingers there, sucking just hard enough to leave his mark.

A sharp knock on the door shatters the moment.

You both freeze. Tony exhales against your skin, shoulders tensing.

Another knock, this one louder.

Tony groans. "They have the worst timing, I swear—"

Then the door swings open, and your stomach drops.

Nathan Ellis stands in the doorway, his expression dark and furious.

The sight of him immediately kills any lingering warmth from your moment with Tony. He looks different from the smooth, arrogant man who asked you out—his jaw is clenched, his eyes cold, his posture rigid with anger.

You stiffen, already knowing this won’t be good.

Nathan steps inside without waiting for permission, eyes locked onto you. "You stood me up."

Tony straightens, immediately stepping in front of you in a way that makes it clear he has no intention of letting Nathan get any closer. "Big deal," he says flatly. "She didn’t want to go. Move on."

Nathan ignores him, eyes still burning into you. "You didn’t even have the decency to text me? Let me know instead of wasting my time?"

Your throat tightens. You don’t want to deal with this. "I got caught up at work. It wasn’t intentional."

Nathan scoffs. "Bullshit. You’re just another woman who likes to play games. You say yes to a date and then don’t even bother showing up? You think that makes you look good?"

Something shifts in Tony. His entire body goes tense, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Watch how you talk to her."

Nathan finally looks at Tony, his upper lip curling in disgust. "Oh, I get it now. This is why you didn’t show up, huh?" His gaze flickers back to you, sharp and accusing. Then his eyes catch something on your neck, and his entire expression twists into something uglier.

Your stomach sinks.

You don’t even need to look in a mirror to know what he’s staring at. You feel the lingering warmth where Tony’s mouth was just moments ago.

Nathan lets out a short, bitter laugh. "Wow. That’s just perfect." He turns back to Tony. "Guess I should’ve figured. Why go out with someone like me when you can just screw your boss instead?"

Your eyes widen in shock.

Tony moves before you can react.

His fist collides with Nathan’s jaw, the impact loud in the silence of the office. Nathan stumbles back, his hand flying up to his face, a stunned expression flashing across his features before fury takes over.

"Tony!" You grab his arm before he can swing again, your heart pounding.

Nathan straightens, eyes blazing with pure hatred. "You’re insane."

Tony glares at him. "Get out."

Nathan sneers, wiping his mouth. "Oh, trust me, I’m leaving. But you’re gonna regret this. Both of you."

Tony doesn’t even let him turn fully before pulling out his phone and pressing a button. "Happy. Come get this asshole out of my office."

Nathan’s jaw tightens, but before he can say anything else, heavy footsteps echo down the hall. Happy Hogan appears in the doorway, expression unreadable but posture firm.

"Let’s go," Happy says.

Nathan glares at you one last time, then at Tony, before reluctantly stepping back. Happy follows him out, and just like that, he’s gone.

The office is silent again, but the tension lingers.

Your pulse is still racing. You take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down. Then you look at Tony.

He’s standing there, still tense, his hand flexing like he’s barely holding himself back from going after Nathan again.

"You punched him," you say, still a little in shock.

Tony shrugs. "He deserved it."

You let out a breath, rubbing your hands over your face. "I can’t believe this happened."

Tony frowns. "You okay?"

You hesitate. "I just—" You groan. "Tony, you gave me a hickey."

Tony blinks, then smirks. "Just now realizing that?"

You glare at him. "I have to work in this office. People are gonna see."

Tony tilts his head, completely unbothered. "So? Let ‘em see."

You stare at him. "I don’t want them to see."

He sighs dramatically. "Alright, alright. I guess I can be more strategic about my placement next time."

You groan again, turning toward your desk. "I need concealer."

Tony snickers. "You could just wear a scarf. It’d be very elegant. Very old-Hollywood."

You shoot him a look over your shoulder. "You think this is funny."

Tony steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. His chin rests on your shoulder as he murmurs against your ear, "I know this is funny."

You shove at him, but you’re smiling despite yourself. "You’re the worst."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw before finally letting you go. "Now hurry up and cover it. I have a meeting in ten minutes, and I need my very professional assistant to not look like she just had a makeout session with her boss."

You roll your eyes, reaching into your bag for your concealer. Tony watches you with a stupidly smug expression.

You shake your head, but your heart is still racing for a completely different reason now.

Because even after everything, even after the chaos Nathan caused, one thing is crystal clear.

You and Tony? You’re solid. And no one—not Nathan, not anyone—can change that.

[httpvomitello]

helloooo stunner!!

I just had a thought, so Bucky and reader are dating and they're out shopping for an upcoming event, maybe a fancy dinner at the compound that Stark is organising and when Bucky suggests a dress he finds reader says it's pretty but it's more a "going out" dress but not an "out-out" kind of dress

cue the old man confusion while he tries to compute that women assign outfits an "out"-ness level and poor boy is just lost

please drink enough water and have a lovely rest of your weekend xx

Ooh no! Poor dude would be so lost, but also really funny to watch, hehe. I hope you like it ~ ☆

(don't forget to stay hydrated and eat well!)

Levels of Out .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: Shopping with your boyfriend Bucky Barnes for a Stark-organized dinner sounded simple. Until you realized he had no idea that women have different "out levels" for outfits—and you were about to break his super-soldier brain trying to explain it.

bucky barnes x f!reader

“Are you sure you don’t wanna just wear one of the dresses you already have?” Bucky asked, adjusting the cuff of his leather jacket as he followed you into the boutique.

You grinned over your shoulder. “You haven’t seen my closet lately, Barnes. I have ‘casual cute,’ ‘casual deadly,’ and ‘oops, I accidentally look like I’m about to rob a bank.’ None of those scream ‘classy dinner party.’”

Bucky snorted. “Pretty sure Tony’s just gonna show up in a suit made outta LEDs.”

“Exactly,” you said, laughing. “I need to at least pretend I’m not a walking threat.”

He huffed, but you could see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You both wandered through the racks for a few minutes. Bucky trailed behind you like a giant, brooding puppy, occasionally picking up a hanger, inspecting whatever fabric monstrosity he found, and then setting it back down like it might bite him.

You loved him.

You really, really did.

But fashion?

Not his battlefield.

You were flipping through a rack of cocktail dresses when Bucky’s voice floated over:

“What about this one?”

You turned — and immediately bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

He was holding up a tiny, black, strappy number that looked like it belonged in a Vegas club at two a.m., not a classy Stark event.

Bucky’s face was hopeful. A little proud, even.

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Where exactly do you think we’re going?”

He blinked, utterly lost. “The dinner? At the compound?”

You laughed. “Bucky, that’s a ‘going out’ dress. Not an ‘out-out’ dress.”

Bucky stared at you like you’d just started speaking ancient Latin.

“I—” he paused, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t understand. You’re either going out or you’re not, right?”

You shook your head, walking closer and taking the hanger from his hand. “No, see, there’s levels.”

“Levels,” he repeated flatly, frowning.

You nodded solemnly. “Levels. Like—okay. ‘Going out’ means dinner, fancy drinks, maybe mingling. A nice dress, maybe some heels, but nothing too wild. ‘Out-out’ is like... shots at midnight, dancing till your feet hurt, glitter everywhere, waking up the next morning missing at least one earring and half your dignity.”

Bucky looked painfully confused.

“So... this—” he pointed at the dress, “—this is an ‘out-out’ dress?”

“Exactly,” you said, beaming at him like he was your favorite student. “This is, 'we’re not making it to brunch', vibes.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, rubbed a hand over his jaw.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “In my day, you just wore your best suit and hoped for the best.”

You laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Welcome to modern womanhood, Sergeant Barnes.”

He sighed dramatically but smiled when you brushed his hair back affectionately.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he said, voice low.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you teased.

The poor man spent the next thirty minutes gamely following you from rack to rack, solemnly inspecting dresses and every so often checking in:

“Is this ‘out’ or ‘out-out’?”

“This one’s ‘out,’ right? I don’t see glitter.”

You couldn’t stop laughing.

Finally, you found it—a sleek, elegant navy dress that hit all the right notes. Formal without being stiff. Flattering without being scandalous. It made you feel beautiful, powerful.

You stepped out of the fitting room, smoothing the fabric nervously.

Bucky turned—and his whole face changed.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you, slow and careful, like he needed a second to catch up.

You shifted awkwardly. “Too much?”

He shook his head immediately, walking over. “You look…”

He swallowed, voice rough.

“You look incredible, doll.”

You smiled, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Good ‘out’ level?” you teased.

He huffed a soft laugh, cupping your face gently in his big, calloused hands. “Perfect level.”

You leaned into him, grinning.

And when he kissed you, there in the middle of the boutique, it was slow and reverent—the kind of kiss that made you forget you were surrounded by overpriced perfume and strangers pretending not to stare.

When he finally pulled back, he kept his forehead pressed to yours.

“Still think you should’ve worn the glittery one, though,” he muttered, just to make you laugh.

You shoved his shoulder playfully.

“Behave, Barnes,” you said.

He smirked. “No promises.”

The Stark compound had never looked fancier.

Somewhere between the glittering fairy lights, the jazz band playing a little too loudly, and the suspiciously expensive hors d'oeuvres, you were starting to wonder if Tony had bribed an entire team of wedding planners just for a dinner party.

You smoothed your dress again, nerves buzzing.

Bucky caught your hand, squeezing it gently.

“You look beautiful,” he said under his breath, like he needed to remind you (or himself) every five minutes.

Before you could thank him, you both heard a familiar voice:

“Well, well, well,” Tony Stark said, sauntering up with a drink in hand and a shit-eating grin. “If it isn’t the Winter Snuggle Soldier.”

Bucky stiffened immediately. “Don’t start, Stark.”

Tony ignored him completely, turning to you with an exaggerated bow. “Ma’am. Congratulations on successfully domesticating Barnes. We thought it couldn’t be done.”

You bit back a laugh.

“Pretty sure he domesticated himself,” you said sweetly, watching Bucky’s jaw tick.

Tony winked. “Sure, sure. Next thing you know, he’s gonna be carrying your purse and getting really passionate about paint swatches.”

“Shut up, Stark,” Bucky muttered, reaching for one of the tiny champagne flutes on a passing tray like it might save him.

Tony just grinned wider.

“Seriously though,” Tony said, tone suddenly a little softer. “Good look on you, Barnes. You’re almost... bearable.”

Bucky just grunted, but you saw the way his ears turned pink.

Tony tapped his glass against Bucky’s. “To being whipped,” he said cheerfully, and before Bucky could retaliate, Tony was already disappearing into the crowd.

You leaned closer to Bucky, smiling into your glass.

“You know... he’s not wrong.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you in mock suspicion. “You planning to make me carry your purse?”

You shrugged innocently.

“Depends. Would you?”

He grunted again, but his hand found yours automatically, threading your fingers together.

“For you?”

He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, soft and quick.

“Yeah. I would.”

Your heart did a stupid, messy somersault in your chest.

You bumped your shoulder against his.

“Whipped.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t let go of your hand.

Not even for a second.

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #1

Don’t get me wrong—I love DP X DC, but I want more post for DP X Marvel, so I decided to write my own.

Danny had been in Amity Park, dodging international press, paparazzi, and the occasional FBI van parked outside his house, because, well, saving the world and exposing the existence of ghosts kind of made him a big deal. The whole “I’m actually Phantom” reveal had sent the world into a meltdown, with headlines like “Teen Ghostboy Saves Earth, Wears Same Hoodie for Six Days” and “Should Phantom Pay Taxes?” clogging up the internet.

That’s when Tony Stark showed up.

In person.

“You ever consider switching teams?” Tony asked while eating a hotdog in Danny’s kitchen like he owned the place. “I don’t mean ghost to human. I mean ghost to Avenger.”

Danny, halfway through microwaving leftover pizza, blinked. “Is this a recruitment thing or are you just lost?”

“A little of both.” Tony admitted. “I’ve got a proposition for you. Comes with a full scholarship, housing, no taxes, and a lifetime supply of Pop-Tarts.”

“…Okay but like. Why Pop-Tarts?”

“I have a theory about your ghost metabolism and artificial preservatives.” Tony said, waving his hand like it was normal science and not the start of an exorcism. “Anyway. Stark Industries internship. Full ride to Midtown School of Science and Technology. We pretend this is for science—understanding ghosts and ectoplasm and your stupid glowy ice powers or whatever—and I get to say I recruited the coolest teen superhero before the other billionaires.”

“You just don’t want me joining Batman.” Danny muttered.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say the B-word in my presence.”

So that’s how Danny Fenton—Amity Park’s favorite undead menace—ended up in New York City, living in a swanky Stark-funded high-rise with a fully stocked lab, an entire ghost-proof gym, and a contract that explicitly stated “NO OPENING INTERDIMENSIONAL PORTALS BEFORE 9AM” in Comic Sans.

Midtown High was wild. First of all, every student looked like they either had a skincare sponsorship or fought crime on the weekends. Second, the STEM program had actual quantum computers. Danny’s old school had a vending machine that exploded if you pressed B5 twice.

Third: Peter Parker.

Danny met him on his first day, right after being hit by a rogue drone in robotics class and slamming face-first into a whiteboard that read “No running in the lab.”

Peter looked down at him. “You good, man?”

Danny blinked. “Spider-Man?”

Peter blinked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Danny smirked. “Uh-huh. Tony says hi.”

Peter yanked him up by the arm and shoved him into a janitor’s closet so fast it could’ve given someone whiplash.

“Shh!” Peter exclaimed. “You can’t just say that out loud! People don’t know!”

Danny shrugged, now intangibly phasing halfway through a mop bucket. “Relax. Everyone already knows I’m Phantom. It’s not like we’re on equal secret identity footing here.”

Peter blinked at that. “Wait, you’re Phantom? Like THE Phantom?”

Danny stuck his head through the wall dramatically. “Boo.”

Peter shrieked and punched him. Which didn’t work. At all. From then on, they were inseparable.

Mostly because Tony made them sit next to each other at every Stark-sponsored science conference with assigned seating and a label that said “Teen Angst Section.” But also because they kind of understood each other. Weird powers. Exhausting double lives. Constant media attention. Love lives that were mostly disaster zones.

Also, because every time there was an emergency in New York, Danny would dramatically yell, “I GOT THIS!” turn into a glowing ghost, phase through the ceiling, and leave Peter holding their science project like, “Great. Now I have to explain this to Ms. Warren.”

There was a running bet in the school on how many times a week Danny would ghost out during class. The record was four times in a single Monday. Once during math. Twice during lunch. Once mid-presentation, when his eyes flashed green, and he mumbled, “Hold up, I think a ghost just tried to eat a nun,” before vanishing.

He got an A. Mostly out of fear.

They became known around Midtown as “Science Boyfriends,” a term coined by their English teacher after they accidentally blew up the chemistry lab and rebuilt it with better airflow and a smoothie bar.

Peter tried to deny it. Danny didn’t.

“I mean, he’s cute.” Danny would shrug while eating a granola bar and floating upside-down. “And have you seen his calves? Spider thighs? Man’s got spider thighs.”

Peter threatened to web his mouth shut. Danny turned intangible and said “do it, coward.”

Happy Hogan was having a mental breakdown.

“Mr. Stark.” He said once, after catching Danny phasing through a vending machine and Peter falling out of a ceiling vent. “They’re going to destroy the school.”

“They’re already destroying my will to live.” Tony muttered, sipping coffee while watching Phantom carry Spider-Man bridal-style on a street livestream. “But you can’t deny the brand synergy.”

And oh, the public loved Danny.

Kids wore Phantom backpacks. There was a whole TikTok trend called “Go Ghost Challenge” which was just teens flinging themselves over furniture in hopes of catching flight. People stopped him on the street for selfies. A company released a Ghost Repellent Spray that was literally just Febreze with a green label.

Meanwhile, Danny and Peter were balancing AP Physics, ghost attacks, Stark internships, and trying to keep a low profile despite Danny being literally neon.

Peter was this close to combusting.

“I can’t keep doing this.” Peter whispered during lunch, forehead pressed against a table. “My GPA is dying. I’m dying. My soul is cracking. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Danny, completely fine, sipping chocolate milk through a straw, replied, “I think a banshee tried to possess the home ec teacher.”

Peter stared. “… Danny.”

“Her cupcakes were glowing.”

“DANIEL JAMES!”

It didn’t help that the media kept speculating if Phantom was dating Spider-Man. There were articles like “Who’s the Top Ghost? Our Editors Discuss” and “Teen Heroes: Roommates or Soulmates?” Danny read them out loud during lunch.

Peter screamed into a burrito.

And then there was that time someone tried to kidnap Peter during gym class. Bad idea. Danny turned invisible, slammed the guy through the bleachers, and then flew Peter to safety in front of the entire school.

“You didn’t have to carry me!” Peter hissed later. “I had it under control.”

“You were duct-taped to a chair.” Danny pointed out.

“I was about to chew through the tape!”

“Like a squirrel.”

“Like a spider!”

After that, it wasn’t just the school that shipped them. The city did. There were shirts. Stickers. Fanfiction. Someone made a rap.

Tony started selling merch.

“We’re not even dating!” Peter yelled one afternoon, dodging a drone with their faces painted on it.

Danny just winked. “Yet.”

And honestly? They made a good team.

When ghosts got loose, Danny handled the supernatural. When aliens showed up, Peter webbed ‘em to the nearest wall. When things exploded, they blamed Flash Thompson.

Midtown might have been chaos. Their lives might have been actual flaming garbage fires. But in the middle of it all, Danny and Peter were the weirdest, most terrifying, most effective duo the teen superhero world had ever seen.

One had ghost lasers.

The other had web shooters.

Both had the fashion sense of stressed-out raccoons.

And somehow, they made it work.

Until Danny accidentally opened a portal to the Ghost Zone during prom. But that’s a story for another day.

[traveler-at-heart]

Live, Love, Natalie Rushman

Summary: Based on a request by @lynattyx - Natasha and R meet when she's working undercover at Stark Industries.

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!R

Live Love Legal

The sign was meant to be a graduation joke, but you still placed it on a shelf in your very serious, very corporate office.

Even now, as you were promoted to Senior Associate -the youngest at Stark Industries- and you had a bigger space, with a breathtaking view of Central Park and Midtown Manhattan.

It was your first day, and you were determined to make things right. Top of the list, onboarding Miss Potts’ new paralegal assistant. Your secretary (holy crap, you had a secretary!) had called to informed you she was waiting at the front desk.

“Natalie?” you called, imagining the woman with red hair and black slacks was the new assistant.

Though, you were not prepared for the sight that greeted you when she turned around, striking green eyes and a perfect smile in place.

“You must be Y/N”

The way her raspy voice caressed every syllable of your name almost made you weak in the knees.

But this was work, and you couldn’t lose your shit over the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen.

“Yes. Come with me, I’ll show you around”

Pleased with the firmness of your voice, you gave Natalie a tour of the office, pointing at different areas where most meetings took place. You also showed her where to find the information of everyone she might need to contact, and then you went up to Pepper’s office. The short elevator ride was littered with small talk, and you considered a success how your cheeks flushed only once.

“Come in” Pepper said and you opened the door, Natalie right behind you. “Y/N, happy first day as an associate. And you must be Natalie Rushman”

After a brief introduction, you were ready to leave both women to work.

“If you need anything, just let me know” you said to Natalie before going back to your office.

“Anything?” she said with a small smile. Perhaps it was all in your head, or the woman had really managed to make the question sound… loaded.

“Of course” you said, heat going to your cheeks.

Once the elevator doors were shut, you leaned against the wall, wondering if you’d imagined Natalie’s parfume still lingering in the air.

Maybe that sign at your office should read Live Love Lesbian instead.

—

It had been a week - a busy, insane week- but Natalie hadn’t needed your help with anything. While you wanted to feel relief, because you had enough on your plate, you were actually disappointed. Those green eyes and that beautiful voice would not leave your thoughts.

To your displeasure, you weren’t the only one.

“Tony” you said, feeling a headache as you entered your office first thing in the morning and saw him behind your desk, feet up.

“Y/N. How’s the new job going?”

“It would be better if you gave the government some information about those suits. But I will say I love my new parking space”

“Right! New is good” he agreed, not moving from your chair. “Like that new girl. Natalie Rushmore…”

“Rushman” the headache intensified.

“Right, whatever. Isn’t she good?”

“Ask Pepper”

“I mean I did, and she told me to stop before  I did anything that might get me sued for harrassment”

“Pepper’s right. You can’t go around sleeping with your employees”

“I was only flirting” he spun around and you had enough, finally kicking him so he’d stand up. “I was never inappropriate to you, right?”

“That’s because I’m gay, Tony”

“And do you think Natalie might be…?” you glared at the man and he was quick to explain. “I hear there’s a sixth sense involved in the whole experience”

“Leave before I throw you out the window, Stark”

“You’re no fun” he complained, winking as he shut the door to your office.

—

The next time you saw Natalie was as you prepared a meeting with new VC investors and the board.

“I need you to place the NDAs in the binder that we’re sending to legal…” Pepper said and Natalie stopped walking. The sudden halt made you turn your attention. It wasn’t hard to understand what that look meant. She had forgotten. Pepper insisted. “You did send the NDAs, right?”

The hardness of her tone made you flinch, and you spoke before thinking about what could happen.

“Actually… I asked Natalie to hold off on that. I wanted to double check the IP section but completely forgot about it. I’m sorry, Pepper”

“Ok, it’s fine” the woman said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just make sure it’s ready before the presentation”

You nodded, and turned to walk down the hall to find the documents. Natalie followed right behind you, and you almost didn’t hear the quiet thank you she whispered your way.

“Don’t mention it”

Truly, you had forgotten all about it by the next day, until you found a latte waiting at your desk.

It was exactly how you took it, and you were very particular about your coffee.

“How…?” you wondered out loud.

“I notice things” Natalie said from the doorway. You flinched, amazed at how stealth she could be.

“And you’re silent. Like a ninja. Or a spy” you drank again, chuckling at the ridiculous comparison. “You didn’t have to, I didn’t do anything”

“This job is very important so it does mean something to me, Y/N”

The way she said your name had you blushing, so you nodded and thanked her.

“Have you noticed the bar around the subway station?” you asked as she turned to leave. “Great food, pool table. It’s fun, if you ever want to stop by”

“Oh, you don’t want to play pool against me” she warned and you chuckled.

And yet, the next week you were both there, eating and drinking past midnight. Natalie wasn’t kidding when she said her aim was impeccable and when you lost the third game in a row, you admitted defeat and offered to buy her coffee and a scone of her choice the day after that.

That’s how it became a bit of a habit, to buy coffee for two on certain mornings. If you knew Natalie had an early morning, you’d be the one to drop off a steaming cup of espresso with a danish scone.

Sometimes, you’d find a cup from the cafe around the corner, your name and a smile srcibbled across it.

You were working overtime to convince yourself that you did not have feelings for her. That the nights at the bar, the coffee or lunch time you spent together was nothing more than a friendship.

Until one night, when you were both working late. Your desk was a mess of scattered paperwork, all thanks to Tony’s idiotic actions. Pepper was the new CEO of Stark Industries while he made mess after mess.

“God, I hate him” you read a complaint filed by the police against Tony, who had gotten drunk and worn his suit during his birthday party.

There was also another thing that bothered you about that night. The memory of Natalie, all laughs and flirty eyes as Tony showed her how the suit worked.

You hadn’t realised how hard you were biting the pen until Natalie called your name.

“You have ink all over your lip” she said with a smile and you brought a hand to your mouth, the liquid leaving a bitter taste.

“Oh my God, is the ink toxic? Am I gonna die?” you panicked, looking around for a napkin. Natalie giggled, approaching with a hankerchief.

“It’s fine. Here” the redhead leaned forward, and you blushed as her soft hands cleaned your lower lip. Natalie held your chin between her thumb and index finger, satisfied with the result.

“Thanks” you said, unable to keep your eyes from going to her lips. The action wasn’t lost on Natalie, and before you could apologize, she leaned forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

“Now you have ink too” you said, laughing at the small stain on her lip. She smiled against your mouth, but the happinness was short lived as an explosion made you look outside. “Wow. What the hell was that?" you said, turning around.

It looked like drones were chasing after an Iron Man suit. Natalie grumbled and stood up.

"I have to go"

"Nat?" you followed her down the hallway.

The woman was gone, an apologetic look on her eyes as the elevator doors shut.

—

No calls, no messages, nothing. Not even an email.

You asked IT to keep her account active, just in case.

It had been a whole year; and maybe time to give up hope.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Natalie had disappeared right after Vanko had tried to kill Tony. Maybe she’d gotten hurt and someone was covering it up?

Whatever it was, the few times you asked Tony about it, he seemed irritated and quickly changed the subject.

And yet, here you were, still looking for answers, resisting the urge to give up on someone who had, for all intents and purposes, ghosted you.

You sighed, turning to look out the window of your office.

Imagine your shock when you saw a fleet of alien ships flying around New York City.

—

Natasha’s eyes were trained on Stark Tower. Were you there? Had you been able to get somewhere safe?

“Romanoff” Rogers called and she looked around.

“Need a lift” she said, creating a plan. All she had to do was take a small detour to your office and then she’d kick Loki’s stupid ass.

However, as she threw the alien off his own ship, she looked around and realised there was no easy way to land.

“Oh, God!” you shouted as a ship crashed through your window. To your surprise, instead of a weird looking creature, it was being flown by…

“Natalie?” you practically screamed, sure that you were having a fever dream.

“Come on, there’s no time. Let’s take you somewhere safe…”

“The whole city is under attack, that’s kind of impossible right now” you yelled, following her closely. “And what the hell is going on with you? Where have you been? And why are you dressed like that?”

It was hard not to notice the tight unitard that adjusted perfectly to every curve in her body.

“Watch out!” the woman said, pushing you aside. She rounded the corner, preparing her guns and shooting against the aliens. Turning casually to you, she spoke in a calm demeanor, as if discussing what movie to watch. “Would you like the short or long story, detka?”

“I don’t think we have time for long stories, Natalie. Is your real name even Natalie?”

“Well, it’s Natasha Romanoff so… close enough?” she said with a weak smile and you glared.

An arrow flew by and Natasha cursed under her breath. You understood why a second later when an explosion shook the building.

“Clint! I’m at Stark Tower, do not engage!” Natasha held a hand to her ear, speaking through comms. She then turned to you and smiled, leading you by the hand to the emergency stairs. “Where were we?”

“Natasha Romanoff. I guess you’re not a paralegal either… oh my God!” you yelled as you spotted a giant green creature coming up the stairs.

“Hulk, Rogers needs back up” Natasha said, completely unfazed by the monster. “Come here” she asked, taking you to a hallway.

“Nat, a bunch of crazy shit is happening and you’re not losing your mind”

“Well, there’s your next answer. I’m a former assassin, born and raised in Russia. Now a SHIELD agent” once the coast was clear, she made you stand up and follow her to the conference room. “I was working undercover to get some info about Tony’s stupid ass. And then I met you. I was about to ask you out on a date because I like you, but the mission was over and I was instructed not to engage again”

“You like me?” you repeated, ignoring the explosions around the city.

“Out of all the things I just said, that’s the one you’re sticking with?”

“Well, duh. Because I like you too” you smiled, pulling her closer for a kiss.

“Now’s not the time” a metallic voice said. You turned to find Tony floating outside the window and you glared. “I was called for an extraction”

“What?”

“Come on, it’s not safe here. Tony will get you out and I’ll meet you once this is over, ok?”

“You better not disappear on me again, Natasha Romanoff”

“Wouldn’t dream of it” she promised.

Once Tony carried you to a safe part of the city, you waited for him to put you down and remove his helmet to slap the back of his head.

“Why?”

“I asked you about her a million times, Tony. You could have told me why she left so suddenly”

“Now you know. I’ll get you a nice restaurant reservation to make up for it. Gotta go!”

As he flew away, you couldn’t help but smile.

Natasha liked you back.

—

Dust settled and emergency services began to approach the city, aiding with evacuation. Your eyes searched Natasha’s as you walked around.

“Detka”

“Are you ok?” running up to her, you brought your hands to her face. She had a small cut in her forehead and seemed tired, but she was alive.

“Yeah. It was fun”

“Fun? I hope our date doesn’t include this type of fun.”

The woman laughed and pulled you close to her.

"Alien invasions are a six month anniversary kind of thing" she joked. You laughed, but kept your eyes on her cut, looking concerned. “I’m ok, really. Nothing a shower won’t fix”

“How about a kiss?” you offered and she smiled, leaning forward to meet your lips; it was short and sweet. A promise of more to come.

“Let’s go back to my place” you said and Natasha’s eyes widened. “For you to shower. Clean that cut, get some sleep. And then, we’ll talk about that date”

“You have yourself a deal”

[vampireimiko]

Adam Warlock (with a vampire reader) !!

warnings, none 🧟

note, i kinda hate this one guys 🙁

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Adam disagrees with the plan to kill all vampires completely. Sure, the species had malevolent vampires but it also has benevolent ones, such as you! If Tony and Marc were to go through with killing the innocent undead, that would be a grave injustice in his eyes.

"Genocide is not a solution, Stark," Adam states firmly, eyes glowing with defiance. "You cannot punish an entire species for the sins of a few."

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Tony and Moonknight are eventually able to come to their senses and actually wrap their head around what to do. They admit that they saw the Montesi formula as the most efficient way to get rid of Dracula and his loyalists. Not once did they consider the value of individual lives, and the importance of targeted actions over broad measures.

“Alright, I get it,” Tony says with a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples. “We were looking at the Montesi formula as a one-size-fits-all solution without thinking about the bigger picture. But there’s no easy fix for this, is there?”

Marc, though still conflicted, nods in agreement. “I didn’t consider how many innocent ones would be wiped out. That’s on me.”

┊ ➶ ｡˚ °  Once Tony and Marc have come to terms with the gravity of the situation, Adam takes the opportunity to pull you aside, guiding you to a quieter, more secluded area where you can talk away from the others.

"How long has it been since you've fed?" He asked gently with his golden hand caressing your cheek.

"It doesn't- I mean it's...been a few days now," you admit, not wanting to lie, but also not wanting to worry him too much. You know how he feels about you keeping your strength in check, especially when it’s been a while since you’ve fed.

"You need to take care of yourself, love. We’ll figure this out. We’ll handle everything without resorting to unnecessary violence, okay?"

He steps closer, placing a hand gently on your shoulder. "But you can’t keep pushing yourself. It’s not just about the fight we’re facing now. You have to keep your strength up."

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He’s incredibly protective, even if he doesn’t always show it emotionally. If anyone so much as implies that you’re just like Dracula’s minion, Adam will shut them down immediately.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° In sweet private moments, he’s gentle, his concern never far from the surface. "I know you don’t want to show weakness," he tells you softly, "but you don’t have to hide it from me. I’ll always be here, especially when you need to recharge." His voice is full of warmth and care, a stark contrast to his usual cool demeanor.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° All in all, Adam cares for you very deeply and will do anything in his cosmic power to see that harm, in no shape or form comes to you 🫶🏽

additional note ! i tried my best to capture exactly what you meant in this anon !! 😭 i don't feel like i executed this as well as i would've liked

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

[msmk11]

🍾 happy birthday!!!

how about 24 with spiderman? maybe reader is also a superhero, but a little newer to the game than spidey?

24) Getting pinned down while a training session/sports practice

omg thanks for coming to the party! hope you enjoy :)

Spiderboy

Peter Parker (Spiderman) x gn!Stark!reader

WC: 1.7k

CW: fighting; sexual tension

Summary: You decide Spiderman is your personal enemy after your dad invites him to join the Avengers before you. So, when you're given the chance to fight the hero during training, you're thrilled.

Despite your many pleas, your dad, Tony Stark, had kept you from becoming a superhero for a long time. It was too dangerous, he always said, and he wanted to protect what was most precious to him. You knew his refusal was always rooted in love, and you loved how much he cared. Still, you wanted to fight alongside him, to help make a difference. You’d bring up the topic every few months, with his answer always staying the same. You wouldn’t fight back too hard and instead find other ways to help out the Avengers. All that changed when your dad brought on a new superhero- Spiderman. Though you didn’t know his real identity, you did know that he was your age, which left you furious. You’d stormed into his office, shaking with anger and betrayal, shouting about how it wasn’t fair- how he could let some strange boy join the Avengers but not his own kid.

The screaming didn’t convince him nor did the silent treatment. It was only when you’d given up entirely on your dream of being an Avenger that your dad sat you down and invited you to join the team. You’d given an enthusiastic yes, accepting the stipulation that you had to train for a year before you’d be allowed out in the field. You were to be trained in combat, to help your dad in making your suit, to think up your superhero name, and to go through countless mission simulations. The training had been hard work, no doubt, but you knew that it would all be worth it when you got to serve alongside your dad, the Iron Man, in just a matter of two months. 

Today is like most others, your day starting early with a combat training session led by Natasha. You’ve just finished your stretches when she walks in, a brunette boy about your age in tow. You shoot her a confused look but the redhead only smirks, stopping before you. 

“We’re doing things a little different today,” Natasha says to you. You notice that she isn’t in her usual training clothing, instead wearing jeans and a t-shirt. 

“I’ve taught you all I know. Now it’s time to put your training to the test and actually fight someone. You’ll be fighting Peter here.”

Your eyes trail to the boy in question and they narrow, “who the fuck is Peter?”

The boy rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and shrugs, “that’s me. I’m Peter, Peter Parker. You’re Mr. Stark’s kid, right?”

You nod and cross your arms, “Okay but who are you? Peter Parker means nothing to me.”

He blushes furiously and you want to roll your eyes. Seriously, who is this guy?

“Oh right! I’m Spiderman, one of the new Avengers.”

Your heart drops and anger simmers in your stomach. Fucking Spiderman- your personal enemy ever since he got invited to join the Avengers before you. Your eyes scan his figure, assessing him. You really don’t understand what your dad sees in him. He seems like an average teenager, if not a little more fit than most. Though you’d never been to public school and therefore not often been around people your age, you know he looks just like the rest of the boys. Did sunshine come out of his ass or something?

“Oh. You’re Spiderman. Right.”

The Parker kid furrows his brow in confusion, a little taken aback by your less than warm reception. He didn’t expect you to be losing your mind over meeting Spiderman or anything, but he thought you’d at least be friendly, maybe crack a few jokes like your dad. 

You glare at Natasha slightly, “was this your idea? Or my dad’s?”

She ignores your question, “you need to practice fighting real people and not just a dummy. You’ll start with Parker and eventually move up to fighting Steve, me, and so on. This isn’t up for debate, Junior, so assume your positions.”

Your face heats at Natasha’s use of the team’s nickname for you in front of your rival. You think she did it on purpose just to embarrass you. You’d just have to make up for it by kicking Parker’s ass. The boy assumes his position on the opposite side of the mat, falling into his stance with a confidence that really pisses you off. You don’t know where he got the gall to waltz in here like he owned the place and-

Natasha tells you to begin and Peter lunges forward, nimble on his feet. You barely avoid him, feet skidding across the rubber mat just in time. You reposition, squaring your hips like you were taught, and throw your fist when he approaches. He ducks, avoiding it, and takes the opportunity to land a blow on your side. The force sends you staggering. He’s stronger than you thought and you recall that he probably has some sort of superhuman strength. It only makes you madder, and you retaliate, kicking him in the stomach. Peter stumbles only a little and you grit your teeth. The two of you engage in a back and forth, sending blows each other’s ways and failing, both of you blocking the other’s attempts. 

“Quit playing with each other,” Natasha scolds, no real malice in her voice. 

You decide to try a different angle, sweeping your foot out to catch the back of his leg rather than using your fists. It works, and you internally celebrate, reveling in the way he tumbles to the ground. Unfortunately, in his fall he catches your ankle, dragging you down with him. You grunt as you land on your back and you see red. 

“Motherf-” 

Peter sends his fist towards your face and you stop it with both hands, fighting against his insane strength.

“Why do you seem to hate me so much?” the brunette grits, voice shaking with effort. 

You press your foot against his chest, sending him backwards again, “can’t handle people not loving you, spiderboy?”

He’s quickly back up on his feet and you resituate, “that’s not my name and you know it, Stark. Honestly, we’ve never even met before today! How can you hate me?”

His voice sounds boyish and innocent, as though he just wants to be liked by everyone. It almost makes you feel bad for him. 

Peter manages to clock you in the face and you stumble, clutching your jaw in pain.You land a few blows in retaliation and then he tackles you in the middle. It doesn’t send you plummeting to the ground, instead only locking your upper halves together. You take the chance to mutter in his ear, “you waltzed in and took what I wanted without even trying. After I’d spent years working my ass off to become an Avenger.”

“I’m sorry, you know it wasn’t my f-” 

You don’t let him finish, instead finally shoving him back off of you. This is it. Your moment. You charge towards him and pull a classic Natasha move. You leap forward, flinging your legs around his shoulders and sending him hurtling to the ground. You’ve got him right where you want him, and you smirk in victory. You’re straddling his hips as you lean down and murmur, “gotcha.”

Your cockiness is your downfall and Peter takes advantage of it. He shoves you off, flipping you over and pinning you beneath him. The brunette is heavier than you and he pins both of your wrists, effectively leaving you defenseless. You squirm beneath him, frustrated and he leans in, breath hot against your ear, “don’t pout just because daddy didn’t give you your way.”

And something about the way he says it so assertively, while also being pinned underneath him, causes you to have a very different reaction. Heat shoots to your core and you just barely suppress a shudder. You swallow thickly and push him off, standing up shakily and wiping your palms. You blow past Natasha, and head straight to the locker rooms.

Fuck.

You splash cold water on your face and take deep breaths, trying to calm the passion brewing in your stomach. You’re hot- equal parts angry and turned on and it pisses you off. You’re supposed to hate this Parker kid, not be attracted to him.

The door to the locker room opens, “go away, Nat,” you call out.

Footsteps scuff against the tile and it’s not Natasha that appears but Peter. 

“Are you okay?”

You sigh, not meeting his eyes, “Fine.”

He runs his fingers through his mussed hair nervously, “are you sure? Did I hurt you or-”

“I’m fine, Spiderboy.”

Peter walks closer and suddenly his fingers are on your jaw, tilting your head slightly. Your breath catches in your throat. He grimaces and a coo catches in his throat, “I got you bad here. It’s already turning all black and blue. I’m sorry.”

The pads of his fingers are warm against your skin and you shiver when they dance gently over the bruise.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

You shake your head, and your mouth opens and closes like a fish. Peter’s brown eyes watch you intently, softly. 

“I really am sorry for taking your spot on the team or uhm whatever.”

You search his face for any insincerity but find none, and your heart thaws just a little.

“I’d like to get to know you. Become friends, you know, or…”

He trails off, and your breath hitches at what the silence implies. Peter leans closer to you, your breaths mingling and-

There’s a knock on the door and it opens. The two of you jump apart as your dad comes into view. He pauses, eyes flitting between you and Peter suspiciously.

“Sweetheart,” your dad says, focusing his attention on you, “it’s time to go work on your suit.”

He steps closer and grabs your face, “and we’ll get you some ice for that bruise.”

Your dad tucks you into his side and begins corralling you towards the door. You look over your shoulder and awkwardly wave goodbye to Peter.

When you’re not looking, your dad sends Peter a glance too. It’s a warning. You fuck with my kid, I’ll fuck you up too.

And while Peter is scared out of his mind, he can’t help but smile nonetheless.

[p1astr81]

I love you, dad - op81

in which: Oscar and Ryder face each other for the final time.

pairing: spiderman!oscar piastri x reader

warnings: angst, injury, cursing, kinda short, lowkey corny dialogue, lmk if there’s any others!

an: this will be the final part, thank you to everyone who has been reading!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

‧‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅

It was late. One in the morning to be exact. Oscar went patrolling after dinner at yours, but he couldn’t get something off his mind. Which led him to Tony’s doorstep, fist balled and banging repeatedly on his front door.

Eventually, Oscar’s fist met free air as Tony threw open the door. The older man was disheveled, hair a mess and eyes half open. “What, kid? What do you want?” He asked, highly annoyed.

“Is it possible for Ryder West to know who I am?”

Tony blinked repeatedly. “What?”

“Well, cause, he saw me—like—out of uniform, and I don’t know he was looking at me while talking about spiders so it felt like-“

Tony interrupted his rambling with a sigh. “He doesn’t know you, kid. Not unless you told him.” A pause. “And why would he see you out of uniform?”

Oscar stumbled over himself. “You know what, come in. I feel like this is going to be a long one.”

The door was held open for him. Oscar found his way to the couch and sat with his head hung. “So, I have a girlfriend.”

“Yes. I know. She keeps you from patrolling every night, this isn’t new information.” Tony twirled his wrist in a circle, motioning for him to continue. “Well, her dad is…” Oscar scoffs, stalling to avoid Tony’s reaction.

“Her dad is Ryder.”

Tony’s brows shot up, his mouth gaping slightly. “Wow. Didn’t see that one coming. But that’s a tough problem for you kid. Real tough.” Oscar just nodded.

“So I take it she doesn’t know her dad is evil Elsa?”

Oscar shook his head.

“Yikes.” Tony’s hand landed on Oscars shoulder. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.” His remorse was minuscule as he stood up, walking away.

Oscar watched with his brows drawn together in confusion. “Mr. Stark? Where are you going?”

“To bed. Goodnight Oscar.”

۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ

The landing was messy and uncoordinated tonight. He was trying to balance two cups of hot cocoa and a box of two chocolate donuts while also sticking a clean landing on the rooftop. Safe to say he failed. The drinks splashed on his boots and he just barely salvaged the donuts when he stumbled.

“Package retrieved!” He cheered as he sat down on the ledge beside you. You laughed at him and took your cup from his hand. “You make such a good delivery boy.” You bumped your shoulder with his.

He flipped up his mask just enough to eat, and through a mouth full of donut responded with, “glad to be of service!”

You chuckled under your breath.

After the both of you had finished your donuts, Oscar hummed. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he continued once your eyes met his through the mask. “And you don’t have to answer but… why do your parents have a different last name?”

You shrugged. “My mom was an only child. Grandpa had no one to carry on the middle name, so they gave it to me at birth.”

Oscar nodded in understanding, his eyes on his swinging feet. After a moment, he looked up at you smiling. “You know, the lady at the donut shop was gawking at me the whole time. Super uncomfortable.”

You scanned him, eyes enamored. A tender smile. “Can’t blame her.”

Oscar scoffed a laugh. “Oh come o—mfph” he was cut off abruptly by your lips on his. Subconsciously, his body gave into your touch, leaning closer and getting both of his hands on you. “Gonna- mhh- gonna- be seen.” Oscar managed to mutter between kisses.

You broke away and tucked your hair behind your ears. Two hands placed on his biceps, you shoved him off the ledge and onto the flat roof.

“Now we’re out of sight.” You gave a cheeky smile before diving back in.

Before your lips even made contact, Oscar’s warm body disappeared from below you. He was perked up, his mask messily yanked back down over his face. He was frantically searching in every direction.

“What is it?” You we’re cautious.

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.” He breathed out. His senses were at an all time high, his body screaming at him that danger was inevitable, but the city looked normal.

“Is it your… tingle?”

Oscar nodded, in a trance.

Then his head snapped to the left just as a boulder of ice flattened a car. They heard the shattering and the crunching metal from yards away.

“Shit,” you gasped, a hand finding Oscar’s arm quickly. It secured you.

He got to his feet. “Get inside. Find a basement, or get under a sturdy table.”

“Oscar,”

He looked back at you.

“Be safe. Please.”

Oscar nodded before taking off.

Mid-flight, he activated his nano-suit. In the case of any sharp icicles flying his way, It would protect him better than the suit he wore currently.

Subzero swiveled on his floating block of ice to face Oscar’s direction. “Ah, and the bug is here!” His voice was loud, filled with disdain and malice. An ice shard, the size of Oscar’s own head came flying at him as he swung from building to building. He had to drop a couple of stories to avoid it, losing any elevation ground he had on Ryder.

“Arachnoid!” Oscar corrected.

“Doesn’t make a difference to me, I’ll squash you all the same.”

Oscar did not doubt the truth in that statement. He was very aware that it only took one boulder-sized ice cube to flatten him. But he wasn’t worried. He was quick. He could dodge anything that came his way. His main concern remained with the innocent people of the city.

Oscar swung underneath Ryder, hoping to draw him away from the crowds. Unfortunately for Oscar, he didn’t take the bait.

Cursing under his breath, toes pointed to the sky, he launched himself into the air and stuck to the side of a building. Eye level with his own girlfriend’s father.

“Last time wasn’t enough for you?” His laugh taunted Oscar. Another shard came right for him. He flipped, managing to web one of Ryder’s hands, and landed on the building opposite. The shard pierced the window, shattering its panes.

A blade of ice materialized in Subzero’s other hand. He made quick work of slicing the web.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

Oscar rolled his eyes at the man’s incessant yammering. He tried to web him up again, but he predicted Oscar’s moves. His webs met empty air.

It was a constant game between them. A web shot at Ryder. Ice flying in Oscar’s direction. It was a constant back and forth, and neither of them were winning. They’ve moved a couple of blocks from where they first began, and Oscar started to realize they were getting dangerously close to your place of work, where you were currently hiding out.

When he tried to move back in the other direction, he was hit with a solid rock of ice that blew him back, right onto a rooftop.

Your rooftop, he realized almost immediately.

Shit, he cursed quietly, trying to get away but his web was turned to ice, eliminating it’s elasticity and shattering it. He went rolling back on to the concrete rooftop, letting out a small grunt.

When he looked up from where he lay, Ryder had joined him. Oscar hoped you had the mind to get out of there.

He tried to get up, but Ryder had kicked him back down. Now a firm boot pressed his body against the concrete, cementing him in place. “I admire your determination.” Ryder’s boot pressed harder, earning a small groan out of Oscar. “But you were never going to win this.” He feigned sympathy.

Oscar’s ears picked up the smallest sound. Footsteps. He turned his head in its direction, finding you at its source.

Eyes shifting down to where you grasped a dull knife in your hand, his heart leaped to his throat. An attempt at communication was made, through the subtle shifting of his eyes. You hadn’t picked up on it.

You continued to advance, but your foot crunched on a broken piece of ice. Without looking, Ryder shot out an ice shard in your direction.

A broken gasp was punched out of Oscar’s lungs. You stumbled, the knife falling from your hands. Your hands surrounded the icicle that was impaled in your stomach. “Don’t!” Oscar shouted. Your movements halted.

Oscar was quick to web up the knife, and plunged it into Ryder’s foot once in his hand. Shocked, Ryder stepped back, allowing Oscar to get up. He ran to you as you continued to stumble. You tried to stay on your feet. You were disoriented. That much was clear.

His instinct took over. Webs were shot across the rooftop. As many as he could manage. He stuck Ryder to the very ledge the both of you sat on each night.

You slumped against Oscar. Heavy breaths. Eyes half open. An attempt at a smile. A hand coming up to cup his cheek.

The tears fell fast. His fear undeniable. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He was unsure which one of you he was trying to reassure, but he kept repeating the words.

Your name was called. A tone of horror. Your father. He struggled against his restraints. You squinted at him. Tried to identify him. You couldn’t. Not when your eyes were as unfocused as they were.

“Friday, alert Mr. Stark.”

“Right away.”

“Oscar,” you breathed out. Affection.

A shaky breath. “I’m gonna get you to a hospital.” He stood. You slumped against him. “Hold on as tight as you can for me, yeah?” Oscar was choking on his own tears at this point.

“But… I’ll get blood on your suit.” A feeble laugh. A shuttered sob. He was failing at holding it together. “That’s okay. I can wash it.”

Oscar shot off into the air. A yell of objection following him.

A slight whimper. “Hurts.” You managed. “I know.” He repeated over again.

Tears blurred his vision, nearly running into a stoplight. “You’re a reckless swinger.” You muttered. Oscar gave a weak laugh at the fact you’d called him a swinger.

He landed right outside the ER. Your legs gave way. “Woah, hey. Okay.” He was sure his mask would be soaked through with tears if it wasn’t for the nano technology.

He picked you up bridal style. “I need a doctor!” He pleaded, not caring how broken his voice sounded.

۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ

You shifted, letting out a low grunt. Your abdomen housed a dull, throbbing pain. You tried to move your arm but it’s mobility was restricted by a light weight.

Oscar’s head. Eyes closed. Asleep. His eyebrows were furrowed. His body tense. “Os,” your other hand threaded it’s fingers through his hair.

He stirred but didn’t wake. “Hey,” you poked his shoulder. He slowly lifted his head, blinking a couple of times before gasping loudly. “You’re up.” He was shocked, arms wrapping around your neck to pull you into him. He let go when you winced. “Sorry.” He stepped back.

You made him room on the bed, allowing him to sit next to you. “Where are my parents?”

Oscar’s eyes could no longer meet yours. His hands were suddenly fascinating. “Your mom is on a work trip.”

You blinked. “How long have I been out?”

“Two days. Medically induced coma. They said it would help with recovery.” You nodded. “And my dad?”

Oscar bit his lip. “He’s…” he sighed. “I shouldn’t be the one to tell you.” He shook his head. Your eyes widened. “What? Is he dead?” You were panicked.

“No! No… just away.” Oscar reassured. You sat up, wincing at the pain from the sudden movement. “Away? What the hell does that mean?” You demanded.

Oscar met your eyes. A deep breath. “Mr. Stark took him to a high security prison. In the middle of the Ocean.”

A wave of different emotions crashed over your expression at his words. Confusion. Sadness. Anger.

Realization.

Oscar’s hesitance when they met. On the rooftop, how he knew your name. The familiarity of his voice. “Oh,” you put the pieces of the puzzle together. Your eyes became glossed over.

Then the denial came.

You shook your head, the motion never ending. “He…” A shaky breath. “He wouldn’t have…” Oscar pulled something out of his pocket. A folded piece of paper.

“He wrote this for you.” He offered the small square to you. You took it between your nimble fingers, unfolding it carefully. You swallowed your fear, leaning into Oscar as your eyes met the first line of the page.

To my daughter,

I hope this gets to you, alive and well. I want to first apologize to you for the secrecy on my part. I thought it was better to keep this from you. My alternate self, subzero, wasn’t something you needed to know about. It would have put you in more danger than you already were.

I believe it is important that I tell you exactly why I became this. Twelve years ago, when the aliens came to New York and the world first became aware of the Avengers, I believed I needed to protect you from them. I believed they were frauds. They caused irreversible damage to the city and the people, I believed they truly didn’t care about the people. They only cared about looking heroic.

So I vowed to take out each and every one of them. I’d been building high powered weapons ever since then. One of them went wrong, and somehow changed the composition of my cells and DNA. That’s how I ended up with these powers.

They were never meant to hurt you. I always wanted to protect you. This wasn’t what I wanted to happen. I’m sorry for it all, and that I had to end up in this prison without saying goodbye to you. I was angry with that boy that night. I believed it was supposed to be me by your side. I didn’t understand his connection with you, why he held you so tightly and why his voice shook when he reassured you. Until they told me who he was.

I know now that my perception of the avengers was wrong. They truly are trying to help those who cannot help themselves. I regret it.

I also want you to know that I approve of your boy. I assume you know he’s spider-man. I don’t know if that was part of your reason for choosing him but it doesn’t matter. Oscar is a kind, confident, and resilient young man. It’s become apparent that he cares for you deeply. For that, I truly believe he is what’s best for you. I don’t think there’s anyone I’d approve of more.

If this gets through, please write back to me. I don’t know if they’ll let you visit, but please ask Oscar. Maybe with your connections, they’ll make an exception. If not, I’ll write to you every week.

I love you,

Dad.

[defectivevillain]

comfort crowd

pairing: Bruce Banner/Reader

the reader is masculine implied. otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.

summary: “You could be hanging around any of the Avengers and you choose Bruce Banner?" your friend asks disbelievingly, glancing at you over the rim of their glass. You’ve been trying your best to ensure they aren’t staring at any of the heroes for too long, but it’s only inevitable. It takes you a moment to respond to their question. “We’re friends,” you respond. At your friend’s skeptical look, you frown. “What?” "Friends don't look at each other like that."

word count: 2.2k | ao3 version

notes: The reader is implied to be masculine (they’re said to be ‘fanboying’ over Bruce, but that’s literally it). Otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used. Also, the reader works for Tony Stark but their exact career isn’t specified.

no warnings I can think of. hope you enjoy!

You usually ditch Tony Stark’s parties. Tony is many things: genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist—as he so eloquently states. But he’s not exactly the best at throwing parties. It’s not his fault, really. A bunch of superheroes in an enclosed space with alcohol is a recipe for disaster. Combine that with the general luxury of Stark Tower… and you’re faced with an event you’d really rather not attend.

But this time is a little different, because your friend is here. Your amazing, nerdy friend who loves the Avengers far more than any normal person should. Since the moment you revealed that you work with Tony Stark, they’ve been practically begging you for a chance to even be in the same room as the superheroes. And, well, after at least six or seven denied invites, you figure you have to show your face at this upcoming party for a bit. It’ll kill two birds with one stone: proving you’re not an unapproachable asshole, while giving your friend the chance to drool over the Avengers from across the room. It’s a win-win, you think. 

This is how you find yourself awkwardly lurking in the corner of the living room, spectating the madness from afar. A few of the guys are currently fixated on trying to lift Thor’s hammer, while Thor watches on with a smug expression. Wanda and Vision are discussing something quietly in the corner; Tony is ambling about, providing people with more drinks and just generally ensuring everyone is having a good time. Bucky and Steve are on the couch, the two of them looking somewhat out of their element until Sam approaches and gets them to loosen up a bit. Clint is speaking to Bruce quietly in the corner of the room. 

Bruce Banner is probably the Avenger you’re closest to, if you’re being honest. A few of the heroes are antisocial or prickly—cough, cough, Bucky, Natasha and Wanda, cough, cough—but you get along with most of them. Vision is cool; Sam is a good guy and the two of you have been known to watch movies together when time allows. Clint, Steve, and Rhodey are polite and friendly enough, but you’ve never really had long conversations with them. There’s Tony, of course: your indirect boss. He’s a piece of work, but he does have a heart buried underneath all that metal. (At least, you hope so.)

But Bruce? Bruce is the one you gravitate towards. He’s grounded in a way most of the other heroes aren’t. He’s a scientist first and a hero second. He’s wicked smart, of course—with a dry sense of humor that always amuses you. 

When your friend learns that Bruce is the one you’re closest with, they seem surprised. “You could be hanging around any of the Avengers and you choose him?” your friend asks disbelievingly, glancing at you over the rim of their glass. You’ve been trying your best to ensure they aren’t staring at any of the heroes for too long, but it’s only inevitable.

It takes you a moment to respond to their question. “We’re friends,” you respond. At your friend’s skeptical look, you frown. “What?”

“Friends don’t look at each other like that,” they say smartly, with all the wisdom of someone who has very little knowledge of the situation. 

“Like what?” you blink in confusion. 

“Like that,” your friend says, looking at Bruce pointedly. You follow their gaze to find him staring at you intently—he quickly looks away. 

“Please,” you scoff at them. “You’re losing it.” 

“I don’t think so,” they say, before raising their eyebrows suggestively. You both laugh at the gesture and soon forget about that particular subject of conversation. 

Eventually, your friend has to head home—and you walk them to the door, giving them a hug and reassuring them that they don’t owe you anything (despite their insistence that they do.) After they leave, you close the door and turn around—only to nearly run into Tony. 

“They were right, you know,” Tony remarks, apropos of nothing. 

“What?” you say. Is he talking about your conversation earlier? How does he know about that? “Hey, were you eavesdropping?” you look at Tony pointedly. 

“I’ve never seen Banner half as sociable as he is when he’s with you,” Tony says, completely ignoring your accusation. “What do you two even talk about, anyways?” he huffs. 

You shrug. “Depends.”

“Hm.” Tony looks contemplative, before a smirk rises on his lips. “Knowing you nerds, it’s probably mortality, existentialism, blah blah blah, naturalism, blah blah blah, uncanny valley, something something—”

“Okay, okay,” you huff, refusing to admit he’s right on the money. “Sheesh.” 

Tony shrugs. “Hey, I’m just making an observation.” He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Flirt all you want.”

“Flirt?” you echo incredulously. “We’re not flirting.” 

“Sure,” Tony says flippantly, clearly not committed enough to argue. “Well, maybe you’re not,” he adds casually.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you squint. Tony just shrugs, taking advantage of your confusion and promptly leaving the conversation. You watch him walk over to get another drink, feeling equal parts fond exasperation and irritation. For a moment, you wander about the party and exchange quick greetings with everyone. 

It’s inevitable, you think, that you find yourself gravitating to Bruce. He’s standing at a high-top table, staring off into the distance. You watch him for a moment, idly wondering if he even wants company. Eventually, you manage to summon the courage to approach him. 

“Hey, Bruce,” you say casually, standing across from him. 

Bruce blinks and drags his gaze towards you, his tense posture seeming to relax a bit. “Hey yourself,” he responds with a brief nod. He’s nursing an almost untouched drink in his left hand. “I’m surprised to see you here.” 

“Oh, yeah,” you acknowledge. You don’t usually bother going to these parties, after all. “My friend’s kind of an Avengers fan, so I had to bring them here to shut them up.” 

“It was a religious experience, I’m sure,” Bruce says jokingly. 

“Yeah, I had to watch them the whole night,” you admit with a smile. “Make sure they didn’t try to jump Steve’s bones or anything.”

Bruce chuckles. “I saw Tony talking your ear off earlier,” he points out. 

“Agh, yeah,” you sigh. “Everyone’s up my ass today, it’s kind of annoying.”

Bruce sputters at your somewhat vulgar honesty, laughing for a bit before composing himself. “And why’s that?” he asks, his eyes glittering. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, tapping your fingers against the table restlessly. Bruce’s eyes track the movement. “They keep asking me about you.” 

“Me?” he blinks. “Why?”

You shrug helplessly. At his confused look, you try to elaborate. “They seem convinced that we’re more than friends, that you’re flirting with me.”

“Hm,” he says calmly. Bruce is a composed guy, but you expected him to react a bit more skeptically. There are a few seconds of silence. “And what do you think?” Bruce continues, his expression impossible to decipher. The room around you almost seems to fade into obscurity. It’s just the two of you. 

“What do I think about it?” you clarify. Bruce nods. “I mean, I don’t think you’re flirting with me. Obviously.” The remark probably sounds a bit pained and stiff, but what else are you supposed to say? ‘Yeah, I really wouldn’t mind if you were flirting with me. Keep it up!’ You fight off a laugh at the thought. 

“Obviously,” Bruce repeats. He considers you for a moment. “You know, for someone so intelligent, you can be pretty oblivious,”

“Hey,” you huff indignantly. “Rude.”

“You think I’d spout off about my research to just anyone, in such explicit detail?” he asks. 

“…Yes?” you say weakly. 

Bruce looks unimpressed. He sighs, shakes his head. “I was trying to impress you,” he admits, looking at some unseen point over your shoulder. 

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief. “You don’t have to try to impress me,” you manage to say, when you can gather your thoughts again. “I’m already impressed by you.” 

This time, Bruce is surprised. “Really?”

“Um, duh,” you say with a sheepish smile. “I’ve been borderline fanboying over you.”

“Our last conversation was you trying to justify nihilism,” Bruce recalls with amusement. “You call that fanboying?” That unfairly attractive, lopsided smile is on his lips again. 

“I don’t know!” you say defensively, once you can tear your eyes away from it. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he remarks, with a fondness you can’t quite dismiss as merely platonic.  

“I think we both are,” you respond. 

“Maybe,” Bruce admits with a slight smile. His eyes wander the room before finding you again. “Everyone else seems to think so.” 

“Maybe we should really give them something to talk about, then,” you say before you can stop yourself. The implications of that statement are clear, and you watch as comprehension dawns across Bruce’s face. The two of you are standing closer than socially appropriate now. 

“Maybe we should,” Bruce responds with a smile, placing his drink on the table. It’s unreasonably smooth, the way he enters your space with ease. His hand finds the side of your face and he pulls you into a kiss. At some point, your hand moves to rest at the nape of his neck. 

You’re certain you could linger in that moment forever, if not for the sharp wolf-whistle Tony lets out. It promptly cuts through the comfortable noise of the party, drawing attention to Bruce and you. The two of you break apart, 

“Finally,” Tony grins. “Jesus. Thought you two would never get your shit together.” A few of the heroes murmur their agreement; Bruce and you exchange a glance. 

“Shut up, Tony,” you both say in unison. Tony either has no awareness or simply doesn’t care, because he then heads over to you and wraps his arms around you two. You’re fighting off a smile regardless, still reeling from the admission that Bruce likes you too. 

“Tony, we were kind of having a moment here,” Bruce says pointedly, when the man doesn’t make a move to leave. 

“Right, right, right,” Tony sighs dramatically, twirling around and walking away. 

Bruce shakes his head in disbelief, before his attention returns to you. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Bruce admits after clearing his throat. His hand lingers on your forearm, as if he doesn’t want to let go of this opportunity presented to him. 

“Me too,” you confess. “Probably too long, honestly.” Since you first met. But he doesn’t need to know that. 

“Not longer than me, I’d imagine,” Bruce huffs. You raise your eyebrows at him and he seems to have realized what he just said, quickly back-pedaling with a slight flush on his cheeks.  “I’ve— uh. Tony talks about you a lot.” 

“Really?” you question, struggling to fully believe that. “I can’t imagine he’s ever said anything flattering about me.” 

“Maybe not explicitly,” Bruce acquiesces, “but tolerating Tony Stark is more difficult than most people imagine.” 

“Oh, you have no idea,” you huff. You’ve known him long enough to recognize that. Rhodey once told you that you deserved a Medal of Valor for working with Tony as long as you have. The thought still amuses you. It takes you a few seconds to remember the subject of conversation. Bruce just admitted that he was interested in you before you even met, if you’re reading things correctly. “So, what, did you stalk me or something?” you joke. 

Bruce’s lips part for a moment, as if he’s about to speak. But he remains quiet. That small slip, that quick reaction, is all you need.

“No way,” you laugh. “You did?” It’s impossible to fight off a grin now. Here you were, thinking you were acting like a complete bumbling fool around him… assuming he never felt the same… 

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Bruce mumbles quickly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“No, it’s cute,” you say before he can get more embarrassed. You put your hand over his in a spontaneous gesture—you’ve decided you’re being very brave tonight. Your courage pays off, because he squeezes your hand reassuringly, almost lovingly. “You have no idea,” you admit. “You could’ve done something as simple as friended me on LinkedIn and I would’ve fallen over.” Just the thought of your early days working with Tony… looking down at your phone to find a notification from Bruce Banner… You would’ve had an aneurysm. 

“You’re that easily impressed?” he jokes. “Good to know.” 

You roll your eyes. 

Despite the excitement of the evening, you’re fighting off exhaustion. It’s getting pretty late, and the superheroes show no sign of wrapping up. Yet another quality to envy: endless stamina for parties. Must be nice. 

You’re fading fast, and apparently, it’s pretty obvious. Bruce urges you to get rest, promising you’ll talk in the morning. He makes a compelling argument, and you can’t bring yourself to argue when he’s leading you to the door with a hand on the small of your back and an adoring look on his face. He kisses you goodbye and you go to sleep that night hoping that party wasn’t just one long dream. 

The next morning, you blink sleep from your eyes and look down at your phone. There’s a message from Bruce reading “Hope you’re sitting down for this.” Moments after you type a response, (“??”), your phone buzzes. It’s a LinkedIn notification, with a friend request from Bruce. 

You laugh.

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[just-aake]

Everlasting Devotion - Part VIII

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. With her coronation over, Natasha is now the queen of the Romanov Kingdom. However, the position comes with challenges from both old and new enemies as Natasha tries to maintain the peace while also navigating her relationship with you.

Masterlist Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Warnings: light angst

Words: 4074

At a table in your library, your fingers glide across the worn page of Howard Stark’s journal. The entries detail his ambitious attempts to harness sorcery, each word penned with sharp, precise strokes.

There’s something striking in his handwriting—a tangible trace of the man himself, a stranger who might’ve been part of your life if circumstances had been different.

As you read, you can’t help but wonder about the person behind these words.

Would he have welcomed you into his world, inviting you to collaborate on these projects instead of leaving you alone in the shadow of constant disappointments and harsh judgments?

With a quiet sigh, you pull yourself from the wistful thoughts and back to the task, refocusing on the journal’s contents.

His latest endeavor—a complex project to encapsulate raw energy within a synthetic stone—was left unfinished, his last entry noting how close he’d come but ultimately failing to contain it.

Your gaze drifts to the attacker’s glove lying nearby, the once-bright stone in its center now faded to a dull sheen. 

Curiosity gets the better of you, and with delicate care, you pry the stone free, lifting it toward the sunlight streaming through the library window.

Sunlight filters through its transparent surface, revealing imperfections–tiny cracks spidering through its structure. 

As you study it intently, a sudden flash of memory grips you: a similar stone, glowing brightly in someone’s hand, its light intensifying as muffled words reach your ears.

Before you can grasp the context of the fragmented scene, a dull ache pierces your mind, forcing your eyes shut against the sharp sensation.

When you open them again, blinking slowly, silence fills the room. The vivid memory fades, slipping further from your grasp.

The familiar unease that follows these unpredictable flashes settles over you. Once again, the thought crosses your mind: perhaps it’s time to let Wanda explore your thoughts.

Maybe she could decipher the meaning behind these visions—or confirm if you were just going insane.

“Quite the collection you’ve got here,” a voice cuts through the quiet.

Startled, you almost drop the stone, quickly pocketing it as you spin around. 

Tony stands at the door, a smirk plastered on his face. 

“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” you snap, shooting him a sharp glare.

Tony glances back at the door, feigning disbelief. 

“I did knock,” he insists, grinning. “You didn’t hear me? Practically rattled the hinges.”

You suppress a sigh as he strolls through the room, inspecting the shelves like a restless child. At one point, he pulls a book down, flips through a few pages, then shudders dramatically as he snaps it shut. 

“Please tell me you’ve got something more exciting in here than this.” 

He waves the book at you with exaggerated disappointment.

Snatching it from his hands, you glare at him. “Don’t you have work to do?”

Tony gives a dismissive wave, meandering toward another shelf.  

“We’re waiting on supplies,” he explains. “Besides, Vision’s distracted playing nice with your little sorcerer outside.”

“Playing nice?” you ask, raising a brow in surprise.

Tony gives a lazy nod.

“He’s always been interested in that sort of thing—his family had some traces of magic or something in their line. Not great at the whole socializing bit, though, so this behavior is slightly surprising.”

Tony claps his hands and strides past you.

“It’s good, though. He’s always been the more reserved one of his brothers. You know, that’s why I brought him with me in the first place, to give him more exposure to the—hello—what do we have here?”

You follow his gaze, spotting the journal still open on the table in the corner of your eyes, but Tony’s attention is focused on the armored glove. 

Discreetly, you close Howard’s journal and slide it behind a stack of other books while Tony is engrossed in examining the glove with keen interest. 

He suddenly picks it up, slipping it onto his hand with confidence.

“Careful, it’s damaged,” you warn, stepping forward. “We don’t know how it works.”

Tony smirks, waving off your concern as he fumbles with the glove’s mechanism. 

“Relax, it’s just a tool for defense. Completely harmless.”

Just as he finishes, a quiet click sounds from the glove, and suddenly, a shard bursts from its mechanism, ricocheting off the wall. 

You duck instinctively while Tony stumbles back, clearly unprepared for the recoil.

“Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen,” he mutters, brushing himself off.

You shoot him a glare, yanking the glove from his hand. “And how would you know?”

He gives you a smug grin. “Because I designed it.” 

The words catch you off guard, your brows knitting in suspicion as you bring the glove closer to your body. 

“You…designed this?”

He dusts off his sleeve with nonchalance, oblivious to your growing unease. 

“Not this one exactly, but the specs are similar.”

The unease that’s been lingering since Natasha’s news flares up again. With a deep breath, you tap the glove’s surface, your gaze turning serious. 

“This is from the Stark Kingdom though.”

Tony leans casually against a shelf, his relaxed stance at odds with the sudden sharpness in his gaze. 

“And how would you know that?” he counters.

You choose your words carefully, unwilling to reveal too much. 

“I have a source. A reliable one.” 

Tony raises his eyebrows, intrigued, but you press on before he can respond. 

“That would mean that you’re…” you hesitate, searching his face, as you struggle to face the possibility. 

“You’re from Stark, right?” you finish with instead.

Tony scrutinizes you for a moment, then wags his finger as he heads for the door. 

“Nope, that’s not what you wanted to ask,” he says, sidestepping your question.

You stiffen, caught off guard by his intuition. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you call, hurrying after him.

“It means you’re not being honest about what you want to know,” he replies over his shoulder, the words hitting a nerve. 

You hear him continue, muttering in contemplation. 

“This does explain why you’ve been so weird lately whenever I’m near.”

But before you can fire back, he’s already halfway down the hall toward the manor entrance.

You catch up to him just as he exits the manor. 

Vision and Wanda stand at the entrance, deep in conversation, pausing as they notice the two of you approaching.

“Vision, I’m heading into town,” Tony announces breezily. 

He moves to follow. “I’ll prepare the—” 

“No need,” Tony interrupts smoothly, already reaching for the nearby carriage door. “I’ll just take this.”

Before he can open it fully, a flicker of red energy snaps the door shut. 

Wanda steps forward with her arms crossed, her gaze unmistakably unimpressed.

“That’s not yours to take,” she says, her voice edged with warning.

Just as Tony groans in frustration, you arrive at her side, nodding to Wanda.  

“It’s fine, Wanda. I’m going with him.” You fix Tony with a glare. “We still need to finish our conversation.” 

Wanda’s brow arches, her gaze shifting between you and Tony. 

“Alright, I can call for Pietro,” she says, moving to get the other twin. 

“You two don't need to come along,” you reply quickly.

Wanda’s concern deepens on her face at your unusual response, so you add with a reassuring smile, “Really, it’s okay.”

“Any day now, ladies,” Tony quips with an exaggerated sigh, tapping his foot impatiently.

You shoot him a glare. “Has anyone ever told you you’re obnoxious?”

Tony grins, unbothered as ever, shrugging. 

“You know, that does sound familiar,” he replies before stepping into the carriage.

Before you can follow, Wanda catches your arm, her expression a mix of worry and confusion.

“Is everything okay?” she asks softly, her tone laced with concern.

Her words make you pause, forcing you to confront the real reason behind your hesitation to let them overhear this conversation as well as let her into your mind.

It’s not just fear of what she might see—it’s the secret you’ve been keeping from her and her brother.

The truth about who you really are. The truth about your connection to the family responsible for their parents’ tragic deaths.

You’re not ready for them to know. You don’t know how you’d face them if they ever found out.

So, with a small, reassuring smile, you nod. 

“Trust me, Wanda, I’ve got this.”

Then, leaning closer, you soften the moment with a teasing grin.

“Besides, it looks like you’re enjoying your time with Vision.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, though a faint blush colors her cheeks. She quickly regains her composure and removes her scarlet cloak, holding it out to you. 

“Here, wear this. It’ll help keep unwanted attention off you in town,” she says, knowing well from Pietro’s stories how people have been reacting to you.

You accept it gratefully, wrapping it around your shoulders before climbing into the carriage. You settle across from Tony, crossing your arms as the carriage lurches forward. 

Tony doesn’t even glance up, instead examining his hand with what seems like exaggerated nonchalance.

Patience thinning, you let out an annoyed huff. 

“Well?”

Tony finally looks up, feigning surprise. 

“I’m sorry, did you say something? I wasn’t listening.”

Grinding your teeth, you shoot him a glare. 

However, he just raises a brow, daring you to push further. 

Taking a steadying breath, you decide it’s time to cut to the chase, dropping any pretense of subtlety.

“Are you Tony Stark?” 

For a moment, he stares at you, blank and unreadable. Then, he bursts into an exaggerated laugh, leaning back in his seat with a loud, mocking cackle. 

The sudden reaction catches you completely off guard.

“You think I’m Tony Stark? The King of the Stark Kingdom?” he asks between bouts of laughter, his tone dripping with amusement. “Why? Because we share a name? Or because I happen to design a few gadgets from that region?”

You falter, your certainty beginning to waver under his ridicule. “I—it’s just—” 

“Well, you’re right,” he cuts in abruptly, his tone now nonchalant, so casual it almost doesn’t register. He spreads his arms in mock grandeur and a slight bow. 

“I am the one and only…Tony Stark.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence as the words sink in. The ease with which he admits it is almost more shocking than the revelation itself. 

“Just like that?” you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’d just…admit it?”

Tony grins, throwing his feet up onto the seat beside you and reclining with a maddening air of satisfaction. 

“Why not? You’re sharp enough to figure it out. Besides, it won’t be a secret for much longer.”

You should be feeling shock, panic—something other than the rising annoyance simmering in your chest. Before you can stop yourself, you shove his leg off the seat, forcing him to sit properly.

“For a royal, you have no manners,” you snap.

Tony laughs, completely unfazed. 

“Now you’re really starting to sound like someone I know,” he quips, his tone amused.

Your irritation deepens. The casual way he’s treating this entire situation grates on your nerves, especially with everything you’ve already had to deal with and now with the addition of this. 

“Why are you here?” you demand.

“Why should I tell you?” he counters smoothly. 

Crossing your arms, you glare at him. “Because you lied to me.”

“Wrong,” he corrects, wagging a finger at you. “I never lied. I just didn’t tell you everything. Big difference. Lying’s more of a Romanov specialty than mine.” 

You bristle at his comment, immediately becoming defensive. 

“You can’t say that—you don’t even know them.” 

Tony’s playful demeanor fades slightly, his expression turning serious as his gaze locks with yours. 

“I know what happened the last time my family trusted a Romanov.” 

A heavy silence descends between you, the weight of his words filling the small carriage. You don’t miss the flicker of pain in his eyes as he turns to stare out the window, crossing his arms in what almost seems like a protective gesture.

“Everyone knows you can’t trust a Romanov or anyone from their kingdom,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

Your hands curl into fists as you glance down, frustration bubbling inside you. 

“That’s hardly a fair judgment,” you whisper. “Not without giving people a chance.”

Tony glances at you, his expression unreadable. Then, leaning forward slightly, he meets your gaze with a challenge in his eyes. 

“Then prove me wrong.”

Your head snaps up, his words catching you off guard. “What?”

He sits back, arms crossed again, and shrugs. 

“I’m not supposed to be here yet. If you can keep my identity a secret until the time is right, I’ll reconsider what I said.” 

You fall silent, his proposition hanging in the air between you. The thought of keeping another secret from Natasha bothers you, but the idea of Tony meeting her with his current distrust of her family is even worse. 

Maybe, just maybe, you could change his mind before that moment arrives.

The rest of the ride passes in tense silence. You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice your surroundings until the carriage stops. 

Following Tony out, you snap back to reality as you take in the shadowy streets, far from the safer areas of town. 

Grabbing his sleeve, you tug him to a stop. 

Tony releases an indignant sound of surprise as he’s pulled back before turning to you with a disapproving frown.

“Hey, easy, now that you know who I am, there’s no excuse for this kind of disrespect.”

Ignoring his reprimand, you lower your voice, hissing at him in disbelief. 

“What are we doing here? This area is dangerous.”

Tony lets out an exaggerated sigh, clearly unbothered by your concern. 

“Trying to stay low-key in a foreign kingdom. Naturally, I’d go somewhere less…guarded,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Then he smirks, adding, “You can always wait in the carriage if you’re too scared without your little followers around to protect you.”

Glowering, you push him ahead and lower your hood to obscure your face. You follow as he strides confidently into the alley. He stops at a run-down tavern, the dimly lit entrance as unwelcoming as the rest of the area. 

You hesitate, glancing warily at the door.

“Relax,” Tony says, throwing a grin over his shoulder. “Head low, stay close, and try not to look terrified. These people can smell fear.”

You roll your eyes, releasing a sigh under your breath as you move to step inside. Just before you cross the threshold, the sound of barking draws your attention. 

Glancing back, you spot two scruffy dogs, their muddy coats giving them a ragged appearance. They’re barking and leaping at a bird perched just out of their reach, the falcon screeching indignantly. 

A strange sense of familiarity strikes you, but you shake it off. It’s a ridiculous thought. 

Coincidence, nothing more. 

Steeling yourself, you pull your hood tighter and slip into the tavern to follow Tony.

The atmosphere hits you immediately—a cacophony of rowdy chatter, clinking glasses, and the sharp, pungent tang of alcohol mixed with smoke. 

The dim lighting casts shadows across the rough wooden beams, and the patrons barely glance your way as you weave through the tables, trailing Tony’s confident stride. 

For a moment, you think you might make it through unnoticed.

That hope evaporates as a man steps into your path. His leering grin reveals yellowed teeth, and his eyes sweep over you with an unsettling feeling. 

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” he asks, his voice slurred and mocking.

You stand your ground, narrowing your eyes at him, refusing to dignify his question with a response.

Stepping to the side, you attempt to move past him, but he reacts quickly, his face twisting with anger as he reaches out to grab your arm.

Before his hand can get close, Tony’s grip suddenly clamps down on the man’s wrist, stopping him mid-motion. 

“Easy there,” Tony says, his tone light but laced with warning. “We’re all here to relax, right? So why don’t you…take a deep breath and do just that.”

The man glares at Tony, weighing his options, but the steady, unflinching look Tony gives him is enough to make him pull back. The man stumbles off, muttering something about it not being worth the trouble. 

Tony claps his hands in satisfaction and then turns to you with an exaggerated raise of his eyebrows. 

“You really know how to attract trouble. No wonder you always need someone around to save the day.” 

You glare at him, your voice clipped.

 “I can handle myself just fine.” 

Tony hums mockingly as if considering your words, then shrugs. “If you say so.” 

He turns and saunters toward a booth tucked into the corner of the tavern, his pace purposefully slower as if to ensure that you stay close. 

The gesture irritates you further, but you follow anyway.

At the booth, a man sits nervously, his eyes darting around the room with visible discomfort.

Tony slides into the seat across from him, greeting him with the same condescension he’d just directed at you.

“Don’t look so scared, Happy. They can smell fear, you know.”

“I’m not scared,” the man retorts defensively, though his shifting gaze betrays him. “I just don’t like places like this.” 

His eyes flick to you, observing you with curiosity. “Who’s she?”

You open your mouth to respond, but Tony waves a dismissive hand in front of your face. 

“Not relevant right now,” he answers for you, earning him a sharp glare from you.

“Also, she knows who I am,” Tony adds with a smirk, “so you can talk freely.” 

Happy shrugs, seemingly accustomed to Tony’s antics. 

Tony leans forward, his tone shifting to one of eager anticipation.

"Well, did you bring it?"

Happy nods, pulling out a cloth-wrapped object from beside him and sliding it across the table. You watch as Tony unwraps it, revealing a glove strikingly similar to the one from your manor—but this one is sleeker, more refined in its design.

“Impressive, right?” Tony asks, shooting you a knowing look as if reading your thoughts. “Unlike yours, mine actually works a lot better.”

You roll your eyes but pause when you notice something.

“It’s missing the stone,” you point out.

Tony’s smirk falters, replaced by a puzzled expression.

“What stone?”

You hesitate, weighing your options, but ultimately decide he’s the best person to ask, considering he’s the son of the one who created the project.

Pulling the dull, cracked stone from your pocket, you hold it out.

“This was attached to the other glove,” you explain. “It glowed yellow with some sort of power before it was damaged.”

Tony takes the stone, his usual flippant demeanor fading as he studies it with uncharacteristic seriousness.

After a moment, Happy breaks the silence, pointing at the stone.

“That looks like something you worked on a few years ago,” he says. “Remember how many times it blew up in your lab?”

Tony glares at him, unamused at the reminder.

“We agreed never to speak of that.”

Turning back to you, Tony gives you a curious look.

“Where did you say you got this glove?”

“We were attacked,” you reply. “It was left behind when they escaped.”

Tony hums thoughtfully, then closes his hand around the stone.

“I’ll hold onto this for you,” he declares.

“Hey, that’s not yours!” you protest, reaching for it.

Tony easily keeps it out of reach. “It’s not yours, either.”

You scoff, incredulous at his childish behavior. For a moment, you wonder how someone like this could possibly share your blood.

Before the standoff can escalate, a hesitant cough breaks the tension.

“The lady did have it first, sir,” Happy interjects, earning a sharp, offended look from Tony.

With backup on your side, you cross your arms and level Tony with a pointed glare, holding your hand out expectantly.

Tony contemplates for a moment, eyes flickering between your hand and the stone in his before releasing an exaggerated sigh, dropping the stone into your hand and then slumping dramatically in his seat.

“Anything else, traitor?” he asks, shooting a glare at Happy.

Unbothered by his words, Happy nods and continues.

“Chancellor Potts wants to know when you’re planning to return. She’s…not thrilled about your sudden departure.”

Tony places a hand over his chest with mock sincerity.

“Aw, does she miss me?”

“It’s not that, sir,” Happy says flatly. 

You cross your arms in disapproval, raising an eyebrow at Tony.

“Wait—you abandoned your kingdom to come here?”

“Abandoned is a strong word,” Tony retorts, wagging a finger at you. “With Pepper running things, my kingdom’s in good hands.”

He turns back to Happy.

“And no, I don’t have a timeline. It all depends on how long this takes.” 

Happy rubs his temples, clearly exasperated.

“Well, I had to tell Jarvis to speed up his pace anyway, but it won’t matter if you’re still looking for—” 

Tony cuts him off with a raised hand, then tosses a small pouch of coins in your direction.

“Do you think you can handle a trip to the bar without starting any trouble? I’m parched.”

You narrow your eyes, catching the not-so-subtle attempt to get rid of you. Still, with no further explanation forthcoming, you roll your eyes and head to the bar.

The barkeep nods as you approach. “What’ll it be?”

Leaning against the counter, you smile politely. 

“Whatever you’d make for someone who’s testing your patience.” 

The barkeep chuckles knowingly and sets to work. 

As you wait, a commotion from the other side of the room draws your attention—cheers, laughter, and groans of disappointment. Peering past the crowd, you see coins being exchanged as two figures face off in a card game. 

The burly man at the table glares at his opponent, his eyes narrowing. 

“You should back out now before I bleed you dry, little lady.”

The masked figure across from him leans forward, her voice light and teasing. 

“Aww, is the big man scared?”

Laughter erupts at her taunt, but you frown instead, the voice sounding suspiciously familiar. You push through the crowd to get a better look. 

The dim light in the tavern doesn’t help much, but as you approach, your eyes narrow. 

The masked figure’s darkened hair gives you pause—it’s black, not blonde like expected. Still, the way she moves, the self-assured tilt of her head, sends alarm bells of recognition in your mind.

The burly man, clearly agitated, gestures toward a dagger at the masked woman’s side. 

“How about you throw that fancy knife into the pot and whatever your friend’s got strapped to her back?”

Your eyes shift to the figure standing protectively behind her, another masked woman. Her nervous fidgeting is unmistakable, as is the distinct bow strapped to her back—Clint’s signature design, one you’d recognize anywhere with how often Kate brings it with her everywhere.

Crossing your arms, you let out a long, exasperated sigh. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, already knowing whose idea this was.

The masked woman at the table leans forward, her voice dripping with confidence as she responds, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re playing against me, remember?” 

There’s no mistaking her now. Yelena’s tone is as bold and unshakable as ever, mirroring her sister’s in every way.

She reaches for the dagger at her side, drawing it out to twirl it in the light. The hilt and blade gleam, the intricate craftsmanship unmistakable—it looks like the one you’d given Natasha not long ago.

You straighten when you realize it is the one you had gifted Natasha.

As Yelena seems to consider the man’s challenge, her smirk widening with the thrill of the wager, you feel your patience snap at the thought of risking something you designed personally for Natasha. 

You move to step forward, intent on stopping her from making a reckless decision, but before you can take a step, a firm grip wraps around your arm, pulling you back into the crowd.

Irritation flares instantly. Tony’s earlier remarks about you needing protection flash through your mind, fueling your annoyance.

Without hesitation, you jab your elbow into the person’s side, twisting out of their grip. 

Their hold loosens, and as their face tilts into view, your irritation shifts to surprise.

Bright green eyes meet yours, sharp and unmistakable even in the dim light.

“Natasha?” you whisper in a hiss, barely keeping your voice low. 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

a/n: I’m so sorry for the long delay between the chapters for this series. This one is definitely trickier to write cause there is a lot more components to organize, but I’m starting to get back into it. Again, thank you for reading and for your patience!

Also, I’m going to attempt to be more interactive with you all since you take the time to leave such nice comments on my works, so whenever I have some spare time, you may see me popping around in the replies and responding.

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @midastouch013, @2silverchain, @dvrkhcld, @observeowl, @x-drowned-x, @fireandblood-3, @natsxwife, @leequifey, @blacklightsposts, @srt-sah, @scar-letwidow, @likefirenrain, @autorasexy, @natsbiggestfan1, @lex13cm, @iheartjohansson, @tofu9162, @unexpected-character, @natashasilverfox, @acciowriting, @qtreesfanstuff, @mrsrushman, @inarayofmoonlight, @viosblog112, @inarayofmoonlight, @maximoff-jp, @natashasilverfox

[pinksugarscrub]

Lunch Talks

MCU! Peter Parker x Silk! Reader

Scenario: Peter talks about you to his friends (inspired by @heihei.edits on tiktok)

word count: 791

warning(s): second hand embarassment

~

Now Ned isn’t a jealous person. He’s never been one, especially to Peter. Not when he found out his best friend was Spider-Man nor when it turned out he had indeed met Tony Stark. But this-? This takes the cake.

“What a minute you’ve met Silk. The Silk.”

“I still think it’s a stupid name,” MJ interjects. Flipping to the next page of her novel.

“Yeah,” Peter grins. Popping open a milk carton that’s certain to be half frozen. “She remembers you by the way and her name is- well, everyone at the tower calls her Moon.”

It isn’t verbal but clearly MJ is exasperated by Peter’s lack of logic. She wonders why it took so long for her to realize Peter and Spider-Man were one in the same when he talked so loosely about his life.

“She does?” Ned gapes.

Peter nods as he takes a bite out of his burrito which according to you, is a disgrace to Mexican culture. Honestly he wasn’t entirely convinced until you showed up for patrol with a bag that smelled heavenly.

You can’t blame him. All the good spots are in Brooklyn and you’ve done this whole vigilante thing much longer than he has.

“What did she say? How did she say it? Was-?”

“Woah, woah, slow down.”

“She saved almost two hundred dollars worth of legos. I deserve to know!” Ned answers while angrily biting into a carrot. “She’s my personal hero and you’re over here talking about her remembering me like it isn’t a big deal!”

Chuckling nervously Peter raises his hands. Eyeing MJ for assistance but obviously, he’s on his own. At least until she can’t resist the kicked puppy look he gives her and as much as she discredits hero names as being clever, Silk is also someone she greatly admires.

In a way, you and Peter are alike.

Not fighting for fame or money. Just looking out for the little guy and protecting them from large corporations. Yeah, she’s read the news. A lot of Stark’s contributions are encouraged by your involvement within the community.

She’s got to hand it to you, you know how to work the system that is Tony Stark.

“Silk is heavily involved and I’m sure in your case, having a civilian cry over a lego set is memorable.”

“Don’t kill my delusions,” Ned sulks. “And it was a gift for Peter.”

Peter smiles at the memory. Christmas with his two favorite people. Red wrapping paper and silky ribbons. Movies from the 90s which of course included Home Alone and…a small box on his dresser that he wasn’t going to open until he could call you at midnight.

Gulping down milk and stuffing his face would only do so much. Peter could feel his face getting warm and he could certainly feel his heart beating up to his fingertips.

Ah god.

“Hungry are you?”

Peter sputters, choking on the last drops of milk as he sets his tray back into place. “What?”

MJ isn’t a fool and she won’t be taken for one. It also isn’t like she doesn’t get a little enjoyment out of the way Peter fumbles over his words. At least now she knows what’s led him to drift off into dreamland recently.

“What?” Ned parrots. Confused. “It’s lunch?”

Peter wipes away what he spilled before hiding behind his sleeve.

“Sure,” MJ smiles. The smile that allows Peter to know he’s screwed. “When are you going to see her again?”

“Uh- patrol. We have patrol together.” Peter tugs on the collar of his button up.

“Dude?” Ned looks between his friends. A tennis match obviously ensuing.

“Today?”

“Yeah,” Peter squeaks.

“What time?”

“Afternoon.”

“So right after class?”

“Oh,” Ned drawls innocently. “Is that why we’re meeting at your house later tonight?”

Sweating bullets Peter can’t find himself to answer or tear his gaze away from MJ.

“Yeah Peter, is that why?” MJ bites back a laugh.

Peter bounces his leg underneath the table before finally caving. He’s learned from experience it’s easier that way. That doesn’t mean he’ll go quietly.

“I thought you were supposed to be my friend,” he groans. A borderline whine as he refrains from planting his face on any available hard surface.

“Ok, if someone doesn’t tell me what’s going on right now-”

“Betty!” Peter stands up abruptly. Clearing the lump in his throat. “Here- you can sit here.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Betty arches a brow. Her boyfriend’s friend has always been hospitable and a bit jumpy but this is too much. Even for him. When she sits beside Ned she leans over to whisper in his ear.

“What’s up with him?”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

A loud thump resounds in their little corner of the cafeteria.

[shanastoryteller]

tony gets kidnapped on his way to a business meeting or something and he goes with it because they’re in a pretty crowded area and he doesn’t want some innocent bystanders getting hurt in the scuffle. the team will notice eventually and his overprotective boyfriend captain american is going to 1. notice very quickly and 2. freak the fuck out, so he’s not really risking much here

also these kidnappers are sort of stupid and he’s not really worried about escaping later. except even though they’re stupid they mention things about the avengers and shield that they really shouldn’t know so tony decides to stick around to see if he can figure out if they lucked into hacking past his security (not likely) or if there’s some sort of mole

except the leader and the underlings get in an argument right in front of him because apparently they were supposed to capture captain america, not iron man, and the guy who grabbed him is like no, no, this is better! we have his boyfriend so we can lure him here instead!

meanwhile tony is just stating in disbelief that these idiots manage to string two thoughts together. there has to be mole. or someone else really in charge. or something.

and the leader is like fine whatever. he takes tony’s phone and opens the contacts and snorts, “this is what you have him saved us? pathetic”

tony looks at the contact labeled <3 <3 love of my life light in the dark wind beneath my wings <3 <3 and is sort of glad he’s gagged so he can’t say anything

he still doesn’t really know what’s going on and jarvis is still trying to hack their system an there’s no harm in sticking around a little longer since these people are. you know. idiots

except approximately fifteen minues later rhodey is busting down the wall and taking out all these guys in thirty seconds flat and tony slips out of the ropes that he’d undone about five minutes after being put into them (thanks nat) and pulls down the gag and says, “i thought you were on radio silence on a mission in ghana”

“i thought you could be trusted on your own, so it looks like we’re both wrong,” rhodey says. “what were you playing at?”

“i would have told you not to come if i’d known you’d get the message,” he protests. “i was working an angle here, okay, jarvis are you into their systems yet?”

“yes,” his trusty ai says from his phone from one of the kidnapper’s pockets. “tracing the origin of their financial backer now.”

“you really didn’t have to stay kidnapped for jarvis to do that,” rhodey points out, brushing him off and checking him for injuries.

tony shrugs. “i didn’t want to risk one of them getting away and tipping them off. take care of them i could. do it before they got a signal out without the suit? maybe not.”

this very reasonable discussion is interrupted by the rest of the avengers coming in swinging and then left blinking except for steve who feels the need to fuss over him while tony whines and complains and pretends he doesn’t love it

he says they were after steve anyway, he was just bait and steve frowns and is like well, why didn’t they try and contact me then? we knew something was wrong because of the stark industries security footage

and natasha, the sneak, has picked tony’s phone from the kidnapper’s pocket. he lunges for it but she skips back from him and says, “well it looks like they tried. they just messaged the wrong person”

steve takes the phone and sees the contact name and that the kidnappers sent the message we have your boyfriend and if you don’t do exactly what we say you’ll never see him again and is like. this is what rhodey is saved as in your phone?? what am i??

“look, the things is, it’s not like i actually use anyone’s contact, or look at it, i just tell jarvis who to call, so you really shouldn’t take this personally,” tony says.

steve types in his own number and stares in disbelief. “captain? i’m saved in your phone as CAPTAIN?”

“okay well when you gave me your number we weren’t dating and also you were being very mean to me at the time, so,” he says, resisting the urge to hide behind rhodey because he doesn’t think that will help

steve turns his gaze to rhodey. “what is tony saved as in your phone?”

“i really don’t think that’s relevant,” he answers, looking back at the hole in the wall like he’s considering flying out of it.

“jarvis, what’s tony saved as in rhodey’s contacts?” steve asks.

tony says, “j, don’t-“

“sir is saved in colonel rhodes’s contacts as baby,” jarvis answers.

clint is laughing so hard he’s going to break a rib. natasha raises an eyebrow, which is about the same thing

steve’s face is pure betrayal

“it’s because he’s an infant,” rhodey says, “and very needy and he throws up on me a lot.”

“hey!” tony scowls. “i haven’t done that in years!”

“and when you were texted about your boyfriend being kidnapped, you just knew it was tony?” steve asks.

rhodey shrugs. “well, who else would it be?”

even steve doesn’t have an answer to that

“it’s purely platonic,” tony says reassuringly, “carol would scratch my eyes out.”

steve scowls and sulks until tony changes his contact name

except now he’s in tony’s phone as captain handsome. he tells himself it’s an upgrade