#it’s not even the employee that doesn’t know Tony that well that brings up the playboy thing

[daydreamerdrew]

Iron Man (1968) #62

[xoxoavenger]

Come Back Home

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

summary: Bucky and Y/N are only married two days before Bucky’s sent out on a mission during what was supposed to be their honeymoon

word count: 3210

warnings: injury, near death, loss of consciousness, hurt/comfort

masterlist

"It's not like this one is any more dangerous than normal." Bucky tells her, interlacing their hands by her head. She's holding back her tears, but barely; he can see them shining at her waterline. When she blinks, one races down her cheek. He moves his thumb, bringing their hands up to her face briefly before bringing back to the middle of the bed.

"I know, but," More tears falling as she begins to shake. He brings her closer, holding her tight as if that would make her stop crying. "It feels different." She tells him, and he understands.

"I know, doll." He whispers, kissing her head and shifting so she was slightly on top of him. They had just gotten married, and their honeymoon was supposed to be this week, but Bucky was called on a mission and they were forced to push it back - at Tony Stark's expense, of course. But still, it was supposed to be their time. They were supposed to be on a plane to a private island, owned by SHIELD and loaned out to employees, specifically the Avengers. It made the other agents pissed when the avengers would call dibs on the island, but there wasn't much they could do, as the Avengers were so high up there wasn't really a way to argue about who was getting the island. When Bucky had told Y/N that he was called in for a mission, Y/N almost killed Fury with her own bare hands.

"I hate him." Y/N cried into Bucky's bare chest, and he ran his fingers up and down her back to try and comfort her.

"I'm sorry." He mutters, not knowing what else to say. He had yelled at Steve when the Captain had delivered the news, then gone straight through Tony to Fury, where he went off about his wedding and his honeymoon and his girl. It hadn't mattered, though. They needed him for this one, needed someone who could handle the cold, someone who worked well with Natasha, the other one on the emergency mission. He knew it was important, but he wished there was any way for him to not have to do this.

"It's not your fault." Y/N starts to calm down a little bit, and he knows she must be tired.

"Go to sleep." Bucky tells her, closing his eyes.

"Don't wanna." She mutters, kissing his chest. "I wanna stay up with you all night." She can't do that, they both know, but he just lets out a hum.

"I have to sleep." He tells her, but she is already closing her eyes anyway so it doesn't matter much.

Despite his words, Bucky doesn't go to sleep. He stays still so Y/N can sleep, still clutching him tightly. He feels guilty for leaving two days after their wedding; he knows she understands, but it still hurts and he knows she feels guilty for being mad at Fury just for doing his job. He just wishes he could be there with Y/N.

He goes to sleep with his heart beating fast with guilt.

~

She sits on the bed, wrapped in a blanket and watching as Bucky put on his suit. She usually liked this part, liked his suit, but knowing that he was on a dangerous mission days after their wedding made the feelings be shoved down. She didn't even realize he was done until he knelt in front of her, tilting her chin in his hand.

"I'm gonna go now." It was nearing 5 am, his call time, which made the tears fill her eyes.

"Okay," She was barely letting the word out, but Bucky heard it. He rubbed a thumb over her cheek and she leaned into the touch.

"I love you." He didn't let her say it back, just kissed her hard. She kissed back, tears smudging into his face.

"I love you too." She mouths, the words not coming out. They stood so she could hold him tightly, him putting one hand on her lower back and the other holding her head to his chest.

"I'll be back before you know it." He tells her, and she just nods.

"I love you." This time she says it louder, and he nods and kisses her forehead.

"I love you too." He grabs her face and kisses her once more, then walks out. She holds his hand until he goes through the door, and once the door closes she allows herself to cry.

When he's gone, she doesn't like thinking about what is going on in the mission. They can't contact each other in the field, which always makes her anxiety go crazy. She tries to hide it from everyone else, making espresso with Tony at early hours and hanging out in the lab with him when she can't sleep - which is every night.

"What'cha workin' on?" She lets herself into Tony's lab, two cups of coffee in her hands. Tony, who had been at his desk (sleeping, she sees now) jolts up, a paper stuck to his cheek as he lets out a noise of surprise.

"Hi," He grumbles as he pulls the paper off his face, wiping it free of any drool that may have escaped. He blinks and shakes his head slightly, trying to get his bearings. "When was the last time you slept?" Y/N asks with a small chuckle, setting down one of the coffees away from him - he doesn't need that tonight.

"What's today?" Tony asks, and he's being completely serious about it. Her eyes widen when she realizes she doesn't know either.

"Uh, probably," She thinks back to the last time she slept, which was the last night Bucky was here; Monday. It hadn't been that long, there's no way she's been awake for longer than a day or two. "Like, Wednesday." She shrugs. Tony puts his hands on his head, rubbing his face.

"No, no, I had a meeting on Wednesday, and that was not today." He was shaking his head, and this made Y/N chuckle.

"What, so you're saying you think today is Thursday?" She chuckles, taking a drink of coffee. As she begins to realize that it might have been longer than she once thought since she slept. How much coffee has she had?

"If it's past midnight, I think it's Friday." Tony stands, yawning and stretching. She grabs her phone and checks. It's 2:19 AM, and low and behold right under that time her phone reads Friday.

"Oh my God," Y/N drops her mug, which shatters on the ground with a sound that makes Tony jump, and she puts her phone on the small work bench she leans on. She's shaking now, eyes feeling heavy. How was she able to go this long without sleep?

Oh, that's right, because Bucky was gone and every time she tried to sleep she had the horrid nightmare of waking up to a call that Bucky died on the mission. She doesn't know how long he's supposed to be gone, but she usually doesn't go crazy until the two week mark.

"When was the last time you slept?" Tony is at her side, holding onto her arm, and she is thankful because her muscles are turned to jelly.

"When Bucky left." When Tony starts to speak, she shakes her head. "I mean, I've slept here and there, but not well." She feels all the exhaustion hit her at once, and she knows she's going to fall over soon.

"Are you kidding me?" She's never heard him this angry, and she doesn't blame him. She had practically just tried to killed herself.

"I'm gonna collapse." She tells him, head leaning back as her eyes roll back and she passes out.

~

When she wakes up, it's to a phone call. She has no idea how long she's been out, but she remembers that she had passed out in Tony's lab, and she must have fallen on the broken mug, since her hands and parts of her arms are wrapped and sharp pain radiates up them. There's a small cut on her cheek, which isn't too bad, but she forgets for a moment when she brings the phone up to her face and winces, having to switch sides. She hadn't looked at who called her or what time - or day - it was, but through the curtains she can see that it's dark outside.

"Hello?" Her voice is rough, but whoever's calling her at this time should definitely not expect her to be awake - never mind that she actually was awake for five whole days.

"Is this Y/N L/N?" She doesn't recognize the voice, but they know her name so there must be a reason.

"Yes." She isn't thinking well - if she was, she would recognize this. Not from a memory, but from a nightmare.

"We're calling to inform you that your husband, James Barnes," They don't need to go on, Y/N knows what they'll say. She feels something sick rise in her stomach as her heart drops. "He's sustained major injuries on his most recent mission."

"No," Y/N mutters, shakily getting out of bed. She doesn't know where she's going, but she doesn't bother putting on shoes as she walks out the door and into the hallway.

"He's in a secure hospital in Russia." The person keeps going as if they're not delivering the most heartbreaking news a wife could get.

"This can't be real." She pinches herself as she trips over her own feet, sending her stumbling straight into the wall. She slides down it, leaning against it as she hits the ground.

"We're working on moving him back to the U.S. when he's more stable, but for now he's in surgery." She can't think doesn't know what to ask.

"What happened?" As she whispers it she's sure the person on the other line can't hear her when Steve opens his door, looking around. Y/N doesn't turn toward him, keeps her back hunched in his direction.

"Pardon?" The person on the line didn't hear. Y/N' doesn't have time to respond before Steve is pressing a hand into her back.

"Y/N? What're you doing wandering around?" He crouches down and then he sees the phone. "Who're you talking to?"

"What happened?" She repeats louder, ignoring Steve.

"I can't say. I will call you when he gets to America." No condolences. No remorse. Just a dead line that continues to beep as the phone slips out of her grasp and tumbles the short distance to the floor.

"What's going on?" Steve's not stupid, he knows what's happening. He's just hoping he's wrong.

"Bucky," As soon as she says his name, the dam breaks. She lets out a shriek as she covers her mouth, her thoughts flooded with images of his bruised and battered body. They can't even tell her what happened? What kind of bullshit is this?

"No," Steve mutters, grabbing Y/N and letting her rest against him as she begins to sob. Loud, ugly sobs that tear her heart in half with every ragged breath. Her thoughts are filled with what life without Bucky would look like; she can't even make it one week without him. She would never survive a lifetime of missing him.

"What's going on?" Sam is walking out of his door in front of them, and when Steve looks up with red eyes, Y/N falling apart in his arms, he knows. "Shit," He doesn't know whether he should go up to them and comfort or if it would be too much, so he stays put, hand over his mouth.

Slowly, one by one, everyone is coming out of their rooms and realizing what's going on. Steve picks Y/N up eventually, taking her to her room as she sobs, not able to calm herself down. When he shuts the door behind him, they know that the two are going to be in there for awhile.

"What happened?" Bruce asks with a yawn.

"Bucky was injured. That's all I know." Sam shrugged. He wished he knew more, knew how to help the two, but he only had the small information he could gather from the two.

"Fuck," Tony mutters, looking up at the ceiling. Y/N had slept through the whole day, which was good because the last time he had seen her she wasn't looking not great. She had fallen on the glass and cut herself up.

Back in her and Bucky's room, Y/N was laying in the bed, Steve on top of the covers to comfort her.

"He'll be okay. He's a super solider. And he has a helluva good reason to make it back." Steve is rubbing her back as she gasps in breaths.

"I can't make it without him." She says between breaths, but Steve shakes his head.

"You could, but you won't have to." He doesn't tell her that he's worried about Bucky as well, that the fact that they won't tell her the extent of his injuries is troubling. "He'll be okay." Steve just hopes that somehow she believes the words that even he doesn't.

~

When Bucky finally gets to a hospital in New York, Steve and Y/N are there as soon as they get the call. Bucky is laying on the bed, much worse than in her dreams. When she imagined him in the hospital, she imagined the bruises and the cuts and him unconscious, but her brain didn't have common sense so she never imagined him like this.

He was laying on his back, looking anything but peaceful. There was a ventilator in his mouth breathing for him. The left half of his face was basically all bruises and blood, cuts on his mouth and under his eye, which was swollen. His left leg was in a stirrup, pins sticking out of it. They hadn't been told much, but Y/N could tell he must've fell on his left side. Steve continues walking in the room to be next to Bucky, but Y/N is paused at the door, staring at her person, her husband, who doesn't even look like himself.

The doctor is talking now, explaining injuries, but all Y/N hears is that he was saving a kid, that there was a ledge and it was him or the kid and he was trying to save himself with the arm, but he landed on his leg and something about the bones shattering and -

Y/N's on the floor.

She doesn't know how she got there, but all the sudden the ground is cold underneath her cheek and people are around her. They're calling out to her, asking if she can hear them, and she can, but she can't get her mouth to work. Her eyes are open, she can see, she has her senses, but she can't get her body to move. Then her eyes roll back and she goes limp, eyes closed.

When she wakes up, it's slow. It's the second time she's passed out in the past couple days, and she hopes this is her quota for at least a year. Natasha is sitting at her bedside, awake and staring at the opposite wall. She looks like she hasn't slept since she left on the mission.

"Tasha?" Y/N whispers, watching the red head snap toward her.

"How are you feeling?" Natasha is up on her feet and at Y/N's head.

"How's Bucky?" Y/N sits up, ignoring the urge to rip the IV out of her arm. She watches as Natasha's face falls, a look Y/N can read all too well. She's guilty.

"He hasn't woken up yet. They're talking about taking the ventilator out." Natasha informs her before she can say anything.

"It's not your fault." Y/N tells her. Natasha shakes her head.

"You weren't there. You didn't see what happened." And although she's right, Y/N shakes her head.

"You know he won't blame you." She can't stay in this bed, so she picks at the tape and almost pulls the IV out before Natasha can stop her.

"Stop." Natasha puts a hand on her arm, but Y/N goes against her and pulls it out, letting the blood well to the surface.

"I'm going." She needs to be strong now, for her husband. She's been a shit wife, going crazy while he was away, but that changes now.

"Steve is there now, and the ICU doesn't allow two people in the room." Natasha tries, but it's not working.

"I'm his motherfucking wife. I'm going in." And that settles it.

~

It takes days for Bucky to wake up.

They take the ventilator out before Y/N gets to the room, kicking Steve out. She'd feel worse if she had the bandwidth to care, but she does not. She throws him out of the room with no remorse and stays by Bucky's side, forgoing eating and drinking and nearly passing out again until Natasha forces her out of the room and practically shoves food down her throat. Y/N gets back to the room and falls asleep on the chair with her head on the bed, Bucky's hand clasped in her own.

She's asleep when he wakes up. The left half of his face feels exactly how he expected before he lost consciousness, so does his leg. Y/N is sitting on his right, sound asleep, which is good because he expected her to never sleep while he was gone. When he looked closer, with his good eye, he can see the bags under her own eyes and the tiredness that carried even into her sleeping face. He felt guilty for putting her through this; he had no idea how long he'd been out, how long it had been since he almost died.

He also felt guilty for what he was about to do.

If he were fine, he would just pull her up and keep her asleep and in his arms. While he could move the metal arm - even with the extensive damage it had taken - he could in no way move the other parts of his left side.

"Babe," Bucky nudged her, causing her to jump up. Before she could say anything, she was pulled her up with his good hand and into his good side and she's so tired she lets him, which shows how much she's been hurting. He knows if she was okay she would be yelling at him for doing this while he's so badly hurt.

"I missed you." She whispers, careful to not touch his left side.

"I'm sorry." He tells her, kissing her forehead.

"I love you." She's too tired to argue about why he shouldn't be sorry, so she snuggles into his arms and he leans his head against hers, which is half off his chest and half on the bed in between his chest and his arm.

"I love you too." He tells her and she shifts for a moment.

"We should tell the nurses you're awake." She mutters, but makes no move to do it.

"I'm not." He tells her and closes his eyes with a smile.

"Okay, you rebel." She chuckles before relaxing with a deep breath. She feels whole again. "Thanks for coming back to me."

"I'll always come back home." He tells her softly, his metal arm moving the hair out of her face as she falls asleep. "Always."

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @thefandomplace @punzoquack @mcueveryday @icequeen1371 

[dchan87]

A team doesn’t lose 117 games and counting because of just one thing. In the case of the 2024 Chicago White Sox a meddling owner, dubious leadership, injuries and an inability to properly value and integrate analytics only begin to tell the story. The White Sox would need to win seven of their last nine games to avoid tying the 1962 Mets’ 120 losses for the worst record in modern baseball history. They are the first team since 1900 to have three separate losing streaks of 12 or more games. Opponents have outscored them by more than 300 runs. Few expected the South Siders, who lost 101 games last year, to contend. But no one predicted this level of incompetence.

*Shouts from the rooftops*: SELL THE FUCKING TEAM, JERRY!

And yet for all the factors that led to this season’s disaster, when players and traveling staff try to encapsulate how things reached such a sorry state, again and again they bring up one thing: the plane.

The White Sox charter an Airbus320, a plane first manufactured in the 1980s. It features only eight first-class seats; the rest is coach. A majority of MLB teams charter bigger 757s, with ample first-class seating for the players and the coaching staff. Even well-known frugal franchises such as the Tampa Bay Rays, Colorado Rockies and Miami Marlins charter nicer planes. But not the White Sox.

When a player new to Chicago first stepped onboard this season, he said loudly: “C’mon, man, no show plane?” A chorus of players burst into laughter. Last year, a tweet comparing the planes used by MLB teams caused a stir when it was shared among White Sox players while they were onboard.

A team plane doesn’t make errors or poor baseball decisions. But the White Sox’s decision to use a smaller, older plane reflects how they operate. The difference between the White Sox and other clubs is so stark, players who leave Chicago for other teams celebrate their freedom by texting each other “This is the big leagues.”

“They don’t do the little or the big things right,” said a recently departed veteran.

The Athletic spoke to nearly 40 current and former White Sox employees and others in baseball about the larger issues plaguing the dysfunctional franchise, which is run according to the whims of owner Jerry Reinsdorf. The 88-year-old Reinsdorf led a group of investors who bought the team for $19 million in 1981. (He also owns the Chicago Bulls.) They won the World Series in 2005, but have made only three playoff appearances since, losing all three series.

Many of those who spoke to The Athletic, some of whom requested anonymity to speak candidly about Reinsdorf and the state of the franchise, said that the owner’s views on the game have calcified. That while at times Reinsdorf has carried a big major-league payroll, he has refused to invest in the cutting-edge amenities and infrastructure needed to succeed.

Some of Chicago’s wounds were self-inflicted and immediate, such as hiring Tony La Russa to manage. Others festered for years, such as the team’s reluctance to adapt to analytics, and a leadership structure that led to division. All can be traced back to Reinsdorf, who last season ignored pleas by others in the organization to interview outside general manager candidates and promoted internally instead. Reinsdorf even let popular broadcaster Jason Benetti leave because he didn’t like his style.

“You got a baseball fan owner who thinks he knows everything, and maybe he did in 1992,” said a former employee, “but the amount of info has skyrocketed in the last 30 years and he’s put his middle finger up at that.”

“As long as Jerry’s philosophy is the overarching one,” another former employee added, “they won’t ever succeed.”

In a recent season, while addressing new employees, Reinsdorf was asked which matters more: the Bulls or White Sox winning? Rather than answer diplomatically, Reinsdorf, without hesitation, said the White Sox.

A baseball-obsessed Brooklyn native, he fills his office with autographs and sports memorabilia and loves chatting with scouts, talking about the game and its history. Reinsdorf will proudly tell you he went to Jackie Robinson’s first game in a Dodgers uniform, and he values his friendships with Hall of Famers such as La Russa, Dennis Eckersley and George Brett.

But Reinsdorf’s affection for baseball is also an affection for how the game used to be played. Sources describe him as stubborn and generally unwilling to adapt to an era where his preferred style of play — “get ’em over and get ’em in”— is no longer the sole recipe for success.

“I’m not sure if any owner loves baseball as much as Jerry,” said another former employee. “That’s why he can’t get out of his own way.”

Though he rarely appears on television during broadcasts, Reinsdorf frequently watches games from his suite at Guaranteed Rate Field, which has a door connecting to the baseball operations department.

His influence on the team is everywhere. It’s not unusual for Reinsdorf to text broadcasters in-game about what they’re saying, to attend offseason and spring training meetings (he lives in Arizona) or to solicit advice from his cabinet of handpicked advisors. Last offseason, Reinsdorf let Benetti out of his contract to go to another AL Central team, the Detroit Tigers. Reinsdorf didn’t like Benetti’s personality; he featured analytics, made jokes and wasn’t always effusive toward a losing White Sox team. (Benetti declined to comment, though he made references to feeling disrespected on a podcast with The Athletic.)

“He’s hands-on in every part of the organization,” said former White Sox player and team vice president Kenny Williams of Reinsdorf.

Williams played for the team from 1986-88, then rejoined the franchise in 1992 as a scout. He rose to GM in 2000 and oversaw the construction of the 2005 team, becoming the second Black general manager to win a World Series — the team’s first since 1917 — and cementing his place in Chicago sports lore.

Williams refers to Reinsdorf as a second father and bristles at suggestions that the owner – who Forbes estimates is worth $2.1 billion – only cares about profits.

“He just wanted to break even,” Williams said of Reinsdorf, who reportedly is willing to help finance a new proposed ballpark in the more desirable South Loop location. “I always thought over the years it was a little unfair when people would say, ‘All he cares about is making money.’ I’m sitting in the office and he’s saying, ‘I’m going to give you what I got.’”

The White Sox are run like a family business. Many employees have personal relationships with Reinsdorf, and the team’s job security is arguably the best in baseball. But Reinsdorf can be loyal to a fault.

“They have people there with no business being in Major League Baseball,” said an executive with another team.

The 2005 World Series win was the franchise’s crowning achievement under Reinsdorf, but it also gave the organization a false sense of confidence that kept it from evolving. Reinsdorf and a certain faction of the organization felt no pressure to adapt. The personnel was so insular that multiple former employees described it as a time warp.

One of the Sox’s most glaring failures has been the team’s limited embrace of analytics. Reinsdorf, sources say, would make comments in meetings such as: “You guys know I’m not an analytics person. I’m not big into this.” He questioned at least one White Sox player about whether it was possible to have too much information.

The team didn’t shun the movement entirely. The White Sox were one of the first teams to invest in a spring training pitching lab, purchased iPitch machines for approximately $15,000 each to help train hitters and hired the analytically savvy Ethan Katz as pitching coach in 2020.

“Did we have a large analytics department when I was there? No, we didn’t,” said Williams. “We didn’t have those kind of resources to allocate towards that. But did we (make investments)? Absolutely, and with total support of ownership on that. As long as we proved, or at least made the case, that it could be beneficial for the on-field product.”

But the White Sox’s investment only went so far. To reduce overhead, the team outsourced some number crunching to Zelus Analytics, a private outside firm.

“(They) are good if you have nothing,” one rival executive said. “But the whole point of analytics is to have your own customized models for your players to gain an edge. You don’t get that from an external firm.”

Nor do teams advance when their decision makers are split on data’s value. General manager Chris Getz, like his predecessor, Rick Hahn, advocates for the White Sox to make greater use of analytics. But, like Hahn, Getz never worked for an organization at the forefront of the movement, such as the Houston Astros, Tampa Bay Rays or Los Angeles Dodgers.

Even when they tried to use analytics, the White Sox weren’t sure how. For years, they used two sets of adjusted Trackman data: One, like most teams, they received from a third party, and another was developed by their own analytics people. Sometimes the two sets of data would be dramatically different, making it difficult to evaluate players and write reports. In 2019, a debate about using spin rate versus adjusted spin rate caused internal strife.

“It was comical,” said a former baseball operations employee of different departments using different sets of data. “No one knew what was what.”

In 2024, the White Sox are still untangling the lines of data communication. Several former members of this year’s team pointed to defensive positioning as an area of concern. The White Sox rank near or at the bottom of publicly available defensive metrics, in part, former players say, because their fielders often are in the wrong spots.

“That’s a huge area I felt could be better,” said outfielder Tommy Pham, who signed with the White Sox as a free agent in April and was traded in July. “They know it.”

Former pitchers describe Chicago’s game planning as almost rudimentary. Rather than provide individual plans for each hitter, the White Sox offer generalities such as, “Your sinker will play down in the zone” — an insufficient answer against, say, a lineup full of left-handed hitters who handle sinkers in that area. Minor league pitchers with high walk totals were told things like “work on your command,” with no other specifics, in the offseason.

Hitters expressed similar concerns. “They had information,” one former position player said. “But you didn’t get an explanation or a plan.”

Reinsdorf told The Athletic via email: “Analytics are a very important part of the game, a useful tool that compliments but will never completely replace human judgment.”

Before the 2013 season, Reinsdorf promoted Williams to executive vice president, with Hahn — Williams’ longtime right-hand man — becoming general manager. Hahn was seen as a rising star, a Harvard Law School and Northwestern business school graduate who was part of a new wave in front offices. He planned to modernize the organization, in part by better incorporating analytics.

The White Sox finished no better than 17 games out of first place in the first three seasons under Hahn, and announced a shift in philosophy midway through 2016. The club was “mired in mediocrity,” Hahn said, and in need of a rebuild.

But Hahn and Williams had different views on how organizations should be run, and over time, that dynamic impacted the operation of the team, sources say.

“I was known as and called ‘a baseball guy,’” Williams said. “It was like it was an insult, that I could go in and see a guy work out for a day and tell you he was going to be an All-Star.”

Hahn, facing opposition from the old guard, struggled to bring changes to the team’s usage of analytics and technology. He often pushed back against the perception he wasn’t calling the shots, but effectively had to please multiple power brokers, including Williams, Reinsdorf and, later, La Russa.

Hahn declined to comment for this story. Williams said of their dynamic: “We had a great relationship. During the good times, it was better. During the bad times, there was only one other person it seemed like we could laugh with, and that was each other.”

Williams became less of a day-to-day presence as the team rebuilt, sources say, a point Williams disputes. But in a meeting before the 2020 season, as the White Sox were starting to rebound, Williams announced it was time for the team to turn the corner and that he’d be taking a more active role.

“It was like the (Michael Jordan) unretirement. It caught people off guard,” said one person involved in the meeting.

“Rick Hahn was much better suited to take them forward. Kenny was a platinum employee,” said another former baseball operations employee. “He would show up and block certain trades and want to take the No. 1 pick in the draft. … There was a lot of resentment from people inside about that (dynamic).”

The divide manifested further in the polarizing lieutenants each man chose. Williams had his son, Ken Williams Jr., who eventually ascended to assistant farm director. Hahn trusted Jeremy Haber, another Harvard grad. The younger Williams butted heads with many in player development and, despite his inexperience, was quick to offer dissenting views. Haber could be bullish as he advocated for his boss’ point of view and was seen as an aggressive climber. (Both men are no longer in the organization. Williams Jr. declined to comment; Haber did not respond to interview requests.)

Still, for all their issues, the White Sox’s rebuild progressed. The team developed homegrown players such as Tim Anderson and Garrett Crochet, traded for Lucas Giolito, Yoan Moncada, Eloy Jiménez, Dylan Cease and Dane Dunning and agreed to long-term extensions, with Reinsdorf’s approval, for Jiménez, Moncada and Luis Robert Jr.

The White Sox made the playoffs in a shortened 2020 season. Hahn’s peers voted him Sporting News Executive of the Year.

And then Reinsdorf made a hire that helped unravel it all.

A.J. Hinch’s suspension from baseball for his role in the Houston Astros sign-stealing scandal ended the minute the 2020 season came to a close. Almost immediately, he was courted by Al Avila, then the Detroit Tigers GM, and Hahn.

On paper, the White Sox job was the better of the two. Coming off its playoff appearance in 2020, Chicago was considered much closer to the World Series than a Tigers team with back-to-back last-place finishes.

Hahn told reporters at the time the White Sox were looking for someone who has “experience with a championship organization in recent years,” which was taken as a thinly veiled reference to Hinch, who guided the Astros to two World Series appearances, including their 2017 win.

Hinch and his wife packed for interviews in both cities. Detroit came first, but Hinch was being advised by friends on places to live in Chicago, sources said. But before Hinch even made it to Chicago, Reinsdorf pulled a stunner: He hired 76-year-old La Russa, who hadn’t managed in a decade.

Thirty five years earlier, Reinsdorf had allowed then-White Sox GM Ken Harrelson to fire La Russa from his first major-league managing job, a decision he later called “the dumbest thing I ever did.”

The email the White Sox sent out to fans announcing La Russa’s hire included an image of Hinch’s signature. The blunder was later chalked up to a graphics glitch, but it was seen inside and outside the organization as further proof that Reinsdorf had passed over Hahn’s choice for his own.

La Russa’s hiring was widely criticized, particularly after it was revealed that he had been charged with driving under the influence — his second such incident — that February. The White Sox lost to the Astros in the first round of the playoffs in 2021, their first season under La Russa. And things fell apart in his second season. Injuries to several players in whom the White Sox had invested heavily were a significant factor, but La Russa made bizarre in-game decisions, acted as a one-man show rather than the head of a collaborative staff, and failed to get the most out of his players. His health also suffered. He dealt with cancer, required a procedure to repair the circuitry of his pacemaker and did not manage the team after Aug 28.

Asked about La Russa’s nearly two seasons as manager, Williams said, “I don’t yet have a way to talk about that period of time because it takes me to a bad place, and it will take me from the person I aspire to be.”

The White Sox hired Pedro Grifol to replace La Russa. Nearly 10 months later, Reinsdorf dismissed Williams and Hahn, making a rare pivot away from employees with long-standing ties to the organization, executives who had led the team to back-to-back postseason appearances for the first time in franchise history before some of their moves backfired.

Grifol was an outside hire; he came from the Royals. People within the organization advocated for Reinsdorf to go outside for his new GM as well. He ignored those appeals and instead promoted Getz, a former White Sox player, just nine days after Hahn and Williams were dismissed, without interviewing a single external candidate. The decision required the Sox to work with MLB on a backfill plan to satisfy the Selig Rule, which is aimed at diversifying front office candidates. Reinsdorf said at the time that he selected Getz because he knew the White Sox organization intimately and “we want to get better as fast as we possibly can.”

Under Getz, who spent two years with Kansas City before he rejoined Chicago as farm director in 2017, the White Sox player development system wasn’t exactly thriving. There were off-field issues as well. Former Double-A manager Omar Vizquel did not return in 2020 after a former batboy who has autism accused him of sexual harassment (the batboy in 2022 dropped claims against the White Sox and reached a confidential settlement with Vizquel). And Triple-A manager Wes Helms was placed on an indefinite leave of absence in May 2022, with no reason given for his exit.

Why not at least interview people from other organizations, even just to learn how other teams operate?

“Jerry just thinks he has the answers,” said a former staffer.

The White Sox are now on their fourth manager in five seasons (or their fifth counting Miguel Cairo, who managed while La Russa dealt with his health issues). Grifol – bilingual like La Russa, but 25 years younger – seemingly had a better chance to connect with the team’s young players. But former reliever Keynan Middleton said last season that problems under La Russa continued under Grifol, with players skipping meetings and refusing to participate in drills. Grifol this season frustrated his players on several fronts, calling them “f—ing flat” after a loss to the Baltimore Orioles on May 26, instituting mandatory pregame workouts before night games after the All-Star break and at times employing questionable strategy.

Grifol, speaking publicly for the first time since his dismissal, said the required workouts and his strategic decisions were efforts to help the team improve. Regarding the extra work, he said, “This was (on) all of us, myself included — I’m the manager. Our work ethic has to be spot on during that type of storm.”

Some players and staff sympathized with Grifol, given the team’s poor talent level and lack of quality analytics.

“What manager could have made things better?” Pham asked.

Getz replaced Grifol on Aug. 8 with interim manager Grady Sizemore, and said the White Sox would conduct a search outside the organization for a permanent replacement. He vows to get the new hire better analytical support.

“When I was hired and given the position of farm director, my goal was, let me show everyone the positive impact analytics and technology can have (in the minors),” Getz said. “We had a lot of wins along the way … My intention from the beginning was to modernize. We are going to modernize.”

Reinsdorf promoted Getz with talk of him orchestrating a rapid turnaround. But some of the new GM’s early moves puzzled rival executives.

Getz’s trade of reliever Aaron Bummer to the Atlanta Braves last November brought back five players, but the group included some to whom the Braves were unlikely to offer contracts. In the ensuing roster congestion, the White Sox waived two players who are now useful major leaguers elsewhere: Boston Red Sox infielder Romy González and Miami Marlins reliever Declan Cronin. Getz also traded Jake Cousins for cash and released Tim Hill — effectively getting nothing for two relievers now contributing for the New York Yankees.

It’s too soon to know whether Getz’s four-player return from the San Diego Padres for ace Dylan Cease was adequate, and whether he made the correct call holding pitcher Garrett Crochet at the trade deadline despite receiving attractive offers. The GM’s big move at the deadline, a three-team deal in which he parted with three in-demand players in right-hander Erick Fedde, reliever Michael Kopech and Pham, netted an unproven hitter, Miguel Vargas, and two prospects who, according to MLB.com, are not part of the White Sox’s current top 10.

Making matters worse: Because of MLB’s new anti-tanking measures, Chicago could set a new record for baseball losses and still pick 10th in next year’s draft.

“No one can project a timeline to winning,” Reinsdorf told The Athletic, “but there are many examples of organizations, some very recently like Kansas City and Baltimore, that have rebounded very quickly.”

The Royals, who averaged 100 losses over five full seasons, and Orioles, who averaged 105 over four, did not rebound that quickly. But as the White Sox talk about moving forward, they are in some ways becoming less insular.

This season the franchise added a dedicated coach at each minor-league affiliate to help with analytics. Getz, sources said, tried to push that through several years ago and met with resistance. Getz also brought in notable outsiders in Brian Bannister, Josh Barfield and Jin Wong to the front office, and a committee evaluating all facets of the organization recently presented its findings and a plan for the future to Reinsdorf.

“My experience so far is if it can be presented in a way that is educated and you use the people you have around you, it’s well-received,” Getz said. “Jerry now has a better understanding of the value of analytics. He’s very open-minded and supportive of investing further.”

La Russa remains active within the organization. His title is special advisor to the executive vice president. He travels with the team. It’s not uncommon for him to lend his thoughts to the manager or hitting coach, or to find him in the cage, offering advice and picking up baseballs. He was present when the committee evaluating the organization presented to Reinsdorf.

“I’m not a decision maker,” La Russa said of his involvement. “Chris Getz is our leader with quality support all over. I’m asked to contribute my experiences about how a team plays together.”

Reinsdorf has told people La Russa is the smartest baseball person he knows. He told The Athletic that La Russa’s role involves using his “expertise, experience and excellence” as a strategic resource for the team’s manager. He added: “We would be foolish to not take advantage of his Hall of Fame accomplishments in this game.”

Reinsdorf still watches games. But this year, a year Reinsdorf didn’t want to waste, has turned into a 162-game nightmare. Some of his focus has shifted to his quest for a new ballpark, which would increase the value of the franchise. The White Sox tried to generate excitement for the project this week by leading a boat tour for investors to the site along the Chicago River.

Reinsdorf has said he would advise his family to keep the Bulls and sell the White Sox upon his death.

“Friends of mine have (asked), ‘Why don’t you sell? Why don’t you get out?’” Reinsdorf said last year. “My answer always has been, ‘‘I like what I’m doing, as bad as it is, and what else would I do? I’m a boring guy. … And I want to make it better before I go.”

For now, as his franchise craters, Reinsdorf continues to conduct business in his preferred style, operating out of his suite, surrounded by old friends and memorabilia.

“The rumor was always we will never figure it out until ownership changes,” one former player said. “That the real thing holding it back isn’t the people and player development; it’s the owner.”

(Top image: Meech Robinson / The Athletic; Photos: David Banks / Getty Images; Nuccio DiNuzzo / Getty Images;  Griffin Quinn / MLB Photos via Getty Images)

[levans44]

Damage Control - Chapter 17

12 missed calls. 3 voicemails.

What the fuck?

She sits up in bed, yawning as she frowns at her phone. Trying to rub the fatigue out of her eyes, she taps on the most recent texts from Harry, brows furrowed:

Holy shit

Tell me this isn’t real.

Was that really you?

She straightens up immediately, going to her voicemail box and pressing play on the first message. Robin’s urgent voice rushes through the speakers.

“Dude, why the fuck aren’t you picking up? Everyone at work is looking for you. There are reporters at the office asking about you. Call me.”

She hastily searches up Robin’s number, and exactly two rings sound before she picks up.

“Oh my god, finally.”

“Hey, Robin, what’s… what’s going on?”

“You don't know?”

“Uhh…”

Robin sighs loudly, and she can faintly hear Amy in the background, along with a few unfamiliar voices.

“Just… turn on the TV."

“O-ok?”

She scrambles for the remote on the bedside table, turning the TV on.

“… reports surfaced of an alleged SHIELD agent signing a pro-SRA petition last month.”

What?

“This news was brought to light just days before a nation-wide protest, scheduled for this weekend, in favor of instituting the Superhuman Registration Act. The report was submitted anonymously by an individual claiming to be directly responsible for conducting the petition. As of now, information on the SHIELD agent in question is limited, though we are aware of the employee’s name and division, which we’re displaying on the screen now.”

“Fuck.” She breathes, eyes squeezing shut. A heavy weight slams to the bottom of her stomach at the sight of her name and the words on the screen: Damage Control, Executive Division.

Weakly pressing the mute button on the TV, she bring the phone back up to her ear. She opens her mouth, voice quiet and quivering.

“How bad is it?”

“Pretty bad.” Robin mutters from the other end. “The office is like a fucking war zone. Got reporters and cameramen swarming our floor. Everybody’s looking for you.”

“Shit, ok, I’ll come in right now. I can get ready in like fiv-“

“No. Definitely not. That’ll make things worse.” She hears Robin shuffle on the other side of the line.

“Look, I’ve already talked to Anne about this… just stay out of the office for today. Maybe even the general vicinity of the building. You showing up might make all this worse.”

“… Ok.”

“Oh, and one more thing. I overheard some of those news people talking and… I think they might know where you live.”

Her stomach drops, and she clutches her bed sheets closer to her chest.

“Ok.” she gulps, before drawing in a shaky breath. “T-thanks for the heads up.”

“Yeah, just… stay safe.”

As the anger and adrenaline wears off, she recognizes the concern in Robins voice, and feels a large wave of guilt overtake her stomach.

“Rob, I… I’m so sorry for this."

“Yeah, yeah whatever just… don’t get murdered, ok?”

Despite all this and Robin still manages to make her smile.

“I’ll try my best.”

“All right, well, I gotta g—hey, what are you doing? Don’t touch tha—”

The phone disconnects with a beep, leaving her alone with only the silent images on the TV.

She sighs, turning off the screen before dialing the only person that comes to mind.

“Hey Tony, you at the Compound?”

New York’s billionaire playboy greets her with a grin and open arms.

"So. Guess you’re famous now, huh? I gotta say, I’m startin’ to get a little jealous.”

It’s one of the rare occasions that Tony’s joke doesn’t land with her.

“Hey, Tony.”

She greets him with a weak hug, setting her hastily packed duffel bag on the kitchen island, stuffed with a couple spare clothes and other essentials.  

From behind her, Tony’s phone rings loudly. He frowns at the screen, before picking up the call.

“Hey,” A small pause as he rubs the back of his neck, shooting her a quick glance.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs. “Alright, I’ll be right over.”

“Sorry, Manhattan. Duty calls.”  

She frowns worriedly, sinking into the nearest kitchen stool.

“When are you coming back?"

“Probably not until later tonight.” He checks his phone again, typing a quick message before sliding it in his pocket.

“Feel free to stay in one of the guest rooms.”

“Okay. Thanks, Tony.” She nods, pursing her lip.

“Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y?” Tony calls out, gathering his keys and jacket near the door.

“Yes, Mr. Stark.” The AI's voice booms out from some invisible overhead speaker, taking her by surprise.

“Blast any nosy journalist that tries to approach within a mile of the Compound.”

“Noted, sir.” F.R.I.D.A.Y responds, as if this were just an average Thursday.

“You’ll be fine, Manhattan. These things you just… gotta ride out.” Tony turns around, giving her a sincere smile, and she knows he’s had enough experience in these matters to know to trust his advice.

“Plus, your stance on all this superhero stuff was bound to surface sooner or later, right? Maybe it’s finally time to come clean to SHIELD.”

She shakes her head.

“That’s the thing, Tony, I don’t feel that wa—”

Another loud ring from his phone cuts her off, and he winces, giving her an apologetical look.

“Shit, sorry, Manhattan. Stocks are dropping like crazy. We’ll talk about this when I get back, I promise.”

Barely an hour has passed since she’s heard Tony’s car pull out of the driveway. She’s curled up on the couch of the Compound’s living area, desperately flicking through news channel after news channel, all discussing the same thing—her. Though she effectively dodges around most, one talk show catches her attention.

“Jenny, what, what do you think about this, a SHIELD agent at a pro-SRA rally? I mean talk about really hating your job, am I right?” The male anchor comments boisterously, turning to his co-host.

“Yes, Chris, it does seem quite ironic, doesn’t it? And just to reiterate for our viewers out there who haven’t gotten up to speed with this recent development: there was word this morning about a SHIELD agent signing a pro-SRA petition on Broadway and 5th. As of this moment, we don’t have any personal information on this employee other than her name and job title, but rest assured we’re doing all we can to find out more.”

“And what about this timing, Jen? Why drop this bomb over a month after the petition was signed?”

“Well Chris, that has to be a matter of strategic interest, doesn’t it? Bad publicity for SHIELD is great publicity for the organizat—.”

“Fuck.” She sighs, turning off the TV altogether with a click of a button.

On the giant, black plasma screen, she meets the reflection of a man standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Is that true?”

He speaks, voice impossibly deep and barely audible. She whips around in her seat, her heart feeling like it might jump out of her throat any moment. Her knuckles turn white, fingers curling around the back of the couch, and she swallows thickly.

Shit.

“Hey, Steve.” Her voice squeaks out like a desperate whisper, and she clears her throat.

“Yeah, it's true.”  

As the words leave her tongue, Steve lets out a quiet breath, chest deflating. Her eyes desperately scan his face, at the way his nostrils flare and brows furrow. Something too reminiscent of disappointment casts a dark shadow over his eyes.

“But that was before I knew you, Steve!” She starts, scrambling up to kneel on the couch.

“It happened the morning after the night we… we met, and I-I never would’ve signed that document if I knew—”

“—knew what?”

He cuts her off, voice still low and quiet. Yet, his fists are now curled at his sides, nose flaring more noticeably with his heavy breathing.

Momentarily, she finds herself at a loss for words. She blinks, eyes flitting down as he takes a step forward.

“If you knew that I wasn’t some freak? Some threat that needs to be monitored?”

She frowns, shaking her head.

“Of course not, Ste—”

“—you know fully well what the SRA could do if it got passed. What it could do to… some of the others on the team.” His voice quivers towards the end, and the sudden realization sinks to the bottom of her stomach like an anchor.

Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield.

People like Tony and Steve, with their lack of a private alias and abundant public support, had little to lose with the SRA. But not someone like the Winter Soldier, already feared by the public, treated like a ticking time bomb. If the SRA were to be passed, the world’s governments would only replace the role of Hydra—tearing Barnes apart limb-by-limb, preying for control over the world’s deadliest assassin, ultimately standing by during his inevitable demise.  

She notices a spark of familiar fatigue in Steve’s eyes, like it had conjured a memory too painful to relive. Perhaps during the Sokovian Accords, long before they came to know each other.

She lets out a quiet breath, sinking back down into the couch.

“It doesn’t matter, because I… I don’t feel that way anymore.”

He frowns, taking a few quiet strides around the couch, now coming to stand by her side.

“But you did feel that way.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes, and stands up abruptly from the couch.

“Yes, but you changed things, Steve!” She exclaims, exasperated. She doesn’t want to raise her voice, resents the anger building up inside of her, but perhaps it’s the only mechanism she knows how to use.

“I regret signing the petition now. Okay? I don’t know what you want me to sa—”

“So if you hadn’t met me, it would’ve been okay? To do that to Tony and Sam and—”

“—well then maybe I shouldn’t have met you at all, Steve!” Her palms reach up to dig into her eyes, trying to clear the blurry corners of her vision, before she runs a hand frustratedly through her hair.

Her mind races through all the circumstances that put them here, now. Tony’s party, that first night at the Avengers Tower. All of it just proving, yet again, the absurdity of it all—how laughable it was that she, a Damage Control agent, could have any standing association with Captain America and make it out alive.

She mutters into her palms, voice barely above a whisper:

“God, this is exactly why none of this should’ve happened.”

His sharp laugh catches her attention, and her eyes snap up.

“And just to be clear:”

Steve takes another step forward, hand extending to gesture between them. With this proximity, everything is ten times sharper, his blood-shot eyes staring at her with an acridity she’s never seen in him before.

“By this you mean, us.”

She blinks, eyes silently surveying the deep divot between his brows, the grim shadow over his eyes. When she continues to remain silent, he nods, lips pressed into a thin line. With a small snort, he takes a step back.

“Yeah. Maybe this shouldn’t have.” He mutters under his breath, before turning away.

Her gaze falls to a spot on the couch, and she doesn’t find it in herself to look back up—instead, she listens helplessly to the sounds of his footsteps, ringing throughout the foyer as he approaches the exit.

She flinches at the sound of the Compound doors slamming behind him and sinks down in the couch, eyes fluttering shut as a single tear rolls down her cheek.

Damage Control Masterlist

[wench-and-jezebel]

NCIS Reaction: Marine Down

Wench (@scripted-downfall) reacts [with (maybe) occasional asides by Jezebel (@typicalopposite)]: a transcript from a voice call

[Is always a dead person.  Like, it’s never an inside job, never stealing, nothing.  Just death]

Well, this is new… we don’t usually start out with a wake

[It’s Jim!]  Well, that was weird  [He’s not dead]  Also, we also don’t usually start out with the person being not-dead… Also, so much for “always a dead person,” I guess

Tonyyy

Always confuses me why they have lab techs have gun training

[Is McGee here!?! 💕]

I mean, the cutout losing an ear isn't the end of the world… At least she's alive and not killed by the hostage-taker!  [Noooo M3GAN ptsd!]  We have to react to thattttt

[Damn not the phone going on the target]  Love that Kate cared about her PDA but Tony cared more about the hat alskjdf  [He’d have took my phone and I would have quit]  We would both pass away if your phone died

I do appreciate the threat to the boat, though it’d be kinda sad to lose it :(

He gave Abby the hat!  [Abbbyyyyy]

"Computers can sense fear"  [I love Abby]

Gunpowder perfume seems awesome

Tony has Post-It notes everywhere… Even on his lamp

Wait, surely McGee's gotta come in: Abby's got a new perfume (huh… that was half-joke but I wonder if they're still a "thing")

It's Jim's ghost and you're watching Supernatural  [Sam and Dean are gonna show up]  Bringing back the long-forgotten the priest outfits

That was a very unsympathetic "You have our sympathies,” Kate

Sealed caskets?  That's suspicious… Suspicious circs

Poor Tony, results redacted

[Poor Tony still looking sadly at the hat]  Noooooo

Tony's (listed in the system as) DEAD?!?!?!  I told you it was an SPN episode!  [☠���☠️☠️]

Wait, was the PDA shot?

[“Not everything is a conspiracy”  But it is Kate]

Why is Gibbs always making them move with absolutely no warning

THE PDA WAS SHOT  [Poor phone ☠️☠️☠️]

And at least Tony got a new hat :)

"We can’t release how they died because of the way they died"  WELL HOW'D THEY DIE THEN?!?!

Body language isn't thattttt accurate

[Quantico!  Criminal Minds crossover!] alksdjf

What is it with higher-ups always interrupting their employees?  Grissom in CSI does it too

What were those significant looks about???  (Serious question; that was not a very awe-inspiring reveal)

The layers of deception here though

I do appreciate that Gibbs and Tony tend to play off each other in terms of banter.  I mean, they clearly know each other's interrogative strategies

[Why are they talking “secretive” stuff just… in the middle of the office]

Also, I thought Gibbs had clearance for the documents???  That was a whole conversation topic?

Abby's love language seems to be caffeine-drink reception  [CafPow]  Ducky gave her one during the MMORPG one

Kate and Tony are leaving together; gonna go burn Gibbs’ boat now

That was abrupt, Kate

Imagine being good at art  [Shut up you are!]  Uh-uh  [Uh huh]

*artist jealousy intensifying*

[Tony is such a childdd!  Like, in a Dean way]

The drawings though alksjfd [Uh oh, she’s got Gibbs drawn like one of her French girls]

I hate the whole "I need x time" "nah, take y (less than x) time” trope

Snow is pretty  [Something we never get]  Noooo

Creepy photography  [He looks.. right at the camera… But doesn’t see the camera]

I like her turtleneck

Does Abby have a clown on her shirt?  [Probably]

Such a coherent message  [Yep total confirmation of him being alive]

"Hizzouse" was kinda obvious though, especially given context

Dude, the distortion though

Why do they even bother with the "I thought x, but was wrong" section of the debriefing?  [☠️☠️☠️]  They do it in every lab show

“We’ve got a dead man calling”  I'm surprised that wasn't the title…  What the hell does Marine Down even mean?

Why would you screw shut a coffin?  Unless you're in Supernatural.  Or the X Files.  [Very true]

"Calls from grave" was a Supernatural episode summary, I remember it

Poor Ducky has not been in this episode  [Well they never had a body]  I miss him :(

I love the mini drill

[BUM BUM BUM]  This.  This is an SPN/X Files episode

– – –

Wench: I'm.  Highly confused.  It feels like they keep saying something  and then backtracking.  And then going forward again.  And then backtracking.  It’s like the circles thing, but a plot point not just a line/speech

Jezebel: Yeah!  And, honestly, I can’t even remember this episode past the beginning when he calls her. So this all feels new to me too!

Wench: But for real, we haven’t actually had a plot because they just... "he dead" "he not dead" "he calling" "he not calling" "gibbs has access" "gibbs does not have access" "he dead" "oh wait he not dead" "he not calling" "oh wait he calling" "oh wait he dead"

Jezebel: Yeah it’s just dead guy called wife.  And it’s mysterious.

Wench: Because to the extent that there is a plot, it just kinda.. ouroboros's in on itself?  I don't know if I'm just missing stuff or if they're being unclear but what???  Like, they just said he looked alive?

Jezebel: I think they are confused

Wench: I will say... have you seen The Mummy?  Because this makes me think of a scene where they open a sarcophagus and the contents are still decomposing and the line is literally: “Why does he look so… juicy?” in this really memorable exchange… (We better react to that or else)  That is what's going through my head… EXCEPT THEY HAVEN'T SAID WHETHER HE'S DEAD

Jezebel: MYSTERIOUS

Wench: I will say that I haven't been especially annoyed by the characters.  Gibbs hasn't been his usual bitchy self

Jezebel: This is the Gibbs the writers intended him to be

Wench: Kate's been decent too, and I appreciated her interactions with Tony.  It kinda feels like they've that sibling energy they were talking about in the other episode, where they're bickering, but not nastily?

Jezebel: Yeah

Wench: Anyway, it kinda feels like the Dark Angels we've been watching where... nothing... happened.  

Jezebel: Right.  And they just kinda waffle back and forth, especially since they’re acting like something bad happened, but he looks all peaceful?  So it’s like… It looks like he's dead and has been dead, in the position of being dead, and not like he was just up and around and calling his wife.  So unless he decided to just go ahead and die, hands clasped over stomach, all we know is that something bad happened, except what if it didn’t

Wench: Right.  And we still don’t know, is it bad in the context of his work or not?

Jezebel: Yeah

Wench: All I’m saying is, this be a Max POV episode

– – –

“We screwed that up”  Screwed what up?  What exactly could have gone differently?????

[Why does the guy whose picture is on the wall under bin Laden’s look like Michael Myers?]

"Unless your calling plan include an afterlife" SPN-coded

"Married four times"  Has Gibbs really?  Dang, boi!

[Look at Tony fangirling over gibbs]

Why do they keep talking in jargonnnnn

DUCKYYYYYY  [Well… now he’s got a body]

Has he been embalmed or just consumed formaldehyde?

I told you Tony was a closet nerd!!!  WHAT DID I SAY?!!?!?

Tony, stop ogling the dead dude [☠️☠️☠️☠️]  Ya necrophiliac

I appreciate the recognition of the limits of autopsies and time-of-death estimations

The chuckle though

[This still doesn’t explain… HOW HE called the wifeeee]

THEY SAID THE DUDES WERE POISONED WITH FORMALDEHYDE; WHY ARE WE NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS????  [Because they have forgotten they said that]  alksdjflaksdfj

Gibbs and his time pressures  [Right?!]

Once again, the only appropriate explanation seems to be supernatural… (lower-case this time)  [Isssa ghost]

What's with the random map in the background?  [I think it’s just always running]  What a waste of energy!

AGAIN WITH THE TIME PRESSURES  [Gibbs: Chop chop]

OH NO THE PAPERWORK MIX-UP HAS A PURPOSE [Bum bum bummmmm is not Tony!]

Chickadee, you were not subtle about that turn though

[Blech]

Poor Ducky  [Just wait til you meet Jimmy]  Is that a good “wait” or a bad one?  [He’s basically bby ducky]  OH LOVELY  [Glasses and all]

Ducky, ya good?  That was a very abrupt motion  [The cringe tho]  BUDDY WHAT'S THE MATTER?!?!?  [Oh shit he was shaking]

"I think he knew something was up" NO SHIT YOU WEREN'T SUBTLE  [🤣🤣🤣]

Poor Tony, identity theft once again

Speaking of not subtle, this dude-

[I swear Tony always gets the short end of the stick]

WHERE DID THE GUN COME FROM?!? WHY IS THERE JUST RANDOM GUNFIRE?!?… Is this gonna be terrorists again!?!?

[Gibbs talking to himself now]

Woman, slow down with the numbers alskdfj

Um.  Tony.  Calmeth downeth the flirtingeth  [“But I look good”]

Tony being very concerned about Gibbs right there… very sweet  [He be like: boss you ok? 🥺🥺💕]

“How many agencies do you know that drive economy-class armoured cars?”  I'd wager most of them actually

Tony and Gibbs have Connections  [The way he looks at Kate like how can you NOT tell?]

"I have to get better at reading men"  Bitch, you can't read people because you're not empathetic.. it's not a sex/gender thing; it’s a you thing

DUCKY STANDING UP FOR HIMSELF; THANK YOU

Gibbs did not help

Oh come on not the dumb!Tony trope again [Ooooof]

ONCE AGAIN IF THIS IS NOT ABOUT HIM DRINKING THE FORMALDEHYDE I’MA LOSE IT

Can you read the newspaper you just pulled from the dude’s body?  [The newspaper in his neck made my eye twitch!]

TONY DOING THE TRANSLATION YESSSSS SMART TONY TRUTHERS ARE WINNING THIS EPISODEEEEE

aksdjflkasjf 

Can we get some straight answers one of these days?  Please?  [So much is happening but so little is happening, and it’s confusing]

Tony recognizing Gibbs is pissed and thus dialling up his own anger… Love it  [I got you bab- I mean boss]

I love her glovesssss

THEY ARE DIGGING UP A GRAVE IN A CEMETERY AT NIGHT.  ONCE AGAIN: THIS IS A SUPERNATURAL EPISODE!!!

Where's the salt?

"It's not like we couldn't do this during daylight"  *haunted Supernatural expression cast vaguely in Tony’s direction*  Bitch, you don't know the struggle

"You afraid of ghosts?"  How many times do I have to say it?  SUPERNATURAL

[He keeps looking at Kate like, “see he’s so upset”]

Oop-, Tony knowing how to use the technology is awesome

That was a very abrupt scene change

Kate, this is why they invented coffee!  [Kate needs a Caf-Pow]  Weaklings.  Imagine needing sleep!

ONCE AGAIN.  I’M BEGGING Y’ALL TO REMEMBER THE POISONINGS

[Long pause…. “Poison”]  lksadfjlsakdfjaldskfj WHAT IS WITH THE LONG PAUSES IN GENERAL THOUGH?  [Old people]  alksdjfaksldjf  [Gotta be dramatic]

Dude made off with the ransom money?  Rude

This conversation is so dramtically-paused for why

Dude, they're not backing off just because you say to.  That never works.  Ever.

SEE?!!?!?

[Ack]  Unsafe flying conditions right there

Poor Kate

TONY STILL HARPING ON THE JETSSSS; I’m loving it

"Sure"  That’s very convincing, Tony, bud

[Gibbs is asleep]  Have you seen Aliens?  If not... *whistles and adds it to the list*  [A long time ago]

Tony knowing Gibbs well again

[Ok that was adorable]  He has so much energy and for why  [‘Cause he’s petty af]

See, HE understands coffee

Weakling.  Just use the bag.  Privacy be overrated!  [Behind the boxes]  IN the boxes

[Awww she Boujie… Now Kate’s gonna be upset]

It is kinda dumb for him to just stick around

She just better not be bitchy about it

Whenever a character says "humour us,” you're in trouble

Y'ALL ONCE WHAT IS GOING ON WITH THE POISONING?!!?  They stick in random details for no reason and then never touch them again.  Chekhov's gun just got unloaded and shipped off for scrap

[He a mordorerrrr]

It's so weird not seeing Weatherly in a wheelchair.  Honestly, I kinda forget they're the same actor.  Like, I can see it?  But they're really different in character/personality/acting.  [Which is crazy cause it’s only a few years difference]

This storyline is so confusing.  What exactly is even happening?  [I have no idea]

I might go read through the script before/during endpoint just to try and figure it out.  And I'm not sure it'll help; they just kinda... jump from idea to idea  [Good luck ☠️]

Tony taking off his cap to protect it from the gunfire alsdkfj

[btw I think they were oh this will be interesting for a plot]  Right… And I mean… it was interesting.  But only in the fever-dream kinda way.  It doesn’t really make sense.

This poor marine  

What is this dude's issue with Gibbs????

Oof  [Well damn]  Gibbs gonna feel real safe walking out after you just killed the last dude

"Just wanna talk" Y'all are talking now?!?

HOW ARE THERE ONLY THREE MINUTES LEFT IN THIS EPISODE!?  [☠️☠️🤣🤣☠️☠️]  HOW IS THIS POSSIBLY GONNA BE RESOLVED

Oop- return of the shooting range storyline!  I saw those significant looks between Tony and Gibbs. Only problem: Tony gonna shoot the marine's ear off  [Aghhh M3gan ptsd… again]

"I can't believe you trusted me"  He didn't

[Well damn]  That situation.  Did not need that level of force.  [Brutal]  Bruh, why did they both shoot?!?!?!  [In memory of the hat and phone]  WHY DID THEY BOTH SHOOT MULTIPLE TIMES? EACH!?!?!?  (Also, RIP hat and phone)

[Damn!  That’s wholesome!]

Good for these people, but I feel bad for the wife who didn't get her husband back and now has to watch the other reunion [☠️☠️☠️]

And now has to watch the other reunion

The kids are precioussssss

NO BUT THE GUY’S EAR *&(#*&!(&R*(!&$)!(*&#@$!()  I SAID IT!  I CALLED IT!  WHAT DID I SAYYYYY… I mean.  At least Tony's a consistent shot?

This chick again!  One of these days, we better figure out who she is!

Also, there's a random yellow ribbon around the tree and it's making me think of the song  [You don’t know what that means tho?  The yellow ribbon?]  I know the song...?  [No a yellow ribbon is for a lost loved one]  Oh, damn.  [🤣🤣]

– – – 

Wench: Dude, we never found out what was going on with the person taking the photographs???

Jezebel: Could it have been the guy at the end?  Who specifically wanted to speak to Gibbs?

Wench: I don't think so; wasn't he supposed to be in Colombia?  ALSO WHAT WAS GOING ON WITH THE CALLS?!?!

Jezebel: I don’t know 🤣🤣

Wench: Honestly, my first reaction is a quite solid wtf.  I have 0 clue what just happened. But at least it wasn't terrorists again?

Jezebel: Very much same 🤣🤣🤣

Wench: I wasn't cognizant of the fact that 45 minutes just passed.  In terms of what happened, I feel like that was an episode worth of inconsistency and plot holes.  Feels kinda harsh to say, but it's true

Jezebel: And they will never be filled ☠️🤣

Wench: I even looked at the wiki and just… wot?  Very thorough wiki, with no answers to be had.  (I honestly think the the thoroughness didn't help because it basically just recited the show, whereas I need some kind of broad summary to get what the hell was going on.)

Jezebel: Right

Wench: I did appreciate the characterization this time.  And am very glad that Ducky got a chance to be annoyed about the "boring" allegations.  

Jezebel: Yess

Wench: And calling out his assistant on the headphone thing

Jezebel: YESSSS

Wench: Especially because when I worked in a lab, they didn't let us put on headphones or play music or anything because we had to be able to hear if something went wrong.  And admittedly that was a chem lab, not a morgue where (hopefully) things aren't moving — you know, in an ideal situation 🙂 — but it thus strikes me as weird that he had headphones on

Jezebel: I didn’t really remember him, tbh.  I think most of the episodes I’m remembering are from s2, so I’m used to that version of Kate, and Tony, and Gibbs.  And that’s the season with Jimmy, I think.

Wench: And McGee isn't here as much as you seem to remember either

Jezebel: Right.  And I thought he was introduced as a side thing-

Wench: A one-shot character?

Jezebel: Yeah, and then he wasn’t in the episode after, but was in the one after that… And then he joined for good.  So this is… weird.

Wench: Yeah, I definitely hear that

Jezebel: I will say, Ziva joins for a long time, and I do like her and Tony… I mean, they’re the actual canon thing developing.  But she’s sometimes a bit… meh.  And not as interesting as the thing with Tony and McGee.

Wench: So what I'm hearing is... pros of multishipping?  I mean, ya know... Tony has two hands.  That just seems to be the solution to all of our problems

Jezebel: Right 🙂  There’s also a ship that comes out of Mcgee and Abby dating…

Wench: Well, that already started, right?  Or at their first date did

Jezebel: Yeah.  I start getting into ick with ships like Gibbs and Abby.  Because I don’t like that.

Wench: Oh, absolutely, that’s familial, not romantic.  Same with Gibbs and Tony, tbh.  Like, I can see joking about it, but it’s far more Tony hero-worshipping Gibbs than anything, and not more.  I don’t think I like it.

Jezebel: Right.  You can see how other people see it, right-

Wench: Yeah

Jezebel: But it’s like… It’s like shipping Dean and Jody.  It’s just weird

Wench: I don't like thatttttttttt

Jezebel: Anyway... if I can come up with anything to say for endpoint... Uh.  GOT IT.  Abby's gloves were great!  Honestly, highlight of the episode.  ‘Til next time!

[sofiadragon]

Just be honest if you want to punish Tony Stark for his faults.

I just read a Wanda Stan post that says that Tony never took any accountability for his actions, saying that he really needed to just take responsibility. Admit his wrongs, and all that. Except that was clearly not what they ment when I read the rest of the rant.

About half the points were good in the beginning, but I could never reblog such a flawed mess of the strawman fannon argument it devolved into. They repeatedly say paying money to help fix things after the fact or setting up programs to try and prevent it from happening again doesn’t count as taking responsibility. That all Tony's charity work, which predates Ironman, is meaningless because money is meaningless to someone that rich. They go on to say none of Tony's positive actions in any of his movies matter, and (while accusing the pro-Tony set of using fanfiction as arguments) claiming that Tony fully approved the sale of every weapon Obadiah sold on the black market under the table. It gives the impression that Tony personally signed off on the order to bomb Wanda's home. Ford is not responsible for what Darrell Brooks Jr. did with their potentially deadly product. Sokovia was a war zone canonically. Is the company in Egypt that made the bombs Russia bought the only responsible entity for the deaths in Ukraine? I thought not.

But that's not what got me to rant. You know how Tony fails to take responsibility for the problems he has in his relationship with Pepper Pots according to this?

Blaming his own bad decisions for their breakup.

Excuse me, but if I make a bad decision and I say afterwards "my life got messed up because of this bad decision I made" then guess what?

That is the textbook definition of taking accountability for one's actions. He said he messed up and tried his best to do what the person he hurt wanted to make up for it, and he succeeded in that effort.

What more do you want? He's not perfect and he certainly isn't a white knight on a shining horse, but at least be fair to the man. He tries to do better, and sometimes he does it wrong.

He got it wrong with Peter. Even if he knows the kid is nearly indestructible and expected to just have a conversation to settle things with Steve in Civil War, he still shouldn't bring a minor overseas to a fight. He knows it, too, and that's probably part of why he backs off and lets Happy be a man in the middle.

He gives Happy the responsibility of monitoring Peter because Tony doesn't think he is able to do it well - the last kid/superhero he tried to make was Ultron, and if he's a monster for that then let's be consistent and applaud him for being more cautious this time. If it really was all Tony (and not any influence from Bruce who also worked on Ultron or the corrupt mind stone scepter that forces people to experience negative emotions, and we'll pretend that Tony is obviously lying when he says "we didn't have an interface") that messed up Ultron as Tony clearly believes to be true by the time of Civil War, then having someone else as Peter's first contact is a good decision. Tony doesn't know that Peter is too intrinsically good to go down a dark path. I don't think he believes in that kind of goodness in people, anyone can go wrong with the right motivation in his mind which is why he scoffs at Rogers saying that everyone has evil ulterior motives except his Avengers 'safest hands,' but I digress.

It was Happy who dropped the ball by never responding to Peter, or telling his boss that this was a task he just couldn't handle and needed to be given to someone else. Yes, he is an employee, but Happy doesn't have the same relationship to his boss as the average fry cook has to the Burger King CEO. Stark might insist that Happy give it another try, but he isn't going to fire him. In the meantime, Happy could have texted back once or twice - even just to tell the kid that the constant alerts weren't alright on what was supposed to be an emergency line and he should keep the status updates to once or twice a day.

So many of these stan rants make it sound like only one person can be in the wrong when a mistake is made. This is childish. That Tony was wrong doesn't mean others were not also wrong. That Wanda was wrong doesn't mean she wasn't lied to. Shared responsibility doesn't mean you pick a scapegoat that get 100% of the blame, nor that someone else taking part of the blame fully absolves everyone else.

Natasha feels guilty she didn't notice that she was going on missions that helped HYDRA goals after CA: Winter Soldier because she feels she should have been able to tell the difference. It is not entirely her fault, but she isn’t blameless and wants a new, clean, chain of command to replace SHIELD because she recognizes that she could be misled into doing the wrong things if she is only relying on her own BS detector and information gathering skills.

Yes, please do also apply this to Wanda Maximoff joining Hydra. She didn't know at first, but she certainly knew by the time we met her.

Yes, a boss is responsible for an employee screw up when they give bad direction, but so is the employee when they ignore their responsibilities. So Happy does share that blame. The oof is a big oof, and there is plenty to go around.

One final note:

This is not taking accountability, this is punishment:

If the only thing that would satisfy you that Tony Stark has real remorse for his actions is him groveling on his knees, you don't want accountability you want punishment. Be honest about what you want.

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

North of Nowhere by Allison Brennan

Suspense-filled, action-packed, cat and mouse journey through the wilderness that could and does prove fatal for more than one. Enthralling from beginning to end ~ I could not put this book down!

What I liked:

* Kristen: sixteen, elder sister to Ryan, old soul, survivor, protective, capable, strong, resilient, fighter, does what it takes even though difficult, has seen more than anyone her age ever should, wonder what her future will be like

* Ryan: almost eleven, deaf, loves animals, aware of more than most, strong, wise for his age, loves his sister, a good person

* Tony: protective of and father figure to Kristen and Ryan for the past five years, enforcer for McIntyre family for years…till he wasn’t

* Ruby: ex-military, architect, grew up in a crime family, has lost much, wants what is best for her niece and nephew, strong, caring, capable, and needs to heal

* Nick: Tony’s employer, widow, Jason’s father, ranch owner, skilled in tracking and survival, loves his son and cares for his employees, responsible, wise, and caring

* Jason: Nick’s son, a year ahead of Kirsten in school and attracted to her, learned from his father about the area and how to survive, strong, protective, a nice guy

* The supporting characters and the parts they played

* The plot, pacing, setting, character development, flashbacks that fleshed out the characters and story, and the conclusion – though I really would like to know how they are all doing a decade into the future

What I didn’t like: * Who and what I was meant not to like

* Knowing that there are evil people as ruthless and horrible as more than one in this book that exist in real life

Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more by this author? Definitely

Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press – Minotaur Books

5 Stars

BLURB

New York Times bestseller Allison Brennan’s latest standalone is an unputdownable race to the dramatic finish. After five years in hiding from their murderous father, the day Kristin and Ryan McIntyre have been dreading has arrived: Boyd McIntyre, head of a Los Angeles crime family, has at last tracked his kids to a small Montana town and is minutes away from kidnapping them. They barely escape in a small plane, but gunfire hits the fuel line. The pilot, a man who has been raising them as his own, manages to crash land in the middle of the Montana wilderness. The siblings hike deep into the woods, searching desperately for safety—unaware of the severity of the approaching storm. Boyd’s sister Ruby left Los Angeles for the Army years ago, cutting off contact in order to help keep her niece and nephew safe and free from the horrors of the McIntyre clan. So when she gets an emergency call that the plane has gone down with the kids inside, she drops everything to try save them. As the storm builds, Ruby isn’t the only person looking for them. Boyd has hired an expert tracker to find and bring them home. And rancher Nick Lorenzo, who knows these mountains better than anyone and doesn’t understand why the kids are running, is on their trail too. But there is a greater threat to Kristen and Ryan out there. More volatile than the incoming blizzard, more dangerous than the family they ran from or the natural predators they could encounter. Who finds them first could determine if they live or die. . .

AUTHOR BIO

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Allison Brennan believes that life is too short to be bored, so she had five children and writes three books a year. 40 books and numerous short stories later, Allison relocated in 2019 from Northern California to Arizona with her husband and two youngest children. RT Book Reviews called Allison “a master of suspense” and her books “haunting,” “mesmerizing,” “pulse-pounding” and “emotionally complex.” She's been nominated for many awards, and is a three time winner of the Reviewer's Choice award winner for RT Book Reviews as well as the Daphne du Maurier award. Most recently, she was nominated for Best Paperback Original by International Thriller Writers. Most recent book: THE WRONG VICTIM out now in hardcover, in paperback in September 2022. In 2023, DON'T OPEN THE DOOR (Jan); SEVEN GIRLS GONE (April); and NORTH OF NOWHERE (Aug). You can reach Allison through Goodreads or through her website.

Author Links

Instagram: @abwrites

Facebook: @AllisonBrennan

Twitter: @Allison_Brennan

Publisher Links

Minotaur Books

Instagram: @Minotaur_BooksFacebook:

@MinotaurBooks

Twitter: @MinotaurBooks

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

I’m Listening (Between The Lines)

Title: I’m Listening (Between The Lines)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Selectively Mute!Reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: Very mild language, mentions of being triggered, symptoms of PTSD and panic attacks

Summary: Y/N is in charge of reviewing the Avengers’ mission reports, and when Steve brings her coffee to apologize for all the paperwork, something more comes of it.

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this fic! Please note that it is a work of fiction and people who are selectively mute may or may not communicate in the ways depicted in this story. Thank you for supporting my work by reading, liking, reblogging, and commenting! I couldn’t do this without you. Dividers are by @firefly-graphics​

You’re hard at work on a stack of paperwork from the Avengers’ last mission when Elijah comes by your office with his delivery cart. He gives you an apologetic smile as he slides the second large pile into the only open space on your desk, his face twisting in sympathy.

“Sorry,” he says when your shoulders slump forward. “It was apparently a big one.” You nod and then he’s off again, heading back towards his cart and then to your floor’s mail room for whatever he’s supposed to deliver next. 

The extra workload isn’t unexpected; you’ve known it was coming since your supervisor had mentioned off-hand that the team was going out again—something about a terrorist cell in Europe. It hasn’t been on the news, but you have a feeling that the whole thing is being kept on the down-low until all damages and casualties have been accounted for. Fury likes to know everything going into press conferences. In short, you have a long week ahead of you, with probably more late nights than not.

Elijah passes by the doorway a few minutes later with a full cart of parcels and papers, but you pay him no heed as you bury yourself back into your work. The blue light from the computer has most certainly contributed to your headache, and as you read through the mission reports from the mission in Latin America, you rub your temples with your free hand.

“I know that I’m probably the main cause of that headache,” you practically leap out of your seat when Captain Rogers appears in your office doorway, “so I figured I’d bring you a peace offering. Tony said it was your favorite.”

Captain Rogers holds up a brown paper takeout bag and sets it on the small table just inside the door. You give him a tight smile and a nod in thanks. He doesn’t leave, however, and you try not to look too uncomfortable with the situation as he leans against the doorframe. He’s still in his uniform. You’d dimmed the ceiling lights in favor of the lamp on your desk, but you can still see the thin coating of dirt, soot, and blood on his face. It covers the red, white, and blue of the suit, too.

“Hopefully we didn’t add too much work for you?” he prompts, and you reluctantly shake your head. It’s only the normal of work amount for an Avengers mission, which is a lot, but you’ve learned to manage it.

Slowly, you close the mission folder and set down your pen, then push away from your desk. Your muscles are tight but you refrain from stretching while he’s still standing there. 

“That’s good,” he says. He pauses, then continues, “Thank you for being so thorough with the mission reports. I know I write a lot, but it’s important to me that everything is recorded. You never know when those details will come in handy.”

You nod again and force another smile. You’re exhausted and starving. You silently will him out of your office, then feel bad for wishing that Captain America would leave. He means well and he’s never been anything other than a gentleman. It’s not even that you don’t like him, because you very much do. He just… lingers. You’re never quite sure if it’s because he’s just curious about you or if it’s something more. Maybe you could ask the other employees in your department for their tricks for getting him out of your office. He never seemed to want to be around them as much as he did you. 

Captain Rogers clears his throat and straightens when you approach to take the bag of food from where he’d set it down. When you turn your back to bring it back to your desk, he steps further into your office, following you.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you—”

You turn with eyebrows raised and with the food clutched against you, a little startled to find him this close when you’d purposely tried to create some distance. He’s now within arm’s reach.

“Sorry.” He raises his hands in apology and steps back into the doorway, watching you carefully. When you’ve relaxed a little and set the food down on the corner of your desk, he asks, “Would you want to grab a coffee some time? It can be in the shop in the lobby, if you’d rather not leave the building during your break.”

Confused, you frown at him. He wanted to buy you coffee? Why?

“Or you can tell me what you want and I can bring it to you,” he offers. “As a thank you for dealing with all our shit.”

Captain Rogers gestures to the teetering stacks of papers on your desk and you can’t help but smile a little. Hadn’t Tony mentioned that his teammate was a stickler for clean language?

The room fills with an uncomfortable silence and as the awkward pause seems to stretch on for too long, you reach for the tablet on your desk. He takes that as a sign to bow out while his dignity is still somewhat intact. Panicked, you race to find the button you want. You jab your index finger against the screen when the app finally loads the selection of neat little squares that represents your schedule.

“Tomorrow at 2:30pm Eastern Daylight Time,” FRIDAY reports through the overhead speakers.

You blink when the Captain turns around, visibly confused by FRIDAY’s sudden interruption into his escape. With the tablet still in hand, you press the button again, this time adding on the beginning you’d dropped in order to give him a quick answer.

“My break tomorrow is at 2:30pm Eastern Daylight Time,” FRIDAY says.

Slowly, Captain Rogers resumes his place in the doorway. You can tell he’s still processing your strange way of answering, so you offer him a small, encouraging smile. He doesn’t seem angry that you haven’t spoken aloud, just a little confused.

“Do you want to meet there or do you want me to bring you coffee here?” he finally asks. 

You only have to glance at the tablet to input your response for FRIDAY to relay. “Please bring it here.”

“If I give you my number, can you tell me your coffee order?”

This time, you grab a sticky note from your desk and scribble down your order. You’re almost positive that the baristas will recognize it given the number of times you’ve frequented the cafe while working on Avenger mission reports. Captain Rogers steps into the office and takes the sticky note when you hold it out, his eyes crinkled at the corner as he smiles at you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says, holding up the sticky note. He backs up towards the door and gives you a small, awkward salute, then heads back down the hall towards the bank of elevators. 

Grinning, you plop back down in your office chair and pull the bag of food into your lap. As soon as you’ve got it open, you can tell that it’s exactly what you like to order on long nights like these. The smell coming from the still-hot containers inside is warm and welcoming. Captain Rogers had definitely asked Tony about you. The thought shouldn’t make you giddy, but it does anyway. You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you scarf down the food and hurry to finish up your last set of reports so that you can head home.

The next day, Captain Rogers knocks on your door just as the digital clock on your desk changes to 2:30. You look up and smile, then gesture for him to come in while you close the report folder and set the papers aside. He’s got coffee cups in both hands and a pastry bag hanging precariously between his left index and middle fingers.

You quickly get to your feet and take the cup and bag and he holds out to you, smiling in thanks. He makes sure not to crowd you as you inspect the contents of the bag and the order scrawled on the cup in black marker.

“Everything right?” he asks, and you look up and nod. “Good. That’s good.”

He pauses, clearly wanting to say something else, so you raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. Captain Rogers glances at your desk and then forces a polite smile.

“I guess I’ll see you around? You look like you have a lot of work to do, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your break if you just want to sit and relax.”

When he goes to leave, you reach out and touch the side of his arm before you thinking twice. The pastry bag bumps against his arm as Captain Rogers stops and looks back at you. Hesitantly, you smile a little and nod over at the couch and chairs situated against one wall of your office. The room is small enough to suit your position at the Tower, but it’s also big enough that Tony had outfitted it with a couch, two armchairs, and a coffee table in addition to your desk and office chair. He took good care of you, and for that you were thankful. You’d yet to find a workplace as welcoming as the Avengers Tower, and that was saying something, given all the danger that surrounded your work. It helped that Tony had known you long before he’d become Iron Man.

The smile on Captain Roger’s face returned, but this time it was genuine. He nods in agreement and follows you over to the sitting area. You don’t fail to notice that he trails behind and lets you pick where you want to sit before taking a seat himself.

There’s a tablet built into the wall off to the side of the couch. You set your coffee and pastry down, then twist in your seat so you can pull the device from the wall. It pops out and the screen lights up automatically, scanning your face before unlocking the app that connects you to FRIDAY.

“Thank you for the coffee,” the AI says as your fingers fly over the screen. “You got everything right.”

“Well, they seemed to know your order as soon as I started reading it. I think I got a few words in before they asked if it was for you,” he replies.

Your cheeks heat up and you smile, ducking your head back down to tap at the tablet. “I go there a lot at night.”

“Doesn’t the workday end at 5:00?”

Nodding, you gesture with one hand at the large stacks of Avenger mission reports piled on your desk. You grab your coffee from the table with the other as Steve’s face flushes. Even his ears turn a little pink. It’s adorable.

“Oh.” He fiddles with the cup of coffee in his hands. It seems so small and you glance between your cup and his, wondering if he got a smaller sized drink or if he’s really just that big. “Sorry about that. Like I said last night, I—”

You hold up a hand to stop him before he can apologize and rationalize his actions again, then shake your head, hoping he understands. Thankfully, he nods and takes a small sip of his coffee.

“What did you get to drink?” you ask via FRIDAY.

“I usually get black coffee with a little bit of sugar.”

Your face must’ve clearly betrayed your thoughts because Captain Rogers laughs. He gestures with his cup at the one in your hands.

“I’ve tried something similar to yours. It was okay. I haven’t seem to find anything I really like, but I will say that even the plain coffee nowadays is better than the stuff we had when I was growing up.”

Smiling softly, you nod in understanding and set your cup down, then reach for the pastry he’d picked up for you. You pull it from the bag and tear it in half, holding one of the parts out for him to take.

“No, it’s okay,” he says, but you push it towards him insistently. Sharing is the least you can do.

Captain Rogers takes it after your push it a second time. You watch as he takes a bite, raising your eyebrows when he looks back up at you.

“This is amazing!”

You nod excitedly and pull up the keyboard on your tablet, typing as quickly as you can with only one hand.

“It’s my favorite. My mom used to get it for me on special occasions when I was little. I was happy when they added it to the menu here at the Tower.”

He’s smiling as he finishes his half of the pastry. You eat your own and you’re leaning forward to set the tablet on the coffee table when FRIDAY chimes through the speakers.

“Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Stark is on the phone for you. Shall I tell him you’re otherwise occupied? Your break is not scheduled to end for another three minutes.”

You tap the “yes” button on the tablet as you set it down and turn your body back towards Captain Rogers. He glances at the tablet, then at you.

“You can answer that if you want,” he says. “It’s probably important if Stark is calling you.”

Knowing it’s not, you shake your head with a small smile. You don’t talk on the phone and Tony knows that. If he’s calling you, it means that he’s somehow heard Captain Rogers is with you and he wants to interrupt. He likes to scare people away if he thinks they’ll be bad for you, and though you appreciate his protectiveness, you can take care of yourself. Captain Rogers is a good man. Logically, he should make you anxious. He’s a large man and he has abilities that would surely allow him to overpower you in an instant, but instead of fear, you feel safe. He would never hurt you and it’s easy to relax in his company.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and you nod again. 

FRIDAY interrupts him before he can say anything more. “I’m sorry, Miss Y/L/N, but Mr. Stark is overriding my systems. Apparently it’s urgent.”

You roll your eyes as Captain Rogers raises an eyebrow. Instead of paying close attention to whatever Tony’s rambling about as his voice floods the speakers in your office, you sip your coffee and open up the notes app on your tablet so you can scrawl out a message with the attached stylus.

Captain Rogers is standing to leave when you tilt the screen for him to see. He pauses to read your message and then glances up at the ceiling where the speakers are inlaid. You can see the wheels turning in his head.

“Don’t you need to go help him with OGRE?”

You frown and tilt your head a little, then tune into the sound of Tony’s voice. It’s not hard to track what he’s saying, but you’ve also gotten good at tuning him out over the years.

“—need you ASAP. Dum-E’s mostly just getting in the way today—this is your own fault, you know better than that—and Pepper’s out of the office on some good relations press tour, so you’re really the only person who can come help me sort out this OGRE business. Worry about all those reports later, we’ve got—”

As far as you know, Tony isn’t working on any new projects, secret or otherwise. You can usually tell when he’s keeping something under wraps, though he’s quick to clue you in about any developments in the “secret” projects. OGRE isn’t real. He’s making things up to get you away from Captain Rogers, and that irks you.

You clap twice, as loud as possible, and Tony stops speaking. It’s your surefire way of getting his attention and telling him to shut up.

“I’m sorry, am I bothering you?” he asks.

Huffing, you switch back to your communication app and tap the “yes” so that FRIDAY will relay your annoyance. For good measure, you add the “asshole” button as an afterthought.

Tony chuckles on the other end of the line. Your words are being communicated directly to him through FRIDAY, but they’re not coming through the speakers, and you catch the Captain watching you and the screen out of the corner of your eye. 

“Your break ended a minute ago, Y/N,” Tony says, and you can hear the teasing in his voice. “Why don’t you come up and help me? I’m sure Steve has more important things to be working on.”

“I don’t,” Captain Rogers flatly replies. “And we were enjoying ourselves until you interrupted. Why do you need Y/N’s help anyway? She doesn’t work in the science division.”

You try not to seem insulted at his answer. Of course he doesn’t know about your longstanding friendship with Tony, and there’s no way for him to know that you’d been working on a graduate degree at MIT before you’d had to drop out your senior year after everything that had happened. Tony and Fury buried that deep within SHIELD records at your request. You don’t want to be dragged into anything that could possibly trigger you, though you’ve gotten better at it over the years. Tony is careful not to invite you up while he’s working on anything that could be a possible trigger.

As subtly as possible, you tap a few buttons on the tablet screen, letting Tony know you’ll be up in a few minutes. He’s quiet for a moment before FRIDAY informs you that he’s ended the call.

Captain Rogers is frowning when you glance over at him. You reach over with one hand and tap his, giving him a worried look.

“I’m fine,” he replies, shaking his head. “Does Tony always demand things like that during your break? It’s no wonder you’re here so late all the time?”

You pause, wondering how to approach the topic, especially since he’s clearly noted that you often leave late. Has he been keeping tabs on you? 

FRIDAY relays your message after you finish pressing all the buttons you want. “Tony and I are friends. We met when I was working on my doctorate at MIT. He’s just trying to get a reaction out of both of us, but he probably also wants my help with something that he doesn’t really need help with. I’m a good sounding board, apparently.”

You offer the Captain a small smile when FRIDAY finishes speaking, and he relaxes a little. Carefully, you set the tablet down aside. He stands as you do and you both tidy up the coffee and pasty trash. 

“Thank you for humoring me during your break,” Captain Rogers says as you put the tablet back into the built-in dock on the wall. 

Smiling, you glance over your shoulder at him, then click the tablet into place. “I had fun, Captain Rogers. Thank you,” you tap out before stepping away from the device. You grab your coffee from where you’d set it on the edge of the desk, if only to have something to hold so you’re not standing awkwardly in front of him.

“Please call me Steve. Maybe we can do this again sometime?” he asks. After a moment, you nod in response. Steve smiles wide. “Have a good day, Y/N.”

You wave a little and watch in silence as he leaves. The butterflies in your stomach are back, launched into flight by the sight of his smile. It makes you wonder if he had such a winning smile before the serum. If he had, maybe he would’ve eventually been scooped up by some pretty girl who didn’t mind him being on the small side. You definitely wouldn’t have.

Coffee breaks with Steve become a regular occurrence, and it’s one of the best parts of your day. He’s being sent on more missions than usual lately, so after your third break together, he offers his phone number so that the two of you can text. You graciously hand over your phone and hope that he can’t hear your heart as it tries to beat out of your chest in excitement.

It’s on one of the days that Steve is out on a mission with the rest of his team, Tony included, that something triggers you. You woke up feeling a little queasy, but you’d pushed it aside and gone to the office anyway. Now you regretted that decision.

Something one of your co-workers had put in the break room microwave triggered something in your brain. The smell is somehow wafting across the entire floor of offices and cubicles, and you’d seen a few peoples’ disgusted faces before the scent had made it to you. All bets were off as soon as you’d smelt it. Instantly, you were back in the lab at MIT, staring down the man you’d once considered a mentor.

You blink away the memory and curl up on the floor with your back against your desk drawers. The handles dig painfully against your spine but it doesn’t really register as you fumble with your tablet, pressing the button that turns the clear glass wall of your office into an opaque one so that your co-workers couldn’t see you melting down. You manage to press the button to turn on the fans in your office too, hoping that will force the smell away from you quicker. You’re fading fast, and you react on instinct, grabbing your phone and pressing the call button.

“Hey, Y/N.”

When Steve’s voice comes over the speaker on your phone, you’re frantic. Why was he answering? Had something happened to Tony? He sounded too casual for something to be wrong.

“Y/N, are you there?” Steve asks.

You’re frozen in place even though your heart and mind are racing inside of you. How you’d managed to call him instead of Tony, you’re not sure, but you can’t speak over the phone, especially not with him, and you don’t know what to do. If you just hang up, Steve could call back, and you don’t think you have the mental capacity to text right now.

There’s a loud rumbling in the background of the call, but you can hear faint voices as well. Struggling to focus, you shudder and close your eyes, listening carefully to try and decipher what they’re saying.

The first person you can pick out is Tony. His voice sounds tinny and far away, but it’s definitely him. “Is that Y/N? Did she call you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says, pulling slightly away from the phone before lifting it back to his ear. “Y/N, is everything okay?”

“FRIDAY’s sensing something’s wrong. Her heart rate and blood pressure are high and she’s breathing abnormally,” Tony says, and you grimace. Of course the AI noticed your vitals were off. You try to take a deep breath to calm yourself down, but your skin is crawling and your muscles all feel too tense.

Steve brings you back to the present when he speaks again. His voice is a little bit softer this time. “You don’t have to talk, it’s okay. Whatever happened, it’s going to be okay. FRIDAY would’ve told us if something was really wrong in the building, so I know it’s not that. I just need to know if you’re safe or not, Y/N. Can you let me know somehow if you’re safe?”

You don’t know how to tell him that it’s all in your head and that you don’t necessarily trust yourself right now, so you stay silent and motionless, curled up in a ball behind your desk.

“Do you want me to send someone to check on you?” Steve asks.

A panicked grunt escapes from the depths of your chest before you think twice, and you grip the phone harder.

“Okay, I won’t send anyone. Can you… Do you think you could clap? Or click for me?” Steve demonstrates, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth one time. The ridiculous idea of him making that noise in an airplane full of Avengers loosens the knot in your chest. After a moment, you mimic the sound.

“Good, that’s good,” he soothes. “Once for yes, twice for no, okay? Are you safe?”

It takes you a second, but you click once. Steve’s sigh of relief on the other end of the call is audible.

“Good. Are you injured?”

You click twice.

“Do you want me to distract you from whatever’s going on?”

One click.

That’s all the confirmation he needs, and then Steve is launching into some story about Clint and Tony arguing over the food that they brought with them on the mission. Apparently, they had a rotating cycle of who was in charge, and Tony had somehow found a way to rig it so that he was the person who chose the food for the last three missions. That sounded exactly like something he would do, and by the time Steve has finished the story and moved onto a new one, you’re more yourself.

The noise in the background of the call lessens over time, and the voices of the other Avengers disappear after Steve’s fourth story. You’re enraptured by the smooth, low sound of his voice over the phone speaker. Slowly but surely, you relax enough that your muscles can finally unclench and you move from being tightly curled against the desk to having your legs sprawled out in front of you a little. Your body still feels heavy, though, and you carefully move to lay on the floor on your side. The plush rug you added to your office is suddenly a godsend and you’re mobile enough now to reach up and grab the pillow from your desk chair. It’s normally just a back support pillow, something you’d deemed a necessity after sitting for hours on end, but now it’s a source of comfort as you tuck it underneath your head.

“You still with me, Y/N?” Steve finally asks.

You’re drowsy now that the panic has washed away and the adrenaline is leaving your system, but you cluck your tongue once. You swallow and try to rid your mouth of the dryness. It takes a great effort, but you manage to force out a weak “thank you” in the quiet.

Steve doesn’t hesitate or seem surprised by your response. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says. “I’d do anything for you, Y/N.”

That makes you smile. You put the phone on speaker and set it beside you on the floor, then close your eyes again.

“We’re back at the tower now. I’ll come check on you as soon as I’m cleared by medical. Are you in your office?” You click once in response. “Okay. Tony’s already been cleared so I think he’s coming to find you. I’ll stay on the line and talk when I can, but even if you can’t hear me, know that I’m here on the phone. Alright, sweetheart?”

You click again and listen as Steve goes back to telling his stories. After a while, he stops talking and you can hear someone else, presumably one of the medical team members, talking to him. 

While Steve is occupied by one of the Tower doctors, your office door opens and someone enters the room. You don’t need to sit up or open your eyes to know that it’s Tony because he’s muttering about the overpowering smell. Apparently, it’s not just your floor that’s feeling the effects of your co-worker’s horrible meal choices. A wave of the smell enters with him and you have to brace yourself as your mind screams at you, your old mentor’s words banging around in your skull. For a moment, you doubt if it’s really you that’s sitting in your office. Maybe you’re still at MIT and this is all just another experiment being done on you.

“Hey there, kiddo.”

Slowly, you blink open your eyes and stare up at Tony. He’s crouched beside you, one hand braced on the corner of the desk so he doesn’t lose his balance.

“It’s pretty bad out there. I’m sending everyone home early and I turned on the fans in every room on the floor. You hurt?” he asks, though you’re positive he already knows the answer because of Steve.

You shake your head and move into a sitting position. It takes you longer than it should but he doesn’t rush you or seem impatient. Tony understands what it’s like after being triggered.

“I think Steve is probably on the way up. Do you want me to help you back to your apartment after he’s checked on you, or do you want him to help?” Tony asks.

After thinking it over, you hold up two fingers—option two, have Steve help you. Tony smiles a little, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he shifts to sit on the floor instead of crouch.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

You’re very aware that Steve is still on the phone and you glance down at the device, then up at Tony. It’s clear that the genius knew exactly what he was doing and that he already knew that Steve was still present in some capacity. Your cheeks feel hot as you nod.

“Steve and I don’t always get along. My therapist would say that we should find middle ground and work out our issues since we’re both grown adults” Tony begins, waving a hand dismissively. “I trust your judgement, Y/N. You’re smart. You don’t need my permission or approval if you want to date him, but as your friend, I want you to know that if he makes you happy, then I’ll be happy about it. He always seems to be on your best behavior around you, which is good. You’re a lot more relaxed around him than anybody else on the team, besides me, of course..”

Tony has bad timing for heart-to-heart conversations and though you still feel a little bit like you’re in the wrong body and itching to get out, you appreciate that he’s telling you what’s on his mind. He doesn’t often do that, not when other people—like Steve—could overhear. It’s forcing you to stay present with him. 

You nod a little and then Tony is producing a water bottle from somewhere and asking if you’d like to have some. He mothers you until there’s a soft knock at the door.

“That’s Steve,” Tony tells you. “You’re good if I let him and head up to see Pep? She’s got an early flight out in the morning and I want to make sure we’ve got time together tonight.”

You nod again and he gets up. He leaves you behind the desk and you reach out to tap the red button on your phone to end the call now that Steve’s here with you. A few moments later, Steve is occupying the spot where Tony had just been sitting. He’s clearly worried, but he’s trying to act casual about the whole thing, and he’s practically doing a whole song and dance to make sure you’re comfortable after what’s happened, even though he doesn’t even really know what happened.

“Steve,” you murmur, smiling a little. Your throat is tight and it feels like someone’s scraping sandpaper over the tissue and muscles there as you speak.

He pauses and meets your eyes. “Yes?”

You reach out and take his hand in yours, squeezing once. He squeezes back and you keep hold of his hand as you look up at the tablet on your desk. It’s just out of your reach, but Steve grabs it easily and sets it on the floor between the two of you.

With your free hand, you open the app and tap a few buttons.

“Will you take me to my apartment?” FRIDAY asks.

The AI’s voice comes through all the speakers in the room and you flinch at the volume. You’re not as wound up as before, however, so you’re able to switch the settings on the tablet so that it’s no longer connected to FRIDAY and instead just coming through the tiny speakers on the device.

“Yeah, I can,” Steve answers. He rubs his thumb over your hand in small, soothing strokes. “What’s your address?”

“I live on floor 23,” you tap out. “Unit 46.”

He huffs a little, smiling. “No kidding. We’re almost neighbors. How did I miss that?”

You shrug at him and lock the tablet, then gather up your phone and the pillow from your lap. Steve stands first. He offers to help you to your feet and you nod in consent. His hands are gentle as he guides you until you’re standing upright, and though you’re a little dizzy from not eating most of the day, you’re mostly stable.

“Do you think you’re okay to walk?” he asks.

Slowly, you nod. You drop the pillow back onto your desk chair where it belongs and tuck your phone into your pocket, then adjust the tablet so you can tap on it again.

“The smell is the problem,” the tiny speakers announce for you. “I don’t know what will happen when we leave my office.”

Steve nods in understanding and places a gentle hand on the small of your back. “I’m right here,” he reassures you. “I can carry you or find a place for you to sit if we need to take a break.”

The two of you leave your office and make it to your apartment with little difficulty. You leave the tablet behind on your desk. Like he promised, Steve supports you when you need it, and he slows down after you get off the elevator on your floor so that you can steady yourself.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks as you arrive outside the door of your apartment. The hall is empty of other agents and employees, though it’s close to dinner time, so you imagine that most of them are either out or making their way towards one of the cafes and cafeterias inside the Tower.

You nod and pull out your phone, typing quickly and then showing him the screen.

“You want me to stay? Are you sure?” Steve goes to shove his hands in his jacket pockets. He’s still dressed in his suit from the mission, so there’s no pockets, and his entire face flushes when his hands jab at nothing. He drops them back down to his sides as a giggle escapes you. Though he’s still pink, he grins wide at the sound.

Typing furiously, you tell him that of course you want him to stay. It’s helpful for you to have company to keep you present, and you trust him.

“I’m not exactly good company after missions,” he tells you. “I need to shower.”

You smile in understanding and type out another message. He watches over your shoulder, reading as you go. He seems a little relieved when you reassure him that he doesn’t need to talk if he just wants to relax after his mission.

“Watching movies sounds good. There’s so many I haven’t seen yet. Do you want to pick one of your favorites while I shower? I can come back with snacks.”

The promise of snacks makes you smile, and Steve smiles back. When you nod, he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. Your face is warm when he pulls away, and your smile turns shy as Steve backs away from you with a little wave.

“I’ll be back soon, Y/N,” he says, and you nod at him before heading into your room to set up the movie night.

As an afterthought, you pull out your phone and text him a few of your favorite snacks. Steve is quick to reply. He already knows what you like, apparently, and the sweet texts he sends you are enough to make your horrible afternoon feel like almost nothing.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Tagging people who might enjoy: @lipstickandvibranium​​

[michelleleewise]

hi i have a request 💚😁

So reader and Loki are at a party (reader is an introvert and hates parties and so is planning on clinging to Loki throughout the whole thing but Loki doesn’t know that this is her plan) but Loki wants to tease reader by kind of like avoiding them and talking to other people instead. but a bunch of bad things happen to reader like her drink gets spiked but she noticed and didn’t drink it but was about to etc. and so she gets really really upset and emotional.

thank youuuu 💚💚💚💚

So sorry this has taken me a minute to get to!!! And thanks so much for sending it to me!!! I tweaked a tiny tiny bit, not alot though I promise!! 💚💚💚💚

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stark Party

Pairing: Loki x reader

Warnings: mentions of panic attack, anxiety, social anxiety, introvert behavior, mentions of alcohol, drinks getting spiked.

Summary: you worked at stark tower as one of the avengers assistants, your weren't bug on large crowds, so it was perfect, until the night of a Stark party.

"Y/n, there you are!" You heard Tony behind you. "Listen, I'm hosting a party tonight for all my employees and their families." He said. "Ooook, and what does that have to do with me?" You asked. "Well, your coming too." He smiled. "Umm, thank you but no, me and large parties don't mix well." You said turning to leave.

"Well its mandatory, bring your boyfriend or someone." He said. "I don't have one." You said glaring at him. "Oh, well I'll see you tonight, starts at 8." He called over his shoulder as he walked out, leaving you in the kitchen. "Shit." You sighed heading to your office, unaware a certain God had heard the whole encounter.

"Greetings y/n." Loki said coming into your office. "Hey Loki, what are you up to?" You asked going through your paperwork. "Not much...right now. Are you going to the party this evening?" He asked sitting down. "Yeah, apparently I don't have a choice." You huffed setting some files down. "Do you not like Starks parties? They are quite lavish." He smiled.

"No, I don't. I have a hard time being around that many people, but...'You trailed off waving your hand. You did your best to keep your eyes down, trying not to look at him. You had gotten to know the God pretty well since you started working at the tower, he was funny, clever and no one could compete with his wit and charm. You liked to think you were friends, but over time, your feelings turned.

"Well I will be attending as well, so maybe I will see you there?" He said as you looked up, your eyes taking him in. He was wearing black slacks and a dark blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up. Your eyes traveled up, seeing his beautiful black hair falling past his shoulders, why did he have better hair then you did? Meeting his deep green eyes as he smiled. "Yes, i....I'll see you there." You nervously smiled as he got up. "Until then y/n." He nodded leaving, you couldn't help watch as he walked out, the man was sex on legs.

You finished getting ready, looking in the mirror straightening out your dress, you went with a simple black maxi dress, hitting mid thigh and black heels. You sighed, trying to prepare yourself. "It's ok, Loki will be there, I'll just stick with him." You said to yourself. Loki always seemed to have a way of calming your nerves, so you decided tonight you wouldn't leave his side.

You walked in, cringing inwardly as the bass rattled you. Everything was loud and too much. People were everywhere. You looked around for Loki, he wasn't hard to spot with his tall stature. And then your saw him, in the corner with Thor. You swallowed and made you way to him.

"There she is, how are you y/n?" Thor asked as you appeared next to Loki "i...im ok." You said looking at Loki, who was still wearing the black slacks but switched to a light blue button up, accentuating his dark hair. "I'll grab you a drink." Thor said. "Oh, I don't drink, just a soda please." You smiled as he nodded. You shifted closer to Loki, practically touching him and it didn't go unnoticed as Loki smiled down at you.

"What? Do I look weird?" You asked looking at yourself. "No, quite the opposite, you look lovely." He smiled making you blush. "Thanks, so do you." You whispered as he smiled. Thor returned with your drink as Loki winked at you and walked off, leaving you stunned. "W...where is he going?" You asked Thor. "Probably to cause some mischief somewhere." He laughed loudly making you jump. "Will you excuse me?" You said as Thor nodded.

You made your way through the room, looking for the God as your anxiety began to rise. You saw him talking to a group of people as he looked at you smiling. You made your way to him, but he was gone when you got there. "Shit, where are you." You said looking around again. "Y/n, how are you?" You heard one of the agents, Mark you believed, say as he grabbed your waist and pulled you to him. "Please let go of me." You said pushing against him. "Have some fun, you need to loosen up." He said as you pushed out of his grip storming off.

"Loki....where are you?" You felt your eyes burn, everything was becoming too much. You saw Loki at the bar, and hurried to him. "Hey, why did you leave?" You asked as he smiled. "I must mingle darling, part of being an avenger apparently." He said grabbing two drinks as he winked and walked off.

You went to follow as the heel of your shoe broke, almost making you fall. You sat your drink down, leaning down to remove your shoes "Well, those are done." You said standing back up seeing Mark standing by your drink, pouring something in it. "What are you doing?" You asked walking to him. "Like I said, you need to loosen up." He smiled walking off. You picked up your drink, smelling what you were sure was whiskey as you set it down.

You leaned on the bar, closing your eyes you took deep breaths, trying your best to focus. Your anxiety was through the roof, you could feel your chest tighten with each breath. You opened your eyes as tears streamed down your cheeks. "Y/n, are you ok?" You heard next to you as someone touched your arm, making you jerk away "don't touch me!" You yelled, looking up seeing Thor. "I apologize, I didn't mean.." he started.

"I need to leave, I can't be here, I was going to stick with Loki, but he obviously doesn't give a shit since he's spent the night avoiding me." You rambled as your thoughts spiraled. "Y/n, he...." Thor tried again. "Goodnight Thor." You said storming off. You were almost to the door when you looked over, seeing Loki talking to some woman as she ran a hand up his arm laughing. You felt the tears threatening again as Loki looked at you, his smile fading.

Just as you turned to leave you felt a cold liquid spill down your front, soaking your dress. "Oops, guess you'll have to take that off." You heard Mark, seeing he had dumped his whole drink on you. You felt your face heat up as tears streamed down your face. You shoved Mark out of the way and ran to your office, slamming the door behind you, moving the chair, climbing under the desk.

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, you laid your head on your knees, trying to calm your breathing. You didn't hear when Loki came in calling your name, only noticing when he was kneeling next to you. He reached his hand out as you flinched away, looking wide eyed at him as tears streamed down your cheeks.

He pulled his hand back, watching you "y/n, listen to my voice, deep breaths." He said as he began breathing deeply. You watched his chest rise and fall, breathing in unison. "That's it, keep going. Focus on me." He said as you looked up at him. "Y...you.....you left me." You said shakely between breaths as his eyes softened. "I'm so sorry darling, I....I was being stupid." He said "w....why?" You asked as he sighed "because, i.....I like you. And I thought maybe you liked me too, so I decided to tease you, see if you would follow me......and....." he trailed off looking down.

You felt your heart slow as you got your breathing under control. "Y...you like me?" You asked turning your head. "Yes, I do. Alot actually. But I never should have left you alone out there." He said looking at you. "Well, I never told you about my anxiety issues, so it wasn't your fault." You said looking down at your wet dress. "May i?" He asked as you nodded, waving his hand with a green flash your dress was dry.

You scooted out from under the desk, kneeling on the floor in front if him. "I'm sorry y/n, I understand if you dont...." he started as you leaned up kissing his cheek. "I like you too Loki, alot." You smiled as you leaned back, seeing his hand rub his cheek. "Let me help you home." He said getting up holding his hands out helping you up. "You stay here, I'll grab your cost and be right back." He said smiling.

He helped you out of the cab, standing in front of your building holding your shoes you looked up at him. "Umm would you.....I mean if you want.....i have tea....." you stuttered as he smiled. "I would love some darling." He smiled as you opened the door. Your evening didn't start well, but you knew it would end with a bang....

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

@vbecker10 @high-functioning-lokipath @buttercupbestie @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lonadane @mcufan72 @daggers-and-mischief @lily-sinclair-2006 @lokisninerealms @lokiprompts @limiworld @mochie85 @sinsandguilt @chickencouncilrep @lulubelle814 @midnights-ramblings @commanding-officer @xorpsbane @waiting-for-cas-to-save-me @stupidthoughtsinwriting @lokixryss @froggiecky @intoxicatinginsanity @lokislittleprincess

[the-bau-quinjet]

Plum Cobbler

Steve x Barnes!reader, Bucky x platonic!reader

Summary: What happens when Steve confronts the woman who's been sitting outside the compound every Saturday for a month?

Warnings: mentions parental death, some cursing

Word Count: 6315

a/n: This really took on a mind of its own. I was going to make it a series, but I feel like this is the whole story.

Masterlist

Nervous didn't even begin to describe how you were feeling. Sitting in your car, just outside of the entrance gate to the Avenger's compound was never somewhere you thought you'd be. Not until two months ago, when you found your grandmas old scrapbooks.

Of course, you don't know how to get inside. Honestly, you should have seen this coming. Why would just anyone be able to walk up to their door?

"Who are you?" The sudden question startled you, causing you to jump and hit your head on the roof of your car. You turned to look at the source of the voice, shrinking under her watchful gaze.

The one and only Natasha Romanoff was standing outside your car, glaring at you as if she was ready to drop everything to take you out.

"Oh, um. My name is Y/N L/N. I just wanted to talk to Bucky..." Her glare only grew stronger as you revealed why you were there.

"Barnes doesn't talk to strangers." Before you could explain why, she was gone. You watched her walk into the compound until she wasn't in your view anymore.

"Well, that went horribly." You mumbled to yourself. Now what? Should you just sit there until someone else comes out? Will anyone come out?

-

"So who is she?" Clint asked as soon as Nat got back inside.

"Why is she here?" Sam added on.

"Said her name is Y/N L/N, and she wants to talk to Bucky." Nat rolled her eyes.

"Friday, run a background check on F/N L/N." Tony asked of the AI. "What? You can never be too careful, and people shouldn't know how to get here." He explained given the questioning looks from the rest of the group.

"Y/N L/N, 27, daughter of the deceased Kathleen and Grant L/N. She owns a bookstore in Brooklyn, passed down through her family. No criminal record." Friday responded quickly.

"Sounds normal enough, probably a fan?" Tony suggested, looking around the room.

"A persistent one. She's been here for hours." Steve looked out the window, still seeing your car just outside the gate. "How did she find the entrance?"

Everyone shared similar looks, unsure how a seemingly normal civilian found the gate.

"Excellent question, Capsicle. Friday, got any ideas?" Tony, as usual, turned to the AI for answers.

"Based on GPS data from her car, she drove around upstate New York for eight hours every Saturday for the last 6 weeks until she came across the side road leading to the compound."

"Either she's really good at looking normal, or she's just normal." Nat added on, still slightly suspicious.

"Well, she just left. I guess we're not getting any answers today." Steve said from his position still looking out the window.

-

You came back every Saturday for a month. You didn't know if anything would come of it, but you'd be damned if you didn't try. After your parent's deaths, you thought you had no family left. Finding out you were related to Bucky gave you a lifeline. Something to cling to when you felt alone.

So far, nobody else had come to talk to you. You didn't even know if Bucky knew you were there for him.

The fifth Saturday, you pulled your car up to the gate at 9 am, sticking to your makeshift schedule of waiting outside for the entire day. They had to at least be curious as to why you kept coming back.

Unfortunately for you, the weather upstate today was not the same as the weather in Brooklyn.

Around 10:30, it started to rain. Just a sprinkling, nothing you couldn't handle.

You listened to music, read, ate the lunch you packed, played games on your phone, anything to pass the time. You weren't going to force your way inside, but you were definitely going to show that you were interested.

Typically, you would leave at 5:30. It gave you enough time to drive home and heat up dinner, plus you had to check in on your cat.

Today, however, was a different story. Around 5:15, it started pouring. Sheets of water were coming down around you, completely cutting off any visibility through the windshield.

You figured you'd just wait out the rain, but when it didn't let up by 6, you were getting nervous.

-

"She's still here." Steve walked into the kitchen, announcing his news to the room.

"I'm not surprised. It's not exactly peak driving conditions out there." Sam easily responded, glancing out the window.

"Aren't you the least bit curious as to why?" Steve asked again, pushing the same conversation as always.

Nearly everyone in the room rolled their eyes, sick of repeating the same things.

"Look, we figured if we ignored her, she'd eventually stop. Clearly, that might not be working. If you're so curious, feel free to go ask her." Tony gave in, eager to move on from the discussion of you.

Steve contemplated his choices for all of 2 seconds before grabbing an umbrella and walking down the driveway.

-

You had your head leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed, listening to the rain. Of course you would get stuck here. Why didn't you ever check the weather?

You shrieked when a knock sounded on your passenger side window, not having expected anyone, especially in the rain.

Mr. America himself pointed to the door, gesturing for you to unlock it. You sat up quickly, rushing to hit the unlock button.

He quickly opened the door, shutting his umbrella and lowering himself into the small car.

You were utterly speechless. After your brief encounter with Natasha, you didn't really expect anyone to come talk to you.

Sure, you came back every week, but it was more so to fill the lonely hours you would have normally spent with your parents at the bookstore.

You had other employees to run the shop on Saturdays, allowing you to come here instead.

"Why are you here?" He sounded more curious than anything. Clearly he didn't perceive you as a threat, which was good because you had zero fighting experience.

"To talk to Bucky." Your voice was quiet, unsure how much you should share.

"I know that. Why?" He had fully turned in his seat to look at you, his large frame filling nearly the entire car.

"Well, I found something a few months ago that I thought he should know." You stuttered through your response, mildly intimidated by the man in front of you.

"And that something is?" He questioned further, genuinely curious as to what you want to tell his best friend.

You hesitated, eyes flitting around the car, looking at anything but him. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair before speaking again.

"Look, if you ever want to actually talk to him, you should tell me. Buck's been through hell, he won't just talk to anyone. Especially if he has no reason to."

During your conversation, the rain finally let up. You decided to take that as a sign.

"Can I show you something?" You finally looked him in the eye, nearly forgetting why you were even here at the sight of his bright blue eyes.

"Is it the reason you've been out here every Saturday for over a month?" He joked with you, helping to calm your nerves.

You nodded in response, unsure if you could even speak while still looking into his eyes.

"Then please."

You tore your eyes from his face, throwing the car into reverse and backing out of the spot you've claimed as your own. You turned around, heading back to your apartment in Brooklyn.

"Wha- where are we going?" He's clearly surprised by your actions, but he doesn't seem worried.

"I'm going to show you what I found, and hopefully you'll let me talk to Bucky." You paused for a minute, thinking. "Although, really I guess it should be his choice. Maybe you can just give him a message for me, and if he doesn't want to talk I'll leave you all alone."

The idea of never getting to know Bucky, you're only remaining family, hurts, but it's got to be his decision.

Steve just nods in response, still slightly wary of your reasons for wanting to talk to Bucky.

When you're a few minutes away from your apartment, you decide to give him some context.

"You probably already know a lot about me, but let me explain a few things." He silently nods, encouraging you to continue.

"My parents died three and a half months ago." You immediately felt like crying, but did your best to hold it in. Of course, Steve didn't miss the break in your voice. "It was a car accident. The weather was bad. They lost control of the car. They were both pronounced dead on the scene." You parked the car, turning slightly to look at him.

"They were the only family I've ever had, and the were both just gone." You turned and opened the car door, taking a moment to wipe the tears from your eyes. You gestured for him to follow you, locking the car and heading inside your apartment building.

"We were really close. I spent every Saturday at the bookstore with them." You wiped the tears again as the elevator doors closed.

You didn't chance looking at Steve, knowing you would break down at the look of pity.

"I had to go through the stuff at their house. You know, decide what to bring here, what to put in storage, what to get rid of. I found some old scrapbooks, I think from my great grandma."

You lead him into your apartment, locking the door and immediately heading to the kitchen to feed your cat. After you set down the food, you moved to the couch. You had the scrapbooks on the coffee table, having taken every opportunity to look through them.

"I never knew her. My parents didn't talk about her either, I'm not sure if they knew who she was. Her name was Rebecca." You waited a beat, to see if he would understand. When he remained quiet, you handed him one of the books, open to a page with a picture of Steve, Bucky, and Rebecca. "Rebecca Barnes."

You waited again, letting the information sink in for him. After a few minutes he smiled.

"I remember this day." He looked at you, a wide smile on his face. "It was a few days before Bucky was enrolled. We had a picnic." He continued to reminisce, looking through the other pictures in the scrapbook.

"Maybe it's selfish, maybe he won't want to know me, but when I found out I had more family, I wanted to find him." Again, tears pooled in your eyes. "I, I just don't want to be alone."

Steve's smile faltered as he realized what you've been going through, and how you've been doing it alone.

"Hey, I'm sure he'll want to talk to you." He reached out to place a hand on your arm, trying to comfort you.

"Really?" Your eyes were still watery, but a small smile grew on your face.

"I think so. Bucky was really close with his sister when we were young." This time, Steve's eyes grew watery, memories of his youth playing through his mind.

You couldn't take the sight of him being sad, so you pulled him into a hug. He came willingly, letting you bury your face in his chest. He lowered his head so it was overtop of yours, relishing in the comfort of your hug.

You pulled away a few minutes later, not wanting to overstep, but the feeling of his arms around your waist didn't let you go far.

"Thank you for coming out to my car." You laughed, trying to lighten the mood. His face was so close to yours, you could make out the individual shades of blue in his eyes.

"Thank you for sharing your story with me." He whispered back, not wanting to break the moment.

You're not sure how long you would've stayed like that, but a loud crack of thunder jolted you apart.

"What the-" You mumbled, walking over to the window to look outside. Steve followed close behind you, also curious about the weather.

It was now pouring, lightning and thunder cracking overhead.

"I guess the storm followed us to Brooklyn." He joked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I guess so." You looked at the clock, taking in the late hour.

Steve must've followed your line of sight, because he spoke up. "It's getting late, I should probably go."

You immediately shook your head, your fear of travelling in bad weather shining through. "I can't let you leave when it's like this. It's not safe. You, um, you can stay here tonight. You can sleep in my room. I'll sleep on the couch." You grew more confident as you kept talking.

"I couldn't impose like that." Steve shook his head, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

"Steve, it's not safe to travel when it's raining like that. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you." Your voice grew tighter, trying not to flashback to the day your parents died.

Steve seemed to realize why you were so worried about the weather, ultimately deciding to agree to stay so you wouldn't worry about him.

"Okay, okay. I'll stay here, but you sleep in your bed. I'll be fine on the couch." He refused your offer, not wanting to force you to spend a night on the couch.

"First of all, thank you. Second of all, you are sleeping in the bed. You're like two feet taller than me." You exaggerated your height difference, but you were trying to make a point. "You won't even be able to lay down on the couch. I take naps here all the time, it's super comfortable." You argued back, unwilling to allow Captain America himself sleep on your tiny ass couch.

"You know, I should've expected you to be this stubborn. You spent five weeks waiting outside the compound with no contact. Plus you're related to Bucky" He laughed to himself, slightly shaking his head. "Fine, I'll sleep in the bed."

You smiled victoriously, jumping up from the couch. "Yay! Do you need anything? I have spare toothbrushes under the sink, and I can probably find you some clothes to sleep in. There's some snacks in the kitchen if you get hungry. Oh! And Carrot might try to lay in the bed with you, but I'll try to keep her out here." You rambled, trying to make sure he was comfortable.

"Carrot?" He smiled at your rambling, finding it adorable.

"Yes! Carrot is my cat. She's a cuddler, so consider yourself warned." You paused, eyes growing wide. "You're not allergic to cats are you? I think there's probably cat fur all over my room."

He laughed again. "No, I don't think the super soldier serum left any room for allergies." He quipped.

You smacked a hand to your forehead. "Duh! Anyway, do you need anything?" You asked again, trying to calm your beating heart.

"Some clothes would be great, thank you." The way he smiled at you did nothing to soothe your nerves.

"Okay." You breathed out, finally taking a deep breath. "I'll go grab some, the bathroom is right here if you need it." You pointed it out on your way to your room. "I'm just gonna get changed real quick, and then I'll be back with your clothes."

He nodded again, watching as you turned and walked into what must be your room.

You quickly changed into a t-shirt and sleep shorts. It took a few minutes of searching through boxes, but eventually you found an old pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt for Steve to sleep in.

You made your way out of the bedroom, handing him the clothes.

"Here ya go. Like I said, there are extra toothbrushes under the sink in the bathroom, and don't hesitate to grab anything you need from the kitchen."

He eyed the clothes in his hands, wondering where they came from, but not wanting to ask.

Luckily for him, you could tell what he was wondering. "They were my dad's." A sad smile graced your face. "I- I sleep in them sometimes when I really wish I could talk to him."

"Thank you." Steve turned to go to bed, but changed his mind last minute. He set the clothes down on the couch, pulling you into another hug. "You know, I can tell your related to Buck. He always looks out for people too."

You blushed at the compliment, grateful he couldn't see your face. "Thank you, that really means a lot." You stayed like that until Steve pulled back to talk to you again.

"I can take you back to the compound tomorrow, if you want. Maybe introduce you to Bucky."

"Really?! You don't want to talk to him first? Or double check anything I told you?" You were shocked at how willing he was to introduce you to Bucky.

"I trust you. Plus, I think you should be the one to tell him." Steve didn't say it out loud, but he also thought you and Bucky would be good for each other.

Bucky had Steve to connect his past and present, but another person for him to rely on wouldn't hurt. And you clearly were looking for a family connection.

"I would love to. Thank you!" You hugged him again, although quicker this time. You jumped back, excited to collect everything you wanted to show him. "I have to find all the scrapbooks to show him!"

When you turned to start collecting things, Steve put a hand on your shoulder, essentially preventing you from moving.

"Why don't we get everything together in the morning? It's getting late and you should get some sleep." He understood how emotionally and physically draining it could be to relive a loss like yours.

"You're right. I should sleep." You tried to slow your mind down, but the prospect of meeting Bucky tomorrow filled you with a mix of excitement and nerves. You gathered your extra blankets and pillows, setting up a bed for yourself on the couch while he went into the bathroom.

You were snuggled in bed, ready to sleep when he came back out.

"Goodnight, Steve."

His heart contracted at how adorable you looked buried in blankets on the couch, but he did his best to ignore it. He'd only just met you after all.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

-

The next morning Steve woke up at 5, per usual. He didn't want to wake you up though, so, despite his natural tendencies to run 10 miles every Sunday morning, he stayed in bed.

That is, until he heard you shuffling around the apartment.

He poked his head out of the room first, trying to verify that you were indeed awake. When he saw you in the kitchen, he fully emerged intent on helping you with whatever you were doing.

"Good morning, you're an early riser?" His question was completely ignored. Granted you couldn't see him yet, but he didn't know why you would be ignoring him.

He made his way closer to you, tapping you on the shoulder to try and get you to interact with him.

You, in a mixture of surprise and fear, turned and threw an egg at him.

He looked at you in shock, while you stared in horror at what you had just done.

You took headphones out of your ears, explaining why you hadn't heard his question.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" You reached toward him with a dish towel, trying to wipe the egg off his (your dad's) shirt. "You just surprised me! I can get you another shirt!"

"It's fine, don't worry-" You ran out of the room anyway, grabbing another shirt of your dad's from the box in your room.

He couldn't help but laugh, oddly relieved that you weren't ignoring him.

When you reentered the kitchen, a shirtless Steve Rogers was washing your dad's shirt in the sink. You froze, taking in the sight of the man before you.

When he turned back around, your eyes took on a mind of their own, soaking in his toned chest and arms. You cleared your throat, shaking yourself out of your stupor to hand him the other shirt.

"Thanks." He smirked, but still blushed slightly before he put it on, ringing out the other shirt before handing it to you. "I didn't want the egg to stick to it since it was your dads, so i rinsed it off..." he trailed off, unsure if it was the right thing to say.

"That's really sweet, thank you. Especially because it was my fault there was even egg on it in the first place." You laughed, trying not to blush with embarrassment.

"Don't worry about it, really. I shouldn't have snuck up on you." He laughed as well, clearing any lingering tension. He took a look around the kitchen, taking in just how much stuff you had out.

"What are you making?" He smiled when you blushed again.

"Oh, I was making plum cobbler... I just, I read online that Bucky likes plums, so I thought I would bring him a cobbler." You blushed again, embarrassed by the admission.

"He does." Steve smiled, completely enamoured with your personality. "Did you want some help?"

"Actually, the cobblers are in the oven already. I was going to make breakfast next, though, so you can help with that." You smiled, noting how easy it was to spend time with him.

"Cobblers? I know Bucky's a super soldier, but one would have been plenty." He joked with you, moving to help scramble some eggs.

"Well, yeah. One is for him, but then I thought the other Avengers might be there and I didn't want to not have enough so I made three."

"You're too cute." The words slipped out before he could even think about what he was saying.

You blushed again, a frequent occurrence it seems when you're with Steve.

You uttered a quick thanks, trying to change the subject. "Do you always get up this early?"

He chuckled again. "Yeah, typically I don't need much sleep. I usually run in the mornings, try to clear my head."

The two of you fell into easy conversation, moving around each other effortlessly to make eggs, sausage, toast, and smoothies for breakfast.

When you finished eating, you collected the scrapbooks Bucky might want to see. You added his mom's wedding ring, the one your mom wore as well, to the box.

"What's that?" Steve pointed to the box, unsure if his assumption was correct.

You pulled out two scrapbooks, pointing to the near identical pictures of Bucky's mom and your mom after having been proposed to.

"My mom always told me her engagement ring was a family heirloom. I think it was his mom's ring too. I thought he might like to have it. As something to remember her by, ya know?"

You got teary eyed again. Thinking about how much he must miss his family combined with how much you miss your own parents was too much to handle.

You finished gathering everything, putting it all in a box to make for easier transportation. You took the cobblers out of the oven, packing them as well.

With a deep breath, you followed Steve back out to your car, ready to talk to Bucky.

-

"Where the hell is Steve?" Bucky nearly stormed into the kitchen.

"Whoa, calm down tinman. What's up?" Sam replied casually, pouring cereal into a bowl.

"Where is Steve? I was supposed to run with him this morning, but he wasn't in his room when I went to find him. I don't even like running this early. I literally only do it because it's what he prefers."

Sam laughed, enjoying anything that annoys Bucky. "Dude, chill. He probably just forgot you were going with him."

Tony walked into the kitchen as well, trying to tune out the whines coming from Bucky, but failing.

"That's what I though, but he's always back by now." Bucky huffed, annoyed with Sam for laughing.

"Who?" Tony asked, now slightly intrigued.

"Steve. I haven't seen him since yesterday." Bucky replied as he angrily ate an apple.

"Really?" Tony sounded mildly concerned, immediately alerting Sam and confusing Bucky.

"You don't think?" Sam asked, ignoring Bucky for the time being.

"I don't know!" Tony looked bewildered. "Friday, where is Capsicle?"

"Captain Rogers left yesterday evening with Y/N L/N." The AI easily replied.

"Who?" Bucky questioned the room, never having learned your name.

"You know the woman who's been sitting outside every Saturday?" Bucky nodded to Sam, unsure why he was bringing it up. "Well, Steve went to ask her why she was here last night."

"Nat told me she was just some fan, wanted to see you all." Bucky furrowed his brow, thinking over the new information on Steve's wearabouts.

"Well, yeah that's what we thought. Look, she said she wanted to talk to you specifically." Sam explained, ignoring the pointed glare from Tony.

"What? Why didn't you tell me?" Bucky rose from his chair, annoyed at everyone now. "Now she's got Steve?"

"Relax, Steve can handle himself. She cleared her background check. We really don't have any reason to believe he's in danger." Tony's words were more to convince himself than anyone else. He's the one who said Cap should go check it out if he was so curious.

"Steve's too trusting. What if it was a trap?" Bucky questioned, glaring daggers at the other two men.

Before they could respond, Friday chimed in with more information.

"Captain Rogers just entered the elevator from the parking garage."

"See, he's fine." Tony glared back at Bucky, secretly relieved that Steve was fine.

Bucky just rolled his eyes before leaving, heading for the elevators to yell at Steve for ditching him this morning.

When the elevator doors opened, however, Steve was not alone.

"Hey, punk, why'd you ditch me- Oh. Who are you?" Bucky eyed you suspiciously, looking between you and Steve.

Before Bucky interrupted, Steve was trying to reassure you that everything would work out. He had a hand on your back, rubbing up and down to soothe your nerves.

His other arm was occupied by the box of scrapbooks, or else he probably would have hugged you again.

You were holding a large sheet pan, three pie dishes sitting on top.

Steve was blushing, a surefire sign Bucky had seen something he wasn't supposed to.

"Oh, um. Hi. My name is Y/N L/N." You froze, not thinking you would have to see him so soon. You could see the family resemblance between him, your great grandma, and your mom.

"The car girl." He nodded, trying to piece together the events of last night.

"Yep, that's me." You laughed nervously, unsure of what he already knew.

"Buck, do me a favor? Let us out of the elevator." Steve eyed him, mildly annoyed with the ambush.

Bucky moved to the side, allowing you and Steve to exit the elevator. You followed Steve down the hall to the kitchen, where you put the cobblers on the counter.

Sam and Tony were still there, eating various foods.

"Well, hello there." Tony greeted when he spotted you, intrigued by the development. He looked at Steve for an explanation.

"Y/N made plum cobbler." Steve said instead, moving his hand back to the small of your back.

Bucky's eyes lit up at the mention of plums, enough to momentarily distract him from Steve's actions.

"Oh, right!" You took a cobbler out of the dish, moving toward Bucky. "This one's for you, because I read that you liked plums." You handed him the dish, quickly moving back to the others. "I also made a peach and an apple for everyone else." You smiled at Tony and Sam, unknowingly leaning slightly into Steve.

"Why does he get a special cobbler?" Sam whined, eagerly reaching for the other dishes.

Suddenly, all eyes were on you. Well, except Sam's who were on the peach cobbler.

"Oh, um, well, I was hoping I could talk to you." You looked at Bucky nervously, unsure of how he would respond.

"Anyone who bakes me a plum cobbler can talk to me, Doll." Natasha chose that exact moment to enter the room.

"Who made plum cobbler?" She looked around the room, eyes narrowing in your direction. "How did you get in here?"

"I brought her." Steve smiled at you before walking over to Natasha. He whispered in her ear, just loud enough for her to hear, but nobody else. "She's not a threat to your relationship, trust me."

Nat nodded her head, trusting Steve, although not for the reasons he thought. She could clearly see the blonde's affinity for you.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Bucky asked between bites of cobbler.

"It's really a private conversation." Steve answered for you, seeing how unsure of yourself you were.

"Then why do you know, punk?" Bucky countered.

"Well, I had to tell someone so I could finally talk to you. Steve's the one who asked." You smiled at Steve again, trying to convey how grateful you were with just a look.

Steve smiled back at you, while everyone in else just shared a knowing look.

Eventually, Steve cleared his throat. "Buck, can you just come with us?"

Bucky nodded, moving to follow Steve while still eating the cobbler. You followed the two of them as well, growing more nervous with each step.

Steve lead you to his room, placing the box of scrapbooks on the bed.

"Do you want me to stay?" Steve looked to you for an answer.

You took a deep breath, in all honestly you would love for him to stay, but you think you should probably just talk to Bucky first.

"No, that's okay. Come back in like, 30 minutes?" You scrunched up your face, unsure if 30 minutes was long enough, but knowing you would need the deadline if you were ever going to explain it all to Bucky.

Steve nodded, squeezing your shoulder as he passed you to leave the room.

"Um," you turned to Bucky, trying to think of where to start. "I don't know what you already know about me, but-"

"Nothing really. Except that you make a delicious plum cobbler." He smiled, helping to ease your nerves. Food really was the way to this man's heart.

"Oh, I guess I'll start where I started when I told Steve." You smiled at the mention of his name, unaware of your own actions. But Bucky noticed.

"My parents died a few months ago." Bucky's eyes went wide, trying to think of what this could have to do with him. "Um, it was a car accident. They both died on the scene." You took a deep breath, trying to push through the sad parts.

"I had to clean out their house, and I found some scrapbooks that lead me to you." You shifted closer to the bed, looking through the scrapbooks you brought.

You pulled out the one with the first picture you showed Steve, opening it and gesturing for Bucky to take it.

He set the cobbler on Steve's nightstand, cautiously reaching for the book. He looked at the picture for a long time before saying anything. And when he did talk, it was a whispered "Becca..."

He ran his fingers over the picture slowly, just staring. A few minutes later, he eagerly flipped the page. He spent a good 10 minutes just looking through all the books you handed him.

"Where did you get these?" He questioned, although not accusingly.

"I found them in my parents house. They were with a bunch of my grandma's stuff that she had from her mom." You wanted to ease him into it.

"So your great grandma..." He trailed off, disbelief clear across his face.

"Was Rebecca Barnes." You finished the sentence for him, nerves clear in your voice.

You weren't sure what to say next, so you waited for him to make the next move.

"So you're my... great-grand niece?" You nodded at his question, still unsure if he was happy with the news. "God, that makes me feel old."

You nearly cackled, surprised by the joke. He smiled when you laughed, glad to have cleared some of the tension.

"Why did you want to find me?" He questioned, the mood turning more serious again.

"Well, I was really close to my parents. They were the only family I had. When I found out you are family too, I just... I knew I needed to at least tell you." You shrugged at the end, unsure if you really answered his question.

"You wanted to tell me so badly that you sat outside the compound every Saturday for five weeks even after being ignored?" He was in shock that anyone would spend that much time and effort just to talk to him. You started panicking immediately.

"I'm so sorry if you didn't want to know! It was selfish of me to force this on you. I can go, if you want. You don't have to talk to me." You started questioning everything. You moved to put the books back in the box when he stopped you.

"Oh, um. I'm sorry, you can keep those. If you want!" Tears were threatening to fall down your cheeks when you remembered the ring. You froze with your hand in the box, not knowing if you'd want to part with it knowing you'd never see Bucky again.

"Y/N..." Something in the way he said your name made you look at him. "I- I'm glad you told me. Really glad. I, uh, I never thought I would have family, well besides Steve. You know what I mean." He ran a hand through his hair, and you noticed the tears in his eyes.

"I don't want you to go. It's just hard for me..." he paused, trying to figure out his emotions. "It's hard to believe that someone would care about me that much."

"Bucky, I don't know you." He frowned at your statement. "But, I would love to get to know you." You smiled at him, trying to be reassuring.

"I'm not so sure you would." His face was hard, staring at the ground.

"Bucky, you aren't a bad person. I mean, sure you've done bad things, but it wasn't your choice. You were forced to do those things. You can't let yourself be defined by them. You're here aren't you?"

"Here?" He questioned.

"Working with the Avengers, I mean. You go on missions to help save people. That's your choice. That's who you are. I would be honored to get to know that person."

You smiled, waiting for him to say something.

"Are you sure?" He still looked unsure.

"God, maybe I get my stubbornness from you." You both laughed at that. "I am 100% sure."

"Wow." He shook his head, still in shock.

A knock sounded on the door before Steve came back in. "Is now a good time?" He asked, still standing in the doorway.

You nodded appreciatively. "Thank you." You pulled him into a hug, needing the emotional support.

"Of course. I'm happy I could help." He rubbed your back, reciprocating the hug. "Did you give him the ring yet?" He asked when you took a step back.

You shook your head, reaching into the box for the last item. "I, um, I thought you might want this." You handed him the box, nerves peaking through again.

He opened it, a soft smile on his face when he recognized it. "My mom's engagement ring."

You smiled, happy that he recognized it. "It was my mom's as well."

The two of you stared a the ring for awhile, reminiscing on time spent with your parents.

Eventually, Bucky picked the cobbler back up, not wanting to let it go to waste.

Steve couldn't help but roll his eyes at his friend. "Wow, jerk. You're just gonna go back to eating."

"Yes, punk. My great-grand niece made me a plum cobbler, and I tend to fully enjoy it."

"Great-grand niece. Ha, that makes you sound so old."

It was fun for you to see the two interacting like this, especially after the emotional hurdles you just ran.

"It's fine, Stevie. Let him enjoy the cobbler." Your face went red, not having meant to use the nickname.

"Yeah Stevie, let me enjoy the cobbler." Bucky couldn't help but poke fun, knowing there was an unspoken attraction between the two of you.

Somehow your face got even redder. Steve just rolled his eyes.

"Fine, eat your cobbler. Only because I had some of the apple one and it was delicious. It would be a shame to waste any."

You smiled at the compliment, embarrassment subsiding a bit. Steve sat down on the bed between you and Bucky, eager to ask his friend about some of the pictures. Steve put his arm around you, squeezing your shoulder as he spoke to Bucky.

You felt your eyes growing heavy, exhausted since your nerves kept you up most of the night. You rested your head on Steve's shoulder, soaking in his warmth as you cuddled closer.

Steve just rubbed your arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Bucky narrowed his eyes at the interaction, realization dawning on his face.

"Oh my god. My best friend likes my great-grand niece. And she likes him." He said it so matter of fact, the two of you didn't bother denying it. You just smiled, and cuddled closer together.

[loving-all-for-loki]

May I request a little something? Reader is an employee at the compound and is super shy.. and gets teased by some of the other agents relentlessly. One of the male agents gets kind of aggressive to her because she’s walking through the training area and he starts shoving her saying how she doesn’t belong. But not realizing why she’s there; she’s meeting Loki for a lunch date and he sees someone unworthy treating his lover like trash. If you don’t mind 🥺

A/N: Omg, totally, I had so much trouble figuring out which Avenger would be this mean, but also I feel like Steve would go to the gym to let off some angry steam so I went with him. Two things: The beginning is slow so I apologize and second, I did change lunch date to dinner for continuity. <3 It might seem a bit chunky because I did write some of this last night while I was tired, so I'm sorry if the quality isn’t the greatest.

Also, you're my first request, this notification made me very happy. Request as much as you want :)

You Belong

Loki x reader

Word count: 2201

Warnings: small mention of violence, mean!Steve, Loki fluff

Y/D/N - your dog’s name

It’s not like you hate working at the tower. In fact, it’s the best job you’ve gotten in a year considering you’ve been doing retail work for six years, but as soon as you heard about an opening at the Stark Tower, you resigned and applied.

Simple enough, your job includes watching security cameras and sitting at a desk. Sure, you’re a receptionist, but not much happens so you usually go on your phone and smile at the Avengers as they enter the building. You’re not complaining since you’re not the most outgoing person and the gods know what would happen if you were to have to interact with any of the Avengers (probably you spilling coffee on them or stumbling over your words). Most people don’t believe you when you tell them your job, but after a couple of your friends brought you lunch and crossed paths with the heroes, they stopped teasing you.

You’ve always admired the heroes. Steve, Captain America. You were told stories about him when growing up so when news broke out that he was alive, you became a fanatic. Then came along Tony Stark who famously announced his status as Iron Man and then the presence of an actual god, aka Thor.

They’ve been okay with you in the past. You thought that because they were Earth’s Mightiest heroes that they’d be nice to you, but they often shit all over you. You’ve attempted to say hi to them before, but you get mixed reactions every time.

“Good morning Clint.” … .“Even my deafness can’t drown out your annoying voice.”

“Good afternoon Thor.” …. “Earthling.”

“Mr. Rogers, there’s a package for-” … . “just send it to the floor. No need for conversation.”

Bucky, who is known to most of the world as the quiet boy, will wave and say hi every so often. You think he only likes you only because of your quiet nature, not freaking out over them or treating them like gods. The other Avengers ignore your gestures. Most of the people in the building will get ignored if they attempt to talk to any of them, or if they make the mistake and attempt to approach Tony Stark who will insult them then demand them to pick up his dry cleaning. You’ve been on the wrong end of his antics before, but it’s amusing to watch him mess with people who don’t know not to talk to him.

The attack on New York was the most memorable day, not because of the debut of the Avengers, but because of the introduction of Loki. Everyone was scared, not knowing what his intentions were until the creatures came. You remember working that day at the Tower when they came flooding down. Windows broke and people were going crazy.

Like the idiot you are, you just hid under the desk and hoped for the best. You could hear the screams and echoes of crying around you. It felt like hours before they were gone. Finally gaining the strength to come out of hiding, you found the US army in the building with Loki in handcuffs. You got a good look at the god before he made eye contact with you.

Ten seconds felt like ten minutes as the two of you stared at each other. You couldn’t tell his facial expression due to the muzzle like thing over his face, but the way he looked at you made butterflies in your stomach. You couldn’t decide if he scared you or intrigued you. He sized you up, either in case he needed to fight you or he was checking you out. Then came more action.

There were double agents then Loki was gone. You weren’t even sure what to make of it. Months went by without the sight or even talk of Loki. Life went by like normal with the Avengers coming and going and your coworkers bitching about something that you didn’t concern yourself with.

Loki showed up one day out of the blue. Most people got nervous, but you felt the same feeling as the first time you saw him. You couldn’t even give him the same smile or wave as the others for a day or two, not wanting to look stupid in front of the powerful god. Picking up bits and pieces from eavesdropping on Mr. Stark, you found out Loki was staying with the avengers for a while as punishment for New York.

The thought of having to see the black haired god every day made you excited. There was something about him that was different from the rest. Maybe it was his power, or confidence, or even the way that he dressed. After a while, you mustered up the strength to wave to him as he entered the building, which shocked him the first time. He politely waved back, but then it became a habit. Then him buying you a coffee became a habit.

The first time you saw him drop coffee off by you was thrilling. You two became more than what you had with the other Avengers, every so often he’d even stop and talk to you for a moment. He learned your name, dog’s name, even your grandmothers. Your coworkers were stunned by the interactions, given the fact that you’ve never talked to any of them.

“Y/N.”

You look up to see the god saunter over you with a coffee in hand, Thor following close behind.

“I was wondering something.”

“Ask away.”

“Do you have a boyfriend, by any chance?”

“Of course she doesn’t. Have you seen… her?” Thor teases

“Go away, you lug.”

Thor rolls his eyes at Loki as he walks away, watching you two with a suspicious eye.

“I’m sorry for my oaf brother.”

“You don’t have to apologize. The Avengers see me as a burden.”

“That’s not right. You’ve been nothing but helpful, at least sine we’ve known each other.”

“I’m glad someone feels that way.”

“Anyways, you didn’t answer my question. Do you have a boyfriend?”

You felt the heat in your cheeks as he asked the question and hoped Loki doesn’t see your embarrassed rosy tint. Although you try to not let the heroes get to you, Thor is right. You have no chance of getting a boyfriend.

“I’m not… I uh.. No, I guess. No, I don’t.”

“Wonderful, so I take it you have no plans tonight?”

“Uh, no, I don’t.”

“Perfect. Meet me in the Avenger’s living quarters at seven. Wear something nice.”

Loki’s words linger in your head all day until you’re in your bedroom picking out something to wear. You know Loki, he’s flashy, bold. Nothing you own is flashy or bold enough to match him, but he also said something nice so is flashy and bold the way to go? You let out a frustrated sigh when your dog comes to the sound. He starts licking your face, sending you into a laughing frenzy.

“I know, Y/D/N, you make things better sometimes.”

You pet him for another moment before returning to the current dilemma. Searching through your closet, you pick out a simple black truffle dress knowing black will work for any occasion. You settle on some gold earrings and red lipstick. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you pray to whatever god that you’re not overdoing or overthinking the situation.

The night floods over New York as you drive to the Avengers tower. Every possible circumstance flows through your head. Good ones like Loki being into you, the date going well, possibly marrying him one day. Then the bad ones like this are set up, he’s going to be rude, he’s going to be demanding and pushy. As you pull up to a red light, you slam your forehead on the steering wheel. What are you doing to yourself? This is the god of lies, mischief, after all. There’s no way this will be some normal date he asked you on.

Oh my god, he asked you on a date. You’re going on an actual date with an actual god.

You pull up to the tower and park. Bringing yourself up the courage, you get out and make your way inside. Most of the workers are gone besides the security and one receptionist, Katie, who is by far your least favorite coworker. She stares at you in shock at your appearance.

“And where do you think you’re going dressed like that, missy?”

You get all flushed by her teasing, heading straight towards the elevator with hopes of no more interruptions. The attention you got from her was already too much. What if Loki makes a big deal? What if he goes on for what feels like hours about how you look? What if he doesn’t say anything? What if you’re not what he expected?

Trying to shake away the negative thoughts impaling your brain, you walk off the elevator as the doors open. Looking around, you realize you don’t really know where the living quarters are. You’ve never been on their floors before. Most of the time, the elevator won’t take anyone but the Avengers up there due to Tony Stark's well made A.I that practically runs the tower.

You wander the floor slowly, taking in every sight as you walk. You silently thank yourself for wearing small heels since you could hear a pin drop. The large windows display the night sky so well, showing every inch of New York below you. The light from the moon shines in the hallway as you make your way down.

A large thumping sound comes from the end of the hallway, drawing your attention to it and away from the scenery. Slowly, you make your way over to the sound, hoping it’s an indication of where you need to go, but it’s not like you know any better. The sound staggers, going off every so often but not consistently. You wander your way to a room with the door wide open, the sound emanating from it.

You peek in to see Captain America going at it on the punching bag. He’s shirtless so the lights reflect right off the sweat dripping down his body. You’ve always known the serum made him this buff super soldier, but the way his body is completely… perfect… is beyond you. Steve stops for a moment and turns around.

“What are you doing here?”

“I-”

“You shouldn’t be here. This floor is for Avengers only.”

“I was just meeting-”

“What with Tony? Are you just another one of his booty calls? I know you don’t speak much, since you’re all ‘shy’ and that,” Steve says, putting a sarcastic emphasis on ‘shy’, “but sorry to burst your bubble. Stark doesn’t date his receptionists.”

You are stunned into silence. In all of the teasing you’ve received from the Avengers, you’ve never had any of them treat you like this. You freeze up, not knowing what to say or even do besides fiddle with your fingers.

“Nat was right. You’re just some dumb secratary.”

That was the final blow. You back up quite quickly and go back down the hallway. You try to not mess up your makeup as you cry the whole way there. Steve’s scoffing is still able to be heard down the hallways until he comes up to you. He pushes you over, stumbling over your heels, as he walks away, muttering about you not belonging there.

As Loki exits his room, he hears a muffled cry from somewhere off in the distance. He wanders the halls to see you walking slowly towards him, trying to contain your tears. Anger eters his body as he storms towards you, raging at whoever or whatever made you cry. Then he sees Steve push past you in a hurried manner, muttering something to himself. Loki grabs his arm right before he can manage to pass by.

“What did you say to her?” he shouts.

“I told her she doesn’t belong up here. She’s a receptionist for goodness sake, not a very important one, but one that isn't allowed up here.”

“Did it ever come across to your small mind that maybe she does belong here?”

“How would she be?”

“Maybe because I asked her out on a date and told her to meet me here, but let me guess, you’re too shoved up your honorable and glorious ass to hear her speak?”

“Not like she speaks much.”

“And when did that ever stop you with the Winter Soldier?”

Steve stares daggers at Loki until he realizes the god may be right. Not wanting to admit his own fault, he scoffs and yanks his arm out of Loki’s grip, walking away to the showers. Loki looks back to see you staring at him.

“I’m so sorry, love. He’s not as great as he seems.”

“No, he’s right. I don’t belong-”

“Don’t you dare say that. You do belong here, as much as I do, especially when you’re with me.”

You smile as his kind words, feeling the desperate sadness fading away from your mind. Loki reaches out for your hand with a gentle smile.

“Now, I believe we have dinner waiting.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Tear in the Fabric

Warnings: noncon sexual acts, fingering, oral, binding.

This is dark!Steve Rogers and dark!Clark Kent and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Universes collided as a malfunction brings an unexpected visitor.

Note: This is my first DC/Superman fic and a rare crossover fic. I really hope y’all like it but tbh it’s filth.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your office shook. Rather, quaked. The glass vase in the corner broke on the table and a flash rippled through the air. You clung to your desk to keep from falling out of your chair. You waited a moment as an eerie lull followed. Then voices and rushed footsteps followed.

You got up and followed the several other bodies towards the labs. You were of the dozen or so people permitted beyond the doors and you slipped past the rest of the confused employees of Stark Tower. Natasha met you at the door and you both peered inside, the door at your feet.

Peter was in a heap, another body beside his. He groaned as he rolled over beside the other man and screamed as he faced him. He scrambled away and pushed himself against the wall. Nat grabbed your arm and you looked at each other. The man on the floor was unfamiliar and peculiarly dressed. He fell flat on his back and his eyes opened.

“Parker, what did you do?” Tony pushed between you and Nat as he strode in. His hair was askew as he straightened his tie.

The dark-haired stranger sat up and was on his feet so quick, Tony and Peter flinched. Nat stepped inside, ready to fight, and you lingered by the door. He was tall, broad, and he wore dark blue gear with a red cape slung from his shoulders. His blue eyes flashed as he spun in bewilderment. His hands were fist, as ready as Nat for conflict.

“I was just-- I--”

“Who are you people?” The man asked. “Where am I?”

“Calm down, Schwarzenegger,” Tony raised his hands. “We’re all friends here… and we’re wondering the same about you.”

“I’m…” The man’s eyes bounced from person to person. “...Superman?”

“Are you asking me?” Tony scoffed and brushed past him. “Kid, what did you?”

“I was just… looking at the particles--”

“Looking?! And maybe some touching?” Tony shouted. “I told you they’re not toys.”

“I know. I was just-- I figured something out and--”

“Broke every window on the floor!” Tony interjected. “And zapped in Adonis 3000 over here for good measure.”

“Um,” The dark-haired man looked around. “Can someone please tell me where I am?”

“New York. Stark Tower.” Tony hissed over his shoulder as he stormed towards Peter.

You glanced over as you heard footsteps echo behind you. Steve, Bucky, and Sam were nearly tripping over each other and skidded to a halt in the doorway.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked.

“We’re still trying to figure that out,” You kept your voice down. “Peter--”

“Peter, of course,” Bucky huffed as he crossed his arms.

“Who’s the muscle man?” Sam nodded to the stranger as he stared with consternation at one of Tony’s contraptions.

“Good question,” You passed through the door and Steve caught your arm. 

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Well, since Tony can only manage to yell at the kid, I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”

“He could be dangerous,” Steve said quietly.

“And I’ve got the most dangerous heroes all around me.” You brushed his hand from your arm. “I think if he meant to do something, he’d already have.”

The man seemed even bigger the closer you got. As you neared, you recalled you were the only one in the room without combat training, a special suit, or enhanced abilities. You were just the one who did the paperwork to clean up after all the rest. You cleared your throat.

“Um, hello,” You tried to smile and the man turned to you, blue eyes blazing. “That’s a, uh, nice cape. Were you by chance at a costume party or--”

“I’m Superman.” He repeated, this time firmer. He looked at you as if you were dumb.

“Yes, okay, well you are at Stark Tower… in New York? Where are you from?”

“Metropolis,” He spoke again with the same obvious tone. “Stark Tower? Never heard of it.”

“Tony Stark?” You blinked. “He runs Stark Industries.”

“Ah, like Wayne Industries,” He said. “Maybe he knows Bruce.”

“Wayne Industries?” You wondered. “What’s--”

“In Gotham City. Bruce Wayne; the world’s most infamous playboy?” He said with venom.

“Actually that’s my title,” Tony turned as he finally quit berating Peter. “Never heard of this Wayne guy.” 

The man scowled and turned to Tony. “Well, you sound like him.’

“I hate to break it to you, beefcake, but you’re a long way from home.” Tony crossed his arms. “Without precise data, I’d surmise a few thousand dimensions away.”

“Dimensions? That’s--”

“Look, I could go into the science of it but I think that might be a bit over your head. To put it simply, we have these magical little particles that can affect the fabric of space and time. Maybe throw us back a few years here or there but it seems my… protege here decided to go sideways instead of backwards or forwards.” Tony explained. “What I’m trying to say is that whoever you are, Capeman or whatever, well, this isn’t the world you’re used to saving.”

“But you ended up in the right place,” Nat intoned. “Seems we have the same interests in mind.”

“Keeping people safe,” Steve added. “Right?”

“Of course,” The caped stranger spun around. “Forgive me if this isn’t a bit… unbelievable.”

“Buddy, I wish I could say it was just a dream,” Tony sighed. “Or a nightmare. However you wanna see it. The good news is, if I can get the kid to do exactly what he just did, we might be able to send you back.”

“Well, um, Mr. Stark…” Peter piped up from behind him. “I kinda… well, the stabilizer isn’t… working anymore.”

“Someone get the kid out of here,” Tony pinched his nose. “Please. I can’t look at him. I’m going to close my eyes and count to ten and he better be gone.”

“What does that mean?” The strange man asked. “Stabilizer?”

“It means,” Tony ignored Peter as he was ushered out by Natasha. “That you’re stuck here for a while… hopefully not forever.”

“Stuck?”

“Don’t worry. We’re not gonna toss you out on the street to terrorize the public.” Tony assured. “We’re just going to--”

The man raised his index finger and touched his temple as he hushed everyone. His forehead wrinkled as he listened and his hand formed a fist. He was suddenly gone as he darted out in a blur of blue and red; a speeding, flying blur.

You looked around as Tony stood with his mouth open and the three men around the door grimaced. Steve frowned and turned to rush out after him. You followed but barely reached the end of the hall, where others watched from the other side of the clear walls. The lot of you were stopped by the reappearance of the man in a furious gust.

“What the hell was that about?” Stark snorted as he caught up.

“Robbery. Ten blocks down. Suspect subdued, waiting for police.” The man confirmed with an arched brow.

“Tony,” Sam turned to look at his boss. 

Tony nodded begrudgingly.

“So, Superman, is it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mind cooling it while we try to figure out how to get you back home?”

“Cooling it?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t stop you from saving this world,” Tony chuckled. “Just… try to loosen up.”

“Mmm,” The man grumbled. “I’ll try.”

Tony winked at you and beckoned to the three other men. You knew that look; ‘take care of it’. Bucky and Sam crossed to Tony and Steve squinted at you before reluctantly following. You turned back to the stranger who called himself Superman and held out your hand and introduced yourself.

“Guess it doesn’t matter so much if you know my name,” He took your hand in his large one. “Clark. Clark Kent. Reporter.”

“Oh,” You smiled. “I always wondered what it’d be like to be a reporter.”

“Boring, most days,” He shrugged. “What do I do now?”

“Well, it’s kinda my job to get you situated.” You turned halfway between him and the other men. “Tony is the one you were talking to, the blond is Steve, the one in the middle is Bucky, and then you have Sam. Natasha was the one who took the kid, Peter out. And there’s a few more back at the compound.”

“Compound?” He wondered.

“Most of the Avengers live there. For response purposes, in case of emergency, they need to be able to mobilise,” You explained.

“You’re not an… Avenger?” He asked.

“I’m… a glorified babysitter and some would call me little more than a secretary,” You shook your head. “But no, not one of them.”

“Hmm,” He lowered his chin and thought. You peeked over at the others and Steve’s gaze met yours before it strayed to the large man across from you. “Well, where do we begin?”

“I’ll have to figure that out,” You replied. “Just this way.”

💥

One week. One week and it was a shit show. Tony still couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the stabilizer, even with Banner’s help, and Peter was in virtual exile. You were left to watch over your visitor and the rest of the lot. For the most part, they were friendly but wary. All except one who seemed entirely suspicious of the man in the red cape.

The very one sat across from you. Steve stared at the tablet as you went through his last mission report and the numbers attached to the collateral. You hated it but Tony demanded it and you knew it wasn’t for his own needs. He had government agencies and the military breathing down his neck every day.

You leaned on your elbow as you went through your usual schtick, scribbling down Steve’s explanation and aligning them with the events noted in the report. You were roused by the knock that killed the drone of Steve’s voice. Your door opened and you smiled at Clark as he peered through shyly.

“Sorry, to interrupt. I guess I’m early. I’ll just wait out here.”

“It’s fine. We’re almost done,” You replied. “It’ll be about five minutes.”

“Thanks,” He backed up and shut the door.

You looked at Steve as he crossed his arms and frowned.

“Why’s he here?”

“Tony’s thinking about giving him missions. He’s going to be given access to training rooms and I told him I’d show him around the Tower.” You explained. “Anyways, the factory--”

“Oh? You and him… you his chaperone now?”

“As much as I am yours,” You half-sang. “Steve, let’s just get this done with.”

“We don’t know him. We don’t know if he is who he says he is.”

“I think we would know by now.” You countered.

“Wherever he’s from, how do we know he’s a good guy there?”

“How does he know we’re the good guys?” You returned. “Steve, come on. He’s… nice.”

“To you,” Steve said pointedly.

“And you?” You wondered.

Steve shrugged. He tapped his fingers on his leg and huffed.

“A car was diverted through the factory wall so that I could keep a civilian from getting hit instead. I did my best to aim it away from the building but was able to prevent casualties.” Steve recited. “Human life is worth more than concrete.”

“Mmhmm,” You stared at him a moment before you wrote down his explanation. “Alright, then, I guess we’re done.”

“I can show him around,” Steve stood. “If you want. You must be busy.”

“I need to register him in the system--”

“So do it. I’ll give him the tour.” Steve insisted. “I’ll give him a chance.”

“You sure?” You asked. 

“Eh, we could use a fourth on poker night,” Steve said. “And you can catch up on work.”

“Deal.” You closed the folder and slid the tablet aside. “You’ll see, Steve. He’s a good guy.”

Steve pressed his lips together and nodded. “I’m sure.” He neared the door and grabbed the handle. “If you say so.”

💥

You strode through the halls of the Tower on your way to drop off your weekly rundown to Tony. Your eye was caught as you passed by the transparent wall of the Tower gym. At the compound, there were several but a few people used that at the Tower when they had business on site. You stopped and turned to find Clark waving at you through the plexiglass

You let yourself in and crossed to him as he sat on the weight bench. His thick muscles peeked out from beneath his grey tank as he smiled up at you.

“I haven’t seen you much lately,” He greeted.

“Yeah, lots of work,” You waved the folder in your hand. “How’s life in the compound?”

“Different. Still.” He said. “Tony says it should be much longer.”

“You miss home?” You asked.

“Well… sometimes. A lot happened before I ended up here that makes me think, well, maybe I’m better off.”

“I’m sorry,” You said. “I didn’t mean to--”

“No, it’s… nice to have someone actually ask me how I’m doing.” He stood and went to the bar, carefully unscrewing the large weights. “Everyone here is nice, I guess, but… you’re nicer.”

“Heh, well, that’s half my job,” You chimed. “Smiling in the face of adversity.”

“I don’t think I’m very good at that,” He laughed and you both looked over as the door opened. “Not at all.”

“Hey, Steve,” You called to the new arrival.

“Hey,” He was evasive as he went to another machine.

“Case and point,” Clark placed the weights on the rack one at a time as he spoke.

“What?” You looked over at Steve again then back to Clark. “I thought-- didn’t he show you around the other day?”

“Oh yes, he did,” Clark finished up and clapped his hand on his shorts. “He told me how things were around here.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve done it--”

“I can take care of myself,” Clark assured you. “It was nothing. Can I walk you to… wherever you’re going?”

“Sure,” You smiled as he grabbed his bag. “I… I interrupted, though.”

“If you don’t mind my sweat, I don’t,” He affirmed. 

He opened the door for you and you glanced back at Steve as he sat on the squat machine. He looked back at you and lifted a brow. You smiled and his gaze flicked over to Clark and he scowled. You hid your confusion and continued down the hall. 

You’d never seen Steve like that; usually you admired how amiable he could be. Always smiling, always helpful. Perhaps Peter had done more than tear a hole in the universe.

💥

It was rare that you weren’t kept late on Friday. Even more unexpected that Steve would invite you to a movie. Sure, it was a pastime that you, along with Bucky, Sam, and sometimes Nat, would get together for, but it was so last minute you felt entirely unprepared. As you had felt for much of the last few weeks.

As you headed out from the Tower, you found yourself diverted by the scene you found in the hallway. Clark stood, hands in pocket, reading a glass plaque on the wall. There were several through the offices; each explained a different milestone in Stark Industries. He leaned closer and adjusted his glasses; those were Clark’s, not Superman’s he clarified.

You neared quietly and gripped your bag. “Learn anything interesting?”

“Not particularly,” He stopped reading and turned to you. “I like Tony, despite the obvious but… well, I don’t think anyone could ever like him as much as he likes himself.”

“He prefers people to think so,” You said. “What are you doing here?”

“They said they might have fixed the machine or whatever,” He explained. “They didn’t. The particles… They need more of those too. Said something about calling someone to get more? I don’t know, they seem to think I’m too stupid to understand any of it. You know, even my earth isn’t my home. I just happened to fall there… like I did here.”

“Krypton,” You offered. He’d told you a little about it, not much. “I’m sorry you--”

“I don’t miss it. I never knew it.” He shrugged. “I think what’s bugging me is I don’t even miss the place I should. My earth; Metropolis.”

“You had parents there?”

“Had…” He frowned.

“Anyone else?” You prodded.

“At one time but she-- Sometimes things just don’t work out.” He gave a grim smile.

You were silent for a moment. You looked over at the plaque, at the translucent outline of the helmet that topped the famous Iron Man suit. You fidgeted and glanced back at Clark.

“You wanna see a movie?”

“A movie?” His brows drew together.

“Yeah, kinda something we like to do around here when we’re not crammed in here like ants in a hill,” You said. “Bucky, Steve, Sam; they should all be there.”

“Ah,” He nodded hesitantly. “Well, I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Is it Steve? Don’t worry about him. I’m inviting you as my guest.”

“Well, in that case,” He smiled, genuinely that time.

You nodded down the hall and he gestured you ahead of him, following with his arm almost against yours.

“You know, you and Steve, you got a lot in common.” You said. “Now I’m not saying you have to be best friends but he was once you. One day, he was back in the forties and the next he’s stranded in the next century. I always thought it sounded lonely.”

“Really?” Clark asked. “I never… I didn’t know that.”

“Bucky too but… that’s a long story,” You led him to the elevators and hit the button. “I know they’re stubborn, always have been but I think you’ll see, you’re a lot more alike than you think.

💥

You walked into the movie theatre, staring at your phone as you texted Steve to let him know you were there. Clark grabbed your arm before you could collide with another moviegoer and you thanked him as you awaited a response. You stood awkwardly near the entrance, watching the scores of people and adrift in the smell of popcorn.

“Arcade,” Steve finally replied. “Claw machine.”

You told Clark to follow and dove into the crowd. You followed the current to the arcade and broke off. You stepped past the racing game and the electronic poker and spotted Steve’s broad shoulders as he fought with the stick of the machine. You neared as he bent to grab his prize from the open door beneath.

“Hey,” You chimed.

“Hey, just in time,” He turned with the stuffed rabbit in hand, “This is for--”

His voice died as his eyes settled on Clark. He grimaced and cleared his throat. 

“For you.” He finished and kept his glare above you. “Clark.”

“Thanks,” You took it hesitantly. “Where is everyone else?”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“I thought… Oh, well, I just, we usually, all of us,” You found it hard to complete a sentence. “I invited Clark so he wouldn’t be alone and--”

“Cool. That’s cool.” Steve said tersely. “I was waiting to ask you what you wanted to see so… didn’t get tickets yet.”

You smiled and looked down at the rabbit. You realised you might have misread Steve’s text. Yet you didn’t want to assume he meant this as anything more than your usual friendly get together either. You were certain he was just mad that Clark was there because for whatever reason, he just didn’t like him.

“Well, what’s playing?” You asked.

“The only thing still available is that horror movie, Crimson, or that comedy about the mime.” He said. “I’m not big on scary movies but--”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect ya, buddy,” Clark chuckled. “I think a scary movie might be fun.”

“Do you?” Steve challenged.

“Alright, alright, you two, let’s go grab some tickets, maybe some snacks, and calm down,” You urged. “Do you think you can make it through two hours?”

“Easily,” Clark grinned.

“It’s not a problem,” Steve uttered stiffly. “I’ll grab the tickets, why don’t you wait by the gate?”

You gave a pathetic smile and grabbed Clark’s arm. Steve’s eye caught the movement before he stepped away with a scowl. You dragged Clark away and past the rows of game towards the admissions stall. You hovered there, releasing him only to wring your hands together.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-- It’s usually a whole lot of us,” You said nervously. “I just don’t know what his problem is. He’s usually so nice and--”

“Ego.” Clark said. “I’ve dealt with it before. He’s the big hero, he’s used to being the best, the one in charge. He doesn’t like that I don’t bow to every demand. That his buddy Stark doesn’t make me.”

“I don’t… know,” You looked over as Steve neared. “Just promise me you’ll try to be nice even if he’s not.”

“For you,” He said. “Of course.”

💥

You usually enjoyed the previews but not that night. On either side of you sat a large, tense, and silently fuming man. You felt trapped between them as their arms took up much of the armrests. You held an extra large popcorn that no one seemed interested in and stared up dumbly as the deep voice announced upcoming titles. You should have just gone home and stared at the ceiling. That would be more enjoyable than this.

Then the theatre went silent as the screen turned black. The sonorous soundtrack droned before the screen lit up again. A mosaic walkway with lines of blood running along the cracks. Slowly the camera panned in until the entire screen was a sickly shade of red and the word Crimson appeared in large black letters, the music stopping on a high, terrifying note.

You really wish you had argued for the comedy. Yeah, it would’ve been stupid but with your anxiety already running high, you’d rather roll your eyes than bite your tongue. 

Twenty minutes in, you rolled up the top of the popcorn bag and set it on the floor. A waste of overpriced kernels but the gory scenes made you anything but hungry. You winced and flinched as the movie carried on and felt a subtle shift from your left. 

Steve’s hand fluttered over yours and he squeezed. You looked over at him and smiled. He leaned in until his arm was flush against you.

From your right, another subtle movement. It was until Clark’s arm slipped down from the top of your seat and dropped over your shoulders that you realised what was going on. He whispered in your ear. “Spooky, huh?”

You nodded as you were trapped in the hot tension of their bodies. You blinked and focused on the screen but you couldn’t decipher the words of the characters, barely even registered their screams. Clark played with the shoulder of your shirt as Steve’s thumb brushed over your skin. You didn’t like whatever battle they had declared.

💥

After the movie, you walked out and shoved the bag of cold popcorn in the trash. Steve was ahead of you and Clark behind you. As you came out in the cool night air, you shivered but basked in the refreshing chill it sent up your spine. The two men were silent.

“Did you like the movie?” You asked, suffocating in their wordless standoff.

“It was alright.” Steve muttered. “Bloody.”

“I liked it,” Clark said. “Been a while since I’ve been to the theatre.”

You nodded and dug your heel into the pavement. You glanced up at the streetlight and down the tarmac at the shine of yellow and white.

“I should get a cab,” You said quietly.

“Here,” Steve raised his hand to hail a taxi. “I’ll share. Make sure you get home safe.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Clark insisted. “Besides, it’s you and me who are headed to the same place.”

“You never know in New York,” Steve watched a cab pull up and open the door. “Nothing wrong with making sure.”

“It’s fine,” You raised your hands in a plea. “Really. It’s okay. I’ll be okay. You two just go… home.”

Clark gave a crooked smile and Steve frowned as he gripped the top of the open cab door. You got in looked up at them. 

“Good night,” You grabbed the door. “I’ll see you two on Monday.”

“Night,” Steve’s hand dropped and he backed away.

“Good night,” Clark called to you. “Let me know when you get home safe.”

“Will do,” You said as you pulled the door closed. 

You sighed and gave the cabbie your address before letting your head flop back against the leather seat. You couldn’t decide who was dumber; you or them.

💥

Monday came and you had a peculiar butterfly flapping around in your stomach. Friday night hung over you like a shadow. The thought of facing either man was unpromising. The idea of facing them together was worse and made you squirm. There was something you were missing and you just couldn’t put your finger on it. Or you were just being willfully and stubbornly ignorant.

But at the Tower, neither of them appeared. Well, they didn’t need to be there everyday. They probably got more done at the compound with its bigger and more accommodating facilities. You were thankful for the unexpected respite. Still, you were anxious. There was always Tuesday.

You buried yourself in paperwork and spent a little too long on the phone with intelligence. You skipped your lunch and by the end of the day, you were thoroughly exhausted. Yet you still had work to do. A lot of work. So you hunkered down for a few hours of overtime and went over field reports as you paced around your office, trying to stretch out the kinks in your legs.

You were startled by a knock. The Tower had grown quiet, most of the employees gone, even Tony as he had plans with Pepper. You slid the folder onto your desk and went to the door. Clark beamed at you from the other side.

“You’re here late,” He said.

“You too,” You stuck your head out and peered up and down the hallway. “I didn’t know you were even here.”

“Well, you know, the compound can be a bit… much so I come here at night to work out.” He said. “It helps me relax.”

“Oh,” You looked up at him confused.

“I just… I could hear you walking around in here and if you need a break, I’ll be in the gym. That’s all.” He said.

“Okay,” You nodded. “Sure, um…” You glanced back at the office. “Maybe I’ll take a break now. I could use it.”

“Alright,” He said happily. “Well, um,” He rubbed his neck as he backed up. “Should I lead the way?”

You stepped out into the hallway and looked down towards the next. He turned and you followed just behind him. You frowned as you realised he wasn’t really dressed for the gym. Well, maybe he still needed to change. You kept on, happy at least to be out of your stuffy office for the first time all day.

He opened the gym door and you stepped through, only noticing that another was already there as the door clicked shut behind you. Steve sat, hands together, on the weight bench. He wore a tee shirt and jeans. Like Clark, he didn’t look as if he meant to use the equipment. You spun to looked back at Clark.

“Um, what’s going on?” You asked. “You two--”

“We have our differences,” Steve said from behind you. You turned back to him as he stood. “That much we’ve figured out but we’ve also found that we have one glaring thing in common.”

You narrowed your eyes, dizzy and you looked between them.

“You,” Clark said.

Your heart dropped. You gulped, speechless. Then you laughed. It was unbelievable. Ridiculous. You were misunderstanding them.

“Funny?” Clark asked and you choked on your giggles.

“Well, which one is it?” Steve asked.

“What do you--” You blinked. “We’re friends. That’s all.”

“Friends?” Steve scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

“Is this a game to you?” Clark asked. “Huh, you like to lead the boys on and then act innocent when they want more.”

“No, I never-- I was just being nice,” You snapped. “I don’t-- We saw a movie and-- I didn’t do anything to--”

“You didn’t stop anything either,” Steve stepped closer and Clark mirrored him. “Would you have? If my hand had slipped a little lower? Or his?”

“You two… this isn’t funny anymore.” You spun between them as they closed in.

“Choose,” Clark said. “Him or me? It’s obvious you want one of us.”

You were silent. You picked at your nail as you looked back and forth between them. 

“Or both?” Steve smirked and his eyes met the other man’s over your head. “I mean, you’ve been trying to make peace between us. What better way?”

“I…” You shuddered. “I got work to--”

You tried to sidestep Clark and he caught you around the waist. He flung you back and you collided with Steve. His arm wrapped around you as you struggled with him. You stomped his foot but he merely grunted and Clark neared as you kicked out at him.

“Stop, stop!” You cried. “I didn’t mean for-- You’ve misunderstood-- I never--”

“Shhhh,” Clark caught your feet and you hung between the two men. “It’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

“The opposite, in fact,” Steve added as they moved you to the weight bench and forced you across it.

“Hold her still,” Clark flicked your heels off and they bounced across the floor. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s not play this game.”

“Steve,” You gasped as you looked up at the man holding down your shoulders. “Steve, please, why are you--”

He slid his arm across your chest and smothered you with his palm. Your legs flailed and Clark trapped them between his as he stood over you on the bench and tugged at the waist of your skirt, busting the zipper as he tore it past your thighs. You writhed as the fabric fluttered to the floor and he grabbed your panties. He slipped them down your legs, past the sheer thigh highs and the dropped atop your skirt.

“Don’t let her up,” Clark ordered and left you to kick against the bench. 

He returned with a skipping rope and wound it around your waist and arms, securing you to the bench. He nodded to Steve who ripped open the front of your blouse, the fabric pushed back over your shoulders to bare your bra. He snapped the front of it and it fell away from your chest, agape like your open shirt. 

Clark grabbed another skipping rope and wound it around your shoulders and neck. Steve let you go and you squirmed against the tight rubber cords.

“Please,” You begged.

“Do you want me to shut her up or--?” Steve asked.

“I thought you called the shots around her,” Clark snapped as he removed his glasses.

“Do I?” Steve neared him. “If it was up to me, you wouldn’t be here.”

“If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be drooling like a lovesick puppy,” Clark sneered. “Shut her up, then.”

Steve snickered and turned away from him. He winked at you as he neared and undid the front of his jeans. You grunted as you tried to roll off the bench but only caused the rope to dig deeper into your flesh. You pushed your feet onto the bench and kicked, trying to break the ropes. Nothing.

Steve came around your head and pushed open the denim. He rolled his jeans down with his briefs as he pulled himself out, stroking his already hard cock. You shook your head, barely able to as the rope squeezed your neck. He gripped your chin tightly, pressing until you opened your mouth with a whimper.

He bent his knees and shoved himself inside. You gagged around him as he forced his cock down your throat. Your body spasmed at the suddenness of the intrusion and your fingers clawed at the bench. He pulled back but not for long as he slid back in, your throat contracting around him.

“Mmmm,” Clark purred as he wrenched your legs apart and sat between them. He dragged his fingers along your folds. “So sweet… well, that’s what you like people to think, isn’t it?”

You could only groan around Steve as Clark teased you. Rubbing you until you felt the wetness spread. He poked a thick finger inside of you and your legs tensed against him. Your legs were trapped against his as he held them wide apart with his knees. He added another finger as Steve pushed himself as deep as he could go.

“You just gonna play with her all night?” Steve rutted down your throat between thick breaths.

“I’ll do what I want,” Clark clasped your thigh roughly with his other hand. 

He turned his fingers and curled them. A pressure built at his fingertips. You were ashamed of how easily your body responded to him. You gripped the side of the bench as it seemed to strain beneath you.

Clark hummed and drew his hand away. You couldn’t see him but could hear him suck his fingers. It added to the sickness that curdled your stomach as Steve fucked your mouth. The sloppy noises that came from you echoed across the airy gym.

The bench shifted as you sensed movement at the other end. Clark lifted your legs and slid closer. He rested your ankles against his shoulders as his hand brushed your cunt, then his cock. He lined himself up with your entrance, poked inside a little, then pulled out. 

He slicked himself along your folds, rubbing against you and once more pressed himself to your entrance. He sank inside of you slowly. He let out a long groan and the deeper he got, the louder he grew. He jolted you as he lost his patience and impaled you entirely. 

Steve’s cock poked the back of your throat as he bent over you and sped up once more. Clark began to thrust from your other end, your walls stretched around him painfully, and you arched your back against the tension of the ropes. You were lightheaded, barely able to breathe, your eyes rolled back as you quivered between the men.

The heat bloomed within you, building and building, the fire flowed through your veins as the room faded away. You shuddered and gasped for breath around Steve’s cock. Large hands clung to your thighs and lifted your ass just slightly as Clark hammered into you harder and harder.

You legs shook at the sudden snap inside of you. You unraveled in an instant and murmured as you spasmed wildly atop the bench. Your orgasm washed away all your fear and doubts and your lips hugged Steve’s cock even snugger as it slid in and out of your mouth.

Then it stopped. All of it. The ropes loosened and you were suddenly very empty. The only bound that remained was that around your neck which grew tight. You opened your eyes as they turned you onto your stomach. Your arms and legs dangled over the sides of the bench and the rope, a noose at your throat, drew taut as your head was forced up.

Clark held the other end of the skipping rope as he poked at your lips. He slid his cock into your mouth and down your throat. Steve settled behind you and titled your pelvis as he felt around for your entrance. His cock filled you swiftly as he slid closer. His hands gripped your hips as he began to slam into you, forcing Clark’s cock further down your throat.

“Fuck,” Steve snarled as he crashed into you over and over, jerking your entire body as he did.

“She’s… good,” Clark breathed as pulled the rope tighter. “Very… good.”

“Shit, I’m almost there,” Steve slapped your ass as you began to quake again. “Look at her, she’s cumming again.”

“Mmm, such a good girl,” Clark’s large hand grasped your head as he hammered into you. “Yeah, oh, that’s it.”

Suddenly, he pulled out and dropped your head, the spit dripping from your lips. You felt a warmth on our back as he came between your shoulders, his groans deep and dusky. Steve followed shortly, pushing himself back as he slipped out of you and rubbed himself through his climax against your thigh.

You remained, weak and whimpering, on the bench. You couldn’t move; stunned, drained of every ounce of strength. You panted wildly and your fingertips felt the cold floor blindly.

“Get her up,” Clark ordered as your vision began to clear. 

“You.” Steve countered sharply. “You said it yourself,” Fingers danced over your spine and made you shiver. “I’m in charge.”

[yuulina-vre]

Spirit

Summary: Wanda has never ridden a horse.

Pairing: Steve x Bucky x Reader

Wordcount: 2582 words

Warnings: none

Masterlist

The soft glide of fingers over her shoulder rouses her. The fingers glide further over her neck before taking the same path back only to start again. Lightly chapped lips press against her shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart. Time to wake up.” Y/N only hums still on the verge of sleep, ready to let herself be dragged under again. “No, come on, baby.” The deep chuckle vibrates through her body. The hands that had gently run over her, now grip her a little harder and soon she feels herself manhandled onto a broad chest. Instinctively she snuggles into the warm body, head resting on its natural place on the chest, right under the chin. “Hey, no. No more napping. The others are waiting for us.”

“But comfy.” She whines, presses her head and body further onto the warm skin under her. “Nope. Come on. I have two options for you. Either you get up so I can pee and we get to eat lunch or you stay put, I pee on the bed and tickle you as long as it takes for you to pee yourself, too.”

“Bucky…”

“Your choice.” She grumbles a little, nuzzling her nose against the skin under her. “…First one.”

“Alright.” Bucky presses his lips against her forehead before he carefully shoves her off. “See you in a few minutes.” Then he’s gone. Y/N stays still on the mattress, only rolling a little to stare at the ceiling. She’s still a little tired. She came home late, together with Steve after they had to attend a small mission. She actually had to sneak into a building this time. The vents were full of dust and she swears she’s breathed in more of it than air. Missions always kick her ass, though. She’s going so rarely and when she does, she feels sore and tired afterward. How Steve managed to get up around 7 am is beyond her. The moment she hears the toilet flush she closes her eyes. “Baby girl, come on. I’m hungry.”

“Noo…” She whines again but startles the moments Bucky grabs her around the hips to throw her over his shoulders. “Fine, then I’ll carry you up like this.”

“No! Buck, I’m not wearing pants! Buck!” Well fuck. Bucky’s not listening just smirking and slapping her ass before he really starts walking out of their apartment. Getting carried into the common room only clad in panties and a long shirt from Steve is embarrassing. Her hair isn’t made either. Thankfully she only earns herself a strange look, a few smirks here and there. Steve seems to be the only one not looking amused. He has his eyebrows raised; arms crossed. Y/N only hangs like a defeated bag over Bucky’s shoulder hiding her face in her hands. Bucky gently sets her on Steve’s lap and she instantly goes to hide in his chest. “Hey.” He kisses her temple, gathers her in his arms, and presses her closer. While the others quickly go back to what they did Steve holds onto her, whispering softly. “What was that about?”

“Bucky is mean.” She starts pouting. “Didn’t want me to sleep any longer.” Steve snorts a little but his hand runs softly over her back. “You can nap with me later, yeah?” She continues pouting but nods. “How are you feeling? Still sore?”

“I’m fine but tired.”

“I don’t understand why you’re tired after missions. You change all the time. Is it the concentration that a mission brings?” Y/N only shrugs and snuggles closer into Steve, her own arms wrapping around his neck. “I don’t know.” They stay like that for a while. Y/N feels herself almost dosing off as Clint’s loud laugh startles her. “Never?!”

“No. It’s not like we had much money to do so.” Wanda shrugs, looking around. “Have you all done it?” A collective of yeses goes through the group. “Done what?” Y/N yawns and rubs her eyes. “Wanda has never ridden a horse.”

“What? Never?” Y/N looks at Wanda, a little shocked. “No, it’s not that big of a deal. I’m sure Steve and Bucky haven’t either.”

“Actually…” Bucky smiles at Wanda with a slight shrug. “My sister likes horses so I took her once to the zoo and she made me ride one too.” Wanda sighs as Clint pipes up again. “Even Tony has ridden a horse.”

“Oh, come on. He was five years old, that doesn’t count.” Tony only sips on his cup of coffee not even eyeing any of them as he listens to Bruce. Y/N turns to Steve. “Have you ever ridden one?”

“No, used to be allergic. Couldn’t get closer than a few hundred feet.”

“Unbelievable.” She shakes her head and jumps practically off Steve’s lap, her almost naked self forgotten. “Clint! You’re accompanying me! The rest is meeting us in two hours down by the lake!” She points at everyone, even at Bruce and Tony who looks confused, then grabs Clint by his collar and drags him behind her with minimal protests from him. She sees Steve and Bucky laugh, Wanda frown, and Nat smirk at Clint as they leave.

While they drive in town Y/N remembers why she never asks Clint to drive her. He’s like a starving man on his way to the next supermarket. They almost need the full two hours to buy what’s needed and not because Y/N is picky. Jesus, clint has some strong requirements on the stuff. But Y/N supposes he knows what he’s doing since he’s the one that owned horses. Back home She slips into the first room that’s empty and close to the entrance. Clint suggested some breeds to her that would fit with the brought equipment but Y/N is a week woman and concentrates on the one she finds beautiful. It takes a bit more time to change but soon she turned into a beautiful, light brown Norwegian fjord horse. She shakes herself a bit, lets her tail swig, and neighs silently for Clint to come in. He gets her fully ‘dressed’ with the blanket, saddle, halter, and rein before he leads her outside. Some employees look funnily at them, some smile but they both don’t pay them any mind. They stroll on but Clint suddenly stops. Y/N almost runs into him and snorts loudly. “Sorry, sorry. Can I get on?” Y/N nods eagerly. It’s been a long time since she carried someone around. As soon as Clint is on top she starts running around, slowly at first but then after. She feels the wind rush past her, her body pushing itself to the pastes pace possible. “Come on now, Y/N. The others are probably waiting.” She slows down, neighs again, and lets Clint lead her around until they can see the others. Some of them look slightly startled, Wanda even looks a bit scared. Steve and Bucky just look amazed and Tony is oddly hyped. Y/N stops right in front of them, shaking herself a little as Clint gets off. “Hi, Y/N.” Nat steps forward her hand stretched out, waiting for Y/N to butt her head against it. She sniffs at it first but then actually presses her noses against it and lets Nat stroke up and down. Bucky steps up as well, softly gliding his hand over her neck, cooing a little. Steve doesn’t step up to her but to Wanda. She looks pretty hesitant. Steve’s quick to grab one of her hands to squeeze it and whispers to her, probably to calm her down. “So, anyone wants a try?” Clint claps in his hand looking around. Surprisingly or not that surprising, since he looked hyped, Tony steps up and swings himself up into the saddle. He guides her around slowly trying to get a feeling but soon he’s dashing with Y/N over the grass and sand. One after another climb up in the saddle to run a few rounds around with her. Some are faster than others. Bucky denies it but feeds her apples in between her runs. Then it’s Wanda’s turn but she backs off as Y/N comes close, hiding behind Steve. “What’s wrong?” “S-she’s so big.” “Yeah, but it’s only Y/N. There’s no point in being afraid. You know her.” Steve tries to reassure her but Wanda backs off more. Y/N keeps an eye on her seeing her stare. She doesn’t seem quite afraid but neither does she seem comfortable. To not scare her off Y/N shuffles a little backward and walks up to Bucky. He immediately starts scratching her neck, cooing in her ears, and feeds her yet another apple Clint passes him. She stays a moment but soon runs off. Being a horse brings a feeling of freedom that she rarely feels. Somehow, it’s a whole different world and another freedom. It’s not comparable with the one she feels like a bird. It’s just… different. She runs around for a while, jumps here and there before she tires herself out. She tastes a bit from the grass around the compound but the apples were tastier so she trots back, hoping to get another one. She’s not coming far because Clint catches her halter. She snorts and neighs a little annoyed but follows him as he leads her a bit away from the others. She’s just starting to wonder where they are going as they reach a tree. “I’m just parking you here for a sec. Wait for me yeah?” She nods and watches as he tightens her reins on a thick branch. As if she would run away! But he still goes through with it and walks off only to return with Wanda in one hand and a basket in the other. “Clint, no. Please.” “Come on. Just pat her and give her an apple. She’s not as scary as you might think.” “No Plea-” Y/N cut ser off mid-sentence. She’s now close enough so Y/N steps forward and butts her head against her shoulder, gently and without nuzzling or nibbling. She just presses it there and holds it. Wanda tenses instantly, almost backing off but Clint now has a hand on her lower back and holds her still. Wanda’s still tense but with Clint takes one of her hands and slowly raises it and places it on Y/N’s neck. At first, her hand just rests there but then she lightly, barely noticeable, starts scratching and stroking and Y/N has to keep herself in check. She wants to snort in pleasure neigh but she can’t. she doesn’t want to scare Wanda off so she waits. It takes a few minutes until Y/N deems Wanda calm enough so she lifts her head and snorts, nudging Wanda carefully, and triples on the spot, eager for some apples she knows clint hides in the basket. Wanda takes one out and hesitantly reaches forward. “Flatten your hand so she won't accidentally take your fingers off.” Wanda’s hand flattens and Y/N tries to take the apple as gently as she can. It takes a while longer to really convince Wanda to get in the saddle but half an hour later Y/N is strolling around the compound at a leisurely pace with Wanda sitting on her back. That is until she gets an idea for some bonding time. “Where are you going? Y/N?” Wanda panics a little on her back turning back to look at the others. No one really notices what they are doing, except Clint who’s still eyeing them. “C-Clint?! Where’s she going?”“I don’t know. Just let her lead. It’s Y/N, she probably wants to bond with you.” Y/N neighs to confirm it and continues on along the shore deeper into the forest. She walks for a while until they reach a smaller path that she follows and that leads her back to the lake. She stops on the sandy ground and snorts. The view is a bit different; this place is more shadowy. You can see the compound and if you look closely, you can see all the others on the pier. “This is beautiful.” Y/N nods eagerly. She likes this spot. When she sometimes changes into a deer, she hides out here, just looking around. Sometimes she can watch recruits and Nat and Steve train long-distance runs or survival in icy water. It is interesting and she’s always glad she doesn’t have to do it. Wanda leans a bit forward, resting against Y/N’s neck. Her hands start stroking each side of Y/N’s neck while she whispers into one of her ears. “Can we do this again some time? I- I think I like it.” Y/N nods again, happy that she could convince her that riding a horse isn’t that scary. They slowly make their way back and Y/N test the waters by falling into a slightly faster pace. Wanda screeches at first but relaxes soon. Back with the others she dismounts her and pats her neck again before happily skipping over to Clint.

Y/N looks around trying to spot her boys. They both stand on the edge of the pier. Well, Bucky is sitting, his feet dangling in the water, Steve’s standing beside him nursing a drink. Y/N’s not wearing any horseshoes so she is relatively silent and could try sneaking up on them. Taking the chance while it’s still presenting itself, she walks as silently as she can. It helps that the others aren’t far off, laughing and chatting pretty loudly. She’s only a few feet away from her boys, able to hear their soft conversation. “She might as well be, I mean. Look how Clint acts.”

“Yeah, well. After Pietro, he has taken her under his wings. He keeps a close eye on h- Ahh!” That’s the moment Y/N uses. She takes a small jump and buts her head against Steve’s back, forcefully enough to push him off balance. Steve staggers a little before he loses his footing and slips over the edge of the pier right into the water. Bucky barks out a laugh while Y/N neighs loudly. Steve swims back up, sputtering and spitting water out. “You!” He points an accusing finger at her but Y/N only snorts amused, though, she’s stepping up to the edge of the pier she lowers her head so her reins hang low enough for Steve to grab on, which he does. She neighs loudly and lifts her head with as much force as she can and steps back, dragging Steve up on the platform again. Bucky quickly grabs Steve on the loops of his jeans and pulls him up as well. For a moment Steve just lies pouting on the ground before he slowly gets up and tackles Bucky, getting him all wet as well. Bucky screeches at the wetness and tries to fights Steve off but he nuzzles his wet hair just into Bucky’s face. “That’s for laughing!” Then he lets go and glares at Y/N. He approaches her slowly at first. Y/N stakes a step back but then Steve suddenly starts running. Normally Y/N would be faster than he is but she starts a second too late to turn around, so Steve manages to catch her on her neck and fling himself around her until he sits in the saddle, getting her whole neck all wet. She continues running just for the fun and because Steve just realized what he’s doing. “Y-Y/N! Slower! Oh my god, I hate you!” His hands tighten in her mane as she continues running through the grass. No! No slowing down. She enjoys it way too much.

[lyssismagical]

72 w Parkner pls 🥺

just some bb fluff between the Keener-Parker-Stark family uwu

*

“I'll see you in a few hours, babe,” Morgan says, leaning up to kiss her partner. “I love you.”

Saylor smiles and gently pushes a strand of hair behind Morgan’s ear. “I love you too. Have fun. Tell them I said hi.”

Morgan and Saylor have been together for three years now, having met in Morgan’s third year of college, studying to become a teacher. Saylor’s in med school.

They live together in New York, only a few hours’ drive away from Stark Towers where Harley and Peter live.

She hasn’t had a day off between school and her job as a teaching assistant, not to mention having just gotten a puppy with Saylor who needs constant attention and care.

The drive to Stark Industries is a little boring, traffic a little heavier than usual on a Saturday morning. She feels a little bad about not spending the weekend with her partner who’s also rarely free, but she also hasn’t made the trip to see her family in quite a while.

Harley and Peter are sitting at the breakfast bar, knees touching and Harley’s laughing bright and loud at something Peter must’ve said. They both look tired, despite the weekend beginning, but she knows the business has been under some heat lately.

Peter’s up, out of his seat as soon as he sees her, pulling her into a warm hug. “I’ve missed you, bug. How are you? How’s Saylor? How’s school?”

“Let her breathe, darling,” Harley says, leaning over his husband to ruffle Morgan’s hair. “You want a coffee?”

“Yes, please, traffic was awful.”

Harley smiles and heads off towards the kitchen, leaving Peter to fuss over Morgan.

“You look tired, have you been sleeping alright?”

“Peter, I’m fine, I promise. I’m twenty-four, you don’t need to worry about me like I’m still fourteen.”

He sighs wearily, it’s obvious it hasn’t exactly been an easy week for him. “I know. But you’ll always be my little bug.”

“I’m good, really, Peter. I’m happy.”

Harley returns, pressing an old Iron Man mug into her hands. “How’s Saylor? I miss that kid.”

“They’re good… Busy, that’s for sure. Med school, the internship at the hospital, taking care of Nova. We’ve both been busy, but they’re happy. They’ve got the weekend off to just play with Nova and rest.”

Peter goes to respond, but his phone ringing cuts him off. “Sorry, I should probably… Hello?”

Harley sighs, leading Morgan to the living room. “It’s been complicated lately.”

“I heard, is everything okay?”

“One of our rival companies, they’re fighting dirty and it’s putting a lot of pressure on us. We’ve already lost a few employees, as well as some investors because of them. But we’re making progress and it’ll all blow over soon enough.”

Morgan nods, pulling her knees up to her chest on the couch, tucking herself into the warmth. It’s the same old couch that Tony bought decades ago, there’s a few photographs of her here when she must’ve been two to four years old, her dad holding her in his lap. On one hand, she knows why they haven’t bothered to replace it, every memory of Tony is important to all three of them and seems almost wrong to get rid of anything that belonged to him. But on the other hand, it really is just a couch. An old, worn-leather couch, with rips in the seams and stains along the back.

“Peter looks exhausted,” she says, watching carefully as Harley’s face shifts into worried sadness.

“He is. You know how he gets when it comes to anything surrounding your dad.”

Peter slips into the room, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’ve gotta go. I’m sorry to cut this short, but PR needs one of us downstairs.”

“I’ll get it,” Harley offers, already bringing himself to his feet.

“No, it’s okay. You took the last one. I’ll go, sort this out, I’ll hopefully be back within an hour or two. I’ll bring takeout for lunch, sound good?”

Harley sighs and Morgan knows she makes the exact same expression as he does whenever Saylor picks up extra hours at the hospital or stays up all night to study.

She’s never really known the two of them apart, she was too young to remember them before they got together, way back when they were eighteen and nineteen. They’ve been together ever since, bar the one time in college where they split up for nearly four months, long-distance having become too much for them.

She’s never known Harley without the permanent wrinkle between his brows from the constant worry of dating a selfless superhero. She’s never known Peter without the messy curls, having given up gel and product when Harley convinced him he looked better without it.

When she was young, she always worried that she’d never find love the way her parents did, the way she saw Harley and Peter, so unconditional, so pure, so endless. She worried she wouldn’t find the person who was clearly meant to be her other half like Peter is for Harley and Harley is for Peter.

But then she met Saylor.

“Bye, bug, I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

She hugs Peter goodbye, settling back into the cushions beside Harley.

“How did you know you were going to be with Peter forever?” Morgan asks. She adores the way Harley’s expression goes gentle and nostalgic and loving.

“Peter likes to say that he knew when we met, that very first time, at the cabin. But I don’t think it was ever quite that simple, you know? I knew I loved him when we were in college and he was in Massachusetts while I was in California, and I woke up one day, and found Peter in my dorm room. He’d flown all the way out, on his long weekend, just to spend time with me. He was sitting next to me, reading the book I had to write an essay on so he’d be able to me. It was so simple, so easy, and it was clear, in that moment, that I could do that forever. Wake up next to him, live in simple domesticity with him.”

“And you wanted to do that forever?”

She knows that moment with Saylor, too. They had come home from a long day at school and a long evening at the hospital, and they had picked up her favourite meal for dinner on the way home. They had curled up on the couch together, eaten dinner, and watched a movie, and smiled when Morgan had ranted about the antagonist of the film.

“For as long as he’d have me.”

“And you’ve never once gone back on that?”

Harley shrugs, eyes far away. “I fucked up in college, I nearly ruined the best thing I’d ever had, and that’s the biggest regret I’ll have to carry with me. That’s the only regret I’ll ever have about our relationship, is hurting him and losing four months with him.”

“I think I want to ask Saylor to marry me,” Morgan says. She’s certain about that, but god is she ever nervous. “I love them more than anything.”

“I know.” Harley nudges her with his shoulder. “Every time you talk about them, you get that same look that I see on Peter’s face constantly. And that- that’s a lot. I see it on Saylor’s face too, when they talk about you.”

“You do?”

Harley’s smile widens. “I do. It’s clear how much that kid loves you. And if you’re even a fraction as sure as I was when I proposed, then you should go for it.”

“How did you do it?”

“It’s about as dramatic as you’d expect from us. He was-” Harley stops, swallows visibly. “He was dying. He’d been hurt while on a mission and I was there, I was holding him and he was- he was dying. Bucky had to physically restrain me while Sam got him to help… It was the most scared I’d ever been.”

“He was okay, though.”

“Yeah, somehow he always is. He was in that goddamn hospital bed and he was so high on pain killers and I just, I asked him to marry me.”

“That simple?”

“That simple.”

Morgan laughs a little. “And he said yes?”

“He did. He said yes. And when he was released from the hospital, he laughed so hard he cried because he couldn’t believe that’s how I asked him.”

And god does Morgan ever want that with Saylor. She loves her partner like crazy, loves them to the moon and back, she never wants to go another day without them, she doesn’t want to spend another second without being able to call her partner, her fiancé.

“I want to marry Saylor,” she says again.

Harley grins. “I’m proud of you.”

“For being in love?”

“For being unapologetically you and going after what you want.”

Morgan leans into Harley, his arm coming up to wrap around her shoulders. “You think they’ll say yes?”

“No question about it, kid.”

“If they do…” She trails off nervously. “Would you and Peter walk me down the aisle?”

Harley presses a kiss to her temple. “We would love to. And I’m sure we could have Nova trained to be a ring bearer in no time.”

Morgan laughs at the thought of her clumsy, bouncy little puppy trying to do anything with finesse.

Peter returns with lunch a little while later.

As soon as he walks in, he drops the bags down on the table and says, “I want a baby.”

“What?” Harley lets out a little surprised laugh and Morgan bursts into giggles at the absurdity.

“Quinn brought her baby in for the meeting because she couldn’t get a babysitter in time,” Peter explains, pouting childishly. “And I want one.”

Harley shakes his head, more dumbfounded than disagreeing. “You want a baby.”

“I want a baby,” he repeats. “I want a little tiny thing with ten fingers and ten toes and a beating heart.”

Morgan laughs again, walking up to hug Peter. “God, I missed how absolutely crazy you are.”

“Okay, darling, how about you eat some food and we’ll talk some more later?”

It’s not a no and Peter grins triumphantly.

“When did you know that you wanted to be with Harley forever?” Morgan asks before she can stop herself.

Peter’s smile widens and he looks to Harley with the softest, most lovestruck eyes she’s ever seen. “I was fifteen.”

“Fifteen? You were seventeen when we met.”

Peter slides a hand over Harley’s shoulder, tucking himself into his husband’s side. “I was fifteen and I was here with Tony. Right here, actually. We were having a lab night and he mentioned something about a potato gun kid. And I asked him to tell me about you. About dumbass Harley Keener who didn’t know when to stop, who was talkative and loud and sarcastic and annoying. Harley who helped save Tony’s life. And I thought, wow, if anybody would know what it feels like to be me, it’d be Harley.”

“Really?”

“I googled you later that day and I scrolled through your mom’s entire facebook, wondering just who was special enough to stay in Tony’s head for so long, so fresh. I told Ned, I said to him, I’m gonna meet this kid and I’m going to marry him one day because who else is worthy of my love than somebody who could save Tony Stark’s life.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not! It’s all true. Ask Ned, he’ll tell you.”

Harley rolls his eyes in pure adoration. “You never told me that.”

“I was embarrassed and then it didn’t seem relevant anymore.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting to learning things about you, Parker.”

Peter grins up at him. “Like how I want to have a baby?”

“You two would be amazing dads,” Morgan says, almost shyly. That part of their relationship isn’t talked about very much, how they might as well have raised Morgan, filled in the spot that her dad left when she was so young. “Any kid would be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks, bug,” Peter murmurs.

“If you take tomorrow off, we’ll start researching, alright?” Harley bargains. A day off is hard to come by with Peter, but with an ultimatum like that, Peter can’t possibly say no.

Peter kisses him in response.

April Parker is the flower girl at Saylor and Morgan’s wedding that fall.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideyspeaches @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @misskirkstark @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester @emo-girl10 @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 @loveliestdisappointment @joyful-soul-collector @genderfluid-and-confuzled @fallenstar07 @gyurolls @sdottkrames @you-did-it-sir @not-today-thx @fandomstuffff

{Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

[polaroid15]

Febuwhump day 20 - Betrayal

Summary: “How bad?” Tony asks.

“Not bad.”

“Pete-”

“I’m serious! I’ve gotten ten times worse as Spider-Man.”

When Tony looks at him, it’s gentle, and it nearly brings him to tears. “But you weren’t Spider-Man, buddy.”

Or, Peter just wanted a coffee.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138196/chapters/72739866

------

It’s not everyday that Peter is pistol whipped in the face by a Starbucks customer.

Today, however, is that day.

He’s at the front of the line, finally, and just as the cashier hands him his change a man wearing a crudely cut ski mask shoots two bullets into the ceiling. Everyone screams, ducks, and through the mass panic Peter hears his handful of change roll across the floor.

“Are you kidding me-”

“EVERYONE ON THE GROUND!”

Peter listens, trying his best to keep calm as he assesses his surroundings. The store has six customers and two employees. Another masked individual joins the first, also holding a gun.

That they’re not afraid to use, apparently.

Slowly and praying not to draw attention, Peter’s fingers close around the watch Tony had given him for his birthday and presses the side button three times. He’s only used the distress signal once before, and Tony had been at his side to help within a matter of minutes.

These idiots won’t even know what hit them.

The first man crosses behind the counter and shoves his gun into the barista’s face. “Open the register.”

For a minute, Peter thinks she’s going to refuse, her eyes set with anger and fear. As if getting the same sense, the man with the gun presses the barrel hard against her cheek and she whimpers. “Now,” he repeats, and she obeys with shaking hands.

Even though she complies, the man steps closer, his trigger finger tensing as the first inch of the barrel practically disappears into her face. Spidey sense screaming, Peter stands carefully, hands outstretched, “hey, hey. Come on man. Ease up. She’s doing what you asked-”

“On the ground,” the second criminal yells at him, spit flying from his mask. Peter freezes on the spot, eyes glued on the trembling barista. For one terrible moment, he’s brought back to a dark alley, his hands pressing down desperately on Ben’s chest.

“The register’s open,” Peter reasons, “let her go.”

“Looks like someone’s trying to play hero,” the first robber sneers. He pushes the barista aside and she falls onto the floor with a strangled yelp. “Grab him.”

Peter doesn’t flinch as the man’s accomplice obeys, digging strong fingers into his bicep and dragging him out of line. His back is brought against the man’s chest and the gun is pressed into his throat. He swallows at the pressure and keeps his eyes trained on the first man, who’s stuffing a duffel with cash.

Outside, there’s sirens.

“Damn it!”

The first man slams the empty drawer closed, throwing his gun out widely, “which one of you called the police?”

Peter almost laughs. Almost. “Are you kidding? You would’ve heard it if someone called. It’s a small room, buddy-”

A sharp pain in his face nearly sends him crashing to his knees. Blood pools onto his tongue but he keeps it there, not wanting to scare the other customers. Through the aching pulse in his head he hears a couple of them gasp.

“Not the time to be smart, kid.”

“Well you’re the ones who decided to rob a Starbucks of all places.”

Before Peter can even suck in a breath, he’s hit three more times, all where the first blow had landed. This time he does fall, and the man kicks him in the ribs for good measure when he’s down. The force of it has him gasping and somewhere in the distance Peter hears a kid crying.

Don’t think about Ben, don’t think about Ben.

“Police are here. Damn it. What do we do?”

Peter hears shuffling as he tries to reorient himself, his head spinning like a top. He only makes it to his elbows before his jacket is grabbed at its shoulder and he’s manhandled to his feet. He sways but stands his ground, wiping the blood off his chin with his sleeve.

“We take him with us.”

Peter doesn’t have the energy to argue as he’s dragged to the entrance by his neck. Through the glass and a rapidly swelling eye, Peter sees a semi circle of police, completely closing off an escape. He thinks he sees a flash of red and gold, too, but he can’t be sure.

“Walk, kid. No funny business.”

And he does, grateful, above everything else, that no one got hurt.

With a forceful shove, Peter is thrown out of the store, the grip on his neck still strong. He knows it’ll bruise in the shape of fingers, that he’ll stare at it in the mirror later and shudder at the memory of the touch.

“Drop your weapons!”

Peter yelps as the back of his knee is kicked in, forcing him to the ground. One of the men grabs his hair, forcing his head back, and sticks his gun underneath his chin. “Make another move and the kid gets it!”

It’s only now that Peter realizes his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him. Tony is here, standing on the sidelines of officers, his eyes blown wide with panic before his expression is cut off by his helmet.

He feels too dazed to be relieved.

“Let the kid go!” he hears one of the officers yell.

“Let us go!”

Peter chuckles again, and he’s not sure why. He feels warm blood dribble down his chin, and the grip tightens in his hair until he’s sure it’s going to be pulled right out of his scalp.

Whatever the men holding him had thought this was going to go, it must not be working, because one of the hisses a “get up” in his ear. Peter tries to listen, but he feels shaky and weak, and mostly just lets himself be dragged. He ends up back against the man’s chest, the gun pressed so forcefully into his temple that the opposite side of his head nearly touches his shoulder.

Only now does he let himself be afraid.

He could die.

Not as Spider-Man, not as a hero, but as himself. Right now. At Starbucks, of all places.

In front of Tony.

His mentor would never forgive himself.

“Walk,” the man hisses in his ear, and Peter stumbles obediently along with them as they step away from the door. The police follow them with their guns but otherwise don’t move.

“Where are you going to run?” Peter chokes. “It’s already too late.”

“Shut up.”

“There’s no way out of this.”

“I said shut up!”

Peter gasps when his head is hit again, his vision whitening at its edges. He must slump because the man struggles to keep him vertical. Somewhere in his fall Peter hears a familiar blast of repulsors and the hostile touch leaves him instantly. He falls to the cement, barely managing to catch himself on his elbows.

There’s a sudden rush of movement and Peter winces at the sheer loudness of it all. He hears muffled curses, boots hitting the pavement, the hostages inside the store cheering-

“Peter?”

And then there’s Iron Man, crouched down beside him and lifting up his chin gently with a metal-clad hand. Peter blinks away his double vision and musters a weak smile. “Hey man,” he wheezes, “coffee break?”

Tony doesn’t laugh like Peter hoped he would. Instead, he feels the armour shift under his arms and he’s lifted up, up and away. He jams his eyes closed at the sudden vertigo and lets out a tense breath when they land together on a nearby rooftop. In a second Tony is out of the suit and sitting beside Peter, his hands ghosting over the blood and bruises on his face.

“Concussion?”

“Look at my face. What do you think?”

“Cut that sass, kid. I have enough for the both of us. Anything else hurt?”

“Uh, my pride?”

“Ha. Funny. Now tell me the real answer.”

Peter sighs, and somewhere in the middle chokes on the blood in his throat. It makes his ribs flare and the wince he makes must be enough for Tony to piece two and two together.

“How bad?” he asks.

“Not bad.”

“Pete-”

“I’m serious! I’ve gotten ten times worse as Spider-Man.”

When Tony looks at him, it’s gentle, and it nearly brings him to tears. “But you weren’t Spider-Man, buddy.”

He sighs again and this time it’s easier. He lays down against the pavement in hopes it’ll stop the world from spinning while Tony hovers beside him like a worried mother hen. “Didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

“So let me guess,” Tony says, “you smart mouthed them.”

“Yep.”

“Course you did.”

Peter groans, poking gingerly at his swelling eye. He can barely see out of it anymore, which is highly unfortunate. “I lost my change. And I didn’t even get my drink.”

“Well, you’re alive, so that’s something.”

“Starbucks is expensive, Tony. I was treating myself.”

“I’ll buy you the whole damn Starbucks company if it’ll stop you from getting your face smashed in.”

Peter laughs at this. It makes his ribs burn. “Deal.”

Tony is quiet for a minute. “Feel up for a flight back home?”

Home.

He smiles.

“Only if we can pick up a coffee on the way.”

“Good God, kid. Look at these grey hairs. No seriously, I want you to look at them.”

Peter huffs out a laugh, head lolling slightly as Tony pulls him back up by his arms. Before they lift off, Peter is surprised when Tony wraps him in a hug. He blinks, then relaxes into it. It feels as if some of his pain is leaking into Tony.

He feels better.

“Thanks for coming,” he whispers.

Tony pulls away, ruffling his hair softly, his scalp still sore. “How couldn’t I? You were smart for once in your life and actually used the panic button I gave you-”

“Smart enough for a coffee?” Peter smirks, a cut on his lip stinging.

Tony looks at him solemnly and shakes his head.

“Grey hairs, Pete. Grey hairs.”

[babayagakeanu]

How Will I Know? -part one

Pairing: Jethro Gibbs/reader 

Summary: in which the reader is hopelessly in love with her boss, who is completely oblivious.

Warnings: none for now

Word count: 1397

A/N: This is my first chapter fic/Gibbs fic ever so pls be nice 🥺

Your boss was known for his elusiveness to technology. He still didn’t know how to properly search the internet on his phone, nor send a comprehendible text. The team and you had teased him for months about his typo on “Caesar salad” in which he actually typed “sexual salad”. You all were confused as to how he managed to type that bad of a typo, but nevertheless, teasing ensued. Tony was doing the most of it while you and Kate were giggling into your paperwork. Gibbs had managed to crack a smile while also getting up to smack  Tony in the head. You were just finishing up the case that the team just solved, and you were looking forward to having a few drinks with your co-workers. You were going to Kate’s after you finished up at your desk to get ready with her before carpooling to the pub that McGee and Abby picked out. 

“Gibbs, are you coming to the pub with us?” Abby asked Gibbs, sitting down in McGee’s lap as he typed some things into the computer. Gibbs grunted, looking up from his papers, stopping to sip his coffee before answering. “Uh, yeah. Sure, why not?” Your stomach sank, knowing that Gibbs was going to be there tonight worried you. Now, you really had to figure out what to wear and how to style your hair. “I might even bring the red-head I met while on the job last week.” You couldn’t stand to hear another word of this so you moved from your desk, setting the file down on Gibbs’ desk, and walking out of the office without a word. Gibbs noticed this, and watched as you left, a pang leaving his gut feeling empty. 

Kate’s apartment was cute, decorated well and felt homey. You had entered with a large duffle bag stuffed with different outfit options and all the makeup you had. 

“Jeez, Y/n, are you going away for a week?” Kate snorts, leading you into the large bedroom in which you two would get ready in. “How are you feeling after today?” You sighed, knowing full well that she would bring what happened between you and Gibbs up when you were to get ready together. “I don’t really know, Kate. I’m disappointed because for once, I thought we were finally getting closer to each other. I mean, he told me about his first wife!”

“Wait! He did?” Kate’s eyes almost bulge out of her head and your response to her is nodding while finishing the final touch of your makeup. Gibbs had opened up to you about his first wife while out on lunch with you. Part of you hoped he was taking you on a date, but then he didn’t ride back home with you after, instead he hopped into a Mercedes with some red-headed chick and sped off. 

“Yep. Then he got up after we finished and left with some other girl.”

“Ouch, wrong move, Gibbs.” You nod, sighing as you looked down at her bed, her sheets forgotten under the mile-high pile of clothing. You opted for some bell bottoms that hugged your curves, and a tube top that tied at your waist and shined under the moonlight. You looked as good as you felt, and were ready to show up Gibbs female toy. You paired the looks with chunky earrings and heels and you and Kate called a cab to make your way to the pub, letting Dinozzo know in the process. 

——

“Gibbs!” Tony called out, watching as his boss lugged beers back to the table in preparation for the others to come. “Y/N and Kate are on their way here!” Gibbs nods and Tony doesn’t know if it’s nerves or Gibbs just hates going out, but he looked worried, like he was hoping for someone to be there. It wasn’t any longer than 10 minutes of awkward silence between Dinozzo and Gibbs before you guys showed up, ironically saving the day. You two looked around the room before you spotted Tony and Gibbs.

“Wow, Y/N looks sex-”

“Wanna finish that sentence, Dinozzo?” Gibbs shoots him a hard glare, a mechanism he can’t control all that well. Tony was right tho, you did look sexy. Your skin glowed even under the dim lighting of the bar and Gibbs eyes gave you an inspection as you walked to the table. He looked on as your hips swayed, your navel looking absolutely sinful. You reached the table and Gibbs cleared his throat, greeting the two of you with a small smirk and a nod. You were relieved to find that Gibbs’ lady friend was there, so you could get tipsy without being so uptight about her being in your general vicinity. You look at your beer, before shaking your head and returning it to the bartender, asking for something else.

“A glass of Bernheim. Neat.” You tell the bartender, and you feel a presence slide in next to you. Hoping it’s not some random, you look to your left to be meet with Gibbs. 

“Didn’t take you for a bourbon girl.” He notes, ordering himself a glass. 

“Correction, bourbon woman.” You point a finger at him, laughing as he rolls his eyes. “My mistake, y/n.” He adds, and there’s a subtle warmth to his tone, like your name was meant to roll off his tongue. There’s a moment of silence before you speak. “Where’s your little lady friend?” His head turns to you and you shrug. “I thought she was coming.” You sip your glass, eyes not moving to glance at him as you finish your sentence. There’s an edge to your voice, and you’re pretty sure Gibbs notices this, but he doesn’t seem to say anything. 

“I’m not seeing her anymore.” he says, signaling the bartender for another round, which you gladly accept, gulping down the amber liquid, not even realizing the agonizing burn in your throat. 

“Oh,” was all you said, and you were glad because while you knew she was Gibbs type, she was uptight and needy, as if she wasn’t her own person without Gibbs. You knew Gibbs’ type. Laidback, easy on the eyes, independent and strong. All things you knew you were yet he still never made a move, insert rule number twelve. 

———————————————————————————————————-

You were on your fourth bourbon and you were edging drunk, but still managed to have your coordination and your voice never slurred. Your arms brushed against Gibbs’ a little, and he got a hint of your perfume; smoky, with a singe of vanilla at the end. You smelled like a warm campfire, and God help him if he didn’t get a little stiff in his pants. 

You stared at him, looking deep into his steely blue eyes and you think back to all the missed lunch dates with him, the flirtatious glances and remarks, his hand brushing against your lower back as he passes you in the office, everything single thing he does, it bothers you because you can’t tell him how you feel because of that fucking rule #12. 

“You know, Gibbs...” You start, “I have to get something off my chest.”

His head turns to you, “Okay.” 

You took a deep breath, letting it out as you spoke. “For a while, I was quiet and apprehensive towards you. It wasn’t because I feared you, but because I respected your work ethic and your boundaries. It wasn’t until we started to go out to lunch together, talking about our daily lives and getting to know each other as more than boss and employee.” You look at him, and find him gazing intently at you. You clear your throat again. “I’m in love with you. All of you, Jethro. You make me feel things that I haven’t felt since my junior year in college. I know about rule number twelve, and if that’s something you can’t break, then consider me gone from this team and you won’t see me again.” A tear slips from your eye, and you quickly wipe it away. 

“How long have you felt this way?” he asks, and you knew you were screwed once you tell him. You were silent, but begrudgingly answer. “Ever since I joined.”

It’s painfully silent, you could hear a pin drop. Your heart breaks when Gibbs gets up from the table, and leaves you to sulk in your bourbon.