#justin hammer is a creep

[lazywriter7]

Written for Stony AUgust over at @stonyauniverse , for week one/alternate professions. 

non functional requirements

There’s a man-shaped twig blocking the door to the lecture hall.

“You coming or you going?”

The twig startles – blue eyes darting under wheat yellow hair. Gwen pulls the worn strap of her tote bag more firmly over her shoulder, MacBook weighing it down, grimacing all the while.

“Sorry.” The twig apologises in a surprisingly deep voice, then opens the door for her. Cute gesture if class hadn’t already started and now she’s gotta squeeze past him through the tiny door.

The guy re-evaluates his chivalry after a couple seconds of awkward silence. He ducks through into the hall but lingers, and Gwen sidesteps him to dump her crap on the floor near the closest seat on the second last row.

“Recording’s kicked off, so we might as well. This is lecture four of System Design Engineering.” The lecturer’s voice crackles over the speakers. Looks like he’s just gotten started, so that gives her a couple minutes to get setup. “Today we’ll be going over NFR’s, or non-functional requirements. What they are, how they’re defined. These can apply to any kind of computing systems, system architectures, front end or backend APIs, you name it. Any kind of – sorry, was that a hand?”

“Morning Tony.” Someone greets from close to the front row. Gwen, who’s waiting for her Macbook to complete its primeval, laborious booting up procedure, feels her shoulders sag even further down. God, not this shit again.

“Did your coffee machine explode again?”

“Implode, and no.” The lecturer – Tony – cracks a brief smile. The band t-shirt he’s got on is mostly just wrinkles, his hair flattened straight down the sides like it hasn’t been washed in a couple days. Really gives Gwen such an inspiring picture to look up to for her own prospective career in academia. “And just for that not-so-subtle commentary on my opening salvo today, I’m gonna teach this entire lecture using a metaphor.”

“Was it Justin Hammer?” Someone else calls from the front. “Did he hog the servers to train machine learning models on LinkedIn posts?”

“Fuck no.” Tony says, and winces immediately in the bout of snickers that erupt. “And now you’ve got me swearing on the recording. Gonna put all of you heathens on a bus to the downtown community college, don’t think I won’t do it.”

The students hush in anticipation. Tony blinks, knuckles at his nose under the wireframe glasses, and looks to the ceiling as if in despair. “I mean. I… pre-emptively apologise, and intend no insult to any students, or family of students listening to this, who may have attended community college. Community college is an institution. Just like… jail.”

“You sure your coffee machine didn’t explode?”

“Shut up Miles.” Tony gestures half-heartedly at the screen behind him, where the slide has finally changed.

Gwen’s brought up her note-taking tool by habit on her up-and-running Mac, but she doesn’t have high hopes. It’s not like the guy doesn’t know his stuff, he’s just easily derailed into tangents and rambles and spicy opinions on SpaceX, and Gwen likes to be systematic about learning new things. Start at the beginning, finish at the end, with preferably zero stand-up material along the way. If she’d wanted jokes, she’d put on a late-night show.

And then to add insult to injury, someone creeps up the side and sinks down on the seat right in front of her, blocking her eyeline to the lower third of the screen. The bluish light dances silver over the light-coloured mop of hair… it’s the twiggy dude, from the doorway. Did he just find a seat?

“Think about a relationship.” Tony’s saying, up at the lectern. “Parent and child, cousins twice removed, romantic partners. Whoever. There are the expectations, the responsibilities… the requirements, you could say, which are obviously defined and the bare minimum for the relationship to exist. If you’re a parent, you gotta house and feed your kid. If you don’t do that, you fail at the basic requirements of being a parent. So if you turn up with your deadbeat ass at your kid’s wedding, they’re justified to go all, ‘you’re not my dad’.”

A guy in the third row raises a pen into the air. “Can I explain it like that in the exam?”

“I’m not going to be the only one marking, Ganke, so I’d actively encourage it.” Kinda nice, how he remembered so many names though. Gwen has been in this course for six months and only knows faces. “However, there are certain requirements which may not be essential for the relationship to be defined and functional but are still important. Like if your parent loves you.” A twitch. “Loves the kid, that is.”

In the seat ahead of her, Twig’s shoulders have risen up to his ears, frame gone all stiff. Gwen bites back a sigh and moves over to the next seat, just to eliminate the distraction.

She thinks about Dad in the next breath, awkwardly jabbing at his cereal and darting glances at her over the table, and immediately shoves it down.

“You might be tempted to think of it as how good a system is at fulfilling a base requirement – like how good of a parent they are, depending on if they do or don’t love you. And that’s not incorrect; whether a website is able to serve a high volume of traffic, or have an uptime of ninety nine percent, is absolutely about how good it is at serving its base requirement, which is to present an accessible resource over the internet. But if the thresholds of those non-functional requirements aren’t met, if the website keeps throwing a 404 more frequently than is acceptable, then it impedes said basic requirement. Even though uptime isn’t in the strict definition of the deliverable. You feel me?”

Silence. Someone from the far end meekly chirps a yes.

“Ohhkay.” Tony paces out from behind the lectern, keen eyes scanning the room like he’s actually, really invested. That’s… that’s a nice thing about him too. “Imagine I’m in a relationship, right? My partner and I, we define what a romantic relationship means to us and what we expect of each other going in. Like… monogamy, maybe. Or meeting at least once a week. So as long as I don’t go cruising, or ghost this guy for a month, I’m technically fulfilling my promises as a boyfriend. Those are your functional requirements.”

There’s a tiny murmur in the room at ‘guy’, but it dies out quick. Not exactly a surprise from the man who wears bi flag-coloured sunglasses to Orientation week.

“But to the enlightened, relationships are about more than that.” Tony’s lips curl at one end, like the words amuse him. Or that he’s speaking them? “Dependability. Emotional support. Prioritising the other person’s needs. All that chicken soup for the soul stuff; your non-functional requirements.”

“So I gotta think about it, the third time I reschedule date night. Get lost in a work thing and forget to respond to a text. Several texts. Forget to buy the milk, even though he told me to and put a reminder on my phone. Make life decisions on my own. These things take… a toll.” Tony isn’t making eye contact with the crowd anymore. His eyes skitter up to the ceiling and away again, restless even as his voice continues on methodically. “Maybe my partner can put up with it. Does put up with it. But just because I’m serving the base functionality of a romantic partner, doesn’t mean I can ignore these things. These are also essential to the health of the relationship.”

“But you gotta design for that. I can’t sit there like a dimwit going, ‘oh I’ll just do better next time’ and expect it to magically happen. That I’ll just… be better, with no effort on my part aside from intending to.” Gwen drops her eyes to the plastic tabletop, scratches and pen marks running over the surface. This is weirdly intense. “I have to have the right system in place. Maybe I vow to reply to a text every time I’m downing a cup of coffee. Set up regular delivery orders for milk online. Make it to the date, even if it is an hour too late and not in the place I wanted, just so we’re there together. Plan in advance so that things can get better, instead of crossing fingers and blowing on an eyelash. Do the work.”

She lifts her gaze by an inch, still vaguely discomfited, and catches Twig’s jaw clenching in profile, limned by the light of the screen. He shifts in his seat, raises a fist to wipe brusquely at something under his eye. It’s all very quiet. Tightly controlled.

“And that’s how systems need to function. Sure your primary focus is to get the thing up and running, but you need to think about performance, and security, and reliability when you’re architecting a solution. Two weeks before go live is not the time to realise that you’re pulling from an old-timey relational database when you actually needed caching. That the base components of your system just… don’t work together the way you want.” Tony pauses, blinks a couple times. Like his words have outstripped his thoughts and it’s all starting to come together. Form an obvious conclusion. His mouth turns down, goes wry again. “It gets real expensive to fix things then.”

And so it continues. The hour goes by faster than usual, Gwen startling a little by the time Tony wraps up the lecture, a whole five minutes before time like he always prefers to do.

Or… plans to do, perhaps. Mid-morning lectures, people usually have to empty out of these halls fast to get to the next one, but there’s a disordered cluster of students still lingering around the lectern, shooting the shit and exchanging laughs with Tony. He looks visibly better at the end of the hour, more energetic than he did at the start of the lecture. Like it actually rejuvenated him – which isn’t the worst ideal to look up to as a prospective academic.

Whatever, Gwen isn’t getting ahead of herself. She’s got band to get to.

 Of course, when she stuffs her laptop into the tote bag and does a brief check to make sure everything’s in there, she can’t see her fob. Can’t get into the rehearsal room without it, so she gropes for it fruitlessly for a couple of minutes, before resorting to dumping the bag out on her seat. Chocolate wrappers flutter to the ground, a pen cap without a pen rolling down to join them. Handouts from her other classes, worksheets, one physical notebook, a set of drumsticks… no fob.

Ugh. She ducks under her seat to check, nose twitching as the longer end of her bangs ruffle past. There, small and plasticky-blue against the maroon carpet. Fishing it out through the tiny gap is an ordeal, and by the time she has it secure in her pocket, the hall’s empty.

Or not quite. She’s shovelling her stuff one-handed while pacing up the stairs to the exit, when, “–mean to show up at your place of work.”

“You’re my boyfriend Steven, not a stalker. It’s fine.”

Hang on. What?

Tony and some guy – Twig, she can tell by the bony shoulders – Steven, are standing in front of the door. Tony and his boyfriend. Who was in their class. Who was probably not in their class, just physically present in this… particular class.

Tony seems to be frenetically running through similar thoughts, because his mouth just doesn’t stop moving, hands gesturing through the air like a conductor gone loose. “Well, not fine fine. I guess, considering what I – considering all of the… I didn’t know you were in the audience, obviously. I’ll just do as Taylor does and write a song about it the next time.”

Fuck. Can she just… push past them, really quickly? Or right in the middle of them. She’s been to parties where she doesn’t know anybody before, this can’t be any more awkward than that. Probably.

Steven’s already thin lips press tight together. He’s standing very, very straight, not a thing to criticise in that posture. Captain Stacy would be proud.

“Are we,” He starts, deep voice as startling out of that reed-thin frame as it was the first time, stumbling over the words just a little, “breaking up then?”

“What?” Tony breathes, and it’s like it’s stoppered his flow of thought completely.

Steven’s lips flicker up weakly. “You said Taylor.”

“No, no,” Tony’s hands flutter again – he pulls them back and tucks them close over his chest, just a little protective. “Stupid joke, you know me.” And then, just a little wry. “Of all the times to know a modern music reference.”

It’s like he’s laying out bait, an easy diversion. Steven could say something about preferring The Beatles and they needn’t tug on this line of thought, make things unravel.

Maybe it’s why Gwen hasn’t cleared her throat or done anything to clue them off to her presence yet. Something in her is so discomfited, twisted up with the second-hand awkwardness – she can’t let them go on but it would be worse if they saw her – but there’s also a second voice in her head, the one that’s good at moderating and peeling people open from a distance.

if you stop them talking now, when will they try again?

Steven doesn’t take the bait. Something in him strains like he wants to take a step forward, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he says quietly – “I do know you.”

“I know how much you think about us. How much it matters to you to get things right, and I guess I just…” Steven’s mouth purses, soft and unhappy, “take it for granted, all of that work, because it just happens to be who you are. Who you’ve chosen to be.”

“Steve, don’t – we’re both workaholics–”

“We are.” Steve acquiesces, but the words that follow sound implacable. “But you plan around it. Every single thing you said in the lecture, you… you booked those regular grocery deliveries for us, and I cribbed at you about it because they deliver in those plastic bags and the emissions from the delivery trucks–”

“It was a valid fucking point–”

“It was a stupid point, and you were right to tell me that.” Steve says it without hesitation. “I cancelled on our weekend away, again, and you were right to call me out on that this morning too. You just don’t…” A little softer. “Sometimes you don’t say anything.”

A beat.

Tony unfolds his arms, eyes fixed somewhere off-centre around Steve’s collarbone. His voice has dropped to match Steve’s, simmering with something indecipherable. “I was really… happy when you agreed to be with me. Stunned out of my head, sure. But happy. I wanted to get it right. It would have never occurred to me to… with our history, with my history, it just didn’t compute sometimes that…”

Steve cuts in, mouth twisting with it. “That I’d be the screw-up in the relationship?”

“Careful sweetheart.” Tony lifts his eyes, and they’re still warm. “Name-calling is my department.”

But he seems to be taking Steve’s previous words to heart.

“I know…” He swallows. Drops his hands completely, lifts his chin and talks. “I know how much that place means to you, I know how much you’d have killed to have a queer shelter in the neighbourhood, heck in the city, growing up like you did. I want someone who cares about what they do, I’d have been bored to shit with a person coasting by on a job that meant nothing to them. You wanna do paperwork till one am, I’ll be right there on the couch with you marking papers. That is fine, the donations from your own pocket are – don’t cut me off Steve – are fine, even if it is a little like Mrs. March teaching the kids to give away their Christmas meal to the less fortunate. That’s the guy I chose to be with.”

“You need to save the world. You can’t help yourself.” Tony bit into his lip, smile here and gone in a flash. “And I’m just a guy who teaches a couple university classes, while trying to get a startup off the ground for the last five years. But this morning when you…” He sucks in a breath, exhales it soundlessly. “When you looked like you couldn’t imagine how I’d think we wouldn’t cancel… how you disdained the idea of. Of spending time with me, instead of saving the world. Then it felt pretty shitty.”

For a moment, Steve doesn’t say anything at all. His face is pale, cheeks lost of any colour. His eyes have gone red. “I. I’m sorry.”

Tony clears his throat, voice forcibly bright. “Not gonna say you’d never think like that?”

“… doesn’t matter.” Steve says simply. “It’s how I made you feel.”

“There are those unrealistic moral principles I know and love.” Tony’s smiling, only a little watery around the edges. He moves into Steve’s motionless frame, hands reaching out again, this time to catch him by the elbows and smooth down to hang onto his wrists. “We’ll work on it.”

Steve is staring down at their hands, both like they’re condemned and something miraculous. “In the lecture. When you said that the components of the system didn’t work together the way you’d want…”

He looks up. Tony meets his eyes, gives a little shrug. “A better guy would know how important what you’re doing is. Would maybe resent its importance a little less.”

“Tony, I’m not a better person than you are.” Steve’s voice is thick, almost choking with the entreaty. His hands turn in Tony’s loose clasp, gripping back tightly. “Tony.”

Tony gives a little burble of a laugh. Bends over low, forehead brushing Steve’s shoulder. “We’ll work on me too.”

They lean into each other for a moment. Tony’s face is almost hidden behind Steve’s golden locks. “I don’t really care, if you’re better or worse than me. I’m keeping you.”

Steve pulls back. Leans up a fraction to press their lips together, both their eyes fluttering shut.

They pull apart, smiles pulling up on those mouths like mirroring sunrises. Steve leans in for another peck, then quietly pushes the door to step outside. Tony follows him.

 Gwen sits down on the floor, fifteen metres away, laptop thunking into the carpet. She bends her head down to her belly, and breathes.

Fuck, she’s going to feel the anxiety of this in her back for weeks.

Band practice is a loss. The entire morning might be a loss. She needs a cupcake, and some grunge music. But even as vague ideas for the upcoming day begin to coalesce, she can feel a curious lightness shoot through her body. Like she can take it. The aches and pains, the barista shift in the afternoon. Like the world is alright, actually, and she’s not gonna keel over just yet.

This is why she doesn’t watch rom-coms.

She pulls herself up eventually and finally exits the hall. And there, by himself in the corner, completely failing to look like he’s doing anything but waiting for her – is Tony.

The world is a nightmare. She doesn’t stutter. “Did you know I was in there?”

Tony looks like he’d be rubbing the back of his neck abashedly, if he were that kind of guy. Instead, he visibly decides to brazen it out. “Not until the last thirty seconds before we left.”

Small mercies.

“Were you… did you have something to talk to me about? My office hours are 2-3, but–”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Gwen interrupts, entirely out of patience. That’s what’s going through his head right now?

Tony shuts his mouth with a click, eyebrows rising.

“There’s nothing.” Gwen forces. And then, just as involuntary as the swear – “You’re a good teacher.”

Tony blinks. Gwen remembers him bantering about with her classmates, not losing a step.

“Thanks, Gwen.” His nose looks a little red. So do the very tops of his cheeks. He looks unaccountably pleased.

Gwen’s lips tilt up.

“You could do better than him, you know.”

“I wouldn’t want to.” Tony beams at her. Turns around, waves two fingers. “See you next week.”

The rehearsal hall is in the same direction that he’s walking in. Gwen unerringly walks the other way. By the time she loops the quad and makes it there, she’ll have thirty minutes left. Half of band practice is better than none.

She taps a rhythm on her outer thigh, blows a strand of her bangs out of the eyes. Tugs the tote bag higher up. Band, then lunch, and then maybe she can call her dad.

[satashiiwrites]

Snippet sunday/wip whenever

tagged by @outtoshatter for a wip whenever/snippet sunday. Tagging the usual suspects: @monsterrae1 @missanniewhimsy @quietborderline @westernlarch @rosieposiepuddingnpie @whimsyswastry @tkwritesdumbassassins @alyxmastershipper with no pressure tagging—this is just for fun.

From my July Rough Trade.

Title: Scintillation, chapter 4B

Pairing: main Winteriron, one sided Stucky, Erik Killmonger/T’Challa

Fandom: MCU

tags/warnings: canon typical violence, covers a lot of the events of Iron Man 2 with Tony’s inner commentary. First draft. Non-linear storytelling. Sentinel/guide AU. Tony is not a fan of Natasha atm.

Someone goes through a lot of effort to break Vanko out and make it look like he died.

Tony’s money is split between Senator Dickwad and North Korea—he’s leaning toward Stern, with maybe someone like Justin Hammer whispering bad ideas in his ear.  

Rhodey is smarter than doing something this dangerous and stupid, and he immediately messages saying it wasn’t him. Unfortunately, Rhodey also has zero idea which dark and damp hole Vanko has disappeared into. 

Tony instructs Jarvis to keep digging. Eventually, someone will make a mistake, and he’ll know where the Russian is. In the meantime, Tony gathers as much information as possible on Ivan and Anton Vanko. It turns out dear old Dad had known Anton, but the son is a thief and sold weapons to terrorists—even the Russians felt he deserved to be locked up and the key tossed away. 

Russian prisons are brutal. Tony’s been around the block before and met former prisoners, but Vanko makes his skin crawl more than usual. 

His data mining is interrupted by Rhodey warning him that he’s on thin ice with the military. Stern is doing everything in his not-inconsiderable power to try and force the turnover of Tony’s suits to the military, which Tony’s been trying to prevent for the last year. 

When will everyone understand that it’s the man within the suit that makes Iron Man special—not the prosthetics he wears? He wasn’t kidding in his senate testimony when he called the suit a prosthetic. It’s an extension of him and gives him possibilities, but it’s still his decision to pull the trigger and his brain marking targets. 

Take away the human element, and you’re looking at something worse than what happened in Gulmira. 

He won’t let that happen. 

So… he maybe wrecks his own party and house—it’ll make it easier for Pep to redecorate later so she can remove the parts that are too painful to remember about him. He has to push Rhodey to do what Tony needs him to do. If he just asked Rhodey, the man would focus too much on trying to save Tony that he’d defer taking what Tony wants him to have. 

He’s known Rhodey for a long time, and Tony is very aware of exactly when he crosses the line and can’t be ignored anymore. 

Tony needs to know Rhodey will take the shot when it matters. 

Rhodey does, and he takes the suit—or, as Rhodey later puts it, commandeers it. 

You stole it, Honey Bear, and I let you.

Tony is sleeping off the battle and maybe has a slight hangover when he wakes with a craving for donuts. His donut time is interrupted by none other than his royal sneakiness and wannabe pirate, Nick Fury. 

Fury gets in his face and is unimpressed by Tony’s chatter that’s designed to irritate and confuse. 

“I’m the realest person you’re ever going to meet,” Fury insists, but the effect is ruined by the smell of cherries coming from his mouth from the donut he’d just eaten. 

He’s also infuriatingly observant and points out the taint from the palladium that’s starting to creep up Tony’s neck. “What is that? It doesn’t look good.”

Tony is maybe hiding behind his sunglasses like a petulant child. He has a plan and wants to die in peace without being hassled by the spy of spies. 

“I’ve been worse.” He means hangovers, but Fury doesn’t take the line he’s selling. 

Of course, that’s when Natalie Rushman—I’m sorry, Natasha Romanoff—makes her presence known. She’s one of Fury’s pets. He should have known. That’s why she felt like silk stretched over solid steel.  

Tony thinks her ass looks good in her leather suit, but the hair hanging loose in curls is impractical. Pep would be on his side and snarkily observe that capes and long hair are terrible if you’re going to be in the superhero business. She-spy should take note. 

“We’ve secured the perimeter, but I don’t think we should hold it for too much longer,” she informs Fury, ignoring Tony. 

He immediately fires her, which she smugly informs him isn’t up to him, sitting next to Fury and snagging one of Tony’s donuts. 

Uncharitably, Tony hopes she chokes on it. 

[cute-and-undead]

Jackie gave a confirming nod, his pout turning into a little smirk as he remembered it. He sent Justin falling far, having honestly surprised himself a little with the damage done since he usually didn't hurt people that way. But it was oddly satisfying to see that it was being turned against the other demon like this.

When Anti began walking over to him though, Jackie got a little confused and straightened up a bit. Was something wrong? Should he not have said that? It seemed like the back and forth was common in situations like this if his own session was anything to go by, so he was just trying to help Anti out.

And then he was hit with a question he hadn't been expecting. Of course Jackie knew Anti would get the job done, he never doubted it. He mostly just wanted to see it in person for his own sanity. But, Anti had a good point. Sessions were incredibly brutal. Even with his own session, he didn't see it to the end. They let him and Star go after he fucked up Justin.

Yet there was still a fire in the back of his mind, one that kept slowly creeping closer to the front.

"If.. If its okay, maybe I could help out.. just a bit?" he asked. "You know how to do this better than I do, I just.. I don't think I really had the chance to hammer in my point earlier." he confessed with a half-hearted chuckle.

Scary Promotion [ x ]

@cute-and-undead

It was a seemingly normal day at the septic household, things going by as per usual. Anti was down in Hell doing work in his office while Star spent time with Jackie, it being one of his days off. Some of the other guys were around as well since they liked to coordinate their off days. Unfortunately, the only reason Anti wasn't there was because he had something important to finish.

The day was going by smoothly, Star and Jackie hanging out in the livingroom and chatting while finishing up a snack. Star was just getting up to grab some napkins when Anti suddenly appeared in the entryway, bursting into the room. He was slightly out of breath, holding the doorway as he looked at the two of them.

"Good, you're still here-" he breathed out, trying to catch his breath. "I've- I've got some news... fuck, lemme catch my breath."

[cagestark]

-Defender//3-

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Longest chapter by far...enjoy. ;) let me know what you think.

warnings: rape is mention in a strictly theoretical sense, but non-consensual groping is referenced.

read here on AO3.

-

‘Whatever kids do’ (I’m twenty fucking years old, Peter thinks to himself) turns out to be just sitting in his room, climbing the walls. Literally. Unfortunately, there aren’t any spiders making nests in the corners of the room, but at least he tried to find kin.

He takes the plastic bag out of his backpack, the one that hold his trackphone and charger. Now with an increased paycheck, he’ll be able to afford a real phone, one that he doesn’t have to risk turning on just once or twice a day to preserve the battery. There aren’t any messages, but Peter hadn’t really expected any different. He turns it off and tucks it back into the waterproof bag.

After a time, Peter begins to feel like maybe he’s hiding in his room. He’s hungry—and he lives here now, right, so why shouldn’t he just go out into the kitchen and make himself a sandwich? But every time he reaches for the doorknob, he chickens out. What if Mr. Stark is out there? Peter’s dressed in the only casual clothes he owns, a pair of warm sweatpants and a long-sleeve flannel shirt. Hardly appropriate attire to be seen in by a billionaire. By Tony Stark.

But the hunger wins out sometime around eight in the evening. So he carefully nudges the door to his room open and slips out.

He swallows a gasp, heart hammering when he spots Tony sitting on the leather couch with his socked feet up on the coffee table. Schematics are scattered everywhere, and his StarkPad is displaying something in 3D—fuck that’s so cool. The television is on, muted, the History channel playing a documentary on Ancient Egypt. A glass of mostly empty whiskey sits perched in one of the man’s tanned hands.

Quiet as he tried to be, some noise must slip out because Tony’s head turns. He looks wide awake for the late hour. “Hey, kid,” Tony says, eyebrows lifting. “You’re so quiet in there, I honestly forgot you were here.”

“I get that a lot,” Peter mumbles. He points to the kitchen, one hand absently trying to pat at his curls and decide if he looks like a hot-mess or just a mess-mess. “Can I get something to eat?”

“Mi casa es su casa, now. Literally. Help yourself to whatever you like, and if you want to keep me from eating something, put your name on it or hide it behind the vegetables.”

Peter snorts. “Noted. I just didn’t know if I was like, supposed to pay for my own groceries first. I don’t have any money.” He’s been spending his SI checks on motel rooms so that he’s not sleeping outdoors, but the other man doesn’t need to know that.

“Nobody pays for their groceries,” Tony says absently, already looking back to the hologram projected by his StarkPad. He prods at something with the end of his pencil. “Just eat what you want and let me know if you want me to order you something special.”

“Nobody pays for their food?” Peter mutters, looking into the refrigerator. It’s stocked with everything he could possibly want, and several things he can’t even name: fruits of strange shapes and colors, cheeses that smell nothing like cheese, milk that doesn’t come from a cow. “You just buy all the Avengers food, all the time?”

“I am the Avengers’ wallet, kid,” says Tony. “I house them, I buy them whatever they need, I upgrade their suits and weapons, provide any special technologies my brain can cook-up. I provide most of the paycheck—but SHIELD does help. Truth be told, the risk of the job isn’t worth what it pays, so if that’s why you said yes, you might want to rethink things.”

“No offense,” says Peter, sitting at the stool by the marble countertop. He has three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in front of him made with crunchy peanut butter and organic raspberry jelly and wheat bread that is thick and brown and fragrant. His mouth waters. “But you’ve spoken like a true billionaire. Money and security? That’s worth everything.”

Tony stops what he’s doing. He puts his StarkPad down to rest in his lap, and the look on his face—Peter can’t pin it down, but it makes his shoulders hunch. Did he say something wrong?

“No offense, but you’ve spoken like a Dickensian protagonist. It’s worth everything?” Tony repeats. “Worth dying for?”

Peter shrugs. “If I’m dead, who cares. It’s worth almost dying for, though. Or at least—it is to me.”

Tony’s expression makes him look ten years older than he is, Atlas with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Peter, if you need financial security—I can take care of that. Look, I can fill in a lot of the blanks when it comes to your past and how you’ve had to rough it, but here at SI we take care of our own. You don’t need to be an Avenger to eat, to have a place to sleep, to get healthcare. Jesus, you’re only twenty years old; you have your whole life ahead of you. To be honest, kid, this business doesn’t really guarantee longevity. There isn’t a retirement plan.”

Peter stares. His eyes burn but he isn’t a crier. He cried at May’s ‘funeral’, when he couldn’t afford to bury her and they’d cremated her instead—and he’d promised himself that it was the last time he’d cry for as long as he lived. So he doesn’t cry now, but he kind of wants to. In his mind he sees Ben, sees the man who killed him, feels the helplessness and the guilt all over again.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” he says. He pauses to clear his throat so it doesn’t sound choked. Peanut butter is sticky; that’s all. “But you don’t know everything about my past. I’m not just doing this for the money.”

The silence lays thick between them, broken only when Tony nods and says, “That’s fair. Would you do me a favor and bring me a beer while you’re over there? Bottom shelf. Behind the quinoa.”

Peter has no fucking idea what quinoa is, but the refrigerator isn’t Mary Poppin’s purse or something, so he finds the beer towards the back eventually and grabs a bottle for the older man. There aren’t many left, and Peter sees that it’s because several empty bottles are sitting in a row by Tony’s feet. The stuff looks expensive, has a foreign label in a language that Peter can’t even identify, much less read. He crosses the room to deliver the bottle to the man’s waiting hand.

Tony goes to drink it and bumps the cap against his lip. Peter snorts.

“Cut me some slack,” Tony says around a smile. “I haven’t slept since your little nighttime creepy crawly act on my building. This takes a bottle opener anyway—no, no, I’ll get it, you just sit and eat, you’ve done enough for me—”

Peter takes the bottle and pops the cap with his bare hands. All the beer he’s ever seen were cheap screw-off tops, or he would have rummaged through the drawers for a bottle opener for the man earlier. It isn’t until he’s handing the bottle back and sees Tony’s wide-eyed expression that he realizes not everybody can pop a bottle cap with their thumb.  

“You weren’t kidding about how strong you are,” Tony says.

Peter just shakes his head, slow.

Tony points to the sandwiches on the counter. “I was just about to order in Chinese. What do you think? Better than PB&J?”

Mr. Stark clears the coffee table of his work and orders Chinese from a place he swears is the most authentic place in NYC. Then they spend fifteen minutes arguing about whether to start watching the Star Wars movies at the prequels or originals (because the documentary on TV is a snoozefest, which is why Tony was trying to watch it while he worked). Tony finally concedes to Peter’s persuasion, but Peter sees him smiling around the neck of his bottle as he takes a generous sip.

They put on the Phantom Menace.

“So tell me about yourself,” Tony says after the Chinese has arrived, sitting in various boxes scattered across the glass coffee table. He ordered an inordinate amount, and Peter plans to make sure that absolutely no grain of rice goes to waste, thanking the older man between bites. “I know more about your scopulae than I do you—and that’s not a weird metaphor.”

Suddenly Peter’s stomach isn’t used to being so full, and it rolls a little with nausea. He sets his plate down to let it settle.

“You made it sound like you already knew everything about me. What do you want to know?” he asks. He’s keenly aware of how painful his life has been. It sounds like a Shakespearean tragedy when he plays it out in his head: his parents’ untimely deaths, seeing his Uncle murdered (his fault, all Peter’s fault—), then his aunt passing away from illness. Losing the apartment. Living on the streets and in shelters and in any buildings he could scale or break into.

“Whatever you want to tell, kid,” says Tony. “It’s not an interview or an interrogation. FRI says you’re a native of Queens.”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “Yeah. I’m from Queens.”

“I’m sorry,” says Tony gravely.

Peter smiles. “Queens isn’t bad, really.”

“Any family?” Tony asks. He stares at the screen where Qui-gon Jinn and Obi-Wan are bickering and takes a swig from the long-necked bottle, casual as can be, like he knows the answer is heavy but they have to get it out of the way.

The smile slips from Peter’s face. He shakes his head. “I’m alone.”

“No, you aren’t,” Tony says with conviction. “You’re an Avenger now. We’re all assholes, but we watch out for each other. It really is a family of sorts. A dysfunctional family, with an aunt who’s great at murder, a centennial grandfather, and an uncle who drinks too much, but such is life, right?”

“Who are you in that scenario?” Peter laughs. Something settles in Peter’s stomach, warm, like hot chocolate after coming in from the cold. Tony is so fucking nice. How does this man have everything? Looks, brains, money, and kindness.

“Wasn’t it obvious?” Tony holds up the beer bottle. “I’m the uncle who overindulges.”

At that moment, a noise pierces the air. Peter jumps, heart hammering. “What’s that?” He asks.

“Just the bell, kid, no worries. FRI, who is it baby?”

“Captain Rogers, sir.”

Both of them go stiff in their seats. After a moment, Tony relaxes again, but Peter can’t let his guard down, not when that name makes his muscles clench in anticipation for a fight, when it makes his scalp prickle with anxiety and warning. “Let him in,” Tony says, standing. By the time Captain Rogers appears, Tony has a beer out for him.

Steve stops when he sees Peter sitting on the couch. The blond takes it all in: the movie on screen, the mostly-eaten food, the empty beer bottles on the table (which he eyes with disapproval). It must look like Peter and Tony are very familiar with each other, Peter in his pajamas, Tony in just his jeans and the wifebeater that was under his t-shirt while he worked down in the lab.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony says. He holds up the bottle. “Drink?”

“No thanks, Tony. Can I talk to you outside?” The look he gives Peter is apologetic enough. “Sorry kid, you aren’t an official Avenger yet until your induction, or I wouldn’t bother with all the secrecy.”

“It’s fine,” Peter says stiffly.

“I’ll be just a minute, Pete,” Tony says. They step outside.

-

Peter hears everything through the walls from his seat on the couch. The television plays but does nothing to disguise the raised voices from beyond the door. Peter wishes he could see their faces, but (no matter how cool it would have been) he didn’t develop x-ray vision from the spider bite. Maybe it’s for the best—maybe Peter couldn’t be held responsible for his actions otherwise.

“What’s going on between you two?” Steve asks.

“What are you talking about? We were eating Chinese and watching Star Wars.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little inappropriate?”

“I sure as hell did, but he insisted that we start with the Phantom Menace and not A New Hope—”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Are you grooming him?” Steve sounds horrified at the thought, and Peter can’t assess his face to tell if he’s sincere or not. “A homeless kid you found, and suddenly you’re giving him a room in your penthouse, a job, you’re spending the day with him in the lab? And now, what, you’re plying him with alcohol?”

“I am not grooming Peter,” Tony says. His voice sounds firm. Good! Peter thinks. “He’s in there drinking a goddamn Coke. To be honest, I’m shocked that you even know the term, I didn’t think grooming officially existed in the Stone Age—”

“I take all the classes SHIELD requires of me to lead the team and keep people safe, even from attacks that aren’t always with fists or alien tech. Grooming has always existed; as long as there is prey, there are predators looking—”

“Peter is not prey, he could fucking snap me in half—!”

“But not if you make him like you, is that it? Not if he thinks he owes you—”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

The silence after that lasts a moment too long, and Peter shuts his eyes. Because he can hear more in that silence than he did in Tony’s exclamation—Tony is beginning to doubt himself. He’s beginning to believe the worst in himself. They’ve only known each other for forty-eight hours, but Peter already feels like he knows Tony better than the people around him: the painful vulnerability, the intense self-criticism.

“Look, if it will make everyone feel better, I’ll move his room—”

“God damn it,” Peter hisses.

“—maybe Vision wouldn’t mind rooming up here with me. I’m practically his father, or—something.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Steve says magnanimously.

“I bet you do, asshole,” Peter mutters.

“Is this all you came up here for?” Tony asks. “To read me the riot act over treating the kid like I’d treat any of you—if any of you liked me enough to invite me to your get-togethers or to accept my offers to join me up here—”

“I had a reason. Here,” something is exchanged hands, the rustle of paper. “Fury’s background check on Queens in there. It’s very thorough and enlightening—”

“And not my business,” Tony says. “This is confidential even by SHIELD standards—do I have clearance to have this?”

“I thought there was something in there that might be important for you to know. The kid used to work for Hammer Industries.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Well, this is it. It was lovely, folks! Peter should just pack his bag now. Maybe the windows in his room open so he can slip out and scale the side of the building. For a moment he thinks about how it might feel to just let himself fall. Now that he’s tasted this bite of a better life, returning to his old ways will be even more painful. But Peter doesn’t even know if the fall would kill him—

“Hammer Industries?” Tony says at length. “He definitely upgraded.”

“I want to look out for you, Tony,” Steve says.

Peter doesn’t believe a word of that.

The worst part of all is that he has to sit there on the couch and pretend like he hasn’t heard the entire conversation. How can he explain—how he’s always had a passion for tech, how he never even dreamed of being able to work at Stark Industries, so he’d shot for the moon instead of the stars, settling at Hammer Industries. Only the place had been a shitheap with a perverted boss and Peter saved up enough to cut his losses, and then Stark Industries had accepted him! Even working on machines in the maintenance department…it was more than Peter had ever dreamed.

But Tony doesn’t know that. The look on his face when he comes back in the room is grave.

“Hey kid,” he says. “Sorry I missed some of the movie.”

“It’s okay,” Peter lies.

Tony sits back down on the couch, as far away from Peter as he possibly can. He doesn’t take a single sip more of alcohol, and while he is friendly enough when Peter asks him a question, he doesn’t let himself be roped into conversation anymore. He stares at the television screen like he’s seeing through it, and Peter feels it slipping away—his chances at being close with Tony crumbling like sand through his fingers.

What he decides to do is to say something. Anything.

What he does is scoot across the couch and climb into the man’s lap, straddling the strong thighs. Tony looks at him like two separate heads have sprouted from his ears. Instinct has him pushing at Peter sharply, and it’s only Peter’s enhanced sense of balance and grip that has him twisting to avoid being pushed flat onto the glass coffee table. He lands like a cat in the slim space between the sofa and the coffee table.

“Get off of me—”

“Please let me explain—”

“Explain what?” The man swallows, heavily, staring down at where Peter kneels between his thighs. The sound is loud to Peter’s ears; he can hear it all, the pounding heart too. “Jesus Christ, you don’t need to be in my lap to have a conversation with me, do you?”

“I did work for Hammer Industries,” Peter says. “But I worked maintenance for them, too. They were shit, they treated us like shit, Hammer was a creep who used to grab my ass in the hallways, and I quit before I even had another job, that’s how desperate I was to get away.”

“You heard all that?” Tony asks, eyes wide enough to show white all around the dark iris. “Fuck, kid, eavesdropping—?”

“I have enhanced senses,” Peter pleads. “I can hear everything if it’s close enough. I can hear the Avengers on the floor below us when they’ve got a movie turned up too loud, I just, I didn’t want to say anything because it’s so creepy, but I can’t help it, and, and—”

“Hey, calm down. Here, will you get up? You’re going to give me a heart attack. Come sit on the couch, we’ll talk.”

They resume their seats on opposite ends of the couch. Peter looks down at his shaking hands, clenches them tight until his knuckles go white, but it’s not just his hands: his whole body shakes. Peter has never been gifted with words, something that has only became worse after the passing of his aunt, when he had no one to talk to. If all of this—the chance to be around Tony, the penthouse, the Avengers—if it all relies on Peter talking his way into it…then he’s doomed.

Tony scrubs at his face with a weathered hand. He looks exhausted. “I’m really sorry that you heard all of that out there,” he says at length.

“None of it was true,” Peter blurts. His blood thrums when he remembers all of Steve’s words. “You aren’t grooming me. Not to mention, I’m a fucking adult.”

“A vulnerable one,” concedes Tony.

“So are you,” Peter says through his teeth. “Everybody is vulnerable to something. You want to pity homeless youth, go find one who is really suffering. I’m enhanced! I can climb walls even in the rain to get somewhere safe and dry. I don’t have to worry about anyone mugging me or, or raping me, because I could just pull their arms and legs off. I’m not vulnerable. I’m just—”

“Just what,” asks Tony, motioning with a hand when the younger man’s words cut off. “Go on, kid. I’m listening to you.”

“I’m just a guy who—who is finally getting everything that he wanted,” Peter says. All the anger is sapped from his veins now, and he feels old and heavy and tired, his eyes burning traitorously until he blinks them clear and dry. “I’ve wanted to work with science since I was old enough to go to school. But I don’t have an education, I don’t have a degree. I didn’t even finish high school. Places only hire me for grunt work, but I’m good with machines. I figured maybe I could, could work my way up. To something. Working at Stark Industries was just a pipe dream. I never thought I’d get a chance, but my Aunt May…she used to say that I’m too pessimistic, and I should open myself up to good things, because good things will happen.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away Mr. Stark.”

“Peter—it’s okay. I wasn’t worried about you working at Hammer Industries as it was. Hammer isn’t clever enough to infiltrate my building, and even if he were? My secrets are a lot harder to steal than anyone might think. If FRIDAY had seen you doing anything suspicious, she would have notified me in a heartbeat. That’s all shit; I know that.” Tony clears his throat. “But Cap was right about one thing. I don’t want you getting ideas in your head, that you have to treat me a certain way to stay on the team and in the Tower, or that I expect any treatment like that.”

Peter groans. “I don’t think that. I’m not twelve. Besides, the other Avengers treat you like shit, and you keep them around—”

“Hey,” says Tony, raising his voice a little. “They don’t treat me like shit, so knock it off. Having you up here in the penthouse does give the wrong impression. I don’t want you or anyone else to think I’m trying to take advantage of you.”

“What—what if I want you to?” Peter asks. He dares a look at the older man; God, he’s so handsome, even looking stunned as he is. His mouth is open like he wants to say something but isn’t sure what to say, and Peter takes the chance to continue. “I know I’m young, and I’m not the best looking guy around, not even the best looking one in the Tower, but I’ve had a crush on you since like, 2008. You’re everything I’ve dreamed of, Mr. Stark, and somehow I’m here in your penthouse and we ate Chinese together and I don’t want to let it go.”

“Peter—” Tony looks stricken, face pale.

“It doesn’t have to be anything serious,” Peter amends quickly. “I know you’re busy, and I’m going to be too, I guess. No pressure. You could just let me know when—when you wanted me and I’d be there for you.”

“Kid,” says Tony. “Stop. That’s not the way I work, and that’s not the way I want you to work. You shouldn’t let anybody treat you like that—”

“I wouldn’t let anybody treat me like that,” Peter promises. “Just you, Mr. Stark.”

That does something to the man. Tony groans, reaching up to palm at his eyes. “You don’t make it easy on me, appealing to all my seedy kinks, kid. If I’d met you ten years ago—yikes, not ten-year-old you, twenty-year-old you but, yeah, alright, you catch my drift. If I was the same man now that I was ten years ago, I wouldn’t hesitate Peter. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“Besides the spider bite, I’m really not that special,” Peter says. “But I’m okay with that. Most people aren’t special.”

“That’s not true,” says Tony. “I’ve got three emails in my inbox from my head of Maintenance begging to have you back, saying that you’re a wunderkind with the machines and that the HVAC hasn’t been in such good shape since it was first installed. You’ve made quite an impression down there—and on me, too.”

“Really?” Peter asks. He can’t help but sit up straighter, buoyant butterflies in his stomach uplifting him.

“Really,” Tony confirms. “I like the way you listen, kid. The hero worship thing, too. You’ve got to know that that plays right into my ego. Fuck, Steve’s right. I’m really not a very good man.”

“I don’t care what Steve Rogers thinks,” Peter breathes. He shifts up onto his knees, edging towards the man at the other end of the couch. By the time he stops, his feet are tucked underneath him, knees touching Tony’s thighs. Peter reaches out to put a hand on his bicep, and the older man flexes instinctively. “I can hear that, you know. The way your heartbeat just picked up.”

Tony swallows. “Not something I usually have to hide.”

“You don’t have to hide anything from me,” Peter says. “Mr. Stark?”

“What, kid?”

“Would you kiss me?”

“That wouldn’t be fair to you. Because after this conversation ends, I’m going to ask you to switch rooms with Vision.”

Peter can sense the weakness in Tony’s will, and he uses it to shift himself onto the older man’s lap, back where he was when this conversation began. Only this time Tony doesn’t push him away, just leans his head back against the couch cushions and closes his eyes. Peter stares, awed. Something about him is attractive to Mr. Stark, something that has the man barely hanging on to his control. The power is a heady thing, makes his body sway forward the way it does when he’s standing on a tall building too close to the edge. This power over the man is just as great a responsibility as his spider senses, and he would never, never misuse it.

“I don’t ever want this conversation to end, then,” Peter admits, letting his fingers drift up from where they’re resting on the man’s bicep, up along the t-shirt he’s wearing and to his neck where his pulse is hammering away. Peter presses, so gently on that carotid artery, and Mr. Stark’s mouth opens, a silent sound that deafens Peter. The younger man’s cock is rapidly hardening, but he keeps his hips pulled back lest he be too tempted to grind on Tony’s abs.

“Everything ends, kid.” The rumble of Tony’s voice reverberates through Peter and makes him shiver.

Peter carefully lets his weight down—and yes, he feels a distinct bulge in the other man’s pants, hears the way that heart stutters, resumes its beating in double-time. Tony sucks in a breath through his nose and holds it until his lungs must be aching. “I’m going to kiss you now,” Peter warns.

Tony tilts his head back up until there is nowhere to look but at each other. Slowly to give the man time to pull away, Peter ducks his head in until their panting breaths are mingling between their open mouths, and Peter decides that if Tony didn’t want Peter to, he wouldn’t have his eyes closed this way, wouldn’t have let his hands grip at Peter’s thighs to pull him further down on the man’s cock.

“One kiss,” Tony says, their lips brushing. “And then you have to go downstairs, Peter. So make it count.”

“I will,” Peter promises.

And he does. Their mouths are open when they meet, and Tony’s mouth feels better than Peter might have ever imagined it to be: soft and firm and eager, coming to life like a live wire beneath Peter’s less experienced lips. But what Peter lacks in experience he makes up for in exuberance, letting both hands come up to tangle in the older man’s dark hair, letting his hips rest heavy on that hard cock beneath him just to feel the way Tony’s groan makes them both vibrate. Peter reaches out blindly and uses one hand to brace himself on the back of the couch so that he can grind down on the cock beneath him.

“Jesus, kid,” Tony breaks apart to breathe.

“I won’t let you cheat me; I’m not done with my kiss,” Peter says, pulling him back, their mouths raw and red. He sucks on the clever tongue and then pulls away to feel the burn of Tony’s facial hair against his oversensitive mouth, keeping the contact (still counts as one kiss, right? If Peter never completely pulls his lips away?) until it leads him down to that pounding pulse that he can lick and suck at. When he plants his teeth there, Tony hisses, hips thrusting up reflexively to drive his hard cock into the hot cradle of Peter’s hips.

“God, I’ve wanted this forever,” Peter says, scraping his teeth against the warm skin of Tony’s neck. “How am I supposed to stop, Mr. Stark? I—I don’t think I can.”

“Peter—one of us has to—has to—fuck, your mouth—!”

“If one of us has to fuck my mouth, I hope it’s you—”

“Christ, don’t say shit like that,” Tony gasps. “Who knew you had such a filthy fucking mouth.”

“Wait until you see what my filthy mouth can do,” Peter says, desperate fingers tugging down the collar of Tony’s t-shirt to suck a bruise onto his collarbone, and it makes the man’s hips stutter beneath him. Peter finally pulls away (this has been far more than one kiss, but he doesn’t think Tony minds much anymore) and stares at Tony’s face. His eyes are closed, lashes long and dark where they brush his cheeks. He has the loveliest mouth, full and expressive and a little swollen from the way Peter nipped at his lips.

Their mouths are drawn back together, two magnets always seeking each other out. This kiss is better, a little more experienced. It’s give and take, both of them swaying into each other like sails caught in the breeze, the lap of warm tongues like waves against a ship’s hull, their ever present arousal being driven higher and higher. Peter reaches down to slip one hand beneath Tony’s jean-clad ass and pull the man up, harder, the friction on their cocks so painfully good that he can’t help but whine in the back of his throat.

“I can’t believe a tiny thing like you is so fucking strong,” Tony says through his teeth, slipping both his hands down into the back pockets of Peter’s jeans. When he squeezes Peter’s ass, he can’t help but jump, cock spitting precum in his boxers.

“Does—does it turn you on?” Peter asks, already suspecting the answer, the dark flash of Tony’s eyes when Peter popped the bottle cap with his bare hand replaying in his mind. “Knowing how much stronger than you I am? If I, If I wanted to, I could snap you in half just like you said to Steve. But I’d never do that. Maybe I’d just hold you down so that I could climb on top of you and ride your cock just the way I wanted to—”

“Fuck—kid, you keep talking like that and I’m going to blow in my pants.”

Peter’s breath catches. He slows his frantic grinding, turning them into long, deep strokes. “That’s what I want,” he whispers. “I want to see you cum, please, Mr. Stark? You make it sound like this might be my only chance. That would be a crime though, because there’s so much I want to do to you, suck your ridiculous brain out through your cock and swallow your cum and rim you and pin you flat to whatever surface we’re closest to—whatever works—and ride your cock, or, or give you mine—”

Tony’s back arches, cutting off a strangled shout. He stays that way, head back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in ecstasy for an endless moment, and then his hips drop back down to the couch as he groans, burying his face in Peter’s neck, content to let Peter hump him through his orgasm until he is shaking, oversensitive, heart pounding far too fast for a man of his age and cardiac history. It’s all the most sexual, incredible experience of Peter’s short life, and he knows that it’s not the end. It can’t be.

Even though his cock aches, balls protesting the lack of orgasm, Peter gently shifts himself off the man’s lap, wiping the dark hair from Tony’s forehead, slick with just the beginning of sweat. He places a last tender kiss on the man’s cheek, just above his trimmed facial hair.

“I’ll get my bag,” Peter whispers. “Just give me five minutes.”

Then he stands and disappears into his room, leaving behind the billionaire.

-

Peter stands in what was once Vision’s room feeling bereft. Apparently the man(? cyborg? Peter isn’t sure of what to call him) didn’t care much for decoration, because the room looks as the room upstairs did with all the impersonal warmth of a fancy hotel room. The bed is large and comfortable, sheets clean. The bathroom is black marble, shining and sleek. He should be comfortable here. There’s nothing very different—

—except for the company.

Steve Rogers knocks and then looms in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His face is pleasant enough, a little pitying maybe, but Peter is willing to admit that his own feelings on the man might be clouding his perception. “Hey, Peter. I wanted to see how you were settling in.”

“Oh, hi, Captain,” Peter says. It’s easy to slip on a naïve persona, all guileless wide eyes and timid cracking voice. He just plays up all the characteristics he naturally has, though they all seem to melt away when this man is near. “Would you—would you come in, actually? I have some questions.”

“Sure—”

And when the door closes behind him, Peter is there, a hand flat against it so that try as he might, Steve can’t open it. Any pleasantry saps itself from both of their faces until they regard each other with trepidation (from Steve) and undisguised dislike (from Peter).

“I heard everything you said upstairs when you were talking to Tony,” Peter says through his teeth. He barely recognizes his voice, the darkness in it, the disgust. It feels like possession, like his own anger is a demon inhabiting his body and he’s just along for the ride, staring through the holes of his eyes like they are far away windows. “Do not ever, ever mistake me for prey. I might be in the web along with the flies, but that’s because I am the spider. Tell me: what do you know about spiders?”

“Not much,” Steve admits. He doesn’t look scared, though the tense stance says more than his expressionless face; maybe he isn’t afraid, but he isn’t underestimating Peter either and that’s good. Peter can appreciate that.

“I read all the books in the New York City Public Library about them during the summer I turned fifteen. Did you know that jumping spiders can jump almost 40 times their own length? They can hold up to 150 times their own body weight, too. For their size, they are one of the strongest, fastest animals in the world. Maybe those statistics don’t carry over to me; maybe the mass makes things different, maybe since I don’t have an exoskeleton, maybe since I only have four legs and not eight—but maybe they do reflect my abilities. And maybe I am that strong. And I don’t want you to forget it.”

“Are you threatening me Peter?” Steve asks solemnly.

“No,” Peter says. “I’m defending myself, and I’m defending Tony. Remember that.”

Steve looks at him, serious. “I will. Is that all, kid?”

If he thought that he’d find any satisfaction in threatening Steve Rogers, he was wrong. All he feels after the door closes is empty, angry, a pot with the lid on tight even though the pressure builds and builds, desperate to boil over. There’s no relief to be found; his fury is so impotent. Nothing he can do would change Tony’s mind (and he doesn’t want to change Tony’s mind, he wants Tony’s mind to change on its own).

For the first time, he feels scared of himself.

But all he can do is persist, exist, like a weed coming up through the crack of the Avengers’ concrete.

Peter undresses and lays in the comfortable bed, staring up at the darkness of the ceiling. For a while he tosses and turns (can a bed be too comfortable? Too soft and yielding to his every curve? Talk about first-world problems), but then he sits up in the dark.

On the floor above him, Mr. Stark has started playing music. Loud. Loud enough for Peter to hear.

He takes one of the fluffy pillows and tucks it between his arms where (ideally) another body would rest. Closing his eyes, he falls asleep to the sounds of Led Zeppelin’s greatest hits. He dreams of rain on the windows.

[griff-us]

TITLE: Can't Pretend

PART: Two | Previous WORD COUNT: 2,727 NEXT: TBA | Around Nov. 1st PAIRING: Knight!Bucky/Princess!Reader (Black Reader)

WARNINGS: Violence, character death, gore, depictions of violence and death. Smut, eventually. Drama. Mentions of syphilis. Run-of-the-mill toxic masculinity. I will update as needed.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

SUMMARY: A bastard knight. An heir to a throne. Both forced to abide by the rules of their station---the roles they were born into. Will they be able to maintain the flames of their love, or be burned by them?

NOTES: Thank you all so much for the comments and reblogs on the last part! It really gave me the strength to power through crazy work weeks and being sick to get this written and out. I hope you enjoy! Come chat with me about the fic if you'd like, and reblogs are always super appreciated!

A languid fire licks the salted stone of its hearth confines; shadows wriggle against rug-adorned walls and idle chatter fills the room. Servants pace the space with offerings of, wine, water, and bits of food. The daily council meetings have become a recent responsibility for Y/N. As heir to the throne, she must be savvy in the ways of ruling, and these grueling meetings of men thirsty for war is no different. It has become less about governing the realm, but rather the people her father has entrusted to run it. Old men so stuck in their ways. Exhausting.

            Two heavy-set doors creak open, and through them, Y/N enters. Golden fabric trails not far behind her; tight ringlets of hair bounce at her shoulders. All rise, their heads bowed, as customary. She floats silently across the room, sure to hold eye contact with each man she passes. They look down on you, my daughter. Do not let them. That is what her father had told her so many years ago. Funny indeed, how the man always seemed to be right about the way of things.

            “Gentleman.” A dismissive tone; a signal for them to be at ease. “Ser Samuel, please---” Y/N extends a single hand across the table as she eases into her seat. “---indulge us in the reports of our borders.”

            A tall, wide man stands from his chair. With no hair to be seen on his head, the glow of the fire shines dully off his darkened skin. Stubble creeps into his cheeks, no doubt the man has had little time to shave while ensuring the borders of the kingdom are kept safe. “Thank you, Your Royal Majesty.” Samuel clears his throat, looking then to the many men that surround the table. “The southern, eastern, and western borders are secure. Our treaties and tariffs hold well with little insubordination on the matter. For all accounts and purposes, things are peaceful…for the moment.” The surrounding men bang the tabletop with hoops, and hollers of HERE HERE. But they cease the moment Y/N raises a hand.

            “You all forget our northern border. What of the situation there?” so like the council to withhold information. A smart enough plan when dealing with the king. In his older years, the man has come to crave war the old days- and has been known to lose his temper when given news he finds distasteful. Often without a thought for the cost. Y/N would keep their lands, peoples, and coffers safe if possible.

            “The north—” Samuel blanches, gaze shifting to Y/N with a worried sort of look.

            “Well, Ser Samuel?”

            “The North---”

            “Is full of nothing but savages, ma’am!” Another bolsters from his seat, the legs of it screeching against the stone floor. Y/N tilts her head curiously.

            “Pardon, Mister Hammer?” the man seems to remember his place, head bowing slightly as if to apologize. Y/N regards him with a keen eye. Justin Hammer has been less than a proper ally to the throne in his time spent in her father’s council. Greedy for war, due to his steak in most of the armories in the kingdom, Y/N has no doubt his thirst for war with the northern realm is driven by greed.

            “I only mean to say that the northern people are a simple lot. For all the trouble they cause us a simple excursion with enough fortifications---”

            “Fortifications bought from who, I wonder, Mister Hammer?” Y/N can’t help the smile that blossoms across her lips. The room quiets then as a few others stifle their laughs. Hammer apologizes and quickly takes his seat again.

            “As it were, gentlemen, war is not on the table. While our coffers are stable, I would like to see them fluffed, not drained.” Idle murmurings of agreement sound around the room, and Y/N stands. “Ser Samuel, I would like daily reports of the issues that seem to plague us from the northern realms. Keep a keen eye on their movements and inform me immediately of anything…out of the ordinary. Am I clear?”

            “Yes, Your Royal Majesty,” Samuel calls from the end of the table, a fist slammed to his chest, over his heart, in a salute.

            “As for the rest of the kingdom, I would like copies of reports from each of you daily as well. And gentlemen…” Y/N pauses to ensure each man in the room has given her full attention. “I do not care for lies. Be honest in your reporting. I can not fix a problem if I am left unaware of it, am I clear?”

            Murmurs of acknowledgment sound clear, and Y/N nods.

            “I am glad we understand one another.”

-------

Back in her room, Y/N deflates. Slippers are kicked to the corner, hair pins tossed atop the vanity, and the ties of her correct loosened. Council meetings were always just as stressful as they were tiring. Most attempts to rally the men behind her cause and concerns are met with overly embellished explanations as to the true nature of things. Idiots, she thinks. As though she were not the daughter of a wartime king. Trained to defend herself, hand er kingdom. As though she were not the firstborn forced to ensure endless lectures on warfare, and politics.

            Y/N groans, crossing the space of her room in search of her wine carafe. Seldom does she partake in drink, but days such as today call for one. In her focused search, Y/N nearly misses the skewed rug just by her bed. Its edge had folded over itself, the entire thing crooked on the floor. A single brow cocks high, eyes scanning the space.

            “I suggest you come from your hiding spot. I’ve little patience today.”

            A creak in the floorboard prompts her to turn, and from behind the wardrobe, a familiar frame creeps from the shadows.

            “Ser James, this is rather inappropriate.”

            The man grins, and her stomach is suddenly a fluttering mess. James eases closer, eyes taking in her unkept state. He wonders if he is the only man to ever see her in such a state. “Come, princess. How many times had I snuck my way to your rooms before?”

            “When we were children, it was excusable. You’re lucky the guard on duty didn’t catch you.”

            “He did. Ser Steven and I are childhood friends, remember?” James shoots back with a proud little smirk.

            “Yes. Of course. Well, make yourself comfortable then.” Y/N motions to the small table at the center of the room where she typically takes her meals. Ser James nods, his massive frame nestled tight in the rather small wingback chair. Y/N sits across from him and pushes a glass his way.

            “You look upset.” He notes while she pours him his own glass of wine.

            “Council.”

            “Hmm.” James hums, fingers rifling through the basket of cheeses, fruits, and cured meats between them. “Yes, Samuel mentioned meetings have been…tense, as of late.” Y/N nods and tucks her feet under her bottom. She watches while he snaps a few heavy grapes from their vines. He sits in his usual dress, black leather, and gray linens. No armor, only a small dagger strapped to his thigh. No doubt there are several more.

            “They refuse to tell me the truth half of the time. Samuel even tends to sugarcoat his reports with me. And do not get me started on Mister Hammer!” Y/N tosses her hands up. To hell with the lot of them.

            “Hammer is a scoundrel, a snake.” James eases back in his seat while boot-clad feet thud against the tabletop. Y/N frowns, leaning forward to shove them off.

            “I could say the same for you, my knight.”

            James grins, as though he were proud of himself. And in a way, he is. It is difficult to pry affection from Y/Ns lips. It had not always been so. He can remember when they were younger, the way in which they so fervently cared and craved one another. Stolen kisses behind tapestries, long strolls through the gardens.

            “You forget, I was born in a barn.”       

            “Yes, how could I forget.” Y/N plucks her cup from the table and drinks in earnest. As if the swirling red liquid may help clear her mind some.

            “I know it sounds unfair, my lady, but you will have to prove yourself to them. They will not truly respect you until then.” James offers the best advice he can give, and the kind he knows will work. After all, he would know the turmoil of earning respect among peers and superiors as a bastard knight.

            “You are beginning to sound like my father, Bucky.”

            “I should certainly hope not.”

            A small laugh bubbles from Y/N lips and James falls into a comfortable silence as the two of them enjoy their drink and watch the clouds float by against a hazy blue sky. It is times like this that Y/N missed the most. Idle moments spent with Ser James. Neither of them needed to speak much, perhaps the occasional discussion of news within the kingdom or the adventures of their day. But to sit in silence, comfortable in herself, in her body---not a moniker of authority or an image of the crown. But, entirely herself. Such a thing brings a sense of comfort and peace Y/N has not known since his departure from court all those years ago.

            “What are you thinking about?” James asks rather suddenly. Y/N does not move her gaze from the window; instead, she shrugs, the point of her chin resting in the center of her upturned palm.

            “That I have missed this.”

            James hums in agreement reaching across the table to grip her hand. His thumb rubs gentle circles into the skin of her knuckles. Y/N does not falter, nor pull away. Instead, she remains still, eyes slotting shut at the contact. When had she become so touch-starved?

            “I have missed you, Y/N.”

            “I know.” A moment of silence. “I have missed you too.”

-------

“How do you find them, the members of my council?” the King lounges against fluffed pillows and heavy knit blankets in the gardens. The same place Y/Ns mother had spent much of her time before her passing. She can remember digging the brick-lined beds for a patch of daisies. This place, with gravel paths, bright and lively flowers from across the kingdom, and waning willow trees, holds peace for both father and daughter. Y/N approaches with a sigh before taking a seat on a single stone bench by the king.

            “Old, and crotchety.”

            This wrings a chortle from the king; not before he falls into a fit of coughs. Y/N watches with a creased brow. The king has fallen ill over the past year; a disease that attacks one mind, and body. He will wither away to a liability, is what the doctors had told Y/N. His ailment is known as the kind to drive kings into madness. And yet, no one in the realm, or those beyond, know what to do. To call for his quiet, and merciful removal, is nothing short of treason. But, to allow him to spin the kingdom into mayhem….

            “They attempt to withhold information from me. They think me simple.” Y/N continues, leaning forward to pour her father another cup of tea. He nods, jaw set.

            “They will, even when you take the throne.” A long pause settles between the two as the king gulps hungrily at his tea. Y/N watches, her eyes drawn to the wrinkled and thinned skin of his hands. She can remember the brilliant, valiant, and fair man he had once been when she were younger. A model king. A benevolent ruler. Years of war, stress, and the loss of his beloved wife have soured his soul.

            “And what of that bastard you chose to knight, hm? I see he has returned to my court.”

            Y/N blanches. The topic of Ser James was a foul one for the king. Each one of their conversations of the man turned into screaming matches until the King had him sent away. Married off to another. Y/N tilts her head as eyes suddenly find much more interest in the leaves above them.

            “I haven’t seen him.”

            “Lies.” The king hacks another brutal cough and dabs at the corners of his mouth with a blood-specked cloth. “I was told he had snuck into your rooms—"

            “Father---”

            “NO.” the man bellows, more coughs wracking his thinned frame. “I stood by when your childhood fantasies were just that, fantasies. You turned tail and knighted a bastard stable boy in hopes his new station would make marriage any less…. undignified!”

            Y/N stands, a frown pressed to her lips. “And what of it father? There was no issue when you married mother. Half of the realm knew of her occupation; a—”

            “Don’t you dare, Y/N.”

            “a common whore!”

            Y/N watches as her father’s eye all but bulges from his skull; features darken, and he struggles to rise from his seat. “You will not see him again!” the king sputters, voice hoarse and breath heavy as he attempts to catch it. “You will not speak of him, see him, or look at him. I’ve enough of this, child! You will wed whom I command and take my throne with dignity, not some bastard whoreson stable boy! I command it!” Y/N watches her father’s fit with wide eyes, and her hands remain clenched by her sides. It is unfair, like everything else in life. Destined, no, doomed to wield a power she never wanted. Doomed to marry whatever man her father deems fit. Tears prick the corners of Y/N eyes. Head bows, a stiff acknowledgment, before she turns sharply on her heels and marches back toward her rooms.

-------

A young boy dashes through wide corridors packed with nobles and servants. Lit lanterns cast irregular shadows against the walls as the sun sets. Many call after him, fists shaking in anger, their calls of displeasure echoing off of the stone. He ignores them, a single parchment clutched within his palm much like an animal in a death throw. He pushes his legs faster, harder until it feels as though his heart may burst at any moment. There is little time to stop and catch his breath, the urgency is too great.

            Ser Samuel had not told him of the letter’s content, only that he was to go straight to the king and rest for no one, not even himself. The boy remembers the severity on Ser Samuels’s face; the way his brows dipped in concern.

            “Come another day, boy. The king dines with a select few tonight.” A guard orders from his post at the door of the great hall. The boy sucks in a massive breath.

            “I have urgent news from the northern border, Ser Samuel sent me with his sigil.” He produces a single coin stamped with a hawk. The guards look between them before opening the door. The errand boy staggers into the room, and the band that had been playing a marry tune dies off. The nobles present go quiet, and all look to the intrusion.

            “What is the meaning of this?!” the king bellows from his place at the head of the table. Y/N stands, a gentle hand upon her father’s shoulder. She surveys the room before nodding to the boy.

            “Explain yourself, young one, with haste.”

            “The north---” he heaves, unable to speak while waving about the parchment in his hands. Y/N advances quickly, her skirts held in each hand while she speedily ascends the staircase. Nimble fingers pry the paper from the boy’s hands, and she ushers for the servants to bring him water before cracking the wax seal and reading.

            “Well, daughter?” the king calls from his perch, and for a moment, Y/N can not find the correct words. Her heart hammers between each rib, an eerie dread pooling in the pit of her stomach.

            “Our northern border has been breached.”

            Gasps and shouts resound. Men begin their chatter, women cling to their husbands, and the room begins to spin around Y/N. The king stands of his own volition, and all quiet in anticipation. Y/N looks to her father, eyes wide, and mouth open. He nods to her, and then to the guards.

            “Gather my council. We are at war.”

[violetmuses]

Memories - Rick Flag

TITLE: Memories || A Rick Flag One Shot 

FANDOM: “Suicide Squad” Film Universe

CHARACTER: Colonel Richard “Rick” Flag 

PAIRING: Rick Flag + Female Reader 

MAIN STORYLINE: No matter what, Rick would always remember you. 

Author’s Note: Hi! I’ve been meaning to publish this idea for a while. An opening flashback is shown at first. Also, should I make it a series? Thanks so much for reading as always.  - V. 💜🥰

Parachute - Masterlist 💛

Main Masterlist 💜

J Krew: @nerdysuperchick @a-reader-and-a-writer @babblydrabbly @lacontroller1991 @shadowkittybucky @loverhymeswith @justin-hammers @weallhaveadestiny @xoxabs88xox @katjnordstrom96   @mayhem24-7forever @skvatnavle @sociiallydiisoriiented @heresathreebee @alieninoklahoma @bewitchedignition @maddu-oliveira @reveluving @sugapapichulo @hodgepodge-of-rog @fangirl0927 @ijustthinkrickflagisprettyneat @ed-baldwin

__________

Rick would never forget moving away from home as a teenager. His father packed everything into the truck and drove through nearly countless states. Rick and both parents had only parked at nearby motels just to avoid slumping from exhaustion. 

As soon as Rick entered high school that fall, it was like stepping into the big city. Dozens of students walked through halls. Teachers asked too much. He couldn’t find answers in this new place and nothing even slowed down near him anymore. 

It wasn’t until lunchtime one afternoon that Rick noticed you laughing with your friends just a few tables away. 

You seemed nice. Kind eyes. Pretty smile. Your infectious chuckle happened because one friend had made some great joke. Rick subtly watches this space, hoping not to seem weird and creep everyone out. 

“What are you doing, Gunsmoke?” This bully had shown up and folded both arms while facing Rick, smirking  as if he owned the place. “I’ve heard so much about you. Moved out of the boonies with your broke-ass family and can barely pass classes because nobody can understand that stupid accent.” 

“James, come on.” You speak up next, almost shocking Rick as he backpedals and waits for a moment. 

“Sorry.” Rick’s so-called bully cowers, lifting both hands and facing you. The bully has already crossed two strikes during previous incidents. Principal Warren realized that kind of trouble. 

“Find different hobbies, asshole.” You whisper to that bully, eyeing him with venom that would’ve immediately killed prey in the wild. 

The bully walks off, leaving Rick alone. Students clapped for this moment or mumbled in surprise. 

“Hi, My name is Y/N. You smile at Rick. When you finally introduce yourself by name, he almost forgets how to breathe. 

“Oh. Uh, Sorry. I’m Rick.” Rick offers to shake hands with you, but still feels quite embarrassed. Rick’s own Southern accent would never sound as smooth as his father’s voice. Despite your kindness, you would probably brush him off later. 

“Hey, Rick. Lunch might end soon, but would you like to sit with us?” You were so generous, pointing towards the table. Even your friends waved towards Rick in an overjoyed manner. 

“Sure.” He answers you, but Rick lifts his hand almost coyly while facing that table of kind folks. 

***

2021

Decades later, after leaving ARGUS for good and retiring from Task Force X, veteran Rick Flag finds himself alone. Unfortunately, he’s only able to visit the gravestones of both parents. He’s gifted flowers or read notes to the wind, shedding rare tears. 

At least Pop left the house behind. It’s Rick’s project now. He’s mowed that lawn. He’s hammered down wooden panels for the deck. On and on. Doing anything else would’ve been better than sitting alone mulling over nightmares. Every night, Rick would never forget that he almost died for real during that Corto Maltese mission. 

Now, Rick is in the middle of shopping for groceries. It’ll be time for dinner at home soon and he’s thought of being alone once more.

________

Rick is out in the parking lot minutes later loading groceries when he notices that another car has pulled in. This driver cuts off the engine soon after. 

Just when you leave car and zip keys into a purse, you scope Rick for a moment, narrowing both eyes towards him. 

“Hi, uh. Sorry. Do I know you?” You ask him. 

Rick nearly freezes up and almost becomes speechless. You might actually be the sweet girl from high school. If so, you’re still really pretty all these years later. If so, your kind eyes face him despite confusion. 

“I’m Rick. Rick Flag. Does my name sound familiar to you? I’ve met a lot of people before.” Flag speaks now once the trunk is fully loaded with groceries. 

Maybe he's just tripping out again and knows damn-well that younger years are far behind him. 

“Oh…oh my God. Rick?” You laugh through the response, but face Rick with an adorably shocked expression on your face. Yet, you look happy to see Rick at the same time. 

“Yes?” He chuckles and gives out this brief smile in return, still quietly trying to figure out whether or not you had been his secret crush. 

“It’s me. Y/N.” You tell him the truth and remind Rick of your own name. 

“Are you serious?” His own shock is brief yet genuine. 

“Yes. Maybe we should catch up away from the parking lot. It’s safe that way.” You joke, chuckling once more. 

“Sure.” Rick is still humored, but agrees. 

****

Days later,  you had invited him to dinner at one mutually favorite restaurant. Back in high school, most students would crowd here to share meals like pizza or burgers after football games. This place was still standing, but families were here instead. 

“Went to the military, huh?” You ask, playing catch up while sitting across from Rick in this booth. 

“Now I’m out, girl.” Rick is sly now, smoother than ever instead of flopping like his teenage self. 

“Is that right?” You play back, taking another sip of one free milkshake from the server. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Rick answers you with respect. His familiar Southern accent sounds much deeper nowadays, adjusted to the fact that time moved along. “What about you? A little birdie told me that you got into college and left immediately.” 

“Yep. Moved out of the state for my major and started working as soon as I graduated.” You smile. 

“That’s nice.” Rick kept listening to you, grateful. 

“Thank you.” You grin back. 

No matter what happened after tonight, Rick would never forget about you. 

[thequirkyllama]

It's Karaoke Night at the Rowdy Raven and everyone is HAMMERED

Asra:

Love Shack by Cosmic Thing

Hey There, Delilah by Plain White T's

Mr. Brightside by the Killers

Uptown Girl by Billy Joel

Nadia:

Diamonds are a Girls Best Friend by Marilyn Monroe

Dancing Queen by ABBA

Material Girl by Madonna

Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson

Julian:

I Wanna Dance With Somebody by Whitney Houston

Don't Go Breaking My Heart by Elton John

Doctor Jones by Aqua

Achy Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Cyrus

Come What May by Ewan McGregor & Nicole Kidman

Portia:

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper

Wannabe by Spice Girls

I've had the Time of my Life by Bill Medley and Jennifer Warners

Muriel:

is he even there

Hey Jude by the Beatles

Lucio:

Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy by QUEEN

Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus

Zombie by the Cranberries

MMMBop by Hanson

I'm Too Sexy by Right Said Fred

Sexy Back by Justin Timberlake

Africa by Toto

Wrecking Ball by Miley Cyrus

And the Courtiers cause why not

Valerius

I Want it That Way by Backstreet Boys

Friends in Low Places by Garth Brooks

Ring Of Fire by Johnny Cash

Vlastomil

Baba O'Riley by the Who (because I image him just wiggling during the entire intro)

Boogie Wonderland by Earth, Wind & Fire ft the Emotions

Vulgora

Killing In The Name by Rage Against The Machine

Welcome to the Jungle by Gun N' Roses

Rock Lobster by the B-52's

Volta

Happy! by Pharrell Williams

Candyman by Christina Aguilera

Pour Some Sugar On Me by Def Leppard

Valdemar

Longest Time by Billy Joel (where are the other voices coming from)

Creep by Radiohead

My Immortal by Evanscence

The Dismemberment Song by Blue Kid (@peridotic-table )

Listen Here

[strawwritesfic]

Tony Stark x Female!Childhood Friend!Reader: Brightest [Ch. 12]

Summary: [F Name] [L Name]: Tony’s Stark’s “invisible friend.” She’s invisible in all the wrong ways–at least until Tony spots her years after telling her to get out of his life. With Yinsen’s words in mind, Tony decides to pursue their lost relationship, only to find that [Name] might not be as willing as before. What Tony doesn’t know, however, is that the confusion of her life might end up the best of his.

Ratings/Warnings/Tags: M (love triangles; friends with benefits; sexual situations; non-consensual sex with a significant other (note: I will mark this specific chapter accordingly); cheating on significant other portrayed in a positive light; verbal abuse from parents and significant others; toxic relationships of several kinds; rumors of an inappropriate relationship between an older man and his son’s teenage friend; set in between Iron Man 2 and Avengers (2012); references to characters not yet established in the MCU as of time of writing)

Pairings: Tony Stark/Reader; Justin Hammer/Reader; Tony Stark/Reader/Justin Hammer; Pepper Potts/Happy Hogan; past!Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Tag List: @imaginesfire​; @ironmansuucks​; @sleep-i-ness​

Master List

Chapter 12: Slut-Shaming and Other Inspiring Words

The regret came back to you much quicker than you expected it to. One moment you were warm and asleep, sore and happy, and the next you were awake in an unfamiliar bed, as cold and as startled as though your mother’s assistant had dumped cold water over your head.

The other lump in the bed continued its rhythmic breathing even as your own breath hitched inside your chest. This revelation—that you were not alone—was not helped by your second revelation: namely, that you were entirely naked.

To say that you did not remember how you had got to this point would be a lie. Since you were an established bad liar, this did not bode well. What would you do if your mother asked you where you’d been all night? She got upset if you left dinner with Justin early. What in heaven’s name would she say about you when you stumbled home in your date-night clothes?

With any luck, no one would know that you had spent the night sleeping with Tony, but you had pretty well proven that you had no luck. Besides, who else would your family believe to have enough interest in you to have you stay over long enough for a walk of shame? Unless they continued to insist it was the mystery driver that had taken you home after your movie night a few weeks ago. Poor Rhodey.

Unable to stomach even the dark form in the twisted sheets beside you, you rolled over on your side. The windows that had only a few hours ago shown the spectacular view outside of Tony’s house had since turned inward, letting the only barest hint of sunlight creep in at their very edges. If you had liked, you could have turned back over and gone right on dreaming. It was only now in the daylight hours that the night before revealed itself to be a nightmare of magnificent proportions.

Your body did not agree. Yes, it ached—but it ached in a much more pleasant way than you were used to, and if you allowed yourself to remember the night before, the memories were more pleasant, too.

Oh no.

Tony’s typical ability to sleep through anything continued to come in handy. Even as you rocketed up with a gasp, he didn’t wake up. All he did was snort softly and turn over. You froze, but no questions came. No dismissals. No teasing. All of those would come, you were sure of it. They would come when Tony got out of bed…if you were stupid enough to hang around.

As soon as the thought struck you, you were preparing to push the blanket off of you. Only when you recalled your nudity did you stop, blanket clutched to your chest as you stared at Tony again. He looked different, somehow, asleep. Less like the weight of the world was on his shoulders even outside his metal casing. Without thinking, you reached out to brush your fingers gently against the dark stubble on his cheeks.

Shit. You were way past oh no now and way past gone. Quickly and smoothly, you slipped out of the sheets and towards the shadowy lump on the floor nearby. As soon as you grasped it, you knew it didn’t belong to you. No, these were Tony’s pants. Damn. If only you could see. Instead you had to pick from pile to pile, poking and prodding at each item to discern what it was.

The next was your own underwear, but the one after that was Tony’s shirt. Only after fifteen minutes of searching did you find your clothes from the day before—and that only because you found your bag as well, with your phone sitting exactly where you’d left it. One trembling hand lifted it to your eyes, the other in place to shield the rest of the room from the screen’s light.

Nothing. No notifications. Not a single person in the world seemed to have noticed your absence. Some of the anxiety constricting your rib cage faded.

You were not yet off the hook, though. Even being spotted getting back into the house would cause an uproar. Time to go home. If you could just get back into your lab before someone tried to find you—or worse, Justin called the landline—you just might pull this whole thing off. That would be the first place anyone checked for you, and if you weren’t there, you’d be in trouble.

You took one last look at the dark mound of sheets that was Tony. He snored. With a roll of your eyes, you held your bundle of clothes to your bare chest, groped about for the panel on the door to open it (of course Tony couldn’t have any normal doorknobs in his house), and stepped out into the sun-dappled hallway. It was only once you heard the door slide shut behind you that you allowed yourself to breathe again. So far so good.

Then it hit you: how the hell were you going to get home? Tony had driven you here. The absolute last thing you wanted that morning was to wake him up and deal with his smugness over getting you in bed. Walking would take far too long, though. Someone was absolutely sure to find out you were gone if you hoofed it home…especially in the ridiculous shoes you had worn on what wasn’t even a real date. Groaning, you pressed your forehead into the nearest wall.

“Damn it. JARVIS?”

“Yes, Miss [L Name]?”

“No, shhh, not so loud!”

“Yes, Miss [L Name]?” JARVIS said in a lower tone. Probably AIs couldn’t whisper. It was the best you could hope for.

Looking behind yourself every step of the way, you picked your way down the hall, hands pressed flat against the wall. “I need a ride home. Not with Tony,” you added in a pleading tone.

“Miss Potts usually arranged the rides,” JARVIS mused.

“No!”

Asking Tony’s ex-girlfriend to procure you transportation was just about as bad as asking Tony himself. How was she even supposed to do that if she wasn’t here? She wasn’t there right now, was she? Christ, she might be watching you walk naked down a hall. You came to an instant stop, as though you and Pepper Potts were playing some bizarre game of Red Light, Green Light.

“I could try calling you a cab,” said JARVIS, apparently oblivious to your discomfort. “Though frequently the companies hang up on me because they believe I am a robot caller. I am far from sounding like a robot, but—”

“Never mind.” You could have kicked your past self for dropping you in this situation. “I’ll call a cab myself. Just—tell me if Tony wakes up, won’t you?”

“Of course, Miss [L Name]. Shall I inform him of your departure?”

“God, no! Pretend I was never here. Can you do that?”

“I can let him continue sleeping for the time being. If he later asks when you left, I’m afraid I will have to inform him.”

“That’ll be fine.”

All you needed now was to get to the bathroom to get dressed and wash your face. You could be on your way right after that. Then again, you couldn’t quite remember where the bathroom was in relation to Tony’s room. He had one attached to the room, but hell would freeze over before you went back in there.

Forget the bathroom. It wasn’t like you really needed to wash your face anyway. What damage to your skin was done, was done. The sooner you got on your way, the less likely anyone would be able to work out where you’d spent the night while your longtime boyfriend handled business on the East Coast.

Hopefully you could leave before Tony realized you were gone, too, though you doubted he’d really care all that much. From the way JARVIS said Pepper usually handled the rides, you got the feeling one-night stands were probably the norm for Tony’s sex life. You’d both be happier not to have a heart to heart about it in the daylight. You set your things down, straightened with your bra in hand, and—

Someone cleared their throat.

Your first thought, of course, was of Pepper. The sound was far too masculine to belong to her, however. Then you thought of Tony catching you sneaking out. But you had left Tony in bed, and though your back faced that room’s only exit, surely you would have heard him coming out. Slowly, you lifted your gaze in the direction of the noise.

Colonel Rhodes stood in the hall’s opening to the living room. A box of bright sunlight illuminated him from the back. He had a hand clapped over his eyes, but the slight red cast to the parts of his face still in sight confirmed your fears: He had already seen you without your clothes on.

In a flash, you scurried to pick up your belongings again. Your blind panic did not make this an easy task. Bra, dress, and coat alike repeatedly fell to the floor. Again and again, you tried to get everything—including yourself—together, but the blank buzzing in your head that always erupted in times of duress made it impossible for you to do so much as register what your hands were actually doing.

“I’m gonna—hey, I’m going to the living room!”

Rhodey’s voice caused you to stop moving once again. Your instincts told you that he was lying. Seconds later, you heard his footsteps echoing back toward the room from which he had appeared. Breath burning in your chest, you remained a statue until at last all around you was nothing but still and silent.

Life had long since taught you to compartmentalize that which you disturbed you. Still you quivered slightly as you pulled your clothes on at last. Tony seeing you naked was one thing—still mortifying in retrospect, but not exactly something you hadn’t fantasied about more often than you should have. Rhodey, though? You’d always respected Rhodey. He treated you with a gentleness no one else did. What would he think of you now?

This was a question you didn’t have to ask him. Your father had flung the word at you often enough: Rhodey would think you were harlot now. He was going to think you were a slut.

Hot tears burned your throat. If you could have spent the rest of your miserable life in that bare hallway, you would have. Tony would have to come out eventually, unfortunately for you, and that realization had your heart pounding more painfully than ever. If Rhodey thought you were a slut, how much worse would Tony think of you? Women always fell over themselves to sleep with him. Now you’d proven you were no better than the rest of them. He would want you to leave. There was literally nothing keeping you there anymore.

A few seconds saw you overcome your temptation to start crying right there and then. Rhodey had probably left, you’d been standing there so long. JARVIS would have told him that Tony remained in bed, and doubtless Rhodey wanted nothing more to do with you. Better to do your walk of shame before Tony up to watch. You headed straight for the living room entrance. One foot got inside before you spotted Rhodey sitting on the couch.

“Hey,” he said. It was awkward, but you could tell he meant to smooth things over.

What you couldn’t manage was to prevent yourself from turning red. “Hey,” you mumbled in return.

“Mute,” he added casually, and whatever program he had been watching—C-SPAN, by the looks of it—went instantly quiet. “So. You and Tony.”

Your blush deepened, if such a thing were possible. After several long seconds of struggle, that was the only answer you could offer.

Rhodey’s handsome face creased with worry. “Hey, look. If he’s going to get over Pepper with anyone, I’d rather it be you.”

A few more seconds went by before you winced and finally shuffled the rest of the way into the room. If Rhodey could pretend that finding you undressed in front of Tony’s bedroom door wasn’t a big deal, why couldn’t you? But you didn’t want to talk about you. You’d rather pretend that you didn’t exist.

“How is Pepper?” you asked.

“Fine as ever. She’s a tough one.”

Not enough. Rhodey wasn’t the chattiest guy unless he’d been drinking, but you had hoped for a little more than that. The more he talked about other people, the more you could feel yourself disappear.

“How are you?” you prompted him.

“I’m doing fine.”

“How’s—”

“I’d rather talk about how you are,” he interrupted. “It’s been years, [Name].”

Admittedly, you had clammed up for the duration of the ride home he had given you several weeks before. That was nothing against Rhodey; you were simply so boring that you couldn’t fathom anyone but Justin pretending to care about your life for very long. Even Justin couldn’t manage to do so more often than once a week. Just then, talking about you seemed like a brutal torture for you and Rhodey.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically.

Unfortunately, you said it in the same professional, robotic tone that your father had spent years coaching you on—the same tone you’d used on Rhodey when he’d followed you out of Howard Stark’s funeral. He recognized it that day as well, and the creases on his forehead deepened. Time to abandon ship. You would take what you could and regroup later. Time to focus on your original goal of getting home unnoticed.

“I—” he began, before you cut him off with a swift:

“Really. I can’t complain. And I know you just got here, and you probably have plans with Tony, but…”

It took him maybe half a minute—you finishing your request might have helped him along—but at last rearranged his features into a smile as he stood up. “You need a ride home,” Rhodey finished for you.

You nodded, exhausted by the rush of relief that followed over not having to explain yourself further. “Please.”

“Sure thing.” He pulled his keys out of his back pocket, then paused. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

Rhodey grinned. “Breakfast. I was gonna have Tony make me an omelet. If we’re gonna leave early, at least let’s get some food.“

******

Twenty minutes later, you found yourself blinking in the morning sunlight outside a Malibu café. A buttered croissant sat on a plate in front of you beside a steaming mug of blackest coffee. In the chair opposite yours, Rhodey chewed quietly on his mushroom and spinach omelet, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

He had kept things light the entire way there. No questions too hard to answer: who was your mom sleeping with now; was your dad still gulping down entire bottles of blood pressure medication? You kept your own light as well: how were his parents; had the Air Force recovered from Justin’s ill-advised Iron Man drones?

Despite the lightness of the atmosphere in the car and the sky outside, it occurred to you mid-transit what Rhodey might really want. He’d seen you naked, after all, and you knew from experience that being plain didn’t exactly stop some men. If his plans ended in his own apartment bedroom, however, he hadn’t brought it up yet.

Something hung heavy over the proceeding all the same, like smog that choked your lungs. Being too anxious to open up a new avenue of conversation yourself, you had nothing to do but pick at your meager meal—and think that even this was too much. Justin would be horrified to find you gained weight in his absence, but Rhodey had insisted on getting something in your stomach. The croissant was the lightest meal the café had to offer.

He lifted his head and squinted into the sun over the water. Choruses of seagulls and kids already out in the surf drifted inland on top of the foam-capped waves.

You braced yourself for impact, hoping that your clear discomfort might be explained away by the bright sparkling light from the ocean across the road. Blaming Rhodey for what he had seen was out of the question. You had been the one to hurry out of the bedroom before getting dressed. Of course Tony had given his closest friends a key to the place—and of course after your brusque declination of JARVIS’ help, the AI wouldn’t have mentioned Rhodey’s arrival. Like everything else in your life, the situation was your own damn fault. Lecturing yourself came naturally; you didn’t need Rhodey to do it for you. To your great surprise, however, he did not seem to be thinking in that direction at all.

“About what I said earlier,” he said with obvious reluctance, “about you and Tony.”

You held yourself in place so thoroughly that you didn’t even breathe. “Yes?”

“Well, I meant it. I just want to make sure that you’re okay.”

A confused frown pulled at the corners of your mouth. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Tony doesn’t have the greatest track record. He’s my best friend, but you and I both know that he can be a little…callous.”

No way could you argue against that. Wordlessly, you gazed at Rhodey and waited for him to get to the point. He sighed once he realized you were not going to connect the dots for him.

“I want to make sure you’re not the rebound girl,” he explained.

A beat followed this pronouncement. Then you laughed, a sound so sudden and strange that even Rhodey gave a brief start upon hearing it. It was funny, though. You’d never considered it, but the truth couldn’t be any plainer.

“I’m definitely the rebound girl,” you assured him.

“And that’s…a good thing?” he asked.

You shrugged as you reached for a napkin. Now that you’d figured out what Rhodey was so worried about—and that it wasn’t that he hoped you would sleep with him, too—you felt well enough to eat in earnest. But apparently Rhodey wasn’t done.

“I know how you’ve always felt about him, [Name],” he said seriously. “Tony’s a big boy now. You don’t have to give him whatever he wants just to pacify him anymore.”

“Last night was entirely consensual, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He paused, then shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t want to say that makes it worse, because it sure as hell doesn’t. It’s just…”

“Yes?”

His smile faded. “You know him.”

You did. That did give you second thoughts. “I take it that means that you aren’t interested in Tony?”

This weak joke did nothing to cheer Rhodey up. “He’s not my type.”

“I suppose not.” Distracted, you allowed the crumbled remains of your pastry to fall to your plate. “It was stupid, what I did last night. You don’t have to remind me.”

“I wasn’t calling you stupid.”

“You don’t have to. I am. I already know that.”

Rhodey leaned over the table. Was that pity in his dark brown eyes? You squirmed in your hard metal chair. “It’s not stupid, and neither are you. I just want you to know what you’re getting into. Tony’s grown a lot, but he’s still Tony.”

A vague nod turned into a frown at the cars driving past on the busy street. Of all your acquaintances, Rhodey had always been the most protective of you. His absence in your life had been missed more than you realized. It had been so long, in fact, since someone that wasn’t Justin had wanted to protect you that you didn’t know how to respond to him. Justin would be worried, too, of course, if he knew what you were up to—but he’d be worried about someone else entirely.

“I’m not looking for anything serious,” you said slowly. “I don’t think I am, anyway.”

His eyebrows flew upward. “That doesn’t sound like the [Name] I know.”

Rhodey was right. It didn’t sound like you at all. There was a lot of that going around lately. But as soon as you said the words aloud, you knew you were being honest with yourself for the first time in a long time—in a very long time.

You did know Tony, and besides that, Justin would return eventually, to take over your company and your life in tandem. He’d work out what was going on, or your parents would. You would return to being the quiet, dutiful girlfriend and daughter. Did that absolutely mean you couldn’t fulfill a childhood dream before all that? Tony’s return to your life had awakened some long-sleeping, rebellious thing inside you. Squashing it back down inside you simply didn’t sound appealing any longer.

“Is it a bad thing, not to sound like myself?” you asked.

“Not necessarily. I’m not your parent. I’m your friend. You’re a grown adult, and you can make your own decisions.”

“I…can?”

What a strange think to ask. At your age, you were an adult, but so much of your life was decided for you that having an iota of control was mind-boggling. Even Rhodey had to crack a smile at your bizarre question.

“Yeah,” he said. “You can.”

All it took was confirmation. A strange tingling sensation ran up your arms. Excitement? Or fear of betraying the handful of people in your life that had ever cared about you? Before you could work out whatever it was that was giving you goosebumps there in the warm sun at the edge of the beach, Rhodey got out of his chair.

“Ready to go home?” he asked.

Tingling forgotten, you couldn’t follow after him quickly enough.

******

The house was unusually calm when you poked your head through the front door just a little bit before noon. No one spoke. Nothing moved, save for the security camera in the corner of the entry hall. Not even the static from a distant television set could be heard. Did such silence mean you were safe?

It was difficult to say. If no one had needed you that morning, it might have been that no one had noticed you weren’t there to answer that need. People who weren’t Justin rarely cared enough about your goings on to think much about them, and you were sure that if anyone had so much as inkling about where you’d disappeared to, the whole place would have been in an uproar.

Deciding not to press your luck any further than breakfast with a friend already had, you slipped into the building and carefully pulled the door shut behind you. Still no one spoke. Still nothing moved. You father’s meeting was long over, which meant your mother could no longer attend to her lover. They both ought to have been somewhere around there. Saturdays did not typically put an end to your father’s obsessive watching of Fox News, at any rate.

You tiptoed through the living room. It, too, was empty, the television screen a dull, gray-black blank. You crept past the kitchen. Only your mother’s dietitian was inside, too busy muttering about calorie counts to notice your darting across the doorway. At last you made it to the stairs that led down to your garage. Whatever was going on to keep everyone else busy, it clearly did not involve you.

Your breathing came a little easier. A quiet sigh escaped your lungs as you entered the code on the pad beside the door. It slid open, and you were about to let out a cheer at your own cunning when it became apparent that you were not alone.

“Where the almighty hell have you been?!”

The thunder in your father’s voice made you flinch. His enormous form stood right in the middle of your lab, your safe space, the one place in the world you could truly call your own. Frozen in place, you did not answer, and as usual, this lack of response only caused things to escalate.

“I have been waiting here for over an hour,” your father blustered, “while you slept in late like the lazy sack of skin you are. Now you can’t be half-assed to give me an excuse for this behavior?”

Obviously not. You could question why he hadn’t had someone sent up to get you out of bed, but it wasn’t like you’d have been there if he had. Telling him the truth was entirely out of the realm of sanity. What you had done wrong this time, you did not know. What you did know was that whatever it was couldn’t be as bad as putting out for Tony Stark.

“I wasn’t in bed,” you tried. “I was—”

“I don’t give a damn,” your father cut in so coldly that your lie fell dead upon your lips. “The point is that you are wasting your time. You’re wasting your life. What’s worse is that you are wasting my time.”

He stepped to the side and any confusion about what he was talking about was immediately cured. Sitting there, a grotesque tumor of metal and wire, was the “project” he’d asked from you when you and Justin had returned to California. You gaped at it, then at your father, wide eyes drying out with how rapidly they shifted from one object to the other.

“Speechless again.” He shook his head. “I thought I raised you better.”

“Dad—it’s not—I’m not finished with it.”

“It’s garbage. You know it’s garbage. This isn’t worth the scrap you made it from.”

Unlike Justin, your father could be relied upon to know about mechanics and engineering. You couldn’t obscure facts long enough to convince him that you knew what you were doing. You couldn’t say anything in your own defense either. He was right: You did know that your work—not to mention your schooling, your decisions, your entire life—was garbage. Your eyes found your feet as a show of submission.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, disgusted, and kicked your monstrosity across the room.

It shattered against the wall. Even the welding had been a failure on your part. Tears obscured your vision as your father approached you.

“You lied to me.” His voice quaked with a cold fury. “You lied to me, and you shirked your duties. I never thought my own child could have turned out so worthless.”

Head hanging, you closed your eyes. Your father had never hit you before, but you’d never felt that you so thoroughly deserved it. Deception ran through your veins as naturally as blood. There was no pretending otherwise. If only he could shatter you so easily against some part of the house. That would put at least three people you could think of off the top of your head out of their misery.

But he did not strike you this time either. Several minutes seemed to pass before you could bring yourself to open your eyes again, and when you did, the room was empty.

Guilt swallowed you completely. A dry sob broke out of your throat, piercing the quiet as you threw yourself into your desk chair.

You had betrayed your father more than he knew. You had betrayed your boyfriend more than he would believe possible. Forget being able to make your own decisions. Your own decisions sucked.

Real tears wouldn’t come. Much as you wanted to cry until the garage flooded and you drowned, left to float there as a bloated corpse until who knew when, you couldn’t do it. The lab was not the sanctuary it once had been. Anyone might come in now to see you sobbing into the surface of your desk. You didn’t even deserve a pity party. No one had brought this on you but you.

Five minutes later, you shakily sat up. The answer was obvious. You needed to build something real. That was the only way to prove you weren’t entirely worthless, that you could do something of some use to someone, even if it was to some warlord paying your father to build newer, more creative ways to murder people in mass.

If only you weren’t entirely worthless.

If only you could be of some use to someone.

If only you had some idea of how to do the one thing you needed to do.

You knew who would know: Tony Stark. He knew almost everything—up to and including how to touch you in ways you’d never been touched before. He knew how to make your body do things it hadn’t even known it could do before. He knew how to kiss you in places that had never felt lips against them before.

“Augh!”

Agitated fingers worked their way through your sex-mussed hair. Were you really thinking about sex with Tony at a time like this? It had been a mistake—one enormous, blatant mistake in a life full of them; one huge, beautiful mistake in a life full of mistakes that normally hurt.

You stopped pulling at your hair.

Was it a mistake, then?

Tony would know how to make something your dad would approve of. Tony would say you were grown adult, just the same as Rhodey had that very morning. Tony wouldn’t say no to more rebound sex, unless you’d been much more awful than he had led you to believe. Were you really willing to sell yourself in exchange for help to fix your life from a man that had done a good job ruining it?

Yeah. Yeah, you were.

The contents of your purse rattled against the desk and the floor as you upturned the whole thing in an effort to find your phone. As soon as you clutched it in your sweating palm, you typed out the most reckless text you could think of:

“Good morning! Had a good time last night. What are your plans for next weekend?”

You really had no shame anymore. It was long gone, lost years ago along with your virginity and your pride and your ambitions. On the bright side, you finally knew what that tingling feeling in your arms meant. Something was changing. This time, it might have even been something changing for good. You’d just have to keep going to find out for sure.

[tinytonysnark]

the day is up and calling

5. Giving them a kiss before going to work and they are still in bed.

This is Steve’s most and least favourite part of the day.

The sun is rising, light slowly creeping in from the edges of their curtains dimly lighting their tiny apartment, the sounds of the city getting louder and louder aided by their neighbour’s alarm ringing through the wall. 

Steve has no idea what Frank from 4B does that has him home at midnight and awake before 6.30AM but it does help Steve understand his less than cheery demeanour. 

Tony used to think he was in the mob before coming to the realisation that no one part of the mob would willingly live in their rundown building. 

The alarm through the thin wall however, is Steve’s signal that he absolutely has to get up and start getting ready or he’s going to be late. 

He sighs softly before slipping out of the bed, careful not to jostle it too much and disturb Tony, who doesn’t need to be awake for another hour. 

He barely stirs besides giving a small snuff into his pillow and this - this is why it’s Steve’s least favourite part of his day. 

He loves Tony. He loves Tony always, at any hour of every day. 

He loves Tony when it’s 10am and he comes into the coffee shop when they’re both on break and Tony is there with a mug waiting for him. 

He loves Tony when it’s 1pm and he sends a text to make sure Tony goes to get some lunch and receives a slew of emojis in reply, always ending with a kissy face. 

He loves Tony when it’s 4pm and they’re both tired from work followed by their classes, and Tony calls him from the lab with ridiculous anecdotes about Justin Hammer or simply because he wanted to hear Steve’s voice.

He loves Tony when it’s 7pm and they’re both worn out, but so happy to be back home - together, and they talk about their day over dinner at their table that wobbles because one of the legs is shorter than the others. 

He loves Tony when it’s 9pm and they’re curled up on the bed and he’s running his hands through Steve’s hair as they unwind from their day, mindlessly scrolling and sharing funny posts with each other. 

He loves Tony at 11pm - hedging into 12, in the cover of darkness as they’re so entangled in one another, breathless gasps and small laughs being shared between their lips. 

He loves Tony, always - but this right here, at 6.20am, is when he thinks he loves Tony the most.

Because his love is bundled under their blanket, tufts of hair sticking up onto the pillow and so so sleepy, yet when he gets out of the shower, there’s going to be a canister full of freshly brewed coffee on the table with a plate of PB&J sandwiches next to it and Tony is still going to be tucked in bed like he never left. 

And all he wants to do as he slips off the bed is to get back in, under the covers and sleep until Tony is awake, eyes opening slowly and burrowing his head in Steve’s chest, a dopey smile on his lips that Steve can feel on his skin - but he can’t.  

So completes his morning routine and starts his day like every other day -  with a kiss to Tony’s cheek and with a love that ignites his heart into a flame he will carry throughout the day, at every hour, always. 

[baseballbitch116]

Beat Yer Ass

Prompt: Daryl hears a man making vulgar comments about his girl

Warnings: Violence, crude comments about women, strong language

Word Count: 2087

Masterlist | Fandoms | Submit A Request

The day started off like most others. You were on watch this morning, having gotten up only a few hours after Daryl came to bed. Your shift began at dawn, relieving the night crew. You remembered that Daryl was supposed to go out to the bridge today to help with construction, mostly to keep an eye on everyone in Rick’s absence. He had to go down to the Sanctuary today, so Daryl was covering for him overseeing the bridge.

You left an apple on the bedside table and wrote a quick note beside it telling Daryl that you were on watch and that you’d see him in the afternoon. You hated not being able to see him much anymore, but you each had a lot of responsibilities to manage. Standing in the dim light, you lean over the bed to brush the hair out of Daryl’s face. You keep meaning to give him a little hair cut, just so that he could see better, but whenever you were able to see him it would completely slip your mind - too concerned with soaking up as much time with him as possible.

Your fingers brushed against his stubbly cheek ever so lightly, appreciating how peaceful he looked sleeping. He stirs a little, so you quickly retract your hand and move away to start heading out before you accidentally wake him up, but it’s too late. “Mmm?” He groans out, one eye peeking open as his hand comes up to snatch your hand from where you were pulling it away.

“Sorry,” You whisper, rubbing your thumb over the back of his warm, rough hand.

“Where’re ya goin’?” He questions, his deep voice so groggy that anyone else may have a hard time understanding what he said. You loved his sleepy voice, you found it adorable.

“I have to go on watch at the gate. Relieving the night shift.” You remind him, leaning down so that you are squatting beside him at the bed. He rolls over onto his side, his hand still enveloping yours, and opens his other eye to get a good look at you.

“M’kay,” He mutters, bringing your hand up to his mouth and placing a kiss on the back of it. “Be careful.” Daryl says, his piercing blue eyes meeting your own. A shy smile crawls up your face and you nod in the darkness, moving closer and placing a kiss on his stubble covered cheek.

“I’ll see you tonight, hon.” You promise, moving to stand up, but he doesn’t release your hand, keeping you down at his level. He sleepily lifts his head and brings his other hand up to the back of your head. You instinctively meet him halfway, capturing his soft lips in a slow kiss. His body heat radiates onto you, warming you up in a way only Daryl can. You pull away slowly, a frustrated whimper escaping your mouth as you lean your forehead on his. You miss him so much, you want to lay here beside him forever - but the sunlight beginning to creep through the window reminds you that duty calls.

You loved how Daryl would let his guard down and be more open when he was tired like this. He could be very affectionate in the mornings and nights, which was one of the only times that you go to see him anymore. You stand up from your spot and head out of the room, but not without one last glance at the love of your life.

Daryl’s morning was not off to a great start. He was exhausted from the night before, grumpy because he didn’t get to spend any time with you, and it was a cloudy and cold day. Everyone was getting on his nerves and he was practically counting down the minutes until he would be able to go back to Alexandria to see you.

One person in particular was seriously testing Daryl’s patience today - a former Savior, named Justin. He has been giving everyone attitude from the moment they began working, and Daryl has just about had it. He’d just finished helping Aaron with some boards for the base of the bridge when he heard something stick out to him. Your name. In Justin’s mouth. Daryl knew that Justin had tried hitting on you once before when you came to the bridge to help out, and he had warned him to stay away from you. Normally Daryl would have trusted you to handle the guy yourself, but seeing as he was a Savior, and he was being very pushy toward you, Daryl had stepped in.

He stands up from where he was crouched, brushing the dirt off of his gloves and wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, listening in on the conversation Justin was having with some other Savior.

“She’s a hot piece of ass. The things I’d do to Y/N if that asshole would let her out of his sight, I swear.” Justin remarks as he hammers at a nail unsuccessfully. The man beside him just scoffs.

“She’d never go for you, man.” He responds.

“Wouldn’t have to. Just need to get her alone.” Justin continues, a gross smirk on his face.

By this point, Aaron had taken notice and knew that shit was about to go down. The look on Daryl’s face was enough to warn the younger man that he needed to intervene, now.

“Hey!” Daryl shouts, beginning to make his way over to the two men, Aaron following close behind, saying that it wasn’t worth it, but Daryl was deaf to his words. Justin turns around to face Daryl, gross smirk faltering slightly, realization washing over his face. “The hell ya just say about her?!” Daryl growls, stepping very close in the guy’s space.

He says nothing, just glaring at Daryl, who is fuming. He practically said that he would force himself on you. “You gonna try to hurt my girl?” Daryl questions, his voice deep and angry, intense stare not faltering for even a second.

“Not hurt, just show her a good time. We all know she don’t get none from you.” Justin stupidly comments, tilting his head at Daryl.

“Ya touch her, ya even look at her, I’ll beat yer ass into the ground.” Daryl growls, staring directly into his eyes, not a hint of fear appeared on his face. He turns around to get back to work.

“No wonder you’re so pissy, she must not give a redneck like you much pussy. More for me, then!” Justin hollers cockily, throwing Daryl over the edge. He spins back around fast as lightning and punches Justin directly in the nose, sending him falling back onto a large pile of sand. Daryl grabs onto his collar and continuously punches him in the face, pummeling the arrogant man, until he manages to grab a fist full of the sand and toss it in Daryl’s eyes, stunning and blinding him.

Luckily for the Savior, Rick had just arrived at the bridge with Eugene and heard the commotion going on, immediately running up to the top of the bridge to check what was going on. He saw the fight and the mob of people surrounding the two men, infuriating and worrying him. He pushes his way through the crowd as fast as possible and throws himself in between the two men, attempting to deescalate the issue. “Hey! Break it up!” He hollers, doing his best to restrain Daryl from getting to Justin, who was very bloody and bruised. Daryl didn’t look so great either, but Justin had certainly lost the fight.

Daryl continues trying to shove past Rick to get to Justin, but he holds his ground, firmly keeping himself between the two. “Enough!” Rick hollers, throwing his arms out to hold Daryl back. Finally, Daryl backs off just a little, taking one step back and stalking back and forth, his eyes not tearing away from the man that was still standing. If Rick hadn’t stepped in he very well might have killed Justin. It’s not like he’d be missed, and after the comments that he made about Y/N, he deserved it. “Everyone get back to work. Now!” Rick commands to their audience.

Justin scrambles away defeated, keeping an eye on Daryl as he leaves. Daryl continues stalking, his breathing heavy and erratic as he stares at the man getting away with speaking about hurting Y/N. “What the hell happened?” Rick demands when he turns to face his friend. Daryl spits out some blood onto the ground and shifts his weight, too angry to speak. Aaron hesitantly approaches the two of them and begins explaining what he witnessed to Rick.

“He was jokin about forcin himself on her! Said he jus’ needa get her alone!” Daryl exclaims, waving his arm in the direction Justin scurried off. Rick puts a hand up to Daryl and nods his head, processing what he’s been told.

“Daryl, hey! Daryl. We will handle this. He’s never even around her, he was just looking to cause trouble-” Rick starts, but Daryl scoffs and throws his arm again, pacing around in an attempt to soothe his rage. “He’s met her one time. He’s never been to Alexandria. Daryl! Y/N can handle herself.” Rick argues, but Daryl will hear none of it.

“You think I don’t know that?! Don’t matter! What if he said that bout Michonne? Huh! That’s not the point!” Daryl hollers, pointing a finger at his friend.

It took a while but eventually, Rick managed to calm Daryl down and he sent him back to Alexandria early. Daryl took off on his motorcycle, speeding his way back to the community, more anxious than usual to see you. He just needed to see that you were safe. He knew that you were, but he just needed to see it.

He arrived back before the sun had set, which was certainly early for him. The gates opened and he looked up at who was on watch, a combination of relief and worry set in as he saw that you were not. Relief because it meant that maybe he’d have some time with you, but worry because he did not know where you were. “Hey! Ya know where Y/N is?” Daryl shouts up to Rosita at her post on the wall. She shrugs her shoulders and asks why, but Daryl ignores her and drives into the community.

He makes his way to your shared house hastily, anxious to see you. He was furious, you were the only one going to be able to calm him down. “Y/N?!” He hollers when he steps into the house. He hears a noise before you appear out from the kitchen, peeking around the corner at him, a grin appearing on your soft features.

“Hey, you’re back early!” You greet. Daryl doesn’t say anything, instead looking at you, taking you in. You’re okay, you’re happy, you’re with him. “What’s wrong?” You ask, your face falling at his odd behavior. He doesn’t speak again, just striding over to you and dropping his face on your shoulder, an arm falling loosely over your smaller frame. You immediately envelop him in a tight hug, not questioning his affection - sensing that he needs you right now.

He pulls his head up to look at you, his blue eyes burning into yours. “That savior - Justin - he was talkin bout ya.” He starts. You raise your eyebrows curiously, wondering why he was talking about you and why Daryl was so worked up over it.

“What do you mean?” You ask, trailing a hand down his muscular arm to comfort him. You can see he is angry and stressed.

“He said some shit... I was gonna break his mouth. Rick stopped me.” He explains.

“Oh Daryl, you don’t gotta worry about me.” You say, realization hitting you. “I only saw him a few times, I’d kick his ass if he bothered me. You know that.” You joke, trying to lighten his mood.

“I shoulda killed him.” He mutters. You reach your hands up to cup his cheeks and force him to look at you.

“He’s not worth it. I’m not afraid of some scrawny savior. He’s not worth your time, Daryl.” He doesn’t reply, only looking into your comforting eyes before nodding slightly. “Come on, let’s go take a nap.” You mutter, dropping your hands from his face to his arm and dragging him along to go back to bed.

---

@lokilover2000-blog​ @tv-show-shit​ @mtngirlforever​ @jodiereedus22​@cole-winchester @loudlydarkcollective​ @tehfabbooty​ @momc95​@fuzzy-panda @sourwolf-sterek32​ @mwesterfeld1985​ @badluckgirl​ @namelesslosers​ @my-current-fandom-is​ @zzeacat​ @twdeadfanfic​ @elamy17​ @fangirlsarah16​ @gryffindorshadowhunter​ @justaclosetedgay @a-little-piece-of-heaven-xox​@hello-valerie @huntress-valkyrie​ @pleasepleasepleaseme​ @fangirl-juchan​@dotslabyrinth @isayweallgetdrunk​ @vibhati123 @ask-kakashihatake@clumsy-writing-rdb @07chenzo03 @iminlokisarmysofi​ @daryldixonandfrogs​ @franzixlovesxsomeone​ @of-storms-and-sadness​ @duchessdeer​ @mazerunnerrose​@gruffle1 @harry-titss​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @marissacooper​ @neeadinghugs​ @theserpentinequeen​ @firelonewolf​ @habelm @isilmiel @itsmysticalmystery​ @misscamptl​ @escapetothemind-dancefloor @dixonslover​ @walkingdeadfan25​ @qrangr​@mblaqgi @daryldixon83​ @negansviolentdelights​ @multiefandamn​ @fandom-trash99 @bvbwestfall​ @sugoichenzo​ @daryldixonswifey​ @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindy@esdlaliniadedurin @jasminetherandomweirdo​ @abilostinlight​ @thebeckyjolene​@too-many-fanfiction-fandoms @celticheart72-masterlist​ @whizzer1320​ @nohemi2500​ @nugget3455@axelwolf8109 @twd-imaginesss​ @hells-mistress​ @kaleeandspn @sekkitsu​ @fxckyourlife​ @topsykretts926-blog​ @lighthope08​ @runlikeclockwork​ @elysijin​ @mummy-woves-you​ @princess-of-idgaf​ @icantstopreblogging​​ @rhyatt-deauxtreve​​ @nikki082489​​ @twdeadfanfic​ @superdeadwalker @ringpopdust​ @twdsfix​ @dixonluvv​ @angelophany​ @imaginecrushes​ @the-wonderful-werewolf @chocolatealmondmillk @catlya​@firedancernix @princessxpunk​ @collecting-stories​ @ly–canthrope@maydayfigment

[solastia]

Feels So Right  | 1

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 1,804

Summary: Yoongi’s falling in love with his neighbor. She’s beautiful, talented, has the same sense of humor, great taste in music - and she’s married. 

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, domestic violence(all from the male OC, not our main characters). Infidelity. Eventual smut. 

Notes: Commissioned by @ehn-ee-elle (I probably made it angstier than you wanted and I’m sorry. I’m unable to stop myself) 

I was originally going to try to make this just one long one shot, but the ideas I had for it and the pacing I needed for their relationship would have made it way too long. So here we go with another series! It won’t be a very long one, as I’m hoping to be able to keep it between three and four chapters. I also really wanted to get this first chapter finished and published since I’m still working on Break My Stride and Tuqburni as well. P.S. Potato the pug is my dog irl. That’s right, I did a dog insert. Behold his awesomeness. 

“A curse upon all people that decide to move in the middle of the night like psychos,” Yoongi groans, cracking his neck as he forces himself out of bed. He could have sworn that he’d even heard screaming and crying, and not the good kind. Just the type of neighbors everyone dreams about.  

He grabs the worn black hoodie draped across his computer chair and pulls it on. A quick glance down to make sure he even has pants on is good enough. It’s too early for him to care about anyone seeing his Iron Man lounge pants. 

Yoongi yawns loudly, ruffling his hair as he walks towards the front door. His little brown poodle is running circles around him, yapping and hopping around in excitement over getting to go outside. He shoves his feet into his slippers and hooks Holly onto his leash, cracking open the door and hissing at the too bright sunlight. 

Sneaking a peek at the door next to his, he notes that all the shades were drawn and the apartment seemed silent now. Probably because they’d stayed up all night moving in, thereby keeping him awake too. Too bad he didn’t get the luxury of catching up on his sleep today since he had to work. 

With an annoyed sigh, he leads Holly down the stairs to his favorite patch of grass, watching in fond amusement as the poodle takes his usual sweet time to find just the perfect spot. Usually, this was one of his favorite times of the day, since it was often just him and Holly in the silence of the early morning. Just them and the birds, with Yoongi working on some melody in his head while Holly spends five minutes eating grass he’s just going to puke up later. 

Of course, as per his luck during the past twenty-four hours, this was ruined too.

“POTATO! Get back here, mister!”

A woman was coming out of the newly moved into apartment, chasing after a chubby pug that was staring right at Holly as he ran. She had the leash in her hands as she stumbled after him, still shoving what looked like Bulbasaur slippers onto her feet in her rush to catch the little escapee. 

The pug went right for the startled Holly, trying his best to entice him into playing with his fat wiggling butt and snorts. Holly has never been the most social of dogs, much like his owner, but he wasn’t attacking the thing so that was good at least. Yoongi grinned when Holly looked up at him like he was asking for help. 

“I am so sorry. He’s sneakier than he looks sometimes,” the owner apologized breathily as she glared at the dog. 

“It’s all good. He seems friendly enough, and Holly’s just not used to other dogs being here.” 

“Well, I can certainly see why he was in such a rush. She’s a cutie.” 

“Holly’s a boy, actually.” 

She smiled politely, but he could see the unasked question behind her eyes. 

“My brother named him,” he shrugged. “Also, I don’t think someone who named their dog Potato has any right to judge.” 

“Oh come on, look at him. He’s literally a breathing potato,” she gestures to the pug that was now rolling in the grass in another attempt to engage Holly, only he couldn’t really make it all the way around. 

“I call him Tae for short most of the time if that makes it any better,” she shrugs with a grin, and Yoongi had to contain his snort. Wait until his friend Taehyung learned a fat pug shared his name. 

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as they watched their dogs. Holly was reluctantly letting the pug follow him around, not reacting when Potato tried to convince him to play but not stopping him from pouncing or nipping at him.  Yoongi thought Holly might be a little in shock that someone wanted to be his friend. 

“So we’ve established that’s Potato and Holly. I’m Y/N,” the woman said with a shy smile. 

“Uh, yeah. Min Yoongi.” 

Her grin widened, “Nice to meet you, Yoongi.” 

He wasn’t sure what it was, but something about the way that she said his name made him finally take a good look at her. She was pretty cute, actually, something he’d failed to notice over the shock of her dog’s entrance. He couldn’t help the flicker of interest as he subtly looked her over, the black tank and yoga pants flattering enough on her that he could excuse the ridiculous slippers. She was sporting a few bruises that she must have gotten during the move, making him wonder why she didn’t have help. 

“Which apartment are you guys in?” 

“207,” Yoongi drawls with a quirked eyebrow. 

“Oh, we’re in 208! That’s so...oh no! We probably kept you up last night, didn’t we? I’m so sorry. That was the last time I was going to have help for the next couple of days,” she holds a hand to her chest as her eyes implore him to understand and he just melts. 

“It’s no biggie. We’re night owls, anyway,” he shrugs, preening as her smile lights back up. 

“Well, most of the big stuff is put away already, so I hopefully won’t be too annoying to listen to. I do play my acoustic guitar a lot, but if you let me know what your usual schedule is, I’ll wait until you’re gone so I don’t bother you.” 

He was about to ask more about that when Holly decides to make his desire to leave known, walking straight to the stairs that led to their floor and pulling on the leash as he turned to stare at Yoongi. 

“Looks like his highness is ready to go home,” he sent her a crooked grin as he reluctantly turns to leave. 

Y/N giggles cutely and waves at him. “Yeah, we’ll still be a few minutes. Tae will want to check out all the new bushes. It was nice to meet you.” 

Yoongi nods and obediently follows his dog, letting Holly lead him all the way home. Once inside he kicks off his slippers and releases Holly, snorting as the dog goes right to his bed to sleep. Apparently, only a few minutes of interaction with the hyper pug tired him out. 

He stared at his blinds and decided to ignore his creepy desire to peek out of them and watch her. He shook his head and went about his day instead, totally not thinking of bright smiles and or the fact that her socks were different colors. 

He came home from work around four and found a little gift bag hanging from his door handle. He grabbed it and peeked inside, the smell of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies hitting him instantly. A little slip of paper was tucked inside, so he pulled it out and scanned it. 

Going to be hanging some stuff on the walls. Here’s an apology treat! It shouldn’t take me too long, but if you need me to stop at any time let me know! 

-Your totally awesome not annoying on purpose neighbor

Yoongi snorts and goes inside, munching on one of the cookies as he does. He’s not usually one for sweets, but they aren’t bad. Holly is anxiously circling his ankles waiting for him to drop something, but he was going to be disappointed today. As he pictured her cooking these and wrapping them up all nice just for him, he knew he was going to be eating every single one.  

Sure enough, a light banging sounds against their connected wall, although he thought it seemed like she was trying to do it quietly with little taps instead of outright hammering. It was going to take her forever doing it like that. 

He also heard some music playing, but couldn’t quite make it out. Letting his curiosity take over, he pressed his ear against the wall. He figured if he heard something like Justin Beiber or Nickleback that would cure the strange curiosity he had about this woman. 

Instead, the familiar rap-heavy collab track of Epik High, Born Hater,  flowed through the room. His lips quirked as he heard her attempting to rap like Bobby. She sounded cute, even if she was failing horribly. 

Suddenly, the door slammed next door, hard enough to make his own apartment shake a little. 

“What’s for dinner?”

That was a male voice. Of fucking course. Why wouldn’t he be interested in someone that was fucking taken. 

“I could throw together some spaghetti if you want? I wasn’t sure when to cook since you were supposed to be home three hours ago.” 

She sounded so timid, and it just seemed off. It was nothing like the beaming voice he’d heard earlier. 

“I had stuff to do.” 

“Were you with her?” 

“For fucks sake, Y/N. I told you I ended it. Isn’t that why we moved? To start over? A little hard to do when you keep bringing up old stuff.” 

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” 

“I’ll be in the bedroom. Let me know when dinners ready.” 

Yoongi was kicking himself for being a creep and listening in like that, but holy shit that guy was an asshole. That was some textbook manipulation and she just fell right into it. And to stay with someone that had obviously cheated? Why? 

Part of him wanted to go over there and break the guy's nose, but he shook his head and walked away from the wall instead. He didn’t know the whole story, he told himself. It was none of his business. ‘

None of his business, he reminded himself over the next few days, even as he could hear her crying through their walls at night only to be met with her beaming smile as they met up every morning. 

[goddessvicky]

Blood Stained

                                        Chapter Forty-Eight: Simmer

                                       Goddessvicky / QueenVee1

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Rating: Explicit - For all the swears and smut Relationships: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis, Steve Rogers/Darcy Lewis, Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers

When the airlock began to hiss, Darcy’s eyes flew open, fear seizing her heart. She felt a warm arm wrap around her shoulders, and a crash of relief slid through her when she remembered it was Bucky behind her. Hammer appeared, a gun naked in his hand, and she did her best not to let that fear creep into her eyes. She didn’t want the unstable man to know how much he frightened her. She wasn’t sure what he would do with the information.

“Oh ho, what’s this?” Justin appeared taken aback when his eyes landed on the soldier practically wrapped around Darcy, the gun in his hand dropping to his side. “Zeke didn’t inform me that you’d be having a guest stay in your room.”

“I asked him to,” Darcy said, slowly entangling herself from Bucky and climbing to her feet. “I told him I’d be more cooperative if I knew he was safe.”

Justin stared at her for a few seconds, a considering expression on his face, before it broke into a wide smile. “I get it, now. Why Zeke was so sweet on you. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so damn tragic.”

This was the first time Bucky had gotten a chance to lay eyes on the architect of the kidnapping plot, and vague memories of the man floated to the surface. Bucky didn’t remember specifically if Justin was a soldier of HYDRA, but he would bet money that the weapons manufacturer had given them anything they’d asked for. Extremism and Terror were big markets, after all, and the only thing that benefited from a battle was the pockets of those who’d designed the weapons of war. When Bucky took a step closer to Darcy, the gun in Hammer’s hands swung in Bucky’s direction.

“Ah ah ah, not so fast. I just need her for this little outing.”

Bucky shook his head, being careful not to move too quickly. There was a hint of mania in Hammer’s eyes, and Bucky didn’t want to do anything that could come back to hurt Darcy. “Whatever you need her for, just use me instead.”

Justin’s laugh echoed around the cold and sterile white walls. “Pretty sure Tony won’t care as much about rescuing the person who murdered his parents as he would be about saving his little sister. No, I need her for this.” When Bucky made no move to back up, Justin pointed the gun at Darcy’s head. “Though, if pushed, I can figure out a different way to get to Tony that doesn’t involve her staying alive. Is that what we want to do?”

Bucky was sure he’d never felt anything like what he was feeling now. Fear and worry warred in his chest, practically able to see the invisible line that stretched from the gun in Hammer’s hand toward Darcy. He ground his teeth together, jaw clenching, before taking one step back, and then another, putting space between himself and Darcy. He said nothing when Darcy looked over her shoulder back at him, a reassuring smile flitting onto her lips before she turned back to Hammer and let her lead him out of the door, the exit sealing as they left.

                                           Read More Here!

[avengersmusings]

FULL NAME: Anthony Edward Stark MEANING: Highly praiseworthy, Priceless One, Flower NICKNAME: Tonio, Tony MEANING: Tonio was what his mom called him growing up (and she’s the ONLY one allowed to call him that thanks), and Tony’s just the shorten version of his name. AGE APPEARANCE: 46 BIRTHDAY: May 29th, 1973 ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Gemini SPECIES: Human GENDER: Cis Male ALLERGIES: None SEXUAL PREFERENCE: Pansexual THEME SONG(S): Back in Black by AC/DC, Because of You by Kelly Clarkson, Bastards by Kesha, I Don’t Care by Fall Out Boy

APPEARANCE

HAIR COLOR:  Dark Brown with some grey peppered in because baby old. HAIR STYLE AND LENGTH: Honestly a mess, but like a stylish mess. It’s longer on top and always in that spikey MESS. EYES COLOR: Brown EYESIGHT: 20/20, he paid for corrective surgery when he was younger thanks. HEIGHT: 5′9″, don’t let HIM FOOL YOU WEIGHT: 190 lbs OUTFIT/CLOTHING STYLE: Tony’s probably wearing some band shirt with oil/grease stains on it and jeans. He also likes wearing tshirts, a blazer, and jeans. BUT ALWAYS THE SUNGLASSES. ABNORMALITIES: Miniaturized arc reactor in chest. DISTINGUISHING MARKS(SCARS,MOLES): Tony’s got a couple of scars from his father childhood, some old track marks along the crease of his elbow from his wilder days, and a giant ass scar on his chest from the one a half two heart surgeries that goes from the middle of his sternum down to almost his belly button. SELF CARE(MAKE UP): Tony either looks like he hasn’t slept in days or put together, there’s no in between. The only thing he really keeps maintained is his goatee. Because he’s vain about it. FIRST IMPRESSION ON PEOPLE: He’s Tony Fucking Stark okay, people either want to be his friend for his money or to hurt him so they try to impress him. SKIN COLOR: White BODY TYPE/BUILD: TINY BABY, he’s also fit but not like Steve level of muscle.  DEFAULT EXPRESSION: Tony always looks done with everything when in public. POSTURE: Oooooooof, Tony pretends to take up as much space as physically possible while keeping his back protected and everyone in the room in his sight. PIERCINGS: He has a closed up earring hole. DESCRIBE THEIR VOICE: Steve’s voice has a subtle Brooklyn accent and takes on a softer tone than you’d expect out of him. His voice hardens and deepens when he goes in Captain mode.

RELATIONS:

MOM: Maria Stark HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Maria and Tony had a bond that was built off of both of them being abused by Howard. They’d stick up for each other when he got too hard on one of them and when Tony got older he started acting out more so Howard would take it out on him more rather than Maria. To this day, Maria is still one of the most important people in his life. DAD: Howard Stark HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: HoWARD STARK CAN FUCKING CHOKE YOU DUMB ASS BITCH. Howard was not a good father, he was not Marvel can fight me. He was abusive and cold and distant and had his son kidnapped so that he wouldn’t break when it really happened. Howard’s better off fucking dead. SIBLINGS: Isabelle St. Martin (Half-Sister) HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Tony.........has no clue she’s his sister sorry. CHILDREN: Toni Stark, Morgan Stark, Peter Parker, and the Bots HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Tony’s kids are hIS LIFE. His biggest fear is turning into Howard so he treats them like they’re the best thing to happen to him (which they are). OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS: Edwin Jarvis (Father Figure), Peggy Carter (Adoptive Aunt) PAST LOVER(S): so MANY ONE NIGHT STANDS TONY PLEASE. CURRENT LOVER: Pepper Potts REACTION TO MEETING SOMEONE NEW: Tony’s analyzing what they want from him and why they’re talking to him, but he’s keeping up with the conversation and probably trying to see if he can make them hate him. ABILITY TO WORK WITH OTHERS: It depends on his mood, honestly. HOW SOCIABLE(LONER,ETC): Tony can be sociable, when he wants to. FRIENDS: Elise Burke, Bruce Banner, Peggy Carter, Thor, Nat, Clint, basically all of the Avengers. PETS: Ginny, a miniature poodle (who is also a service doggo for his anxIETY) LEAST FAVORITE TYPE OF PERSON: People who take advantage of him or use his tech for evil. PARENTAL TYPE(PROTECTIVE,ETC): THE BEST, his kids want something and they get it. FAVORITE PEOPLE: Pepper, Elise, Bruce, Morgan, Peter, Toni. LEAST FAVORITE PEOPLE: Steve, Justin Hammer, most of SHIELD.

PERSONALITY:

..WHEN YOU FIRST MEET THEM: ? Distant, Sarcastic, Pushy ..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY LIKE YOU): Warm, Loyal, Giving ..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY DISLIKE YOU): Cold, Mean, Closed-Off FAVORITE COLOR: Red FAVORITE FOOD: One of his mom’s old dishes or a Potts family recipe. FAVORITE ANIMAL: Cats (?) FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: Piano FAVORITE ELEMENT: Fire LEAST FAVORITE COLOR: None of them??? LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: Honestly, nothing. LEAST FAVORITE ANIMAL: Rats LEAST FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: Maybe a kazoo? Tony’s weird. LEAST FAVORITE ELEMENT: Earth HOBBIES: building things he shouldn’t be, hanging out with his kids, annoying Pepper in her office, sciencing with Bruce. USUAL MOOD: Honestly Tony’s eager to please so he wants people around, but HE ALSO DOESN’T WANNA SEEM TOO EAGER so like.......you have to come to him first.

DRINK/SMOKE/DRUGS: Not anymore. He used to do all three and stopped when he became Iron Man. Well, drinking stopped when he got together with Pepper. DARK VERSION OF SELF: OH FUCK. AN EVIL GENIUS. The entire world is metal and humans arE GONE. LIGHT VERSION OF SELF: hello see Tony thanks. Maybe less self-doubty and more willing to work with others. HOW SERIOUS ARE THEY: Tony can be serious if he wants to be, he just doesn’t want to be most of the time. BELIEVE IN GHOSTS: Nope. Science can’t explain it so they aren’t real :) (IN)DEPENDANT: Tony likes to pretend to be independant but CANNOT REMEMBER WHAT HE HAD FOR BREAKFAST. please help him. SOFT SPOT/VULNERABILITY: anybody hurting one of his kids or Pepper, failing the team, turning into Howard, people needing help in general. OPINION ON SWEARING: Will say fuck in front of a child if needed. Morgan probably knows a LOt of swear words. DAREDEVIL VS CAUTIOUS: Both??? He’s mostly just a menace to himself and lack self-preservation skills. MUSIC TYPE: Ear-shattering rock. MOVIE TYPE: .......Tony doesn’t watch movies he doesn’t have the attention span for them. BOOK TYPE: ..........i don’t see Tony as much of a reader either. Maybe scientific journals??? GAME TYPE: Tony can kick your ass at poker without even trying. COMFORTABLE TEMPERATURE: Tony likes it a little bit warmer than comfortable. The cold reminds him of the cave and being trapped in space :( SLEEPING PATTERN: .........tony stark..........sleep???? what. CLEANLINESS/NEATNESS: Tony is the cleanest messiest person you’ll ever meet. He never picks up after himself but IF YOU PICK UP ONE OF HIS TOOLS AND MOVE IT ANYWHERE IT THROWS OFF HIS ENTIRE SYSTEM.  DESIRED PET: who needs pets when kids keep showing up at your doorstep amiright HOW DO THEY PASS TIME: Bothering Pepper, hanging out with a kid of his, building up suits for the team. BIGGEST SECRET: Tony Stark has had three “suicide” attempts in his life and only one of them was intentional. HERO/WHO THEY LOOK UP TO: Everyone because he’s short.  His mom, Pepper, Steve to an extent. WHAT ANIMAL WOULD THEY BE: A cat. FEARS: BECOMING HOWARD, losing one of his kids or Pepper, space, failing the team. COMFORTS: Pepper’s shampoo, Morgan’s childlike scent, the smell of motor oil, being utterly surround by someone he loves.

HOW DO THEY ACT WHEN THEY ARE:

SAD: Tony bottles it all up until it spills out and he can’t control it anymore. He’s getting better about opening up about when he’s sad, but he WASN’T ALLOWED TO BE SAD when he was younger THANKS HOWARD. HAPPY: Talking fast and probably waving his arms around TOO MUCH, getting up in personal space, SARCASTIC JOKES ANGRY: OOOOOFFF, the cold creeps in and Tony shuts off all other emotions. He tends to let the anger control him and doesn’t think things through. AFRAID: Tony’s not allowed to show he’s afraid because FUCK HOWARD so he keeps it to himself. If it gets too bad he has panic attacks. LOVE SOMEONE: Everything you’ve ever been in debt for is suddenly paid off and you have a nice vacation to look forward to and ANYTHING ELSE YOU NEED he’s giving you thanks. HATE SOMEONE: Tony’s cold and distant and probably wishing he could blast them with a gauntlet. WANT SOMETHING: Tony will take whatever he wants, he was raised spoiled okay. CONFUSED: tony stark doesn’t get confused HOW DARE YOU.

HOW DO THEY REACT TO:

DANGER: If Tony’s in danger it’s no big deal, but if someone else is? He’s doing everything in his power to GET THEM OUT even if it means getting hurt in the process. SOMEONE THEY HATE WHO HAS A CRUSH ON THEM: Bitch bye, Tony doesn’t have time for people he hates. PROPOSAL TO MARRY: He’s already married sooooooooooo unless it’s Pepper he’s gonna say no. DEATH OF LOVED ONE: It depends on how close they were. But he’d probably hide away until the sadness went away unless someone makes him face it. DIFFICULT GAME/MATH/ETC: Tony will not rest until he’s solved it thanks. INJURY: Yeah no, Tony doesn’t tell anybody when he’s injured. He was literally dying and didn’t tell anyone so. SOMETHING IRRESISTABLY CUTE: My guess is Tony would want to make sure it’s taken care of. LOSS OF HOURS OF WORK: .............he’s sleeping with his boss so.

KNOWLEDGE:

LANGUAGES: English, Italian, knows conversational various other langauges. SCHOOLING LEVEL: He has 3 doctorates. FAVORITE SUBJECT (S): Science, Science, and more Science. INTERESTED CAREERS: An engineer or inventor. EXPERTISE: genius level intellect, master engineer, master scientist, master buinessman, pilot of the iron man suits PUZZLES: Puzzles take him a minute but the serum helps him figure them out rather quickly. CHEMISTRY: Tony likes making things explode and probably has a good understanding of chemistry. MATH: TONY LOVES MATH. ENGLISH: Tony can speak it but has NO interest in interpreting what authors were trying to say in books thanks. GEOGRAPHY: Who needs maps when you have an AI running everything? POLITICS/LAW: Tony knows about them, and probably participates in them.  ECONOMY/ACCOUNTING: yOU DON’T NEED TO WORRY ABOUT MONEY WHEN YOU’RE RICH. COOKING: Tony can cook three things: scrambled eggs, spaghetti, and cereal. That’s it. SEWING: No. MECHANICS: Tony rebuilds classic cars in his spare time the fucking nerd. BOTANY (FLOWERS): lol no MYTHOLOGY: Tony knows about the different mythologies but doesn’t really believe in them? Atheism is a thing. DRAMATICS(ACTING,SINGING): besides the fact that tony is a DRAMA QUEEN, no. READING LEVEL: WAY ABOVE AVERAGE HE GRADUATED CO LLEGE AT FI FTEEN. HOW GOOD ARE THEY AT PLANNING AHEAD: no. just.......no this why he has Jarvis and Pepper.

ROMANCE:

DO THEY TAKE INITIATIVE: YES he loves bothering Pepper when she’s busy and a l w a y s gets his way. HOW DO THEY ACT(SHY,ETC): .........he’s Tony Stark.....that’s enough right there. GENTLEMAN/LADYLIKE VS KLUTZY: Tony can be gentleman like when he’s done something he’s not supposed to (or when he wants something) but other than that HE’S A DEMON. GO SLOW VS JUMP INTO: he was used to going fast and doing the one night stand thing, but with Pepper it was easier to take things slow (and then go really fast once they realized how WELL they worked together). PROTECTIVE: Yes. ACT LIKE FRIENDS OR LOVERS:  B O T H. WHAT KIND OF PRESENTS DO THEY BUY: ......tony doesn’t buy presents because he forgets birthdays and anniversaries. TYPE OF KISSER: It depends on his mood and what he wants :) DO THEY WANT KIDS: He didn’t want them, but now he has a small army of them so. DO THEY WANT TO MARRY: he’s ALREADY MARRIED. MAKE GOOD OR BAD DECISIONS: Bad decisions are unintentionally made because Tony might be a genius but he’s a dumbass. ARE THEY ROMANTIC: Y E S. HOW ARE THEY IN BED: Tony Stark literally did one night stands and one night stands only. He’s A M A Z I N G in bed he knows how to treat Pepper the way she should be and how to take car eof his WIFE. GET JEALOUS EASY: nO.  WIFE/HUBBY BEATER: nOPE. MARRY FOR MONEY: tony IS MONEY. FAVORITE POSITION: HOnestly? Pepper on top. WHAT WOULD HAPPEN ON THEIR DREAM DATE: A five star hotel while someone takes care of Morgan so Pepper can just relax. They spent as much time as possible in bed or relaxing. OPINION ON SEX: Sex was always just something Tony thought he HAD to do because people wanted it from him. And then he realized it was fun so he kept doing it because WHY NOT. But with Pepper it’s different and he could never go back to the one night stand thing. He likes the intimacy of sex with someone who cares about you beyond just getting off. 

[elcorhamletlive]

fandom: MCU (Alternate Universe: College/University) ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark tags: Pre Serum Steve Rogers/Fluff/Kind of a meet cute

If Bucky was here, he’d have told them to just leave the bar.

It wouldn’t be an entirely bad call, Steve guesses. It wasn’t even that good of a bar, anyway. Too loud and too crowded, with drinks way too expensive for a bar whose clientele was composed mainly of college students. Based on the quality of this evening alone, he really wouldn’t mind going somewhere else.

But it wasn’t just about that.

The guy was bothering Wanda. He really, really was. At first, it had just been awkward, when a blond douchebag stopped her on her way to get the drinks and ended up inviting himself to sit with their little group. Steve had exchanged worried looks with Bruce and Betty. If it had been Peggy, the douche would immediately have gotten a cutting reply; if it had been Natasha, a single look would have him so scared he probably wouldn’t even have approached her in the first place. But Wanda is more shy and reserved, much like Steve himself, and she isn’t very used to being chatted up. At first, she tried to let the guy down gently, smiling and nodding politely at his endless rambling, but as time went by, it became clear the man just wasn’t willing to entertain the possibility of a woman who wasn’t interested in him.

To make matters worse, although the guy is clearly a douchebag, he is also a very popular one. Wanda had become the target of one of the richest frat boys of the campus – when he introduced himself as Ty, Steve hadn’t made the connection to the Tiberius Stone, but now he did, and at least it explained the guy’s sense of entitlement.

When Ty stood up to go to his table to ask his friends about some party he was hell-bent on taking Wanda with him, Steve did what Bucky would have told him to do, and walked everyone to the exit. Bruce and Betty were wondering which bar to go next, and Wanda seemed more relaxed, when Steve stopped to say: Oh, I forgot something. It took a moment, but Steve managed to convince them to just go on without him. He promised he’d meet them later.

As soon as he got back to the bar, he walked towards Stone’s table with angry strides. It wasn’t fair that they had to be the ones to leave the bar when they weren’t the ones being inconvenient creeps. Besides, what if the jerk jumped from bothering Wanda to bothering some other girl? It wasn’t right. Something had to be done.

So that’s how Steve finds himself in front of a table with a bunch of the richest and most popular guys on campus. All of which have at least a head over him and would be definitely capable of knocking him down if they wanted to.

“Uh,” one of them starts. Steve recognizes him as Justin Hammer, who throws big parties down the hallway of Steve’s dorm. He’s sitting between Rumlow, from Steve’s math class; and a dark haired guy that also seems familiar, though Steve can’t tell why. Hammer squints his nose at Steve as if he smells really bad. “Do you need something?”

It occurs to Steve that, though he recognizes most of them from campus, none of them have any idea who he is. He feels the spike of anger on his chest rising. Stone, who has been busy looking at something on his phone, raises his head and flashes him a grin.

“Oh, hey, Stan. I’m just checking in with everyone, tell Wanda I’ll be back in a minute,” he says, with a wink.

“That’s not my name,” Steve says, clenching his fists at his sides. “And I’m not here to tell you anything about Wanda. I’m here to tell you to leave her alone.”

Stone tilts his head, frowning. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Steve blurts. His stomach clenches a little in worry as he assesses the other guys – most of them are pretty bulky, with the exception of the brunet, who seems to be more on the leaner side; and, yeah, they’re all bigger than him. He swallows. “Wanda is not interested. She’s been trying to make this clear to you the entire night, but you keep pushing, and you need to stop.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then the table breaks into a bunch of chorus of Oooooo’s and surprised laughter.

“Sounds like you’ve got competition, Ty,” Hammer says, tapping him on the back. “Tough guy here wants to take you down!”

“Look, kid,” Stone says, incredibly condescending with an edge of hostility. “I’m sorry the chick is not into you, okay? If you apologize nicely for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, I’ll hook you up with some nice piece of ass.”

He reaches to pat Steve’s arm, and Steve shakes him off angrily, face flushing, in embarrassment and rage.

“Wanda is my friend. Not that it matters, because I’d be here even if she wasn’t,” he says. He keeps himself steady as he gives Ty a once-over. “She’s not interested in you, and, frankly, I don’t think she’s missing out on anything.”

There’s no laughter this time, though Steve does hear a solitary chuckle coming from the table. Stone stands up.

“Okay,” he says slowly. He’s a head taller than Steve. Maybe more than that. “This is where you apologize.”

Steve’s stomach twists, but he stands his ground. “No, this is where you apologize and offer to leave and not bother us anymore.”

Stone takes a step forward, towering over Steve. Definitely more than a head. “I think you should reconsider this, lightweight. The only way I’m leaving is to take Wanda to a kickass party that you definitely couldn’t get inside in a million years.”

Steve swallows. Clenches his fists. Inhales deeply before answering.

“Fuck you.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, and then, almost immediately, Stone is all up on his face. “Listen here, you little—“

“Wow, wow, wow, okay,” a voice interrupts suddenly, and Steve turns to see the lean guy standing up and placing himself in between them. He has wild brown hair and wears a band t-shirt that definitely costs more than Steve’s entire wardrobe. Though he’s the smallest of the group, it’s clear that the energy changes a little at his interference. He lands a hand on Stone’s shoulder, casually, and Steve gets the sense that, while he may not be the leader of the pack, he’s definitely a significant part. “Ty, buddy, I’m pretty sure you won’t be leaving here with anyone since the car is, well, not yours. It’s mine, maybe the last couple of beers made you forget that,” he speaks very fast, gesturing with his other hand, and turns to Steve. He has big brown eyes that seem just as frantic as his rambling. “As for you, Lancelot, don’t worry, ok? He got loose for a while, but we’ll keep an eye on him. He won’t be bothering your friend anymore.”

Steve takes a sharp breath. Despise being shorter than his friends, the guy still has a couple inches on Steve. His expression is conciliatory, as if he’s begging Steve to cooperate. Behind him, though, Stone seems shocked and not at all apologetic, so Steve crosses his arms.

“He shouldn’t be bothering any woman who’s made clear they don’t want to talk to him. It’s not right.”

Ty’s friend seems off-put for a moment, but he recovers immediately, plastering a grin on his face so fast Steve almost thinks it must have been his imagination. “Listen, here, uh, Stan? No, wait, you said that wasn’t your name – what do I call you, not-Stan?”  he lays his hand on Steve’s shoulder now. Before Steve can answer, he continues: “I’m Tony. Tony Stark.”

Steve barely holds back a swear. Everyone’s heard of Tony Stark, the richest kid on a campus filled with already very rich people. Steve can vaguely remember seeing his face on the television a couple times, doing interviews, while he was zapping channels. Back then, he hadn’t paid much attention, just like he never paid any attention to Bill Gates’ kids or something. But he heard of Tony Stark around campus, too – how he gave the best parties, how he was disputed by several fraternities despise never joining one, and how he was apparently the smartest person since his father.

Of course, Steve thinks. Of all the people in the world to get in trouble with, Steve had to do it with Tony Stark’s friend.

Tony Stark, apparently oblivious to his shock, continues to ramble: “Look, Ty is a bit blind to other people’s autonomy sometimes – flaws, who doesn’t have them, am I right – but he doesn’t mean any harm. I assure you, he will leave your friend alone,” his voice grows strangely earnest at the last few words, but he quickly changes back to his light, fast-paced tone: “Is there a way I can make it up to you guys? Maybe buy your table the next round?” He smiles brightly, the smile of someone who’s used to buying his way out of trouble. “I’m all ears.”

Steve frowns. Stark seems weird, but something about him comes off as bizarrely sincere, in the middle of all that useless rambling. The word charisma barely begins to cover it, Steve thinks, a little taken aback – he almost managed to make Steve forget Stark wasn’t defending his friend because he made an innocent mistake, but because said friend was being a total creep.

Almost.

“There is a way,” Steve crosses his arms, staring at Stark’s expectant face. “You guys could leave.”

Stone groans. “Oh, fuck you, you—“

“Again, my car, buddy, it’s your way into Pep’s party,” Stark says, surprisingly firm, before turning towards Steve again. He seems to evaluate the situation with a few rapid blinks.

He eyes Steve up and down, rocking on his feet and thinking. Steve can’t help but shift a little, uncomfortable under the scrutiny, and something flickers on Stark’s eyes. He licks his lips, staying silent for a moment until he suddenly snaps his fingers.

“I know,” he finger-guns at Steve, grinning. “Why don’t we settle this like gentlemen, huh?” He points towards the table with his thumb. “Arm wrestling. You and me, Lancelot. You win, we leave.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “And if you win?”

Stark’s grin grows playful. “I don’t feel really good about my chances. You’re only missing your stick and stone, David.”

Steve isn’t sure if he should feel insulted or not. It sounds like it should be an ironic comment, but something about it doesn’t sound very mocking.

Stark turns towards the table, taking a seat and placing his elbow on the center. “Come on.”

Steve considers his options. Stark is not as bulky as the other guys at the table. He’s taller than Steve, sure, but then again, so is everyone. And, again, he’s Tony Stark, born with a diamond spoon in his mouth. Steve doubts he has much experience with arm wrestling, and, well, Steve grew up with Bucky. He may not be able to do anything about his size, but he’s picked up a few tricks. He figures he could probably catch Stark off guard and win this one.

Maybe.

Then again, it’s better than getting beat up, Steve guesses. And if it gets Stone’s creepy ass out of the bar, it’s worth risking a sore arm.

He sits down. The other guys on the group are watching attentively with a uncertain smiles, and Steve gets the feeling they don’t really get what Stark is going for, here. To be honest, Steve doesn’t get it either – logically, the guy didn’t have to offer him any compensation, let alone a chance to get them away from the bar entirely.

Then again, Steve thinks harshly, he didn’t have to stand up for his creeper of a friend, either.

Steve clasps Stark’s hand. It’s surprisingly calloused. Stark looks – well, he looks like the kind of guy who would have soft hands. Instead, though, his hand feels like it belongs to a person who works a lot, and Steve must frown, because Stark grins.

“Sorry, forgot to moisturize this morning”, he remarks, and it’s clearly an attempt to distract Steve that doesn’t really work. “Okay, one… Two… Go!”

Steve is prepared for the pressure of Stark’s arm. He’s not prepared for how strong he is – he almost twists Steve’s arm immediately before Steve composes himself, clenches his muscles and manages to hold out against Stark just before his own arm hits the table.

Steve takes a sharp breath and probably grunts as he does his best to keep focus, to throw his body weight to the side to push against Stark’s arm, and he can hear Stark’s friends chuckling but he stays determined, using everything he’s got.

For a moment Steve thinks it’s over, but then Stark’s arm starts losing ground, slowly being pushed back slightly. Still, though, it’s very hard to keep up, and Steve’s other hand grips the table as he struggles to keep himself steady. He can feel his breath getting short, which – oh no, oh no – is not a good thing.

“Hey, are you okay?” Stark asks, seeming alert. “What is happening?”

Steve tries to focus on breathing, but he can’t seem to find any air, and, oh God, that can’t happen, not now.

“I’m fine,” Steve blurts, even though he’s most definitely not fine, and he needs to reach for his inhaler but if he lets the table go he’ll lose his support.

He tightens his grip on Stark’s hand, focusing even more on pushing it. He can feel his face flushing, but he doesn’t care. He takes a sharp, forced breath that catches no air and his head grows dizzy.

“Ok, everyone,” Stark suddenly says, voice serious all of a sudden. “Go meet Happy.” Steve faintly hears some protesting coming from the others, but he barely registers it, focusing on blinking fast to get rid of the white spots in his vision. “Go. Now. Say I sent you. He’ll take you wherever you want to go, whatever; just get out of my sight.”

Steve clings to the table so hard his knuckles go white, and he hardly hears the responses. All he can focus on is the pressure of Stark’s hand, that seems to be… stopping?

Steve blinks as the strength in Stark’s hand clearly fades, allowing Steve to raise their hands back to the initial position. Steve tries to not lose momentum, when he hears something, the sound of the door of the bar slamming shut.

“Okay, that’s the last of them,” Stark says, and his arm just goes flat, easily letting Steve’s hand push it down, landing on the table.

Steve is panting and can barely decipher what just happened. Immediately, Stark is right next to him, hands on his shoulders.

“Okay, Lancelot, breathe,” Stark says, sounding nervous. “Tell me what you need.”

“I—“ Steve stutters. “My inhaler—My pocket,” he reaches for it before Stark can, taking it to his lips and huffing it, feeling the relief of the air reaching his lungs.

“Holy shit,” Stark says. “Were you—Were you seriously not grabbing it just because it would lose you the match?”

Steve huffs it a few more times, blinking as his vision regains focus. He looks at Stark’s face. He’s close now, leaned over Steve.

Steve is a little taken aback by the proximity. Stark is a handsome guy, of course, but right now, he looks very… smooth, with those huge bright eyes and fluffy hair falling slightly on his forehead. His nose is small with a roundish end and he has long eyelashes, giving his already warm eyes a more delicate look. It’s the rare type of face that manages to be interesting and pretty at the same time.

Steve feels his cheeks heating a little. “Yeah.”

Stark huffs out a surprised laugh, then shakes his head. “Holy shit. You’re crazy,” he says, but he sounds slightly impressed.

“You’re crazy,” Steve counters, a bit more composed. “You threw the match,” he states, unsure of how to feel about it.

“Uh, yeah, of course I did. You know, I was gonna tell them to leave anyway,” he shrugs. “Thing is, they wouldn’t have gone if they thought they were doing what you wanted. Trust me, they’d stay here all night just to annoy you. So I thought I could stall the match and then I could tell them to go ahead and that I’d take an Uber or something.” He runs his hand through his hair. It looks very soft. “Also, I thought I was going to win and it didn’t occur to me you’d be willing to kill yourself to stop that from happening.” He shakes his head again, still looking at Steve as if he has done something amazing, instead of making a fool out of himself. “Do you—Do you go here?”

“What?”

“Here. As in, on campus.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Steve shifts a little. “I’m a Political Science major.”

Stark’s grins grows. “Awesome. You know who I am, obviously,” he gestures to himself flippantly. It comes off as strangely self-depreciating. “What about you, though? I refuse to believe your name is actually Lancelot, that’d be just too much.”

“I’m, uh. I’m Steve,” he stutters, then pauses. “Why Lancelot?”

Something flickers in Stark’s eyes. “Ever read the legends? Bravest knight on the King’s court,” he shrugs, giving Steve a sideways glance. “Just seemed to fit.”

Steve’s tongue feels too big to form actual words. “Oh.”

Stark smiles. “Not a lot of people stand up to Ty, you know,” he says, looking away. His voice lowers to an almost whisper. “He doesn’t take it very well. None of them do.”

Looking at him now, Steve is struck by how different he is from the Tony Stark from TV. Tony Stark in the interviews seems a lot more exuberant, arrogantly talking over reporters and feeding the camera with outraging soundbites. Tony Stark in real life is more… believable, Steve thinks, with his nervous eyes and self-depreciating grins. He seems more real.

Steve likes him better this way.

“Why do you hang out with them?” he asks, unable to hold himself back. “You—You know they are…”

“Complete shitheads?” Stark grimaces. “Yeah. Most of them have business with my family, and Ty, his father is one of my father’s long time partners, so, yeah, the friendship was kind of sealed at birth.” He looks away, a little distant. “Reached its expiration date a while ago, though. But I can’t exactly… You know.”

Steve just looks at him. “Why not?”

Stark shrugs, and something about his smile seems a little sad. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Guess it’s just sort of hard to come to terms with not having anyone to sit with during lunch. Or some equally cheesy crap.”

Steve just stares at him wordlessly. Stark’s eyes dart away and he clutches his hands.

“I really am sorry about this whole thing,” he says. “I thought—I don’t know, you just came up to us, and Ty usually handles his problems by punching them, so I thought…” He gestures aimlessly. “I didn’t want you to get punched. And I really wanted to buy your table the next round. You guys deserved it.”

Steve still doesn’t answer, a little taken aback.

“What were you going to ask?” he blurts, interrupting Stark’s ramble. “If you won. You never said.”

Stark gives him a grin. Not the thousand-watt grin he gave him earlier. It’s smaller, charming, but also slightly nervous.

“Full disclosure? Your number.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “You—“ he stutters, feeling his cheeks heating, as he watches Stark blink expectantly at him with those big, pretty eyes. “Why would you—“

Stark frowns a little. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, a playful smile on his lips as he eyes Steve up and down. The warmth of Steve’s face travels over his whole body, in the wake of Stark’s gaze. “Like I said, not many people can do what you did, even for a friend. And almost dying to prove a point, hey—“ He shakes his head appreciatively again. “Gotta admire that.”

There’s a smile threatening the corners of Steve’s mouth, and he tries to bite it back, to play it cool, even as he shifts awkwardly, hands on his pockets. “Well,” he watches the way Stark’s eyes blink at him, and, damn, he wouldn’t mind being the target of that look more often. “If an asthma attack gets you in the mood, I’m definitely your guy.”

Stark laughs. He has a nice laugh, Steve notices, unable to fight back his own smile. A really, really nice laugh. “Nobility gets me in the mood, I guess. Like I said – Arthurian geek over here.” His smile makes Steve’s knees feel a little weak. “Plus, it doesn’t hurt that you’re really cute.”

“You’re also—Uh—You’re really—“ Steve stumbles over his words, but Stark doesn’t seem to mind, smile growing fonder. Steve swallows. “Well,” he bites his lower lip, before giving into a huge grin of his own. “Will I have to arm wrestle you again for your number?”

“Not really,” Stark (Tony? Steve should call him Tony, right? The thought gives him pleasant butterflies on his stomach) says, taking his phone off his pocket. “But just so you know, you’d win again.”

[thisdayinfavrd]

October 10, 2009

When your only tool is a hammer, every problem looks like a reason to buy a way nicer hammer.   @hotdogsladies (Merlin Mann) – 147

I bet the best part of being an orphan is whenever someone makes a "Your Mom" joke being able to say "Ha! I don't HAVE a mom! IN YOUR FACE!"   @sween (Jason Sweeney) – 69

"Son, people will always try and fuck you. Don't waste your life planning for a fucking, just be alert when your pants are down."   @shitmydadsays (Justin) – 69

I don't like morning people. And, quite frankly, I'm not a huge fan of afternoon people.   @badbanana (Tim Siedell) – 68

I need to learn how to sleep longer at night. Or start crime-fighting.   @sween (Jason Sweeney) – 61

Irony: Mocking someone for screwing up a D&D joke.   @sween (Jason Sweeney) – 56

At a breakfast drive-thru. Voice box thing: "Would you like to try a fried balogna and egg biscuit?" Me: "Holy shit, no! Would you?"   @JephKelley (Jeff Kelley) – 55

It's snowing here. Not just any snow, mind you. October snow. When Frosty returns for blood. Thumpity thump thump...   @badbanana (Tim Siedell) – 54

Drive car. Sip coffee. Dribble coffee. Panic. Search for napkins. Clean up mess. Breathe deep. Relax. Drive car. Sip coffee. Dribble coffee.   @sween (Jason Sweeney) – 53

The risk of giving a sitting President a Nobel Prize is that you're one stained blue dress away from a really awkward Wikipedia entry.   @biorhythmist (matt) – 52

People with no heads creep me out. Sorry if that's racist or whatever.   @sloganeerist (jtdobbs dur) – 50

Did my self breast exam today in the shower.  Been doing them for 7 years.  Still haven't found any breasts but I'm not giving up.   @ruthakers (ruthakers) – 50

Eventually she will realize when I say we should do something, I really mean her.   @roughdiction (RoughDiction) – 45

After spending an hour figuring out how to connect Google Voice to Skype, I just remembered: I despise talking on the phone.   @adamisacson (Adam Isacson) – 44

I'm not crying over spilled milk, I'm crying over the fifty little things that happened before that.   @baileygenine (Bailey Siewert) – 43

It's too cold too soon. It feels like David Letterman's marriage outside.   @badbanana (Tim Siedell) – 43

Realizing that I just spent an hour and a half happily sorting screws by color, thread and size to what used to be my 'fucking' music.   @Mike_FTW (Mike Monteiro) – 43

ok, but here's the part I can't figure out.  if you could literally be ANYTHING you wanted inside the matrix...why was Morpheus still black?   @theduty (duty) – 42

The wife doesn't like the way I call her 'Mommy' when I urinate during sex.   I'd enunciate more clearly were I not also constantly sobbing.   @Zaius13 (Damn Dirty Ape) – 41

I'm hunting for food in the freezer just as my forefathers and their forefathers probably never actually did ooh look a pizza.   @thedayhascome (Josh Hopkins) – 40

[violetmuses]

Make You Mine - S. Holder ❤️‍🩹

TITLE: Make You Mine - S. Holder ❤️‍🩹 

FANDOM: “The Killing” (AMC/Netflix Series)

CHARACTER: Homicide Detective Stephen Holder

PAIRING: Female Reader + Stephen Holder

MAIN STORYLINE: Meeting you by chance was no mistake. 

J Krew: @nerdysuperchick @a-reader-and-a-writer @babblydrabbly @lacontroller1991 @shadowkittybucky @loverhymeswith @justin-hammers @weallhaveadestiny @xoxabs88xox @katjnordstrom96   @mayhem24-7forever @lilisangel @skvatnavle @sociiallydiisoriiented @heresathreebee @alieninoklahoma @bewitchedignition @maddu-oliveira @reveluving @sugapapichulo @hodgepodge-of-rog

By Your Side - Masterlist

_________

Gonna make you mine. 

If it tears me into pieces. 

If it takes me 'till the stars are fallin' out the sky… 

“Make You Mine” by Kwabs 

2012

After Linden ducked out for the night, Stephen Holder was able to leave that precinct early for once. He’d planned to venture out before walking home, but those raindrops ended up falling right away. 

There was no other choice but for Stephen to lift his hoodie and brace for cover, passing through this threshold. His herbal tea had cooled down, useless as a drink to warm him up this time. 

He subtly watched you sit alone. You’ve cornered to perch by the widow, sipping coffee while reading a dog-eared paperback novel. The local shop had been quiet, especially since that Seattle downpour still raged out of every window at this point. 

He didn’t recognize the book, definitely out of some loop and not as sharp to be familiar with its author. Yet, Holder felt entranced, glancing to notice how much you concentrated on each word, seemingly hanging on whatever story gripped pages. 

“Excuse me?” His voice rasps as he carefully lifts one finger to avoid spooking you tonight. Tweakers and other creeps might not have lurked on this end of town, but he wasn’t dumb enough to act conceited or of course ask for much from strangers. 

“Yes?” It’s not until he clears his throat and gently introduces himself without standing from the table that you notice him. You finally raise your head and set one bookmark between pages to make full eye contact with him out of respect. 

“What book is that? I’m trying to read somethin’ other than police reports.” He chuckles through his own joke, but gestures towards the paperback in your head. 

“Oh this?” You lift the book and he finally notices its title, making a mental note to visit the library soon. He then realizes that you haven’t even flinched at the idea of him working in law enforcement. 

“Thanks, Mama…I mean..my bad…” He catches the slip of endearment and shakes out of that habit, trying to remember that he didn’t need to give out soothing tones around witnesses again tonight. If Linden wasn’t around, off-key flirting eased most ladies during questioning, especially once Holder opened his mouth to work. 

“I heard that.” You say, taking another sip of coffee while facing him across this short distance between tables. 

You dare to laugh between words and he nearly melts from within, feeling sprung for the first time since probably high school. Back in the day, crushing on a cheerleader felt damn-near euphoric. 

“Sorry. It’s been a long night.” He clears his throat again, attempting to be genuinely normal. 

“I get that. Got back from work and needed a minute here.” You shrugged, watching the rain while still taking glimpses. Stephen’s noticed that you’ve dressed with Business Casual attire, definitely not burned out and looking miserable like others. 

“Me too. I’m just waiting here until the rain lets up.” Holder sighs, pouting for a moment as he faces the window. 

“Need a ride home? I saw you walking two blocks away.” You offer kindness just in case and know he'd probably catch a cold soon. 

“Nah. Thank you, but I’m fine.” Holder says, glancing towards his watch. 

“Buses stopped running like two hours ago.” You shook your head, noticing how pitch-black skyline is. 

“Shit.” Stephen mumbles to himself, trying to hide the fact that he cursed in front of you. “I don’t wanna bother you, though.” 

“It’s fine.” You say. 

Like a gentleman, despite this long day, Holder pays for both of your drinks before leading you out of the door.

_______

The drive home is quiet but cordial. You’ve let him sit in the passenger seat instead of having this man feel alone in the back. Plus, it was easier to speak with him from this angle. 

Holder learned your name, committing it to memory despite the possibility of never even seeing you again. Small talk didn’t feel weird or uncomfortable for once. 

He doesn’t even realize that you’ve reached his apartment until seconds later, feeling out of place already as he remembers that you lived elsewhere. 

“Thanks.” He unfastens his seat belt before smiling at you, planning to unlock that sided door and exit your car. 

“No problem.” You grin back, but suddenly take out your phone, opening a text message thread. 

Seconds later, Holder’s phone chimes in one hoodie pocket  and his reflexes move to find the device out of habit, unlocking its screen with quick fingers. 

Y/N: Hey. Call me again sometime and maybe your tea won’t get cold. 

Without leaving this car, Holder looks up at you with the biggest smile on his face.