#me: yes i hate tony stark. yes i make edits of him. we exist

[dollsulli]

you can rest now.

[forsakenmis]

Calming her down

Title: Calming her down Pairing: top!Wanda Maximoff x female!reader Rating: 18+ Incredibly NSFW Warnings: Dark Wanda, kind of non-con, strap on, fingering, mummy kink, post-WV finale so spoilers if you haven’t seen it. also i haven’t editted it so beware grammar and spelling mistakes. Word count:  4215 words

It had taken far too long to track her down. Why they asked you to do it, you weren’t really sure. It’s not as if you and Wanda ever really talked, or even made eye contact, during the years as an avenger. Yet you were given the task of pulling her back onto the rails, rails she’s apparently veered pretty badly. You really think Doctor Strange, the Gandalf of wizards, would be a lot better at handling her than you would be. Or even Clint, the guy who was her mentor. But no-no one wanted to reach out to her, even though they spent years arguing that she needed to be supervised. You could go on for days how you being the person being sent is the most ridiculous idea they could have had.

You weren’t even a super, or an avenger, you started off as a shield agent who was then thrown into Stark Industries as Tony’s intern. Fury wanted an in and you were that in. Then everything went bottoms up and you became a slightly more valuable member of the group. Support, really.

After the snap, you just wanted a stable life. A normal life. By the time they contacted you to do this, you’d applied to a college. No, a university. In Australia, which was far, far away from New York. The briefing was simple. Wanda, left to her own devices in her time of need, went to try to handle her own grief after stealing Vision’s body from S.W.O.R.D. You were being asked to go try to talk some sense into her. Then, within the week of you repeatedly saying no, it turned out the head of S.W.O.R.D. was a bastard which you could have seen coming from a mile away, and Wanda was god knows where.

They promised you they’d leave you alone after this.

So you said yes.

What could go wrong?

You were still asking herself that three weeks later when you were sitting there still trying to find out where exactly she went. Wanda wasn’t going to be easy to find, especially considering she didn’t want to be found but you did it. It was four in the morning when you finally narrowed down a list of ten possible locations that she could be in. You were too tired to even crack a smile, you fell back onto your bed to sleep.

Your celebration was sleep for by the next morning, you were trekking across the world and came to the outskirts of a property with the view of the mountains. Pretty, sure, but you didn’t think Wanda was here for the view.

It was eerily quiet when you walked up to the door. That type of quiet they put into horror movies before they pulled out a jump scare. You didn’t trust it. Then again-not that there was anything around to make noise. Wanda could be asleep, as maybe all this isolation has meant she’s forsaken a body clock.

Still-you trusted it as much as you could lift Mjollnir and you couldn’t even make it shift.

The curtains were closed, you couldn’t see anything as you walked up the two steps and you had to stop your hand from hovering over your handgun. It would have been more of a self assurance. You couldn’t dream of winning against Wanda in a fight, both of you would be aware of that, but you couldn’t exactly imagine she’d be that trusting of you if you walked in holding a gun. So you fiddled with the watch around your wrist, it was a gift from Tony years ago.

You could have brought reinforcement, sure, but that seemed like a moot point considering you were trying to gain her trust, somewhat. The reinforcement would have been S.W.O-oh whatever, sword, you don’t have the time for formality. And sword made such a huge mess of it the first time round so you didn’t think they were going to help this time round. You tried calling Clint, but he was busy, apparently. Too busy to pick up your calls.

This was definitely a suicide mission.

You knocked three times with the back of your knuckles and listened, trying to hear any hint of movement.

Nothing.

You knocked again. Knock. Knock. Knock. Not even a creak.

Maybe she was asleep or maybe, dare you say it, had gotten it wrong. God, you’d hate for some old man to swing the door open.

Your hand dropped to the handle, going to test the lock, but then it swung open and if it wasn’t for your own instincts, you would have stumbled forward.

Wanda.

Your eyes slammed onto her face and, for the first time in years, you fumbled. She looked different, way too different for your liking, she looked older since Tony’s funeral. Mature. More confident in herself. You could think of a different million ways to describe her in that split second.

She’d always been pretty before but this Wanda was…gorgeous. This Wanda could also read minds.

You cut your thoughts short and took in a slight breath. Wanda wasn’t saying anything and her only acknowledgement was the slight hook of her brow.

“Wanda,” you began before forcing a smile onto yourself, “long time no see.”

“So they sent you, of all people,” Wanda remarked and you made a face. Sure-she was right but that was, quite frankly, rude.

“They suggested I come and I wanted to come,” you lied, “to see how you were doing...okay, look, I know we never talked. Or interacted. I know that. I was probably not the most open to you as I could have been.” Wanda was continuing to stare at you. She was dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt. A shirt that arguably was one size too small for her. You weren’t really sure what to say, if you were honest, you’d spent so much time trying to find her, tracking her down like a puzzle, that you forgot to plan for this interaction.

“But I like to think we were on good terms,” you continued. Worst thing she could do was close the door in your face and you were more than happy to camp outside. “Enough that you’ll hear me out. I heard about your book, the darkhold–” That’s when you got a reaction out of her. Her eyes narrowed, growing even colder, and you could see her grip tightening on the door. “–we need to talk. Please-just let me in. I’m not going to fight you. We both know I can’t do that.”

You were keeping your thoughts clear. You didn’t want her reading you.

After a second, Wanda swung the door open wider and let you in.  

Your eyes scanned the room the moment you entered the threshold, looking for all the exits, before you turned back to Wanda. Wanda, who had closed the door, and had started walking towards you, close enough that you took a step back but found yourself hitting the back of a table.

Now that she was right up in your personal space, close enough that you could smell the soap she was using. Your heart was beating now.

“So you came for the book?” She asked, staring down at you. She was only a couple of inches taller than you but it may as well have been more.

“No, I came here to help you. And I know that book isn’t helping you, no matter how much you think it is. Wanda, that book is dangerous,” you said, gaining enough courage that you pushed yourself off the table to step forward, getting into Wanda’s space just as she was in yours.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Wanda remarked but she didn’t move. “You’re as bullheaded as you used to be, never knowing when a fight was too big for you. I remember all those times Nat and Steve had to throw themselves on the line because you’d done something reckless.” “That’s rich coming from you.” “I could protect myself,” Wanda snapped back. “So where are they? The rest of them. The people that said they were my family. Were you all that they had?”

You clenched your teeth. Don’t say the truth. “They wanted a woman’s touch with it,” you lied. “There isn’t that many of us who were close to you back then anymore.”

It was really only Nat and maybe Pepper who were close to Wanda. Both were a little preoccupied as of right now (for different reasons) to come knocking on Wanda’s door.

“A woman’s touch?” Wanda echoed, saying it in a way that made you clench your teeth. It was a raspy whisper. “And what, may I ask, would that entail?”

With the way she said it, you were pretty sure that Wanda wasn’t meaning it in the same way you were. Albeit, your meaning was rather off as well. In that you had no idea what that would entail either.

Wanda must have realised this and took a step back. “I suggest you leave,” she said and you hesitated before shaking your head.

“I won’t do that,” you said and she frowned. “They asked me to calm you down–”

“Calm me down?” She repeated, pronouncing each syllable, and it was as if the temperature dropped ten degrees. “Calm me down.” Then she smirked and it made you roll back on your heels.

“As long as you have that book, yes,” you said, “how about this–I take the book and then I go. You’ll think more rational without it, Maximoff, you know that. Deep down. You’re smart, Wanda, smarter than anyone ever gave you credit for. Besides Vision–”

“Don’t say his name,” Wanda snarled and suddenly she was in front of you again, hand around your throat, “do you understand me? He doesn’t exist here, not with you around.”

You didn’t really know what she meant but you ran with it and nodded. Her hand was tight and your airway was becoming a little too blocked for your liking.

She stared down at you, her eyes hard and cold, but then they softened and her grip loosened but they still didn’t leave your skin.

“You know, I might have pursued you back then, if it wasn’t for him,” Wanda began and you blinked. What? “You were everything I liked in a girl. Besides your recklessness….and stubbornness...but I think I can deal with that pretty easily.”

“Wanda, I’m flattered, really, but how about we focus,” you said, carefully, deciding to take that with a grain of salt and then over analyse it at three in the morning. Like how could you be cock blocked by a bloody robot? “Just give me the book and I’ll leave you in peace. I’ll make sure no one comes looking for you–” “You can’t promise me that,” Wanda remarked before she dropped her hand to take a step back. Then she looked you up and down. “You said they wanted you to calm me down, right? How about I keep both you and the book.”

You would like to say you were able to fight back. Prevent Wanda from knocking you out. But you were gone by the time she finished her sentence.

----

When light streamed into your eyes, the first thing you registered was the soft pillow underneath your head. Then you felt the rest of the bed and your eyes sprung open.

Your legs were bent up and out, Wanda’s red mist wrapped around your ankles and knees to keep them up. Meanwhile, your wrists were stuck to the headboard. Then your eyes rested on….Wanda?

Transparent Wanda reading that bloody book. You swear to god-you’ll burn that book the moment you get your hands–

“You’ll do no such thing,” Wanda’s voice cut through your apparently rather loud thoughts. You turned your head, trying to find her, and there she was in the doorway, sipping a cup of tea, watching you. Then she kicked off it and moved into the room and slid the mug onto a table before coming to the bed. “Maybe I’ll let you hold it one day as I read it.”

“I don’t...I don’t understand, Wanda, let me go,” you whispered as you began to struggle, pulling on the restraints again and again, but they weren’t budging. Neither was Wanda.

“I don’t think I want to,” Wanda hummed as she pushed herself onto the bed, “you see, I lost everything. My brother, Vision, Nat, Steve, my two boys, then Vision again. I lose every single family I ever have. Maybe this time I’ll succeed. I’m trying to find them, you see, with the book. Find them and pull them out. We can live here, happy, away from everyone.”

“We’ve done this story before Wanda, it didn’t–” “This time will be different, I’ll be more powerful, I won’t mess up this time,” Wanda pressed as her hands went to your inner thighs, moving them up and down your clothed skin. “And, when it comes to you, what they don’t know won’t hurt them. I don’t think I’ll let them see you. No, you can be my little secret. I stared at you for too many years, let you whore yourself out to other people. Not anymore.”

You drew your brows together. This couldn’t be happening.

“As you said, you’re meant to calm me down, right? Meant to pull me off some edge because everyone else was just too busy,” Wanda said as she positioned herself between your legs, bending down to kiss your jawline. You throbbed and pulled on the red strands wrapped around your wrist, but to no avail. “But I can think of another edge you can get close to,” she whispered as she pulled away again.

“Wanda, what are you–”

Her fingers slid in between your thighs, pressing into your heat, and a sharp gasp left your mouth. She began to rub through your jeans, cupping your heat, and you tugged again. This time, the red scratched the watch around your wrist and suddenly your clothes had snapped into the red armour Tony had built you years ago. Protective armour that replaced whatever you were wearing in a nick of time.

Useful.

The shift was enough to push Wanda off you and she stared down at the red and black armour with a slight tilt of her head.

“Well, that won’t do, will it?” She asked as her hands trailed down the cool metal. “Neat trick. Tony’s design, right?”

“Of course,” you responded after a moment, your chest rising up and down. There was no point in denying it-it was obviously Tony’s. Right down to the colours.

Wanda’s eyes turned red as the red mist circled around her hand as she lowered it back down. You flinched when you felt it slink in between the small crevices. The suit was meant to be protected against outside substances, able to go into water, but you supposed Tony didn’t exactly build it against Wanda.

“Wanda, you don’t–” “If you don’t be quiet, I’ll make you, do you understand me?” She hissed as she bucked her hand backwards and the suit around your hips ripped off you and tossed across the room. You whined as the cold air hit your bare skin, contrasting the building heat in between your legs.  

You were left with nothing but the top half and the pants that wrapped around your thigh. “Much better.”

With that, she went back to what she was doing before but this time there was nothing to prevent her from slipping her fingers through your slick folds, the tips of her nails teasing your entrance.

“Look at you, already so wet,” she cooed and you gritted your teeth. This really couldn’t be happening. This was a dream. She could control reality, this was just a dream. “This isn’t me in your head, sweetheart, trust me–I would have cut the foreplay if I was creating this.”

She continued to massage your heat and it took you everything you had not to moan.

“Why are you…” you tried saying but you were cut short, once again, when her fingers found your hooded clit, using the tips of her nails to start playing with it. You bucked your hips instinctively and she chuckled.

“You said you wanted to help me, right?” Wanda asked and the building heat was beginning to become a little too much. “So how about this, sweetheart, you help mummy out by becoming mummy’s little stress reliever.”

Two fingers suddenly plunged into your entrance and your back arched. At least your clit got a little bit of a break but it wasn’t long until her palm began to grind against it as she thrusted the fingers into your tight entrance. Each thrust expanded your walls, letting her in even deeper, your own arousal making her movements slick and quick.

“Wand-” you began to moan but it morphed into a sharp yelp when she pulled her fingers out to slap your cunt.

“You’re a smart girl, sweetheart, it’s how you got around Tony for so long. I think you know exactly what you want to be calling me,” she said and suddenly she was back down so that her face was only inches away from yours and her fingers slid back inside of you.

Unlike last time, though, it wasn’t rough and sharp. Her fingers were slow as they moved inside of you, curling at the tips, scratching your walls. Exploring. She was exploring you and you could do nothing but whimper and moan.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I know you would. Look at you, already so wet and submissive for me,” she whispered, scattering kisses down your jawline as she reached your ear to nibble on your earlobe. “I’ll keep you in here for as long as I need you. Ride your pretty little mouth as I read that book, fill you up again and again until you’re passing out. All you have to do is be a good little girl.”

Heat was curling through your body, that buzzing sort of heat, that made your vision blur. Your teeth were clamped together. You wanted to moan, they were in your throat, but even when you opened your mouth, no sound came out. Just silent moans. The fingers moving inside of you had grabbed all your attention.

Then she scratched that little sweet spot and it was that that pushed out a moan that bounced around the room. Wanda laughed, hitting it again and again.

“Let your mummy hear your moans, sweetheart,” she said before she pulled back to kiss you on the mouth, biting hard on your lip so you wouldn’t even try to close your mouth and stop the tongue that slid into your mouth.

Your stomach was twisting into knots at this point and seemed like every other muscle seemed to be cramping. You were close to climax. Your walls clenched around Wanda’s fingers. Just a little bit–

You groaned when she peeled herself off you. You blinked up at her, looking through what seemed like tears, as you were denied that relief. Relief from the throbbing coming from your cunt.

“You want to cum, baby?” Wanda asked as she pulled off her shirt. Underneath was a simple black bra that was quickly disposed of. Your eyes, naturally, landed on her chest. A chest that, even under the circumstances, made you drool. Wanda’s clicking your fingers drew your eyes back up. “Eyes on mummy, sweetheart. God, you really are a little whore, aren’t you? Tell me-do you want to cum?” You pulled on your restraints just once more but all it seemed to do was to make it even tighter.

You nodded, jerkily.

“Use your words, sweetheart, I very clearly established you’re not mute,” Wanda remarked as her fingers went down to her jeans, fiddling with her button.

“Yes. Please, I want to,” you mumbled, knowing you won’t be coming back from this point. Then again-if she could make you feel like that again...maybe that wasn’t so bad.

Wanda tilted her head as she hummed, not having to move much to slap your sore cunt again and you jerked. “Say it politely and maybe I’ll consider it.” You scrunch your eyes shut and mewled when she began to knead your pulsating clit again. “M-mummy, please,” you whispered and her hands left your cunt. Before you could even open your eyes, you felt her lips on yours. Soft, gentle...loving.

“Good girl...that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She asked and you could hear the ruffling of her pants as she kicked them off. “Now...mummy’s going into your head, okay? I promise it won’t be long.” You began to struggle again but the warmth of her powers quickly washed over you. Your memories began playing the past three months. You tracking her down. Refusing back up.

Then she was out again.

“You really told no one where you were going? Almost as if you wanted this to happen,” She said as she shifted on top of you. Shifted that you felt something rub up against your entrance and you flinched. She...she was packing. “Of course I am, sweetheart, do you really think I wasn’t prepared for you? I knew you were coming from a mile away, honey.”

And with that, she pushed the strap inside of you, not bothering to wait for you to adjust until she was completely inside of you. You arched your back again, pressing into Wanda’s naked body, as the pain of being ripped open rushed through your body. You moaned and grunted as you grew adjusted to the width and length of Wanda.

“Come on, baby, you can do it,” Wanda murmured into your lips and suddenly your wrists were freed. But then her own hands came up to wrap around them to press them against the pillows herself. “I know you’ve taken bigger. Do you think we didn’t know? Didn’t know you and Nat were fucking every other night?” The comment drew you out, just for a moment, and you shook your head but all she did was pull back slightly to slam inside of you again.

“Don’t lie to me,” Wanda snarled, “tell me, tell me the truth. Use your words.”

It took only a few more thrusts of her strap filling you up again and again that the words began to spill out of your lips. “S-she found out. About my status as a shield status. Fuck,” you hissed out, barely able to hear your own words over the lude noises of Wanda beginning to pound into you. This wasn’t fair-you couldn’t dream of talking when she was fucking you like this.

“So you whored yourself out to her to make sure she kept her mouth shut,” Wanda said, finishing the sentence and you nodded jerkily. “You little slut. I bet you liked it too, just like how you like me pounding into you. But you’re mine now. Not hers. Not Tony’s. Mine. My little whore.”

She shifted upwards so that her chest was dangling above your face. “Suck your mommy's tit, baby, I saw you admire them before.”

It was a welcome change, you had to admit, to trying to formulate sentences and words around the moans and screams spilling out of your mouth. Your head leaned forward, closing the distance, so your mouth could wrap around her erect nipple and your walls clenched around her strap as you heard her moan.

Her hand moved to the top of your head, her nails scraping against your scalp as she interwove her fingers through your messy hair. Your tongue lapped at the small bud between your teeth and she began to move her hips in time with your tongue.

Your now free hand wrapped around her body so your nails were digging into her shoulder, drawing Wanda down even closer so you could take more of her tit into her mouth.

The same heat that had built before was coming back, and you weren’t sure how long you could hold on at this point.

“You can cum whenever you want, baby, just this once,” Wanda purred, hearing your thoughts, and it was all you needed, that confirmation, to come undone. Your walls clenched around the strap and you could feel Wanda slowing down as thrusting became just a tad more difficult and you screamed into her tits, careful not to clamp your jaw shut, as the orgasm rushed through you.

Even through it, she continued moving inside of you, and you almost felt like you could pass out.

“Good girl,” Wanda whispered. “Oh, I could get used to this. I’m going to keep you in here, do you hear me? Make you a good little whore for me to come home to.” They did say your mission was to help Wanda calm down.

[another-stark-sub]

Bow - Tony Stark Imagine

Summary: You had a plan, with a bow tied around your neck and lingerie underneath a beautiful gown, Tony wouldn’t be able to resist you.

Warnings: SMUT!, begging, dirty talk, degradation, choker kink, bit of breath play, thigh riding, sir kink, slight mentions of exhibitionism, bit of aftercare as well

 Word Count: 3440

Notes: I editted this so many times but lbh im never gonna be satisfied with this so hopefully its not horrible

You gulped and felt your skin press against the choker. Usually, you weren’t into chokers. Not really. It just wasn’t your style. But after Tony…

Well, to be fair, you discovered a lot about yourself after meeting Tony. You were always welcome to another new change.

You licked your lips and adjusted everything again. Tony claimed that he loved seeing you in all colors, that you could make anything look good. But, you observed how he looked at you, and his jaw always twitched a certain way when you wore a deep red color. Whether it was because it inflated his ego or because you looked good in red, you didn't know. So, while the floor-length dress was green, the trimmings were red. The lingerie underneath was red. And the choker around your neck, adorned with a beautiful, full bow, was red.

You took a deep breath, adjusted your hair, and reassured yourself. Tony and you have been together for a long time. You have worn other things that you thought he wouldn’t like, and he loved them, he loved you, regardless. 

With a smile and a blown kiss at your reflection, you left to find Tony. 

Your boyfriend was right where you left him, except he had already started going back to work. He had shed his leather jacket so he was just in some band tee and dark wash jeans. With his arms crossed, he faced the windows and rattled off some commands to Jarvis. Blue holograms popped up and disappeared and got adjusted and stored and saved.

"Show me the stats of Mark XXI, and bring up my notes from the last recon mission." Tony swiped through his notes, while his other hand came to turn and evaluate the holographic copy of Mark XXI. "Remind me to update this component." He zoomed in on the suit and pointed at something before speaking again, something about its efficiency and other technical jargon you couldn't pronounce if you tried.

You stopped for just a moment to simply admire him. Tony Stark was your genius of a boyfriend, and yes, you loved him because he was unbelievably attractive and a great fuck, but you couldn't deny how amazing he was when he was just being himself. Confident, generous, intelligent. 

You sighed and adjusted your outfit one more time. He deserved the best after all. A pat on the skirt and a tug at your choker, before clearing your throat.

When Tony's eyes met yours, he just stared. He turned so his full attention was on you, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling. "So, thoughts?" You stared at your feet and shifted your weight from one foot to the other. "Not too sure about the high heels, but the rest of it, I like." You looked up to him, proud that he was a few steps closer, and shrugged. "But I don't know holiday party dress codes for the rich, so…"

Tony laughed a little and nodded his head. "First off, you look stunning." He beamed and let his eyes wander to your waist and skirt. "Let's see the heels again."

You gathered the skirt and revealed the red heels. 

Tony hummed a little and knelt down in front of you. "Doesn't look too comfortable." He glanced at you, and seeing your boyfriend down before you sent tingles up your spine. You managed to say, "Not too bad." 

"Still." Tony gently lifted your leg, as if he wanted an even closer look.

You almost stopped breathing when he dragged his finger from your ankle and up your calf ever so slowly. "Don't want you overworking yourself."

You gulped, the bow around your neck somehow feeling tighter than it did before. "Tony-"

"And the dress" -he got up and squinted at your waistline- "though lovely, will need a few adjustments." He grabbed your waist with both hands under the guise of seeing how much excess fabric there was. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips.

With the tempting warmth still covering your waist, so near your ass, his eyes landed on the bow. "Including accessories." Tony smiled so smugly, so teasingly, before gently tugging on your choker. "What's this?"

Your throat went dry. So many incoherent thoughts. Being tugged around by the choker. Kicking your heels off. Removing that damn band t-shirt. How was it that Tony Stark could pull off a t-shirt and jeans? Why did he have to look that good, that powerful when he was just-

"Darling?" He snapped in front of your face. He laughed again, so happy his words could affect you that much. "I said, 'What's this?'" He licked his lips and tugged on the bow again. When your jaw dropped, some sort of desperate whine falling out, Tony just smiled. "I asked you a question."

You composed yourself, thinking of how wonderful you will feel if you obey him. You nodded. "A bow," you managed. 

He tilted his head, contemplating. 

Suddenly, your heart dropped to your stomach. And you had to ask, "You don't like it?"

"No." His eyes darkened, and he smirked that damn smirk. Tony hooked a finger under your choker, his demanding touch pressing into your throat, and yanked you towards him. "I love it." 

And when his lips were on yours, you moaned. Unfortunately, your moan separated your lips from his for just a moment, long enough for Tony to hate it. He growled. Tony laced his fingers through your hair and pulled you into him even more. He dominated the kiss. He dominated almost every kiss shared between the two of you, and yet no matter how many times you’ve kissed him or how long you’ve been together, it still shocks you how much he wants his lips on yours.

Because Tony is a desperate man. Desperate for you. And when intimate words fail him, he has to use his actions, so the hard press of his lips on yours, the hard grip on your waist, you didn’t have to hear how much he wanted you, how much he loved you. No, you could feel it.

His lips pulled away, and you tried to follow them, tried to kiss him again, but with one hand in your hair, he kept you there, so you waited with bated breath.

“Might want you to wear that in public,” he said, smiling at the bow around your neck. “Would be fashion-forward.”

“Tony,” you pleaded. The heat between your thighs was becoming unbearable. You tried rubbing your thighs together, but it wasn’t helping. Not when Tony’s hand was in your hair and the other was tracing your cheek. You reached down, your fingers eager to stimulate yourself, but the dress was in your way. The dress was too formal, too much, and wouldn’t let you touch your own bare skin. 

With a smirk, Tony pulled you towards him, not close enough to kiss you, but close enough that his breath was fanning against your lips. “Wearing a bow like this out in public?” He rubbed the cloth ribbon between his fingers and nodded to himself. “It would be like, I don’t know,” his voice went deeper, and his next words weren’t a suggestion, “ announcing you’re mine.”

You whined. “Yours,” you said. “All yours, Tony.”

He laughed. “What a dirty girl, wanting to show off who fucks you.”

“You!” You gasped as his grip in your hair tightened. “You,” you repeated, “you fuck me. So good.”

Tony smirked. “Yeah, I do.” He let go of you and pushed you away. “Strip.”

The loss of touch startled you, so much so that your first instinct was to stumble towards him, the high heels not helping much, but he held up his hand. “Strip, first.”

You blinked a few times, and once you processed his command, you quickly got to work. You kicked off your heels and unzipped the dress. The air was cold compared to the expensive silk and tulle, but you felt too hot. You wanted more. You wanted him. 

“Wait.”

And you did. 

Tony was seated in front of you, still fully clothed in that damn t-shirt and jeans combo, a tent in his jeans from his hard cock, and he had the nerve to bite his lip. 

You gulped. “Yes, Tony?”

“You planned this,” he stated. He pointed at you.

Confused, you looked down at yourself. You laughed a little. You were so caught up in that intoxicating kiss that you forgot you had planned this. You had put on red lingerie before putting on the dress. 

You pressed your lips together and shrugged. “And if I did plan this?”

Tony leaned back and hummed. “Well, then I guess, we should make sure everything goes according to plan.” He patted his lap. 

You eagerly straddled him, your hands already fumbling with his belt. 

“No.” Tony grabbed your hands and tilted his head. “I never said your plan, did I?”

“Tony-”

With the other hand, he pulled you by your choker and smiled. “I really like this bow.” He laughed, and with a slight cock of his head, he said simply, “Show me how you’d ride my cock, babygirl.”

“What?”

“Show me. How you’d ride. My cock.” He flashed you a smug smile. “Got it?” he let go of you and leaned back, his arms coming to rest on top of the couch. 

You gulped. You never thought you’d be jealous of the living room couch. At least, it got his touch. Desperate for him, for anything Tony would give you, you didn’t protest. You didn’t ask questions. You grabbed his shoulders, readjusted your hips so it was right above his clothed thigh, and grinded against him. The lingerie was thin and lacy, and you weren’t sure if you were thankful for that or not. Either way, with Tony’s denim jeans, there was still too much clothing and too much space between your cunt and what your cunt needed to be filled with, so you closed your eyes and tried your best to replace the heat you were feeling with fullness.

His thick dick filling you up and pressing into the spots you didn’t know existed. The friction from his thrusts and yours. The building wetness between the two of you. You tried your best to imagine it all.

But imagination was not the same as the real thing. Your pussy was aching, and it was still clenching around emptiness. The pressure from grinding against wasn’t nearly enough. “Tony,” you whined. 

Suddenly, his fingers were under you, only for a second, to feel the soaked crotch of your lingerie. He stared at his now soaked finger and smiled. “Wow, you really like the idea of riding my thigh, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you said, your eyes still squeezed shut as you imagined him fucking you. 

“Hey!” He grabbed your chin. “Look at me.”

You stopped and squeezed his shoulders before opening your eyes to stare at him. 

As soon as your eyes met his, Tony smiled. “There we go. Now, look at me when you answer, ok, sweetheart?”

You nodded, your pussy twitching from need. 

His hands went to your waist. “You wanna ride my cock?”

“Yes.”

He flexed his thigh, the new pressure digging right into your crotch. “Wanna get fucked?”

You whined. “Please.” You looked down and tried to ride his thigh again, but he was too strong. Tony just held you there.

“Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” You gulped, your skin pressing against the lace and ribbon of your bow. 

“Good.” Tony let go of you once more and nodded. “Don’t take the bow off.”

You beamed. “Thank you.” You got off of his lap and quickly took off the lingerie, and by the time you only had the choker around your neck, Tony had pushed down his jeans and boxers just enough to free his cock. 

You were practically vibrating with excitement. But you waited. You waited for him to tell you it was ok.

Tony smirked. “Come on, sweetheart.”

You straddled him again, the head of his cock grazing your folds. Already slick with your own anticipation and denial, you lowered yourself onto him. Inch by inch, you were getting fuller and fuller of him, and the moan that left your lips was almost inhuman, so high-pitched, long, and drawn out. 

“That’s it, sweetheart.” Tony kissed your cheek and watched as you sunk down on him. “Look at you, taking all of my cock.”

You moaned. “Yes, I want all of it.”

“I want all of you, too.” He kissed the corner of your mouth and gripped your hips. “There we go. What a good girl you are.”

“Yes, for you.” You sighed blissfully. “All for you, Tony. All-” 

Tony pushed you down, making you take every inch of him inside you, and you moaned. And it was better than you had imagined before. God, every time Tony fucked you, there was always something new. And the throbbing of his cock inside you, the gentle touches on your neck, it was making you drunk on him. 

It only took two words to snap you out of your stupor.

“Ride me.”

Just like that, your hands were firmly on his shoulders, and you were bouncing up and down on his cock. It was all worth it. The search for the perfect choker, the delicate arrangement of the outfit, the little touches you made to yourself before, all of it was more than worth it to just ride him and hear him try to stifle his groans against your neck.

And his hands started to wander. From lightly playing with the choker to palming your bare tits to squeezing your ass. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped you. He hadn’t touched your bare skin except when he was pulling you around by the makeshift collar around your neck, so feeling his touch and calloused hand on you, desperate to grab any part of you, it was breathtaking.

You didn’t want him to stop. 

You grabbed his hands and pressed them harder into your skin. 

“Aw, you like it when I play with you, huh?” He squeezed your breasts, and you cried out. “It just feels so good,” you admitted. With your hands no longer on his shoulder, it became difficult to ride him properly. So, Tony decided it was up to him to fuck you. He gave your breasts one hard squeeze and smiled. “Play with your tits for me. I’ve got more important things to play with.” He grabbed your hips and rolled his hips up into yours. Once. Twice. 

Your toes curled. “Harder,” you gasped. “Please, harder, Tony.”

“Harder?” He laughed. “Oh, ok then.” He hooked a finger under your choker and pulled you in for a sweet and soft kiss. “Harder, it is.” His grip tightened, and with a sharp thrust, he fucked you. 

You screamed. You didn’t have to do anything, only moan and let Tony fuck you over and over again. Your palms were still flat against your breasts, but you were too paralyzed by pleasure and too drunk on the slide of his cock in and out of you to properly play with yourself. Thing was, though, with Tony’s quick thrusts, impaling you over and over again, you didn’t have to move for your hands to press against you and for your fingers to brush over your sensitive nipples. 

“Beautiful whore. All for me.”

You repeated, “All for you.”

“That’s right, baby.” He thrust up into you, again and again, groans punctuating each and every push of his cock. He wrapped one arm around your waist, keeping you still and stable, while the other went back to the bow around your neck. “Such a great present." He yanked you down so your lips brushed against his as he said, "My own little cocksleeve."

"Fuck, Tony." You shook your head and admitted "You can't just- ah! Fuck!" You caught your breath after a particularly hard thrust. "Can't just say things like that," you whined.

"Oh, sweetheart." He kept thrusting up into you as one of his hands came up to grip your hair. "I'm in charge, aren't I?" He stated, "And if I say you're my cocksleeve, then guess what?" Tony held you on his cock, and his lips came crashing onto yours, possessive and short. "You're my cocksleeve."

You moaned, and, wanting to be a good cocksleeve, you started to ride him again. Rougher and faster than the time before, and Tony growled. "You like being my cocksleeve, huh?"

You gasped. Too overwhelmed with the new title and the searing heat that came with it every time it left Tony's lips. You didn't know that being degraded would feel so good.

"Sweetheart" -his finger trailed up your body, from your stomach all the way to your choker, and he hooked four fingers under it, his touch pushing into your throat- "you should answer my question."

You gulped. "I do."

"Do what?" He laughed. "My memory fails me. What?"

You whined. "I like being your cocksleeve, sir."

"That's it." He groaned, the sound only adding to your already overwhelming pleasure. He pulled you closer by the bow and whispered, “I think my cocksleeve deserves a reward, right?”

You could only nod, too focused on being played with and being thoroughly fucked. 

Tony smiled, and suddenly, his fingers were rubbing your clit. 

The gasp escaped your lips. There was too much. With Tony’s cock pounding you over and over, one hand holding you by the choker and making you dizzy, and the clit stimulation, there was too much pleasure. Instead of breathing, you were only moaning as the pressure rose and rose, and when you felt his cock twitch, you nearly screamed. 

Tony commanded you, “Cum for me.”

Something inside of you snapped, and you were drowning in pleasure.

The sounds leaving your mouth as you rode out your high were a mixture of curses and Tony’s name, and seeing you twitch and cling to him sent him over the edge. Your boyfriend held you close as he pumped you full of his cum.

As you came down from your high, Tony’s lips were pressed against your neck, and he was rutting against you. For once, Tony’s words were incomprehensible as he continued to enjoy the warmth and pulses of your pussy around his cock. 

Still whining and drunk on him, you did your best to prolong his pleasure. You raked your hands through his hair, making sure to scratch his scalp before bringing his lips to yours and kissing him. Just as he moaned against your lips, you pulled away and said, “All for you, sir.”

With one last strangled groan and one last roll of his hips, Tony sighed, a dreamy look on his face. He gazed up at you and smiled. “That was fun.”

You giggled and rested your forehead against his. “Very fun.”

“By the way, I was serious about that bow.” He bit his lip and rubbed it between his fingers. “It’s like a socially acceptable collar.” Tony tilted his head. “Might need to embroider Tony Stark on there.”

You shuddered. Just the thought of going to a party with Tony’s arm around your waist and bow tied neatly around your neck with Tony’s name on it. 

Tony’s eyes when to your pussy, still stuffed with his cock. “Did you just clench around me?”

You blinked. “Maybe?” You stared down at yourself. “I guess you just have that effect on me, sir.”

“Don’t say that.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

In mock anger that his eyes weren’t on you, you clenched around him again.

His eyes narrowed, and he pointed at you. “You’re tempting me, sweetheart. Stop it.”

You laughed. “I love you.”

Just like that, Tony’s expression softened. He gently stroked your hair and said earnestly, “I love you, too.” He kissed you and sighed. “Ok, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“You’ll need to carry me.” You laughed.

With a smug smile, your boyfriend said, “Oh, I know. If you could, I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

You slipped yourself off of his cock and before you were fully on your feet, Tony was on his feet and picked you up so you were slung over his shoulder. 

“What are you-” Your words turned into laughter as Tony patted your ass and started walking towards the bathroom. 

“Making sure my girl doesn’t need to walk.”

You sighed. “There’s a much more romantic way of carrying me, you know?”

“You know I love you.”

“That I do.”

[dammit-stark]

i am OBSESSED with royalty aus

fun fact: red, white & royal blue by Casey mcquiston is actually my favorite book (tied with Emma by Jane Austen, obviously) but anyway this was heavily inspired by the plot of that book so I hope you like it! - p.s this turned out to be like 1.8k words soooooo here it exists now okay

DROP YOUR FAV AU IN MY ASK BOX (OR JUST ANY IDEA IDC) AND ILL WRITE IT FOR YOU :)

...

“We’re supposed to hate each other,” Tony insists, head hanging off the side of his bed, his feet cushioned in the onslaught of pillows by the head board. Nat sits criss-cross applesauce in his peripheral vision, flipping through a magazine, “It’s not my fault he’s a pompous ass and we’re star-crossed nemeses.”

Nat stops flipping to look at him under an arched eyebrow, “Star-crossed, Tony? Really?”

“Oh, shush, you know what I am. We’re total opposites. My dad got elected by the people into the greatest country in the world, and he was born into the crappy inbred monarchy whose ass we beat centuries ago.”

Nat doesn’t look up from her magazine this time, “Didn’t your dad fund his campaign with the millions of dollars he got from his inheritance?”

Tony pauses. In the silence, he can hear the blood rushing to his head. He chooses to ignore Nat’s logic, “I really don’t think that’s relevant here.”

Nat gets to the last page and the flimsy pages clap noisily together. She points an accusatory finger at him, “I don’t care if you think he’s the Loch Ness monster, it’s a royal wedding and you’re the first son of the United States. You’re gonna have to suck it up and be on your best behavior.”

“Oh, no, Nat,” Tony coos sardonically, still hanging upside down, “Are you afraid I’m gonna embarrass you?”

With a complete straight face, she throws her magazine at him, and stands so she’s towering above him. He has to stretch his neck to look at her.

“Yes, she says. I absolutely am. Now, what do you want on your pizza? I’m hungry.”

As it turns out, Tony isn’t humanly capable of staying on his best behavior at the royal wedding. He definitely embarrasses Nat, and maybe, sorta, totally causes an international incident in the process.

“It’s not my fault,” He tells Nat on the jet back to the States, still hanging somewhere in the precarious limbo between disastrously drunk and world-endings hungover, “He started it.”

Nat just glares at him, “I was standing right there, Tony. I watched you push him first.”

“I-“ There’s not much point in arguing, “Yeah. Dad’s gonna be pissed, isn’t he?”

Nat sighs, a long, never-ending sigh that makes her sound decades older than she actually is. Tony has that effect on people.

“Don’t worry about your dad, Tony,” She tells him. This time, she’s flipping through a classified file folder instead of a dime-a-dozen tabloid edition, “We’re gonna fix your mess, as per usual.”

Tony can feel the hangover rearing it’s head over the drunkenness, and he sinks into his chair, eyes closing, “You’re the best, Nat. Thanks.”

Nat rolls her eyes as Tony falls asleep, “Yeah,” She murmurs under her breath to herself, “Damn right I am. Dumbass.”

It turns out that Nat’s solution to Tony’s antagonistic little international incident is to make it seem like the whole The-First-Son-Just-Pushed-A-Beloved-Prince-Into-His-Brother’s-Wedding-Cake thing seem more like a frat boy-esque ribbing gone bad. Tony hates the plan, and he tells Nat as such.

“This is a horrible plan. It’s not gonna work, and it means I have to spend an entire weekend with Prince Pissy Pants.”

They’re on the private plane again, flying back to England to fix Tony’s mess.

Nat rolls her eyes, and punches him in the shoulder, “Get over yourself, Stark. If you don’t want to hang out with your so-called nemesis, then stop getting drunk and pushing people into wedding cakes. This is your own fault. We’re fixing your problem for you. Get over it.”

Tony rolls his eyes, but otherwise consents, “Whatever.”

Nat passes him a file folder.

“What’s this?”

“The Prince’s interests. Study it. Learn it like it’s the back of your hand, and then study it even more. If you get caught in a lie, Stark, you’re beyond dead.”

He gets two lines in before he tears narrowed eyes away from the paper to suspiciously meet Nat’s expression, “Did he get one of these about me?”

“Yep.”

“What was in it?”

“Your interests, Stark.”

Tony does not envy whoever got assigned that task. He wonders how accurate it’ll be. He obediently reads through the Prince’s interests among an uncharacteristic silence. Nat almost thinks he’s grown up until he breaks said silence with a snort.

“His favorite book is Great Expectations? Nerd.”

When they land, Tony remembers why he pushed the prince in the first place. Yeah, the alcohol did half the work for him, but- something about the Prince’s stupidly perfect, absurdly handsome face just makes Tony want to start shoving people into cakes. Surely other people have the same urge.

“Mr Stark,” The Prince says as greeting. He doesn’t even offer a hand for Tony to shake, just smiles with his hands folded together, “It’s a shame these are the circumstances that you-“

“Yeah, yeah, you’re very polite, I get it. Prince Steve here to save the day with his antiquated, impeccable manners. Yippee-kiy-yai.”

Tony counts it as a win that he sees a flicker in that smile, but it crests back to sparkly perfection with a blink of the eye. There are cameras. Tony sees Nat out of the corner of his eye, glaring beside a distinct row of security, somehow looking the most intimidating of all of them. He smiles back, pasted and ridiculous and spiteful, his whole body tensed and relaxed at the same time.

He smiles winningly for the cameras.

Later, at the hospital, Tony wonders how Mr Prince Perfect can put on such a facade, even with sick kids. Because that’s obviously what this is. He watches from across the room as Prince Steven kneels beside a sick kid’s bedside, smiling kindly, and talking to the little girl with her baby yoda doll tucked into the crook of her arm.

It’s not until Tony has completely committed to his eavesdropping that he realizes there aren’t any cameras around to capture Steve’s amiability. That’s the first moment Tony thinks oh, maybe this guy isn’t as fake as I thought he was.

“You totally wouldn’t be Han Solo,” Tony interrupts because he’s totally an asshole and he knows it (that’s the different between Tony and Prince Stick-Up-Butt, he at least owns his assholery), “You’re a textbook Luke Skywalker if I ever met one, Prince.”

Steve’s responding grin is surprisingly left-leaning, and the kid in the hospital bed is giggling.

“Are you gonna try to tell me that you’re a Han Solo then?”

“Actually, I-“

“Because you’re not,” Steve’s totally serious except a slight twinkle in his eye, one forefinger tapping against his own knee as the little girl sits enraptured by the ridiculous conversation occurring just above her, “You’re Anakin through and through. Not in a bad way, just-“

Tony doesn’t mean to come off as truly surprised as he really does, but the way he shuts his mouth immediately gives him away, “No,” He says, “You’re right.”

Steve’s lips punch off at the corners in an amused, vaguely self-satisfied way that makes Tony want to soberly push him into another cake so expensive you need to take out a mortgage to eat a slice. Before Tony can needle him back, the prince is smiling back at the kid, a gentle hand on her arm. Huh.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Wendy. Thanks for talking about Star Wars with us.”

And like the smug bastard he is, Steve gracefully stands from her bedside and leaves the room. Oh no he won’t. Tony follows, angrily.

That’s how they end up in a near-empty hospital hallway together. And subsequently, it’s also how they’re pushed into the closest nearby maintenance closet by the nearest secret service operative, tripping over themselves and invisible equipment alike as they’re safely hidden away. It’s also how they end up on the floor, joints every which way, elbows menacing and in all the wrong places as they cajole violently among the brooms and buckets.

“Your elbow-“ Tony grunts, “Is in my side, Steve.”

“Yes, well, my elbow wouldn’t be in your side if your elbow wasn't in my shoulder.”

“Get your shoulder out of my elbow!”

“Why do you hate me?” Steve cuts him off, a hiss in his voice. Ooh, Mr Perfect Prince can actually get angry. Exciting.

Tony takes a deep breath. Or- as deep of a breath as he can take without drawing attention to their tight little maintenance closet/hideout.

“You’re not real. You’re fake. Everything you do has been trained into you, it’s annoying.”

“I feel pretty real to me, Stark.”

“You just- it’s a persona. You’re a persona. And the whole world blindly loves you for it.”

In the dark, Tony chews on his bottom lip- a chronic bad habit of his.

When Steve responds, his voice is low, even lower than it necessarily needs to be to keep attention away from their location. He can’t tell in the dark, but Tony thinks his head might be bowed. He can practically hear the thoughts in the prince’s head. But then again, they’re physically close enough, practically spooning ridiculously on the ground, he might as well tap directly into Steve’s mind they’re so close together.

“Do you think I want to be a persona, Tony? Do you think I did this to myself? I’m still me, I’m just- guarded. It’s not up to me. There’s a lot more to the world than my place in it.”

Tony’s quiet. It’s a much more real answer than he’d expected. He’d half expected the prince to spit on him or something, dig his elbow extra far into Tony’s side or something. Instead he gets this vulnerable little morsels of honesty, and Tony has nothing to say.

“I-“

Tony’s cut off by blinding light. Nat whips the door open.

“Ew, what are you guys doing on the ground? Why are you spooning?”

Steve hurried to his feet, cheeks visibly red, “The threat?” He demands, and Tony’s surprised Nat doesn’t demand a full sentence like she usually does, the cocky bastard. She nods succinctly.

“A false alarm. However, we’ve deemed it safest to move onto the next event.”

“Great, thanks,” The Prince says, and moves off down the hall, disappearing behind twin EXIT doors.

Tony’s still on the ground when Nat swivels back to look at him, a smug smile on her face.

“You hate each other, huh? Is that what you’re calling it nowadays?”

Tony rolls his eyes, “Oh, shut up, asshole, and help me.”

But he hadn’t had to tell himself deflect, deflect, deflect, and he’s pretty sure something about being stuck in a children’s hospital maintenance closet changed his feelings on the guy. Something about it.

As Tony walks to his next event, he has to push to keep the prince out of his idle mind.

When he departs for the United States hours later, Tony leaves the prince with his phone numbers.

“To corroborate our stories or whatever,” He tells Prince Steven, though he’s sure Nat isn’t convinced, “So we don’t have to keep going between these losers.”

Prince Steven accepts the offering with a smile, and Tony gets on the plane, leaving Britain behind him one last time. 

[imagines-dreams]

The Science Fair

Rating: PG

Warnings: mentions of an absent Howard Stark, sad little Tony Stark

Summary:   Decades before Tony Stark became Iron Man, before Peggy Carter lost her memories, before Jarvis was an AI, the three of them were at a science fair to see little Tony win the biggest trophy there. Well, partly. Peggy Carter, Edwin Jarvis, and Maria Stark were that for that, but Tony just wanted to prove himself to his father.

Word Count: 2725

Notes: In my bout of procrastinating, I wrote this. Didn’t edit it, don’t even remember if I used to correct tense, but hey maybe someone will like it

~ - ~

His father promised. He said he’d come. Howard Stark didn’t keep promises often, but if there was one thing Tony knew about Mr. Stark was that he always took every opportunity to see if his son could live up to the Stark name. So, if his father wanted to keep to that, he should come to his competition.

“You should wait outside, Mr. Jarvis,” Tony said.

His butler blinked a few times. “Are you sure, sir? Don’t you want-”

“Dear old dad said he’d be here, and he would hate it if you weren’t outside waiting.” He nodded towards the door. “Please, Mr. Jarvis.”

Mr. Jarvis nodded. “If you insist. Although, if I may, I do want to be here when they announce you as the winner.”

Tony laughed and shoved his butler towards the door. “I’ll come get you, ok?” When his butler didn’t budge, Tony whined and pushed him harder. “I promiseeeee.”

“Of course.”

And so, his butler plucked the child off his legs and left him alone at his station. Tony moved his mouth back and forth and kept his hands by his side. In the back and he’s too imposing. In front and he’s too submissive. His father could come at any minute. He had to be presentable. He had to look like a Stark. Act like a Stark. Be a Stark.

Maybe arms crossed would be better.

His robot poked his shoulder.

The boy scoffed. “Not now.”

Still, his creation pestered him, nudging his shoulder as if it were a pet trying to gain some affection from its owner. Creator, if Tony were being honest.

“He’ll be here,” Tony mumbled to his invention. “I’m proving myself today.” He sniffed and readjusted his clothes.

Still, his robot whirred, spinning its claw and chirping. When Tony didn’t budge or even glance at his robot, the mechanical pet slowly and carefully dropped its spinning claw on his perfectly styled hair. “Hey!” Tony grabbed the arm of his robot and raised his eyebrow. “You can’t touch the hair.” He held up a finger to his robot, glaring cause the claw was still a tad too close. “Hair, off-limits.”

The claw spun quickly, fanning his already messy hair.

Tony grimaced. “Not funny.” He blew his hair out of his face. “Dummy.”

His robot just beeped happily, and Tony honestly couldn’t help but laugh. “You like that name?”

His robot chirped again. It fanned his hair, and Tony laughed. “Ok, ok!” He let go of the claw and ran both of his hands through his hair. “Dummy,” he mumbled. “Well, that just sounds unprofessional.” He swiped his notebook off his table and flipped to a new page. “We need something that looks better on paper.” He tapped his pen against his forehead.

His Dummy whirred and chirped. In morse code.

So, Tony repeated, “D - U - M - E.” Tony nodded. “Needs a hyphen.” So, he wrote in big letters in his notebook. “D - U - M, then a hyphen, E. We’ll come up with a longer one later.” He held it up to Dum-E. “How does that look?”

Dum-E paused for a few seconds. Tony didn’t move. He knew his robot like the back of his hand, and he knew it would take a few seconds for Dum-E to analyze what’s in front of him.

His robot chirped in approval.

Tony smiled. “Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand. “Dum-E.”

His creation stretched out its limb and closed its claw around his hand. Slowly and mechanically, Dum-E shook his hand up and down.

Tony nodded. “Nice job.” He let go of the claw. “Damn, I’m good.”

“Language, Anthony.” The voice pierced the air, and for a second or two, the entire fair froze to acknowledge the powerful woman in the room. Well, except Tony.

Tony beamed. “Hi, Aunt Peg.”

The woman, dressed in her Sunday best, smiled ever so gently and crouched down. “I believe someone owes me a hug.”

“I didn’t put that in writing.”

She glared at him. Tony immediately laughed and let himself fall into her open arms. Aunt Peg squeezed him tightly, just for a second, before pulling away and squinting at his hair. “Can’t say I’m fond of this new style.”

“Blame Dum-E.” He pointed at his robot, who only beeped in protest. “He messed it up.”

“Well, you’re lucky Mr. Jarvis always carries hair product with him.” She pushed his hair back a few times, disguising the last one as a way to clear his forehead so she could kiss it.

Tony cringed. “Aunt Peg,” he whined.

“Oh, don’t be like that.”

“Spies shouldn’t kiss their godsons on the head.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I mean, businesswomen,” Tony lied. “I meant to say businesswomen, because spies don’t exist, and I definitely don’t notice it when you and Mr. Jarvis sneak in unknown and questionable objects into my father’s basement.”

Peggy smiled at her godson. She held him by the cheeks and admitted, “You’re too smart for your own good.”

The boy shoved her off of him. “Of course, I am!” He ran back to Dum-E. “I mean, look at this!” Dum-E chirped and extended its claw. Tony smiled. “Built him all by myself. Dum-E’s entire program is built to observe and respond, even if he’s sometimes a dummy.”

Dum-E whirred in annoyance.

The little genius scoffed and crossed his arms. “Still a dummy.”

The robot chirped.

Tony stiffened. He whipped around and pointed at his robot. “No, you!”

Godmother Peggy didn’t interfere. She let Tony argue with his creation in a language she knew she could never understand, just in awe of how special her godson was. And since she scanned the science fair ground when she entered, Peggy was certain Tony would win by a landslide, go to the state competition, national competition, maybe get some money that he’d end up giving to Maria to give to charity.

And that was just from the science fair. Since Tony was four, playing with tools he shouldn’t have and tripping over scrap wood in his father’s workshop, Peggy knew that Anthony Stark would change the world. Maybe even better than his father did.

Then, Mr. Jarvis comes in. “Howard won’t make it,” he whispered.

“Bastard.” Peggy shook her head.

“Aunt Peg?”

Suddenly, Peggy’s little godson, his head barely past her own waist, was staring up at her with those big brown eyes and messed up hair. “What happened?”

Peggy just smiled softly. “Don’t worry about it, my dear. You should be thinking of one thing, and one thing only.”

“The objective,” he said, mimicking the serious voice he had heard his godmother use when scolding someone

She smirked. “Yes. And the objective is what?”

“To do my best and beat all the other bastards here!” Little Tony jumped up in the air and yelled, “Yeah! I’m the best!”

Peggy glared at her godson, and when he noticed, he immediately smoothed out his shirt and nodded. “I mean to do my best.”

“Exactly. And, let me remind you, who uses bad words in the house?”

“You do,” Tony admitted.

“And your father?”

“Steals them without your permission.”

She laughed. “That’s my boy. Smartest godson I could have.”

“Anthony!” Maria Stark burst through the doors, a crowd of photographers and reporters trying to follow her. “There he is!” She dropped to the floor and kissed her son on the cheek. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Mom!” Tony laughed and shoved her away. “My hair,” he pouted, trying to fix it.

“Oh, your hair, so sorry.” She looked to her butler. “If you could, Mr. Jarvis.”

The man nodded. “Anytime, Mrs. Stark.” He took out some hair gel and applied it to the kid’s hair. “You will be the best looking young man in the room,” Mr. Jarvis said.

Tony smiled. “I will! Then, when Dad comes in, we’ll have two of the best-looking men here!”

The three adults fell silent but tried to keep up their polite smiles. Peggy sighed. After Mr. Jarvis was done with Tony’s hair, she crouched down and held his hands. “Sweetheart, I have to tell you something, but I won’t tell you unless you promise me something.”

Tony made a disgusted face. “Promise what?”

“That you’ll beat the other bastards in this fair.”

“Peggy!” Maria cried.

“Maria, please.” Peggy asked again, “Can you promise me that?”

Tony nodded. “Duh. No one can come close to Dum-E!”

“I know that.” She sighed. “You’re not gonna like what I’m about to say, and that’s ok, alright?” She paused and let Tony process that. Then, she admitted, “Your father, he’s not coming. I’m sorry.”

Tony’s face seemed to be on pause. His smile never fell. It was still there. But what made everyone there uneasy was the light that fell from his eyes. “Dad’s not coming?” he repeated.

Peggy tried her best. “I know it’s hard, but you must know that you are doing so well. Better than everyone else, ok? And we’re here.”

“That’s right,” Mr. Jarvis said. “We’re here to support you and see you win that trophy!”

Maria explained, “Your father’s just very busy with work. He wanted to come.”

At that, Peggy and Mr. Jarvis stared at Maria, knowing that she’d defend Howard but still wondering how she could after all this time.

While Peggy glared at her godson’s mother for lying again, Mr. Jarvis swooped in and held Tony by his upper arms. “You feeling alright, Tony?”

“Yeah. Of course, why would I feel different?” He licked his lips and backed away from his family. “I mean, I just thought that since he promised and said he’d be here that he’d be here, but he’s not, so I guess I’ll just deal with him being too busy to watch me beat these losers and get that trophy, and if he doesn’t want to see it, fine!” His lower lip was trembling, and his fists clenched. “Well, you know what? I don’t want to see him!”

“Tony!” Maria scolded. She immediately regretted it, because her son was crying. “Sweetheart-”

“No!” Tony ran off, away from Dum-E and the science fair.

“Mr. Jarvis, stay here and watch the robot, stall the judges for as long as you can.” Peggy held out her hand to Maria. “Come on, let’s go.” Once Mrs. Stark’s hand was in hers, Peggy ran through the crowd of parents and teachers and students and followed her godson. “You have to stop forgiving him,” Peggy said in between breaths.

“He told me he was busy,” Maria reasoned. “Howard is always working, you know?”

“Maria, you’re smarter than that.” Once out of the crowded room, Peggy scanned the hallways. Everything was empty. There weren’t any visual cues as to where her godson would be. Instead, she listened. And just like that, there was a low and subtle creak of a door to her left. So that’s where she went. One of the doors was only nearly closed, so she slowly opened it and found her godson behind all the desks. The little boy, who had just been proclaiming how he was going to beat all the other bastards with his smarts was crying in the corner and hugging his knees to his chest.

Slowly, Peggy closed the door and turned to his mother. “I’m going to go in and calm him down-”

“No, I should go in. I’m his mother.”

“I know. That’s why you’re the last step.” She pointed at the door. ‘This needs a delicate touch. He’s broken right now. I’ll gather up the pieces, and you can glue them back together before sending him to Mr. Jarvis for a final fashion check.”

Maria sighed. “Fine. But, Howard really did want to be here. He told me so himself.”

Too tired and frustrated to argue, Peggy just smiled and gently, she opened the door. She knocked on the wall. “Hello, Anthony.”

The boy looked up just to catch his godmother’s eye before ducking his head back down behind his knees. “I don’t” -a sob- “wanna talk right now.”

“That’s alright.” She crossed the room and sat down next to him. “I’ll be right here.”

For a few moments, the two just sat there. Tony cried into his arms, and Peggy just stared at the opposite wall, trying to contain herself from hugging him. Then, finally, Tony’s sobs turned to simple sniffles. Exhausted, he let his head drop on his godmother’s shoulder.

Peggy wrapped an arm around her godson. “I know sorry won’t do much,” she said. “And I know that you really wanted your father to be here-”

“He could’ve seen that I’m really a Stark today, Aunt Peg.”

Her eyes widened. “Anthony, you are a Stark!” She turned to him and held his face in her hands. Wiping away his tears, she stated with confidence, “Even better than your father, actually.” She shook her head. “Anthony, dear, does your father tell you otherwise?”

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know.” He sniffed. “Kinda.” He explained further. “He doesn’t like all my ideas. Says they’re not strong enough, and that Stark men are strong.” The boy trembled in her arms.

“I see. And you think that since your inventions aren’t strong enough, then you’re not a Stark. Is that correct?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh, my dear.” Peggy turned her godson so he could face her and crouched down to look at his face. He still had some chub on his cheeks, a sign he was growing older right before her eyes, and she couldn’t believe how brilliant he was, how smart he was at this young age. She wiped away his tears. “Anthony, you are the best kid I know. The smartest kid. The most innovative, and the strongest.”

He sniffed. “The strongest?”

“Yes!” She smiled. “Do you know how many kids would run if they saw what was in your father’s lab? Or what about the time Mr. Jarvis and I were handling that large case with that black stuff inside it. You stared at it with fascination I’ve only seen in agents and asked if it was non-Newtonian.” The spy laughed and held his hand. “You have more strength in your little hand than some of my field agents.” With a smile, she nuzzled his nose with her own. “You’re my brilliant godson. Don’t let your father’s stupidity bar you from beating all those bastards.”

Then, Tony smiled, and he laughed. “Auntie,” he whined.

“There you are!” Peggy swept him up in her arms and spun him around. As he laughed and giggled, she said, “There’s my beautiful boy! Finally!” She hugged him close and put him down. “Now, your mother’s waiting outside. You talk to her, then afterward, to Mr. Jarvis so he can fix that hair, and then, a picture with your trophy. Sound good?”

He nodded.

Peggy stood up and straightened out her outfit. “Would you like me to hold your hand?”

He shook his head.

“Ok, let’s go then.”

She followed Tony outside the room where he was enveloped in a hug from his mother. Maria smiled at Peggy, and the godmother smiled back before heading back inside the science fair to stand with Mr. Jarvis.

“How is he?” he asked.

“Better,” Peggy said. “Although, we must discuss Howard’s parenting as soon as we can.”

“I agree.” Mr. Jarvis sighed. Then, he added, “Mrs. Stark does have the best intentions.”

“Anthony needs better than that.” She sighed. “I’m going to set up a room for him. At our safe house. Just in case.”

He nodded. “Unfortunately, I do agree with you.”

“Good. Then, we are in agreement.”

���That we are.”

Soon, the two Starks came back. Mr. Jarvis fixed his hair and clothes. And soon, it was like it had never happened. The judges came by. The rounds went on and on. The awards were given out.

Tony Stark won first place. No one was even close.

A picture was taken. A little Tony Stark, his mother’s arms wrapped around his torso and a bright smile adorning her face. Mr. Jarvis was behind them, staring quizzically at the robot, named DUM-E in the article that printed it. Peggy Carter was cut out of the photo, (she had called in a favor with her friend), but in the photo Maria was sent, Peggy was next to Maria, smiling fondly at her godson.

[ivory-haired-queens-blog]

Unpopular Opinions: Fandom Edition

Hey none of you asked but I’m here to deliver so here are some unpopular opinions for the fandoms I’m in. Spoilers, duh.

Marvel:

I don’t like Natasha. Or Steve.

Pepper Potts is a top.

As much as I love Loki, his death was nessicary in Infinity War.

Steve should have killed Bucky in Civil War. He was a threat, plain and simple.

I ship Ironstrange/Supremefamily.

Clint should have died in Infinity War.

I love Tony Stark with my whole heart. (Not an unpopular opinion but you needed to know that)

I’m not happy with the end of Endgame.

10 years in the making....for you to do Thor like that?

Not because he’s fat or because he’s dealing with trauma, that’s totally acceptable.

What’s not acceptable is them making Thor into the butt of the joke because he’s fat.

I love the Antman movies.

I’m totally not biased because I loved lost.

(I’m kinda biased)

Shuri is the best Marvel character and would beat Tony Stark in a battle of wits.

(I’m so gay I love her.)

With as many years as Marvel has had the MCU, I am disgusted at the lack of diversity within the movies.

Like it’s 2019 and we JUST got a female empowerment scene in Endgame.

Like I want a gay superhero.

(We have a disabled one thank god. Love you Stephen.)

And don’t give me that Valkyrie/Captain Marvel BS because they never blatantly stated or showed it in their movies.

I want an Asian superhero bitch.

A superhero who is Muslim/Islam/and religion besides Christian.

I think that, as much as I hate Natasha and Steve, they should have been the ones that Bruce first sees in Infinity War. I know it set up the whole “earth is closed today” sequence but it didn’t make sense and was OOC.

I love Stephen Strange and he’s never done a single thing wrong ever in his life I would die for this man.

I like MCU Peter Parker over the origional movie Spider-Man.

Fight me.

I also like the Tony Stark/Peter Parker better than the Uncle Ben/Peter Parker so @ me.

The 100

I don’t ship Bellarke that hard.

Like yes, I think they’re obviously being groomed to end up together. I know the show runners will make them official before the end of the series. I’m not mad about that, I just don’t really care to be honest. It’s like, too obvious.

But there are some cute bellarke scenes

What they did to Monty was bullshit but what they did to Jasper was worse.

I feel no guilt whatsoever in saying that I think that killing all of Mount Weather was what they should have done from the beginning.

Yes, even the kids. Because if you kill their leaders, the men and women will fight back. The colony would have been left with a handful of adults, and a bunch of kids if the origional plan had worked. This is doomed to fail and honestly just killing them all would be better than seeing them kill eachother for food, power, whatever. If that makes sense.

I think that Finn deserved to die.

I think that Murphey deserves the world.

Charlotte fucking killed Wells. Yes she’s young but she knows better than to kill someone. Maybe not kill her, but we all know that Clarke wouldn’t have banished her like she did Murphey. Clarke has a gender bias because Murphey didn’t do anything and she wouldn’t have punished Charlotte as hard because she’s a young girl. I rest my case

Even though what he did was bad and wrong, I don’t think Murphey should have been banished. He’s right. They were all compliant and even excited when he was being hung, but when it’s a little girl all bets are off.

Like Bellamy brought the whole hostage thing upon himself because he fucking tied a noose around Murphey’s throat.

Again, not that what Murphey did was right. He didn’t have to act like that. Jasper didn’t do anything to him.

Also this segment is getting long but the show writers and everyone else just casually forgot that Murphey was TORTURED? Hello? Are we not going to acknowledge that?

I shipped Clexa with my whole heart.

Another actually popular opinion: what they’ve done to Raven’s character this season is bullshit. Her only role is Abby’s moral compass. This is the same girl who shuttled to earth in a Tin Can. She’s better than this.

What the fuck??? Happened to??? Jordan???

Like Madi stabbed him

And then they proceeded to not talk about it for like four episodes and then casually mention it in passing like “oh he saved Pria that means he gets to live”

Like they set up his character to be really important this season.

But he’s not.

I think that Murphey/Emori is the best ship.

I also think that Either Murphey or Emori or Both are secretly double crossing the Primes. (This comes out before the finale of season six)

They didn’t have to do Onyia like that

The opening of season three is so weak that I actually stopped watching the show around that time (I’d been watching since the beginning of season two) because there’s just nothing there in the first like 10 minutes and I couldn’t do it.

Maybe I’m just impatient but it’s bad.

I think that Octavia did the best that she could with what she had available and I think that’s she’s not a bad person for what she did with the fighting pits/cannabalism. And I know that if Bellamy had been in her place, he would have eventually done the same.

Kane was a whiny bitch in season 5.

Why’d the kill Diyoza(I can’t spell) like that?

I liked Joesephine. It was really fun to see Eliza Taylor be able to get a new character in the show. Also props to her for that last episode with pretending to be Joesephine and being Clarke at the same time.

I called the dude being Gabriel from the first time I saw him you peasants.

Octavia’s redemption arc this season is beautiful.

They did....that.....to Kane. I’m angerey.

Lost In space

Not enough people watch this show. (The Netflix remake or the origional)

Seriously guys it’s a good show.

Absolutely nothing is wrong with it.

I love Don West with my whole heart.

I love Dr. Smith with my half heart.

I love the robot with my two hearts.

I love Penny Robinson with all the stars in the galaxy.

I love all of them okay.

There are no plot holes, no inconsistencies, no faulty science and anyone who says (or proves) otherwise is wrong.

It’s confirmed for a season two which should air in like the December-February time area.

It’s a Netflix show so you can binge the entire season in like a weekend.

Seriously watch it.

The Umbrella Academy

Five x Delores is weird.

Luther x Allison is illegal.

Klaus deserves all the push pops in the world.

The handler is hot.

The Comission killed Dave.

Luther is the most boring, Unorigional, straight white guy character I’ve seen in a long time. I hate him so much.

Allison is a queen but her character is brought down by her weird relationship with her brother.

Tbh if I was Allison you know I’d be telling my kids that I heard a rumor that theyd go the fuck to sleep. Like that’s a good thing. Idk maybe I’m just a sociopath.

Istanbul not Constantinople being played over a scene where five murders a squad of Commission people is the greatest cinematic masterpiece ever conceived by man.

“Where are you going” “to save the world” “oh is that all?” Iconic.

None of these are really unpopular but the show writers seem to think differently.

Diego has never done anything wrong in his life like yaaaasss bitch kill your brother at yo daddy’s funeral!!! Work!!!

PaTcH

AAaAHh

Big Theif - Mary is the perfect song to play over Klaus returning from Vietnam.

Will you love me, like you loved me in the January rain?

It’s up there with Goodbye July.

Speaking of Goodbye July....

Z Nation

Many people haven’t watched it

It’s like if The Walking Dead and Zombieland had a baby....and then the baby did a line of cocaine.

It’s wild.

Watching Garnet die ruined every sliver of hope I had in humanity.

I have a special place in my heart for this show because it’s the first show that me and my mom would stay up and watch the new episodes air every Friday. It brought us closer and I can’t thank the cast and show runners enough for this.

So maybe I’m biased, but you should watch it.

Having Murphey switch from being an anti-hero to a villain back to an anti-hero and then to a regular hero, amazing. Astonishing. The peak of human existence.

Even though he’s not entirely human.

What color is Murphey today? Is he pale, discolored, grey, blue, red? We don’t know!

Roberta Warren is the Black Goddess main protagonist that we deserve.

Addison Carver is a functional Bi.

10k is tragic backstory central but other than that, his character development is pretty lacking other than him persuing love interests.

None of these are really unpopular opinions but I doubt any of you have watched the show. It’s on Netflix. Watch it.

Oooooohhhhh George.

Georgia St. Clair could stomp me to death and my ghost would still want to fuck her.

Anyways I’m gay

God damn I have a lot of pent up Gay energy.

Murphey and Lucy have a realistic enstranged father/daughter relationship and it’s heartwarming.

And then they killed her off to save him.

Honestly if you name a character Murphey they can only be assholish bad boys with a good heart deep down sorry I don’t make the rules.

Also if you name a character Murphey I will love them with my whole soul.

I’m so mad they cancelled the show.

I’m infinitely more mad that they named that disgrace of a show Black Summer and claimed that it was a prequel....but it didn’t follow the same cast and had they not advertised it as a prequel I would never have guessed.

Black Summer gives totally opposite vibes than Z Nation does. I get that black summer is supposed to be the worst time that the zombie apocalypse ever had, with cannibals and no food, but it feels like s completely different show.

It’s like if The Walking Dead claimed that it is a prequel/occurs during Shaun of the Dead.

Like....no. They’re....no.

Anyway watch it it’s good.

Detroit: Become Human

Connor isn’t the best character.

This is an unpopular opinion post deal with it.

Markus has to be my favorite.

Honestly this game is so good and not even just graphics-wise.

It’s the same robotic sentience story we’ve been fed for years, but this time it’s from the Android’s perspective and this time all they want is to be free. That’s it.

I fucking hate North.

Hank is literally if Rick from Rick and Morty were serious.

The only correct way to play Connor is to walk the thin line between deviant and regular A.I. Without leaving out Hank. The correct thing to do is make Conner deviant at Jericho.

The only correct way to play Kara is to protect Alice with every fiber of your being. Meanwhile, get close to her. Do not get caught, even if that means dissappointing her.

The only correct way to play Markus is to lead a peaceful revolution. Also tell North to fuck off.

The border patrol guy who either gets Kara and Alice caught or knowingly lets Androids cross the border is the best character. Forget about Markus, this guy sees either “oh fuck androids are killing people, maybe we shouldn’t let this one cross the border” or “Androids just want to be free and are peacefully fighting for this. Let this one and her daughter through.” I love him.

LUTHER.

YES DADDY.

anyway.

Let Out The Bear He Just Wants To Say Hi :)

Even though I think Conner is overrated by the fandom, I do like him.

But he’s not a pure innocent cinnamon roll either.

It depends on how you play, but he has really violent options so stop the “He wouldn’t harm a fly” attitude.

But he is cute.

The home screen for the game is revolutionary (no pun intended) and I hope future game follow suit in making the first impression of the game something cool.

Stealing clothes/money/the fence cutters is literally okay.

Also if you put Kara in white hair you can die.

If in your first actual play through you got the Kara lives at the recycling plant ending but Alice dies, you can die too.

I’ve never actually seen the steal money and go to motel option play out because it’s stupid, especially if you don’t steal clothes. Like that’s begging to be caught.

Stranger things

Billy Hargrove is bad and just because he’s abused does not make what he does okay.

Harringrove is gross and I’m gay so my opinion counts as double.

That being said, there are some really cute fics about Harringrove and I can see the appeal of “good boy falls for mysterious bad boy with a dark past and trauma”

I’ve said I’m gay this whole post because I say it a lot, but I don’t like actually labeling myself but I like girls and boys and everything in between and I say I’m gay kinda as a joke when girls are hot.

That being said...

Steve Harrington calling himself Daddy made me feel things.

Strange things.

Haha get it I’m making a joke to distract you from the daddy part.

Steve Harrington is a good person now, but he was still an asshole before and he can still be criticized for his past.

I used to be hardcore Jancy but after season three I feel like Nancy needs and deserves a break from boys so she can figure out herself and who she is now and what she wants to do without the weight of boys and boyfriends constantly around her.

That being said i still don’t like Nancy because she was flirting/slept in the same bed with Jonathan whilst obviously having feelings for him while she and Steve were still a thing. It’s not cheating but to me it’s close enough to raise red flags.

Robin is perfect in every way.

I don’t like Jonathan. He’s creepy in s1, fine in s2, but then is s3 he doesn’t do anything to or about his male bosses when Nancy is being made fun of because she’s a woman.

Seeing Nancy’s class priveledge/Jonathan’s male priveledge clashing was so cool tbh

Elmax > Mileven > Lumax

Jim Hopper, with all his faults, is still a caring dad.

Plus him threatening Mike made me laugh so hard sksksksks

Steve Harrington deserves the world and then some.

Low key I really want s4 to give in insight on his family life.

I also want him to get an apartment with Robin.

Robins cute tbh but for half the season I though she was a Russian spy. I guess I was wrong.

Mrs. Wheeler shouldn’t sleep with billy (not that she can now) because it’s wrong, but the reason she wanted to is because her husband is so boring and she gave up on her dreams to be his perfect housewife. She wanted a challenge with Billy. Instead, she should leave her pushover of a husband and find someone better.

Anyway Steve Harrington deserves the world.

Yeah okay hate me whatever.

[tempestaurora]

WHUMPVEMBER #27: “I CAN’T WALK”

5.3k of maybe-actual-real-whump AO3

It happened in a crash.

A blinding, blistering pain, then nothing.

The loud screech of metal, the slam of cars against cars against walls. Crumbling brick. Shouts of fear, of pain. The air bag going off, Happy’s grunt.

A flash of light, like the sun, burning into Peter’s retinas for just heartbeat. Then gone, like it never existed. The car shaking, everything shaking.

The blinding, blistering pain, then nothing.

He whimpered in the back seat. He’d felt it coming; had leaned forward to yell for Happy to stop the car, to do something – but there was no time for that. The lorry ploughed through the cars like they were nothing; like the crunched, broken bodies inside the tin metal death boxes were nothing.

Peter didn’t do much other than whimper, falling in and out of consciousness as his vision obscured with red. He didn’t cry or shout for help. He just stayed quiet, because that was all he could bear.

He stayed quiet and he watched Happy’s body shift in the front seat, a little at a time, luckily alive but maybe not all that much better off than Peter.

-

 They’d been headed to the compound when the lorry driver had a heart attack and couldn’t stop for the red light. Peter had been picked up from school to spend the weekend at the empty Avengers facility. There were loose plans of movies, lab time and possible sparring – Mr Stark was always going on about Peter’s technique needing improvement, how Happy should teach him some boxing and Tony would give him a few lessons in the suits.

Peter woke up the compound, though it wasn’t where he expected.

Sometimes he fell asleep on the long drive up and would wake just as the car rolled to a stop on the main drive. He’d occasionally see a SHIELD quinjet take off, or a few officials in business suits not paying him the time of day. Sometimes he’d see Mr Stark’s flashy, expensive cars driving themselves.

Never had he seen an Avenger besides Mr Stark and Col. Rhodes.

This time he woke up to a bright fluorescent light, groaning.

“Hey, hey, kid, take it easy,” Mr Stark’s familiar voice said by his side, soft and gentle. Peter shut his eyes, the red-yellow lights dancing behind his eyelids. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” Peter groaned – he didn’t feel okay. He felt like he’d been run over by a truck-

Which, he remembered with a jolt, maybe he had.

“Happy,” he said, eyes slamming open. He looked around the room, but all there was to see was Tony Stark in sweats and a faded MIT sweatshirt sitting in an armchair that clearly didn’t belong in this room.

“Happy’s okay,” Mr Stark said, placing his hand on Peter’s wrist. “He’s in the next room over, sleeping it off. Air bag saved his life. A few cuts and bruises but otherwise fine – it’s, it’s you we’re worried about.”

Peter frowned. “I’m okay,” he said, though he didn’t know if it was the truth. Sleep was trying to tug him back under and he was considering letting it, but for the moment, he couldn’t feel much of his limbs – just the place where Mr Stark’s hand connected with his wrist.

Mr Stark didn’t reply, maybe noticing Peter’s eyes blinking long and heavy, and shifted his hand down until he clutched at Peter’s fingers. “May knows,” Mr Stark said, and Peter felt himself relax at the words. “She was getting stir crazy in here so Pepper’s taken her to get good and drunk.”

Peter exhaled a soft laugh through his nose. It was an exaggeration, probably, but May and Miss Potts tended to hang out with bottles of wine around, and if Miss Potts was looking after his Aunt then she’d probably be okay.

Peter managed a weak smile before falling back asleep.

 -

 The next time he woke up, a face he knew but couldn’t put a name to stood at the end of his bed with a tablet in her hands. She was small and dark-haired, wearing pale blue scrubs with a high neck and standing with a posture that told Peter that she was probably very good at her job and knew it.

She looked up just as Peter blinked himself fully awake and smiled.

“Good afternoon, Mr Parker,” she greeted, taking a step around his bed. “How are you feeling?”

Peter frowned, struggling for an answer. The woman waited patiently as he tried to locate his body parts, one by one, and decide how he felt. “I’m not sure,” he said at last. “I’m all achy but my legs are really numb.”

The woman nodded, scrawling with a stylus on the tablet. “That’s to be expected – we localised the anaesthesia to your legs in particular to help in the regeneration process.”

“Regeneration process?”

“Yes, Mr Parker. Tony made me aware of your enhanced healing and metabolism, which I’m sure will make this entire process much quicker than it would be for others – but we had to use a machine of my own design, called the Regeneration Cradle, to replace some of the lost tissue and fix the surface issues.”

It clicked in Peter’s head. “You’re Dr Cho,” he said.

She nodded with a smile. “I am. And you’re Peter Parker – Tony brought me in all the way from South Korea to take the lead on your recovery.”

Peter nodded, slow. “And what, exactly, is wrong with my legs?”

She seemed to hesitate for the first time in the conversation, glancing down to Peter’s legs that were both propped up but covered with the blanket. He couldn’t feel them at all. He could see them from where he laid on the bed, but he couldn’t wriggle his toes or feel the pins and needles they must surely have from being in that position for so long.

“You may prefer that we have this conversation with either May or Tony present,” she suggested.

“Why?”

“It’s a, uh, sensitive topic. Moral support is often needed-”

“Dr Cho,” Peter interrupted, forcing himself to sit up. He glanced down at his hands when they twinged with pain, catching sight of the cuts and bruises that littered his skin. He recognised many of them as caused by the shattering of the window – the light of the sun burning his eyes and then blinking out of existence – but most were small and would quickly heal. “Tell me.”

“Alright,” she said, briefly pausing. Dr Cho sat on the edge of his bed, holding the tablet to her lap and avoiding his gaze by staring out of the window. In the distance, New York was covered in fog, faded and grey. From where Peter sat, he could only just see the tops of the trees that surrounded the compound. “Your legs took the brunt of the damage during the accident. They were broken and the bones were crushed and splintered in some places. We’ve corrected and casted them where possible and added splints to the rest. I used the Regeneration Cradle to replace the tissue and skin where it was lost-”

“How much was lost?”

Dr Cho blinked. “A lot,” she said, quiet. “There were places where we could see the bone. It wasn’t all sustained during the accident – your legs were trapped and during the attempt to extricate you from the car, you took more damage.” Dr Cho sighed and Peter found himself staring at his legs, covered with the blankets.

“Am I going to walk again?”

The doctor paused and Peter hated that. “If you didn’t have edited DNA, enhanced by the spider genome, I would say it’s unlikely. Not impossible, but unlikely.”

“But I do have edited DNA,” Peter said.

Dr Cho nodded and finally looked over to him. “You do. The scans show that your metabolism is working on repairing the damage as we speak – it’s just slow going due to the extent of it. You may well walk again, Peter, but I can’t be certain.”

Peter nodded once, numb. “Thanks, Dr Cho.”

“Of course, Peter.”

They sat silently for a count of five, before Peter had the urge to get up and run. He wanted to move. Wanted to be a part of the world and feel the ground under his feet. Since the spider bite, he’d wanted to go out for track at school, but knew he couldn’t. He just wanted to go.

“Dr Cho? Would you be able to get Mr Stark?”

She blinked. “Yes. Of course, Peter. I’ll go find him.”

“Thank you, Dr Cho.”

Peter waited until the door was shut behind her to pull off the blanket. He gagged at the sight of his legs – he could tell they’d once been mangled and twisted, just by how they sat, uncomfortable, in their casts. They were split between casts and splints, and visible skin was bruised and raw. Peter could guess which parts were new tissue, because they looked fresh and clean, while the skin around it looked like it’d been scraped across tarmac.

Peter leant forward and pulled his left leg over the side of the bed, unable to bend it at the knee due to the cast. He followed quickly with the right. He couldn’t spot any crutches – maybe they planned on him staying in bed throughout the recovery, so Peter pushed himself carefully onto his feet and hissed at how he couldn’t feel them. The linoleum looked cold yet Peter had no sensation of it, his bare feet, bruised and dirty with the remains of dried blood, just sitting awkwardly on the floor.

He tried to take a step but it was like he had no control over his legs; like they weren’t his own. There was no stepping, no shuffling – Peter picked up his right leg and dropped it forward, tried to shift his centre of gravity over and found he couldn’t, found he was falling, yelping at his head hit the bed and groaning when he landed on the floor.

Peter stayed there, blinking at the plain white walls of his hospital room, until the door opened.

“Peter!” Mr Stark rushed into his eyeline, eyes full of concern and worry. “Peter, kid – what were you doing? Come on, come on.” Mr Stark shifted Peter enough so they were both on the floor, Peter limp in his arms, head sitting at the crook of his neck.

Mr Stark wrapped his arms around Peter, holding him as the first sob wracked through his tiny body. He felt so much smaller than he had at school. So much smaller than he did outside of the suit. So much smaller than he had when he woke up.

He cried into Mr Stark’s neck, being rocked gently from side to side. “I- I can’t walk,” Peter cried. Mr Stark didn’t reply, just shushed him quietly and held him tighter.

 -

 He didn’t talk when he was back in the bed, didn’t talk when May came to visit and pretended to be asleep when she started softly crying.

Peter thought about a life without being able to walk; the apartment building he and May lived in didn’t have an elevator and they lived on the fourth floor. They’d have to move and May couldn’t afford that. While he found a slither of relief in Mr Stark’s medical services being free for him, he would still have a life of paying things he wouldn’t otherwise.

He’d still be the kid at school who’d lost the use of his legs.

He’d still be the loser and he definitely wouldn’t be Spiderman.

Because how was Peter supposed to save the city if he couldn’t walk?

Eventually, Peter fell asleep, listing his worries and fears one after another, and they plagued his dreams, too. His subconscious slumped him back into the car, the screech of metal, the burning, the blistering, the lack of feeling. Happy’s yelp.

He saw the out, at one point – felt the twist of reality grazing across the back of his hand -but he didn’t take it. He stayed in the car and waited for the paramedics to get him out, tearing off his skin in the process.

Peter stayed asleep until he heard the sound of the Iron Man thrusters reaching the scene and Mr Stark’s panicked voice yelling Where’s my son? Someone! Where’s my son?

 -

 After a week, they put him in a wheelchair because Peter was aching to leave the room. He hadn’t spoken much during the week; had eaten whatever they gave him and slept the rest of the time away. Peter couldn’t find much to say; couldn’t find any combination of words that didn’t seem to have legs and walking and I’m so scared – so he elected to say nothing at all.

May and Mr Stark took turns sitting by his bedside, and occasionally they’d do it together and talk in low murmurs, or loud enough that if Peter wanted to join in, he could. Sometimes Miss Potts or Col. Rhodes would be by his bedside, and Miss Potts would always do work as she sat there, providing silent support he appreciated and Col. Rhodes would try to talk to him, but Peter would feel too awkward to say anything back.

Because Col. Rhodes could walk but not how he used to.

There was a mechanical whir to the braces whenever Col. Rhodes moved, and Peter tried to figure out the statistical likelihood that there were already a matching pair in Peter’s size, sitting in Mr Stark’s lab.

Peter didn’t like looking at the braces and Col. Rhodes, and then felt so bad about it he rarely looked away. Still, he said little. Still, he felt this gaping hole inside him, slowly filling with fear.

When they gave him the wheelchair, May and Mr Stark and Dr Cho stepped back to watch him wheel out of his room, down the hall, and into Happy’s. They said nothing, just blinked.

“Kid,” Happy greeted, sitting up in his bed. Happy had a broken arm and more bruises than Peter could count. He didn’t necessarily need to be in the medbay anymore, but he was anyway, probably more for observation than anything else. Plus, Happy liked being waited on, and he was getting paid time off due to his injury – he might as well spend it being served his meals than having to make them himself in his apartment.

“Happy,” Peter said, his voice hoarse from disuse.

“Heard about your legs.”

“Heard about your personality.”

Happy scoffed and watched Peter wheel up beside the bed, frowning as he tried to turn the chair.

“Downton Abbey’s on in five, so you better speak fast.”

Peter’s lips curled into something similar to a smile. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Happy’s lips formed a real smile. “Same to you, Pete. I should’ve seen him coming or something; pulled out of the way.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

Happy paused. “You yelled before it hit us. You sensed it, huh?”

“Too late,” Peter replied. He was always too late. Too late to save Ben from the bullet, too late to realise the Vulture’s game, too late to every social engagement and school event because he would always get side-tracked by the smallest of things. Too late, Peter noticed, was becoming deadly in his life.

“It’s alright,” Happy said, and maybe it was or maybe it wasn’t. It wasn’t up for Peter to decide.

They were quiet for a moment and Peter felt the presence of May and Mr Stark and Dr Cho outside Happy’s room, but determinedly didn’t look their way. He eyed Happy’s cuts and scratches, healing over, the broken arm across his chest, the bruises on his face. Happy, who’d give his life for Peter, and Peter, who’d give his life for Happy. It was just who they were.

“Can I stay to watch Downton Abbey?”

Happy blinked, looking over. He nodded. “Just don’t talk through it.”

 -

 He started physio two weeks after the crash. His bones had healed enough to take off the casts, but the muscles were wrecked and so were the nerves. According to Dr Cho’s scans, they were getting better, slowly. They were taking their time, intricately sewing themselves back together.

Peter didn’t like how long they were taking and he didn’t particularly like his physiotherapist. She was fine, sure, but she was chipper, optimistic and enthusiastic. Peter, still in the slump of the century, barely speaking more than five words to anyone but Happy – who’d finally taken off for his own apartment in the city – didn’t want chipper and bright. He wanted someone to tell him that he wasn’t working hard enough. He wanted someone to tell him that if he just pushed a little harder, the feeling would come back.

“That’s so good!” Lucy all but cheered. Peter clenched his jaw and stared defiantly up at the ceiling as she held onto his calf, pulling his leg into a stretch.

Peter had been exactly right on the mark about Mr Stark and the braces. They were the same dark grey as Col. Rhodes’ and they worked to keep his legs splinted as they healed. Unfortunately, while Col. Rhodes’ legs still had feeling to them – so his braces helped him stay upright when he walked – Peter couldn’t feel anything below his waist. Like it wasn’t even there.

He ground his way through the stretches with Lucy, the physiotherapist from hell, before the door slipped open.

Peter’s ears caught the whirs.

“Morning, Lucy,” Col. Rhodes said as he entered. Peter twisted to see the Colonel arrive in his gym clothes, though Peter could’ve sworn his physio was on another day.

“James! It’s good to see you – I thought you worked with-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Col. Rhodes said, waving a hand. “Thought I’d keep Peter company. I remember what the first few sessions were like.”

“The more the merrier,” Lucy agreed.

Col. Rhodes was a quiet presence during the session, but Peter had to admit that he liked having him there. He counteracted Lucy’s enthusiasm with small, you got this, Parkers and when Peter couldn’t stand by himself, Col. Rhodes didn’t even have the slightest inch of pity on his face when he caught him.

After, when Lucy had said goodbye and gone, the two sat on the mats by themselves, two sets of mechanical braces whirring in conversation.

“You’ll get there, kid,” Col. Rhodes said. “It just takes time.” Peter nodded, mute, staring at his legs and how they didn’t use to look like this. “Are you angry?”

Peter looked up. “What?”

“Are you angry?” Col. Rhodes said it with a plain tone. There was no judgement here.

Peter shrugged. “No.”

“No? When my legs stopped working I was pissed. I kept a good face for Tony but the second he left the room I would throw shit across it. I’ve always been a soldier – I knew it was what I was born to be since I was little, and I was so angry that a fall and that stupid fight against my own friends could cause me to lose that.”

“You’re still a soldier, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but only as War Machine now. Which – it’s fine. I love being War Machine. But I used to go on the daily runs with my unit. I used to crawl through mud and run the obstacle courses. Even when I was War Machine, even when I moved to Weapons Development – I would still be a part of that. And when my legs stopped working like they used to, I was angrier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

There was a quiet that stretched between them while Peter thought these words over. “I’m not angry,” he said at last. “I’m just really, really fucking sad.”

“Yeah,” Col. Rhodes said, a sigh. “I get that. You’re a strong kid, Peter – you’ll get through this. And maybe you’ll be really sad for a while, but you’ll come out the other side, whether you’re walking or not. But I’ve seen Cho’s scans and Tony’s plans and how your body works – I’m not a betting kind of guy, but I’d put money on you walking again.”

Peter smiled in the small way and nodded once before looking over to where Col. Rhodes sat, watching him with a solid gaze. “Thanks, Colonel Rhodes.”

“Of course, Peter. And call me Rhodey. Please.”

Peter cracked a wider smile. “Rhodey. Alright.”

 -

 There were good days and there were bad ones.

There were days when Peter could’ve sworn he felt every inch of his legs; could even watch his toes wriggle, May standing nearby in silent shock – and then there were days when he would cry because they wouldn’t move for him. His legs would remain stationary and numb, like something that was simply attached to him, not part of his body.

The good days were always brighter. He didn’t go back to school until his legs looked more normal again, but when he did he was in a wheelchair and Ned was waiting by the side entrance where the ramp was, practically vibrating with excitement. And on that first day back, people stopped and stared because Peter Parker had been on the news, Iron Man yelling Where’s my son? into a crowd of paramedics and sobbing families and ended up by Peter’s side, news cameras following him as he ran by the gurney all the way into the ambulance.

And people stopped and stared because Peter Parker was in a wheelchair, and he still looked a little bruised and defeated, but he was also the same kid who answered questions in class correctly even when he hadn’t been paying attention, who stammered responses to questions he hadn’t seen coming, who laughed at whatever snide comment MJ had made in his presence.

The bad days were always grey-toned and they dragged on forever, the sky knowing how Peter was feeling as his morning physio left him on the mat, staring at useless legs that wouldn’t heal faster. Within the week he returned to school, Peter Parker being in a wheelchair was just another part of life and just another part of him to belittle.

The bad days resembled the words from Flash Thompson’s mouth as he hurled them through the cafeteria. They resembled the hips of students who knocked his backpack onto the floor, or his books, or his homework and didn’t even stop to look back and see him. They resembled the fucking handicap entrance door being locked and Peter having to wait outside until Ned could find someone with a key and being late to class and rolling in with the teacher’s concerned yet still disapproving gaze and having to swallow it all down without screaming.

Because Rhodey was right, eventually. Peter moved past sad and he got to angry. He got to real fucking pissed and he felt righteous anger in the parts of his body that still worked, because he watched the news idly from the compound or the tower or wherever he was being stored, inanimate and silent, now he couldn’t reach his apartment floor, and people were dying and injured and afraid and they were all waiting on Spiderman-

But Spiderman was stuck in bed or in a wheelchair or occasionally on the ground, because he thought that would be a nice place to sit and realised too late that he didn’t want to be there.

Spiderman wasn’t coming because Peter couldn’t walk.

 Until the day he could.

 -

 He woke up to his legs hurting.

No, not just hurting, burning. The type of powerful aching splicing pain that reminded Peter too well of the crash and threw him out of his slumber with a gasp. He rolled onto his side, eyes clenched tight against the pain. His breathing became laboured as it pierced through his legs causing him to yell into his pillow.

“Mr Parker,” FRIDAY said from on high, “are you in distress?”

“YES!” Peter yelled. “Yes! Get someone! Get anyone!”

It was three seventeen am when Peter felt his legs again and he almost (almost) wished for the numbness to come back and smother him once more.

Mr Stark ran into the room, eyes wide and half dressed. “Peter? Oh my god, Peter. Oh my god – what is it? Peter? Peter, I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

Mr Stark pulled Peter into his side, clenching him tight against the writhing. “Legs,” Peter choked out. “They- they hurt-”

“FRIDAY, call in Helen. And her staff. Wake up May.”

“Understood.”

Mr Stark held him for a moment, Peter’s face already soaking with tears, his throat raw from screaming, fingers tight in the fabric of Mr Stark’s t-shirt. Then, with a huff, he adjusted his grip, shoving his hands beneath the kid’s knees and lifting him up. Mr Stark all but ran to the medbay.

 -

 The on-call doctor in the Avengers compound did the only thing they could think of to make the pain stop quickly; they put Peter under with the same anaesthesia they used to use on Steve Rogers. Peter was out like a light after that.

 -

 Creating pain relief that only targeted his legs had been a long process the first time and it was the second too – but the goal now was to stop the pain altogether, not to numb it out entirely. (Before, however, they hadn’t known that Peter wouldn’t be able to feel a damn thing, either way.)

By the time Helen arrived, she’d already received the updates from FRIDAY. She spared one look for May and Tony, holding each other as if they would fall down otherwise, before instructing her team to make a space in the surgical room.

“Surgery?” May asked. “Are you serious? What for? The feeling finally came back, he-”

Helen pushed up the sides of Peter’s bed so he wouldn’t roll out when moved, before pulling up the legs of Thor pyjama trousers. The skin beneath was red and angry, as if it was at war with itself.

“I’ve been studying Peter’s abilities since the accident,” she said, pursing her lips at the discolouration. “I’d marked this as a possibility, but not likely.”

“What is it?” Tony asked.

“The Regeneration Cradle’s purpose is to print tissue to replace what was lost. The cells don’t know they’re bonding with anything synthetic, it’s that close to the original make up.”

Tony blinked. “Peter’s cells know.”

Helen nodded. “It’s a good sign that they do, though,” she said. “He can feel again. His body has finally gotten to the point where it’s almost finished repairing and it’s just discovered that there’s something blocking its way. That’s why he’s in pain.” She looked to May, met her eyes. “In the surgery, I’m going to remove the synthetic tissue. He’ll stay in bed for a few days as his body grows back into place, and then, as far as I can tell, he should be fine.”

“He should be fine,” May repeated.

Helen smiled. “Mr Parker is something of a medical marvel. When he’s back in good health, I’ll start working on how to create tissue that his body won’t reject.”

 -

 The heart monitor woke Peter up.

A steady beeping sound that drilled into Peter’s ears and reminded him of the real world. He was having the dream where he was stuck in the back seat of Happy’s car, again. Stuck and in pain – the sun burning, burning, then gone – as Happy twitched in the front seat.

Reality slithered past his eyes, tempting, and he grabbed hold of it.

He groaned. The fluorescent light was still as annoying as always.

“Peter.” Aunt May.

He tried to smile at her as she leaned above him, blocking out the light. Her smile, however, was blinding. “Oh, Peter.”

He hummed, shutting his eyes again.

He felt a familiar hand clasp against his wrist. “Good to have you back, kid.”

 -

 Rhodey visited him later that day and Peter stared at his braces for a while, unsure what he was feeling.

“It’s okay, Peter,” Rhodey said, when he caught on.

Peter blinked. “Is it?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“I can feel my legs,” Peter said. “Dr Cho thinks I’ll be back on my feet by the weekend.”

Rhodey nodded. “That’s great. You deserve it, kid.”

“So do you.”

Rhodey smiled and Peter figured it out: guilt. He was feeling guilty for having what Rhodey didn’t. “Sure I do,��� he agreed, “but that’s just not how life’s going for me right now. Maybe it will one day. Maybe Cho will figure that out – or some other great doctor. Maybe Banner will come back from wherever he disappeared off to and have a miracle cure. Maybe not.”

“How can you sit there, all okay, while I get better?” Peter asked.

“Because I care about you,” Rhodey replied, rolling his eyes. “And I’m happy for you. And just because I don’t get to walk without the braces doesn’t mean that you should be assigned to the same fate. Kid, I’ve made my peace with this.”

“I thought you were angry.”

“I’m not Banner,” Rhodey replied, mild. “Being angry all the time takes a lot out of you. Being angry all the time makes you into a different kind of man. It’s better to let the anger go, Pete. Sure, it’s unfair – but it doesn’t mean I have to be pissed about it for the rest of my life.”

 -

 Peter started walking at nine months old. He took stumbling steps into his mother’s arms as she laughed and grinned, his father sitting by her side. By twelve months he was walking all the time, toddling place to place and running after the neighbour’s dog on his tiny little legs.

Peter started walking again just like that.

At first, it was slow, aching steps that he stared at in awe. May held one of his hands as he went, her smile so different from his mother’s, but also the only one of the two he could remember. Mr Stark would be in front of him, arms open in case he needed to dart forward and catch Peter.

Then, he was off. He was walking without the crutches, without the braces; his skin bound back together, all his own, the redness faded, the nerves sparking like they should be inside his body. He went from walking to jogging to running, and then he was flipping through the gym, teaching his legs how to go from cartwheels into handsprings into barani flips.

At school, he got the looks all over again as he climbed out of Mr Stark’s vividly orange Audi and ran up the steps to meet Ned. Peter’s smile had never been wider than when he walked into class and people stopped talking to watch him go, to watch his legs work when they’d believed they never would again.

Then, he would be flying down the school steps and running off down the street. He would end up in an alley and change into his suit; crawling up the walls and leaping off roofs all over again. Spiderman graced the streets of Queens almost two months after he’d disappeared. For a school of baby geniuses, not even the kids at Midtown put Peter Parker’s time in a wheelchair together with Spiderman’s absence.

When he walked and ran and flipped, he didn’t take it for granted. He took each precious moment in his hands and thanked whatever higher power gave them to him.

And when he dreamed, the accident still came to him sometimes. He was still in the car, stuck and aching – but now, he could grab onto reality before it presented itself. Now, he could open the door, even if it was crushed against a wall, climb out of the car and wait in the street for the Iron Man thrusters.

And when Mr Stark started yelling Where’s my son?, Peter would raise a hand and say Over here, Mr Stark! I’m over here!

[hellsbells91]

Avengers: Endgame, a day later

What an absolute ride. My brain hurts though. It’s a lot to unpack and this post/review/scrutinisation turned into a bit of a mini-essay.

Spoilers are all below the cut and they are detailed spoilers for the whole film, just to warn everyone:

An emotional rollercoaster that despite us knowing that time travel would be involved still had its moments that kept me guessing as to what could happen, or how it could happen. I still felt the joy and intrigue during the ‘time-heist’ and a moment of piercing dread when Thanos picked up the fully-loaded infinity gauntlet for the second time. 

I also loved how Endgame took the time to be immensely fun. Of course it had bleak moments, depressing moments, angry moments, but damn did it make me laugh. Korg, Frigga, OG Hulk, Loki... their presence, however short-lived or ultimately unfulfilling, was like a soothing balm for the soul and reminded us why we fell in love with these guys the first time around. How much charisma and charm can Tom Hiddleston fit into about a minute of screen time of Loki, also without speaking for most of it? A lot. He is on form as always and I’m glad for it.

Infinity War was of a much darker tone, I feel, and I very much enjoy the parts of Endgame that made me feel like we were in the original Avengers again (I mean aside from the actual time travel portions), recapturing some of that joy and excitement and most importantly hope that was a constant comforting presence in the first title.

The emotional beats with Clint and his family, Scott and Cassie and Tony and Morgan (and Howard) also in particular gave the film much needed time to breathe after Infinity War’s ‘GO GO GO crank everything to 11!’ pace, and were for me at least among the most heartfelt moments. 

I actually don’t have too much to say about Thor and Bruce, honestly. They were entertaining, I liked them, it was a bit of a shame we didn’t get more of Hulk and that Thor was made to be the butt of a joke for most of the film, but they both got pretty satisfying conclusions at least. I hope Thor shaves and gets a haircut though, I’m not digging the Volstagg look on him.

One sticking point for me was that Thor doesn’t even say Loki’s name once, not even to joke about him in the past or even glance at him in his cell on Asgard and this did slightly annoy me throughout the film, but I’m not overly torn up about it. Maybe they didn’t want to overdo the fact that in most of his films, Thor is grieving for Loki one way or another - we get it, he misses his brother. In the overall very long list of ways in which Loki’s character has gotten shafted in the MCU, this is one of the lesser things. 

At least Thor got to say goodbye to Frigga this time, and I couldn’t help but also be lifted (just as Thor was) by her words, As I mentioned before, this was one of those times during the film that I got to be filled with hope.

The supporting cast were also great, and I’m kinda happy that they didn’t give Captain Marvel a bigger role, along with a decent excuse for her not being there most of the time. I was worried that being a new character with an upcoming franchise, she would be made to outshine the others in Endgame and they didn’t do that. Keeping most of the focus on the original six made Endgame more of a satisfying conclusion to their stories, with just hints of what will happen now for everyone else. Point to Marvel. 

Onto fatalities:

So let’s start with the big one, Tony Stark. Iron Man was the first MCU film I watched and he’s been my favourite character (aside Loki) throughout the series. The world is a slightly duller place without him, but whilst it was undeniably upsetting and many tears were shed in the cinema and now while I’m writing this, it didn’t have the sour taste that Loki’s demise left me with. 

Because if you’re going to have to go, you might as well save the entire universe in the process.

As we passed over all the characters standing at Tony’s funeral, I was sad, but not enraged. I was struck with this sense of ‘none of them would be here without Tony’ and it left me feeling just bittersweet about the whole thing. And after a few minutes when Happy asks Morgan if she’s okay and she says she is, I know that the characters, and myself, and everyone else will be too. 

Of course we will be. 

What a wonderful, hopeful ending.

I was pretty satisfied with Natasha’s end also, to be honest. I didn’t always love her presence in past films, but I can appreciate that her story in the MCU has been all about trying to do what she thinks is right, even if it sometimes means going against allies. Her sacrifice is an act of love, and hope. It’s not done out of guilt, she’s not trying to make up for past mistakes, it’s not framed as punishment - she’s just doing what she can to ensure that everyone else, especially Clint, has the chance to carry on - just like Tony does. So, like Tony, I’m more bittersweet about it than angry. 

Loki on the other hand died brutally and needlessly - that whole opening scene in Infinity War caused so much controversy on how odd, cryptic, out of character and poorly edited it was that a lot of people straight up assumed that there just had to be more going on, there’s no way such accomplished filmmakers could be so sloppy! But like the other inconsistencies in Infinity War, Endgame offers no answers other than yep, the filmmakers really are that sloppy. 

So with the major deaths out of the way, onto some bad stuff. This film is excellent to watch don’t get me wrong, just don’t start thinking about the time travel implications for more than 5 minutes. Because whilst the film takes the time to establish its own (confusing) set of rules for time travel, it then proceeds to play pretty fast and loose with those same rules. 

Yes I’m going to complain about the timey-wimey stuff. 

It’s a shame that the film that takes such care in adding in so many references to the past films, would take such liberties in other areas. I joked with my friend that i’d need a diagram to work it out so that it makes sense, and that has not changed so if anyone here can explain it, please let me know because I’m not a scientist, time travel or sci-fi expert and I can’t wrap my head around it.

By the logic that Gamora is alive in the 2023 present and her death has been effectively erased, so must Loki’s, Heimdal’s and the other Asgardians’ deaths be erased. Gamora cannot simultaneously be sacrificed for the soul stone but not exist in the timeline that led her there. Despite the film telling us the past can’t be changed, it seems that past versions of characters can change their own future, but then also have that alternate future have no bearing on the original timeline.

Using that logic Natasha and Tony could simply be brought in from an earlier time. No one ever need die again because they can just be brought forward from the past without consequence to the current timeline. Maybe this will come up in the future again, maybe we’ll learn that taking people out of their timelines has severe personal consequences as they start to remember multiple lives and states of being, a bit like Nebula, which would then give a solid enough reason as to why people shouldn’t just be brought back and could inform the plot of Gamora’s new existence in GOTG3, along with Loki’s TV series next year. 

It still wouldn’t explain how Steve manages to pull this off without any consequences to himself and the fact that he lives in parallel to another Steve Rogers, but it would be something I guess? Even so, by going back to what appears to be the 40s/50s and staying there, Steve has also changed Peggy’s timeline (that’s one of those rules broken), and it would be a bit too dark for Marvel to link up Peggy’s eventual alzheimer’s with the fact that she has effectively led two separate lives, one with Steve and one with her husband and children - unless they’re gonna tell us that Peggy left her husband to be with Steve?? And are you telling me that Steve would sit back and not tell Peggy about HYDRA? Or help to free Bucky sooner? 

Also Steve must have re-infected Jane with the Aether. Nice one Steve. And this putting the stones back where they came from would have also meant having to avoid the time-heist troupe, lest they see Steve again and figure out they must have won.

Idk I’m thinking about this too much.

The Thanos who is killed at the end of Endgame (... ha) is the Thanos from 2014. He leaves his original timeline and doesn’t return (unlike the Infinity stones) so how is any of what he did between 2014 and 2018 possible? Is the film trying to tell me that Thanos can jump from 2014 to 2023 and be killed but somehow also exist up until he is killed by Thor one month after the snap in 2018?

The film tells us the past can’t be changed when clearly it can. Or is it that the past can be changed but it won’t affect the present? 

BUT HOW? 

Have multiple timelines been created or not? It’s suggested that by returning the stones, the new timeline that was created by removing them in the first place would no longer exist, reverting everything back to how it was. In Loki’s case, as much as it pains me to say it, as soon as Tony and Steve go back to 1970 for the Tesseract, the alternate timeline Loki made by taking it in 2012 would be essentially overwritten, reverting everything back to how it was before.

There’s a whole lot of maybe’s and what if’s circling around and I hate padding this post with ‘lol idk what’s going on’ but I went into Endgame expecting some answers but ended up just getting more questions.

Apparently the upcoming TV shows have close ties to Endgame, and how cool would it be to see a Loki series in which his 2012 tesseract-wielding-self grapples with knowledge of his own future and plans accordingly until he catches up to the present day?? Watching as this powerful agent of chaos takes a steaming dump on time itself by refusing to stay dead or be erased from existence. 

Something tells me though *cough*Marvel’s track record with Loki*cough* that this route will not be taken. 

GOTG3 will at least, hopefully, help towards sorting out this time travel mess.

So, ultimately, is Avengers: Endgame a satisfying conclusion to the series? Kinda. Just don’t try to sort out the timelines. There’s more to come yet for a good while, and maybe (there’s that maybe again) we’ll still get the answers we seek.

....

Bonus: I’m reaching higher than the moon here but until told otherwise, the ‘clink clink’ noise at the end is totally Loki getting his handcuffs removed.

[nomadstevergxrs]

Bones (A Marvel AU)

Characters: Steve Rogers, Female Reader, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Peter Parker, Tony Stark & Loki Laufayson 

Warnings: Language

Pairings: None. (Eventual Steve Rogers x Female Reader)

Summary: You are a forensic anthropologist working for the Smithsonian Institute in Washington D.C. when you and your team get recruited by the FBI to aid one of their top field agents, Special Agent Steve Rogers. Together, along with your colleagues/friends you put faces on the voiceless and throw the bad guys where they belong.

Author’s Note: So this is my first Marvel AU series and I’m quite nervous on how this is going to turn out. The series is going to be based on the TV show Bones and since the show is 12 seasons long I’m just going to base the series on some of my favorite episodes including the series finale coming out in the upcoming weeks. I only hope I do it justice. I want to thank @mrs-squirrel-chester for convincing me into writing this and for not only being as awesome beta but because she also made this kick-ass edit above. 

Catch up here!

Chapter Two (Part Two): The Woman in the Sand

Steve and you drove down the long stretch of asphalt for a half hour, nothing but cacti and sand whipping past you. You thought back to that Skype call from earlier and that exchange between him and Natasha.

 “So…” you began to say, grabbing your partner’s attention, giving you a quizzical expression. “Are you and Nat a thing?”

 Confused, he turned to you. “What?”

 “What?” you mocked. “You know what I’m talking about Steven,” you snickered after using his first name.

 He rolled his eyes at you in annoyance. “Don’t call me Steven.”

 “Then don’t call me Bones, you shot back with a snarl.

 “Anyways, there’s nothing going on between Nat and I,” he assured.

 You laughed in his face. “Yeah, right and I’m Ghandi.”

 “You know for a squint, you’re not that smart,” Steve muttered.

 “Heads up, Rogers. Victim’s house is up on the right.” You pointed at the trailer park that was on your side, completely changing the subject.

 “And here I thought she left me,” The victim’s husband, Donald reacted solemnly after Steve told him that his wife’s body was found.

 “Now why would she do that, Don?” Steve asked, taking a seat next to you.

 “I - I got laid off a couple of months ago.” Donald ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous tick you happened to assess. “Poor Billie. She hated seeing me sitting around the house all day, depressed.”

 “Drinking?” You rose an eyebrow at the husband.

 “Punching walls?” Steve added, to the skepticism you both had.

 Donald’s eyes quickly averted to his hand, then back at you. “No. I..I just fell of a ladder,” Donald sputtered.

 “Breaking a fall like that would fracture distal radius, not proximal phalanges,” you noted aloud, quickly calling out his lie.

 “My what?” he asked in confusion.

 “She means that the fall would break your wrist,” Steve clarified.  “Not your thumb.”

 “Anyways, listen. I got my hands on a police record that says your neighbors heard you screaming at your wife three weeks ago,” Steve mused, pulling the report from his back pocket.

 “No. Just arguing. See Billie wanted to help out, she thought she could bring in some money, you know, the exotic kind. I kind of flipped out,” Donald tried to explain to you both.

 “And then you broke your thumb against your wife's face?” you ground out through your teeth.

 “No!” Donald got up from where he was sitting.  “Look, I could never hurt Billie. Okay?” He gave you both a look, pleading for you to believe him.

 “Then how did she lose her hearing?” You still questioned him, damn sure that he was the reason behind her injury.

 “I don't know.” He shrugged his shoulders.  “She was a kid playing sports. One to many soccer balls against the head?”

 “Oh, please,” you replied, unable to keep from rolling your eyes.

 Steve got up as well and pulled out a pair of handcuffs from the waistband of his jeans. “Listen Don, you're my number one suspect so it would be wise if you're straight with us,” he warned

 “Implants,” Donald shouted, putting his hands out in front of him.

 Both you and Steve looked at each other, then back at Donald before Steve spoke up, “Implants?”

  After talking to the victim’s husband, you and Steve found out that Donald had taken a loan of 8 thousand dollars from a loan shark to pay for his wife’s breast implants. Needless to say, Don didn’t have the money by the time the loan shark came to collect; it earned Donald a broken thumb.

 “Laufeyson,” Steve spoke into the phone as you drove. “Yeah, that's right. Loki Laufeyson. Send his information to my cell as soon as you can,” Steve ordered before hanging up.

 “We got the shark in our system,” Steve said turning towards you.

 “Well, proving at least that he exists,” you replied absentmindedly, still looking at the road in front of you.

 “Ya know, Don's story might seem a little off, but just try to keep an open mind,” Steve said cautiously.

 You snorted loudly. “An open mind to what? All those soccer balls to the head?”

 “I'm just not sold on the whole domestic abuse thing, alright. A scrawny guy like that-” Steve tried to say before you interrupted him.

 “Rage has nothing to do with size.”

 Steve sighed. “I know that Bones, It's just…” He took a moment to think about what he was going to say.  “I look into the guy’s eyes and I just didn't see it.”

 “Okay, but what about the implants Donald mentioned?” you asked, foot gently pressing  down on the gas pedal as the traffic light turned green. “if she'd gotten them they would have been a part of her remains.”

 “True,” Steve replied. “But, what if she used the money for something else?” He let out a chuckle as he pulled his phone back out, and handed his phone to you with a picture of a man about your age with long raven colored hair and pale skin. “And hopefully that guy will be able to tell us what it was.”

  Entering the Tangiers Casino, you were blown away by the amount of people gambling their money away.

 You heard Steve take in a deep breath. “Ahhh, I love the sound of winning.” You looked up at your partner and gave him a quizzical expression.

 He let out a laugh and shook his head. “Sorry, it just reminds me of my first time in Vegas,” he explained. “Fresh out of the army, I walked into the Desert Inn with 35 bucks in my pocket. Walked out with a cool 10 grand,” he recalled, dropping his smile a moment later. “The next night, I lost everything. Tapped out my ATM trying to get it back.”

 You looked towards the end of the casino and found the man you were looking for. At the end of the bar, there sat the man with pale skin and long, flowing, raven colored hair, sipping from his glass of scotch while eyeing everyone there like a predator stalking his potential prey.

 “Hey. There's our loan shark, let's go!” You almost shouted, taking a hold of Steve’s wrist, but he wouldn’t budge.

 “Okay, you stay here. I know how to talk to these guys,” Steve replied, pulling you behind him and giving you a do what I say look.

 Not wanting to argue, you conceded. “Fine. What do I do then?” you asked.

 “Well you’re a forensic anthropologist, doll. Observe the culture.” He shot you a wink and left you alone.

 Steve grabbed a beer bottle from a platter one of the waitresses was holding and chugged it, then ruffled his hair to make it look messy.

 “Loki Laufeyson,” Steve said, sitting down in the barstool next to the loan shark. “Don't I owe you money?”

Irritated at the new arrival, Loki turned in his stool to face the man. “I’m afraid you have me confused with someone else,” he said, British accent thick on his tongue.

 “I don't think I do.” Steve chuckled. “You see my buddy, Don Morgan, he introduced us. 30. Scrawny guy. Broken thumb.”

 “Do I need to call security?” Asked Loki through gritted teeth.

 “You know what, pal?” Steve asked, smirking slyly as he yanked his badge out and slapped it onto the bar. “That’s a great idea. And hey, while you’re at it, maybe you can tell me what you did to Don and just maybe how his wife ended up dead.”

 Defeated, he spoke, “Look, The guy owed me money. He neglected to pay and he fell of a ladder.” He looked down at his glass, watching as the ice spun in the amber liquid. “Instant karma.”

 “Instant karma. That's going to get you every time, isn't it?” Steve mused.  “What about his wife, Billie Morgan?” Steve asked, pulling a photo of the victim out of his coat pocket and placed it on the table. “She have instant karma too?”

 Loki glanced at the photo quickly. “I didn't even know he was married.”

 “How about the name Mason Roberts?” Steve asked, frustration eating at him. “I'm sure that rings a bell.”

 He snorted. “Whispers on the strip is that you finally found him.” Loki downed the rest of his drink. “Congratulations, now leave me alone.”

 “If you know more than what you're saying, I'm gonna find out eventually,” Steve warned.

 The loan shark laughed in your partner’s face. “Do I look worried?” The look on Steve’s face, made Loki stop short. “I'm a businessman. What are you harassing me for?”

 “Ah, ya know. I don’t like bullies,”Steve said simply as he swiped Loki’s third drink. “Thanks for the drink, pal.”

 He turned on his heel and left, walking through the vast amount of people playing coin slot machines until he spotted you on the main floor, smiling from ear to ear, playing blackjack. He chuckled to himself while watching you win hand after hand.

 “Nineteen's a winner,” announced the blackjack dealer as he handed you what amounted to be three thousand dollars in chips.

 “Yes!” you celebrated to yourself gathering the chips for yourself. “Come. To. Mama.”

 Steve looked past the dealer and noticed two tall and burly pit bosses flanking over to you.

They think she’s counting cards, he thought to himself.

 “Hey Bones!” Steve shouted, making his way over to you.

 “Oh, hey Rogers,” you answered, taking a sip of your champagne. That’s when you noticed two big and burly men coming toward you.

 You spun around in your stool to face them. “Fellas,” you greeted simply.

 One of them grabbed you by the elbow. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you t-”

 He was quickly cut off by your partner. Steve took hold of your other elbow and swiftly pulled you away from the pit bosses. “We were just about to leave.”

 “Come on,” he whispered in your ear, dragging you out of the casino.

  Back in D.C, Nat stood over the platform examining the body of Billie Morgan when suddenly Tony barged in holding a tray. “Aegialia concinna!”

 “Excuse me?” Nat asked looking up from her microscope.

 “They’re Scarab Beetles,” Tony corrected himself and placed the beetle under the microscope that connected to the monitor. “They came from the soil around Billie Morgan. These adults feed on putrefied organic matter. Or in this case, Billie. As a result they suffered unusually short life spasms,” he went on to explain.

 “From ingesting Billie's flesh?” Natasha asked, looking at the monitor.

 “More likely the powerful glucocorticoid in her system,” he answered. “However, I've yet to isolate which one specifically.”

 “Be sure to notify Doctor Y/L/N when you do,” Nat ordered. She then turned to Peter as he walked up the steps and onto the platform.

 “Mr. Parker, any specifics on the bat used to kill Roberts yet?” she gruffly asked.

 “Here's a replica,” Peter said, handing a bat to Natasha. “Louisville Slugger with a 3 inch diameter weighing about 27 ounces.”

 “You think the mob would come up with less clichéd ways to whack people,” Tony mused aloud, taking a few steps away from his boss.

 “Hang on, there’s something else,” Peter muttered as he grabbed the camera and placed it at the beginning of the spine. “Staining on Roberts’ cranium indicates seepage to the cervical spine.” He pointed the monitor. “So somehow blood from his head, got down to his neck.”

 “Vertebra C7,” Natasha said as she looked at the monitor. “Are those cut marks?” She asked, squinting her eyes when she noticed some nicks on the bone.

 “His throat got cut?” asked Peter.

 “Looks like it,” Tony replied after taking a look for himself. He turned to Natasha and asked,“Did you find a specific cause of death on Billie Morgan yet?”

 She grabbed the tablet and tapped on the screen, making the monitor switch from camera to a picture of the victim’s x-rays. “She displays a hemothorax in her left lung,” Natasha answered his question, pointing at the hole in the victim’s lung. “Between pre-existing injuries and the new ones, poor girl never had a chance.”

  Sitting out on the balcony with Steve, you listened to Peter and the rest of your colleagues as they talked about the findings on Roberts and Morgan.

 “Take a closer look at the stress markers to her sternum, Pete. They strike you as unusual?” you asked, taking a sip of your beer bottle.

 “Well, they do seem more the result over repetitive medium impact manual blows than the single high impact from a bat,” Peter answered confidently.

 “This husband could really dish it out.” You heard Tony say in the background.

 “Maybe she dished it back,” Peter mused. “There are hairline fractures on her knuckles”

 Your eyes widened in realization. “Defensive wounds.” You clicked on the home button on your phone, then tapped on the photo app, revealing a picture of Billie Morgan’s x-ray Peter sent you. “Wait a minute,” you said aloud, grabbing Steve’s attention. “Repetitive manual blows.”

 “Fractured knuckles,” Steve said, taking a seat next to you.

 “The glucocorticoid that killed your bugs, Stark. Could it have been simple cortisone to treat an injury?” You jumped in.

 “Yeah. That's certainly possible,” Tony answered.

 “What are you thinking Dr. Y/L/N?” You heard Natasha say on the other end of the call.

 You sat on the lounge chair for a moment, relishing in the cool November breeze. “Billie Morgan could have been a boxer.”

 “But wouldn't boxing gloves prevent injuries like these?” Rogers asked, pointing at the x-ray.

 “Unless she wasn't wearing gloves,” Tony mentioned.

 “What kind of boxer does that?” You heard Wanda join in on the call.

 “Ultimate fighters,” Both you and Tony said in unison.

 “Ultimate fighters. Ah, you're into that crap too?” Steve smirked in amusement as your cheeks flushed crimson.

 “Dude, it's barbaric, When it shows up on cable I can't turn it off.” You could hear the excitement in Tony’s voice.

 “And it's actually legal?” Natasha asked with skepticism in her tone of voice.

 “Completely sanctioned, Peter assured her. “They do wear some protective gear, which would fly in the face of our girl's injuries, though.”

 “That is, unless it was underground,” you breathed.

 “Underground where?” Asked Steve in bewilderment.

 “Come on. Haven't you’ve never seen Fight Club?” you answered his question with a question of you own.

 He raised his eyebrows and shook his head no.

 “Illegal, no hold barred, slugfest. Modern day Panem et Circenses,” you mused in excitement.  “But generally there's no free bread.”

 You thanked your team for the new information and hung up, turning to Steve who had a smug look on his face.

 “Why are you smiling?” You asked.

 “Don Morgan didn't beat his wife,” he answered with triumph in his voice.

 “Oh my god.” You let out a sigh. “Don’t start.”

 “Got to say doll, I told you so.”

 “Whatever,” you snarked, rolling your eyes at him. “Come on.” You got up from your seat and took Steve by the hand.

 “Whoa where are we going?” He asked, stopping you from pulling him.

 “God you’re clueless aren’t you?” you giggled at him. He made a face and you rolled your eyes at him. “Get your mind out of the gutter Rogers. We’re gonna go see Fight Club. That’s all.”

  The next day you and Steve headed back to the victim’s home to question the victim’s husband only to find out that Billie Morgan was boxing illegally behind his back. Now you were sitting across your partner at the food court in the hotel you were both staying at, picking at your food.

 “You okay Bones?” He asked, watching you intently.

 “Yeah. Just thinking, you answered softly, your eyes drawn to the street.

 “What’s on your mind doll?” he asked, taking a sip of his beer.

 “Why would anyone fight illegally in the first place?” You ran your hand through your long Y/H/C hair.

 “There's limited options. Not everybody can be Floyd Mayweather or Ronda Rousey,” Steve replied, successfully stealing a fry off your plate.

 Suddenly you heard your phone vibrating against the table. Quickly, you tapped on the green button, then tapped on the speaker. “What’s up Stank?” you greeted to Tony to which Steve snorted.

 “Fedex guy says my name wrong one time, and you and Wanda will never let me live it down.” You could practically hear the annoyance in his voice.

 “Anyways, have you found anything yet?” you asked, staring down at Steve as he went to steal another french fry from your plate.

 “Right, I found something in the particulates from Billie's shoes,” he answered. “Traces of hexavalent chromium. It's a chemical used in high end automotive shops, specializing in chroming. Mechanics who use them have to file reports for the EPA.”

 You slapped Rogers’ hand. “Ow! What?” He asked, grabbing his hand.

 “Am I interrupting something?” Tony asked.

 “I'm sorry, and Stark, you lost me at hexavalent chromium,” Steve called out.

 “Tony can you contact the Environmental Protection Agency?” You asked.

 “I’m on it, replied Tony before hanging up.

  Later that night, Steve and you drove down the long stretch of highway until you were about a half hour away from Las Vegas to an abandoned auto body shop.

 “This was an auto shop?” You asked with disgust laced in your voice.

 You got out of the SUV and jogged behind your partner who crouched down and pulled up the security gate.

 “EPA, they shut it down months ago for a hazardous waste material. It was the only shop authorized to use that chromium stuff,” Steve said as he handed you a flashlight. “See it anywhere?”

 Walking further inside the shop, you shined the flashlight as you looked around for the chemical, but you came up empty-handed. “Could be absorbed into the dust particles on the floor,” you said in conclusion.

 Before Steve could come up with a sarcastic remark, you cut him off, “Shut up. I found something.”

 You shined your flashlight on the concrete where there was a thick red line. “They painted a ring for the fights,” Steve said to you in surprise.

 Thinking quickly, you grabbed your ultraviolet flashlight from your bag and turned it on. “Holy shit,” you gasped at the scene in front of you.

 “Blood.” Steve looked around the concrete floor covered with blood spatter. “The whole place is covered in blood.”

  Looking at all the blood samples found at the automotive shop, Natasha decided to take a small break and rest her eyes for a bit.

 “Nat? You alright?” She heard Tony ask.

 She yawned and got up from her desk, stretching her limbs in the process. “I’m fine, just a little tired.”

 “Would that have to do with a certain FBI agent?” He teased.

 She rolled her eyes at him. “Rogers and I are just friends.”

 Tony chuckled sarcastically. “That’s not what I heard.”

 “Anyways,” Natasha cut him off changing the course of the conversation back to the investigation. “Of the thirty blood samples found at the bodyshops , 6 were A positive; same as Billie Morgan. I’m still waiting on DNA.”

 Suddenly Peter joined them both on the platform. “Thirty fighters translates to five two person fights per hour over a three hour period or three fights over five hours, six fights over-”

 “We get the idea, Parker. Lots of fights.” Nat interrupted him.

 “I ran thermal imaging on Billie's remaining soft tissue to reconstruct her injuries,” Wanda mused, joining them on the platform. She turned on the monitor and tapped something on her tablet. “This is what she might have looked like after the fight.” She put the picture up on the monitor of a battered and bruised Billie Morgan.

 “Just when I get to a place where I can almost stomach seeing maggots eating intestines,” Wanda added in disgust. “How could anybody do this to themselves?”

 “Ya know. 900 B.C.- the Greek ruler, Theseus, entertained himself watching two men sit in chairs beat each other to death,” Tony revealed, earning a glare from the rest of the group. “Just saying. It's nothing new.”

 “I can work up force and velocity reading for each blow,” Wanda said before turning towards Peter.  “Pete, can help me ID her opponent from the circumference and diameter of the fist.”

 “I'd rather Peter focus on our second weapon for Roberts,” Natasha replied gruffly.

 Peter had the group follow him into the office he shared with Tony. “None of these blades are narrow enough.” He walked over to a tray filled with different sets of knives. “It's as if his vertebra was cut with some sort of razor blade.”

 Tony stared at the tray for a moment while the others spoke, What can cause that kind of damage to the victim’s vertebrae? Suddenly it hit him.

 “A razor wire,” He said, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Luca Brasi. The Godfather? Please, someone buy a DVD player,” He added, beginning to get agitated.

 “Oh,” replied Natasha as realization struck her. “You mean a garrotte?”

 “Yes!” He pointed at her in excitement. “Yes. A garrotte pulled so tightly around Luca's- or rather Robert's neck-”

  “-that it sliced through his throat and severed his carotid artery,” Natasha jumped in.

 Wanda grabbed her phone and headed out of the Peter and Tony’s office before turning back at the others. “I’ll tell Rogers.”

  You decided on taking a small break from the investigation to relax and enjoy the scenery of Las Vegas. Steve mentioned that he had a contact back at the Tangiers Casino, so the pair of you decided to meet back in the hotel room within the hour.

 “Welcome to the Cosmopolitan.” You heard a bubbly voice say, grabbing your attention. “Would you like anything to drink?”

 You lifted your sunglasses and found a tall woman with blonde hair wearing a purple bikini, holding a tray in her hands. You closed the book you were reading and propped yourself up on your elbows. “What do you recommend?” you asked.

 “We have our signature cosmopolitan,” she responded with a wide smile. “They are so good.”

 “Then I’ll have a cosmopolitan.” You gave her a smile just as infectious as hers.

 “Coming right up!” She wrote the order down on her notepad before finally leaving.

 You laid back down on your lounge chair and continued reading Fifty Shades of Grey, something that Wanda had been begging you to read since the book was released, but you refused. That is until now. “What the hell did Wanda get me into?” you muttered to yourself as you continued reading the book.

 It felt a little strange being in the setting you were in now, sitting poolside in a black bikini drinking cosmos and listening to music the hotel’s resident DJ was playing.

 Suddenly you felt your phone vibrate on the table next to you. You pressed the green button on the screen to answer. “Y/L/N”

 “Bones!” Steve greeted you with that awful nickname that you hated. “I think I got a lead on where Billie would’ve gone for the fight club. I need you to meet me back at the hotel and wear something nice.”

 “What? Why?” You asked, confusion etched on your face.

 “Just do it, alright?” Steve said before hanging up on you.

 You quickly got up from your chair and grabbed your things while muttering how much of a dick your partner was.

“So what’s so important that you couldn’t tell me over the …” You trailed off as you stood in the hotel room you both shared, mouth agape at the sight of Steve shirtless. Jesus you thought to yourself as you stared at the tattoos that covered his toned chest and abs.

“Hey,” Steve replied, knitting his eyebrows in concern. “You okay Bones?”

 “Uhm yeah.” You shook your head, trying to push the inappropriate thoughts from your mind. “So you found something on the fight club?”

 “Buddy of mine says that there’s an underground fight club. Bare knuckles, no rules,” Steve answered, turning his back to you and grabbing a navy blue tank top, slipping it on.

 “Great!” you replied simply as if you weren’t checking your partner out. “Where at?” You asked walking over to your bed and pulling your suitcase from underneath.You pulled out a simple black dress and walked into the bathroom closing it behind you.

 “It moves around. Former champion Cornell “Cottonmouth” Stokes sells 800 numbers,” Steve said as he looked at himself in the mirror and brushed his sandy blonde hair back. “You call, you find out the time, the place, code to get in.”

 “Okay? So where can we find him?” you asked, slipping on the short sleeved mesh covered dress.

 “He owns a gym here on, uh, on Federal,” Steve answered simply. “Ya know, maybe I should talk to Cornell alone.”

 “What is it with you and leaving me behind?” You were starting to get pissed at your partner.

 “Listen Bones, the rules? They don't apply here. Okay? The deeper we get I don't want anyone knowing that we're FBI,” he told you, his tone authoritative and firm.

 You snorted, “Well, that's easy for me. I'm not.”

 He heard the bathroom door open, and spun on his heel to face you. “Hey, what do you think?” you asked with what he could’ve sworn was a hint of nervousness in your voice.

 He took a moment to get a good look at the short sleeve, mesh covered dress before cracking a joke at your expense. “I have enough Bibles, thank you, but try next door.”

 “Oh come on Rogers!” You complained. “It’s not like I have anything else to wear.”

 “See Bones, now that’s where you’re wrong,” he replied with a knowing smirk.

 He walked around the other side of the bed, picking up a white shopping bag and placing it on the mattress. “So I got a phone call from Wanda earlier and she knew you were going to bring that hideous dres-”

 “Hey!” You cut him off, offended while he put his hands up in defense.

 “Her words. Not mine. Anyway,” he rummaged through the bag and pulled out  a short, black cocktail dress along with a pair of shoes to match. “She asked me for a favor and well, here we are,” he said, handing you the dress and shoes.

 “Do I have to wear this?” You were going to kill Wanda when you got back to D.C.  

 “Just humor me Y/N.”

 You let out a deep sigh, “Fine.” You grabbed the dress and heels from his hands and stomped away to the bathroom.

 “So?” Steve heard you ask after a long pause. “What’s our cover?”

 “We're newlyweds,” Steve announced, grabbing his olive green jacket and throwing it on. “Takin' Sin City by storm. Ready for action.”

 “Really?” You replied with skepticism.

 Steve rolled his eyes at the tone of voice you were using on him. “Listen Bones, I know what I'm doing. Okay? I've done this before,” he assured you.

 “Alright fine,” you replied, swinging the bathroom door open and stepping out to face him. “But we’re engaged.”  

 “Yeah yeah sure….” He looked up from a message Natasha sent him and was absolutely floored by how beautiful you looked in the black wrap dress and heels.

 Your hair was down and in waves, and your makeup simple yet Steve was shocked by how amazing you looked. “Rogers?” you asked in concern. ”You okay?”

 He shook his head, shaking the inappropriate thoughts from his mind. “Yeah, let’s go.”

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Sailor Avengers AU Prologue

So I compiled the stuff I had, did some edits. Not sure what I think of it. Please give me feedback and suggestions! I’m notorious for not finishing things so I’m going to try really hard to keep going! 

I would love to know any pairing ideas you have, fun plot ideas. I want to write some hilarious moments (like Makoto picking up Thor’s hammer and Tony being impressed with how smart Ami is but she has no cares for him) and some angsty moments (like Steve asking Setsuna if she can take him back to see Peggy). So we’ll see what happens! 

Time is a funny thing. People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but it isn’t. Some things are fixed; some things will always happen no matter how hard you try to stop it or change it (like Steve Rogers being frozen in ice). Other things - most things - are fluid and easily changed. The future is always in motion, Setsuna sees the possibilities dancing in her mind, the sands of time blowing in the time dimension.

Crystal Tokyo has been a constant possibility for years. The road to that future changes with each choice the Senshi make - but ever since the Cauldron it had always been there. Until the day Steve Rogers woke up from a 70-year sleep. When Steve Rogers woke up, Crystal Tokyo disappeared and Setsuna could no longer hide what was happening from Usagi and the others. So they call a meeting and they tell them everything.

---

It all started with Iron Man. Earth hadn’t had heroes before, just the Senshi. The appearance of Iron Man started something, a chain of events Pluto hadn’t expected.

When the Hulk is born, it doesn’t affect Japan much – Luna watches where Bruce Banner goes, listens to the newscasts that call him “monster”, but she senses no evil from this man. Anger, yes. But not evil. Setsuna says while the Hulk was a new element, nothing had significantly changed and Crystal Tokyo was still on track. So, Luna puts the Hulk and Bruce Banner from her mind and focuses on the darker energies threatening the planet, while the computer continues to follow Bruce – just in case some darkness tries to take advantage of his anger and warp his kindness. That is what Chaos does after all.

Luna doesn’t think about Bruce again for years.

But after Iron Man – even the Hulk’s future held heroism if the cards were played right. Crystal Tokyo was still there, but as time passed, Crystal Tokyo became less and less likely. Setsuna kept it to herself, though she is sure that Michiru has noticed things have changed when she looks in her mirror.

It’s months later that Setsuna sees Tony Stark’s future start to flicker, the possibility that he will die in the next month is high. It will take very careful moves to keep Tony Stark from dying. It’s during this time she notices Ivan Vanko and pulls Michiru and Haruka aside.

“I need you to go to America,” she says, “and prevent Tony Stark from dying.” Haruka raises an eyebrow at Setsuna.

“Why is Stark so important?” Haruka asks. Setsuna frowns and Michiru looks in her mirror, brow furrowed as it shows her very little of anything helpful.

“There’s something coming very soon, a darkness that could bring ruin,” she scowls, “I can’t see much yet, it’s not clear. But what is clear, is that if Tony Stark dies, so does the world.” And so, after a whispered conversation with Luna and Artemis who agreed there was no need to worry the others (not yet, let them live their dreams for a while), Haruka and Michiru travelled to America under the guise of races and concerts and normalcy.

When Michiru and Haruka get to America, they sense something about Stark’s assistant Natalie Rushman. Michiru stairs at her mirror, trying to piece out what role she will play - and eventually decides that though she may not be a friend, she certainly doesn’t wish Stark any ill will.

It’s at the Monaco Historic Grand Prix that Haruka decides she doesn’t actually like Stark. Haruka was entered in the race, Michiru was a guest, keeping close tabs on Stark. She smiles and makes polite conversation - like she was born for this. Some of the guest new of her art and music, Pepper Potts spoke highly of her paintings and wishing she could get her hands on one for the gallery.

“I would be happy to arrange for one to be delivered to you,” Michiru smiles, her english flawless, “If you’d excuse me for now, my partner is racing today and I promised I’d go to the track.” Michiru doesn’t mention she’s actually going to the track because she just saw Stark head toward it.

“Of course,” Pepper smiles, “and thank you! Who's your partner?”

“Tenoh Haruka,” Michiru smiles, hiding her mouth behind her hand.

“Tenoh, yes Tony’s told me he’s quite good,” Pepper says and Michiru stifles a giggle. “Enjoy the race,” she grins and hands Michiru a card, “I’d love to book you for our next fundraiser, keep in touch.” Michiru nods and bows.

“Oh course,” she says and tucks the card into her purse. As she heads for door she pulls out her phone and calls Haruka.

“Stark is on his way to the track,” she says as soon as Haruka picks up, “I’m afraid he is going to do something silly - like race. I’m on my way.”

“I’ll keep watch, see you soon.” Michiru ducks into an an alley and transforms in a flash of bright aqua light - and then she runs. Once she’s at the track her transformation fades away leaving her in her navy dress and heels. She walks up to Haruka who is chatting with Stark.

“Haruka,” she says, with that demure smile, “won’t you introduce me?” and suddenly Tony Stark is focused on the aqua haired women.

“Tony Stark,” he says, smirk firmly in place.

“Michiru, I was just suggesting to Mr. Stark that racing is dangerous,” Haruka said and Michiru nodded.

“Oh it is,” Michiru nodded, “you aren’t thinking of racing are you Mr. Stark,” she raises her hand to her mouth in a practiced move of concern. Beside her Haruka bristles slightly.

“Don’t worry about me Miss Michiru,” Tony says with a wink and Haruka’s hands curl into fists, “I’m Iron Man - this is nothing.” and Haruka can’t take it anymore when he inches closer to Michiru and she laughs.

Haruka curls a hand around Michiru’s waist, “Michi,” she switches to Japanese, “you know I hate it when you charm other men,” she winks and Michiru giggles.

“You’re just so fun when you’re jealous love,” she says in english and Tony laughs. Haruka glares.

And then the race is starting and everything looks fine until it’s not. Michiru wants to transform, to help but there are people everywhere. So instead she stands at the side lines, a frown marring her face, and looks for someway to help. She tries not to scream when she sees Haruka’s car flip - but the sigh of relief is real when she sees Haruka crawl out of the rubble, her racing suit ripped leaving her in the pants and tank top she wears under the suit top (which now means it's abundantly clear to everyone who looks her way that Tenoh Haruka is not in fact a man). Haruka isn’t able to transform either, they make eye contact across the track. They’r resigned to this being the end - that this man with whips will kill Tony Stark and set off a chain of events that will bring about the end of the world.

But then Pepper is there and Iron Man takes the place of Tony Stark and everything is fine.

Back in Japan, Setsuna sees Thor fall to earth a mortal and Setsuna laughs. She laughs so hard that Hotaru run into her room to see if she’s okay.

“I’m fine, I swear,” she says between gasps of air. “It’s just that the son of Odin just crash landed on earth as nothing more than a human. Asgard is about to go to war with the Jotun and they have no allies! I bet Odin wishes he sent help to the Silver Alliance now!” and Hotaru joins in her laughter for a few minutes.  And then all of a sudden Setsuna stops laughing. Her eyes widen and she swears.

“What is it?’ Hotaru asks.

“That darkness that is coming, Thor needs his strength back if we’re going to win. We’ve got more to worry about than just Stark now.”

“How do we get his power back Setsuna-Mama?” Hotaru asks and Setsuna’s face softens as she looks at Hotaru.

“We don’t. It’s all up to him to learn this lesson. We can only hope.”

And so Setsuna and Hotaru kept the information to themselves and waited. Until one morning they wake up to Thor on the news - lightning and a caped man flying, fighting a destroyer with his hammer.

“We’re still okay,” Setsuna says, watching the sands of time, and sees that Haruka and Michiru must be succeeding because all the paths that Tony Stark’s future can take, most of them have him alive for the coming battle.

Haruka and Michiru attend a birthday party, and a fight between friends. They notice Natalie Rushman’s reaction time and smirk knowingly. Then Tony Stark disappears only to reappear days later to fight Ivan Vanko and Haruka and Michiru think they may have failed a second time but miraculously Tony Stark is okay and has a brighter light in his chest than before.

And so Michiru and Haruka leave America and Tony Stark behind, having not really been needed in the first place it seams.

“The darkness is still coming,” Setsuna says when they’re back home again, “but the chances of success are much higher with Stark no longer dying. Well done.”

“We didn’t really do much of anything,” Haruka says, “except learn that Stark is insufferable!” Michiru giggled.

“He wasn’t so bad.” Haruka glared.

---

“It’s just - gone?” Ami says and Setsuna nods.

“Most versions of the future had Steve Rogers waking from the ice after the great freeze,” Setsuna says, “that he’s woken up early has disrupted the future we were expecting. There are more heroes than just us now. The great freeze isn’t going to happen, and so neither is Crystal Tokyo.”

“Chibiusa?” Usagi asks, eyes wide - the first thing that crosses her mind is her child and she hopes against hope that she still exists.

Setsuna hesitates a moment, not meeting Usagi’s eyes, “her future is -” she pauses, “uncertain. There are many courses the future can take, she may still come to pass or she could fade away to memory.” Usagi’s eyes water and Setsuna’s heart wrenches.

“So - what now?” Rei asks, arms crossed over her chest.

“There is a darkness coming,” Setsuna says.

“And soon,” Michiru adds, “great swarms of monsters raining down on New York.” she lowers her mirror, her mouth a grim line.

“So we go to New York,” Usagi says, pushing her shoulders back and holding her head high, “we go and we save the world.”

“Something is going to happen in Germany,” Setsuna says, brow furrowed, “Michiru, did you accept that invitation to play at Stuttgart?”

“I hadn’t,” Michiru says, “but I can always change my answer.”

“What are you thinking Setsuna-san?” Minako asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Michiru and Haruka go to Stuttgart and wait for whatever is going to happen there and meet the rest of us in New York. We can start working on evacuation plans and strategies. As the darkness get’s closer it becomes clearer.”

“The clearer it is, the more we can prepare,” Ami muses and Makoto punches her hand.

“And the easier it is to kick their butt!”

“New York,” Usagi nods, “when should we leave?”