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mixed-theater-faisty-tings · 2 years ago

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Lovin’ Kind

Epilogue

Pairing: Riff x Latina

Author’s note: Well this is it everyone! Officially the end of Lovin’ Kind. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read my story it means the wold to me. I know this epilogue is long overdue and I sincerely apologize for that. i am so grateful to have shared my work with all of you!!!

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Riff Pov

My girl comes through the door with bags of groceries in hand, fumbling with the keys and her purse. I rushed to help her taking the household goods out of her hands. “Girly girl, how many times I gotta tell ya that I can go to the store for us or to wait till I can at least help you.”, my voice filled with concern.

“I’m fine mi amor, I needed to get out of the apartment and even went and visited Valentina. You can’t keep me cooped up here all day.”, she says with a small laugh. “I just want to make sure that you and our little one are safe and healthy.”, I defend, placing a hand on her now growing belly.

“We are doing just fine I promise.”, her laugh is small as she puts the food away and adds stuff to our growing collection of baby things. “Just let me come with you next time please? I only wanna help.”, I ask her,helping to put a jar of peanut butter on the top shelf.

“Promise. So how was work?”, her voice full of genuine wonder of my day. Sometimes it still surprises me the way she cares for me. “It was good. The lunch rush always gives me a little more in tips. Then after that I went over to the shop and worked with some of the guys there.”, my voice slightly tired.

“I appreciate everything you’ve been doing since I got pregnant. I’m still working at Doc’s but, between the overprotective giant and my Tia I don’t work many hours. I promise you once the baby is here, I’ll work more I will even get a second job if need be.”, her voice anxious and full of dread.

She always feels like she is never doing enough.

I wrap my arms around her from behind, laying my hands gently on her stomach while placing a soft kiss on her cheek. “Girly girl, I told you that I would care for you no matter what, especially now more than ever. You need to worry more about caring for yourself and the baby not making money. We are doing just fine, ends are meeting I promise. Now let me cook and you sit down.”, my words calm her down slightly and with a small nod she migrates over to our small couch.

“How was your day?”, I ask her; beginning to make our favorite quick meal..mac and cheese. “It was okay, I went to Doc’s around ten for a shift but, of course Tony and Valentina got protective so I sat for most of it. Maria and Anita came to visit, that's where I got the baby clothes from. Went to the grocery store, nothing too interesting mi amor.”, she explains, folding some clothes.

“I bought something new today, I had a few extra dollars to spend after getting everything we needed.”, her tone was lively. “Oh yeah! What did ya get?”, my voice full of curiosity and a big grin decorating my features. “Hold on I’ll show you.”, I can hear her struggle to hold in her grunts as she tries to get up from the couch.

“Let me help ya girly girl.”, I chuckle, grabbing her hand to pull her up. “Gracias mi amor.”, her cheeks now pink with embarrassment. “It’s okay to need help, you are 8 months pregnant and gonna pop any day now.”, I attempt to reassure her.

“No I know, thank you for being so amazing.”, she smiles. Grabbing one of the bags she walks to our room while I finish up our dinner. “So I passed by the market on my way home and I found this dress that I can wear while I’m pregnant and possibly after. It reminded me of a conversation we had so I had to get it.”, her tone was excited as she shared her thought process.

“Well if it makes you happy then it’s a gift for me as well.”, my voice sharing equal enthusiasm. With one swift motion, I am facing Altagracia finding her wearing a beautiful red dress that accentuated the baby and I knew the exact moment to which she was referring to.

“Oh buying something pretty to wear for our date?”, I begin; a wide grin decorating my features as I walked towards her. “No you see, the dress is actually for you. I’ve heard you’re just a vision in red.”, her smile matching mine as she wraps her arms around my neck. “You’ve heard correct.”, my voice goes soft the closer I lean into her.

“You are such a smart ass.”, a giggle escaping her lips before I envelop them into a loving kiss. The moment is soft and slow before I pull away leaving our foreheads touching. “Ahora y siempre. You look so beautiful.”, my voice is just above a whisper.

“Ahora y siempre.”, she smiles. “Come on let’s go ahead and eat.”, my long fingers intertwine with hers as I guide us over to our small table. Dinner was filled with small talk and Catalina attempted to clean the kitchen but I told her to get ready for bed instead. With a sigh of defeat she retreats to our small room.

After cleaning the kitchen I join her in our room finding her standing still and silent. “Baby are you okay?”, worry laced in my words. “I think my water just broke.”, she states. “Wait what. But you still have like four weeks left”, anxiety shooting through my body as I race around the room search for her bag she prepared.

“Yeah well I can’t control it. If she is ready to come now then she is. It’s in the right side of the closet.”, she tells me slightly annoyed. Once I have located the bag I usher Catalina out the door and downstairs trying to hail us down a cab or something. “It’s gonna be okay baby I promise. Asshole!! You saw me right here!!!”, my attempt of comfort overtaken by frustration as a cab drives right past us.

Finally, I was able to get a cab. “Hospital now.”, I hastily tell the driver doing everything in my power to comfort Catalina. “Fuck!”, her grip on my hand tightens. “Breathe baby remember like Valentina taught you.”, my emotions are a mix of urgency and concern.

Her breathing patterns get her through until we make it to the hospital. “We need help please my girlfriend is in labor!”, I yell, gathering the attention of multiple nurses, doctors and visitors. A couple nurses bring over a wheelchair taking her to the back. “Tell Tony and Valentina then come back for me mi amor.”, Altagracia manages.

“Are you sure?”, how in the world is she still worried about everyone else while giving goddamn birth! She nods before another contraction takes over. “I’d hurry if I were you.”, the brunette nurse tells me before taking her away.

My feet carried me as fast as they could to Docs. Adrenaline being the main source of any energy I possessed. Thoughts of Catalina’s safety mixing with getting to Docs as soon as I could so I can get back to her. Finally, reaching the door extremely out of breath gathering the attention of Valentina, Tony and a couple other Jets present in the store.

“Riff que pasa?”, Valentina asks me, panic laid out on her features. “Alta…baby….having…now..”, I manage between breathes. “She’s having the baby!”, Tony exclaims. I nod catching my breathe. “Oh my god. She is early!”, Valentina points out. “Well whether we’re ready or not apparently our little girl is.”, reality hits me causing my knees to buckle nearly taking me to the ground.

“You’re gonna be okay buddy boy.”, Tony pats my back. “Yeah plus you got all us Jets to help ya.”, Mouthpiece comes over from the counter. “We better go Valentina I’m not sure how much longer she has and I know she really wants you there.”.

“Go Valentina I’ll watch the store.”, Tony urges. “You sure?”, she says. “Of course now go.”, he says. “Well Riff take me to my niece.”, she grabs her purse and demands of me. We take the subway back to the hospital praying to get there in time. The gravity of the situation weighing on my shoulders…me a dad…how am I supposed to be one when I never truly had one.

“Riff?” Valentina asks me. “Yeah?”, I shake my head coming back from my thoughts. “The train stopped we need to get off now.”, she points out. “Right sorry.”, I gently place a hand on her back to guide her to our destination.

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Catalina Pov

Each contraction is worse than the last. A couple of nurses have tried making me as comfortable as possible but, how the hell can I be comfortable when a chil is about to come directly out of me? God, I hope Riff gets back soon. I know he is extremely apprehensive about being a dad but, neither of us are alone and we have each other through the good and bad.

Finally the latest contraction calms down and my mind begins to wander. It is times like these I miss mi mama more than anything. In my heart I know she is with me but, my heartaches at these milestones though she probably wouldn’t be too thrilled about me having Riff and I’s baby without being married. “Oh mama te quiero mucho…”, I whisper to myself before another contraction starts erupting my insides.

“I’m here mija, I am here!”, My Tia exclaims rushing into the room my boyfriend hot on her trail. “It hurts Tia.”, my voice strained. “Respira niña.”, her small hand strokes my hair as her words provide me some small comfort to make it through. My nurse looks at me with a toothy smile, “It’s almost time Miss. De la Rosa.”. My eyes land on Riff both of us stricken with fear yet, it relieved us as well knowing we were both just as much terrified as we were excited.

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An Hour Later

Warm tears filled my eyes as I looked down at our beautiful baby girl sleeping sweetly in my arms. “You did my love.”, Riff places a soft kiss on my forehead admiring his daughter after. “We did it.”, my smile is wide. “Any name ideas?”, a sweet, short, older nurse asks us.

“Emilia Isabelle…umm I’m not too sure about her last name..”, I glance up at Riff who is wearing his signature smirk. “Lorton…her mom is gonna be one soon she should have it now.”, he states matter-a-factly. “What?”, my voice is small. “What do you mean? Alta we have a family now I was thinking it’s time.”, he smiles pulling out a small ring from his pocket. “Are you serious?”, oh no the waterworks’s!

“Of course I am. I love you more than anything and now I have two girls in my life who complete me. Let’s do it.”, his voice full of hope. “How unconventional but then again we have never been a by the book couple…let’s get married.”, my smile is wide as I exam the new jewelry on my finger next to Emilia.

“You couldn’t have done this nine months ago.”, Mi Tia rolls her eyes with a small laugh. We join in her amusement before glancing down at our daughter. “Aye let me hold her.”, she reaches over and cradles Emi into her arms. “She is beautiful and has little bits of each of you.”, her eyes gloss over. “Sus madres la amarían. Angelito. Ya muy querida y dos padres que la cuidan más que nada. (You’re mothers would love her. Little angel. Already very much loved and two parents who care for her more than anything.)”.

“We have to run a few more tests just to make sure she is all healthy and to give our new mom some rest.”, a nurse explains walking into the room with a small smile decorating her features. “Thank you ma’am um.. may we just say a quick goodnight to her?”, I ask sweetly. “Of course i’ll give you guys a few minutes.”, she takes her leave standing right outside the door. “Here mija. I’ll leave you three for a moment.”, Valentina places a soft kiss on Emi’s head before handing her back to me.

“Gracias Tia.”, I cradle my daughter’s head and observe her sleeping state. God, she is beautiful and so small. “I can’t believe we have are a family now.”, Riff speaks up. “How are you feeling?”, my words are gentle. “Scared as hell if I’m being completely honest but also so proud of you. I may have helped create our daughter but, you had to get her out of you.”, he chuckles nervously.

“You’re going to be an amazing father I whole heartedly believe that mi amor. Ever since we finally quit playing games and got our relationship and lives together we’ve been a team and we are going to have to be one now more than ever. I mean look at her all the boys are going to want to know her but her dad and Tio Tony are going to kick anyone’s ass who comes near her.”. My voice was soft with a giggle at the end.

“Damn right all the Jets gonna kick ass for her and teach her how to…for the right reasons of course.”, he sends a wink in my direction causing my heart to flutter. “Hi Emilia yo soy tu mama and this is your dad. We want you to know that we already love you so much and we promise to do everything in our power to raise you right, giving you everything you need.”, I say quietly for only us three to hear.

“Soon enough you will meet everyone else. Your great-aunt Valentina, Uncle Tony, and of course daddy’s family the Jets, and mommy’s other family the Sharks. They are all very excited to meet you sweet girl.”, his eyes glossy as his lips graze over Emi’s head planting a soft kiss against the skin.

“Do you want to hold her before they take her?”, I ask him. “What if I break her?”, he answers quickly with wide eyes. “You won’t break her come here.”, I do my best to scoot over allowing him room to sit next to me. “Hold out your arms the way mine are cradled under her body and i’ll place her.”, my tone was tender while I placed her tiny, content body in her father’s arms.

“Is she really all ours?”, he asks. “Yup..we created her..”, my heart swells at the sight in front of me.

He begins to speak soft words to her. She wakes up her hazel eyes staring straight up at Riff causing him to smile. “Well hello my princess. You look so much like your mother…now look I know you’re only a few ours old but, I was thinking since I asked your momma to marry me that with the help of Anita you could be the flower girl?”, he is soft-spoken, a wide smile decorating his features.

“Maybe we should ask her that when she has slightly more control over her limbs.”, I giggle, my eyes getting sleepy. “Uh-oh mama getting sleepy.”, Riff chuckles. “Let’s give mama kisses and let her rest.”, he adds placing her back into my arms.

“Goodnight mi princessa. Te quiero mucho.”, my lips plant a soft kisses against her forehead a small crack in my voice. Her eyes stared into mine and I see a bright future not just for her but for our family, warm tears fill my eyes before a few escape down my cheeks.

The nurse comes and takes her for the next few hours so I can try to get some rest. “Get some sleep baby.”, Riff kisses my head and lays with me. Valentina sitting in the chair near by.

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A few days later

Riff Pov

Finally, after a few days we are able to get Alta and Emilia back home. I carried her her hospital bag up the few flights of stairs, Alta holding Emilia in her arms. “And this is your home.”, she exclaims as I open the door.

“SURPRISE!”, the words hit us like bricks looking at our small apart filled to the brim with both our families. “Oh my! What is all of this?”, Alta asks tears brimming her eyes. “It was all Tony. He wanted to surprise you guys baby Emilia with a welcome home get together.”, Maria exclaims while everyone else stares at the baby mouths agape.

“What you dimwits ain’t ever seen a baby before?”, I chuckle slapping some of my guys on their backs. “Well since you’re all here may we introduce Emilia Isabelle Lorton.”, Altagracias voice carrying the jubilation she felt. “And soon to be Mrs. Lorton.”, I quickly tack onto the end “Wait what?”, Anita asks.

My arms take over craddling Emi so that my love could go talk to the other women and gossip all the details of giving birth and getting engaged within a few hours of each other. What can I say I’m a romantic?

Taking her over to the guys I quickly notice Bernardo giving her a tender look perhaps praying for a child of his own. “She is beautiful. So much like her mama.”, his thumb gently rubs her cheek. “Soon you’ll have one of your own I’m sure.”, I attempt to provide a comforting thought.

“Si, si…one day.”, I swear my eyes catch the slightest twitch of a smile fall upon his features before Emi ends up in the arms of a few Jets. “Aye yo don’t break her Riff will kill us.”, A-Rab scolds Mouthpeice. “Listen ya dead battery I know how to handle this.”, he retorts my daughter beginning to squirm in his arms a bit.

“Okay someone else take her this is terrifying.” Her squirms freaking him out landing her in the arms of Baby John. “Woah.”, his eyes widen taking a seat adjusting her in his arms. “Hey where’d ya learn to do that?”, Balkan asks. “I don’t know maybe she just likes me.”, the baby Jet shrugs.

“How’s it feel?”, Ice asks me quietly. “It’s weird buddy boy but, I already love her so much. Both of them. My family, it’s everything you could want things we never thought we would have hell I never saw past the next hour now I’m raising a kid?”, my long fingers raking through. My hair messing it up slightly.

“She changed you.”, he points out. “All for the better who knows maybe you and Karen are next.”, I nudge his side with my elbow a teasing tone decorating my words. “Nah probably not for a little while.”, he chuckles.

My eyes gaze around the room meeting the big, brown eyes of my soon to be wife. She sends a quick wink in my direction before Tony appears at my side. “So I’m you’re best man right.”, he states more so than questions. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”, my chuckle is soft.

“Take care of them both.”, seriousness overcomes him. “I have for the last 9 months and I will forever. They are all mine, i wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.”

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Catalina Pov

“He really proposed after you gave birth?”, Anita inquired. “Yes but, I loved it because it was a special moment holding Emilia and just our little familia being together I wouldn’t want it any other way.”, I smile staring at the small ring that sat upon my finger.

“It is a gorgeous ring my gosh.”, Maria gushes. “Tony must’ve helped him lord knows the amount of times I’ve shared my ring wants with him over the last 15 years of friendship we share.”, my giggle is genuine. “Ugh that little girl is going to be so spoiled by us all.”, the subject is quickly changed.

“Oh don’t I know it.”, our laugh captures the attention of our significant others. All three of them smiling, strolling over to meet us in our little corner. “So Alta no more kids alright I don’t need the walking images of what my two best friends do.” Tony states a playful disgusted look on his face.

Heat rushes to my cheeks as I bury my had in Riff’s chest. “Gross!”, Maria yells sending the entire grou into a fit of laughter. We all catch up enjoying the fun atmosphere. Since the rumble everyone may not be best friends but, we all co-exist and it has made for manny pleasant memories. We really do have any amazing support system around us most of the people in this room have no blood-relatives so we made our own famiilies by choice.

Emilia finally makes her way back to my arms and I glance down at her excited movements and listen to the babbles. “Well babygirl this is it. Your family. We are chaotic, a mix of everything and have genuine hearts.”, my smile growing by the minute.

Riff comes to my side planting a quick peck against my lips. “So uh when can we start working on the next one?”, his signature smirk present making me weak. “When the midnight feedings end and I can get some sleep.”.

“Fair enough girly girl.”, he pecks my lips once more. “Ahora y siempre.” His words are soft, eyes locked on mine, our baby girl between us.

“Ahora y siempre mi amor.”

@roythespeedy @riffheartsgraziella @whisperofsong @mikefaistwasinnewsies @mikefaistmiamor @belenchies @theforgottenmcrmy

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notyetneedcoffee · 4 years ago

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Call me what?

Part of the Calling Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: NSFW, 18+, Loads of lovely smut!

Your meeting with the virologists wanting Stark’s lab to consult on their project ran late. You insisted on more information than they’d prepared, but they surprised you by being able to provide it quickly and efficiently. So, taking the time to review it seemed only fair. It proved promising enough to warrant a second meeting.

However, now you were running late to one of Stark’s meet and greet cocktail parties at the New York Avenger’s Tower to keep all the government types happy and on a first name basis with the team. He insisted that all the team members attend, saying nothing greases the wheels like a joke and good martini. Steve insisted that everyone go, because it was important to humanize the team and earn trust. They were both right.

Just as you shut the door of the town car, your phone rang. “Hey, handsome.”

“I hate these things.” Bucky’s voice rumbled low. He obviously didn’t want those around him to hear.

“I know.” You settled back into the leather seat. Your words were sympathetic, but your voice teased. “All those stupid questions. All those ridiculous officials. And Steve would be so cross if you got them all bloody.”

“Doll, you know me so well.” You could hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah, well, I like to pay attention.” The lights of city crawled passed. The traffic moved slow as so many left work.

“How long before you get here? I don’t know how long I can last.”

“Traffic isn’t too bad. I think another five or ten minutes before I get to the Tower.” You looked down at yourself. “I think I’ll be okay without changing clothes.”

“You always look gorgeous.” Bucky answered immediately, but with complete sincerity.

Before you could dismiss his comment, you took a deep breath and smiled to yourself. “Thank you, Buck. You always know how to make me feel good.”

“Just being honest.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But, ah, just out of curiosity, what are you wearing?”

“That little black wrap dress you like so much.” You grinned, knowing that wasn’t what he meant.

“And...?” He drew out the question.

“Really sexy four-inch high Farragamo’s.”

“Doll.” He whined.

“And the red strappy set you bought me last week.” You purred.

“Oh yes,” He groaned quietly. “I want to pull that thing apart with my teeth.”

You rubbed your thighs together at the thought. “Well, you’ll have to be good tonight.”

“Oh, I will be very, very good.” Bucky’s voice dropped an octave and you practically melted into your seat. He knew exactly how to push your buttons. “I’ll be good again and again.”

“Can’t wait.” You breathed.

“Hurry.” He breathed. “The sooner you get here, the soon we can bail, and sooner I can hold you down and rip that pretty red set to shreds.”

“Really now?” You shifted in your seat, picturing it in your mind.

“Mm-hm.” He chuckled wickedly. “After being so good here, I don’t think I’ll be able to help myself. I can already taste you on my tongue. Having to hide out in this corner, I’m so hard just thinking about it. You wet for me, Doll?”

“You know that I am.”

“l think you should check. Slip those fingers into that wet pussy for me.” He demanded.

“Bucky.”

“The driver can’t see through the screen. Do it. When you get here, I want to kiss your fingers and taste you. Go on, Doll. Touch your pretty pussy for me.”

In the darkness of the back seat, you uncrossed your legs and let your hand slip up your skirt. You were soaking. A small whimper escaped your mouth as your fingers picked up the slickness and rubbed your clit.

“Oh,” Bucky purred. “You’re such a good girl.”

“Buck.” You sighed.

“I can’t wait to taste you, Doll.”

“Doctor,” The driver spoke clearly. “Would you prefer to be dropped at the front door or down in the garage?”

You quickly straightened. “Um, ah, whatever is faster. Thank you.” You could hear Bucky chuckle. “Knock it off, you’re so bad.”

“You love it.”

“I’ll see you in a minute.”

“Can’t wait.”

The buzz of conversation and music assaulted you as the elevator doors opened on the Penthouse Lounge. As you made your way into the room, Pepper spotted you almost immediately gave you a little nod without pausing her conversation with someone you thought might be someone from the mayor’s office.

“Glad you could join us?” Sam’s voice drifted over your left shoulder. His hand came around, offering you a glass with whiskey on the rocks. You glanced at him, eyebrow arched. “Saw you coming. Figured you might need to get a quick one under your belt.”

“Fun night, huh?” You took a drink of the Woodford Reserve.

“Not really.” Sam shrugged. “Tony is still relatively sober. No one has stormed out. Bucky hasn’t hit anyone. Dull as could be.” You chuckled, but Sam went a little serious. “Actually, your boy is on edge. There’s a pencil-dick over there with the whole fire and brimstone vibe. He’s been trying to ask everyone if Bucky is truly ‘repentant’.”

“Seriously?” You frowned, downing the other half of your drink. “Who the hell is he?”

“I think he’s some National Security Deputy Kiss-Ass.” Sam grumbled.

“Thanks for the drink, Sam.” You handed him the empty glass. “I’m going to find him.”

“Anytime, doc.” He kissed your cheek. “And that dress is smokin’.”

You grinned and began to weave your way through the crowd, easily spotting Bucky and Steve across the room. Steve saw you coming, his serious expression morphing into a bright smile. Ah, you thought, this should be fun. Creepy dick guy was taking to your boys. At Steve’s smile, they all turned to see your purposeful walk in their direction.

Relief filled Bucky’s eyes.

Without hesitation you walked straight up to Bucky, cupping his cheeks in both hands and kissing him. Your tongue slid over his lower lip and he instinctively opened to you. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close and bending you back.

His lips pulled away just a bit. “Hey, Doll.”

“Hey, Handsome.” You smiled against his lips. Steve cleared his throat. Without moving you added, “Hiya, Steve.”

Bucky chuckled and stood you up straight. He caught your right hand in his left, bringing it to his mouth to kiss your fingers. Only you noticed the deep breath he drew in through his nose, or the twinkle in his eye. “Glad you finally got here.”

“Me, too.”

“And this is?” The man had a gravely voice, like he smoked two packs a day. He didn’t smell like it. However, he did look at you as if smelling something foul.

“Sorry,” Steve gave a tight smile. “Wallace Flanigan, this is Dr. Y/L/N,”

You provided him with a smile, but did not offer a hand.

“Doctor?”

“Yes.” Steve smiled. “She’s one of Stark’s top research doctors and consults for some the world’s leading public health agencies.”

“Truly? Well, I understand why you would keep your maiden name.” He commented.

Bucky’s fingers tightened in yours.

Leaning back against his chest, you pulled your entwined hands so Bucky’s arm wrapped around your waist. It placed you physically between them. Forcing yourself to appear relaxed, you smiled. “You misunderstand, Mr. Flanigan. I’m the Sergeant’s lover, not his wife.”

Somehow the man’s back straightened even more.

Plastering a fake look of innocence on your face, you continued. “But I suppose it’s flattering that you would assume, if we were married, I would not take his name in order to maintain a professional name of my own. I mean, considering his name is so highly renowned.”

Steve smirked into his bottle of beer, staring over your shoulder. He obviously was sharing a look with Buck.

“It’s true he has a reputation.” Flanigan growled.

“More than one.” You gave a genuine giggle. “Now, I’ve just arrived and I’d like to steal my man away for a few minutes, if that’s alright?”

“See you later.” Steve fought not to laugh.

You turned in Bucky’s embrace. “Buy me a free drink?”

“Anything you want.” His blue eyes locked on to yours with hot intensity. Bucky glanced at Steve, then the other man, “Excuse us.”

Bucky’s arm around your waist held you close as he led you away, toward the bar. You hand slipped under his suit jacket to rest on his lower back. “Well that was fun.”

He paused, his lips pressing against your temple. You could hear the laughter in his quiet voice. “That was fucking amazing.”

Clint lifted a hand and the two of you made your way to where he and Sam leaned against the bar. Barton waved two fingers at the bartender, who quickly arrived with two more drinks. “Okay, who made Wally’s head explode?”

“What?” Bucky frowned, letting you go only long enough to hand you the drink.

“The two of you had your backs to us. Pencil-dick looked like he was going to have a stroke and I know that look on Rogers. He was trying really hard not to laugh. Which one of you is to blame?” Sam smiled.

“That’s all her.” Bucky grinned. “Set that fucker straight, smiling the whole time.”

“Hey, I just corrected him and said I was your lover not your wife. I could have said I was your fuck toy.”

Barton choked. Sam barked a laugh.

Bucky’s hand wrapped around the back of your neck, his head shaking. “Naughty girl.”

You offered him your hand, in an old fashion gesture. “But, sir, you love it.”

He took your hand, bowing his head and kissing your fingers. His tongue lightly touching your skin hyper-sensitive senses kicking into overdrive at the scent of your sex. “That I do, beautiful lady.”

“Saps.” Sam mumbled.

You happily shared the silent secret of just how naughty you’d been with those fingers just before arriving at the party. “Buck, can we get some air?”

“Sounds good. Guys.” He nodded and followed you out onto the balcony. The cool night air swirl about, lifting the hem of your dress a bit, making him smile. He set his nearly full beer beside yours on the table just outside the door before following you to the railing.

“Look really sexy in that suit.” You purred, as your hands slid around his waist.

His palms ghosts over the silky fabric covering your breasts, feeling the hardness of your nipples. Bucky’s tongue slipped out to wet his lips. The cool fingertips of his left hand ran along neck of dress, petting the flesh of your cleavage. “Jesus, I want to rip this open.”

You leaned forward, tipping your face up. Bucky’s mouth covered yours, drinking in your kiss. The heat of his body stood in stark contrast to the cold night air. His left hand moved up to tangle in your hair. Teeth nipped your lower lip, sending a shiver straight to your cunt.

“Can we get out of here?” You breathed.

“Yeah,” Bucky looked around, before pulling you to the opposite balcony door. Just inside a door led to a service hallway, clear of the party. A cart full of used glasses waited, but the hall was otherwise empty. He tugged you close, hand digging into your ass as he brutally kissed you again.

Just as your leg came up to his hip, you heard a little squeak and a “sorry”. You giggled against Bucky’s lips. He growled and pulled away. Taking your hand, he strode down the hall again.

In the elevator, you tugged his tie loose and let it hang around his neck. Bucky stared as you deftly unbuttoned his shirt, you only got three buttons undone before the doors opened again. Moments later the two of you stumbled into your suite, arms wrapped around each other, mouths licking and nipping.

“Finally.” Bucky grinned wickedly. He pulled the tie at your waist, allowing the wrap dress to fall open. He licked his lip as you pushed it off your shoulders to expose the red set underneath. The lace and thin straps perfectly constructed to hold you in place. “Hell, yes.”

Standing there in barely anything while Bucky remained fully dressed, staring at you with hunger, felt incredibly hot. You turned, strutting in your heels, ass swaying, towards the bed. A low strangled noise came from Bucky.

Before you made it to the bed, Bucky rushed you, wrapping you in his strong arms. He kissed you, hard and powerful. His tongue swept along yours, pulling a mewl from your throat. The cool metal fingers of his hand dug into the meat of your ass to pull you tight against his hard need.

Bending forward, Bucky’s hot wet mouth clasped over your nipple. His hand squeeze your flesh. Teeth grazed at your nipple, soaking the lace of your bra. Demanding, powerful. You ran your fingers through his hair, pulling. Breathing deep, filling his head with the scent of your need, he bit down and pulled at the fabric. His fingers tearing at the sides, the bra tore apart.

You gave a little squeal as he tossed you on the bed. The look of feral desire upon his face created a flame of he between your legs. You felt your cunt clutch, knew you were dripping with need. His tongue slipped out, tracing along his lower lip, as your legs fell open.

Bucky tossed his jacket aside, removed his belt and untucked his shirt. You watched as he slowly rolled up his sleeves. Fuck, that might just be sexier than him just taking the thing off. You practically whimpered. Your reaction did not go unnoticed.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a wicked smirk.

Bucky put a knee on the bed. He took your ankle in hand, lifting your foot and trailing a wet line to your inner thigh. His face rubbed against your silk covered mound, breath hot, whiskers making you shiver. His mouth covered you, tasting how you soaked through material. He growled as his teeth gentle scrapped over your sex.

You clutched the bedcovers. Fire flooded to your core. “Oh shit, Buck.”

His dark and rich chuckled made you shiver again. His fingers slid aside your panties, teasing your sensitive flesh. Slipping fingers in deep, he stroked.

“Such a pretty little pussy.” Bucky’s voice rumbled over you flesh. His fingers pulling moans from your throat. He leaned closer, sucking on your clit. “Taste so good.” You whined. He rose up enough to watch your face, to capture you in his gaze. His strong fingers stroked hard and fast. “Love to watch you come all over me.” Your body tensed, coiled. “Love it. Then I’m going fuck you hard.” You began to shake. “Gonna fill you up.” You snapped, heat flared, nerves on fire, as you came over his hand.

Wet and sloppy, he still stroked you. As you writhed and panted as he held you down. “Yes, beautiful, Doll. Fuck, yes.”

You felt the panties tear. Bucky flipped you over, pulling your ass to him. The tip of cock slid over once, twice, before plunging into you deep. You cried out. Buck growled. One hand digging into your hip, the other on your shoulder, he slammed into you fast and hard.

Glancing over your shoulder, he still wore his clothes, just freed his cock. “Oh, shit. Bucky. So fucking good.”

He pulled you up, arching your back. Buck wrapped his hand around your throat, turning your head toward the dressing mirror across the room. “You like that? The look of me fucking wrecking you.”

In the mirror you saw yourself, naked and flushed, bent back as Bucky pounded into you. He stood one knee on the bed, one on the floor, dressed. His powerful forearms and hands molding you to his need. Face intense, Bucky stared back at you in the mirror.

“Answer me.” His hips pumped hard.

“Yes! Fuck, yes!” Your body clenched at him, so close to coming again. Your hand slid to your clit.

Bucky sped up, the force nearly knocking the breath from you. You gasped a choked cry as your orgasm crashed violently over you. His chant of “yes, fuck, yes” turned into a growl. He emptied himself, holding you against him tight.

His arms were around your upper chest and your waist. You held his arms against you as your breath began to return to normal. His nose nuzzled into your hair, just behind your ear. “God, you’re amazing.”

“Best fuck toy ever, huh?” You sighed, head lolling to the side to submit to his kissed.

A lazy chuckle shook him. “Doll, you are one of kind and I am one lucky son of bitch.”

Joy mingled with sated happiness. “I’ll take that.”

TAGS

@acf2510 / @asiaaisa77 / @badassbaker / @bangtan-serendipity / @beautifullungs / @buchanansebba / @buckybarneshairpullingkink / @cashewsaremyfavourite / @daughterofthenight117 / @dawnlaufeyson / @dsakita / @geeksareunique / @the-omni-princess / @imma-new-soul /@jesseswartzwelder / @josie605 / @kiki5283 / @ladifreakingda / @lbouvet / @lovely-lollipops-blog / @messenough / @michelehansel / @mindtravelsx / @morganhoran1671 / @night-cereus / @notyourtypicalrose / @rainbowkisses31 / @readermia / @rynabarnesrogers / @sammghgecko / @scarlettsoldier / @sebbysstangirl / @sexyvixen7 / @sllooney / @theneuropsychwriter / @the-omni-princess / @the-reading-octopus / @thorfanficwriter / @unadulteratedwizardlove / @vanillabunn21 / @wildmoonflower / @wwe-fanfiction-queen /

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction

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justniaaa · 4 years ago

Text

Unravel Me (3)

Rating: 18+ NSFW

Work Count: 3.8k

Pairing: Christopher “Rio” Martinez x black!oc

Warning: Panic attack, anxiety, self doubt, swearing, use of the “n” word

A/N: Hey loves! So excited to finally share the third chapter with you all! Forgive me for the late posting, I wanted to be a post once a week type of writer but that seems to be not the case, especially with my semester starting soon and a new job being in the works. But please bare with me, I will try and make sure you guys get content even if it’s not consistent. Thank you for reading my story and please like, comment and reblog. Alright enough of my ramblings, Enjoy and happy reading! <3

Summary: Toni forms an unsuspecting friendship with Christopher that turns into something more. As her feelings towards him continue to grow she starts to unravel the secrets that surround him and in return, he unravels her completely.

Chapter 3: Welcome back

“Finally,” Toni said with relief as she pulled up in her Honda Accord at Lux. She made sure to get to the bar early and was happy when she got there with five minutes left to spare. Taking a moment to herself before going in, she tried to occupy her mind with checking her hair and makeup in the rearview mirror. Try as she must, doubt began to settle in the forefront of her mind, in if she was making the right decision.

Toni felt her heart begin to beat faster and faster. Out of breath, and body hot she turned her AC on at full blast, Dr. Simone’s instructions ringing in her head.

--------------------------------Flashback------------------------------------------

Now Antonia if you ever feel like you’re going to have an anxiety attack, I want you to try this breathing exercise called “Calming Breath”.”

Toni listened to her therapist Dr. Simone with rapt attention, “Honestly doc, I’ll take anything to just stop this shit, excuse my french.”

Dr. Simone chuckled, amused by her slip up. “No need to apologize, Antonia. How many times do I have to tell you this is a place where you can express yourself freely without judgment?”

“I know, I know.”

“Now like I was saying before, I want you to try an exercise called “Calming Breath.” What that entails is you taking a long, slow breath through your nose, and holding your breath to the count of three then exhaling slowly through your lips. It should help you relax your muscles in your face, shoulders, and stomach. We can practice a couple of times if you would like.”

Toni shook her head in understanding, “Thanks doc, but I think I got it.” After a few seconds of silence, Dr. Simone gave her a knowing look. “But just in case I don’t have it, can you repeat the steps again?

----------------------End of flashback-------------------------------------------

Hearing Dr. Simone’s directions, Toni began her breathing exercises, breathe in, hold, breathe out. She did the steps a couple more times until she slowly felt her heartbeat go back to normal. Softly smiling Toni was proud of herself for getting her anxiety in check until she looked at the clock on her dashboard.

She had two minutes until her shift started.

“Fuck, I can’t be late when I’m literally sitting right in front of the place”

Toni made sure she had all her belongings and shut off the ignition, quickly hopping out and closing her car door. Walking to the entrance, she took in the building, like every bar it looked mediocre in the daytime, with its red brick and black awning. But at night that’s when it’s beauty really shined especially when they turned on the fairy lights outside that gave the establishment a welcoming shine. She reached the entrance and was debating if she should walk-in or call Avery, but before she could decide the door swung open, almost hitting her in the face.

“Woah!” Toni said, quickly jumping back and almost breaking her neck in the process from her heeled boots.

“Oh, shit my fault ma!”

Toni heard a low voice apologize as she was looking down at her scuffed boots. Anger and embarrassment flooded through her, she was angry because her boots had white marks all over them and embarrassed because of course, this would happen to her of all people.

“Shit, you not crying right? Your shoes are fire but they not worth your tears.”

Is this nigga for real?

Toni finally looked up to show the man she wasn’t having a breakdown, “First of all, I’m not crying, I'm pissed and second of all the door is literally glass how did yo-?!”

“Oh shit Antonia?!”

Startled by the interruption, she stared confused at how he knew her name. A few seconds passed until the realization set in after she took in his dark skin and short box braids. He’s had the same hairstyle since college.

“Sean?!”

“Yoo! I can’t believe it’s you!” Sean came in for a hug as Toni stood there in shock, her hands came up awkwardly to hug him back. “It’s good to see you girl! How you been?!”

I’m emotionally damaged, I haven’t had sex in months and I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.

“I’m good, and I go by Toni now mostly. How are you?”

Sean shook his head, “My fault, my fault.”

Her question wasn’t answered as Sean took a step back, eyes roving over her body. He had a smirk on his lips as he took in her black sheer top, fitted black jeans, and her slightly damaged snake print block heeled boots. “Damn Ant- I mean Toni, you look even better than you did in college.”

Toni was grateful that he caught himself and at the same time she sucked her teeth. “You are so full of shit, reminds me of back in the day when you would flirt with all the girls in our Humanities class, and Honey would get pissed at you for it.”

His smirk noticeably dropped, showcasing that her sister was a sore topic. Trying to lighten the mood Toni bumped him with her hip, “Anyways, I can’t believe you still work here, looking cute with your all black ensemble on.” He was wearing black, from the t-shirt to the jeans and even his Vans.

It reminds me of a certain someone.

“You know how I do.” He told her, popping his faux collar, “My I.T hours are slim to none sometimes, so a couple of months ago I asked Avery for work to keep me above water.”

Toni let out a harsh breath, “That’s why I’m here too, I just hope I can remember my orders, hell even how to make drinks properly...”

Sean nodded and wrapped his arm around Toni’s shoulders, noticing her growing unease. “Hey, no need to be nervous. You know this bar like the back of your hand and from what I remember I know you would’ve brushed up on your skills before you even thought about calling Avery for a job. I got your back, with whatever, so stop worrying about stupid shit.”

Toni looked up at him and saw the sincerity on his face. When they met freshman year he always treated her like a sibling, making sure to help her out if she ever needed him.

“You getting soft on me nigga?” Toni asked, breaking the sappiness between them. She lightly punched his stomach, making Sean playfully wince in pain. She laughed and wrapped her arm around his side, “Damn, you really are soft Sean.”

“Shut up killa, before I tell Avery on you for being rude to his favorite employee.”

“Now that I’m back, I think that title comes back to me,” Toni gestured to herself.

“Fuck out of here.”

They both chuckled as they walked to the entrance, the joking continuing between the old friends.

********************************************************************************************

Toni had been at the bar for hours, and like Sean said she quickly got back into the swing of things. When she walked in three minutes late because of her small catch up with him, she was worried Avery was going to wring her neck especially since it was technically her first day. But all he did was yell out, “Toni, baby welcome back!” His New York accent prominent.

The Italian man looked mostly the same if not a little gray on the edges of his once all black hair. The last time she saw him he didn’t have crinkles near his eyes when he smiled but Toni thought they fit him perfectly. Avery had a small belly now and wore a red dress shirt that was rolled up at the sleeves, showcasing his tattoo of his favorite pinup girl Bettie Page on his forearm. After all these years he still hadn’t strayed from the black slacks always saying, “The color never shows the stains of a bad night.” After introducing Toni to the rest of her coworkers he went to the backroom to meet with some associates, letting her know he would be back to help out later.

It was ten o’clock and Rihanna’s Work was playing in the bar, making the mass of people sway to the music and talk with drinks in their hands. The crowd seemed to not be getting any smaller and Toni was taking people’s drink orders as she was making other customers drinks. She didn’t remember it being this busy on just a regular Wednesday night, but she could guess as areas started to get more gentrified the crowds began to change.

The hanging lights gave Lux an intimate glow but provided enough light for people to see each other. Stools were lined up in front of the bar, and they were all filled with customers, laughing and drinking, some of them eating onion rings and french fries or whatever other bar snacks that were served. The wooden booths that were along the wall, gave patrons the option to be more personal and away from the crazy that was the bar counter.

“Hey Toni, I need a pitcher of Budweiser,” Rosa, her coworker, stood next to her, her voice was slightly raised because she was trying to be heard over the volume of the chatter.

“Gotcha babe,” Toni got out the plastic container and put it under the spigot, pulling the lever. As the brownish-gold liquid poured, she looked out into the mob, watching individuals coming in and out of Lux. Sean was vaguely seen from where she was standing, checking ID at the door. Toni stopped the stream of beer and turned to Rosa, handing her the pitcher, “Thank you!” The blue-haired woman said with a smile, leaving to go tend to her customer.

Toni was about to put her hand out to stop Rosa before she got too far. Wanting to let her know she was going to take her fifteen-minute break, when she heard, “Can I get a Jack on the rocks?”

Toni frowned, in confusion at hearing the deep voice that had been on her mind for the past several days. Was she thinking about him too much, that she conjured him up somehow? She slowly turned to the individual that never failed to give her goosebumps whenever she laid eyes on him. In his usual calm demeanor, Chris was sitting at the bar, looking at her with a raised brow and smirk playing on his lips.

And he looked good, really fucking good.

He had on a black button-up and a chain around his neck that made the eagle tattoo on his neck stand out on his tan skin. She didn’t know if it was possible but he looked even better than when she saw him last.

Fuck me.

Toni bit her lip from her sinful thoughts and got a glass from behind the bar, beginning to make his drink. She glanced up and saw him watching her with his dark eyes, making her downcast her gaze. Not wanting him to notice her slightly shaking hands as she got ice out of the chest, Toni finally spoke, “Well, look who's back.” she said while she poured the liquor into the chilly glass.

Chris looked amused as she put the drink down in front of him and in the process of releasing it his hand came up, holding onto the glass as well, making his fingers come in contact with hers.

“Missed me?” He asked both of their hands still on the drink and unmoving as they checked each other out.

Toni shrugged, “Hardly.”

“I think my feelings would be hurt if I actually believed you ma.”

Toni grinned at his words, “How was work? I didn’t think you would be back so soon.”

“Cut ties with some of my partners for fucking up the numbers, but shit is all good now.”

Toni went to reply when suddenly Avery came up next to Chris, he put a broad hand on his shoulder, “Toni I didn’t know you knew Rio.”

She moved her hand away from Chris’s touch and picked up the rag that was on the counter, cleaning up the sticky bar top. Toni felt like Avery caught her hand in the cookie jar and from his knowing look, it seemed like Avery might have the same sentiment as well.

Toni cleared her throat, “We just met, actually.” She didn’t really understand where the hell “Rio” came from when she had been calling him “Chris” for the past several weeks.

“Well let me introduce you two then, Rio this is Toni my returning employee and one of the best damn bartenders, I’ve ever had and Toni this is Rio, the co-owner of Lux and your boss,” Avery said making introductory motions between the two.

Toni’s eyes widened and she stopped fake wiping the counter. My boss?! How many businesses did this man have?

“That shits all semantics Avery, you're the real boss of this place. I’m just here to be a helping hand,” Chris said, giving Toni a pointed look, showing her that it wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

“I suppose.” Avery patted Chris’s shoulder again with a grin, then turned to Toni once more, “I think it’s time for your fifteen Toni the crew and I can handle it if another wave comes in.”

Toni nodded, “Thanks Avery, and nice to meet you, Rio,” she said sickly sweet. Toni left the rag on the counter and squeezed behind Rosa, leaving from behind the bar. She took a look behind her and saw Chris and Avery talking and her usually chill boss didn’t seem all that happy. Toni walked outside, seeing Sean sitting on a chair, his fingers moving quickly on his iPhone. He looked over when he saw her walk out, and gave her a smile displaying his pearly whites. “I was right, wasn’t I? Shit was like you never left.”

“Yes negro, you were right.” Toni said leaning against the window, her feet becoming achy.

“You can take my seat sis. I need to be standing anyway or Avery will have my ass if he catches me sitting again.”

Toni laughed, “Thanks.”

Sean got up and let her sit down, standing in silence. He kept glancing over to her while opening his mouth and closing it like he wanted to ask Toni something. After the third time of this, Toni sighed, “What Sean?”

“Nothin, Nothin…”

She gave him a sour look until he finally broke, “What’s with the name change?” Sean put his hands up in mock surrender, “Don’t get me wrong Honey and some of your friends called you Toni but you’ve never told anyone that they had to do the same.”

Toni went for nonchalance not wanting to alarm him, “I just thought Toni was better, it definitely helps with the awkwardness of people calling me Antonio all the time until I corrected them.” She thought that would be enough for Sean, because what she said made total sense but Toni was very, very wrong.

“Bullshit,” Sean said, making her mouth fall open.

“What do you mean, bullshit!?”

“You loved watching people get red in the face when you corrected them, so whatchu sayin’ is bullshit. We haven’t seen each other in a minute but I still know you, so give me the real reason before I call Latoya.”

They both knew her mom couldn’t hold water sometimes and even if she didn’t know the real reason, Toni didn’t want Sean talking to her and possibly unearthing secrets that she tried to keep buried for as long as possible. She took in a breath and crossed her arms. At first she didn’t know what to say to appease her old friend, as he waited for an explanation but she decided to stick to the truth as close as possible.

“I just wanted a change, I went through a hard time and to completely be rid of it, I made the decision to have people just call me Toni rather than Antonia. It really cemented for me that I was a different person than I was before.” Toni fiddled with a loose string on her jeans, “I mean my parents still call me Antonia and there are certain family members as well that do it too, but in my everyday life, I stick with Toni and the solace it gives me.”

Sean appeared satisfied with her answer, but Toni noticed there was a little squint to his eye like he knew that wasn’t the full truth but he let her statement stand.

“So, I’m probably hella corny for this and I know you won’t let me live this down but..”Sean outstretched his hand, “It’s nice to meet you, Toni.”

His expression was sincere and comical at the same time and it made Toni grin, “Nice to meet you too, Sean Puff Daddy Combs.”

Sean sucked his teeth, “Here we go with that Puff Daddy shit.”

A party of people came walking up as they were laughing, making Sean check their ID’s ending their conversation.

For a few minutes, Toni was scrolling through Instagram readying herself to go back inside soon when she saw Chris walk out of the bar. He was standing at the threshold and he seemed to be scanning the parking lot. When it appeared he didn’t find what he was looking for he went to turn back around, but he suddenly stopped when he saw Toni sitting in the corner.

Toni waved her hand, “Sup, Rio.”

Chris snickered and walked towards her, getting close enough that Toni could smell his cologne. He looked down at her as she looked up at him. “I can start calling you Rio if you prefer. I mean I have my own hang-up with my name, so it’s really fine,” she said.

“Nah,” He said, a matter of fact.

He didn’t supply any other explanation so Toni gave a soft “Okay,” and leaned back into the chair. Sean gave Chris a head nod as he kept doing his job and telling an apparent drunk couple, that they couldn’t come into the bar, much to their dismay.

“I didn’t know you had a problem with your name, I’ve been calling you Antonia since we met,” Toni turned her attention back on him, taking notice that he had a blunt in his hand and was lighting it up with a skull covered lighter. His gold rings glimmered from the lights coming from the windows of the bar.

“It’s my own personal shit, but shockingly I don’t mind hearing it from you.”

“Is that right?” Chris said. He took a hit and held in the smoke until he released it into the cool air, through his nose and mouth. Toni was mesmerized by the tendrils of smoke, she didn’t understand how he made even smoking attractive but everything Chris did turned her on. He offered her the blunt, probably thinkings that’s why she was staring but Toni declined, not really into smoking much like she used to because of a bad trip she had years ago.

“You probably think I’m weird as hell, that I pick and choose what people can address me as.”

“Nah I get it, some believe knowing a person’s real name makes you have power over them.”

Toni knitted her brow, “Do you believe that?” she asked him. Chris took another hit and rubbed his beard like he was mulling over the question.

“I tell my associate’s my name is Rio ‘cause I don’t want them to get to close, too familiar. When they start to get too comfortable and start to think we friends or some shit than that interferes with my business and I can’t have that.” Chris began playing with his rings like it was a tick of his that he probably never noticed he had, “So yeah I think having knowledge of someone's name can have some sort of power.”

She sighed and crossed her leg, “I think I agree with you, but if you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you care about me knowing your real name? It's not like we’re exactly friends.”

“Oh shit, we not?” Chris said feigning shock, “ Damn mama that’s fucked up.”

Toni rolled her eyes, “Oh please.”

Chris grinned at her and licked his lips, throwing the finished blunt on the floor and ashing it under his black and white Converse. “You’re different and if you gonna be my girl, I think it’s best if you know who I really am right?”

“Your girl? You haven’t even taken me out on a date, so how in the hell am I going to be your girl?”

“Right, Right,” Chris said. His phone began to ring and he took it out of his dark blue jeans and muted it, his eyes never straying from Toni. “So let me take you out this Friday.”

Toni snorted thinking he was joking but stopped short when she realized that he didn’t even crack a smile, “Wait you’re serious?”

“Dead ass”

Chris’s phone rang again and this time he did look at it, with an evident scowl. Abruptly he said, “I gotta go Antonia, but I’ll text you the details,” Chris kissed Toni’s cheek and turned to leave, in the process he took his keys out of his pocket.

Toni’s eyes were wide as hell at what just happened. She blinked a couple of times to get out of the fog that took over her mind and noticed that he was almost to his Range Rover.

As he walked further away Toni yelled out, “Wait I don’t even have your number!”

He took a look over his shoulder, “It’s straight, I got yours!”

She went to nod then paused, “Wait, what?!”

Toni heard Chris laugh as he got into his car, turning it on. He sped out of the parking lot, leaving her to watch his taillights disappear into the LA traffic. Sean came over to where she was sitting and heavily sighed fatigue, and annoyance relevant in his form. “Got damn, did you see how fucked up they were? Imma have to tell Avery I need help ‘cause I can’t take ID’s and pat them down while babysitting grown-ass adults. Fuck that shit.”

Toni didn’t say anything, her thoughts still on what transpired seconds before. Sean took notice of the silence and softly elbowed his friend, used to her having a sarcastic quip. “You good? What did I miss?”

I’m going on date,” Toni said, feeling a glimmer of happiness.

Tag list: @aria725 @kikilovesdankmemes @briannab1234

#rio good girls #rio x oc #rio black!oc #rio good girls imagine #manny montana #manny montana imagine #myfic #chapter 3 #unravel me #interracial fic #rioxoc #rioxblack!oc fanfic #nbc good girls

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whumphoarder · 5 years ago

Text

Morgan Stark, M.D.

Summary: While playing doctor at the lake house, the five-year-old decides to break out the big bandaids for Peter’s injuries.

Word count: 1,180

Genre: fluff, humor

Link to read on Ao3

A/N: Thanks to @awesomesockes for beta-reading and ideas :D

“I can hear your heartbeat,” Morgan informs, pressing the bell of her pink plastic stethoscope to the middle of Peter’s chest.

“Oh yeah?” Peter grins at the five-year-old, who is currently wearing one of Tony’s white button-downs as a lab coat. “What’s it sound like, doc?”

“Like”—Morgan rapidly taps her hand over his heart, adding a sound effect between each pat for emphasis—“badumbadumbadumbadumbadum!”

Peter laughs lightly. “That’s pretty fast. Might have a problem there.”

“Nope,” Morgan says knowingly. “It’s perfect.” She pulls the stethoscope out from her ears and shoves it back into the purple Doc McStuffins bag, exchanging it for a thermometer. “Here,” she says, thrusting it at Peter’s closed mouth, causing him to flinch backwards in surprise. “We gotta take your temperature now.”

Peter takes the device from her and holds it as close to his lips as he can without actually touching them. Prior to Tony and Pepper leaving for their date night earlier that evening, both had warned him of their daughter’s newfound medical obsession. Apparently, she’s been giving out check-ups to every toy, doll, and family member who’s crossed her path the past week.

(Gerald the alpaca was less than pleased about this.)

After about three seconds, Morgan pulls it away again and glances at the number display before letting out a little shriek. “You got a fever!” she cries.

“Oh no!” Peter gasps, pressing the back of his hand to his own forehead in a dramatic swoon. “How high is it?”

She shakes her head back and forth solemnly and lets out a sigh. “Sixty-two percent.”

Peter has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep his face straight. “Sixty-two percent?” he clarifies, raising an eyebrow. “Pretty sure if it hits seventy, I’m toast.”

“Not if I give you the medicine!” she exclaims. “It’s, um…” She whips a plastic syringe out of her kit. “It’s five hundred shots!”

Peter sticks his lip out in a pout. “Aw man, but I don’t like shots...”

“That’s silly,” she says simply, and immediately jabs the bony part of his elbow with the point of her plastic needle, eliciting a yelp that was only partly faked. “You need to get better or you’ll die.”

“Fair enough,” Peter allows, grimacing. “So… only four hundred and ninety-nine more to go?”

Giggling, Morgan proceeds to poke him with the syringe a few dozen more times in quick succession until she declares him cured.

“Now you need a bandaid,” she says, grabbing the box of Doc McStuffins sticker ‘bandages’ from her kit. She opens it and then frowns. “Aw, they’re all gone.”

Peter laughs a bit, recalling the picture Tony texted him yesterday of a rather grumpy-looking Happy covered in colorful stickers. “Guess I’ll just bleed out then.”

“No you won’t! I know where Mommy keeps more!” she exclaims, jumping up.

Peter frowns. “Well, you probably shouldn’t use the real ones…” he begins, starting to get up from Morgan’s pink bean bag chair, but she pushes him back down quickly.

“No no you can’t move!” she insists. “You’re really sick.”

At the little girl’s stern look, Peter settles back down into the bean bag. “Alright, alright, I’ll stay here. But don’t use too many, okay? They’re supposed to be for real owies.”

“Okay,” she agrees, scurrying off down the hall.

While he waits, Peter checks his phone. There’s a Baby Yoda meme from Ned, along with a two-paragraph rant from MJ about pigeons being soulless creatures that he’s just started to skim when Morgan bounds back into the room.

“I got them!” she cries happily. “I got the big bandaids.”

Peter glances up to see the five-year-old run over and dump an armful of colorful square-shaped items out onto the floor in front of him. His eyes widen as realization dawns.

“Wait, uh, Morgan? I don’t think those are—” he stammers. “I mean, uh… where did you find those?”

Morgan is already tearing open one of the pastel floral wrappers. “In Mommy’s bathroom drawer,” she reports as she unfolds the white pad inside.

Peter feels his cheeks flush. “Right, but, uh, I don’t think they’re really, um…”

As he speaks, Morgan peels off the final strip of paper over the adhesive and sticks it to his elbow. “They’re for big owies.”

“No, Morgan, listen,” Peter protests, starting to take it back off. “These aren’t—”

“Hey!” She swats his hand away. “You need to keep that on! Or it’s gonna bleed!” she emphasizes.

Covering his face with his hands, Peter blows out a deep exhale. “Morgan…”

“Oh no!” she gasps, causing Peter to lower his hands to look up at her. “You got another owie!” From the pile of pads on the ground, she produces another and tears the wrapper off.

Peter holds up a hand. “Wait, wait, we can’t use all your mom’s…” he trails off when Morgan tilts her head to the side questioningly, “uh, supplies.”

“She’s got more,” Morgan says with a shrug, peeling off the paper. “There’s lots in the bathroom. And more in her purse.” Adhering the pad to his opposite arm, she explains, “You got another owie there.”

Peter glances down at the new pad-bandage the little girl is wrapping around his elbow. “Oh. Bummer,” he sighs. “Guess I should be more careful.”

“Don’t worry,” she assures him, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to the top of the pad. “I’m gonna make you all better.”

Ten minutes later, Peter has just crunched his way through at least ten tablets of SweetTart “medicine” and is sipping room temperature water from one of Morgan’s tiny plastic tea set cups when the bedroom door creaks open to reveal a surprised-looking Tony standing in the entryway.

Peter’s eyes widen in horror. “Mr. Stark! I can explain!” he blurts.

Tony blinks at him. “Please don’t.”

“Hi Daddy,” Morgan says, waving at him.

Tony inclines his head in the direction of his giggling daughter. “Morgan,” he greets. Then shifting his gaze to the red-faced teenager—on which every exposed area of skin is covered by sanitary napkins—he gives him a solemn nod. “Pad-Man. You two having fun?”

“Uh huh!” Morgan says brightly. Gesturing to Peter, she says, “We’re playing hospital. He’s the sick guy, but he��s all better now.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony chuckles and Peter's face flushes. “What was the diagnosis, doc?”

“He had...”—her expression screws up in thought—“broken everything.”

Tony winces. “Ooh. That’s rough.” He steps over and gestures to the pad stuck across Peter’s forehead. “And these are…?”

“Big bandaids!” Morgan says cheerfully.

“Ah. Got it.” Tony nods, the corners of his mouth turning up into a grin. “For all the blood. Of course.”

Feeling his cheeks burn, Peter mutters, “Just kill me now.”

“But you just got better,” Morgan complains.

Tony smirks. “You know, Pete, if you ask Pepper really nicely, she might share her chocolate stash with you. That always makes her feel better.”

Morgan lets out an excited whoop at the prospect of candy, while Peter just covers his face and groans.

Link to all my fics

If you liked this story, you might also like:

Dad Level: 3000

Lemon Eyes, All Mine

Long Distance Dadding

#morgan stark #peter parker & morgan stark #peter parker & tony stark #irondad fic #fluff #playing doctor #check-ups #cuteness #this is kinda silly and dumb #but i had fun #my fic

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mysterioh · 5 years ago

Text

ᕼEᒪTEᖇ ᔕKEᒪTEᖇ - [1/8]

Pairing: Cop!Bucky Barnes x Cop!Reader

Summary: The year is 1989 and what better to prepare for the next decade than with a killing spree? A string of gruesome deaths has thrust the city of New York into absolute mayhem and terror causing intoxicating fear to settle within the niches of the city's underbelly. Having used up every trick in the book and earning nothing, Police Commissioner Stark seeks the aid of the NYPD's most elite task force.

A force of two.

A reticent genius and a cheeky casanova.

WARNINGS: Death, Murder, Graphic Depictions of Violence and Gore, Language, Usage of Drugs, All the makings of a Crime Show.

Written for @captainscanadian 1k Writing Challenge!

This is my first time writing crime so be nice to me alfskfjalsda.

Masterlist

A Call

8:30 P.M.

L’Artusi

New York, NY

Friday, October 13, 1989

“I thought you forgot about me,” Denise mused.

Her red-painted nails tinkled against the glass full of Pinot Noir in her hands.

“Me? Forget about you?” Bucky asked in mock surprise. He takes her free hand into his. “Never, sweetheart. I've been missing you.”

Denise smirks, prim and proper. She’s a beautiful woman with flawless skin kissed by the heated sun (or atleast the canned version) and sharp green eyes that swirl with blue under the right light. Her hair was curled, loaded with pints of hairspray to maintain it’s fluffy texture. She leans forward just a bit, letting the gold necklace adorning the bare skin just above her chest dip into her cleavage and taking Bucky’s eyes with it.

She brings his attention back to her with a light chuckle. “Miss me?" she repeats like she's mocking him. She plays with her glass, twirling the ruby red liquid inside, and avoids his eyes. "You haven’t spoken to me since that night,” she stated. She sounds like she’s teasing and careless but in reality, she’s hurt. Bucky can tell that much. “Not even a goodbye. Not even a phone call,” she croons and it has him soft and guilty.

Bucky chuckles nervously with a swipe of his fingers through his luscious brown locks. “It wasn’t intentional, Denise. I was just busy with work,” he explained.

"Too busy for me?" She pouts like a child, batting her long lashes and leans towards him, pushing her chest up while resting her arms on the table.

He smiles, finding her teasing a bit annoying. But he lets it slide cause she's got a pretty face.

"I just got caught up, I'm sorry, sweetheart." He takes her hand in his and kisses the back of it. "I'm all yours now," he says smoothly making the woman in front of him swoon.

"You're a darling, James, I've missed you," she giggled. He chuckles along to the melody of her voice. The cool steel of his eyes melted into a warm blue under the twinkling light of the crystal chandelier.

In the corner of his eyes, Bucky catches a dark figure walking towards him. Turning his head, his smile sinks when he sees you.

With every step in his direction, the irritated pout painted on your face tightens a bit more and he gulps quietly.

You strut towards him. Your scuffed Doc Martens squeak softly against the smooth tile of the restaurant. Your hair was tied back in a loose ponytail with strands shaping the sharp lines of your face.

Bucky wonders how they let you in while wearing those black ripped jeans paired with a thick black turtleneck tucked in loosely, and topped with a black knee length coat that left a trail of water behind you.

You probably just ignored them. That's what you always did.

The others in the room paused their conversation to raise a brow. Some murmured indignant remarks while others simply shrugged and returned to their meals.

As the distance between the two of you shortens, Bucky's mind runs rampid trying to think of all the things he could've done since yesterday to piss you off.

He emptied out the coffee machine when he was done with it.

He didn't eat the secret stash of chocolates you kept hidden behind the cans in the pantry.

He made sure to never touch your books without asking, even if you left them in the weirdest spots in the apartment.

Bucky can't think of anything. But even if he had, what could he have done that made you have to come and crash his date?

You stop in front of the table, water dripping and all, and he smiles nervously. The corners of his eyes crinkling as he does. Denise tilts her head in confusion at the sight of the drenched woman standing in front of them.

"There you are," you huffed, "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Bucky's brows wriggle in confusion. He laughs awkwardly. "Well you found me," he jokes.

You're not laughing.

Bucky stops laughing and clears his throat. “Right,” he grunts, “Uh—Y/N, this is Denise, my date,” he emphasizes.

The blonde smiles at you warmly, not minding your intrusive behavior. She lifts a hand towards you.

“Hi,” she chirps, “my name’s Denise, nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, hi,” you say in passing, not even taking her handshake. You look at Bucky. “We have to go.”

“What?” he furrows his brows. “Why?”

“Got a call,” you replied curtly.

“Well tell ‘em to leave a message,” he retorts, shooing you away with a hand.

You cross your arms over your chest and balance your weight on one leg. You give him that look. The look he doesn’t really have a name for. He only knows how to describe it.

You’re really gonna play this game with me?

Bucky tries not to look at you, but he knows you’re glaring down at him and you weren’t going to move.

He clicks his tongue and looks up to find you staring at him with cold eyes. He huffs in exasperation and excuses himself from the table by shooting an apologetic smile in Denise's direction.

He grabs you tight by the arm and pulls you along towards the lobby of the restaurant. You yank your arm out of his grasp and grunt.

“What’s so important that you couldn’t wait till later?” he snaps.

"It's urgent," you stated, unwavering in your stance.

"I don't care," he exclaims, making a few snooty waiters frown at him. "We’re taking the night off, remember?”

“Yeah, I know,” you retorted, “I was having a great night with Charlie but it’s important.”

Bucky shakes his head not wanting to listen to anything she said.

"It's Fury," you inform him. "So unless you wanna deal with him, we gotta go now."

He groans audibly. “You know what?” he scoffs, “Screw Fury. This is my first night off in the past two weeks and it’s yours too. So why don’t you go back home and snuggle with Charlie, huh?”

He turns on his heel and walks back to the table.

“Bucky,” you call him back. Your shoulders drop with a sigh. You didn’t have to say a word for Bucky to know you were tired. Your face showed it just fine. The bags under your eyes. The dull color of your irises.

Last time he saw you was earlier that night, snuggled up on the couch in pajamas with your cat napping in your lap and watching the evening news. You didn't have to say a word for him to know how you felt. You've never really had to and maybe that was the reason why you got along so well despite your polar personalities.

Bucky sighs. He’s tired too and he’s not gonna let anything take his one night away. “Go home, Y/N,” he replies and turns back to leave.

“It’s them,” you call out, making him stop once again.

Bucky whips his head back to you then slowly rotates his body. His stubbornness slowly dwindles. His tired eyes fought against the rush of excitement beginning to pool in. His soft lips slowly twist and bend simultaneously with yours and you know you've got him in the bag.

Friday night just got ten times better.

9:45 PM

Bed-Nos Avs Station

Bedford-Stuyvesant, NY

Friday, October 13, 1989

“So you’re telling me the Commissioner, big ol’ guy at the top,” Tony mocked, “Called you two,” he pointed at them, “to help me?”

“Did I stutter?” Bucky retorts.

Tony laughs from the belly. “I’ve heard better stories from a seven year old, get the hell out of you here, ya nosy reporters,” he waves you off and turns away.

“We’re not reporters,” you stated with a venomous twinge to your words. “Besides how the hell would we know this fast?”

Tony turns the two. They're just kids. Probably a few years older than Peter.

"Then I wanna see proof," Tony retorts, "Where are your badges?"

Bucky groaned in exasperation. "We don't have badges," he replies.

It wouldn't have killed Fury to tell his pigheaded men they were coming.

"Oh," Tony's eyes grow wide as he feigns confusion, "and why is that?"

“We work with the police not for the police,” Bucky explains.

Tony shrugs. “No badge, no entrance.”

A loud grumble escaped your mouth. "We don't have time for your games. Three people are dead and you haven't done anything to stop it. So why don't you move aside and let us work," you push past him.

Lifting the police line, you walk underneath and into the crime scene with Bucky right behind.

Tony stands there flabbergasted. No one knew of the murders just yet. The police had decided to keep the information confidential until they could figure out what was happening.

Tony stomps behind them, lifting the police line quickly and slipping underneath. "This is a crime scene and you're not allowed here,” he barks at them. Both of you pay him no mind. After putting on a pair of latex gloves, you pull a mini flashlight out of your pocket and begin to scan the alleyway and it only increases his frustration. "I'll have you arrested for this."

The two look at each other in confusion. "Arrested?” Bucky repeated mockingly. “Get outta here man,” he waves him off, beginning to inspect the area himself.

"Excuse me?" Tony fumes with Peter right behind him.

"Listen,” you stand straight with your hands on your hips. “Why don't you go call your boss and ask him who we are, hmmm?” you asked, sassily. “And let us do our work?” you gritted before turning back to your observations. You flashed your light over the strips of line used to mark the spot where the body should have been. The dim light flickering above wasn’t much of a help.

Tony’s lips pursed into a scowl. His jaw clenched tight. He wasn't going to give up just yet. "There is no work to be done,” he walks to Bucky and swipes the flashlight out of his hand. "We've already been through everything."

Bucky smiles and points a finger up as if to make a point. "As the great poet, Auden, once said: there's more than what meets the eye."

"Are you trying to say my team is incompetent?"

"Never," Bucky shakes his head innocently, "wouldn't want to hurt your feelings, now would we?" he gives Tony a condescending smirk before snatching his flashlight back.

Tony grumbles. He’s already having a bad day. He’s drenched to the bone, It’s past ten and he promised Morgan he’d make it home just in time for storytime. And now, he’s probably going to have to go home to hear a story from his dear wife of how his job was sucking the life out of him.

Which it was. Tony couldn’t deny it. Pepper was right. She was always right, but when she advised him that maybe it was time to leave the force and focus on things that were more important, he couldn’t find it in himself to do it. He’s written a two-week notice a million times but it never left his desk unless it was going in the trash. His undying loyalty to his city was coming at the costly price of his family.

Tony watches the two do their thing and a part of him — the tired part of him — wants to give up and just let them do what they want. Who knows? They might just help him. But it’s his pride as Captain that stops him from doing so.

"Where's the body?" you questioned him.

"We picked it up,” he states flatly.

"Before you've done any type of investigation?"

"It's raining."

"It's dead."

Your tone is cold, callous would be the right word, and it catches Tony off guard for a few seconds.

"Give us the details,” you bring his focus back.

Tony sighs. He doesn’t want to say anything but ends up giving in. "Victim was a woman. Caucasian. Most likely middle aged–"

"Skip to the part that matters.,” you cut him off. You crouch down, umbrella in one hand and the other shining the light along the line of where the building meets the ground for any unseen clues.

"Stabbed in the chest repeatedly. Not a mugging or rape just a brutal murder."

"Find a weapon?"

"No."

"Witnesses?"

"No."

You look up at him with judgemental eyes. "Seems to me like you didn't get anything done."

Tony’s lips twist into an irritated pout. His eyes flit between you and Bucky. Your friend doesn’t really seem to mind your cutthroat behavior as if it’s normal that people act this rude.

"It's only been two hours."

You blink blankly at him. "It took an hour and a half to destroy Pearl Harbor. Ninety minutes and twenty-four hundred dead. Never underestimate the amount of damage a small amount of time can do."

Tony opens his mouth to retort but for the first time that night he had nothing to say.

"Alrighty, Captain, trivia question of the night," Bucky calls him.

Tony turns towards Bucky. He was grinning from ear to ear and Tony doesn’t understand why he’s so damn happy. They’re at a grisly crime scene for Pete’s sake. Bucky stands at the end of the alley towards the street. The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle.

"Which way did the killer come from?" Bucky asks. "Left or right?" he said, pointing in each direction with his head.

If Tony had to be honest, he didn’t think that far yet. "The left,” he says without a thought.

"Ehn’t!” He sounds like a buzzer on Jeopardy. “Guess again,”

Tony rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "The right,” he points in the opposite direction.

Bucky laughs while shaking his head. "Wrong again."

Tony grunts. "Then where the hell did he come from?" He snaps at him.

"You said it just now.” Tony raises a brow at him like he’s crazy. "He came from hell,” he explains while pointing down. "Not literally from hell but from underground."

"The subway,” Peter chimes in, reminding the crew that he was still there.

"Ding ding ding,” the older brunette points at him.

"This isn't a game,” Tony bites.

"Life is but a game, my dear Captain,” Bucky sighed with a gentle shrug.

“How are you so sure that she came from the subway though?” Peter questioned.

“When’s the last time you’ve seen a white lady taking a stroll in the pouring rain in Bed-Stuy, kid?” he poses a question. Peter wags a finger at him in agreement.

“Also because of this,” you added. Their eyes traveled down to the ID dangling off a lanyard that was hooked by a single finger. “Louisa Clark worked as a receptionist at a hospital near 8th Ave,” you informed, digging into the plastic that held her ID and pulled out a receipt that was mildly wet. “She bought a few tokens at 6:45 this evening to get on the subway.”

“Where did you find that?” Tony took a step closer to see it.

“Where your men couldn’t.” you deadpanned.

Tony glares at you, but you remain steadfast in your expression. He’s not scaring you and he hates that.

"Rush hour ends around 6:30,” Bucky points out. “And after that the trains are practically empty."

"Making it a perfect time for a killer to strike,” Tony starts to connect the dots.

"So he got on the train at the same time and followed her until he had her cornered,” Peter blurted in excitement.

"Not exactly," you spoil his fun. His shoulders drop sadly, feeling a bit embarrassed. Tony pats Peter’s shoulder with a chortle. "We think that there may have been two of them."

“You mean two killers?" Tony questions.

"Yes, one to follow her and one to surprise her."

"That means they know her schedule,” Peter says in an attempt to redeem himself.

"Down to the minute," Bucky replies.

"But how can you say there were two?” Tony brings up the question. “You have no evidence."

"Harry Tucker," you named. "The first victim was a fifty-three year old Vietnam vet working as a security guard at a bank.”

Tony’s eyes grow wide in shock. "How do you know that? That's confidential information."

Bucky laughs, taunting the Captain. "We know a lot of things,” he looks at the man with a despicable smile. Tony holds back the urge to punch his pretty face. “Like I said, your boss asked us to help you so we did a little homework before coming."

"Anyway…” you bring them back. “he's a big guy but got killed the same exact way. Unless our killer's the Terminator, there had to be two,” you point to fingers up. “One to hold him down and the other to strike."

"That's amazing,” Peter gasps in awe. Tony sticks his nose in the air and huffs like a child.

"I don't believe you,” Tony denies them.

"Never said you had to." Bucky shrugs. "But in a case like this anything is possible."

"We'd like to inspect the subway,” you pointed across the street. “If that's alright with you."

Tony clicks his tongue and rubs the back of his aching neck. "I don't own the damn subway, do what you want. Not like you haven't been doing that already. Besides I've got a call to make.” he grumbles as he leaves with Peter behind him. "

The two of you slip underneath the police line and walk across the cleared street with only Tony’s car left behind. You leave your umbrella at the top of the stairs and run down with Bucky right behind you.

"Y'know, you could've at least acknowledged her,” Bucky pipes up.

"What?" you turn to him while walking down.

"Denise,” he reminds, “She was right there and you ignored her."

You shrugged indifferently. "I don't see why I should fraternize with people I'll probably never see again."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Buck, you have a new girlfriend every week," you deadpan while jumping over the subway throng.

"I do not!" he mimics your actions.

"Denial is the first step to self-destruction, Bucko," you point out, looking around.

Nothing out of the ordinary. The air is humid due to the rain. The aged walls are grey with paint and signatures in crude letters all over. The concrete ground was splayed with cracks and decorated with litter—old newspapers, empty bags of chips, and garbage. Not a single soul in sight. Not even a rat.

The train rests in its spot. The doors were opened, letting the stale odor of a day’s worth of human mass mix with sticky air.

A perfect setting for a murder scene.

"Besides, Janet, Susie, Dani from the music store,” you counted on your fingers, “the receptionist at HQ shall I go on?"

Bucky rolls his eyes as he steps into one of the cars to make a quick check. "Okay, the fact that you know about all the girls I've ever come across is just plain weird,” he remarked.

"I don't think you remember but I am first a detective hence the good observation skills and second, your unfortunate partner and roommate."

Bucky laughs loudly making his voice echo through the station and the dark tunnel. "Sounds more to me like you're jealous that I'm not taking you out on a date?"

You stop mid walk and turn back to him with a scowl painted on your face. He thinks it's cute. "You're delusional,” you retorted.

"But am I wrong?" he counters with an egotistical smirk. You can practically see the pride oozing off of him. You didn’t know where he got it from. He had zero personality and was as dumb as a doorknob. But then again, a fool doesn’t really know he’s a fool.

"I don't have time to waste on you,” you grumble at him.

Suddenly, the doors of the train slam shut making the two of you jump back and turn towards the train. The quiet chills your body, igniting goosebumps to bud along the skin of your arm despite the thick layers of cotton over them.

The bell blares in tandem with blinking red lights signaling the train’s departure from the platform. It threatens like an omen, warning you of the things to come.

The train departs, slowly at first then accelerating as the cars pass by one by one. A gust of fresh wind blows through the errant strands of your hair as the train speeds past. The sound of wheels chugging along the metal tracks echoes down the tunnel, growing distant with the drag of every minute.

The sudden burst of fear from the signal bell dies but leaves a sense of apprehension within the two and a message sprayed along the tiled wall across the platform in scarlet red.

“ꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴀʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ʟᴀꜱᴛ”

- ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ ᴏꜰ ᴏᴇᴅɪᴘᴜꜱ

TAGLIST: @chuckennuggets1213 @murdermornings @miraclesoflove @fckdeusername @marshyrebelcloud @flyingowls

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #cop!bucky barnes x reader #cop!bucky barnes x cop!reader #cop! au #detective! au #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes #cbc1kwc

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winterandiron · 5 years ago

Text

Bruised.

Summary: In which Peter gets beat up by some school bullies and next thing he knows his suit it's flying him to the avengers compound.

A/N: I posted this on AO3 last year but figured It wouldn’t hurt to have it here too. As always, english it's my second language so beware of possible grammar mistakes.

It’s always been there... the comments. No matter how low they got everyone seem to get a kick of them, they would have a laugh and get back to their regular business. But Peter had to carry them through the day, as a remainder that his life was incomplete, sure he was more than grateful for May and everything she did to take care of a child that wasn’t even hers, had she said no to take responsibility of Peter back when his parents had died who knows where he could have end up with how child services and the foster care system was these days.

But that didn’t make it easier, sadly.

“I would tell you to hire someone to pretend to be your mom, Parker, but not only are you an orphan, you’re also poor”

“Your parents are probably glad they died so they wouldn’t have to see what a loser their son is”

“Too bad your aunt got stuck with you, she probably doesn’t even want you either, Peter”

It was a daily issue and as it was telling himself he was used to it after years of enduring the verbal attacks but sometimes the things some of his classmates said to him hurt, it made him wonder if some of it was true. And then things started to scale.

The first time that happened he was shoved into the lockers on the hallway, then someone pushed him when he was on his way out of class which resulted on a bruised cheek after he went face first into the floor, then on and on. May would always ask but Peter had made himself a reputation as a clumsy person so when he said he hit himself with the lab door on his way out she would just let out a sigh and put some numbing cream on it.

Ever since the spider incident things were getting even more difficult for him. Not only did he had to silently take the nasty things they would say and the punches but he had to control himself not to punch back, no matter how much he wanted to, cuz if loses it and throws Flash through a wall someone will figure out something it’s wrong with him and next thing he knows he’s on a lab in the middle of nowhere and the government it’s examining his insides. In all honesty, he would rather not.

So there he was, on the side of his own public school, surrounded by four kids his own age that were so full of rage they found no way of letting it out other than on his face.

“Guys, can we not do this today?” He whispered, knowing there was no getting out of it. “Oh, I’m sorry it’s not convenient for you right now? Would you like to reschedule it?” Flash mocked him.

The guy next to him gave the first hit, right on his jaw, making the sharp pain run all the way to the back of his neck in a cool string.

“Why don’t you call Iron Man? Since you’re such good friends with him?” They all laughed.

Yeah, because he was going to call Mr. Stark over some bullies.

The pain rapidly started to run all over his body; his ribs, his stomach, his back. The taste of blood was way too familiar, not only from the beatings at school but also his spider-costumed adventures he went in every now and then. Peter could only tightened his fist and grunt both from the punches he was taking and all the strength it was taking him to not kick them back to their asses. Thoughts about his aunt who had enough trying to put food on his plate and raising him a good man to also had to deal him him being a superhero filled him, she didn’t need that. Ned could also he drag into it, and God know how much bad press Tony would take if they found out he recruited him at such a young age, they wouldn’t understand how much Mr. Stark had helped him get through the whole superhero thing and he already had many targets on his back, Peter would not help put another on it.

So he took it, all the hits, every punch and kick and when they were done Peter would go on with his life.

“Boss” The voice seemed to be far away, he was probably dreaming either way. “Boss” Or maybe not.

He whined at the pain on is neck, sleeping on top on his working table probably wasn’t his brightest idea.

“I hope you have a good reason to wake me up or you’ll end up with Dum-e on that community college.” He murmured. “I’m sorry to wake you, Sir, but an alarm just went off on the training wheels protocol.”

That was enough to wake him up.

“Where is he?” He questioned, his back shooting straight. “He’s on an alley three blocks away from his school” The AI informed. “Ok, what's wrong?” He was already on his way upstairs. “It appears one of his ribs it’s broken, his jaw might have a minor fracture and there’s some internal bleeding. Karen advised medical attention but Peter refuses to go to the hospital, Sir.”

Oh, God that kid was as stubborn as a mule.

“That’s it. Lock the suit, Friday, bring him home.” He spoke at the same time he was calling the medical wing to make sure there was a doctor there when the kid arrived.

About ten minutes later he walked outside into the green area that surrounded the compound just in time to see the Iron Spider suit fly it’s way to him with a very confused Peter Parker inside.

“Mr. Stark!? I-I… What? The suit just started flying and it wouldn’t let me move, when did you put repulsors on this thing?” The kids was way higher than usual when his mask faded back and his signature ramble came out.

Tony was taken aback by the state Peter was in; one of his eyes was swollen, there was blood running from his left eyebrow down his face, a bruise was starting to show it’s color on his jaw and more blood was coming off his parted lip. He was wrecked.

“What happened, Peter?” The question came out as a growl. “N-Nothing, just a run in with some bad guys on a dark alley, Sir. I had the flu last week and I’ve been kinda weak but I think I’m going to take it a little slower for a couple of days-” “Kid, I’m giving you an opportunity to come clean” He interrupted him. “But I could very well have Friday find some security footage of the whole thing, so either you tell me or I figure it out myself” “Mr. Stark there’s-” “We’ve been here, Pete. Last time you went behind my back things didn’t end well.” He let out a sigh. “This isn’t that, Sir, I swear.” The kid hurried to explain. “So… tell me what it is, because if you think I’m buying the bad guys on a dark alley at 3pm thing then you have something else your way.”

Tony was pissed but not necessarily at Peter, he was mad about the kid being hurt. He thought that by monitoring him and giving him a more advanced suit he could help Peter be more safe when he was swinging around New York, but what if he was just making it easier for the child put himself on danger?

“Come on, let’s get you checked out and then we can talk. Karen unlock the suit.” As soon as his orders were followed he had to run help Peter stay on his feet. “You can’t even stand, Spider Man.”

He guided him to the compound with one arm carefully wrapped around his hips so he wouldn’t hurt his broken rib.

“The internal bleeding it’s already slowing down on it’s own, I gave him some strong painkillers ‘cuz he’s going to need them later but his healing process seems to be accelerated just like his metabolism so there’s really not much to do anymore.” The head of medical at the compound informed him.

“Thanks, Doc.” Tony padded his arm and saw him leave his lab.

He walked to Peter, who was sitting on a stool with his stare lose somewhere near his bots, and handed him a glass of iced water.

“Here, you might need this.” The kid took a long gulp but keep his eyes away from Tony.

There were two butterfly closures on his eyebrow and the bruise on his jaw seemed bigger now that the purple was getting darker.

“Peter, I just want you to be safe, Kid. Broken bones and bleeding insides it’s not safe, I don’t care how fast you can heal.” He began explaining. “I-I just don’t want to bother anyone with these stuff.” He offered but Tony could barely hear him. “This is not a burden, this is your safety which makes it priority number one for me, for May and it should be for yourself too” He kept his voice as soothing as possible because he wanted to school the boy but Peter had had enough for a day. “Who did this to you, Kid?” The question rolled out softly.

Peter eyes started to water, it was clear on his face that he had been carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders and Tony wanted to take off of him because nobody should be dealing with such things so young in life.

“There’s… there’s some guys at the school…” His voice stuttered. “You’re being bullied?” He got a nod for an answer. “An this is new or…?”

Peter’s eyes lowered again and that’s all he needed to put two and two together, suddenly Tony had the urge to comfort him, to take care of it all so the kid didn’t have to go through anymore shit. His hand brushed Peter’s dark locks of hair back, the kid went rigid for a second at the unfamiliar feeling of Tony’s gentle touch. Physical affection wasn’t the billionaire's forte but it felt right to pull Peter’s head close to his chest to plant a kiss at the top of it, the muscles of his back relaxing under his hand as he run it up and down through it slowly.

“Fighting crime will never be more important than your safety, Peter, and if I have to face a bunch of sixteen years old kids to ensure it, including you, then so be it.” He concluded.

Anthony Stark had seen his fair share of things -he’d been to space for fuck’s sake- and yet here is this kid who takes away his breath with just how selfless he could be. He manage to keep his abilities a secret (even from his best friend) and decided to use them for the greater good, not caring that it meant putting his own life on the line and when he faced trouble as Peter Parker and not Spider Man he took it like any defenseless teenager would because using his newfound strength could only get him on a worse predicament and his loved ones could be drag into it too. The kid was hands down the best person he had come across in all his years walking around this blue earth and even if he didn’t knew the first thing about taking care of someone other than himself, he would learn and he would keep Peter safe even if it was the last thing he did because that child deserved someone to fight for him as hard as he was fighting for everyone else.

Peter was breathing deeply, the pain was still very much present but he was more relaxed and maybe it was the painkillers or maybe it was Mr. Stark comforting touch but he was confident on the fact that he wouldn’t have to deal with Flash or any of his minions anymore because Tony said he’d take care of it and Peter believed him, so he fell into the darkness with ease knowing that after all he got someone looking out for him.

And when you know Iron Man has your back, you sleep like a baby.

_______

Hope you guys enjoyed, sorry for my poor grammar and as always feedback it’s appreciated!

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the-reverse-mermaid · 5 years ago

Text

Feel Again: a whump fic

Hey buddies! I’m working on my WIPs currently and i am so grateful for ur patience but i’ve also had this thing sitting in my docs for several months and I wanted to share it at last, but just a clip because..well...in whole, it’s kinda darker than my usual stuff so the whole thing may or may not be posted in the future. This is a gift for the wondrous @parkrstark who had a birthday recently and who is a beautiful person and talented writer <3 Enjoy, my love~

FIC INFO: around 5k words, IronDad and SpiderSon, hurt/comfort, warnings for nightmares, panic/anxiety attacks, past dehumanization; also it’s implied that Tony is Peter’s guardian bc May died...sry, i was too coward to write her ^^;

...

It’s been seven days, ten hours and fifteen minutes.

Peter watches, blank-faced and empty-eyed, as bowl and spoon are placed in his hands. It makes Tony feel like he’s dealing with a robot, but even his robots are more lively than this. Taking Peter’s spoon, the man presses the Cheerios under the milk so that every piece of cereal will be soggy, just the way Peter likes. In times past Tony had made fun of him for the preference, and Peter had ardently defended it as the only right way to eat cereal.

Now the memory of Old Peter echoes in the back of his mind like a glimpse of an alternate reality.

“Think you can finish all of that, buddy?” Tony asks, leaning down so he’s in Peter’s line of sight. Dulled brown eyes trail up to him, then back to the bowl and he nods, picking up the spoon. Tony breathes a sigh of relief as the kid starts to eat, chewing slowly.

He checks his phone and feels a nervous thrill at the notification there: I’m about to come down. Still want to do this? He glances at Peter before typing and sending a quick, Yes, ty.

“Hey, bud, remember that time you, me and Pep spent Saturday morning watching dumb cartoons and eating breakfast food til noon?” he begins, picking at his own cereal to seem casual about it. “I thought we could do that today, since she’s got no meetings til this afternoon. Whaddaya say?”

Peter pauses. He lifts one shoulder indifferently, but Tony can see anxiety hidden in the movement. Apathy and fear; whatever happened in the last four months stripped Peter-- lively, expressive Peter-- of all but these two emotions. They might as well have stolen Tony’s entire fortune; that loss would’ve hurt less.

Before Tony can think how to reassure him or possibly backtrack, there are footsteps in the hall and Pepper is rounding the corner with a bright smile on her face.

“Hey, guys!” she greets, pausing in the entrance of the kitchen to look them over. She’s comfortably dressed in pajama bottoms and her ‘I lost an electron’ shirt that she and Peter both own, her hair down and feet socked. It’s 10 times less intimidating than her usual business suits and high heels but still Peter squirms closer to Tony’s side and eyes her warily, choosing to look at her feet rather than her face. Pepper wilts a bit at the reception.

“Morning, hon,” Tony calls. He pushes a pleading ‘we can do this, just act normal’ into his gaze, and Pepper, bless her, seems to get the message. “We’ve got cereal over here, help yourself.”

Pepper grabs a bowl off the counter and crosses the room, her movements deliberate and nonthreatening. There’s no change from Peter, whose own bowl is sitting in his lap like something hardly worth his interest.

“Hmm,” she hums. “Cheerios are good, but mind if I add to the spread? I think we’ve got some frozen quiches around here somewhere, that sounds good to me.”

Tony smiles. “Go for it.” As soon as she walks away he nudges Peter and says quietly, “You’re okay, Pete. Nothing to be stressed about, yeah? Pep is just like me: she wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

For what it’s worth, the kid does relax minutely. In the interim of Pepper opening packages and using the microwave, Tony picks up the remote and turns on the TV, browsing around for something safe and feel-good before settling on Nickelodeon, which is showing some animated movie. Peter’s eyes flick up to the screen.

“Alright, I got mini-quiches and even some blueberry muffins, ” Pepper announces upon her return, both hands holding trays of said items. “Totally gourmet... And by gourmet, I mean Costco brand.”

“The best,” Tony agrees, snatching one of each as soon as she sets them down. “Which would you rather have, bud?” He turns to Peter, who is done with his cereal and is now looking at the new food. At Tony’s invitation he hesitates but points at a muffin and Tony tries not to get too excited about it as he hands one over and watches the kid begin nibbling the top. So far things seem to be going well.

Now he’s just gotta go through with the next step.

Around ten minutes in, the movie cuts to a commercial break. Tony shifts in preparation to stand up and Peter immediately follows suit, not even questioning, but carefully Tony takes the boy’s hands and holds them at arm’s length. Peter looks at him questioningly, a rare moment of eye contact.

“I’m just gonna take a bathroom break, okay, bud?” he explains. “You stay here with Pep.” He tucks Peter’s hands to his lap and stands.

Peter keens and sits up straighter, wide eyes kindling anew with anxiety. Tony feels like the worst human being on the planet, but he knows he needs to do this. He needs to help Peter do this.

“It’s just a few minutes apart,” he promises. “I’ll go straight there and back.”

“And I’ll be here with you the whole time,” Pepper chimes in. She scoots closer from the other side of the couch and puts a soothing hand on Peter’s back, easing him back into the cushions as Tony leaves the room. The man tries not to look back as he hears her quieting and comforting the boy’s whimpers. Pepper is a better people person than Tony will ever be and he knows she’ll take good care of him, but Tony’s fingers still itch with the urge to turn right back around.

As soon as he gets to the bathroom, Tony pulls up a feed of the living room on his phone via FRIDAY’s cams to watch the room he just left. On the couch, Peter is decidedly not coping as well with Pepper as he does Tony, but he isn’t having a meltdown; in fact, he’s allowing her to sit close and keep an arm wrapped around his shoulders, though his forehead remains creased in apprehension. The poor kid looks like he’s fighting with himself to be patient; his gaze is torn between watching the TV and checking the doorway for Tony’s return.

Biting his lip, Tony puts his screen away and sighs. He paces the small space, checking his watch impatiently until at last five minutes have passed.

On his way back he hears it.

The yelling.

“Peter? Peter, honey, you’re okay! Please calm down, you’re home, you’re safe-” Pepper.

His walk turns into a sprint as he rounds the corner, heart in his throat, and takes in the worrying scene before him.

Peter is curled up in a fetal position on the couch, Pepper kneeling in front of him with helplessness on her face as she tries to get his attention. Peter’s hands are pressed over his ears, his eyes clenched shut, his whole body shuddering as he rocks and cries inconsolably.

“What happened?” Tony demands.

Pepper hurries backwards so Tony can take her spot. “I don’t know what- what agitated him,” she says in a rush. There are tears in her eyes. “He just suddenly started panicking and hyperventilating and- and he won’t let me touch him, he screams if I try-”

“Don’t scream!” Peter says suddenly. Both adults’ attention snaps to him. His eyes have opened but they’re unseeing as he croaks, “Don’t scream, they- they’ll hear! Be good, be good, be good, I- I’m good- please, I’m--”

“Peter, hey,” Tony tries, carefully putting his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

At the touch, Peter flinches, his head smacking against the couch. His whispering gets more frantic. “I’ll be better! I will! I-”

“Peter, please, stop!” The man takes Peter’s face between his hands. “You’re safe. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. Can you hear me, buddy? It’s your- it’s Tony.”

Peter goes still.

“Tony,” he repeats. His face crumples slowly, lip trembling. “I miss Tony...”

The man of iron feels his heart splinter. I miss you, too, Pete. Come back to me.

“You’ve got him,” he says. “Tony’s here now. He’s got you. He’s gonna keep you safe.”

In the stillness that follows, all is quiet save the sound of Peter’s rapid breathing, but even that is slowing and evening out. His blinks several times as the storm clouds in his eyes dissipate, light returning gradually as the seconds pass. Tony’s thumb strokes away a tear still rolling down the boy’s cheek, and at last Peter focuses and looks at rather than through him.

They stare at one another for a long moment. The teen swallows and opens his mouth with a shaky inhale, a fresh sheen of tears filling his eyes.

“S-sorry… my bad,” he rasps.

Tony’s brain short-circuits for a moment, and all he can think is how unbelievable it is that the most of Peter he’s seen in so long could come as the result of such an episode. He doesn’t know whether it makes him want to laugh or cry.

He pulls himself onto the couch and gathers his kid into his arms, one hand bracing Peter’s back, the other nestling in his still-overgrown curls. Peter responds by clinging around his middle and pressing his ear to Tony’s chest, no doubt timing his breaths by the heartbeats there.

It’s only after Pepper leaves to find them a blanket that Tony sees the TV screen and the image it’s paused on. It’s an infomercial… an infomercial for obedience training. The closed captioning advertises “Don Sullivan’s Secrets To Training The Perfect Dog: order the DVD set now and get a complimentary Command Collar”.

Tony had never had strong feelings about infomercials in general but at that moment he wants nothing more than to buy every single TV station and destroy them all. Screw Don Sullivan.

He’s surprised when Peter suddenly huffs a humorless sound. “I’m pretty broken, aren’t I,” he states quietly, voice wrecked.

Tony pushes his fingers through the scruff on the back of Peter’s neck, wishing so hard that he could turn back time. “No,” he refutes. “No, you’re not.”

Peter is quiet for a long time, so long that Tony wonders if he’s given in to the pull of post-panic-attack exhaustion and fallen asleep. But in a tired voice weighted by more sadness than any man, woman or child should ever know comes a tiny reply:

“Yes, I am.”

...

Peter has scars. A lot of them.

It’s been fifteen days since and he’s barely improved, still clinging and hesitant to speak or make eye contact with anyone other than Tony. He lets himself talk in small bursts but it’s nothing like he used to be; he can also manage up to fifteen minutes alone without having a panic attack if Tony has to shower or use the restroom. He does the same so long as Tony waits for him outside the door (within range of hearing his heartbeat).

After the disastrous separation experiment, Tony isn’t eager to push much more than that.

(Peter has scars.)

Some are thicker than others, especially on his wrists and his back; the white lines criss crossing over his form tell tale of screams long since silenced. Just seeing the marks makes Tony’s knees weak with a concoction of feelings he can’t describe-- prominently there’s horror, because he remembers how every injury was discovered and treated on that first night back and it was like Tony himself was taking a beating… and then there’s regret-guilt-anger-helplessness, because the cuts are healed now-- Peter’s healing capabilities took over soon after he got the proper nutrition and medical attention-- but poison memories are sealed inside.

If he hugs the kid a little longer than necessary after watching him get his boot cast removed and seeing the scar tissue that mars him there too, Peter doesn’t seem to mind. The kid leans into his touch more now than he ever did before.

“Alright, little shadow,” Tony says brightly as he pulls away, using the nickname that had never been more appropriate in their relationship; having a kid clinging closer than a literal shadow at all times did that to you. He glances one more time at the newly-healed foot and gets an idea. “What do you say we celebrate this cast coming off? Wanna take a walk around the compound, get some fresh air?”

Peter looks up at him through his ragged, unstyled hair, doe eyes wide but empty. Tony smooths his bangs back and the kid blinks once as if to focus. Tony can see him trying to be there, trying to care. Trying and trying and trying.

“...’kay,” he whispers, fragile. He lets Tony take his hands and help him stand.

Once he’s got them bundled up in jackets to withstand cold winds that roll off the water, Tony hiding a wrist gauntlet on the hand in his pocket (because yes, he’s that paranoid), the two of them (as one figure) step outside for the first time in-- in a while. Definitely a while.

A cool breeze follows them on their walk and Tony allows a deep breath of actual fresh air to clean out his lungs and settle in his veins. It’s not very often he gets to enjoy the benefits of living outside the city.

They end up walking along a trail that follows the Hudson and Tony decides that this actually was a good idea: the nature-y sights and sounds seem to help bring Peter to life. There’s a glimmer of contentedness in his face as he looks out over the trees and water and sky. He loosens his grip on Tony’s arm and settles for a gentle handhold. Tony looks at him sideways, feeling a swell of hope rise in his chest, right behind where his arc reactor used to be.

“It’s nice to get out, huh,” he says softly. The edges of Peter’s eyes crinkle in what might be the world’s tiniest beginning of a smile.

Other than occasionally checking that Peter’s leg isn’t hurting, Tony shuts his mouth and lets the white noise around them do its thing. He’s been talking too much lately anyway, trying to overcompensate.

They’ve been walking for almost an hour and stopped to admire a small waterfall when Peter suddenly bristles and presses himself close to Tony’s side. In paranoia, the man pulls his gauntlet hand out of his pocket and is all but ready to activate it, when all that comes around the path toward them is a wobbling toddler in a puffy coat.

They stare at him. He stares back, a gap-tooth grin on his face. “‘Ah-dy!” he says in greeting.

No, nope, I’ve definitely got my hands full being just ONE kid’s Daddy, Tony thinks worriedly, when behind the toddler appears a man who moves to scoop the boy up in his arms. The man holds the boy, who’s probably about 18-24 months old, by his feet and the kid shrieks in delight, wiggling around upside-down.

“Leaving me behind, guys?” a woman’s voice calls before a third person appears, putting her arm on her husband’s shoulder and glancing curiously at Tony and Peter. Peter hides himself behind Tony, eyes on the dirt, and Tony manages to cast them a weak smile to be polite whilst squeezing his kid’s arm reassuringly.

The man sets their kid down and he immediately spins around, looking at the waterfall. “Wa-er!” As he tottles away, Tony catches sight of the symbol on the back of his coat and does a double-take.

“Nice jacket,” he says without thinking.

He glances down at Peter. The kid has noticed too-- his eyes are locked on the symbol, expression unreadable.

The man turns around from where he and his wife are watching their toddler. He follows their gaze and laughs. It’s a tiny Spider-Man themed coat.

“Thanks! Spidey’s our family’s favorite. He saved Shannon’s life when she was pregnant with this dude,” he says, indicating his family members respectively. “The guy may not be around lately, or moved, or- whatever, there’s lot’s of theories- but... he isn’t forgotten, not for us.”

“-ah-DEE!” the little guy calls from where he and the woman have wandered, and this time he seems to be referring to his actual daddy so the man gives them an awkward little wave before walking off to catch up.

The strangers gone, Peter sags into Tony’s side. His face is still unreadable. Tony can’t think of anything to do other than wordlessly steer them down the path toward home, wondering at the heavy thought bubbles building over his kid’s head.

…

Sixteen-and-a-half days.

A strangled-sounding scream cuts through the dark and into Tony’s heart like a knife.

Tony’s startled but he isn’t surprised; startled because of the rude awakening from being asleep at the kid’s side, and the ever-terrifying possibility that something might be wrong, but not surprised in the conventional way because he’s aware that this has happened every night since the kid came off the heavy meds.

Peter is whimpering strings of ‘please’ and ‘no’, and Tony turns on the bedside lamp to see him huddled in a ball, eyes closed and budding with tears, one fist stuffed in his mouth to stifle the noise. He winces when Tony puts a hand on the side of his head.

“Peter,” Tony whispers, so tired. “Peter, bud, you’re okay. It’s just a bad dream. Open those eyes for me?”

Peter whines, but his eyes do crack open to anguished slits. He’s shaking beneath Tony’s palm, and biting down so hard on his hand that the man sees a trail of blood running down his knuckles. Tony’s other hand gently pries the fist out away from his mouth. Peter lets him.

“Hey bud,” the man greets softly, catching the kid’s gaze. Peter stills as his surrogate father rubs a thumb along his temple soothingly.

Tony smiles sadly. “What did I tell those nightmares last night, huh? My kid is off-limits; only good dreams allowed. Iron Man decrees it.”

Peter stares at him, breathing erratic as his awareness returns. He inhales sharply, an attempt to calm down, but his breath catches on a sob on the exhale. He covers his face with both hands and dissolves into fresh cries, leaning into Tony as the man takes the back of his head and pulls him close.

“Shhh,” Tony murmurs, fingers carding through the curls at Peter’s nape. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Go ahead and cry, I’m here.”

It takes some time for Peter to cry himself out. Tony doesn’t stop whispering reassurances the whole time. He can tell by the pace of the breaths beneath him that Peter’s still awake.

“You can tell me anything, Pete,” he offers gently, as he has every night. “I’m here for you.”

Peter has yet to tell Tony about what happened to him, or about the nightmares that haunt him so badly. As he comforts, Tony traces his thumb across the hollow under Peter’s eye, wiping away wetness there and remembering how the straps of a muzzle had traced the same spot in a perverse fashion not so long ago, before Iron Man had removed and destroyed the thing in disgust.

Some scars can’t be bandaged as easily as others, but for the first time in all such nights, Peter does respond.

“Mr. Stark,” he says so softly that Tony holds his breath so as to not miss anything, “Mr. Stark, I- I don’t- I just don’t understand.”

It’s in these moments, somehow, that Peter is most himself. The storms drag Peter out of his hiding place. “What don’t you understand,” the man prompts. He pulls back to see the teen’s face. His young brow is furrowed in- confusion? concentration?

Peter chews his lip for a moment before going on. “It’s like, when I was there… all I could- all I dreamed about was home. But now I’m here and I, I can’t- I’m st-still there, you know?” He meets Tony’s eyes. “What if I can’t ever really come home?” he concludes hopelessly.

Tony does unfortunately, painfully know what he’s asking about, because he has a similar trauma and it’s called Afghanistan.

“You just need time, buddy,” he says. “I know what you mean, trust me, I do. It just gets better with time.”

“Is it worth it?” Peter presses suddenly. “Am I-” His eyes trail sideways to the sheets and he swallows. “Am I even worth it?”

Tony’s jaw hardens. “That’s not even a question.”

“I-I did bad things… And, and I’m not the same.”

“You didn’t have a choice, kid. And being different? That’s not as bad as you think.”

“I’m ruining your life.”

“Peter, you are not-”

“I’m inhuman and I’m a waste of space.”

It’s the way he says it, like it’s a known fact, something he’s been drilled with and long since accepted, that really gets under Tony’s skin. He’s been pretty good at holding himself together so far, all things considered, but can’t help that he feels his own eyes stinging with tears at the sound of his kid reiterating the garbage he’s been brainwashed with.

He sits up so suddenly that Peter startles.

“I’m not really tired anymore,” he says briskly, throwing the covers off himself and trying to discreetly wipe at his eyes.

Peter pushes himself up too, eyes wide and concerned. “Mr. Stark?”

“I’m feeling like a trip to the lab, maybe a snack on the way. How ‘bout you, kid? Wanna join your old man for some late night wandering?”

Peter presses his lips together in confusion, but he nods. Tony pushes the covers back more so that the kid can get his feet on the ground before stepping out himself, the both of them slipping into their usual bracing of one another.

Apparently speaking, and now getting up, is too much deviation from the routine for Peter because in his eyes he’s slipping back into himself, expression closing off. Tony hopes he doesn’t feel embarrassed; Before-Peter would’ve been, but Now-Peter is hard to read.

FRIDAY turns on lights as they pad down the hall, already long since attuned to Tony’s nocturnal habits. A quick stop at the kitchen supplies them with a bowl of Chex mix, and then the lab doors are whooshing open and Tony’s realizing he doesn’t actually feel like tinkering. He just needed a reprieve to collect his thoughts but now he’s got Peter out of bed for no reason and it’s not healthy, he’s gonna ruin his kid, he’s a terrible guardian-

He shakes his head. One thing at a time.

“Come sit with me,” he says unnecessarily, leading a compliant Peter to the couch and settling him down with the bowl of Chex in his lap. Neither of them move to eat any of it. Tony takes a seat beside him and drums his fingers on the knee of his worn sweatpants for a long moment, looking around for something to do now that he’s brought them here.

His eyes fall on a forgotten Target bag sitting stuffed in one corner and the metaphorical light bulb goes on.

As quickly as he sat, Tony’s back on his feet. Peter’s gaze follows him as he crosses to a nearby screen, booting it on and then retrieving the items he needs from the shopping bag. He shields his activities from Peter and whispers instructions to FRIDAY before finally whirling around to look at his kid with a crazy grin. It probably seems like he’s gone crazy at this point.

“Buddy, I have one question for ya,” he states, hands raising and pausing for dramatic effect. “Have you ever played… Just Dance?”

Peter stares at him the way one might stare at a fascinating tornado. He slowly shakes his head.

Tony laughs nervously. “Uhh... me neither. But listen, after you moved in, I kind of-” ...panicked... “-sent Happy to the store to find things you might like to have around the house? Like video games? I don’t know what kids like. Happy doesn’t either. He must’ve checked the internet or something because he came home with this, and kid, can you imagine Harold Hogan in the store buying a dancing game? Now that’s an image I treasure. On behalf of his efforts, I think we should give it a go, right here, right now.”

By the time the rambling stops, Dum-E, U and Butterfingers have made their way to this corner of the lab like curious cats trying to interpret their boss’ strange behavior. Noticing their presence, Tony throws his arm out to point at Dum-E. The other two bots startle comically.

“You,” Tony declares. “You can hold a wii remote, right? You and me. Let’s dance. Pete, you’re on the tambourine. I don’t actually have a tambourine. Just keep time by knocking, like this.”

The man leans forward and raps his knuckles twice against the side of the chex mix bowl. It’s not like it’s loud, or even necessary, but it’s something to get the kid involved. Peter looks a little lost, but not in the dissociative way- more like he’s trying to figure out if he’s actually awake or if this is a weird dream he’s having. Still, Tony’s on a roll and he feels dangerously confident. Not quite confident enough to ask Peter to dance, but enough to make a fool of himself in the hopes of bringing comic relief to one of their awful nights.

Within a few minutes, FRIDAY has configured the game on Tony’s screen and the main menu music is playing through the speakers. One newly-unwrapped wii-remote is clutched in Dum-E’s claw, safety strap secured, and Tony’s using the other to flip through the menu and create player profiles.

“Okay, so…” he mutters, finally arriving at the song selection screen. “What do we have here... Gotta make sure we choose an easy one. Not for me, of course; I’m worried about dum-dum over there.”

His eye catches on a song title, and he pauses to let the sample play. At first it was just because the song is marked “Beginner Level”, but he recognizes the clip as a tune he’d once caught Peter humming as he worked on some homework. Being the privacy-respecting parental figure he is, Tony had proceeded to tease him relentlessly because One Direction? Wow, Pete, gotta say I didn’t peg you as a pre-teen girl from 2012.

Still, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter perk just slightly, the little dork-- and it’s enough that Tony’s pressing the ‘play’ button without further mental argument.

The screen changes to four dancers, two of which are labeled for his and Dum-E’s remotes. As the opening measures of guitar riff begin, Tony mimics the pose of the avatar on screen and peeks over his shoulder.

“I need my tambourine player,” he reminds, and though Peter’s face is twisted in an expression of intrigue, he quickly readies his knuckle against the side of the Chex bowl and starts tapping it in time with the music.

And Tony dances.

“You’re insecure… Don’t know what for. You’re turnin’ heads as you walk through the do-o-or.”

“How the crap?” Tony mutters, watching Dum-E hit every move perfectly whilst his own avatar misses several points. “How-“

“Don’t need make-up… to cover up. Bein’ the way that you are in en-uh-uh-ough.”

The graphics go crazy for the beginning of the chorus and Tony cringes, though that changes when behind him he hears a small laugh that makes his heart stutter. He doesn’t look just yet, just tries harder to wave his remote hand in time with the song with exaggerated movements.

“Baby, you light up my world like nobody else. The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed-“

This is definitely written for preteen girls, he sighs internally. Still... it’s undeniably catchy. To add to the show, he starts mumble-singing out the words aloud as they scroll on-screen:

“The way you smile at the ground, it ain’t hard to tell, you don’t kno-o-ow, you don’t know you’re beautiful-”

That’s when the ‘tambourine’ beats stop. When Tony looks behind him he sees the kid shaking with silent laughter, an open-mouthed smile on his face.

He meets Tony’s eyes and for once there’s no weight of the world there. He’s just-- Peter.

It’s a sight too beautiful to describe.

“Oooh, keep trying!” the game prompts when Tony forgets to keep up. Their eyes flicker to the screen and Tony huffs.

“I’m not cut out for this follow-along stuff,” he says airily, giving up on it completely. “Tony Stark follows no one’s rules but his own.”

And with that, he slings his remote strap around U’s claw and breaks into his own freestyle moves, the ones he usually reserves for dancing in private, when he’s sleep-deprived and a little loopy. Be that as it may, Tony Stark knows he is a good dancer; he never imagined it would come in handy for a moment such as this, but heck, there’s not much he wouldn’t do if it got Peter doubling over in peels of giggles like he is right now.

When the song hits the chorus a second time, Tony grabs a screwdriver off the shelf, turning it upside-down as an impromptu microphone, and he sings the next words directly to his beaming kid:

“Peter, you light up my world like no-bo-dy else. The way that you- have- hair? Na-na-nanana-- The way you smile at the ground, it ain’t hard to tell, you don’t kno-o-ow--”

Peter goes still, a lingering smile on his face as he listens to Tony’s altered lyrics.

“-If only you saw what I can see, you'd understand why I LOVE you so PERFECTLY-- Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe you don't know, oh oh- You don't know you're beautiful! Oh, oh-oh, Pe-ter you’re so beau-ti-ful!”

Tony breathes out, surprisingly choked up. He repeats the message as emphatically as he can, for however many times the song repeats it, his movements getting more silly and more sloppy until the music finally ends, bots trilling excitedly in the background about Dum-E’s somehow-perfect score.

He lowers himself to the ground in front of Peter, panting from exertion. The hum of menu music plays behind them but the game is forgotten.

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” Tony breathes. “You are worth… everything. The whole world. You were, you are, and you always will be.”

Peter’s eyes shine like stars. He melts into Tony’s hold when the man leans forward.

…

Peter has scars, but Peter is not his scars.

#tag as starker and i hunt u down and replace your shampoo with hair remover #im joking but PLEASE DO NOT TAG AS A SHIP #the song is supposed to be cute and silly and dad-jokey #Irondad and Spiderson #tony stark and peter parker #irondad fanfiction #my writing

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themaskedwriter · 5 years ago

Text

Cutting it Close

Clues: I like to ‘do things’ ‘in the wild’, like surround myself with rainbow people! If I’m not writing I’m hosting yet another session of Dungeons and Dragons or taking care of My Drunk Roommate.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Platonic! Tony Stark x Reader, Platonic! Sam Wilson x Reader, Platonic! Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 6k Warnings: Fluff all the way through

Summary: When you moved out to New York to escape a relationship and humdrum life, you had planned on getting a job working at a salon or barber shop. What you hadn’t planned on was getting a job at a barber shop at the foot of Avengers Tower and becoming the go-to for most of the team. You also hadn’t expected to catch the attention of Captain America’s baby blue eyes.

It was hard proving yourself as anything in New York City, the sprawling metropolis acting as the East Coast’s version of Los Angeles. Actors working as waitresses during the night so they could audition at Broadway and smaller theatre companies during the day, fashion designers swamping Mood fabrics with a raw hope of running into Tim Gunn and a camera crew; script writers, models, business start ups, writers, everyone swarmed this city. That didn’t even count the people who had grown up in this bustling nonsense and didn’t have the common sense to leave.

“I just don’t know how anyone can even afford to live in Brooklyn,” I lamented to my client as I raked a comb through the top of his hair.

The pompadour was back in style, high and tight shave on the sides with long sweeping locks on top held in place with way too much pomade. The only problem was guys these days didn’t want to have to put too much effort into styling their hair like they did back in the forties and fifties, hyper masculinity creeping in from the sixties and seventies when all the men wore their hair short and sensible following Korea and Vietnam.

“Unless you grew up there and have rent lock, you don’t,” the man laughed flipping a page of the newspaper he was reading.

Getting a job even working as a barber had been hard, most stylist and barbers out here got their license and job through apprenticing under an established owner and then received their job security that way. But I had to get as far away from my asshole ex as possible and there was no easier place to get lost than in a city that already had far too many people. I had gone into a lot of salons before finally a barber who was getting up there in age and low on staff decided to take a risk on a girl from some backwoods state.

“So where did you find to stay?” He asked in the sense that he didn’t care, he had just run out of small talk as I drug the straight razor along his nape to sharpen his outline.

“Small place in Greenwich Village. It seems like a good neighborhood so far,” I responded cheerily. I didn’t mention how every appliance I had didn’t seem to work, including my radiator which was starting to be more of a concern as the temperatures dropped. He didn’t want to hear my problems and I didn’t want him to think I was fishing for a larger tip. “All set, Mr. Conroy.”

I moved the mirror around behind him so he could look at the large one in front of him and see the back of his head to affirm that the neckline looked good and his cowlick was manageable. Paying his forty dollars for his cut and leaving me a five, I still managed to sell him a puck of the pomade I used before wishing him a good rest of his day and turning to clean up my station.

It was just me today, the rest of the boys who worked here had stayed out late for the Superbowl celebrations, rooting against Tom Brady and then having to drink their disappointment away had taken a lot out of them. I didn’t look up as the bell above the door tinkled, focusing instead on trying to sweep all the hair shavings into the bin.

“Hi there, just a moment please!” I called out over my shoulder as I rushed to toss the dirty towels in the hamper and grab some clean ones.

“Take your time, ma’am,” came the polite response, something that was a rarity in the sprawling metropolis.

Finally turning I stopped dead in my tracks as I stared up at a shaggy, but beautiful Captain America. I was not prepared for this, people in New York saw The Avengers out and about all the time. Getting coffee, coming in and out of the tower down the street for meetings, grabbing lunch. I, however, was not prepared in the slightest. I assumed they had their own people for their personal upkeep.

“Do you have any openings for a shave and a cut?” the Captain asked hesitantly after I gawked at him for probably an inappropriate amount of time.

“Uh, yes! Yes, sir! Come on back with me,” I ushered to my barber chair and underneath the thick tawny beard I could detect a hint of a rosy flush.

“Steve is just fine, ma’am.” He insisted and I managed to flash a smile.

“Well, Y/N is just fine for me.”

Steve settled in and I flared a cape around his broad shoulders and clasped it behind his neck. I ran my finger between the neck of the cape and his skin, like standard and ignored the shiver that passed down his spine.

“Is this too tight?” I asked habitually and he shook his head.

“No,” he answered softly as I ran my fingers through his long golden locks, pulling them horizontally from the ridge of his head so I could get an accurate idea of how long it was.

“What are we thinking today, Steve?”

“Well, um, I have to do press related stuff again so I need to get rid of all of it. Tony gave me an electric razor, but it got caught,” Steve lifted his chin to show where underneath there was a patch of what started as a clean shear to then looking a little mangled.

I giggled and nodded trying not to freak out that Captain freaking America was talking to me so flippantly about who could only be Tony Stark. “Well, at least you started underneath. Do you style your hair at all when it’s short?” Grabbing my clippers I slip a half inch guard on it and start running it up the back of his head, tossing the shaved parts off to the side.

“Sometimes I’ll use a little grease to spike the front. Sam says it’ll help with ‘the ladies’, Buck says it stops me from twitching it out of my eyes all the time like I did as a kid when we couldn’t afford to cut it.”

It’s strange, the raw brutal honesty that people speak to their hairdressers with. It’s something I’ve long become accustom too. Women have said they’ve had easier times leaving their husband than their hairdresser, but the men are the most loyal. They’re in every four weeks like clockwork and I selfishly hoped that Steve wouldn’t be any different.

A comfortable silence fell over us as I worked, blending his sides into his top as my shears snipped inches of rough and damaged ends off onto the linoleum floor. When I finished with his haircut I held up my hand mirror behind him like I always do.

“How’s this feel?” I ask and his runs his large hands through his hair.

“Wow, it looks exactly like I used to have it cut back in the day,” Steve admired, now looking more hipster than hobo since I hadn’t gotten around to his scruffy beard.

“Well, I cheated and used a reference picture,” I snickered and pointed to the far wall where Steve, Tony, Natasha, Clint, Thor, and Bruce all stood for a photo op after saving New York from hordes of aliens.

“Oh, god, I forget how many places around here have that dumb article hanging on their walls,” Steve grumbled, sobering instantly.

I bit my lip and mixed up the shaving cream. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not from New York so I don’t think you’re all that impressive.” It was supposed to come across as teasing, but my tone fell flat and I instantly flushed hoping that I didn’t insult him.

Steve blinked his impossibly blue eyes at me a few times before breaking out into one of the most genuine, gut shaking, laughs I’ve ever heard. His right hand reached up to clutch at his heart, or grab his boob, I wasn’t really sure, and he doubled over in his seat. When he finally got control of himself he had to wipe a tear from his eye and he looked up at me with sparkling eyes and a wide smile.

“I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear that,” he wheezed and settled himself back into the chair so I could spread the shaving cream on his cheeks and chin.

I laughed softly and sucked my lips in, showing him to mimic, and when he did I spread the cream over his upper lip. Clipping the sharpening leather around my hip, I pulled out a worn leather pouch and flipped it open, the silver straight razors gleaming in the sunlight. Pulling one out I flipped it open, palming the ivory handle tightly as I drug the steel across his cheeks, scraping and sloughing off the coarse hair.

“I haven’t had this done since before the war,” Steve muttered carefully.

“Which one?” I asked, trying not to get overwhelmed by the spice of his cologne that was now assaulting me since I was so close.

“Oh, you know, just the big one,” he responded cheekily, letting me tilt his jaw up so I could carve around the sharp bone and down his throat.

“You’re awful trusting for someone who’s been in so many that they have big ones and little ones.”

“Yeah, well, if you see everyone as an enemy you wouldn’t get to meet pretty girls who told you weren’t all that impressive.”

I feel my cheeks burn and I can’t help the goofy smile on my face as I move to his chin, biting down on my bottom lip to get him to protrude the little baby beard under his plump bottom lip.

“Doc usually kicks out guys who try to woo me, you know,” I warn, the teasing tone of my voice working this time.

Steve tries to restrain the smile that wants to take over his face and crinkle the space I was shaving. “I’ll have to keep it to myself then when he’s around.”

By the time I finished shaving Steve and wiping the cream off his face with a warm towel he looked twenty years younger. Steve rubbed his large hand over his jaw as I removed the cape from around his neck.

“I feel like I lost ten pounds,” he joked and I looked down at the floor with all the hair at my feet.

“I could probably make a small dog out of that,” I joked back and immediately swept it into a dust bin. “I’m not going to come get mobbed for Captain America’s hair clippings, am I?”

Steve winced and pulled out his wallet. “God, I hope not.” He laughed and handed me a hundred dollar bill.

“I’ll get your change,” I commented and went over to the till.

“No, it’s all yours. You earned it,” Steve insisted.

“Steve, that’s like forty dollars for a tip,” I said in shock still holding out the bill.

“Thanks again, Y/N!” he beamed and threw on his jacket before backing out of the shop with a wave before I could make him take his money back.

It had been a few days since Steve had been in, the boys didn’t believe me at first so Doc had pulled up the security camera footage. They all bitched and moaned about how they missed speaking to Captain America and shaking his hand and bro-ing over whatever bros broed about before Doc erased the footage.

“Don’t trust them paparazzi sort. If the Captain wants to use us as his shop, we keep it to ourselves,” the old marine barked, causing the shop boys to quiet down and nod in agreement.

The day had been typical, a few fades, a shave or two, and the business man who came in once a week to see me for barely a trim just so he could have a girl wash his hair. He was lonely, but nice, and tipped well so I kept taking him.

Just as Doc was sending me home the door opened with it’s pleasant chime and the whole shop went quiet. I turned to look over my shoulder to see Tony Stark standing there, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt under his suit jacket and examining the humble little corner shop.

“Mister Stark,” Doc greeted walking forward to shake the man’s hand. “What a pleasure. How can I help you today?”

“I am actually looking for Y/N. Our resident star spangled man couldn’t stop talking about what a great job she did after my electric razor apparently nearly zapped his face off. Thought I’d see what all the fuss was about,” Tony explained looking passed the old owner and spotting me by my station.

“I can take you now if you’d like, Mister Stark,” I offered, slipping my jacket back off and hanging it on the hook, trying not to show how nervous I was.

I wasn’t nervous because it was Iron Man, Iron Man always had a mask on. Tony Stark, however, was on the front cover of most magazines, and headlining the evening news, and a prominent figure in the community. Tony Stark’s haircut and face were seen at least twenty times a day by very influential people and that was a very terrifying thought.

“Tony is fine, please,” he assured as he settled himself into my cracked leather chair after also handing me his own suit jacket which I hung up next to my own.

Flourishing the cape over him I performed the same routine; snap the cape, run my finger along the inside, ask if it’s too tight. Tony assured that the cape was fine and my fingers immediately went into his graying hair along his parietal ridge, pulling softly and feeling for texture and thickness.

“So you’re testing me, then?” I asked, hoping to come across nonchalant. “What’s your goal?”

“Oh, you know, just make me even more handsome if possible,” he responded, crossing his left leg over his right.

“Uncross your legs,” I demand immediately, lightly smacking his shoulder with my comb.

He startled slightly but uncrossed them hurriedly, Doc made a disapproving clucking noise from the register where he was watching his newest hire. I cast him a small look of irritation before focusing back at Tony in my mirror.

“Do you get your sides cut with clippers or shears?”

“You’re the professional,” Tony quipped with a bemused expression.

I chuckle softly and pick up my spray bottle, spritzing him down thoroughly before picking up a barber comb and my cutting shears.

“So, Tony, I’m sure you have someone you pay way more than us to make sure you’re coiffed all pretty. Steve couldn’t have talked me up all that much,” I teased as I started cutting.

“Hasn’t stopped talking you up, more like. I swear, he checks his hair every time he walks by a mirror to see if it’s grown enough yet.”

I paused and my eyes flicked to Tony’s in the mirror. “Was it too short?” I asked nervously.

Tony rolled his brown eyes. “No, he’s too anxious to come back.”

Feeling a different sort of nervousness creep into my stomach I went back to what I was doing. Making my way around the sides of his head I went to the top and then grabbed my thinning shears to blend the line.

“I’m not going to get a phone call from an angry, overpaid stylist, am I?” I joke as I move to mix up the shaving cream in a bowl.

Tony quirked an eyebrow at me as I snapped the leather to my hip and swiped my straight razor up and down the length.

“What makes you think my stylist is overpaid?” he asked curiously with a hint of challenge.

I laughed and swiped cream around his cheeks and down his chin. “All celebrity stylists are overpaid. It’s the hairdresser’s dream.”

“Including yours?”

“I dunno, it’s a lot of pressure doing celebrities.”

“Well, don’t worry, no pressure from my end,” Tony assured.

I shrug one shoulder lackadaisically. “I know, you’re not all that famous.”

“Yeah,” he drew the word out slowly. “Pepper likes to tell me that all the time too.”

The soft scrape of blade sloughing hair from his face was one of the most relaxing sounds in the world. Using the corner tip to make the hard corners of his signature goatee, the tips of my fingers resting lightly under his chin to lift it to the height I needed to not cut him.

“Get this close with all your clients?” he teased and I frowned, quickly pulling my hand away.

“I need you to not talk for like, five minutes, unless you want to lose your lip,” I admonish strictly and he smirked but complied easily enough to allow me to finish.

Swiping my blade clean on a towel, I grabbed a clean warm one and wiped the cream off his face before letting him examine himself in the mirror.

“Huh, yeah, not bad kid,” Tony praised as I snapped the cape off.

“Anything I can fix or change?” I asked before ditching it in the dirty laundry bin.

“No, looks great.”

Tossing the cape in the bin I pass him his suit jacket that I had hung up earlier.

“That’ll be sixty dollars, please, Tony. Can I interest you in any of the product? I used the Mitch Clean Cut on you today.”

“Easy there, Y/N,” Doc interrupted. “We’re just glad you decided to try us out, Mister Stark. Your service is on the house today.”

Tony furrowed his brows in confusion and looked between me and Doc. “Is she commission based?” he asked.

“No, sir, hourly,” Doc responded.

“Okay, well, I appreciate it. Tip for you, Y/N. You know, I hate to admit when the Cap is right, but, well, I’ll see you in four weeks,” Tony commented loftily, shaking my hand and leaving a bill in my hand with a wink. He was out the door before I could process the hundred he left behind in my palm or the promise of his return.

“Listen, all I’m saying is if you just even just trim the shagginess you wont look like some murderous caveman.”

The warm, teasing voice filled the reception area as the bell tinkled above the doorway to the shop. I looked up from the clipper cut I was quickly pushing through to see none other than Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes standing by the front counter. The guys had all taken off early for beers, leaving me to close on my own once again. Not that I minded, living in New York was way more expensive than my small town half way across the country. I would happily take all the clients they took for granted.

“There is nothing wrong with my goddamn hair,” Bucky grumbled angrily under his breath at his friend, his hands shoved deep into a leather jacket and a gray hood from his sweater under it pulled up over his head.

“Maybe not if you did anything with it. Like, wash it…or comb it…or ya know…anything really other than let it hang around your face or up in a manbun,” Sam sniped back with a friendly glare.

I smirked slightly. “I’ll be right with you, gentlemen, go ahead and have a seat.”

I finished the client in my seat to the sound of their playful bickering, paid him out and thanked him for coming in. “Alright, boys, who’s up first?”

“This man,” Sam said clapping his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and shoving him forward off the chair.

“What? I told you I wasn’t getting my haircut. I just came along because you promised me pizza after,” Bucky argued.

“Dude, I got my hair cut here earlier today. I’m still hurt you haven’t noticed,” Sam commented, his face looking exaggeratedly wounded before looking up at me. “I asked for you but they said you were closing then I felt too bad to tell the dude I didn’t want him to cut my hair.”

I cocked my head to the side and narrowed my eyes as I examined his fade. He instantly squirmed and rubbed at the back of his head. “Is it jacked up?”

“Joey did it, didn’t he?” I already knew Sam had been in earlier, Joey had been talking about his whole shift. The kid had been positively glowing by the time he left with the other guys.

“Yeah?” Sam’s eyes narrowed and he tried to move his body so he could see in a mirror as he continued to rub his fade self-consciously.

“Yeah. It looks good. I thought the blend was crooked but it’s just your ears, come on back guys. I’ll just sweep real quick.”

Behind me Bucky let out a bark of laughter and Sam scoffed telling him to shut the hell up.

“I guess your reputation proceeds you correctly,” Sam commented taking a seat at the station next to mine and turning the chair to face me.

I felt my cheeks heat up and frowned in confusion. “I don’t know how to take that.”

“Steve and Stark both said that you weren’t starstruck over the super famous superheroes,” Sam explained, waving away the notion that they had said anything bad.

“Oh,” I responded simply and patted my chair for Bucky. The man, while large and imposing, just shrunk further into his hoodie and looked at me warily.

“I don’t bite, dude, and I can hang up your jacket and zip up so they don’t get hair in them,” I offered, holding my hand out for his jackets.

“Um, can I…can I keep the sweater on?” he asked hesitantly, shrugging off the leather.

“Sure,” I shrug. “But you gotta flip the hood in.”

Bucky settled in while I hung up his jacket and pretended not to notice Sam mouthing at him to be cool. I’m not an idiot, I knew the story of Bucky Barnes and I figured he had plenty of shit he was working through and just being here was hard enough for him. Turning back I noticed he had stuffed his hood in so it was a giant lump behind his neck and I reached out slowly.

“I’m just gonna smooth this out, cool?”

He nodded and I carefully flattened out his hood under his collar before draping the cape over him. This time instead of snapping it closed first I held it at the clasp and looked at him in the mirror. He was avoiding looking into the reflective surface, his eyes cast down to where his hands were folded in his lap.

“Is this too tight?” I asked.

His eyes shot up to mine in the mirror briefly before looking away. “Can you go a bit looser?” he asked softly and I nodded, moving down one clasp and snapping it closed. He let out a noticeably shaky breath under my fingers.

“So I get the feeling that if I asked you what you wanted to do with your hair, you’d say leave it how it is,” I teased lightly as I grabbed a black comb from where it was resting on a clean towel and noticed the corners of his mouth twitch upward. I gently pulled a small subsection of his hair out with the comb, smoothed the shafts down and held it up towards the LED lights overhead. “But, you have about two inches of split ends that are just dead and not doing anything for you other than getting tangled and spreading to your healthy hair. If we cut all them off you should be good for another eight to ten weeks before needing another maintenance trim. Does that sound okay to you?”

Bucky swallowed the heavy lump in his throat before sending a glare to Sam who had been sitting quietly and letting me try to get Bucky settled before catching my eyes again. “Yeah,” he murmured huskily. “Sounds fine.”

“Great!” I was trying to stay light and chipper. Doc was an old marine veteran so I had seen my fair share of veterans with PTSD come through. Doc usually took them, but for all the older man’s brash and direct interactions he’d had with me; I’d learned a lot about to how to interact with a variety of people from him. It was fascinating watching Doc go from one client to the next, his personality changing to what the client in his chair needed.

“We’re gonna wash your hair first so I can cut it wet, okay?” I figured a step by step of what we were doing would be the easiest for him to handle. So he had the chance to say no to something if it made him uncomfortable.

I set my hand lightly across his shoulder, pulling back slightly when he flinched. “I need you to lean forward slightly so I can drop the back of your chair but not you.”

It was always unnerving doing your job under someone’s watchful eye. My first few weeks at the shop were rough with all the boys looking over my shoulder and Doc subtly checking over every one of my haircuts. But it was something else entirely to have Sam Wilson watch me with eagle eyes - well, Falcon eyes - as I handled his friend. He was making observations on me as a person, not a barber, and I had to fight the constant urge to squirm under his pointed gaze.

Gathering Bucky’s chestnut locks in one hand I guided him back down into the shampoo bowl slowly so he wouldn’t knock his head against the rim. “How do you like your water?” I ask, turning on the hose and sticking my fingers underneath as it warmed up.

“Hot as you can stand,” he responded, shifting so his neck would feel more comfortable against the acrylic tub.

“Want me to put a towel under your neck for some cushion?”

“It’s fine.”

Once the water was near scalding I started saturating his hair and looked up at Sam with a smile. “So, what smooth words did Joey use to get you in his chair?”

Sam smirked and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “He said you were stealing all the interesting clients. Had to throw the kid a bone.”

I smiled as I squirted some shampoo into my hands and started to gently work it through Bucky’s hair. “That was nice of you. He’s the biggest Falcon fan I have ever met. Please tell me he showed you his official hat?”

Joey was Doc’s apprentice, he was only seventeen and had tried to rob Doc with a water gun a few months back. Instead of calling the police, Doc offered him a job and the kid was a natural.

Sam looked extremely pleased with himself. “Yeah, I signed it for him.”

I hummed in approval as I applied gentle pressure around Bucky’s temples and the crown pressure point just above middle of his brows. “That was nice of you. He’ll be talking about it for weeks.” I deftly raked my fingers down the top of Bucky’s head to cup my hands just under his occipital bone and into the pressure points behind his ears where his jaw bone meets his skull. His eyes were closed and his breathing had evened out as he relaxed under my administrations.

I eased out of the massage so as not to shock him with sudden loss of contact as I started the hose up against. He startled slightly at the burst of water and I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from giggling. “Morning!” I chirped as I rinsed the shampoo from his hair and scalp.

“That was…really nice,” Bucky admitted taking another deep breath. “Was the shampoo supposed to tingle?”

“Yup,” I shut off the water and started applying conditioner to his long locks. “It has peppermint and tea tree extracts in it. Soothes and stimulates your scalp at the same time, but I just love the scent really.”

Rinsing the conditioner off I wrapped the towel around his hair and had him sit up so I could get his chair back in position. Tossing his towel in the soiled bin I start combing through his hair.

“Do you part off this front cowlick?” I ask, placing my comb on the spot just left of his center part.

“Sometimes.”

“Cool.” As I sectioned off his hair and started snipping all the dead ends off Bucky continued to relax more and more. “So what do you guys have planned for the rest of the night?”

“We were thinking of hitting Prince Street Pizza,” Sam said, having gone from watching me intently to scrolling on his phone.

“Oh, cool. I haven’t tried that one yet.”

“It’s the best pizza in Manhattan,” Bucky said with a face of total seriousness as he locked eyes with me.

Setting down my scissors and comb and flipping on the blow dryer and grabbing a boar bristle brush, I chuckled. “Well, then that will be the next pizza destination.”

“Wanna come with?” Sam asked nonchalantly.

I shook my head as I dried Bucky’s hair smooth. “I gotta call my mom tonight. If I don’t call her the same time and day every week she freaks out and thinks I got murdered.”

“You’re not from here,” Bucky observed, it was a statement and I nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, I moved here about a month ago.” I turned off the dryer and set it back in its cradle before removing the cape.

“How does it feel?” I asked Bucky, tossing the cape into the dirty bin.

Bucky actually looked at himself in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair, not coming across any tangles or snags. It was soft and shiny and looked so much healthier than when he came in.

“It’s nice,” Bucky said with a small grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, dude. I’m here every day except Tuesdays and Wednesdays.”

Leading them to the checkout, Bucky picked up a bottle of the shampoo I had used and like all the others left a more than substantial tip.

“So, eight to ten weeks Sergeant Barnes. Especially if you’re out saving the world and getting all battered. Also, switch from a regular elastic to a cotton tie, your hair is too fine for elastic, it’s breaking the cuticles of your hair.”

Bucky blinked at you a few times before nodding with a bashful smile, the tips of his ears a bright pink.

“I’d feel bad taking you from Joey, thanks again for doing all that Sam. And thanks for trusting me, Bucky,” I shook both men’s hands and Bucky chuckled softly.

“Well, we had to come see what actually got Steve and Stark to agree on something,” Bucky commented before both men departed with a friendly wave.

Looking up at the clock I noticed that it was a good half hour past closing so I locked the front door and started the closing chores, feeling good about what I had accomplished today.

The next day was Monday and I had been planning in my head all day what I was going to do with my middle of the week weekend. The last couple of days had been extra busy it seemed and I was looking forward to just lazing around the house and catching up on laundry and maybe do some prep cooking for the coming week. I had also been debating on getting a cat, so I would have someone to look forward to coming home to at the end of my shift.

“Captain Rogers! It’s good to see you again!” I heard Doc exclaim from the front where he had been showing Joey how to run some of the reports in the POS system.

My head whipped around so fast I almost slipped on the blend line on the client I was working on. Quickly going back to what I was doing so that no one could catch onto the small bit of bubbling anxiety that crept in. It had only been two weeks, there was no way he’d need his hair cut again so soon. Maybe a beard trim if he hadn’t been keeping up on it on his own. I peeked out to the lobby out of the corner of my eye and saw he was in fact still clean shaved so he must have been managing on his own and his hair cut was growing out just fine and didn’t need to be touched up quite yet.

He talked softly with Doc for a moment, shaking the older man’s hand and signing a quick autograph before taking a seat in the lobby, his hands folded in his lap as he patiently watched out the window into the Manhattan street.

The man in my chair impatiently cleared his throat and I mumbled a soft apology and continued his service. After finishing and checking the man out he looked up at me and then back at Steve still sitting in the chair. The man tossed a crumbled dollar bill at me. “Maybe next time pay more attention to what’s going on in front of you instead of getting star struck.”

I opened my mouth wordlessly, feeling the heat creep up on my cheeks as I fumbled with the bill he had thrown on the counter at me. Before I could defend myself the man was out the door into the cold New York air. Letting out a huff of hair and carding my fingers through my hair I shoved the dollar in my back pocket.

“What a jerk,” Steve admonished, looking behind himself at the door.

“Eh. It happens every once and a while.” I shrug and smile at him, leaning across the counter. “Thanks for sending me all your friends. I appreciate the referrals.”

“Well, you do a good job,” Steve said and then pink rose to his cheeks and tips of his ears. “Such a good job I was wondering if you’d like to grab a cup of coffee or something?”

I smiled so wide it made my cheeks ache. “I’d really like that Steve. I’m off in a couple of hours.”

“Go, take the rest of the day,” Doc hollered from across the shop, proving that he was most definitely not eavesdropping.

“You sure, Chief?” I ask over my shoulder, already reaching for my bag and jacket.

“Go on, before I change my mind and let Joey go with him instead.”

Steve held the door open for me as I threw my jacket on. As Steve smiled down at me and led me out into the loud and bustling streets of New York, I couldn’t help but think that this move was the right call after all.

#fic

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sunriserose1023 · 6 years ago

Text

Sparks

SQUARE FILLED: Enemies to Lovers AU PAIRING: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader WARNINGS: Angst, medical situations, mentions of blood and surgery, sexual content, canon-level violence WORD COUNT: 12,112

You limped into the living area, muttering under your breath, cursing the very air James Buchanan Barnes breathed. You threw your bag onto the couch as forcefully as you could, wincing when the motion tweaked your sore shoulder and the ribs that were broken on that side of your body. You hobbled into the kitchen, bent over because you could breathe better that way, narrowing your eyes when the rich sounds of laughter rang out behind you.

“Hey, there you are. You took off before the debriefing.”

You grunted, opening the refrigerator, gritting your teeth at the pain shooting through your body.

“Hey, you alright?”

You nodded, gritting your teeth even harder.

“Fine, Captain.”

Steve’s eyes widened at the way you spit out his name.

“Hey, come here.”

You couldn’t help the gasp when he laid his hands on your shoulders. You slowly turned to face him and he sucked in a breath.

“Jesus, Y/N.” “I’m fine.” “Yeah, you look fine. F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” “Yes sir?”

You rolled your eyes at the soft, feminine voice that floated up from the hidden speakers around the room.

“Call …”

Steve’s voice trailed off.

“Who am I supposed to call when the team physician is in need of a physician?” “First of all, Cap, don’t call me a physician. It’s 2019. I’m a doctor.”

Steve raised an eyebrow as you went on.

“Second of all, I’m fine.”

Steve poked your side and you flinched back from him, breath catching in your throat at the pain that was rolling through you at those few movements.

“Son of a bitch!” “Yeah, you’re fine. F.R.I.D.A.Y., call Dr. Banner.” “He’s not even a real doctor.”

Steve smiled as your shoulders heaved up and down, still trying to catch your breath.

“Still got an M.D. behind his name.”

You rolled your eyes and Steve pointed towards the door.

“I will carry you.” “I can walk. Jesus. So pushy. Who decided you were the boss and why didn’t I get a vote?” “I’m a captain. I outrank you all.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching the stairs. You grasped the bannister, stepping down and stopping on the top step. You took in a sharp breath, closing your eyes and shaking your head.

“Oh, jeez.”

Steve scooped you into his arms a mere second before you passed out. He jogged down the rest of the steps, walking through the infirmary doors. Bucky was sitting on the table there, legs swinging off the side.

“Hey, where’s— oh shit.”

He hopped off the table, wincing and hopping once, shaking out his leg. Steve raised an eyebrow and Bucky sighed.

“Tweaked my ankle. I just wanted to come bother her. She alright?” “Yeah, looks like it, doesn’t it?”

Bucky pressed his lips together and Steve sighed.

“She was hobbling around the living area. Any idea how that could have happened?” “Wha—why come at me like that?”

Steve rolled his eyes, glancing up as Bruce walked into the room, wiping his glasses off on his white coat. He slid the glasses onto his face.

“You guys know I don’t do medical things, right?” “She did say you weren’t a real doctor.”

Bruce rolled his eyes.

“I am a real doctor. Just … in biochemistry. Not … medicine.”

Bruce walked over to the table, murmuring for Steve’s help to lift you and remove the coat you were wearing. Steve whistled softly when dark bruises on your arms were revealed.

“Christ. I didn’t know it was that bad.”

Steve and Bruce glanced at Bucky, who gently rolled his metal fingers over the bruises. Bruce cleared his throat.

“Can you go find Natasha or Wanda? I could use some help getting her in a gown and I don’t think she’d want either of you to see her like that.”

Steve nodded, lying you back on the table and stepping away, clamping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Come on, Buck.”

Bucky let out a breath, slowly nodding before turning and following Steve towards the door, stopping at the doorframe and glancing back at you.

“Hey. How you feeling?”

You grunted, making Wanda giggle. You shuffled into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge, taking out a bottle of water and wincing as you twisted the top. You took a sip and sighed, turning slowly and shuffling towards Wanda. She was sitting back with her arms crossed, watching you, the spoon in her tea slowly stirring in a circle. You shook your head, a soft smile on your face as you set your water bottle on the table across from her.

“Show off.”

She smiled.

“I’m tired of using my hands.” “Not all of us have that luxury, you know.” “You need me to stir your water, Doc?” “Smart ass.”

Wanda laughed, and you sucked in a breath before letting it out slowly. Wanda’s spoon settled against the side of the cup and she lifted it to her lips before setting it on a napkin. She picked up the cup and took a sip, then spoke softly.

“You feeling any better?”

You tilted your head from side to side.

“My ribs hurt like a bitch. Bruce said there were three completely broken and two cracked. I’m all wrapped up like a cocoon, but it still hurts.” “Anything I can do?” “Yeah, grab me a few dozen Tylenols.”

Wanda laughed, but the cabinet near the sink opened and an industrial-sized bottle of the painkillers floated into Wanda’s hand. You laughed, one hand grabbing your side and whining until she opened the bottle and shook two pills into her hand. She handed them to you and you nodded, shaking your head as the top twisted off your water bottle.

“You’re the real MVP, Wanda.”

She grinned and you downed the pills, draining most of the water bottle. You closed your eyes and just breathed for a moment, forcing your lungs to expand through the pain. After a few deep, painful breaths, Wanda spoke.

“So how exactly did you get all banged up?”

Your nose wrinkled.

“Oh, yeah. You got to sit out this little ‘milk run,’ didn’t you?”

She nodded and you sighed as you blinked your eyes open.

“I just started training, you know? Tony finally agreed to let me out of the compound on something other than a doctor basis. And what happens? Bucky freakin’ Barnes. He’s all ‘you good?’ when I am most certainly not good. But he didn’t even ask, you know? I mean he did ask, but he didn’t stick around to hear the answer! All he thinks about is his own damn self.” “I’m sure he didn’t do it on purpose.”

You shot her a look that had her shrinking back, hands up in an apologetic way. You shook your head.

“He’s such a … dick. I could have died out there, you know?”

Wanda nodded sympathetically and you shook your head.

“Well, I’m sure that was my first and last mission. At least, it will be once Tony gets back. But, until then—“ “Everyday you’re shufflin’?”

You glared at Sam as he walked into the room, sweatshirt soaked from his run. He cackled as he walked to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water that he drained. You shook your head, not even dignifying him with a response as you … damn it. You shuffled back towards your room.

“Hey, crip! How goes it?”

You heard Wanda sharp inhale, Sam’s soft groan, all followed by Steve’s fatherly sigh. You glared over your shoulder at Bucky, who wiggled his eyebrows at you. You rolled your eyes, picking up your shuffling pace again, but lifting the hand on your uninjured side, flipping Bucky off and making Sam laugh.

As the weeks went on, your injuries lessened to the point where you could go almost a full day without feeling pain. Tony, as you’d expected, fully blew a gasket when he got home and was given a report of your injuries. He banished you to the clinic, and Pepper promised you that she’d work on him, but you resigned yourself to the fact that you’d just be the Avengers’ doctor, instead of an Avenger yourself.

Luckily for you, being the Avengers’ doctor was an almost full-time job. You patched at least one of them up on a daily basis, some more than others (i.e. Clint and Sam). You also kept busy on a direct video line to Wakanda, where you were working on a project with Shuri.

You’d just signed off with her when the doors to the clinic burst open, Bucky rushing in with a limp Natasha in his arms. You turned to face him, motioning to a room that he ran into, laying her on the table, babbling almost incoherently as he pushed his fingers through his hair. You noticed that Natasha was breathing fine, and pressing your fingers to her neck, you felt how strong her pulse was. There was no visible bleeding or any other sort of injury, so you turned back to Bucky. His eyes were wide and his skin was pale, and you walked to stand in front of him, reaching up and grabbing his face in your hands, yanking him down to your level.

“Breathe.”

He stared at you, and you threaded your fingers into his hair, tugging gently.

“Breathe, Barnes.”

He did, following your lead at inhaling and holding the breath before exhaling slowly. You nodded and he nodded back at you.

“What happened?”

He shook his head, which was still in your hands.

“I don’t know. One minute she was fine, the next, she just crumpled. She’s been out cold ever since.” “How long ago did she pass out?”

He shook his head again.

“Ten, twenty minutes?” “Anybody else around do like her?”

He shook his head, and you finally moved your hands from him. You felt your cheeks heat up as you turned away from him and Bucky lifted a hand to brush against his cheek. He tilted his head when he saw you combing through Nat’s fiery hair.

“What are you doing?” “I’m thinking tranq, but I don’t know where. It’s not obvious.”

Bucky watched you as you held her face, studying it before you began unbuttoning her blouse.

“You can go now.” “What if you need help?” “Then I’ll call for it. She’ll kill us both if she finds out you were here when I undressed her.” “She and I have a pretty extensive background together, you know.” “And if you’d like any kind of future, you’ll show yourself out.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but made his way to the door. He held a hand on the knob, then shook his head, opening it and walking away.

Natasha had fallen victim to a new kind of tranquilizer. This new kind pretty much dissolves through clothing, until it latches onto skin, where it quickly takes effect. She was more pissed off than anything else, once she’d woken up hours later.

You sat in your office and tapped a pen against the notepad you had on the desk. You couldn’t shake how scared Bucky had looked, how downright frantic he seemed, and the way he calmed almost instantly when you put your hands on him. You’d never noticed just how blue his eyes were until you were staring into them from only inches away.

You huffed out a breath and tossed the pen onto the desk. You crossed your arms over your chest and glared at the wall.

Bucky had been nothing but a pain in your ass since you stepped foot into the Avengers compound. He’d started out being short with you, questioning your skills, refusing to let you treat his very minor injuries that were soon cured by the serum pumping through his veins. You’d grown to dread seeing him at any point during your day, so naturally, once Tony convinced you to move in, since missions happened at all hours of the day and night and injuries had no timeline, he’d placed you in a room just down the hall from Bucky’s.

Of course, Bucky didn’t use his room all that much. Claimed he’d slept enough in his hundred years. He didn’t say that to you—you’d overheard him talking with Wanda once day. He was surprisingly gentle with her.

As time went on, his bristliness wore off, and he went from prickly and standoffish to downright annoying the living hell out of you. When you expressed your desire to go out on a mission, Steve let you train with Bucky a total of one times, before you threatened to grab a gun and shoot him or else dunk him in water and let his arm rust off. Steve took over your training then.

Wasn’t enough, because when you finally did get to go on a mission, the person you thought would have your back all but fed you to the wolves.

Your all-but-healed ribs gave a painful throb then, as if to drive home the point. You sighed, shaking your head. You and Barnes were nothing but acquaintances. Enemies, would be more like it. He annoyed the shit out of you and you had to constantly talk yourself out of seeing just how much sedative it would take to make the former Winter Soldier pliant.

Or, even better, comatose.

You studied the cards in your hand, picking one up from the deck. You tried to keep your face from showing that it was the card you needed, and as you discarded your final card, you laid your cards out on the table.

“Gin.” “Son of a bitch.”

You laughed at Clint, who laid his cards down and jammed a finger on the table.

“One card. I’ve needed one damn card for the last seven rounds.”

He groaned and leaned back in his chair and Natasha scooped the cards up, bringing them closer to her and beginning to shuffle them. You smiled and grabbed a chip from the bowl between you and Clint, popping it in your mouth.

“What is that, five to one now?” “Don’t you even start.”

Natasha laughed as she shuffled.

“She’s a shark, Clint. Didn’t you know?” “Apparently not.”

You shrugged your shoulders, popping another chip into your mouth.

“Gambling, really?”

You couldn’t stop the laugh as Steve walked up, hands on his hips and what you’d lovingly named his “disappointed dad” look on his face. He shook his head, but Bucky pulled out the chair next to Natasha.

“Deal me in. What are we playing?” “Doc’s kicking our asses in gin.” “Rummy?”

You rolled your eyes, eating another chip instead of giving the snarky remark on your tongue. Natasha nodded, finally satisfied with her shuffling. She began dealing the cards and Steve sighed, pulling out the chair next to you.

“Might as well join in.” “Look at ol’ Cap, giving in to peer pressure.” “Oh, you just hush.”

You laughed, waiting until Natasha had dealt everyone’s cards before you picked up your hand. It really wasn’t your fault that this was your game. You moved a few cards around, keeping them close to you, because you knew Steve had a wandering eye, as much as he’d deny it. You let the game go through two rounds, drawing a card and laying it on the discard pile.

“Gin.” “Oh, are you kidding me?” “I’m done with you.”

You laughed as Clint pushed his chair back from the table, taking your empty beers and carrying them to the kitchen. Steve leaned over, studying your cards, then shaking his head.

“Did you cheat?” “Nope. I’m just lucky.”

Bucky snorted and you clenched your teeth together, refusing to give in. You pushed your chair back from the table and stood up.

“I’m grabbing some more snacks. Any requests?”

Natasha raised her hand.

“The hummus we brought back from Lebanon.”

You nodded, and Steve looked up at you.

“Do we have anymore of those strawberries from Louisiana?” “I think so.”

He winked at you and you looked over at Bucky. He lifted his chin.

“I want some—“ “Don’t care.”

You turned and walked out, leaving Steve and Natasha nearly falling off of their chairs with laughter. You were smiling when you met Clint in the kitchen and he raised an eyebrow at you. You shook your head, going to the refrigerator for the snack requests.

“What exactly is it about Barnes that rubs you the wrong way?”

Your eyes widened as you turned from the fridge, staring at him.

“What?” “You heard me. Soon as he walks in, you get all … prickly. Why?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“He doesn’t like me.” “And you don’t like him back?” “He’s never been my buddy, Clint. He’s not like you or Nat. We started off on the wrong foot and it’s just been downhill ever since.” “Why don’t you give him a chance?” “Because the last time I did, I ended up with five broken ribs.”

Clint made a face.

“Fair enough.”

You shook your head, grabbing a platter out of one of the cabinets and loading it down with snacks. Clint grabbed enough beers for the table, and the two of you made your way back into the room. You scattered the snacks among those who requested them, sitting in your chair and watching Bucky shuffle the cards. You hated to admit it, but you were kind of fascinated by his metal arm. You knew how deadly it could be; you’d seen it firsthand. But, like now, he was shuffling the cards almost gently. The arm seemed to be an anomaly in itself.

“Earth to the good doctor.”

You blinked, cheeks flushing when you looked to Steve.

“What?”

He smiled that pristine toothpaste advertisement grin of his and you rolled your eyes.

“I said, Buck wants to switch the game up. Are you such a shark at poker?”

You shrugged.

“I can hold my own.” “Yeah, we’ll see.”

You narrowed your eyes at Clint as he popped the top on his beer and tossed it into the trash can across the room.

Four hands later, you and Bucky were neck-and-neck. Steve had won the first round, but you and Bucky had switched off every other. Steve, Natasha, and Clint were really just watching now, playing just enough to get the game going before folding.

You tapped a finger on the cards in your hand, looking across the table at Bucky. He had a deep frown on his face, lines carved into his forehead as he studied his cards. The way tonight was going, along with the beers you’d had, gave you a little more courage than you usually would.

“Hey, Barnes.”

He nodded at you, not pulling his eyes from his cards.

“Want to make this a little more interesting?” “I’m not playing strip poker, no matter how much you beg.”

Steve nearly spit his beer out, while Natasha bent over laughing. You rolled your eyes, glancing at the cards on the table.

“You’re such a jerk.”

Bucky looked up then, giving you a wink and a smile.

“What’re you thinking?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“If I win, then you clean my clinic for a month.” “And when I win?” “If you win … I don’t know. Whatever.”

Bucky licked his lips, glancing down at his cards before bringing his eyes back to you. You swallowed at the look he gave you, your traitorous mind going places you’d never imagined before. He lifted his metal arm, thumb swiping over his bottom lip before coming to rest on the table. You missed the way Natasha’s eyes widened, how she looked to Clint who just shook his head once, shushing her silently.

“You know those … those things that you bake?”

You rolled your eyes, but nodded. Bucky’s sweet tooth was legendary in the compound, and he’d made no qualms in letting everyone know that while he didn’t care for you, you could bake like a wizard. He leveled his eyes at you.

“When I win, you make me whatever I want, whenever I want.”

You pushed a smile forward.

“Deal.”

He nodded, and you took in a breath, turning your cards over.

“Straight, in diamonds.”

Clint whistled low and all eyes turned to Bucky. He bit his bottom lip, then sighed, turning his cards face down on the table.

“I fold.”

You jumped up, punching your fists in the air. You laughed as Natasha ran around the table, putting her head down, whispering to you about how exactly you managed that. You wrapped an arm around her waist and the two of you made your way into the kitchen.

Bucky watched you leave, oblivious to Clint and Steve stealthily turning his cards over.

“What the hell, man?”

Bucky looked to Clint, sighing when he saw his cards face-up.

“Don’t.” “You had a royal flush. You beat her.” “Shut up, Clint.” “But a flush beats a straight every time!” “Shut up, Clint.”

Bucky pushed away from the table, rubbing a hand over his head as he walked away. Clint looked to Steve, who shook his head as he leaned back in his chair.

“He’s got it bad.”

Clint huffed out a breath, leaning back in his own chair and propping his feet on the table.

“Almost as bad as she does.”

Steve nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

“This is bullshit.”

Steve laughed from his perch on the counter, taking a healthy bite of the apple he’d snagged from the kitchen. Bucky grumbled under his breath as he pushed a mop back and forth, cursing when he hit a tile that was slightly uneven, snagging one of the curls of the mophead. Steve shook his head.

“If you hate cleaning so much, then why did you let her win that poker game?” “Momentary lapse.”

Steve rolled his eyes, taking another bite of apple. Bucky stopped and held the mop upright, resting his regular arm on it.

“What do you think of her?” “Doc?”

Bucky nodded, and Steve swallowed the bite he was chewing.

“I like her. She’s very intelligent. Good at her job.” “I don’t want to hire her, Stevie. Jeez. I mean as a person.”

Steve smiled, bouncing his shoulders once.

“She’s nice. Funny. Genuine. She’s fun to be around.”

He took another bite of the apple, then tossed the core into the trash can across the room.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Buck. You want me to sell you on her? I don’t think you really need me to do that.”

Bucky hung his head, going back to pushing the mop across the floor. Steve smiled and looked down at his hands.

“You remember second grade?” “Vaguely. It’s buried under some HYDRA bullshit.”

Steve sighed.

“There was a little girl in our class. She sat … across the row from me. In front of you.” “Are you talking about … what was her name? Nancy? The girl with the two brown pigtails?” “Yes!”

Bucky shook his head.

“Why the hell are you thinking about her?” “It’s not so much her that I’m thinking of. Do you remember how you dipped her pigtails in the blue paint?”

Bucky smiled.

“My dad tore my ass up after that.” “And she asked you to push her on the swings and you wouldn’t.” “Because she had cooties. All the girls back then had cooties. Except my ma.” “And when we made those puppets out of the brown paper grocery sacks, you ripped hers in half.”

Bucky sighed, propping up on the mop again.

“Is there a point to this stroll down memory lane, Grandpa?”

Steve smiled.

“You liked her.” “We were kids.” “But you thought she was pretty. You told me that.” “I also told you that if you ever told anyone else, I’d knock your teeth down your throat.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“I’d like to see you try.” “You’re not exactly the scrawny little shrimp you used to be, Stevie.”

Steve smiled, then met Bucky’s eyes again.

“My point is … you like Y/N. Just as much—if not more—than you liked Nancy with her pigtails.” “I do not.” “You liar.”

Bucky huffed out a breath, taking his mop and walking out of the room. Steve laughed, swinging his legs off the edge of the counter, shaking his head.

You flipped another sandwich in the pan on the stove, waiting a few moments before sliding it out of the pan and onto the plate where a monstrous stack already waited. You picked up the plate and walked down to the conference room, knocking twice before opening the door.

“Oh, Doc. Yes.”

You winked at Sam before you set the sandwiches in the middle of the table, laughing under your breath when the Avengers attacked the plate like a bunch of animals. Tony sauntered towards you, a sandwich in one hand that he took a bite of as he stopped in front of you, narrowing his eyes.

“I thought I banished you from the conference room.” “I can take my sandwiches and go—“ “No!”

You laughed at the chorus of negative responses, and even Tony couldn’t help but smile. He shook his head and you lifted your shoulders.

“I’m not here to be briefed. You’d all been in here for a while and I thought you might need …” “Sustenance.” “Exactly. Thanks, Thor.”

He gave you a thumbs up—much better than when he’d flipped you off without truly understanding what that meant a few weeks prior—and reached for another sandwich. Tony nodded, taking a bite and turning away from you. You glanced towards the screen that all but filled up one wall, blinking when you saw the photos. You tore your eyes away when Natasha cleared her throat and you glanced to her. She shrugged, giving you a wink. You swallowed, pushing a smile onto your face.

“When do you roll out?”

Quiet fell over the room until Bucky spoke up.

“1700 hours.”

You nodded, glancing at your watch before looking back at the screen. You licked your lips.

“Be careful.”

You turned to leave, stopping at the door and glancing back, surprised to find a pair of ice blue eyes looking back at you.

You paced around the entire compound while everyone was gone. You cleaned every space you could, including Wanda’s room, which she’d given you an open invitation to any time, and Thor’s, because he never minded or really bothered to clean much. You scrubbed the showers while wearing a mask you’d brought up from the clinic. You slept on the couch in the living room, jolting awake at regular intervals, at any little noise, until F.R.I.D.A.Y. lulled you to sleep with ambient noise and a promise that she’d wake you if something happened.

Five days went by without a word from anyone. F.R.I.D.A.Y. kept you up-to-date as best she could, but your heart leapt to your throat and set up camp there when she stopped updating you and went quiet.

You sat in your clinic, on the floor that you knew was clean, hands clasped together, eyes closed. You refused to check the news or anything else, knowing that it would just drive you out of your mind with worry. Well … more than you already were.

“Doctor.”

You opened your eyes, unable to speak. F.R.I.D.A.Y. must have sensed that, because she went ahead and briefed you.

“The quinjet is sixty miles out. They’ve got a critical patient on board.” “Who is it, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” “Agent Barton.”

You groaned, pushing yourself to your feet.

“Goddamn it, Clint. Laura’s going to kill me.”

You walked towards the scrub room, tying up your hair and shoving it under a scrub cap on the way.

“How bad is it?” “Three gunshot wounds. Vitals are very low.” “Give ‘em to me.”

You tied a mask on your face as F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke, stepping over to the sink and stepping on the button that turns the water on.

“Blood pressure seventy over forty. Respirations of nine. Heartbeat is eighty-two and falling.” “Damn it, Clint.”

You scrubbed your nails and your hands, your forearms all the way up to your elbows. You tried to steady your breathing, looking into the sterile room where one of your friends would soon be rushed into.

“They’re here, Doctor.”

You swallowed, nodding your head, stepping through the doors and over to the table where your instruments waited. You dried your hands on the special towels, slipping on a gown and tying it. You slid your hands into the sterile gloves, breathing in through your nose and exhaling through your mouth. The mask tended to make you feel claustrophobic, but you knew that would all fade as soon as Clint was rolled into the room.

Tony had decked out your medical suite with nothing but top-of-the-line equipment. The best part, according to you, was the full-body scan that occurred just before the patient entered the operating room. Despite your best efforts, Tony insisted on the gallery, and you tried your best not to look up to see all your friends staring down, watching you attempt to save the lives of the people on your table.

You heard the clicks and whirrs that signaled an incoming patient, and you took in a breath just as the doors opened and the stretcher wheeled into the room. You walked to the table as the side rails dropped, breath catching in your throat when you saw Clint’s face. You shook your head and grabbed a pair of scissors from your table.

“It’s your lucky day, Barton. Welcome to the Fun Zone. F.R.I.D.A.Y., pull up the body scan.”

She did, and you looked at it as you cut Clint’s clothes away.

“Three entry wounds, but only one exit.” “He would make it as difficult as he could. The shoulder was a through-and-through?” “Appears that way.”

You nodded, squinting your eyes.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., enhance the liver.”

She did, and you breathed a sigh of relief when it appeared unscathed.

“Now the kidneys.”

You grabbed a sheet, draping it over the lower half of Clint’s body before you picked up a scalpel.

“Spleen.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. enlarged the spleen for you, and you shook your head.

“Let’s do the upper portion of the small intestine.” “Doctor, his blood pressure is bottoming out.” “Shit.”

You stared at the scan, eyes widening.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., enlarge the thoracic cavity.”

She did, and you cursed under your breath. You looked down at Clint’s chest, swallowing before you pressed the scalpel into his flesh. The machine that worked as your scrub nurse handed you the different instruments you needed without you having to ask for them. You looked up at the scan again, shaking your head and cracking Clint’s chest open, watching the cavity fill with blood.

“You are not doing this to me today, Barton. Not today.”

The machine beside you turned the suction on, and you did your best not to let the sight or the sound turn your stomach. You looked back up at the scan, tilting your neck from side to side, hearing a soft cracking before you settled in to work.

“Al… most … got it!”

You held the bullet up, shaking your head.

“Little bastard.”

You heard applause, and you looked up, feeling your cheeks heat when you saw Natasha’s relief and Tony’s proud papa smile. You rolled your eyes, dropping the bullet into the small basin the machine brought over to you. You lifted your eyes back to the scan and shook your head.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., where’s the other bullet?” “You were wanting to check the small intestine.”

You shook your head.

“It’s not there.” “I can bring up—“

Alarms began blaring and you cursed as you grabbed towels to try and clear away the blood suddenly filling Clint’s chest again. The sound of the suction was roaring in your ears as you reached a hand in, gently moving Clint’s heart out of the way.

“Damn it. Damn it!” “Doctor?” “The bullet traveled up to his heart. Put him on bypass.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. did as you asked, as well as turning on the countdown clock on the wall. You worked as quickly as you could, deliberately ignoring the gallery, where you were sure Tony and Natasha still were. Time seemed to drag on, even as it flew by.

“Doctor, he’s been under too long.” “I’ve almost got it.” “He needs to come off bypass in the next thirty seconds.” “I know, F.R.I.D.A.Y., but I’ve almost got it.” “Doctor, you’re risking permanent brain damage—“ “I know the risks! Just shut up for one minute.”

The seconds ticked by loudly in the silence of the room. Just as the last second clicked down on the clock on the wall, you lifted the bullet from Clint’s heart.

“Got it. Take him off.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. turned off the machines and you stared at the screen beside the table. A flat line was all that appeared and you nodded.

“Charge to 200.”

The machine beside you whirred into action and you lifted your hands.

“Shock.”

Clint’s body twitched on the table, but the flat line remained on the screen.

“250.”

The machine whirred again and you kept your hands lifted.

“Shock.”

Another twitch, but the flat line still remained. You swallowed.

“300.”

You kept your eyes on the screen, clenching your hands into fists.

“Shock.”

Clint’s body gave a bigger twitch, and before you could say anything, a blip appeared on the screen. A steady, rising heartbeat, along with a normal blood pressure, made you give a sigh of relief, hanging your head as grateful tears came to your eyes. You nodded, draping a section of what looked like plastic wrap over Clint’s chest. Once it was in place, his bed moved to take him to a room down the hall, where Dr. Cho’s fancy machine would close him up without any stitches and minimal scarring.

You blew out a breath, reaching back and untying your gown, dropping it into a bin, followed by your gloves. You looked up then, a soft smile crossing your face when Tony gave you a thumbs up. Natasha, surprisingly, had her eyes closed while encased in Bruce’s arms. He smiled at you and you gave him a nod. You left the operating room, yanking the mask off your face as you went back to the scrub room to re-wash your hands and arms.

“Doctor, there’s another incoming.”

You stopped, removing your foot from the water pedal.

“What? Who?” “Captain Rogers has radioed in. They were caught in an ambush.” “Who’s hurt, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” “Sergeant Barnes.”

Your heart gave a stutter in your chest. You blinked, shaking your head.

“He’s got the serum. What will I be able to do?” “It seems he’s bleeding out faster than the serum can work.”

You sucked in a breath then, tying another mask on your face and stomping on the water pedal, washing your hands as thoroughly and quickly as you could. The machines worked double-time to renew the operating room, setting out new instruments and sterilizing the place. You walked into the room and dried your hands, slipping into a gown and new gloves.

The door opened and the stretcher was brought in. Your breath caught in your throat when you caught sight of him, pale and still on the bed. You swallowed.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., show me the body scan.”

She projected it onto the wall for you and your eyes widened when you saw the blood filling his belly.

“Doc.”

You glanced up, seeing Steve’s terrified face in the gallery. He stood beside the intercom on the wall and you shook your head as you looked back to Bucky. .

“What the hell happened, Steve?” “I don’t know. He—damn idiot pushed me out of the way. There was a knife. I don’t—he passed out and he won’t wake up.” “Must have nicked an artery.”

You reached back and picked up a scalpel, stopping when you heard Steve’s choked voice.

“Doc, you … you gotta save him. Please, just … don’t let him die.”

You swallowed, looking up and seeing the tears sparkling in Steve’s eyes. You shook your head.

“Bruce?”

He stepped closer to the speaker on the wall.

“Yeah?” “Get him out of here.”

You heard Steve begin to protest, Tony’s voice begin to speak, Bruce’s stammering refusal, and you let out a hard laugh.

“If you want me to save his life, then you better get Captain America and his watery, puppy dog, ‘please save my best friend’ eyes out of here because I can’t stand it. I’m sorry, Steve. But you’ve got to go.”

You heard Steve begging them to let him stay, heard Tony gently ushering him out, promising to take the blame if something went wrong. You shook your head.

“Nothing's going wrong. Not today. You hear me, Barnes? You’re not dying on me today. Too many damn people have tried to take out the Winter Soldier and I will be damned if I let you fall to … whoever the hell did this.”

You shook your head, laying the scalpel aside and suctioning some of the blood out of Bucky’s abdomen.

“Jesus, there’s so much blood. F.R.I.D.A.Y., shift the scan twenty-five degrees, and remove the abdominal organs.”

She did, and you studied the branches of arteries and veins.

“Zoom in ten percent.”

She did, and you felt around as you studied the scan. Your eyebrows lifted.

“Zoom in to the abdominal aorta, six centimeters below the kidneys.”

She did, and you shook your head.

“Son of a bitch. There you are.”

You grabbed some sutures and sewed up the small nick you’d discovered.

“No other internal injuries detected, other than soft tissue swelling to his face and extremities.” “Thank God for small favors. What’s his blood levels?” “Low. He’s not replenishing the way he should.”

You shook your head.

“Probably a result of the serum. He should kick it up soon.” “Doctor, his platelets are dangerously low.” “How low?”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. brought Bucky’s lab results up for you and you let out a shaky breath.

“Damn it. He needs blood and he needs it now.”

You closed your eyes as F.R.I.D.A.Y. said what you were afraid she’d say.

“The available units were sent to Chicago after the mass shooting there.” “Damn it. Bring up Barnes’ file. What blood type is he?” “A negative, Doctor.”

You lifted your head.

“Are you kidding me?”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. didn’t answer, and you shook your head.

“Is there anyone else in this compound with A negative blood?” “No one but you, Doctor.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., get Dr. Banner in here now.”

You finished the last suture on Bucky’s side and looked at his pale face.

“You owe me, Barnes.”

You pushed back, pulling your gown off and tossing your gloves into the trash bin. You picked up a few things and set them on the table, unrolling tubing and hooking it up, grabbing an alcohol pad and swiping it across your arm. You glanced up as Bruce stepped into the scrub room and you shook your head.

“He’s closed. I need you in here now.”

Bruce stepped through the door, holding a mask to his face.

“I don’t do medical things. How many times do I have to tell you?” “You can start an IV, right?” “Of course.” “Here. Start one on me.”

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed over the mask.

“What? Why?” “Barnes needs blood now and I’m the only one with the same blood type.”

Bruce shook his head.

“Somebody here’s got to be O negative.” “I don’t have time to check. Come on. If you don’t do it, I’m going to and I’d rather not butcher my arm if I can help it. ”

Bruce huffed out a breath and you shook the needle towards him. He grabbed it from you and you nodded, holding your arm out towards him.

“There’s a juicy one right in the crook. Go for it.” “Don’t make me nervous.” “Don’t turn green and we’ll be fine.”

Bruce let out a laugh at that and you sucked in a breath as he slid the needle into your vein. You pressed your lips together as he connected one end of the tubing, and the two of you watched as blood from your arm began traveling through the tubing and disappearing into Bucky’s arm.

“Turn it wide open.” “We’ll let it go for a minute, then slow it down.” “He needs all he can get, Bruce.” “Yeah, but we don’t want to drain you dry in the meantime.”

You shifted, making a face as the tubes pulled at your arm.

“You better sit down before your legs give out.” “I’m fine.” “Have you given blood before? Do they let you stand up while you give it? No, because they’re removing blood from your body. Stop trying to be a hero and sit down.”

You sat on the end of Bucky’s bed, blinking widely. Bruce lifted your chin with his hand.

“You okay?”

You nodded, lifting your other arm, weakly batting his hand away. Bruce looked at you with that same worried look and shook his head.

“Hey, talk to me.”

You shook your head.

“It’s … I think it’s the serum.” “What about the serum?” “It’s like … a vacuum. Hard and fast.”

Bruce glanced over, seeing how pink and healthy Bucky now appeared, while you grew paler by the second. Bruce shook his head.

“We need to stop.”

He reached for your arm and you shook your head, weakly batting at his hands.

“He needs it.” “Not at the risk of killing you.” “Don’t … stop.” “Doc, you’re going to lose consciousness soon.” “Don’t … let … him ... die.”

The last thing you heard was Bruce’s frantic voice before the darkness that had been dancing at the edges of your vision suddenly swooped in and sucked you under.

You slowly blinked your eyes open, feeling beyond exhausted. Your body seemed too heavy, and you would have closed your eyes again, had you not noticed the flash of red in the corner.

Natasha smiled as she stood, walking over to you.

“Hey, Doc. How you feeling?” “Tired.”

Your voice was hoarse and Natasha turned away, returning with a cup with a straw in it.

“Small sips.”

You nodded, taking a sip and giving a soft moan at the cool water soothing your dry mouth. Natasha took the cup back and you smacked your lips, letting out a sigh.

“You want the lecture now or later?”

You smiled as you closed your eyes.

“Give me five minutes.”

Natasha smiled, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Do you know how dangerous that was? What might have happened if Bruce hadn’t been there?” “That’s why … I called him. I knew he’d … take care of me.” “Well, you needed blood yourself after that. Tony had to fly to Montana to get it.”

You glanced to the side, looking up and seeing an almost-empty bag hanging on the pole connected to your bed, bright red running through a tube into your arm.

“Is Bucky okay?”

Natasha snorted.

“Seriously? After everything that happened here, he’s who you’re worried about?” “Nat, I’m going to be sick.”

She softened, rushing to help you sit up and holding your hair back as you threw up into the trash can she handed you. She wiped your mouth when you were through, helping you lay back down, wiping the tears from your cheeks. She sighed.

“He hasn’t woken up yet.” “How … how long?” “It’s been twenty-seven hours since you passed out in the O.R.”

You blinked, shaking your head.

“He should … be awake … by now.”

Natasha nodded.

“All his tests are back to normal. F.R.I.D.A.Y. has orders to scan him twice a day. There’s no reason why he’s still out.”

You sighed, reaching up a hand and rubbing it on the end of your nose. Natasha smiled.

“You feeling any better?” “Maybe a … little.”

Natasha smiled, pulling the blanket up as you shivered.

“Steve’s been bouncing from your room to Bucky’s. He said he’s still mad at you for banishing him from the gallery.” “I am not.”

You smiled as Steve stepped into the room, taking hold of Natasha’s shoulders and kissing her cheek. She stepped back and he knelt beside your bed, taking your hand.

“How you feeling?” “Like I got hit by a truck.”

He smiled, reaching to brush your hair back.

“You saved his life.”

You rolled your head to look him in the eye.

“I couldn’t let him die, Steve. I just did what … any doctor would do.” “I don’t know many doctors who would stick a needle in their own arm for a patient.” “Maybe she’s saying he’s not just a patient.”

You rolled your head back, staring up at the ceiling and sighing. Steve’s thumb rolled over the back of your hand and you closed your eyes. Natasha laid her hands on Steve’s shoulders, gently kneading them.

“Rest, Doc. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

It took you longer than anticipated to recover from being Bucky’s blood donor. Bruce and Tony were working overtime to try and figure out why the serum had reacted the way it did, nearly sucking your blood supply dry to reinforce Bucky’s. Bucky had woken up an hour after you, with no memory of the mission, but feeling better than he had in years.

He avoided you, though. Even when Bruce had deemed you healthy enough to return to work, Bucky wouldn’t step foot in the clinic. It was spotless every time you stepped through the doors, though.

You found yourself in the kitchen more often, perfecting recipes you’d long memorized, even taking the time to come up with some new ones of your own. You often found yourself wondering what Bucky would think of the desserts, and you often tried to take a plate to his room, but you’d always chicken out and leave before you would see him.

You had entirely too much time on your hands. Not that you’d want your team to go on a mission and come back needing you, but you were kind of antsy. You were in one of your clinic rooms, building a house out of tongue depressors and Q-tips when a sudden, blaring alarm began sounding, the power shutting off and red lights flashing. You jumped off of the stool you were sitting on, hands going to cover your ears.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. what the hell is going on?!” “It seems the compound has been breached.” “Breached?! What do you mean ‘breached?!’”

She didn’t answer and you felt your heart begin to pound in your chest. You felt your breathing speed up, feeling claustrophobic in the clinic, but unsure of what you needed to do. You looked around, trying to remember where things that you could use as weapons were stocked, going still and covering your mouth in order not to scream as a large figure loomed in the flashing red lights.

“Doc, you okay?”

You could have cried when you heard his voice. You rushed to him, metal arm wrapping around your waist. You shook your head, laying a hand to his thick chest.

“What’s going on?”

Bucky shook his head.

“HYDRA goons. Steve and Tony have it handled.” “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Your eyes widened as you ducked in a breath. The two of you looked over to see a man stepping forward with what appeared to be a machine gun in his hand. Bucky stepped forward, subtly pushing you behind him and shielding you with his body. The man smiled, speaking in Russian, using words you didn’t understand, but you couldn’t miss the way Bucky went completely still, spine ramrod straight.

“Fuck you. Never again. I will never—“

The man replied in Russian, and you watched Bucky hang his head, teeth bared and eyes squeezed shut. As the man spoke again, Bucky groaned and you rushed to him, covering one of his ears with your hand, putting your lips right at his other ear.

“Tony built a panic room. We can get to it from any room in the clinic. Once I press the button, we’ve got eight seconds to get in, but once we're in, we’re there until he puts the code in to let us out.” “Go.” “I’m not going without you.”

He lifted his head and you covered his other ear with your hand. He stared into your eyes, both of you flinching when the man fired off a round from his gun. Bucky’s eyes hardened, and you grabbed his hand, squeezing it and taking off at a run. Bucky followed as the man began shooting, covering you with his body as best you could. You reached the supply closet of the room, pressed the button only you knew about, and the floor gave way, letting you slide into the panic room. Bucky was right behind you, and just like you were hoping, the floor righted itself before the man could join you.

You were breathing hard, heart racing as your legs crumpled beneath you and you sat on the floor.

“You okay?” “Ad—adrenaline rush.”

Bucky nodded, groaning as he sat beside you. You glanced to him and sucked in a breath before crawling to him.

“Jesus.” “I’m fine.”

You huffed out a breath, going up on your knees and studying the bleeding wound on his shoulder.

“I think he just grazed you.” “Like I said, I’m fine.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I’ve certainly had enough of you bleeding, so will you just shut up and let me help you?”

Bucky tossed his hair back out of his face to meet your eyes. He sighed and you pushed to your feet, going to a small cabinet in the room and opening it up. Inside, you’d stocked a first aid kit with all the medical equipment you could. You grabbed some gauze and some tape, making your way back to him.

“Take your shirt off.” “What, you’re not even going to try to buy me dinner first?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Just take the damn shirt off. You’re bleeding all over it anyway.”

Bucky sighed, wincing as he shifted and removed his shirt. You made a face when you saw the jagged gash along the upper part of his bicep, taking hold of one of the alcohol wipes you’d grabbed. Bucky bared his teeth and hissed out a breath when you swiped the alcohol over his skin, and you pursed your lips, gently blowing on his wound. You laid a few pieces of gauze down, taping them as best you could, knowing the serum that coursed through his veins would probably heal him before the tape even settled against his skin.

“Okay. You’re good. Anything else hurt?”

Bucky shook his head, glancing down at where your fingers were still gently resting against the thick muscle of his arm. You swallowed, moving your hands, moving them and setting them in your lap.

The silence hung thick between the two of you, and you finally pushed yourself up and began walking towards the little kitchenette in the corner of the room.

“It might be awhile before they get to us. Are you hungry?”

“Hey, I uh …”

You glanced up from the book you’d found in one of the cabinets and met Bucky’s eyes. He was sitting on the floor across from you, one knee pulled up and his metal arm resting on it. He licked his lips, then spoke again.

“I never did say thank you for … saving my life and all.”

You smiled.

“You’re welcome.” “You didn’t have to go as far as you did, but I … appreciate it.” “I couldn’t let you die, Barnes. Who would drive me literally out of my mind with annoyance if you weren’t here?”

Bucky smiled, glancing away. You watched him swallow and you set the book aside.

“What?”

His eyes were wide when he looked to you, and he moved to cross his legs. He took in a breath, then spoke again.

“There wasn’t any kind of … blowback or anything, was it?” “What do you mean?”

He swallowed again, pushing a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath before lifting his head to look at you.

“I know you gave me your blood, but … did you get any of mine?”

You blinked.

“No.” “Are you sure?”

You tilted your head to the side.

“Why are you so worried about it?” “Just … you’re sure?” “Yes, I’m positive.”

Bucky gave a hard breath of relief, hanging his head and leaning back against the wall. You shook your head as you watched him.

“Why are you so worried about it?” “No reason.” “I mean, it’s not like you’ve got any disease I can catch. The serum …”

You looked at his face, how hard his features seemed, but the pure shame and pain he couldn’t hide from his eyes. You stood up, walking over to him and sinking down to sit near him on the floor.

“Were you afraid that I’d get the serum somehow?”

Bucky shrugged his powerful shoulders, and you listened to the almost-silent clicks and whirrs of the plates in his arm as he moved it. He wouldn’t look at you, so you continued to softly talk.

“You were afraid some of your blood would get into my veins and … what? I’d become the Winter Soldier, Volume Two?”

Bucky didn’t answer, and you smiled.

“Winter Soldier, New and Improved. Winter Soldier: Better Than Before. Winter Soldier, Should Have Had a Girl to Start With, Because We Get Shit Done.”

Bucky laughed at that, then met your eyes.

“I wouldn’t wish this serum or the Winter Soldier on my worst enemy.” “Then I guess I’m good, huh?”

Bucky smiled, but looked down at his hands.

“You’re not my worst enemy.”

You pursed your lips and nodded, looking down at your own hands.

“I’m certainly not your friend.”

Bucky tilted his head towards you.

“We’re not friends?”

You let out a laugh.

“You can’t stand me.” “Is that what you think?” “If the way you treat me is how you treat one of your friends, I would hate to see what you did to your enemies.”

Bucky looked down at his metal arm and you felt your cheeks grow warm. He was quiet for a moment, before he spoke softly.

“I don't hate you.”

You swallowed, replying just as softly.

“I don’t hate you, either.”

He lifted his head at the same time you did, and you met his eyes. You gave a soft smile and he did the same, reaching over and brushing your fingers with his metal ones. Your smile widened and you leaned closer to him, moving your fingers closer, falling to your side when a powerful rumble shot through the ground. You looked up to see Bucky hovering over you, covering you with his body and you closed your eyes, ducking your head.

After a few tense seconds, the rumbling stopped. You uncurled yourself from the ball you’d been in and stared up at Bucky.

“What … what was that?”

Bucky shook his head.

“Either the compound was just nuked or …” “Bruce has gone green?”

Bucky nodded. He looked down at you and you realized how close the two of you were. You looked into his eyes and saw them darken just a bit and you swallowed.

“Bucky?”

He cleared his throat, moving away from you and getting to his feet, walking from the room. You stayed on the floor on your back, staring up at the ceiling as you blew out a breath.

“How long do you think it’s going to take for them to find us?”

Bucky shrugged. He was pacing around the main room, while you were sitting on the couch.

“People know about this panic room besides Tony, right?”

It was your turn to shrug.

“I think Pepper may know. Or Happy, maybe? One of them, surely.”

Bucky sighed.

“I’m bored.”

You let out a laugh.

“We’ve only been here for a couple of hours.” “Feels like days.” “Have you always been so restless?”

Bucky smiled.

“Kind of ADHD, Nat says.”

You rolled your eyes.

“She hit the nail on the head with that one.”

Bucky walked over to you and stood in front of the couch you were sitting on.

“Come on.” “What?” “Let’s spar.”

You let out a laugh.

“Not just ‘no,’ but hell no.” “Why not?”

You blinked at him.

“Because the last time we were in a fight together, you left me behind and I got five broken ribs as a result.”

Bucky went still.

“Are you serious?”

You held out your hands.

“You knew I got hurt.” “Yeah, but I didn’t know that.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Well, I’m all good now.” “I’ll go easy on you.” “Bucky, no.” “Please? I’m so bored.”

You looked up at him, the whining tone making him seem like a little boy, not a deadly former assassin. You rolled your eyes and got to your feet and Bucky grinned. You held up a hand to him.

“No punching.” “Obviously.” “Go slow, because I’m rusty.”

Bucky nodded, holding his fists up. You mirrored his stance, leaning out of the way when he slowly moved his arm in a punching motion towards you. You did the same back to him, and he easily moved out of the way.

“Not bad. Twist your wrist while moving your arm. Like this.”

He turned to the side and showed you, and you attempted the move.

“No, hang on.”

He stepped behind you, taking hold of your hand with his, slowly moving it. You closed your eyes at the warmth of him at your back, shaking your head and huffing out a breath.

“You okay?” “Yep. Just … trying to focus.” “Let’s go again.”

He moved to stand in front of you, slowly punching towards you. You dodged the blow, twisting your wrist like he’d taught you and almost punching him. He laughed, nodding his head, punching a little faster. You easily dodged him again, trying to trip him up by switching your hands, but he was too good.

After a few minutes, both of you were sweaty and breathing hard. Bucky was watching you as you twisted your hair up into a messy bun on top of your head. He swallowed, stepping closer to you and you laughed as you held up a hand.

“Let me breathe for a second.” “You think HYDRA will let you breathe when they storm the compound again?” “Oh, I didn’t realize Steve had entered the room.”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re pretty good at the hand-to-hand stuff.” “Well, I trained with Steve for a good bit.”

Bucky nodded, putting his hands on his hips. You rushed to him, laying your hands on his chest and pushing, laughing when he stumbled backwards, blue eyes wide as he looked to you. You settled into your “fighting stance” that Natasha had taught you and smiled.

“First rule, Barnes. Never let your guard down.”

He slid his tongue along his teeth, giving a soft chuckle.

“That … that was good.”

You relaxed, shrugging your shoulders and turning towards the couch. You gasped when Bucky was suddenly behind you, pushing you forward until you—gently—hit the wall. You shivered when his low voice scratched at your ear.

“Second rule: never turn your back.”

You nodded, eyes closing and a gasping breath escaping your lips when Bucky dipped his head.

“God, you smell good.”

You licked your lips, leaning back into him, taking in another shaky breath as he gently pushed you into the wall a bit more, his hard body surrounding yours.

“Buck—“

You groaned when he pressed his hips forward, and you turned, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in, lips locking onto his. His hands went to your waist, gripping you tightly. Your lips fought against his, his hands sliding up your body before twisting in your hair.

You let your head fall back and moaned as his lips went to your neck, sucking a dark bruise into your skin before taking hold of your hands and pinning them above your head. His metal hand gripped your wrists tightly enough that you couldn’t break his hold, and you gasped as the fingers of his other hand danced under the hem of your shirt.

“Buck, please.” “What?”

You surged forward, pressing your lips to his again, before he let you go and stepped back from you, reaching behind his head and yanking his shirt off. You did the same, reaching for him as soon as your shirt hit the floor. He wrapped his arms around you and you sucked in a breath as the coolness from his metal arm sank into your skin. You pushed your hands into his hair, surprised at how soft it felt, groaning as you all but melted into the warmth of his chest.

You somehow managed to switch your positions, pushing him against the wall and sinking to your knees. Bucky stared at you, lip between his teeth, groaning when your fingers went to the band of his jeans. You undid his belt and popped open the button, dragging the zipper down before tugging his jeans and boxers down enough to let his cock free.

“Holy shit.”

Bucky gave a laugh that quickly trailed into a groan as you wrapped your hand around him, dragging your fist up and down his hard shaft.

“Doc, you … you don’t—“

Bucky’s head fell back against the wall as you took his cock into your mouth, sucking gently as you swirled your tongue around. Bucky groaned, the fingers of his normal hand threading through your hair. You leaned back and let his cock fall out of your mouth with a “pop.”

Bucky took hold of your arms and lifted you to your feet, pushing you back against the wall and kissing your lips. He slid his hand down the front of your jeans, foregoing trying to unbutton or get them off, and you gasped, gripping his arms tightly when his fingers slipped between your legs.

“Damn, baby.”

You took hold of his face, pulling his lips back to yours, moaning into his mouth as the movement of his finger slipping into you sent shivers up and down your spine. He groaned as he slid his teeth over your skin, while two of his thick fingers kept a steady rhythm inside you.

“Bucky please.”

You whimpered at the loss of his fingers as he pulled back, using his shaky metal hand to unbutton your jeans. You kicked them off, sucking in a breath when the cool metal of Bucky’s hand brushed over your breastbone, a mere second before he snapped the front clasp of your bra open.

He groaned as he cupped your breasts in his hands, and you shivered at the sudden contrast, the warmth of one of his palms versus the coolness of his metal hand. You impatiently pushed his jeans further down his hips and he smiled at you, leaning in and kissing you more gently than he ever had as he kicked his jeans off. You sucked in a breath as he picked you up and carried you over to the couch.

You watched him as he laid you back, bracing his metal arm on the back of the couch as he leaned down and kissed you. He lifted his head and you reached up, tracing his mouth with your thumb as you laid your hand against his stubbled cheek.

“It’s been a while.”

Bucky nodded.

“I’ll go slow.”

You nodded, closing your eyes as his lips touched yours again. You took in a breath when Bucky began to slowly push forward, and at one point, you had to stop him.

“Wait. Just—please.”

He stopped, hanging his head and putting his face in your hair. You took in a shaky breath, letting it out slowly, focusing on the way his thumb kept moving in circles against your shoulder, until the stretching and fullness you felt gave way to pleasureable warmth. You nodded and he began to move, both of you groaning with the sensations.

“Fuck, babe. You …”

Bucky groaned, moving his metal hand to your hip, gripping you so tightly you knew there’d be a bruise there tomorrow. You gasped and moaned, breath heaving into and out of your lungs, a grateful groan rising from your throat when Bucky increased his rhythm. You shook your head and Bucky growled, lifting his head and shaking his hair out of his face.

“I want to feel you come.”

Your head fell back to the couch as you groaned, hands diving into his hair and lightly gripping the strands. Bucky’s hips stuttered and you smiled, bringing his lips back to yours and kissing him again, Bucky’s thrusts quickening until you pulled his hair again.

“You’re going … god. Fuck.”

You smiled, gasping as Bucky’s metal hand moved to cup your breast, cold fingers plucking your nipple until it hardened. He slid that hand down between the two of you, flicking your clit with those cold, metal fingers, and you dug your fingers into his back as you came without any warning. Bucky’s rhythm faltered as you tightened around him, and through the rush of blood in your ears, you heard the powerful roar he gave as he followed you over the edge.

You stared at the ceiling, heart still rabbiting against your ribs, Bucky’s arm thrown over your stomach. You were lying on your back on the couch, legs still tingling from your orgasm. Bucky was laying on his stomach beside you, really almost on top of you, metal arm under your head, face in your hair. You could feel his heart pounding just as quickly as yours.

Neither of you had said anything, and to be quite honest, you had no idea where to even begin. You licked dry lips as Bucky lifted his head, and you turned to meet his gaze, blue eyes staring into yours. He just looked at you for a moment, before a smile worked its way onto his lips.

“Hi there.”

You gave a soft laugh.

“Hi.” “You okay?”

You nodded, and he shifted just a bit, pulling you closer. You closed your eyes and moved your forehead to rest against his cheek, speaking softly.

“Buck, what does this mean?” “Why do you have to ask that question?”

You sighed, turning to stare at the ceiling some more.

“This is … a big deal, Bucky.” “So?” “‘So?’ All you have to say is ‘so?’” “If all I say is ‘so,’ then you have free rein to lose your mind and blow it all out of proportion, which I know you’re just dying to do.”

You blinked, turning your head to meet his eyes again. He shrugged his shoulders.

“You know it’s true.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You think you know me.” “I think I know more than you think I do.” “Oh, really?”

Bucky pushed himself up to where he could look down at you.

“You love to read. You want to say non-fiction, but you are a fiction junkie. The trashier the romance novel, the better.”

Your eyes widened, but he kept on.

“You cook like a goddamned wizard. You throw shit into a pot and it comes out tasting better than anything I’ve ever tasted. Steve used to sneak me bowls of whatever and put it aside for me when you refused to let me have any.” “I have never—“ “If you could have put up the ‘We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone’ sign you would have, in a heartbeat. And you would have marked out ‘anyone’ and wrote in ‘Bucky.’”

You swallowed, and he smiled.

“Can I continue?”

You nodded, and he went on.

“You like the medical tape that’s only an inch wide instead of the two inch. You think it’s wasteful, plus it gets in your way. You love lemon-scented cleaners, and the citrus or orange-scented ones give you a headache. You love chocolate—except for dark—“

You made a face and he chuckled as he went on.

“And I have been a complete ass to you for no apparent reason.”

You blinked as you met his eyes and he gave a sigh. He moved a hand and brushed some hair off your forehead, then smiled.

“No, don’t interrupt me. Let me finish.”

You giggled, giving a sigh, lifting a hand to link your fingers with his. He went quiet, and you spoke softly.

“Why have you been such an ass to me?”

Bucky huffed out a breath, dancing his metal fingers over your knuckles. He lifted his head to look into your eyes.

“The truth?” “Please.”

He sighed, glancing at your entwined hands before looking back to your eyes.

“Because I’ve been wanting this to happen since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

Your eyes widened and he smiled as he ran his other hand over his eyes.

“Don’t look so shocked.” “Seriously?” “You don’t have to say anything. Steve’s already torn me a new one.” “Steve knows?”

Bucky dropped his hand, lifting an eyebrow at you. You rolled your eyes.

“Of course Steve knows.” “Steve knows everything about me.”

You pursed your lips, trying to hide your smile.

“Does he know you have that freckle right there by your—” “Don’t even.”

You laughed, hands moving to Bucky’s biceps—one smooth skin, one surprisingly smooth metal—as he moved over you, shifting where he could look down at you.

“Can we start over?”

You gave a quiet laugh.

“You think we can? I’ve been pretty awful to you, too.”

Bucky shrugged his powerful shoulders.

“I’m willing to give it a shot if you are.”

You pursed your lips, but instead of giving the snarky comment you wanted to say, Bucky leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. You let your hands come up, fingers sliding into his silky smooth hair, tightening slightly when he deepened the kiss.

“Doc? Buck, are you here?”

Bucky pulled away from you, tilting his head.

“That wasn’t …”

You shook your head.

“You didn’t hear …”

Bucky met your eyes just as the door burst open.

“Oh my god!”

You covered your eyes with your hands and Bucky burst out laughing. Steve turned his back to you, hands on his hips as he hung his head. Tony cleared his throat and Bucky glanced over his shoulder.

“Can you give us a minute, guys?”

Tony slowly nodded, turning around and shaking his head.

“This is not what I meant this panic room for.” “Can you see if F.R.I.D.A.Y. can wipe this from my brain? I can’t unsee that, Tony.” “You and me both, Cap.”

Bucky crawled off of you, gently pulling your hands from your eyes. You met his eyes, seeing the smile on his face.

“Real funny, Barnes.” “I just can’t get over the fact that Stark and Steve come running in, catch us buck-ass naked, and your first thought is to cover YOUR EYES.”

You laughed at that, reaching a hand up. Bucky laced his fingers through yours and helped you sit up, and you pushed a hand through your hair. He gave you a smile and you tugged on his hand until he leaned forward.

“How much time do you think we have?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow a second before a smile broke over his face. He leaned in, both of you closing your eyes as his lips inches closer to yours.

“Don’t even think about it! We have to burn the damn panic room as it is! Get some clothes on and get the hell to your own rooms!”

You and Bucky laughed, and you closed the gap between you, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him.

TAGS: @marvelangstbingo, @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan, @captain-rogers-beard, @bionic-buckyb, @evansrogerskitten, @nuvoleincielo, @rhapsody-in-flannel, @unapologeticallymimi

#marvel angst bingo #square filled #bucky barnes x female reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #bucky barnes AU #marvel cinematic universe #mcu fanfiction #reader insert #marvel reader insert

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ofheroesandvillains · 5 years ago

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Changing Gears 2 - Tony Stark

Tony Stark/Fem!reader Words: 3.8k Warnings: None really, mentions of “The Cave”. Summary: I said one for each movie and I lied. Don’t trust me…ever. Here’s another for Ironman 1! It’s kind of all over the place. Let me know if it’s trash, it’s been a loooong time.

(not my gif!)

Fear.

Fear wasn’t foreign to you. Your earliest encounter with it came at age 4. Now remember, you stay where I can see you, your father had said, and under no circumstances are you to go in the water without letting an adult know. He’d given you a stern look, one that seemed more at home on Howard’s face than his own. Understood? He’d asked, and you’d nodded.

But things never really go the way they’re supposed to. One minute you’re on the shoreline, digging a little pool into the wet sand, the next, the water is sweeping you away into its cold embrace and you’re left bobbing between the waves. The floaties kept you up, sure, but with each passing second the tide had carried you further and further from the shore, and your desperate cries for your father went unheard.

Or at least you thought they had.

“Hey, it’s alright, I got you. Just- just hold onto me, okay?”

He had no idea how to comfort a wailing child, but even at age 12, Tony Stark did the best he could. What seemed like miles to you (and was more likely a few feet), was quickly wadded through by the boy you’d only met once before.

He didn’t tell your father. It was a lesson learned and you were just a kid, he’d be damned if anyone punished you for their own neglect. You looked terrified and clung to him like a koala, he hadn’t left your side for the rest of the day. That was the day you became his friend. That was the day he became your hero.

---------

That seemed so silly now…drowning. How could the fear of drowning possibly compare to this?

If you took every fear you’d ever felt, stacked them on top of each other and played them in a never-ending loop in your mind for the rest of your life, it’d be a welcome change to the absolute terror that had seized your heart the moment you’d been notified of Tony’s disappearance.

Naturally, the media had lost its mind as soon as a statement was released. Posters, social media, tabloids, the news; everyone was talking about Tony Stark - the billionaire, the genius, the national icon, in the hands of ‘the enemy’. Activists were saying ‘good riddance’, and weeping fans littered the daily news channels, mourning a man they’d never known…a man who you couldn’t -wouldn’t- believe was really gone.

He’s Tony Stark, you’d remind yourself, there’s nothing he can’t do.

Realistically, you knew that the chances of his survival were slim. Your overactive mind had already tried to calculate the odds before you forced it to focus elsewhere. There was still a company to run, reporters to avoid, a billionaire to find.

Pepper took care of the first two for you, but only you could help with the last. She’d been great, Pepper. A godsend. There were hardly any fumes left for you to run on. Sweeping the planet for any sign of Tony was draining; mentally and emotionally. If Pepper hadn’t been there to all but spoon-feed you and tuck you into bed, you likely would have ended up in the ER weeks ago. I’m turning into Tony, you’d wryly thought. But the thought itself just made you miss the man even more.

If anyone had it worse than you, it was probably Rhodey. He’d been more distraught than you’d ever seen him, and after all he’d experienced in his life and his career, that was certainly saying something. But it gave you someone who understood, someone who’d work long into the night with you to try and find a man you both refused to live without.

---------

“Why do you always make this so hard?”

Glassy eyes, pursed lips, drooping shoulders. You looked broken.

Maybe if he hadn’t been so drunk that night he would have understood what you meant. The alcohol never bothered you, not really. You’d scold him for it, take him home, tuck him in, leave Advil and a glass of water on his bedside table, and then repeat it all the next weekend. He’d take advantage of your kindness, because that’s what he did. He hurt the people closest to him.

He loved them, he’d do anything for them…but sometimes his self-depreciation outweighed that love. His whole life had been built on money and fame. He was used to getting what he wanted and the moment something threatened the status quo, he lashed out.

Years later, he would look back and barely remember that night. You hadn’t spoken to him for days afterward and that was the only reason he even cared to remember it at all. There were snippets of memories in his head; a man - a good-looking one, standing a little too close to you at an event, an irrational anger, an argument, and a bruised jaw the morning after.

He’d made excuses and begged for forgiveness, how could he not? Deep down Tony knew what emotion had fuelled him that night, and it was one he’d never expected to feel when he looked at you with someone else. It didn’t change anything, he told himself. In fact, he was hellbent on ensuring it didn’t. You’d told him to stop bringing his flings home, and he’d tried, he really had. But if he didn’t have them then he’d think of you, and he couldn’t ruin you like that.

So, he ignored your warnings and descended even further into his playboy lifestyle. The less he saw you, the more distant you became, and while it tore at him day in and day out, it was for the best. You’d both drifted from each other, but alcohol was the band-aid he slapped on that particular bullet wound.

You were the straight-laced, responsible one. You worked hard and saved face in the media when he inevitably screwed up. You looked after him even if it made your life harder.

Tony was a lot like you in the early days. He wanted to make his parents proud, but that all changed when he realised that no matter how hard he tried, it would never be enough for his father.

Somewhere along the road you’d both diverged from each other. A fork in the road that led you closer to heaven and him closer to hell.

But after that night, Tony had realised that this was more a crossroad than anything else. You were too good for him, he’d never hurt you by pursing a relationship. He didn’t do relationships. But god, did he hate the thought of you with anyone else.

He’d be okay with not having you, as long as nobody else could have you either.

“What the hell is your problem? What did you say to him?”

“I dunno what you mean…we were all ou’ here havin’ a good time, weren’t we girls?”

His entourage chirped like silicone baby birds, desperate for their mama’s attention. Your jaw clenched so hard at the smug grin Tony shot your way, that you almost chipped a tooth.

Ten minutes ago you’d been so close, so close, to finally taking that first step out of the hold he had on you and agreeing to a date. He was a nice boy, a handsome boy, one your mother would have gushed over. But like a vulture circling its next meal, Tony somehow knew just where to find you. His hold was iron. Sometimes you thought that his heart was too, because no matter how much it hurt, he’d never release you.

“Oh come on, sweetheart…” Tony tried rolling his eyes but his entire head followed. “What, you think you were gonna live happily ever after with the baby-faced real estate agent? Really?” He scoffed. “You could do better.”

“Sometimes you can’t help who you love, Tony.” You’d snapped. You’d said too much, but he wouldn’t remember it anyway.

Tony barked a laugh, and his baby birds followed.

“Love? Who’s talkin’ about love? There’s no love here, no ma’am!”

They all laughed again.

Your shoulders dropped, your lips pursed, and you felt the familiar sting at your eyes. You felt broken.

“Why do you always make this so hard?”

--------- Time was a funny thing. All of those nights he’d spent drinking and partying and hunting his next bedmate seemed to flash by in the blink of an eye. But here, in the dark, in the cold, in the wet, he could have sworn that it had been years since he’d arrived.

He’d wasted so much time.

The pain in his chest hadn’t eased up, he didn’t know if it ever would. The Doc had done an incredible job considering the circumstances, and Tony struggled to think of a single one of his own employees who would have had the brains and balls to do what Yinsen did (mainly because he didn’t deal with his employees, but the sentiment was the same). Yinsen had saved his life, and if all it cost him was a bit of pain, then that was a pretty great deal.

The only problem was, that this place was hardly a place he wanted to spend the rest of his life in - however short that may be. The trauma was there, physical and mental, but he’d wrapped it up in chains and thrown it into the deepest pits of his mind. He didn’t have time to fall apart, not when they had a plan.

“I have this friend…”

It was dark, but Tony could still see Yinsen’s head turn in his direction. So far when they settled in for some sleep - if either of them could even manage to muster a few hours - it was Yinsen who had done most of the talking. He spoke of his wife, his children, his home…better days. If anything went wrong the following day, then it was likely that one or both of them would be killed. If ever there were a time to remember what was waiting for him at home, it was now.

“Oh?”

“Yeah…she’s, well, the only real family I have left now that I think about it.”

Yinsen was silent for a beat.

“Do you love her?”

Tony huffed a derisive laugh.

“No. No, it’s not- not like that.” He shook his head, even if Yinsen could barely see it. “She’s different, y’know? Better than this, than- than me.”

Glassy eyes, pursed lips, drooping shoulders. You looked broken.

It was silent again.

“I’ve known her my whole life. She uh, man…”

Yinsen smiled softly. There was a genuine smile in the billionaire’s words.

“She’d know exactly what to do. She’s smart, focused. Probably searching the whole damn planet for us.”

You. Yinsen didn’t bother correcting him.

“She sounds special.”

“She is…I still hear her sometimes. That little voice inside my head, you know the one?”

Yinsen nodded, his eyes slipping shut as he pictured his family.

“I do. I call it hope.”

Tony heaved a shaky breath. “Yeah…hope.”

He smiled. If he closed his eyes he could see the pleased look his words would give rise to.

“She’d get us both out of here with a paper clip and a double A battery.”

Yinsen chuckled.

“I’m sure you’d do the same for her.”

Anything. I’d do anything…

Yinsen hummed thoughtfully, and Tony had to wonder if he’d said that aloud.

“Do you love her?”

Another silence stretched between them as Tony looked over to their workspace. If he squinted he could make out the shape of their creation. The suit of armour that would take them to safety, to freedom…home. Or, maybe it wouldn't.

“Yeah.” He inhaled sharply. “Yeah, I do.”

--------

Tony had taught you many things in life, but this was one of the most important lessons.

You remembered your first day at high school. A child genius, they called you.

A prodigy, that kid’s goin’ places, I’m tellin’ ya!

They were right and you were young, but they also seemed to think that despite the label, your age must have brought with it a certain degree of naivety. The only way they could outdo you was with experience, and they used that to their advantage.

“Watcha doin’?”

“Homework,” you’d answered, tiny hands moving a mile a minute to finish up before dinner.

Tony had frowned then, not that you could see it. You didn’t see him all that often, and when you did, he could barely go to the bathroom without you trailing after him. This was…new.

Even more unusual were the papers strewn all over the desk beside you. Louisa, Thomas, Jake, Allison…Homework, huh? Tony’d thought dryly.

“Woah, slow down there, Speedy Gonzales,” He’d plucked the pencil out of your hand, and couldn’t suppress a smile at the wide-eyed look you’d given him.

“Tony!” You’d shouted, launching yourself at him.

He’d laughed; you hadn’t known it at the time but that was a rarity in those days. You wouldn’t understand it until you were much older, the way he changed around you, even then. The way he hid his sadness, his anger, his bitterness, from you. His childhood may have been miserable, but he’d never allow himself to be the reason yours suffered too.

He would never let anyone hurt you. Except himself, you’d both go on to realise.

“What’s all this?” he’d asked, finally prying your little arms from around his neck.

“The kids at school said that the only reason I was moved up was because my daddy paid for it. They said if I was really that smart, then I’d be able to write their essays and get A’s for all of them.”

You’d looked down at your feet. Why did it suddenly feel wrong? Why did Tony’s smile suddenly look so forced and bitter. He’d scrubbed his expression clean before he looked back at you.

“Did you doubt you could do it?”

“No, I knew I could!” You’d defended.

“Right…so why prove something you already know is true?”

His eyes had softened when he noticed your sad little pout. Decades later it still had the same effect on him. That damned look, I swear it’ll be the death of me one day.

“Hey, look…I get it. I really do,” He’d squeezed your shoulder. “It’s hard, and big kids are assh- ehem, they’re meanies,” his lips had twitched upward, “but you don’t have to prove a damn thing to them, okay? The only person I want you to worry about impressing in this world is you. Can you do that for me?”

You’d nodded.

“Promise?”

“Yes, Tony.”

He’d cocked a brow.

“What, you think I’m going to take your word for it?”

Your fist had shot up immediately, pinky finger at the ready.

“That’s right,” he’d nodded. “You break this very official agreement and that’s it, it’s all over for us.”

---------

So, when he decided to put an end to the weapons manufacturing sector of Stark Industries, you gave him your full support. It was his choice and the world would have to deal with it. Tony had been different since his return. There was a certain blankness that would settle in his eyes sometimes and he seemed more aware of the world around him. He didn’t talk about what happened to him, and you wouldn’t force him to, but the effect it had was evident.

When he’d landed on that tarmac, looking worse than you’d ever seen him, you’d told yourself that it was okay. That he was safe. He was alive. It was more than you could have ever hoped for. Then you’d proceeded to burst into tears, and clung to him the entire way to McDonald’s, like you had that day at the beach so long ago. A press conference was called and he’d left you in the car with a wink that was entirely too confident for a man who’d been through hell.

I promised you a souvenir…

The stoppered tube he’d given you almost sent you into another bout of hysterics. But you were quick to get it together when you’d heard his announcement. You spent the next few days turning off the news whenever he entered the room, but despite your efforts he knew all about the world’s criticism.

“You okay?”

You lingered in the doorway of his bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees and head hanging between them. He straightened at the sound of your voice, but the charade was already broken.

“Peachy,” he didn’t even bother forcing a smile. You made your way over to sit beside him.

“You ever just…? I mean, am I doing the right thing here? I gotta be, right?”

He looked at you with wide-eyes. They’d take in every inch of you for signs of a lie, or eagerly lap up your reassurances. You’d seen those eyes before; eyes desperate for direction, for a guidance he usually didn’t need. He was Tony Stark and he paved his own way in life…but the world was so far behind him these days, that he sometimes needed the only thing tethering him to it - and that was you. It always had been, and it always would be.

“You are.”

He’d released a sharp breath, relieved, but irritated. He’d been watching the news again.

“Then- Then why are people treating this like some kind of PTSD-induced phase that I’m supposed to snap out of?”

Did you see that? Those are your weapons…

“People are dying-”

In the hands of those murderers…

“-I know-“

Is this what you want?

“-my weapons are killing them-“

Is this what you wish the legacy of the great Tony Stark to be?

“-I know-“

“Do you?!” He snapped. “‘Cause I had no idea!”

His chest was heaving, anger simmering beneath the surface. You’d let him have this, this moment to just yell and vent and get it all out without having to worry about who would see or who he’d hurt with his words. He’d never hurt you, not really.

Slowly, the stern lines of his face evened out, his shoulders slumped, and that familiar look of regret bled into his eyes.

“I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry...I just…” he drew in a sharp breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I need to know that I’m doing the right thing, no matter the cost.”

“You know why they want you to doubt your decisions? Why they want you to ‘snap out of it’?” you asked.

“It’s not because you’re wrong, but because admitting that you’re right doesn’t work in their favour.” You grasped his hand. “People will never value life as long as they continue to profit from death, Tony.”

“It’s not their names stamped on the shell…” his jaw clenched.

“I know, hon.” You offered a sympathetic smile. “But you’ve taken the first step in a direction even Howard wasn’t brave enough to take. So, we’re going to do what we always do. We’re going to fix this, okay?”

His dark, glassy eyes met your own and you smiled softly at the first trace of a small spark in them.

“Huh…”

You forced a shaky laugh, almost squirming at the foreign look in his eyes.

“What?”

He just smiled and shook his head. “Nothing. Just…I missed you, y’know?”

“Right back atcha,” you huffed a more genuine laugh this time. “I mean it, Tony. I’ve never been more proud of you in my life.”

You pulled him into a tight hug, and by the time you’d pulled away and risen to your feet, a pained look had clouded his features.

“Tony?” You couldn’t help but worry.

“I’m fine,” he smiled. It was entirely fake.

“Do, uh…do you mind just…” He glanced down at the floor as if ashamed to ask, waved his hand to the other side of his bed, and looked back up at you through his lashes. “Stay with me?”

The question caught you off-guard, but you couldn’t blame him for asking. When was the last time he’d gotten a good night’s sleep? Probably the night of the Apogee Awards, and that seemed so very, very long ago. You gave him a reassuring smile.

“Of course.”

He’d settled into bed like a skittish animal, eyes darting to his bedroom door and to the wide expanse of tinted windows that lined his wall. The cave had been claustrophobic, but all he saw now were too many points of entry. He’d have to fix that.

Your head settled on his shoulder, and all -most- thoughts of kidnapping were tucked away for later.

“Y’know…Pep told me you barely slept while I was gone.”

“Snitch,” you mumbled, and he chuckled. “Yeah, I was a little stressed. Didn’t take care of myself as much as I probably should have.”

“I’m sorry…”

You squeezed his side, a silent reprimand.

“Don’t. You’re the last person who should be apologising. You have no idea how relieved I am, Tony.”

He was quiet for a beat. Usually he’d fire back a quip to lighten the mood, but not this time it seemed.

“I’m happy to be home.”

And he was, he just couldn’t quite voice that it wasn’t the safe and warm mansion that he’d considered home while he was in that cave. There were arms he wanted wrapped around him. There were eyes he imagined shining up at him. There was a smile he wanted to trace with his lips. There was a woman, right there at the forefront of his mind, begging him to come home…and he never could deny her.

It was jarring. He was supposed to be smart. He was supposed to be smarter than smart, and it had taken a kidnapping, a haphazard surgery in a dank cave, losing a man -a friend- worth more than any of the snobs he’d met Stateside, a fire-fight with terrorists, and a crash-landing in the middle of the desert, to open his eyes to the world around him.

Don’t waste it…don’t waste your life…

They could take his money, and his fame, and his company, and even his brain. He’d still have all he ever needed. Yinsen had lost that, it was why he urged him not to do the same.

But no, he couldn’t say that. Not to her, not yet. So he did what he always did.

“Pep also said that you slept in here most nights.”

You hummed absentmindedly.

“Kinda hoping you never outgrew that habit of sleeping in your underwear…”

Your brows furrowed, eyes snapping open to spy a grin out of the corner of your eye.

You slapped his chest lightly, mindful of the new addition.

“You’d only be so lucky, pal.”

Feeling his chest shake in silent laughter brought a smile on your face, and though you thought you heard his response, you were too far gone to care about it in the moment.

“Don’t I know it…”

#tony stark #tony stark x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #Iron Man #iron man x reader #ironman #tony stark imagine #changing gears

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what-if-i-imagine · 6 years ago

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Chapter 3

“As others saw--I could not bring,”

-Alone, by Edgar Allan Poe

“Hey Happy,” I said, tosing my backpack into the backseat as I sat in the front.

“Hey Harley,” Happy said, pulling the car out of the school parking lot. “How was your first day at school?”

I thought back on the day and had no hesitation to proclaim it as good. I told Happy about how I already made a good friend who cared about me before he found out who my guardians were, and I already had a project to complete in my science class.

“That’s great Har,” Happy smiled, not looking away from the road as he drove us out of the city.

“Are we going to the compound?” I asked, after taking note of the road we were on.

“We are, and everyone owes me ten bucks.”

“Why?”

“We had a little bet going on about how your first day at school will be. Pepper, Stephen and I bet it would be good, but Tony and Rhodey were convinced something was going to go wrong and you were going to call us at any minute in tears.”

“So why would Pep and the Doc owe you money too?” I pried more into the fact that he said everyone.

“They bet it was going to be so good that you joined a club. I thought that was moving too fast, especially for you.”

I nodded, wondering to myself if Flash was in any clubs. If he wasn't, I would probably end up not joining anything either, since I didn't want to be alone.

Happy and I sat in a comfortable silence for a few minute after that, then I turned to him and said, “I met Peter Parker. That one intern that you and Tony talk about so much.”

“Did you now?” Happy’s face both seemed excited and filled with dread. “Are you two friends now?”

“Not really,” I shrugged. “We only said a few sentences to each other, and it was super awkward.”

We returned to silence. I listed to the sound of the wheels on the road to keep myself occupied as Happy combed through my words in his mind. He told me once that sometimes when I’m speaking, I go too fast and he has to mentally slow time down to process whatever I’ve said. I guess I had been going way too fast, because he didn't end up saying anything at all.

“What’s his job at Stark Industries again?” I broke the silence.

“He’s an intern that does a little bit of everything. Like a temp, if you would. He works a lot of special security though. The day Tony proposed, Peter was there because he was being offered a promotion.”

“Security?” I asked The boy was taller than me, and he looked like he could hold his own in a fight,but at the same time, he didn't look strong enough to stop a bad guy or have the stomach to pull the trigger on a gun.

“A special security unit, yes,” he clarified. “I’m actually Peter’s supervisor. The boy knows how to take and give a solid punch. Do you remember that fiasco last year with the guy who called himself the Vulture? It’s okay if you don't, you weren't really all there during that time.”

“I kinda remember it,” I nibbled on my lip. “Spider-Man, that guy Tony got help from during the accords, he was the one that took him down, right?”

“Right. But he never would have been able to do that if we didn't have Peter Parker on the special security. He figured most of it out a month before we even knew we were in any trouble.”

I looked straight ahead at the road again. Peter being involved with the Vulture incident explains why he had gotten in the car and heard Tony talking on the phone with my doctor. A lot had happened in those few month after the acords. Everyone was regretting signing them, they felt betrayed the the rogues who called themselves heros, so what happened to me was like a cherry on top of a burnt pie.

Tony was extremely temperamental after I was hospitalized, very easy to anger. Spider-Man had gotten in some deep trouble because he did something stupid that Tony told him not to do, and it struck his last nerve.

Happy pulled into the Avengers Compound, stopping up in front so I could get out and he could go park the car. I grabbed my backpack from the back seat and began my climb up the steps to the front doors. No one was waiting outside, so I just let myself in with the help of my Stark Watch, which had Friday programed into it.

“Honey, I’m home,” I shouted into the empty space, looking around for my guardians.The halls were so empty my voice seemed to echo back at me for an eternity. I never really liked being in the compound. It was too monitored, I felt like I had to apologize to security cameras just for breathing a little too loud.

“They're not back yet Mr. Harley,” Vision’s voice didn't startle me. I had been moved to New York before Jarvis had become Vision, so I was used to that particular voice speaking out of nowhere.

“Hey Vis,” I turned to him with a fond tone. Before Jarvis became Vision, my nickname for the AI had still been Vis. I think something held over from the AI’s memories, because the nickname always made Vision smile so wide I was fooled for a second into believing that he wasn't a maroon colored Synthezoid, but a human man who was speaking to an old friend he hadn't seen in a longtime.

“I heard from Friday that you are going to a public school in the city, how was your first day?”

“Can we talk in the kitchen?” I asked. “I’m starving.”

Vis made me a sandwich and some tea, practically hanging off my every word. He told me that one of these days after school I should invite Flash to the compound so that everyone could meet my new friend.

“You seem really happy about me getting a friend,” I noted with a laugh, sipping my earl grey.

“I am,” he said. “It is nice that you finally have a friend. You always seem so lonely.”

I looked down at my cup and realized something. I had been lonely.

I always knew that I didn't like being alone, and I acknowledged the fact that I always was, but I had never actually thought of myself as lonely. Rhodey always told me that I needed to try to account my emotions and thoughts more instead of compartmentalizing them, I guess this was a perfect example.

“Hey Vis, can you explain being lonely for me?” I asked, not looking up.

“It’s a sort of subcategory of sadness. You don't feel right, like you could fade away because you have no one around you. Some people feel lonely even when they are in a room filled with people they love, because it’s not who they want to be with at that moment,” Vis gently took my hand. “But Harley, you don't need me to explain it, do you?”

I shook my head and bit my lip. I knew exactly what lonely was, I just didn't want it to be quiet. When it’s quiet, I think, and when I think, I get paranoid. In the few second of silence, I remembered how Flash joked that he was always late to class, but I was like an alarm clock. I remembered how he punched my arm jokingly, but immediately started to apologize and make sure I was okay. I thought of how when he walked off to the bus, there was something in his eyes that worried me. He looked lonely the second he started to walk away.

I knew what lonely was, and Flash did too.

Something odd though, was when I remembered P.E. and the way those three people looked. They were best friends,that was clear to a blind man, but it was just like Vis had said, you could be with the people you love and still be lonely,because you weren't with the person you want to be with at that moment.

“Vis, what do you know about the Stark Intern Peter Parker?” I asked.

Vis thought for a moment with an expression that told me he knew more than he was allowed to say. Gosh, this was as bad as googling him, but also somehow worse.

“He started working for Tony and Pepper a little after the accords incident,” Vis started. “A few months ago he denied a promotion because it would mean less time with his friends and at after school activities. He lives with his Aunt, May Parker, in Queens and has foremost of his life. Why do you ask?”

“He goes to my school,” I shrugged. “Him and Flash… they kinda knew each other I guess? I didn't really ask too much about it, but he and his friends seemed odd.”

“Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones,” Vis said, making me look up in shock. He laughed at my expression, “They’re all on a decathlon team together that made the news a few months ago. Michelle became the head of it a little after the Vulture incident.”

“Wait, that's the decathlon team that almost died in DC? When the elevator broke? That was the team from my school?” I asked.

“It is,” Vis nodded. “If my search is correct, your new friend was also on the elevator. On his social media accounts he was raving for over a month after the incident about how amazing Spider-Man was. He still posts Spider-Man appreciation posts, and gets into regular online debates about the accords.”

I had to let all of that sink in. My new best friend turned out to be obsessed with the same superhero I was. And for a very similar reason.

#harley keener #vision #happy hogan #peter parker #ned leeds #michelle jones #spiderman #flash thompson #harley x peter #peter x harley #harley keener x peter parker #parkner #parley #flowers for his heart

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whumphoarder · 5 years ago

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¿Cómo se dice ‘I’m in Deep Sh*t’?

Summary: Due to unforeseen circumstances (and a bit of procrastination), Peter runs out of time to prepare for his Spanish presentation and ends up faking sick to buy himself some more.

He just wasn’t really counting on Tony being the one to pick him up from school.

Word count: 2,997

Genre: humor, fluff, whump

Link to read on Ao3

A/N: Based on a prompt from @coconutknightshade!

Apparently it takes a village to write a story lol—thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx, @sallyidss, @fandomsficsandfeels, & @seek-rest for beta-reading and ideas, and @lunannex for Spanish help!

“What if I just like… fake my death?” Peter suggests as he hands his mentor a different sized wrench. “They can’t mark me down for not doing it if I’m dead, right?”

Tony, who is currently bent over their latest project (replacing the timing belt in May’s car), snorts. “As someone who’s been officially presumed dead more than once, can’t say I recommend it. Way too much paperwork.”

Peter sighs. “Can we stage a kidnapping then?” he says hopefully. “Or an alien abduction?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s a four-minute speech, not the end of the world—though I have some experience with that too.” He holds out a hand. “Half inch ratchet.”

“A four-minute speech in Spanish,” Peter emphasizes, passing him the requested tool. “Which is a language I don’t speak.”

“Hence why you’re in Spanish class,” Tony counters. “With all the other kids who can’t speak Spanish.”

“But it’s also like ten percent of my grade,” Peter goes on as his mentor loosens the timing belt and removes it from the engine before handing it to Peter to set aside. “And I have to talk about what I do in a typical week, and it’s not like I can say I go patrolling or come over to the compound, so I’m gonna have to make stuff up—”

Tony interrupts, “Yo veo mucha televisión,” he says sagely.

“—and then what if I get up there and forget everything and just sound stupid?” Peter continues his rant. He groans and passes Tony the replacement belt. “Maybe I should just conveniently get the flu on Wednesday.”

Looking up from the engine, Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you really this stressed about it? Because if you need to focus on school, I could just finish this up myself.”

Peter sighs again and runs a hand through his hair—he hadn’t meant to complain this much, he’d just kind of gotten on a roll after Tony asked him how school was going. “No, no… I wanted to come over—really. And I’ve got three more days to work on it, it’s just like… ugh. I should have taken German instead.”

Tony huffs out a short laugh. “Pretty sure they have to speak in German class too.”

“Yeah but MJ’s not in German…” Peter mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” Tony asks, elbow deep in the engine block.

Peter expels a breath. “Nothing, it’s fine,” he says a bit more audibly, trying to convince himself as much as his mentor. So what if the most observant and shrewd person in his year also happens to be in his Spanish class?

(And so what if he might have a bit of a crush on her?)

Tony chuckles. “You’ll do great, kid,” he assures. “Just make sure you practice.”

Peter forces a smile. “Right, yeah, of course.”

Practicing, however, turns out to be easier said than done.

With finals fast approaching, it’s crunch time for all of Peter’s classes. Whatever spare moments he has over the weekend are spent finishing up his Animal Farm essay for the English summative and cramming for his geometry test Monday morning. The upcoming Spanish presentation hangs over his head, but it’s more annoying than anything else. He figures it should be fairly simple to actually bullshit something and translate it if he just sits down and does it (which, ironically, somehow makes it easier to push off).

He’s intending to work on it Monday evening, but a winter storm hits that afternoon, dumping eight inches of snow and ice on the city. Peter spends most of his patrol assisting with minor traffic accidents and helping stranded motorists scrape ice from their vehicles or shovel cars out of parking spaces. By the time he gets home late that night, he’s too exhausted to do much more than sit on the couch with May and drink cocoa while she watches Grey’s Anatomy reruns.

Oh well. He’s still got time.

Peter tries to make good use of his study hall on Tuesday, but the period ends up being kind of a wash. He spends half the time attempting to come up with something to say that is both interesting enough to make him seem not totally lame while still believable enough to fool MJ, and the other half messing around on his phone and trying to recall the name of the annoying song stuck in his head.

(It was ‘Goodbye’ by The Spice Girls.)

He’s intending to finish the presentation Tuesday evening after he gets home, but then Ned throws an unexpected monkey wrench into his plans just before the final bell rings.

“So I gotta be there early for warm ups, but my mom will pick you up around six, okay?” he tells Peter as they pack up their book bags.

Peter frowns, confused. “...Pick me up?”

Ned tilts his head. “Unless May can give you a ride after all? But I thought you said she was working tonight, right?”

All of a sudden it clicks—tonight is Ned’s first band concert. He’d taken up percussion a few months back in an effort to beef up his extracurriculars for his college applications. Peter agreed to go to the performance weeks ago.

“Oh right right right,” Peter quickly covers. “Six is great. I’ll see her then!”

Ned beams. “Awesome! My sister and her boyfriend are coming too, so we might go out to celebrate afterwards!”

“Yeah, awesome!” Peter agrees, forcing a grin. “That should be really fun.”

(Oh yeah, he’s screwed.)

The concert was cool. Ned hit that triangle with all the required enthusiasm whenever his parts came up, and Peter flashed him loads of encouraging thumbs-ups from the audience. When it was over, they all went out to Denny’s for some mediocre late-night pancakes and the usual Leeds family banter. All in all, a pretty fun night.

When Peter gets home a little after ten, he opens his Spanish doc in one tab and promptly falls into a YouTube hole in another while looking for background music. He’s still grinning when he closes out of his fifth vine compilation video in a row until he checks the time a second later and the grin dissolves. It’s 12:03 a.m.

Oops.

Study hall Wednesday morning will be his saving grace, he’s sure.

So, of course, a fight has to break out right outside of the library.

It’s not too bad—the two instigating students are hauled away by security with a couple bloody noses and black eyes, and a few other kids are taken down to the office for questioning. Peter was far enough removed from the action that he doesn’t have to come along, but the whole debacle eats up all but the last ten minutes of the period so when the bell finally rings, he’s got precisely five words written down:

Hola, me llamo Peter Parker.

(Suddenly all those jokes about faking his own death are starting to sound a lot more appealing.)

Or if not my death, he thinks as he trudges down the hall in the direction of his Spanish classroom, cold dread pooling in his gut, then at least…

He stops walking, glancing sideways into the brightly lit office just off the hall. The elderly nurse is sitting at her desk, glasses half-way down her nose as she reads a paperback novel with the picture of a Christmasy log cabin on the cover.

No. He can’t. He doesn’t lie.

...Unless…

No. May’s at work. She’d have to leave early to come and pick him up.

Okay, but it’s not like you do this often, his brain counters. Hell, you came to school with a concussion and two cracked ribs last month and didn’t say a word about it. May can take one for the team just this once.

Peter slips into the bathroom across the hall and waits there until the bell rings to signal the end of passing period, and then an additional five minutes on top of that to add some credibility to his act. He splashes a bit of cold water on his forehead and around his neck, and then works himself up with some heavy breathing before exiting the bathroom.

Folding his arms over his stomach, Peter moves shakily across the hall back toward the nurse’s office, making an effort to look as unwell as possible. A passing student eyes him suspiciously and gives him a wide berth, so he figures he must be doing something right.

Steeling himself with a shuddery breath, he steps into the office.

“Hall pass?” the nurse asks without looking up from her book.

“Um, no, I don’t have one, uh…” Peter’s heart is fluttering in his chest. “I just… I’m not feeling good.”

Eyes still on the page, the nurse silently taps a finger to a sign on the wall just behind her desk which reads: PASSES REQUIRED FOR ALL STUDENTS.

Peter swallows hard. C’mon, Parker—commit. “Right, but, uh, I came from the bathroom.” He hugs himself a little tighter and looks down. “My stomach really hurts. I was throwing up and, uh… stuff,” he concludes, deciding that in this case, less is more.

The nurse’s expression softens. She lowers her novel and gets to her feet with a small sigh. “Well, there is a bug going around,” she concedes, gesturing for him to sit down on the cot in the back of her office.

Peter keeps his responses vague when she requests more specific information on his symptoms, mostly offering shrugs or short, mumbled answers. She checks his temperature and seems slightly suspicious at his lack of fever, but he makes up for it by getting up suddenly and darting into the nurse’s bathroom.

When he emerges—exactly seven minutes and two new levels of Candy Crush later—Peter makes sure to keep his eyes averted from the nurse’s gaze and his movements slow and a little unsteady, one hand hovering over his stomach. She gives him a bottle of Gatorade and a couple of crackers and tells him to lie down until May comes to pick him up.

“I got ahold of her,” the nurse informs, sounding more sympathetic now. She slides a small garbage bin beside the cot. “She says she’s just finishing something up at work and then she’ll be right over.”

“Thank you,” Peter mutters tiredly. He doesn’t even have to act for that part—between the stress of his upcoming finals and his last couple of late nights, he really is exhausted and he has a bit of a headache. It makes him feel just the slightest bit better about pulling May away from her shift that there’s at least something physically wrong with him, even if it isn’t what he’s claiming.

Under the thin fleece blanket the nurse gives him, Peter manages to drift off to sleep.

But it turns out, today is just really not his day.

“No fever yet, but sometimes with these kinds of bugs that doesn’t come until later,” Peter overhears the nurse explaining in a low voice. He’s lying curled up on the cot, face toward the wall. “If that happens, just remember that he needs to be fever-free for 24 hours before returning to school.”

“Oh, I have a feeling that won’t be a problem,” a familiar voice that definitely does not belong to Aunt May replies.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s eyes snap open fully and he sits up in a hurry.

Tony and the nurse are standing together beside her desk, chatting quietly. Tony turns to look at Peter, face straight but eyebrows raised in amusement. “Oh would you look at that—he lives,” he remarks. “Feeling any better, Pete?”

Immediately, Peter wraps an arm around his stomach and does his best to look ill. “Uh, no, not really... but, um wh-what are you doing here?”

“The hospital is a little short-staffed today and your aunt was having trouble finding someone to cover her shift,” Tony explains, keeping his expression perfectly neutral. “She called to ask if I minded picking you up. You know”—his eyes narrow—“since you’re so sick.”

(Peter gulps. He’s starting to wonder if maybe he’ll be sick after all.)

“So of course, I told her I would,” Tony goes on. “I mean, if you’re feeling this bad, we could hardly just leave you here...”

Peter has to force himself to meet Tony’s gaze. “Right. Um, thank you. That’s super nice of you.”

“Well, you know me, Tony Super-Nice Stark,” his mentor says with a small chuckle as he steps closer to the bed.

“Now, with stomach bugs, the biggest concern is going to be dehydration,” the nurse continues. “So you’re going to want to push fluids, especially if he’s having di—”

“Fluids, got it,” Peter cuts her off, feeling his cheeks heat up. He gets to his feet and starts moving toward the door, but Tony halts him by grabbing his arm.

“Hey, hey, slow down, kid,” Tony tuts at him. “You were just looking like you might pass out a minute ago.” He presses his palm to Peter’s forehead and glances over to the nurse, eyebrows pinched together in the semblance of concern. “He’s kinda flushed, right? Maybe we should check his temperature again.”

“It’s fine,” Peter mutters, barely managing to suppress an eye-roll. “I think I just need to go home and sleep.”

“Sleep is probably the best thing for him,” the nurse agrees, nodding. “But going back to dehydration, if at any point it’s been more than five hours since he’s last urinated—”

“Mr. Stark, c’mon…” Peter whines quietly, nudging the man toward the door.

Tony holds up a finger to shush him—there’s a twinkle in his eyes that’s honestly driving Peter mad. “Hang on, kiddo. This is all very important information. In fact”—he pulls out his phone and opens the notes app—“let me just write this down. So you said if he hasn’t peed in five hours…?”

The nurse goes on to happily share her wealth of knowledge regarding stomach viruses with his mentor. Tony nods along to her advice, looking genuinely interested the entire time, occasionally interrupting to ask pertinent questions. Meanwhile, Peter just stands there, quietly dying a little inside.

Finally, she concludes her little spiel and Tony thanks her politely, then asks, “You wouldn’t happen to have a bin or bag or something we could take with us, would you? I just got the car detailed recently—hate for that to go to waste.”

Peter lets out another low groan. “Mr. Stark…”

“Ah, I have just the thing!” the nurse says. She bustles over behind her desk and produces a plastic sand pail with assorted Paw Patrol characters on it. “I get these from the dollar store,” she informs. “They don’t look like they hold too much but you’d be surprised!”

Tony grins. “That’s perfect. Thank you so much, Alice.” Looking to Peter, he asks, “Need the bathroom before we leave?”

Rolling his eyes at his mentor, Peter takes the bucket from the nurse with a muttered “thanks” and strides directly out the door.

Tony doesn’t say anything for the entire walk to the car, but Peter’s mind is happy to fill the silence with dread and anxious thoughts as he imagines all the various ways his mentor might chew him out about this. Stupid Spanish presentation—he should have just winged it after all.

The moment that both he and Tony are seated in the vehicle and the car doors are shut behind them, Peter sets the bucket down on the floor and covers his face with a groan.

“Alright, let’s get it over with,” he mutters into his hands. “Lay it on me.”

“Just to clarify,” Tony begins, sounding a bit more serious. “You’re not actually sick, right? This was just to get out of your presentation?”

“Yeah, I dunno...” Peter admits, feeling defeated. “I was planning to work on it—I swear. Just, well, there was all this stuff due for my other classes, and then the snowstorm, and all these commitments just kept coming up, and I just kinda... ran out of time. Figured if I got sent home I could buy myself an extra day or two.” He sighs deeply, lowering his hands to look up at his mentor. “Are you gonna tell May?”

Tony huffs out a short laugh. “Honestly? I think you’ve suffered enough.”

Peter blinks at him, surprised. “Wait, seriously?”

“You listened to a school nurse describe the BRAT diet for three whole minutes,” Tony says with a snort. “I don’t think any lecture May or I could give would top that.”

“God,” Peter groans, running a hand over his face. “If I hear the word ‘binding’ used one more time…”

“But,” Tony says, holding up a stern finger as he starts the car. “As soon as we get back to your place, we’re finishing up that presentation in time for your miraculous recovery tomorrow, got it?”

“We?” Peter raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you even speak Spanish?”

Tony waves a hand dismissively. “I know French and Italian—close enough. More importantly, I am fluent in the language of bullshit, kid. I once convinced an entire board of investors that not adding a clock feature to the new Starkphone prototype was a philosophical statement about the ‘futility of time as a construct’ rather than an embarrassing oversight caused by deadline crunches, no sleep, and more caffeine flowing through my veins than red blood cells.”

“And how did that go?” Peter asks.

“Sold twelve thousand shares that day. And I got to meet the Dalai Lama.”

Peter just snorts.

“Oh, and there was this other time,” Tony goes on wryly, “when I helped my intern play hooky to get out of a school presentation by convincing the nurse he had the shits.”

Peter leans back against the seat with a heavy sigh. “I’m never doing this again, Mr. Stark,” he mumbles.

Link to all my fics

If you enjoyed this story, you might also like:

Karmaitis

Give the Kid an Oscar

You Broke Tony

#faking sick #sick peter parker #peter parker is a little shit #irondad fic irondad #sick at school #tony stark is a little shit #stomach bug #school nurse #the science in my fics be like

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jack-kellys · 6 years ago

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thank u, next

HEY it’s me with another installment of the “wait... ??!! !?” AU!

previous chapters: 1 (x) 2 (x) and 3 (x)

LAST time on TU,N, race revealed what little he could of his past, and al was sucked more extremely if you will into race’s...plan. scheme. something. who knows. it’s me I know heheh

————

words: 2500

warnings: cursing, NSFW jokes, mush (YEAH HE’S HERE) is a med student if that helps

————

Four

“How do you know he ain’t just a hookup?”

Al rolled his eyes at Mush’s question. They’d just finished their last class of the day, Albert having told him all about Race. Or, well, all that he could without mentioning the tiny part where he was born in 1880 and yet still here.

“It’s more than a feeling this time, okay?” Albert sighed, giving Mush a nudge. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, but guess what you said last time? The same thing. And the time before that? Also the same thing,” Mush said, his knowing look causing Al to deflate slightly. “Look, I just want you to be careful this time, okay? I know you.”

“Fuck off, Meyers,” Albert said, no real heat behind it. “You knew with Blink, right?”

“And you know that Blink is god-tier to any loser you could pick up, Red,” Mush smirked, letting out a pained laugh when Al necked him at the nickname.

“Just watch, okay? Look. I have a date with him tonight, like a real one—a dinner thing. That confirms that he ain’t just a hookup, right? I made it clear what I wanted, he made it clear what he wanted,” Al shrugged, then scoffed at himself. “That’s already one step ahead of past me.”

Mush shook his head with a sad smile. “You are just so, so lovesick, about everyone, all the time. It’s really...sad,” he said, smile still present.

“I’m also so, so angry with you, all the time,” Al growled, “because you suck.”

“Ah, but you love me.” Mush pat Albert’s shoulder lightly, raising his eyebrows.

“....Yeah, asshole,” Al muttered. Mush laughed, hugging his arm around Albert until they had to part ways.

“In all seriousness, dude,” Mush said, stopping them at the corner. He placed both hands on Al’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “No more bruises, literal or metaphorical. Okay?”

“Okay, sheesh,” Al chuckled, then cleared his throat as Mush’s rather dark expression remained. “Seriously. No more, I swear.”

Mush’s face brightened instantly. “Great! Have fun tonight, man!” He waved as he started walking up the street.

“You’re really not gonna graduate with that fucked up bedside manner, doc,” Al called up to him. When Mush turned back around to flip him off, he took that as his cue to leave. He had to pick up Race in an hour anyway.

•••

“It’s good to know you own more than sweatshirts and flannels, DaSilva. I’m proud, really,” Race teased, leaning on his door frame after he’d opened the door for Al.

Albert gaped at him a second, then scoffed with a slight smile. “I clean up nice for ya, and I get a damn joke. Okay, date cancelled, flannel will be reinstated shortly.”

“No!” Race whined, latching himself to Al’s arm. “No, you look really cute, I promise. Let’s go eat, c’mon.”

“Thank you,” Al said pointedly, glancing over Race and managing to keep his heart from skipping a beat at the mere sight of him. “You look good too, by the way, in case you weren’t sure.”

Race whapped his arm as they walked out of the complex. “Oh thanks,” he snorted, grinning. “Now, this is my favorite italian restaurant in the city, and I’m big-time italian. So get your mouth ready for some good food.”

“You have no idea how many jokes just went through my head, oh my god, it’s blinding,” Albert cringed.

“Oh come on, I gave you ‘italian’ and ‘mouth’ in the same sentence for a reason. Shoot,” Race encouraged, a mischievous look gracing his face.

“Don’t kill me,” Al prefaced.

“You of all people should know I love dirty talk,” Race said, bouncing his eyebrows as Albert rolled his eyes, blushing.

“Okay, okay, here’s the first one I thought of: my mouth has already had my favorite italian.”

Race smiled sarcastically. “Aww, I’m your favorite.”

“Then there’s also: my mouth is always ready for my favorite Italian.”

“Yeah, it really is,” Race smirked, pecking Albert on the lips.

Albert smiled gently, lacing his hand with Race’s the rest of the way to the restaurant, not missing the sentimental glance Race sent towards their hands.

Race’s excitement only seemed to grow as they finally stepped inside the place. Chatter was heard from every table, a low buzz of enjoyment coming from every inch of the room. It was smaller in size than Albert expected, finding himself smiling at how homey it was.

“This is...really nice,” Albert hummed as a waiter led them to a two-person table.

“Well, sure,” Race shrugged, sitting himself opposite Al with a lopsided smile on his face. “It’s nothin’ fancy, but I really like it.”

“It’s nice for that exact reason, Racer. It’s very you, like, you would like this place.” Albert rolled his eyes fondly, glancing around the atmosphere. A hole in the wall italian place that seemed hipster but was definitely old as hell. Definitely Race.

The night wore on slowly, Albert thankful for every minute. Race seemed to be having a great time—at least, he was smiling a lot at dumb shit Al or himself said. His blue eyes would crinkle up when he laughed, a grin splitting his lips every time, no matter how big or small the smile was. He’d shake his head slightly, too, and lean back in his chair with the most perfectly carefree expression Albert had ever seen. He could watch Race laugh for a lifetime, he decided against his better judgement.

“So, Albie,” Race said, leaning forward again and placing his chin on his hand, “lemme know more about you besides the fact that you’re funny as fuck, oh my god.”

“I’m moderately amusing, yeah,” Al shrugged, half-smiling when Race gave him a scoff, then gesturing for Al to continue.

“Well you already know I’m a design major, and I like building stuff—oh, I build sets for shows my school does. That’s kinda cool.”

“That’s super cool, correction,” Race gasped, eyes bugging slightly. “Build or design, too?”

“I help design sometimes, yeah. Guy named Jack Kelly usually is the main designer. He’s really got an eye for connecting design to whatever the show’s content is. I jus’ like building the shit mostly.” Al smiled at the thought of how late Jack was probably keeping himself up that night—they were just starting on a straight play and Albert’s phone had already buzzed with more than a few texts from him, probably all with vague ideas in caps lock.

“Jeez, that must be so amazing. I love shows, holy shit, like I’m such a bootleg bitch,” Race giggled, Albert laughing at the term Race had used for himself.

“‘Bootleg bitch’,” Al sighed. “You would be. Thing is, I’m not super into shows themselves..? Haven’t found one that I really felt yet.”

“What?” Race leaned back again, face screwed up in a baffled expression. “God, every show I watch hits me in the like, first ten minutes.”

“I only know the ones I’ve done, so maybe that’s why. But I have done them since high school, so,” Al shrugged, apologetic. “Dunno, hun.”

“Then I’ll get you into one!” Race’s expression seemed to brighten at the thought, Albert blushing at how adorable he looked. “I mean. Well, I’ll just have to find one for you.”

“Guess you will, bootleg bitch,” Al snorted as Race tried to hit him from across their small table.

“Oh, shut up! I’ve lived in New York longer than literally anyone on the planet, I can’t not be into shows,” Race huffed.

“You should see mine when it’s up, then,” Albert said.

Race seemed to stiffen, and Al mentally slapped himself. That was so forward, at least two months into the future. He didn’t even know if this relationship would last more than a week, let alone two entire months. It didn’t seem like a long time, but it was for Al.

Albert tore his gaze away from the table to meet Race’s eyes again. A sad, but knowing smile was on his face.

“I would really love to, Albie,” he said softly.

“Really?” Albert asked, not truly believing Race. He probably just felt bad for him.

“Really. I would really, really like to,” Race nodded, reaching his hand over the table to hold Al’s.

Albert smiled at their hands together, tan and pale intermingling into one mixed shape. Maybe there was hope for him yet in the relationship department.

•••

Going back to Race’s was an entire other reward, consisting of more talking with bits of making out swirled in between, Race’s lips still able to make his brain short-circuit every time they kissed.

Race had just pushed Albert down onto the couch, Al’s hands gripping at Race’s hips as the blond’s hand travelled up under Al’s shirt. Race slowed himself a bit, moving his lips to lazily kiss at Albert’s neck and lowering himself on top of him.

“That date was really nice, Tony,” Albert murmured, arching himself slightly up towards Race’s mouth. “Real cute, real...real.”

“What’s that mean?” Race popped his head, Al having to raise his eyes to meet his gaze. He didn’t really want to though, biting his lip slightly in hesitation as he realized what he had said.

“I...um,” Al huffed out a slight laugh, attempting to lighten the air that suddenly felt dense. “It’s not like I haven’t been out to dinner with a partner before or anything. ‘Cause I have. Just...not like that.”

“Al, like what?” Race pressed, tired smile slipping off his face.

Albert shrugged, pushing himself up straighter. “I dunno. Been a while since I left a date like that feeling good, y’know? I don’t normally get lucky in this department—the, uh, relationship kind.” Heart beating faster, he averted his gaze further as Race’s eyes only saddened.

Relationships had always been a taboo topic for Albert, family ties included. His mother had died in his youth, a hit and run, and Al’s dad had lost himself in the grief too far, eventually turning to taking it out in his children. All three got out of the house eventually, the youngest living with the oldest when Al went to college.

And even during his wreckage of his family, romantic relations weren’t much better. Girlfriends would call him too guarded, not emotionally present and yell at him; boyfriends would call him weak, say he needed to be stronger, push him around and mock him. He couldn’t win. He had never won.

“And then...shit, this is gonna sound cheesy, but then I met you,” Albert laughed quietly after recounting a few choice pieces of his history. “You actually respect me for..me.”

Race’s hands ghosted over his mouth to mask his shock. “Albert,” he breathed with watery voice and eyes, “I had no idea. I’m so sorry, you don’t know the half of it, oh my god…”

“Race, it’s okay, really,” Al smiled, reaching out to brush his thumb over his cheek. “It ain’t your fault.”

Race seemed to come back to himself. “Yeah. Yeah, you just really don’t deserve this—that. I’m sorry you had to go through that, love,” he said, folding Albert into a hug. “I...I’m here now. Catch your break, hun.”

“Thanks,” Albert sighed, pushing his head into the crook of Race’s neck. He chuckled lightly. “You’re doing real wonders for me, y’know.”

Albert felt Race’s grip tighten around him before one of his hands started rubbing methodically up and down his back, up and down, up and down, up and down…

“I think I’m slippin’ into a food coma from all that Italian and feelings,” Albert yawned, snuggling further into Race and hearing him laugh softly.

“Okay baby, let’s go sleep. It’s late anyway, and that was a lotta pasta,” Race admitted, yawning as well. His hand kept rhythmically moving up and down Albert’s back, making his eyelids even harder to keep open, dimly feeling his grip on Race losen.

“What’re y’doin’ to me?” Al murmured as Race stood them up, hand not leaving the redhead’s back. “Y’got...magic hands.”

Race laughed again, this time with a slight nervous lilt that Albert would have caught if his head wasn’t suddenly so bleary.

“Yeah, that ain’t the first time you’ve said that to me, sweetie,” Race whispered in Al’s ear with a giggle, Albert blushing. He leaned up to kiss Race, wobbly knees be damned. Warmth like hot tea spreading through his body as Race reciprocated his affections, lips moving against lips.

After a few hazy moments, Albert pulled away. “Think I’m in love w’ you, Racey,” he mumbled, eyes still closed. “You’re absolutely perfect.”

“You’re tired,” Race said like he was deciding the fact, although Albert could picture his small smile anyway. A new layer of exhaustion laid itself over him like a heavy blanket, making him yawn again.

“Yeahhh,” Albert sighed, leaning heavier into Race’s arms as they fell onto his bed. “ I am.”

Albert felt Race curl around him after the covers were pulled up, arms wrapping around his stomach, continuing to rub. Al hummed his approval, cuddling sleepily into the embrace more than he’d admit.

“Goodnight, love,” Race whispered, almost hesitant, but Al could hear the truth behind it. He felt Race kiss the back of his neck gently.

“G’nigh’, Race,” Al sighed lightly, eyes closing again as his brain quickly drifted off. In his dreams, he relived the only perfect date he’d ever had. Wait till he told Mush—no bruises.

•••

Race felt a little bad for sending Albert into sleep like that. Technically against his will, too, although it was late and pretty appropriate.

But he needed to think.

He had never wanted to stall before Al happened. It was strange, wanting to stay with someone, and not just out of fear of hurting them later. He was pretty sure he loved Albert, too, and it was terrifying after decades of not feeling that way about anyone.

It wasn’t only terrifying, he supposed. It was definitely freeing, which was new, and he couldn’t help but absolutely love it. After believing to love was to be trapped (which he technically was), for what felt like forever, it was exciting and invigorating to spring out of the box he felt he’d been kept in for so long. It was wonderful, it was fun, Albert was wonderful, Albert was fun, and...Race didn’t want it to end.

And that was not allowed.

Race pressed himself closer to Albert, as if that could protect him from the chain of events that had started the moment they had made eye contact. Maybe Race could stall, at least a few more weeks. Albert deserved the love Race was more than willing to give him, especially after the kinds of relationships Al had said he’d been in before this one. He wanted to be more than that for him, rather than become another piece of Albert’s broken past. He wanted Albert more than anyone who had come before him, and Al seemed to want him back. Even if Race knew much of Albert’s feelings were orchestrated, there were lots of parts that were real: his humor, his thoughtfulness, his protectiveness were all there. And at least part of his love just had to be real. Race was powerful in that area, sure, that was his whole thing, but there were some things he couldn’t fake.

And, he decided, those things were worth stalling for.

Albert did probably love him. And he loved Albert, whether he could or not. He’d stall until Hell bit at his heels.

—————

this was kind of a filler chapter, but I hope it made it a little more clear with how things stand ;)

TAG LIST

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#yayeet #my writing #thank u next series #ralbert #newsies au #albert dasilva #racetrack higgins #mush meyers #newsies #fizz freaks #fizz wants to write #injust dbndsjjkds not suuure whatbthis chapter is. fun tho #OH MUSH #love him

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wadey-wilson · 6 years ago

Note

Essay essay pls! I actually enjoyed the TASM films but I watched them when I was like, 10, so my actual perception of them is super skewed

re:

I usually never talk much about things I hate because I don’t wanna care about things I hate. it’s a waste of time and nerves. but given that you asked nicely, and that I have a lot to say, and that I should sleep but we all know it never plays out, let’s go.

right off the bat, I want to say that I believe you can change some things about characters or stories if adapting them for the silver screen either requires it, or the director has a really good idea as to how the character should be done. that being said, I also believe there’s a line you can’t cross. you either change the character to be more appealing and to have them resonate with the audiences more (see: Thor in Thor: Ragnarok, Guardians of The Galaxy), or to have it fit the story better (see: Mandarin in Iron Man 3). I have no problem when a director goes ‘I have an idea for this character’ and he actually has, let him do it. however, when you change too much about a story (see: Civil War) or a character, they become unrecognizable and completely off. you ever read Superior Spider-Man? they become that. a shell of someone we know but with completely different behaviour, manners, mind, and character for that matter. you can’t change a character to this point, because it ruins them. say Iron Man doesn’t drink alcohol at all, he’s a granddad of a random kid taken from the streets, and kills innocent people. doesn’t really sound well, huh?

and that’s the huge problem with that small series of films. the producers don’t understand Spider-Man (don’t @ me with Spider-Verse, Sony didn’t touch Spider-Verse, it was written by the ever great Phil Lord and Chris Miller), and they never will because they frankly don’t give a shit. they ruined Spider-Man 3 by forcing Raimi to put Venom in there despite Raimi not being able to handle the material and not being interested in that character. reason why they made the TASM films? money. reason why they keep the rights to Spidey? money. so since they don’t understand Spider-Man, they can’t make a good Spidey movie as long as it’s them making that movie.

I also want to add that I like crap movies. Spider-Man 3 is half a solid movie, but you can’t have a bad time while watching it - it’s hilarious, has great action scenes, the characters feel like characters, and the tone is consistent. Venom movie wise is like 4/10, it has 2 prologues, and 179 plot holes and/or stupid choices, but it’s entertaining, funny (even when unintentionally), has some very good dialogues, and the Venom/Eddie relationship (right along with Tom Hardy himself) saves the movie. so I like crap movies when they’re fun, comedy gold, or just so stupid that you can’t help but laugh (see: Twilight). but when a movie is shit, and does none of those things, I can’t sit through it.

with all that said, here goes: reasons why The Amazing Spider-Man movies suck balls and are offensive towards the character of Spider-Man:

comic wise:

- Peter Parker - let’s google Peter Parker.

caring. kind. loyal. brave. scared. worried. intelligent.

that’s the basic core aspect of Peter Parker. you can’t change the core of a character or else they become a different person. the core aspect is what makes them them. Peter Parker is ‘with great power comes great responsibility’, he’s a struggling one because he made a choice to save lives and that choice often ruins his day-to-day life, he’s constantly trying to be a better man, but all while bad things are happening, he remains kind, loving, caring, loyal, respectful, and worth of the powers he’s carrying.

TASM Peter Parker? that dude’s a selfish dickhead. i could go scene by scene to prove my point, but off the top of my head, he:

stalks, creeps, breaks (important) promises, is rude 24/7 towards his aunt and uncle, risks people’s lives, damages public property and doesn’t even say sorry, sneaks into Oscorp by stealing someone’s righteously earned intern badge (plus literally laughing at the guy who got kicked out bc of him, what the hell).

other than that, Andrew Garfield does not look socially awkward or nerdy in the slightest. the movies are really trying to portray him as one and terribly fail. he’s not a good fit for this Spidey. Superior Spidey? yeah, that asshole, sure. I’m not saying he’s a bad actor, he’s an amazing actor. he’s just not good for the role of Peter Parker.

I mentioned Thor before and how making him a goofball actually worked out fine, and that’s because the core aspect of him never disappeared. he’s still Thor, courageous, righteous, loving, kind, but with more jokes. Peter Parker is a nerdy outcast, he’s socially awkward like 95% of the time, and doesn’t even know how to walk straight. Andrew’s Spidey? obnoxious-skateboarding-cool-looking-Edward-Cullen-like-tall-and-model-like cute. I have no words.

to add to his terrible traits, Peter’s only motivation to put on the red-and-blue spandex is revenge. revenge. I don’t care about that scene where he’s sitting with his mask wondering if he should go after the Lizard. that doesn’t mean a thing. it would if his behaviour changed, but it never did. he made a mask and then a suit so people wouldn’t see who commits the crimes (assaulting at nights while looking for Ben’s killer, that’s crime), that’s down-right fucked up. this is not Spider-Man. speaking of…

- Spider-Man - he doesn’t care about people’s lives at-freaking-all, and it just wounds me. he jokes around while people are being murdered (see: TAMS2 scene with the Rhino where he didn’t stop Rhino when he had the chance, instead letting him run over tens of people and kept. on. joking., or putting on a fireman’s hat while people are being killed). jokes? what jokes? that guy’s a jackass. he threatens a man saying he’d kill him if he’d be the one who killed uncle Ben. he publicly humiliates a guy, I don’t care if he’s a criminal.

see this:

(the amazing s-m #797)

vs this

?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

- Ben Parker - he’s 100% useless in the movie. in the comics and in the Raimi’s movies, he plays a huge role. he’s Peter’s moral compass right along with May Parker, which…

- May Parker - her presence in the movie is pointless. she’s got no impact on the plot. cut out all the scenes with her, and it changes nothing about the movies. her presence only makes Peter look more like an asshole bc he’s one towards her 99% of the time. she’s there to be… I don’t even know. she’s useless. oh, no, wait, she’s there to make Peter break his promise to Captain Stacy. amazing.

movie wise:

- tone - inconsistent, all over the place. TASM1 is dark, silly, dark, lighthearted, funny, dark, funny, dark. why can’t it be just dark or funny? same goes to TASM2, except TASM2 is way worse due to the unconnected subplots. examples of well-toned movies: Homecoming (a comedy starring Spider-Man), Iron Man 3 (consistently cartoonish with balanced humor and action), The Avengers (consistently funny and cheesy).

- character arc - there’s none. Peter learns absolutely nothing. at all. he’s selfish and remains selfish. puts people’s lives at risk all the time. breaks promises, not learning any lesson. I mentioned Venom before and how it’s a dumb movie, but even that one has Venom have an arc. rushed one, yes, very rushed, but still an arc.

- music - stock music + bad pop music + elevator music + something that tried to sound like dubstep but wound up being what comes out when you scratch your nails across the board ft. growling dying dragons from bad cartoons. I’m really sorry for Hans Zimmer that his name is in the credits bc the amazing Pharell Whilliams literally ruined the TASM2 soundtrack.

- directing - it’s shit. the movie’s shot with no life to speak of. boring shots, lower than average. there’s no scene that makes me ‘whoa’. there’s no scene that makes me ‘this is a really good shot. I very much like this shot.’ ok, I’m lying, there are two shots in the entire 2 movies. there:

these are the only shots that I like. out of 2 movies. please, take all my money.

on top of that, the colors are just ugly. Deadpool has greasy colors but they’re consistent and fit the creepy tone of the movie. TASM movies can’t decide what the hell they are so they are just a mess.

- villains:

x the Lizard. he wants people to be lizards, and that’s it. he wants his arm to regrow but then he goes ‘forget arms, now I want people to be lizards.’ and it’s sad bc he’s a very good villain in the comics.

x Green Goblin. motivation is weak, plus why did he crawl towards the suit? if he crawled towards the Doc Ock arms, would he become Doc Ock? how did he know hot to fly the glider? ‘you took his picture, so you know him’ - first of all, that shot was taken from 64508098 meters away, and second of all, how does this make Harry think Peter knows Spider-Man? he’s still better than Connors, tho.

x Electro - quite an odd one, weak motivations, what the hell was that with the corny speeches pulled out of his ass and completely out of the place? why did he even have shorts? where did he take his suit from? that’s a PG-13 movie, I get it, we don’t wanna watch an electric p*nis swing, ok, we get it still, bad motivations, makes no sense 80% of the time, and... he’s just off. he’s such a badly-handled and poorly-written character I want to cry,

- other characters:

x Gwen Stacy - so called generic love interest. that’s it.

x I don’t even care.

- stupid bullshit - when a movie is good, I don’t care about plot holes or stupid stuff like visible reshoots (see: Tony’s hair in IW) or just idiotic moments (see: Black Widow knocking a guy out with her hair in The Avengers).

however, when the stupid bullshit takes over a movie, you can’t help but notice. why did the Lizard want everyone to be lizards? why did the electric eels fix the gap between Max’s teeth? what’s with the subplot with Peter chasing Ben’s killer? is Peter so stupid that he brought his camera with his name on it to Lizard’s secret layer? why are Peter’s parents so focused on? they’re 100% irrelevant and have no impact on the movies besides making them even stupider (that calculator scene, I’m-). why did Ben jump towards the gun? how did scrawny and skinny Harry Osborn overpower two armed, grown-ass guards? if Peter is smart enough to make web-shooters and web fluid, why did he have to look up the basics of electricity on YT? why is Gwen so stupid to grab a metal bar when there’s an electricity-fueled guy murdering people? why did even Electro become bad? why do people stand around very dangerous fight scenes like it’s a spectacle with fairies? run! the plane scene. the plane scene no2. the crane scene. how did the cranes happen to be perfectly in line across the way to Oscorp? even Raimi wouldn’t put this corny shit in his movies, and he made his trilogy corny for purpose. train? coming? out? from? the ground??? a video coincidentally waiting for Peter to be played in that train? Gwen Stacy happening to be the interns’ tour guide at Oscorp? how did Gwen get to the fight with Electro scene sooner than the police? why did the web get cut by two solid objects, simultaneously making a ‘cut’ sound, what the fuck was that? why were those movies even made? (money)

I want to add that I don’t care about deleted scenes. put them in the movie if they’re important. I really don’t give a damn there was a scene with Peter’s dad (which is just stupid) or some stuff with Connors. I don’t judge deleted scenes, I judge the movies.

and that’s it. I feel like I can talk more, but it’s like 11pm, and I have to get up early and go to work, so… I said what I said. you can’t change my opinion. if you like these films, I don’t care. they’re trash. if you can watch them and think ‘that’s a good movie,’ I’m glad you can, and I wish you a happy life with that bad perception.

to add to all of this, I’ll have you know that even Andrew Garfield is mad/sad that Sony compromised the character of Peter Parker for the sake of money.

before I go, the only good things about these movies:

- TASM2 suit is cool. I like it a lot,

- that scene where Peter wakes up and accidentally breaks things,

- that montage with Spidey after he breaks up with Gwen, it’s really nice and in-character, looking like it was written by someone completely else,

- they didn’t make a third movie.

P.S. if you want some good videos I remember seeing about those movies, visit yourmoviesucks and TheCosmonautVarietyHour on YT. also ScreenCrush explains what’s wrong with those movies basing on one scene, and it’s great.

P.S. 2. there was this comment on YT under the TASM movies review that I really like, and honestly what a mood:

#roll credits #i said what i said and you can't change my mind #when i was younger i thought i like those movies #but then i thought about them again #and wondered how could i ever think they are good #they're a waste of money #they're a waste of time #and effort #that's me and my opinion #i usually don't speak much but well #the amazing spider-man #long post

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shreddedparchment · 6 years ago

Text

The End of the World Pt.9

Thor, Iron Man, and Super Soldier VX

Pairing: Thor x Reader

Word Count: 2,467

Masterpost

Warnings: Language

A/N: I’ve been looking forward to writing for Tony sober for a while. I was so eager to get it out that I wrote this almost immediately after I wrote the previous chapter. Hardest part is definitely coming up with nicknames for the reader. Ugh! How does he do it?! lol This part of the story has been a long time coming. I’ve had this planned out since about the fourth chapter. I’ve struggled so much trying to figure out how I want to do this and what will happen afterwards. Anyway, hope you like it! xoxo

You’re not sure how long you were lying on your bed, frozen in pain. It felt as if your blood was knives and needles drenched in gasoline and set on fire. Your body had gone rigid shortly after you injected yourself with the first full syringe of serum. The needle had penetrated your skin and almost from the first depression you’d regretted your decision.

The regret was temporary. You struggled with your muscles, which had tensed so much in reaction to the serum that you grunted and groaned as you strained to reach the vial of serum once more. You threw your body in the direction of the vial, your stiff arm reached out and with straining and stretching fingers you grabbed it. It took you longer than it should have but you finally jammed the needle into the top and filled the syringe once more, emptying the rest of the vial.

Ruthlessly you violently jam the needle into the crook of your arm—and amazingly, right into your vein—half in resolve to do what you said you’d do and half because you had little control left in your limbs.

As the rest of the serum spread throughout your bloodstream you felt your chest explode. Your heart began to pound and finally, thankfully you lost consciousness, sprawled out on the bed with one arm hanging over the edge. Probably looked dead.

“Why hasn’t she woken up?” Thor demands, his voice worried and angry. You’re mostly asleep still. No. Not asleep. In transition. You try to wake yourself up but your body doesn’t respond.

“You have to give her time. She's…different now.” Natasha keeps her voice even, stern as she speaks to Thor.

“How could you all let this happen?” Thor sounds like he’s somewhere to your right, still stressed and angry. “You should have kept her here.”

“Thor, I asked her to stay, I swear. I told her you wouldn't like her leaving but she wouldn't change her mind.” Bruce’s voice is laden with remorse and failure as he explains his time with you.

“Then you should have chained her to a chair!” His voice shakes the room though he’s still not even really shouting.

“Hey, I heard her with the Doc,” Rocket agrees to your left, up by your head. “She’d made up her mind to go home. You probably woulda flayed us if we touched her and from what I know of your girl, she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”

A huff to your right tells you Thor still isn’t happy, but he does accept Rocket's explanation. When he speaks again his voice is strained with worry and near-agony.

“Why hasn’t she woken up, Banner?”

“I think that might be my fault. I gave her a bit of Tetrodotoxin B. Her heart was racing when you brought her in and I was afraid she’d have a heart attack so I wanted to slow her heart rate down. I think maybe it might have sedated her as well.”

“Does she have to be sedated?” Thor wonders.

“I honestly don't know. I prefer it but it would be better if Steve were here.” You can almost picture Bruce leaning back in a stool, rubbing his chin. His voice is calm as always but there’s an underlying tone of fascination. “He has first hand experience with this.”

“I’ll go get him. It'll be a little tense but I think this is more important than old fights.”

“Nat, be careful. Don’t tell anyone about Y/N until we know more." Bruce says.

“Of course.” Natasha's footsteps fade.

“What was it she injected herself with?” Thor’s voice is much closer, aggrieved, quieter since he’s so close now. His left hand finds the top of your head where he gently cups it. His right hand tenderly takes hold of your own.

“It looks like either during or after the attack she took one of the vials from the box Pepper and Nat brought back.” If there was an audible equivalent to quietly punching the air with your fist, Bruce did it. “I shoulda known something was off. She was asking me a lot of questions about the Super Soldiers in Siberia and Steve, why didn’t I pick up on it?”

“Y/N has always been good at keeping her thoughts private. When I first met her, she helped me recover from a small injury. I might have played the hurt up a little. She was cute and very kind.” You can hear the smile in his voice. The hand on the top of your head gently strokes your hair.

“That was just after Sokovia right? I wasn't there but Nat filled me in on what she could remember happened.”

“Yes. She told me later that I spent so much time talking about Jane during our first meeting that she buried her feelings for me. Despite being attracted to me instantly. It took me four months to get her to open up. Another four weeks until she allowed me to kiss her. With Jane everything simply happened, falling into place easily. With Y/N, things have always taken a little more work.” You hear him sigh heavily then feel the warmth of his breath on your right temple.

“Wow, what a pain in the ass. Hey, I don't mean anything by it. Your girl will be alright, Thor.” Rocket says. “I mean, she's stubborn, right? She's not gonna let this keep her from marrying you. I think I’ll go grab something to eat.”

You hear Rocket leave.

Almost ten minutes pass in silence.

“Why is her hair this color?” Thor strokes your head again.

“I don’t know. The serum alters body and mind, it's unpredictable and this one that Pepper and Nat found was especially strange. Modified. There's no way to know what she’s going to wake up with. I mean, I'm sure she'll still be her.”

“You're sure?” Thor sounds upset again and the hand on the top of your head tightens. “Why would she do this to herself?”

His breath was on your face again. “Whatever was troubling you, why did you not come to me? I could have helped you. I am your harbor. Your escape.”

You hear fading footsteps as Thor continues to speak.

“Please, do not leave me when our lives have yet to begin. My love, my soul, my reason for existence. Wake up, Y/N.” He says your name with strength in his voice like he’s trying to order you awake. His soft pleas and declarations of love only serve to send you under again and with his warm breath lingering on your cheek, you fall back into darkness.

As your eyes slowly flutter open you take in the plain off-white ceiling. There's so much more to the ceiling though. You can see the small pores of the white ceiling tiles, the dust within them. A very small movement, someone taking a breath, pulls your eyesight to the left.

Standing in front of a dark grey wall, painted in uneven strokes, is Tony Stark. There's a gradient in the wall that you’re only sure is unintentional because you’ve been in this room before just a few days ago. Despite the uneven paint and the small bits of dust, the rest of the plain medical room is spotless. So much of the room is clearer, like you’ve upgraded to a higher definition T.V., that for a second you don’t notice the increase in your hearing at first.

As Tony clears his throat to bring your attention back to him, you notice the clarity of it. You can hear each small breath that he takes. In and out. In and out. Steady and relaxed breaths.

You push yourself up a little and remember your injured ribs. You sit up straighter and gently press against your side. No pain. And your leg has no cast or brace.

When you look back up Tony is moving over with a chair held by its back. He places the chair by your bed, his face bright and alert, and sits himself in it. His pants are black sweats and his top a blue compression sports shirt.

“Don’t you own anything other than suits and sportswear, Mr. Stank?” You ask dryly. You’re not sure this is the face you want to see as soon as you wake up. Where the hell is Thor?

Tony laughs casually, subdued, and you definitely don’t want his face to be the first you see. When he finally stops laughing he leans back and watches you with that same smug and contemplative look from before.

“Rhodey?” He asks.

You nod. “He said to wait until you were sober.”

“I knew you were fearless.” He admits. “I mean, you’d have to be to shack up with Thor. To choose this life after what happened?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of gum, took a piece, then shoved the pack back into his pocket. “Takes guts. Gum?”

You shake your head. “Easy to say when you’ve given up. Where are your guts?”

Tony chews his gum then fixes you with that unreadable and penetrating gaze. “On Titan.”

You see his grief again, this time multiplied by a hundred as you can suddenly see every twitch of his lip, eye, and the way his mouth turns down at the corners for a second. There's also that same dead look you’ve seen in Thor's and Rocket's eyes. And pretty much everyone else that’s lost someone.

“I saw it, you know? The intent in your eyes even before you made up your mind.” He’s smirking, like he knows you. Why does it feel like he can see through you? “I knew if I set things up just right, you’d bite. And here you are, all superheroed out. How’s it feel to be the newest member of the Super Soldier club?”

You watch Tony with narrowed eyes. Something about what he said. “What do you mean, set things up just right?”

“Listen Teach,” Tony pushes off of the chair and sits up straight then leans forward so that he can reach out towards you. The familiarity is not welcome so you pull your hand close, crossing your arms over your chest and remain wary. “What I said to you that day I first met you, I’m sorry. I was out of line and not…myself.”

His hand comes up to nervously rub at his bottom lip. He clasps his hands together and raises his eyebrows once as he lets his apology linger between you. You want to tell him to fuck off. You want to tell him that he can shove his apology, that you hate him, and nothing he can say to you will make up for the fears and all consuming insecurities that his words re-exposed. You’d resolved yourself to living and loving quietly at Thor's side. But then you were injured and despite the mortality worries you’d had, nothing compared to watching Thor have to choose between leaving you here injured and choosing his people.

You needed to be strong for your God of Thunder and that’s what you would be now.

Even though you want to tell Tony all of this and be done with him, you see the sincerity of his remorse. Here was a broken man, apologizing, eyes slightly watery, how could you not let it go?

“I didn't mean to make you feel like you had to do this.” He says more quietly.

“You didn't. I mean, you did, but it was already there. It’s been there since Thor left me.” Admitting this aloud makes you nervous. “I think eventually I would have done something more stupid.”

“I think so to. Which makes me glad this serum fell right into our lap.” Tony says with a smile. “I’d really like to be friends, if you think that’s at all possible?”

He gets to his feet and moves closer to you, his hand extended. You stare at it for a good two minutes, Tony stands there sweating buckets. You finally take his hand and squeeze.

“Woah, ow, easy there Miss Mischief. You can break us plain people like sticks, now. You’re going to have to adapt to your strength.”

“Sorry.” You rush to say as you release his hand.

He keeps his eyes on you. They wander up to your hair as he shakes his right hand and then massages his fingers.

“Ow.” He repeats. “I like the hair.”

You reach up and pull your hair forward as you remember Thor asking about it. Or had you dreamt that?

For a moment you're sure that you aren’t seeing things right. It looks almost as if someone has sucked all the pigment from your hair.

“Haven't seen it?” Tony realizes. You shake your head at him. He looks the room over before he reaches for a silver tray with several medical tools on it. He dumps the tools then moves back towards you with the underside of the tray held up for you like a mirror.

Almost all of your hair has turned what looks like white. Pure, non-polluted white hair save for a thick black strip, about two inches wide, that starts at the center of your scalp and extends down the right side of your head.

“What the shit?” You say, unable to contain the surprise.

“That’s one way to put it.” Tony agrees.

You take the tray and turn your head this way and that to get a better look.

“Anyway, I wanted to come and apologize, and congratulate you on both the engagement and your new lease on life. I’m sorry that I had a hand in pushing you to it…wait, no I’m not. We need the hands.”

You put the tray down to glare at him and don’t realize how hard you're gripping the tray until you feel the metal bend in your hands. You look down at the silver tray and carefully place it on the small table by your hospital style bed.

Tony is also watching you with the tray. “Don’t worry. We'll get you trained up. Sleep some more.”

He begins to leave but you lean towards the door, forgetting your momentary anger.

“Wait, where’s Thor?” You don’t realize how strongly you want to see him until you say his name with your own mouth.

“I’m sure Mr. Mischief is somewhere around here.” He seems to see your distress as he reaches the door. “Tell you what, I’ll find him. Send him this way.”

He taps the frame with his hand and waits for you to nod. “Good girl. Hang tight.”

Tony Stark leaves you alone in your room, confused, expectant—Where the hell is Thor?!—and wondering if you might not have just made the biggest mistake of your life.

@bionic-buckyb, @mdgrdians, @ulired, @biawol, @markusstraya

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